#like change everything to black and just leave it at that

[wttcsms]

you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody, atsumu miya

pairing atsumu miya x reader word count 1.4k synopsis love for you is holding him; love for him is allowing himself to be held. content contains hurt/comfort, intimacy, atsumu-centric, insecurities, unconditional love, showering together but make it sfw

The stinging spray of scalding hot water from the showerhead should be enough to get him to leave, but he barely registers the pain, can’t seem to bring himself to feel the heat, can’t seem to bring himself to feel anything.

No — that’s not entirely true. He feels one thing.

Devastated. 

Everyone knows Atsumu Miya likes to talk shit on and off the court. It’s his thing, his trademark, his brand. Lots of athletes like to talk big about how they’re going to win; who the hell is going to support a guy who walks onto the court with a well, it’ll be alright if I lose. 

He’s staring down at the tiles of the shower, can somewhat register the persistent barrage of water spraying onto his back as he has one hand splayed on the wall, shoulders slumped, water dripping from his hair and running into his vision, making everything blurry. 

Don’t blink, he tries to demand of himself, but the issue is, we can’t always control our bodies. He has to shut his eyes, just for a brief second, and in that second, it all comes back to him.

The opposing team at set point. His team depending on him to serve. One point left. Only one chance. He can feel the stadium’s crowd holding their breath, can feel the lack of air in the atmosphere, can hear how loudly the blood is rushing to his head. Dizzy. Dazed. He doesn’t give into pressure, not anymore, not ever. Doesn’t feel performance anxiety, knows better than to try to attempt something flashy just for the glory of a good story to tell. 

Give ‘em a serve they don’t have a chance of receiving, he demands of himself. 

The final seconds of the match all come to him like stills from a movie, each frame another devastating blow to his ego, his self-worth, his very being. The ball is in the air, he’s bending his knees to prepare for the jump, his hand making contact with the ball. Something’s off, he can feel it upon first contact, but it’s too late to save, too late for him to change anything.

The ball lands.

On his side of the net.

He’s frozen in place as he stares ahead. He can tell the other team is cheering, slapping each other on their backs, and he can hear the blow of a whistle, the celebration from the crowd. But all he sees is the ball. All he sees is his failure.

Atsumu has spent a good portion of his volleyball career knowing that he plays the game better than most. It’s why he feels so comfortable talking about the lack of skills other players display. It’s why he always has something to say at practice, on the court, during a post-game interview. 

And he knows he makes mistakes. He knows that he’s only human. But a bad serve in the middle of a game isn’t as crushing as knowing that he is the sole reason as to why the Black Jackals’ season is going to be ending early. 

Where did he go wrong? He did everything perfectly, did everything the way he usually does. Why couldn’t he perform? Why did he let his team down? Why—

“Atsumu?” 

He doesn’t look up, and all you can see is the sad shape of his outline from the foggy glass door of the shower. You know that Atsumu probably wants nothing more than to be alone right now, but you can’t help but worry when fifteen minutes have gone by, and you could still hear the shower running. That’s your first sign that something is wrong.

Atsumu is a notoriously quick showerer, to an almost concerning degree. When you first started living together, you debated planning elaborate tricks to see whether or not he was even using soap. (Which, in hindsight, was just flatout silly; he walks out the shower smelling overwhelming of his Axe Men’s 3-in-1 and Old Spice deodorant.) 

No — the first sign that something is wrong would be his uncharacteristic silence on the trip back home. He hadn’t responded to your it’s okay, baby, you’ll get ‘em next season. Instead, he just looked out the window, the devastated expression on his face silencing you as well. Even when he lost to Kageyama, he had been disappointed, upset, but still talking big about how he was going to crush the Adlers next time around. He had then made a comment about Tobio’s stupid haircut, and that’s when you told him if he doesn’t have anything nice to say, he shouldn’t say anything at all.

Now, you’d give anything to have him say something. Something for you to work with.  

“Atsumu?” You call out for him again, worried when you don’t see his figure moving. 

Pathetic. Atsumu thinks that’s what he is. A loser, a fucking scrub, a failure. Even if his teammates won’t admit it, the media will. And what then? Will you think that about him too? It’d be the truth, wouldn’t it? Isn’t that why you’re in the bathroom now? To pity him? 

He’s too busy tearing himself down to react to the distinct sound of you sliding back the glass door of the shower so you can enter it. There’s a brief burst of the cool air of the bathroom hitting his exposed body, but it evaporates the moment you shut the door. 

“Oh, ‘Tsumu.” You whisper it, and he wants to tell you that he’s not fucking fragile. That he’s not going to shatter into a million pieces if you just raise your voice, if you tell him how you really feel about him. He doesn’t move, doesn’t turn around to face you. He doesn’t want to. He can’t.

His skin is red from the heat of the water, his back staring at you angrily, hurt. The skin’s going to need some time to heal, and you turn the faucet, lowering the temperature of the water. 

“Turn around, honey. Please?” You’ve never seen Atsumu so upset before, so quiet. You wait several minutes for him to actually do as you request, and you think it’s only because he wants a way to get rid of you sooner. 

You don’t say anything to him as you reach for his shampoo, letting it lather in your hands before you give him a pleading look, one that has him leaning down so you can reach his hair. It feels nice, he thinks, the way you’re shampooing his hair. You’re gentle with your movements, and it almost relaxes him. 

You use your body wash on him. Massage the suds into his skin, but you’re mindful of the amount of pressure you apply. You know which areas of his skin is more sensitive from its exposure to the hot water, and you are careful with the spots of his body that he had chosen to be negligent with. 

“Am I so fuckin’ worthless that you have to do somethin’ as simple as bathing me?” He’s not angry at you. He might spit out the words — words that come out sounding all raw and scratchy, like they had to personally claw themselves from his throat — but the anger is not directed at you. It’s at himself. 

“Look at me.” 

His eyes are glossy, wet, shiny, and you know it’s not because of the shower. You’ve never seen Atsumu cry before, and you’re not sure what you’re supposed to do. So, you do what feels right. You whisper his name softly, tenderly, and it’s this tenderness, your unwavering softness, your unconditional love, that breaks him. That makes him feel safe enough to break. That makes him think of the possibility that you’ll take these jagged pieces of him and piece them back together for him, with him. 

He’s so much bigger than you. You tell him all the time that he’s larger than life, and he thinks about that comment as he lets himself sink into your open arms, as he lets himself be held. He has never felt smaller in his life, and in your embrace, he buries his face into your shoulder, letting his warm tears mix in with the water already on your body.

“I don’t know how you can still look at me.” He mutters, and every word is spoken onto your skin, tiny blades striking you. 

Atsumu isn’t sure what he wants to hear, isn’t even certain that there’s anything that could be said to ease his devastation, but melts into you even more so when you tell him,

“Atsumu, I thought you already knew that nothing can change the way I look at you.”

#atsumu miya x you #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #angst #one shot #fluff #drabble #imagine #alright if this doesn't make it to the tags im never posting again

[strawberrystepmom]

pairing: Suguru Geto x F!Reader

word count: 9.7k

contents: Canon compliant up to the events of JJK0, cult leader!Suguru, naive reader, slight age difference between reader and Geto (5 years), reader can see curses/has cursed energy but it is kept intentionally vague

cw: dark content | emotional manipulation, dubious consent, voyeurism, oral sex (m!receiving), spit, violence, descriptions of anxiety, mentions of religion and religious imagery, mind fuck-y

notes: so this is a remaster/full repost of unkindness that was on my old blog! i only got up to like the third segment in that post so i figured why not do it all at once. thank you for reading if you do and i hope that you enjoy my little story! ♡ | crossposted to ao3

When you were eight years old, sitting in your mother’s lap as she combed through your wet hair, you remember telling her about a recurring dream you had been having for weeks. You were nervous to tell her, your little hands balled into fists as they rested against your nightgown clad thighs. 

“A raven,” you recount to her as she nods and gently uses the bristles of the comb to detangle a knot. “Bigger than any bird I’ve ever seen is in this dream every night, flying around over my head.” Your mother sighs and reassuringly pats your head. You hear the spritz of a spray bottle from behind you, a synthetic green apple scent filling your nostrils. 

Telling her filled your stomach with anxiety, an issue you didn’t know you had at the time. You figured the world was just scary back then. You wish you could go back and tell yourself how right you were. About how scary the world is, anyway. To tell yourself about how everything will eventually end up likely wouldn’t change the outcome but at least you could say a few things.

“The raven comes to the ground eventually. He doesn’t fly over your head forever, instead he glides by your side.”

“The visions you’ve seen are real, you aren’t crazy.”

The most unbelievable thing of all?

“You end up in love and you end up losing yourself along the way.”

Back then though, you only had your mom and her words to illuminate the darkness you felt lurked around every corner.

“Have you ever heard of omens?”

Shaking your head, you turn to look at your mom who is tapping the edge of the comb against the heel of her hand. She’s chewing the inside of her cheek and you can tell she’s deciding what to say next to comfort you. Your mom has never been good at this kind of thing, a woman who never envisioned she would have a child with so much angst and fear. 

“Sometimes we receive signs that something is going to happen in our lives even if we don’t understand them,” she starts. You hear her mouth open, as if she wants to add something additional, but you hear it snap shut as if she thought better of it. You nod once, signaling your understanding and she gets back to work at the stubborn tangle at the base of your skull without another word shared between the two of you.

You hate that this is the most vivid memory from your childhood.

You hate that you still have the dream.

You wake with a gasp, looking around and blinking as warm morning light filters through the window. Feeling around the bed, you wonder if Suguru is already up and moving for the day as your hands touch the duvet where he should be. It’s cold, as if nobody was there in the first place. Knowing that may have been the case anyway, you sigh and rub your hands over your face. 

“Suguru?”

His name leaves your lips in a tentative manner and you look around the room to make sure he isn’t looking at the early morning sun or standing there watching you sleep. No matter how much of your life you spend with him, you’ll never get used to the feeling of those black diamond eyes following you everywhere you go. But finally, you are seen. 

Four years spent with him and no one sees you like he does.

You were 18 years old, a few months from graduating high school, when Suguru approached you. The sight of a stranger raised your hackles, scared of the world at large at that point in your life, and you were concerned trouble was coming for you. All of the omens in your dreams would finally come true at the hands of this beautiful man, rising to his full height which is nearly towering over you. His hair was shorter then than it is now, just past his shoulders and tied in a neat half bun off of his face.

He looked like less of a god now than he did then but you knew it. The omnipresent feeling of him sticks in your bones. It’s the confidence that makes you stand with your back straight, that guides you through the worst of the days where he’s nowhere to be found. 

Unable to find him, you shuffle back to the futon and lay down amongst blankets that smell like him. You’ve never been able to place the scent but you know it’s his. Wrapping yourself in the duvet, you let your mind wander back to all of those years ago.

“I know this seems sudden but I wanted to ask you about your gift.”

Mention of your gift, not that you’d ever call it that, makes you freeze. He notices your expression, wide eyed and haunted, and he fights the urge to smile at you. Just as he and everyone else suspected, you have no idea what you’re capable of. It would be a failing worthy of death to let Gojo find you first. Suguru couldn’t risk the bird dog finding his canary and dropping her off, bloodied and broken, on the doorstep of the Sorcerer community. 

He wouldn’t allow it.

“M..my gift?” You repeat with uncertainty and he nods, bun bobbing against the back of his head as he does so. The situation is withering, a handsome stranger asking you about a secret you’ve kept hidden for your whole life while the sun beats down and makes you sweat. You wonder if you’re about to be killed.  

“You are an exceptional young woman, do you know that?”

The background noise of the world fades out, the sound of the spring birds chirping disappearing as you blink once, twice, and you notice those dark eyes fixated on you. You blanch and avert your eyes. Were you even allowed to look at him? Dressed in such nice clothing with such a regal demeanor? Shaking your head, you play off the awkwardness with a humorless chuckle.

“You must be looking for someone else, sir.” Bowing your head as a sign of respect, you turn to walk away. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

Before you can turn on your heel to walk away, you feel a large palm rest on your shoulder. You take note of the weight of it, the feel against your bones, and you wonder why this is happening to you? You are so afraid but you can’t run, you don’t have the guts for it. What do you do now?

Nothing. You do nothing, just as you’ve done your entire life. You let this strange man grab you, hold you, speak to you. Humiliation rises like bile in your throat and you turn to face him, astounded again by his beauty. The sunlight catches his dark eyelashes, warmth emanating from him. How can you walk away? You won’t walk away.

“I don’t want this to be more strange than it already is,” he starts, voice deep and dreamy. You could get lost in the baritone and the way it wraps around you but you choose instead to focus on his words to try and understand what he wants from you. “But I know you have something nobody else has. Abilities.”

He’s correct but you wonder how he could possibly know about your struggles. You have kept them to yourself for years even to the detriment of your own well being. Your mother and father both assume you’re deranged and there are times where you’ve wholeheartedly agreed with them since you began seeing the things that haunt you at every turn when you were 5. 

“How do you know about that?”

The man shakes his head and holds his free hand ahead of him. “Why don’t you walk with me and we can talk some more?”

How can you say no with his hand on your shoulder? Turning on your heel to face him, you keep quiet and wait for further instructions. Your naturally submissive tendencies are serving you well in this situation and Geto doesn't hide his smug smile. You are perfect and he knew it.

As the two of you begin to pick up pace walking side by side, you anxiously keep your eyes glued to the ground. Being able to visualize each of your steps is keeping you calm and if you look down, there's less of a chance you'll see whatever is out there to scare you.

"Look at me."

He doesn't ask, he commands, and you listen. For the first time, you notice something perching on his shoulder. It's formless for the most part and less terrifying than what you usually see attached to others as they pass by you but you're intrigued nonetheless.

"Do you know about that....thing?" Pointing to his shoulder, he nods at you and you breathe a sigh of relief. "You see them also?"

A chuckle is his response and you ponder what it means while you wait for him to clear up your confusion. "I don't just see them, I control them."

The figure disappears quickly and you gasp, searching around your own feet and your shoulders to make sure he didn't order it in your direction to harm you.

"How?"

Despite your trepidation, Suguru can see the way that your eyes sparkle at the thought of someone being like you. He knows how it felt for him, too.

"I can show you and so can my friends." He watches your nose scrunch in confusion at his words and he laughs, amused. The sound is musical and uplifting and you feel yourself lightening up for the first time maybe in your entire life. Knowing you aren't alone has shifted your perspective more than you realized it would.

"There are more of you?"

"A couple dozen, yeah."

Nodding, you think for a moment. What if he can actually help you? What if these people are actually like you? What if you can find a place that suits you for the first time in 18 whole years?

"How can you help me?" 

The man turns to you, knowing smirk in place across his mouth. “I can show you better than I can tell you.”

You hate her.

Never in your life has such a bitter feeling gathered in the pit of your stomach. Your face flames every time Manami walks by, you can feel it and you know she can see it. Tonight, you are more glad than ever to be on kitchen duty even if it means having to listen to her cackle from the other side of the wall.

“Geto-sama!”

She sing-songs across the tatami with a giggle as Suguru traipses by en-route to have dinner with the group, seating himself at the head of the table as everyone else files in around it. You fight the urge to roll your eyes from where you’re standing next to Mimiko and Nanako, pouring hojicha into tea cups. 

“Geto-sama,” you mock under your breath and Nanako giggles, dishing rice into bowls at your side. The two of you giggle together, a secret shared, as she begins to bring the dishes to the table for service. Sorting your tea cups, you count how many more servings you need as you look around the doorframe to see who is waiting.

Your relationship with Geto’s most trusted inner circle has expanded greatly since you first arrived months ago. 

They knew better than to be outwardly distrustful of you. Aside from the twins, every one of them had set out to find Suguru and his group on their own. He found you. He brought you. He touted your abilities long before you arrived.

“She’s the perfect blank slate,” he gushed over dinner one night as the other members of the group listened enraptured. “We got to her just in time, too. My source says that Gojo was planning on paying her a visit.”

Your arrival was underwhelming. Greeted at the end of the footpath that leads to the front door by Miguel, Larue, Mimiko, and Nanako while Manami glowered from the porch with folded arms, you weren’t immediately made to feel welcome by anyone except for Suguru who continued to guide you along the property with your arm looped in his. She was scoping you out, taking an assessment. She believed you to be no threat. She believed wrong.

Tinkering with the last cup on the counter, you take one look into the dining room again and the realization that your usual spot is full makes you chuckle humorlessly. Not that you’re surprised, Manami has done all but piss all over Geto to mark her territory but the sight makes a bitter, sour feeling turn in your guts just the same. Your nose scrunches as if you’ve smelled something bad and you don’t immediately hear when someone else enters the kitchen to pick up the tea cups you are still filling.

“About ready?” 

The voice you recognize as belonging to Mimiko calms you and you respond with a nod, wrapping your hand around the warmest cup as you take a breath and plaster a smile on. This one goes to the man himself and you feel eyes upon you as you offer it to him with a bow. His hand lingers on top of yours for a moment and you’re glad your face is pointed toward the ground, your flustered look hidden as long as you don’t make eye contact.

“We’re just waiting on you,” he chides lightly, always a stickler for timeliness. You lift your head to his view enough to offer an apologetic half smile. He pats the side of your face with his tea-warmed hand and your smile grows. Your eyes meet his rich, umber colored pair and you feel at peace. “Manami will be out of your spot by the time you get back.”

A small “oooooooh” breaks out around the table but the tension is quickly killed with a sharp look from Suguru. Everyone quietly begins shuffling their utensils and you don’t stick around to watch Manami’s rejection, scurrying back to the kitchen to gather your own rice and tea. 

“I want to share a few moments after dinner, if you’d all like to stick around.”

Suguru’s words inspire nods and happy, affirmative hums and you catch the tail end of them as you settle next to him at the table. Your opposition glares icily from the other end of the table, the same look she kept plastered on her face the day you arrived, and you meet her eyes long enough to offer a sweet smile before bowing your head in thanks for the meal you were about to share.

“I’d especially like for you to stay,” he looks across the table at Manami who nods once before turning back to her plate. Her lips are pursed and her eyebrows are knit together in irritation but smugness glimmers in her eyes. “You too,” he says and you turn your head to see him glancing down at you. Fondness crinkles the corners of his eyes slightly and you shrink into yourself with a nod and a shy smile. “Of course.”

The rest of dinner goes as you’ve come to expect. The twins giggle and joke with every other member of the group and you all sit beneath the watchful eyes of your leader who sips at his own tea with a barely visible over the edge of his cup smirk but you can see it from where you sit. You can see the corners of his mouth upturned just enough it makes your heart flutter in your chest. 

He looks down at you and thinks about how vulnerable you look. How little you hide, your emotions and yourself alike. Were you like this before he met you or is this his influence? He takes credit. He knows the way you flash fake nice shit eating grins in Manami’s direction is for his sake. His sweet little bird isn’t afraid to fight and he hoped that would be the case.

“Since we’re all here, I wanted to discuss a few things,” Geto clears his throat and sets his cup on the table in front of him. He basks as he feels every eye in the room turn toward him but none make him feel more intoxicated than yours. When he casts you a glance, you smile shyly. He wonders if you’ll do that forever, look at him as if he’s a savior on a big white horse. He hopes so.

“I want to make some changes in what we’ll all be doing around here,” his voice rings proud and clearly and you fight the urge to prop your head up with your hand girlishly to get a better look at him. A few people shift in their seated positions but you don’t glance around to find out who, gaze fixed upon the person you want to witness the most. 

“Manami, your duties are changing.” Replacing the sound of shifting clothing is small gasping and murmuring. Manami has been Geto’s assistant for close to two years, a coveted spot amongst anyone in the group. “You will still be my personal assistant but only for off compound events and daytime hours.”

Grateful for your own refusal to look at the rest of the table, you can tune out the uncomfortable chatting. “I know this may be surprising but we have many things ahead of us we need to prepare for,” he starts and the noise quiets. “Manami is one of the brightest among us and she will excel no matter what she’s doing.”

Hearing him praise someone else makes your back stiffen, the urge to pick at the seam of your t-shirt making your fingers twist in the fabric idly. You’re grateful your grip is beneath the table, hidden from view. No one will suspect how you feel as long as you’re careful but you gasp as you feel two large, soft hands untangle your fingers from your shirt and squeeze them between their palms. Looking up you’re greeted by the handsome, vulpine smile of Geto and you feel another gentle squeeze of your hands. 

You take a deep breath and ground yourself, focusing on his words as he opens his mouth.

“You will be my new on-premises and evenings assistant.” Despite your shock and the look on your face that shows it clear as day, you nod. “I would love to,” you clarify and he squeezes your hands once more as he rises and drops your clammy fingers back into your lap. 

Standing at his full height, Geto smiles as he looks over the faces of everyone sitting around him. Even Manami is working to hide her pout, looking toward the ground but keeping a smile plastered on her face. You sit with your legs tucked beneath you, a shred of hope illuminating parts of you that you once saw as dark and empty. 

You get to spend most of your day with Geto, most of your evenings too. Perhaps in that time he will finally have the opportunity to tell you about your gift. In 6 months you’ve learned as much as you knew the day you arrived but that may be soon to change. Giddiness makes you smile slightly, your face beaming as you keep it looking up. 

Suguru extends his hand in your direction and your smile grows wider. Gingerly placing your palm in his, he helps you rise as he places his hands on either side of your face. You strain your neck glancing up at him, you’re only chest level or so to his massive form and you can feel him using his grip on your cheeks to lower your head. Once you’re gazing at the floor his lips graze your forehead and you gasp, fire erupting through your limbs. 

“I’m going to teach you so much,” he coos as he uses his grip to turn your face back toward him. His eyes drink in the sight of you - the tip of your nose, the shape of your lips, and he smirks so quickly you swear you only imagined it. His thumbs graze your cheeks before he drops his grip and looks over your head at everyone else. That tall, dark shadow rests directly over you, though.

“You’re all dismissed, thank you for a lovely evening.”

Everyone stands and you stay facing Geto until all of the footsteps have filed out, waiting for his permission to leave next. You flinch slightly when his hands grip your face again, a natural reflex to the surprise of his touch, and he gazes at you silently for so long you stop keeping time. It could have been seconds, it could have been days - you will never know but you will accept it nevertheless. 

“Come see me tomorrow morning,” he whispers and you nod. You can see his eyes flit from your eyes to your mouth and you wonder what he’s thinking. He dips his head slightly and you can feel his lips brush gently against yours, a kiss almost too small to be qualified as one. You shiver, his thumbs digging into the plump flesh of your cheeks. 

“Yes sir.”

“Say that again,” he mutters against your lips. The vibrations of his words are directly on your skin and the heat that erupted in your limbs before has become a full blown fire, your face hot and your palms sticking together. “Yes sir.” 

He presses another kiss to your forehead and releases his grip, straightening his back out as he walks toward the door and offers you a bow of his head. “Get some rest.”

You make certain he’s gone before you touch your fingers to your lips, your eyes fluttering shut as you commit the feel of his soft mouth on yours to memory. You won’t be sleeping tonight.

“Geto-sama?”

The sound of your meek voice alerts Suguru to your presence and he looks up from his usual place by the open sliding door between his room and the porch attached to it, a light breeze blowing his hair off of his shoulder. He looks ethereal and resembles a hero from a book you obsessively read as a child. Rescuing a sweet young woman from a life marred by sadness, the hero hauls her off to a place where she can be happy.

The irony isn’t lost on you.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” you start, clasping your hands together in front of you and he rises to standing, elegance exuding from him even in the most mundane of situations. He approaches you and gently rubs the back of your head and you fight the urge to lean into the touch. No amount of him feels like enough.

“You didn’t interrupt anything,” he responds with a serene smile, one you’ve noticed is just for you. He doesn’t smile at anyone else like that, not even Manami, and smugness rises in you for a split second before he speaks again. “What can I do for you?”

Clearing your throat, you look toward the ground and keep your hands linked. Geto recognizes the posture, something you do frequently when you want to speak, and he waits with his own hands joined inside of the sleeves of his yukata robes. He loves how naturally you submit to him, how you won’t even meet his eyes.

“Why am I here?”

If he’s surprised by your question, he doesn’t show it, but he does take a few strides to your side to place a comforting arm around your shoulder. Against your better judgment, you lean against him. Sides pressed together, you’re surprised when you feel the most minuscule squeeze of reassurance. Your heart threatens to burst as he leads you to where he was sitting and invites you to sit across from him, the two of you looking out at the sun setting on the horizon. 

“Before I answer,” he adjusts his sitting position and turns to face you. The golden hour warmth hits his face and you swear, not for the first time, you are glancing at a deity. Something, someone, greater than yourself. You shouldn’t be this close to him and you start to spiral but his voice brings you out of your own mind and into reality, your gaze shifting from the ground to him. “Will you tell me why you’re asking?”

Twisting your fingers together and sitting your hands in your lap, you sigh. 

You’re uncertain of how much time has passed since you left your old life behind to join him and while you do finally feel at peace with yourself, the natural pull you feel toward the man who brought you here in the first place hasn’t dissipated in the way you expected it to. It feels like an unfulfilled hunger, a need more than a simple want at this point, but how can you begin to tell him that?

“I’m afraid that if I tell you, you’ll see me differently.”

Your words finally get a rise from Suguru and he quirks one of his dark brows. The crack in his cool headed exterior makes you giddy - is that because of you? You’re dumbfounded when his posture changes and he scoots closer to you, your knees nearly touching his. Should you pick yours up and press them against your chest? To quell your own anxiety, you decide to follow his lead. You will only move if he does.

“Nothing you say will change my opinion of you.” He reaches out and touches your knuckles with the tips of his fingers and you feel heat rise through every inch of your body. The touch makes you feel emotional and you break the intense eye contact between the two of you to stare at the ground, hoping it will hide the tears that are threatening to spill down your lash line. “I brought you here.”

Nodding, you lift your still joined fists together and wipe your eyes and down your cheek with the back of one of your hands. Although you are still looking down, you can see Geto moving from your periphery and you wonder what he’s going to do next. 

Concerned your display is upsetting him, you sit still and try to regulate your breathing to keep from sobbing but errant tears still flow. You feel Suguru’s finger before you realize what’s happening and you flinch slightly beneath his touch as he wipes the wet tracks off of your skin. He wipes his finger along the fabric of your yukata robe before wrapping both of your fists in one of his much larger hands.

“Please be honest with me.”

Thinking back to what prompted this need for confirmation of what you mean to him, you dig your nails into your palm until you’re certain marks will be left. Manami, someone who spends almost as much time around Geto as you do, comes into your mind and you gnaw on your lower lip as you think about the jealousy churning in your gut. Why does she get to be there to help him make decisions? Why does she get to watch while he’s in meetings? Why did you see her leaving his room last week, hours before dawn?

Knowing it should be you is the emboldening thought you need to open your mouth.

“Do I mean anything to you?”

Feeling him squeeze your fists, the palm of his hand warm and comforting, you release the breath you’ve been holding. For better or worse, you’re about to find out and although your mind is racing, willing yourself to be calm comes easy in his presence. As if you needed further confirmation of everything he has done for you at a moment when you’re demanding something you feel unreasonable for wanting.

“You mean everything to me, you’re our future.”

His confirmation makes you weep. Tears flow freely, dripping down your cheeks and they hit the knuckle of Suguru’s thumb. You should feel guilty, you think, for putting him in a position to have to answer to you but cannot bring yourself to do it. You shouldn’t have had to wait more than a year to know but forgiveness is easy when it comes to him. If anyone should be sorry it’s you for questioning him in the first place and so you begin to ask for forgiveness.

“I’m so sorry for asking, Geto-sama.”

You feel him pulling you into his lap, his strong hands wrapping around your hips and the blood rushes into your face. Perching with uncertainty, your bottom rests against his thigh and it feels natural. All of the yearning couldn’t have prepared you for this feeling and you sigh as he brings one of his large hands to cup the back of your neck, his voice so close to your ear it makes goosebumps erupt across your skin.

“Call me Suguru from now on,” he whispers, a secret for your ears only. You feel his lips press against the space where your jaw and neck meet, another secret for the two of you to keep. Everyone on the compound would view you differently if they knew this was happening but you don’t care. You can’t care, not when he’s running his palms up your waist and unfastening your robe.

The opened door with a view of the outside doesn’t concern you as Suguru’s deft fingers work at the knot keeping you decent, the same breeze that rustles his hair that has always reminded you of feathers blowing across your bare chest as the robe is worked down around your waist. Your nipple stiffens and Geto reaches to pinch it between his thumb and index finger, making you yelp.

“How long have you wanted this, my little bird?” He wonders aloud and you almost feel as if he isn’t speaking to you at all, he merely wants you to listen and to witness. “Since you met me?”

He knows the truth just as he knows the way you’re looking at him. Eyes lidded, cheeks puffed out, lips wet with your own spit. You’re never going to leave his side.

“Tell me the truth,” he pinches your nipple once more and you arch your back, lip jutting out at the roughness of the feeling. Nobody has ever touched you like this before and the feeling is electric. Despite the fuzziness in your brain, the heady arousal clouding your every thought, you wet your lips with your tongue and speak. 

“So long, Suguru.”

He smirks knowingly and lowers his head to suck your breast into his mouth, his warm tongue lapping at your skin. It’s nothing short of heaven, you think. This is how it always should have been. His hands travel from the dip of your waist to your hips, pulling the fabric of your robe further down to expose more of you to his hungry eyes. You reach out toward his face, your fingers tentatively brushing against his lower lip and he releases your nipple from his mouth.

“Can I touch you too?”

Another whisper, another secret. A predatory gleam shines in Suguru’s eyes and you wiggle against his lap, keeping your fingertips pressed against his mouth. He puckers and kisses them gently, reaching to grab your wrist. He places your hand against the bulge beneath his robes, covering your delicate fingers with his own.

“You can,” he uses his grip on your hand to press the heel against his hard cock and he hisses through his teeth. You admire the way his throat looks when his head is tipped back in pleasure, his Adam's apple bobbing. How is everything he does so effortlessly beautiful, you wonder. Your attention is recaptured by his voice. “But first, how long?”

Your wide eyed, parted lip expression only serves as further fuel for the blood pumping between his legs. You look so innocent, the same as you did when he felt the first of your defenses crumble, the day he approached you to come with him. It strikes him as funny that both times, your vulnerability is because he has put his hands on you. Nervously, you shift in his lap and he presses you closer to his body to keep you from going any further. 

“Since the first day,” you admit, to him and yourself for the first time. He smirks, molding your hand around his bulge and you squeeze. Another hiss from him is all you want, the noise motivating you to offer yourself further. Using your free hand, you slip out of your robe the rest of the way and for the first time, you're bare to his eyes.

"Look at you." Your face heats and you feel your posture collapse in on itself, shoulders slumping after being so seen. "Show me how well you listen."

His command drips with condescension but you’re too awed to notice. When you nod, he gently nudges you off of his lap and you tuck your legs beneath you. Watching as he rises, you stay seated and admire the way those same lithe fingers that were just caressing your overheated skin work at the knot in his own robes.

Those dark eyes glance down at where you kneel on the ground and he gently smooths his hand over the top of your head and slides it into place along your cheek to cup your face. Using his grip to force you to look at him, you do and appear dazed. Transfixed, perhaps, would be better. 

“I’ve always known,” Geto unfastens the knot in his robe fully and you gasp at the sight of his nude form backlit by dusk right outside the door. He’s tall and broad and you can’t look away. “That you would realize.”

Pumping his hand along his impressive length, you bite your tongue to keep from eagerly interrupting him. You want to touch him so badly, you have to sit on your hands like a child to keep from approaching sooner than you should. Before you can think any further about his words, he walks a few steps and the sticky head of his cock nearly brushes your soft, swollen mouth. 

“I knew it was you from the moment we met.” 

He hangs his head just low enough that you feel the words are truly meant just for you and you shiver. As you wait for further instruction, he squeezes your cheek and jaw in the palm of his hand. Your eyes don’t leave him once.

Suguru has always prided himself on his ability to break people down - to their core, their most base selves in every sense of the word. Usually there’s a moment where he can see in their eyes that they have been broken, cloudy and glossy. Yours have looked like that since he met you.

“This is what devotion gets you.” His words make you shiver as he uses his free hand to point the head of his cock at your lips, rubbing the sticky tip along your pouty mouth. Sitting still as stone and waiting for his directions, he gently pulls your face toward his pelvis and his tip pops into your mouth. A long, low moan leaves him and you squirm at the sound. “Just relax for me, okay?”

Suguru releases his grip on your cheek and moves to palm the back of your head, fingers finding an easy and natural grasp on your skull. You take a deep breath and look up at him with watery eyes and he chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re perfect,” he breathes toward the ceiling and you tense slightly as he uses his grip to move more of his cock between your lips. “Stay relaxed, baby. It’s okay.”

Your head bobs slightly and he groans again and you wonder what it will take to get him to make that noise again, the deep guttural moan sending shockwaves to your clit. You want to rut against something, to feel the pressure release in your stomach and between your legs, but Geto is your first priority. 

Experimentally, you dip your face toward the dark hair at the base of his thick cock and you gag a bit as more of his length slips down your throat. The grip on the back of your head tightens and he gasps. Lifting your eyes in his direction for just a moment, you whine at the sight of him with his head thrown back in pleasure. Open mouthed, eyes shut tightly, every muscle in his neck bulging - you love it. If you were a more artistic person, you’d find a way to capture this forever but for now you commit the vision to memory and allow him to thrust his hips so that the remaining length of him dips fully between your lips. The tip of your nose brushes his pubic hair and you moan and gag around his length, tears slipping out of the corners of your eyes. Using the thumb of his free hand, Suguru brushes your tears away and it makes you sob and gag. 

“Oh, don’t give up on me now,” he comforts from above, brows furrowed as his hips jerk and your nose continually bumps against his pelvis. Finding a rhythm, he listens to the noises coming from between your lips with every stroke and he feels himself getting closer. His balls tense and his cock twitches and he isn’t willing to prolong the wait any longer than it has already been.

“Open up, keep your tongue out, just like that,” he instructs as he releases his cock from between your lips with a sticky and wet pop, jerking his hand along his spit covered shaft right above your lips and chin and nose. “Stay just like ahhh-,” his words are cut short with a pleasured shout as he shoots translucent ropes of cum across your spit soaked face. A splash lands across your tongue and you note the salty taste - something you’ll associate with just Suguru for as long as you live. 

Wrist pumping until he feels fully emptied, he takes a deep breath and covers himself halfway. His lean torso is visible and you feel your cunt throb at the sight and part of you wonders if he’s going to do the same for you - if he’ll kneel between your legs and worship your pussy like he hasn’t had a meal in days.

“Miguel, Manami, you can come in now.”

The deep voice filling your ears makes you scramble to cover yourself with your arms, your breasts and back bare to the open sliding door. The pair make their entrance and you keep your face pointed toward the ground, tears spilling hot down your cheeks. Suguru pats the back of your head as he walks back toward the tatami and sits, patting the spot next to him for you.

“Had some other business to take care of, please forgive my rudeness.”

You stay frozen in place but you can feel the eyes of your compatriots on your sticky face, remnants of Geto clinging to your cheeks.

Days spent on the compound are simultaneously mind-numbingly boring and some of the busiest you’ve ever had.

Each morning, you rise with the sun and watch her from the window that is on the wall opposite where you lie. Most of the time you are on your side, arms wrapped around yourself, in your bed or Suguru’s depending on the events of the evening prior. He most often has you visit him in his quarters and you appreciate the near luxurious gift of privacy on those evenings. It’s far less private in your own room, thin walls separating yourself and whoever is in the room next to yours, although everyone seems to know exactly what Geto uses you for and has since your arrival.

He honors you by allowing you to love him, you remind yourself while the dark thoughts swirling in you churn. They’ll be chased away by the sun and by his presence when he returns to his room where you lay. His side of the futon is empty, already made up as if he were never there, so you allow your mind to wander. If he’s feeling generous, maybe today he will have lunch with you or even better, he’ll finally allow you to begin training your cursed energy into something more than a never-ending sinking feeling in your guts.

He promised you a very long time ago he would help you learn about your own abilities. It seems ungrateful to still long for usefulness considering you know exactly what your role is, yet you can’t help but wish to find this key to understand yourself that seems to always be out of reach.

Tracking the time fell away from you long ago, not long after the first time you were intimate with the man you so dutifully serve. Autumn gave way to winter which faded into a difficult to remember spring followed by the once again balmy days of summer. Again and again and again. Cicadas ring out across the secluded surroundings of the compound morning to night. You blink as they instruct you to rise, singing a tune even more rehearsed than the mechanical beeps of the alarms you used to set on your phone. How long has it been since you’ve had a phone? 

Does it matter?

Months or years may have passed but you find that you don’t care all that much. Time passes the same without being able to watch it, a voice that sounds a lot like Geto’s reminds you in the back of your head. You are here forever as part of your purpose to serve his goals and time is just a construct.

When’s the last time you felt like yourself?

Last night, when his satisfaction was the only thing you had to be concerned about, you chide yourself silently. You sound ungrateful to your own ears even if you don’t speak, these endlessly appearing questions becoming more aggravating with each second that passes, and you are annoyed and angry when you rise from Suguru’s bed, re-knotting the tie of your yukata. The shoji is open and he stands just outside of it wearing a cotton robe of his own, sunlight silhouetting him. 

He’s a God, you remind yourself, though it doesn’t kill the bitter taste in your mouth the way it usually does. Shuffling toward the door, you take a deep breath and call out his name from inside, his face turning toward you. This makes the bitter taste turn into something sweet you wish to taste again, a soft smile replacing your uncertain frown. 

“Good morning,” he calls toward you, sweeping his hand out in front of you to indicate where he’d like you to be. You dutifully follow the wordless instructions and arrive at his side with a smile, squinting in the early morning light.

“Good morning, Suguru. How did you sleep?” Smiling down at you, he gently takes your hand. “As well as I always do when you’re in my bed.”

The compliment and his touch make you feel girlish, heat rising in your face. To be a God’s beloved concubine is an honor, one you rarely take for granted even in your weakest moments. He has given you purpose, motivation, and an understanding you would not have found in a world with people who are unlike you.

Yet that same pit in your stomach lingers. He can tell, narrowing his eyes when he glances at you again though you avert your gaze.

“What’s on your mind?”

A tight smile slips across your face, measured and careful; similar to the one you always give Manami when she’s swearing her devotion to him at dinner or after the congregation. You want to tell him the truth, to open up and make him understand your need to be useful, but the words stick inside of you.

“Nothing, I just didn’t sleep very well.”

It isn’t exactly a lie but he knows that it isn’t the entire truth and his blood runs cold wondering what you’re hiding. You are usually so placid around him, glassy eyes and subdued smiles with averted eyes, but he can feel the anxiety flaring from your body. Are you unhappy? Is the spell he has held over you weakening? Does he need to scare you into reminding you of where your place is, the way he has with so many others?

Tutting gently, he wraps his arm around your shoulder and pulls you to his side.

“Speak freely, I value everything you have to say.”

Lulled into a false sense of security, you look at him out of the corner of your eye.

“May I train with you today?”

Suguru laughs, lifting his hand and gently brushing his thumb against your chin. He’s always touching you when it’s just the two of you, hands rubbing your forearms or fingers pressed against your face. He’s a sculptor and what are you if not simply the clay he’s molding beneath his touch, smoothing out edges and reshaping you from the bottom up into something you aren’t sure you recognize anymore which is how he has always intended things to be. His perfect blank slate, he said so many years ago. There isn’t a time where you haven’t proven it to be true even if you need a reminder. 

“Why?”

The tone of his voice makes you feel foolish for asking and your sidelong glance turns to the ground beneath you. Subservience is a practice and one you tend to be good at, evidence provided in the form of your refusal to make eye contact even when he begins speaking again.

“I’ll protect you from anything that could hurt you. You know that, right?” He furrows his brow, one of his hands wrapped around your forearm while the other remains on your chin. “You are safe here. Nothing here can or would hurt you, not while you’re in my care. Isn’t that enough for you? You demand training so you can, what? Fight?” Chuckling and finishing with a haughty sigh, he shakes his head. “You don’t have a fight in you, little girl. You never have.”

Defenses faltering, you laugh to yourself and up at him, sensitive eyes once again squinting when faced with the grace of the higher being in front of you. Of course he’s keeping you from having to enter battles you aren’t equipped for, isn’t that what he has been doing this entire time? Protecting you from those shadows that have lurked over your shoulder and kept you from sleeping since you were a child, comforting you, blessing you. 

Your rudderlessness isn’t Suguru’s fault, it’s simply your own for assuming you know more than he does.

Nobody knows you like he does. They never will.

“Please forgive me, Geto-sama.”

You call him Suguru in pleasure and Geto-sama in exaltation, raising it to the heavens that put him on the earth. Moving to fall to your knees before him in apology for making him believe his protection isn’t enough, he stops you with a firm hand on your shoulder. His thumb digs into your collarbone, somewhere between painfully and pleasurably, and you remain standing on wobbly feet with a dumbfounded expression. 

“I already have. For everything.”

There is so much you’ve done since you’ve arrived, so much to be forgiven for. Questioning him, doubting your place with him, doubting others, speaking with a jealous tongue and thinking poisonous thoughts. You accept his grace with a smile, tears rimming your eyes. You have always been told that forgiveness grants freedom, the wind at your back and the sun on your face. You feel it on this day, gazing up at a man who has saved you time and time again despite your own folly. 

Nodding and sniffling, you shut your eyes to stop yourself from open mouthed sobbing in thanks. You don’t deserve this and never have.

“I’m going to tell you something I’ve told nobody else, okay?” 

The assertion that he still trusts you despite your disrespect makes you emotional again, eyes opening and tears falling while you nod. 

“I love you.”

I love your devotion to me, he means, though you’ll never read between the lines to consider that the truth is that you are just a pawn to a man you’ve dedicated your existence to pleasing. Your body, your words, even the way you enter a room have all been carefully trained to suit him. You’ve been broken by his hands and he is always in a hurry to remake you, fashioning you into something once again useful.

“That’s why you’re here, little bird. To be safe and loved, not to fight or grow jealous or be angry with me. Are you angry with me?” You shake your head quickly, leaning into his touch with furrowed brows. He drops his hand from your chin and wraps his arm around your waist. “Never, Suguru.”

“Then don’t ask about training again, understood? Trust me to take care of you.”

And trust you do, nodding and finally letting that open mouth sob escape. He does a bit more tutting and his large hands paw at your body, yanking at the knot keeping your robe closed, roughly cupping your breast when the fabric falls open. Tears drip down your cheeks and onto the back of his hand, just how he likes it, and his tongue pokes out from between his teeth as he glances down at you.

“Do you trust me?”

This isn’t even close to the first time that he has asked but he needs to know just how many pieces he has smashed you into. He flexes his hand, squeezing your breast, further punctuating the point he’s trying to make - every little bit of you is his to have, to control, to make, to break, to feel.

“More than anything, Suguru, I swear.” Your legs ache to once again fold and bring you to your knees, the way you best know how to prove your regret, but you remain standing, lower lip quivering. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Your apology is a mantra you repeat as his hand dips lower beneath your robe, grazing the soft skin of your stomach and hip. Roughly wrapping a hand around said hip, he pulls you against his body, cold glance locked on your puffy, wet eyes. Despite himself, he smirks down at you, head tilted to the side. His hair is a black curtain that falls over both of you, soft strands resting against your bare torso and arm. 

“Do you love me?”

You do not have to think about your answer though it shakes when it leaves your mouth, your lungs begging you to gulp down enough air to replace what you’ve let escape through sobs. 

“I love you so much.” You shake your head and sob again. “Please, please believe me”

You feel like a half-formed thing, ready to be made over however he sees fit. 

“I believe you, no need to cry,” he assures you, grip on your hip tightening. You breathe through your open mouth and he takes the opportunity to bring his thumb to your face once again, pulling your jaw down and widening your mouth. You know what’s coming next, heat stirring from deep within you despite your sorrow, before he even commands it.

Your tongue lolls out of your mouth and he spits down onto the muscle.You roll it back into your mouth in an instant, grateful for the opportunity to have even the tiniest piece of him in you, his eyes following your throat as you swallow. Communion, consumption of him to purify yourself from the inside out. The ultimate apology until he can use your cunt to fulfill himself later, although he wants to take you now, right here, inviting everyone out to see the work of a master craftsman.

Sobs gradually give way to less powerful sniffles, you squint up at him with your skin exposed and his touch and his hair and his scent and wonder what you were even wishing would happen in the first place. That he’d train you to do what, exactly? This is what you were meant to do.

“Do you feel better?”

You nod and he smiles down at you, the same measured smirk he always wears. He leans down and kisses your forehead, pulling up the sleeve of your robe to give you some semblance of modesty but leaving it open as he ushers you back inside, sliding the shoji shut behind him. Suguru crowds you into the room, leading his nearly lost lamb toward the futon while untying his own robe.

“Now, apologize like you mean it.”

Now, you fall to your knees, grateful he’s allowed you to show how sorry you are in the shadows of his room instead of by the light of the sun.

“War is on the horizon.”

Sitting with your legs tucked beneath you at Suguru’s side on the elevated platform at the front of the room, you keep your eyes downcast while he addresses his congregation. This is your role, it has been for a very long time now, and you’ve learned to ignore curious onlookers or newcomers who will never be able to fathom such fanatical love. 

You love him so much you silence yourself. You sit by his side, so quiet you may as well be nothing but air. You have never learned how to defend yourself or even delved into the curses that used to weigh you down; freedom from these responsibilities came in the form of surrendering yourself fully to him. Body, mind, soul, all tied to his whims. You are a puppet on a string and he is free to move you in whichever way he chooses.

Just the way you like it.

“I’ve officially made the declaration to Satoru Gojo himself.”

For the first time in years, you look up when you are meant to look down, the anxious murmuring of the crowd making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You know what happens when the congregation disagrees or questions their leader and he rises with a flourish, petting the back of your head gently before stepping off of the platform.

“Do I sense disagreement?”

Looking every bit the apex predator that he is, you dare keep your gaze trained on his back rather than the floor. His head swivels from one prostrate form to another, seeking out anyone who dares disagree with his plans. Foreheads touch the ground below them, the ultimate show of devotion, yet one head remains raised and Suguru chuckles as he approaches the newcomer.

You don’t know their name, you realize. You stopped bothering to learn the newcomer’s names given how little interaction you have with them. They’re nothing but faces to be forgotten about after they have spoken out of turn and met their end at the hands of the man standing with his chin held high.

“Is there something you’d like to say?”

Whatever boldness was previously etched into the face of the man kneeling before Suguru has very clearly disappeared but tension flares through the room regardless. You know that whatever choice he makes, however he chooses to deal with this foolish man, is exactly what he deserves. To spit in the face of God is bold and everyone has to learn their place eventually.

You certainly have.

“N-no, no. Please forgive me, Geto-sama.”

Suguru clicks his tongue, turning to face the rest of his family with his arms spread wide, face turned toward the ceiling. Your eyes are to be trained on the ground but you drink in the sight of him standing amongst the mortals who have always believed they know better than he does. 

“What do you think I should do to the non-believer today?”

The question is rhetorical. At least, the silent room treats it that way, no one rushing to answer. Everyone knows to only speak when spoken to, even the inner circle who welcomed you years ago keep their foreheads pressed to the ground. He quietly pads through the crowd again, headed back toward you, and your eyes meet the ground swiftly to avoid being punished for looking at him out of turn.

“Look at me.”

Yours are the only pair of eyes he ever truly cares to have on him. Following the command, you glance up at him, remaining with your knees tucked beneath you and your hands folded in your lap. The way he looks down at you is as tender as he will ever get, even his softness is cold and harsh, but he speaks loudly enough that even the room behind him can hear that he values your opinion above the rest of them.

“What do you think I should do with him?”

Smiling back at him, your glassy eyes meet his and you say exactly what you know he wants to hear.

“Kill him, Suguru.” 

Smirking, he reaches down to pinch your chin between his index finger and thumb like he always does when you are performing as expected. It isn’t a performance anymore, if it ever was, it’s simply the way you feel when it comes to those who oppose him. He wags your head back and forth before dropping the touch completely, turning around and leaving you facing his back. 

Your eyes dart toward the ground once more. You were not instructed to look at him.

Geto walks through the rows of people once more, reaching to touch the backs of each of their heads while he passes, finally stopping in front of his target. His hands rest in the opposite sleeve of each of them and he bends at the waist, offering the same smile he gives to all of his victims.

“Well, unfortunately, your fate has been chosen. You may as well speak now while you still have the chance.”

A curse materializes, brought to this realm by the man in front of you, and you keep your eyes trained on the ground while screams and the sound of the rending of flesh fill the congregation room.

You’ll only look up once you’re instructed, as always.

#geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #kendall writes

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Man 6

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Lloyd Hansen

Summary: a demanding customer complicates more than your work life.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You stare at your phone. It can’t be. After everything else going wrong, you can’t deal with Floyd. It suddenly makes sense why he was messing around with your phone. Ew, he’s kind of a creep.

You don’t answer and put the phone away. Well. You have no money, you’re about to have no home, and your milk is spoiled. Don’t panic. You can figure this out. You’re an adult, aren’t you?

First, go to the bank. You need milk. Once you have a coffee, you’ll worry about the whole eviction thing. You leave the convenience store and open Maps to look for the nearest bank kiosk. Not too far, one block. At least you’re getting your steps in.

You follow the directions on screen and turn to cross the road. You’re so distracted, you forget to look both ways and nearly get hit by a gleaming bumper. You wave a head but don’t look up. You need to get to the bank.

You come up to the pulsing blue dot and glance around. Huh. You don’t see a bank. You turn around and face the ATM built into the side of the building. Oh goddang! You walked to a bank machine, not a bank. Is it you? Are you the problem?

You drop your shoulders. Alright. You’ll just try again. You scroll to the next location and spin around, nearly colliding with a new wall. Oh, not a wall, a person.

You look up at Mr. Henson as he watches you with a line between his brows. Somehow, you’re not very surrpised. This guy is everywhere. It’s almost like he has no hobbies.

“Oh, hi, sorry, excuse me, I’m just on my way to the bank--”

“Ah, running short? Need me to spot ya?” He raises his hand, showing a black credit card.

“Um... noooo,” you utter in confusion. The other day, you ran off after calling him names. You really don’t believe he’s changed his stripes. He’s still a snarling tiger getting ready to feast. “Thanks, but I--”

“Things are tight. Job market’s trash, housing isn’t any better, and those banks,” he whistles and puts his card away, “they like to fuck around, don’t they?”

You look at him, scrunching your face up.

“Y-yeah. Weirdly, I did just get a notice to...” your voice trails off. “Why are you bugging me?”

“Bugging you?” His brows pop up and he guffaws, “oh, sweet lips, you’re funny, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know few jokes but--”

“Think a little harder, cupcake,” he lowers his timber and stares at you.

You blink and wet your lips, pushing them together. Think about what?

“Look, about yesterday--”

“I’m talking about today,” he insists.

“Sure, uh...”

“Do I really need to spell this out for you?”

“Spell what out?” You cringe, clawing for some hint of what he means.

“Your bank card isn’t working, right?” He asks, you nod. “You’re getting evicted.” Another nod. “You have no job.”

You make a face, “yes, okay. Rub it in. Alright. I get it. You’re some important guy and I’m a loser. Don’t worry. You own this city but I think I’m on my way out.”

He sighs and presses his fingers flat on either side of his nose. He drops them and opens his eyes again, “it was me. I’m the reason you—Don't you understand what I can do to you? I got you fired, kicked out, and poor in one day. What else do you think I could do?”

Your chest hollows out and your stomach lurches. What? Him? He just doesn’t stop.

“Sir, what—why would you—I'm sorry I called you a meanie. I was upset and the coffee, I tried--” You sniffle and shudder out a half-sob, “I didn’t mean to.”

“Yeah, well, you shoulda shut those sweet lips and opened those ears, huh?” He grins, “look, cupcake, you’re not going anywhere. You try to run back to your family, I’ll find you. Your mom’s a good lady, you shouldn’t trouble her. She doesn’t make enough teaching brats to put up with another one.”

“My mom—how--”

He spins his finger in the air, “catch up, honey bun. Alright? This is it. I’ll lay it out real clear for you, right now. You have no money, no home, you have nothing. You are nothing.” He jabs his finger at you, “so, I can solve all your problems and make you something.”

You look around. There’s really no way out. He’s a psychopath. You think. You don’t really know the difference between that and sociopath.

“Are you like CIA or something?” You ask.

He scoffs and flinches, “oh man, you are something else. Really, each time you open that mouth, I’m blown away by the idiocy. Rather just get blown, you get it?”

You shake your head and pout.

“Look, I think we can sort this out, Floyd. Really, I’m really sorry and I understand now. I get it. You’re very important and I messed up. I’m nothing and I did everything wrong. And from the bottom of my heart, I apologise. So, can I please have my life back?” You say, “I think we’d both be happier if we just went on our way and never saw each other again.”

His eyes dart away and he stares into the distance. Exasperation wrinkles above his brow and he looks back to you, hands on his hips, “too late, buttercup. So, let me put it as plain as I can. You don’t get a choice. You belong to me now. Just like everything else in this city. You are mine.”

“You can’t... do that.”

“I am doing that,” he insists. “Another thing,” he raises his hand, showing his palm, “it’s Lloyd.” He emphasizes the consonants of his name, “Lloyd Hansen. You can call me sir or Mr. Hansen. Hell, if we’re getting frisky, you can call me daddy.”

“Ugh,” you groan in disgust and curl your lip.

“Ugh?” He mimick the noise, “I’m about to--” He shakes his hand and sucks in the end of his sentence, “fine. Show, don’t tell. Got it.”

You cry out as suddenly he lunges at you. He grabs you by the back of the neck and hauls you forward down the sidewalk. He marches beside you as you writhe and paw at his large hand. You whimper, helpless as pedestrians move out of your path.

“Your mouth got you into trouble, now let’s see if it can get you out,” he growls.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #the man #the gray man #drabble #series #au #mob au

[middlingmay]

German!Gale AU

And now for the other one that won't leave me alone.

Gale was born in Germany, but he lived in France for a decent portion of his childhood. His parents moved there for work. His mother was a part-time typist and his father. Well his father was many things; whatever people paid him to be (and as fast as possible), but he was known for transport.

Gale loved growing up in France. It was so busy he could pass by unnoticed and enjoy his people-watching in peace. So many people came from all over to enjoy one of centres of European culture, or so the Americans called it. His parents didn't like that much, but Gale liked the Americans the best. Brash. Up front. Not much guessing about what they really meant. He got enough of that at home.

But then dad came barging in the front door of their modest apartment at 2.23 in the morning with a black eye, and they were packing the essentials and anything of value, and crossing the border the Germany, barely stopping on the way.

Neither his mother or his father ever explained why they'd had to move, but Gale didn't need them to confirm what he already knew. He'd lost enough of his own precious belongings - a collector's edition of his favourite comic series; a perfect, detailed model plane he'd won in a maths competition at school; the watch his grandfather had given him before he died.

And then there were the drunk ramblings when mother had gone to bed about how Gale had cursed this family and his luck, and everything was all his fault.

He was five the first time he felt the back of his father's hand and heard the vitriol he really thought of his son. And he was never allowed to forget.

When Gale was barely a man, in those final stages of gangly teenagehood, things...changed in Germany. It wasn't anything groundbreaking. More like when the floorboards that always creaked finally moved a little under your feet. People were still struggling to recover after the War, and all the voices that had been looking for someone to blame were getting a little closer to home, a little louder, a little more important and harder to shrug off.

One of his only friends Solomon had stopped looking him in the eye. When Gale had demanded an answer in that quiet, firm, unyielding way of his, Solomon had scoffed.

"You look just like them, Gale. The posters."

Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Everything Solomon was not.

"Mama says we have to go before... well. Just, before. But you'll be fine, Gale."

He never saw Solomon again.

In his twenties, they were at war and his dad still worked in transport. People came to the house and paid him to take things to places they'd only wrote down once before making his father burn the paper.

But then his father pocketed the money and when those people left, he'd make a call and those officials with the impeccable uniforms would turn up, question his father thoroughly, before handing him a packet of money as well.

"Hitler will turn our fortunes around, boy. You'd best fall in line, before you ruin this for me, too, and kill us all."

Now Gale was quiet, but he wasn't meek. And he didn't think the Nazis had it right at all. But they'd abandoned a lot of their pretenses by now and news of attacks and deaths and beatings were commonplace.

So Gale decided to get into the family business. He didn't tell his father, and people who knew his last name were slow to trust, but anyone who spent any significant time with him couldn't help but respect him.

He didn't understand why, but he was grateful, honoured.

The first time he reunited a dark haired, dark eyed child with their gaunt and terrified parents he crawled into the hayloft in the barn and sobbed into the straw. It wasn't anything grand, he wasn't a human smuggler. He simply found ways to move some small supplies around for others make the bigger, grander gestures of resistance. But when frightened breaths came from the wooden crate, he'd had to bite his lip until it bled to stop from vomiting at transporting someone that small like goods.

For their life, Gale, he'd told himself.

He hated himself and was terrified in equal measure. Filled with a righteous fury that made him want to fight it all. Terrified that he'd wake up to those impeccable uniforms pointing a gun at his head, and his father grinning and pocketing his pay packet, before they pulled the trigger.

Then, one day, the last straw broke the camel's back. Or, more accurately, fell into his cabbage patch.

The dark haired man was drenched in blood. There was barely any skin visible from the top of his head to the collar of his jacket. Dark blue eyes glared out from the red.

He was tall, taller than Gale, broad and strong looking. But Gale was clearly in a better state. If it came down to it, he was sure he could hold his own.

The man held his hand to his lips, gasping on his knees in the dirt. "Bitte," he whispered in an American accent.

"Amerikaner?"

The man nodded and tapped his chest with one hand, the other still raised, palm out. "John."

John. Gale returned the favour in kind, and he liked the way his name sounded in American.

Just as he was about to ask the man if he needed help - the stupidest damned question he would have ever asked in his life because seriously - barking and shouting came from the woods a ways behind the house.

Terror flashed in those blue eyes.

"Please," the man begged, dragged from the depths of him and Gale got the impression it wasn't something he said often. "Please help me."

And the awful limbo Gale had felt stuck in for years started to crumble away. He marched forward and grabbed John roughly and hauled him to his feet. He half carried him to the hay cart and tossed him onto it. John barely had time to give him a single bewildered glance before Gale was shoveling hay over him and dragging the cart around the barn and next to the silo. Then over the hill came a small band of hunters, dogs and guns and all. One of them was a regular visitor to his father and Gale ran forward waving his arms and yelling.

"You are looking for someone?"

They were.

"They are injured?"

They were.

He led them to the cabbage patch and the blood on the pale leaves.

"I've checked everywhere and they're not hiding anywhere I can find."

And because most people saw his father when they looked at him, the hunters gave nothing more than a cursory glance around, before they left.

And Gale is left with an American man hiding in some hay, who by hook or by crook, he was going to get out of here.

#mota #headcannons #alternate universe #clegan #john egan #gale cleven #german!gale #buck x bucky

[villainofmyownstory]

Day Zero

chapter 1

masterlist

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x plus size fem!reader

summary: Ghost and his dog Riley regularly patrol the city. A man has his own routine, every day, for almost 2 years, has to look the same. The man knows that he cannot change his behavior because deep down he still feels that someone will answer his radio signal. He doesn't lose hope. However, exactly 730 days after "Day Zero", no one shows up at the transmitter mast. Just when you finally get there. You've been trying to get here for weeks, seeing a tower in the distance. You needed electricity, and the tower had a source of light every night. And so each of you, individually, still thinks that you are the only one alive.

Chapter 1: The First One

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Day 729

Ghost & Riley

5:43 a.m., the black Gamin watch on the man's right hand started ringing. In exactly 25 minutes, the sun will rise and Ghost will be able to leave the safety of his home and begin his daily routine.

This morning is definitely warmer than the previous ones. Getting out of bed, the man decides that in the evening he will cover some of the solar panels, so that excess energy for heating will no longer be needed. He preferred to keep some panels unused in case others failed. He couldn't find any more panels in the city, so unfortunately he had to settle for the few he found in recent months.

Riley ran to the man's leg, growling quietly, he had been extremely excited since the morning.

“What's up Riley?” Ghost stroked the dog behind the ear and spoke softly to him.

This dog had been the only living thing he could talk to for almost two years. It was actually a monologue, but Ghost knew that his beloved dog understood him and even though they didn't speak the same language, they understood each other perfectly.

The man also knew that he had to try to remain civilized, speaking, listening and behaving as he had before Day Zero. After years in the army, he remembered what soldiers released after years of captivity looked like. Who were locked in isolation for long months in small, dark cells. They were quickly losing their minds.

And he had to remain human. Despite everything.

Every day, after getting up and taking a quick bathroom break, Ghost would do some exercises to wake up. And be in good shape all the time. Unfortunately, his supplies of black tea were slowly running out and surprisingly there were few tea lovers in this damn city. He never drank coffee, so physical activity had to be enough for him to overcome sleepiness.

Once he put on his old military clothes and took his gun from the safe, he headed to the kitchen, taking a few military biscuits that he used to eat during his morning routine.

"Riley come on, it's time for patrol" the dog wagged his tail and ran to his master, waiting for Ghost to put a tactical harnesses and leash on him.

On his way out, Ghost checked the surveillance cameras he had installed around the house. The area looked like any other day. Intact. For a split second he felt disappointed, he was under the illusion that he was not the only one alive in this world.

Getting into the black Ford Ranger pickup truck, he checked the gas level in the canisters in the back and the air in the tires. Everything was in order. When Riley jumped on the back trunk and Ghost checked if the dog was safe, he got into the car and slowly drove away, looking around the surrounding area. Today he was going to the eastern part of the city, there were a few houses on the outskirts that he didn't check. As the days were getting longer, he could afford to travel further and plunder new abandoned houses.

When he reached one of his checkpoints, Riley on the trunk started barking and wanted to jump down to the ground. The man, concerned about the dog's behavior, quickly stopped at one of the dead ends. The dog barked and wagged his tail, staring as if in a trance, his attention focused towards the west.

“Riley calm down, Riley!”

Ghost quickly jumped onto the trunk and grabbed the dog by the collar, trying to calm animal down and direct its attention to himself. The dog barked louder and louder and suddenly growled in a way he had never heard before. Ghost froze, he had never seen such aggression from his dog before.

“Riley, sit down. Riley!”

man's voice trembled with growing fear, despite this he tried to pronounce the commands in a loud and decisive tone. Ghost was afraid that the dog might have gotten sick, maybe he had been bitten by some sick animal during one of the patrols in a new area and the wound was so small that Ghost he missed it. Even though he checked Riley every day after every patrol. He couldn't lose his only family member. Only friend.

Suddenly the dog calms down. He sat on his hind legs and, panting slightly, looked at his owner with peace in his eyes

“Bloody hell Riley, what the fuck was that?”

Ghost shook his head disapprovingly, looking up at the dog, patting it on the belly and stroking it for a while. After making sure that the dog had calmed down, the man returned to the car and drove again, glancing at the dog in the rear-view mirror from time to time. Fortunately, the rest of the journey passed peacefully, without any strange incidents.

Ghost drove in silence with the car windows open, looking around the suburbs. The eastern part of the city was mainly inhabited by elites, wealthier people from the upper classes.

Was.

Ghost, remembering his old life, felt that he didn't miss it. Money, power, fame. He never aspired to it and didn't need it, but in connection with his work he often had contact with rich people and it was difficult for him to come to terms with them. He could never get along with them. So now, after so many days since Day Zero, looking at the empty large villas, he smiled to himself. People had so much in the past, they were concerned with getting rich, making more and more money. And what did they need it for? Now they were all dead. And large houses and expensive cars stood empty, deteriorating under the influence of the seasons.

When the former soldier reached the house he had last checked, he parked close to a large tree so that the car was hidden in the shade. He opened the trunk lid for Riley to jump down and search the front and back of the house first. Nothing really bad ever happened, no evil awaited them during the day.

But Ghost wanted his four-legged friend to feel important and appreciated. If only his life would be no different from the one before Day Zero. Even though the man was not sure whether the dog had previously served in the army, from the first day they met the man checked and was happy to find that Riley was well trained. Its previous owner must have taken care of it. Ghost was very grateful to this person.

Whoever that person was.

When the dog returned happily wagging his tail and meekly stood next to the man's right leg, it was a signal that the area was checked and safe. Ghost took a bag of raw meat from his tactical vest pocket and gave a piece of it to the dog as a reward

“Good boy” as he said this he patted the dog affectionately on the head and added

“Watch the door Riley, I'll be right back.”

Ghost easily entered the white house, which was small compared to other houses in the area. Knowing that the owners would not come back to it anyway, he simply broke the glass in the door and turned the lock from the inside.

It took him less than 10 minutes to search the house, and as he thought, unfortunately for him, he found nothing important. It was one of those houses where wealthy owners come for a few days a year when they had to do something in the city. Ghost found some bandages, batteries, two cans of beans and a package of pasta. He packed everything into a backpack and took a large pillow from the couch.

Something for Riley.

Leaving the villa, he looked around the area, the sun was shining more and more strongly and Ghost basked in the sun for a few seconds, closing his eyes for a moment. Waiting for Riley to run up to him. However, none of this happened.

"Riley, come on..."

Ghost said calmly, patting his thigh to encourage the dog to come to him.

Silence. No movement.

“Oh, come on boy, I've got something for you..” the soldier opened his eyes and stepped off the porch, looking around the front lawn.

For the first time in over 700 days, Ghost felt panic rising.

Riley was nowhere to be found.

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Day 730

You

The next day of walking was so tiring that you took each step slowly with a grimace on your face. Your feet are so injured that your white Converse shoes are not only dirty with dust and brown soil, but also have red stains on them.

You don't have the strength to walk anymore. You wipe the sweat from your forehead, straightening the old t-shirt that serves as a makeshift head cover. The days are getting hotter and the journey during the day is torture.

“Maybe I'll finally lose weight”

you mutter under your breath, standing in the shadow for a moment. The large billboard that stands in the western part of the city is slightly damaged. The advertisement for the movie, which premiered over two years ago, is slightly faded and torn.

You fan your face with your hand, hoping it will bring you some relief.

Even though almost two years have passed since Day Zero, you have not lost the excess weight, and walking in full sun was a real horror for you. Dropping your backpack at your feet, you take out a half-full bottle of water and take a few sips. Even the water in the bottle is warm.

You sigh and look around. Nevertheless, despite all the horror that took place so many days ago, the outskirts of this city do not look damaged or well-kept. Even in your previous life - as you call it - you had never been to this area. Maybe it would be worth looking around a bit, maybe you will find a working car. Or at least a bicycle.

The tingling and stinging in your feet constantly reminded you how hurt and bloody your feet were. But you had to get to the transmission tower. You had seen it for so many days and you knew there was electricity there. Even on a rainy night, the lights from the tower were visible from many miles away. You were hoping that you would be able to charge the electronics you collected two years ago and maybe you would finally hear a human voice. Some signal of life.

You couldn't be the only survivor on this earth.

After a moment of rest, you moved further west, the sun was shining stronger and higher. It must have been close to twelve o'clock. You wanted to reach the tower before sunset, hoping that apart from metal bars and many cables, there would be a technical building where you could spend the night and charge your equipment.

Life before Day Zero was kind and happy for you. However, after that day it was a fight for survival. You were suddenly alone, without family or friends. You were on your own for the first time in your life. And you weren't the survival type. You lived comfortably all your life and could count on family members. Walking towards the mast, you had time for further thoughts. After all, what else are you left with? You haven't seen a human in 2 years.

Alive, to be more precise.

You were having conversations in your head, speaking quietly to yourself every few days as if you were afraid that your vocal cords would grow together or that you would simply forget what it's like to be human. The silence of the desolate world scared you at first, sleepless nights and fear during the day accompanied you in the first year. It was only when you found a bigger city and nice, undamaged houses and moved into one of them, collecting found food and useful items, that you finally started to calm down and sleep through the nights.

However, when the batteries in the device ran out, the water in the tap stopped flowing, and the winter at home became so cold that you might as well have slept outside, because the temperature difference was practically negligible, you decided to head west.

One night, when a snowstorm and strong wind opened one window in the attic and you went to close it at least temporarily and secure it to prevent snow from entering the house, you noticed a flashing light on the horizon in the distance.

At first you thought it was just a hallucination. Maybe you didn't eat enough or ate some spoiled food and your eyesight is playing tricks on you. But as you stood there and looked out the open window. To the west, a small light kept flickering in the distance. And the next day and the next. And finally the next week too.

When more than a month had passed and the weather had finally normalized, you decided to pack the most necessary items and go in that direction.

It had to be some kind of sign.

Some miracle.

During those nights when you were waiting for the weather to allow you to travel on foot, you imagined many scenarios. You felt excited and happy. Hope. Maybe you weren't the only living person in this world, maybe there were other people that close. This thought kept you alive.

Thanks to this thought, after so many days of traveling with injured legs, you were finally close to your destination. You had to get there and see with your own eyes that you weren't crazy after all and that the red and white tower was a signpost that someone maintained to let you know that he was also here, that he was alive.

When you finally reached the fence, you didn't even notice that your emotions and tiredness had won and tears were rolling down your cheeks.

You were so very happy. So close to the goal.

The gate to the tower was padlocked.

“Fuck!”

you screamed, struggling against the metal fence. You stood there sobbing, not knowing how to get to the other side. It was impossible to climb the fence. Firstly, it was too high, secondly, there was barbed wire at the top and thirdly, you physically couldn't do it. You were too fat to pull your body up over the fence.

When you finally calmed down and wiped your tears, you walked away from the fence and noticed that next to one of the fence posts there was a piece of paper attached with a red material.

You froze.

You quickly pulled a piece of paper from behind the ribbon and unwrapped the paper with trembling hands:

“If anyone is reading this, it means I'm not alone here. You survived just like me.

My name is Ghost.

I have shelter, food and other necessary items to survive. If you are looking for help, wait here. I come to the towers every day, every day of the year. Right at noon and I've been waiting for an hour..."

You quickly looked at your watch and froze… 12:23…. No, it's impossible, you've been here for a long time, you must have seen someone, you wanted to cry again. It can't be true that the only living thing, ironically calling itself Ghost, didn't show up today. Just when you came here. Maybe you missed each other? Maybe you were here for a few minutes after all. There was hope. You were supposed to spend the night here anyway, so if by some miracle you two missed each other, there was a chance to meet the owner of this letter tomorrow.

You looked at the piece of paper again:

“...and I've been waiting for an hour.

However, if you have no good intentions and are counting on your own survival, I have to worry you. In my previous life I killed more people than you can count, now, apart from things to survive, I have a weapon with me and I know how to use it quickly.

Wait here, and until I appear, don't be afraid, because you will hear and see my dog…Riley.”

With your heart beating strongly, you finished reading the letter.

Your mind didn't even have time to fully read the content of the letter when a large German shepherd ran out from the west wing of the fence, barking loudly.

This couldn't be true.

When you turned towards the dog, you froze.

“Oh my God…Riley…boy”

It was your dog. Who disappeared on Day Zero.

And now, after 730 days, he was running towards you.

Your beloved dog has been found.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #cod #ghost #call of duty fanfic #cod au

[haitani-maki]

*⋆.ೃ࿔⋆.I sʜᴏᴜʟᴅɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏ

18+ MDNI

Yotsurugi Taira x Fem!Reader

TW: friends to lovers, cheating mentions(ex bf), mentions of alcohol, pussy licking, fingering, squirting, overstimulation

English is not my first language

It was already 2 am, you had already lost count of how much you had drunk. Trying to forget the horrible argument you had hours ago with your now ex-boyfriend after discovering a cheating.

Wondering what you did to deserve such shit, inside a bar where there was no one friendly. You didn't care, sitting next to the bartender and you didn't intend to leave sober.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you feel someone sit down next to you

The person doesn't say anything, just asks for a drink.

All the effect of the alcohol you were feeling went away, a familiar voice makes you look to the side

It had been a few years since you two had seen each other, Taira Yotsurugi was your friend who you had a crush on during your teenage years. Unfortunately, you had to stay away from him because your parents didn't accept you dating the son of a Yakuza. But now you're an adult, there's no one to stop you.

He hasn't changed much. Taira stood a little taller, his lazy cat eyes that you still remembered perfectly, his blue and black hair now a little longer, he looked a little colder than before and definitely hot.

Taira hadn't seen you there, he seemed distracted

"Taira?" - You call him

"Y/n..." - He whispered your name in surprise - "Y/n, how long has it been!"

You spent a few hours talking about the events since you last saw each other, remembering some things from the past and smiling about silly things.

He looks at you as you continue talking, Taira missed you. He never told you about his feelings, he knew how strict your parents were. Taira thought it would be better this way, he thought it would hurt less...

But damn, how he missed you. Those were dark days for him, not being able to hear your sweet voice, not being able to receive your warm hugs, your beautiful smile whenever you saw him.

You stop for a few seconds, blushing a little when you notice Taira looking at you.

"Why are you looking at me like that, Taira?"

"Just thinking" - He says simplistic

"Thinking about?"

"About everything. About that time, I shouldn't have walked away from you and I shouldn't have let you go."

"Taira, I'm so-" - He interrupts you

"I know what your parents were like, y/n. I also know there wasn't much we could do." - Taira held your hand - "But I really missed you, I won't let you leave again."

And now here you are at your boyfriend's house, or better said, with your boyfriend between your legs

Lewd sounds coming from your mouth and your wet pussy as Taira's two fingers scissor you.

Your thighs trembling as Taira sucks hard on your clit, you came on his tongue.

Taira removes his tongue from your pussy, licking her lips, slowing down the movement of his fingers

"Shit, such a good pussy. I need one more, princess."

Before you could say anything, Taira's tongue flicked through your pussy again, making you scream from the overstimulation.

His fingers returning to a frantic rhythm, touching that spot that makes you see stars

Your thighs shaking around him again, your back arching and your mouth opening in a perfect "O"

You feel that knot in your stomach tightening, suddenly breaking apart into a gushing squirt into Taira's mouth

"Shit princess. I wonder how many times I can make you squirt in my mouth."

It was a long night with Taira saying "Just one more." leaving you an exhausted mess.

©Reblogs are welcome, do not copy or translate

#☾ ⋆⁺₊Makiᡣ𐭩 #taira yotsurugi #yotsurugi taira #taira yotsurugi x reader #taira yotsurugi x you #taira yotsurugi x y/n #taira yotsurugi smut #yotsurugi taira x reader #negai no astro #astro royale #negai no astro taira #taira x you #negai no astro x reader #negai no astro smut #nna #nna taira #nna x reader #nna smut #astro royale taira #astro royale smut #astro royale x reader

[pennylanefics]

Skate Day Gone Wrong - Matthew Tkachuk

a/n: this was a cute little idea i had a while ago when i first started getting hockey content on tiktok :) it took me longer than i expected with everything going on, but i think it turned out cute!

warnings: mentions of hospitals, beginning of a panic attack (briefly mentioned, not too descriptive)

summary: matt begs you to go skating with him but it takes a turn for the worst when you end up falling down on the ice

word count: ~4.6k

“Come on, it’ll be so much fun!” Matthew begs you, grabbing your hands and squeezing them gently. A sigh passes your lips and your eyes fall to your entwined hands, a small grin stretching on your face as you realize he’s been rubbing his thumb back and forth against the back of your hand.

“You know I’m not as graceful, baby. It’ll be a disaster.” He pulls the puppy-dog eyes as soon as you finish your sentence. But it wasn’t going to get by you this time.

Matt was trying to get you to go skating with him at the local ice rink. He wanted, and he deserved, a break from hockey, but he couldn’t stay away from the ice and exercise in some capacity. But since the start of your relationship, you were very clear with him that you were like a newborn deer in ice skates.

“It’ll be a nice little date! I’ll hold onto you the entire time, you never have to let go of my hand, I won’t let you fall, I promise. You have my word,” he holds out his pinky to seal his words. You sigh once more, finally looking up into bright blue eyes, filled with hope and excitement. That alone was enough for you to change your mind.

“Okay,” you finally agree, and within a second, Matt celebrates by tackling you in a hug, your laughter mixing together to fill the otherwise silent bedroom of his.

“Yay!! This is going to be so much fun, I have been wanting to get you on the ice with me for the longest time,” he admits, pressing kisses all over your face, eliciting more giggles from you. 

“I know you have, but I went once when I was younger and couldn’t find my balance, I ended up falling pretty hard. My cousins made fun of me for it and everything, so it’s something I avoided.” Matt coos softly and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear so tenderly.

“Well, I won’t do that, and like I said, I won’t even let you fall. Not gonna happen on my watch, darling.” He kisses you a couple times, his hand remaining on your cheek, sending warmth through your body. 

“I fucking hope. Otherwise you’ll be taking care of me the entire time.” He chuckles quietly and crawls into bed with you, wraping his arms around you instantly, and you instinctively curl into his soft, warm chest.

“Not sure how I’ll be able to with the upcoming road trip we have,” he replies.

“Then you better keep that promise of yours, Chucky.”

The following day, Matthew was up bright and early, preparing breakfast for the both of you and getting everything he needed ready to head to the rink. He planned on just taking his skates and wearing a simple pair of jeans and a black sweatshirt, no gear or anything was needed, really; he wasn’t needing to do any drills or practice anything anyways.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he greets you with a kiss on your forehead and then your cheek. Groaning, you shield your eyes from the blinding sun slicing through the curtains. Matt always loved this time of day, being a morning person, he was able to admire your beauty as you slept, like an angel in his eyes, glowing in the golden, natural light.

“Too early,” you grumble, causing him to laugh softly. To add to the dramatics, you grab the comforter and pull it up over your head, not wanting to leave the comfort and warmth of his bed just yet. One of your favorite places was being in his bed, enveloped in the smell of him, from both his cologne and his body wash. 

“Hey, you agreed to this, we go early and then grab some lunch at your favorite restaurant,” he reminds you, removing the cover from your head. You squint your eyes and stare up at him, finding a sly grin on his face. “Come on, I made your favorite.”

After five more minutes of Matthew playing with your hair and trying to coax you out of bed, you finally get up and head downstairs, where he had everything plated and prepared for you. He made chocolate chip pancakes with turkey bacon, fresh fruit, and scrambled eggs with cheese. You were so glad that Matt loved to cook, otherwise you’d just be having a simple granola bar instead of a nice, cooked meal.

“Alright, I have everything packed and ready to go, so if you want to go get dressed while I put everything away and wash the dishes,” Matt says, taking your empty plate and setting it in the sink with his.

Once you were dressed in a sweater and jeans, all your usual jewelry on, and perfume sprayed a few times, you join your boyfriend in the living room, where he sat scrolling through his phone. Hearing your footsteps, his head pops up and a huge smile spreads across his lips as he jumps to stand.

“Ready?” His hand reaches for yours and you follow him out to his car. While you were getting dressed, he took time to put his duffle bag in the backseat, so you could just get up and go when you were done.

The drive consisted of soft music from your shared playlist, and Matt’s hand in yours, gently stroking the back of it like he did this morning, and like he always does when you two hold hands. It was a rather gloomy February day in Florida, and despite others hating it, you loved it; cloudy weather was so comforting, when it didn’t mean tornadoes and severe weather.

Thankfully, it wasn’t too crowded at the rink, considering it was a weekday at ten in the morning, it was the perfect slot to spend time with Matt and also not make a fool of yourself completely if you were to have an accident.

Once your skates were rented, Matt helped you lace them up, talking you through it all since he could tell your nerves were starting to kick in.

“They have to be laced pretty tight, and figure skating ones are different from mine, but they kinda work the same. So…” his voice tapers off as he finishes tying them, “that should be good. Do they feel alright? Not too tight to the point where you can’t feel your shin?”

His hands take ahold of yours as he helps you stand and walk along the padded area to get a feel for them. He already had such a wide smile on his face because he was so happy that you were finally going to share the space he loved being at the most, aside from being with you, of course.

“Yeah, I think they’re good,” you let him know, heading back over to the bench you were sat on. He finishes tying his own skates, something he has mastered to do quickly at this point in his life, and before you know it, he is walking you over to the entrance to the ice.

Immediately, you freeze, but Matt steps onto the ice like it’s no issue.

“Remember what I promised you, baby?” He raises his eyebrows in concern. Fear was very evident in your eyes, and as much as he wanted you to skate at least one time around with him, he didn’t want to overstep any boundaries or push you too far. “Hey…it’s gonna be okay. Why don’t you sit down for a little while more?” 

He guides you to a nearby bench and stands behind you, giving your shoulders a small, comforting massage. Leaning down, he kisses your cheek swiftly and then comes around to sit beside you.

“We can sit here for as long as you want until you are ready, if you are,” he reassures you. “We don’t even have to do this today. You coming with me has been enough.”

His sweet sounding voice calms your anxiety almost instantly, something you noticed over the months as your relationship progressed. He always knew the right thing to say, as well as the tone to use in moments where you needed it most.

After a few more minutes of sitting there staring at the ice, you inhale and exhale deeply, turning your head to Matt, who raises his eyebrows in curiosity, his bright eyes filled with concern and worry.

“I’m ready,” you grin, trying to convince him that you’ll be okay. “I just have to do it scared.”

He sighs and shakes his head, reaching for your hands to squeeze them comfortingly.

“Honey, don’t say that. We really don’t have to do this, I can see how scared it’s making you.”

“No, let’s go. I really am ready.” He pauses for a moment just to make sure you are serious, and when you try to stand, he follows you and brings you back over to the entrance of the rink.

He steps onto the ice and holds his hands out for you, his own heart racing with anxiety. He was a pro, but he didn’t know if he’d be the best at assisting, even though he made numerous promises.

“It’ll be okay, honey. Just grab my hand and I’ll keep you balanced.”

With a small step onto the ledge, you step with your other foot onto the ice, your heart pounding in your chest and your body cold from fear.

“It’s alright, darling. That’s it. Now, you want to kick off with one foot and lead with the other. Can you try that?”

Taking his advice, you move as if you’re trying to walk like normal, but obviously that doesn’t work out too well. But he was calm and patient with you.

“No, not quite. Here, hold onto the wall for a moment and I’ll show you.”

Clutching onto the wall like your life depended on it, he takes a moment to skate in front of you very effortlessly, not at all surprising considering skating is like second nature to him.

He comes back around and smiles widely, stopping just a few feet in front of you. You stare at him blankly, as if to say “are you fucking serious?”

“Come on, try it,” he pushes, reaching back out for your hands to coax you from the wall. Bracing yourself, you gently nudge yourself from the wall and follow him, attempting to copy his movements.

“There you go! You so got this,” he beams with pride.

Still, you stumble here and there but his strong grip keeps you standing. Before you know it, you realize that you made an entire lap around the rink. Just to be safe, Matt steps off the ice and wrap you up in a celebratory hug

“You did it! I’m so proud of you, baby!” He plants soft kisses all over your face, eliciting a giggle from you.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s because you were basically pulling me.”

“It was all you, believe me. I was there for guidance only. Wanna go around again?” This time, you nod eagerly and put one foot back on the ice, allowing him to get his footing first before you place your other down.

Just like before, although you were starting to get the hang of it, you stride along as gracefully as you can, following behind your lover, who easily skates backwards, keeping his eyes on you the entire time.

“And you said you were like a newborn deer. You are far from it,” he jokes, speeding up just a little bit. Laughing, you squeeze his hands to silently let him know to slow down some, which he understands and pauses for a moment, slowing you to crash into his chest.

He wraps his arms tightly around you to keep you upright, pressing a single, sweet kiss to your lips, keeping his forehead on yours after.

“I love you,” he whispers, his eyes filled with love and adoration. “And I’m very glad you decided to do this today. I’ve had so much fun and it’s been so nice being able to do this together.”

“I’ve had a lot of fun as well. It’s not as bad as I remember it.”

“Because you’re here with me,” he winks slyly, giggling when you hit him in the shoulder playfully

“You might be right, baby.”

There’s a pause as you both just stand there, holding each other and enjoying the other’s presence. A few people populated the ice, but they stayed near the middle, chatting and taking their time practicing some figure skating tricks. You and Matt were pretty much alone, it felt like in this moment.

“Wanna try skating on your own, hm?” He asks in a hushed voice. “I’ll still be right there with you, just not holding you.”

Thinking over it for a moment, he waits for your answer, and is very surprised when you nod in agreement, his eyes widening in shock and curiosity.

“Wait really??” He had to double check to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him.

Soon, you were standing in front of him, your legs even with your shoulders, hands still in Matt’s for now.

“Okay, remember, push off and keep your skates close to the ice. Let me know when to let go and I will.”

Taking a deep breath, you look down at the ice beneath your feet and focus hard. He starts staking backwards, building up some speed and momentum for you, whenever you were ready.

“Okay, I think I’m good,” you tell him, slowly releasing the tight grip you have on his hands.

“Nice job, baby! Move that left foot a little smoother!” You try to do as he says, but the farther he gets from you, the more worried you grow. He was still within reach, but only if he happened to slow down.

Suddenly, you feel your balance start to wobble, and your knees shake ever so slightly. You could feel yourself losing your balance as your momentum eases.

“Matt,” you call out, your voice shaking just like your legs.

“You’re doing good, don’t think about it too hard.” He was no help, seeming so far away, too far for your comfort.

But it was too late.

Your foot catches beneath you and slips, and within seconds, you were falling to the ground. Matt’s voice filled your ringing ears, but you couldn’t make out a word he said. All you felt was pain.

“Hey, hey! Look at me,” he cradles your cheek, moving you as gently as ever to sit up from where you fell on your arm.

Wincing, you attempt to scoot a little, but with your right hand cradling your arm against your chest, that proved to be difficult.

“I can’t move my arm,” you tell him, tears beginning to spill over your eyes and down your cheeks. Matt grew more and more concerned as time went by, not knowing how serious of a situation this was just yet.

“Did you land on it? Where does it hurt the most?” Bringing your wrist in front of you, you show him and lightly touch the area, but even that’s too much of a sensation.

“No, no, it hurts so bad,” you cry into his chest. His eyes were wide with fear and pain of his own, knowing that the person he loves the most is hurt, and because of him? That makes it so much worse.

While you continue to cry into his shoulder, Matt waves over the person watching over the rink, making sure that if someone did get hurt they’d be assisted to as soon as possible. And not even a few seconds after Matt signals this, a medic is rushing over, ready to help in any way he can.

“Come on, we’re gonna stand up, alright?” Matt whispers in your ear, trying to remain as calm as he can. He holds your right arm tightly, the medic helping by holding your skates to secure your balance.

It took a bit, but they finally get you standing up, but Matt being Matt, decided to carry you off the ice, even though it was a short length; he wasn’t taking any more risks.

He sits you down on the closest bench and the medic comes over to assess your injury. Matt held your right hand the entire time as a way to comfort you, kissing the back of it every now and then.

“Take deep breaths, baby girl. That’s it,” he whispers, taking some of his own to help ground you and soothe your anxiety.

“You should head to the hospital. It appears to be broken, but I can’t confirm that without an x-ray. You can’t move it, it’s tender to the touch, something is definitely wrong.”

Your heart sinks to your stomach and your eyes drift to Matt. He nods in agreement, lips tightly pressed together, seemingly attempting to keep himself from crying. He thanks the medic, who gathers his things before heading off.

“Let’s go,” he mumbles, beginning to take your skates off for you, and then following with removing his own. He doesn’t say much the entire time, mainly because he doesn’t know what to say. This was his fault, you got hurt on his watch, and he was beating himself up over it silently, but you had an idea of what was going through his mind.

Matt helps you to the car but before he gets into the driver’s seat after shutting your door, he crouches down and takes a few deep breaths, feeling his anxiety rising and the start of an attack; thankfully, it goes away and a minute later, he hops in the driver’s seat and drives off in the direction of the nearest hospital.

A few hours spent there, in the very quiet emergency room that smelled so strongly of cleaning products, it was confirmed that you broke a bone on the outer part of your wrist, as well as a small bone in your thumb joint.

Four hours later, the two of you are walking into Matthew’s home, a light blue cast on your wrist, exhausted and desperately wanting pain medication. Matt drops his duffle bag with his skates on the ground, no intention of putting it away anytime soon.

Not many words are spoken between the two of you, and Matt heads to the bathroom to get you some ibuprofen and water. He returns and finds you curled up on the couch, scrolling through to try and find a movie or show to watch. 

He kisses your forehead and also gets an ice pack for you from the freezer, and once he situates it on your cast, he heads upstairs to his bathroom, taking his time to shower and get dressed in comfy clothes. Realizing you had yet to eat anything but a small bag of chips, he quickly orders your favorite takeout from his phone to be delivered within the next twenty minutes.

Matt felt awful. He didn’t want to go downstairs and face you, this was his fault. He wasn’t able to keep you safe and unharmed, and he was terrified of what you were going to say to him now that you are in the comfort of his home.

But, he knew he had to face the issue and go down there to hold you in his arms, to care for you now that you’ve gotten hurt.

He takes a torn, old shirt of his and a pair of sweats before heading back downstairs. There, he finds you half asleep, watching an episode of Catfish, though he could tell you were barely paying attention.

“How are you feeling?” He finally speaks, coming to sit next to you. Your head lifts up and you smile at him.

“The medicine kicked in a little bit ago so it’s not terrible. I’m just tired.” A sigh passes his lips and he so desperately wants to reach for your hand, but he doesn’t.

“I know, baby. We’re gonna take the rest of the night slow. I ordered some food so you’ll be able to eat. I can help you shower if you want to, all we have to do is wrap a plastic bag around your hand. I’ll take care of everything.”

His voice held so much hurt and regret. Sighing yourself, you grab his hand with your right hand and squeeze it softly, letting him know you are fine.

“Matt, it’ll be okay. I know you’re beating yourself up over this, but I need you to understand that it’s not your fault.”

“It is. I forced you onto the ice when you didn’t want to go.”

“I distinctly remember agreeing to go because I wanted to do that with you, Matthew. I wanted to skate with you, I wanted to try it on my own, and it’s not like you shoved me to the ground or tripped me. I was my clumsy self and lost my footing.”

“But I should have listened to you when you told me you weren’t that good on the ice.”

“I was until I wasn’t. And that’s not your fault.” Matt’s eyebrows furrow together in confusion, but you brush it off. “Overall, I’m not upset with you, I don’t regret going, and I sure as hell won’t hold this against you. Accidents happen, baby, and that’s okay.”

Matt listens to your words and finally nods. He brings your entwined hands up to his lips and presses a gentle kiss to your own.

“I love you,” he whispers, staring down into your eyes. “I love you so much, you have no idea.” Chuckling softly, you lean over and kiss him, finally feeling able to get up and move around a bit.

“I love you too, honey. Always will.”

After devouring the takeout food Matt ordered and icing your cast once more, Matt brings you upstairs, two plastic bags and a couple hair ties in his hands. With ease, he wraps your cast in the bags, securing it with the hair ties. He was tender and sweet as he helped you shower, planting kisses on your cheek or your bare shoulder every now and then, taking matters into his own hands and washing your hair and body for you.

Drying off and making sure you were comfortable in the clothes he picked out, you both head back to the couch and curl up, Matt getting another ice pack for you as the pain meds start to wear off a little. He kept them nearby on the coffee table just in case.

You had picked out a movie to watch just as rain had started falling on the house, a calming sound to ease your mind. Matt had you tucked into his left side, your cast-ridden hand laying on his stomach. The moment you took the ice pack off, Matt brings your hand up to his face and starts kissing your exposed fingers, one by one  on the knuckle.

He then gently rubs his thumb over the cast, his eyes filled with a somber look as he assesses the damage he still feels like he caused. You could tell that’s where his mind was going, so you pull your hand away and reach up to turn his face towards you.

“Hey, stop that,” you whisper, kissing his jaw.

“I feel terrible,” he whispers, his voice cracking as he tries to keep the tears in. You move to sit up and fully cradle his face in your hands.

“Listen to me, baby. I will be okay. A broken wrist will heal, I don’t need surgery to reconstruct anything, just this for six weeks and then a brace. I don’t need physical therapy to learn how to use it again, it will be alright. Things happen. I really don’t want you taking all the blame and the guilt for this when it’s not your fault. Yeah, you got me out on the ice, but it was me who slipped and it was me who tried to catch myself.”

“It wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t let you go,” he mutters, and you realize that there’s no way of getting through to him. So, you roll your eyes and lay back against his chest.

“Okay, Matthew,” you grumble, not really in the mood to fight or argue if he wasn’t going to listen. This seemed to strike Matt in a way that filled him with regret, because then he was sighing and shaking his head. 

“You’re right,” he whispers. “I’m…I feel terrible about it, but you are right. It wasn’t all on me, I tried my best to help you, but accidents do happen, and I understand that. It was my idea and that’s why it’s affecting me so bad.”

A few stray tears fall down his cheeks but you are quick to wipe them away.

“I understand, honey. But you wanted to share something you love with me, and I wanted to share it with you as well. If it wasn’t you, and it was my friends trying to get me to go, I would have refused. But I know how important hockey is to you and being on the ice in general. I wanted to try this with you. Remember what I said earlier?”

He nods, recalling back to how you reassured him everything was okay between the two of you, and you had no hard feelings for him regarding this.

“I meant every word before, and I still do. I’ll survive, it’s just a little bump in the road.”

Your second talk of the day seemed to have calmed him down much more, and you were thankful for that. So, you settle back down in his arms, his left hand rubbing up and down your back.

“Can I be the first one to sign your cast?” He asks after a little while of comfortable silence, watching the movie. You giggle and look up at him, wondering if he was being serious or not.

“Go get a sharpie,” you move away from him. Within a minute, he returns from his office with a sharpie he uses to sign memorabilia that the team and other companies send him, plopping down beside you. He carefully holds your cast in his hand and searches around for the perfect spot. He ends up writing right below your knuckles, and horizontal on the section on your forearm.

The forearm spot read “i love you - matty” with a little heart beside it, and the spot underneath your knuckles read “i’m sorry :(”. You laugh at his enthusiastic mood before he hands you the sharpie. You draw some random shapes along it in random spots, just to fill it in a little.

“You know everyone on the team is gonna want to sign it,” Matt says, pulling you back into his chest.

“I’m not sure there’s enough room,” you say, examining the amount of space of the medium-sized cast; it covered your fingers all the way up to the second set of knuckles, and ended ¾ of the way to your elbow. Your thumb was separated to keep it structured as well, but it was quiet comfortable. And an easy way for Matt to hold your hand.

“You could always break another bone to give them more room,” he jokes. And this time, it wasn’t a self-deprecating joke about how he was responsible for the break, you could tell just by the tone of his voice, it was light and airy, hinting at the fact he was trying to lighten the mood.

“Maybe I’ll break my leg skiing, then they’ll have a field day.” Matt can’t contain his laughter, his head thrown back and eyes fluttering shut.

“Oh, please don’t let that happen. One cast is enough for now, baby girl.”

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagines #matthew tkachuk x reader #matthew tkachuk fic #matthew tkachuk imagine #hockey #hockey fanfic #imagines #fanfiction #fanfic

[toulousewayne]

Wake Up : A Bat Family One-Shot

———

Beep….Beep….Beep.

That’s the only sound in the room. That and the sounds of the tubes contracting. The room is full of your brothers and father. Alfred had stepped out to speak with the doctors.

Bruce sat in a chair to your right with Damian on the opposite side of your hospital bed. Tim sat like a cat perched in the window seal. Gotham City in her rainy and gloomy glory was just beyond the glass. Though it seem a lot more dim then normal. Jason had snapped and left an hour ago. Dick was in the corner pf the dim room not meeting anyone’s gaze.

“I’m sorry.” Bruce managed to choke the words out. They were the first words he said to you since you fight hours ago.

You were Bruce’s Daughter, and you too didn’t always see eye to eye. But he loved you in his own way only Bruce could understand. He gently pushed a stray piece of hair away from your face.

Beep…Beep…Beep.

That was the only reply he gotten. He replayed early tonight over and over like it had his parents deaths for many years.

——

“Are you fucking serious!” You hissed at him. You glared daggers at your father.

“Y/n”

“No, you told me the reason you and canceled on me was because of some life saving event,” That was true, Bruce had canceled on her for the millionth time this week alone.

“I didn’t lie to you,” he spoke monotonously. “Clark asked me to accompany Jon and Damian on a mission.” He took a sip from his wine.

“Oh, I forgot your Boy’s clubhouse.” She spat.

—-

Bruce gently brushed your black and red knuckles. He let out a deep wounded sigh. Dick glanced over and narrowed his gaze. “This is all your fault.”

Bruce didn’t meet his gaze. “I didn’t make time for her I know that, I don’t your in put here Dick.” He said his name so cold it was almost as if that was he was calling him rather than calling his name.

Tim scoffed,”You both are to blame.” Dick shot his gaze to the college student nearly giving himself second degree whiplash.

“And what do you mean by that,Timmy?” The older man gaze never leaving the younger one.

“We all know Bruce blows everyone off unless it’s about the mission. You just do it because you don’t care about anyone but your Team or your girlfriend.”

Dick stares down at his brother and crosses the room some he’s with earshot of him.

“Tim that’s bullshit and you know it,” he tries to keep his anger in but it’s simmering and he could pop at any giving moment, “I do my best to be there,and yes I can be everywhere at once but I do try. At least I try to be.”

The room felt silent again with everyone’s on the comatose girl. The fight between them feeling as though it dismissed itself within seconds. Dick shoves his hands in his pockets and turns on his heels.

“I’m gonna go to the cafeteria, I’ll be back.” No one stops him. The door shuts softly and the only sound is the machines and the rain on the window.

A knock on the door brings everyone back to earth. It’s Alfred. “The Commissioner is here, he needs a moment with you Master Bruce.”

Bruce excuses himself and leaves the room.

——

Jason takes a long puff and the smokes leaves his lips. He looks toward the city through a rainy night. The red light the hospital cases a highlight on his face.

He blew up on Bruce twice tonight, not that he didn’t feel that it wasn’t necessary he did. But it didn’t change the pit in his stomach, nor the smells of gasoline, burning rubber, and metal.

He remembers everything.

——

“You avoiding me too?” He turns to the doorway of the library. You walk into the light of the fireplace.

“No but I don’t have any interest in spending the night in my old room.” He fired back turning the page of his book and placing a bookmark in it before standing up.

She shakes her head at her big brother. “Forgot, if I’m not apart of the missions you guys forget about us on the surface.”

He clicks his tongue and huffs,”Not like that.”

She shakes her head and grabes his plate and mug. “Sure it’s not, we used to hang out but now that I do go out anymore it’s like I’m a ghost to him. You too.”

Jason doesn’t meet her gaze right away. “I’m not talking to Daddy Bats right now. I only came because Golden Boy wouldn’t stop blowing up my phone. I just got back from Columbia this afternoon. I’m just tired is all. I’m free in a day or two.” He rubbed his face and turned back to her.

“Forget it Jason, rain check.” She mumbled and walked out the room.

——

Jason puts out the smoke and stomps on it before pushing his shoulders away from the hospital and heads back inside.

——-

Dick sat at table in the corner in the cafeteria. He took a sip of his coffee which tasted like old dirt water. Then again it was 1 am.

He throws his head back rubbing his temples trying to massage away his stress to no avail.

He gets to his feet and leaves and heads down the hallway. The rush of the hospital in full swing. Doctors getting paged, the sounds of nurses making rounds, phone lines ringing,etc.

He took a sit in the main lobby. He closed his eyes for a moment thinking about the last time he spoke to his sister. It was growing on three weeks.

——

“So??”

Dick woke up from dosing off. He rubbed his eyes and sighed.”Sorry it’s been a long 24 hours.” He sighed and scratched Haley’s head.

“I can tell, you’re not sounding like yourself.” He picked up the phone and walked into the kitchen opening the fridge. It’s only contents being a Chinese takeout container, a pizza box that he got earlier, two cans of diet soda, half a case of beer and three water bottles.

He takes a water and downs it. “Tell me about it and with this mission around the corner I need to get some rest but I doubt it.”

“What mission?”

Dick stopped in his tracks. He hadn’t told anyone but Barbara and Bruce that he was leaving for San Francisco in the morning to meet with the Titans.

“I heading back to the Titans, we have to head to investigate a lead.” He almost whispered the last part.

The line was silent for a moment. “And how long will you be gone Dick?” He couldn’t make out her tone but he could tell she wanted a different answer that what he was going to tell her.

“A month maybe less maybe more I don’t know until I get back.”

“So you’re not coming to graduation then.” She said a little more with intensity.

He sighs,”Look I’m sorry I know I haven’t been around—

“That’s an understatement.” She cuts him off.

He rubs his face,”I’m come to the next event I promise.”

She scoffed,”And what’s that Dickie Bird? You missed Ballet recitals, High School graduation and now college. You missed everything? You and Bruce are not that far apart.”

“That’s not fair, it’s important what I’m doing.”

“You don’t miss Damian art exhibition? It’s or Donna’s new studio opening. You were there for Bruce for a charity dinner two months ago yet you couldn’t bother to call me or even come ten feet to me at the same dinner to tell me you weren’t even staying till the next morning to go out like you had planned for months! You don’t miss anything for anyone else because they’ll be disappointed,but it’s fine to flake on your sister and I’m so supposed to be okay with that!”

“I’m so sorry it’s really not like that, look I’ll make it up—“

“Don’t bother Grayson, for once in all these years I thought for once you were gonna show up for me. I was wrong.” He could hear the hurt in her voice. Before he could say anything else she hung up.

That was Three Weeks ago and they hadn’t spoken.

——-

Tim hadn’t moved from his spot in the window. He turned back towards the room. Damian was sleep in his chair. He turned his attention to his older sister.

He thinks about the last few hours tonight. How things got so ugly so fast.

—

“Y/n, you’re being ridiculous. It’s a mission in East Asia not strike.” Bruce replied.

She glared at her father. The room was silent. “Do you take me for one of blind followers.”

“Excuse me?”

She leaned down so she was eye level. “I’m not one of your soldiers, and that’s part of the problem isn’t it Father?”

He returns her gaze. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, I may not always be there for you but I’m trying.”

She laughes at him, “When was the last time you were there for me that wasn’t lurking in the shadows, or stopping one of the criminals you created from nearly killing me and thousands of other people.” He gaze never leaving her and his jaw when slack too.

“You sit there and smile for the news and the rest of the world like we’re one Big Happy Family but we have never been.”

Tim pushes his food with his fork. And sighs. She turns to him, “Anything you want to say Tim, we may as well get everything off our chest.”

He huffs,”No but this isn’t going to change anything. “

She grins,”I agree with Tim.” Jason and Dick stare a look and Damian as long stopped eating and is watching the spectacle.

“You do?” Bruce raises a brow at her. She nods again. “Tim’s right, you’re never going to change until you take your last dying breath. Because God Forbid your kids dying own your watch doesn’t register to you that you need to be present more.”

The air in the room was still.

Bruce doesn’t look at her. Jason doesn’t look away but his plate. Damian squirms in his seat and Dick clears his throat.

“I tried to be there.” Bruce finally speaks.

“But you weren’t, and no one is blaming you for that.” Alfred cuts in hopefully to stop the mess from going any farther.

She huffs,”No but I least that would change your perspective of only throwing yourself into harms way every damn night. All of you, it’s like you all don’t even stop to think about yourselves.”

“Sister we are all trained, even yourself.”

“That’s not the point. I’m not saying you’re not capable,” she tone softens,” I’m saying that most of the time you remember that and that’s all that matters. You don’t think what happens if you miss step, you underestimate the villains next move, or what the consequences are for you charging into a mission without a second thought.”

Bruce leans forward,”I know what the stakes are. You don’t think I don’t know what happens if I don’t stop and think about that. You don’t know anything about what I do at night, the were a child and didn’t want this life for yourself.” He stood up and looked at her in the eyes.

“I never wanted you to be apart of that life, I know you couldn’t handle it.”

The boys turn to look at their sister and Bruce.

“So you thought that little of me?” Tears formed in her eyes but anger was the clearest emotion across her face.

“I thought you didn’t need to do what we do, you’re better at what you do now.” Though Bruce thought he was being sincere his tone was more condescending and cold.

“Bruce!” Dick shouts.

“Screw you, you just wanted be to be apart of your image.”

It dawned on him how he hadn’t been able to properly communicate to her.

“Y/n that—

She took off from the table, she grabbed her purse and keys.

“Don’t worry Father, I wouldn’t want to tarnish your reputation.” She slammed the door and charged to her car. Not once slowing down even with Tim calling her phone multiple times and Damian yelling from the doorway.

She sped off through the gates and onto the road.

——

Y/n takes a sharp turn onto the main road and wipes her face with her sleeve. She sob to herself feeling so many things at once.

The sky opened and rain harmed down onto the road. “Great.” She turned on her wipers and lights and continued driving back towards the city to go to her apartment.

She ignored her phone that wouldn’t stop buzzing from calls from her brothers.

She felt like not just Bruce but they also thought so little of her. Maybe that’s why they didn’t want to spend time with her.

She graduated from Gotham University last night with a Bachelor Degree and yet it felt like she was alone. Alfred and the girls came. Bruce had missed the entire ceremony along with Damian. Tim was just landing from attending a business meeting in New York,Jason and Dick already had prior encounters.

She felt like she didn’t really feel like she belong with them. She snapped out of her daze and grabbed her phone inside of purse. She answered.

“Tim please you guys have got to stop—

A loud hoar range out and within seconds she looked to see a large truck. She attempted to move out of his way but it all happened to fast. She took a sharp right turn but the truck smashed head on the passenger side door causing everything to feel like a free fall. Her phone, contents of her purse falling all around her. She herself was jerked all over.

The car was immediately crushed by impacted and began to roll and tumble down the hill until it crashed into several trees.

Tim heard the crash and ran downstairs to where is his brother and Father were sitting in the study. By the tears on his face Bruce stood up and was in front of him.

“What’s wrong?”

“She was hit…the truck…I-i can’t hear her.”

—-

Bruce was racing down the road. Tim was still on the phone but all he could hear was beeping from the car and something tapping.

He stopped with red and blue light came into his view.

The two got out the car but two officers tried to block their paths.

“That’s my daughter let me through.” He order but the officers tried to keep him through but he managed to push the two men and run towards the site. Detective Montoya was at the scene.

“Please, how is she?” Bruce asked. Her expression was anything but hopeful.

“I don’t know Mr. Wayne I just got here, the Fire Department got her first and are working to get her free. As if on time two paramedics rushed down the side with an Orange board with straps. Moments later the returned with three firefighters carrying Y/n. Cuts, bruised and marks littered her body. Her eyes were black and blue and a tube was down her throat with a brack around her neck.

“Is she gonna be okay?” Bruce asked uneasily.

“We’re taking her to Gotham General, she stable but we have to go.” The younger paramedic told him. He turned to Tim who hopped in the ambulance with his sister and Bruce backed away slowly as the ambulance rushed down the street with sirens and light flashing.

He made it inside his car followed them.

—-

The first few hours were a blurry, she was rushed into surgery. Tim sat in the emergency room waiting area until Alfred arrived with the rest of the boys and they were taken upstairs to her room where Bruce was already waiting.

45 minutes later a nurse came in to tell them she was out of surgery. Shortly, afterwards the surgery told them the damages she suffered and she would be in a medical coma for a few days to help with the pain and swelling

And that brings us to the present.

Bruce re-entered the room and took his seat back.

“She’s gonna be okay,right B?”

He nodded. “We hope so. She’s a fighter like us.” He took her cold hand and offered a gentle squeeze. Dick,Jason and Alfred returned as well.

Alfred placed a hand on Bruce’s shoulder,”She is, and now we have to wait for her to fight her way back to us.”

#batfamily #batboys x batsis #batsis!reader #dc universe #dc comics #dc live action #batfam #batman #dick grayson #gotham knights #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #batfamily!reader

[doodle-pops]

hey there min min, how are ya?...

so there is something that has been stuck in my mind for a while. so if the elves had a human partner who is immortal but still if they die they don't go to the halls of mandos just like the elves,

how do you think the elves would behave?, like are they gonna be super protective or controlling or what?.. especially if the age is the first age and the husband/partner is a feanorian.

Hi hi! I’m doing well, just going with the flow of things. Hope everything is well on your end? ☺️

Onto your question. In this context, I view this as reader having an immortal body but a mortal soul, hence why they experience the same faith as men. However, this can go two ways: knowing about reader’s mortal soul or not knowing for a little more ✨️angst✨️

So if they don’t know about the mortal soul, they would treat reader quite normally given their views on immortality. They would consider reader as an immortal making them essentially tied to this world, so if you died, they would reunite in the halls with you. If they only knew that wasn’t the case. It’s not to say they would be relaxed by the idea and become nonchalant with their level of protection, they would maintain their regular level of protectiveness. Guards at your side when you make trips or even accompany you themselves. Chastising you to be careful like a mother hen. Will still H O V E R.

It’ll be quite hellish if you perish and they end up following, to ask for your whereabouts to learn that you’re not here. They aren’t leaving the Halls until you get released. Aegnor and Andreth 2.0, but Feanorians style.

If they knew, it would be the same treatment if you were a regular mortal lover. At the end of the day, if they lose you, you’re gone for good until the second song. They’re just blessed that you have longevity, so every minute still counts because you could step out into the world and perish. The protectiveness doesn’t change and they’ll beg you to be safe and teach you how to fight. Freaking out over everything, it’s worse if you got sick. Imagine sneezing? They’re in an uproar!

Feanorian: “You’re immortal! You can’t get sick! Don’t you dare die on me!”

Y/N who sneezed from black pepper: –_–

#{maedhrosiseverything2me} #feanorian headcanon #character talks .𑁍༊˚

[t-lostinworlds]

contemplating deactivating my wattpad account entirely but i'm too sentimental and i've had it since i basically started reading fanfic AND when i actually started writing but some comments are getting weird on some fics and i just 😭😭😭😭😭😭 don't want to deal with it 😭😭😭😭

#i haven't updated my new fics on that either #maybe i'll just unpublish everything lol #there ARE comments that are sweet #and i also kinda don't want to be gone too #hmm #maybe i'll just make it an archive or something lol #like change everything to black and just leave it at that #ramblings

[hxhhasmysoul]

wouldn't it be nice if the author of the fics finished them. the author is me.

#vent #for the last 4 months my life has been in stupid crisis mode #like constantly #from major ones where i had to move out for a while because it was impossible to stay where i lived #to not being able to use my kitchen for over a week #and like other more or less minor house related stuff that made it impossible for me to use something normally #not a single week without something like that or shit at work which is constantly being so fucking chaotic #and now someone died in my family #not someone very close but i liked them #and of course like feeling sad that they are gone can't be the only thing #because it has to come with the headache of i need to travel for their funeral and it's just before easter #so there's no one in this city to leave my dog with #because most of my friends either live abroad or have cats or are busy before easter.. #i'd just want a week where nothing happens #and like the writing is weighing heavy on me #because i miss it #also i wish i could finish something #i wish something good would happen that i could feel proud off #also because i'm mentally ill and fucking stupid when i was going crazy with my kitchen not working and work shit #i bought new furniture #because after 15 years i've finally had enough money to buy some that aren't fucking black and inconvenient and ugly #which is like a huge project and a crisis i brought onto myself #just because i was too burnt out to write #and i wanted something nice to happen to me #like a nice living space that doesn't make feel like i have no ownership over it because everything in it was some else's choice #and that old furniture was bought by my mother and my brother ages ago and it's handmedowns #and my fucking horrible mother feels personally slighted that i want to get rid of a bed that is broken #because my brother's kids jumped on it regularly when they used to visit pre covid #yeah it's been broken that long because i lost all my savings during covid and had to change careers to a souless pointless corpo job #long pathetic whine and overshare over

[padfootastic]

i love prongsfoot because arguments can be made for both house husband sirius and house husband james.

like, i can see sirius just dropping tf out of public eye and only focusing on his james and their house and any potential children. he has so many hobbies, doesn’t need to limit himself to a single job, and his authority issues don’t get a chance to come up. also the sheer hilarity of him dressed impeccably, hair done up, looking sharp and dangerous—just to drop off lunch for james? give him a kiss on the nose and leave?

‘was that sirius black? no way’

but. at the same time. house husband james fits so perfectly because he !!! loves !!! his family so much!!! this gives him the ability to spend time with effie and flea, who’re old and unable to move around so much now. he can cook and bake and pamper his friends to his heart’s content, apparating all over the continent to where they’re working just to say hi or give them a flower. also like, making cutesy bento boxes? sirius black, terrifying in whichever profession he chooses, opens these adorable boxes where u have heart shaped sweets, and all of his favorites packed in neat little rows, and he just eats them with a fond smile and zero embarrassment because he’s equally in love.

(and i’m not even gonna touch on dad james bc we’ll be here the whole day)

#sirius black #james potter #prongsfoot #my typo changed house husband to gouda husband so uh. sirius black is cheese now? #ok but sirius as a HH subverts so many perceptions for me and i *love* imagining it #and james is fully built for this #i personally think both of them need constant intellectual stimulation so they’d use this time to work on 2537 things at once #just all over the place #sirius has an office that has everything known to wixenkind #the most niche topic and you’d probably find something about it there #and james has pickup quidditch matches on the weekend #he enters himself into various silly competitions during the week #like growing the biggest pumpkin or some shit #i’m making myself crack up here w the imagery lol #ALSO!! the stay at home dad thing—if they have a kid and they’re both working at the time #you just know they’re gonna fight over who gets to leave and stay at home #like both of them r like ‘no listen i don’t want ur career to suffer. i’ll make the sacrifice and be with the munchkin no problem! #in the end both of them give it up bc they’re rich bastards who don’t need to work a day in their life lol #pen’s notes #pen’s favourites

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

#sometimes u have a day thats just so. i cant even. its seems 2023 is my year of rage #directionless rage. i guess im mad at me but instead of being directed inward it just goes out into empty space #im just fucking. im at my saturation point #its a good thing i stopped taking measurements yesterday and went to the store tomorrow bc im so fucking #mostly bc i noticed a problem with the code for a paper that is fucking less than a day away from being locked in on acceptance #and now its like fucking i have to go through and change a lot and im also less than 48hrs away from another massive project starting #that will occupy my whole fucking waking nightmare of a life. so its a good thing im level headed. its a good thing i can accept my fuck #ups with honestly. bc im so fucking. ive had it. im up to fucking here with everything and i just want it to be done #im fucking full of bitterness and black bile and i want to break things. and whose fault is it? fucking mine #bc im too fucking exhausted constantly all the time to fucking pay attention to what im doing and notic that a fucking function isnt #working properly. fuck u fuck u fuck u. so what r we gonna do abt it? #idk well see what my boss says. i already texted her that news and its good bc at least i caught it but god its so fucking irritating #god. will i b told off for this? maybe. i probably deserve it. haha if so that will send me for an absolute tailspin. i cannot stand to #feel ive done something wrong. even when i kno i have. last time i had a total freakout meltdown and made v bad choices and that wasnt even #this bad. so its a good thing im currently fairly stable bc the desire to make bad choices is very strong #im just so sick and tired of everything and i want to let things implode bc im vindictive against myself. but we must not do that we must #be reasonable. so idk we may have to withdraw the paper. whatever i dont give a fuck. itll get accepted elsewhere. i dont fucking care #leave me alone to dissolve into the dirt and set my data ablaze to be helpful to no one. erase my Prospective impack. i don't fucking care #anyway today sucked. i might have to stay up all night trying to fix this. ensuring that i fuck up the start of the looming project yayyyyy #i hate it here. i stopped having fun over a year ago #itll b fine. im just fucking. im full im impotent rage #unrelated

[sirendeepity]

Changing my phone wallpaper/cover is a nightmare because no I don't know what I want but I know I don't want that

#lifeofdee #I've been scrolling through Pinterest for the past hour or so #and now have 3 possible aesthetic #maybe even 4 #ranging from slytherin (again) to spooky (edgy) or spooky (grunge) or even spooky (soft/cute) #WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO #but I did found one pic with a skeleton petting a black cat and that was just too cute to ignore #but do I keep it on the grunge side or the cute side #let's not forget about the season !!!! #which is not very helpful because yes it is freezing (it wasn't up until two days ago btw) but also there's not a single warm toned leave - #- in sight because everything is still on green-ish side or is not on anything at all? stop climate change I guess #but also *should* I match it with the season or should I do it more like motivational/vision board-like OR should I keep it - #- nice and aesthetic with something dark academia or writing/book related because nanowrimo? #nah scratch that I'll change it at least 3 times before October even ends #BUT ALSO DON'T FORGET THAT I DON'T USE THE SAME PICTURE FOR HOME SCREEN AND BLOCK SCREEN SO I HAVE TO FIND TWO AND THEY HAVE TO MATCH!!!! #yes I have nothing better to do with my life can you tell?

[lvllns]

there’s something very comforting in going from talking on skype until three in the morning almost every day to reaching out once every few months and yet. it feels like nothing has changed.

#reed.txt #i feel like we could catch right up where we left off and it'd be fine #one of my best friends in the world who i've never even met in person and it's been like. thirteen years. #i dunno it's just like. people exist outside of you. #shit happens and sometimes people you thought were going to be a daily staple become. not that. #you can keep in touch and talk and update each other and it's. i dunno. sometimes people are meant to leave #and open that space for someone else who fits better. who. who settles you and makes you feel comfortable and at ease. #it's just. the knowledge that things change but the cores of humans remain (mostly) the same #i know if i asked her for advice she'd happily give it (because i did this a couple months ago) #and she sends me horse things saying 'this made me think of you' and i don't know!! #everything is okay!!! everything is going to be okay!!! that's the WHOLE POINT #the sun rises and sets and the earth spins and it will be cloudy and rain but there will be sunshine and clear skies #and there will be nights so ink black you can't see and they feel suffocating #and there will be nights so lit up by the moon and stars you have to shield your eyes #some people are meant to be cyclical in your life #they are meant to ebb and flow like tides #and sometimes if you're lucky you find a person or maybe a few #who become a forest of trees #stalwart and tall and you can sink to your knees and know that they will remain #you have people that shift and warp and people that never once flicker #i dunno i dunno i'm spewing out words but i just. not everyone you meet is going to be a constant is the poinst #*point #but when you find someone who is a tree or a lighthouse or. or. #or someone who makes you feel so SAFE you can't take it you have to keep them close #the amount of people i've met and been 'i want you in my life forever' is very few. my forest is small. but it is made up of people #who bring me so much inner peace and who i love so very much

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐄𝐌𝐎 𝐁𝐎𝐘! ❞

❝ COME ON, FUCK ME, EMO BOY!! ❞

✧ pairing: emo boy! choso kamo x f!reader ✧ summary: saw this boy at the mall last week. got the kind of look to make me freak. wanna fuck in the back of the hot topic? ✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, so much smut, emo boy! choso, sex toys (vibrators, clit sucker), multiple orgasms, semi-exhibitionism, public sex (sex in the back of hot topic, sex in a changing room), fingering (f! receiving), oral (f! + m! receiving), big dick choso (but honey, that dick was 11 inches), also mahito + yuji make appearances, art by @/SS_utr3n. ✧ wc: 5.3K

It had been a while since you had stepped into a Hot Topic (a while meaning three days or three years, take your pick). But this had been the third time this week you had been to this specific Hot Topic, and now you were sure the manager of the place had your badly taken picture and description scrawled in some notebook as a potential shoplifter. 

But it wasn’t the merchandise you were looking to pick up. 

It was him. 

You saw him when you were browsing the clearance rack, knelt down, evaluating whether you needed another blind box item that will inevitably not contain the character you were looking for (but on the plus side, it was on sale?), when you heard a deep voice speak. 

“Excuse me,” you glance up as you spot him — and you swear your breath gets stuck somewhere between your windpipe and your lungs, because you don’t breathe while this man kneels down next to you to place more items on clearance. Spiky black locks tied up messily on either side, fringe bangs falling in front of his face as he bent down, a tattoo across the bridge of his nose and was that — dark purple eyeshadow around his eyes — and his eyes — god, his eyes were gorgeous, a deep dark brown — and you swore, was that a hint of purple in his irises? 

He was everything that your teen self had wanted — the same guys whose profiles you had looked at growing up and thought were so hot. You caught a glance at the My Chemical Romance t-shirt as he stood, in black jeans, as he catches you staring, “Can I help you find something?” His tone was casual, but he was curious — probably curious why you were staring at him with wide-eyed saucers. 

“No, no, sorry, I—” no, don’t tell the hot Hot topic worker that he is hot — first of all its confusing, second of all— “I just wanted to say, I like your t-shirt,” 

Fuck. out of all the things to say — I like your style, I like your fit, I like your hair — you had to pick the most generic ass comment. 

He only nods, but you catch the barest upward twitch of the corner of his lip, “thanks,” 

And that’s all it took — you now needed to see him smile. 

Over the next few days innocently shopping at Hot Topic, you find out his name is Choso from one of the other workers, Mahito, calling his name. His hair is usually in those buns, but one of the days his hair was down, and you heard him complain that his hair ties had snapped. 

And his hair looked so good down, his long inky locks fell past his shoulders, but this was your chance to talk to him — “i have some extra hair ties, if you want them,” you offer him a few hair ties, “I overheard you talking with the other worker, I hope you don’t mind,” 

And he shakes his head, his lips quirked in that almost smile that makes your heart squeeze. 

Fuck. 

“Not at all, thank you,’ and his fingers brush yours as he takes the hair ties, and you turn to leave, but his voice stops you, “what was your name? I didn’t catch it last time,” 

You tell him, smiling, “Your name is Choso, right? I saw it on your nametag,” and he’s biting his lip, tilting his head in question, as you flush, cheeks burning, “I’ve noticed you a couple times when I’ve come in— not in a weird way, I just—” 

“I’ve noticed you too,” and finally he’s smiling — and you know he’s got you, you know you’re fucked. 

And you do get fucked — in the back of Hot Topic during his break. 

It had been a few weeks of you two talking and flirting, until finally, during his break he’s got you snuck into the back to show you the merchandise they haven’t put out yet. And you scoff when you come across a bullet vibrator, “you guys sell these?” 

He shrugs, “They started to in the last few years, not a lot. They don’t want the parents to become too outraged, but just enough,” And you snort, turning the bullet over in your fingers curiously, “have you never used one before?” 

And your cheeks burn, as you bite your lip, “No I never have,” and the next question stumbles out as a joke, “why? Wanna help me learn?” And you want to bite your tongue, but you’re too busy with the foot in your mouth to do so, and before you can apologize he speaks. 

“I would,” 

And your eyes snap to his, and you realize how close he’s standing, his eyes not filled with humor but something else — lust? — and his lips curled in a small smile. 

Fuck. 

“You’re gonna have to be a little quieter, love,” he’s murmuring in your ear, pressing kisses to your neck, as you’re pressed between his firm chest and the metal storage rack, fingers laced as you held on, the vibration between your thighs the only thing ringing in your ears. 

But how can you be quiet? 

The bullet vibrator is pressed right against your clit, and his thick fingers are parting your folds, so close to sinking into you, his deep voice whispering in your ear, hot breath against your neck. 

And the coil in your stomach is only growing tighter and tighter, and your squeals only grow more and more insistent. His fingers sunk into your mouth, “suck,” he ordered, and your cunt twitches at the demand, as you do, sucking and licking messily on his fingers, “good girl,” 

And he clicks the button of the vibrator again, increasing the vibration, making your eyes widen, a gasp around his fingers, “so responsive,” he groans, as your legs grow weak, and he’s stepping forward to steady you, but it also settles his dick between your ass. 

He’s huge. 

The bulge presses into you, drawing a hiss from his lips as you lean back against it, “Trying to tease me, sweetheart?” And he’s pulling his fingers from his mouth, a string of spit connecting from his fingers to your lips, “don’t forget who’s teaching you,” and he sinks his spit soaked fingers into your needy cunt, making your back arch into his body, “so tight, despite the vibrator,” he hums.

“Choso, please—” and he starts to fuck his fingers in and out, the squelch of your cunt ringing in your ears mixing with the buzz of the vibrator — you’re already so close, “I'm—” 

“Cum for me,” he’s grunting, as his fingers reach even deeper inside you, dragging against your walls as he curls them, finding that one spot that has you seeing stars. And your moan as you cum is stifled against your own palm, as he only maxes out the vibration and fucks you through your orgasm, “one more for me, pretty, you can do it,” 

“No, no, Choso, please too much, can’t—” and he only presses sweet kisses to your neck, and how are you already close — you just had orgasmed, but the coil in your stomach is growing tighter by the second, and you’re nearly crying when you cum again, your slick dripping down his fingers and the vibrator as he eases it from you, and then splatters onto the dirty tile floor of the backroom of Hot Topic.

“Good girl,” he murmurs as he’s tilting your head back and around for a kiss. And you catch a glimpse of the glint of your release on his black painted nails as he presses the pads into your mouth, your tongue swirling around his digits and sucking them clean, “that’s it, clean up your mess f’me,” and his other hand is wiping the tears from your eyes, “so pretty when you cry — can’t wait to make you do it again.”

Your cunt twitches at the thought, your cum still dripping down your thighs, “Again?” and he’s pressing another sinful kiss to your lips, “You didn’t think this would be our only lesson, did you?” 

And it wasn’t — the next lesson was spent in the fitting rooms, during a particular dead early afternoon in the store — and he had you spread on the fitting room bench, your black jeans pulled down to your ankles, as his head found its way between your thighs. You could barely hold back your whimpers as he pressed all too hot kisses to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, burning already with his warm breath. It was too much. 

He was too much. 

“How’s that feel?” dark eyes flicking up to meet yours, half lidded with lust, as he watches your panting face, your head against the wall of the fitting room, “use your words, love,” 

“Too good, Cho-so,” the last syllable of his names escapes your lips in a gasp, as your cunt twitches as his lithe fingers tease you through the soaked material of your panties, “please, please, need you,” 

“What do you need?” and his fingers pull away, as his lips press a kiss to your puffy clit, pulling a whine from you, “what do you want me to do?” 

“Please, just—” and he’s tugging your panties aside, cool air rushing over your all too hot pussy, “please just touch me — with your fingers or mouth—” 

And his tongue drags over your messy cunt, and god, it feels too good — but a twinge makes you pause, and when you feel it draw a circle around your clit, you realize what it is — he has a tongue piercing. Your fingers thread their way in his black locks, resisting the urge to grab at his hair buns. 

He grunts, vibrations against your wet cunt, as you pull him impossibly closer to where you needed him most, his nose bumping against your clit, “you smell so good — how’s that possible?” and your eyes squeeze shut as his hands press your thighs further apart. 

That’s when you both hear the click of the entrance, and the door swinging shut — shit, the door — he forgot to lock it. Forgot when you had pulled him into a kiss right when he was ready to take a lunch break, all other thoughts had flown out of his brain once he let those doors swing shut and your lips had met his — well, left his brain and flooded southward. He also didn’t think a customer would be persistent enough to try the door and wander in when the doors were shut and the closed sign was hung up. 

“Choso, should we—” and the footsteps draw closer — and fuck — did you get wetter? And tighter — his moan is muffled against your walls, “Choso, stop, we—” 

“You don’t mean that,” he whispers, dark, half lidded eyes look up at you, your essence and his spit soaking his lips and dripping down his chin. And the footsteps are receding, the sounds of the shuffling and clinking of clothes hangers on racks in the distance, but all you can hear are the sounds of the wet, needy squelch of your cunt, “you aren’t being honest — but you are down here,” and his lips find your clit, sucking lightly, making your head jerk back, “want them to know how good I make you feel,” his lips leave your clit with a small pop, before murmuring against the soft skin of your thigh, “be quiet for me, baby,” and his tongue slips back into your cunt. 

He’s nearly slurping your juices up, his tongue tasting every inch of you, deliciously dragging against your twitching walls with his piercing, as your toes curl and your mouth parts in a muffled moan, one hand clamped over your mouth, and the other digging into his scalp. How could the person not hear you? How couldn’t they hear the wet squelch of your cunt as Choso fucked it with his tongue? How couldn’t they hear your badly swallowed moans and the sounds of your heart pounding out of your chest — and if they did, they certainly didn’t care enough to stop browsing through the fucking store. 

And you’re close, so fucking close, and you don’t hear the footsteps drawing close to the fitting rooms because your ears only can hear the wet suck of his mouth against your clit or the press of his tongue in and out of your folds, your thighs twitching under his grasp, fingers pressed into your flesh, “Choso, I’m so—” 

“Cum f’me, need to feel you cum around my tongue,” he sucks on your clit hard, teeth grazing the sensitive spot, and you cum, hard, your hand forsaking your lips to find purchase on his head, squirting all over his face as you did, soaking him along with the bench of the fitting room. And you can’t help the whimpers and moans that left your lips, as he lapped up your release without a care. 

And you slump against the wall of the fitting room, body still buzzing from your orgasm, as he finally pulls his tongue out, glancing up at you. Your chest heaves as you watch him lick your cum from his lips and chin, before wiping the rest away, and your eyes drift downward to the erection he was palming. And your fingers unconsciously reach for it, when your hear a door slam shut making your both jump. 

You cover your mouth — the customer, and Choso’s eyes meets yours, as the two of you break out in a laugh, “Fucking lock the door next time,” you sigh, covering your burning face with your hands, as Choso chuckles, lips curled in a smile.

“So there’s going to be a next time?” he tilts his head, and you flush. 

How could he go from eating you out like a desperate man without water to this innocent puppy? “Not if you don’t lock the door,” 

“It’s their fault for coming in when the doors were closed and there was a sign that said closed in big letters on the door,” and you shake your head, as he draws closer, “now, I have twenty minutes of lunch left — so where were we?” 

And you push him towards the changing room door, “Go lock the door first,” and he relents, chuckling. 

“Just for that, I’m going to look for the clit sucker I couldn’t find before.” 

~~~~

The two of you had fallen into a pattern. 

And you had become a regular at Hot Topic. You hung around him as he stocked the shelves, did inventory, price re-labeling, and even as he spoke to customers. You watched other customers speak to Choso, even flirt with him, but he never cracked a smile. Two girls were very persistent, but they deflated as he walked away after answering their questions, brushing past you, his hand brushing against your ass discreetly. Heat rushes to your cheeks, your head snapping to him as his lips curl when your eyes catch his gaze. But even so…

You still were just as clueless of where you stood with him as you were when this started. 

“You two have been pretty hot and heavy lately, huh?” you nearly jump out of your skin, as Mahito smiles knowingly at you, leaning against the counter with a shiteating grin. 

“What are you—” 

“Please, like we don’t know what goes on in the back during breaks?” he raises an eyebrow, as you bite your lip, “plus, never have I seen that gloomy guy smile, much less as much he does with you,” 

“Really?” your eyes find him again, as he crouches and lines up blind boxes on one of the shelves — but you can’t help the nagging question circling in the back of your mind — why hasn’t he asked you out yet? The two of you have hooked up, in and out of the store, but he still hadn’t asked you on a date. Even in the last few weeks, the two of you hadn’t even spent any real time together, except for your visits to the store -- he hasn't even taken you into the back. For all you know, you’re one of many people he’s bedding. Even if he doesn’t seem the type. 

“What? Trouble in paradise?” Mahito pulls you from your thoughts, head tilted and all too eager, “what’s wrong?” 

“No, it’s—“ he cuts you off with a look, and you relent with a slight pout, “he just hasn’t asked me out yet, I’m just wondering what he’s thinking—“ 

“Well, I definitely don’t think he’s seeing anyone else,” he hums, “but he does tend to go straight home a lot when you’re not around. Maybe something is going on at home?” And then he’s pushing you towards him, “no time like the present to find out,” 

“Mahito—“ 

“Choso! How about you and your favorite regular go for a quick walk and get us some drinks from the food court?” He grins, offering some money,  “be a doll, won’t you?” 

Choso sighs, “Fine,” and he brushes past you, taking the cash, before glancing back at you, “you coming?” 

You glance between the two of them, before following him out of the store. You both walk in relative silence, slipping past customers, as you reach the food court. Choso orders, paying with the cash Mahito gave, as he passes you one of the drinks, “Choso, can I ask you something?” 

His eyes slide to you, “Of course,” and god, his eyes stop your thoughts in their tracks — he’s so unfairly gorgeous, funny, sweet — you didn’t want to screw this up. You open your mouth to speak when you hear a voice. 

“Big bro, that you?” A rush of pink hair and energy is wrapped around Choso all of a sudden, “I didn’t think you got off until later,” it’s a teen boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen, his arm wrapped around Choso, and a varsity jacket on — this was Choso’s brother?

Choso cracked his rare smile, “I don’t get off until later, Yuji, but I came to grab a drink for Mahito,” and Yuji’s gaze slides to you. 

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t see you there,” he smiles a thousand watt smile, “I’m Yuji Itadori, Choso’s brother,” and he’s glancing between you and his brother, before his mouth falls into an ‘o,’ “are you his girlfriend?” 

“Yuji—“ Choso starts, a hint of a blush across his cheeks, as you stifle a laugh, “I thought you said you were going to study at home with Fushiguro.” 

“I wanted to see you when your shift got off — I thought we could have dinner together,” Yuji pouts, and Choso cracks in an instant, his lips curling. 

This boy had his brother wrapped around his finger. 

“Ok, but don’t goof off. Make sure to study,” and Yuji nods. 

“Nice to meet you,” and he leans in to whisper, “treat my brother good, ok?” And you flush, before nodding, as Choso raises an eyebrow, out of earshot. 

“I will,” 

“Cho, tell Mahito to fuck off for me,” and he’s off again, gone as fast as he came.

“Sorry about that,” Choso sighs, still a smile on his lips as he watches his brother in the distance, claiming one of the food court tables for himself and his friend, as he sits down next to a black haired boy, assumedly Fushiguro, “didn’t know Yuji would be here,” 

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” and he bites his lip. 

“It’s relatively new — we’re half brothers, but he just came back into my life. He doesn’t really have any other biological family. His grandfather just passed, and he’s staying with a teacher whose decided to foster him,” the two of you begin to walk back to the store, his gaze fixed downwards at the tacky mall carpeting, “he’s been staying with me for the last few weeks, while his foster father went on a vacation to Malaysia,” 

And now the pieces were clicking into place, “And that’s why you’ve been going home a lot lately,” and his dark eyes find yours with a tilt of his head, “I mean, you just haven’t had a lot of time lately,” you can’t meet his gaze, “it must be a lot to have a teenager staying with you.” 

“Yeah, he eats everything in the house, and he’s staying in my living room, which leaves little in the way of privacy,” and you can still feel the prickle of his gaze on you, “but I could use a break,” and you finally look and see a soft expression on his face, the same insecurity you had reflected in his gaze. 

No time like the present, right?

“Well, should we maybe go on a date?” and his cheeks flush a pretty red, all the way to the tips of his ears, “we’ve done plenty of other things that a couple would do, like—” 

And he’s shaking his head, “I know, I know!” he’s the one who can’t meet your eyes now, chewing his lip, “I’d like that — I get off my shift tonight at eight, I told Yuji we’d hang out, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind postponing—” 

“We can always do it tomorrow, I don’t want to keep you from your brother,” and his lips curl into a smile, “he’s a good kid,” 

“He is,” and his fingers find yours again, “I can tell Mahito that I’ll lock up tonight, and maybe after I do, we could—” 

“Have another lesson?” 

And eight o’clock rolls around far too slow, but Choso definitely isn’t moving slow when it’s only the two of you. 

He’s pulling you into the back again, the door swinging shut behind the two of you, his fingers tight around your wrists as he’s pulling you into a bruising kiss, forcing your lips to part with a gasp, his tongue flicking against yours. The smooth surface of his piercing grazes against your tongue. 

And his fingers find the back of your neck, deepening the kiss impossibly, as his other hand slips down the curves of your body, pulling you against him, his clothed cock brushing against your aching cunt. 

Fuck. You had almost forgotten how big he was. 

And when you hear the zipper of his black jeans, you nearly melt against him, “Choso, please—” 

“I have to get you ready first, love,” his fingers find their way to the front of your jeans and undo the button, tugging the fabric down to your ankles. Cool air raises goosebumps across your skin, the pads of his fingers press against the wet patch of your panties, and he’s groaning, “but maybe I don’t,” 

“Fuck, so wet for me, aren’t you?” he murmurs, as he’s walking you backwards, into one of the racks, his fingers press into the soft flesh of your thighs. And two fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear, joining your jeans, pooling around your ankles, “nearly ready now, but I still have to loosen you up,” his fingers tease your outer lips, dripping with your release. 

One of his finger’s slips in with practiced ease, making your hips jolt against his hand, your fingers curling around the metal bars of the rack in front of you. His finger was so much thicker and longer than yours, his digit toyed with your walls, teasing and stretching until he drew a soft groan from your lips. He was the only one who could make you this desperate, his lips pressed against your neck, the heat from his body has your mind reeling with pleasure. 

“Mmm, Choso, more—" and he’s adding another finger inside your still all too tight entrance, making you whimper, as the intrusion is all too much after a few weeks of not having him inside you. 

“So greedy,” he murmurs, the wet squelch of your cunt ringing in your ears, “you’re practically sucking me in, but it’s still not enough for you, is it?” his tongue drags against the outer shell of your ear, his piercing against your skin, before his mouth envelops your earlobe and sucks. 

His fingers are fucking you open, your eyes screwed shut as the tips brush against that spot, heat flooding your body. And you don’t hear the shuffling of his other hand through a box, until you hear the sound of sucking, “Choso—“ and he’s pressing the sucker against your clit, your mouth falling open as pleasure rips up your spine, the sucking sensation with the lewd noises of your pussy being finger fucked is too much. 

You cum all over his hand, your hand clamping over your mouth so no one hears your moans — and your legs quake as you come down from your high, as he eases his fingers from you, “so pretty,” he murmurs, and you can feel his dark, lidded eyes on your drenched cunt, watching your sticky release cling to his fingers, purple painted nails glinting in the low light. 

And he’s leaning forward, kissing down your back, as he turns you around gently, so your back is pressed against the rack. You kick off your underwear and pants. You’re still panting, chest rising and falling as his fingers press to your chin, lifting it so you meet his gaze, as he sucks his fingers clean of your cum. Heat pools again, as his fingers undo the leather belt and he’s tugging his jeans and black boxers down to his knees, his erection springs out, slapping against his stomach. 

Your mouth runs dry. 

Fuck, he’s even bigger than you thought. 

Ten inches? No, maybe eleven. How was that even possible? That shit would break you — but fuck — your cunt twitches — you kind of want it to break you. 

“Like what you see, Princess?” you lick your lips in response, and in a trance, your fingers are reaching for him, curling around the base before you slowly start to pump him. You’re rewarded with a moan, a noise that goes straight to your cunt, as your fingers move faster, trying to find the right rhythm. Pre-cum leaks from the top, as you tease his tip, before stroking back up the length of it. 

And he’s a beautiful mess, his pale features flushed a gorgeous red, as he presses his hand against his mouth so his moans wouldn’t resonate. And his pre-cum drips all over your fingers, slipping down your wrist even, as you lean forward to lick it off your own skin, while you meet his gaze. 

His head lolls back, eyes screwed shut now, and your fingers drift to his sack, stroking and teasing while your lips find the tip, sucking lightly before your tongue drags over the length of his cock. And god, he’s going to blow his load now, if you keep doing that, from the way his hips rock against your touch. 

His fingers weave into your hair, nails digging into your scalp, “Baby, ngh, it’s too good—fuck—” he’s so close, twitching in your mouth as you suck him from tip to base, tracing his slit with the tip of your tongue, “shit, I can’t—” and you suck hard on his cock, massaging his balls, and he’s gone — he’s pumping his cock into your mouth as his cum spurts down your throat, as you swallow it all too greedily. You pull away with a pop, a string of cum and saliva connecting you to his dick still, before you wipe it away. 

He’s leaning against the rack, chest heaving as he watches you with lust blown out eyes, sweat sheen on his face, “Haa, baby, s’good f’me,” and somehow he’s still hard, as you rise to your feet, thighs pressed together, your eyes fixed on his cock, “you don’t have to—” 

And he’s still so sweet — his eyebrows knit together as he’s examining you with concern, but you’re only shaking your head, as you press a sweet kiss to his lips, “I need you, Choso, please,” and he’s nodding, lips meeting yours in a heady kiss that steals your breath, and he’s made you brace yourself against the rack, fingers curled around the cool metal. 

Your folds are exposed to him, slick and dripping, even wetter than before, “You liked sucking me off that much, love?” he murmurs, kissing your neck, before he’s dragging the tip of his cock against your needy cunt, “I’ll go slow,” he assures you, as you nod. 

He’s sinking into you inch by inch — and not even halfway, you already feel like you’re ready to burst, “So big, Choso, I—” and he’s murmuring quiet reassurances, as he’s parting your folds, the pain drawing a gasp from your lips, as he finally bottoms out. 

“S’good, baby, so tight,” he’s moaning, You’re taking deep breaths, pain ebbing with each second that passes. Choso pressing sweet kisses to your neck, his hands slipping under your shirt to tease your perked nipples, mixing pain with pleasure. Tears burn at your tear ducts, as you breathe shaky breaths, and finally pain ebbs away, and pleasure grows in its place.

“S’full, so big,” you pant, growing more needy by the second, he’s reaching places you’d only dreamt of — his leaking tip kissing your cervix, “move, p-please—ah!” 

And he does as you say, pulling ever so slowly out before pushing back in, grunting as he does as your tight cunt adjusts to his size and length — bullying your insides in a way no toy could ever compare to. You swear you can feel every inch, every curve, every vein as he rocks into you. 

“So pretty f’me,” he’s moaning, stifled by his bitten lip, as your walls only seem to pull him back deeper each time he pulls out,  “so perfect, take me so well,” he’s murmuring, as he teases your tits between his thumb and forefinger, “pretty cunt made just for me, isn’t that right, Princess?” 

“Yes, yes, Choso,” and his pace only grows faster, just as his groans grow louder. 

“No one else can fuck you like this, make you feel this good, can’t wait to feel you cummin’ around me,” he’s panting, his fingers tweaking your nipples, squeezing, as he fucks you deeper and deeper, his tip hitting your cervix deliciously again and again, “feels s’good, so wet and warm for me—” his hand comes down on your ass now, making you gasp, your cunt squeezing around him. 

Drool slips from your mouth, as you get closer and closer to cumming — the telltale flutter of your walls, “Choso, I’m coming, I can’t—” 

“Cum for me, let me fill you up,” and his fingers reach around to press a vibrator to your clit, and you’re cumming, falling apart on his cock, as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm. The squelch of your cunt and the way you squeeze him has him falling apart, spurting and painting your walls. 

The two of you slump forward, your legs nearly buckling, as you cling to the rack, before he’s easing both of you back onto a bench in the stock room. Your quiet pants fill the silence of the room, as he eases himself out, groaning as you both watch your mixed releases leak out of your cunt. 

“I don’t think I can walk after that,” and he chuckles in your ear, pressing a kiss to your neck. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll carry you,” and you laugh, his favorite noise in the world, as you slowly turn, making him groan as your soaked pussy grinds against his dick. 

“So then you can lift me up when I drop it?” your lips are curled in that same smile that had him hypnotized from the moment he saw it, and he can only reply with a bruising kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth, as you sunk yourself onto his dick again. 

God. He needed to buy you tickets to Warped Tour. 

~~~

The next time you show up to Hot Topic, you weren’t showing up to buy any merchandise. 

“Hey emo boy!” you call out, making Choso turn with a smile on his lips — the one especially reserved for you. 

“Hi baby,” he murmurs, kissing you softly, his arm around your waist, “I’m almost done. I just have to punch out.” 

You lean in, words whispered against his ear, “And then you’re gonna come fuck me?” 

You were picking up your boyfriend. 

He smiles, wrapping an arm around your waist, before kissing you again, “You know I will.” 

note: i couldn't find who made this incredible art that i used after searching and searching, so if anyone knows, please let me know so i can credit them above in the description. this fic has been a long time coming since that silly blurb i wrote after watching one too many thirst edits of choso. edit: i found the artist: its @/SS_utr3n on twt!!!

tag list: @uroldall, @jlovesfrogs, @existential54321, @staryukis, @samistars, @chosoilysm, @astroholic, @emii4evr, @rose1238, @butterflieskeepcominback, @divinely-yourz, @fishii28, @seresukuin, @misalsmistake, @xkaidaxxxx, @cappric, @famebydefinition, @theatergeek, @sousblogga, @averagelonelypotato, @timesnewreader, @chrvstxl, @darylthekidd, @merelydaydreaming, @notafan77, @naughtygobbo, @smiley-babe, @butterflieskeepcominback, @entirelytoooobsessed, @acenanxious

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