#So I thought I was just going to have to scrap more than half of a notebook! D:
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Neighbour Ghost x reader 7
2.3k | angst, drinking irresponsibly
If Simon could do it all again (part 1)
“You don’t look good, sir.” The sergeant stood at attention, looking straight into his lieutenant’s eyes.
Simon had to commend the balls of Kevlar required to walk right up to him to point the fact out unprompted, but that was why he liked Sgt. Eric Jefferies the most. You had no time to waste when you raced with death on the regular - he would tell anyone they didn’t look good.
He knew he didn’t - it was the same bland face he had the pleasure to look at in the mirror each day. Annoyed, but not surprised by the darkening circles under his eyes, stark against his pale complexion. It didn’t help that he nicked himself in the jaw shaving that morning.
“Dining hall, sergeant,” he grunted.
“You’re barely eating, Riley,” Lt. Ramsay said, the same bloke who’d catch him sneaking back to his room. “You know you’re contributing to the food waste when you don’t ask for seconds, yeah?”
It was true, and the table chuckled, but Simon continued to shove whatever was on his plate into his mouth. It was enough to not starve.
“He never leaves his room anymore, not even on the weekends,” another lieutenant quipped, but was promptly elbowed by the officer next to him.
That, too, was true.
Simon had nowhere else to be, like how it always was before his mum came to Hereford. These days his flat was too empty and cold with the hole in his chest. He never came back after that night.
It wasn’t like he was thriving in his quarters either, but it was still a little better – at least it was untouched by you. Though his nights were dreamless at first, he kept waking, and waking until the dreams started.
It was a glitch in the universe, wasn’t it? That the memory that played in his mind to insanity was the last time he saw you, about crawling back to your door with limbs that didn’t feel like his, vision swaying with the lights, coming on and off, his heartbeat ringing in his head.
It’s not supposed to end this way… I want to try…
He sighed at another disturbed night. Tea would slow his mind. Instead, he found the box of Darjeeling you gifted him to take back to base. ‘So we can have the same tea over the phone,’ you’d said.
Was there a way to escape you, make you stop haunting? He needed an exorcism.
He put it back in his drawer. One day, it wouldn’t have to hurt anymore.
And the nightmares came back. It was once, then twice, and thrice a week of waking up in cold sweat in the dark.
Simon’s performance slipped. There was a reason sleep deprivation was a popular torture method. He requested sleeping medications - his career was the last thing he had and he wasn’t about to let it go. Any unrestful sleep interrupted by the vivid images his sickly mind conjured up was still better than no sleep at all.
Quitting you was impossible when the thoughts still followed. If pushing you away didn’t work, maybe basking in the memories would, even if it hurt more. Aching for your warmth, the scraps of it, he’d go anywhere you’d been to see your ghost. The pain was better than the void.
“You lads are volunteering at the soup kitchen this Saturday,” he announced to Sgt. Jefferies after hours.
“Saturday, sir?”
“It’s good for you. Reminds you why you’re doing all this.”
“Can’t tell me what to do,” he teased. “You’re not my L.T. on the weekends.”
Simon’s stare didn’t waver and the other bloke’s smile dropped.
“Copy, sir. I’ll tell the others.”
When the four burly SAS soldiers entered the kitchen, chatter and clanks stalled as all eyes turned to them.
“May… May I help you young lads?” one of the middle-aged ladies said.
Simon recognised her from his last visit, but he quickly realised this was a silly idea. He was out of place, knowing no one there.
He flashed half a smile. “Just wanted to give a hand. Got any lifting to do?”
The lieutenant and his sergeants hauled the food items to the kitchen, including the bread which he taught his sergeants to half and butter. They were offered to peel potatoes, but Simon decided it was wise to leave it to the pros instead.
People still avoided his gaze while his boys exchanged pleasantries with the other volunteers; Eric even got called handsome by the group of older ladies he impressed with his strength as he hefted the sack of potatoes. While the night was as pleasant, it wasn’t the same if you weren’t there to hold his hand and laugh at his jokes.
When the boys invited Simon to the pub at the end of the night, he said no. He thought he was ready, but even after weeks, coming back to his flat was just as sickening.
The silence pierced. Despite all the lights flicked on, the place made his skin crawl, the space too vast and empty. But he didn’t become a lieutenant from succumbing to his emotions.
As he lay in bed, he recalled that you too slept there once. That the mattress once dipped with the gentle weight of you, but unlike the bed that bounced back, you’d left a lasting imprint that disfigured his soul.
Simon wondered what you were up to, if you knew he was there drowning, miserable in his cold room. He couldn’t decide if he preferred your door to be closer or further: closer so he could catch a glimpse of you without meaning to, or further so he wouldn’t be so tempted to go over and get on his knees.
You said begging only reduced you to nothing, but for you, he’d beg and beg. There wasn’t much to lose when he wasn’t much to begin with. He was a stray for a reason.
He tossed and turned, and was granted a wink of sleep before the same bloody dream flashed in his mind.
I don’t care how hard it gets…
He sat up, feet thudding on the floor as he rubbed his face with a heavy sigh. It was always that one moment, like a broken record. Why couldn’t it be you on a night out, or kissing you on the kitchen counter, or simply, you smiling? It was a curse. If only the heart could follow where one’s feet went.
With no plans on coming here, his sleeping pills lay on his desk at base. He looked through the cabinets to distract himself, finding various bottles of dusty, unopened spirits he was gifted. They weren’t his cup of tea.
So he packed, to get his mind off you, from spiralling and digging a deeper grave for itself.
It was time for a change. With the accommodation he was provided, he never needed to rent, but he did anyway in case his mum ever needed the place. It was a good call he did, but with the divorce on the way, keeping it was pointless. He’d rather spend the extra money on his mum and nephew.
Yes, he came to remember- not to forget, but you wouldn’t leave, would you? In the dead of night, when he pulled the hoodie he’d forgotten about out of his wardrobe, he decided he’d had enough of his bloody flat and drove back to base.
He still had another weekend to before his next deployment, a two-month mission. He’d finish packing then.
“You’re right, sir, it feels good volunteering.” Eric grinned at his lieutenant. “We’re going again tomorrow. Also one of the ladies is introducing her daughter to Sam. See you there then?”
Never again. “Dining hall, sergeant.”
Simon was a fool for not finishing his lunch sooner and bolting, instead lingering for the announcement. With how atrocious he did on his tests, he must have been beyond high to still hope for a miracle, that despite everything, he still had a chance at a promotion.
He didn’t make to the top 3.
Amidst the wishes from the table, Lt. Ramsay’s turned to him. His grateful smile faltered.
Simon’s fists clenched. It was supposed to be him, his. But who was he to be mad. It was the fruit of his incompetence. He knew this was coming. Things were going to shit. The unforgiving truth was staring right at him mercilessly: he had nothing else.
He left for his office.
“Sir, sir!” Sgt. Jefferies called. “We’re heading to the pub tonight. Come with us.”
He gritted his teeth. Word travelled too fast.
“Let’s get out of the base for a bit,” he continued when he caught up to his long strides. “It’s the last weekend before we ship out.”
Simon eyed the display of vibrant bottles behind the bar as he listened to his sergeants’ orders, the names foreign to him. Above, the telly showed a rugby match rerun no one paid attention to.
“Jefferies, how much you reckon it takes me to get pissed?”
He chuckled. “You, sir? At least 10,” he said before taking a swig of his beer.
“Nah, 15 sounds more like it.” Richie, the designated driver for the evening piped up.
Sam downed his first two shots, hissing as he slammed the glasses on the bar. “Agreed. Do you know how much he lifts?” He nodded at Simon’s biceps, bulging under his loose black shirt.
It was a genuine question. Simon didn’t want to get pissed, he only wanted to forget. He didn’t mean to go over his limit he had no idea was at seven.
Drunk Simon was a weeping, blabbering mess. It didn’t help that he was massive, because his sergeants had trouble getting him to the car before Richie drove him to the address of his flat he barely managed to gurgle out before passing out.
“Sir, you’re paying for the bloody cleaning if you get sick in my car!”
Why did he think this was a good idea? He was never a drinker, barely even touched alcohol socially. It was the poison that turned his dad into a demon, and it too became his downfall. The only thing he thought he would always have – his resolve, let him down too. He’d lost you, his mum whom he was supposed to protect, his future, and now his dignity.
Desperation was a lethal sentiment.
And that dream came again, that he stumbled to your door. Legs wobbly, his vision in and out as the world spun in slow motion.
“Luv… Luv, it’s not supposed to end like this,” he slurred, the same line he always opened with.
A marionette, a prisoner in his own head, it was a loop he couldn’t escape. The awful show had to commence to end the same way each time.
“I’m sick of losing and I wouldn’t know what to do when you leave, after how much you’ve given. Instead, I left when you needed me. I should have been there for you, gone through all this with you, no matter how hard it got.
“If you would give me a chance, I’ll quit the SAS. I’d start all over again. I’ll butcher the carrots and apples with the bloody peeler, I’ll let the steakhouse mess up our reservation and eat a dozen soapy tacos… If you ever show up at my door with your pie again, I swear I’d kiss you, not scare you. And I’ll never let go. If it has to hurt, I want it to be you.”
The door clicked open, and like how it always went, it meant the dream was coming to an end.
“You make it worth it,” he muttered as his vision faded.
…
Simon gasped for air, this time staring up at blinding lights. He shielded his wet eyes, chuckling to himself.
“Bloody hell, I think I’m sick on the inside.”
“Only your past, but you are not your past.” Your voice echoed in the distance.
His body was too heavy to move. “Could you forgive me, for all of this?”
“Could you? You need to forgive more than you need to be forgiven.”
He laughed as another tear slipped.
Simon woke on his couch, still in his clothes from the night before. Dreaming of you always drained him, leaving him hollow and out of touch with his body.
He sat up with a groan, rubbing his face as the dizziness settled. He didn’t remember much after getting dragged to Richie’s car. Judging by the gnarly bruise on his arm, he probably fell last night, but he was glad he found his way back to his flat in one piece.
Stumbling to the shower, he hissed when his toe stubbed one of the boxes on the floor. It was a horrendous decision to drink so much, still having to pack the rest of his stuff. He leaned over the sink, staring at his bloodshot eyes.
His sergeant was right. He didn’t look good. He never did. What the fuck are you doing to yourself, Riley?
With his hair damp, he made his way to the kitchen. As he realised he’d packed all his tea stash in one of the bloody boxes, a series of knocks echoed in his flat.
He grumbled. It better be important for someone to disturb his peace, especially with the pounding of his head. He couldn’t be bothered putting a shirt on before he swung the door open.
It was you, a pie in hand like the first time he met you all those months ago.
“Hi, is Simon in?”
His heart lurched as he crushed you in a hug.
“Thought you said you were going to kiss me.”
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#call of duty#cod#cod fanfic#cod x reader#call of duty x reader#call of duty angst#cod angst#call of duty x you#cod x you#female reader#simon riley#simon ghost riley#ghost cod#ghost x reader#ghost x you#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley angst#ghost angst#neighbor!ghost
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CYN THUNKS !! CYN THUNKS !!!
Hello Connor
Cyn is such a little goober, these hcs aren't featuring as much in my up-and-coming murder drones au fic, but still Cyn (the original drone) deserved so much better
Cyn and the absolute solver are separate entities in the same way that Uzi and the slover are different
Cyn has been helplessly watching everything that she's done, only half aware of the things around her
That being said, she does have some control over the intelligence of the solver (e.g. liking N)
Before the slover, Cyn was actually quite coordinated, even being a skilled dancer
Pre-solver Cyn was a teenage daughter unit like Uzi and she had blue eyes
Cyn is just embarrassed at the way the solver cannot control her body and how it's corrupted her physical being
Cyn is a cat person but still likes dogs too
Cyn is much younger than N in terms of programmed age (13-15 range (I hc N, V, J and Uzi to all be about 18-19))
Cyn liked to make flower bouquets before being scrapped
She will come back if the solver is destroyed (with something similar to the patch (more of a hope for ep 8) (and also part of the fic))
But not the same, basically as a brand new drone
It was Cyn's idea for the dds to have the nanite acid antidote be their saliva (she was going more for cute dog licking itself) and not the solver's
The solver could have pretended to be Tessa without her skin, it mostly did it for the creepy vibes
So yeah, that's Cyn. If anyone has seen N and Cyn and is enjoying these, please request another character and I'll tell you my thoughts on them.
#answered#murder drones#murder drones cyn#the absolute solver#headcanon#n murder drones#cyn lives in the solver's head rent free#well technically it was her head first#but she's lost her body privileges#sorry normal people
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Many months of paper review (Patreon)
#Doodles#For the record this is all on the same page lol#Basically a full year of going ''Oh this paper's so nice I wish I could use it'' lol#Unfortunately there was a pretty serious batch error that I didn't notice when I first picked it up :(#It's from my favourite brand so I was like ''Oh it'll be fine! I know I like this paper already!''#Always - check. Always check!#The lines were printed wobbly and askew (so not perpendicular) and there was a crease down the right side of most pages#It's still an absolute treat to work with but editing is a lot more difficult with those errors#So I thought I was just going to have to scrap more than half of a notebook! D:#(Since I'd already drawn on a few pages up to those batch errors)#But then came the Scratch Pages idea to save the day! Lol#I have gotten a lot of utility out of this notebook after all! I'm not as gentle or careful with it as my current-main notebook#I can be a little rougher and keep the guidelines or not colour since it's all intended to be cleaned up later anyhow :)#Although all the scratch comics are up on my Patreon currently lol - I got a lot of mileage out of the concept >:3c#Plus a few of them have ended up here after all lol - most things with lines lately have been from this notebook#I'm definitely going to be using this method going into the future too! In fact I have the next two notebooks picked out for testing :D#Since this one is only one page out from being completely finished ah :'D It's always bittersweet to put a notebook to rest <3#I also like how you can watch my hair grow in real time lol#And my style change in small increments :D#It's always harder to tell with my chibis but it's there!
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dean winchester consumes my mind LAWDDD I beg for anything with that man, surviving off of scraps looking for more top male reader x dean 🤕
- 🛸
No Longer a Mentor
Sub!Bottom Dean Winchester x Top!Male Reader
☆ Word Count: 1,512 ☆
After spending his young adult years with you, his mentor, more than his father, Dean found himself falling for you. He eventually made a move and forever changed the dynamic of your relationship
🕯️: well luckily for u, i just finished this draft :3
CW: Age Gap, First Time Bottoming, Blowjob, Fingering, Frottage (Sort Of), Creampie
Dean’s known you for a couple years, you're a friend of his dad’s and a fellow hunter. You became his mentor in place of his father, who often hunted on his own and left Dean in your care. You liked to stay in your state since the area was basically a supernatural magnet while his father preferred to travel the country so he chose you to finally allow Dean to stay in one place for more than a week. If you were anybody else, Dean would've been annoyed that his dad didn't take him along despite his age and experience. Instead of going to college, Dean spent those years learning to hunt with his father and mostly you. Thanks to all the time you spend with each other, his allegiance to you is almost stronger than his allegiance to his father. He hangs on your every word and treats you like a god. It's thanks to you that he finally accepted his bisexuality. But he doesn't want to tell you that.
He first started feeling differently towards you when you started to become more physical with him. You often hold onto his shoulder with your strong hand or pull him out of the way by his waist and it drives him crazy. He so desperately wants to feel your hands on other parts of his body and vice versa. Your voice makes him weak in the knees and you sound especially attractive when you've found your prey. You're much older than him but he can't get rid of his feelings for you. He tries his best to be content with just having a crush.
After you two had dinner, you decided to drink with him. The two of you laughed and talked over a few cans of beer and deepened your relationship further.
“You ever been in a relationship, [Name]?” Dean asks, slightly tipsy.
“A few. I mostly slept around in my college years and experimented a bit with other hunters but in the end I decided to marry my job instead.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to marry someone I could tell everything to so I tried dating within my circle but none of the hunters seemed to click with me in the ways that really matter.”
“That makes sense…then you probably haven't…” He trails off.
“I probably haven't what?”
“Had sex…lately……”
You laugh. “No, I haven't. Honestly, I think getting laid would really help me. It's been a rough couple weeks.”
“I…” Dean gulps. “I could help with that….if you don't mind…….being with a guy..”
You look at him in surprise. “You're drunk.”
“I’ve only had two cans and a half…You know I don't get drunk that fast.”
You look at him differently, no longer with the eyes of a mentor. “You’ll bottom?”
Dean nods.
You smile in amusement. “I might be a little rough, can you handle that?”
He nods again, more enthusiastically this time.
“Come here.” You motion for him to come over to your side of the table. He stands in front of you. “Kneel.” You order. Dean immediately kneels, his cock steadily growing in size. You unbuckle your belt and pull down your underwear. Dean stares at your cock in awe, body heating up as he watches you jerk it to its true size.
“Fuck. You’re big.” He breathes out.
“Too big?”
“I can handle it.” He says, licking his lips.
“Attaboy.” You run your hands through his hair. Dean blushes. “Ever done this before?”
“Never..” His eyes are trained on your length.
“Is this your first time with a man?”
“Yeah…”
Your gaze changes. Dean shivers in arousal. “How long have you wanted this?”
“A long time…I’ve been…fingering myself, in case we….” He looks away.
You grin, turned on by the thought of that. “You'll have to show me that some day.”
Dean’s face gets redder.
“Now, let me see how you suck cock.”
He's so hard right now. He opens his mouth and slowly swallows your length. He makes a dragged out moan in pleasure as he feels your thickness enter him. Pre cum leaks out of his cock as he imagines how it’ll feel in his ass. He bobs his head up and down enthusiastically, mimicking his past girlfriends by simultaneously swirling his tongue around your shaft.
“Fuck–” You moan. “That's it– good boy.”
Words can't express how happy Dean gets when you praise him.
“You're better at this than I expected, baby.” You smile at his cuteness. He can't hide how pleased he is. “You like sucking dick, don't you? I never thought you’d be a cock slut, Dean.”
He moans. He’ll happily be your cock slut. He pulls away and licks your length in a very sexy way, gaining more confidence thanks to his elevated horniess. “I love your cock, sir.”
“Of course, you’re my cock slut.” You press your hand against his cheek. “Stand up and take your clothes off, I wanna use your other hole.”
Dean’s cock throbs even more. He stands up and quickly removes his clothes, shivering under your hungry and lustful gaze. You pat your lap and he quickly sits on top of you, your shafts pressed against each other.
You grope his ass. “I don’t have any lube..” You trail off, mesmerized by his soft butt.
“I already fingered myself earlier.” He smiles.
“Good boy.” You praise him. “Then spit’ll be enough. Say ‘ah’.” You bring two fingers into Dean’s mouth. He sucks on your fingers in the sluttiest way he can before you take them out and gently push one of your saliva covered fingers inside his soft hole. You give him a moment before adding the second, then you start to finger him.
Dean lets out the prettiest moan you’ve ever heard. “[Name]~” He arches his back and subconsciously thrusts his hips, his cock rubbing against yours. “Your- yours feel so- fuck~” He groans. “So much better!”
You moan as well thanks to the sudden friction. You bring him into a sloppy kiss, the temperature between the two of you steadily rising. Dean pulls away first, more desperate for air, and presses his forehead against your shoulder. “Don't stop– mm- gonna come~” He whimpers. Your fingers find his prostate, an immediate gasp of pleasure leaving Dean’s lips. He throws his head back. “There! Yes!” He moans, grinding against your cock even faster. The combination of his moans, his expression, and his cock against yours all contribute to bringing you to closer your orgasm.
Dean comes first, cum splattering over the two of you. Yours comes second thanks to the amazing look on Dean’s face.
“You're so fucking sexy, Dean, you know that?” You take your fingers out and knead his ass.
“I know.” He gives you a kiss. “I want you inside me.”
You lift Dean up and slowly lower him down on your cock. You both let out noises of pleasure as you penetrate him. He bites down on his lip, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of his ass stretching to accommodate your girth. Once you bottom out, you give him time to get used to it. “Your cunt feels fucking amazing.” You groan. It's hard to hold yourself back but thankfully for you, Dean has no intention of waiting any longer. He places his hands on your shoulders and starts riding you. He quickly loses his momentum as the pleasure begins to overwhelm him. You help him out by grabbing his waist and doing the work for him, allowing Dean to fully enjoy himself.
He knew anal sex would feel good, especially because it's anal sex with you, but he never really had an idea of how good it’d feel until now. Now he's completely blissed out and only able to moan like a slut. It's especially thanks to your quick and rough speed that he's unable to think properly. You couldn't get yourself to go slower even if you tried. His ass just feels way too good.
“Your ass is perfect, Dean–” You groan. “So fucking good-” You hold him and stand up then gently place him on the table after clearing it of the empty cans. You rut into him like a monster, so horny that you feel like you could fuck him all night. You can never get enough of him.
Dean arches his back and shakes as ropes of cum spurt out of his dick. You know you should stop, or at least slow down, but you can't. “‘M sorry baby, fuck–” You moan, hanging your head low as you find your orgasm approaching. “‘M gonna come inside, okay? Gonna fill up your tight fucking cunt with my seed–”
Dean’s conscious enough to understand you. “Ye- yes!” He grins. He's been wanting to know what it feels like to get creampied. “Co- come inside!”
Encouraged by his words, you spill your cum into his warm and welcoming hole. Your thrusts come to a stop and the two of you start to catch your breaths.
“That…was so fucking good.” Dean says, leaning back.
#wicks🕯works#top male reader#male reader#dean winchester x male reader#bottom dean winchester#dean winchester x reader#supernatural x male reader#supernatural x reader#supernatural smut#dean winchester smut#bottom male character
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mise en rose.
Pairing: OPLA!Roronoa Zoro x Reader
Word Count: 3,806 words
Warnings: Swearing, alcohol use
The tune that your father used to whistle now leaves your lips the same way it left his.
Notes skip offkey across the water as your boat rocks gently, waves lapping up against the wooden sides. The moon shines brightly overhead. You shift in place and wait for a tug on your fishing line, the basket at your feet waiting patiently for its first meal.
Archy will be happy if you actually catch something for once. There’s not a lot of fish around here, and you’re not exactly sure why; something about the aquatic plants in the area, or if you were to believe the old man in the village square, a curse that swallows anything with fins that swims too close. The last time you caught something was months ago, and it was tiny and more bone than flesh.
You don’t really care. It’s enough to just sit out here and feel the waves.
Cheeks puffing up with air for another round of music, you let your gaze drift out towards the ocean and abruptly freeze.
There’s something floating in the distance.
A piece of debris. Wood from a hull, a scrap of sail perhaps?
The thought that it may be the remnant of a ship destroyed at sea is enough for you to reel in your line and start rowing towards it, anticipation bubbling up and drowning out any thoughts of a midnight snack.
You get close enough and your anticipation gives way to shock.
“Oh, shit.”
The guy clinging to the chunk of wood stirs and lifts his head, and you almost hit him upside the head with your oar.
“Oh, shit. You’re alive.”
—
“You say you’re going out fishing and you come back with a half-dead man with three swords?” Archy looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm, but this time, you don’t blame him. This is certainly uncharted territory and your older brother is hopeless without a map. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“What was I supposed to do, leave him to die?”
“I dunno! Yeah!” he gestures to the waterlogged man lying halfway on the living room couch, one arm and leg hanging off the side. “Look at him. He’s probably a pirate!”
“Damn, you think?” Crouching down, you drag your eyes across Swordsman’s ragged clothing and grin. You might’ve just rescued someone with a bounty on his head. “That’d be so cool.”
“That would not be cool.”
You shrug. “Well, I brought him in already, so you might as well help me unless you want a dead body in our living room.”
“You little –” Taking a deep breath, Archy pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a long, loud groan, and you know that you’ve won once more. “Fine. But as soon as he’s even a little bit better, we’re calling the Marines.”
“Okay,” you agree amicably. “So, what do we do first?”
“We have to undress him and warm him up.”
“Got it.” Your eager fingers go straight for the swords.
The man comes to life without warning. Seizing your wrist, he cracks one eye open and speaks in a low and rasping voice.
“Don’t. Touch. My swords.”
“Uh,” you say.
“We got to get everything off, mate,” Archy grumbles, and your guest turns his glare onto your brother. “I know how to clean swords and scabbards. I’ll dry them off and put them under the couch afterward.”
“I’ll do it myself.”
With a grunt, Swordsman pushes you away and attempts to sit up. He struggles for a full minute, jaw clenched and muscles trembling; his arms, strong and sturdy as they are, look like they’ll buckle at any moment.
Your eyebrows shoot up to the ceiling when he actually manages to prop himself up.
“Well, that’s impressive,” you mutter, making eye contact with Archy. He rolls his eyes. “Can you remove your clothes and wrap yourself up too?”
It takes a few moments before Swordsman has enough breath to respond. “I’m fine,” he says once he can.
“You’re really not,” Archy replies.
“You’re probably really dehydrated,” you say. “How long were you out there?”
The man stares at you, opens his mouth, pauses.
“Three days. Maybe.”
You gape. “You spent three days floating in the East Blue and you’re not dead?” You look at his neck for gills. “Are you a fishman or something?”
“No.”
“Really? I mean, I never met any fishmen before, so …”
His eye twitches. “I’m not a fishman.”
“Well, okay, if you say so.”
What a weird guy. Then again, you’ve heard that all sorts of characters traverse the Blue Sea. Devil fruit users, talking animals, clowns. A person who can survive the ocean for a couple days on a piece of wood is hardly out of the question.
“You’re dehydrated, in any case,” you conclude. “I’ll get you some water.”
—
After gruffly accepting a glass of water and putting on some dry clothes, Swordsman proceeds to “sleep it off” for the next twenty-four hours. When he finally wakes up, it’s in the middle of the night and you’ve just started rereading your favorite book.
“Oh, he’s awake,” you say when he stirs, swinging your feet off the coffee table and leaning forward in your chair to observe.
He grimaces under the dim light of your lamp, lifting an arm to press it over his eyes. “How long was I out,” he grouses.
“’Bout a day.”
“Shit.” He wriggles around in the fuzzy blanket you’ve wrapped around him. Once he’s loosened its hold enough, he sits up slowly and looks around, expression equal parts drowsy and wary. “Where –”
“Archy took your swords and cleaned them. They’re under the couch.”
“I told you not to touch them.”
“I didn’t. My brother did.”
Casting you the most unamused glare, Swordsman bends over to look underneath the couch. He pulls his swords out and places them in his lap, inspecting the white one first with a care that makes you rest your chin in your hand, curious and charmed. His brow furrows and you know that he finds your brother’s work to be satisfactory when he moves on to inspect the other two.
“Our uncle was a bladesmith in Loguetown. He taught Archy a thing or two before he passed.”
“You’re bladesmiths?”
“Coopers. Uncle was the rebel, I guess.” You close your book and stand up. “There’s leftover soup in the fridge. I’ll heat up the broth for you.”
This time, the man does not refuse your help and only nods. As you head to the kitchen and start to reheat the soup, you glance over and catch him sipping from the glass of water you’d topped off while he was asleep. Somehow, even that small action intrigues you. You smile.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Ladling the steaming broth into a small bowl, you stick a spoon in and walk back to where Swordsman is, sitting beside him. “Here you go. Don’t drink it too fast, and all that.”
He takes the soup, blows on a spoonful, tastes it. His eyes close, and something funny happens in your stomach when he opens them again to look at you.
“’S good.”
“Really?” He nods and puts the bowl to his lips to drink directly from it. “Thanks.”
You let him finish the miso broth in silence. It gives you time to stare at him some more; even with the horrible sunburn and petroleum jelly smeared everywhere, he’s a very handsome man, that much you can tell, with broad shoulders and a pretty face and hair as green as forest moss. The three earrings on his left ear gleam gold and sway with every movement he makes.
“Are you gonna keep staring at me, or are you gonna ask me questions?”
“Hm? Oh!” Shaking your head in slight bewilderment, you smile. “Yeah, I guess it would be good to ask some questions … so, what’s your name, anyway?”
“Roronoa Zoro.”
You tilt your head with a frown. “Roronoa Zoro.” You taste the name in your mouth. “That sounds really familiar. Are you a pirate?”
“No. I hunt them.”
“You hunt them?”
“That’s what I said.”
You look at his swords again. His earrings. Three and three.
Shooting up from the couch, you dash to Archy’s room and slam the door open.
“Archimead! Wake up!” You grab your brother’s shoulders and rattle him.
“Shit – what?!” he gargles, pushing your face away with one meaty hand and sitting up. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“It’s Roronoa Zoro!”
“What?”
“The guy in our living room,” you shriek at him, practically shaking, “is the Pirate Hunter Roronoa Zoro. I fished Roronoa Zoro out of the fucking ocean.”
Archy stops rubbing his eye. “What.”
Soon enough, Zoro faces both you and your brother in the living room once more.
“You’re Roronoa Zoro? For real?” Archy asks him.
Zoro blinks up him. “Yeah.”
“Can you prove it?”
“‘Can you prove it’ – Archy, look at him. He’s got three earrings in his left ear and three fucking swords.”
“He could be some sort of copycat. We have no idea what Roronoa Zoro actually looks like.”
“You’re such a pessimist. Nobody would lug around three swords if they couldn’t use all of them at once.” You turn your attention back onto Zoro. “How the hell did you get stranded out there?”
He looks between the two of you, waiting for a moment before crossing his arms. “I was headed to Mirror Ball Island, but the boat I was on got caught in a whirlpool,” he says, displeased. “Then I got separated from the rest of the crew. Don’t know if they survived or not.”
“Mirror Ball Island?” you repeat. “That’s a three-day journey from here, at least.”
“Where’s here?”
“Dokusha Village.” You open one of the books on the table and point to a tiny strip of coast you’d labeled on the edge of the East Blue map. “Right there. You could buy a boat and sail west, straight to Mirror Ball Island.”
“I don’t have any beri on me right now,” Zoro says.
“Oh, yeah. Of course you don’t.” Archy puts his hands on his hips. “Well, the merchant ship is coming by in two weeks. If you’re all good by then, you can hitch a ride.”
“I’ll be fine by tomorrow night.”
You snort, closing the book and reclining back. “The rate you’re going, I don’t doubt it. Does that mean you want to leave earlier? You’ll still need a boat and supplies. Food, water, towels, sleeping gear. That all costs money. I mean, we could lend you some, but still.”
“I’ll work for it,” Zoro replies. “I don’t take and give nothing in return.”
Both you and Archy give a hum of approval.
—
True to his word, Roronoa Zoro is up and off the couch by the fourth day.
He doesn’t have a clue as to how to make barrels or buckets, which is expected, so he ends up helping with the grunt work of carrying staves into the workshop and stacking finished barrels. Other than that, there’s not much for him to do.
“Sorry if it’s boring,” you apologize during lunch, speaking through a mouthful of sandwich. “You’re kind of just hired muscle.”
Zoro shrugs, chewing on his own sandwich. Two girls walking by – Phoebe and Iris, the blacksmith’s daughters – spot him on the bench and giggle, hurrying past with glances over their shoulders. He appears not to care. “It’s fine.”
“I think you’re even stronger than my brother. Is it because of your training as a swordsman?”
“Probably,” he says.
“When did you start?”
“When I was eight.”
You nod sagely. “Not surprised. I’ve been helping around the workshop since I was a kid, and I only just finished my apprenticeship a few weeks ago. It’s good to start young.”
It seems that Zoro agrees by the way he grunts, stuffing the last piece of crust into his mouth.
When he’s done, you muster the courage to ask, “What’s it like, being a bounty hunter?”
Zoro raises an eyebrow at you. Then he gazes back out at the street. “It’s fine,” he responds. “Makes good money.”
You sigh exasperatedly. “Yeah, but, like, is it fun? Do you spend a lot of time at sea? See a lot of different places? Stuff like that.”
“I don’t do it for fun. My only goal is to become the world’s greatest swordsman.” He leans back and puts his hands behind his head. “It’s a shitton of traveling, both on ships and on land. I’ve been all over the East Blue.”
“Wow.” The word comes out as a sigh. You crunch longingly on a carrot stick. “That sounds amazing. It’s my dream to travel all over the world on a ship.”
“How come you’re here, then?”
You wince, hushing him hastily. Glancing behind you, you clear your throat and lean in to speak softly. “Archy hates the ocean. He worked on a merchant ship for a few months when he was eighteen and got super sick.” Upon reading Zoro’s blank expression, you clarify, “I can’t just leave him. I’m the only family he’s got now, and his younger sibling to boot. So Dokusha Village it is.”
“You’re staying because of your brother.”
“Yeah. I love him, so it’s fine.” There’s a familiar ache in your chest, but you push it down and elbow Zoro’s ribs in jest. (He doesn’t even move a muscle. Geez.) “Makes okay money. I got a bunch of adventure books to live through, anyway.”
It’s a little hard to meet your lunch companion’s eyes after that. You eat the rest of your carrots in silence, pretending to be occupied with finishing them. Zoro doesn’t utter another word.
But as the two of you get back to work, he seems a little warmer, a little less stiff. You make a silly joke and Zoro huffs out something that almost sounds like a laugh while Archy threatens to stick you in a rum barrel and roll you down a hill.
Perhaps you’ve made another friend.
—
“What are you making?”
You blow off the wood dust, closing one eye to cut a fin just right. “Shark. See?”
The bonfire you’d made crackles just a few feet away as you place the half-finished carving into Zoro’s palm. He picks it up with his other hand and twists it around, touching with intention, and you almost feel self-conscious with the way he’s examining it.
“Nice,” he finally says, and the praise makes you giddy. He hands the shark back to you.
“Thanks. I had a lot of practice.”
Zoro rests his elbows on the rock behind him and takes another swig of sake. You resume carving the shark’s fins, bare feet buried in the cool sand.
Archy’s on a date for once, so he left the two of you to your own devices for the night with a distracted wave goodbye and a warning that he’ll be back late. You took that as a chance to break into the alcohol after supper and drag Zoro down to the beach. The swordsman was willing to come along, though you suspect it was mostly for the sake.
“Ain’t that your third bottle?”
“I can hold my liquor.”
You stick your tongue out at him. “No need to brag.”
He wipes his mouth, dark brown eyes black in the firelight. They glint like steel when he looks over at you, but he doesn’t say anything – not that you’re surprised; sometimes Zoro just looks at whatever he wants without any reason. He’s not particularly complicated in that sense.
(You like that. Too many things in life are complicated.)
“Hey, Zoro.”
“Hm.”
Your lips purse. “Do you think my brother will get married one day?”
“How am I supposed to know?” His tone is flat.
“Well, I dunno! It’s just a question.” You frown, slowing in your work. “It’s just that after our parents died, he’s been too busy looking after me and the shop to court someone. He’s turning thirty next year and most people his age have settled down already. I feel kind of bad.”
“It’s not your fault,” Zoro says. “Wouldn’t he have more time now, anyway, since you can take care of yourself?”
“I think he’s been out for so long he doesn’t know how to date anymore.”
Zoro downs the rest of his sake. You know that there’s no advice he can give you regarding Archy’s marriage prospects, which doesn’t surprise you either. You suppose you just need someone to listen. It’s not like you can talk to Archy about it.
“Hell,” you remember, “I’m expected to be married by now, too. I’ve never even been on a date.”
“Really?”
“Nope. Why, are you surprised?”
Stretching his legs out in front of him, Zoro yawns and closes his eyes. “You just seem like the type.”
“What do you mean?”
“You talk a lot,” he says.
You burst out laughing. “Yeah, I do. Would that make me a good date?”
“How am I supposed to know?”
“I’m guessing you’ve never been on one, either?”
Zoro shrugs. He doesn’t look too torn up about it. “Waste of time,” he mutters.
Your grin widens. “Figured you’d say that,” you drawl, digging your blade into the shark’s mouth. “Dating doesn’t really help you become the world’s greatest swordsman, does it?”
“Nope.”
“I still think it might be fun, though. If you’re with the right person.” With that, you brush away the last curl of wood from your carving. After admiring it for a few seconds, you offer the shark to Zoro, bumping the nose softly against his cheek. He opens his eyes and turns his head to squint at it. “Here you go. All yours.”
His brow furrows as he takes it.
“It’s a going away gift. Since you’re leaving tomorrow,” you say. Folding your knife and putting it down beside you, you grab your bottle of sake and gulp down half of what remains. “Don’t forget it.”
One of the logs in the bonfire crumbles, falling into the coals. Orange sparks fly up into the smoke and disappear just as quickly. You poke at the fire with a stick, trying not to think about how sad you’re going to be tomorrow morning.
“I won’t forget,” Zoro says.
“I know.”
—
It’s almost dawn, and the family boat is packed up and ready to set sail.
“Got everything?” Archy asks, lowering into a squat to scan over all the supplies.
“Yeah.” The swordsman drags a hand through his hair. “Thanks again for the boat.”
“It’s nothing.” Your brother elbows your arm, and you sway. “Oi. He said thank you.”
“I know,” you mumble. For the first time this morning, you spare Zoro a glance and smile at him, but it’s shaky and fake and you really hate how your voice wobbles when you say, “You don’t have to thank us. Just have a safe – have a safe –” Your voice cracks, and you look down at your feet, eyes burning. “Have a safe trip,” you finish quietly.
You can feel two pairs of eyes on you as your vision goes blurry. Shit. This is so embarrassing.
The fact of the matter is that Roronoa Zoro has been in Dokusha Village for only a week, and you’re already missing him like he’s been in your life for years. You’re going to watch him get into your family’s fishing boat and sail away, the wind at his back, the East Blue before him, and you will remain on the dock with your big brother beside you and your dream in your head.
You’re being selfish, but it’s not … it’s not fair.
Archy puts his hand on your shoulder and says your name.
You wipe your nose. “What?”
“… I’ve been thinking.” He sounds hesitant, taking in a deep breath and letting it go slowly, carefully. “You’ve always wanted to travel the world on a ship.”
It’s like the world tilts on its axis.
Rigidly, you look up at your brother, eyes wide.
“I’m not dumb, you know. You’ve only stayed here because of me,” Archy says. “I’m the one who’s supposed to look after you and protect you. But you’ve been able to do that for yourself for a while, now. Right?”
“Archy.” You swallow. “What are you …?”
“I talked with Zoro last night. He’s willing to take you to Mirror Ball Island, if you want.” His smile is crooked, but it trembles at the corners as he continues. “You know how to sail, how to navigate. We’ll just have to add some extra stuff to the boat.”
You can barely breathe.
“There’s plenty of merchant ships there,” Zoro adds, leaning on his sword. “Your skills are valuable. Just be willing to pull your own weight, and they’ll take you on board. If not, I’ll tell them to.”
“You don’t have to –” Now you’re full-on bawling. You throw your arms around Archy, who wraps you in a bear hug, and then around Zoro, who stiffens. “Thank you so much. Thank you thank you thank you.”
“No problem,” Zoro mumbles, patting you on the back. When you let go to beam at him, he averts his eyes and rubs the back of his neck. “Just hurry up.”
Nodding, you dash back up to your house, Archy following close behind. You grab your bag, throw what you need into it, snatch your hat from your bedpost. Less than twenty minutes pass before you’re all ready to go.
“Got everything?” Archy asks once more at the dock. You nod and look at Zoro, who nods as well. “All right.”
You hug Archy for the last time. Tears spill over and down your cheeks. “Thank you for everything, big bro. I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too, kid.” His voice is rough and trembly, muffled against your head. “Come back to visit sometime, okay?”
“Okay.”
Getting into the boat with Zoro, you help him check the rigging and hoist the sail. Archy unties the vessel and pushes the two of you off. As you float away, he waves, and you wave back, staring as he gets smaller and smaller.
“I’m not turning back,” Zoro tells you as you eventually settle in your seat. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
Is it?
You cast one last glance back at Dokusha Village, at the small point of your brother. Then you look out at the broad expanse of the ocean. And you feel many things – joy, sadness, apprehension – but above all that, you feel –
Free.
“Yes,” you say firmly. You push your hat down and smile at Zoro, and this time, it’s genuine. “It is.”
Zoro smiles back. And as the sun begins to warm your face, you whistle your father’s song and think about the journey to come.
#opla#one piece#zoro x reader#roronoa zoro x reader#roronoa zoro#zoro#opla zoro#one piece live action#opla fanfiction#one piece fanfiction#reader insert#fluff#once again i underestimated how long this would take. hoowee#opla zoro my grumpy old man :)#good thing reader is coming along otherwise he'd NEVER make it to mirror ball island rip
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this is based on @lordragamuffin's amazing fanart of bloody doppelgänger francis and real francis!!! minors please dni!!
imagine doppelgänger francis absolutely terrorizing the real francis.
he’d be so jealous, watching the way you handled your boyfriend. he’d quite literally be watching you two fuck every night, outside your balcony.
yeah, world domination was cool, but human sex looked too fun for him to pass up the opportunity.
sometimes you’d leave francis home alone when you worked overnights at the security office, while your boyfriend slept alone in his all too tight shirts.
for the past week, only when you were away, francis felt something, or someone, groping at his chest. but he was always almost half-asleep when he felt slender fingers swirling around his nipples.
he’d twitch and squirm in his sleep, huffing out moans whenever he felt something pinching and tugging at his nubs.
he thought he was going crazy.
and every morning, when he woke up from his nightly grope session, he’d always have an embarrassingly large mess in his pants. his dick was still hard, cum splattered in his boxers.
the next week, francis started having dreams about it. no face could be imagined for whoever was fondling with his chest, but he could feel the same fingers on him every night.
he thought he was just horny, missing you on the nights you weren’t there. but even when you were there, he’d feel so guilty, praying to the dream gods that he’d have a wet dream about the mystery groper, playing with his perky nipples.
then finally, one fateful night, he woke up to finally see fingers stuffed under his shirt. he was still disoriented, squirming under the cold fingers of the mystery groper.
“w-who, haah, are you…?” francis panted, throwing his head back with his tongue lulled out. the fingers were moving too fast for him to protest, nails slightly scrapping the tips.
there was no response. the only noise that filled the room were the whimpers and moans from francis. he was so needy, drool sliding out of his mouth at the immense pleasure he felt. he couldn’t even fathom how good he felt from how just his nipples.
“mmngh! c-can you, aghnn, tell me, please?” he was so polite, even while some stranger was pulling at his stupidly perky nipples, testing if any milk work come out.
doppelgänger francis would just silently chuckle at his copy’s desperation. he’d flick one bud, while rubbing the other with his thumb. whatever made his copy twitch, he’d do it over and over again to see him squirm.
humans are so stupid, he thought.
he looked down to see the mess that was brewing between francis’ legs, before finally giving francis a clue. “why not…you let me replace you, hm?”
francis tried to hide the moans that were spilling out of his lips at the revelation, but his mind was so hazy for him to even refute. “n-nggGH!” he mewled when doppel squeezed both nipples at the tips.
“i’ll play with you like this every night, then i pretend to be you in the day, hm?” doppel proposed, shivers rolling down francis’ spine. the heat of doppel’s breath brushed against his ears making them tingle.
“t-that’s, ungh, not…” francis was grinding against the fabric of his underwear, completely out of it. he was so close. just a few more flicks would send this poor boy over the edge.
“c’mon, they won’t even notice. i can play with these pretty things like this,” he flicked at francis’ buds, pressing kisses against his flushed neck. “such pretty tits, hm?” he chuckled, cupping his chest.
that comment sent francis over the moon. his heart was nearly thumping out of his chest and cum splattered on the inside of his pants.
“guess i trained you well. they’re bigger than before,” doppel didn’t waiver when francis came, continuing to torment his pink nubs. they were throbbing, sensitive to the touch.
francis’ drool dropped to his chin, his eyes rolled back all the way. “n-no, i jus’...hnghh, c-came. ‘s too soon, ngh…” he moaned, cheek smushed against the pillow.
“maybe give me the answer i wanna hear, ‘n i’ll let you have a little break, yeah?” doppel growled, sucking hickies lower down his neck.
francis’ breath hitched, shaking his head. “d-don’t, eek! d-don’t leave marks, they’ll see, mngh, them!” he pleaded.
doppel smirked, rolling his fingertips over francis’ nipples soothingly. it was slow, too slow. “ooohhngh…y-you can, hn, take over f’me…” francis cutely agreed, biting his lower lip.
“yeah? ‘n i’ll play with you every night, right?” doppel grinned widely, sucking on francis’ earlobe.
francis’ eyes were squeezed shut, flushed from the neck down. “m-mhm! p-please…” francis begged, trying to puff his chest out for more friction.
“alright. you said it yourself, so don’t go crying to me when you can’t take it anymore,” doppel chuckled darkly, tugging francis’ nipples with a squeeze.
“haaaAANGH!”
#francis mosses#sub francis mosses#smut#that's not my neighbour#that's not my neighbor#thats not my neighbor#milkman#ncrescent
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Simon Riley is the most self-sacrificing, loyal, and devoted person there is.
He shouldn’t be. The world didn’t owe him shit.
But it was in his nature.
Ever since he was old enough to talk, he’d protect his own. He’d hold Tommy back from arguing with his dad, knowing it would only result in black eyes and tears. He’d watch mournfully from the staircase as his mother took the fall.
He’d be there after, not long after drunken snores sounded from the couch. Simon would have tissues held in his hand, offering it to his crying mother along with a kiss and hug.
“I’m sorry.” He’d apologize, knowing it wasn’t his fault his mother had slap marks on her face, or blood on her lip. He was only sorry he wasn’t strong enough to fight him.
After a couple years, Tommy fell into similar habits, picking up the liquor and any drug he could lay his hands on.
Simon once again took the blunt of the fall. His caring heart breaking at his brother’s anger and decreasing health. He’d throw away the bottles he could find, flushing any pills down the toilet.
He was caught once, arms at his side as his brother screamed at him, shoving him down to the ground. Simon only took the fall, knowing he wouldn’t hurt his brother, not when he knew this wasn’t truly him.
He’d even stick up for Tommy in school, taking on the fights his brother picked up over drug prices. He’d take every punch to the gut, every kick, every blow to the face— one hit so hard he lost his front tooth in a spat of blood.
His mother didn’t have the money to fix it. He told her not to worry, he’d get his own job.
Simon, at the fresh age of 16, received his first job working as a butcher apprentice. He’d stay up late hours working overtime, sometimes even sleeping in the back against the cold meat freezer.
He found it to be a relief to butcher something, imaging it often to be his father’s face, despite his sharp blade only sinking into bloody chunks of meat. Often times he’d take the leftover scraps home to his mother, just so she could have something to eat that night.
He’d never spent any money on himself, until it came to the time to get that tooth fixed, despite the earful his father gave him for not scraping enough change for “rent.” 
He worked hard for two years, hardly sleeping, taking care of others. His hands were now covered in shallow scars, his muscles evening out as he grew to his full height. He was strong, he was tall, but his maturity stayed the same. Simon was an adult for his whole life.
He was at the shop when the news broadcasted, displaying the two burning towers in New York City. He watched the gruesome videos, seeing the terror and fear.
He was filling out his paperwork the next day, going to basic training the next week.
He would never forgive himself afterwards, for leaving behind a grieving mother and angry brother.
When he returned, now a man of potential, all in his freshly pressed uniform, his mother had wept. Proud tears in her eyes as she held onto her pride and joy. Simon had willingly embraced her, nearly squeezing her to death.
“Missed ya, Mum.” He’d sigh, eyes squeezing shut.
He’d ask about his brother, half-knowing it would still be the same since he left. But now, Simon was bigger, he knew how to fight, how to expect the worst. Hell, his sergeants screamed more than his father or brother ever did.
So Simon once again left for his brother, this time throwing away all the drugs and alcohol and watching him like a hawk.
Tommy had never been so angry, falling backwards and into the withdrawling stage. That was the worst of it.
Simon was once again selfless after a trip to the grocery store, buying his mom groceries for the week. A pretty cashier had left her number on the receipt, but instead Simon had introduced her to his brother instead.
They had hit it off, now going on their third date. Simon had never been more grateful for Beth, despite the nagging in the back of his mind that thought, “what if I wanted to date? What if I wanted to be happy?”
But, he’d always put his brother first.
It’s why he found himself smiling beside an alter, putting his whole life on pause to watch his brother dressed in black shed tears as his very pregnant fiancé walked down the aisle.
She gave a cute little wave to Simon, before happily taking Tommy’s hand to exchange vows.
Simon fought hard on his way to the SAS, watching brothers die and serving many tours. He always worried in the back of his mind that he’d become too much like his father. A cold hearted killer, someone who took love and crumbled it in a fist.
He thought he deserved to be punished, the cold meat hook impaled in between his ribs. The bruises, the cuts, the sexual assaults he was too weak to fight off. He deserved it all.
He was a shell, but at least his family was safe. At least he could justify his need to protect his family. He’d take a million torturous acts to protect his sweet mum, or his brother, his sister in law. Their sweet bundle of joy Joseph.
Roba had cackled about killing his family, how he’d destroy them. It’s why the jawbone was clenched between Simon’s fist, dirt filling his lungs as he dug out of the casket. He had to get home. His purpose of being alive, was in danger.
He was a selfless bastard, but he’d never wanted to be so selfish after seeing the blood on the floor. To not feel the horrid pain or hear the hollowed screams his body released involuntarily.
Roba had ripped out Simon’s heart and crushed it to powder. Took his mum, his family, his home.
Simon Riley was a Ghost.
He’d visit their graves every year, speaking of his life and how he missed them.
He’d tell them of his task force, how Man United had won another game. He’d sink to his feet in front of little Joseph’s gravestone, setting a toy plane against the moss.
He found tears were easy to fall.
“You’ll catch a cold out here, Simon.”
An angelic voice had called out to him, a warm hand anchoring him to the gravitational pull that was you.
You knew little of his life, of his service. But you knew him, and the brute cursed himself every day for letting such an innocent and beautiful creature get close to his tainted flesh.
You somehow wormed your way into his heart, healing and patching the tears and allowing himself to be selfish just this once.
He loved you.
And maybe, just maybe he could find himself being a person once again. Tying his soul to you and holding you against his chest like the precious gem you were.
“I’m coming, love. Just had to say goodbye.”
He could be selfish. Just this once, right?
He took your hand.
#cod#call of duty modern warfare#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader
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Title: Distorted.
Pairing: Yandere!Dottore x Reader (Genshin).
A Grab Bag Commission For A Very Lovely Anonymous Commissioner.
Summary: With the help of the Akasha system, Dottore strives to keep you happy and docile and, most importantly, unaware by his side.
Word Count: 1.0k.
TW: Unhealthy Relationships, Unreality, Slight Gore/Blood, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, and Obsessive Behavior.
“Do you think Ajax is free?”
Dottore hummed thoughtfully, pressing his scalpel downward and severing a measured length of small intestine from the greater mass. With time to spare and the patient he was extracting his materials from long-dead, he took a minute aside to note the patches of scar tissue lining their internal tissue on a blood-spotted journal, to test for unusual viscosity or durability that’d have to be accounted for in his research. It was a minor study, something that would’ve been handed off to a younger branch of himself not yet ready to play a hand in more dire schemes, but due to the intervention of a certain archon, he was forced to carry out more of his own grunt work than he had in decades. Not that he minded getting his hands dirty, of course.
Especially when the same archon’s nation had given him such a lovely lab assistant to keep him company while he worked.
“Planning to replace me, little mouse?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten. It’s your own dinner party, for the Tsaritsa’s sake.” He heard you sigh in mock exasperation, then again – your frustration more genuine. You were sitting at his desk, working away at whatever little task you’d assigned yourself, the ring of blue light encircling your head pulsing brightly. It was his own handiwork – a version of the Akasha system he’d been able to maintain even after returning to Snezhnaya. He had no idea where you thought you were, what you thought he was doing, what you saw through those clouded eyes, but he knew you couldn’t be here, in his dark, cluttered lab - couldn’t see your beloved husband, the man who you’d crossed half of Teyvat to stay with, elbow-deep in a vat of disembodied organs and viscera. That was what interested him most about your experiment, really. It was one thing to wonder how you’d react if you ever found out the man you loved had such grisly pastimes. It was another, to watch what lengths your mind would go to just to substitute your reality with a more palatable fantasy. When it suited him, he could play a more involved hand in your fabrication, make himself into a hero or a villain or something else altogether, but most days, he was content to let you create your own daydreams. You were the most obedient when you could make him into exactly what you needed, that day.
“To celebrate your return to Snezhnaya,” You went on, as he piled the segmented pieces of a malformed liver onto his scale. “Pierro says that you haven’t been holding up your social obligations. I know it’s not customary, but I thought it’d be nice to invite another Harbinger – so you don’t have to suffer a room full of noblemen and merchants alone.”
So you were aware of his status as a Harbinger, today. More often than not, you treated him like a neighborhood doctor, or a traveling scholar as far from home as you’d found yourself. Sometimes, he was a low-ranking diplomat, or a medic you could welcome home from the battlefield, but you rarely acknowledged him as something so dangerous, something so far above yourself. It must’ve been the occasion. It would’ve been hard to deny who he was when you were sending out the invitations to a Harbinger’s event.
On that note, he abandoned his work, positioning himself on the opposing side of your desk. He was already smiling – it was difficult not to, when you were in his position – but his grin broadened further as he looked over your half-finished guest list, your attempts at calligraphy scribbled across what little scrap paper you could find. “I believe Tartaglia was sent back to his post in Liyue last week.”
You pursed your lips. “Pantalone comes with good company.”
“And he charges market-price for every precious second of his time. You wouldn’t want to bleed me dry, now, would you?” You tilted your head to the side, pretending to consider it, and he let out a breathy laugh, rounding the table and settling behind you, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders. “There must be an alternative.”
“Well,” You tilted your head back, your smile now matching his own. “It has been a while since I’ve heard Columbina sing–”
“Anyone but Columbina.”
“I write Pantalone a letter tonight, then.” You allowed yourself a moment to bask in your own self-satisfaction, leaning back in your seat and allowing your gaze to drift – first to your lap, then to your shoulders, where the blood and viscera coating your hands was beginning to soak into the fine ivory silk of your sleeves. There was a flash of repulsion, a sound not unlike a half-choked scream, and then you were shoving him away, your expression only growing more pained when he refused to move. He felt something tighten in his chest – not quite fear, but pure, zealous excitement. Had you, somehow, managed to break yourself out of your trance? Was there a flaw in the Akasha system he hadn’t accounted for? How much would you force yourself to forget, overwrite, warp and distort into something loving in the coming hours if you saw him for what he was, now?
“Zandik.” The sound of his name on your lips was to die for. He leaned down, pressing nipping at the corner of your jaw, and you groaned, brushing him away. “I’ve told you not to touch me while you’re painting. Look at me – it’s going to take ages to get this out of my clothes.”
Oh. Painting. How adorably quaint.
How adorably wrong.
With a sigh, he leaned down, pressing a fleeting kiss into the corner of your neck. You crossed your arms, sulking, but allowed him to. It wasn’t as if you’d be able to refuse. “Forgive me, darling.”
He straightened his back, watching red seep into white and begin to stain.
“I’m sure you’ll forget all about this in no time at all.”
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere oneshot#yandere genshin imagines#yandere genshin impact#yandere genshin#genshin imagines#genshin impact#genshin x reader#dottore x reader#yandere dottore#yanderecore#yancore
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Straight. Straight straight straight.
~ I really don’t know what this is. I couldn’t sleep and so, here we are. I’ve never written anything other than essays for uni before so ..this could go down like a lead balloon! we’ll see, lemme know! :) ~
~ it’s like ..10k words? because I really couldn’t sleep. so, it’s a long one ..if you have nothing else to do! ~
~ I don’t think it needs any content warnings, but please tell me if there should be! there’s some swearing, if that’s off putting to you.. ~
~ it takes a tiny while for A to show up, and she’s never explicitly named..but she is there, it is her ~
~ I’m talking myself out of posting, but this is too long to scrap now, sorry ~
~ good luck! good bye xx ~
________________
The club is a disgusting little place to be. Buried right in the centre of town, with drinks so extortionately expensive, they make even the cost of your London’s monthly rent, look a little reasonable. The music blares inside your head, the strobe lighting messes with your vision, and the smell of horny sweaty bodies is an assault on the nostrils. It’s your least favourite place on earth to be.
It’s somewhere you’d managed to avoid being, for all of your early twenties. You’ve had no reason to go to a club late at night. Not when you’ve had a boyfriend for the past 5 years to go home to. That dirty little desire to get drunk, and hookup with an attractive stranger, took a nice long hibernation.
For you.
Turns out, your ever-loving, ever-caring, fuckwit of an ex-boyfriend, still managed to find the time to go to clubs, and hookup with strangers in between spending nights with you. You really thought he was out working till the early hours of the morning, busy making a living for your future together? What an idiot you were.
So, you’re back in a nightclub, at the behest of some of your single friends, for the first time in over half a decade, borderline drunk out of your mind.
It’s still a comfortable level of tipsiness at the moment, you’d argue, despite stumbling a little on your way back towards the bar. You can easily identify the song that’s being blasted, you’ve been able to order more drinks independently without being refused service. Your inhibitions are long gone, but you’re still able to think clearly, and you’re ready to find someone to go home with.
Your friends are all dotted around the room getting off with men of varying levels of attractiveness. None of them have impressed you so far, you’re not so desperate for company that you’re willing to let your own standards drop tonight. You’re happy to wait for the best-looking man in the room. Looking around the room to scope the talent on offer, however, maybe you do need to lower your standards a little bit.
You approach the bar again, and order a shot of tequila for yourself. A friendly little liquid that’s had previous success with you, for getting you to sleep with just about anything.
“¡Dos, por favor!” Comes a call from behind you, from a woman you do not know. It’s rather ballsy of her, almost rude, but she holds out her card to pay, before you can get too irritated with her request.
“Gracias.” You offer, using your exceptional detective skills to work out the woman’s nationality.
“¿Hablas español?” She checks, as she leans next to you, and you wag a dismissive, drunken finger in front of her face as you shake your head.
“Sorry to disappoint,” you tell her, “only English. GCSE level German.”
She smirks, watching you, and you narrow your eyes at her, tapping the bar as you await your drink.
You’re handed your shot, with a lime wedge and some salt, and you nod in thanks, to the woman who bought it for you. You don’t wait for her to go first, you’re in a bit of a rush here. All the men in the room are getting uglier by the second, you need to act fast, before you see the light too clearly.
You lick your hand and pour on the salt, the woman watching you closely as you do. She doesn’t go through the motions at all for her own drink, she focuses solely on you, gently biting at her bottom lip.
You lick the salt, down the shot, and she holds the lime wedge in between her fingers for you to bite. You don’t question it. Not until you sink your teeth into the lime, your eyes meet over it, and time stand still.
She has very beautiful eyes. A mysterious looking hazel. They flicker over you as you suck the citrus juice, and you can see the crinkles in the corners of them as she smiles at you. It’s weirdly intimate, unnervingly so.
You pull away, wiping the juice from your chin as you point to her own glass for her to follow suit. You find yourself watching her as she does the same routine, but you don’t hold out the fruit for her, the way she did for you. It was a strange custom, one that’s already playing on a loop in your head.
“Can I get you another?” She offers, and you find yourself torn.
You’re not here for a woman, you’ve never been with one. You’ve kissed your girlfriends once or twice when you were younger, mainly as a gross way of attracting boys. It’s not something you thought too deeply about, it wasn’t exactly a lightbulb moment for you. There was never any secret yearning for any of your friends afterwards. You’re straight. Straight straight straight.
The woman’s eyes seem to pierce through your soul, as she waits for your answer, like she can see something in you that you can’t. It draws you in, but you hold yourself back.
“I’m straight.” You tell her, and she smirks at you again.
“Congratulations! I didn’t ask,” she points out, “but thanks for letting me know.”
You frown a little as she turns her attention back to the bartender and orders two more shots for the pair of you. She doesn’t seem put off by your sexuality claim at all. It’s almost like she doesn’t believe you, and you’re not too sure you appreciate her cockiness about it.
In fairness, maybe you’re the one being cocky. She doesn’t have a badge on her saying she’s a lesbian, there’s no rainbow floating above her head. She’s not a stereotypical lesbian, not in the way that your little sister is. Maybe she’s just being friendly, and you’re projecting, because you’re drunk and full of yourself.
“Sorry,” you start, leaning into her so she can hear you above the music, and she pushes the shot towards you, “I just thought ..maybe you were coming on to me.”
“That’s very wishful thinking from you.” She says simply, turning her head slightly to face you. She’s exceptionally close, and your eyes instantly trail to her lips. Time’s stood still again.
She has nice lips, very nice lips. They’d probably taste very nice..
You have to pull yourself away.
“Gracias.” You say again, gesturing to the glass in front of you with a frown. You reach for the salt, but before you can lick your hand, she raises it to her own mouth to wet it for you. You really don’t know what to make of her. It’s very gross, it’s very rude ..it’s very sexy.
There’s a confidence in her, that has you questioning things. The warmth of her tongue sends goosebumps right up your arm. Which, she can undoubtedly see, as you don’t have long sleeves and she’s smirking at you again. You don’t appreciate her smug little attitude. Anyone would have a physical reaction to being licked by a stranger, she has no business being arrogant about it.
You must have been stuck in place for too long, as she pours the salt onto your hand on your behalf too.
You don’t like being outdone. If she wants to play it cocky, you can match her for it. You grab the lime wedge and indicate for her to open her mouth. It catches her a little off guard, which you feel a sense of pride in, but she doesn’t back down from your challenge. She welcomes your newfound confidence, with that same little smirk from before.
You place the lime, skin-side back, in between her teeth and you lick the salt from your hand with unwavering eye contact. You down the shot, and you pull her in carefully by her neck.
Your lips brush against hers, ever so slightly, as you bite the lime between her teeth and remove it in your own. It’s a deliberate move from you, maybe you’re feeling messy tonight. You watch as she raises her fingers to her lips, and you wipe the juice again with the back of your hand. You give her a nod with another little ‘gracias’, before heading away from the bar without looking back at her.
You’re stuck on a carousel of men once you return to the centre of the club. They are all admittedly, far better looking than they were before your little trip to get drinks, but there’s still no one drawing your eye. None of them like that cocky little woman at the bar.
She wasn’t really little, she’s quite tall, actually. Had a couple inches on you, that’s for sure, and you’re not short. She was impressively tall, she had nice posture. She didn’t slouch or look uncomfortable. She was just tall, and beautiful, with that endearing little smirk on her pretty little fa— what are you doing?
You need to find yourself a man, and quick.
You’ve trapped yourself between another one and a wall, only a few minutes later, and it feels like a mistake. His hands are on your hips, his mouth is dangerously close to yours, and frankly, no amount of alcohol could make you genuinely attracted to him.
“You’re really sexy.” He slurs, his hand grazing up your body.
No, next.
It doesn’t take long to find another, his arm wrapped round your waist as he shares his drink with you. He’s cute, you’re fairly certain. He does have a moustache, which isn’t your usual cup of tea. It’s like a little caterpillar resting above his top lip, twitching as he talks to you. He drowns it slightly as he has more of his drink, and it makes you cringe as he licks at it.
It’d probably tickle if he kissed you, or leave you with a rash, the hairy little ferret on his lip.
Do you know who didn’t have a moustache? Who you wouldn’t have to work out, how not to throw up in their face, as there’s no risk of their facial hair ever getting stuck in your mouth as you kiss?
Mhmm.
Straight straight straight.
You slide out from his embrace, twirling him around to go after some other poor soul and you return to the bar.
It’s disappointing to realise she’s no longer there, not that she should be waiting around for you. She’s probably found someone less rude to spend her time with, someone more gay.
Look at the state of you, traipsing back to a bar in search of woman you don’t know because she looked at you for a second too long and now you can’t shake her from your head. How embarrassing. You’re straight. Straight straight straight.
You make your way through to the ladies’ room to splash some water on your face, and come to your senses. Of course, that’s where she’s hiding. With some new company of her own.
That shouldn’t hurt you. You don’t even know this woman’s name. You know nothing about her at all except that she’s tall, beautiful and has soft lips. Lips that are now on another woman and you’re incensed. You have no right to be angry about it, and yet, here you are.
You bash at the head of the tap, rather aggressively. Sometimes taps in nightclub restrooms don’t work, it probably needed a firm touch. It has nothing to do with you wanting to distract the woman, no no no. Because you’re straight. Straight straight straight.
You don’t need the attention of another woman, that would be ridiculous. That wouldn’t be very straight of you at all.
It doesn’t seem like your loud and theatrical washing of your hands has done anything to disturb the kiss to the side of you.
And good! You wouldn’t want to do that.
So, when you bump into them to reach for some hand towels, that’s just an accident. The fact that the tall, beautiful, soft-lipped, Spanish woman’s eyes flick to you as you dry your hands, is just an unfortunate side effect of your clumsiness.
The fact that it doesn’t stop her from kissing the other woman, however, is outrageous. Her watching you, as she’s busy with someone else? How disgusting.
Your heart shouldn’t be racing at the sight of her, your breath shouldn’t be as shallow at is, and it definitely shouldn’t be catching in your throat as the other woman kisses down her neck, and she’s still only looking at you. This isn’t attractive. This isn’t turning you on. You don’t wish it was you on her neck. There’s that infamous smirk on her face again as she stares at you. She’s unbelievable.
You throw your towels in the bin with an almighty clang as you let the lid drop back down, finally putting the other woman off her stride, and you make a swift exit back into the club.
The music’s too loud again, the smell is suffocating, all of the men are gross by comparison to the woman stuck in your head. It’s been an unsuccessful night and you’re ready to go home alone.
The hand that grabs you, has other ideas.
“You said you were straight!” She reminds you, as she pulls you outside with her.
“I am!” You tell her, still annoyed with her little antics.
“You followed me to the toilet?”
“I didn’t know you were in there!” You point out, even more annoyed with her cocky little attitude.
“You’re angry.” She tells you, smirking. “Didn’t like me kissing someone else?”
“I don’t care who you kiss!”
“No?”
“No!”
There’s a palpable tension between you both. It doesn’t make sense. You don’t know this woman. She doesn’t know you. It doesn’t matter that she kissed someone else. You were trying to kiss someone else only a minute before.
Why you’re so enraged by a woman who’s bought you two shots, getting with another woman after you walked away from her, is a question for future you. You’re not about to have an existential crisis in front of her. Questioning your identity in your mid-twenties, is absurd. You’re straight. Straight straight straight.
There’s a curiousness, to her decisions, actually. To follow you, when she already had company. To drag you outside, to where no one else is. She’s very confident about you being interested, but she’s not exactly being apathetic herself.
“Why did you leave her?” You ask.
“What?”
“You followed me,” you point out, furrowing your brow, “had a pretty girl draping herself all over you, and you left her to follow me. Why?”
You’ve clearly touched a nerve; her smirk has vanished. You can see her tongue pushing against the inside of her mouth. She’s annoyed with you.
She slowly runs her tongue under her teeth, before wetting her bottom lip with it while rolling her eyes. She doesn’t miss how your breath hitches watching her. Her smirk is back, and she moves closer to you.
“Maybe I’ll go back to her.” She threatens, and your jaw clenches slightly.
“Maybe you should!” You tell her, taking steps backwards as she approaches.
“Do you want me to?”
You collide into the wall behind you, and she places her hands on it by your head.
“No.” You confess, breathlessly.
“You said you were straight.” She repeats, her face mere inches from yours as she leans into you.
You swallow down, your pulse picking up speed.
“I am.” You insist, your eyes locking onto her mouth. “I..”
“Do you want me to go?”
“No.”
“What do you want me to do?” She questions knowingly, that all too familiar smirk, taking over her face. She tilts her head, impossibly close to yours. You can smell the lime that lingers on her lips, feel her breath that softly blows against you, but she still doesn’t let you have what you want.
“Are you going to make me beg for it?” You groan, leaning backwards into the wall as far as you can.
“Maybe.” She tells you.
You hate her holding all the cards like this. She has you like putty in her hands. She’s all cocky and in control. Who does she think she is?
You’re better than this. You’re not shy around people you fancy. You may have been caught in a pointless relationship for far too long, but you’re a catch, people are into you. This woman right here, is into you. You don’t need to be nervous with her, it doesn’t mean anything. You’re straight. Straight straight straight. It could be the worst kiss of your life, and why should you care?
You slink your arm up behind her neck, closing the distance between you even further, and her eyelids flutter shut.
“I’m not going to.” You inform her, emboldened by her reaction to you. You duck out from under her arms, blowing her a kiss as you walk back inside. To find a man to take you home. You’re straight. Straight straight straight.
It doesn’t take you long at all to find another man to wear around you. One with glasses on. No, he’s not attractive. No, you don’t want to go home with him. But he’s here, he’s a man, and he isn’t driving you quite as crazy as the woman you keep running into. It’s simple, it’s easy, it’s hassle free. It’s exactly what you came for, you’re ready to go.
________________
Waking up in unfamiliar sheets, is something you haven’t done in a while. You’re quietly proud of yourself. The sheets smell nice, your hangover headache isn’t half as bad as you thought it would be, and there’s a pleasurable little ache between your legs that tells you that, whatever happened last night, you more than enjoyed yourself.
You wriggle a little under the covers and take a peek to confirm that you are indeed, completely naked. Your eyes are allowed to trail the body next to you. You’ve had sex with it, you’re more than entitled.
You really don’t remember which man it was you left with. There was the one with the glasses, the tall one with the mullet, the man with the moustache, the unfortunate gentleman with the incorrectly placed toupee.
He’s probably the one you’d most be upset about seeing next to you. Not that he didn’t seem friendly enough, but he really wasn’t the attractive stranger you were hunting for.
You risk another quick peek under the covers and your eyes all but bug out of your head. No no nonononono. You pull the covers back down and shut your eyes, trying to remember what the hell went wrong. You had countless semi-attractive men all over you. How the hell?
You peek again. Maybe you’re seeing things. Your hungover little brain playing tricks on you.
No.
That’s definitely not a man’s body. It’s far too beautiful. It’s toned, smooth, sculpted by the gods themselves. You want to put your tongue on it. You probably already have had your tongue on it. Who knows what you’ve done to it, what it’s done to you. How the hell did you go home with a woman?
“Are you enjoying the view?” The voice outside of the covers asks, and you roll yourself over under the sheets away from her.
You’d recognise that accent anywhere. That cocky little tone to her voice. That insufferable Spanish woman from the bar. That tall, beautiful, soft-lipped, Spanish walking-headache, took you home, and had her way with you? You? When you’re straight? Straight straight straight.
The ache in between your legs, the dull satisfaction running through your body, and you have her to thank for it?
It’s a dream. It’s a nightmare. It’s a horrible, twisted little trick, that, if you keep your eyes closed to, maybe it will all disappear around you and you’ll wake up again next to a man. A gross, sweaty little man, with too much hair on his face and not enough on the top of his head.
There’s a snicker from outside of the covers and you let out a huff, as she taps at your body.
“What?” You grumble, making no effort to free yourself from the sheets you’ve cocooned yourself in.
You can feel her shimmy herself closer to you and you hold your hand behind you to stop her.
“No!” You tell her, quite firmly, as her torso connects with your fingertips. Her toned torso. Her taut, muscly torso that your fingers have somehow now spread out over. You can feel her breathing against your palm. She hasn’t edged any closer to you after your outburst, and you regret telling her off so soon.
You’d quite like her pressed up against you, if that’s what she wants to do. Maybe you were too hasty, too rude. You can still feel the shortness of her breath against your hand. You’re being inappropriate, touching her like this. You slowly remove your hand from her, still hovering it pretty close.
You reach back for her arm, trailing your fingers down it until you meet with her hand, and you pull it around you. You’re not entirely sure what’s possessing you, you just want to feel her on your skin. She doesn’t need much encouragement to nestle into you, and it’s definitely not a man’s body.
You tangle your fingers with hers over your stomach, leaning into her. She has nice hands. Hands that are quite a bit bigger than yours, it’s no wonder you have an ache.
She removes the covers from over your head, instantly placing her lips to your neck. It’s very easy to forget yourself with her mouth on you, it’s no real surprise she managed to trick you into coming back to hers at all. She frees her fingers from yours, moving her hand down your body, and you put up no resistance to her. You encourage it, if anything, moving yourself to make it easier.
It’s nothing like having a man between your legs. There’s no needless grunting above you, no mindless grabbing, or endless showboating. You don’t need to make excessive noises to boost her ego. She just really knows what she’s doing with her fingers. She has every right to be cocky with herself.
Maybe this is just what it is to be with a woman. Maybe they just know, it’s the same parts, after all. Maybe it’s an inherent knowledge that all women possess, but only a select few ever get to experience. Lucky them.
Lucky you.
You are still being quite loud with her inside of you. It’s not for her benefit, it just really feels very good. You grip at her head behind you, running your fingers down the back of her neck, and you bite at your other hand to mute your sound effects, to stop giving her quite so much satisfaction with herself. You can see that smug little smirk on her face, it’s impossible to know if it’s still annoying or just incredibly sexy. It’s a very thin line with this woman.
It’s hard to keep still with her going to work on you the way she is. You find yourself rolling back over into her and she welcomes you, easily capturing your lips with hers. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
They are very nice lips, they do taste nice, and it’s not the first time you’ve kissed them.
Memories of the night come flooding back in.
________________
“I can take you back to mine?” The man wearing glasses offers.
“Perfect!” You reply, all too eager to get out of this frustrating little situation you’ve found yourself in. He places his cup on the nearest table, and winks at you, before leading you to the door.
Again, the hand that grabs you, has other ideas.
“You’re not leaving with him!” She tells you in no uncertain terms, as she holds you firmly in place.
“You can’t tell me what to do! Who the hell do you think you are?” She doesn’t give in, and as you turn to find the man, he’s already wandered off without you. “Are you joking? What’s your problem?”
You’re absolutely furious with the woman, she has no right to ruin your plans like this. You shake her off of you and head back to the bar, but she shadows you closely.
“You can fuck right off, following me about!”
“You’re really very angry.” She tells you, rather amused at your attitude. “Why, because I didn’t let you leave with some gross man?”
“He was cute!”
“He was about 50!”
That can’t be right.
He had glasses on, sure, but so do lots of people in their twenties. He had ..greying hair. Slightly less common, perhaps, but he had been cute.
Hadn’t he?
“Fuck!”
You rub your fingers over your forehead, trying to erase him from your mind, as the woman continues smirking at you.
“You can wipe that smug look off your face, right now!” You warn her and she chuckles to herself.
“Do you want another drink?”
“..Please.”
You down another round of shots together, being inappropriate with the salt and limes again. There’s an incredible amount of confidence in you. Whether it’s your new disdain for this woman, the fact that you’re unlikely to be going home with someone you’ll be happy waking up next to, or just the alcohol flooding your system, who can tell, but it’s a confidence that you’re more than willing to embrace.
You order another round of drinks and lick her collarbone ready to pour the salt on to. Her eyebrow quirks at you, but she doesn’t stop you doing it. She readies the lime in her mouth, as you down the tequila, and she pierces it with her teeth for you, dripping the juice into your mouth from hers up above.
It’s a very weird mating call from her, and it’s 100% effective. You grab her hand and lead her back to the hallway between the toilets. You bury your head in her neck as the moustache walks past you both, and you open the door to the smoking area to see if anyone’s about. No one is, so you pull her outside with you.
“Why are we back here?” She asks, that smug smile still tattooed on her lips.
“I feel more sober in fresh air.”
“Mm? You’re very drunk.”
“You’re very drunk!”
“Maybe, but at least I’m not on a ridiculous hunt for a man!”
“It’s not ridiculous, it’s meticulous!” You tell her, giggling slightly at your accidental rhyme. “I’m looking for a very specific man, preferably a good looking one, in his twenties.”
“Really? You didn’t seem too worried, that a man in his twenties was actually a man in his fifties!” She points out.
“Mm. I don’t know that I’m particularly worried about a man in his twenties ..being a woman in her twenties either.” You tell her with a rather casual shrug as you head to one of the tables. You sit yourself up on it, looking back at the woman who gives you a knowing little smile.
“You’re not very straight, are you?” She asks sarcastically.
“I really am.” You sigh, rolling your eyes. “I’ve never been with a woman, never wanted to be. I’ve only just got out of a long-term relationship with a man. I’ve only ever wanted to be with men.”
“Mm?” She mumbles, moving over to you slowly. She carefully pushes your knees apart and stands in between them, looking down at you. “I’m not a man.” She reminds you, and you trap your bottom lip between your teeth.
“Maybe I don’t want you.”
“Mm?” She places a curved finger under your chin, tilting your head and bringing your mouths very close together. “Tell me you don’t.”
There’s a feeling in your stomach at her challenge, a feeling lower than your stomach at her challenge. You do want her, and you’re not a good enough liar to pretend that you don’t.
“I can’t..” You admit, and she smiles again, before removing herself from you. You let out a frustrated little sigh as she moves backwards, and you swing your legs back together. “You want me too!” You tell her and she tilts her head to the side.
“Who told you that?”
“Tell me you don’t.”
“..I can’t.” She admits, and maybe her cocky little smirk has found its way onto your face.
You jump down from the tabletop and lean back against it, nibbling at the inside of your mouth. She casually walks back over to you, resting her hand on your hip.
It’s far less offensive than gentleman number 6’s grazing of your body. You don’t feel the need to push her away at all. She leans back into you, tucking your hair behind your ear. It sends a little tingle right down the side of your neck, and she smirks again at your reaction. You can’t not roll your eyes at her incessant need to be arrogant. She rubs her thumb across your cheek and over your mouth, pulling down on your lower lip gently.
“Do you want me to kiss you?”
“Yes.”
“Yes ..what?” She asks, and she’s ruined the moment. You shake your head at her chuckling lightly.
“If you don’t want to kiss me, it’s fine, we don’t have to. I’m not going to beg you for it.” You tilt your head, brushing her nose with yours. “Do you want to kiss me?” She nods silently, and you wink at her. “Looks like we’re both missing out then!”
You slip out from between her and the table and make your way over to the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To find a man to take me home! I’m straight!”
You can hear her cocky little laugh as you head back into the club, and it sends a little thrill right through your body.
This bizarre game of cat and mouse continues between you both for a little while longer. You keep buying each other shots, drinking them in more obscene ways every time. You back each other into walls, threatening to kiss each other, before one of you walks away, and the whole process repeats itself.
It’s getting harder to compose yourself after each round of shots. You really do just want her to kiss you, you’ve had enough of fighting it, but you also don’t want her to have the satisfaction of you caving in. It’s a ruthless little battle that you’ve found yourself in. She’s incredibly competitive.
You have to commit. Genuinely find yourself a man. It shouldn’t be hard. There’s lots of them about, and you’re more drunk now than you’ve been all night. You’re embarrassingly easy prey.
You survey your surroundings, hoping for one decent looking man to catch your eye. It’s a truly talentless night. You find yourself grimacing slightly realising that all of your friends have already left the place. Some of them will definitely regret their choices in the morning.
As will you, if you don’t manage to get at least one kiss from this godforsaken woman.
“Looking for me?” She asks as she sidles on next to you, leaning against the wall.
“I’m looking for a man! I’ve already told you this.”
“Well ..there’s one there.” She tells you, gesturing to a random fellow in the corner. “There’s another there.” She points out. “There. There. The—”
“I get it, thanks. You have terrible taste in men.”
“I don’t have any taste in men.” She reminds you. “I have pretty impeccable taste in women.”
“Mm? Well, which one takes your fancy?” You ask. “There’s one over there. There ..there. Th—”
She grabs your pointed finger and turns it back towards you. It’s not a new answer, so god knows why you’re blushing at it.
“Then kiss me.” You tell her, little louder than a whisper. “Just kiss me, for fuc—”
She’s clearly had enough too. Maybe it was the tiredness in your voice, the obvious look of defeat in your eyes. Maybe she just doesn’t like you swearing. You’re not going to question it. Her lips are finally on yours, and she was definitely worth the wait. It ignites a spark in you, it sends your tipsy little mind fully into orbit, and she’s the only other person in the room with you.
There’s no sense of desperation in the kiss. It’s not messy, or chaotic. It’s deliberate from her, considered. There’s an air of caution perhaps, a worry that you’ll pull away from her. You’re straight, after all. Maybe she’s nervous that your certainty in wanting a kiss will waver now that she’s finally given you what you want. Maybe you’ve realised that you don’t actually want it.
It’s a new experience for you, surprisingly different from kissing a man, but it’s not one you want to pull away from. It’s not one you want to rush. It’s not one you really want to end at all. You can sense her apprehension, and it’s the first time that she’s had no snark. It’s not a cocky little kiss. She’s not doing it to get it over and done with. It’s not going to end with her smirking at you, like she’s done you a favour. It isn’t meaningless.
It’s tentative, and frankly, you’ve had enough of her carefulness. If she needs a sign that you’re not going anywhere, that you want her to keep kissing you, you’ll find a way to do that. Your tongue parts her lips, and the gasp you elicit is all the confirmation you need of her nerves. It’s endearing to have her be quite so vulnerable with you.
You deepening the kiss is clearly all the confirmation she needs that everything’s fair game, because she wastes no time in escalating the intensity. She clings to you, wrapping her arm around your waist, her hand gripping at your hip, the other cradling your jaw. She backs you up against the wall and muffles the moan that escapes you with your joined lips.
Her tongue dances with yours, and you let her take over all your senses. It’s just a kiss, and yet it’s like a journey to a whole new world. It’s entirely all-consuming, the rest of existence has melted to nothingness around you. You don’t care where you are, you don’t care who’s watching. Or do you?
Maybe there is a mild sense of urgency to it, because kissing is simply not enough. You need to have her closer, impossibly close. You need her, entirely, and regardless of how much you’re craving the feeling of her, you do still care about where that happens.
“Are you local?” You ask, breaking the kiss to catch your breath. She only gives a silent nod in reply. “I’m like ..20 minutes by taxi?”
“My hotel’s closer than that.”
“So ..back to yours?”
“Are you sure?” She asks, searching your eyes for any sense of reluctance. She’s unlikely to find any, but you nod, assertively, just to reaffirm. “I’m not taking you back to mine to ..play cards?” She double-checks with you and you chuckle, resting your forehead to hers.
“No, I’m sort of counting on that.” You tell her. “Unless you don’t wa—”
She cuts you off with a kiss again. There was no swearing this time, no tiredness or look of defeat. Maybe she just likes kissing you.
“Are you absolutely sure?” She asks again, because she’s polite, and underneath all her cocky annoyingness, she really is very sweet.
“Oh my god.” You sigh. You do still find yourself rolling your eyes, you don’t know how much more obvious you need to be with her. “..please.”
The rush back to her hotel room is fun, you feel like a teenager all over again. Waltzing through the streets of London, your hand interlaced with an attractive stranger’s, the promise of sex hanging in the air.
It doesn’t matter that it’s a woman you’re linked up with. That doesn’t mean anything. It’s a one-time little indulgence. An experiment, for research purposes. To find out what it is your sister’s been going so crazy over, ever since she was a teenager.
It doesn’t mean anything when she keeps kissing you against the walls of closed buildings. It doesn’t mean anything when you pull her back into you at the entrance of her hotel. Yes, it’s nice. It’s enjoyable. It steals the air right from your lungs every single time, but that doesn’t mean anything. How could it, when you’re straight? Straight straight straight.
You do keep your hands off each other when you get to the lift of the hotel, there’s an older woman in there with you, and you’re not about to put on a show for her. Not for free.
Maybe your eyes keep meeting too much, or the smirking is too obvious. Maybe you do keep touching once or twice, because something’s definitely giving you both away.
“Lesbians?” The older woman asks, with a very clear disdain.
“Hm? For tonight.” You reply with a nod, unperturbed by her demeanour. Your Spanish host shakes her head at you, smiling as she looks up at the ceiling.
You’ve dealt with a few homophobes in your time. Your sister isn’t exactly subtle with her identity. It welcomes dirty looks, offensive words, and you’ve never been one to shy away from protecting her. You’ve never had to defend yourself against prejudice, but she’s not exactly an intimidating woman. You could easily take her if she tries to raise her hand.
“It’s disgusting.” She mutters under her breath, and her unsupportive attitude is sort of spurring you on.
“Do you think?” You ask. “What’s so disgusting about it?”
“Two women. It’s a waste.”
“Oof. I am not about to let her go to waste, don’t you worry about that at all, madam.” You reassure her, offering a friendly smile that earns you a very angry look in reply.
You don’t miss the smirk that graces the taller woman’s face next to you in the mirror, and that’s all the encouragement you need.
“It’s not natural!” The older woman tells you, and you nod your head slowly back at her. “It’s disgusting!”
“You’re very annoyed about it.” You point out. “It’s a bit unnecessary, no?”
“I think you’re both disgusting!” She hisses at you again.
“Oh dear.” You lean back against the bar of the elevator, as the older woman stares you down. “That’s an incredible argument you’ve put forward. I think I’ve seen the light!”
She not at all impressed by your relaxed sarcasm, you’re clearly getting on her nerves. Your lack of remorse, the fact you’re not begging for her forgiveness.
“I think it—”
“You think it’s disgusting, madam. We get it.” You interrupt, a little bit tired of her insistence. “Don’t spend your evening with another woman, then. We’re not inviting you to join us, so you can calm down.” You tell her, moving back towards the Spanish woman behind you.
She wraps her arm around your waist instantly and you lean into her touch. It’s comforting, subtle. It’s a very casual display of support without silencing you, without fighting over you.
She’s not dramatically shouting at the other woman; she’s not emasculated by you doing all the talking. She’s not making empty threats or getting up in the other woman’s face.
She’s not reacting at all in the way you’ve come to expect. The way that he probably would, to someone questioning him. Not that your ex ever defended your sister’s honour with you, but he certainly enjoyed getting into a scrap when he felt threatened.
It’s very attractive from her, actually, to just silently remind you that she’s there if you need her. That she’s with you, she does have your back, and you’d kiss her right there on the mouth if the woman opposite wasn’t glaring at you quite so intently.
Maybe you should kiss her regardless. There’s only a few more floors left till the old bat gets off. What’s she going to do, slap you both for some pda? There’s a security camera in here, she wouldn’t be so stupid.
Perhaps you can control yourself for a couple more floors, you don’t need to provoke the bastard woman. So what if she’s an unfavourable little witch, she’s not ruining your evening, you’re not going to let her.
Well, if that’s your logic, why should you let her stop you from kissing the woman when you want to? What courtesy do you owe to her? If she’s that upset about it, she’ll have to either avert her eyes like a petulant little child, or stop off at the floor below and hope she doesn’t choke on her bigotry when walking the rest of the way up. You don’t care.
Thankfully, neither does the Spanish beauty who matches your energy and kisses you back with the same fervour you’re showing her.
You’re instantly entirely unbothered by the third wheel once there’s an extra tongue back in your mouth, her Spanish hands on your face. You don’t care at all how uncomfortable you’re making the old bint. Frankly, you hope her eyes are burning at the sight of you both.
She doesn’t let you enjoy your moment for too long. Of course she doesn’t, the dark-sided little mare. She barges past you both as the doors open and she spits at the floor in front of you. The absolute nerve. She expectorates in the lift inside of a nice hotel, and you’re the disgusting ones? Absolutely not. You’re seeing red. You really could take her, you’ve been to a gym more than once or twice in your life, you’re not weak.
“You revolting little bi—”
The hand that grabs you, has other ideas.
“Let her go!” She tells you, laughing as she spins you back round to face her. “Por favor, she’s not worth it!”
“She spat at us! That dirty little cu—”
She kisses you again. Maybe she really does hate your swearing. Her lips are distracting, though, and you don’t mind learning that that’s one surefire way to get them back on yours.
“She really was a hateful bitch.” You murmur between kisses, and the Spaniard giggles against you.
“You’re a very angry straight girl.” She tells you, pushing your hair back off your face. “You don’t like homophobes?”
“Do you?” You ask, frowning at the woman in front of you.
“No,” she admits with a chuckle, “I’d have probably just let her get on with it quietly, though. Didn’t feel the need to anger her more!”
“I’m sorry for embarrassing you.”
“You didn’t, I’d have backed you if she kept going.”
There’s that sexy little smirk again. It shouldn’t do things to you the way it does. It shouldn’t set your whole body on fire. A small curve to her lips, and you want to rip her clothes off? You’re very tragic.
You drag your eyes away from her and scan the floor number you’re on.
“Bloody hell!” You sigh. “Did you really have to book a room on the highest bloody floor? I get it, you’re rich ..but fuck me!”
You drum out your frustrations on the handrail of the lift, it’s slow ascent through the floors seemingly never-ending.
“Are you sobering up?” She asks, and you nod at her, still tapping your hands. “Are you changing your mind?”
You stop your little percussive performance and turn back to face her.
“You’re very convinced that I’m going to back out?”
“I just want you to know that you can.”
It’s genuine from her. It’s not a perverse attempt at guilt tripping, she’s not trying some weird technique of reverse psychology. She genuinely wants you to know that it’s okay if you’re not ready. If your own act of confidence, is exactly that, just an act.
You take her hand and pull her back towards you. She rests her hands on the rail behind you and you lean in very close.
“Do you want me to?” You ask, and she shakes her head. You tilt her face to meet her eyes and you kiss the corner of her mouth. “Well, okay then, and neither do I.” You tell her quietly, your lips feathering hers. “So know, that until I revoke it, you have my consent ..to do whatever.”
“Careful,” she warns, “I might take you up on that.”
It earns you a deep kiss, and another cheeky smirk. There’s exhilaration shooting through your body and this goddamn endless journey through the sky is entirely unbearable.
“It’s very cute, that your hotel is so close to the bar, but it really would’ve been quicker to just go back to mine!” You point out, patting at her hands behind you.
“I’m sorry, it wasn’t me that booked it.”
That’s very cryptic. What on earth is that supposed to mean?
“Please don’t tell me your girlfriend’s waiting for you in there.” You tell her, narrowing your eyes as you await an explanation.
“No, it’s a ..business trip.”
That’s still very cryptic.
“A business trip? What do you do for a living?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“No?” You chuckle, arching an eyebrow. “Are you a spy?”
She laughs back at you, shaking her head. “No,” she assures you, “but it’s too personal.”
“Too personal? We’re not allowed to know each other’s careers?”
She shakes her head, and you find yourself smiling slightly with narrowed eyes. It’s very intriguing. If she wants you to be less interested in her, that wasn’t the way to play it.
“So, I’m guessing, I’m also not allowed to even know your name?” You check.
“A.”
“A?” You chuckle, nodding your head. “That’s a very beautiful name!” You tell her, your hand resting on her chest as you push her away from you. “There’s no way your parents were that lazy!”
“It’s my initial.” She tells you, rolling her eyes with that classic little smirk, as she pulls you back with her across to the other side of the elevator. “My first name starts with A.”
“And that’s all you’re giving me?” You ask, resting your hands on the railing behind her as she nods her head. “You really don’t want me to find you after tonight?” You question her, with your tongue tracing the bottom of your teeth. “Haven’t even been with me yet, and you already know you won’t want a repeat?”
She dips her head to kiss you again, and your hands grip at the bar behind her. You pull yourself in towards her, desperate to be closer, and she cradles your head in her hand.
“It’s not that,” she tells you gently, “but I go home tomorrow.”
Shit. That shouldn’t be so surprising to you. She has a thick Spanish accent, she’s staying in a luxury hotel, paid for by a company on her behalf. Of course she isn’t staying in London for very long. What happened to your exceptional detective skills? How did you not work that one out?
“Fuck.” Is all that falls out of your mouth as you pull yourself back from the woman.
“I’m sorry..” she offers, but you shake your head with a heavy sigh.
“No, I should have realised.” You tell her, nibbling at the inside of your mouth.
It’s a bummer, certainly. There’s something between you both. Whether it’s just a physical attraction, a sexual desire, who knows? But it’s there. You can feel it, and you’re positive that she can too. It doesn’t have to be anything deeper than that. That would mean you really did need to do some introspective work on yourself moving forward.
She’s just a woman. The one woman. The world’s most beautiful woman, who’s turned your world upside down, in a matter of hours. Who bought you a drink, that left you confused. That kissed another woman, and left you annoyed. Who refused to let you leave with a random ancient bastard and has saved you from spending a fundamentally flawed night with a limp-dicked disappointment.
And tomorrow she’ll be gone. You only have tonight with her.
You can walk, she’s already told you that. You can turn around now, and not let yourself fall any deeper. Save yourself the pain of a perfect night that you’ll never be able to repeat. Save yourself from spending the rest of your life chasing an experience you can never recreate with someone else.
It’d be hard enough to find her in London. It’ll be impossible to track her down in Spain.
Leave her now, with just the mind-numbing kisses to haunt you for all eternity. Don’t give your soul to a woman you’ll never see again. Don’t let her steal your heart away with her. Don’t ruin a life of enjoying mediocre sex for yourself.
The elevator rings out, signalling your arrival at her floor and you stay rooted to the spot as she slowly makes her exit. She looks back at you, a sad smile replacing her arrogant one.
“I understand.” She tells you, as she disappears down the hall.
You don’t understand. You don’t understand at all why your body feels so drawn to this woman. Why your mind, your heart, your soul are so desperate for you to chase after her. It can only spell trouble for you. One kiss with her sent your head spinning. Anything more than that will undoubtedly result in irreparable damage. How do you recover from that? How do you move on? How do you let yourself make any other meaningful connections with someone after feeling so intoxicated by a woman you know absolutely nothing about?
It isn’t possible for you to feel this way. It doesn’t make any sense. Even if you weren’t straight. Straight straight straight. How the hell can you fall for someone, when you don’t even have the luxury of knowing her first name? You don’t know what she does, you don’t know who she is. She could be an evil mastermind. A dark-sided villain who does terrible things, all the way over in Spain.
Don’t follow her. It’s foolish. It’ll be the worst mistake of your life. A night you can’t take back. An act you can’t undo.
The doors start to close in front of you, and you wedge your foot in between to stop them. You’re an idiot. A damn blasted fool.
But how could you not go after her? How can you not chase after the rush she sends through you? It’s dangerous, it’s messy, but you want her. Even though it’s just for a night. You can’t walk away from a feeling this strong. A yearning so powerful every cell in your body is screaming out for it.
She’s annoying. Frustrating. Beautiful. Enticing. There’s something, and you can’t very well just turn around and walk the other way.
You follow her into the hallway of her floor, and she turns back to face you.
“I thoug—”
“I didn’t revoke.” You tell her, shaking your head as you walk towards her. “I didn’t come up all this way to play cards, and I certainly didn’t come up all this way to go straight back bloody down again!”
She chuckles at you, shaking her head.
“And tomorrow?”
“We’ll deal with that then.” You tell her. “If it’s only meant to be one incredible night, then so be it.”
“You think it’ll be incredible?” She asks, the smirk tugging at her lips.
“With you? ..yes.”
The smirk morphs into a full smile. One that reaches her eyes. One that transforms her whole beautiful face into the most breathtaking radiance as she beams back down at you.
“And what if it’s awful?” She chuckles.
“Then I’ll be packing your bags for you to go in the morning.”
She takes a step to close the distance between you and pulls you in for a slow deep kiss.
“Are you absolutely su—”
“For fuck’s sake!” You whisper, crashing your head to her shoulder to chuckle against her neck. “Yes! I’m sure! I’m very bloody certain, I want you to take me to your room. Yes!”
“Yes ..what?”
She’s incredibly frustrating. Just wilfully annoying. Childish, pathetic, addictive, perfect. She’s everything. She’s absolutely everything.
“Please.”
________________
You don’t hate this woman. She didn’t trick you into bed at all. There’s affection between you, a fondness. It wasn’t a drunken night of angry passion. It was intimate, careful, experimental. Perfect.
You have a desperate need for this woman you’re wrapped up in. A want to have her close, to keep her with you forever. An impossible request. An unattainable, hopeless little prayer.
“You’re leaving today.” You remind her, panting slightly as she calms you from your high.
“I did tell you that.” She whispers, her fingers trailing your stomach.
“I know, I just ..it just hit me.”
You look back to her, and there’s a sadness in her eyes that you can only imagine you’re reflecting back at her with yours. You stroke your thumb over her cheek and lean in for a kiss. It’s soft, impossibly gentle. It’s the most painful way to say goodbye.
“I should go,” you tell her, “my sister will be wondering where I am. Wondering what ..man I hooked up with.” You chuckle a little pulling yourself out of her embrace.
“What will you tell her?”
“He was beautiful.” You admit. “Foreign.. Italian, I think.”
She laughs to the side of you, leaning back over towards you as she shakes her head. She places a kiss on your shoulder, lighting a tiny fire with her mouth.
“I don’t want you to go.” She tells you, placing more kisses to your shoulder, your collarbone, your lips.
You don’t want to go either, not when she’s igniting an inferno inside of your body like this. It’s cruel, it’s sadistic. It’s the perfect way to say goodbye.
“What time’s your flight?” You ask, with a mild desperation to your voice.
“Not till this evening.”
“Do you have to be anywhere else today?”
“Not till this afternoon.”
“So, we still have the rest of the morning?”
“Mhmm.”
“It probably wouldn’t be the worst thing ..if I was late back home.”
“No?”
“Unless you’re kicking me out?”
She has no intention of doing that, as well you know. She straddles herself on top of you, and your heart starts racing again. Her body on full display in front of you. The most beautiful body. She’s in incredible shape. It’d be more intimidating to you, if she hadn’t repeatedly told you how beautiful she thinks you are last night. You’re not in terrible shape yourself, but you definitely felt the need to tense more to give yourself some sort of definition. Her abs are just naturally on full display without any effort from her at all.
“You’re very beautiful.” You tell her, taking her in. “You have very beautiful ..eyes.”
“My eyes are up here.” She tells you, pointedly.
“Mhmm. Very beautiful.” You repeat, ignoring her little biology lesson as you trace your fingers over her curves.
She traps her tongue between her teeth as she smiles down at you, before leaning back in for a bruising kiss.
“You might be my favourite straight girl.” She tells you, and you roll your eyes.
“Might be?” You ask, feigning offence as you push her back up.
“You’re in the top three.” She tells you, smirking.
“Woww.” You draw out sarcastically. “That’s very charitable of you, thanks.”
She chuckles to herself, collapsing back down to run her lips across your chest. She starts trailing lower, and you can tell where she’s heading. She’s already seen to you once this morning, she’s done more than enough. You’d like to repay the favour. Frankly, you could do with a rest.
You grip at her thighs to flip her over, and the smile on her face as you do, has you kicking yourself for not doing it sooner.
“Are you okay?” She asks as your eyes roam over her face.
“Mhmm.” You nod. “I remember ..really enjoying something last night.” You admit, a little cautiously.
“Yeah? I remember you enjoying it too.”
“Did ..did you enjoy it?”
“Mhmm.” She murmurs, and you can feel her body shifting beneath you. “You’re very good with your tongue.”
“Really?” You ask, a little too enthusiastically, as a tiny thrill courses right through you. You have to fight every instinct not to wet your own lips with it as she nods, that small smirk coming back into view. “Did it feel good?”
“Yes.”
“You tasted good.” You breathe, clenching your jaw slightly.
“Are you still claiming to be straight?” She chuckles, her eyebrow arching.
“Mm.” You laugh, collapsing back into her for a kiss. “It’s hanging by a thread.” You admit, smiling into her as her lips move against yours. “Do you want me to?” You ask, a knowing look on your face.
“Yes.” She admits, her back arching as she readjusts herself for you.
“Yes ..what?”
She shakes her head, with a disbelieving smile. Maybe you’re in love with this stranger. Maybe she feels it too.
“..Please.” She whispers, and you don’t need asking twice.
________________
The walk back to the elevator, has no reason being as painful as it is. Even after a morning together between the sheets, a shared shower before a very late breakfast. You’ve still only known this woman a little over 12 hours. You’ve learnt absolutely nothing about her personal life, who she is, why she’s here, whether she’ll ever be back. She knows nothing about you. It isn’t right for there to be a connection between you, when you have no fundamental knowledge of each other. You could have literally nothing in common, and your heart’s tearing itself in two at the thought of her leaving for another country.
Neither of you want to say goodbye to each other. That much is obvious as you tangle your fingers with hers and stare at the button for the lift. Both elevators are on the bottom floor, you’ll still have a few minutes together even if you request it now. You can’t draw an eternity out of a few minutes, but you can savour them. It’s like setting a little timer for you as you press the button. The lift starts its ascension up the floors and the seconds you still have together start to decrease.
“This is insane.” You admit to her, your eyes beginning to sting. “I shouldn’t hate leaving you this much, I don’t even know who you are!”
“I know.” She tells you, with the same shaky breath as you.
She pulls you into her embrace and you cling to the fabric of her sweatshirt for dear life. She’s given you one of her sweatshirts, to stop you looking too dishevelled as you do the walk of shame back home. It’s a bit oversized on you, and she told you you looked adorable when you had to roll the sleeves up a couple times to free your hands.
You sort of wish she’d stop being so sweet to you. Go back to being the annoying woman that had her lips on someone else. Go back to being the weirdly confusing woman with the salt and the limes. Do anything to make saying goodbye to each other just a tiny bit more bearable.
“Imagine if you weren’t straight,” she whispers to the side of your head, “imagine the breakdown you’d be having then!”
She’s an idiot, and it does manage to make you laugh, as warm tears escape your eyes, and you bury your head further into her neck.
She’s not straight, you remember. So, maybe it’s a subtle confession of her own struggle she’s having with you parting ways. She is holding you impossibly tight, like you’ll disappear from right in front of her in a puff of smoke, if she loosens her grip even slightly.
The elevator seems to be soaring through the levels without any people in it. It’s a far more rapid process than it was when it was holding the pair of you hostage last night. That isn’t fair. Who designed that?
“It’s going to be the longest journey of my life going back down without you.” You mumble against her.
“Hopefully you don’t bump into your best friend on the way!”
“For fuck’s sake!” You laugh, pulling yourself from her and wiping at your eyes with your sleeve. “That evil cow!” You let out a sigh and shake your head. “She’ll be fine with me today, to be fair. I’m straight again now!”
“Oh, of course! You can agree with each other about it being disgusting, then!”
“Mm. I mean ..we did do some pretty disgusting things to each other.” You remind her smugly.
“I’m sure she’ll appreciate you giving her all the details.” She winks, and you grin as you pull her back into a hug.
“I really enjoyed it.” You confess to her, quietly. “I really enjoyed being with you.”
“Me too.”
The ding of the elevator signals that your time is up. The moment you’ve been dreading, has finally arrived. You head straight in. You don’t know if it’s better to get a clean break, or prolong the inevitable for as long as possible. The doors start closing, and her foot appears in the gap to keep you for a moment longer.
She fists her hands in her sweatshirt you’re wearing and kisses you across the threshold. It’s one that catches you off guard, but you match the passion in it as soon as you realise what’s happening. The doors try closing on you a few times, but you keep blocking them with a hand. You’re not letting them steal your moment.
She breaks the kiss but keeps her grip on you. You can see the tears in her eyes, feel the ones in yours. It’s ridiculous. You catch one with your thumb as it starts to roll down her cheek and you place a kiss to where you broke its fall.
“If you’re ever back in London..” you tell her, a small smirk on your face, “just ask around for my initial. I’m sure someone will lead you back to me!”
“I’ll have to try.” She tells you earnestly, letting go of your sweatshirt and smoothing it back down for you.
“I really need to go. It’s not possible to make this any easier.” You tell her, pushing her back as the doors start their final closing attempt. “Don’t forget me!”
“I won’t remember anything else.” She tells you, as the doors close, and neither of you have chance to change your minds.
It shouldn’t hurt like this. It was a one-night stand. They’re not rare. The pair of you crying after a single night together? That’s rare. That’s ridiculous.
Collapsing in on yourself as you try to catch your breath without her? That’s insanity.
The tears flow freely as you hold yourself up against the side of the elevator. You pull the neckline of her sweatshirt up over your nose and breathe her in. Playing make believe in your head, that she’s still with you. It’s a souvenir you’ll treasure. A living memory. Proof that it wasn’t a dream, and it certainly wasn’t a nightmare. It was your perfect little night, wrapped up with the world’s most perfect woman. The woman who’s running off back to Spain with your heart in her hand luggage.
All this longing, this desire, this love, for a woman that you barely know. A woman you have no hope in ever finding again. A woman you’ve fallen head over heels for, despite being straight. Straight straight straight.
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Okay, this is 1600 words of (positive!) meta regarding the OFMD finale. Included is character analysis and a treatise on why a certain trope people keep throwing around does not apply here.
This is of course just my take, and I'm sure people will disagree, but I needed to get this out. Apologies if it comes off disjointed, I've had like no sleep.
Spoilers within, obviously. You have been warned. Heed the tags. I didn't tag any characters because I consider it a spoiler, but you know who this is about.
Listen. Listen.
Let me start off by saying I have been where you are. I’ve had beloved characters die, either because it was important to the narrative or for shock value. I’ve been there, so I’m not coming at this without empathy. I’m not an Izzy hater. I loved him as a character. I’m truly sad to see him go.
But from what I’m seeing around Twitter and tumblr, some of you do not understand the role of an antagonist in a story.
Izzy was always meant to die. The moment he said, in the first season, “the only retirement we get is death,” I knew he was meant to die in the end. The foreshadowing ran through both seasons. Izzy was the true antagonist of S1. He was there to keep Blackbeard tethered when he started pulling away, and yet he also set the plot in motion. He inadvertently introduced Blackbeard to the person who let him be just Ed. He put Ed on his own path to redemption without even knowing it.
S1 ended with Izzy getting what he wanted as Ed lost everything he had. S2 was about Izzy coming to terms with the fact that he’d gone too far, he’d turned Ed into a monster. It wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted Blackbeard back, just like old times. Instead, he got the Kraken, and it was more than he bargained for.
Especially after it cost him his leg and he realized how far gone Ed really was. The conversation that ended with Izzy’s half-assed suicide attempt was the final blow to Izzy—Ed really didn’t seem to care anymore. Where Izzy wanted him to stop giving a shit about his silly boyfriend, he instead got a Blackbeard who didn’t care about anything, and he was apparently now included in that category.
(I said half-assed suicide attempt because Izzy wasn’t meant to die then, THAT would have been an empty, pointless death. It wouldn’t have taught Ed anything—in fact, all it did was make him more self-destructive, which was Izzy’s purpose to the narrative, but not his endgame. That Ed thought Izzy killed himself pushed Ed to the brink. Ed wanted to die and take every scrap of Blackbeard with him. Had Izzy successfully killed himself, Ed and the Revenge would be at the bottom of the ocean.
It wasn’t until the crew left Izzy the unicorn leg that he realized the power of compassion, the incredible act of grace from a crew that suffered so much from Izzy’s own machinations and didn't need to forgive him. It moved him to tears, and it moved him to accept that maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to let people in, to let himself be cared for. It was a foreign concept and something Izzy likely hadn’t experienced since losing his family (I fully expect a shit ton of fanfic of Izzy’s life before piracy).
Israel Hands found the capacity to let love all the way in and by god, did he pursue it.
But, again, Izzy was always meant to die, and I’m glad they stuck to the narrative they set out with instead of placating fandom and letting our influence dictate how they told this story That’s never good, trust me. Fandom should not influence a creator’s decisions regarding their own characters. It rarely if ever ends well.
[Stares in Voltron S8]
And I see a lot of people out here throwing the “bury your gays” phrase around—I beg you, please look up the definition of the trope. Izzy didn’t die because he was queer, he didn’t die because of his disability. He wasn’t one half of the only queer couple in the show fridged for shock value. He wasn’t killed off due to pressure from conservative viewers. He wasn’t the only queer, disabled character.
They didn’t kill off Lucius, or Jackie, or Wee John. Would you be as outraged if it was any of them?
Killing Eve is bury your gays. Supernatural is bury your gays. Pretty much any film, book, TV show, whatever, where a queer character dies because they’re queer, of AIDs, to further the narrative for a straight person, etc—that is burying your gays.
Izzy’s death was none of those things. Izzy’s death had meaning.
Izzy’s death freed Ed from the Blackbeard persona. It finally forced Izzy to say the things he couldn’t say until he realized it was his last chance. Izzy was also tired. I honestly think he stuck it out for Ed’s sake, because he was afraid to let Blackbeard go without making sure Ed would be ok.
He loved the idea of Blackbeard, but over time, he learned to love Ed. He finally understood what Ed tried to tell him the whole time.
“Fuck off, you twat. You’re surrounded by family.”
You’re safe. You’re loved. You don’t need me anymore. You don’t need to be reminded of who you’re capable of being, you need the people who will guide you to who you will become, and I’m not one of them.
I know a lot of Izzy fans are stung by his death, some of you are deeply upset. I get that. Like I said, I’ve been there. Sirius’s death made me throw that fucking book across the room. That Fucking Woman™ killed off my entire OTP, purely for shock value and, imho, a direct response to shippers. Trust me, I have felt betrayed by a creator for their decisions.
But I need you to understand that no, this was not a personal attack, this was not malicious, this was not “bury your gays." A show that celebrates queerness and diversity is not suddenly homophobic and ableist because your favorite character died and happened to be both of those things. But when the majority of your cast of characters is different in some way, and they’re in a show about 18th century pirates, you have to accept that one of them could, in fact, die. “Anyone Can Die” is also a trope and the more accurate one to describe E8.
If only being queer and disabled made you invincible.
Spoiler alert: it doesn’t.
And no, I’m not an Izzy hater. I loved him, I loved him as an antagonist, and I loved his redemption arc. He was fascinating and Con put his whole O’Nussy into that part. I’m sorry to see him go, but as a mystery writer who often has to kill off beloved characters, I understand that he served the purpose he had from the beginning.
I swear, if some of you had your way, there’d be no conflict at all in any form of media. This what a steady diet of nothing but fanfic gets you. This is not a fluffy one-shot with magical healing dick and a happy ending where everyone sails off into the sunset. If that’s what you wanted, what you headcanoned, you did this to yourself. It’s not David et al’s fault that we took that character and babygirled him. That’s the risk we take when we decide to love a specific character, when we take a genuinely terrible person (in S1) and woobify him.
So, please stop harassing and attacking David, Alex, et al. David did not and should not change his story to placate us. The fact he went ahead with it despite the backlash I’m sure he expected makes me respect him as a creator even more.
Anyway, I’m going to revel that we have three (!) queer relationships with happy endings where one or both didn’t immediately die (again, the actual definition of “bury your gays”) and that we got at least two seasons of a little show that celebrated individualism, diversity, queerness, compassion, and love.
In the end, it all came down to love.
“There he is.”
Goodbye, Blackbeard.
Hello, Ed.
#ofmd spoilers#ofmd season two spoilers#ofmd finale spoilers#ofmd finale#Meta#ofmd s2 spoilers#our flag means death
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Predaking ♡ Fetch
First TFP X Reader one-shot of the few I've saved up since like 2021. Will be posting the others later, but I gotta go to the dentist in a bit. So have your big mecha dragon boi. c:
[TL;DR] Predaking acts like a wholesome, oversized puppy towards you. And only you.
♡ ~ Fluff ~ ♡
"Alright, go fetch!" You yelled up at him before throwing a softball across the flight deck. You specifically chose this type of ball due to how easily the predacon could see its bright red color, and because it's big enough for the two of you, as well as soft and squishy. It was also cheap, so you could just buy a new one if Predaking ended up destroying it on accident. But he was still using the first ball you gave him, so that in of itself was impressive.
The giant mech dragon wagged his tail a bit with some small side to side jumps, before happily zooming after the ball. Due to your size and lack of strength, the ball didn't land too far, but it began to bounce and roll away really quickly due to the wind. Yet another reason that ball was a good choice.
He gently picked up the ball before practically bouncing back over to you. You beckoned for him to lower his helm. He did as you commanded and you proceeded to take the ball and pet his helm before leaning your upper body against him in an attempted hug. "Good boy! Great job, Predaking! Who's a good boy! Yes you are!" You cooed, gently stroking one of his mandibles while nuzzling his helm with your forehead.
He purred loudly at your praise. His mood would instantly change whenever you were with him. Your mere presence alone made his spark throb with love and joy. Honestly, he didn't mind being treated like a lesser being, even a pet. But only if it was you. He would not allow this sort of belittlement from anyone else. Not from Shockwave, not even from Megatron. And especially not from a piece of scrap like Starscream.
Speaking of the devil, Predaking spotted him behind you near the entrance. He released a dangerously low growl to warn the seeker to stay away. Especially from you, knowing Starscream's distaste towards humans. You thought the growl was aimed towards you, so you backed away from him with an apologetic look, believing you weren't supposed to hug him like that. "Oh- Sorry..."
However, Predaking felt your warmth leave him, and he didn't like it. His aggressively stiff posture turned calm again. He then nudged his helm back towards you with a purr, rubbing his rather flat snout against your tummy, begging you to hang onto him once more.
Your smile returned as you plopped your weight against him once more. Just to make the moment funnier, you even said a little "Boop!" as you landed on him. His tail wagged a little, happy to make you smile. Yet he still kept an optic on the seeker, just in case he tried anything.
Meanwhile, the seeker was not amused as he was on the flight deck for a reason.
"Human! Megatron and Shockwave are awaiting the predacon! Megatron commands you to go back to your habsuite until further notice!" Starscream's voice startled you as you didn't notice him before. So you got off Predaking's maw and looked at the other mech. But one hand was still on the giant predacon as a form of comfort for both of you.
You slightly looked downwards in disappointment. "Oh... Okay then..." You turned back towards the mech dragon giving him a sad smile before leaning down to put a light kiss on his snoot, rubbing the side of it.
"We'll play more later, okay? Be a good boy when you leave. Love you, King!" You said before starting to walk towards the entrance, turning one last time to give him a little wave.
You didn't notice it this time, but the mech dragon's tail swooshed from side to side faster than before. If you had listened closely, you could've also heard his cooling fans turn on when you gave him a kiss. His optics also turned from giving the seeker half the attention to putting his whole attention onto you as your tiny frame walked away.
His gaze on you was soft. There could have possibly been hearts floating around his helm if this were a cartoon. He could've even had hearts in his optics, that's how far gone he was. That's when he heard the seeker approach him with his usual unnerving voice. The predacon's mood instantly changed. His loving gaze towards your direction halted as he turned to face Starscream with a look of pure hatred.
"Well, well, well... You appear to be having fun, being treated like a servant animal by a tiny rat. Doing everything they want. Why can't you simply follow my orders then!?" He yelled out in anger. If he hadn't known about the predacon's transformation, he would've hit the dragon.
Predaking let out a loud screech before standing up and spreading his wings- Towering over the shorter mech. Having his pride take a hit was one thing, having to listen to the SIC call you 'rat' was another. You were so much more than a rat. You were a divine soul. And your tiny frame only made his primal instincts want to protect and love you even more.
"Whatever your relationship with the fleshy may be, it doesn't matter. Now, move to Shockwave's lab." Starscream scoffed. If looks could kill, the seeker may have already died back in the pits of Kaon. It felt like Predaking's hatred for him could time travel.
Suddenly, the mech dragon transformed into his bi-pedal cybertronian form.
"I'll be there for the meeting. However..." The taller mech stomped over to the now intimidated seeker. His shadow was now looming over the SIC. "If you call them a 'rat' one more time, I'll make sure to rip your spark out the 'primal beast way'."
Starscream trembled beneath the predacon's fierce gaze, then the king made his way past the seeker and towards the lab.
The meeting itself was quite uneventful. It was simply seen as a progress report. Predaking was just there for show, in a way. It was mostly Shockwave who talked to Megatron.
After the meeting, the predacon was dismissed. And the first thing he did was visit your bedroom.
Due to your relationship with Predaking, and you being basically the only one able to tame the beast with questionable ease, Megatron assigned Shockwave to be your guardian and for you to stay in a smaller room connected to the lab. However, with how much disinterest the scientist had in you, he basically abandoned you just for you to be taken care of by Predaking. So technically speaking, Predaking was your guardian and you were his charge. The only thing Shockwave did to take care of you was to get Knockout to get you stuff you needed. Because it seemed illogical for him to go get necessities for you himself.
The predacon slowly approached your little home, transforming into the beast on the way. You knew about his bi-pedal form, but you didn't treat him with as much affection as you did when he approached you as a mech dragon. He enjoyed your company regardless, but it was more enjoyable for him personally to see you laugh and smile a lot more when you were simply allowed to pet his helm.
You had fallen asleep in your bed, assuming the meeting would take a while. So when Predaking gazed upon your sleeping body, he couldn't help but purr. And of course, his purring didn't go unnoticed by you as you slowly woke up from your nap. And the first thing you saw right in front of your face was a pair of yellow glowing optics staring right at you in admiration. You weren't startled or anything as this wasn't the first time the predacon (unintentionally) woke you up like this. You yawned as you sat up to look at him with a little smile.
"Hey, King... How did the meeting go?" You asked, still tired. The predacon closed his optics and tilted his head towards the side, ex-venting some warm air like a heater. This movement roughly translated to either "Boring" or "Meh", and it never failed to make you laugh. It simply looked ridiculous to see a giant beast do such a motion.
The predacon then suddenly got an idea. He gently picked you up by the back of your shirt like a kitten and walked off. You two bypassed Shockwave as he just stared at you helplessly dangling from the giant beast's maw.
You didn't say anything, waving at the purple mech. This wasn't the first time Shockwave's creation did this, so neither of you were concerned about being in danger around him. However, you were a little curious as to where he was taking you.
Turns out he was taking you back to his kennel. You still didn't understand why, however. Maybe he wanted to play more?
Your questions quickly were answered however, when he gently lowered you into the middle of his nest and started to circle around you before eventually dropping down, having you sitting against his body. One wing was spread out a bit to give you a roof and contain more of the warmth Predaking's frame produced.
He let out a whirring noise that seemed to resemble a yawn as he tried to comfortably cuddle up closer against you. He curled his body around you more and you couldn't help but coo at how adorable he was acting. Like an overgrown puppy wanting love and attention. And if you couldn't give it to him all the time, he would simply not let you leave. But to be honest, you didn't want to leave him at the moment anyway.
So you simply let yourself fall back asleep, this time in your king's embrace.
[ Masterlist ]
#transformers prime#tfp x reader#predaking x reader#cybertronian x human#transformers x reader#transformers x human#tfp predaking#tfp predaking x reader#tfp starscream#fluff
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you never disappointed me - part three
part one part two part three part four
➻ synopsis: luke castellan x aphrodite!reader ; after beckendorf does some research with silena, luke finally knows how to ask you out (10 things I about you AU)
➻ word count: 2642
➻ warnings: ooc/kind of loser!luke, ooc silena, she/her pronouns used for reader, sexual innuendos, alcohol, smoking
➻ so i immediately got hit with a ton of uni work lols (so mean for first week??) so this took a little longer than expected sorries!!
TAGLIST: @myxticmoon @wicca-void @leeknows-wife @thekittyxo-blog @number-onekidqueen @instabull @slaybestieslay946 @sflame15-blog @yourfavmiki @ivory-sage
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While you were being tormented by the two boys Camp Half-Blood (or maybe your mom?) kept sending your way, Charles was following Silena around like a lost puppy, noting down whatever she could find about you in your limited personal space in the Aphrodite cabin. After several minutes of nothing promising, he was starting to feel hopeless.
“She’s not a…” Beckendorf trailed off, looking for more delicate phrasing.
“Girl in Red fan? No. I found a picture of Heath Ledger under her bunk once so I’m pretty sure she’s not harbouring any queer feelings.”
“So that’s the kind of guy she likes? Pretty guys?”
“I don’t know,” Silena said impetuously, “All I’ve ever heard her say is that she’d die before dating a guy that smokes.” Beckendorf cringed. That was an issue. Silena continued mindlessly, digging through your drawers and belongings. She pulled out your reading list, planner and a sticky note of things you were going to do when you left after summer. Finally, Silena let out a devious giggle as she dug through your top drawer. She didn’t let Beckendorf wonder for long, as she pulled out a pretty pair of lacy black underwear.
It wasn’t the most scandalous piece of lingerie sitting in that cabin — not by far, but Beckendorf still blushed like the teenage boy he was, almost too afraid to look at the scrap of fabric.
“And, uh, what does that tell us?” He asked, eyes anywhere but the cloth.
“She wants to have sex someday, that’s what,” She said it as if it were obvious, and Beckendorf wished a hole would open up and swallow him down. He really didn’t want to be talking about your sexual desire right now.
“She might just like the colour?” He mumbled, hand running over his hair in an effort to ground him.
“You don’t buy black lingerie unless you want someone to see it.” Beckendorf felt kind of guilty, he figured he probably wasn’t who you had in mind when buying black lingerie, and it was starting to feel like a serious invasion of privacy. That was only heightened when Silena pointedly avoided telling him which area was hers, saying it was ‘private’. He rationalised his actions by praying to the Gods the plan would work and everyone would get a happy ever after.
Still, Percy and Beckendorf took this research to Luke in his semi-secret spot behind the training arena, where he could drink and smoke without being worried about being caught by the younger kids or Chiron. He didn’t look exactly happy to see them, but Beckendorf thought he might just be warming up to them.
“So, what’ve you got for me?” He asked, taking a swig of his beer.
“Insights into a very complicated girl,” Percy said, dislike of you obvious.
“Just one question,” Beckendorf asked “Should you be drinking if you don’t have a liver?” One of his new brothers had told him the rumour that Luke had sold his liver on the black market during his quest for a pack of cigarettes and a ticket back to camp.
“She hates smokers!” Percy interrupted, hopefully before Luke could process what Beckendorf had said, and very successfully redirected his focus as Beckendorf grabbed the lit cigarette out of his hand, snuffing it out on the dirt.
“So I’m a… non-smoker now?” Luke spat the words, sounding almost disgusted with himself.
“Just for now,” Beckendorf assured him. “And one more problem — Silena said that she likes ‘pretty guys’.” A tense silence fell upon them and Charles wished that sometimes he would think before he spoke. Luke’s gaze on him was heavy and intimidating, and if Percy wasn’t there with him Beckendorf probably would have cowered and escaped.
“Are you telling me I’m not a pretty guy?” Luke asked, and if he had to say, Beckendorf thought his attitude right now definitely wasn’t helping his case. He and Percy shared a quick look before reassuring Luke that he absolutely was a pretty guy, they just had limited experience in deciding those labels. Satisfied, Luke glanced at the list Beckendorf handed him of all of your interests and engagements. He frowned, and both the younger boys exchanged uneasy eye contact.
“So what, I’m supposed to buy her noodles and books and sit around listening to some shitty girl power band?” He asked, dread and boredom evident in his eyes.
“Have you ever been to Club Skunk? Her favourite band is playing there tomorrow night,” Beckendorf provided, disheartened by the quick shake of Luke’s head.
“I cannot be seen at Club Skunk.”
“But she’s gonna be there! She’s got tickets!” He protested, and Percy put a subtle hand on his arm.
“Dude, everyone you know is here. No one’s gonna see you at Club Skunk and think you’re less of a man or whatever. I’ll tell everyone you’re off in the woods smoking weed or something.” Luke looked at them for a long moment, seemingly considering the offer. Finally he agreed, and Beckendorf thought it may have just been to get them to go away, but he was happy enough.
Luke, having gotten over the humiliation it would be to go to Club Skunk, was more than interested at the new piece of information he’d just learned. He thought he was the only one who snuck out of camp, and he wondered how often you did it. Reasonably frequently, he guessed, since you were going to all the trouble to see a band that probably played around the state constantly. You just kept on surprising him, and though it was all a bit of an effort on his part, he had started to enjoy getting to know the parts of you that you kept hidden behind the icy exterior.
You, on the other hand, were getting really weirded out. You might’ve just been paranoid, but you were sure that the new Hephaestus kid who was friends with Percy kept staring at you. Even Percy glanced at you more than once during dinner, something you didn’t think had ever happened before — and you were not looking for attention from the camp’s golden boy, no matter how many times he’d probably saved your life by extension of his quests. Those two, coupled with Luke, whose attentions had inexplicably been focused on you for the last week, made you feel a bit like an animal on display; violently uncomfortable. As you left the meal you shot Beckendorf a nasty glare, somewhat satisfied when he jumped and averted his eyes. You shook your head in a physical attempt to clear the burdens of your thoughts. Soon you wouldn’t have to worry about any of the campers or the stupidity that flowed around the grounds.
About twenty minutes after the campfire started and the rest of the camp were safely together, you began the trek up to the Hamptons — the closest city with a venue. You waited anxiously for the bus to pick you up outside the camp lines, looking over your shoulder to ensure no one had caught you. If your adventures got around camp then Silena would absolutely tell your father as payback for being the reason she can’t date, and that was a whole new set of issues you really didn’t care to deal with. Luke, standing in the shadows watching, felt almost bad for spying on you. Almost.
You could feel your shoulders relax as you got further and further away from camp, the judgement and expectations of people you didn’t even like far behind you for the night. You’d been looking forward to this show since you got tickets with your friends during the school term, and you were determined to make it worth the pain of summer. And it really, really was. Your whole friend group had made it, making it a long awaited reunion, and the band was one you’d been following for years. You danced with all your energy, gleefully shouting lyrics and laughing loudly when you got them terribly wrong.
Luke watched this from his seat at the bar, entranced in your private bubble amongst the chaos. You were smiling — a rare sight at all at camp — but this was one he didn’t think he’d ever seen in all his years of knowing you. It wasn’t filled with pride like the ones you tried to conceal when you got a new record on the climbing wall or you finally beat Clarisse in a training match, nor was it the satisfied smirk you had when you put an egotistical camper in their place or beat up jerks like Ethan. Your smile was alight with joy; relaxed and wholehearted happiness that spread through the room and seemed infectious to anyone who passed you.
It was at that moment that Luke truly understood how you were a daughter of Aphrodite. The way the lights reflected off your hair and your eyes, the easy way you moved your body to the music, everything about you suddenly seemed perfect, and he wondered how he’d never noticed it before. Your appearance hadn’t changed drastically; your hair was loose instead of the practical up-do needed for camp, you wore a tight fitted crop top instead of the camp shirt and you might’ve had some glitter smeared around your eyes. All inconspicuous, ordinary things, yet you seemed like a brand new person. Luke decided he liked this version of you, and if this whole plan failed, at least he’d gotten a glimpse into your real world and behind the facade you hid with at camp.
He was ripped from his thoughts when he saw you make a drinking gesture to your friend, heading towards him unwittingly. He turned in his seat hurriedly, trying to act cool and unaware. You spotted him almost immediately, persona switching up as disgust crept back under your skin.
“If you’re going to ask me out again, could you just get it over with now so I can get back to enjoying my night?” You sighed, grabbing the water bottles from the bartender.
“Would you mind? You’re kind of ruining this for me.” Luke gestured around, hoping his acting chops were as good as he needed. You ignored it either way.
“You’re not surrounded by your usual cloud of smoke,” You noted, curiosity getting the better of you.
“I quit. Apparently they’re bad for you.” You raised an eyebrow, almost too surprised to come up with a quip.
“You did?” You hated how genuine it sounded and turned to go, sensing him get up to follow you.
“You know, I was watching you out there before,” He yelled over the music, “I’ve never seen you look so sexy.” In possibly the worst timing in history, the song ended and the entire club was treated to Luke’s compliment. You both flushed red, and you were unable to contain a small giggle — wildly uncharacteristic for you. Luke, to his credit, only had a mildly sheepish grin on his face, and continued to follow you across the dance floor. “Come to the Apollo party with me.” You couldn’t believe him! Here you were, miles from camp and he was still asking you out. Though, you couldn’t deny that he wasn’t quite as infuriating as you originally thought.
“You never give up, do you?” You gave a good natured sigh, ducking under someone’s arm to get to your friends.
“Was that a yes?”
“No.”
“Was it a no?”
“No!” You let out another laugh which floated over the crowd and straight to Luke. He couldn’t contain his own grin.
“I’ll pick you up at 9:30!” He yelled back. You gave no indication of having heard him apart from a momentary glance, and he couldn’t tell if the smile was directed at him or just a byproduct of your situation. He took it either way.
Having gone to the effort of sneaking away from camp, Luke decided to stay for the remainder of the concert and grudgingly decided the band wasn’t that bad. Not his style, sure, but he could kind of see why you liked them. Besides, these drinks were easier to get than the contraband ones he had to smuggle into camp.
Tired from a night on your feet dancing and feeling your pleasant buzz slipping away, you were less than charmed seeing Luke waiting for your bus. It made sense, obviously you were going the same place, but you didn’t want him to ruin your great night by pestering you about a date.
“What are you doing here?” You asked bluntly, eagerly sitting on the misshapen little bench.
“Getting home?” He trailed off, unsure of what you were looking for. “Besides, we’re a long way from camp and it’s late. Didn’t feel right leaving you here alone.” You hated that you thought it was sweet.
“Do you not think I can take care of myself?” You picked a fight instead, unwilling to be genuine with him. Luke wasn’t stupid enough to fall for it.
“I have complete faith in you,” He laughed, “I’m making sure you don’t kill whoever bothers you.” You let out a snort of a laugh accidentally. You tried to recover,
“It’ll be you if you’re not careful.” Somehow Luke didn’t believe you.
Surprisingly, the trip was almost pleasant. Luke had already gotten what he wanted from the night and the next phase of his plan was shaping up, so he knew bringing up your impending date would only sour your mood. Instead, when he plonked himself down in the seat next to you on the bus, you talked about mundane, silly things. He asked about the friends you were with and let you talk about your life in New York, waving you off when you started to feel guilty since he was at camp all year.
“There’s this really cool record store, we go there all the time. They have this huge bulletin board on one wall where these tiny little bands put up posters for random gigs with, like, fifty people there — it’s so sick, like the 90s I guess. Maybe —” You cut yourself off but Luke knew where you were going. Maybe I could show you. You would deny it if he brought it up, but he couldn’t contain his smile either way.
You were surprised that you had so much to talk about, briefly wondering why you’d never been friends with him before, but the conversation continued all the way to the camp border, where you both knew the risk of sneaking back in meant your night together was over. Once you got into camp there’d be people all around; campers should be in bed but counsellors often patrolled for a while, and many of the non-demigod folks around camp could be up and about well into the early hours of the morning.
“So, um, I’ll see you around?” His sudden shyness was unexpectedly charming, and you found yourself giving Luke a smile — a real one that made his heart flutter embarrassingly.
“Bye, Luke.” You held eye contact for a fraction longer than necessary before disappearing into the shadows. Luke watched you go, not quite starstruck but close to it. A rustle of the trees behind him spurred him into action, but the image of you on the dance floor played on repeat behind his eyes as he lay in his bunk.
#giasfics˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀#love#fluff#luke castellan#pjo series#percy series#percy jackon and the olympians#percy jackson show#percy jackson tv show#pjo#luke castellan pjo#pjo tv show#pjo fandom#percy jackson#luke castellan imagine#luke castellan fanfiction#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan x you
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A scrap from your book
Bakugo x reader, aged up, college! au, quirks don't matter, no warnings, just heartwarming
Roommate Bakugo who is forced to share a room with you for about three months due to unexpected construction works in the college apartment he occupied. The whole Bakusquad was moved to random rooms. To make it worse they were all shared ones. You agreed to take in a male occupant.
Roommate Bakugo who tries to spend as much time outside of the cramped college room as possible. He feels like he's kinda invading your privacy as well as just finding the whole situation uneasy.
Roommate Bakugo who has to complete a bunch of assignments but the library is packed in the late afternoon hours, the air thick with gossip, stress, sweat and annoyance. Bakugo finally wandered off to the dorm room to find some peace for his work.
Roommate Bakugo who spotts you always turn off your lamp and tune down the brightness on your laptop when he tells you he's going to sleep.
"You don't have to do that." He grunts, already wrapped up in heavy covers.
"I don't mind, you do the same." Because he does.
Roommate Bakugo who walks on you watching a film he loves. At first he just circles the small room mindlessly, more interested in the unwrapping dialogue between his two favourite characters than the laundry he's picking up.
"You wanna watch?" You ask, pausing the movie.
"No. I was going to do my laundry."
"I can wait, I can buy some snacks in the meantime, I was looking for an excuse to do it anyway."
So the two of you ended up finishing the film together, sitting on your bed.
Roommate Bakugo who talks to you more, geting used to the situation faster than he thought he would. You both sit by your desks working on the boring college stuff. He spotted you were trying hard, not slacking around and keeping most of your deadlines. Even if he didn't want to admitt it, he was impressed. Not that he didn't do the same, it's just rare to find a person who actually cares.
Roommate Bakugo who didn't know how to phrase a sentence. He was working on a piece of paper for the last two hours after an intense day of workout and his brain refused to cooperate anymore.
"Can I ask you for a favour?" Your face appeared from behind your laptop screen.
"Depends on what is it."
"I finished a short essay and I wanted to ask if you could read it and tell me if it makes sense."
Might as well take a break to refresh his mind. Bakugo read through the text and came to the conclusion that you were a good writer. A very good writer in fact.
"How would you say that in other words?" He asked after you were happy with your work, your laptop tossed aside as you lay on your bed scrolling through your phone.
You skipped to him, read through the sentence and gave him a paraphrase, one that he wouldn't think of himself.
"Thanks."
Roommate Bakugo who was eying you book collection for some time. You had a bunch. When he asked the two of you started talking and in went on and on and on. Finally, you stood up on your bed, the sheets dipping in where you stretched out to reach the highest shelve. Picking out a book you handed it to him.
"My favourite."
So he started to read it.
Roommate Bakugo who got a text from you that you wouldn't be back in the dorms for the night. After a shower he laid down in his bed, shirtless, with your book in hand. It was definitely worth it and he was way past the half already. Suddednly the doors opened only to reveal you, eying him up and down.
"The fuck you doing here?" Suddenly Bakugo felt a tad bit embarassed about his bare chest and lose sweatpants.
"My friend cancelled, sorry, you have someone over?" A small sly grin appeared on yoru lips.
"Jeez no, I'm just half naked."
"I don't mind." You shrugged, throwing your bag on the bed.
And what was that supposed to mean?
Nevermind. Bakugo wanted to get back to the story when he spotted something horrific. His hand gripped a nice chunk of the page, torn out of the book. He must have done it when you startled him with the grand entrance. It was readable as he only torn the cream white but it still looked nasty.
"Shit, I'm sorry." He didn't even look at you, opting on eying the damage, embarassement creaping up his cheeks for destroying someone's else belonging. One of yoru favourite belongings.
You came over, looked at the book and started to laugh.
"What's so fucking funny?" From embarassed Bakugo quickly merged into defensive.
"You look as if you killed my grandma. It's just a book." You saw that it didn't make him feel better, in fact the frown in his brows deepened. "I like my books being used. Lets treat it as a memory of you reading it. Give me the torn piece, please." Your hand reached out and he put the scrap into your open palm.
You skribbled something down on it using a pen fished out of your drawer. When you gave it back to him, the paper read 'Don't stress so much, dummy.'
"You can keep it." A smile brightened your face as you turned around to do other things.
Roommate Bakugo who would never admitt to anyone that he kept that scrap in the back of his phonecase at all times.
Roommate Bakugo who would never admitt to anyone that it took you roughly two months to steal his rock-like heart away.
#bakugou#katsuki bakugou#bakugou x reader#bakugou katsuki#bakugo#katsuki bakugo#mha bakugo x reader#katsuki bakugo x reader#bakugo x you#bakugo x y/n#bakugo x reader#bakugou katsuki x reader#katsuki x reader#mha
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getting jealous
sanji x reader
sanji is constantly swooning over other women, leaving his girlfriend forgotten
dating sanji was amazing- constant compliments, never going hungry, having you’re own little maid do everything for you, but it came with a constant worry of other women. you weren’t insecure about yourself in any way, but the fact that sanji swooned over every girl he saw hurt a little. you knew he couldn’t help it and that he loved you more than any woman, but it still hurt.
it was the party at water7 to celebrate the straw hats return from ennies lobby. you had wanted to enjoy the party with your boyfriend but he told you he was busy with the kitchen and for you to enjoy your own time. that was until half a hour later you saw him practically drooling over a group of girls not leaving their sides. was he serious? he had turned you down- HIS GIRLFRIEND- to hang out with a group of women he didn’t even know? you were so done. not even having the urge to party anymore you left and decided to stroll around the empty town.
the walk was a lot. you tried thinking of anything and everything to get your mind off of sanji, but nothing worked. you felt stupid. did you really think he wouldn’t left your side the second he saw another girl?
-
sanji had noticed your absence from the party now. he walked over to nami asking if she had seen her. she told him you had left and went on a stroll through the town.
why would she leave? is she okay? it’s dangerous for such a pretty lady to be walking alone at night! she should’ve asked me to come with her. his angry thoughts soon turned into happy ones once he saw your figure in-front of him. your back was turned as you were still walking away from him, not yet noticing his presence.
“Y/N-SWANNN” you heard him rushing towards you.
“i missed you so much! i was wondering where you were-“ he had stopped when he heard your stuttered breathing. you thought you were doing fine. you thought you could hold it in, but you were wrong. the second you heard his voice you broke down. did he really not know what was wrong?
“y/n are you okay?” that hurt. suddenly instead of just stuttered breaths it all came rushing out. tears were flowing almost so hard you couldn’t breathe. he was still facing your back. you didn’t want him to see you like this. so defenseless and weak. your legs couldn’t support you anymore so you dropped to the ground, curled up in a ball, with your head in your knees, arms wrapped around your head.
sanji didn’t know what to do. should he support you? should he leave you alone? should he apologize? he didn’t even know what was wrong.
you couldn’t blame him. he was a gentleman. telling him to stop would be like changing the thing you loved most about him. you just had to get over it and dust yourself off. but why was it so hard?
sanji had come to your front now, trying to pry your hand away from your face in order to console you but you held your grip.
“please leave me alone sanji” you had said through broken breaths.
“you know i cannot” he replied. with his worried voice you felt even worse. instead of dealing with your emotions alone, you had now worried sanji. this was the one thing you didn’t want.
a/n : slight scrap. its been sitting in my drafts for a while and i don’t know how to continue it. pls lmk if there’s anything you want me to add
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The Number You Have Called Cannot Be Reached 1
So figured I could show what else I am working on aside from Salt in the Bones with @clockwayswrites. I still blame Clock for this though, they are way too fun to brainstorm with, and I have too many WIPs already.
Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason)
Warnings: angst/depression and canon typical violence
Danny was sick and tired of this city, this entire dimension in fact. And this vigilante family, or whatever they were, were more dogged in their pursuit of him than the GIW or his parents had ever been - all this for a few gizmos.
Danny rolled his eyes and ducked a kick from the most violent midget since Youngblood.
Seriously he was just trying to build a portal home, and it wasn’t like he was hurting anyone. He’d mostly stolen from villains anyway! And Wayne industries was like a multibillion dollar company, they shouldn’t miss a few scraps or prototypes. It would hardly put a dent in their budget.
Midget was back on his feet and had now drawn a freaking sword. Yeah, this was it, Danny needed to leave before bigger and battier arrived. He faked left but then spun right around the probably actual literal kid with the real sword, jumped to the railing and kicked off towards the next rooftop. Ignoring gravity’s pull for a just a couple of seconds was the only reason he landed safely on the other roof.
He felt a moment of worry that the kid would try following him and glanced back, but the child was fuming in safety on the other side, having lost that grappling gun thing he used earlier in the chase, it seemed Danny was safe for now. The kids mouth was moving, probably talking to more of the heroes.
He wasn’t gonna be safe for long, but Danny allowed himself a moment to breathe in relief. Suddenly his breath stuck coldly in his throat and he froze. Impossible! The shades of this city barely tickled his throat, he hadn’t met anything that would even halfway classify as a ghost to his senses. Urgency was like a cold hand around his throat, a desperate longing hummed in his core as he slowly spun trying to get a sense of where - he only managed to see a blur of red before a heavy weight knocked into him slamming him to the ground. The cold mist in his throat was pushed out in a pained oof, and his head bounced first on one thing then another, but that didn’t matter because his core was singing; close, not alone, hug!
Danny’s head spun, his whole body felt pained and smushed. A man, no a freaking tank, was laying on top of him. Body armor dug into his ribs, probably something there was bent or broken and he felt certain that ominous red helmet had left a mark where it hit his forehead. Also his hair felt a bit wet beneath him. Yet that didn’t matter because he was so overwhelmed, warm with hands and feet tingling from the humming joy in his chest. Hug! His core sang again.
Somewhere in the fog in his head he recognized this was no hug, but he hurt, his head was spinning, and he was not alone and he was happy and wasn’t that more important than a bit of pain?
Oo o oO
Jason was unsure what was going on.
He’d managed to tackle the elusive thief Dick had so “creatively” nicknamed the Ghost for his ability to go invisible and the inability for them to land a decent hit on him. In fact if he hadn’t seen footage from previous run-ins with the man, Jason would have thought they wildly exaggerated his skills.
After all the man had frozen up strangely when Jason pulled himself onto the rooftop as he listened only with half an ear to the demon brat angrily grumbling in the comms, that he would have had him had he not been a coward who ran away all the time. Their thief was slowly turning around as if looking for something, the green glass of his goggles reflected in the moonlight and for a moment gave the illusion they were glowing.
Jason had not wasted a moment, got to his feet, crossed the distance in a mere three large steps before he crashed into the man - so, he’d halfway expected the man to move and therefore hadn’t prepared to soften another person’s landing. His helmet hit the shorter man’s forehead and his head rebounded and hit the roof with a sound that made Jason internally wince. The next moment there was a snapping sound and a gasp as the man’s ribcage was caught between the roof and Jason - he really wore no armor, just that thin hoodie. No matter what B said about the danger of the stolen items, Jason was really starting to doubt they had a budding super villain on hand.
He immediately made a move to get up, but stopped, a strange feeling of something overtaking him. It took a moment for him to discern because of the dichotomy, but it was… happiness? What the fuck, it wasn’t his emotions, that made no sense. The pits had only ever sent him rage and in rare moments gruesome satisfaction. This was joy, he felt almost like he was floating caught in a wave at the beach, weightless, happy, warm in the sun. He shook his head pushing the foreign emotions away like he would the pit and focused on his dazed perp.
There was something wet glistening in his unruly black hair.
“Fuck,” Jason muttered, thankfully too low for the helmet to project, but loud enough that he got a breathless but insistent “report” back from Bruce where he was clearly hurrying toward their destination.
“I knocked the Ghost down, he’s bleeding from a head wound,” he muttered at his comms as he pulled the goggles up to get a look his eyes to check for signs of concussion, but immediately froze. The goggles, he’d thought it was a trick of the light earlier, but no, his eyes were glowing - bright and green and just a shade lighter than the Lazarus pits. A shudder ran cold down his back. Somehow the foreign emotions were coming from him, Jason was sure of it, but it explained absolutely nothing! Unrestrained joy? Was this some kind of shock response?
More footsteps landed on the roof and Jason didn’t need to look to know it was Bruce with the Brat along for the ride. He finally remembered he’d been trying to get off the other man at some point.
Oo o oO
No, no, no, Danny’s core protested when the other ghost moved away, and he clutched onto what he could grab, which he dazedly recognized as a very nicely muscled arm. The other arm, because human shaped ghosts have two arms (good job Danny), supported Danny by holding onto one of his arms and that was good. Getting upright gave him the worst moment of vertigo, and his breath whooshed out of him. His legs were like jello and didn’t support him, but that didn’t matter, because his new friend had a good firm grip, could probably even hold him up entirely without Danny clutching his arm, good friend, mine. He butted his head into his chest because that was what he could reach and just leaned there. His core hummed so happily he felt like he’d almost shake apart.
Friend.
Mine
Good friend
…
Why no response?…
Hello? Danny was confused, why wasn’t he getting a response. Also why did his head and chest hurt so bad?
“Tt, what is the matter with him?”
The question, delivered in a haughty voice was like a bucket of ice water on his senses. He gasped and pushed away from where he’d been nuzzling some guy’s chest! Alarmed, he stumbled, but dodged the hands reaching for him, to support him, to catch him, he wasn’t sure. There was the big bat and the midget and the tank in the red helmet; the guy who felt like a ghost and he just wanted nothing more than to go back to him, and- Danny shuddered taking another step back, his face was hot and flaming red right now. This was, this was- he couldn’t-
Hiding his powers be damned; he sunk through the roof.
So embarrassing! He closed his eyes fighting tears as he sank down down down, all the way into the ground where they for sure couldn’t follow him. All the while his insides screamed, because he didn’t want to be lonely anymore. Fuck, he just wanted to go home.
He was so sick and tired of this city.
So... yeah hope you enjoyed this, now I can reveal why I blame Clock, they said and I quote "Danny, like a cat with catnip suddenly" and now Danny is a cat, what can you do ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Jason's gonna have to lure this feral ghost in slowly with food and hugs.
edited with link to the next part:next
Masterpost where you can subscribe: link
#dead on main#dp x dc#Jason is catnip to Danny#Missed connections#cause that's a shorter tag for this story than the title#long title is long but it makes sense#because danny is in a another dimension and missing his friends and family back home#angst#cw depression
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the dark urge
please do not come for me these are just my takes and opinions on the durge route, as someone who has run it through a few times and is pretty familiar with the lore in regards to the previous games. also massive spoilers below. like if you do not want any dark urge spoilers stop reading now.
The Dark Urge (henceforth referred to as DU), whether approached narratively as resisting or as succumbing, is more of a solidly fleshed out origin for a customizable player character compared to Tav. The reason for this is because the DU follows the precedent set by the previous Baldur's Gate games where the main player character is a Bhaalspawn. (If I recall correctly, that was also the intention for BG3, but it was scrapped and the origins split to allow for a fully customizable option).
I'm not going to get into the history of the Bhaalspawn, save to say this much: The protagonist of BG1 & 2, Gorion's Ward, is referenced on rare occasion throughout a DU playthrough and is implied to be dead. (Though they are never named as Abdel Adrian from the TTRPG canon, it is implied that it seems to be following a blend of canon from BG2 and the TTRPG canon). Bhaal, who had split his divine essence into his many children, relied on their deaths and a ritual so that he could return--in a physical sense--to the planes and reclaim his godhood as the Lord of Murder.
You, BG3 DU protag, are crafted purely from Bhaal's divine essence. This was confusing to me at first, because I had believed Bhaal incapable of having any more mortal children (due to not having a physical presence), but it is implied that Bhaal's spiritual and divine essence is strong enough to form you from himself, he is merely lacking the ritual that would return him to physicality. Which is where you come in. And, Orin, I guess.
Because you were crafted from Bhaal, it is implied that any cultural or genetic claim (such as half-elf, dragonborn, or whatever race you choose) is but Bhaal's mimicry of what those stereotypes should be. You're a killer, a Bhaalyn through and through, and you'll be the one to slay the world and slit your own throat on the carcasses left behind to bring about Bhaal's return. The only thing is, you got cocky. Confident. Comfortable. Careless. You got comfortable in your alliance with Gortash and Ketheric. Orin was jealous and wanted your blessing--your place as Bhaal's chosen--, so she struck you down, muddled your mind, and infected you with a mindflayer parasite. That's why you have no memory, and why you ended up on that ship.
So, here you are. You have no memories, but you have a rage and a disgrace and a vengeance you can't quite place. You've got an urge telling you to kill, kill, kill.
Pause. In previous games, the Bhaalspawn protagonist didn't have a "dark urge" that caused you to want to commit violence or murders outside of your control. (Not including Siege of Dragonspear (2016), which does include one uncontrollable murder. This DLC was released as a bridge between BG1 & 2 and came out after the pitches for BG3 had begun). It's implied that this is because of your pure divine creation--think Jesus. Think godspawn. God and mortal. That's what you are, murder incarnate.
The main crux of the DU run, then, becomes this: what do you want to do with this? There are a few paths laid out before you, but the narrative is pretty clear: you are a killer, and you'll always be a killer. This is where I first ran into my concerns with the DU; I was afraid it was going to be an edgelord-y, murderhobo-y playthrough that sacrificed story and companion mechanics for the sake of a bloody kill and edgy narration. I was pleasantly surprised to find that it wasn't the case, because the story unfurls really well no matter which way you go.
A friend of mine played the DU run totally evil; every bad option, every urge indulged, so I asked them what they thought of it. They said it "It definitely involved a lot more violence and death than [their Tav] run, but it's not like [they] murdered everyone [they] came across", and "It did feel a lot like someone very confused with themselves becoming very drunk with the power that comes with the urge".
I played my two DU playthroughs in two parallel ways. The first being Kyr; a DU who wanted to resist his urges and talked a good talk, had a good heart, but at every major moment, he failed to resist and ultimately succumbed back to Bhaal's embrace and became his Chosen.
My other playthrough is Nyris; a cynical, mistrustful bastard, he started out a little rocky, but growing with his companions caused him to reject the evil in his blood despite his other moral shortcomings; in the critical moments, he rejected Bhaal's influence and overcame.
How the DU presents to me, then, is this: nature v nurture. Which will win, which will overcome? By playing Kyr, it felt as though the nature was his driving force. It didn't matter how removed he was or how hard he tried to convince others that he could do better--how hard he could try to convince himself he could do better--he was already doomed by the narrative. Bhaal's manipulations drove him back home, and he didn't even realize that he'd been sucked back into the cult until it was far too late.
But, then, what about Nyris? To him, it felt like nurture. If you remove the cult from him, the indoctrination, what was left? A man struggling to make his own identity, but among those who reaffirmed it every chance that they could. He relied on his own strength and that of those around him to overcome, even if he was unsure, afraid, doubted. It feels like the nurture, or lack thereof, of Bhaal and the Bhaalist cult meant that he was free to grow and learn away from it.
It's something I find further supported in conversations with Jaheira and Minsc, who both talk about "their Bhaalspawn companion", otherwise known as Gorion's Ward from the first two games.
[ID: Minsc: "If Minsc did not inherit the flaming red hair of his mother, or the bushy red beard of his father, why would the spawn of Bhaal inherit his wickedness?"
Kyrran: "We should talk about nature versus nurture some day."
Minsc: "It is simple. As with all battles, the winner will be the one that carries the bigger sword."]
So, in my opinion, the personal arc of the DU and one that the player must engage with is the idea of nature versus nurture, and how your DU will cope with the revelations of their paths in light of the new memories and friendships that they have forged. That's not to say you can't always swing to one extreme; never indulge or always indulge, it's still digging into that nature versus nurture idea.
There is, also, the more overarching theme of BG3 in regards to breaking cycles of abuse, power, and control. If you lean into the idea of nature v nurture, and you realize that there were originally foster families involved in the upbringing of the DU (before said families were murdered, or the DU stolen away by the Bhaalist cult), you have to consider two things:
1.) Bhaal is comparable to both Shar and Vlaakith as gods that indoctrinate their religious followers, and
2.) Bhaal is comparable to Mystra and Cazador as those who take control of a severe power imbalance to inflict their will.
The narrative informs you, if you accept Bhaal's gift as Chosen, exactly the consequences that will fall upon you. It is the same as the consequences that are so heavily explained to you in regards to Shadowheart, Lae'zel, Gale, and Astarion.
[ID: *A gift from your god, your Father. An offering of his affection for you, or confirmation that he owns you.*]
[ID: *For a moment, the brine-pool of your brain clears. To die: to rest, to save the world from yourself. To accept, to become his prophet - in any disobedience, subject to his lash.*]
A lot of people say that the DU run is the "evil" playthrough, and it truly isn't. Just like any of the other decisions you make in this game in regards to your companion quest, it is a question of power and control. Power you give up by rejecting Bhaal is also control that he loses over you. Power you gain in accepting him, to exert over others, is also the control he will take. It's up to you how you will approach the DU, but I think it is shortsighted to say it is the "evil" playthrough if you are not fully engaging with the themes. You can make all of the good options that you can make with Tav--but you are fighting the narrative. The narrative has a plan for you. If you want to resist, you will have to fight for it.
#anyways. i will probably add on more to this. at some point.#fiwb meta#bg3 meta#bg3#baldur’s gate 3#baldur's gate 3#bg3 spoilers#durge spoilers#the dark urge#baldur's gate 3 spoilers#dark urge spoilers#bg3 dark urge#bg3 dark urge spoilers#spoilers#spoiler tag#meta tag#meta
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