#sorry this took me an entire goddamn hour to write
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What are you uh...what are you salty about? (I'm nosy as hell, give me the tea)
okay SO. disclaimer before i start: if anyone seeing this likes the youtuber mentioned, understand i am not calling her a bad person; i have some very specific umbrage with her, and i will detail why. you don't have to agree with me, but if you, in any way, inform this youtuber of this post and what i'm saying, you will be blocked, because this is meant to be on my personal blog only and a severe violation of my boundaries to tell her about this.
let's begin, shall we? (below the cut, since this got a bit long; my apologies.)
for context, since i started watching zmyx, i have been periodically checking youtube for amvs of the show so i can add them to my playlist. while doing so, i stumbled across this video by AvenueX. i had watched a video by her previously on the show under the skin, and mostly enjoyed it. i love hearing people react to batshit cdrama, well, drama, and "this show was up for bare hours before being taken down" definitely counts as something i like hearing reactions to.
i cannot directly upload the clip into this post, but i'll put the subtitles in for the relevant section, which begins at the 12:25 mark and ends at 14:59.
AX: Basically, there is a BL drama that was made quite a few years ago and hasn't come out like all the BL dramas, Zhiming Youxi. It's based on a novel called Wanghuatong [sic] and is a clear BL drama. The platform was iQiyi, and they cast Huang Junjie and Xia Zhiguang. These two guys have been multiple other stuff ever since then, and if you watch a lot of Chinese dramas, you probably have an impression of who they are. Neither of them are considered to be good actors, very young, and not really coming from professional sort of trained actor background[...]I'm not so interested in the story to start with and not interested in these two actors either, because BL dramas is hard to do well; you have to be good actors to pull it off, and you actually have to know what type of acting you need to be doing. You're not actually playing realistic gay people, you're playing imagined version of [here she makes a sound i can only transcribe as the auditory equivalent of tilting your hand back and forth], that whole complicated psychological thing on the back end, and if you're not clever and experienced enough actor you actually easily make a mess. Based on the leaked out footage I see on the internet, it's embarrassing, in terms of the acting, and they stole the most important line from Word of Honor, which is 'there's light on you and I want to grab it and take a look'. Every BL drama has a classic line[...]and this drama shamelessly took a completely, and that part of the video is online. I've watched it, and I'm like, 'oh my god, oh my god, just because you're another BL doesn't qualify you for stealing literally the line from another BL drama[...]just because of that I'm like, oh, okay, now I can make fun with other people together on this drama being living [sic] on the internet for like, what, three-four hours[...]it's a good thing this drama is buried now, and please don't show up again. I don't want to see it. It's embarrassing, it's embarrassing, okay.
bolding mine; these are the portions i have umbrage with.
let's go through the points she makes, shall we?
this show is "embarrassing", in terms of acting; presumably, this is connected to the earlier line about the actors not being known as "good actors", and not having professional acting backgrounds.
it stole a line from shl.
she thinks this drama deserves to be made fun of for "being embarrassing" because, presumably, the actors don't play bl roles the way she thinks they should, and "make a mess of it".
i must reiterate: she can have these opinions. these are opinions she is entitled to. i disagree with them, but i respect her right to have them. however, because i also have the right to my own opinion, i am allowed to be pissed about these opinions she has.
i will go through a point by point breakdown of my responses and thoughts on each point.
i think it's really stupid to judge an actor based simply on them having a professional background or not. when it comes down to it, the most important thing for actors, especially co-leads, in a show, is their ability to do their job and create believable dynamics with their co-actors. in my opinion, xia zhiguang and huang junjie do this very well in zmyx. their dynamic feels natural and realistic to me, and, more importantly than that, it compels me. i don't say this as a "fan" of either actor; it was a nice bonus to me that hjj had also played another character i like, but even if he hadn't, i would be judging this performance as lin qiushi based on its own merits. i have never seen xzg in anything, and again, i am judging his acting in this show on its own merits. also, i should add there's something hilarious about her holding up shl as a "good" bl, when you could argue that those leads aren't "good" actors, either. i mean, look at advancing bravely! or, maybe, i don't know, it's possible for actors to improve over time and do better in certain projects than others? and someone doesn't have to be the "best" in all areas of their field, just the right choice for the role they're playing??
this is just stupid, in my opinion. the line is not stolen; it is altered and becomes its own line in zmyx. in shl, the line is, as she says, "there's light on you and i want to grab it and take a look". in zmyx, the line is "there's a light on you that i don't see on others". this is, at most, a reference—and zmyx isn't the only bl that references other media! this is a silly, petty argument, in my opinion, and frankly annoying as hell. if it were a crime to reference any other media in the same genre as the media doing the referencing, we'd miss out on so much. to me, this reference doesn't read as an appropriation, but as a nod of appreciation to another bl which was heavily censored. also, if her claims are anything to go by, and zmyx did film "years ago", it's possible that, actually, zmyx used the line before shl did. even if that isn't the case, who fucking cares? genuinely, i think this is a stupid point and i hate it.
she thinks the actors made a mess of the show by not playing the roles in the specific way bl roles are "meant" to be played. we could spend years arguing about the "right" way to play a bl role, but to me, it sounds like she has a very specific idea of the roles bl actors must fit into and fulfil—specifically, that they must play an exaggerated, unrealistic mimicry of gay male relationships, or else it's a "bad" bl. i don't know AvenueX's sexuality, but as a person of the homosexual persuasion myself, if not one attracted to men, i personally don't like exaggerated mimicries of gay relationships, and i would wager a guess that many gay and bisexual men are probably in this same boat. when i watch a bl show, i prefer that the dynamics are driven not by the idea of what gay people should act like, but by 1. the plot, 2. their own characterisations and character motives, and 3. their relationships and dynamics with each other. in this regard, while zmyx isn't a "good bl", i think it's a good depiction of the relationship between two characters. i don't say this to be holier-than-thou, or to claim i'm somehow "better" than other people who do like specific exaggerated tropes in bl; i say this because i feel like AvenueX entirely disregards the possibility that the thing that she doesn't like about zmyx are things that other people will.
(additionally, while she never says this, i get the impression that one of the things she doesn't like is that the chemistry between the characters isn't the "typical" bl chemistry. i, frankly, don't give a fuck. i think the leads have fantastic chemistry, and it annoys me that she thinks they "made a mess" just because they don't fit the idea she has for what a bl "should" look like. i, for one, think it's a good thing that we're moving away from caricatured depictions of gay people in media, especially danmei and dangai. myself and other asian gay people, especially east asian gay people, have pointed out how harmful caricatured versions of gay asian characters are.)
(also, as an unrelated, and petty aside, if i remember correctly, she's a british film school grad, and not to be judgemental, but, yeah, i can fucking see it.)
so, yeah. that's my two fen and indignance on this. but, hey, what do i know, i'm just some random tumblr user ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
#sorry this took me an entire goddamn hour to write#unfortunately i kept having to reword things to be less irritated#because while i may be pissed i do NOT want to take potshots at someone for stupid things irrelevant to her actual words#ask#i could go into a whole ramble about lgbt representation and depiction in danmei and dangai and how in my opinion it's#advanced in leaps and bounds even just in the past five years#(you can see a similar thing in yao in and thai bl)#but i will not do that because it's not relevant to this specific conversation#关于门神跟人谈恋爱的那件事#c.txt
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Hiii is it alright if I request for a College!Camgirl!Ellie x college!reader? Could I also have a specific 💐 tag for when I ask things 😭😭?
PS: I love your work so fucking much, on my knees for them 💗🙏🏻
-💐
જ⁀➴ yes angel!! thank you <3 sorry this took so long btw!! lowkey had a bender over spring break and didn’t write 🫣
warnings: 18+, squirting, pet names, service top!ellie, camgirl!ellie, consensual video recording. photo credits to @ellies.galaxy on tiktok!
reqs are open 𝜗𝜚
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“you can take it baby. know my girl can.” the auburn haired girl whispered, while guiding your hips to sink fully down on her brand new strap on that sits erect on her pale lap. the aforementioned 8 inch, lavender toy was generously gifted by one of her followers, with a message attached that simply said “to break her in.”
since the moving in with ellie, you’ve gradually learned so much about her….possibly more than a roommate should. first, it was her adorable obsession with vintage video games, then the way she brings home little rocks and treasures she finds on the walk to class, then…it was finding her nude in front of a camera with your “missing” thong smothering her face.
but, you couldn’t possibly resist helping her, huh?
the video garnered tons, TONS of donations, likes, and subscriptions. her followers loved that it wasn’t a staged “getting caught” cliche, and that you fully indulged in her perverse energy. since then, she’s gotten lots of requests to keep you around in her videos, which you are more than happy to oblige.
the tip nudges against your cervix, a soft bulge appearing on your abdomen. as she shifts to zoom in on the precious sight, your long forgotten homework falls off the bed, papers sliding all across the floor.
“y’see that? how she’s fuckin swallowing me?” ellie asks the camera as she zooms in on the aforementioned “she”, being your fully stuffed cunt.
“els…please move….” you pant, digging your fingernails into her thighs as an anchor. “i…i’ll do….any-thng…” you whine desperately, dying to just rut into ellie’s hips on your own, but you know better. the first (and last) time you made that mistake, she tied you up with the vibrator on the highest setting for two hours, live-streaming the whole ordeal.
hey, at least she made over $500 off of it.
“show em how you feel, angel.” ellie coos, thrusting in and out agonizingly slow, propping the camera up on her dresser, the perfect angle to capture your doe eyes rolling effortlessly into the back of your head.
“els….ohmgd…please harder!”
without a word, ellie gets the most intriguing smirk on her face, massaging her calloused fingers into your hips for a moment….then suddenly gripping onto them, bouncing you on her cock unrelentingly. screaming her name, your legs go numb. every time your trembling hands go to grip onto her waist for support, she nudges you off, growing wetter and wetter watching you unable to stabilize yourself. a thin white ring forms around the base of her cock, that she scrambles to grab the camera and zoom in on.
“look at that…fuck.” she reaches down and thumbs on your clit, causing you to buck down into her even harder, if that’s possible at this point.
“gna…gna cum els….pleaseee…” you stare right into the camera, knowing that she’s gonna replay that moment over and over again later just to see the pathetic desperation in your eyes, your perfect pout penetrating her every thought.
“go ahead angel, cum all over this cock. show me how good it feels in you. how….how…god…how good i feel in you.”
those last words send you over the edge, collapsing into her while your entire body twitches. your tight, slick walls clench around the toy for the final time, her thumb on your clit encouraging you to drench ellie’s stomach and sheets.
“fuck…i got that shit on camera. you’re so goddamn hot.” she pans the camera down to her toned stomach, where your wetness is splattered. the euphoria hasn’t worn off yet, your eyelids heavy, vision blurry as ellie smooths down your hair delicately, throwing the camera onto her chair and cradling your head into her lap.
“such a good girl f’me…..”
#ellie williams au#ellie williams fanfic#ellie williams imagine#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams headcanons#ellie williams tlou#ellie williams smut#ellie smut#ellie x reader#ellie the last of us#ellie williams#ellie tlou#ellie x fem reader#tlou2#the last of us#the last of us fanfiction#tlou#the last of us 2#buckleysbitch writes#buckleysbitch#💐#💐 anon#buckleysbitch 💐 anon
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OBSESSED: FUSHIGURO
A/N: OH. MY. GOD. Anon. I love you and hate you for this request. This was…hard. I told myself I wouldn’t publish it unless it was fucking perfect (you should see the scalpels I took to each goddamn sentence before this version).
SECOND: I will square up with Gege for writing the most enigmatic, LAYERED, complex, muddled character to exist. I wanted this to be Megumi. Through and through. His darkness, his light, his reservation, his crazy, all in one. And IDK. I think I did it? This one is purely to prove to myself that I can write for characters that are hard to write for (*cough* yuta im glaring at you *cough*)
THIRD: if you do read this (I get people feel things about aged up characters etc), I implore you to listen to this. Guys. I heard this at 0200 IN THE OR during a 6 hour case and the entire concept for this came to me. Meg is sophisticated and unruly, selfless and selfish, etc. So this has some NSFW but definitely probably more on the poetic, long ends of my works.
CW: Aged up characters (20+), college AU, fluffy/raunchy/dark romance-y because LOOK at him. He takes after Gojo AND Toji. Mature, 18+
“You like it when I’m rough.”
Megumi’s melody rings crystal clear.
Low.
Precise.
An F-14 Tomcat fighter jet, flying dark. Below enemy radar.
The piano keys float beneath his tone. His long, slender, deft fingers effortlessly execute the sheet music before him. It’s his GPS system, a personal flight map.
Little Beethoven, his advanced music theory professor calls him.
Truth is, Megumi is a prolific pianist and vocalist. He can tame any note, any melody, any harmony faster than any of his Shikigami.
Speaking of…
Megumi pulls off the piano and tortured love song in an instant. Just as the grade 3 curse creeps through the open door.
The part between his right long and ring fingers is automatic. His left hand grips the web space between his right thumb and index finger.
“Demon dog.” Megumi summons.
Low. Precise. Decisive.
“Eat it, boy.”
A small, approving smile tugs on the corners of his lips. Low level curses are the nothing more than chew toys to his divine dogs. With a tiny wave of his fingers, his technique buzzes inward.
Megumi’s eyes float to the ancient analog clock on the wall.
13:50
10 more minutes until you’ll meet him for your date.
No. Not date.
Study. 10 more minutes until you’re meeting him to study.
Your thought blooms within him like wildfire. It sets his normally cool, porcelain skin ablaze.
Megumi whips his body around to face the piano. To exorcise the feeling. The keyboard has always been his outlet. His life blood. Playing, singing, musing in and out of written songs is his catharsis.
Words don’t come easy. They never have. But lyrics do.
And when he gets to ride lyrics with his voice, his runs..?
The words he can never find on his own are suddenly out there. In the atmosphere. Coating empty rooms in a mist of his thoughts, his feelings.
No certain promise that the person the words are destined for will ever catch them. Or ever walk through the room and be kissed by the remnants of his musical trail. But Megumi has said (sung, played) them. And that’s enough.
“Sorry if I come across a type of way.”
“I’ve been trying to get out of my way…”
His fingers dive into the keys. Angrily. Earnestly.
“I know it doesn’t seem like I care, but you know I care—“
“Wow Meg, you sound incredible.”
You bring him to an abrupt stop. Your voice is maple syrup trailing down Megumi’s neck, leaving goosebumps in its candied wake.
Pitch fucking perfect.
A soft, ethereal C, gliding down Heaven’s staircase. You infuse sunlight into his name, whichever way you choose to say it.
And it’s hell. It’s cruel. To have as keen hearing as he does. To listen to you sing his name and have nothing else follow.
“Fushiguro.” Megumi shoots up from his seat, slinging his backpack over one shoulder.
“What?”
“Fushiguro.” He repeats, eyes briefly meeting yours before settling above your head. He’s at least a head and shoulders taller.
“Nobody calls me Meg.”
You throw your head back. Feather light crescendo in your laughter. It’s pretty. Tantalizing in the way chandeliers twinkle when they capture a beam of light.
His eyes dart down to catch the feminine column of your neck. Curving into your delicate collar bones. How are your lines so seamless?
So cinematic. Like he’s watching a figure skater land a triple axel. Or a prima ballerina en pointe. It’s not fathomable.
Gorgeous.
You are gorgeous.
“I call you Meg.” You retort with a smile that liquifies all of his joints.
You double your walking speed to keep pace with Megumi’s long strides. Both of you exit the sound engineering building. Heading straight for the campus library a couple blocks away.
“Who were you—oh,” Megumi’s glacial hand along the small of your back steals your voice away.
Your eyes and feet follow his gentle push, shifting you to the other side of him.
“Walking on the wrong side.” He mutters, monotone. Matter-of-fact. Obviously.
He’s a gentleman. Of course he is going to walk on the traffic facing edge of the sidewalk.
Of course he didn’t feel the electric currents wire through his fingers to clench — suffocate — his heart.
No, he didn’t hear that punched out, falsetto gasp when his hand cradled your perfectly tapered waist.
Or notice how well you fit into his hand. How light you are under his touch that had none of his real strength behind it.
You’re made of alluring lines. Intoxicating sounds.
What would it take to coax a pretty melody out of your pouty lips?
His fingers?
They’re long. And smart. Cold. Remarkably patient. You’d like them.
He could make you love them.
Crave them. Need, whimper, whine, and cry out for them.
“So who was it?” You tether him to reality.
“Who was what?” Megumi counters, leading you to a private study room.
“The way you were singing earlier.”
Hairs along the back of his neck stand at attention. Blood runs Siberian cold. Megumi’s gaze on you is subzero.
“It had to be for someone.” You lower down into a seat in slow motion.
The sweetheart neckline of your sundress is mean. Your supple mounds tilt and ripple with every micro movement. Megumi has forgotten why he’s glaring at you.
“You sound too…pretty. It can’t be wasted on thin air.” You continue.
“She must be—“
“Let’s just get started, okay?” He sharply redirects the conversation.
And promptly shifts gear to low autopilot. He’ll speak when spoken to, answer questions intermittently. But his mind’s true coordinates are a galaxy away.
Megumi retreats to his shadow garden.
Watching you.
Drinking you in.
Savoring each detail on his tastebuds like dessert.
The pencil eraser leaves an indent on your bottom lip where you’ve been pressing too hard.
Megumi wants to roll your bottom lip under his teeth. Until it flushes rose and swells beneath his relentless pull.
His eyes fall to your bracelet, far too big for your dainty wrist.
He could hold both of your wrists in one hand above your head or behind your back for hours. Without breaking a sweat.
His other hand would take its time.
To stroke you. Pet you. Learn your sheet music. Then play your body like a harp until you’re a chorus of beautiful, soprano whimpers and moans. Begging and pleading so prettily, enticing him to give in.
But he won’t.
Not until you’re soft enough. A babbling, warm, ruined brook beneath his fingers.
Then he’ll take you, gorgeous.
Searing pain from his sharp swallow and nails digging into his thighs rip him down to the present.
Vision a little fuzzy. Head a revolving door of vulgar scenarios. A dull, demanding ache between his legs draws his eyes to his lap.
Fucking hell.
His jeans are uncomfortable. He’s stiff and needy. Not nearly enough strength in his pants to hold back his drunken arousal.
Not to the mention, the—
swarm of shadows growing at his feet?
Is his…innate domain materializing around him right now?
Megumi aggressively slices through the air at his hip level. Below the table, but you don’t miss his sudden stirring.
“Meg? You okay over—“
“Going to the bathroom.” He gruffs through a clenched jaw. Megumi places his forearm over his crotch before hurrying out of the room.
He can barely recognize the man in the mirror. Flushed to his ears. Volcanoes threatening eruption in his eyes. Api Biru. Pure, triple distilled, blue lava coursing through his veins.
Snap out of it, Fushiguro.
The splash of cold water does nothing for his internal heat. But his milky complexion returns to its effervescent state.
But then he turns a little too quickly to leave. And his painfully hard length drags along his fabric. It’s blinding.
A feeble moan tumbles out of his tight lips.
“Fuck.”
Megumi slams his eyes shut. He needs to readjust. But if he touches himself now, he might not be able to stop.
A slow, steadying breath fills his lungs.
“Just adjust, don’t…” His voice trails off. Icey fingers around his hot, angry base is enough to rip the carpet from beneath his feet.
“Oh, fuck.” Megumi mumbles through one quick pump up his shaft.
He shakes his head as if to tell himself enough. He rests his erection along his thigh before zipping up. Still painful, but tolerable.
A tornado obliterates any remaining resolve in Megumi’s mind on his walk back to you.
You are a dream.
Or a nightmare? A curse?
It doesn’t matter. He couldn’t care less.
Megumi would follow you. Deeper than the crypts of his 10 shadows. Into hell if it meant he could have you the way he wants you.
The way he craves you.
Because fuck the cost.
He’d pay anything.
You’re working on an elaborate concept diagram on the white board. On the tip of your toes. Lip curled under your teeth. And you are just irresistible.
So, he won’t resist.
“Meg! Took you a bit, you okay?”
Megumi is silent. Unblinking. Sauntering toward you.
“Megumi?”
You lower to the soles of your shoes. Neck craning to look at his face. Your eyes widen at his persistent silence. Rosy heat dusting your cheeks.
Pretty little doe, rooted in place by his wolfish glare.
Megumi takes the marker out of your hand and tosses it behind him in one swift motion.
“Hmm,” a tiny acknowledgment of his name. Just because it sounds so sweet rolling off your tongue.
Megumi corners you against the wall. Both of his hands casually in his pockets.
He watches you shift. Flicker your eyes in every direction. Fiddle with your thumbs.
His quiet.
His presence.
It flusters you. Well before he’s gotten the chance to run his hands along the lazy curve of your waist and hips.
“So…so blue.” You stammer. Your warm eyes metronome between his.
“They are.”
Megumi steps impossibly closer. His eyes drop to your chest. Dainty, nervous heaves. Up and down. Up and down.
“You are so,” you swallow thickly, dropping your gaze. “hard to read.”
Megumi snakes his large, graceful fingers into your nape. The temperature difference between your warmth and his cold startles you deeper into his grasp. Your head evanesces into his pull.
A beautiful, shocked gasp escapes you. Just as Megumi’s lips trace the shell of your ear.
“I want you.”
His breaths collide with yours, now. Heat welling deep in his groin. His cock thunders against his thigh.
“Can you read that?” Megumi rasps. Ensuring his voice vibrates down your spine.
A new sound tumbles from your lips. Like you choked on your last swallow. How pretty. You gurgling and gagging like that.
“W-want me? Megumi wh—“
“I.” Megumi nudges his thigh between your legs. His steel pipe erection digs into your dewy, hot core. He angles his leg slightly upward, inching you on the tip of your toes.
His prima ballerina, en pointe.
“Want you.” His lips ghost against yours. Free hand cups the flesh beneath your thigh. Pads of his fingers twitching to dig in.
The two of you drink in this lock-in-key fit. Megumi revels in you. Like this. At his complete mercy.
The prodigal son, born with more power than he knows what to do with.
Ten shadows. Ten Shikigami. It’s been centuries since the last head of his bloodline had power buzzing beneath his fingertips like him.
And somehow he’s never felt more powerful than this.
With you, heaven’s most precious angel, cradled in his arms. Drowning in sinful ecstasy. He brands this freeze frame into the most permanent part of his memory.
Then, he free falls off your cliff edge.
Megumi takes your lips with unfettered greed. Hunger woven into the way his tongue traces every corner of your delectable, soft mouth. His fingers push your head deeper into him. Sucking and nibbling on your warm muscle.
You shower him with airy, choppy little pants. Moans and whines so light they crescendo to fairy dust. You can’t keep up with his bruising kiss. His other hand palms your thigh, kneading little bruises into your silky smooth skin.
Marking what’s his.
“Oh my god.”
You breathe into his mouth when he lets you up for air. Megumi’s eyes dart down to the meeting point of your sex and his muscular thigh.
Did you really think he wouldn’t notice how you’re rutting your pretty little cunt against his leg like that?
Crimson high on your cheeks. You look away when he tries to catch your fucked out gaze.
“Don’t hide from me, gorgeous.” His hand traces up to your hips. You preen into his firm grip.
“Megumi.”
“Don’t stop, pretty girl.” He forcefully moves your hips in more dramatic, languid, deep rolls against his thigh. He’s not paying any mind to the pool of his precum soaking through his pants.
You bury your head in his neck. Fingernails digging pretty crescent moons into his back. You take over the pace. Undulating against him. Shameless. In complete heat.
“You feel s-so…so good.” Your lips smear against his dampened neck. Megumi responds by circling your puffy, slick bud with his fingers.
And fuck. The slurred, broken whimper that rings in his ears.
The way you hump him even more sloppily.
He could finish from that alone.
Your hand flies to your mouth. Empty huffs spilling. Whines ascending in pitch. You are close.
“Such pretty sounds, baby.”
“Megumi…meg..I-“
“Let it out.” He grips the back of your neck. Feeling dangerously close to his own nirvana. Drunk off your precious melody.
“Sing for me.”
“F-fuck, GOD.”
You bite down on his neck. Waves of pleasure crashing into you like hurricane winds. He grips your waist steady. Feeling every involuntary twitch and jerk of your doll-like frame.
Blessing or curse?
He doesn’t know.
But he will follow you to the end of his lifetime and the next.
“God, Fushiguro. That was…” The lusty haze from your peak settles around you. The once shattered world, slowly pieces itself back together.
“No.” Megumi pulls you out of his neck. Dropping his lips to yours, so he can breathe the air directly from your lungs.
“Meg. You call me Meg.”
#jjk fanfic#jjk fanart#jjk megumi#megumi x reader#megumi fushiguro#jujutsu megumi#jujutsu kaisen megumi#megumi fluff#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jjk fushiguro#megumi x you#megumi smut#megumi x y/n#jjk fluff#gojo smut#geto smut#jjk season 2#toji fushiguro#jujutsu kaisen x reader smut#yuta smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk gojo#jjk satoru#jjk x y/n#jjk geto#fushiguro x reader#fushiguro x y/n#megumi#fushiguro megumi x reader
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won't you keep lettin' me love you for a long time (rooster)
masterlist
pairing: rooster x f!reader
synopsis: you drive rooster home after one too many margaritas
warnings: fluff, smidge of angst (mentions of grief, death, bradley losing his parents)
wc: ~2k
note: a wise person - aka may - once told me to never scrap your writing, even if you’ll never use it again. I was gonna backspace the first draft of this - actually wrote it for another angsty Jake what’s new - but then rooster inspiration struck (roospiration, if you will) (actually don’t that just looks like perspiration) (I mean I’d love to have rooster’s sweat- nvm)
sorry long ramble aside here’s something short and sweet after my last angsty fic 💕
“You’re way too good of a friend to me,” Rooster grins sloppily as he slumps over the bartop in front of you. Honestly, he’s pretty lucky they had just wiped down the counter. At any other moment, it’d be sticky with beer and sweet and sour and he’d run the risk of getting a pistachio shell stuck to his mustache.
“Yeah, perhaps I am,” you half-seriously agree with a smile and slide a full glass of ice water towards him, then lean back in your own chair to observe a drunk Rooster trying to manage a few gulps while smiling like a goober at the colorful liquor bottles lined up on the shelf.
The bar’s been long empty, most aviators having taken their leave thirty minutes after the last call. Bradley usually heads out earlier than this - doesn’t like staying out late and messing up his perfectly curated bedtime routine. But tonight was a reunion of sorts with his old classmates, and they went through quite a few margaritas.
You joined about an hour ago, and Bradley immediately elected to sit with you and engage in wonderfully mindless chit-chat. You’re not complaining at all - every moment you can spend with the gorgeous aviator is a moment to cherish. Plus, it doesn’t hurt to get all the gossip on his current students at TOPGUN - like the three that are involved in a devastating love triangle that’s most definitely exacerbated by Bradley always grouping them - a move he most certainly took out of Pete Mitchell’s book (“They need to focus on the job, not distract themselves with high school theatrics,” he ranted to you earlier).
“Hold on, wait,” Bradley suddenly says, then springs himself upright and focuses hard on you. “If I squint just right...” he screws up his face, almost going cross-eyed. “I can see two of you!” Bradley’s mustache quirks with his smile, and his entire face lights up like the sun. “Goddamn. What a sight.”
“You’re hammered,” you scoff in an attempt to conceal how much the term of endearment affects you, how it makes your entire body feel warm and tingly because you secretly love it when he’s this open and brazen with you, tossing out flirtatious remarks with no hidden agenda besides trying to put a smile on your face.
“I’m not hammered - they call me Rooster,” he replies breezily and you swat at his shoulder, turning away to hide your smile and raising your other hand to flag someone down to close out Bradley’s tab.
After handing over your card (despite Bradley’s drunken attempts to sway the bartender against letting you pay) - you finally stand up. “Need a lift back home?” you ask him with a teasing lilt to your voice. It’s a rhetorical question - he’s got no other way home besides an overpriced Uber - but he still hums thoughtfully. Slowly, he lifts his head and surveys you while drumming his fingers on the wood.
“I.... think that would be best,” he declares, determinedly slapping the counter and attempting to slide off the barstool in a suave manner - it looks more like Bambi on ice, but you can’t deny that it’s still incredibly endearing. He looks up to flash a brilliant, a bit lopsided smile at you. “I’ll see if ‘Nix can pick me up early to grab my car in the morning.”
You laugh, slide your purse off from the back of the chair, and think to yourself about how he’ll have to find out for himself tomorrow that he didn’t even drive here.
--
Your car rolls to a stop right outside a quaint, one-story bungalow, and you shift into park before unlocking the door and sitting patiently. Bradley’s quiet - as he’d been the entire ride home - and you chance a brief look at him. He’s sitting up, now looking straight back at you with an unreadable expression on his face. Evidently, there are one too many thoughts running around in his tequila-addled brain.
“You okay?” you ask him, eyes seeking out his in the darkness of one AM.
A few seconds of silence roll by, each ticking louder with your beating heart. “Yeah,” he breathes out. “Think I may have had a bit too much.”
“I’ll say,” you snort. “You didn’t even say anything when someone queued up Foghat earlier.”
“Fuck Foghat,” Bradley groans out and leans back against the headrest. “And fuck Jake for ruining a perfectly decent song.”
You hum reassuringly and eye his dark figure carefully, watch the shadow of his chest rise and fall steadily, and find yourself matching his breathing. “You sure you’re alright?”
His head lolls to the side as he appraises you. Finally, he lets out a long sigh. “Yeah, I just...” he trails off, fingers tapping mindlessly on the console. “You’re my best friend,” he says at last. “And you’re so... good”
Bradley shifts into the tiniest sliver of light, eyes glinting with the reflection of the street lamp glowing outside. You hold your breath, not sure if he can even see you or what he means by it, or what will come out of his mouth. “You’re so kind and good to everyone. Even me. And I don’t deserve it. Don’t deserve you,” he says with so much sincerity your heart breaks at him thinking that he’s not deserving of benevolence, friendship, or even love.
You open your mouth to object, to reassure him that it’s very much the opposite, but he beats you to it with words that make your heart bounce around wildly in your chest, yearning to jump right out and press up against his. “I wish my mom and dad got to meet you.”
It punches all the air out of you, and you just sit and look at him solemnly, somehow at a loss for words.
Bradley has carried grief with him since he was four years old. One day, he’s learning about all the different species of dinosaurs from a book his uncle had gifted him, and the next day, he finds out that his dad won’t be coming home, and he’s discovered something new - a little thing called loss. And years later, loss greets him once again with a bittersweet kiss on both cheeks as it tears away his loving mother and his traitorous Uncle Pete. And for some time, it’s just Bradley and his grief, the dynamic duo, a force to be reckoned with as he swears to uphold his father’s legacy, to make Carole and Goose proud (even Maverick, on a subatomic level).
You know some time back, he figured out why Mav pulled his papers - to appease Carole, sweet Carole, who didn’t want her son to see the same fate as Goose. You know Bradley wonders if his parents would be disappointed in him for still following his dreams. The worst part about losing his parents is that he’ll never know how they’d feel about the man he’s become. It’s especially easy for him to believe he hasn’t done enough.
“Bradley,“ you start, throat closing up as your mind races, as you search for the right sequence of reassuring words. “I think you deserve the world.”
You think back to the early days of getting to know him - shortly after you’d moved to San Diego and found him in some dive bar near the ocean. You remember coming back to the bar with your coworkers on Thursday nights, wistfully sending glances his way across the room and trying to muster up the courage to talk to him, ask him to hang back for a drink, ask him if he likes pancakes or waffles in the mornings because you want to know what to make for him after rocking his world (that last sentiment may have been heavily gin-fueled). It was a simple crush at first.
You recall the day he slid up next to you, bought your next drink, and asked you to join him for a round of darts (which you failed miserably at - somehow it’s much harder in real life than GamePigeon). You remember the laughter, the neverending conversation, the comforting feeling of having a new friend. A great friend - one who always lends a listening ear, makes you laugh until your stomach hurts, who brought you his mom’s famous tomato soup when you got the flu.
Phoenix says he’s usually stuck in his head and thinks too much - but in the time you’ve known him, he’s never spared a second thought when it comes to you.
In a rush, you return to the present, where he’s sitting in front of you with glistening eyes and a drunk mouth speaking words you know cross his sober mind every day. His face is crumbling with emotions that he usually keeps under lock and key because he can’t let it get in the way of his job, can’t let it mess him up when he’s flying or teaching. For whatever reason, this is the side of him that he only feels comfortable enough to show you.
Slowly, you reach over the console to interlace your fingers together and pull his hand up to your mouth to press a sweet kiss to the back of it. He squeezes once. “You know that they’re always here,” you tell him. “Every part of them that they’ve given up has made you the wonderful man you are now. In that way, you always have them with you. And they’d be so damn proud of you. I wish I had the chance to meet them, but I know they’d agree.”
He’s nodding his head with your words as if he’s shaking them around his mind in an attempt to instill their meaning. “And...” You press another kiss to the back of his hand. “I’d say you’re my best friend, too,” you say, whispering mock-conspiratorially.
The grin that slides over his face makes butterflies erupt in your stomach, flying around wildly, completely shredding your intestines but that’s a problem for later because right now Bradley, who has to be the love of your life, is smiling like he just won the lottery, like he’s the luckiest man in the world. Suddenly he’s leaning in, reaching a hand out to brush a piece of loose hair behind your ear and then cup your cheek lovingly, and he’s kissing you like you’re the air he breathes.
You return with fervor; his mustache scrapes roughly against your nose and you can still taste the cheap sour marg mix on his tongue and you can definitely sense how drunk he is by the lack of coordination he exhibits every time your teeth clash together. But it’s real and raw and beautiful all at once, and he’s kissing you like he did the first time all those years ago, as he did on the beach when you said yes to forever, as he did months ago after you exchanged I do’s in a small but beautiful ceremony.
You’ll always prefer messy kisses over anything else, and you’ll always love Bradley with his grief wholly and unconditionally.
Bradley, now seeming to be the slightest bit soberer, breathes in deeply, pulls back slightly, slowly grazes your cheekbone with his thumb as he tries to look at you in the darkness of what must be one-fifteen now. “Thanks,” he says genuinely. Doubt is still festering its prickly self inside him, but he’s grounded now and is comfortably tethered to you.
“Always,” you promise to your best friend, to your partner, to your husband, then surge forward to press another kiss to his lips before moving to unbuckle his seatbelt. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he replies ardently and pulls you in to kiss your forehead, then turns to fumble for the car handle. He pauses and lowers his head to look out the window where his Bronco is parked right next to yours. “Hold up - I didn’t drive tonight?”
You stifle a laugh and grab your bag from the back seat. “Think your age is showing, honey.”
Bradley squawks out in indignation and stutters through a couple of rebuttals before sighing and burying his face in his hands. “I hate this. Why did you let me drink this much?”
“I showed up later, babe,” you tell him. “Think you can blame Jake for the margs.”
Another groan sounds out from him. “Of fucking course it’s Jake’s fault.”
With a little bit of coordinated effort, the two of you manage to walk (stumble, in Bradley’s case) up the stone pathway leading to the front porch, unlock the door, and step into your shared home together. And later that night, you lay down next to a softly snoring Bradley, think about all the moments that brought you to him, and drift away on the feeling of utter devotion.
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Stop...You're Losing Me
Words: 872
Warnings: angst, no dialogue, probably poor writing and OOC characters but whatever
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Takes place a few years after Bruce adopted Dick and a few before Dick left. Y/N, also from a big and prominent Gotham family, and Bruce have been together for 6, going on 7, years
Sorry that this took so long! I kept getting distracted while writing it/lost motivation. Plus I've been really busy this summer (saw Waterparks & Bring Me The Horizon/Fall Out Boy and I've been seeing different films and getting into other things, but I still love DC! I even finally finished the films for the DCAU)
Also this whole thing is NO HATE to Selina. I love that woman more than anything. She's just the one of Bruce's love interests I'm the most familiar with (followed by Talia then maybe Vicki?)
Based off of her new and technically unreleased song, You're Losing Me by Taylor Swift, specifically the bridge and outro
Part 1 here
Anywho, enjoy
Love Z <3
Y/N stood across the room from Bruce. The moment after they walked into the room together, hand in what she was starting to think was an unloveable hand, Bruce had dropped it. He dropped it and immediately made his way to Selina Kyle.
She sighed as she grabbed a glass as a waiter walked by with them on his little tray. If she was going to have to go through another one of these events where Bruce made a promise beforehand just to immediately break, she didn't want to have to go through it sober.
She didn't want to have to take another night of her and her champagne problems sober again.
--------
Five hours had passed and Y/N knew that Bruce was not planning on leaving any time soon. She had already called Alfred for him to come pick her up. She was tired and felt pathetic. Finally burnt out from trying to keep her and Bruce afloat for so long just for him to always push her aside.
So many times had she tried to stay and be brave for them. Stay and not act like she was dying behind the scenes. She was tired of the constant begging for his attention. The constant reminding him that she was right there by his side, fighting for him, supporting him unconditionally.
But she was finally done.
Done with the rumors and the reports. Being left alone at parties and events. Promises that they would work it out but then Selina would show her face and he would float towards her.
Even when Y/N was right there in the best-dammed dress she owned. Looking and being the best damn thing at the goddamned party.
And as she sat in the car next to Alfred with a sleeping Dick in the back, she couldn't help but stare at her hand. In most relationships, there would be a ring on it. But there was nothing. And it wasn't that she didn't get why that was. She lived to make everyone else happy first. It was a compulsive act of hers. So often she would get sleepless nights just trying to make sure no one would come and sneak up on Bruce during his Batman nights while finishing up a report that was needed. She would always do it.
But the reality was that she just needed Bruce to be there and remind her he was. Perhaps that was why she wished there was some ring on her finger to signify that. To remind her that Bruce has and will always be hers.
And when they got back to the Manor, she ushered Alfred to go finish whatever it was he had been doing before and she would get Dick to bed, those thoughts still stayed in her head.
As she readied herself to sleep and Bruce still hadn't returned, the thoughts stayed.
As she laid in bed, body facing the door and his side of the bed, the continued rampant.
Worry that maybe she wasn't good enough for him anymore. That he was happier when around someone like Selina.
Someone more like him.
--------
It would be worse the following days after these events. Those feelings of doubt and betrayal. Days when she wouldn't be able to do anything without an article reminding her that Bruce never said a thing to her the entire night. That she left alone. That he had his arm around Selina for most of the night. That they had left together.
Every single time she saw one, she prayed that she would see something about Bruce defending her. Bruce saying it was a lie. Him saying anything.
But it never came.
And she knew it was with the fear that he would ruin his reputation. But at this point, she didn't care. All that she wanted was for him to do something. Say something. To lose or risk something. To choose something. Chose anything. Even if it wasn't her. Because truly, she had nothing to get from him anymore. Because all of this made her just think that she had nothing anymore.
--------
So when it was the dead of the night. When he was off being Batman, she finally gave up. She finally grabbed the bags and stuffed everything into them. Stuffed all that she could before he got home.
She no longer could find a pulse in their relationship to cling on to
And the moments following when Bruce got back, he was confused. She was there in the Batcave, head laying on the keyboard as she was falling asleep. She wasn't jumping up, excited that he was back. It was silence.
A silence that cut the air.
A silence that stayed as he walked up and to their shared his room.
A silence that stayed as he opened the door to find the bed made.
That stayed as he walked into the bathroom to find all of her things gone.
That stayed when he ran into the closet to her clothes and shoes gone.
That stayed as he slumped onto their his bed.
That stayed because he had finally done it. He had finally lost her. Because all of her warnings and worries finally became the truth and reality.
#bruce#wayne#bruce wayne#bruce wayne x reader#bruce wayne imagine#bruce wayne angst#batman#batman x reader#batman imagine#batman angst#dc#dc x reader#dc imagine#dc angst#x reader#imagine#angst
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clinic duty is taking care of all the pets hurt (which is. a lot. given how the server is)
i know this song technically even a prompt but goddamn i couldn’t resist writing something ;—; no matter what au he’s in, apparently c!dream is always an animal lover!
warnings: trauma, physical injury from torture (mentioned), chronic pain (mentioned), wounded animals (they’re okay!!), infections (mentioned), dead animal (mentioned)!!
“There’s another group of injured horses,” Bad says, apologetically, “Sam wants you to help ‘em out.”
Blinking grit and sleep from his eyes, Dream turns. “Good morning,” he says, dryly, only half awake, “nice to see you too.”
Bad winces. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to be cold. It’s— It’s been a long night.”
“The nights are… always long.” With a grimace and some effort, the clamber to his feet is less awkward and painful than usual. Maybe today will be a good day. “They’re the exact same length every night. In fact, they’re pretty short, I dunno. I feel like I only just fell asleep.”
He does. Every muscle in his body protests against his hobbling movement; his leg creaks under him, and Dream pats the metal absently, reaching with his free hand for his cane. His leg is due for repair — overdue — but the idea of going to Sam for help makes his flesh crawl.
“Where are the horses?” He asks tiredly. There’s an ache in his head already. “Don’t I have any actual patients?”
“Nope.” Bad pops the last sound. The dark circles under his eyes are more pronounced than usual — since escaping from the Egg’s clutches (well, Dream knows escaping is a polite term for what happened) he’s needed more sleep, and it doesn’t seem like he’s getting it. Stifling a yawn, his old friend sinks down into the chair Dream had just stood from, sighing gratefully at the moment of respite. “Server’s been pretty quiet recently. Not much of anything going on. Other than… Ooh, yeah, Ant got some egg vine in a nasty looking wound, but Sapnap took care of it. But other than that, things are peaceful!”
At the front of the prison, the nether portal particles ticking the stubble on his chin he’s get to care enough about to shave, Dream pauses. Something sick and sour rises in the back of his throat.
“…I wish it wasn’t,” he says, before the portal whisks him away with a purple glow and soft hum. He doesn’t bother saying goodbye to Bad. With his luck, he’ll see the other again soon.
The server is peaceful. Only injured animals, which, for Dream, is somehow worse. It’s hard to keep up any kind of act when his only audience is a group of innocent, oblivious animals — when he sees the horses, all of them young, inquisitive, his shoulders slump.
“As annoying as the actual people on this server are, they’re at least easier to diagnose,” he mutters aloud, well aware of the petulance dripping from his voice, “I’m not an animal doctor. I’m not even any kind of doctor, technically.”
One of the horses, Callie, whinnies softly. Her mane is tangled with a dark substance. When he looks closer, it’s dried blood, surrounding a painful looking scrape on her back.
…For just a moment, Dream’s gruff demeanour vanishes entirely. Face softening, he runs one hand over her side, eyes closed.
Callie reminds him of Spirit. He misses them.
When Dream opens his eyes again, it’s down to business. Maybe he can persuade Sam to take on more of his clinic animal hours — as much as he hates his Warden, it’s getting easy to guilt him into things. They’re both going through character development, though he’s not sure either of them are for the better.
“It’s gonna be okay,” he tells Callie, before glancing round at the other horses with a resigned sigh, “and it’s gonna be a long few hours.”
send me apple a day au asks to answer!!
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“ᴇᴠᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ʀᴇꜱᴛ.” | ꜱ. ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ
Doctor Stephen Strange x Surgeon!Reader
summary: What about seducing your workaholic boyfriend Stephen to a snack, a cuddle and massage session and neck kisses, cause he NEEDS a break and some love?
word count: 3.3k
warnings: workaholic behavior, stress, exhaustion, fluff, curse words, mentions of smut at the very end
author’s note: This is another request I’m really looking forward to write! Have fun :3
Sighing deeply, YN pushed open the door to leave the scrub-in room of OR 3 while pulling the cotton cap off her head. A long yawn escaped her opened mouth which she hid behind the unlocked tablet, and strolled over to the nurse's desk right opposite the OR schedule and heavily leaned against the wood. The tablet found its spot in front of her so she could quickly finish up the surgical report to be added to her patient's file, so she could finally have her breakfast break at a decent time for the first time in months. She loved her job, really, she did, but sometimes she hated it with her entire being. Not the part where she could help people with her vast knowledge and skills, but the part where her pager constantly woke her up in the middle of the goddamn night, even though she wasn't even on-call. But being the head of a department brought its consequences which rarely were gradually positive.
"Doctor LN!"
Groaning, the called surgeon propped her elbows on top of the nurse's desk and started to massage her temples with the tips of both pointer and middle finger.
"Stop shouting as if a helicopter is right next to you in the middle of departure," she scolded one of the interns - ducklings, as most of the attendings called them - but took the brought coffee nonetheless. "Sorry, Doctor LN." He seemed crushed, and YN sighed a second time within the last few minutes. "Whatever. What's on it today?" Even though she stepped into this hospital five hours ago, she hadn't started with her usual duties in the slightest. The next long day ahead of her was something she loved but envied at the same time, and this feeling of utter conflict in her mind wasn't very pleasant. "The ER paged you for a council, Doctor Macy-..." YN took a sip of her coffee before snapping her fingers and pointing one in his direction as a thought occurred. "PEDs, right?" The intern nodded. "Yup! She wants a second opinion on her CF patient and specifically requested you." It didn't surprise her because, during her med studies, YN had published a paper about cystic fibrosis - as one of the youngest in her field of studies. Her future research had recently gotten the approval of the FDA, and as soon as the funds were here, she could finally start to find a (long-lasting) cure.
While her intern for today rambled over more points on their agenda - she already had forgotten his name, but that was the case with every newer face in her life - her gaze shifted back to the OR schedule, which had just got updated for the next upcoming surgeries. And something on it didn't quite fit with her.
"Are you fucking kidding me."
It wasn't a particular question, just a shoutout, an expression of her thoughts and feelings at this exact moment.
Her eyes moved over the whiteboard again, looking for the one name in question, and the displeased expression on YN's face deepened even more, if that was still possible. She put the barely half-drunken coffee cup next to her tablet, the report still not written. "Go ahead and tell them I will be in the pit in a couple of minutes for that council," was all she said before the cardiothoracic surgeon grabbed the bunched-up cap from the desk and crossed the hallway with a purpose and mission in mind.
"Is everything alright, or do we have to prepare ourselves for the biggest earthquake this century has seen so far?" Doctor James Chamberlain asked the confused intern while Doctor Nicodemus West cackled behind his tablet. "Someone is in trouble," he almost sang, and James laughed snortingly, sitting with half of his bottom on the nurse desk's edge. "He can count himself a lucky man if he leaves this OR standing straight." Now, both doctors cackled in utter amusement, but the intern was more confused than ever before because he definitely never expected that his favorite attending dated someone as cruel as Strange.
;
The soft tunes of Feelin' Happy by Lee Oskar echoed through OR 1, in which Stephen had just wrapped up an eight-hour surgery with the energy of a man who could've slept the entire night but was actually awake for longer than he thought.
"Edges are looking perfect - what a surprise - and the tumor is officially gone. The counter is rising up to... what? Thirteen successful tumor removals after four different councils by four different doctors?" Jack - the nurse present at most of his surgeries - scoffed softly. "It's tumor fourteen now, sir." Stephen let his head fall back and raised both hands, still holding his instruments. "Feelin' good!" He exclaimed before another voice entered the conversation: "I don't believe so, Doctor Strange."
The neurosurgeon moved his gaze from the ceiling to the arriving woman who had just put on the face mask, but her eyes told him everything he needed to know. He knew he had done something to offend or displease her - and his entire surgical team knew it as well. Jack turned down the music's volume and cleared his throat awkwardly, disrupting the dense silence suddenly covering the OR. The only sounds were the beeping heart monitor and the oxygenator.
"Doctor LN."
Everyone greeted her with the utmost respect - some even with a hint of fear - even though she was younger than most of the attendings and heads of departments throughout the hospital. But she had earned every title, nomination, and prize she had gained or won so far because everyone knew what a hardworking and intelligent woman she was.
"How can I help you at this fine early morning, Doctor LN?" Stephen's almost mocking question was first answered by a scoff. "It's almost noon if you haven't noticed, but of course, you didn't because you've been in here since last night when I left." The displeasure was now very vivid to hear for every single soul inside the room. Stephen looked up from the pulsing brain in front of him and the lamp attached to his head blinded her for a second there. "Well, an emergency came in," he defended himself though the shock pulsed through his entire body. He hadn’t noticed how the time had moved past him and his intention to leave not later than two hours after her, so he could get at least one round of cuddles before she would be dead to the world in his arms.
You fucked up good, idiot.
Yeah, he noticed that now.
YN wasn't impressed in the slightest. "An emergency aneurysm clipping doesn't take five hours. I'm not stupid, Stephen, so don't treat me as if I am. This tumor removal you just did there got scheduled last night - on a whim, might I add." She probably sounded crazy, but she worried for him more than it was probably good for her sanity because the Strange was a lost cause in this aspect of life. The doctor shrugged under the light blue operation gown.
"I saved his life."
"You risked it too in that egoistic move after you decided it would be wise to try your hands on it after a twelve hours shift without any sleep or a proper lunch or dinner. You are way out of line, Stephen, and I am obviously the only one who dares to mention it and kick your ass out of this freaking OR." She spiraled into this feeling, she knew it, but YN couldn't help it. Not when it came to Stephen's health and wellbeing. It was her duty as a girlfriend to care about these things, especially if he didn't do it himself—one of them had to. "So, move your ass out now, or I will drag it out myself. Your choice." She cocked both eyebrows in mock anticipation, preparing herself for the latter because she knew him, but Stephen slowly put down the delicate surgical instruments back on the surgical tray and stepped back from the patient. "You can close up, Hawthorne, but don't let your stitches get sloppy," he told his favorite resident of the week and stepped out of the OR, passing his glaring girlfriend with a mockingly cocked eyebrow as if to say, "See? I am a responsible adult."
Back in the scrub-in room, YN waited until Stephen had discarded the gloves and OR gown and finally turned to her while he ripped off his face mask. His face wasn't furies as she had anticipated. Instead, his signature cocky smirk graced his lips before he pulled her into him, pressing their bodies against one another. Her confusion was soon changed with a playfully annoyed roll of her eyes. "You can boss me around in those dark blue scrubs as long and often you want, Doctor LN," he smirked and laughed softly as her flat palm hit the back of his head. "You're an idiot, you know that, don’t you?" Stephen cocked a brow, never going to admit that he, indeed, was sometimes an idiot when it came to the woman in his arms. "And it's not as if you're not seeing me in those like every day of the week for the past six years," she reminded him, and now he shrugged. "I can't change the effect you have on me, but not only in them, of course." Rolling her eyes again, YN tucked at the shirt of his scrubs and looked up to him with a pleading glim in her eyes.
"You work too much," she whispered.
"I do god's work, darling," he whispered back and pecked the tip of her nose with the softest of kisses.
YN hit the back of his head again. "You can't do god's work when you're not rested and on the top of your game. I only ask for a healthy snack, some carbs, something to drink, and a nap. Nothing more, nothing less. I can reschedule your next three surgeries and put them up for the next few days, but today will be a day full of rest and stupid rounds, okay? Please?" Now she loaded her gun and looked up at him with those big pleading eyes he could never resist. "Pretty please? I will be there too. I can provide cuddles if you like." She played dirty now, they both knew it, but Stephen couldn't resist the tempting offer.
He already had been hooked after the promise of her company in one of the on-call rooms.
He bent down to give her a gentle kiss, cupping her face with both hands. "What do I have to do for your famous neck massage?" His request was whispered in a husky tone, and YN started to smile before kissing him again. "You don't have to do anything to get what you want, but I'm not opposed to more kisses," she grinned, and the surgeon pulled her into his side to leave the surgical floor to find one of the less frequented on-call rooms in their hospital.
—
Outside, still leaning opposite the surgical schedule, waited West and Chamberlain, and the other neurosurgeon groaned at the sight of the still happy couple leaving the floor together. Chamberlain chuckled and closed his fingers around the given ten-dollar note. "Thank you for your service," he grinned victoriously, and Nic rolled his eyes. He should have known that these two were each other's endgame and nothing could ruin their peace, not even themself.
;
Taking one of the tablets with them so YN could finally get that surgical report done as soon as Stephen would be dead to the world, they entered their preferred on-call room. It sat between the PEDs wing and the supply closets, so rarely anybody ventured in here, and the room was all theirs.
The couple took the single bed under the windows, and while she closed the blinds to keep the sun out, the neurosurgeon plopped down onto the new mattress the hospital had bought recently—and groaned. YN chuckled at that sound and situated herself behind his back after kicking off her sneakers, kneeling on the soft mattress, and pressing her legs against his hips.
She may be a bit clingy sometimes, but gladly, Stephen never objected to it. Instead, he reveled in it.
Propping her chin atop his right shoulder in order to see what the man in front of her was doing, YN hummed, interested. “And there I was thinking you’d let work be work for at least an hour. Silly me,” she whispered, breath fanning over the sensitive skin under his ear, and the doctor groaned again, raspier now. “You are an evil one,” he returned, and with a chuckle, she kissed the spot right under his ear. “I know.” But then, she grabbed her pager and paged one of her interns to get some food and some liquid at the cafeteria, so Stephen could finally rest.
“Food is on its way,” YN informed him and intended to start the promised neck massage, but another look over his shoulder showed her something she really didn’t like. The newest brain scans literally screamed for her attention.
“Stephen, no.”
Her hands shot out over his shoulder and tried to grab the tablet out of his, but the doctor held it further away and turned it so that she could see the beautiful scans of an even more beautiful nail in it. “Look at it!” His demand fell on deaf ears. “Give it to me, now.” YN almost got it. “Stephen, no! I mean it!” With one last effort, she leaned over his shoulder and grabbed the device, but the workaholic chuckled. “Stephen, yes,” he returned and acquired it again out of her tight grasp.
Only hell knew how he had done it.
With an exasperated sigh, YN took matters into her own hands and put her fingers back on his neck and upper back muscles, and started to massage. She applied the perfect amount of pressure—it wasn’t their first time she had to practically drag him away from work—and let her thumbs work through the taut splenius capitis muscle, directly followed by the levator scapulae muscle and the trapezius muscle.
With the beginning of the first overworked muscle, Stephen let his eyes fall shut, the tablet long forgotten in his hand, and a deep, rumbling moan escaped his parted lips. A satisfied sigh followed right after as the doctor felt the soft lips of his girlfriend on his skin, peppering loving kisses all over his neck where her hands didn’t work their magic.
“You must be a sorceress,” he groaned at a particular taut spot which soon was smooth as butter, and the tension slowly dispersed out of his tense body. He knew now that he worked too much and started to make plans to work less and spend more time with this godsend of a woman, but they both knew that those thoughts would be short-lived. He loved what he did too much for it—and that was okay because she was there to remind him from time to time to take it easy. “Don’t flatter me too much, love,” she whispered shortly before pressing another set of kisses onto his neck, her thumbs still working effortlessly through the muscles.
His next moan followed a hesitant knock at the door. “Uhm… Doctor LN…?” The voice of her intern asked, and YN had to chuckle but continued her work. “You can come in!” She had to raise her voice because Stephen moaned particularly loud this time but seemingly didn’t notice the arrival of his food. The door opened as hesitantly as his voice had sounded, and a head looked around the door to check if the situation was at least PG13. “Sorry, Doctor Strange, for interrupting,” he mumbled, but the neurosurgeon didn’t even acknowledge his presence. “Here is the pastrami sandwich, the chips, a package of carrots, and the water. The ER has paged me again for the consult, but I told them that you’re preoccupied, so they admitted the CF patient, and you can see her on the PEDs floor as soon as you’re… done.” His eyes shot to the sighing neurosurgeon before clearing his throat awkwardly and putting the food next to the two doctors on the mattress. “I… will handle anything else, Doctor LN, until you’re done here.” And with that, her intern turned on the spot and almost ran to leave this room behind.
Chuckling, YN kissed the spot underneath his ear another time, and Stephen sighed somewhere deep in his chest. “How do I deserve you?” His voice came out as a breathless groan, and the woman would have to lie if she said it didn’t do anything to her—quite the opposite was the case. But now, the man in front of her needed her more than she had to cave to her needs and desires. “That’s my question to ask, love,” the surgeon laughed softly before reaching down to get the sandwich. She reached over his shoulder and let it fall on his lap. “Eat,” was all YN said, and Stephen groaned another time. “Did I ever tell you how irresistible you are when you boss people around and shout orders? It’s bloody enticing. Could watch you all day…” He bit in his sandwich as told and YN continued in massaging his neck and working her hands down to his shoulders and upper arms.
“You always know a way to a woman’s heart.” Stephen hummed while chewing. “Well, I managed to find a way into yours. It’s all I ever wanted, darling, ever since meeting you for the first time.”
You really are a lucky woman, the voice in her head whispered, and she only could agree. Yes, sometimes Stephen was a pain in the ass, but nothing came without flaws, and she loved every single of them. It’s what a good relationship was made out of, she supposed.
“I recall a different reaction to the first sight of my face, but that’s a topic for another day,” she grinned but squealed at his sudden movements to grab and drag her onto his lap, the sandwich now forgotten on the small table next to the bed. “This was my not so thoroughly thought-through attempt at masking my real thoughts about the stunning woman entering the lecture hall and choosing the spot next to me because it was the spot with the best acoustic. But inside my head? My former self constantly screamed for your attention,” the Strange revealed in a hushed whisper, their faces only mere inches apart. His nose brushed against hers before Stephen dove for a hungry kiss; her magical hands had let desire boil up in his body, and he never could keep his hands off her.
Giggling, YN tangled her fingers in his dark hair and softly moaned as Stephen maneuvered her body so she could sit on his lap with spread legs, feeling the ever-growing bulge in his scrubs rubbing against the apex of her thighs. “Is the door locked?” His voice was strained by lust, and the doctor moaned against her soft lips as YN let her hips circle against his. “I don’t care,” she breathlessly whispered and laughed as the man underneath her became impatient—as he always did—and turned them. Now she was lying on the mattress with Stephen on top of her—his hair already deliciously tussled and pupils blown by the appetite for the woman pressed against his body. “Are we risky today?” Stephen teased her as his hands ran under her scrubs and pushed the shirt slowly up to reveal naked, soft skin inch by inch, his lips following his skilled fingers. YN moaned at the tickling but burning feeling of lips against skin but buried her fingers in his hair again to pull him upwards and back to her hungry lips. “Stop talking,” she demanded, almost muffled by his attacking mouth. “Impatient as always.”
Stephen grinned into the kiss. This was most definitely his preferred way to start the day.
;
This one took so long (I don’t know why), but now I’m happy with how this turned out. Hope you liked it too! As usual: Comments, reblogs, and likes are much appreciated! Thanks for reading <3
Taglist: @harpywritesfic @strangeions @meeksmusic83 @apple-and-berry @ben-er-ino @multifandomrandomgirl @lucimorningst4r @samisubi @hunterofshadows04 @y-napotat @lejuveinlegroove @ohchoices @jyessaminereads
#stephen strange x reader#stephen strange x fem!reader#stephen strange x surgeon!reader#doctor strange x reader#doctor strange x fem!reader#doctor strange x surgeon!readeer#stephen strange request#doctor strange request#stephen strange blurb#stephen strange imagine#stephen strange one shot#stephen strange oneshot#doctor strange blurb#doctor strange imagine#doctor strange oneshot#stephen strange fluff#doctor strange fluff#stephen strange fanfic#stephen strange fic#stephen strange fanfiction#doctor strange fanfic#doctor strange fic
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Sleepless in New York: Chapter 10 - Darkfall
Series: TRR
Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)
Synopsis: What if Drake met Harper on the first night of Prince Christian’s New York bachelor party? A stand-alone AU written from Drake's POV.
Masterlist: Sleepless in New York
Chapter Summary: Drake tries to navigate a rough night...
Word Count: 5,300
Rating/Warnings: E (swearing, angst, obsessive-compulsive exercise, sexual fantasy, masturbation)
Chapter theme song:
A/N1: Sorry this took soooo long to get out! As per usual, real life has been exceptionally busy, so I haven't had as much time to write as I'd like to.
A/N2: This is also my slightly belated submission for World Whiskey Day, hosted by @drake-walker-appreciation, and the prompt that this fits with (more or less) is 'The whiskey burns my throat like her absence burns my soul.'
A/N3: I just realised that this kinda (maybe?) qualifies for the @springfeverpitch event that was on this week (Apologies! There are a lot of events on at the moment!) In any case, this would count as domestic x home run I guess 😅
Chapter 10 - Darkfall
I kick the covers off with an irate growl.
Un-fuckin'-believable...
After the shitshow of a day I've had, I should be running on fumes.
And I am.
Yet for some reason, I’m not able to nod off. Despite the fact that I've been on the go since 6am and have barely gotten any shut-eye the night before.
Because my body’s apparently a sucker for punishment and doesn’t seem to know when to quit. And even though I know I desperately need the recharge, I also know that staying in bed’s gonna achieve nothing 'cept hypertension.
So, swinging my legs out onto the carpet with a tight-set jaw, I reach for my phone.
02:18
I run a heavy hand through my hair.
The hell am I gonna do for the next six hours?
My eyes land almost unwittingly on the ragged shirt-tail peeking over the edge of the trash can.
I rip my gaze away with gritted teeth.
No. Absolutely fucking not.
It’a bad enough that I walked out on Gale without so much as a half-assed explanation. I ain’t gonna compound my dick-like behaviour by showing up at her door in the middle of the night, demanding to pick up where we left off.
Especially not after everything I've already subjected her to today — getting her fired, burning her in front of her friends, pulling her into a fight, dragging her on a forced route march 'cross town, and then literally ripping the shirt off her back. And, if that isn’t bad enough, I topped off her night by dumping the proverbial clutch on her when I should've been taking her for the ride of her life.
I swallow painfully. No. That ship had definitely sailed...
Which means it’s high time to take my own fuckin' advice and get her — and this entire mess of a day — out of my head.
No excuses.
And since the overpriced mini bar had let me down, I’m down to my only alternative — running myself into the ground.
Pushing myself up with a resigned exhale, I trudge over to my duffle. Reaching in, I extract the exercise shorts and t-shirt that always forms part of my go-bag, no matter where I went. Because you never know when you’re gonna need to blow off some steam. And going for a run’s a damn sight healthier than disappearing down the neck of a bottle. Even if the latter’s a helluva lot more convenient.
Throwing the clothes on, along with some socks and my well-worn trainers, I turn back to the bedside table to grab my phone and gun...
...and catch sight of the shirt again.
Motherfucker.
Jamming the phone and the Sig into my pockets — it always pays be prepared then be left holding your dick when shit inevitably hits the fan — I march over to the bin and yank the accursed thing out.
Scrunching it up, I turn on my heel, and stomp out of the room, snatching the keycard up on the way. Wrenching the door open, I let it bang shut behind me as I head down the corridor.
I cannot catch one goddamn break tonight...
Reaching the lifts, I briefly contemplate calling one. But given that I’m already wound tighter than a two-dollar watch, I know I won’t be able to stand the wait, no matter how brief.
So, I divert instead to the fire exit. Pulling the heavy door open, I throw myself into a jog and take the stairs upwards two at a time.
I guess I could've just as easily gone downstairs. But I don’t trust myself not to wind up at Gale's brownstone again if I hit the streets. Which means that the only place I can conceivably go is to the top-floor gym.
Which — all things considered — is probably the better bet anyway. Because going for a jog in the dead of night around the City That Never Sleeps is a risk not worth taking. And even though Central Park’s less than a block away, it’s not actually an option, given that (a) it’s shut overnight, and (b) it isn’t the best lit, and I don’t particularly feel like getting jumped by a knife wielding yahoo, or twisting an ankle on an uneven path.
Plus, I'd have to be a monumental idiot to even think about leaving Chris unattended again. Not that I expect to him go anywhere at this hour — except maybe all the way with Hayley. But I’m not about to make the same mistake twice in one day.
Christ knows I paid for it hard the first time 'round...
I feel my legs start to burn as I continue to climb relentlessly. But knowing that this is exactly what I need if I’m to have any hope of catching some zzz's tonight, I ignore the discomfort and push myself on.
Arriving on the 25th floor, I pause on the landing to catch my breath. But the short burst of exercise has merely thrown me a second wind. I still have a long way to go if I want to waste myself completely.
So, moving over to the stairwell door, I pull it open and step into the gym. Given the lateness of the hour, there's not a soul in sight, and it's just me and the view.
But there’s one thing I need to take care of first.
Locating the changing rooms, I head inside. And before I can think too much on it, or change my mind, I stride over to the dirty towel hamper and chuck the ruined shirt in...
...and dump a few towels on top of it for good measure.
Dead and buried.
Spinning quickly around, I exit the way I'd come, focusing my attention on the row of TechnoGym treadmills that face out onto the distantly twinkling lights of Harlem in the north, and not on how twisted my guts feel all of a sudden.
Picking a machine, I pull my phone and sidearm out of my pockets and place them onto the console so they won’t bang against my thighs as I ran, but still remained within reach in case I need them.
Taking a deep breath, I step resolutely onto the belt and hit go on a program at random.
The pace starts off sedately, barely faster than a speed walk. Reaching up to the console, I tap the speed up impatiently, not wanting to waste time on a warm-up I don’t need and most definitely don’t want.
I’n here to burn rubber.
The motor kicks into a higher gear, but it's not enough. Even though I’m now at a steady jog, my heart rate's barely above resting and I've yet to break a sweat. Not to mention the fact that my mind’s still fixating on the very thing I need to flush out of my system.
Gale, legs spread and head thrown back, moaning my name...
Raising my hand with a growl, I slap the panel again... and again... and again... until the belt is a blur beneath my feet and I'm pelting it like a demented bat outta hell.
The sudden speed forces my body into overdrive. My chest expands, my focus narrows, and my blood begins to pump in earnest, trying to supply my body with oxygen faster than it was being consumed.
I fall into a breakneck rhythm, limbs pumping to the rapid beat of my breath in a desperate effort to stay on the treadmill.
In... In... In... In... Out... Out... Out... Out...
The minutes and the miles tick past on the screen in front of me, but I barely register the stats. I'm too busy chasing oblivion...
...which remains stubbornly out of reach.
Because even as I push myself to the limit and my lungs start to burn and my muscles start to cramp, I can't escape her. She's still there, hazel-green eyes dancing on the edge of my awareness, the honey scent of her hair tickling my senses like smoke on the breeze.
And even as my vision begins to swim and the relentless pace pushes me to the verge of puking, I don't let myself ease up. Because that would be an admission of defeat and I’m not the type to quite that easy.
Not when there’s so much on the line.
Because beyond the fact that I let myself become consumed by a girl I barely know — an unhealthy and unsustainable hang-up that I need to nip in the bud, pronto — my continued preoccupation also ended up endangering Chris' life tonight.
And that’s inexcusable.
Not only is the guy the heir to a fuckin' throne, but he is my best — and arguably only — friend. And I let him down, both personally and professionally, by allowing myself to get distracted, just because a pretty set of legs had walked by.
And while I somehow managed to salvaged my colossal fuck-up, and we all walked away tonight without any casualties, I probably won’t m be able to pull a miracle like that out of my ass every time.
Nor should I expect to.
Especially not during the social season, when Chris is going to be constantly in the spotlight, shaking hands, being interviewed, always in an exposed setting. All it would take is one moment of distraction, one second of lost focus, for someone to pull a gun, to slip through the crowd, for our worlds to come crashing down.
And I’m not gonna let Chris — my brother — down like that.
I can’t.
So, doubling down, I dig deep and continue to pound the vestiges of my frustrations, my failings, and my regret relentlessly into the treadmill, the hard and fast staccato of my feet against the machine echoing around the otherwise empty space.
I have no clue how long I run for. Minutes? Hours? It makes no difference. Every wheeze feels like my last, every exertion a desperate attempt to break free of the purgatory of mistakes I trapped myself in.
And still I push on. Until I hit the proverbial wall and collapse against it, my vision blurry, my limbs shaking, my clothes drenched.
I stand there for what feels like eternity, feet straddling either side of the machine, the belt still whizzing at breakneck speed beneath me while I cling to the console like a life-line, trying to catch my breath.
And eventually my heart-rate slows, the buzzing in my ears clears, and I regain enough coherence to lift a hand and slap the treadmill off.
Pushing myself up to a standing position as the machine whirls to a stop, I wipe the sweat from my eyes and glance at the screen in front of me.
10 miles. 56 minutes.
I scoff wryly. Well, fuck me if that ain’t a new personal best... Who knew that self-pity could be such a potent motivator...?
Exiting the menus, I grab my stuff and move to step off the machine... only to very narrowly avoid face planting into the floor.
Oh, shit...!
Grabbing the console, I shake my head to try and clear the sudden nausea.
Christ, I feel awful...
My eyes land on the water fountain and I lurch towards it like a drunk out of a bar. Because that’s exactly how I feel like — sluggish, light-headed and stumbling around like a newborn calf. Which is no surprise considering I've just run the best part of half a marathon as if the Devil himself had been after me, having consuming nothing but two bottles of beer beforehand.
Apparently I do hate myself.
Managing to make it to the far wall without any incident — just — I lean over the dispenser to inhale the cool stream of water, nearly making myself choke in the process.
But I know I need to rehydrate myself, otherwise I’m gonna be in a world of pain in a few hours' time. So, after overcoming the initial shock to my system, I force myself to loosen up on the pace and start taking longer and slower gulps.
Having finally satisfied my body's cravings, I let go of the dispenser button to run the back of a trembling hand over my water-soaked mouth.
Sweet Jesus, I’m a mess...
I can’t remember the last time I pushed myself this hard on a workout.
But then I've never felt this way before... Like I’m an idiot, like I missed the pass, like I’m stuck in a maze with no way out.
And even though the hard run had managed to clear my mind, that latent feeling of... something is still there, writhing just beneath the surface, like an unscratchable itch under my skin.
And maybe it'll never go fully away. But I’m not about to give up without putting in a damn good fight.
Pushing myself up, I turn towards the pool. And even though I haven’t brought any swim trunks with me, my feet are already pulling me towards the siren call of the water.
Because if there’s one thing that’a guaranteed to set me right, it’s a full-body dunk.
Arriving at the side of the pool, I peel my sweat-soaked clothes off, leaving only my boxers on for the sake of modesty in case someone happens to walk in.
Taking a breath, I step out over the edge and plunge straight in.
The sting of salt hits my nose — not the same flavour as the Med, but then no pool’s ever gonna compete with that — as the water envelopes me and I let myself sink below the surface.
I hit the bottom and the echoey silence settles like a blanket around me, soothing my senses, taming my pulse.
I've always loved the water. Even before I could walk, I'd make a butt-shuffling beeline towards the end of the beach where the waves crashed onto the shore, unveiling a treasure trove of crabs, seashells and shiny rocks.
Of course, Mom'd been terrified that I'd get swept out to sea, or drown. So, to appease her fear, Dad had started taking me to swim lessons — first at the local therapy pool, but graduating quickly to the higher classes in the lap pool as I learnt to float, hold my breath, and leap off the diving board, all by the age of three.
From there my obsession only grew. I joined the school swim team, the water polo team, and even got certified as a lifeguard over the course of one summer. In short, I spent almost as much time in the water as out of it.
And then Chris introduced me to sailing.
At first I couldn't see the appeal of drifting around the Med on a sofa-sized boat when you could be swimming in it. But I've never been able to say 'no' to my best friend, so when he insisted I join him for a spin around the marina in his new Wayfarer one evening, I'd begrudgingly said yes. And had become instantly hooked. The speed, the technical precision, the feeling of flying over the water — it was all addictive.
Jack Sparrow'd had it right when he'd said that a ship is not just a keel and a hull and a deck and sails. Because even though those things are integral to the make-up of any craft, what a ship — or yacht, or catamaran, or any other vessel — really is, is freedom.
And for a restless 14 year-old, there was nothing more attractive than ditching the world to hang out with your buddy in the middle of the ocean, free of worries or adult supervision, just enjoying the endless view while you fished and talked about nothing in particular.
Of course, being teenagers, we were bound to get ourselves into deep water — quite literally. Which is how we ended up deciding that it'd be a great idea to take out a much larger sloop one evening... only to end up paying for that mistake when a storm decided to roll in out of the blue, catching us off guard and capsizing our craft.
And while that particular misadventure had ended up turning Chris off sailing once and for all, it had made me even more determined to get back out onto the water and obtain my ICC license. Which I did, the following summer.
And even though I no longer have Chris to share my maritime adventures with, my love of sailing — and of being out on the water — never diminished.
Because the sea is — and always has been — my personal haven.
Feeling my lungs start to itch from the lack of oxygen, I reluctantly open my eyes and kick back up to the surface.
But I don't feel like returning to dry land just yet.
So, drawing a quick breath, I stretch myself out and dip into an easy freestyle. Half-a-dozen strokes and I reach the edge of the pool. Diving down, I flip myself around to kick off the wall, resurfacing into a backstroke.
I repeat the pattern for about ten laps, enjoying the rare sense of peace that comes with gliding weightlessly through the water, strokes moving effortlessly in time with my breath.
Eventually, though, I’m forced to call it quits as my body finally runs out of steam and my rhythm starts to falter.
Grabbing onto the edge of the pool, I pause to catch my breath, arms and shoulders tingling from the exertion...
...and I suddenly realise that I'm starving.
Which, all things considered, is hardly surprising. The last time I had anything to eat was at that Midtown stake-house at dinner-time, which was over eight hours ago. And since then I've probably burnt through 800 calories' worth of pure stress, not to mention all the physical exertion I've put myself through. So, my blood sugar levels are shot.
Pulling myself out of the water, I pad over to the other side of the pool to collect my gear.
I briefly contemplate having a shower, but quickly ditch the idea on the basis that (a) I hadn't brought a change of clothes with me, and (b) I can’t trust myself not to go rooting for the ruined shirt that I ditched in the changing rooms earlier.
So, brushing off the worst of the water, I head straight for the lifts.
I’m not expecting to cross paths with anyone at whatever time in the morning it is. And if I do... well, they can suck it up. It's not like I’m walkin' around buck-ass naked.
Arriving back on our booked-out floor, I make my way to my room. Fishing the keycard out of the pocket of my shorts, I let myself in and flick the door closed behind me.
Dropping my exercise kit by my duffle, I locate the 24-hour room service menu and do a quick scan of the options.
A couple of items jump out at me, but knowing that I'll probably have breakfast with the guys in a few hours' time, I don’t want to have anything too heavy.
But then my eyes land on the cheeseburger, and before I can think twice about it, I've reached for the hotel phone and I'm putting the order through.
And even though I tell myself that it's because I never got to finish the one back at the dive bar two nights ago, I know that I'm lying to myself...
...so, I add a bottle of whiskey to the order for good measure.
Because I don’t want to blow up all my hard work by falling back into the same emotional sink hole that I only very narrowly managed to drag myself out of just now. So, I need something to distract myself.
Hanging up, I quickly sort my sweaty clothes out and stow them in the duffle before making my way into the bathroom to have another shower.
Once done, I throw on my jeans and a t-shirt (not bothering with socks or underwear) and flick the wall-mounted TV on to find something to pass the time with while I wait for the food to show up.
Not seeing any movies or series that particularly interest me, I eventually settle on a rerun of an old Pats game...
...but I find my mind wandering.
And it doesn't take long for my treacherous sub-conscious to dig up the very images that have been stalking me all night.
Gale, up in my face out on the club balcony, testing my limits and my sanity with that sassy smile of hers...
Gale, head thrown back and ass pressed up against me as we move to the techno-beat on the crowded dance-floor...
Gale, legs wrapped around me as her nails rake over my skin, fighting to get my shirt off as my tongue invades her mouth...
I groan despite myself, shifting uncontrollably on top of the covers...
...and realise that I've already lost the battle.
Shit.
My eyes land ruefully on the tell-tale tent pole straining the front of my pants.
I huff out a tight exhale.
If there'd been one thing I wanted to avoid tonight, it’s this...
Because I know that as soon as I dip a toe in that particular Rubicon, I’m screwed. And not in a good way.
Because when you've been continuously pushed to the edge, only to be yanked back each and every time from the precipice of release, a plain ol' wank just isn’t gonna do it.
Sure, jacking one out relieved the immediacy of the pent up need. But it’s never gonna hold a candle to the real thing. In part because it’s over in minutes and in part because cumming into your own hand feels about as satisfying as throwing yourself a one-man pity party.
Because sex is a team sport. And trying to run a solo play — when you know what the real thing feels like — is always gonna fall short of expectations. Because when you’re on your own, there’s no one to share the thrill with. To kiss, to tease, to fuck to the limit before letting go so you can finally implode into each other.
Which is why I'd tried my damnedest to exhaust myself so I wouldn't find myself in this situation. At least not until we were back in Cordonia, and I could avail myself of some options...
...'cept now I don’t have a choice.
Not unless I want to greet the bell hop with a raging hard-on...
Because unfortunately for me, my dick has apparently decided that it'd had enough of being baited, and is now gonna bend me over the barrel to get what it wants.
Regardless of the fact that it’s gonna be a massive let-down for both of us.
So, even as I try to shift my focus back to the Pats game — and sideline my ever-growing erection — all I manage to achieve is an even more persistent itch in my pants.
Because despite my resistance, we both know that thanks to the missed opportunity with Gale, chances are good that I’m not gonna find anything resembling decent satisfaction until after the Masquerade Ball.
As even though we'll be arriving back to a Palace teeming with all manner of women — from maids to staff to nobles — that doesn’t mean I’m gonna be casting a net. In fact, just the opposite. I’m not the type to shit where I eat (it causes too much unnecessary mess) and I learnt my lesson about fucking aristos the hard way.
Which means that unless I’m planning to shell out for a call girl — hell'd have to freeze over first — a self-administered hand-job is gonna have to tide me over until there’s a big enough gap in my schedule that I can get away from the Palace for a couple of hours and find some stress relief.
I heave a low breath. Fuck my fuckin' life...
But knowing that I've backed myself into a corner, I reach resignedly for my belt. Unhooking the buckle, I fling it to the side to expose the top button of my jeans. Snapping the fastening open with one hand, I yank the zip down with the other.
The denim falls away and my dick springs free of its confines, its rigid length snapping to attention like an overeager hound that has just caught a scent.
And even though this particular outing isn’t gonna end in the long, hard run we both know we need, that doesn't stop the damn thing from drooling like a mutt in anticipation.
Setting my jaw, I shove my jeans down over my hips, half-heartedly wishing I had some lube or something to try and improve this runaway train-wreck as I reach south...
...and groan out loud as my hand wraps around the warm shaft.
Goddamn...
I’m apparently more deprived than I realised. Though, I guess that shouldn't come as a massive surprise. Especially after the near constant edging that Gale subjected me to tonight, combined with the fact that it's been a good two weeks since the last time I managed to eke out time for a fuck. And that had been mediocre at best.
As if to emphasise the point, my dick bucks against palm, and it's clear that I have a lot of mitigating to do.
Sliding my fist firmly down, then back up again, I set about stoking up a rhythm. And even though it's nothing different to what I've done hundreds of times before, something about the familiar friction sparks an instant fire in my veins.
Maybe it's 'cause I’m exhausted... Maybe it's 'cause my mind’s a mess... Maybe it's 'cause I've gone cold turkey for too long...
But whatever it is, it’s sending me into a tailspin.
I feel my head tip back against the headboard with a low moan as I'm pulled rapidly under by the throes of my self-gratification.
And as my eyes shudder closed in the face of the rising tension, I give myself up to the darkest depths of my desire...
...and in a blink of an eye, I’m back in that cramped apartment, gazing up at Gale from between her legs, the imminence of her climax written on her face, the slickness of her arousal coating my mouth and tongue.
I groan into her as she grips my hair, urging me on with her increasingly desperate pleas, her body quivering above me as she careers towards the edge...
...and I’m suddenly possessed by an all-consuming urge to have her.
Shooting to my feet, with her legs still wrapped around my shoulders, I send her sprawling back over the top of the kitchen counter.
Because I know that we don’t have much time, and if I’m gonna make this happen, we need to do it hard and fast.
And I’m not gonna let myself disappoint her again.
Grabbing her by the waist, I yank her towards me. Her hazel-green eyes widen in shock as her ass dips over the edge of the counter. But my grip on her is unshakeable and she's not going anywhere.
Not yet anyway.
Not until I've fucked her six ways 'til Sunday, and even then I probably won’t let her leave.
Because this girl sets me on fire like nobody else, and I need her to burn with me.
Bending down to give her decadent folds one more self-indulgent lick, I steady her with one hand while I rip my belt and jeans open with the other, not able to take my eyes off her as she writhed before me.
"Drake...!"
The sound of my name slipping off her lips like a fervent prayer unleashes something feral inside of me. Something I didn't even know existed in the dark recesses of my soul. Something that instantly swallows whatever vestiges of rational thought I have left, leaving only one, single-minded purpose:
To make her mine.
And in some corner of my brain I know I should be terrified. Of this rabid hunger that she's unwittingly awakened within me. Of the fact that I can’t control it... and don’t want to.
But I'm already past the point of no return. And I can’t give a rat's ass.
Because the only thing I care about is fulfilling that unspoken obsecration of hers until she’s ruined for all other men.
Shoving my jeans and boxers down with a growl, I grab her hips and ram myself into her in one, brutal motion.
Her wet heat engulfs me, taking me fully, causing my eyes to roll back into my head as I revel in the sheer euphoria of her, her deep-throated cry of agreement rising up around me.
Christ, she feels amazing!
And if the mere act of being inside her doesn’t already feel like pure rapture, she then decides to up the ante even further.
"Fuck me, Drake," she demands, arching her lower back forward.
A guttural sound rattles my throat as she rolls her hips against me, cranking up the torsion as she pulls me in even deeper.
And I could've lost it then and there.
But somehow — whether through sheer force of will, or by the grace of God — I manage to tamp down the rapidly rising swell in order to heed her command.
Because this isn’t about me. This is about her. And I’m gonna make damn sure that she gets what she wants before I let myself cum inside her.
Even if it kills me.
Opening my eyes, I meet her hazel-green gaze with an affirmative smirk. "Yes, ma'am."
She wraps her legs around me expectantly...
...and I slam us together roughly, loudly, unapologetically.
She gasps beneath me, hands flying to the edge of the counter to grip it like an anchor in a storm, her entire body reverberating with the impact of our collisions.
But I don't stop. I can't. I pound into her like a man possessed... because I am. All semblance of logic, of reason, of God-given sense has evaporated and I devolve into the basest version of myself, one that is driven purely by lust and instinct.
And even though I know I won't be able to hold out, that I'll cave in the face of her rhapsodic screams and the almost painful pressure she’s putting on my dick, I'm powerless to pull the e-brake. If anything, it makes me rev the throttle even harder.
Because she just feels too damn good, and I've been at her mercy from the start.
Lifting my head, I lock eyes with her. And in those lust-blown, hazel-green depths, I see more than just need... more than just passion.
I see complete faith.
And it undoes me.
I explode into her with a ragged, animalistic cry, my body jerking with the force of my deliverance.
"Holy... fuck!"
The long-coveted wave of release crashes over me, wiping away my thoughts and my vision, and I'd be convinced that I passed out were it not for the high-pitched ringing in my ears and the thundering of my heart.
A few more pumps, a shuddered breath as the last swell rises, and I’m left drained, floating.
I stay there, motionless, revelling in that all-too brief moment of calm before the chaos of the world spins back up around me.
Sweet Jesus, that w—
Her warm lips brush against my sweat-streaked forehead, her honey-camomile scent drifting over me like a drunken haze...
I move to lean into her. "Harp—"
...but she's already gone.
The story continues in Chapter 11 - Cold Light of Day
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Sleepless in New York only
@bebepac
Picture Credits
Insomnia - Dawn - New York - Run - Swim - Drake - Pool
#drake walker#sleepless in new york#world whiskey day#drake walker appreciation#choices fic writers creations#cfwc fics of the week#drake x mc#harper gale#the royal romance#trr au fanfic
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oh ma gawd u did it again ! my stomach had butterflies in it while reading ( sorry for the typo ) and goddamn you're too good .
ok ( p.s - I love your new pfp those puppies look soooooo cute ) imagine time again - billy loomis and reader at school. maybe like a day or summat. just classes and billy loomis getting protective. ya know - the kind that keeps me up at night
you’re actually the best <3 your asks always make my day like what!!?? definitely one of my faves🙇🏼♀️and i love those puppies so much they make me laugh. i love writing for billy loomis he’s definitely one of my main obsessions. he is an actual disease in my brain. hope you like this babe. <33
this goes by class by class :) i’m american and at my school we only have four classes a day eight in all we rotate. just to explain the set up rq
billy doesn’t like to share.
Class 1.
you sat quietly at your desk in the back of the classroom, perfectly content with your situation. it was not often you had a classroom filled with silence. life was good.
billy will stop by once or twice. he might knock on the window behind your desk because he knows how little the teachers cares for anything not concerning his books. he’ll keep an eye on the boys in your classroom, making sure they don’t try anything funny. he hates not being able to keep an eye on you all through out the day.
the one time he did catch someone bothering you he was quick to jump in the classroom through the window and call them right out. it would have gotten physical if the bell didn’t ring. the boy was quick to leave. he was dead the next night.
Hall
do you need help carrying your stuff ? billy’s got it. he will carry all your heavy books and hold your hand while walking you to your next class.
Class 2.
billy was in your next class. he had thrown a fit with the teacher so he could sit in the desk to your right. sydney prescott was on your left.
he would pass little notes to you through the hour of lesson. sometimes they were really sweet things that said things like “i love you so much y/n”. with theo stick figures made to look like the two of you holding hands and a sloppy heart above. and other times they would be shitty. gossip usually. he loved to talk shit and who better to do it with than his s/o.
people knew billy had a few screws loose so they didn’t mess with you much. the minute you two became exclusive he made sure that everyone knew who you belonged to.
Hall
he will practically drag you to lunch with him. he’s just so excited to be away from everyone and just be near you.
lunch used to be a nuisance for you. a group of girls would tease you relentlessly the entire time making you skip the time slot completely. all four turned up dead in their home not too long after you and billy started going out. you wanted to say you felt bad but you didn’t. what goes around comes around right?
Lunch.
billy never liked cafeteria food so he took you and stu out to one of the restaurants close to the school. and sometimes he would ditch stu and just go out with you. it was like a date sort of.
he would keep you our way longer than lunch. it wasn’t often that you were on time for third period. billy just loves being around you.
Class 3.
after arriving 20 minutes late the teacher will lecture the class about the importance of being punctual before continuing the lesson. this teacher is strict but occasionally billy will sit in if he’s not paying attention during attendance.
you share that class with stu! you loved being around the boy. he was always making jokes and sharing food. billy liked stu but didn’t trust his friendly nature. you belong to billy and he didn’t want anyone to get in the way of that. if stu got a little too touchy billy will be quick to swat his hand away or give him a peek of the knife he keeps in his front pocket.
though you got no learning done in the class due to all the distractions it was a highlight of your day.
Class 4.
last class of the day finally! everyone is so eager to leave the overall vibe is antsy. you have this class with billy as well.
he sits at your table and just kind of exists. he doesn’t like the other two people that sit there so he tends to be as ice cold as possible. still has a hand in your thigh or an arm around your shoulders of course.
you get a lot of work done in this class since billy is actually really good at math. he’s your tutor basically. it’s super frustrating for both of you some days but that’s just how it goes.
the day usually goes by smoothly with billy keeping a watchful eye over you
#literally my fave#nicodiangeloissocool12#love you so much babe#thanks for being so kind to me#okay on with the tags#slasher x reader#slasher x you#billy loomis x you#billy loomis x reader#ghostface fluff#ghostface x reader#ghostface x y/n#ghostface#scream fluff#scream x reader#scream 1996#esha writes
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Hey who wants some of that Pokemon AU that @im-feelin-sick made (and i suppose i'm co-creator for)? I've been working on and off on my own contributions to it, and now I've got something finished (also on ao3 if you'd prefer reading there!)
(3/???)
(prev)
“Ya fucked up.”
“I know.”
“Badly.”
“I know.”
Sableye grumbled irritably at Nny’s subdued responses - glad that he was acknowledging what was being said, but also aggravated at this conversation’s existence.
The pair of them (plus Houndstone, whose head was currently resting on Nny’s legs) wouldn’t be sitting here, Sableye having to stitch his wounds, if Nny hadn’t turned on a goddamn dime out of nowhere in the middle of his date with Devi.
But here they fucking were! And, honestly, it wasn’t just Nny who got hurt during that whole... thing. Sableye itself had stepped in after shoving aside its panic, and Nny’s other Pokemon fought back in kind.
They, however, didn’t have the years of experience Sableye did. Sure, it took a few hits, but nothing near as bad as the beating Nny got.
It was pretty sure a length of 2x4 got involved at one point.
“The fact that she didn’t cave in your skull would be a miracle if it weren’t for how thick the damn thing is,” it muttered, briefly stopping its ministrations to flick a claw against his head.
Even in this mess, it wasn’t above a lighthearted jab or two. And, frankly, Sableye felt it had the right to be at least a little petty.
“Ow, ow, sore spot,” Nny winced, ducking his head. Sableye would’ve rolled its eyes if that were possible.
“Your entire body is a sore spot right now, Johnny, c’mon. And stay still, I’m almost done with these stitches.”
--- HALF AN HOUR LATER ---
They were all situated on the couch; Nny cross-legged on one side, Houndstone curled up on the other, and Sableye perched on the back.
Sableye held up its closed hands. “Good news,” it raised a finger on its left hand, “nobody died.”
“And the--”
“Bad news,” a finger raised on its right hand, “you fucked up a perfectly good date,” another finger raised, “you got your ass kicked the worst it’s ever been,” a third, “and now someone who knows about your murderous tendencies is out and about.”
Nny’s head sunk lower with each addition.
“And, bonus problem, Marshadow followed Devi on her way out,” Sableye concluded.
As it expected, Nny almost bolted off the couch, only kept in place by Houndstone, who let out a stubborn huff as it sprawled across Nny’s lap.
“Fucking-- Houndstone, move!” Nny shouted, to no success.
Sableye shook its head. “We already talked about this while dragging you back here,” it explained. “You’re in no shape to go anywhere, and, more importantly, I don’t think she’d listen to anything you have to say after the shit you pulled.”
They both knew Sableye had a point - at times, it was the closest thing he had to a proper voice of reason.
“Then what the fuck am I supposed to do? Sit around and live with the fact that that fucking thing is bound to cause problems for her?”
“Considering what happened a couple hours ago, yes. What’re you gonna do, write her a fucking apology note? “Sorry I tried to kill you,” or something, so she’ll listen to you?”
“...”
“Oh my fucking God don’t tell me you were actually considering that.” It looked, and sounded, thoroughly exhausted. Of fucking course he’d get that idea in his head. “I’m nipping that in the bud right now, that’s not gonna work out for you.”
Even with that shutdown, there was still a defiant, plotting look in Nny’s eyes. Some sort of plan was brewing in there, it could tell.
Sableye pinched between its eyes, slowly shaking its head. “I know you’re gonna do something stupid. At least try not to get caught,” it urged. It knew Nny well enough by now; when he got a particular kind of idea stuck in his head, he’d hardly ever budge on the matter.
If it’d known that Nny was planning on stalking, of all things, it would’ve beaten him over the head.
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Blood Fest Week 1: our strange duet
Blood Fest prompts: Rope. Teeth. Size. Blood. keywords: Wicked. Rain.
summary: Maxi has a hard time focusing at work after your date the night before, and resorts to some... unusual tactics to find relief.
warnings: smut, 18+ only, minors dni. descriptions of embalming and body restoration, of grievous mortal injury, grief, mourning. discussion of body dysphoria, chest anxiety. brief talking about being queer and hiding it in the deep south. brief discussion of male body image issues. mutual oral sex (m and afab receiving), brief facefucking, first time as a couple sex, period sex. discussions of the demon living in maxi’s body, for funsies. stalking, breaking and entering, sort of spying on someone in the shower, use of sex toys, size kink, voyeurism, masturbation, slight breeding kink if you squint, minor humiliation kink, maxi is the definition of a service switch, definitely creepy behavior from the serial killer, dead dove do not eat, don’t open the bag if you’re not a slasherfucker ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
general: Reader is non-binary/genderqueer, uses they/she pronouns; Reader is plus size, Reader is queer, Maxi is bi and talks about it. Everything else has been left up to the reader, please let me know if I need to tweak any language.
y’all wanna get a little weird with me this spooky season?
(I’ve been writing this one for funsies for a while, but I’m super grateful to the lovely Bree at @the-slasher-files for this delightful opportunity to share this for an event. Sorry mine’s so late, and they definitely won’t all be this long!! :’D Week 2 will hopefully be up later tonight or tomorrow, and I’ll hopefully not be too late with the rest of them lol
okay! here goes!!
Maxi was pretty sure he shouldn’t be thinking of you on top of him last night while he was preparing to embalm the forty-something woman on his table. No, in fact he was certain he shouldn’t. Despite the multiple layers of PPE he was wearing - his usual scrubs, gloves, and mask, and then a plastic splashguard over that - he still caught himself feeling oddly vulnerable in front of the decedent. He was used to empty, staring eyes, he’d been used to them for more than half his life. But something about Mrs. Berthelot-Yang’s glazed gaze today made him feel like he was the one with just a sheet for modesty’s sake, rather than the other way around. He kept dropping things, leaving them in his office or on the wrong counters, forgetting what he was doing in the middle of filling out paperwork - he couldn’t help but feel like he was fumbling in an entirely different sense, whereas last night couldn’t have felt easier.
But damn, if you didn’t seem to have him utterly bewitched, and you’d only been going out for a month.
Well, okay, three weeks, six days, thirteen hours, give or take fifteen minutes. …But who was counting, anyway. Certainly not him, nope.
There was something about you he was having a hard time putting his finger on, but since that kismet day in the cemetery, he’d found his mind wandering back to you at the most inexplicable moments. He couldn’t hear the afternoon rain pelting his windows without remembering your smile in the passenger seat of the hearse, giggling even when you were soaked. He couldn’t just lay on his couch in the grip of insomnia and watch a shitty horror movie without remembering your soft, clean scent when you were sitting next to him at the movie theater, and how he’d wondered if the cherry slush would’ve been any sweeter if he’d tasted it on your tongue.
And now, despite the purposeful chill of the prep room, he swore he could still felt the heat of your mostly-bare form pressed against his while it had taken everything in him not to devour you on the spot.
He’d been careful with you. He’d been so goddamn achingly careful with you, wanting to take this slow. He wanted to make sure he took his time with you, didn’t scare you off, didn’t lose your interest before he got the chance to...
He blinked out of his trance when he realized he was still standing over Mrs. Berthelot-Yang with the trocar still in his hands, staring at her still violently bruised and scraped bare abdomen. Motorcycle crash on the highway. Even with a helmet, she hadn’t been any match for the concrete barrier she’d swerved into in her attempt to move around a semi that had thrown on its brakes. The devastated wife was delivering her clothes tomorrow for her viewing this weekend.
“I’m so sorry, ma’am,” he sighed, shaking his head in exasperation and feeling himself blush. “I don’t know where my head’s at today, I swear.” That was a lie. He knew exactly where his head was at.
He heard a ghostly chuckle from the very edge of the salt that bordered the edges of the room — not the sharp, cruel ones of some of the House’s permanent residents, but something soft. Almost knowing. He glanced up to see the faintest flicker of movement near the door, as though a figure had just poked their head in the room and pulled it quickly back out again.
There was sudden wafting of a warm, light scent of jasmine and vanilla… a perfume. Her favorite, her wife had told him through tears in the client parlor upstairs - and Maxi couldn’t help but smile a little to himself as he relaxed. It was always a relief to have an understanding guest of honor.
Or, well, as much as they could be, under the circumstances.
“Thank you for bein’ patient with me,” he said, carefully lining up the sharp tip of the instrument with a spot just beside her navel. “Now, this is gonna look nasty, but I promise it’ll be better in just a sec—“
The tip slid through the soft flesh like butter, and he let the trocar do its work before carefully angling it again to perforate the other end of the cavity. With a couple more easy jabs, he set it aside, watching the new wounds attentively before he set to preparing to close what needed closing.
But even as his hands went through the same motions as they had for a little less than two decades, his mind wandered immediately back to you, and the curiously strong effect you’d had on him already. He couldn’t explain it to himself, but he felt like if he slept with you and you ghosted, it would drive him insane for ages afterwards. He’d had friends with benefits before, sure, but they were usually more of an obstacle to work around with his… other nocturnal activities, than something he ended up entertaining for long.
And he wanted more with you, he already knew that. He wanted so much more, so soon, and he was trying his damnedest to be cool about it, but god if you didn’t make it difficult in the best way. How you liked his morbid jokes, and he genuinely laughed at yours, how you didn’t mind his odd hours or his tendency to ramble about various histories of death and decay at the drop of the hat. How curious you seemed about his work, and your compassion for the families he dealt with. How he loved the way you talked about your own day, even if it was something as simple as your side gig, and the care you took with it even when it was frustrating you. He just liked you. All of you.
And he’d been so close to finally getting all of you last night, when the two of you had stumbled into your bedroom after you’d invited him over —
He maybe should’ve guessed something new was afoot when you’d wanted to change plans from actually going out to just staying in for a quiet evening at your place, but he’d been happy just to get to spend time with you, so he hadn’t thought about it too much. It had genuinely started as the two of you goofing around with some multiplayer horror title over pizza, but when you’d teasingly tried to distract him by kissing his neck like you usually did, you lingered there just a touch longer than normal. There was a bit of teeth to it, heat that the two of you had skirted but hadn’t quite explored yet.
Needless to say, he’d immediately dropped his controller to pull you into his lap. You hadn’t protested - to the contrary, you’d straddled his thighs with yours, your hand pulling his shirt collar like a leash to close any distance left.
— Even through the rubber gloves he was wearing now, he swore he could still feel the silk of your skin like fire against his palms. He shook his head again, the trocar wounds closed and now trying to thread the needle so he could sew the dear lady’s mouth closed through the frenulum and up through the septum. But he felt his face burn under his mask as he remembered just how you’d sighed when he’d run his hands up your sides under your top.
Like you were relieved. Like you’d been waiting for him to touch you, almost as much as he’d wanted to.
If you had any idea how hard it had been for him to let you go, especially once he heard that sound, you would’ve called the cops—
“Son of a bitch,” he growled, putting the musculature needle down just a little too hard on the steel table top when he couldn’t get his hands to stop shaking.
He was instinctively reaching to pinch the bridge of his nose under his glasses when his hand ran smack into the plastic face shield instead. Frustrated, his swore under his breath, about to fling the offending garment across the room when he heard another gentle laugh from the doorway. He hesitated, then carefully exhaled his frustration in a practiced sigh through his nose, before turning to look over his shoulder. “Well,” he mumbled, the tension leaving his shoulders. “I’m glad one of us is havin’ fun with this.”
He could see a gentle swirl of white floating in the doorway, like steam out of a shower. For a moment, the swirl changed direction, as though something like a waving hand had interrupted its floating through space.
With this small encouragement, he turned back to the waiting guest, taking another cleansing deep breath. “Get it together, Morvant, christ,” he muttered, tilting his head to both sides to crack his neck before trying again. You had him acting like an amateur in his own house.
This time, he hooked the needle through the needed places as easily as writing his own name.
He still frowned even as he neatly stitched the lips closed, hearing the faintest echo of his father in his head. Not the torso half-corpse chained to the wall downstairs, thank Everything Below. But the version that still loomed large in the crevices of his brain, that still snidely muttered about his every move if he performed his duties less than perfectly.
Mooning over a mortal. Jesus, his father would’ve taken the belt to him for that. Again.
Once he was satisfied with how her mouth lay, he picked up the wax he’d be using to fill some of the rougher contusions on Mrs. Berthelot-Yang’s face. With a careful angling of a flat blade to get it out of the jar, he rolled it across the side of his latex-gloved hand, letting it warm itself into something malleable.
You would’ve been worth his father’s wrath, he caught himself thinking. He didn’t know quite how he was so confident yet — the unbearable soon-ness of it haunted him again as he sized up the empty hole the glass shards had left in her cheek — but as he did so, he felt you again, flush against him like you were there in the room.
He’d gotten greedy last night, he knew that, but you’d been right there and so soft, he couldn’t resist. He clenched his free hand through his glove as he remembered the scent of your neck, the lightest hint of some delicious fragrance as he’d taken small, covetous bites of your flesh just to feel you writhe in his grip.
He’d paused his tasting at the neckline of your shirt, sitting back to watch you open your eyes he stopped. “…Can I take this off you?” His hands were still up at your back, holding you close, but he indicated what he meant in the way he passed them over the fabric. The two of you had a tendency to be all over each other in stolen private moments during the brief time you’d been going out: at the House, in the hearse, on his favorite bench in the cemetery. But these had been careful explorations despite your shared enthusiasm, mostly over clothes due to him never being quite sure who - or what - might be lurking nearby. Now, there was no threat of a paranormal pest, or his spectral sister’s looming eyes from the shadows.
It was just you and him, alone at last.
He was too close to you not to see the tiniest hesitation on your part - your teeth briefly grazing your lower lip - before you nodded, your coy smile back in place. “…I’d like to keep what’s under it on, though,” you admitted, your voice soft in how close you were to him. “Is that… Okay?”
“Anythin’s fine by me,” he murmured somewhat hazily, nodding as his hands slid down your sides to your thin top. “Whatever makes you feel comfortable, gorgeous.” He savored the feeling of his fingers sliding under the fabric and finding the warmth of your bare skin, curling around its hem, before he glanced up at you one more time to double check.
You nodded again, your eyes bright with anticipation, and that was all it took for him to yank the flimsy fabric over your head.
Maxi sat back slightly, taking in your mostly-bare torso — your soft stomach was adorably sweet, just as he’d imagined. He admired your clavicle, the way it was set into your shoulders, the way your skin looked with all the small marks collected over a life. You were a miracle, a work of art, just like he’d dreamed. He took you in almost ravenously, wanting to memorize every freckle, mole, spot. The small galaxy that was you.
You shifted in his lap, your arms drawing in slightly over the dark garment covering your breasts. He couldn’t help but move his attention there as well, pausing in his awe-struck inspection. That… wasn’t a bra. At least, not one he was familiar with. He was flustered internally for a moment; he knew he hadn’t dated around in a while, but did they really start making them a whole different way when he wasn’t paying attention? He swore he’d just put a regular one on a nice little octogenarian at work the other day; was that considered outmoded now? An antique?
“…It’s a half-binder,” you said softly, snapping his attention abruptly back to your face. His heart jumped into his throat when he saw you looking shyly down at your thighs, anticipation replaced with more hesitancy. “It’s. Um— It’s for when—“
“Oh, no, that’s not—“ Maxi stumbled and nearly bit his own tongue, cursing himself for interrupting you. But he was desperate for you to understand how much he was only looking at you with wonder, not with second thoughts. He wanted to curl into himself in agony at the mere thought of you having such a notion.
But the way you looked immediately back to him made him think you were almost more nervous than he was, rather than annoyed, and he felt a flash of protective fondness at the expression on your face.
“I— It’s okay,” he soothed, nodding. He reached up to your face, his thumb stroking your cheek as he kissed your jaw line. “It’s fine,” he reassured you again, smiling at you. “That’s all okay, baby. I only looked concerned because… well,” he paused, feeling his own face warm slightly. “I thought they’d gone and changed how they made bras on me, s’all.”
Your uncertainty was punctured by your surprised laugh, and he immediately felt relieved at the return of your smile, even as he rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t want to do anything that would make you think he was less than… capable, of taking care of you. But he was only being honest.
“No,” you said, kissing the corner of his mouth. “You’re sweet. No, this is a different thing.” You shook your head. “It’s… um.” The shyness crept back into your face, and as much as he wanted to reassure you again, he made himself wait for what you wanted to say. “…Okay, so,” you said slowly, letting out a breath that shook a little around the edges. “Sometimes, um. I have some presentation issues around my…” You paused like there was something stuck in your throat, instead gesturing to your chest under your binder. “And I don’t… really want to have them there. Or out. Or, like…” Your hand clawed for a moment in frustration as you tried to explain. “I just don’t want them to be a focus?” you managed at last, a sigh on the heel of your words. “I don’t know, sometimes I’m fine with them! I mean— Obviously,” you gestured shyly to Maxi, who immediately recalled every time he’d pulled down your neckline to nip at the top of your breasts greedily, on his couch during a bad movie, or against the wall of a crypt during a cemetery walk.
“I’m… very familiar, yes,” he agreed, smiling even as he felt the heat in his cheeks.
Your smile in return reassured him, and he watched the tension in you ease. You reached up, running your fingers through his hair, and he had to fight not to shiver pleasurably at the contact. “I just… today was a bad chest day, is all.” You bit your lip again, clearly still somewhat nervous about this. “And I was just, um. I thought we might… and if I- I flinched, or something, I didn’t want you to think… it was you, or anything. Because it’s not. It never would be.“ You looked down at your thighs again as you trailed off, your hands sliding to his shoulders. “It’s just - this thing my brain does sometimes, and I don’t always know when.”
Maxi was trying too hard not to get stuck on the fact that you had implied you’d never flinch from him, from his touch, his heart fluttering like a trapped bird in his chest with muffled excitement. He had been trying to slow down just how hard he’d been falling for you lately, but you weren’t making it easy. You didn’t know, you didn’t know, he reminded himself sternly. He couldn’t take it entirely at face value if he knew what he was hiding from you, and you didn’t.
And ideally, he thought to himself, you never… would. Not completely, anyway.
Because there’s no way you’d stay if you knew what he was, was there?
Realizing he’d been still too long, been too quiet, his hands went to your hips and squeezed affectionately. “Hey.” He waited until you met his eyes to roll his shoulders in a slow, lazy shrug, smiling up at you. “I’m just happy to be here with you like this, darlin’,” he said, his tone hushed again as he ran his hands up your bare sides. “Really. That’s all. Whatever you don’t wanna do, or— don’t want me to touch,” His hands stopped a respectful couple of finger widths away from your binder. “We don’t have to, at all. Okay?” He shifted a little, going to loosen his tie out of habit before realizing he’d already taken it off and left it in the hearse before he walked in. He flattened his lips instinctively into a line for a moment, his eyes wandering off to the side as he realized what he wanted to tell you right now.
It wasn’t The Thing, but it something he didn’t discuss often, that was for damn sure.
“You’re sure?”
He looked immediately back to you, and realized you’d been watching his face. Your eyes were careful, searching - veiled, he noticed with a hint of panic. You must’ve thought his hesitation was about you, when nothing could be further from the truth.
“Yes,” he said immediately, nodding vigorously. “Yes, angel, absolutely.” He tapped his fingers where they rested on your skin. “Your boundaries are yours. I’m not about to want anythin’ you tell me you don’t, I swear.” He smiled at you again, feeling a little nervous now. “I was just… you got me thinkin’, is all.”
You blinked, your eyes lightening a little bit as you tilted your head. “Oh yeah?”
Maxi nodded, wetting his lips out of nervous habit. “I…” He hummed quietly, trying to figure out how to word this, exactly. He cleared his throat a little, before looking back to you. “…You, um.” He swallowed. “…On our first date,” he finally said, forcing himself to meet your eyes. “I saw your, um. Your pride pins. On your bag, and all. And then, of course, you told me ‘they’ worked for you, obviously,” he added quickly, realizing he was just talking in circles. “So I just… god,” he sighed in frustration, his head falling backwards against the couch to stare at your ceiling. “Why is this hard.”
“…I could state the obvious,” you deadpanned, still straddling his lap.
There was a pause, and Maxi half-shrugged. “You’d have a point.”
He met your eyes again, and the both of you dissolved into muffled laughter, the tension at last broken.
“What are you trying to say, Maxi?” you asked when you’d both got it out of your system, tilting your head the other way to catch his eyes again.
Maxi sighed, looking up at where you were perched on his lap. “What I’m tryin’ to say,” he said quietly, forcing it out now. “Is that… me too?”
You blinked, your brow crinkling. “…You ‘too’?”
Maxi groaned, running one hand under his glasses over his face. “You’re gonna have to forgive me, Darlin’, old habits die hard.” He gave you an apologetic smile. “I mean… I have to be a little more careful about, y’know… who knows, and all,” he said, gesturing vaguely around the room to indicate Greymoon as a whole. He swallowed again, not sure why his heart was racing, why his palms felt like they were going to sweat. You of all people were someone he knew he could tell this to and be safe. So why did this still scare him? “I, um.” He felt himself flushing furiously, looking at you and mentally begging you to understand. “…If I could wear ‘em, y’know, and not get shit for it with my… my job, and all,” he said quietly. “I know we’d have at least one of ‘em in common.” He let out a quick, slightly unsteady breath. “I don’t say this to make things about me,” he said quickly again, his words tripping over themselves. “…But because I really want you to know, there’s nothin’ you could do, or change about yourself, or how you present, or anythin’, that would make me… not attracted to you,” he explained quietly. “Does that make sense?”
Your eyes visibly brightened when you beamed at him, clearly relieved - and, if he dared let himself believe it, even elated. “Yes,” you said, nodding excitedly. “Yes, it totally makes sense.” You leaned in, cupping his face in your hands. “I fucking knew it,” you added in a triumphant whisper, your smile delighted, before you closed the distance and kissed him intensely.
In that moment, Maxi was suddenly intensely aware of the feeling of something… else, looking out through his eyes at you.
Something that wanted you - to drink the light from your eyes until there was nothing left - with such a desperate ferocity, he could swear the scream was audible inside his own skull.
Startled by this unbidden urge, he broke this shared kiss abruptly, pressing a messy kiss to your pulse in your throat. External sensation tended to help shut the Reaper up or drown it out, and you gave him plenty of that: the softness of your skin, the scent you wore in your hair, the surprised noise from low in your chest that turned into a barely-muffled mewl. He lingered there, drawing it out, feeling you squirm on his lap as your hands found his hair again and tried to tug him upward. He winced only slightly, seemingly determined to leave his unmistakable mark on the precious column of your neck, but internally he was running a panicked inventory. After decades of being aware of the Reaper, the demon that had made him its home, he thought he’d gotten a good handle on just what could set it off. Sure, it had made noises about liking you, especially the more you hung around. It had done that with everyone he’d dated, as inescapable as it was. It was a jealous, territorial sumbitch, but so was he, deep down, so he couldn’t really blame it.
But that fascination, that need… what the fuck was that? Demanding as his darker self was, it had never been that… specific. Blood, flesh, souls, the usual maudlin bullshit, sure, he was used to it railing and howling and carrying on as it called for what it believed was its Due. Sometimes for sleepless nights on end, when he was younger and trying to fight his true nature.
But wanting you? Specifically, to watch the life drain from your face? To feel your flesh grow cold under his palms?
He had the unavoidable mental image of something else wearing his face, running a tongue over too-sharp teeth in his mouth, and he couldn’t fight a shudder.
Before he could really figure out what had triggered the spike of aggression, however, you’d turned the tables, yanking slightly on his hair so you could capture his lips when he reluctantly let go of your throat. Your hands moved to unbutton the dress shirt he’d worn having come straight from closing up, and he felt you pause when you got so far down, then the twist of your smile against his mouth as your hand found his shirt stays still on once you unbuttoned his slacks.
“Aw, Maxi - for me?” As much as you were trying to tease, he could hear how you sounded slightly breathless, your fingers shy as they skimmed over the elastic.
His face positively burned, and he wondered if you could feel its warmth, as close as you were. “Well,” he mumbled, suddenly unable to quite meet your gaze. “You mentioned that you, um. Didn’t mind, last time—“
“No,’ you corrected softly, and he looked up immediately. You were fighting a grin as you toyed with the one on his left thigh, before your eyes flicked back to his. “I said I thought they were hot, remember?” You gave him a coy smirk. “That’s different.”
He had to remember to swallow just then, the Reaper well and truly quiet as his brain was too overloaded to process much else besides your expression and your fingers tracing along the inside of his thighs. With some maneuvering, you had his shirt open a moment later, your hands roving over the coarse hair on his torso.
Something else he couldn’t help but adore about you, besides the enchantingly warm squish of your figure against him, was the way you seemed just as taken with him as he did with you in that aspect. Lord knew why — he knew he was that slightly confusing mix of lean with a soft stomach, and he still didn’t know how to feel about that even now — but it was also the way you didn’t seem to flinch at any of his scars. Namely and especially the thick line of tissue over his heart, where his father had beat him to the punch and drawn first blood all those years ago, and where he’d painstakingly re-opened it not long after, trying a particularly dark bit of magic in attempt to dull his own pain.
As he’d held you last night in his arms, feeling your warm palm ghost over it with all the sweetness in the world, he was so bitterly glad that it had backfired - and not as badly as it had for his late sister.
“I want you.” You’d said it so softly, your lips brushing his, that it nearly broke him. “Please?”
“I’m yours.” He’d answered as automatically as breathing, and for a moment he’d felt at least a fraction of the blood rush back to his face, realizing just how… eager, he must have sounded. But you’d only laughed in that way that left him weak every time, and when he’d shifted underneath you to kiss you harder, it had hitched into the sweetest breathy moan when his cock pressed against the core of you through the cotton shorts you’d worn.
“Goddamn, Maxi,” you’d whispered, pulling away to glance down between the two of you, and it was everything he could do not to let himself smirk. You’d turned it right back on him though when your eyes met his again with what was unmistakably hunger. “You gonna wreck me with that, babe, or just make me suck on it?”
He’d heard the soft hissing inhale through his teeth before he even realized it was him, his hand gently settling over your throat. Even as he held it like it was made of glass, he still felt himself freeze, realizing he hadn’t asked you first. He watched your eyes, nervously retracting his hand just slightly to hover above your skin — only to relax when he saw the entertained glint there, and the way you tilted your chin back to grant him access.
He replaced his hand delicately, his thumb lovingly tracing the vein he knew lay just underneath your skin from years of filling others with formaldehyde. “You’ve got a hell of a mouth on you, sugar,” he’d murmured darkly, unable to help himself. “If you’re not careful, you’re gonna give me ideas.”
This was apparently the right thing to say, because you’d shoved your neck further into his palm as you’d kissed him furiously, grinding your cunt against his length as you did so.
He’d had to will himself to keep at least a modicum of self-control, both hands falling to your hips and pulling you harder against him to hear you gasp. As he felt the faintest trace of heat and slick through the thin garment of your underwear, his grip turned to steel, fighting the urge to yank away the meaningless little fabric between the pair of you and push into you to give you what you wanted — what he wanted, if he was being honest, just to feel you clench around him in any capacity. When he heard your gasp change to a soft, tremulous moan as you moved again, it took everything in him to force himself to let go of your waist.
“Your room.” He’d blurted it before he realized quite what he was doing, and you’d blinked at him, your eyes already sweetly hazy. “…Please,” he added, swallowing slightly. “I want to-- I need to do this right.” He pressed a soft kiss to your jawline, hoping he hadn’t just made a fool of himself. “I wanna do this like you deserve.” If this was going to go how he thought, he wanted to make sure it mattered. That even if it was all he ever got, he could say he’d gotten to really savor all of you while he’d had it ever so briefly in his grasp.
Your laugh was shaky but real, and you tilted your head to kiss him again (and, unbeknownst to you, muffle his sigh of relief). “You fucking angel, you’re so sweet,” you’d murmured, kissing his mouth and his cheek and the tip of his nose in quick succession. “C’mon.” You’d stepped backwards onto your floor, grabbing his hands to pull him up with you, and the two of you had only run into a chair and one wall when you couldn’t be bothered to look up from refusing to let go of the other person.
Maxi had been over to your house enough times that it wasn’t too odd how well he could pick his way through your living room, and then your hallway. Luckily, by the time he was walking you backwards to your bed, you were too busy nipping his lower lip and gripping the back of his neck to notice just how well he could navigate across your somewhat messy floor, sidestepping you carefully around things he logically shouldn’t have already known were there.
But he’d gotten very well acquainted with your floor in the last couple of weeks. And the space under your bed, which if he was being honest, was more comfortable than most, if only for the rug underneath and the lack of perilous storage boxes he’d have to contort himself to fit around. It would’ve been downright homey, comparatively, if he wasn’t constantly in danger of knocking his head on your bed frame if he sat up too quickly.
In that moment, he’d been beyond thrilled to be with you on top of your mattress as the two of you fell towards it. He was more than happy to be pinned beneath your full hips, his hands caressing your sides, and feeling you push yourself against his cock already leaking into his clothes as you sought any sort of friction between the two of you. This was more than agreeable. If you wanted to ride him until he couldn’t remember his own name, that would be divine. There would be plenty of time after to fuck you into your mattress until you ruined your sheets, he had all night.
Your fingers had finally hooked into the open waistband of his slacks when suddenly you hissed a curse under your breath, withdrawing so abruptly he was left bewilderedly blinking at your ceiling for a moment.
“Gorgeous?” He sat up to see where you’d pulled back, your expression at once stricken and frustrated. “What’s wrong- you okay?” He felt himself snap out of his own blissful trance, looking you over for any immediate obvious cause of distress. “…Is it somethin’ I did?” He swore he’d just been laying here savoring the taste of your tongue - did he miss something obvious? Had he been careless, distracted? The latter had made him panic even more, wondering if the dark presence inside him had somehow made itself known when he had his guard down.
“No,” you shook your head quickly, pressing your lips together in a slightly aggravated line. “No, baby, it’s not you.” You sighed heavily, sitting back and crossing your legs as you looked… embarrassed? You bit your own lower lip hard for a moment, clearly annoyed with something, before you glanced at him from under your lashes. “…My uterus has the worst fucking timing, is all.” You have him a rueful grimace, wincing slightly as you did so.
Maxi felt himself exhale a laugh in relief, his fear immediately abating. “Oh, babydoll - is that all? Hell, I don’t care.” He shrugged, his shoulders suddenly immeasurably light compared to a second ago. “Or — wait, shit, hold on.” He caught himself a second too late, blushing slightly at his own phrasing and quickly running his palm over his face under his glasses. Smooth, dumbass. “I mean,” he said, showing you his palms apologetically. “That I don’t mind. But obviously,” he gestured to you. “I don’t wanna do anything that would make you… uncomfortable.” He gave you a smile meant to be genuinely soothing, but only relaxed when he saw you let out a breath you’d seemed to be holding.
“Ugh, I’m so sorry.” You rolled your eyes, falling on your back next to him with an exaggerated sigh. He immediately stretched out next to you, determined to be as close to you as possible while he had the chance. You were always a vision, to him, but stripped down like this, you were something he wanted to treasure. “I tend to be really… sore, later, after my first day. Like, ‘hurts to sit down’ sore, sometimes.” You rolled onto your side, and your fingertip traced a soft line down his chest and stomach that stopped just above the exposed fabric of his boxers. He suppressed a visible shiver as best he could, but it was a struggle. “And based on what you’re packing, babe,” you said, your eyes flicking downward before meeting his and causing him to forget to breathe for a moment. “I don’t think I’m going to be quite able to handle it all tonight. Which sucks,” you added, with an embarrassed giggle. “Because if I’m being totally honest with you, I was really looking forward to it.” You have him a small, shy smile that still felt somehow conspiratorial.
Jesus, you were going to kill him. He was going to die right there in your bed from the sheer thought that you’d wanted him as much as he’d pined after you.
He took a breath as subtly as he could, trying not to give away that you’d about knocked it all out of him. “Don’t worry about it.” He reached over, lightly moving some of your hair away from your eyes. “Again, I don’t want to do anythin’ you don’t want to do. Right now, later, whenever.” He smiled, admiring your bare stomach and thighs in the soft light of your bedroom window, how the beginnings of the blue hour reflected just a certain way off your skin. You were already lovely from his place in the dark, but out here with you? Where you’d wanted him to see you? “You’ve got me as long as you want me.” His eyes had met yours again, taking in how those shone as well, how he wished he could see them in this light more often.
“But I really do want you, though,” you said with just a hint of a whine, and when you leaned in to kiss him again, it was everything he could do not to roll and pin you down so he could kiss you everywhere, slowly and deliberately. You moved closer to him on your mattress, your hand skimming lower over clothes that now felt far too tight. “Can I… help with this, at all?” —
Maxi swore softly to himself as he mis-aligned the apple of the decedent’s cheek again, impatiently picking up the clay and re-rolling it into what it would’ve looked like if half of it hadn’t been ground off onto the hot concrete of the highway once the visor of the helmet had been smashed out.
“I swear I can do this,” he said over his shoulder, still smelling the hint of perfume. “I’m just… havin’ a day, is all. You know how it is.”
He paused, looking back down at the face he was working on restoring and feeling slightly mortified with himself. “I mean, of course you do. Of course. I’m so sorry, that was thoughtless of me. I’m - I’m just gonna shut up now,” he muttered, furiously re-rolling the clay in his hands to try to change the texture.
When he felt the tiniest ‘thump’ against his shoulder blade, like a heavy palm lightly clapping him on the back, he about jumped out of his skin.
— As cool as you were trying to be about it, he could hear just the slightest hesitancy in your voice still, and he could’ve died at the idea you thought he would still say no to you. “I…” His face felt almost drunkenly warm as he tried desperately to get his brain to work with him here, overwhelmed with just how long he’d ached for you to touch him at all, the warmth of your flesh threatening to scorch his normally cool skin. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to? I—“ He forgot what words were for a second as he felt your hand move again, your fingertips skimming the skin above the waistband between the pair of you. “I’d wanna be able to reciprocate, somehow,” he managed, forcing himself to meet your eyes again. “However, um—“ Oh, you’d been positively teasing him then, sliding his trousers down as slowly as possible while you watched his face. Your expression was sweet, your lips parted just slightly as if in innocent curiosity, but he could still see that light in your eyes that told him you knew exactly what you were doing. “However you feel comfortable,” he said, buying himself time by gently taking your hand in his. “I don’t want this to just be about me.” He couldn’t have imagined anything more agonizing than you touching him and him not being able to touch you. It just wasn’t how he was built. He kissed the back of your hand, and the wickedness in your eyes liquified into something soft. “Please?”
You bit your lip thoughtfully, considering. He knew what it was to be vulnerable with someone new - to be even more vulnerable than you’d maybe expected, in your case. He gazed at you earnestly, hoping you would see that he was already devoted, there was nothing about your body that could scare him, because it was yours, and at this rate, he was as good as.
“…Okay,” you said at last, and he couldn’t help but beam when you smiled a little at his enthusiasm. “But only whatever you’re cool with. Don’t feel like you have to reciprocate in exactly the same way, if you don’t want to.”
“Try me.” Maxi said, quirking a brow in a playful challenge.
“Oh, I intend to,” you murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth before dipping lower to trace the scar over his heart with the white-hot tip of your tongue.
Maxi fought to keep his surprised inhale from being too obvious as you did so, feeling his already present blush turn into a full flush down his neck and shoulders. He’d been with other people, sure, but he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had seemed to… savor that part of him, quite like you were.
But of course you’d caught that. You looked up quickly, meeting his eyes with a furrow of concern. “Sorry,” you said softly, your eyes flicking between his and his scar. “I- should I not—?”
“It’s fine,” he reassured you, kissing your cheek hastily. “You’re fine, sugar, I’m just… not used to that, s’all.” His fingertips ghosted down the line of your jaw, watching your brows ease apart. “…People tend to avoid it,” he explained quietly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile and a shrug of his shoulder.
You blinked. “Oh.” You glanced sheepishly down again. “I should’ve asked first, I know, I just—“ You lifted a hand, your fingers ghosting over the ridge of tissue you’d just claimed with your tongue, and Maxi found himself not only enjoying the feeling, but leaning into it as much as he dared. “…I just figured, it’s you,” you murmured, your eyes finding his again. “And I-“ You broke off, teeth grazing your lip self-consciously like you were fighting a laugh at yourself. “I want that too.”
Maxi sat up with an abruptness that drew a small squeak from you, lifting you so you were straddling his lap now. One hand tangled in your hair as he kissed you hard, the other hand squeezing your hip with a need he was sure gave away just how desperate he was for you—
He slammed down the clay knife a little harder than he meant to on the steel table surface, cussing up a storm under his breath as he failed for a third time to get it shaped exactly how he needed it over the partially exposed gums. “Come on,” he growled, not sure if he was more annoyed with his lack of focus or embarrassed at just how completely you’d invaded his every sense, leaving him stumbling like an apprentice on their first day.
Probably even moreso, given just how long he’d been helping shape flesh back into faces before it was entirely legal for him to do so.
“I’m so sorry,” he said again, straightening up and folding his gloved hands behind his head. He turned away, unable to quite face the woman he was making a fool of himself in front of on his on table. “I swear, this has never happened before, really. I’m absolutely gonna have you lookin’ right as rain for your viewin’, I promise, I’m just… feelin’ a bit off, today.” He gave a long, slow exhale, one that shook just a little bit around the edges. He had to focus. He had to try. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done this hundreds of times.
But you — you were something new. He’d never had to work with someone like you in his head, before.
And it seemed to be having the worst time trying to hold his infatuation and his professionalism in the same amount of space.
— His brain immediately returned to how you’d kissed him back with just as much eagerness, your teeth nipping his lower lip, and when his tongue had filled your mouth, you sucked on it in a way that went straight to the base of his spine.
“PleasecanItaketheseoffyou?” he’d asked in a single breath as he broke away, his fingers hooking impatiently into the cotton lounge shorts you were still wearing.
You looked shy again. “Um. I’m not—“ You sat there for a second, choosing your words. “I’m not wearing a lot underneath,” you mumbled. “I thought I still had a day or so, and I wouldn’t want to—“ You gestured loosely at the white dress shirt he still had hanging loosely about his shoulders, more off than on at this point.
Maxi pressed another messy kiss to the side of your neck, emboldened and secretly thrilled by the idea that you’d been planning ahead for this. That you’d wanted to, been hoping for it maybe as much as he had. “I don’t mind,” he said against your skin, and he felt your head fall back slightly as he kissed down to the crook of your shoulder. “I swear to god I don’t mind, there’s no part of this I don’t mind, I promise you—“
“Okay,” you half-breathed, half-giggled in his ear, and you got your knees under you to hover over his waist just as he pulled down, finding the black mesh waiting for him underneath.
“Baby,” he nearly whined at the sight, his hands moving covetously over the curve of your ass as he admired you. “Fuck, you’re pretty. You always are, of course,” he added quickly, looking up at you where you were still perched up over him on your knees. “Of course I knew that, but— fuck,” he repeated, his hands moving up your plush hips and your soft sides adoringly. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
You giggled in a way that went right to his chest. “Calm down, Monsieur, you’ve already got me naked,” you teased, still looking a bit shy.
He hooked his arms around your waist, pulling your stomach flush to his chest where he was somewhat pinned under you. “I mean it,” he whispered, and he watched your face change - the self-conscious half-smile falling away at what must be the sheer dark intensity of his gaze. “You have no idea how much I want you. Just like this.”
He was sure his eyes would have changed, the way he was looking at you. He couldn’t always feel it when they did, but the yowling ache of Want inside him as he looked at you like this, for him — you had to have to seen it. There’s no way you could have seen him and missed it, the way he wanted you all to himself, folded into his arms against the dark that threatened to swallow him up when he thought of being parted from you.
He knew it was scary, especially so soon. It scared him too, in a way. He wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d unwound yourself from his grasp right then and thrown him out.
…But, miracle of miracles, you hadn’t.
You’d watched his eyes with a tilt of your head, transfixed by what, he wasn’t totally sure, but your stare was curious - and, eventually, oddly familiar. He saw it then, that flicker of pure Want, not quite as sharp or dark as his own. But it had been there as you looked down at him, your hands lightly carding through his hair… before one set of fingers tangled in it, scraping ever so lightly at his scalp.
That dark presence in him - something that had no business being so close to you, especially not this quickly - crowed in triumph in a way it hadn’t in a long, long time.
You leaned down, catching his lips in yours, and he met you with a kiss that bordered on ravenous. He couldn’t help the sound that escaped him when you gave another careful, experimental tug at his hair — which blossomed into a full moan when you’d pulled harder, eliminating what space there’d been still between you.
“Tell me what you want,” he demanded as you broke away, the pair of you panting slightly as though you were starved for air. “What can I do for you?”
“…Those all the way off,” you said softly, nodding down at his open slacks as your tongue traced your lips - which, he’d noticed, had begun to look just the tiniest bit swollen with his attentions.
He let go of you only long enough to fumble with them and the accompanying underwear, unable to help the slightest of smirks when your own hands had dropped to help him when you decided he wasn’t quite moving fast enough for you. He’d been appreciative of every display of your enthusiasm so far, but the need he’d felt crackling between the pair of you at that moment had been undeniable.
Maxi slid them off with your help, immediately pulling you back against him as soon as they rustled to your bedroom floor. He was trying to keep his breathing level as he felt you finally skim your palm lightly over his cock, and he couldn’t help but glance down to see you sizing it up.
“Damn, Maxi,” you murmured, glancing back to watch his face as you took it fully in hand. He bit down hard on his lip as you spread the drops that were already waiting there over the head, trying not to be so obvious in how much he’d been wanting you to touch him. “Were you planning on making sure I couldn’t walk tomorrow?”
He opened his mouth to answer, only to have the words tangle into something somewhat incoherent when he watched you move down his abdomen to lick a long, hot stripe towards his hips.
The pressure at the base of his spine was taking over the rest of his brain, and all he wanted was the heat of you around him, wishing he could do exactly as you said.
“Depends on what you wanted, pretty,” he managed through his teeth, feeling his fingers dig into his own palms.
“Oh yeah?” You glanced up at him, moving so your torso was perched gently on his thighs. You ran a fingertip lightly up the inside of one, smirking a little as he obviously squirmed.
Maxi forced himself to nod. “I swear I could— be careful,” he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking as he watched you lick your own palm lasciviously. “I wouldn’t hurt you, I promise—“
“Unless I wanted you to?”
He knew you felt him flex in your palm in response. It was too obvious. He said nothing, looking from where his cock was aching, leaking in your hand to your eyes, where you were watching his face with such a dark glitter to them that he had to fight to keep his hips still in response.
“…Okay,” you said slowly, your smile enigmatic. “Good to know.”
Oh, shit. He was a goner now.
You didn’t say much else, your hand twisting up his shaft and gripping just enough to make him inhale raggedly. You gave him a couple of experimental strokes, watching still before your mouth was around him, and he had to fight to keep his shit together.
“Fuck.” His hands tangled hard into your bedspread, trying to keep himself grounded through this onslaught. He’d kissed you a million times by now - he couldn’t help himself when you were around - and just like then, you were slow, deliberate. Taking your time with him because you seemed to like keeping him right on the line of agony and bliss. He felt the softest puff of air, like a suppressed laugh, and when he looked down he felt everything inside him seize at the way you were watching him, your eyes mischievous as he saw a thread of saliva trace its way from your lower lip down his shaft.
He fell back against your pillow with a moan, forcing himself to look away for a moment so he could keep from totally embarrassing himself with you. You had no right to look that perfect with your mouth on him like that. His fist knitted tighter into your comforter, until he felt the soft touch of your hand on his - looking down, he let you gently pull his hand away from your bed and set it in your hair, holding it there for a second as if to reassure him before your hand returned to pinning his hips to your mattress.
Tentatively, he curled his hand in your hair, not wanting to pull hard enough to hurt. He relished the feeling of its familiar texture, something he’d come to love in the time the two of you had spent on the couch with your head on his shoulder. He was just willing himself to be gentle when he heard the quietest noise, and it was only when he felt a shift in your mouth that he realized you’d taken him deeper.
He pulled hard on your hair reflexively, gasping at the change, at the soft sound of you fighting to take him into your throat. “Fuck, angel, you don’t have to...” He looked down at you, and the slight glaze of tears at the corner of your eyes made him forget himself so entirely, he felt his hips thrust forward before he could stop himself.
If you hadn’t been ready for him, he would’ve hated himself for being so careless with you. But you met his worried eyes with something of a challenge, your tongue tracing the underside of his shaft invitingly, and something dark in him delighted at the mirror it seemed to find in you.
Experimentally, Maxi thrust up again, and when he could feel you fighting to control your breath, he wound his fingers tighter in your hair and pulled.
Your moan couldn’t have been more exquisite, and Maxi at last let himself give in.
He wasn’t a monster - his thrusts were tempered, short, but he lost himself in the feeling of you around him: the warmth of your mouth, the soft ragged puffs of your breath, the spit that dripped from your lips. With the lovely wreck you made, and the way he felt you carefully take the rest of him in your hand to make sure no part was neglected, he found himself falling apart fairly soon.
“Darlin’,” he whined, glancing down at you through the now lightly fogged lenses of his glasses. “I can’t take this, I’m— I’m close, I have to—“
It was the way your eyes locked on his and the subtle shake of your head that finally sent him over. The sharp, clear gaze you gave him, the way you made it clear he was doing this your way. That this was something of his that you wanted for yourself.
He came with a shaky groan of your name, feeling the tiniest bit guilty he did so alone, but unwilling to deny how much he loved watching you as he did.
When you finally sat back, gasping, he sat up and immediately crushed his lips to yours like a man possessed, his hands gently cupping your face. He could taste just a trace of himself still on your tongue, and everything that just happened crashed over him at once, turning his kiss nearly feral.
Even through catching your breath, you giggled again at his eagerness, and he knew immediately he would fight a pissed-off alligator for you if it ever came to that. Two alligators. Possessed ones. There was nothing in the world he wouldn’t face for that sound.
“So you enjoyed yourself then,” you teased, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. “I’d hoped so.”
“You were divine,” he mumbled, leaning down to kiss your bare neck like a man called to worship. “I mean - I already thought so,” he added. “But that was…” He felt his brain go pleasantly blank again, distracted by whatever scent you were wearing on your skin.
You smiled under his praise, but there was the tiniest hint of relief in your eyes. “I’ve been wanting to do that for ages, to be honest.” You leaned forward, kissing the end of his nose as he blinked at you in surprise. “I knew you’d be hot when you weren’t totally together. Not that you’re not hot when you’re put together,” you continued, seeing his eyebrows begin to knit together. “I mean, I’ve been wanting you to rail me in those suits of yours for ages, obviously.” You waved a hand as if this were, in fact, obvious, despite Maxi having a very distinct hiccup of brain activity at the mere thought. “But you’re always so… poised, Maxi,” you said, your hands lovingly coming to rest on his now-bare chest. “I know you have to be, with everything that can go wrong with what you do,” you went on, and he had to keep his face neutral at just how close to the truth that came. “But I’ve been… curious,” you leaned forward, your lips an inch from his as you searched his eyes. “About what I’d see when you finally let go for me.”
Maxi watched you apprehensively as you reached up and ruffled the hair that sweat had undone. You fixated on it slowly sliding over one of his lenses, where it was naturally inclined to lay when he didn’t attack it with hair gel and a comb every day, and after a moment, you sat back with a smirk. “I have to say, baby, I really like it.”
You weren’t totally prepared for when he moved forward suddenly, capturing you in a kiss while flipping you beneath him. He delighted at the soft moan around his tongue in your mouth, only pulling back to hover over you when you were both absolutely out of breath. “If I wanted to make you come so hard you can’t think straight,” he whispered, dark eyes boring into yours. “What’s the best way I could do that right now?”
He watched the coquettish set of your face dissolve into a mixture of surprise from his phrasing and - what he was far more excited by - open, undeniable need. Your teeth grazed your lower lip hard, but he got the feeling that you weren’t having to think about it. No, this seemed more like you were hesitating.
“Try me,” he repeated, more insistant now. He kissed the corner of your mouth, then kissed you properly, coaxing you into something more heated. He lingered until he felt you relax a bit, opening up to him, before he pulled back just enough to speak. “I mean it, anythin’.”
Your guard was down, because he saw your eyes move briefly towards where his hips were resting against yours, your back arching very slightly to rock gently against his hipbone in search of any sort of contact. But they snapped back to his immediately, widening when you must’ve realized you’d given yourself away.
“You a hundred percent do not have to reciprocate,” you blurted, your words tripping off your tongue in your hurry. “Especially not, like, today,” you added with an apologetic wince. “Obviously. I’m not about to ask you to— well.“ You looked askance, embarrassed. “Not our, um. Our first… time, and all.”
Maxi snorted, smiling wryly. “Babydoll. C’mon, now.” He propped himself up on an elbow, cocking his head to look at you. “What, did you think I was gonna try to dodge that every month? Twiddle my thumbs ’til it was over?”
You met his eyes again, yours wide - and Maxi realized he’d tilted his hand, hinting at anything remotely close to a future together this soon. He opened his mouth to backtrack, kicking himself for being so presumptuous - when you looked off to the side again, giving a tiny shrug. “I didn’t want to assume or anything,” you said, smiling shyly. “Some people just aren’t into it.”
He managed to disguise a sigh of relief as a chuckle, realizing you weren’t automatically discouraging the idea of a… repeat engagement. Hell, that you didn’t even seem to be that put off by the thought of him sticking around. “Well. I appreciate your lookin’ out,” he said, tilting his head further to meet your eyes. “But trust me when I say there’s nothin’ about you I’m not into.”
You laughed, disbelieving, but there was a curiosity in your eyes that, when he saw it, he couldn’t look away from. “Define ‘into’ here, babe.”
Maxi sat up a little more, skimming your torso with a rakish glance. “Put it this way,” he drawled, leaning down to kiss just underneath the elastic of your top. “When you do what I do, there isn’t much about the human body you don’t learn to appreciate, in its own way.” He ran the broad swathe of his tongue down the curve of your stomach as he moved lower, causing you to inhale through your teeth and squirm slightly. He trapped your plush hips in his hands, fingers nimbly spreading and adjusting to hold you down against your mattress. His thumbs worked their way under the waist of the pretty sheer underwear you’d worn - for him, he thought with an eager twist of his insides - down over the skin, as though he were unveiling you. “There’s nothin’ I don’t find more beautiful than somethin’ alive just bein’ allowed to be itself.” He kissed your lower abdomen with parted lips, his teeth grazing lightly below your navel just to hear your gentle sound of surprise, to feel you try to move against his palms… and find you couldn’t break his grip. He couldn’t help but sneak a peek at your face, or help the grin that was just a touch too sharp when your eyes were already hazy and huge. “…And it’d be a sin,” he added quietly. “For you to feel like you had anythin’ to be shy about.” He held your gaze as he shifted his hands to your thighs, letting you watch as he pulled them a little wider, his fingers sinking into the plush flesh.
He waited for a response from you - the barest nod, given with only a short dazed lag - before he settled his torso between them, his thumbs tracing the velvet of your skin. He planted an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of each, just adjacent to your cunt, with all the slow measured movements of a ritual. He took the opportunity to adjust his grip again, his right hand shifting slightly upward to mitigate the jolt of your hips, his left staying anchored to your thigh as he continued to rub circles there.
He didn’t know what his eyes were doing when he looked at you a last time, but he could feel the Reaper poised just behind their sockets, unable to resist the proximity of something so vulnerable and precious. He didn’t bother to try to knock it back - it liked this too, too much to ruin it for both of them.
He’d let it watch, it didn’t matter.
Pleasing you would be something that would strictly fall to him. He’d make sure of that.
His eyes flicked downwards, seeing you were already visibly wet - something that sent another searing jolt through him - and there, as though a sign, the beginning bloom of red.
When he swiped his tongue brazenly up your slit, pushing into your folds, the moan you let go from your chest hit him at the same time as the unmistakable taste of blood.
He fell on you like a man starved, pulling your thighs even wider to spread you for him. He felt suddenly insatiable, taken in by your heat, the way you shivered on his tongue, and couldn’t help but cant your hips just slightly upwards to allow himself better access.
You made a sound of surprise that turned into a mewl, your thighs pushing slightly against the side of his face and his palm as though to keep him there, and he felt himself grin wickedly as he continued giving you exactly what he’d wanted to since that first encounter in the cemetery.
In the midst of the familiar human essence, the iron across his palate, there was something that left the vague impression of… sweetness. He chased it, lingering on your clit to lave the flat of his tongue there like a wave. He heard your moan twist into a whine, and he couldn’t resist the urge to echo it, his cheekbone scraping the inside of your thigh as he unashamedly lapped at your core. Your slick spreading across his mouth and further left him wanting, and as his hands clenched at your body with need, yours fell to his hair.
He couldn’t help the moan at the feeling of your nails against his scalp, the way he was sure you didn’t realize just how hard you were pulling. He had to fight to keep his eyes from rolling back as you tugged hard, your hips pushing against his mouth for more. He didn’t know which got him to start rutting lightly against your mattress, the little licks of pain or the way he was tempted to just let you grind against his jaw until you were done with him.
“F-fuck,” you groaned, your first actual word in a while, and it came from somewhere low in your chest. This was beyond the breathy noises of a first time, what people thought the other person wanted to hear or expected. There was a rawness as your groan became something strangled, your voice breaking, and when your heel very lightly came to rest on his back, his nails sank into your skin before he could stop himself.
“Fuck, Maxi, I’m—!” You punctuated that sentence with a keening cry as you came apart, and he held his tongue steady against your clit when your hips spasmed against his face. Your heel dug further into his back, and your hands knotted in his hair as evidence of your orgasm coated his tastebuds. He drove his own hips hard against your bed as you shuddered, already inescapably aware that he wouldn’t know peace again until he could have you making a mess on his cock too.
But this was more than enough, for now. He would’ve been happy to do this until the day he died - and then to be resurrected, at your whim, for this express eternal purpose. His name sounded so much more pleasant from your mouth, especially when you sounded on the verge of tears with sensation, your throbbing cunt indecisive as to whether it wanted more or if it couldn’t take anything else.
He only let up when he felt your fingers go slack in his hair, your foot hitting the mattress with a soft little thud. When he pushed himself up to catch his breath, you were gazing sightlessly at the ceiling, your eyes like a starless night as your own chest heaved.
The blood he could feel congealing around his mouth only exacerbated the sudden overwhelming urge he felt to cage you in his arms and never let you go again, to meet everything else that sought your attention with a murderous glare and hands that itched for cold steel.
“Mine,” the Reaper hissed in the back of his skull, and for once, he had found himself in total agreement.
- Fuck. This wasn’t working. If even open wounds weren’t enough to dull the heat he felt spreading through his veins, he didn’t know what would. “Christ, M’sorry,” he muttered sheepishly to the woman on his table, hastily throwing down the clay knife as it felt like his skin was going to combust inside his protective gear. “I’m so sorry, ma’am, I’ll fix everythin’, I swear I’ll make it up to you, I’m—“ He couldn’t even finish the sentence as he pulled the sheet over Mrs. Berthelot-Yang for her dignity’s sake, then bolted out the door of the prep room towards the door to the hearse’s loading bay.
A full-throated peal of laughter rang out as he left, echoing off the stainless steel on the walls.
He slammed through the exit door, barely noticing the pouring afternoon rain as he scrabbled free of his gloves first, ripping the black latex in the process, before yanking off the splash guard and tossing it over his shoulder and back inside. He was already panting as he ditched the mask underneath, then clawed off the protective coat over his dark scrubs and throwing it behind him as well. Only then did he let himself lean over to put his hands on his knees, letting the somehow still warm rain run through his hair and over his face as he tried to figure out how to deal with the throbbing ache that drove him to literal distraction. If work wouldn’t do it - especially a hard restoration like this one - he wasn’t left with a lot of options.
One tempted him in particular. One he’d been trying to avoid, to be honest. It wasn’t something he liked to do, and it was definitely something he wanted to get in the habit of doing whenever a… similar situation occurred.
But as evening loomed on the edges of the afternoon, he couldn’t see himself with a lot of other options.
If he wasn’t in such a state, he would’ve admitted to himself that it was probably troublesome how he could’ve made the drive to your house blindfolded by now. How it was probably even more troubling that there was starting to be a spot in the bushes in the empty lot just down the street from you where he hid the old Mustang. Or how he’d already had a change of clothes in the back seat for just such an occasion, and he stripped out of his wet scrubs with as little eye contact as possible with the smugly smirking figure of his uncle in the rearview mirror.
He followed the little not-path that was starting to form between the lot and the trees that encircled your house, carefully ducking as needed to avoid any sight lines to the neighbor’s place across the street, avoiding the thorn bushes he’d learned were there the hard way, and carefully stepping around what rodent warrens he’d come across -
And at last, ending up exactly outside your bedroom window.
Your light was on, but your curtains were closed. He checked his phone, scrolling to his last text message from you - before lunch, if he remembered correctly. Amidst a flurry of bad jokes and some random dancing skeleton .gifs, you’d told him you had been feeling kind of gross today, and were planning on taking it easy.
So you were definitely home, then.
He peered through the small crack he could find in your blackout curtains, scanning your room and finding it still charmingly messy, but blessedly empty. Your bedcovers were rumpled, but there was no sign of you.
He hadn’t seen any light from your front windows when he’d driven by, though - so you weren’t watching TV on your couch. But where were you, then, if not here?
Slowly, he cracked the window, listening to what sounds he could catch to see if he could tell: sure enough, he heard strains of music, loud, but distant - further in the house. So no headache then, he thought with a touch of cheer. Good, you always seemed so miserable when you had one of those. You were endlessly restless on your mattress when you were, like you could never get comfortable.
He took the faraway music as his cue to crack the window wide enough to slide in, bending over to fit through in as little space as possible. It was a careful step over the window seat (something he was rather envious of, if he was honest) to your carpeted bedroom floor, and he immediately removed his shoes, not wanting to track dirt around your room.
From there, he dropped into a crouch to hide behind the silhouette of your bed in the middle of the room, carefully lowering the window as he himself sank to the floor. Once he was sure it was secure, he fell over on his side and rolled in one motion under your bed -
And came to a stop right before he ran face-first into your box of clean bedsheets. Perfect, he noted, you hadn’t moved anything in the few days since he’d been by. He’d carefully arranged everything under your bed so he was concealed from view from the doorway, but gave him enough room to stretch comfortably and avoid a dreaded leg cramp. He even had enough room to stash his shoes down by his feet, safely out of sight and nowhere where they could leave a mess.
He curled into his familiar space, resting his head on the hoodie you’d left down here once the weather had turned warm. He wasn’t even sure if you’d noticed it gradually sliding off your bed - genuinely, without any manipulations on his part - but after multiple nights of being tossed about in your fitful slumber, it had finally hit the floor when you’d rolled over, and he’d snatched it up immediately to repurpose it for himself. It was an old lesson he’d learned early: never waste a good opportunity. Not only did it make lying here easier, it had the lovely bonus of smelling like your soap, too.
…But that scent was a little stronger than usual, if he wasn’t mistaken. He sniffed your hoodie again, confused - it wasn’t like you’d found it to wash it, recently. When that wasn’t it, he kept still, trying to figure out what was happening to create this change. Your room wasn’t a place that changed drastically, and definitely not under your bed, so anything that caught his notice was definitely worth assessing as a potential new hazard.
However, it took him all of a minute to realize the music he’d heard was coming from your bathroom - accompanied by the sound of water rushing through the pipes in your walls. You were just having a shower. Was it cramps, then? Heat might relieve those, or it could just be general exhaustion. Bodies were tricky things when they were alive - he’d just have to wait and see what was ailing you.
He took a moment in the stillness to pull his phone out of his pocket and turn off vibrations along with sound, putting it completely on mute. He couldn’t risk him responding to one of your texts giving him away - wouldn’t that just be awkward.
As he did so, he caught another layer of sound amidst the water and the music, and he froze in place instinctively, trying to identify it. It was a voice, but not unfamiliar - yours, he decided after a moment.
After another moment still, he realized you were singing.
His heart was fit to burst; he’d never heard you sing before. It wasn’t professional, by any means, but it was just so… adorable. Genuine. You were no songbird, but neither was he. And he would’ve listened to this for hours, just to hear you sound so happy and at peace.
The song itself was familiar too, although the instruments weren’t quite right - a cover, maybe? He scooted as close to the far side of your bed as he dared, trying to make out the lyrics through the wall and the water. You’d stopped singing, your part apparently ended, and the voice had changed:
“—Sing once again with me,
Our strange duet.”
Maxi sat bolt upright in his excitement - or tried to, before he smacked his forehead hard into your bed frame. He immediately lay back down, cursing himself quietly and touching the tender spot that he was sure was going to bruise. Pulling his fingertips away, he was grateful not to see any blood, at least. But he was definitely going to have to not slick his hair back for a little bit, lest he attract unwanted attention.
But you’d rather liked it when he did that, he remembered you saying so. He squirmed a little where he lay at the idea of your fingers running through his hair, playing with it, the ache in him only slightly assuaged by being so close to you (after being tempered somewhat by having to walk through the rain in the growing dark, on top of that).
But the song was definitely a Phantom cover - he was surprised it had taken him so long to place it, but he was willing to chalk it up to the water and the less-than-spectacular acoustics of being stuffed under your bed. But it had just gotten to Christine’s part again, and he could hear you trying to keep up as she swept into her grand finale. You were admittedly nowhere near the singer’s range, but it was obvious you were having fun. When her final note sounded, he could hear you laughing at your own attempt to match it that came out more of a squeak at the end, and he thought his heart would melt out his mouth and dribble all over your floor. He couldn’t believe he’d never thought to ask you if you liked the show, when he knew the two of you had discussed the book before. He was already reaching for his phone to google when the next tour would be in town when he heard the water shut off.
He froze even though you were still in the next room, listening hard. You’d turned the music down as well, the playlist having shuffled to something else - another singer he liked, he noticed with glee, making a note to ask you about it later - and he could still hear you faintly through the walls, singing at a much more subdued level to match the quieter melody.
He heard the clattering of your various skincare products as you moved around, before the music moved as well, leaking into the hall as you opened the door and stepped lightly back into your room. Only wearing a huge t-shirt and (he could barely glimpse them) a pair of underwear, you seemed to move on a cloud of steam and something sweet, the whole room filled with the scent of your favorite products now, and he relished just laying there and drinking it in.
He watched your bare feet as you walked around your room, your nails freshly painted your favorite color, and surmised you must have been trying to treat yourself to a spa day. You had said you’d been feeling less than your best, so this might have been your way of trying to take care of yourself. He had to resist the urge to check the date, make a note for next time - he knew he was weird, sure, but there were lines even he was willing to respect. He’d have to trust you to tell him if you wanted his assistance with… something like this. He could respect your discretion if not, your relationship with your body was your own.
But still. He’d at least make sure to have some extra of your favorite snacks in his kitchen. It wouldn’t stand out too much, he supposed.
At last, you fell over onto your bed, and he heard you sigh contentedly as you relaxed onto your mattress. He resisted the urge to echo it aloud, instead just stretching out as much as he could manage to pretend he was resting alongside you. This wasn’t perfect, but it was definitely better than trying to white-knuckle through things at the Mortuary alone. At least you were here. At least the overwhelming feeling of… everything, had subsided somewhat now that he was with you.
He heard something move from your nightstand, and a moment later, he saw an empty wine glass come into view as you set it on the floor. You stayed leaning off your mattress, opening the door to your nightstand, and he moved backwards as much as he dared, trying to make sure you wouldn’t happen to notice him if you happened to glance underneath your bed. But you seemed fixated on whatever was in the cabinet. He couldn’t help but be a little curious - he hadn’t gotten to see what you’d kept in there, before, and it wasn’t like he had the opportunity to ask when he was here last night.
With an impatient sigh, he heard you moving to the right side of your mattress, then settle your feet back onto the floor. A moment later, his heart - previously melted - resolidified and jumped into his throat as he saw your knees follow suit, and you kneel in front of the cabinet you were still digging through.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. There was no excuse for being under here, especially this early on, and double especially since you didn’t Know. He held his breath without realizing, pulling as slowly into himself as he could manage. It wasn’t like you had a direct line of sight under here, but it also wasn’t like you wouldn’t see him as soon as you bothered to look.
He had no one to pray to for this - the good ones wouldn’t dare grant his request, and the bad ones weren’t worth talking to. So he just held his breath and hoped, watching you rifle through a collection of —
Oh.
He watched you set what was very definitely a vibrator on your lap, then a second toy: long, made of dark silicone, it looked like. You picked up and held a couple similar ones of different sizes after that, clearly trying to decide something between them.
He knew he would’ve been scarlet if anyone could see him, the ache from earlier returning tenfold in an instant. So that’s what you kept in there. How… educational.
You were holding the dildo in your hands, and he felt one of his own slide up to cover his mouth, while the other slid… elsewhere. Your fingers were perfect, and once again, he found himself wishing you would touch him, as you had last night.
…In very different circumstances than right now, obviously. But still.
You were tracing the shaft with your thumb, humming thoughtfully to yourself. “Close enough,” you mumbled. “Or close as I’m going to get, anyway.” He heard you laugh to yourself, sounding a little embarrassed. “Yes, wonderful date conversation. ’Hi, Maxi, maybe-strange request, but can I just measure your dick for a sec? …Why? Oh, y’know, just wanted to commission something custom off the internet so I could fuck myself while thinking about you, even though we’ve only been going out for a month, no big deal.’ …God, I’m such a fucking weirdo,“ you muttered, sounding amused yet exasperated with yourself.
Maxi felt his fingers digging into his cheeks as his palm clamped hard over his mouth, barely cognizant of that possibly leaving yet another bruise. His brain felt like it was on fire, his sweats suddenly uncomfortably, impossibly tight. You… what? You what? You were doing what? Regularly enough that you wanted a what?
If he could’ve moved either of his hands, he would’ve pinched himself to make sure this was real, and not some pleasant fever dream from accidentally inhaling embalming chemicals. But one was firmly latched onto his face, determined not to give himself away and ruin this, while the other was already subconsciously desperately rubbing over his cock pressing against the front of his pants.
You pulled out a bottle of lube before you closed the cabinet, stepping back up onto your bed. He listened as you moved like a fox would track a rabbit, aware of every little slip of your skin against fabric, every slight motion of your legs -
Then the familiar sound of your gasp, soft and fluttering. Unexaggerated, wholly yours.
You writhed slightly on the mattress over him, and he could tell you were just warming yourself up. His face felt searing to the touch as he heard the growing sound of your wetness, you moaning quietly as you touched yourself, trying to relax.
Slowly, his left hand slipped under the waistband of his sweats, finding a slickness of his own already leaking from his sensitive tip. He bit down slightly on his right hand, determined not to make a sound as he spread it with a painful slowness over his shaft. As much as he dared, he tried to match the pattern of your movements, wishing it was him with you for real - as much as he was deathly curious about the version of him with you in your head.
He heard a quiet, choked sound from you not long at all after - a muffled moan, you biting your lip as you brought yourself to your first orgasm. You let out an unsteady exhale, and he heard you adjust, reaching for something you’d set down on the other side of your bed.
He had to hold his left hand still as he heard the pop of the plastic cap on the lube, the further hushed sounds of you spreading it along the proxy shaft, before finally you fell back again with a soft ‘thud’.
“Okay,” you murmured quietly to yourself. “Let’s see if I can manage not to totally embarrass myself with another person.”
Maxi was all too aware of his physical body being anchored to the floor as he resisted the urge to climb onto your mattress and kiss those fears away. He could never find you wanting, not in a million years, he could prove it to you right now if you just knew he was there, if it wouldn’t scare you—
But behind his eye sockets, he was aware of something looming, a dark near-arrogance that he couldn’t totally separate from himself. You thought you couldn’t take him. That you might struggle, be shy and flustered if you couldn’t manage it one one go.
The Reaper wanted to see you try, to see the embarrassed tears that might result if you couldn’t, to feel you try to push him back out again because you just couldn’t keep him there.
The part of his brain that was still wholly his wanted to soothe any such tears, reassure you with coos and murmurs about just how good you were, how well you were doing. But there was the tiniest part of him that wanted to lick those tears away, not kiss them, and savor them instead.
His train of thought was entirely interrupted by your sudden gasp, and your quiet groan. “Fuck,” you whimpered, and he could hear you writhing slightly, your feet sliding as you struggled to get comfortable. “Fuck, okay. Okay, it’s fine, I just need…” He heard your head hit the pillow with a sigh, and he felt like his body was one exposed wire.
He couldn’t help but squeeze just a little as he heard you panting softly, making a small, muffled noise as he heard you try to take the toy deeper, accompanied by the occasional slick sound of something moving in you. He felt his cock twitch in his hand at the noise, wishing desperately he could be letting you adjust around him instead.
A breathy whisper of his name sang across his nerves like a bow over strings, followed by a quiet resulting mewl. “I’m trying,” you whispered to the imaginary version of him with you, your voice sounding a little frayed and overwhelmed. “You’re just… a lot.”
Christ, you really were going to kill him. Carefully, painstakingly, he timed the movements of his hand over his cock to what he could make out of yours - his hand hoping to even fractionally capture the way you would squeeze around him, the achingly slow pace of pushing into you and pulling out again, trying to offer you some relief while still trying to satisfy the gnaw of need he could feel building at the base of his spine.
“I can,” you murmured to him and not-him, your voice shaking a little. “I can, I promise, just… I need a minute.” He heard a groan muffled by you biting your lip, trying to push the toy further. “There’s just so much of you, Maxi.”
He bit his own lip so hard it could bleed, trying his damnedest not to react to that out loud. You thought he was a lot. You’d seen him - you’d had him in your mouth, for christ’s sake - so it’s not like you were exaggerating, but still. You were already anticipating not only fucking him, but wanting to take him fully, and in that moment he thought his own anticipation might burn through his skin from the inside out. He wanted to be in you, for real, now.
Then he heard a soft cry, followed by another thud of your head against your pillow, the scrabbling of your feet as your back arched. “There,” you moaned, and his eyes threatened to roll back in his skull yet again. “See? I- oh, fuck, I told you I could.”
And then, slowly, he heard you starting to fuck yourself on it.
He bit fully down onto his own palm, matching your pace now, hoping your own slick sounds and now-desperate whines would cover the sounds of him trying to jerk himself off as quietly as possible. He wanted to be on you, his chest pressed against yours, feeling your sweat and your heart racing under your bones and your warm panting on his neck as he fucked you properly, gave you everything you were begging for just a foot away. He wanted to pin you down and fuck you until you forgot your own name, until he only knew his own from the way it fell off your lips and onto his. He felt your pace pick up in his own grip as you got closer, and the way his whole body tightened, he desperately wanted to fill you with his own release, to feel it slide down your thighs as he stubbornly fucked it back into you, not for anything to take but just to know that you wanted him inside you.
“Please, please, Maxi, don’t stop,” you whined above him, and he tasted his own blood as his teeth finally split the skin of his hand. He wished it was your neck, your shoulder, those wicked little lips of yours - he’d kiss it better in a second, he’d apologize immediately for marking your precious skin, but he was so hungry to feel you with him, for real, that he longed for even the warmth of your wounds on his lips.
Just when he thought he couldn’t take anymore of this, the closest thing to heaven and hell at the same time, he heard you come with a last cracked moan of his name. He shattered immediately, spilling his own load from a day of obsessing over and repressing the memories of you inside his clothes, and utterly ruining them in the process. He flushed even more furiously, the heat spreading down to his chest from both the ecstasy of relief at last, and embarrassment for coming in his pants like a freshman. He fucked into his hand as he heard you coming down until he went fully soft, bordering on the ache of overstimulation but trying to satisfy the gaping hole that came from not actually being able to pull you against him, to descend together in each other’s tangled, sweaty limbs.
For a moment, the two of you just lay there in silence - you still panting softly, him still biting into the flesh of his hand, not trusting himself not to moan the minute he pulled it away. He wanted to kiss you, to tell you that you were perfect, that you took him like you were made for him - or that you would, when the time was right, he was sure of it. But not until you were feeling better, not until you wanted to, until you chose.
“…Holy fuck,” you mumbled above him, sounding somewhat hazy, and he instead had to fight his usual giggle-snort. How were you this cute, he wondered, it wasn’t even fair.
He heard you shift slowly, reaching for something else on your nightstand - he winced as he caught himself secretly hoping it wasn’t the lube again. After a day of agony, he wasn’t sure he could go another round as enthusiastically as you.
But instead, he heard a soft, familiar tapping. In his scattered haze, it took him a minute to place it — until he saw your arm dangling over the side of your mattress, your phone still clutched in your hand as you waited for a text to send.
He caught his name on the screen before you pulled it up again, and hurriedly, he rummaged in his pocket to pull out his own just as the notification of a new message appeared.
<[Thinking of you, handsome <3 Hope work isn’t giving you too much trouble today?]
You wicked little minx. Maxi slowly released his palm from his teeth, bringing up his second hand to write back.
[Aw, miss you pretty. <3 Work’s been… work haha. Feeling better?]>
That was as close as he could think to summarizing the situation, anyway. And he was reasonably sure ‘hey look down here :)’ wouldn’t be very well received, even if he was starting to become aware of your own more… interesting tendencies. He glanced up at the bottom of your mattress as he waited for his own message to send, pondering this. He knew the two of you were still in the early stages, but he was now deeply curious what other strange urges you were hiding in that sweet little head of yours. Besides apparently liking his dick enough to want a memento of your own - something that, if he wasn’t already still flushed, would’ve made him do so all over again as he thought about it.
He heard your phone buzz, and his heart lept at your quiet little excited noise as you rolled over on your mattress. He was half-tempted to peek and see if you were kicking your feet in the air, for as much as you made him want to do the same, but he kept himself out of sight.
A second of fast typing later, your response appeared:
<[So much better omg. Sorry about work though :/ Do you maybe want to hang out tomorrow? We could watch a bad movie and drink about it.]
‘Yes,’ Maxi sent immediately. He winced at his own eagerness, then quickly added:
[Whenever works for you, if you feel up to it! No pressure if you start feeling bad again.]>
He heard you roll back over onto your back, giggling to yourself. He restrained himself from sighing in relief. At least you thought he was cute, and not desperate.
Another response popped up on his screen:
<[Oh I’m definitely better, no worries. <3 My place, maybe seven-ish if that’s okay?]
And then, as he was typing a confirmation, another:
<[And don’t sweat needing to drive home or anything btw. I have a spare toothbrush and stuff lol. ;)]
Maxi resisted the urge to punch the air, both because it would send his fist straight into your box spring, and because he was far too old to be doing that and not feeling ridiculous about it. But he definitely wanted to, in the moment.
[Haha sure. I’ll see you then angel <3]>
You wouldn’t need to know he was seeing you before.
Or at least, he would tell you later. Much later.
(as always, if you read this far, you’re a saint and I love you! <3)
#SFBF#Blood Fest#Blood Fest 2022#maxi morvant#maximilian vincent morvant#maxi morvant x reader#maxi morvant x you#slasher oc#slasher oc x reader#necromancer oc#plus size reader#non-binary reader#genderqueer reader#morvant mortuary#monsterkisser fics#mdni
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I took my son’s room away from him, moved him into my room even though there isn’t any space, and gave my mom half of my house. I paid to put her on my lease, and I paid her uhaul fees to get everything up here even though, thanks to my sons menace of a father, I am almost 20k in debt and cent even afford my own life. I gave her an entire bedroom and bathroom. Her and her boyfriend live here for free. I buy all their food & I pay for the extra $100 a month in utilities, and I take her place whenever she asks, and you’d think that’d count for something, but she is so goddamn mean to me. All she does is scold me - I don’t clean enough, I trash the house, I’m not strict enough, she wouldn’t parent the way I would, I’m on my phone too much, my son talks too much, gets away with too much . She came out at 3 am, and she said “you trashed the house when you came home,” as her first words to me because after two hours of sleep and a 13 hour shift, I accidentally fell asleep comforting my son at 8 PM who got scratched by our kitten, and I didn’t clean up the board games we had out or his snack plate on the table. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, and I woke up at 1 am and I was up working on it when she walked out, and the rest of the mess was from her boyfriend and my son, which she wouldn’t know because she was asleep when I got home. I said “it’ll be clean when you wake up, it was an accident, it’s late, can you please not scold me right now,” and she was so livid, slammed the fridge, went on about how she cleaned the house, and I know me suggesting she was scolding me is what set her off because she thinks it’s so rude to even insinuate that she’s rude, insulting, scolding, reprimanding, anything. But I was just exhausted and trying to be like please don’t because I didn’t have the bandwidth to feel guilty in that moment, and I should have just said sorry.
She always complains that she hates my house and my life and I’m like you don’t have to live here ?!! You had nowhere to go and I rearranged my whole life to help you and all you do is complain that you hate it, and it’s okay to not approve of my life, it’s okay to hate that I struggle with messes and routine, it’s okay to be upset you don’t have your own place, but goddamnit, I am doing everything I possibly can and I cannot do anymore, and to be made to feel like it’s not enough every day when I’m doing more then I have to is exhausting. I get yelled at by everyone - chase, my mom, my son, and I just can’t do it. I can’t be the bad guy every day. I’m so tired of not being enough for anyone, and I’m trying to do better, to be better, I really am, but I can only carry so much, and these expectations being placed on me feel unattainable, and I no longer understand how to differentiate between actually failing, actually being wrong, actually not doing enough versus being taken advantage of or being asked for too much, I don’t know. I know I’m trying. I know I’m tired. I know I don’t have time to read or write or watch things or play games or even sleep. I know I don’t have friends or alone time or time to myself. And if I’m constantly spending my energy on other people, even if I I’m bad at washing dishes or keeping up with laundry or stress googling every single intrusive thought, that’s gotta count for something right? But maybe not. I really can’t tell.
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Diagnosed
I've been wanting to write about this one for over a month, now, but I've had this writer's block on on the urge. It's been awful. So today I finally just sat down and started writing. If this post is rambly, sorry.
I've been suffering from chronic pain and fatigue for over 10 years, and I have various medical issues that cause those problems. But those problems got drastically worse after I had Covid in Thanksgiving of 2022. I was fully vaccinated, but I am immunocompromised, so I wasn't surprised when I caught it from my son anyway.
I spent the past year going from specialist to specialist (and changing a couple of primary care doctors I wasn't happy with, anyway), trying to get them to understand this was a case of Long Covid. However, I ended up being misdiagnosed or finding doctors that didn't even think Long Covid was a thing. Some thought Houston didn't have a Long Covid clinic (or didn't want to refer outside of their hospital system). But in general, they shuffled me through and I felt like I wasn't taken seriously with these doctors. Eventually, I gave up.
Just about 3 months ago I had an appointment with a new pulmonary specialist at UT Med Center. After the first 5 minutes with me, before ordering any tests, he said, "You have Long Covid. I'm going to refer you to our Long Covid Clinic here at UT."
After one visit with the Long Covid doctor (this guy spent an entire HOUR with me in the appointment), he told me I have ME/CFS and POTS, both of which came from having Covid the prior year. ME/CFS is a form of Chronic Fatigue and more can be found out about it here:
I could have been treated there at least 6 months ago. Possibly 9 months ago, if any of my other doctors had taken me seriously, goddamnit! But now, for the past year, my health has gradually gotten worse because I haven't been able to do a goddamn thing. When you aren't able to do, you lose your strength. You lose your stamina. You lose a lot of things. By now, I'm pretty much housebound. It seems I only get out when I have a doctor's appointment. I see more doctors than people I know and that can be depressing.
But I finally got a diagnosis, and the feeling of relief was amazing. I literally cried, right there, when I heard the news. Not because this has no cure, but because a doctor finally took me seriously. I felt like my fight was over and I could finally get help.
And that's exactly what I'm getting. All my specialists are at UT, now, and they know about the Long Covid clinic. They're right there at the same location. I'm already getting some PT at home, for as long as insurance pays for it anyway. Insurance is paying for spinal injection procedures for chronic pain now, where they were denying them, previously. I have a couple of other new specialists that handle other areas of ME/CFS that I'm supposed to see after the holidays. Things are finally moving.
I have hope.
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greetings my dear zadie 😁 i missed u sm (sorry for the disappearance- i really missed filling ur inbox like this pls don’t mind me💔) & i genuinely have no idea where to begin from because i just got caught up with like 30 chapters of strictly business and i haVENT BEEN SLEEPING SINCE YESTERDAY BECAUSE I CANT CLOSE MY PHONE 🧍♀️ first of all what the FUCKKKKK IS GOING AWNNNNN😨 like what the hell what the fuck the whole family situation is so heartbreaking then we have the fucking mind blowing jaw dropping earth shattering identity crisis inducing universe colliding inducing smut to have ever grazed tumblr idk if it’s the severe daddy issues but my GOD thewayjongseongisaservicedommakesmegentearup also can i just say as someone who’s been reading your masterpieces since hype boy i absolutely adore. like ADORE 🧎♀️ the way you write your smuts they always like ooze out love and i adore it sm like it’s like that one meme where u know it’s not a quick nut but smth made with love & care and that’s exactly how you be writing your shit dawg like you’re so talented?? out here making me close my phone every 5 mins just to giggle and calm myself down. now when i tell you my legs r aching bcs of the amount of hours i just spent swinging them while giggling because of the shit i was reading for HOURS BRO. 😀 like i’m so obsessed with how you write i want to kiss & appreciate each every single one of your neuron cells and axons for connecting to eachother to form such beautiful ideas mamas. anywho back to the story FUCK YOU SHIAH UGLY ASS PREHISTORIC ASS BITCH THE FUCK IS YOUR GODDAMN PROBLEM DAMN. like you’re genuinely a miserable grandma if you’re out here in your 30s or smth pushing 89 and you’re bullying & talking shit about a girl who’s 21 💀 like girl go teach at unis what u learned about dinosaurs since you’ll be talking straight up from experience. i bet yo ass she was there at the last supper arriving with her horse and all that like GIR- sorry excuse me for the disrespect fr 🙏🏼GREAT-GREAT-GRANDMA. GET YOUR GODDAMN SHIT TOGETHER AND BACK THE FUCK AWF 🤺 anywho now that we talked about the literal cause of the big bang theory let’s go talk about jongseong 🤭 no because i love this man with my whole entire heart i just- i <3 mature men <333 he’s so cool & mature & understanding & it’s making him so much more sexier than he already is it’s actually driving me crazy because wHERE do i find a replica of the man i just read about. like sir. SIR im losing my mINDDDD 🤸♀️🕳️ and then going to yn i love her sm :( she’s so smart & kind and she did not deserve anything that happened to her she’s such a sweet girl i can’t do this i can’t stand kind hearted people getting their souls hurt like this like pls she deserves sm better (i’m literally coming for you shiah. sleep with one eye fucking OPEN.) i’m so glad she has jimin & aeri w her i love them all so much and nayeon (btw making nayeon jongseong’s older sister single-handedly saved approximately 26392 lives and prevented 6 million deaths im telling u, ur mind? legendary.) and then we have seoul’s fav four oh mY GOD i love jaeyun sm. he’s so hilarious like bros always speaking & asking the ACTUAL questions he’s so funny i love him sm & hoon is just hooning he’s a bad bitch & a serious mf i love him sm for that fr always serving shit and all that a fucking icon he’s so real 💯 and oh lord 30 year old hee? is going down in the history books i fear 🚨 u making hee this attractive right after poison is just so ooooooo i wanna fight you so bad (w kisses & hugs duh!) but like gen. easily one of the best stories i’ve ever came across, easily one of the best authors/writers i’ve had the chance to read the works of and witness with my own eyes 🙏🏼 like thank u so much for your service fr i love u sm pls take care of urself & don’t tire yourself out (i’m ignoring all events that took place in the most recent chapter because no.) sending u sm love & kisses zadie ! <33
actually no fuck that what the fuck do you mean the engagement is ACTUALLY GONNA HAPPEN. didn’t jongseong already put that bitch in her place like GRANDMA???? R U NOT EMBARRASSED THIS IS SO EMBARRASSING. chasing after a dude when he literally told u all ur shitty fantasies AINT GONNA HAPPEN and someone who put u in ur goddamn place and SO OBVIOUSLY HAS SOMEONE ELSE HES INTERESTED IN (WHICH TALK YOUR FUCKING SHIT JONGSEONG 🗣️💯 SPEAK UR TRUTH DONT LET THEM SILENCE YOU!!) IS SO LIKE ??? girl stand up fr you’re famous ig & hella rich u can find someone else leave my babies alone i beg. and oooo girl jongseong’s dad fr about to make me become a lawyer to jail his stupid ahh alongside yn’s father (and her brothers) 👩⚖️ now one thing shitty men will always excel at is being a fucking asshole to everyone including your family yet excluding your side chicks! like at your prehistoric grown goddamn age you’re gonna force your son to marry someone he doesn’t even like 😧? shit’s wild fr. anyways fuck you shiah fuck every single dad in the story and fuck you shiah (pt2) cuz u ain’t SHIT. you will never be SHIT with your horrendous pick me attitude and with your personality that’s literally revolved around being a trophy wife (and being in a marriage with a man who doesn’t even want you??? like do u have no shame. no self respect. like idgaf if this is about business and allat the man DOESNT WANT YOU 🫤 get that shit in your thick ass head grandma) like that shit’s crazy and fuck that account that posted that shit i hope yn’s okay and jay makes shit up for her cuz come on now 😐
-⁉️ <3
MY BABY IS BACKKKKKK HI BABY 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 you have no idea how much i giggled and smiled seeing you in my inbox imagain i MISSED YOUUUUU and hope life has been treating you well baby 🥺💞 pls tell me you havent been overworking yourself or i will have to fight you 💔
and please the way i couldn't even hold back my ugly laughs while reading bc you expressed my thoughts and feelings about yoo shiah in strictly business too spot on 😭😭😭😭
when i tell you the part where you started complimenting me, the smau and my writing made me tear up like i dont think you guys know how much your words mean to me and i will forever keep them super close to my heart so thank you so, so much baby. sending you the fattest kiss right now pls accept 🥺💞🩷💞🩷💞🩷
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[Princess-verse Scrap] .coffee.
i would just like to take this moment to say that i am writing a slew of tiny domestic ficlets set after Princess, and it is entirely the chubby squirrel’s fault. please direct all crediblame to Silvarbelle.
following up on Bruce finding a ten-year-old on his doorstep… Damian meets Barry (sort of).
.coffee.
“BRUUUUCE!”
Barry yelling through the house was not how Bruce wanted to wake up two hours after returning from a patrol.
“What the hell, Barry?” he growled.
The speedster apparently took that as permission, because the bedroom door flew open and Barry was standing there beside the bed in slightly grubby sweats. “Bruce,there’sakidinthekitchen! Anactualkid,astranger,inourHallofJustice!”
Bruce groaned and rubbed his eyes with one hand. “Barry, that’s Damian Wayne, my son. Do you not watch the news? At all? He’s already been here an entire weekend.”
“Oh.”
“Oh,” Bruce agreed. “Is there coffee? I don’t think I’m getting back to sleep.”
“Sorry. Sorry. Um. Don’t tell Clark?”
“Clark probably heard you all the way in Metropolis.”
“Oh. Um. Oops?”
“Coffee, Barry. And you’d better have passed that test Friday, or I’m suspending your Alfred privileges.”
“Not my sandwiches!” Barry said, aghast. “I passed, I really did, a C is passing!”
“Dammit, Barry…I told you to get a tutor for the chapter you missed. I told you to send me the bill.”
“Yeah, and I know you’re really feeling this whole fairy-god-bat thing,” Barry waffled. “Look, I just feel really weird taking actual money from you. Room and board, well then I’m just a freeloader…but money’s…different.”
Bruce did not understand in the slightest. He knew it was some kind of dignity thing, but he didn’t see the logic. “Call it a scholarship, then. In return for you doing the superhero thing, which keeps interfering with school, I pay for your tutoring so you can do well and have a real life. Now get my goddamn coffee, please.”
“Think he’ll take it personally that the first thing I did was panic and scream your name at the top of my lungs? That doesn’t make a great first impression, huh?”
“Barry, so help me, I will burn your comic collection if you don’t bring me coffee in the next ninety seconds.”
“Coffee, yes, sorry!”
.End.
#scraps#fanfic#CANON DIVERGENCE#universe alteration#set after Princess but technically sort of part of it?#fic series: princess
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At the end of March I faced a department full of people who knew my name and face, my nuanced research about the dead and the remembered, panicking that I sounded frazzled , worried about D and his daughter, as he creeped up the stairs and went missing for most of the panels until mine. He came to mine though, and he said some very kind things. That meant a lot to me.
But that’s not why we’re here.
At the end of March, notes clutched in my hand, dressed in boots and a blazer I had dug out from my closet, I creeped out of my shitty house on Long Island that i hated, a too-large loft bedroom with no sun but a dirty skylight, my Chinese landlady hovering. I hated it there, uncomfortably large upstairs and cramped and gross in the downstairs, but I tried to make my best of it, I tried to do my walks and explorations, and it all felt like dull, lifeless nothing, like grey and muddy waters. I put on my nice boots and my blazer, went to the unreliable bus stop, and the bus passed me by. That in itself wasn’t rare, but the day, the day of my talk, the day when Long Island turned on me, showed me it’s MAGA fangs and when wearing army sweaters and Austrian caps became not so funny anymore, I walked to school in the looming rain, click clacking worn boots and light blazer.
I had had enough. No more would the MAGA protestors threaten my bagel stop on Saturday mornings, no unreliable bus with an app that made you watch ads before you bought the tickets, no more mile walk in the rain while cars jeered and tried to run me over. I was done, done, done, done with the suburbs and everything they represented. I made up my mind: I was moving to “the city,” where I could ride the subway and see my friends and where people wouldn’t say anything about my hair and stares. In “the city,” everyone had their own lives that didn’t involve me (which can be lonely sometimes but more on that later,) where I didn’t have to have a car, where I could just be trans without being a spectacle, where I could live with some semblance of what I wanted normality to be.
Two months later, I had found an apartment in the city. I’m here now - my room is cramped, but there’s so much Sun that the whole room heats up in the morning, making me sweat and dream. The floors are wooden and my roommates are good people who want to make money, but I had money and I gave that up. Now I have some regrets but not about anything I can fix or could have fixed at the time.
I’m writing this here now, to remind myself that I changed my entire reality within the span of two months. I sat in a marriage for so long, unable to move or breathe and I made myself small, and after one cross country move whats a little two hour jaunt? I still feel sorry for my movers and I hope they’re okay. But I’m here now, two months later, two months after sobbing under my desk, red faced and snotty when Rob offered to give me a hug and that was the most positive and loving male attention I’d gotten in months. He’s a good guy and I hope he’s okay.
But I did this, I did this in two months. I said, no, im unsafe, im unhealthy, this is killing me. I didn’t wait six months or ten years. I waited two. I put my money down, I took my pride and I took my things - some I haven’t seen in so long - I stacked them up and I arranged a room that overlooks a busy street and the neighbors play their music and their kids scream. Rainy days are nice because it’s quiet so I like rainy days now.
Ultimately I write this to remind myself that I am capable, perhaps more capable than anyone I know, I have uprooted my entire life and I will continue to do that until I feel at home. I will weed and tend and sow my own goddamn garden until someone listens and flowers sprout. I don’t have anyone to obsess over right now which leaves me weak and sullen, but they will come, they will come. They always do.
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