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jiminjamms · 6 months

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sex therapy :: 21. daddy toji

chapter tags/warnings: **can be read as a stand-alone!** daddy toji, in every sense of the word. toji also calls himself daddy. unprotected sex. creampies. megumi is down the hall! masturbation. exhibitionism. toji likes that it’s his cousin’s wife that he’s fucking. infidelity/adultery. possessiveness. sexual frustration. degradation. praising. pet names (‘princess’ and ‘sweetheart’). manipulative undertones. family drama. strong language.

word count: 3.6k

notes: tattooed dr. fushiguro can only be a gentleman for so long when it's his little cousin's wifey around. likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

“Why don’t you give daddy a show?”

Nothing could make you feel more exposed than this very moment on Toji Fushiguro’s bathroom counter—your bosom heaving from irregular breaths, your arms holding up your body, and your legs spreading across the granite surface so that you could offer up a good view. So that you could put your naked self on display.

Just for him. Just for your sex therapist.

Just for Dr. Fushiguro.

You gulped while pressing your back against the cold ceramic walls, hoping for some relief from your impending humiliation. “E-Excuse me?”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Toji crooned, and the pet name had your heart skipping a beat. Lazily, he dragged a lone finger from your stomach to your center, prodding right at your soaking entrance despite your efforts to shrink away. “Don’t be shy. I’m just your therapist. Let me see what you’ve learned.”

With much endearment, he watched you writhe. Being in the spotlight scared you, but he knew you would hate to disappoint.

At the very least, you should demonstrate some appreciation.

“Like what?” you asked, voice barely above a squeak.

“Well,” and amusement riddled his grin, “show daddy what he had taught you, baby.”

And goodness did all this daddy talk really turn you on. Toji could see how your figure tensed at the words, how you clenched around nothing from sheer need. (Did you think he would not notice?)

“Please,” you sighed, poorly hiding how your breath hitched. “Please don’t call yourself that.”

“Call myself what?”

Obviously a rhetorical question, yet Toji loved the bafflement on your ditzy face nevertheless.

“You know…‘daddy,’” you murmured, uncomfortable to the point you were staring at the floor as you spoke. “Because as someone who loves my dad, and hearing this from someone who actually is a dad, I find the name…disturbing.”

Disturbing but also hot, and Toji could tell.

“Don’t lie, princess. You like when I call myself that,” he chuckled. Pinching at your waist, he chortled in that same giddy manner whenever he felt particularly amused. “So, who’s going to be daddy’s obedient little girl?”

He noticed that you were doing that thing again whenever you were a little nervous: pursing your lips into a quivering pout and twisting at the meaningless rings on your fourth digit. Too loyal for your own good. Maybe that was what Naoya really loved about you, enough to keep you as his cute little trophy wife.

Swallowing loudly, in the end, you responded, “Me.”

Using one uneven breath to center yourself, your hands steadily grazed over your hips and your thighs before your dear fingers rested above your clit. Nothing could beat the embarrassment from how you flinched at your own contact.

Here went nothing.

Timidly, you drew your middlemost fingers through your folds and circled the digits around your entrance. The opening was warm, sensitive, and utterly soaked. The slick that had slipped past those puffy lips allowed you to push one, and then two fingers inside as your back arched gently at the stimulation.

A dull pleasure started to thrum in your body especially as you brought your ample juices back in using slow, deliberate motions.

To much frustration, your dainty digits couldn’t quite stroke that special spot within you with much expertise. Why wasn’t Toji helping? You wanted him to help. But, if you didn’t think too hard, you could lose yourself in the sensuality of your ministrations and imagine Toji’s fingers curling inside you instead. His fingers were larger and thicker and longer, after all.

While Toji’s true emotions had always been as mystifying as the man himself, never had that troubled you more than now. Those steely green eyes had been staring at you for what felt like hours now.

Did he like what he saw? Did he want more?

The people pleaser within you was just looking for a reaction—any reaction—to validate the hard and honest work you were putting in.

“Good kitty,” he complimented suddenly, as though he had been reading you like an open book all along. He did not realize since when, but he had begun stroking his cock through his pants.

How could he not? You had been listening so well, and his free hand reached down to rub tight circles at your puffy clit.

“Toji!” you shrieked immediately, body caving in.

“Keep going, sweetheart,” he commanded, dipping his index and middle fingers in as well, his thumb still drawing tight movements at your precious button.

His fingers slid against yours, aided by the thick coat of arousal that lubricated the movements, and his dick twitched from excitement, a situation exacerbated when he relished in the way you angled your hips to accommodate all four fingers plunging into your sopping cunt.

“Don’t stop working on yourself.”

“I won’t,” you struggled to whimper.

“This is nice, isn’t it? When someone else is touching you, too.” His statement was softened by the same tone he liked to use when playing that ‘friendly neighborhood sex therapist’ role. “Your fingers are delicate, but they can’t reach all the places mine can, can they?”

“No, they can’t,” you breathed out in helpless agreement, shaking pathetically at the combined ministrations. “Everything feels better when you are the one finger fucking me.”

Toji hummed deeply in satisfaction. “I know, princess.”

He lowered his head to press his lips into your jaw, but the subtle softness in his searing kisses convinced you to tilt your head gently and bring your unoccupied hand up to run up his hard triceps and dig into the jet-black ink peeking from his sleeves.

In response, Toji sank his teeth into your skin every so often, eliciting your squeals.

Painful. Yes, this was painful.

But more than painful, the gush that flooded your veins was fucking phenomenal.

“What’s wrong?” Toji asked innocently, biting harder as your nails pressed visible crescent marks into his tattoos. “I only want to taste you,” and he soothed the sore spots by licking the assaulted areas, just to repeat the process on another target.

Pussy feeling empty but needy, you shifted on the countertop in order to grind desperately against your therapist’s clothed crotch.

“Please,” you mewled, now begging for Toji’s attention rather than cowering away. “Please fuck me.”

Funny.

Just an hour ago, you were bawling about your loser husband. Naoya Zenin this. Naoya Zenin that. Well, duh. Of course, his baby cousin was an asshole partner.

Now, here you were, pleading for Toji Fushiguro’s cock?

Toji rewarded your change of heart with a deep kiss pressed on your lips, a gesture that you passionately reciprocated. Even as he devoured your mouth like a starved man, your tongue fought like a maniac into his mouth, satisfied sighs slipping from your lips to his.

Only when there was an unexpected slam coming from Megumi’s door did you two pull away, faces only centimeters apart and connected by an almost translucent string of saliva.

Toji panted, watching your chest rise and fall from similarly irregular breathing.

If nothing else stopped him, he would be falling onto his knees right now from how dazed you appeared: face flushed, lips parted, and lids heavy.

But both he and you had one concern in mind right now.

Megumi.

Given the sound earlier, Toji awaited footsteps from the younger Fushiguro.

Was he grabbing a midnight snack from the kitchen downstairs? Was he planning to pace the halls to alleviate stress?

Or worse yet, was he heading to the bathroom?

If his son really did walk into this scene, discovering what his father was doing to his sweet and pretty guest several doors away, Toji would be speechless because the idea was purely mortifying.

Also a little sexy.

But anyway.

“I’m sure he just closed and locked his door for the evening,” Toji deduced when the boy’s footsteps never came.

Immediately, your shoulders slumped with ensuing relief.

“Thank goodness,” you sighed, still tense and high-strung. “We don’t want Megumi to hear us,” you pointed out, completely oblivious to how loud you had been when merely kissing. “Let’s wait for him to sleep first. I don’t want us to get caught.”

The way you cared this much was adorable.

“Why would we have to wait, though?” Toji pointed out, and his tongue swiped over his scar. “I can be quiet. But the real question is: can you be quiet?”

At first, you were stunned and silent.

But after a long while, you gulped and your neck bobbed noticeably. "Yeah. I…can be quiet, too.”

“Good girl," and at that, Toji flashed a quick and lascivious grin. “Then, why don’t we test that out?”

Not waiting for your reply, he grabbed the collar of his white shirt and dragged the top off his shoulders.

His movements were slow, just so he could catch your marveling reaction as he revealed his bare torso, but the fabric had been too fitting and tight for his body anyway.

As soon as he pulled his shirt over his head and off his body, your eyes locked on his body to admire his brawny and toned physique. But more stunningly was how Toji Fushiguro was a mural of tattoos, intricate artworks that had been carefully selected and embedded into his torso—stylized letters, entwined violets, and hyper-realistic scenery. What demanded the most attention, though, was a prominent phoenix that covered his right chest, emerging victorious from a plume of smoke and ashes, its feathers spanning into his shoulder and back.

Easily, you were enchanted. You didn't have a chance to view his tattoos before. But Toji himself had always been enchanting.

“Come closer,” the man commanded, tone low and gravelly. He dragged his waistband down until his hardened dick sprang free with great force. His cock was swollen and red and violently angry, precum beading at the tip after he had long neglected himself from his release. "I’ve missed you."

You shifted forward on the countertop.

“Then do anything to me.”

Just to test you, he experimented a little, pinching your nipples with the knuckles of his fingers and smiling like a mad dog when you squeaked. "Anything?"

"Yes," you breathed out, nodding and back arching into his touch.

Obviously, you were too lost in arousal to comprehend the power placed into your tattooed therapist's hands, and Toji silently wished that Naoya Zenin could hear his wife begging for someone else like this.

He patted your cheek and cooed.

So silly, so cock drunk, so desperate.

That was what you were, and he wasn’t even inside you yet.

You reached between your legs to grab at his dick, lining the tip up to your entrance as Toji groaned from the contact.

"How are you so wet for me?” he hissed, gritting his teeth hard.

“Please, please, come on—” After a long bout of negligence, you had become incredibly whiny and desperate, seeking attention and affection like never before. “I’m too turned on. Just…please ruin me.”

Toji had been close to bursting already, but an intense flash stifled him when your words registered as music to his ears, his large hands helping you swipe his dick between your folds slowly. Teasing them both.

He had been well lubricated from the precum that slipped from the head, his massive cock so hard from the anticipation that awaited such that he could feel electricity buzzing at his fingertips. All because he couldn't handle himself when you begged for him like this. Yet, Toji resolved to fuck you with everything he had—for as long as he could, anyway—and slipped himself gradually into your warm and moist heat.

Shudders.

All that filled the room were shudders.

Toji’s eyes darkened as he pressed through the tight resistance, your muscles squeezing around his length. He had to will every fiber within him to not lose himself. He was this close to falling apart, unraveling. Because holy shit, were you fucking tight.

Beneath him, you suppressed a whimper.

“Damn,” you sputtered, abandoning any remaining hesitation and clenching around him. Compared to his pathetic cousin, your therapist was not small by any means. "You feel so good inside of me, Toji."

Ah, hell.

He needed to get you to relax. He could barely move and, if your walls squeezed him any harder, he might just be hurled over the edge and cum all over your thighs, staining your freshly showered body.

“Oh,” he managed to hum in contentment, closing his eyes momentarily so that he could shut down all other senses except for one. His arms wobbled a little, his hands digging hard into your sides as his hips moved slowly—very, very slowly—out before going back in again.

At the languid thrusts, your head fell back and your hips lifted upon instinct, one hand pressed against the counter for stability as the other skimmed over his tattoos. He's so hot. You're so hot. He makes you feel so hot.

Toji growled again when your fingers brushed against the inked phoenix's wings, gliding over his pectoral muscle. He loved being touched like this and only wanted you to examine him more, rewarding you with movements wholly deep and stimulating.

As moans flowed freely from your mouth, Toji would tell you to shut up. After all, Megumi dwelled only a few doors away and must not be forgotten. But how could Toji bring himself to hush the sweet sounds that you sang?

“Yes, just like that,” you whined at some point, fingers clawing into his chest. “Fuck. Fuck, Toji.”

He raised a disapproving brow. “Just Toji?”

“Fuck, daddy.”

And Toji lost his fucking mind.

Since when did you talk like this? Pretty princess with a potty mouth. Who would’ve thought? It was sexy. So goddamn sexy.

"You’re incredible,” he found himself saying.

Toji had never been harder than he was at this moment, his cock like a fucking titanium rod as his listless movements degraded into an onslaught, throbbing and twitching as he replayed your dirty words in his head.

He felt extraordinarily horny, aroused, and invigorated.

Meanwhile, you looked like a fucking fairy—his fucking fairy, to be clear: features glowing golden under the ambient lights, pupils dilated and blown out wide, skin glistening from both water and sweat.

Long ago, Toji figured that you had given up in your attempts to get away from him, the sole struggle from your body being how your walls involuntarily twitched and tensed amidst the storm of pleasure and pain he had brewing within your core.

If only Toji had more hands. That way, he could simultaneously pull at your hair, wrap his fingers around your neck, and swat at your bouncing tits.

In a moment like this, he hated having to choose and grabbed your legs in the end, moving them from the counter to his shoulders. Toji could now go even deeper, and boy, did this new angle  have you seeing stars.

“Oh, goodness,” you blubbered, coughing and drooling and panting. “Oh, that feels so good.”

“I know,” Toji said arrogantly.

Lucky for you, he was a mature man who could hold his load. Other boys didn’t know shit. If they were in his current position, they would have busted their nuts long ago, too impulsive and easily excited to exert much self-control.

Toji, on the other hand, knew how to dig his fat cock into your cervix over and over, brushing that one special spot within you along the way. To make you scream. To keep you addicted. To take his cousin’s wife at his mercy.

The room filled with sounds that resulted from skin contacting skin—squelches and wet smacks—and you were left loud and messy, feeling so good that you could not think straight. 

“Shit, you’re so good to me. Can’t get enough of this pussy,” he grunted, hand pulling back before connecting with the meat of your ass with one loud  slap.

You cried out, fighting back tears that welled from the pain. “That… hurts!”

“But my kitten loves being roughened up, no?” he taunted, licking at his scar again as he observed you: love bites littered over your neck, nipples perked into pebbles, skin marked and slightly bruised.

“I,” several huffs in between, “I can’t take this for much longer. I’m so close. I think I’m going to—”

“Only if you tell me who owns you.”

His words made you whine, and the therapist took great pleasure in the way you contorted. The demand had taken you by surprise because Toji had never denied you the right to your pleasure before. In fact, he had always been the type to coax you to cum, telling you to cream all over him instead.

Tonight, however, he wanted to set things straight. For a while, he had been thinking that he ought to buy you a collar just so you would remember who you actually belonged to—who really taught you what sex feels like—and heat tore through his skin again from the fantasy.

Admittedly, Toji was a tad bit possessive.

But he needed to drill into your head that you were not Sukuna’s or Choso’s or Geto’s.

And most certainly, not Naoya Zenin’s.

“Well?” He was fully aware of what was happening and taking true delight in your futile struggle, knowing exactly what you needed but wanting you to obey him first. Snaking an arm around your body, he pressed his lips to the shell of your ear and purred, “Who knows how to fuck you right?”

“Toji Fushiguro does,” you chanted, lacing your fingers with his, your body in sheer pain from need. “Guys my age could never.”

Which was exactly what he wanted to hear.

“Then cum for me, baby.”

So, you did.

His permission sent you vaulting over the edge, your whole body spasming as your orgasm ripped through.

Your lips parted. Your cheeks hollowed. Your arms wavered.

Despite everything, you continued begging for his cock harder, faster, just like that. At some point, the hand once tangled with your therapist’s now slotted into your mouth to muffle any exclamations of pleasure as the waves continued to ripple fiercely through your body. Throwing your head back against the wall, you could dully feel your teeth puncture the skin between your thumb and pointer finger. Yet, that didn’t bother you, didn’t even hurt, and only served to add to your masochistic satisfaction as your cunt fluttered and clenched around him.

“What a good girl.”

Toji was remorseless as he continued his abuse, the tendons of his hands and arms flexing from the effort needed to keep your lower body still, the tattoos on his wrists appearing pitch black under the glimmer of your juices. The wetness that spilled from you was so abundant, dripping down onto the floor. With any luck, once this was all over, you would have left a mess such that Toji would be forced to assign Megumi to bathroom cleaning duty in the morning.

"I'm gonna cum inside you, baby," was what he managed to say just as his gut suddenly tensed. He couldn't even control it. Without further warning, thick ropes of semen shot from him and into your womb. He grunted loudly, lurid fantasies dissipating as his mind went blank from his climax, his own groan hardly recognizable from how guttural his voice had become.

“Give me all your cum, daddy,” you wailed as you came again, pussy tightening impossibly on his cock and practically massaging every single drop out of him.

Toji was not done, he didn’t want to be done.

Despite his blurred vision and terse jaw, Toji wanted to give you every ounce that he was worth. He gritted his teeth as he fucked up into you, pace irregular and sloppy. He made sure to push every possible milliliter of his seed deep into your stomach, the rest of his load spilling against his balls.

His cock was far too sensitive and overstimulated, but he felt  so goddamn good that he wanted to keep going and going until he was completely spent with nothing more to give.

“Fuck,” he choked, on the brink of tears.

Toji had to take a moment to recover fully, keeping his eyes closed while his chest heaved from the sheer exertion of his orgasm. His breathing was deep, wet, and haggard, and he was blistering hot even without clothes on. His slicked-back hair was soaked with sweat and hung limply in front of his flushed face. As he slumped over, he sensed a new pain in his shoulder, and he guessed that he must have strained something without noticing. Cum inevitably dribbled from your hole as he pulled out, splattering on the floor and mixing with your juices earlier.

He strode toward the bathroom closet, grabbing additional towels.

After wrapping them around you and himself, Toji brought you close to his frame and directed you into his bedroom diagonally across the hall. The rest of the night was quiet, especially since you both were consumed by exhaustion and post-coital haze. You rolled onto his canopied bed without sound, Toji lying next to you and pulling you snugly against his chest. After ensuring that you were okay, he kissed the sweet temple by your forehead and the bruises on your collar, smiling softly when you hummed in response.

He could hardly recall the last time he had felt so warm and so content, wanting nothing more than to cling onto this moment for as long as he could. In the back of his head, his conscience scolded him harshly. He still owed you plenty of explanations. For how he had been hiding his family, his relationships, and his original motive in using you to help him get back at his enemies.

Yet, as he pushed aside these intrusive thoughts and murmured to you ‘Goodnight,’ one thing became clear:

Toji Fushiguro was far too selfish to let you go.

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: This is my first time writing smut that comprehensively includes Toji’s POV. While we have always gotten Y/N's POV in sex, I wanted to include Toji's perspective so that we could get into his psyche a little since he's battling his own demons as well.

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thoughtsforsoob · 2 months

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txt x latina!reader

a/n: I know some people said not to write this but I desperately want to :( I think this is really self-indulgent but I hope at least one or two people will enjoy this post and maybe find it comforting or relateable. Latina!MOA, I love you !!!

yeonjun

the first thing that came to my head was him getting along with any siblings/cousins you may have

hispanic families are pretty big and he really enjoys being around everyone and getting to know your family

all the tias also try to steal him away from you and like to ask him all kinds of questions about his jobs

they're all impressed with him and he's all red because all the attention makes him shy

later on, they text you being all like "congrats mija, you picked a good one"

I also feel like he would want to impress your parents so badly

he wants to make a great first impression so he bring your mom a pretty bouquet of her favorite flowers and a necklace ("ay no! pesto es de marca buena!")

for your dad, he brings him a fancy liquor bottle and something else he has an interest in (he begs for your help to find the perfect gift and you're all like, "don't worry! he doesn't worry about being gifted things"

ends up buying him fancy watch and your dad is just in shock with the Rolex in his hand

he makes a great impression for say the least

you mom texts him to check on your when you haven't checked in and they even hang out by themselves when you visit home. she called him "hijito"

your dad is a little skeptical (because who's dad isn't) but eventually comes around when yeonjun invites him to a sporting event together. they have a couple drinks, get to talking and he expresses that his intentions with you are serious, which pleases your dad.

soobin

he's so shy when you tell him that your parents are coming to visit because he hadn't thought it would happen so soon

he was only doing practice schedules for that week so he was able to spend time with them when he got home

he begs you to teach him some Spanish so that he can make a good impression and try him best to connect with them, even if they also speak English.

he comes home one night and they're in the living room, you in the kitchen fixing up dinner...he's frozen but manages a small wave and a little "hola~"

your mama finds him very sweet looking and gets up, going him a hug and squishing one of his doughy cheeks.

your dad on the other hand...not very impressed...(latino dads like the mach types for their baby girls and soobin isn't very...yknow)

he notices this and walks over to shake his hand, which your dad reluctantly does

you come into the living room and call everyone for dinner, which happened to be pozole since it was super cold out

soobin loves the meal and it impresses your parents (you've been feeding him mexican dishes to prepare him for their visit and he loves them so you gave nothing to worry about)

you have to facilitate the conversation but the night ends without incident

the next day, you and soobin take your parents out to some sights

he does his best to explain where they were in the little English and Spanish he knew and you're parents appreciate his effort

he buys meals and pays for all four of you and they urge him not to but he insists because he wants to prove that he cares about them and takes care of you on the daily

they enjoy their trip and overall approve of him

beomgyu

he knew that you were hispanic when you first started dating and also begged you to teach him some Spanish so he can impress your parents when he eventually meets them

once you express your family dynamic with him, he becomes a little more understanding

he knew that you struggled to get along with your family because of the choice you'd made to move abroad but never fully understood it until one day when your parents had called you

he had just come home from filming a To Do with the boys that day and he heard you on the phone, so he sat next to you

you let him say hello and he got up and walked off to take a shower

the conversation, like it so often happens to, switch to the topic of you moving away and when you were going to come back

when you let them know you're not coming back and they you were established and had a boyfriend, your mom and dad started to get upset, once again

something a long the lines of "Hija, you can't seriously want to live there forever? What about your family? We miss you? Plus, you should really date someone a little different. Ese muchacho no es hombre."

you go off about how it's not fair how they try to guild you like this and immediately hang up

beomgyu heard a little bit of it and vaguely understood what they'd said so he comes to you to try to help you calm down a little

he holds you while you cry to him about the argument you just had and how they want you to go home and leave him for someone else

he comforts you so well

"I may not understand why they think it's okay to try and tell you what to do, but you're old enough to make your own choices and choose whoever you want to be with. I understand your culture is a little different from mine but I try to understand. we're gonna work this out and I'll make sure they like me."

your smile up and him and go about your night, making dinner and having a nice self care night since he knew you desperately needed it.

taehyun

this guy is so supportive of you, especially because he knows there are struggles that come along with being a foreigner

he is so interested in learning Spanish

he will sit there with you, textbook and notebook on the table, and go over grammar and vocab and everything

he loves practicing with you by saying sweet things and integrating vocab into everyday conversation

he really wants to impress you, and eventually your family

he also wants to connect with you on a deeper level

back to the being a foreigner thing...he really supports you and gets so angry when people say stuff about you in public

you were both at a cafe one time and an older woman kept staring at you

taehyun noticed and tried to move you behind him but she kept looking in your direction

she eventually comes up to you both and starts asking you a bunch of questions that weren't so kind and tyunnie was so annoyed and upset

you, being the nice person you are, patiently answered her questions even if they bothered you as well

once she left, tyun looked at you with his big pretty eyes and asked you if you were okay

you've also had younger girls, around your age, make snarky comments about you In public but taehyun knows exactly what to do in these scenarios

he pulls you in by your waist and kisses you just to shut them up

she loves your differences so much and celebrates them any chance he gets

huening kai

baby loves the food and when you speak to him in spanish

she loves the pet names in Spanish and says they somehow seem more sweet

his favorite would def be "mi amortico"

when you call him that he just melts into a puddle

his favorite one to call you is "bebe" because he thinks it perfectly captures you

like I said, he loves the food

when hes hungry, he now has the habit of just making a simple quesadilla just the way you taught him

he burns himself the first couple tries when flipping the tortilla with his bare hands but he gets the hang of it eventually

he hates that there isn't more Mexican food/ingredients in Korea but whenever its possible, he orders stuff online and surprises you with it!

he will want to learn all of the recipes you know and calls them your cooking dates

oh my goodness...when he meets you parents

they think he's kind of goofy looking (something my parents would say) but they would ultimately deem him a sweet boy

I feel like he is a grandmas boy so he is sticking to your grandma and you the whole time

your grandma feeds him tortillas with limon y sal and he is just so happy eating them

he also wants to learn Spanish so he can communicate better with abuelita (and you ig LMAO)

he loves your culture and how lively it is

he loves dancing with you at these family parties

#txt x reader #txt fluff #txt imagines #txt post #txt #yeonjun x reader #soobin x reader #beomgyu x reader #taehyun x reader #huening kai x reader

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diorsluv · 3 months

Text

feather , part 30

“ you want me? ”

series m. list previous chapter next chapter

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markestapa would you like to explain that 2nd pic

→ yourusername no i would not 😁😁

→ rutgermcgroarty i don’t think any explaining is necessary..

→ luca.fantilli if she explained that photo i’d blow my phone up

→ lhughes_06 she was obviously just showing her bf a lot of love

→ mackie.samo i’m sure she was…… lhughes_06

username42 luke posted himself at a record store on his story…

→ username31 why are we acting like we don’t know they’re dating

username8 are you gaslighting us or are you dating different people

adamfantilli i recognize those hands

→ yourusername oh!

→ rutgermcgroarty so you admit to your hand kink

→ adamfantilli I DON’T HAVE A FUCKING HAND KINK

→ yourusername it’s okay baby fants me too

→ trevorzegras lil drizzy you too????

→ dylanduke25 AHEM lhughes_06 AHEM

→ lhughes_06 what

→ lhughes_06 oh

→ lhughes_06 OH

username45 the boat…

→ username94 it’s the hughes’ right?!?!?!

colecaufield how cute you’re gazing at the sunset together

→ yourusername so aesthetic right 🥰

→ colecaufield oh… that’s not…

_quinnhughes please get married already

→ yourusername woah there quinny don’t u think we’re moving a little too fast

→ _quinnhughes no he really likes you

→ lhughes_06 yeah i agree i think your boyfriend really likes you

jamie.drysdale if you’re gonna post something like this then at least put a tw 😒😒

→ yourusername ‼️TW‼️ my jumpscare of a brother just commented!! 😱

→ jamie.drysdale i will strangle you

→ yourusername love you too

→ jamie.drysdale dad said i’m the favorite

→ yourusername i have blackmail don’t make me use it

username56 please i can do better than him 🙏

_alexturcotte that necklace looks a little too familiar…

→ yourusername turcs babe you know 😭😭

→ _alexturcotte but you told me to play along

→ yourusername i didn’t mean like that but you know it’s okay i appreciate the effort

→ _alexturcotte okay 😞

jackhughes you know our walls aren’t soundproof right

→ yourusername wait

→ luca.fantilli HUH 😟

→ mackie.samo WHAT WERE THEY DOING 😨

→ edwards.73 LMAOOOO

→ markestapa damn lil drizz i didn’t know you were like that 😰😰

→ yourusername NO NO WE WEREN’T DOING ANYTHING

→ jackhughes my ears say otherwise yourusername

→ yourusername WE WERE PLAYING GAMES THAT’S ALL

→ _quinnhughes apparently jack heard a lot of screaming…

→ yourusername NO NO IT’S BECAUSE HE WOULDN’T HELP ME

→ rutgermcgroarty ur untrustworthy

→ adamfantilli ya nasty 🙄🙄

→ lhughes_06 🙉🙉

username76 that whole thread under jack’s comment is horrifying

lhughes_06

liked by yourusername, jackhughes, _alexturcotte, and 195,585 others

lhughes_06 my girl, talkin bout my girl 🤗

view all comments

username46 THEY BOTH QUOTED SONG LYRICS

username12 oh my god is that the eiffel tower in the background DID HE TAKE HER TO PARIS

edwards.73 oh god she turned you into a softie

→ lhughes_06 nothing wrong with that 😞

→ edwards.73 i’m waiting for the day she talks you into letting her do a full face of makeup on you

→ lhughes_06 …

→ edwards.73 BRO

trevorzegras MY GIRLLLLLL

→ lhughes_06 TALKIN BOUTTTT MYYY GIRLLLL

→ trevorzegras who put u on good music like that cuz i sure as hell only know ONE person who avidly listens to that song…

→ lhughes_06 lips are sealed 🤐

→ yourusername well they obviously can’t be THAT sealed because the whole group chat knows 🙄

→ trevorzegras what group chat..

→ lhughes_06 oops

username89 another day another post that makes me want to throw my phone away

username23 now who did you force to be the photographer

→ lhughes_06 mr mark estapa

markestapa i’m waiting for my photo creds

→ lhughes_06 keep waiting stay mad

→ markestapa fuckin middle school type comeback

_quinnhughes mom’s asking when you’re going to propose

→ lhughes_06 good lord what is with you and telling unmarried couples to get married

→ _quinnhughes she’s been like a little sister since we were kids so you might as well make it legal

→ jackhughes fr

→ lhughes_06 you’re just so helpful jack

jamie.drysdale oh my god my eyes

→ lhughes_06 ik ur gonna be the brother in law but 🙄🙄

this reply has been deleted

→ lhughes_06 🙄

→ jamie.drysdale you’re not slick little boy

→ lhughes_06 little boy is crazy

username78 this shit is gonna end with me on my death bed

luca.fantilli G R O S S

→ lhughes_06 your face is gross

→ luca.fantilli your gf is gross

→ lhughes_06 HEY DONT CALL HER GROSS

→ luca.fantilli WHY NOT

→ lhughes_06 she’ll get very mad at you

adamfantilli disgusting

→ lhughes_06 did you both just collectively decide to berate me

→ _quinnhughes please for the love of god do not bring collectively back

→ adamfantilli we’ve all collectively decided to bring collectively back _quinnhughes

mackie.samo now luke…

→ lhughes_06 yes? 😘

→ mackie.samo just because you’re in a happy, healthy, loving relationship where there’s mutual communication DOESN’T FUCKING MEAN WE ALL ARE

→ lhughes_06 🖕

→ mackie.samo no IT SHOULD BE ME DOING THAT 🖕

rutgermcgroarty that bleach on my counter is lookin real scrumptious

→ lhughes_06 do it i dare you

→ rutgermcgroarty oh

→ yourusername LUKE 😭😭

→ lhughes_06 WHAT

→ yourusername APOLOGIZE DUMBASS

→ lhughes_06 i want to express my sincere apologies for any confusion or discomfort that may have arisen from my responses. i recognize the importance of clear communication, and it is never my intention to cause any frustration. i appreciate your understanding and patience as i strive to assist you. if there are specific instances or areas where my responses fell short, please provide feedback so i can address them accordingly. your satisfaction is of utmost importance, and i am committed to improving and ensuring a better experience for you. thank you for your understanding, and please let me know how i can better serve you. rutgermcgroarty

→ rutgermcgroarty i know you used chatgpt 😃

yourusername moose i don’t mean to state the obvious but.. i think she likes you

→ lhughes_06 really? i couldn’t tell 😞

→ markestapa my god

→ colecaufield nahhhhh 😨

→ _quinnhughes was not obvious whatsoever

username91 WHAT WILL IT TAKE FOR YOU TO TELL US

username47 i need this relationship

next chapter notes ) yall yall i know i’m updating every two days but i’m tryna make sure they’re long enough to be entertaining.. maybe you’ll like the next chapter maybe you won’t 🫢

tags: @aliaology @hockeyboysarehot @absolutelyhugh3s @jackquinnswife @freds-slut @love4ldr @blueeyedbesson @43hughes @v1olentdelights @dancerbailey3 @random-human02 @ho3forfakeguys @loveforaugust @cstads-blog @h0e4fictionalme-n

#luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes #luke hughes fanfic #luke hughes fic #jack hughes #quinn hughes #alex turcotte #cole caufield #trevor zegras #jamie drysdale #ethan edwards #mark estapa #dylan duke #mackie samoskevich #adam fantilli #rutger mcgroarty #luca fantilli

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sirfrogsworth · 1 year

Text

My dad passed away a few hours after I left the hospital.

I really didn't want him to be alone when it happened. I figured we had at least another week before the toxins built up in his system. But he had congestive heart failure along with renal failure and I think he would have passed tonight whether he stopped dialysis or not. I'm so glad we didn't attempt that amputation. He would have gone through that and died a few days later regardless.

When I left he was in a very deep sleep. So at least I was there for his last moments of consciousness. The last thing he saw was a loved one. I still wish I had stayed tonight. They even asked me if I'd like to spend the night and I had this feeling like maybe I should. But my back was on fire and I was very sleepy. And I wanted to make sure I was able to meet his visitors in the morning. So I went home to get some rest.

I know people will comfort me and say it's okay, but my mom died all alone in the ICU. She couldn't even have visitors. And I just didn't want that for my dad. I wanted to be by his side holding his hand.

In any case, they called around 12:40 am. I barely held it together until I hung up the phone. I called my brother to let him know. Then I woke up Katrina to hear a comforting voice to calm me down. I wish she could have hugged me, but the power of her hugging spirit is so profound you can almost feel it through the phone.

I let her get back to sleep and I went back to the hospital at about 1 am. I had to enter through the ER and an armed security guard escorted me to the elevators. I went up to the 4th floor to the hospice suite (aka a regular hospital room with string lights). I met with my dad's night nurse--a lovely Haitian gentleman named Kennedy.

He escorted me into my father's room. He had prepared it to try and make me more comfortable. He made sure the room had enough light, but not overwhelmingly so. The room was spotless so I guess they must have cleaned it. They packed up my father's belongings and placed them in the corner. Kennedy had the TV set to some sort of relaxation channel. It had images of beaches, mellow music, and sounds of the ocean. Though it made it hard to hear him and I wish he had just left the TV off. Ocean sounds were not going to make seeing my dad any more pleasant. But I guess I appreciate the effort.

My dad was still in his hospital bed. They adjusted it to be perfectly flat and they covered him with the soft, fuzzy microfiber blanket I brought to help my dad be more comfortable. Hospital blankets were scratchy to his sensitive skin. His eyes were closed but his mouth was wide open. I'm wondering if they were unable to close it. My eyes kept playing tricks on me because I kept thinking I saw his chest rise and fall. Maybe my brain just wanted to believe he was just sleeping.

The nurse had me sign a document and gave me some privacy to say goodbye. Once he left I quickly turned off those damn ocean sounds. They were really distracting.

I don't really believe you can talk to the dead. So I just grabbed his belongings, pulled his fuzzy blanket off and left the room.

I guess next up is the service. I am going to try to write a eulogy tomorrow. Hopefully I can find the words to honor my dad's life.

Thank you all for helping support me through this. All of your messages and thoughts really did help make this more tolerable. And thank you for putting up with all of my bored hospital thoughts.

I guess I am going to try and get a few more hours of sleep before I start calling people in the morning. I'll have to let my dad's friends know they can't visit him.

Goodnight everyone.

867 notes · View notes

aroaceleovaldez · 16 days

Note

thoughts on leo valdez? headcdanons? i

[stares at own url] ...I'll give you one for free, lol

Aro/ace Leo.... listen. He explicitly states that he plays up his false persona in aspects that he feels are lacking in his actual personality in an effort to make people like him more, and in his POVs we get a lot of him doing acknowledged-as-nonserious joke-flirting as part of his false persona. Guy who doesn't realize he's aspec trying to overcompensate for his lack of attraction by excessively hitting on people to hide that he doesn't feel attraction towards anyone? Him wondering if he's broken in a whole bunch of ways and trying to make up for it externally while having an identity crisis about that? Something something metaphor about him wondering if cause he's a Hephaestus kid he's a little too much like a machine/robot and can't feel love or The Right Emotions In General™ because of that cause he doesn't know about aspec stuff yet (or that he's autistic)? Can anyone hear me.

Related to that: Leo landing on Ogygia (island of unreciprocated love) and meeting Calypso, who (probably through love magic) actually seems to be attracted to him? And him trying to force himself to reciprocate because he figures that's just how it's supposed to go and maybe for once he's actually experiencing romantic love? And he's so desperate for someone to like him and to feel useful to someone (re: 7th wheel)? But it fizzles out almost immediately after they leave the island, because the heart-eyes wear off for Calypso, especially once she technically no longer needs him, and Leo can't keep up trying to make himself reciprocate (and can't keep up trying to put his mask back up for her, especially now that Calypso seems to actually care about it). I am literally always thinking about this.

Short king,,, I don't care what anybody says he is NOT 5'6" that is way too tall for him. My guy is 5'5" absolute maximum. I usually place him at 5'3". Tiny guy. Made of pipecleaners. Built like Bilbo Baggins...

I've mentioned it before in a couple of places (i know [here] at least) but I did not like his fake-out death in BoO. Also I'm just mad about his dropped character arc(s) in general. My ideal substitute is that instead of dying and being revived, Festus just crashes in the woods nearby and Leo has overexerted his powers too much a la Nico's shadow stuff and is nearly dead but once they get him to the infirmary he recovers and can start working on recovering from his whole depression arc too. Also maybe he loses a leg in the crash so he can match his dad just for funsies, and so that there's some amount of consequence to his sacrifice to make up for him not dying (not like in canon there were any consequences to him dying and being revived anyways...). Also something something accidental Hiccup HTTYD joke. Leo with a prosthetic is always fun. More Hephaestus kids with prosthetics.

I am very amused by the concept of Leo never having any romantic attraction to Hazel at all, possibly even negative romantic attraction once he finds out she dated his great-grandpa (especially since in canon like 90% of his thoughts about Hazel are just kind of appreciative and genuinely thinking she's really cool, if a little confusing at first), and Hazel pretty quickly gets over her side of things once she gets used to the fact that this is Definitely Not Sammy, he just Looks Like Sammy (and does not actually act like Sammy, that's just a fake persona that is eerily similar by coincidence. Real Leo is actually quite reserved and not so much of a vocal goofball most of the time). So they're just besties after their mutual weird Sammy vision and understanding the deeper sides to each other and are each other's person they're most comfortable letting their guard down around cause they've formed that level of trust. Except Frank's over in the corner seething cause he thinks this is a love triangle but he's the only one who thinks that. Leo just thinks Frank hates him for the general reasons he thinks everybody hates him (which is just an assumption he's kind of used to and expects from people, so he does not question it at all). Hazel knows Frank thinks Leo is trying to steal her from him but she's having trouble trying to keep the two of them from nearly killing each other. It's a very homestuck auspistice dynamic.

Leo and Frank eventually work out their stuff and become very good friends to meeee... let them bond over their mutual fear of fire and dead mom trauma! they have so many parallels and I want the two of them and Hazel to be a funky cute little trio!

Dragonkin Leo! That boy is a dragon!!!! I usually say his stuff is kind of spiritual origin (he doesn't really know how to explain it other than his soul is just a dragon) versus like Jason being a wolf therian with a more psychological origin (being raised by an immortal wolf pack rubbed off on him) (rip Piper being the only non-alterhuman in their trio LMAO). I imagine whatever type of dragon he is probably is very similar to Festus, which is part of why Leo clicks with Festus so quickly - he just sees himself in Festus and it's very comforting to him. He definitely makes himself some fun 'kin gear, like a nice weighted tail and wings and claws to try and help his phantom shifts feel a lil less wonky. Also him having dragon talon weapons just sounds cool. He also totally makes gear for any other alterhuman demigods.

#pjo #riordanverse #leo valdez #headcanon #headcanons #ah0yh0y #ask #long post //#alterhuman demigods

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lucassinclaer · 24 days

Text

INVERSE

Rating: Gen Relationship: Erica Sinclair & Lucas Sinclair Notes: Post-Season 4, Erica Sinclair centric

“Erica,” says her mom, says her dad, says Lucas, and Erica doesn’t know how to say that it hasn’t occurred to her for a second to do things any other way.

READ ON AO3 HERE

this is a fill for my stranger things fic bingo square 'erica sinclair' - (if you wanna participate in the bingo, check out my pinned post!!)

“Erica!” says her music teacher and Erica doesn’t know why she sounds so surprised.

It’s not like she said anything that wasn’t true. She never does.

“Erica!” says Auntie Patrice and pulls her back by her collar.

Erica’s always thought that honesty is the good thing, the right thing, the thing other people would appreciate.

“Erica!” says Tanya on the playground.

She’s eleven and then she’s twelve and somewhere along the way it’s all changed. Her name become an exclamation she doesn’t get.

“Erica,” says her mom, says her dad, says Lucas, and Erica doesn’t know how to say that it hasn’t occurred to her for a second to do things any other way.

•

Here’s the thing: she isn’t trying to be rude.

Sure, she doesn’t care super care if she is, but it’s pretty much never her goal. Besides, shouldn’t it all be based on truth? Truth, justice, the American way. Erica can’t be the only one who pays attention to this stuff.

Sometimes it bugs her friends and they fight. They always make up in the end, but the days they don’t talk still suck.

She’s good in school, so her teachers don’t complain too much but when they have the time they tell her to be careful about running her mouth. Those days suck, too.

Her mom tells her, though – at night when she tucks Erica into bed even though she’s getting way too old for that – that she shouldn’t be anyone but who she is. That she shouldn’t let the world make her into someone else. (Erica doesn’t totally get it. How would that even work? There’s nothing in the world that she’d allow to change her, she’s sure. She doesn’t know where she’d begin.)

So, despite the chidings her mother doles out, Erica knows that she wants her daughter to be herself.

It’s a good thing, too, because Erica really likes being Erica.

•

The swelling of Lucas’ face still hasn’t gone down. Mom and dad fret over it, but the whole of Hawkins has been plunged into chaos and it’s easy to say that he and Erica and Max were in an accident when the quake hit. It’s not even that much of a lie.

Erica does most of the deflecting because her brother can’t be trusted these days. Not that she can blame him – although she still tries to give him grief. Can’t give up on everything normal.

But Max looks awful in that hospital bed, still and horrible. She’s meant to be her brother’s girlfriend who’s much too cool for him, on her skateboard, moving and teasing and fitting in at their house where she likes to watch TV. At least she used to before she stopped coming around. (Lucas never talked about that, at least not to her which makes sense. He still got those pathetic mooning eyes when she came up, though, so Erica knows it wasn’t his choice to break up. And he had hope the whole time. She could tell. He still has hope now and there’s something warm about it that Erica doesn’t know how to name.)

Yeah, Erica really hates that hospital room. It smells terrible, looks worse and there’s always some machine beeping in the background.

But there’s nowhere else to be. Lucas spends every possible moment in that room. The others come to visit when they can. They can only spare so many party members. Sometimes Max’s mother’s there but more often than not it’s just them, Max and Erica and Lucas.

A sick inverse of Saturday mornings spent on the couch where Lucas pretended not to be interested in her cartoons. Where Max would pretend like she didn’t enjoy her mother’s valiant efforts to feed her. Being a teenager involves a lot of pretending, Erica’s learned. It seems beyond exhausting.

Now it’s them playing checkers over Max’s hospital bed, commentating the whole way, before Lucas gets out Tolkien. They finished up The Talisman two days ago.

Today he hesitates. Doesn’t open his stupid Hobbit book and launches into reading.

There’s a heavy silence and when he speaks his voice is all torn up.

“I didn’t save her.” His fingers scratch at the cover, but his eyes are glued to Max’s still, waxy face. “We promised her we wouldn’t miss our shot but we didn’t—” He makes a choking sound like a sob.

There’s a twist in Erica’s chest, sour or like a burn.

“When she wakes up… I don’t know how she could forgive me.”

It’s the rawest Erica thinks she’s ever seen him. It’s unsettling and makes the biting feeling behind her ribs worse. She doesn’t want this to happen. Lucas is the big brother and big brothers aren’t supposed to fall apart.

They can be poked and prodded and provoked and they’ll yell and take their He-Man dolls back and they’ll lie for their sisters about the stain on the good carpet once threatened.

This isn’t right.

The helplessness in his eyes is contagious. It crawls up her arms, immobilizing her inch by inch. If Lucas doesn’t know what to do in this room, how is she supposed to know what to do in this room?

Her brother is broken in this moment, much like Hawkins. They have the same scars. Like he was torn apart with it.

So, she tells him the only thing she ever tells anyone: the truth.

“Well, that’s stupid.”

His head shoots up. He frowns but he doesn’t say anything. He’s listening to her, Erica realizes, like she has an answer he wants to hear.

Everything gets so weird when the world ends.

“That’s what Max would say, and you know it. Stop being stupid.” She’s standing on the opposite side of the bed from where he’s sitting. They bring their own water bottles because the hospital is overflowing still and can’t spare the glasses. Erica puts her bottle (pink to Lucas’ green, mom bought them together) back into their backpack. “You did everything you could. I don’t know how you guys survived ‘til high school. We all knew the risk. Max was never gonna let other people take the fall. It was a dangerous plan, but who else was gonna do anything?”

It's bitter in the back of her throat. She’d looked at the group of them, in that van, before they got to Creel House, and she’d felt cold inside. Everyone they had, everyone willing to fight, had looked so young. Unqualified. Inexperienced.

Child endangerment, she’d told Dustin and Robin an eternity ago. That’s all this town really is now. The evidence lies with them right here in this room.

There’s still something in her that’s constricted. Those words were all she had. She doesn’t know what she’ll do if Lucas pushes back, if it’s not enough.

Slowly, she tears her eyes away from the lonely backpack by the side of Max’s bed.

Lucas has the tiniest smile on his face.

“Erica,” he says, and it sounds like thank you.

#stficbingo #erica sinclair #lucas sinclair #tuserjess #usersen #usercilla #stranger things #*mine #*fics

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softlyspector · 1 year

Text

Promise

Summary: A year after his mother’s death, Marc travels back to Chicago to face his father. He doesn’t expect it to be easy but he also doesn’t expect it to be so hard. He especially doesn’t expect to find refuge from the hard moments in a little known witch’s shop a few blocks over. And definitely not in one keeping watch over the family’s piano.

This chapter: Marc isn't taking you on a date. At least, he's pretty sure he's not.

Tales Untold; Part VI - Series Masterlist

Pairing: eventual Marc Spector x Reader (eventual minor Steven Grant x Reader and Jake Lockley x Reader)

Word Count: 7.6k

Warnings (this chapter): fluff, Marc Spector’s terrible, oblivious flirting, lots of ✨touching✨, mental health issues, tense relationship with a parent, mentions of past child abuse, a touch of angst

A/N: Hello! As always, thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are so appreciated! If there are any additional warnings that need added, please let me know. If you want to be added to the tag list, you can do so from the series masterlist!

VI.

Milwaukee Avenue, Chicago 3:16 PM

“Is that the last one?”

Marc nods, examining the side of the last window box.

It’s still a bit rough around the edges, but you seem to enjoy sanding them down yourself before you paint.

“You did a good job,” Elias says, approaching Marc where he stands at the workbench. “I’m sure it’s appreciated.”

Marc’s guard snaps up at the praise, shoulders raising around his ears, before he takes a breath, nods, and makes an effort to relax. “Yep. I think so.”

His father lies a hand along the wood, his fingers tracing the curved back edge. “I wonder whatever happened to that birdhouse we made.”

He freezes, not expecting his father to mention that. “You…don’t know?”

Elias shakes his head and tucks both hands behind his back. “I’m not sure. We never put it in the backyard.” He frowns and Marc glances up to meet his eyes, “Why didn’t we?”

Marc sucks in a breath and diverts his gaze again, turning back to the bench to clear away the mess he’d made. “Probably because of mom.”

The silence that follows his words lasts more than a few minutes while Marc works. He carefully puts the tools away, then clears away the leftover wood and sawdust. When he’s almost finished, it becomes clear his dad isn’t going to answer him.

Marc turns to Elias. “I gotta go,” he says, because he’d rather not think about it. “I was supposed to be over at Tales Untold a couple hours ago.”

And he misses you. Every second he’s away he thinks about you, and he’s not sure if that’s normal or not.

“Well,” Elias clears his voice, “At least it's over now.” He gestures at the flower box, but Marc is fairly sure he’s talking about something else.

It hurts.

Maybe it's over, but he lives with it everyday.

“Yeah,” he answers. “It’s done now.”

Elias pats his shoulder gently and then turns to walk back up the stairs. Marc doesn’t follow, staring at the last window box, wondering what it meant that it was done.

Tales Untold, Chicago 6:36 PM

Marc can hear you talking to a customer as he comes down the steps.

At the foot of the stairs, he steels himself for any social interaction he might have to participate in.

Usually, the customers ignore him.

But some of them are chatty and others, the regulars, have started to recognize him. He knows they feel rude not speaking to him when they know him, but he’d prefer not to have to talk.

He pushes aside the curtain that you pinned back in the evenings when the shop closed, and steps through.

To his surprise, you’re the one that turns to him excitedly. “Look Marc! Isn’t this perfect?”

You hold up a vintage Cubs t-shirt with a smile. “Cool,” he comments mildly, approaching the counter where the customer stands.

“You guys big Cubs fans?” She asks, her eyes darting over him.

“Marc is,” you answer for him, folding the shirt up carefully on the counter with a smile. “But we’re going to a game soon.”

“Yeah, well, those have been in the back of my closet for years. Can’t keep up with it anymore so it’s time to go.”

You nod knowingly. “Yes, they are ready for a new home.”

If the customer thinks anything of your phrasing, she doesn’t mention it.

Marc tunes out of the rest of your conversation, patiently waiting for you to finish up, and only filtering back into the conversation when he notices the woman inching closer to him. You don’t seem to notice, or maybe you don’t care, but if she steps any closer, her arm is going to brush into his, and he can think of nothing worse.

He moves to trail around the counter, leaning next to you on your side of it. He should have started there in the first place. He fingers the edge of the clothing stacked on the counter, a couple of t-shirts, a sweatshirt, and beneath that a couple of records.

You finish with the woman and follow her to the front of the store to lock the door behind her and flip the open sign to closed.

“Y’know I’m sure I’ve got some vintage stuff somewhere if you want it,” he says when you find your way back to him. “Stuff from when…from before I left.”

You ignore him to note, “She seemed to like you.” For one delusional moment, he thinks you might be jealous, until he looks up at you and catches the expression on your face. You’re trying and failing to suppress a smile. Your tone is teasing.

Marc rolls his eyes.

“Do you want what I have or not?” He huffs.

“Sure,” you step up to the counter to grab the sweatshirt and t-shirts. You leave the records where they lie. “C’mon. I wanna try them on.”

Marc follows you back upstairs anxiously.

You’re talking, something about the weather predictions for the day of the Cubs game - supposedly it was going to rain that Saturday - when you pause at the top of the stairs. “Oh, my god. Marc?” You turn to look back down the steps at him, still halfway down the staircase. “Did you cook dinner?”

“Yeah, well,” he grumbles, tromping up the rest of the stairs to stand beside you in the doorway, “you usually cook for me.”

Your eyes sparkle, something gentle and infinitely fond resting in your gaze. “I didn’t realize you knew how,” you tease.

“Ha ha,” he deadpans, glancing away, “hilarious.”

You nudge your shoulder gently into his and then step into the apartment. His breath catches as you walk away, the scent of you and the heavy cut of your gaze lingering with him.

“You’re too good to me, Marc. How am I ever supposed to pay you back?”

Something inside him twinges. These are things he never wants paid back to him. “You don’t gotta. Just eat.” Then he adds, “You do a lot. For me. Don’t worry about it.”

You hum and tuck the shirts you carry into the hamper just inside the bathroom door. “I always do. You’re much too good to me, honey,” you say with a soft smile. “I mean, without you, the storefront would still be a disaster. You’ve done so much.”

“Don’t cut yourself short, you help all the time” he rumbles, moving back to the stove. You helped too much, like you don’t get why Marc does things for you. “Thought you were gonna try ‘em on?”

“Should probably wash them first,” you amend yourself, washing your hands in the basin.

The water shuts off and silence fills the air.

He’s aware that you’re behind him, moving slowly closer, and he has to repress a smile.

You’re not very stealthy anyways, but the scent of your skin gives you away even if you were. He turns and beckons you closer, reaching out to tug you close into his side.

“How do you always know?” you gripe. “I’m not a loud person.”

He kicks out a foot behind you, hemming you in between him and the stove. Really, it's just so he can touch you. “Go ahead and take a look,” he bumps his chin into your jaw, directing your gaze and not answering your question. You turn your head to meet his eyes instead, the look in them softened and content.

“I stand by what I said. You do too much for me.”

“Well,” he tries to joke, “You are behind on your painting responsibilities.”

So far, you’ve painted two of the three window boxes. You haven’t even considered how you want to paint the sign.

You wrinkle your nose at him and turn to lift the lid on one of the pots.

Milwaukee Avenue, Chicago 1:13 PM

“I forgot how much I missed this,” Marc says, twisting the tag off the new Cubs jersey. “Haven’t been to a game in years.” He tosses the tag into the trash and rolls his shoulders. The fabric is a bit staticky, which he doesn’t love.

He fidgets with the hem of it, trying to decide if he should wear something under it so it doesn't stick to him. “Marc,” Steven pipes up, “Bit of water will do the trick to get rid of the static.”

Jake tilts forward, examining the shirt. “We look good,” he comments, oddly mild in tone.

If Marc didn’t know better, he’d say Jake was nervous. “It’s not a date,” he answers as he yanks the shirt off and turns on the tap to run cool water onto a washcloth.

“Well, we can’t be sure since someone didn’t fuckin’ ask,” Jake rolls his eyes.

Marc runs the cloth on the inside of the shirt and then over his skin before putting it back on. It’s much better. He adjusts the collar, decides it would have to do. “I didn’t ask because we’d sound like fucking idiots.”

“Remember to take those shirts with you, yeah?” Steven reminds him, cutting off whatever Jake was about to say that would invariably escalate into an argument.

“Got it,” he says, tugging his Cubs hat on before reaching for the bathroom door.

Marc grabs the shirts that he’d dug out of the back of his closet from the hall side table where he’d left them. He calls out a goodbye to his father but doesn’t pause to listen for a response before he’s out the door and making his way to Tales Untold.

He’s not sure you actually want them, considering you now have a collection of two t-shirts and a sweatshirt of a sport you don’t pay attention to.

Still, he wants you to have them.

He wants you to have them because they used to be his. Maybe it's a tad possessive, but he hopes you’ll want his things over a stranger’s.

Marc had considered briefly if he should give them to you at all, stalled in the mouth of his childhood bedroom’s closet, his teenage wardrobe staring back at him.

He’d been worried about what you might feel or see if you touch them.

But baseball was a balm, a savior in his childhood and teenage years, so he figures their energy must be like the piano’s. Warm and sun drenched and good.

When he thinks of baseball, he thinks of summer, miles of green grass in the park, warm days with his dad, melting ice cream.

It has to be good.

And this is something he wants to share with you after all. This is something that’s important to him.

Halfway down your street, Marc makes a split second decision, and ducks into the florist next to Tales Untold. He’s immediately overwhelmed by what he sees, rows and rows of flowers and arrangements, a riot of color that makes him want to shut his eyes for a moment.

“Can I help you?” The woman behind the counter straightens and smiles at him.

“Good idea,” Jake muses from the glass of one refrigerated case. “Flowers are always good.”

Marc relaxes a fraction, feeling less stupid than seconds before. Still, he has no idea what to get.

It’s not a date, he thinks, and he can get you flowers for no good reason if he damn well pleases.

“Yeah,” he turns to the woman and steps closer. “I think so.”

“What are you looking for? If you don’t have an idea, I can help if you let me know what occasion you’re buying for.”

Occasion? What the fuck was he supposed to say? A maybe date? A baseball game?

You like purple though, that he knows, and tulips.

“I’m, uh, looking for something purple. Or tulips. Whatever you have.”

She smiles and rounds the counter, leading Marc deeper into the shop. “Well, I have either, or both.” She shows him a bouquet wrapped in paper. Purple tulips. “I also have pink or yellow tulips. Or, I have some options that are purple but not tulips.”

Marc glances at where she points and decides to stick with what he knows. “Purple tulips are good.”

“What’s the occasion?” She asks as they move to the counter and Marc pulls out his wallet. “If you don’t mind me asking?”

“Not actually sure,” he grumbles.

She smiles to herself, like she’s heard that before. She makes sure the blooms are securely wrapped before handing them and the receipt over. “Well, good luck then.”

“Thanks,” he manages, feeling odd.

He’s never bought anyone flowers before.

“Not a date,” Jake scoffs, “Who are you kidding, hermano?”

Marc grits his teeth and doesn’t deign to respond.

The shop’s door is unlocked when he tries it, and Marc wishes again that you’d stop doing that. He could knock, he could wait for you to come answer the door.

He finds you upstairs examining yourself in the mirror by the door. “I think I like the vintage t-shirt look,” you say by way of greeting, not glancing at him as you turn and watch your reflection.

“Looks good on you,” he answers, holding up the shirts he'd brought you. “Brought you mine. Washed ‘em and everything.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” you smile and turn, grabbing the keys to your truck and the canvas bag you carried everywhere from the side table under the mirror. “Put them there,” you nod toward the counter with your chin, adjusting your shirt again.

You haven’t looked at him properly yet, and he feels the tiniest stab of jealousy when it's clear you probably aren’t going to change, that you’ve settled on the shirt you have on. He crosses the counter to set them down before turning. “Where do you want these?” He brandishes the flowers at you, Jake cursing at him that he’s going to damage the stalks.

You frown and glance at him through the mirror. “Wha- Oh!”

A surprised look pulls over your face and you turn to face him. “Did you get me flowers?”

Marc grits his teeth, wondering why this felt so weird. “Yeah,” he grumbles.

“Oh,” you say again, smiling this time as you move toward him. “That’s - that’s so kind of you.” You take the flowers from him, pressing your nose against them for a moment as you close your eyes and inhale, “I haven’t gotten flowers in forever.”

Marc watches you, watches the sun catch in your lashes before his gaze slips to the shape of your lips. “When was the last time?” He asks, eyes flicking back up to yours in time to see your eyes flick open again.

“My dad got me flowers when I dropped out of college,” you laugh, a bright expression on your face. “It was a joke, y’know. Because people usually get them when they graduate. I’ve never gotten them from, uh-,”

You don’t finish your thought, abruptly hugging Marc instead. It's so sudden and so quick, he doesn’t get to hug you back. He turns, his body automatically twisting to keep you in his eyesight when you slip past him. He watches you pull down a vase and stick them in, still wrapped in paper. “Thank you, Marc. I’ll fix them up properly later,” you say, stroking one petal lightly. “You got my favorite and everything.”

You almost leave them sitting on the counter, but seem to think better of it. You carry them across the room to the window and leave them there, directly below one of the more recent stained glass creations.

“‘Course I did,” he says softly when you just stand there staring at them in the afternoon sun. “We gotta go.”

“We do,” you say excitedly.

Your energy is infectious and Marc finds himself smiling as he follows you down the stairs.

Wrigley Field, Chicago 2:45 PM

Marc is easy for you to read most of the time. But you can’t decide on what the flowers mean, on the slightly nervous way he’d held them out to you.

The whole drive to the stadium, all you could think of was the way he almost kissed you, the way you thought he almost kissed you in the truck at the hardware store, the anxious way he’d asked you if you still wanted to go to a baseball game with him. And now, the flowers before said baseball game.

Was it possible…that you were on a date?

Probably not. You were reading into it too much.

But, you had said it’s a date, the day you first talked about going to a game. Had you accidentally asked him on a date?

It makes you giggle a little.

It’s stupid and funny, and you’re a little bit giddy that he wanted to go on a date with you if that’s what had happened.

Marc’s hand is at the small of your back now, gently but pointedly moving you through the throngs of people already inside the stadium.

“I had no idea so many people liked baseball,” you remark lightly.

Marc snorts. “You think you’re funny.”

“I am funny. You laughed.”

He rolls his eyes, guiding you into line at a concession stand.

If it had been anyone other than Marc, you would have been annoyed at the hand against your spine. But you like his touch, the warmth of his palm soaking through your shirt, slightly possessive and entirely protective. Though you have a sneaking suspicion that it’s more for his benefit, to ground himself in the crowd, than anything else.

You watch Marc’s eyes scan the crowd, before they snap back to you. “So,” you start, Marc’s hand finally dropping from your back. You immediately miss the warmth of his touch. “Steven told me he works at a museum in London.” He’d also told you a funny little half story about how he’d been fired from his other museum job, so many details left out it hardly made sense. Something about a bathroom, something about security cameras.

Marc goes still at your words, like he knows what you’re going to ask next.

“But you never said what you do. Or is Steven the breadwinner?” You nudge your hip into his side. “Military?”

“How-,”

“It’s in the way you stand. It’s in the way you watch the crowd.”

He scoffs at you but there’s no malice in it. “Think that’s just the general PTSD.”

“Fair enough,” you say with a laugh as you inch forward in line. Marc tugs you out of the way of a group of drunk friends, already swaying and boisterous, cups of beer sloshing in their hands. “You don’t have to tell me.”

He sighs, hand retreating once more. “It’s a little complicated.”

You shift closer to him and loop your arm through his, tightening your fingers on his bicep. The muscle is firm beneath your touch, skin hot under the soft fabric of the Cubs jersey. You glance at his hand, wondering how weird, or how obvious, you might be if you tangled your fingers with his.

You push down the urge, instead watching the twist of tendon in his forearm, the vein that runs to his elbow, the shape of his hands. He has beautiful hands, veined, the skin darker than when you’d met him from hours spent outside over the last weeks and months.

Just like when you’d first met him, you get the sense that he doesn’t know, or at least doesn’t think about, how beautiful he is. Unfairly gorgeous, really.

“But you were in the military,” you glance back to his eyes.

“I was,” he answers and avoids your gaze, raven eyes focused on the cement beneath his feet, brow furrowed.

You let it drop after that, when he seems uncomfortable with admitting it. It’s quiet for a moment, but Marc reaches up with his other hand to lie his fingers over yours. He squeezes your hand. “So, what did you do? You told my dad you were a server.”

You grin and try to hide it by pressing your face into his shoulder. “Can you believe,” you murmur, “that we know so many things about each other and not this?”

You think Marc will just roll his eyes, but he chuckles lowly, fingers tightening on yours before he lets go. “So?”

“I tried college. I hated it. I tried working in offices. I hated it. I didn’t like serving but I also didn’t mind it as much as the other things. Less monotony with it, I guess. So, that’s what I did.”

You reach the front of the line then, and Marc insists on paying for what you order. He carries your drinks while you juggle the food. “Do you ever wish you’d finished school?”

“No,” you tilt your head as Marc navigates the crowd. “I would have been miserable. I know I’m lucky to have ended up where I have.” He’s slightly ahead of you, leading more than walking with you.

A smile tugs at your mouth when he seems to realize it, slowing his pace so you can walk next to him. “I’m lucky you ended up where you are.”

The words are weighted, though Marc tries to assume a casualness about it.

Your heart gives a strange little pulse, and you remember again the way he’d almost kissed you outside the hardware store. The humid, sun warmed little world, the push of his skin against yours.

Or, maybe he hadn’t been. Maybe you were just hopeful and willing to believe what you wanted to be true.

Certainly either Steven or Jake hadn’t been too thrilled about it. Your stomach clenches when you remember the violent way he’d jerked away from your hand.

Or, maybe you were reading into that too, and Marc hadn’t wanted to kiss you.

You’d rather not risk what you have with Marc trying to decipher it.

You’ve still even yet to meet the elusive Jake.

The air is sticky with moisture, but not hot, and when Marc leads you to the mouth of the stairs that lead down into the seating, a warm breeze blows over you that alleviates some of the mugginess.

On the horizon dark clouds crowd the sky, fat, and heavy with rain. “Think we’ll get rained on?” You ask Marc as you descend the steps carefully to your seats.

Marc reaches out to steady you, setting the cups aside so you can balance one hand on his arm and take some of the snacks from you with the other. “Nah,” he answers when you’re seated. “I won’t let it.”

“Oh, you control the weather now?”

“No,” he smirks, “But this is the midwest and the weather reports are never right. It won’t rain.”

You nudge your shoulder into his, “Okay, I think I might agree with you.” Marc's mouth twitches again into what you’ve come to realize is a smile, more relaxed now, and hooks his arm behind your shoulders along the back of your seat.

Immediately you’re overwhelmed by his scent, the clean soapy smell of him. He’s wearing his usual cologne, earthy with sage and bergamot.

Despite your best intentions, you lean into him a little while resisting the urge to just press your face into his shoulder, his neck.

It doesn't help that he’s unfairly handsome. No person should look that good in a baseball jersey. He’s looking out at the field, a muscle jumping in his cheek, sharp jaw flexing every few seconds with lingering anxiety. The tendons stand out in his neck and you wonder again if Marc is ever at ease.

The top few buttons of the jersey are undone, the smooth expanse of skin beneath enticing. You catch the glitter of the necklace that always hangs around his throat. You’ve yet to see it in its entirety, curious as to what hangs on the end or if it was only a chain.

He’s beautiful. And it makes you sick with longing. He’s too pretty for his own good.

You clear your throat, shaking yourself a little.

“Are you going to explain what’s going on to me?” You ask, plucking up the basket of french fries you’d ordered.

He glances over at you in surprise and you have to resist the urge to reach up and pull his baseball cap off. His eyes are shaded, darker than usual in the shadow of the bill. You want to see the shades of brown in the sun, you want to see his dark curls slip across his forehead and his brows to wrinkle in irritation when they do. “You’ve never been to a baseball game.”

“This is my very first,” you confirm.

“Why didn’t you say somethin’?”

“Well,” you shrug, “because it didn’t matter. I wanted to go. With you.”

Marc rolls his eyes at you, “Right, but I woulda done more if I’d known, sweetheart.”

Your breath catches in your lungs at the endearment on his tongue. Marc seems surprised too, but you brush past it quickly. You call him honey, afterall. “And what would you have done, Marc?”

“Gave you a lesson on baseball,” he deadpans, not looking away from you.

“Glad I didn’t say anything then,” you note and Marc’s face breaks into a half suppressed smile. He looks away from you, shaking his head. “So, are you gonna explain what’s going on to me?”

“Of course I will.”

You try to hide your smile and fail, instead offering the basket of fries to him as you wait for the game to start. “Okay, so go ahead.”

Wrigley Field, Chicago 5:53 PM

Marc makes a fairly funny companion for a baseball game.

You usually don’t witness such intense displays of emotion from him. You’d expected him to watch with his usual passive grumpiness, but to your surprise, he’s on his feet and shouting along with the rest of the spectators when it's called for, tugging you up with him.

You’re a good sport about it, cheering along with him.

It’s funny and very endearing and incredibly fun.

The people sitting next to you make conversation with you when they notice your vintage t-shirt, which you’re very proud of, and find out it's your first game. Marc’s mouth only twitches when they endeavor to make your first game memorable. They buy you a cup of beer and make enough noise to get you on the jumbotron once.

Marc even chats with them, pokes lightly at you with them for not being a lifelong fan. He seems at ease talking to them, either because they’re also native Chicagoans or because it's the familiar subject of baseball, you aren’t sure.

You like how open he is, how he doesn’t try to hide anything in those moments. You wonder what he’d be like if he weren’t always so self contained, if he didn’t feel like he always had to hide.

He periodically hooks an arm around your waist and tugs you close so he can explain what’s going on, his mouth pressed against your ear.

You catch onto the rules pretty quickly but you don’t tell Marc that. You like the way his arm feels around your waist too much, the heavy warmth of his touch.

Even when he lets go of you, one hand usually stays hooked into the fabric of your shirt at your waist. Marc doesn’t seem to realize that he’s doing it, fidgeting with the material in a self soothing way and inadvertently keeping you close to him.

When those heavy clouds on the horizon eventually obscure the sun as the game nears its end, Marc takes his cap off and you get the very real pleasure of seeing his loose curls flop forward. “I love your hair,” you tell him before you can stop yourself, reaching up to tug on the end of one lock.

“You’re supposed to be payin’ attention to the game,” he grumbles as he tilts his chin down, letting you brush them back into place for him. “Not me.”

“Can’t I do both?”

Marc shakes his head, looking faintly amused. “What am I gonna do with you?” He asks, his gaze not wavering from yours as the game ends and the crowd erupts in cheers.

“Cubs won,” you say, finally glancing away over the excited crowd. The purple clouds have rolled ever closer, darkening the stadium as people begin moving en masse towards the exits. “It’s gonna rain.”

“It’s not gonna rain,” Marc says, and this time when he leads you into the crowd, he reaches down and tangles his fingers with yours. “It’s gonna blow over like it always does.”

You snort but don’t contradict him.

The fork of lightning that cuts through the sky makes you laugh, and Marc squeezes your fingers in response.

The air has that sweet, sharp smell it always does right before it rains. When you reach the road, the clouds overhead look like they’ve settled in, heavy and stormy, over the city. A distant rumble of thunder makes you lift your brow, but Marc pointedly avoids your gaze.

You glance at your companion, the sharp cut of his jaw, the line of his nose, dark eyes that scan the street around you, tugging you a bit closer whenever anyone invades the little bubble Marc seems to create around you. He has an intense stare that keeps most people at a distance.

But he seems calm now, despite the crowd, the tiny smile he tries to suppress is still pulling at his lips.

It makes you happy, and you wonder again about how he’d asked you if you still wanted to do this at all. You wonder again at the flowers. You wonder again at what you think was a near kiss.

Maybe, that day in the truck, he’d questioned himself, thought he was misreading you, like you had with this.

You’re fairly sure you’re on a date.

You certainly hope you are.

Marc is so unsure of himself, questions and questions, not only others, but himself and how he interprets what others say to him. Reality is fluid to Marc, like things might change at a second's notice. “Marc,” you tighten your fingers around his. “I’m having a really good time,” you assure him as you walk. “I’m happy we decided to do this.”

“Glad to hear it,” he hums. You’re a couple blocks from the stadium now, nearing the lot you’d parked in.

You open your mouth to say more, when the sky suddenly opens up. The rain you had warned against, slams down on you in an instant.

The shock of it is cold and uncomfortable but you laugh anyways. “Ha!” You shout over the din, thunder following in the distance. “I told you it was gonna rain!”

Marc is scanning the street again, “Yeah, yeah, c’mon,” he yanks you along, not unkindly, until you’re sheltered beneath an awning of a shop along with other fans departing the game.

It’s uncomfortable and close, but you and Marc end up shoved into a corner, against a brick wall. Marc turns his back to the people behind him, curling an arm around your waist.

Your entire world is subsumed by Marc.

He smells like rain, the coppery scent of bare skin, the usual scent of him washed away. You reach up and swipe some of the rainwater off of his face. “I was right.”

“You were right,” he concedes, only slightly grouchy in tone. “It’s raining.”

A man bumps into Marc, jostles you a little, and he slides closer to you with an irritated growl. “Where’s that pizza place?” You ask to distract him. “Do we need the truck? Can we walk?”

“You wanna walk in this?”

“No, honey,” you roll your eyes, “but if it's like a street over-,”

“We were headed there,” he interrupts. “It’s a couple blocks over. Not worth it to move the truck.”

The air is warm and humid, the brick walled corner you’re backed against, chilled. Marc is so close to you, that you would only need to tilt your head a little to brush your forehead against his.

His fingers tighten on your hip, “Y’know,” he swallows, head tilting to the side, listening to voices you can’t hear. “Steven and Jake have been hounding me to ask you if this was a date.”

Your belly lurches, heart in your throat. “Oh?”

Marc’s chest rises and falls quickly, the sound of the rain and the chatter so loud it makes him hard to hear. “Yeah.”

“And is it?” You lean closer, heart pounding a hard rhythm against your sternum.

Marc blinks at you. “I-,”

“Can I be honest?” You ask, raising one hand to balance on his shoulder. Marc gives a tight nod of his head, his guard already up, shoulders hiking up around his ears. “I didn’t think this was a date.” Marc ducks his head at your words, opening his mouth to say something you’re sure is going to break your heart, but you don’t let him speak. “But I would be…really, terribly, overjoyed if it was.”

Marc only looks up at you when you push a gentle finger beneath his chin.

You smile at him, then laugh when his frown deepens. “I mean it.”

The rain is still bucketing down, the pocket of people you’re sequestered behind not paying you any attention, and you suddenly can’t stop laughing.

You fall forward into Marc, locking your arms around him tightly. “Don’t think about it too hard. I meant exactly what I said,” you chuckle into his ear. “I want this to be a date so bad, honey.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t respond, one arm still around your waist while the other hangs loosely at his side.

When the silence shows no sign of ending, you start to pull back, worried you’d severely misread the situation.

But Marc doesn’t let you pull away, his free hand reaching up to cradle your jaw. He searches your eyes, fingers slipping back behind your ear, his thumb smoothing over your cheekbone, the touch possessive and desperate.

He’s the only thing you can see again, wedged between the corner of the wall and the solidity of his body.

“Marc?”

“This is a date,” he says, his voice quiet, eyes drifting to your mouth. “It’s…yeah. It’s a date.”

You laugh again, the sound a little wild. He looks a little feral, water webbing his lashes together, his curls standing out more than ever, eyes hooded and focused entirely on you. His skin is still damp and you aren’t entirely sure what you’re going to say when you open your mouth.

But it doesn’t matter, because Marc leans forward and presses his mouth to yours.

You suck in a shaky breath as Marc releases your waist, his hand pressing to the other side of your face to mirror the first.

For a long second, you can’t catch your breath, overwhelmed by the suddenness of it, the elation spiderwebbing across your chest. Your heart feels like it may actually stop, the gallop of your pulse loud in your ears.

He starts to pull away when your mind catches up to the moment. You fist your hands in the smooth, damp fabric of the jersey against his ribs, steadying yourself against him. You kiss him back, moving your lips with his.

He tastes like rain, and like the lemon chill you’d shared during the seventh inning stretch.

Marc’s kiss is slow and steady and deliberate. It pulls you apart, sends sparks skittering along your skin. He tilts your head back, skims his lips across your cheek, nose brushing yours when he moves back to your mouth.

The inky umber of his eyes lock onto yours for a moment, his breath fanning across your lips. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs before he kisses you again, his tongue briefly teasing at your bottom lip. He only tastes you for a moment, meeting your tongue, before he pulls back, aware of where you are, that you aren’t alone.

He releases your face to wrap his arms around you, tucking you close to him, face buried against your neck as he breathes you in.

Your breath comes in little pants, your body only realizing then that it needed oxygen, like Marc would have been enough to sustain you if he just kept kissing you.

You peer at the people behind Marc, but none of them are paying you any attention, their backs turned as they huddle in their own little groups, their own little worlds.

“I didn’t know if it was a date either,” he says when he pulls back. His gaze is oddly light, a weight that was usually settled in them gone.

“Yeah,” you tuck a loose, damp curl back from his forehead. “But you’re glad it is?”

He laughs.

It’s not a low chuckle or a snort, but a full, loud laugh.

A few heads turn your way at the sound and you grin so big your face hurts. “Yeah. You could say that.”

The rain begins to slow then, and some people brave the wet, giving you a bit more space. “Good.”

Marc loosens himself from around you, taking your hand to fold between his fingers. “Wanna go get that pizza now? We can still make the reservation.”

“You made a reservation?”

“Yeah,” he rumbles, glancing out at the raindrops still falling. “You need one after a game. Too many people.”

Something about it, the thoughtfulness, the little things Marc did that he hardly saw the value in, makes your throat close. “Okay. Yes,” your voice cracks.

“You okay?” His voice is low and concerned.

You nod, and tug on his hand. “I promise. Let’s go.”

He searches your eyes, and you reach up to lie a hand on his cheek, pressing a kiss to his mouth carefully. “I said I promise.”

“Let’s go,” he agrees, fighting another smile.

Tales Untold, Chicago 1:15 AM

The storm clouds haven’t quite left the area when Marc parks your truck at the curb outside Tales Untold.

He comes to the door with you but says he should go home. You step up to the door while he remains on the sidewalk, several paces back from you.

You don’t argue with him, sliding the key into the lock and twisting it, before you turn back to him. Marc’s usual frown is in place beneath the street light, the divot between his brows deep. You reach for him and Marc immediately steps closer to you, taking your hand.

You tilt your head down to kiss him again, thumbing at the line between his brows until it dissolves beneath your touch.

Marc moves up onto the step with you, cages you against the door.

His kisses are still slow and deliberate, laden with a quiet passion that makes your blood sing.

You bury your hands in his hair, the strands soft and loose in the humid air. “I think I like baseball.”

“Good,” he says, lips brushing yours. “We’ll go again. Sometime. Before the season is over.”

You smile and Marc pushes his forehead against yours briefly, the act strangely intimate, before he pulls away entirely. “Goodnight, honey,” you say, reluctantly releasing him.

“‘Night, baby,” he steps back onto the sidewalk.

You’re not sure your heart can handle any more surprises. Certainly not him calling you baby.

Marc turns and starts to walk away when he pauses and pivots back. “Go inside,” he juts his chin toward the door.

You know he’s not going to budge while you’re still on the street. “Only if you wait ‘til I’m upstairs so I can watch you walk down the street.”

He rolls his eyes and stuffs his hands in his pockets, feigning annoyance, “Fine. Go.”

You hastily pull the shop’s door open, making sure to twist the lock back into place so Marc won’t have a cow about safety again, before you dart through the dark shop. You feel giddy, filled to the brim with nerves.

You trip up the steps and throw open the window to search for him.

He’s still standing there, arms crossed over his chest now, and if you didn’t know better you’d say he’s smiling. “Okay,” you call down, propping your chin on your hand on the window sill. “Goodnight.”

“‘Night, sweetheart,” he says. “I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

You watch him walk down the street until he turns down an alley to cut through to the next street.

The road is quiet after that, but you don’t move for a long moment, letting the warm breeze kiss your skin.

Your clothes have long since dried and are now oddly stiff. You feel sticky and gross all at once, from being in the sun and then rained on before spending way too much time in a pizza place. “Made sure they have vegetarian shit,” he’d said as you sat down, his voice gruff.

And once again, you’d been shocked by the thoughtfulness, the way he considered things carefully where you were concerned.

The pizza was good, the ice cream you went for after even better.

He’d tasted like chocolate when you kissed him in the truck, awkwardly making out over the center console like teenagers afraid of being caught by their parents.

Marc kisses like a man starved though, like it’s his last night on earth. He left you breathless.

You smile, feeling stupid with affection as you stand and shut the window. The tulips are perky and beautiful in their vase, a lovely reminder of the day. You take a mental note to save one of the blooms to press and preserve, as you carry the glass to the sink to fill with water.

You remove the flowers and unwrap the paper, cut the stems and put them back.

When you turn to place the tulips back in the window, you spot the shirts Marc had brought you.

Vintage t-shirts from his teenage years.

You smile and place the vase on the kitchen island instead, reaching for the shirts.

He’d said he washed them for you, and you can only hope they smell like him. Maybe it's pathetic, but you want to sleep wrapped in his scent. You want to feel like he’s there even if he isn’t.

You wish he would have stayed the night, but you haven’t been able to convince him to stay since that night you fell asleep together under the piano.

You have a suspicion that Marc is still worried he’s taking too much from you.

You’re distracted, still thinking of Marc, when you absently touch the shirt.

When you touch the folded shirt, you don’t recognize the feeling that ripples through you, completely at odds to your mood. And then it hits you. An intense pain and grief rocks through you, a confused swirl of emotion that’s impossible to decipher.

It fucking hurts.

Touching things has never hurt before.

You let out a scream no one will ever hear and drop to the floor, yanking your hand away from the fabric.

It’s too late, because the memory hits you a second later, and the pain doesn't fade from your mind for hours afterwards.

Tales Untold, Chicago 8:13 AM

The door is locked.

Good. Maybe you were finally learning to keep it shut.

The sign is flipped to closed.

Not unusual. You don’t open until eleven on Sundays.

Marc knocks.

And you don’t answer.

“Marc,” Steven points from the reflection in the front window. “Left a note, I think.”

He leans forward, squinting against the glare. Your handwriting is scrawled across a sheet of notebook paper, the edges roughly ripped.

Marc,

If you come by and see this, I’m not feeling so well. Won’t be opening the shop today.

You sign the note with your name with no further explanation.

“Not feeling well?” Steven asks, sounding confused.

Marc feels confused.

His heart sinks into his gut. It’s too much of a coincidence. Today, the day after he’d finally fucking got it together and -

He pulls out his phone. He has your number saved from when you’d insisted he have it.

Why hadn’t you called him?

He presses your contact and lifts the phone to his ear, glancing up at your apartment window. The call goes to voicemail after two rings and so it's obvious you’ve declined his call.

He tries again, but this time it rings into oblivion, until your voicemail message trills out. “Hey,” he says into the speaker, voice creaking. “Hey,” he clears his throat, “I - uh - I saw your note. If you need anything - just - text me. Text me anyway. Lemme know you’re okay.”

He winces, he’s never said the words text me in his life.

“Or call me. Look, I, if I did something wrong. Tell me. I’ll fix it. I hope you’re okay.”

He hangs up before he can say anything else, anything more pathetic.

Still, it’s hard to breathe, hard to swallow around the knot of worry in his throat.

He watches your window, then blinks down at the bag of pastries he’d gotten from Flour Up. He’d almost stopped for coffee too, but he much preferred it when you made it for him, when he got to use that white mocha whatever in his coffee.

Marc’s phone buzzes.

I’m okay.

Buzz.

You didn’t do anything wrong.

Buzz.

I promise.

He waits for another message that doesn’t come.

Marc looks back up at your window, but the curtains don’t so much as twitch.

Thank you for reading! A special thank you to those keeping up with the series, and for all the continued love and support.

Comments and feedback are so appreciated. New parts will be posted Saturdays at 3PM EST! You can add yourself to the tag list on the series masterlist.

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#marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fanfic

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blue-rose-soul · 2 months

Note

Love ur au!!! You have so many interesting thoughts I just adore reading everything you’ve posted!

You’ve already established that Alastor would have exactly zero interest in any sort of bond with his dearly detested sperm donor but I was curious as to what you thought on whether Lucifer would want a relationship with Alastor? How would he approach that?

Hey, much appreciated! Honestly, with the first post I expected it to be a weird niche AU no one besides me would enjoy. I'm really glad you and others are enjoying it and I'm enjoying you guys' questions!

I do think Lucifer would want to try forming a relationship with his long lost son (that feels so weird to type, imagine how weird it would be for Lucifer to say the phrase aloud, lol). From what we've seen of him, he seems like a loving and sweet man who adores his family, even if he's not always the best at expressing that love. I think if he found out he had a kid out there, no matter who that kid was, he'd want to form some kind of relationship with them. Of course, Alastor being Alastor complicates things quite a bit.

They didn't exactly make a great first impression on one another, on top of which Lucifer harbors a lot of guilt for leaving Nicaise to raise a child alone, and Alastor to grow up without a father. Especially when he learns what happened to Nicaise later. Lucifer thinks it's his fault Alastor is the way he is, which... kinda sorta fair? Alastor definitely had an unstable childhood which certainly played a part in Alastor growing to become an unstable adult. That being said, ultimately there were a lot of outside factors contributing to that instability, and at the end of the day, Alastor's choices were his own.

I go with the 'Dexter-like moral code' interpretation of Alastor's murder targets. But I also think there was a fair amount of disproportionate retribution. A man who beats his wife definitely deserves to get beat back and then divorced, but not butchered like an animal. Granted, the culture being what it was at the time, it's doubtful Alastor's targets would have faced any other kind of retribution than what he gave them.

All this to say that Alastor feels perfectly justified in the horrible things he's done, and Lucifer blames himself for Alastor becoming this warped, vengeful person.

Lucifer's attempts to get close to Alastor are horribly, painfully awkward. Remember how he answered Charlie's phone call with, "Heeeeeeeey, bitch!"

Yeah.

He tries, he really does, but a lot of the times Alastor just shuts him down before he can even open his mouth. So he tries going to Charlie for help.

"Ooooof, see, here's the thing, dad... I want to help, I really do! But I'm trying to do this thing where I'm more respectful of other people's boundaries. I mean, I'd love to see you and Alastor getting along! But if he doesn't want to talk with you, I'm not going to force it? As long as you guys aren't fighting? I'm sorry."

And that's as far as Lucifer gets with Charlie. So he tries talking to Niffty and Husk, the two people in the hotel who know Alastor best. Niffty is... sweet, but not entirely helpful. Husk gives what advice he can, but he's got his own chip on his shoulder regarding Alastor, understandably.

"Look, Alastor's a mean son of a bitch who lives to make my life more of a hell than it already is. He's fucked in the head. Always has been. You might as well cut your losses."

That's disheartening to say the least.

I do want there to be a happy-ish end where reconciliation happens. But it would take a loooooooot of time and patience on Lucifer's part. Especially with Alastor making an active effort not to get close with anyone at the hotel.

#ask #anonymous #Hazbin Hotel #the Devil's Bastard AU #Lucifer Morningstar #Alastor #Charlie Morningstar #Husk (Hazbin Hotel)#wanted to say this up there but wasn't sure where to fit it in #Lucifer might try forming a bond by talking about Nicaise but that only serves to enrage Alastor #''Keep my mother's name OUT of your mouth''

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javispunk · 9 months

Note

Hii, so I saw an edit on tiktok of joel to i can see you by Taylor Swift on the background and i was wondering if you could do something based on that? Maybe like inspired by the lyrics and the moments between them that relate to those lyrics? But feel free to so it as you imagine it!!! Thx S2

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZM2C5KGbd/

Yes! I saw this edit and was thinking of doing something inspired on it and Taylor’s song, at least now I have an excuse to actually do it! This screams dbf!joel, so I had to do it. Thank you so much for the request :) I hope you enjoy it. Let me know if you’d like any other kind of version on it, or some kind of series on this?? Thank you for the support.

I can see you

Summary: You’ve been in Jackson for about a couple years now and you’ve always seen Joel go on about his days, filled with patrol duty or just casually at the cafeteria. Either way, and oblivious at first, you see each other. One night at the bar, you confirm your doubts.

Pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

Content/Warnings: +18 smut (minors don’t interact!), age gap (Joel is in his early 50s, reader is in her mid twenties), fingering, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected sex (p in v).

Notes: This is a bit long, I got carried away. It’s also a bit of a slow burn but bare with me! Please excuse any mistake, as english is not my first language. Comments and reblogs are always appreciated! Leave any requests you’d like me to write :)

You kept to yourself at Jackson since you joined in a couple years ago. You had a few people you could call friends and rely on. Besides them, your dad was also a good call. He always made sure to provide anything for you. You weren’t a child anymore, not even close to it. But you were his only daughter and that would be enough.

There would also be no effort made on your part to make more acquaintances, and that’s fine, that’s just the way you were. The people you usually had gatherings with would be your dad’s friends. And being a social butterfly, he had a few of them. But Joel Miller was his most relying one. He was a little bit younger than your dad, but they still found ways to share common interests. They’d do patrol duty together, always make way to eventually do a Saturday night dinner at yours or his - either the three of you or with more guests. You also learned about Joel’s loss and grief very quickly, something you could relate with.

For more than a year now you’ve felt safe with these people. Never once you got to complain about them, nor they did regarding you. Tonight it was just you, your dad and Joel at the dinner table. The usual setting of the table, familiar by now - your dad at your right, Joel at the other end, opposite from you.

“It should be alright if we get there by 5.” Joel spoke as he continued putting food on his fork. His signature plaid flannel shirt falling on top of his shoulders on a way that was now familiar to you.

"I'll be there sooner if I can get an early night." Your dad held the plate in his hand as he tried to collect more food from the table center. "I'm sure Adam will be there if I let him know." You received a gaze from your father as he spoke once again. "By the way, he told me he left you a message at the bar. Have you talked to him?"

"Dad... c'mon." You kept looking at your plate before turning your eyes to both man at the table.

"What? He's a great guy, he's your age. Great sense of responsability, I've seen how he handles work."

"Well, that's great for him. I don't see what that has to do with me."

Joel chuckled at your statement, still looking down at his plate. Your dad looked at him. "Honestly, I don’t understand this kid.”

Even though you were in your mid twenties your dad insisted on calling you kid, kiddo, any type of derivative.

“Well” you began as you collected your plate. “This kid has work in half an hour. I’ll just do the dishes and then go.” You headed to the kitchen with a sarcastic smile.

Once you put down your plate in the kitchen counter, you supported the weight of your body on it with both your hands. You sighed with frustration. Eyes closed, head down. The amount of hours you did the previous week at the bar left you restless and honestly wishing for a week worth of sleep. A few minutes passed, and you stayed like this. Silence prevailed until you heard Joel’s voice behind you.

“Got two more.”

“Fuck.” You jumped at the sudden voice, looking briefly at him, going back to the kitchen counter the next second.

“Sorry.” He quickly spoke. His body relatively close to yours, placing both plates on the sink. “Here, I’ll do that.” He took the sponge from your hand, slightly touching it.

There were several moments of tension between you and Joel over the last year or so. Usually cordial and kind moments like these, but they were filled with tension, you were not sure if it was sexual, but it felt so for you. Joel was at least 20 years older than you, you were not sure about his age. In a matter of seconds you recalled all of these encounters. The way he’d wait down the hall for you, or the way he’d always try to brush past you whenever you were in the same room. You would notice how he would make conversation with you whenever he could, how he would shower you with gifs - actual cool and useful gifs - how he payed attention to your interests, or how he'd get protective whenever he felt you were in some kind of danger.

"So you don't like Adam." he asked, mid-chuckle, while grabbing some soap.

You put your hand on your head, slightly embarrased. "Well..." You also looked in the direction of the dining room, searching for your dad.

"Your dad went to the neighbours. He said something about a favour. He'll be back soon enough." He noted.

You looked at him with your mouth slightly opened in a form of response, before speaking again. "Adam's alright. A bit insistent. My dad always makes a stand on the matter of relationships, I'm not sure why."

"You're almost what? 26? He probably wants you to get married. I got married around your age. That's how we'd do it in Texas."

You looked at the man's back. You didn't know much about his past. He had no pictures of his ex wife in his house. You knew he had a daughter before the world went to shit. That was the extent of knowledge you had about his grief and sorrow. Ellie would have filled some of the void in his life. But besides that, Joel was a lonely man.

"I'd get married if it wasn't the end of the world. Or if there was someone interesting around here." You laughed.

Joel followed your action, closing the running water tap. "I'm sure you'll find him." He chuckled, looking at you as he dried his hands with a cloth handtowel.

"Besides, I'm great on my own." Your voice raising an octave.

“I’m sure you are." His eyes on you. "Do you need a ride? It's freezing outside."

You shook your head no, while grabbing the coat propped on the back of the chair. "It's just a few minutes walk, I'll be fine. It will be even colder when I close at 1am. But thank you." You smiled his way.

He nodded his head, hands on his hips.

***

The clock marked half past midnight when you first looked at it since you entered the bar. You didn't stop to breathe since you started serving drinks at 8pm, walking from one corner of the bar to the other in a fast pace. The bar was usually filled with middle aged men, a few younger people, about your age, casually sitting in groups over a few tables. You sipping a few drinks once in a while over the hours without anyone noticing.

You think about the small amount of time you still have to work while you go around the counter and collect the empty beer bottles on the nearest table. You grab the cloth hanging from your shoulder only to wide your hands on it, before you make your way behind the counter again, your back against it.

"A whisky if it's not too much trouble." You heard Joel's voice.

You quickly turned around, a smile appearing, plastered on your face without you noticing. "Hi!" You swifted the counter dry in front of him. "What are you doing here? I thought you started work at 5." You started preparing his drink.

Joel slightly shrugged both shoulders, before removing his jacket and propping it on the stool next to him. "Couldn't sleep. How's your shift going?"

"Alright. A few drunk men making a mess, but that's mandatory."

You grabbed his glass and started pouring the honey coloured liquid.

"But you can put them in their place."

"I don't have a choice." You supported your body on your elbows, leaning on top of the counter in front of Joel. The cleavage on your shirt open and exposed to his sight, as you felt his eyes directly on it. You held his drink in your hand, giving it to him in a nonchalant movement. The alcohol probably getting to your head at this point of the night, just the slightest - you were sure the rest was your attraction to the older man.

You watched Joel's eyes on you, before he moved them up to your own. He coughed before speaking, in a way of disguising his actions. "Thank you."

You smiled, noticing his stunned tone. "You're welcome."

You would never have this behaviour at dinner nights of course. Here, where everyone was a little drunk and honestly, wouldn't remember parts of the night, you felt this urge to mess with him. You knew he kind of like you by the way he would move next to you, by the way he'd speak directly to you, the words he would use when no one else was hearing.

You held your place in front of Joel. Him taking a sip of his drink as the ice clinked when the glass turned on his hand. Eyes locked on yours. You noticed the bar emptying slowly, but surely.

"Would you mind giving me a ride home? I have to close the bar and by then it should be pretty late."

"It's alright sweetheart." he spoke after ungluing his mouth from the glass which was now resting on the counter, him looking at your smug expression, which earned a half upward smile from him, before looking at your eyes again.

"Thank you." You touched his arm in a thanking gesture, leaving your hand over it much more time than it was needed to. You never touched him. It even felt like a challenge, something that was forbidden to do. His skin was soft even though his figure looked rough from working everyday out on the cold weather on patrol duty.

His eyes looking down at your efforts, while he held his drink in front of his mouth the whole time. You eventually moved away from him, continuing your work.

You took care of the wet glasses, cleaning them, your back leaning against the back counter of the bar, facing Joel. Every few seconds your eyes would be on top of him, while you wiped dry the cups, moving your fingers in a slight but surely suggestive manner. You were not doing anything wrong. You were far away from Joel, just doing your work. Behind him, still in the distance, you saw a man approach the counter. Adam.

"Hey." He looked at you with a wide smile, hands on the counter, not noticing the man sat beside him right away. "Oh, hello Mr. Miller. How are you?"

Joel slightly raised his glass at the kid, hoping that would be enough of an answer to his question. His broad shoulders square, looking foward, miding his own business.

You also noticed the last group of people leaving their booth, putting down the money on top of the table for you to collect it.

"Hey, we're almost closing but can I make you anything?" You asked him.

"Hum, not really. I gathered you didn't get the message I left you back there." He looked over at Joel for a second, before continuing. "I wanted to know if you'd like to go to the movie night next friday? They're going to show that movie you wanted to see at the theatre."

Your mouth opened before you grabbed another glass to clean. "I'd love to, but I think I'm doing a night shift on friday. Sorry."

"I heard that movie is great." Joel's voice muffled from the glass on his hand.

You looked at him, watching his smug smile covered by it. He was doing this on purpose.

"I'm sure it is. But have fun, I think the group from the cafeteria wanted to go."

"Next time then." Adam tucked at the sleeve on his jacket. "Tomorrow I get off work around midday, if you're free for lunch."

You were free, but had no intention on agreeing on his plan. But for the love of God, you could not find a single excuse to get yourself out of this situation. You noticed the younger man's face, hesitant. As soon as Joel noticed your silence, he spoke, still facing his glass, now almost empty.

"Actually, I'm gonna need your help until later. We'll have lunch outside Jackson." Joel saved your night with a simple phrase.

Adam looked at Joel with a disappointed expression. "Well, alright. I'll come by and let you know when-"

"You should go home, kid." Joel interrumpted him. "We got an early shift tomorrow." He looked in his direction for the first time since he appeared uninvited.

"Yes, sir. I'll be there." He agreed, before turning to you. "Do you need a ride? It's awfully cold outside."

Joel put his drink down and got up. "Let's go kid." He grabbed him not so gently but still not roughly by the jacket, putting an arm around his shoulders, turning him away from you and guiding him through the front door. Once he put the young man outside, he closed the door behind him and spoke from a distance. "You're already closing right?"

"Thank you for that." You continued to tidy everything behind the counter, as Joel made his way to you across the bar. "Am I supposed to marry him?"

"If you really want to." He entered the space only reserved for staff. "I'll help you with that."

"You don't have to."

"I know, but it'll be a lot quicker and we can get you home."

You smiled. "Thanks, I'll just finish some things out in the back."

You ran to the kitchen, hoping to get a moment for yourself. Did Joel help you just out of good heart? That didn't seem like something he'd do. Maybe because you were his best friend's daughter - he was just trying to be nice.

After a while you heard his voice behind you, for the second time that night. "You know, he would be a nice husband. He can almost kill a few clickers without screaming if he puts his mind to it."

"Shut up." You laughed, throwing him a napkin you had at hand, still trying to finish your work duties.

Joel grabbed it in the air, laughing along with you. He scrunched it up in his hand, approaching you and almost connecting your bodies together - your back touching his front, as he placed the napkin on the table in front of you. Arms next to each side of you, hands placed on the edge of the table, where he supported his body's weight.

Your heart started beating and you swore Joel could hear it, because his behaviour was too bold to be natural.

"But you don't wanna marry him, do you?" His voice was low and you could feel the vibration from his tone on your back.

"No, not really." It seemed like he was waiting for something from you. A sign to act his next move, without being criticised. It almost felt like he was afraid. Afraid of you not feeling the same. Not wanting the same.

Your body tensed under his. His presence hovering above you. He was significantly bigger than you. Fuck, you thought. He smells like sandalwood and the whiskey you gave him earlier. You were almost intimidated to turn around, so you decided not to.

"So you're all shy now." You watched his hands shift on the table top, before moving them to your lower stomach.

Your heart felt like it would break free from your ribcage. You looked down at his hands holding you in place. They looked huge on your body.

You turned around suddenly, trying to play his game. Your hands behind your body. "What do you mean?" You put on your best innocent smile.

You saw him do the same. You noticed his eyes were the most gorgeous you'd ever seen when he raised his eyebrows before speaking, hands now on your waist. "I mean how you made me hard under that counter top back there."

You rolled your eyes in response, while you shrugged your shoulders. "Couldn't really notice. But I do now." Your hand flew to the bulge in his pants.

A laugh came creeping in his tone. "Careful, sweetheart."

"Why?" Your head up, looking at his face from underneath.

You both stared into each other's eyes with doubt on your expression. You decided to break the hesitation, gluing your lips to his. The taste of whiskey still prominent on his mouth, as he slid his tongue inside your mouth.

Your hands immediately on the back of his head. One of his on the lower of your back and the other on your ass, putting you on top of the table. You opened your legs to wrap them around him, Joel immediately erasing the gap between you both.

His hands running from the top of your back to the back of your thigh, holding it in place around his waist.

"You have no idea how long I waited to touch you." He spoke once you both pulled back for air.

"You're gonna relive your little fantasies or do something about it?" You asked as you started to unbotting your pants while looking his way.

He immediately replaced your hands with his, taking your jeans off in a swift motion. Your shirt followed quickly. He left your paneis still on, just putting them to the side before sliding his middle finger in your slick folds. He laughed as he felt how wet you were, before inserting his finger in you. You whimpered as you felt his rough calloused skin inside your cunt, moving up and down inside you. You moaned his name quietly, trying to hold on your excitement. It seemed like his knees gave in on him as soon as he heard his name coming from your lips.

"Say my name again." You heard him ask.

"Joel..." You moaned louder when he added one more finger inside you.

"Sounds so good coming from your pretty little mouth." His thumb rubbing soft circles on your clit as he kept fucking you with his fingers.

Your eyes rolled back in protest. The amount of pleasure building on your stomach was like something you've never felt before. He began to curl his fingers and you made a gutural sound with your throat, head falling back.

Joel got on his knees and placed both hands on each side of your pelvic area, holding both your legs between his biceps and forearms. You felt a void, missing the friction his fingers stimulated inside you.

"Please." You begged him.

"Please what, sweet girl?" His head between your legs, looking you up, mouth dangerously close to your core.

"Please, make me cum." Your voice came out almost in a whisper. But it was more than enough for Joel.

His lips connecting to your core, kissing it gently first, focusing on your clit. You were a mess of whimpers under his touch as he gently made out with your cunt, visibily holding himself not to get out of his pants and fuck you right then and there. Sucking on your clit, he then moved on to your entrance, sliding his tongue inside you, licking your core from bottom to top.

He was good. Joel kept his hands on your lower stomach, trying to hold you still as you moved under his touch. It was unnerving the amount of pleasure he provided you with. You never once had your body react like this.

You looked down at him, entertained in his own little paradise. He was truly intoxicated by the scent of your skin, the feel of your core, the wetness you had started to drip a few minutes ago.

He kept his rhythm steady and intense at the same time.

"Fuck." You kept moaning as you looked down at his face between your legs. Every now and then he looked up at you and the tight knot on your stomach would grow. The look of lust in his eyes enough to make you cum. "Joel, I'm- I'm-"

"I know sweet girl, you're so close." You felt the vibrations from his voice on your pussy. "Best fucking thing I've ever tasted in my life."

That did it for you. Your orgasm loosen and spread through your entire body, your legs shaking as Joel held them tighter, keeping his tongue on you, making you enjoy your high. Your head was thrown back, your hands behind your back on top of the table, supporting the weight of your now numb body. You kept your eyes closed for a while, feeling your body tensen up and resting for a while.

You felt one of Joel's hand grabbing you by the lower of your back, helping you with supporting your body weight as he noticed you couldn't do it yourself.

"So fucking beautiful." He spoke while unbuttoning and dropping down his jeans with his spare hand. With his help now, you could use your hands. You took his flannel off, before ripping his underwear down his thighs, his lenght shot right up, hard as a rock, bouncing on its own weight.

You felt your cunt pulse once again, still sensitive from your previous orgasm. One of your hands held his cock, pulling him closer to you. You heard Joel moan as he felt your hand moving up and down him.

"You like that." You stated. Not even a question. You were letting him know you knew. With your legs slightly up, around his waist, you positioned his length on your entrance slowly, making him eager for your warmth.

Once you got his tip inside you, he couldn't control himself, pushing his cock inside you slowly and deeply. It was out of your control now.

"Fuck, Joel." You screamed as you felt him stretch you wide.

He panted above you. "Shit..." he mumbled to himself, as he looked down, seeing himself dissapear inside you with each thrust. "You feel so fucking good."

Once you got used to his girth, you felt Joel fasten his pace. He was hitting your g-spot every single time he slapped his hips on your ass. The clapping sounds making him go feral. Holding one of your legs up with his arm for better positioning, Joel kissed you again with urgency. You left your mouth hang open against his when he once again fasten his pace, letting him know you were enjoying it by letting a whimper come out every time he thrusted inside you.

"Prettiest fucking thing. Let me see your pretty face when you cum." He mumbled against your open mouth.

You felt your second orgasm creep on you. His words took you to the absolute edge. His low voice making them feel like velvet. It didn't take long for you to feel that explosion of pleasure inside you. Your whole body shaking for the second time. Your ecstasy face putting him on the edge.

He quickly pulled himself out of you, letting his warm release hit your chest, running down your tummy after a few seconds of kissing each other. You wouldn't let go. You physically couldn't get enough of each other. His hand still grabbing the back of your neck, to keep you close to him. Your hands tangled on his hair. Both of your breathings slowing down as a few minutes passed just making out in an endearing way.

Your foreheads glued to each other as you panted together.

"Please come pick me up more often after closing shifts."You laughed and he followed.

"I'll do anything you want me to."

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midnightmah07 · 5 months

Text

voice claim: rin - fruits basket

Character info:

Isabelle is twisted from Belle, she's an RSA student!

Isabelle is the princess of a very small kingdom in the Shaftlands called Roseneuve (inspired by 19th century France and victorian/regency era England). Her dad, despite being king, loves to create things and study, so he always encourages her to study as much as she can. She's a bookworm and, despite being royalty, she's the youngest of the family, — third in line to the throne — so she's often teased by her sisters about how much time she prefers spending with her books than with real people.

Isabelle is kind and warm as often are RSA students, but different from them she can be really sassy, and doesn't stay quiet when people undermine her or her friends; speaking of which, surprisingly, Isabelle doesn't have many friends. Isabelle’s father and kingdom are known for being very creative and for being ahead of their time in the sense of improvement and inventions. Most people think she's a bit weird because of how much time she spends studying/reading books because of wanting to live up to the reputation of her dad so she's often labeled as the weirdo of the school — people don't bully her though, it's still RSA + they're not going to mess with a princess.

Also, Isabelle is the housewarden of Rosantée, a made up dorm based on Beauty and the Beast that me and my friend @viilpstick created. She got the position by dueling the current housewarden in her second year, wanting the position so people would stop avoiding her — while it did help and eventually she became respected in her dorm, at least in the beginning it backfired because people were forced to talk to her and didn't come to her because they wanted to.

Fun facts: Leona and Isabelle have chess matches with one another ever since they've become somewhat tolerable with each other's presence, and they've been on a tie ever since.

Basic info:

Height: 155cm

Age: 18 years old

Grade: junior (3rd year)

Nicknames: Isa ( by Adeline, Leona and friends in general), mouse (by Leona), white rose (by Perse)

Birthday: November 13th

Dominant hand: both (ambidextrous)

Favorite food + drink: pudding and tea

Best subject: history of magic

Club: RSA's equestrian club

Hobbies: reading books, playing chess

Homeland: Roseneuve

Unique Magic: Inner Beauty - allows her to read a specific aspect of a person's life, whichever one she chooses, (ex: their unique magic, their name, a certain part of their past etc) but it can only be done once. This only add to the fact of the students wanting to avoid her.

Relationship dynamics:

Leona Kingscholar: Isabelle and Leona were promised to each other a year before Isabelle enrolled at RSA to increase the better relationships between the two kingdoms (in other words, because Isabelle's kingdom is small, they're interested in it to gain a bigger, much stronger ally, and in Sunset Savannah's end they'd appreciate the amount of technological advances Isabelle's kingdom has). They hated the idea of an arranged marriage but they didn't have much of a say in the topic, and while Isabelle decided to deal with it the best she could so her country could prosper, Leona didn't really make any effort to get to know her at first nor to try and make the engagement something at least tolerable. Leona made an awful first impression to Isabelle, and ever since their first meeting they've been butting heads, but after a while of spending time together (forced time, may I add) and getting to know each other, they warmed up to each other and slowly fell in love.

Neige: Isabelle and Neige met each other right at her first year in school and he was one of the few people to actually accept her. She had a crush on him for a while, but she was rejected + she knew she wouldn't be able to break her engagement with Leona so she gave up. They're really good friends and always are seen together.

Chenya: Isabelle gave up trying to understand him a long time ago. At this point his weird manner of speaking and the way he just makes his head visible doesn't phase her one bit, she's used to him. Also, she's able to speak his full name with a straight face.

Malleus Draconia: they've known about each other since they're both royalty and because of Malleus's reputation, + him and Adeline have a will they won't they thing going on. Malleus and Isabelle have a mutual understanding, since most people tend to avoid them due to being scared and/or finding them weird. She tries to invite him to tea every once in a while.

Adeline Rosique (oc by @viilpstick <33) : Adeline and Isabelle are very close friends, and I believe Isabelle admires Adeline in a way, and she has this big sister vibe to her. She also appreciates how Adeline didn't really care for how beautiful she looks nor about the rumors and stuff people talk about her. Adeline is also Isabelle's vice housewarden and her most trusted friend in the school other than Neige.

Character reference:

Character cards:

Dorm card (Rosantée)

#💙! isabelle #twst #oc x canon #twisted wonderland #oc #twst oc #twisted wonderland oc

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mypoisonedvine · 2 years

Note

A part three of trying with Joseph talking about his baby girl at a convention >>>>

ahhh of course I have to!!

trying (iii) ~ joseph quinn x reader

part i | part ii

word count: 3.1k

warnings: implied smut (18+ only), basically just fluff, touch of angstiness and hurt/comfort

“So, you’ve been to this convention before, quite a few years ago, but something’s changed since last time,” the interviewer beamed, and Joe nodded in anticipation. “You’re a father!”

“Yes, that’s the latest development,” he smiled as the audience applauded and cheered briefly in recognition.

“How old’s your daughter now?” she asked.

“Um, she’s four and a half,” he recalled, “the ‘half’ is really important to her so I’m mentioning it. She’s really incredible— very smart, which she gets from her mother, and a total drama queen, which she gets from me.” There was a pause as the interviewer laughed politely, before Joe continued while reaching up to hold the back of his neck. “And, actually, I’ll take the time now to tell you all that we’ve got our second on the way.”

The applause was stronger this time; the interviewer seemed to get especially excited. “Oh! That’s incredible, congratulations!”

“Thank you,” Joe mumbled through his smile.

“Do you know yet if it’s a boy or a girl?”

“Well, the first time ‘round we waited until she was born to find out, which was nice and all, but I think we were both a little stressed out about that much surprise this time— so yes, we do know,” he nodded.

“Aaaaand maybe you’ll tell us?” the interviewer pressed. That was when Joe turned his head to look at you, standing just off-stage.

Can I? he mouthed to you. You smiled and gave him a nod of approval. “Yes, alright, I will,” he decided, and a hush of anticipation befell the crowd. “We’re having a boy.”

He looked at you again, smiling wide, as everyone reacted enthusiastically. While there was something undeniably strange about thousands of strangers applauding your unborn child, you certainly appreciated their support— and hey, who can say that they were that popular before they were even born?

“How does your daughter feel about that?” the interviewer wondered.

“Oh, she’s ecstatic,” Joe laughed, “she’s actually rather upset that the baby can’t sleep in her room. I’m not sure she’s quite put together that this is not just, like, some highly advanced babydoll toy that’s just for her to play with. But yes, she’s looking forward very much to being a big sister.”

“That’s so sweet,” the interviewer cooed, “I’m sure she’ll be great.”

“We’re hoping so!” Joe agreed.

“Forgive me if this is a personal question, but I know it’s something on a lot of minds— I’m curious how you balance work with parenthood,” the woman wondered.

“Well, it takes a village,” he began, “and my wife’s sacrificed a lot to be the mother of my kids, so that effort is greatly appreciated, to say the least— we’ve both had to turn things down to be able to stay home, but we also have a fabulous nanny who provides extra support for us when we’re both working or traveling for some kind of something. This is going to be my last hurrah for a while before we both hunker down and just prepare for the new baby— the plan is to be, just, home all the time until he’s at least six months.”

“That should be nice! A break from working just to be with the family,” she smiled.

“It will be very nice, yes,” he agreed.

Joe had this incredible ability to make James laugh. His favorite way to do so was to shove his face into James’ belly and pretend like he was about to eat him— sounds stupid, sure, but it made James squeal and scream happily like nothing else. He would kick his little roly-poly legs around and grab at his dad’s hair or beard, without much luck. When he felt like mixing it up, Joe might grab one of James’ arms or legs and pretend to gnaw on one of those for a while; you couldn’t understand what James thought was so funny about it, but you didn’t need to. You could watch them together for hours.

“Look at you, Daddy’s big boy,” Joe was singing some made-up song to him now, bouncing him around on the floor, holding him under his arms so he could make him pretend to dance.

“You know, he might not enjoy being treated like a ragdoll,” you warned your husband, “or your horrible musical improv.”

“Nah, he loves it, see?” Joe insisted, showing you James’ completely neutral face. It was cute, though, the way his cheeks and neck were all squished up together from the way Joe was holding him. You snorted and sat down beside them on the floor. “Big boy Jamie’s six months old today…”

James’ eyes stayed on your face, and eventually he reached for you and Joe made a little pouty face. “Oh, you want me to save you from Daddy and his cruel, forced theater?” you laughed as you took him out of Joe’s hands, lifting him up as high as you could— he was getting fucking heavy already— before bringing him down for a kiss on the cheek. “Poor thing.”

“Mummy’s boy,” Joe frowned at him, sticking his tongue out and crinkling his nose. James clung onto you and Joe reached over to pet his head for a moment before Hope came running in from her bedroom.

“Daddy, look!” she beamed as she held up a drawing she’d made.

“Oh, wow!” he gasped as he admired it, gently pulling it from her hand so he could hold it steady and actually see what he was looking at. “What is it?”

“It’s a giraffe!” she explained. “But it’s pink!”

“I see it now— that’s the neck, right?” he pointed at a massive scribble. “Giraffes have long necks, huh…”

“Yeah!” she agreed excitedly. “And that’s its tail— and those are the spots— and those are its wings.”

“Er—” Joe began.

“My giraffe can fly,” Hope clarified.

“Oh, well, then yeah, he’ll need those,” Joe hummed.

“Daddy, she’s a girl!” Hope frowned. “A boy giraffe couldn’t be pink.”

“Yes he could,” Joe insisted quickly. “He could be any colour. I mean, I think a real giraffe would just be… giraffe-coloured… but being pink wouldn’t make him a girl.”

“Oh,” she sighed.

“But, this one’s a girl, good to know,” he nodded, “does she have a name?”

“Hmm… Blob,” she blurted out.

“Okay… Blob the flying, pink giraffe— should we put her on the fridge?”

“No, I want you to keep her,” Hope decided, “when you go away.”

Your heart twisted, and you saw the look on Joe’s face: the look of a man wondering if he’s failing as a father just because he has to leave for work for three months. He opened his mouth, but didn’t say anything, and you knew he was too busy going through his own crisis to notice that Hope was still waiting for affirmation. “It looks great, sweetie,” you informed her, “I’m sure Daddy will love to keep that with him on his trip.”

“Y-yeah,” he agreed, coming back to reality, “I will.”

He scooted a little closer to where she was standing, holding her head as he kissed her temple.

“You know I’m gonna miss you, right, lovebug?” he asked. She nodded, puffing up her cheeks a bit. “And Mummy’s gonna bring you to see me a few weeks after I leave.” She nodded again.

“Are you excited for flying on a plane?” you prompted her, and she smiled. “You haven’t been on a plane since you were little— not much older than your little brother is now.”

“Is little brother coming too?” she asked.

“Yeah!” you answered, pulling James off your chest for a second to look at his sweet, chubby face. “Yes, you’re gonna go on a plane to see Daddy! Yay!”

Joe was still a little out of it that night, laying his head on your chest as you read a book in bed. Again, you knew better than to press him on it, but you were having trouble focusing on the pages in front of you when you were just waiting for him to say what was on his mind.

“Babe?” he finally said, sitting up a bit so he could lay beside you and look at your face. You sighed with relief, setting the book aside and meeting his gaze.

“Hm?” you replied, pretending to have no idea what was coming.

“Should I go?” he asked— okay, to be fair, you hadn’t expected that, exactly. You thought he was gonna say that he felt bad about going, or that he wanted you to bring the kids more than once during his time filming in New York. You never thought he’d really consider pulling out of a project this close to production.

“Wh— of course!” you said quickly, sitting up a bit more yourself. “Joe, c’mon, this is a great film, it’s worth it.”

“Is any film worth leaving the kids here?” he groaned, falling back onto the pillow. “Three months… and you can only visit once. I mean, that’s a long time for Jamie. This is far from Hope’s first go-round with it, but will he even, like, remember me when I get back?”

“Don’t say that,” you frowned, rolling onto your side so you could rest your head on his shoulder. “Joe, you’re his father— he’s not going to forget you.”

He sighed— that sigh he made when he knew you were right but was wanting to be upset about it for a bit longer.

“Hey,” you breathed, reaching up to his face which you gently turned to look at you. “We’re gonna miss you. But we’ll be just fine… and we’ll be here when you get back, same as you left us.”

Shutting his eyes, he let you stroke his cheek and then scratch his beard a bit— which made him scrunch his nose up slightly. “Don’t wanna leave you at all,” he mumbled, “that’s my point.”

“It’s work,” you insisted, “it’s part of life. You get to be home all day when you’re not filming, how many jobs let you do that? It kills me when I have to leave, too, but it’s something we have to do.”

Joe grabbed you and pulled you into a tight hug, taking a deep breath beside your cheek as you returned his embrace. “Just… call me as much as you can, alright?” he requested quietly.

“Of course,” you agreed, holding him tighter.

“Fuck, m’gonna miss you too,” he groaned. “As if being away from my babies isn’t bad enough— now I’ve gotta leave my woman here all alone, too.”

You snorted a laugh as you pulled away from the hug. “Your woman? What happened to Mister Feminist who was explaining to Hope that her giraffe could be pink and male?”

“He’s still right here!” Joe laughed, raising his hands to his chest defensively. “And his woman’s gonna be so lonely without him around—”

“Shut up,” you groaned with a smile as you rolled away, but he slipped up behind you to be your big spoon.

“Don’t deny it,” he cooed, kissing your neck as he spoke, “you’re mine, love— and I’m yours, just as much. There— am I a feminist again?”

“Hmm, maybe,” you sighed, “but if you were a really great feminist you would… I dunno, go down on your wife or something.”

“Yeah?” he purred, kissing lower down until he reached your shoulder, guiding you to lay on your back. “A little goodbye gift, something to remember me by?”

“No, this is just for your gender equality points,” you explained. “All of your come inside me afterwards is what I’m gonna remember you by.”

He growled playfully and kissed you; you weaved your hands into his hair, and when he tried to start making his way south a little too soon, you whined quietly and pulled him back up to kiss you more. “Huh?” he mumbled.

“Not yet,” you breathed, and he obliged as he slowed down a bit— kissing you a little softer, pressing his body against yours. “I love you,” you reminded him.

“I love you too,” he returned. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

You told Hope a thousand times not to run ahead of you, but guess what she did the second she laid eyes on Joseph, coming out of his trailer to greet you?

“Daddy!” she yelled as she ran straight into his arms, and he picked her up as he peppered kisses all over her face.

“Hey, lovebug,” he returned, and as you walked closer with James on your hip, you realized his eyes were watering. He rested his hand on the back of Hope’s head, holding her close and tight; you hadn’t intended on crying, but when you saw him get choked up…

He didn’t set her down for quite some time, until she was wiggling too much for him to hold anymore. James was reaching for him already, trying to lean out of your arms as if he didn’t understand that he would fall straight onto backlot asphalt if he got his way. Joe didn’t take him from you though— instead, he gave him a kiss in the head and then embraced you. You slipped one arm around his torso while still balancing James; he held you for a while, even after Hope had started tugging on the leg of his jeans to try to get his attention. When he did pull back, he cradled your cheek in one hand and kissed you— really kissed you, like he was a soldier who’d been off to war for six months and not just an actor who’d been filming in New York for six weeks.

You had to really be careful not to get too into it and lose your hold on James, but wow… it made you a little weak in the knees.

“Woah, slow down, Quinn,” a voice interrupted, and your cheeks warmed as you pulled away and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, looking at one of Joe’s costars standing nearby. “Better be careful ‘fore you end up with another one of those,” he warned, pointing at James, and you laughed.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Joe chuckled, “darling— this is Luke, we’ve been working together a lot for the past few weeks.”

“Which means I’ve been hearing about you, oh, a ton,” Luke grinned.

“Nice to meet you,” you nodded at Luke.

“And who are these two adorable little creatures?” he asked as he looked down at the children.

“Here’s Hope,” Joe announced proudly as he mussed with her hair, “and that’s my son, James.”

“How old are you, miss?” Luke asked Hope.

“Five!” she smiled.

“Oh! Must be getting ready to start school soon, then,” he assumed, and she nodded.

“She’s really looking forward to it,” you told him, and he looked up at you for a moment.

“Ah, I’m sure,” he agreed, “school’s the best.”

Luke was only the first of many cast and crew members to come over and dote on your kids for a while, and then to ask you all kinds of small talk questions while Joe just waited for however long they needed until he could shoo them away and have you all to himself.

“Guess they’re all excited to meet my family,” he mumbled to you as you both watched Hope get a ‘makeover’ from the make-up artists (which was mostly just glitter, everywhere), “I talked about you all so much.”

“So, it’s your fault that they’ve mobbed us?” you pressed, and he laughed quietly before giving you a kiss on your shoulder while he rubbed your other arm.

“Good news is, I’m sure they’ll be happy to babysit later,” he explained, “while we… talk, alone.”

“Talk, huh?” you smirked.

“Yeah,” he whispered, leaning in closer. “We can talk about that picture you sent me last night, little tease…”

He nipped at your ear and you giggled. “Just something to hold you over before I got on the flight… in case you forgot how much I missed you.”

“Hold me over? Drove me crazy,” he sighed.

“How crazy?” you wondered.

“You’ll see,” he promised— and what a promising promise that was.

“One more, just one more?” he whined. “Darling, please—”

“You’ve already got two!” you reminded him, crossing your arms so hard that you made yourself bounce slightly on the mattress. “Two perfect kids who get along great already— we could mess up the whole ecosystem if we have a third.”

“But I want one,” he pouted. “I miss having a baby.”

“You miss that?” you laughed. “Being stuck at home, not working, burping and changing and feeding—”

“Yes!”

“They’ve only just gotten old enough for you to stop being upset every time you have to leave for a while,” you noticed, “now you’re planning to start all over?”

“But…” he mumbled, resting his chin on your lap as he blinked up at you, “but I want one…”

You rolled your eyes. “You already said that. You are so spoiled.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, straightening his back but still kneeling on the floor. “Yeah, I am spoiled. I have this amazing family, two beautiful kids and a sexy wife a-and a… hamster…”

You snorted. Hope’s pet hamster was a handful… literally, he filled about one palm, but he was also the latest little devil in the house, right after James who was going through a slightly destructive phase in his toddler years.

“And I just think it would be perfect if we had one more,” he decided.

“And I just think you need a puppy or something to keep you occupied,” you suggested instead.

“Nah, puppies are cute, but they never learn to talk or grow to resent you, where’s the fun in that?” he laughed, though he suddenly got a little more serious as he stood up straight and gently pushed you back onto the bed, climbing over you. “I bet if I ask really nicely, you’ll let me have another baby.”

“I’ll take that bet,” you grinned.

He kissed you, not for very long. “Please.”

“No.”

He kissed you again— longer, harder. “Please.”

“No.”

He kissed your neck, hungry and sloppy as you purred and spread your legs instinctively. “Please, love…” he whispered.

You shivered. “N-no…”

“I want another baby, darling,” he cooed, “I wanna get you pregnant again, I want my child inside you.”

You whimpered as he pressed his body down on yours. “Joe,” you breathed.

“One more baby,” he said soothingly, kissing down your chest, “one more precious little baby, all ours…”

“Joe,” you said again, halfway to a moan.

“Please?”

He looked up at you from where he’d stopped his path of kisses between your breasts, not just waiting for an answer— waiting for a yes. Cocky little shit. “Oh god,” you groaned as you shut your eyes, “I swear, Joseph, I’m not naming it Agatha…”

“Yes!”

#joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn rpf #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn smut

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