#though i guess you could do that for the first bit
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roommates ; lando norris + part two
In which you have to live with your brothers best friend who you really don't like, Lando Norris, and his many 'girlfriends' for a while, but there's always a thin line between love and hate.
masterlist - playlist
lando norris x fem!verstappen reader tw: nothing much yet expect that Lando is a player + i don't proofread + smut will come next chapters!
That night you find out why Lando was dressed this nicely. Al though, Lando texted you before hand so maybe you could have guessed it before. He texted you to let you know that he was heading out to a club, not wanting you to startle you when he came back late in the night. At first you thought you would sleep right through it, but when he unlocked the door you are wide awake. And if that didn’t awake you, it would be the stupid giggles of some girl that would wake you up. You’re going to kill Lando.
When you hear the girl moan, you’re pretty sure that you want to kill Lando. He annoys you so much right now. You hear the girl moan again, it almost makes you sick. They stumble and you hear the door of Lando his room opening. He really didn’t lie about the walls being thin. Are you suppose to listen to everything now? You don’t want to, that’s for sure.
You let out a soft annoyed groan. What do you do now? You already turned around in the bed multiple times. You’re not going to fall asleep again when Lando is fucking a girl right next to you and you can hear everything. Frustrated you grab your phone from the nightstand and open your messages to send Lando a text.
Then you notice the fresh flowers again. You think about earlier, Lando told you that there is in fact a cleaner and that she’s coming tomorrow. Once a week and always on the same day. That means she didn’t brought the fresh flowers. Could that mean that Lando put them here?
You discard those thoughts when you hear the girl moaning again. It surprises you that you don’t hear Lando. For a few seconds you wonder what he sounds like during those moments, but you try to forget about those thoughts quickly. You can’t think about him like that. Quickly you focus on the text you’re about to send.
Y/N: I really don’t want to hear some random girl moaning the whole night
It’s not like you expect a response from Lando. He’s probably balls deep in the random girl right now, so the it’s not like he will look at his phone. You do hear his ringtone on the other side of the wall.
Lando does however read your text. He even has a special notification for you programmed in his phone. So when he hears it, he directly grabs his phone. It earns him a nasty look from the girl underneath him. Oops? When he reads your text, he doesn’t know what to do at first. He thinks about texting you back and teasing you if you’re jealous. But eventually he just puts his hand on the girls mouth.
“Be quiet,” he tells the girl.
She shows him an annoyed look, but he doesn’t pay attention to it. Harshly he fucks her. In the mean time he only thinks about you. It’s going exactly as every other time. Some random girl is laying underneath him. He’s fucking with a fast pace and wants to be done soon, not taking his time for the girl. Every time it seems like a good idea to bring someone home, but when his dick is inside of them he can only think about you. This time his mind is focused on the way you looked in only that damned towel. It helps him to orgasm rather quickly, to the disliking of the girl.
When he’s done, Lando is quick to tell the girl to fuck off. He never lets them sleep over. There has never slept a girl in his bed before. Normally he gives them a bit more time to calm down or to talk, but he feels ashamed about himself and wants nothing more then this girl to leave.
You’re more then surprised when you hear Lando telling the girl to be quiet and to walk her out only minutes later. Is this the way he’s treating those girls? You think about giving Lando a piece of your mind, but you’re not in the mood for an argument. He can do whatever he wants.
“Do you want a midnight snack?” Lando asks you while softly knocking on your door. “I know you’re still awake babygirl,” he adds when he feels himself getting impatiently.
You let out a soft sigh and get out of the bed. When you open your bedroom door, Lando is almost in shock when he looks at you. You’re dressed in only his shirt and a pair of panties. He can almost see them. The shirt is just long enough to cover your ass. He reminds himself to give you a smaller shirt next time.
“So, midnight snack?” You ask Lando when he doesn’t say anything after you appeared in front of him. He is quick to nod and to take you to the kitchen with him.
A couple minutes later you’re eating ice cream. Lando is joking about how his trainer is going to get mad at him for having a cheat day like this. You can’t focus. You keep thinking about how Lando treated that poor girl. He literally used her to orgasm and send her home afterwards. It makes even less sense that he’s eating ice cream with you now. He could have done that with her and then send her home. Right?
“Do you always treat girls like that?” You ask Lando suddenly. You can’t withhold the question anymore.
Lando lets out a soft sigh. “I don’t expect you to get it,” he tells you, “but those girls use me as well.”
“They use you as well?” You ask confused. In your eyes Lando is the one who uses them.
“Yeah,” Lando agrees, “Every girl that I bring home comes up to me and asks me if I’m the Lando Norris. After that they will flirt with me, try to take pictures for their Instagram story for more followers, keep asking me to buy them and their friends drinks.. and more like that.”
“So you take them home for a quick fuck and tell them to fuck off?” You ask.
Lando doesn’t know what to say. He knows you’re right, but he doesn’t want to say it like that. He watches you take a spoon full of ice cream inside your mouth. It almost feels like you’re looking at him with disgust. He realizes that he’s a massive player and doesn’t treat those girls right, but he doesn’t know how to change. And what will distract him then. He can’t keep thinking about you the whole day.
“Maybe,” he eventually confesses, “I know it’s bad.”
“Really bad,” you agree.
“I know,” Lando sighs.
“You know, if you would have eaten some ice cream with her and then made her leave, it would be better,” you tell Lando, “I don’t even know why you just didn’t do that. Like why call me over for a midnight snack if there was someone around?”
“It’s more fun with you babygirl,” Lando says without thinking about his words.
“Liar,” you laugh.
+++
The following night, the exact same happens. Lando texted you beforehand that he was heading out again, a small three hours later you hear him stumble back into the apartment. You hear something fall and how Lando is stumbling to walk around. The noises are followed by a high pitched giggle. Great, another girl. When you hear the room door next to you open and close, you’re already annoyed.
“I can’t believe you’re the real Lando Norris,” you hear the girl say. Is this what Lando meant yesterday night? “I’m going to have sex with the Lando Norris,” she continues. You wonder if anyone knows him at all, instead of knowing him like ‘the Lando Norris formula one driver’. Slowly you start to understand what Lando actually meant last night. You start to feel sorry for him.
When you hear the girl moaning loudly, your earlier feelings are quick to dissolve. Why do they have to be so fucking loud? It surprises you when you hear Lando softly moan as well this time. This girl must be better then the one from yesterday.
Lando can’t focus on anything else then you. He knows it isn’t you who’s moaning underneath him, but still. His mind if full with images of you. He can’t stop thinking about the way you looked yesterday night, dressed in only his shirt and a string. Fuck. If he keeps thinking about you like this, he won’t even last a minute anymore.
In the mean time you’re sending annoyed texts to your brother. Complaining about Lando of course. Not that Max can do anything about it, but you want him to know how annoyed you are with this whole situation. When you hear Lando moan again, your attention stays focused on the sound in the room next to you.
You almost don’t hear what happens next. The unknown girl is moaning loudly, but suddenly stops.
He can’t stop thinking about you. When Lando remembers how you looked in only that fucking towel, he almost loses it. He thinks about fucking you. Would you feel nice around his cock? He is pretty sure that you would be the perfect fit. He tries to imagine how it would be to have sex with you. He knows for sure that it would be a lot more pleasurable. He suspects that you’re a bit bratty, but he wants nothing more then to fuck that out of you.
“Fuck, y/n,” Lando whimpers when he feels his orgasm getting close.
Fuck. The girl underneath him is quick to move away from him. Lando almost slaps himself for being this stupid. It isn’t the first time that he says your name, but now you’re sleeping in the room next to him. What if you heard?
You doubt if you heard it correct, did Lando really moan out your name? Your doubts are quick to disappear when you hear the girl yelling at him. Now you’re pretty sure you heard it right. Lando moaned out your name. What the fuck.
Within a couple seconds you hear how Lando his door is opened, only to be closed again with a loud sound. Is this girl slamming doors? You want to get out of bed and to look at everything that is going on, but it can’t be smart to do so. In the mean time, there are multiple questions spooking through your head. Why did Lando moan out your name? Could it be that he was thinking about you while fucking that girl? Curious you get out of bed.
Lando sighs when he follows the girl. He needs to do some damage control. You can’t find out what just happened. Although Lando is afraid that it’s already too late for that. “Who’s she?” The girl asks him angrily.
“No one,” he is quick to react.
“So you’re just moaning out a strangers name?” She asks him even more annoyed then before, “I’m not fucking stupid Lando.”
“I’m sorry,” Lando eventually says, he doesn’t know what else to do. It’s always a mess when this happens.
“Do you even know my name?”
Lando almost laughs when he realizes that he doesn’t even know the name of the girl. God, he’s such an idiot. Before he can apologize again or make up a lie, the girl is already walking out of his apartment. He sighs. What a fucking mess, he can only think. Another reason to stop fucking with all sorts of random girls.
When he walks back towards his room, he is quick to notice you. This is making things only worse. You’re dressed in Lando his shirt again, this time paired with a short bottom. Lando can’t stop looking at you. He notices that you want to say something, but he’s quick to interrupt your tries.
“Not now babygirl,” he says tiredly.
“Why not?” You ask him with a soft tone of annoyance in your voice. Who does he think he is? He can awake you in the middle of the night with some random girl for two nights in a row? And you can’t even say anything now?
“I’m not in the mood,” Lando reacts.
“I was’t in the mood to hear that girl,” you throw back annoyed, “but it still happened.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Lando sighs, “I’m sorry for her loud moans.”
“I’m not talking about her moans,” you state.
Lando knows exactly what you are talking about right now, but he really doesn’t want to hear it. He walks towards his own bedroom and quickly opens the door.
“I heard you as well.”
Your words follow him in his bedroom. Fuck, of course you heard him. Lando sighs and starts to feel ashamed for himself.
+++
The following day, Lando takes every chance to avoid you. His morning consisted of doing a lot more training then normal, then he went out for groceries and now he’s meeting with your brother, Max, for lunch.
“So, is your plan already working?” Max asks him jokingly.
Lando sighs annoyed and shakes his head as a no. Max softly chuckles. Lando still doesn’t know why Max is this okay with him crushing on his little sister. Max even encourages it and tries to help Lando the best he can. Something he really doesn’t understand either.
“Come on mate,” he tries to uplift his friend, “you knew it wouldn’t change that fast.”
“I know,” Lando confesses, “but I think I fucked things up a bit more instead of making things better.”
“You’ll find a way to fix it,” Max continues, “Maybe you can impress her with dinner or something as an apology?”
Lando softly nods. It’s not like he can cook, but maybe he can try. He thinks about the groceries he bought earlier and tries to think of a nice home cooked meal with them. Maybe he should head back to the store later.
“I don’t get it,” Lando sighs, “Normally I can take home every girl and fuck them without any effort, but with Y/N I can’t even think straight while talking. Can’t I just fuck her instead of trying to flirt with her?”
Max laughs. “You’re an idiot,” he tells Lando, “If you’re going to fuck with her, you’ll probably only fall harder for her.”
a/n ; a bit short, but things will get better & longer later on :) thanks for the positive comments on the first one everyone!!
part three
taglist: @booksandflowrs @hiireadstuff @likedbygaslyy @dreamsarebig @f1fantasys
@samantha-chicago @sweatrevenge5436-blog @queenofmanydreams @fionamiller123
@chezmardybum @f-1-lover-16 @formulaal @shellybee456 @sltwins
@mouchii @emyladia @v3rnom @customsbyjcg-blog @cthgee @moonclaine
@scarletwidow3000 @bokutos-babyowl @loloekie @lyannesworld @silentreader128
@oreosareara @gabotomo @princesspristins @leclercsluv @lina505
@sideboobrry11 @zucchinimalfoy @danielshoe @alana4610 @viannasthings
@toriiez @randomnessis-mine-me @cmleitora
#lando norris#lando norris x reader#lando norris x y/n#lando norris fanfiction#lando norris imagine#lando norris imagines#f1#ln4#formula one
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What about yan malleus who courts his darling with fae practices?
So what I see the most about fairies is about how they would kidnap theirs bride and very little about actual courtship. But if we are talking about wedding, I did read somewhere that both fairy couple would give each other some task to accomplish before said wedding. Of course the task must be under the spouse capacity, so they could accomplish it well.
Warning: Yandere, forced marriage.
Your name
Fairy and Fae are a very closeted species, so very little are known about them. Malleus should have thought about it before courting you. You were HIS cute little human, so pure and innocent. A quality loved by fairies on other species. Fairy are quite unfair and selfish in their expectations for other than their own kin. And Malleus are the same, if not more. For the fair folk, their human lovers (or any other species) should be pure, innocent and loyal. Qualities you already hold in Malleus' eyes. "Oh? You want to exchange name, child of man?"
He is overjoyed by this. Name hold power, that mainly why he refused to give you his name the first time you both met. Of course since you so naively told him yours, he already had A LOT of power over you. When he developed feeling for you, Malleus wanted to kidnap you at first. But Lilia convinced him not to. It was a very old and outdated rules. Too old for this modern day and age.
That why after the incident during VDC you asked to exchange name once again, he was over the moon. Malleus had yours, but you also wanted his. "Uh fu fu! I hope you understand the meaning of your word, Child of man." Before you could ask about what he meant by that, he gave you his full name. The name that will be attached to yours soon enough.
Now that you both exchanged name, you two are officially in a relationship. You both are owning each other now. Which means that you both are now on an "equal" standing... In theory. While it's true, you being magicless mean you can't really use his name against him. But Malleus will gladly oblige if you need anything from him.
But Malleus know that name isn't highly protected in human society. So even though you are both engaged, Malleus decide to court you a bit. Fairy and dragons like pretty and shiny thing, so of course the draconian prince decided to gift you with some of his prettiest gem. By then you have already learned some fairy custom so you knew not to accept a gift from a fairy without giving something back. "Oh my, you shouldn't have, my dear child of man. You don't know how much this mean to me." He laughed delighted to see you have accepted his courtship and give him another one back. It was a pretty stained glass bracelet, but seeing your financial status he guess this is the best you could find. He is even more happy when you said you started to learn Fairy custom. That mean that you did it consciously and love him too, isn't it? Malleus take it as a sign that he could finally move forward with preparing the wedding.
As per the Fairy custom, Malleus prepared some task for you. He also didn't hesitate to ask for some task for him to accomplish. Since he you are magicless, he decided to give you some easy task. Like helping polish his horn, or going on a stroll with him. One time he even demanded that you cook for him. For the task Malleus has been asking from you. They were all so simple and adorable (in his eyes) that he couldn't help but swoon. Knowing that he loved to do his laundry on his own, you asked him to help you wash and hang them. Which he did eagerly. While he enjoyed it, it felt like you were preparing him for your marital life. "Look like the roof need to be repaired. Do you want me to do it, Child of man?", "I don't want to bother you with it Tsunotaro. Are you sure?" Malleus laugh it off before fixing it with magic. "It's no problem at all." He said with a smile.
You discovered about your engagement and wedding by Lilia. The wedding approaching the retired general took upon him to teach you every thing you needed to know for your life as Malleus' spouse and future consort of Briar Valley. When you discovered it, you ran to Malleus demanding explanation. The Fae prince just smiled as if you were just throwing a tantrum. "I did warn you, Child of man. Exchanging name are proof we are now betrothed. We have already completed most of the wedding rituals now only the ceremony are left." It broke his heart he saw you trying to push him away and leave. How you called him crazy, and tried to back out of the wedding. Malleus pinned your behavior on stress. You must be very anxious about your future as his consort. It must be why. The fairy dragon sighed before using your name against you. He hugged you gently and kissed your lips softly. "I know it's a very big step. I'm also anxious about it. But don't worry, I will take care of everything." He smiled as you were under his control unable to move. This is why you never give your name to a fairy.
#twisted wonderland#twst x reader#twst#malleus draconia#twst lilia#lilia vanrouge#twst malleus#yandere twisted wonderland#yandere malleus draconia x reader#yandere malleus draconia
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youtube
Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc
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Did Astarion kill DU Drow or did DU Drow pass the checks? (Or did that interaction not happen?)
Cause you’ve basically described DU Drow’s type as THAT Bitch™️ which I respect. But if THAT Bitch™️ killed him too?
Of course this could be me projecting, cause my Durge failed the checks and he came before he went 🫡.
Pretty face, legs for days, a mean streak, AND held a knife to his throat within five minutes of meeting, Astarion had already grabbed his attention, top that off with the fact Astarion actually killed him? My murder man was munted, the Bhaal boy was barking, slaughter son was salivating…
You get the idea
God damn it you're right, his type is just the conceptual archetype of That Bitch isn't it LOL
THAT BEING SAID you are actually mistaken! He may not like suck-ups, but he likes strangers putting knives to his throat even less.
Not to mention: Astarion's immediate order of business after that is to try and desperately get on your good side. In other words, doing the very thing that puts DU drow off. He didn't care for Astarion or his attempts at seduction at all, held him at arms' length, and was just a dismissive asshole to him throughout the majority of Act 1 (he was an asshole to everyone at that stage though, to be fair.)
It was only at the tiefling party when Astarion, completely unprompted, implied that the very idea of having sex with him disgusted him that DU drow became interested and started pursuing him. In the narrative I made up for this course of events, I like to think Astarion realized that his usual strategy wouldn't work here and that he was dealing with a man who only wants what he can't have. DU drow is a contrarian at heart, and for as long as Astarion was throwing himself at him he was going to be turned down.
Astarion only bit him after they started having sex, and at that point he had already told DU drow about his vampirism through normal dialogue ("Well, Obviously."). This is sincerely the only way he got away without being staked when that scene triggers (and it was honestly really cool to experience it in that order because it felt a lot more strategic from my POV as the player).
The bite was definitely a turning point in the relationship (DU drow enjoys being hurt by people he values under a controlled environment, but isn't fully aware of it due to his missing memory -> now his object of carnal desire puts that very concept on the table on a habitual basis, making it pretty much a pillar of the relationship -> DU drow begins to see Astarion as someone who actually has something to offer him, instead of just being a pretty conquest that he can show off.) However he still attempted and passed the first check to break free from it. They weren't close enough for DU drow to completely let go of his sense of self-preservation, nor did he come to trust Astarion entirely for a long time even after that. At that stage, if Astarion had sucked him dry (and then revived him, I guess) DU would have most definitely killed him.
(And If you're wondering how this translates to my actual gameplay - I wasn't taking the game seriously because I don't usually like fantasy as a genre, so I made a guy, named him Drow, and proceeded to be a huge dick to everyone until they all ultimately wormed their way into my heart while I kicked and screamed.)
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nature boy
wille has always been told not to expect to marry his soulmate. others dream of the day they’ll get their soulmate mark – it appears the day after the first meeting and is there every day after, but changing each day to reflect something meaningful from your soulmate’s previous day – but wille’s mother insists he has duties to fulfill, that he can create his own fate and find a partner whether or not she's a soulmate. (and yes, they only ever discuss in terms of she.)
he's on his way to another one of the dates his mother keeps setting up for him, and it's about thirty minutes before he needs to be at the restaurant, but instead he's at a greenhouse. he approaches the front desk, where a young man in a button-down shirt open over a looney tunes t-shirt with a name tag that reads Simon is nodding off over a textbook.
"i was hoping to buy some flowers for a first date," wille explains, when simon has looked up.
"we don't actually do bouquets," simon says.
"i know, i - i thought i would get something they could plant, afterwards," he clarifies, and he hears himself use they and tries not to make anything of it. he’s trying not to second-guess himself, knows his mother would tell him to go with a traditional bouquet, can picture erik all dashing with a few roses.
simon sets his pen down, looking at wille with a new expression, like he's reconfiguring his impression of him. "that's really thoughtful. i can help you with that."
wille follows him into the greenhouse, winding past tables of ceramic pots and meter-tall fronds, ducking under some vines that boast a sign about an upcoming workshop. simon hovers over a few plants before moving on. every now and then he glances at wille, seeming to size him up and factor this into his considerations. (wille wishes he knew what simon was seeing.) finally he scoops up a medium-sized pot with pale purple flowers, holding it out to wille with both hands.
"spreading bellflower. it's similar to the small bluebell, which is--"
"our national floral emblem," wille finishes for him, because of course that's the kind of nonsense his mother has made him learn, though it feels a lot less vapid in this moment.
simon looks impressed. "exactly. everybody wants the small bluebell. we don't sell a lot of the bellflower."
"it's perfect," wille tells him, and as he lifts the flowers to his nose, he sees simon's eyes crinkle with a smile.
his date is lovely, much more unpretentious than he's used to, nervous but striving to be genuine. she's definitely a bit thrown by the flowers, and she sounds apologetic when she explains she doesn't have any outdoor space, not even a balcony or patio, and her windowsills are too slim to host the plant. wille feels a bit wounded, wants to insist that she could just find a small table and set it near the window, but she's already suggested that he take it home with him and care for it "for me, until i can visit," she says, and he doesn't mind the idea, actually - has grown a little attached to the flowers.
he goes to sleep thinking of brown eyes and purple blossoms. he wakes up with them on his chest. the blossoms, that is, not the eyes. the spreading bellflowers bloom across his chest like elaborate watercolor tattoos, and he feels his heart leap behind the flowers as he traces them reverently. so he met his soulmate yesterday, and the bellflowers were meaningful to their day. but is it the boy from the greenhouse, or his date?
he knows who he wants it to be, but maybe fate, like his mother, has its own ideas about his path.
he doesn't want to contact simon or his date until he knows a bit more, so he has to wait a full day. he drags himself through his classes at uni, biting his nails down, the bellflowers burning under his clothes. (he'd been tempted to wear a v-neck shirt, show them off, but he also wants to cradle it to himself for a little while.) he stays up late, skin itching as the clock ticks towards midnight, at which point the bellflowers fade. instead, vines twine up both of his arms, curling like bracelets, embracing his wrists and forearms and the cut of his muscle. he knows those vines - couldn't name them, but he recognizes them from the greenhouse. there'd been a sign next to them, for an upcoming workshop, which he's guessing simon led yesterday.
he has an answer. and if the interest is mutual - which it isn't always, with soulmate marks, but he suspects it might be, if the bellflowers were a meaningful part of simon's day - then he is eager to bloom under this plant boy's touch.
#wilmon#young royals#i meant this to be like. a one paragraph drabble#it Grew so to speak#Bloomed#Blossomed
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Ko-fi thank-you sentences for Octopus behind the cut; Billy adopts Conner and it actually goes pretty good!
(( chrono || non-chrono ))
“I mean, unless you’d rather have gotten a tutor or something, I guess, probably Batman could’ve helped me find you a tutor,” Billy says, shrugging a little awkwardly. He used to help other foster kids with their homework a lot, though, and he taught a couple street kids he knew some bits and pieces of stuff, at least. And also–“Wisdom of Solomon, you know? It’s, um, kinda a thing. Anyway, I’m gonna help you with your powers, so it’s the same kind of thing, right? And it’s normal to read to your kids, too.”
“I don’t need to read to be a weapon,” Lynn mutters, still looking down at Tawky. “Not if I’m being deployed with a team, anyway.”
. . . Billy thinks maybe he could just go ahead and burn down whatever’s left of Cadmus. Like. Morally, and all. Ethically. Whichever.
“I’m not helping you with your powers so you can be a weapon,” he says firmly, making himself keep his voice even so Lynn won’t think he’s mad at him. Or, uh–royally fucking pissed at him, more accurately. That’s Cadmus. Like, definitely it’s Cadmus that he’s royally fucking pissed at. “I’m helping you with your powers so you don’t get hurt or accidentally hurt anybody else. Like–so you can use them however you want.”
“I’m the thing that gets used,” Lynn says as he folds one of Tawky’s ears back and forth, voice and expression both just distant enough to make Billy hate literally everything that’s made Lynn feel like that.
He is definitely gonna put in a request with the League to let him burn down whatever’s left of Cadmus. Either that, or there’s gonna be a real convenient thunderstorm concentrated right on top of it, and a whole lot of equally convenient and equally concentrated lightning strikes.
And if that fails, then there’s gonna be a twelve year-old “civilian” sneaking in with some matches and lighter fluid, and he’s just gonna commit arson the old-fashioned way.
“If anyone ever says that to you again, I’m gonna make them sorry for even thinking it,” he says as evenly as he can. Lynn’s mouth tightens. He keeps his head down.
“. . . why would you have read to me?” he asks, the question a little guarded. “That wouldn’t have taught me anything.”
“It would’ve taught you that I’d read to you,” Billy says. Lynn–frowns, like maybe he doesn’t understand what he means. Billy’s not sure he understands what he means, just . . .
His dad read to him. And his mom too.
And Uncle Eben definitely did not.
And Cadmus didn’t read to Lynn either, he’s betting. As far as he can tell, all Cadmus ever did was jam a really biased education into his head and lie to and mind-control him, in fact.
Cadmus was just really awful to Lynn in general, as far as Billy can tell.
Lynn thought they’d have kryptonite here, so . . . yeah. Cadmus was definitely awful to him.
Billy really, really wants to make sure that Lynn’s first thought is never something like that again. Or at least, that his first thought is never something like that when it’s about him.
About the person who’s taking care of him, he means. Lynn should–he shouldn’t–
Billy always felt safe with his dad. With both of his parents. He wants Lynn to feel that way too, because Lynn deserves to feel that way too. Like no matter what tries to hurt him, it’s gonna have to go through somebody else first, and somebody who’d never just stand by and let it get to him.
Billy doesn’t know if Lynn’s ever felt safe in his life, all things considered. He grew up in a pod being lied to and woke up to mind control and more lies and got attacked by, like, a giant mutated jerk of a doctor who’d been controlling and hurting him all his life already, and then he left the only place he’d ever known just because he thought it was the right thing to do, and . . .
Yeah. Billy can’t imagine “safe” is a feeling Lynn’s all that familiar with yet.
Can’t imagine he’s ever really felt it at all, at this point.
He–swallows, a little, and then makes himself smile at him again. Lynn’s still not looking at him, but Billy figures he’ll hear it in his voice, if nothing else.
“I’ll read to you anyway, if you want,” he offers as he links his hands together behind his back, his voice coming out a little awkward; a little quiet. He doesn’t mean for it to, but . . . “Even if you can do it yourself.”
Lynn doesn’t say anything. He rubs the pad of his thumb across one of Tawky’s paw pads and then squeezes it, just a little. Billy doesn’t blame him for wanting to hold somebody’s hand right now. It’s–a lot, probably. All this is probably a lot.
All this is definitely a lot, and Billy doesn’t blame Lynn for anything he’s feeling about any of it at all. When everything changes all at once like–when somebody’s whole life changes and they lose everything and everyone they had before, and . . . and . . .
It’s just a lot, he knows.
Like–yeah.
Of course it is.
“. . . sure,” Lynn says, and glances up–not at Billy, exactly, but in his direction. He’s looking at his shoulder more than anything else, Billy’s pretty sure, but that’s fine by him. He brightens instinctively, resisting the urge to float up a little in excitement.
“Cool!” he says. “Um–okay, yeah. Cool.”
Lynn ducks his head again, looking more towards the wall now. He’s still holding Tawky’s paw, though, and he didn’t, like, go run off and hide in his room or get mad or anything, so Billy thinks things are going okay, really. Even if–even if some of this is a little harder to talk too much about, maybe.
He really does want Lynn to feel safe with him, though, so he’s gonna have to be able to talk to him about the harder stuff too.
He can do that, he promises himself. Or–he’s gonna do that, anyway. He’ll figure it out, one way or the other.
Lynn deserves a dad who can do that, and Billy’s already decided he’s gonna be the kind of dad Lynn deserves, so–yeah.
He can do it.
He wonders if his parents ever felt like this with him. Felt like–like it was hard and scary and weird, but like they still needed and wanted to figure it out and do it right, whatever it took. Like it was more important to do it right than . . . than anything else.
He doesn’t know, obviously. And he’s never gonna get to ask. But . . . but he hopes he’s at least doing this right enough that they would’ve been happy about it. Been–proud of him, for taking after them. Being like them, even just a little bit.
They were both really good parents, and he just . . . they’re gone, and he’ll never see them again, and no one really remembers them the same way he does. No one loves them the same way he does. Not anymore.
So–so if he can be a good dad to Lynn like they were good parents to him, then maybe at least there’ll be a little bit more of them left in the world. A little bit more that they got to do; got to make happen. Make matter.
And maybe . . . maybe that means Lynn will love some part of them too, technically, if Lynn ever loves him.
If Billy does this right, anyway.
“Do you wanna walk to the library too?” he suggests. “It might be a little farther away than the diner, I think, but not too bad. And, um, we’ve got super-stamina and all, so yeah.”
“. . . I’ve never walked that far before,” Lynn says. Billy blinks, wondering how Lynn knows that. He didn’t say how far it was for sure, just–
Oh.
“You’d never walked as far as the diner before?” he realizes. Lynn nods stiffly. Billy’s chest sort of–hurts a little, maybe. “Did you like it, or was it too much? I know it’s kind of exposed and there’s a lot more people than you’re probably used to and all, so it’s okay if–”
“It was fine,” Lynn cuts in, and then hunches his shoulders a little. “Uh. I mean–it was fine.”
Billy’s own shoulders slump a bit in relief, and he smiles wider at him. Okay. That’s–okay, yeah.
He really likes Lynn. Like–Lynn’s really easy to like, he means. He’s glad about that. Not that he was gonna take anything back or send Lynn back if he was hard to get along with or anything, obviously, but . . . he’s still glad, yeah.
Really glad.
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Friday Friendship
Hey there! This one is kind of a spiritual successor to Calling the Plumber - and as such, it is one of the rare gay to straight stories of mine. While I do try to keep it friendly and without any homophobia or hate, feel free not read the story if you don't like g2s!
It was hard to overlook Montgomery and Archibald. Of course, that was always the case. But here, on the dirty construction site of their new home, the expensive silk suits of the couple stood out even more than elsewhere. Yes, the two of them were together - and they made sure everybody knew it. Not only were the two gentlemen standing in a tight hug whenever possible, but their flamboyant and colorful clothing left little doubt about their sexuality.
They were those kind of gays that conservatives were afraid of. Both were old enough to have been alive during the stonewall riots, although only Montgomery was actually there as a teenager. Still, the aged couple embodied everything the gay community prided itself on having achieved during the last decades.
Their house, too, would be a statement. The mansion was the largest construction in the area, and the most expensive one. It was going to be built on a large hill, overlooking the town, and its style was... extravagant. The house was to be built in a modern architectural style, but the two men had insisted that the walls would be entirely covered in rainbow colors, although that was still in the future by now. Surrounding the mansion would be a magnificent garden, a park even.
"My dear, are you satisfied with the construction?" Archibald asked his husband in his lime green suit. Montgomery had dyed his hair in an orange-pink tone today and wore a purple tie to his green suit. It was hardly the first building site he visited, since he had made a fortune in real estate.
Archibald, on the other hand, was a bit more conservatively dressed. His suit was a more subdued shade of beige, although his tie was of a bright sky blue color. He usually didn't dye his hair, and today was no exception: He wore the gray with pride, although he spent a fortune on hair and skin care products. He, too, had a respectable job as a top manager in a logistics company.
"Well, darling, I'm not sure yet." Montgomery replied. "I want it to look great, and the work has been good so far. But frankly, it feels that the workers motivation is somewhat underwhelming."
"I think I know what you mean, my dear." Archibald commented as they walked through the empty shell. "It is barely three in the afternoon on a Friday, and there isn't anyone around anymore. The workers must be out partying already. I can't fault them for that, but it is rather annoying, isn't it?"
"Indeed. It would have been nice if they were a little less lazy, though. The garden is behind schedule, and I believe the electrics are going to be delayed by another month."
"That is quite unfortunate."
Montgomery nodded and they walked a bit in silence. It was true. There was still a lot to do, and it looked like the workers left early for the weekend.
Finally, Archibald sighed.
"I guess I could take a look at the progress the electricians are making. I do know a bit or two about this. Maybe then we can talk to the foreman about their work. It's a pity that we cannot supervise every little thing here, but our jobs demand a lot of our time. If only we had a bit more hands-on control."
"My, what a fabulous idea! I will take a stroll through the garden then, to get a better picture there."
The husbands kissed each other on the lips as they split up and Archibald opened the fuse box. He had indeed done a bit of electrical maintenance in his prime, so he knew that what he saw in the box was nothing less than a mess. He sighed and was about to close the box again, but hesitated. No, he couldn't leave the mess like that. He would just tidy things up a bit, to show those inexperienced workers how it was done.
Carefully, he began to work on the wires, but before long, he felt uncomfortable. The fuse box was located in the bright afternoon sun, and it was just positively hot here. Still, not wanting to leave his work, he slipped out of his jacket and hung it over a nearby wall. He didn't notice that the piece of clothing disappeared once he turned away, nor did he notice that his hands became nimbler as he rearranged the wires.
Montgomery on the other hand found the garden construction even less advanced than he had hoped. Even worse, someone had left a few plants out in the heat. They would surely be dead by the time the construction continued on Monday. Montgomery couldn't let that happen. This garden would be beautiful, and no plant would die under his watch.
He carefully carried the plants to the place they were supposed to be. Of course, he knew - he had planned the park all by himself, so he knew where everything was supposed to go. As he arrived at the shady place, he understood why the plants hadn't been placed yet. The ground was wet and muddy, and there weren't any holes yet. He would need to talk to the foreman about that, but the man was surely already in the weekend as well. There was, however, a shovel nearby. Now, aside from ceremonial groundbreaking, Montgomery had never held a shovel. It wasn't that he didn't understand the concept, but he was just not the type for physical labor.
Well. He looked over his shoulder to his husband, who was apparently still busy looking at the fuse box. It seems like he had some time on his hands, so he might as well. Grimacing, he grabbed the shovel and carefully stepped on the soil, trying not to ruin his expensive shoes or pants. That worked well, for about two steps. But as soon as he tried to break the ground with the shovel, a big clump of wet soil splattered on his lime green silk pants.
Montgomery frowned. Well, that suit was ruined anyway. No reason to stop there. Determined, he pulled the shirt out of his pants and opened his vest. He wasn't going to ruin his custom tailored suit for no reason.
Meanwhile, Archie was getting into his work even more. From time to time, he had to wipe his brow, though, as he was sweating like an animal. His dress shirt was stained with multiple sweat stains already and didn't really *look* like a dress shirt anymore, but more casual. The same could be said for the rest of Archie as well. A certain youth had returned to his face, as he was concentrated on his work. This way, he didn't notice when his hairstyle dissolved into an unkempt mess or when a bit of stubble grew in on his chin. His shirt clung to his body now, drenched in sweat. It had long ceased to be a dress shirt though but had become a plain - although rather filthy - beige t-shirt. His tie was nowhere to be seen.
Due to the wetness, the shirt didn't leave much to imagination regarding his body. Not just his face had rejuvenated, no, his entire body had. He was leaner and his muscles firmer now. Out of the V-neck of his sweaty shirt poked a few golden hairs, and before long, his main hair had turned into a Nordic blonde, as well.
Meanwhile, Monty was digging like crazy. He had to get those plants in the ground, or the foreman would... Wait, what was he thinking?
He stopped for a moment, to scratch his head. Thinking was not his strong point, and Monty knew that. But he had other qualities, that made up for that. When he grabbed the shovel again, to keep digging, he heard a ripping sound that made him stop again. The shoulder of his shirt had ripped. His boss was going to kill him! Although, it appeared somewhat strange to him that he was wearing such a colorful and impractical shirt. Perhaps there weren't any other shirts left?
He looked around and saw only one of the electricians still on the site. He knew the guy, he was friendly enough. He surely wouldn't mind if Monty went shirtless for a bit. With an effort not to damage the clothing even more, he peeled out of the garment. He was only half successful with that, and a few more rips sounded before he had finished taking it off.
Monty looked down at his muscular and hairy torso. The cold air was good, and he wasn't afraid to get dirty.
With every movement of the shovel, his arm muscles tightened, and his frame filled out more. A short beard sprouted on his chin, and his now full earthy brown hair shortened to a more practical cut. It wasn't like he had money for an expensive hairdresser, after all.
Finally, he had the holes ready and wiped his hands on his sturdy pair of work pants. Now, he only had to put the plants in. Despite his impressive physique, Manny was always very careful with the flowers, and he made sure that none of the roots got damaged or that he didn't break the stem.
He looked at his work. Good, that would look great, once the plants grew. Someday, he would have a garden of his own, and a house like that. And a beautiful wife and two, no, three children. But that was still a long way to go, with his poor pay.
Someone behind him cursed and Manny looked back to the electrician.
Chad was still sweating like crazy as he worked the wires. His mates had all gone to the clubs by now and he was stuck here and had to fix the mess he had created. That was only fair, but he wished the foreman wouldn't have noticed until Monday. He had to hurry up, though. He didn't want to spend his Friday night on the site, after all. Perhaps he would even get lucky and find a guy... No, what was he thinking? Working on these fruits' house had made him all confused. No, perhaps he would find a busty bombshell to take home tonight. Chad felt his cock growing hard at the thought, creating an obvious bulge in his work pants. Great, more distraction.
Chad tried to readjust himself, just in time as he sensed the big burly gardener approach. He knew the guy loosely but had forgotten his name already - if he even had known it at all.
"Hey, everything alright with them wires?" the low voice of the brute asked in a friendly tone.
"Yeah, I just need to finish up here... Should be done aaaaany minute now..."
Manny watched Chad connect the last wires. Poor guy. His t-shirt was soaked with sweat, and he looked like he was really hot and stressed out.
"Cool. It's no fun working late, and on a Friday. Hey, do you want to hit a bar after that? I could go for a cold one."
Chad looked over his shoulder at the bear of a man. Was that guy hitting on him? Na, his face only showed dumb innocence.
He shrugged. "Sure, why not, eh..."
"Name's Manny." Manny said.
"Great. Manny." Chad said and closed the now somewhat better looking fuse box before wiping away his sweat once more.
"I'm Chad."
Manny and Chad left the building site together this Friday afternoon. Neither of them knew that they were going to become best friends over this and many more beers. Manny turned out to be a great wingman for Chad, and Chad even ended up as Manny's best man during his wedding and godfather for his first child. Sometimes the closest friendships are forged in the Friday afternoon sun of a construction site.
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I'm 23 and have been obsessed with body-building for years. I'm nowhere near big though. I'd love to be blown up into an absolutely massive freak. I wanna struggle to fit through door ways, I want furniture to bend under me. I want most guys I hit on to think I'm too big.
Please can you blow me up and grow me into the biggest bodybuilder possible.
It’s finally time for another one of my personal transformations. It’s been a little bit since I helped turn that guy into a bodybuilder jock with a supernova charged battery, but last time was so much fun I knew I had to do it again when the chance came up. I guess the only real question is what transformation method is right for you. I could always use the supernova battery again, or one of the other transformation methods I mentioned in my first personal transformation, but if I’m being honest part of the fun last time was sharing all the ways I could transform people. So how about we take a look at some of my newer transformation methods.
Your first choice is a CD. It’s a special video made for me by a local football coach who has recently introduced the Jock Studies program to his school. I reached out in the hope of getting an interview with him, and just got this in return. Not even a proper response. It’s… kind of an obvious trap too. I mean, I ask a bunch of people who are famous for turning people into submissive jocks to give me an interview, and they send me an unmarked CD? I mean, you can’t report on this kind of stuff like I do without someone trying to transform you eventually. I was actually kind of honored that they considered me enough trouble to target me… but not enough to actually watch the video. You can have the CD if you want. I’m absolutely certain you’d turn into a massive jock. Although you’d also be incredibly submissive to the coaches who made this, which might not be your jam. Let’s look at the others before you decide at least.
Your next option is a bit complicated. It’s a time machine, recently stolen from a group named the SAD (society against douchebags) by the Douchebag Revolution. I did a favor for them recently so they gave me this. Said they could trust me to use it responsibly. Well, sort of. The way they said it included a lot more ‘bros’ and ‘fuck yeahs’ but that was basically the gist. Anyways, we could use it to change you by changing your past. A little manipulation of your life and you could end up a bodybuilder. The thing is that time travel is… risky. Ever heard of the butterfly effect? That’s why I try to avoid time travel as much as possible. Too much can go wrong. Let’s move onto something else, since this one is so… unpredictable.
How about this one? It’s water from a familiar little town called Maxford, the one that turns anyone who enters it into a straight, conservative jock or bimbo. Turns out drinking water that’s bottled inside the town has similar effects. Turns you into your Maxford self for 24 hours. You wouldn’t believe what I had to go through to get this. Entering Maxford was an… interesting experience. Um, anyways, it might not be the best choice for you. It’s temporary, and it will turn you straight the entire time you’re a hunk. That can be fun to try, but I get the feeling you want something more permanent. Let’s look at something else
Finally is a specially made necklace, a gold chain with a miniature dumbbell pendant. It’s made by a jewelry store chain that might sound familiar to you if you’ve read some of my earlier stories: EB Jewelry. Normally these are pretty expensive, and you’d have to buy them directly from EB Jewelry, but there was a mistake with manufacturing and they ended up with a surplus of these things. I bought a ton of them and wouldn’t mind parting with one. Put it on and you’ll transform into a total bodybuilder jock. More than that, I can give you more than one. You can share them with your friends, make an entire group of bodybuilder jocks that barely fit through doors. Yeah, that one is definitely the best choice. Go ahead, try it on.
Fuck you look good. You seem quite a bit dimmer now, which is to be expected, but god you look like walking sex. Make sure to share those necklaces with your friends. Using more than one might have… side effects. Plus, the more huge jocks, the better.
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opinion on berserk
not going to judge the series on like a moral level or wether it's feminist/misogynist or w/e. but I love the monster designs & there's a lot you can read into the griffith/casca/guts character dynamic, from what I remember. guess they could have done more w post-eclipse casca (like having her regress or close herself off like that feels like a cop-out almost from doing a more in-depth take on how a person would react to what she went through) irrc the art peaked around the time griffith fought the kushan emperor then sort of got a bit stiff, sometimes wonder if the author felt obliged to finish the story but could no longer vibe with it fully. though it's been a while since I read it.
overall positive though? it was the first piece of media I sought out on the basis of 'IT GETS SUPER DARK YOU WON'T BELIEVE IT' and I think I read it all as shitty scans online, during the summer, back when I lived in a small shed-like building near some railroad tracks in sundbyberg. then watched the anime later on & both the old one & the 4°c one have some good qualities to them
#fond memories!#an ask#berserk#haven't kept up w the newer chapters but will binge them if/when they manage to get to the actual ending#fingers crossed#the new artists seem to be doing a decent job
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Destined Threads
Part One
Red thread of fate au
Spoilers, but also not really? Inspired by the Cake Island flashback events
Warnings: truma, abuse, angst, my poor baby boy Sanji
Does anyone want little Sanji angst? Probably not, but I wrote it anyway
It will include y/n in part two, but for part one, enjoy sad little Sanji
Sanji sat in the dark of the dimly lit cell, holding his knees close to his chest. As he sat there, he couldn't help but dwell on the cruel and heartless behaviour of his father and brothers. How his farther abandoned him in this cold, lifeless cell, cast away from the outside world. The way they starved him, beat him, and mocked him. His eyes started tearing up as he tried to control his breathing. He wanted to cry. He needed to cry, but every time he tried, he got yelled at. He fought back tears and wiped away the one that had escaped his eye. While doing so, he caught sight of a red thread wrapped around his pinky finger.
Huh? When did this get here? Could it be a prank? Perhaps it was something sinister orchestrated by his brothers while he was asleep. He pulled at it, but to no avail; it didn't budge or want to come off. As he tugged at the red thread, that led out of his cell the string only went tight without revealing its endpoint.
Sanji leaned back against the wall, and a memory surfaced in his mind - a tale he had once heard from his mother. The story of the red thread of fate, a thread that connects a pair of individuals who were destined to meet.
"Could it..." The idea of the legend being real made Sanji feel conflicted. His brothers always mocked him. Saying no one would ever love him and that he would never leave this hell hole. He rubbed at the string a little before looking at the dim ceiling. Sanji wasn't sure if he believed the legend, but the idea of someone being there for him, wanting to be his friend, and seeing him as an equal was comforting. Even though he was confined to the cell, the thought of it provided Sanji with a small glimmer of hope.
His thoughts were interrupted as he heard footsteps approaching. He quickly composed himself and pretended to be asleep, curling up on his side. Even with his eyes tightly closed, he could feel his brothers' smirking stares as they stood outside his cell. Sanji flinched as the door was unlocked, doing his best to remain steady as his brothers drew near.
Ichiji was the first to break the silence. "Sanji...wake up." Sanji kept his eyes closed tight. He bit his lip and pretended to still be asleep. Niji was the second to chime in. "You know ignoring us isn't going to make us go away."
Sanji remained with his eyes shut as he began to tremble, tears threatening to fall. The thought of his brothers hurting him again made Sanji's body twitch. He grabbed his pinky finger as a source of comfort, trying to calm his nerves.
His breathing quickened as Yonji spoke. "I guess we'll just have to make you wake up then." Sanji struggled to stifle any sounds as he bit his lip harder. A pained grunt escaped him when a forceful kick landed on his back.
"Well look, who's awake now?" Yonji scoffed as he picked Sanji up by the scruff of his shirt. Sanji couldn't hold back his tears as he clutched onto his pinky finger while his brothers chuckled at the scene. Yonji threw Sanji back down, hitting his back on the hard floor.
"What a crybaby," Ichiji laughed. He felt the tears streaming down his face, and he tightened his grip around his pinky finger. He pulled his knees to himself, burying his face into his knees as he sniffled again. Ichiji approached him and stood directly before Sanji, glaring down at him. “What have you got there?” His arms were crossed as he stood there, his voice icy as he waited for a reply.
Sanji stayed silent as he kept his hands close to his chest. He didn't want to let his brothers know what he had discovered today. The only bit of hope that he had going for him in his sad, miserable life. He didn't want them to try and use it against him.
"I said, what do you have there?" Ichiji repeated his question with a firmness in his voice. Sanji stayed silent for a while longer before he finally spoke up. “I-it's nothing.” He replied with a quiet sniffle. Ichiji sighed as he looked at Sanji for a few seconds before speaking again. "Let me see it."
Sanji stayed mute, his breath qickening as he gripped his fist tighter. He remained silent, his eyes fixed on the ground as he struggled to compose himself. Ichiji gazed at Sanji's fist for a moment before eventually reaching out to grab his hands.
Sanji stiffened up, a small whimper leaving his lips. Ichiji grabbed his fist and pulled his hand towards him while his other two brothers snickered in the background. Once Sanji fully revealed his hand, Ichiji pulled his fingers apart and furrowed his eyebrows as he saw... nothing. Sanji stared down at the string that he could clearly see with tears in his eyes, trying not to panic, bracing himself for his brother to torment him further.
Ichiji looked at Sanji closely for a while. Making sure he actually saw nothing before shaking his head. He gave Sanji a condescending look. "Well, that was anticlimactic," he sneered. "Why were you hiding your hand then idiot?" He asked before giving Sanji a shove.
"I-I...no reason." Sanji said quietly, trying to regain his composure. He subtly flexed his hand, feeling the thread still there. Yet, how could they not see it? Did they really not see it, or were they messing with him? He returned his hand closed to his chest. He didn't know what to say or do, so he decided to stay quiet again and try to remain calm.
“Stop acting so weird. You're such a freak” Ichiji dismissed Sanji with another shove to the ground before he and his brothers walked out of the cell. "What a waste of my time"
Sanji remained on the ground, his hand still on his chest, contemplating the recent events. He looked back down at his pinky, still feeling the string. I'm still seeing it, still hoping. He went to get back on his feet before hearing footsteps approach again. He glanced up and saw his sister coming towards his cell. Sanji felt a slight lift in his mood, relieved to see Reiju.
Reiju let out a small sigh as she stepped inside his cell. She walked directly up to Sanji and looked down at him with a soft smile. While he still felt a little scared around her, she wasn't as cruel as his brothers.
Sanji sat up once more, attempting to conceal the lingering tremors from his previous run-in with his brothers. He gripped his pinky a bit harder, a slight fear he'd get in trouble if she noticed anything. Reiju crouched down beside him and noticed that he was holding his hands close to his chest, causing her to furrow her eyebrows at the sight. "Did they hurt your hand?" She asked quietly.
Sanji stayed quiet for a while before finally speaking. "N-no..." *He said before staying quiet again.
"Show me" She instructed softly, a worried tone to her voice.*
"I-" Sanji started to shake his head before hesitantly pulling his hand away from his chest and showing her. Reiju looked between his hand and his tear stained face, a look of confusion on her face. The way she stared at him made his heart start to race. Could she see the string as well? Was she going to help him? Did she know something about it? However despite all these questions. Reiju couldn't see anything. She took a hold of Sanji's hand and began examining it thoroughly. She seemed even more confused as she looked back up at his face.
"Are you sure they didn't hurt you? I know they were pushing you around." She asked again with the same concern in her tone.
"I-It's fine." He spoke with a trembling voice as he ran his finger over the thread invisible to her. "They were... just being jerks."
Reiju continued to look at him, confused; she looked back down at his hand as she let it go. Sanji tried his best to stay calm and act like he wasn't freaking out internally. Reiju couldn't see it. "D-do you not see it?" he asked softly as he looked at the neatly tied red bow around his little finger.
Reiju stayed silent for a second as she focused on his hand again. Her eyebrows furrowed together while she examined it once again. She seemed confused as her eyes went back and forth between his hand and his face. "See what?" she asked in a perplexed tone, still not realising what he was referring to.
Sanji turned red out of embarrassment. If she couldn't see it, then why could he? Was he going crazy? Maybe he was making assumptions because of the stories he heard. He squeezed his fist again, trying to ensure it was still there. He kept trying to keep his breath steady, trying not to panic. "N-nothing." He replied meekly, his voice a bit shaky. "Forget I asked, I'm sorry."
She frowned slightly as she saw his anxious reaction. She seemed a little worried, but she was also confused. "Did something happen...are you okay?" She asked softly, looking directly at Sanji's eyes.
Sanji's expression stayed glued to the string, his hands still clenched tightly around it. He breathed out slowly before replying.
"D-did Mother ever tell you a story..." His sentence trailed off as he wondered if he should even bring it up.
Reiju arched an eyebrow as he mentioned their mother, prompting her to reminisce about their mother telling her childhood stories. "...What kind of story?"
"O-one about…a thread” He continued slowly, still clutching his finger, worried that if he let go, the string would disappear. "The story said something about soulmates, connected by a red thread." As he explained the story, her brow furrowed in concentration. It seemed familiar, like something she had heard before. Reiju stayed silent for a short time, her eyes staring out space in thought. She slowly nodded as she came to a realization.
"Yes. I have heard of that story before. The thread wouldn't be visible to anyone unless they were the two destined to be together" Her tone was a bit softer now, her eyes focusing back on to Sanji's finger.
Sanji tensed up when she confirmed it. He couldn't remember that part. Was that really how it worked? If so, was the string invisible to everyone except him and his soulmate? He paused for a moment before speaking again, but this time, there was a touch of optimism in his voice. "D-do you believe it?"
She fell silent for a moment, pondering the question. Her lips tightened as she glanced at his finger, then back at his face. "I don't know...I do believe that everyone has a soulmate, though. But I've never seen a red thread in my life. And if it were true, I doubt it would apply to us," She said with a shrug. "Do you believe it?" she asked, letting out a small laugh.
The hint of hope in his voice faded when she mentioned that it wouldn't apply to them. "Why wouldn't it apply to us?" He asked softly, feeling his heart sink a little. The grip on his pinky finger tightened up again.
"Well-" she started out before cutting herself off and pausing. She stayed silent for a few seconds as their eyes met. "I just think that, well, you know." She spoke with a touch of melancholy. “Us and our brothers aren't exactly…normal”
Sanji's heart dropped at her statement, understanding where she was coming from. He looked away from her briefly, hiding his face while he felt his heart sink further. "Y-yeah” He said quietly. Would just being part of this messed-up family really disqualify him? Yet despite her reasoning, it didn't change the fact he had his own red thread around his little finger.
Reiju stayed silent as she stared at Sanji's hand. Watching as he continued to fiddle with his little finger. An idea popped into her head. Maybe it was worth a shot to at least try to prove that he was worthy even with this messed-up family.
"Sanji?" she said softly, reaching for his pinky. His heart skipped a beat at her touch. He was too scared to hope. Yet he did. She took a hold of his finger again, trying to hold back a smirk as a small thought crept into her mind. She looked up at his eyes as she held on to his pinky finger, a small, gentle smile on her face. “Maybe you are the exception?” she still couldn't see anything, but from their conversation, it was clear that he did. And that made her happy. Maybe there was someone out there for her little brother. Someone to give him the love he both deserves and needs.
“R-really?” he asked in a whispery tone, his eyes lighting up with a bit of hope. His heart started to race again but this time, it wasn’t a bad feeling. A faint look of happiness started to form on his face.
She let out a small laugh as she saw his hopeful expression, his eyes almost shining with the idea that there could be someone out there made just for him.
“Maybe...who knows, right?” she offered with an encouraging smile. She watched sanji flex his pinky finger still examining it with a curious look. Her eyes looking it over carefully. It looked normal to her, but she still believed her little brother. There was still a possibility. “I mean-“ she continued with a soft chuckle. “if it were true, then out of all of us, it would definitely happen for you” she smiled a bit at the thought of it.
Sanji couldn't help but smile softly at the thought. He did his best to avoid getting his hopes up, but it was tough. He wanted it to be true. To have the proof that someone out there was waiting just for him. He sat in silence for some time, enjoying a brief moment of happiness before the harsh reality of being confined in the cell hit him.
He started to clench his fist; a whimper escaped him as he looked down at his hand. His expression turned sad. This was his reality; he was still locked away. He couldn't help but fall back into a miserable mindset. He was still stuck here, with no way out. His fist tightened even more, and he felt himself tear up as he looked down at his hand. The string was still around his pinky, almost mocking him now, making him realise he was fooling himself.
He held his breath briefly, his heart feeling like it was breaking into more tiny pieces with his expression growing darker and darker as his mood shifted drastically. The string still remained, but he felt himself start to spiral mentally yet again. He hated it here. He hated being in this world. With a quiet and sad sigh, he relaxed his fist, feeling the tears starting to fall down his cheeks yet again. Slowly, he looked up at Reiju, his gaze now filled with sorrow.
Her smile disappeared the second his gaze snapped up to hers. The look in his eyes hit her heart. The way he was staring at her with such a sad expression and the way his eyes were filled with painful tears made her feel heartbroken for him. He was still such a sweet kid, and she hated seeing him like this. She stayed silent for a few moment, just eyeing him with a soft look to her eyes as she tried to hold back her sympathy for him. She let out a small sigh. He deserved a better life. He didn't deserve to be here.
Any hint hint of hope finally faded as his eyes began to drop back down to his little finger. He couldn't help but to feel even more sad as every second was making her pity him even more.
"Reiju.." he finally managed to mutter out. As he looked at her his heart was filled with disappointment as the reality of his situation washed over him. As time passed, his eyes grew sadder, and he found himself increasingly overwhelmed by feelings of sadness.
Reiju stayed quiet as she continued to look at him. Her heart was breaking as she saw how his expression was growing even sadder and sadder. She hated seeing her little brother like this. Being in here with no one but her was destroying him, she could tell. He needed more. He needed someone else in his life, someone who could love him.
"W-why does this happen to me.?" he finally spoke up, his tone starting to sound bitter. He fought back a quiet sob, doing his utmost to maintain composure and prevent himself from completely breaking down. "I hate this. I hate my life..." he muttered through his gritted teeth, his voice shaking with the overwhelming despair coming over him.
The words hit her heart painfully as she kept watching him, he was going back to that dark place. The place where that all his hope dies and his saddness turns into his pain and anger. She knew what that was like. She knew how that felt. She didn't want her little brother to have to deal with that pain alone. She also didn't want to see him get worse.
"S-stop," she told him softly, her voice shaking as well. "I-" he started when he got cut off by Reiju hugging him tightly.
The sudden hug surprised Sanji. He flinched from her touch, a quiet gasp escaping his lips as her arms surrounded him. His eyebrows went up in surprise at the sudden show of affection. The hug didn't last long as she shoved him towards the cell door that she kept open. Her heart was hurting more for her younger brother as she watched his confused expression.
"G-go" *She muttered out, wiping away tears. She was trying her best to keep calm and herself from falling apart, too.
Sanji's eyes widened. "What? But -" He protested before she cut him off. "Just go!" She suddenly exclaimed, a hint of desperation in her voice as she stared at him. It was the right thing to do. She couldn't bear to see him spend another second locked away. Especially now that he had hope.
Sanji's heart shattered at the sound of her voice. He could hear how desperate she was for him to leave. He didn't really need her to tell him twice as his mind went racing. He started to feel a new surge of mixed up emotions. Hope, sadness, and anticipation all at once. “T-thank you” He couldn’t hold back the tears as he felt his legs start to move as he rushed to the door.
Reiju stood by the entrance with a nod and watched him run away. He was finally free. Free to find his happiness, free to find his destiny. Watching him run farther and farther from her, she felt a pang in her heart, but she was certain it would all be worthwhile.
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miscommunication (18+, dick grayson x titan reader) wc 2.7-3.1k
⭓ this post contains suggestive themes and is not suitable for minors. reader uses she/her pronouns.
"Shit." You curse under your breath when you see your last two messages failed to send. There's just no signal down here. You sigh, and pocket your phone, mind wandering and trying to predict what mission Dick is taking you on tomorrow night. He usually tells you when its time for full stealth, so you decide you'll show up in civilian clothes. He wants to meet earlier in the evening anyways, so you guess it may be something undercover or staking someone out. You let your mind wander for a bit, before returning your focus to work, watching two men in overalls argue in front of the buildings water heater.
The next day, Dick shows up to your apartment right on time. He pulls up in his electric blue sportscar, sticking out like a sore thumb in this neighborhood. You can't help but grin when you see his car through your living room window. Checking yourself out in your bathroom mirror one last time, you make sure your concealed weapons and headpiece aren't visible, before grabbing your phone, keys, and wallet from your backpack. A sudden knock on the door to your apartment causes your eyebrow raises in suspicion, and you slip your shoes on before answering.
"Dick?" You greet the blue-eyed man standing in your doorway, surprised to see a bouquet of gorgeous white roses in his hands. His hair is styled neatly, and he's clean-shaven, too.
"Hey." He flashes you an excited smile taking in your outfit. "You look great." He comments, his brow furrowing ever so slightly as he looks you up and down, taking in your casual attire.
"Thanks… You didn't have to come up here and get me, though. I was on my way down. Am I under-dressed?" You ask him, noting the button-up shirt and freshly pressed pants he's wearing.
"No, not at all." He extends his arm, presenting you with the roses. "These are for you."
"Oh." Your eyes narrow in confusion, glancing between the roses and his expectant grin. "Thanks… I'm assuming I'll need these later?"
Dick clears his throat and tugs at the collar of his shirt. "Well… I mean… need is a strong word," he replies, chuckling awkwardly, "But you can leave them here, if you like. To enjoy when we get back."
Him saying 'when we get back' makes you think there must be some follow up or additional work to do after you complete your objective.
You grin, and take the flowers from him. "So, does that mean we're pulling an all-nighter?" You turn your back to him and walk towards your kitchen to get a vase for the roses. You just miss the bright pink flush that creeps into Dicks cheeks.
"Uhm… I mean, I didn't want to assume anything, here, but if that's where the evening takes us…” He scratches the back of his neck, and follows to join you in your small but tidy kitchen.
He finds you at your sink, filling a tall jar with water. "Yeah, I got nothing going on tomorrow. We can go all night if we need. I've been in the mood for some action, anyways." You explain casually.
His face grows even more red, suddenly feeling very warm in the shirt he chose to wear. "L-let's just get through dinner first."
---------------//---------------
Your eyes scan the fancy restaurant, taking in the scene, noting all the exits, eyeing the people occupying the tables around you. There's a quiet hum of conversation, laughter, and clinking glasses that fills your ears. You don't notice anything out of the ordinary, but you stay diligent, slightly annoyed that Dick hasn't told you why you're here yet.
A couple to the left of us. Man and woman. Mid-thirties, wedding bands, the woman is on her phone, barely paying attention to her date. We have another couple on our right, two men, could be 50's or 60's, hard to tell. Nice watches. Ordered the salmon…
Dick pokes at his pasta with his fork, a small frown on his lips. He's been acting weird since you got here. But he didn't give you any briefing, which makes you think he must be waiting for someone. He said you would enjoy what he had planned, maybe taking down an old enemy of yours? You wrack your brain, trying to remember the last villain who wronged you.
Dick says your name, snapping you out of your thoughts. "Hm? Yeah?" You ask, looking up at him blankly.
"Are you okay? You don't seem to be enjoying yourself."
The waiter passes by your table, refilling your wine glasses with a polite nod.
"Thanks." You tell him with a brief smile. Your attention returns to Dick, who's blue eyes are trained on your own. "I'm fine, Dick. Honestly? I'm just a little confused about what we're trying to accomplish here. What's our objective?"
"The objective," he sighs, and takes a sip of his wine. "The objective is to enjoy ourselves. Spend quality time together."
You barely hear the words he's saying, thinking instead of how he's already on his second glass of wine. He isn't even fake sipping, like you are. This isn't like him. Dick never drinks while he works, unless he's undercover. But even then he will limit himself, never wanting a mission to go bad because he was inebriated.
"Uh, Dick? Shouldn't we cap if off at one?" You ask, nodding to the glass in his hand. "We need you sharp, don't we?"
His eye's widen a little as he sets his glass down. You find it hard to place the emotions playing across his face. He almost looks offended.
"Sharp… right." He sighs, grabbing his napkin and wiping his mouth, shaking his head a little in disbelief. "You know what? You're something else. I really wanted this to be a chance for us to get better acquainted outside of work. I wanted to get to know you better." He waves down the waiter again, signaling that he's ready for the check. "But it's clear to me now why you even agreed to this."
Now it's your turn to go wide-eyed. "Outside of work? Dick, what are you-"
"I honestly thought you were different. I thought we had chemistry. Real chemistry. Maybe I was wrong. Seems like you're only interested in making sure I can perform later, is that it? An all nighter? You can't even humor me, and enjoy a nice meal together first? You've barely said a word, and you haven't even touched your food."
Realization hits you like a ton of bricks.
Dumb. You are so fucking dumb. This isn't work, this is a date. A real date. No wonder he's dressed so nice. He brought you flowers. Fuck, how could I be so dense?!
"I… Dick, when you texted me yesterday, I thought-"
"Save it." He grumbles, rubbing his temples and avoiding eye contact. "Let’s just get this food to go and forget this ever happened."
You sit up straighter in your seat, and reach across the small table for his hand. "Please, let me explain?"
He looks down at your hand, then narrows his eyes at you. "You're going to tell me I'm wrong?" He challenges.
You aren't used to this. His glare sends chills down your spine. You don't often find yourself at the receiving end of Dick Grayson's anger, but its unsettling every time.
"Y-yes. You're wrong." You curse yourself for stuttering, but your heart is racing now, nervous about how badly this miscommunication could affect your relationship. Your eyes plead with his while your hand rummages around for your phone in your jacket pocket. "I think I misunderstood your texts. Just let me pull them up real quick."
The waiter returns too soon, check in hand. Dick waste's no time laying down a few crisp bills before angrily standing up. "No need. You thought this was just a hookup. I get it. Never mind about getting it to-go. Why don't you stay here, enjoy the rest of your meal alone." He throws down another large bill, slamming it down with his fist right in front of you. "You can take a cab home."
"No! Dick, please!" You stand from your chair, cloth napkin falling to the floor, watching him stalk past you towards the exit of the restaurant, anxiety filling your stomach with dread.
► let him leave.
► follow him.
don’t steal my work. don’t repost it somewhere, upload it to another site, use it to train ai, or claim it as your own.
#purple-obsidian#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson x you#nightwing x reader#nightwing x you#dc comics#choose your ending#angst#yummy yummy angst#dc fanfic#nightwing#dick grayson#dc texts#text conversations
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aita for abducting my nephew’s boyfriend and using his body as a vessel?
i (1000+M) was minding my own business as a set of 20 cursed preserved fingers when some brat (15M) ate one of my fingers to save his friend (15M). i tried to make him my vessel, but he resisted, and ended up being more of a cage than anything. i also realized later that he was also my nephew, but i’ll get to that in a bit.
i was getting pretty bored in there, since he wouldn’t let me out to massacre local populations, even after eating another one of my fingers, but then i got my opportunity. he asked me for help defeating a powerful curse, so i took advantage of his pathetic state to get out and wreak havoc in the world. i ripped his heart out (literally) for good measure so he couldn’t come back without dying, but that idiot came back anyway and died.
while i was wreaking havoc though, i found out that his little friend had a really cool jujutsu technique! i thought he would be an interesting opponent, but he wasn’t really using it as well as i thought he would :/ i thought it was kinda unfair that he got to have such a cool technique when i could use it better and especially since i’m stuck in this brat’s body who has no technique, so i cooked up a plan to get my hands on it and brought the brat back to life.
some time later, i got the opportunity to massacre civilians again. well, technically, i was exorcising a disaster grade curse i guess. massacring civilians was just an added bonus. well, the brat didn’t take that very well and was saying all this shit about wanting to die, which i thought was kinda ungrateful, since i saved both his life and the life of his boyfriend. granted, i had ulterior motives for both, but still!
anyway, he somehow figured out that i had a plan for his boyfriend, and he started running away with his half brother (150M). i was especially worried that i lost my chance when this guy (17M) briefly killed my nephew, but he brought him back to life.
one thing i’ve never understood is love, so i was a bit confused, but relieved, when my nephew’s boyfriend found him and managed to persuade him to help him out with some game my frenemy (1000+X) set up. some super nauseating bullshit about saving him and not being selfish blah blah blah.
i bet a lot of you are wondering how this 15 year old brat is my nephew when i’m 1000 years old, so since i brought up my frenemy, i should just tell you they’re a bit of a weirdo. basically, when i was in the womb, i consumed my twin to survive, but their soul still existed in the universe. somehow, my frenemy got their hands on his soul, and when he was reincarnated a thousand years later, he took over the body of his wife and had a son with him. that’s my nephew. i think they did it just to spite me, but they also helped me cheat death by becoming a curse, so i can’t complain too much.
back to the main point, i finally got my hands on my nephew’s boyfriend and made him my new vessel. i was right! his technique was sick! and the look on that brat’s face was priceless!
it took me a while to break my nephew’s boyfriend down enough to use his body and technique effectively, but it was kind of entertaining to watch, and now i can move freely! the only problem is now i have all these sorcerers swarming around me like flies trying to defeat me, and it’s getting a bit frustrating, if not tiring. every time i think i take one out, another one shows up, or they just stand back up.
they all seem seem pretty mad at me. i’m not really sure why. first, it’s the right of the strong to prey on the weak. second, it’s not my fault that my nephew wouldn’t just be a good vessel and let me massacre civilians, and it’s also not my fault that his boyfriend had a cool technique. i think i did what anyone would do in this situation. aita?
#this was so hard to write actually#way harder than the kenjaku one#especially bc i dont think megumi wasted his potential !! he's just 15 and learning#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#sukuna#ryomen sukuna#yuji itadori#itadori yuji#yuuji itadori#itadori yuuji#kenjaku#megumi fushiguro#fushiguro megumi
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well now that i know you have a spit kink too i need to hear your thoughts about who in enha do you think has one? <3
spit kink is often talked about and i still feel like it’s an underrated kink 😞
this one of my biggest kinks but i feel like it's still not talked about enough you're right so here we go. i have no excuses for what i wrote, i'm just incredibly horny these days so take it or leave it i guess
SUNGHOON has the biggest spit kink ever. as already stated before, he just radiates the dom persona and this is just another way of overpowering you, of showing you that he's the one in control. so of course, he's gonna spit in your mouth, but you must work for it if you want it, because sunghoon is not going to give it to you like that. because if you like spit that much, you should remember that he loves it too, especially when you're drooling all over his dick from him fucking your throat. and only when you swallow his cum will he give in and grab you by your jaw to finally spit in your mouth, after you've begged for him a little (a lot)
"come on, doll, you know what to do if you want something. or are you already going dumb on me ?" you whine around his dick, pawing at his thighs to have some more attention. his condescending chuckles brought tears to your eyes, trying to fit all of him in your mouth in hopes it would grant you a reward. "that's not what a good girl would do." you didn't want to but you let go of his cock, a string of spit connecting your lips with his tip as you tried to breathe correctly again. "please hoon, please, please, spit in my mouth, i want it so bad." you were looking up at him with your pretty doe eyes, how cruel would it have been if he refused ? "that's better doll. open your mouth." and you listened to him right away, going as far as sticking your tongue out, patiently waiting for his spit to dribble down in your throat and swallow it with a pathetic whimper. "you're so nasty, you're gonna let me spit on your pretty face too, uh ?" and you nodded because you were just waiting for that, and that sunghoon loved it just as much.
JAKE is of course on the list because he loves it when sex is messy and filthy. so when you asked him to spit in your mouth for the first time, he didn't hesitate one bit before doing it. what really gets him going though is when you're the one spitting on him. whenever you're spitting in your hand before jerking him off, jake swore he could see the heaven's gate. you could even spit his cum and your saliva back in his mouth after you had blown him and he would only say thank you and swallow it all. anytime it involves you and your spit, jake loves it all.
"you're being too loud, baby. do you want everyone to hear you moan like a slut for me ?" jake tried to stifle another sound as you dropped down on his cock one more time, his hands digging into the flesh of your waist. "as if you've never screamed my name." - "you're talking too much." you stuffed your own fingers in your mouth, making a show of coating them with your saliva before you tapped on jake's lips. he obeyed and opened up, letting you slide your fingers inside. "maybe this is gonna shut you up a little. suck on them." he whined around your hand, but still doing exactly what you said and tasting your saliva with delight. maybe he was pathetic, maybe he was too desperate, but jake didn't care when you pulled your fingers out, spreading his own saliva against his skin when you grabbed his jaw. "are you gonna be good now ?" - "yes… need more of you, pretty, please." you smirked cockily as you spat into his open mouth, relishing in the way he tried to muffle his sounds by biting into your shoulder as he emptied inside of you.
JAY would use this as a punishment. whenever you're being a little brat and testing his patience, he has to call you names, to degrade you and to spit in your mouth and make you swallow it all because you need to understand how bad you've been. jay often spits on your pussy before eating you out or fingering you. it's degrading and humiliating, but you need to understand that you cannot break his rules without suffering any consequences. he's treating you like his perfect little princess most of the time, but sometimes, he needs to tame you and remind you of your place.
"'m sorry jay, i'm so-" you were interrupted by your own sobs as your boyfriend stopped the motion of his fingers inside of you. "that's not my name, princess. are you so dumb you can't even remember what you need to call me ?" - "i'm sorry sir, i'm sorry, fingers just feel so good sir." - "here you go love." jay had been edging you for so long you didn't even remember how many of your orgasms he had ruined. you knew that he wanted to teach you a lesson, knew that he wanted to see you get needy to the point you weren't thinking anymore. "open your mouth for me, princess." you didn't need to be asked twice to do it, impatiently waiting for him to spit in your mouth. and when he finally did and commanded you to swallow it all while he was spitting on your pussy too to add to the mess between your thighs, you could feel the knot in your stomach tightening. "is this enough, my love ? or do i need to make you even more of a slut for you to fucking do what i say and no touch yourself when i'm at work ?" - "i-i won't do it again, i promise ! please sir, let me cum, i've been good." - "that's right, my good little slut." the way you're cumming around his fingers has jay leaking precum into his pants. he loved it when you were so filthy, loved it when you let him corrupt you, when you let him make a mess of his pretty, innocent princess.
#tbh i was just waiting for an excuse to write about spit kink#eli answering your questions#dinna's asks#enhypen hard thoughts#enhypen hard hours#enha hard hours#enha hard thoughts#enhypen x reader#enha x reader#sunghoon hard thoughts#sunghoon hard hours#sunghoon x reader#jake hard thoughts#jake hard hours#jake x reader#jay hard thoughts#jay hard hours#jay x reader
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GUYS HELP I was at work, and I had this scenario pop in my head that made me look like this all day.
I'm not a good writer, so the talented fallout Fandom has my blessing to expand on this idea of mine🙏🙏🙏 but here it goes.
Ok, so what if Janey is frozen in cryo (maybe in vault 31?) The whole 219 years so she haven't aged a day at all, and what if Cooper and Lucy go back to her vault to get more supplies and then Norm tells them about vault 31 and they go look at it. (Maybe it won't be easy, maybe there a fight idk) And when they get there, they find the pods, and then Copper finds Janey.....
He was in shock, frozen. Lucy, notice and go over to look and see her name. (Maybe at this point, she knows his full name and put two and two together) Anyway, they all agree to let her out, but Cooper is nervous. I mean, look at him... He is not the same man Janey knew as her father, but he is too the same or so lucy tells him. (having maybe seen a bit more of his old self by then) She convinced him to see her when she's ready, after all being thawed out, takes a lot out of someone. Janey is asleep for a few days, and once she's wakes up, she needs to get her bearings. In the meantime, Cooper is trying his best to clean up taking many showers. (That's his stinky ass needs after 219 years) Washing his clothes the same cowboy outfit he been wearing since the last time he saw her, but even after all that, he's still afraid. He doesn't want to touch her because no matter what he does, he's so irradiated that he'll taint her, but lucy consoles him by saying she's been exposed to it anyway, giving she was there when the bombs fell. It doesn't do much, but it calms him down enough so that he'll be in the same room as her
Anyway, Lucy goes in first. It has been about a week since Janey has been thawed. Lucy, having been a school teacher, knows how to explain stuff to kids. She slowly tells Janey how long she has been asleep for, how she is safe, how her dad is here. And how he been looking for her all the time, about how. "That him not being in a vault did things to him." About how. "Even though he may look scary, it's still her dad." Janey nods and understands she tells Lucy she's ready to see him, and Lucy goes to get Cooper. (Whether Lucy stayed in the room or not, I don't know.) But Cooper walks in the room, in a cleaner but still worn out blue cowboy uniform not having on the duster coat or vest. There she is.... standing in the room a few feet away from him, his mouth to dry to talk. It's not like he could talk anyway. What would he even say to her?
It felt like time froze, but it also felt like an eternity of silence. Janey was the first to do anything. Walking over to him, Cooper stepped back a bit but stopped. She was right in front of him. She looked him up and down, and she finally spoke to him. "Well.... i guess i can't play. i got your nose with you anymore, huh?"
And with that, Cooper, who was holding his breath this whole time, was able to breathe again. Not caring about anything else but her, he fell to his knees and hugged her for the first time in 219 years and cried.
#but yeah not a fun thought to have at the beginning of a shift#if y'all want make fics and art of this idea i will be thankful 🙏#fallout amazon#fallout tv series#fallout#lucy maclean#cooper howard#janey howard#ghoulcy
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the new hire | steve raglan x female reader
rating |explicit
part 5/?
words | 5k
cw | dom/sub, oral sex
ao3 link
Three more nights at Freddy’s.
Three uneventful evenings, three boring shifts where you sit and stare at the monitors in the security office and see nothing unusual. You know you should feel grateful that there are no intruders. No sign of the rabbit.
No sign of Steve Raglan, either. It still hasn’t occurred to you that those two might be linked. For now, they are separate phenomena.
Friday morning you return home from work and shower and lie in bed, willing your eyes to shut. Sleep is still evading you, even though you’re tired. Your phone rings and it startles you. You rarely got calls. You have no friends. Few living relatives, and those few don’t care to contact you.
You answer and you know, before he even speaks, that it’s Steve on the other end of the line.
“Hello?”
“Hello. It’s me. Just checking in,” he says, using that same deceptively cheerful tone he’d had when you’d first met in his office. “Doesn’t sound like I’ve woken you up.” You doubt he’d feel remorse if he had. “How have things been going at Freddy’s?”
You sit up, your fingers fussing with the comforter. You can’t imagine he’d call just to shoot the breeze. So what did he want now? “Everything has been quiet.”
“Good. Glad to hear it. Listen, you’ll need to swing by the office to collect your wages today. I am booked solid for the weekend and won’t be able to stop by like I did last time.”
“Um…okay.” You wonder what’s going to be keeping the social worker so occupied. Of course it’s none of your business, but still. The lack of attention you’ve received these last few nights has been unpleasant. Even Raglan’s strange company is better than none.
You squint at the alarm clock beside the bed. It’s not even nine yet. “I guess I could just head on over now.” You fling the blanket back, preparing to slide out of bed.
“No, that won’t do. I’ve got a full schedule of clients to see today, and you need to get some rest before your shift tonight. Can’t expect you to function properly without it. It’s really best if you came later. Say, around six?”
You can’t imagine that it will be that big of a deal to hand you cash. That should take all of several seconds. But of course he’s going to make this complicated. “Doesn’t the office close at five?”
The friendly tone slips a bit. He doesn’t like being questioned like this. You know it. You know better than to argue. You wonder if you don’t secretly enjoying bringing out the darker side of him. Spread over his lap. God, you’d been absolutely soaked…“Yes, it does. Which is why you’ll be arriving after hours. I’ll be getting caught up on paperwork until then.”
“How am I going to get into the office?”
A heavy, exasperated sigh. “I’ll let you in, obviously. Be prompt. I’m not going to stand at the door waiting forever.”
“Okay. I’ll be there at six.”
“Excellent. See you then. Sweet dreams,” he adds, and those two rough words make you feel warm and aching all over again.
***
If you have any sweet dreams, you don’t recall them.
You debate about getting dressed for work before heading back to the DSS office. You’ll have several hours to kill. Maybe you could come back home and squeak in another nap. In the end, you decide to wear something casual. It’s not like you were going for a job interview. You’re not trying to impress Steve.
Except that’s not entirely true, is it? Because you spend a little longer getting ready, making sure your appearance is tidy, applying light makeup and body spray and earrings. You choose a v neck tee that clings to your figure, draped over dark wash jeans and you tell yourself, as you look in the mirror, that you are strictly going there to collect your pay, and that is all. There’s no reason to expect anything else might happen.
You hate how you have butterflies in your stomach. You hate that you’re so eager to see the older man, so eager to please him. By the time you leave your apartment, your anxiety is through the roof.
There are still cars in the parking lot when you arrive, so apparently the social worker isn’t the only straggler in the building. Not a lot, though; it was Friday night, after all.
The entrance to the office is framed in glass. You can see the tall man waiting for you on the other side, arms folded. You check your watch. You’re on time. A little early, even. Which meant he’d been waiting early, too. Anticipating…what, you don’t know.
There’s a bruise on your hip from your last encounter with this man; a bruise on your soul and you don’t know which is worse, the physical harm or the emotional manipulation. Why do you crave him so much?
Raglan opens the door once you reach it, the narrow wedge you’re allotted no longer surprising you. You brush past him, eyes downcast, that brief touch of his body against yours like lighting a match, heat blooming. You hear the snap of the door being locked behind you and then without a word he begins walking down the hall, leaving you to catch up.
When you reach Steve’s office he shuts the door behind you. He could have already handed to the cash and been done with you. So why bring you here? Why shut that solid wood barrier?
He drops into the leather chair behind the desk, much as he had in the cloth one in the security office, with that same careless abandon. The seat rotates back and forth and you wonder if he ever just spins around like a child would, just for fun. There are little details in the room that you hadn’t noticed the first time you’d been here. The many framed awards lining the walls. The wire rabbit with its slotted ribs to organize and tuck mail into. A map of the local district and some generic looking nature scene that was probably mass produced, something the company had provided. There’s an eyeglass case and some change and a set of car keys on the desk, the rabbit’s foot now a familiar sight. A lot of keys on that ring. Some of them for Freddy’s, most likely.
Raglan runs his index and middle fingers over his moustache, then strokes the facial hair covering his chin. Whiter there than other places. He looks at you like he might a puzzle piece, trying to discern where you fit in, which way he needs to align you to make you slot properly into whatever grand design he’s orchestrating; his secret, meant for none but him alone to enjoy.
The money is curled in his other fist. You notice it now, when he relaxes his grip and reveals it. You imagine it is warm from his body heat. He stretches the arm out and you walk towards it. His wrist turns and the bills land in a pile on the carpet. You descend to your knees, reaching again, but his foot shifts and swiftly covers the currency, leaving your fingers empty. Your lashes lift and you see the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Your hand curls around his calf. You press your lips to the inside of one knee. His breath hitches.
You stare up at him. Still wrapped around one leg, still watching him warily. Wanting. Waiting. His hand reaches for you face, fingers curling under your chin. Thumb spread over your lips and then speared between, pushing past your lips and teeth and stopping when he’s nestled against your tongue. Your eyes linked as you suck that digit, curling around it with the wet muscle and stroking, clutching it against your palate, feeling creases and whorls, joint and nail bed. Discovering the taste of the currency he’d clutched, that odd metallic flavor sunk into cotton and linen blended threads.
It’s not enough, you want to taste more of him, reaching for the button fastening his shirt sleeve. A small alarmed sound when you succeed, catching another glimpse of that pink scar you thought you’d seen during your interview. Was he ashamed of it? You don’t mind it, tongue darting out to lick along the pulse there, and the sound he makes, that deep groan, echoes in your core.
“Stand up.”
Your mouth abandons his skin. You frown a question at the older man. You’d thought he wanted you at his feet, on the floor, between his legs, worshipping at what dwells at the apex of them.
“Up,” he grates again, and you hastily comply.
“Why didn’t you wear something easier to remove?” The chair creaks as he leans forward, fingers at the button fly of your denim. “Surely you had some inkling…” The zipper is yanked down and his fingers curl around the waistband, dragging the jeans down until they’re resting midway across your thighs. “The scent of your depraved fantasies…oh.” A little huff of surprise when he shoves the hem of your shirt up and you scramble to hold it out of the way—why had you worn something so awkward, honestly—and he sees the discoloration he’s left. The ecchymosis has faded a bit, shifting from dark blue and purple to a fainter shade of maroon. He strokes over that bruised patch of flesh with a soft caress, completely ignoring the lace panties you’ve chosen to wear (yes, you’d had an inkling, as he’d called it, hopeful and lusting but you don’t want to admit it, not to yourself nor to him) keeping his attention solely focused on that injury he’d previously inflicted.
Then he kisses the spot and you think you might just die then, just spontaneously combust, because it’s so awkwardly tender and so near the area you really want his mouth at, feeling that brush of facial hair stroking your mound, between your thighs. He pulls at the damaged skin with his mouth, sucking, and a fresh sting erupts there while his fingers curl around and knead one cheek, another reminder of where he’s been before, meting punishment to balance the pleasure he’s about to gift you now.
The crotch of your panties is dragged to one side—a tight strain, the fabric isn’t very giving—wedging against your groin, digging into the crease while his tongue delves over the exposed pink flesh, the tip curling and thrusting between legs you wish you could part better, but you’re restricted by those stupid jeans you’d decided to wear that he clearly has no intention of removing further. So you stand on legs that are already trembling like a newborn foal’s, this older man seated in front of you with his nose digging into your mound and his tongue trying to collect whatever essence it can, scraping and prodding while the beard you’d imagined to be coarse and abrasive is instead a soft textured brush that only heightens everything. His glasses are knocked askew and you pull them off with your free hand, setting them on the desk beside you, the other still occupied with keeping the hem of your shirt out of the social worker’s way, letting you see the glory of him ravaging your cunt even in this limited fashion and it’s the single most erotic thing you’ve ever seen or felt in your life.
You’re touching his hair now, sifting through the layers, and you realize it is many, many colors, not simply gray and white but every shade in between, silky ribbons shading from dark to light, stormy sky to bright daybreak. The fervor with which he consumes you only intensifies, sending your hurtling through the path of ultimate bliss, your twitching bud finally surrendering to the relentless lashes of Steve’s tongue. You cum in his mouth and you hear the strangled inhale through his nostrils, your body mashed against his face, the fingers on his head cupping and shoving him closer and closer. A hum of sound and the hand on your ass tightens and the hypersensitivity that makes you want to recoil and push him back for respite transcends into something else. He’s got you there again, right on the brink, and you bite your tongue to stifle the wail when you climax a second time, still unsure if anyone else is left in the office to hear you.
Raglan eventually moves away, slouching against the back of the leather chair, looking disheveled and this, this is what you had envisioned when you’d called him, asking him to come to the restaurant that night. Climbing out of bed, hair tousled, clothes rumpled, that careful, neat appearance suddenly wild and raw and natural. You’re still trembling, still caught in the turbulent throes post orgasm, managing to lean over and capture his lips and he allows it, allows you to smooth back the slightly curled lock of hair that’s descended across his forehead, lap at the damp mouth that tastes familiar, like your own sex, while you reach down for his crotch and find him hard and straining.
Your descent to your knees is less than graceful—your thighs are still effectively shackled—but you manage the task, just as you manage to open his fly and shove the waistband of his briefs down. There is a lot there for your mouth, for your throat; daunting, but you’re determined. You want to take this man apart, enjoying this sudden shift in power, where he’s allowing you to direct the course of every action. You tease a few licks before you properly take his cock in your mouth and suck and the noise this elicits is one you know you’re going to savor again later, when you’re alone and you remember this, a backdrop for self pleasure. It’s a needy sort of whimper, a surprised sort of pleading sound. You can feel the tremors wracking his thighs already. He’s not going to last long. Your mouth is as relentless as his own had been, working up and down, straining with a lewd, wet slap each time he collides further and further back. He spills so deeply in your throat you don’t even taste it at first, until the pulsing head rests on the base of your tongue, when he jerks your head back so he can see your depravity, blown pupils meeting blown pupils, white cum still staining your red mouth and that breathy little moan hummed through his lips betraying just how much he’d enjoyed it.
You swallow the rest of his load down—bitter, as you’d known it would be—and sit back on your heels, realizing the two of you are still panting, still struggling to recover. You watch him shove himself back into his pants and you take that as a signal that you’re to do the same, grabbing up the cash you can finally reach off the carpet—and damn if that doesn’t make you feel like more of a whore than collecting your wages at the diner ever had, like he’d insinuated—before you push yourself upright, shimmying back into your jeans after tugging the crotch of your panties back towards the middle where it belongs.
You have absolutely no idea what to do now. He had started this, whatever this was, and you’d finished it, and now you’re struggling not to feel used and empty. In the heat of the moment everything had been perfect, but now you want all of that stupid, sappy stuff that you believe should come after intimacy. You want cuddles and pillow talk and of course this is hardly the time or the place for that. This isn’t anything even remotely resembling something like that; it’s not a relationship, not anything really, just the release of pent up tension between the two of you, but you stare at his face and you crave those lips and you want his arms around you. You know he’s going to tell you to leave and you’ll do it because he told you to but you wish, for one silly little moment, that he’d request the opposite instead. Ask me to stay. Tell me you want more. I want more than this.
Raglan’s refastened his shirt sleeve and slid those ill fitting glasses back into place and he almost resembles his usual tidy self. Some of his hair is still mussed and your fingers itch to help straighten it (or better yet make it messier) but you resist the urge. It had been okay, before. You know it wouldn’t be now.
“I have to finish my work. You should try to take a nap before your shift.” His voice is quiet. He’s not meeting your eyes. You follow him out of his office. Everyone must be gone now. It’s dimly lit and quiet.
There are a million things you want to say as you wait for him to unlock the door. Instead you remain silent. You force yourself to walk away, knowing he’s watching every step you take.
***
You don’t sleep.
Can’t, not after what’s happened in the career counselor’s office. His mouth on you. Your mouth on him. Taking each other apart. Those memories alone are going to be enough to fuel your next rounds of self pleasure for a long time.
The first hour of your shift passes without incident.
Then you see movement on one of the screens. Not the rabbit. A human. Male. Dressed in dark clothing. It looks like he’s climbed in through some vent on the outside.
The security door is unlocked, as Steve had instructed. You’re already dialing his number, keeping a wary eye on the stranger. He’s brought a flashlight, shining the beam around. Thief? Thrill seeker? It didn’t matter. He wasn’t supposed to be here.
The phone keeps ringing. Come on, Steve. Nothing. You redial in case you’ve hit the wrong numbers, even though you’re certain they’d been correct. Even try the office, thinking maybe he’d fallen asleep at his desk. No answer, just voicemail.
Police, then. You don’t have any other choice. You’ll deal with the consequences later. Surely pissing off Steve couldn’t be worse than letting this guy do whatever it was he was planning on doing.
You lift the receiver again and hear nothing. No dial tone. Complete silence. The phone is no longer working.
The threads of panic that had begun to squirm through you earlier now writhe, demanding attention. You don’t even have any kind of a weapon to defend yourself.
You should really lock the door. Again, Steve be damned.
You stand, intending to do just that. From the distance you hear the sound of glass shattering. Shit. Not just a casual explorer, then.
The lights go out.
You’d completely forgotten about the warning you’d been issued about how the electricity tended to be fickle. You normally just switch it on at the start of your shift and back off again before you leave. The office is completely dark. No more monitors. The emergency lighting in the hallway glows red. You’ll have to reset the breaker if you want full power restored. Which means leaving the office. That pitch dark room you no longer want to hide in.
Another crash. This sounded like something heavy. Metal striking another object. You’re still hovering in the open doorway. The switch for the power isn’t that far away. You could make it there and back again, surely. You take a step forward, your fingers still hooked around the doorframe. Another step. Now you hold only air. You keep walking. Your chest feels tight. It hurts trying to breathe so shallowly. You try to keep your tred light. It couldn’t be much farther. Just a few more steps. You think you can make out the shape of it, the box jutting out from the wall.
You’re not alone in the hallway.
The intruder has found his way here. He starts towards you and you jerk to a halt, taking a step back.
From the depths of the service room, the figure of the decaying rabbit animatronic emerges.
You don’t see the silver eyes. Its back is to you, facing the other man. You hear the sound of something striking the mascot, the clatter of that object as it hits the floor. The human male’s body is lifted and flung against the nearest wall. You can hear bones snapping.
You’ve lost your footing in your haste to back up. You scrabble backward on hands and feet, the soles of your sneakers squeaking against the linoleum. You’re no longer trying to quiet your breathing. It comes and goes in a harsh, desperate whine. The rabbit’s bulk does nothing to slow it down. It’s right in front of you. Those strange glowing eyes focused on this vulnerable prey. You can hear it breathing, a dry, rusty sort of drag. There’s a roaring sound in your ears. It’s getting harder and harder to see, to focus. You’re blacking out. Darkness.
***
You awaken to feel something cool and wet being pressed against your forehead.
You blink rapidly, struggling to get your bearings. You’re no longer in the restaurant. You’re in a car. Steve Raglan’s car.
There’s a blue flashing light nearby. Police cruiser? You catch a glimpse of blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. The young female officer gets behind the wheel of the vehicle and drives away, the tires screeching as she peels out of the parking lot.
“What…”
“You’re okay. Look at me.”
You try to focus on the social worker’s features. His hair looks a little damp. He’s still dressed in his office attire. “What happened?” You lick your lips. They’re so dry. You can barely get the words out.
“Someone broke into Freddy’s. The police just escorted them away.”
“I didn’t call them.”
“I know. I did.”
“I tried to call you. There was no answer. I even tried the office. Then the phone went dead.”
“The line was cut.”
“By that man?”
“Yes.”
“So how did you call the police?”
“I didn’t call from Freddy’s. I called the police as soon as there was no answer here. I knew something was wrong.”
“You’ve never called me at work.” You frown, shaking your head. Things still seemed fuzzy. You feel like you’re missing pieces of the puzzle. “What did that guy want, anyway?”
“That’s for the authorities to sort out.”
“Why didn’t you answer the phone?”
Steve stares at you for long moments. “I was unavailable.”
“At midnight? What were you doing?”
“That’s not your concern.”
“I could have gotten hurt. Seriously hurt. You realize that, right? This is so asinine. You’ve got me guarding this place with no training, no weapons, you tell me just to call you when I need you, and when I needed you, you weren’t there.” The words spill out in a rush. Fear and anger, betrayal and hurt coursing through you.
“I apologize.”
“You apologize? No, that’s not good enough, that’s—” He cuts you off by leaning over to kiss you. Your brain short circuits instantly. Why does he always feel so good? “You can’t just do that and expect it to make everything okay,” you manage when you part for air.
“It makes it better though, doesn’t it?”
Kiss it and make it better, Daddy. Oh, fuck. How can you be thinking about sex at a time like this?
“Where did you find me?”
“The hallway in the back. Why?”
“The rabbit was there again. It was fighting with the man. I think it was trying to help me. Don’t tell me I didn’t see it. It was there. I heard it breathing.”
“The animatronics don’t breathe. They’re not alive.” His voice is surprisingly gentle and patient, as if he’s explaining to a child how the Easter bunny isn’t real.
“This one is,” you insist stubbornly. “You can think I’m delusional. I know what I saw. Something is happening here.”
The older man turns his attention to the steering wheel, reaching to turn the key in the ignition. “You’ve had enough excitement for one day, I think. I’m taking you home.”
“What? My shift isn’t over.” You look at the digital display that glows green on the vehicle’s dashboard. It’s barely two.
“You won’t be docked for not completing the shift.”
“I’m capable of driving myself home.”
“I’m taking you,” he repeats, the firm disciplinary tone taking hold once more.
“I don’t want to leave my car here.”
“No one is going to touch it. The police are keeping watch for the rest of the night in case the intruder had an accomplice. They’ll be doing frequent patrol sweeps to make certain.”
“There wasn’t anyone else. Just him.”
“That you saw, until the power went out and you lost the monitors.”
You fold your arms across your chest, trying to think of a comeback. “Do you ever sleep? How come you’re always so wide awake in the middle of the night?”
He glances over at you and smirks, flicking a finger over the tip of his nose before returning to view the road. It’s deserted at this hour. “Coffee. I tried to tell you.”
“It tastes awful.” You’ve never admitted it out loud before.
“I never said it doesn’t. It’s much like alcohol in that regard. It has to be tempered to make it palatable.”
“This isn’t the way to my apartment,” you realize out loud.
“I’m not taking you to your place. I’m taking you to mine.”
“Oh,” you say softly.
“Any more complaints?”
“No.” You stare hard out the window. You hadn’t been expecting this. Any of this. How was it possible for this man to keep disarming you at every turn?
“Good.”
A house. He lives in a house, you silently answer the question you’d wondered previously. Two stories. Two car garage that he neglects to use, pulling into the driveway. You realize suddenly you’ve never once asked if he was married or had children. You’d just assumed.
Just assumed he was alone and waiting for you to fall, quite literally, into his lap.
It seems like a big living space for one person, but you don’t dare question it. You follow him meekly inside. He tosses the keys onto a table by the door, flicking on the lightswitch and then turning the deadbolt.
So far today you’ve gotten eaten out in the career counselor’s office, sucked his dick, almost gotten hurt by a trespasser at your job, possibly rescued? by a monster rabbit that doesn’t really exist and now you were in said career counselor’s home. All in the span of less than twelve hours. Unbelievable.
“I’m sure you’re ready to knock out. The master bedroom’s up here,” he invites, ascending the nearby stairs.
“What, I’m not going to spend the night on the couch?”
“You’re getting awfully mouthy. I’m not certain I like this new brashness,” he tosses over his shoulder as he continues climbing the stairs.
“You liked the mouthiness earlier,” you mutter softly, thinking he won’t hear you.
“I can see I’ve been too lenient.”
Oh, he’d heard.
You both reach the top of the stairs and he leans, reaching around you to flip the hall lights back off. Suddenly you’re in the dark again. Listening to breathing.
His hand finds yours. You’re pulled into one of the nearby rooms and a lightswitch is flipped, partially alleviating the tense moment. You watch him rummage in a dresser for a shirt, tossing it at you and pointing as you hastily clutch it to your chest. “Bathroom’s that way. Get changed.”
As if you’d want to sleep in the security uniform, especially after being on the floor of the restaurant. You wouldn’t mind a bath or a shower but you think that’s asking for too much. You duck into the other room and quickly get changed. It’s just an undershirt, solid white. You stare at yourself in the mirror. What, exactly, are you doing? Spending the night at this man’s house. In his bed.
You run your tongue over your teeth. You want to brush them. “Hey, Steve, is there a spare toothbrush? I don’t want to rummage through your stuff.” You open the door to find him standing just outside. Your mouth goes dry again. Fuck, you want him so bad it hurts.
“Here.” He steps inside, crowding you slightly against the sink as he reaches to open the medicine cabinet, withdrawing what you’d requested. “Don’t squeeze the toothpaste in the middle. I hate that.”
You glance, bemused, at the tube with its neat, empty curl at the end. “What will happen if I do?” You murmur.
“Don’t tempt me.” His hand grazes your ass and then he leaves the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
You don’t spend too long cleaning your teeth. There’s too much want in you, want for what’s behind that closed door. You open it and find him waiting his turn, leaning against the wall. You discover the comforter and top sheet are now pulled back. Slate gray. Masculine. You have pastel pink at home. Full. Not a King size like this. Luxurious. How many thread count in these sheets? Your head sinks into the pillow. Perfect. Not too firm, not too soft.
Steve exits the bathroom. Watches you get comfortable. Sits on the other side of the mattress and reaches for the light. Darkness again. You hear the sounds of fabric shifting as he gets undressed. You wonder why he doesn’t want you seeing him bare. Are there more scars? The springs creak as he changes positions, standing again to remove his pants. Back down, now lying beside you.
Your face turns in his direction. Your heart is pounding. His arm reaches, dragging you against him. Spoons laid together. His breath by your ear. “Be a good girl and go to sleep.”
You don’t want to behave. You want to turn over and touch and taste. But you obey. You close your eyes and try to soothe your racing pulse. You concentrate on the crisp feel of the bed linens beneath you and Raglan’s warm arms around you and you find yourself enveloped in slumber.
#william afton x reader#william afton x you#steve raglan x reader#steve raglan x you#william afton smut#divider @cafekitsune
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For your ask game ~ 📖 🦉 🔞
Worth the Risk - Jack Delroy/Reader
Warnings: Female reader, no use of Y/N, making out, almost fully clothed grinding, clothed fingering, bit of exhibition/voyeurism, vaginal sex.
Wordcount: 6317
Summary: He'd given you his card, invited you to the studio with the promise of a good time, and the show had been amazing for sure, but did the night really have to end once the cameras turned off?
Notes: I really wanted to write this the other day but I was too sleepy and went to bed early y'know like a baby 😖 anyways I've been wanting to do a sequel to Susceptible since I first posted it and somehow it ended up even longer so this is for you hehe hope you enjoy~ 💗💗💗
Wait for me by the back entrance at 11:00
Phil will let you in
JD
You don’t know how many times you’d looked at the card he handed you since that night, but the corners were starting to bend and the pen marks were beginning to smudge, just a little. You forced yourself to leave it be as you checked your appearance one last time, the mirror by the front door to your apartment offering its final encouragement as you decided there was nothing left you could do to delay your departure before you were late. As soon as you were out the door you had to resist the urge to sprint, your heels sending muffled echoes down the hall as you headed straight for the elevator, a kindly old woman holding it for you with a smile.
You had the sense to call a cab early so you wouldn’t have to risk waiting and missing your 11PM deadline, the car stalling right outside the door as you waved to the driver and got inside. ‘Fiske Studios, please,’ you tell him, the small building owned by a branch of UBC now very well known thanks to a certain Mr. Midnight. Your leg bounced the entire way there, the card once again in your hands as you stared out the window, neighbourhoods giving way to open city streets, more cars circling around you like a school of fish. You hated driving in the city, it was the main reason why you dedicated so much of your paycheck to cabs, but tonight you were starting to wish you’d driven yourself as you hit the tenth red light in a row.
The driver sensed your anxiousness as you bit your lip for just a split second before your purse was opened and your lipstick was uncapped, the tiny mirror in your hand reassuring you that it’d be fine, you looked great, it was an easy fix. ‘Hot date tonight?’ he asked over his shoulder, his voice startling you a little as you snapped the mirror shut again.
‘Uh, going to a live show, actually,’ you said cautiously, avoiding a yes or no to his question; it’d be too presumptuous to say yes, but god if you didn’t want to hope. ‘I’m meeting a few friends there, don’t wanna be late and all.’
‘Oh, well, girl’s gotta have some fun on a Friday night, I guess,’ he said as he looked you over in the rearview, your coat pulled a little tighter over your shoulders as you forced a smile and tried not to look to disgusted; this was yet another reason why you were so fond of Jack Delroy, he’d never make you feel that way, what with him being such a gentleman and all.
The memory of the night you met made you shiver briefly as the hallucination flashed through your mind again, the false feeling of his hands on you having haunted you all week. You sucked in a very long breath through your nose as you willed the pink to leave your cheeks again, the last thing you needed right now was this guy seeing you get covered in goosebumps and assume it was because of what he’d said. You actually hadn’t been able to watch Night Owls since that night, feeling almost guilty about it even though there was no way he would know you hadn’t seen all the exciting things he’d been talking about. You’d tried last night, but as soon as the wall had opened and he’d strolled on out with that smile and his eyes instantly finding the camera you’d become a right mess way too fast and had to turn it off again, your heart pounding and your legs pressed uncomfortably tight together just at the sight of him.
Goddamn you Carmichael Haig.
The studio came into view with the latest turn and you readied yourself to get out, money already in hand by the time the car had stopped. The bill was settled and you stepped out into the cool night air, cutting off the driver’s wish for you to have a good night with the slamming of the door, and you took a look around and tried to guess which way would lead to the back door he’d mentioned. You waited until the car was out of sight, pretending to see your ‘friends’ so it wouldn’t look like you were about to walk down a dark alley by yourself, another deep breath exhaled sharply as you summoned up all of your courage and headed to the right.
It was a large alley, big enough for a car to drive down and reach the parking lot out back, which thankfully held just as many people walking about as the front did. A lot of them favoured a large, metal door up a tiny flight of stairs, keycards flashed to unlock it before it was held open for several people at a time, everyone helping each other in the most efficient of ways. You had no idea which one Phil was supposed to be, and if you waited too long you might get pinned as a fan trying to sneak in, so the next time someone approached the area you were lurking in you got the card back out and held it out to him.
‘Um, I’m supposed to find Phil?’ you said uncertainly, the man looking you over before taking the card. ‘Ja- Mr. Delroy told me to meet him here.’
‘How’d you meet Jack?’ he asked, clearly recognizing the handwriting but wanting to be certain all the same as he handed it back to you.
‘At Carmichael Haig’s show, we got to talk for a little bit,’ you explained, your nerves starting to rise the longer you were out there, the paranoia that you wouldn’t be able to get in starting to rise in your chest.
‘Ohhh, so you’re the one he was telling Gus about,’ the man said with a grin, your back straightening at the very thought of Jack talking about you with anyone, let alone with someone in a public place. ‘Yeah, he told me to expect someone, I’ll take you up there now if you help me carry something, save me a trip?’
You agreed to his terms, the man apparently being Phil as he shook your hand and handed you the box he was balancing on one arm as you talked. He quickly jogged back to his car to grab another box before returning to you, the door held open for you both as you squeezed past another employee and followed him through the maze of hallways and way too many doors to count. The studio itself was actually on the second floor, the first dedicated to offices and meeting rooms and other businessy things, the elevator able to just barely let you both cram inside as everyone got ready for the taping.
‘Is it always this hectic?’ you asked before you realized you were even opening your mouth, Phil just laughing and adjusting his box.
‘Every single night.’
Once the elevator had pinged and the doors had slid open, Phil then led you through a few more hallways until he pushed through a locked STAFF ONLY door, even more people on the other side, although there was more to the area back here, your eyes widening when it hit you that this was the back of Jack’s set. Phil noticed your excitement and set his box down on the nearest table, taking yours in another swift movement before motioning towards the slightly ajar wall panel; the audience’s seats were just in view through the crack, some people already coming in and finding their spots, and you were just in the middle of wondering if you should attempt finding an empty one when you felt a hand on your shoulder.
‘Quite the view, isn’t it?’
You turned to see Jack standing behind you, a look of pure bliss on his face as he watched the band get ready, Gus talking to someone and going over scripts off to the right, the few audience members chatting with each other as they guessed what they’d see that night. He truly loved this job, you could tell he did even after doing it for so many years, and seeing him so in love only made you love him even more. He looked down at you then, a fondness in his eyes as he gave your shoulder a squeeze and led you around back, a little tour before you had to leave him.
‘I’m glad you came,’ he admitted as you took everything in, everyone shifting their gaze towards the both of you as long as they thought they could get away with it. ‘Been looking forward to tonight all week, what did you think of the lineup?’
‘I, uh-’ you trailed off as he pulled you out of the way of a staff member carrying the requested items for tonight’s guest, your coat suddenly feeling way too warm to still be wearing inside. ‘I missed out on them, actually, been a busy week,’ you lied, avoiding his face as your cheeks lit up; you were not about to tell him that it was because looking at him made you remember how he’d felt pressed up against your waist, even if it was fake.
A shiver ran up your spine as you then realized that the heat against your back very much wasn’t however.
‘I’ll have to tell you all about it later, don’t want you missing out on anything,’ he said with a grin, your lips trembling as you tried to keep your smile from getting any bigger. There was no way he’d actually do that, he had to be too busy to entertain you when the PMs turned to AMs, but it was a nice thought indeed.
‘I’d like that,’ you admitted either way, happy to live in the fantasy for just a little bit at least.
‘Jack!’ someone called from just out of sight, a curly-haired man in sunglasses hunting him down with expert precision as he hurried over. ‘Gus just told me you’ve been saving seats all week, you wanna explain why that is?’
‘And there’s my cue,’ he whispers in your ear before using your shoulders to turn you and guide you back to the slit in the wall. ‘Middle front row, furthest left seat,’ he whispered before pushing you to the other side, his attention turned to his producer as he descended upon him for losing them money. You listened for just a second before it hit you that you were there, you were really there, your mouth dropping open as you slowly spun to check out the Night Owls set. People were whispering about who you might be but you didn’t care, not leaving until you heard Gus clear his throat and ask what you were doing.
‘Finding my seat,’ you mumbled, although maybe it had come out as nonsense in your delighted stupor, you couldn’t be sure at the moment.
‘Okay, do you have a ticket?’ he asked, still so polite even though he was very much confused. You just held up the card again, your eyes going higher as you stared at all the lights. ‘I see, so you’re the one he’s been waiting for, right this way.’
The one he’s been waiting for? Clearly you must’ve misheard, Jack Delroy couldn’t possibly have been that excited for you, you’d only spoken for maybe five minutes, tops.
Gus led you to your seat and you instantly sank into it, a 40 minute wait still ahead of you but it felt like no time at all as the rows all filled up and people slowly stopped walking across the set to prepare. On either side of you, cameramen took their places and lined up their shots, the blue screen of the viewfinder catching your attention as you couldn’t help but see what they saw. Gus got himself ready by the band, who were all tuned up and ready to go, and when midnight hit and Gus started calling out that night’s guests, you couldn’t help but bite your lip again as Jack’s name was announced and the wall opened up again to reveal him.
He’d been right, it was an incredible show, his presence so much more overwhelming as you could only focus on him no matter who he stood or sat beside. Every single one of his jokes landed, every eccentric wave of his hands drew you in without fail, and every single smile he shot your way when you laughed only confirmed more and more that you were genuinely glad you came. He tried to talk to you during the breaks but each time he’d been interrupted either by one of his co-workers or someone in the audience ready to snatch up his attention, Jack too polite to refuse either, although it was honestly starting to make you a little jealous.
Before you knew it, his hour had passed and he was saying goodbye, your chest deflating as he was played out again along with his final guest, your hands a little numb as you gave him his well deserved applause. You didn’t want to get up and leave as the rest of the people around you did without hesitation, a chorus of yawns starting to infect everyone like a virus now that it was officially bedtime. You were rooted to the spot, hands clasped in your lap as you wondered if it’d be too presumptuous to assume that maybe he’d come back out again when everyone was gone, wish you your own personal goodnight, people staring again as you waited until you accepted that you’d fulfilled his request, there was no need to stay now.
‘Oh good, you’re still here,’ Jack panted as he jogged over to you, a sheen on his cheeks and forehead from the excitement of the night mixed in with the hot stage lights, ‘I was worried you’d leave when Leo grabbed me just now.’
‘I’m in no hurry,’ you told him as you stood, your clasped hands hiding behind your back so he wouldn’t see you fidgeting. ‘It was a great show, I had a lot of fun tonight.’
His smile turned from Showman Jack to Genuine Jack at that, your ability to always tell coming in handy yet again as you tried to hide your blush by tucking your hair behind your ear. ‘I take it you had a more enjoyable time with me than at Haig’s, then?’ he asked, your blushing deepening at his choice of words.
‘I did, yeah.’ Everyone was packing up for the night around you, no one giving you a passing glance as the desire to get home and sleep overtook their curiosity, and when he stifled a yawn you couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty at keeping him. ‘All good things must come to an end though, I suppose; I should really get heading back, it’ll be a nightmare to find a cab this late.’ You didn’t want to go, but you also didn’t want to press your luck either, and maybe you’d get another invitation to another show, who knew?
‘I could give you a ride, if you wanted,’ he offered, completely catching you off guard as your eyes widened for a second in surprise. ‘Or, if you’re truly a night owl like me, you’d prefer to join me for a drink? I always grab one after a show, can’t sleep otherwise.’
You swallowed, mouth cotton dry as you went over his offer in your head a few times; was he asking you out on a date? He had to have been, who else went out to get a drink together at 1AM other than people on dates, right? ‘Yeah, a drink sounds great,’ you finally managed to squeak out, the corners of his eyes scrunching when he smiled before offering his arm for you to take, a true gentleman. He led you back through the labyrinth until you reached the parking lot, his car parked in a spot with his name plastered against the wall behind it, most of the other cars already gone now that their owners were free.
His car was simple, nothing too flashy like someone else in his position would own, the seats worn on the inside and telling you that he must’ve had it for many years. You tried not to look too nervous as he unlocked his door and let himself in, his long body stretching across the front so he could unlock the passenger side as well; an old car indeed, he was taking very good care of it for it to still look that good. You thanked him as you sat down and shut the door, the smell of his cologne stealing your breath away as you were surrounded by purely him, the faint smell of smoke mixing in with it, your eyes fluttering shut as you tried not to look too obvious.
He shot you a glance as he clicked his seatbelt into place, the noise making you come back to your senses and do the same so he could start driving. There were quite a few bars around there, some late night diners as well, and you grew more and more confused as he drove by all of them without a word. By the time you left the city and started to head towards a more residential area, you were starting to wonder if you were going for a drink at all, not remembering ever telling him where you lived, of course this neighborhood was much too nice, maybe you should be flattered if he thought you lived around here.
‘Are we still…?’ you tried to ask, your question dying out as he then turned into the driveway of a very nice but modestly sized house, all the lights off inside telling you that no one was home. He didn’t turn off the engine though, his eyes on the wheel before he turned to you, a hopeful something in his eyes that mirrored your own.
‘Would you like to come inside? Or should we try calling that cab?’ he asked you gently, giving you the choice of what you wanted to do now that you knew where you’d be drinking, your heart thumping a little faster as you adjusted the strap of your purse and flashed him the most confident smile you could muster.
‘You did promise to tell me all about the shows I miss,’ you reminded him, Jack’s smile softening as he agreed with a, ‘Yes I did.’ The engine shut off and you both exited the car, the night air making you shiver as you held your coat a little tighter over your arms. He noticed immediately, his suit jacket draped over you before you could confirm or deny you wanted it, heat spreading throughout you as the scent of his cologne hit you even harder. You wrapped yourself up in it, face tucked into the collar as you headed for his front door, always a few steps behind until he unlocked the door and pushed it open, allowing you to go in first.
It was a modest place, decorated more cozily than anything, and you felt right at home as you stepped inside and took a look around; the walls held photos of family and friends, his coworkers and people he’d met through Night Owls spaced out around them, the surfaces of every table and shelf decorated with something and filling the space while also feeling sparse. Cozy was definitely the right word, but it also felt like a bachelor pad in the way he’d left clothes draped over the back of the couch, how the kitchen was pristinely clean from rare use based on the amount of menus he’d collected into the holder by his phone, and the dedicated minibar off in the corner so he could entertain guests.
He headed there now as you observed your surroundings, his voice breaking your thoughts as he asked you to pick your poison. You gave him your desired drink request, Jack’s eyes shining as he located the bottle amongst the plethora of them in his reserve, whisky placed next to it as he located a couple of glasses next. ‘Ice?’ he asked casually as he poured both drinks, you kindly refusing as he grabbed a couple for himself. The ice crackled in his glass as he returned, the sound pleasant to you and filling the air as he handed you your drink. ‘I’d offer you a seat at the table, but my back is killing me tonight, if you’d rather join me on the couch?’
What a liar, you could always tell when he was acting. You accepted anyways, pretending to buy into it as you both took opposite ends of the old leather couch situated in front of his fireplace. The cushions creaked underneath as you sat down, Jack letting out a sigh that didn’t sound fake as he relaxed, his body sinking right in before he took a sip and turned to look at you. You blushed and looked away, focusing on your glass as you swirled the contents around, now wishing for ice since watching it would be a good distraction.
You’d been so focused on his home that it was starting to dawn on you that you were in his home, on his couch, drinking his liquor, his focus on nothing and no one other than you. ‘Dreamer, here, awake,’ you whispered softly under your breath, remembering what Haig had said to snap you out of it and needing to make sure this wasn’t just another dream.
‘What was that?’
Oh god, it wasn’t a dream, you were really here, and his arm was now on the back of the couch, casually reaching towards you as he tilted his head to the side with an amused grin.
‘So, how did the shows that I missed go?’ you quickly choked out, Jack chuckling at how your voice sounded way more broken than you’d wanted before downing the rest of his drink and setting the empty glass on the coffee table in front of him.
‘Well, on Monday I got to interview someone about his upcoming play, so that was interesting,’ he began, his body turned more towards you as he spoke. ‘On Tuesday, we had a man who sailed halfway around the world and narrowly survived being shipwrecked, and he read us an excerpt from his captain’s log, which he revealed he’ll be turning into a book to preserve the memories of his shipmates.’ He slid a little down the leather, genuine interest in his eyes as he spoke, that another thing you loved about him. ‘Wednesday was Game Night, as you know, and one of our audience members managed to win the jackpot and gave us a victory dance to celebrate. Gus tried to attempt it and fell on his ass, so everyone made me try it and I nearly crashed into my stage, everyone had a lot of fun that night.
His voice started to soften as he moved a little closer, your body frozen in both awe at what you’d missed and also the sight of him starting to fill up your entire view, your drink forgotten in your hands.
‘And then on Thursday we took a call from a man who thought he had superpowers, can you believe that? He truly believed he got them from another dimension, so fascinating.’ He was just about to slide over the middle cushion, your legs pressing tightly together so you wouldn’t touch him on accident, your lip worried between your teeth again. ‘I asked him to come on the show, but he hung up, I hope he calls again next week.’ His arm was completely behind you you finally noticed as his thumb brushed against your shoulder just enough for you to feel it over your coat and his suit jacket, the heat of both starting to make you sweat as he stayed just outside your personal space, ever the gentleman as he waited for you to tell him to back up.
You didn’t, your tongue darting out and tasting your lipstick as you glanced to the side, seeing just enough of him to know that he didn’t look dangerous, or overly sexual like your fantasy had been, his actual expression one of wonder as he remained just out of reach. You felt like you had to comment on his week, say something in response to what he was telling you but you couldn’t, the sound of his thumb running over the fabric directly in your ear as you finally took your first sip.
‘Sounds like I missed a lot,’ you eventually said, Jack nodding and shifting as he got comfier, the movement sending him a little closer to you. ‘Maybe you should invite me back again, I could probably make time for that.’
‘I’ll have to see if I can get you an actual ticket this time, then, Leo was very unhappy I snuck you in.’ His voice was so low as you took another, bigger sip, his arm sliding off the back of the couch and just barely resting against the very bottom of your neck.
‘Is that what that was? I’ll be sure to use the front door next time.’ Another sip, his other hand in plain sight on his thigh as it traveled down towards you.
‘I think I’d prefer to escort you in myself, so you don’t get lost, it’s like a maze in there.’ You watched his hand just barely touch the hem of his jacket, a soft hum leaving his throat as his eyes half-lidded. ‘You look good in this, I might have to let you borrow it more often.’
‘You assume I’ll need it again? How presumptuous of you,’ you joked in an attempt to keep things light, but it fell flat as you looked at him while you said it, his expression rendering you speechless in seconds. Now that you were facing him he couldn’t resist the urge to touch your cheek, his fingertips just barely brushing against you and making you shut your eyes as you tried to lean against them, the contact causing shivers to run down your spine at how incredibly gentle it was.
‘I really am glad you came tonight,’ he whispered as he leaned in, breath soft against your face as you both held off from closing the gap, ‘god, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.’
You nearly dropped the glass, Jack placing his hand over yours to make sure you didn’t before taking it away entirely. ‘Y-you’re just telling me what I wanna hear,’ you repeated from your fantasy, Jack leaning away to set the glass down before letting his forehead rest against your own.
‘Is it working?’
You grabbed onto his tie and pulled him into you, your mouths crashing together as you kissed him with all the need of someone who’d wanted this for years. He braced himself on the back of the couch as you leaned against the arm, your body arching up as he rearranged how he was sitting to kneel over you. He wasn’t as forward as your fantasy, which was understandable considering you knew very well that he’d only acted the exact way you wanted, but instead you discovered that he was slow, making as many points of contact as he could while giving you space. He was obsessed with kissing away the rest of your lipstick but he never tried to take more than you were giving him, your bodies still too far apart as he caressed you.
‘You’re so beautiful,’ he repeated as his hand left your jaw to travel down to your hip, not to hold down or make you keen but just to feel the soft curve of your body; he was committing you to memory, tracing over each wrinkle in the fabric, each place that made you squirm just a little.
‘Jack…’ you sighed as he pushed both coats aside to gently kiss at your neck, small things that made you want beyond the sweetness, the love. ‘Don’t make me wait anymore, please…’
He pressed a single kiss to your jaw at that, sitting back just enough so he could look at your face. You turned away, embarrassed by your neediness, but he turned you back to him with only a whisper of a touch, a plea instead of a command. ‘How long have you been waiting?’ he asked, lips hovering just above yours, pulling away when you tried to close the gap.
‘Years.’
He kissed you again, a little rougher this time as his own need was made clear, his body shifting down until he was laying himself on top of you, and for however real your fantasy had felt, it was fucking nothing compared to the weight of him pressing pure want directly into your waist. It made you gasp how good he felt, your legs spreading until your skirt wouldn’t stretch any further, the desire to hike it up all the way so you could feel him a little better making you almost actually do it. It was him who made that move when he felt you struggling, your legs pressed into his almost uncomfortably, and he placed his hands at the hem and waited for your okay, not wanting to do anything without your permission.
What a fucking gentleman.
You nodded and he lifted your skirt, your back arching off the couch so it could be bunched up, your underwear on display just the smallest amount before your skirt was let go. That small amount made him blush, his lips parting as he then palmed himself to ease the strain of his own clothes, his nice suit pulled taut over his dick as he kneaded. It made you want him even more, the fantasies of seeing him like that deciding to play like the world’s longest and lewdest film in your mind, reminding you of every single thing you wanted to do to him, what you wanted him to do to you.
‘I want to feel you,’ you told him, his eyes fluttering shut like the quicktalking showman Mr. Midnight couldn’t handle a bit of dirty talk; he was so cute it almost hurt as he moved his hand aside for you, granting you access to the space while he tried to undo his belt. You rubbed him over his pants, listening to the sounds he was making and letting your desire grow with each one, and when his belt was undone and his zipper was down you tugged just his pants over his hips just enough to show off his bulge a little better. It strained over the opening, the sight so tantalizing that you’d risk staying hypnotized forever if this really was just another dream, his body laying down over yours again as you wrapped your leg around him.
He started to grind against you, the fantasy definitely not doing him justice as a sinful heat warmed you up in an instant, the coats much too hot as you tried to strip them both off. He helped you but didn’t stop moving, each thrust just enough to create the best friction you’d ever experienced. There was no audience this time, no one to risk ruining this for you, and you took full advantage of that as you let out a deviously loud moan when he rubbed against you just right.
‘God…’ he panted into your neck, hips moving just a little faster, and it felt good but it wasn’t what you wanted, not entirely. You reached down between where your bodies touched to try and get a hold of his boxers, your nails catching over the waistband just out of reach. He felt your attempts and knew what you were trying to do, his face unsure even though he still couldn’t stop. ‘Are you sure?’ he needed to know, his hips finally stilling for the most part, your eyes watering with how much you meant it as you told him yes. He groaned as he reached between your legs, feeling your wetness seeping through your panties as you moved against him, your head instantly falling back.
The sounds you let out were indecent, he wasn’t even inside you yet and he was making you fall apart just because it was him who was doing this, his fingers rewriting your brain and telling you that you’d never be able to get off on just your imagination ever again. He played with you as his other hand pushed his boxers down the rest of the way, his dick falling free and making him hiss as he gave himself a few strokes, the sound getting you to look up. Your legs twitched as you almost came just from the sight alone, his eyes shut tight as his head lolled to the side, his impressive length looking even bigger in his hand as he got himself ready.
As soon as he felt your eyes on him he locked onto you, his big, showman smile showing a little more teeth than usual as he let you watch, his own sounds almost addicting as he let you know exactly how good his own hand felt. Between the sight and his hands making the both of you feel good, you didn’t know how much more you could take of this before you were shoving him down, Jack sensing your desperation and leaning back over you. He pulled aside your panties and rubbed you a couple more times before pressing his waist against yours, spreading your wetness along the underside of his shaft, grinding against you this way until you were practically begging him to do more, please.
He chuckled at your reaction before taking himself in hand again, spreading it even more before holding himself up to your entrance, one last chance to back out. You made sure to lock eyes with him as you grabbed his tie and pulled him down to you once more, your mouth falling open as he pushed deep inside of you the more you pulled. You didn’t stop until you were full, the two of you panting into each other's mouth before he started to move, both of your legs wrapping around him this time as you tried to take him even deeper.
It was hot, you were sweating, you could see the sheen on his cheeks and forehead again as he suffered in the almost entirety of his suit versus your outfit, and you helped him relieve some of his suffering as you started to unbutton his shirt. You shoved it off one shoulder before he was tearing it off of himself and tossing it away, your own shirt pushed up to reveal a heaving stomach, muscles working hard under the flesh as he thrust into you, your body unable to move with him thanks to the arm of the couch keeping you in place.
It ensured he always hit the deepest part of you since your body couldn’t shift away, one of your hands on your stomach while the other took his own and placed it on your chest. He began to knead you over your bra, it soon out of the way as he yanked it down and wrapped his mouth around a nipple, his motions speeding up a bit as you tangled your now free hand into his hair. ‘You feel so good,’ you couldn’t stop yourself from saying then, starting to get overstimulated, and at your words he jerked a little erratically, like it’d made him stumble. ‘You- you were so handsome tonight, did so well, I couldn’t stop staring at you…’
He was moaning nonsense into your chest as you praised him, something about what you were saying making him fall apart; his head rested against you as he rutted into you with wild abandon, your hands just holding him there as you kept whispering what he wanted to hear. You meant it, every word, but to know that this much was making him practically whine against you was also addicting, needing him to know everything you felt for him, how proud you were of him, how you’d never be able to feel anyone but him for the rest of your life.
‘Come inside me, make me yours, I want to be yours,’ you pleaded, Jack grasping at you like a drowning man grasps at his saviour, a few more thrusts making your head fall back before he did just that. His hips jutted a few more times as warmth filled your insides, the sensation mixed with his broken gasps bringing you over the edge as well, his nails digging into your flesh where he held you, your hands thoroughly messing up his perfectly styled hair. When he was done he collapsed against you, his weight once again so incredibly nice as he pinned you against the cushions, the leather sticking to your skin and keeping you very much in place.
‘If I’m too heavy-’ he started to say before he shifted and cut himself off with a whine, his attempts to get up thwarted immediately.
‘You’re not,’ you reassured him, your fingers attempting to straighten his hair back into place, a small courtesy for him letting you grab him so hard in the first place. ‘We can just… stay a while.’
‘Do you wanna risk that? I might fall asleep on you like this,’ he asked like it’d be a bad thing; what a gentleman.
‘I think that’d be worth the risk,’ you told him as you kissed his forehead, Jack reaching up to cup your cheek before gathering all his strength to kiss you goodnight.
#Ray's Readers#Ray's Requests#david dastmalchian#jack delroy#jack delroy x reader#after the sheer STRESS of today I need a lil smut writing time to chill out with#too bad it took me way to long to actually finish this cause stuff kept happening#it's been a very busy day for me whoo#correction it is now the next day that's how long it took me to work on this TwT
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how do you think goro would feel about a childhood friend!darling?
Goro Akechi has a lot of hate in that heart of his, but other than the man he hates more than anything, there are two other things he hates the most: lack of control, and vulnerability.
He needs control over situations, over people, and when he can manage it, over the course of fate itself. The Metaverse and years of hard effort into a public persona he wears so flawlessly have granted him the sort of control he desires, for the most part.
He hates to be vulnerable, hates his own weaknesses, hates them being perceived by others.
You present both.
It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him. Really, up until the point you saw his name on screen one day, you admittedly remembered him as ‘that sad boy at school I was nice to when we were little,’ and your memories of him had all but faded into the background of your life, never thinking of him much after that until he pops back into your life.
At first, you think it can’t be the same person, surely. At least until the familiar — albeit aged a bit older than in your memories — face comes on the screen. It feels quite surreal. A drastic shift from the little boy you remember angrily sulking on the playground all by himself away from the other kids, whom you admittedly talked to mostly out of pity. Still, you felt like you bonded in the end, before he got whisked away when the relatives fostering him decided to dump him off onto someone else, thus forcing him to transfer schools.
You’re happy for him. He looks very happy now, you think, his situation must have improved. He’s even living in the city now apparently, just like you.
The positive coincidences stack atop each other when you actually get to see him.
Completely by chance, not seeking him out or anything, you just so happen to be walking home on an uncrowded street, and he just so happened to be coming back from a hit, now as normalized and mundane to him as any other work-related task — and you just so happen to meet right as you each turn a corner, perfectly scenic, as if ordained by fate.
And while Goro Akechi has spent a very long time by now perfecting the art of composure, what he sees takes him so far aback that even he lets the mask momentarily slip — completely freezing up, slack-jawed and stiff with shock and disbelief. There’s a moment where only silence passes, he looks at you like he’s seeing a ghost, an expression almost like horror managing to escape his automatic efforts to keep a straight face.
You don’t notice that part. You’re too caught up in the surprise and elation, gasping and smiling and rambling on about what a coincidence it is, and—
Do you remember me…?
The shock only lasts a split second. The composure is back, the mask pushed back into place, and with practiced mastery of charm, he bounces back near instantly.
Even in spite of the sudden onslaught of emotions and memories that feels like his very soul is being stabbed at, he manages to keep up the usual Prince-Charming act of his. Says the lines expected of him, so standard you could probably guess them before they come out of his mouth — wow, long time no see, what a coincidence, it’s good to see you, how have you been, all the generic phrases and lines one should say, just like the ones you provide in return. A back-and-forth dialogue predetermined by conventions and standards of normalcy and expectation as composed by a given social framework in which all humans live. You do mention that you’ve seen him on TV — for some reason, it makes his stomach feel like its twisting, but he gives you a humble-sounding reply all the same.
All as his heart pounds so heavily it feels like it’s going to burst though is chest. Adrenaline surges thought his veins and every nerve on his body feels like it’s frozen over, an ice-cold chill that runs through his blood, a ringing in his ears, even a lightheadedness that begins to take hold, his entire body reacting in shock and panic.
You fetch a piece of paper from your bag, scribble something down, hand it over to him — his own hand moves reflexively, as if out of his control, to take it. A series of numbers — oh. Your contact. You’re smiling now, saying something about how you would love to catch up sometime. Your voice sounds far away, his head feels like it’s spinning, but he still manages his signature soft smile and voice as he gives you yet another generic reply.
Sure, that would be wonderful.
A few more lines back-and-forth that he doesn’t even remember by the end of the day, his brain essentially giving replies on an auto-pilot means of conversation. He manages to make some excuse about work, churns out a farewell, briskly walks off with a noticeably deliberate fast pace.
You feel a little embarrassed, as you walk home. He seemed in a hurry to end the conversation. Perhaps it was presumptuous to give him a contact. He probably couldn’t care less. He’s a big, important person now, someone like that has no time for someone like yourself.
…
Your suspicions are more or less validated. He doesn’t contact you.
In fact, from the moment he gets home that day, he tries to forget the interaction entirely.
There’s multiple reasons why. For one, you present a potential obstacle, a burden, a risk. He can’t afford to have you complicating things, getting in his way. It takes some time for his heart to stop racing, and that alone irritates him — why do you get to have such a reaction from him, beyond his control?
Moreover, the emotions that hit him when he saw you were too much. Dangerously intense, something he can’t allow to weigh on him, doesn’t have the time to focus on.
To be frank, those emotions were largely negative anyway. The mere sight of your face stirs up all sorts of memories from that era of his life, most of which were deeply unpleasant. There’s a deep-rooted bitterness that rises up in his stomach, old emotions he’s worked so long to suppress, and you came and dug them up in just a few brief minutes. In truth, he thought about you very often back then — he never really got to say goodbye to you (even if, he often bitterly thought, you never cared that much about him anyway), and he had to force himself to forget you over time, and yet you’ve come and undone his efforts.
And finally — the thought of you makes him feel a new emotion, one he does not like. Something like anxiousness, fear, and in turn, anger at himself and you alike for inducing such a feeling. You stand as a sort of weakness, a single unstable factor in a world where he feels like he has some degree of a grasp of control on nearly everything — you feel uncertain, unsteady, out of his reach… no, it’s not just that. You feel unsafe. You have knowledge and memories of him that no one else does, you have seen him at his weakest, and that makes him feel far more vulnerable then he can stand.
And yet, he saves your number to his phone all the same. Lets it sit there.
Most of the time, it’s easy to ignore. He is a busy person, he can keep himself distracted. Sometimes, though, in the odd hours of the night when his emotions are at their peak, he types a message, two, a dozen, he loses count — only to shake his head and come to his senses, huffing in frustration and holding the backspace down until it’s all deleted, cursing himself internally for even coming close to doing something so foolish.
You keep coming up in his thoughts, an emotion he can’t pretend is anything but yearning feels like a knot in his chest, yet the very thought of you makes him feel sick to his stomach. The conflict between the emotions is unbearable, makes him lose sleep, makes him lose focus.
You who knew him when he was this quiet, sullen, embittered child — you were nice to him, one of the only people who showed him genuine kindness back then — you who certainly knows that the charming act in front of the cameras is merely that, an act, a mask, a lie. It feels as if playing a game with one’s own cards facing outwards towards the opponent, completely exposed, laid bare. The act can’t work on you when you know what he’s really like, know his pains and vulnerabilities, have the potential to strike at the weakest parts of him.
Nor do you fall under his realm of control. The means he has for control relies on his ability to enforce it — means to kill and ruin lives. What he wants from you, though — at least, what he wanted from you back then, he won’t let himself even consider the matter now — falls entirely out of the realm of how he likes to control people, the usual purpose for which he desires the manipulation of others — power, advancement in his goals, to snake his way inside to strike.
It's all confusing. Irritating. It's outside the realm of what he has an easy way to manipulate, and that means he's at a disadvantage, that you have an upper hand, and he can't stand for that.
Still, he wonders about you. Every time a camera faces his way, he wonders if you’ll see the filming. When he makes posts to the little page he runs that the fans eat up, he wonders if you visit it too, if you’re one of those thousands of faceless followers. He wonders how often you think about him. He wonders about the day the two of you ran into each other for the first time in so long — did you go home, and look him up online? How long did you spend doing so? What did you read? Did your view of him change, positively, negatively?
And of course, he thinks about you and your life. What have you been up to, since then? Where has your path in life taken you? You probably have friends. You probably have a partner too. You’re someone who always seemed to be loved by others — he still recalls perfectly the burning bitterness in his stomach when he saw your happiness, your family, your friends, the things you had that he did not. How he resented you for it — he still does, even if he tries to tell himself such emotions are childish. Sometimes he almost thinks he hates you, even if in the end he always finds that he can’t.
And worst of all, he finds that the mere thought of you changes how he behaves.
When he’s at a lower-end news outlet interview, he doesn’t put quite as much energy in… until it occurs to him that there’s always a chance you’ll see it, and he finds himself sitting up straighter, putting in more effort into being charming and witty for the camera.
He almost says something in another interview, but it occurs to him that he doesn’t know how you feel on the matter, and he finds himself taking what was originally a strongly-worded response in his head and neutralizing it as much as possible, to avoid upsetting you should you see it and disagree with him. He doesn't even realize it until the words are out of his mouth.
You do that to him. He who has come to think of himself as so far above others, and yet you — some child from long ago who just so happened to find him again and speak to him for no more than a few minutes — influence his actions, you consume his thoughts. You control him, and you don’t even know it, nor did you have any intention to. And even though he recognizes it, even though he tries to put it to rest and forget you entirely, he can’t bring himself to do it, can’t tap the screen to delete the contact.
It’s infuriating. He can’t stand it. The fact that you do what you do to him so effortlessly leaves him seething and stewing in a rage you probably don’t even realize he’s capable of. And that much he’s acutely aware of as well. You know more of the “real” him than anyone else, you saw him in a phase when he was always pouty and melancholic — yet even then, you don’t know the half of it, don’t realize just how much malice and fury rests beneath the calm outward surface, nor how deep it runs.
He’s not a delusional sort, he’s very self-aware, and he knows how ridiculous the thoughts he’s having are — yet he has them anyway. It’s what, three in the morning, and here he is sitting on the edge of is bed, hunched over in the dark with his face in his hands, stewing in bitterness because he just can’t stop thinking about you. Yes, he knows the thought is absurd, yet he allows it anyway — allows himself to blame you, to resent you for it as if it were an intentional act on your end, to think of you as audacious, having committed some grand transgression against him.
He’s a celebrity, a genius, he has powers unfathomable to the average person — and here you are, you’re nobody, making him think about you. The more he gives in and allows himself to slip into that way of thinking, regardless of how nonsensical he knows it is, the angrier and angrier he gets, the greater the malice that swells in his chest—
—and the darker his thoughts become on what to do with you.
If he forces himself to think it through reasonably, of course, he realizes that you’ve done nothing wrong, that you’ve been nothing but kind to him, and maybe, just maybe, a part of him even feels guilty for any unwholesome, sinister thoughts run through his head — you don’t deserve anything bad to happen to you, and he’s being embarrassingly childish for such boorish, overly-simplistic thoughts like keeping you and taking you away and hurting you and making you pay. Particularly the last — you’ve done nothing wrong, nothing to deserve any harm, and in the rational part of his mind, he knows this.
But if he were to allow those petulant feelings to take over…
If he let the irrational resentment and yearning and attachment and bitterness take over, if he stopped being rational about it, if he just acted on impulses and feelings alone, then he would have something to make you pay for. To make you the object of all the negative emotions that plague him, make you an outlet for his crippling desperation and rage and affection and covet and pain and misery and yearning — yes, he could put all those emotions into you, unload that burden and force you to take it off his shoulders, force you to be something for him to have to himself and use for his own desires and ease of his pain like he always wanted back then.
Maybe he never stopped wanting that, even if he forced every thought of you to the back of his mind for so many years. It was easier to deny the yearning when he could tell himself he would never see you again. He doesn't have that to hold him back anymore — he stares at the screen of his phone that burns his eyes in the darkness, knowing contact with you is a few mere taps away.
But even back then, he wasn’t so stupid as to not realize you interacted with him because he was pitiful and pathetic and obviously troubled and you were the sort of sweet person that went out of your way to be nice to such other children. He was acutely aware of that fact, it irritated him then, it irritates him now. Yet he latched on like a leech anyway, a fact that makes his face feel hot with embarrassment when he recalls how his child self clung to you so strongly, so pathetically. He couldn’t help it. He was so weak, back then.
But here he is, spending hours of his time thinking about you — can he really say he’s less weak to you now?
It’s not as if it’s the first time he had dark thoughts regarding you. Of course, he envied your life back then, but far more than that, he envied you. To have you to himself, as if an object from which he derived happiness that should be just for him. How upset he was when you were kind to people who weren’t him, spent time with others. Even back then, as a child, you have no idea the sort of things he crafted in his head, elaborate fantasies where everyone important to you died off somehow so he could have you all to himself. Fantasies that soothed both his bitterness for you and his desire for you — let you feel pain like he had felt, make sure you couldn’t think yourself better than him, while still ending up something all for him alone to have and enjoy for himself, ensure your kindness was just for him.
Only back then, he had no power to act on such fantasies.
Now…
…
…
...And one night, his resistance finally breaks.
You know what? Maybe he does deserve that. After all the effort he’s put in, after all the things he’s endured, maybe he does deserve to have something all for himself, something he truly wants, something he can secure and know with certainty won’t ever leave his side — you can’t if you don’t have the option.
Maybe you’ll hate him for it. Maybe he’d deserve it if so. But if you do, well, he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.
His fingers move without having to really think much about it. Generic, typical lines, just like when he spoke with you. Apologizing for the delay, but surely you understand he’s busy and all, so on and so on. He only pays attention to the very last line, as his fingers slow down in their typing with nerves and anticipation.
>Would you still be up for getting together sometime?
#can you tell i enjoyed this lol#but yeahhh i feel like goro is incapable of NOT harboring some degree of negative emotions for a beloved because thats just. who he is#he loves you but he cannot express that to save his life and has so much negativity pent up#so he just makes you an outlet for every emotion he feels which is. not good#.persona
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