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ktgoodmorning · 21 days

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Drunk and not in love: Pt. 3

Patri Guijarro x reader

Catch part 1 here and part 2 here

Your relationship with Patri seemed to evolve but she doesn't seem to agree with the direction it's going in

Masterlist

Patri Guijarro: This doesn’t change anything between us.

When Patri said in her text that nothing would change between you, she was absolutely right. The two of you remained like oil and water, constantly at odds with each other. It seemed like it would never end.

Except for it did end.

Everytime the two of you had been drinking. You would both find your way to each other, suddenly giggling, getting into trouble, messing with your friends, and secretly making out whenever you could get away. The only people that knew about your shared kisses were the two of you. For once in your life, you had kept your mouth shut, not even telling Claudia. It was the first time you had ever kept a secret from your best friend and it was starting to eat away at you the longer you kept it to yourself.

You couldn’t make sense of whatever was going on between you and Patri. It seemed like you hated each other, and you did, maybe? How could you hate her when you seemed to share so much chemistry when you were drunk and alone? But you hated her. Right?

The two of you certainly still shared a fair amount of mean comments and eyerolls between you every time you were sober, which obviously was most of your time together. If you missed a shot, Patri would scoff from across the field. If you were joking around with your friends, she’d be sure to never laugh at your jokes and ignore every word you said. It was constant.

Until the moment you were drinking, you’d be best friends. You’d be dancing and hugging each other, sitting on her lap, sharing drinks. It drove your teammates crazy the way that the two of you would suddenly be louder than ever before, playing pranks on them, and always teaming up against them. No matter who was around, if you had drinks, the two of you were partners in crime. The more time you spent with each other, the more intimate these moments became, even though this part of your relationship was kept away from your teammates.

The entire situation was confusing for everyone, you most of all. All those moments together were adding up to something more for you, enjoying every one of your drunken nights out much more than you ever had before. Clearly Patri and Pina were close and Pina was your best friend, it only made sense that you would get along with Patri too, you had just pushed that aside until now.

Something about her, in your shared drunken states, filled you with excitement. The way she’d grab your hips and pull you to sit on her lap at the club always made your head spin. Or the way she’d protectively hold onto you when someone would bump into you to make sure you couldn’t fall, shooting them a glare in the process.

Or her lips. God, her lips. They were so soft, yet took control so perfectly, melding the two of you together in the most perfect way, like you were meant to be. It didn’t matter that it would be in a dirty club bathroom or the back of an Uber, every shared kiss made sparks fly between you in a way that made you never want to kiss anyone else. The chemistry was undeniable, somehow being exactly what each of you needed.

Although everyone knew that somehow that chemistry disappeared the second the alcohol cleared your system. You hated that you couldn’t make sense of it. There was nothing you wanted more than to have that same relationship with Patri when you were sober, coherent enough to remember every little detail, and appreciate everything that made the two of you perfect together.

Even if it was just as friends, it’d be better than being sworn enemies. The closer you got while drunk, the more her sober digs and comments hurt you, suddenly much more personal than ever before. But maybe friends wasn’t enough for you either. Maybe you wanted to kiss her and wanted to feel her against you and wanted to just enjoy Patri for everything she was.

It was another night out with your friends, after yet another Barcelona victory, all the younger team members had decided to go celebrate. So there you were once again with Claudia, Cata, Mapi, Mariona, and of course, the girl sitting beneath you, Patri. She had pulled you to sit on her lap as soon as you arrived, immediately handing you your go-to drink. It was hard to look past the way she clearly knew what you’d be ordering and was awaiting your arrival, at the front of the older girl’s mind until you got there.

While you all sat at the table, chatting and taking it easy, trying to keep it a somewhat calm night, Mapi had made it her mission to find dates for all of you that were single. It had turned into Mapi, Cata, and Mariona pointing out every attractive woman who walked by to the rest of you, all conspiring on how you should approach, something that you had no interest in.

The more time you spent with Patri, the less you thought about other girls as your thoughts were becoming overrun by the midfielder. Suddenly your time on dating apps and flirting with random girls had shrunk more than ever before and all you seemed to want was the girl you hated the most.

“Pats, what about her? She’s hot!” Cata pointed out a tall blonde girl as she walked by, her tight dress showing off her figure as she did so.

You turned slightly to see Patri’s reaction even though you knew it would likely hurt your feelings. To your surprise, the older woman just shrugged, “not really my type.”

“Not your type? I thought your type was any girl who had a pulse and would give in to your terrible flirting.” Before you could think it through, you of course had to speak up, coping with the situation the only way you knew how- making a joke of it. Surprisingly, Patri joined everyone in their laughing at her while giving you a playful glare. You shrugged innocently, “What? Annoying you is what I’m best at?”

You gave her another shrug, obviously knowing it was true, while she just giggled and leaned in to leave a kiss on your cheek. “Why does it always have to be so difficult with you?”

“It’s fun getting you all riled up.” you giggled at her again as you rested your head against her, more comfortable than ever being in her arms.

As much as it killed you to admit it, you were relieved that she had shut down the other girl’s suggestions. You selfishly wanted her to yourself even though you knew she wasn’t actually yours. Your thoughts continued to spiral, trying desperately to figure out what was going on between you and the girl who currently had her arms wrapped around you.

You were broken from your thoughts by Mapi waving her hand in front of your eyes dramatically, “hellooo, are you still with us?”

“Sorry, what?” you obviously had missed something, too distracted to care.

“I said, what about you? She’d be cute for you,” Mapi motioned towards the same girl, who admittedly was gorgeous.

You shook your head slightly, “I don’t know I’m not really looking for anyone lately.”

“It’s only one night, we’re not asking you to get married! Seriously, when's the last time you got laid? No, when’s the last time you even kissed somebody?” You felt your face heating up, hoping the other girls wouldn’t notice while also knowing exactly who it was you last kissed, you were currently sitting on her lap. The two of you hadn’t gone further than making out but your makeouts had gotten pretty steamy, only stopping in order to prevent your friends from finding out.

All the girls were looking at you expectantly, waiting for your answer, while you remained silent, struggling to come up with a lie. You felt Patri’s arms give you a tight squeeze around your midsection, she had been holding you tightly already but wanted to give you some reassurance that she was there. “I don’t know, it was some random girl the last time we were here, nothing that exciting,” your voice was a little shaky, suddenly terrified that your friends would see straight through your lie.

“Who wants more drinks? You want to come help me carry them?” Patri looked at you expectantly, trying her best to change the subject and get you out of the situation. She could feel your panic in the way your whole body had tensed up, feeling bad that she was partially to blame for the lie you were telling your friends.

Luckily, nothing distracted the other girls like the mention of more drinks, instantly putting in their orders for the two of you to get for them. You got up off Patri’s lap, immediately turning to help her up and offer her your hand which she gladly took to lead you towards the bar. Once you were out of sight from the table you left behind, you pulled her hand back, getting her to stop.

“Hey, thank you for that.” you looked up at her expectantly and she responded by giving you a short peck on your lips, looking at you sweetly.

“I couldn’t leave you hanging over there, not when it’s kinda my fault anyways. You gave her a smile and before you knew it she was back to pulling you through the crowds of people, not even realizing she was no longer pulling you towards the bar until she pulled you into the bathroom and immediately locked the door behind you.

The midfielder pushed you against the back of the door, kissing you harshly. Your breath left you as your mind struggled to catch up with what was happening, distracted by her tight hold on your hips as she ground against you slightly.

Something about this time was different than those before, emotions flowing freely between you. Neither of you were anything more than tipsy, not having had more than a couple drinks. This was the most sober you had ever been while still getting along with each other and here you were, pressed against the bathroom door.

“We should probably stop this,” you breathed out as her mouth moved to your jaw.

“yeah”

“...we’re not going to though, right?”

“Oh definitely not.” You could feel her smirking into your neck as she continued her actions and you wove your hand into her hair, holding her closer against you.

“You have no idea how bad I want you, Pats,” you barely got through your words as she sucked harshly on your skin. It was true, she had no idea the extent that you meant it. You didn’t just want her physically, you did for sure, but you wanted more than that. You wanted her sober, you wanted her when she was at her lowest and needed you to pick her up, you wanted her at her best when you could celebrate wins together, you wanted her- everything about her.

Patri’s strong hands worked its way up your sides, one landing just under your breast as she continued her actions, humming at your words, “Oh, I think I get the idea, bebita.” You could feel her smirking again, cocky at how she had gotten you worked up, but all it did was deflate you slightly, disappointed that she didn’t get it.

She would never get how you wanted her.

The older woman felt your body tense underneath her as you withdrew slightly, overcome by your thoughts and the disappointment that was filling them. She pulled back, eyebrows knit together with concern as she looked all over you in hopes of finding the problem, “hey what’s wrong? Are you okay? Did I go too far, I’m sorry, I-”

“Pats it’s fine. It’s not cause of you.”

Wrong.

You were lying.

It was because of her, just not because of what she was currently doing.

And apparently Patri knew you better than you realized. “You’re lying, I can tell. What’s going on? Please, talk to me.” Her hands came up to cup your face as she looked at you seriously, more worried than she had ever been, especially for a girl that she supposedly hated.

You let out a heavy sigh, too tired of hating her, immediately broken down by the look of panic covering her face. It was suddenly much more serious between you, somehow in a bubble of silence amidst the high volume of the club on the other side of the door. “Patri… What are we doing?” She barely managed to hear you, your voice hardly more than a whisper.

Her eyes dropped to the floor, “I don’t know. I’m not looking for anything serious, you know that.”

“Do I though? You don’t act like you don’t want anything serious. You act like you actually care about me and I can’t make sense of it, it’s exhausting. Hating you is exhausting. How can you hate me when every time we’re drunk we’re best friends?”

“I don’t hate you.” You could barely hear her. “I never hated you.”

“Then what the fuck is it we keep doing, Patri?” you were met with silence. “I can’t keep doing this, not if it keeps going like this.” more silence. “Anything? Come on Patri say something! I can’t do this! Do you even care?” Frustration was growing inside of you. Somehow her silence was worse than arguing. “I can’t do this if you won’t talk to me, when you’re ready to talk let me know.” You gave her one more second to respond before angrily pushing past her to leave the bathroom.

How were you supposed to carry on like this? Best friends one minute, enemies the next, and borderline lovers the next. You heard her calling your name as you stormed out, pushing your way through everyone and towards the door of the club as your friends tried to figure out what had just happened.

They knew you had escaped off to the bathrooms, not actually at the bar, but they figured whatever the two of you were doing, they didn’t want to be the ones to interrupt. Mapi had followed you to the door, always protective over you and needing to make sure you had a way of getting home safely. Knowing Mapi was taking care of you, Pina took it upon herself to find Patri and figure out what was going on.

She made her way towards the bathrooms, knowing that’s where the two of you had been, but found Patri before she even reached the door. The sight of her best friend wasn’t what she expected to find. The older woman was sitting on the floor of the hallway outside the bathroom door. She was against the wall, hugging her knees to her chest, sobbing heavily with her head fallen back against the wall.

Claudia ran to join her, immediately pulling her into a hug, having no idea what had just happened. “Pats, it’s okay. You’re okay, I’ve got you. What’s going on?”

The midfielder shook in her arms, choking on her sobs, as could barely speak, “Pina, I fucked up. I fucked up big time.”

Find Part 4 (the final part) here!

Any requests and feedback are more than welcome :)

Masterlist

#barca femeni #barcelona femeni #woso imagines #fcb femini #woso one shot #woso x reader #woso imagine #patri guijarro imagine #patri guijarro #patri guijarro x reader #wosoreading24/7 #wosoreadingpatri

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rashomonss · 10 months

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Now, now, don’t be shy, let me hear you

with barbequetoes please :)

~💘

ofc ofc anon!

apologizes for taking so long with the requests a few things came up recently but I’m back now and the 800 followers event will be resuming! I hope you enjoy (੭ ˊ^ˋ)੭ ♡

Turn down the lights everyone because it’s red hour with rashomonss ♡

warning 18+ (NSFW): read at your own discretion (afab reader)

“that’s it, just like that…”

You had come over for tea upon the butler's request, so how did something as simple as that turn into you unraveling beneath him as he eats you out.

It began with the two of you talking about your day and other events in his room over a pot of human realm tea Barbatos had just purchased. He believed you would be the perfect person to try it with so thus he invited you over without a second thought.

And honestly he’s glad he did.

As the conversation carried on between the two of you so did the flirting, and when each comment was said it appeared more bold than the last one. Barbatos however couldn’t help but slightly laugh to himself as you began to now flirt back with him.

The flirting soon turned into soft kissing as he led you to his bed, then the soft kissing turned into making out until either of you could wait any longer.

The butler pushed you down on his soft bed and knelt before you, then slid off each of your bottoms gently with a smile. Now with your bottom half nude he admired each curve and line of your body and with his gloved hands he began to grab and caress your thighs as he lifted up your legs to kiss the inner sides of them.

“You’re so lovely you know?” He smiled.

After a few more moments of showering your legs with attention he placed them on his shoulders and grabbed your hips pulling you further towards him. Then looked up at you admiring your needy expression.

“Someone’s impatient, apologies for making you wait so long” Barbatos chuckled, as he began to mouth at your folds and tease your clit with his tongue. He continued to tease you ever so slightly with his tongue just to see the different reactions you had to each thing he did.

“Look at me” he says after a minute and holds you down with his hands to make sure you stop squirming.

Your gaze meets his and your body melts at the sight of Barbatos eating you out with such fervor, which in turn causes you to struggle to keep eye contact with him. So due to pure embarrassment you turned to look elsewhere and silenced your moans with your hand.

Needless to say, Barbatos didn’t take too kindly to that.

“Now, now, don’t be shy let me hear you”

“It’d be a shame for you to keep that pretty little mouth of yours closed now, wouldn’t it?” He cooed, thrusting his fingers deep into your pussy.

You jolted up slightly as two fingers now entered you harshly, and began to thrust in and out of you at a fast pace. The sensation of his fingers as well as his mouth on your clit became almost too much for you to bear.

If you want to be quiet then go right ahead, but he’s warning you that he will get those lovely noises out of you one way or another. He has no qualms about playing dirty.

You slightly squirmed under him even more, but that only caused him to pin you down with his free hand instead. And when you finally removed your hand and let your moans free he smirked up at you and continued with his harsh pace.

“That’s it, just like that” he said softly after removing his mouth from your clit.

Barbatos curled his fingers slightly and thrusted them into you a bit deeper, now hitting your g-spot. When you moaned out loudly in response he chuckled softly, now finally getting the reaction he desired, so he kissed your inner thigh again then moved his mouth back to abuse your clit.

You became undone in mere seconds after that. Your hands found their way to his hair and they harshly gripped it as your legs shook due to the constant pleasure he was giving your body. Your moans turned into babbles and your eyes rolled back ever-so slightly. Barbatos could tell you were close so he picked up the pace and admired your body becoming undone before him.

“That’s it, go ahead and cum for me my love” he said softly now rubbing your clit with his thumb as his other two fingers continued to pump in and out of you making you see stars.

Upon his command you came all over his fingers and gripped his hair tightly as he continued with a constant pace to help you ride out your orgasm.

You felt your whole body tremble and looked to the demon at the edge of the bed who continued to enjoy your taste as he lapped up your cum with his tongue.

When you began to sit up, Barbatos smiled and placed his hand on your stomach and pushed you down softly on the bed again. He then grabbed your hips and positioned you back where you were before and continued where he left off as he watched you now squirm even more as he thrusted his fingers into you again.

“You didn’t think we were done now did you?” He teased.

#rashomonss asks #rashomonss red hour #obey me #rashomonss 800 followers event #obey me shall we date #omswd #obey me smut #obey me x reader #obey me barbatos x reader #obey me barbatos #omswd barbatos #barbatos smut

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damned-punk · 2 months

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Kid and Killer are both awesome and they share such a deep bond ❤️. Might not have one without the other. I keep thinking about what it would be like to have a love triangle with Kid and Killer. What would that look like and who would play which role in the relationship?👀🔥🔥🔥😋

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

I agree, I definitely don’t think you could have one without the other. They are two sides of the same coin, the same soul split in two. That dynamic is what makes the idea of a love triangle so interesting with them because it’d be a constant push and pull, both of them so stubborn and unrelenting so that the other could have their chance with you.

As far as instigating the whole thing, it could result from either of them at any given time though I don’t see them being the type to actively seek out a relationship. It’s far more likely that a mutual attraction spontaneously occurs similar to what happened with Victoria and when it does inevitably happen, Kidd and Killer are locked in before they even fully realize its going on.

Perhaps it starts with some increasingly intimate interactions in the common areas of the ship, maybe some out of place compliments given by a red-faced Kidd or an unusually talkative Killer. If you happened to be a non-member of the crew, prepare to be asked to join and don’t even attempt to decline as they’ve already sunk their teeth deep into you when it comes to that point. They wouldn’t force you to be with them romantically, but they’re very protective of those they care about and would want to ensure your safety from the haven of the ship.

Kidd might notice that Killer has gotten comfortable around you rather quickly, especially if he’s talking more or allowing you to occupy the kitchen while he cooks, but Killer certainly knows that Kidd is smitten way before Kidd is ready to acknowledge those feelings himself. Kidd’s demeanor is far too open and boisterous which makes his ‘subtle’ changes in behavior that much more obvious, especially since he and Killer know every little thing about one another.

If you maintained a level interest in them both, there would be some inner dialog that makes them question whether you’re being friendly or if you’re actually flirting with them as it seems. This is where the mutual pining would come into play (more on that here) as they may grow a bit distant to see if you’ll seek them out on your own. If they didn’t know about each other’s feelings before, it becomes glaringly obvious when they notice that the other is intentionally avoiding you.

They’d slip away to Kidd’s workshop or their cabin to talk about what exactly is going on, from there it all gets laid out on the table. The major issue that you’d face is that they both value the other’s happiness so much that they’d willingly let you go for the sake of the other. Killer is specifically affected by this sentiment as he has such heavy self image issues and wouldn’t be confident that you’d want to be with someone like him in the first place.

When you can’t ignore their sudden polarization anymore, you seek council from some of your closest crewmates who have sat back and watched the whole thing unfold at a painfully slow pace. Any doubts or insecurities you have would be quickly diminished as they’d reassure you that both Kidd and Killer are interested, they’re just silly little guys who don’t know how to properly communicate their feelings. This could be where the option of a polycule is presented. They’re both wonderful men and realistically, who could choose between them?

They would be open and accepting of the idea, but I don’t see their dynamic changing much at all. They’d still be partners in that platonic soul-mate way and you’d be their new little partner, the platonic aspect of their relationship being completely lost when it comes to you.

★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆

#kid pirates #one piece #one piece fanfiction #one piece x reader #anime #eustass kid #killer one piece #killer x reader #killer headcanons #eustass kid headcanons #eustass kid x reader #eustass captain kidd

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angellurgy · 28 days

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CORPODOG

(repost from my ao3, where you are kidnapped by a security officer for a large corporation, and surgically/mechanically turned into her dog. a bit of gore, and abuse)

a bright red light blinks overhead, bathing my concrete cell in a deep crimson glow and searing through my eyelids that i kept desperately shut. it’d been this way for weeks, a constant switching between pitch black and the scorching brightness battering at my tired mind. it was incessant. it took me forever to stop begging for it to be changed. i would've taken constant darkness over the terrible flickering, but my pleas were never answered and the light stayed. i slumped in the little wooden cot my captor blessed me with, it was so small i had to curl into a fetal position to sleep but it was infinitely better than the freezing cold floor. i had to sleep there the first week. every time i woke my skin would be covered in dark marks and i'd shiver like a motherfucker. the things i had to do to earn this cot... i pray i never have to recount them.

my disassociation is broken by the sound of hard banging from the outside of my cell, the telltale sign of my captor’s return. footsteps trail through the rest of the house above me almost mockingly loud, reaching the thick metal door that holds me. a lock unlatches, followed by another, and another, and another, and the door finally swings open with an echoing thud. her towering figure looms over my huddling body from the doorway, a dark silhouette so domineering i can't help but quake in fear. she moves forward in one snap movement, wrapping my wrist tightly in her hand and tugging me up out of bed. i fall to my knees, painfully scraping against the grating concrete as she pulls me closer.

her hand grips my chin and i cower instinctually, snarling like a dog at this disgusting slight. i wouldn't submit, no matter what she tried, even if these sycacorp fucks were known for their brutality and creativity. there's been a lot of testimonials from 'reformed' anti-corpo rebels posted nearly everywhere online. thankfully, i'd dug into their systems and found what they did to those poor people, and have braced myself for every act they may do to me.

a glob of spit strikes my face while i am incapable of moving it, and she attempts to push me down onto all fours. although i may not be happy, i know fighting won't change a thing, i can see the various syringes of anaesthetics and other drugs hanging from her belt purposefully being shown off. i get onto all fours with enraged obedience, and she pulls me through the doors and up the stairs. it's the first time i've been out in… a week, i think? time truly means nothing when you're stuck in captivity, i’ve found. no lights, no windows, no clocks, it's all one moment of inescapable blank space.

i follow her guiding hand through the dark narrow halls of what i assume to be her house, passing room after room until we finally stop in front of a large white metal door, like that you'd see at a hospital. she turns back and smiles at me wordlessly before opening the door slowly, revealing to me a large steel operating table, and innumerous trays filled with various tools and sharp objects. i can already assume somewhat of what she may do, so without a second’s thought, i bolt. my brain yells at me reminding me of all the training i had done, you know running only makes it worse for their captives, stop. what the fuck are you doing? but my physical instincts override everything else. i'm actually gonna make it, i can see the door i was first dragged through, just a few more steps, just a few more and- she grabs the scruff of my neck out of nowhere, pulling me back to a stop in one tug. her strength is terrifying, and i can practically hear the grin on her face. i kick wildly and scream my lungs out as she drags me back, yelling for help as loud as i can but we both know there will be no response.

somewhere in the scuffle i manage to land a punch right into her crotch, and for a terrifying second, she stops. she's just reeling in pain, surely that must've hurt her, right? then a sharp pain hits my neck, and in less than a second my limbs are slumped, and no matter how hard i try to move them i can't make them budge an inch. she scoffs with a chuckle and throws me onto the operating table, and in the deepest voice i've ever heard she breaks the silence. "should've been good, roach" she pulls two leather straps from the bottom of the table up and wraps them over my stomach, "and to think i was even going to let you sleep through this. oh well." she reaches down away from sight, and when she comes up in her hand is a large circular saw, like one you'd use to cut through wood. she grins at me with sadistic glee and with the flick of a switch the saw is moving. i have no clue what she's gonna do to me, and that's the most terrifying thing of all. there were never any victims on operating tables in the files.. no surgeries, no saws, nothing like that! "i suppose you're wondering why this treatment huh? did you seriously think we'd just leave out evidence like that? god you poors are pathetic." she scoffs. "we had your location the minute you plugged in that usb. every second you dug through our files, every little 'firewall' you thought you broke through, was letting us find out more and more of your worthless little life. it's okay though, i'm gonna give you a life worth living, much better than the lives you roaches choose to live.

while i'm focused on her moving lips, the saw breaks through the flesh of my shoulder in my peripherals. whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck, my brain is on overdrive, it cant make sense of anything it sees. why can't i feel this? oh god was that a chunk of bone- fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. little bits of my flesh fly everywhere. i hear my bones snapping, blood pouring and pooling on the table around me, tainting my skin in my own fluids. suddenly the saw pulls away, and i am once again entirely confused. until i see her holding my right arm in her own, and she waves it at me like this is some cruel joke. i want to spit on her, i want to kill her, i want to fucking rip her heart out with my teeth. i growl at her, and it's like she can read my mind. she stares into my very soul and for the first time, for some reason, gives me a tiny, approving nod. while i'm staring into her eyes with fiery hatred, i don't even notice she's started on my other arm, until it's already detached, sliding off the table with a disgusting slap.

she picks up my lost limb, and chucks it into a bucket labelled 'disposal' like she's playing basketball. god she's disgusting, what a fucking wretch. i want nothing more than to end this glorious- fuck, i mean horrible- woman's life right here. i thrash my body with all my strength, my arms should be flailing, but they're not there. my legs should be kicking, but they're- they just won't. they won't even tremble, they only lay there traitorously like they're offering themselves, and i fucking hate them for it. she sighs, like this is some tedious ordeal for her, and brings her saw into the spot where my leg begins. i can finally get a good view, and now i really wish i couldn't. she pushes it back and forth, helping its teeth dig through my flesh. blood spurts out from me like a broken faucet, flesh and bone chips spraying about. it looks like i'm being tossed in a woodchipper with how much gore is escaping my body. i hear my bone crack in two, and she slowly pulls it away, lifting it up and forcing me to stare directly at my detached leg and into my own snapped bone.

she's broken me, she has to have. i can't take it, i try to beg over and over but my mouth won't move, i try to scream and cry and plead but nothing comes out except silent tears endlessly streaming down my face. she shushes me. she has to know i'm spent now, as she moves through the next leg quickly, letting the saw do its work digging into the cavities of my limb and slicing it off in a cut so cleanly straight it's surreal. i gasp, at least in my head, as my mouth will not produce the noises i know i am making. is it over? is this all she wanted? to leave me limbless? helpless? she tssks, again as if she can predict my every thought. i am demoralised, i failed. i failed all the victims before me, i failed everyone doing the same work as me, and most pathetically, i failed myself.

i hear loud clicking by my side, along with various metallic clunking and whirring as she rummages around for god knows what. her hand presses down on my chest for support. god, that hand... it's been so long since i felt human touch, the warmth... i want more. please, i silently beg, give me more. i can't take this. every part of me is screaming at myself, but i can't help but cherish this sweet, sweet warmth emanating from her. i'm broken from my entranced stupor by the sound of flesh squelching and robotic beeping, and i see her shoving something into the slot where my arm used to be. it's a robotic limb, a sycacorp classic. the thing that really got them going, honestly. i'm struck with memories of when they first came out. i was still a child then, it was supposed to be a miracle, an ingenious revolution in prosthetics. the cybernetics linked perfectly with every system in your body and worked perfectly like a human limb, it didn't even need to be removed. it couldn't be removed, even. and for a while it *was* a miracle, but 10 years later when they'd gotten sufficient political power, the shit behind the miracle was revealed. the corp had a direct link into every single limb ever implanted in a human body. they could override its functions with the flick of a switch, and you would have no control over your own parts. most struck up terribly shit contracts working for syca in return for usage back, but some fought back, and for those, it just so happened that most of theirs 'malfunctioned', leaving them either dead or too severely injured to live a normal life ever again.

there’s something shamefully comforting about this attachment of a limb, like i’m... being repaired, like my shell is finally being fixed. yet i’ll still try to hate her no matter what, even through the haze of my broken will. she moves onto the next arm, clicking it in comfortably with a snap and the beeps of sensors coming online. the limbs are a sleek black metal, like if latex was a tough, nearly unbreaking material. all i can think of is how badly i wanted one of these as a kid, before i realized how fucked this whole thing really is. the metal was so 'badass', like one of those cyborgs from old sci-fi movies. just to see, i try to move the new limbs, and in response they scream at me with a terrible sound, piercing my ears like a dog whistle. my captor turns to me holding a large, muscular leg in her arms, the animalistic variant. i remember those flying off the shelves even for non-amputees when they first came out. i still wonder why that is. "don't worry about trying to move. you haven't been signed up as an admin for these, only a sycacorp official can program em' now" noticing the paws on the leg she drags over to me, i frantically look at my dangling arms. and there it is. the arms are the animalistic variant too, is she trying to make me some kind of fucked up art piece? i've seen videos and i know these things have no practical purposes, you can't even manipulate objects when you have them attached. she smiles at my obvious panic shining through my eyes, before sliding both legs into place. a shock runs up my body, a tingling forcing my limp body to convulse shortly as the connected limbs all interface with each other, and connect into my spine with a loud ding. "interfacing [successful]. welcome- {Mutt}!" a choppy, detached robotic lady’s voice sounds out, coming from somewhere deep inside me. oh fuck.

my new limbs spring into action, sending me flying off the operating table with enough strength to snap the straps keeping me down right off, and landing on the floor on all fours. my handler- captor, reaches down and examines my limbs, appearing happy with their placement. from her pocket she pulls out a little gun-shaped thing, and presses it into my neck, firing a sharp jolt of electricity through my veins and through every inch of my remaining flesh. i growl at her and- huh. why *am* i growling at her? my body feels woozy, like i'm disassociating yet still fully present. i look and she's staring down at me expectantly, i've never seen her from this angle before, she's so... tall. i feel shorter now, even with my canine attachments. she looks so wonderful, i wish i could die for her. what? why did i say that, i- suddenly i am rocked by the memories of the feeling of her hand on my chest, of the warmth that enveloped my entire body, the fuzziness that corrupted my mind. without even thinking i reach my head closer to her leg, and she drops her hand into my fur- i am in utter heaven.

"hey mutt, you're gonna be good for me now right?" she barks. i don't know how else to respond. yes. yes. a million times yes. i will kill and die for you and act out your every wish. i nod profusely, not even attempting to speak. "oh you sweet pathetic thing, i fixed your speech with that chip, try it out." my vocal cords strain, but i manage what should be a "yes", what comes out however, is "bark!" i want to cry. i am so overwhelmed with every emotion i can possibly imagine. my limbs move me closer, finally an action i wanted. she reaches under my chin just like before, and stares deep into my swollen watery eyes. she leans back, and i prepare for spit to strike my face, but it never does.

she pulls a cigarette from her pocket and lights up, taking a long drag and blowing the smoke into my face. "none of my coworkers thought i'd be able to turn a lowlife roach into one of our own." she mutters, "but look at this. now i have a perfect little guard dog to join me" she finishes her cigarette and throws it on the ground, grinding it down with her boot. "lets go mutt, we have other scum to catch"

#puppy writing #told yall i would #i didnt reread it but i trust it #i remember loving this one #robot fucker

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cas-backwards-tie · 11 months

Text

Chapter Two: Cruel New World

Heiress of Gotham

Masterlist | Previous Chapter

Bruce Wayne x Daughter!Reader

Summary: It's your first-day living life in Wayne Manor. A new house, a new school, and of course there's the new siblings thing too.

Warnings: Negativity, Damian's Jealous, Talks of Death, Numbness, Depression, Disassociation,t Misandry, Crying, Suicidal Thoughts (if u squint), Existentialism, Cursing, Yelling, Outbursts, Anti-Police Rhetoric, Injury, Blood, Catcalling

Mentions of: Suicide, Body Fluids (mucus),

Words: 6.7k

A/N: POV kind of switches in some points, but I think it's fine. You know when it's the reader and when it's more of a third-person pov.

"Please take a seat, Miss Wayne," Alfred suggests as he pulls out a chair directly center of the long black cherry wood table. Your father sits at the opposite end of the room at the head of the table, while a smaller black-haired child sits with his back to the kitchen doors. There's one other person who sits directly across the table from where Alfred stands behind the chair meant for you.

"Are you serious? We really have to do this today of all days?" The child whines.

"I thought I told you no technology at the table this morning, Tim," Your father tells the person you're meant to sit across from. Ipad propped up on the table beside his plate, the teenage boy's grayish-blue eyes remain on the screen for a few moments as he shovels forkfuls of eggs into his mouth. In a tacit conversation, they make eye contact for a moment before he flips the cover back over the device and shoves it into the backpack by his feet. "Thank you.”

"You know, Bruce, I really need to get this essay done by this afternoon.” Tim—as you now know—explains.

"Oh? And what's it on?" Always wanting to get more involved in the kids' lives, Bruce attempts some sort of civil conversation other than indulging the begrudging eye-roll Damian throws him from across the table.

"It's on-" Tim begins to explain.

"You're really making us eat breakfast all together at-" Damian interjects.

"-the table like the nice, loving family we are? Pssh, you're lucky everyone's actually here this morning!" Dick cuts Damian off in an attempt to dissuade the boy's frustrations and some of his, perhaps just, points. Walking over to his chair he pulls it out enough to plop down.

"Everyone's coming?! Just for her?!" Damian, as you now know, complains.

"I'm afraid Stephanie has a doctor’s appointment, and Jason is... well," Bruce doesn't finish his explanation as he glances around the table.

"Jason," Dick defends, even if he's still somewhat suspicious of the man's current motives. "You'll meet them later, I'm sure," he tosses toward you as he sits at his chair between Tim and Damian still tying his tie.

"Why are you even here? Don't you have work? It's a Tuesday!" Damian chastizes Dick.

"Well if you must know, I have a few suspects I need to bring in for interviews today. They're extraditing a few people since the uptick last week."

"But I thought that-" A look from Dick makes Damian's thoughts linger in the air for a moment as he cuts himself off. Right. Next subject.

"I'm a detective over in Bludhaven," he explains to you, "Luckily I don't live here anymore, so... hopefully that lessens the overwhelming sense of a constant presence of people," he jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood.

With a nod, you finally reach for your fork. It’d been bad enough that it seems more and more people are continuing to engage you when really, it’s been hell enough to process all the transitions currently taking place in your life. While it’s nice in some sense that you’d have breakfast with your Mom on school days like this, having someone cook for you, let alone push in your chair is… well… strange.

“Hello? He’s talking to you,” the sassy child spits at you, garnering your attention. Eyes flitting from him to the person sitting across from you beside Tim, you offer what you can in an attempted smile. It comes across more as a grimace than anything. The Detective politely calls your name, finally tightening his tie as he finishes dressing.

“It’s okay, I get it. This is all a lot. I asked if you ate breakfast with your—“ he spares a quick glance at your Father before it settles back on you, “—Mom, often before everything?”

Though he smiles and has a jovial and pleasant attitude, you can’t bring yourself to really return the favor. While he’s extending an olive branch of friendship, one you’d usually take up, you’re unable to. “Yeah. Nothing like this though,” you mutter, voice surprising even you with the quiet quality to it.

While the rest of breakfast is filled with questions and trivial conversation, you feel off, with a weary sense of the world. It’s almost like everything is a dream. Once you’ve finished your food, your eyes raise to take in the vase of flowers and candles on either side of it in their ornate silver holders sitting in the middle of the table. “Can I be excused?” Suddenly turned toward your Father, you await his hesitant permission before getting up and heading back to the room they’ve deemed yours just last night.

“She didn’t even look up at me when she answered any of my questions. That’s not good,” Dick points out. There's a hint of concern in his voice as he eyes Bruce.

“She’s probably still grieving her Mom. It only happened yesterday,” Tim proposes with a shrug as he looks up at Dick, who sits to his left.

“Shit,” Dick whispers.

“Do we even know how it happened?” Damian asks from the end of the table, hands clasped in front of himself like a miniature businessman.

“Damian,” Tim whispers with hostility, eyeing him for the inappropriate nature of his comment. Though he’s also curious, as it seems Dick is too, as they all look toward Bruce.

“What? I mean, her Mom dies and suddenly she’s a Wayne? No way,” Damian speaks with confidence.

With a clearing of his throat, Bruce stands. “It’s true. I… hadn’t-“ he begins, though hesitates as this wasn’t really a conversation he’d wanted to have with his teenage son of all people. “It wasn’t planned. It was a one-time thing back when I was a little more reckless with keeping up my image.”

“So during your Party Bruce years? Oh my god,” Dick quietly laughs with incredulity. He’d known about it, sure, that ‘phase’ of his Father… yet he hadn’t anticipated him to be that reckless. The look of guilt upon Bruce’s face is all it takes for them to know it’s true.

“I did the math, I looked into her mother’s history, and… it all adds up. I wouldn’t have taken custody of her yesterday if I wasn’t certain.”

“So she was an accident? Ha!” Damian laughs as if he wasn’t technically an accident on his Father’s behalf as well.

“Hey! I will not hear any jokes or have any information imparted on her with dislike. It wasn’t her fault, and I won’t see anything but acceptance and welcoming from you three, will I?” His stern voice sends chills down their spines to some degree. While Bruce doesn’t often take up a fatherly role in terms other than the awful jokes and rare wistful advice, this is a side none of them have ever gotten quite used to.

“Fine. But I’m not changing my entire life around for her. Jon is still coming over after school,” Damian announces with a click of his tongue and a cross of his arms over his chest.

“Good. Now I know this absolutely will not leave the room but I looked into her cause of death last night and it was a car crash.” With that, Bruce leaves the table.

“Sometimes things are just life, I guess,” Dick thinks aloud, still processing the information.

How cool is it that this room has a window seat? Absolutely awesome! Unfortunately, that’s not something you can fully appreciate as everything has already started to feel numb. They’d explained at the hospital that it’d been a car crash. You know the number of stitches they’d placed, the degree of burns she’d taken as they attempted several grafts to save her life… yet it wasn’t enough. There was nothing they could do. A frown overtakes your expression as a pinch of immense sadness pricks your heart.

“I’ll do it-“ you hear his voice from outside the door, “-I’m sure.” With three knocks and no response, it creaks open. Unbothered to check who it is, you watch as the rain droplets roll down the leaves on the tree outside your window and slowly drip toward the ground below. He clears his throat and shifts on his feet before speaking. “I really hate to do this to you. I know everyone processes things in their own time, but I’ve got to make arrangements on top of work today and so the best thing I can think to do is get you into a routine.” A look in his direction is all it takes; uniform neatly folded in his extended arms, your Father presents it to you with a sympathetic look on his face.

“What about Melville High?” The question leaves your lips, and all he can think is that you’re too innocent for this world. He doesn't even know you, but already the world has taken too much from you.

“It’s… too far, I’m afraid. Gotham Metro Academy is where Damian goes, and it has a lot of better opportunities from what I’ve seen. I’m sure you’ll like it once you get settled in.”

It isn’t the end of the conversation. While you’re barely responding, he imparts as much wisdom and comfort as he’s able, but it goes in one ear and out the other. All too soon you find yourself running your hands over the lapels of your navy uniform’s blazer. A prep school with uniforms was something you’d never imagined in your future—in fact—it’d been far from it! Growing up with enough money to keep you comfortable was fine, but prep school was never in the cards. You and your Mom knew that. Without too much thought to your hair and any accessories or makeup, Alfred is rushing you downstairs and into the awaiting Rolls Royce.

“Had you ever been to Gotham prior, Miss?” Alfred asks from the driver’s seat as you pull away from the infamous Wayne Manor. It looks much more opulent and welcoming in the daylight, yet it still has an intimidating air of aristocracy to you.

“Um… just once, a long time ago.” It hurts your chest to think about; there’d been a weekend you’d gone with your Mom a few years back when she’d wanted to show you all the sights. From the shows to the Financial District, to the historical sights and monuments, it’d been a weekend to remember, truly. If memory serves you right, you even still have a sweater and baseball cap tucked away somewhere from that trip.

Expecting some sort of snarky remark from the child you’ve deduced is Damian, you finally take him in. Sure, everyone’s heard of him. He’s a celebrity for what it’s worth: ‘Bruce Wayne’s Secret Son’ the headlines read. It was national news at the time, his Mom still remaining a mystery. His skin is darker than yours, and while his eyes are a striking green, you can’t deny that he has a resemblance to your Father. Neither can you deny your resemblance, either, really.

“What?” Damian finally bites. With a quiet, automatic ‘sorry’ and a shift of your eyes out the window and away from the kid on his phone, you can’t help but think about it.

Was Bruce Wayne really as much of a playboy as the media made him out to be? Yours and Damian’s mom would surely proffer the confirmation. Yet, having met the legendary man behind the technological empire, you aren’t sure he really seems the type. As much as your mother tried to keep you from boys and men, you’d met more than your fair share of assholes. Womanizers, scumbags, misogynists; no matter the differences in look or personality, there were always a few similarities they’d have in common, usually in their speech, behavior, or beliefs.

Nevertheless, it’s odd that you’ve been able to place the term ‘Father’ in his grasp so easily. Your mother had feigned a forgetful memory oftentimes when you’d ask during your childhood. Only offering the slightest of details and assuring you that he’d left the both of you as a baby. It was only as you grew that she eventually let you know that whatever relationship the two of them had, it wasn’t as serious as one would expect of a mother and father. She’d never named him, exactly, having always told you it wasn’t important. He wasn’t worth searching for, seeking out, begging for some answer you surely didn’t want to hear. Why? Why did you leave us? Why don’t you care about us? It was all a waste of time. That much, you knew. Never, even in your dreams would you imagine it’d be the Bruce Wayne.

Before you know it, the trees and streetlights are turning into buildings and stoplights. While you're nervous about going to a new school, it also provides a bit of excitement at the thought of reinventing yourself and making new friends. Surely with the funding from Wayne Enterprises, it'll have more clubs, activities, and maybe more sports, too. You'd always wanted to try out for sports or even be on the varsity squads if possible. As the car slows along the street, Alfred meets your anxious eyes in the rearview mirror.

"Damian, I expect you'll be there if Miss--" he says your name, "--needs anything. I'm going to park the car and escort you inside, as there happens to be a bit of preliminary paperwork your Father has requested I accompany you to fill out."

Surprisingly, Damian doesn't refute Alfred's sentiment, though as he parks the car, your half-brother hastily exits, headphones still in his ears as he scrolls through his phone. A quiet 'see ya later' is heard before the door slams shut. Soon enough you've filled out the registration forms and are given a schedule and tour. Alfred offers you a courteous nod and a lingering hand on your shoulder before he departs for the day. "I'll be here to pick you up when the school lets out. You can do this, Miss," he assures with a warm smile.

It was somewhat embarrassing that you'd had to interrupt class to join in on eleventh-grade, American Literature, yet upon introduction, it doesn't go past your observation that many of the kids start whispering to one another. While a few people attempt to talk to you, for the most part, you feel overwhelmed with all the information and the way the lesson quickly continues. Trying to catch up and take everything in, it all feels like too much, and the unintentional tendency to disassociate naturally begins to happen. You zone out for most of the classes, the day passing in whirlwinds and sympathetic smiles from the teachers.

When school lets out, you find Alfred exactly where he'd parked this morning in front of the school. Leant against the car with his hands clasped in front of him, you begin making your way down the steps to meet him. Two boys quickly pass you, both laughing as they playfully smack one another's arms and talk in hushed voices. As you approach the car you realize it's Damian and some boy. He has friends? Who would be friends with him? He seemed so rude earlier, you can't help but think. Maybe he's just upset because you came along.

"Who's this?" The boy in the blue jacket asks as he watches you join Alfred.

"Mister Kent," Alfred greets the boy, "I take it you'll be joining us tonight?" When the boy flashes a white smile full of bright teeth up at him with an eager nod, you take it this is a family friend.

"She's... apparently Dad's daughter," Damian reveals, eyes slicing across the space till the intimidating green orbs land on you. "Don't mind her. I planned a few things we could maybe do when we get to the Manor! I just got Mario Kart Ten and it's supposed to have a bunch of new maps and characters!"

Upon Alfred opening the car door, all three of you slide into the vehicle, the boy separating you and Damian in the backseat. "So... your sister, you mean," He laughs. Despite what he'd said about ignoring you, the boy turns his smile your way with an extension of his hand. "I'm Jon! Damian's best friend. I actually go to West Reeves but I got out early so I could catch a ride to your house. You are..?"

Revealing your name, he repeats it with a fondness as you shake his hand. "I don't know that I'd say best," Damian groans with a roll of his eyes.

"Oh hush it! Yes, you would," Jon argues, nudging your half-brother with his body as the two laugh.

"How was your first day, Miss? Did it go alright?" Alfred asks in the rearview mirror before pulling off the school's sidewalk and onto the street.

While this question was unexpected, you can't answer it. Was today good? You're unsure that any sort of sentiment could capture what today was like, truly. With your mother's death, the move, the new school, new people, and the luxury of it all... you feel unable to describe it all in one simple response. Sufficing for a nod, you purse your lips before opting for a quiet "Thanks." If nothing else, you can't deny that this old man has been kind to you since the moment you arrived. It seems he cares, but... isn't that also his job? You're not sure how butlers work, exactly, but surely that detail encompasses part of his job description, you think.

With the car parked in the driveway, you all exit the vehicle and head inside. Alfred asks if anyone wants a snack, however, you shake your head and point upstairs, signaling your destination.

You aren't sure what comes over you, a wave of hurt--sadness-angst, pain... there are endless synonyms for whatever it is that washes over you. It winds up there, lingering in your chest like a weight you hadn't realized was weighing your shoulders down. Maybe it was the attention, the comments, the questions, the energy it took to put on a 'fine' facade, yet it all finally comes crumbling down. With the click of the lock on the door, you make the final steps toward your unfamiliar bed. Letting the backpack fall from your shoulders haphazardly on the carpeted floors, you flop onto the bed face first, chest hitting the plush comforter before the rest of your body follows, the rebound sending your body bouncing slightly. Face screwing up into one of pain, you do your best to hold it back, and you're not quite sure why. No one's around, no one cares, so why won't you let yourself cry? Would that make it all real? Would that mean you're accepting her death? That she's really gone? That you're letting go? Moving on with your life? Thoughts of guilt consume you as you feel as though you should've known, you should've called her, said something, asked her to pick you up that day. Anything would've changed the chain in the course of events, right?

It's then, with the realization of the butterfly effect that a sob wracks your chest and tears stream down your cheeks. Like rapid fire, the sting of hot, salty tears cascade down your skin leaving streaks of mascara in its wake, you're sure. Screaming into your pillow, you can't help but struggle to breathe as you're not sure what to do. How do you move on from this? Where do you begin? What's left in your life, really? What does anything matter if she's gone? Your mom? The only person who's been there through your whole life from the beginning till... well, now. She was your best friend, your confidant, your partner in crime, your... everything. At the end of every day you always knew you'd have her to go back to. Never has the fear of being alone crossed your mind until right this second. Now you understand why so many people commit suicide each year. If their pain feels anything like this, then you understand. All you can think, wish, and mentally pray for is this to stop. For the tears to stop falling and your breath to stop coming in quick bursts of panicked, hyperventilating heaves. Snot runs down your lips and it's hard to see with the blurriness of the tears in your eyes.

After a while, the crying eventually dies down and you lie--wishfully--lifeless on your bed. A small hand towel you'd grabbed from the bathroom is folded under your face where the tears would fall and you've folded it over the few times you'd blown your mucousy snot into it. Silence consumes the room, and you've found yourself simply staring up at the ceiling for what feels like hours. Constantly caught in your thoughts, between crying and being eerily silent, you're unsure if all this was destined to happen. Or maybe it was supposed to come out sooner. Maybe it's only because you've been pushing everything down into a deep dark place that only feels safe for you to express once you're absolutely sure you're alone.

In the midst of a quiet moment, your eyes and throat sore, head throbbing, there's a knock at the door. "Dinner will be served in just a few minutes." It's Alfred. You hope he hadn't heard your crying, though if he had... what can you really do? Nothing... just like everything else in life. You can't do anything.

With a quick splash of cold water on your face, hands combing your hair down, and making sure you look as presentable as possible, you're ready. Aside from the slight red tinge that lingers around your eyes and the dark circles beneath them that are impossible to get rid of, you head downstairs. While you're sat in the same spot as this morning, you're joined by many more people this time. Bruce and Damian both sit at the ends of the table again, Tim sits across from you, though this time he's flanked by the Detective, and another man you don't recognize. He has a white stripe in his hair and a longer face than the others, but it suits him with his angular features. On your right sits a very tall and broad man clad in a business suit and glasses. Past him, sits Jon--who you'd met this afternoon--and across from him there's one more person who makes the table uneven in terms of people. It's a blonde girl, with an enticing sparkle in her eyes and a charming smile from what you can see from the other side of the table.

"This is my good friend, and Jon's dad, Clark Kent," Bruce introduces, gesturing to the man beside you. Said man holds out his big hand and offers a friendly smile.

"Pleasure to meet you," he recites your name and you reciprocate the handshake. It's good to know that not everyone in Damian's association is a complete asshole, you suppose.

"Nice to meet you too," you respond quietly. With the meal served, everyone dives into eating, leaving you a little unsettled. While your mother had come from a very religious upbringing, she hadn't forced it on you. Yet, you'd still find yourself and your mom praying before dinner to whatever God or higher deity might exist. In a way, it was more to give thanks each day for being alive and having food on the table. Sometimes it was a conversation starter when someone would mention what their day entailed, the good things they'd seen, or maybe the bad things they'd ask for protection from. Nevertheless, it's clear that this family operates differently; digging your fork into the fancy black-peppered pork roast, you use your knife to slice a piece off for yourself. Not in the mood to talk at the moment, you simply listen to what everyone's discussing.

With the lack of response they'd gotten from you, Bruce opts for talking to Clark about business and how things have been. Dick and Tim fill in the mysterious man on the little they knew of you. The blonde girl talks with the younger boys at the end of the table at moments but also butts into the other conversation among the young adults diagonally across the table from you. Stabbing multiple string green beans onto your fork, you don't make eye contact with anyone as you simply try to get through this dinner. Maybe then you can go upstairs and try to relax away from everyone.

"-something we shouldn't really talk about too much, but I can guess the funeral will be by the end of next week with all the arrangements I made today," Bruce speaks to Clark.

"Wait, what?" Your voice is quiet, only drawing the attention of those sitting closest to you. Butting into their conversation, you raise your eyes to meet your Father's surprised blue eyes.

"The funeral will be at the end of next week, I'm presuming. It'll take a little while with all the arrangements," he repeats. Though he seems hesitant, he doesn't keep himself from speaking it again. After all, he's someone who stands behind his actions.

"What? Why?" Your fork clanks against the chinaware, lips parted in shock as you dropped it. "You made the arrangements without me?"

"Yes. It was important that you go to school and it was all right there in the will." Forkful of mashed potatoes lingering in the air as his blue eyes bore into yours, you find your breath beginning to rise and fall at a faster rate.

Of course, none of them know your buttons and what it looks like once they've been pressed, but if your mother was here right now, she'd know. With a screech of the chair being pushed back hastily and a quiet slam of your palms on the table to stand, you're livid. "Why would you do that? How could you do that?!" Hands shaking, you begin to gesticulate, any former semblance of masked placation now fallen. All eyes are transfixed on your figure. "She's my mother! Mine! You don't even know her- I do! I know what she would've wanted, and this isn't it. What, just because your name was on my birth certificate that means you get to take over my life? You, who doesn't even know anything about me, and yet you act like we're best friends! Your children call you 'Bruce' and you have no problem with it! You don't get to just come into my life and fuck everything up! You sleep with her once, what? Sixteen years ago and now you come in and take everything?" A wry laugh leaves your lips, "Well, more for you, I guess! Did you ever stop to think that there's a reason I had no idea who you were? Let alone, why she never told me? She never once asked for your money or your help, and now I'm just here. All my stuff? Gone. All my friends and family? Gone, a-"

"-We can go get your-" The Detective begins.

"-Oh, shut up! You really think anyone wants to hear what you have to say? You're adopted, you're not even related to me! You don't know me. None of you do! The only good thing about this is I don't have to put up with being interrogated by the BPD every goddamn time I walk down the halls of school. But I'd at least take that over never seeing my friends again!"

"-What do you mean?" He follows up, commenting over you. Everyone else looks around the table silently, taken aback by what they're witnessing.

"You want to 'Bring Justice to Bludhaven', I guess, when everyone already knows what happened to Perdy Chapman! Everyone except the BPD, I guess!"

"How dare you?! You can't speak to my brother like that, you-"

"Finally! The only person I'm actually related to here. My half-brother, the mysterious 'Wayne Boy' who doesn't have a mom! You have no fucking empathy for me, you've been giving me shit all day! And yet you're the only person I would've expected to actually give a damn! So sit your ass down, pendejo twerp!"

Without asking for permission you storm out of the dining room and through the living room toward the staircase.

"I'm guessing you're done with your dinner?"

The voice stops you in your tracks, hand on the banister, you let out a loud sigh, shoulders falling before you try to maintain a jovial demeanor when turning to him. "I don't need you to do anything for me, Alfred. I think it's fucking ridiculous to have a servant when it's the twenty-first century, for crying out loud!"

"It's my job. I assure you he pays me, if that makes it any better," Alfred speaks in a calm tone, unfazed by your words or behavior.

"Great! Well, I still don't need you doing things for me that I can do myself. Thank you, though," while the words come out through tense, grit-together teeth, you turn and head upstairs. It doesn't take long to get to your backpack, slinging it over your shoulders. Luckily, this was the one thing you knew you could do with the advantages of not only your room but a backyard. Opening the window, you climb out onto the tree branch a few feet away.

Soon enough, you're on solid ground, out of the boundaries and gate of Wayne Manor. With a heaving chest and shaky hands, you speedwalk down the road toward where you know the bridge will be heading into Bludhaven from the transfer point on the Eastern Seaboard. This time for whatever reason, you can't bring yourself to cry. Maybe all the tears had already flooded from your body this evening, but nothing emanates from your tear ducts. Eyeing the blood that's already starting to dry on your palms from the splinters and the last little drop you'd had to take from the tree, you scraped your palm.

It'd been silent upon your departure from the dining room. Bruce insisted that everyone return to eating, that everything was fine, and that this wasn't unexpected. While things returned normal for the most part, Jason excused himself with a look toward his father. It wasn't until an alarm rang from Bruce's phone that he groaned and pulled it out only to find the surveillance outside capturing your figure leaving the premises. Announcing what the 'emergency' was, at everyone's persistence, Jon ran out of the room before Bruce could elect Clark to go check where you were headed.

It's a lone road, cypress trees lining it and gravel-filled sides. With it only being garnered by private property of the elite, and no real intersections for miles, no cars pass in either direction. As the sound of a faraway motorcycle approaches, you don't let it deter you. It'll be at least an hour or more before any of them realize you've left the property. They all think you're just upstairs crying to yourself, most likely. Rage still swirls in your gut, however, it's drained somewhat, being replaced by the determination to get home. A billionaire, his family, servants, and even a few splinters won't stop you. It doesn't strike you as odd that the sound of the nearing motorcycle slows; after all, not many people hitchhike on this road, you're guessing, and with the speed limit being higher in this area.

Jon had been faster, intrigued for some reason--his justification upon later questioning--to find out where you were going. Clark trails behind him, neither of them bothering to change clothes as they fly above the closest road, trailing you from a distance silently. It's only when they spot the motorcyclist approaching you that they hold their position.

"Where do you think you're going?" The voice is unfamiliar. While being catcalled isn't a stranger to you, it's still annoying that it'll happen in the middle of fucking nowhere. Ignoring the motorcycle that now stalls to your left, you continue walking with determination, eyes ahead and fists wrapped around each strap of your backpack upon your stiff shoulders. "Really? You're gonna ignore me and play it that way? Get on the motorcycle," the man calls your nickname, which elicits a reaction from you.

Eyes widening and lips parting, and eyebrows shooting upward, you finally look at the man. You don't remember his name, but he'd been sitting at the table across from you between Tim and that Detective. Expression immediately turning into one of anger, your jaw setting, you feel reinspired to make your way to Bludhaven. "I'm not going back! I can't," you argue, "plus I don't even know you. Why would I go with you?!"

A chuckle leaves his lips and you hear the shifting of plastic before the motorcycle revs in a way that elicits an automatic jump from your body. The motorcycle speeds a few feet down the road before it does a loop and skirts into a stopped position just a few feet in front of you. Legs on either side of the vehicle, the man flicks the visor of his helmet back up and reaches into the back compartment, producing another. Before you have time to react, he throws the helmet your way. Hands instinctively reach out to catch it instead of letting yourself get hit with the speed of it. You wince; it pushes the splinters further into your palm. You come to a standstill a few feet away from him as you lift the helmet slowly only to see the blood starting to pool around them again.

"I'm Jason," he reveals, "I don't know where you plan to go, running away like this, but you don't think the old man will notice you're gone sooner than later? What's your plan then?"

Irritation and a desperate anger linger in your chest as your eyes finally raise to meet his. "Well, Jason, it's none of your business! Regardless, it doesn't matter. You can't stop me." Approaching him, you're about to shove the helmet in his hands when he raises one of his own, palm facing you.

"Truce? Look, I know you don't know me, but I was like you. I grew up in Crime Alley and had to steal tires for a living. I tried to steal the-" he stops himself, another chuckle escaping his lips, "the old man's, and that's how we met. I get it... it's not easy, and, no one expects you to just go along with everything, alright? If you're thinking about going home, well, that'll take what-? Hours? You really want to walk for hours to... where are you from, again? Bludhaven? What part?"

"Canaveron District, yeah," you respond gruffly, some of the tension leaving your shoulders.

"You won't get there for another three hours walking, at best. If you just want to get your things, well, I can take you there. But we'd have to get everyone else-"

"No! no, I don't want-"

"-If you let me finish," he warns, "I was going to say get the others to help tomorrow or this weekend, we can get the rest. Alright? Just essentials, and I bring you right back here. Got it?" His eyes search yours for a moment before he adds, "That's the best I can do for you, kid. Otherwise, I've gotta drag you back to the Manor kicking and screaming, which I really don't want to do."

"He sent you?" You weren't too surprised, only that if anyone was coming, you figured it would've been Bruce, himself. It's only when Jason notices you looking around and contemplating your decision that he cocks his head toward the Manor, signaling the Kents to leave. He's got this.

"No. I came, because... unlike those other dicks, I actually know what it's like to come from, well, somewhere that's not the greatest," he admits, a look of sympathy and understanding in his eyes.

"And this isn't some scam? You just tell me this, get me on the bike, and then take me back to the White House?" This elicits a laugh from the man, and he runs a gloved hand through his black and white hair.

"Look, I don't know how much they've mentioned about me, but... let's just say I'm not exactly in Bruce's good favor if you know what I mean." Reading the look on your face, he expands. "I'm not exactly the goody-two-shoes of the family. If you want your stuff, I'll take you, but only because I know he wouldn't do that."

"Why?" Standing in silence, the two of you search one another's eyes for any sense of understanding. It's tacit, the question that you both know you were really asking, yet he doesn't make you voice it: why would you do this for me?

"Because I know what it's like to have everything taken from you." A sigh leaves his lips, and you can tell simply from his stance and demeanor that this man has been through much more than he's letting on. "If you wanna do this, we should get going. I can't be out too late tonight. You coming? Or should I call the old man and let him know what your plan is?" With a raised brow and eyes flicking toward the helmet in your hands and back to your eyes, he awaits an answer.

"I'm coming." Sliding the helmet over your head, you approach the vehicle. "Just... don't tell him, please! At least don't tell him for another... fifteen minutes?" The request elicits a questioning look before a smirk replaces it.

"Deal. Hang on," he requests. Shifting the bike to stand upright, he leans closer and reaches under your chin to clip a strap in place you hadn't noticed. He tightens it, checks with you, and then gets onto the bike. "You ever ridden a motorcycle?"

With a thick swallow, your eyes shift from his to the bike. Sliding over the seat, you're unsure where to place your feet, but Jason instructs you, making sure you're comfortable before you slide your arms around his waist and brace for takeoff. Visor flicked down and everything in place, he revs the motorcycle before speeding down the road.

Beneath the helmet, the ends of your hair tickle your arm as it whips through the air. Cool breeze wooshes past your body, arms able to feel the chill through the blazer, your legs gaining goosebumps through the exhilarating experience. Cypress trees turn into willows, which become more and more sparse as gates and brick walls slowly fade with the elitist properties into cemeteries and then into more forest before turning more industrial. As different plants and factories appear, so do the cars. Jason weaves in and out of traffic as he maneuvers his way down the highway and onto the bridge that winds around Gotham and finally goes into Bludhaven. The lights and sights passing this fast is intimidating at the thought of crashing, however, it's thrilling in a way you've also never experienced. Skyscrapers line the island, lights, signs, and monuments only add a sort of fascination and exuberant liveliness to it. As the Wayne Enterprises sign passes, you finally feel comfortable enough to remove one hand from Jason's side for a moment, long enough to flash a quick middle finger at the sign before fearfully grabbing onto his jacket again.

With a laugh and shake of his head, he removes a hand from the handlebar to flip a bird alongside her, eliciting what he thinks is a laugh. Nevertheless, he can feel the fear in her grip so he returns his hand to the handlebars and makes sure to keep his focus on the road. It's not likely they'd crash, not unless someone was out for him and knows his bike, and his civilian identity. Not that he goes too far out of his way to hide it, but it's not impossible. He's confident in his abilities, but considering they don't know each other the best, he doesn't do anything to further scare her.

As he draws nearer to the Canaveron District, he slows down enough for her to give him directions. Parking the bike outside the apartment complex she's identified, Jason helps her off the bike and stashes the helmets in the back. "Lead the way, little lady," he encourages.

~~~~~~

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo

hog taglist: @luvly-writer , @clairese1980

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hurtmyfavsthanks · 3 months

Text

Febuwhump day 7: Suffering In Silence

Content warning: nonsexual (and consensual) nudity

By the time Whumpee had been released back into their room, they barely had the energy to remain standing. Their body ached from countless cuts and bruises, all from countless attacks they’d been too slow to dodge. Their ribs throbbed with each inhale, and the taste of blood wouldn’t leave their mouth regardless of how much they swallowed.

They were exhausted. From their barred window, they could see it was already pitch black outside. The sky was inky black, just as dark as it’d been when Whumpee’d been forced to stumble out of bed to begin their training that morning. They knew it’d be just as dark in a few hours, when they were forced to start all over again.

They let themselves flop bonelessly onto the bed, uncaring of the blood they were getting on the covers. If nothing else, their cell was a comfortable one. If not for the bars on their window, if not for the door that only opened when the Agency allowed it, it would’ve looked like a decent hotel room.

Not that they could enjoy it. Whumpee sighed as they tried, and failed, to find a comfortable position. The bulky collar they’d been locked into created a thick ring around their neck, making it impossible to lay down without it pressing painfully into their throat.

They hated the damn collar, more than any other symbol of their new life as a “criminal in reform” at the Agency. It emitted a constant, quiet him, reminding Whumpee that the microphone buried inside was always active. The Agency would claim it was to ensure easy communication with prisoners, but all really did was ensure they had no real privacy.

In the quiet of their room, Whumpee felt a light tap on their shoulder. Only trained practice stopped them from visibly fetching.

Whumpee didn’t visibly acknowledge the touch. Careful not to agitate their wounds further, They lifted themselves up on shaking arms and stood. They limped to their bathroom, leaving the door open long enough to feel an invisible figure brush past them. Once they were satisfied, they shut the door with a click, fully entering the only room the Agency hadn’t covered with cameras.

As soon as the door clicked shut, something flashed in the corner of the room. Whumpee turned, a smile coming to their face, as Villain was finally able to reveal themselves.

Their smile was met with a glare, though Whumpee knew better than to take it personally. Villain’s body was coiled in tension, an anxious and furious scowl on their face. There was something possessive in their face, as if ready to tear apart the next person who dared lay hands on someone who belonged to them.

Whumpee didn’t have the energy to be angry at their situation tonight. Exhausted eyes met ones blazing with anger. Whumpee waved, wishing they could do so much more.

At the gesture, Villain took a half step closer, arms half raised at their side. Why wanted to hold Whumpee, pull them away from the hell they were trapped in. But Villain didn’t move forward. They couldn’t.

The microphone in Whumpee’s collar was sensitive, constantly recording even the slightest of sounds Whumpee made. If Villain got too close, if the collar picked up the sound of their breathing, even their heartbeat, a guard would be banging on the door within minutes.

The couple could only stare at each other, a thousand unspoken words passing between them.

Whumpee knew it was dangerous to allow Villain to visit them. They knew the sorts of punishments the Agency dealt out for disobedience, had felt the lessons burned into their back over the slightest of breaches. The thought of what they’d do to Villain was enough to give Whumpee nightmares. They should’ve pushed Villain away the first time they’d broken in.

But they hadn’t. They couldn’t. Not when Villain was the only thing stopping them from falling apart.

Now free from the cameras, Villain moved swiftly. They began running a bath, ensuring that the water was warm before moving on to collect a towel and fresh pajamas, leaving them folded on the toilet seat. They crouched under the sink and pulled out the small medical kit Whumpee was provided. Villain glared as they took stock of the contents. There was little more than a small tube of ointment and a half used roll of bandages inside. Whumpee wouldn’t receive more until the end of the month. Villain swallowed a growl and placed the half empty kit on the countertop.

Each movement felt loud in the small room. With how cramped the space was, as long as only one of them moved at a time, Villain’s presence would go unnoticed. As far as the microphone could tell, Whumpee was alone.

Villain turned to where Whumpee had leaned against the wall, expression pinched. They gestured towards their tattered uniform in a silent question.

Whumpee nodded, giving a shaky breath as they pushed themselves off the wall.

Silently, Villain helped them undress. They might’ve teased Villain under better circumstances, slipping out of their clothes with a flirtatious, teasing laugh. It could’ve been fun, they could have enjoyed it.

But now, when each movement forced a hiss of pain from Whumpee, when their clothing was stuck to their skin by sweat and blood, they just couldn’t find the energy. The faceless guard listening to their every breath only made the idea less appealing.

With Villain’s aid, Whumpee let their ruined uniform fall gracelessly to the floor.

Villain flinched at the sight of Whumpee’s exposed skin. Injuries, both old and new, littered their flesh. Cuts smearing blood onto their skins, burns still red and painful, bruises only beginning to fade. Villain’s heart stopped at the sight of the dark, hand shaped bruise wrapped around Whumpee’s left arm.

Villain bit their lip so hard it nearly bled. They remained silent.

Whumpee moved to the bath on uncoordinated legs. They hissed as they slipped into the bath, the water rapidly turning pink. Gingerly, they leaned back, letting out a shuddering sigh as their eyes slipped shut.

They allowed Villain to move around them. Their touches were feather gentle as they tended to Whumpee’s wounds, washing blood from their skin and massaging exhausted muscles. Each touch was filled with the words they didn’t have the privilege to share aloud. Expressions of love, promises of escape. Silent comforts that Whumpee desperately needed.

Exhaustion pulled Whumpee down, the overwhelming feeling of calm after a day of stress leaving them near boneless in the tub. Just as they’d been beginning to doze off, Whumpee felt a tap on their shoulder. They found Villain giving them a questioning look, a bottle of shampoo in their hand.

It took a moment for Whumpee to recognize the label. Lavender honey, something they’d often bought themselves before their arrest. They’d not had anything of the sort since then; the Agency wouldn’t allow it. Instead, Whumpee only received a scentless, unlabeled brand that left a chalky film on everything it touched.

Whumpee wanted to say yes so much it hurt, but it wasn’t worth the risk. They sighed, forcing their tone to sound annoyed rather than devastated. “I wish they’d let us have more than this crappy off-brand shampoo. But I guess smelling nice is too much to ask…” Their tone was dismissive and light, an idle complaint spoken to empty air. Their eyes spoke of the resigned sadness they felt.

That was the only way they were able to speak to Villain now. Indirectly and secretly, never allowing Villain’s name to pass their lips. It was just another right that’d been stolen from them.

Villain’s shoulders slumped, but they nodded, putting the shampoo aside. They reached for the brand the Agency provided.

Villain’s touch was light as they massaged the shampoo into Whumpee’s hair. They carefully worked through the tangled, matted mess on their head, untangling week old knots Whumpee had simply been too exhausted to tend to. All the while, they were careful not to get too close, keeping their breathing quiet.

Whumpee leaned into the touch, breath hitching. They didn’t try to stop the tears that came to their eyes, didn’t bother whipping them away as they fell. A sob tore through their lips, and once it began Whumpee was unable to stop. Each shaky breath burned against their bruised ribs, and that pain only intensified Whumpee’s cries.

They were tired. So, so damn tired. They didn’t want to get up in the morning. They knew they’d have to.

Villain didn’t speak as Whumpee dissolved into tears. They couldn’t.

Whumpee wrapped their arms around themselves, trembling.

“I’m okay, I’m gonna be o-okay. I’m–...I’m okay…” their voice was little more than a choked squeak between sobs, whispering comforts under their breath. Whispering the comfort they wished they could hear from Villain.

Villain could only press a comforting hand into Whumpee’s back.

#villain caretaker #whumpee #caretaker #comfort #captivity whump #febuwhump #febuwhump day 7 #febuwhump 2024 #my stuff #tw: nudity #caretaking

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munson-blurbs · 1 year

Text

Kinkmas Day 7 (Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader)

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), food play (obviously), fingering, oral (m! receiving), p in v, brief mention of Steve's bad childhood

WC: 1.4k

Kinkmas 2022 Masterlist

A/N: Big thanks to @corroded-hellfire and @trashmouth-richie for their advice and input <3

Growing up, decorating gingerbread houses was an annual Christmas Eve tradition among your family members. You’d spend hours carefully adorning them with peppermints and gumdrops, like something from a Norman Rockwell painting. For Steve Harrington, the only constant was that his parents would work late, leaving some money for pizza. If he was lucky, his babysitter would let him stay up late and watch Frosty the Snowman.

Now that the two of you had moved in together, you were determined to spread some holiday cheer.

You present the cookie house to him excitedly, extending your arms in a ta-da fashion, but he doesn’t mirror your enthusiasm.

“So we decorate it just to…eat it?” he asks, furrowing his brows and wrinkling his nose. “Can’t we skip the whole ‘effort’ part and pig out on candy?”

You sigh dejectedly. “Yeah, I guess, if that’s what you wanna do. I just thought it’d be something fun we could work on together.”

The only thing Steve hates more than seeing you upset is being the one to make you feel that way. “‘M sorry, baby,” he relents, pulling you in for a tight hug. “Just not used to all this yuletide cheer stuff.” His plush lips crash against yours, and he only pulls away when he needs to take a breath. “I’ll give it a try.”

Your pout quickly turns into a grin. “You’re gonna love it, Stevie!” you promise, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Steve begins derailing your plans not even two minutes into his feeble attempt at decorating. He’s got the tube of icing dangling over his mouth, squeezing it on his tongue. “Steve!” you hiss, but you’re laughing so hard you can barely breathe. “You’re gonna waste it all!”

He raises his eyebrows at you and smirks; you can immediately tell he’s up to no good. “You’re so right, babe; I’m being selfish. Here, let me share.” Before you can protest, he smears some icing on your cheek.

“How am I supposed to even reach that?” you whine. You’re stretching your tongue out as far as it can go, to no avail. Steve’s big hand brushes your face, collecting the icing along his middle finger. He starts to bring it to his own mouth, but you grab his wrist and take the thick finger between your lips, sucking off all the icing.

Steve’s jaw drops in shock. “You’re a menace; you know that?”

“What’d I do?” you feign innocence, batting your eyes sweetly. “I thought we were gonna share!”

Icing bag still in hand, Steve pushes you against the wall. You hook your finger into his belt loop, pulling him impossibly closer. His burgeoning erection presses against your thigh, and he lets out a moan at the contact.

“Something got you excited?” you tease, murmuring into his mouth. You suck harsh bruises into his neck, mentally reminding yourself to have him wear a turtleneck to Christmas dinner tomorrow.

A chill hits your chest suddenly; when you look down, you see a dollop of icing has fallen from the bag and landed between your breasts. “Steve.” Your voice is barely above a whisper as you try to get your boyfriend’s attention. “You spilled some…”

He swoops down, flattening his tongue to clean off the mess. There’s a mischievous glimmer in his deep brown eyes when he looks up at you. He laces his fingers into yours, dragging you into the bedroom.

“Wait right here,” he instructs, starting back to the kitchen before adding with a wink, “you should take all your clothes off, though.”

You do as he says, stripping off your jeans and panties, then pulling your shirt over your head. You’re unhooking your bra as Steve saunters back in the room holding the icing and all of the candy that should be used on the gingerbread house.

“Lay on your back, sweet thing,” he coos, appreciating his own double entendre. “Tonight, ‘m decorating you.”

Steve straddles your waist, tongue poking out of his mouth as he gets to work. Frosting trails down down the front of your neck, and he can’t help but lick it up greedily. The light touch of his tongue against your larynx has you arching your back and bucking your hips into him.

“Stay still for me, just like that,” he tells you. “That’s right; that’s my good girl.” He swirls the frosting around your hardened nipples and carefully places a gumdrop on top of each mound of sugar. He bites his lower lip, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You feel the coolness of the frosting on your stomach as he pipes on it delicately. He ruts against your leg, using the plush of your thigh to ease the ache in his throbbing cock. His hands ghost against your hips as he reaches over for some candies, dotting your torso with Sprees and jelly beans.

“Y’know, y’always look good enough to eat,” Steve muses, “but you’re just giving that a whole new meaning tonight, aren’t ya, pretty girl?” He tips the piping bag downwards, squeezing it as he meticulously spells something along your pubic bone. You crane your neck to see, and you smile when you decipher what he’s writing: S-T-E-V-E.

“I like that,” you breathe, “‘m all yours, Stevie.” You relax as he adds some sprinkles to his name.

His cock twitches in his pants at the sight of his handiwork. “All finished,” he tells you, eyes roaming your body. “But now I’ve gotta clean it up.”

“You might wanna take those off,” you say, pointing to his clothes. “Wouldn’t want you to get dirty while you enjoy your dessert, hmm?”

Steve nods, quickly removing his yellow sweater before dipping down to suck the frosting off of your tits. He flicks his tongue over your pebbled nipples, making you moan deeply. Instinctively, he slips a finger into your wet pussy.

“Feel s-so good for me,” he stammers. He slips another digit inside you and pumps them in and out. “I love this body…I love you.” You mewl when he withdraws them to continue lapping up the sugary sweetness that contours your curves. He pauses, unbuckling his belt and pulling out his length before smearing his name with it.

“Can I…? You prop yourself up on your elbows and motion towards him. He nods, but leans over to the bag of jelly beans, lining them on the frosting that covers his shaft. Twelve in all.

“I want you to get all of them f’me.” His words are slurred; he’s drunk on you. You get on your hands and knees and start to lick each candy off, one at a time, but Steve stops you with a chuckle.

“All at once,” he growls. “I know you can do it.”

Opening your throat, you take him in your mouth. You swipe your tongue from base to tip, feeling your upper lip graze along the jelly beans. The sweetness of the candy mixes with his salty precum, and you groan with pleasure at the taste.

“Baby, baby, baby.” Steve wraps his fingers around his cock as you smugly eat your treat. “I need to be inside you.”

“N-need you, too,” you agree, pressing him onto the mattress. You put one leg on either side of him as you position yourself. He rubs himself along your folds before gently pushing himself inside, grabbing your ass to give you leverage.

He won’t last long with you bouncing on his dick, but he’ll never refuse you being on top. Grinding yourself against him, you feel him hitting your most sensitive spot over and over.

“Steve,” you moan, “gonna cum, help me cum, please.” He grips you tighter, thrusting up into you as you clench around him, your release coating his cock. Steve follows soon after, chanting your name like a prayer as he covers your walls in thick, hot ropes.

You keep him inside you, laying down on his sweat-slicked chest. He kisses the top of your head as the two of you pant short, ragged breaths in unison.

“So, uh,” he says finally, tracing circles on your back with his fingernails, “can that be our Christmas tradition?”

#kinkmas 2022 #steve harrington #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #stranger things #steve stranger things #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x female reader

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cutiekookk · 2 months

Text

“Losing your head.”

— Inspired by Sleep Thru Ur Alarms, Lontalius

(Idk if this is good)

It’d been what, two weeks since you’ve last seen Satoru? He’s gone, you deemed, walked out and never came back. You knew not to reach out, simply because he wouldn’t respond. Always leaving you on delivered, never answering your calls.

It was a constant cycle with him, one that never ends. It had been close to three months of a friends-with-benefits relationship between you two. Three months, and for what? For him to never let you know he cared? For him to just move you aside?

So here you were, laid out on your living room couch, phone in hand. You were sitting there, thinking about what to text him.

‘I don’t want to be like this anymore.’ Was your top choice, so you sent it to him.

“I don’t want to be like this anymore.” You messaged at 2:23 AM.

“What do you mean?” Satoru responded after leaving you on delivered for about thirty minutes. It was now three in the morning, and you were still awake.

“This, all of this, I’m done. How are you going to sleep with me, and then just walk away? You can’t do that!” You replied, sounding pissed off in your message. But you weren’t annoyed, not really. Even as he left you on read for another ten minutes, you weren’t annoyed. Not one bit.

And now, you hear a knock on your apartment’s front door. So, you stood up to go open it. After doing so, you looked up to meet Satoru’s gaze. There he was, dressed in pajamas after rushing to come see you.

“Y/N, what the hell? Why are you saying that? We were just fine, weren’t we?” He questions, hands reaching out and cupping your face in them. It was a familiar touch, one that wasn’t wanted. You did, however, lean into it.

“No, ‘Toru, we weren’t. We fuck, and you leave. That’s what we are.” You murmured, exhaling softly. You felt one of his hands lowering itself, wrapping around your waist, no longer on your face. He was so warm as he pulled you in, his skin smooth and soft. How could you ever do this to such a perfect being?

“I have a life outside of being with you, y’know?”

That was the wrong thing to say. You immediately pushed away, glaring at him with an anger never seen before. Why the hell did he say that? Didn’t he understand? Why does he have to make you so mad?

“Really? You’d rather be with someone else, over me? Over the person you spent a night with?” Your voice broke. “All the sweet words you’ve ever said were just nonsense, weren’t they?”

And then you slammed the door closed. Even as he persistently knocked for five minutes straight, the door remained shut. After a few more seconds, they stopped.

That night, you sobbed like a child. You had never felt like this before, so why now? You had a lot of questions, ones you know would go unanswered. Did he not care? Why couldn’t he just stay? Why’d he have to go out of his way to ruin everything?

You curled up on your bedsheets, a reminder of the night you spent wrapped in his embrace. Everything reminded you of him, which is probably why you couldn’t let go. It was a cycle of love, heartbreak, and love again.

But you didn’t think it’d ever stop.

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #angst

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drowned-debris · 1 year

Text

@dotflowweek Day 5: Machine Effect, Machine Nation, Restlessness

Honestly, she envies the girl across the room from her. In all of Sabitsuki’s time here, she’s never seen her take more than five minutes to fall asleep. Does she just have a really comfortable bed? There shouldn’t be any difference between the ones they were assigned, though she wouldn’t put it past the doc to secretly play favourites with his patients.

Maybe the girl is just like that? She’s seen her doze in other places before— once, she even began to nod off in the middle of tinkering with one of those weird little contraptions she seems to love. Being able to sleep that easily seems like a blessing and a curse to Sabitsuki; on one hand, it’d be nice to never worry about sleepless nights, but on the other… accidentally taking a nap in the wrong spot would be practically begging to have a prank pulled on her. Maybe it’s just the way her childhood was, but being as vigilant and aware as possible is important to her.

Then again, maybe Sabitsuki is the odd one out. She doesn’t really have a frame of reference for this— it would make sense if she had more difficulty sleeping than everybody else, especially after her recent… modifications. It took her a day or so just to get used to walking around; the struggle of adjusting to her new limbs could very well be affecting her sleep cycle. A girl two doors down from her room was the first to get the replacements— she helped Sabitsuki adapt to her own, but there was only so much she could do to smooth the transition. Some things just have to happen slowly over time. She’ll get used to them eventually.

But until then, she’ll just have to put up with being uncomfortable. Sabitsuki sighs, and pushes her blanket off of her. The room is dark and dead quiet, save for the steady breaths of the girl in the other bed.

Carefully, she swings her robotic legs over to the left, and slowly places the ends down onto the floor. Despite having had these for a few days now, she’ll never stop being surprised by just how silent they are, how smoothly they move. She was expecting some awful, clunky machines with constant mechanical whirring, but… externally, the difference in function is barely discernible.

Slipping out of bed, she heads over to the door, making sure not to wake the sleeping girl. She isn’t entirely sure where she’s gonna go— getting some fresh air isn’t an option, not in this town. Still, maybe spending a few minutes outside the hospital will do her some good. Technically, she’s not allowed to leave without permission; seeing a goddamn cyborg walk out of a hospital might frighten passersby, after all. But it’s late, and nobody ever really walks through these parts anyway. Worst case scenario, some poor soul coming back from a night shift at the Sugar Hole sees her and has nightmares for weeks.

She quietly opens the sliding doors and steps outside. Just as expected— no one around, not a single sign of life. Figures.

The air here is stale and unwelcoming. Sabitsuki absently wonders whether they could have given her body an internal air filtration machine or something, but quickly shakes off the thought. While she has to admit that would be cool, she wants to stay as human as possible. She’s here for treatment, not for body modification.

She leans against the dirty white wall of the hospital behind her and sighs. This place is as dreary as ever. At least it’s safe, though; she heard a couple of patients were being stalked before they came here, but the hospital being so hidden and out-of-the-way put an immediate end to those problems. It won’t do them much good if they keep rusting away, but it helps.

Sabitsuki yawns. Looks like she’s finally starting to feel tired. Taking that as her cue to go back inside, she stands up straight and steps towards the door.

…And barely avoids bumping headfirst into someone.

Instinctively, she jumps back, trying to keep a safe distance while also identifying the intruder. The other person does so too, and that’s when Sabitsuki recognises her. It’s that girl she shares a room with, the one who should be asleep right now.

“Oh, it’s you…” she says, uncertain. “...Uh, can I help you?”

The girl scratches the back of her neck awkwardly. “Well, um, I wanted to ask you about something.”

“Me?” This is odd. The two have barely interacted— they don’t even know each other’s names. What could she want with Sabitsuki?

“Yeah! I was just, um, just curious about something…” She takes a deep breath, then, with much more confidence and conviction than before, exclaims “What’s it like having robot limbs!?”

“Huh?”

“Ah, it just… it’s really interesting to me, is all!” Her eyes are sparkling. It’s obvious that she’s passionate about this. Her gaze is fixed on the mechanical limbs. Sabitsuki isn’t sure how to feel about being objectified by this wannabe inventor, so she coughs uncomfortably.

The girl’s expression turns sheepish. “Oh, I mean… you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. Sorry…”

She considers it for a second. While she worries it might set a precedent of being questioned about this for a long time, she can tell the other girl doesn’t mean any harm by it. And she’s been wanting to make at least one friend here for a while now— this might be her chance.

“No, it’s fine. Why don’t we go back to our room and chat?”

She beams. “Thank you! I promise I won’t pry too much, haha.”

The two of them approach the sliding doors and open them, leaving the unwelcoming atmosphere of the alleyway behind. As they walk back through the receptionist lobby, the girl turns to her once again.

“So… what’s your name?”

“I go by Sabitsuki.”

“That’s a cool sounding name! Mine is pretty boring compared to that, honestly.” “Oh, really? What’s yours?”

“Oreko!”

Sabitsuki offers her a reassuring smile —rare to see from a girl like her— and speaks.

“I like that name. It’s… how should I put this? It sounds warm. Comforting. Y’know?”

#.flow #dotflowweek23 #big fan of how all of my submissions so far completely contradict each other.#you could put a gun to my head and i still would refuse to ever build a cohesive .flow theory

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silver-heller · 1 year

Text

Calm

M | One | Mordecai | Written To | Read it on Ao3

Tws: Blood, murder mention, SA mention, power play.

“There’s an odd sense of calm, isn’t there,” Mordecai asked, breath pushing through the hot air of the bathroom, ears flickering.

The sink was left on, hot water filling it as the drain was kept shut. It let out steam, filling the space between him and Silver. The cat just stood there, watching him through the smog and gripping onto a washcloth. Although he attempted to disguise it, hanging his head low, Mordecai could just tell.

“After the kill is over and the dust has settled. When the screams have faltered, and you’re just left in the silence with the body. It’s almost relieving, euphoric. Knowing the job is over and you can just return to your day-to-day as if none of it ever happened.”

Mordecai’s eyelids drooped. Although the rest of his body had been on high alert, that was faltering now. His muscles, from his shoulders to his ankles, were beginning to melt with the heat of the room, feeling as if he could just about pass out in the wake of its embrace.

The blood was everywhere, from his vest all the way down to his undershirt, across his tie, on his collar, and splattered across his face. It’d even managed to taint his glasses, despite his constant efforts to keep them clean for the sake of his own vision. Every time he dared look up, the speckles were there. He had to keep wiping them with the help of his tail to escape the Hell of being left with nothing more than that grey-white smog and that crimson. His intense breathing didn’t help, in and out, in and out…

His paws lingered on his loosened tie for a moment, wanting nothing more than to pull this disgusting shirt off, and be done with it. However, he knew better than to do that in the wake of his company. He turned his body towards him, rolling against the smooth brick on the wall as he did so. Even before his eyes could focus on the cat, he could see Silver jump out of the corner of his eyes at the sudden movement.

Silver looked the same as he always did, with wide citrine eyes and ears that were always awake and alert. They flickered with the sounds of the water, not saying anything to Mordecai’s ponderings, just inspecting his face.

“And there you are, just always giving me that expression,” Mordecai said, forcing his body up despite his stomach warning him not to.

He limped over, stopping just in front of the silver cat as he stared up at him in his disheveled state. He stared into Silver’s eyes, stared as deeply as he could manage without feeling himself begin to get sucked in. Silver’s neck sunk down within his darker collar, unable to look away as his eyes somehow widened even more, pupils contracting.

Mordecai felt breathless at the sight, the current looseness of his tie not enough to ease the tightness in his chest.

“What do you want from me?”

Mordecai said this as a whisper against Silver’s face, making his whiskers twitch against his beautifully grey fur.

“Are you going to be sick again?” Silver asked, almost in way of a response, “I’d like to know ahead of time so I can be of some help to you.”

There was a conviction in Silver’s voice and in his eyes. Yet as Mordecai took yet another step closer, all of that just suddenly vanished. It was replaced by a mix of dissociation in Silver’s eyes, and, in part, a sort of acceptance that made Mordecai’s stomach turn more than it already had, becoming thoroughly twisted within his belly.

“If I did something now, I know you wouldn’t do anything about it,” Mordecai said, adjusting his glasses as a line of wetness formed beneath his eyes, “I wish you would. Can’t you hurt me, if only a little just to let me know you would?”

A melancholic smile made its way onto Silver’s lips, and he tilted his head. His shoulders fell, though his paws were shaking.

“When you say things like that, it makes it hard to want to hurt you, you know.”

Silver mimicked his language with a playful glint in his eye, bringing the rag up and wiping the blood from his face. Mordecai didn’t object to this, allowing himself to be pushed back against the bathroom wall, which he found oddly soothing in its warmed textures. If he pressed his forehead to it, he could feel his headache from that copper smell begin to alleviate some.

He let Silver’s paws wander down the sides of his face to his cheeks, mussing his fur and shifting his glasses in the process but, for once, he didn’t move to fix them. They embraced the side of his face, before moving down to his neck, trembling the whole while with the lightest of touches. He could just feel the power beneath those pads, reaching his paw up and smoothing the fur over as he pressed it tighter against his skin. Silver stilled, tensed fingers relaxing and simply resting there.

He wanted Silver to feel all along those delicate muscles and veins, wanted Silver to feel him swallow as he was left in shocked silence, wanted to show Silver his own strength against him. Do it he’d whisper, pushing down harder. He took in a feathered breath.

If he was being honest, he thought he’d just let Silver as well. But, he knew he was truly more sensitive than his own imagination would lead him to believe, running wild with the promise of that rising in his chest at the thrill and the spinning of his head from the adrenaline. His heart was already pounding in his chest at the thought. Because, in the here and now, Silver’s paws were gentle, Silver’s paws would always be gentle with him. and knowing it was an intentional softness made it feel all that much better. He smoothed Silver’s paw more, now in both of his own as his thumbs rubbed its sides.

“Besides,” Silver began, in a quiet voice, “If you ever even tried it, I’d much rather you just kill me instead.”

Mordecai snapped out of his trance, looking at the silver cat as he hung his head low, tail following as it fell down to sweep at the floor.

Mordecai gave Silver’s paw a squeeze, bringing it up to his lips. Silver looked back up with wide eyes as Mordecai placed it there atop his knuckles.

“That I can promise you. Because, Silver, I’d be at such a loss without you.”

Silver’s eyes met his, shaking, looking at a loss for words and breath as his mouth just gaped at Mordecai. But, eventually, it pulled into a small smile, Mordecai letting go as Silver pulled away and continued his work with the playful ruffling of Mordecai’s cheek. He held back the purr that rumbled in his chest at the touch.

“Please just rest back and let me handle this. Okay? It’ll be over soon,” Silver said, being gentle yet affectionate as he scrubbed at the remaining blood there.

Mordecai took a deep breath in and deep breath out, letting the vapor of the room settle into his fur and his head fall back to take in the general musk of the room. Soon he would smell just as clean, but for now, he’d just have to settle with Silver’s scrubbing, feeling better already now that the smell was clearing up around his nostrils.

Mordecai closed his eyes with a relaxed sigh.

“Okay.”

#themaninthekeyboard #tw murder mention #tw blood #sa mention #self ship fic #humdinger👔#silver😺#undescribed #miserylovescompany

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jmrothwell · 1 year

Note

“I bought us reindeer onesies.” for Reggie/anyone because HE WOULD

Flynn dubiously eyed the misshapen yellow pile of grainy mush that was supposed to be scrambled eggs. They knew it was a gamble, they were just hoping with the time of year the kitchen staff might splurge on some real eggs instead of this dehydrated rehydrated powdered nonsense. Hansen had been so insistent that it’d happened before.

They pushed their breakfast tray across the table with a sigh and focused all their attention on the bitterly strong coffee. Rashad had definitely brewed it this morning then, fitting that old Navy stereotype. Which in turn meant, they wouldn’t be able to flirt a free cup out of them.

Not unless they could get Reggie to do the flirting, seeing as he was more Rashad’s type. He probably would to. They wouldn’t even need to ask, simply pout at their cup before he offered.

A box landing on the table with a dull thud pulled Flynn’s attention to the very green eyed mischievous smirk they had just been thinking about. His coveralls had been tied off around his waist much like she had done with theirs. Partly for comfort, mostly for the little game the two of them liked to play around the base.

A game he was currently on the brink of getting a lead on if the subtle head turns were any indication. Thankfully, Reggie seemed too distracted cutting open the box to notice.

Flynn downed their cup with a grimace in anticipation for whatever had gotten him so excited.

“I’ve got a new challenge for us.” He chirped, as he straddled the bench beside them. He pulled the box to sit between his thighs away from any curious prying eyes.

Flynn’s eyebrow rose to her hairline. The white board with the running tally back in the shop, and their constant posturing were the results of the last challenge either of them had issued.

Without any further ceremony Reggie opened the box to reveal what looked to be a pile of tan fuzzy fabric. Which only led to more questions.

Reggie leaned over the box, his forehead practically touching theirs. Their heart stuttered loudly, a warmth spreading across their chest. That had to be the caffeine hitting their system. . .right?

They didn’t have time to think about it, or about how flushed he looked-clearly a trick of the lighting. Soon enough he whispered conspiratorially, “I bought us reindeer onesies.”

“Reindeer, onesies?” Either Flynn was missing a vital part of his plan or Rashad had slipped something into the coffee this morning.

Reggie giggled, nodding so energetically her own neck hurt. “I’m thinking we wear them instead of our usual coveralls. It should add some… intrigue,when flustering people.”

Flynn snorted at that, she knew he’d been finding their usual game a little too easy lately. The two of them had even called a truce a few times to see how badly they could fluster single targets over a single day. Until they flummoxed Julie so badly she nearly walked right off one of the taller catwalks.

However, Flynn wasn’t entirely sure how much difficulty would be added to them wearing reindeer onesies. Reggie had to be underestimating how adorable he-THEY both were. If anything it would be too easy wouldn’t it?

As if he was reading her mind Reggie continued on, “I think the key would be for neither of us to acknowledge that we’re wearing them. No acting any different or cutesier.”

Oooh. Oh now they got it.

Their own smile grew across their face, mirroring his. They picked up his hand and pulled him into a standing position. He briefly fumbled the box as they dragged him out of the dining hall and back towards the residence halls. His hand remained a warm solid presence in theirs.

“All right, let’s do this thing.” Flynn crowed as the two of them practically bolted to get changed in time to start their shift.

#julie and the phantoms #reggie peters #flynn taylor #AUs are awesome #an au of an au potentially #because it's not clear #Pacific Rim AU

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oldjane · 2 years

Note

14 and 66 please? anyone you like!

I AM SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG... this was like, a hard prompt! To make it up, I kinda wrote the whole fic. I mean, it's not very clean and probably a bit jumbled and disjointed, but. Have at it!

[To the other people who asked - I'll get to it, I swear!]

If you wanna send me an ask too, here's the link to the game.

Even after all these years, Nicky still pretty much hates the constant silent shadow on his side.

Maybe it would be different, had he never known another life. Nicky’s father hadn’t always been directly in line for the Genovan crown, but when his uncle died childless after a long illness, everything changed. Nicky’s family had to move back to Genoa from London, uprooting Nicky’s life – and, incidentally, ending things between Nicky and his very first boyfriend at the tender age of fourteen.

Being back in Genoa hadn’t been too bad, all things considered, after Nicky had gotten over the loss of Philip – except for the sudden never-ending sudden attention. Naturally shy, he never liked being the centre of anything, preferring to quietly sink into the background and being generally invisible. But overnight, he was constantly watched, observed, noticed – by the public, by the paparazzi, and by his bodyguard.

Because Nicky is now third in line for the throne, and that puts Nicky in danger.

Unfortunately, there’s a very outspoken anti-monarchy faction in Genoa, and they are not above trying to force things by violence. Privately, Nicky fervently wishes they’d reach their goal – if only so he doesn’t have to become king – but it’d be great if they could go about it with a bit less guns involved.

Maybe then Nicky wouldn’t need 24/7 protection – he’s only deemed safe in the innermost parts of the palace, where his apartments are located. As soon as he takes one step out of them, he’s followed – quietly and as non-obtrusively as possible, but it’s not nearly as non-obtrusive as Nicky would like.

It's torture – to be seen, to be perceived. To never be alone. To have someone passively stand half a step behind him when he slips away to the kitchen to stress-bake, have someone stare at a non-descript point vaguely above his left shoulder when he picks flowers for his sister in the palace gardens, have someone pick up his book of queer love poetry when he forgets it in the car.

And it’s even worse since Joe got assigned exclusively to Nicky’s detail.

No doubt his father meant well – hoping Nicky would strike some sort of rapport with the man, rather than feeling intimidated by the surly, burly, fifty-something ex-military guy who’d been protecting Nicky before Joe.

But Nicky’s throat constricts every time he feels those dark eyes resting on him, stumbles when he catches a whiff of Joe’s spice cologne, and then suffers dangerous heart palpitations when Joe steadies him with a strong hand on his wrist, his hip, the small of his back.

The thing is – it’s not all that easy to hook up with someone when you’re third in line for the throne and have a surly, burly, fifty-something ex-military guy glare at every handsome man you meet. So Nicky’s experience is pretty much limited to Philip, and back then it had felt pretty daring to use tongue when they kissed, so Nicky’s – inexperienced. Frustrated. And horny as hell.

His very beautiful, competent, friendly, grinning, rainbow-pin-displaying bodyguard is not helping the matter. In fact, Joe’s obvious glances at Nicky’s ass, the lingering brushes of his hand when he shoulders past Nicky to sweep a room, his sinful smirks are actively making things worse – the same way his intelligent conversation during long car rides, the longing in his voice when he talks about his family, and his charming manner towards everybody he interacts with do.

They have been pulling and pushing for months now, openly flirting, touching each other in ways that are hardly subtle, and then setting the boundaries firmly in place again: Joe clearly, pointedly calling Nicky Your Highness again, as if to remind them both that there cannot be anything between them; Nicky purposely asking Joe when his next day off is, in a heavy-handed attempt to remind them both that Nicky is, technically, Joe’s boss.

The unresolved sexual tension runs high, and Nicky is halfway to the point where he loses his mind. He’s not sure what will happen, yet – either he jumps Joe’s bones during an official function, or he fires Joe and never leaves his room again.

And then, on a visit to a newly built children’s hospital high up in the mountains, everything changes. The secret service informs Joe that there’s chatter about a plot against the royal family, and the instructions are clear: Under no circumstance is Nicky to come back to the palace until the secret service gives the all clear.

There’s nothing to it but spend the rest of the day – and the night, and who knows how many more of those – in the only hotel in the small town, in the one room Joe can confidently guard all by himself until extra manpower can be sent up.

It isn’t a very big room, and Nicky is instructed to keep away from the door and the windows, which means he’s basically condemned to the bed. The tv is on, but the volume is low, so Joe can hear the updates being relayed to him via his earpiece as he paces the room.

Not that Nicky is watching – he’s worried about his parents, his sisters, even his cat – though Joe has pulled a bunch of strings to get someone to enter Nicky’s rooms to put out fresh food. And he’s worried for Joe. Joe’s nervousness makes Nicky itch – he’s gotten so used to Joe being a calm presence in his back, a port to anchor his ship in the storm. Joe, grinning from behind his sunglasses, one curl peeking out through his backwards cap, whenever he assures Nicky everything is safe with a cocky wink. Joe, self-assured, his fingertips loosely on the holster of his gun as he goes first into potential danger.

Nicky hasn’t prayed in a long time. But he quietly mumbles some half-forgotten formula, looking up, touching the tiny golden cross his nonna gave him on his confirmation day and he wears more in her memory than as a reminder of the faith he grew up in.

Pink light is creeping through the gap in the curtains when the word finally comes – everybody is safe, and the plan to abduct a member of the royal family has been foiled by the secret service.

Nicky is exhausted, and the dark circles under his eyes are purple, when he jumps from the bed, and hugs Joe tight in palpable relief, tears on his cheeks.

And then, suddenly, Joe is wiping at the salty drops with his thumb, and murmuring that everything is fine, and Nicky can feel his breath fan over his skin, and there is no way he can stop himself from closing his eyes and breathing out Joe’s name.

And then Joe kisses him, and Nicky kisses him back, and it’s nothing compared to the chaste, fumbling kisses with Philip, and then –

And then Joe’s earpiece, which he threw on the armchair after he got the good news, beeps, and Nicky remembers.

He pushes Joe away with a trembling hand on his chest, and Joe makes a sound as if he’s wounded, and Nicky needs him to understand.

“It’s not you, Joe, it’s – it’s my enemies.”

It barely makes sense, but it’s – it’s a bunch of conflicting things that tumble out of his mouth in no logical order.

There’s the fact that Joe will be fired if somebody finds out. There’s the fact that Nicky wants more than just a quick hook up to release the tension. There’s the fact that Nicky is Joe’s boss, that he doesn’t want Joe to feel pressured. There’s the fact that if Joe and Nicky are together, then Joe will be in danger as a part of the royal family, too –

It takes Joe three attempts to shut Nicky up verbally, and finally he resorts to kissing as a way more effective manner.

And then he tells Nicky he doesn’t want this to be a one-time thing, and that he’ll gladly resign if it means being with Nicky, and that he’s not doing this out of any sort of misplaced obligation towards a client. And that he’s already in danger from Nicky’s enemies, because – and Nicky swears he melts at the intensity in Joe’s voice – anyone will have to come through him to get to Nicky, whether he’d by Nicky’s side as his bodyguard, or as something else.

He sounds solemn, as if it’s an undeniable truth, the same way the sun comes up in the east and water boils at a hundred degrees. It makes Nicky shiver, the promise in those words.

He remembers how it felt when he asked Philip if Philip wanted to be Nicky’s boyfriend. It’s a silly question, juvenile and clumsy, yet he repeats it now, to Joe, with the same beating heart. Butterflies make it hard to breathe as he nervously waits for an answer.

Joe shakes his head.

“You’re not my boyfriend,” he says, and then, before Nicky can interpret this in the worst possible way, “You’re is more to me than anyone can dream. You’re the moon when I’m lost in darkness and warmth when I shiver in cold. And your kiss thrills me more than anything else ever could, even if I lived a millennium. Your heart overflows with the kindness of which this world is not worthy. I love you beyond measure and reason. You’re not my boyfriend. You’re all and you’re more.”

And, well. Nicky may not be Joe’s boyfriend, but when they finally leave the room, Joe’s definitely not Nicky’s bodyguard anymore.

#asked!#I write things #kaysanova #joenicky

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leocentrico · 2 years

Text

It's a poke (No It's a stab wound!)

---

Leo can't seem to stop poking himself, over and over. For a reason, none of them know why. (THIS IS NOT TCEST, I assure you can read this with your mind at ease)

Tw: Leo will be referenced to hurting himself in several minor ways intentionally. He also stabs himself with his sword at the end by mistake

Leo is a fidgeter, give the teen a pen and you'd get it returned in a worn state, pushed in and out and in and out to the point the gear gave out, leaving one stuck with an exposed pen end. Something Donnie would find annoying, having lost several good pens to this behaviour. Not...that..he’s bitter.... no.. who doesn't love having to throw away perfectly good pens that were now not worth the mess risk as the ink would be left to rub against whatever it could. Don couldn't possibly care...

That annoyance however doesn't stop Donnie from watching Leo as he does it, counting the number of pushes the poor pen could take before it’d break. Then witness as Leo then took to jabbing the pen into his thighs, poke, poke, poke, it didn't seem to end, it only haltered in pace, slowing as his attention was caught or increased in speed as Don watched those facial features construct into something of a worry, only a hinting recognition of pain as he drew his blood. By the time Leo was done there would be little indents left behind in the end, leaving behind blue or red, tiny little dots littering the leaf green of his skin.

Donnie noted that this behaviour did not just involve pens, no, it could be pencils sometimes instead, pressed into his flesh until the sharp bit broke or embedded in his skin and yet he would keep going with whatever wood was left behind. A constant repetitive motion of pressure.

Honestly give Leo any sort of small pointed object and he’d be using it in some strange way. It was as if he craved the small inch of pain Donnie mused, catching his brother running his fingers against the edges of paper, budding paper cuts painting the edges of tree slices a dotting red.

Or sometimes he’d find his brother intently sliding needles through the first layer of his skin, one by one until his hand was a messed up mesh of claws.

It was unnerving to put it simply, concerning Raph would argue instead. Though to Donnie, he supposed he could just settle on worrying. Especially when Leo would hold just the tip of his handle upon his sword and bump the smooth end bit into his hip. Just as he did right now.

“Can you stop that?” Donnie sighs typing away a code into his tech wrist, “you've wacked your thigh three hundred and forty-two times by now and I may not be the medic but you must agree you're going to bruise.”

Leo stiffens, turning on his heel to glance at Donnie, the sky of new york painting a lovely picture behind him as he pursed his lips. “Pfft.” he sputters through his mouth, waving his hand dismissively. “That's nothing.”

“Nothing?” The purple brother raises a brow, lowering his arm as he does so, having finished the last input. “I can already see a forming welt.” he accused, turning sharply on his heel to corner his brother on the roof, invading the once precious space between them.

Leo finally stops tapping his side at that, lowering his sword down to his hip to avoid scratching Don’ by mistake. “It's fine Tello.” He hums, stepping back only to wince as he turned his head around to watch his left foot barely teeter as he pushed himself forward again. “Don't worry your nerdy little head about it, mm k.”

Don grabs at Leo’s arm, pulling him closer, as he peered between the junction of his shoulder and neck towards the long fall below. “Then explain this.” He demands, a hint of an accusation to his tone as he lifted the arm higher, the little pinpoint indents swimming in colour among the fading sun, adding to all the red upon the green. “Because this.” He holds the limb tighter, digging his marks among all the others. “This does not look fine, at all, Nardo.” He spits Leo's name with venom, it's harsh, harsher then it could have been and it makes his brother's stomach swirl something nasty, tasting his bile bubbling at the back of his throat.

“I know.” Leo heaves feeling sicker, his limbs putty as though the thought to pull away had never occurred, instead, he leans further into the harsh embrace and witnesses Donnie loosening his grip. “I know it's not, actually fine..” he hisses, almost chasing the touch as Donnie released his arm to cross his arms in a fixed stare. “I just…need to.”

“Need to?” Don prys, pressing his arms closer to his chest as he leaned back in. “Are you addicted to the feeling, or?” He taps into his old smart guy role Leo muses watching as Don pulled up a file, a little hologram spinning in the corner of the page looking eerily like Leo.

Great, the blue ninja leans back drumming his finger against his thigh as he held his sword, it seemed his brother did indeed have files on them…

touchingly…creepy.

“Are you going to answer?” Don asks, breaking the silence Leo had embraced for a moment. “I've been wondering these things for months now.”

“sorta” Leo sighs, “the pain is kind of a plus side, it grounds me” he confesses, taping his forming bruise. “And I usually stop when it gets too bad and move onto a new spot.”

Donnie records this down of course, and Leo can't bring himself to feel worried, instead, he sighs as the pressure within his chest eases with each word.

“It's more the repetitive motion,” he adds on, gesturing broadly with his sword. “It's like I need to do it to focus, and it's soothing, grounding.” He groans sighing into his hand, “Ughh.” he pulls his palm over his face. “I don't know how to put it-”

“Leo.” Don grumbles, waving his hand “I think I get it, stop stressing”

“Uh?” Leo blinks, trying to get a good read of his brother's pensive face. “Thx?” He moves his sword, feeling somewhat unsure as Donnie just stared at him, taking his notes, and without thinking Leo pokes his weapon into his leg and wince-s

“Ow.” he yelps, feeling the cool steel pierce his skin, the cold feeling fading with the metal's retreating form, leaving behind a building swelling and burning feeling

“Leo!” Don yelps tearing his eyes away from his project. “WHAT THE BANANA PANCAKES!?”

“It’s just a poke.” “ITS A STAB WOUND”

Don grabs at his arm again, the one holding the weapon to be exact which promptly clatters to the ground as Donnie drags him forward.

“Your, your” The purple turtle's cheeks are puffing out, looking comical as he rips off Leo's mask to press against the wound.

“SO RECKLESS.” he presses down tightly to the wound and Leo hisses at the feeling, feeling somewhat vulnerable without his headpiece.

“We are going home right now, and we are getting you patched up, and shell ill invent a soft poking device for you ya dummy so that you can stop being a bigger dummy than usual.”

Donnie is rambling now, but it’s alright because Leo's head feels foggy and he’s not registering anything other than the steady pressure of Don's hand on his leg. Closing his eyes Leo leans forward, resting his forehead against Don's shoulder, sighing as he rests his weight, chasing the feeling of support.

Don stiffens. “When was the last time you slept?”

“Mm, next question,” Leo murmurs and that's all the confirmation Don needs to finish up by tying the bandana around the wound and promptly wrapping his arms around his shell.

“Aw is that a hug?” Leo chirps, then wheezes as Donnie squeezes his sides way too tight and lifts him about two inches.

“Nope, I'm carrying you,” Don grumbles attempting a penguin shuffle.

“No. NO” Leo panics. “Put me down, I can portal US” “I CAN PORTAL US.”

#tmnt #tmnt leonardo #tmnt fanfiction #Leonardo&Donnie #tmnt donatello

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