#I’ve been stuck with this idea in my brain for the last week | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pimosworld · 1 month

Note

Hi it’s me!! Since you are open to requests, could you please do a very fluffy smut with Joel where the reader is very insecure about her body and he makes her feel loved and it’s just so sweet?? In need of a comfort daddy Joel 🥺

Pairing- Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary- Joel wants you to see your body the way he does, a work of art.

CW-18+, MDNI, NSFW, A smidge of angst because (body image issues), Fluff,miscommunication, reader is not described other than not feeling herself lately, Soft dom Joel, smut, body worship, mirror sex, fingering, unprotected piv, cream pie, self acceptance, no use of y/n

WC-2.0k

[Joel Miller Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

A\N- My first Joel request and I would say I was feeling inspired by some body issues I’ve had lately. Thank you anon for this lovely request I hope I did it justice.

Clothing optional

There was a war going on in your house. Two separate wars to be exact, although you personally had no idea about one of them.

You’re currently on the frontlines in your room with a pile of mass casualties on the floor beside you. As you stand and face the mirror in front of you it’s unclear who the enemy is. Logic would have you believe it’s the clothes, the clothes that fit not long ago…that much you’re sure of. The cruel part of your brain, the part you couldn’t seem to shut off was telling you the enemy was your body. This body that has carried you through life, through ups and downs, through grief and happiness. Yet you stand here and shame it, calling it the enemy.

This dress, one that you were never really that fond of but could always rely on it fitting was the straw that broke the camel's back. It hugs in all the wrong places and definitely seems shorter than you remembered the last time you put it on. The lace at the seams is frayed a little and you swore you heard a stitch pop when you tried to unzip yourself. Now you’re frozen in fear that you’re stuck in this godforsaken thing and you’ve still not figured out what you’re wearing to impress Joel’s business partners. He was always so put together, what could they possibly think of you by his side.

“Sugar ya in there?” A knock on the bedroom door and Joel’s sweet voice causes you to panic.

You’re not even close to being ready. Tears streaming down your face, makeup ruined and your claustrophobia is aching to get out of this dress.

“Don’t come in.” Your garbled voice is evident all rushed out in a frenzy as you hear the door swing open.

****

The other war.

A war that’s been silently brewing in the house over the last few weeks. Joel noticed something different about you. It took him a lot longer than he’d cared to admit once he realized. He knew your body in and out. Every freckle, every line, every scar or birthmark. He’d made it his mission in life to be able to pick you out of a lineup blindfolded, only tasked with his hands or his mouth.

He was insatiable for you.

He never understood when other men would say that after some time you won’t be as obsessed with each other. After marriage things become monotonous and it feels like a chore. He loved chores, being able to complete a task. If loving you and worshiping your body was a chore then he wanted that duty everyday.

At first he thought he must’ve said or done something to upset you. He knew his mouth could be pretty reckless at times so he gave you a few days to cool off.

When you shy away from him or insisted your shirt stayed on during sex he started to grow suspicious. Maybe he hadn’t told you enough how much he appreciated your body. He thought he did a pretty good job of it but things get complicated when you’re in the heat of the moment. He made your brain go all fuzzy and it was hard to concentrate on what he was sayin’.

He’d had just about had enough when he walked into the kitchen the other day. You were reaching something high up on the shelf. Instead of asking if you needed help he just stood there ogling you as your shorts rode up, exposing the bottom of your ass. He wanted to sink his teeth into it. He wanted to grip your thighs and bend you over the counter. He could just imagine it as he pounded into you from behind while you screamed his name, the ripples from his thrusts dancing across your skin. You looked so startled when you saw him there, his eyes blown black with lust as he stepped towards you. His heart broke a little when you scurried away and returned aggressively wrapping your robe around you.

****

A peace offering.

You knew there was no way he was staying outside at any sign of your distress. He enters your shared bedroom slowly like he’s approaching a frightened animal. You’re sure you look like one in your state.

He’s quite the opposite. Crisp black on black suit, his hair combed back out of his face to show off those beautiful brown eyes. His cologne wafts towards you with hints of bergamot and cedar wood. Just the sight of him has you weak in the knees.

“You wanna tell me what’s got ya all worked up?” He takes a tentative step towards you as you shake your head and wrap your arms around yourself.

He clicks his tongue, hating how defeated you look right now. “Listen sugar, I’m gonna count to ten.” He gently unfurls your arms from you and wraps them around his middle. “And by the time I get to ten.” You take a shuddering breath against his chest relishing in the comfort he’s bringing you. “You’re gonna tell me what’s wrong.”

“One.”

“None of my clothes fit, I hate the way I look right now and I don’t want to embarrass you tonight because I look ridiculous standing next to you in some dress that I hate.” It’s all rushed out and muffled into his chest as he cradles your head and rocks you back and forth.

“Is that all?” He teases as you nod your head. “I’m thinkin’ maybe there’s a little more.”

“Two.”

“Well…the other day.” You let out an exasperated sigh as you look up at him. “You were starin’ at me, in the kitchen. I couldn’t tell what you were thinking, but it didn’t look good.”

He thinks for a moment, back to his thoughts in the kitchen and you must have read him all wrong.

Joel steps back from you briefly as he undoes his tie, letting it drop to the floor. “The other day in the kitchen.” His hands start to work at the buttons on his dress shirt as he shucks it off his broad shoulders. “I wasn’t tryin’ to stare. I was tryin’ to keep my hands to myself.”

Your breathing picks up as he undoes the buckle on his slacks and lets them join the rest of his clothes. He palms himself through his boxers, his hard length growing at the slightest touch.

“Joel, what are you doing?” He doesn’t answer you as his hands grip your shoulders turning you toward the mirror. “We’re gonna be late for the dinner.”

He leans in, taking your earlobe between his teeth as you gasp. “We’re not goin’ to the dinner sweetheart.” Joel’s eyes lock with yours in the mirror as he takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Do ya see how beautiful you are?”

His grip stops you from shaking your head no and you figure you might as well get with the program now, since he’s being so generous.

“You wanna do this your way or my way?” He asks with an eyebrow raised in question.

“Your way?” You shakily answer as he smiles all wide and kisses your cheek.

His hands make quick work of the zipper that was stuck and he eases it down your back. Carefully dragging it down your body, letting the fabric pool at your feet. His hand kneads your breast and soft whimper leaves your lips as it trails down your stomach. “You weren’t plannin on wearin’ any panties to this event?” His fingers dip lower circling your clit just barely teasing you.

“I…I hadn’t gotten around to them yet.” Your voice is shaky as he winds his other arm around you pulling you taught to his chest.

“Well good thing…you won’t be needin’ em tonight.” His words send a shiver down your spine as you stand there, naked as the day you were born trying to stay afloat. “Now, I asked you if you see how beautiful you are?”

“Yes.” You moan out as he slips two fingers inside, chuckling to himself as he works you open.

You cry out at the loss as he pulls them from you, holding them out in front of your face. It’s lewd the way he licks his fingers and his grip on you tightens as your legs threaten to give out at the sight.

“You want me to show ya’ what I was thinkin’ about in the kitchen?” Rhetorical question of course but you're feverishly nodding your head all the same.

He places a soft kiss to your neck as he guides you to the bed. Neither of you trusting your feet to carry you there. “Lay down for me baby girl. Face me.” You lay down on your stomach, resting your head on your arms as you watch him place the mirror near the edge of the bed.

His fingers tug down his boxers and it surprises you every time, the sheer weight of him. His cock twitches at the sight as if it knows you’re looking, admiring as you stop yourself from reaching at the angry red tip to swipe your finger through the bead of precum leaking out.

The bed dips behind you as he straddles your thighs. You can see him in the mirror watching you as you wiggle your ass, that fight part of your brain no longer concerned with the way you look. Not with the way he’s looking at you. Like he wants to eat you alive.

His fingers grip your flesh as he tilts your hips up, he’s rock hard as he slides the tip through your aching folds. You clench around nothing as you try to draw him in.

“Eyes on the prize baby.” You tear your eyes from him as you catch yours in the mirror. He wants you to watch, but not him.

You’re the prize.

He sinks down in one fluid motion and it takes every fiber of your being to keep your eyes open. You both moan in unison as he starts a slow agonizing pace.

Joel watches you as long as he can but he can’t tear his eyes away from the ripple of your skin as he pounds your flesh. Hitting something deep and devastating inside you as you clutch the sheets. Soft chants of his name punched out in his thrusts as he tries to hold off his release. It feels too good and just like his daydream. Having you bent over all fucked out, unable to form a coherent through. The only thought he wants running through that head is how perfect you are.

“Oh fuck…I’m the luckiest man alive, ya know that.” He grits out as he meets your eyes again.

His strong hands haul you up against his chest as he wraps his arms around your shoulders. All you can manage is a head nod as you keen at this new angle.

You can feel the beads of sweat from his hair drip down onto you as you cling to his arms, he growls in your ear as your climax peaks over you, taking you by surprise as you cry out his name.

“This pussy was made for me darlin’.”

He can feel you suck him in and his balls draw up tight. Your front bathed in a sheen of sweat down your breasts and across your stomach as you ride out the aftershocks. His hips slow to a stutter as he holds your prone and pliant body, pulsing inside you as you let out a soft exhale.

You’re completely and utterly wrecked and he thinks you’re like one of those renaissance paintings with the naked ladies. Better than that because you’re real and you’re all his.

It takes you a moment to gather yourself as you lay there, Joel’s hand draped over your body at the edge of the bed. You can finally look in the mirror and see the war that was waging was all on your head.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

#joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou #joel miller x f!reader #joel x reader #soft joel miller #joel the last of us #joelmiller #tlou imagine #joel miller fanfiction

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shapard · 2 months

Text

Feather of Fate🕊️

Lucifer x Seraphim!fem!reader

Soulmate arc

A/n: A little bit late for Valentine, but here ya go! Idk when I'll continue this, but this has been stuck in my brain for a long time.

Goldwing

Chapter 1 > Chapter 2

You’ve heard about the story tales from your Mother Sera. How Lucifer has fallen because of his bizarre dreams. To give humans a free will, which cost chaos to the world.

As a punishment he was forced out of heaven with his Love Lilith. Sera claims that she wanted you to be safe, so there is one top rule she set up: Don’t Question heaven.

You keep on holding tight to this one rule, not like your sister Emily. She gets into a lot of trouble when you’re not watching, which gets you also in trouble.

Big Sister, Big responsibility, that’s what your mother always says.

Sitting on the couch looking down at the apple sign on your wrist. It was a small apple with a snake surrounding it. It’s a Soulmate mark.

Every Angel gets a soulmate, so they get the perfect heir, some angels describe It as a heart pull and ache. You don’t really enjoy that you’re forced to love someone. It’s somewhere unfair that humans can marry someone they choose to love and trust. Meanwhile when Angels reject their bond, it will kill the two Soulmates in a span of time.

Even when they’re too long apart it will show in a disturbing way. Aggression, Not eating, no sleep, the list goes on and on.

Putting your sleeve above your mark, not wanting anyone to see it. You got once because of it in trouble. Not a pleasant memory that you want to re live.

It does remind people of Lucifer, but he got Lilith, his soulmate. So that possibility is shrunk to zero. Why else sacrifice living in heaven for a woman?

Today was the meeting with Charlie the daughter of Lucifer. She wanted to talk about a hotel named Hazbin Hotel.

…Time Skip…

The court room was all a mess, chaos has broken out whispering and hushes echoed through the pearly white halls.

Emma broke the Silence with her soft singing voice “But she was right, Sera. She Showed us the soul can Improve. He saw the light, Sera. Checked all the boxes that you said would.” You Interrupted Emily and for the first-time in your live, you disobeyed the one set rule.

“Prove a person deserve a second chance, now we turn our Backs, no second glance?” Sera looked towards you slightly disappointed but also guilty.

Then the bomb was thrown in the room, extermination. It left you speechless. Why hide something like this and say it was for protection?

It all went down so quick and with one move you started to doubt everything in heaven. Sera was scared, scared shitless that she’d loose Emily and you, but mostly you.

You started to Ignore her and rarely left your room. The betrayal was harsh for you. You trusted your mother dearly and now you find out that your mother kills souls because she feels threatened. Threatened because of Lucifers dreams she said was once foolish.

You started to break rules after Rules, causing a havoc in heaven when you leaked the Information about an extermination in hell. And in less than a week you were in chains in the courtroom.

“Do you have any Idea what damage you’ve done Y/n?” Sera’s voice echoed through those now soulless halls. The seats now all almost empty. “What damage I’ve done? You call me the Imposter, but have you ever thought what you’ve done? You lied to your people AND your Family Sera.”

Ouch, you never called her Sera just Mom. “Just do it already, I’m tired of hanging in here and watching my failure of a mother trying to push this longer.” You spat on the cold floor. The coldness reminds you how the last few days felt in heaven. Cold and lonely. “As you wish, do it.” her voice cracked, it was barely audible, but you could hear it.

You shut your eyes tight and with a swift Moment you felt how your wings were cut off, your scream filled these cool, lonely court room. Sera was already gone, not wanting to see how she failed in one of her children.

The rest of your wings were ripped out of your back, making gold blood squirting all over the white floor painting it in a unique color. And then you fell, too exhausted to let out a desperate call for the comfort of your own mother.

She didn’t even stay.

Tears pooled lightly out of your eye. Even though heaven didn’t feel like home anymore, you’ll still miss heaven.

The wind gushed on your Injured back making it only hurt more than it already does, you fell so fast, this is something you never really experienced you never fell as an Angel. But you fell, you fell deep and Landed on the ground.

It the worst you’ve felt in these last hundred years of living. The bone that was connecting your wings with your body broke more into splinters at the impact. It had dirt sticking on your bones making you hiss as you tried to stand up making them move slightly in the dust. No success.

You tried a couple more times, but you feel your stamina running out fast, so you just gave up. You laid there for a couple of seconds before you eventually pass out.

Lucifer sat in his magic room, where his magical creations came from. The only thing besides Charlie what kept him happy. He took final glances at his old façade.

It’s time to move on and move into the Hazbin hotel, even though he hates that radio guy, he does everything for his little Charlie. He walked out of his mansion closing it with a key. Taking a deep breath, he spun around and was ready to go.

Something crashed loud in front of him, swirling all the dirt into Lucifers face. He coughed and waved the dust away. “What the fuck?” He looked at the cause for this early tumult, only to see a very beautiful woman in front of him. It didn’t take him a while to see that she was pretty bad Injured. His eyes dropped at the golden blood. “Oh no.”

The figure tried to stand up but fall multiple times and passed out after a while. No, no, no, no. Turning her around to see the damage, and it is bad.

Three main bones ripped and broken apart, making him note down that she wasn’t just any Angel, she is a seraph. “Let me help you.” He carried her body very carefully, so he couldn’t do more damage towards her back. Teleporting himself and his other stuff in the hotel apartment, he laid you on his bed with your belly pressed on the mattress.

He started to heal your back slowly and washed off the dirt from your face and the injury. He knew he couldn’t fully heal her wings back. But she could survive this with his help. And in an odd reason he couldn’t let her die. Some kind of pull on his heart making him already slightly attach towards the sleeping beauty.

And this routine was repeated every day and when he realized her back was fully healed, he turned her on her back again. Seeing her now in all her beauty.

“How can someone be this pretty?” he moved a hair strand out of your face and held your cheek. Stroking it a couple of times, it is as if he’s hypnotized.

Shaking his head, he let go of her very quickly, “Lucifer you can’t just touch someone, she doesn’t even know you nor who you are.” He bit his long-clawed hand, debating whether he should go or not.

In the end he left the room with heavy displeasure. Somehow not being near you made him angry. You were hurt and needed every protection he could offer.

His mind screamed at him to go back to you, but he didn’t. This feeling confused the king of hell but, His mind and body were almost like two separate people.

He pulled up his sleeve looking down at the red apple mark with a golden blue snake on it, like his halo. It was his Soulmate mark, he loves or loved Lilith dearly, but she wasn’t his mate.

They both thought it may didn’t showed because Lilith is after all a human. Even when he had a soulmate, after landing in hell, he knew he’d never see his soulmate ever.

He pulled his white sleeve again over the mark, not wanting to think about the what ifs. Maybe helping his daughter would keep his mind from you. “Let’s help Charlie.”

After a while Lucifer still caught himself worried about you.

You were laying on his bed for weeks, he healed you every morning and every evening hoping that you’d finally wake up.

The arch angel Lucifer, and now king of hell, was worried about a seraph, what sarcasm.

Getting ready for bed, Lucifer started to dress himself in his night gown and went to the couch. Since you’re sleeping on his bed, Lucifer decided to sleep on the couch. He didn’t want to disturb your healing progress

…

Hugging yourself into this blanket was heaven, and the smell of sweet apple and an alluring scent of musk. You never want to leave this place, for the first time since months you felt in peace.

Fluttering your eyes open, you stretched you arms and legs, but one thing was missing. Your wings. And then reality came crushing down on you. You fell, from heaven. Your mother let you fall down the drain. She lied and didn’t even try to explain it to you.

It was hard to breath as if you’d re-live the horror of falling from heaven down to hell.

You shacked uncontrollable making you Fall out of the bed. Out of habit you tried to fly those few centimeters.

With a shallow thumb you fell on the floor.

You winced from the Impact, and you tried to push yourself up with the next high object with shivering hands.

This was a different gravity situation.

Without your wings you slumped forwards, nothing to weigh your back.

You pushed yourself upwards with the help of the shelf above you. The shelf lets out a creak from your weight and you fall back down with the shelf.

The whole content on the shelf fell and crashed into pieces and you fell right into them.

The ceramic pieces digged into your freshly healed wounds, you know that when you move, you’ll re-open the back wound.

Out of panic your body began to move on autopilot.

With low groans and muffled screams, you leaned on the bed, golden blood smearing around the broken shelf and the white mattress.

You started to sob at the pain.

It was dark and all you wanted was to bathe yourself in the scent of that blanket.

You searched for it.

In the darkness you couldn’t quite figure it out where the blanket was but after a while you found it.

Holding the piece of cloth on your nose just to smell the comforting scent. You yelped when the light flicker on. A figure standing in the light. The figure was about 5’10 tall.

You hid behind the blanket not wanting to look at the sudden appearance at the front door.

…

Lucifer shot up at the sound of breaking ceramic. His mind told him to run towards the sound that came out of your room making him high alert.

An Intruder?

But who’d dare to come into the king of hells chamber?

Then he remembered that you were in his room, and without second thought he rushed towards your bedroom turning on the lights.

“You’re awake!”

#lucifer hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #lucifer #lucifer morningstar #y/n #archangel lucifer #seraphim

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moonstruckme · 5 months

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Hi lovely!!! As I mentioned earlier, I apologize again do sending so many asks, I'm sick and stuck at home rn, so my brain has been working on overtime, so if I have an idea and think u might like it, I am sending them lol.

I wanted to know if u could write spencer x bau!reader, where reader is a technical analyst with Penelope for the team. But the last case was a pretty big one and she ended up sacrificing her sleep and needs to Penelope and everyone else could rest? So now that the case is over shes beng kinda stubborn and doesn't really wanna adress it, nor rest till she finishes the few remaining things?

Like always, you don't gotta write anything I request!!! I hope you've had a good week so far and get plenty of rest lol <333

Sincerely, :]

Hi sweetheart! No worries, send as many as you like! I'm just answering them at my own pace :)

Spencer Reid x bau!reader ♡ 876 words

“Hello my favorite genius.” Penelope snags Spencer by his sleeve just as he’s about to step into the elevator, using his momentum to swing him around and start him back the other direction. “I need you to get your ladylove out of my office—” she winces. “Our office. Sorry. Old habits, they do die hard.”

“She’s still here?” Spencer asks, having learned long ago how to bulldoze through the fluff of conversations with Garcia. “I thought she’d be home already.”

“Oh, no,” she says gravely, voice dropping to a whisper as they near the tech room. “I don’t think she’s been there in days. You cannot say anything, but she’s starting to smell.”

Spencer prepares himself for the worst as the door opens, but all he finds is you, cute if a little bedraggled, hunched over your keyboard.

“Hi,” he says tentatively when your glassed-over eyes don’t leave the screen. Your face is awash in blue light, blank but for the determined pinch of your mouth as you work. “Ready to go home?”

“You can’t kick me out,” you say. Spencer blinks in surprise and a bit of hurt at your blunt tone before he realizes you aren’t speaking to him. “You can’t make him kick me out, either. I just have a few things left to do.”

“Very admirable work ethic,” Penelope shoots back, her own voice chipper with a steel edge, “but you’ve done plenty. We can finish this tomorrow.”

You don’t stop typing even for a second. “Go home, Pen.”

She gives Spencer an emphatic, helpless look behind your back, and he nods, signaling for her to go. She backs out of the room with her hands held up in front of her like she’ll need to ward you off, grabbing her bag and shutting the door behind her.

“Hey.” Freed from the last constraints of professionalism, Spencer slips into his most honeyed tone. “Let’s get out of here, sweetheart. I’ve got a bed and a fridge full of almost-bad takeout waiting for us at home.”

“Just a couple of things left to do,” you mutter, but your tone is considerably less hard than it had been with Penelope.

“There will always be things left to do.” He walks up behind your chair, setting his hands on your shoulders and his chin on your head. You smell a bit stale, a sure tell you’ve been too long in this room, but nothing so bad as Penelope had warned him about. Just day-old you. “I may not know the full scope of things, but I know you’ve been working really hard on this case. You deserve some rest. You need some rest,” he amends. “Let me drive you home.”

Something like longing flickers across your expression, but then it hardens back into resolve. “Thanks, Spence, but I can drive myself once I’m done.”

Spencer decides to switch tactics. Oftentimes, the best way to get you to accept help is to let you think you’re actually helping someone else. He straightens and takes a couple of quick steps back from your desk with your chair in hand, rolling you with him.

“Hey!” you reach for your keyboard, but Spencer’s already swiveling your seat, turning you to face him.

He sets his hands on the armrests. “Sweetheart, I just got off a four hour flight after a three day case. I’d really like to go home, but I’m not leaving here without you.” The divot between your eyebrows takes on a new character, frustration softening into sympathy. “And you haven’t even let me say a real hello.”

A spark of happiness lights your eyes a second before they fall closed, face tipping up in eager anticipation as Spencer dips down to kiss you. It’s soft and lingering, and you rub your lips together self-consciously after it’s over, realizing how chapped they are. Spencer wonders when the last time you drank water was.

“Sorry,” you say softly. “I didn’t mean to hold you up.”

“You’re not,” he reassures you quickly, wanting you pliant but not guilty. “I mean, I don’t mind. Of course I don’t mind waiting for you. But are you ready to go now?”

You cast a hesitant, skeptical look back at your computer, but Spencer smooths his thumb over the inside of your wrist, and you relent. “Yeah, okay. I just have to come back early tomorrow to finish up.”

Spencer hums noncommittally. He was already planning on disabling your alarms after you’re asleep tonight. You need rest more than the higher-ups need your reports. You stand, grabbing your bag from under your desk and letting him shepherd you towards the door.

“Do you think we could order some new takeout?” you ask him.

“Good idea,” he agrees, somewhat relieved. “The stuff in the fridge has chicken in it, I don’t trust that.”

Your laugh is somewhat lighter than usual, exhaustion setting in now that you’re out of your cave, but Spencer relishes the sound regardless. “Yeah, me neither. Pizza?”

“Pizza,” he confirms.

You make it all the way downstairs before your eyes flare and you spin around. “Shit, I think I left the light—”

“Nope.” Spencer takes you by the shoulders, steering you towards his car. “Someone else will take care of it.”

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thatanimeramenchick · 1 month

Note

I just thought of somethin(I’m sorry if I’m spamming or anything. I’ve got ADHD so my brain is constantly making ideas that I have to share. I do not wish to overwhelm you)

What about a Yandere Lucifer(Hazbin) with a immortal human reader? They were cursed from a young age with immortality because of a mistake there mother made. They can die but don’t really stay dead. Every time they die they get a scar so there covered with them both large and small. They go to university but was supposed to be sacrificed by a cult to Lucifer but obviously survived but now there stuck with Lucifer always being around?

Yandere Lucifer x Human Sacrifice Reader Pt. 1

You’re fine! Definitely not spamming. I just might take some time before I get to writing it. Lucifer has me in a choke hold, but so does Vox. I also wanted to do this idea justice, as it actually has a lot of potential, so it took me a little while before I finally felt like it sounded kind of decent. Also it was getting long, so going to be a two parter.

Part Two

Trigger Warning: Graphic Violence

Word Count: 2,431

---

You first realized something was wrong when you were twelve.

It was a warm August afternoon, perfect for a day on the lake. Only a week left before school, your extended family was having a last little hurrah camping trip. Water brushed against your shoulders as you waded through the water, looking for small fish and crawdads. Your cousins were on the shore, half asleep as they rested from swimming.

“Kids! It’s time for lunch!” you heard your Aunt’s voice fill the air.

Eager for food, like any other over-exhausted child, you turn quickly on the slick rocks, ready to run inside.

“Wait for me!” you cry out, taking no care in how fast you were moving.

And down you went. Your slipped right out from under you and sent you crashing beneath the waves. A roar filled your ears as your body ripped through the water and sent your head against the stone ground. Along with the cold water, you felt a hot liquid bubbling from the crown of your head.

Whether from shock or pain, you were unable to swim. You thrashed and attempted to scream, only letting more water into your throat. Surely someone had heard you falling and would come to save you, right? There was no way they hadn’t heard you.

Yet as seconds passed, you started to think that maybe no one had heard you. Every passing moment felt like an eternity as you were unable to hold your breath and water choked down your throat.

You swore that you felt your lungs literally ripping apart, splitting at the seams in a pain that was so intense you felt like you would black out. You suddenly knew what it was like to be the balloons you and your cousins had blown up with a little too much air and watched pop into a million pieces.

The oxygen must finally have evaporated from the combination of fluid filling your lungs and blood leaving your body. This was it.

You were going into the arms of the angels.

---

To this day, beneath your hair, was the large scar from “the incident” as your family referred to it.

Well, when they referred to it at all, which was almost never.

All you had remember was awakening in the hospital, gasps, tears, and even a scream filling the air as you sat up.

“I-impossible!” your aunt had said, gazing in shock at you, “She was… She had to be….”

“I told you, the doctors had made a mistake,” your mother had said calmly. She had been sitting beside you, squeezing your hand. Though her words were soft and controlled, there were tears on the edges of her eyes.

Your cousins started crying as well, coming forward, looking just as stunned. The only one who had seemed unsurprised was your mother, who held your hand in a death grip.

That day lived in infamy in your mind. Though nothing had ever been explained, small snippets from conversations you hadn’t been meant to overhear had formed an image of what had happened.

Finally, it had been noticed that you were not there, and your eldest cousin had been the horrified witness to your body in the lake, water red from the massive loss of blood. Though they had called the ambulance, it was clear to everyone that you had died before they had even got there.

Or so they had thought.

You had been laid in the hospital, check on, with no pulse or breath in you. Your family had been in the room crowding around you, all saying final goodbyes. All except your mother, who had simply grabbed onto your hand and insisted that you weren’t dead. The doctor had made a mistake, you would be fine. Naturally, your Aunt and Uncle thought that your mother was simply confused after the traumatic experience.

But you had woken up. Suddenly, something had changed. The machines detected life, and you had taken a gasping breath before groggily opening your eyes.

The nurses and doctors had seem just as spooked as your extended family, but once it was determined that somehow you had survived and your lungs were intact, they let you go. Someone must have made some kind of mistake at some point.

There had been no explanation, logical or otherwise for your salvation. Your mother said that you must be under divine protection, and you had accepted the answer, as much as you weren’t really convinced of it. Convinced or not, you were alive, and you supposed that was what mattered.

That had been nine years ago. It was something you rarely thought about anymore, though recently, you had been wondering about it. The whole thing was weird, and your studies in medical school only made it weirder.

You didn’t have time to think about it these days though. You were short on two things, money and time. Which is why you were now looking at the posters hung in the cafeteria for an opportunity to make some quick cash.

You had some cash flow from your repeated donations of plasma and blood cells, as well as the occasional babysitting gig in between studies. You needed more though, and the flier you were looking at was promising a lot of pay if you went to this interview and were accepted as a participant for an experiment that some seniors were doing. So many of you had participated in a couple of experiments for professors and students to earn a buck here and there. You could do it again. You ignored the vague wording, thinking that it was probably some experimentation that involved the subjects being in the dark.

So now, you were sitting on a park bench with the interviewer for the program, being drilled harder than if you had stayed out all night as a teenager.

“Do drugs, smoke, alcohol?” the interviewer asked.

“No,” you said.

“All right,” she said, "And... we'll need to know you're relationship history as well. Any boyfriends, girlfriends?”

“I had one boyfriend in high school,” you said, "Been too busy last few years though.”

“Just one boyfriend... Ok, and any hookups?” she asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Like, you know, bar or party hookups. Casual sex.”

“I-I- Uh... No,” you said.

“So you're a virgin?” she asked.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t see how this is relevant,” you said, feeling uncomfortable.

“It’s necessary information for dividing the groups in our experiment,” she said, “Your personal name isn’t going to be connected to any of this. But we need to know as much personal information as possible if you want us to consider you for this. We need to know our subjects on a deep level.”

You sigh in irritation, “Fine, whatever. Yes, I am.”

“Ok,” she said, scribbling something down.

After a few more minutes of interrogation, she stood up.

“All right then, I think I have everything I need to know. We will be in touch if you pass all right? If you do, you'll be contacted on the meeting place for the experimentation,” she said.

---

A week later, you had gotten a call back from the same interviewer, saying you had passed initial testing. They assigned a day for you to show up at the lab. After you had arrived on the appointed day and signed some wavers, they took you aside and gave you some medication, saying they were conducting a test on REM sleep in three sessions. The first two had gone typically, and you had awoken, mind numb and fuzzy after the sessions. But something was different when you woke up the third time. You weren't in the lab.

You awoke, foggy eyed, your mind still grainy. The room was freezing, even more so than the normally cool temperature it was kept at. In a few seconds, you realized you weren't in the lab at all or likely the university. Your surroundings were totally alien as you realized where you were and who you were with.

You were looking up at a circle of men and women in black and red cloaks. A sickening smell of incense fills the air, and you feel something right digging into your wrists and ankles. In moments, you realize you have been tied down to a stone altar, somewhere dark and damp, like a cave or temple. Directly over you stands a middle aged man, holding a knife.

“She’s perfect,” he said, “A beautiful young virgin. Not tainted in any way, in good health. The ideal sacrificial lamb.”

The day of the incident was swarming back into your mind as you now struggled against the rope tying you own, as futile as you had felt slapping against the water. You couldn’t even attempt to scream, a cloth was shoved so far down your throat, the scent of whatever chemical they had dipped in it making it burn. Part of you wondered if you would vomit and repeatedly suffocate before he could even stab you.

“Oh Lucifer, we call upon you to accept this sacrifice,” the man called out, raising the knife, “May you be pleased with this offering, and in exchange bless our work. May we be more prosperous and rich than any others! We bow down to you!”

With his final words, he sliced the knife into your chest, so fast and swift that you didn’t feel it at first. It was as subtle as a breeze rushing past your cheek or hearing a whisper in the hallway. Small as it was though, you couldn’t deny that it was there. Within a split second, as he ripped the knife out, you felt some of that pain materializing. A muffled scream is silenced, and you feel the cloth sink deeper into your throat, choking you. Even if your mouth can not let out a sound, the surrounding flesh is painful enough that it feels like it is screaming in silent agony.

He continues to stab at you. The pain worsens as he tries to push the knife deep into your heart, but manages to instead stab into your ribs multiple times. Each removal of the knife releases a fountain of blood. Warm, fast, sleek streams bathe your skin and clothes as he drives the knife through you over and over again, without mercy. Penetrating, forceful, as if you were being violated in the worst possible way. The physical pain of the experience is nothing compared to the mental anguish of helplessness and terror you feel.

Finally, mercifully a few cuts sink between you ribs and pierce your heart. Within minutes, your world begins fading to black.

This is it. Finally.

At least that was what you hoped. No more pain, only peace.

---

Hell was real.

You hadn’t died, but you didn’t need to for you to experience a pure torment worse than death. Some twisted miracle, curse, whatever the hell it was, had saved you. You awoke who knows how long after the attack, alone and still strapped to the stone altar. You couldn’t lift your head, it roared with pain. The pure torture of regenerating, something you hadn’t felt in years. Your body burned and itched as it restitched itself back together, slowly. The process of regeneration was in some ways more gruesome than the actual attack had been. Every inch of your chest felt like it was on fire.

The cloth was still stuck deep in your throat, making it impossible to call for help, but part of you knew that even if you could have it probably wouldn’t attract attention from anyone you would want. Your only fear was that it would remain stuck in your throat for ages. The image of it resting there until your spit somehow dissolved it and allowed for you to breathe normally haunted you, as well as the image that you might die from an infection or suffocation like this a couple of times before that happens.

Your mind was so focused on this that you didn’t notice the glowing light walking around you. Sight fuzzy, you winced as the light fully entered your focus and before you stood a man, radiating light from his crimson and white body. Wings on display, emanating from his back. No further details could be caught though, as you were in too much pain to really pay attention. Despite this though, you had no doubt who this was.

Lucifer.

You were surprised. Always, your imagination had painted the devil as a creature of darkness. Even if he wasn’t a red horned creature, you had expected a creature that radiated evil and smoke. Yet Lucifer stood before you with an almost ethereal glow about him. While there was a certain flame about him, it burned with a cool, almost glorious light.

Well, you had heard someone once say that the devil portrayed himself as a creature of light. Perhaps the brightness of his form should not surprise you. A mask of goodness over his true evil intent. He leans over you, gazing at your half-alive form.

Finally, the devil reaches over to your face, gazing at you with a look that you decide must be curiosity. There is no way that it contains the pity that your mind at first thinks it glimpses. If this is the devil that the group worshiped, then there was no way any sympathy could be found in his eyes. He lowered his hand to your face, causing you to flinch, the pain exploding at your brief movement. Instead of the expected violence though, he caresses your cheek with tenderness.

“Poor little thing. Humans are such fools,” he murmurs, “The way they treat their own is downright atrocious.”

While you would push his touch away if you could, you find it impossible. The pain is too great to bother defying him. It is nothing compared to the torture your body goes through though when he lifts you into his arms. Chipped bones feel as if they are shifting through your sliced muscle and ripped flesh. You feel more blood flowing out of your body, like the lake sand would flow between the cracks in your fingers as a child. Even though you are unable to scream, you must have at least attempted to make some kind of noise as the demon holding you makes an effort to soothe you.

“Sh… It’s all right now,” you heard, “You’re going to be just fine. There’s no need to be afraid.”

It was the last thing you heard before pain consumed your mind and took you from consciousness.

#hazbin hotel #yandere x reader #yandere lucifer morningstar #yandere lucifer #lucifer morningstar

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divinehedons · 3 months

Text

i won't hurt you.

navigation: masterlist

word count: ~1.9k words

summary: you meet joel in the aftermath of a terrible accident. reeling from the aftermath of the event, there is a looming shadow that complicates your relationship with the southern man you just somehow happened to meet

warnings: explicit (but not graphic) content–MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! relatively dark(?)-ish joel miller, allusions to smut (not heavily detailed), graphic depictions of injury, some scenes include hospitalization (not in graphic detail), dubious consent, joel miller radiates mansplain / manipulate / malewife energy, men are trash in general wbk

note: oh. my. god. it has been far too long and i’m so so very sorry for just now coming back! i’ve hit a terrible writer’s block alongside very bad mental health and i’m just now recovering :’D thank you so so so much for 800 followers, it’s going to take a while for me to respond to everyone but i’ll be going through them! i love you very very dearly, mwah!

note 2.0: pls pls lower your expectations, 🫣 i am trying to get back into the groove of things!

You remember the screech of tires on frozen asphalt. A flash of headlights. Spinning, spinning, spinning. Your body ignited in pain. Then… darkness.

Darkness that seemed to spread before you for an eternity. Untethered and stuck in limbo, perhaps in another universe, you would call it the most peaceful slumber of your life. The misfortune comes when you wake. Lightning strikes shake you awake from the darkness of your subconsciousness. Electricity trembling in your chest as it shoots through your beaten frame. A light peers through your closed eyes. Brighter, and brighter… bigger and bigger. A ringing in your ears that almost deafens you.

The world shifts around you, and you wake paralyzed, staring at the ceiling in the warm sun that falls on your body lying there. Everything hurts. There is a humming in your head that you cannot seem to shake out of.

The solitude lasts for a beat. Then another. That’s when you see him.

A sleepless, roughened man looking at you with his warm eyes. Through the bleary vision of your own gaze, a shaky breath escapes him. His crinkled eyes looking over your features with a swift once over.

“Oh, Christ, you’re awake.”

And that’s how you met Joel.

–

In the week that followed your complicated recovery, Joel tells you he saw the crash. Tells you the asshole who ran you over was nowhere to be seen. He says most of it with his eyes averted. Yet you hold your gaze.

You will not be weakened by the shame of your misery.

It is two days later when you confess to him; your throat still rasping as the pain in your head boils and toils beneath your skull. You look at him when he arrives, paint-stained shirt providing evidence of a messy day of working. “I don’t want to think about what happened to me anymore, Joel.”

Your tongue grabs at words the way young children do with sticky fruit in the summer. As if language has become foreign to you.

Joel, keys in hand, meets your gaze with a furrowed brow. “Sure, sugar. Whatever you need.”

Maybe your eyes were tricking you, but you could’ve sworn you saw his shoulders relax from some kind of tension leaving his body.

–

Joel doesn’t know what he had gotten himself into. What he does know is that for some reason, he couldn’t bear the idea of staying away from you. You tell him fragments of what little you remember, your concussed consciousness blindly clawing at every last bit of beaten brain matter for some kind of answer.

You sometimes cry from the effort it takes you to think, but he’s there. The first few times, he held your hand. As the hours bled into days, he held you as you wet his shirt with warm tears. Sometimes, when the nightmares reach him in his own bed a few miles out from the hospital, it feels like you’re bleeding into him.

From the moment he saw you, he had been marked. And no matter how many times he scratched at his own skin, he could never wash away the blood on his hands.

–

He’s the one to take you home to your quiet little apartment, having grown dust in your absence. You apologize, he waves you off. He watches you as you peer out of the window, comprehending a view that had once been so mundane, transformed into some shred of a miracle for you to still be there, witnessing it all. He’s behind you, ten feet away, tilting his head as your hair catches what little sunlight blessed you the day you left the hospital.

He says your name, and you look back at him with a curious smile. “My God,” he followed. “You look just like starlight.” He steps forward, and that’s when you know everything had fallen into place. Without another moment lapsing, he takes your face into his hands, pulling you into a searing kiss.

You apologize so many times. For the hospital smell on your skin. For your trembling knees. For the dizzying sensation of human contact without the involvement of medical processes. For feeling so unclean.

Meanwhile, he apologizes, too. For kissing you. For pulling you to him. For holding you. For carrying you to the forlorn couch grown cold from the absence of human warmth. So many times that there are times that you don’t know what is there to apologize for. You shake your head each and every time.

The tears roll down your cheek just as he pulls away and his eyes immediately soften. You shake your head, pulling him into another kiss as you whine.

There are many things you want to tell him. But you don’t dare tell him this: Sometimes being offered tenderness feels like the very proof that you have been ruined.

“Tell me to stop, honey, and I will,” he murmurs, holding your cheek as you pause between touches. You shake your head immediately. You want many things. You are hungry and untamed. But you do not want him to stop.

You tell him as much. “Joel, don’t you dare stop.”

And he doesn’t. Not when you’re naked and he sees your bruised skin, purple and yellowed in places. He looks to you just as your body tenses. His demeanor softens, kissing along your jaw and your neck with a shaky breath.

“I won’t hurt ya, darlin’.”

He keeps to that promise. Even when your legs are around his waist and he’s caught in your warmth. He says it again and again as you whine into the cool, quiet solitude of your home.

I won’t hurt you, I won’t hurt you.

–

Falling in love with Joel was both so complicated and so simple at once. Whenever you wake beside him, you wake up writhing from the pain of your injuries; sometimes crying from the nightmares that followed every waking moment. You felt marred by shame for putting so much of your perceived burden on his shoulders. He never departs from your side, his strong arms placating you while his lips press against your temple.

It’s all so simple, the way he cares about you. And whether or not you admitted it, you like the feeling of being cared for. Of having someone that cares.

Regardless, you cannot escape the fact that someone did this to you. And whenever the pain shocks your body, everything but rabid rage escapes your body. You curse the stranger, whoever they may be, for that cursed night.

Joel sees glimpses of this. He saw it most that one afternoon when the hospital called, saying you had been taken care of. By who, they didn’t say. Only that the stranger apologized for what happened.

You were on the floor, hands trembling in the fists you held them in. The hospital bill crumpled a few inches away. You do not see him. What you see is all red.

A wail escapes your trembling mouth just as your hands claw at anything they can touch. It is an uncontrollable surge of blinding, mouth-foaming, unbridled rage. He’s there, trying to hold you down before you hurt yourself. Each wail pierces another hole into his aching heart. Each struggle followed by his gentle shushing, trying to assuage you in the crest of your emotion.

“Whoever it was,” you told him then as you sobbed. “They ruined my life.”

“Darlin, darlin’...” He breathes in, cupping your face. “Maybe he’s around and he regrets-”

“No!” You claw at him, just as he holds you tighter against his chest. “If he could find me, then he could say it to my face. He wouldn’t be some coward who left me alone like this after he ruined my life!”

It destroys him. And you can see it in his face. All he can do is hold you as you cry against his chest. All he can do is shut his eyes, letting the waves of grief crest over and over your frame. Letting your sobs tear him open and burn him out.

He tells you nothing lasts forever. That he’ll be there for as close to forever as possible. You shake your head because you know better. He says nothing lasts forever. He doesn’t know he’s just afraid your pain can last longer than he is capable of loving you.

–

Perhaps, to the end of his days, Joel will regret that drunken night. He’ll regret following his bleary gaze through the quiet, sleet-slick roads. He’ll regret the fact that he couldn’t have stopped his truck sooner.

When he steps out into the cold just as he smells the acrid scent of burning tires, he sees your bloodied face in your car. So small. So undeserving. He muttered a string of cusses. The sudden shock of adrenaline washing away the last of his drunkenness. He looks back at his truck, horrifically beaten, his gaze doubling from his last bout of drunkenness.

He bargains that night. Calls up someone high up amongst the police rank to bail him out. He negotiated for ten minutes. Then he hides the truck somewhere off the side of the road for him to come back to and dispose of. And then, only then, did he call for help.

Only then did he reach you in the driver’s seat, blood now caked to your skin as he lay you out amongst the concrete.

You make some sound, and he cusses to himself.

His rough palms cup your cheek, trying to get you to look at him then. But you were too far gone.

He spoke, anyway. Just in case you’ll hear it.

“It’s alright, doll. I won’t hurt you.”

Even now, weeks after he stole your life from you, he holds you and tells you the same thing anyway. The same set of words that manage to calm you down.

He does love you. And it breaks him every day to know he was the one to endanger you.

I won’t hurt you, I won’t hurt you.

#circe writes #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller angst #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut

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mirkwoodshewolf · 1 year

Text

Best support friend; Rocket raccoon x gn reader

*Author’s note*

A double update? No get out of town! Truthfully I was gonna save posting this fic up once I got a Jack Kline request that has been sitting in my inbox collecting dust for almost a year or however long ago it was but I decided idk when I’ll post it up so I decided to just go ahead and post this fic up and hopefully I’ll do the Jack Kline one in the next week or so (it’s like 75% done).

So @itsscromp here is your new Rocket raccoon request.

Warnings: abuse, fluff, panic attacks, angst, protective Rocket, swearing, clueless ravagers.

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@queen-paladin

@queensdivas

@gay-and-ready-to-cry

@austynparksandpizza

___________________________________________________________

“NONE OF THIS WOULD’VE HAPPENED IF YOU HAD JUST LET ME TAKE THE REINS FOR ONCE!!” exclaimed a voice.

“Well excuse me for not letting the man with the robotic eyes take the wheel.” Another voice snarked sarcastically. I was passing through Knowhere trying to organize some supplies when I heard the sound of arguing. I followed the voices and there were Ezekiel and Torath.

“Oh no what now?” I muttered as I walked towards them. The two of them continued to argue as I spoke up. “Hey guys.”

“You have any idea what that shrimp Quill is gonna do to us the minute we tell you lost the cargo?” Torath said.

“I lost the cargo? Need I remind you that it was because of your glitchy eyes that you hit the ejector button sending the cargo out into the depths of space!” Ezekiel snapped again at Torath.

“And need I remind you that you are literally the worst pilot in the entire galaxy! I’ve seen beasts with half a brain fly advance ships better than you!”

“Okay guys can we please just….” I tried to cease the argument but the two stubborn, pig-headed men got into a squabble. Fists were flying and swears were spat out. “hey! Hey! Hey! Hey guys stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” suddenly I caught an elbow to the nose which not only sent me to the ground but also in a flashback.

~Flashback~

I fell to the ground as a punch came across my face and I whimpered as I spat out blood.

“Quit being weak Terran! How will you ever grow a backbone if you keep behaving like a sniveling coward!”

“But sir it—” I was kicked in the stomach this time and I let out a soft but painful grunt.

“You tell me it hurts and I swear I will make your next test more painful than the last!” I whimpered and gave him a nod as he forced me to stand back up and told me to stand my ground as he kept punching and kicking me.

~End of flashback~

My chest tightened and my heart pounded against my ears. No I-I wasn’t there! I wasn’t there anymore! I-I have to get out of here! I stood up and took off running as fast as I could. Even when I had ran into someone I didn’t stop, all I knew was that I had to get out of there.

*Rocket’s POV*

I felt someone shove pass me but just before I could snap at them telling them to watch where they were going, I saw the familiar shape of (Y/n). Normally they don’t just run like that unless there’s something wrong or their in a hurry. And they’re usually not in a hurry.

That’s when I heard the sound of Torath and Ezekiel screaming and rolling all over each other in a brawl. I went over to them and called out to them.

“OI SHITS FOR BRAINS!!” but not even my voice could deter them from arguing. I nodded nonchalantly as I took out my electro-shocker gun and activated it. I first aimed it at Ezekiel and fired one shot before firing at Torath. And just like when Groot, (Y/n) and I first hunted down Quill, they both exclaimed as the electro-shock balls stuck to them and they were given a good shock. “Have I got your attention now shitbags?”

“What was that for rodent?” snapped Ezekiel.

“First of all don’t call me a rodent, not when I can give you a second dosage of shocks. Maybe this time I’ll crank it up a notch.” That got him to shut up. “Second of all, why was (Y/n) racing out from your general direction looking upset?”

“(Y/n) was here?” Torath asked as his robotic eyes moved around.

“Yeah she was now answer my question nimrods! What happened?!”

“I didn’t even know that she had even came here.” I rolled my eyes and shook my head.

“How do you not notice them? They’re the only Terran besides Quill!”

“Wait, is that why my elbow hurts so much?” asked Ezekiel. My ears twitched and I slowly turned towards him, my tail twitching in anger.

“What. Was that. You said?!” I sneered lowly.

“In our squabble, I—I felt my elbow hit something but I—” I didn’t even let him finish as I launched at him and proceeded to beat the shit out of him. Blinded by pure rage.

How dare this son of a bitch hit (Y/n)! She had to live her entire life abused and tortured just to prove that she could enhance her skin into a hard-carbon shield. Had it not been for Groot and I, she would’ve had to spend the rest of her miserable life with that sick, cowardly bastard.

I was deep in my rage that I hadn’t even felt myself being pulled forced away from Ezekiel and Quill’s voice exclaimed.

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Whoa Rocket cool it man! Now I don’t know what the hell brought this on but you need to chill out right now!”

“This spineless rat hurt (Y/n)!” I yelled.

“I didn’t know they were even here! We didn’t know they were there!” Ezekiel tried to reason as Torath helped him up.

“With the way you two were bitching at each other you couldn’t see your own noses at the end of your faces!” I managed to wriggle my way out of Quill’s hold and without another word raced off to find (Y/n).

Being reminded of any form of abuse whether it’s done to themselves or they see if, they get triggered by it and let me tell you it gets bad. So bad that they sometimes forget where they are or whose friend of foe. All they see is that damned doctor.

I was asking around hoping that anyone had seen them but they all proved to be a bunch of negligent losers. That was until Mantis had said that she felt their emotions coming from my ship. I raced back to the Milano and soon enough in the main cockpit I found them huddled up, their chest rising up and down at an erratic pace.

I could also hear just how bad their heart was racing and could smell the panicked sweat from not only their brow but also their clammy hands. I walked towards them but didn’t speak, at this point they wouldn’t be able to hear me. But there was one way to pull them out of this…..and Quill or Drax better not be spying on me otherwise I’ll blast them halfway across the quadrant.

I sat as close as I could beside them and first gave their bicep a gentle and affectionate nuzzle. I then placed my paw onto their forearm and using my claws I very gently stroked down the skin of their forearm. Then going back up to the same place where I started before going back down again.

“C’mon (N/n). Come back to me. You can do this.” I muttered before their breathing slowed and they seemed to be coming back down to reality.

*My POV*

It had been forever since I had a panic attack. If I didn’t know what they were, I swear I thought I was dying. My vision was so blurry, I couldn’t even see my own hand in front of my face. There was this high-pitch ringing that was constantly piercing my ears and my body felt paralyzed after I had collapsed into god knows where.

That’s when I felt something furry against my arm. I also felt sharp nails (or claws) gently stroke down my arm. They didn’t hurt but they did send tingles up from my arm to my spine. Slowly the claws kept stroking down my forearm until I lifted it up and found my hand being placed on something soft.

I opened my eyes and after blinking away some of the tears as well as the haze that my vision was making, it began to focus and there I saw Rocket sitting right beside me. His ears slightly bent backward as his eyes were looking at me assuringly and I also saw that my hand was now resting just on top of his head.

He gave me a soft nod and allowed me to stroke through his fur (knowing that it helped calm me down in the past). After petting his head for a few minutes, I was able to unfold my legs from my chest so that they now were fully extended in front of me and I felt the tingling sensation of them falling asleep.

Rocket then rested his upperbody on top of my right thigh and allowed me to continue stroking his fur until I felt a vibration on my thigh. I looked down and as I stroked down Rocket’s neck, I could feel him purring, like actually purring. I didn’t even know he could purr (kinda made me think back to the cats back on Earth).

“I….didn’t know you could purr like a cat.”

“This is a once in a lifetime thing. You speak of this to anyone, especially that stupid mutt Cosmo, I’ll rip your head off.”

“Thank you Rocket. This……means a lot.”

“Been a long time since you had one, figured you’d need something to help calm you down.” Rocket can be gruff and hard on the outside but when he wants to, if you look deep, deep, deep, deep down inside, you’ll find that he’s just a sweet, caring, intuitive creature who will do anything to help you out.

Even if it’s purring like a cat and having someone pet you constantly until they feel centered again. But I wouldn’t have my best friend any other way.

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soup-14 · 2 years

Text

Five x reader blurb

I just expect new Five fanfics to be written and there for me every second of the day.

Not like there’s actual people thinking of and writing these ideas 🙄😩

Not like it also takes me like a week to write a one shot 😭

So here's a Five x reader thought to ease my brain.

Tags: platonic Klaus, romantic Five, fluff, angst ig, some silly moments.

——————

Imagine getting separated from him in the 60’s and that moment when you all reunite and you see him again.

For him it’s only been a couple days

For you it’s been years.

When you fell into that alley way you were incredibly distraught. Not unfamiliar with the act of time travel, but Five or another commission partner was always there. You were alone, stranded in a different place and time, stuck in a younger body. The things that could happen.

You searched for any sign of the date. Newspapers, posters. It was 1961.

You’d wandered around that alley for hours. Waiting for someone else to show up.

You gave up after a while, deciding to ask strangers for help. How would any of them help you find your strange time scattered family.

You spotted a flyer, a flyer with a familiar face on it… Klaus. Looks like he was a messiah or something. You wouldn’t question it. You just knew you had to find him.

You hitched a ride, and found yourself at a big mansion. You don’t know how long Klaus had been here but damn he’s moved up in the world.

You wandered into the large house looking for him. People in light turquoise tunics were everywhere. One woman stopped you in the main foyer. “Welcome traveler, are you here to join us in our endeavors?” She asked. “Um- I’m looking for Klaus.” You held up the flyer. “The prophet! Yes, he’s right this way.”

The woman led you to a bedroom in the back of house. She pushed open the double doors to reveal the man you’d been looking for, bent over in downward dog.

The woman cleared her throat “Prophet? There’s someone here for you.”

Klaus rose from the floor and turned to face you. As soon as he saw you a bright smile plastered his face. He let out a breathy chuckle and clasped his hands together. “Y/n! You’re here!” He held his hands out and walked towards you. “Oh it’s been so crazy, when did you get here?” He asked placing his hands on your shoulders.

“It’s good to see you Klaus, I’m glad I found at least one of you idiots. I’ve been here since like yesterday. I uh, saw your flyer.”

“Mm yeah those…” said Klaus. “I got here like a year ago. Tricked some rich old lady.” Klaus giggled.

“We should find the others.”

“What? Why?” Klaus whined. “I’m having a good tiimeee. And besides some of them might not even be here yet. I’m sure Five will come collect us when the world is ending… again.”

“Five.” You say.

“Oh yeah… I don’t know if he’s here yet babe. Don’t go hurting yourself looking for him though, you know him… he’ll find us.” Klaus says in his melodic way.

——

When Diego showed up at the mansion to collect you and Klaus- or rather Ben- apparently. It was safe to say you were ecstatic. Diego didn’t have a lot of time to explain, but he did say that Five had found a way to get back to 2019.

Ben had some “unattended ghost business” to attend to so you sat around waiting for him for a good 10 minutes. Anxiously biding your time, shaking your leg, biting your nails. Five always told you to top doing that.

You hadn’t seen him in two years. You were shamed to admit that sometimes you would forget about what happened before ending up in 61. Maybe Klaus’ cult lifestyle really was calming the mind.

You don’t even know if Five missed you as much as you did him. You don’t know how long he’s been here, but the only thing on your mind is how you can’t wait to see him.

———

Klaus/Ben dragged you out the front door of the mansion, leaving the cult behind. No goodbyes, no last words of wisdom. Except for something from The Backstreet Boys.

The two of you rushed all the way to town and to the shop Diego told you to meet at.

Klaus stumbled into the alley way, struggling against himself, smacking himself in the face, shoving himself around. He ended up projectile vomiting across the ground, and whining on his knees.

Five yelled at him and threw the briefcase into the air as it went off. Their best chance of escape- gone.

Five; blinded by his rage didn't seem to notice you standing at the end of the alley.

“It was a simple task!” He complained, “meet me here within the time I told you, and we all get our real lives back! But no! Of course only two of you show up!”

“Three, actually.” You say, walking down the alley towards Five.

He turns towards the sound of your voice. His eyes grow wide for a second and a quick smile spreads on his lips. Your name comes out soft and breathy, as if he can’t believe you’re really there.

A grin is plastered across your face, and your eyes water at the sight of him. Your steps towards him quicken and his do as well. He meets you halfway and blinks right up to you, arms already open. You crash right into his arms, grip the back of his blazer, and bury your head into the crook of his neck. You breathe in his familiar scent and release a shaky sigh.

“I missed you.” You mumble.

“I missed you too. Are you okay? Not hurt? How long have you been here?” Five bombards you with questions as he pulls away and examines your face in his hands.

“Two years, I got here in 61.”

“I'm so sorry.” Five whispers, resting his forehead against yours.

"It's not your fault. I found Klaus so it was... slightly bearable." you chuckled softly. "How long have you been here?" You ask.

"I got here just a few days ago." Five says.

"Well I'm glad I found you." you say, hugging Five tighter.

----------

(AN: Next I present to you random dialogue from this story line that I don't want to fully write out into a detailed scenario)

--------

"Y/n, sweetheart, for the itching." Five says while handing you the bottle of baby powder.

"Itching? There's itching?" Questions Luther. Five ignores him.

--------

"Can't wait to meet our old selves, it's going to be so weird." You say.

"Focus y/n, we just have to get that briefcase." Five says.

"Yeah fine, you're already paranoid without the psychosis." You say.

-------

"Who the hell are you?" Asks old Five.

"Who do you think, dumb ass?" Says old y/n.

Old Five looks back and forth between the two y/ns.

------

As young and old Five beat the crap out of each other, and occasionally Luther; "Boys." old y/n sighs, wiping sweat from their brow and shifting uncomfortably. "Tell me about it." Says young y/n itching, eyes shifting around paranoid. "Just wait till you meet the rest of his brothers."

------

On the farm after Five kills The Handler;

Five lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding as he watched the last Swede walk away. He turns around and blinks to where you stand. He takes you into his arms and holds you close. You hold him back, although a bit confused.

"What happened Five?" You whisper. You're familiar with Five, and with time travel. You figured he used his power to fix something that happened.

"You died." He mutters quickly, resting his head on your shoulder.

"Ah." You pause. "And you saved me." you reassure him.

He sighs and pulls away. He presses a kiss to your cheek and rests his nose against your temple. "Let's get out of here yeah? Let's go home."

"Yeah, let's go."

---------

Well that starting as something and then turned into something else. I just have a Five deficiency.

I hope you enjoy whatever the hell this turned out to be.

Um I'm not like taking requests officially but if you have an idea I can try to write it within like a week T-T

#the umbrella academy #tua #tua klaus #tua five #tua imagine #five hargreeves #five x reader #five hargreeves imagine #five hargreeves one shot #five hargreeves x reader #number five #five x you #aidan gallagher #klaus hargreeves

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thunderstomm · 14 days

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HOT WHEELS: LET’S RACE - Mini-Redesigns and Headcanons !

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been watching this super-cute new hot wheels show! And while I originally didn’t intend to do much in terms of fan content, I accidentally got very attached to these silly little guys so something was in order. While I like what the show has to offer, I don’t love that they wear casual clothes instead of actual racing gear, so I designed my own !!

The suits match because I imagine that these were given to them as a gift from Dash, symbolising the shift from “temporary campers” to her full-time protégés. I wanted to go full-hot wheels inspo, so all of the suits are decked out with a sweet flame pattern ! They all have little name badges on the side, and the colours of their suits are taken from the racing gloves which Dash gives them in S1! I wanted the suits to feel very simple compared to a pro racer’s suit, so while they have many staples, they have no sponsor patches anywhere ! As for the numbers on their suits, they are their rankings from camp !(thanks @viewer-of-many for the idea!!)

As I do with any media I like, I’ve included some little headcanon pages to go with! I’ve included headcanons for their full names- because I refuse to believe that these are all their legal names- as well as their pronouns, ages, racer numbers, nationalities, and heights ! I want to go in-depth on some of my choices, so buckle in! (Also if you’re finding this post and you’re a hot wheels fan PLEASE come talk to me I need more people to babble with)

COOP

Cooper “Coop” Fèng, our camp champ and main character is up first! I’m pretty sure that Cooper is canonically his first name, so I stuck with that. The nickname “Coop” was kind of just a natural development, it’s shorter, and he likes cars. Perfect! His surname is Fèng, a Chinese surname that means phoenix- which I chose because I think it’s a neat reference to his shift from “average kid” to camp champ. A real rise from the ashes! I headcanon him to be Chinese & African American- his Dad is the former and his other parent would be the latter. His pronouns are he/him, he’s 12 years old, 4’10” tall and thanks to his winning status- racer 01 in the level 2 training program !!

MAC

Mackenzie “Mac” Caliper is next ! Like Cooper, I feel like his nickname is just a shortened version of his full name, and “Mackenzie” just felt right. Before you ask- the name is gender neutral where I come from. His surname, Caliper, is taken from a car part, it’s the disc in a brake system ! Also I made his hair into some sort of mullet-y thing because of his crimes of having no bangs. I headcanon him to be Canadian. Mac uses he/him pronouns, is 12 years old (he is the oldest of the three 12 year olds, having a December birthday in the year prior), 4’11” tall, and racer 04 !

SPARK

Samantha “Spark” Turner ! For her first name, I wanted something cute that could hypothetically be given a GNC nickname. Plus “Samantha” and “spark” sound so cute together! The nickname Spark came from her love of inventing, and how her brain is always “sparking” with ideas! Her surname, Turner, is a play on a car’s “turn signal”. Not included on the chart, but I headcanon her as Autistic ! Spark is a black Canadian, her pronouns are she/her, she is 11 years old (the youngest of the 6 campers), 4’7” tall, and is racer 03 !!

BRIGHTS

Bryce “Brights” Hikari is racer 05! I imagine that she was born missing her arm, hence her prosthetic. Despite her hair matching her Uncle’s- it’s 100% dyed. Her first name, Bryce, fully just comes from me mishearing her name the first time I watched the show. So I choose to reuse it. I headcanon her as being Japanese, and her surname, Hikari, means “light”! The nickname “Brights” combines the sound of her first name and the meaning of her last! Brights uses she/her pronouns, is 12 years old, and is 4’9” tall.

AXLE

Axle Spoiler, son of beloved champ Striker Spoiler! The only character with a canon full name, and the only one who I can believe that his name is actually his legal one. I headcanon him as being Mexican. Axle is the oldest of the racers, at 14 years old. Axle uses he/him pronouns, is 5’2” tall, and is racer 02- something he accepts, but feels just a little taunted by. (I feel so funny saying so little about him because he’s my favourite.)

SIDECAR

Simon “Sidecar” Cotter is the final racer ! For his name, I wanted to keep the initials of his nickname (S.C.) intact. I went with Simon for his first name, because it’s a little goofy, but also feels just a little TOO formal for someone like him. His surname is, you guessed it, a reference to a car part! A Cotter is a pin which secures something in place. I think that Axle gave him the nickname “sidecar”, because he seems to start off as his sidekick. Sidecar is American, 13 years old, 4’8” tall, uses he/him pronouns, and is racer 06 at camp !!

While that is all I’ll be sharing for now, I do have another more detailed art piece of these guys in their canon outfits, in my more polished art style, which I hope can be coming out sooner than later. Again, if you like this show, please DM me here or on discord so we can chat!!

Thanks for reading !! 🩵💚💛🩷❤️🩶

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thegirlwiththestarbirdtattoo · 1 year

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The Gift

Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Fem Reader

Summary: As you grow closer to Wilhemina, you decide on making her a very special gift. Will it push her away for good or take your relationship in a direction that you both secretly hope for?

A/N: Welcome to what will most likely be my first and last fic lol. I’m no writer but I’ve had this concept stuck in my brain for over a year and last week decided to actually write it down.

No warnings that I can think of. Turned into a pretty fluffy Christmas fic. Enjoy!

Word count: 5800

To say that Wilhemina Venable was furious would be the understatement of the century.

The first thing that she’d been informed of this morning was that Jeff and Mutt had decided to hire someone without her knowledge, and for a position that seemed entirely fictitious.

“We need a third brain Ms. Venable!”

Hearing Jeff exclaim that to her almost made her retort with a comment letting him know he’d still need to find two more if that was his goal.

“Yeah,” butted in Mutt, “and you’re busy running all of the behind the scenes stuff around here. We need someone who can come up with ideas with us. Ways that we can use the tech for other things. Like a professional problem solver or creative engineer or something.”

“You shouldn’t be so annoyed with us,” Jeff continued, “this is like the most sane, sober thought we��ve had in months.”

Now that she could agree with.

When she heard that they’d hired a woman for the job she assumed they had just decided they wanted to keep one of their usual girls around more permanently and their attempt at a job description was all for show. She supposed she would find out soon enough. Part of the hiring bombshell that they’d dropped on her this morning was that the new employee would be joining them in a couple of hours for orientation.

When Wilhemina heard footsteps walking down the hallway to her office just over an hour later, she didn’t even bother to look up from her laptop, assuming it was one of the typical delivery people. That was until she heard an unknown voice introducing themselves to her.

…

Jeff and Mutt had instructed you to show up on Monday for orientation with a ‘Ms. Venable’. They also advised you to “just follow the purple”, whatever that meant.

You arrived at Kineros, nervous as ever. Security in the lobby of the building pointed you in the right direction, which is how you found yourself walking down an obscenely long hallway to a woman sitting behind a desk. A stunning woman dressed in head to toe lavender. Ah, so that’s what they meant about the purple.

“Hello,” you started, once reaching the table, “I’m y/n l/n. You must be Ms. Venable, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

When Wilhemina finally decided to look up from her laptop it was to a sight she was not entirely expecting. Stood before her was yes, a beautiful woman, but someone that was definitely not one of Jeff and Mutt’s usual girls. Looks like they were telling the truth.

Wilhemina stood up from her desk to shake your hand before leading you down a hallway to what would become your office.

Wilhemina for her part, couldn’t help but be intrigued by this new addition to the company. She could tell that you were listening intently to her explanations and asked well thought out questions when needed. You seemed respectable enough. A far cry from what she was used to dealing with.

Wilhemina soon realized that your hiring was actually a very good idea. At the very least so that she could have an intelligent conversation with another human being.

She knew that Jeff and Mutt were smart… in their own way. They were masters in their field but were severely lacking in a lot of other areas. Not to mention all of the ways they could grate on her nerves.

You however, were just as intelligent and a million times more professional. She started requesting that you join her for company meetings instead of Jeff and Mutt. Especially ones that involved investors. The boys didn’t care one bit; they were happy to have the extra time to partake in other activities.

Wilhemina insisted to herself that she was so happy with the change because it involved far less babysitting of the imbeciles and not because it meant that she got to see you more.

…

It had been a couple of months since you started working at Kineros Robotics. So far you were really enjoying it. The work was challenging at times but fulfilling, and you’d also had the privilege of getting to know the infamous Ms. Venable a little better.

At the beginning of your time at Kineros you’d kept to yourself as much as possible, which was fine by you. It wasn’t hard - the only people at the company that you had any consistent contact with were Jeff, Mutt and Ms. Venable - who you soon realized was the real reason the company wasn’t in complete disarray.

You hadn’t seen a reason to really leave your office other than for meetings with Jeff and Mutt, and the odd other meeting that Ms. Venable had started requesting your presence at. That included your lunch breaks.

One day, a couple of weeks in to your time at Kineros, you decided to be a bit more adventurous and actually leave your office for lunch. You found a quiet table on the grounds, far away from where most of the other employees seemed to enjoy hanging around. It was surrounded by trees that provided nice shade and some separation from the rest of the sitting areas. You had been sitting there for no longer than five minutes when a shadow appeared across the table.

“I see you’ve found my usual spot.”

You looked up from your lunch to see none other than Ms. Venable standing before you.

“It’s lovely out here, I can see why you’re so fond of it. My apologies,” and you made to get up from your seat when she held up her hand at you.

“No need to leave. I wouldn’t mind the company today.”

You sat back down in slight shock. It’s not that Ms. Venable scared you - it was more respect and admiration. By the interactions you’d had with her so far, you’d come to see how intimidating she could be. She was fully in control anywhere she went and you’d gotten the impression that she wasn’t a woman who would want to spend more time in anyone’s presence beyond what she absolutely had to. Yet here she was having lunch with you.

Even more shocking to you was how the next day she came to your office asking if you’d join her for lunch again. The same happened the next day, and the next, and soon enough you were meeting up without having to ask one another - although you typically met up at one of your respective offices and walked out together.

Your conversations ranged from just about anything; something fascinating you’d read about online, current books and movies, your thoughts about the universe in general. The topics never got too personal though. One time you’d made some offhand comment about family and she’d tensed up so much it had deterred you from ever coming close to the topic again.

Sometimes you barely spoke at all, but that suited you both fine. You’d both eased into the routine as if you’d been lifelong friends. She’d permitted you calling her Wilhemina during these moments together as well.

At couple of weeks into your lunches together you’d somehow worked up the courage to inquire about her cane. Although it wasn’t exactly the question Wilhelmina was expecting.

“May I ask you something?”

Wilhelmina stiffened immediately, dreading where this conversation was about to go, especially with you looking over at her with such a contemplative expression. She doesn’t know exactly what possessed her, but she nodded for you to continue regardless.

You opened and closed your mouth, trying to figure out how to word the question that’s been on your mind. Eventually you settled on “How do you not have a purple cane?”

Wilhemina barked out something resembling a laugh, clearly not expecting that to be your question. She was grateful though. She assumed it was going to be something far more personal than that, something more along the lines of the typical “why do you use a cane?” and the far less tactfully worded questions that’d she’d come to expect from anyone that she allowed near her for more than a brief interaction, which was an almost non existent list at this point. Until you came along that is.

Truthfully she didn’t know how she’d handle such a question coming from you either. Typically she’d tear the person apart for even daring to ask such a thing. But not you. She didn’t know what it was but she couldn’t deny that she felt safe in your presence - something that she wasn’t sure if she’d ever truly experienced with another person.

She wasn’t quite sure how to even handle your current question. She looked back over to you, her expression softening slightly when she saw the look of half terror gracing your face.

“I suppose I’ve just never come across one. It seems that purple canes aren’t in the highest demand, as criminal as that should be.”

You smiled at her comment, relaxing a bit once you realized she wasn’t going to tear your head off for asking your question. Not only that, she was even slightly joking with you.

“It is a shame. What would be your ideal cane design?”

You observe her deep in thought across from you.

“I don’t know.” She says a moment later. The answer surprises you.

Everything that you’ve seen this woman do has been meticulous. She’s by far the most prepared and put together person you’d ever met and you thought that a question about such an important accessory to her would have an almost immediate answer. It seems like something that she would have already thought about in great detail.

The rest of your lunch together was spent mostly in silence. You glanced up from eating to observe your company still busy within her own mind. You began to worry that your last question had been a mistake.

The next day Wilhemina invited you to join her once again to lunch. Practically the moment you had sat down at your usual spot, she began.

“I’ve been thinking about your question from yesterday. I suppose a deep plum or eggplant colour might look rather striking. With ornate baroque-style filigree starting from the handle and running down along the sides.”

She began to eat as if she’d said nothing. But you were in awe of her. You felt as if she’d just told you one of her deepest secrets. In a way she had by disclosing any information about such a personal item.

From that moment you knew you had to make it your mission to make this come to life for her.

…

A few days after the initial determination had worn off, the realization of what you were setting out to create finally started to sink in.

It had been a long time since you’d doubted yourself so much. Were you capable of making it? You knew you were good at your job - Jeff and Mutt wouldn’t have sought you out if you weren’t. But were you really the best person to be designing such an important piece? Especially for someone who your admiration for only continued to grow.

You also briefly considered whether giving her such an item would be immediate grounds for your murder in her eyes. You came to the conclusion that you’d die happy as long as she got her purple cane.

And so you began. You sketched out ideas, drew up more finalized designs, threw those out and started from scratch - all in between your other work at Kineros and most importantly without Ms. Venable finding out what you were working on.

When you started to get closer to a design you were happy with, you did decide to fill Jeff and Mutt in on at least a little of your plan. You needed to get their permission to use some of the company’s departments and contacts to manufacture the parts you were designing. They of course wanted all of the details, happy that their dear Ms. Venable had someone else looking out for her.

“You don’t think she’ll kill me because of it?”

They laughed before Jeff continued with “Kill you? Definitely not. Ms. Venable seems rather… attached to you.”

“Dude,” butted in Mutt. “She’s in love with her. When was the last time you’ve seen Venable share so much as a non-hostile glance at anyone. They’ve basically spent every lunch together since we hired y/n.”

“That’s not true,” You corrected Mutt. “I didn’t leave my office for the first couple of weeks.”

“Doesn’t matter!” They both chimed in.

“We, well at least I have seen how she gets all googly eyed every time your name comes up. She’s gone completely soft for you. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

You were incredibly flustered with the direction the conversation had started to go. Ms. Venable in love with you?

You left Jeff and Mutt’s office as fast as you could after that, your mind going non stop. You barely even registered Wilhemina’s concerned calls after you as she watched you practically run past her desk towards your own office. You yelled something back to her along the lines of ‘everything is fine’ and that you ‘just forgot about something’.

Once you’d made it to the safety of your office, you started to come to terms with what Jeff and Mutt seemed so sure about.

You’d known for a while that you were in love with Wilhemina Venable but you never dared to hope that anything would come of it. You were just happy that you got to be in her presence at all, as desperate as that may sound.

Over your many shared lunch breaks, an unspoken understanding seemed to have formed between you both - that neither of you had come across someone quite like the other, that you weren’t even sure someone like the other person could even exist. Neither one of you ever acknowledged it though, and you assumed that it would remain as such.

But after your conversation with Jeff and Mutt, you couldn’t help but think of all of the interactions you’d had with Wilhemina Venable. You’d seen her as her most intimidating, professional self at numerous shared meetings, and you compared that to the Wilhemina that you’d come to know over your lunch breaks, and more recently, time together outside of work. They hardly seemed like the same person. You wouldn’t call the Wilhemina during your time together ‘warm’ by any stretch of the imagination but Mutt’s observation of her - soft - was slightly more fitting. She seemed more relaxed around you and that gave you hope.

Especially when she started agreeing to accompany you on various weekend trips.

It had started during one of your conversations at lunch; you’d made a comment about wanting to visit a particular exhibit of one of your favourite artists at a local gallery. It surprised you when she said she’d heard about the exhibit as well.

“Are you busy this weekend?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, “No. Why?”

“Then why don’t we check out the exhibit together?”

It was clear that your invitation had taken her back. It had also taken the remainder of the week to convince her to go with you.

That day was so special to you. Getting to see her outside of work, being able to admire her as she admired the artwork on the gallery walls - none of which could rival her magnificence.

What you weren’t aware of was just how special the day was for her as well. She had never truly met anyone that she wanted to be in the presence of for prolonged periods of time, not to mention them seeming to want to spend time with her in return. And she’d certainly not had anyone ask her to accompany them on a visit to an art gallery - an activity she had always been fond of.

The prospect had left her shocked and slightly unsettled. Not because she didn’t want to go with you, but because she’d never been put in the position of such an offer. She had lied awake in her bed multiple nights that week thinking over your invitation; of all the things that could go wrong, of how badly she wanted to go with you. Eventually the hopeful part of herself won out and she accepted. She never once regretted her decision. In fact, she wasn’t sure if she’d ever had such a pleasant day. Which is why the next week she’d suggested that you go to another one of her favourite galleries.

Your art gallery and museum dates - that had never been officially classified as such - continued for weeks. You didn’t think it was possible, but your extra time spent together only added to your admiration for her. She was so smart and witty and beautiful. You were hopelessly in love with her.

That made giving her this gift - that you’d worked so hard on - all the more nerve wracking. You weren’t simply giving a dear colleague - maybe even friend - an off handed gift that you’d just come across and thought they’d enjoy. No. You were trying to give someone who had become one of the most important people in your life, the woman that you were in love with - that might also be slightly in love with you back - a deeply personal item that she’d graciously shared details about during one of your private moments together. If you messed this up it would be devastating.

Which is why weeks later you found yourself with an immaculately wrapped box sitting in your office, unmoving.

Jeff and Mutt knew that you’d finished your cane project and were growing impatient with your lack of action. They’d even started to threaten spoiling your surprise to Wilhemina herself if you didn’t give it to her soon.

The winter break was fast approaching - not that you’d planned it out this way. Truthfully you had hoped to have this project finished earlier but you’d spent ages perfecting things down to the smallest details. Now it looked like this was going to end up becoming a slightly early Christmas gift.

It was almost the final work day before the break, and before the ability to see Wilhemina for over two weeks was guaranteed. It was now or never.

She’d been in a good mood at lunch - not too stressed, as most of the operations were winding down for the year. You were hopeful that the day would continue on a good note, so you swung by her desk an hour before the end of the workday.

“How are things going?”

“Alright,” she replied. “The imbeciles have miraculously left me alone for the afternoon so I have significantly less of a headache compared to normal.”

You chuckled at her typical humour, “So you would be ok if I interrupted you for a moment to give you something?”

“Give me something?” She looked up from her laptop at you, confusion written on her face.

“Yes. I have something for you in my office and I wondered if I could bring it to you.”

She continued to stare at you for a moment, seeming to try and work out your intentions before she gave you a small nod.

“Just give me a couple of minutes.”

You walked back to your office, your anxiety increasing with each step. You couldn’t quite believe that the time had come to give Wilhemina your gift. You only hoped that this didn’t ruin whatever it was that you’d been building together over the last few months.

You reached the supplies closet in your office where you’d carefully hidden the box. It had had to be custom made as well to fit the cane inside and you’d insisted it be manufactured in a deep purple. You had also added a large velvet ribbon in a lighter violet colour around the box.

With your prized creation in hand, you started to make your way back to Wilhemina’s office. Just before you made it into her line of sight, it dawned on you just how conspicuous the box was. Ideally you’d be able to place it in front of her without giving her the chance to formulate an idea as to what might be inside - which only left you one choice.

“Mina,” you called out. “Can you close your eyes for a sec?”

You heard her sputter slightly before replying, “What kind of childish antics are you trying to rope me into!?”

“I just wanted to surprise you. I can’t get the box to you without you seeing it and I only want to put it down on your desk.”

A moment later you heard an exasperated sigh before a less than enthusiastic “Fine.”

You poked your head out to see if she’d actually done what you’d asked. Seeing her sat in her office chair, eyes shut, with a slight frown on her face, you continued on your way back to her.

As she heard your steps approaching she began muttering to herself. You couldn’t make out everything but you caught enough to get the general idea. “- I can’t believe,” “- would expect such behaviour from those imbeciles, not you,”

You couldn’t help but smile at her antics, grateful as they temporarily distracted you from your ever increasing nerves.

Standing across the table from her, you carefully moved her laptop over to the side before gently placing the box directly in front of her on the desk.

“Okay, open.”

As she opened her eyes she looked directly at you before slowly lowering her gaze. You knew the exact moment her eyes reached the box, the surprise was clear on her face.

Wilhemina had no idea what to expect when you said you had something you wanted to give to her. She was not used to any sort of acts of kindness.

The sight of the box alone almost made her cry. It was clear that you’d put great thought into whatever it was by making sure it was wrapped in her favourite colour. She glanced back up at you in question, unsure as to what she’d done to deserve such an item.

“I wasn’t planning on this being a Christmas gift,” you started. “But it took me until now to get it ready for you and I wanted to make sure you had it before the holiday break.”

She looked back down at the box in front of her, gently grazing her fingers along the edge of the lavender bow.

You could feel her hesitation. “It’s okay, you can open it.”

She reluctantly began pulling on the ends of the ribbon, unraveling the beautiful bow. She pulled the ribbon completely off before running her palm along the top of the box. You motioned towards the edge facing her where she discovered a flap being magnetically held down to secure the box shut. She detached the flap from the magnets before slowly lifting the lid of the box. Inside, surrounded by plush velvet padding, she discovered the cane that she had described to you all those months ago. The sight immediately brought tears to her eyes.

She’d never told you that after your initial conversation about the purple cane she had decided to go searching for one again. She was pleasantly surprised to see a few options online, but nothing that she’d be caught dead using. The lack of success at finding something suitable had sent her down a dark spiral of self loathing and thinking about why she even needed the cane in the first place. She’d cried herself to sleep that night. The next morning she decided to banish such frivolous thoughts of ever finding something from her mind and vowed to never try it again.

But here in front of her, somehow, was the cane that she’d always hoped for. She didn’t even know where to begin with processing this.

“- How?” she choked out, returning her tearful gaze towards you.

“After you told me about it I knew I had to try to figure out a way to bring it to life for you.”

“But… why?”

You shrugged, “Because you’re my favourite person. I’m just glad I was able to figure out how to make it.”

“You made this!?” She alternated her gaze between you and the cane in the box in disbelief, the tears that had gathered in her eyes rolling down her cheeks.

You looked on - still incredibly nervous - as she delicately ran her fingers along the body of the cane.

As she reached the handle, she noticed some sort of engraving along the end. She gently rotated the cane so that she could make out what it was. To her complete shock, she discovered her initials W.V. beautifully engraved into the handle. She stared at it for a moment before completely breaking down, overwhelmed by the entire situation.

You stood there in shock. You’d never seen Wilhemina Venable’s eyes so much as water until a moment ago and now here she was sobbing over your present. You still weren’t sure whether that was a good or bad reaction but you certainly weren’t going to leave her there to cry on her own. At this point she’d turned her chair to the side, facing away from her desk, burying her head in her hands. You quickly but gently moved to the other side of the table before kneeling down in front of her and carefully wrapping your arms around her, at a loss for what else to do. You had no idea how she’d react to the physical contact but you were pleasantly surprised when a moment later she wrapped her arms around your upper body in a crushing embrace.

Wilhemina’s thoughts were going a million miles an hour. She was completely overwhelmed with your gift and now she felt that she was making a complete fool of herself by crying in front of you. All of a sudden she was surrounded by warmth. Some part of her registered that she was being embraced. But by you? Surely you should be laughing at her obvious display of weakness. No. That wasn’t something you’d ever do.

Wilhemina had become well aware over the years of the looks she received from others when they saw her using a cane. Good, bad, didn’t matter. She was always perceived by others as different.

Not once had she seen you look at her differently. It was one of the first things that had made her warm up to you and the reason she decided to ask you to join her for lunch that first day.

From there her admiration for you only grew. Your conversations during lunch were always fascinating. She enjoyed hearing you speak passionately about whatever the day’s topic was. She also found herself enjoying speaking to you in return; you always listened to her and never judged or dismissed her opinions.

There had been one night in particular where you were both working late trying to finalize a deal with a massive client. It had been almost midnight when you’d finished, but neither of you seemed too keen on going home quite yet. You’d offered to go get you both ice cream and you sat out on the main office balcony eating it as you gazed up at the sky, laughing and talking about life. It had been the most peaceful and carefree she’d ever felt.

Soon enough Wilhemina Venable realized she was in love with you. The realization sent her into full panic mode. Love was an emotion that only lead to the deepest hurt, or so she tried to tell herself. Then her mind would inadvertently begin to wander to you and the way you looked at her, treated her, and she realized she didn’t actually mind being in love with you at all.

You had no idea how long you’d been wrapped up in each other’s arms; you would have happily stayed there with her forever is she wanted you to.

You gradually felt the sobs wracking her body calm. At some point she’d nuzzled her face into the crook of your neck; you could feel her breathing had almost returned to normal but with the occasional sniffle.

“Thank you,” you heard her softly say a while later, her face still buried in your neck.

“Anytime,” you replied, unsure of what it was exactly that she was thanking you for. “Was the cane a bad idea?”

She pulled away from you at that, but not too far - still keeping her hands around your shoulders.

“-what, no! It’s so beautiful. I- no one has ever done anything like that for me before.” she averted her eyes downward with her final admission.

“Well they should have,” you replied, gently cupping her cheeks with your hands, wiping away the tear tracks with your thumbs that hadn’t quite dried.

“-but it must have been so much work. How- why would you do something like that for me?” She’d returned her gaze back to you in question.

You weren’t immediately sure how to respond to her question. Didn’t she realize how special she was? How important she was to you?

“Why wouldn’t I? Wilhemina, you are wonderful and the time that we’ve spent together has meant so much to me.”

“When you said that you’d never really been able to find the perfect cane, I knew I had to try to do something about it. You deserve only the best. I don’t know if what I did is exactly as you imagined, we can fix anything that isn’t perfect-“

Wilhemina could never have predicted in a million years the turn that this day was taking. Her favourite person had just gifted her her dream cane, had held her in her arms as she sobbed about said cane - without making her feel weak or pathetic - and now the same person was kneeling in front of her, hands delicately holding her face, as she explained how she thought she was wonderful?

Her brain was definitely not processing all of this. All she could think about was the warmth of your hands on her face, how beautiful you looked, how in love she was with you at this moment and every other. She didn’t know how to possibly begin to put what she was feeling into words, so her body decided to do the only thing that it could think of and cut you off with a kiss.

At first you couldn’t grasp why all of a sudden you were unable to speak. Then you registered the plush warmth on your lips and a deliciously spicy sent you’d recognize anywhere. Mina.

You still didn’t quite know what was going on but you’d dreamt about this moment for so long that you didn’t want to think too hard about it. So instead you returned her kiss.

When Wilhemina’s brain caught up with her body, she panicked. But then she realized you were kissing her back? Surely this couldn’t actually be happening. Far too soon you were pulling away from her mouth, resting your foreheads together. She kept her eyes shut but she could feel your slightly laboured breathing against her face, the pads of your thumbs gently stroking her cheeks. The close proximity to you felt so so wonderful.

“If I knew that’s how you’d react to your present I would have given it to you a lot sooner.”

She chuckled at that, reluctantly pulling away from you to look at your face.

She always loved the way you looked at her, she’d never felt judged by your beautiful eyes. But now you were looking at her with an expression she’d never seen before.

There was such pure, unfiltered adoration in your gaze that she could think of nothing else but to pull you back towards her and reconnect your lips.

Gone was the nervous peck of lips born from uncertainty. You both poured everything into the kiss, realizing that at least to some degree, your feelings for each other were reciprocated.

Wilhemina had never felt so free before - everything felt weightless and she would have happily drowned in your warmth forever. That was until a cough from her office doorway interrupted you both.

She wasn’t even the one to realize it and pull away first, that was you. It was almost physically painful to stop kissing her but when you did, you were met with the sight of a very amused looking Jeff and Mutt.

“You own me five hundred bucks and first dibs on girls for the next week!” Mutt excitedly exclaimed to Jeff.

You groaned and hid your face in Wilhemina’s chest. At this point she’d mostly come out of her kissing induced daze, and she was not happy with the turn of events.

“Is there a reason you’re both standing in my doorway?”

“Yes, Ms. Venable,” Jeff quickly replied, recognizing the change in her mood and not wanting to deal with her wrath. “We were just coming by to inform you both that everything has been wrapped up for the year, so no need to come in tomorrow. Enjoy the next few weeks off.”

“Oh, I don’t think they are going to have an issue with that,” Mutt added snickering. “We have a plane to catch but we’ll want full details later ladies.”

With that they left and you were once again left alone together.

“How much do you think they saw?” you asked.

“Enough for them to never let us forget about it.” she replied.

“There’s no threat of that. I could never forget today,” you pulled away from her chest, smiling up at her. She returned your smile. Her eyes were so peaceful, you’d never seen her look so happy.

“Do you have plans for the next couple of weeks?”

She looked down at her lap in shame before shaking her head.

“Well, I think we can do something about that,” she looked up at your response hopefully. “What do you think about starting with dinner tonight? We can get takeout or go out somewhere, whatever you’d prefer.”

She was so so grateful for you. She hoped that by the end of the night she’d be able to find the words to adequately express how much you meant to her. She didn’t know if it would ever be possible though.

She took one of your hands in her own, bringing it up to her face to place a kiss along your knuckles.

“Let’s go out. After all, I have this fancy new cane to show off.”

#sarah paulson x reader #wilhemina venable x reader #american horror story #sarah paulson #wilhemina venable #ahs #sarah paulson imagine #ahs imagine #fics

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lockes-woods · 13 days

Text

Stuck Chapter 21

Himiko sighed to herself as she sorted through her notes for the semester from her economics course. The papers formed a semi-circle around her on the floor where she sat back resting against the bottom of the couch. She had pushed the coffee table a few feet forward once realizing that it was too small to accommodate all of her notes, textbook, and laptop. While she didn’t have this exam until next Thursday she was already stressed. She was always better at studying more abstract ideas like ethics, and philosophy or things that were memorization based. She wasn’t worried about her ethics or abnormal psych finals; they were both essay exams. Economics had been kicking her ass the whole semester. She was barely maintaining a B; this exam was going to be the deciding factor on whether or not she would maintain her grade or get a C. Her focus was pulled from her computer screen as her phone buzzed against her side.

She smiled absentmindedly when she realized she had a new message in DILF’s group chat.

Shanks: How’s studying going?

She snapped a selfie that captured her and Anko who was lying above her on the couch.

Himiko: Fine. Anko’s been supervising me for the last hour.

Himiko: [IMAGE]

Mihawk: Cute. Don’t forget to take breaks every so often.

Shanks: Do you want anything in particular for dinner?

Himiko: Maybe something quick. I’m starting work at 8 tonight.

Shanks: I could grab a pizza on the way home.

Himiko: K sounds good

Mihawk: Good luck with study love. See you at 6

Himiko smiled down at the text. A push notification came in from her money transfer app right before she went to set it down. She paused, trying to remember if any of her friends owed her money. Her confusion only lasted a moment before she realized it was her payment from the DILFs. While she knew factually that she had been working for them for two weeks it didn’t feel like it had been that long. She dropped her phone in shock as she took in the amount of berries and comas on her screen. It was the most money that had ever been in her bank account. This payment easily covered her rent, not her share but the whole rent and her average cost of food and other necessities for a whole month. She couldn’t wrap her head around how this payment was only for two weeks of service. After sitting in silence for a while she slowly eased out of her initial shock and took a screenshot of her banking app. She swiped over to her messaging app.

Himiko: Please tell me you’re sitting down

NomNom: I am. Is everything okay?

Himiko: Brace yourself

Himiko: [IMAGE]

NomNom: …

Himiko sat and waited for a response as she saw Nami’s ellipses appear and disappear half a dozen times. She was about to text her to see if she was okay before her caller ID alerted her that Nami was calling.

“Is this real?” Nami asked, with an air of calmness that Himiko was not expecting.

“I think? I just got the notification.” Himiko responded, “I’m not sure if they meant to send me this amount. It sorta feels like it was a mistake.”

“How much did you agree on before setting up this arrangement?” Nami asked.

“I don’t know if we ever nailed down an exact number,” Himiko said racking her brain, “They said that they’d cover my cost of living and asked me how many hours I average a week,”

“Okay and how many hours did you tell them,” She asked.

“I think I was honest and said 50-60 depending on the hours I could get,” Himiko responded.

“Okay, I could see them getting in the ballpark of that number if they paid you a living wage.” Nami tried to reason, “I’d talk to them before spending any of it.”

“That makes sense,” Himiko agreed glancing at the clock, “They’ll be home in about an hour.”

“It’d be insane if it is really that much money,” Himiko said after a moment.

“My only other thought is that maybe they’re paying by month?” Nami responded.

“I thought that too, but I’ve only been employed by them for two weeks,” Himiko replied.

“Damn, okay I gotta get back to studying; Vivi’s been gesturing to the clock for the last minute. Keep me posted.”

“’Kay I will, bye,” Himiko replied.

“Bye,” Nami said.

For the next hour, Himiko tried her best to focus on studying but found herself glancing at her phone every few minutes. No matter how hard she tried to distract herself her attention would immediately go back there. She had finally started to dissect a graph when she heard Anko spring up behind her and zoom to the kitchen, seconds later she heard the door open. She immediately knew Shanks was home; Anko only ever greeted him like that. The only time she’d give Mihawk or her any attention was in his absence. She remained seated as she heard him puttering around in the kitchen before coming over to her.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said leaning down to steal a quick peck from her before pulling back. “How’s studying going?”

“Okay,” She responded as she started to collect and organize her papers, “I only got through about 20% of the course so far,”

“When is this exam?” he asked sitting down on the couch to her left.

“It’s not ‘til next Thursday afternoon,” she responded, sliding her things back into her school bag.

“That’s pretty good, you still have six more days to study,” Shanks said.

“I guess,” Himiko conceded, “I just hate cumulative tests like this and anything involving numbers.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine, aren’t your other two exams take home?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she confirmed, standing up from the floor and stretching. Her and Shanks’s attention snapped to the door as Mihawk entered the apartment. A smile tugged at her lips as she wandered over to greet him, Shanks hot on her tail. She was again greeted with a quick peck.

“Hey,” he said, pulling away from the kiss.

“Hi,” she responded with a smile, before stepping to the side so Shanks could get in.

“Do you want a salad?” Mihawk asked after pulling back from Shanks and hanging his bag and coat up.

“Sure,” Himiko answers as the three of them make their way into the kitchen. She hopped up on a stool while Mihawk got things for salad out of the fridge and Shanks turned on the oven and placed a few slices of pizza in to warm.

“Aren’t you going to ask me if I want a salad?” Shanks asked as Mihawk lined up three bowls.

“You’re eating a salad,” Mihawk dismissed.

“What, why does Himiko get a choice,” Shanks said exasperated.

“Because she’s a responsible adult who is able to get her daily vegetable and fruit intake- and don’t you dare say that coffee counts as fruit,” Mihawk said, giving Shanks a pointed look.

“If coffee doesn’t count as a fruit, then where does it go on the food pyramid,” Shanks argued.

“I’m not having this argument again.” Mihawk sighed sliding a salad in front of Himiko and Shanks.

“It comes from a cherry plant.” Shanks continued to argue.

“What kind of dressing would you like?” Mihawk asked, ignoring Shanks.

“What kind do you have?” She asked.

“Ceasar, poppy seed, sesame ginger,” Mihawk listed looking through their condiments.

“Sesame please,” Himiko said, as Shanks all but pouted down at his salad.

“My sandwich at lunch had lettuce and tomato.” He muttered.

“You do realize you need five servings of fruit and vegetables per day,” Mihawk responded, unimpressed as he passed Himiko the dressing. Shanks sighed, before adding some dressing to his salad and taking a reluctant bite.

“How was work?” Himiko asked.

“Fine, I only had planned surgeries and was able to catch up on some paperwork,” Mihawk answered between bites.

“I was prepping for a court case that is scheduled for the week after we get back from the trip.” Shanks answered, finishing off his salad, “Oh we also finally got a court date for your assault case It’s set for late next month.”

“That’s good to hear, it kinda felt like they forgot about me,” Himiko said after taking a bite of her salad.

“Yeah, these things can be slow going. Two months is on the longer side, but I’ve seen cases put off even longer.” Shanks started, “Oh also because of the nature of our relationship I won’t be representing you, one of the other partners Benn Beckman will be.”

“That makes sense,” Himiko nodded in response, as Mihawk collected the bowls and served the pizza, “Speaking of the nature of our relationship; I had a question about the payment.”

“Was it not enough?” Shanks asked, genuinely.

“What, no,” Himiko said in shock, “I was wondering if you accidentally sent too much.” Both men paused and pulled out their phones.

“No, that’s definitely the right number,” Shanks confirmed as he took a bite of pizza.

“For two weeks?” She asked.

“Yes,” Mihawk confirmed.

“Where did you get that number from?” She asked.

“When we asked you your maximum amount of hours for a week you said 60. So that number is 40 hours of you being paid a living wage and then 20 hours of time and a half for overtime for two weeks.” Mihawk explained casually.

“But I don’t make a living wage at work I’m paid the city’s minimum wage. Also, I’ve never qualified for overtime at either job because I only ever work 30 hours max.” Himiko said confused.

“Noted, but we never said we’d be paying you minimum wage before this arrangement started,” Shanks said, in between bites.

“So, you can afford to pay me that rate every two weeks indefinitely?” She asked, still perplexed. The couple shared a look before Mihawk responded.

“Yes, if we couldn’t afford to pay you that much, we wouldn’t have pursued you in the first place. That’d be like going out to eat at an expensive restaurant and not being able to afford to tip.”

“Sorry, but I still don’t get how can you afford to drop that much money twice a month.” She responded.

“Sweetheart, not to list the exact number of how much our combined salaries are, but we make enough that that amount of money isn’t going to make us sweat,” Shanks explained.

“There’s nowhere else where you could better spend that money at that frequency?” she asked, still not fully convinced.

“No,” Mihawk answered glancing at Shanks for confirmation, “We’ve already maxed out our 401k’s, own two properties, and have other investments in a diversified portfolio.”

“So, this is basically just residual money that you could have spent on any nonessential thing?” she asked, finally starting to see the whole picture.

“Yeah, basically,” Shanks agreed, “I guess you could call it ‘fun’ money if that makes it easier to understand. Your payments are like us getting a new luxury car.”

“Except instead of buying something with little to no longevity we’re investing in a relationship with you,” Mihawk added on.

“Okay,” Himiko nodded, she took a bite of her forgotten pizza as she took in all this new information. While she knew they were far from struggling she couldn’t even imagine them being this well off. She knew if they did tell her exactly how much they made she wouldn’t even be able to picture it or maybe even comprehend it.

“Have you taken any thought on what you’d like to do while we’re at the cabin?” Mihawk asked, snapping Himiko out of her head.

“Only a little bit, I mostly focused on studying today. I’m definitely interested in ice skating, hiking, and the spa.” She answered, going for another slice of pizza.

“Do you want to go skiing or snowboarding at all?” Shanks asked.

“Hmm, not really. I’m not very coordinated and I have a really bad fear of heights, so I doubt I’d be able to handle the ski lift.” Himiko started, “But the lodge inside the ski resort looks really nice. I could always read in there while you’re on the mountain.”

“That’s true,” Mihawk nodded, “Do you have any hiking boots or skates?” Himiko paused for a second before shaking her head.

“I don’t think so, if I ever owned skates I most likely would have had to donate them when we moved to the next location. We always had to pack light and they would have taken up too much room.” Himiko answered.

“Okay, we should probably set aside some time to buy them this week, so we don’t have to rush before we leave,” Mihawk suggested.

“I can take her shopping for the skates on Monday. You should probably be the one to get hiking boots since that’s more in your expertise.” Shanks said looking at Mihawk.

“Okay, we should be able to go on Tuesday, I know you don’t want to do anything other than study on Wednesday,” Mihawk responded.

“’Kay, that works for me,” Himiko agreed, glancing at the clock.

“I should probably go change if I want to get in on time,” she said pushing herself away from the counter.

“You aren’t taking the subway, are you?” Shanks asked.

“I mean yeah, it’s only 7:20.” She replied.

“But it is dark out,” Shanks said.

“It’s winter it gets dark out at 5,” Himiko argued, “Plus it’s only a ten-minute subway ride from here.”

“Shanks does have a point; crime rises after sunset.” Mihawk pointed out.

“It’s only a 20-minute commute, don’t you trust that I can handle myself for that long,” Himiko asked.

“It’s not that we don’t trust you, we just don’t trust the rest of the city,” Shanks said, Mihawk nodded in agreement.

“Fine I’ll take a car,” Himiko sighed as she retreated to the guest bedroom to get dressed. While she didn’t agree with them, she did know that she’d be late if the conversation turned into a full-fledged argument. She pulled up the ride-share app and scheduled a ride before changing and heading back to the kitchen.

“You’re also getting a car home right?” Shanks asked.

“Yes,” she confirmed reluctantly as she pecked him on the cheek. Before she could fully pull away, he caught her waist and pulled her in for a real kiss. She let out a whine at the sensation of his stubble rubbing against her face. She placed a firm hand on his chest and forced herself to pull back before he could deepen the kiss.

“I have to go to work.” She said.

“Do you though? You could always call out.” Shanks argued as he rubbed gentle circles into her hip.

“Yes, I have to go in. I’m not going to make Zoro work a shift with a man down because I didn’t feel like going.” She replied firmly.

“Fine,” Shanks said reluctantly letting go of her. She turned and kissed Mihawk before her phone buzzed and alerted her that her driver was only a few minutes away.

“’Kay I’m heading out,” she said pulling on her jacket and shoes, “I’ll sleep in the guest bedroom tonight, so I don’t wake you up when I get home.”

“You don’t have to do that, it’s not like we work tomorrow,” Mihawk said.

“You’re saying that now, but let’s see how you feel at 4:30 in the morning,” Himiko said, giving herself a final once-over before heading out.

“Night,” she waved,

“Good night,”

“Be safe,” Shanks and Mihawk answered in sync as she let herself out. She pulled out her phone and immediately texted Nami as the elevator descended.

Himiko: The number was right.

She kept a tight grip on her phone as she exited the apartment complex and climbed into her ride’s car. Himiko was thankful that the driver wasn’t chatty as she sat in silence after they confirmed she was in the right place. Himiko’s attention was jerked down at her phone’s vibration. She immediately picked up after seeing the caller ID.

“Oh my god,” Nami greeted.

“Oh My God,” Himiko replied.

“OH MY GOD” Nami shouted, causing Himiko to jerk the phone away from her ear.

“Is that like for the month?” Nami said excitement clear in her voice.

“No, only two weeks,” Himiko responded, glee clear in her voice.

“That’s fucking insane,” Nami shouts, matching Himiko’s energy.

“I don’t even know what to do with this kind of berries,” Himiko said, overwhelmed, “I think I can actually start using my savings account.”

“Okay, okay,” Nami said clearly trying to reel in her excitement, “I think you should put away all the money for bills aside, put half the remaining berries in savings, and then-

“That still leaves a stupid amount of berries.” Himiko said, unintentionally cutting her off, “Should we go out?”

“I think we should go out,” Nami agreed after a beat. Immediately losing her pragmatism.

“Fuck, okay, okay,” Himiko said, trying to reel in her excitement, “After we go to the diner on Thursday we should go out.”

“I’m down and so is Vivi,” Nami replied, a smile clear in her voice.

“’Kay, I’ll be seeing Zoro in less than five minutes, so I’ll ask him then,” Himiko replied.

“Okay, I’ll double-check with the rest of the crew and see if they can make it,” Nami said.

“Okay, I’ll talk to you later,” Himiko responded as she pulled up to the bar and climbed out of the car.

“’Kay, be safe. Talk to you later.” Nami said before hanging up.

Himiko couldn’t wipe the smile off her face as she circled the building and entered through the employee entrance. She was greeted by the back of Zoro’s head as he hung up his jacket.

“Hey,” Himiko greeted hanging up her jacket and purse.

“Hey, someone’s in a good mood,” Zoro commented. Himiko peeked around the corner outside the nook they were standing in to make sure they were alone before responding.

“I just got my first payment,” she whispered screamed at him.

“From the DILFs?” he asked in a low voice; she nodded in response.

“We’re going out to celebrate Thursday night, I’m paying. You in?” she asked.

“Sure,” he replied, “That actually reminds me, are you free next Saturday?”

“I think so, why?” she asked.

“I got invited to the winter gala that the hospital’s hosting for being the top of my class this semester; do you want to come?” he asked.

“Are you sure you don’t want to ask Sanji?” she asked back.

“Yeah, it was actually his idea that I ask you.” He responded, “He does want to pick out your outfit though if you do come.”

“Sure,” Himiko agreed, “I’ll have to double-check that Mihawk’s okay with me being there, but other than that I think I can make it.”

“Sounds good,” Zoro nodded.

“HIMIKO, ROANOA you got 60 seconds to get your asses up to the front of house,” They heard their manager, Marcus, yell from his office down the hall. They shared a smile before clocking in and rushing to the front.

MASTER LIST

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Hey, I hope you enjoyed this bonus chapter. Even if it was mostly a filler chapter to set up for the next few chapters. I promise I didn't forget about the assault case, I've been putting off mentioning it to highlight how slow the US judicial system is especially in big cities. I'm so excited to write the clubbing chapter for chapter 22. Not to give too much away but it may involve someone coming on to Himiko and the DILFs' reaction to that. I wasn't planning on writing an update for another couple of weeks, but I had to be tech support for my uncle as he did his taxes and literally had nothing else to do while I waited for him to finish filing. He didn't even end up finishing tonight so depending on how long it takes him tomorrow there might be an update sooner than planned. Thanks as always for taking the time to read this, ^-^

-Locke

#dracule mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader #red haired shanks #red haired shanks x dracule mihawk #red haired shanks x dracule mihawk x reader #red haired shanks x reader #modern au #sugar daddy au #surgeon mihawk #dilf mihawk #dilf shanks #ao3 crosspost #stuck

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crystalqueertea · 1 year

Text

Okay everyone. I’ve had an idea stuck in my brain for too long. DP X DC (what else did you expect from me look at all my reblogs) Danny and Jason. My favorite pair. My boys. Except. They don’t get their nice little happy endings that they get in most fics.

Danny finds Jason first through his ghost sense. It didn’t react the same way it would around a ghost or Vlad, so he assumes whatever this is either is just some run off ectoplasm from the zone or a highly contaminated person. BUT here’s the thing, he doesn’t approach Jason at first. No, he goes and asks Clockwork about any runoff ectoplasm humans could’ve been encountering that would damage them this much. This is how Danny finds out about the pits and how the league is throwing people in them. But, as we all know, Danny is impatient and doesn’t stay to hear the fact that the people getting thrown in are dead or dying. He just hears that people are getting thrown in.

So back to Jason he goes, ready to solve all this man’s problems by getting rid of all the ectoplasm in his body. As soon as he gets confirmation that Jason was thrown in the pits, he tell Jason he can fix him, no elaboration.

Jason, far too excited at the notion of even the possibility of getting rid of the pit and getting his family, his life back, sees this normal (mostly) kid with glowing green eyes and immediately accepts. So Danny gets right to work. He knows how to get his body to absorb ectoplasm, and when he runs into complications he assumes it’s because the ectoplasm was boiling, and that has to be bad, so he takes him to a place where he can make a makeshift lab out of his parents equipment.

With a slightly altered version of the, well, let’s be honest here, with the Edward Scissorhands esc. device Vlad of an alternate future once used to cut out his ghost, Danny has a much easier time getting the ectoplasm out. And everything is going well, Jason hasn’t complained, until they reach the last parts of ectoplasm in him. Upon contact, Jason screams.

Danny draws back to re-examine the ectoplasm he was working on, but in jolting backwards he hears a crack. Suddenly, Jason is unconscious on the table and Danny’s tool has a tiny chipped piece of what is obviously a ghosts core on the end.

Jason was in pain throughout the procedure but thought it would be worth it in the end to get rid of the pit. As it was extracted he somehow felt emptier, but also freer at the same time. It wasn’t until the excruciating pain shooting through what he knew was not his heart but felt like it that he understood where he recognized that freeing feeling.

It was what he had felt before he died. When the blood was leaving his body and he was slowly but surely less and less aware of what was going on around him but couldn’t find it in himself to care. So despite keeping quiet throughout the whole process till now, with the memories of crowbars and laughter and bombs and warehouses coursing through his memory on repeat, Jason screamed.

Danny, having been frozen looking at the ghost core piece (he’d never known a core could break, how couldn’t he have known-) eventually looks back down at Jason’s body. Now thoroughly unstable and missing a piece of his core, Jason looked dead and dying. And Danny could only think, ‘oh god, he was like me, he was a halfa, he needed ectoplasm to live-‘ but as those thoughts went through his brain, suddenly he saw himself on the table. His parents standing over him, raving about ghosts, they had talked only weeks ago about discovering that stronger ghosts had a core and how they wanted to rip one out to dissect it, the ghost can’t feel pain, not like they’ll miss it. And. Oh god. Danny’s become his parents. His worst nightmare of his parents. All those horrible nights spent thinking about what would happen if his parents caught him and he went and did it to someone else-

He has to fix this. But he doesn’t know if he can.

#dp x dc #Danny’s shit parents #the fentons #can he fix Jason???#or is Jason doomed #idk up to you #personally I think that danny should be able to fix Jason #but only with like #some horrible thing #or his own ectoplasm but that leaves them tied together somehow #idk I ship dead on main too hard to not want them to recover #and be gay #dead on main #my favorite ship #danny phantom #jason todd #angst prompt #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc prompt

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thisismeracing · 5 months

Note

I- I loved these new layers!!!!! Hahaha//

queen I have layers for dayzzz. I’ve spent the last 2+days hyper fixating on this couple. the lore that my silly little brain has thought up is wiiild. So forgive me if I become annoying. Just tell me to stop and I will. No hard feelings

Adding the online hate and maybe, just a tiny bity of toto not supporting their relationship at first or jugding and yup reader goes all in to keep it a secret and mick is 100% the supportive partner making sure she knows theres nothing wrong with their decision.//

oh this was something I was thinking about too. like I don’t even see this as being anything major either. like it’s wasn’t Toto issuing ultimatums or fuck smashing any headphones. he was just skeptical. He knows his child and she is a sensitive girl. wasn’t sure if Little Wolff had what it took to be in a relationship like this. I’ve kinda head cannoned that she’s not a social media person, she doesn’t like attention for attention sake, she’s almost the antithesis of your stereotypical gen z(very similar to Lance’s vibe. Happy with his safe people. Quite otherwise). So Toto is rightly concerned. He knows that dating a driver specially a Schumacher, whether they like it or not going to cause some media attention. I think in the beginning just assumed it would be a short-lived relationship and was just hoping that he didn’t have to pick sides. Or that anybody got their feelings too hurt. As soon as he realized that this was serious, his attitude completely changed. Very supportive. But. I do think that that’s stuck around in the back of little Wolff’s mind whether she realized it or not. So when all the drama happened and she found out she was pregnant, she made the choice to keep her normal routine, just hiding as long as she could physically and then to subtly drop off the face of the planet for the last couple months that she couldn’t hid it. She just kinda because a homebody. And just made sure that any video calls were chest up. Don’t think it would be too hard to hid with how crazy the end of the year schedule is and then does anyone really expect the young couple to be around during the first couple weeks of break?? The answers no. Everyone except them to be held up somewhere shagging like rabbits.

The seb part!! Gosh. That golden boy menace has my heart. Always has always will. But there just something about him being beekeeper age that just hits different 😝

AND NOW MICK TELLING TOTO TO KEEP IT DOWN SO IT WONT STRESS HIS WIFE KAMCKWJNFNS AAAAAAAAAAA *fanning myself w my hands oof 🤭😮‍💨*//

and like they’re not married! Micks just been calling her that especially in the hospital b/c everyone’s just assumed. But in his mind. Like that’s his WIFE. She will not be disappointed after giving him this magical gift. Mick doesn’t give a fuck if Toto is technically his boss. Muck doesn’t care if he has to go full NEPO baby. He’s a Schumacher, he’ll challenge all of his father’s BDE/psychological warfare to keep that woman happy.

Alright, you got me into the secret baby train choo choo //

Aw but see the great thing about the secret baby train is if it’s done well it’s not the main plot point. Like just a stop. There’s already so much going on it’s just kinda swept away.

I won't ever get annoyed with thots, you can keep them coming as long as you want <3

wasn’t sure if Little Wolff had what it took to be in a relationship like this. // I think papa wolff is protective enough to have a hard time picturing his girl in any relationship, ti doesn't matter if its with a driver or a regular dude, toto just doesn't really vibe with this idea. he's used to be the one who protects her, and he's used to be the one she runs to hide behind, he won't admit it but he's jealous of sharing this duty with someone else.

Mick doesn’t give a fuck if Toto is technically his boss. // they blurred the lines the second he started dating wolff!reader so at this point he doesn't even try to be the nicest, he's honest, and he's clear about his priority and who she wants to please and that is wolff!reader and nobody else, she's the only wolff he'll get shit from (and jackie because jackie absolutely adores mick -cue to baby fever and all- although toto tried making his youngest pick the wolff family side, jack loves the schumachers way too much).

#millies inbox #ms47 #anon #thots #mick schumacher #f1 x reader #wolff!reader

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ludi-ling · 1 year

Text

Sunday Morning

Rogue and Gambit Week 2023, Day 6. Prompt: Valle Soleada

*A little treat for all you guys. My brain is firmly stuck on my longer form fics at the moment, but here is something I wrote back in 2004 and has never seen the light of day. No one, apart from angyxoxo almost 20 years ago, has ever read this saucy little (long?) drabble. Have fun!*

“Remy, darlin’…”

Her hand slides across my chest, stopping midway over my heart, fingers spreading out, one, two, three, four, five, as if to relish the simple sensation of skin upon skin. Her face is nuzzled against my side, but her eyes are closed – I have no idea whether the words she has just spoken have been uttered while awake or asleep.

“Oui, ma chere?”

She doesn’t answer for a long while. But her fingers contract, then open again, rubbing me gently, a familiar exercise in substantiating that what she touches is, in fact, real.

“…Dontcha evah leave me, y’hear?” she finishes off, in a voice less hoarse and sleep-bound than it had been before.

I chuckle briefly, taking her hand in mine, knitting our fingers together, holding them tight.

“Now why’d I want t’ do dat?” I ask her. She shifts, ever so slightly, so that one green eye pokes out sleepily from the behind a strand of white hair.

“Ah’ve lost yah too many times before t’ take moments like this for granted, swamp snake,” she drawls huskily. Hmm, morning conversation, you gotta love it. There’s nothing sexier than waking up to that lazy Southern drawl of hers.

“I don’t t’ink neither of us is likely t’ be goin’ anywhere fast de way t’ings stand now, chere,” I answer, running my free hand through her auburn locks. Funny, this. We’ve known one another for too long, but we’ve never known one another enough, or as much as we would’ve liked to; or at least as much as we would’ve liked in certain, shall we say, aspects. How many years was it that this was a fantasy of mine, to wake up beside her in the morning, in a bed we called our own, lying flesh to warm, naked flesh? And here we are now, and we’ve been waking up like this every morning for the past five months and the novelty of the fantasy-become-reality still hasn’t worn off. I wake up beside her and it’s still the most goddamn exhilarating, whimsical, cozy, sexy and passionate thing I’ve ever experienced. And let me tell you, this Cajun’s experienced a hell of a lot of things in his life.

“‘Bout time,” she remarks between a yawn. “Been runnin’ away from each other enough t’ put an escapee convict t’ shame.”

“Y’ still tired?” I ask her, brushing the tousled white strands of hair from her forehead.

“Hmm. Didn’ get much sleep last night.”

Neither of us did. There was a good reason for that. The previous night had been Valentine’s, and we’d naturally indulged ourselves with a three course meal at a fancy restaurant, some –ah– energetic dancing to live acid jazz, naturally fuelled by rather too many bottles of vintage wine; not to mention three hours worth of gourmet lovemaking afterward... Nope – life doesn’t get much better than that. Or this. And I thought I’d experienced all that Valentine’s had to offer.

“Heh. I hear that.”

“Lucky it’s Sunday,” she comments, eyes closed.

“Yeah. We get t’ lie in an’ sleep off our hangovers.”

“An’ have some time for other things,” she returns, rather cheekily. And not a little suggestively.

“Are you proposin’…?”

“Ah ain’t proposin’ nothin’,” she retorts petulantly. Women. ‘When they say no they mean yes’ and all that. But she’d already given herself away. I let go of her hand and stroke the length of her arm with a cajoling air.

“O’ course you weren’t, mon coeur,” I reply slyly. Slowly my fingers creep up her arm towards her shoulder. By the time I’ve got far enough to tickle her armpit she’s already left it too late. With a gasp she swivels away from my grasp, pounding her fists playfully into my chest. If there’s one thing she hates it’s being tickled under the arm. The past few months I’ve learnt through bitter experience that if you want to make her angry, that’s the fastest way to do it. Unfortunately for her, I happen to find her peevish expression endlessly appealing.

As soon as she sees me laughing she knows what that ruse had been all about.

“Damn you, Remy LeBeau, if you do that again, you are so dead!” she scowls, teeth bared.

“You wouldn’ hurt me, an’ you know it,” I counter brazenly, looking back up at her insolently. She glares at me, emerald eyes blazing. Honest to God, I don’t know which version of her looks more arousing:- sleepy, angry, bed-head Rogue; or jazzed up, femme fatale Rogue, complete with lacy black underwear, stockings and suspenders, evidence of which lies about the bedroom floor from last night’s little –ahem– adventure.

“Oh? An’ what makes you think that Ah wouldn’t?”

“Because, mon bijou, you love me too much to lay a finger on me.”

“Ah’ll lay a finger on you all right,” she levels fiercely at me, although she can’t stop me from noticing the decidedly naughty sparkle that’s suddenly entered her eyes.

“Oh, an’ now I’m so scared,” I return smoothly, goading her.

“Forget it, Remy,” she seethes, eyes narrowed. “You ain’t gonna have your way wit’ me, not this mornin’. Your stupid tricks don’t fool me!”

“Maybe not by usin’ stupid tricks, chere,” I reply. “But dis t’ief always has other methods hidden up his sleeves.”

“Oh yeah?” she half-grins. “Like what?”

“Like bein’ the irresistible, lovable rogue that he is,” I answer with an outrageous wink. She laughs, all trace of her anger gone.

“Dontcha evah get tired of bein’ so full o’ yourself, Cajun?” she asks.

“Not when I can have my fill o’ you, chere.” Technically, any man would be pushing his luck by now, but not me. Not with my in-built charm. It’s come in infinitely handy in the past, and now is no exception. The thing with Rogue is, she knows when I’m using it on her. She could just as easily turn it all round back at me. What she doesn't admit is that she loves it when I try to seduce her. The more suggestive I get the less she can resist. I can see the conflict in her eyes right now. Those gorgeous eyes… Mon Dieu, I want her right now.

“After last night,” she begins, leaning in playfully, finally giving in to what, in the end, we both want, “Ah woulda thought you’d already had yah fill o’ me and then some, swamp rat.”

“Chere,” I begin, chancing the risky maneuver of slipping an arm round her waist and gently rubbing the small of her back, “this Cajun ain’t never gonna get tired o’ you, no matter how many times he has his fill of you. Or how many times he fills you, for that matter.” Another gamble and we both know it, but I ain’t called Gambit for nothing. She doesn’t give in grudgingly. What would be the use in that? She’s loved me for too long, she’s been without me for too long. Now she can have me all she wants, and Rogue’s greedy for love just as much as she’s greedy for touch. She’ll take all she can, but she’ll never buy or sell herself cheap. If she won’t put out, I sure as hell will. Don’t forget, it takes two to tango, and she’s not the only one who’s been starved.

“Remy,” she purrs, half in reaction to my innuendoes, half in reaction to my tender ministrations, at the current moment concentrated solely on her back though admittedly creeping rather dangerously low, “you are a very naughty boy.”

“O’ course,” I murmur in agreement. It isn’t lost upon me just how close her lips now are to mine. And the way her breath tickles my cheek as she enunciates every little word drives me crazy. Steady, Remy, steady. Connoisseur of the seductive arts I may be, but Rogue has an annoying way of beating me at my own game. “And whatcha you gonna do about it, hmm?”

“Hmm,” she pretends to think about it, tracing an intricate pattern along my cheekbone and my chin and across my lips. “It’s like they always say - one day yah have t’ make good on your innuendoes. An’ Ah do believe you’ve made several years worth of un-acted-upon innuendoes.”

“So how long before I work dem all off, sweet?”

“Well, Ah think after last night, we’re probably about…hm, halfway there, shall we say?”

“Only halfway? Still a long ways t’ go, chere. Might as well work off a few more while we’re here.” I bolster the suggestion by placing a tender kiss on the tip of her finger while rather adventurously groping that cute li’l butt of hers under the covers. Goddammit I want her right now, and she knows it, she has that funny little gleam in her eyes that tells me that, once again, it’s me that’s fallen victim to her charms and not the other way round.

“Ah don’t know, sugah, maybe we should string it out some, y’know…make it last.”

Merde! She definitely knows she’s killing me here! Suggestive banter is never so goddamn fun as it is with her, but for some reason, today, this morning…I haven’t felt this horny in a good long while, and that’s saying something. And for some reason, she’s never looked so indescribably gorgeous as she does right now.

“Mon Dieu, you’re beautiful,” I murmur, brushing away the perpetually falling locks of that white skunk stripe from her cheek. “What’d I ever do t’ deserve you?”

“Remy,” she murmurs back, leaning in closer. “Shuddup an’ kiss meh.”

Me shut up? She was the one doing all the talking. But, in such situations, the best thing to do is not to argue. So I shut up and let her do the rest.

I could go on forever about what it’s like to kiss Rogue. There’s two types of kisses that she’ll give you – the one that steals your powers, and the one that steals your soul. Both so similar, both so different. The first is a kiss of life and death, the second is a kiss of passion. I’ve tasted both – I’ve tasted both mingled, so that I couldn’t even tell where love and life and death begins. I’d never tasted anything so wonderful and sweet and deathly as the kiss she gave to me in Israel, so many years back. I’ve danced with death before, but never in the way I danced with it when she first put her lips, her mouth, on mine. For that one moment, I would gladly have died. Just as, whenever I make love to her, I feel the love-death, and I can’t explain it, the feeling’s too intense, too incandescent, and yet so subtle I can hardly distinguish it from the shuddering starbursts that are our shared climaxes.

Now she puts her mouth on mine. Now we kiss, and it isn’t like the first time, but it’s like our first time should have been. She has a kiss so charged it could set Antarctica ablaze – and let me tell you, I’m one of only a few who could tell you just how cold it is out there. But it’s best not to think about that, not here, not now… It’s only so much water under the bridge, and to be honest, mentioning Rogue and Antarctica in the same sentence usually conjures up images of a less than arousing nature…

The kiss pushes all further thoughts of anything out of my head, let alone thoughts of Antarctica – save for the irresistible, primeval urge she always unfailingly seems to invoke in me. Both of us are caught up in the stupid notion that somehow we can make this moment last, that it doesn't have to end, that if we kiss one another hard enough somehow we’ll stay that way forever. I run my fingers through her hair, brush her cheek – the tactile never feels so special, so novel as it does when I touch her. The fifth sense, so underrated, so taken for granted, is nothing short of a godsend to the two of us.

She breaks away slowly, nipping my lower lip playfully as she does so. She’s goading me, and I know it; she sees the understanding and lust in my eyes, smiles, nuzzles her face against my cheek, presses light kisses to the corner of my mouth. In response to her invitation I grasp her by the waist, swivel round; she gasps as I capture her beneath me and bury my face into that soft, succulent dip between her neck and shoulder. God, she smells good – traces of last night’s perfume still cling to her, but it’s more than that, a mingling of that lavender scent with her shampoo and that unique aroma that she continually carries around with her regardless… I think of the fine sheen of sweat on her as we danced last night, the heaving of her chest as she pants for breath and laughs in pure delight, in unadulterated elation… The memory of her scent is tied to this recollection, this fleeting instant in time photographed so neatly in a three-dimensional imprint of touch and smell and sight and sound.

And now taste:- I taste the memory, I lathe my tongue over her soft, warm, scented skin, I suck in the flavour of her, the flavour that’s so familiar and yet so indescribably elusive, so that every time I taste it, it seems new, it seems inspired.

“Remy…” she begins, she wants to make it sound like a warning, but she fails – instead it comes out as a plea and a concession, a note both of supplication and permission, a giving and a taking. Her voice is soft, wistful, whimsical; her arms encircle me, her hands rub my shoulder blades, surrendering herself yet ensnaring me in her trap, the delicious trap that is her body.

“I want y’, chere, I want y’ so much…”

The words come out incoherent to my own ears, an unnecessary articulation of a train of thought that involves actions, not slow and ineloquent speech. She has already yielded to me anyhow; her thighs rub coyly against my own, she surrenders her lips to mine eagerly: we kiss, we fall.

I thought I knew all there was to know about love. Of all the women I ever shared my bed with, none of them were ever playthings to me – I will not lie and say I loved them, but, during those moments, those long, fervent, passionate nights that I spent with them, I cared for them, each and every one. Maybe I even made believe I loved them. Maybe I thought I did, or maybe I pretended I did, or maybe it seemed like love at the time. Sex is, after all, sex, wherever or however you do it, or whoever you do it with. How then, can I hope to convince you that with her it’s different? That with her, it’s not just about desire, or the gratification of a sexual pleasure that one or both of us share? That it is not even simply just a giving or a taking of one another, or that it is a mutual and intimate sharing that only we, lovers, lovemakers, can understand? There’s nothing so safe, so secure, so warm, so personal as holding her in my arms, as relishing her flavour and her fragrance, of feeling her tender limbs against mine, the subtle delicacy of her fingers in my hair, of the warmth of her smooth skin against my flesh. Sometimes, the quietest, most torpid of encounters are the best; they are the moments I can savour what we share in manifest form, moments when I can measure the sum and strength of our love, and I could lie there in her arms forever and try to analyse it, and the answer would never come to me. Morning sex, sleepy sex, the languid exchange of our bodies, is the subtle equation of our love, an enactment of this strange bond we share in slow motion, a thing which opens itself as a book yet cannot be read. I will never be able to grasp the meaning of this act – its significance eludes me – but I catch a glimpse of it, during this one precious, passionate act.

One thing I learnt was, I never knew what love was until I met her, until I waited for her, until I touched her, until I tasted her.

Now we are locked together. Our kiss is slow, soft, as if the world could wait for us, as if it had already ended and no longer mattered and no longer owned us. As I kiss her I slide into her, softly, softly: this is a pivotal moment in lovemaking, any man would tell you that; the pleasure of penetration involves no sacrifice: we infringe, we take, always. But for her there is pain-pleasure, the beginning of love-death… I feel myself enter her, I feel her receiving me; I watch that reception on her face, in the dim pallor of her eyes drawn back; but I feel it too, on her mouth, the way she imbues our kiss with the lowest, softest of moans; it excites me, to feel the echo of her pleasure on our conjoined lips, our embracing tongues… There is nothing so sweet.

We barely kiss now, the kiss is broken and yet continues; our lips touch, but it is our cries that own our mouths, not one another. We make love slowly, finding more pleasure in the analysis and synthesis of each other, in the lazy journey of mutual discovery. My hands travel her body, her breasts, her stomach, her hips…It is always the same ritual, I never tire of it. Sometimes, she’ll be on top; but Rogue’s an old-fashioned girl, and when it comes down to it, she prefers the good old missionary position. Whether on top or not, I never fail in this ritual, this exploration of her body – in either instance it gives me equal pleasure (although admittedly, to see the way she arches her back when she straddles me, when I touch her there, has always been something of a personal turn-on). The number, the equation, the perusal of her amounts to this and yet so much more. On mornings such as this, I will take the lead, I will be on top of her in order to understand why it is that I love her the way I do.

My hands grip her hips. I draw back, I look into her face; I try to see in her eyes what I do to her, what she does to me, what we do to and for one another. She looks back at me, wordless, but not voiceless – what I look for I see, but it always remains elusive and just outside my grasp. Her expression changes. Her eyes roll back, her pupils dilate, her breath comes short, ragged; our ministrations become more fevered now; we push, I groan, she sighs; I remember my pleasure, my lust, where I had forgotten it: and yet I exacerbate it in gazing at her beautiful, agonized face. I bury my head into her bosom, smell the lavender scent, smell the sweat, smell her fragrance, smell our mingled fragrance… I feel her hips beneath mine, grinding… Desperation… The quiet wonder of our exploration has been shattered; now the journey finds itself disrupted; our movements are hurried, urgent; we have lost the importance of meaning, only the destination matters for us and we strive for it, we strive so goddamn hard…

She laces her fingers in my hair, I hear her call my name, in a voice so far-away, so delicate it hardly seems real. Why does she do that, why does she make it sound so beautiful? I grunt with the exertion of my effort to take us both there, but she eases me, she holds onto me and eases me, balancing out the rhythm of our bodies, slowing me, guiding me, trusting me. My breath shallow, regular, I lick the sweat from my upper lip, I raise my head and look into her eyes; she half smiles, encouraging. Her legs wind about my waist, pulling me deeper into her; I gasp, but her cry is long drawn out, half wail, half moan; her hands grip my hips, my shoulders, my hair… And as for me, I keep her rhythm, I follow the soft melody of her cries, I match the rise and fall of her hips… Slower, more focused, in perfect harmony the pleasure increases tenfold. I’m nearly there, I can feel it. I’m nearly at the sum of that simple equation, that one and one makes two.

I tell her so, or think I do.

“Wait,” she tells me. “Oh, wait…”

I renew my efforts, gritting my teeth, giving myself into the torture of loving and waiting for her; ten seconds seem to last forever during this one key moment when we end the equation, and, if we can, we end it together. She presses against me hungrily, her cries as laboured as her breath – I know when she approaches the moment, when she pauses, when she clasps me to her, when she arches back; I allow her to hit the climax first because, inevitably, she draws me in; we orgasm together, bodies straining so that it is not only our very existences that seem to shatter, but everything else, the moment, the time, the space, our beings, the only things that exist inside and out of that one jangling, earth-rending instant. I hear her voice, the triumph, the ecstasy, the bittersweetness of it all; I cannot recall what I sound like – what is important to me at that moment is the thought that, if I could die, it would be here, now, with our bodies joined… That here, now, with our bodies joined, it feels like death, it feels like love and it feels like death, and it feels like dying and being reborn all over again.

The moment itself is shattered, splintered – it is cut short, in the earliest seconds of its earliest stages; yet, strangely, it lasts a lifetime. We barely know when it is over. For a long time after, we lie there, still somewhat entwined, each privately experiencing the last vestiges of the orgasm we have gifted to one another – the present, first shared, now savoured. Meanwhile we comfort ourselves with the security that is the cradle of our naked bodies; we nestle into one another, like birds come home and settling in for the night. The peace, the unreality is only broken when the sound of our voices brings us home.

“Ah love you,” she murmurs into the side of my chest, and somehow the words seem painfully inadequate; they don’t even go halfway to describing what love is, not after the both of us have seen it and felt it somewhere in the maelstrom of our fervid lovemaking. We both know that. But I know what she refers to when she says, ‘I love you’. And she knows what I mean when I say ‘I love you too’ in return.

“I love you too,” I say.

We don’t need to prove it. But vocalising it into these simple words, that simple sentence, somehow gravitises it; it is no longer simply something imperceptible and inexplicable, a mood, a passion, a whim that floats freely in the air and blesses whoever it may chance upon. It is as solid and real as our bodies, it is as tangible as our flesh-to-flesh embrace. This is how I first knew that I loved her, and that I’d never truly loved another woman before her. In vocalising it, what I feel becomes the ultimate in expressed reality.

She smiles. Her expression is sleepy, full of wonder; her cheeks are still flushed. She looks so beautiful, so radiant, so earth-bound…

“Why do you love meh?” she drawls. It is less a question than an expression of wonder. Her accent tends to get stronger in the mornings. It’s undeniably sexy.

“Does there haveta be a reason?” I whisper back. We do this often. Whisper. Murmur. Maybe it’s because we don’t want to lose a hold of the moment, because we don’t want to shatter it any more than we have to with unwieldy words.

“There’s always a reason,” she replies seriously. She pauses, goes into another line of questioning. “What makes me so different from all those other women?”

I can tell she’s not going to let this one slip by. She can be vain like that. She loves to hear the compliments I have to give her. I could tease her badly if I wanted. But she’s giving me that look. The one that could disarm a whole platoon of heavily-armed soldiers quicker than her fists could.

“I dunno,” I answer at last, perusing her face thoughtfully. “Your eyes. Your smile. Your laugh. De way you sass me. De way you make coffee. De way you always put de toothpaste on my brush b’fore you come out de bathroom. De way your accent gets heavier in de mornin’s. De way you leave de toilet seat up for me…”

“Only ‘cos you leave it down for me, sugah,” she interrupts, grinning and stroking the dip between my chin and lower lip with an index finger.

“…Not to mention dat gorgeous bod o’ yours. You want me t’ go on?”

“Ah could just listen t’ your compliments all day long, sugah,” she smiles, disengaging herself from my arms and propping her cheek up with the palm of her hand, drawing lazy circles on my chest with the other. “But Ah think we should save some up for another time, jus’ so’s you don’t run outta things t’ say.”

I stare at her, grinning inanely. Why do I let her toy with me so much? If Lapin and Theoren and all those others back the Guilds heard about this, they wouldn’t let me hear the end of it.

“You know what Ah’ve been thinkin’?” she asks whimsically.

“What?” I’m trying to concentrate on the patterns she’s drawing on my chest. Right now they appear to be figure eights.

“Do y’ reckon, if we were t’ go an’ see the different versions of ourselves in all those alternate realities out there… In how many d’you think we’d be t’ogther? Or d’you think that this is the only reality in which we’re t’gether, an’ that us, here an’ now, in this world… that we’re just an anomaly?”

I stare at her. This is Rogue being unusually and overly philosophical.

“You t’ink dat’s possible?” I begin, running a hand through her hair pensively, “Funny dat. I always thought it was de rest of dem realities dat were de anomalies, not ours.” I pause momentarily, start again. “I don’t believe we could be an anomaly, chere.”

“Why not?” she asks, with the peremptoriness of a child.

“B’cause this jus’ feels too right, p’tit,” I reply. “B’cause nothin’s ever felt so right, ‘cept for us. We made for each other, Roguey. I can feel it in my bones.”

“An’ it’s that simple, huh?” she asks, a humorous smile on her face.

“Yes, it’s dat simple,” I reply, a wry grin on my face as stroke her bare thigh playfully. She laughs, husky, free, easy. I love her laugh. She never used to laugh like this. But then, she’s never had a lot of things to laugh about until a few months ago. Before then, simply laying a bare finger on her skin would have been impossible, nothing short of a death-wish. It’s a miracle then, that we are both able to do this, to have a relationship in the fullest sense of the word, to be lying here, face to face, talking, laughing, being ordinary…

“Well, if it’s so simple, then Ah guess there’s no point in me hangin’ around an’ talkin’ ‘bout it,” she replies, sitting up, but I quickly put out a hand and grasp her wrist, stopping her.

“Aw, Rogue, y’know they say afterplay’s as important as foreplay, chere,” I whine plaintively. “Stay a few more minutes.”

“Ah need a shower,” she pouts at me. “An’ you’re not invited. We been goin’ at it like rabbits the past twelve hours, an’ if Ah put out anymore, it ain’t gonna be healthy.”

“Au contraire,” I remind her suggestively. “Sex is just about one of de healthiest activities out there.”

“In moderation,” she counters heatedly.

“Ain’t no limit, chere, as long as it’s wit’ only one partner.” Dieu, am I sounding desperate yet or what?

“Ah can’t believe we’re havin’ this conversation,” she sighs in irritation, getting up. I should’ve known that last remark would only make her more mad. I sigh. Pushed your luck there, LeBeau. She’s right anyhow. We should quit while we’re ahead. Too much of a good thing can get bad. And we have had fun the past twelve hours…

I watch her sashay into the bathroom. She’s doing it on purpose to punish me, showing off that cute butt and that sexy walk of hers. I groan as the door slams behind her and I hear her lock it. Usually, I’d be the one carrying her into the shower; I’d tenderly wash her clean of our mingled juices; inevitably we’d become excited once more and end up making love all over again right there in the shower. We both know that if we step into that bathroom together that’s eventually what’s going to happen. And I don’t blame her for putting her foot down, to be honest. After last night… Well, like I said, too much of a good thing can get tedious after a while. Right?

So why am I not convincing myself? The truth is, I could be with Rogue whenever, wherever, and however, and I still would never get bored.

“I t’ink you misunderstood me, chere,” I shout in the general direction of the bathroom. “Gambit was only anglin’ for a hug an’ a kiss… Chere, are you hearin’ me? Maybe I can join you in dere, non?”

Her only answer is to turn the shower on full blast.

She emerges later, while I’m in the kitchen cooking breakfast. While frying the eggs she steals up behind me with a stealthy silence that would put any ninja to shame. I start only briefly as she wraps her arms round my waist and buries her face against my back. Her embrace is too warm, too delicate to startle me for long. I delight in the thrill that her touch sends across my bare skin. I know then that all traces of our previous quarrel have been forgotten.

“Is this good enough for you, sugah?” she asks, purposefully trailing her warm breath along the line between my shoulder blades. I shudder involuntarily.

“Good enough for what?” I ask, my voice suddenly thick. See what this femme does to me! One touch and I’m crazy for her again. Remy LeBeau ain’t never been in a trap so helplessly reinforced before. Especially not one built and orchestrated by a woman. Not that I’m complaining or anything…

“Y’ said you wanted a hug an’ a kiss, baby,” she murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss with just a hint of teeth against my right shoulder. I get the impression that our little spat has definitely been forgotten.

I pause, setting down the spatula and swivelling round to slide my arms about her waist. She looks great, wet hair tousled, and wearing just a simple white T-shirt I’d left discarded somewhere about the bedroom. And the scent of the shower gel is so soft and light it makes me want to bury by face in her neck and drift away without a care in the world.

“Hm,” I say, passing her one of those broad, suggestive smiles that always works so well on women. “I was t’inkin’ more of me wit’ my arms around you, an’ a kiss on de lips…”

“Ah think it’s a little too late for afterplay, Cajun,” she murmurs seductively, yielding to my embrace and sliding her arms up my shoulders and around my neck.

“Well, howzabout we engage in a little more foreplay den?” I propose a little too optimistically, while leaning forward quickly to kiss her before she has a chance to say no. We lock lips feverishly in a blistering kiss that takes our breaths away, while our hands wander not a little too boldly. By the time we break apart her fresh underwear is already sopping wet, and we would probably have ended up making love again right there on the kitchen table, if not for the fact that the eggs had begun to burn, and had threatened to bring the house down in an inferno almost as heated and passionate as our own.

Unspoken rule of the house: if it can be helped, I’m the one that does the cooking.

Rogue is a terrible cook. The mess I’d made of the eggs due to neglect looked more like something she’d come up with, even with unreserved concentration. Rogue tackles food like it’s her worst enemy – she’ll hack at meat like an axe murderer and chop up potatoes instead of peeling them. Watching such horrors in action is like torture to a culinary master such as myself; so much so that, after the first few days of our living together, I had effectively banned her from the kitchen under pain of death. That had earned me several day’s worth of enforced celibacy as a punishment: yup, she’d actually held her body to ransom on account of that little episode. Four days later, I was on the verge of insanity, wondering how I was ever going to compromise the idea of no sex versus food poisoning for the rest of my life. Women are clever like that. Rogue is no exception. And when she’s mad, let me tell you, she’s mad.

Eventually, we came to a compromise. She could have access to the kitchen, under the condition that I not have to eat anything that was made by her fair hands; and/or her cooking should be a joint venture between the two of us. Because I can tolerate hacked up veggies in my gumbo, as opposed to gumbo that leaves me bed-ridden for a week or so. She had begrudgingly agreed to my terms; ten minutes after agreeing to them, she’d been all over me again as if nothing had happened at all – which had irked me more than just a little, and had convinced me that the best course of action was to beat her at own game and show her what a bit of enforced celibacy felt like. This had, of course, lasted all of half an hour, by which time I had already caved in and we were making up for four days worth of abstinence very vigorously on the living room sofa. She had had a smug smile on her face for days after that, and, being the couyon that I am, I just didn’t have the resolve to snub her, or, perhaps more humiliatingly, to keep my hands off her.

Now she helps me clean up the burnt eggs with a vicious frown on her face that seems to be accusing the poor scorched things of ruining all the recalcitrant little schemes she had had in store for me for the day. And there’s something oddly satisfying in the notion that her continued seduction of me has been thwarted by that most unassuming of her enemies – food.

Yup – forget Joseph, Longshot and Mags – if there’s anything that’ll nail the two of us, it’s burnt eggs.

Having re-cooked breakfast, we snuggle up on the sofa and watch TV. I like to stretch out and take up as much room as I can; she, invariably, will sit in my lap and lean her head against my shoulder, while the breakfast tray teeters precariously in her own lap. Rogue’s a sucker for French toast, and I have a feeling that’s half the reason why she decided to make it up with me. And bad cook she may be, but she makes a mean cup of coffee. So, all things considered, we’re pretty much quits.

Outside the sun is shining with full force – it’s midday, and outside the bright young things are going out to play. This is, after all, California. Rogue, however, has pulled down the blinds – the room has a cozy atmosphere as we settle down in true bohemian fashion in front of the TV. I’m not deceived. She wants to snuggle, and her pulling down the blinds is a way of shutting out the world from our embrace. Rogue’s like that – she can be capable of grandiose gestures when she wants to be, but when it comes down to it, she prefers her displays of affection to be private, secluded things, where she can secretly open them up and gorge herself on them like a box of chocolates. Understandable, for a woman who’s had to sacrifice so many of the things we take for granted.

I let her lower the blinds and snuggle into me without questioning. I understand her need to close us off from the outside world, if only for a little while. After so many years of pushing one another away, and a more or less utter inability to touch her, I am as grateful for her displays of affection as much as I enjoy them. There is so much warmth and passion inside her that I always knew simmered beneath the surface of her Southern Belle facade – to actually experience it, after all this time, physically as well as emotionally, is something that never fails to pleasantly surprise me. In many ways, the notion of us actually being a couple still hasn’t sunk in yet – we are living in a sort of dream period, where nothing exists but us. We live as we please, we take what we please, we love as we please. This is as much a new experience to me as it is to her. I’ve never made this type of commitment to any other woman before Rogue. I never knew that living with the girl I loved could be so fulfilling or rewarding. To both of us, this honeymoon period is one that could never end. We’ve spent too much of our lives running around being superheroes to appreciate the simpler things in life. And goddammit, we ain’t gonna let go of moments like these, moments that so many other, normal couples take for granted.

“So, I take it I’m forgiven,” I decide to blurt out, midway through breakfast, while my loving girlfriend dutifully passes toast over her left shoulder and into my mouth.

“’Bout what?” she asks, changing the channel with the remote. The news disappears only to be replaced by the Powerpuff Girls.

“Y’know, dis mornin’…”

“Oh, that.” Her voice is distracted. “That wasn’t an argument. Ah’d already f’gotten about it.”

Oh, of course, naturally. While I think she’s still sore and making me suffer over it, she’s all but gone and forgotten about it. Typical.

“Mon Dieu, femme, dis Cajun jus’ can’t keep up wit’ you,” I groan.

“How d’you think Ah manage t’ keep you interested?” she states slyly, giving me a wink and a grin over her shoulder.

“No need for dat,” I reply, leaning forward to nibble the lobe of her ear playfully. “You have other assets dat keep dis Cajun more n’ jus’ interested.”

“Like mah dancing skills?” she chuckles, switching the channel over again.

“Dat n’ more,” I answer, more absorbed in her than in what’s on the TV screen. It’s true though – after last night, Rogue proved once again that she is one great dancer. She enjoys teasing me about that, for some unfathomable reason. Okay, well maybe not so unfathomable. Before we came to Valle Soleada, back in one of the Southern states (I forget which – I don’t think we’d reached Texas by that time) we were at this bar where they were having a dancing contest. Now any femme that knows me knows that I dance a mean dance. Unfortunately, I had decided to brag about it that night, and Rogue had insisted that she could beat me in a competition without even having to make any effort at all. Naturally I’d scoffed at that, at which point she had literally dragged me onto the dance floor in order to prove her point.

Now to be honest, I’d never really seen Rogue dance before. Kurt had once told me that she likes to dance when she wants to cut loose, but unfortunately, I’d never been around to witness such an event. Kurt had said she dances like a demon. I hadn’t believed him. Until that night. She beat every other dancer roundly, including my own oh-so-talented self, and had even won a trophy for her troubles – which now stands conspicuously in a shelf facing the window, where it taunts me cruelly every morning when I come downstairs.

Last night her dancing skills had been used much more to my benefit than to my shame; besides which, latin jazz is always so much sexier than country or zydeco. She’d really jazzed (no pun intended) herself up for Valentine’s – I don’t even know how she managed to move inside that slinky green dress, let alone dance. But hell, she did it. It makes my heart flutter just thinking about it. I have the feeling that half the time she enjoys torturing me whenever we find ourselves in such situations. I’ve already had several years worth of such tortures, but she still puts me through them – I guess she knows they keep this Cajun in line. Last night she’d flirted like hell, just enough to drive me crazy with anticipation at the innuendoes she was throwing at me. A look, a wink, a touch, a peck on the cheek, a flick of the hair – that girl uses them all with the subtle refinement of a torturer with his bloody implements. But when she dances – Dieu, when she presses her body against mine and moves those hips the way she does… well, let’s just say that any hot-blooded male would be slavering over her in a matter of seconds.

Yup – my girlfriend gets a helluva lot of attention these days, especially now that she doesn’t have to worry about killing someone if they touch her. She’s knows I’m jealous and likes to tease me about it. But then, I know she’s jealous, although she tries to hide it – and yes, the levels of attention I get puts Rogue on the defensive whenever we go out together, wherever that happens to be. I always tell her jokingly – you wanna keep dis Cajun in line, all you gotta do is dance wit’ him. You dance wit’ him, he’ll be hot for you any time of de day or night.

Last night was no exception. In fact, the Valentine’s celebrations were effectively pretty much over the moment we’d got onto the dance floor. As soon as we’d tired ourselves out dancing we ran out the restaurant without another word and straight back home. And once we’d got home, well, it was straight to the bedroom. Now, let it not be said that Remy LeBeau takes his time to wine and dine and romance his woman. Let it not be said that he strings things out and woos a femme in the appropriate way. Remy LeBeau is debonaire, calm, suave. That is, unless he’s been dancing with Rogue in a slinky dress. Then, all sense of propriety is robbed from him completely. As soon as we’d slammed the bedroom door shut we were at it. What can I say, we were hot for each other like a warm day in Hell.

And once I’d unwrapped my Valentine’s present, it turned out I’d been in for a little surprise as well. Yup – underneath that slinky green dress, Rogue – who’s usually the no-nonsense, practical type in her dress-sense – had kitted herself out in the most expensively exquisite French underwear: black lace bra, panties, suspenders, silk stockings, garter, the whole damn works.

“Mon Dieu,” was all I could manage to splutter.

“You like?” she’d replied, doing a coy little twirl and flashing a hint of derriere at me like only the best of those Parisian girls can do.

“Like?” I’d repeated, giving her several eyefuls up and down. “Chere, you look simply…delectable.” So sue me, it was the only word I could find to describe her. She looked so damn fine I could’ve eaten her.

“Great,” she’d grinned, standing straighter again. “Now can you get these damn things offa me? These suspenders are chafin’ like no one’s business.”

I’d only been too happy to oblige her.

An old rerun of Buffy is now on, but I’d be willing to forego a whole season of Buffy for mon amant belle. She chuckles, dodging my lips so that the kiss I’d planned for her neck lands somewhere on her upper arm.

“Lemme guess – it wasn’t the dancin’,” she says, eyes sparkling as she looks over at me slyly. “You’re thinkin’ of the underwear, aren’t yah?”

“How’d you guess?” I answer, before leaning in to make another attempt to kiss her throat.

“Remy, you think Ah don’t know yah? Men are perverts. Y’all like seein’ women dressed up in horrible underwear that makes ‘em feel uncomfortable.”

“You didn’ look uncomfortable to me, chere,” I murmur, finally scoring a bullseye in the kissing department. “You looked like Gambit coulda eaten y’ right up.”

“Hmmm.” She agrees on that point, her eyes suddenly wistful. Probably because Gambit did eat her up once he’d got rid of those lacy black panties, heh heh.

“An’ Gambit’s crazy for silk stockings,” I continue, taking advantage of the distraction to plant more kisses along her neck and shoulder. “Did he ever tell you dat? You should dress up more, Anna, chere, we could make t’ings real fun.”

“What, ain’t spandex good enough for yah?” she replies, her tone half-accusing, half-cajoling. She’s allowing me to kiss her anyways, which is always a good sign.

“Personally, Gambit prefers de leather,” I reply.

“Ah bet he does,” she levels at me, knitting her brows and frowning. On the one hand she’s annoyed that I’m trying it on with her again; on the other hand she’s enjoying it, so she’s having a hard time telling me where to lay off. Speaking of hard…

“Dammit, Cajun!” she swivels round, glaring at me. “What is it with you this mornin’? You on viagra or somethin’??”

I return her scathing look, somewhat offended. “Chere, does dis Cajun look like he needs viagra t’you?”

“Hmph.” She pouts, before biting savagely into her toast. Dieu, I could think of other places where that sweet little mouth of hers could be put to better use, but I know that if I tell her so it’ll be bad news for yours truly.

“What?” I ask innocently, trying to put away the lewd thoughts currently running round my head and not entirely succeeding.

“You may be Valle Soleada’s resident love machine, Remy LeBeau, but Ah ain’t your bitch, an’ Ah ain’t gonna be putting out for yah whenever yah want me to, y’hear?” she answers heatedly.

“But I wasn’ even suggestin’…”

“Yes, you were!”

“No I wasn’!”

“Oh really?! Well that li’l friend o’ yours down south was sayin’ somethin’ else entirely!”

I burst into laughter. I can’t help it. She looks so mad and sexy it’s hilarious. And just what the hell are we arguing for? Trust her to make an issue out of something so harmless.

“Oh, so it’s funny now, is it?” she grumbles, not even allowing herself to join in with me. I sober up quickly and put my arms back round her, sensing that this is more than just a little banter gone wrong.

“I didn’ know I was Valle Soleada’s ‘resident love machine’,” I tease, cuddling into her neutrally, trying to signal to her that the white flag’s been raised.

“You should hear what the gals in this town say about you,” she mutters darkly, still scowling.

“What?” I ask, nuzzling my nose against her perfumy hair, but resisting the tactical error of kissing her. I can’t help but ask. Come on, a guy likes to know when he’s appreciated.

“Just about what every gal thinks ‘bout you,” she replies, punching the remote and switching back to the Powerpuff Girls. It’s on the rolling credits, but she still stares at the TV anyway. That should’ve broadcasted to me loud and clear that she really was mad.

“What, dat I’m an overbearing bastard?”

“No.” She’s trying to sound patient, but the word comes out from between gritted teeth.

“Rogue, are you jealous?” I can’t resist poking at her.

“Hah!” Her voice is heavily lined with sarcasm. “What, like you were jealous when Joseph an’ Ah were together as friends, so much so that yah knocked the livin’ daylights outta him fer no reason whatsoever?”

“No reason?!” I splutter. See what I mean ‘bout femmes being clever? My darling girlfriend’s just gone and turned everything round on me in a single sentence. “De guy was hangin’ outside your bedroom window like de regular peepin’ Tom!”

“It was totally innocent, and you know it!” she seethes.

“Yeah, now I know – I didn’ know den,” I mutter. “An’ besides, I wasn’ about t’ lose ma chere to a long-haired pretty boy. Even if he was one of de only guys dat ever treated you wit’ respect.” I pause. “Not even Remy could do dat proper.” I finish on something of a sigh. I haven’t thought about Joseph in a long time. He was probably the only guy I was ever truly afraid of losing Rogue to. What made the whole thing even worse was that he’d treated her with all the love and respect that she’d deserved, whereas me – who’d told her countless times he loved her like he’d loved no other woman – I couldn’t even bring myself to show her that love. I was a fool. Even when we’d told each other how we felt, I couldn’t stop playing the field. I couldn’t stop hurting her.

She sees the woebegone look on my face, swivels round and places her hands gently on my face.

“Remy darlin’, it’s all in the past,” she murmurs. “Ah’m sorry, Ah shouldn’ have brought it up.”

“I was an idiot back den, chere,” I mutter, not without a hint of a sulk in my features. “He deserved you more n’ I did.”

“Ah loved you,” she says, touching her nose against my own. “An’ besides, Ah didn’t exactly treat you too kindly either.”

We both know what she’s referring to when she says this, the words ever so delicately put. For the moment we let the memories linger between us – painful memories, bittersweet. But we say nothing – everything that has needed to be said about this shared memory has been said. After a moment, she smiles sadly, presses her forehead against mine, kisses my lips chastely. Our past has been nothing if not torrid; and at times, it has been both brutal and hurtful. I suppose the people you love are always the ones that are easiest to hurt. And Rogue and I, having had an inability to commit for so long, whether physically or emotionally, have hurt one another almost as violently as we have loved one another. There were even times when I think we would have killed one another in order to express both the pain and the passion we have put each other through. But it’s over now. At last, we’re the way we always wanted to be – together. It’s a privilege we know we can’t take for granted. And now she kisses me as if to say she understands – it’s her way of saying sorry.

She pulls away, giving me one last little peck for good measure. The mood is still subdued; the room is quiet.

“So,” she begins after a short moment of silence, gently rubbing my chest, her voice nothing more than a notch above a whisper. “Y’all wanna know what the gals round here really say ‘bout you?”

A small grin plays across my face as I wrap my arms snugly round her waist again.

“Gambit t’inks he already knows what you’re gonna say, Roguey,” I reply in the same tone of voice, all quiet and softly-like, thinking we’re going to destroy the closeness we share otherwise. “But you go ahead an’ indulge me anyways, chere.”

“Well,” she begins innocently, “They think you got the most beautiful, gorgeous, cute, sexy…” She pauses momentarily as if to find another adjective, grinning broadly, “…an’ patient girlfriend they’ve evah seen, an’ they all wish they were her, b’cause…”

“Because you got me in the sack,” I finish for her in mock exasperation, sighing theatrically. “I know, I know! Y’know, sometimes it’s real hard playin’ de Casanova part. De ladies don’ give y’ a moment’s peace.”

She giggles, giving me a playful slap on the shoulder. “An’ you’d know all ‘bout that, of course,” she remarks, eyebrows knitting.

“Chere, you know I only have eyes for a certain green-eyed, brown-haired Mississippi river rat wit’ de world’s cutest skunk-stripe in her hair, right?” I reply, brushing a few white strands of her hair back over her ear and letting my fingers linger there a moment. “Y’know, de one wit’ de cutest tush dis side of Mason-Dixie, and dat sexy li’l mole on her…”

“Only Mason-Dixie?!” she echoes in feigned indignation, eyes wide.

“Okay, I take it back – howzabout de galaxy?”

“Sugah, we been a lot further than just this galaxy,” she pouts playfully. “Are you really sayin’ that Lilandra has a cuter butt than Ah do?”

“…De universe…?”

“An’ speakin’ of moles, you’re one t’ talk!”

“Heh heh.” I chuckle at that one. The whole ‘mole issue’ has landed me in some very –uh- interesting situations in the past. “You’re such a tease, p’tit.”

“So are you,” she pouts. It’s such a cute pout that I have to kiss it. She mutters ‘what the hell’ and caves in. I swear, life for us is like some crazy, deranged roller coaster. First we’re at it, then we’re not, then we’re at it again. Damn this girl! She’s only the most irresistible thing I’ve ever seen. Trouble is, she knows it. Like I said – she’s a like torturer with his bloody implements. Lucky for her I have a masochistic streak in me, heh heh.

It was as things were starting to get interesting that ...

*And that's where I stopped writing! Anyone wanna finish it? You're welcome to! 😂*

#rogue/gambitweek2023 #Romy fic #Rogue and Gambit #Rogue #Gambit #Remy LeBeau #Anna Marie LeBeau #Valle Soleada #rogue/remyweek2023

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