#and you take the out onto the fence and you line them up and you splode them
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The JJK Crew as Firemen
Okay lads and gentlebugs, it's damsel time! This is how they meet you, rescue you, and fall in love...all in their fully uniformed line of duty.
Starring: Nanami, Gojo, Geto, Ino, Megumi, Yuuji, Higuruma, Sukuna and Toji
Warnings: Building fires, road traffic collisions, suicide attempts, injuries, earthquakes, floods, wildfires, near-drowning, Ferris wheels, highly irresponsible use of fire-trucks
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Gojo
Satoru had agreed to take an extra shift, with the threat of bad weather, and he regretted it-- this storm was biblical. The skies were so black and pregnant with rain, it may as well have been night. The billowing rains slapped and stung Satoru's cheeks. Drivers were blinded, their wipers failing to clear their windscreens even at maximum speed. People stumbled, buffeted into the roads by violent winds. And Satoru's sense of humour could only get him so far when members of the public made increasingly irrational decisions, and placed themselves in danger.
But not you, he thought, as he stepped into the wild torrents of overflowing river water, to the dismayed shouts of his colleagues, you absolutely don't deserve to die like this.
Trying to head home, kept cruelly late by a manager who didn't care how far you had to travel, you had missed your bus, and had to take a dangerous detour over a little river bridge, public transport services all abruptly cancelled. One violent sweep of wind was all it took to rock you over the little fence, and you clung desperately to weeds on the riverbank, soaked, shivering, gulping at murky, frigid, terrifyingly climbing waves.
"I'm coming," shouted the fireman, white-haired, tall, throwing off his heavy uniform jacket, with no regard for his own safety, "just hold on, I'll get you out, I promise--" Satoru sloshed and slipped, his t-shirt muddy and plastered to his chest as he slid down the riverbank. He allowed his colleagues to hurriedly harness him. Hitting the water, his abs clenched painfully with the cold, and he began to wade towards you.
You cried out, feeling your grip on life be washed away as the riverbed crumbled, releasing the weeds you clung to. As the river grasped you, your hands flung desperately out, holding your breath, praying, praying--
An enormous hand gripped your own, and a long forearm drew you close with one almighty heave. Satoru dug his fingers deep into the river wall, feeling the jarring rub of stones embedded in smooth wet squelch.
"Don't let go, just hold onto me--" Satoru reached under the water, gripping your thighs and making you grasp them around his hips. You flung your arms round his neck, your face in his chest, and he held you like this, stepping back against the onslaught of the river as his colleagues reeled you both in.
Still carrying you, his arms locked under your bum, Satoru staggered up the riverbank, drenched, chest heaving you up and down against him. You glanced up at him meekly, trembling and cold. Satoru sighed, grinning down at you.
"Come on then. Tell me your name, 'cos we're gonna have to get undressed for me to warm you up."
Nanami
A wave of heat slapped across Kento's face, and he pulled equipment to his body in a practiced rush. A smash and a roar burst from the inferno in front of him, as a window exploded, blackened glass spraying through the air. The apartment block was being gutted as he watched.
"Sir! Sir!"
"What is it, Ino?"
"Evacuation incomplete, sir. There's someone left on the second floor."
Kento pulled his mask down, eyes shooting up to an opened window, a white sheet hanging out of it, flapping as the heat rose from below. Crews around him shouted to be heard over the roar of flame, with cannons shooting water, attempting to quell the fire from the lower floors. Crowds of pyjama'd residents were herded away, confused and bleary-eyed as flames ate their homes.
"Is the left stairwell clear, Ino?" Takuma faltered as Kento stamped his boots into place, yanking on his gloves.
"For-- for now-- you can't be serious sir--" Kento huffed inside his mask, clapping Ino on the shoulder, Ino buckling slightly at the strength behind it.
"I'm always serious, Ino."
Without another word, Kento stepped towards the building, sweating in his suit as he moved into a stairwell, belching smoke. His senses were dulled, his vision boxed-in, hearing his own panting breaths in the fishtank of his helmet. Taking the stairs two at a time, he hesitated and turned at the top; Kento looked down the stairs, feeling heat scorch up towards him, the fire spreading rapidly, closing off his exit.
Out of time, he thought. Approaching a corridor, its doorway jammed, swollen and warped, Kento lifted a foot and kicked it effortlessly through with a roar, the door splintering and buckling under his boot.
"Are you here? Shout for me," Kento bellowed into the corridor. His ears pricked at the shouts and coughs from the end of the corridor. Building into as much of a run as his equipment would allow, he reached another door, its paint raised and wrinkled by the heat.
Kento stepped back, turning sideways as he rammed the door with his shoulder, once, twice, three times, and barrelled through as it splintered under his weight.
Spinning his head, he saw you, crouched on the floor beneath your window, terrified and relieved in your pyjamas. Kento stepped to you, kneeling, his gloved hands moving over your body, checking you for injury. You stared into him, unable to stop yourself from grabbing his forearms, hands shaking and cold despite the blazing heat churning through the floor.
"I thought-- I thought I was going to die here," you gasped, trembling. Kento's heart creaked, and he was surprised, shaking it off-- do your job, Kento, he chastised himself.
"At least if we die here, we won't die alone. Can you stand?" You nodded, rising on shaking legs, and immediately dropped down, your eyes stinging and burning from the smoke billowing across the ceiling, pouring in from the corridor.
Kento's heart dropped to his stomach as the floor shook- an almighty crash down the corridor signified its collapse. Keeping you close with one arm round your waist, Kento leaned out of your window. With a grateful lurch, he could see his colleagues ready with the parachute canopy, waving, calling, beckoning him down.
Kento pulled you close, your back against his chest, both arms wrapped in an arresting grip around your belly and chest-- "Do you trust me?" His heart skipped again as you turned your head, gazing into him through his visor, nodding.
Kento sat backwards on the window ledge, forcing you to sit on his lap. He tried to bracket you with his arms and legs, giving a satisfied grunt as you pressed yourself hard against him.
"On three," he toned, low and heady in your ear, "...one." You squealed and squeezed his arm as he dropped backwards, both of you gripped by gravity and hauled earthwards. Kento grunted as you landed in the parachute, shielding you from impact.
The weightlessness continued as the parachute was carried from the building and placed gently on the ground. Shouts and cheers and roaring flames rang into the night, and heavy gloved hands clapped on Kento's arms and shoulders, from which you had not been released. You trembled in his lap, feeling his chest heave against your back.
When Kento broke out of his reverie, he caught your eyes staring up at him, soft and grateful, trying to see him through his helmet.
"My hero," you whispered, just quiet enough for him to hear. Kento's heart stuttered. He lifted one gloved hand and removed his helmet, blond hair messy, a fine sheen of sweat across his cheeks, his brown eyes flickering amber in the firelight. You bit your lip, drinking him in. He still had not let you go.
Geto
The whispering crowd was infected; the morbid curiosity of a thronging mass, negated the base empathy of its participants, and replaced it with a spectacle-hungry monster.
Suguru felt the grumbling rubber-neckers by the bridge be reluctantly pushed back by police officers. The first out of his fire truck, Suguru pushed through, sleek as a fish swimming upstream, and ducked under the police officers' arms, unhindered due to uniform privilege. He picked up pace as he approached the stairs, his heart in his mouth.
And, on the railings of the bridge, stood you; you trembled, so exposed and vulnerable. Nothing could make this better. Nothing could ease this naked agony. Nothing in death could be more painful than the burden of life. Nothing could possibly eke you back from the edge of this--
"Hey. I'm Suguru. I'm sorry this is happening to you."
His voice pierced your reverie, and the world slowed around you both. The passage of leaves on the wind stilled. The collective voice hushed. The railings gripped you tightly by the hands.
"And it's not going to be easy. Coming back from this. Getting better."
Your lips puckered upwards and you hiccuped, your sobs wet, your nose dripping. As you shook, one foot slipped off the edge of the bridge and the crowd shrieked as you partially dropped, the collective voice now drowning you, leaves twirling on a whirlwind, railings forsaking you--
You felt two strong arms grip around your waist. Scrabbling against them with stress-bitten nails, your foot tried to gain purchase again. Your weak little heart caved at the effort required and you teetered, weeping and floppy, half-on and half-off the bridge.
"I can let go of you. If you need me to. I understand. But...I don't think you do want me to."
Embraced like this, you felt warm. It was much easier leaping from the cold air than from warm arms, which had given you permission both to die, and to live. Your heart creaked, the choice suddenly made easy.
"Pull me up," you sobbed as you felt the arms tighten around you, "pull me up pull me up pull me u--"
You fell with a thud against the warm voice, and grasped onto it, curled into its lap, sobbing your heart out, the crowd beneath you sounding both relieved and disappointed. The warm voice soothed you, rocked you, stroked your hair.
You found yourself, in a few slow blinks, sat in the back of an ambulance, hands trembling around a hot drink, wrapped in a silver foil blanket. You stared blankly, numb, into the rising steam. A few short taps came from the ambulance door.
You looked up to see a beautiful man who you didn't recognise, handsome, slanted eyes glimmering, his long black hair pulled up into a bun. Your heart skipped a beat as you recognised to whom the warm voice belonged.
"You should be proud of yourself. It's not easy accepting help. Can I sit with you?"
Ino
The road was carnage, with debris scattered across tarmac, the remnants of one car smouldering weakly in dying flames, and the cries and sobs of a bloodied man being carried away on a stretcher. Still, the queue of traffic behind beeped and cussed, so outrageously inconvenienced.
Your car was crushed around you, the splitting pain in your leg made so much worse by the anxious claustrophobia of these crumpled walls, and not knowing how injured you really were. The sickening speed of the crashrolltumblecrash that had trapped you here, replayed in your mind on repeat. You felt panic claw up your throat, tasting your own blood as it dripped down your cheek and into your mouth.
"Wow, girl! You really didn't like this car, huh?"
The ridiculous flippancy of the statement was so incongruous, you laughed. Sniffling and trembling, you looked sideways through broken glass. A young man, his face friendly and open, squashed in his helmet, stared back at you, a sympathetic smile in his eyes.
"My name's Takuma. I'm here to get you out of this car, me and my friends. You look like you could use some help." Your lips pinched and you moved to nod, but Takuma's hands darted out, his fingertips to your cheeks and temples, holding your head.
"No. Don't. Your neck could be injured. Just...still as you can, okay? Good girl."
Takuma reached into a pocket, pulling out earplugs and putting them in for you, gingerly pulling a pair of goggles over your eyes. He removed them again briefly, gently swiping his thumb over a drip of blood about to run into your eye, wiping it on his trousers, replacing the goggles.
Takuma and his crew made short work of cutting through the pillars of your wrecked car, lifting the roof and doors off as if they were made of cardboard. After paramedics confirmed the integrity of your spine, hips and legs, Takuma managed to kneel beside your seat, working to release your trapped leg.
Fearful, your hand reached out, lying on Takuma's shoulders, gripping the back of his collar. Wordlessly, and without looking back, Takuma shook off one glove as his other hand worked, and reached up to hold your hand in his, rested together on his shoulder. You felt a curious tranquility run through you at his effortless kindness.
Your foot released, with a rush of pain as blood throbbed in your toes. You felt a twinge of disappointment as Takuma stepped back, allowing himself to be replaced by the concerned hands of medics.
"Not every day you get to be rescued by someone so handsome, huh?" Takuma laughed, framing his jaw faux-smugly between his thumb and forefinger. You smiled up at him, cute and appreciative in a way that made his belly clench.
"No. It's not every day I get to be rescued by someone so handsome."
You did not realise heroes could blush so sweetly.
Megumi
"Here. C'mon boy-- over here. You-- over there. Good boys."
Megumi expertly directed his dogs, one black and one white, against the threat of night-time's approach. News crews inconvenienced him, and he scowled, traversing rubble and wires as shouting rescuers tried desperately to set up floodlights. A chill bit through the air.
"...tonight, as a 7.8 magnitude earthquake rocked the city. The search for survivors continues as..."
Megumi raised his head to the tune of three short barks from his dog, and he jogged to the corner of a collapsed school, feeling his heart drop to his stomach. His black dog pointed keenly to a crushingly large pile of rubble, no building left for lessons and lunchtimes. Megumi reached into his pocket, offering his dog a treat, scratching its ears and head to the tune of a proud wagging tail.
"Good boy, good boy. Wait here for me." Megumi headed to the rubble, keen eyes scouring, ears astute and listening. He found an opening, the remnants of a collapsed doorway. He heard shuffles, coughs. He shoved some loose brickwork aside, and you felt rays of evening sunlight pierce what you thought was to be your grave.
"Can you hear me?" shouted Megumi, and you clung to his voice from your little coffin. Your eyes pricked with tears as the shadow of a young man blocked the rays of light, and he raised a torch, creating a beam of light, illuminating yourselves to each other.
"You got under a table?" Megumi asked, impressed, appreciative, "That saved your life. Good job."
You smiled wetly, your cut hands clotted with brick dust, and you moved to come out from under the table towards him. A perilously leaning wall teetered above you as you emerged, and you felt a shadow begin to drop over you.
With a scream, and Megumi's harsh shout, you braced for impact...and felt none. Your body felt suddenly warm, pleasantly cushioned. Opening your eyes you felt the young man lying full-length across you, his forearms braced on the floor, impossibly strong as he shielded you from the collapsed brickwork. You gasped, still and shocked, as he planked against you.
"Get yourself out. Now," he grunted. You nodded, slithering out from underneath him, leaving bloodied handprints on the brickwork as you clambered out to safety. A rough groan behind you signified Megumi somehow shaking most of a wall off his back, and crawling out to meet you.
Again, impossibly, you were the one who swayed on your feet, and Megumi reached his hands out to steady you. Two eager dogs sniffed around you both, and Megumi's frown deepened with a pretty pink blush as you gazed into him with unabashed admiration.
"Get yourself to the medics," Megumi grumbled, rubbing brick dust out of his spiky hair, "they'll help you from he--"
"I will. If you give me your number."
"You-- you are out of your mind."
Yuuji
Yuuji lowered his visor, and regretted it immediately as the rain slapped against it. Reluctantly, he raised it, feeling instant cool trickles from fringe to eyebrows. Blinking water away, he crowded amongst his colleagues, all fresh fire-service arrivals to provide relief and rescue from this flooded valley town.
Twisting round, flicking muddy splatters, Yuuji's ears pricked as his Captain, Nanami Kento, barked orders.
"Ino, Maki-- provide aid and rescue for the eastern quarter. Kugisaki, to the west. Itadori--"
Nanami hesitated at Yuuji, who would have been wagging his tail if he had one. On a hitched breath, Nanami continued.
"Itadori, survey the northern lane's integrity before we move towards evacuation. Do not," Nanami warned, slanted eyes narrow through his visor, "do anything dangerous."
Yuuji appeared thoughtful; "And by dangerous, you mean...?"
"Itadori."
"Got it sir. Nothing dangerous," Yuuji offered with a wink and a salute. Nanami stared after him with silent despair as Yuuji jogged, splashing down the waterlogged lane.
Yuuji hummed to himself, his voice breaking and springing as he jogged, blowing rivulets of water away from his lips, slipping through the mud road between lanes, hedges, trees, descending down a winding hill. He heard the hushed roar of torrents of water, and rounded the corner curiously.
The river had burst its banks, submerging a hidden dip in the road. The water sloshed, murky with sediment, lapping at an enormous felled tree, underneath which--
"Shit...shit!" Yuuji cussed, seeing a small car, almost completely submerged, partially crushed under the weight of the tree. Yuuuji sprinted, feet slapping and skidding in the wet slop of the road. Inside the car, splashes, and a desperate wet voice.
"Oh fuck--hang on, just hang on, I'll get you out." Yuuji sloshed into the flood, chest deep, keeping his footing as the undercurrent threatened to sweep him away. Leaping over felled creaking branches, rattling in the wind, Yuuji met a pair of small pale hands at the window of the car. He pressed his broad palms flat against the glass, your last remaining barrier to complete submersion.
Tear-stained, awaiting death, you stared out at him, hyperventilating, gasping, "I don't want to die here-- not like this-- I can't get out--" Yuuji took a step back, eyes wide and fearful, brimming with doubt. You saw this in him, and your lips puckered, sobbing, snotty and cold.
"I know," you reassured him as you shook, "there's nothing you can do...the tree-- you can't move it in time. I can't-- I can't--"
"I can."
You stopped, palms flat against the glass, sweet eyes boring into Yuuji, and he was possessed by malcontent.
"I can," he insisted, throwing his yellow jacket and helmet off to sink away into the muddy depths. His black t-shirt clung to his form. Even young and drenched, he looked...powerful. Still, you shook your head, slowly at first until you filled with certainty.
"You can't," you insisted, assuaging him from guilt, "you're not strong eno--"
"No, I'm strong. I'm really strong. Not smart, but--" Yuuji pulled his gloves up, taking a staggered stance with his palms flat under the tree. He turned sideways, eyes wide and innocent as he grinned.
Teeth gritting, Yuuji roared as he heaved the tree trunk. His arms shook, wet biceps bulging against his sleeves as he heaved and bellowed. As you opened your mouth to insist he stop, the words caught in your throat-- somehow, in a masterclass feat of strength, you saw the tree trunk begin to lift off the roof of the car, taking pressure off the frames and doors.
"Oh my god," you squeaked, voice strangled in amazement, "keep going, you're doing it, good boy good boy good boy--"
With one final wild exertion, Yuuji shunted the tree, and it rolled with a thick splash down the bonnet. Wading towards the car, Yuuji gripped the door handle, ready to pull against the stunning mass of water.
"When I open this, the car's gonna fill up," he pondered aloud, "so..."
"I'll reach out for you," you nodded, gasping, the water up to your chin. Yuuji's lips curled appreciatively, and he maintained eye contact as he counted down.
"Three, two, one...go!" Yuuji grunted, heaving the door open, filled with terror as your face disappeared in a rush of brown. Shoving his thick thigh into the gap, he reached in, begging, praying--
-- Yuuji felt two cold hands grip his forearms, and he gripped in return, heaving you through the torrent into his arms.
In mutual relief, chests heaving against each other, you coughed and spluttered in Yuuji's arms, fingers sinking into his hair, planting wet kisses of thanks to his cheeks.
"You saved my life," you pressed, voice breaking, "How am I ever...how can I ever...?"
"You can...just call me 'good boy' again? Just once more?"
Higuruma
"Shit-- it's spread so fucking fast--"
Higuruma Hiromi wasn't sure if the crushing, oppressive heat was coming from the sun, the scorched earth beneath his feet, or the wall of flames devastating the dry summer forest before him.
Eyes wide and appalled, his frown wrinkled his hooked nose, drips of sweat trickling through spiky black hair and onto the thirsty earth. His black t-shirt was claustrophobically tight against prickling skin, and he ran two hands down his chest before pulling on his yellow jacket and helmet.
With a sharp intake of breath, he began to boom orders to his scurrying team; "you know what to do-- restrict the spread, we have to stop this encroaching on the--"
"Sir, please! Please, listen, there's someone in there--"
Hiromi's head snapped round, hawkish black eyes like beetles in the firelight, and landed on a park ranger, fighting to be heard over the roar of flame and barrier-arms of police officers. Hiromi stomped over to him, one harsh finger pointed in the officers' face to prevent his interruption before he could start.
"You say there's someone in there? In the forest? Be clear," Hiromi commanded. The park ranger gulped.
"One of the other rangers, she-- she's trying to save some of the bird-boxes-- endangered species--"
Hiromi laughed, humourless, as he rubbed his face, gazing to the heavens, between two long-fingered hands.
"Endangered species-- she's a fucking endangered species, at this rate--" Hiromi laughed again, breathing in through his mouth, and out with a sandy groan and a decision.
"Begin at the edges," he commanded to his team, jogging towards a break in the trees, "I'll be back, if I'm lucky." Hearing the frantic shouts of his team beckoning him back, Hiromi's boots stamped over the embering earth, all noise fading and replaced by hellish heat and the lick of devil's tongues.
Hiromi panted, chest heaving as it gulped in heavy air and ashes, embering leaves wisping to the floor around him. Spotting a sign, its information barely legible as the paint wrinkled up from the surface, he sprinted onwards through the inferno, leaping over logs, skidding through wafer-dry foliage, the flames in the branches above him creating the burnt-umber sunset of a hellscape.
Approaching a circular fence, the bird sanctuary was engulfed, and inexplicably, a woman halfway up a tall wooden ladder was detaching a bird-box from the side of a tree. Hiromi skidded to a halt, incredulous, snorting in derision.
Your skin felt as dry as tanned leather on your cheeks as you tucked the bird-box under your arm and began to step down the ladder. Just one more, you thought, I can get just one mo--
"I don't like to interrupt someone passionate about their job, but are you quite finished?"
You jumped, clasping the bird-box to your chest as Hiromi loomed over you, his anger rising so much taller than he was. You swallowed, tongue like sandpaper, answering honestly.
"I'm not, actually, I've got one more to--"
Hiromi's gloved hands had cupped around the birdbox, gently plucking it out of your hands and into his. You squealed indignantly as he ducked, throwing you over his shoulder with one arm, grunting as you wriggled and kicked.
"Do as you're told," Hiromi chastised as you thumped at his back with your fists, crying out, sobbing as he carried you away, "I appreciate your diligence but--"
"No, please-- just listen--" you sobbed, reaching back as he carried you and the single bird-box away, "--the eggs-- the last breeding pair--"
Hiromi stopped despite himself, feeling the flames ringing closer around him. He tapped his foot, furious, considerate. Placing you down with a huff, he walked back to the ladder. As he picked it up, he shot you a hot-eyed look of sarcastic inquisition. Lips puckering mulishly, you pointed to the tree beside him.
Wordlessly, his body language dramatically muted, Hiromi placed the ladder and took it two rungs at a time. Removing the birdbox, gripping it in one fist, Hiromi slid down the sides of the ladder and stamped back to you, pressing the bird-box into your arms beside the other.
As your eyes melted at him in a soft little smile, embracing your bird-boxes, Hiromi blushed, glaring at you without venom. He ducked down in front of you slightly, not breaking eye-contact. Your head tilted owlishly, and Hiromi felt his belly twist in odd delight.
"What are you--" the air was thumped out of you as Hiromi hefted you over his shoulder again, and he huffed out a laugh as you swore at him. You clung to your bird-boxes as he ran through the flames, gasping and squeaking as he leapt over, under, through...
Hiromi burst out of the forest and into the open, cooled instantly by the wind-carried cool spray of a dozen hoses. Hiromi dropped you down, and you fell to your knees beside each other, panting, feeling the water drizzle down your bodies.
"So," Hiromi gasped, throwing off his jacket and t-shirt, groaning at the cool water dripping down his chest, "tell me about your birds."
You pressed your forehead to his bare-chest, breath grazing across it as you laughed, sending shivers down Hiromi's spine. Resting your cheek on him, looking up with lovestruck, appreciative eyes, Hiromi wondered faintly that he could listen to you tell him about birds all night.
Sukuna
This was the worst day of your life. You had made a horrible error of judgement, and you prayed to the god who had forsaken you, steeping in the consequences of your own actions. You would live the rest of your days in terror, stomach cold and gripped and roiling with fear, never happy again--
To the amused intrigue of onlookers, you were enjoying an extra-long ride at the top of a colourful Ferris Wheel. But you were afraid of heights, and had chosen a beautiful summers' day to challenge yourself. And then the Ferris Wheel got stuck. And now you were going to die up here.
You slid off the seat and onto the floor, and sobbed as your little carriage rocked in the wind. The Ferris Wheel creaked, and you felt a cold terrified sweat drop down your chest, your hands flinging out to clutch the seats. Head tipped back and eyes closed, you felt panic settling in--
"Oi. Woman. Do you want this, or not?"
You shrieked at the suddenly-appearing pink-haired man clung to the outer bars of your carriage, his face nothing short of bored and pissed off as he held a bottle of water out to you.
"What the fuck-- are you doing up here-- did you climb here?"
Sukuna snorted at you, eyes narrowed and cruel as he took you in, all sweat and tears and skirt tucked all the way up to your hips.
"Look at you, what a fucking mess," he cooed to your furious blushes, eyes brimming with tears again, "you're normally my type, but--"
"Are you just here to make fun of me?" You hiccuped, snatching the bottle of water out of his hand, unscrewing the cap as Sukuna laughed at you. With a wicked glint in his eye, Sukuna jumped his feet against the bars, rocking it, and you shrieked, clinging to the seats and sloshing water over your thighs as he laughed harder.
"Oh baby," he mocked, "you scared of heights? Want me to hold your hand?" He lifted his feet to rock the carriage again, but stopped, frowning as you answered.
"Yes," you hiccuped, "please. Hold my hand." As your little hand slid up the wall of the carriage towards his gripped around the bars, Sukuna snorted, turning his face away from you.
"It's hot," he stated, blunt, "I was told to bring you water. I've done my job. I'm not gonna hold your--"
"Please." His stomach flipped, cock twitching involuntarily inside his uniform as you begged. Sukuna snorted again, ignoring you. As you started to sniffle, weeping, your hand slid down away from his. A heartbeat passed, and you felt a strong, warm hand reach in, fingers plaiting through yours.
"You're pathetic," he mocked, still staring out across the sea, his voice a little softer now, "what the hell are you doing in a Ferris Wheel if you're afraid of heights?"
"I wanted...I wanted to see if I could--"
"Idiot. Now you're stuck here," he snapped, almost sounding concerned, his heart fluttering in a way that made his neck prickle as you rested your tear-dampened cheek against his hand in yours.
You and Sukuna stayed this way, your cheek against your fingers plaited in his. The carriage became gradually bathed in a warm pink sunset, lighting up the coral of his hair. The sway was gentle, a little boat on lilting tide.
Finally, a short jolt rumbled the carriage to life, and it began to trail in a circle back towards the ground.
Just before your carriage ground to a halt, Sukuna spoke, slow and mischievous.
"Hey. Woman."
"What?" you answered, unaware of your skirt hitched up around your waist.
"Cute little panties you've got there."
The shrieks of rage and cackling laughter could be heard all the way down to the beach.
Toji
"You've called-- you've called him in? Are you out of your mind?" Satoru gaped at Nanami, his fellow Captain, gobsmacked as Nanami pursed his lips in irritation.
The fire-truck was parked to the side of the main road; all cars were halted, abandoned, swarmed by rioters in scarves and balaclavas, hundreds upon hundreds of them, a swirling mass of destruction in the streetlights. Riot police vainly attempted to form a blockade, stumbling as bodies slipped past them, shop windows smashing, flaming bottles tossed.
"We need the bodies," Nanami pressed, stripping his t-shirt off, thick muscular arms reaching into the truck to find a clean one, "how often do the riot police call us in for support? Besides, he looks...intimidating. He may serve as a...deterrent."
Satoru snorted derisively, "He was fired for a reason, Nanami, mark my--"
"Hey, kid, long time no see."
Satoru stiffened as a shadow loomed over him, one heavy hand clapping down on his shoulder. Toji smirked, his scar twisted, raising his boot to put out his cigarette on the sole. He stamped his boots into place, his yellow rubber trousers tatty and worn, jacketless and terrifyingly ripped in a tight black t-shirt.
"So..." Toji continued, staring into the chaos ahead of him, "support the cops, yeah?" He sucked his teeth, rolling his shoulders. Nanami nodded, brisk, shoving a helmet towards Toji, grimacing as it was immediately rejected. Nanami shrugged, not wishing to waste time arguing, and directed the firemen towards the crowd to encourage some form of calm.
Toji stayed back, choosing where to go. At a glance, he saw a young woman duck down behind a car, arm raised to toss an egg at the back of a police officer's head. You caught Toji's eye, a bandana pulled up covering your lower face, and he laughed under his breath as your eyes twinkled mischievously.
"Little minx," he muttered, admiring the quiet subversion. Laughing out loud as you tossed the egg, landing a direct hit, Toji moved on, stepping towards a shop, his passive presence alone enough to scatter the looters inside.
The pressure from the crowd built, peaking, and Toji felt the mood in the air change from rave gone overboard to aggression and spite.
Seeing the crowd pulse and surge, Toji spotted you in the front, crushed, buffeted against the officers' riot shields. You caught his eye again, now desperate and pained, instead of playful. Toji felt himself clench, stepping in behind two of the riot officers, who barely had time to glance at him between wild shouts at the crowd.
Easily, with two strong hands, Toji parted the shields just enough for you to drop through, and he caught you, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. As you stared up at him, speechless and waiting to be arrested, he looked down at you, the glimmer in his eyes threatening shenanigans.
"I don't know about you," he drawled, low and slow, "but these clowns couldn't break a nail, let alone a crowd." You laughed, tinkling and sweet, and Toji felt a burst of ego for having caused it.
"Ever been in a fire truck, sweetheart?"
Moments later, the fire truck rumbled to life, its sirens ringing and flashing in warning. The pressure of the crowd eased for a moment, hundreds of enquiring eyes on you and Toji in the front seats, one of his hands resting across your belly, protective, shielding you in place.
The enquiring eyes turned fearful as the fire truck reversed, then slowly swung to face the crowd and riot officers alike, revving.
With a smirk, Toji allowed the truck to jolt forwards. The crowd cried out collectively, its stance breaking, dozens of people scattering to escape the scene. Revving again, the truck jolted forwards once more, harder this time. Half the crowd stumbled, falling over themselves to run. With one final booming rev, the crowd shrieked and shouted, scattering like spiders up and down the length of the street, no act of protest apparently worth getting run over for.
And as you and Toji were pulled, laughing, from the fire-truck, both being slammed and cuffed against the nearest police car, your eyes met, and your bandana slipped down to reveal your lovely grin.
Toji smirked, heads on the car facing each other. Shooting you a wink which made you giggle and blush, he snorted to think that maybe he was just the right dismissed ex-fireman to get the job done.
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Wheeeee, rescue me fire daddies 🚒🔥
#gojo satoru x reader#satoru gojo#gojo satoru#kento nanami x reader#kento nanami#nanami kento#suguru geto#geto suguru#getou suguru x reader#jjk#jjk nanami#geto suguru x reader#takuma ino#ino takuma fluff#ino takuma#megumi fushiguro#toji fushiguro#jjk megumi#toji x reader#itadori yuuji#yuuji x reader#itadori yuji x reader#higuruma hiromi#jjk hiromi#hiromi x reader#hiromi higuruma x reader#sukuna ryomen#ryomen sukuna
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Omg LL idea!!! Him bringing her up on the podium with him in his karting days🤭 He is in like the teenage “inchident” years, and he wins a race that LL attended with the family, and he beckons her over and onto it with him in her cute little summer dress, adorable!!
A DAY AT THE RACES
pairing: leclerc family x leclerc!reader (+ gasly fam cameo)
warnings: toddler tantrum. crying.
author's note: toddler leclerc is back!! huge shoutout to @champomiel for making me obsessed with a baby little leclerc :))) and also thank you to each person who send in a request regarding baby leclerc!!
masterlist
• • • • • • •
''When Charles drives by, you have to yell his name very loudly, okay?'' Pascale told the toddler in Lorenzo's arms, smiling as she saw her daughter respond enthusiastically.
Her older brother nodded to their mother's words. ''Yeah, you have to scream ''Go Charles!'' so he can hear you.'' He added.
The young girl nodded to their words, all her attention back on the track in front of them. It was her first time at Charles' karting race- or at least the first time she was consciously experiencing it.
Y/N was still only a toddler so everything is still quite sensitive to her, like the loud sounds of the kart engines. Pascale had taken several ear-protective gear with her, hoping her youngest wouldn't throw a tantrum like Arthur and Charles used to do at the F1 races when they were her age.
''There he is!'' Hervé exclaimed, grabbing his family's attention. ''Allez, Charles! Keep going! Come on, Charles!'' The man cheered his son on from behind the fences.
The young teenagers cruise by in their karts, the place drowned in applause and noises from their family and friends as they pass the crowd. The sudden booming voices caused Y/N to get distracted and glance around her instead of screaming for her brother, who was running in first place.
The toddler whimpered as she glanced back at the track and saw that all the small cars were gone. ''I missed Charlie.'' She sniffled, which rapidly turned into bawling.
The Leclerc family's focus turned from Charles' P1 to the youngest's sobbing. ''What's wrong, bébé? Do your ears hurt?'' Pascale's impression was that the combination of the loud cheers and engines were too much for the little one's ears.
Y/N frantically shook her head, making Lorenzo tighten his hold on her. ''I missed Charlie! I didn't say ''Go Charles'', Maman!'' She whined to her mother, calming Pascale's worries that her daughter wasn't in physical pain.
''It's okay, it's okay! Don't worry about it, chérie.'' Hervé attempted to comfort her, endeared by the girl's concern for not cheering her older brother on.
Her father's words didn't seem to have any effect on her and she kept crying her eyes out. She reached for the headphones on her head, trying to get them off her head- too much stimulation around her at the moment.
''Wow! Be careful, you have to keep those on.'' Lorenzo gently scolded her, with Hervé stopping her and keeping the headphones on her head.
''No! They're too heavy!'' Y/N continued whining, struggling to take them off.
Pascale watched on, navigating on what she should do as her daughter carried on with her adorable yet frustrating temper tantrum. ''Chérie, take her with you to the finish line.'' She instructed her husband, pointing to where the person with the chequered flag was waiting.
Hervé nodded at her, releasing her from Lorenzo's arms. The small girl continued shedding tears, but nestled in her father's arms. ''We're gonna see Charles, okay?'' He asked her, smiling down at her as he walked away from their family members.
Y/N timidly shook her head up and down, loudly sniffing her stuffy nose. ''Is Cha gonna be angry at me, Papa?''
Her father frowned at her question. ''Why would he be angry with you, bébé?''
''Because I didn't yell for him, and Lolo and Maman told me to yell for him when he passed us.'' In her mind, her older brother would be upset that she didn't cheer him on.
The man chuckled, the innocence of his daughter's explanation warming his heart. ''Charles is not angry with you. He knows you're his biggest supporter! We're gonna wait for him at the finish line so you can be the first one to give him a hug.'' Her father told her.
His assurance that her brother wasn't cross with her, making her stop crying and let out a small smile on her lips. ''Did he win?''
''He is currently in first place and Pierre is right behind him so we'll see when he finishes the race.'' Hervé responded to her, giving the side of her head a kiss.
The pair arrived at the busy part of the track, somehow making it to the front of the fence so they could watch Charles take the chequered flag. ''Make sure you keep your headphones on, bébé- we don't want your ears to hurt.'' He adjusted the gear on her head.
''Okay, Papa.'' Y/N politely answered, not having a problem with the headphones anymore. ''When does Charles stop driving?'' She asked him, not seeming to have much patience.
''A few more laps around the track and he's done.'' They had only brought her to the side of the track towards the end of the race, her parents knowing she would otherwise be sleeping through the whole thing and be upset that she missed it.
The sounds of the engines became slowly louder and louder, indicating the drivers were passing by again. ''He's coming again, Y/N- make sure to yell for him.'' Her father signalled to her.
This time, the toddler only held her focus on the track, screaming her brother's name as soon as he came into her sight. Hervé and the people around them laughed at the little girl's small voice, finding it adorable as she was the only one screaming for a few seconds.
''Go, Charles!'' Y/N and her father chorused, cheering on Charles who was still in first position. She rested her face in his neck, having grown shy by her own yelling.
A few laps later, her brother was the first one to cross the finish line and win the race, with Pierre coming in second behind him.
Y/N started fussing in her father's arms, wanting to go to Charles and give him a hug. Hervé chuckled at her excitement, but told her to wait until he got out of his kart, and took off his helmet. Pierre's father, Jean-Jacques, joined them, pinching the little girl's cheeks and giving Hervé a handshake. ''Good race.'' He concluded, giving them a nod.
''A nice battle between them today.'' Hervé confirmed, satisfied with the results and the performances of the two young boys.
The toddler tugged on his shirt. ''Papa, can I go to Charles now?'' She whined, not a fan of how long it seemed to be taking.
The two men chuckled at her impatience. Her father glanced at his son and saw that Charles had already climbed out of his kart, and was in the process of removing the helmet off his head.
''Charles!'' Hervé called for the young boy, waving his free arm at him. The winner of the day spotted his father and sister, his smile becoming wider at the sight of his family.
Charles tapped Pierre's arm, pointing to his own father. The two boys made their way over still in full adrenaline from the race and their podium finishes. Once they were close enough, Hervé put his daughter down and gave her a light push towards them.
Y/N jumped over to her brother, her arms already spread. Charles got the message and took a big extra step, embracing his sister and easily picking her up. ''Cha, I yelled for you! Did you hear me?'' She asked him, her arms firmly around him.
''Yeah, you were very loud!'' He replied, pretending that he had heard her through all the noise even though he hadn't.
''You were super fast! You went like zoom~'' The little girl imitated the sound of the karts, making both Charles and Pierre laugh.
''We are supposed to go zoom~'' The French boy impersonated her.
''Good job, boys! Nicely done, Charles!'' Hervé praised them as they made their way back to where they had been waiting. The rest of their families had also found them and gathered together.
Charles put his sister down so he could give everyone a hug of his own. After Pascale embraced her son and gave him a congratulatory kiss on the cheek, she motioned for Y/N to come to her. ''You gave your brother a hug?'' She said to her daughter as she lifted the girl up.
''Yes, I was the first one.'' She proudly told her mother, hugging her neck.
Pascale grinned, relieved her husband was able to calm the girl down. ''Wow! The first one? That's great, chérie.''
A tap on Pascale's leg brought her attention from her daughter to her youngest son. ''Maman, can I have ice-cream now?'' Arthur asked her, a pout present on his face.
''I want ice-cream too!'' Y/N exclaimed upon hearing her brother's question.
The woman put her daughter down, next to Arthur. ''We're going to eat with Pierre's family after the boys get their trophies. You can get ice-cream as dessert.'' She explained to them.
''But I want it now!'' Arthur continued.
''You're gonna have to wait, Tutur.'' Lorenzo told his little brother, chuckling at his impatience.
The young man noticed the Gasly family, his father and Charles moving to where the trophy ceremony would take place. He glanced at his little siblings. ''Cha is getting his trophy, come on!''
Arthur listened to his older brother's words and grabbed his sister's small hand, guiding her to the podium as they walked next to Pascale and Lorenzo. The mother and son duo swooned at the sight of Arthur acting like an older sibling to the young girl.
''Why do you walk so slow, Y/N? You have to go faster.'' The boy complained, having to reduce his speed so his sister could catch up.
Lorenzo chuckled. ''She has small legs, Tutur! Go at her pace.'' He reminded his little brother.
''That's not my fault.'' Arthur answered, matter-of-factly. He kept walking at his pace, ignoring his sister practically running to stay next to him.
''Thur!'' Lorenzo stopped him, grabbing his shoulders. The older one then focused on the toddler and picked her up, not wanting her to grow tired from simply walking. ''Alright, let's go.''
The podium ceremony wasn't something too extravagant. They called out the names of the top three and handed the winners their trophies, often with some flowers as well.
As the families waited for the presentations to start, Charles grabbed his dad's attention. ''What is it, Cha?'' He asked his son.
''Can I bring Y/N with me on the podium?''
Charles had done it countless times when Arthur was younger and he had seen many other winners bring their siblings up on the podium with them- he wanted to include his little sister somehow.
Hervé smiled, touched by his son's sentiment. ''That's okay with me, but ask your mother to be sure.'' He knew Pascale wouldn't have a problem with it, but he didn't want to surprise his wife with Charles suddenly taking their daughter with him.
Upon hearing his father's answer, Charles walked over to his mother. ''Maman,'' he tapped her waist, having her bow down to be on the same level as him, ''can I bring Y/N with me on the podium? Papa says it's okay.''
Pascale glanced at her daughter for a few seconds, checking if she still had energy left. ''Of course, but be careful, okay? She's small.'' She agreed, nodding at Hervé who was looking at them.
''Thank you.'' Charles thanked her, skipping back to his father.
The mother of the family approached her oldest and youngest child, gently grabbing his shoulder. ''Ma petite, Cha wants to take you on the podium with him. Isn't that fun?''
The youngest's mouth made an o-shape, bewildered by the news. ''Really? Wow!''
''Yes! So let's put you down.'' Lorenzo kneeled, letting his little sister stand on her own two feet. As soon as she was stable on the ground, she ran off to Charles.
''Cha Cha!'' Y/N exclaimed, catching her brother's attention. ''I'm going on podium with you.''
''I know! Just follow me, okay? I'll help you.'' He told her, not wanting her to get distracted and do something she shouldn't do.
''Okay!'' She gave her brother a thumbs up with a bright smile.
It didn't take long for the various ceremonies to start, but the Leclerc Family had to wait until the end since Charles participated in the oldest age category at the competition.
''In second place, we have Pierre Gasly of France! Well done, Pierre!'' The presenter said into the microphone, inviting the French boy onto the podium.
The family clapped for him as he strutted over to the second step, accepting the trophy and flowers he was handed.
''And our winner of the day is Charles Leclerc of Monaco! Congratulations, Charles!''
The race winner grabbed his sister's hand, and unlike Arthur, walked on her pace to the podium so she wouldn't have to run next to him. He momentarily let go of her hand as the presenter handed over his trophy and flowers. Charles gave the trophy to Y/N, being less heavy than the bouquet of flowers.
Charles stepped onto the top step with ease, meanwhile his baby sister struggled with her small legs to even get onto the third step.
Pierre immediately noticed. He placed his trophy and flowers on the ground, and signalled to the girl to walk over to him. He picked her up and placed her next to Charles, who thanked his friend for helping his sister out.
The Monégasque crouched down. ''Y/N, look at Maman.'' Charles pointed at their mother, who had a big smile on her face as she held her camera. Upon seeing Pascale smile, Little Leclerc mirrored her mother's expression- proud of the trophy she was holding, despite it being her brother's.
The rest of the family watched on fondly, the sight of the small girl swooning everyone. ''She's going to steal that trophy from his room.'' Lorenzo told Hervé, chuckling at the way his baby sibling was holding onto the plastic prize.
''Charles will let her.'' The patriarch grinned, knowing his son would take the trophy away from her.
After a few minutes of posing for pictures, the ceremony was done and they made their way back to their families.
''Pierre, you are a gentleman.'' Pascale complimented the young boy, ruffling his hair.
He shyly glanced down at the praise. ''No problem.'' Pierre brushed off, his mother pinching his reddened cheek.
The giddy toddler jumped in Lorenzo's arms, still a strong hold on Charles's trophy. ''Look what Cha gave me, Lolo.'' She showed the prize off to her brother.
''Wow! You have a trophy? How cool!'' Lorenzo told her, excitedly.
''Can we get ice-cream now, please?'' Arthur whined, having everyone look at the young boy. There was an adorable, impatient tone to his voice, making both families smile at him.
The parents all glanced at one another, nodding in silent agreement that they should start packing up, and go have dinner.
''I'm going to get 5 scoops!'' Arthur declared.
''I'm going to get 6 then!'' His sister one-upped him, mischief written all over her face.
''Y/N gets 2. Arthur gets 3, and Charles and Pierre will get to choose since they got a podium together.'' Hervé stated, chuckling at his two youngest's disappointed faces.
The little girl huffed. ''But Papa, I want 6!''
''You're like 6 scoops tall, how are you gonna eat all of that?''
taglist :: @missskid @maxiel-jpg @glitterquadricorn @stillbreathin @obsessed-fan-alert @booknerd2004-blog @kageyamama-hinatatata @reblog-princess-blog @maezenin12 @gly-exe @lighttsoutlewis @topguncultleader @jaydensluv @nora_moon @erinisrightheree @7leb-kakaw @theamazingsimp @lovelyxlily @princessmiaelicia @mehrmonga @champomiel @rowansshit @mbappebby @maemaesthoughts @g4ns3y @im_mi @gracesferrari @67-angelofthelordme-67 @harrysdimple05 @ijustwantavacation @livinglifebeingme @Judgemental-Raven
@moony-mari @uhhevie @princesselle2111 @vanishingcherry @simping4marauders @ooooohmicky @gentlemonsterjennie1 @Mayake-1 @awhoreforspencerreid @cl16lvr @skepvids @jason-todd-fangirl04 @lecl3rcs @coffeewhore18 @mikauraur @crueldinasty @anvdala @jksjx @iloveyou3000morgan @aurora-maria @llmmaa @folklorelvrr @a-asterias @shamelesspotatos @demonstookmysoul @screechingtrashkid
#f1 fic#f1 fics#f1 x reader#charles leclerc x reader#arthur leclerc x reader#lorenzo leclerc x reader#f1 x oc#charles leclerc x sister!reader#arthur leclerc x sister!reader#f1 imagines#f1 oc
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To Be Alone With You (Part Six)
Anthony Bridgerton x female!Sharma!sister reader
Benedict Bridgerton x female!Sharma!sister reader
Warnings: improper alone time (Ben & reader), sexual tension, me as a writer questioning if I want Ben or Anthony to be the end ship, kissing, male nudity, reader fences Benedict (I know nothing about fencing so I'm sorry if this is bad), semi-smut, handjob, hair pulling
*One of the longer chapters
Summary: You spend more time with a certain Bridgerton brother and start to question whether you could be happy with Benedict rather than Anthony.
Playlist:
Labyrinth by Taylor Swift
If Only by Dove Cameron
Back to the Start by Somo
Dark Paradise by Lana Del Rey (Maybe not a good choice, just depends)
Tag List: @shealuna , @m-rae23 , @littlepeanut03 , @aellabridgerton @sydney-m, @faatxma , @wildthoughtnananna @uraesthete, @themadhattersqueen, @theroyalmanatee, @urfavnoirette, @budugu, @helen06dreamer, @galactict3a, @imagineme2you. @sabii5, @anehkael, @aesthetic0cherryblossom, @lxovesgy, @lemonwithstupidity, @luvwithau, @stvrdustalexx, @jess4rush, @tallrock35, @msrawog
Not many nights had passed since the ball and you were being invited to the Bridgerton house by Daphne, or at least you thought. The days following the ball had been crazy as you were having numerous suitors calling on you because they thought the viscount had forgotten your sister and set his mind on you. Not that it was completely wrong, but you were not talking to Anthony and would not do so until the wedding which was to be in about a month. Not that you were keeping up for when you would have to walk down the aisle, not in a white dress.
Upon your arrival to the Bridgerton home, you were wandering around the house trying to find something interesting. You wandered to the garden and sat under a tree. The refreshing wind cooled you as the tree limbs were shading you away from the harsh sun. You close your eyes and listen to the sounds of nature. Soon, rushed footsteps and shouts had called your attention and you decided to follow it.
---
Benedict and Colin were fencing, and it looked like Colin was winning this match. Benedict was sweating in his fencing uniform and a bead of sweat slowly drips down the side of his face and disappears under his collar.
"Are you going to just stand there and stare or are you going to come over?" Benedict called out, snapping you out of the trance-like state you were in.
"How long have you boys been fencing?" You ask, shielding your eyes from the sun.
"About an hour," Colin smirked, watching you watch Benedict. "I actually have grown quiet tired."
"Would you like me to take over, Mr. Bridgerton?" You asked, hands folded together in front of your waist.
"Do they teach you girls how to fence during your lessons?"
"No, but I have seen my cousins do it."
"You are quiet aware that fencing is a man's sport, Miss Sharma," Benedict said, pushing you. He knew that you would see it as a challenge and it was, the results were exactly what he wanted.
"Rule number one, Mr. Bridgerton, do not underestimate a woman."
Colin mentions your clothing and you realized that it would be harder to move in your dress. You press your lips into a thin line before deciding to walk to the shed. Once inside, you look through the wardrobe inside, finding a pair of fencing clothes. You pull at the buttons of your dress, slipping out of the many layers, including your corset. Putting on the trousers felt odd but they were quite comfortable, more so than your corset.
Coming out of the shed, you walk to the boys again, pushing the leftover shirt into the trousers. You gave them a twirl and beamed brightly.
"Well, don't they fit lovely?" You smiled.
"Yes...yes they do," Benedict looked at the sky, not trying to hide that he couldn't look at you. Your shirt wasn't completely buttoned and Benedict was struggling not to look.
"Are you all right, brother?" Colin asked, a teasing grin creeping onto his face.
"I am quite well, you need not to worry about me brother."
You move closer to him and press you hand against his forehead and felt his temperature. Your breathes mixed in front of you, your chest was practically pressed against his. Benedict's first instinct was to lean in for a kiss, you were intoxicating to him, but as soon as he went to slightly move, he pulled away.
"Shall we return to fencing?" He spoke into the silent garden.
All while Colin was just sitting on the bench, watching the interaction between his brother and the love of his other brother's life.
---
Colin eventually leaves the garden because the heat nearly made him pass out. As you were fencing Benedict, he kept talking as a distraction, and it was working.
"Darling, are you prepared for the art lesson that I have planned for us?" He asked.
"Can't make it, Mr. Bridgerton," You said. "I have a tea party with Daphne. She sent me an invitation letter."
"That was me," He said, tapping you on your left side.
"Benedict, did you invite me here to teach me art or something else?"
The two of you stepped closer, leaving the fencing weapons on the ground. His hands came to rest on your hips, looking around the garden quickly before turning back to you.
"Did you or did you not come here for an art lesson and nothing more?" He asked, dipping his mouth to the underside of your jaw.
"I came here thinking that I would be having tea with your sister," You gasp when his teeth graze your skin. "Benedict, someone will see."
"Let them see," He said. "You should be mine."
Your head tips backwards as his mouth continues the assault on your neck. You let out a moan and he pulls away, placing his index finger over your mouth, making a shhh-ing sound.
"Quiet darling, do you want me to stop?"
You shook you head.
"Words or I will stop."
"I don't want you to stop, Mr. Bridgerton."
His mouth pressed against yours in a searing kiss, lips moving in sync and his hand moves down to your bottom. He walks you over to the bench that Colin had been sitting and he sat you down, bending down to kiss you, never wanting your lips to leave his. You pull back, pressing your hand against his chest and try to catch your breath.
"Stop...stop, we shouldn't do this," You whisper as his mouth chases yours. He is in a kneeling position and his hand is on your hips, covered by your trousers.
"We shouldn't, but we want to and who are we to deny our desires?" He pants.
"Benedict."
---
Making it to his art studio, you laugh at his rain soaked clothes. You were still in your fencing clothes and your dress was in Benedict's hands. You brace yourself against a table, smiling as your hair clung to your face and neck. You were breathtaking in Benedict's mind. How Anthony did not see how truly beautiful you were was beyond him.
"Shall we get to drawing?" He asked, breaking the silence in the cooler room.
"Yes," You said. "I was wondering if I could draw you?"
He nodded and moved to the couch. You shook your head, motioning him to come over to you.
"How do you want me?" He asked, smirking at the fact that you were watching him with such attentive eyes.
"I want you...right here," You moved him to the center of the room, right in front of the window that was lit up by the thunder and lightening from outside.
You moved to the couch to start sketching him, frowning because you could not get his figure right. You walked to him and looked up at him, your noses nearly touching.
"Does sketching me include you being so close to me?"
"I need your shirt off. I need you naked."
"Why?" He asked.
"So I can get a better view of how your body is shaped."
He slowly starts to unbutton his shirt and shrugged it off. Smirking when he noticed your hand instantly reached out to touch his toned chest. He grabbed your sketchbook out of your hands, placing it on the nearest table, and placed them on his warm body. Your mouth opened slightly at the feeling of him. He felt warm, sturdy, and perfect.
His hand was still on yours and he slowly moved it down his chest to his abs to his trousers. You gasped when he moved your hand lower.
"Do you feel what you have done to me?" He asks. "How crazy you have me feeling?"
You nod. Too dumbfounded to say anything.
He moves your hand back up and then completely off him. He takes the button of his trousers into his fingers and pops it out of the hole. He then slowly moves them down his strong, long legs. He then pulls down his underwear. His cock springs up and hits his stomach. He was big. You could tell that the genes in this family were extremely strong. You shook your head and grabbed your sketchbook, instantly drawing what you saw.
"Is this what you wanted?" He asked, his wet hair sticking to his skin. Water droplets were still falling from his head and dripping down his body. The lightening from outside lit up his entire body, making him look like a literal angel.
"This is exactly what I needed." You walked over to him once again, pressing your lips against his. His mouth opened to allow your tongue entrance, swallowing his moans of pleasure. You were doing that to him. You were making him needy for you. You were making him want you, he needed you.
You grip his leaking cock, slowly moving up and down, feeling the silky skin. He threw his head back in pleasure as your hand stroked him.
"Oh my..." He gasped.
"Is this what you need, Mr. Bridgerton?" You look up at him before grabbing his hair to pull him down to your level. "Is this what you need?"
"Y-Yes," He stutters as he tries to hold in his moans.
"Let me hear you, baby." Your hand starts to get more slick with his pre-cum as he gets closer and closer to his end. He starts to shake in your hands as you speed up your hand. He starts to curse and moans started to spill from his mouth.
"Oh fuck, darling," He moans out as he cums on your hand.
You kept pumping him as he shakes from his orgasm. You slowly come to a stop and look him straight in the eyes as you lick his cum off your hand and moan at the taste, eyes rolling back.
"Oh fuck..." He pants, hair sticking to his forehead.
"I love you," He whispers, you don't hear it and he quickly gathers himself up.
"How was your drawing?" He asked, once dressed. His hands were resting on your hips as he presses a quick kiss to your neck.
"I think I will need to finish it a different day."
#bridgerton#anthony bridgerton#benedict bridgerton#anthony bridgerton x reader#anthony bridgerton x sharma!reader#anthony bridgerton fanfiction#benedict bridgerton x reader#bridgerton x reader#anthony bridgerton x reader smut#anthony bridgerton angst#benedict bridgerton x sharma!sister!reader#benedict bridgerton smut#to be alone with you
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outlaw!johnb had tried not to take advantage of your sweet body during his stay. what transpired between the two of you on the evening you met felt wrong. not-gentlemanly. like he’d taken advantage of someone sweet and sheltered. he’d been determined to keep his hands to himself until the time was right once more, but as your parents extended their stay away — leaving the house for the two of you to be alone in even longer, he found it increasingly more difficult to do so. especially when you were so keen on playing house.
you’d settled into a routine. john b would get up and tend to the ‘handyman’ things that needed to be tended to, like fixing the fence that had been destroyed in the storm or odd jobs around the house, and you would do all the domestic stuff — like cleaning, preparing meals, tending to the animals. today was laundry day, and clearly the routledge boy was ill prepared for what this meant.
whilst hammering away at the planks of wood beneath the blistering sun, the wavy haired brunette raises his head to see you appearing not far from him, a laundry basket balanced on your hip, wearing the flimsiest, shortest white sundress known to man. he allows his gaze to wander, offering you a small smile when you wave. you set your basket down to begin hanging up laundry on the line to dry, and as you bend down to retrieve the first clean clothing item — a warm breeze gently blows your dress astray, displaying your glistening cunt. john b tips his head towards the sky, closing his eyes with a pained groan. there would be no stopping him.
he tried, for a solid minute — but as he continued to watch you bend, your folds gently spreading each time you did so, he grew hard beneath the hot sun and decided enough was enough. he’d give you what you’d been pawing at him for all week.
“uh, are you kidding? you’ve got to be doing this on purpose. right?” that familiar chesty hum comes from behind you as you hang up a dress and you freeze, a gentle breeze washing over you.
“s’laundry day, john b.” you shrug, not daring to turn around. you wasn’t sure if you could control your lustful gaze.
“yeah? okay well — the lack of underwear is definitely gonna make this a lot easier.” he mutters as he strides closer, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing his crotch to your ass. “touch your toes, sweetheart.” he commands and you shakily do so with an aroused whimper.
he decides it’s not enough, and when you’re fully bent at the waist, he gives you a gentle nudge forward and you topple onto your knees in the plush grass. “yep, stay riiiight there.” his words are somehow comforting as you hear his belt buckle unlock and his zipper come down. he pulls your dress up your back and swears under his breath at your puffy wet pussy staring back at him. “definitely… knew what you were doing there, huh.” he speaks mostly to himself.
“can you please try n’give me a baby this time, daddy?” you mewl, as he lines himself up and he squeezes his eyes shut.
“please shut up.” he blurts out before opening them. “i mean, uh… just… you can’t say those things sweetheart. trying real hard not to be too rough here.” he pushes in and your toes curl in the grass, a high pitch squeal leaving you as you grasp around at nothing. “i know, hey— stick with me here lil’ pup.” he coaches you, watching the way your body tries its best to relax. john b was big, and taking him with your ass in the air and your cheek in the dirt made him feel heaps bigger.
he bottoms out, tipping his hips completely forward with two hands on your lower back and his jaw agape. “wow.” he breathes out, staring intently at the way you’re stretched around his thickness. he’s snapped from his trance by your head craning round, some dirt on your cheek and grass in your hair.
“john b, the cows are gonna watch you give me a baby.” you’re pouting, and whilst the whole innocent act turns him on — he needed to lock in or he’d really cum inside you again. without much thought, he yanks his bandana from his neck and stuffs it into your mouth before gently pushing your cheek back to the grass.
“there you go. just hold on for me, okay?” he asks before he starts to thrust, bottoming out each time making his thighs slap against your ass cheeks. with each thrust, you let out a devastating little sound — pussy drooling around him. “see? gooood girl. you really like the whole mean, ruffian, outlaw thing, huh? soaking me here, bub.”
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I am going insane at how bad this park is in jurassic world like there's a ride where the attendees can control their own orb thing through a large amount of actual dinosaurs. and it doesn't have like a taking over the steering thing to bring them all back in in case of, I don't know, a dinosaur escaping?
I can not concieve of a single scenario where letting untrained guests get this close to wild animals with zero veto power could possibly go wrong - the people that created this ride, apparently
they even IN THE MOVIE ride through a goddamn stampede or something, and we see that just the indominous rexes jaws can get through the glass, a triceratops could definitely get through if it tried hard enough, like maybe, perhaps, hypothetically, in some wild scenario, a rich tourist doesn't understand that maybe getting close to a large herbivores young offspring is a bad idea.
and seriously why is there no button that just.. recalls all of the balls
how does this ride even work how do they get through the line when they just tell guests okay bye go roam this grassy wonderland filled with large things that can kill you yet you have no concern for, people have definitely had sex in those things and people have definitely been gone for hours.
also the mosasaurus cage, hm maybe a second draft might be in order. maybe?
okay. cool. sure. fine whatever, it's not like it does this multiple times daily surely there will be no issue here
she is also shown breaching the barrier and getting onto the walkway in the fucking movie
like the mosasaur is IN THIS BODY OF WATER HERE and that is a busy walkway that people are encouraged to sit and eat under, also sidenote that woman you see falling has like 5 minutes of screentime and half of it is an extremely gruesome death, like by far the worst in the movie. this movie has very normal opinions about women.
okay so this one looks different to the other dinky barrier, somehow even more dinky, but still on a presumably busy walkway since this is on the end of a street where their very obvious sponsor pandora had set up shop (and a bunch of dino merch)
and like yeah, shocker, massive powerful sea creature can leap out of the water and break the dinky fence, it could have done this at any time at all it is probably more powerful than the indominous rex which we SEE breaking much stronger barriers than the dinky glass one. also sidenote this screenshot is VERY funny
I could go on for years about how shit this movie is every other moment there is a massive plothole, very sorry about this post I am going insane.
#jurassic world#mosasaur#shitty movies#I should be asleep rn#tyrannosaurus rex#indominus rex#fucking hate this movie
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Dad Oscar and his boys up to mischief
Cw: the tiniest allusion to smut
"Do you think mummy will find us?", Jack asked as Oscar held him close to his body as they hid behind the low bush-like plant in the garden.
"We did tell her we would only hide in the house", Lucas nudged, "did we just lie to mummy?", he gasped.
"In the way I see it, this is still part of our house in a way, it's where we live, too", Oscar offered, knowing you wouldn't find it so funny but wouldn't take it to heart either.
When the boys suggested you played hide and seek, the four of you agreed on a few spots no one could hide in, ensuring the boys would be safe and not climbing or stumbling in anything. The garden was, admittedly, Oscar's idea, making him follow your sons and to make sure they would still stay safe.
"Oh, I see her! She's looking for us behind the curtains in the living room!", Jack pointed, seeing your shoulders slack down from not having yet found anyone in a place you expected one of your boys to be in.
"She's not going to find us, we're found to win!", Lucas squealed, "Oh, I have to keep quiet, she might hear me".
In all honesty, you were starting to get a little bit worried. You had looked everywhere in the house and no one was in sight, so where were they? Looking outside, you tsked before stepping out, knowing that whenever the three of them joined forces, their mischief was bigger than ever.
"I think she's outside already", Oscar whispered loudly enough for Lucas to hear as well, "I can hear her feet on the gravel on the driveway".
A little giggle alerted you to the greener area of the garden where the creeping plants were, making you head there, "Oscar, Lucas and Jack Piastri", you called once you swy your husband's hair peek through the greenery.
"Uh-oh, I think we got caught", Jack said loud enough, making Oscar and Lucas get up.
The three of them looked at you with the most angelic smile, and any other time, you would have melted at how alike the three of them were, "I thought we said we'd only hide in the house", you crosses your arms across your chest as you tapped your foot on the grass.
"This is still our house, like, it's inside the wall and the fence", Lucas offered.
"Since you consider it the house then, I supposed you won't mind sleeping here - I heard it's going to be a nice chilly night", you smirked.
The three boys straightened up, looking at eachother before the boys ran up to hug your legs, "but we love you so much", Jack said, latching onto your legs strongly, "and you always ready the bedtime stories with our blankets and you say those are never allowed outside, only to dry on the clothes' line", Lucas pouted, hoping he would turn around.
"I'm only joking, boys, no one is sleeping outside - daddy could, considering he was the one giving you the idea I'm sure", you winked at your husband as he too stepped closer to you, hugging your back and kissing your cheek, "then who was going to warm you up at night? You touch you all the ways you like?", he whispered on your ear, softly biting your ear lobe.
"I'd sort myself out, we have really good and warm blankets", you squirmed away when his little kisses started tickling your skin.
(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)
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I SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE | Marc Spector x reader
Request: @happyhauntt says - okay i am BEGGING for a fic based on the song 'forest fire' by brighton (be warned that shit HURTS) but i fully cannot decide between poe dameron, steven/marc or spencer reid so i am giving you full creative direction and i look forward to getting my heart ripped out!!
Description: Marc had always carried her with him, since they were small kids playing pirates in the yard, before things got messed up by grown up feelings and burdens. It's not until he sees her twenty years later, he realises he should have saved her.
length: 3.9k
Warnings: Heavy warnings for childhood / domestic abuse/neglect (both from Marc and also reader has a neglectful father) warnings for alcohol, the cave scene, drowning, death etc. you asked for angst, so I served!
authors note: sorry this took so damn long, today isn't even my day off and I have been too exhausted to even look at my computer, but I hope you like it!
Before Randall was too little to be part of his adventures, Marc used to play on his own in the yard.
Usually that entailed kicking a football at the wooden fence that lined their garden, trying to knock it off his chest when it would come bouncing back the way he’d seen the professionals do it, even if it had led to three milk teeth coming loose already.
But there weren’t kids on his street to play with, at least that’s what he thought until the one day he kicked his ball a little too high and watched it fly right over the top of the fence, bouncing into the neighbour's yard, a soft “ouch” meeting his ears.
In minutes, a little head appeared over the wall, beady eyes frowning down at him, and he realised it was a girl around his age, maybe a little younger.
“Did you lose this?” She held up his soccer ball he was worried he was going to have to kiss goodbye to forever, the small digits of her other hand holding onto the fence tightly.
“Yeah! Sorry, I didn’t mean to kick it so high,” Marc said, and with no more explanation than that, she threw it over to his side of the partition, and her tiny head disappeared back below the fence line.
He felt stunned. He knew there were moving boxes over that way a couple weeks ago, but as far as he could see there was only a man living there on his own, a scowl on his face most days. Marc had seen him shouting at the other kids on his block to stop riding their bikes in front of his house because it ‘upset the dog’, though Marc had yet to see for himself this canine friend he was speaking about.
But there was a girl living there! A real life girl who spoke to him; granted he had lobbed a heavy soccer ball at her, from what her distaste told him, and he wondered if perhaps, despite the grumpy look on her face he realised mirrored the man he’d seen living there, that she might like to even make friends with her neighbour.
“Wait!” He yelled, running up to the fence where she had slipped away from him, grabbing on to the top and pulling himself up to the point he was on his very tippy toes and he could only just about see her yard.
The grass was unkempt, which was odd because Marc’s own dad cut the grass every fortnight, and there were planks of wood with nails sticking out of them strewn across the side of the shed she had used to pull herself up with. He fought the urge to cringe in disgust, because there, looking up at him from where she was making a daisy chain in the long, dry grass, alone in a pink plaid shorts and a white, dirt stained top, was the girl.
“Do you want to play?” Marc asked, his foot nearly slipping under him where he was trying to rest it on the wood to take a closer look, “I have tennis, or swing ball we could play?”
She looked interested at the mop of curly, black hair for a moment, before she looked back at the house that he had still yet to see any sign of a dog.
“I’m not sure my dad would like it…” She said cautiously, almost whispering to him, picking the soil under her nails.
“My mom could come around and get you, she could talk to him,” He offered, because this was when his mother was still mom and not Wendy.
Before she had yet to flip his world entirely upside down with her cruel hands and vicious tongue. Before Steven.
She seemed unsure, biting her bottom lip and stroking her arms like she was giving herself a cuddle. But she nodded, looking up at him, and he tried to hide just how excited he was to finally have someone to play with.
“I’m Marc,” He said, grinning at her, his tongue poking between the space where his adult teeth were only just growing back in.
She told him her name back, and it was the first time he understood what a crush was.
–
“Marc, I’m not sure we should be doing this,” She said, grabbing his hand so tight he thought his heart might explode.
“It’s okay, we come here all the time, don’t we, RoRo?” He reassured, looking back to where Randall, now a few years older and big enough to play with them, held onto the side of the cave, his own face nervous.
“All the time!” The little boy echoed, because Marc knew he had a bit of a thing for her as well, because she was older and cool and smelled like a field of flowers and he hated seeming like he was scared, even though he was.
He was just a kid.
They were just kids.
And being kids, they stumbled into danger without realising it, not even when the rain started coming down outside torrentially and they had to pause their game of pirates to run for cover. They hadn’t expected, in their childish excitement to continue the adventure, that the water would start pooling into the cave; that it would fill up like a basin, whether they were in there or not, and it wasn’t until the screaming started that they realised they were in the kind of danger that required an adult.
Marc was the first one to get out, his hair soaked, his heart racing, and he used a grown up word he heard his dad use sometimes because he could have sworn they were both right behind him.
And if that had been true, then where were they?
He called her name, debated going back in there himself to see where they had gone, then he yelled for RoRo, because she didn’t seem to be answering.
And there was only silence, except a clap of thunder overhead that said the rain was going to get worse; was not going to stop for hours.
Which was when he ran to get his dad.
By the time Elias got there, his glasses wet and steamed, his thick thatch of curls too similar to Marc’s soaked through, all he could see was a head of hair peeking out of the mouth of the cave, and his heart sank.
He dragged her out of the dark water, arms under her shoulders as he rolled her on her front and started patting her back, trying to get her to spit some of the water out, because her face was ice and her skin was soaked and her playsuit was ripped from where she’d snagged it on the rocks.
Marc remembered crying into his hands, gaze flicking back to the cave to see if RoRo was right behind her, if he was just waiting to be pulled out as she had been.
But there was nothing. Nothing but rain water and moss and those damn rocks he’d been gripping onto not an hour earlier.
His heart leapt when she spluttered finally, after his dad had thrown her over his knee and taken to giving her a one handed heimlich right between her shoulder blades. She spat the water out, her body shivering immediately, eyes bleary as they looked around as if she expected to still be in that dark hole in the wall, and Elias set her down on the grass to go look for his youngest son.
“Stay with her, Marc,” He barked, uncharacteristically sharp for him though Marc guessed it was fear, and took off towards the cave again. Marc pulled her into his arms, and it was only then they started wailing together.
They sat there for an hour when the rescue team finally arrived, a medical team with warm hands and even warmer blankets ushering them to the safety of the back of an ambulance, and the last thing Marc remembered for that horrible day was sitting on the stretcher with her pressed against his side, trembling under the reflective wrap they’d been tucked in that made them look like baked potatoes, wishing he had never suggested they go in that damn cave.
–
“You’re leaving?” She said, her lip quivering, her eyes lined with tears. They sat on his bed, his duffel bag already packed, his acceptance letter burning daggers into his head from his nightstand, “Military? Marc, just think about this for a minute-”
“I have thought about it. I’m not some dumb kid making rash decisions, I want this,” Except he didn’t, not really. What he meant to say was he wanted to leave, to run away and never come back, but the idea of never seeing her again was too difficult to think about.
She thought about it for a moment, and he held her hand when he saw her face really start to crumble then. “If you go, I’ll have no one left. You’re all I have,”
He didn’t hide the fact he saw how nervous she was when Marc would pick her up from her house and her father would see her out the door, a nasty, inebriated glare in his eyes at the Specter boy. He saw all the times she would tiptoe around the floorboards, the way he knew too well, as if she was scared of what would happen if she took up too much space, made too much noise. Or when his mother had been kind, way back before any of this had happened, and had fussed over her pretty hair, had piled food on her plate because Wendy said she needed the goodness, she had locked up entirely and looked at his mother as if she was an alien.
Even now, when they were both seventeen, nearly adults in the grand scheme of things, he knew her father was cruel.
“I’m sorry,” He said honestly, and he felt his own throat clogging up with real emotion he only ever let himself show when he was with her, “When I get a place of my own, I’ll come back here, and we can pack your bags together, and we can live far away from all of this,”
And it sounded like he was spinning her a fantasy; which he was. She felt like an idiot for believing him, for flashing him a small smile and leaning her forehead to his which was the closest they ever got to admitting how they really felt about each other.
He wanted to kiss her then, before he left to start his new life, one where they could be happy together, and he made a promise to himself that when he came back for her that would be the first thing he would do.
He could see it now; he would be in some kind of flashy car with the top rolled down, a man grown from the regime and fitness they would teach him in the army and she would come running to him like an angel parting the clouds, like a dream that was finally within reach, and he would kiss her then, so hard it would make up for the time they had lost, the time they had grieved together, it might even make up for that day she nearly died because of him.
So he left her, that fantasy of coming back to her keeping him going in the months of training, during roll call and exams and the small, clinical portions they would serve him in the military.
But that day never came. Somewhere between losing himself to the alter that had formed and led a full life separately to his, between hiding Steven from the ugly truth and becoming a mercenary after dropping from the army, he tucked the dream away as a what if, and he didn’t return back to that house where his mother had caused so much hell.
Not until the second day of her shiva, that was.
-
“Marc?” He forgot how sweet his name sounded from her lips, and he hated to admit it in the middle of his drunken state, but he’d wished he’d never heard it again in his entire life.
Because the second his front door opened, and a woman in a long black dress, heels and lace gloves stared back at him with a face that looked similar to a girl he once knew, only a notch between her brows that said she had done nothing but frown for twenty years, he wished he had never seen her again.
She was beautiful, more beautiful than he ever gave her credit for, yet she looked tired. Sunken. Like she had wept and screamed alongside all the frowning.
“Marc,” She said it more determined this time, pacing down the stairs to his home, her footsteps rushed and worried, “Are you okay?,”
He knew he must look like a mess. He hadn’t stopped crying for three days since he got the first phone call from his father in almost two decades, since he’d learned his mother had passed, and he was already a bottle of whiskey deep by the time he’d stepped out the cab onto the street he grew up on.
He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought she would be there. He guessed she would be far away from this place, just like he had been, in a mansion with a 401k and a dog and a neurosurgeon for a husband. She had always deserved it.
But here she was, grabbing the bottle out of his hand gently, rubbing a hand over his shoulder like not a day had gone by that they hadn’t seen one another, and it didn’t take him much convincing at all to pull her into a hug he had needed since the day he left.
“My mum’s dead,” Marc said, sounding like a little boy again when he wept into her neck, squeezing her body to his, and he felt her rubbing his back soothingly.
“I know, Marc, I’m so sorry,” She hummed, and she smelled like a fancy floral perfume he couldn’t afford to give her before, “I know you must be feeling complicated,”
He nodded, because he couldn’t have put it better himself. He felt complicated.
“I missed you,” She said, like it was a confession, and he cried harder, his face burying into the crook of her shoulder.
“I missed you too,”
“How’s Steven? Is he still around?” She asked, pulling him away to root through her pocket for the pack of tissues she’d kept handy for the day. He took a deep breath, rubbing his sleeved arm over his face to dry it even the slightest. He could feel his cheeks sopping wet from where he had sobbed in the back of the cab like a madman all the way here.
But she was still fussing over him, and she looked just as pretty as he had remembered her, sitting on his bed that day, if not only a little more tired under her eyes.
Ofcourse she had known about Steven. How else was he supposed to explain the times they would be playing boyfriend-girlfriend together and he would become a different person.
Sometimes Steven would remember her too, because it didn’t matter to her who he was, she was his best friend either way. He remembered a girl who smelled like summer, sitting on the swings and eating ice lollies together, taking it in turns to push each other, blue tongued and happy.
“Yeah, sometimes,” He replied quietly, as she handed him the tissues, “He misses you, too,”
She smiled at him with her lips pressed tightly.
“I take it you’re not coming in?” She said in a careful tone, and he shook his head quickly.
“No- I just can’t,” He said, tears welling up in his eyes in seconds, and she wrapped him in another hug immediately, soothing his hurt as fast as it had bubbled back up.
“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, you don’t have to,” She hummed, stroking down his back gently, and he hugged her tightly as if she was the only thing keeping him together.
He opened his mouth to speak when his front door opened again, and he worried for a second that it was Elias.
Instead, he saw a girl no older than five emerge in a cute, poofy dress that met her knees, her hair tucked into a neat braid, lace gloves matching her own as she lingered at the doorway.
And perhaps the thing that struck him the quickest; she was the damn near double of the girl he’d hit in the head with his soccer ball in that very yard.
“Mommy,” The girl said in a gentle coo, her eyes empathetic as she met his gaze, more empathetic than he knew children could feel. But, he supposed, if she was her daughter then it didn’t surprise him in the slightest.
His best friend turned, her face smoothing out into something peaceful when she saw her little girl, and he knew then she was born to be a mother. Nothing like his own, nothing like Wendy, and he cursed himself for not seeing it sooner.
She was a mother.
“Yes, baby?” She said, half stepping towards her child as the girl stumbled down the first step towards them, and she was quick to swoop her into her grasp and onto her hip.
“I need to use the bathroom,” The girl said shyly, peeking a glance at him over her mum’s shoulder, and she waved at him with tiny fingers.
He waved back, even if the sight of her had dumped a bucket of cold water all over his body.
“Alright, baby. Just wait in the foyer, I’ll come take you in just a second, I’m just speaking to my friend right now,” She said, stroking over the back of the girl’s hair softly, and kissing her chubby cheek. “Is that okay?”
She nodded, and her mum kissed her once more, plopping her back on the top step to direct her back into the house. And they were alone again.
She looked at him guiltily, stepping back towards him as she fiddled with her sleeves nervously, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t get childcare and I don’t really know anyone in state anymore-”
“No, it-it’s fine,” He stammered, feeling her watching him for his reaction carefully, “What’s her name?”
“Dalilah,” She replied, rubbing hands up her arms to calm herself.
“Where’s her dad?” Marc asked, hoping he didn’t sound bitter, but the whiskey made it sound like a bite.
She shrugged, “He wanted the cars and the house when we split; I wanted her,” She said calmly, like it wasn’t one bomb after another to be dropped on him.
He knew nothing about her life. He had tried to run away from that promise he’d made her for twenty years, because he knew he would never be good enough for her; that he could never give her the happiness she deserved, even before he had become the Moon Knight.
At his core, he would rot her, ruin her. He would destroy her.
And yet hearing it was just the two of them alone, he felt like he could take out the piece of shit who ran out on them barehanded and go home to sleep next to her soundly.
He felt like perhaps, as much grief and anguish as returning back to that house had caused him, perhaps this was his second chance. His chance to be what she needed, to be something good.
He would be so good to them. He would give them everything if she asked.
“I’m not really in town much, especially with my dad still around,” She said, gesturing to where her yard still stood, full of junk and a dog that had supposedly been kicking strong for two decades, “But I would love to see you again. Lila has school most days so you’re free to come over any day of the week if you want it to be just us; I work at home,” She scribbled an address about two hours away down on a piece of paper, along with her phone number, handing it to his distraught face with a sad smile, somewhat hopeful he would take the olive branch she was shaking his way.
He took it with a nod, his bottom lip still trembling before he bit it hard enough to force it to stop. He would love to see her, if he would even allow himself something good. If he would just let go of the resentment for everything that reminded him of that time, he could see the two of them healing one another slowly, but surely.
She could fix him. And he could fix her. The way it had always been with them.
“Yeah, I’d love that,” Marc said softly, allowing her to grab him tightly one more time, “I really did miss you,”
She laughed, not properly more like a sad breath out, squeezing him to her, “I loved you so much. I never let you go, you know that?”
He tried not to sob, almost holding her so maddeningly hard she couldn’t ever leave.
But he had to let go eventually, and he watched her walk back up the stairs to where his family mourned, her face glinting with something hopeful, holding a flashlight out to him where he was walking around in the dark blindly.
He tried to smile back, though he knew it wouldn’t be the same, wouldn't be truly untouched by the grief he wallowed in.
And by the time he got back to his hotel room, alone, even more drunk, Khonshu had another job for him that would whisk him away for two weeks. But he kept her number, the piece of paper gripped in his hand tight, like he was determined to keep his promise this time around.
He dialled her number exactly fifteen days later, his body aching, his nose bloodied, but something lighter in his chest at the prospect of seeing her again. The light in his dark, the girl on the swings he’d once pretended to marry during their game of house (the rings had been tiny daisy chains she’d woven together just that morning, their officiant was Randall who could barely ride a bike let alone remember the vows he was supposed to say.)
Only when the phone got put through, a different woman answered, and the light flickered back out into something cold and dark and vengeful.
“Oh, oh god, you haven’t heard?” He swallowed thickly, “She was hit by a drunk driver last week picking Lila up from school,” The woman, her cousin, explained, her voice teary and solemn, and he didn’t doubt she’d had to make a thousand of these calls the past few days, “They said it was quick, and Lila went fast so she wasn’t in any pain- and she was only in the ambulance for ten minutes before her heart stopped so she wasn’t hurting long either-”
But he put the phone down, his eyes wide, his body numb, his chest empty and lonely.
Because the very last bit of good in him was gone; because everything he touched was cursed and tainted from the offset.
It took what felt like twenty cups of whiskey for him to black out that night, he knew sleep would evade him, he knew not to even bother trying. And Jake Lockely woke up for him, something mean and hateful in the black of his eyes.
He didn’t care who, but someone was going to pay for his cielo being taken from them.
#marc spector x reader#steven grant x reader#marc spector fanfiction#moonknight x reader#marc spector imagine#moon knight x reader#moonknight imagine#jake lockely fanfiction#jake lockely x reader#steven grant imagine
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Gun for hire (3)
Summary: You’re his next target. Nothing else. Right?
Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x fem!Reader
Warnings: hiring a killer, Lloyd being Lloyd, sunshine reader,
Gun for hire (2)
Gun for hire masterlist
You look out of the window, watching the city you know so well fade in the background. Lloyd guides the car out of town, and you fear, you missed your chance to run.
“Where are you taking me? Will you let me disappear somewhere out in the woods?”
He snorts. “Sunshine, if I wanted you dead, you’d lie six feet under in your garden, next to the loser your fine boyfriend sent to kill you.”
“Ex-boyfriend,” you pout. “After all he’s done, he’s my ex-boyfriend. Tommie is responsible for the poor man’s death. And now, you are going to kill me too.”
“Yeah, because you’re my assignment, not that douche’s, nor your boyfriend’s,” Lloyd slams his hands onto the steering wheel, almost losing control over the car as he looked at you for a split-second.
“So…you keep me around because you want to kill me?” You press on. It’s your life, and you want to know for how much longer you will breathe. “Why? This doesn’t make sense.”
“Rule number one, never question me, or my decisions,” Lloyd dips his head to glare at you. “Got it, sunshine?”
“Fine,” you wrinkle your nose and kick the headboard.
“No pouting or damaging my car,” he slaps his hand onto your thigh, squeezing hard. A warning to not mess with him. “You should be thankful I didn’t bury you next to that bastard.”
“What will you do now? Will you kill Tommie for not paying you?” You just can’t stop your mouth from running. You’re in a car with a man who makes money by killing people and you try to fall into an easy conversation with him.
“If you don’t stop talking, I’ll kill you first,” he grins like the devil while glancing at you. “Aw, you lost your pretty smile, sunshine. I wonder why…”
Before you can stop yourself, you stick your tongue out. “You’re not nice.”
“I never said that I’m a nice guy, sweet cheeks,” Lloyd snaps at you. “Only because you love to hug people all the time, wear dresses looking like a three-year-old chose them and braid flowers in your hair doesn’t mean the rest of the world must be sugar-sweet too.”
“I-“ you purse your lips and inhale sharply. “You’re making it hard to like you, Lloyd. Why do you always make fun of other people? I’m nice because it is nice to be nice.”
“Christ, I got my middle school teacher in my car trying to teach me how to smile and be nice to girls,” he curls his upper lip, making his mustache look ever more ridiculous. “It’s nice to be nice.” He mimics your voice.
“You’re not nice.”
“You are annoying.”
“I hate your mustache, it looks awful. If not, you’d be an attractive man,” you snap at Lloyd, hating yourself for being mean. You cross your arms over your chest and look out of the window.
Lloyd presses his lips into a thin line. He huffs and tries to not let your words get to him. Lloyd wishes he could run his fingers over his mustache, but he must focus on driving the car to not end up dead.
He takes his time, recalling your words in his mind. Lloyd smirks and dips his head to glance at you. “So, you think I’m attractive?”
Lloyd guides the car toward a secluded path. You press your nose against the window to get a better look at the house coming into sight.
No. This is not a house. You are living in a house. This is a mansion, surrounded by a huge fence. He slows the car down and presses a button on his phone to open the automatic driveway gate.
“Wow! Are you an Earl or something?” You gape when the house gets in sight. “I’ve never seen this kind of house outside of a magazine.”
“It’s a house,” he grunts. “You’re not here for sightseeing and to get comfortable. As soon as I talk to your ex-boyfriend, I’ll decide on…” He shrugs. “You know what happens then…”
You look away and press your lips into a thin line. If he wants to act like a meanie, you’ll not talk to him. The bullies in school gave up too when you ignored them.
All they wanted was attention, just like the man next to you.
“I said no pouting in my car,” he flashes you a smirk. Lloyd is more than happy that he was able to ruin your mood. “We are almost there, sunshine.”
He drives through the gate, a smug grin on his face while you angrily pursed your lips. That man made you angry, and you hate being angry.
“You know, with that pout, you look kinda cute when mad,” he laughs when you make a face. “Ah, I will extinguish that sunshine in your eyes. I’ll be all too happy to make you even madder.”
Lloyd looks at the monitors while barking orders at the team he sent to get your ex-boyfriend. “Do we have sightings of the target yet?”
“Target sighted,” one of his men answers. “He’s waiting at the agreed meeting point. What are our orders?”
“Get him. I want him alive,” Lloyd orders his men around. “That piece of shit believed he can fuck with Lloyd Hansen. He will get what he deserves. Let’s play a game.”
He leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. His eyes glued to the monitors he smiles to himself. “Who gets me this man first will get a raise and one week off.”
His men storm toward your ex-boyfriend, barking orders at him. Tommie wets himself and falls to his knees. He knew it was a mistake to hire Lloyd Hansen, but he desperately wanted to give his new girlfriend all she ever dreamed of.
“Perfect ending,” Lloyd smirks in your direction when his men handcuff your ex-boyfriend. “What do you say, sunshine? Do we want to celebrate the successful hunt?”
You still refuse to talk to him. His comments and behavior made you mad, and you are angry at yourself for letting Lloyd Hansen get to you.
“Aw, come on. Give me a little smile,” he dips his head to look at you. “If you play your cards right, I let you watch me rough him up.”
You curl your lip. This man is the worst, and you can’t find it in you to be nice to him. Not after he shot someone in your kitchen and kidnapped you.
“No,” you huff and look away. “I don’t want to watch you hurt someone. I had to watch you kill that man in my kitchen. That’s enough violence for one day.”
Lloyd gets up from his chair to stalk toward you. He cups your face and smirks.
“Sunshine, there is never enough violence when it comes to a piece of shit like your boyfriend…”
Part 4
Tags in reblog.
#lloyd hansen#lloyd hansen x reader#lloyd hansen x you#lloyd hansen x y/n#x reader#Gun for hire (3)#lloyd hansen x female!reader#the gray man#lloyd hansen fanfiction
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home.
Spencer Reid x reader fluff!
thank you SO much for the love on my first post, I’m so glad you liked it! Ill be honest, I started this with a completely different plot in mind but, here we are! Enjoy!
*****
5 days. That’s all it had been, but to him it felt like a lifetime.
The more he thought about it, he realised, it was the longest you’d ever been apart.
You’d been asked to stay for a week in London with Garcia and Morgan to assist on a case that Emily so lovingly emailed over late last week.
One minute it simply words on a screen in your inbox, the next you knew you were on a plane over the Atlantic.
Every night you and Spencer had spent as much time as possible on the phone, some evenings only getting 5 minutes but others being hours. But it still wasn’t enough.
You missed him. More than ever.
The case was tough and starting to take its toll on you, it felt never ending and you started to wonder when you’d actually be able to return to the place you called home.
The truth is, London was your actual home. Being born and raised there until your early 20s when you transferred over to the BAU unit and the rest was history.
Yes, it was nice to be back in familiar territories. Moaning about tourists blocking the pavements, stopping every 2 minutes to take photos of a bird sitting on a fence..
The god awful weather still going strong as you were now on your 5th day of rain, wondering if you would actually see a glimpse of sun before you left.
But home wasn’t London anymore, it was wherever Spencer was.
And he wasn’t here.
****
You’d taken the papers back to your hotel room, the sheets all spread across the floor in a disorganised manner yet you still knew where everything was and that worked for you.
You were still in the same clothes that you had put on about 26 hours ago, cold coffee in hand, staring at the black text on the papers as if the answer would just jump out at you if you continued to do so.
Your phone ringing is what brought you out of your trance, letting out a loud yawn before answering it.
“How’s my favourite girl?”
Was all he said and it had you melting, bringing your knees to your chest as you leant back onto the bed.
“Hey Spence” you mumbled back, you could practically hear his smile on the other end of the line forming, just at the sound of your voice.
“What time is it there?” You added
“about 2 ish”
Shit. That meant it was 6am for you, and you didn’t even realise.
High praise for the blackout curtains in the room I suppose.
“And you’re still awake?” Your voice was sturn
“So are you?” He hit back. Fair play.
“I could’ve just woken up, you don’t know”
But he did. He knew you, sometimes better than you knew yourself.
“This is me you’re talking to baby, do you want me to hang up and ring back so you can see my name on the screen again?”
Again, you could practically see how he would be sitting. Arm folded across his chest, either book still open in one hand or a hot cup of tea hooked onto his thumb. Smile as big as could be.
“Point taken” you mumbled
“Tell me about your day” he was quick to respond, you hated yourself for how there was a quick second of the feeling that you couldn’t be bothered.
You were exhausted and missing him.
You didn’t want to be talking to him over the phone about the same thing you’d been discussing with endless people all day.
You wanted to be back at home, enveloped in his arms as he pulls you back into him as you try to leave the bed.
Or running your fingers absentmindedly through his hair as he tells you yet another fact about how despite its significance, London was actually the smallest city in the UK.
You missed the little things, you missed him.
“Y/N?” His voice broke the silence as you sighed, words leaving your lips before you had a chance to even process them
“I miss you, Spencer”
There was yet another pause, almost a huff coming from his end of the line as he replied
“I miss you too, sweetheart”
“Spence, honestly I’m drained” you began to ramble
“I’ve been staring at these same pieces of paper for days, I’m starting to think I’m just wasting their time being here”
He could hear you throw some of the documents onto the floor, bringing your hand to your forehead to relieve some of the tension.
“He’s killed 5 women since I’ve been here Spencer, 5. How useless am I that these women are literally depending on me and here i am, failing them”
He was hurting, he was hurting because you were hurting.
“Baby, don’t talk about yourself like that” he assured, you could feel tour bottom lip quiver as the tears formed in your eyes
“You know they asked you to be over there for a reason, you’re good at your job. You deserve to be there with the best of them and don’t forget that”
“But I do-“ you tried to cut him off but he was quick to interject “uh uh”
“I will stay on this phone with you until you can tell me you’re good at your job, I don’t care how long it takes, Y/N. I want to hear you say it”
“What about if I don’t say if, just to get you to stay on the phone with me?” You lightly chuckled, heart fluttering as you hear his huff of laughter you so dearly missed.
“I mean, I have to be on the jet in 6 hours so if you’re happy for the whole team to hear our conversation then that works for me”
“Spence, I just feel as though I’m losing my mind. Tell me what I’m missing” you almost pleaded, knowing that if he was here he probably would have this case solved by now and back on the plane home.
“You know the most important thing? Honestly, it’s what I do all the time and it truly does work”
You sat up in hope, waiting to hear his groundbreaking methods of solution.
“Sleep, Y/N”
You huffed, returning to your hunched back, cross legged position of defeat.
“That’s not fair” you scorned, his light laugh flooding through your ears “I thought you were actually about to help”
“I mean it sweetheart, you can’t give your best to something on no sleep. I’m worried about you and if I can’t be there to look after you, I need to know that you’re looking after you”
His words hurt, you knew he was worried but never thought he would just come right out and tell you.
“Fine” you huffed, crooking your neck to keep the phone in place at your ear as you start to get undressed.
“I’ll have a quick shower and then I’ll get into bed” you assured “then I’ll text you in the morning with how many hours sleep I had”
You waited to hear his laugh but there was nothing.
“Can I ju-“ his tone was filled with doubt, like he was second guessing what he was about to say
You let the line go quiet, waiting for him to finish his thoughts
“Can I just stay on the phone with you?”
You felt as though your legs could give way at the pain in his voice, the desperation to just have more time with you had you filling with guilt.
“Of course, Spence”
There was a hum of happiness and content, practically seeing how he slumped back into the headboard of the bed in the comfort of your words
“Why don’t you tell me about your day?” You questioned, giving up on the idea of the shower as you climbed into bed
“Oh! Funny story actually. Hotch had….”
There it was, the voice of such piece and familiarity that you so badly missed.
He was your home.
#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid#spencer Reid x you#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x y/n#mgg x reader#mgg
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┌─ “ ! „ STEP ONE
tw. noncon, explicit descriptions of violence and murder, body horror, decapitation, dacryphilia, fear kink, objectification, threats, humiliation, blood, brief throw up scene, weapon play, choking, overstimulation, manipulation, physical harm, mask kink
wordcount. 6.4k
a/n. ♡ commissioned by a lovely friend whomst i cherish dearly ♡ thank you so so much for commissioning meeee!! i t was very fun to have a reason to write some grimy gross shit again and your big brain is the best mwUah this was so fun i hooopppee you enjoy it !!! kiSs kISS kiss and thankies to rhi for beta-ing <33
oikawa tooru x fem!reader x iwaizumi hajime
Crack, it pops. And squelch, squelch, crack.
The blurred spats of red-tinted light that fill the night sky blur until they seem to vanish, and the ache in your head becomes pressing enough to numb. Numb to the coldness of the dirt, the uncomfortable stickiness to your back and thighs, tingling down your feet. The stars - you know them to be stars though they don’t look it, bleeding out like lambs across a pitch black voidness - get blocked out when the movement comes back to your view.
And a dirty, wet hand lands against your cheek hard enough to knock your face to the side, stinging up and down your skin. You get another taste of the copper coating your tongue— and a deep, pinched wheeze has you spluttering on the floor as your lungs come back to life.
It’s so cold.
But the pressure building between your ears rings before it pops, and the deep, rough string of wordy promises comes back to you. You almost think the quiet behind them hurts more. There’s caked blood that clots your nose, as your body is ragdolled onto a lap. Better view of the sky. Better view of the off-human face that forces back into sight. It cracks, it pops. You barely breathe.
And wonder how you got here.
+
There’s something unpleasant about the way he words it. “Okay, don’t be a baby. How old are you? Didn’t we all agree to this?” You’re not prone to telling your friends no, but there’s a difference between gentle encouragement, and being an abstemious dick. “We just got here.” With a gentler smile, the blond’s girlfriend shoots you a little encouragement.
“If you really don’t like it, you can always step out, you know. These things are made more for silly jumpscares than actual panic.”
Your shoulders square a little higher to your ears when you hop off the bar of the fenced line. “I know,” you say, be it a little mumbled. The other couple in front of you, classmates, look back to give you the kind of look that would amuse. If shot at anyone else. Your hands bury into your jacket pockets as the last pinkish light of the day starts to dim, and you pick at the loose thread in there. You aren’t the biggest baby you have ever been, but you’re first to admit you’re no brave soldier. You’re jumpish, cowardly when it comes down to the wire, and when presented with a choice, you’d rather go. Given enough incentive, you’ll run through in a dash and waste twenty dollars.
But your ride currently is nuzzled into the shirt of her brand-new boyfriend. It won’t be so bad. These things are usually too quick to get your money’s worth anyway. The corn reaches high though, enough to hide everything from view as the end of the line comes closer and closer, and distant screams prompt eager giggles and glances. Yeah, these kinds of things have never been your strongest suit. A group of teens behind you engages in happy chatter as you softly tap a rhythm into the half-muddy loam, glancing between your friends very briefly. Both couples glomp into one another in the wait, happy to walk the entire way in little pairs. Happy to hurry on without you too if push comes to shove, probably.
Prey instinct.
Maybe someone other than you will get scared enough to run, and maybe that will be distraction enough to forget about you and your inevitable anxiety. You take a deep breath, and let the fresh countryside air fill up your lungs- lovely, mixed with wisps of smoke machine and lingering scent of manure. Instead of psyching yourself out too much, listening to yet another trail of screams that grow further and further away, you turn to watch one of the two barely legal workers as the walky scratches obnoxiously.
“Tchhhk-we ca -end in —ther group.” The mousey looking kid has straggly hair that is tied in a low pony under an obnoxious red and yellow theme park cap, and looks about as pumped as you feel waving in the first two of your party down the correct path into the maze.
He gives an unenthusiastic spiel, and then swings open the gate before pressing a few buttons. “Two incoming.”
“Yup— tchh- also have so- lag on our—ne. Are y- changi— t- channel?”
Almost instantly as the couple disappears around a corner, you hear a few high pitched screams and giggles join the ones in the distance, and you cross your arms over your chest. Even though you try, your heart rate automatically rises when another scream rings out. The teen talks into his device for a moment again, and you brace yourself as you friends line up at the crooked little gate. After a second or so, a slight pinch moves between the teen’s brows, and he eyes leave his co-worker to stare into the field.
“-Saw s-eone… w-kin- around… premise. Pl—e advise.” The crackle of the device is loud enough to reach you, before another couple of screams cuts it off.
The screams are loud, high pitched and uncomfortable. They set hairs on the back of your neck up on end. “Huh.” As the dyed blond gives a wave, he aims himself at your group and says, “sorry, but you have to wait a few more minutes.” His little mousy walk from behind the stand annoys you more than it probably should. But you can’t help it. You want to be done with this, sooner rather than later. “Gimme five.” The kid gives his co-worker a quick mumble, before he disappears down into the one neat path between the corn, and you wait again.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Your heart beats steadily, but hard. Enough to have you wanting to nervously pace the small area of path, but choosing against it after all. The screams are fainter now, further away. Fuck this shit. As the sky lowers into an off-red sort of color, you finally speak up. Your roommate’s pretty eyes find yours. “Hey, can I walk along with you guys actually? I really… really don’t like this sort of stuff.” The noirette barely gives the accompanying blond a look, before letting out a little sigh.
“Yeah, it’s getting pretty late anyway. We can head home quicker that way.” Her boyfriend doesn’t bother to conceal the way he rolls his eyes at you, but doesn’t say anything. You don’t say anything either. Just wrap your arms around yourself and pull your sweater closer to your body. Only a few minutes pass where you all stand in silence, and the people behind joke among each other.
The other teen perched on the entrance eventually gives your group a little nod, and opens the shabby gate with the most monotone greeting. “Welcome to the Night Shift, Miyagi’s scariest paranormal experience. Please stay on the path and refrain from touching our ghosts.” His half-lidded expression and dead-tired wave of the arm almost make you want to smile, if only in understanding. But instead you shuffle along the damp path. “Enjoy.”
The two in front of you start off a liberal, bouncy pace, as your roomie prattles on, and your eyes scan the long path of corn before you. It sways softly in the wind, and the shade it casts is awfully cold. The rattling sound of leaves is the least of your worries though, trying to keep up with your friends. Your heart pounds in your chest, because above anything, it’s the quiet anticipation before the scare that gets to you. The steps get closer and closer to the first corner, and you know. You know how this stuff goes. But Mina gives a little glance back as her long hair sways along her back, ready to encourage you.
A jerk has you all skittering back. Mina and your screams sound in harmony in the cooling night. The pale white face that jumps out at the three of you is a gaunt, gross version of some kind of thready zombie— and makes an awful scratchy sound. “Give your souls. Give your souls.”
Its closeness to your face is enough to make you stumble, ignoring the laughs. But the ghost doesn’t immediately leave, instead crowding you for long enough to have you covering your ears. Thump. Thump. Thump. The rapid pounding of your blood reaches your cheeks. You hate this stuff, from the ache of your chest to the uncomfortable closeness, and you try to calm down.
The ghost has you almost slinking into the corn to escape, before you can finally walk on.
Your friends are almost at the next turn already, and it feels to get darker by the second. Mina has her arm clamped in her boyfriend’s arm, whose smug grin flashes when you hurry on. “Ty, wait! Guys! This isn’t funny-” your voice fails you almost as soon as they reach the next corner way before you do, and disappear from view, “come on, please?” The scream that follows only has you hesitating more, feet slowing as you stand in the now-almost completely dark field. “Guys, this isn’t funny! Wait for me!” you try again, and come to a halt before even the next turn.
All of this is so fucking stupid. If you weren’t such a baby, maybe you’d be unbothered by this turn of events. You even predicted it, didn’t you? Your eyes sting, both from the adjustment of light, and the adrenaline pumps through you— before you set another few steps.
It can’t be that far. It can’t be that scary. It’s just stupid employees in masks. A scream that must be Mina’s rings out further along than you hoped they’d be- and has you balling your fists. If only you can get past, maybe you can catch up to them.
Either way, you’ll have to face more ghouls before the night is over.
And—
Crack.
A scream, behind you.
Your feet fail to start, and goosebumps raise all the way up your legs and back. There’s a whole myriad of noise, a loud bubble of screams that sounds much too close for comfort. They squeal and cry out for a painfully long few seconds. Long enough to push past rational thought before it goes near-quiet again.
And your heart patters on in your throat.
There’s a range of sounds you prepare yourself to hear when you go to any sort of horror experience. The dull, repeated thump, and the long sort of moan— that sounds out above the wind, isn’t really one of them. The cold climbs up your arms and chest before you can gather yourself. The moan isn’t like anything you associate with a ghost. It’s low and groany and continues for a long time, like a wounded animal— and lasts only until a heavy noise snuffs out the plea.
And - the instinctual part of your mind tells you to hide.
It’s gone dark. It’s gone quiet.
If Mina hasn’t made it to the end yet, you can’t hear her.
Ever so slowly, your thoughts start up again, as you keep your ears wide open for any sound at all. There’s only the soft fluttering of the wind playing through the leaves. Before, as if under the breath of something larger, the sound of scraping leaves against clothes and the nervous rustling of someone moving through the field to your left makes you hold your breath. Your hands move over your mouth to clamp down the stuttered sound of your breathing.
You don’t know why, but it’s something in the air. The irregular noise, the lack of any other sound, and you staring into the darkness… screams at you. An animalistic feeling of threat, whispers that something is wrong. Your hands shake too hard to control. After a little bit of a pause, the noise returns. It’s a second of struggle, before another dying murmur sounds out, louder, closer, and then more shoving. More hacking. Your lungs feel like they’re squeezed too narrow, and your anxiety doesn’t allow for any other thoughts than a prey’s panic.
The nervous rustling gets louder and louder by the second.
Can’t you just step out of the experience? You don’t want to do this anymore— the childish part of your brain begs, and though you want to, you can’t make yourself move. Your lips stay tightly shut. The rustle to your left takes a more rapid pace, before it finally, finally grows a bit quieter again, and you manage to take a breath- pinched and wheezy.
Wrong.
Wrong.
Run.
Your ribcage aches under the pressure of your heart.
Only seconds before the noise would turn the corner, you find yourself stepping back and squeezing yourself between the stalks of corn, shaky hands grabbing and pushing yourself to hide.
Far enough to blot out the last bit of light of the evening, and have you squeezing yourself back until you’re a few feet from the path. You can’t see much, but the darkness adjusts quickly. Then, it’s quiet. The fine hair on your arms stands upright as soft taps get closer, and closer, and closer. And the corn doesn’t feel like enough of a shield.
Another scream comes from the way your friends ran off— girly, shrill and true— it lasts barely a second, but echoes for longer.
… Mina. It’s quiet.
Whatever stupid game is being played, you suddenly decide you want no part in it, and the cold wind ruffling the blades above your head feels like the only disguise for you and your anxious breaths. The footsteps reach, and slowly move past as the air gets stuck in your throat. You’re no fighting champion, and yet, your first instinct is to squeeze your fists tighter.
Only a dark figure can be made out from where you’re hidden, but the head is white, some kind of ghoulish looking mask. Ghost like, if not for the black stitches and blood. The presence is more pressing— it grates with each step. For a tiny moment, the figure stops in his tracks to scan around, and it gives you the flash you need to see that the thumping is caused by the heavy metal tool he periodically swings out and taps onto the floor.
It’s like an elongated butcher’s knife, wide and coated with glittering, royal red that drips down the pristine edge of the blade. Carrying the thick smell of copper behind him. And you’re freaked out enough to conclude it looks real. It can’t— can’t possibly be.
As soon as he passes you for enough time for you to steady your heartbeat, you sneak out of your hiding spot— before you hurry back down the way you came. Your every step feels too loud, and though you try to make sense of what you’re feeling, it comes out in a wobbly line of wetness along your eyeline. With another few step you make it around the corner and—
falter in your step.
There’s blood everywhere. Hands, throat, the huge gash in between the neck and shoulder that reveals flesh and tissue and bone, and oozes a vile smell of blood unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. It’s all encompassing. The previously scary ghost is reduced to nothing more than a sad heap of fleshy canvas for the layer of blood that pools around them.
You can’t think. Can’t breathe.
Blood, blood, there’s so much blood everywhere.
On your shoes, on their ghouly face, on your hands as you kneel down and find it disturbingly warm and sticky and real. The feeling of dry heaving takes over you, and you stand with trembling- everything.
Your heart pounds. Eyes are blurry and make everything a little hard to navigate. You want out of this stupid fucking game. It wasn’t fun to begin with, and it definitely isn’t now. Out, out, all you want is out. This is a nightmare, or the worst practical joke ever. You wipe your involuntary tears with a shaky hand as you walk, only to find yourself letting out a squeak when the red gets onto your face. You rub your cheek onto your shoulder, speeding up— and barely allows for wheezy, heavy breaths of air.
By the time you get back to the gate, you’re almost blinded by your tears. But even your tears can’t hide the growing terror that remains. The group of teens never made it into the path. They lay clumped in a mess of bodies and blood, one of them hanging over the posts with blank, dead eyes- and a horrifying wound that nearly severs his head from his neck. Everything is covered in blood, from the ground, to the clothes, faces, the neat red-yellow uniform- it all has soaked and turned a dirty, off-maroon color that seems to fit the smell emanating from the scene.
You can’t help it, you heave over onto your knees and nothing but some pure acid comes out as you try to look around. This is real. Real. It can’t be, but it is.
Your choked noises of panic ring through your ears wiping your mouth on your sleeve, along with a loud buzzing that goes back and forth, back and forth, back and forth when-
The footsteps suddenly have you turning around, and screaming. The man’s here. You scramble up and jump onto the wooden fence to swing your leg over, but a heavy hand grabs a fistful of hair and yanks you back as you yelp out loud, and grab at his wrists.
“Let me go! Let go!” Your scalp feels like it’s tearing apart with the force when you land onto the cold floor, and the ghoul’s face comes to hover over yours— your tears don’t allow for proper breaths as you cling onto his arm and dig your nails in. “I wanna go home~” your cried, pathetic whimper is all that comes out as you stare, and in the pits of the blacked out eyes, olive irises stare back.
The man raises his other hand, and everything goes black.
+
When you come to, there’s an awful stench that you taste more than smell. You’re so dizzy, and your eyes blot with black clouds everywhere you look— for much too long. Your nose clogged with thick coats of blood hurts, as you roll onto your belly with a groan and cough against the strained pressure.
Fuck, everything hurts.
There’s a bubble of noise around your head that pops in and out of focus each time you blink, and breathe. Crack, it pops. And squelch, squelch, crack. You try to raise yourself off from the cold, damp floor, but a heavy shove to your side has you landing on your sore shoulder, and staring up at the sky with shallow gasps. A hand slaps your face sideways hard, you’re heaved up, and suddenly everything floods back to you. The blood. You try again to right yourself, and your head spins as you try to shake off the cotton that’s filling your head and pushing on your brain.
You’re aching, and your mouth is full of blood.
It’s only when you try to focus on your environment that you manage to make out the muffled crying of a woman — and your head snaps up. Mina’s bound, gagged, and she’s got mascara tracks all down her face and cheeks, and her hands lay uselessly on her lap. Dripping with blood. It’s only after much too long that you notice that the figure that’s moving in your periphery is landing a huge axe over and over again into what’s left … of a human skull.
Blond hair is matted together with clots of blood, and it looks more like a soup than a head. The soft crack and squelch as the axe is pulled out of the floor has you crying out.
Oh god. You wish you were dead.
The figure has a black mask covering most of his face, and yet, you feel like you can see the smile between the narrow slits as he turns to you. The man leans into the handle of his blood soaked axe with all the weight of his tall but solid body. “Two little doves, one gets caught. One tries to fly, the other gets got.” Besides the ring of black around his eyes, you can’t see anything. Your lip wobbles as you breathe, and stare.
“It’s a nursery rhyme. Fits, don’t you think?” His mouth is just barely visible under the forked plate that covers it, and pink lips curl up at the ends. “I know movies teach you to expect a lot of dramatics, but that’s all the drama you’re going to get from me, don’t worry.” He noisily pulls up his nose, before crouching down before you. “I’m Tooru, that’s Iwa. What’s your name?”
At the mention of a second name, you turn over your shoulder to see the figure of the man that caught you— white mask splattered with drying blood, crouched much too close behind you. Your voice dies in your throat, but a soft whimper still comes out. You can’t help it. Cold shivers run up your spine and make your entire body feel wooden.
“Tch.” Tooru gets up to lift the axe high above your head, and then brings it down towards you a few times. “Come on, don’t be like that.” He leans down to grab your roommate’s face, and shakes her with a glance towards you. “I already know this is Mina. Now you tell me yours.” Your nod is quick, and you breathe out your answer just as quickly as he comes back over to you, now scraping the sharp blade along your jaw. “Good girl.”
“Now you’ll be happy to know that you two were the finalists of our little game. Con-gra-tula-tions.” His sing-songy chant sets your skin on end. He stares at you with thinly veiled expectation, and you take a shuddered breath through your bloody nose.
“Thank you,” your voice is barely a mousy squeak.
And Tooru’s laugh comes out almost instantly, cheerfully rocking onto the back of his heels. Just a second, before he stands up again, long legs towering his shape above you. “Sadly enough there can be only one winner. So,” he pauses, eyes glittering with too much mirth, “Iwa, if you would.” The man who’s been sat basically glued to your backside for the whole time gets up to pet his hand over your hair a few times, before stepping over to Mina in silence.
“Wait, wait…” His butcher’s knife comes to rest on her shoulder as she cries the same pinched, pathetic patterns as you do. Tears and spit drenching into the gag in her mouth. “Don’t hurt her.”
“Shhh shh shh,” the dark masked one chants again, and his axe comes to pinch into your neck too, nicking the soft side of your throat with a sharp sting. “Here’s the question. Who is… the one that has to die?” He pushes the blade harder into your skin. “And you better answer, because Iwa likes killing pretty girls. I can’t guarantee what will happen if you think too long.”
“Wait…” you ask, looking into the panic filled eyes of the girl before you. You can see every thought, every regret in her face. “Wait, wait, please. I…”
“Three-”
“Wait!” you squeak now, eyes shifting between both men. “I can’t-”
“Two-” He mockingly moves the axe along your shoulder like a golfer, and your panic blossoms onto your tongue. “One.”
“Me,” you cry out instinctively, vocal chords aching. “Me, kill me.”
It stays quiet for what feels like an eternity, before Tooru lets out a soft chuckle. “Iwa’s right. You are cute. A sweet, little thing, aren’t you.” Then the other guy moves too quick for someone his size, and his weapon glides with one heavy swing right under her jawline in slow motion. The glittering edge of the knife in the moonlight arcs almost beautifully. Slicing through your former friend’s neck with a clean thwop, not enough resistance, before blood splatters on you, on him, on everything.
Her head falls before her body does, with a dull thump that sears into your brain.
And you-
Everything blanks.
You think you scream, but the buzzing and shaking is too loud to make out anything. All you know is that your crying gets worse, and you bury your face into your knees with a sob. Your thoughts are a wiry, tangled ball of terror that comes out in faint pants only, and shaky fingers that curl around your knees. The axe drops to your side before two hands land on your head and slide down to yank you back up to face him, and Tooru’s lips get close enough to you to feel the puff of air on your face. “Shhh, doll. It’s alright now. You did so well.”
“You talk too much,” the more gravelly tone of the other man hits your psyche like a shovel, and has you sobbing into the soft touches along your cheeks.
“I’m setting the mood, Iwa-chan.”
The white masked man steps over the body to your side much too casually, before kneeling down beside you. “Set it in silence for once.” To your horror, his eye contact doesn't wane when you cry harder. In fact, he seems to think for a second, before grabbing your arm in his heavy, warm palm and pulling you closer. “C’mere. You’re gonna be good. Okay?”
“I- I,” you stutter, and pull up your snotty, wet nose again, before he leans in to slide his head into the crook of your neck, and moves the mask up a few inches. Only to press a few kisses along the bare skin, and up to your jaw. If you weren’t so mortified, maybe you’d fight. If you weren’t so shell-shocked, you’d take the weapon to your side and swing it around until it stops.
But his low, impatient grunt against your pulse has you going quieter. “You’re going to be good.” It isn’t a question. “Understood?”
“Yes…” It tastes wrong in your mouth, like the bloody taste that slides from your nose to your mouth, and everything that’s gotten onto your shirt, shorts, on every extremity now. After another second of raising your heartbeat so much you’re halfway to passing out, he finally moves— to press his lips against yours for a second, and slots the mask back in place. If you were any more lucid, maybe you’d be able to comprehend what will follow next. “Take off your top,” the quieter one mumbles, as he starts unbuckling his own belt.
“Here, I’ve got it,” Tooru then chants, too playfully, taking your hands and moving them above your head. As they rise, you feel the sudden feeling of terror flood over you again, shuddering as the fabric is pulled up and wipes past the mix of fluids on your face. You stay like that though, letting him maneuver you like a toy until your shirt lands beside you, and he then starts work on your bra. “Aren’t you a pretty one, hm? Cutie.”
The way he drags his fingers along your shoulder to push each strap aside one at a time is infuriating, but aside from lowering your arms to the side, you don’t— can’t stop them from unhooking and letting the bra join the clothes. Iwa’s quick to perk up at the sight of you, halfway to shouldering Tooru aside to take a good look. And though he doesn’t speak, the soft grunt and way he goes to cup himself over his pants says plenty. Your soft hiccups start back up at that. You don’t want to. You don’t want to one bit- and yet there’s nothing you can tell your body that would make you move. Not fast enough, at least. Tooru simply shakes his head. “You’re a real romantic.”
“Don’t need to be-” His fingers slide up your side before grabbing a handful of your tits and squeezing, as he gets closer on his knees. “Nothing about this is meant to be romantic, Shittykawa. Start taking off your fucking clothes.” His hands roam along your cold skin, brushing playfully against your peaked nipples a few times before he looks back at your face. “You’re gonna take that pretty little mouth and place it on my cock. And if you bite me, I’ll pull each of your teeth out of your skull before you die.” His thumb swipes along your bottom lip, before pushing in and dragging the pad along your tongue. “Understood?”
Your voice loses all volume when he slides the digit deep enough to choke you up, before he pulls back briefly. “Mhm.” Tooru to your side doesn’t make haste in taking anything off, and seems to glitter at the brief attention you give him as he unbuttons the black dress shirt, revealing a toned chest and arms. He’s littered with scars, and somehow, that only makes everything more real. Before you’re able to think it through, you start crying again, squeezing your eyes shut and rubbing the backs of your hands along your lashes like a child. “I…” You’re unable to stop. “I - I don’t- I wan- wanna go home— I-”
“Agh, fuck.” Someone speaks, but unlike the anger you expect to be met with, he groans it, delighted more than anything. Your eyes open when hands cup your face and you’re laid down onto the cold ground with a swift motion, and Tooru’s inhuman mask stares back at you— only revealing a wide grin. “Stupid girl. You can’t go home. You’re going to be our play thing until we get bored of you, or you stop being useful-” He dips down to an uncomfortable few inches from your face, and pinches your cheek until it hurts. “And then, you’re going to end up chopped into little pieces and buried in a shallow grave. Heh, how dumb are you? You wanna go home?” His mocking tone hurts almost as much as the sharp glare.
You can’t help it, you cry harder, and try to get from under his heavy body to hide your face— but that only faces you with the horrifying reality of your friends’ fate. “Wanna cry to mommy and daddy about it?” As he gets close enough to almost brush his lips over your ear, a soft chuckle comes out. “You better not tell Iwa-chan that. He’s really mean when he gets jealous.” He moves to pry open your mouth and slides two long fingers in without warning, having you choking again and spluttering around. “Now be a good girl. Or don’t be. Doesn’t matter to me.” Your tongue squirms uncomfortably as the fingers invade your throat and make it feel like you’re drowning in your own spit- with desperate puffs of air through your nose as you cry.
“Move that way,” Iwa grunts after a few seconds, before staring at the wobbly line along your eyes again. “Guess I get to go first.” There’s a distinct lilt of amusement that hangs over everything he says as he grabs your leg and yanks you up to start pulling your shorts down. Finally Tooru pulls back as you cough, spit leaking out of the sides of your mouth— before he too starts taking off the last of his clothing and hums softly to himself.
“Isn’t she really sexy when she’s pouting like this?” His gleaming praise is paired with a sharp tap to your cheek, as he peeks out a sliver of his tongue. “Crying like a desperate, little slut.” He doesn’t give you the chance to say anything in between your sobs before he grabs himself at the base and leans over you to press his cock head to your mouth. “You’re just a hole for us to abuse, you know that?” Something in the back of your mind begs for you to bite him, but almost as if he can smell your intent, his hand wraps around your throat and pushes, hard. “Try something and you’ll wish I was just being mean all over, cutie.”
“Gotta fit us, baby,” the other voice speaks, and makes you want to sink through the floor. Your body can’t stop crying, and the anger you feel is almost equal to your fear. It’s not enough to let you ignore them. They have to demand your attention too. “Pretty little cunt.” He starts rubbing your pussy up and down with rough fingertips, then spits and spreads around the wetness before he almost immediately pushes two fingers in dry— and it makes you jerk at the uncomfortable feeling of your body being invaded.
“I think she likes it when it hurts, Iwa-chan,” Tooru’s playful tone makes you want to scratch and bite and tear his head off. It just has you crying your eyes shut though, and lay there shaking. What other choice do you have? His tone doesn’t change as he demands attention by rubbing your tits and squeezing until you squeak. “That’s a good toy.” The rubbing and prodding does start to allow your wound-up muscles to loosen up a bit, but when the hand between your legs pulls back, you’re still not nearly wet enough. Iwa’s strong thighs under yours cause your hips to be aligned with his, as he grunts, as he looks, as he all but eats you up with his eyes.
But that’s all you get before Tooru’s patience wanes and he prods open your mouth, and starts feeding you his cock. “Ah, there you go, little crybaby. Open wide.” The taste of his precum on your tongue along with the bucking into your cheek makes you open your eyes to look up, and to your surprise, his mask has been discarded too. There’s a healthy flush on his cheeks, and in any other situation, you’d be taken aback by how pretty he is. Instead he grabs a hand of your hair and forces his flushed cock down your throat, as you try not to panic further. The feeling hurts. It hits the back of your mouth as your tongue squirms around him and he makes you heave—
and the hot, heavy cock that was pressed against your mound is now also pushed in you with a low, gravelly moan. There’s an ache inside you that is impossible to ignore as he fills you up inch by inch and the stretch really hurts, going into pleasure too quickly. You shouldn’t- you know you shouldn’t, don’t want to- you swear, you swear. Everything is too much. The cock in your throat makes you gag as Iwa bottoms out, grabbing your hips and anchoring himself inside you. The warm cloud of pleasure that spreads through you is painfully overwhelming. “Tight fucking pussy- god-”
The one closest groans out your name, as you feel his cock pound on your tongue. “Ain’t she just- so- gh-good?” Tooru’s flash to yours and the big, brown irises that look back at you make you shiver. He pulls back to beam down at you with what you could almost call a serene smile, as his cock jerks against your cheek and his hand runs down your body. Your pussy clenches as the rhythm of Iwa’s cock pistoning in and out of you starts feeling more than just painful— and wetness starts allowing him to slide in with a wet squelch. When a tiny moan comes out of your mouth, Tooru giggles, and leans in. “Don’t you like it a little too much? Having two bad men fucking you? After what happened-”
“Leave her be Oikawa- ugh,” Iwa groans from behind his mask, hiking you up to speed up the rhythm inside you, “don’t bully our new pet… Ah, fu~ck.” The loud paps of skin meeting skin is all you can hear, as your back lifts off the cold ground and his cock rocks into the best part of your walls. Your body is strung tight enough for every touch to feel better than the last, even the twitching of the drooling cock head as it’s smeared on your lips. “She feels so good.”
“I’m just teasing. Right, little one?” You don’t fight the urge to stick your tongue out and lick along the glossy slit of his cock, and Tooru grabs your head to keep you there. “Oh sh-, see? She likes it. She likes getting fucked like she’s nothing. Just a greedy little cunt and throat, huh?” He moans as you wrap your lips around him again, and narrows his eyes at your face. “‘S all you’re good for.” The thumping vein on your tongue is thrust back into your mouth, and you cry as he fucks all the precum down your throat before pulling back.
“Ah, ah, ah~” Your whimpering is beyond you, as you cling to the arm of the one closest to you. You’re completely gone. The tingling all over your body is all you can feel, the heat of them over you and inside you as you cry and moan and whine, and the hands roam on your body. Each time Iwa bottoms out in you, your body jerks from the pleasure and impact, and Tooru’s eyes seem to darken as you blubber around the base of his cock for air. He doesn’t falter when he turns to stare at the other man instead, and keeps you down there. “She’s close, hurry it up.”
“I want to cum inside,” Iwa immediately says back, and though you can’t see the frown you hear it’s there. He’s still fucking right into that spot that’s making you almost crosseyed, so they’re not even wrong. His deep voice rumbles as he thinks, and his strong, muscular shoulders square. All the while you’re trying to cum up for air, and Tooru threads his fingers through your hair. “You’ll have to wait a little for your turn.”
Your lungs ache and your vision goes spotty from being choked so long, before the brunet finally lets you jerk back off his drooling, spit-coated cock to take a deep breath, and let out a cry. Still each pump of Iwa’s body against yours taps your puffy clit, and winds that coil even tighter in your belly. Your dripping cunt clenches all the same, even as tears dry on your face. “Well, you heard the guy, cutie. He needs to breed that pretty pussy. So you’ll have to put up with me for a little while longer.” He slides his cock along the back of your tongue, before rolling his hips into you with a long moan.
You're going to cum. Oh no, you're actually going to fucking cum from this.
Tooru must know, because his eyes glitter as he meets yours, and licks his lips. “But you don’t mind that, right, pet?”
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#oikawa x reader#iwaizumi x reader#hq smut#haikyuu smut#oikawa smut#iwa smut#iwaizumi smut#hq x reader#tw.noncon#tw.decapitation#tw.murder#tw.dark content#🍯honey.pot#💫ch.oikawa#💫ch.iwaizumi
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Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles December challenge.
Beautiful Boys
Prompt Day 23: Wayne Adopts Steve | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Lingering Injuries/Trauma | Tags: Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, Good Uncle Wayne Munson, Wayne & Steve, Wayne POV
Wayne is in Hawkins Hardware, looking at the fence pickets. He definitely didn't expect them to have this many choices. He figured he'd come in and buy what he needed, from the only option available. In and out. Wallet a little lighter, but no choices to be made.
But, no. There are options. Decisions. And he isn't sure which style Eddie would prefer. He just wants Eddie to have a place he feels safe outdoors, again.
Wayne reaches out to touch the samples, again, when he hears clattering and an "oh my god, I'm so sorry" that sounds an awful lot like Steve Harrington.
Wayne pokes his head around the corner of the aisle, and Steve is gathering up a bunch of swag hooks off the floor, swiping them back into his handbasket.
"What're you doin' with those, kid?" Wayne asks, crouching down to help him.
"Eddie's plants," Steve says, standing back up, pushing his hair back and up, out of his eyes. These boys and their hair they can't keep contained. Wayne smiles. He remembers how his (now long-gone) hair was in the sixties. Different styles, sure, but just as impractical, at times.
"Eddie's plants," Wayne repeats with a smile, then asks, "You're gonna hang them from the ceiling?"
Steve nods, and Wayne grins, "That's a good idea, kid. He'll love that."
Eddie has gathered up a lot of houseplants recently, tending to them, taking care of them, babying them. The first ones were sent to the hospital by his friends, and Eddie latched onto them. And now, Steve drags a new one home every week or two as a gift. Eddie is still recovering, might always be recovering, but his plants make him smile and give him something to do.
Wayne doesn't quite understand it, not with the black thumb he has, but it's like everything else about Eddie. Wayne doesn't have to understand it, to support him. If Eddie wants plants, they can have a whole houseful of them.
Eddie survived something he still hasn't fully explained to Wayne, might never, so if he wants to fill the house with greenery, so be it.
If he wants to fill the house with Steve Harrington, too, that's also just fine by Wayne.
Steve smiles shyly, "If you don't care that I put holes in the ceiling, that is."
Wayne doesn't care. "I'll help. I've got a stud finder, so we won't have them falling and cracking us on the noggin."
Steve laughs, and nods, "Thanks. What are you doing here?"
Wayne waves him over, getting Steve to follow him.
"Trying to pick fencing for the backyard. If Eddie's gonna keep dragging home strays, we'll need a place to put them," Wayne says, and Steve blushes, just a little.
"I could make a tent work," Steve teases, and Wayne squeezes his shoulder. Steve is always, and will always, be welcome in the house.
"Good to know, but I was thinking more along the lines of dogs, cats, raccoons. You know how he is," Wayne drawls, and Steve smiles. It's wishful thinking, because they both know the real reason for the fence. Eddie doesn't want to leave the house these days.
"I just assumed I'd get dog-ears," Wayne says, pointing at the slightly-rounded piece of wood on display. "But there are choices."
Steve studies them all, finally saying "I think Eddie would like the pointed ones the most. Looks dangerous," Steve says.
Wayne nods. He was thinking the same thing.
"They're narrower, be more work to set," Wayne mutters.
Steve turns to look at him, "I'll help you, you know that."
Wayne nods. He knows Steve will. He's a good kid, who spends most of his time hanging out in their new little house, doting on Eddie in one way or another. Wayne isn't blind. He knows what this is, what these boys feel for each other, even if Eddie hasn't told him yet.
He will. Wayne just has to be patient.
"Sounds good, kid," Wayne says, and Steve grins, big and bright. Like he wasn't sure his help would be accepted.
"I don't know much about building a fence, but I can learn. I can follow instructions," Steve assures, and Wayne pats him on the back.
"Let's double-check my math here," Wayne says, pulling a small notepad out of his pocket, rerunning his figures.
Once he's got a good number, Wayne directs them towards the stain options. Steve picks one with a red tint, and Wayne nods. Looks good to him.
When they get to the counter, he takes Steve's basket and adds it to his.
"You don't have to do that," Steve says.
Wayne knows he doesn't, but it's for Eddie and it's just a few dollars worth of hooks and bolts. He's definitely gonna get his money back in fence-building help.
"I know, I want to," Wayne says, opening his wallet.
Outside, Steve helps the guys from the lumber department load up the trailer full of the pickets.
"See you at home?" Wayne questions, and Steve nods and smiles.
"Yeah, at home," he answers, walking towards his car, with his small sack of hardware.
And they spend days hanging the over-abundance of plants in front of every window in the house, so many that it seems like they're living in a greenhouse, and then they work on the fence. Putting it up, picket by picket, together.
Sometimes, Eddie comes and sits on the patio and watches, but it still takes a lot out of him, even now, months later. Wayne's worried he might never fully recover.
But, Steve works hard to entertain Eddie. Steve's funny, and he treats Eddie real good. That's all that will ever matter to Wayne. Eddie's his boy, and by extension, Steve's his boy now, too.
Eddie and Steve fight over the radio, a welcome sound, and Steve's won.
So, John Lennon's singing about a beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy.
Wayne knows that feeling well.
He's got two of those beautiful boys, now.
close your eyes,
have no fear,
the monster's gone,
he's on the run
and your daddy's here,
beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,
beautiful boy
John Lennon, Beautiful Boy
If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun!
If you want to see more of my entries into this month-long challenge, you can check them out in my Steddie Holiday Drabbles tag, right here!
#steddieholidaydrabbles#wayne adopts steve#wayne munson fic#good uncle wayne munson#wayne munson is always the best#wayne munson & steve harrington#eddie munson lives#steddie#steddie ficlet#wayne munson#steve harrington#eddie munson#thisapplepielife: short fic#thisapplepielife: steddieholidaydrabbles#Spotify
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THE DAY WE MET (Roommate!Gaz x GN!Reader)
roommate!gaz masterlist — gaz pic origin here
reminder that requests aren’t open, but roommate!gaz thoughts are always welcome! — 1.2k words
a/n; this is a bit short!! we don’t know gaz’s exact age, but this is meant to be around 2005-2007. sorry to all of the playstation loyalists, me too bestie but i gotta be semi-accurate /hj — if you guys can’t tell, reader is implied to be the same age as gaz, so i might make references that aren’t entirely relatable, i apologize! — kofi
YOU AND KYLE FIRST met when you were teenagers. You were both fifteen years old. You met him during a summer camp; Kyle was always a charismatic person, even at fifteen years old. It’s how you two became fast friends in the first place. You had been dropped off in this wooded area, a couple of cabins lined up next to each other, your suitcase tucked against your legs and your backpack hanging onto your shoulders. Nervousness fluttered like unpleasant butterflies inside of your stomach as you watched adults, teenagers, and young children scurry about the campgrounds alike. The air smelled and felt damp; a bit cold as it was still early morning, despite the amount of people who seemingly had way too much energy for nearly six-thirty in the morning.
He was the first person to approach you—a side smile on his face as he felt your nervous energy. Kyle had already been there for several days by that point, he watched people pour into camp and he had made a few friends, but when he saw you? Standing off to the side, clearly overwhelmed and nervous, your fingers twitching against the handle of your suitcase? That was the first moment he knew he had to be your friend. Kyle didn’t mind if the friendship only lasted the duration of the summer, that’s a normal thing that happens. He’s been going to summer camp every other summer since he was nine years old, so there’s no doubt he made “just summer” friends.
Kyle walked up to you with his half smile, a confident stride, and he put his hand out to you, causing you to flinch ever so slightly, eyebrows raising in surprise at his ability to just.. Walk up to you and offer his hand. “Name’s Kyle,” He says, his voice not as deep as you know it is today due to age and due to puberty, of course. “What’s yours?”
Your mind blanks and fizzles out for a moment at the boy in front of you; beautiful curls and a dashing face—or at least what you considered dashing at fifteen years old—as well as a confident voice, despite his voice threatening to crack every other sentence. You clear your throat to get yourself on track as you’re sure you’ve kept him hanging long enough, and you take his hand, your shaky one meeting his firm one. You offer your name quietly, a nervous smile spreading across your face. Kyle coming up to you first made you feel a bit better, a confident boy who wasn’t afraid of interaction—a completely different stature than your own.
“How long are you here?” Kyle questioned you, his eyes roamed your suitcase and the too heavy backpack weighing on your shoulders. He could see the twinge of discomfort turning into borderline pain on your face, seeing how your eyebrow twitched and your nose would scrunch up a little bit. You took a second to process his words before you turned to him, as he walked to your right side, considering many people are still roaming the campsite. “All summer,” You answer, clearing your throat as you died from embarrassment because your voice squeaked. Kyle’s half smile widens into a full one, his fist punching your right upper arm for a moment. “Hey, alrigh’! Me too.”
Kyle looked around, seeing the camp counselors scrambling to get people to their correct assigned cabins. He looked at you, his eyes aimed down to your hands, where a small green piece of paper rested between your index and middle finger. His hand gestured to your hands, causing you to glance down at them. “What cabin did’ja get?” Kyle hummed as he leaned against the wooden fence that lined the camp area. It wasn’t there to really keep anything in or out, just to add to the forest-y feeling. You glanced down at the paper for a moment as your brain blanked. “Cabin five.” You responded, and your chest tightened at how this complete stranger’s eyes lit up in excitement. “Sweet, me too!” Kyle exclaimed. “Is all ‘ya paperwork sorted with?”
You nodded, and he grinned as he pushed himself off of the fence. “C’mon, I’ll help you get settled n’all.”
Kyle led you to cabin five, which was surprisingly empty at the time he helped you inside. There were people’s belongings strewn about the bunk beds, white masking tape on the front of the bunk bed frames with names scribbled on each tape, some beds remained unclaimed. The inside smelled like.. Well.. wood, considering it was a wooden cabin. It also faintly smelled like people’s various deodorants, as it was the age of “you don’t have to shower if you use spray deodorant”. Kyle led you to near one of the large windows by the back of the cabin. “This is my bunk,” He motioned to a bunk that was considerably well kept for a teenage boy—many teenage boys in the cabin didn’t keep their stuff neat, or in general—with a gameboy advance peeking out from under the pillow.
“Wait–you have a gameboy?” You gasped, completely forgetting about the all consuming anxious feeling that was swirling in your gut the moment you arrived outside of the camp. Kyle laughed and he nodded, swiping it up from under his pillow, and he handed it to you. Your jaw is dropped open and you mindlessly let your suitcase plonk onto the floor, as well as your backpack which makes a thump. You look up at him and grin, and Kyle definitely noticed the change in your demeanor, your eyes locking for the first time. “What games do you have with you?”
You two spent the rest of the time together setting up your bunk—you ended up being his top bunk, he moved a lot in his sleep so he opted for a bottom one—and talking about video games, family, friends back at home; everything, all until the camp counselors rounded everyone up around 0830. From that moment on, you two were attached at the hip the entire summer. You clicked nearly instantaneously, clicked so close you two acted like you’ve known each other since early childhood. You two partnered up for everything, and at the end of the camp? Kyle blinked in surprise when you didn’t only hand him your home phone number, but also your email, as well as your xbox gamertag.
Your clear efforts to stay in contact weren’t unwelcomed; in fact, he very much appreciated your efforts. Kyle had such a good time with you over the two or so months together, he didn’t want you to become a “just summer” friend that he would possibly see next summer. He wanted to talk to you as much as possible, because you two just clicked so well. Kyle couldn’t recall anyone else he genuinely clicked so well and fast with, and he was determined to stay friends.
Kyle let a stupid grin out on his face when you accepted his friend request on xbox after a few days following the end of summer camp, and you sent an invite to him to play a game you both own; a very famous first person shooter.
#call of duty#call of duty mwii#cod mw2#cod#mw2022#mw2 2022#modern warfare ii#crow’s thoughts#roommate!gaz#gaz x reader#kyle gaz garrick#gaz#kyle gaz garrick x reader#kyle garrick#kyle garrick x reader#gaz x gn!reader#kyle gaz garrick x gn!reader#gaz <3#gaz call of duty#gaz cod#cod gaz#gaz modern warfare#i love gaz#gaz mw2#mwii#mwii gaz#gaz mwii#cod modern warfare#call of duty modern warfare#modern warfare two
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Good Fences (Fluffuary #02)
FEB02: A Bit of Banter
You were outside of his window again, wearing the most ridiculous sleep shorts he’d ever seen in his goddamn life. And by ridiculous, he meant downright tantalizing. Sure, they were highlighter pink and had little hearts on the pockets, but they may as well have been transparent. As you bent over to move your potted plants away from his half of the balcony, he could see… everything.
At the plump, delightful join of your shapely legs, the outline of your adorable little pussy lips kept peeking between them, playing hide-and-seek with his unblinking line of sight and making him sincerely doubt his self-control.
You had insisted, of course, that John needed to take ownership of his half of the outside porch. You had lived there for so long that you had acquired a veritable forest of houseplants. He liked it. The greenery was nice. It was such a departure from most of the living spaces he found himself in, and watching you bend over to pick up fallen leaves or check the soil for its water content was a hell of a bonus.
He knew he shouldn’t bother you. He’d let himself fall into a terrible, almost insatiable crush. Your voice when you talked on the phone, the little songs you only knew three or four lines of in the shower, the smell of your cooking; he had let it consume him, and now he was hooked. John would make any excuse to be near you. You’d told him to just leave the empty pyrex he’d borrowed on the porch table, but he hadn’t. He’d waited, selfishly, until you were outside so he would be able to hand it back in person. Now, his opportunity had come.
The sliding door shuddered in its track as he climbed onto the balcony with you. You turned to look at him, and when you did, he was treated to the rest of your outfit. Your sweater was a little cropped, and it was full of large, crocheted holes so he could see your skin straight through them. You had a pale blue bralette, all lace and bows, covering your full breasts underneath, and he thought he might pass out from the blood loss. But, he controlled his face, and handed you back your baking dish,
“Ah!” You smiled, taking it from him, “Thanks! Hope you enjoyed the cookies.”
“Enjoyed? Ate them in one sitting, more like,” he chuckled, having a seat at the little round table that sat in the middle of the porch, and pulled out his cigar case.
“I guess you’ll need another batch this weekend, then,” you winked, obviously joking. But, he looked at you and quite seriously said,
“I would pay money, love.”
You blushed, and he enjoyed watching it flood your cheeks. How badly he wanted to kiss them, to feel the soft flesh bend under the pressure of his mouth…
“Sorry about all the plants. I’ve been working on clearing off your side…” You started dragging another pot into your corner.
“Told you it was alright.”
He lit his cigar, and watched you carefully. You had finally moved all the plants out of his side and had pulled out the broom to sweep it off.
“Can’t have you cleanin’ for me too, love,” he moved to stop you.
“It’s my mess, John. But, I make a pretty decent maid.”
There was a twinkle in his eye when he responded to your comment,
“Mmm. Bet you look pretty good in the outfit,” he laughed when you narrowed your eyes at him, trying to hold back your own laugh as you swept off the stray soil, “Little feather duster?” He mimicked the dusting motion at you and let the smoke billow out around his beard.
“You’re going to need to hire a real maid if you keep leaving those ashes all over my table,” you shot back, teasing him.
He feigned injury, pouting a bit,
“I’ll buy an ashtray, love, don’t worry. C’mon. Don’t you like a smoke every now and then?”
You shrugged, sitting across from him, resting after your chores,
“Never had one. Not a big cigar like that anyway.”
“Think it’s big, huh?” He cocked a sly smile, knowing he was being rude.
You rolled your eyes, but gave him a soft laugh anyway.
He handed it to you, and you admired the glowing ember at its tip. You had to admit, the scent was wonderfully complex, and you had accidentally trained yourself, like Pavlov’s dog, to respond when you smelled it outside. It meant he was around…
“Don’t inhale into your chest. Just pull it into your mouth, and then let it fall away slowly. It’s meant to be relaxing.”
You tried to follow his directions and he grinned with no small amount of satisfaction.
“It’s nice,” you admitted, handing it back to him.
“You should let me cook for you. Gotta pay you back for all those cookies somehow,” he offered, staring out into the vanilla sky as the sun tucked itself behind the cloud.
“Mmm,” you smiled, leaning back in your chair and looking out into the sunset with him, “Not sure if it’s safe. You might be a murderer, you know?”
“I might be…” He took another long drag, and there was something in his tone that gave you pause, but he smirked, so he was clearly joking around.
“You don’t seem very motivated,” you shrugged, “It’s been two weeks, and I’m still breathing. Or, maybe you’re terrible at it?”
He cut his eyes over to you and burst out laughing. You laughed with him, not exactly knowing what was so funny. But, being with him was intoxicating, and you were having a hard time staying away. Laughing together like this felt like a dream.
John finally caught his breath and nodded,
“That’s true. You could make it easier on me by coming to dinner tomorrow. We could eat out here,” he winked, “For your safety.”
“Yeah,” you shrugged, pulling your sweater a little tighter around your shoulders, “That sounds nice.”
“Great,” he took another long, enticing drag of smoke, “It’s a date.”
Check out the schedule here.
AO3 Link
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𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 | 𝐧.𝐫𝐤
synopsis ; not much to say, just perfectionist yn and former perfectionist riki knowing just how to comfort you :') i need a bf
pairing ; fencer!nishimurariki x fencer!reader
genre ; fluff n comfort, established relationship, oneshot
wc ; 1616
inspired by ; labyrinth - taylor swift
You’ve always been a perfectionist, and you forever will be.
Riki, darling, on the other hand… you can see his smirk through your fencing mask as you gain a point against him. Feeling proud on your behalf. He, too, is prone to beating himself up for the smallest of mistakes, but his only soft spot is reserved specially for you.
He grins, walking up to you on the piste and yanking off his mask roughly. “You’re the only one who can match up to my skills.”
He always says this, and you never believe him. It’s only because I’m his girlfriend, that he’s saying this.
“Hey,” your eyes go wide and your free hand — not holding your heavy blade, smacks his arm. “You don’t say that about your teammates.”
Looking indignant, he chuckles and runs a hand through his sweaty hair. “Fencing is an individual sport, though?”
You roll your eyes.
Gesturing for him to put his mask back on so you can start fencing again, you apologise to your poor referee. Your teammate and makeshift scorekeeper — Chaehwa — appears absolutely disgusted. Then again, she always wears his expression when she, quote unquote, has to “third-wheel you two.”
She blinks at you, turns around to another teammate, and signs for “help” with her hand. “Save me from these two, please, Minjeol.”
Minjeol laughs from the other side of the room, fencing jacket rolled up to her elbows as she crosses over the pistes. Taking a swig of her water, she comes up to pat Chaehwa’s back sympathetically.
Feigning annoyance, you glance back at Riki and walk back to your en-garde line. Through the mask he blinks at you warmly, and you have to physically restrain yourself from falling to your wobbly knees.
Minjeol has apparently taken over Chaehwa’s position, probably to save her from the wrath of the most well-known couple in school fencing each other. The captain and the vice-captain, so perfectly matched that it shocks the students who don’t know of them.
“En-garde.” You fall into the all-too-familiar stance. Riki does the same. “Pretz.”
“Allez!”
The rush of adrenaline that breezes through your body should have fuelled you enough to score a point against a very enthusiastic Riki. Should have prevented you from missing the chance to take his blade with your own and attack at once.
You should have seen it on his face, should have realised his ulterior motive of not attempting an immediate attack. Usually, he’s waaaay too eager to lunge at you as soon as the referee starts the bout. This time, you foolishly believed it was a genuine fault on his part that he didn’t do so.
But when you lunge forward in a fast and confident attack, Riki smiles devilishly and skitters backwards, giving you the illusion that he’s retreating. However, when you recover from your lunge and start to step forward, he parries your blade away and ripostes.
It all happens in an instant, and you’re left stumbling backwards as he loses his balance and almost collapses onto you. Dropping his blade and leaving it hanging by his body wire, his hands jolt out to stabilise you. Breathing heavily, he unclasps his wire from the weapon and checks you for injury.
“Are you okay?” He even tosses his mask to the side and grabs your shoulders in concern. His hubristic exudation — gone in an instant. His eyes scan you. His mind looks at you. It touches you so deeply that tears well up in your eyes and you stumble backwards even more.
Now, usually your tears are out of self-disappointment, pure frustration fuelling the tears leaking out your eyes. You’d try to hold them back, to no avail, and Riki would come over and take off your mask, wiping the tears away just as you wish you could wipe away your dismay.
And he does just that, with the belief that you’re internally reprimanding yourself for your errors in gameplay. His fingers run through your hair, slowly sliding off the hair-tie you used for your messy bun. An icky, sinking feeling fills your stomach when you see the sadness glazing over your boyfriend’s eyes.
He may seem overly self-confident, but he sure does know the feeling of a bad case of low self-esteem.
“You sure you want to cry here, my dear?” He leans down to whisper, thumb rubbing soothingly over your upper back. Though you had decided to wear slightly elevated sports shoes today, he still towers above you. “You want me to walk you to the restroom?”
He knows you so well, too well, it hurts your heart to even think.
When you don’t answer, your chest feeling clogged up with the sobs escaping you, he unhooks himself from the piste, and then unhooks you as well. He drags you away from the piste and leaves Minjeol standing uselessly by its side.
“Sorry,” he murmurs after handing you your Hydroflask and helping you remove your lame. “I shouldn’t have tricked you like that.”
That’s what he’s worried about? That. That is so incredibly annoying.
“I’m not upset about that,” you laugh, finally swiping away the last of your tears. “Really. I know it sounds like I’m lying but seriously, I’d rather you try your best than go easy on me. You know?”
Nodding earnestly, Riki sends a charming smile your way before unzipping your fencing jacket. “Then why were you crying? I mean, like, you couldn’t breathe — type of crying.”
You tilt your head but remain silent. And then it strikes you. As much as you were touched by Riki’s loving attention, you cannot doubt that you still have so much self-hatred broiling inside you, so much that now you can’t even tell it’s there when you break down.
So much that Riki can detect your emotions even before you can. He’s not even a master empath; usually he can’t pick up hints of irritation when he teases you. But now, he’s either strengthened his sympathising skills, or he’s grown so used to you crying over every miniscule thing.
“You know,” he slips your weapon into the blade cover for you, “I can read you.”
It hits a little too close to home, and you flinch at how well he can read your thoughts. Following that, he still somehow has the audacity to ask, “penny for your thoughts?”
Riki blinks at you, lips subconsciously forming a pout like they always do. It’s endearing and makes your heart ache endlessly. You don’t like this. You should not be feeling so down after every single training session. You’re the captain, for goodness sake. Your teammates are going to think you’re weak, sitting out every session just to cry to your boyfriend.
”I’m fine,” you say, a statement you want to engrave in your mind. A promise to yourself that it’s really the truth. Because it really, truly is. “I’m fine.”
Riki stares at you doubtfully through half-lidded eyes, but merely scoots closer to you on the floor. His hand reaches out to touch your knee. His lips lean in to gently touch your cheek, and you shiver upon the contact. Never has a training felt so warm and fuzzy.
After the kiss, you glance around the room, relieved to see nobody is looking your way. Maybe they’re already used to it, or maybe they’re secretly spectating and whispering behind your back. Either way, nobody’s making the effort to bother you and Riki.
“You know you’re doing well, right?” Riki whispers, so close you can feel his breath warm on your ear. It’s all you’ve ever wanted to hear, but can never ask to hear. But there’s still a lingering doubt deep in your soul. Ironic, isn’t it? It’s all you’ve ever wanted to hear and you still. don’t. believe it. Not one bit.
He goes on, “It’s amazing that you can even see where you go wrong. Sometimes I don’t even know how I’ve lost my point, and it’s pretty embarrassing.”
Pursing your lips to suppress a laugh, you mutter, “that’s your problem, not mine. Maybe I’m good but I’m not good enough.”
“But you are!” A mock-annoyed Riki grabs ahold of your hands and brings them close to his chest. The genuity lacing his voice and the way his eyes go wide in an attempt to help you believe in yourself — you just accept what he’s saying without any further thought.
What more is there to internally debate about anyway? If Riki believes, you believe too. You smile and he kisses you lightly again in return. If fencing is your hell, Riki is your heaven.
“You ready?” Minjeol raises her eyebrows at you as if confirming whether you’re really willing to repeat the cycle all over again. At first, you’re hesitant, uncertainty swamping over your every sense. But when Riki comes over to test guard and salute, the warm, encouraging smile painted on his face helps you nod with confidence.
“En-garde. Pretz. Allez!”
It’s been a while since I’ve done this.
You both charge towards each other, but you’re faster. A feign and a double-attack later, you’ve scored the winning point against Riki. The latter seems even happier than you for this, which is insanely cute to you. He walks up to you, mask already off and in his hands. Setting his aside, he leans to help you with yours and then presses a finger to his cheek.
“A kiss for your biggest supporter and mentor?” He laughs boyishly.
“Mentor!” You gasp, pretending to take offense. “Do you even deserve this?”
You press your lips against his cheek, trying not to take notice of the way his face goes pink.
Victory has never tasted so sweet.
thanks for reading!! and yes, i'm a fencer. and they're using the foil weapon teehee
some terminology used that you might need to know
en-garde, pretz, allez - words used to start a bout
en-garde - french for "on guard", a stance with knees bent used by fencers
lame - the silver electric jacket worn on the outermost part of the body
riposte - an attacking action used after a parry
i'll take this time to promote my chaptered nishimura riki fic, you in the rain. if you're a fan of wifty or taylor, be sure to check it out! hehe
more of my works >
#stariikis#nishimura riki#enhypen riki#nishimura riki x reader#enhypen#enhypen niki#enhypen x reader#nishimura riki x you#riki x reader#riki nishimura x reader#nishimura riki enhypen#riki enhypen#enhypen ni_ki#enhypen nishimura riki#niki enhypen#niki x reader#enhypen au#riki fanfiction#ni ki#riki fluff#niki fanfic#riki x you
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𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓓𝓲𝓪𝓻𝔂..
Captain Rex x F!Reader x Fives
Pt. 2
Every night, without fail, you wake up crying, heaving as you realise the monsters of your nightmares have been long left behind on the battlefields you fought on alongside your beloved Clone Troopers, the 501st Legion.
Every night, without fail, you note down all your thoughts and feelings onto paper, into your beloved Diary that your Jedi Master has given to you as a gift. What happens when the Captain and Trooper of the 501st get their hands on your prized possession?
Word Count: 2845
Warnings: Very much unedited, most definitely not lore-accurate as I have just begun to watch Clone Wars.
A/N: A spur-of-the-moment kind of fic, it will be a two parter story :) It does say Female reader as that is what I had in mind, however there are no pronouns or descriptions used that allude to the reader being female!
Your body shot straight up, sweat rolling down the side of your temple, shoulders heaving up and down rapidly through heavy breaths. You wearily scanned the area, the room you found yourself in, your bedroom, hidden under a blanketed darkness. You could vaguely make out the different shapes of objects in your room; the steel wardrobe, the desk seated in a faraway corner, the tall frame of the door. The small line of light that peaked through provided some comfort, some more visibly.
A shaky hand reached for the night light beside your temporary bed - a silver steel, upright lamp that provided a bright, white light. It didn't provide much comfort as hard white light flooded the room, but it was enough to convince you that the terrors in your dreams weren't physically present in your waking days.
Heaving a slow, heavy sigh, you slid back down into the pale comfort of your sheets, hugging a pillow to your body.
As you laid there, light still on, eyes shut, you were engulfed in the sound of deafening silence. You could almost hear the light buzzing of the mechanical structures of the ship, ringing in your ears.
You sighed again, turning your body to face the door. The light from the outside tickled at your eyelids, forcing them to flutter open. With a groan, you shoved your nose deeper into the soft material of your pillow, beginning to count down, hoping that, the mental image of numerous General's jumping up and down like innocent sheep, would lull you back to sleep soon enough.
Mini Skywalker's, Plo Koon's and Obi Wan Kenobi's cluttered your mind, hopping over a tall fence as you silently counted, 'One.. Two.. Three' and so on. It was definitely interesting image to think of, but in the meantime, it did little to stop your body from tossing and turning, heaving and sighing, twisting in your sheets.
With another, heavy sigh, you reached into your bedside draw, pulling out a small notebook and pen. You flipped it to the most recent page, jotting down the date and time, a small curse leaving your lips as you noticed the time; 01:25.
You were going to become a zombie at this rate.
Nethertheless, you began spilling words onto the page, the crease between your brows easing as time passed, the fast pace of your heartbeat steadying with each word that slipped past the boundaries of your mind.
By the time sleep had finally pulled you into it's clutches, your mind could tell the ship was leaving hyperspace, and approaching a new atmosphere, your diary and pen abandoned at your side, left open on the most recent page yet again.
You awoke when the ship had landed; merely five hours later. The metal hit the ground with a thud, successfully forcing your eyes open. You laid there for a long while, ears twitching as you listened to the distant sounds of clone troopers wandering the hallways, accompanied by loud chatter and laughter.
Those moments, those peaceful moments, where your men could take a moment to relax and unravel were your favourite. You fought hard to keep every single one alive, the guilt chipping away at your sturdy resolve, discipline and beliefs in the Jedi rules.
You had broken one of the most important rules from the very beginning; it was forbidden to form attachments. How could you abide by such a cruel rule, when you were stationed with the same men for the last three years, getting to know them, living with them, laughing and sharing meals? To you, such a rule shouldn't exist. You could tell many other Jedi also disagreed with it - Anakin Skywalker being one amongst many. Even Obi Wan Kenobi, whose rebellious personality did very little to hide his affections for a certain Mandalorian Senator..
Taking in a deep breath, you slowly opened your eyes, looking around the room.
A warm glow peaked through the tightly shut curtains, warming your skin in a gentle embrace. Even though your eyes burned with exhaustion, you had willed yourself to get up. It was already 07:00, your men were definitely up and ready for their mission briefing.
Though they'd have to wait a little longer, you supposed.
This was meant to be an easy, diplomatic mission centred around a Neutral planet. You and your troops, the 501st, would be ensuring the citizens' safety, and potentially discussing joining the Democratic Republic.
After spending some time getting ready, you left your quarters, silently stalking through the hallways, a distant rumble of the canteen ringing in your ears. The closer you got, the more shouts and lively conversations you could hear.
All of those men shared the same exact voice, but the small differences in speech patterns, accents, tone and volume, were enough for you to be able to distinguish between your squadron without even seeing any of their faces.
Tugging your robes closer to your body, you entered the canteen, heading straight for the food buffet. It was going to be a simple mission - grab some toast, some water, and escape before anyone could notice you.
And simple it would of been, if it wasn't for a certain Captain's sharp eyes and enhanced instincts; as if an alarm went off in his head anytime you appeared within his vicinity.
In no time, you felt his warm breath fan over the back of your neck, his chest close enough for you to feel the coolness radiating off his body armour.
"Good morning, Captain." You spoke softly, a hint of tiredness still laced within your voice as you blinked slowly, placing a piece of toast on your tray.
"G'morning General," His voice came out a rolling, warm rumble, directly by your ear as Rex leaned over you, "What are you having for breakfast?" He asked, his honey-brown eyes scanning over your food tray.
"Nuffin special, Captain, just a plain toast and water, how 'bout you?" You asked, moving away from the queue and to an empty table. You looked to Rex, noticing the corners of his lips tugging upwards, the sight warming your closed-off heart. You desperately wanted to cradle the side of his face in your palm, to soothe over the lines that wedged themselves between his eyebrows, noticing his exhaustion still showing even after a decent night's sleep.
"I've already had my breakfast with Fives and Echo, woke up quite early actually." He spoke softly, a chuckle escaping his lips as his palm rested on the small of your back, leading you to your seat.
Confusion took over your body as you sat down, bringing the toast up to your lips, taking a bite. "So, why are you here then, Captain?" You asked through a mouthful, eyeing him up and down, confusion clear as day across your face.
At that, his face hardened into one he wore often during meetings and battles, an uncertain heaviness clouding his eyes. His fists clenched atop his lap, his lips pulling into a thin line. He wished to discuss the mission with you; hoping to lessen the number of men needed. Though he wasn't sure how willing you'd be to give your men a small vacation, he still wanted to attempt to provide his brothers with some respite.
What kind of Captain would he be if he didn't consider his soldiers' health?
"Actually- I wanted to discuss the mission with you, General," He paused, breaking eye contact as his gaze dropped to his lap, then scaled back up to focus on the ice-blue, steel table separating the two of you, "I was thinking-"
"Thinking too much isn't good for you Rex, you've got enough lines on your forehead already." You joked, interrupting the clearly tense Captain. As you eyed him up and down with a soft smile, his shoulders visibly relaxed, the thin line his lips had become turning into the softest of smiles, his cheeks puffing up into marshmallows over the stretch.
"W-Well, I was wondering if you could allow my men to take this time to rest." He stated, his voice dropping to a low rumble as he eyed you from underneath a curtain of lashes. He was using his best puppy eyes, knowing very well what effect those had on you.
You blinked once, then twice, your eyes widening owlishly as you stared at Rex.
Was he.. Trying to woo you?
You sat just the smallest bit straighter, your shoulders stiffening as you begged the Maker for Rex to not pick up on the sudden stiffiness that clutched onto your body with a steel grip.
Why was he making things so much harder for you?
"R-Rex.. I'm not sure I-" You started, your stomach dropping as he released a defeated sigh.
"I know General, I know.. It's just that, after the last mission, we're all still quite exhausted." He spoke, his gaze unwavering as he leaned closer to you, his scent invading your nostrils. He smelled of the Canteen's breakfast, a faint scent of aftershave lingering over him. Had he shaved already? You never got to see more than a hint of stubble on his jaw and chin, before it was gone with the wind; like it never even existed.
That's why you were grateful for Fives; that man's goatee could never disappoint. You were sure a beard of some sorts would suit Rex so well - it wasn't too difficult to imagine with his brother around, serving as an example.
What would it feel like to feel the short hairs underneath your fingers? To feel the smooth skin of his cheek under your palm? The soft plushness of his lips against yours-
"General?" He interrupted your fleeting thoughts, a glint of hope shining in his eyes as you shook your head lightly.
It was the defeated, gentle sigh that gave you away.
If it were anyone else, Rex would never dare to ask such a question. But with you- with you, his men felt most comfortable, most safe. They respected you, and could feel you returning that respect every time you'd prioritise their lives over yours, telling them to retreat, to find cover as you had a handle on every situation, on every battle. You never abandoned them.
"Fine.. But I'll need at least one of you to accompany me." You paused, quirking a brow at the Captain, conveying your seriousness in just one look. "And I'll need the men to be on guard, okay? We can't risk being caught off guard if anything were to happen." You finally finished, your toast long forgotten, cooling down in the chilled canteen, as Rex graced you with the gentlest of smiles, his gaze softening the longer he listened to you.
He knew he could count on you, and he would prove to you that this wasn't a mistake. That it wouldn't be.
Clearing his throat, Rex stood up from his seat, rounding the table to you.
"Thank you General, I can assure you that the squadron will be ready for any and every circumstance, and I will personally escort you to the meetings. You have my word." He spoke, reaching his hand out for yours. Confusedly, you extended your hand into his grasp, a hint of pink dusting your cheeks as he pressed a swift kiss to your knuckles.
"R-Re- Uhm, Captain," You stuttered and paused, clearing your throat as you prayed for the blush to go away, "There is no need to thank me." You insisted, slowly getting up from your seat. His gaze followed you, tracing over your body with an unknown emotion hiding behind his thick lashes.
"Thank you General, now if you'll excuse me, I'll go inform the others that haven't heard." He stated, bidding you a goodbye, cheers following soon after as Rex lifted a hand, signing a thumbs up to some of his men behind you. Your gaze followed his form as you watched him exit the canteen, his head turning to look back at you one last time before the doors slid shut behind him.
"What the hell was that.." You whispered, continuing your breakfast as your thoughts ran at tens of miles an hour, a blush permanently settled on your cheeks.
-
"Captain, are you sure this is a good idea?" Fives asked as he adjusted his helmet, following Rex as they made their way to your quarters.
"Yes yes, I'm sure. She should be in here anyway." Rex stated, waving his brother's concerns off as they rounded the corner, your bedroom doors coming into sight. "Besides, she said we should meet her at her quarters before we depart." He insisted, coming to a stop by your doors.
Raising his fisted hand, Rex knocked on your doors three times before backing away, waiting for a response.
As a moment turned into a minute, and a minute turned into three, Rex knocked again, this time calling out your title. "General? Are you in there?" He asked, his voice raised in uncertainty. When he received no reply once again, he shook his head.
"I don't think she's in there." He turned to Fives, feet ready to start moving again as his brain racked over any other locations on the ship that you frequented. Fives looked at Rex, quirking a curious brow at him, though his helmet covered any and all expressions he shot in his brother's way.
"Maybe we should go in? Who knows, maybe the General got herself stuck in the refresher." He quipped, a smirk tugging at his lips as Fives made his way over to your door. Pressing a button, the doors swiftly opened before him.
Walking over to the doors of your refresher, Rex followed after Fives, taking his helmet off, unable to, unwilling to, stop his eyes from wondering all over your room, taking note of the lack of personalised decorations in your bedroom. There was a desk, numerous multi-coloured folders stacked neatly on top of it, a small lamp next to them.
He looked over your wardrobe, his fingers itching to pull it open, to see what other articles of clothing you owned apart from your Jedi robes.
As Fives knocked at the refresher doors, his helmet at his side, Rex inched closer to your bed, noticing a small notebook hidden just beside your pillow, still open on the most recent page. His fingers reached over for it, eyes scanning over the yellow-coloured pages, gloved hands gliding over the leathery spine of the small book.
"Oooh, what's that?"
Before Rex could react, the book was snatched from his grasp, his head snapping upwards to see Fives flipping through the pages, turning and closing the book, only to gasp. That had Rex's ears almost twitching, a curious brow quirked up.
"What? What is it Fives?" Rex asked, standing next to his brother.
The silence that followed made him uneasy, and leaning his head closer, he looked to the book, his lips gaping open.
"Do you see what I see?" Fives inquired, a smirk tugging at his lips as he turned his head to Rex. All that Rex could do was nod in stunned silence.
"Y/n's Personal Diary.." Fives whispered aloud, eyes scanning over the firsts page.
A lump built up in Rex's throat, his fingers twitching nervously at his sides as Fives read over the words you had messily written in your diary, his heart thumping as he recounted each memory, a soft smile tugging at both brothers' lips as they could feel every emotion you had spilled out onto the pages.
Though they quickly scrambled to hide the small book behind their backs, interrupted by the sound of your bedroom doors sliding open.
A scream left your lips as your gaze landed on the two armoured men, heart racing wildly at the unexpected scare. Their gazes didn't linger on you for too long, a faint pink ghosting over their cheeks as they looked anywhere but you.
"H-Hi General, we tried knocking but-" Rex begun, unsure of how to explain why he and his brother were snooping around your quarters.
"We were worried that you got stuck in the refresher when we heard no answer, so we wanted to make sure you were safe and ready for our trip." Fives finished Rex's sentence, casting his brother and Captain a side glance, his lips stretched into an awkward, innocent grin on his face.
"R-Right.. Sorry, General, it won't happen again."
"That's quite alright, I'm actually flattered you men were worried about me," You spoke softly, hand covering your mouth as you giggled at their explanation, your heart warming at the thought that the two cared so much for your well-being. Though you wouldn't let yourself show just how much that thought made you blush. "Now come on, we've got meetings to go to." You exclaimed, waving the two men over as you made your way out into the hall.
Giving each other a knowing glance, Rex and Fives followed, quietly telling one another to hide the diary. Rex nudged Fives with his elbow, now too far gone to quietly and innocently return the book to its original place.
"Just shove it into your bag.." Rex hissed out through thin lips, rushing after you as he cast his brother one last glance, making sure the diary was stored safely in one of their backpacks.
#captain rex#clone captain rex#captain rex x reader#clone wars#star wars#star wars clone wars#clone wars fanfiction#star wars fanfiction#fives x reader#clones x reader#501st legion#501st x reader#jedi#anakin skywalker#obi wan kenobi#plo koon#galaxy#space
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for your eyes only
☆ tags: elliott x gn!reader, elliott and farmer are married, he writes love poems for his spouse and is told to monetize them, oh boy is he not happy about that ☆
You pat your pig's backside encouragingly and coo as it digs its snout into the ground, unearthing yet another truffle that you add to your basket. Can't believe you were worried about this one being the runt of its litter—it's quickly proving to be one of the fastest learners, taking to truffle hunting like a duck to water. It'll do just fine with the rest of the adult pigs.
Taking care of the farm by yourself has always been a gargantuan task, but as the years go by, everything grows bigger—the coops, the barns, the ponds, the crops, the expectations—and exhaustion wears you down to the bone. You sigh and push to your feet, ready to head into the nearest coop to collect more eggs. Collect animal products, drop them into churning machines, harvest and sell. It feels like the cycle never ends. Against your neck, the small mermaid's pendant slides on its chain, another reminder of your absent husband. An extra pair of helping hands made the daily work light; you wonder if it's selfish to ask him to stay home more often.
"I know, I know," you say to your angry chickens once you open the door. You miss your husband, but these girls like to remind you that they miss him more. "He'll be home soon. Bear with me, okay?"
After giving each of them pats on the head, a motion they accept with reluctance, you dig around the hay for eggs. The large chicken and dinosaur eggs are easy to spot, but for the delicate duck eggs, you prod every corner with your fingers until you come across something warm and smooth. You push away your hens as they peck at your hands. The ducks are fine with you. The chickens, however...how in the world did Elliott win them over?
Outside, your dog barks. A single warning to the intruder before the tone shifts into excitement. Someone familiar, then. Maybe Marnie is stopping by to give you some hay like she mentioned last night. With winter approaching, any addition to your reserves is appreciated, and you're already wiping your hands on your overalls to greet her.
"Hey, Marnie! I'm just in here—"
You stop in your tracks when the visitor raises his head, though he's not exactly a visitor. Elliott smiles as you draw close, ignoring the horde of chickens now lining the fence for his attention. Their wings flap, clucking loudly as they hit each other.
"Good morning, my love," he says over the noise, as if it really is the start to a normal day. His thumb reaches out to rub at a dirt smudge on your cheek. "Have you eaten yet?"
"Just some leftovers and coffee," you reply, dazed. Your husband tends to have that effect, and after two weeks apart, you feel it more than ever. You lean into his touch, comforting against your wind-blown skin. "I thought you were coming home tomorrow?"
"I decided to come back early. The office didn't need me today, anyway."
"You should've messaged me! I would've picked you up at the train station," you say. Behind him sits his traveling suitcase, the wheels speckled with mud from being dragged through the road. He steps in front of it. "Why don't you go get unpacked? I'll be done soon."
He leans his elbows onto the fence, tilting his head until his fiery hair spills over one shoulder. "You're rather quick to dismiss my presence. If I didn't know better, I'd say that you're unhappy to see me," he says, though his words hold no accusation. It's merely a way to boost his ego when you reassure him. After all, you practically radiate by his side. "Would you like me to help?"
You glance at the dress shoes, the slacks, the spotless cardigan that he's already shrugging off to reveal a clean pressed button-down. Not exactly farm-friendly attire. "No, I'll be alright by myself."
"I could go change really quickly," he offers in a suspicious rush.
You search his expression then, and underneath the joy of being back, there's...something. You squint, unable to make it out. Sure, he must've missed you, but this feels like it runs deeper than that. When you give him a nod, he hurries towards the house, your dog chasing and barking at his heels. True to his word, he's back in minutes.
The chickens are much more cooperative now, and you roll your eyes at how they parade around your husband. They even hop around the coop, showing him where they've hidden their eggs from your intrusive searching.
"Thank you, dearies," he says to the hens. You swear they swoon.
"A real heart breaker," you deadpan. "Have you told them you're married?"
He chuckles, taking your hand as you move into the barns next door. While you lay out new hay on the feeding bench, he unhooks the stools and milk pails and sets them on either side of the door. It's hard to believe that just a few months ago he barely knew how to approach your animals, let alone help you with the chores.
He whistles lowly, and the first cow trudges to his station, ready to be milked. You get settled at your own station. One of the newer goats skids to the front of the line, eager to be let outside. It's not quiet in the barn—it never is, not with twelve grown animals waiting for their turn—but when you call Elliott's name, he looks at you. His ponytail needs to be retied.
"So why'd you come home early?" The young adult goats don't have much milk, just enough for a small container. You pat its hind leg, and it runs into the crisp autumn air with an excited bleat.
"I missed the atmosphere of our farm. The fresh air of the valley is good for my creative soul, unlike the bustle of Zuzu City."
You only raise your eyebrows, and he sighs from your all-knowing gaze.
"You read me a little too well, my love."
"I sure hope so, after all this time together. Did something happen at the office?"
Since the release of his last collection of short stories, he's been invited to the city more often for author-related events. This latest stint, running a series of writing workshops in partnership with Zuzu University and the local community, was organized by his agent in hopes of bigger opportunities. Maybe even a guest lecturer contract, they've said on more than one occasion, though Elliott refuses to be apart from you for too long.
Elliott gives another sigh. "Something like that. I just...it was admittedly negligence on my part. I was in the middle of writing you another letter when someone required my presence down the hall. I thought that it'd be a quick matter, so I didn't clear my desk. But apparently one of the secretaries came looking for me while I was out."
"Did they read...?" You wrinkle your nose, knowing how private Elliott is about his unpolished work. He's even more private about what he writes for your eyes only. "I'm sure they were embarrassed."
"That's what bothers me the most! She had the audacity to bring it up in front of everyone when we had a meeting, even quoted a few lines—"
The cow groans as he moves particularly rough. He gives it an apologetic scratch under the chin.
"So for the past two days, everyone has been trying to talk me into releasing a collection of love poems, which I would have no issues with if it didn't stem from such a personal...I mean, the poems were addressed to my muse, and when I explained that it was you, they said that was even better. Something about how the romance will really sell." He frowns. "I like being able to support myself—contribute to our funds, you know—with my writing, but it's not...a commodity. I'm allowed to make art for the sake of making art."
His forehead is furrowed, and you would reach out to ease the frustration if your hands weren't busy.
"What's your plan now?"
He scoffs. "There's no plan regarding that. I completely refuse. It's quite insulting, in fact, the idea that I'd put my love on display for a paycheck."
It's relieving, you have to admit. Even after getting a taste of success, your husband remains the same person you said your vows to. The same romantic who holds you in such high esteem. There's so many emotions—namely affection—swirling in your chest, but you're not the writer so all you manage is a simple Okay.
"Okay," you say again for good measure, but he must understand you because his expression smooths. "So what do you want for lunch?"
#stardew x reader#stardew valley x reader#sdv x reader#sdv elliott x reader#stardew x farmer#stardew valley x farmer#sdv x farmer#sdv elliott x farmer#stardew valley scenarios#sdv scenarios#sdv elliott scenarios#stardew scenarios#saeri writes;
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