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seraphdreams · 3 months

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SMILE, YOU'RE ON CAMERA. | YUUTA OKKOTSU.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — synopsis. when taking care of your university finances proves troublesome, the universe grants you your very own savior. but it’s gonna cost you.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — cw. smut, college au!yuuta / bimbo reader (obvi), filming, lots of porn references… a lot, virginity loss, praise, oral n fingering, slight obsession, pussydrunk yuuta, unprotected love making, yuuta’s rich and unsettling. mdni <3

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — word count. 5.3k

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — dolled up! omg, yuuta? i meant to have this out a few weeks ago but got caught in a little writing slump :( nevertheless, here’s to a new year and a new fic! yuuta’s been slowly creeping his way up my favs list , tehe !! as always, please reblog / comment if you enjoyed this , it’ll fill me with joy. thank u ♡

you’re a pornstar.

albeit, an amateur one with heaps to learn regarding the ruthless industry, but the weight still stands.

the details in which you came to the jarring conclusion were muddled with the convoluted steps that it took for you to get there, murky in your bubblegum-filled mind. all you knew was that yuuta okkotsu was a force, a gentle one, to be reckoned with.

it must’ve played out once you returned to your campus dorm beyond the dusk of midnight, under an unmitigating fatigue from the twelve hour waitressing shift just prior. through abhorrent patrons and the lack of a spendable paycheck, the excruciatingly long night barely made you enough money to even think about buying those dollish pumps you’ve been yearning for. how cruel.

in between working and haphazardly handing your earnings over to university fees and textbooks, you just couldn’t seem to make ends meet.

you would curse the day you took it upon yourself to branch away financially from your parents under the guise of growing up, since now it’d be a blessing to have even a cellphone bill paid off. whatever the issue seemed to be, lady luck was truly never bothered enough to be on your side.

fortunately for you, though, it was that same arduous night, you had been huddled against your stuffed animals in bed, mindlessly scrolling through the various social media apps on your phone; switching from sites like instagram and twitter to youtube then right back to instagram all over again, only to be met with an offer dusted in pink glitter that caught your eye as if it were made for you.

“stars needed — will pay upfront.”

it was a shoddy story post, one that could be clicked past and forgotten forever — yet, a brisk reminder of your situation in the form of borrowed, used textbooks with pages missing or vandalized, and today’s horoscope that said to take risks; you did exactly that, aiming a swipe up that would ultimately rid you of the worries of yesterday.

there were no reasons as to why you couldn’t be a star. certainly, you had the face for it, and you were told by multiple charmers that you were beyond beguiling to get anything you could ever ask for. what dismay could possibly unfold from contacting .. yuuta okkotsu .. about his offer?

hm, that’s funny. the name rang familiarity as it seeded in your mind.

must be one of yuuji’s friends.

itadori yuuji, your best friend of three years now. out of all the time you’d spent together, you came to realize that he could get along with anyone, despite their true intentions. he spoke highly of his friends as well, which earned him a sacred spot in your heart that couldn’t be replaced by anyone.

itadori had briefly mentioned in a ramen-fueled frenzy that one of his peers were “so insanely talented” and that you’d definitely get on with him. but when you asked for validity on that vague claim, all yuuji seemed to respond with was a mere “just meet him, you’ll see.”

from your recollection, the acquaintance he was boasting about, as if it was his own personal victory, was none other than your yuuta okkotsu. he was meek, stuck to a close-knit friend group consisting of maki and toge from your physics class, and the one time you ever spoke to him was to ask about yuuji’s whereabouts, to which he responded that he went back to his dorm after gojo-sensei’s lecture.

he seemed, normal. average, even. that surely had to be the case since your memory was hazy on his being otherwise.

it was true, though, yuuta was gifted. in a way that transcended words, skillful towards visual aesthetics, and careful with the craft. he would spend most of his freetime fumbling with a camera or recording the works of the mundane. overtly, he’d grown such a strong passion in the field of videography in hopes to capture the reality of humanity, the authenticity within intimacy — what could he possibly need a “star” for?

shadiness aside, you were in a tough spot, willing to do whatever to free yourself from the financial burden that was jujutsu technical university. with a swift swipe in tandem with the soft tapping of the pads of your thumbs on the keyboard, you were taking yuuta up on his offer.

within seconds, he responded back with his address and an appropriate meet-up date to start the project.

if only you were aware of how drastically your life would change from here on out.

a cluster of days had passed since you last got into contact with yuuta. he had told you to meet him at his place, claiming it would be more efficient than traveling to an unnamed destination with pounds of heavy photography equipment.

where you stood currently, was in front of the bare oak of his front door, hand wrapped in a loose fist as you knocked gently on the wood. a quick moment had passed by before you took initiative to raise your fist and knock once more. before your touch could meet the wood, a muffled “coming!” chimed beyond the door. from what you had heard on the other side; the scuttling behind the door and jingle of the lock, yuuta had opened the door soon after.

with his hand rubbing away the goosebumps that stood at the back of his neck, he beamed. cordially, warmly.

“you’re actually here. hi,”

upon first glance, yuuta had a distinct look. he stood tall, not tall enough to matter or incite intimidation, and although he wore a black button-up (a bit formal for an occasion as casual as today), his lean build shone through under the thin fabric, ripples of veins dancing up his forearms. what you couldn’t miss, however, were the grey eyebags under his emotionless navy orbs, as if he’d forgone weeks of sleep.

yuuta okkotsu was unsettling.

“hi,” your voice sounded as a sweet croon, dulcet enough that you could barely hear it yourself as it escaped in a breathy breeze. his smile grew softer in response, that monotonous gaze in his eyes fizzling away into something of serenity. “come in, please,” yuuta held the door open wider for you to tread past, caught up in observing the bunch of fabric that hugged tightly around your ass, then closed it gently behind you once you stepped completely inside. he silently cursed at himself for ogling — he truly didn’t mean to stare. you’re just a lot prettier up close. “i was just getting set up. you can have a seat if you’d like.”

as you’d expect from any guy your age, his place wasn’t much to gaze at, nor did it have much personality. in a corner to your right was a houseplant, that of the fern variety, and a few steps deeper into the abode was the living room, where yuuta resumed his fumbling with the transfiguration of his tripod.

you decided to sit on the couch across from him, taking in the bleak sight of his home. you would have almost believed it was unlived in had it not been for the scattered midterm review papers decorating his coffee table. it was obvious he had money from the endless rows of space that surrounded the two of you, although a candle or something would be nice.

he peered away from his tripod to look through the viewfinder of his camera, ensuring that the lens was functioning properly. he grew pleased to see the image of you distracted in fiddling with your thumbs reflected back at him. “are you nervous?” his gaze fell upon you through his own eyes, a concerned expression harboring his features.

you were pulled out of your muse of unfamiliarity to direct your attention to the sound of his mild voice, returning a smile to his that eased the worriment trapped behind dull, blue eyes. “n-not really, i don’t think.”

his lips curled up once more at that, in fact there wasn’t a time so far that you hadn’t noticed him without his signature smile. “here, let me help with that,” reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone, tapping away at the screen before ultimately turning it back off and settling it back into its place in his pocket.

your phone vibrated beside you, screen lighting up with a bold alert.

[YUUTA OKKOTSU SENT $1000]

before you had a chance to even process the significance of the notification, he started back up,

“i hope i got the right information, wouldn’t want your hard work to get in the wrong hands.” the tilt of his head in tandem with a chuckle resonated sheepishly, and he returned to watch you through his camera lens.

he was right. the money did soothe your nerves.

“i’ve barely done anything yet.” a ditzy giggle followed soon after your sentence, a sound that yuuta couldn’t possibly ignore. you were already starting to pull at his heartstrings.

“and you’ve done it so perfectly,” his praise left you flustered in that moment and you bit down softly on your lower lip to keep your smile at bay. “thank you, yuuta.”

you would’ve never guessed that your introverted classmate had enough experience in him to be such a flirt, or have your cheeks heating up with fervid affection, no less. but maybe yuuta was just like that; maybe this had been natural.

“no, thank you.” his thumb hovered over the record button just as his eyes met your gaze over the brim of the camera. “would you like to start now?”

he took the nod of your head as confirmation to press the record button, finally getting started with the project.

you blinked blankly at him as he tilted his head and flashed a warmhearted grin. “how old are you?” was his first question. he had asked while rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. as he did so, you took notice of the silver ring donned around his finger.

he couldn’t have been married, no?

keeping your answer as vague as possible for the sake of matching his comforting warmth, you responded, “twenty-something.” he let out a satisfied huff of air as he nodded and moved onto his next query.

“and what’s your major?”

with the question barely having enough time to linger in the suggestively tense air, he added, “you’re very beautiful, by the way. do you mind taking your dress off for me?”

as much as it should’ve alarmed you, you were swayed by his toothachingly inviting timbre, its gentleness pulling compliancy from you in a matter of a few mere words. you only shook your head, forgoing the short piece of fabric that clung to each curve and dip of your body while your nipples hardened under the glacial, artificial breeze of his home. once the silk pooled at your hips, that, along with your panties were dropped onto the floor, leaving you bare and vulnerable under the camera — and yuuta’s watchful eye.

he swallowed thickly at the sight, remaining as respectful as he could despite the monster growing in his pants; his eyes locked right back onto yours as if he’d get striked down for moving them even a millimeter south. “are you a virgin?” he queried, opting to move his hand from awkwardly at his side to fidgeting with the button at his shirt, ultimately undoing it and revealing another inch of skin at his heated chest.

from the nature of what you had signed yourself up for, you were hesitant to answer his question. of course you needed experience to be a star, and with you lacking the preconceived ability, you could kiss your $1000 goodbye..

yet he looked at you with an expectant gaze. no traces of malice in his eyes or frustration from your quick witted silence, but merely, with patience. and in that moment you couldn’t find it within yourself to lie.

“i am,” out of shame, you curled in on yourself, hoping that the sofa would engulf you, and your feelings, crossing your arms over your bare chest as if it’d create a wall of privacy behind your own humiliation. “is that okay?”

yuuta’s being only grew warmer at the response, you figured he’d be hot to the touch by now, from searing pleasure or unshakeable cordiality, you wouldn’t know. “yeah, that’s okay,” it came out breathier than he would’ve liked, a telltale sign of his aching desire. “that’s more than okay.”

truth be told, he had never met anyone as enchanting as you. you looked up at him with such trust in your eyes that it daunted him — fear that the assurance he wielded from you would shatter beneath him, and he’d be drowning. in a sea of his own wistfulness. now that he had you, he couldn’t let you go.

you were on to make a breathtaking star.

now feeling less coy than before, you relaxed your head into the palm of yuuta’s hand. you hadn’t noticed how long he’d been stroking at your cheek, or when he closed the vexing proximity between the two of you, all that mattered in that moment was the roll of his gentle vocables flowing through your ears and the thumb of his that graciously caressed your cheek.

you came to realize that he was much more handsome this way as your eyes toured his own, then down to the sliver of sweat-sheened skin peeking from underneath the black veil of his shirt, then down to his…

he’s so fucking hard.

confined against his slacks was his cock that leaked an ample amount even while it was untouched. you could make out its silhouette, something girthy, perhaps heavy, but nothing like you’d expect from yuuta. uncharacteristically huge.

“yuuta.” you whispered, mainly to yourself, as your mouth began to water at the sight, and his cheeks dusted pink once he realized what you were fixated upon.

“do you wanna,” he started up but faltered soon after when your lidded gaze flitted back up towards his. never had he felt so weak before, it was as if you’d casted a spell on him. “do you maybe want to—” he paused to avert his own gaze and embarrassment. “—put it in your mouth?”

he could’ve sworn he heard the increase of his heartbeat in his ears when you crinkled your brows, pretty face forming into an even prettier pout.

“but i’ve never—”

he stopped you before you could start, interjecting his own voice of reassurance.

“it’s okay. i’ll guide you,” taking his camera off its stand and moving the rest of the configuration elsewhere, he held it in one hand to better capture the scene unfolding before him. “just try your best for me, okay?”

“okay.” when he returned your concern with a small smile, you took it upon yourself to undo the arrangement of his pants, carefully hooking your finger into the elastic waistband of his briefs and pulling down just enough for his length to spring free.

for what felt like minutes, you marveled at his sheer size, wondering how anyone of his nature could possibly be hiding something like that. it curved upwards with a prominent vein or two running up the underside while it continued to leak, so much so, that you had to collect it all at the tip with your finger.

the tip? flushed the prettiest pink you’d ever witnessed and was as bulbous as it was mushroomed, you knew you’d have a bit of difficulty trying to fit into your mouth. it seemed to twitch under the fanning of your breath to which yuuta let out a whine of pure impatience.

“can i..?” your words trailed off when you involuntarily found yourself pressing chaste kisses along the length of his cock until they met with his sticky tip; a recreated scene from the various porn videos you’d seen. the sensation sent a jolt of palpable pleasure through his being, yuuta’s dark hair curtaining over his eyes while he made a damn good attempt at silencing his moans, with his teeth sunken into his bottom lip.

your eyes kept watch at his wavering expression while you wrapped your hand at the base of his length and began to pump slowly, yet another thing you had learned through the fascinating world of porn.

“suck it,” it was clear to you that yuuta had grown desirously impatient from your teasing, looking down at you with a hint of hunger in his beautiful orbs. “please?”

you took his words as an incentive to finally give him what he’s been leaking for, wrapping gloss-sheened lips around the thick inches of his tip, accommodating for the stretch with a dulcet whine that reverberated deeply within him. had you not been caught up in building the gradual bob of your head, he would’ve kissed you, left you with smeared lips and a tongue that ached for only him upon seeing the sinful sight of innocent eyes fixated on his own. you’re beautiful. truly, to die for.

caught all on tape to be watched over and over again.

at the bliss, yuuta’s lip parted open, alotting for a slur of groans turned whimpers to tumble past. “you- you’re already doing, so good.” he praises, the words floating on his breath. his free hand finds itself back at your face, thumbing the warmth of your hallowed cheek while he captured the moment behind his lens. once you came to a comfortable rhythm, you couldn’t stop yourself from dipping your fingers between your thighs to ease the evergrowing ache in your core. in fact, you’d been like this since the moment yuuta spoke a word to you, lightheaded and malleable — what he’s beginning to love most about you.

your digits collected slick at your entrance, the immeasurable amount of essence that you’d pool providing ample leeway for you to sink three fingers inside, pumping at the same rhythm in which you’re sucking yuuta. soft fingertips curling against your gummy walls weren’t enough, though, and when he had caught notice of your weakening resolve, his hips involuntarily bucked into your mouth.

“sorry, ‘m sorry,” he began, with a choked moan. “just- so close, so fucking close. c-can you take me in deeper?”

the hum of assurance that sounded from you sent vibrations coursing through his cock, from tip to base. had you not been preoccupied with chasing your own high, you would’ve missed the pitchy moan he let out just after. with your palm now pressed up against your clit while you worked in tandem to pleasure the nub and your greedy hole, you attempted to swallow another stubborn inch of him.

simultaneous with the bobbing of your head, he matched your pace, abdomen flexing when the white-hot pleasure became too much and he could feel it in his ears. he wanted so badly to throw his head back, completely lose himself in bliss, but he had a job to do. he wouldn’t dare let the sight of your glassy lidded eyes and glossy lips struggling to wrap themselves around the stretch of his dick go unfilmed, unseen.

as his tip continued to prod the back of your throat and your fingers aided you in relieving the discomfort from your cunt, you found yourself just dangling off the dangerous edge of your release, strokes away from making a mess — and yuuta did too.

it wasn’t long until his head started spinning, legs got weaker, and his core coiled tighter; all the signs of a mindblowing orgasm, and blew his mind, you did. “baby- y/n, if you keep doing that- i might cum.” what he was referring to was the way you fondled his balls in the warmth of your soft hands, yet another trick you had learned from porn. “i don’t wanna cum in your mouth but if you—,”

a jumbled slew of curses flowed from his lips as he did the inevitable, shot his load deep down your throat, gently thrusting his cock in shallow strokes to jettison every last remaining drop. the taste on your tongue was nothing like you’d be warned of before. yuuta wasn’t bitter, he went down easy.

hell, you’d use his cum as a condiment for desserts if you could.

in a matter of moments, your own high had washed over you like cold water over a heated body, much needed and refreshing. once he hesitantly pulled out from the heat of your mouth, cock still hard and twitching for more, he gently pushed back strands of loose hair behind your ear.

“can i see?”

you held out your cream-slickened fingers, sopping with your juices as yuuta proceeded to catch how they dripped on camera. he then took your palm, with the cadence of a knight kissing the back of a princess’s hand, and slipped the soiled digits into his mouth. his tongue lavved around your index and middle fingers while he hummed satisfactorily at your taste. “you’re just as sweet as i imagined.” he smiled, finding amusement in your post-orgasmic, dazed state.

“do you do this with a lot of other girls, yuuta?” you queried, taking the time to scan your eyes over his face. it was as if he seemed to get more attractive as your time with him went on. he tilted his head slightly, finding your question endearing. “you’re my first, actually.” yuuta responded softly, as if his normal speaking voice would be too heavy on your delicate ears.

you jumped at the chance to tease him as he did you, placing your thumb back over the slit of his hard-on and lightly rubbing; which resonated within yuuta as a tonal mewl. a little smile pulled at your lips when you got your perfect reaction. “can you be my first?”

“i’d love to be,” he took your request with unadulterated honor as if he’d been tasked by the deities above to serve you. “just- just lay back for me. i promise i’ll take good care of you.”

and that you did; conforming to his call of request with such compliance it made his heart swell. you had positioned your body to rest languidly against the seat of the sofa, shaky legs hesitant to spread fully while your hand roamed up your sternum to find solace in kneading your tits.

he couldn’t deny how beautiful you looked, laid out for him as such. how had he been so lucky to be the only one to have the opportunity to marvel at the scene? with a steady hand, he faintly trails his hand up the expanse of your inner thigh, a silent beckon for you to open your legs wider. involuntarily so, your body had accepted his presence and allowed for the spreading of your thighs.

what you’d come to notice with yuuta was that he was watchful, observant. he seemed to pick up on every detail, even the minuscule bits that were most likely to fly over anyone else’s head, had been taken into account. it’s probably why he’s immensely proficient at what he does. not once had he allowed himself to miss the labored heaving of your chest, or the sheen of sweat thinly coating your body — the twitching of your clit when he stroked featherlight touches at the nub. he couldn’t call himself a true cameraman then.

his fingers had collected remnants of your previous orgasm before they worked in tandem, both middle and ring, to prod at your sensitive hole, slowly sinking themselves in. it was almost embarrassing how quickly your greedy cunt swallowed him in, as if it’d been waiting for his touch for years now. “y-yuuta, ‘m still sensitive.” you crooned in response to his digits exploring your cavern, plush walls gripping him with such tautness that he’d found it difficult to even curl his fingers.

his own mind spun (and cock leaked) at the thought of that same warmth around his length, and when you called his name, all he could think about was how pretty you’d sound moaning it. he wouldn’t mind if you were sonorous, if the neighbors would hear, if inumaki who lived downstairs would come knocking with a mouthful of complaints, if the whole world knew his name; because in that moment, yuuta okkotsu was yours.

yuuta okkotsu was in love.

after some shallow pumping, enough to have your legs attempting to enclose around his arm, yuuta had pulled his digits out and replaced the lost sensation with the fat tip of his cock stroking your slit up and down.

“i’m gonna put it in, okay? if you want me to stop, tell me. if i'm going too fast or slow, let me know.”

he perused your face for a hint of an answer, seemingly nothing going on behind your vacant, large eyes. your initial response was curt, an ode to the simplistic nature of your mind. “mhm.”

how endearing you were to him, just a unadorned reaction weakening his being, causing his heart to figuratively crumble within its confines against his ribcage. he had searched for a heartier answer, something tangible to hold on to, because, lord knows how terrible he’d feel if he took your indication the wrong way. “can you be vocal for me, please?”

you nodded your head. “i’ll let you know, yuuta.”

with a carefulness that only came from the most benign of beings, he had sunken the first inch of himself into your awaiting heat.

he was paused when your hand dashed to his lower abdomen, futilely pressing against the skin.

“wait—” you huffed wantonly. “—‘s too big.”

his eyes wavered with concern, hidden under the veil of pure arousal. in yuuta’s case he had dreamed of a compliment as self fulfilling as yours, for his thoughts of being average were shattered upon first inch. “should i stop?”

you shook your head, reveling in the light of his attentivity towards you and your body. “no,” you moved your hand from his abdomen. “don’t stop.”

one of his arms rested beside your head, helping to prop him up over your body while he dropped his head down to watch the way your bodies connected. gradually, the sight of his length slowly sinking inside, stretching you out further and further until he was in to the hilt flooded his vision. yuuta had caught on to your labored gasps, merely growing harder from your honeyed voice like music to his ears.

he then lifted his head, strands of inky, out-of-place tresses falling over his face and partially covering the depth of lingering eyes, that lingered for a second too long, causing that shuddering sensation you had once felt when you first met him to reappear. he held his camcorder beside his face, an all too cheerful grin masked over his features. “i’m all in!”

creepy.

there was no doubt that you hadn’t felt full. he practically spilled over with how much girth he possessed and throbbed innately within your walls. the swell of your tummy from just how deep he was, was enough to tear away at his composure and drag his length back before driving his hips in at a force unrecognizable to him. the yelp you had let out from his eager thrust dwindled into a blissful moan. “sorry, so sorry.” he whispered, unable to take his eyes off the faultless assortment of breathtaking features that was your face, eyebrows creased together, parted lips and eyes squeezed closed as if you’d been focused solely on the pleasure he was giving you.

his next thrust stroked softer than its predecessor, having no remnants of eagerness but instead, the nuance of a man that’d been simply smitten.

the meticulousness of his ministrations coursed through your body wondrously, each push and pull lathered in lust, savored to be remembered for the rest of his time on earth. it was as if he’d known your body for years, knew every dip and fold, every swell and mast, aware of what exactly it took to leave your body hungry for his touches.

you’d grown comfortable in the pace at which he set, your mind hazing over each time the blunt tip grazed along your gspot. he peppered kisses along your jaw and down your sternum, the fanning of his warm breath against your chest doing the minimum in stiffening the peaks of your breasts. shootable footage forgotten, yuuta took your mound into his mouth, teeth gently rolling against your nipple which caused you to tighten around his cock in response, the sweetest mewl he’s ever heard from you tumbling from your throat.

“at least take me on a date first, yuuta..” the wittiness of your voice had earned a stifled smile from him, finding utmost admiration in the suggestion. he’ll be sure to take you up on your offer, just as you had done for him.

when you felt the familiar coil within you starting to build up once more, you dipped your hand down to rub at your clit in tandem with the increasing vigor of his strokes. the sensation was all too foreign to you, too pleasurable that you couldn’t keep your sounds at bay. “‘m so close, g-gonna cum!” you had warned, yuuta pulled away from your tit with a soft pop. he chose to rest his head at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, mindlessly chanting the words like a mantra.

“i love you, i love you,” his pace faltered, growing sloppier by the second. “love you, love you so much.”

intoxicated by your heat, your scent, just you being you, and being so perfect — yuuta was pussydrunk. incredibly so. never in his life had he ever felt as high as you made him. you were an angel, sent to him from heaven, to defile and mark.

quickly, your release surged through you in torrents of ecstasy, nothing that you’ve experienced before, coating yuuta’s cock in the glorious essence of you. “cumming!” you cry, to no avail particularly since yuuta wasn’t wholeheartedly aware of the situation at hand. his mind was clouded with you, just as you were full of him, wincing in the aftershocks of your fervent orgasm and convulsing around his length with need.

it wasn’t long before his own ununified thrusts came to a sudden close, signifying the warm spurts of cum painting your insides, filling you entirely to the brim and leaking down your ass from riding out his high.

“god, i love you.” he whined, pressing faint kisses to your neck, unable to peel himself away from your fervid body. coming to your senses, his words finally resonated for you. “we only just met.”

he pulled himself up, opting to look down at your flushed face with a vague hint of confusion on his face as he tilted his head. “have we?”

“we have.” you nodded.

to yuuta, he’s known you his whole life. you were the light of his existence, the fire in his heart. had he managed to confuse you with someone else? surely, that wasn’t the case.

once he pulled out of you, he made sure to capture the moment that you leaked his seed on film, but in that time, borrowed jealousy had filled his soul. he couldn’t share the tape as he had planned, no one else deserved to see you in the same way he did. no one.

he tucked himself back into his pants, leaving you bare and oozing for just one second to fetch a warm wet rag to clean you up with. when he came back, you noticed just how chipper he’d gotten, if that were even possible. “you were amazing,” he smiled, gently wiping your folds pristine. “i’m so grateful you came to me.” the smile you returned matched his own, “thank you, you were- really good too.”

he perked up, eyes moving from between your thighs to your face. “really?” and when you nodded to him, you could see the apparent relief flow within his being. “you know,” he started. “i’m very interested in you.”

you tilt your head, jutting your lips in a cute pout. “interested, how?”

the camcorder that now resided on his coffee table, unpresumebly documenting the scene on display was picked up by yuuta, and turned off. he grinned softly, eyes shutting from his ear to ear smile.

“may i take you on a date?”

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nomsfaultau · 17 days

Text

Dark sbi where Tommy accidentally kidnaps Philza, not knowing he’s a crime lord. And he swears it was an accident! He just, you know, panicked. Tommy and Tubbo were just minding their own business slapping graffiti on a building (practicing their art skills, you see) when a cop started screeching at them, apparently not an appreciator of the fine arts. And since Mrs. Innit would KILL him if he got arrested, Tommy panics and takes a hostage, shouting at the cop not to take a step further or he’ll kill the random civilian he’s ducked behind so he can’t get shot.

Meanwhile Philza isn’t entirely paying attention, and realizes there’s suddenly a small child sheltering behind him from a cop. He gives the cop the nastiest look imaginable, which causes them to back off enough that Tommy thinks his plan is working. Once the negotiations start Philza is baffled by who would have the gall to kidnap him, and so poorly at that. Frankly it’s an umbrage to face the work of an amateur.

Well, till the abductor asks his name. “…do you not know who I am.?”

Tommy squints at the guy. His suit looks kinda fancy? Is it better or worse for him if he managed to randomly capture some Wall Street schmuck? “Hell no,” he hisses. “And I don’t care. I’m a dangerous guy alright? You don’t know what I’ll do to you.”

Philza’s laugh causes the cop to advance, wagering the situation isn’t intense. But because Tubbo’s ‘Yes And’ game is a force to be reckoned with, he casually pulls out a nerf gun (painted to look real for a prank on Ranboo) and trains it on the cop. Philza is positively delighted as he realizes just how amateur his abductors are. Oh this will be a riot to watch.

With more bluffing than Tommy knew he had in him, promising the hostage 20 bucks if he pretended to go along with it, the pure manic chaos bleeding from Tubbo’s eyes and ample gun waving, and creative use of spray paint in the eyes of the chasing cops, Tommy and Tubbo somehow manage to book it. For some reason the hostage keeps up with them instead of escaping. Huh. Can you develop Stockholm syndrome that fast? Tommy would ask, but he’s panting from sprinting. And as they live in an unjust world, hostage guy isn’t even breaking a sweat despite the three piece suit.

“You’re not going to get far on foot,” Philza murmurs. As corrupt and useless as the cops are for most things in this city, he doesn’t imagine there’d actually be that much fuss over a random man being kidnapped, but he wonders what they’ll do if spooked a little more. It’s been amusing thus far. The boys bicker, then elect to force him to drive as neither have licenses. They don’t ask him to drive to their homes, instead some secondary location. Smart, albeit Philza will definitely know both addresses within the hour.

While Tommy is busy ‘threatening’ Philza about the consequences of not getting them there, Tubbo just leans over from a bag of chips he’s munching on and offers them to Phil. Tommy rounds on him, less for showing exploitable kindness to the hostage and more for eating the Doritos that were meant to be his. Philza almost chides them for revealing each other’s names, but decides it might just be easier to hand them notes at the end of this. So far they aren’t getting a passing grade in abduction. But he has to admit it’s far more entertaining than the ‘business’ meeting he was planning to attend.

(Techno, meanwhile, hasn’t heard from Philza and is going BALLISTIC trying to figure out who kidnapped him. From the police report Phil just kinda went along with it, and looked terrified after a private exchange with the abductor, which has to mean the threat is ungodly to convince the Angel of Death to submit. Techno’s about to have a panic attack imagining the unthinkable horrors happening to his best friend, and is only holding it off by doing atrocities about it. This is the THIRD secret criminal organization he’s ripped apart in the last two hours and PHILZA ISNT HERE EITHER!?)

Philza has decided he likes his kidnappers. They’re not experienced in the slightest, but they make up for it with bravado, determination, and a certain lack of rationality that is necessary in the line of business Philza is in. Yes. They’ll do nicely if given a little guidance.

It’s half an hour before either of them notice Philza is driving aimlessly and they don’t recognize the city around them at all. “Hm? Next time I don’t recommend you give the hostage control of the vehicle. I could have immediately driven to the police station.”

Tommy frowns, almost more nervous at the implication the obvious blackmail would go unused. “…why didn’t you?”

“There’s no love lost between the cops and I. And even more importantly, you amuse me. I like your…potential.” He grins at the soft click of Tommy covertly trying the handle and finding the car doors locked. “Getting out at this speed is almost always fatal, Tommy.”

Tubbo lifts the muzzle of the fake gun towards him. “Let us go right. now.”

Philza leans over, ruffling Tubbo’s hair. The teen gulps at the glimpse of the holster Philza’s jacket was hiding, sharing a wide eyed look with Tommy. “I’m not exactly scared of foam bullets, mate.” He chuckles lowly at the tension freezing both of them. “Relax. You’ll be home by dinner. After you went through all the effort of kidnapping me to avoid trouble with your parents, I don’t intend to ruin it. I like you two; you have spunk I don’t see often. After all, it takes a lot of guts to kidnap the leader of the Syndicate.”

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forever-rogue · 1 year

Text

Heart Out

AN | Once again, no one asked for this. Absolutely no one, but here we are - bone app the teeth. Basically - in which you meet Peter Parker, fall in love, accidentally fall pregnant, and have everything blow up in your face…or so it appears ❤️

Pairing | tasm!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language, Pregnant!Reader

Word Count | 6.3k

Masterlist | Main | Peter

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“Hello there,” you shrieked at the sound of the warm voice, clutching at your heart as you turned to find the source of your heart attack. Turned out that the man standing across the hall with a cheeky smile on his was about to give you another heart attack. Holy fuck - he was gorgeous. You opened and closed your mouth a few times, any coherent thought already out of your head, “I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you heard me coming.”

“N-no,” you stammered out dumbly, unable to say anything else. Well then; he probably already thought you were a complete idiot, “I just, umm, didn’t h-hear you.”

“I’ll be louder next time,” he grinned, and his face took on a boyish quality. Funny; he could go from ridiculously handsome to outrageously cute in a matter of moments, “I just wanted to introduce myself - you just moved in right? I’m Peter. Parker. Peter Parker.”

“Peter,” you repeated softly and oh. He shouldn’t have you feeling this type of way already. You offered him your name, which he also repeated, testing it out to get a feel for it. You liked the way it sounded coming from him, “I moved in last week. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too, sweetheart,” and there he was, already hitting you with the nicknames. The audacity, “if you ever need anything at all, feel free to let me know. You’re welcome any time, day or night.”

“T-thanks,” your mind absolutely did not have to go and immediately think about going over to his place late at night when you needed something and then - no. Nope. You were definitely not going to let your thoughts go there, “that’s very kind of you.”

“You’re new to the building - it’s nice to know at least one person,” he shrugged lightly, “and maybe make a new friend. But I mean it, my door’s open - metaphorically - anytime.”

“Well, thank you again, Peter,” you opened your door and turned around to cast one last little wave goodbye, “see you around - have a good night.”

“You too, honey.”

Peter stood and watched you close your door, not moving until he heard you lock it. A soft little smile settled on his face as he went back into his own apartment. He didn’t mean to be so invasive, but curiosity - and his spidey senses - got the better of him and he listened to you shuffle around your apartment, muttering softly under your breath. Damn; he liked you already.

He’d known you when you moved but had been tempted to come over and help, but he also didn’t want to scare you off either. But he had also just offered himself up to you practically 24/7….maybe it was too late. Either way, he hoped he’d get to see you again.

Meanwhile in your apartment, you were trying not to have a breakdown. How did you manage to fuck up a simple conversation? He probably thought you were an idiot; he probably didn’t even want you to come over. Peter seemed like he was the type of guy that was nice to everyone. Maybe you could just avoid him forever and pretend this never happened.

“Peter Parker,” you whispered to yourself, flopping on the couch and pulling out your phone. A little online…research wouldn’t hurt anyone, right? You cast a furtive look around, as though he was suddenly going to appear in your doorway, “let’s see what you’re about.”

Several background episodes of some old TV show, a helping of chocolate, and over an hour of online snooping, you’d found out a lot about Peter Parker. He was some sort of genius scientist by day, an amateur photographer on the side, and apparently a huge geek. Ugh. As if you needed more reasons to like him. How could he be hot, smart, and nerdy? Unfair.

You closed out every app and tossed your phone to the side before sighing heavily. This might prove to be harder than you’d thought. Peter Parker was going to be a menace…you could just feel it.

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As fate would have it, your plan to avoid Peter Parker did not go well. It did not go well at all.

From the first time you met him, you seemed to run into him all the time; leaving for or coming from work, in the laundry, even out in public. At first you had tried to play it off and keep interactions brief, but the more you kept seeing him the more you wondered if it was all a sense of timing…or was it fate?

Either way, you stopped questioning; you allowed yourself to become friends with Peter. Friends that just so happened to be flirty with each other. Which was totally normal…who didn’t flirt with their friends every once in a while. Right? Right. What happened between the two of you would happen and you decided to let things flow naturally.

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That all came to a head one chilly winter night.

It was later in the evening and you were winding down for the day when your heating went out. And as luck would have it, it was just cold enough that you needed the heater. You had no clue how to fix it and it would be too late to call the maintenance line and your mind only went out to one thing, or one person rather, Peter.

You pulled on a hoodie and toed on your slippers before padding across the hall. There was a moment of hesitation as you raised your hand but couldn’t quite bring yourself to knock. Before you could make a decision one way or the other, the door opened and Peter stood on the other side, “hi.”

“H-hey,” you hadn’t even made a sound and yet he still knew you were at the door…weird. But that was the least of your concerns at the moment. You were desperately trying not to stare at him too closely; he was wearing a pair of sinful gray sweatpants and a well fitted t-shirt. The urge to throw yourself at him was ridiculous.

“Everything alright, sweetheart?”

Right. You were here for something entirely different. You mentally slapped yourself before nodding, “I’m sorry for coming so late, and I don’t even know if you’d be able to help but my heating went out and I have no clue what to do. Umm...you know what, it’s okay. I-I’ll figure it out.”

You’d turned to leave, regretting your decision to bother him, but before you could run away, you felt his long, slender fingers wrap around your wrist. You turned to him with wide eyes and he shook his head lightly, “you’re in luck. I happen to be very handy with things like this.”

“Is that because of all the science-y things you do?” you blurted it out before thinking about it as he raised his eyebrows. Right. You weren’t supposed to know about what he did for a living…it had never really come up. You also weren’t supposed to give the fact that you’d stalked him on the internet, “j-just because you seem like a STEM guy. ‘s all.”

Smooth.

“I do happen to be a STEM guy,” he grinned, “let me come over and take a look. I’m sure it’ll be an easy fix - the heating here is just a little finicky.”

“Thank you,” you slinked back to your apartment, handsome man in tow. You were glad that you’d just cleaned up and everything was tidy. Peter looked so good in your apartment and it made the whole domestic daydream hard to ignore, “I’m assuming the heaters are in the same spot. So…yeah. Can I help with anything - get you anything?”

“I’ve got it,” he promised, already walking into the living room where your heater was, “it shouldn’t take too long.”

You made a small sound of acknowledgement as you retreated into the kitchen, deciding to finish up the dishes you had started…while stealing glances at him. It was hard to ignore such an attractive piece of art in your own home. At one point he stretched and his shirt rode up, revealing the patch of hair under his belly button that disappeared under the waistband of his sweats. A wistful little sigh escaped your lips, which you quickly covered up with a cough. You swore you could see a little smirk on his face.

To your delight and chagrin, Peter really was handy and had the heating kicked on and working well in a short period of time. He turned back to you with a triumphant smile and jazz hands, “ta-da! All working again…and probably better than before. Simple circuit issue.”

“I…wow, thank you so much,” you smiled softly, “that’s really kind of you. How can I repay you? Whatever you want, name it and it’s yours.”

Peter’s smile grew bigger and he seriously wanted to answer with a simple you. But instead he shook his head and brushed off your concern, “don’t mention - really, it was nothing. Plus, it gives me a chance to see you again. It’s been a bit...almost like you were avoiding me. Did I do something to scare you off?”

He’d come over now and was standing across from you, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wall. Peter could read you like a book already and it was just all too easy for him. You bit the inside of your cheek and just shook your head, “n-no, Peter. Of course not, I’ve just been…busy. And didn’t feel the need to bother you.”

“You didn’t feel the need or didn’t want to?” he asked softly, his voice so warm and low that felt like he should be whispering those words directly in your ear. You swallowed thickly, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks, “tell me, sweetheart.”

“Didn’t want to,” you confessed shyly, “didn’t want you to get tired or annoyed with me.”

“I don’t think I could ever get tired of you,” how you’d come to be right in front of him was a mystery but you found yourself looking up into his pretty brown eyes. He reached up and touched your face, brushing his knuckles across your cheek before trailing his fingers along your jaw and down your neck, “sweet, sweet girl.”

“Peter,” he was still new to you, still so much to discover and learn but you already felt like you’d known him for a lifetime. It was such a strange feeling, such a magnetic pull and you didn’t even want to bother fighting it.

“Hmm?” his face was close to yours, and you could feel the warmth radiating off him. He smelled so deliciously warm and soft that you wanted to wrap yourself in his clothes and wanted him all over you, “tell me what you need, honey.”

“Kiss me?” you asked sweetly, “please?”

He answered your simple request by pressing his lips to yours in what started off as a saccharine, soft little thing. With even the slightest taste of him, you were already addicted to him. A little gasp escaped your lips as you looked back at him and found him watching with equal curiosity and tenderness.

And then it happened so fast - he was all over you and you jumped into his arms, letting him kiss you dizzy and leave a lavender haze across your skin. His touch was electric and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt so alive. He picked you and carried you to your bedroom so effortlessly, and you felt so soft and delicate in his arms. Your lips barely broke contact as he gently laid you on the bed, looking down at you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

He gently brushed your hair out of your face, resting his hand on your cheek and leaned into his touch, “we don’t have to-”

“I want this,” you promised softly, “I want you, Peter.”

That was all he needed before caging you in between his arms, leaning down to kiss you more. You could easily - and did - spend hours under him, letting him kiss you and touch every which way It felt like a dream, a sweet fantasy that your lust addled brain had conjured up, but the soft moan and whimpers you were drawing from him reminded you that this was all very real.

“Peter,” his name had never sounded as sweet as it did when it fell reverently from your lips, “please.”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he promised, nosing along your jaw before placing a kiss to your lips, “I’ve got you.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You’d believed him. You’d believed every sweet word whispered in your ear, every little moan and whimper exchanged that he’d meant them all.

But when you woke up the next morning, golden sunshine and soft bird chirps streaming into your bedroom, you rolled over and fully expected to find his warm body next to yours. But instead you found a chilly emptiness. Strange. You hadn’t even heard him get up, let alone leave you. A pang settled in your stomach as you slid out of bed, feeling the dull ache between your legs as you slid on your shirt from last night.

“Peter?” you padded your way into the hall and kitchen looking for any signs of life; unfortunately you found nothing. A pout worked its way onto your face as you looked around, and in a much smaller voice you spoke into the nothingness, “Peter?”

But he was long gone and you already knew that. There was no note, no anything. You scrubbed a hand over your tired face before sighing to yourself. You should have known - of course it was too good to be true. Peter Parker wasn’t into you and he hadn’t felt any sort of connection. He’d just wanted to have sex…and you’d given right in.

“Dumb, pathetic girl,” you chided yourself before moving to the bathroom to take a long, hot shower. You wanted to scrub off every last bit of Peter from your body and home. You decided to let yourself cry and wallow in self-pity while showering; after that it was back to business as usual. Maybe you’d get an answer from Peter later. Maybe you’d find out that this was all some sort of weird misunderstanding. You still had hope that Peter would turn out to be everything you had dreamed he would be.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

But…you never got the chance to ask what happened or for him to give you a proper explanation. By mid-afternoon of the day he’d just left, you went over to his apartment and knocked on his door; there was no answer. You figured that he might not have been home, which was fair enough. You decided to just wait for him - he had to come home at some point.

It just wasn’t that day. You didn’t hear him come or go, which just left you more curious than ever.

The day after brought about a new work week, and you knew, from your previous comings and goings that he worked a similar schedule to yours. And yet you still didn’t see him that week. Now you were just getting worried about him. In the few months you’d lived in the building, you’d seen him constantly; it wasn’t like him to just up and disappear. If nothing you figured he might have told you that he was leaving or going to be gone.

It wasn’t until about three weeks later that you’d caught sight of him again. You experienced an odd combination of relief and annoyance when you caught him getting back into his apartment as you came home from dinner with some friends.

“Peter?” your soft voice caught him off guard and he tensed up immediately. He was so lost in his own thoughts that even his heightened senses didn’t detect you. He exhaled shakily as he turned around to face you. You looked so torn at seeing him again, “you’re here. You’re okay…”

“Yeah,” he nodded and cleared his throat. He seemed so different from the man you’d seen last time. He looked more tired too, his hair shaggier and stubble littered his face, “listen-”

“Where did you go?” he could hear the hurt in your voice and it broke his heart, “t-that morning…you were just gone. And then you were gone for weeks. I got so worried…”

He knew this was coming; that’s why he’d spent the last couple of weeks actively avoiding you. Peter hadn’t been gone - he’d just relied on Spider-Man prowess to be able to get into his apartment unseen. He’d spent more nights than he cared to admit sitting near his door and tuning in to you. He just…couldn’t bring himself to face you.

“I’m fine,” but he most definitely wasn’t, “I’m sorry about that night, okay? It shouldn’t have happened, but I’m fine. You’re fine. We can put it behind us and move on…”

“I…what do you mean?” your heart broke at his words and you wished the ground would open up and swallow you, “Peter - can we just talk about this?”

“I’m busy, I’m sorry,” he opened his door and stepped inside his apartment as you stared at him with teary eyes, “I’m sorry.”

He closed the door and locked it before you could say anything else. You stared at the door, processing what had just happened while tears pearled up and ran down your cheeks. How could he just play you off like that? Basically acting like nothing happened. This didn’t feel like Peter - not the Peter you’d come to know and, if you were being honest with yourself, love.

Peter leaned against the door sighing deeply to himself as he listened to your sniffles as you walked into your own apartment. He never wanted to hear you cry again, he especially never wanted to be the cause of your tears again.

“Fuck,” he sighed to himself, “fuck.”

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You thought that things couldn’t get worse after Peter all but dumped you, as a friend and potential lover, but once again you had been wrong.

Very wrong.

I’ve missed two periods wrong. You thought maybe the test was wrong, that the white plastic stick proclaiming pregnant was giving you a false positive. But the six other tests that said the same thing probably weren’t all wrong.

“Fuck,” you tossed the test angrily into your trash can before doing the same thing with the rest of the tests. You couldn’t stand looking at them any longer, have them taunting you mercilessly, “fuck me.”

While it was real, it didn’t feel real real until you left the doctor’s office the following week. They had simply confirmed what you already knew deep down. You were eight weeks pregnant with Peter Parker’s baby. Talk about life throwing you for a loop. But, like without most things in life, except for what happened with Peter, you decided to be rational and figure it all out.

You needed a plan - as long as you had a plan things would work out.

You were at a good place in life and with your career that financially you’d be able to afford a baby. You had a spare room in your apartment that served as a makeshift office that could be a nursery. You had a few close friends and family members that would be able to support you throughout your pregnancy. Realistically, the biggest decision you had to make was whether or not you wanted to keep the baby.

Would you be able to stand living across the hall from Peter while you had his kid? Would he even ask questions and put two and two together? Maybe you could look for a different apartment soon. There was much to think about and much to do, but as long as you made a plan and stuck to it, things would work out.

They had to work out…fuck, you hoped things worked out.

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Three months later found you doing better than you’d thought. You’d decided to keep the baby but were still on the fence about moving. The more time that passed, the more you thought moving was the right idea.

You’d tried to tell Peter as soon as you got confirmation of your pregnancy from the doctor. He might have hated you, but he still deserved to know. You wanted him to have the opportunity to choose whether or not he wanted to be in the kid’s life. Even if you didn’t get along, he deserved the choice. Part of you still wondered what had caused the sudden shift in his attitude towards you, but never found out. He avoided you like the plague and if he did see you for some reason he would give you a small hello or pretend that he didn’t see you.

After all this time it still stung. And it was the only reason that he still didn’t know you were pregnant. The thing was, you wouldn’t be able to hide it much longer - but who knew if he would even notice. It almost felt like a weird, cruel joke at this point.

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It was a random Wednesday afternoon that you happened to have off, which led you to take advantage of the nearly empty laundry room. You were just finishing up your last load, putting it all in your basket when you heard someone walk in. The mountain of laundry was large and you didn’t bother looking to see who it was, “I’ll be out in just a second - sorry for hogging all the room!”

When you finally fished the last things out of the dryer, you turned around and found yourself face to face with none other than, “Peter.”

He looked like he’d just seen a ghost as he stared at you, soft honey brown eyes searching yours. Your heart raced, and you were surprised it didn’t burst through your ribcage. A slight look of confusion crossed his features and you caught the way his eyes looked over you before flicking down to your belly. You swallowed thickly, suddenly glad that you’d worn a pretty baggy old t-shirt; it hid the fact that you were definitely starting to show.

“Hey,” he choked out, raising his hand in a weak little wave. It was more than you’d gotten from him in some time, “h-how’re you?”

“I’m okay,” it wasn’t a total lie but it wasn’t the full truth either, “how are you?”

“Okay,” he admitted, and you wondered if it was a lie. He held up his hand and flailed it around, as if he was trying to magically conjure up the words he was looking for, “d-do you…I, umm…can we talk?”

“Not right now,” you felt your eyes welling up with tears as you grabbed your basket and held it as best as you could in order to avoid resting it against your belly. How could he just so casually want to talk months later? He had all this time and now he was going to ask, “I’ve gotta go. I-I’ll see you around, Peter.”

You pushed past him, arm brushing against his and sending electric shivers shooting down your spine as he watched you go. He stared at you, finding himself unable to move or say anything else. He brought his hands to his face and groaned loudly; once again he’d managed to mess this up. But something had been…different about you today. Peter couldn’t quite place it yet, but there was something going on. And he was determined to find out - and beg for forgiveness if he had to.

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One of the many things that had come along with pregnancy were the lovely bouts of insomnia that popped every once in a while. Nothing you did - or didn’t - do seemed to help and it left you more restless than anything else. Some evenings you would bake, some nights you read, some nights you’d watch TV. But on this particular evening, you found yourself pacing around endlessly; instead of just walking around your apartment, you decided to go for a walk around the neighborhood. It seemed like a big of a crazy idea but the neighborhood and most of New York City was fairly safe and quiet these days, probably thanks to the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

You pulled on a pair of sweats and a thin zip up and headed outside, one earbud in with your true crime podcast of the moment in your ear. And for a while, nothing seemed out of place, and your suspicions weren’t raised.

Not until a red and blue blur passed in your peripheral and caused you to stop in your tracks. Out of nowhere Spider-Man appeared right in front of you, causing your eyes to widen. You pulled the earbud out and stuffed it into your pocket as you studied the man in front of you, “Spider-Man?”

“Last time I checked,” he responded cheekily, holding his arms out and pretending to study them with interest, “what are you doing out so late? It’s dangerous!”

“Umm,” the fact that he was talking to you like he knew you personally threw you off, “I was just going for a quick walk? I-is that not allowed anymore?”

“This late?!”

“I couldn’t sleep,” you shrugged lightly, unsure of why this seemed so important to him. Your hand had instinctively gone to your bump, and you stroked it gently, “and my back was hurting so I thought a walk would help?”

He tracked your movement and you were almost sure you heard him inhale sharply, “y-you’re pregnant?”

“Yeah,” you whispered with a small, fond smile, “this kid is very active and likes to be up at all times of the day and night. Makes it hard to keep a normal sleep schedule at times…I mean none of this is normal…but, you know what, I’m gonna shut up now because you definitely don’t need to hear about all of this.”

“What a-are you having?” his voice grew soft and you found yourself drawn into him. He was Spider-Man after all, he saved kids all the time, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that he cared.

“A girl…in about four months,” you told him excitedly, eyes lighting up with happiness, the white eyes of the suit narrowed as he studied you, a gentle silence falling over the two of you. You cleared your throat when he didn’t say anything, “I, ugh, I should get going. Maybe I will try and see if she’ll let me get some rest. She’s calmed down a little bit…since you showed. You must hold some kind of magic over her, she probably likes your voice.”

He stood there frozen, so you offered him a small wave before walking past him in order to loop around the block back to your building. It was quiet at first and you thought you were alone when you heard rapid footsteps coming after you, “wait! Please - wait.”

“Huh?” Spider-Man was there again and this time he took your hand and pulled you into a small walkway between buildings. He was breathing nervously, “are you okay? Do you need…something?”

He paused for a moment before raising a shaking hand to the back of his neck. You watched as he pulled the mask off slowly, revealing himself to you which caused you to gasp loudly as you stared at the man in front of you, “Peter?”

“H-hi,” he said meekly as you a hundred different emotions seemed to flash across your face, “I fucked up.”

“What is going on?” there were those overwhelming emotions again, bringing up those big, fat crocodile tears that rolled down your cheeks, “you’re Spider-Man? I…all this time? Why…I don’t understand.”

“She’s mine, isn’t she?” he asked, although both of you were well aware of the answer, “the other day, in the laundry room, I-I heard it - the two heartbeats but only saw you. It makes sense now…”

“Y-you left me,” was all you managed to get out before you were sniffling heavily and wiping at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater, “I-I tried to tell you. Y-you just left and never told me why.”

“Sweetheart-”

“You broke my heart Peter,” you flinched out of his touch when he tried to reach for your hand; he hated the fact that he made you feel like that, “and you never even told me why.”

“Please, let me explain, I can-”

“No,” you shook your head fervently, as you took a step back, “no. I tried to talk to you so many times, and you just ignored me. I tried to tell you that I was pregnant but you just…shut me out. It’s too late for that, Peter.”

“Don’t walk away,” he begged, his own eyes glistening with tears, “please.”

“Give me one good reason why,” you pushed back.

“I’m in love with you.”

“Don’t,” you held up your hand, shaking your head. Funny - you’d been wanting to hear those words for so long and now you heard them they felt wrong. The worst part of it all was that you needed him to be serious, “you don’t get to leave me for months and avoid me and just do this. That’s not fair, Peter.”

“I never meant to,” he insisted, groaning at himself, “I-I can explain, please-”

“No, Peter,” you took a step back, your own heart breaking all over again, “I’m not going to keep your daughter from you - if you want to be a part of her life. That wouldn’t be fair of me and I want her to have the opportunity to know her father and you to know your daughter. But us…we…I don’t know, Peter. I think it’s too late for that.”

“I understand why you hate me,” he insisted, trying his best to get to you to stay, “give me ten minutes, that’s all I’m asking for, to explain everything.”

You worried your bottom between your teeth, wanting to walk away but finding it impossible. After a few beats of tense silence you have him a singular nod, “ten minutes. That’s it.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The fact that you found yourself in Peter’s apartment again, after all these months, was oddly comforting. Everything felt and looked the same, which for some reason provided a weird sense of familiarity. You sat on the couch, grabbed the blanket off the back without thinking about it and curled up under it; the fact that you still did put a small smile on Peter's face.

“Go on then,” you raised an eyebrow, “talk.”

“I don’t even know where to start,” he sighed lightly, “it’ll be a mess but I want to get it all out there. I-I’m Spider-Man…obviously. I have been for a long time, and it’s not something people know for obvious reasons. There’s less than a handful of people that know who I am.”

“Oh,” you met his eyes and frowned slightly. Of course your first thoughts were worry about him getting hurt. But then it suddenly clicked, “all those times you got hurt…the bruises and scratches and - wow. It makes sense now.”

“Listen, sweetheart,” he rubbed a hand over his tired face, “the woman I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with…she knew. She found out, and she…she’s dead. She’s been for a long time now. I couldn’t save her - the reason she died was because of me. I got mad, angry…bitter and rageful. For so long, I was just so sad and angry all the time. It took years before I finally got it into my head that she - Gwen - wouldn’t want me to be like that. She would want me to be happy and move on with my life. So I did; I’ll never forget her or stop loving her.”

“Peter,” your eyes were welling up with tears as you watched him pace around the living room. You could tell that this was not easy for him, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“I also made myself a promise that I would never get someone involved again. No one was going to know that I was Spider-Man,” he gave you a soft, sad smile, “if no one got close to me, they couldn’t get hurt, right? That was my logic - the less people knew about me, the fewer people I knew, the better. The last thing…the last thing I expected to do was to fall in love.”

The two of you looked at each other, both of you on the verge of having tears spill your cheeks. You opened and closed your mouth a few times as he crouched down in front of you. He reached up and gently touched your cheek, wiping away the tears you hadn’t even realized fell. You leaned into his touch as you looked at him with the softest eyes, “I never expected to feel anything close to that. But then I met you. And I just knew you were going to be trouble from the first day I met you.”

“Good trouble?” you asked softly and he nodded.

“The best trouble,” he agreed, “and you made it so easy, and I stopped worrying about the consequences. It didn’t matter anymore…and then that night, when we had sex, I just…I realized that I did - do - love you. And I panicked, I panicked and ran away like a coward.”

“You did,” you agreed softly, “you didn’t even leave a note. I thought…I thought you regretted it and that you thought it was a mistake.”

“I can understand why you thought that,” he traced his fingers along your jaw, studying your features and refamiliarizing himself with them, “I didn’t think that at all. I just…all I could think about was you getting hurt. That someone would find out about you and they’d hurt you. And, in my very flawed logic, I thought that pushing you away was the best thing. If you hated me, you wouldn’t want to be around me, and then you’d be safe. That’s what I thought anyway.”

“I could never hate you,” you promised, wrapping your fingers around his wrist and gently taking his hand into yours, “never. Peter, you’re an idiot and a fool, but I can’t even be mad because your heart was in the right place. You didn’t go about it correctly but I get it.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, giving your hand a gentle squeeze, “that’s all I can say and hope that you can forgive me. I’m sorry that I’ve been such a dick that you’ve had to go through this on your own.”

“I know,” you swallowed thickly, “I tried to tell you, but…yeah. Listen, I’m going to keep her and I don’t want you to feel forced into being a part of her life. But if you want to be, I would never say no. Obviously, you know, I didn’t intend on having sex once and forgetting to use birth control and getting pregnant. It’s a mess really…but I couldn’t give her up.”

“I know I’ve been a dick and you don’t have to say yes, but I’d like to be involved,” his eyes grew nervous, “you’ve still got a while of being pregnant and I’d like to help however I can. It takes two to tango after all.”

“I’d like that,” you agreed and he felt his heart flutter happily, “Peter…I’m not saying things will just go back to how they were right away, but…I love you.”

“You…what?!”

“I love you,” you repeated with a small laugh and oh. He’d missed that beautiful sound so terribly much, “I have for a long time too. And if you…if you want to, I-I’m willing to work on things and try again?”

“Really?”

“Really,” you grinned, “you know that old saying, don’t give up on something that could be great just because it’s not easy or whatever? I think that applies here. So, if you’re in, I’m in. But, Peter, my love, please just talk to me, okay? Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out, but we can’t do that if you shut me out.”

“I won’t,” he promised, bringing your hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, “I swear it. I want this - you.”

“Good,” you leaned in and pressed a delicate kiss to his cheek, “I want you too, Spidey. We’ll figure it out.”

“We will,” he agreed softly, “do you…have any pictures of her o-or anything?”

“Of course,” you took his hand and placed it gently on the swell of your belly. You watched as his entire body relaxed and his face softened, “I’ve got plenty of sonogram pictures of the blob. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment in a few days, would you like to come with me?”

“Yeah,” he leaned in, hesitantly for a moment, and you repeated the action, pressing your forehead against his, “I’d love to.”

“Peter? Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Will you kiss me?” he laughed lightly as you beamed at him, “pretty please?”

“Yes,” he promised, “any time, sweetheart.”

#peter parker #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker x fem!reader #tasm!peter #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter parker x reader #andrew!peter #andrew!peter x you #andrew!peter x reader #andrew garfield #andrew garfield x you #andrew garfield x reader

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howtofightwrite · 9 months

Text

Clothes Followup

Hi there. Professional sportswear outfitter and part-time athelete here just chiming in on how these choices are perfectly believable, in my humble opinion: #1 SHOES "sneakers" is a loose definition. but, if the character is wearing casual/lifestyle "sneakers" like jordan lows, vans, etc., these type of shoes are FLAT (not narrow running shoes). Flat soled sneakers are often preferred training shoes for mixed arts or lifting at the gym. You could wear boots, but you're sacrificing agility. As a female, I can say that a female character likely would not inflict such a handicap as BOOTS on herself. Feet are very resilient and resistant to pain and injury. Being able to move on your feet matters a lot more than protecting them does. PASS #2 PANTS. you are not punching someone's pants while boxing. and have you watched fight club? they mostly wear jeans. they're durable, wick moisture (although it feels unpleasant), and if they're fitted properly, they're not going to get in the way of your agility. Jeans are light armor if you're speaking in tabletop rpg terms. PASS #3 SHIRT. a good tshirt of a decent quality will wick moisture, will not be bulky or baggy, and will move with its wearer. tshirts are not expensive and are the best option outside a sleeveless top or topless for martial arts. Especially if you have boobs. Boxing in only a racerback sports bra is also viable, but a tshirt will provide light protection to the skin, which is a good idea in amateur boxing. If they're WEARING GLOVES, nobody is grappling anyone's shirt so there is no risk of clothes-grabbing violations happening there. If this ring is literally underground, it's probably cold. Clothes can be shed between matches, but it's often more important to be clothed appropriately so as to prevent both overheating and chills. Becoming chilled between fights is a greater danger to performance than getting sweaty is. PASS I also have questions as to the type of boxing gloves being used. Are they full padded gloves? Light knuckle pads? Do the boxers wear headgear? Mouthguards? What areas are allowed to be hit or is it a free-for-all? Maybe you think these details are mistakes, but I disagree. Half my job is punching boxes all day. Hot, sweaty, fully clothed, wearing comfortable shoes. Lots of moving around. If I am going to punch boxes (or faces) for hours, that's exactly how I'd dress. The rest of my job? Literally outfitting people with boxing equipment. Literally selling people clothing for athletics. I am also a footwear specialist. Thank you for taking the time to read this. :) -lilkittay

So, apologies in advance, lilkittay, but you're about to get dragged. This might come as a shock, but I actually have a copy of the novel Fight Club. I just found it wedged between a copy of Hell's Angels by Hunter S. Thompson, and the Demolished Man by Alfred Bester. I'm not going to try to figure out what lead to that sorting peculiarity. The book is exceptionally good, and if you've never read it, it's an easy (if somewhat unpalatable) recommendation. Stick it up there with books like Native Son, or Ivan Denisovich, in that it covers some really ugly subject matter, but discusses a problem exceptionally well. And, in the 27 years since the novel was originally published, it has proved itself fairly prescient. It's not about the violence, it is an excellent discussion on the underlying psychology of toxic masculinity.

Now, the last time I mentioned Fight Club, someone immediately piped up with, “you've lost all credibility.” That's their problem, but I didn't actually define it, and it is a term that gets thrown around without being defined. Toxic masculinity refers specifically to an individual who cannot engage with their own emotions, particularly painful ones, in a healthy way, because they view those behaviors as effeminate. As a result, they respond aggressively and, or, violently. That's the toxic part. You get dumped. Your pet dies. You get passed over for a promotion at work. And, instead of dealing with that in a healthy way. In any healthy way. You go out into the world and try to make someone else suffer. That is toxic.

Unfortunately, Fight Club is not the grown up version of Calvin and Hobbes, though that is an amusing fan theory, and something that holds together better in the film thanks to Brad Pitt's costuming decisions.

I'm saying all of this to point out, the characters in Fight Club have no idea how to fight.

More than that, jeans are not light armor. Motorcycle leathers? Sure, those would be light armor. In fact, I'm pretty sure they're described as light armor in D20 modern. But, the only place I'd expect to see denim categorized as light armor is a game that used, “light armor,” for mage gear, “medium armor,” as rogue's leather and chain, and, “heavy armor,” as warrior gear. Which is to say, yeah, that's not how that works at all.

The problem with jeans as armor is, they're really bad at it. Someone with a crowbar? Yeah, jeans aren't going to do anything about that. Someone with an axe? I've heard about the aftermath, it was not pretty. Against a sword? Nope. Against a knife? Personal experience says the knife will win without issue. In an underground fighting arena against someone driving a shin kick into your knee? Yeah, your jeans may look fine after the fact, but you're probably not using that leg again anytime soon.

But, that RPG comment made something click together a little, so back to footwear for a second.

Why would someone wear boots? Now, personally, I wear motorcycle boots in my day to day life. Not because I'm a rider, but because I find them more comfortable and convenient than normal dress shoes, and so long as I keep them buffed out, they pass for men's dress shoes at a glance. The interesting thing about this is that my heel has a wide, flat, block of wood under it at all times. If it was a matter of life and death, I could probably grind off a significant chunk of my heel bringing a bike to a stop without suffering any injury. Now, I bring this up, because driving 200-300lbs of force behind a sharply edged wooden mallet into your unarmored instep will not improve your agility.

In the real world, armor doesn't work like D&D. There's no equivalent exchange between mobility and being able to soak a hit. (And if you think there's an irony in substituting a term from one RPG for another... well, yeah. You're not wrong.) If you think someone's going to stomp on your foot, bring steel toed boots. What you lose in agility today, you make up for in your ability to walk without a cane tomorrow.

The paradox of humans is that we are both stupidly resilient, and horrifically fragile, at the same time. Now, at this point, I do want to say something genuinely nice to you, even if it sounds a tiny bit condescending. You've never looked at another person as 150-250lbs of ambulatory meat and considered the best way to take them apart with your hands. And you know what? That is a good thing. Embrace that, and don't let go, because never finding yourself in that kind of a place is a credit to you, and the world you've been able to live in.

All of that said, fighting another human being is not a workout. It's engineering. You're looking at an organic machine with roughly the same parts and pieces you have, and your goal is to make that machine stop thrashing around, screaming, and leaking on everything, before it does the same to you. It's not better. It's not worse. It's different, and it comes with different considerations. You don't dress to look good or stay comfortable, you dress to avoid life altering injuries if at all possible.

Competitive fighting does land at a meeting point of these two considerations however. The fighter wants to come out intact, the sponsors want good show, one that will draw an audience. This leads to things like fighting in a sports bra. Yes, it may be the most, “agile,” option, but if you're going to be in a fist fight, a heavy leather jacket, preferably one with fiberglass plates may not breathe, but it will take far more abuse than your body can. (Actually, I think sometimes the inserts are made out of memory foam these days, which should also take a hit pretty effectively, especially against an unarmed foe.)

This isn't a major issue, but it is something to consider, when thinking about the temperature of the arena, it's important to remember that human body heat in a crowded space is somewhat cumulative. So, a room that starts out at around 60 degrees, could easily warm up to a comfortable temperature once the spectators are present. There's actually consistent math for calculating what you should set the thermostat for in an amphitheater when it's unoccupied so that the temperature is comfortable when the seats are filled, but I can't remember the numbers, and can't find it on short notice.

You do bring up a good point, the original Anon did not specify what kind of gloves were used. I assumed those were nominally regulation boxing gloves, but those could be something like the UFC gloves from a couple decades back, that left the fingers exposed while armoring the knuckles. The armor on those gloves allowed the wearer to inflict all kinds of horrific injuries on one's foes. In an event Michi is quite happy to recount, her younger brother almost lost an eye to a skull fracture from one of those during a poorly supervised sparring bout. It's fairly credible to suggest that an illegal fight club might use those simply to excite the crowds with actual bloodshed.

Now, as someone who has worked in shipping, I know full well that sometimes boxes do hit back. However, they are the exception rather than the rule. There's nothing wrong with practicing on punching bags, but boxes aren't trying to break you. At worst, they may just want to take a nap on the floor without regard to whether you're in the way or not. Live opponents? They're looking at you as however many pounds of meat machinery, and trying to end you. Looking good doesn't make their job harder, but armoring up does.

Anyway, like I said to the original Anon, nothing in their explanation was outright wrong. A lot of it was non-optimal, but not to such a degree as to shatter belief. The mistake you're making, and I really do say this with respect, is that you're looking at it like any other physical activity. As I said, combat is not a work out. Combat as a hazardous environment beyond the reach of OSHA. You wear protective gear (if you can) because that protection may be the difference between walking out alive and (basically) unharmed, or never walking again. You wouldn't (or at least, really shouldn't) take a bike out on the freeway at 60mph in jeans and a tees, you really don't want to get in a fight wearing them either.

-Starke

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#writing reference #writing advice #writing tips #starke answers #how to fight write #martial arts

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phillippadgettwrites · 5 months

Text

Amateur

Rated X / 2402 words / Posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

Getting to this point took quite a bit of convincing on his part. Not in any way that could be considered coercive, more that he could tell there was a deeply buried part of her that wanted to say yes, and he gently coaxed it to the surface over the course of a handful of months.

He’s asked a few times in the past, usually not very sincerely, and her answer has always been an immediate and firm no. But times have changed, as has she, and the ever advancing technology of cell phones has lowered the bar for effort while increasing the options for privacy. What previously seemed so beyond the pale outrageous that she never gave it any serious consideration started to sound more and more within the realm of possibility, and he clearly sensed a shift in her. One by one he alleviated her concerns, and on a cool October evening after two cocktails and a string of increasingly explicit text messages sent from opposite ends of the house, she tells him to go ahead and do it.

You’re sure? He asks, and while it’s difficult to read tone into two little words in a text, she feels his excitement radiating towards her through the walls that separate them.

Assuming that all aforementioned conditions are met, yes she replies, her belly churning with nervousness and gin.

In response he sends back two emojis—a camera and a little flame—and that’s that.

There’s nothing particularly out of the ordinary about the act itself. She tries her best not to think about it and just focus on what he’s doing to her, but she does maintain some awareness of the sounds she’s making and the way she’s moving her body. He does what he does best, which is to make her come so hard she forgets what planet she’s on—much less that there’s a camera in the room—and when he’s done with her she falls into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Do you want to see it?

Scully quirks her head at her phone, her brow furrowed.

See what?

She gets distracted and forgets to read his reply until over an hour later. When she does, it takes her several seconds to understand what he’s referring to.

The video.

Days have passed and work’s been busy, and she’d honestly forgotten about it. She looks around her empty office, just in case someone is somehow reading over her shoulder, before she sends her reply.

Have you watched it?

She immediately sees the little dots that indicate he’s typing, and she waits for his message to come through with a disorienting mix of fear and excitement.

Several times. That’s okay, right?

Her clit throbs, just once, in light of this information. Mulder has always been somewhat of a porn connoisseur, but it’s decidedly different knowing that she is the star of what he’s been watching.

Is it…good? Okay? Tolerable?

She realizes it’s a silly question and that his definition of “good” will have completely different criteria to hers, but she figures he knows her well enough to say whether she would find it watchable.

I like it a lot. And I don’t think you’ll hate it.

She gets up from her desk and closes her office door. She has no intention of watching the video here; it just seems safer this way.

Okay, you can send it. Not sure when or if I’ll watch it, though.

The next text that comes through is a thumbnail of a whitish blur that she would guess is her thigh. She saves the video to her phone, relegates it to her hidden album, and then deletes the entire thread of texts for good measure.

The next time she thinks about it, Mulder is on one of his long runs and she has the house to herself. She pours a glass of wine, curls up in her favorite armchair, and glances furtively around the empty living room before pulling up the video and tapping the play button. Immediately, the sound of her own voice fills her ears and a hot flash of embarrassment shoots through her. She quickly minimizes the video and relocates to the bedroom, picking up a pair of headphones on the way. Somehow the second floor feels safer, though she only puts the headphones in one ear to be sure Mulder won’t sneak up on her when he comes back. After taking a gulp of wine and a deep breath, she hits play.

Again she hears her own voice, mid-moan, and the image on the screen goes from unfocused flesh of an unidentifiable body part to a close-cropped shot of her vulva. She gasps at seeing her own cunt on screen, plump and shining with arousal and saliva. The camera shifts around a little, which makes rustling sounds against the sheets, and then Mulder’s profile enters the side of the frame.

It’s a tight shot, which means she can only really see from his eyes down to his chin, but the way he glances toward the camera when his mouth is poised inches from her body tells her that he’s watching himself on the screen while holding the phone in his hand. His tongue darts out and flicks playfully at her clit, and she watches her opening flutter as she hears herself murmur a breathy, “Oh.”

She pauses the video, her heart hammering, and listens to the quiet of the house. It feels like she’s doing something wrong, though she isn’t; if Mulder were to walk in right now, he’d likely be thrilled and want to watch it with her. But despite the fact that they made the video together, it feels incredibly private. She can hardly bring herself to watch it, much less entertain the idea of a viewing party.

When she’s summoned courage again she hits play, and Mulder begins to drop wet kisses down her swollen lips until his mouth is covering her opening. His jaw shifts forward and she hears herself suck in a breath before letting out a long moan.

Scully squirms where she is seated in the middle of their carefully made bed. While it’s not entirely clear from the video itself, she knows exactly what he’s doing to her. She can feel the heat of his tongue sinking into her cunt. She glances at the open door, aware that Mulder could be home any time. She could lock it, that would buy her a few seconds if she doesn’t hear the front door opening or him coming up the stairs. It’s only at this moment she recognizes that she is extremely aroused and very much wants to touch herself.

On the screen, Mulder’s eyes are closed and he’s suckling at her clit, his lips carefully pursed around her hood. Her hips are wiggling and arching off the bed, pushing her face more firmly against him, and the movement causes the camera angle to shift so that she can no longer see her own body, just the side of his face. She watches the flex of his jaw and listens to the way her voice rises and falls in time to it, and when her embarrassingly gratuitous wailing is approaching a crescendo he pulls away and smiles, his eyes aimed up toward her face.

Seeing him enjoying her this way, watching the unabashed pleasure on his face as he eats her pussy, is hypnotizing, and she’s almost disappointed when he notices the camera has shifted and tilts it back to show the slick mess between her legs. He puts on a show for the benefit of the video, coming in at an angle in order to capture a full view of his tongue gliding up the valley of her pussy lips before skirting just past her clit, teasing her. And she feels it all as she sees it: the anticipation, the wet heat of his mouth, the need for him to touch her more fully. Her eyes are glued to the screen, waiting for him to do it, to make her come, which she of course already knows that he’s going to. Her clit beats a steady rhythm under her cotton lounge pants, keeping time as the seconds tick by and Mulder makes her whine with frustration.

“God, just do it,” she whispers out loud, piqued and panting.

“Do what?”

Scully startles, and the phone leaps out of her hands before landing face-down on top of the comforter, tugging the headphone out of her ear in the process. Mulder is standing in the open doorway, shirtless and shining with sweat, his breathing still labored from his run.

“Nothing,” she says with a shrug and a thin-lipped smile. “How was your run?”

She forces herself to keep her eyes on his face; if she gives her phone so much as a millisecond glance, he’ll know she’s hiding something.

“Good,” he says, crossing to the en suite bathroom door. “I’m just gonna grab a quick shower.”

“Okay.”

The door closes behind him and she flips her phone over to see that the video is still playing. She drags the cursor across the bottom of the screen and watches them fuck in reverse until it’s to the point where she left off, then pops the headphone back in her ear.

“Oh, please,” she hears herself groan, her hips canting towards Mulder’s smiling mouth. She doesn’t remember begging.

Upon hearing the magic word, he presses his entire face against her cunt, obscuring her body in the video. She hears herself gasp just before her hand flies into the frame, grabbing the back of Mulder’s head to hold him captive while she makes sounds that are at once embarrassing and insanely erotic.

Scully scoots back on the bed and leans against the headboard, then pauses the video and listens for the rush of the shower and the wet slap of water against tile as Mulder moves around inside it. She starts the video again just as she’s coming down from her orgasm, and Mulder makes a point of pulling away to get a good shot of her still-throbbing pussy before the video bounces around and lands on a static image of their bedroom ceiling.

She slips one hand under her pants and then her panties, listening to the running shower with one ear and the muted murmurs of her and Mulder changing position in the background of the video with the other. Unsurprisingly, she’s obscenely wet, and she wastes no time in setting about getting herself off before Mulder is out of the bathroom.

On the screen, Mulder’s face appears from a low angle before he switches to the rear camera, and she sees herself on all fours at the head of the bed, waiting. The video pans down her body until it’s trained between her open legs, and she winces a little at just how prominently her asshole is displayed in this position. Mulder seems to take no issue with it, dragging the head of his cock down her ass crack and back up before he pushes against her opening.

Scully fucks herself with her fingers as she watches him slide into her, watches her hips flex up to welcome him and hears both their relieved groans. He fucks her slowly at first, pulling all the way out so he can watch himself enter her again and again, and she almost feels jealous that he gets to see this every time. He pulls the camera back a bit, widening the shot to show the curve of her waist and the flare of her hips, then picks up his pace to the degree that their skin slaps loudly on each thrust and the wet slick of her cunt is audible when he withdraws.

She didn’t expect to like this, but as she swirls her middle finger furiously around her clit with her eyes glued to the screen, there’s no denying that she does. When the on-screen version of herself begins to alternately round and arch her back and Mulder whispers an expletive, she knows she’s close. She’s close in real-life too, hovering near enough to take herself across the finish line whenever she’s ready.

“Oh, shit,” Mulder sputters, and the room tumbles around on the screen before the video goes dark.

She can still hear the wet snap of his sharp thrusts and her own voice devolving into wails and moans. Mulder says things to her that she doesn’t recall hearing, things that might make her blush if she weren’t as turned on as she is. If she weren’t coming in tandem with the video, her mouth open in a silent scream and her cunt throbbing against her own fingers.

As she returns to awareness, she realizes that the shower is off. She scrambles to pull her hand free of her pants and close out of the video, and is just opening Instagram when the bathroom door pops open and a cloud of steam wafts into the room. Mulder stops in the doorway and considers her for a moment, and she does her best to act casual.

“What do you want to do for dinner?” she asks, giving him a disinterested glance, and he crosses the room and lays down beside her.

“There’s some leftover lasagna in the fridge, I think,” he says. “Whatcha lookin at?”

“Nothing in particular,” she says, her eyes on the screen. “Just browsing.”

A pause. Gooseflesh breaks out on her arms, and she hopes he doesn’t notice.

“I’ll go reheat the lasagna, then?”

“Okay,” she answers in a hopefully neutral tone.

Mulder gets up and heads for the door, but just before he passes through he turns back to look at her.

“Did you like it?” he asks, and she quirks her head at him, a questioning wrinkle in her brow.

“The lasagna?” she asks.

“The video,” he says, jutting his chin out to indicate the phone in her hands.

Scully feels her face grow hot immediately. She opens her mouth to speak, but can’t think of anything to say. Mulder’s mouth breaks out into a wide, delighted grin.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says triumphantly. “Dinner will be ready in ten.”

“...Thanks,” she forces out, her cheeks burning, and he mercifully leaves the room.

After a moderately awkward meal, she manages to overcome her embarrassment enough to film a sequel later that night.

#x files fanfic #the x files #xf fic #xf fanfic

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everybodyshusband · 6 months

Text

whatever you do don't think about aeon masturbating with whatever random object was closest because he's just that desperate. don't think about them stumbling across their room to grab a towel from their wardrobe and definitely don't think about him shucking his pants and boxers and throwing them into some dark corner of his room without a care in the world. don't imagine them desperately trying to wriggle and contort themselves to place the towel under their hips because they didn't have the foresight to lay it down before they got back into bed.

don't think about his hand closing around the empty bottle of soft drink and slowly bringing the cold glass to his cunt. don't think about the way their spare hand shakes as they try to coordinate their fingers enough to type out a p. then an o. r. n. h. u--

don't think about him warming himself up with a good ol' amateur outdoor sex video because he's spent the morning in mountain's greenhouse and... well, he's had some Thoughts about it, okay? don't judge him. don't think about the way they grind and roll their hips against the top of the bottle. or the way he gasps and lets out a low moan when the part that screws onto the lid catches against his sensitive little cock.

definitely don't think about them finding a femdom video and then instead of focussing on the domme like he meant to, he finds himself focussing on the deep moans and whimpers the sub is letting out as his domme rides his cock and she tells him he's not allowed to cum just yet. don't think about them getting so into the video that they don't quite notice just how close they are to the edge until the sub in the video lets out a cracked, desperate moan as he cums, and don't think about the way aeon immediately cums as well, rutting unashamedly against the body of the glass bottle.

don't think about the way they just Lie There in shock once they're done because they've never been able to cum without someone's fingers on their clit, but here they are, having cum by grinding against a glass bottle of all things. oh and definitely don't think about the way he let out a surprised cry and a shamelessly loud moan when he came either.

oh and then don't think about the way they immediately rewind the femdom video and rewatch it twice, their fingers flying over their dick as they cum once for every rewatch, still so surprised by their apparent lack of a refractory period. don't think about the way he writhes desperately on the mattress each time as he cums, cries of the names of his pack members interspersed through his pleas of "sir" "mommy" "miss" and "daddy"

don't think about the way they keep up the movement of their fingers on their cock after they've cum with their hand for the first time, almost screaming at the beginning of the overstimulation for almost a minute until it calms down into something more manageable, something that could eventually give way to pleasure. don't think about how loud he is (because in a rare turn of events, the rest of the pack are away from their rooms and aeon's always been a little self conscious about his volume) and how much he whines and begs and laughs, choking on his own desperation as he reaches his third orgasm of this less-than-an-hour-long session, and his fifth or sixth of the day.

anyway. don't think about aeon masturbating :)

#IT RAN AWAY FROM ME JUST A LITTLE BIT OKAY #IN MY DEFENCE. THEY'RE HOT AND I SHOULDN'T HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT HIM AS MUCH AS I DID #husband..... i don't even know what i'm doing. rambling ? headcanoning ? wip-ing ? i think headcanoning works best #husband headcanons #aeon ghoul #phantom ghoul #the band ghost #nameless ghouls

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heavyhitterheaux · 9 months

Note

One of the girls starting their period and jack is the only parent home

The triplets were supposed to be doing their homework while Jack was deciding what they would do for dinner. You were currently with Maggie and having a girls day while Jack stayed home with all the kids.

Just then he heard a blood curdling scream from upstairs which startled him and soon after he heard the voice of his oldest daughter.

"DADDY!!! HELP!!"

Jack took the steps two at a time and when he got to the top of the stairs saw Autumn holding a band-aid in her hand.

"What's the band-aid for and where's your sister?"

Autumn simply pointed to the bathroom before responding.

"She said she was bleeding but won't open the door."

"DAD! THERE'S BLOOD EVERYWHERE!"

"Where is it coming from? Did you cut yourself with something?"

"NO!"

"Ivy, bubs, I can't help if I don't know what's going on."

"I…. Umm… I need mommy for this."

Just then Jack had a realization.

"Oh fuck." He said quietly but Autumn still heard him.

"DADDY! YOU CUSSED AND I'M TELLING MOMMY!" Autumn yelled as he rolled his eyes.

"Autumn, not now!"

"Now would be a great time to call your wife who I know is my mother."

"I can handle this."

"How can you handle a period when you're a boy like Axel?"

"What I do now?" Axel asked while coming out of his bedroom.

"Nothing, Ax. Autumn being extra as usual. And Autumn obviously you can't either since you want to be handing out band-aids."

Axel simply shrugged before going back in his room.

"Well I thought it was a good idea at the time and I thought it was a cut. It's your fault that we're girls anyway. The dads determine the gender."

"Make yourself useful and go get the pads and tampons from under our sink."

"Me telling you to call mommy was me being useful. We need the expert and not the amateur."

"Are you and daddy just going to argue or help me?" Ivy said while letting out a defeated sigh.

"We're coming, Ivy. Hold on." Jack answered as Autumn did what she was told.

He then heard the front door open and Clay's voice.

"JACK!"

"UP HERE!"

Clay took the steps two at a time before he heard Ivy's voice.

"UNCLE CLAY I'M DYING AND NO ONE SEEMS TO CARE!"

"What the? What the hell is going on?" He asked while looking over at his older brother.

"She got her period and her mother is with our mother."

"Yeah, about that. I went to go check on them since neither one of them is answering their phones and both of them are drunk off their asses. All I saw was Y/N thanking her for giving birth to the best husband that she could ask for and then that led to them both crying saying how proud they were of you. So you’re on your own with this one."

"Hmm sounds about right. AUTUMN IT DOES NOT TAKE THIS LONG AND YOU BETTER NOT BE IN MY WALLET AGAIN!"

"CAN I HAVE TEN DOLLARS?" Jack heard her yell and he simply sighed.

"NO! YOU JUST GOT YOUR ALLOWANCE YESTERDAY!"

"BUT IT'S GONE!"

"SOUNDS LIKE A PERSONAL PROBLEM NOW GET BACK HERE AND BRING WHAT I ASKED YOU TO!"

"I…. It's like seeing your wife grow up all over again." Clay said before laughing while all Jack did was shake his head.

"I can't even imagine how she's going to be as a teenager."

A few hours later, Jack had finally put out the multiple fires surrounding your children when you had walked through the front door and greeted him.

"Husbandddd!"

"Oh goodness. Yes, baby? Did you have fun?" Jack asked while leaning down to kiss you.

"Yes, all we did was talk about you and Clay the entire time with the occasional mention of our children. I took a nap in your old room and slept some of it off but I definitely need another one."

"Well your oldest thought she was dying earlier."

"Why!? What's wrong with my baby?!" You asked as the two of you were now in the kitchen as you opened the fridge to find a bottle of water.

"She got her period, but I handled it. Even with the side comments from Autumn."

"So, she's okay? And you should already know Autumn and how she is." You answered while trying not to laugh.

"She's fine. Finally got her to calm down and helped her. I gave her a crash course so you might have to brush up on some things. I thought she was going to jump out the window when I told her it would happen every month."

"Not going to lie, I had the same reaction too."

"I just pray all of you don't have your cycle at the same time every month." Jack said while running through different scenarios in his head.

All the chocolate, hot chips, sprite, cupcakes, and care packages he would have to make.

"Baby? Didn't Clay tell you I was crying and drunk off my ass earlier?"

"Yes, why?"

"It's the seventh of the month."

Jack did a double take and looked at you in disbelief.

"Lord, help me."

#jack harlow #jack harlow fic #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow x black reader #jack harlow fluff #jack harlow imagine

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holycryptid · 1 year

Text

Nightcrawler

Bruce Wayne/Batman x AFAB!reader (no pronouns/gendered language).

Explicit content (18+)

Word count: 6.3k

Tags/warnings: descriptions of blood/injury, angst, allusions to sex, groping/touching, descriptions of medical treatment (suturing), fingering/pussy play, explicit language, unrequited feelings (let me know if anything was missed!).

Summary: Bruce confronts his feelings after you put him back together. Again.

Notes: wrote this all the way back in 2020 right after the first trailer came out…found it sitting in my computer files and figured i shouldn’t let it go to waste! since it was written before the movie came out, please excuse/forgive any inaccuracies regarding the batsuit, terminology, setting, and characterization (and the painfully amateur writing) 😣

The cave is always a little too frigid for your liking.

Especially when it’s already well into the late hours of the night—a time you definitely shouldn’t be awake. The long fluorescents buzz and highlight the metallic sheen of everything, while still piercing through any inch of unguarded darkness in the gloomy room.

A light breeze swirls around your huddled figure every so often, and the rhythmic sound of water continuously dripping onto floor somewhere echoes throughout the quiet, isolated space. There’s still some changes and additions that need to be made to the current set-up he has, but it does the job for now. You don’t bother taking note of what needs to get done—you’ll probably forget it all an hour from now anyway.

You let your head roll back onto the chairs headrest, and your eyes skim over the time at the bottom of one of the monitors screens.

3:43am. It’s been almost four hours—you always wait.

You wait even though he tells you not to, and even though you know you maybe shouldn’t sometimes. But you can’t help it. It’s habit at this point. You’re down here at 10pm on the dot. Daily.

You don’t need to be, but you are; it’s tradition for you to be part of his prep and routine before the nightly endeavour out into Gotham, even if you just sit and watch as he slowly works his way into the suit piece-by-piece, fiddling with various tech accessories that you don’t even know the names of yet.

You try to pass the time by organizing and sorting his skewed files, papers, and small pieces of armour that have been damaged beyond repair—meticulously placing them in their rightful spots on the seemingly never-ending line of desktops, shelves, and hidden drawers.

But mindlessly arranging anything and everything only lasts for so long before there’s nothing left to do but sit. And think. And then sit some more.

Not knowing how long you’ll be rolling around in one of the padded office chairs for is one of the prices you have to pay for caring too much, and he reprimands you for it, even as you furiously dump an entire bottle of rubbing alcohol onto his body, and he never shows that it affects him in the least.

He’s stubborn. He’s stupid.

Your eyes wander along the blank stone walls as you slouch further into the chair, stopping when you see the time again: 3:47am.

You let out a heavy breath through your nose as you repeatedly click the tip of a pen in and out. You push yourself around in slow circles with the toe of your foot, letting the spinning room distract you for just a few moments just to pass another minute at least.

This isn’t necessarily part of your job. He knows that, and you definitely know that. A lot of things have changed with your workplace duties, clearly, as you notice some earlier pieces of his armour piled in one corner of the room.

Unsurprisingly, things have…happened here and there. It’s becoming a more common occurrence, but it feels circumstantial and…convenient. Maybe it’s all meant to happen at this point. You think about it often enough—too often. Enough to make things awkward for yourself sometimes.

Another anxious glance at the leering clock: 3:51am. “This is fucking ridiculous,” you reason with yourself, getting up from the chair and tossing the pen on the desk.

You resort to pacing around the grand floor space, now closely watching the entrance and exit as you circle by. All you can do is wait—

And just as you turn your back to the computer displays and monitors, the clocks turn to 3:59am.

You cut back sharply to begin another circle, and there he is. Four hours later. Alive.

The broad shadow makes your heart stop for a split second, but the only physical reaction you have is your knees locking, keeping you in place and giving you no choice but to stare at the familiar, broad outline of him.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Bruce.” It slips out, a little rushed and aggressive, but you mean it. He knows you well enough to not take any literal offence from it.

Your harsh acknowledgement prompts him to walk in further.

“Yeah, you said that last time,” he points out casually, sauntering into the blinding lights with calm steps, coming around to the front of the desks.

You observe his gait with a hard stare—you take notice of how he hesitantly bends and twists at the hip when he leans back to rest against the edge of the metal desk, rolling his head back until his neck pops with a relieved grunt.

He’s already got the cowl, cape, and gloves off, so whatever the problem is, it must be worse than what he’s playing off, as usual.

And then you see the issue. “Do you need help with that?” You point at his stomach and drop back into the chair, deflating with concern.

Your alert eyes study the suit, looking at the damage.

“With what?” he counters, seeming unaware—avoiding; yet his dark eyes confidently meet yours as he rests back on his hands, trying to find some comfort and seem unbothered by whatever desperately needs your attention underneath the sturdy armour.

A very thin layer of blood has seeped through a small displacement in the suits plating, soaking into the tri-weave fibers that cover the titanium. You roll your eyes and scoot back to a shelf where a med-kit sits, one that you put together specifically for nights like these, which is every night.

Positioning yourself back in front of him, the chair brings you to the perfect height to get a good look at the impairment. You can already tell it’s a knife wound just by the location. It’s at the perfect height. It cut perfectly in-between the overlapped layers of plating, perhaps the biggest flaw the suit has. You’re sure he’s aware of that now.

You inspect it briefly, tugging up on the bent piece slightly to see the amount of blood beneath. He takes a deep breath as the dense pressure is relieved from the tender area.

“Shit—” he breathes in relief. You’ve only heard that clipped tone slip out of his mouth on very few occasions, one of which was barely a week ago, yet you still tense at the vivid memory that you never really want to let go of.

He��s not one for reminiscing, but unfortunately, you are.

“It’ll only be a few stitches,” you say gently, letting the plate mold back into place softly. You tap the hard armour pointedly. “Take it off.”

You flick your eyes up to his—the black paint has smeared around just a bit more compared to when he smudged it on with no real technique earlier.

You’ll help him get it off later.

He brings a quick hand through his damp hair and starts unclipping the few clasps hidden on his shoulders and chest. One by one, the durable pieces are detached, and you carefully place them off to your right as he hands them over.

“Can you get the one in the back?” He motions over his shoulder. You nod and mumble a thoughtful ‘mhm’ as you both push yourself onto your feet again.

He turns his back to you, leaning forward on his palms and presenting the last clasp that sits in the middle of his spine. You know he can reach it, you’ve seen him do it before. You flick the clip, carefully pulling away the last plate. He physically relaxes his already tense muscles as soon as the extra weight is removed.

“I don’t know why you do this every night. It’s not worth it,” you confess while rummaging through the med-kit for a needle, surgical thread, topical antiseptic, a gauze pad, and a self-adherent bandage wrap to hopefully hold it all together.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment as you carefully lay out the supplies next to him on the desk.

“I have to…” he whispers, trailing off, but you catch it, shaking your head as you thread and ready the needle with severe concentration.

“Turn around, please.” He shifts back to where he originally was without a word, leaning back against the cool steel with hesitation once again.

You grab the bottle of antiseptic and apply a generous amount onto the pad, delicately holding it as you take a seat in front of him once again.

“Are you sure you wanna stand for this?” you grimace. The hot sting of a sterile compress isn’t the most enjoyable sensation to experience, especially while bearing weight.

He looks down at you, looking rather uninvolved with the priority. Dazed and distracted; something that could be mistaken for the potential amount blood loss, but the gash isn’t big enough for that possibility.

This is something you’ve seen more often than you’d like to.

“Just get it done,” he starts, “You know I can handle it.” He dismisses the option, letting his head roll back with a deep inhale as he waits for you to start.

You say nothing in return. Carefully balancing the compress in one hand, your other cautiously pinches the soft, spandex material of his base-layer shirt. It fits comfortably, hugging tightly around the curvature and muscle of his body, improving his movement in the suit.

The shirt is slowly pulled away from his stomach. The thick blood sticks around the tear in the fabric, making it peel away instead. You drag it halfway over the rest of his lower abdomen, pulling and letting it bunch up tightly, staying isolated from the torn skin below.

You stare at the ugly cut for barely a second before you quickly dab the antiseptic around, patting it into the irritated, puffy flesh and watching it fizzle with each pull back.

Sometimes, you feel like he likes the pain. Like he purposefully seeks out the discomfort of an incapacitating injury in hopes of suppressing the turmoil of concern…worry…love…

It gives him something else to focus on instead of the sorrowful emotions that avoiding you doesn’t seem to fix. It’s only been making it worse, and things are beyond saving now.

Your free hand gently rests against the burning skin of his waist, and his head drops forward at the surprising contact.

“Calm down. It keeps me steady,” you chuckle, shaking your head lightly.

He hums thoughtlessly in response, unconvinced with your excuse, maybe.

There’s that sudden anxious tension in the room from nothing but a fleeting graze of fingertips. The uncertainty of who’s going to make the first move this time.

You do one more press and then pull the soaked pad away, examining your progress before discarding the bloody material.

“It might only be four sutures or so,” you determine while gently squeezing the inflamed edges closer together to try and gauge the amount of work needed.

He inhales sharply, tightly gripping the rim of the desktop. “Well, the faster you stitch it, the faster I’ll be able to—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence.” You cut him off with a harsh but accidental hard squeeze of the torn flesh, making his words die in his throat with a groan.

That wasn’t something you really needed to hear right now, let alone think about as if he wasn’t just bleeding out in front of you only minutes ago.

You know how that sentence ends; you’ve heard him say it more times than you’d like to admit, but you can’t let him have his way tonight.

You glare at each other for a moment. Your eyes hold a tired frustration behind them, but his hold a different kind…something that is able to get you to do whatever he says, something that makes you giddy with anticipation, and something that makes you feel just a little more alienated afterwards.

“You can’t lie to yourself anymore,” he says instead.

You laugh coldly. “Well, neither can you. I’ve stopped doing that a long time ago. You should try it sometime,” you counter, snatching the threaded needle with anger while maintaining your unimpressed gaze.

He sighs, messing with his drying hair again as you begin suturing quickly—not so you can get to what he was alluding to, but the opposite.

For once, you don’t want that, and you don’t want the burden of sadness that comes with it.

But it’s so…tempting.

He gave himself away. You haven’t. And of course he’s leaning against the very spot you were pinned down against a week ago, feeling the contrast to the emotions you’re feeling now: excitement, passion, comfort, love—

It puts you into a conscious daydream for a moment. But you’re awoken from it when you feel his body jolt suddenly. You see the needle poking into the tough muscle of his side instead of the spongey cut.

“Shit— sorry,” you mumble, shifting your focus back to the final suture and looping it through itself securely in a rush.

Seven stitches in total, you notice. You were close.

You grab the bandage wrap and press it firmly over the closed wound before snaking it around his back. You’re able to get two layers from it; the pressure should stop any possible bleeding, but he always manages to tear it open anyway. Sometimes you think he does it on purpose just so he has a good excuse to see you.

“Done,” you sigh, packing up the med-kit and rolling back to its shelf.

You stand from the chair and go to make your way to the exit without another word, not interested in any other interaction tonight. Well, that’s what you hope for, but you’ve learned that he will never let you go peacefully.

You go to pass by him mindlessly as he’s carefully pulling his shirt back down, but he manages to grab ahold of your sleeve quickly when he sees your destination. The effortless pull makes you skid to a stop, twisting back towards him with your inverted momentum, almost smashing your face in his chest, but you stop yourself with your forearm.

He holds onto you tightly, with a purpose, as you share a moment of mutual hurt and resentment. His dark eyes, the opaque paint making them look just as black in the hazy lighting, search your conflicted ones desperately.

“If I asked you to stay, would you?” he asks quietly. There’s no demand behind it, seemingly afraid it’ll scare you away.

His face softens, perhaps relief from asking. He’s never had to before.

You furrow your brows together in shock, dumbfounded at his apparent stupidity in this continuous situation. You scoff lightly at his rather domestic request. “Why? So we can just dance around the truth like always?” Your voice never raises in volume, but your tone gets harsher as you continue.

“So I can hope that maybe you’ll come to your senses and fucking realize that I lo—”

The hand he had wrapped around your arm moves to the back of your neck before you can even say the word or finish your passionate rant. He promptly pulls you right to him, his deft lips quickly doing the much-needed apologizing in that moment.

It’s feverish and assertive, seeming out of place in the cloud of desolation and melancholia…yet you don’t stop him. You don’t want to.

He knows you’ve needed this. Not the rushed, messy, convoluted kisses that come from your desperate fucking after a hard night or a close call, the ones that seem to happen almost by accident, by pure circumstance. There’s just always something missing…

Fervour. That’s what you feel now—that’s what you’ve wanted from him every single time he took control of you with ease for the night. You’re never able to make it back up to the manor either.

You shudder slightly when his hand moves to your jaw, gripping it firmly as he slides his mouth against yours consumingly, sucking your lips gently and teasing your tongue with his cautiously. You moan when he deepens the kiss further, letting his tongue fully overlap yours with a practiced versatility. It subdues you, inviting him to give and take as he pleases.

Several whimpers fall against his lips as you stretch onto your toes to meet his height as best as you can, trying to get more even though he’s already giving you plenty. It’s pensive. Each movement thought out and executed with a purpose, something that you can feel has a very clear destination in his mind.

You let him maintain authority, let him kiss you with a force that could bruise if he didn’t soothe the pressure with his soft tongue occasionally, dipping it back into your mouth quickly after. Your taste seems insatiable to his starved soul.

It all draws you in further, and your hands find themselves grasping at his shoulders instinctually when a forceful hand snakes through your hair to gain better control of you.

Your mouth feels a little numb and swollen from the welcome force, and he pulls away hesitantly when he feels your soft touch finally rest at his collar delicately. He barely lets more than an inch get between your lips, and you can feel the reluctancy in his movements as he pulls back.

You open your eyes slowly and see his sombre expression—more sombre than usual. The sorrow in his eyes and the agony on his brow is enough to force you to speak up first.

“I wish you told me months ago,” you whisper, lightly resting your forehead against his own as you wrap your arms around his neck, confident that he won’t pull away like he has before.

He looks longingly into your forgiving eyes, taking his hands and sliding them down to your hips in solace; an abrupt switch from from their dominant spot around your face. You understand the conflicts he has to live with. Most of them are caused by his vigilant habits in the night, yet you expected everything outside of that to still be easy for him.

Unfortunately, trauma picks and chooses its victims at random.

You find yourself looking for words. Maybe for the moment you realized he was different, when he changed.

“I wish it wasn’t so hard for you, Bruce.” You try to comfort him, provide some ease for his always anxious mind.

He squeezes your hip, silently reassuring you that it’ll be fine, that it won’t kill him.

“I wish it wasn’t so hard for you,” he retorts in an indignant tone, irritated with himself.

He regrets all of it. Most of all, he regrets making you feel unloved. The nights where he used you as a release, when he would act like nothing happened, when he would unconsciously ignore you, and when he ultimately closed himself off in the end.

“It wasn’t fair. It was…selfish,” he finishes forcefully, taking a quick breath to regain some composure.

“I just don’t want you to be part of that life,” he admits tentatively.

You can see he’s telling the truth. The way he doesn’t meet your gaze again. He does it to avoid the confrontation that comes with honesty.

You pause to take in his confession, closing your eyes for a moment with relief, but his tone is like a bullet to the heart. The dejected feeling of you possibly not wanting to be here with him in this moment.

“‘That life’?…You mean your life?” you reason, sounding surprised with his absurd claim.

You’d think that having done this religiously with him for a year would make him think otherwise, regardless of your acts together. You always showed up no matter the circumstances or emotions.

He pushes against your hips lightly, making some space between your bodies, and you shuffle back without hesitation. You let your arms fall away from his shoulders, and he does the same as you distance yourself.

“My life is your life,” he explains. “What happens to me affects you, why can’t you see that?” His face falls slightly. The realization of you not knowing you’re significant enough to be considered part of his life is…heartbreaking.

There’s so much you could say to that.

You let the silence linger briefly. “Maybe I’d be able to see that if you weren’t afraid to be in the same room as me,” you say, voice quiet as you test your reasoning.

You don’t want to start a fight. You just want to understand. You want to know why.

You notice how he hesitates when around you, and not in a flattering or complimentary way. It’s avoidant, scared, and even worried. Worry of confrontation.

He takes a deep breath and wraps his arms around his stomach in comfort, carefully avoiding the fresh bandage.

“I…I’m not…scared. I’m—” Batman doesn’t get scared from feelings, but maybe Bruce Wayne does.

“You’re unsure,” you finish for him. His eyes meet yours with a sense of hope that you’re understanding.

“I just…don’t know how to go about…all of this,” he motions between you with a flick of his hand.

All of this…meaning—

“Love?” you try, making it more of a rhetorical question.

He presses his lips together in surprise before offering a firm nod. He doesn’t trust himself to say it. It’s hard to wrap your head around. It couldn’t just be that, it had to be something more problematic? Complicated?

But yet, it all makes sense because he’s him—he doesn’t necessarily do romance; there’s no time. You know that. You’ve seen how he is, nothing but a fleeting moment in the night to most, even to you.

It all clicks, and you rub your face in relief and exasperation. You can’t blame him for it all. You can for some, of course, but a relationship needs communication from both. It can’t be a one-person effort, but that’s what it ended up being.

He was just trying to protect you. That’s all someone can really ask for, but the execution wasn’t right. He abandoned you emotionally to protect you physically, and that’s not the right balance.

“Why didn’t you just tell me the truth at the beginning? So I wouldn’t spend all this time thinking I was doing something wrong,” you pleaded, stepping closer to him again to pull an answer from his huddled form.

The closer you get, the higher you have to tilt your head to hold his gaze.

He looks right back, overwhelmed. “I didn’t know how to say it…I didn’t know if you felt that way. When I realized you did, I thought it was just…too late,” he admits, stuttering briefly at the end.

It was clearly hard for him, too. But was it not apparent that you were waiting? For him. For anything.

You look down, nodding your head in understanding. “I don’t think I could’ve made it any more obvious, but lust can be confused for love, so I understand.” You were serious, but some sarcasm slipped through at the end.

Lust is deadly; it will bait you, hook you, and then drag you under it’s pleasurable and irresistible cloud of euphoria, disguised as the domineering man in front of you.

“At least you know now,” he says, matching your tone.

He straightens his posture and locks his cold stare onto yours momentarily, searching for something he still can’t seem to find.

Giving up, he turns to collect each piece of armour you set aside, and he busy’s himself with meticulously putting it back in its rightful spot for tomorrow.

You watch him with surprise, but there’s no anger at his dismissal. You feel relieved. Relieved that you know. You don’t expect things to be normal right away, not with him.

You know he’ll come around, but you can’t help but ask a prying question just to entertain your already validated thoughts. And to keep him talking. There’s still so much you want to know.

“So…” you start lightly. “You said you weren’t sure if I was interested at the beginning,” you say carefully.

He stops moving the instant he hears the curiosity in your tone. He turns back to you slowly, an amused expression on his face. Shit—

You hesitate when you catch his look, but continue cooly. “So, if you didn’t know…then why did you keep, uh…” You lose your words, too afraid to be so blunt and direct about your past endeavours.

It seems taboo to discuss it while not in the moment itself. Sometimes you wonder if it’s just a dream. Too good to be true.

He raises his brows knowingly as you trail off, entertained with your hesitation and embarrassment.

“Why did you— why did we continue…”

“Fucking?” he finishes for you bluntly, a small smile playing on his lips, yet it’s devoid of genuine humour. It screams danger.

He chuckles when you nod your head wordlessly. “Like you said, lust is confusing. You can never seem to get enough, and I don’t think I wanted to.” He pulls the sleeves of his tight-fitting shirt over his forearms, watching you carefully as you consider his words.

His tone was suddenly light, confident. He could feel that you were walking the fine line of giving in or leaving without another word.

“I’m not trying to persuade you into doing anything, if that’s what you’re thinking about,” he clarifies softly when he sees your eyes dance across the floor rapidly.

You laugh lightly, glancing at him reluctantly. “I’m not, but you wouldn’t have to, anyway,”

That makes him narrow his gaze in question.

You raise a brow in response. “What?”

He glances over his shoulder at a monitor, very obviously reading the time: 4:29am.

And you realize exactly what he’s doing. Why would time matter unless you were to suddenly become busy. Tonight was on the shorter end of time spent putting him back together, and you never fall asleep quickly or peacefully anyway…that’s if you were to attempt it or even make it that far.

You watch him speculatively, still mindful that he’s injured, and probably very, very sleep deprived at this point, even though you can never say for sure.

He doesn’t sleep much. You seem to be his biggest distraction.

He twists a dry strand of hair between his fingers as it’s brushed back from his face, black eyes full of self-assurance as he turns to you for what will be the last time tonight.

“You think we can make it back to the manor?” His relaxed yet serious tone startles you, making you consider the options quickly.

Hard and cold floor, small and cold desktop, small rolling chair—none are ideal, but you’ve made all work before…when he didn’t offer another option, mind you. It was never momentous enough to have taken place outside of the cave. But the manor is…farther. There’s a buffer you don’t think will be beneficial.

Who fucking cares—

“Here seems to work just fine,” you quip nervously. You haven’t taken notice of how your legs have gotten…shaky.

There’s a burning heat between your thighs, an ache that blazes bright from anticipation and just him. Just knowing what’s to come. It feels like you’ve done everything imaginable at this point, but that doesn’t lessen your excitement.

He gives a small smirk that fades just as fast. “Figured you’d say that,” he finalizes.

Stepping back to you with graceful movements, you’re chest-to-chest again in an instant. He glides a delicate finger up your neck, hooking it under your chin and tilting your gaze to his intimidating one.

“Tell me what you want.”

You desperately want to say ‘anything’, but you know he won’t settle for that.

You get lost in your thoughts, thinking of the possibilities you can choose from, and he waits for your answer patiently.

“A week ago…when you came back with a torn rotator cuff in y-your shoulder—” you stumble through the sentence but never break from his studious eyes.

“You, uh, didn’t pay any mind to it even though you definitely should’ve, and you had me down against the desk,” your voice turns to a whisper as you recount the events—as vague as possible to save you the embarrassment of being too vulgar in, perhaps, an irreplaceable moment.

As soon as you finish, you swear you see a flame flicker in his eyes. The same one you feel grow stronger in your cunt at the same time. Your knees almost buckle from anticipation, and he can only make it worse from here.

“That’s…a good choice, even though it was kind of impersonal,” he ponders, clearly running through the events of that night.

He’s not wrong. He kept your chest pinned tightly to the surface of the frigid desk, taking you from behind. No hand-holding, no kissing, no eye-contact, no nothing.

You went on to figure that it was better—easier for him that way. You never seemed to mind anyway.

“That’s nothing I can’t fix,” he mutters, finishing the thought; already set on an alternative for both of you.

Your brows pinch together, curious of what he means exactly. But you don’t have much time to think about it.

His hands quickly curve around your jaw, keeping you still as he swiftly interlocks your deprived lips again. It’s zealous and luring, pulling you even further under the crashing wave of temptation and craving.

The soft joining of your mouths makes your stomach jump with exhilaration and eagerness, clawing your hands into his hair with a gasp of bliss as he grabs your waist just as hard in response. You let out a soft sigh of relief, feeling brave enough to gently bite at his bottom lip as his warm, encompassing hands slide under your shirt.

He barely lets you break for air, delving back into your mouth just as fast as he left it to reposition. The intensity of the heavenly moment builds its tempo, and you find yourself pushing against his chest. Not to pull away, but to try and push him towards the cold, awaiting desk behind his wide shoulders.

You manage to get a single word out in between the consuming and now sloppy kisses he offers. “Bruce—”

He hums contently as he swallows your thoughts, connecting your tingling lips forcibly. He’s too fixated on the passion. He wants it to last forever, but there are more demanding impulses that will be tended to first.

“Bruce,” you gasp when you break apart again reluctantly. He notices the calm assertion in your voice, and only slows the onslaught of kisses enough to reply.

“I know,” he soothes your neediness, now delicately pressing his greedy lips to yours repeatedly in understanding. The heartfelt action controlled by nothing but spirited lust.

His hands glide back up to your jaw, cradling your face in comfort as you twirl the long strands of hair at his neck between your fingers. Heavy breaths cloud your already tangled thoughts, leaving him to take the lead again.

He gives you one last intense taste of him, stroking his tongue teasingly over yours, firmly capturing your lips together in the process with a pleased moan. You’re almost chest-to-chest, a minute sliver of space keeping your bodies just distanced enough to not completely lose what little control both of you have left.

He’s taken note of how tight your thighs have been pressed together, and how your breaths are becoming shaky with each passing second he uses to dominate your mouth.

You’ve taken note of how his tactical pants, in fact, can’t hide his very prominent arousal for you, and how you can feel the warmth finally releasing from his exerted and thoroughly worked muscles. The heat seeps through his shirt and goes directly to your body, making you shudder when you feel the change in temperature.

You draw in a breath when he finally pulls away. His obsidian eyes wild with excitement and dominion. You’ve seen this look a lot, and you’re ready to hop on the desk without another word.

He floats his eyes down your body observationally, but you don’t notice. All of this is a lot slower than you’re used to. Well-paced. If it were any other night, you’d be on round two by now at least. You’d be whining with pleasure, shaking from release and overstimulation, dripping around his cock as he buries himself as deep as your cunt will allow, over and over until he simply feels better.

He was always generous with what he gave you.

You press a hand against his chest again, and he moves this time. Taking a long stride back, he tries to conceal an amused smile as you push him toward the desk. Your eyes light up when you see the knowing and teasing look on his face.

A quiet laugh rumbles against your hand. “This isn’t how it usually goes…” He smiles lightly.

You smile with him. “I never said it’s gonna stay this way,” you challenge, your eyes twinkling with mischief.

You never take charge. You never dominate. He’s more well-versed with it, and you won’t dare to try to match his competence.

The backs of his thighs bump the rounded edge of the desk, and your stomach jumps with elation when his index finger instantly hooks into the waistband of your pants, pulling you just a little closer.

But he leaves it there. He slides it side-to-side along the hem, gently caressing the sensitive skin of your lower stomach playfully. You look into his eyes as he casually continues the slow motions.

Your eyes flick down to his hand instinctually, out of pure reflex, and you watch his finger disappear further as he smoothly twists his wrist, palm resting against your lower stomach momentarily before his shoulder shifts too…angling his hand to travel down.

His fingers graze lower, creeping to a spot that so easily welcomes him.

One of your hands grabs onto his shoulder, simultaneously steadying yourself with a gasp as you bring your faces closer again. He gives a fleeting, comforting kiss, not leaving much behind.

His towering height makes it easier for his hand to reach its destination all too quickly. And when a careful and precise finger slips in-between your folds, your eyes close in anticipation and with the thought of relief.

Your minor reaction makes him smirk. Thankfully, for him, you don’t see it.

It’s sad just how wet you already are, but it spurs him on. He let’s his fingers explore, alternating between rubbing you and slipping a single digit inside, only doing so to gather your arousal to rub across your clit smoothly.

A quiet moan gets caught in your throat as he repeats that process a few times, building you up and teasing you onto the edge continuously.

“Mm— please, f-fuck—” you whimper, fisting the shirt in your grip on his shoulder.

You don’t need to finish that sentence for him to know exactly what you mean. He needs it, too. His tactical pants have become increasingly uncomfortable.

Your plea makes him apply more pressure to the slow strokes he gives your throbbing cunt. You all but drip onto the two fingers that glide over your aching clit and back to your slick entrance, occasionally giving you what you want.

He pulls them slowly in and out of you, making sure you feel them nice and deep before he drags them against something that makes you pant with desperation. Your eyes remain shut, brows pulled together tightly as you focus on the sensation of his intent touches, but he watches your face appreciatively, analyzing your pleasure with each movement he makes.

A particularly harder jolt of his fingers up into you makes you choke, caught between a gasp and a whiny moan. That makes his eyes drop to where his hand disappears.

He hums in satisfaction. “Is that the spot?” he questions with a mocking tone, knowing full well what the answer would be. “I think it is…”

You nod your head quickly, eyes reopening ever so slowly to meet his.

His eyes are full with devilish aspirations, and your knees almost give out when he roughly thrusts his fingers back in again for a final time. You let out a small cry of bliss and dissatisfaction when he slips them out of you, wiping them off on his pants carelessly.

You were decently wet before, and you are definitely abundantly wet now.

“I think you need to lie down.” He sounds concerned, but you know it’s just for show to make your heart pound harder.

He takes your hand from his shoulder, holding it securely as he shuffles your bodies around, putting you in his place and himself in yours. Now your thighs rest against the desk, and he crowds you against it.

“Lift your arms,” he says cooly, observing your dazed expression with care.

You raise them, and he pinches the hem of your shirt, delicately dragging it up your torso and over your head with caution. He tosses it on the chair off to the side.

Your eyes catch the mangled slash at the bottom of his shirt again, and you quickly reach for the thin material.

He doesn’t question your intentions, letting you maneuver the thin fabric over the bandage, his chest, and extend onto your toes to pull it over his shoulders. He peels it from his arms, and your hands can’t help but wander across the firm muscles that stretch around his entire body.

The power he holds within him—the Batman—is unparalleled to anything you’ve ever seen. It was terrifying. It was unbelievable, the things you’ve seen his body do. And he would continue to push his limits.

#batman x reader #the batman x reader #battinson x reader #battinson x you #batman x you #batman imagines #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne imagines #robert pattinson x reader #the batman (2022)#bruce wayne #the batman #bruce wayne imagine #batman imagine #battinson imagines #long post #long fic

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justagalwhowrites · 10 months

Text

Beskar Doll - Ch. 26: Making a Capture

Patience - and spy skills - pay off on Hosnian Prime. A continuation of Beskar Doll Ch. 1-25 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Female Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI, 18+ only

Length: 2.9K

The next day was much of the same. You watched diligently out the window as people went about their lives on the streets below, fighting the urge to play with the cooing, babbling baby that was only a few feet from you.

You were starting to think you weren’t going to get anywhere with this when a young man - he couldn’t have been more than 30 - looked a bit cagey as he knocked on the door. It opened for him and he went inside.

“Mando,” you said, keeping the binocs to your eyes. “Can you see the door from here with the helmet?”

“Get something?” He asked, coming in close beside you. So close that his arm was pressed against yours. It took you a moment to remember what it is you were saying.

“Young guy just went inside,” you said. “Don’t think it was the quarry but…”

“But?” He asked after you were quiet for a moment.

“But I think he’s one of his buddies,” you replied, still watching the door. “It’s been a few years but he’s definitely familiar.”

Din tensed beside you.

“No, you can’t kill him.”

The man came out a few minutes later, still looking around cautiously.

“Not our guy,” Din confirmed. “But he’s the right age.”

“Can you track him from here?” You asked, keeping an eye on where he was going until he was out of sight.

“Tagged him,” he confirmed. You lowered the binocs. “What’s next.”

“We follow.”

Din stashed the kid - who was half asleep already - in his bag and put him on his back this time, closing him in totally as you scrambled to gather the few things that had made their way out of your bag.

You were rushing, going down a street parallel to the one the man had gone down, hoping he hadn’t turned.

“I’ve got him tracked, Doll,” Din said, voice steady. “Remember your resources.”

“I might need to ditch you though,” you said, starting to cut over to the other street. “You’re too noticeable.”

“No,” he said sharply. “Safety risk.”

You ground your teeth but kept going, stopping at the corner of a building and scanning the crowd as the lights of the storefronts around you turned on. The man passed you, not noticing you lurking. You smiled, giving him some time to get ahead of you a bit before slipping into the people behind him, Din at your heels.

He made his way through part of the city, you and the Mandalorian trailing him for a full hour. You’d sometimes grab Din and pull him into a shadow before falling into another cluster of people, trying to find other men who were at least close to the same height as Mando as you went. It didn’t help that he had a tendency to be a few inches taller than even the tallest people in a crowd. The man hadn’t seemed to notice the wall of armor stalking him, however. You almost scoffed. What a fucking amateur. You noticed him shift how he was moving before the Mandalorian did, quickly grabbing Din and pulling him to the side, tucking him fully into the shadows as you watched the man go into a building, apartments from the look of it.

“What next,” Din asked without asking, your hand still against his chest as you looked out on the street around you.

“Want to see all the ways in and out,” you said. “Then see if we can find a place where I can watch them all.” You looked back to him. “Can you stay put for just five minutes? I’d rather a Mandalorian not be seen prowling around outside the place. I promise I won’t go far.”

He considered it for a moment.

“Fine,” he said. “But com link on.”

You rolled your eyes but obeyed, flipping the link on with dramatic flair. You could feel him glare at you.

“What, you’re paranoid.”

“No,” he replied. “I’m experienced. Five minutes, Doll, then I find you.”

You glared at him for a second but started out. You tried to look unobtrusive, though you highly doubted the man you’d been following was looking for you. He hadn’t noticed you following him before, he wouldn’t notice you now.

In a happy bit of luck, the building only had two exits and a few units. Judging from the timing of lights coming on in the corner unit on the third floor up, that’s where he was. At least you doubted he’d be sneaking anyone in and out through windows. You made your way back to the Mandalorian.

“Where to.”

“Haven’t quite figured that out yet,” you replied, looking around you. Mando watched you, leaning against the wall. After a moment, you sighed. “What?”

“Nothing,” he shrugged. “Your hunt.”

“You want to say something.”

“If you want help you have to ask for it,” he replied.

“You know, this is a lot easier when it’s just me and not two meters of beskar just hanging out in the background,” you glared at him. He laughed once.

“Figure it out or ask, Doll.”

You glared at him for a moment before looking back to the building. The apartment across from the man’s lights were off.

“Stay put,” you ordered him. “Five minutes.” You turned to leave and then looked back. “Maybe 10.”

“Don’t push it.”

You went back to the building and tried the door, but it needed a code. There was a panel next to the door with unit numbers. You loosened yourself up for a moment before buzzing a unit that you were pretty sure had a light on and didn’t have the quarry’s suspected friend.

“Yes?”

“Hi, I’sorry,” you slurred, leaning against the wall beside the panel like you could barely hold yourself up. “I jus’ moved in and I can’t ‘member the code, would you mind letting me in?”

The man on the other end sighed.

“Don’t make a lot of noise.”

The door slid open.

“Thanks s’much!” You stumbled to the door. “I’mma buy you a beer…”

You didn’t wait for a response, finding your way to the lift and heading to the third floor, keeping up the drunk act. You stumbled your way to the unit you hoped was empty. There was no indication of anyone living there from the outside, so you took a guess at the key code - just four zeros, simple for people coming by to look at the place. The door slid open. Totally empty. You ducked inside and quickly closed and locked the door behind you, changing the code and bringing up the camera from the other side of the door on the panel. Perfect.

“Found a spot, Mando,” you smirked into your com link, couldn’t help it. “Go to the entrance, press the button for 3B and I’ll let you in.”

There was a pause.

“How did you do that.”

“Amazing what people will do for you if they don’t think you’re a threat,” you replied. “Much easier without all the armor…”

There was an almost exasperated sigh.

“On our way.”

If secrecy hadn’t been paramount, you’d have made him wait longer at the door of the building but, instead, you let him up and inside immediately, closing the door behind him.

“Good job, Doll,” he said, sounding frustrated about it. You smiled.

“I’ll watch the panel,” you said. “Should see him come and go from there. Feel free to nap.”

You could feel him glare at you.

“What?” You were trying not to laugh.

“You’re doing this like a spy,” he said.

“So?”

“It’s working.”

You smirked.

You watched the panel overnight, having a hard time keeping your eyes open but pushing through. When you’d trained, you’d stayed awake for three solid days once. Yes, you were a teenager then, back when sleep seemed like a choice more than a necessity. But you could do that again.

It was easier said than done now, though, and you had to focus to keep your eyes from crossing. You weren’t entirely sure how long you’d been sitting there when Din came and sat beside you, resting his back against the same wall as you.

“You should sleep,” you said, not looking at him, keeping your eyes on the panel showing the empty hallway.

“Don’t need it,” he said.

“Kid still out?” You glanced at him this time, picturing how his body looked below his armor in spite of yourself. He gave a stiff nod and you looked back at the panel.

“Bored yet?”

You laughed a little.

“I did think bounty hunting would be a bit more exciting,” you replied.

“Can be,” he shrugged. “Sometimes it’s this. Thought you’d be used to it with spying.”

“When you’re spying, the information is the goal, not the person,” you replied. “Can’t get away with watching from a distance for long, you have to be closer than this. At least, with the kind of work I did, anyway.”

Din was silent for a moment.

“Just how…” he paused. “Close did you get.” You frowned, confused. “To the people you were spying on. Did you have to…”

You frowned, actually turning your head to look at him this time.

“Din, are you asking me if I fucked the people I was getting information out of?” You half smiled. He didn’t say anything. You looked forward again. “No, never had to fuck information out of anyone. Definitely flirted it out of a fair few people but that was usually plenty to get them alone to capture them. Or get me closer to the person who needed interrogating.” The hallway was still empty.

He was quiet beside you.

“Why?” You asked eventually, staring at the monitor in the panel. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him and have this conversation.

“I just… don’t know anything about that aspect of your life,” he said, voice hesitant.

“The interrogation work or my sex life?” You teased. You felt him glare at you and you sighed. “Yeah, I know. You’ve seen some of the interrogation work.”

You were quiet for a minute.

“I mean, do you really want to know?” You asked, glancing at him. “I don’t know anything about yours, either.”

He shrugged.

“Not much to know,” he said. “Usually just a physical release when there’s a woman who’s interested.”

You nodded slowly, a sharp pain gnawing at your stomach. Well, you were a woman who was interested. Probably why he said he wanted you to stay. You were convenient. You could live with that. Better than any other option you’d had in years, in all honesty. You fidgeted with the seam of your pants near your knee and chewed the inside of your cheek.

“Not much to know for me, either,” you said, pulling harder at the seam. “Dagres was my first everything. And I was married to Kann, so…” `

“No one else?” He asked after a moment.

“I was a little busy trying to keep my best friend alive and then try to lay low enough that the Empire thinks I’m dead,” you didn’t mean to sound harsh but you did. You sighed. “But no. No one else until… well…”

You shrugged.

“Doll, I…” he began, but you cut him off.

“Really, it’s fine,” you said quickly. “I don’t want your pity, Din.”

There was a move on the monitor and you both focused on it, watching as the man emerged, looking around hesitantly before going down the hall.

“What time is it?” You whispered.

“Almost three,” he was just as quiet. You nodded once. “Grab the kid?”

You got up and reprogrammed the lock to all zeros again, like you were never here, and waited until you were sure he’d made it onto the lift before going into the hall.

You took the stairs down and watched him leave the building from the stairwell, following about 10 meters back. He went into a bar about two clicks away and you stayed in the shadows outside, watching from across the street.

“This is weird, right?” You asked, glancing up at Mando. “He was home, leaves in the middle of the night to go to a bar…”

“Good for meeting someone who doesn’t want to be seen,” he replied.

You weren’t waiting long when someone who - from behind, at least - looked like he could be your quarry.

“Think that’s him?” You asked, looking at the door he’d just disappeared into.

“Try the tracker,” he replied. “If it’s him, he’s close enough that it should work.”

You nodded once, pulling it out of your bag, pointing it toward the bar and flipping it on. It beeped and flashed. You glanced at Mando. He nodded once.

“Good work, Doll,” he said. “That’s him. How do you want to handle capture?”

You thought for a second, pocketing the tracker.

“We go in separately, me first,” you replied, meeting his eyes below the helmet. “I’ll see if I can get him outside. If I’m not out in five or you hear a commotion then you come in as backup.”

“You’ve got the com,” he said. You nodded once. He sighed. “Keep it on. I’ll go silent, at least then I can step in sooner if there’s a problem.”

“It’s going to be fine,” you rolled your eyes. “I’m armed and it’s probably not going to be four against one this time….”

“Doll,” he growled. “Safety. Com on.”

You pulled the com link from your pocket, made a show of flicking it on, and then put it back.

“Thank you,” he replied. “See you in five.”

You steeled yourself and headed for the bar.

It was quiet inside, only a handful of patrons left. Chellen and his friend were sitting at the bar, talking quietly to each other. You took a spot a few seats down from them, turning your head enough that they couldn’t see much of your face but sitting so they would see your figure. And the electrostaff strapped to your belt.

It didn’t take long for him to do exactly what you expected.

“Nice weapon,” he said, sliding up beside you. “Don’t see many of those around here.”

“I know,” you turned to face him, smiling. “I took this one a few years back, figured it was due for a visit.”

His eyes went wide and he stepped back from you.

“No…” he shook his head, looking over his shoulder to the man you’d spent the last day tailing.

“Didn’t I tell you to behave yourself?” You slipped off the barstool, one hand drifting down toward your blaster, the other setting the puck on the bar, the man’s face rendered in holographic light. “You ignored me, Chellen. I told you what would happen if you didn’t listen. Now, I’ve come to collect.”

The other man ran for the door and you let him go. You were pretty certain it was his vibroknife that had burned on Dantooine. He was hardly worth the trouble. The quarry’s eyes were wide and wild, weighing his options as you prowled closer, a hand close to your blaster. He decided to risk it, but he was slow, his blaster not even fully freed of its holster when your shot landed on his shoulder. You holstered your blaster again. The bar went silent beyond the man’s shout of pain.

“Guild business,” you said, still watching him, his weapon abandoned on the floor. “No need to be concerned.”

Chellen, to his credit, was still on his feet, a hand clutched to his injured shoulder as he looked for a way out.

“Running is a stupid move,” you warned him. “You’re worth more to me alive and I could use the credits. Make it easy on yourself.”

He ignored your advice, darting for the door. You sighed, about to give chase, when he ran smack into the Mandalorian’s armored chest. He fell back a step before grabbing Din’s arm.

“Please,” he said, words spilling from him so fast they were barely intelligible. “Please, kill her, I have credits I can hire you…”

The Mandalorian just looked down at him. You could feel the anger rolling off him. The quarry must have felt it, too, as he stepped backwards, closer to you. You resisted the urge to glare at Din. How was it that the Mandalorian became the bigger threat when you were what the guy was running from to begin with? A big man in shiny armor is apparently all it took to intimidate some people.

“Now Chellen,” you sighed, coming up behind him. He turned to face you, backing up as he did until his back was against the Mandalorian. “That was stupid. He wants you dead way more than I do. He wasn’t too pleased with the condition I was in the last time we met. He’s an eye for an eye sort of person…”

His head swung around to look at the Mandalorian as you pulled out the cuffs, slapping the first one on him while he was distracted.

“Lucky for you,” you said, grabbing his other wrist and quickly cuffing it before you started patting down his pockets. “I’m the one leading this hunt. Don’t try anything too stupid and you live. Break one of the rules Mando’s made up for you and you die.”

He gulped.

“Let’s go,” Mando growled, grabbing the man by the collar and hauling him from the bar. You retrieved the puck and put a few credits on the bar top.

“For your trouble,” you said with a nod to the bartender before leaving the bar, watching the Mandalorian haul the man you’d captured together toward the ship.

A/N: I did promise the balance between plot and smut would even out again eventually and that time is now! I hope you enjoyed Doll's version of hunting - and Mando's version of trying to not run the show all the time. And while we got no Din POV this time, next chapter opens with some so, for those who love to read from our stoic hero's perspective, he's coming back quick.

I'm super excited about the next big arc in their story. We're going to have a short, off shoot next chapter or two and then it's into a longer arc with higher stakes and very big moments. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do! Thanks for being here! Love you!

#fanfic #mandalorian fanfic #enemies to friends to lovers #slow burn #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x female reader

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idesireelysian · 1 year

Text

dirty phonecalls

tokrev men (as your boyfriends) reacting to you calling them while masturbating.

characters: shinichiro, naoto

wordcount: 1.1k

cw/tw: dom!reader, m!reader, masturbating, phone sex, use of petnames (a lot), praise, implied voice kink (reader), implied multiple rounds

☆—`shinichiro

shinichiro’s just finished working on a motorcycle for hours, sipping on a refreshing drink while seated on a couch his friends urged him to have in his shop, saying he at least needs something nice to sleep on if he keeps on overworking himself. suddenly, his phone beeps. he fishes it out of his pocket, sees your name on the screen, and immediately smiles.

,,hey, y/n!’’, he says excitedly.

,,mhmm.. hi, baby’’, you answer, smile evident in your tone. you’re trying to hide your moans while you’re jerking off to your boyfriend’s beautiful voice, but you’re definitely not giving it your all.

,,how’s your day been so far?’’, shinichiro asks and ignores the weird noises he can hear over the phone.

,,exhausting.. but, mhm, hearing your beautiful voice makes everything soo much better~’’

he starts to realise what your weird background noises might mean. ,,y/n... y/n, are you... touching yourself right now?’’, he asks shyly. a blush creeps over his cheeks.

,,oops, there goes my secret’’, is all you reply, followed by a hearty moan. ,,i sure hope you’re alone right now, baby?’’

shinichiro nods before realising that you can’t see him. ,,yeah’’, he breaths out. he wouldn’t be able to deny that this is turning him on if he wanted to, especially with the way his dick is already half-hard after only having heard a single moan. so lucky that he’s already closed down the shop, even though he stayed overtime again.

,,great. you wanna sing for me? touch yourself like i tell you to?’’, you ask, a huge grin decorating your face. this is becoming even better than you’d imagined.

,,mhm, mhmm’’, he half hums, half moans. hastily, he zips open his work overall, pushes his underwear down to his knees.

,,darling, can you grab some lube for me?’’

,,no.. don’t have any here. is spit okay?’’ shinichiro puts his phone on speaker and lays it down beside him. he wants to have both of his hands free for this.

,,yeah, yeah, mhh... then coat two of your fingers in spit and push one in, please, baby?’’, you purr, eagerly waiting for your boyfriend to make more pretty sounds.

,,on it’’, he says, and you can hear him spit onto his hands. soon enough, he’s moaning, fingering himself just like you told him to.

,,good boy, darling’’, you praise him, moaning in between, ,,continue opening yourself up until you’re ready for another finger, hmm?’’

shinichiro just moans, moving his finger in and out for a bit until he adds the other one. ,,mhm... y/n, i’m at two now...’’, he whimpers.

,,keep going, shin, scissor yourself for me?’’, you ask, groaning in pleasure. his noises are a real turn on, and you’re so glad that you ended up calling him.

,,will do, yes... nghh..’’ shinichiro whines as he spreads his fingers, stretching his hole. just from this, he’s already a moaning mess, leaking precum all over his untouched dick.

,,you gonna come for me with just your fingers, shin, mh? so turned on already by just your amateur hands?’’, you tease him.

,,yes, y/n, yes. hah, nggh... ’m close, y/n, gonna come soon!’’, he whines.

,,come for me, baby’’, you purr, stroking your dick faster, brushing over your sensitive tip. your goal is for you to orgasm at the same time.

,,y/n!’’ shinichiro comes with your name on his lips. he whimpers while fingering himself through his orgasm.

hearing his scream, you immediately come too, moaning and praising your boyfriend. ,,mh- hah.. just like that shin, so good for me, as always~’’

after he stops coming, shinichiro pulls his fingers out of his hole. he’s panting, takes a moment to relax, but eventually manages to sink further into the cushions. for now, he’s ignoring the cum on his belly. ,,that was amazing, y/n... i’m glad you called.’’ he smiles.

☆—`naoto

,,hey, y/n, why are you calling me this late?’’, naoto asks you in confusion. it’s nearly midnight, and he’s only still up so he can work on some private research. he’s pleasantly surprised, but really didn’t expect you to call.

you, on the other hand, didn’t expect him to pick up, thinking that he’s probably too focused on his work. a moan escapes your lips, but you quickly decide not to try and hide it. ,,’m horny, darling, didn’t think you’d pick up... don’t know why i even called, really.’’

,,ah- oh. i’ll go grab my headphones real quick, wait for me, baby’’, he explains kindly, and you can hear him stand up and walk away. luckily he’s coming back again soon.

naoto plugs the headphones into his phone, puts them on. ,,here, now i’m properly prepared.’’

,,mhm... what are you planning, now that you can hear me so close to your ears?’’, you ask, switching to a whisper halfway through, hoping to awake something in your boyfriend. usually he gets all blushy and turned on when you lick or whisper into his ear, and you’re curious if this also works.

,,ahh- listening to you..?’’ an involuntary moan leaves naoto’s mouth, and his cheeks turn red. he loves when you’re whispering so close to his ears, even if it’s just over a call, you both realise.

,,well, then i’ll be so nice and comply. mhm.. don’t you wanna touch yourself too, love?’’, you murmur.

,,yeah, yeah i do’’, he breathes out as his jeans are starting to be uncomfortably restricting.

,,then touch yourself, baby. jerk off your dick alongside mine, hm?’’

,,working.. working on it, wait a sec’’, naoto exaplains, quickly opening the button and zipper of his pants. he slides his hand into his boxers, grabbing his dick that’s already more hard than not, and takes it out. he starts stroking himself, letting moans escape his lips.

,,you’re doing great for me, baby, keep going’’, you whisper, moans in between as you speed up your hands to his beautiful noises.

naoto whines when he brushes his thumb over his slit and plays with the head of his dick. it’s always been the most sensitive part of him. ,,goodness- mhm.. y/n, y/n i’m close-’’, he moans.

,,jerk your hand faster, darling, and come for me~’’, you whisper, some moans and groans adorning your words. you’re close too.

just like you asked him to, naoto strokes his dick even faster. brushing over his sensitive head again tips him over the edge, and he calls out your name while coming.

you stroke your dick a few more times, chasing your own orgasm that you soon reach, singing his name. ,,naoto, naoto- nghh.. baby, you did great~’’

,,thank you..’’, he says, not quite sure for what. the praise? the orgasm? probably both.

,,wait, wait, i’m not done with you yet!’’ you’re whispering again, hoping to get his dick to rise again by that.

,,but i’m still sensitive...’’, he half-heartedly protests. you both know that he doesn’t mean it.

,,darling, go grab your favorite dildo. this is gonna be exciting’’, you murmur, already grinning from ear to ear. naoto sighs, but seems to comply as you can hear him take off his headphones and walk away.

#sub tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you #naoto x reader #shinichiro x reader #sub!naoto #sub!shinichiro

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126dvtn · 2 years

Text

— may i, your highness?

summary : butler!diluc x royalty!reader + kisses + dance

warnings : swearing (like once) ; slow burn ish??

genre : royalty!au ; butler to lovers??? ; gn!reader

a/n : written for @cxlrosii <3 (from my 1.2k event!) i really enjoyed writing this, hope you like it!!

it's not often that diluc finds you about the castle halls late at night. at most, he notes, your wakefulness would be bounded by the walls of your bedroom. so when he hears rhythmic footsteps and mild, not-so-royal swearing echoing within the ballroom walls, intrigue peppers his heart.

a gentle push of the door reveals a fragment of your nightly escapade; the vast room so dimly lit, the small figure prancing about with a- is that a broom? diluc chuckles. watching your feet tap, tap, and kick your poor "dance partner". just a moment more, he tells himself, before he makes you go to bed. but unfortunately, it was a moment too long. your eyes catch his.

"what are you doing here?!" a surprised whisper- only that 'surprised' would be an understatement.

"pardon the intrusion, your highness. i'm here to remind you that it's past your bedtime." walking up to you, he struggles to maintain his stoic expression against the curve that threatens his lips. your shoulders fall with a sigh. "you seemed busy- are you worried for the ball tomorrow?"

you tell him yes, and you tell him everything- your thoughts; worries; complaints- especially with the annoyingly intimate dance you'd have to do with many pompous "high-class" attendees. not worth your time, and definitely not worth your skinship. diluc listens. empathetic, the cogs in his mind spin. "i can practice with you," the words slip out before he could catch them. "j-just once. to get you used to the feeling." a fumble! an amateur mistake for the royal butler. but seeing your smile of consent washes him with relief.

he casts away your broom before adjusting his gloves, bowing before you to signal the start of the dance. in his hand is yours; bare and cold and a perfect fit for his gloved warm- focus. "may i, your highness?" you nod. his lips caress your bare knuckles, sending electricity straight through your skin. his eyes travel up to meet yours. gently, he loops his arm around your waist.

nothing could've prepared him- and you- for the close proximity this dance forces onto its dancers. torsos flush against each other, faces a bare inch away. diluc is so aware of how you feel in his arms. but he's sure, that unlike him, your focus is entirely on counting the steps.

step, one, two- your feet are a flurry of movement, catching up to his long strides. step, three, four- he notices your struggle and slows down. it's only a matter of time until you reach the climax. "are you ready?" his voice is soft; his gaze softer. you take a deep breath. "you can trust me."

and he lifts your arm and spins you, admiring the way your body turns with grace. the three seconds of your twirl feels like three hours before he pulls you back into the safety of his arms. except- he overshoots, tugging you a little too strongly until you trip over your own feet.

before you hit the ground, diluc captures you in his arms- an envelope of cloth and muscle. "your highness- are you alright?" but you don't answer. how could you, when a slight movement would leave your traces on his lips? how could you, when his face is a hair strand away from yours?

but any chances of either of you looking away would be a miracle. because you don't. the royal highness and their butler are in a stunned trance, each holding their breaths with gazes fixated onto the lips of the other. diluc's arms are starting to hurt. it's now or never. he leans towards you, head tilting, lips readying, and—

"who goes there?!"

shit. he steadies you on your two feet in a scurry. "just their highness and me. they requested some practice before the ball tomorrow." and the guard's raised eyebrow seemed to scream in the darkness. "don't do anything funny, ragnvindr. and have a good night, your highness."

it's only when the door shuts completely when you start to laugh. an absurd situation! imagine the rage of your parents if the guard opens their mouth about this. even diluc, who's worrisome as ever, lets out a low chuckle. "well," he starts, "i believe it's time for bed. you've fared well with me- i'm sure the rest will be a breeze." he doesn't add that he wishes you'd never dance with anyone other than him.

by the look of your face, however, it seems like you don't want this to end. dejection swarms your voice as you say, "you're telling me we weren't about to kiss?" which takes him by complete surprise. his widened, flaming eyes bore into yours, waiting for an answer to the question he never asked. "i wanted to, you know."

his heart catches in his throat. "really?" "really." the exchange was in whispers; so small and personal in this extravagant spacious room. "then... may i, your highness?"

"please."

and diluc kisses you; savouring the taste of your highness- his beloved.

#diluc x reader #diluc fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #diluc x gn reader #genshin impact fluff

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karalovesallthegirls · 2 years

Note

Forgotten first meeting + flirting under fire AUs

But ALSO just wanted to drop some support and say do what you (and your creative brain) needs! While I love your fic, I am tots happy to wait. What you’ve written already is a gift

-Lena is a spy, though she’d have a few choice words for anyone who dared call her that to her face.

-She prefers to think of herself as an actor that prefers performing in life more so than on camera or a stage. Every word she says and place she goes are all carefully, methodically orchestrated to her advantage. Well, to her family’s advantage if she’s being honest, though she rarely is.

-The Luthor empire operates in the shadows, unnamed but ever-present. It feeds on lies, secrets, and blackmail, and Lena loves digging up all three. No one can find what people are desperate to hide quite like Lena can.

-So when Lex learns about a possible new player on the market, it’s Lena he sends to infiltrate the inner circle and find their weaknesses. They can’t touch anyone significant, not at first, but they learn that this supposed rival organization has donated a significant amount of money to a political campaign. The politician is a nobody, but somebody important seems to like her. That’s a starting point.

-this leads her to a political fundraising event for this nobody up-and-comer named Kara Danvers, who smiles pretty and talks even prettier. She’s a charmer, coming across as friendly and familiar with everyone she speaks to, and as Lena watches her through the night talk and laugh with an easy kindness, she just knows this’ll be an easy mark.

-She waits in line to talk to her. The line is long and unmoving, as every conversation with Kara Danvers is treated like the most important conversation, resulting in a line that lasts far longer than it should. She’s friendly to a fault with each person who waits to meet her, which would annoy her if it weren’t giving her the perfect chance to just observe.

-She’s attractive. Annoyingly so, to a degree that makes Lena mad. It’s annoying and distracting, watching this person talk and laugh. Watching the way her shirt fits tight enough to show definition. There’s something about her that just radiates safety and comfort, familiar in a way she can’t quite place. It’s annoying as hell.

-It takes well over an hour for her to finally reach her. She tries to shake off her annoyance at that and instead focus on the mission: form a connection, make an impression. Seduce her. -Kara shakes the hand of the person before her with great care, cupping their hand with her free one and smiling bright. She’s still watching them depart when Lena steps forward with her sultriest smile and outstretched hand.

-“Hello-“ Kara greets, turning towards her and taking her hand. And then she freezes.

-It’s a long, painful moment standing there, Lena’s hand trapped in Kara’s unmoving one. Kara’s smile falls into a caricature of itself, forced and unpleasant, and what joyous light Lena has witnessed dancing across her eyes all evening vanishes. Her expression now is cold and subdued. -“Hi,” Lena says, and her voice wavers like an amateur, like she hasn’t been doing this for the last decade of her life, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” What the hell is going on?

-Kara pulls her hand back and holds it limply at her side. Her eyes dart around, a desperation present Lena can’t quite comprehend. -“Right,” Kara says, tone flat. “Thank you for your support.” -and then she steps aside and moves to the next person in line.

-she just disregards Lena, like she hadn’t waited in line for an hour to talk to her, like she wasn’t wearing a tight-fitting dress that made it damn near impossible not to look. It makes her mad, and for a moment she forgets her purpose.

-“Excuse me?” she grabs Kara’s arm to pull her back towards her only to find her unmovable, her muscled arm tense in Lena’s grip. “I’ve paid a great deal of money to be here, I’d appreciate a conversation.”

-Kara’s eyes are so cold, face hard. She’s almost unrecognizable compared to the woman she’s watched all evening.

-“I can’t imagine what there is for us to talk about,” Kara says, and Lena sees red.

-“Listen here,” she starts, finger pointing with fury, when the door bursts open and a bunch of heavily armed mobster-types come rushing in.

-chaos ensues, running and screaming, Kara ducks out of a side door and Lena’s close behind.

-Lena’s like why the hell are people trying to kill you? And Kara’s dodgy. Banter banter, Kara’s more than meets the eye, Lena finds herself flirting with her without even meaning to – there’s just something about her energy, and honestly it’s hard not to be a little horny when the adrenaline’s pumping and shots are ringing out over head.

-“What are you trying to do?” Kara says, cold even as she tugs Lena close against her to avoid being seen. Lena tries not to let it affect her.

-“Just trying to get to know my future congresswoman.” Kara laughs, shakes her head. -“Enough with the games. What’s really going on, Lena?”

-And that… that makes her heart drop a little. She called her Lena. Anxious little bumps dance up her arms at the intensity in Kara’s eyes. -“I never told you my name,” she says, pulling back. Kara looks at her like she’s speaking in tongues. -“Is this a joke? I don’t-” and then Kara freezes, eyes wide, and her voice shakes with anger. “You don’t remember me, do you?” Kara’s voice is angry and hurt, and Lena would really appreciate it if whatever heart-to-heart she’s attempting to have with her could possibly wait until after they’d escaped the gunfire. Kara, damn her, presses on. “You don’t remember Cabo?”

She racks her brain for a clue, for any semblance.

It’s hard to remember places she’s been. Every day she wakes up in a new city with a new role, a new identity. Cabo is one of her favorite vacation spots, and two years ago she knows she took a month-long trip there after a particularly bad mission. She remembers days spent on the beach, nights spent dancing. A beautiful smile and laugh from a stranger, tall and tan and full of a sweet kindness Lena hadn’t known what to do with. Nights of sweat and passion and empty words whispered into her ear about the future. She remembers getting a call for her next job and leaving in the middle of the night with ease, shedding that self for a new one.

-She looks into Kara’s eyes shimmering with anger and faintly remembers those same eyes filled with pitiful puppy love.

- “Oh shit,” she says, and Kara laughs cruelly. -“Yeah. Oh shit.”

-Things only get more complicated from there.

#mine #my brain feels like a machine that has not been properly maintained and this was me oiling them cogs a bit #trope mashup #also thank you for the kind words I appreciate that

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owlboyarchive · 3 months

Text

Interview

So after I heard news of the Owlboy fandub, I was intrigued. I had the opportunity to interview the person who set it all up, @allthedavesallofthem , which is transcribed here. Minor edits were made, but only on my half for misspellings and grammar. Thank you to the voice actors involved with the dub as well as those who set it up, it's amazing to see other fans of Owlboy do such amazing things. Of course, a big thanks to @dpadstudio for making the game itself. The dub can be found at @unofficialowlboydub

Sorry for the preamble, here's the interview. Q is Question (and Qwerty) and A is for the person who set up the dub who I tagged up above.

Q: How long have you been a fan of Owlboy?

A: A friend of mine told me about the game when I was in college, I think it was the year after the game came out when I actually first played it, so about 2017. I was immediately charmed by it. The gameplay was simple yet engaging, and I found the ending incredibly touching.

Q: What led you to undertaking the dubbing project?

A: This is actually my second time attempting this dub. Before I had first played the game, I had also been involved in an amateur voice acting project that attempted to dub the webcomic Homestuck. I had occasionally considered the idea of starting a fandub project of my own, though I had no idea what would be a good thing to actually dub. I didn't really think about it for a while, but after finishing Owlboy, I had really wanted to do something creative around it, and I had remembered the idea of creating a voice acting project again, and I decided I had to do it. I created a casting call and actually ended up releasing two episodes, but I had no experience in managing a project and a chaotic schedule as a college student, so it fell to the back burner and finally fizzled out when I found that my game recording footage had been corrupted after getting a new PC. I didn't think much about voice acting or Owlboy for several more years, but last summer, I was looking for a new hobby to get into, and I remembered how much fun I had with amateur voice projects in the past, so I took an online voice acting 101 class, and it reinvigorated my interest in the hobby. I looked back to when I did the original attempt at the dub, and felt that I could do it better this time, so I decided to restart the project.

Q: What was the hardest part of setting up this dubbing project?

A: The hardest part is definitely coordination. There are a lot of different things that need to come together, and making sure that it all happens smoothly and at the right times takes a lot of work. Game recording, script transcribing, video editing, managing a cast of voice actors, audio editing, and more all have to come together at the right time and work together in the right way.

Q: How many more episodes do you have in the works until the project ends, and do you think you'll do another Owlboy related project (not necessarily a dub) in the future?

A: I'm not actually sure how many episodes are left before the end of the game... I recorded about 16 hours of footage for the game, and I aim for somewhere between 20 and 30 minutes per episode, but I also end up cutting out footage where there isn't much going on, such as long sections of just moving from one place to another or backtracking. My best guess is maybe around 20 episodes? We'll have to see once I finish sequencing all of the raw game footage. I don't think I'm going to want to run another voice acting project myself for a long time - after Owlboy, I want to return more to focusing on being a voice actor over directing projects. As far as another Owlboy project in general? I have no idea. I don't really have anything in mind at the moment, but who knows?

Q: Do you have a rough time frame for the end of the dubbing project? Like, when all loose ends are tied up, nothing left to do but post the video.

A: The current pace I'm targeting is about 3 weeks per episode. If there ends up being 20 episodes and that pace holds up, I would expect the dub to finish in early-to-mid 2025.

Q: Will you dub everything first and then put the lines in, or do you record lines as needed?

A: It's currently a "work-as-we-go" approach. It probably would've been more efficient had I structured it differently and got all of the video recording done, then the editing, then the scriptwriting, then the line submission and audio editing, but I know that without having some tangible results earlier on, it would be harder for me to keep myself motivated to finish.

Q: I understand. I think that's all the questions I had involving the inner workings of the fandub. I have two questions left, but do you want to clarify anything before we move on?

A: I just want to publicly thank the voice actors working with me on the project. All of you have been amazing, and there's no way this project ever happens without all of your efforts.

Q: Here's the last two questions. I saved the 'best' for last. Who is your favorite character from the game, and what scene or moment do you look forward to dubbing most?

A: Favorite character? That's tough. I keep switching between Geddy and Alphonse as I think about it, but I think I'll go with Alphonse. All of the other pirates are these cold, unfeeling killing machines, but on the other hand, Alphonse just has dreams of becoming a stage actor! He can still handle himself in a fight, and his musket blast is extremely handy. Out of the characters that aren't party members, I also really like Solus and his arc as well.

A: I think the scene I'm looking forward to the most is probably the ending sequence, post-final boss. In particular, the interaction with Asio at the end almost had me in tears when I first played. That one's gonna hit hard, I think.

Q: Thank you for answering my questions! That's all I have. Do you have any questions or concerns for me involving anything?

A: Thank you for interviewing me! I don't think I have anything else. I'm always inspired when I see people being passionate about things I've made.

That's it! Once again, a big thank you to the creators of Owlboy, D-pad Studios, to all the voice actors involved with the project, and the guy who set the dub up, who I tagged up above at @/allthedavesallofthem. None of this could be done without you! I'm really looking forward to the next part of the dubbing project.

#owlboy #interview #big thanks #discussion post

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yuurei20 · 8 months

Text

Riddle Info Compilation part 11: Riddle and Idia

Riddle is not a fan of Idia, describing him as a “shut-in” during Phantom Bride and getting into an argument with him through a door about his refusal to perform duties required of housewardens.

Riddle calls Idia “irresponsible” and “the most irritating person (he’s) had the misfortune of meeting,” lecturing him for inconveniencing those around him.

Idia counters with “…here it comes! Unsupported generalizations to promote the true agenda! Everyone must assimilate! Individuality must be stamped out!,” and Riddle says that he has “always been of the opinion that that agitating attitude of yours is the last thing this school needs. The threat to public order is what disturbs me most of all.”

Idia ends the argument by insisting that while not everyone is “a glory hog” like Riddle, he is going to be attending the opening ceremonies this year.

He does not, and Riddle calls him “as incompetent as ever,” saying, “I feel sorry for the members of his dorm, having such an unreliable housewarden.”

Book 5 begins with Riddle refusing to make an exception to the rules for Idia during the culture festival, insisting that Idia give the presentation on technomancy that he is preparing in person.

Idia argues that “text-to-speech would go way smoother and be easier for listeners to parse” but Riddle insists he spend the next month practicing, even offering to join him after school.

Idia refuses the offer, instead writing a program where “nobody would ever guess the voice you’re hearing is coming from text-to-speech software.”

Idia asks Ortho to keep the program secret from Riddle until after his presentation, saying, “He’s gonna give me that smug, know-it-all look and be all like, ‘See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?’ And I’m gonna go, ‘Wow, you didn’t even notice I was lip-synching? Talk about amateur hour!’ I’m gonna wipe that smug look right off of his face.”

Ortho tells him, “It’s not nice to pick on underclassmen.”

On the day of his presentation Idia says that his voice software setup is perfect, but he still panics over whether or not he will be able to type in front of an audience without making any typos.

Riddle says he is looking forward to Idia’s insights on technomancy.

Afterwards, Ortho assures Idia that his representation was incredible, and the synthesized voice was “definitely worth bragging about to Committee Chair Rosehearts.”

Riddle says that he knew that the Shroud family was involved with the Jupiter Conglomerate, but he never made the connection that that was Idia’s family (“I assumed it was pure coincidence that Idia had the same surname!”) because, “Why would someone from a distinguished family attached to a huge conglomerate act like…well, like he does?”

During the Phantom Bride event Idia describes Riddle as “the traditional prince who’s straightlaced due to his royal upbringing, but who occasionally shows some awkward tenderness!”

At the conclusion of Phantom Bride Ace starts complimenting Idia’s appearance, which Riddle is suspicious of. Ace explains that “the whole day culminated in him getting dumped at the altar. Who wouldn’t feel sorry for the guy?”

Riddle agrees and joins in, telling Idia that he cuts “an elegant figure” and that he does justice to the King of the Underworld’s spirit of diligence as the Ignihyde housewarden.

Riddle says that Idia is “the most eligible bachelor” of them all, leading Idia to go on a rambling explanation about how he was called a promising prodigy when he was a child and has only gotten better, so it’s no surprise.

Riddle observes, “For all his self-deprecation, he thinks rather highly of himself, doesn’t he?”

#twstriddle #Riddle Rosehearts #twstfacts #riddlefacts #twisted wonderland

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dear-mrs-otome · 2 years

Text

Silvio Ricci - Pretend Lovers - Sweet End

The first part of the event story + the other ending can be found here here. Amateur disclaimer yada yada <3

**********

“You…” Silvio’s scowling face approaches, but before anything else, they’re suddenly interrupted by someone.

“Aaaaah, watch out!”

Both Emma and Silvio are stunned as Silvio’s suddenly drenched with water dumped on his head. It takes her a few seconds to realize what’s happened - as an apologetic Rio that’s abruptly appeared on-scene says he stumbled.

She’s shocked to see him there, cup in hand, and he turns to her in a hurry and asks if she’s alright - Silvio hasn’t done anything terrible to her, has he?

She assures Rio she’s fine, and asks why he’s there. He tells her how he’d heard from the other servants in the castle that she had left with Silvio early that morning and he was certain she would never do so of her own accord - he was worried that she’d been forced out.

Silvio interjects in indignation here, still dripping with water as he grabs ahold of Rio’s head. “First champagne, now water? What are you even carrying that for anyways?” he demands.

“Ah, well I thought my lady might be thirsty,” Rio explains, saying he definitely was not carrying it in case someone was being rude to his mistress. Definitely not.

Emma can tell from his too-bright smile that that’s exactly what he meant to have it on hand for, though.

Silvio’s just gripping Rio’s head even tighter, as he says he’ll collect for damages later - for now he just wants Rio to scram, he’s sick of seeing his face. Rio counters that if that’s the case, Silvio should leave, saying that HE’S going to take Emma out on a date for the rest of the day.

She figures this is Rio’s way of trying to bail her out, and she’s overcome with relief at her reliable butler.

Rio turns to her and as an aside, gushes over how fantastic she looks today though. “That look really suits you! You’re so pretty!”

“Really? Thanks,” she tells him happily. “I’ve never worn anything like this before so I wasn’t sure if it would look good on me.”

Silvio, she notes to herself, never said a word about it.

The prince in question just glowers silently, and then Rio takes her hand and suggests if she’s done with Silvio she should come hang out with him. Her business technically is over, she thinks…and she doesn’t want to go anywhere else with Silvio. She starts to agree, when she’s cut off.

“I’m not done with you yet, woman,” Silvio protests, grabbing ahold of her other hand. "You’re my girl, but you’re wagging your tail for some other man?”

Rio scoffs that Emma doesn’t belong to Silvio, and the two devolve into bickering again - AKA you get lost, no YOU get lost. Rio at one point saying it’s obvious just from looking at Emma how much she’s not into this.

Silvio seems all affronted by this, and she’s just dithering as they’re glaring at each other, each of them pulling on a hand, until finally she speaks up. “I’m very sorry, Prince Silvio.”

He just stares wide-eyed at her obvious refusal, as she’s thinking she doesn’t want to hurt anyone else playing the part of his ‘lover’, and she’s clinging to Rio’s hand.

“.....Bah, this is useless,” Silvio recovers and scoffs, flinging her hand away and turning his back on them without saying another word.

But for a moment, just before he’d spun around, she’d felt certain that the expression she’d seen on his face hadn’t been the rage she’d expected of the tyrant - it had been sadness. And she’d hovered there for a long moment, watching him walk away.

—---

Later that night, after she’d gone around the town and such the rest of the day with Rio, she’s back in her room…and thoroughly unable to sleep, despite the late hour. Every time she tries to lie down, that expression of Silvio’s comes to mind, and she feels as if she may have gone too far.

Telling him that ‘nobody would ever love him’ the way she had, in retrospect, was a horrible thing to say. She’d clearly crossed the line between things that should and shouldn’t be said, and she feels compelled to apologize. Especially since she’d used the convenient excuse of Rio’s appearance to run away from the tense situation.

As she’s still balling the sheets up in her fists, she hears footsteps outside her room - along with a distinctive jingling sound she knows all too well. No sooner has she gotten up out of bed then her door is kicked in, and the man himself appears.

Silvio grins as he saunters in, haughty as ever as he notes she's awake, followed by servants carrying drink and glasses for two.

This all happens so fast she can’t even protest, she’s just left in baffled and stunned silence wondering why her room has suddenly become a banquet hall of sorts.

Soon, the servants are done setting up and they retreat, leaving her and Silvio alone, and he bids her to drink with him.

“...Why?” she asks.

He tells her, because he felt like it, and she should be grateful he put all this together for her - she’s not going to refuse a foreign prince’s liquor, is she?

Resigned even as she’s still dismayed, she takes the glass he pours for her. And she’s still so tense and overwrought from all the things she’d been mulling over before he arrived that she just sort of blurts out. “I’m truly very sorry!”

Silvio just blinks at her, taken aback, and she elaborates that she means the way she ran away today. But he dismisses that, saying he was fed up with her anyways.

“....Is that so?” she asks.

“............Yeah,” he replies.

They both lapse into a long heavy silence - one in which she notes it’s rather suspect that Silvio would come to the room of someone he was supposedly so fed up with. He must have some reason to be here, she muses, as she sips on her high-quality drink and tries to find words.

She’s struggling for how to address the awkwardness of today when Silvio finally tosses his drink back in one go and sets it down. “How much do I have to pay you, for you to treat me better than you do that damned dog?”

“.....Excuse me?” she manages - expecting a joke, but Silvio’s gaze is utterly serious.

She wonders if he’s dwelling on what she’d said, about ‘never being loved by anyone’. “I told you today, it’s not a matter of money,” she insists. He just raises his eyebrows at that and says nothing, and it occurs to her that maybe he genuinely does not comprehend. “Rio takes good care of me. You don’t.”

“I’ve taken the best care of you,” Silvio retorts, and when she presses him for an example, he proudly points out how he gave her clothes and jewelry. She’s silent at that, and his satisfied smile folds into a furious scowl. “Don’t look at me like you pity me.”

He shoots to his feet in frustration, taking her glass from her and setting it aside before pushing her down onto the bed behind her. His expression is thunderous, maybe because he’s angry….but she still feels as if she can see sadness lurking in his eyes.

She’s certain now that she hadn’t just imagined his sad expression earlier today…but what makes him look like this?

“Let me up,” she says, pushing back Silvio’s face as it draws near, and his expression only grows more and more disagreeable.

He scoffs that she has no charm whatsoever, and he questions the taste of that ‘damned dog’, before smirking. “....Well, whatever. Someday I’ll take you away from that damned dog.”

His words bring that moment in the dressmaker’s shop back to mind, when he’d insisted it HAD to be her than posed as his lover for the day, and she wonders if he’d done all this just to get a jab in at Rio. Silvio clearly seems to really hate him - but on the same hand, Rio seems to hate him back equally as hard, for some weird reason.

“Ah, that damn dog did remind me…there’s one thing I forgot to say.”

“What’s that?” she asks.

For some reason he keeps her pressed back onto the bed still, his gaze flitting back and forth so long that she begins to wonder if it’s something he’s struggling to say. As she waits patiently for him to speak, he finally frowns as if having made up his mind. “............It looked really good.”

“What did?” she asks, confused.

Angrily, he sits up and says if she doesn’t know what he’s talking about, then eff it - to her disbelief, as he returns to his seat and pours himself another drink as if nothing had happened. She’s turning that over in her head before it finally hits her that maybe he meant her outfit today??

Rio’s effusive praise and her reply about not being uncertain if the look had suited her comes back to mind…and still totally stunned she’s rebuking her own heart to the tune of NO NO NO WE ARE NOT POUNDING OVER THIS GUY.

Still, a little laugh slips out that catches his attention, but she waves it off without explanation. She still knows next to nothing about Silvio - the reason behind that sad face, why he seems to hate Rio, the sudden compliment. This tyrant has a heart as hidden and out of reach as the depths of the sea…but someday, she hopes she might understand it, even if only a little.

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