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oliversrarebooks · 2 days

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The Rare Bookseller Part 53: Fitz's Terrible Idea

Prev > Masterlist

tw: conditioning, mind control, Stockholm syndrome, arrow wound, blood, blood drinking

August 1905

Alexander was seated peacefully by the fire, a soft blanket draped across his lap, lost in the enormous musty book in his hands. It was a scene of perfect tranquility. A perfect scene for Fitz to disrupt.

"So, what are you reading, sir?" he said, flopping down sideways on the couch and draping himself halfway across Alexander's lap, jostling his book and looking up at him with a shameless grin.

His master sighed, but smiled at Fitz. "I was reading about the customs and ways of the local faefolk."

"Faefolk, sir? You mean like fairies?" Fitz asked. "I knew a guy who was running a racket making fake pictures of fairies to sell to rubes. You're saying they're real, sir?"

"They're very real, and you're unlikely to get a picture of them unless they want you to," said Alexander. "They used to be found in the human world much more often, before humans industrialized. Now, most of the once-proud clans are scattered tribes in slow decline in the few wild places left. Centuries ago, it was common enough for faefolk to mingle with humans that many humans today have traces of fae blood."

"Is that so, sir?" said Fitz. Normally he would find this kind of lecture to be boring, but his master's voice was so captivating that he could happily listen to anything.

"You do, too, I'm sure of it. Your blood smells of it."

"Oh, really, sir?" he said, sitting up a bit. "It's hard to imagine any of my dusty old ancestors making love to a fairy."

"I imagine your ancestors weren't as dusty and boring as you imagine. I expect some of them were more like you."

"Are you saying that I would cavort with a fairy, given the chance?" Fitz laughed. "Because you're absolutely right, sir, I would."

"You see what I mean?"

Fitz leaned in closer, shamelessly running his hand through Alexander's hair. "Well, if I'm a fairy, you'd better be careful, sir, or one day I'll drag you away to fairy-land."

"I dearly wish you would," said Alexander, serious and sad.

Fitz's breath caught. They stared at each other for a long moment. And then the spell between them was broken.

"Unfortunately, I need to go out tonight. Business."

"What business is more important than this, sir?" said Fitz, irritated at being spurned and annoyed that he was irritated.

"It's important. I'll tell you what it is eventually. But for now, I have to go."

And so Fitz found himself alone once more in front of the slowly dying fire, eating an apple, with nothing to occupy his mind but his own thoughts -- the worst way to spend his evening.

He was growing too comfortable here, he knew that. The manor was filled with dust and the scent of deteriorating book bindings, but once he'd gotten used to that, it was strangely like a home. It was less ostentatiously luxurious than the mansion of his childhood, but somehow, despite being a vampire's manor, more comfortable and less oppressive. He slept on the finest sheets, ate expensive foods, and bathed with a wide selection of high-end imported toiletries. Alexander, despite his ability to sink Fitz into a stupor with a word, never criticized, never spoke in anger, never demanded anything of Fitz but his blood.

And thanks to the many layers of mesmeric spell he was under, that blood was all too easy to give.

Alexander, his vampiric master, was the real problem. Between his mesmerism, good looks, and quiet charms, he had Fitz firmly wrapped around his finger, like it or not. Even during the day, when he tossed and turned in a fruitless attempt to sleep, he thought of Alexander, his unkept hair, his gentle hands, and especially his captivating voice. He knew he shouldn't feel that way about a vampire who had purchased him from an auction and was keeping him captive and in dire peril, but his idiotic emotions and the spell laid thick on his mind said otherwise.

It wasn't as though it was likely that Alexander had genuine feelings towards him, no matter how much it seemed that way at times. Fitz knew he was a convenient source of blood. Effectively a grocery item. He knew better than to think his master's need was anything more than that.

Fitz sighed as he tossed the half-eaten apple into the air, missing the catch and watching as it rolled under a couch. Alexander had been leaving for the night more frequently lately, and Fitz was painfully bored without an audience for his chatter and whims.

An audience! Apart from his freedom, that was the main thing he was missing out of life. He needed the stage, the rush of applause, the thrill of holding a crowd captive. Alexander had promised him he could have it, but since then he'd dismissed Fitz when he asked about it.

That thought gave Fitz some direction for what he wanted to do with the evening. He marched upstairs to his bedroom and donned an eye-catching purple frock with an actual collar. He wanted something to keep Alexander's attention without enticing him to feed, so that Fitz could flirt his way into what he wanted.

And then he waited for his master to return. And waited. And waited.

He really shouldn't be so worried about the vampire who was keeping him captive. After all, if something happened to his master, maybe the spell would lift from him, he'd come to his senses, and he could escape this place. That's what he tried to tell himself, but the idea that something could happen to Alexander filled him with a sick dread instead.

Just as he was on the verge of tearing his hair out in frustration, the front door opened and Alexander staggered inside. His steps were ragged and he was panting hard, the problem plain to see -- an honest-to-god arrow sticking out of his upper arm.

"God damn," he said. "What happened to you, sir?"

"Fitz," said Alexander with pleading eyes. "Please…"

That was more than enough to make him abandon all his plans, as clearly his master was in no state for his skillful manipulations. Fitz rushed to prop Alexander up.

"Help me upstairs, to my bathroom. I need to treat this wound."

"How the hell did you get shot with an arrow here in the city, sir?"

"Can the explanation wait until I've removed the arrow?"

"That's fair, sir." Fitz guided his master up the stairs as Alexander winced and whimpered.

Fitz had been in his master's bedroom a few times before, primarily to help him with his hair and outfit, and was comforted by the fact that Alexander's sleeping quarters was as much of a disaster as his had always been. He had ample experience picking his way through discarded laundry on the floor, and soon he was helping his master sit at the edge of his bathtub. Fitz wasted no time unbuttoning Alexander's shirt and tossing it aside, an action that was purely in his master's best interest for treating his injury and nothing more.

"Get a towel ready, a green one from the bottom shelf, and some bandages. I'm going to pull out the arrow."

"Doesn't that do more harm than good, sir?" said Fitz, preparing the requested items anyway..

"That may be true for a human at risk of bleeding out, but this wound can't kill me. The faster I remove the arrow, the faster I can start to heal."

"If you say so, sir."

Alexander wrapped the old towel around the arrow, and Fitz watched in horrified fascination as he took a deep breath and yanked. The blood gushing from the wound soaked straight through the towel as Alexander pressed it to his arm, making some truly godawful noises. Fitz fidgeted nervously, wanting to do something to help but feeling entirely out of his depth. He grabbed a washcloth off the bottom shelf and ran it under warm water.

"Here, sir, let me wash the wound."

"It's fine. I just need bandages."

"It could fester, sir, and I don't think either of us would enjoy that."

"It won't fester. The same magic that keeps this dead body upright also protects it from rot and infection. Otherwise I'd be little better than a bloated corpse."

Fitz shifted nervously, uneasy at the reminder that the handsome face in front of him was, in fact, long dead. "Let me wash it anyway, sir."

"…All right." Alexander took the towel off the wound and presented it to Fitz, who was struggling hard to not get woozy and keel over at the sight of it. He took it in his hands as though he were an experienced field medic, dabbing at it with the warm washcloth, and he felt vindicated as the pain on Alexander's face began to recede slightly.

"So… you've removed the arrow, sir."

"So I have."

"You told me you were going to explain how you were shot, sir."

Alexander scowled and looked away, remaining silent for so long that Fitz thought he would have to badger him to get anything out. "Hunter," he finally said.

"Hunter, sir?"

"A vampire hunter. Every city with a vampire population attracts them, a small but dedicated group."

"Vampire hunters…" It wasn't a possibility Fitz had thought of, but he supposed that it made sense.

"I don't usually have any trouble with hunters," Alexander said. "They mostly hunt vampires who prey on people in the streets. I keep my own thrall, and generally stay confined to the manor. Besides that, my vampiric aura is enough to keep most hunters at bay."

"And yet, this arrow didn't embed itself in your flesh all by itself, sir."

"No, it didn't."

"So why'd a hunter attack you this time, sir?"

"I had hoped not to tell you yet, but I suppose you should know," said Alexander. "I'm recruiting hunters to try and kill my sire."

Fitz looked to the bloody gash in front of him, then down at the discarded arrow. "Far be it from me to criticize my master, sir, but it seems your recruitment tactic may leave something to be desired."

Alexander chuckled. "Hunters won't help a vampire willingly, even to kill another vampire. They have to be persuaded."

"So you're mesmerizing them into doing your dirty work, sir?"

"A dozen so far, and I hope to get at least a dozen more."

"A dozen, sir…" Fitz put down the washcloth and began to wrap Alexander's arm in clean bandages as he thought about this. Alexander was risking his life against a dozen vampire hunters or more to try and kill his sire. Primarily to protect him.

He should be concerned, but instead, his treacherous heart fluttered. His hand brushed against Alexander's chest. His master gave it a long and lonely look, as though he'd never been touched there before.

His master was so solitary. How long had it been since he'd last been touched?

How long had it been since Fitz had last been touched?

Before he could think better of it, he ran his hand through Alexander's soft hair, palm lingering on his cheek as he traced down his face. To Fitz's surprise, his master leaned into the touch, drinking it in like a parched man. Fitz repeated the action with more confidence this time, enjoying the wistful look in his eyes.

"…Be careful," Alexander said finally.

"Careful of what, sir?"

"What you're doing. You must know by now that my feelings towards you are… You should be careful."

Fitz's eyes went wide. Was this a manipulation? Alexander, still looking tired and pained, seemed in no state to be engaging in manipulation.

"Well, sir, I appreciate your advice, but I've found that I never get anywhere in life when I'm being careful."

He was pushing his hand through Alexander's hair to the back of his head, pressing his master's lips to his, hardly caring that they were cold and chapped. He'd wanted this since the first time they'd met in the auction house, and the fact that it was a terrible idea only made Fitz want it more.

Alexander's hands closed around his arms as if to push him away, but he didn't. Instead he pushed forward, returning the kiss, and Fitz felt a giddy thrill in his heart at having finally charmed the stubborn, lonely vampire into reciprocating his affection. They tumbled onto the bathroom floor, Alexander halfway on top of Fitz, and Alexander was desperate as though he hadn't been kissed in a hundred years. Well, he probably hadn't.

Alexander suddenly stopped and drew back, guilt on his face. "I -- I shouldn't -- "

Fitz closed the distance between them once more before either of them could ruin the moment by thinking too much. He needed this. He needed the touch, and even if it was unnaturally cold, he was still drinking it in. He especially needed this infuriatingly stubborn vampire to prove his affections.

It wasn't love, Fitz knew that much. It was bloodlust and regular lust and need, and that suited Fitz better. He would never understand love, but need -- he could understand that.

Alexander's breath hitched, and Lex thought it was desire, until he grasped at the wound on his shoulder. In the excitement, Fitz had almost forgotten about the crossbow bolt. He opened his mouth to ask, but the words died in his throat, as he found himself suddenly enthralled, thoughts scattering.

"The wound pains me, and a bit of blood would help me heal," he said. "I can't be this close to you without the urge overtaking me."

"Good," said Fitz, succumbing easily to the desire. He pushed his master's head gently to the space between neck and shoulder. "Take me, then. Drink from me. I'm all yours."

Alexander hummed, his lips pressed to Fitz's neck and his voice reverberating in his head, sending Fitz further into a dream of bliss. He barely felt the puncture, lying sprawled on the bathroom floor with his master on top of him, swimming in pleasure as his blood drained from his body. The feeding turned to soft nibbles at his jaw and his ear, and Fitz didn't care that his master's lips were stained with blood as he was pulled into a kiss.

"You should warm my bed tonight, Fitz," Alexander murmured into his ear.

Fitz raised his eyebrows. "Is that invitation what I think it is, sir…?"

"…if you're thinking of something lewd, I'm afraid not," said Alexander. "My… desires of that nature cooled along with my blood. I'm truly asking for you to warm my bed."

"So I can serve as a glorified hot water bottle as well as a bloodbag, is that right, sir?"

"No," said Alexander with painful sincerity. "You're much more than a bloodbag."

"And what else am I, sir?" said Fitz, looking up at his master, flashing his least trustworthy smile. "A brilliant entertainer? A scintillating conversationalist?"

"Fitz," said Alexander, placing a hand on his cheek and catching Fitz's eyes with his. "My Fitz."

"Your Fitz," he repeated, feeling mesmerized once more although he wasn't sure his master was actually doing anything. "I suppose I am, sir."

His master looked away. "You don't actually have to call me 'sir' or 'master', you know. It's fine if you don't."

Fitz grinned. "Oh, is that so, Alexander, sir?" The grin left his face as he realized what he'd just done. "Oh, damn that Miss Lily. I'm not going to be able to stop."

Alexander chuckled. "I don't really go by Alexander, anyway. Only my sire and strangers call me that. I go by Lex."

"Lex," repeated Fitz, leaning into his ear, "sir," he added, as seductively as possible, enjoying how his master -- no, Lex -- shivered.

Prev > Masterlist

Thanks for reading! Next week, Oliver gets some help from Lily.

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#whump #whump writing #vampire whump #vampires #blood drinking #mind control #rare bookseller #alexander #fitz

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cottonlemonade · 2 days

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Hello darling💖💖💖 congratulations on your milestone🥰🥰

For the event: can i please have an iced tea from menu A, with matcha roll and purin? I am sitting next to Kita🙈

(you have single handedly revived the Kita brainrot)

have a lovely day love!

Tutoring You

word count: 917 || avg. reading time: 4 mins.

pairing: Kita x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none

____________________________________________

A lazy late spring gust gently tugged at the pages of the books that covered the whole surface of the low square table. Papers filled with densely written notes lay here and there across and underneath your homework and the words in front of you turned to gibberish. Birds chirped and insects hummed loudly through the open sliding door of Kita’s home. But other than that and the occasional breeze making the little paper on the wind chime dangling from the awning flutter, it was quiet. You sighed.

“Is everythin’ alright?”

You jumped at the question and felt your cheeks turn pink.

A few days ago when you had finally worked up the courage to ask Kita for help studying and he had readily accepted your request, you quite literally skipped on your way home. Having had a crush on the class president since your very first day at school, you only admired him from afar and soaked up every bit of information floating around the corridors about the quiet third year captain. He was studious and hard-working, of course, but had a reputation of being cold and scary which you never agreed with. Most of your knowledge came from “horror stories” of your fellow second year Atsumu who never let an opportunity slide to tell you in great detail how only one look of his captain could make the blood freeze in his veins. You had only frowned at these comments and were desperate to see for yourself what Kita was like outside of school.

But somehow you had a much more romantic notion about studying together.

It was a lot more “sitting quietly and working” and less “laughing and stolen glances and accidental touches”.

And now you obviously weren’t as subtle in expressing your frustrations as you thought.

“I’m sorry.”, you said immediately, “I just don’t get this one. The formula worked up here in exercise 2, why doesn’t it work with this one?”

“Because they are two entirely different problems.”, Kita explained calmly.

Unable to stop yourself, you slumped over and buried your face in the workbook, letting out another groan that you didn’t even attempt to hide.

“We should take a break.”, Kita suggested, putting his pen down and taking yours from your fingers.

For a few moments he regarded you thoughtfully, then tapped his fist into his open palm, “I have an idea. Come on.”

He stood up and walked out to the porch, sitting down for a moment to put on his shoes, then turned, obviously waiting for you.

Scrambling to your feet you followed his example.

Pebbles crunched under the soles of your clean white sneakers as he led you around the back of the house to the garden that was mostly taken up by vegetable plots.

Kita took a pair of flowery gloves hanging from a fence post and held them out to you. Confused, you took them and watched as he grabbed a second, equally flowery pair from a chair that sat between a few tomato plants and put them on, crouching down and looking at you expectantly.

“W…hat are we doing?”

“Weedin’.”, he said as if it was obvious and began pulling delicate little green things out of the soil at his feet.

“Why?”

“Because whenever I’m stuck there is nothing like a bit of manual labor to clear my head. Come on, try it.”

You rolled up the sleeves of your school uniform and slipped into the gloves. They felt as rough on the inside as they looked on the outside.

Careful not to step on any greens you joined him and bent down to copy his movements.

“Oh no, don’t do that.”, he remarked immediately.

“But you just told me-”

“No no, I mean, don’t bend down like this, ya’ll hurt yer back in no time. Try crouching like so.”

You swayed a bit as you did, the pose feeling unnatural and unsteady. But he nodded approvingly and quite frankly, that was all you needed. You began pulling little sprouts here and there, amazed by how fast he worked.

“Be sure to not use too much force at once or the roots will stay in the ground and the weed will just regrow.”

You nodded, tongue sticking out between your lips in concentration.

Wanting to impress him, you grabbed a particularly large weed in front of you and pulled. It resisted, so you added your second hand and pulled again, wiggling a bit from side to side.

It finally came free but you also plopped down on your chubby butt next to a tomato plant, holding the thick white stem out to him.

“That was a nasty one.”, you announced proudly, hoping for more praise.

Kita turned and blinked, “That’s a spring onion.”

“Oh my god, I am so sorry!” You quickly stuffed it back into the earth, covering it with dirt. It stood for a second, then slanted over, the root coming back out of the loose soil.

He stared, then his shoulders shook and then he broke out into laughter. You had never heard him laugh before and the melodious sound sent a pleasant shiver through your body. Although at the same time you wished you could burrow yourself into the earth and never come out again.

“Yer quite the city girl, aren’t ya?”

He was still chuckling when he grabbed the spring onion and placed it next to him. “Don’t worry. I can use that later when I make dinner for us.”

____________________________________________

a/n: hey sweet pea, thank you so the kind words and I proudly wear that “giving you Kita brainrot” badge. I hope you like this one 😉

for requests see here

#sunnys school lunches #kita x chubby reader #haikyuu x chubby reader #chubby reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #kita shinsuke x you #kita shinsuke x reader #kita imagine #haikyuu kita #kita shinsuke #kita fluff #hq kita #kita x reader #kita shinsuke x chubby reader #kita shinsuke x y/n

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queenpiranhadon · 2 days

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A/N: Looks like we gotta put Katsuki in his place…or try to, anyways. Augh @cashmoneyyysstuff is literally my savior hereee ilyyy Here's the masterlist!

Warning(s): Cursing, reader is the daughter of Aizawa, Shinso and Eri are biological siblings, reader is 20 years old, reader befriends Kaminari and Sero, Reader uses "Cattus" as her alias, reader's nicknames are Cactus and Cattus, fight scene between you and Bakugou, really BAD depictions of a fight scene, reader's down bad LMAO, two characters aren't from MHA but are there for the plot, mentions of overexertion, Bakugou challenges you to a fight, a tualia is a type of duel for reference,

Pairing(s): Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜰᴏᴜʀ: Ten, Again

“Daaaaaaamn Cattus.” Hanta drawls, approaching you once training ended for the day. You hadn’t moved a bit- rooted to where you stood when Bakugou challenged you to a fight.

“Got a duel on the first day, huh? Against the great ol’ ‘War Dragon’ too.” Denki chimes in, slinging an arm around your shoulder.

“Was nice knowing you two.” you mumble, regret laced in your tone. You joined the army to avoid trouble, not cause it.

Denki nods sagely, patting your back in an attempt to console you. “What flowers do you want for your funeral?”

Hanta rolls his eyes, slinging his arm over your shoulders as well. “Eh, I think Cattus’ll beat the ‘Pissy Lizard’ any day- man's probably got some secret moves he isn’t spilling.” the ravenette says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

You sigh, internally cackling at Hanta’s take on the captain’s nickname, but chose to address the latter statement.

“I haven’t trained since I was ten though! An entire decade ago!” you groan, and Hanta raises an eyebrow.

“What’s stopping you from training now then? There’s some dummies we passed a few minutes ago that Moss Bear said was for public use.”

You blink- how in the world did they know so much about this place and you didn’t?

You ask them, and Denki just snorts, pulling your wolf’s knot teasingly.

“You sir, are the King of Moping. You’re too busy lamenting your stay here, and so you don’t appreciate hanging out with your bros” Denki says, sighing dramatically.

Sero flicks your forehead “And while you were busy off in space, you overhear some things.”

You groan. Maybe Fern Bat was right. About you, not your father.

But he wasn’t going to be for long.

You were going to train as hard as you could to make up for the last 10 years of your life.

***

It was almost midnight when you finally put down the sword, muscles aching, body feverish and drenched with sweat, you worked so hard you felt like you were going to vomit.

“Shit...” you mutter, letting your sword clatter to the ground, resting your head against the nearby tree.

You wanted water, and a shower, but you didn’t have that luxury right now. Right now...you had rest, rest was good. Good enough at least.

Though you were thoroughly exhausted in every meaning of the word, you felt...rejuvenated. Alive, almost.

You had to admit, you changed a lot in the last week than you had in your entire life, more fierce, more bold, more confident even. You felt...free. Though you loved your family with your entire heart, mind, soul, and being, not having the responsibility to tend to others 24/7 was relieving.

What wasn’t relieving however was the impending fight you had tomorrow.

Oh well.

If you were going down, you wouldn’t make it easy, that’s for sure.

In the light of the waning moon, you smirk to yourself.

You were going to remind the so called “War Dragon” that while they grew flowers, cacti still had thorns.

***

You woke up the next morning, early, much to Denki and Hanta’s annoyance, but they understood enough to let you be and give you shit for it later.

It’s early enough that no one is awake right now, and so you slip away from the mass of tents and training equipment to find solace in the nearby lake, one you noticed when first arriving here, taking a much-needed wash to cleanse yourself of the dirt, grime and sweat from the previous night.

It was relaxing and refreshing- exactly what you needed to get yourself in the right mindset for your battle. Icy water laps at your skin, cleansing you from worries and emotions that you couldn’t afford to feel right now. Usually, you would complain and shiver about the temperature of the water you were in- but right now, you felt new.

Right now, you couldn’t be Y/N.

Right now, you were Cattus.

***

Thump.

Your heart beats thrums steadily against your ribcage, like a gong or a rhythmic drum sounding over and over again.

And across from you, those stupidly pretty ruby eyes.

You couldn’t be falling for him.

Stupid Pissy Lizard.

You stare at the Adonis of a man in front of you, finally drinking in his features.

Chiseled jawline, slim waist, hulking figure. Long eyelashes that housed those eyes you loved so much, and spiky hair that jutted in every direction, similar to the horns and spikes of a dragon. Plush lips that stretched across the smug grin on his face.

Damn.

That might be a slight problem.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” the soldiers that crowded you chanted, louder and louder, in sync with the beating of your heart.

You were a warrior.

With a cry, you lunge forward at the sound of the gong, just as Bakugou does.

And suddenly, you were ten again.

You see him move without him moving, noticing the muscles in his right arm clench every so slightly, meaning he would strike your left side.

Dropping to your knees, you slide underneath the blade, ignoring the pain the friction caused against your knees and kick your legs out to knock him off balance too.

He stumbles, before whipping back to face you, already on your feet, and preparing to strike for his abdomen.

“Remember Y/N.” you father had told you. “When facing an opponent who excels in strength, you must beat them in speed.”

Bakugou was strong, you could give him that. Extremely so, with skills so refined that you could barely find the chinks in his armor. He was fast too.

You would just have to be faster.

“Become the wind, embrace it, embody it.” you hear your dad’s voice in your head. “And once you do, overcome it.”

“Be faster, better, become more than the wind could ever be.”

Bakugou blocks your strike, but is taken aback at your speed, growling as he used the momentum to push you off him, leaving you skidding against the dirt, yet you maintain your footing, and your stance.

Sword clash, as you fight tirelessly, the soldier surrounding you watching intently. They didn’t expect you to last this long- neither did Bakugou. Were you actually going to win?

And yet, in reality, what could a single gust of wind do against a fire breathing dragon?

Just as you couldn’t win against your father, you couldn’t win against Bakugou.

But you knew that.

That wasn’t what you were concerned about. You could hold your own against the captain of an army squadron, and Bakugou knew that. You have proven your point.

Now, you were just toying with him.

You felt sluggish, overexerting yourself well beyond your limit at this point- knowing that in these types of challenges, a tualia in specificness, the only way to win was to pin your opponent down for 10 seconds.

Given his sheer size and strength, you knew that pinning him down for that long would be impossible. You came to terms with that a long time ago.

Bakugou’s chest heaved, sweat dripping down his neck. He was just as tired as you were, but still royally ticked off. You could see why they called him a dragon now, eyes narrowed in concentration and breathing so heavily smoke could exit his nostrils.

Running straight at him, you direct yourself as if to collide with him, the latter bracing for impact before you spin around, hooking your foot around him, and causing him to fall on his back.

Taking the opportunity, you place your forearm on your collarbone, putting as much weight as your could afford at that moment, pinning him down.

“One...two...three...” you mutter, loud enough that the other soldiers could hear you.

Holy shit. Was this going to work?

Bakugou’s breath comes out ragged and labored- he's tired.

“Four...five..uff!” you cough out as Bakugou suddenly headbutts you and reverses your stance, him now pinning you.

Shit!

“One...two...three” he starts counting, voice so low and gravelly it sounds almost unhuman.

He’s not growling now though, he seems subdued almost, like he just wants to get this over with.

“Four...five...six...seven...”

You don’t bother squirming, or trying to escape, already sensing your tualia coming to an end. You can’t help but feel butterflies erupt in your stomach from the proximity and you mentally open a cage to stuff them through- you'd deal with those feelings later.

“Eight...nine...fucking ten.” he groans, getting off of you, and allowing you to finally breathe, relaxing into the ground, but Denki and Hanta help you up anyways, awestruck.

“You almost beat him!” Denki gushes, giddy with excitement.

Hanta nods in assent. “I knew I said you might have secret skills, but damn. I don’t think Bakugou’s gone up against anyone who’s still alive to tell the tale.”

You chuckle dryly, too tired to share their enthusiasm but grateful for it nonetheless.

“C’mon guys, let’s get back to the tent.”

Taglist: @andysdrafts @starieq @nemisimp @missa-archdevilme @coquettefoxxy

@032loe @icedemon1314 @fta1ask4 @iam-thevillain-of-thisstory @cuppalevi

@touyasprettydoll @slayfics @yeehawgiddyup13 @notjustanotherextra @frvv

@naoyasbby @sweetblueworm @isentsworld @bkgpackets @moonnm

@bkgrl @satoruyes @eyesforbkg @juicyfingers @aejabba

@noodleryworld @yui-aya @ashiblossom @rv19 @wheezdostuff

@yannvi @liluvtojineteyam @surprisemodafakas @sagejin @kksmush

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lizaluvsthis · 1 day

Text

Welcome again to Liza's Fixation...

I present to you...

Reasons why I document these kinds of stuff to how similar gay idiots have occurred to me for the past few years.

SMG34 AND SQUIDBOB (SUN AND MOON PAIR)

Quick reminder: the explanation is a bit too long so grab a seat and eat some snacks while ya read-

Sun & moon dynamic:

Noticing the differences in how optimistic spongebob and smg4 are in their own world even if the sh-t ass problem gets a bit more heavy to deal with? They both kept it there and still moved on even tho it was a bit of a problem in their life that impacted them already. Yet they still chose to move.

Pessimistic like Squidward and SMG3 they both sometimes ignore the ray of sunshine or sometimes would be the ones watching their optimistic sun/partner on the side glances or view to check up on them.

Likes/interests/love?

Now I'm not pretty sure about this one but if I were to think- that smg4 and spongebob would point out something or hint it. I'll be heading off to the part when they go soft on their moon. (Smg3 and Squidward)

Just like something that they do to soften their partner- smg4 looks at three with awes in his eyes like a baby- and spongebob looks at squid with sparkled eyes and or well- inclusions of his lip bitings/flirting/and too many attempts of him kissing his cheek/forehead/nose over and over from other episodes.

But since SMG4 and Three's dynamic are unlike the same- I do kind of see some parts of SMG4 being a little goof to Three as well.

The moon's effect"

OH YEAAAA PREPARE FOR THE TSUNDERE ACTIVATION!!!

Ahem- let's just say that just like SMG3 where he calls four baka about more than five times already- let's put this simply he likes four but tries to hide it as well.

And just the same thing as Squidward. He may hate the poriferan for being such a mess or annoying him on the other days, but at the same time, he deeply and truly does care about him even if he does NOT want to admit it right in front of his face.

Playing the cards as a moon dynamic could be a bit simple BUT it's also from the same part where that moon plays with its OWN actions.

A tsundere cant-NOT tell that person they're crushing just yet because mostly they think that it'll be such a rush. And well- wanted to take the sun's time to think or to feel around with them.

The sun's effect:

EUGHHH anyway- since the sun likes to give love, joy, and happiness to other people. Like spongebob and smg4 showering love out of platonic to people some patties or uhhh memes...

Sun has been and always been sensitive with stuff from how other people they're closest to act out to them.

Now let's just put the example of three opening up to four during that igbp arc.

And then also Squidward opened up to spongebob during that Fools in April episode.

The moon knows how sensitive suns are that they can't urge themselves to think about what would happen in advance due to their own consequences that dealt with their own actions to make the sun's life miserable.

Because deep down the moon has always been so miserable that they dont want to let their closest to get this negative feeling too. (Such as the sun does)

Friends? Enemies? Lovers? Foes?:

It would be funny how similar the dynamic is but a different type of situation they grew up having. They had slowburns coming tho!

Smg34 (enemies to friends) says on the wiki that his relationship with smg4 could and would possibly go to as "lovers" but it has never been admitted YET. Development grows (including uh igloo event-)

SO UHHH COUGH- COUGH- UHHHH YEAH... erm- ahem- uhhh his dynamic with three grew from just a simple seed then turned to grow into tiny roots of their bond then coming to a sprout blooming out right after the events of 2020 or 2021 have been shown.

Squidbob (friends to close friends) [according to their development during the seasons]

it seemed that spongebob had grown to admire Squidward as his co-worker to the point Squidward gets a bit used to it now and then he wouldn't mind anymore or THINK that spongebob is just an annoying loser.

wish to tell but I could not:

moon thought it would be a bit too embarrassing or a bit awkward if they were to say something about the mixed feelings they have with their certain sun.

But even if it were to hint out just like what Sponge and Four did to Squid and Three- and even if the moons were to do the same- it comes out from dodging the arrows. The hint of realizations.

Just like how we saw four trying his best to comfort and make it up to smg3 as much as possible without making him a bother or getting three to see him as a bastard in a way. (start of YouTube arc and trash friends) And then to spongebob trying to make it up for Squidward once his life got ruined even tho he tried to make his life even better, Squidward still sees him as an annoying yellow nuisance. So if we take this place to the moon's pov they could also find it such a hard time to actually reciprocate or to think about what could resolve their own problem without even being such a both as there is for them now. The situation that they carry is a lot heavier than what there is from the outcome and could lead to some sorts of stuff that they wouldn't want to happen just now/yet

The flow between their relationship:

I mostly thought about how the sun would have most of the time being a goof around to the moon when they're always down, so if it was the sun's turn to feel down. Moon also uses the same tactics in trying their best to comfort their moon.

It's like how smg4 felt bad about smg3 when he destroyed his own production. And like how it is to Spongebob when he destroyed something that Squidward felt upset about.

He never thought much at first but he also tried his best way to think about the situation to meld their situation together.

Nicknames? Flirting?

Fluids between their relationship of being actual friends to closer then to not close again.

When Squidward deals with having someone close to him (just like how spongebob does the same) he mostly engages with also saying nice words (rarely) and really means it to which spongebob could be so happy that Squidward would be showering out his true colors. Because of the sun's response, it's all a bit good to be true and they aren't sure about what to believe. But goes on along with it. Smg3 whose been the one to do things about helping or say a couple of nice words to four. Making HIM rethink about his stuff if it was all actually true and whatnot. Because the Three we all used to know was a villainy dude who was so obsessed with taking over Four's channel and what'd we get? A smooth development- (kinda rough but smooth still)

I think those are all I've got it's just literally the same things so yeah-

#lizaluv #smg4 #smg34 #smg3 #smg4 smg3 #squidbob #spongebob squarepants #squidward tentacles #lizafixates #smg3 x smg4 #smg4 x smg3 #squidward x spongebob #spongebob x squidward

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rotten-dogs · 2 days

Note

Hii can I also req a bully bada smut??😫 🙏 I love ur works!!

From Time

cw: general bullying, characters in the grey area, dubious consent wise (power difference) girl cock, umm squirting

an: sure thx 4 the rq this is short and sweet hopefully

The loud sound of lockers slamming pressed mind numbingly against your ears. The chatter from other students became muddled against every other noise in the vicinity. The sound of someone’s shoes squeaking, a backpack unzipping, a teacher yelling to tell off a student running down the hall.

Everything combined made an already hostile day ten times worse. You could feel your brain slowly draining itself of personality, of you. Water dripped from your hair and stained the sleeves of your clothes but nobody noticed. Nobody ever had. The skin around your wrists was inflamed and the length of your skirt covered the mass-ly blue bruises that seemed to be permanently etched into your skin. Everything was blurry, and only one thing remained on your mind in a constant.

Bada Lee.

Ever since grade school she had made it her personal mission to plaster her personal vendetta against you across her whole being. It started out petty, a few sarcastic comments that only the petulant mind of an eight year old could come up with. Stealing your things, holding them above your head.

By middle school it had shifted, but only slightly. A few shoulder checks in the hallway, a little academic intimidation, rumors. Oh the rumors.

By high school it had gotten more physical. It seemed her hate for you only grew, shoving you into lockers, punching your stomach until you were gasping for air behind the school and like today—holding you down while she poured water over your face on a constant. You didn’t know why she did it, you steered clear of her and yet it’s like that wasn’t enough. Like you had burrowed a section out in her brain and now she blames you specifically for that. It’s your fault that she can’t stop thinking about hurting you.

The reality is she made your life a living hell and sometimes you wondered if that’s all it would be. You’d never even been friends with the girl and yet she destroyed your concept of friendships. Anyone you’d gotten close to she easily consumed from you as well. It was easy for her, she was charming and stunning to everyone else. A guiding light. A campus crush that you touch yourself after hours to. Not that you would.

You pull your arms around yourself, attempting to fall inside yourself and avoid the curious eyes drifting your way as you make your way to class. It hardly works, it’s all you can think about as you push your way through what feels like an endless sea of people.

So suddenly you feel a hand wrap around your wrist. That hand tugs, hard on your arm and suddenly you’re being pulled through the stuffy hall; your guiding light expertly weaving through the bustle of your peers.

You don’t have to look up, you know that grip. Felt it many times. Your heart dies a little in your chest at the thought. Just this morning, Bada had grabbed you by the back of your head and told you to sit; wait.

You did, obediently, shaking in fearful anticipation as she came up behind you. You could feel her presence—looming over you before an intense feeling of cold and wet washed over you. You could’ve sworn you felt your body go into shock.

The sound of Bada laughing cruelly behind you filled your ears and you slipped trying to stand up, your body suddenly shaking violently as the cold morning air hit your wet frame. All Bada offered you was, “You looked hot.” Before she turned on her heel and walked the other way.

You thought that would’ve been the end of it today and you were clearly a fool. She tugged you to the far end of the school, the crowd having dissipated into a few stragglers until there was no one around at all.

“Bada.”

You tried, wincing as the grip only tightened on your arm. She pulled you into an empty classroom, slamming the door behind her. The action made her grip on your wrist loosen and you pulled it away into your own chest, rubbing the skin there with your other hand.

“Bada..” You’re searching for words but nothing seems to stick and she’s looking at you with nothing short of hatred in her eyes. It makes you feel small. She takes a step forward, and you take a step back.

“Did you think I was done?” She raises her eyebrow, expectant of an answer and you turn your head, finding the floor beside you to be all the more interesting. A mistake. Her hand finds itself under your chin easily, pushing it up to look at her. “You know it’s disrespectful to turn away from someone.” Her eyes trail away and the quiet anger is written all over her face. You’ve been here before. You know everything about Bada, and she knows everything about you.

“Sit on that desk.” She juts her chin towards it, letting go of yours and you start to shake your head. “Not h-“ the loud sound of a slap reverberates off the walls and you blink in registry. Red is creeping onto your face from where the sting of her slap imprinted itself on you. You lack shock at her doing it, but rather at how quickly it had happened. “I’m not asking again.” And damn, if that isn’t a threat.

You nod, more to yourself than to her and make your way towards the desk she had pointed out to you, letting your thighs touch the base of it before lifting yourself to sit atop it, feet dangling.

She smiles, a rare occurrence, as she walks towards you. “See? Was that so hard, hm?” She pushes your hair back from your shoulders and slides her hand down suggestively from your neck down to the first button on your blouse. Her fingers are tender, such a contrast to her personality as she unbuttons your top, pulls it down your shoulders. Her grin is toothy, big lips pulled open predatorily as she leans in, leaves a kiss against your shoulder once, before bringing a trail up your neck and to the base of your ear.

You inhale deeply at her actions, eyes closing as you feel a familiar throb make itself known between your legs. Legs that she seems to take an interest in suddenly. Her hands rub over your thighs, rubbing her thumbs into your taut skin there which garners a groan from you. She seems to like that, chuckling breathily to herself before spreading your legs further apart. Embarrassment seeps in and you glance at the door. Locked or not, anyone could walk by.

You feel her breath fan against your neck before she puts her lips to your ear, “You gonna just take it today?” She bites her lip, a hand snaking down your front and ghosting over your core. “Or have I not stretched you enough these days?” And despite the inaccuracy she’s suggesting about the female anatomy; you meet her eyes, they’re gleaming with something only she understands. A look only she knows, something glassy and wide eyed. Beggar.

“Oh…” She smiles, biting back a laugh as she takes it in, “Filthy.” Is what she offers as you two come to some sort of silent understanding.

Then she’s pulling your skirt up, looping her fingers down your panties and pulling them down; but not all the way. No, she wouldn’t bother with that. It all happens so quickly, barely any time passes before she’s pulling herself out of her trousers, precum dripping from her tip.

Her teeth bite at the inside of her cheek as she lines herself up. If she were decent she might ask if you were ready, give you some kind of warning. But she isn’t, so she doesn’t. Just pushes the tip inside, her eyes locking with yours as she does. She watches as your mouth falls open, holding the eye contact as your face quivers with the pain.

She keeps pushing in, forcing her way inside your walls as they try to keep up, relaxing despite the pain. It feels like you’re being torn open, her size massive to the unprepared state you’re in. She’s still holding your gaze as your eyes tear up, a broken moan slipping from your lips. “Bada.” You whine and she smiles, “Shhh.” Is what she offers.

Your arms fly up to wrap around her shoulders as she bottoms out, your eyes forcing themselves closed and a shudder wracking through your body while you try to adjust. She’s no help though, wasting no time before she pulls out to the hilt and slams herself inside again. Which in turn, causes you to scream out, legs flailing on either side of her with the force of it. You bite around her shoulder, trying to quiet yourself as your field of vision becomes slick with tears.

Bada sets out on a pace, finding it quickly. And it’s not kind, her hips fucking against you at a dangerous pace. You stretch around her with each thrust, your body bouncing against the table while you try to hold onto her shoulders for dear life. “Look at you taking it. Speechless?” She mocks, her words breathy as you clench around her and whine in response.

“Can always count on you. My little slut.” Her hands slide down to hold your waist and you cry out, a tear sliding down your face as she pushes you away from her shoulders, sends you back to lay against the desk.

She lifts your hips off the desk, angling her hips upwards before fucking inside of you with a new fervor, fucking into you like you’re a fleshlight. “My little toy. Look at you. Can barely handle it yet you’re moaning for more.” And she’s right, your hands are clenched into fists while your mouth hangs agape, moaning loudly, any thoughts of anyone walking having become uncared for by you. Bada’s name falls from your lips endlessly and your body goes stiff.

“Please.” Is what you offer, “Please please please.” Your back arches even further off the desk and she pulls you further onto her, the sound of your skin against each other filling the space. You can’t help but groan, tears sliding down your face as she speeds up. “There you go baby, that’s it.”

“Taking it so well I knew you could.”

You whine at the praise and shake your head, “I can’t…I can’t..” you can barely think, your hand coming up to try and push Bada’s hands off your hips and that well, she doesn’t like that at all.

Suddenly, her hand is around your throat and her face comes back into your field of view as she fucks inside of you at a new pace. “You can.” She says and you shake your head again, sniffling in between your stolen moans, “You can.” She says again, her voice raspy and darker than it was moments before, her hips snapping up against you.

You can barely breathe, your hand coming up to hold where she has your neck in her grip, “Wait..” you whine out but she doesn’t, barely even slows down before you’re coming all over her cock, a scream falling from your lips. Your hips shake and splutter around her and your head falls back as far as it can, your whole vision goes dark for a moment and you register her letting you go when your back hits the desk again.

It’s quiet, and you can feel her shallowly fucking inside you still, her eyes staring directly down at where you’re swallowing her up. You’re dazed, and a little confused as you try to blink up at her. Your tongue feels like lead in your mouth and you’re unable to speak so she does it for you. That grin still plays on her lips when she meets your gaze again,

“You fucking squirted.”

#bada lee #bada lee smut

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screampied · 21 hours

Note

Wowaloo Vegas, feeling kinda angsty tonight. Any thoughts about Jjk characters x reader ANGST🙂‍↕️?

oh angst, oh. 🙂‍↕️

gojo — waking up from a bad dream that he died, but once you wake up, it wasn’t a dream and he’s actually been dead for years. you’re a widow, still wearing your ring and the two of you both vowed to never take it off. gojo was last seen wearing his ring before he died and you’re still wearing yours. even till the end, the two of you will always be together. even if the strongest isn’t with you, he’s with you in spirit

choso — choso wanting to confess his feelings to you but it’s too late. he’s just to shy and scared that you’ll reject him, so he doesn’t say anything. but the day he finally gets the courage, you’re on a date. his heart breaks, and he tosses his roses in the trash once he sees you with someone that should have been him. walking away and accepting defeat, he feels a few tears stream down his face. he had a whole speech he spent hours reciting, starting off by complimenting your outfit, telling a cheesy joke he found online, and then handing you your gifted roses. but he couldn’t, you found someone else. he was too late

nanami — spending your final moments with him while he’s slowing passing away right before your eyes. “baby, i can’t feel anything,” he’d say to you in a hoarse voice, still attempting to force out one last smile for you. you think that’s a good thing, that he can’t feel any pain. but it’s not, he repeats himself, “no, i really can’t feel anything.” he’s paralyzed, he can’t move. nanami can’t move and you can’t do anything about it. he dies right in front of your eyes, straining out his final breaths before he wearily brings your hand up to his mouth. he kisses it, speaking in a tired voice. his final words were a sweet, “i love you.”

sukuna — he swore he wouldn’t fall in love with a human. on his life, but you were just infuriating. you stole his heart and he hated you for it. but he’s in love with you even more. sukuna gets too attached though, he promises nothing will ever happen to you, but one day, you die. you end up sacrificing yourself for him, taking a brutal hit for him which ends up costing your life. stupid, as you’re laying in his arms, his eyes swell up with tears. sukuna never cries, but now you gave him an excuse to. the last words you heard before you go into the light was, “foolish woman, i love you. don’t go. i can’t lose you too, please.”

geto — geto who’s too scared of commitment. he loves you with all of his heart but there’s just something living within him that’s whispering to him that he doesn’t deserve you. his past makes him feel guilty. the voice gets louder overtime until it’s a constant ringing in his ears. the two of you end up getting hitched as the years pass, life is beautiful—until your official wedding day comes. you’re so pretty, walking down the aisle and he’s staring at you with the most loving gaze. but he can’t, once it’s asked if he’ll be your lawfully wedded husband, he says “i can’t, i’m sorry.” and he leaves you standing there. shocked, confused, and most importantly heartbroken.

toji — once he meets you, life is worth living again. it’s been hard for him losing his first love, his wife. he thought he’d never love again. toji’s entire personality changed after that part of his life. but it all changed once he met you. you were his saving grace, he didn’t like being attatched and clingy but he just couldn’t help it. toji promised he’d change and be a better man for you. but it’s a particular day where he gets a phone call from a detective. “what?” was all he would utter out in a shaky voice, hearing the voice explain that his fiancé was pronounced dead. it’s as if time stood still. his first thought, not again. you were his second chance, and now you were gone. life wasn’t worth it anymore, and toji didn’t know what to do without you. back to square one

#꒰ 👤 ꒱ؘ 𝐔𝐍𝐊𝐍𝑶𝐖𝐍 𝐂𝑨𝐋𝐋𝐄𝑹.#LMAO man i love angst #im gonna write these 🫦#maybe 🫦#isn’t this a lovely fandom

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bella-rose29 · 15 hours

Text

Domestic Sweetness - part 1

requested by @oblivious-idiot: HI BELLE MY BELOVED you told me to make a formal request so!! can i request a lockwood x fem!reader - domestic sweetness, cooking for each other, lockwood giving reader his jumper, that kind of thing feel free to go as wild and fluffy as you like hehe

"Love is wont to bring many calamities upon men" is the other thing I based this on and I feel like it's very fitting indeed

I AM SO SORRY IT'S TAKEN ME ACTUAL MONTHS TO DO THIS BUT YOU HAD UPDATES ALONG THE WAY SO I HOPE THAT HELPED

word count: 4.6k

warnings: painfully sweet relationship depicted, lockwood actually gets injured quite a lot (sorry to my boy), swearing, I think that's it? oh wait no there's like one or two slight innuendos whoops

“Can you pass the sugar, Lockwood?”

“Sure, here.” A heavy jar was placed on the counter next to you, and you paused in your stirring to measure out the new ingredient. He was smiling widely at you, a grin that could rival the sun with how bright and happy it was, and you almost felt bad about telling him that he’d brought the salt instead of sugar. His brow furrowed, and he checked the label again. “Damn. Sorry, darling, I could have sworn I picked up the right jar. The sun must have faded the pen; I’ll rewrite it.” He pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head before going in search of a marker, turning back momentarily to pass you the actual jar of sugar.

George, Lucy, and Holly had gone out for the day, taking advantage of one of the last few warm days of autumn before winter started setting in and filled up their schedules with clients. Lockwood and Y/n had stayed in, making the most of the fact they had the house to themselves for a few hours and could make as much mess in the kitchen as possible without being shouted at. Besides, if the others did get mad then there would at least be cake to sweeten them up a little.

Lockwood let out a small triumphant “Ha!” from across the kitchen, telling you that he’d found a pen. There was a brief pause, the only sounds being those of the spoon in the mixing bowl bringing all the ingredients together, and then the sound of a mason jar being opened.

“Lockwood?” He hummed in response.

“What are you doing?” You stopped stirring to look over at your boyfriend just in time to see him eat a spoonful of whatever was in the jar he’d just opened. “Wha… what the actual fuck?” He grimaced, pulling a face and sticking his tongue out repeatedly as though it would get rid of the taste.

“…I had to check it was definitely salt.” He looked sheepish, a faint tinge of pink appearing on his cheeks and the tips of his ears as you stood with your hands on your hips and raised your eyebrows at him.

“Of course it’s salt, dipshit. I’ve got the sugar!”

“I didn’t want to get it wrong!”

“Are you sure you didn’t just want to see what a spoonful of salt tasted like?” He didn’t say anything, instead starting to write ‘salt’ on the label with far too much concentration. You sighed, turning back to the bowl. “Idiot,” you muttered, but there was a smile on your face regardless.

~~~

Lockwood could still taste the salt.

He’d washed his mouth out with roughly four cups of tea and six pints of water, but the tang of the teaspoon of salt he’d eaten earlier was still there. He couldn’t even complain about it either, because Y/n just laughed at him and said he had to live with the consequences of his actions.

At least he now knew what a spoonful of salt tasted like.

He heard you struggle a little from his place at the sink (he’d been put on washing up duty), and looked to his left to see you attempting to reach something on the top shelf. Drying his hands on the tea towel he slung it over his shoulder and stepped over, coming up behind to help. One of his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against his front, while the other reached up and took the second mixing bowl out of the cupboard. “Here you are, darling,” he whispered, deliberately lowering his voice and speaking directly into your ear, tightening his hold around your waist for a brief moment and delighting in both the involuntary shiver and small sound that left your mouth. He kissed your temple and let go, placing the mixing bowl on the counter and moving away to finish washing up.

“You,” his girlfriend started, clutching the sideboard, “are evil, Anthony Lockwood. Pure evil.”

He just laughed in reply, and yelped when you dipped your hand in the sink and threw soapy water in his face.

~~~

The cake had been sat on the side for a while now, sponges cooling down so that the icing that the two of you were currently making wouldn’t melt and slide right off.

“That’s way too much icing, isn’t it?”

“It’ll be fine. I’ll eat any leftovers.”

“Lockwood, you can’t just put everything in your mouth.”

“Icing won’t kill me, Y/n.”

You sighed, fighting back the smile that threatened to break through. “Still. You’ll probably be sick if you eat that much.” Lockwood didn’t bother hiding his grin, dipping a finger into the bowl to scoop some icing up. He laughed when you smacked his chest, smile never disappearing even when he nearly fell backwards off his chair. “Does it taste alright?”

“Yep. Tastes perfect. I could totally eat that whole bowl and not get sick.”

“Well,” you replied, standing up from the kitchen table and heading for the sponges. “You’re not going to find out if you can. The cake’s cool enough now. Here, take the spatula. You can lick it when we’re done. When we’re done, Anthony. Not now.” Lockwood pouted with the implement halfway to his mouth, sticking his bottom lip out so far it looked ridiculous, and you snorted and gave him a peck on the cheek. “C’mon, the cake won’t ice itself.”

A short while later the majority of the icing had been used, spread as neatly as possible over the cake that had now been assembled. “It looks pretty good!” Lockwood said, standing back to admire it.

“I just hope it tastes as good.”

“Of course it will. You always doubt yourself and then make the most incredible things I’ve ever eaten, so I don’t know why you’re always so unsure.” He’d said it so casually, inspecting the spatula in his hand and leaning back against the counter, and he was talking about cake, but it meant a lot. He wasn’t wrong, and the fact that he’d said that as nonchalantly as he had made your heart clench in your chest. Looking at Lockwood now, the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the window and casting him in a soft golden glow, you found yourself wondering how the hell you’d managed to end up with someone as wonderful as him.

Then he practically deep-throated the spatula, and the illusion of Anthony Lockwood as some magnificent and incredible person was partially shattered.

“Anthony, what the-” you cut yourself off, staring in shock at your boyfriend as he took the nearly-clean spatula out his mouth and stared back, the picture of innocence. You couldn’t even bring yourself to be mad, not when he was looking at you with those wide brown eyes and titling his head a little in a silent question. “Never mind.”

“What is it?”

“You- you just shoved the whole thing in your mouth!”

“Yeah, and?” He didn’t seem concerned about the fact he could have choked, instead resorting to licking the spatula like an ice cream to get the last of the icing off. For a moment, memories of his tongue doing a similar thing but in a very different context flooded your brain, not helped at all by the soft moan he let out at the taste of the icing.

“Just, uh… you could have- you…” He had that innocent look on his face again, and it was difficult to remember what you’d been saying. “Don’t worry about it,” you muttered, gaze fixed on the spatula. Lockwood noticed, of course, and immediately a smug look took over his features. He exaggerated his movements, and the spell was broken. It definitely helped take your mind off of… other things, especially when he accidentally smacked himself in the face with the spatula.

“Ouch,” he said, rubbing his cheek and frowning at the implement.

“It’s your fault, you know. I have no sympathy for you.”

“Rude.” There was no malice in his response, and the glare he gave you was teasing.

“What are we gonna do with the rest of the icing? There’s too much to put on the cake, but not enough to put on something else. It would be a shame to waste it.”

“Eat it?”

“You want to eat everything, Anthony.” He walked over to the sink, dropping the spatula in the water and cleaning it before moving to the kitchen table where the bowl of icing sat. “What are you doing now?”

“Come here,” he said, beckoning you closer with his left hand. His right was dipping into the icing bowl again, but before you could chastise him for it he was gently taking hold of your waist and pulling you in to his side, lifting his right hand to your mouth. “Open up.”

“Wha- just eat it off your hand? When did you last wash them?”

“You literally watched me wash them about a minute ago, I’m not sure why you’re concerned about that. We’ve got to eat the icing up, so if you won’t eat it then I will.”

“Fine. Go on then,” you said, sighing and opening your mouth. He paused for a moment, hand a few inches away from your face, and for a split-second you thought you saw a hint of amusement in his eyes. You should have realised that he would take advantage of the situation when his grip on your waist tightened, pinning you to his side so that he could wipe the icing on your cheek instead. A disbelieving scoff left your mouth, eyes widening as you took in the grin he was giving you. “Really? I thought you wanted to eat it?”

He shrugged. “I can lick it off afterwards.” Under the icing your cheeks burned. Recovering quickly you reached into the bowl yourself, grabbing the back of his top to stop him lurching away when he realised that he was under attack.

“Not a fucking chance you’re getting away with this,” you muttered, spreading the icing over his chin (he’d jerked his head back at the last second, and given the awkward angle it was the only part of his face you could reach). Now it was his turn to huff in incredulity, and there was a brief pause where the two of you stood - still grasping each other to prevent any escapes - and looked at each other.

Then something clicked, and at the same time you both made a mad scrabble for the icing bowl, hands dipping in to collect ammunition before attempting to smear the topping all over each other.

When Lucy, George, and Holly came home roughly half an hour later desperate for a cup of tea and a quiet evening in, they found you and Lockwood lying on the kitchen floor, icing spread around most of the room and baking trays used as what looked like makeshift shields, wide smiles on both of your faces.

George nearly had an aneurysm at the state of the kitchen, but after he made the pair of you swear to clean it before you went to bed and left the room in a huff he couldn’t help the smile that made its way onto his face.

~~~

“Did we run out of teabags again?” Lucy called from the kitchen. It was incredible how far her voice could carry, really, since you and Lockwood were in his room a floor up with the door closed and music playing, and yet could still hear her. George yelled back something about how he’d meant to go the other day but forgot, and he couldn’t right now because he was doing yoga. Holly had already gone home, and when Lucy appeared at Lockwood’s bedroom door a few minutes later you sighed.

“Why do we have to go? We just got comfy in bed,” Lockwood said, even though he was the only one currently under the covers and was still in his day clothes. You had been changing the music over, having grown bored of the previous record.

“Because I need to wash my hair? And George is probably butt-naked so he can’t go. You two are already dressed anyway, so why does it matter?”

“She’s got a point, Lockwood,” you started. “It’ll be fun! Besides, we’ll have some time for just the two of us, and-” You didn’t even get to finish before he was launching himself out of bed, grabbing your wrist, and hurling the both of you down the stairs, already reaching for his coat and shoes.

“See you later!” Lucy called, heading up to the attic. “Oh, and we need bread too!”

“Got it!” you yelled back, stifling your laughter at how frantically Lockwood was moving. “Why’re you going so fast? No, slow- slow down!” He had pulled your own coat off the rack and started putting your arms through the sleeves, and was now wrapping his yellow and brown patchwork scarf around his neck.

“What? Am I not allowed to want to spend time with you? Alone?” He waggled his eyebrows around at the last word, leaning in close and aiming for a kiss, lips pursed comically as he shut his eyes. You pushed his face away, snorting at his theatrics, and put your own scarf around your neck before heading for the front door. Stuffing a bag in his coat pocket (you would never understand how he could fit so many things in them, they were stupidly deep) he followed after you, and it wasn’t long before the two of you were walking down the road hand in hand (or rather, hand in arm; your palms always got uncomfortably sweaty whenever you held hands for too long, and Lockwood had long since learned that letting you nestle your hand in the crook of his elbow was much better for both of you).

“Teabags and bread, right?” you asked, double checking with Lockwood that you hadn’t got it wrong in the five minutes since you’d left the house. Lockwood hummed in response, a soft smile decorating his face. He turned his head to look down at you, and while his smile was still small you could see the happiness in his eyes. It was strange: before meeting him you hadn’t ever thought that someone could look at you like that, but here was Anthony Lockwood, gazing at you like there was nothing else in the world - in the universe - that mattered more than you.

Maybe he should have considered that other things did matter, because barely two seconds later he walked face first into a lamppost.

You desperately wanted to comfort him and check that he was alright but instead laughter burst its way up and out, making you double over and wheeze.

“It’s not funny!” he exclaimed, clutching his nose, but there was a badly concealed grin under his hand.

“I’m sorry,” you managed to get out, except you were still laughing and probably looked everything but sorry. “You just- you just walked straight into it!”

“Funnily enough,” he started, wincing as he prodded his nose with his index finger, “I was aware of the fact I walked into a lamppost. Not sure what it was that made me aware of it; maybe the way my entire face hurts has something to do with it?” Your laughter had died down now, one or two small giggles still breaking through, and you moved closer to inspect his face yourself. Knocking his hands away, you brought your own up, feeling along the skin to check for… well you weren’t really sure what you were checking for, but his nose didn’t seem broken, and he didn’t have any cuts or bleeding. He might end up with a bruise or two, but he’d wear them just as proudly as the slight blue tinge on his hand from years ago or the very large eye bags he couldn’t seem to get rid of.

“Sorry,” you said again, meaning it a little more this time. You paused for a moment, a slightly guilty look appearing on your face. “I really wish I had had my camera with me to catch that though, is that bad?” He stared at you in open-mouthed shock, but the amusement glistening in his eyes told you it was just pretend.

“How… dare you!” He lunged, arms outstretched in an attempt to catch you, but you spun away just in time, laughing loudly and jogging away down the pavement. Lockwood rushed after you, and his long spindly legs made the distance you had created seem like nothing. He wrapped his arms around your midriff from behind, pulling you back against him and lifting you up in the air all in one go. He spun the both of you around, unable to stop his own laughter as you kicked and squeezed your eyes tightly shut, and after what felt like far too long (but in reality was probably no more than five seconds) he put you down again, twisting you around by his grip on your waist so that you were facing each other. “So rude,” he muttered, grinning while he leaned in to press a quick kiss to your lips. “So rude.” Lockwood pulled back, releasing your waist and moving to the outside of the pavement while dramatically doing a little bow and offering up his arm.

“Are you sure your face is alright?”

“I’m sure. A bit sore, but I’ve had worse. A cup of tea when we get back will help, I think.” He was still bent a little in the middle so you took his arm and let him stand up straight and lead you down the road again.

~~~

“Is that all we needed?” you asked, walking back over to where Lockwood stood with the shopping basket. “It doesn’t seem like a lot given we came to the big shop.” Lockwood looked a little sheepish for barely a second, quickly schooling his expression back into one that looked more like ‘I’m so happy to be out with my girlfriend’, but you caught it regardless. Narrowing your eyes, you spoke again. “We didn’t need to come here, did we.” It wasn’t a question, and Lockwood shrunk back a little. “We could have gone to Arif’s; you saying he was shut was a lie!”

“Sorry,” he grinned. “I just wanted to spend more time with you, is all.” How could you stay mad at him when he was looking at you like that? Those brown eyes would be the death of you, you were sure of it.

“Fine,” you replied, drawing out the word. “But we’re buying biscuits.”

“Happy to, since it means we get longer together before you have to go home.” The pair of you started walking again, heading for the biscuit isle, when Lockwood stopped abruptly in the middle of the store. “Did you need anything? You know…” he waved the hand that wasn’t holding the basket in the vague direction of your body. “I seem to remember you saying you were running out of something? Pads, maybe? Or was it the liner thingies? Oh! And painkillers, we need more of those. George used the last for a headache he had the other week and I forgot to restock.”

“How… you remember me saying that?” He started dragging you away from the biscuit isle and instead towards the toiletries isle, seemingly nonplussed about the fact he’d remembered one off-hand comment you had made ages ago.

“Of course I do. I keep a little list in a notebook so I don’t forget anything. Ah, here we are.” He stopped walking to frown at the display of products before the two of you. “Actually… I have no idea what I’m looking at right now.”

“That’s alright,” you responded, reaching out for the things you needed. “I would have completely forgotten if you hadn’t reminded me, and that would have been a disaster.” As soon as you were done, basket just that little bit heavier, you both turned and left for the biscuits for the second time.

“You pick,” Lockwood said as you neared. “I picked the biscuits last time and the others aren’t here, so tough luck for them.”

Despite you all calling it the Big Shop it was only a small amount larger than Arif’s, and as such the aisles weren’t all that much taller - you could often find Lockwood’s head floating above the shelves which made it easy to not get lost - but it did mean that if anybody was below the height of the aisles, they were practically invisible. Unfortunately someone had been just around the corner of the biscuit aisle, hidden behind a board advertising a brand, and you didn’t have time to correct your course.

“Oof! Watch it!”

At first you thought you’d bumped into a small child, possibly around six or seven years in age but just above the average height, and that he was in need of a personality check for the attitude he’d just given you. Then when you blinked and the child stood up after being sent flying across the floor, you realised that you were in fact looking at Bobby Vernon instead.

“Sorry, Bobby,” Lockwood said, trying not to smile while the other agent brushed himself off. “Didn’t see you behind the display.”

“Lockwood, that display is the size of a large rat at most,” Bobby scowled, inspecting a non-existent rip in his Fittes uniform. You had only met Bobby Vernon once before (a few months ago, and he hadn’t said a word), and you were surprised that he apparently hadn’t gone through puberty yet. There was the odd crack in his words when he spoke, but otherwise his voice sounded like what could only be described as a mouse’s feet gently pattering over a tin roof, or perhaps something akin to a child talking to you in high tones very far away.

“I’m aware of that,” replied Lockwood, having given up on hiding his grin by now. “What are you doing here?”

“I was getting supplies for a case that we have tonight. Not sure if you remember what those are, Lockwood, but we’re fully booked for the foreseeable future.” He puffed his chest out, giving the impression of a fairy trying to make itself look bigger than it was, or a small pufferfish going up against a whale. His tone had gone all smug and holier-than-thou, and you didn’t much like it.

“Actually,” Lockwood started, with a look that told you he was about to start lying, “we’re doing quite well ourselves.” There it was. You’d spoken to Holly earlier that day, and the biggest job that Lockwood and Co had for the next week or so was hanging up lavender in a hotel a couple of streets away. Bobby raised an eyebrow (or tried to; it looked a lot more like he’d been told that someone had just adopted a pair of gerbils for him and named them Harold and Nancy or something ridiculous like that) and scoffed. Lockwood didn’t falter though, his smile staying plastered on his face and his posture confident (seriously, the boy had to have had dancing lessons with a back that straight), and after a few moments Bobby gave up scrutinising him.

“Well I’d best be getting on,” the Fittes agent said, straightening his jacket and sniffing. “Busy life and all that. I hope you fall in a river, Lockwood. Or set another building on fire so that they can finally take you out of the game.” You huffed an incredulous laugh, not believing how someone who looked so small and mouse-like could say something like that. Before either you or Lockwood could respond Bobby Vernon had walked off, his rapier dragging against the floor a little and nearly tripping him with how long it was compared to his body.

“He was nice,” you mused, turning to grab some biscuits. Jammy dodgers were the first to go in the basket, since George always ate the lot of them and rarely bothered with any others.

“Bobby’s always a joy to be around,” Lockwood replied, reaching his hand out for yours. You shook your head and put a packet of bourbons in the basket instead, already going for some chocolate covered hobnobs and digestives. Lockwood had started grabbing at yours, so you cast one last look at the basket and the shelves before indulging him. “Is that everything do you think?” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, keeping his lips there while he waited for you to respond.

“Yeah, I think so. We can always pop out again tomorrow if we missed anything.”

Just under ten minutes later the pair of you were out of the shop, Lockwood carrying the bags in one arm and your hand resting in the crook of his other. It was darker now than when you’d left the house, the evening properly drawing in and clouds darkening the sky, but with Lockwood by your side the world could never be anything but bright. The wind picked up, ruffling his hair (that somehow managed to still look great while you looked like you’d been dragged backwards through a hedge) and threatening to pull his scarf away. You reached out to grab it before the end could break free, effectively making the both of you grind to a halt. “Thanks,” he grinned, probably completely unaware of how he made you feel. A sudden urge to kiss him like those scenes in the movies overtook you, and you took your other hand out of the crook of his elbow to grab a hold of the other end of his scarf. Tugging harshly on the fabric, you yanked Lockwood down to press your lips to his, closing your eyes right before contact.

Contact never came.

Not for you, anyway. Lockwood did make contact, but with the floor instead of your lips, and there was a painful sounding thud when he landed. “Oops…” you murmured, hands now held up by your face instead of holding Lockwood’s scarf.

There was a moment of silence where Lockwood was just lying on the pavement, face down while splayed out like one of those white chalk body outlines in crime reports, and then you couldn’t hold in your laughter anymore.

It bubbled up, and at the small groan that escaped your boyfriend you tried to stop, pressing your hand over your mouth in an attempt to prevent any more laughter. You were unsuccessful, instead laughing even harder when he lifted his head to show the red print of concrete on his cheek and scowled up at you. Luckily the shopping had stayed in the bags, so when Lockwood pushed himself up off the floor and brushed the stray bits of pavement off of him, all he had to do was pick up the bag. He gently touched a couple of fingers of his free hand to his nose, testing for any injuries, then nodded when he felt satisfied that there wasn’t anything too worrying. He caught you hiding your grin and gave you one of his own before opening his mouth.

“Kiss my nose better?”

You snorted, stepping closer to Lockwood but not yet obliging. You checked for any damage to his nose yourself, not trusting him to have done a good enough job. “What makes you think I will?”

“Well I think I deserve some sort of compensation for my injuries,” he replied, using his spare hand to pull you into his chest by your waist.

“Oh, really?”

“Mhm,” he said, voice growing quieter as he leaned in. His nose brushed against yours, warm breath on your face a pleasant contrast to the chill in the air. The wind was still pulling at your hair and clothes, rustling the plastic shopping bags in Lockwood’s hand and making your cheeks sting at the cold.

“Alright then, if that’s what the doctor ordered.”

“It is,” Lockwood muttered, but the end of his sentence was lost in your lips.

tag list:

@strawberryloveyyy, @chameleon021, @genderfluid-anime-goth, @cottagecore-babe, @anthonylockwoodandco111, @a-taken-url, @ahead-fullofdreams, @aislinrayne, @anathemaloren, @anthgoldenhrry, @augustisintheair, @aysha4life, @briar-rose23, @curseofhecate, @dangelnleif, @edible-rat-vomit, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @ettadear, @fearlessmoony, @fudosl, @idkbubs, @imaginebeingmentallystable, @informedimagining, @karensirkobabes, @lady-ashfade, @light-23, @locklyebrainrot, @locklyle1kanij, @locknco, @magicandrosewaters, @mentallyillsodapop, @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @newbooksmell777, @no-morning-glories, @novelizt, @phlooper, @ran23sblog, @reggiepeterss, @simrah1012, @somethingrandomwatzit, @star-of-velaris, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @whistle1whistle, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife, @y0urm0m12, @zoom1374, @asyouwish-fromcabin3, @rhysand-devorak, @a-candle-maker, @h0lyheck, @apple-bottom-jeans6, @icantwaittoliveandlearn, @moonlitcanvas, @cielooci, @35-portlandxrow, @laumire, @isimpfor-everyone, @furblrwurblr

@neewtmas, @bobbys-not-that-small, @avdiobliss, @demigoddess-of-ghosts, @maraschinomerry, @lewkwoodnco, @uku-lelevillain, and of COURSE @oblivious-idiot for the request

as always, if there is anybody who wants to be added to my lockwood tag list, then please go here!

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co #anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you

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farfromstrange · 2 days

Text

Do No Harm

CHAPTER TWELVE: Oh, Chaos!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: You have an eventful day at work rekindling with a new acquaintance and dealing with a peculiar trauma case, but the most prominent thing on your mind is dinner with Matt, and you could really use some advice from someone who knows a thing or two about dates to keep you from canceling.

Warnings for this chapter: slight angst, self-hatred/doubt, mentions of past abuse, mentions of injury

Word Count: 5.3k

A/n: I'm sorry this took so long. I took an unexpected hiatus, and I couldn't break out of the writer's block, so this took close to a month to finish. I read this a dozen times, and I fixed what I could. This is rather "boring" compared to what came before and what I've got planned, but there is plot in there that will become important again later down the line. Just so you know what you're getting yourself into in advance. 'Kay, thank you!

Read Chapter 12: Oh, Chaos! here on AO3

Four missed calls, and twenty text messages. The chat is full of one-sided advances. ‘Claire’ is written on top, but her contact resembles an empty void in contrast.

I don’t know what I did to deserve this radio silence, but I thought you would like to know I asked Matt out again. I like him. We’re having dinner on Friday. Do with that as you will.

Hope you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere.

Call me when you can. Please.

I’m worried about you.

Love you.

It has been like this since Matt called you when you least expected it. Whether he was looking for support, professional advice, or just the sound of your voice, you’re not sure, but it warmed your heart to know he thought of you and no one else, and he picked up the phone to call you.

Before, you tried telling yourself that there isn’t much between you. You tried telling yourself that perhaps, it would never go anywhere and not to be disappointed because from the start, Matt has been too good to be true, but after sharing a glimpse of your past, you feel closer to him, and you don’t want to let him go. He is the first good thing that has come to you in years.

Claire’s radio silence hurts. You don’t want to admit it, but sending text after text to your best friend and receiving not even a ‘read’ sign both concerns and upsets you. Ever since she took you under her wing when you came to New York, you’ve—sometimes involuntarily—shared your anger with her, your sadness, your pain, and those rare moments of happiness.

She was the one who told you to go for it, so her behavior remains suspicious. You want to ask her; you want to confront her about everything and get the truth out of her, but unless she answers your contact attempts or shows up to work, there is not much you can do. You tried from the moment you got home to the second leading up to your next shift at the hospital. So far, nothing. A few days ago, you would have called the police and said that this was nothing like Claire, but now, you’re not so sure anymore what to believe, and it is pissing you off when you should be excited.

Things are looking up. You don’t want to look down and ruin this for yourself, knowing there is a chance your thoughts will most likely turn against you again at some point. You have to enjoy it while it lasts.

Glancing down at your phone, you walk down one of the hallways at Metro General. You shake your head. It’s been hours. Perhaps after you get off work, you will head to where Claire is staying. Just to check on her. The nagging feeling that shit is about to hit the fan won’t leave you, and it seems like the right thing to do, even if just to ask her what her problem is.

She’s always so quick to tell you what’s good for you. She gives you advice you never even asked for, but you end up appreciating it regardless. She knows what she’s doing, and she is a lot smarter than you are most of the time. You know her as well as you possibly can after two years; Claire is hiding something, and that is unlike her. If she gets herself in danger because of something she feels like she can’t talk to you about, or if she has an opinion afraid to share with you, you need to know because it is important to you. Your mind is disordered and distorted; you are well aware that sometimes, you don’t see things as clearly as you should. Claire’s rationality is a blessing and a curse. You’re dependent on it.

“Hey, Doc,” a familiar voice sounds from the nurse’s station.

You stop in your tracks, looking up from your phone to the man standing across from you. You haven’t seen that face in a while, even though he spends a lot of time here—almost as much as he does at work. You doubt he ever goes home to sleep.

Your face lights up, and you stuff your phone back into the pocket of your coat. “Ben!” you exclaim, your lips curving into a smile.

“Long time no see,” he says in an attempt to match your delighted reaction.

You hate to admit it, but Ben Urich looks worse for wear. Dark circles under his eyes match the deepened wrinkles of exhaustion, and his lips are cracked in more places than one. His shirt shows the slightest of coffee stains he tries to cover with his visitor badge. You doubt he has had the time to do his laundry in a long time. And there is that expression of agony he usually knows how to hide, but the walls he once built around himself are starting to crumble.

The sympathy you have for this man cannot be put into words—because your feelings are unpleasant most of the time, too, and unless you have been in an impossible situation, all you can have is empathy. You, however, are not a stranger to despair, and the people around you all seem to be carrying too much of it, too.

You clear your throat, putting the file in your hand aside to shake his. “How have you been?” you dare to ask.

He shrugs. “Could be better, but… I’m alive. Healthy,” he says. It’s a modified standard answer you do not buy for even a second.

Your eyes soften, but you try to keep the mood light. God knows what he has been through since the last time you saw him on this very floor. “Yeah? That’s good. The Bulletin still giving you a hard time about the things you want to write?” You chuckle.

“Ah, you know how it is.” Ben leans against the counter. “Readers these days are apparently more interested in celebrity scandals and gentrification than true crime.”

The pen scratches against the chart you have to sign. “Well, just know that you will always have a loyal fan of your true crime section in me, and I would tell that to Eric’s face if you ever need me to.” You offer him a smile of pure honesty, and his eyes actually light up this time.

He chuckles. “Can I quote you on that?”

“That depends. Am I getting paid?”

“I’m afraid the only form of payment I have is cheap office coffee.”

“You’re in luck then,” you say, “I am a sucker for cheap office coffee because it’s still better than cheap hospital coffee.”

His face contorts. “Yeah, I’m not going to argue with you on that,” he says.

Again, you chuckle. The question rests on the tip of your tongue, but only when the silence stretches out painfully long enough to prompt a drop of sweat to run down his temple, you ask, “How’s your wife?” No pain or pity in your voice—you know he doesn’t need it.

Ben swallows in response, scratching his fingers through his hair. “Uh, hanging in there. They told me she’s had a good day today. Lucid,” he tells you.

“That sounds like progress. You know, with her condition, every good day is a success.”

“Yeah, yeah, I, uh… I agree. But… she’s not the only reason I’m here. Shelly called me here today to, uh, discuss my wife’s future at this hospital…”

The muscles in your shoulders tense and stiffen. You slowly lift your head. “Oh,” is all you can muster up to say. You know where this is going.

“Yeah,” he says. “I tried convincing her to keep her here a little while longer. But apparently, you guys can’t accommodate her much longer, and she wants me to look into hospice or some other form of long-term care.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

But what else are you supposed to say? You clear your throat. “I, uh… Shelly’s under a lot of pressure, you know? We’re having funding issues in every department, and she is just trying to make due, but… I know your wife’s been here for a very long time, and she’s dependent on the care. Alzheimer’s can be incredibly cruel, and I’m sure hospice is a lot more expensive than what your insurance covers if she stays here, so it isn’t fair. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” says Ben.

“Can I help in any way?” you ask.

“Well, unless you can win the lottery or find a cure for Alzheimer’s in the next seven days, I’m afraid not.”

“Believe me, people are trying, but—”

“I know,” he cuts you off. “I still appreciate it. You’re one of the few doctors here who still care about the people.”

You shake your head, saying, “It’s not that easy. The system is rigged against us. We’re all aware of it, but some of us just… fall off the wagon because they think the only way through is to become what we hate the most. Selfish, egotistical money-makers always chasing recognition rather than caring about the patients we’re supposed to serve,” you explain. “These new fancy medical centers only those with millions in their bank accounts can afford are where all the funding goes, and those who cater to the underprivileged and uninsured—like us—have to suffer the consequences because we don’t chase after money. I would know; I did my residency at one of those hospitals, and I hated how some of these people treated their patients, so I always tried to use the resources we’ve got to help people, even those who couldn’t afford it. Of course, not all of my fellow residents stayed on that path with me. The more high-risk surgeries, the better the payout, even when unnecessary. Upcoding and needless tests were the standards we were held to. I’ve always hated that. Public hospitals are at the bottom of the food chain, and the patients end up pulling the short straw, but most doctors don’t start with the mindset that it’s just something we have to accept. That lethargy comes with time. And the system.”

“Kind of reminds me of that kook in the black mask,�� Ben muses. “With his disbelief in the system and his…his twisted sense of justice.”

You scoff. “Well…”

Your mind flashes back to the other night in that alleyway. The way he interfered when he heard you in trouble. The cockiness he seemed to exceed, but it quickly vanished when he realized you may have risked your life to save someone else’s, but you were not going to leave another person injured. You don’t have a lot of trust in the justice system, but that man seemed… different; like the only way he could believe in justice is when he does something against the persistent injustice that so many turn a blind eye to.

But it’s not just Hell’s Kitchen, which the Man In Black seems to gracefully ignore. He does what he needs to where he thinks he has to, but it is not just the system in his beloved city that is wired against the people it is supposed to protect and serve. It’s not just the justice system or society overall, it’s the government, too. And you truly believe he knows that, too, he simply does not have the manpower to fight all battles at once. No one has.

Ben eyes you curiously, up and down. “What, you don’t agree?” he asks.

You sigh. “I don’t think he has a twisted sense of justice, no.”

“Why? You met him?”

Saying yes would make you an accessory to his crimes. “I’ve heard the same things you have, Ben, and I think he really is trying to change something,” you answer instead.

You find a sudden determination in his eyes as he leans closer. “You treat his victims, right? You’ve seen what he can do with his bare hands. Taking out entire syndicates that have been bothering Hell’s Kitchen for decades, going up against bad seeds and corporations, and he never backs down,” he says.

“If you’re trying to say it’s a bad thing…” You trail off.

“I think it’s a grey area. A fine line.”

“Well, as fine as that line may be, I don’t feel as much empathy for the people he puts in here because I’ve seen what they can do just a few blocks from here,” you state and close the chart in front of you on the counter. “I had to watch lives and families get destroyed. The ones responsible for serving justice either didn’t have the evidence, or they were too late, or the only witnesses died on my table, or—and that happens quite frequently, too—they just didn’t care,” you say. “The times I watched them make arrests, the legal system ended up failing the victims anyway. Now, I’m not saying I condone violence, but this city needs help. Depending on the area, police sometimes don’t even bother to check, and that pisses me off because a lot of the time, tragedies could have been prevented if first responders just got there on time. Or if the perpetrators involved in a crime suffered the consequences for their actions instead of bailing out the same day on a domestic violence charge. I know that the police can't be everywhere at once, but… A lot of people feel safer with this guy out there because they know he tries.”

Ben desperately scribbles along on a small notepad you’re not sure where he got it from. He’s not even wearing a coat.

“It’s like David and Goliath,” you tell him, too animated to pay closer attention to your surroundings. “It’s a contest wherein a smaller, weaker opponent faces a much bigger and stronger adversary. I just… I don’t know. In this city, there are a lot of metaphorically weak individuals who don’t have the means to fight back against the big guy. Like I said, a system rigged against its people does not help the people live a safe and happy life in a city that makes them feel like all their advances are futile.”

“That’s excellent,” he murmurs.

You glimpse down at his hand, frowning. “It’s just my opinion.”

“There’s nothing ‘just’ about it. I know a lot of people feel the way you do, and yes, that’s fucked up. But that’s why we need people like you to speak up. People with more influence than the little guy. People who serve the people.”

“Ben,” you try to get a word in.

“Hear me out,” he says. “If I can get Eric to sign off on it, I want to write a think piece for the public. About the man in the mask. About Hell’s Kitchen and New York, and the things no one likes to talk about. And I’d like to get you on the record.”

“With all due respect—and I do love the concept—I don’t think interviewing me would be such a good idea.”

“Why not?”

Your pulse has inevitably gotten higher. Because if my ex finds out where I am, he’ll kill me. The thought screams like a banshee, echoing like the trajectory of a bouncing basketball. It takes you a moment to realize that the thudding is your heart. Dull, aching, and infused with a panic as old as time.

You squeeze the pen in your fist, feeling the plastic crack under the weight. “I can’t have my name or face on the record,” you confess. “It’s a, uh… protection thing.”

The most human thing to ask would be, ‘Protection from what?’ You don’t have to read minds to know that those are the words forming on Ben’s lips the second you offer him an explanation that is not quite the truth. It couldn’t be further from it, but your truth is a tank and tanks can take down everything in their path without suffering as much as a scratch.

You take the stage before he can ask—before you can ride yourself further into this pile of dirt and lies. “I treat people for a living, and my opinions out there… I need to protect myself if someone ever wants to file a lawsuit against me for prejudicial behavior because they could easily use an interview I gave as evidence,” you say. “I could lose my license.” Your license, and your life.

He releases a strangled breath. “Yeah, no. Of course,” Ben says. “I knew that. But I could always refer to my source as anonymous. Most of the time, people don’t care about who said what anyway. They just want something to talk about.”

You want to scream. The alarm is blaring loud enough for the nerves in your body to hear it. The rage is so hard to swallow. Not at him though. It isn’t Ben’s fault that even now, you have to live your life as if it was never yours to begin with.

“But,” he adds upon seeing the look on your face, like a deer in bright headlights, “unless a certain Man in Black decides to leave another stranded criminal on my doorstep, Eric will never sign off on it. I’m sorry,” the exasperation in his voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard. “I didn’t mean to jump this at you. I know you have more…important things to do than worry about an old journalist who knows damn well his best days are behind him.”

The shake of your head follows in an instant. His confidence lies drowned in the invisible puddle at your feet. “You don’t always have to go with the flow of time,” you tell him. “If you want to write something, you should. People’s tastes change, but there will always be someone out there who wants to read what you have to say.”

Ben smiles at you. “Does that mean you’ll think about my offer?” he asks.

You return the gesture. “When I’ve done my important things, maybe I will.”

And chances are, you will think about it. You will think about it, and then you will cry over a bottle of wine and wish you were never born or that, once again, he killed you when he had the chance. You will wish that you didn’t run, and you will curse John and your entire existence to hell and back because without him, you wouldn’t have to guard your heart like a maximum-security prison, and you wouldn’t have to hide who you are like a secret from Pandora’s box. In the end, though, you know you will have to decide if he doesn’t forget what he offered you—and knowing Ben Urich, when he is allowed to write about what he wants, he won’t forget the sources he tried to recruit along the way.

You look up suddenly when the sirens start blaring above your head.

Attention all staff, Code Red, Emergency Department. Code Red, Emergency Department. Trauma team to the Emergency Department immediately.

“That sounds bad,” Ben comments.

You turn back to him, but before you can open your mouth and excuse yourself from the conversation (and your internal self-hatred party), one of the nurses behind the counter picks up the phone with a knowing nod. A second passes and all color fades from her skin before her features contort. “I’m sorry, what?!” she damn-near screeches.

You frown back at her. “Hey, Evie,” — you snap your fingers — “What’s going on?”

She moves the speaker away from her lips. “Um,” she stammers. “Have you ever seen Texas Chainsaw Massacre?”

“Oh, my God.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s 11 am!” you say, your eyes darting between her and the wall as if that would change anything.

Ben cuts in, “That doesn’t mean much in a city that never sleeps,” he says. “People are always crazy ‘round here.”

You scoff. “Apparently! I’m so sorry, but I’ve gotta–”

“Yeah, no. I know.” He nods, his eyes softening in an instant. “Go!”

With a grateful nod, you leave your work on the counter and head into a sprint down the hall.

A life-saving surgery can take up to several hours. There really is no margin for error, so you tune out the noise of the world outside and focus on the chaos you have to control. You focus on what you know and what you have learned because if you don’t, the person you are cutting into with a scalpel could die at your very touch. For those few critical hours, you are nothing but a doctor, but the world doesn’t stop or disappear in real life when you cease to exist; when you come back after those few hours, the world is still falling apart, and you still have to go back home and face the reality you are forced to live in. But how can you think that when people are fighting for their lives every day before your eyes; when you can try as hard as you want to help them, but you fail more often than you do not? Mental scars often out-rule the physical scars of a trauma patient, and whenever you tell them it gets better, you feel like you are lying to them. Because it never gets better, it feels like.

People are dying and falling apart, and so are you, and it hurts that nothing ever seems to change, not even when you try to tell yourself that people are dependent on you and that your world can’t stop again because this is your job; you signed up for this. But you didn’t sign up for this kind of life. You fell in with the wrong person, craving a love like in the fairytales you used to read as a little girl. You missed the feeling of being loved because the people who were supposed to love you died and fell apart, and you were left fantasizing. It’s a downright mess in your head and everywhere around you, and you are continuously stumbling over the broken glass on your floor, falling into the shards and cutting yourself over and over again until you’re bleeding out but never fully dead.

You spend the next six hours in the operating room, forgetting about Matt and the implications of your dinner. The one you asked him out to. You forget about Ben and his offer, and you think finally, finally, you can breathe. Human anatomy isn’t quite as complicated as this. The one thing you have been worrying most about, the person who has occupied your every waking thought for days now, fades into the shadows for a little while, but then you’re threading the needle through the skin of the man whose life you have saved, and your second to breathe turns into a riot.

Ben’s words return to your conscience; the masked individual he seems most fascinated with moves to the forefront of your fragile mind. He is all over you again, and it sends a thrill down your spine that positively terrifies you; it terrifies you that it doesn’t terrify you. He shouldn’t matter, and you shouldn’t lose another thought to him, but Ben Urich knows how to cast out a net to catch even the most unlikely adversary.

You redial the last number on your phone. Standing in the emergency room that has grown quiet for the afternoon, you feel the weight of the world sinking back in. The clock keeps ticking closer to the end of your shift and inevitably, dinner. Forgetting is a blessing until you realize that thinking about it would have prepared you more, and now you barely have time.

You want to cancel. You should cancel. Claire has not been picking up, and you’re worried about her. But she’s an adult, isn’t she? She pushed you into doing this, and then she bailed. A good friend would at least give you a reason for her change of mind. She hasn’t said a word because she refuses to answer, and it’s starting to leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

“This is Claire. Leave a message,” her voicemail greets you.

You sigh. “Hey, I don’t know why you refuse to pick up my calls, but I could use your help. I’m, uh, freaking out about this stupid dinner that wouldn’t be happening if it wasn’t for what you said, so the least you could do is call me back and help me pick a dress, maybe talk me off the ledge,” you say. Your voice cracks. “Please, Claire, call me back.”

The silence is defeating. You put your phone down, staring at the paperwork before you. You have a lot more of that in your office, but you can’t be bothered to be entirely alone right now. Not when you are fighting a war with yourself inside your head. The one soldier you thought you could count on has retreated from the frontlines.

You look up when your peripheral vision picks up on movement. “Trouble?” one of the nurses asks, motioning to your face.

“Depends on the definition,” you say.

“Hit me with it. Maybe I can help.”

You couldn’t shut up even if you wanted to. “Well… Do you know anything about proper date attire?”

She grins, dropping whatever she was holding before to turn her undivided attention to you. “A date?” she asks. “Well, well, Doc. Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Oh, just… a guy I met. A good guy.” You smile sadly at the thought of those beautiful brown eyes, and the green forest that he hides in his irises whenever the light hits his beautiful face just right. The wrinkles, the dimples, and the faint freckles on his nose, too. He is so beautiful.

She leans forward on her elbows on the counter of the nurse’s station. “The good guy who left your number here the other day?”

You raise your eyebrows, flabbergasted. “Wh—” The blood rushes to your face, and you suddenly feel very warm as you gape at her. “Does everyone here know about that?” you ask, your voice bothered on a high-pitched siren of embarrassment.

The nurse only smirks. “He is very handsome,” she states. “It’s hard to forget a face like that. And he’s come here twice. One of those times he sat by your bedside. Now, I don’t know about you, but I would marry a guy like that in a heartbeat. Bodies in the basement included.”

You hope he doesn’t have bodies in his basement. What if he does though? What if he is just another bad choice waiting to be made? What then? You can’t imagine it, and the things you’re feeling… you have only felt them in your mind because nothing you had was ever real, but you love feeling them now more than you thought possible. It’s the fact that you love that treacherous feeling so much that you feel like you’re not thinking clearly enough to make rational decisions. But you don’t want to make rational decisions, you’ve realized. Life shouldn’t be about that. You can’t turn the voice in your head off and make it stop screaming at you, but you know how to feel. If you only knew how to channel that without falling apart at the hands of your self-doubts though. If only you knew.

You run a wary hand over your face. “Okay,” you murmur, closing your chart so you can look at your colleague. “Claire isn’t answering her phone and this date… it’s freaking me out. She said I had to get back out there, but she bailed on me,” you tell her. “I don’t know what to wear or how to behave because the place we’re going to is… fancy? And I don’t even know how to pay for it. I… I don’t know if I should go because the last time I was on a date… let’s just say it didn’t end well. So, if you could just tell me that this is a bad idea and I should take on a second shift instead so I won’t feel bad about lying to him, I would be forever in your debt.”

She shakes her head, not having missed a second of your rambling. “Oh, hell no!” she exclaims.

You match her incredulity, propping your hands up on your hips. “Excuse me?” you ask.

Her head stops, and the way she stands there reminds you of your English teacher from high school. Tall, brunette, and sassy. “You are not bailing on that date like Claire bailed on you just because you’re experiencing anxiety,” the nurse tells you. She’s insistent. You doubt you will get a word in that isn’t an utterance of agreement.

“You don’t understand,” you try to convince her, or are you trying to convince yourself? “I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can.”

“Did you miss the part where I said my last date ended in disaster?”

“So what? I’ve had a lot of disastrous dates.”

“That’s not…ugh!” It is your turn to shake your head, looking at the sterile wall as though it were a screen.

A life built on a lie is not much of a life at all. You have as good a reason as anyone to bail on this date, and it’s not just a disastrous date. You didn’t pick the wrong guy off of Hinge and fall in love with him. What happened to you was different on a level you can’t easily describe, but it also shouldn’t define you; she’s right. Your insecurities are going to be the death of you one day.

“Let me ask you this,” she says. “Do you like him? Or do you just think he’s a really good guy because he was nice to you?”

Your jaw slacks. The Audacity. “I… I think he’s a great guy. Nice. Forthcoming. That’s all,” you answer. It’s not a lie, but it is not the full truth she wanted to hear.

“Uh-huh. I may not be a human polygraph, but I can smell a lie from miles away like a bloodhound. And you, Doctor, are lying and therefore interfering with your treatment.”

“I’m not a patient.”

“Are you though?”

You sigh. You should not have confided in her, but also, perhaps it was the best choice you could have made.

“I like him,” you confess upon looking into her eyes. “Okay? I like him. He’s not just a good guy. He’s… different, and that’s why I like him.”

She stands up straighter, a newfound energy filling her veins. “That’s more like it. Now, let’s forget the whole ‘canceling and using work as an excuse’ thing. What’s the vibe?” she asks.

The change of subject throws you off for a second. You’re walking on eggshells, fragile train tracks you could fall off and electrocute yourself with if you only take one wrong step. But that doesn’t mean you can’t take risks.

“Fancy-ish,” you answer. You don’t have any strength left to fight. “I don’t know. It’s dinner.”

“Dinner’s romantic. Put on a silk or velvet dress because those are the fabrics with less risk of becoming a sensory nightmare, possibly some jewelry, but you don’t need much more than that. He’ll fall in love with your personality first. The rest is just… for your confidence and his imagination.”

She looks so proud of herself. You can’t deny that it’s good advice. It’s not the sound of your voice filling a voicemail to the brim or a solely blue chat history; it’s something you can work with.

You nod slowly. “If I didn’t have mountains of paperwork waiting for me, I would kiss you,” you say.

With a chuckle, she retorts, “Save that for your date.”

“I’m not kissing him.” You grab your pile of work. “It’s just dinner. I don’t even want to kiss him.”

On your way to the elevators, you catch a glimpse of her smirk. She’s not buying it. You don’t want her to. You don’t even trust yourself to tell the truth.

“I don’t,” you say, loud enough for her to hear but mostly to yourself. “I don’t want to kiss him,” you repeat because you don’t.

You don’t want to kiss Matt Murdock.

Except that you do, and you would do anything to make that happen—if your world wasn’t so unfair to begin with.

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @danzer8705 @kakamixo @littlehappyperson @atemydadforbreakfast @stevenknightmarc @zheezs14 @shouldbestudying41 @kiwwia-wiwwia @writtenbyred @echo-ethe @kezibear @peterbarnes

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fluff #daredevil x reader #charlie cox #reader insert #doctor!reader #do no harm

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ladylooch · 2 days

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The Captain's Girl - [Lucie x Connor]

A/N: Happy Sunday! Look at who wrote a full fic this morning! Could not resist bringing Lucie and Connor to their smutty and soft past time. Connor may be the captain of an OG NHL team, but nothing compares to being Lucie's man.

From this request.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: 18+ Content below

Lucie Wood watches from the front of the restaurant as her husband takes a long sip of his cold beer. The warmth of the southern California sunshine washes over her back and shoulders, peaking out from her sundress. Leaving winter behind on the East Coast means soaking in as much vitamin D as she can get for her short stay. The Rangers will be here for three more days with the timing of both off and game days. It was the perfect time for her and the girls to surprise her husband.

Across the patio table from him is David, who purposefully has his back to the door so Connor can watch his wife’s approach in a few moments. But right now, Lucie is content studying him from afar. She’s worried about him. He’s been so stressed out at the rink and at home. The Rangers need to turn things around quickly if they are going to make the playoffs. Despite there being 19 other guys on the team, Connor Wood thinks if he puts the team on his shoulders alone, he will get them to the finish line. Lucie’s gentle redirects have been met with eye rolls and ‘you don’t understand’ from her husband.

She is going to show him exactly how much she understands these next few days by forcing him to relax.

Mack and David are helping too. David worked with Lucie to grab the flights that made the most sense to optimize their time. Mack is here to take care of the girls for her when Lucie is otherwise pre-disposed with her husband, like right now and later when she’s riding him like the cowboy he wants to be.

A waitress approaches the table with two large bowls. She sets them each in front of the men. Connor smiles politely, then turns down to his food, completely missing the eye fucking she does to him before walking away. Lucie smiles. After all this time, Connor still only has eyes for her.

She pushes off from the brick wall she had been leaning against and begins her saunter across the restaurant. She maneuvers around staff and other patrons, then takes a direct angle to her husband. He looks up when she is three tables away, then pauses his chewing. His eyebrows furrow before he glances between David and Lucie.

“Oh my god, are you Connor Wood?” She drawls exaggeratedly. “I’m your biggest fan.”

“You should be after the two babies I gave you.” He jokes, standing up to hug her. He engulfs her completely, pressing his nose into her hair immediately. It’s a minute before he attempts to pull away from her. The restaurant bobs and weaves around them as Lucie rubs his strong back over his shirt. “Love you.” He whispers. He pulls away to kiss her tenderly. “You look stunning.” He compliments, taking in her soft green dress. It makes her brown eyes pop, complimented by the blue ocean behind her.

“I love you too.” She sighs, hugging him one more time. Then she turns to David. “Hi!”

“Crazy seeing you here, Luc.” They all laugh at that.

“Sorry Mack isn’t here. Winnie finally crashed for a nap and we had to take advantage of that.”

“No worries. She told me.” David shrugs. “You want some food?” He grabs the menu he kept back for her.

“You can share with me, baby.” Connor offers, moving the chair to his right out for her to sit in. He scoots her back in, dropping one more kiss on her hair. She looks over at his plate seeing a hearty steak salad. It looks good, but he needs to eat all of that to keep his calorie count up.

“I’ll grab something for myself. Thank you though.” She assures him.

“Are you sure? Here just have a little bit.” He shoves his plate to her.

“Babe, I’m fine. I bet you’re starving.” He gives her a look. He doesn’t like eating before her or when she isn’t eating. “Eat, Connor.” She says firmly, sliding her hand to his thigh. His eyes dance down her face and over her cleavage. He smirks, then picks his fork up with a promise they both know: he’ll eat her later.

Lucie orders fish tacos and a mango margarita that has her buzzing after one sip. After Connor finishes eating, he wraps an arm around her shoulders. His fingers coyly play with the spaghetti strap of her dress, eventually his fingers glide it off her shoulder. Lucie moves to put it back into place, but Connor bats her hand away, collecting her fingers in his off her shoulder. Lucie glances at David who looks out at the Pacific Ocean, watching the waves roll into the beach.

“I think I’m gonna walk down to the beach.” David says, sucking down the rest of his water. “Wait for Mack down there.”

“Okay. I’ll go grab the girls from her when we get back to the hotel.”

“No worries. I think she is gonna bring the girls down when they wake up. Sounds like Stella fell asleep too. We will take care of them. You two have fun.” The slight smirk on his face tells Lucie he knows exactly where her and Connor are heading after lunch. “Send me a request for this.” He circles the table alluding to his meal.

“All good.” Connor waves him off.

“We can afford it.” Lucie assures David.

“I bet with that captain salary.” He chuckles, then heads off the patio to the stairs leading down to the beach.

The second he is gone, Connor’s face is nuzzling Lucie’s neck. She sighs heavenly, fingers threading through his hair. She turns her face to his head, kissing along his dark curls.

“You ‘bout done?”

“Mhm.” She confirms. Connor lifts one hip off the chair, pulling his wallet out. He tosses his card down, then goes back to focusing on his wife. Her hair is blowing in the sea breeze, scattering brown strands about her beautiful face. Her brown eyes are dewey and lustful, lips pink and begging to be plumped by his. He leans down, doing just that, not even recognizing when the waitress leaves and comes back with the completed bill. If she spoke to them, neither of them notice.

Connor signs the slip, then threads his fingers with Lucie’s, pulling her out of her chair. They walk hand in hand to the hotel, neither of them needing to communicate where they are going. The whole walk back, wetness pools and settles into Lucie’s panties from imagining what her husband is going to do with her in private. While waiting for the elevator, she presses her lips to his big bicep, running her nose along the lines of his tattoo sleeve that peak out from the soft cotton fabric. Connor brings their laced hands forward to her stomach, stroking his thumb down from her belly button to the V of her thighs. Lucie shakes against him as Connor smirks, a light chuckle shaking his arm against her face.

“30 seconds?” He asks, referring to how fast she is going to come undone in his hands. They step into the elevator, Connor pressing the floor to his room.

“Maybe.” She grins, dimples piercing her cheeks. Connor leans down, kissing each one of the slits then her lips. His tongue darts along her bottom lip, savoring the hint of tequila there. His hand glides from her lower back to the back of her neck, cradling her head as he makes out with her. The ding of the elevator stopping barely makes an impression with the couple.

“Y’all maybe wanna get out?” Mack asks from the door.

“Daddy!” Stella screams.

“Baby!” Connor grins, leaning down to capture his little girl in a hug. Winnie squeaks from Mack’s arms, almost tumbling from her aunt with how fast she reaches for her dad.

“We are going to the beach! Are you comin’?”

“We will come in a little bit. Mommy and I have to do some adult things first.” Connor says pointedly. He loves Stella, but she is not cockblocking him right now.

“Oh, that’s not fun.” Stella frowns.

“Ah… yeah.” Connor chuckles, then stands to his full height. “Be good for auntie.” He encourages her after giving a kiss to Winnie’s head. Mack steps in. “I’d hug ya but…” His clear hard-on cannot be hidden by anything except his wife’s body as she moves to shield him.

“How about later?” Mack laughs, then gives a wave to them before the doors close and they head down to the lobby.

Ravenously, Connor grips the back of Lucie’s thighs, hauling her over his shoulder.

“Gotta get you into this room before anything else comes up.”

“Connor, my dress is too short for this.” He reaches up, palming her bare ass with a greedy paw.

“Nah, it’s perfect, baby.” He murmurs. His fingers slide easily under her white panties, stroking her soaked folds. “Fuck, you’re so wet.” He groans. They get to the door of his room. He drops her onto her feet in front of him, then fishes in his pocket for his key fob. He barely gets the door open before he is shoving Lucie inside.

Lucie runs across the room, then turns just in time to catch her husband in her arms before falling onto her back on the bed. She brings her legs up, shoes and all, wrapping them around his waist. Connor ruts into her heat, chasing her hips to grown the burning need between them. Connor’s lips press into hers hurriedly, tongue lapping up every drop of her he can get. When he needs air, he pulls away, looking down at her beneath him.

“Lucie.” He gasps torturously. “You are so fucking beautiful, baby. Takes my damn breath away every time I see you.” Lucie giggles, biting her bottom lip as her fingers drift down to his waistband.

“Wanna taste you today.” She insists. Connor pulls his shirt over his head by grabbing a fist full of the fabric between his shoulder blades. Lucie whimpers when she sees him fully. “Mine. All mine.” She moans.

Lucie works her way up to sitting, but Connor halts her, slipping each of her thin dress straps down her arms. The fabric of her dress falls away, revealing perky breasts with hard peaks in the middle. He rubs his calloused palms over them, illicitly a loud moan from her. She wiggles on the bed, needing some friction against her throbbing clit. Connor smirks, then backs away so she can get on her knees in front of him. He gathers her hair in his hand, watching her use his cock as lipstick. Her motion smears his pre-cum across her lips. Then her tongue comes out to taste it.

Connor’s mouth drops open in pleasure as she finally glides her tongue over his red head. Lucie sighs passionately, then takes him into her mouth in one swoop.

“Fuck.” Connor hisses when he hits the back of her throat. “Luc.” He moans her name as she strokes his shaft in her hand then glides him further in. His balls tighten immediately at the feeling of her wet mouth expanding to accommodate him. “Jesus.” He sighs, relaxing his grip on her hair. His other hand drifts down to her left breast, rolling the nipple in his fingers. Lucie floats a hand down between her legs, circling her clit while letting his hips press insistently into her mouth until he is setting the tempo.

“Gotta stop.” Connor says, puling out of her mouth. He holds his hands out to her. He grabs the hand that she had been using to play with herself, sliding those fingers in his mouth as she watches.

“I need you to fuck me right now. I can’t wait. Please.”

“Asking so nicely.” He coos to her, wrapping a large hand around her neck to bring her close. He crashes their lips together, tongue stroking along hers as he maneuvers her back towards the bed. Lucie feels for the mattress with one hand, not letting her mouth leave his. Connor gets her sitting in front of him, then kicks off his pants and underwear. He leans down, kisses along her collar bone until his fingers can work the zipper of her dress down. He helps her wiggle out of it, being careful not to rip it even though he fucking wants to. The pretty dress falls to the floor with his discarded clothes. Then he collects her panties, exposing her dripping core to him completely.

He doesn’t waste any time, mouth on her pussy without even dropping her panties from his hand. His other fingers come up, swirling her entrance before stuffing into her. She is more than ready, already arching off the bed, begging him for more from her swollen lips.

“Baby, please, I want your cock. Right now.”

“Yeah? That why you flew 3,000 miles to me?”

“Yes!” She exhales as he curls his fingers up, putting harder pressure on her spongey insides. “Fuck.” She wails, quivering already. As much as his dick begs to be inside of her, he wants her to come this way first. His mouth settles over her enlarged bud, rolling it with his tongue and sucking it into his mouth. Lucie shouts. Connor does this again, then feels her release drip-down his fingers, collecting in his palm. He doesn’t stop, sucking every wave of her orgasm into his mouth. When she hits the point of almost too much, he backs off.

“Good girl, Luc.” He praises her, looking at the mess they made of her folds. He bites his lip, then hooks his arms under her hips, pulling her to the edge of the bed. Lucie wildly grapples for his shoulders, collecting them in her palms as he stroke his cock through her wet slit. He pushes in, both of them finding intense pleasure in the stretch of her around him. Connor rests his hands on either side of her waist, then begins to build his pumps into her. Their wet connection fills the room, creating an erotic ambiance in the unknown space. Lucie’s finger tips start pressing deeper into his skin.

“Use your words.” He reminds her.

“More. I need so much more.”

Connor collapses onto his forearms, dropping his head to the bed beside hers and fucking deep into her. His consistent snaps into her hips have Lucie rolling away from the intensity. One of his arms slides under her back, pinning her to his chest to hold her in place.

“Don’t ask for more then run from it. Give in, baby. Let it take you.” He growls into her ear.

“Ohmygod. Oh. My….” Lucie trails off. Everything stills in her body except for the slight flutter of her walls. Connor turns, sucking at the sweet spot on her neck. Her inner walls collapse around him like a clam, causing him to collapse deeper into his fucks.

“Oh damn, Luc. Yes, baby. Feel so fuckin good. So wet and tight, baby. Love your pretty pussy.” Connor’s hips keep pistoning, closing his eyes and savoring how incredible his wife feels right now. She’s soaked through, dripping down his cock to his balls. She never wants him to stop. “You got one more for me, beautiful?”

“Yes.” She moans into his ear. “But look at me.” She begs him. “I want you to know it’s me making you feel this good.”

“Holy fuck.” He groans. “I know it’s you, baby. Nothing ever felt this good until you.” Lucie grins, tugging his face to hers by the back of his neck.

“Yeah? Never had pussy this tight?”

“Oh my god. No. Or a mouth this filthy.” He groans, then licks across her open mouth. He adjusts her legs, wrapping one around his waist and bringing one heel up to rest on his shoulder.

“Right there.” Lucie begs, “Please, baby don’t stop. Love your cock, Con.” Connor’s hands grip her hips tighter, making Lucie pulse under his skin. “More.” She demands. Connor almost crumbles at the sound of her begging for all that he can give to her.

His balls slapping her ass fills the room. Lucie’s hands drift off Connor’s shoulders. One goes to her breast and the other to her clit, rolling both in tempo with his pumps into her pussy.

“Mmm, you’re so gorgeous. I’m so close.” He tells her. “Wanna fill you up, baby.”

“Please. Need to wear you on my thighs to the beach. So everyone knows who I belong to.”

“Fuck.” That will do it. He groans then unloads into her, jerky pumps as she climaxes for a third time immediately after him, pulsing her walls to pull him in deeper. His sensitive tip hisses as she milks every drop from him. “Damn.” He sighs to the ceiling, locking his knees to keep from swaying backwards. He looks back down at his wife, seeing her with pretty pink cheeks and swollen lips. Her eyes are dark chocolate pools when her hands reach for him again. He gently eases out of her, then presses his palms on both sides of her head. He smooches her softly, letting her tongue into his mouth for a full taste of each other.

“Mmm, be right back.” He assures her, kissing down her chin and throat, ending between her breasts.

Lucie releases his arms from her hands, dropping her heels from the bed so her feet dangle off the side. Water runs in the bathroom from her husband. He comes back clean, then works Lucie’s thighs apart, stroking her used core clean too. He looks up at her face.

“You serious about having me at the beach?”

“Mhm.” She nods. “Want you to see me in my new bikini knowing that.”

“Mack is taking those kids tonight again.” He murmurs, then collects the white cum slipping out of her onto his fingers. He slides the mess back inside of her, slowly drags his finger back out. “So sexy, Luc.” He smiles, practically drooling at the sight of her walls collapsing in to pull it all deeper again. “Luckiest guy in the world.” He mumbles against her public bone, kissing her a final time. He lays down next to her, letting the used towel hit the floor. He turns his wife onto her side, then cups her cheek with his hand. “Can’t really tell you how much this means to me that you’re here.”

“I already know.” She responds. “We miss you too, babe.”

“I’m so stressed.” He admits. “I can barely breathe some nights. It’s worse when I’m away from you.” Lucie knows this. It’s why she is here.

“I’m worried about you.” She sighs, running her fingers along the tattoo on his left pectoral with hers and the girls first initials in her loopy handwriting. “You are putting way too much pressure on yourself.”

“I want to succeed.” Connor says.

“I get that. But hockey is a team sport, Con.” She reminds him softly. “It’s not only up to you.”

“I know. But, they picked me to lead this team for a reason. I don’t want to let them down.” Lucie smiles.

“You’re the heartbeat of this team, babe. On and off the ice. But you’re going to lose that if you don’t learn a balance. Maybe leading by example is the first start. Hold yourself accountable for your play. When things don’t go your way, commit to doing better the next opportunity. Others will do the same.” Connor watches her lips as she talks.

“You make it sound so simple… and so sexy.” He kisses her bottom lip.

“Well, I was raised by a captain. Who I bet would be willing to listen if you need another perspective.” Connor sighs, nodding.

“I should call your dad.”

“Probably.” Lucie murmurs into this lips. “And we should probably get to the beach soon. Take care of our kids for a bit before we give them back to Mack for the night.”

Connor and Lucie peel themselves apart. Connor puts his board shorts on, then they head to Lucie and the girls’ room for her to put her beach things on. Connor is tying her bikini strings together in silence. Lucie watches him in the mirror across the room.

“What’s up?” She asks, gripping his wrist.

“I’m not failing you and the girls, right?”

“No.” Lucie shakes her head. “Not even close. You’re perfect, babe. Always have been.” Connor drops his mouth to her shoulder, kissing across it to the back of her neck.

“Okay. I never wanna let you down, Luc.”

“I know. You’re so good to us, babe. Don’t worry about us. We are great, okay?” He nods, then wraps his arms around her stomach, holding her close. They sway slightly together.

“None of this means anything to me without you by my side.” He whispers. “I love you.” Lucie turns to capture his lips.

“I love you too.” He kisses her again. “Let’s go smooch our babies.”

Connor grins back at her, then laces their fingers together for a lazy, content walk to the beach.

Read more of Lucie and Connor here.

#lucie x connor #lio & lucie #hockey writing #NHL imagine #NHL fan fiction

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seneon · 1 day

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ESCORT ──── shinji hirako x fem! reader. ib chase atlantic's escort. fluff + mentions of alcohol. wc of 600+

thinking about captain shinji hirako who would most definitely bribe or pay or do whatever it takes just to have you in the fifth division. he'd be so desperate about it, even go on his knees just to recruit you into the squad that he takes charge of. and for what reason?

the mere sole reason that you miraculously stole the heart of the captain while he came down to shin’o academy to demonstrate kenjutsu for the students. you just so happened to be one of the students that the hirako had to personally teach.

as beautiful as you can be and as bright your smile can shine, it only took a few hours for the blond-haired male to fall under your spell. but you never even put a spell on him in the first place. all you did was breathe, exist, and learn as shinji teaches.

as pathetic as the man can be, he doesn't ever show it. in fact, he does the opposite. he'd go all “oh look. it's the student girl whom i taught that sucks at swordsmanship.” like bro you did not just get on your knees to beg yamamoto to put the ‘student girl’ in your division…

he wants you to work for him and be under his wing, so he watch whatever you do. even better if he's seeing you make such a drastic change and progress ever since your academy days. not that he's a weirdo captain or anything that fancies a student of his, but your ages weren't that much of a difference. in fact, shinji is the one who ended up becoming a captain at such a young and admirable age.

“i can give you love for free, y/n…” shinji said during one messy night where the word sober left his vocabulary. all on his mind are fuzzy images of you.

“trust me, sir, she'd appreciate your love one hundred percent,” a voice said as they took away the bottle of sake in their captain's hands. the man simply looked up at the figure and looked back down, snuggling his drunken face into his arms. “you're kinda... pretty.. not any more beautiful than y/n though.”

“woah sir, thanks for the compliment. i honestly agree too, she's very cute, captain.”

the hirako glared at his subordinate who's helping him get up from the table so he can finally leave the pub with some guidance from someone of his barracks. “you keep her name outta your mouth, pink!”

“it's punk, sir. not pink.”

“shut up. only y/n can tell me what's right or wrong,” shinji's head wobbled just as his division member sighed and draped his long arms around their shoulders. they were oddly smaller than the fifth division captain.

“come on, captain. time to go home. y/n wishes that you return home safely.”

the voice of his subordinate is gentle and soft, so similar to his crush’s voice. he couldn't even tell what is going on right now, but he just lets his subordinate escort him home, not really in the correct state to think of anything else. although, his squad member uttering the name y/n made him all sweets and butterflies on the inside.

after such a night, the man wakes up in a frenzy, struggling to remember whatever happened last night and however in the world he ends up in his soft comfy futon without ever remembering how he got back into his bed.

he stares at a bone china vase for a few good minutes, attempting to search and dig for anything that has been buried by the headache that he currently has. but the more he stared at the reflection of the vase, the more he caught something at the corner of his eyes.

shinji shot his head at the few bags of items that laid beside his futon, a note of instructions on the items written down. he knows this writing. he out of anyone would've recognised this immediately. it belonged to you.

then a flash of memories became visible in his vision.

“THAT WAS Y/N?!?!?”

note. requested by @imaginingbleach. tumblr murdered me on the inside when i lost your request ask... i'll write an aizen piece soon trust

#⋆ ❨ writing ❩ ֢֢֢ ۟#bleach #bleach x reader #bleach fluff #bleach tybw #shinji hirako #hirako shinji #shinji x reader #shinji hirako x reader #hirako bleach #bleach shinji #bleach imagines #shinji fluff

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undermostcorgi · 3 months

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the media which consumes your entire soul at age 12 will forever be a part of you. this is an unavoidable consequence of living and you have to accept this fact. no matter how old you get, no matter how long it has been since you last saw its smug face peeking out from the bushes as it follows you, no matter if you think you have outrun it for good and that you're finally finally safe and you hardly even remember it exists anymore and your brain knows a few brief moments of true peace, it WILL catch up to you in your moment of weakness. and listen you don't want to hear this but sometimes this is necessary for your mental health. you will on instinct want to reject it and run away again but sometimes. sometimes you just need to watch that old show or listen to that silly song or read that weird book again as an adult and it will hurt you a little bit in various little ways but it will also heal you a little bit. you can call it nostalgia you can call it connecting with your inner child or whatever you want but just listen to me it WILL HAPPEN TO YOU TOO AT SOME POINT AND YOU HAVE TO BE PREPARED FOR THIS (i am forcibly dragged off the stage by security)

#heed my warning boy #it seems i am not well today #recently made the reluctant decision to revisit what was probably my VERY FIRST real hyperfixation #something that i don't necessarily want to mention by name right now because. well #its pretty objectively bad LOL like i dont think i know of ANYONE still posting about it or really proud of having liked it back in the day #i dont think it is as well known to the general public so it wont get me hunted down for sport even if i did name it probably hopefully #but for those who know its. probably not the best thing to be revisiting lmao (even though i think it might still be being made?? wtf)#but i felt i had to because i was about to start my period and was going crazy insane like you do you know how it is #and i randomly remembered a fanfic i loved and then remembered my fav character and how much i loved him #my actual first ever blorbo oh my GOD he was everything to me #so i reluctantly decided to rewatch “just the first few episodes” just to see how much i remembered and also to prove to myself it sucks #but surprise surprise: nostalgia and hormones are making me actually kind of enjoy it #and now i am suffering from fucking Catholic-like Guilt for not hating it which i think is pretty silly lmao #so im kind of posting this in an attempt to convince myself that its like. FINE and cringe is dead and all that #and that sometimes i gotta be nice to my little mentally ill brain and give it the junk food (bad media) it craves #ESPECIALLY when im on my period LMAO #anyway completely unrelated: why the FUCK do i still remember almost every single fucking word to the delicious tomato song SDHJFKSAJF #i hope no one actually reads this far in the tags bc i know that reveal will probably deal psychological damage to some of you LMAO SORRYYY #ok yeah posting this and then immediately going to bed so that the Haters cant reach me LOL SEE YA

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yuribalisms · 2 years

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Okay I think I’ve figured out why I’m having such a hard time right now especially and it is…. not fun

#I just need to vent if anyone reads this I just wanna stress that I am fine #well…. not Fine obviously but like I’m not gonna Do anything so…. yeah #anyways #I haven’t been suicidal since I lived with my mom #most of my time in high school I was high key suicidal and those were the times I was actively engaging in various forms of self harm #and was actually going to attempt one day and the only reason I didn’t was because my family came home early #and one of the things that got me through all of that was telling myself I only felt that way because of everything my family put me through #that after I moved out and didn’t have to live with my mother or put up with whatever guy she was with at the time #or parent five little kids that I didn��t sign up for #and then I wouldn’t hate life I would be okay and I would be happy #I left at 17 and other than a few months at the start of Covid I have not had to stay with them for an extended period of time #and I HAVENT been suicidal at any point that I haven’t lived with them #so in a way I was right I was only that way because of them I wasn’t fucked up I was fine it was just THEM #I wasn’t going to have to live this way forever #except now…. I feel very suicidal again #and it’s just kinda sinking in ‘oh…. it’s not just my family I AM just fucked up and stuck this way’#I’m never gonna Not be this way it could always come back no matter how okay I am #my family isn’t the only trigger that causes it and I…. don’t know what to do with that #like yeah the abuse they put me through for years is probably the main culprit #and I get anxiety and depression from my mom AND dad #I know my mom tried to commit at least once and was hospitalized over it #she’s never pursued actual treatment for it tho #my dad does and like actually acknowledges it but idk the point is I had higher probability of ending up this way cuz of genetic factors #and then…. yeah everything I grew up with didn’t help #but getting away from all of it…. didn’t fix it…. and I just Am this way #and I don’t want/can’t accept that #except I’m gonna have to or I know I can’t actually… get better #it’s fine….. I mean it’s not but like what can I really do it’s…. ugh #I’m tired of being alive but I’m MORE tired of being tired of being alive I just wanna LIVE but feel like I can’t #kaz rambles

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featherymainffins · 2 months

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Binge-reading Dungeon Meshi because it's the only thing standing between me and suicide ngl.

#it at least gave me the single molecule of mental energy required to force myself to eat at least one slice of bread #because it's like the physical energy is there sure but mentally I'm like 'noooooo I don't want to eat anything i hate food #all food tastes bad and i hate life and i want to eat nothing at all and furthermore i need to lose weight so i should starve myself'#I'm thinking that it might actually make me last until I either convince the crisis center that I'm for fucking real for real #or until my appointment with the school counselor. which idk when would be because i was supposed to go on the #2nd of April but i guess there might be holidays because he called me when i was atva lecture but i couldn't take it #because i had a lecture and he hasn't called since but I'm assuming #that hell call again and that he wants to let me know that the date is impossible #but I want to like wait and see what he says. and if he goes like 'oh actually im on a long vacay now goodbye forever'#or whatever I'll just go '...slay' and ride my ass to the hospital tomorrow.#show up at the crisis centre looking exactly like the patients with chronic pain who report pain 7 while looking unphased #like 'hello i am an active danger to myself I can't get out of bed most days; i need 16 hours of sleep to function for 4 hours #my meds have stopped working I haven't eaten anything but exactly 2 pancakes and a slice of bread in the past 4 days #and i exhibit a strong refusal to change this marked by thoughts present in people affected by eating disorders. no activity #feels fun anymore and they were marked by a strong sense of anxiety a few days ago but now i just feel nothing at all.#at this point I'm not even refusing to do any of my hobbies because im increasingly afraid of failure and its #consequences while being hunted for sport by anxiety from the opposite end telling me that i need to finish 50 masterpieces #immediately or nobody will ever like me again and they'll all see me for the talentless fraud i am. at this point i just don't care.#i don't do anything because i feel sluggish and my body is heavy and I'm so so tired and I'm tired of being awake and I can't think straight #also i think i might be going into a psychotic episode again.'#they're gonna tell me to get the fuck out of their faces anyway but it's worth a try.#like idk i feel like they might kinda listen because yesterday I guess they wouldn't have but today i have stopped caring about cars #and looking both ways. which is like. not a good sign probably. also yesterday i was still somewhat able to talk to people #even though i was in a very irritated and drained out state but today I'm feeling like if anyone even fucking attempts to talk to me #or if i hear any loud fucking sound at all I'm just gonna punch myself in the head until the pain drowns out all the sound

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tonycries · 2 months

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One More? Please? - G.S.

Synopsis. A kiss always solves everything! But when a kiss turns into something more…well, it’s only a desperate attempt to unseal yourselves from this damned prison realm, right? Right?

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected, coworkers to lovers, being stuck in that damn box, oral (female), mutual másturbation, spitting, fáce-sítting, máting press, Satoru is down bad for you, chóking, overstim, multiple rounds, créampie, pet names (sweetheart), swearing.

Word count. 4.4k

A/N. Happy belated two months to this blog! Concept inspired by this post by @kingkonoha.

“Maybe we should kiss and see if the box opens?”

“That’s the dumbest fucking thing to ever come out of your mouth.”

“Hey- it works in the movies! True love’s kiss and all-”

You heave out a heavy sigh that makes even the skeleton at your shoulder shake its head in pity. Goddamn, if these curses weren’t going to kill him then you will.

“I take it back. That’s the dumbest fucking thing to ever come out of your mouth.”

Satoru hooks a thumb over his blindfold to gaze at you with mock seriousness. Oh, how the mighty have fallen - and how you were teetering dangerously close to a stroke with each dramatic bat of his long lashes.

“C’monnn~” he whines, with the flair of someone that was not sealed in an inescapable prison, “Don’t tell me that in all these years you’ve never once been at least a little tempted to kiss me, sweetheart.”

“I’d rather kiss that dusty skull.” Shooting him a pointed look that makes even the skulls at your feet recoil. It would almost be hilarious if it wasn’t for the fact that you were trapped. In the prison realm. With Gojo Satoru of all people. Possibly forever.

Shit, is this karma for all those times you ditched Satoru with Nanami instead of dealing with him yourself?

Now, Satoru might be going about it with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, but just a few minutes ago when his life flashed before his very eyes at the mere sight of Suguru - or at least, the monster wearing his body - he’d expected some of his favorite memories to be the ones with you in it.

You - his lil’ coworker - in all your gorgeous, smart-mouthed glory. And maybe if he was lucky, he even expected a couple glimpses of you in his future. Preferably with a giant rock on your finger.

But that’s a story for another time, what he certainly did not expect was for your stupidly heroic (and quite beautiful) ass to jump right in the middle of the prison realm’s ensnarement.

Although, honestly, right now he doesn’t think he’d want to be locked up in here with anyone but you - and that withering glare you send him.

Undeterred, Satoru has the audacity to throw his head back and laugh. Laugh. A sound you’ve come to realize over the years, as innocent as it sounds, does not bode well for you or your sanity.

A sanity that’s been slowly dwindling since your first day of meeting Satoru. Back then, a brash, cocky new teacher that waltzed into the halls of Jujutsu Tech in those pretentious sunglasses like he owned the place.

Well, not that he was any different right now. Lounging over some disgruntled skeletons, you half-expected him to pull out a deck chair and start sunbathing amidst the bones. Your begrudging coworker - and occasional bane of your existence - seemed right at home.

You, however, were decidedly not having the time of your life.

“I swear, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you grumble, wincing at the bones prodding you from almost every angle.

“Can you blame me?” he hums, now fully tugging down his blindfold to hang around his neck, “It’s not every day I get to spend quality time with my favorite person in the world.”

You scoff, strangely self-conscious as those striking blue sweep your figure from head to toe. “Lucky me. Well why don’t you spend this quality time helping me figure out how the hell we can get out of here.”

“I already told y-”

“Anything but that.”

With a sulky huff, Satoru peers down at you, “Then we just wait till someone gets us out of here. I’m sure Megumi-chan is just tearing his emo hair out trying to unseal this thing.”

“...”

“You’re absolutely correct, Yuji then. Or…” he tilts his head towards a sad pile of bones, “We end up like our little friend over there. Though I’d make a far better looking skeleton-”

You don’t hear the rest of Satoru’s rant over the small noise of concern that falls from your lips. Something hot and prickly pooling in your stomach at the fact that yes you really were stuck in the prison realm with Gojo Satoru. Possibly forever. And no this wasn’t some strange dream like when you and Shoko accidentally raided the wrong brownie box in the kitchen.

Shit.

And perhaps it showed on your face, because you’re jolted out of your reverie by warm fingers intertwining with yours. Grounding. Satoru’s eyes now searching yours with an intensity that made you squirm uncomfortably.

“Hey, we’ll figure this out, okay?” he mutters softly. “Remember that time we accidentally set the training ground on fire?” leaning in closer now, “Or that mission we got chased by that cursed vending machine?”

You roll your eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite yourself. “Yeah, and then you nearly got us killed trying to order a sweet tea. ”

Satoru chuckles, squeezing your hand reassuringly. “See? It worked out, didn’t it? It always does, sweetheart.”

And if your heart does a strange little lurch, well, then you just blame it on the femur jabbing into your side.

All is quiet in your little hell. That is, until.

“Hey, Satoru…does kissing really work in the movies?”

You barely catch the way Satoru’s breath hitches ever-so-slightly as he leans in closer. eyes sparkling with mischief. And oh you knew that look - one that was usually accompanied by a lecture by Yaga, one that sent shivers down your spine. He grins, “Well, there’s only one way to find out, hm?”

Embarrassment and amusement bubbles inside you, tumbling out in the form of a barely-audible, “A peck. One.”

“Awww. Eight?”’

“No.”

“Five?”

“Satoru.”

Minty breath fanning your face, “Okay okay, one peck and a kiss to your forehead. C’mon, it’s a bargain~”

Pinching your nose, you sigh out a weary, “This is so stupid. Fine, but if it doesn’t work then I’m strangling you.”

And it’s all that is said before his lips are on yours.

Soft. Satoru’s lips were so soft. And he tasted so unfairly of caramel apples and sweet, sweet mischief. Just like him. Feather-light and fleeting - yet the kiss burns into your brain with an intensity that you strangely didn’t mind.

It’s over before you know it. The cold air hits your lips as Satoru’s words ring in your ears, a disappointed little, “Aw, that didn’t work.”

Barely even risking a glance at the still very sealed realm, your body reacts before your mind - the expensive cotton of his uniform collar soft against your fingers as you pull Satoru towards you with a sense of urgency you can’t quite explain.

And then you’re kissing him. And he’s kissing you because shit this is all that Satoru’s been dreaming about since he turned 23 and suddenly realized that oh you were frighteningly everything that he ever wanted.

“S-Satoru,” you whisper, breathless against his lips.

“Shhhh, my girl. One more. Didn’t work.”

His lips are searing on yours. Urgent and greedy, because fuck if it took getting trapped in the prison realm to finally kiss you then God knows when he’ll be able to again.

Which is why he breathes you in like he doesn’t have enough time, and probably never will - even in this godforsaken box where time never passes.

“Shit. O-one more.”

Drinking in your sweet gasps as he intertwines his tongue with yours, tasting how sinfully delicious you were. Satoru’s hands wander the expanse of your body, cupping your head to kiss you deeper, snaking down to squeeze your ass - and everything in between.

Pulling away ever-so-slightly with a playful bite to your bottom lip, he leaves a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. The disappointed whine that leaves your pretty mouth makes all the blood in Satoru’s body rush to his cock.

“Sweetheart.” he grunts into the crook of your neck, lips ghosting over your racing pulse. “Y’think I kissed the wrong lips?”

Oh?

Satoru’s words send a jolt of electricity running down your spine - all the way down to your heated cunt. “W-what?” you managed to choke out, cheeks flaring as he raises his eyes to meet yours and-

Oh.

Oh, shit. If the curses weren’t going to kill you then Satoru sure might.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts by Satoru carefully jostling the two of you so that he’s lying on his back, your body manhandled to straddle his pretty face.

“Satoru, when you mean ‘wrong lips’...here?” you trail off, still reeling from him and the abrupt change in position and him.

“Exactly what I mean,” he chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating beneath your dripping cunt. “Now, spread ‘em wider f’me. Let me taste you- Need it s’bad.”

Body moving as if on autopilot, your knees part wider to let him greedily take in the sight of your soaked panties. Beads of slick seeping through the thin fabric each time his hot breath meets your cunt.

But not for long - the cool air hits you before you realize what’s happening. Because Satoru is ripping your flimsy panties off with one hand. Throwing it behind to God-knows-where with the urgency of a madman.

“Shit, so wet f’me already.” he groans, mouth watering at the obscene sight of you clenching around nothing. “S’gorgeous. You really are perfect everywhere, huh?” he mutters through lazy, languid kisses along your thighs. Tongue darting out just so to leisurely trace circles along the heated skin.

Strong arms wrap around your thighs, the stretch nothing with the two long fingers spreading your swollen folds apart. Your face burns from just how adoring Satoru looks below you.

You buck into his touch, “Hngh- Please. Wan’ your mouth on me.”

And perhaps the great Gojo Satoru decided to be merciful for once in his life, because without another word, he’s surging forward. Tongue flicking out to tease your sloppy entrance, pooling your juices before tipping his head back, back, back to let it slide down his throat so sinfully.

Shit, Satoru could just cum in his pants right now, of course you taste heavenly. Better than he could’ve ever imagined on any lonely night.

You shudder as he flattens his tongue across your folds, sliding teasingly between them, grazing your swollen clit just barely at an unhurried rhythm that almost has Satoru forgetting where he was. But quite frankly, he couldn’t give less of a fuck about it either.

“This what you wanted, sweetheart?” he hums around your clit, the vibrations making you squeal. Sucking gently, tongue rolling harshly against your bundle of nerves, over and over- “Cause it’s what I’ve been wanting for years.”

The words ring in your ears almost as much as the lewd squelches below. Years?

“F-fuck- feels hngh- What do you mean y-years, Satoru?”

Oh, Satoru thinks he could pass out just at the way you whine out his name so prettily. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, a hand hastily snaking down to unbuckle his pants. “Mhmm~ Couldn’t go a day without sparring with you where I didn’t think of bending you over and tasting you right there y’know.”

Your eyes snap down to meet Satoru’s hazy, half-lidded ones. Something dark and feral shining within them. And right now, thighs wrapped around his head, you don’t think he’s ever looked happier. White locks splayed out, a fucked-out expression on his face as his tongue bullies past your folds, you could feel the slight smile curling his lips against you.

It’s overwhelming - both his confession and the way Satoru was making out with your cunt like a man starved.

Nose-deep in your pussy, tongue alternating between its abuse on your throbbing clit and dipping in and out of your sloppy hole at a maddening pace. Mouth only speeding up ruthlessly at the way you convulse and grind involuntarily on top of him.

God, Satoru was going insane at the way your walls were sucking him up so good, clamping down with each push of his tongue.

“Shit- made jus’ f’me. You like that, don’t you?” he growls against your cunt, voice hoarse with desire. “Like fucking my face with your pussy?”

“Oh! Ngh, yes Satoru- L-love it-”

A bruising grip on your hips, encouraging you to rock against his face. Harder. Tongue more desperate. He couldn’t get enough. Meeting your every grind, tongue lapping at your cunt so obscenely.

Breaths ragged and hot against your cunt, drinking you in with the desperation of a man that wouldn’t mind giving up air for your essence. And it was Satoru - of course he wouldn’t mind.

Especially with the large hand snaking up your thigh, going from drawing reassuring patterns at your hips to rubbing tight, little circles on your pulsing clit. Hasty, and urgent - like he had no time to waste. “Tha’s right, my girl. Give it up for me,”

Every cell in your body is on fire, every nerve ending singing with pleasure at the way Satoru plays your body like an instrument.

“M’close, Satoru- Hah- s’close.” you moan breathlessly, a hand tangling in his soft strands. Using it as leverage to ride Satoru’s pretty face just the way you like it.

But you didn’t have to - because Satoru seems to already know exactly what to do. Exactly how to quirk his tongue just right to brush against all your most sensitive spots. Exactly how to match the rhythm of his abuse on your clit to the way he was tonguefucking you into delirium. Exactly how to look at you with such a hungry expression that devours you almost as much as his mouth.

“Cum f’me, sweetheart.”

Satoru didn’t even have to ask. Because you’re cumming with a strangled gasp of his name. White-hot pleasure coursing through you like lightning, body trembling as you cum all over Satoru’s pretty face.

Hands moving your limp, boneless hips across his face, forcing you to ride out peak after peak on his red lips.

As the blood roaring in your ears bates, and you blink back your vision, the first thing you see are those familiar blue eyes gazing up at you. Holding you steady, lips brushing gentle kisses along your inner thighs.

Oh, how beautiful he was like this.

“S-S’toru?” you mewl, still sensitive from your orgasm as Satoru shifts underneath you to sit you prettily in his lap.

“Mhm?” he nuzzles your neck.

“One more. It didn’t work.”

Oh, if you knew the only way to shut up Gojo Satoru was to say something like this then you would’ve done it a lot sooner.

But Satoru’s stunned silence doesn’t last for long, because he grins, low and sultry, “You’re right. It didn’t work.”

The metallic clinking of a belt echoes in the stuffy chamber as Satoru hastily pushes down his pants. Cock springing free to hit his lower abs, “What a shame.”

You blink at the sheer size of him - he was going to split you in two. It was unfair, really. Water is wet. Gojo Satoru has a big dick.

But oh was he pretty - so pretty. Prominent veins glistening in the dim lighting, fat tip flushed your favorite shade of delicate pink, leaking furiously in between your thighs.

Gulping, you reach out to wrap your hand around his achingly hard cock. So warm and heavy in your hands. “Y-yeah, what a shame.”

Both of you watch - entranced - at the way he twitches in your grasp at the mere sound of your voice. A maddening little bump! bump! bump! against your palm as you begin pumping him slowly - so agonizingly slow.

“Oh- Feel s’good, sweetheart.” Satoru hisses lowly as you swipe at the precum beading at this head. Thumbing teasingly under his sensitive slit, tracing delicately along his veins.

And by God does it do something to you to see the great Gojo Satoru falling apart for you, hair tousled, lips kiss-bitten, and eyes looking at you like he wanted to positively eat you alive. It made your cunt throb so desperately, slick forming a dark wet patch on his trousers.

Not one to be left behind, his long fingers deftly snake down to your dripping cunt. Not wasting any time before bullying his fingertips past your swollen folds, curling expertly to press down against that one spot that has your fist faltering on his cock. Hard.

Pretty little moans left your lips at the way Satoru so easily matches your pace. Thrusting knuckle-deep into your pussy in and out - hitting that spot over and over.

“Shit, Toru- s’deep inside me. I’m- hngh-”

Satoru was in heaven, really. You were so warm and wet around both his fingers and his throbbing cock.

Only two thoughts running through his mind right now - 1. He was right, your hands were softer and more sinfully delicious around his swollen cock. And 2. The hardest battle he’s ever fought was probably right now - at your mercy, trying not to spill all over your hands because he’d be damned if he finally scored the girl and came in two seconds.

Shit, he thinks fingers almost erratic now, he needs you to cum. Right now.

As if sensing his urgency, your moves become more frantic, Satoru’s brows furrowing at the way you increase your pace. His hips twitch, as if trying to thrust into your fist. matching your pace as you start stroking him harder, faster.

Ah, but alas, the great Gojo Satoru’s reputation precedes him.

“Oh, fuck- M’gonna-” And soon enough, you’re seeing stars behind your eyes - or maybe those were tears - as you cum. Hard.

Body moving before your mind, you’re clenching around Satoru’s fingers, grinding down so ferally as you edge him closer and closer. “C’mon, Toru. One more, right?” you whisper brokenly, lips ghosting his ear.

Breath coming in short, strained gasps of what sounded like your name now, “Oh- fuck ngh- so close.” he warns, voice hoarse. “If you keep doing that, I won’t be responsible for what happens next.”

You smirk, raising a brow, “Is that a threat, Satoru?”

Willing his fucked-out eyes open, they bore into yours as he utters, “No, ah- it’s a p-promise.”

Without warning, Satoru clasps your wrists, forcing you to stop pumping him. The disappointed mewl threatening to spill from your lips is cut off just as your back hits the ground.

Slam!

You think you could almost get whiplash from how swiftly Satoru had you caged and splayed out so shamefully beneath him.

You whine, “But you didn’t even get to-”

“Fuck, not now. Gotta feel you or else m’gonna cum so embarrassingly all over your fist.” He rests his throbbing erection laid out so enticingly across your stomach, leaking hot precum onto your skin. And that makes you shut up, eyes mapping where it ended and realizing that yeah, you might’ve faced more mercy with the curses outside of this box. “Besides. One more, right?”

And before you can respond, Satoru’s spitting on you once. Twice. Thrice.

You flinch as the wads of saliva hit your dripping cunt, mixing with your slick so obscenely as Satoru smears it across your swollen folds. Your mouth drops into a soft oh! of disbelief as he promptly pops his thumb into his mouth, groaning at the taste.

“Shit.” Satoru hisses lowly, “One more might just not be enough.”

Not wasting a moment longer, he’s bullying his throbbing cock into your snug cunt. Head thrown back as your plush walls desperately try to accommodate his size.

“Oh. Oh shit hah- should’ve been locked up here ngh- sooner.” he groans, words straight from his cock. “Feel s’heavenly around m-me.” Because God Satoru thinks he wouldn’t even mind staying here for the rest of his life if it meant he got to have you like this.

You moan at the positively delicious stretch of your pussy, plush walls unable to decide between pushing him out and milking the soul out of him. “Hah- Toru s’too big. I can’t-”

“You will.” he grits out, teeth clenched and brows furrowed as he focuses on letting you adjust. Pressing inch by fucking inch. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he fights that feral part of himself that just wants to plunge into your pretty pussy till his tip kisses your cervix, and you’re drunk on nothing but his cock.

But he didn’t have to - because you’re immediately wrapping your legs around his toned waist, pulling Satoru to you recklessly until his heavy balls smack your ass. Tufts of snowy white hair - already so wet with your slick and his precum - finally meeting your cunt.

“Ah! Shit, s’full Toru.” you keen, body bowing into his.

There’s not even a hair's breadth between your bodies now as Satoru chuckles darkly. “You little minx. Thought you couldn’t handle me, but you really wanted to be split apart on my cock, huh?”

You feel almost shy under his gaze as you mumble out a quiet little, “Well you did say one more.”

Ah, Satoru thinks deliriously, if you aren’t Mrs. Gojo by the time you two get out of this then there’s seriously something wrong with him.

But he doesn’t tell you that. Instead with a satisfied smirk, he claims your lips in a searing kiss, sucking your tongue so lewdly as he did with your cunt. Parting for only a second before pressing his lips to yours again. And again. And again, as if it hurt to part.

“Mhm. Always wanted to do this, sweetheart.” he hums against your pretty lips. “Fuck ever since you hah- walked in on that first day.”

Kissing you sweetly with a tenderness that doesn’t translate to his hips as pulls back, back, back. All the way till his angry, hard tip was just grazing your sloppy entrance. “One more.”

Body moving before his mind, his hips start fucking into your dripping cunt recklessly. Satoru doesn’t fuck you with the finesse he imagined he would all these years, rough, harsh thrusts fueled by pure need and all the desperation from these last few years.

In one, fluid movement, the burn of the stretch hits you before the realization that Satoru has thrown your legs over his sculpted shoulders.

“Ah- So good, Toru. Oh my god- hah-” you mewl at the change in angle. His pulsing dick expertly hitting that one spot inside you which has your words slurring together, body arching off the floor to press so impossibly close against him.

And, well, Satoru isn’t any better - because he’s slamming his cock into you mindlessly. Hitting that spot over and over.

With one hand, he caresses your stomach. Whispering out a ragged, “Feel me inside? Feel me right…” Pressing his palm down hard, “Here.”

The other forces you to look up at him, drinking in your whines of “Yes yes yes, can feel you s-so deep hngh- inside me, Toru.”

You’re so cockdrunk and full of Satoru that you barely notice the hands groping their way down your body. Catching harshly on your swollen clit, starting to draw, quick, frenzied circles that match the cadence of his hips smacking into yours.

“Look at me.” he murmurs raspily, “Open your mouth.”

And you can do nothing but take it, tongue lolling out so lewdly for the warm stream of spit that hits it. Once. Twice.

You look up at him with teary eyes, as you take it all - anything and everything he was giving. And it makes Satoru bow his head with a fucked-out groan, cock twitching so animalistically as it keeps plunging inside you roughly. Deft fingers on your clit becoming more desperate.

Harder. Faster. Balls squeezing so painfully. Like a lamb to slaughter, he was going to eat you up - and you were going to let thim.

You squeal at the overstimulation, hips bucking up for more more more-

“God, sweetheart, you don’t know what you do to me.” he moans, voice strained with desire and the euphoria of getting everything he’s wanted for so long. It was driving him insane. “Now c’mon. One more. Give me one more like my good girl.”

“Hngh- yes- Toru!”

You don’t even know what “one more” means anymore - all you do know is that you’re cumming and cumming all around Satoru’s unforgiving cock. Walls fluttering so snugly, your body convulses as you cream around his cock. Nails dragging down the expanse of his sculpted back, Satoru’s name leaving your bruised lips and into the heady air like a prayer every time his tip kisses your cervix. His new favorite melody.

And that seems to be what makes him snap as well - because with a final, sloppy thrust, he’s painting your walls such a sinful white. Pumping thick, hot ropes of his cum into your quivering cunt.

“Shit- yeah, my girl. Take it. Take it all f’me.” Satoru shudders above you, head thrown back, chest heaving as he fucks you through your high. Movements nothing more than shallow, mindless little thrusts to get you both off so animalistically.

It was so fucking filthy - and exactly what you needed so badly. He was exactly what you needed so badly.

Now, Satoru only had to take one look as you use him so obscenely for your pleasure - eyes dazed, drool trickling down the corner of your mouth - before he thinks he might just cum again. And again. And again until he physically couldn’t anymore.

But first…

Pulling out of your heavenly pussy with a lewd pop! His long fingers delicately collects the mixture of slick and cum now gushing out of you obscenely.

Aw, what a waste, Satoru muses as it pools below you sinfully. If it was up to him he wouldn’t waste a single drop from your pretty cunt.

But no matter.

Abruptly, Satoru bullies two fingers into your mouth - forcing you to taste yourself, to taste him. Pressing right at the back of your tongue in a way that has you choking and gagging around him, teary eyes just begging up at him. Perfect - you were so perfect for him.

Kissing your forehead with a tenderness that doesn’t match his actions, he hums, faux innocence lacing his words, “What a shame, the box didn’t open yet.”

And oh does he love the excitement lighting up your exhausted eyes. Pretty thighs twitching underneath him as a slow, fucked-out little smile curls your lips.

“One more? Please?”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

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