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getitoutofmymindwrites · 1 month

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The crushing | joel miller x f!reader, 5.2k

Summary: This is the story of a man who had everything in the palm of his hand and traded it all for an empty space in the hollow of his heart. Or This story follows Joel, two to three years after he cheated on his wife.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, ANGST, cheater!Joel, Joel's POV, this is NOT “The Falling” from Joel's POV, brief mention of smut (p i v) but nothing too graphic (I think), self-loathing, depression, therapy, flashbacks and memories from the past, alcohol consumption, Tommy being a supportive brother (eventually), as always let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Ok, so, Joel gave me a whiplash on this one, he was either staring at me through the screen giving me nothing, or he was mumbling unintelligibly in my ear while I was trying to keep up with him. It started out as a final chapter, but I really think that this part should be Joel's POV and the next and -probably- final one should be the resolving, however that may come. I guess it can be read as a standalone, but if you're interested, it's a sequel to “The Falling”. I edited it seven thousand times because I kept adding things along the way, so I hope it all makes some sense and there are not too many mistakes.. Thank you for taking the time to read anything I write! Love you all! 🥰😘

P.S.: I just wanted to take a moment and let you know that I really appreciate everyone who has read, liked, commented, reblogged and asked about “The Falling”. I honestly didn't think a single soul would take the time to read that kind of story. It means more than you know and I didn’t take lightly how close to home this fic hit for some people; yet you’ve given it a chance, sharing some of your own experiences with me. I love you all, take care and I'll see you -hopefully- in the comments! 🥹🫂

Dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics

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...need your reassurance...

...your only focus…

...for the foreseeable future...

He did make it his sole focus. Because of course, he closed the deal, even after he left that damn table like a madman. He still found a way to get what he wanted. That's the man he was. And he wasn't sure if he hated himself for it or not. But self-loathing was a daily occurrence now, so one more reason added to the list was nothing he couldn't handle.

For two years he would wake up every day, is it called waking up if he doesn’t sleep at all?, he would work his ass off, he would go home, he would sink into despair and then he would start all over again the next day. A vicious cycle consisting of 730 days in a row. The deafening silence within the walls of the house was excruciating, the loneliness was unbearable. Even the light penetrating through the windows seemed different than when you were there with him, a dullness surrounding every corner of the now barely lived in space.

You. He hadn’t seen your face in 730 days. He hadn’t smelled your scent or touched your soft skin. He barely listened to your voice anymore, any form of unavoidable communication, you preferred to be conducted by the lawyers, or via text messages, at the most. At the 731st one, he finally knew, something had to change. He couldn’t repeat another day, like all the others that came and went. He simply couldn’t.

Tommy suggested that therapy might help Joel, a few times, but he refused every one of them. Maria was keeping her distance, her place was delicate, being his brother’s wife but also his wife’s best friend. Surprisingly, she was the one who finally got through to him.

“Are you gonna stay a recluse for the rest of your miserable life, then?” Maria wonders, switching her gaze between Joel and the dining room. Everything was untouched, as you left them when you moved out, but the place felt empty, depressing, probably mirroring Joel’s existence.

Joel sighs, closing his eyes briefly. “I’m not a recluse..”, he snarls through his teeth, rolling his eyes at her. He was more than eager to be done with the dinner his sister-in-law insisted on having in his house and be left alone, in his natural state. Alone. Infuriating woman.

“What do you call that?”, Maria persists, goddamn lawyer to the bone.

“What?!” Joel spits back pissed off, looking at his brother next, for support.

“That!” she gestures around his body and his surroundings. “The way you go on for the past two years! Either get over it or do something about it!”, she doesn’t hold back, even when Tommy proposes a gentler approach. Yeah, look where it got you, is the paid answer, so Tommy steps back, shaking his head and raising his hands up in surrender.

“You’ve got him on a leash, hm?”, Joel jokes absentmindedly, “Can you breathe alright, Tommy boy?”, earning himself a hard glare from Maria.

“Maybe the wrong Miller is on a leash..” Maria mutters, causing Tommy’s eyes to widen in horror.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”, Joel retorts doing a double back at her.

“Means that freedom is for those who can bear it.”, Maria throws her napkin on her plate and leaves the room. Joel remains silent, pondering the meaning of her words. It would be a long time before he understood what she meant.

Therapy was hard.

Therapy was hard because he had to do it for himself. He had to concentrate on himself. He thought, being the contractor that he was, that he would walk into the room, get the answers he needed and fix his marriage, just as he rearranged the bricks and the wood and the steel on the construction sites.

But this wasn’t about his marriage. His marriage and the way it crumbled down was the aftermath, he came to learn. It was the outcome of insecurities, selfishness, lack of communication, ungratefulness.

He got it all wrong. Everything. Every little thing. He had to rewire his brain and change every point of view he was holding onto. Honesty. Honesty was the key.

“Why didn’t you reach out to your wife after that night?”, his therapist insists.

“I respected her boundaries.”, Joel was quick to respond.

“And what were those?”

“She didn’t want to see me.”

“Did she say that?”

“No-, I mean-, the way she left that night, she didn’t say much in general. But she blocked my number, so.”, he shrugs in defence.

“So, how can you be so sure that she didn't want to see you? Even if you're right, it doesn't mean that she didn't expect a reaction from you, or that you weren't allowed to try, if that’s what you wanted.”

“Why would she? I upset her, she needed time to think, work things out.”, Joel explains.

The therapist swipes her fingers over her lips, contemplating her approach. “Joel, you walk into your bedroom, into what is supposed to be a safe place and you see your partner with another person in an intimate moment. How does that make you feel? Just say the first words that come to mind.”, his therapist changes the point of view.

Joel shudders just at the thought of it. You, naked, flushed, lips parted and swollen, skin sweaty, breaths short and pupils blown wide, coming for anyone other than him. It would utterly destroy him. “Furious, pissed, betrayed, heartbroken.. I think I would lose it, if I’m honest.” he admits instantly, in his haste to throw the abomination of this image from his thoughts.

“I see. But in her case, you think your wife was just upset?”

“No, of course not.” Joel slightly frowns, shaking his head.

“Do you think she felt all those feelings that you just described to me?”

“I believe so, yes.”, god this is so hard.

“You believe so?” the therapist pushes, again.

Joel’s nostrils flare from the sharp inhale, “I know so.”

“So, she wasn’t just upset.” the therapist concludes and Joel agrees without meeting her eyes, “No, she wasn’t.”

Over time, Joel came to realize that his choice of words was a subconscious attempt to diminish the seriousness of his actions.

“You said in a previous session that you gave space to your wife to work things out.”

“Yeah, it was only fair.”, Joel confirms.

“So, it was hard for you to give her that space?”

“Yes, of course, I missed her every day.”

“Was that a constant in your relationship?”, the therapist wonders.

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

“How did you work things out as a couple, before? I assume you had difficult times as partners, no?”

“Nothing major to be honest, my wife was a very calm and reasonable person. If anything occurred she would talk to me about it.”

“And how did you respond to that?”

“Uh, I was there to listen, we always found a solution together as a couple.”

“Hmhm, so, what changed this time?”

“What do you mean?” He knew exactly what she meant.

“Why didn’t you talk to her? Communicate with her? Maybe help her see your side of things, like you did before, find your way out of this together, as partners.” his therapist explains. “And even before the infidelity, did you let her know that something was bothering you, that you felt differently?”

"I didn't feel differently about my wife. My feelings for her never changed.", he immediately corrects her. "My love for her was never the problem," he confesses and it's the first time since his therapy began that he's shared something so personal, so private.

“But there was a problem, something was wrong if you felt the need to be intimate with another woman. So, why did you keep that from her?”

Joel opens his mouth already knowing he does not have an answer. Or that he doesn't want to give one. He shakes his head, raising his brows in a silent admission that he can’t answer that. Or he won't. His gaze is fixed on a loose thread on the fabric of the couch, his fingers keep picking on it.

“Joel?”

“I- I don’t know what you want me to say, I don’t know.” he keeps shaking his head. He can’t answer that. He won't.

He was so angry when he left the session that day. He was so angry at you. He was angry at your honesty, your clarity, your courage to have a mind of your own and to speak it freely, knowing full well that probably no one else shared the same opinions as you did. That's what he loved most about you, but now he hated it.

“Own it, Joel. Own what you have done. At least that way it will be worth something. Otherwise it was all for nothing.”

This was one of the last things you said to him on the phone, while he was trying to persuade you to change your mind about the divorce. You were always so brave about those matters. Matters of the heart, of integrity. He remembers you always talking about things that he found admirable but utopian. Easy in theory, hard in practice.

“I need to be able to sleep at night. I need to own my decisions; not because I’m always right, far from it, but at least I know I’m being honest with myself. And that matters.” he recalls one of your late-night talks.

You usually found it easier to share your most vulnerable thoughts once you were thoroughly fucked and satiated. When Joel held you in his arms, your breaths almost shared over the same pillow, your scents and your fluids mixed together.

“We’re all imperfect beings, flawed; we all feel embarrassed when we fuck up,” you continue, “it’s hard to admit our mistakes to others, I get that. But deep down we always know what we’re doing and why we’re doing it. Admitting it only helps us to be present in our lives.”

“Be present?”, Joel seems fascinated by the way your mind weaves your thoughts together into deeply rooted beliefs.

“Yes, my love, there's no greater freedom than to live your life truthfully.” you smile at him, softly. Your sleepy eyes roam his face affectionately. Your fingertips caress his jawline, your thumb pressing lightly against the bare patch of his beard. He can feel your devotion pouring from your fingers and sinking into his skin at that moment.

“That’s one of my greatest fears, you know. Living my life in ignorance, in a lie.”, you whisper your deepest insecurity against his soft lips. His hold on you tightens as he rolls you onto your back, nestling his hips between your welcoming thighs. You are safe in these arms. His arms. You surrender to him, body and soul. You can feel his growing erection pressing between your folds, already wet from your combined releases. He tenderly brushes his lips against yours and slowly licks his way into your parted mouth, as he intertwines his fingers with yours. He enters you in one fluid, slow thrust, his warm exhale cooling your wet lips. “Then let me give you something real.”

Thinking back to those moments, Joel couldn't reconcile himself to the fact that he was the one who had brought that fear of yours to life. What broke him was that it was not a lie. Your life together had not been a lie. He loved you. In fact, he was burning up for you. He was a man of control, but not with you. Never with you. You consumed his every thought; being around you for too long made his lungs constrict in pain, begging for a deep breath. Sometimes he was worried sick that if he completely let himself love you like he needed to, he would suffocate you. He loved you. And it killed him that his actions suggested otherwise.

But at some point he had to be honest with himself. He was just protecting his ego. He was trying to get the upper hand out of a shitty, compromising situation. He wasn't being thoughtful, he was being selfish. He was biding his time. He thought the longer he left ‘it’ untouched, the less it would hurt when the inevitable time of confrontation came. He was scared out of his mind that he would lose you forever. No second chances, no redemption, no reconciliation.

No lingering scent on his pillow as your hair pools there, under his chin, as you nestle your face between his neck and shoulder, breathing him in. No laughter through the enormous house, damn, why did he build it so big; you never clarified what the disbelief in your eyes meant when he said he built this house for you, while he pulls you up on your feet for a silly cowboy dance.

No more gentle touches, no more noses brushing together as a silent goodbye in the kitchen before you rush off to work. No more turning around just before you open the door to leave, running to him like a little girl, giving him quick, hungry pecks on the lips while he laughs on your mouth, squeezes your butt cheek and slaps it playfully to say goodbye. Later, baby, he would promise you, his teeth nipping at your earlobe and he could feel your skin crawling with anticipation.

No more I love yous, either breathed, either whispered, either panted, as he makes a home for himself inside your warmth.

When did he fuck you last? He used to have you every day. You craved it every day. You craved him. Why did he stop telling you he loved you every chance he got? When was the last time you said it?

A week before that fateful night, when you touched him longingly, aching for him to touch you back and he told you he had work to do, he wasn’t a teenager anymore. Why the hell did he say that? Why did he sit there and watch the light fading from your eyes? I love you, you said with a sigh against his temple and walked out of his office defeated. Why did you say that? Did you know? Did you suspect? Why didn’t you fight him? You should have said something, anything, pushed him, punched him in the chest, woken him up. Would he have woken up? Or did he need that to come to his senses? Does he have to fall? Does this falling ever stop? Does he have to let you go? Will you come back to him? Does he deserve you?

Days blurred seamlessly into one another. Joel drifted further and further away from everyone. The house haunted him, all the progress he was making within the therapy walls was dissipating once he stepped inside the cold space of his empty house. Leaving the confines of it was his first thought in the morning, while he hurriedly dressed to go to his office far earlier than necessary and his last when he closed his eyes, as he laid his weary limbs on the couch, chasing still your now long gone scent on its fabric, knowing another sleepless night was his only companion until the first rays of sunlight hit the floor-to-ceiling windows to announce the beginning of another day.

People at work tiptoed around him, not knowing how to act. It was as if he was there, but not really. He was focused solely on the Marks project, mechanically going through board meetings, paperwork and supervising the construction site. He. Just. Wasn’t. There.

Joel, will you please sign the papers?

He simply stares at the text message for a good full minute, his thumbs hovering over the screen of his phone. This was one of the rare occasions you had initiated communication with him, always about the progress of the divorce.

No, no, I won’t, the little toddler in him screams, stamping his little feet on the ground.

The papers are not ready.

Joel texts back. He keeps it simple, frightened he might not get an answer back.

Joel, we both know they are. I don’t want any of your assets or your money; this is an easy signature, please.

An easy signature? You think he cares about the houses, or the cars, or the money?

You know I can’t accept that. The house is yours and so is a good part of the money.

The point was to share this house together, Joel, don’t you think us splitting up kind of defeats the purpose? And what on earth makes you think I would ever want to go back in there?

So, there’s nothing I can do to make this easier for you?

Easier? You think money or property can make up for what you’ve done?

Of course not, I wasn’t implying anything like that. Just wanna do something for you, anything.

Can you turn back time?

Of course, he can't. So, he doesn't know what to say to that. He just keeps staring at the screen, lost in thought. After 2 minutes another text follows.

You know I can’t..

Sign the papers. Please.

“Is there anything in particular you want to talk about today, or should I take the lead?”

“Actually I’ve been thinking a lot about that night.”, Joel suggests for the first time. He usually lets the therapist decide where to steer the conversation, then simply refuses to elaborate until he feels ready to talk.

“What about it?”, he shifts his gaze from the window to the direction of her voice.

“I should probably rephrase that. I’m always thinking about that night, repeating it in my head again and again and I’m troubled by something I realized.”

His therapist nods to signal that she's listening.

“Why did she just leave? The more I think about it, the more it doesn’t make sense to me. She just left. No shouting, no breaking things, no attacking either me or-”, her. “Why she didn’t stay? Why she didn’t insist that I leave? She was just- so quiet.”

The therapist smiles in recognition of Joel's near breakthrough. They were beginning to get somewhere, his empathy nudging him under the surface.

“I'm really glad you mentioned that, Joel, so I'd like to take you back to that night and try to understand what might have been going through your wife's mind at that moment," she explains.

“So, she walks into the house, finds her safe space violated by her husband, and she chooses to handle the situation calmly and quietly-” Joel tries to stop her, but she already knows what he's going to ask. “I can't tell you why she chose that path, that's for her to answer, only she knows why.” His therapist continues, “She is making one request of you and one request only, can you tell me what it is?”

“She asked me to leave the house.”

“Hmhm.” the therapist looks at him expectantly.

“I just wanted to talk to her.”, Joel elaborates, “I thought that if I refused to leave, she would accept to listen to me.”

“So you forced your needs on her, while she was in a particularly fragile state of mind.”

“I should have made my intentions clearer, you mean?”

“I mean, that maybe you shouldn’t have had any expectations in the first place. Why do you think was so important to you, to explain yourself right at that moment?”

“Because I knew it was probably the last time I would see her for a while, I just wanted to ease her pain, why is that so wrong? Should I be indifferent? Would that be better?”

“Did it ever occur to you that you might be depriving her of her right to choose?” Come on, Joel, break some eggs.

Joel now begins to make connections. He rubs his hand over his face, the realization of what has really happened crushing him. “Oh, god, I-” He's been so selfish from the start. He hasn't shown you any respect, not even at this delicate moment. He didn't give you a choice as to whether you wanted to listen to him or not. He didn't even let you choose where you wanted to stay. He just made you leave the house. Did he make you believe he wanted you to leave? That he wanted her to stay? Because he didn’t. Fuck. “-I never thought about it like that.”

Fuck.

How could he be so blind? Why was he so blind?

His therapist insisted on it. Because no matter how much progress Joel made over the course of a year, he never revealed the true reason behind his infidelity.

“Joel, we’ve talked about a lot of things; you’ve tried really hard to make this all about your wife and about understanding what she was feeling and how your actions have affected her, but as I keep reminding you”, she smiles understandingly, “you’re the one in therapy, you need to heal your wounds before you even attempt to heal hers. And although it is in fact a really noble thought, this” she gestures between them, “can only work if you do it for yourself. I know it may sound selfish, but I promise you, it is not. It is the exact opposite.”

Fuck.

“Yeah?”, his voice hoarse from sleep as he answers the door after the insistent knock at it. Tommy looks at him surprised once he opens it, “You’re sleeping, already?”. No, he wasn’t. He wouldn’t call it that. But when he goes almost a week without any proper rest, passing out is the right word for what he’s doing. “Yeah, I guess I dosed off..” Joel lies. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.” Tommy responds as he squeezes himself through the door to enter the house. “Yeah, sure, come on in.”, Joel mutters under his breath. “You just saw me at work this morning, is everything all right?”

“I just came to check on you.” Tommy confesses uncomfortably.

“You could have called.”

“Would you have answered?” Tommy deadpans.

Touché.

“Tell Maria I’m fine, Tommy, no need to worry about me; go spend the night where it counts.”, Joel replies in an attempt to push him away, as he walks farther into the house, rounding the kitchen island.

“Hey, brother, I’m here, I am here for you.” Tommy’s eyes narrow in pain and concern as he stares at his sibling's back, following behind him.

Joel exhales hard through his nose, his grip tight as he grabs the edges of the counter, his head lowering between his shoulder blades.

“You shouldn’t, nobody should.” Joel sighs, rubbing the pads of his fingers across his forehead.

“Ok, that’s enough.” Tommy snaps at him. “Enough self-loathing, enough resignation. Enough. You’ve punished yourself enough.”

Joel laughs at that. “Is that right? Is it enough for you? What about her?” he asks, his head turned to the side, looking at his brother over his shoulder.

“What?” Tommy is genuinely confused.

Joel turns his back, resting his waist on the edge of the counter, now looking straight at Tommy. “I should have what? Just get on with my life? Let it all be water under the bridge? Disrespect her even more?”

“Jesus..” Tommy mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand, the other resting on his hip, his eyes shut in frustration.

“Are you doing this for her? Does she even know that?”

“It doesn’t matter, Tommy!” Joel raises his voice, exasperated. “I’m not doing this for her, I’m not doing anything for her, apparently and that’s the problem.”, his voice breaks, the lump in his throat too big to push down. “She’s not here anymore, Tommy.” he’s standing fully on his feet now, pushing himself away from the counter, leaning slightly forward, like he’s trying to make his brother understand; his eyes are glazed, Tommy had never seen him so devastated before. “She’s gone. I’ve lost her.”, his palms clenched in fists in front of his chest, resisting the urge to wrap them around his shirt and rip it to shreds, as he wants to do with his heart.

“I thought therapy was working..” Tommy whispers, his eyes dropping to the floor beneath him.

“Oh, it’s working, all right!” Joel chuckles in irony, sniffing his nose. “I’m getting a front-row seat, witnessing what a piece of shit I am-”

“Hey!” Tommy tries to cut him off.

“-what on earth was she doing with me to begin with, is beyond me.”

“HEY!” Tommy's eyes bulge out of his sockets, angry at his brother's self-deprecating words. Joel bends his waist forward, puts his elbows on the island in front of him and lets his head sink in again.

“Ok.” Tommy breathes deeply to ground himself, his hands in a position of a prayer in front of his mouth, “Ok, we could both use a drink.” he realizes, as he moves to open the cupboard to grab two tumblers and the whiskey from the shelf with the drinks. “..or five.”

The two brothers drink their first round in silence, both calming their nerves down. Tommy refills their glasses without asking; he knows this is going to be a long night.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.” Tommy begins, pushing Joel’s drink back towards him. Joel wringles his brows in confusion, “What are you talking about? You’re always there for me.”

“No, I haven’t, not really.” Tommy admits, “I let Maria take over when all this happened and I’m sorry.”

“There was nothing you could do, Tommy, don’t sweat it.”

“Let me say this, please.” Tommy raises his hand, his palm facing his brother. “I was just- fuck, we all knew how much you loved her, how much you loved each other, so when it all went down, I just didn’t know how to deal with it. What to say to you, how to comfort you. I didn't know how to deal with you.”

“You blamed me.” Joel says matter-of-factly.

“No-”, Tommy weakly refuses but Joel shakes his head dismissively, interrupting him. “It’s ok, Tommy, you should.”

Tommy looks embarrassed, his cheeks slightly pinkish, not only from the whiskey. “It’s just that I- I couldn’t reconcile the image of the man you were with her, with.. you know..”, he stutters.

“..the image of a cheater. Say it.” Joel adds.

Tommy shakes his head, like he still can't believe what's happened. “Besides, while she was staying with us those first few weeks I saw how devastated she was, man- she was a shell of a woman, so I was confused, I didn’t know how-”

“Tommy. Tommy, it’s fine.” Joel feels his skin crawl visualizing you like that in his head, cutting his brother off once again; he deserves every ounce of mistrust and he knows it.

“No, it’s not.” Tommy insists. “Yes, you fucked up. Brother, you really did. You did a number on her-”, Joel’s body tenses instantly at his brother’s words, his jaw clenching as his eyes darken, moving down to his hands, his grip on the tumbler tightening, his knuckles turning white and Tommy stops abruptly, “shit, sorry, I didn’t mean-”, his face twitches with regret.

“It’s the truth. That’s exactly what I did.” Joel’s gaze seems detached as if he's somewhere else right now.

“What I meant to say, is that I should have been there for you in spite of what has happened. I can see you're suffering, it's taking its toll on you, it has been for some time now; tell me what I can do. How can I help you?” Tommy seems almost desperate, like he’s the one in need of redemption.

Your text flashes through his mind, can you turn back time?, making him smile bitterly.

“Can you turn back time?” Joel's repeating your question and as the words leave his mouth he can feel your presence next to him. That's the most he felt of you for the last three years. He's almost blissful.

“You know I can't.” Tommy sighs. Joel laughs earnestly, the irony of the moment too good not to appreciate.

“Joel, brother, please, just talk to me. Help me understand. You act like you’re the one who’s been cheated on. So, what happened? Why did you do it?” Tommy is pleading with him to give him anything.

Silence fills the room for much longer than either of them would like. Joel feels torn between telling his brother everything or keeping his mouth shut. He wants to tell him, he hasn’t told a soul, but he’s not sure he can get the words out. He’s not sure he can bear to hear the words coming out of his mouth. He’s not sure he can substantiate it, make it real. Because that’s how it feels. He talks about it and it becomes real.

But maybe this is the right thing to do. That’s what needs to be done. He needs to talk about it. He needs to tell the truth and admit the pain he’s caused. Make it real for you, too. Perhaps it is time for him to give you what is rightfully yours. Acknowledgment.

Joel’s made up his mind. He’s gonna talk to Tommy. He lifts his glass to down his drink for some liquid courage, freezing his hand in mid-air as the next words fall from his brother’s mouth. “First of all, who was it?”

“What?” Joel's eyes search Tommy’s through his glass for an explanation.

“Who did you do?”, Tommy clarifies.

Joel feels like he’s been struck by lightning. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Who did you fuck, Joel?”, Tommy begins to feel confused, are they not on the same page here?

“You don’t know?”, Joel can barely speak now, his voice low in shock.

“No one does, not even Maria; she never told anyone.”

You told nobody? Not even your best friend? Why on earth would you do that? Did you feel ashamed? Was it just too much to talk about?

But his brain takes pity on him, helping him for once to understand. He’s connecting the dots while your voice fills the corners of his mind through his memories. His head is swarming with images of you standing in that walk-in closet, remembering what you said the last time he saw you. You’re the one I married, not her. I expected better from you, Joel, not her.

You were right.

It didn’t matter who it was. That is why. He was the one making the choice. He was the one breaking his promises, breaking your trust, breaking your heart; breaking you. He was the one who should have known better. He was the one who should have been honest. Easy in theory, hard in practice.

He feels a fresh wave of pain scattering through his body. He welcomes it. Damn, he’s craving it. He’s glad you chose to withhold the identity of the woman. Not because somehow it’s making it easier for him to defend himself, on the contrary.

There’s no one else to blame. Nobody. Just him. All of the anger, the resentment, the disappointment, all of them on him. He embraces them all. Everything. He will take it all, swallow it down and let it rot inside of him.

Joel tells Tommy everything. Everything, but her name.

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Taglist: @southernbe, @orcasoul, @auteurdelabre

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ohcorny · 1 month

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so! it's been a year since i put never satisfied on hiatus, and 9 years since i started posting it, and rather than make you read everything if all you want to know is "when's it coming back?" the answer is still: don't know! but the answer has also shifted closer to "it isn't" the longer i've spent on break, and i think it's worth being up front about that.

i talked about it a little here a few weeks ago, but the long and short of it is that between taking on better paying work, writing better stories, and looking back at what i'd already done for never satisfied... i just don't think i want to continue it? the year off has been incredibly good for my mental health, and i can't see myself wanting to go back after the two-three years still ahead of me on my current project. that's not to say i never want to return to the characters or the concept, but if i did, i imagine it would be with something completely new, in a different form. after all, i started this comic when i was 21 years old, a lesbian, and a sophomore in college. i am now just shy of 30, a bi man, and overall a completely different person than i was, back when i was writing without a plan and putting all of my insecurities into the comic--insecurities i don't identify with anymore. lord i'm closer to rothart's age than i am to lucy's. hate that

anyway. you have all been extraordinarily kind for following never satisfied for as long as you have, for supporting it as much as you have, and being as patient as you have. whatever form never satisfied takes in the future (god willing, with a more cohesive story structure and A PLAN FOR THE ENDING, WHICH BY THE WAY I NEVER, EVER HAD) i hope to see you there!

in the meantime, as an update on where i'm at with the thing that made me stop working on NS: i finished it! all the pages for Hunger's Bite (if you remember it with a different title: no you don't) have been turned in and now it's just revisions and covers and then........ waiting a year until it can come out. because that's how it is in traditionally published graphic novels! nothing releases for a full year after you finished it! and you're even getting it earlier than was originally planned, because i'm a creature and finished it like three months ahead of schedule. i've also already started thumbnailing the sequel book which i can't talk about whatsoever and will now be working on that for the next two years and then HOPEFULLY the first book will have done well enough that i can sell a third! so you better buy it when it comes out next february!!!!!!

to ease you all into it, i wanted to do a little crossover to introduce the main characters. we have emery, whose design is fully and unintentionally just Seiji Again down to his color palette (but seiji would bully him if they met. like so hard. he's a wimp). then we have neeta, a girl who dreams of travel and cares deeply about worker's rights, and wick, a vampire agent investigating the mysterious and sinister new owner of the 1910s ocean liner emery and neeta call home. he's also gay. but sorry lucy, you aren't his type. you're not mean enough.

the best place to keep up with me these days is probably here, as this first book gets closer to release, i will probably be posting about it a lot. and i will certainly post about it here when there's an official release date and cover reveal! i hope you'll go read it. i really think if you liked never satisfied and its themes, you'll like hunger's bite!

thank you again for reading!!

#corndraws #hunger's bite #never satisfied

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redstarwriting · 11 months

Text

the clash | x. brand new

hobie brown x goth!reader

word count: 2k

genre: enemies to lovers

warnings: language, insults, mentions of everything that happened in the story, almost fainting, soft hobie, big fluff energy, essentially just a fun lil chapter above everything else to wash away the angst

a/n: AND IT'S OVER!! i'm actually crying a bit this was so fun to write. it will not be the end! you can all bet your asses i'll be working on a sequel for this duo. thank you to everyone who supported the story and my writing. you made the return back to this blog unforgettable and i am so grateful for all of you 🖤 please enjoy the last chapter of 'the clash'

previous chapter: ix. last caress

now reading: x. brand new

end.

───────────────────────────────────

After about 3 more days, you were feeling much better. Hobie was too, as he didn’t need to keep giving blood. In fact, the two of you were basically back to your normal selves. And much to Hobie’s relief, changing your molecular biology did not take away your spider powers. So now he had a partner in crime. Or partner in crime fighting?

Nah, partner in crime sounds better.

“Ready to go, love?” Hobie asks, pouring some food into Shadow’s bowl before closing the bag and webbing it to the ceiling. Shadow runs and starts chomping and Hobie grins, giving him a few pets. “Ready, babe,” you say, coming into to the room. Hobie stands and looks at you, letting out a long whistle. “You look stunnin’,” he says, looking you up and down. You twirl around, showing off how your spider suit looks in the style of his world. Your mask wask lost, so you had to make a new one, but that was no problem. You and Hobie fixed it up, and you gave in to Hobie’s pleas to make it resemble his a bit. Only a bit. You’re still Spider-Goth after all.

He walks over to you and wraps his arms around you. “The spiked choker is a nice touch, who convinced you to put that on? And the studs on your mask? Whoever helped you add them seems like a smart bloke,” he smirks. “You know he’s more of a smartass, but I guess I don’t hate it. The spider charm on the choker is a nice touch,” you say, taking the mask off and winking at him. “You not hatin’ somethin’? Now that is bloody mental.”

“Look who’s talking,” you say and he grins, giving your lips a quick peck before pulling away from you. “Haven’t the foggiest what you’re talkin’ bout, love.” He types on his watch and pulls up Earth-2099, the portal appearing in front of the two of you.

“I’m still so surprised Gwen, Miles, and Pav didn’t try to come to see us this whole time,” you say, and Hobie shrugs. “So am I, but I reckon they understood you were close to dyin’. And I may have threatened them that I’d kill ‘em if they came and woke you up at any point. Guess they took me seriously,” he says, and you playfully smack his arm. “Of course they took you seriously! You literally killed yourself for me, and that was before we even–”

“Fancied each other yeah, yeah, I know,” he cuts you off, grinning at you. “Ready?” he asks again, making sure you’re up to seeing everyone. You nod, and he wraps his arm around your shoulders. “Off we go, then,” he says as the two of you walk through the portal, ending up in Miguel’s hub. “Lemme know if you feel sick or anythin’, yeah? We’ll go right back home,” he says, and you nod. “Thanks, babe,” you say, and he places a quick peck on the top of your head. The two of you walk out and multiple spider-people greet you and welcome you back. “I feel offended none of them have complimented you on your new look,” he says, and you laugh. “Relax, Hobie, I’m sure Miles will be so jealous.”

“And that’s all that matters,” he says, and you shake your head. “You know it would be so faster if we webbed to the common room,” you suggest, and he shakes his head. “Absolutely fuckin’ not. Have you lost the plot? You’re doin’ better, yeah, but you ain’t close to healed. We’re takin’ things nice and slow,” he says, and you roll your eyes. “Getting used to the way you talk is gonna take a minute,” you say, shaking your head and he rolls his eyes. “I called you mental just now. Crazy, insane, unhinged–”

“Got it, you fuckin’ tosser,” you imitate his accent, and he removes his arm from your shoulder, giving you an offended look. “Do you know what to just said to me?”

“Nope, but the plan worked, bye!” you say, waving and webbing away. “HEY! BLOODY HELL!” you hear him scream, webbing after you. Even though you haven’t been in action for about a week, you’re still way faster than him. You laugh as he tries to catch up, but you slip out of his grasp every time. A lot of spiders see this happening and are relieved and happy to see the two of you back and wreaking havoc amongst each other. You beat him to the common room, landing and waiting for him. He lands right next to you a few second after you. “Are you bloody mad?!” he says, clearly exasperated, “I told you not to do that yet! What if you sparked out?!”

“Well, whatever that means, I didn’t.”

“Bloody fainted! What if you did?!”

“Relax, I’m not going to– oh, shit,” you suddenly feel very dizzy, and he wraps his arms around you to keep you from falling. “See. This is the shit I was tryin’ to avoid, but no. You had to go and be a bloody daftie,” he mumbles, and you giggle. “Your reaction was worth it.”

“Oh, I bet it was, ya fuckin’ muppet,” he rolls his eyes, and you grin at him. “Do you feel well enough to stand?”

“Probably but I like it better when you’re like this,” you say, and he gives you an unamused look. “Right, then,” he says, picking you up and tossing you over his shoulder. You loudly protest. “Nuh uh, don’t give me that now, love,” he turns his attention towards the room, and to his chagrin sees Pavitr recording it on his phone. He rolls his eyes and plops you down on the couch. “Don’t move.”

“I do what I want.”

“Not today, you don’t.”

“Glad to see the two of you haven’t changed at all. Nice new suit, by the way, (Y/n),” Miles says, and Hobie sits next to you, placing his arm on the back of the couch behind you as you chirp out a thank you to Miles. “Why would we?” Hobie says, and Miles stares at him, dumbfounded. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you went feral just to protect their ass and they nearly died because of it and then you nearly died trying to save them after they nearly died and then we nearly died trying to help you so that they didn’t nearly die,” Miles says, and Gwen looks at him, nodding. “Nice description.”

“Thanks,” Miles says, smiling at her. Hobie shrugs, looking at you. “All in a day’s work of bein’ Spider-Man,” he says, and you snort. “You’re impossible, Hobie,” you say, leaning against his shoulder. His arm slides from the couch to having it lazily rest around your shoulders. “Good,” he says with a small smile. “Pav, stop taking pictures,” Gwen says, and he shakes his head. “How can I not?! I have been calling this since the first minute they interacted, you all called me crazy, I’m not crazy! I knew it!”

“Congrats, you want a prize?” Hobie says, and Pav smiles. “Yes, actually, I do. I’m aware you’re probably being sarcastic, but I believe I deserve some sort of recognition for recognizing what you two really were,” he says, and you laugh. “You’re the most emotionally intelligent of us all, Pav,” you say, and he nods. “You’re right. I so am,” he says, and Gwen smiles at the two of you. “I’m happy for you two.”

“Thanks, Gwen,” you say, and Hobie softly grins at you. “Woah! Look who’s back!” Peter B. Parker’s voice rings out as he lands next to you all. Mayday reaches you for you, and Peter hands her over. She gives you a little hug, and you smile. “And Hobie with his arm around you, nice. Nice. Nothing brings you and your partner together like a near-death experience. Trust me, I would know,” he says, and Hobie raises an eyebrow at him. “Didn’t that almost ruin your–”

“Welp, this was a nice talk,” he says, webbing Mayday back to him, and putting her in her carrier. “Catch you later, kids,” he says, webbing away with a short squeal from Mayday. “He is so fuckin’ odd,” Hobie mumbles, and you laugh. “It’s cute how much he loves MJ, though. The definition of til death do us part,” you say, and Hobie glances at you. “Yeah… but not as cute as us,” he whispers in your ear, causing you to look at him with a smile. “Nah, what did you just say to them?” Miles says, and Hobie shrugs. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he says, and Miles rolls his eyes. “Nah, man, that’s not fair. Share with the class,” Miles says, and Pavitr sighs loudly, shaking his head. “Please Miles. It’s simply the way a boyfriend speaks to his partner.”

“Woah, now, who said I was their boyfriend?” Hobie asks, and they all look at him like he’s just grown a second head. “WHAT?! ARE YOU SERIOUSLY TELLING ME YOU TWO ARE NOT DATING AFTER EVERYTHING THAT HAS JUST HAPPENED?!” Pav shrieks at the same time as Miles yelling, “OH, I DON’T KNOW MAN, MAYBE THE FACT THAT Y’ALL LIVE TOGETHER AND ARE ALL UP ON EACH OTHER RIGHT NOW?”

“Chill,” Hobie says, putting the palm of his hand out and you snort. “We hate labels, guys.”

“It’s more of a ‘they’re mine’ and ‘I’m theirs’ typa thing,” Hobie says. “You can totally call it a relationship, or whatever you want to call it, though. We just aren’t putting a label on it,” you say, and Hobie nods. “You two are so cool,” Gwen says, and Hobie smirks. “We know.”

“So, I can still say you two are partners and that will be okay?” Pav asks, and Hobie shrugs. “Whatever, mate. We know what we are, so have your fun.”

“This isn’t like one of those situationships, right? Because those are totally unhealthy and not cool,” Miles says, not so subtly glancing at Gwen, and Hobie shakes his head. “Nah. Like I said, we know what we are.”

“Yeah, it’s like you said Miles. He wouldn’t just go feral to protect my ass and then when I nearly die because of it he nearly dies trying to save me after I nearly die and then have our friends nearly die trying to help him so that I didn’t die just for a situationship,” you say, putting a heavy layer of disgust on the term. Miles looks around at everyone before nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, that makes perfect sense.”

“Hobie, (Y/n), can I see you two for a minute?” Miguel appears, pulling the two of you away from your friends. You glance at each other but get off the couch and walk over to him regardless. “How are the both of you feeling?”

“Fine,” Hobie says, and you nod. “Yeah, totally ready to jump back in whenever.”

“Uh, no. No, you’re not able to do that yet,” Hobie says, and you groan. Hobie turns his attention to Miguel. “They’re not ready for that. They almost lost consciousness after webbin’ over here,” Hobie says, and Miguel chuckles slightly. “Well, Dr. Brown, let me know when (Y/n) is ready to get back into the swing of things–”

“Bloody awful pun there, mate. And don’t call me that.”

“–and– hey, that was a great pun, okay?” Miguel diverts his attention, pointing at Hobie with a frown. Hobie just shakes his head, and mouths ‘No, it wasn’t’ at you, causing you to laugh. “Just let me know when they’re better. We’ll continue our training,” Miguel says, and Hobie suddenly gets protective. “What for?”

“Nothing in particular. Mainly to just get their head back into the game. Make it so Spider-Punk and Spider-Goth are unstoppable forces of nature in New London. Happy to see you up and about, (Y/n). And Hobie,” Miguel says, looking at him, “Good job. It’s good to know I can rely on you.” Miguel webs away, and Hobie groans as you laugh. “You just got praise from the boss!”

“Piss off!”

“I got you promoted!”

“Come off it!”

“Never!”

“I hate you,” he says, but the smile on his lips betrays his words. You laugh. “I hate you, more.” He smiles, leaning in and kissing you, not caring who’s watching.

“PAV! STOP TAKING PICTURES!”

───────────────────────────────

『 tag list 』

@1eonk @444neapolitain @a-bit-late @afraidofshrimp @aroaceg @astrok1dz @baefy3764 @bunnym055 @certified-dilf-lover @chill-guy-but-cooler @cl0udyw4ter @cursedbitchboy @d1nne @death-and-rebirth-again @dotheyevenknowmars @epicy0n @erensbbg @f1shb0nez @faerieluuv @fandom-freak-123 @fisshil @foundthethief @fukingsad @frankintheoceann @friendly-reject @freeingrebels @g4bb1 @hearts4hobie @hisdarlingabsurdity @hobiesrockstargf @honeydewpie @idk-i-draw @imarealfungi @ineedsomeconfidence @inkthgoat @iwillrisefromthefire @j3st3r-13 @jadeissues @jingliuu @jjkclub @katiebug0603 @kenqki @ken-zah @khaleesihavilliard @kittekat420 @kitty-kei @krispybearbouquet @lacunaanonymoused @lilylamps @little-bunnybabe @localbeidousimp @luxlibsonwannabe @madusas-girlfriend @marshallowy @marsyay78 @messylxve @minimari415 @miracleboylene @miss-puregotti @miwagila @mm-0912 @monsterroonio @neenieweenie @nikabearr @noctysite @oh-kurva @p1nkliquor @pookiesnatcher @queen-of-the-bored @queen-of-the-grapefruits @romeomahbromeo @sammywammy1 @scoliobean @sillylittleguyinc @siriusly1 @sparklyphantom @spiderpunkzgf @srystix @stevenknightmarc @sxftiebee @tacogirl96 @tengen-fourth-wife @thatweirdgirlsposts @the-ikran-man @tobanditto @tvije @umiexe @user2772636 @wannabe-fic-reader @wheeeelys @zero-boxes @zozgurer

@arianalovescatss @arunabrak @casmosmoon @ch6ntt @elloelloello293874 @fushiguropleaseteponme @hobies-world @imobsessedreader @jayelyyynnn @keikuahh @kyirakyl3 @lightning-wolffe @mistpx @moon-shampoo @naarra @notplutos @sadbitchhours400 @shittingonyourgrave @simplefools @sin-sensual @stars4salem @starshine145 @tes-conscience @valee1xoxo @venusluvslove @weyrrii @woahrin @xoxobabe*

*if you are italicized - i am unable to tag you for whatever reason, feel free to reach out and see if we can fix the issue

thank you to everyone who asked to be on the taglist! sorry that tumblr lied to me about tagging you multiple times, but i hope you all were able to enjoy the story! thank you 🖤

#hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown x you #hobie x reader #spiderpunk x reader #spiderverse x reader #hobie brown #hobie spiderverse #hobie #spiderpunk #spiderverse #theclashofthespiderverse

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msfantasy-comics · 5 months

Text

The Wayne Welcoming

Damian Wayne x Reader

Summary: A short story sequel to The Family Meet and Greet, where Y/n meets members of the Wayne Family one by one.

A/n: honestly… I don’t like what I wrote…. But it took me a whole month to write it - so I’m just going to publish it.

Masterlist - Tip Jar

Tim Drake and Stephanie Brown

Steph keeps following Damian because she really wants to meet Y/n, Tim is following Steph to ensure her enthusiasm isn’t over exerted, as if it wasn’t already.

“Go away!” Damian shouts at the two who’s standing by the light post. Stephanie wearing her incognito hat and glasses. Whilst Tim just stands there out in the open with his hands in his pockets, not even attempting to hide himself unlike Steph, whose standing behind the thin pole as if it was a genuine hiding spot. Steph looks over her shoulder to see what Damian was talking about. As if her disguise wasn’t absolutely transparent. “Stop following me.”

Steph releases a small whine. “Aw but you two have been dating for like ever… I just want to meet her.”

“I don’t care, you weirdos will scare her off. I’ll never introduce her so long as I live.” Steph begins to swoon.

“Aw that’s so cute Dames, you’re such a protective boyfriend… too bad she’s here anyway.” Reaching her hand over Damian, Steph joyfully grabs your hand and begins to shake your hand with an unmatched enthusiasm. “Hi my name is Steph, and this is Tim! It’s so nice to finally meet you, Damian is sooo secretive! I tried to meet you like a million times but Damian always ruined our plans!” You begin to giggle, caught off guard for the unfiltered joy running off of Steph. Her over excited hand shake continues to the point of shaking your entire arm. Damian grits his teeth, ripping Stephs grasp from your own.

“Go. Away.” He says, eyes bearing into Stephanie’s soul, an earnest threat swimming in Damian’s ominous gaze. Steph winces at the sincere danger floating in the air.

“Alrighty, so what are we doing today?” Tim asks, immune from Damian’s demands.

“No. No. No. Go home. Right. Now. Or else I’ll call Conor to come get you.” The two besties look at each-other silently before laughing.

“… you know Conor would just join, he’s dying to meet Jon’s new friend.” Damian goes red in the face. You slug your arm around Damian’s shoulders in a friendly embrace.

“Come on, let’s seize this impromptu meeting! It could be fun!”

Jason Todd

You stood alone at the end of the red carpet, the cameras were flashing as arriving couples walk the velvet floor to have their photos taken before entering the Wayne’s Gala.

You looked around nervously, looking for Damian, waiting to walk the carpet with him. Instead, the ushers were rushing you to begin your walk alone.

Your requests to wait for your partner falling on deaf ears as they attempt to force you to walk the carpet by yourself. Panic filling you as the ushers continue to shout and push you towards to start of the velvet walk. You felt incredibly anxious to step out in front of the cameras, the attention was overwhelming.

Jason sucks his teeth, irritated that the ushers were putting unnecessary pressure and seemingly, ruining your night.

“The brat needs to pay better attention.” Jason mutters to himself, abandoning Roy with an eager gold-digger who is clearly not catching onto Roy’s disinterest. Walking up behind the beautiful girl. He loops his arm around your form, resting his hand on the small of your back.

“I’ve got things from here.” He guides you towards the velvet carpet and begins to stride slowly as the cacophony of shouts and flashing lights assault your senses. Jason digs his fingers into your side, grabbing your attention.

“Don’t pull faces, the press will run it for months.” He reminds you, pulling out his sparkling toothy smile.

You both walk the carpet together, before shortly reaching the entrance to the Gala.

“See first timer. It’s not so bad.” He says with his award-winning smile. His attention turns to a cranky Damian and Roy.

“I can’t believe you just ditched me like that.” Roy utters in betrayal as Jason shrugs unapologetically.

Dick Grayson

A drawn out yawn escapes Damian as he slowly stumbles into the sun room, ready to start the day with Alfred’s world famous onsen eggs.

But instead Damian is greeted by the most peculiar sight.

Shoulders touching, Damian sees his beloved girlfriend oddly cosy with his older brother Dick. More specifically, why the fuck is Dick slinging his arm around his girlfriends back, his chin resting on her shoulder as he looks down at the phone held in her hand. Giggles escaping the odd duo as they continue to watch whatever is on your screen.

Jealousy bubbles under Damian’s skin watching his brother touch his girlfriend in and oddly familiar way. This level of physical touch took Damian months to build up to, only for Dick to do it seemingly over night.

“Morning!” Dick beems seemingly, unbothered by the evasion of his girlfriends personal space.

“Morning Grayson. If you touch Y/n so familiarly again, I’ll break your fingers.” He threatens without so much as a blink.

The two sit, staring, only to break out in fits of laughter.

“Aw Dames! You’re such a protective boyfriend!” Dick cooes pulling Damian into a embrace, the scowl on his face looking dangerously similar to that of a cornered dog.

“Hehe, so protective.” Y/n also cooes, sandwiching Damian from the other side with a playful peck on his cheek.

“Oh god, now there’s two of you.” He mutters limply between his overly affectionate brother and partner.

Duke Thomas

The incessant buzzing amongst the couch cushions is ruining the heart-wrenching scene playing out on the TV screen.

On one hand, Duke is keen to remove the irritation immediately as to not further ruin his viewing experience.

On the other hand, Duke is not keen to relive the experience of finding Damian’s phone only to see a private message not meant for him.

However, the continuous vibrations running through the couch is grating on Dukes nerves. He cannot hold back any further. Stripping the cushions which were once perfectly place, moulding around his form, now strewn amongst the floor until Duke is able to find the black phone laying innocently under the seat covers.

Turning the screen he sees dozens of missed calls from Y/n.

Immediately, Dukes stomach drops to the floor as he quickly realises that Y/n may needed urgent help and instead of answering the phone like a normal person, Duke just tried to phase out the noise until it went away, all because of his favourite show.

Fumbling the phone, Duke quickly returns the call immediately, praying to any god that Y/n was okay and not dead just because he wanted to finish the last 7 minutes of the episode. God that would suck.

“Hello?” Y/n answers, her voice is shaky, as if confused.

“Erm-Y/n? It’s Duke, I found Damian’s phone and I saw your missed calls - AreYouOkay?” Duke blurts quickly. The line is silent for an uncomfortable amount of time because a snorting laughter blasts through the phone.

“Oh my god! Yes I’m okay! I was just calling Damian’s phone because he can’t find it! I promise I’m okay!” Giggles follow, which leaves Duke stunned.

“Why don’t you guys just use phone location services?” The line falls dead silent before another snorting laughter burst through the phone.

“Honestly I completely forgot that was even a thing! Hey do me a favour? Don’t tell Damian, I want to see how long it takes him to figure it out.” Oh Duke likes you. Damian’s loving girlfriend now pulling a harmless prank of the Wayne’s resident bad boy.

“Okay. $20 he finds the phone through some form of tech tracker.”

“$20 that he’ll use Goliath to try and locate his phone.” Oddly specific, but Duke is game.

Bruce Wayne

Damian would never willingly come to any Gala. Not without trickery, bribery, or blackmail encouragement.

But right now, Bruce stands in astonishment as Damian grills the poor event planner for not arranging for Y/n’s place at the VIP table.

“Everything has to be perfect. Please reset the table immediately.” Damian orders with crossed arms. Now examining the staff scrambling to reset the VIP table to ensure you had a place to dine next to him.

Shock was one synonym for what Bruce was feeling. He was sure Damian, would never set foot in the ball room, so long as he lived.

Yet to Bruce’s utter surprise, Damian pitched the gala event, hired the planners and set out the invitations.

Damian wasn’t just attending the gala… he was hosting the gala.

“I’m late for my red carpet walk with Y/n. Hurry up and finish.” Damian snaps, taking quick strides towards the exit.

Why was his dear son hosting a gathering he loathes attending? Why, it’s because Damian’s beloved girlfriend expressed her desire to one day attend such an event. She was in aw of the glitz and the glamour and wanted to try it at least once.

Instead of just taking his beloved partner to the next event. Damian insisted that if she was to attend, it will be the best gala she would ever attend.

So now, Bruce watches in delight as his children, who also never willingly attend a gala, along with Y/n boisterously bound around the hall, engaging with other guests, eating the hors d’oeuvres, clapping along to the entertainers and finally eating the delicious four courses whilst the MC engages the crowds interest, greasing the wallets of the wealthy for funding of social causes.

Damian’s eyes looking at his partner in adoration, gaging her delight at his hard work.

Y/n abandons her seat during the speeches to sit next to Bruce.

“Hi Mr. Wayne, I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself earlier. My name is Y/n, it’s a pleasure to finally meet Damian’s father.” You smile shyly, sticking out your hand.

Your face is set with confidence, but your slightly shaky hand suggests your nerves are firing away with nervousness.

Smiling he takes his future daughter-in-laws hand and gives it a sturdy shake.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too Y/n. Please, call me Bruce.”

Talia al Ghul

“So you’re the girl whose stolen my sons heart.” Your neck just about breaks, your startled heart thumping at the sudden presence. Your demeanour is reminiscent of a frighten bunny.

A scowl presses along her face in irritation and dissatisfaction. “You’re who Damian picked to partner with?” Her mocking tone dripping with venom.

“Uh… yes?” Y/n utters awkwardly, not quite sure what to say in the presence of Damian’s supposed mother.

She hums unamused. “This is going to be interesting.”

And just like that, she was gone.

#dc imagine #dc x reader #batboys #batboys imagine #batboys x reader #Damian Wayne x reader #Damian Wayne imagine #Damian x reader #Damian imagine #Robin x reader #Robin imagine

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thankskenpenders · 10 months

Text

As I'm sure many of you are already aware, Did You Know Gaming (who have been doing some really great investigative work lately) recently put out a video on canceled Sonic games. The whole thing's worth a watch, but I have to bring it up here specifically because they talk about the plans for Sonic Chronicles 2 with a LOT of new info directly from the lead designer.

youtube

The section on how the story of Sonic Chronicles 2 would have went starts at 9:45. It's very interesting! He outlines the whole plot, including the fact that they were going to end with ANOTHER obvious plot hook for a sequel in the hopes that they or some other studio could keep the Sonic Chronicles series going indefinitely. Sonic Team even claimed they were interested in using Chronicles characters like Shade in other games. It's crazy to imagine a timeline where this might have become a pillar of the franchise.

I refuse to mourn the loss of the sequel, though, because y'all saw me stream the original. It was miserable. And with the original game selling and reviewing decently well, they would have had little reason to go back to the drawing board and overhaul that game's bizarrely hateful design.

Of course, DYKG also had to talk about the reason why the game was canceled. I was dreading this because of how often people tend to get the basic facts of the Penders cases wrong or downplay the obvious Archie Knuckles inspiration in Chronicles. But no, they did their homework! And they got the details right in part because, well... they asked Penders for comment directly. And he sent them back a MASSIVE wall of text about the whole ordeal, including some fascinating details that I don't believe I've heard before!

You can go to 15:19 in the video and scrub through to read the many, MANY screencaps of their emails from Ken, but here are the most interesting and/or hilarious tidbits to me:

#1: Perjury!

As we already knew, Ken claimed that the incomplete, photocopied contract Archie presented in court was a forgery, and that he had never signed a work for hire contract.

The judge obviously knew that one side had to be lying here, and thus was more than willing to present the case to a jury to let them decide the truth... and send whoever was deemed the liar to jail for perjury. (The judge apparently looked Ken directly in the eye when he said this, which... well, make of that what you will.)

Archie's lawyers knew that they didn't have a completely airtight case and obviously did not want to go to jail. So they decided to settle instead of going to trial in front of a jury.

(I will reiterate that Archie's arguments not working out is overall a GOOD thing, because we really do not want to set a legal precedent where corporations can "lose" a contract for a creator, make up a story about what was on the contract, and then have that hold up in court. They gotta get that shit in writing. And they didn't. They fucked up!)

#2: Sega was threatening to revoke the Sonic license!

As we knew, Sega wanted nothing to do with the comic copyright lawsuit. To them, it was Archie's job as licensee to deal with their freelancers. (Y'all watch Succession? You know how Logan loves lackeys who will eat shit for him without him having to even hear about the problem? Yeah.) And, in fact, according to Ken, Sega gave Archie an ultimatum: if they wanted their license to make Sonic comics renewed, they were gonna have to deal with Ken on their own, and cover all the costs.

Yeah, uh, this kinda makes me think that Sega being pissed about the ongoing Scott Fulop copyright case in 2016 may have been a bigger factor in Archie Sonic's cancellation than I previously thought. There was a lot going on at the time that could have contributed, but, y'know.

Anyway, Archie sued Ken for "damaging their business" largely because Sega was threatening to take away the Sonic IP. But because Archie couldn't ask Sega for help and they couldn't produce an original contract, they had to settle.

There's another detail I find funny here, though. Ken WANTED Sega to get involved in the comic copyright case, thinking that Sega would strongarm Archie into paying him the millions of dollars he wanted for "using his work without permission" so that they could be done with it. I mean, sure. I guess Sega wouldn't have cared about Archie's finances, but still. I'm not so sure that would've worked out for him.

#3: Shade!

Yes, Penders still claims he legally owns Shade, and under advice from his lawyer still intends to put out an NFT of her to put his claim to the test. Yes, it's incredible that he still hasn't put out the damn NFT. It only needs to be one image, which he already drew! The market has collapsed!

Anyway, building an argument off the legal concept of estoppel, he says that if Sega continues to not do anything about his claims that he owns Shade then, in the eyes of the court, they'll be forfeiting their claims to Shade altogether. But they aren't going to do anything because they never wanted any part in the copyright battles in the first place, and to them Chronicles is a long dead asset not worth fighting over. Why bother trying to use Shade again and giving Ken a reason to take them back to court when they can just move on? It's not like this franchise is short on characters. And so Ken can say that Shade and Julie-Su are literally the same character, and if he owns Julie-Su then therefore he also owns Shade.

Our copyright system is, indeed, a nightmare. Chronicles should have been halfway to the public domain by now.

#4: Sega's oversight on the Archie comics!

Ken says that in his first year on the series Sega only requested some dialogue changes here and there through the editor. They never requested huge script changes, and also never spoke to Ken directly. After that first year, they stopped asking for dialogue changes altogether, and Ken "had a free hand to do pretty much whatever he wanted." Yeah, no surprise there.

He does, however, say that Archie's original deal with Sega stated that they weren't allowed to create ANY new Sonic characters without informing Sega. They would've needed to make a contract every single time to get Sega's approval and make it absolutely crystal clear that Sega owned the whole cast. And then Archie just... didn't do that! And didn't tell any of the freelance creatives not to come up with new characters! Had Archie followed this rule, the trajectory of the comics would have been completely different, but there also never would've been a copyright battle in the first place.

What a shitshow. Truly.

#tkp post

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lanabuckybarnes · 2 months

Text

Always.

This is a sequel to Empty Words. I had someone ask for it and I was also thinking of writing one so here it is. I don’t know if it’ll be as good as the first part but I hope it’s up to your standards.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: none?? If you see any plz lemme know and I’ll add them.

Words: 1.1k

EMPTY WORDS

"How long has it been?"

"70 years."

The words replayed in her head constantly. It had been a year since that day, since she’d woken from her Cryo-sleep. Steve sat by her side telling her it was no longer 1945 but much later, she shouldn’t even be alive.

Tony, Howard Stark's son, had been generous enough to offer her a place to stay at the compound. She had been fed by the girl, Wanda, every day and they gave her peace since she so desperately needed it.

She never got to grieve for Bucky, not long after Steve told her of his passing, she was captured. For some Hydra experiments, according to the guy who turned green.

She still had Bucky’s jacket. She’d woken up with it wrapped around her frame, and she refused to take it off. It was the only part of him she had left.

A knock sounded throughout the room. "It's me, I've got dinner," Steve spoke from the other end of the door, his voice slightly muffled by the thick wood.

"Come in." She spoke, her words monotone and quiet.

He set the tray of food down on the bed, pasta and sauce. Wanda’s favourite. He picked up on her gloom quite easily, it must have been a perk of the super soldier serum.

"Are you alright?" Steve questioned softly, a reassuring hand rubbing her shoulder clad in the dark military jacket. He watched as she picked at the food but never put any of it near her mouth.

He knew better than to push people to talk about their feelings, he hated it when people did it to him.

They had both bonded over Bucky. In the 40s, they never really got the chance— he was too busy being Captain America, and she was too busy saving people's lives away from the frontline. He had never really spoken to her, he knew a bit about her from his old friend’s stories but besides telling her about Buck he’d never really seen her himself. In the past year though, the two had become good friends.

"It's... our anniversary, today." Her voice was small, like the squeak of a mouse, almost as if speaking any louder would scare him away. Steve didn't know how to answer. He was an excellent soldier and had always been great with words, but even he became tongue-tied at the mention of Bucky.

He blamed himself, he could have done so much better than what he did. Countless nights he stayed awake wondering how he could have changed the past, how he could convince Tony to invent some contraption and put himself in Bucky's place. Maybe he would have survived the fall.

"I'm sorry," Steve's voice mimicked her own. His arms wrapped around her smaller frame in a warm embrace, the only form of comfort he could truly give her at that moment.

She cried into his arms that night. When he eventually left she’d flopped her weak body onto the large bed that was far too comfy. She tossed and turned with Bucky's coat, hoping, wishing that dreaming hard enough would bring him back.

The compound was under attack, she had strict orders to stay in her room. Steve had warned her, promised that he’d keep them away from her but passed her a pistol as a last resort.

She could hear the sounds of bullets flying around, hitting walls and people. She felt helpless just sitting on the wide windowsill watching the world go by, what could she truly do though?

Just as a dark feathered bird flew by her window the hairs on her neck stood on end— there were eyes on her, someone stood at her door. She mentally cursed herself for setting the gun on the bedside table.

The presence stalked forward, till his thigh bumped her shoulder. Her head tried to turn to him but the feeling of coolness; a metal hand, spread over the top of her head and turned her back to face the window slowly.

The cool fingers dropped to the side of her face, tucking a few loose stands behind her ear. Was he trying to torture her? or was she finally receiving a final act of kindness before the sweet release of death? Her eyes squeezed tight in preparation, no matter the outcome she would not watch.

Death never came, no, instead the soldier flopped his large body down beside her. He was still as rigid as before, she could feel as much from the way his arm brushed against hers.

When she finally turned to look at the face of the last man she’d ever see, her killer— the muscles around her eyes pulled them wide and her breath caught in her throat.

His eyes, although obstructed by dark locks of her, emulated hers, shock evident in those deep blues along with the reflection of something she knew danced in hers— Recognition.

“B-Bucky?” She hadn’t realised tears were falling from her eyes until she spoke, her voice breaking. His head nodded softly, almost unnoticeable and his eyes glazed over as well. After all these years they were both alive, and the past 70 years' worth of bottled-up emotions bubbled over. She pulled him forward into her arms.

The way his tired body slumped forward into her frame told her he’d faced a similar story, he’d been holding onto a lot too. She could see Steve’s frame standing in her doorway in shock from her peripherals but she couldn’t find the will to glance at him. Not when he was here, not when Bucky was home.

“You came back” she whispered into his hair.

“Always”.

“Bahhhh!” God those goats were impatient. It must’ve been around 6 am, and the Wakandan heat blared through the mud-coloured walls.

“BAHHHH” the goat wailed again, more desperate and demanding than before. A groan sounded from the man behind her, his arm pulling her close and his lips ghosting over her bare shoulder.

“You gotta get up and feed them” she whispered silently hoping they’d disappear and leave them in each other’s arms, at least for a little bit longer. The heat made their embrace almost impossible to withstand but she’d missed years' worth of closeness to him, some sun wasn’t going to stop her now.

His grumbling vibrated against her neck before he pushed himself up to sit. He was quite the sight shirtless, much more muscular than before. The soft blue fabric wrapping around his left side and over his shoulder complimented his skin perfectly.

“Fucking goats” he complained as he threw the deep red fabric over his body, doing as much as he could with one arm before shifting to her for help.

Her fingers moved expertly over the fabric as they did every day, fastening it to his body before pulling half of his long hair into a bun.

“Love you” Her breath blew between his shoulder blades, her lips pressing into the nape of his neck as she wrapped the thin belt around his waist from behind— she’d become so familiar with the routine she could secure it with her eyes shut. He couldn’t help the way his worries fell apart at her soft touch.

His body twisted to face her naked one, his right hand finding her left, squeezing tight before dropping his fingers to roll the thin gold band around her ring finger; a symbol of his promise fulfilled. The matching one secured around his neck.

Steel blues ran up from their joined hand to her face, searching for her own eyes, asking in silence for permission that she was glad to give him as she leaned forward locking their lips together in a sultry dance that mimicked one of the many they shared all those years ago.

“Bahhhhh” he growled into the kiss and she couldn’t help the bubble of laughter rising from her throat. He’d never get a moment's peace with his girl with those beasts around.

Tags: @matchat3a

#bucky barnes #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky fanfic #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #marvel #mcu bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #the winter soldier #winter soldier #winter solider x reader

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tenpintsof-sundrop · 5 months

Text

I really really hate to be that person - especially because I know a lot of people are under the impression that fanfic authors are greedy and we should be grateful for any comments we get, even if those comments are full of unauthorized concrit, even if they're kind of rude, even if they're weirdly self-shaming (sometimes insinuating that people should feel bad over reading the dark or smutty content in the fics or that we should feel bad for writing it in the first place even though you're also reading it??).

But like, lately, I have been getting so many comments along the lines of "this fic should be longer!!" "I wish this was a series!!" "please turn this into a series!" "I would read endless sequels of this!!!" - today someone literally commented on one of my fics saying that it was a war crime that the fic was 30k instead of being 'a whole series'. And I totally understand the mindset that if something is good, you want more of it. If you enjoy something, you want more of it. But these comments are definitely not as flattering as people think they are.

When reading those comments - it doesn't always come off as a compliment. Most of my fics range from 5k to 30k on average, and they are usually oneshots or oneshots that I have split into multiple parts in order to be more readable - most of my longer, ongoing series are abandoned because I didn't have the steam to maintain them. (Most people don't know at all how hard it is to write a good, coherent, well-plotted 100k fic and actually keep up with it.) After I post the fic I have written later this week, I will have written over 400k this year alone, with my entire AO3 having over one million words split between 79 different fics.

So often, having people look at my fics and having their only comment be to 'write more' - feels like an insult. Because I do write more. I have written more. I write consistently. (It just sucks that people have almost nothing to say about what I have already written.)

Having people look at my fics - usually very long fics - and go "hey, this would be better if it was longer!!" or "hey, that was good, but the only productive thing I have to say about it is: make it longer" - it always feels very discouraging.

It doesn't make me want to rush to write more of that fic. In fact, most of the time, I actively avoid working on sequels to fics where the only comments are 'more please' because I know the only thing people will say about the sequel is 'when are you gonna make more?' - and oftentimes, I don't intend to make more.

I have said this in another post, but the ending to my fics are always intentional. I don't write fics with the mindset of turning them into a 100 part series. I write fics with the mindset of making them like a film or a short TV series - telling a capsule of a story with a very intentional beginning, middle, and end. And if I write a sequel, it's because I feel there is more to be told - but I will also cap off that sequel with a very intentional ending.

(Also, don't get me started on the complex of - if fics don't have the classic 'happy ending' people feel like every single thread needs to be resolved until it gets to a more classic happy ending, when I love writing intentional melancholic and thoughtful endings.)

Also - in general, I feel like people don't understand how much work goes into a fic. It might take you about 2 hours to read a fic that's 30k (and a lot of people who are avid readers probably read faster than that, reading it in an hour or less) - but concepting that fic, writing that fic, and meticulously editing that fic so that it can be readable and pleasant for people takes upwards of 20 hours of work. I would say realistically, upwards of 30 hours. And those are just working hours - hours sitting at the computer actively working. That doesn't include the time spent in between workshopping the ideas in my head while I am doing other mundane tasks in life.

It's very, very easy to consume a 30k oneshot in one sitting and then hold out your plate and go "more please!!" without putting any thought into how much work went into the original fic.

All of this just to say - please think about these things next time you are commenting on a fic (or even closing a fic without commenting at all), or doing something stupid like generating a fic with AI - which steals from everyday hard working fanfic writers. Fanfiction is hard work - it's a labour of love, and it shouldn't be about blind consumerism where you finish one and then rapidly start looking for the next one. You should appreciate each one like a good, hand pulled taffy instead of gobbling them all down like cheap candy mass made by factory machines.

Yeah - I think that's it.

-your local over worked (but still passionate) fanfic writer

#uuugh #either nobody will see this or everyone will and they will complain about it #sundrop speaks #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #ellie williams x reader #spencer reid x reader #abby anderson x reader #mike schmidt x reader #fanfiction #fandom #vanessa shelly x reader #gar logan x reader

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scaredpigeons · 3 months

Text

A debt, recurrent.

A sequel to A debt, repaid.

BSD Ogai Mori x fem!reader

NSFW 18+ MDNI

Authors Note: I had previously skirted around the idea of writing something that directly involved Elise, just because her existence is like— one of the major icky points of this character, but I had a request to do like a nanny!reader x mori, and I was like “how can I do this in cannon universe while making it make sense while also making sure it isn’t gross.” And this is what popped out. In this story, it is implied in this that Mori does not actively use Elise in any sexual activities, even though I have no idea if that’s been confirmed or denied in the manga/show. I just prefer the thought that he hasn’t. Makes me sleep better at night. That being said, I still don’t condone any actions associated with this character/the entire Lolita-loving trope, but being able to interact with things that have caused me trauma in the past in a Safe space makes me very horny happy. and I am so uncomfortably horny for this old man.

Word count: 5k

Synopsis: Mori needs to go to a meeting, and needs someone trustworthy to watch Elise. She chose you, much to your displeasure, and you spend the evening catering to her every whim. Mori returns home to find you in a vulnerable state, and who is he to refuse such a gift?

PLEASE READ WARNINGS BEFORE READING! DARK CONTENT WARNING! READ RESPONSIBLY!

CW: technically non-con somnophilia.(sexual actions while one party is asleep) Reader is into it, even though she tries to deny the fact that she is at first. Mori has very dark and possessive thoughts towards reader, reader doesn’t wake up until Mori is actively (p in v) fucking her. Touching, oral (fem receiving) fingering, very little vaginal prep, creampie, dirty talk. Mild aftercare, though it’s implied that he’s not actually done. ELISE IS NOT INVOLVED IN ANY NSFW CONTEXT, AND IS ACTIVELY TAKEN AWAY AND TUCKED INTO HER OWN BED BEFORE MORI DOES ANYTHING TO READER

You flinched at the sound of the door to the lounge swinging open, and very light footsteps accompanied by heavier, slower ones.

You were just trying to have lunch with your coworkers, and you certainly weren’t expecting to interact with the boss today, or his… ability.

”hmm…” the little girl seemed to tap her foot in thought, and you kept your head down, though if you looked up and to the side, you could see her shoes in the corner of your vision. You could see his shoes too, standing directly behind her.

“I want to play with… that one!” She said with a demanding tone that really grated your nerves. It’s not that you disliked children, you just despised spoiled brats, and Elise was notorious for being just so, which was exactly what Mori wanted from her, the sick bastard.

”Are you sure, my dear? That one has a bit of an attitude, I don’t know if she’d make the best playmate for you tonight.”

Your heart sank into your stomach. There were only two women in the lounge today, yourself and another young recruit who was well known for keeping her nose down and following orders without question.

Is it too late to throw yourself out a window? You're only on the fourth floor, it should be fine, right?

“I said I want that one!” The girl, if you can even call her that, stomped her foot with furious impatience. “Did you not tell me I could have whatever I wanted today, Rintaro?”

The boss of the port mafia sighed, the smile reading through his voice— you could hear it in his tone, though you refused to look up, still staring blankly at your sandwich as if you could disappear into it if you tried hard enough.

“Yes, that I did, my darling.”

Mori called your name, making everyone in the lounge snap their gaze to you.

If you weren’t so pissed off, you might’ve felt your cheeks heating up.

You stood, setting your sandwich to the side as you made your way to stand in front of your boss, back straight and eyes forward.

“Yes, boss.”

“Come with me, I have an assignment for you today.”

The entire walk to his office was silent, save for Elise whining about not wanting to see another tailor for another year. The girl seemed adamant about having enough dresses to last the rest of Mori’s life, and even threatened to cut that life short if he pushed her any further.

Could she even do that? Could an ability kill its user? You almost hoped she would actually try it.

When inside Mori’s office, he sat, gesturing for you to take the seat in front of his desk—which was strange, as most of the time his underlings would just stand to receive their orders.

Elise just wandered off, sitting in the corner with her pencils and paper.

“I’m going to be out for the rest of the day, well into the evening, and I need you to entertain Elise for me while I’m gone.”

You knew this was coming, but it still felt like a lead brick was sitting in your stomach.

“Why can’t you take her with you?” You hissed.

“I’m going to neutral ground for a very important meeting, where the usage of abilities will be prohibited.” Mori rested his head on his folded hands, his dark eyes flickering between yours, face unreadable.

“Then why can’t you just send her away?” You said, eyes flitting to the side as you kept your voice low, not wanting her to throw a fit because you were talking shit. “Just… release the ability, or whatever?”

Mori smiled, his head tilting to the side. He reminded you of a venomous snake. Beautiful to look at, dangerous to let close.

“It takes a lot of energy to reform her once she’s gone, you know. I have to be at peak condition in case of emergencies. Why else do you think I keep her around, give her a room on my floor of the building, and take her with me wherever I go?”

Because you’re a fucking pervert.

“Because you’re sick in the head, Rintaro!” Elise voiced your thoughts aloud, chucking a crayon across the room that smacked your boss directly in the side of his head with an audible thwack.

Huh. Maybe the kid wasn’t so bad after all.

He merely smiled, as if he was as happy as he could possibly be.

“So you see, I need someone to watch over her, someone trustworthy, and entertaining.” He said, looking at you from beneath his long lashes. “And she just so happened to choose you.”

“You think I know how to keep a kid occupied? I’m probably the least entertaining person on the fucking planet.” You hissed, white knuckling the arms of the chair.

“I don't know,” he said, voice low and teasing. “I find you very entertaining.”

You certainly felt your face warm that time, and you couldn’t necessarily blame it on anger. You were pissed, sure, but it couldn’t be that hard, could it?

“Fine.” You said, crossing your arms across your chest. “But you owe me.”

He raises a sleek brow at you, as if surprised by your words.

“I owe you?” He said, voice light and airy. Deceptive, poised. Ready to strike. “What makes you say that? Am I not your employer? Do you not take your orders from me, from those above you in rank, little one?”

“Babysitting isn’t in my fuckin’ job description, asshole.” You hissed, somehow not afraid of the consequences. “So you owe me one.”

What, do you think he’ll give you special treatment because you let him fuck you?

Surprisingly, that almost seemed to be the case, as he merely relaxed back into his chair and smiled, his tired eyes roaming your body without a care in the world, as if you weren’t paying attention.

“Very well. If I’m satisfied with Elises care, I’ll owe you one.” He said.

Suddenly, his eyes turned very dark, his smile a tad more menacing. A snake in the grass, showing its colors.

“However, if she is displeased with your performance, I’ll have to implement some kind of corrective action, yes?”

You glanced off to the side, looking at where Elise was sat, scribbling on the paper in front of her like it wronged her somehow.

“Deal.” You said.

How hard can it be?

————————————

Mori must've said something to the staff on his level, because once he left, Elise dragged you to a floor of the base that you’d only ever been to once before, and all the guards simply ignored your presence entirely.

They opened doors for you and the girl, closing them behind you, but otherwise there was no acknowledgment that you might’ve been somewhere you weren’t supposed to be. Completely unlike the last time you snuck in here, having to wait until the guards were switching shifts to sneak in unnoticed.

Elise was bratty, demanding, borderline unbearable. But you squared your shoulders and muscled through, just like you would any other job.

After dragging you around aimlessly for what felt like hours— she wanted a tea party, but you had to follow the dress code to enter, as per her rules. Which means you had to drag her all the way down to your apartment so you could bring that stupid fucking dress you’d bought upstairs, changing into it in one of the many bathrooms lining the halls.

Elise seemed satisfied though, and spent time putting little clips and bows in your hair, lining your wrists with bracelets and your neck with a couple little necklaces.

She requested sweets, and real tea, though you weren’t entirely sure if you brewed it properly, but she didn’t complain, only sipped it from her pink tea set and poured her gigantic teddy bear another cup.

“Do you really have to keep up the act even when he’s gone?” You asked, though you kept your voice small, as not to offend her.

“I am what he desires me to be.” She simply said, eyes closed, prim and proper as she sipped her tea, like a little girl pretending to be a princess.

“Were you always like this?” You asked, cringing a little.

“No.” She said, huffing. “People change, but Rintaro’s always had a few screws loose, so it only makes sense.” Hearing her speak such words in such a tiny little voice almost made you giggle.

”I suppose he’s lucky he has you, or he’d probably be in prison.” You rolled your eyes, then realized what you said, finally laughing a bit. “You know, for things besides being the boss of the port mafia.”

To your surprise, she let out a snort, sitting down her teacup as she giggled a bit.

“I’d like to see him locked up.” She said, “He wouldn’t last a day in there without me!”

That made you snort too, picturing your boss without all the luxuries of his rank was certainly amusing.

Your sick curiosity got the better of you, and you weren’t sure if she would answer, but you really wanted a reason to hate Mori, to get over the strange, twisted feelings that had been brewing in the pit of your stomach, so you tried to ask anyway.

“Has he ever…”

Her eyes thinned, and it didn’t look entirely like anger, but she certainly wasn’t giggling anymore.

“If your ability conjured the perfect knife to cut up strawberries for cake, would you turn around and try to use it to brush your hair?” She asked.

Your brow furrowed, trying to wrap your head around what she was saying.

She rolled her eyes, scoffing at your confusion. “I am a weapon. Whatever form I take is irrelevant to my use. You would want your knife to suit your own personal ideals, would you not?”

She didn’t outright answer the question, but you think you get the point. Considering your strange and mixed feelings towards your boss, it's probably best if the answer to that question remains an inferred ‘no.’

Such complex thoughts coming from such a tiny looking girl kind of made you laugh again though.

“Enough talking!” She suddenly stood up, stomping her foot. “I want to watch a movie!”

It turns out, she didn't want to watch a movie in her own room, or the living room, but instead demanded that you watch the movie with her in Mori’s room, which apparently had the “big big TV.”

The sun was setting, and you were exhausted from following her every whim all afternoon and evening, so instead of getting flustered and trying to convince her the living room was a better idea, you just gave up, stripping off that stupid dress and chunky jewelry and crawling into the bed with her in your shorts and undershirt.

You felt embarrassed crawling into his bed after what you’d done here weeks ago, but the sheets were different, and the blankets smelled fresh, so you could delude yourself into thinking it was an entirely different bed.

She picked Spirited Away, saying she liked the ‘no face guy’, and how hungry he was. She giggled and said that the parents deserved to get turned into gross pigs for being so stupid in the first place, and that might’ve disturbed you if you weren’t so tired.

The last thing you remember is the feeling of Elises head falling on your shoulder, and wondering what you did to get on her good side. She’s a nightmare. She actively terrorizes the other members of the Port mafia just for her own amusement, and she’s just falling asleep on your shoulder? Do abilities even need sleep? But sure enough, her breathing was even, and her eyes were closed.

You smiled, realizing you can’t have done too shitty of a job if she was so relaxed.

———————————

When Mori peeks his head into Elise’s room and doesn’t see her sleeping form in her frilly pink bed, he worries a little.

Not much, maybe mostly for you, in fear that she’d have you strung upside down and dangling from the roof somewhere in some midnight game to amuse her, but he’d told her to behave, so he hoped all was well.

Mori thought that perhaps he should get out of this ridiculous suit and change before he goes looking for Elise, that meeting had been far too stifling, so he at least needs to hang up his jackets and get more comfortable before he can go on any longer.

When he steps into his room, the first thing he notices is that his TV is on, its large screen illuminated with the ending credits of some cartoon, and then he looks into his bed, and his heart stops.

Elise is cuddled up right next to you, snuggled in with your arm wrapping comfortably around her little waist as you both sleep peacefully beneath his luxurious blankets.

The soft part of him wants to coo and take pictures to torment Elise with later. Another darker, more urgent part of him is eyeing you, your tiny, tiny shirt riding up your waist, your hair sprawled out on his pillows, a few stray bow clips still caught within, your arm around such a treasured piece of him— like you valued it just as much as he did.

He eyes that frilly little number you wore for him those few weeks prior, just sprawled out, lying on his floor; and surmises that Elise must have demanded some kind of dress up game, the little tease. She probably did it just to annoy you, not thinking you’d actually have something to suit her criteria.

He rounds to the side of the bed that Elise is on, carefully and slowly prying her from your hold. He very gently takes her down the halls to her own room, tucking her into bed. Any other night, he might have stayed, maybe woken her up to talk with her about her day, tease her a little about how good she must’ve been today, but he had far more pressing things to focus on, like the little one he’d left still sleeping away in his bed.

After all, if you’d done a good enough job that Elise fell asleep comfortably in your arms, then he owed you one, didn’t he?

Keeping his steps light, he made his way back to his bedroom, standing at the side of the bed to observe you once more.

Your brow was soft, face passive and serene, so unlike your waking moments where all you seemed to do was stare ahead with that tortured look on your face— like you hated everything and everyone around you.

How he craved to see you lost in yourself again, falling apart at his touch and untroubled by the burdens of your life. Having that kind of power over you sends his mind reeling, and ever since that last evening in this very room— his fingertips twitched at the mere mention of your name.

The crushing desire to claim, to take and mold you into a perfect little doll, just for him— it was overwhelming.

But he resisted.

After all, it was that fiery spark that drew him to you in the first place. If he were to break you of it completely, that would ruin the entire appeal.

Perhaps just in these private moments then, he’ll train you to let go slowly, but give you enough leash that you may still keep that delicious fight in you.

He saw the way your eyes trailed over him whenever he was in your presence, no doubt remembering the way he pulled you apart and pieced you back together over and over again that night. He knew you hadn’t been going to any of your little friends anymore, your evenings spent alone in your apartment, or so his people tell him. You still wanted him, that much was evident.

So surely you wouldn’t mind if he helped himself? You seemed to be begging for it, placing yourself so sweetly on this silver platter of silk sheets, sweet and ripe for his taking.

He removed his jackets and scarf, setting them on the desk chair before unbuttoning his dress shirt and crawling slowly into the bed behind you.

You stirred slightly, making him pause, but you simply rolled onto your back, hand twitching against his pillow.

“Heavy sleeper?” He whispered, a grin spreading like a wildfire in a dry field. “Or did my little darling just tire you out?”

He lay on his side, still observing you like a hawk, watching for any change of breath or movements that may indicate your return to consciousness.

He allowed himself to indulge a bit, dragging a fingertip up the soft skin of your stomach, raising your little shirt even further until it was tucked underneath your perfect breasts. He swirled the pad of his index finger along the center of your torso, watching the goosebumps raise as he circled around your navel softly.

He dipped lower, toying with the hemline of those itty bitty shorts you were wearing, the spandex clinging to your form deliciously.

He pushed the blankets down just a bit further, below your knees, not wanting the change in temperature to startle you awake if he removed it completely.

He watched your eyebrows twitch ever so slightly as he ran his fingertips along your covered core, just a tease of a touch, simply for his own amusement.

Then he pressed a bit harder, enjoying the little groan you let out.

“Even in your sleep, you’re still so responsive.” He whispered, licking his lips.

He brought his hand up to toy with the hemline of those shorts again, watching your stomach dip at the touch of his fingers slipping beneath.

“I wonder if you’ll let me slip these off, hmm?”

He slowly rose to kneel beside you, hooking his fingers into the sides of the spandex, shimmying them down slightly to gauge your reaction.

You were as still as stone, breaths even and eyes closed, save the occasional twitch of your fingers.

“So good for me,” he mused.

He continued sliding them down your thighs, exposing you fully as he realized— much to his satisfaction— that you wore no panties underneath.

He grinned at the slight glisten to your folds, stopping the pull of your shorts right above your knees to admire the sight for a moment.

Still, you slept, completely unaware and unbothered. He slipped your legs free from the blankets, fairly certain that he could be a little less cautious than before, and pulled your shorts off completely.

He sat your legs back down, a little more spread than before, and kneeled between them to admire you closer. He ran his hands up your delicious thighs, loving the way your skin prickled as he went.

He saw the way your nipples perked beneath your shirt, smirking to himself as he pushed the little scrap of fabric further up your chest, exposing your breasts to him completely.

“A little cold, are we darling?” He whispered, running a finger along one pert nipple.

As much as he desired to toy with your breasts a bit further, he did not know how long this glorious window of uninterrupted play would last, and wanted to enjoy himself to the fullest while he was able.

Pushing your thighs to spread completely for him, he laid down on his stomach to watch up close as he spread your folds, using his thumbs to pull you apart and gaze at the glistening treasure you kept so guarded from him.

He gingerly lapped a firm strike from bottom to top, eyes watching your face for any changes as he savored your taste.

“You taste just as delectable as I remember, little one.” He whispered against your clit, flicking it with the tip of his tongue and enjoying the sleepy little whines that poured from your throat, still lost in the throes of slumber.

He indulged himself further, licking and suckling along your core and pressing his tongue shallowly into your little hole until you were absolutely dripping for him, his cock twitching at the way you whined softly in your sleep.

He removed his gloves and tossed them aside, gingerly easing an index finger into your waiting hole, your juices easing the slide.

In your sleep, you were so soft, so pliant. Your walls gave a little clench at the intrusion, but he was very amused at how unrestrained you were. He added a second finger, marveling at how easily they slid in, your walls so accommodating, so plush.

“You know, darling,” he whispered, pulling back to kneel up and work his belt open, uncaring of the wetness along his fingers. “Like this, I don’t even think I need to work you open for me.”

Unbuttoning his pants, he finally pulled his aching cock free of its confines, having been neglected from the very beginning in favor of the mental satisfaction of such activities.

“I think you could take me just like this,” he said, stroking himself as he watched your chest rise and fall, unfettered, head resting beautifully on his pillows.

He pulled a spare pillow from the opposite side of the bed, gently pulling up your lower half to place it under your ass, hoisting you up to a proper height.

You squirmed, mumbled a bit as your eyes rolled beneath their lids, your hands twitching and thighs shifting.

He paused for a moment, almost worried you’d wake before he got to the best part, but it really didn’t matter when you woke up, you’d be taking his cock so sweetly for him either way.

After you settled back down, he thumbed over your clit once more, enjoying the way your sex clenched and glistened for him. Stroking himself a moment longer, he finally gave in and leaned forward, rubbing the head of his cock along your folds, reveling in the way your wetness coated him.

With one hand supporting himself in the bed beside your waist, and the other guiding his cock, he finally, finally pushed against your entrance, groaning at the warmth parting so deliciously for him, wrapping him in your hot and pliant embrace.

He was right, your walls graciously sucked him in, still snug, but the lack of preparation didn’t seem to matter. As he pushed further into your welcoming softness, he shifted, placing his hands beside your head to lean down and press open mouth kisses along your neck, sucking marks in plain sight, where everyone could see.

He wanted to own you. He technically did— given his rank compared to yours, but he wanted more. He wanted to consume you entirely.

He didn’t care anymore, in fact, he wanted you to wake now, to wake to the feeling of him inside you, fucking into you like you were his to do with as he pleased.

With a rough snap of his hips and a nibble beneath your ear, he finally pushed in fully, his hips slapping against yours.

You gasped, eyes finally popping open as your head rose from the pillow, a rough moan ripping from your throat as he started a rough and steady pace.

“There she is,” he groaned in your ear. “How nice of you to finally join us.”

Your walls clenched tight around him, your eyes wide as you pressed against his shoulders in a half hearted attempt to push him away.

“B-boss?!” You stuttered, your brow furrowing in confusion, in worry. “What are you— Mori!”

You moaned as he grabbed your thighs, pressing them into your chest as he threw your calves over his shoulders. The motion left your little white socked feet dangling uselessly behind his head as he brutally angled each thrust against your g-spot.

Your hands moved to grip at the loose shirt hanging by his collarbones, fingernails digging in but not hitting his pale skin. He almost wanted to shift positions to remove his shirt, maybe let you rake those blunt nails down his back so he too could wear marks of this moment.

But the way your eyes rolled back and you pushed your head to the side was too good, it was like you were trying to hide from him, hide how much you loved this.

“Where are you trying to run, little darling?” He breathed, a wicked smile ghosting along your cheek as you flinched, biting back moans that made your lips bruise.

“I… why are you—“ you couldn’t form proper words, let alone a sentence, and he shuddered at how far gone you already were, your mind still blurry from your slumber, body reacting to him so beautifully.

“You were so pretty in my bed, laid out for me like a little treat.” He bit at the sensitive flesh of your throat, groaning when you squeezed around him. “I simply am just taking a bite of what’s mine.”

You cried out at that, squirming under him as he felt your walls twitch and tremble, your slick forming a ring around the base of his cock, the filthy, slick sounds making his head spin.

“That’s what you are, isn’t it?” He said, bringing a hand to your face to force you to look up at him, your big doe eyes wide and wet with unshed tears. “That's what you desire to be? Mine?”

You bit your lip, and he could feel you tense, trying to stave off your orgasm, as if he would ever not succeed in making you cum.

“Say it,” he hissed, thumbing your bottom lip from between your teeth. “Tell me what you are, hmm?”

His hips continued to slam into you, and he could feel himself nearing his own limit, but he knew you were right there— right at the precipice.

You were so stubborn, and oh how he loved that about you. How he throbbed when you shook your head, refusing to speak even though you clung so tightly to him, even though he could feel your walls pulsing with the need to release.

“Tell me.” He nearly growled, his pace never faltering despite the burn of his own orgasm being held back. “Who do you belong to?”

You looked like you were going to deny him once more, but he saw that sparkle of need in your eyes, so he wrapped his hand around your throat, applying delicious pressure at the sides, restricting the blood flow to your pretty little head.

He was reminded of how small you were like this. How easy it would be to snap your little neck if you were an adversary. Instead he was delighted when your eyes rolled back once more as he growled down at you.

“Who do you belong to?”

He released his hold, and you gasped as your walls fluttered, your release crashing into you like a train, moaning and babbling up at him in your pleasure.

“Mori! I’m yours! I’m yours— I wanna be yours, I wanna belong to you—!”

He groaned, letting himself go as you continued your babbling, feeling his cock twitch against your still fluttering walls, the pressure of you squeezing him so tightly was almost unbearable.

“That’s it,” he moaned. “Mine, all mine.”

He felt himself tip over the edge and leaned down to bite at your throat again.

“Now take what I give you, take it all.”

You cried out as he spilled into you, his hips finally stuttering with each pulse of his hot cum into your cunt. You gripped him tightly, keening as he panted in your ear.

When he was finally done, you fell back, arms spread wide as you stared lazily up at the ceiling.

“Did you enjoy your evening?” He grinned, pulling his softening cock from your leaking core, enjoying the way a little dollop of his cum oozed at your entrance.

“You’re a fucking asshole.” You groaned, throwing an arm over your face.

He tucked himself back into his pants as he chuckled.

“After all that you still have the energy to be so acrimonious?” He teased, getting up to retrieve a cloth from the en suite.

“You’d be pissed off too if someone woke you up by shoving their cock in you!” You shouted from your place on the bed, clearly spoiled rotten from the last time he fucked you, knowing full well that he intends to clean you up before letting you sleep.

He rolled his eyes to the side as he made his way back to you, waving his hand dismissively to tease you. “I wouldn’t be pissed, per se. Perhaps a bit startled, maybe murderous, maybe indulgent. Depends on how nice the cock is.”

He grinned as he watched you get flustered, tugging your shirt down and crossing your arms over your chest.

“Salacious, depraved, idiot old man.” You grumbled, and he laughed.

“Are you saying you didn’t enjoy yourself, little one?” he leaned down to wipe the sweat and juices between your thighs, and watched with keen eyes as you relaxed, letting his cum pool out of you and onto the waiting cloth.

His spent cock twitched in interest, and he flashed his eyes back to your face, gauging your reactions.

You were red, still indignantly looking at the ceiling as he cleaned you up.

“I’m not saying that, don’t put words in my mouth.” You said, pouting like a spoiled rotten child.

Oh, how he enjoyed you. He was going to soak in every second of your time. He wouldn’t let you run away again and pretend like this wasn’t happening, like you didn’t want him. No, you were stuck this time.

His cock swelled again, watching you grumble and pout.

“You’re right, darling.” He said, pulling away to undo his pants once more, reveling in the way you chewed on your swollen lips, your thighs clenching together. “I have better things I can put in your mouth.”

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