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#say hi to him. through brain waves

meiieiri · 1 month

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𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐥𝐞 ! [toji fushiguro]

synopsis: in which toji notices how you color-code your outfit every time you see each other…and promptly makes a game out of it in hopes it will cure his gambling addiction.

pairing: toji fushiguro x f!reader | song inspo: colors | outfit inspos | hidden inventory: the lost tapes series masterlist

warnings: 18+, suggestive themes at the end (explicit sex, fingering, mentions of masturbation), but otherwise, just a fluffy/semi-angst/semi-crack scenario of a lovestruck toji trying to cure his gambling addiction~~

Chewing on his pen, Toji’s fangs were beginning to hurt as he stares at the blank face of a random receipt he found in his mostly empty wallet. He seems to be deep in thought, he almost looks like he’s trying his best to crack a mathematical mystery except…he doesn’t give a shit about math and the only mystery he seems to be interested in cracking is…

“Hey, I’m sorry I’m late!”

“Fuck.”

There you were in all your radiant magnificence eagerly waving to him from the university gates with your signature gummy smile he’s grown to love so much. You looked so beautiful and happy today…and you were wearing purple. A purple floral wrap dress. He was so sure you were gonna be wearing pink today Toji crosses out today’s date and the word: pink next to it with a frustrated “X”.

And in case anyone was wondering, this little guess-the-color-his-girlfriend-is-wearing-today game is something he came up with on a whim one day while waiting to pick you up after class. Of all the misfortune that has befallen him in his life, he has to thank the Zenin clan for one thing: sparing him the trouble of having to sit through an entire day of brain-frying university lectures about Kant’s second law of physics.

He hurriedly buries the receipt in his back pocket as he crosses the street, closing the twenty-five meter gap between the two of you. Pressing his lips against yours, Toji hums appreciatively when he tastes his favorite strawberry-flavored lip tint on your Cupid’s bow. You giggle as you nuzzle his nose when he pulls away, your hot breaths against one another’s lips providing a sense of comfort to you both. “What were you saying a while ago?”

“Ah, nothing.” Toji places a protective hand around your waist as the two of you walk to the nearby park for your and his usual after class/work stroll. “Just the usual profanity.”

Your lips curl into a soft pout at the thought of your boyfriend being upset about something. “Why?”

“Nothing babe,” he presses a soft kiss to your temple, his arm coming to rest on your shoulders. “Just lost at the boat races again,” he easily comes up with a white lie — a white lie that is bound to make you sad. He knows how upset you get when he relapses into his gambling addiction which, in his defense, he really is trying to quit for his and your — mostly your — sake. “Ah, I’ll do better, squirt. ‘m sorry.”

“Please?” you plead with him softly to which he nods, softly pinching your cheek in a silent promise to try to limit his gambling to…

…Getting tomorrow’s color right.

The next day, Toji spends about fifteen minutes in the shower trying to figure out what color you’d be wearing today. He’s already ruled out the possibility of you wearing black since it’s thirty degrees outside today, but with your extensive wardrobe, crossing out one color from the list is hardly enough to narrow it down. He’s never felt like this with boat races before since he has this natural tendency to just pick the boat with the most stable engine.

Ah, who was he kidding? He’ll just have to guess…and hope for the best, he steps out of the shower a few minutes of deliberation later.

After putting on a black shirt, he looks at his makeshift gambling ticket on the kitchenette counter with an angry look on his face. “Red. It has to be red.” He jots it down next to today’s date in red ink as if to manifest you’ll wear your off-shoulder red top today and those black trousers you bought from that thrift store in Harajuku last week.

Suddenly, a knock rips through the silence of his apartment and he goes to immediately answer the door. Toji clasps his hand around the doorknob for a bit, somehow still intent on delaying the inevitable. “Toji? The bags are getting kinda heavy,” you sheepishly called from the other side of the door and your boyfriend instantly snaps out of it. He swings the door open a little too aggressively that it makes you jump a bit when you hear the ear-splitting screech of the hinges nearly coming off the door. “Ah…hi, babe?”

You don’t know what to make of Toji’s face.

It’s like he’s feeling an odd mix of emotions all piled into one that they somehow cancelled each other out and now, he’s…staring at you…blankly. You have to admit, it looks a little funny. It’s not his usual stoic expression, it’s just pure…nothingness…like he caught a glimpse of the void or something and he can’t peel his eyes away from it.

“Can I come in—?”

“—Hi.”

“Eh?”

You burst out laughing at his delayed response. It’s like your boyfriend buffered for a full minute there which is so unlike him, considering he’s always so smoothly unbothered and suave in his demeanor. Toji scowls when you place a hand over his forehead. “You feeling okay?”

Toji gently shrugs your hand away, nodding absentmindedly. “Fine.” That sounded awfully peachy but you didn’t mind, Toji’s normally so awkward anyway, unbeknownst to most. In the eyes of those who don’t know him, Toji’s image is nothing short of a big, bad delinquent, but in your eyes, you mostly associate him with a typical house cat — quiet and snooty in every regard but actually genuinely affectionate. “Oh, let me help you with those.” He crouches down to help you with the groceries, sneakily stealing a kiss from you as you remove your shoes at the genkan before stepping into the living room.

Toji watches as you bound over to his apartment’s balcony, searching for the stray cat that normally drops by in the afternoon, with a grimace on his face.

“Of course she’s wearing beige,” he grumbles under his breath. Again, he crosses out today’s entry a little more forcefully this time.

At the balcony, you find Toji’s pet emeritus lounging away at the foot of the laundry rack. “Oh, there you are!” You crouch down and pet the white cat whom Toji affectionately refers to as ‘Yuki’ when he thinks you aren’t listening in whenever he feeds it after dinner. “You look like you could use a warm bath, come on!” You gently pick up the little creature and bring her inside. “Toji, I found Yuki~!”

You stop in your tracks when you see Toji with his forehead pressed to the cold marble counter causing you to instinctively place a comfort hand on his upper back to placate him while Yuki climbs atop the counter. At the familiarness of your touch, Toji, who looks like he’s still upset over some unknown thing he won’t tell you, rights his posture. What’s a man gotta do to get a winning streak around here?

“Hey, maybe you should lie down…”

“…I’m okay,” Toji half-whimpers, defeated, gaping at Yuki as she licks her paw contentedly. “Huh. You brought the fleabag in here?”

Somehow offended by that, Yuki violently hisses at him.

Okay, something is seriously wrong with Toji.

You just came out from using the washroom to see Toji on the kotatsu agitatedly scribbling on a piece of paper that doesn’t exactly look like a betting stub. You surmised it would have been something like that since Toji doesn’t normally get angry over anything except losing money on bets, but you are thoroughly surprised and comforted to see that wasn’t the case this time around. You sit down next to him, pulling your big baby into an embrace.

“My poor baby,” you teased amid Toji’s obvious misery. “Wanna tell me what’s wrong?” you smiled softly when he playfully pushes you down onto the tatami mats, all his weight pinning you down, his hand easily overwhelming yours as he pins them above your head. You try to squirm away from him, laughing when his other hand secures your hip to the floor, rendering you unable to struggle against him. Then, he lowers his lips close to your ear, his warm breath sending goosebumps to appear all over your skin, he sighs, falling slack at the crook of your neck.

Toji hates this, he probably looks like a kicked dog right now.

Today’s bet was yellow but when you opened the door to your apartment, you were wearing a mint green sweater over your cream relaxed fit ankle pants.

“Why can’t I do it? Why can’t I just win for once?” Toji’s voice is muffled as he buries his face in your shoulder. Instantly, you feel a pit form in your stomach. You’ve heard this before. You slowly push him off of you, your disappointment palpable in the way you utter your next words.

“Toji, you’ve been…gambling again, haven’t you? Baby, we talked about this.”

Your lover steadies the movements of his chest, feeling the need to defend himself. He wasn’t gambling, quite the contrary really, the thought of wandering over to the horse races hasn’t crossed his mind since he started this harmless little game. But Rome wasn’t built in a day, and every so often, he relapses into these undertones of his gambling addiction particularly the crippling desire to win at least once, to guess just one daily color scheme right.

And he’ll let it go. He swears he’ll let it go.

“I know, but really, babe, I’m not—“

“—Really? Then, what’s this?” You shakily point to the folded up piece of paper on the kotatsu. He has to pinch himself to hold in his laughter when he sees just how cutely distressed you are over an unassuming crepe stall receipt. “Don’t you start laughing now!” You swat his arm.

“I’m not laughing, you brat!” Toji purses his lips together, thoroughly enamored by you right now. “You’re worrying over nothing, Y/N. Trust me.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, pushing Toji’s face away when he tries to kiss you. You cheeky little brat. “But you’re acting so weird though…” You poke him relentlessly on the cheek to get him to come clean, and you dodge whenever he tries to playfully catch your index finger with his teeth. “Just tell me.”

“Nope.”

You climb onto his lap, hugging him.

“Please.”

A kiss is a good bribe right?

“Uh-uh.”

He returns the kiss with a loud smooch!

“I’ll break up with you.”

You whine when he flicks your forehead, leaving an obvious red mark on it.

“You won’t.”

Your little back and forth is interrupted by the sound of the doorbell ringing. Sighing, you finally let go of him. Looks like he isn’t going to budge. Toji gets up to answer the door, setting you down on the cushioned seat. Feeling a little bad when he glances back to see you still sulking about the issue, he subtly and intentionally allows the receipt to fall from his pocket knowing you’ll almost certainly go straight for it. He’ll just have to deal with your constant teasing for the next two weeks once you read the contents of the slip of paper. But he’d rather hear you laughing your heart out (even if it’s at his expense) than see you getting all anxious about him slipping back into his old destructive hobbies.

When you see the piece of paper falling like a leaf dancing in the wind, your eyes light up, and you crawl over to the spot where it’s fallen near the small bookshelf you have in the corner.

“Rakuten delivery.” Toji signs the courier’s clipboard, receiving your package. Just as he’s about to walk back into the living room to hand you your parcel, he stops in his tracks when he hears your cute chortles which you’re pathetically trying to subdue and a smirk appears on the corner of Toji’s lips.

Looks like the crisis has been averted for now.

“Wait, Toji…”

Toji pretends to not hear you, his fingers still buried in your sopping cunt, lusciously pushing in and out, your arousal coating his fingertips as he devours your lips in wanton need. You moan out his name again and he scowls when you reluctantly remove his fingers from your heat. “What? What is it?” What could possibly be so important?

You flush when he sensually licks his fingers clean, and you sit up, pulling down your skater skirt. “What’s an anniversary without a little surprise?” You kissed him on the lips, lingering for a bit, your eyes fluttering close as you taste your arousal on his tongue. “Mmh…”

“Just forget it.” Toji bucks his hips against yours, his clothed erection rubbing against your bare slit.

“No way. Just…wait here,” you kiss him again, boldly running your tongue over his bottom lip before pulling away and heading to the bathroom to get your surprise ready.

Toji groans in frustration, his head hitting the pillows he set down on the futon. After a few restless moments of him resisting the urge to fuck his hardened cock into his hand to finish himself off, he hears your melodious voice calling for him from down the hall.

A satisfied lopsided smirk appears on Toji’s lips, his eyes dark as he gazes at the most beautiful being in the world right now, shyly making her way towards him wearing nothing but an emerald silk robe. He licks his lips when he sees the outline of your nipples through the fabric, smirking as you sit down on the foot of the futon.

“All that for a silly little robe? What a letdown,” Toji smirks as he moves to untie the knot of your robe, only for you to slap his hand away.

“Uh-uh…you have to guess first.”

Toji gulps when you pull out the one thing he’s been agonizing over for the last few weeks from your robe’s hidden pocket. You grab a pen from the nearby bookshelf which he expertly catches when you throw it in his direction alongside the crumpled up piece of paper he’d been meaning to destroy for a while now.

“If you guess right, we could ditch the condom tonight. So do well,” you innocently bat your eyelashes at him.

Toji looks like he wants to jump off a ditch, the obvious tent in his sweatpants indicating just how hard he is right now. “No, don’t do this. Don’t fucking do this, Y/N…”

“…What color am I wearing tonight?”

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venuslut · 3 months

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FANTASIZING ABOUT being fucked by Sukuna’s stomach tongue ♡.

He’ll beckon you over, feeling generous, and loosen your kimono to where you’re basically naked, hanging on by your obi. Sukuna grabbed your waist and pulled you onto his lap, positioning you so that you straddled his waist. The mouth on his abdomen formed and opened with a sinister grin, its lips parting as if it were ready to devour you. The elongated tongue that emerged from it was slick and glistening, invitingly beckoning you closer.

“Go ahead," Sukuna rasped, his voice filled with dark desire. "Ride me, brat."

Hesitantly, you lowered yourself onto his mouth. Feeling the wet warmth of his waiting mouth against your most intimate parts. His tongue, long and sinuous, flicked out to taste you, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. The sensation was both invasive and exhilarating, the slickness of his tongue gliding against your folds, teasing your sensitive clit sending shivers down your spine and a weak cry left your lips.

Sukuna gave you a few seconds to stew in the feeling before his hands tightened their grip on your hips, and brought you down to fully sit on his mouth. His tongue curled and twisted inside you, hitting all the right spots, driving you to the brink of ecstasy. Each thrust of your hips brought you closer and closer to the edge, the pleasure building within you like a raging storm. Making your breath hitch and your body tremble with need. Sukuna uses his lips and tongue to worship your most sensitive areas, alternating between delicate licks and harder, rhythmic strokes. Sukuna's hands, warm and possessive, slide up your sides, his fingers digging slightly into your flesh. He keeps his touch firm, grounding you as you ride the waves of pleasure. His mouth and tongue work relentlessly, building the intensity of your pleasure with every passing second.

As he devours you with his sinful mouth, he keeps his eyes locked on yours, drinking in the sight of your ecstasy. He wants nothing more than to bring you to the peak of pleasure, to feel you quiver against his lips, and to drink in every drop of your sweet release. “God, you’re so…pathetic,” he bloviated, amused at your shameless display of eroticism. While you are in your own world of pleasure, Sukuna raised one arm from his top set and one from his lower set to cup your breasts that were bouncing enticingly in front of him. You didn’t think too much of it outside of the usual stimulation until you felt a wet and slimy feeling touch your breasts, and you realized that he was using the mouths on his hands to lick your boobs.

You mewled as his mouths began sucking and teasing your hardened nipples with his tongue. Lavishing attention to your sensitive peaks. Your body arches, your chest poking out to push deeper into his hands. It is intense. His tongue alternates between your cunt and your clit before focusing on the sensitive bundle of nerves, abusing it til you see stars. Your feedback is choppy, like your brain can’t comprehend how good his ministrations are making you feel. Only broken moans escape your lips and you shudder. “You love getting used like this, huh?” He remarked in a condescending tone, smirking because he knows you can’t even register what he’s saying. “Moaning like a bitch in heat, you must love getting used like a whore,” he continued.

The sounds of your moans reverberated through the grand hall and Sukuna loved how dumb you were acting. Taking the experience to a new level, he took his free hand from his lower set of arms to reach behind you and place a hand over your ass. He was slick, coming in slow and then when you least expected it, he opened the mouth on his hand and stuck his tongue in your asshole. Your eyes that were downcast and glazed over immediately shot open and you shrieked in surprise. That was the catalyst to your orgasm and you released all over his tongue, the slithery appendage lapped up every drop of your juices eagerly, not letting a single ounce go to waste. The taste of your climax on his tongue is like ambrosia, and he relishes in the way your body tenses and spasms against his mouth. And when your release was done, went back into your cunt to resume fucking you to your next orgasm. You quickly began to squirm in his hold and tried to move away from the hand that penetrated your puckered hole, but was held down by Sukuna’s imposing grip.

He grinned evilly at your reaction, “what? You’re telling me you’ve never had anything in this hole?” You shook your head frantically as tears began to well in your eyes, uncomfortable at the sensation of his tongue wriggling around in your asshole. “No… it’s dirty,” you sniffed, feeling shame creep up on you. “Well, I’m happy to be the first. You should be honored, I’m teaching you how to be a proper whore for your husband,” he mused. His tongue extended and curled deeper into you, pressing into sensitive spots you didn’t know you had. This all so knew to you and it came so suddenly, all you wanted to do was run away from this newfound pleasure. His words only served to embarrass you further and make you want to try harder to get away.

Sukuna narrowed his eyes in annoyance at your incessant squirming, smacking your ass with his only free hand. “Behave.” He commanded, his voice deep and domineering, sending a fearful shiver of dread down your stomach. His command making you still immediately. But as you still, all the pleasure comes at you, receiving stimulation from the tongue in your cunt, the mouths on your nipples, and now the tongue in your asshole. Being confronted with all these different types of oral stimulants, you cum quick and without warning. You feel the pleasure burn through your tummy and legs. You cry out, unable to control your voice or your shuttering, digging your nails into his chest and leaving long red scratches. Sukuna could heal those easily, but he wants to leave them there to heal on their own, so he can parade them around like a trophy. He revels in the way you lose control, in the way you let the pleasure consume you, and he wants to have those moments etched into his skin.

And while he appreciates your sounds of ecstasy, you’re beginning to get a little too loud for him. Taking his last free hand, he places it over your mouth, the mouth on his palm eagerly latched onto you, its tongue exploring your mouth with an animalistic hunger. As Sukuna's tongue expertly danced with yours, his other two hands removed themselves from your breasts and found their way to your hips, his grip possessive and demanding. He pulled you off his stomach mouth and moved you lower, the bulge in his robes pressing against your thigh, a clear indication of his own undeniable desire from seeing you come undone. Sukuna took his hand away and broke the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your lips as he pulled away, a wicked grin etched on his face. He had only begun to savor the taste of your submission, and he had no intention of stopping anytime soon.

"Now, my little whore," he whispered huskily, his voice laced with an intoxicating mix of sadism and lust. "Let's see how long you can handle my insatiable hunger. I didn’t prepare your tight little holes for nothing."

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murdrdocs · 7 months

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minors dni.

on nerdy flustered boys who would fuck if given the chance:

he starts with little glances. staring at you on opposite ends of the classroom, thanking past him for accidentally picking a seat that gave him a perfect view of you, the seating allowing him to slide his eyes over your profile as you write something down, he quickly realizing that he's paying for a college education and not to stare at his pretty classmate like a creep.

the glances turn to stares, giving him a way to start noticing the small things about you. the changes in your skin tone from your under eye to your cheek, the way your nose curves and bends, the way the fluorescent light reflects off your bare shoulders. and then his eyes almost fucking bulge out of his head when he sees two pebbles poking through the material of your thin white tee.

he's too busy trying not to ogle to notice the small smirk on your lips, or to hear the professor enthusiastically encouraging you all to partner up. next thing he knows, you're walking over to him and his mouth is dry and he's going to say something but you do first.

"you dropped your pencil." you bend down, grab it from the floor, and look up at him through your lashes as you do so, sliding the mechanical tool over to him with a gentle smirk on your lips. he manages to blurt out a thanks that's no where near as appreciative as it should have been due to the way his brain is short circuiting.

you saunter away to a girl seated next to him, and he can feel the boner forming in his jeans. because for just a second there, a pathetic second, he had front row seats to the shape of your tits and the way your nipples poke perfectly through your tee.

ever since that one day, it's like anytime he sees you he sees your nipples too.

at the coffee shop on campus when he is getting something to power him through another day of assignments, you're sitting at a table by the window in a loose tee that pushes against your tits when you stretch a wave to him, exposing the little mountain just enough to have him salivating.

at the gym when he is there to bring something to his roommate, you're on the treadmill, running with a sports bra that strains as it holds your tits in, not doing much to conceal your pestering nipples.

and somehow, some fucking way, when he's in your bed, staring down at your bare nipples for the second time (by some miracle), concentrating hard and following them as they move with the thrusts that he delivers to you.

he's lost in it, head spinning from the sensations of your cunt squeezing around him near-perfectly, eyes blurring from staring at your tits and your face and the way your stomach contracts as he angles his cock just a little differently and you gasp appreciatively.

you babble out an almost incoherent sentence, the distinguishable words being along the lines of insinuating that he had to have some prior experience to this, the way he fucks you a clear guess as to why you’re assuming that.

and he tries to respond, the reply easy and on the tip of his tongue, but the starts of his orgasms brews low in his stomach and he can only focus on getting both of you to that point.

his thrusts sharpen, and his hand goes down to play with your clit a little, thumb finding the bud after a moment or two of fumbling around.

when you cum, he’s right behind you, shooting warm spurts into the latex of the condom as drool falls from his parted lips falls onto your chest. he watches it glide down the expanse, gather around your nipple, and slide the rest of the way down and onto your bed sheets.

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propertyofwicked · 2 months

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CAPTURING THE MOMENT - LN

MDNI !!

warnings: straight up smut, no plot. doggy, unprotected sex + (make good choices please) tiny praise kink if u squint. forgive me if this is absolute dog shit <3

inspo from this post by @norrizzandpia

“want to film you like this angel. look so pretty filled with my cock,” lando panted in your ear, lifting you leg higher up his waist to find a deeper angle.

before your brain could catch up with your mouth, you were already nodding and giving lando a firm yes - it took even longer for his brain to compute that you were agreeing to it.

he’s pulling out slowly, moaning quietly about the loss of contact, and then grabbing your waist, turning you onto your stomach and pulling your backside back up into his hips. one hand stays on the curve of your waist, his other reaching for his phone and opening up the camera. he’s taking too long, and you begin to roll your hips onto his for any semblance of friction.

your head cranes backwards, to see lando’s phone angled where your bodies align, and a line of spit living his mouth and landing at your entrance. his free hand grabs his cock, spreading it through your folds and eliciting a long mewl from your mouth. without warning, he thrusts back into you, bottoming out instantly.

“fuck baby, still so tight for me” he says, before pulling back and slamming straight back into you repeatedly.

“lan, oh my- s'good to me” you manage to babble out, muffled by your face pushing into the mattress.

“what was that angel? i didn’t catch that,” lando’s voice let slip the smirk on his face, he heard every word. his free hand reaches the back of your head, grasping a handful of hair and using it to pull your whole body upwards, all the while his pace remaining relentless.

“you like it when i take you from behind? you like how i make your eyes roll to the back of your head like that?” he coos. you moan out in response, unable to form words when your whole body begins to shake around him.

“speak to me baby, who makes you feel like this?”

“you, lando, you,” you manage to pant out, loud enough to satisfy him, the statement followed by a loud grunt falling from lando’s mouth.

“taking me so well, baby. you always take me so well,” he continues, his words sending you to a new level of pleasure. his hand drops your head back to the mattress and comes around the front of your body to play with your clit. he can feel you getting tighter and tighter around his cock, and your hips grinding back into him, trying to match his pace.

“lan, please fuck i-”

“please what? what do you need baby?”

“im gonn-” you barely finish your sentence when you mouth falls open, and your whole body is overcome with waves of pleasure. your legs begin to shake around him, and his fingers leave your clit, so that his hand can hold you up by your hip.

“such a good girl, ‘never get tired of feeling you cum around my cock,” he says softly, his hips still snapping against yours but slowing in their pace as he comes close to finishing himself. the phone drops from his hands and they both move to your waist, giving him a better grip of your body. he’s close. you can tell. he grunts loudly before pushing out a strained, “where do you want it baby?”

“in me, lan, need you to finish in me” you breathe out, still coming down from your own high - the statement alone had him finishing, filling you up, as his body leant further into yours out of exhaustion. once, he pulls out, you lay next to each other in silence for a while till you hear him say -

“no one can ever see that video.”

“our faces aren’t in it?”

“they’d never know it was us.”

oh how wrong you both were.

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #lando x reader #lando smut #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #formula 1 #mclaren f1 #mclaren #lando norris fluff #formula one smut #formula 1 smut #f1 smut

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yawnderu · 6 months

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Adoration — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Content: fluff, pregnant!reader, horrible dad jokes.

Our small talk was quite big to me. You know I love you, yeah? My entire life, I always wanted the most simple things. A cup of tea, a normal family, nice food, to be loved and accepted. To find comfort in someone, for the first time ever.

"Earth to Simon." You say teasingly, a hand being waved slowly near his eyes, as if to see if he was focusing on you. He gives you a questioning look, raising a blonde eyebrow stained with eyeblack.

"Seemed a bit lost there." You give his cheek a kiss and you could swear you felt it heat up right after. He returns it, of course, giving you an overly wet kiss on the cheek that makes you recoil and scrunch up your face in mock disgust, dragging a quiet laugh out of him. The sound is beautiful, something your enamored brain can never fully process no matter how many times you hear it.

"I'm here." He replies, arms wrapping around your waist as he brings you closer to his naked body, one hand now gently holding the back of your head as your cheek touches his chest.

"I'm here." He repeats, voice quieter as he looks down at you. The image of you has always been the lens in which he can see the world with love. Reserved for you— his hand trails down, running down your skin delicately before settling on your tummy. —and the life growing inside of you.

"I've been thinking about retiring." He says it so casually you take a few seconds to process, blinking a few times before looking up at him with a mix of confusion and excitement in your face.

"Really?" He doesn't blame you for not believing it— hell, he doesn't even believe it himself. His whole life has been dedicated to putting his life on the line, what else can he do? He'll find something. Anything.

"Yeah." He confirms, planting a soft kiss on your forehead as his hand keeps gently holding your stomach, hoping he can feel the baby kicking.

"There's too much to lose now that I have my girls with me." And he doesn't wanna take the risk anymore. He wants to grow old with you, and he wants to see his girl grow. Maybe even have a couple more kids later on.

His words are met with a soft peck, your hand gently running through his short, bleached hair.

"Are you sure?" He doesn't even hesitate before nodding, bringing your naked body closer to his, wanting to feel everything he missed out on his whole life.

"Already spoke with the old man. Said he'd support me either way." He chuckled softly, thinking back on his conversation with Price. The man was barely 10 years older than him, yet in a way, he was a father figure for Simon. Someone to look up to, a mentor.

He still remembers the first time you and Simon confirmed you were together, and how Price promised to keep his lips sealed despite fraternization being frowned upon. Price knew it would happen either way, looking at the way Simon's eyes softened when you were introduced to the team. The way he was always next to you, paying special attention to you during missions despite knowing you're part of the 141 because you're a capable soldier. Price would tease him in private about his obvious crush on you and Simon would simply say he's seeing things because of dementia.

"Then I'll retire too." You confirm, and before he can open his mouth to protest, you keep talking.

"I'm not risking our girl growing up without a mother. Can't imagine forcing her to deal with your bad jokes alone." You tease and the corners of his lips tilt up, eyes glistening with... something. You know that look.

"No, don't st—" You try to get up from bed and he gently pulls you closer, the same smug smile on his lips that shows he knows he's about to do something awful.

"What do you call a fish wearing a bowtie?" You groan loudly and try to escape his grasp, a smile tugging at your lips as he holds you even closer, planting a bunch of kisses all over your face while you try your best not to giggle.

"Sofishticated." He says bluntly, looking down at you to see your reaction. You simply look away, trying to have a serious expression yet... his jokes are so bad they're funny. A small giggle escapes you before you're full on laughing, trying to move him away from you so you can escape the never ending nightmare of his dad jokes, his low laugh coming from somewhere behind you while he holds you closer, thinking of more jokes he read online just to tell you. You are the shelter in which I find strength to carry on. Thank you.

#cod mw2 #cod mwii #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #ghost modern warfare #ghost cod #ghost x reader #simon riley x y/n #simon riley #simon riley fluff #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #Simon ghost fluff #ghost fluff #mw2 fluff #ghost x female reader

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dabisbratz · 3 months

Text

𝑀𝐸𝑅𝐼𝒩𝒢𝒰𝐸 𝒟𝒪𝐿𝐿 — kento nanami x male!reader

himbo!reader , farmer!au , strangers/friends/lovers , meet - cute , inaccurate farming techniques , lawyer!nanami , slow burn , depictions of injury ( minor burns ) , check - ins , dumbification , vaguely implied age gap (~5 years) , hand kink , inexperienced reader , light feminization , blowjobs , anal , mating press , fingering , hand-holding , praise , degradation , slut - calling , dirty talk , spit / drool , under-negotiated kink , aftercare

w.c; ~ 13.8k

sonny says. . . naaamiiii !!! {cry} {cry} mbaby :c can ybelieve s’is mfirst nami fic ?!?! just tbe clear, the reader’s size or height isn’t explicitly stated, but he’s vaguely hinted toward bein/appearin physical stronger than nanami.

‘ Next stop: Sekichiku ’

When he wakes up, Kento expects sunlight peeking through greenery— warm, yellow rays of light that dance and flicker across his eyelids. Warm, yellow beams that caress his cheek like the knuckles of someone tender, the palms of someone sweeter. It’ll overwhelm him at first, so bright and unapologetic as his eyes adjust and focus, but he’ll quickly crash, pupils constricting as the disturbance dwindles. And, suddenly, the star’s saturation will be comforting. It’ll be like a second. Just slower paced, peaceful. He expects the rustle of leaves, connected to strong branches and even stronger roots that dig into deep, rich soil. He expects to roll over in his temporary bed, breathing gently beneath shade, shielding his eyes from the welcoming invasion and blanketing him in a seamless flow of cool air.

When he wakes, Kento expects to hear the chirping of birds. It’s never quite enough to hear them in Tokyo. The strum of wind as it tickles his nose and pushes him forward. The swaying of grass— the smell is still so freshly imprinted in his brain, as it makes his head swim while crystal drops glide across its surface — a coarse underfoot of greenery that prickles the souls of his feet.

Tranquility by his side, urging him to get out of bed, chirping in an excited voice as it tugs on his wrist. He expects solitude, rolling its tangerine eyes and tapping its foot impatiently, “This is the break you’ve waited twenty-seven years for.”

But, instead, he finds himself clutching his chest, his heart beating with an unfamiliar pace that isn’t so calm. His body feels cold, like he’s been submerged in the deepest part of the ocean, unrelenting and ruthless as wave after wave crashes into his ribcage. The static in his ears grows louder and louder, ready to combust and burst his eardrums. Instead of the rustle of leaves, the cruel hustle and bustle of city life storms forward against his chest, shoving him back and forth. Back and forth, to and fro, against his body as his knuckles turn white and his vision starts to spot. Back and forth, as he comes undone.

It’s been so long, he’s not quite sure just how to unwind.

He starts off slow, swallowing air in desperate heaps until his legs relax, spreading toward the cushion arms of his faux-velvet chair. Then he flexes his fingers, draws them into tight fists and releases the digits until the shaking has stopped. Sips his complimentary white-wine with newfound steadiness, and tries not to choke when the intercoms ring,

‘Now approaching: Sekichiku.’

It’s a quaint little village, your district, where everyone knows everyone and the news is always, no matter where you are, city-wide. Stone-clad pavement and moss decalled windows, there’s a small blanket of achroous fog further north of town square. Yet, despite that, there’s an ever growing city of greenery and agriculture. With a small population and himself being the only passenger to unload at the station, it seems to be a lot busier than he’d originally thought. Street-food stalls and vendors, selling freshly baked goods and syrupy, savory sweets. It’s not like Tokyo, no, there’s no rush. No pushing or shoving, no overcrowded lines, no smells of smoke and burnt coal.

In fact, the air is rather crisp— the further his legs take him, the more apparent. No longer are his lungs breathing in the stench of sickness or body odors, no longer is he pushing past the fortunate, just to shove the unfortunate. And, admittedly, it’s a bit of a culture shock— but it’s not unwelcome. Regardless, Kento keeps his suitcase close, pushes it forward, sidestepping polite smiles and local shop owners.

He basks in it. The genuine nature to it all, the healthy glow of the atmosphere despite the steam, the fog, the chill to the air. He considers this a luxury— the closest to a vacation he’ll get, even if he’s technically ‘on the clock.’ Still— he soaks in the sights of hugging trees, of mossy roads and cobblestone streets. The colorful banners that jump with life, the lanterns and yellow-lighting that illuminates the day— he’s sure at night they’re even more wondrous. And, oh, the smells. Not at all like tokyo— there isn’t an overwhelming mixture of perfumes and colognes, no fast-food chains competing through aromatic smells, no heavy scents of tobacco littering the air. It's crisp, it’s ripe.

He almost takes no offense to the collision against his side— nor the screeching sound of surfaces grinding against each other, nor the loud and abrasive cry of the man bumping into him, accompanied by the crack of an apple’s core against the ground.

“Woah,” Warm breaths pan down the base of his neck, even warmer hands wrapping around his bicep with strength Nanami is sure shouldn’t be normal for a typical, everyday civilian. He involuntarily grunts, a deep sound that rumbles in his throat and earns an eager, yet apologetic chuckle. “You alright? Y’almost went flyin’!”

His brows furrow quizzically at that. First— he’s certain it’s the latter who nearly lost an arm and a leg with his tumble. Second, he hadn’t expected such a youthful, bouncy voice from the very stature shadowing acast him. Not even a bit, it doesn’t match the muscle straining through thermal clothing at all, let alone the sheer square feet of area being taken up by one person. Blocking his vision almost completely, standing straight— at an angle— that blocks a stall for fresh produce and flaky, steaming bread. The goods speak for themselves, crusted over in golden brown mountains and cloud-like, moist cross-sections.

Swallowing, Kento nods, eyeing the poorly drawn sign for fresh bread. Drawn in sharpie, the prices are written in big, bold, red letters. Endearing, almost, the curve and loop of each letter and number— the lines of each to-scale doodle of bread. Nothing like Tokyo, not nearly as artificial, not perfectly clean-cut. Not so cookie-cutter. There’s some personality in it, as juvenile as it may be. And it’s a shame, really, how promising the stand looks. Apples that shine a golden shade of red, bread that’s glazed in a sweet, sticky layer of yellow molasses and savory honey. And though he’d love to indulge, Kento has yet to label himself as the type. “Great, thank you.” Is all he says, pulling his suitcase along the perimeter of the stand.

Some other time, then.

The days are long as they are hard. The sun has yet to fully set, and still, the Earth pulls and pulls to weigh it down onto your shoulders. The sky is painted in hues of orange and purple, strokes of tangerine and lavender roaming past your bird's eye view. Your back pops as you stretch, arms tensing against the woven basket of leftover harvest, shiny red fruits aligned with the horizon and reaching toward the tiny glimpse of departing stars.

Where blossoms grow from tiny seeds, and orchids dance in gentle breeze— beds upon beds of farmland and agriculture drape the outskirts of the farmstead. Though the weather is turning, branches are starting to grow bare and bloom in color, the wind picks up its seasonal chill, and the clouds have begun to dissipate into the sky. . . The well-received proof of your hard work is still something to behold.

“—ome any minute, now,” You’ve heard it all before, your mother gossiping to her farmer-wife friends as she nurses sweet teas and tangerine tiramisu under her calloused, warm hands. You’d been a mere two steps away from where she sits at the open-island kitchen, shoes tipped in the illuminated speckle of celadon clearing just adjacent to the sliding, front, cedarwood door. “Said so, at least. Did you hear. . . ” Windchimes sing in welcome, soft and mellow as the door opens and shuts behind you, socked feet slipping from boots to warm, fuzzy slippers.

“M’back, Mama,” You mumble, half-humming along to the tune of muffled windchimes the further you walk, arms hoisting the overflowing basket up to your chest. A sweet sigh, then pitter-patter of fleece against parquetry, and the discovery of a sweet, cherry-red ladybug walking along your knuckles, leads to the basket securely placed on a free countertop. There’s a quirk of her brow, something of a gentle question— more of a suggestion— not completely committed to keeping two conversations at once. How’d it go?

“No luck sellin’ today,” your voice buds, small and soft as your eyes trail the curves of a particularly large waste of an apple. An evident pout on your lips, then a quiet huff of air.

Farming has been your whole life, really. It’s what you’re best at, good at. Ever since you were young, barely tall enough to push away tall-grass— barely strong enough to pull out weeds, you knew it was yours. Something special, gravel crumbling and breaking beneath heavy, solid boots and rubber tires. The remnants of small, flying rocks, pelting into each other and leaving behind white, gray smoke as your tractor comes to a slow, gradual halt.

“But I met someone new!” That peaks her attention, nothing short of a gasp coming from a pair of lips—identical to your own— and here come the questions. Was he blond? Oh, I knew it! Did he buy anything? Well, why not? Was he tall? Thought so. . . How about handsome? Come on, now. .

“He was . . hmm, pretty.” Is how you’d like to put it, raising a finger to the air in finality. Truth be told you don’t remember much about his appearance— it was more so his demeanor. He’d bumped into you— you think— and yet, there was something so smooth about him. Not even his slicked hair, wavy at the end and curved just right to frame his face and bleed into the bristles of his blond undercut. He’d carried on like it was nothing, still polite, even admired your handiwork on your stall’s banner. A sweet thing of a stranger.

“You’re so easily impressed,” The smile dusting your lips curls into a wee, nasty little frown. That’s just not true. “A good thing, too, you’ll have to like our new neighbor.”

Her voice melting through one ear and out the other like freshly harvested honey has your throat tied into a thick knot, stuck right at the base of your neck and only growing in size. Hands thrumming against the granite countertop, your body leans inward.

“Neighbor?”

“Mm,” She hums, landline trapped between her ear and sweater-clad shoulder. You’re not entirely sure if it’s toward you or her friend, either way, her conversation stays ambiguous. “I heard he’s some fancy lawyer. You think he’s defendin’ the Hasaba girls from last year?”

That’s something to think about. Two little girls who’d been found locked away by some sort of— police officer, was he? Perhaps something more authoritative, and taken into his personal care. You wouldn’t be surprised if it became legalized— you’d only met that man (Suguru Geto, was it?) in passing, but his stature seemed dead-set on protecting those girls.

There’s a muffled gasp on the other line, crackly with static as a finger twirls around the phone’s coiled, mint wire. The rest of the conversation goes unheard, slippered feet carrying you to the large, alcove window that displays just enough equal farmland and neighborhood housing. And, sure enough, as if on cue, it’s not hard to make out the lines and shadows of the ‘ fancy ’ lawyer, his fluid silhouette effortlessly carrying luggage and— what looks to be— a box of books. Documents, perhaps.

“You didn’t— how come you didn’t say nothin’ ?!” Your excitement has you toppling over, limbs every which way as your face presses into the glass window. When you’re stuck in a place where everyone knows everyone, there’s something exhilarating about having a new neighbor. And he knows nothing.

There’s a quiet mumble that roughly translates to: ‘You didn’t ask.’, but it’s filtered out by the sound of your full-footed stomps. You opt to keep your slippers, racing toward the neglected basket, mind completely set. “I’ll be back, Ma!”

The path along your house isn’t dangerous, but it is harsh on bare feet— inured by heavy boots and pick-up trucks.. Still, it goes completely ignored as you carry the heaviest basket of goods you own, anxiety twisting and turning in your stomach— bunny hops into your chest and stomps and stomps and stomps. You’ve carried yourself past the intersection of the cobblestone path, a lot more smooth the closer it gets to the large, usually untouched, rental home. The lights are off— save for the dim, yellow glow of a small porch lamp resting above an unsullied, sleek and wooden rocking-chair. When there’s no one to inhabit the home, it’s always been comforting to look at— but now? .

Cold would be one way to put it. Your feet are cold, your arms are cold, your hands are cold, and you’re stood at his front door— frozen. Scared is another.

Even so, you’ve always been told you’re the ‘bravest boy’ in your whole district. Cry-baby habits and all.

The door opens before you can knock, and all you can register is brown. Brown wallpaper— the beige type, just barely meeting the requirement. Patterned with old, vintage looking floral prints. Brown, sleek wood of a bannister— steps that lead down into the living room, but are visible from the front door. Brown eyes, such a specific shade. When exposed to the light they almost look gray— green?— but as he stands before you, there’s nothing but molten chocolate and burnt honey-candy. A brown leather belt, securing crisp slacks and an equally crisp button up. You expect to see brown loafers, but—

Fuzzy slippers, brown and soft and cute. Little black buttons for eyes, and two floppy, fluffy ears— reminiscent of a bunny.

“Oh. . . Can I help you?” You’ve heard it before, his voice, but it’s even more striking than ever. It’s easy to forget the voice of someone you’d just met, but there’s something so. . distinct about it. He’s got a slight accent, too, something Tokyo-adjacent— you’ve always wanted to visit for longer than the feeble four hours of a busy work-trip.

“Mhm!” Pretty lips spread to their best grin, pulling at your cheeks until the babyfat wells up. “Well, no— um, actually. .” Brown eyes are expectant, but calm and patient as they watch you fumble over your words. Your fingers tremor as the basket is thrusted forward, heat blooming in your cheeks. “These— This is for you!”

“Ah. . .” Pink lips part, cupid’s bow prominent. There’s a beat of silence, then the sound of his front door closing with a slight click— right in your face. For a moment all you can do is stare, eyes boring into the dark, chestnut wood of the rustic front door. Staring until it’s gone blurry, eyes bubbling with fresh, unshed tears. And, nearly spilling over like an overflowing faucet, they gather before you can blink them away— fat and thick and embarrassing.

“Um. . I like your sli—slippers.” Fully aware you’re speaking to an unmoving door, you can’t behind yourself to walk back the moss-decalled path home. It’s not so cold anymore, your bones having rung out in the, metaphorical, hot sun until they’ve dried completely and— now it’s warm. Warmth in your nose, stinging as you sniffle and bite down a hiccup.

“Sorry for the wait,” Mahogany shifts, offset by a deep rumble of a voice, smooth like velvet in comparison to the sharp, slow creak of door hinges, “Here.”

Dam rebuilt almost immediately, your body straightens. Him again, this time his eyes trained on what he holds in his hand. Brown and gold like sweet honey and, by God, it’s the most crisp set of yen you’ve ever held in your life. His fingers dance with fluidity you’ve never seen before, counting through each slip until he’s deemed an amount satisfactory— there’s a slight patch of hair on each of his knuckles, an array of veins that cascade into his forearm. His fingertips look a bit rough, but his nails are glossy and clipped. Even his cuticles are pushed back, just enough to look healthy and natural.

“Oh! I wasn’t trying to—”

“I know it’s rude to tip, so I left the exact change,” You blink. Once, twice— again, lips parted like a fish, fresh out of water. Then he’s hoisting the basket from your trembling hands, eyes downcast. “Next time, don’t give out things you worked for, for free,” Right where his eyes dip, his monolid, there’s a small mole— cute and circular, and had you not been studying the curves of his face you wouldn’t have noticed it. “You should wear a coat, too.” And, like a schoolboy, you can’t help the flurry of butterflies catching flight in your stomach.

“Yes, Sir,” Pearly whites biting at the fleshy, pink insides of your cheek have your lips puckered, pensive and sweet as you clutch the money to your chest. “Sorry about earlier— um, if it’s okay, I could help with your boxes?”

He leans forward, careful enough to keep the respective bubble of space between the two of your bodies, glancing at heavy, book-piled boxes labeled ‘N.K.’ The woven basket creaks under the weight of his chest, but it stays in one place nonetheless. “That?” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s fine, just mail. Must’ve arrived before I did.”

It’s a bit awkward, really. Anticipation nips at your fingertips— you’ve never really had to work so hard to continue a conversation. You’ve never had to think about it either, if the words were coming out correct, if anyone was comfortable with your presence.

“Oh,” You breathe, subconsciously leaning closer. Perhaps it’s a miracle he hasn’t actually shut the door in your face, and— right. Your hands move to wipe away any streaks from your cheeks, a small sniffle ringing in the air. “Sorry f’I bothered you. I live, um, closest to the windmill. Yknow, just up the path from here. . . ?”

You haven’t known him for long, but you just can’t consider him comparable. Maybe it’s your heart speed-running past any other rational thought, maybe it’s the blooming heat in your chest, maybe it’s the shiver of winter trailing down your spine. You find yourself desperately hanging onto his every breath, only ever beaming when he shakes his head.

“Kento Nanami,” Tense shoulders relax with a deep inhale, the sweet smell of chocolate stuffed bread filling his nostrils. All that trepidation washes away, hushed under the breeze of Kento’s slow breaths. “Did you make these yourself?”

The door creaks, quiet and welcoming as Nanami extends an arm, stepping aside. Once his eyes finally settle on you they harden, just for a moment, as if he’s finally noticed the pull of your eyes— the crystalline seam tightlined around your waterline, the bright red strain of veins peeking behind your lids. Still, he says nothing, until you’ve introduce yourself with watery tremors.

“It’s cold, and you came all this way without a jacket?” Your eyes trace the vapor floating into the air as he sighs, irises dancing along the edge of your bare forearms. “Come in.”

Your muscles straighten up under his gaze, rippling until rigid as you eagerly nod, “Y’don’t think we could share some of that bread, d’you?”

The best time to farm, you’ve learned, is just after sunrise. The sun rests her head on grassy hills, still groggy and not quite awake yet, herself. But you are, suited up in your boots and overalls, not a single lantern in hand. That’s the first plus, natural lighting of the rising sun. The sweet, dim bath of light that paints the path from your home to your plantation in molten gold.

Then there’s Kento. You’d think he never sleeps, but you’ve seen it. Ritualistic, in a way. For the last two weeks, you’ve watched him go about his day. See, the window of your bedroom leads straight into his study, where he prefers a dimly lit lamp over the bright fluorescents. It’s almost hard to tell when he comes and goes, seeing as whenever you look, there he is. Sat in a swiveling chair and hunched over his desk, writing something in a notepad and skimming through— what looks to be— more documents on his computer.

You can only tell he’s going to bed once there’s a sigh, a pinch to the bridge of his nose before smoothing out his eyebrows, then the discarding of silver-frame, rectangular reading glasses. The lamp stays on, as if he knows he’ll be back in less than seven sleeping hours— which you think, for him, translates to roughly thirty minutes.

And, though he can’t see you, you always make an extra effort to wave up at his study, just before starting up your tractor.

You never expected him to wave back. You never expect his eyes to trail from your face to your supplies. And you, most certainly, never expect him to join you. Two thermal mugs in hand as he makes it over the small hill from his home to your own, past the thorn bushes and vacant tangerine trees. Hot chocolate— piping and rich, it coats your tongue in its sweetness and splashes against your lips with comforting warmth.

“Mm!” You hum, blowing through the small gap between the thermos and its sealed lid. You’d assumed your scarf, wrapped snug around your neck, would do the trick— keep you warm enough — but this seems to actually hit the spot. Sticky accents from remnants of unmelted marshmallows, its fluff clings to the corner of your lips. And Kento, nursing his own mug— though it contains tea— looks up to watch you grin, shards of tiny sugar crystals clinging to your pouty bottom lip.

“Hold still,” all but purring, his thumb swipes at your lip, wipes away the stickiness until they’ve parted— breathless. His eyebrows furrow with concentration, as if it’s a practiced habit, absentmindedly licking his thumb clean with one smooth, quick dart of his tongue.

“Sweet.”

Your breath circulates into the air, a swirl of white that dispels almost immediately. Your thoughts are cut short, breath stuck in your throat, eyes wide and glazed over with astonishment. “It’s— huh?”

“Sweet,” he chimes, lips curling around each letter. He’s beside himself, nearly forgetting who he is until the clear of his throat and a resigned grumble. “I can’t fathom how you manage to drink. . . radioactive waste from a cup.”

His humor is dry— something you have to think over for a moment before smiling against the lid of your cup. Kento notes how you smile— with your whole body— eyes closed tight and teeth on display, shoulders bunched and your stride much more bouncy. He tries not to smile when you giggle, hiding the lower half of your face behind the piping mug as your shoulders brush against his own. With each step the closer you get— to both the blond and your truck.

“It’s good,” Your voice lifts at the end of the statement, feigning offense as you lick your lips. Soft tongue against soft lips, Nanami partly wonders if you naturally taste as sweet as your preference for drinks. “M’not bein’ mean about yours!”

“I'm not being mean,” He corrects, a silent apology laced in his tone— just in case — and your knowing gaze lifts from his cup to his eyes, blazing bright and beautiful. He basks in your attention for a moment, like the gentle rays of a sun-swept island. Had this really been a vacation— no carry-on cases— he would’ve considered booking a flight to Malaysia.

First, he’s buckling you into your seat— it seems you’d forgotten, then he’s reminding you to put on your gloves, despite having bare hands of his own.

“You do this for a living,” is his justification, though you deemed it more a reason for him to wear the protective gear. “You wear them.”

And, now, he’s listening intently as you explain the mild inconvenience that is the technicalities that come with farming. He learns of your affinity to animals. Your slight, biased preference for gardening. The way your nose wrinkles when you think too hard, and the way you often forget what you were saying as you say it.

Though the scenery outside the passenger seat window is beautiful— valleys of faded green and brown, a light fog dusting the air. The symphony of crickets and cicadas, and of course, the sunset making its round up the horizon, teetering along the age of the Earth as it paints each and every blade of grass in its light.

He helps you out of the car as if you haven’t done it yourself a million times, careful not to spill your drink in his other hand. He’s awfully tender, too, his thumb absentmindedly circling the glove-clad skin of your knuckles as your hand squeezes his own. The door slams shut, and he doesn’t miss your expression twist as you whisper a small ‘oops, sorry!’ to your precious truck before unloading supplies.

Kento can’t name a thing— he’s out of his depths, here, but he helps anyway. He carries it down the never-ending row of cabbage and radish, watches his step despite nearly dismantling at least three dozen budding vegetables simultaneously. And you don’t yell at him once, instead offering words of sweet encouragement until you’ve found the place to start, dropping your assortment of tools and buckets.

“M’kay, ‘Nami,” He watches you drop to a crouch, warmth blooming in the apples of his cheeks. It’s not just the suggestive position, nor the way your pretty eyes look up at him from there— but it’s how sweet you say his name. . going as far as to give him a nickname, too.

Still, it manifests through the twitch of his eye, which you don’t catch onto, as he kneels alongside you.

“‘Nami—”

“No. It’s pronounced Nanami.” He interjects, his grip tight along the base of unsavory, frostbitten weeds— at least, that’s what he sees you doing anyway. Almost too tight, heavy and thick hands flexing, you can see the bend of his knuckles as his fingers dig into the roots.

“Na,”And, the smell of dirt, it’s so strong, the earthy undertones invade your nostrils and have no intent on stopping. . . “—na,” Raw, natural. His palms press in at the sides, thumbs stroking at the soil as he feels around for growing stems. For a moment it’s silent, save for the crackling radio beside you. Your pretty lips part, and sweetly, you’ve sounded out his name. “—mi.”

A puff of air leaves his lips, a scoff of a chuckle, and he’s giving a slight nod, quietly whispering the syllables of your name in acknowledgment. “Mhm?”

He doesn’t miss the way your lips split into a wide grin, weeds absentmindedly disregarded for a moment as you giggle, “I already knew that— I just said it!”

“Mm,” He agrees, though he’s not entirely sure you did. Then his heavy fingers tap your wrist— gentle, barely even a tap, but it gets you back on track— picking up the dead weeds. Kento watches, your hands gingerly plucking them free from the root, mastered and effortless.

Your fingertips dig into the soil, palms sticky and damp, littered with defrosting grass along each ridge and defining line. There’s so much care in your fingertips, and with every successful pull your eyes ignite. Like a cute, overgrown puppy. “Good. You’re a smart boy.”

“Y’think m’smart?” And, though your shoulders bunch up— a bit more bashful, you’re shaking your head. “I mean— I knew that already, too,” and it washes away as fast as it arrives, replaced with genuine exuberance. “I tell m’self everyday!”

The blond catches it anyway, gaze unwavering, even as your own struggles to keep contact. Nanami’s eyes are remarkably intimidating despite belonging to someone who’s positioned so utterly relaxed. . Crouching just as you are, but with smooth shoulders and lax biceps. Still, they’re visible through the silk fabric of his button-up, but he seems used to it. Tufts of blonde hair, slightly unruly and disheveled— swept back with gel, yet still set off in a flurry of gold by the back of his head, as if he’d rolled around in bed and decided to lounge about instead of retouching it.

Cozy.

“I do,” The sun dawns down through thick, gray clouds, framing his bronze locks— and with his lips slightly parted and his skin picking up a peachy glow, he looks almost seraphic. “What were you saying?”

“Um,” You pause to rethink through the last hour, warmth blowing past your cheeks as a particularly nippy gust of wind rushes by. “. . We sell ‘em, the weeds! That won’t be for a few days, sometimes we keep ‘em for cookin’, but . . . these aren’t any good.”

“Too many?” He asks, as if it’s the most interesting thing he’s learned in his vacation here, by far, despite having learned that just a few days ago.

“Too many!” Pretty lips part into a wide grin, and perhaps that’s the conclusion to Kento’s sightseeing.

౨ৎ

Kento tries not to lie— not unless he absolutely needs to.

With your black on black attire— a large, knitted sweater, a black bomber atop it, dark jeans to match, a hand-woven gray scarf wrapped around your neck, and white sneakers that carry a cream-colored accent in its threading— it’s hard to keep his mouth shut.

“Where are we going?” Is his first question— but there’s so much more he means to ask. Since when do you dress so nicely? Do your parents know you spent extra farm money on those shoes? Is it bad to feel the urge to hold you closer, just so no one gets any ideas?

Nonetheless, checking the silver-plated Rolex along his wrist with the slight tussle of his lapel-collared trench coat, just before popping open the passenger’s seat of your truck, he ignores the growing thought.

“You’re always locked up in your house,” Twisting your keychain covered keys into the ignition, the truck starts up with a gradual rumble. You’ve figured something was wrong with the oil for quite some time now, but it’s never been enough to start any problems. “Don’t y’wanna have fun?”

That doesn’t entirely answer his question, nor does it ease his mind— a vacation this is, yes. But it’s also paid, and he’s technically on the clock whilst being here. Still, he nods just once, the clench of his jaw apparent in the faint valleys of muscle just below his ear. Though, he supposes he could say the same about you. Every day you wake up, harvest, water crops, feed your animals, clean out troths and shovel up feces. He’s not even entirely sure if that’s your idea of fun— but he hopes not.

Kento doesn’t expect you to be such a great driver. Smooth turns and a gentle ride— even with cobblestone streets and gravel trails. You get carried away when you talk, too, hands moving about and your gaze trailing to his eyes every few seconds. He has to remind you— “Don’t take your hands off the wheel,” “Don’t look at me, look at the road,” — but Kento would be lying if he said it weren’t endearing.

It’s almost like you can barely function without basking in his presence.

“If it were warmer,” You swallow, finally stopping to catch your breath after the last fifteen minutes of rambling. The car slows down to a halt, an overhead traffic-light flashing a bright, crisp shade of red. “We could’ve went apple-pickin’ . . . or even oranges!”

You take the time to fully face him, eyes trailing up his dark trousers and gray turtleneck— it bunches at his chest, and you’re sure without his trench coat it’d be just as strained around his biceps.

“What do you do when it’s cold?” He muses, ducking his head to watch the passing of trees and inner city shops.

“Hm?” You hum, but before he can repeat the question you beat him to it. “Uh, we have this lake— it’s the first to freeze over when it’s cold. . ” So quaint, his eyes gloss over pedestrians as they live amongst themselves. Walking their dogs, sharing a drink at an outdoor bar, couples huddled close together for warmth. The sidewalks are clean and clear, there’s a polite, happy bounce to everyone’s step. Fairy lights blink in every other window, casting a sweet, bright hue along the streets below it. Kento understands it all, despite it being much more. . comfortable. . than Sendai. “And, when it’s completely frozen, we skate on it!”

It feels like home. A gentler, cozier version of it.

“I’m sorry—” The blond clears his throat as he turns to actually look at you, having fully processed your words. “Skating?”

“Are y’scared?” Nanami tries to ignore the burning of his throat when you laugh at his silence— a pretty, featherlight thing of a giggle that only progressively makes it harder for him to catch his breath.

“No,” He grumbles. He’s actually done it before— his younger, studying ‘coworkers’ had a knack for dragging him around outside of work hours— and he wasn’t free from it, even in winter. Yuji, Megumi, and Nobora, perhaps the three only people who could have him willingly risking a fractured disc.

“Don’t be scared, ‘Nami!” The car turns into a short trail, decalled in various signs and brightly colored symbols. “I can help you, m‘kay?”

Four people.

He nods anyway, save you the meltdown, and lets you drag him out the car once you’ve found a good place to park. He’d think it was illegal had there not been a sign for it, let alone communal skates in varying sizes. They’re in good condition, too. A small wooden bench— decorated with moss along its sides, he brushed his fingertips against it by accident— keeps him steady, but when he looks over to you, you’re already walking around with untied skates.

“Come here,” He beckons, voice soft and fond as he quirks a finger in your direction. He watches you fumble, nearly tripping over your own legs as opposed to your laces, but you make it over to him anyway, thigh against thigh. You brace yourself when he pulls your legs over his lap, shifts in his seat and tightens them just enough— “It’s not hurting you, is it?”— to fit comfortably.

“Thank you, ‘Nami,” He can hear the sincerity in your voice— as if he’d saved your life. Your breath pans across his face, warm and minty as you shake your head, “Doesn’t hurt. . .”

He offers a gentle pat to your knees once you’re fully set, softly dropping them back down as he leans to tie his own. It’s a quick process— not as tedious as the knotted up, tattered ones back home— a much more nice change of pace.

The ice, though, is considerably worse. He surmises it’s because it’s relatively untouched— if the whole village of Sekichiku had done two laps over it still wouldn’t have been enough to leave a noticeable dent in the ice— so his skates have nowhere to grip. You, though. . .

You’re much more graceful on ice than on land. A slow turn here, a quick twirl there, you could skate laps around him if you so choose. But you don’t, instead holding onto his wrists as he stiffly skates forward. Kento’s nose is nipped with pink, matching the particular shade of his lips as they part in concentration. The shade dispels down his cheeks, and you’ve never seen his face so. . . soft.

“Say, ‘Nami?” You huff, holding his wrists as you move in a slow, clockwise circle, turning you both. “When’re you leavin’?”

The truth bubbles in his throat, tougher to swallow than he’d originally thought it’d be. He clears his throat, avoids the question, and instead of freeing his wrists altogether, he holds your hand. You’re pouting when you slowly swivel to his side, his heart somersaulting almost painfully at the cute, wee frown to your lips. “Hey,” you whine, caught off guard but still pleasantly surprised, squeezing your palms against his own. “What’re you doin’?”

You’ve always been undeniably sweet. Kento thinks back to your basket of goods. The sweet, savory, aromatic flavors of bread, meats, cheeses, chocolates. How you have it to him so sweetly, no questions asked. There’s no ulterior motive to your demeanor, either. It’s peculiar to have someone so. . dependable. Someone to easily lean on, someone so— hospitable.

You’re perfect.

“I've never—“ He pauses, watching smoke dispel form your lips. An intimate position, he’s in— close enough to hear your breaths, holding on tight enough to feel your pulse through your fingertips. “Noone has ever done this for me. Thank you.”

“What, take you skatin’?”

“Support me unconditionally.” He pulls away before you can say anything in response, relishing in the thought of your pulse speeding against his knuckles as he stiffly skates back toward regular land.

The ride home is smooth, but quiet. And once you get there, hunger overrides your hospitality.

You like Kento’s rental— its kitchen is spacious and just big enough to support the mess of pots and pans that come with baking. It’s warm and inviting, the stove works great and the oven even better. Its heat burns a little brighter, but nothing you can’t handle.

Pain au chocolat — chocolatine — and meringue cookies; they’re a pain in Kento’s ass. Not even something he’d try to attempt without you there— he’s happy to watch you whisk away and laugh at his disgruntled faces. A “taste-tester”, you’d called him, scooping one sugary accessory after another onto the pad of your fingertip and asking him to try.

You weren’t lying. You really do know how to bake— flour dusted skin and all. Twisting raw dough into pretty sculptures of bows and braids, scored surfaces of x’s and o’s, light layers of warm butter that seep into soft, risen dough. And when it bakes, oh, how sweet the smell of aromatic bread is to Nanami’s stomach.

Studying the contours of a pretty face— baby fat rounding your cheeks as they pool into a sweet smile, pearly whites displayed brighter than the moonlight leaking through the floral curtains. Your laughter is wholehearted, hands gripping the hem of Nanami’s fleece shirt, body tipping toward his chest as your giggles dispel into the warm, brown-sugar baked air. For a moment he mentally swoons, something of a comforting coo, eyelids heavy and blanketed with the same baking powder littering your handsome face. He relishes the warmth, which leaves just as fast as it arrives, and suddenly you’re reaching into the oven without your cute, fluffy puppy-patterned mittens protecting your hands.

“Wait,” His tone is harsher than intended, solid and thick, and you— the sweet, softheaded boy that you are, don’t entirely deserve the worried look on your face that melts into sharp, hot pain.

“Ouch!” Your elbow smacks into Nanami’s calf as you flinch, fingertips raw and numb— still pulsing from the fresh burn. The man crouches down, knee to ceramic, palm to your warm shoulder, and suddenly your wide eyes are glittering and gleaming. Had the smile from your face not been growing, he’d have been appalled. “‘Nami, did you see that?!”

“Silly boy,” He sucks his teeth, pulling your clasped hands from your chest. Gingerly, he plucks out each finger one by one, runs the pad of his thumb along the burn sites. “You have to be more gentle with yourself.”

And, as if he’d declared to destroy your favorite equipment, your shoulders deflate. Hazel watches as tears well in your eyes in real time— with award winning speed, really— glassy and wet and oh, you’re so cute. It was just a small reminder, nothing too harsh— it could barely be considered scolding. Yet here you are, sniffling and averting your gaze. Eyes glossed over while your fingers instinctively curl over his own for comfort. Then a small, petulant, “M’sorry, ‘Nami.”

“None of that,” Soothing, it's gentle and soft as his thumb travels along the numb pads of your fingertips. And though it was already a faint sensation, you can tell his touches are deliberately featherlight and calculated, cautious. “Nothing to cry about.”

“I’m not crying,” You grumble, though his ears register the sound as a wet sniffle as you rub at your cheek with the back of your free hand. “I don’t do that.”

“Of course not,” The breathy lilt tongue voice gives it all away, a tiny smile dotting the man’s lips. They’re entirely too enticing, a sweet shade of pink that dispels into the milky tan of his skin. Sheen and glazed with what could be spit, your lips part to mirror the same smile. Though yours is larger, his isn’t any less exuberant— luring you in one centimeter at a time until, inevitably, his breath ghosts along the expanse of your jaw— you can almost taste him.

His voice breaks through the thickened silence, “But it’s okay if you do.”

The next two hours should go by just fine.

౨ৎ

“What does ‘default-judgment’ mean?”

Floorboards creak beneath Kento’s feet, dimly lit ambient lighting placed around the office keeps it lit just enough to see ever so clearly— a small lamp angled above an open file, then the remaining trickle of light cascading over photos. Labeled, dated, clipped, and shipped to his front door just a couple weeks ago. Soon to be released, relinquished, deadlined.

His hair drips with cold water, tiny drops dripping down to the floor while others slither down his neck, and pool where his back dips, just slightly. He doesn’t tense when he sees you— his muscles remain just as relaxed as they were in the shower— and his eyes barely widen past the tired, lidded expression that paints his face every night, before he gets his studying done. But you—

You’re the opposite. Your shoulders raise to your ears, eyes wide and unblinking as they stare at the towel wrapped around his thick, slightly hairy forearm— it’s navy blue, with a brown, horizontal stripe across its fabric, and embroidered letters you can’t quite make out. An intelligible sound, then an unexplainable expression, and— there you are, tripping over your own tongue as your hands shoot to cover your eyes. Only unclothed from the waist up, Kento can’t help the amusement blooming in his chest.

“It’s a deduction based on a defendant’s failure to answer. . or appear, in some cases, to a lawsuit or court.” Nanami’s eyes trace the part of your lips behind your palm as your brain processes (though, he doesn’t think that’d be the correct word for it) his words. They purse, quickly, tight lined, until parting again— once more, with less confidence. With each step he takes (long strides that make him appear as if he’s almost floating) he grows closer, strands of freshly washed angel hair sticking to his forehead.

“. S. . ure!” You smile and nod in faux understanding, fingers curling toward the dip of your hairline, eyes peeking through cracked fingers. From there, beneath your palms, an uncomfortable warmth blossoms from your throat up, settling in your cheeks and sprinkling across your nose— sweltering and tingly.

Kento tuts, a soft noise, and you watch as he inhales a deep breath, pine eyes perusing through the space between your fingers for eye contact. “. . . Don’t worry about all that.” And, as if he can feel the high voltages slamming against your heart, his tongue darts out to moisturize his lips, and his eyes fall to your chest. He sits aslant to you, legs spread wide with the occasional sway of his knee— but nothing too sudden. You’re made all too aware of his half-naked proximity, purportedly close enough to feel the warmth of his body radiating through the room— to smell the sweet undertones of vanilla, musk, and earl gray tea residing in his skin. In a low rumble he speaks, pulling lotion free from the drawer to your left. “Silver lining is: I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

Even as he leans forward, closer and closer, he doesn’t cage you in— even if your chest aches at the loss.

Your heart demands the conversation die after that. Beating so rapidly you assume it’s stopped, silence freezes the air as your hands slowly drop to your lap. Lips pulled with woe, darling eyes low and sodden in an instant. Shoulders dropped just enough to sound a sharp creak in the swiveling chair you’re sat in, your lashes clump with fresh, unshed tears. And, in a lapse moment of murkiness, Kento’s lips twitch into a frown of their own.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, as if afraid your response will confirm it— he’s what’s wrong. His choice of words— wrong. Thin brows furrowed, the dip of his chin has his lips ghosting your cheek.

“. . . Nothin’.” It’s worse. He’d expected tears— maybe even an exchange of fiery words— but instead you’ve shut down, hands balled up in the fabric of your flowy pants, denim bunched up and draped over your thighs. Completely silent, staring at nothing and everything— all in between— all at once.

“Nothing?” He echoes, a silent suggestion for more. The rumble in your ear is almost too much, for a moment you assume you’d conjured it up with your imagination. Too close, too bare, too blunt, too warm— too fleeting.

“Mhm,” When your gaze meets, his heart plummets to his stomach. “Nothin’.” Words rush to his tongue before they can catch up to his brain, and. . you look so . . sad. He’s never seen you so defected— nor had he thought the concept of giving up existed for you. So headstrong, determined to make things work, gears always shifting into overdrive when you can’t make something out. You’ve gone as far as to create your own definition— this isn’t you.

“It’s. . . inevitable,” Kento’s voice softens, dropping to a quiet whisper between just the two of you. “But not for a while,” Then shifts his weight back, pulling away as he speaks in some sick sort of oxymoron, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“But you will.” Grumbling, you’ve always been an open-book.

“Not forever.”

“. . . Ever,” You grunt, choosing to ignore the stern quirk of his thin brow. You’re a bit of a brat— Kento sees that now— behind the pouty lips and soft eyes, behind the large smiles and intimidating prowess. “When are you goin’?”

Nanami treads carefully, fingers wrapped around the closed bottle of lotion. With a snap it clicks open, and a generous amount is pumped into his palms. The smell is neutral and muted, but clean and fresh.

Kento tries not to lie— not unless he absolutely needs to. An unexplainable feeling, adjacent to panic, rises in his stomach as he lies, “Six weeks, at least.”

“Nami…” Ignoring the deadline he’d just given you, you ask, “D’you like your job?”

You watch his posture relax, as if the previous conversation was just as emotionally taxing as it was for you, for him. He sighs, pauses to think for a mere second, then shrugs. “I like its structure.”

“Oh.”

“I like helping people, too.” He adds, much more sincere. Your eyes trail the lotion as it’s rubbed into his biceps, his shoulders, his forearms. His fingers flex and muscles ripple, skin bouncing beneath his fingertips, and light traces of hair at his knuckles raising.

“Oh.” You breathe, eyes locked on his veiny hands. You suppose, in a way, your jobs are similar. You, too, help people out— you provide fresh food and crops, you herd cattle and brush the hair of healthy horses. A very hands-on job— it’s rewarding. “Me too. I— I like helping too. And. . .”

His fingers twitch, almost as if they can feel your gaze, but Kento makes no effort to move them.

Six weeks. Time is fleeting.

“I—” With trembling hands you lean forward, clasping Kento’s smooth knuckles against your palm. He’s just as warm as he looks, skin soft and sheen. His fingers flicker in your hold, straining as they tense— silently, asking, ‘what?’ as an increasingly overwhelming urge to keep Kento close washes over you.

It’s moments like these you’d wish you were better with words. To weave them together into something pretty, like a basket made for carrying fresh harvest. To pull apart and braid together an amalgamation of just the right phrases— ones that sound pretty and roll off the tongue. Some that sound soulful and genuine, yet effortless and forthwith at the same time.

Moments like these, where your breath is stuck in your throat and with every rise and fall of his chest you think you’ve lost some more— he’s taken it all from you— you wish you knew just what to say, to do, to bring that air back.

To have him melt at your words the way you do at his actions, to have him feel the same exact thing when your heart clenches in your chest like a rag that’s been wrung out to dry. Without trying, without straining. You wish you were smarter— better at this, as you lean so far from the chair it begins to squeak in protest.

You’re sure there’s better people in Tokyo. With better educational backgrounds, with cleaner jobs. People who have it all together, who have different skills and assets— who don’t stick to one thing simply because they have a natural born talent for it. People who are prettier, more handsome— perhaps more his type. People who have aligning career goals and paths— more accomplishments.

Sweeter, kinder. With softer hands and an easier understanding of city life.

People who are better with words. Who can weave them together into something pretty, like a closed case with no loose ends or dead leads. Who can pull apart and braid together an amalgamation of just the right phrases— ones that sound pretty and roll off the tongue. Who can make their confessions sound soulful and genuine, effortless and forthwith at the same time. All within the heart of Tokyo.

People who aren’t you.

Nanami stands, shuffling over to fix the documents you’d ruined— of course you did— but his face hasn’t changed from his usual tight-lipped expression. Sometimes it’s hard to read him, and it’s times like these you really wish you could.

“I like you,‘Nami.” You whisper to yourself, quietly pouring your heart out with each spoken letter.

And, with a snap, your world goes crumbling down. Increasingly silent, the world stops as you hit the floor and Kento’s chest stills— the soft, quiet beat of his breaths gone quiet, as if it were a mere memory to begin with. The backing of his swiveling chair falls with you, right to the floor, clattering much louder than the sound of your tense body, and—

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I think you have the wrong idea.” His voice is strained. Uncomfortable.

You’ve never felt more humiliated.

౨ৎ

Despite your humiliating attempt to hold onto it, time flies by. Locked away in your room— your only source of comfort being an occasional knock on the door from your mother and the weight of your blanket as it remains overhead. You’ve counted the seconds— tripped over your thoughts after reaching 1,633– started over again. You’ve listened to the pitter-patter of rain against your windowsill, peeked out from your cocoon to bet on a race between the raindrops.

You’ve thought about Kento, of course. So much it plagued you, made your chest uncomfortably tight— until all you could do was let out a humiliated groan all over again. It’s a timeless cycle, and yet, it grows closer to his leaving date.

You haven’t spared a glance toward the actual outside, even when your window overlooks his own study. You’re sure everything’s out of sorts now— weeds overtaking the farm, plants dried out or overwatered, any blooming vegetation snipped at the bud before it could bloom. Tough luck, they’ll get over it.

And, God, has your family tried. Through gentle words and offers of food, through soft praises that fell on deaf ears. Through frustration, too, anger laced in the sweetest yell of ‘where’d my smart boy go?’

Your eyelids feel heavy and thick. No longer swollen with tears or bloodshot with dejection— just heavy, simply tired. Sleep is all you’ve done these days, yet it feels like your body can’t get enough. Fifteen hours a day leave you straining for more, three hours a day leave you exhausted. You can barely remember when you last left your bed— for the bathroom, never for a drink— and even when your frown deepens as you think about it, you can’t bring yourself to fix it.

You can’t bring yourself to fix anything as of late, if it can even be fixed.

You were stupid for thinking he’d feel the same, anyway. A man like ‘Nami— a man like Nanami— so smart and so distinguished. So. . opposite of you, to think you’d fall anywhere near the same line as him. . is laughable, really. Even more so when you consider his upbringing. He doesn’t mention it much, and you try not to pry, but you consider his lifestyle quite traditional and cookie-cutter. You hadn’t even asked if he liked men.

“I think you have the wrong idea.”

His rejection physically pains you, a quiet sniffle and suppressed whine straining your vocal cords. Your nails dig into the fleshy, cushiony part of your palm. You can hear the pitch of his voice — rumbling and deep, you hear the shakiness of his breath—so deeply uncomfortable, cold with disgust. “I think you have the wrong idea.”

A knock to your door startles you awake, eyes wide open as your cocooned body flops around in bed. Still, you barely make an effort to respond, dry lips parting to form a garbled groan.

“Your. . . friend was at the door,” It’s your mother’s voice, but softer and pleading. For a moment your heart twists, eyebrows pinched as you suck in a sharp breath through your teeth— you can’t remember the last time you’d seen her face without slamming a door in it. “Looked tired, so I gave him some coffee. . .”

A bitter, disconcerting ‘so?’ nearly leaves your mouth— something so unlike your usual self, it makes you want to borrow deeper into your sheets and never leave. Shame. She doesn’t expect you to crack the door open. You shake your head, even if she can’t see you, only breaking your stubborn resolve when knocks once more, and slowly, you scuttle around the mess of your bedroom to unlock the door. Your eyes carry dark circles and heavy bags as your gaze pierces straight through her. Then, a shaky breath and barely audible whisper, “. . . S’it Nanami?”

Her aged smile is soft and thoughtful as she leans into the doorframe— something you haven’t seen in a while, and your eyes prickle with warm tears once more. “Between you ‘n me, you’re in much better shape.”

Cracking a smile nearly takes all your energy from you.

You don’t bother changing from your pajamas— they’ve always been so baggy to support the muscle you’ve grown over years of lifting heavy produce and working with truckloads— and now you’re grateful for it. Something to hide behind if you need it, and your fingers subconsciously curl into the fabric of your long sleeves for comfort. Once you get downstairs the two of you depart, and a gentle rub to your shoulder blades is all your mother offers before finding solitude on her own, just a few rooms away if you need her.

And— she was wrong. Of course, he looks tired. You can see it in his shoulders— they’re all wound up and tense, like they’d been when you first met. Sure, his jaw is tightened and you can hear the grind of his teeth against one another despite keeping your distance— but he still seems put together, albeit lacking his usual combover or corporate style of clothing.

It hurts to know he does well without you, as selfish as it may sound.

“Hi,” You mumble, rubbing at your face with the palm of your hand. Your voice crackles with disuse, rumbling and garbled in your throat. “Nanami. .”

“Hi,” He echoes, your name heavy on his tongue as he stands, leveling out the shared eye contact. Just Nanami. For a moment he’s at a loss for words— and it’s odd, typically he has an answer for everything. You remember asking why he’d buckle your seatbelt before his own, and his answer was always the same. You remember asking why he likes what he does— and they’d all circle back to enjoying the small things in life. His Kento’s lips part, taken aback by the loss of his nickname, but they close into a tight line with registration. Perhaps you’re just. . too much.

“I lied to you,” He begins, and your heart leaps to your throat. He clasps his hands together, resting soundly by his thighs as his head tilts downward, a silent plea. “And, for that . . . I’m sorry,” Kento releases a breath, hands coming undone to swipe away stray, gold strands of hair. “Don’t feel obliged to accept, I just— I like y— I want to show you something.”

It’s odd. The look on your face makes him want to scoop you up, to cradle you in his arms and hold you tight. And yet, he can see the cogs turning in your brain, the gradual loss of your frown and faux steel in your eyes as you shrug— he can’t even distinguish if you’re being reluctant or stubborn. Nonetheless, Kento smoothens the fabric of his coat, and makes a small, polite gesture to the door.

“Okay.” Your fist rubs sleep from your eyes, steps heavy and dragging along the floor as you slide your feet into brown bunny slippers— the same ones he’d worn when you officially met.

Stepping into the cold, crisp winter air, you both ignore the tremor to your bottom lip, “What were you gonna. . ?”

Not at all hard to spot, set alight by the glow or orange lanterns, it’s your farm. Oh, it’s much prettier than you could’ve ever imagined it. So clean, with pristine rows and neat placements of fresh soils. You can actually walk through it, as opposed to tip-toeing around like you used to. The air is crisp and fresh, just like you’d remembered it— but it feels better than before. And, dotting the horizon, fireflies dance into the night sky and blend into the twinkling stars. You don’t remember the last time you’d seen them— vision occupied by tall grass or obstructed by rusty tools. You could almost cry. Your breath catches in your throat, a gentle breeze brushing along your forehead and digging into the fabric of your clothes— yet you feel light and warm.

He did all this for you?

“Are you cold?” You blink hard, vision blurred with tears as Kento’s hand grasps your shoulder. “You’re shivering.” He’s quick to shrug off his coat, barely even flinching when the fabric dips into fresh mud, and loops it around your form with steady hands.

“M’okay. .” He frowns, barely visible, and the slight protests of being strong enough to tough it out die on your tongue. But it’s true, you don’t feel cold— not internally, at least. You feel light yet heavy, warm and airy. Heat pokes at your skin, ignites in the apples of your cheeks and trails down your throat. “. . . Thank you, ‘Nami. . . For everythin’.”

‘Why're you saying it like that?’ He wants to ask. As if it’s some sort of sick, roundabout way of saying goodbye. His movement stutters, lips curled into a small ‘o’ before reverting back to its usual, thin line; and he speaks, “I don’t just like you.”

Your fist tightens in his coat, fabric twisting to accommodate your grip.

“I. . admire you. Your strength, your weakness. Your baking. . Your smile, too,” He sighs, quiet and cautious. “Your laugh. I regret not telling you before. At first, I thought you were impulsive, and somehow abrasive, bu—”

You’ve never been one to hide from your feelings— you laugh when you’re happy, scowl when you’re angry, mope when you’re sad. So it’s no surprise to feel you smile; wide and unapologetic. It’s no surprise to feel the tremble of your fingers as they release his coat and land on his biceps. To feel the slow, shaking breath of air he releases at your silence— hearing his own slight sniffle at the nippy, cold breeze. You’re nervous, lips twitching as his chin dips, bashful as his lips intertwine with your own.

A kiss.

"’Nami," Laughing into his mouth, it meets the sound of your lips continuously meeting in breathless, heavy harmony. His lips are plush, soft and sweet, hungry and hasty, everything and nothing and all things in between. “I like you. I like you, I like you, I like you.”

You feel it now— the warmth enveloping his chest, the hard hammering of his heart against his ribcage. "Shit," He whispers, incredulous, and before slowly pulling away, cradles your handsome face between his calloused “I like you too.”

౨ৎ

Kento owns silk pillows. You can tell they’re imported from home— as they disturb the uniform colors of the crisp, cream comforter set blanketing his bed. It’s the first thing you notice, head sinking into the fabric as your eyes flutter closed, thoughts and breaths stolen with each wet, heavy kiss being pressed against your lips. His breath is hot and heavy, small groans and grunts leaving his parted lips, and— he tastes of chocolate.

“Kenny—” You gasp, but the sound of his name on your lips only eggs him on. Hot heat blooms in your stomach, tingling down to your tummy, so deep, something you’ve never really felt before. It tingles, almost, right through your thighs and straight to your cock, plumping up with each passing second. And his hands, god, are so quick and skilled— shedding you of your clothing as if he’s done it a million times before.

“Kenny,” You repeat, much whinier than before, tiny sounds leaving your lips as you squirm in his hold. “Mm, wait,” and his response is barely committal, a low hum that melts into a breathy sigh as your bare skin is exposed and your leaking cock springs free against your tummy. He coos, peeling the sticky fabric of your underwear free. Cute.

“Use your words,” Kento mumbles against your skin, running his hands along the silky smooth skin of the back of your thighs. “I know you can, you’re a smart boy.” You squirm with every touch, plush skin bouncy as you press your thighs together, cock sliding by your navel. And, even when you hide, he can see the precum smearing against your stomach, the tightening of your balls, and, now, your exposed hole winking back at him.

Fuck.

“Mm, don’t look,” You’ve barely convinced yourself, a choked out moan leaving your lips as his big, warm hand wraps around your cock and pumps. “That’s— oh, embarrassin’!” Slow, at first, trailing up the sensitive shaft and rubbing circles into the overly-sensitive head. Until his hand is slick with precum and his own spit, until your thighs are convulsing and you’re close to covering yourself in your own cum. Until you’re sobbing, pulling at his wrist with weak, clammy hands.

“I know, sugar. I know,” And the stifled cry you've been hearing belongs to you. “Feels good, hm?” His free hand grazes down your waist, thumbing at the dip between your hip and your thigh, then cupping the soft, plush skin of your pecs. “Feels better than your own hand, doesn’t it?” Kneading until your nipples harden against his palm, soft skin swelling around his fingers. And, oh, how pretty you are when you cry, overstimulated tears rolling down your cheeks and incoherent babbles leaving your swollen lips.

“Uh— huh, yeah,” Is barely breathed out, and Kento watches pre leak over his knuckles. Creamy and thick, sticky and sweet as your hips rock back and forth, to and fro. You just can’t help yourself, greedy boy, fucking into his fist like it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt and— oh.

It is.

“Messy boy,” He huffs, pressing his forehead against your own— damp and sticky. Your hand, preoccupied with fisting his sheets, is grabbed, and all you can feel is slick, hot heat. “Fuck your fist for me.”

“Wh- Huh?” It takes a moment for your brain to catch up to your hands, wrapped tightly around your cock as your hips buck— whines high and loud in your throat, keening like a puppy. It’s not at all paced, not like Kento, just pure desperation and need as your toes curl and your eyes roll back into your skull. Warmth rises in your face as your legs instinctively part, tingles spreading through your body and needy moans filling the air. Wet and sloppy, your hand is slick and soaked.

He travels lower, lips trailing down your throat, your collarbones— pausing at your chest. He watches the rise and fall, the slight bounce of your pecs as you pant like a dog. Pretty buds hard and sensitive, a gentle suckle is enough to make you arch from the sheets and keen.

“Good boy, that’s it,” You have the urge to get on your knees, to present all your holes to him, to spread yourself open with your fingers- fucking them in and out, in and out, just for Kento. It’s all too much, thinking of what’s next, what’s happening now, what’ll happen later.

Nanami lifts his shirt over his chest, the fabric bunching under your armpits as he keeps it pinned between his teeth, and you have no other choice but to flutter your lashes, watching as his pants are loosened and his cock springs free. Big. Thick and long— and, it seems his tan has traveled to his cock, too. Blushing at the tip, the sweet color of mocha, it disappears the further you look down. Curved, too, slightly past his belly-button and heavy against his navel. It's humiliating, the way your mouth waters almost immediately.

It’d feel so good weighing down on your tongue, fucking your throat fast and rough, making you gag and sputter— choking on your own tears and groans.

“Wanna. . I want. . .” You squirm where you lay, whining high in your throat as you find nowhere to hide— nothing to put your face against, nowhere to bury the drunk, hazy expression on your face.

“Want what?” He murmurs, pretty eyes trailing along the curves of your face before he places a sweet, soft kiss along the edge of your jaw. You take the grip on your waist as a slight indication— Kento’s patience is slowly waning.

“V’never. .” Your lips part into a gasp, eyes fluttering closed as his large hands travel along the expanse of your chest. “I wanna. . . feel you in my throat.”

The smart man he is, Nanami, never misses a beat. Pink lips splitting into a small smile, his thumb rubs circles against your skin. Still, you can feel the throb and twitch of his cock against your thigh, hard and almost leaking. “That’s ambitious, sugar.”

You don’t register scrambling up by your elbows, nor the amount of time it takes for your fingers to fail at wrapping around his cock. Your thoughts are muffled and hazy until a quiet chuckle sounds above you— rumbly and deep, and— ah, Kento’s hand is guiding your head back as he pulls your hands free. You’re panting for it now, mouth dropped open as the slurp and slick noise of his cock tapping against your tongue drops straight to your stomach. You could cum from this alone, without even a single glance toward the ache between your thighs.

"M'gonna be so good, promise, know I can do it! Want it, Sir," A clear habit of rambling when you’re nervous, a soothing coo leaves Kento’s throat. His tip smears along your pillowy lips, sticky and salty as pre paints your chin.

“Shit,” He groans under his breath, fisting his cock to ease the ache in his balls. “Slow. I don’t want to hurt you. Gentle, remember?”

You don’t. You can barely think, let alone recall something from another day. But you nod anyway, eyes glued to his cock as it bobs to and fro— pretty and weeping. You bet it’ll feel so heavy, weighing down on your tongue and nearly crushing your throat as you gag around it. He’ll taste good, too, salty and sweet as he buries his cock down your throat. With your nose pressed into the blond of his pubes, and his balls slick against your chin as they tighten and clench.

Yeah, you want him to cum on your face.

With a whiny nod you take his tip into your mouth, pink tongue over your teeth. In your head, it’s much easier— you can sink down to the base no problem— but in practice. . . You sputter and gurgle, leaning into the gentle touch caressing your cheek as your tongue traces the pulsing, thick vein cascading down his shaft. Through your pathetic whimpers and whines he mumbles— but it falls on deaf ears.

You stick out your tongue, cute and pink, latches onto your bottom lip, slicking his slit as he blinks down at you, pupils blown and wide as he praises you, voice smooth and buttery.

Through your own jittery, inexperienced suckling, his tip is smeared along your lips, slowly tracing your cupid's bow and bottom lip until a thin layer of pre has them glazed over and sticky. Your lips part, carrying a thin trail of creamy pre between them, as his dick slides in and out your hot, wet mouth. Spreading heavy along your tongue, swallowing around the head as his thighs tense, muscles flexing and rippling as they strain to keep still.

“‘Nami’s dick is heavy, sweetheart,” He’s gasping before you can fully take in the stretch of his cock, hips twisting as his eyes flutter closed. It’s been a while, you can tell, with the way his balls are clenched tight, his hand morphed into a fist— careful not to grip your hair. Your spit bubbles and pools around his cock, slick and wet, sliding between the seams of your lips and dripping down your throat, down your sternum, down his thighs. “And you’re taking it so well.”

Running your tongue along his big, veiny cock, his head falls forward— adam’s apple bobbing as he lets out a pleased moan. His cock fills your empty mouth, stuffing it full like a pre-lubed fleshlight, his balls slapping against your chin in sticky, wet plaps. Collecting drool, it froths between your lips and his cock, bubbly and white until your noises are sloppy and loud. “That’s it, good boy, take this load down your pretty little throat. . .”

Gasping on his cock, Kento’s hand holds you close, until you’re buried against his pubes, until your throat is squeezing and contracting and wrapped plush around the thick shaft of his dick. You can feel it, each and every twitch and throb, each hit, sticky rope that paints your mouth as he cums down your throat, ropes shooting down your tongue and sticking to the roof of your mouth. You’ve done so good, such a good boy, marked for Sir, offering a few hollow sucks to his spasming cock before he pulls you off.

You’d rather he paint your face, but you trust him, swallowing the bitter, salty cream as he whispers gentle praises.

“You’re perfect,” Kento mumbles through heavy gasps, rubbing away the fat tears that roll down your cheeks. Such a sweet, pliant boy, leaning into his touch as he gently pushes you back down, off your knees.

Now he’s got you folded, knees bent back in such a slutty, shameless display. The blond squeezes at his cock, his large hand sliding into a fist that clamps down around his beading, shiny slit, then slowly back down to the thick, veiny shaft. Yeah, that’s good, how it slips and slides with rhythmatic pumps. You’d like to imagine that’s how it’ll be when his cock is inside, stretching past your rim and splitting you open, sliding against your velvety walls until he fills you up with his hot, sticky cum.

“Spit,” he says, gentle at first, but hardening as your poor, pitiful attempt at spitting down your own cock turns into gurgles of drool and incoherent moans. He grips your jaw, angling it just right— till you’re resting back on your elbows and have enough space to land a warm, wet glob right down the slit. “Good boy. Look at me, pretty. Like this.”

You watch as he spits down onto his own cock, runny and wet, which stands as a reminder of its own. His fist is so big, but it’s not nearly enough to swallow his cock down. You watch it pop free from his tight grip, loud squelches with each and every movement. Every time he throbs, pulses, shifts— you hear it all.

“That’s it, atta boy, my good little cocksleeve,” You— it must be you, there’s no one else he’s speaking to. Still, with your hand squeezing your throbbing shaft there’s not much you can say, airy little moans and sweet, high gasps leaving your pouty lips as you buck— up, up, up. A thin trail of drool slips down your chin, warm and wet and— oh, that’s nice— trailing down your cock. “That’s it, stick your tongue out.”

You really do play the part, tongue on display as you fuck your fist silly, bumping slits with the blond. Soft and sticky, loud and wet squelching until his own large, warm palm envelops both your cocks, bumping and grinding and sliding so messy. You nearly burst into hysterics when the warmth is gone, and Nanami’s gaze tears away from the pre oozing between your shafts. “Ask Sir for more, angel.”

“Mm, waitwaitwait, don’t— don’t stop,” You keen, stumbling over your tongue. Your brows pinch, eyes glazed over with unshed tears. “Kenny— Sir, please.”

“Good boy,” All but purring, his hands roam along the plush, round mounds of your ass. “Yeah,” His dick slips between the slick skin of your perineum, dragging along the sensitive skin— the head of his cock catching on your rim when his thrusts turn too eager. “You’re a good boy, asking like that.”

“You like grinding on Sir's cock don’t you? Getting me all wet. . .” Just as warm and wet as he’d thought, cooped up in his office and fucking into his fist, lube gushes and trickles out with every deliberate, shallow rut forward. Your balls bounce and twitch, slick and shiny with a mixture of pre. Your moans, so pretty, high and nasally— incoherent and blabbering. The slurp of his cock goes straight to your balls, tightening as you whine like a bitch for it. And his grip, once gentle and steady, leads down to your ass, keeping it spread as he slides the big head of his cock along your pretty little rim, again, and again, and again. It’s more menuevering than bouncing, through your fucked out haze you try to think; you want him to ruin you.

A knot tightens in your tummy, tingling in your balls as your thighs tighten and your legs tremble— fuck, you’re cumming, hard and all at once, it catches you off guard and a choked squeal is knocked from your throat, rope after rope spraying along your own chest.

“I—” You sob, cock convulsing against your tummy as Kento groans. “I didn’t mean to— didn’t know, m’sor—”

He hushes you, a low growl in his throat as his eyes roam up your tummy, past your hard nipples and land on the splatter of cum collecting between the plush hills of your pecs. “S’okay, it just felt too good, mhm? I bet your pussy feels so good, baby— perfect, pretty little pussy swallowing up my cock.”

You don’t expect him to say that— that’s the last thing you expect, eyes rolling back in your skull as you moan, wholehearted and slutty. With the wet squeeze of lube along your bottom half, slicker and sloppier than ever before, your hole winks back at him. Your perfect, pretty little pussy. “That okay, sweetheart? Can Sir pound this hole till it aches for him?”

Your response is barely coherent, garbled sounds and babbling that roughly translates to ‘please’ as thick fingers prod at your tight, puckered hole. Your loud moans are hushed as Kento leans down, close to your ear. His fingers slide against your entrance, sticky lube sliding along with them and connecting to your puffy rim. They feel so big, so long and thick when he taps them against your hole, barely breaching the tiny gape of your rim. “Gonna get you ready for Sir’s dick, gonna finger that cunt nice and slow, get that sweet boy-hole stretched out.”

“Kenny,” You hiccup, uncontrollable tears streaming down your face as you reach forward to press his fingers closer, a tiny gasp leaving your lips as your entrance is breached. You don’t miss the groan you earn in return, deep and shaky as the man takes the opportunity to slip his fingers right in, past the burning stretch of your fluttering ‘cunt’ that sucks the digits deeper and deeper into your gummy walls. “Can take it, pound it, Sir.”

“Look at me, watch me, sugar. Watch Sir fuck this little hole full.” You squeeze your eyes shut for as long as the reluctant, bratty little part of your brain lets you before staring down into hazel. Until his fingers have you seeing stars and rocking back into them like a cock hungry slut, you’ve never felt more full until his cock kisses your insides, leaving you sloppy and open and full.

Your voice isn’t nearly as loud as the wet squelch and slap of skin against skin, his cock sliding in and out your puffy hole as lube gushes out around his dick in white ringlets. Like you’ve creamed on his cock, he can see it slip back inside with each thrust. Your knees over his shoulders, Kento hauls your body up, and with a tiny, wee and pathetic ‘ah!’ you follow suit, your cute little hole clenching and fluttering around his thick, leaking cock.

“Give me a little more, just a little more of this pussy,” You can’t contain the squeals and squeaks that leave your mouth when the blond pistons his hips, a bruising grip on your waist that only gets harder as he grinds his cock down into you. He’s filling you up so good, his balls slapping against your ass with each rushed, rough thrust that has your mind scrambled just as much as your guts. You can’t take it, hands scrambling to grab at something, anything that’ll keep you from screaming.

Pounding into you, your head falls back as you take it, nice and slow, stretching you out— fast and rough, steady and patient— Kento groans above you, bullying his cock inside, grinding while your hips squirm. Mouth open with an unending stream of moans, he breaks you in, turns you into his good boy— his perfect fleshlight. Wet little hole clenching and spasming, his weight pins you down as your greedy hole milks him for all he’s worth.

“Cummin’, Nami, s’too much— M’can’t—” Whining and crying, his touches go right to your head as much as they do your puffy hole."Kenny," you whine, long and pitiful, a pout of a noise that hits him right where you want it to, just as his cock does inside of you. You whine again when your rocking turns into frantic overstimulated grinding, reveling in the stretch of his cock and the rub of your prostate. He groans, thick and gravelly, hands coming up to squeeze at your chest.

“I’ve got you, c’mere, hold Sir’s hand,” He chokes out, feeling it too. The tightening of his balls, the way his dick aches and pulses inside you, the way his cum is starting to kiss your insides and spurt straight onto that small bundle of nerves— fuck, it’s so deep. His thrusts are hard and deep, thick rope after thick rope frothing around his shaft as he fucks it deeper inside. “So good for me,” You never want it to stop, not the pump of his cock, not the drag of his tip against your entrance, not the filthy sounds, not the cum filling up your hole till you can’t move. Your grip on his knuckles is tight, nails digging into the skin of his hands. “That’s it, such a pretty boy, cumming on my cock.”

A searing knot of pressure grows in your stomach, filling as you bear down on his cock and sob on your whimpers. For a minute you think you’re going to pass out, everything going dark as you spurt all over yourself, globs of cum spraying hard onto your chin and splashing back on the blond. He makes you ride it out, offering hard, shallow thrusts to satiate the erratic spasming of your hole, and places a few sweet, tender kisses to your sweaty jaw.

౨ৎ

You wake with a small moan, limbs racked in small aches as your body melts into silk sheets. It smells like him: warm, cozy, and comforting, like a hug. Grateful for the dim, ambient lighting of his bedroom, your eyelids flutter open slowly, and there’s not much to adjust to. You’re clean— its the first thing you notice, a faint scent of soap lingering on your skin as your aching body scrambles for Kento’s warmth.

“I’m here,” He says behind you, hairs on your neck standing straight as you blink at him. Carrying a glass of ice water and a plate of meringue cookies— whisked perfectly. Cute, cloud-like spirals that sit on a porcelain plate— the same ones he watched you make, a smile pulls at your cheeks. “Hungry?” The muscles of your biceps flex as you push yourself up, body subconsciously leaning toward the blond until he’s sat next to you, his touches gentle and fleeting.

He feeds you a cookie, watches your teeth sink into the sweet, then wipes away the remnants of sugar from your lips. So tender, your heart flutters when he takes a bite after you— an indirect kiss.

He swallows, throat bobbing, lashes batting against his high cheekbones, before parting his lips, “I was thinking of extending my stay.”

The room feels ten times brighter, ten times louder, and yet, your heartbeat overpowers it all.

“I like you,” The words tumble from your mouth, almost as if he hadn’t just spent the last hour taking you apart and building you back up. You have nothing to lose, and everything to gain. “I more-than-like you, Kenny.”

And, without missing a beat, Kento answers truthfully this time.

“I love you too.”

2K notes · View notes

dollfacefantasy · 7 months

Text

Daddy's Home

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: you let the d word slip during sex and leon will not let you live it down

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, daddy kink, praise/degradation, spits in her mouth, mention of breeding kink, cums inside, crying during sex

word count: 2.3k

a/n: hi everyone. i wrote this all in one sitting because i was feeling absolutely depraved. i was also a little sleep deprived, so go easy on me. i hope everyone likes this. if you sent me a request, i am working on it, just be patient with me :) anywho, thank you to cooking mama @sleepyluxe for inspiring me to whip this one up. as always reblogs and comments are appreciated. smooches to everyone <3

“Daddy!” you cry out when the tip of Leon’s cock brushes over a sensitive spot deep within you.

He had you pinned on your bed, your legs over his shoulders as he pounded into your throbbing cunt. Your warm skin rubs against his as low grunts rise from his throat in time with his rhythmic thrusts. His arm flexes from his iron grip on the headboard above you. He was so deep in you that you couldn’t think straight. And that’s why that word tumbles from your lips before you can stop it.

The second he hears it his eyes open fully, his hips sputter, and he comes to a halt inside of you. Your legs slip down to either side of his waist. He looks down at your blissed-out face, trying to discern if you realized what you had said. He’s shocked at first. Sure, you had always leaned to the submissive side of the bedroom, but you had never expressed an interest to him about anything like that. At first, it shocked him, but he felt a fuse ignite in the pit of his stomach. A cruel smirk grows on his face.

“What did you say?” he asks slowly, letting it sink into your mind what you had let slip.

Your mind, in its foggy state, took a moment to catch up. You rewind the last thirty seconds in your head and humiliation crashes over you in one brutal wave. You feel your face getting hot. You can’t meet his eyes as your brain scrambles to conjure an excuse.

“Nothing,” you say quietly, settling on that as a satisfactory explanation.

He almost laughs, but he didn’t want to be mean. Yet.

“No, sweetheart. Use your words, c’mon. I know you can,” he croons while tilting your face up by your chin. He runs a thumb over your jaw to try and soothe you into sharing.

His eyes lock on yours with an intense gaze, luring out your soul to expose your desires to him.

“I didn’t… I- It’s nothing. I didn’t say anything,” you say, unable to get the word to leave your lips for a second time. His smile grows at your shyness.

“Oh, c’mon babydoll. Don’t you want to be a good girl for Daddy?” he teases with an evil glint in his eyes.

Involuntarily, you flutter around him when he says the magic word, and that makes him chuckle. You bite your lip as his thumb continues running along your jaw. He looks down at you with the gaze of a predator closing in on their prey.

“I thought that’s what you said,” he says, letting go of the headboard and lowering himself closer to your face, “Who knew my angel could be so naughty? My baby who would blush just when I’d hold her hand. Never would have imagined I’d hear her moaning for Daddy. Maybe I don’t know you as well as I thought.”

He places a few soft kisses on your cheek while you squirm, feeling your embarrassment grow. It didn’t help that you could still feel his cock pulsing inside you the entire time.

“If that’s what you like, you could have told me, honey,” he says in between pecks. His voice is gentle, but there is still a hint of mocking, “It makes sense now that I think about it. Always clinging to me, curling up on my lap, just so desperate to be in my arms. You just want Daddy to take care of you, right? Love you and keep you safe? Well, I can do that, baby, but you have to say you want it.”

It felt as if each word he spoke worked away at melting your brain. You felt warmth growing in your chest and spreading out through your limbs. That desire to be held was growing overwhelming. You could feel yourself sinking into that place where only one thing was on your mind. Daddy.

You had never told any of your lovers about this. It made you feel dirty, wrong, perverse. You never thought Leon would go for it which is why you kept it locked away in the deepest, most intimate chamber of your heart. But here he was. Silky locks of brown hair almost covering his eyes, his toned abdomen pressed to yours, and that knowing smile plastered on his face as he egged you on.

“Say it,” he says after your brief silence, “Tell me what you want.”

“I want Daddy,” you whimper out quietly. You feel shame rising in your chest as you voice the thoughts that had bounced around your skull for longer than you could remember. You had thought of him this way since before the first time you had slept together, but you had never said it out loud.

“Speak up, baby. Daddy can’t hear you when you mumble,” he teases before that taunting expression increases, “And be more specific.”

“I want Daddy… I want Daddy to fuck me,” you say with more clarity but the same amount of timidness.

He lets out a cruel laugh. “Listen to my little angel’s mouth. Dirty baby. But I think I can do that for you,” he says before he begins moving his hips again.

You moan softly at the light relief, both physical and mental from him moving on from the topic. Or so you thought.

“Mhm, that’s right. Daddy’s got you, babe. I’m gonna take good care of my girl,” he purrs in your ear.

The low rumble of his voice directly in your ear has your insides on fire. Before you can stop yourself, a pathetic whine escapes you.

“Daddy,” you say as your face tenses and your eyes flutter.

“Daddy’s here, sweetheart. Filling you up so perfect, yeah? Just the way you like,” he mumbles as his hand slides up to grip your throat while rolling his hips against yours.

“Daddy,” you whimper again, your head tilting back against the pillows while you squirm.

“Is that the only word you know, sweet girl?” he mocks, “Don’t worry, I’m gonna make sure I fuck you so hard that’ll be the only word that can leave that slutty mouth of yours.”

Your pussy clamps down around him while your arms loop around his shoulders. The need to be close to him was primal. It was innate. You couldn’t ignore it. You whimper and whine as he snaps himself into you over and over while kissing your neck below your ear. He lets out a growl against your neck, causing you to dig your nails into his back in response.

“Harder Daddy,” you mewl.

He presses his forehead against your neck and grunts. Despite his teasing, he was enjoying this just as much as you. His hands fall to your hip and hold so tight you can already feel the bruises.

“Use your manners, princess,” he says, “You’re not the boss. You ask Daddy for what you want and if I feel nice, you’ll get it.”

“Please Daddy. Please harder. Please, need it so bad,” you ramble out immediately. Your nails start to drag down his back, leaving faint red trails in their wake.

“Are you sure? You’re already falling a part for me, and I haven’t even really started yet,” he says.

“I’m sure. Please!” you beg.

“If you’re sure, baby,” he says.

He grants your wish and starts drilling into you at a ruthless speed. Your skin claps against his, both of you starting to work up a sweat. Strained, broken moans fill the room as his cock strokes every possible sweet spot inside of you. You flutter around him as the tension in your belly grows.

“So close already, angel? I thought you could handle it. When did my baby girl become such a needy whore?” he breathes with that same grin, “You can cum whenever you want this time but know that you aren’t done. Not until I’m satisfied.”

You nod as whines and moans rise in your throat. You’re panting and rolling your hips to meet his thrusts. He cages you in on the mattress and works harder to push you over the edge. One of his hands slips between the two of you to thumb your swollen clit.

In no time, you’re spasming and gasping as surges of release course through you. Your eyes roll back and you cry out for Daddy some more.

Leon chuckles. “Yeah, sweetheart, only Daddy can make you cum like this. No one else.”

You again nod mindlessly. You continue cumming, trembling as the high works its way through you. When it should be done, you don’t get to come down. His constant pumping makes that impossible. Your head is syrupy and cloudy. You feel like you’re being dragged along for this ride while still floating in your own little world.

Leon shakes his head and half-laughs, half-moans at your dazed expression. Your glossy eyes and slowed blinking. The little stream of drool leaking from the corner of your mouth that he wipes away with his fingers.

Despite being so fucked out, you still babble incoherently and cling to him like you needed him to live. He positions his face above yours and spits down into your mouth before kissing you lovingly.

“Daddy, ah, oh fuck, Daddy, Daddy,” you start to chant like it’s a prayer when your lips separate. He kisses you hard again, shutting you up momentarily, before pulling back and stroking your hair from your face.

“Did I fuck my baby dumb already? So quick doll, it’s almost pathetic,” he teases, “You wanted this so bad didn’t you? You wanted Daddy to fuck your head clear? Well, I’ll do that. Wouldn’t want you to strain yourself thinking. My pretty girl doesn’t need thoughts. She just needs to be good for daddy.”

You clench around him hard and nod while more noises that once could have been words exit you. You nuzzle your head against the side of his head, taking in the feel and smell of him.

“You’re lucky I love you. I’ll do the thinking for us both. You just have to sit pretty in Daddy’s lap and take his cock,” he grunts, “Though, maybe sometimes I’ll keep you at my feet. You just kneel on the ground between my legs and rest that cute, thoughtless, little head on my thigh. Let me look into those beautiful, empty, eyes staring up at me. If you’re good, you can suck me off.”

It was all so much. His words swirled around your head that was fuzzy with euphoria, each syllable sinking you down into that part of your head that wanted him more than anything. The compartment of your brain that gave you the need to tuck yourself under his arm and cuddle with him. The compartment that gave you the craving for sweet kisses and praise. The compartment that told you all you needed to do was listen to Daddy and be his perfect girl.

Tears start pricking at your eyes and you can’t fight them off in this state. They fall from your eyes and you whimper. You cling to him tighter as he works himself into you over and over. He notices and leans down to kiss a few away.

“Aww, did I make my sweet baby girl cry? Is Daddy being mean to you by teasing?” he coos, “No, it’s not that, is it? My baby just feels so good she can’t take it. She was acting like such a pathetic slut, but deep down you’re still my good girl. My precious little angel who deserves all the love in the world.”

You cry harder and pull him closer so you can bury your face against him. Your tears wet his skin as he he kisses your hairline and rubs a hand up and down your side.

“Good girl. Cry for Daddy, baby. Get all of it out. It just feels so good, doesn’t it? Too much for a sweet thing like you?” he asks.

“Maybe a little,” you whimper against his shoulder.

“Daddy always knows best, little love. You’ll learn that soon enough,” he says with a kiss to your head.

He continues fucking you into the mattress, working himself to that edge. It wasn’t hard to reach with you crying in his ear and mumbling about how much you loved him.

“Not much longer, sweetheart,” he hums as his eyes shut momentarily. He fights off an impending orgasm with a groan before training his eyes back on you, “I’ll let you choose this time. Where do you want Daddy’s cum, baby?”

“Inside,” you answer clearly with no hesitation.

“Inside,” he laughs, “You really want that. Want daddy to breed this little pussy? Get you nice and full. Yeah, that’s what daddy’s girl needs. Need a hot load inside you or you can’t relax.”

He snaps into you harder and keeps a firm hold on you. You feel like you’re cumming again, but you’re not sure when your last release ended so it’s hard to tell. He’s right there. You can feel him pulsing and twitching between your walls.

“Fuck, she needs to be bred. I can tell by how tight you’ve been. Sucking me in the whole time. I’ve already got you trained so well,” he moans.

A few more pumps, and he’s spilling inside you, exploding against your cervix. He’s fingers are digging into your flesh while his hips buck and he growls and whimpers into your neck. His hot and sticky ropes of cum fill you and satiate that urge inside you. For now.

When he’s done, his hips come to a stop. He lazily kisses all over your face and wipes your remaining tears away before gingerly pulling out and flopping down next to you.

Even though, your carnal needs have been fulfilled, you still wanted to be close and touching at all time. You roll over to him and place yourself against his side. You drape your arm across his chest and nuzzle his pectoral muscle.

He pulls you close in return and gives you some small kisses on your head.

“My good girl,” he whispers.

You nod and snuggle closer as he starts rubbing your back. The two of you come down in peace for a little while before he looks down at you and smirks.

“So, Daddy, huh?” he teases.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #resident evil imagines #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy imagine #resident evil smut #smut

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sciencebecameouraddiction · 29 days

Text

prompt: who did this to you? tell me now.

summary: when you end up getting hurt while out, you make it back home, but just barely.

genre: angst, hurt/comfort

characters: alastor, lucifer

warnings: talk of fighting, abuse, broken bones and getting hurt, being stabbed. essentially you’re hurt and they respond to you being hurt. blood and medical care by the characters too.

alastor

you walked into the hotel, staggering in, barely able to keep yourself up. every breath your feeble body tried to drag in aggravated another part of your body, causing even slight breaths to feel like you were being punched again.

you grimaced as you found stability against the wall next to door, leaning against it, your head hitting the wall. you micro-adjusted yourself trying to find a spot where you could breathe, knowing if you didn’t you would pass out. you couldn't find that spot, and were near tears. you couldn’t breathe, everything hurt, your eye was swollen shut, and you didn’t know what else to do. you had to get to your room but the thought of walking up those stairs and then down the hallway to your room seemed more of a torture session then you just got through.

that’s when you heard the soft pattering of feet and you looked up to see wide eyes.

red eyes bore into yours as the momentary shock of seeing alastor stopped your brain from thinking about the mind numbing pain you were experiencing. you watched him tighten his grip on his cane as he slowly made his way over to you, like you were a wounded animal.

“can you walk?” he asked, sizing up your figure and waving the cane away.

“i’m not… sure. i… got here… okay…. but my rooms… far.” you muttered out, long pauses between words to catch your breath. he nods, a dark shadow passing over his face along with apprehension, before he shakes his head and approaches you holding out his hands.

“may i carry you?” he asks.

“what?” your shock at his question causing you to not fully register what he said.

“will you allow me to carry you up to the rooms. i’ll help you with whatever injuries you have there.” he says slow and careful.

“i don’t know if… you can carry… me.” you murmur. he smiles a bit more now.

“i’m stronger than i look.” he replies back easily. you wave your free hand at him, giving him consent to go ahead. he gently places his arm under your knees and in a swift movement your in his arms, your body searing as your injuries are jostled.

“fuck.” you moan out trying to breath. alastor stays still and waits until you’re breathing somewhat regularly. he then starts taking you up the stairs, heading the opposite direction from your room.

“my room…” you say pointing behind him.

“i know. we’re going to my room. i have more first aid supplies then what charlie put in the rooms.” he replies easily, not breaking a sweat or even seeming out of breath. his door opens and he gently places you down on a chair near the opening to the forest. you try and find your breath again as alastor quietly darts off and comes back with a box of medical supplies.

he’s quiet as he examines you and asks permission to take off your shirt. he quickly assesses the damage to your ribs, your ankle and your face. checking your hands as well and glaring at the wounds on your knuckles. he starts with your ribs first, setting them and then wrapping them, forcing your posture straight. had you not been just trying to stay awake, you would have blushed at how gently his hands trailed your sides, piecing you back together. next he hands you a cold pack for your eye. you hold it up as he wraps your hand in gauze and ointment. you switch hands as he treats the other one.

“i don’t think your ankle is broken.” he says, “but at the least it’s sprained horribly.” he pulls out a stabilizer and gauze. “this will hurt.” you nod.

“do you worse.” you mutter, finally able to take deeper but still shallow breaths. he turns your foot to face up and your eyes widen as you scream.

“it’s okay. you’re okay.” he says, his eyes wide and worried.

“it hurts al. it hurts.” you cry, tears running down your face.

“i know. but let me finish up. it will feel better.” he assured you as he reaches up and wipes your tears away.

“go ahead.” you whisper. he quickly puts the stabilizer against your leg and then wraps it with gauze. tears running down your cheeks as you keep still and silent.

“it’s done.” he says leaning back as you sit in the chair feeling exhausted.

“thank you… alastor.” you voice no louder than a whisper but you know he hears you as he nods. he packs everything up and then moves you to the bed that magically appears in the room.

“i have a room al.” you say, sitting against the pillows.

“i know you do, but you can’t do anything in this condition. so you’ll stay here until i deem it okay for you to leave.” his tone leaving no room for argument and you nod. “now, who did this to you?”

your eyes widen as your head snaps up at him. gone was the man you saw before, replaced with what you knew as the radio demon. the shift happened almost instantaneously. “it was nothing alastor. i just… fucked up.” you say looking off to the side.

“i don’t take well with lying dear.” he says, his hand hovering over your ankle as a warning. you look at him disbelieving and he just tilts his head. almost as if he’s saying ‘try me’. you sigh.

“it was an ex of mine. he worked for vox and i left him before i came here. he was abusive and i had enough. but he found me and he knew i was at the hotel. said i couldn’t get away from him, and that we were meant to be. and when i tried to get away…” you motioned to yourself. you hoped your words came across as truthful and sincere. you internally sighed in relief as alastor nodded, and sent his shadow off. moments later husk appeared and alastor murmured something to him. you saw husk’s eyes widen as he looked at you and then alastor.

“i’ll take care of it.” husk said, his gaze steely as he left.

“relax my dear. you’re safe now and we’ll help you recover.” alastor said, as you moved to lay down, him taking up an arm chair by the bed and procuring a book from thin air. you closed your eyes as guilt consumed you. you had told alastor the truth but not the full truth.

you didn’t tell him that your ex mentioned that him “giving to you what was coming” was from vox and was to be a message to the radio demon. you knew that alastor would withdraw after that and that would hurt you more than any other physical pain anyone could put you through.

lucifer

you quickly shut the door to the house, leaning against it and taking a breath. you looked down to your abdomen and got a bit woozy seeing the blood spread across your white shirt.

“damn it.” you mutter, feeling a bit foggy from the blood loss. you shake your head trying to clear it. you knew that lucifer was home and you could only hold onto the hope that he didn't hear you come in. you were getting ready to make your way to the bathroom when lucifer popped in front of you.

“honey! you’re home!” he says, looking mostly at the papers in his hand as you straightened up much to the protest of your body, trying to seem like you had not been stabbed maybe 15 minutes ago.

“i- yup!” you responded, your voice tight as you tried to cover your wound with your hand. you moved your jacket over it so that it couldn’t be seen either. lucifer looked up at you as his eye squinted at you.

“are you all right?” he asks, coming closer to you, his focus on those papers in his hand all but forgotten.

“i-i’m fine, luce.” you smile, it not reaching your eyes though. you clear your throat, looking off the left, trying to figure out a way to stop him from really observing you. “i know you said you wanted to show me those new plans for the hotel, let’s go check them out!” you say, changing the subject. hoping that worked. you didn’t want to worry him, nor tell him why you were hurt.

“okay…” he says drawing out the word and then motioning for you to follow him. you start walking behind him, every footstep jostling you and causing your wound to bleed even more, when you reached the three stairs to his study. he crossed them easily but you stepped up on the one and gasped, feeling searing pain in your side. your hand coming out to hold the wall so you didn’t fall. your breath rushing in and out of you like you had ran a race, as your head swam, your body loosing more blood. you see the red substance drip from your hand and watch it fall to the floor, blending into the red carpet. you look up and see lucifer standing there, his eyes wide.

“what the fuck happened?” he cries, going to you and lifting you up, your hand falling from your wound and your jacket falling back, showing the slice through your shirt. he quickly makes a portal and gets you to your shared room. he gently lays you down on the bed, and dashes off to get some gauze. you try to get off the bed not wanting to ruin the sheets. he comes back to you flailing, trying to get up and pushes you back down, looking at you like you had completely lost it.

“the sheets…” you murmur, coughing and wiping your hand away seeing blood. “oh no.” you whisper and his eyes widen. he throws the gauze away and places his hands on your stomach.

“why didn't you tell me immediately?" he cries, shaking his head looking distraught. "i’m going to heal you, just... stay still.” he says closing his eyes. you grab his hand with the strength you had, though you felt all the strength in your body seemingly being siphoned just by laying on the bed. he looks at you, his eyes wide.

“it hurts you.” you say.

“don’t care.” he says, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. before you can argue again, his hands glow gold and you body starts stitching itself up, cell by cell, inch by inch. you can feel it all. you cry out as lucifer healing you seems to go on forever. the few minutes it takes seems like hours, as your mind swims through a sea of pain and exhaustion. finally the golden glow subsides and lucifer drops to his knees next to you. you grab his hand as he rests his head against you. both of you trying to recover. you can barely keep your eyes open feeling them closing. you drift off to a dreamless sleep, almost like your body forcing you to rest.

when you wake next you sit up quickly, looking around the dark room trying to find lucifer. your breath coming in short pants as you can't see anything but the darkness in the room.

“luce?” you ask, your voice hoarse and then you look next to you. lucifer was sleeping close by you. you sigh out in relief as you lay back down and brush his hair back from his eyes, kissing his forehead. “you saved me, again.” you murmur, gently resting your hand on his cheek, resting your forehead against his. his eyes open slowly.

“i’ll always be there to do so.” he smiles and sits up.

“i’m sorry i woke you up.” you said as he turned to you, drawing you to him and situating you to straddle his lap. clutching you close.

“i was so scared.” he whispered, not like he was asleep just a moment ago.

“i’m sorry.” you respond back. your head slotting in between his shoulder and neck. he lets you rest there for a moment and then pulls you back to look at you.

“who did this to you?” he asks, his eyes steely as he cupped your face gently. you shook your head not wanting to say. “darling, who did this?” he asked, the tone of his voice sharper and more impatient.

“i-“ tears start running down your face. “you’re going to be so upset… and i don’t want you to be. i don’t want.. you to pull away from me again. it’ll make you do that and i can’t bare that lucifer. i just-“ you start talking quickly, your breaths coming quick as you hold on to his shoulders, looking into his eyes even as tears pour from yours. lucifer’s eyes widen and his eyes are misty seeing how upset you are.

“i won’t. i promise you. i won't pull away, regardless of what you tell me. but i need to know who did this to you. tell me. now.” lucifer says, his voice firm.

“i-they were masked. they looked like sharks?” you phrased the last statement as a question. “they cornered me in an alley and said that i needed to take a message to lucifer. that they knew how to get to you, and they could use me to do that and you needed to give them what they asked for.” you said as you recounted the tale with your eyes closed. you opened them when you felt lucifer’s claws digging into your hips. you saw his eyes had turned red and his horns were fully out.

“and they stabbed you?” he ground out. you nodded. "that was their message?" you nodded again.

"that if you didn't do what they asked, they would hurt me." you explain, realizing near the end of the explanation that it probably wasn't needed. his eyes darkened as you spoke, and he moved you gently onto your side of the bed. he took a deep breath as he got up. he gently petted your hair and helped you lay down, his horns no longer out, but his eyes bright red.

“where are you going?” you asked, already knowing the answer.

“out. i’ll be back all right. stay here and go to sleep, you need it. i’ll be right back.” he says, a steely resolve in his eyes, and a gentle smile on his face. you nodded as your eyes felt heavy and fell asleep before lucifer even reached the door to leave. he straightened his jacket and walked down the hall. he had important work to take care of as he created a portal and stepped through it.

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peachesofteal · 4 months

Text

Light On - single mom/neighbor fic Simon Riley/female reader 🎄Simon has himself a merry little Christmas - for @glitterypirateduck's cod holiday challenge

Simon opens his eyes to an empty bed on Christmas morning.

His breath catches in his chest when his hand slides across the sheets, instinctively seeking the warmth of your body, only to discover your side of the bed empty.

His rational, tactical, professional mind tells him you've probably just gotten up with the baby. That for some reason, he slept too deeply and didn't wake up when she did this morning, like he usually does. You're in the guest room, Emmaline's room, now, or in the kitchen. Maybe you're already drinking your first cup of coffee. You're fine. The baby is fine. Nothing is wrong.

But his heart... his heart screams. Terror ices his veins, adrenaline and fear taking control of his gross motor skills, legs twisting beneath him as he stumbles out of bed and races for the door. They’re fine, they’re fine, they’re fine-

“Sweetheart?” His voice betrays him. He sounds stressed, anxiety piquing, frantically turning the corner into the kitchen. Not again, he can’t do this again, this can’t happen again…

It’s empty. The front door is still locked, and so is the patio’s, twinkling Christmas tree glowing in the late dawn light. His mind splits. Check Emmaline’s room, they’re probably in there, get control of yourself… and… the glock 19 is closest, should still be under the top shelf, call Price, mobilize the team-

“Simon?” He whirls at the sound of your voice, air rushing out of his lungs, drawing into a relieved laugh. Emmaline is on your hip in a green, white, and red striped elf costume, complete with a pointed hat, jingle bell dangling from the top. “Morning.” You smile, and so does the baby. “Santa’s elf wanted to surprise you.” You’re still a little sleepy, eyes tired, and he does a double take when he realizes you’re in your underwear and one of his t shirts.

“I’m… surprised.” Bloody hell. His brain isn’t working, his mouth rendering him stupid, still caught in fight or flight, and your lips subtly twist before your eyes soften, realization soft across your features.

“Are you okay?” You question, and he nods, not trusting himself to not say something else moronic, flailing in the silence, failing. It’s been weeks since he’s felt like this, inept, clumsy, senseless, too easily settled into a life with you after that pipe burst in your flat and practically delivered him a holiday miracle, a treasure deposited right into his lap. “Here,” you push Emma into his arms, soft fingers over top his as you hand her off, looking up at him with that level trust, adoration that you’re always providing him, in your eyes. Just holding Emmaline settles the anxiety in his heart, soothes the raw buzzing that’s tearing through his head, and you smile, butting your head into his shoulder and placing a kiss there. “Will you take her while I get dressed?”

“Yeah.” He croaks, as you squeeze his forearm, turning away. “Sweetheart,” he calls, stopping you in your tracks. He wants to tell you he thinks he loves you; he thinks he’d die without you; he thinks you’re the greatest thing he’s ever had, ever held, thinks you saved him, but nothing comes out. You hold his gaze for a second, and then two, before whispering.

“I know… me too.” Of course you do. You pause, cocking your head. “Could you make some coffee? Gonna be a long day.” You raise an eyebrow towards the Christmas tree, where all of Emma’s gifts sit perfectly arranged, and he nods. He can do that.

“Just three scoops of this,” he tells Emma, portioning out the coffee into the filter as she babbles at him from her perch in his other arm. “Mama likes it pretty strong, doesn’t she? And then some water, like this.” He pours the pitcher into the machine’s reservoir, flicking on the power and listening to the gurgle as he makes his way to the couch. He bounces Emma on his knee, little hands waving in the air, trying to grab the end of her hat and gnaw on it. The tree sparkles behind her, lights and ornaments all aglow, and she giggles when she tips herself forward, planting onto his chest with both hands. “Easy, baby girl.” Rolling onto her back in the crook of his arm, she squirms, smiling up at him, finger extended towards his chin. “What is it, eh?” He leans, and she pokes his cheek, cooing with a satisfied grunt. She fits so naturally in his side, just like you do, and he settles into the cushions, relaxing, allowing her to explore, tactile touch padding across his face, little fingernails scratching at his stubble.

“You two look cozy.” You murmur with a yawn, cup of coffee steaming in your palms. He smiles, and Emma lifts her head to look for you, tracking the sound of your voice. You perch at his other side, knees tucking up next to his hip, nestling your head against his shoulder, fingers tracing Emmaline’s cheek. “Whatcha doing sweet pea?” He brushes a kiss across the top of your head, and you sigh, arm wrapping around his stomach. "This is nice."

"It is." He agrees. It's more than nice, it's everything. Everything he didn't know was possible, everything he didn't know he wanted. It's nice, spending Christmas with his girls, cuddled up together on his couch in front of a Christmas tree that's loaded with presents for the baby. A Christmas, the holiday he used to shun… now brought back to life by you. Nice is a good word to describe it, but others flit through his mind as well: perfect, redeeming, salvation.

Purpose.

He takes a ragged breath, and you lean back to look at him, waiting.

"It's more than nice, sweetheart, it's... I... never thought, never dreamed this could happen in my life. You and Emmaline, you're... everything to me." He pauses, cradling your face, watching how your eyes shimmer with unshed tears. "I want," he swallows the lump in his throat. "I want you to stay. I want you to be here. Always." He needs you to stay, needs you like he needs air to breathe, needs you like he's never needed, never wanted, anything before in his life. He'd give you the world, if he could, wrap it up nicely and put it beneath the tree, but he doesn't know how to say that, how to explain.

He's grateful he doesn't have to.

"I'll be here, Simon. I'll be right here. With you." You take his hand, clutching onto him tightly. It's selfish, what he wants. Stupid. But he's not a good man... he's yours, and he'll be as wicked, as awful as he must to keep you and Emmaline safe. You're the only good thing about him now, and he'd dig himself free from a shallow grave all over again, just to crawl home to you. You've changed him, deeply. Fundamentally. Taught him the truth of love, of healing, your grief not so much different from his own, and he knows he'd die for you, he'd die for you ten thousand times.

Emmaline babbles at the sound of your voice, and you smile at her, not bothering to wipe away the tear that tracks down your cheek. "We're here. We'll stay. As long as you want us."

And christ, if that isn't the best Christmas gift he's ever be given.

#peaches writes #light on #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #codholiday2023

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arachine · 8 months

Text

something about non-traditional family dynamics with gojo just speaks to me…

includes :: co-parent!gojo, rich boy!gojo, mentions of pregnancy + leaky nips hehe

note :: this is just pure brainrot, started thinking about him in class today and i needed to get this out of my brain!

link to part two + link to part three

i’d like to think that after he knocks you up in college, the two of you take it upon yourselves to get married because, “‘it’s the right thing to do.’” and so, for a few years, you do the whole marriage thing—the family thing.

no longer were you the twenty-something-year-old who partied hard every weekend, and studied until the break of dawn every school night.

no, now you were the twenty-something-year-old who fixed bottles at odd hours in the night, whose nipples leaked through all her favorite tops, who had a husband that paid a mortgage and kissed her goodbye before he went off to work for the company passed down to him.

and after some time, things finally start to fall into place—your little family.

the baby gets bigger. you go through the terrible twos, of course, and the teenage-threes, but once she hits five, it’s suddenly pie in the sky—and god, it feels like you can finally start to see a light at the end of the tunnel.

so, you and gojo have one more. one more girl that’s precious, and smart, and quick-tongued, and every bit of her dad as she is you.

things are touch and go for awhile, but for the most part it’s...easy, smooth. that is, until married life starts to feel like a task, and your husband starts to feel like your roommate instead of your companion.

conversations becomes brief, the bed becomes colder, morning kisses are exchanged for nods of acknowledgement, and you can’t even remember the last time either of you desired each other…

one day though, the two of you come to a mutual decision to separate. you spend the night talking, and talking, and talking. you talk about things. memories—before and after. you even talk about your mis-comings, and if things could’ve gone differently had either of you did ‘this, this, and that’.

when you tell the girls, you’re half expecting them to be upset, but all they can think about is how, “‘they’ll get twice the amount of gifts during holidays’” — at least, according to your oldest who heard that from a kid in her class with separated parents.

a few years pass after your separation and now the both of you have come to a place where you can just be...friends. it was weird, at first—dropping your kids off to their 'other home'. walking them up to the grandiose sky-rise apartment building that's always bustling with people who've got places to be, and working class people to probably torture—but that's neither here, nor there.

gojo's waiting in the lobby. he's leaned up against the side of the elevator, dressed down in all black athleisure, and he's sporting that damn cheesy grin that you find yourself missing lately.

"hey girls," he greets, lowering down to his haunches and opening his arms for hugs, "oof—big hugs, almost knocked me over! missed me that much, huh?"

while the three of them get their hugs out of the way, you stand there idly watching, rocking back and forth on the balls of your heels.

"hey," he finally acknowledges you, "how was the drive? they got everything they need?"

"it was fine, and yep! they insisted on packing their own bags like big girls but i checked them," you say, before whispering, "and then repacked them."

he laughs at that, and then grabs their suitcases.

"but yeah, i should get going before traffic hits. if you need anything, let me know, and if you need anything," you drop down to your knees, "mommy's only a call away, okay?"

the two of them nod, "okay, mommy!"

"good...now come on, hugs and kisses!" you pull them in, getting enough kisses for two-weeks time. eventually, you pull away—albit, reluctantly, and wave your goodbyes.

the three of them watch you walk away, and when you're finally out of ear-shot, gojo utters a 'miss that'.

"miss what, daddy?"

"uh-huh," he clears his throat, "daddy didn't say anything..."

"liar, you miss mommy. don't you?" the youngest grins, all cheeky and knowing. gojo rolls his eyes—not out of annoyance, but because of how much they reminded him of himself. much like he, nothing ever got past those two...and he doesn't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. right now, though? it's gonna be a good thing because he needs to know if-

"does mommy have a new boyfriend?"

"why?" the oldest answers, squinting her eyes in suspicion.

"jeez kid, just answer the question."

she ponders for a second, then extends her hand out, opening and closing it in a fast manner. gojo pouts, then takes out his wallet to put a five dollar bill on it.

she doesn't budge.

"oh, c'mon! i'm your father!" he pouts, but acquiesces and pulls out another five, "fine, you little brat."

with a smile on her face, she stuffs the bills in her front pocket and nods her head.

"wha-really?" he gasps, "is he better looking than me? how old is he? is he younger than daddy? is he richer than daddy? what's he do for work?"

ignoring his questions, she only extends her hand out again.

"i'm not giving you any more money, so we can settle this with some ice cream or nothing."

she ponders for a second time before nodding. "ice cream works for me."

"you little...c'mon get on the elevator."

20 floors in and the questions never stop coming.

#gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru x you #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk imagines

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punkshort · 2 months

Text

i know who you are | 1. the beginning

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: A head injury on patrol causes you to lose your memories of the outbreak and the people you have grown to know and love over the last ten years.

Chapter Warnings: language, descriptions of blood and wounds, vomiting, angst, amnesia

WC: 7.6K

A/N: I shortened the timeline a bit - all of the events from the first game have happened, but this takes place ten years after the outbreak instead of twenty.

Series Masterlist

Pain.

That was all you could recognize at first. The back of your head throbbed so badly, you couldn't even open your eyes. There were sounds, but they were unidentifiable through the searing, red hot pain radiating across the back of your skull. Tenderly, you reached your hand back to press against the source. You recoiled instantly, the pain too much to bear. A thick and sticky wetness coated your fingers.

Then you smelled it.

The smell of metal. Coppery, familiar. Then... did you smell fireworks? Was it the Fourth of July? A few years back, your older brother was messing around with fireworks and nearly blew off his hand, ending the night in the emergency room. Your parents never let him forget it. Is that what happened? Did he make some stupid bet with you? A game of chicken wasn't out of the realm of possibility. He always brought out your competitive side.

You forced your eyes open just a crack, the sun immediately causing you to close them again. It was too bright and your brain was vibrating like it was trying to escape from the confines of your skull.

You were outside. It wasn't dark, fireworks wouldn't make sense. What was going on?

Then you heard your name. Someone shouting it, over and over, panic stricken.

You tried to hold up your hand, wave them off, tell them to stop being so loud, but you could barely lift your hand before the nausea hit. Unable to stop yourself, you rolled onto your side, your head screaming and punishing you for the sudden movement as you heaved, emptying the contents of your stomach into the grass. The force of it made your head hurt even more, if that was even possible.

The smell of acid mixed with the smell of metal, now.

Maybe you were dying.

Someone's hands were on your shoulders, pushing you onto your back, yelling your name over and over.

"Stop," you pleaded weakly, tears springing into your eyes. The pain was too much.

"Jesse! Get her water!"

You groaned and covered your face with your palms. The sunlight was so fucking bright that you could even see it through your eyelids, a red glow everywhere you looked. You needed darkness. You needed quiet.

"Here, drink," you heard a man's voice say, then the hard plastic pressed against your lower lip. You whimpered and tried to pull away, the thought of anything in your stomach making you feel sick again.

"Shit, Joel's gonna fucking freak," you heard another male voice say from behind your head.

Against your better judgement, you forced your eyes open. Blinking rapidly, you locked eyes with the first person you saw. A man with dark, curly hair that went past his ears, with patchy facial hair and soft, brown eyes. Your eyes drifted down to his dirty, denim jacket, and then you saw his hands. Fear shot through you when you saw the drying blood, fist still clutching a gun, and as you tried to scramble away, you bumped into someone behind you, causing you to panic.

Why were they surrounding you? Who were these people? It wasn't fireworks, it was gunpowder.

"Get the fuck away from me!" you screeched, but the dark haired man inched forward, his free hand reaching out to you, telling you to calm down, it's okay, sugar, but you continued to crawl backwards, ignoring the pain throbbing behind your eyes. What did these people do to you?

"Whoa, it's alright," the other man said. A younger man, also darker hair, but shorter.

Your chest heaved as you gasped for air, panic seizing you from head to toe. Your eyes flicked around the forest, the huge tree trunks making it impossible to figure out where you were.

"W-where am I? Where's my mom?"

The man holding the gun frowned and exchanged concerned glances with the other man.

"She's gone," he said gently, as if it were obvious. A strangled noise got caught in the back of your throat when you looked at the man's gun again.

"What did you do to her?" you asked, voice wavering. The man's eyes dropped to the gun in his hand and he quickly holstered it.

"I didn't do anythin' to her, sugar," he said, and again looked at the younger man before continuing. "She died the first day."

"What?" you asked, lip trembling. What the fuck was going on?!

"First day of what?"

"You don't remember?" he asked, and you could see the worry in his face. His eyes wide and his hand a little shaky.

"No, I don't fucking remember! What the fuck are you trying to pull?" you exclaimed, your voice rising the angrier you got.

"Sugar, do you know who I am?" he asked, sneakily taking the handgun that laid abandoned by your side in the dirt and tucking it into the back of his pants.

"No," you spat, then winced and clutched the back of your head again. When you pulled your hand back, you saw fresh blood coating your fingers. Your heart began slamming in your chest and you were finding it difficult to bring in enough air to keep you level.

"Jesse, get a rag," the man ordered. Jesse jumped up and jogged over to a backpack discarded on the ground. Old, worn, faded, with splashes of blood.

Then you saw the bodies.

Well, you supposed they could be considered bodies, but they didn't look like people. Not anymore. Their skin was sagging and grey. Clothes, torn and dirty. Mangy hair ripped out in handfuls at the scalp. Their mouths were agape, revealing yellowed teeth and stinking of rot.

"What the fuck?" you whispered as your vision narrowed. You faintly realized Jesse was pressing a rag against the back of your head, trying to stop the bleeding and had you not been so scared and confused, you might have shoved him away.

"Tommy, what do we do?" Jesse asked, and you could hear the fear in his voice now. His hand shook against your shoulder as he tried to keep you still.

"We gotta get her back home, have Nick take a look at her," he said, and you looked back and forth between them, flabbergasted. Talking about you as if you weren't right there.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," you told them. You tried to stand up, but fell to your knees. Tommy knelt down next to you, his arm circling around your shoulders, but you shrugged him off.

"C'mon, sugar. We ain't gonna hurt you, you just hit your head and you need to see a doctor," Tommy said. "Jesse, grab me my first aid kit."

"I gotta go home," you mumbled, and forced yourself to stand again. You couldn't see straight. Everything around you was spinning even though you were fairly certain you were standing still. "I need to see my dad... my brother."

"Shit," you heard Jesse mutter under his breath as he hustled over with a small, leather bag.

"Okay, why don't we take you to a doctor first, then we can talk about your family, alright?" Tommy asked gently. "I'm just gonna patch you up til we get back," he added, reaching into the bag for some medical tape. You watched as Tommy instructed Jesse to hold the rag against your head while he ran the medical tape around, holding the cloth in place.

You didn't have much choice. As you looked around, you were becoming more and more aware you had absolutely no idea where you were or what was happening. You definitely weren't home. There weren't trees like this back home.

So, begrudgingly, you agreed to follow them. Tommy stuck two fingers into his mouth and whistled, a sharp, piercing noise that made you wince. You were confused until you heard the soft pattering of hooves approaching, and through the trees, three tacked up horses emerged. A pale yellow one slowed and stopped a few feet away from you, snorting loudly and stomping its foot. You watched as Tommy and Jesse grabbed their backpacks and mounted their horses. Then Tommy seemed to realize the problem and quickly slid back down to the ground.

"I'll give you a boost," he said, crouching next to the yellow horse and lacing his fingers together. Slowly, you walked forward, eyeing the horse wearily before gripping the saddle and stepping one foot into Tommy's hands. He hoisted you up as you tossed your leg over the side of the horse and you bent forward, momentarily burying your face in its mane while you tried to stop the world from spinning. Fuck, your head was going to explode.

You followed Tommy's horse while Jesse took up the rear, all of you maneuvering around the rotting corpses littering the ground.

"What is this?" you asked, utterly confused. "Did I faint when we found a bunch of dead bodies or something? We have to go to the police," you told them, panic rising once again.

"We will," Tommy said, and you took a deep breath. Okay, things were making sense. You hit your head. Maybe you fell off your horse and knocked yourself out. You don't remember meeting these men before, but they seemed to know you, and they didn't appear to be threatening. If they were, they wouldn't give you your own horse, right?

"How far away are we from your home?" you asked after about ten minutes.

"Not far. Maybe another half hour or so. You holdin' up okay?" Tommy asked, twisting around in his saddle to look at you, his eyes briefly glancing over your shoulder at Jesse.

"Yeah, I think so. My head really hurts, though," you said, blinking slowly. "Do you have a farm or a ranch or something?"

"A what?" Tommy asked, confused until he looked down at the horses. "Oh, right. No, but we do got a barn."

"Oh, okay," you said uncertainly. You looked around at the trees as your horse obediently followed Tommy's. It was so quiet. You must have been deep into the woods because you couldn't hear any road noise at all. Looking up, you didn't even see or hear any planes. You had never known quiet like this before. It was almost... peaceful.

You looked back over your shoulder, making eye contact with Jesse, who gave you a nervous smile.

"Is he your dad?" you asked, and Jesse snorted.

"No," he chuckled, then cleared his throat and wiped the smile off his face, becoming serious again. "No, Tommy's just my friend. Our friend," he added, and you slowly nodded before turning back around.

You loosely held the reins in your hands as you made your way through the forest, the only sounds coming from your horses and the birds singing in the branches above your heads. When you crossed a small stream, Tommy called over his shoulder not much further now.

At the end of the forest was a clearing. You could see it already. A huge gate and reinforced walls surrounding what you assumed was home to these men, but it looked like a fortress in the middle of nowhere. There were even guards with guns strolling along the top of the fences.

This didn't seem right.

"Stop," you told your horse, but of course it kept walking.

"Stop!" you shouted, and it pinned its ears back. You looked up at Tommy, who had now turned around in his saddle.

"How - I don't know what I'm doing, tell it to stop! I want to stop!" you told him as the panic rose from your chest and squeezed your throat.

"Pull on the reins," Tommy said, and you quickly tugged them, making the horse come to a sudden halt.

"Where are we? What is this?" you demanded, narrowing your eyes at him. By now you had made it just outside the gates, and the guards on top were looking at Tommy questioningly.

"This is Jackson," Tommy said calmly, then slid down from his horse to approach you. "This is where we live. We got a doctor here who can take a look at that head wound."

"Why don't you live in a normal house? A normal town? I don't understand," you said, and the tears began to well up in your eyes. You were so frustrated and everything was so confusing and all you wanted to do was go to bed and forget this ever happened.

"I'll explain everythin', I promise, but first we gotta get you to the doc, alright?" he asked as your tears began to fall. Tommy glanced up at the top of the fence and nodded. You watched as a handful of men began to crank open the gate, revealing the beginnings of a quaint -looking town.

"Can you get down? Go slow, I'll catch you if you fall," he said, and when you looked into his eyes, you could see affection there. You did as you were told. Swinging one leg over, you slowly and carefully lowered yourself to the ground, Tommy's hands reassuringly hovering above your shoulders until you were standing on your own two feet.

"Are we... together?" you asked him.

Tommy and Jesse both laughed heartily and then he quickly shook his head.

"No, sugar," he said, a smile still etched across his face. He looked over at the open gate and his smile slowly began to fade. "But we oughta get you to the doc right away."

You sat on the edge of an exam table, head tilted down, chin against your chest as the doctor Tommy introduced as Nick stitched up the laceration on your scalp. He had numbed the area pretty good with something from a very large needle that sent you spiraling into a frenzy until Nick and Tommy managed to calm you down and convinced you they were not in fact trying to drug you and sell you into sex trafficking, like you had accused them of trying to do.

Once the doctor started to work on your injury, Tommy excused himself, mumbling something about needing to talk to someone and that he would be back as soon as possible.

Nick said he had to cut away some of your hair, that you would have a small bald spot for a while, but the rest of your hair would be able to hide it effectively.

After he took care of the cut, he began to examine you further. He flashed a bright light into your eyes, making you wince and recoil. He asked you strange questions that you were confident you didn't answer correctly based on the expression on his face.

"Cordy- what?"

"Cordyceps," he repeated.

"No, I have no idea what that is. Is it a band?" you guessed, and he shook his head.

"Well, you certainly have a concussion, and I'm afraid you have some memory loss," he said, sitting down on the small stool across from you.

"How much is 'some'?"

"Uh, difficult to say, but ten years? Give or take?" he said, and you balked.

"Ten years?!"

He nodded.

"I'm afraid so. Can you tell me the last day you do remember?"

"Well," you began, relaxing your shoulders as you thought. "I remember it was fall, but it was still hot out. I had a long day at work - I'm a banker," you told Nick, and he nodded. "My feet were killing me, I had barely sat down all day. It was family dinner night at my parents' house. Me and my brother go over there every Friday. My dad made ribs out on the grill so he wouldn't heat up the house with the oven. My mom was wearing this new, green dress that I thought looked hideous but I lied and told her it was cute. And my brother was telling us about a girl he had met the weekend before."

Nick looked at you to continue, but when it became clear you were done, he sighed.

"That's the last day you remember?"

"Yeah," you said slowly, finally picking up on the concerned look he was giving you. "Was that really ten years ago?" you asked, softly this time. Nick pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose and nodded.

"Oh my god," you breathed, looking around the sparse, run down room. What happened in ten years to make the world look like this? You were about to ask when you heard shouting coming from the lobby of the infirmary.

Nick jumped up and opened the door, then turned back to you.

"I'll be right back," he said, then shut the door quickly behind him.

You sat on the edge of the bed, legs lightly swinging as you tried to piece together what you knew.

Ten years.

Ten whole years, just... gone.

What memories did you make in that time? Your mom is dead, but what about the rest of your family? Is there anybody in this town that you might actually remember? You looked down at your body. You thought you looked the same, maybe a little thinner, but otherwise the same. Did you ever get married? Have kids?

The shouting got louder and pulled you out of your reverie. It was a man's voice, and it was growing closer. He sounded angry. Livid, even.

You could now hear him opening up the other exam room doors and calling your name, ignoring the voices of Tommy and Nick urging him to stop, and a jolt of fear shot through you. Glancing around the room, you looked for something, anything that might protect you or reinforce the door, but it was too late.

The door swung open and you jumped off the table. If this man was going to hurt you, you wouldn't go down without a fight.

He paused in the doorway, his eyes raking up and down your body, assessing you silently while you did the same. He was tall. Broad shoulders strained underneath a black T-shirt. A blue flannel was clutched in his fist. You could see his muscles twitching under his tanned skin, and when your gaze finally met his, you felt something else other than fear. Something you couldn't quite identify. You knew this man, but you didn't know how.

His hair was dark and had loose curls, similar to Tommy's but shorter and a little lighter. The beard surrounding plush looking lips had a dusting of white at the corners of his jaw, but it was his eyes that drew your attention the most. A deep, beautiful brown that told a whole story in just one moment.

Nick and Tommy stood behind the strange man, looking back and forth between the two of you. Dragging your gaze off of him, you looked at Tommy, hoping he would explain.

Then the man said your name softly and your eyes flicked back to him.

"What?" you finally said with an edge to your voice, growing annoyed with how nobody felt compelled to say anything. They just kept looking at you, waiting for you to acknowledge him as if you'd known him your whole life.

"You remember Joel. Right, sugar?" Tommy asked, and your eyes drifted back to him. All three men stared at you, the room so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Slowly, you shook your head, and Joel's face fell.

"Is it permanent?" Joel asked, turning to Nick.

Nick paused, his mouth opening and closing as he considered his answer before clearing his throat.

"It's too soon to say-"

"The fuck d'you mean?!" Joel roared, grabbing Nick by his collar and shoving him up against the door. You stumbled backwards in surprise.

"Joel!" Tommy yelled, yanking on his shoulder, trying to loosen his grip on the poor doctor but Joel just shrugged him off.

"Fix her!" Joel yelled, redness creeping up his neck as he slammed Nick up against the door again.

"I-I can't just fix her! What do you think this is? Look around!" Nick stammered, his fingers clawing at the backs of Joel's hands.

You gasped and felt your knees give out from underneath you. Slowly, you sunk down to the floor, crippled in fear. You huddled against the side of the bed, your hands clamped over your mouth as you rocked back and forth, trying and failing to keep your tears at bay.

"Joel! Let 'em go, you're scarin' her!" Tommy yelled, and that finally seemed to snap Joel out of it.

His grip instantly loosened and his head swiveled towards you, his eyes softening when he saw you curled up on the floor. He rushed forward but you held out a hand to stop him.

"Don't come near me."

He froze and stared down at you, hurt written all over his face.

"I'm sorry, baby," he whispered, and you flinched. Baby?

"Maybe we should give you two a minute," Tommy said. Your eyes widened and you shook your head.

"N-no! What do you mean? No!" you cried out. You clawed at the table, pulling yourself up as the tears dried on your face. Joel took a few steps back and stood against the wall, crossing his arms and dropping his head, hiding his face.

"It's just Joel, he ain't gonna hurt you," Tommy said softly, but you still shook your head.

"Look what he just did!" you exclaimed, not even caring anymore if you were hurting his feelings. "How can you say that?"

"Because he loves you!" Tommy said, sounding exasperated.

The room fell silent, the only sound coming from you as you struggled to catch your breath. You glanced over at Joel but his chin was still tucked against his chest.

"Is that true?" you asked him. He nodded, but still didn't look up from the spot on the floor.

You sighed and rubbed your palms roughly over face.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? There's just a lot happening right now and I'm very confused," you said, suddenly feeling guilty.

"I get it," Tommy said, looking back and forth between you and Joel, but Joel still appeared to be fixated on the floor. "Why don't you go home and rest. Can she, doc? Maybe some sleep will help?"

Tommy raised his eyebrows at Nick, trying to get him to agree and play along. Say yes. Don't piss off Joel.

"Yeah, perhaps it's a good idea if you went home. There's some evidence to suggest being around a familiar setting might trigger your memory to return," Nick said, and Joel finally looked up from the floor.

"What else can we do?" he asked as your fingers fidgeted at your sides. You really didn't like the idea of going home with this man. He clearly had a short temper and that set you on edge.

"Are there any personal effects that she holds some sentimental value to?"

Your gaze bounced back and forth between the men as they all talked about you like you were some science project.

"Yeah," Joel said with a nod.

"Alright. Start with that. Anything since you've known each other would work best, see if it jogs her memory. A necklace or a trinket-"

"Yeah, I get it," Joel said, finally chancing a look in your direction. You quickly dropped your gaze from him and looked back at Tommy.

"Can I talk to you?" you asked Tommy, who looked at Joel. Joel didn't say anything, he just stared right back at Tommy, his jaw clenched and his shoulders rising and falling slowly, as if he were trying very hard to control his breathing. You looked back and forth between them, waiting for the silent standoff to end.

"I'll be outside," Joel finally muttered, then stalked out of the exam room with Nick in his wake, leaving just you and Tommy.

"I don't want to go home with him."

Tommy sighed and sat down, resting his elbows on his knees as he rubbed his eyes.

"It's your home, too," he said.

"He scares me," you replied, crossing your arms. "He's a loose cannon. I-I don't feel like I know anyone here and everyone seems to know me. Do you know how that feels? Do you know how scary that is?"

Tommy dropped his hands and looked up at you.

"No, I don't. And I'm sorry, but I promise you nothin' bad's gonna happen. Joel's always had a short fuse but he would never, ever lay a hand on you. He's been head over heels since the moment he met you, and you love him back, sugar."

You looked around the room, needing a break from eye contact for just a minute while you gathered your thoughts.

"How long have I known him?" you asked.

"Five years."

You nodded and chewed on your lower lip.

"And how long have you known him?"

"All my life."

Your eyes darted over to his in surprise and he gave you a small smile.

"He's my older brother," Tommy explained, leaning back in his chair.

"Oh," was all you said, suddenly feeling like shit for saying such things about his family.

"Listen. Why don't you give it a chance, hm? One day. See how it goes, and if you're still uncomfortable, we'll figure somethin' else out," Tommy offered. You considered it for a moment before reluctantly nodding your head. Aside from just walking out of Jackson, you didn't see much of a choice.

To say the walk to Joel's house was awkward would be putting it mildly.

You weren't sure if he overheard your conversation with Tommy, or maybe he just could sense how you felt about going home with him, but ever since you forced yourself to leave the exam room to find him waiting for you in the lobby, he had been very quiet.

His feelings were hurt, that much was obvious, but what could you do? It wasn't like you set out to intentionally hurt him. You had no idea who he was at the time.

You still weren't sure who he was.

You tried to subtly admire his profile as you walked side by side. He had a strong jaw, a sharp nose and a full head of hair, although you could tell he was older than you. By how much, you weren't sure.

You tried to see underneath the gruff exterior, wondering what on earth made you fall in love with him, but it was so hard to see past your first impression.

Well, second first impression.

Then he turned his head to look down at you. Your eyes met and you thought you felt a small flutter in your chest, but you couldn't tell if it was nerves or fear or something else but his eyes were absolutely beautiful. There was something so sincere about them and you found it oddly funny that they seemed to betray the rest of his hardened expression.

"Anythin' lookin' familiar?" he asked you. You blinked and looked around.

The street he was leading you down was filled with people. Children laughing and playing, adults chatting and smiling. If it wasn't for the setting being so strange, it would feel normal. You squinted at some of the faces as you walked by, hoping you would recognize somebody, but you didn't.

"No," you said with a shake of your head, and you thought you saw his shoulders slump next to you but you didn't want to get caught staring at him again, so you focused on looking straight ahead.

The two of you remained silent the rest of the walk, although you could feel the energy radiating off him and for the first time, you began to realize this must be just as hard for him as it was for you.

You were examining the huge watch towers that surrounded the town and wondering what on earth would require such firepower when you realized Joel was no longer at your side. You swiveled your head around, suddenly lost in a sea of people that were smiling at you as they strolled on by but you didn't see a single recognizable face. You felt the panic begin to build again until you heard your name and a gentle hand on your elbow. You looked up and actually felt relief when you saw Joel.

"Sorry, thought you were still with me," he said, then tilted his head towards a side street he must have began to walk down without you.

"We live down here," he added. You heard someone call out both your names as you walked down the street. Joel waved to an older gentleman on his porch and after a brief delay, you waved as well.

"This is so weird," you muttered, shaking your head as you looked around.

"Yeah, I reckon it is."

Joel stopped short in front of a small, two-story house with a large front porch. You looked up at it, taking in every detail. The shutters, the rocking chairs, the small garden out front surrounded by a white picket fence, hoping something would click but you still felt nothing.

"This is your house?" you asked him. He watched you carefully as you continued to look around, wishing he would see something in your eye that would give him a shred of hope.

"Our house, yeah," he corrected you. You glanced up at him and quickly looked away, feeling too guilty when you saw the look on his face.

"Sorry," you whispered.

"Don't be sorry," he told you, but he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and glanced around. "D'you wanna look inside?"

You nodded and followed him past the gate and up the little stone path that led to his - your - porch steps. A flash of yellow in the garden caught your eye and for the first time, a small smile played upon your lips.

"Oh, I love black-eyed susans," you said dreamily, your hand instinctually reaching out to touch the delicate petals.

"Yeah, I know. You told me your mom planted 'em every year," he said, stopping at the top of the steps to look down at you.

"That's right," you said with a smile. "Although it drove her crazy because-"

"The bunnies kept destroyin' 'em," he finished for you.

You stared into each other's eyes for a moment: him, waiting for you to remember, and you, wondering how you could forget.

"Yeah," you finally said, then dropped your gaze and cleared your throat, giving the flowers one last look before ascending the stairs to the front door.

Joel unlocked the door, pushing it open all the way and stepping aside so you could go in first. You peered inside for a moment before taking a step forward.

The first thing you noticed was it smelled faintly like firewood and coffee. The kitchen was to your left, living room to your right, and a staircase was in front of you next to a small hallway that appeared to lead to a back door of the house.

Joel stepped inside behind you and shut the door quietly, allowing you to take your time and process everything at your own speed. He desperately wanted to drag you around the house and show you things you should remember, but he refrained. Instead, his eyes followed where yours went. When you looked at the kitchen table, he thought remember when we had breakfast there this morning? When you looked at the fireplace, he thought remember on our anniversary when we couldn't make it up the stairs quickly enough so we made love in front of the fire? When you noticed the board games, boxes all frayed and worn, sitting on a bookshelf next to the couch, he thought remember when you beat Ellie in Scrabble and she flipped the board over?

But of course, you didn't remember any of those things.

You looked around blankly, and he could tell you were trying to remember but not a single shred of recognition flickered across your face. Your eyes landed on the kitchen counter and you took a step forward.

"We had coffee together today, didn't we?"

Joel's heart fluttered excitedly in his chest.

"Yeah, you remember that?" he asked, quickly joining you at your side. You looked up at him and he could immediately tell what your answer would be.

"No, I'm sorry, it's just-" you pointed to the two mugs still sitting together on the counter and he nodded solemnly.

"Oh, right," he said, then walked over to pick them up and rinse them off in the sink. He turned around and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms as he watched you slowly navigate the kitchen. Opening and closing drawers and cupboards, picking up a recipe book and flipping through it, then looking at the paintings on the walls.

"Did you or I draw this?" you asked, stepping towards a portrait that was clearly of him.

"Neither. Ellie did it," he told you, and you looked at him curiously.

"Ellie?"

He nodded and just as he was about to open his mouth to explain, the front door whipped open, startling you.

"Is it true?" a young girl with brown hair pulled back into a ponytail asked as she barged into the kitchen. When her eyes landed on you, she dropped her book bag and stepped forward, peering at you as if you were under a microscope.

"Ellie-" Joel began, pushing off the counter, but she cut him off.

"People are saying you lost your memory or something, is that true?" she asked again, and you nodded slowly.

"Holy shit!" she sputtered, and Joel repeated her name again, but harsher this time.

"Sorry," she mumbled, then pulled out a stool that was tucked under the kitchen island and plopped herself down. "Are you, like, okay? How's your head?"

"Uh, better now. The doctor gave me some medicine and it finally stopped hurting so much, but I got a pretty bad cut," you reached back and touched the bald spot with your fingertips. "He had to stitch it up."

"Can I see?" she asked, and you couldn't help but laugh a little, completely missing the way Joel perked up when he heard it.

"Sure," you said, turning around and lifting up your hair. "Can you see it?"

"Yeah, fucking gross, dude," she said with a shudder. You dropped your hair and turned back around.

"Is she your daughter?" you asked Joel, and Ellie burst out laughing.

"No way," she said, and he just rolled his eyes.

"I don't understand," you said with a frown. "Where are your parents?"

"They're dead," she told you so casually it almost gave you whiplash.

"Oh, my god! I'm so sorry," you said, feeling terrible, but she just gave you a look like you were crazy. Maybe you were.

"It's cool," she said, looking back and forth between you and Joel. "So she really doesn't remember anything?" Ellie asked him.

"Only stuff from... before," he said, narrowing his eyes at Ellie as if trying to silently communicate with her.

"Oh," she said, nodding slowly as if she understood. "Shit."

"Before what?" you pressed, but they both ignored your question.

"Why don't you give her some time to settle in," Joel told Ellie. "Meet us later for dinner at the Bison."

"Yeah, okay," Ellie said, sliding off the stool and picking up her abandoned backpack.

"You don't live here?" you asked her.

"Sorta. I live in the garage, see?" she said, pointing out the window to a building out back with a large window in the front and a small light next to the door.

"In the garage?" you repeated, appalled, but she just laughed.

"It used to be a garage. Joel helped me fix it up and it's more like a guest house now. Right, Joel?"

"Yeah," he said, walking deeper into the kitchen so he could look through the window with you. "You helped her paint it," he said quietly.

"I did?" you asked, and they both nodded.

It looked like they were both waiting for you to say something further, waiting for you to maybe recall the color or the weather that day, but nothing was ringing a bell. You looked at them hopelessly and Joel averted his gaze.

"Go on, Ellie. I'm sure you got schoolwork," he said, and she rolled her eyes as she turned and headed towards the door.

You watched her walk through the backyard and unlock the garage, catching a brief glimpse of the inside before she shut it softly behind her.

"You wanna go lay down for a bit?" Joel asked after he noticed you yawn, and you nodded. You followed him up the creaky staircase, your eyes drifting over everything you could find, hoping something would jump out at you along the way. When he got to the top of the stairs, he stopped suddenly between two bedroom doors and you gave him a confused look.

"What's wrong?" you asked, the look on his face beginning to worry you.

"Nothin', I just realized..." he trailed off and took a deep breath, still staring at the two doors. "We share a room and I just realized tonight'll be the first time in years we sleep apart."

You looked away, feeling uncomfortable. You could see the anguish all over his face. His jaw ticked to the side and he was blinking faster than usual and the guilt was burning a hole in your stomach.

"I'll stay in the spare room," you said, breaking the tension. "Can you just show me where I keep my stuff and I'll-"

"No," Joel said, shaking his head. "I'll go in the spare room. You stay in our room. Maybe it'll help... it should be more familiar to you in there."

You decided not to argue with him. He finally stepped towards the door on the right and pushed it open, leading you into a master suite with a queen sized bed in the middle of the room. There was a quilt on top that appeared to be handmade in various shades of greys and purples. You ran your hand over the material thoughtfully while Joel opened a few dresser drawers and pulled out some spare clothes for himself.

"This is pretty," you said, and he turned around to look at the quilt.

"Becky a few doors down makes 'em," he said, turning back to the dresser. "You really wanted purple and I fought you on it, but you always win," he said with a chuckle. You smiled to yourself as you continued to look around the room while Joel collected a few more belongings. You noticed a pair of reading glasses on top of an old western book on one end table. The other end table had a few loose hair ties, a homemade lip balm, and a black, leather bound book with a pen on top. Without even thinking, you walked forward and picked it up, flipping through the pages one by one. It appeared to be a journal, and it looked like it was your handwriting.

Joel stepped out of the bathroom attached to your room and saw you holding the book. He swallowed and watched your face closely, looking for any sign that what you were reading made sense.

"I was gonna show you that tomorrow. Thought it would be too much today," he said after a few minutes.

"I kept a journal?"

"Yeah. You don't write it in often, but sometimes if somethin' special happened, or you just felt the urge, you would write it down," he said, putting his toiletries next to his clothes on the bed.

You closed the book and placed it back on the table, staring at the old cover, lost in thought. You had a million questions and you had to start somewhere.

"Joel... what happened?" you asked him. He frowned, not following at first until you clarified. "In the world, I mean. What happened? Because all of this," you waved your hands around the room and gestured out through the window. "This doesn't seem right. Did I join a cult or something?"

Joel shook his head and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I don't wanna overwhelm you," he began. You sat down as well, making sure to put plenty of distance between you.

"I'm already overwhelmed. Just please... tell me what's going on."

He sighed and looked at the clock on the wall.

"The world ended," he said bluntly, glancing in your direction. You stiffened but you waited for him to elaborate. "It was quick. Happened on a Friday, everythin' was gone by Monday. There's this fungus called cordyceps-"

"Nick asked me about that," you said, and he nodded.

"Well, best guess is the fungus mutated and got into the food supply. It, uh, it infects the brain. It grows and takes over, but it doesn't kill you. Well, not technically." He could see the confusion on your face. He wasn't explaining this right. "The fungus wants to spread, you see? That's it's basic function. If it killed the host, it wouldn't be able to spread. So, the host remains alive, but they're no longer... them."

"And the hosts are... people?" you guessed, and Joel nodded.

"Yeah. Spread like wildfire. One person would get bit-"

"Bit?" you repeated, eyes wide.

"Yeah, it's how the fungus spreads. Through blood. One person would get bit and they turn within hours."

"And there's no cure?"

Joel paused and took a deep breath, his gaze darting nervously around the room.

"No, there's no cure," he finally said.

You sat back on the bed and thought about what Joel just told you. Suddenly, things were starting to make sense. She died the first day.

"And my family?" you asked softly, closing your eyes as you waited for the answer. Joel looked at you, his heart breaking that he had to deliver the news.

"They didn't make it," he said, and one tear slowly escaped and slid down your cheek. "It was a miracle you even made it. That any of us made it," he added, hoping to take the sting out of it.

"A miracle?" you scoffed, opening your eyes now. "How do you figure, Joel? What's the fucking point in living like this?" you asked him angrily, standing up from the bed and pacing around the room.

"Don't say that," he said sadly, rising to his feet. "Believe me, I thought the same thing," he said, unconsciously scratching at the scar on his cheek. "But it turns out there's plenty to live for. It ain't so bad."

"Oh, yeah? Like what?" you challenged, eyes brimming with unshed tears. "What is there to live for? Because I have to be honest, I'm not seeing it."

Joel swallowed as he watched you angrily move around the room.

"Love," he said quietly, and you stopped. You stood with your back to him, your shoulders rising and falling as anger and frustration coursed through you.

Finally, you turned to look at him, tears silently falling.

"But everyone I loved is dead," you sobbed, burying your face in your hands. "My family is dead! Everyone I know is gone! What do I have left?" You dropped your hands and looked at him, tears steadily falling as you waited, completely forgetting the obvious answer.

"You have me," he said, his voice cracking. "And I know that don't mean much now, but I promise you, it will."

Your head fell forward, chin tucking into your chest with your hands on your hips.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered, still looking down. "That was so rude, I didn't mean to say it like that."

"This is hard for me, too," he said, taking a few steps towards you, then stopped. He wanted to pull you into his arms and hold you close, tell you everything was going to be okay, but he had to remind himself that he was essentially a stranger to you.

"I know, I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizin' for somethin' that ain't your fault," he told you sternly. You dragged your eyes back up to him, your shoulders slumped forward, eyes puffy and red.

"What if my memory never comes back?" you whispered. It was a question Joel didn't want to ask out loud but knew eventually it would be brought up. He took a deep breath and looked you square in the eye.

"Then I'll have to make you fall in love with me all over again," he said with a small shrug, and you let out a huff of laughter at that.

"You sound pretty confident," you replied.

"I did it once before, I can do it again," he told you, his gaze never wavering. "I'll never stop tryin'. What we have together, it's... it's rare. And it might sound stupid, but we're meant to be together. If you let me, I'll prove it to you."

Something in his eye made you feel calmer the longer you looked at him. He wasn't smiling. He wasn't joking. He meant every word. You tore your gaze away from him and looked around the room again. The room you shared with him. The room where you held each other, kissed each other, made love together. Years of memories etched into the floorboards. Countless secrets whispered into the pillows. Laughter and tears echoed against the walls. Your eyes found him again just to realize he never looked away. He stood tall and firm in the middle of the room, patiently waiting for you. And you had to assume if he felt this strongly about what you had, then it must be worth fighting for.

"Okay."

Follow @punkshort-notifs for fic updates ❤️

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfic #protective joel #joel miller x you #joel tlou #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #Pedro pascal #tlou #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #ikwya fic

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lovverletters · 3 months

Note

Been waiting for this lol

*Ahem* I introduced Yan husband! Finally, after years of waiting and stalking and murdering (if that's cool), he finally has you! He worships you every day and reminds you how lucky he is, and he tells everyone how he's so lucky and how you're perfect!

Yandere! Husband

A/N : Thanks for requesting! Hope you like it, 🌻 anon!

T/W : soft yandere, stalking, implied murder, non consentual photographing, stealing items, this is late asf

«────── « ⋅ʚ💌ɞ⋅ » ──────»

"Honey, do you remember how we met?"

[Name] asked their husband of 6 years as they flip through their old journal, reliving their countless embarrassing, bitter and sweet memories of their youth.

They had been sifting through the storage closet earlier when they stumbled upon a box containing their old belongings dating back from when they were still studying in high school until they got married to their husband, Derek.

"Of course I do, it's the day I met the love of my life" He says with a smile on his face.

"Psh.. you're so cheesy Derry" [Name] swatted their husband's shoulder playfully, flustered at his words.

"What? I'm being honest. Every moment spent with you is unforgettable" A dark glint was present in his eyes as he uttered his reply.

How could he ever forget the day he met his beloved [Name]?

«────── « ⋅ʚ💌ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Derek had been in his senior year of high school by the time he met [Name].

They had only recently moved to his hometown and enroll to the high school. He could still recall their timid expression as they asked him for directions, at that moment Derek brushed off the encounter as a one time thing.

He was graduating and they were a junior, he'll probably won't see them again.

Until Derek started to bump into [Name] more frequently albeit it being only a coincidence. [Name] would notice his presence and greeted him with a small wave everytime they pass by each other in the hallway or waiting in line during lunch.

Eventually, he finally spoke to them one day. It felt odd for him to be around them yet never uttering a single word.

It was the best decision he ever made.

"Uhㅡhey" Derek cursed himself inwardly for choking on his words.

[Name]'s eyes widened, spooked to hear him talk to them. They mustered up a crooked smile after recollecting themself to reply to him.

"Derek, hi. Sorry, I was on my phone that I didn't notice you behind me"

From then, something shifted in him. Their conversation faded into a white noise in his ears as his thoughts became fixated in [Name]'s voice.

He had heard them speak before but it felt different when they're talking to him. Their voice engraving itself into his brain like an earworm.

It doesn't stop there, their interaction expanded as their friendship blooms. [Name] would seek him out on subjects they were struggling on despite having other student who would eagerly help themㅡ his heart swells with pride knowing that it's him whom they're relying on.

Derek would also began inviting them to his football practice as an excuse to invite them for an ice cream laterㅡ and to also flex his athleticism in hopes of receiving praises from them.

He's not stupid, he knows that he likes themㅡ loves them. Maybe he had been a fool for underestimating his feelings for them.

It had been an unfortunate timing that he had never been able to confess to [Name] as his graduation passes and he was wrapped up with preparing for his higher education.

Those times away and distance from [Name] were hellish. Derek felt his sanity wanning with each day passes and his thoughts were constantly thinking of [Name].

What are they doing, Where they're at, Who they're withㅡ They don't have a partner don't they? They didn't replace me did they?? I'll kill that bastard who took my placㅡ

He finally cracked after stalking through their social media page and seeing the other student having grown close to them within months of his absence.

Derek decided that he's had enough sitting around in the sidelines with an aching heart. He'll make his move and insured that [Name] will be his.

«────── « ⋅ʚ💌ɞ⋅ » ──────»

"I then drove back to back from my university to yours for years until I finally had enough and decided to ask you to move in with me" He traced the picture they took on their first day moving into his house.

[Name] snorted and pinched their husband's cheek, laughing as they teased him.

"Silly, you, I can't believe you rent out an apartment just because you can't be away from me anymore"

Derek huffed and flipped to the next page, tracing [Name]'s photo as he always does everytime he sees it.

"I love you too much, it hurt's to not be around your presence. I feel like I was going to die with each hour passes without you"

"Mmh sure, how come you never died after leaving me everytime you have to go back?" [Name] attempt at poking at their husband again.

Only to receive an unexpected answer.

"I never left" Derek uttered. No elaboration whatsoever.

Silence follows after as the cogs in [Name]'s brain turn to process what their sweet stupid dork husband just said.

Derek closed the journal shut and stood up, planting a kiss on their temple.

"I'm going to prepare dinner now. You better come and eat when I call you before continuing your clean up! No buts and ifs, okay love?" He gave them another kiss before disappearing into the kitchen.

Come to think of it, Derek had re-entered their life at a time where their newfound friend tragically passed in a mysterious incident. [Name] had been devastated and clung to Derek for comfort before it eventually delved into them being in a relationship with the man.

Everything was perfect. Too perfect if they had to be honest. It's almost as if he had planned it.

They shook off the thoughts and continued sorting through the old boxes when one of the contents surprised them.

It was the items they thought they had lost or threw away. But how could Derek have it when they had lost it before they begun dating. The polaroids were also odd as Derek weren't around during their senior year when it was takenㅡ if the dates marked was correct.

"Honey! Dinner's ready"

They'll ask him about it later.

«────── « ⋅ʚ💌ɞ⋅ » ──────»

#yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere #tw: yandere #gender neutral reader #yandere male #yandere headcanons

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motherlvr · 11 months

Text

3+1 times Prowler! Miles Morales x Spider-woman! reader

SPOILERS FOR ATSV

read part 2 here!

3 times Miles tried to confess, + 1 time he did.

Word count: 2.7k

Summary: Instead of the radioactive spider biting Miles, it bit you. You turned into Brooklyn's one and only Spider-woman, while Miles turned into the prowler. Miles also helps you with Spanish.

Warnings: friends to lovers, lots of cursing, most definitely not canon, kind of slow-burn?, jealousy, morally gray reader, he's lowkey toxic, no smut, heated make-out session, im feasting on crumbs (his 2 minutes of screen time), this is not ATSV plot heavy, the whole prowler x spidey thing isn't really until the end (enemies to lovers)

A/N: for the sake of the plot, the reader doesn't fluently speak spanish, but can speak some. this has been rotting in my drafts ever since ATSV came out

Miles glares at you two from across the room, predominantly at the guy you're laughing with. Surely he's not that fucking funny. Miles thinks as jealousy spreads within the pit of his stomach like a forest fire. However, you don't seem to notice his stare burning holes through the guy you're speaking to. The same cannot be said for him, however. Miles makes eye contact with him and sends him one glare that immediately makes the poor guy cower with fear away from you.

"I uh...gotta go." The guy squeaks out to you, his voice cracking with terror as he runs away. You raise an eyebrow as you watch him run away. What the hell was that? You think.

Miles appears next to you within the next moment and says, "Hey, ma." he gives you a slight smirk and wraps his arm around your shoulders. That smirk made you weak in your knees, you almost kissed him right then and there. You should be given an award for your amount of self-restraint.

"Hey Miles, qué pasa?" You greet him with a smile that reaches your eyes. Miles' smirk drops and he furrows his eyebrows at you as he inquires. "Who was that guy?" "He's just a friend, why?" You raise an eyebrow and question back. "Don't worry about it, you like him?" His words catch you off guard. You pause for a moment and turn your head to him with a judgmental stare as you shake his arm off you and say, "Miles. What is this? 20 questions?" You deadpan and continue, "He's not important, alright?" Seemingly satisfied with your response, he drops the subject.

After school, Miles and you head to his house. You've been struggling in Spanish class. Spanish grammar might actually be the death of me, you think. Since Miles excels in Spanish due to primarily being raised by his mother, you asked him to tutor you, which he surprisingly agreed to.

It doesn't hurt that you get to spend more time with Miles, either. Something about him never fails to send butterflies straight to your stomach, maybe it's his intense stare that makes you weak in your knees, his accent that somehow makes him ten times more attractive, or- You cut your thoughts off. You felt guilty for feeling this way about Miles. You know you shouldn't. These feelings you harbor would only cause more harm than good. After all, the people you love always seem to be in danger.

After a couple of hours of pure torture, (Spanish grammar) Miles started to speak, "Escúchame, mami. I-"

Loud, blaring police sirens cut off his sentence. Thanks, Brooklyn. Pretending to get a message from your mother, you glance at your phone's screen and look at Miles with an apologetic expression, "Shit, sorry Miles but I gotta go. My mother wants me home. She said it was urgent. But we're still on for tomorrow right?" Miles raises a skeptical eyebrow but ultimately says, "Yea. It's 'Ight, princesa. See you tomorrow" his accent lacing his words. You get up to kiss his cheek and wave him goodbye. As normal friends do, you tell yourself. Shit. You shake the thoughts away before your overthinking completely undoes your brain.

You wait until you're at least a couple blocks away from his house before you reveal the spider suit underneath your clothing and pull your mask down your face. You thwip your webs and swing away to investigate what crime was scheming tonight in Brooklyn. Leaving Miles alone in his room to regret not telling you.

Honestly, you weren't paying attention to whatever Miles was saying. Instead, you were just focusing on how attractive you found his accent. You'd suffer through two more years of Spanish just to hear his voice. In fact, during most of these tutoring lessons with Miles, you weren't paying attention to the actual lesson. It doesn't help that he keeps staring at you with those eyes of his. But behind that cold exterior, you knew he had a soft spot for you. Even if he didn't outright admit it.

Miles' voice brought your attention back to the actual lesson, "Lo entiendes, princesa?" Miles asked you with a knowing smirk. You nodded your head immediately, trying to play it off. "Uhh, si." You said with a thumbs up, immediately regretting it. That was so nerdy. You shame yourself in your mind. You pretended to take notes, shamefully lowering your head down to your notebook.

While you were pretending to take notes, Miles broke the silence.

"So what's up with you and that guy from earlier?" "I told you, he's just a friend. Nothing is going on between us." Miles puts his hands up in his defense, "Alright, mami. It just didn't look like that with the way you were laughing at whatever he said. He's not Kevin Hart."

Way to completely ruin the mood. You dropped the pencil you were holding and stopped taking notes. Looking directly into his eyes, you said "Miles, I really don't know what your deal is." "You really wanna know what 'my deal is'? 'Ight. It's 'cause-"

Miles' phone beeps, interrupting him. He cursed in his mind, not being able to tell you how he felt yet again. He glances down at his screen. "Ay princesa," Miles spoke up, his words never failing to make your face go warm. His nicknames for you weren't new by any means, but they still made your heart flutter. He continued, "Uncle Aaron needs me, I gotta roll. He said it's an emergency. Don't think I'm trying to cut this short. You're still my girl, alright?" He started to leave when he turned around suddenly. He walked over to you and turned your head to him with his hand, kissing your forehead. "Hasta luego, mami." He left the room, leaving you alone in his room with only your thoughts swirling around your mind. You were sure you were about to have a heart attack. His girl? The kiss? Miles was acting oddly affectionate. And what's with him practically using the same excuse I used? It's not like he's the crime-fighting vigilante here. You rolled your eyes.

You didn't know what Miles and his uncle were so busy doing, but you had a feeling that it wasn't very morally right. That would explain how ambiguous he's been lately. More often than not, he's had to leave in the middle of tutoring to tend to whatever his Uncle needed him for. But you can't entirely blame him, you have secrets you've been hiding from him too.

You packed up your things and left his room. "Chao, Mrs. Morales. Thank you for letting me into your home!" You said to Miles' mother while leaving. "Of course, you're always welcome here." She replied to you with a warm smile. That woman was a true saint.

If you had to spend any more time confined in a room alone with Miles and just your emotions, you were sure you'd fucking lose it. By losing it, I mean grabbing him by the collar of his hoodie and kissing him senseless. But you were afraid. Afraid that he would take your heart right out of your chest to shatter it and then leave you alone to pick up the pieces. So, you came up with a little white lie to get out of tutoring today.

"Is it alright with you if I skip tutoring today? My mother is sick and I have to take care of her." The lie slipped off your tongue like butter.

"Nah that's cool." He shrugs. Huh. He let me off that easy? You were two seconds away from having the dreaded 'What are we?' conversation with him after last night, until someone's arms wrap around you from behind.

"Hey, beautiful." Your friend from the other day was back. And he clearly didn't see Miles right next to you. You cringe and awkwardly take his arms off of you and turn around, "Hey, Josh." "Are you free tonight?" Miles was watching this interaction with jealousy coursing through his veins. Did this douche seriously not see him right next to you? Right before you could even open your mouth to respond, Miles responds for you. "Hell no she isn't. Get the fuck out of here, man." Miles snaps at him. Your friend's head whipped to Miles so fast you were sure he'd get whiplash. "Oh shit." He stuttered, "Sorry, man. I didn't see you...I'll leave now." He ran away as fast as his feet could take him. Poor Josh.

You glared at Miles. "What the actual fuck was that, Miles? He was just asking me a question." "He was asking you out, idiot." Miles said right back to you. "So what if he was? Honestly. What's it to you? You've been acting so possessive. May I remind you that we are not together?" You snapped at him. "Maybe I want-" He started, but this time, he was the one cutting his sentence off. He couldn't find the words to tell you just yet.

The bell rings. You look at Miles, awaiting his response. When a few silent moments pass by, you finally say, "What? What is it you want?" For once in your friendship with Miles, he didn't have a response. You, he thought. "Y'know what Miles? Until you've come to your senses, just leave me be for now." He had no right to start acting like you were bound to him. You walked to your class without him. He cursed himself in his head.

You'd been ignoring him the whole day. Yet ever the petty, he hadn't messaged you at all.

Your phone pings. "You busy with Jake?" You read. It was from Miles. That petty fucker. Your face immediately drops. That's not even his name. You left him on read and turn off your phone. For someone who thinks he's heartless and nonchalant, he sure was acting possessive.

Dusk approaches Brooklyn and you're out patrolling instead of thinking about Miles. That's all you've been doing lately, and you needed a distraction.

Unfortunately, Miles had the same idea. He was out taking missions Kingpin gave him.

As you were searching the streets of Brooklyn for crime, you sensed a presence. Ahead of you was a silhouette in a dimly lit alley, their back facing you. You hid behind the wall. Finally something interesting tonight! As you climb on the walls and get closer, you recognize the figure.

Oh, great. It's the Prowler.

This wasn't your first time meeting the Prowler. No, you've fought with him in the past. He's ruthless and a cold-blooded killer. He's efficient and excruciatingly fast. That's what makes him an imminent risk to be allowed to roam the streets freely.

As Spider-woman, it's your responsibility to keep the streets of Brooklyn crime-free. So, you follow him. As you're trailing behind him, crawling on the walls, you notice the people he's meeting with. It's an arms deal, you realize. As you crawl closer, you notice that they weren't regular arms. They were abnormally high-tech for these seemingly harmless criminals.

I'll just web up the couple of amateurs and then deal with the big guy Prowler, easy. Oh how wrong you were.

"Hey, boys! Nice toy you've got there." You said as you dropped your voice down an octave, disguising your voice. You jump down from your place on the wall and thwip your webs at the unsuspecting arms dealers, binding them to the wall. They were knocked unconscious.

You thwip'd your webs at the weapon and effectively took it away from them. You'd have to drop it by the police station later with a friendly note.

The Prowler lunged at you, his steel claws missing your face by an inch.

"Hey, man! That felt a little personal." You shouted, thankful to still have your face attached to your head. You used your webs to grab onto the Prowler and strike him directly on his mask. You started to run, with the Prowler tailing right behind you.

He had you cornered, but you weren't surrendering that easily. You positioned into a defensive stance, ready to defend yourself.

His mask was cracked a bit, causing his voice modulator to reveal his unfiltered voice. "Nowhere to run, spider."

Your heart dropped as your eyes widened through your mask. Not in fear, but in recognition. You could recognize that voice anywhere. That was the voice that sent shivers down your whole body, yet made you want to strangle him the next.

"...Miles?" The words came out more of a whisper. Your voice sputtered as you dropped your fake voice. You webbed the weapon to the wall, disregarding it. Turns out, he didn't need to reject you to shatter your heart into a million pieces.

His stance immediately faltered. He could recognize your voice out of a thousand others.

Prowler, or rather Miles, stood silent.

“Miles, take off that damn mask. I know it's you.” You took off your mask, and he opened his. His eyes were unreadable. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into Miles?" You sighed. You didn't recognize him anymore. You didn't know who he was. There was no way the Miles you knew had become this.

"Fuck, princesa. I didn't want you to get involved in this shit. You're the fucking spider?" You feel as if he was seeing you for the first time again. "I'm fucking Spider-woman, you dick. And I've been involved with this 'shit' ever since I got bit by a spider. Now explain this, whatever you've turned into!" You spurted out, pointing at his suit. "I got roped into business with Kingpin after my father died. Shit, I never meant for this to happen." He exclaimed.

"What, you think you're protecting me by not telling me? Bullshit." You say, throwing your hands up in the air. "I was protecting you. I was protecting you from Kingpin. Because I fucking love you. I meant it when I said you were my girl." He proclaimed.

When you thought this night couldn't get any wilder, it just did.

Alarms blared in the back of your mind, telling you to leave. Your brain is screaming at you to think about your moral obligation to stop the Prowler, no matter who he is. But your heart is telling you otherwise. You choose the latter.

"Fuck, Miles. Shut the hell up." You threw a web at his abdomen and pulled him towards you, efficiently shutting him up by connecting your lips to his. Sliding your hands onto his braids, you pulled him in closer. He immediately reciprocated and grinned into the kiss, setting his arms on your hips.

Turning into a heated make-out session, he backed you against the wall of the alley. You felt your legs giving out on you. Miles put his knee in between your legs, supporting you. He kissed you with passion. He's pinned for you for the longest time, and he finally has you. He wasn't going to give it up for anything. Unfortunately, you needed oxygen to live, so you pulled back. A string of saliva connected your lips as you parted.

He took away all the oxygen in your body, and apparently your moral compass as well, with only one kiss. Unable to open your eyes until a few moments after, you fluttered your eyes open. "I fucking love you too, Miles" You whispered against his lips. "Oh, really? Couldn't tell." He teased with a smirk, his lips seconds away from yours as he looked down at you. He held your gaze with longing in his eyes.

Muffled screams ruined the moment. Miles and you react immediately, putting your masks back on. You got your webs ready while Miles had his steel daggers out. Lowering your guards, you realize it was the couple of guys you webbed up and forgot. "Sorry, I'll go take care of them." You said as you rubbed the back of your head awkwardly. Miles stifled a laugh as he said, "That's alright, ma. You can make it up to me later." You heard the smugness in his voice as you swung away to the police station. You made sure to fulfill his request later that night.

---------

part 2!

#miles morales x reader #miles morales #miles morales x y/n #miles morales x you #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 #across the spiderverse #across the spider verse spoilers #into the spider verse #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman #prowler miles #miles morales spider man #spider man #spiderman into the spiderverse #jealousy #enemies to lovers #friends to lovers

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bunnycvnts · 1 month

Note

need you to write me some perv rafe 😌

pairing: perv!rafe x unaware!reader

summary: rafe has a small obsession with you and finds himself with the perfect opportunity to get closer to you.

warnings: pervy rafe, sexual themes, sorta??dark content, male masturbation, panty stealing (is this a warning LMFAO?)

rafe knew you. well. he knew of you. from glances in the hallway when you passed his room, headed towards sarah’s, small conversations when you joined family dinners, and the occasional interaction during parties when you wanted to score some coke on the low.

he knew you from the image he formed in his head. the one that told him your short passing glances were longing, filled with desire. that your hand brushing his at the dinner table was a sign to spread you open on the wooden table and fuck you. that you buying coke from him when there were many dealers in figure eight was because you needed an excuse to talk to him, not just because he was sarah’s older brother and would give you it a little cheaper than most.

you took up far more space in his brain than any of his little sisters friends should. more than any normal girl should. he’d never been so hell-bent on creating and imagining interactions, forcing them to happen, and putting himself in the right places at the right time if it meant he’d see you. countless nights he’d stay awake, hearing your giggles from across the hall while his hand was wrapped around his cock, jerking it to the sound of your voice that would slip between the cracks in the doorframe. rafe couldn’t be by the pool when you’d swim, his length creating an obvious print in the wet swim shorts that clung to his skin at the sight of your body in a small bikini, soaking wet with water dripping down your soft skin. he couldn’t look at you for too long at parties, his focus being solely on you rather than paying customers, even if you were halfway across the room in your own world.

it was safe to say he was obsessed, but it was okay, right? because you totally wanted him too. at least, that’s what he told himself.

for you, he’d always been sarah’s scary older brother that would sometimes stand a little too close, but offered you free coke at parties and would drive you home late at night, even though you only lived a block away and could definitely walk home.

rafe saw the perfect opportunity to get a little closer to you one afternoon after he’d been spending the day by the pool with you and sarah. you’d wrapped your towel around you, saying you were gonna go shower before dinner. sarah waved you off, determined to soak up every bit of sun she could. rafe watched you walk inside, water droplets leaking off of you with each step and the fat of your ass bouncing lightly, visible even through the towel.

he’d quickly sat up, throwing out an excuse of a phone call to his sister before following you inside. his steps were faster than yours, catching up to you quickly.

“hey, yo-you can use my shower if you want? that way, you don’t have to worry about wheezie or sarah trying to walk in.” he tried to sound casual, despite stumbling over his first words. you thought about it for a second before agreeing, having grown tired of trying to split sarah’s bathroom after pool days. rafe guided you upstairs, relishing in the fact that you were now standing in his room in only a small bikini and were about to be showering in his shower. you’d smell like him afterwards; his body wash would linger on your skin, and your sweet vanilla scent would linger in his bathroom. just the way he thought it should.

playing a nice host, he grabbed you a bath towel and turned the shower on for you before closing the door with a small smirk on his lips. you were quick in the shower, only washing your body and vaguely browsing through his products. when you hopped out, you realized you didn’t have your actual clothes. with a towel wrapped around your naked body and a frown on your face, you peeked through the cracked door and asked rafe to grab you your pink beach bag from sarah’s room as it held your clothes.

his eyes widened at the sight of you, but he nodded and left the room, pushing into sarah’s where he spotted your baby pink bag, your name clearly embroidered on the side. he checked over his shoulder quickly, ensuring he was alone, and opened the bag. he shuffled through it before coming across a little white thong that had a small bow on the front. rafe groaned as he shoved it in his pocket, grabbed the bag, and headed back to his room. he watched as you closed the bathroom door again and came out moments later in a sundress that showed off your tanlines from the bikini top, saying a small thank you and leaving the room entirely.

rafe took a moment to breathe, listening to your footsteps pad down the stairs. when he was sure you were gone, he rushed into the bathroom and stripped, your panties clenched in his fist. once he was under the warm shower water, your sweet scent filled the room, making him groan. his cock was throbbing, and his balls were aching for release. the fist clutching your white thong soon wrapped around his aching cock, now soaked and sudsy with his body wash. his grip was tight as he got himself off, your name spilling from his lips with every thrust of his hand. seeing something that once was worn by you wrapped around his length, your panties nonetheless, was surely enough to push him right to the edge. all he could think of was your sweet cunt dripping wetness into the soft cotton, him spreading your folds open and exploring every inch with his tongue, his cock lined with your tight entrance before pushing inside you and experiencing your warm wet cunt for the first time. what really sent him soaring over the edge, hot spurts of cum shooting from his thick cock and onto the shower wall, was your voice on the other side of the door, accompanied by a light knock. “rafe, are you sure you grabbed all the clothes that were in the bag? some things are missing.”

taglist: @sunkissedrafe @cxsmiclore @mousie101

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