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catscidr · 15 days

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// taking care of your dogboy (hsr edition!) //

i. note — sry i havent been posting yall i got a job + ive been working on three cosplays at the same time bc my local con is coming up lmao (´ཀ`」 ∠) however the brainrot never stops. it only takes a break. a little break of approximatively. a month. ish. ......... anyways dog hybrid hsr boys brainrot !!! lmk if we want more of this with more boys •ᴗ• comments and asks are appreciated hehe ii. includes — blade, gepard, boothill and gn!reader iii. cw — slice of life stuff turning into smut, possessive behaviour, overstim, slight dom/sub dynamics, real messy stuff, manhandling. use of the word "hole" to keep reader gender neutral iv. wc — 1,9k

blade is a mutt riddled in scars and dirty bandages from living on the streets and fighting to survive.

you think he might be some german shepherd mix, but he refuses to let you swab his teeth n gums for a dna test (last time you tried you narrowly avoided a punch to the face. he apologized in his own way afterwards), so whenever people ask, just say he’s a rescue to avoid revealing that you actually just… don’t really know what breed he is. they usually drop the subject and simply go on their merry way, seeing as he wasn’t the type of pup to appreciate affection from strangers anyways– it’s rare for you to leave the house in the first place, though.

you had to switch to a remote job because blade is just so persistent when it comes to you. although possessive is a much better descriptor, because he doesn’t let anyone near you. whenever you leave to get groceries he ends up practically breathing down your neck from how close he gets— acting as if he were your literal shadow— glaring at everyone that gets too close to you. you’ve made it a habit to always go to self-checkout lane so blade doesn’t scare off the cashiers.

the second you get home he’s all over you, determined to rid you of that outside stench and replace it with his own. you started packing your grocery bags in a way that nothing will break if (read: when) you suddenly drop them on the floor, all because you’re so familiar with blade’s impatience.

he holds you still by engulfing your body with his, knees caging your hips as he grinds into you, shallow and deep. blade’s growls and huffs fill your ears just as much as his cock fills your hole, his knot kissing your tightness from the outside.

“do you like this? like how i have to fuck you every time you decide to go outside again when you could stay here,” with me blade omits, his tail swishing back and forth on the bedsheets behind him, the sound just barely grounding you to reality.

your grocery bags were long forgotten on the foor (as they usually are), your mind too foggy to function. clawing at the sheets, you try to crawl away from blade’s grip— to no avail.

he tuts, craning his head to bite down onto the skin where your shoulder meets your neck. “i might just need to mark you for extra precaution,” he bucks into you, knocking the air out of your lungs. you hear squelching, the constant plap! plap! plap! from his thighs smacking against your ass and whine, broken babbles leaving your kiss-bruised lips.

“b-blade, y’can’t- ah,” he shushes you by plugging you full of his lengthy cock, his knot almost threatening to press inside of you. you whimper, feeling lightheaded from a mix of both nervousness and arousal.

he soothes the hickey he left on your neck, licking it languidly as he stills to bask into the way your hole throbs around him. warm and tight and oh so tempting.

“shit, wanna fill you. wanna… have everyone know they can’t have you. you’re mine, mine to love ‘n mine to fuck,” you’re not lucid enough to process his thinly veiled confession, too busy writhing your ass back against him in a feeble attempt to get him to continue moving.

you might want to invest into some good concealer or into those skin coloured tattoo patches to cover the bruises and bite marks blade’ll leave on you if you want to continue being a functioning member of society. you can’t really be walking around in public as if a dog had just mauled you right before you left the house, can you?

gepard is a golden retriever because of COURSE he is. similarly to blade, he likes to invade your personal space a lot— not because he’s possessive, but because he’s extremely protective of you.

the random bruises you used to randomly notice on your body faded as soon as he came into your life. gepard’s soft, lingering touches healed them; gently placing a hand on your hip before you bump into sharp furniture so it doesn’t hit you, redirecting your head to his shoulder as you nod-off in the train before you bang your head, and so on.

it’s a full-time job and he’s working 24/7, always on the lookout for anything that could possibly hurt you as you saunter off… wherever, without a care in the world— because he took care of everything!

he would clean the apartment for you, cook (though you usually insist you do the cooking; a human doesn’t have the same taste in food as a hybrid), and even act as your own personal alarm clock. gone were the days of being woken up by loud, blaring beeping. gepard woke you up with forehead kisses instead, making your mornings much more pleasant.

but poor geppie, he’s always taking care of you; so take care of him, won’t you?

every so often you’ll sit in his lap to help him get rid of whatever stress he held in his body. your hands will knead at the muscles in his broad shoulders, all while you simultaneously kiss away the strain in his face. his brows are furrowed as you do your best to soothe his muscles; you never forget to smooch his cheek, nose and the corner of his lips.

though the attention and gentle acts of affection always ends with your hands lower than they should be.

“ah ah, no touching, remember?” you murmur in his ear playfully. you had been at it for what felt like hours; gepard’s cock and abdomen was smeared with the remnants of his cum, skin tacky from his previous loads. your hand shows no sign of stopping, not even when he begged oh so sweetly.

“c-come onn. just… jus’ wanna kiss…” and who were you to deny your sweet boy? your lips find his in a heartbeat, his tongue swiping over your own sloppily as he breathes you in like a depraved man.

the only condition you had when you did this was for him to keep his hands to himself— at least until you both decide to move on to something else. until then, his fists clench the sheets beneath the both of you, and his ears stay flat on his fluffy head.

“i’m… i’m close again, g- aah, please, please…!” he begs, cock weeping precum as you continuously jerk him off. you smile, absentmindedly rocking your hips to the rhythm you held him prisoner to— gepard was too engulfed in the warmth of your hand to notice, anyways. “cum whenever you want sweet boy,” you purr, and he keens as he buries his face in your neck, his hips lifting off the bed ever so slightly as they meet your hand and he thrusts, riding the high of his orgasm.

sticky cum coats your hand for the nth time; you relent your grip on his cock for his sake, instead choosing to shower him with chaste kisses all over his face. gepard whines, taking ahold of your waist weakly as he breathes into the crook of your neck.

“geppie, your han-“ he cuts you off, swiftly switching positions so you’re now laying on your back as he hovers over you, chest rising and falling quickly, catching his breath from the intensity of his orgasm. gepard’s tail wags slowly behind him as his hands creep up from your waist to your chest just as slowly- you feel his cock harden against your pelvis, precum spilling from his pinky tip.

“‘ts my turn now,” he huffs, leaning down to nip at your neck.

boothill is the most obnoxious dalmatian hybrid you’ve ever seen (not that you’ve seen many, or at all). but he’s made your life so fun so you can’t be too mad at him

he’s always dragging you out of bed to go do something— could be going to the park nearby or sit in the living room playing video games on your dusty console, it doesn’t matter because he’ll MAKE you step out of your cozy nest!!

you’re glad he’s friendly, because you’re not sure how you would handle such an excited hybrid when you left the house. people come up to the both of you to chat and he indulges their questions, essentially leading the conversation (while you stand there awkwardly, not knowing what to say).

boothill is also great with kids, unexpectedly. 9 times out of 10 when you go to the park he ends up playing with someone’s child, bright smile on his face as he messes up their hair with a rough hand. they’ll throw a frisbee for him to go catch and he’ll do it happily, or he’ll even… teach them how to beat people up.

(you stare mortified as he teaches a little girl how to throw a proper punch only for her to then punch her parent when she leaves boothill’s side. you go up to them and apologize profusely, forcing boothill to bow with you.)

he also loves to help you out, even though he’s not the greatest at household chores— but he definitely tries! though he is a stellar cook, which never fails to surprise you whenever he’s on dinner duty. he just… really sucks at everything else.

it’s… mostly because he just has so much energy. he sweeps the floor? nope, he’s picking off the pieces of the broom off of the floor because he accidentally broke it. he’s fixing your bed? nuh uh, you’re throwing out the ruined bedsheets because he accidentally tore them to shreds somehow.

so, with all of these accidents happening because he’s just brimming with energy 24/7, you started purposely exhausting him. or, rather, gave him the green light to exhaust you until he tires himself out.

“booth-aah, w-wait, you’re being too…!” you fall over on top of his hard chest, keening at the new angle his cock reached inside of you. he repeated his assault on the spot that made you see stars as your jaw gaped, broken moans leaving your lips.

“don’t tell me y’re tapping out.. haa, already!” boothill grunts, his grip on your hips tightening. he throws his head back with a loud moan, abs tensing as he nears yet another climax— the 5th one of the night. maybe, maybe not. you lost count after the third one.

you bury your face into the crook of his neck, focusing on the feeling of his cock plugging you full instead of the soreness, the burn in your muscles that came from your knees holding you up on his lap.

watching you riding him will always be his favourite thing in the world, even if he always ends up fucking up into you and taking back control at the end of the night.

“gonna cu-uum…” you whine, clenching around his length almost painfully tightly, hearing his breathing hitch as an orgasm is ripped out of him in consequence to yours. boothill’s fingers dig into your ass, his hips lifting off the bed as he cums deep inside of your sloppy hole again, sticky fluid building up beneath the sheets.

you collapse on top of him fully, chest heaving against his own as you come back to your senses, slowly but surely. boothill’s ears perk up, hearing how your breathing had evening out.

“so… got another round in ya?”

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kaciebello · 4 months

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Don’t shoot the messenger

Slytherin boys x Hufflepuff!reader (use of she/her, no use of y/n) Masterlist Delivery Express ✿ Summary: The reader sees an opportunity to run an untapped market in Hogwarts and makes her first delivery. warnings: mention of alcohol and cigarettes, nothing else really Authors note: English is not my first language so I am sorry for any mistakes beforehand. I wanna spread this into a one-shot series. Proofread by me and me only :( • Next part: Delivery fees Word count: 1352

Notes to deliver - 1

The Slytherin bedroom is filled with the usual chatter. Two boys arguing about quidditch tactics over a cigarette, some have given up and just stared at a ceiling while nursing a glass of fire whiskey. You can hear someone's father being mentioned in almost every other sentence. Nothing magical was happening if you omit this being a school of witchcraft and wizardry.

Suddenly, the door busts as if being kicked open. Revealing, to the boys, an unknown girl wearing a green uniform they are all familiar with, her cloak being absend. Her hair is neatly in a braid tied with a bow. All chatter stops and their attention is on her. She, however, paid no mind to anyone in the room and kept looking into her notepad as if nothing happened. Taking a few steps into the room and closing the door was only an interaction with her surroundings.

Nobody says a word for what feels like an hour. “ Who are you?” a voice recognizable as Draco Malfoy spoke. Snaping her head from her notebook she finally scans the room. As if searching for something. An offended scoff is heard from the boy as his question is left without an answer.

“ Sunshine? What are you doing here?” Lorenzo asks as he sits up. Her eyes snap to him the second she hears his voice. A sweet smile spreads on her face and her eyes create moon crescents.

“ There you are! I have a note for you.” She says and takes a few steps to his sitting figure.

His friends, still confused by what is this mystery girl doing in their bedroom, could do nothing but stare as she moved across the room with ease. But she seems to pay no attention to anybody but her friend. Passing the neatly folded note to Lorenzo, she sits down and crosses something in her notebook humming happily before turning back to him with the same sweet smile. The boy in question studies the note and opens it to read it. His eyes widen and his ears go red. He turns to the girl in shock.

“ YOU GAVE ME A LOVE NOTE???” He yells and the second those words leave his mouth all his friends surround the pair like hungry hyenas. Her smile drops and her eyes widen to the point some would think is impossible.

“ Eh? Is that what that is??” She goes to snatch the note from him, which proves to be an easy task as Lorenzo is frozen in the spot. Before she could read the note herself, however, it was too snatched from her hand by Theodore Nott and passed around his friend group.

With a frown on her face, she turns to her friend, “ I, didn't give you anything, someone gave you a love note, I just delivered it.” She said making sure to emphasize mentioning her person in the sentence.

“ So this is not from you? Because that sure sounds like an excuse, lame one at that,” says Mattheo Riddle as he waves the note in front of her face. She swats his hand away like it's a fly and he passes the note to Blasie Zabini who has yet to read it.

“No, I had no idea it was a love note,” she argues back and places her hand on Lorenzo's shoulder. “ I love you, but not like that.”

“ Are you sure? because-”

“yes.”

“no, like, if you do-”

“no”

“ Maybe we can work-”

“ I would rather jump from the astronomy tower.”

“Ouch,” he said and she just patted him on the back with fake sympathy. The note was passed back to him and he finally had the chance to look at it again. All of his friends return to studying the girl sitting on the bed. A minute of silence is broken when Blasie speaks up.

“ Are you, not the Hufflepuff girl sitting next to Enzo in Charms?” Looking up and smiling.

“Why, yes I am.” she proudly announces to the room. The shock and mumbles did not phase her as her friend got her attention.

“ So who gave you this note?” Lorenzo asks seemingly coming out of his trance from just receiving a love confession.

“ I don't know, some girl gave it to me and asked me to give it to you.” She shrugs and targets the candy bag in Draco's arms, taking a handful without the boy noticing and popping a few chocolate pieces in her mouth. “ and you just did it?”

“For 5 galleons.” He looks at her in disbelief.

“ You sold our friendship for galleons?” he asks not believing he's worth a pocket change.

“ She promised another 5 if I got her an answer.”

“oh my god.” He throws his head back and stares at the ceiling for a second as the girl next gives him a confused look.

“ what? I didn't know it was a love note. Besides-”

“ How did you get in here?” Draco cutes her as he notices her hand sneaking into his bag of candy this time, snatching it away. The two friends turn to the group of boys standing around them.

“ I do you one better, whose uniform is that?” Mattheo asks pointing out the obvious Slytherin uniform on the Hufflepuff girl. Her eyes narrowed, not enjoying being interrogated. As she was about to answer Lorenzo was just a second faster.

“ Her own you moron, it's a color-changing charm. Good job on that by the way.” He says, getting up from the bed and breaking the circle his friends formed around them. The girl gets up and follows him to his desk.

“ That does not answer how she got here.” chimes in Theodor. Leaning on the desk she turns to them and crosses her arms.

“I'm a Hufflepuff, we have our ways. It is not that hard to find all the secret passages.” She says nonchalantly. Next to her, Lorenzo is hunched down and scribbling something on a piece of paper. Before any more questions can be said he shoots up with a little ‘aha’ leaving him. Taking the girl’s hand and turning it, he slaps a little note folded in half in her palm. Then he fishes up what seems to be 10 galleons from his pocket and adds that as well.

“Now sunshine, please don't ever bring me love notes ever again,” he said and started to usher the girl out of the bedroom. She gets up from her spot and walks to the door not that much bothered by her friend kicking her out.

“ What if it normal note? Can I bring that?”

“ no.” He answers as soon as he hears the first question. ‘You're no fun ‘ can be heard faintly as she says it under her nose. Opening the door she previously so elegantly kicked open, she turns to his friends one last time.

“None of you want to send a note? It will cost you only 5 galleons.”All of them shake their head not wanting to use the girls' service. She gives them a few more seconds before she takes our step outside of the door.

“ Wait, sunshine,” Lorenzo stops her with a sheepish smile on his face Wordlessly she raises an eyebrow at him.

“ Next time don't forget to change the colour of your bow.” he says and motions to the bow keeping her braid together. She looks down and sees it proudly shining the yellow colour of her house. She just chuckles and without other words, she steps out of the room and closes the door behind her.

The room falls silent for a minute before erupting into a bickering over what happened.

Notes to deliver - 0

2K notes · View notes

halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Note

ooh im glad!!! so, expanding on that then..

how about price with a civvi wife/gf, and when they’re talking over the phone while he’s gone, she’s being kinda cagey and definitely omitting something, but he doesn’t know what. so when he gets back home she tells him she’s pregnant? really just a lot of fluff (and maybe angst? 👀 like about how his job is super dangerous and he might not come home, so he has fears about it?? bc your angst is so good it makes me sob violently /pos)

ive never sent a request before, so if this is too specific or something, feel free to whittle it down or toss it, i don’t wanna bug you lol

have a good day hal, love u!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Our Remains

Pairing: John Price x F!Reader

Synopsis: You disliked hiding things from John. Certainly something as big as this.

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: Pregnancy, allusions to breeding kink & unprotected seggsy time, morning sickness, angst, major fluff at the end

A/N: This was an adorable request, Anon!! Thanks so much for sending it in.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You disliked hiding things from John. It not only felt like a betrayal of his unlimited trust in you but also a slap in the face for what you had built with each other. The both of you were always honest to a fault when it came to your relationship—like how a bird was loyal to the sky. It was an unselfish principle; a promise of pure love and devotion that transcended touch or given gifts.

You told each other things. Everything. Down to how much you had spent on groceries that day just because it was something to talk about and share; something that made you closer to one another even when you were apart. You told the Brit what you planted in the back garden—what shirt you were wearing!

But now you hold the ringing phone in your hand and for the first time in your entire relationship, you consider lying.

Your eyes bore into the icon of John’s smiling face, head covered by a black beanie and beard tilted up softly. Affectionately, his name on the device had been changed to ‘Grumpy St. Bernard,’ but now the title made your lips go thin instead of the usual giggling reaction. No heat spreads over your cheeks; no excitement.

Just an overwhelming sense of dread.

The week had started just as the last three had. A special form of hell. At nearly six o’clock you would whip back the covers with all the fervor of a terrified rabbit being chased by a hawk; the taste of bile immediately snapping you to attention as the toilet acts as your commanding officer.

You imagined John would get a chuckle out of that comparison, but when you’re hurling up your guts in nothing more than a pair of your boyfriend’s boxers and a tank top it’s hard to think about all that. The taste of bile was still lickable from your lips as the bathroom tile digs into your knees, ringing phone still in your palm.

The idea of a pregnancy test slid into your subconscious in the first week of John’s two-month deployment, the tantalizing thought that was like a hook to a fish. You had pulled on the string, of course, and had instantly drowned in air. But you hadn’t taken one until now. Too nervous, perhaps. Hesitant.

In your other hand, opposite of the buzzing phone, you held three positive pregnancy tests in a shaking grip. Pink and white plastic mock you from the corner of your vision; two double lines.

John’s icon dims.

You press the green circle in your panic, mouth opening and closing yet no sounds escaping. Would you tell him now? Later? Was it right to tell him about this now—when he was halfway across the continent? Fear overtakes your heart for no apparent reason. You didn’t want him to act rashly, especially when John could act so stubborn when he wanted to.

He was always so concerned about you when he was away but you were concerned just the same. That man was the one who was getting shot at constantly, not you.

“Took you a while to answer. Trying to give me the slip, then, Sweetheart?” John’s gravelly voice helped slightly, making your heart still, even if for a short moment. You close your eyes and tilt your head down, lips quivering at the soft chuckle over the line.

God, you loved him so much.

Blue eyes furrowed in confusion at the silence on the line, the chilled Switzerland air sneaking inside John’s compression shirt as he stood on the hotel balcony. The sounds of gentle conversation twitch his ears from inside the room—the voices of the One-Four-One a dull mumble behind the half-closed sliding door. They had been playing cards before the Captain had easily slipped away to check up on you.

He tried to call as often as he could.

John’s hips shift, one arm crossed over his chest as the other presses the phone harder to his ear. Lips pull to a frown, beard bristles going with them, before the lines on the Brit’s forehead grow larger.

“...Love?” Naturally, a sliver of concern wedges itself into his ribs but it subsides when your calming voice spreads honey over the call. John’s shoulders fall back down.

You breathe deeply, hands dropping the tests onto the bathroom counter with a small clack of plastic.

“John,” forcing away the hitch to your words, you stare at yourself in the mirror, free hand sliding up to lightly rest over your collarbone as a soothing method. Your eyes are so filled with shock that it throws you off. “I…I wasn’t expecting a call so soon.”

“Hm, been up since 0500.” the man grunts, looking out over the city and seeing the rising sun before asking softly with a deep-set brow. There was something about your tone…lids narrow at nothing. “Did I wake you?”

“No, no,” You force a chuckle, having to take a deep breath before ripping your sights from your own reflection. The disgust was settling at you trying to avoid this. But if your own brain could barely process this right now, what gave you the right to tell John when he wasn’t here? “I’ve been up for a few hours.”

Licking your lips, you run a hand over your hair, glancing out of the ajar door into the master bedroom, pushing out bland answers for only the fact that you couldn’t think clearly right now.

Jesus, this was actually happening.

You study the thrown covers from your morning rush to the bathroom, seeing the pictures on the nightstand and feeling the delicate atmosphere that was sparking—electricity between atoms. A silent moment of realization that everything down to the bare bones of your relationship was about to change. Blinking back to the tests, you dwell in the strange fuzz that took residence in the back of your mind.

“What’s been going on?” Your voice isn’t right. Too tight. Too…nervous. Why were you nervous? “Everyone good?”

The Brit frowns stiffly, shifting his feet again and sending a look back into the hotel. Hunching forward, John’s large fingers fix the position of the phone as his voice lowers, ignoring your question entirely. He doesn't want to jump to conclusions, but there were pros and cons to his line of work.

Above all, he knew when something was up with you.

“Are you alright over there, Sweetheart?” Blue eyes rove the street below, “Feelin’ okay? You sound a bit stuffed up.”

Your heart lurches, quickly stuttering through an explanation of, “O-oh, I think I just came down with something.” The irony wasn’t lost on you. “A stomach bug,” you cringe, “I’m sorry, was it that obvious?”

The laugh that exits is less convincing than you thought it would be, but it does the trick. John sighs in relief, chuckling as he shakes his head.

“No need to apologize, Love…anything bad, then? I can bring some meds from Base when I’m back if you need me to.” He was still concerned for you, but knowing that you’d never lied or withheld the truth from him before there was really no reason to believe that anything else was going on. John trusted you to the end of the earth.

The Captain rubbed at the back of his neck, cracking his spine as he bent back. It was still early and waking up on a hotel bed without you beside him was torture. John longed for home. Longed for you.

Back at the house, your face scrunches together.

Bad? You wonder, saying absentmindedly that some medication would be lovely. Was this…bad?

John had always wanted to have a kid—or, at least, he’d told you as much when he was above you, filling you to the brim and then doing it again a second and third time. Thighs quivering and eyes fighting to stay open through layered bliss as sharp pants rung in your ears.

“Gonna get you pregnant…watch you swell up…c’mon sweet thing, you can handle another one, can’t you? Need to watch it take.”

…But was that a true feeling or just a kink? You blank and realize you’d never asked him. More than that, though, was this what you wanted?

“When do you think you’ll be home, John?” You speak softly, palm flattening over your stomach as you exit the bathroom and sit on the end of the bed, gut swirling but not in a nauseous sort of way. “I…I really miss you, y’know? It would all be better if you were home.”

The brunette blinks softly, lids peeling back in shock for a moment before a thin thread of guilt worms its way into him.

“Kate said two months, Love,” John speaks slowly, the grumble in his voice trying to convey his unease at your strange behavior, “You know that.”

He’d explained his job when you both had gotten serious, how he would be gone for long periods of time, and the somewhat uncomfortable situations you’d be put in because of it. You’d agreed and never brought it up when John would have to leave in the small hours of the morning and disappear for months on end. It shocked him, really, with how well you adjusted but that was just how you were. One of a kind.

There was no one else with whom John could see himself building a life—being buried beside in some nice meadow grave plot and turning to dust together. Growing a family with.

John cleared his throat, tilting his head down slightly before pulling himself back to the present.

“It’s bothering you that much, eh?” His brows furrow, “Are you sure you’re alright? I can call hospital and—”

“No!” You slap a hand to your mouth, halting your outburst as blue eyes go somewhat wide, jaw slackening. Taking a breath over the shocked silence over the line, you dig your fingers into your cheek before letting your limb drop. “No, John…I-I’m sorry I just…”

Your voice quivers.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry…

Eyes burning and nose twitching, you breathe heavily, mouth closing shut because you knew that if you say another word you’ll explode. You were shivering with cold sweat, scared and confused, and wanting John to hold you in his arms; whispering that it would all be okay into the shell of your ear.

You force through a sob, “I’m just really scared.”

John tenses, one hand going to grasp the balcony with white knuckles. His mind goes into overdrive. “Scared?” the Brit prods, muscles going stiff and mind running, “What in the hell is going on?”

Authority leaks into his tone, serious and deep. It made him nervous that he couldn’t see you right now—couldn’t stop the sounds coming from your mouth. Why were you crying? Has something horrible happened to you? Were you in trouble but were unable to tell him? John runs over your conversation again, every word and sound, as his heart races. He was wound up like a spring.

From behind him, the conversation in the hotel room halts.

You force your eyes closed, now up on your feet and pacing. Tears lightly patter to the floor.

“John, I can’t tell you over the phone,” you admit, shaking, “that wouldn’t be…wouldn’t be fair to you.” Swiping at your eyes, you spread the salty liquid away from your lashes, sniffling; praying that he would understand. “But I really need you home as soon as you’re able. I don’t want to break up what's going on over there, it’s just really important. I don’t think I can wait two months by myself. You know I would never ask this if I didn’t need to.”

John’s jaw clenches, legs unable to stay still as your anxiety leaks to him. He’s nodding before he realizes you can’t see him, taking a deep breath to fill his lungs.

“...I’ll see what I can do, then.” The brunette runs his hand over his beard pulling at the strands aggressively. What was so crucial that you can’t tell him over the phone? It was a secure line, John always made sure it was; yet, at the same time, that fact didn’t matter at all. If you needed him home so fervently—then he was coming home. That was that. “How long can you wait for me, Love?” He spares a glance inside. “There are a few loose ends that need to be taken care of here. Might complicate things.”

You blink around the bedroom, hand wrapped around your middle and trying to run soothing circles into your skin.

“I…I don’t…” John’s face softens, closing his eyes.

“Breathe, Sweetheart,” he whispers, “I’m comin’ home to you. We’ll get whatever this is sorted, yeah? I need you to be brave for me until then.”

Listening, you let the words calm you down, sniffling one last time like a kid who had fallen off the monkey bars before you let out a chuckle. John instantly follows his own advice when that sound wafts over the line. His shoulders fall back once more, silent sigh exiting.

“You said that exact same thing to me when I ended up burning that loaf of bread I was making—two years ago, was it? ‘Breathe, Sweetheart.’” Blue glimmers with love, cheeky tone growing.

“Hm, nearly set the kitchen on fire, didn’t you? So much smoke I swore someone had set off a charge in the oven.” John doesn’t push you to answer him, though he’s more questions than anything else at this point. You’d said you would tell him when he’s home and he believes you. “Please, Love, at least promise me you didn’t burn the bloody house down, yeah?”

A laugh strikes his chest, and he’s chuckling slowly in retaliation.

“I promise, John.”

“Good.” You’re smiling for the first in what seems like ages, tears drying as the flood down your chin stops. You lick away the water stuck in the corner of your mouth when John grunts lowly, “I’ll tell the boys and inform Laswell. But I can’t say it’ll be less than two weeks.”

Nodding to yourself, you say, quietly, “Okay.” Your eyes fall to the framed picture on the nightstand—the image of John and you smiling brightly on your third anniversary. You’d gone hiking, both sweaty and dirt marks on your cheeks, but happy…always happy. Your veins pump blood faster. “I love you, John.”

The final comment is tender; the words are more silk and soft furs than vibrating vocal cords.

He blinks away the blush that lights his pale cheeks. John huffs, an infectious smile flickering over his face as his chest wells with affection. Acting like a bird preening itself, he smirks and says, “Well, you’re lucky then…I love you too, Sweetheart.” An exhalation echoes over the call as his tone drops, “Keep safe for me, eh? I’ll call to update tomorrow.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

When the phone is set down on the bed, tossed down carefully, you try to think over this situation more rationally. You wouldn’t say you were against this—building a family with John. In fact, if not him, then you don’t believe it would be anyone else.

The Brit was the only man for you. You both knew the risks of having unprotected sex and in reality, you think neither one of you cared about the consequences.

Nodding to yourself, you wonder how to explain this to him when he comes home as you get to fixing the sheets, one hand always drifting back to your stomach with a growing appreciation.

—

John jogged to his car in the underground parking garage, unlocking it with his fob as his bags are slung over his shoulders. He wastes no time chucking his belongings into the back seat, swiftly sliding into the driver's seat and slamming the door shut as the engine starts. His dog tags bounce on his chest, but he’s half convinced they move from the rate that his heart is going alone.

All through traffic his fingers are tapping against the wheel, grunting stiffly at red lights and shifting his hips.

It had been three and a half weeks of fixing loose ends.

“Fuckin’ hell, c’mon,” John huffs, one elbow on the car frame as his hand flattens over his lower jaw. The light slowly snaps back to green after a long minute.

Pressing on the gas, the vehicle moves forward and continues until the familiar home comes into view on that quiet street nearly twenty minutes later.

John barely parks the car before he hops out, leaving his bags in the back, and rushes to the door. Taking the key from under the doormat, his mind is focused on only you. He had been unable to stop his worry about you and your unnamed fear, watching the phone with every free instance he could. It had only grown as the days got longer, and no matter how much you assured him that you would be okay until he got back, deep-seated apprehension grew. He didn’t like living under a shroud, especially when it came to your health.

The key in his hand was inserted with a firm wrist and twisted, shoving open the door with a heavy shoulder like there was a cloud over his head.

“Love?!” He calls, not bothering to shuck off his boots before looking around the visible living room and foyer. “Where are you?”

Long legs move swiftly as an utterance calls from the kitchen, barely taking the time to close the door behind him in his anxiety, “John?”

The Brit immediately backtracks, skidding to a stop and turning with blinking eyes. His ears twitch at the sounds of dishes being dropped back into water, as his heart steadily slows at the sound of your beautiful voice calling his name.

He rushes around the doorframe, feet stomping and hand catching the wall as you come into view, staring wide-eyed.

Your digits are around the fabric of a dish towel, fingers dripping as John finally presents himself to you. You hadn’t heard him until he had called out, too preoccupied with your own thoughts to hear the lock click.

But now it was like every worry you had was wiped clean at the sight of that gruff face; the hitch in his large chest. A smile slashes your lips after a moment of shocked silence.

“John!” You laugh, rushing forward, and the man lets his face soften—bringing you close to him as you draw near and trapping you in his arms.

His breath spread out over the top of your head in a great sigh, grumbled chuckles accented by the way John’s great hands wrap around your shoulders. Fingers press you into a solid chest, digging through hair to let your ear twitch at the sound of his heartbeat.

John doesn't speak until he has held you in his arms for at least three minutes, just pressing his face into your scalp and feeling your warmth against him. You don’t pull away either, breathing in his musk as it instinctually leads to your muscles loosening.

Minutes later, the Brit pulls back slowly, gripping you by the shoulders and looking down into your eyes. His gaze filters over yours, taking you in before his lips meet yours in a brief yet deep kiss. You melt into it, hands going to grip his cheeks and spread throughout his beard hair, soft strands leaving you shivering when John’s thumbs rub circles into your flesh.

He pulls back and you fight the tears in your eyes as he connects his forehead with yours. His optics shine with love, bleeding out like trapped stars; silver flecks of devotion and a blue the color of sea storms.

“What’s going on, Love?” John whispers, concern alight and raving as his grip goes to your waist, squeezing comfortingly. “I’m here. Tell me.”

You blink slowly, lips going thin with tight brows. Swallowing through a tight throat, you nod.

“Can you go sit in the living room, please?” Speaking carefully, you tilt your head and watch John get confused—his nose scrunching and moving his lips together. You run your thumbs over his cheeks and smile slightly, obviously nervous again. “Trust me.”

Though it wasn’t a question, John replies under his breath, “Always.”

But still, he holds you, studying your expression and the whites of your eyes with stiff lungs. You were making him fear that something horrible was coming—something he couldn’t control. His heart begins to hurt, but he backs away from you, brows tight as he exits the kitchen and disappears into the living room.

Taking down a swift breath when he’s out of sight, you fiddle with your fingers above your abdomen, looking down at your still-flat stomach. You knew it was stupid to worry, but how could you not? It wasn’t every day you just told your Lover you were pregnant with his child…

“John loves me,” you mutter to yourself, nodding and getting ready to go through with the plan you’d formed over the three weeks you’d been alone. “And he’ll love the both of us. I know he will.”

Hand flattening over your stomach, you open a drawer with the other, pulling out a small cardboard box no bigger than a book. Fingers shaking, you lick your lips and feel the slight pull of a nervous, yet giddy, smile. Turning, you exit the kitchen and see John sitting with his nose resting above the clench of his fists, foot tapping. His head immediately snaps over when you come into view, hands falling to hang off his legs as the couch under him dips from his weight.

You steel yourself and raise the box.

“Here.” Placing it on the coffee table, you sit across from John in an armchair.

He blinks slowly, eyes going small with curiosity. The man sends you glances through his lashes as he stares down at the object but he says nothing. Rubbing his beard with one hand, he reaches and grabs it carefully.

Testing the weight, John is genuinely confused, clenching his jaw and feeling the material in his palm.

“...What’s this, then?” He asks lowly, glancing at you with a raised brow and lines on his forehead.

You put your intertwined hands in your lap, prompting with a tilt of your shoulders.

“Open it.” Off put by your cryptic answers, John nods firmly, grasping the top of the box and pulling lightly, careful not to disturb the contents. It was strange to think, but he was honestly quite perturbed.

What exactly was inside this box, and why had he been called home for it? He loved being here, no doubt, but the circumstances….

Blue eyes glimmer. You didn’t look overly afraid as you shifted in your seat, just plain timid—like the inside object would change something fundamental about his and yours relationship.

John pops the top off and looks as you start talking before your throat threatens to shut you up. “I…I know it’s not a life-threatening thing to call you home for,” the man stills as if he was made of stone; a statue as non-breathing and pulse-less as anything, “But I didn’t want to tell you over the phone because that seemed so—!”

Your voice is drowned out as John’s shaking fingers delve into the box, ears ringing. His fingers flinch off of three positive pregnancy tests and the soft fabric of the plain army green baby onesie that surrounds them; skimming slowly.

“I found out the day you called and I said I had come down with something.” Your laugh is strained when it exits you, and you stare at the Brit hard, seeing his features utterly halt all expression. Thumbs digging into your skin, your tone drops, speaking slowly, “...John? A-are you okay? Say something to me, Love.”

It’s only in that long minute of nothingness that you really start to get an all-consuming tenseness to your bones like a rabbit.

Why isn’t he saying anything?

John clears his stiff throat, blinking rapidly as he brings out one of the tests, dropping the box lightly to the coffee table with a dull thump. The twin red lines are ingrained into the softness of his retinas as the sun would be if you were to stare directly at it.

Pregnant.

His heart swells to an almost painful degree, blue eyes moving to look at you across the table and then dipping to your stomach. The Brit stands up slowly.

Your lungs are tight, lids moving quickly with wetness growing in your tear ducts.

“Please, John, what are you thinking—?” Large hands capture your arms, bringing you up as lips meet yours in a passionate and heart-stopping kiss.

John’s limbs wrap around your hips, bringing you up into the air as gently as a bird, face parting from yours with a series of loud and genuine laughs. You snap your arms around his neck, shocked but not at all complaining as he holds you up with ease, twirling you around in a firm but ever-gentle hold.

“You’re pregnant?” His whispers meet you, airy and deep with awe. It was like he was in his teens again, running around Herefordshire with his mates—his eyes shone with happiness; pure unabashed love. “Oh, truly, Sweetheart?”

Tears dribble down your cheeks at the sight of him glowing, beard peeled back in a large smile with wet eyes. Hiccuped giggles leave your lips as you nuzzle your face into his neck, the sight of him like this overwhelming. All stress leaves you in a millisecond when your feet hit the ground again.

“Yes, John,” you sob, overjoyed, pulling back so you both can stare into each other's teary eyes as the Brits’ fingers go to shakily wipe the waterworks from your under eyes. His orbs flicker quickly, looking you over in an entirely different light. “You’re going to be a father.”

He fights through a scratchy voice, “Me?” The tone is amused, but he can’t articulate how exalted he feels to hear that. A father…him? It was more than he could have ever asked for, and, even better—John whispers out, “You’re going to be a mum.”

You kiss him, multiple quick pecks that he returns through shared joyous chuckles.

“I didn’t want to tell you over the phone,” the confession meets the air as one of John’s hands travels to cup your flat abdomen, fingers flinching over the fabric of your shirt to sneak under. You laugh and shiver at his calluses, as his blue eyes are so soft they could be compared to butter. “And I couldn’t wait two months.”

“Christ, Love,” John lays a kiss on your forehead, needing to be as close to you as possible. You can feel his heart through his chest, and you know yours isn’t any better. This was far more than you could have hoped for. He mutters against your skin, “I’m so glad you didn’t. This is bloody amazing news—I want to be here for all of it.”

Sea storms lock onto your face with a grunt, “You’re so lovely. Perfect, yeah?”

His warm hand still rests under your shirt, and you doubt it’s going to leave anytime soon.

You feel your cheeks heat and you smile bashfully, heart about to explode.

“You are.” John reiterates. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect, Sweetheart. I’m so happy.”

The air is ripe with tenderness, a soft state of being that just keeps getting better. John had silent tears dripping down his face, blinking to clear them and not letting you leave his hold for a second.

“Oh, John,” you whisper, digging your fingers into the back of his shirt, looking up. “Me too, Love.”

While the glee is nearly physical enough to grab, there is a moment of hesitancy in the Brit. He was gone more times than not for work; put into situations that could leave him going through bodily harm. You didn’t deserve that stress—didn’t deserve to sit at home with a swelling stomach just watching the door and wondering if you’d have to become a single mother. You had a child in your womb. His child. Both of yours’ child.

A family that you both had made.

John swallows and says to you seriously, without an ounce of hesitation in his blood, “I’m telling Laswell to pull me out,” you blink up and listen, letting him continue as his press on your flesh gets even more prominent, nodding to you, “I’m not missing this—not putting you through that worry. Two years, then I’ll head back in. We have enough saved, I give you my word you’ll want for nothing.”

Blue eyes flicker down, and a small mumble so tiny it nearly disappears hits your ears. You almost start sobbing again. “This is more important. You both are more important.”

There were few moments in your life that you think you’ll remember when you are old, weathered and wrinkled, but this you tell yourself is one that you will carry to your grave. John and yours’ grave.

What remains behind, you ask? Simple.

White bones entangled with an eternity of deathless worship, and the generations that will come to lay flowers on the headstone.

TAGS:

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queers-gambit · 6 months

Text

Love What You've Done with the Place

song by Rascal Flatts

prompt: he's never been a man built for relationships, until you come into his life. now, the house feels like a home.

pairing: Tangerine x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Bullet Train

word count: 1.8k+

warnings: more brain rot rambles, probably cursing, NOT edited, very docile, fluff, romance, hardened men being simps.

It started with clothes. Just a few, here and there; left behind, forgotten, purposefully stuffed in his dresser for when you stayed the nights. He didn't mind, in fact, Tangerine encouraged you to bring whatever you felt comfortable with leaving since he hated how early you'd leave in the mornings to get ready for work. He found his mornings were peaceful when you were around; neither rushed, both content, starting your days on high notes with each other.

So, he made the decision and found an old sitting-vanity for you. He put it in his bedroom simply because he was fascinated with the hair and make-up process; thinking it was incredible that women had such skill. When he came home about 3 months ago, he noticed your vanity when he first got home from a particularly difficult mission. Your chair was draped in an old university tee shirt, and he smiled.

It was like watching your comfort grow and it warmed something deep in Tangerine's heart. Your make-up wasn't always in a neat array, sometimes just left from a quick touch-up; making the house feel more like a home.

Tangerine also bought a strainer for the shower's drain to catch your hair. He didn't get angry like previous boyfriends did when he found strands of your hair left behind - not on purpose or by some gross standard, but it was natural that hair shed in a shower and not every single strand could be picked up. So, to make life easier, he just quietly bought the hair trap, placed it, removed whatever empty bottles from the shower, and went about his day. But then he started to notice your hair left other places.

His counters, his sink, the floor, your vanity, his bed sheets and pillows.

Tangerine had his issues with possessiveness in the past, but this wasn't remotely similar. No, Tangerine found himself smiling when he would find your hair in his clothes; thinking it was funny, almost like a mark or badge of honor to designate him as yours. It was a brief thought, but Tangerine actually felt giddy by the idea of people just knowing he was off the market 'cause his lady's hair was clung to his suit jackets.

He liked it. He really did. He'd not admit it aloud, but he liked it.

Tangerine wasn't the most humble man in the world, but he certainly liked to flash what was his. Golden jewelry, expensive, tailored suits, shining Italian leather shoes. And now, you, the woman who invaded his heart and head - and now his home. He adored showing you off, feeling affirmed and invigorated by the longing glances men threw your way, and while he expected jealousy from other women, they seemed more impressed by your beauty and grace as well.

He remembers one night, after a several weeks long mission, he just wanted to hold you. His throat was a little choked up when he called you, knowing you were at home after reading an earlier text. So, you rushed over in the middle of the night and he'd yet to let you go home - three days later.

"You've gonna have to let me out of bed sometime," you smiled playfully. "I have work tomorrow - and no, I'm not calling out again."

"C'mon, love, don't leave me alone," he whispered, looking like a beaten down puppy. The mission was much harder than he'd let on, but Lemon usually always filled you in. He thought it was important for you to know certain details that Tangerine was sure to omit, knowing those were the details that haunted him.

"I'll be back after my shift," you promised, nuzzling his nose with your own. "I also need new panties and clean clothes."

He sighed, "Some in there," he pointed to his closet now.

"What?" You giggled.

"You've left enough behind, got a bit of a collection goin', yeah?" He smiled softly, wrapping you back up in his arms. With a sigh, he relented, "I'll let yah go to work, love, just... Need this a bit longer."

You obliged, but the next day, you were gone before he woke up. With a frown, Tangerine dropped back onto the bed - but inhaled deeply when his nose buried into your pillow. He hummed in pleasure, feeling himself brim with contentment, bringing the fluffy item to his chest and nuzzling it; your perfume left behind to soothe him.

Was Tangerine clingy? Oh, for sure! He didn't think so, but you knew better. The contract killer liked you close, liked his hands on you; even if it was just a hand on your waist or a nose near your neck. He missed you when gone, but he usually held himself back from texting you all day - wanting you to be able to focus on your job.

But that day? He was inept, just wanting you; wondering if he paid you the same salary, if you'd consider just staying home. So, he texted you several times.

This obviously threw you off a little, knowing him better than himself most days. But he just missed you, so, you sent a selfie - promising you missed him too and would be home right after work.

He saved the photo and tried not to dwell on how you said you'd "be home" and not "come to his place". He had to take a few moments to calm down, feeling his heart zing with unfamiliarity - but not being afraid of it like he had been when you first started dating. He could recognize he was happy, that he was excited to see you everyday, and that the idea of coming home to you was far too appealing to ignore any longer.

It seemed neither of you needed to actually have an official conversation about living together. Lemon didn't mind, in fact, he was the one who insisted you have your own key; adoring you and whatever affect you had on his emotionally constipated brother. So, some mornings, Tangerine wasn't surprised to find a slightly damp towel left hanging in the bathroom, nor by the make-up on his counter - you using that mirror because of the fluorescent lighting. He never put it back, he didn't move it - he liked seeing it. It meant you were still here, and the idea of it being gone made his stomach knot with anxiety. He also wasn't surprised when he went to use the shampoo you insisted would help his curls flourish (you were right), only to find it damn-near empty. His shower gel, too.

When you came home that evening, you had Target bags in hand; replacing whatever was empty, making Tangerine grin to himself by how in-sync he felt with you. He'd never had a connection such as this, only ever feeling close enough to Lemon, but you changed everything for them both.

How Tangerine ended up with someone courteous was truly beyond either of them. Someone kind, caring, adventurous, sweeter than pie - someone definitely out of Tangerine's league, something he never let himself forget. He adored you to your core - thinking someone such as you should never have gotten tangled up in someone like him, but he knew, if the time ever came, he'd never be able to let you go. In fact, most days, he had to convince himself not to just pick you up and carry you around while he did chores or ran errands.

The very idea of losing you sent his heart into his stomach; hallowing his chest in a harrowing fashion that made it hard to breathe. Just a week or two ago, Lemon found Tangerine in the kitchen, hand to his chest as if he couldn't catch his breath, heaving for air; his worry spiking, but quickly realizing what was wrong.

"Bruv, you've gotta breathe - calm down," he tried to coax. "You're having a panic attack, you've gotta just focus on breathing."

"Fuck off with that!"

"Seriously, man," Lemon insisted, catching Tangerine in a vulnerable state enough that he actually listened without much of a fight. When Tan seemed a little more under control of his own emotions, Lemon asked, "What the hell happened?"

Tangerine shook his head, "Nothing t'worry 'bout - "

"Bullshit," Lemon snapped. "I've never seen yah like that, mate, the fuck happened?"

It was embarrassing, but Tangerine managed to answer, "Just... Just started thinking that if she ever left me, I'd fucking crumble, mate."

This made Lemon frown, "She's not gonna leave you, man. You know that. The girl's madly in love with you, yeah? Like madly in love - like to a degree it makes her stupid in the head, all right? Obviously, you too," he chuckled, shaking his head as he affectionately ran a hand over the back of Tan's head. "You're workin' yourself up, 's all right. You don't have to think about that - ever - 'cause she's it for you, mate. Yeah? Hear me? She ain't goin' nowhere, not without you."

Tangerine needed the assurance. Being alone after having a taste of your love felt impossible to Tan now, something he was never bothered by before. Seriously, why give a fuck about a relationship when he had his brother? Someone who loved him unconditionally and wouldn't leave? And then he met you and understood why people gave fucks about relationships.

It was as if every room you ever entered was brightened up simply by your smile. Your laugh wasn't always the most ladylike, but it was genuine and true and always made Tangerine smile to himself. During any public outing, Tan was always close - we've established this - but he liked to play a small game. One of your love languages was physical touch, so, you liked kissing him if even just for a single second. He was aware of your lipstick, feeling the tacky substance stain his cheek, but he wouldn't wipe it off. His game was to see how long it'd take before someone would point it out; his reputation didn't always warrant others to feel secure enough to speak up. Some nights, Lemon would motion to his cheek, and other nights, you'd return home, remove your make-up, and swipe make-up remover over his cheek to clear the color away.

However, it wasn't often you ventured in public due to Tangerine's innate introverted nature. You went if The Agency made it mandatory or if you were feeling stir crazy, but majority nights, Lemon would find you both lounged on the couch in various positions.

Sometimes, you'd be watching a movie together or binging a show. Other times, you were reading a book while Tangerine poured over paperwork. And once or twice, Lemon's come home to find you belly laughing and playfully scolding Tangerine as he tried to paint your toe nails. It was a homey sight to Lemon: seeing his brother so in love and at ease, hearing your laughter, the entire flat filled with warm smells of burning candles and homemade meals.

It wasn't evident at first, but with you laying in Tangerine's arms, clothes left on the floor, bellies full of whatever meal you had prepared that evening, favorite show playing on the bedroom TV, he realized that he loved what you had done with the place.

requesting rules and masterlist

Bullet Train masterlist

#tangerine #tangerine bullet train #bullet train tangerine #tangerine imagine #tangerine oneshot #tangerine x you #tangerine x reader #tangerine x fem!reader #tangerine x f!reader #tangerine x female!reader #bullet train #bullet train movie #bullet train 2022 #tangerine atj #atj tangerine #atj #atj character

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baddestboy · 1 year

Text

You love your boyfriend Katsuki's scars.

You’ve always found them compelling and held them to a certain degree of reverence. They're symbols of his growth and history on his body, making it a map you’d want to explore.

Bakugo, at first, was hesitant to show them to you. "They're really nothin' special, sweetheart."

("I'd love you to continue to be protected from the harsh and life-threatening circumstances of my job." is what he wanted to say.)

However, you insisted. "They’re a part of you. I want to see the marks you got on your journey in achieving your dreams."

He didn't put up much of a fight after that, making himself comfortable in the middle of the bed beside you and taking off his shirt, allowing you to delicately trail your hands over his scarred body, allowing himself to be completely vulnerable to you.

You asked him to tell you stories on how he got some of his scars, and some stories were really stupid to keep the mood light ("I tried to get a fuckin' cat off a tree and it fuckin' jumped down and scratched me. Didn’t even get a fucking thank you.") and some stories still hurt to this day – he asked not to talk about a few, and omitted a lot of details in the ones that he did tell to keep you from worrying about what happened to him in the past.

Bakugo noticed that your expression never changed: you just earnestly listened to him, wanting to know more about him while the look of pity he was expecting from you never came.

He realizes that he likes you more than he should just because you see him for who he is.

That night, he finds his dreams are not haunted by his usual demons and instead, feels the warm touch of an angel on the scar barely above his shoulder.

Redemption.

Even for just a split second, he recognizes that touch to be yours.

Bonus: “If you wanted to see me shirtless, you should’ve just asked, sweetheart.” “Shut the fuck up, Katsuki! I’m trying to be serious here!” “You’re so hot when you’re trying to be mad.” “You’re ruining the moment!”

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asliceofzosan · 4 months

Text

Sanji is a lightweight.

He can't hold his liquor for shit despite his failed attempts to hide it from everyone else. The signs are obvious — the flushed cheeks, the hooded eyes, and the constant smile on his face that remains even if he's not talking to a lady. He prances around the room, socializing and laughing at every little thing, from the cool summer breeze tickling his cheeks to Usopp's tamest of wild stories.

He's also very physically affectionate. When he'd usually reject a hug from Luffy's impossibly long outstretched arms, intoxicated Sanji would welcome the embrace with glee. Chopper is rained with little kisses on his head every time he does anything remarkably cute (which is all the time). And he's seen playing with Robin's fingers absentmindedly as he listens to her talk about the ancient history of a forgotten world.

But there's also one thing Sanji becomes when he's had one too many drinks in his system...

He gets... honest.

Sanji on a normal day is blunt and calculated. He calls things out as he sees it yet still knows how to use his words to twist something to his advantage. Like how he knows how to appease Luffy when he gets adamant over food. Or how he somehow convinces Usopp to do something he'd normally be too afraid to do.

Drunk Sanji is a different kind of honest. Drunk Sanji is honest about things he never even utters if he was even a lick sober.

And Zoro? Oh, he's always been the one to bare witness to Sanji's honesty.

Zoro likes to think of himself as an honest man. He can omit the truth every now and then for someone's safety or to preserve their blissful ignorance, but most of the time he doesn't see any reason to lie. If he finds you annoying, he'll say it. To hell with your damn feelings about it.

But though he values honesty and trust, he sure can hide the truth. Because his own feelings take the back burner. He can't be emotionally charged when lives are on the line. He can't let his heart win out when his brain tells him it's a bad idea. He can trust a gut feeling but never the tug of his own heartstrings.

So witnessing Sanji's honesty — so rooted in the tresses of his stupidly big emotional heart — always has Zoro freezing in place. He can't handle it. But he can't push him away either.

He can hide his true feelings but by all four seas, he can't ever push them far enough away for him to ignore them.

For the embarrassing truth of it all is that every time Sanji looks at him, smiles at him, laughs with him, or even fights with him — Zoro is irrevocably, unequivocally, and detrimentally smitten with the curly browed cook.

He doesn't remember when (somewhere between Little Garden and Thriller Bark... who knows, really...) but he definitely remembers waking up one day and wanting to see Sanji first thing in the morning. He remembers the rapid beating of his heart when the man prepared his comfort dishes when Zoro was having a rough day. He remembers the sparks of electric fire seeping to his bones from a single touch, a brush of fingertips against his scalp with a whispered 'you need a haircut marimo', the ice cold chill that runs down his spine of watching this stupid blonde man attempt to sacrifice his life over and over again to save his friends. All these feelings he remembers and dreads and looks forward to all at the same time.

All come crashing down upon him until he's stuck beneath a mountain of untapped, unrealized, unacknowledged feelings — all because Sanji decided that for today's party he will hold Zoro's hand, and guide him to the galley so they could be alone.

Alone.

"Marimoooo," Sanji sings, a light giggle cutting off the prolonged syllable, and Zoro has to actively remember not to crumble. He grips the edge of the kitchen counter, his knuckle turning white, with the other hand desperately clinging to a cheap bottle of sake.

"Auditioning for a musical, cook?" Zoro teases and Sanji sticks his tongue out at him. Zoro, despite all he's holding back, allows himself to chuckle.

"Shut the fudge up, dumb green haired muscle head doofus." (New note: when drunk enough, Sanji physically cannot swear.) He jabs a finger at Zoro's chest, unaware of the invisible mark he's left on his heart. "I wanted to tell you something, stupid."

"Can't it wait until you're sober and can kick my ass properly?" Zoro's deflecting and he damn well knows it. But Drunk Sanji is so unfairly adorable that if he lets him talk more, he might do something Sober Sanji would hate him for forever.

"I donwanna kick your ass!" Sanji throws his hands up exasperatedly. "No no no no thas' not important..."

"What could possibly–" When Zoro chanced a glance at Sanji, he stopped mid sentence. Hooded blue eyes were gazing at him intensely, an ocean of possibilities, a high tide of emotions washing onto the shore. Zoro can't look away. He wants to. He needs to. But he can't. Like a capsized ship at the edge of a whirlpool, Sanji's gaze sucks Zoro in with no pause for mercy.

Mercy that Zoro refuses to call out for.

"Zoro," He says it with a low tone, a soft voice, and with a breathiness he's never heard his name be uttered through before.

He feels Sanji's hand on top of his own before he could let go of the counter. He looks down and the man is tracing his scars. The ones faded overtime and the ones that are freshly closed over. There's a band-aid on his thumb that he's forgotten to remove from a week ago. Sanji's own delicate but kitchen worn fingers run over his knuckles. Each feather light touch sends electric shocks through his veins, a rushing heat that no shot of alcohol could recreate.

Zoro, despite everything his mind is telling him to do, turns his hand over and lets Sanji slip his fingers through and press their palms together.

They're closer now. He doesn't remember when that happened. But Sanji's face is so close, he could count the eyelashes fluttering gently between wakefulness and dreaming if he wanted to. He desperately did. Instead, his other hand raised up to cup Sanji's ever alcohol flushed cheeks, and feels his heart burst with the gentle smile Sanji gives him in return.

"Did you know?" Sanji whispers, thumb rubbing over a particularly nasty scar on the back of Zoro's hand.

"What?" Zoro indulges him. Just this once. "What don't I know?"

Sanji's smile brightens. He rests a hand on Zoro's chest. He feels Zoro's beating heart beneath his palm. Then he looks up, eyes twinkling with a simple but powerful emotion. Zoro's only seen him look like that once before. Back when it was just the five of them from the East Blue, their borrowed ship from Syrup Village, and their feet on a barrel promising to achieve their dreams.

Pure and utter joy.

"Did you know... that I'm so happy that you're my friend?"

Zoro's breath hitches and Sanji hiccups, sudden tears flowing down his cheeks. He doesn't attempt to hide them or wipe them away. Zoro feels them fall onto his chest as he watches Sanji cry with the biggest smile on his face.

"You're the first friend I had that was my age," He continued, bringing Zoro's hand up and nuzzling against his palm. "I never had friends growing up. Was surrounded by old geezers telling me what to do half the time. Joining the crew... This is the best decision I ever made."

Then a faint kiss was placed on every scar Sanji could see on Zoro's hand. Piece by piece, Zoro's resolve crumbled, and he felt tears prickle at the corner of his eye.

"You're my best friend, Zoro. Did I tell you that?"

"No," Zoro whispered. He takes Sanji's other hand and kisses the rough pads of his fingertips too. Sanji watches him, mouth slightly open in a dazed smile. Zoro wonders if he'll remember this in the morning.

"Why haven't I?" Sanji asks him, or perhaps wonders aloud. Zoro just shrugs and keeps kissing up Sanji's hand. With each kiss, Sanji lets out a sigh, gentle and inviting. Zoro chooses not to answer.

"I love having friends," Sanji says stumbling forward slightly at Zoro's ministrations. Zoro catches him before he falls and Sanji throws his arms around him, clutching tightly and giggling so much that he's almost losing breath. "I love having you in my life."

A tear falls down Zoro's cheek. He tightens his hold around the cook and thinks the exact same thing.

Sanji burrows his face into Zoro's shoulder, hiccuping again. "Can we stay like this for a little while?"

"We can stay like this forever, if you want." Like this as in always by your side. Like this as in holding you every time you ask for it. Like this as in who we can be if alcohol didn't make you forget everything you say to me.

"I have to cook tomorrow though." was Sanji's brilliant response and Zoro couldn't help but laugh. He's waited this long for something like this. He can wait until morning for a conversation a little more serious.

"Yeah, cook." Zoro obliges, leading Sanji to the cushioned bench by the dinner table. "We can stay like this for a little while."

"Yay," Sanji cheers softly, his voice already starting to slur. Zoro lets him rest his head on his chest as he curls up and around Zoro like a koala. "Warm."

Time moves by slowly. Zoro's fingers run through silky blond hair as they talk about silly insignificant things. Sanji's giggles get softer and softer. His breathing evens out. Soon enough, Sanji's eyelids have closed and he's sleeping soundly, clinging as tightly as his unconscious body permits onto the swordsman.

Zoro knows that when morning comes, they'll have to talk. But for now, Zoro allows himself to bask in the warmth of Sanji's honesty. Allows himself to let Sanji's genuine gratitude of meeting and joining the straw hat crew wash over him like the gentlest of cool sea breezes after a long and hot day.

And he can be assured, as he drifts off into his own slumber, that Sanji loves him.

And that Zoro loves him too.

inspired by this tweet

#welcome back to the chronicles of niki writing zosan brainrot at 1am and posting it with no context whatsoever #anyway #zosan #one piece #roronoa zoro #sanji #vinsmoke sanji #black leg sanji #zosan fanfic #one piece fanfiction #roronoa zoro x vinsmoke sanji #niki's fic: lightweight love and liquor

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zegrasdrysdale · 18 days

Text

[ just a fling ] w. johnston

paring: Wyatt Johnston x fem!reader

summary: Wyatt gets mad and insecure when his girlfriend omits the fact she had a fling with Luke Hughes and he finds out through Luke himself on the ice instead of her. some of the Stars (mostly Pavs and Seguin) get involved and try to convince them to talk to save their relationship

warning(s) : asshole!luke (he’s collateral damage sorry), an angry and insecure wyatt, very angsty, language

author’s note : that was the original request, and i tried to write it for joel. i couldn’t do it after trying for weeks so it’s now abt wyatt (after i had spoken w anon). i loved the plot sm i didn’t want to completely abandon it, so here it is for wyatt’s 21st birthday !!

༺═──────────────═༻

Nerves don’t usually get the best of her, but the Stars are playing the Devils in Dallas. It’s not the Devils that she is worried about though.

It’s number 43 on the Devils that she’s worried about. It’s not because she thinks he’ll hurt Wyatt, but because he might tell Wyatt their little secret to get in his head.

No one knows that she once had a summer fling with the youngest Hughes boy.

It was two summers ago when she went to Michigan to spend those warm months with Luke and his brothers at their lakehouse. She always had some feelings for Luke and they hit a breaking point that summer when they started to hookup. He ended everything between them when he left to go back to Michigan for his sophomore season and she came back home to Dallas.

That’s when she met Wyatt when he moved to Dallas for his rookie season. She lived next to the Pavelski’s with her parents and younger brother when they met. She spent a lot of time in that house before she moved into an apartment in downtown Dallas last summer.

She hasn’t spoken to Luke since he left Michigan and didn’t bother telling Wyatt about their fling since it was so insignificant to the both of them. She doesn’t want to acknowledge that it happened.

Her feelings for the defenseman are long gone, replaced by her love for Wyatt Johnston.

She sits with Kate Seguin and Sarah Pavelski in the ninth row off the glass for the game on the side where the Stars did their warmups. She stood at the glass with the wives she came to the game with to support their boys. She has on her playoff jacket from last year to support Wyatt.

If Luke does see her, she wants to make sure he knows that she loves Wyatt. That she’s over him and has been for a while.

The puck drops at center ice and less than twenty seconds later, Wyatt puts the puck into the back of the net. She’s on her feet and cheers for her boyfriend as he gets the scoring started. She pretends to ignore Luke as he skates by and looks at her.

She very much notices.

The crowd settles down and enjoys a 1-0 lead over New Jersey. She can’t stop smiling after Wyatt nets his 25th goal of the season.

“Is there a reason that Luke Hughes glared at you like that when you were celebrating Wyatt’s goal?” Kate asks with curiosity laced in her voice. “There are hundreds of fans he could’ve looked at, but he stared right at you.”

She looks at Kate and says, “I, um, had a thing with Luke a few summers ago. He ended things when he went back to school and I came back home. He told me that I didn’t mean anything to him and that I was the only girl around at the time. I moved on.”

“Does Wyatt know?” Kate questions.

“I didn’t think it was worth mentioning,” she explains. “It was a lifetime ago. Before I even met him. I don’t need to know his history, he doesn’t need to know mine.”

When she looks back the ice, she notices Luke trying to get the puck away from Wyatt. She holds her breath as the puck is kicked out of the corner to Pavs. Wyatt skates away from Luke.

Then Luke says something to Wyatt. Her boyfriend turns back around and looks at Luke. Wyatt shoves Luke and a whistle is blown while the two of them come to blows. It doesn’t turn into an actual fight because they get separated by the referees. There is a lot of shoving and a lot of chirping.

This is the last thing she wanted to happen. Who knows what Luke just said to him?

Whatever was said pissed Wyatt off because he slams the door shut when he gets on the bench. Pavs says something to him and Wyatt motions to the Devils bench, where Luke has just sat down. She bites her bottom lip and holds her breath until the game is over.

Wyatt struggles after scoring the first goal of the night. The Stars as a team struggle throughout the game. They only manage one more goal after Wyatt's.

The buzzer sounds when the clock hits 0:00 after the third period. A lot of the fans have left already as the Devils celebrate their 6-2 win over the Stars. She frowns and makes her way up to the concourse with Kate and Sarah so they can wait for their boys outside.

She's sure DeBoer has a lot to say about the game tonight. The turnovers, the giveaways. They put pucks on net, but only put two past Jake Allen.

Just so Wyatt knows where she's waiting for him, she sends him a text.

to: wy ♡ - 9:54 pm waiting for you outside by the car with sarah and kate. pretty goal tn btw. see you soon <33

It might be a while before Wyatt comes out so she gets comfortable in the passenger's seat of Wyatt's car since he drove them both here to the arena. She scrolls on TikTok while having a conversation with Sarah and Kate. The women alternate sitting in the seat while they wait for the boys.

Kate is about to text Tyler when the doors begin to open. Players walk out in pairs or small ground. Tyler walks out by himself and greets his wife. After greeting Kate with a kiss, he turns his attention to her.

"I'm not sure exactly what happened, but Wyatt isn't very happy with you," Tyler says. "Apparently it has something to do with what Luke Hughes said to him on the ice during their altercation in the first."

Her blood runs colds.

Luke probably told him what happened between them in Michigan. Probably got in his head, which is probably why he struggled after that. It wasn't a secret, but he might see it that way. She didn't think it was worth mentioning to him.

"Thanks," she mumbles as Tyler and Kate walk away from the car.

The door opens again a second later. She notices Wyatt walking with Pavs. They seem to be in a very intense conversation as they leave the building.

"... muication, Wyatt," Joe is saying as they approach the car. "I mean, seriously." Wyatt sighs and looks right at his girlfriend.

Sarah walks up to her husband and they walk away without another word to her or Wyatt.

She smiles at her boyfriend. "You did good tonight," she compliments him. "I thought your goal was nice."

He just rolls his eyes and gets in the car. She pouts and gets into the car herself. Wyatt starts the engine and pulls out of the parking lot.

Not a single word is exchanged between the two of them while he drives toward her apartment. She twirls her thumbs and waits for Wyatt to say something.

If he's really upset with her then he'd tell her, right? Seething doesn't do much.

When it's fifteen minutes later and he pulls up to her apartment, she gets a little worried.

"What did Luke say to you?" she asks as he puts the car in park. "In the first period after you scored."

Wyatt rubs his face and sighs. "It doesn't matter what he said," he says.

"Wyatt-"

"I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay? I'm tired and I don't feel like talking about this right now."

She frowns and nods as she opens the door. "Talk to you tomorrow," she mumbles. As soon as the door is closed, Wyatt drives off. She doesn't even reach the sidewalk before he turns the corner.

Maybe she should've told Wyatt about her thing with Luke. She just didn't think it would be a huge thing like it is right now.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Tomorrow comes and goes. So does the next day. She doesn't hear from him.

The Stars recover from their loss to New Jersey in a 4-1 win against the Kings. Wyatt nets another goal and she cheers for him from her apartment. They have a much better game as a team so whatever DeBoer said to them after the loss the other day worked.

She sends a quick text to Wyatt

to: wy ♡ - 10:03 pm congrats on your goal. my favorite leading goal scorer <33

from: wy ♡ - 10:10 pm thanks

to: wy ♡ - 10:12 pm can we talk? come over?

from: wy ♡ - 10:15 pm not tonight. exhausted. talk to you in the morning

to: wy ♡ - 10:16 pm you said that the other day and i haven't heard from you

from: wy ♡ - 10:20 pm goodnight

With a frown and tears in her eyes, she calls Sarah since she probably knows why Wyatt won't talk to her. She picks up after a few rings.

"Hey, did you see the win?" Sarah asks her when she picks up.

"Yeah," she breathes out. "Has Wyatt said anything to you? Or have you heard anything about what happened between him and Luke?" Sarah is quiet for a second. "Sarah, please. He won't talk to me."

There's a sigh before shed says, "Luke used your little fling as a mind trick. He threw it in Wyatt's face. He's mad at Luke for using you to chirp him and he's even angrier at you for not telling him about it. He thinks you kept it from him because you wanted to hide it from him."

"I wasn't trying to keep it a secret from him," she admits as the tears roll down her cheeks. "I didn't think he'd care. Obviously he does."

"I think if he was going to know, he would've wanted to hear it from you and not Luke Hughes," Sarah tells her. "Has he talked to you at all?"

She shakes her head and dries her own tears. "Not really," she says. Her voice is shaky. "I texted him for a bit after the game but he just shut me down. Told me he'd talk to me in the morning, but he said that the other day too and I didn't hear from him until tonight."

There's a moment of silence and she bites her bottom lip. "Okay, I'll get Joe to talk to him," she explains. "Maybe Tyler can get involved too because I know Wyatt look up to him too. Sound good?"

"Yeah," she breathes out. "Thank you."

"You okay, honey?" Sarah asks her. "You sound like you're upset."

"I mean, aside from my boyfriend ignoring me instead of talking to me so I can explain myself, I'm doing great," she says. "I just want him to know that I never meant to hide this from him. It was such a small, unimportant moment in my life. He's acting like I went out with Luke for years when we never labeled anything and basically hooked up for three months."

Sarah sighs. "I know," she replies. "It's Wyatt. He can only ignore you for so long. I'll get Joe to talk to him though, okay?"

"Thank you, Sarah," she sighs. "I'm going to head to sleep."

"Goodnight."

She hangs up the phone after saying her own goodnight. She puts the phone on the table beside her since she's laying in bed and curls up under the blankets.

Hopefully Sarah keeps her promise because she can't do this anymore and it's only been two days.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

[ Wyatt's POV ]

Hockey has suddenly become a distraction for him. He throws himself completely into hockey after the game against the Devils. He doesn't talk to his girlfriend because he's so upset and angry with her.

He doesn't care that she had a fling with Luke Hughes. It's the fact that she never told him and had to hear it from Luke himself and not his girlfriend. He used it against him in a game and it threw him off.

Wyatt walks into the Stars' practice facility the day after they win against the Kings. He actually looks forward to practice right now. He's having a great sophomore year and doesn't want to have it to go to shit because he's having relationship issues.

When he walks into locker room, he’s barely able to put his things down when Pavs and Seggy approach him. He looks between them. “Uh, good morning?” he questions. “Why do the two of you look like you’re on a mission?”

Joe looks over at Tyler then back at Wyatt. “Sarah talked to me after we got back from the game last night,” Pavs begins. “Your girlfriend called her after the game in tears because you haven’t been talking to her?”

“I don’t feel like listening to what she has to say,” Wyatt sighs. “She’s just going to defend herself and whatever she had with Luke. She’s going to tell me that she was going to tell me or something. I don’t want to hear that right now.”

His teammates share a look. “She has her reasons for not telling you, Wyatt,” Tyler says. “Whatever they are, you need to hear her out. Not ignore her. Trust me when I say that ignoring something doesn’t end well. Ignoring an issue makes it so much worse.”

He starts putting his gear on. “I can’t do it right now,” he tries to tell them again. “I have other things to work on. I have hockey I need to focus on. Accomplishments to still achieve.”

“You won’t have anyone to celebrate your accomplishments with if you keep acting this way,” Joe tells him. “She’s been there for you since you stepped foot in this league last season. Don’t push her away now because you decided you didn’t want to hear her out. There is probably a reason she didn’t tell you and she has a right to explain herself.”

“This is coming from us, Wyatt,” Tyler chimes in. “We’ve been in this position. More than once so you should at least consider listening to us. Don’t ignore her, okay?” He nods in reply as he pulls on his practice jersey. “Go talk to her when you get done. Don’t lose someone you love over something as stupid as this.”

They walk away and Wyatt sits in his stall.

He knows they’re right. They’re so right, and he should probably listen to them. Pavs and Seggy know what they are talking about when it comes to relationships since they’re both married now.

Wyatt puts on his helmet and makes sure it’s on tight to make sure that Joe or Tyler don’t shoot a puck at his head to put some sense into him. They wouldn’t do it very hard but just to be on the safe side.

It’s probably the worst practice of his life. He’s distracted by the fact that it’s been three days since he had a proper conversation with her.

He’s going crazy without talking to her. He truly misses her. He misses their stupid conversations. He misses her ways of getting his mind off hockey.

He really is an idiot.

Just because he knows there are a few days between now and the next game, Wyatt skates up to DeBoer and asks if he can leave because he “doesn’t feel good” and “doesn’t want to push himself”. His coach lets him go and he leave the ice.

There will probably be a bunch of reports later saying he left the ice early but he doesn’t care. All he cares about is getting to his girlfriend and talking to her.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

[ reader’s POV ]

Her phone goes off with a notification while she’s in the living room catching up on Vanderpump Rules. It’s a notification from Twitter that says that Wyatt left the ice early because he’s “under the weather”. She frowns and goes to text him. A knock on her door stops her in her tracks.

Confused, she goes and opens the door. She’s surprised to see Wyatt on the other side. “I thought you were sick? I saw a thing on Twitter that said you left practice,” she comments.

“I’m not sick,” he replies. “I just said that to Coach so he would let me go. I wanted to come apologize for being an idiot.”

She sighs and turns to walk back into the apartment. “It only took you three days to grow up and come talk to me about whatever was bothering you,” she says. She takes a seat on the couch and Wyatt is right on her heels.

“All I want to say right now is that I’m not mad that you had a thing with Luke,” Wyatt tells her as he sits beside her. “I don’t care about that. I care about the fact that you kept it from me then he uses it to get in my head. It worked because I didn’t know it happened and what he said really messed with my head.”

“What did he say to you?” she asks. Wyatt pauses. He looks almost hesitant to tell her. “Wyatt.”

He runs his fingers through his hair. “He called you a lot of names,” he explains. “He said you were a slut, a whore and called you a bunch of other names. He said that you were a ‘good fuck’ when you went to Michigan with him and his brothers. It got under my skin because you’re not any of those things. I know you’re not any of those things but I let what he said about you get into my head and mess with me. I love you and it’s because I love you that I let it get to me.”

Her eyes widen when Wyatt finally tells her what Luke said to him. “I should’ve told you,” she tells him. “Maybe it wouldn’t have affected you if you had known. It was a summer fling. Then I met you and fell in love with you. I didn’t tell you because it was such an insignificant thing in my life.”

He grabs her hands and holds them in his lap. “I would’ve liked a little heads up but you have your reasons for not telling me,” Wyatt replies. “I don’t need to know about all your past relationships if you don’t want to tell me and you don’t need to know all of mine. I would’ve liked to know that a six-foot-two defenseman might try to fight me.”

She smiles and shakes her head. “A six-foot-two defenseman might try to fight you,” she says.

Wyatt laughs and pushes her away gently. “I can’t stand you.”

“So, who talked to you?” she questions. “You definitely would have kept ignoring me if someone didn’t.”

“Pavs,” he admits. “Seggy.”

She laughs. “You took advice from Tyler Seguin?” she asks. “I can’t believe it.”

“If he wasn’t married, I wouldn’t have,” Wyatt laughs. “I absolutely would have listened to Pavs though no matter what.”

His phone goes off with a text. She raises her eyebrows as he looks at it. “Who is that?”

“Seguin asking me why I left practice an hour early,” he replies. “Also asking me how talking to you is going since he knows I’m not actually sick.”

She rolls her eyes and says, “He does care.”

Wyatt laughs and puts his phone away. “Sometimes,” he replies as he turns his attention to her. “I am sorry for just ignoring you. I mean that with my entire being.”

“I know, Wy,” she says. “I’m sorry for not telling you about Luke. I should’ve given you a heads up. I just didn’t think it would matter.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he replies. “He’s an ass for saying all those things about you. I’ll have to get him back.”

“Please don’t.”

“We’ll see.”

༺═──────────────═༻

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