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hermannsthumb · 16 hours

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Please please please more "Fake Dating for Funding"! I haven't read much PR stuff in the last few years and your newest piece jerked me right back to that old standby hyperfixation. It's so cute!!

answering this sooooo late, OOPS SORRY, but here's a little ficlet as i try to get myself back in the writing groove.... the original fake dating for funding fic is right here, but i was thinking over plot concepts earlier and this one made me laugh, LMAO

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"I have a favor to ask of you," Hermann says one morning.

Typical of Hermann, it's blunt and to the point, no show of bartering or sweetening Newt up with dessert or anything like that. In theory Newt should be annoyed, but Hermann indebts himself to Newt so rarely (and never willingly) that Newt’s actually kind of interested to see where this goes. He pushes up his work goggles and strips off his gloves without a second thought.

Hermann is standing directly over Newt’s side of the yellow line, one hand balled into a fist while the other white-knuckles his cane, his shoulders hunched over. He looks extremely uncomfortable. On the other hand Hermann rarely looks comfortable, so this isn’t anything new, or something to draw immediate conclusions from.

“Okay,” Newt says. “Lay it on me.”

“I would not blame you if you found yourself thinking less of me,” Hermann says, “or outright rejecting the proposition. I’m aware it is far more than one typically asks of a…” He swallows. “Colleague.”

The word hangs awkwardly in the air between them. It’s not that it’s an inaccurate descriptor, but it doesn’t completely encompass the, uh, reality of things, being that they were a litttttle more than colleagues up until two months ago. (Not that they called themselves anything other than colleagues for the duration of that whole—indiscretion. It was a little confusing.)

Still, Hermann’s groveling, and Newt’s interested. “Oh, sweet,” he says, maybe a little too casually. Just two bros having a normal conversation about how they're nothing more than colleagues. “I’m totally in. What are we doing? Is it illegal or something?”

He could actually use Hermann’s mad computer hacker skills for something in the near future—Newt wants unrestricted card access to the typically very restricted hazardous materials storage in the jaeger bay for reasons he’s not going to disclose—and doing something illegal for the guy would be a great way to get him to do something illegal for Newt in return. In a favor-for-favor way more than a blackmail way, because Newt mostly isn't a dick. And anyway, maybe doing some platonic fun k-science bonding time will be good for them. Make things a little less tense. Newt’s been working on that really hard lately, mostly because his multiple Shatterdome transfer requests have been outright denied by the Marshal and he seems to be out of alternatives.

“No,” Hermann says.

He looks at his shoes. He’s about two unlucky inches away from stepping on a piece of kaiju spleen Newt dropped earlier and forgot about, and the fact that he’s not taking any precautions to shield his precious ugly wingtips tells Newt he means business. “Perhaps a little…morally questionable.”

“Oooh, Hermann, you’re such a tease,” Newt says. He tosses his nasty gloves in the trash can and scoots Hermann towards the cluster of their desks with a hand to the small of his back, ignoring the way Hermann bristles and digs the end of his cane halfheartedly into the floor. “Come on, come on, I’ll make coffee, stop looking so depressed.”

He does make himself a coffee but brews a quick cup of black tea for Hermann, which turns out to be kind of a waste of his time, since Hermann blatantly ignores the mug Newt slides in front of him. He’s gone from looking like the most emo librarian in the world to looking vaguely nauseous. If circumstances weren’t as they are, Newt might say it was making him look exceptionally alluring—that whole sickly Victorian lad thing really gets him going. “If you’ve forgotten,” Hermann says, “we’ve another of those foolish PPDC fundraisers soon, at the end of the month.”

“Oh.” Newt leans back in his chair, a little disappointed. “Is that it?”

“Yes,” Hermann says. “No.” He shakes his head gravely. He’s so dramatic sometimes, it’s kinda cute. “It is the root of the problem, but not the entirety of it. You’ll recall, I presume, how badly in need of funding we are, myself in particular for the Breach-mapping software I am attempting to develop.”

Newt does recall, because yeah, he is also in need of funding real bad. Can’t make awesome, ground-breaking advancements in the field of kaiju biology without any kaiju bits to study the biology of. That spleen currently threatening to ooze over the yellow tape line represents approximately sixty percent of Newt's remaining currently viable samples. “Uh, yeah?”

“I have,” Hermann makes a face, “a working theory, so to speak. You’ll further recall the similar PPDC event we attended in August of last year?”

“Yeah?”

“And the one we attended this year, in the week following our—”

“Yeah, Hermann, I remember.”

“Right,” Hermann says.

Newt remembers the second one more clearly than he likes, because having to make nice with Hermann to present a united front six days after a very, very stupid argument about Newt maaaaybe stealing half of Hermann’s sandwich—which ultimately led to a mutual and spur of the moment decision to dissolve the whole weird lab partners-with-benefits thing they had going on—was one of the more uncomfortable experiences of his career. Still, he made as nice as he could, because his supply of work gloves and Keurig pods were running dangerously low and he didn’t feel like shelling out the money from his own abysmally small paycheck for any.

He doesn’t know what was so significant about the other one they went to though, the one last August. It was humid. Newt remembers being so hot he had to take off his tie, and he lost it somewhere in the convention center afterwards. He misses that tie. Hermann hated it, which makes him culprit number one in its disappearance.

“We drew in significantly more donations in August than we did two months ago,” Hermann says, and opens the top drawer of his desk to produce a neat stack of papers, which he spreads in front of Newt to reveal a series of color-coded spreadsheets.

Newt’s eyes glaze over a little at the sight. He doesn’t bother extending the effort to confirm Hermann’s data—as much as he hates to admit it, the guy is thorough with his numbers and rarely wrong about stuff like this. He flips through it anyway to appease him. And, honestly, he thinks Hermann’s feelings would be hurt if he didn’t, and Newt really is committed to being a good labmate (y’know, for the very brief time being). “And prior to August,” Hermann continues, “you’ll note that the average sum total of donations we received per event was significantly lower. August was an anomaly.”

“Sure,” Newt says. “So what?”

Hermann slides the spreadsheet back into his desk, pulls his dorky glasses off, and exhales slowly: he’s getting to the point. Newt has a hunch what that point might be, but Hermann always looks funny when he gets into lecture mode, and Newt doesn’t want to interrupt it.

“I believe,” Hermann says, “that our—relationship status, which was significantly different on that occasion as compared to the rest—might possibly have had no small influence, for one reason or another. We certainly behaved more, er, affectionately, or tenderly around each other, and perhaps others took note and found it charming. Or some such thing. Of course I can't draw any conclusions from a single point of data, but I believe if we were to... Well, it's a bit silly, hearing myself now.”

“You want me to be your fake b-f so we can trick people into giving a shit about us and shake them down easier,” Newt says.

The tips of Hermann’s generous ears go red. “I’m aware it’s an unusual request,” he says, “especially considering… recent certain developments in our working relationship.”

It’s not exactly the fun platonic bonding time Newt anticipated, but he has a hunch Hermann might be on to something—the whole doomed romance, give us money so our love has a fighting chance of surviving the apocalypse thing, which they were apparently already inadvertently playing up. He’s willing to give it a shot. Making a joke out of it might actually help Newt let go of his last lingering nostalgia for that super brief period of time he and Hermann got up to after-hours hijinks and were almost amicable with each other. And, you know, on the other hand, if that doesn’t work, he could totally do the opposite of moving on and revel in the opportunity to do couple-y tender things with Hermann again.

“Yeah, sure,” Newt says. Real chill about it. He’s so chill, man.

Hermann blinks at him owlishly, clearly taken aback, but says nothing.

“It’ll be fun,” Newt adds. “It’s a good plan, great idea, it’ll totally work. Nothing has to be weird, right? I mean, it’s not like we were really even dating before or anything. There’s no reason for it to be weird. It’s definitely not for me. Is it for you?”

“No, er, of course not,” Hermann says. “It was my idea, wasn’t it?”

They’re totally over each other, but they can also totally pretend they’re not for a night or two, no sweat. “Cool,” Newt says, and repeats, maybe to convince himself, “It’ll be fun. We can dress up all fancy and wear matching ties or something and talk about how tragic we are. I’ll grab your ass in front of people and you can brag about how cool and smart and sexy I am.”

“You are not doing that,” Hermann says, “and I am not doing that. When have I ever—oh, nevermind. I am not averse to the neckties, however, especially if it means you’re at least attempting to look somewhat professional for our prospective—”

“Dude, come on, you totally just think I look hot in a suit.”

The splotchy red flush spreads from Hermann’s ears to his neck as he scowls at Newt. He doesn’t bother denying it: Newt’s sure they both vividly remember the most recent annual k-science research symposium when Newt finally let himself be talked into renting a fancy blazer, to look, uh, like the expert in your field you are, Newton, and Hermann had such a hard time keeping his hands off Newt in increasingly unchaste ways that they had to duck out early. I like when you look put-together and competent, Hermann said, or something along those lines, there was a lot of kissing going on and Newt wasn’t exactly paying attention to specifics. He ended up losing the deposit on the suit—which is why he stole the sandwich in the first place, actually. Very petty revenge. Full circle.

“Piss off,” Hermann grumbles.

“We’re gonna have to put in for just one hotel room if we wanna sell it, you know,” Newt says, the realization suddenly hitting him. “Maybe even one bed. It’ll look totally suspicious if we don’t, right?”

Hermann meets his eyes for a few awkward, quiet seconds, and then they both quickly look away from each other. Newt stands up and makes a show of gathering their untouched mugs, both of which have gone extremely cold. Hermann slips his glasses back on and opens up his desk drawer to shuffle through his immaculate spreadsheets again, pretending to look for errors that they both know aren't there.

“We’ve,” Hermann finally says, and then clears his throat. “We’ve survived worse. I'm sure we can manage. It’s only for two nights, after all.”

“Yeah, totally,” Newt says.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #FINISHED A FIC AT LAST....#sailoreuterpe

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freuleinanna · 8 months

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Mama loves you.

Marisa - harder than most mothers, it's safe to say - often heard the words spoken with unbearable softness. Not in her family, but the words danced in the streets, touching her ears like a melody. Mama loves you. Everything's alright, child. Mama loves you.

She remembers wanting to say the magic words more than anything in the world. The golden daemon never blinked, never moved, just sat beside her. Mesmerized, he never, not even for a moment, looked away from little Lyra and her soul companion as though if he did, they might have disappeared. As though his eyes were the only thing keeping them in existance. He knew then, Marisa thinks. He knew she wouldn't say it. She wouldn't dare.

She remembers words dissolving quicker than a thin layer of ice on a tongue. She remembers being hopelessly, cruelly mute.

Some things should live in minds only, is appears. In beautiful what-ifs, and never on the lips. They give the vow of silence, and Marisa's soul never utters another words as if none would be good enough. Fine, she decides. Silence it is.

Until.

Twelve years pass before Marisa sees her child. She is armed to the teeth, oozing danger with a metal-scented touch, stunning in a way nobody dares to confront, fully prepared - and the girl, the girl wears raggedy clothes and hardly knows what soap is. She bites nails. She stuffs food in her mouth. She's got a scar on her forehead and exactly three random, unevenly placed moles on her left cheek. That little monster attacks Marisa's heart like a bloodthirsty Tartar. She's got hugs instead of rifles. Marisa would have preferred the rifles. Blades. Anything. Lyra is running about with a string tied around her mother's throat. She's a wind-borne kite. Every time the girl throughtlessly gets too far, Marisa feels her lungs being yanked out of the chest.

Words return. Words seize her, rattle through her to the point where she cannot bear silence any longer, and the only thing stopping Marisa from saying them is not having enough breath. That, and the impossible task of saying words you never learned to say.

So she finds other words.

Blue is quite your color.

Mama loves you.

I think you can be extraordinary.

Mama loves you.

I'm only trying to protect you.

It starts spilling in every conversation. It's everything she's able to say after twelve years of silence. My place is with her. I want her with everything I have. If you find her, please keep her safe.

Mama loves you, loves you.

Lyra grows up having never, ever heard those words.

Her mother is hopelessly, cruelly late for saying them. It doesn't stop her from living them till the last breath.

#hey remember when i posted something #good times huh #idk its a birthday present to myself #the things i want to write about lyra and marisa ughhh!#i can hardly find time to do anything at all #but maybe i can still return from time to time with little pieces #dozens of unwritten masriel thoughts i love you too #but the trauma of being a mother / the trauma of being a daughter got to me first #hdm #his dark materials #marisa coulter #lyra silvertongue #lyra x marisa #marisa x lyra #hdm fic #< that's for me to track it's not really a fic :D oh well

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originalcontent · 1 year

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Night in the Woods and Pathologic 2 are literally the same game, beyond a few superficial contrasts in presentation there isn’t a single difference.

#this is a vaguepost @ my sister #it is a joke but also if you try to challenge this statement i WILL defend it #*ahem* in this game you play as someone returning to their small town after having left for college (which they did not complete)#the character is honestly great. sarcastic little shit who might stab you but has a heart of gold and is a hero of the people.#the town is a part of you but you're also separate. your home feels like it changed but maybe you're the one who's different.#the town itself is a character. the autumnal atmosphere is not only beautiful but also perfectly ties in with the story's themes of change #the central conflict to the setting of course being the tensions between the past/tradition and the future/progress #drastic measures are employed in order to fight back against all the inevitabilities of industrialization involving ancient powers that be #and you're left to unravel its secrets and address it in just under two weeks before more people get killed #the game is set around 12 days plus a prologue and an epilogue #anyway. you arrive in town and go to your parents house and get in touch with three childhood friends. nothing is the same as when you left.#day 1 will also slap you in the face with a murder mystery but it's far too early for the full scope of the story to be revealed #in the following few days you get to explore the town and choose which npc's to spend time with #the game is designed so that you never have the time to do everything. many events will be locked forever if you don't do them on given days #your character is brash and possibly even violent but still finds themself mentoring kids and showing kindness to strangers #you also talk with a number of older more engrained members of the community and learn about the town's history and spirituality from them #there's a stark contrast between the full and bustling streets vs the abundance of abandoned spaces and empty buildings #you'll also discover that your dreams are packed with meaning and symbolism and will sometimes even see you commune with supernatural forces #tensions will rise as you uncover more and more pieces of the mystery. this ultimately culminates in a journey into the earth below the town #your character visits the magical pit that resides there where you learn the final truths of the story and can finally put it all together #you make a fateful choice in hopes of saving the town and the game ends allowing you to wander it one last time to see the results #you can take your time and when you're ready to end the game you return to a stage you've visited so often for your final goodbyes #of course the similarities don't end there. the weather. the rats. earth/sky dichotomies. the discussions of labor movements.#the church conspicuously lacking any christian iconography. the giant animals as a representation of god but also not. the color palettes.#the human characters who look like stylized dogs and birds. the empty theater. man i could go on forever.#they even each have a side story where you play as a traveling scholar trying to unravel the secrets that lie beyond the veil of death #if i were a games youtuber i would make this into a 20 minute video with spliced footage from both games #for those who don't get the joke nitw has the coziest vibes my side of gaming despite its inherent sadness and patho2 is a survival horror

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moonstruckme · 4 months

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hi lovely!! if you're comfortable writing something like this, could I maybe request poly!marauders where reader who is normally very independent but gets submissive at times, but not in a sexual way? like she just gets overwhelmed and wants the boys to be in charge for a while, but maybe the relationship is still new and she feels too needy and can't bring herself to tell them and eventually they realize?

again, no worries if you're not comfortable writing this, just thought I'd ask <3

Thank you for requesting gorgeous !

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

“This is deeply, atrociously unjust,” Sirius says as James sits down in front of you, him on the floor and you on the couch. He’s wet and fresh-smelling from the shower. “You never let me do your hair.”

“Because you always act like you’re trying to tear it out as some sort of twisted revenge plot,” says James, passing you a brush and the curl cream you and Sirius had found for him. Normally, you adore this routine, the chance to run your fingers through James’ hair and the way his eyes close blissfully while you do it. You love to pamper him. But tonight you’re not really in the mood. You do it because he expects you to, coating his curls in product with your usual tenderness but wishing you were on the receiving end of it instead. “She’s got the touch of an angel.”

Sirius crosses his arms. He’s leaned against the side of the couch, leering over you like a vulture. Remus is reading in the armchair, and though he’s pretending to ignore all of you, the corner of his mouth tilts up.

“Beauty is pain,” Sirius grouses.

“We should start a hair train,” James decides. “She’ll do mine, you can do hers, Remus will do yours, and I’ll do his.”

Sirius seems to be considering this. You lean down towards James’ ear. “You’re throwing me to the wolves,” you stage-whisper.

“It’s you or me, sweetheart.”

Actually, the idea of Sirius playing with your hair—even at the risk of losing a good amount of it—doesn’t sound so awful.

“I can get in the shower right now,” you offer, only half joking.

Sirius lets a grin slip loose, sitting next to you to plant a smacker on your cheek. “Thank you, darling, but that’s alright. You shouldn’t have to atone for his mistakes.”

You return his smile, doing your best to bury your disappointment.

“I didn’t consent to the hair train either,” Remus says without looking up from his book. “There’s a reason James doesn’t do his own hair.”

“Oi,” James objects. “I’ve got admirers fighting over the opportunity to do my hair, why would I do it myself?”

Remus marks his page, flipping the book closed. “What are we having for dinner?” he asks.

“I don’t know, but I’m famished.” James doesn’t miss a beat, latching onto the new topic eagerly. “We could order takeaway?”

“Or just cut out the middleman and go out,” Sirius says. “Unless someone feels like cooking? Which I don’t.”

“We know,” Remus teases. “I don’t either, not tonight.”

“I could if I needed to,” James says, “but I’m alright with whatever gets food in me the fastest.”

They all look to you. “I don’t much feel like cooking,” you add your piece. Your voice comes out quieter than you’d intended.

“Alright,” Remus says. “Then let’s not cook tonight. What do you want to do, love? Go out or stay in?”

You comb the brush slowly through James’ hair, twisting to define his curls. “I don’t know,” you say.

Sirius turns to you, frowning. “Come on, baby.” He bumps your shoulder lightly with his. “What do you feel like having?”

“I don’t know.” You try not to sigh. “Um, can you pick?”

You don’t look up from the top of James’ head, but you can feel them exchanging looks. They’ve all been a little extra gentle with you lately. They know you’re dealing with a lot. Anytime you try to tally it all up and make sense of it in your head, you start feeling like you could cry. Your exhaustion has sunk so deeply within you that it’s seeped into your bloodstream. You think by now there’s got to be traces of it in the marrow of your bones.

“Hey,” Sirius says softly. “Look at me.”

You do, pausing with the brush held aloft over James’ head. He’s got his eyebrows drawn together like he’s trying to figure you out. “I’m sorry,” you say. It’s not your boyfriends’ faults that you’re feeling overwhelmed; you don’t mean to drag them down with you.

“What for, sweetness?” He sets a hand on your thigh, rings biting into your skin as he gives the flesh a loving squeeze. “Just tell us what you need.”

You try to give him a smile. You really do love him. “I want…I don’t know, I guess I’m just tired. I want to not think for a little while.”

Sirius’ eyebrows come up a bit in the middle, and James turns around from below you.

“Aw, sweetheart.” His tone is as gooey and sweet as raw honey. “Do you just want us to take care of you, angel?” He sets his hands on your knees, pushing himself up to kiss your chin. “You should’ve said something.”

“We can stay in,” Remus suggests whilst James worms his way underneath you, getting you in his lap. “Order takeaway from that Thai place you like.”

“That sounds nice,” you say meekly, face growing warm. James presses rapid-fire kisses to your cheek. One-two-three.

“You wanna have a shower, baby?” Sirius asks you. He looks heart-wrenchingly concerned. It’s not like you to want to give away control like this. “I could do your hair when you get out.”

“Don’t do it,” James cautions you. “He steals our hair to make tiny dolls of us, I’m sure of it.”

Sirius sends him a withering look. “I’ll be gentle.”

“I’d like that,” you tell Sirius, and he softens.

“Yeah?” He brushes a piece of hair away from your face and presses his hand to your cheek. Squishy fond. “Okay, baby, we’ll pamper you to hell and back.”

“I’m going to find the menu for takeaway,” Remus says, prying himself up from his chair.

“James,” Sirius says, not particularly kindly, “you will have to let her go for her to shower.”

“Never. Not on my life. Not at gunpoint.” You shrink as James makes his face at home in the juncture of your neck and shoulder, nose nudging at a ticklish spot. “She’s my darling sweetheart angel.”

“She’s our darling sweetheart angel,” Remus corrects him from the kitchen. You think your face could melt titanium.

“James, please,” you complain. “I’m never telling you all anything again.” “Careful.” Sirius raises an eyebrow at you, mock stern. “That sounded dangerously close to a thought, and those won’t be allowed until at least tomorrow morning.”

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blue-jisungs · 5 months

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wounds

author's note. let’s gaur another zoro piece ☝️

++ i stated it before, i’ll say it again: i never watched the og opla! i think there was a medic? but yns is a medic here so i just hope like,, it makes sense? also if some characters are ooc, i’m sorry!! i’m still slowly learning about them hehe

summary. zoro realised his feelings for you through unfortunate events, whereas you come to a conclusion that his actions speak louder than words

word count. 3k-ish

warnings. oh boy. violence, swearing, blood, a guy throws a weird comment or two at reader, reader gets called bitch :( , m*n, medical stuff but nothing too crazy since i’m not a professional, daggers (stabbing), yn being kinda an idiot for trusting strangers, brief mention of drugs ++ pls lmk if i missed anything 🙏

zoro stole a glance at you, the soft rocking of the ship causing some bottles with strangely-looking fluids to move around your desk. luffy grinned and patted you on your back, causing a small smile to bloom on your lips.

“so, we’re arriving in a moment. let’s get the meds we need and have some free time! How does that sound?” he asked with enthusiasm.

“and i’ll buy some fresh ingredients. i would lose my mind if i had to work with almost-rotten vegetables for even a day longer…” sanji grunted, causing zoro to roll his eyes “is our medic craving something special?”

“hmm, maybe… what about a sweet pudding? i haven’t eaten one in a while” you hummed. luffy’s eyes shone with excitement. sanji winked, drawing a disgusted face from the green-haired man.

“your wish is my command. and you, mosshead, should respect this lady more. she’s really saving our asses” the blond haired man commented.

the truth was, it was mostly sanji or usopp who you were saving. while zoro made it safe and sound out of his fights, so did luffy and nami. usopp, well, he was more on the clumsy side, while sanji occasionally had some wounds when he accidentally cut or burned himself while cooking. after almost losing zoro, the crew knew that a medic would be a useful addition to the crew… and just one day luffy found you on your island, working as a volunteer in a local health care centre. and persuaded you into joining them. (a certain tall, green-haired man also had an influence on your choice).

“we arrived!” usopp suddenly bursted into the room. you grabbed your bag and looked around the room.

“does anyone want to go with me?” you asked.

“to buy meds and smell herbs? i’d rather take a nap” zoro mumbled and lazily left the room, secretly hoping sanji would turn down your offer too.

“i’ll go with sanji! maybe they’ll have some local food to offer…” luffy hummed. you nodded and then all three of you left going merry.

usopp left later, causing nami and zoro to be the only ones left.

as you strolled around the cozy city, you took in the sight of people and the sound of the rustle. living on a ship can get quite lonely sometimes, so you enjoyed the chaos of the town. even though zoro kept you company most of the time. he’d just… come into your room and watch you brew tea for sanji or study your medical books. you both enjoyed such closeness, even if not a word was said. sure, you had conversations too - and you were surprised to realise how funny zoro is. you couldn’t lie, you were aware that you have a crush on him. zoro though, seemed uninterested. like now, just saying that he’ll pass. his answer made you a little disappointed - besides buying new meds, you were hoping for some time alone with zoro.

“well, he’s the one missing out” you mumbled t6o yourself and shook your head as if to get the swordsman off your mind.

suddenly, you smelled a delicious aroma of fresh bread. walking closer to one of the shops, you realised it’s a bakery. maybe you’ll grab a snack and ask if there’s any herbalists around…? sounds like an idea.

when you disappeared inside the local, someone smiled mischievously and backed away to return to his boss.

“... herbs?” the man repeated, thinking out loud. he didn’t look like a regular bakery employee but you ignored that. he was selling delicious chocolate buns! “down the road. there’s a pharmacy but we do have a local herb seller, he wanders in the woods often. after i’m done with my shift, i can lead you to him”

“oh, that would be great! i’ll go to the pharmacy then and be back!” you hummed, smiling. what a nice guy!

you spent way more time in the pharmacy than you intended to: the lady working there was really lovely and professional, the products she was selling were top quality. you chatted about meds and certain ingredients, shared recipes. and when you mentioned that you use some herbs to make teas, she seemed intrigued so you explained to her the purpose.

in the end, you left with two more bags than you planned to. while returning to the bakery, the sun started to set; sky was painted in deep oranges with purple strokes, announcing the farewell of the bright day.

“sorry i was late…” you started and saw the guy get up immediately. he had a slight frown on his face.

“no worries. let’s go” he mumbled and grabbed your wrist, urging you to leave. you stiffened and your jaw clenched but you followed him, too curious about the herbs to let an alarm ring in your head.

“why does he wander in the woods?” you asked quietly, observing how people closed their stalls and shops in hurry before it gets completely dark.

“dunno. he’s just a weirdo. probably there’s a lot of wild plants there” he huffed. nodding to yourself, you gulped. good thing he’s accompanying you, it wouldn’t be too safe to walk around the woods alone, at night.

after what felt like hours, you realised you left the city far behind. the sky was decorated with blinking stars, open navy sky embracing you.

“i… is it far away?” you mumbled, stopping in your tracks. he turned around, the darkness surrounding you didn’t allow to read his facial expression.

“five more minutes, i promise” he said… his voice more calm now.

“o-okay. i need to go soon, so we better be quick” a quiet murmur left your mouth. you started to regret not urging zoro to go with you.

the man was right; you soon enough found yourself in the middle of woods.

“so… um, where’s the guy?” you asked, looking around. your hands started to hurt from the bags you had to carry. besides, there was a rumbling in your stomach.

“he’ll show up in a second, trust me. so, what did you buy in the pharmacy?” he asked.

luffy entered the ship, humming something underneath his breath, with sanji carrying a bag. usopp looked at them curious.

“so, what didya buy?” he asked, almost jumping out of his seat “what are we having for dinner?”

“something fancy, for sure. i still need to think about it. we’re having a pudding for dessert though because y/n wanted it… speaking of which, is she in her room? i forgot to ask if she wanted a vanilla or a chocolate one”

“what?” zoro asked, stopping in his tracks, swords halting mid-air. the guys looked at each other.

“what ‘what?’? we thought she was back already” luffy blinked slowly and noticed nami approach.

“she didn’t, i thought she joined you” usopp stuttered and shifted his gaze to zoro “didn’t you leave at some point too?”

“yeah, to look around? but there was nothing interesting to do so i came back and took a nap…?” he mumbled.

“you did not just let y/n wander around here” nami said, fear in her voice.

“well, apparently, we did” luffy gasped “why?”

“this city is like, known for being totally not-women safe. especially after dark! that’s why i didn’t want to go there, luffy” she hissed “and why i didn’t leave the ship! god! y/n can’t even f–”

“she’ll be okay, she can fight–” usopp started.

“fight” nami finished.

“y/n can’t fight…?” zoro’s heart skipped a beat.

“there’s no time to explain. we should go look for her, idiots!” nami grunted. zoro, full of regret and worry, followed her. he wasn’t sure why he got so scared why nami said that but all he knew for now is that he had to find you.

you didn’t even realise when that happened. a group of muscular and tattooed men appeared from nowhere, not looking like herb enthusiasts at all.

“so this is the pretty lady, huh?” one of them stepped out. he was bald and definitely scary-looking “you have something we want… but before i take it, tell me. is this your first time here?”

you nodded weakly when he approached you.

“and it will be her last!” one of them snickered, drawing laughs from the rest.

“aren’t you a cute little thing, trusting strangers in a city you’ve never been to… ah” he laughed and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes “why did you buy poppy seeds?”

“t-to make medicine…” you stuttered. you noticed the one from bakery standing behind the bald one’s back.

“medicine! ha! you’re pretty funny! you know what we make here out of poppy seeds?” he hummed, leaning in way too close to your liking. you could smell his nasty breath, your hands going limp. you dropped the bags, its content spilling around your legs “drugs”

you gulped and tried to move back but he yanked you by your wrist. this action caused you to bump into his chest.

“so, we’ll take them. and the other goodies you bought, too. and then… we’ll take you!” he laughed.

shaking your head, you pushed him away and tried to run away.

you failed, a sharp yank of your shirt causing you to trip and fall on the ground.

“by take i mean two things” the bald man chuckled and kneeled down, looking for the poppy seeds amongst the scattered products.

you tried to crawl away when he did so, heart thumping against your ribcage. if only you could fight… you wouldn’t be so scared and-

“where do you think are you going?” he growled and pulled you back by your leg. your head hit the ground, a unpleasant tinnitus-alike sound overtaking your ears.

“leave me alone!” you yelled out. the man must have said or do something that caused two other guys to grab your hands and tie them.

“only after i’m done with you!” he grunted and suddenly you felt his weight over you, caging you between the ground. starting to squirm around and kick, you were yelling your throat out; tears starting to spill from your eyes. “shut up, bitch!”

then you felt it. a sudden, stinging pain spreading in the left side of your face.

he just hit you.

the impact was so strong that you immediately felt the blood trickle from your nose.

“i’d hate to kill you because after we’re done, we’d sell you… but if you keep squirming…” he grunted and leaned in. he put a hand on your hair and stroked it gently. he leaned to your ear and licked your earlobe before adding: “then i’ll have to slit your throat”

you hoped that the scream you just left out was hearable from afar.

“get off her right now or its your throat that’s going to be slit first”

you gasped, trying to look for the source of the voice: zoro. zoro is here. or are you dreaming?

“and who the fuck are you?” the bald man said and laughed, his hand landing on your neck “i’ll do whatever i want”

his fingers tightened the grip on your neck. he was either lucky or skilled enough to know which places to squeeze because you felt your flow of oxygen being cut off.

“says who?” zoro huffed and with one swift move yankled the man by his shirt and got him off you. taking a deep breathe in, your vision went blurry - it was either the tears or the result of sitting up too fast.

“you’re a real piece of shit to attack girls, huh” zoro grunted and after effortlessly defeating another one of the bald man’s minions. the swordsman wanted to destroy the others, let them suffer and die in pain. normally, he’d take his time.

but it was about you. which made it even worse – he wanted to kill them slowly, one by one… demolish to the ground because they hurt you. then again, he wanted to make it quick so he can check if you’re alright as fast as possible.

and just when only the boss was left, he heard your scream. one that was full of pure pain.

turning his head back, but not losing focus from the guy, he saw one of them stand above you. he must have slipped away when he was busy with the bald guy but…

then he saw it, shining in the moonlight.

the dagger’s blade shun with silver tints, stuck in your ribcage.

zoro didn’t hold back. it took one swift move to throw one of his swords right between the attacker’s eyes and one precise move to synchronise both of his hands, cutting the bald’s man body in half.

then he ran up to you, grabbing you in his arms gently. your face looked pale, whether it was the moonlight or just the color draining off your face.

“don’t take this out” you grunted, moving your hand to his arm “and… take the meds…”

“fuck the meds, you’re bleeding” for the first time in ages zoro felt helpless. and disappointment in himself. you tried to scoff, the action bringing more pain to your body than you predicted

“don’t… the meds are just as important” your voice went quieter and quieter; zoro noticed that you struggled to keep your eyes open. which was, he assumed, a bad sign.

“don’t pass out on me, okay? keep it together, doctor” the green haired man breathed out and in one swift move he carried you in a bridal style. someone from the crew was supposed to arrive here too, if he passes them by he’ll just say that they need to take the meds.

zoro felt your body going limp in his arms, his heart dropping. running for his (and your) life, careful enough not to hurt you, he felt the strange heavy sensation in his chest.

for the next two days, a sinking feeling of guilt in zoro’s stomach wouldn’t go away. you were unconscious, the atmosphere on the going merry was tense.

“we didn’t know she can’t fight. if we did, we’d obviously accompany her” sanji grunted, hands never stoping mixing whatever he was mixing.

“why y/n never told us?” luffy sighed, voice small. as a captain, he felt disappointed he wasn’t able to protect you. on the other hand, he was glad you’re here now. nami bit her lip and looked at zoro.

“she didn’t want to seem weak” the orange-haired girl explained “i promised her i’ll teach her some basic moves but… we never…”

usopp entered the room, he was just talking to your unconscious state. well, more like to himself but–

“the doctor said she’ll be okay, right?” he asked, sitting next to zoro.

they figured that if you got medication somehow, there must be someone who knows at least has basic medical knowledge. in no time usopp came back with a pharmacist that talked to you – the lady was really saddened by your wounds too.

she scolded them for letting you go on your own (as if zoro haven’t already made a mental promise to himself to never do that again) and then proceeded to take care of you, telling them to change the bandages and apply some meds.

zoro left the dining space and slowly padded to the captain’s room. they figured that i’d only be safer if you stayed in a more stable position (rather than a hammock) for the time being.

entering the room, he stopped in his tracks upon seeing you… sitting at the edge of the mattress, changing your own bandage. sweat was dripping down your forehead, face pale.

“what the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked calmly, stepping closer to you. your eyes widened, meeting his.

“hi” you breathed out, shaky fingers halting.

“hi” zoro replied softly and then suddenly placed his hands on your arms, gently pushing you to sit against the wall.

then he grabbed the old bandage and threw it away. he desinfected his hands with a special liquid and grabbed new bandage.

“how long have you been up?” he asked, looking at the wound. it still needed some healing but it wasn’t open and bleeding anymore.

“dunno, moments from usopp’s leave. how… how long i’ve been asleep though?” you asked wearily and pointed at a cream on the nightstand “apply this first, then the bandage”

“two days” zoro replied, grabbing the container with a herbal smell. he was trying to find a good way to word out his worries, but (as usual) they came out harsher than he intended “why didn’t you tell us you can’t fight?”

a heavy sigh left your mouth, which caused a glimpse of pain run through your face.

“i just didn’t want to be a burden” you mumbled. the man noted the slight difference of what you said and what nami said your reasoning was.

zoro’s calloused yet tender fingers applied the cooling substance on your wound. you hissed due to the sting, your hand flying to grab his free one.

“you’re not weak nor a burden” he said, letting you squeeze his hand; he didn’t mind and found it quite… warming “i will teach you”

you smiled. he didn’t offer, he didn’t insist. he stated that.

“thank you. and i’m sorry for scaring you all like that” a whisper left your lips, watching as zoro started to put the bandage now. you leaned a bit closer so he could wrap it around your back, causing your breath to hit his neck. zoro tried to stay focused, the sudden realisation of how close you were making him hyper-aware.

“you scared some of us to death” he answered suddenly “next time just… don’t be such an idiot. if it weren’t for me…”

“humble as always” you snickered and watched him finish bandaging you.

“i…” the green-haired man hesitated. for a moment your eyes met and you saw it in the mirror of his ebony irises: i’m sorry. i was worried. so fucking scared and angry, feeling guilty and terrified. he smiled gently “just don’t do this again, m’kay?”

“i’ll try. and… thank you for saving me” you returned his smile.

you stayed like that for a moment, your hand still on his. too afraid to move, to speak out – yet the silence was speaking volumes.

roronoa zoro cared for you.

he just didn’t know how to say it out loud yet.

but just like wounds, he needed some time. and you were - oh so - willing to give him it.

masterlist <3

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marsnovaa · 6 months

Note

Can you make a piece doing JJK boys being clingy with their girlfriends/partners (not sure which you write for!) and if you don’t want to do all the JJK boys maybe Choso or Inumaki? Thank you :))

Notes: Yes! I do not write for Yuta (and maybe a few others I'm forgetting), but I had a lot of fun writing this! This is my first time writing for a few of these characters so i apologize if they are out of character or not as good as the others ! also, i love the art you did of choso with his hair down a bit ago hehe ! (Requests are open)

Warnings: A lot of waist grabbing, slightly suggestive with Toji

Features: Gojo, Geto, Toji, Nanami, Choso, Yuji, Megumi, and Toge

JJK boys being clingy with you ₊˚⊹♡

Gojo

He's unafraid of displaying his clinginess, making it impossible to escape his touch in public or his incessant text messages. He always keeps a firm grip on your hand and has his arm securely around you. He reminded you of a puppy. He finds it difficult to communicate his emotions, particularly when he needs reassurance. However, as time goes by, you have become familiar with his gestures and discovered that his favorite way to seek comfort is by resting his head on your lap.

You find yourself now reclining on the couch, seeking solace after a heated argument. It was an unnecessary clash, and you wisely decided to distance yourself before uttering regrettable words. Suddenly, you hear the faint sound of Satoru's door creaking open, causing your gaze to fixate on the hallway, anticipating his emergence.

He had the appearance of a dog caught in the act, being confronted by their owner for their misbehavior.

Nervously, he made his way to the couch, anxiously settling into his seat. The fear of provoking a negative reaction from you lingered, making it difficult for him to relax.

While you were engrossed in your movie, you paid no attention to his gradual approach. This was a recurring pattern after your disputes. He would hover nearby, edging closer little by little. It was his unique method of expressing remorse and attempting to reconcile with you. Though it irritated you, it undeniably proved effective, for it was impossible to remain angry with him forever.

"Come here," you said with a dramatic sigh, invitingly patting your lap.

His face filled with joy, and without hesitation, he rested his head on your lap. Gently, you caressed his hair, soothing his scalp with a delicate massage. Occasionally, your hand rested on the side of his face, your thumb moving in a slow, comforting motion, tracing his cheek.

Geto

Suguru has a subtle way of showing his affection, preferring to express his clinginess in private. However, even in public, he can't help but steal glances at you or lightly brush his hand against yours as he passes by. Although he's not much of a texter, Suguru is fond of calling instead. So, when you're out and your phone unexpectedly rings, you can't help but be startled, but deep down, you already know it's him eagerly calling to inquire about your whereabouts and when you'll be returning.

A few minutes ago, he sent you a text instructing you to come to his room. You gently opened the door and stole a glance inside, catching sight of your partner in a state of complete relaxation, comfortably dressed in casual attire.

Timidly, you entered the room, gently closing the door behind you. With cautious steps, you approached his bed and slipped in beside him. He was dressed in a casual combination of a loose white shirt and black sweatpants. A cozy blanket covered him, and he promptly enveloped you in its warmth as soon as you lay down beside him.

His arm instinctively wrapped around your waist, drawing you closer to him. He planted tender kisses on your forehead and the top of your head, serenading you with sweet words. Your cheeks blushed, and you sought solace by burying your face in his embrace.

"Why are you so nervous? We've been together for months, yet you still seem so bashful around me, my love," he whispered gently, as his finger delicately brushed against your chin, tilting it upwards to meet his gaze.

"I'm not sure," you replied, offering a shy smile.

Your dopey smile was captivating to him. He adored seeing that smile, and it compelled him to draw nearer, pressing his lips against yours in a passionate kiss that made you feel as though you were melting away.

Toji

You've never encountered anyone as possessive as him. He shoots fierce glances at anyone who dares to cast a glance your way, and he constantly craves your affection, demanding kisses on a regular basis. Your neck is almost always adorned with his passionate marks, and no matter how many times you protest, he effortlessly silences you with a tender kiss.

"I'm home!" you exclaimed, shutting the door behind you. Initially, Toji was just renting a room in your house, but after you two became a couple, he became a permanent member of the household and no longer pays rent. As a result, you find yourself working more than ever before.

Toji loomed in the entrance, arms folded across his chest, his gaze drifting up and down your silhouette. The hunger in his eyes was a constant presence, causing you to squirm uneasily and your face to redden.

"Hey, have you eaten yet?" you asked softly as you brushed past him and made your way into the living room, which was adjacent to the kitchen.

"I did," he replied, firmly grasping your waist with his large hands.

You despised it when he behaved in such a way, yet you found yourself unable to break free from his hold. He forcefully drew you towards him until your back was tightly pressed against his figure. Without delay, he began to passionately kiss your neck. With each delicate touch of his lips against your flesh, an irresistible sensation of ticklishness arose, causing you to instinctively wriggle and yearn to distance yourself from him.

"Why are you always trying to distance yourself from me, baby?" he murmured softly into your ear.

"Toji, I've just arrived home after a long day of work, and the moment I step in the door, you're already all over me," you complained, gently removing his hands from you.

"I can't resist, you're absolutely stunning," he said with a smirk, trailing along as you settled on the couch.

Your moment of relaxation was abruptly interrupted as he forcefully pulled you onto his lap. You let out a groan of annoyance, reflexively wrapping your hands around his neck. However, he swiftly silenced you by passionately kissing you. At that moment, you realized that you couldn't complain any longer, as deep down, you relished in his neediness and his constant desire for your attention. Despite your fatigue, you couldn't help but feel elated that Toji truly wanted you and treated you with love and care.

His lips left a trail of passionate kisses down your neck, and your fingers became intertwined in the strands of his hair.

Choso

Choso is similar to a toddler that constantly follows you, tightly holding onto a piece of fabric from your clothes. He is tender and endearing, but also fears that his clinginess might bother you, causing him to frequently withdraw.

That only induces worry, and when you attempt to address the issue with him, his face turns as crimson as a ripe tomato, while he stumbles over his words and fabricates feeble excuses.

You found yourself in a quaint clothing store, browsing for new tops to replace the ones that suffered damage during your daring missions. Among the selection, you carefully lifted a vibrant, long-sleeved red shirt, unsure yet intrigued about whether it would suit your taste.

Choso was standing right behind you, his hand tightly clutching your shirt as he observed other shoppers. He was pleasantly surprised when you swiftly spun around to meet his gaze, a faint smile adorning your lips.

"What are your thoughts on this? Personally, I find it slightly too snug for my taste..." you lifted the top, examining it, before pressing it against your body.

"It's absolutely beautiful. You would look absolutely breathtaking wearing it," he boldly responded, shamelessly admiring you while he had the opportunity.

Blushing, you quickly tossed the top into your small basket and eagerly took hold of his hand, guiding him towards the checkout counter.

Nanami

At first, he didn't strike you as the clingy type. However, you were taken aback when he tiredly entered the house, removed his shoes, loosened his tie, and half-unbuttoned his shirt before collapsing on the couch next to you. His arm instinctively wrapped around your neck, drawing you close to him. Surprisingly, this became his routine every time he arrived home, and he would frequently message you during the day to ensure your well-being.

As he assured you he would be home soon, you decided to take charge of dinner preparations. Your utmost concern was to provide him with nourishing meals, especially after his demanding missions.

As you hear the door open and then close, your heart quickens in anticipation. Nanami enters the kitchen, his powerful arms wrapping around your waist, enveloping you in his embrace.

"Welcome home," you cheerfully greeted, spinning around and embracing him with your arms wrapped around his neck.

“Dinner smells good. How was your day?” he asked, his touch light but possessive as he held onto your waist.

"It was great! Tiring, but certainly nothing I couldn't handle. And how about you?" you said, flashing him a sweet smile.

"Same as always," he murmured, leaning down to gently kiss your nose. "Shall we eat?"

With a nod, you reach for two plates. Artfully arranging the food on each plate, you then make your way to the living room where Nanami awaits. Handing him his plate, you leisurely settle on the other end of the couch, playfully kicking your feet up and gently placing your legs across his lap.

You sat together in silence, savoring each other's company, a familiar ritual between you both.

Nanami was the first to finish his meal. He leaned forward, gently placing his empty plate on the small coffee table in front of the couch. Suddenly, you were surprised when you felt his large hands begin to massage your tired feet, a rare gesture from him. Without a word of complaint, you carried on enjoying your food. He was a true gentleman, always putting your happiness and well-being before his own.

After you had finished your meal and tidied up the kitchen, Nanami gently took your hand, guiding you towards the bedroom. There, he warmly embraced you as you two laid down, allowing your head to rest upon his chest, as you listened to the rhythmic beat of his heart. With his thumb, he tenderly traced circles upon your back, soothing you until both of you peacefully drifted into slumber.

Yuji

He is incredibly affectionate and caring, but he tends to be overly attached. His greatest concern is not being by your side if something were to happen to you. He consistently stays by your side, whether it is for a leisurely stroll, a shopping trip, or an important errand.

Sometimes he may be unable to accompany you, no matter how much he desires to. However, he reaches out to you, timidly requesting that you remain on the call until your return, providing him reassurance that everything is alright.

"Yuji, you do realize that I can simply text you, right?" you playfully chuckled over the phone as you disembarked from the train.

"I know, but if you don't reply to my texts, I'm left wondering what might have happened!" he complained from the other side.

You let out a contented sigh and shook your head playfully, all while sporting a contagious smile. To top it off, you were cozying up in one of his cherished hoodies. Your collection of his hoodies was a testament to their irresistibly soft and snug nature - an indulgence you simply couldn't resist.

"Do you know how incredibly adorable you are?" you asked, strolling along a bustling sidewalk towards your destination.

“I’m glad you think so. I love you y/n.” he said in a hushed tone, conscious of his surroundings and not wanting them to eavesdrop on this intimate moment.

"I love you too," you replied, giggling. You could imagine the slight blush he must have had, which made you giggle even more.

Megumi

Megumi may not be the touchy-feely type or a master of verbal expressions, but his constant stream of text messages makes up for it. Your phone is always abuzz with his messages, making sure you're always connected.

As you felt a vibration coming from your pocket, you instinctively retrieved your phone to see the latest message from Megumi.

M <3:

Where are you? I miss you.

You:

Im just at the store megs. Ill be back soon :)

M <;3:

Hurry up, the beds getting cold without you.

You couldn't help but let out a chuckle as you slid your phone back into your pocket. Afterward, you swiftly grabbed a handful of snacks from the shelf before making your way to the checkout counter. It's funny how Megumi reveals his need for attention only when you two are alone, and it seems like a significant portion of your time together is spent with him dozing off on your lap.

As soon as you finished paying for the snacks, you rushed back to his room. As you entered, his arms immediately wrapped around your neck, pulling you into a warm and affectionate embrace.

"Hey, Megumi. Hold on a sec, I need to take off my shoes." You chuckled, unable to reciprocate his embrace because of the bags you were holding.

Murmuring something softly, he backed away, allowing you the opportunity to remove your shoes. You carefully set the bags of snacks on his desk, and as soon as they were no longer in your grasp, he eagerly guided you towards his bed. With a playful roll of your eyes, you climbed into the bed, and settled in comfortably while he positioned himself on top of you.

With his head nestled on your chest, he closed his eyes tenderly. You sensed his entire body surrendering to relaxation, as his breath gently steadied, while your fingers lovingly became entwined in his soft hair.

Toge

You adore him with all your heart, but unfortunately, you cannot spare hours in his room, indulging in YouTube together. Due to his cursed speech, it makes it hard to communicate between the two of you, but the more time you spent with him, you began to understand when he spoke in rice ball ingredients. He demonstrates his attachment by sending you text messages at completely unpredictable times, requesting your presence in his dorm.

The very first time he did this, you truly relished the moments spent together, laughing at a few videos and snuggling on his bed.

You had just arrived back from a long mission when you received his message. Despite being tempted to decline, you couldn't resist. You found yourself drawn to his room, where darkness surrounded you, except for the soft radiance of a lamp and the flickering glow of the TV. He was seated on the bed, his relaxed shirt and comfortable pants giving him a casual appearance. His hair was disheveled, with a few strands sticking out, adding to his charm.

You greeted him in a tired manner, shuffling your feet as you approached and settled down on his bed. As you watched TV, he leaned his shoulder against yours, a comforting gesture that you had grown accustomed to. He always sought closeness with you, whether it was through your thighs touching, fingers gently brushing, or any other intimate connection. Your eyelids were heavy, and it was a challenge to concentrate on the video he turned on. Eventually, you kicked off your shoes and made yourself at ease in his comfortable bed. However, the moment your head touched the pillow, you succumbed to the peaceful depths of slumber.

It wasn't until after about 20 minutes that Toge realized you had fallen asleep. Swiftly, he turned off the television and tenderly covered you with a warm blanket, gently brushing away a few stray strands from your face. He planted a soft kiss on your cheek before snuggling up next to you, also succumbing to a peaceful nap.

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notmyneighbor · 1 month

Text

Let Me In ~ Doppelgänger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader

Chapter 5

Word Count ~5k

Rating ~ Explicit

CW ~ sexual content, mild body horror and violence

Also available on AO3

taglist @luthien-elvenia-asher

Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok

The power is restored later that evening.

You are still sitting on the living room sofa before it happens, still tucked against the doppelgänger. Listening to the death of the storm outside. Watching the gray light oozing through the windows grow dimmer.

“How far did you walk to get here?”

“Not far. The delivery truck broke down about a mile from your house.”

“I’ll give you a ride back into town tomorrow, then. You’ll need to get it repaired as soon as possible.” It was strange, planning things with the imposter like this. As if you were truly allies and not sworn enemies. “What are you going to do once you move back?”

“I haven’t decided my next course of action yet.” His thumb is caressing the line he’d carved on your arm. Gentle, absent strokes.

A blossom of light suddenly illuminates the room. Electricity. You sigh with relief, straightening. You notice your panties still lying on the floor where he’s discarded them. The things that had seemed forgiveable in the darkness now feel indecent under the lighting. Like you’re being judged for your transgressions.

You look at what had once been Francis Mosses and your heart turns over again. And this is why you’ve done it; all of it. Because the sight of him instantly weakens you. You can’t help yourself.

His clothing, still in a state of half-on, half-off, is rumpled, still dirt stained from his trek to your house.

“I’ll draw you a bath,” you say. “While I make dinner.”

He rises, hastily fastening the button of his fly so the work pants don’t drop to the floor. The belt buckle he leaves as it is, the end with the metal piece jingling as he walks, following you up the stairs. The farmhouse squeaks in protest with each step. A heavy tred, though the milkman had never seemed anything but lean. Perhaps what was dwelling inside lent the extra weight.

You turn the lights on as you go, making sure every corner is devoid of shadows. There’s a tiny linen closet in the hall you retrieve a bath towel from. You’re considering what clothing you might have that he could wear while you wash his. Something a former boyfriend had left behind, maybe. You lean and turn the faucets of the claw foot tub on, testing the water temperature and adjusting accordingly.

“I have to find something for you to wear. Just leave everything on the sink and I’ll wash it for you.” You’re about to exit the room when he halts you, fingers lightly closing over your forearm. The previously injured one.

His lips touch yours. Just once. Just for the feel of it, to place a reminder there. You were his.

The deceiver releases you, working on the buttons of his work shirt’s cuffs. You duck out of the bathroom, making your way to your dresser. Nearly every piece of furniture in the home is hand made, built to last. Solid pine, the scent of it still strong after all these years as you begin rummaging inside. There, at the bottom. Shoved way back. Undershirt, briefs.

You snatch at them and return to the other room. Finding the imposter nude, standing beside the tub. You blush, not looking directly at him as you shut off the faucets. You test the temperature a final time and decide it’s safe.

“Soap, shampoo. Here’s a wash cloth.” You point out the items. Wondering if these creatures ever bathed. If cleansing their true form was ever a concern.

One foot sinks into the water. The other follows. He sits down slowly. A little sigh escaping at the feeling of soaking in the warmth.

“I’m going to go start supper.” You close the door softly behind you, descending the stairs. Considering your options for a meal. You’d never gotten a chance to check the garden earlier, so fresh vegetables were out. Canned ones, then. Green beans and instant mashed potatoes from the box. Leftover meatloaf from the previous evening. A quick, easy meal to prepare. Your eyes linger on the bottle of milk in the refrigerator. Not from Francis’ company, but a reminder nonetheless. You shut the fridge again after grabbing the necessary ingredients, then preheat the oven.

It doesn’t take long to get things ready. How strange to see two place settings on the oak kitchen table. You hadn’t had company over in a long time.

Still no appearance from your current guest. You walk to the foot of the stairs. “Francis! Dinner is ready.” You were still unsure how else to address him. It just seemed easier to call him that. If it bothered him, he didn’t reveal it.

The pretender returns just as you’re pouring two glasses of iced tea. You’ve never seen Francis with wet hair; it lies so dark and flat when it’s wet. The clothing you’ve lent doesn’t quite fit right, a little loose on the shirt and tighter on the material clinging to his hips.

“I’m sorry I don’t have anything better to offer you. I wasn’t expecting…”

“It’s fine.” He holds out a hand, turning it over to stare curiously at new wrinkles along each digit.

“You pruned up. Spent too long in the water,” you explain. “How was the bath?”

“Enjoyable.”

“Good. Have a seat.” You drag the chair out slightly and he finishes the task, settling at the table about to be laden with food.

The dark eyes follow your movements around the kitchen. Potholders in hand as you remove the reheated dish from the oven. It seems too quiet in the house. You wish you had switched on the radio in the living room. Just for the comforting sound of background noise. Something to soothe your frayed nerves.

You sit across from your guest after you’ve filled both your plates. He still hasn’t touched anything. Hesitant. Waiting. And then you realize it. Francis would have said grace. You close your eyes and bow your head, reciting the words. “Bless us, oh Lord, for these thy gifts that we're about to receive from thy bounty through Christ our Lord, Amen.”

A soft echo of the last word. You wonder if it would be considered blasphemy, what you’ve just done. The invader participating in it. You’ve never been overly religious yourself. You suppose you’ve committed far worse transgressions than this one over the course of the day.

The dark haired creature lifts a spoon and takes a tentative scoop of the white mixture, bringing it to his mouth. Considering the taste. “Good.”

You realize you’re starving and you dig in. Stabbing the loaf and cutting off a piece, blowing on it to make sure it’s cooled enough before taking a bite. Still moist. Your grandmother’s recipe. The figure on the opposite side of the table mimics your actions. “Careful. Don’t burn yourself. It’s still hot.” You hate burning your tongue. That awful soreness, the awkward numb feeling.

It doesn’t take long for the imposter to clear his plate. “Seconds?” He nods and you push back your chair, lifting his plate and returning to the counter. The glass he refills himself from the pitcher on the table. “Have you eaten before this?”

“Yes. But it wasn’t…” He pauses. “Different than this.” He seems reluctant to elaborate and you’re not sure you want him to, so you let the subject matter drop, setting another helping before him and retaking your seat.

You struggle for a safe topic of conversation. Everything you think of, each query you seek answers for, seem anything but. This domestic peace between you feels fragile. You’re not sure how long it will last.

After the meal concludes you bring your dishes to the counter and the false milkman copies your actions, piling them next to yours beside the sink. You let the water run hot and then plug the drain, filling the sink halfway. You squeeze a generous dollop of dish soap from the bottle tucked on the rim of the porcelain basin. A little too generous, maybe. There are a few little iridescent bubbles that drift through the air in front of you.

One arm tucks around your waist from behind. Lips beside your ear. You struggle to scrub the plate in your hands, your heart pounding. A throbbing further down. Still hungry for him.

He hums Francis’ song. You feel tears welling in your eyes again. The dish you set in the drying rack nearly falls, your wet fingers clumsy.

“Did he suffer?”

The humming stops. “What?”

“Francis. When you took him over. Was it quick, at least?”

“Yes.” He could be lying, of course. But why would the alien care about your own comfort?

You pull the drainer from the sink and the water level begins descending, the last of it suctioned inside with a loud squelching noise. He’s still holding you. His breath warm by your cheek.

You can see nothing through the window above the sink. You stare at that void, blinking away the tears.

***

You’d forgotten about the bloodstains on Francis’ work shirt.

You’ve just begun lathering the fabric with soap in the bathroom sink upstairs when you notice the incriminating flecks.

Hydrogen peroxide will remove them. Erase those traces of the milkman’s lifeforce that had spattered upon his surrender.

It makes you want to weep again.

Once your chores are completed you take your own bath.

You don’t linger. You’re thinking of the doppelgänger resting in the chair in the corner of your bedroom. Trying to figure out where he’ll spend the night. The living room couch, maybe.

The mirrored medicine cabinet is clouded when you emerge. You swipe at it ineffectually with your towel, still damp from your body. The one the creature had used lying in a pile on the floor by the tub. You toss it into the hamper before dragging a comb through your hair and brushing your teeth. Hastily sliding into a sleeveless nightgown. Tiny lilacs printed on the fabric. You have them growing in the side yard, the perfumed scent when they’re in bloom wafting over you when you walk by. You touch the purple satin bow at the scooped neckline. A delicate little detail.

Those dark eyes watching you as you begin to strip the bed. He moves to assist you in stretching a fresh fitted sheet over the mattress. You can hear the drip of the water from Francis’ clothes hung to dry over the tub in the next room.

He sits on the side of the bed while you rub moisturizing lotion into your elbows, over your hands and arms. Legs once you’re seated on the opposite side. He’s moved so that he’s propped upright against the carved headboard, lower limbs stretching out along the length of the bed. Inviting himself in. Maybe it was better this way. At least you could keep an eye on him. Not worrying and wondering what he was doing downstairs all evening.

You switch off the lamp on the nightstand and lie down. Hear him scoot lower until he’s resting next to you. There’s just a top sheet at the foot of the bed. It’s really too warm for more than that. Through the cracked bedroom window you can hear the crickets chirping near the foundation outside. You turn away from him, reclining on your side, facing the wall. Willing your eyes to shut, to get some rest.

Succeeding.

You awaken and it’s still dark in the room. There is a hand on your bare shoulder, stroking circles along your deltoid muscle, grazing the path where your neck meets your shoulder, dipping into the hollow above your collarbone.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, and you hold your breath. Wondering again over how fast your body reacts to his touch, to his voice, to everything. “What are you doing to me?” As if you are the one caressing him in the middle of the night and not the other way around. “What is this feeling…this ache…”

You turn onto your back. He reaches blindly for your face. Following the angle of your jaw. His thumb seats in the dip in the edge below your bottom lip and he tugs gently, your mouth opening. His mouth finds yours. Tongue slithering between. You whimper. Your fingers seed in his hair. Still slightly damp. Refusing to dry in this humidity. He reaches for the hem of your nightgown, sliding the cotton material upward. Immediately at your panties, eagerly working inside. A heavy sigh of satisfaction from him. You gasp, your legs falling open. So wet already. Your body not caring if this isn’t really the man you love. It wants this. It craves this forbidden touch.

He’s so, so good at the touching. Retaining everything you’d showed him previously. Expertly manipulating your clit. Thrusting inside of you. You moan into his mouth. The side of his throat. You lap at that skin. Rough now. The first pricks of new growth of facial hair coarse against you.

“My sweet girl. Mine. You’re mine.” You do not protest. Your hips are lifting, grinding you against his fingers. It doesn’t take long to find your release. Your nails rake his back. The praise spills from his lips. The claims that you belong to him continue. His possession. His. To do with as he wishes. “Touch me, love. I need you.”

You find his cock leaking against the tight fitting underwear. You shove at the elastic top, releasing it partially from its confines. Stroking. He shifts positions, resting on one forearm. Fucking into the tight ring of your fingers. “Francis.” He’s not him, he never will be, but it’s so easy to pretend when it’s like this. In the dark and the heat of the summer weather, from the exchange between your bodies.

“I want to be inside of you. I want…I want…”

His breath shudders and his hips stutter as his orgasm rocks through him. Spilling hot seed over your fingers. The mattress dipping and creaking as he drops his full weight down onto it. You slip out of bed, padding barefoot into the hallway to retrieve a wash cloth. Washing your hands at the sink in the bathroom before bringing the dampened material back to the imposter in your bed, dragging it over his skin until you’re satisfied he’s clean.

You leave the soiled cloth on the nightstand, lying back down with your back to him again. He pulls you against him. The curves of your bodies fit together like spoons resting stacked in a silverware drawer. Your hands rest on the forearms curled around your torso. Feeling the threads of his body hair. He breathes your name into your neck and you shiver. There are still so many hours before dawn.

***

The week of your suspension passes quickly.

Francis’ doppel has already moved back into the apartments. Calls made. To the milkman’s employer. To the DDD director. He says he seemed placated, but you know better. They’ve been alerted. They’re going to be watching him closely. Both of you.

You like having him visit your home far more than you should.

It’s beginning to feel comfortable. A routine developing. He helps you sand and repaint the front porch once the weather is no longer humid. Tending to the garden. Mending the fence bordering the side yard. Replacing the broken bracket for one of the pantry shelves. Tightening the gasket under the kitchen sink when you hear water dripping during dinner one evening. There are endless repairs when one owns a home. Especially one of this age. It’s strange to see the imposter working so diligently to maintain it.

Stranger still how much you enjoy him in your bed.

There are many kisses and touches. Moments of taking each apart with hands and mouths. You learn each other’s bodies. You know he wants even more of you. You want it, too. But you’re reluctant. For so many reasons. Fearing an accidental pregnancy not the least of them.

The guilt of betraying the real Francis that still haunts you.

***

Your replacement as doorman had not been very tidy.

The desk is cluttered with papers, confiscated entry requests and identification cards. Pens no longer in their cup beside the phone. The day’s listing taped sloppily to the wall beside the window so it hangs at an angle.

You spend some time rearranging things. Restoring order. Internally, you’re trying to get yourself back into the right frame of mind. You have a duty to protect the residents. The replicants are not welcome. Never to be trusted. Francis’ copy is the only exception.

You shouldn’t be making it.

He’s there at your window later that day. Looking tired. Thrusting his ID and paperwork through the narrow slot at the base of the glass. Merely for show, of course. There is a security camera inside the office now. That video feed being constantly monitored by a DDD member. You’ve already warned him about it.

There’s an extra piece of paper beneath the entry request form. A small scrap with a torn edge. You tuck it into your palm quickly before reviewing his documents, then handing them back with a smile before pressing the door to allow him to enter.

You make a show of shifting some papers, your back to the camera as you quickly unfold the secret message. An invitation to come to his apartment once your shift is over. It wasn’t wise to draw attention to him. But you find yourself unable to resist the offer. You see the pilot that lives near Francis leaning in the open doorway of his residence as you exit the elevator after your workday ends, smoking a cigarette.

“Mr. Rudboys,” you greet him, nodding. “I’m just dropping off some paperwork for Mr. Mosses.”

He grunts, a smirk twitching his thin lips. “Sure you are, doll.”

Your spine stiffens in embarrassment, your neck warm beneath your shirt collar as you knock on the apartment door.

Your lover opens it and you hastily bid farewell to his neighbor before you enter, closing the door behind you with a little sigh of relief. “I think he might suspect—” You don’t get a chance to finish as his mouth covers yours. “Francis,” you gasp.

“I’ve missed you,” he says, planting kisses along your throat, unbuttoning the top of your blouse and seating his lips in the hollow there. “This tedious work routine is unbearable.”

“I did warn you. You have to earn a living. Pay bills. I still don’t understand why you wanted this.”

“It’s not the mundane work ethic you devote yourselves to that we’re interested in, I assure you.” He nibbles your ear.

“So why do it, then?”

He sighs, his affectionate gestures ceasing. “Do you really want to talk about this right now? I had envisioned a rather different evening for us. I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?”

“I found something I know you’ll like. Come here.” He leads you into the living room. There’s a tan object resting on the coffee table. The length is too short to be a suitcase, the height making you realize what it is a heartbeat before he lifts the lid. A portable record player. Beside it, a shallow stack of vinyl albums. “Saw it in a shop window on my route downtown. I’ve no idea if you like those artists, but…”

“Francis.” You cover your mouth with your hand. You can hardly believe it. Such a thoughtful gesture. From the intruder or some sentiment of the man he’d taken over. You don’t know which is which. You never have.

“Try it out,” he invites.

You already know which record you’re going to play. At the very top of the pile you see Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong’s collaboration. You slide it from the sleeve and place it on the turntable. Setting the needle down gently on the ebony disc, you grin when it starts to play.

“Turn the volume up. It’s only fair, considering.” He nods towards the direction of the apartment where Mia Stone and her fiancé reside, a mischievous smirk on his features.

You comply, still uncomfortable with making it too loud. “Dance with me?” You’re not certain if he knows how. But the memory is there for him, plucked from the depths at this hour of need. His hands rest on your waist. You twine your arms behind his neck.

Stars shining bright above you

Night breezes seem to whisper, I love you

Birds singin' in the sycamore trees

Dream a little dream of me

He turns, lifting you easily. You smile again, allowing him to pull one of your hands free to clasp beside you as you rest the other one on his shoulder, swaying gently as your bodies move in a tight circle.

Say nighty-night and kiss me

Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me

While I'm alone and blue as can be

Dream a little dream of me

The doppel leans suddenly and you gasp, but his hand is strong against your lower spine, the other holding your hand tightly. The throaty male singer’s voice begins the next verse as you’re lifted upright again.

Stars fading but I linger on dear

Still craving your kiss

Now I'm longin' to linger till dawn dear

Just saying this

“I thought you didn’t like music,” you murmur against his ear, lifting slightly on your toes.

“It’s growing on me.” You draw back to find him smiling. Francis’ smile. Your heart lurching in your chest again as the artists’ voices join together.

Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you

Leave the worries behind you

But in your dreams, whatever may be

You've gotta make me a promise, promise to me

You'll dream, dream a little dream of me

The song ends. His hands cup your face. “Sweetheart.” His mouth hungry on yours. “Come to bed with me, love.”

You nod, following him to the bedroom. Undressing each other. Practiced at this now, clothing quickly shed. Not stopping to move the comforter, pressing your naked body down on top of it.

“I want to be inside of you.” He says this often, and it frightens you as much as it thrills you.

“Francis…”

“Let me in, love, please. My special, sweet girl…” His hand wedges between your thighs. Never once has he forced you. Never once have you denied him. You open your legs and he straightens, kneeling between that v shaped space. Running his erection along your pink flesh, parting your nether lips, spreading the slick from your core through them. Massaging your hooded button. Pausing outside your entrance. Waiting for your permission.

“Please,” he says, and it’s the first time you’ve heard him say the word.

“Okay.”

Pressure as the fattened dome violates your canal. You gasp and his hands instantly reach to soothe you, caressing your thigh as he thrusts inside gradually. He leans his weight forward in small increments, bringing your legs up as he goes. Pressing deeper inside of you. Still more than you’re used to. There’s a burn accompanying the stretch as his prick fills your pussy. A kind of raw ache when he is fully sheathed, bumping against the edge of your cervix. Lifting his hips, the shaft sliding back. Thrust in again. A slow rhythm that you know belies what he really wants. His arms tremor with the tension on either side of you. Your knees hug his ribs. He kisses you and you rock against him. The movements become easier. A wet sound every time he bottoms out, his cock fully buried, the base of his groin tapping your own.

“So perfect, love. So tight around me.” He’s already perspiring. He hadn’t opened the window. The air in the room is stale and warm. You taste the salt of his leaking sweat when he kisses you.

“Francis. You feel so good…” The discomfort has subsided. Now, every motion brings nothing but pleasure. Your nails dig into his shoulders. The warning your mind attempts to deliver is ignored. You want this. You want him. You’ll worry about the consequences later.

He moans loudly. “They’ll hear you next door,” you caution.

“I don’t give a fuck. You’re mine,” he growls, nipping at your throat. “I want to mark you again. Somewhere everyone will see.” Sucking kisses near your collarbone. Moving back to your neck.

“Oh, Francis, don’t.” You know how difficult it is to conceal a hickey. You can’t allow it. Imagining greeting the residents with a bloom of raspberry on your throat after the fragile vessels beneath had burst. It was too much.

“A different kind of mark, then. Like the one I made before. Somewhere they won’t see.” There is still an ache to the healing wound he’d previously left. The sutures have been removed, the edges knitting together nicely. “I like being able to feel you when you’re not with me.” He thrusts back inside you. “I won’t hurt you, I promise. You don’t have to be afraid of me.” His pelvis jerks faster, his passion building once more. A hand snakes between your bodies, thumb stroking your clit.

“Oh…” Your hips roll up, making that finger collide more firmly. The familiar sensation of release building inside of you. The coil tightening. “Francis…”

“Cum for me, love. Want to feel you around me.”

Your lower spine is on fire. You can’t hold back any longer. You climax, the walls of your canal spasming around him as the pleasure wracks through your body. Trying to milk your partner’s release. It’s working. You recognize the tell tale shudder. The way his breathing becomes ragged. “Please let me,” he says again, his voice full of need.

“Yes.”

A sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh escapes him. His mouth at the place where your neck and shoulder meet. An instant of heat and needle sharp pain. Something piercing you. Not Francis’ teeth, but belonging to the thing inside of him. The hurt vanishes, replaced by another sensation. You’re warm again. Your body ready for another release. The wave of a second orgasm dragging the doppel through his own. You feel the wet heat of his ejaculate filling you deep inside.

The damp skin you’re clutching ripples. That hazy shimmer visible when he draws back slightly to regard your features, still buried in your womb. You haven’t seen this struggle for many days now. Nearly forgetting its existence. Allowing yourself to be deluded.

Now reminded as the imposter fights for control. The hand that had been draped loosely against your throat tightens slightly, a sharp prick of claws digging into that soft skin, nearly enough to invade that barrier. Your eyes widen in alarm. “Francis,” you manage to choke out.

He abruptly releases you. Looking at his hand as if it’s foreign to him. The movement beneath his flesh stops, the halo fading. He is whole again.

“I’m sorry. I was overwhelmed, I…” His voice trails off. You struggle to move and he withdraws. You feel his cum dripping out of you, staining the blanket beneath you. “Sweetheart.” Worry in his eyes. Touching your cheek. Your force yourself not to flinch. Not to think about the unnatural seed he’s just filled you with. What that union could possibly result in.

The bite he’s left tingles. You reach for it absently, the flesh warm beneath your fingers. It’s slightly raised and firm. Like getting an insect bite, your body reacting to the venom injected.

“It will go away. I didn’t…it’s not deep.” His fingers nudging yours, feeling the injury. “Sweetheart. You’re so quiet. Talk to me. Tell me how you’re feeling. What you’re thinking.”

“I don’t know.” There are so many of each, all competing to be heard and felt. “I think…I think I’d better go home now.”

“Stay,” he pleads. This sudden begging of his, you’re not sure what to make of it. “Even if not for the night, just stay with me.”

You shake your head. “I should go. It’s well past curfew.”

“I don’t care about your stupid government’s rules,” he snaps impatiently.

“I do. I have to live by them.” You move to sit on the side of the mattress, his hand reaching for you, settling on your scarred forearm.

“I thought about you all day. All I wanted was this. To be with you.”

“Francis. I can’t stay. Truly. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You bend to retrieve the nearest article of clothing you can reach.

“You’re upset with me.”

“I’m scared, Francis.”

“Of me?”

“Yes. No. Not just you. Everything. You guide his hand to your abdomen. “What will you do if there’s a baby?”

“Is that what you’re so concerned about?“ He sighs heavily, looking relieved. “I’ll protect it. Just like I’ll protect you.”

“They would never let us keep it. Not your species. Not the organization. The DDD would dispose of it. Your race…you wanted it for an experiment. You told me that.”

“That was before.”

“Before what?”

“You know what.”

You swallow thickly. “This is so dangerous. And you act like it’s not. They’ll kill us, Francis.”

He shakes his head firmly. “No. I won’t let that happen. Did you notice there were no doppels today?”

“I did. It’s unusual, but it does happen on occasion.”

“That’s because of me. Because they recognize this.” He caresses your marked arm. “No one would ever dare harm you.” His fingers now on the new puncture he’d created.

“Even if that’s true, it won’t stop the DDD.”

The imposter cups your cheek. “You’ve done something to me. Not something visually apparent. Something inside. I have to be with you.” He kisses you, the intially chaste gesture deepening and your hand relaxes, dropping the garment you’d retrieved back to the carpet. “Stay with me. We’ll figure it out in the morning.”

You can’t refuse.

#francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #thats not my neighbor #milkman x reader #milkman x you #francis mosses #milkman

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oreosmama · 7 months

Text

Voicemails After the Breakup (Haikyuu!! Headcanons)

*GIFs not mine*

A/N: I pity the fools who ignore this a/n bc WARNING, these are hcs without those stupid bullet points bc I have suddenly emotionally decided that they fucking suck. Anyways, I hope y'all enjoy the light angst, for all those survivors who are still vibing in this fandom. Enjoy!

Word count: 1968

Tooru Oikawa:

“I’m totally and completely over you.”

That’s how the message starts.

Part of you wonders if you missed something, or accidentally skipped ahead. It’s so immediate, like Oikawa could barely wait for the beep before tearing into you. Like he needed to spit poison the second he had the chance.

And it’s one of those biting remarks that he wants to let fester—for a while, evidently; he doesn’t say anything else for another five minutes.

All that follows is a loud thud, like he’s thrown the phone away from him. And then footsteps, like he’s pacing, pacing, pacing back and forth, trying to think of more scathing words by burning holes into his carpet.

You hit a point where you think you should delete the message, maybe try and not care about whatever else he may or may not say after waiting for so long. You nibble on your nails and tug at the snarls in your hair. You pick four pieces of lint off your sweatshirt and seventeen more off the blanket draped over your lap, and you know how many there are because you line them up and count them afterwards as you wait, anxious, listening to your ex-boyfriend’s panting.

But a small rustle stirs at that five-minute mark, right against your ear. And a sniffle.

“Fine.” Oikawa’s voice cracks. “You win.”

You suck in a breath.

“What do you wanna hear? That I miss you?” He sniffles again, then scoffs bitterly. “That I miss you so fucking much I can’t sleep at night? That my bed is so fucking cold now I can’t even stomach sleeping in it? That every girl I see I automatically compare to you because I have to—I just fucking have to, all because she’s not you. And it makes me sick.”

His chuckle is sour and crackles harshly into your eardrum. “Am I stroking your ego enough, sweetheart? Because you win. You fucking win.

“I want you back.”

He sighs, and it sounds like he’s rubbing his forehead.

“I need you back.”

More beats pass in the silence. More sniffles, too, but stretched out, like he’s trying to steady his breathing.

You don’t think it’s helping him any. As you wipe the cuffs of your sweatshirt underneath your eyes, his voice returns, thoroughly raw and wounded. It squeaks out of him, barely above a whisper. His voice is so loud and tender, like he’s cradling the phone against his cheek.

Your hand against his warm cheek, curled over that pink skin, fingertips inches away from brushing through those soft strands, wiping tears. That’s what you wish it was.

“I didn’t know…”

A shaky breath. You hold yours in return.

“I didn’t know anything could hurt this bad.”

He swallows thickly.

“Those last few moments after you left—I thought that would be the worst of it. When you just walked out. And I keep seeing you do it, over and over and over, in my head like I can’t help but torture myself with it.

“I never knew it would get so much fucking worse.”

He whimpers a little, and your heart constricts unbearably. You tear at the damn thing buried underneath your sweatshirt, massaging the skin like it can soothe that phantom ache.

Oikawa must hate you. Maybe he hates you like you hate him: not because of the breakup, but because you can go for weeks without seeing him, holding him, kissing him, and everything still hurts like that last time.

“Thing is, I could’ve sworn you weren’t always in my life. It’s been two years. Only two years. And yet I can’t remember a damn thing before us. It feels like it was always us. Some fog, and then you, and then everything afterwards. Everything that was us.”

“And I hate that we had it so good, YN. I really do. Because missing you has been the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

The frustration in his voice is familiar, a sickening sense of deja vu around it, and you latch a hand over your mouth at how vividly the image comes to you: Oikawa tearing his fingers through his hair, teeth gritted, cheeks flushed and shiny. Like when he lost a game, but different somehow.

Like this was something he didn’t even know he could lose.

He’s crumbling in a way he doesn’t know how to stop. That ugly part about having something wonderful and new—the moment it’s gone, what the hell are you supposed to do then?

“I just—Goddamnit, I can’t stand how badly it hurts anymore. I can’t,” he cries, desperate and aching, like his hand is fisting at his heart. You can hear the breath hitching in his throat, the hiccuping breaths after his sobs. You can hear every tear, feel it against your own cheeks, a soreness building at the front of your skull.

Too many tears. Your body is screaming at you, too many fucking tears.

But it’s him and he was yours and you were his.

Were.

You were his.

You had no idea how much that single thought could make your entire chest throb.

Oikawa inhales, and it makes your heart race against the thick wall caging it in, squeezing against it.

“I need to see you.”

He says the thought like it’s just slapped him across the face.

“I need to go see you, I—I have to.”

He mumbles to himself unsteadily, like he’s rocking back and forth. Debating, really, what he’s supposed to do, if he should do it at all, if it’s right after everything.

You should probably think he’s wrong.

You probably shouldn’t be curled over your phone, eyes wide, mouth open, not making a fucking peep. Waiting to hear what he’s going to do.

Maybe—just maybe—you shouldn’t be telling yourself that as the voicemail counts down to its final seconds, if he decides he’s not going to go to you, that you’ll definitely be going to him.

“I can’t just sit here. I can’t stay in here, without you. This isn’t right, I—”

Your breath hitches when you hear the frantic jingle of keys.

Then the sound of a door slamming.

His footsteps racing down his apartment’s stairwell.

A car engine revving.

“I need to see you.”

And the voicemail ends.

_________________________

Satori Tendou:

The message begins with a scoff of utter disbelief.

“Is that what we’re doing now?”

He pauses, almost like he thinks you’re going to respond.

“Heard from someone that I suddenly have syphilis. Yesterday, I had herpes though, so I guess I’m gonna have a tough week.”

A rustle like he’d shaking his head, like he can’t fucking believe it.

“And sure, okay, I figured that’s fine. You can say all that shit, and it won’t really stick because everyone knows it was us and that it’s you and you’re hurt.”

He sighs.

“But I saw it, sweetheart. I saw it.” The phone whines like he’s adjusting it against his face, and his voice is suddenly lower, darker.

“You don’t get to have it both ways, you know. You can’t spread all that shit—all those rumors about how shitty everything was and how we didn’t have anything going for us—and then turn around two days later wearing my sweatshirt. And you don’t get to wear that necklace I gave you for our anniversary and then run away from me the second you see me. That’s just not fair—you’re not playing fair anymore.”

Something swishes around like loose clothing, and a large huff greets your ear from what must be Tendou collapsing into a seat. When his little sounds become quieter, that relentless humming and the excitable clicks of his tongue against his teeth, you figure he must have put the phone on speaker and balanced it on his knee like he always did. Mid-conversation with Ushiwaka, he always used to spin his phone with those long fingers, or bounce the damn thing up and down against his frantic leg.

And the voicemail came through late last night, one of those dead hours where the only ones awake were Tendou, his scrambling thoughts, and the moths flitting back and forth outside his glowing window. He was always awake, always thinking, always doing something.

When you’d first broken up, after one long, wrenching fight where you’d both lost your voices and the frustration welled so high you just couldn’t breathe anymore, you’d been thankful for the idea of sleeping soundly for the first time in months.

You’d been wrong. You weren’t even sleeping anymore; just long, slow blinks where your phone screen would magically turn from 3:45 a.m. to 7:25 a.m., and in five minutes you’d have to get up and slug your way through another day.

Tendou had been the same. Those naturally wide eyes sagged under the pressure, and the curve of his spine had deepened like he’d been hauling the lack of sleep everywhere he went.

He must be sitting at his window now, at this moment in his message, pale skin aglow with wispy tendrils of moon. And he’s calling you. And he saw everything you’d done.

“Not fair. Not fair at all,” he whines, teasing. Always, always teasing, and if you hadn’t heard the slight cripple in his voice on the last word, you’d have gone on thinking he viewed it as one big joke.

You’re sure he heard the same thing you had—that he couldn’t keep acting like it was all fun and games. His usual, cat-like smile surely fell into a pert little frown, pale lips twisting like he’d sucked on a lemon.

No fun, no fun, no fun, he must have been thinking.

“Ya see, I thought we had a little deal,” Tendou drawls. “You’d talk smack and start dressing all pretty just to spite me, and then–and then I’d go ahead and delete all your pictures and put your name as ‘Bitch’ in my phone. And in, like, two weeks, we’d just be two ships, whoosh, whoosh, passing each other on the high seas of life, ya know?”

He breathes a ghost of a laugh.

“But, sweetheart, you look like shit.” He chuckles for real this time, and it’s disgustingly hollow. “I’m not even kidding. Like someone ran you over three times every morning—it’s horrible, really.”

You curl into yourself even further, and you’re smiling, grinning, lips peeling with how much you’ve cried and how little water you’ve drank after. You hate him; God, you hate how he can make you laugh and cry at the same time.

“But that’s okay, I’ll give you a pass just this once. I haven’t deleted your pictures yet, so I botched my end of the deal, too.” Tendou tsks his tongue.

“I won’t go easy on you, though. Here–here, how’s about this: for every day you stop wearing my clothes—because they look horrible on you, sweetheart; really, you’re painful to watch—I’ll delete one of your pictures, eh? That means, in about–uhhdivideby365daysinayearignoringleapyearbullshit–ah, seven years, I’ll have held up my end. S’that good with you?”

You lean your head back, letting the tears flood your hair as he chuckles to himself.

“Fuck it,” he says after a pause. Hopeless. Breathless. “Fuck it.” He must be gnawing on that pale lower lip, biting and nibbling until it bleeds. Because he lets something go to sigh again, and he must have smacked his head against the wall, and then you think he sniffled.

“I still want you. I’ve always wanted you. And I’m tired of missing you and wanting you. Doing both hurts too much.”

Tendou soughs.

“So I’m still your Chicken Tendy, baby. Always. And I’ll be here when you're ready, syphilis and all.”

#haikyuu x reader #oikawa x reader #tendou x reader #tendou satori x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyu x reader #satori x reader #oikawa tooru #tendou satori #satori tendou #tooru oikawa #haikyuu x reader angst #haikyuu headcanons

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biteofcherry · 3 months

Text

Echo that thunders

Bucky Barnes x female reader

summary: The life you and Bucky built has crumbled. Or so you think. But maybe some ruins can be reconstructed, if true love is given a chance?

warnings: angst; lots of feels; hurt/comfort; divorced couple; mention of past infidelity; marital problems; both Reader and Bucky are self-blaming and self-punishing idiots; and obviously are still deeply in love; they need therapy and I encourage that; reconciling intimacy (yes, I mean sex with feelings and tears); Alpine is almost squeezed to death with love (truly affectionately);

word count: 6k

Author's Note: This is my entry for Eight Types of Love challenge from @the-slumberparty. I took a twist on pragma: exes with feelings.

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Every week the hollow in your chest would ache and you’d try to cram it with sweetness of fleeting moments: catching the pure joy and love on your little boy’s face, mulling your sorrow with pastries that you’d eat alone, then quiet your longing with laughter and shouts of your friends.

You made it look like it was easy, like you didn’t die a little every damn Friday when you drove your son to his father’s place.

Maybe you’d feel better if it was the mother missing her baby boy for the weekend, but the wounds opened not for the few days of empty nest, but because seeing Bucky ripped you to pieces.

You wouldn’t avoid it, though. He loved your son so much, was so happy to spend every possible day with him and you would never take that away from either of them.

Even if it hurt.

Truth be told, you wouldn’t let anyone take that away from you, either. Because the pain of seeing Bucky was also sprinkled with that fluttering, bittersweet feeling. Love that you still harbored.

You didn’t think it was possible to ever stop loving Bucky.

As you proved, it was possible to divorce him, but it didn’t sever the hold he had on your heart and soul.

So you welcomed the ache in your chest as an invisible iron fist clenched its cold claws around your heart, when Bucky smiled and waved at you from the sidewalk in front of his building. You knew he waved at your little boy, who was already bouncing in his seat, but you couldn’t help the smile spreading on your lips in return.

“Hi, rascals!” Bucky greeted you, the same way he’s been greeting the both of you ever since your son was born.

He waited for you to round the car after you parked it, loosely wrapping an arm around your middle and giving you that awkward half-hug.

You assumed it was as awkward for him as it was for you, though for different reasons.

Bucky was simply nice, trying his hardest to maintain a good rapport with you for the sake of your son, while he had to be repulsed by you inwardly. For you, the hug was difficult, because you always craved to bury yourself within his arms and feel that protective, loving hold.

“Hi,” you smiled and ducked under his arm, before he noticed that pathetic longing shining in your eyes.

You went to retrieve a small bag and backpack with Stevie’s clothes and belongings, while Bucky unbuckled your son from the car seat and scooped the boy up in his arms. Joyous squeal “Daddy!” melted you all over again, reminding you how ecstatic the boy was every time Bucky returned home - no matter if he’s been gone a few days on a mission, or just an hour running errands.

When you turned to them, the sight of them grinning at each other froze you on the spot. You were aware that Stevie shared some of Bucky’s mimics, but it was that moment when your boy pressed his cheek to Bucky’s and they both looked your way with lopsided grins that shattered your heart into pieces.

You squashed the flare of sorrow inside, saving it for later when you’re alone with a pint of ice cream.

Bucky had suggested a couple of times that he could come pick Stevie up from your place, but you were too scared of seeing Bucky back in the apartment where you all used to live together. Where the love and happiness were supposed to be forever.

You were scared he’d come inside and see that you still had a few photographs of him on the shelves.

You reasoned that it was for the sake of your son, so that he felt his dad’s presence at all times, but you couldn’t fully let go of Bucky yourself.

“Hey,” Bucky took the bag from your hands, but left you holding Stevie’s backpack. “Can you come upstairs for a second? I wanted to talk something over.”

He always invited you under the pretext of talking over some details regarding Stevie, but ended up dealing with it in two sentences and then coaxing you into a neutral small talk that left you all the more missing him.

Yet you couldn’t force yourself to say no.

“Sure.” You nodded, squeezing the strap of the small, red backpack in your trembling fingers.

Bucky’s apartment, which he got after you filed for divorce, was small, but clean and spacious enough for a four year old and a cat.

Alpine stuck her head from behind a wall when you entered. She made a tiny meowing sound and walked forward, but the second Bucky put your son on his feet the cat bolted away. Stevie of course followed, running after the furball with glee.

“So I know there’s still plenty of time to plan summer vacation-” Bucky started, leading you toward the counter separating the kitchen from the living room- “but Sam invited us to Louisiana, to spend a few weeks at his sister’s place.”

“Oh.” It was instinctive, that very first thought about your baby boy being away for weeks. In a different state, nonetheless.

However, you promised yourself to not be an overprotective, controlling mother. And you trusted Bucky with your son at all times.

“That sounds fun.” You relaxed your shoulders and smiled. “I’m sure Stevie will love it. Especially if you take him on a boat.”

He was in a marine fascination phase. At least once every few weeks you had to go to the aquarium and turn on Discovery channel instead of morning cartoons.

“Maybe I’ll manage to re-do his bedroom, while he’s away with you,” cogs in your brain started turning. “It’d be a fun surprise when he gets back.”

“Won’t you need help with that?” Bucky asked, perking up. “We could do that on the weekend when he’s with your parents? You know I’d be happy to help. We can rope Sam into it, too.”

He sounded so eager. For a fleeting moment you enjoyed the warmth at the thought of the two of you doing something for your son together, but you quickly reminded yourself that Bucky would do absolutely anything for Stevie, including dealing with your presence.

“Umm, sure,” you swallowed nervously, “if you’re not on a mission.”

You regretted saying it, seeing a flash of guilt on Bucky’s face.

It was a sore subject and bringing it up hurt you both.

You always admired Bucky for what he did, how much he risked to save others. It didn’t change the fact, however, that saving the world meant neglecting you at times. He tried his best, you knew he did. Still, it hurt when you spent some nights and celebrations alone.

“We’ve made some changes on the rooster.” Bucky didn’t look at you as he talked, instead focusing on taking out ingredients from the fridge. “It’s doable to book some dates as non-active.”

“That’s good!” You tried to sound genuinely happy for him, while inside you felt a wave of rage that the accommodation wasn’t made when you needed it in the past. “All of you deserve rest and to, you know, live your private lives, too.”

“Yeah.” Bucky’s shoulders drove up in tension even as he nodded.

You stayed quiet for a long moment, the sound of your son’s giggles coming from the bedroom where he chased Alpine filled the space, but didn’t ease the sudden heaviness.

“I better-” you started at the same time that Bucky began:

“Do you want to-”

Both of you paused, but before either motioned at the other to finish, you were interrupted by a pitiful meow and soft paddle of your four year old’s feet.

You both turned and watched your son wobble as he carried Alpine. Though carried was a bit of a stretch to describe two tiny arms tightly wrapped around the upper half of the cat’s body, with its head barely sticking out and two front legs sticking upwards while the rest of the furry body dangled down.

You quickly covered your mouth to stifle the burst of laughter, but Bucky behind you couldn’t help the snort.

“Buddy.” He moved around the counter and crouched in front of Stevie. “Alpine knows you love her lots and want to play with her, but this is a bit uncomfortable for her.”

You thought the cat is an actual saint for not having yet scratched Stevie for all the love she was getting from him.

“Hey!” You chimed in, reaching for the small backpack. “You forgot about the present you have for Alpine.”

“Mousey!” Stevie dropped the cat almost instantly and ran towards you.

“A present, huh?” Bucky placated Alpine, scratching her behind the ear while she rubbed against his leg.

“Made it with mommy!” Your son beamed proudly after you fished out the small toy from his backpack. “For artses-” which was his version of saying art classes. “But mommy said it’s perfect for Apine.”

It was a bright blue, slightly askew, crocheted mouse. With a very, very long tail. You thought it would be perfect for Stevie to hold the end of the tail and slide the mouse across the floor, so Alpine could chase it.

“It really is,” Bucky nodded, noticing that the soft toy had caught Alpine’s attention. “Why don’t you run around with it, play nicely with Alpine, while I make us spaghetti?”

Stevie didn’t have to be told twice. Alpine seemed eager for this kind of play, as well. Chasing a new toy surely was more preferable than being squeezed to death.

Bucky straightened. His tall, broad figure filled your vision. He was much closer now, with no counter separating you. He looked after your son fondly, then his soft gaze switched to you. Not for a second did the affection fade in his eyes as he looked at you.

“Thank you,” he almost whispered, touching your shoulder gently.

You wanted to blurt out that there was nothing to thank for, but you understood what he meant. The same way you were grateful for his concern whenever you had a cold and he took Stevie so you could rest (bringing you some chicken broth on his way), or that he picked you up when your car died. The small gestures each of you displayed, that betrayed care neither of you seemed to be able to lose.

Bucky’s hand slowly slid down your arm and because you were so lost in the blue of his eyes and the tenderness of the moment, you forgot to brace yourself for the small sting that his touch brought when he passed your forearm.

You winced.

Unfortunately, Bucky noticed.

Instantly, he stilled. His hand remained on your forearm, but his touch eased. His gaze flicked from your face to the spot covered by your sleeve and up to your face again.

“What is it?” Worry pinched his features. “Are you injured?”

He moved even closer, angling his head so he could maintain eye contact with you, even though he towered over you. He gently took your wrist into his metal hand and carefully rolled your sleeve up.

“It’s nothing. It’s-”

Words died on your tongue when Bucky’s gaze hardened, a muscle in his jaw twitching, as his gaze landed on the injured spot.

There were no visible bruises. Not to you, anyway. You mostly felt the tenderness of that area than saw any marks. But Bucky’s senses were enhanced and he definitely could see the difference in the smallest changes of your skin, the barest hint of different pigmentation.

And, much to your dismay, you could never lie to him.

“Who did that?” Bucky kept calm, but you sensed the concern bursting into protective rage inside of him.

“Someone, who is no longer in the picture.” You replied, tilting your chin up. “I may have not expected it happening, but once it did, I wouldn’t chance it repeating.”

The whole attempt at dating was so uncomfortable for you, but seeing some pap pictures of Bucky with an unknown female had made you impulsively agree to the fifth invite from a guy from accountants.

It was irrational and irresponsible - as some of your past mistakes. There was nothing that suggested Bucky and that woman were connected in any way beside the work area. They weren’t even alone in that place. It’s just that he had his hand on her back and she was giving him a flirtatious smile.

Well, your jealous brain told you it’s flirtatious. The same brain that forgot to remind you that it was no longer your business if and whom Bucky was dating.

So you went on the stupid date yourself, feeling all kinds of wrong during it. Then got a glimpse of what shit you almost got yourself into, when you wanted to end your date short and the guy called you a tease. His hold on your forearm when you tried to leave was forceful enough to leave a painful reminder.

“I’d still like to know the name.” Bucky’s gaze shone a dark glint; plates in his metal arm moved in a reflection of muscles tensing.

“No need.” Placing your free hand on his chest to soothe him was a habit, you didn’t even realize you were doing it. “I promise you, he won’t ever find himself near Stevie.”

Bucky frowned at that. Suddenly, he was letting go of your arm and cupping the side of your face instead.

“Baby,” it slipped out of his mouth as mindlessly and naturally as you touched him.

“I know you’d never let anyone hurt our son. But no harm should come your way, either. The guy deserves having his fingers dislocated.”

Bucky wasn’t a violent person. His past, which was beyond his control, painted a certain picture that some people still believed in. But you knew how soft-hearted and kind he really was. He used force and combat in missions, but his teammates knew he would be the first one to show mercy and pull back his punches.

However, he was protective. And when he entered that mode, he could be very scary.

Your fingers on his chest clenched slightly, gripping the fabric of his soft, blue henley; as if you were trying to stop him from marching away and finding whoever posed as a threat.

You felt the steady thud of Bucky’s heartbeat beneath your palm, the rhythm of his breath. You sensed the moment his muscles slightly relaxed.

“How about-” hands cupping your face slowly slid down and away, but Bucky didn’t put any distance between you- “you stay for dinner and we’ll talk more about it later?”

There was nothing to talk about, really. Or maybe there was, but it shouldn’t be Bucky giving you the talk. His concern only messed with your head and your heart, leaving you with incomparable longing and aching solitude when you went back home.

You opened your mouth to refuse his proposal, but your son suddenly found himself nearby and torpedoed your resilience.

“You gonna stay mommy?” He looked up at you with big, hopeful eyes.

Bucky and you made sure to be together for important events like Stevie’s birthday, or kindergarten recitals, or even for the 4th of July. But day to day everything happened separately. You didn’t share meals, or walks, or trips the way you used to when you were married.

You were aware of the impact it had on your son, but one can’t be divorced and still spend every day with each other.

However, you couldn’t find the strength at the moment to crush your son’s unexpected spark of joy at the prospect of something so simple like spending the afternoon with both of his parents.

You couldn’t deny your deep, wallowing desire to spend some more time in Bucky’s presence, either. As self-harming as it could be.

“Um-” you swallowed nervously as you looked down at your little boy. “Yeah- yes, I’ll stay. You know I always liked your daddy’s cooking.”

Your heart nearly burst when Stevie launched himself forward, wrapping his small arms around yours and Bucky’s legs. Then he was running away, with even more bounce to his skip than before.

To your relief, Bucky easily switched the topic to casual conversation as you joined him in the kitchen to help prepare dinner. He told you a few latest, funny stories; gushed about a new book series he started reading; asked about your dad’s knee surgery.

Falling into this comfortable pattern of domesticity with him was too easy. Like you haven’t been living separately for the past year, nursing deeply hidden resentment (which you expected from Bucky) and heartbreak. You knew it would hit you harder when you got back home, step into that silent, empty bedroom, which once upon a time was your nest of safety, laughter and love.

All of which you blew up.

You didn’t protest too strongly when Bucky fed your son an extra portion of ice cream after dinner, you were too distracted with your own ache that was spreading its nasty vines over you.

You played with the melting scoops in your own bowl as Bucky picked up a half-asleep Stevie and carried him to the bedroom. Alpine trotter right after them. From the occasional pictures that Bucky sent you when Stevie was staying at his place, you knew that the cat would jump onto the bed next to your boy and fall asleep with him.

When Bucky returned and sat beside you on the couch, his presence almost toppled you into a sobbing fit.

Once upon a time, you’d cuddle on the sofa in your living room and talk for hours, or watch shows, or make out. Even sitting in silence, while Bucky read a book and you browsed social media, was comforting and easy.

There was nothing easy about it now. Because that desperate need to crawl into his arms and have him chase the sorrows away couldn’t be sated.

“I’m sorry about earlier.” Bucky’s quiet voice surprised you.

You blinked as you looked at him, slightly confused with what he was talking about.

“I know you’re responsible and very strong. You’re more than capable of looking after yourself and don’t need my meddling in your intimate life.” He said, staring down at some spot and not meeting your eyes.

The words intimate life sounded as if he almost choked on them.

“I know it’s too late to mend what I fucked up.” He sighed, bowing his head even lower.

Your heart ached, seeing him so resigned.

“James Buchanan Barnes, what the hell are you talking about?!” Instinct to rush to his aid kicked you from your stupor.

The anger at yourself heightened as once again you saw first hand how much you hurt him. Bucky wasn’t flawless, but he didn’t deserve what you’ve put him through. To know that your actions added to his tendency to self-blame, only made you hate yourself more.

“It was me who fucked everything up.” You countered, setting the bowl on the coffee table with a loud thud. You shifted on the couch, turning your body so that you could face Bucky directly.

“I broke what we had. I- I broke your heart and you never deserved such awful treatment!”

Neither of you deserved all that pain, but it was on you to take the responsibility for it.

“I’m not gonna lie, the divorce hurt more than falling off that damn train…” Bucky’s voice quivered with emotion; his fingers shook slightly as he wiped his palms on his thighs.

“Divorce?” You paused, slightly stunned. “I mean, I know it was hard. For both of us. But I knew I needed to set you free after what I’ve done.”

It was Bucky’s turn to frown, his muscles pinching in a quizzical look as if he didn't understand what you were aiming at, at all.

“Bucky, I cheated on you!” You hissed loudly, but minding your voice enough to not wake your son.

There it was. The heaviest of truths which triggered the whole domino effect and which both of you avoided naming directly.

But Bucky deserved it - you admitting your faults. There was enough on his shoulders and you couldn’t stand the thought of him taking this burden onto him as well, when it was yours to pay for.

Bucky’s face cleared of confusion, however his frown deepened.

“What I know is that you were hurt, alone and inebriated. A state some douchebag took advantage of.” There was an undertone of anger in his tone, but not directed at you.

You shook your head in exasperation.

Leave it to Bucky Barnes to be an understanding, chivalrous knight. It was a wonderful trait, but shouldn’t apply on all occasions, to all people. It definitely should be directed at you. As much as you’d love to follow that reasoning, you had enough self-awareness and responsibility to not go easy on yourself.

“Being drunk doesn’t excuse what I did.” You stated.

“It wouldn’t, if that was your aim.” Bucky argued. “But tell me, did you go to that bar because you were looking for a hookup? To get back at me?” He rushed with his counter arguments.

When you tried to turn your head slightly to avoid his gaze, he squeezed your chin between his fingers and gently guided you to look back at him.

It was hard. To face him when the memories of that awful evening replayed in your head, bringing back a wave of shame and regret. You vomited three days in a row after that night; and only the first half of the first day was due to the alcohol. All the rest was stress and guilt.

“No, you didn’t.” Bucky continued when you remained silent.

“You went there, because it was our anniversary and I wasn’t home. I was on a mission. Again,” he sighed regretfully, aware of how his absence weighed down on you. “You went to the bar which we often went to on our dates, before we got married. Probably cursing my ass for absence on another important day and drinking the pain away.”

That was true. Your parents took Stevie for the whole weekend, starting Friday. It was supposed to be a carefree, romantic time for you and Bucky. Even if he would need to just be lazy in bed for an entire day, to recharge after a mission, you still would be together.

While Bucky returned from one mission, he jumped onto another one right away. He called you to say that he’d be later than he first anticipated, but in the craze of it forgot what date exactly was it.

You were understanding. Or, well, you tried to be. There was a whole monologue you gave yourself as you paced the floor of your apartment, convincing yourself that your husband was saving someone. So that someone else could return to their family.

But you still felt bitter and angry that your husband didn’t return to you for something that was supposed to be important to the both of you.

When you went out to that bar, which wasn’t that far from your place, your plan was to have a drink or two and wallow in self-pity. Perhaps to be passive-aggressive, take a picture of yourself all dolled up and send it to Bucky with happy anniversary wishes.

That was it.

Then that man joined you. For a conversation, at first. Two drinks turned into four. Then five. To be honest, at some point his face got a little blurry. He had dark hair, like Bucky. Had his arm wrapped around your middle the way Bucky often did.

At some point your drunk brain was certain it was Bucky fucking you, not some stranger you just met at the bar.

“I could’ve chosen to stay at home.” You argued, clenching your fingers into fists so hard that your fingernails needled your skin.

“I could have drunk a bottle or two of wine alone in the safety of our home and sent you angry, slurred messages. Or wait for your return and throw something heavy at your head.” There were so many choices to be made that night.

“Instead, I made a mess of our lives…” the words fell out of your lips in a broken whisper, your eyes filling with tears.

“And I forgave you.” Bucky said softly as he released your chin.

“Hell, I don’t even think I was angry with you.” He huffed, running a hand through his hair in a nervous manner. “Oh, I was pissed and hurt!” He gave you a pointed look when you opened your mouth to protest. “I even tracked that man and… well, let’s not talk about things that thankfully didn’t happen once I saw him.”

“Most of all, I was angry with myself,” Bucky suddenly deflated.

“Why?” You frowned, barely stopping yourself from reaching out to caress his cheek.

“Because I let it happen.” Bucky sighed and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his thighs. “It was my constant absence that started those clouds over our heads. I was so focused on redeeming myself that I took on more missions than I should.”

A part of you wanted to contradict him, to convince him that he wasn’t doing anything wrong. But there was also a part of you that was still resenting him for doing that, for constantly choosing others over you.

“I think I also wanted to feel needed, which is why I joined teams even though they could’ve handled things without my presence.” He shifted again, sitting across the couch with one leg bent, so he could face you fully.

He was more hesitant as he reached out for you again. Though you didn’t flinch away, he still dropped his hand as he revealed his own guilt:

“I forgot that you needed me, too.”

You still did. But you wouldn’t dare to tell him that.

“What you do is important. You save lives.” You said quietly, but there wasn’t as much heat to it as you’d like to present.

“I didn’t save us.” Bucky’s words opened the gate to the feelings you tried to stifle for many months.

You almost lifted your fist to angrily rub away the tears threatening to spill, but Bucky reached for you faster. His warm palms rested on your fists; he squeezed them gently.

“Baby, I remember when you mentioned therapy.” He admitted, wincing at the memory of signals which he ignored. “You tried to say it so casually, I know you were afraid of telling me directly that you needed me to save our marriage. I dismissed it.”

“You hate therapy. I didn’t want to force you into it.” There wouldn’t be any point in attending any sessions, if Bucky would stay guarded.

You understood his hesitance, too. The mandatory therapy he went to a few years back was hard for him, not only because of the topics he had to deal with, but he didn’t feel emotionally safe or comfortable with the appointed professional.

“I disliked my assigned therapist.” Bucky pointed out, with a slight eye roll. “There are hundreds of therapists in this city. I’m sure there’s at least one that I could connect with.” Suddenly, he shook his head. “Or hell with how much I like a therapist, it should be about me connecting with you!”

He let go of your hands and cupped your face instead.

“I wonder-” he leaned forward, closing the distance between you. “I’ve been wondering, if I didn’t fuck up by signing those divorce papers so easily.”

He did it without much questioning. Which only strengthened your notion that he was repulsed by you and couldn’t wait to be as far from you as possible. You didn’t blame him.

“I understood that. After what I’ve done.” You whispered.

A single tear rolled down your cheek, stopping on Bucky’s thumb.

“I couldn’t look you in the eye, because I was so ashamed. I wanted to give you a chance to find someone worthy of you.” More tears flowed.

Bucky tenderly wiped them away.

“I don’t think I’m worth a single hair on your pretty head.” He said, resting his forehead against yours. “I signed those papers, because I thought you were going to find happiness with someone else. That you wanted to build a life with someone else.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” You would shake your head, if Bucky wasn’t holding you in place.

If his hold didn’t feel so overwhelmingly wonderful.

“Why not?” Bucky asked, incredulously. “You’re the most amazing, kind, smart, beautiful-”

“Because I’m in love with you.” You blurted out.

Your eyes widened when you realized what you said. Scorching shame mixed with a sudden wave of cold fear as Bucky slowly pulled away and stared at you in shock.

He was still cupping your face, though.

“Say that again, baby?” Bucky’s tone was a whisper, like he was afraid he’d burst some magical bubble if he moved or spoke louder. “Please,” he squeezed your cheeks slightly.

Maybe the best choice would be to take those words back. Or to start listing all the arguments to why it didn’t matter. But you couldn’t lie to Bucky. You never could. Especially not when he was looking at you with those beautiful blue eyes, filled with hope.

“I love you, Bucky,” you confessed. “I never stopped loving you.”

Tears streaming down your face were warm, but they felt much colder when compared to the warmth of Bucky’s lips on yours.

He kissed you with reverence and despair, like the first gulp of breath after drowning in murky waters for much too long. There was nothing but his closeness, beckoning you like a flare in the darkness. You followed the coaxing of his lips, the unspoken vows he sealed with his mouth.

You weren’t even fully aware of your body moving, yielding to Bucky’s smooth maneuvers. Until the full weight of him rested on top of you.

He provided both that shield of safety and heavy temptation that had your legs spreading to accommodate him.

“I never stopped, either.” Bucky croaked out as he broke the kiss; his lips still brushed against yours as he spoke.

“I love you so much. So much, baby.” It crushed your heart to see his own cheeks glistening with tears. “Please, can we try again? Let me mend it. Please.” He begged.

Bucky sounded so helpless and so hopeful at the same time. If your heart was set in cold stone, it would still shatter for him like a fragile glass.

“I should be the one mending it,” you pressed your fingertips to his cheek.

“Us. We’re going to do this together,” he briefly closed his eyes, leaning into your touch.

“Always together,” you agreed and tipped your lips upwards, tempting Bucky into another kiss.

Months of distance surely added fuel to the fire of need, but Bucky’s touch always had the power to ignite your desire. Him being on top of you, the kiss deepening, his hand traveling down your side - your body responded instantly.

You wrapped your arms around him; one hand combing through his hair, the other mapping his broad back. Your legs were already spread to accommodate his hips between yours, but as Bucky continued to kiss and touch you, your knees drew up higher and your hips rolled against him.

Bucky’s responding grinding was most welcome, but he suddenly froze.

“Baby,” he groaned, almost in pain. “I don’t want to ruin the moment, but if you keep doing that I’m going to lose it.”

“Need you,” you whined.

You grabbed a fistful of his hair and slipped your other hand beneath his blue henley. You bit your bottom lip as you looked at him and rocked your hips into his once again.

“Need to feel you!”

For months you were deprived of any intimate touch, somehow not in the mood to even give yourself a release with your pitiful toys. To even think of anyone beside Bucky ever touching you like that made you nauseous. And you missed it so much!

Missed the way Bucky played your body. The way he felt inside of you.

“Bucky, please!” There was urgency in your tone that made Bucky snap to attention.

His gaze held yours for a moment longer, as if assessing that you were as sure as you sounded. A glint brightened his steel blue eyes and he swiped his tongue over his bottom lip in the most sensual way. That had your clit pulsing wildly.

“You always beg so prettily,” he murmured against your skin as began chaining kisses along your jawline. “I’ve got you, baby.”

Bucky braced his weight on his metal arm as he used his other hand to pull up the layers of your tulle skirt. You shivered, nipples pebbling, as his touch shifted to the inside of your thigh and wandered upwards.

He pressed the pads of his fingers against your throbbing clit, finding your panties already damp. It wasn’t a novelty how quickly your body responded to Bucky’s ministrations, but it seemed that longing for him sped up the process.

Bucky swallowed your moan in a messy kiss as he pressed harder on your nub. While you loved the way he sometimes drew this pleasure out, how long he could spend just fingering and licking you, it wasn’t what you needed at the moment.

You dropped both of your hands to his hips then slid them between your bodies to fumble with Bucky’s zipper.

“Fuck!” He cursed, dropping more of his weight onto you when you freed his cock out and wrapped your fingers around him.

“I’m afraid I won’t last long this time,” he groaned, tugging the fabric of your panties aside. “I’ll make it up to you, baby, I promise. But, fuck, it’s been so long since I felt you-”

“Uh-huh,” you nodded fervently, not really listening to him.

All your focus was on that throbbing need that spiked even higher as you guided the tip of Bucky’s cock inside you.

It was everything - the stretch of his girth spearing through your neglected pussy, his scent and warmth, his mouth sucking on your neck, his moan at the feel of your tight walls gripping him - that had your body seizing in the most rushed climax. Already, while he was barely halfway in.

You dug your fingernails into Bucky’s hips as your legs shook; your upper half curling up, face buried in the crook of Bucky’s neck to muffle your cries of pleasure. Your walls clenched so hard it was almost painful, then fluttered in a crescendo of aftershocks.

“Sorry, sorry,” you babbled, falling onto your back and squirming as the orgasm continued to tingle in every part of your body.

“Sorry?” Bucky choked on breath. “My girl cumming for me so fast is an ego boost beyond any other,” he chuckled.

He always had the ability to make you fall apart rather quickly, but that was a new record. Provided by suppressed sexual tension and emotional connection you were deprived of for so long.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Bucky cooed as he continued to slide into your fluttering cunt, “I’ll give you more.”

He shifted his hand, so that his thumb brushed over your swollen clit. He moved with no rush, but each of his thrusts was deep, nearly painfully so. As if Bucky sought more of that connection; needed it as fiercely as you.

As promised, he made you cum again. Then shuddered within your embrace as he followed you over the edge. And though your heart was thundering in your chest from the exertion, it was the first time you felt complete and at peace since a very long time.

You welcomed Bucky’s full weight as you laid spent, your hands drawing soothing patterns on his back. His cock was still nestled inside of you; neither of you wanted to lose that intimate connection too soon. You rested, listening to each other’s breathing and soaking in the comfort of being together.

When Bucky fucked you again a while later, it was more languid and sensual. He made breathless vows of love, curling his metal fingers around your throat and squeezing just enough to spill more of your warm tears. He confessed his need for you in his life as he increased his pace, tilting your ass with his other hand, so he could spill deeper inside of you.

In the morning, as he woke up early with the intention of going to the bakery and getting fresh treats for your family breakfast, there was so much brightness in Bucky’s eyes. So much love and happiness, like on the day your son was born.

As you looked at your own reflection in the mirror in his bathroom, you saw the same spark in your own eyes.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #eight types of love challenge #the-slumberparty #navy and roo's slumber party #echo that thunders #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine

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verysium · 5 months

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bllk characters and what you think would be their type or what they find attractive in a girl?🙈💗💌

i mean... 🤔 do u want the truthful answer or do u want the ideal answer? cus i don't think any of the bllk boys (maybe with the exception of otoya and aiku) would have a type, much less let it be limited to a girl. but assuming they actually have a life outside of football, here are some traits they would find attractive in a person:

isagi would like someone he can see as a role model. throughout his life, he often finds figures that inspire him (eg. noel noa, ego, even rin if you squint hard enough). he doesn't idolize them, but he does find a way to incorporate their strengths into his playing style and actions. if you have a character trait he highly values, he will like you, and it's generally pretty easy to get him to like you. (unless of course, you're a massive dick like kaiser.)

i find that he gets along best with kurona and hiori. this is because (1) they can read his intentions well, and (2) they are quiet and level-headed. obviously, this would also apply to the romantic side of his life. isagi admires people who are similar to him but still have their own quirks and idiosyncrasies. for example, you subtly support him from behind the scenes and bring him snacks after practice and pack his bento every morning. he appreciates small gestures of kindness.

isagi is also someone very hot-headed as evidenced by his potty mouth. he likes someone who can match his energy and passion but is still calm enough to prevent him from doing anything rash. i picture him running up to you after a game, and the adrenaline causes him to pick you up from out of the stands and twirl you around in his arms.

canonically, isagi is unpopular with girls. he literally returned from valentine's day empty-handed. he tries to be nice most times, but truthfully, nothing except football really interests him. so if you can skip the small talk and start drafting football plays with him, i think he would be attracted to you. like very attracted.

unrelated but he likes someone with a pretty laugh.

bachira needs someone motherly. i feel like he never really got to be a child because everyone around him was constantly putting him down for being the "weird" kid. that's why his current personality is undeniably childish at times. it's the only way he can express the inner child he had before he grew up too fast. i think he'd like people who take care of him in a parental manner, whether that's scolding him for doing something stupid, wiping his chin cus he's a messy eater, or teaching him english every day.

i feel bachira is one of the most extroverted characters in blue lock. he genuinely thrives off his interactions with others. and for that reason, i think he'd be attracted to introverts because they differ so greatly from him. (he'd probably adopt them too.)

bachira has the most creative insults, and that's partially why he gets along so well with isagi. he's not afraid to get out of his comfort zone, nor is he afraid of pushing others to do the same. if this boy can hallucinate whole monsters, he can sure as hell rip his opponents into pieces. i feel like he'd have such a stark duality around you. he'd be beating the crap out of the other team, but the moment he sees you, he's all sunshine and rainbows and bounding over to ask you about your day and overshare about his.

ADHD. that's it. that's the quote. if you're hyperactive, then he's hyperactive, and you'll both be rocking the same boat. most people would assume he needs a grounding presence in his life, but i think post u-20 arc bachira is actually mature enough to process his own issues. now he just needs someone to let loose and have a little fun with.

rin needs a therapist. end of story. this boy is a whole case study. i don't think he's even mentally stable enough to have a romantic relationship. but if he were to date someone, i'd imagine that person is somewhat similar to isagi (and no, this is not a ship.)

isagi has something rin definitively lacks, and that is his strong, dynamic sense of self. when rin fails, he takes it heart. all solutions are linear and logical to him. if he missed a goal, it was because he didn't train hard enough. if he couldn't beat sae, it was because he just wasn't good enough.

but isagi completely changes his mindset every time he loses. (there's a reason why he's surrounded by puzzle pieces all the time.) analyzing is second nature to him. every failure is a catalyst for self-improvement, and he constantly breaks himself down in order to adapt and rebuild. rin needs someone like that in his life, someone who can teach him to be unafraid of change and embrace it instead.

rin also isn't immune to external influences. obviously, he is still learning to play football for himself. looking at the pxg version of him, he has had a significant change in mindset, but he still hasn't completely separated himself from this idea of "beating" someone in order to get to the top. according to his logic, if he surpasses both sae and isagi, he will finally be content. but the truth is, he won't be anywhere near content because his ego still isn't entirely his own. i think he would admire someone who refuses to let themselves be defined by others.

rin would also like someone who is patient because he clearly isn't. (boy was about to have a whole brain aneurysm when bachira threw that paper airplane at him.) honestly, you need to be both gentle and persistent with him. he hates it when people come on too strong, but he also finds his walls slowly crumbling when someone repeatedly goes out of their way to show that they care.

rin has a high level of emotional intelligence, as evidenced by sae's comments about his intuition. however, he can only work out a person's thought process about halfway before he starts to feel lost himself. for example, he can understand that sae dislikes losing, but he doesn't understand that it's innately tied to sae's self-worth and expectations as the eldest child/genius prodigy/role model. if he's going to romantically date anyone, then they need to be extremely skilled in the art of communication. otherwise, rin is going to easily misinterpret things.

finally, i think he'd like someone who knows how to comfort him. rin overthinks. like a lot. the cogs in his brain are constantly whirring. you need to lay him down on your lap and run your fingers through his hair and tell him that everything's going to be alright. (and it is going to be alright, because you're about to move both heaven and earth for him to make it stay that way.)

kaiser has no set type, but if he did, it would also be isagi (i'm sorry but yoichi is our harem princess for a reason.) kaiser oscillates between this superiority and inferiority complex. he even admits he was weak-hearted once.

any and all attraction is heightened for him because he gets obsessed easily. (like did you see his massive desktop displays of isagi? tell me that does not scream high-key yandere shit to you.)

however, more so than people, kaiser is fixated on ideals. he literally got a cheesy blue rose tattoo to remind himself that nothing is impossible, and he stands naked in front of his mirror every morning repeating the motto: "this is me." the self-esteem issues are glaringly obvious.

now, rather than completely shatter his entire worldview like isagi did, you need to be the one to gently (and i stress, gently) remind him that sometimes ideals aren't everything. kaiser is unpredictable, but the one thing that stays constant about him is the many masks he hides behind. everything is a role to him, and he takes center stage. but you need to convince him that none of this really matters. he doesn't need to bedazzle himself in tattoos and dye his hair and sport a mullet-rattail hybrid to be worthy of attention. sometimes his ugly bed head and dark circles are precisely the reason you love him.

second of all, you need to set firm boundaries (otherwise you'll end up like ness.) kaiser wants someone with a backbone, and he does not turn a blind eye to raw potential. victory is his end goal, and if you can bring him one step closer to that, he will stick to you. the only issue here is that you need to make sure he does not use you. and believe me, he will try. but if you draw a strong line between you two and stand your ground, he will start to see you in a new light. it can go both ways (love or hate), but either way you are someone important in his eyes.

lastly, i think he wants someone with a sense of humor. he's naturally cocky, and he needs someone to match his wit. ness already does that, but he doesn't give kaiser enough challenge. in my mind, i imagine kaiser trying to impress you with his german, but you give him a good run for his money when you already know how to speak it. things like that. he thinks it's hot when you can stand up to his level. but at the end of the day, your loyalty still lies with him, and you're not above/below him but rather the one standing beside him.

barou doesn't have a type. he is the type. you're lucky to have him.

otoya likes cute girls, even better when they have the standard fringe/bob cut look. he also lives for the height difference. teasing short girls by patting their heads is his signature move. he also likes it when girls wear lipgloss, like a sparkly candy pink shade, maybe even a spritz of perfume. he's also type to make fun of the little chubby pooch you get when you eat too much. he thinks it's adorable. personality-wise, it doesn't matter. he's going to cheat anyways. jk but on a more serious note, the person he's likely going to stay with forever is someone who can forgive his weaknesses and actually make the effort to understand him. instead of writing him off as an immature two-timer, he'd appreciate people who can actually hear him out. obviously, it doesn't excuse any of his actions, but it lets him know that you do indeed care.

aiku says he likes anyone who looks easy to break up with, but it's actually the opposite. he tends to go for older women who end up slapping him in the face. he's a womanizer, but he actually has a significant amount of character depth. generally, he's someone who goes with the flow, and nothing really upsets him. but to actually get to know him and his insecurities, you'd have to be someone really important to him. i think aiku is the type to be a serial dater before he finds someone he'll actually stick to. he's afraid of commitment, and it's for good reason. the authority figures in his life have failed him enough times to be considered unreliable. please be kind to him because the childhood trauma was not. i smell lots of emotional baggage here.

nagi likes the flame type because it has few weaknesses and helped him clear three levels in digimon. oh wait, you mean his ideal type? yeah, he does not know what that is, and he's too lazy to think of one. currently he's in the middle of fighting a custody battle for choki, and he's losing to a certain purple-haired freak. please come back later.

reo likes wine aunties lol. it's canon that he prefers older women, but i think it's just because they tend to know what they want. he likes people who have a set goal and are constantly working towards it. he himself diverts all his time and resources into football once he discovers that it is his calling.

i think he's the type to be extremely popular but not actually have any deep, long-lasting connections with any of his friends. he knows a lot of people, but he doesn't know them well. that's also why he gets so attached to nagi because nagi is the first person to really know him. in a way, i think that'd translate over to the people he loves as well. he likes people who don't beat around the bush. if they like him for who he is, they'll say it outright. he doesn't need to do any digging or engage in any form of the pretentious formalities he despises.

reo is rich, which is both a blessing and a curse. on one hand, he's all set for life, but on the other hand, it unfortunately makes many of his relationships conditional. he said it himself that people are often drawn to him because of his money. so i think he'd also like someone who isn't materialistic. he values honesty and genuine connection above all, so if you're ready to give him love regardless of his status, he'd sincerely love you too.

chigiri likes tomboys or any person with masculine characteristics. he's constantly getting mistaken for a girl at blue lock, so i think it'd just be funny to pair him up with someone who also shares the same androgynous plight. you two would bond over breaking gender norms.

he's a capricorn, and even if astrology is a pseudoscience, i still feel like the archetype fits him well. he refuses to let other people see him cry. he values his family a lot. he tends to be moody and intense at times. not to mention he is very goal-driven (excuse the pun.) based on that, i think he'd want someone calm and understanding. it's not that he needs someone else to work out his own problems for him. it's more so that he needs someone to remind him that he's still human sometimes. i feel like after his injury, he was sort of in this survival mode, constantly trying to prove himself and get back to the level he used to be at. but you need to remind him that he can relax once in a while. it's perfectly alright if he isn't as good as he used to be right now. progress comes at a different pace for everyone.

furthermore, chigiri tends to project a serious image most of the time, so i think it'd be nice if someone reminds him that he does have indeed an odd sense humor and his fair share of stupid moments, and that's totally okay too.

shidou likes anyone who doesn't like him, but this has to be done the right way. within blue lock, he's already sort of this outcast because no one understands his playing style (except maybe sae.) you need to show him that you value his eccentricities while also keeping him at an arm's length. he loves a challenge.

since he's someone unafraid to express himself, he likes to see that in another person. whether it's in your fashion sense, way of talking, body language, etc., he loves it when you act unapologetically yourself.

shidou is quite literally a dog kept on a leash, so you need to tug on that leash from time to time. he loves it when people attempt to tell him off and call him out for his bullshit. inhibition is a foreign concept to him, so he feels entertained when others try to teach it to him. he also thinks it's immensely sexy when you're angry at him. lord knows he is definitely going to slip that in mid-argument just so you can yell at him some more.

sae wouldn't even believe in the concept of a "type" in general because he thinks it's stupid to categorize people based on an ideal and fixed set of characteristics. (that's pretty rich coming from a guy who calls people who don't meet his standards lukewarm but we're just gonna ignore his hypocrisy.) either way, he has a non-traditional view of love and attraction.

i do think he likes people who are solid and reliable, and they can continuously yield quality results. he would also want someone who is as ambitious as him because i don't think he can realistically get along with someone who has no dreams or aspirations. it just doesn't fit well with his driven personality.

people who are empathetic and emotionally intuitive intrigue him since that's something he lacks. personally, i think he'd like someone who is mature (doesn't matter if they're older or younger.) if you can teach him something useful, he find you worthy of his time. and if you can read his feelings without him even telling you, he would consider you someone special.

sae needs someone who holds similar ideals to him but doesn't follow him blindly. (notice how he hated it when rin blindly relied on his assists when they were children.) he want someone who is independent because he is also highly independent. however, the difference is that they also actively make room in their life for other people, and that is something sae doesn't know how to do.

there's a point of growth somewhere in your relationship where you call out his mistakes and set him on the right path. sae struggles a lot with his definition of victory, and he finds it difficult to curb his greed. his ego is what sets him apart from everyone else, so failure is not an option in his books. unfortunately, this is also why he loses some of his original spark/motivation. you need to be someone who can tell him that failure is not a weakness, and sometimes the journey matters more than the ending.

also this poor boy needs someone to teach him social cues because i don’t really think he knows how to read the room. he’d probably unintentionally insult a chairman or investor, and you’ll be trailing after him with a sheepish smile as you bow and apologize for him. (i feel bad for his manager.)

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dollfacefantasy · 6 months

Text

Just Like the Movies

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: your boyfriend dons the ghostface mask to let you live out a fantasy

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, fingering, cnc, praise/degradation, knife play, predator/prey dynamic (he chases her idk what to call it), dacryphilia, voyeurism mentions

word count: 3.4k

a/n: i wanted to write at least one spooky thing for halloween and i love scream so here you go. i'm working on requests i promise, i just wanted to get this out before october ends. as always, thank you for the comments and reblogs <3

tags: @sleepyluxe @kaitkatme @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @bizzarethirst @death-paint @petitecolibri @iron-toxinz ghostface photo used in the header is from @/oikizumi on pinterest!

An old scary movie plays on the television as you relax on the couch after a hard week. You had a soft blanket draped over you and a bowl of popcorn in your lap. The missing piece was your boyfriend. You were just waiting for him to come home and join you for your little makeshift marathon.

You casually watch the movie while lifting handfuls of popcorn to your mouth. You had seen this one before so it wasn’t scaring you, but it was entertaining enough to pass the time with until Leon returned to you.

It was getting to be that time of evening when he usually came marching through the door, tired from work but still with open arms for you to slide into. He hadn’t come home yet though. As you’re wondering where your lover could be, your phone begins to ring.

You sit up and grab it from the table in front of you.

No caller ID.

You raise your eyebrows at the strange nature of that. Assuming it’s a scam call though, you leave it be. However, the phone rings again. You actively decline the call this time. You place your phone down again, hoping that would be the end.

It wasn’t though because not even a minute later, your phone vibrates again.

You reach for the device and see a text message pop up on your lock screen.

‘Don’t ignore me, pretty girl.’

That piques your curiosity. When the phone rings again, you click the answer button and bring it to your ear.

“Hello?” you say.

“Finally, she answers the phone,” a smooth, predatory voice teases.

“Who is this?” you ask.

“Oh c’mon, you don’t wanna ruin the fun already, do you babydoll?” he purrs.

“Well, what do you want?” you ask. The cadence of the voice was familiar, but the actual sound of it, you couldn’t place. It didn’t sound like anyone you knew in real life.

“To talk to you. I guess you could say I’m kind of lonely,” he says with mock sadness.

“Aw, well I’m not, so bye,” you say and hang up the phone. As you begin to place that voice and the cadence behind it, Leon’s late arrival makes sense. You had disclosed this little fantasy to him recently. And it seemed like he had got the modulator to sound just like the movie for you.

Not even ten seconds go by before the phone rings again. An excited chill comes over you as you lift it and accept the call.

“Hello?”

“Why’d you hang up on me, angel? That’s not very nice of you,” he taunts, “You doing something better right now?”

“Mhm,” you hum.

“Yeah? What’s so important that you can’t spare a few moments of your precious time?”

“I’m about to watch some scary movies,” you say, a smile spreading on your face. You sit up on the couch more as you feel where this conversation is going.

“Scary movies? I like scary movies,” he says, “Tell me, do you have a favorite?”

“I like Scream. You ever seen that one?” you say teasingly.

“I’m familiar,” he says, “That one’s not really scary though. I bet I could give you more of a thrill.”

“Mm, maybe. But sadly for you, my boyfriend will be home soon.”

“Boyfriend? That’s a shame,” he says, his voice becoming a hint darker.

“I’m sure it is. Anyways, I should be going…” you trail off knowingly.

“C’mon, blondie can wait a few more minutes.”

“Blonde,” you repeat slowly, feigning fear, “How do you know he’s blonde?”

“I’ve been watching you for a while, baby. Had to make sure everything would be perfect tonight,” he says with a low laugh, “Let’s just say that we have plenty of time now.”

“Why are you doing this? Who are you?” you say, cranking up the fear in your voice. You stand up from the couch and walk to a window to see if you can spot him outside.

“That doesn’t matter, sweetheart. Plus, I thought girls liked the whole man of mystery thing,” he chuckles, “You’re honestly telling me this doesn’t turn you on?”

“It doesn’t!” you say defensively.

“Are you sure about that?” he breathes, “When I cut those slutty little shorts off you, I’m not gonna find a messy cunt crying for me to fill her?”

“No…” you say, your cheeks heating up while arousal pools in your belly.

“You don’t sound so sure,” he teases, “Y’know, I think I can see your nipples getting hard under that thin shirt all the way from here.”

You quickly step away from the window, a shiver shooting up your spine. You bite your lip. “Please don’t hurt me,” you whimper.

His cruel laugh crackles through the phone. “I wanna hear you cry like that when you’re cumming all over my cock.”

Every word tumbling from his lips stoked the flames of desire within you. Your veins were coursing with a primal need at this point.

“I’m gonna call the police,” you say. Your voice was breathy in what could be interpreted as terror, but in reality, it was pure lust.

“Do you think that would stop me?” he rasps into the phone, “Because, we both know I would get to you before the operator could even take your address. But let’s say you did get through. I can be quick, doll. Take what’s mine and have that tight pussy full of my cum with time to spare.”

You shift your thighs and look for the smallest semblance of friction as he lays this out to you.

“By the time any cop did get here, all they would find is a pathetic little mess, lying on the ground all fucked out and bred, a dumb smile on that pretty face.”

The tiniest whine escapes your throat from that mental image. You wonder if he heard it, but the throaty chuckle on the other end answers your question.

“You dirty fucking whore. You love this. You wanna be pinned down and used until your sweet mind is broken and completely cock drunk.”

“No, I don’t,” you say, trying to keep up the act of defiance even though your desire was palpable in your voice.

“Well, too bad. But I’ll be generous, little one. I’m telling you that I’m coming in now. A little head start if you’re smart,” he says, “You better not waste my fucking time. Give me a good chase, or I’m not gonna be nice when I catch you. Find out if your insides are as pretty as the outside.”

You hang up the phone. Your body was on fire with a mix of adrenaline and arousal. You scamper through the house into another room, wondering what to even start with. Your thoughts are cut off when you hear the back door slide open.

Your pulse thunders in your ears. You move quietly across the room you’re in, peering through the doorway back into the living room. You see him. That tall and fit body donned in a tight black t-shirt and pants. He wears black leather boots on his feet. A large hunting knife is strapped to his belt. His head is covered, and when he turns, your heart seizes at the sight of the ghostface mask.

He catches a glimpse of you through the cracked door and starts toward you. You zoom through the other door in the room, maneuvering quickly around furniture and stray clutter. Then, you loop back to the open back door. You can hear him clambering through the hall behind you. Primal fear courses through you, instinctually telling every cell in your body to run.

“Where do you think you’re going, sugar?” you hear the voice modulator crackle.

Moving through the sliding door, you dart across the backyard. The grass was wet against your feet since you didn’t have the time to grab a pair of shoes. You fumble with the gate, your hands shaking from the adrenaline coursing through you. You try to shut it behind you to delay him, but he’s already so close.

You continue sprinting into the woods behind your home. The area surrounding you was dark. It was cold out too. Your skin had broken out into goosebumps, your thin shirt and shorts not providing much warmth, and your bare feet only exacerbating the feeling.

There were trees everywhere, and it felt like there were things hiding within the dense woodland. The whole time you focused on not running into a tree, you could hear him behind you. His breathing was heavier, but it was clear he was exerting minimal effort.

You jump over overgrown roots and duck under stray branches. Despite running for a bit, you still weren’t too deep in the woods. You shoot a look behind you, trying to see if you were any closer to losing him than before. He’s just as close, and in the midst of your attempted glance, your foot catches on a rock. You cry out and tumble to the ground. Skin scrapes against the dirt and rocks beneath you.

He slows his pace to a simple walk, pulling the hunting knife from the sheath. The wide blade shimmers in the pale moonlight. He holds it up and drags a gloved fist over the silver, just like in the movies. Another, low laugh breaks through the speaker of the modulator.

“Too easy, princess,” he taunts, “Get up and keep running.”

Your eyes widen and blood rushes to the lower region of your body at the command. You stumble to your feet and stagger away. Your foot aches a little from the rock and the fall, but you continue in earnest.

He lets you go on for a while longer. Occasionally, he would intentionally fall behind, giving you the illusion that you could outrun him. But also filling you with the dread that you would be out in those woods alone.

Soon enough, he’s had enough of the chase. He speeds up and hooks his arms around your waist. He pulls you to the ground in a swift motion, whipping around your body so quickly that you could barely see it. He’s got one of his knees holding your dominant arm down while a hand holds the knife to your throat. You squirm and whimper under him, causing him to shake his head and make a noise of mock disappointment.

“Poor baby. You did all you could, didn’t you?” he coos menacingly, leaning down closer to your face, “Look at you. Out of breath, heart beating out of your chest. You tried so hard.”

He brings the knife up to your cheek and drags the tip across, not cutting you but letting you feel the cool metal on your soft skin. You whine and scrunch your face in discomfort, eliciting a cruel laugh from him. He drops the knife nearby and shakes his head.

“Not a fan of knives, sweet thing? Too scary?”

Next, you try recoiling from his touch, but he’s caging your body on the ground. The damp dirt presses against your back and smears on his clothing as he wrestles with you to keep you in place. Again, you can see how little effort it takes for him to keep you down. The display of strength has your heart beating harder with lust.

“Keep fighting me, little one. It’s my favorite part,” he breathes before shifting on top of you and roughly flipping you over.

Now, squirming only rubs your face into the soil beneath you. In this position, you can feel his hard cock against your ass. He reaches over for the knife again and brings it to the base of your spine. He uses his knee to hold down your arm again, so he can pull your skimpy top taut and slice through it with ease.

He handles you like a ragdoll and yanks it off. The knife falls to the ground again as he reaches around your body with both gloved hands to knead your breasts. You whimper at the harsh squeezes and rolls of his fingers. His face is right next to your head, and you can hear his ragged breathing under the mask.

He pinches and teases your nipples, your noises now becoming obviously pleasurable. A hand slides into your hair and grips the roots as he shoves your face to the ground. Your cheek is smooshed on the cool surface, and your lips part as your own breathing picks up. Your hips are still squirming, but now only to try and feel some friction with his dick.

“There we go. Such a little slut. Didn’t take much for you to give in. You know this is where you belong. Beneath me, stuffed full of my cock,” he groans.

His hands glide down your body, pulling your hips into place. He tugs your shorts and panties down to your knees, humming in satisfaction when he sees your dripping cunt. Two leather-covered fingers slide through your slick. They circle your puffy clit, drawing mewls from your throat. The fingers then dip inside you and pump in and out a few times. Your body shudders at the sensation.

“So fucking wet. You like this even more than I thought. So sick baby. My twisted little doll,” he teases.

He plants his free hand on the back of your neck and digs his fingers into the side of your throat. His other hand continues working your aching pussy, adding in another finger to your needy hole. You choke out a few moans as your breathing becomes more like panting.

“All this for just my fingers? Can’t imagine how you’re gonna cry on my cock. Maybe scream for me a few times,” he purrs.

After a bit more, he pulls his fingers out of your pussy, shushing you when you whine in protest. You hear the sound of a zipper and the rustle of fabric being adjusted. It isn’t long before you feel the heat of his cock prodding your entrance. You shift your hips back, taking the tip in.

He grunts and his breath hitches as you clamp down on the sensitive head. Once he regains his composure, he slams his hips forward, sheathing himself fully inside you with one thrust. You cry out and claw the dirt beneath you.

“You wanna be an impatient little bitch, I’m not gonna be gentle with you. If you’re so fucking needy that you can’t wait two seconds for my dick, I’ll treat you like the cockslut you are, sweetheart,” he says before beginning to rock his hips back and forth.

He finds a rhythm with ease. One of his hands gives your ass a few firm smacks while his other hand returns to your head to pull on your hair. The noise of your skin connecting sounds through the woods along with your whining. His grip on your hair is like a vise. The mild sting of the pull mixed with the rush of pleasure from him drilling into you brings some tears to your eyes.

“That’s right, fucking take it. This is what you were made for, sweet girl. Your body knows it,” he grunts as your walls flutter around him.

He smacks your ass again while getting more erratic with his thrusts. The hand in your hair returns to your hip to give him more leverage. His digits dig into your skin to the point of potential bruises. You whimper and moan, your head becoming cloudy while he stretches you out.

His quiet moans hit your ears and make your stomach erupt with butterflies. You tighten around his shaft. You were starting to work up a sweat despite the cool temperature of the air around you. You shudder and twitch, only causing him to hold you tighter.

Your back arches as more sinful noises pour from your lips. A particular thrust snaps something in you and breaks the dam that was holding in your tears. It felt like he was stroking deeper than ever before, and you just couldn’t hold it in. Warm drops stream from your eyes while your whimpering grows louder and less controlled.

“Are you crying, little love?” he coos, but you can hear the smirk in his voice. He starts rubbing your back with even, soothing strokes without stopping his thrusts, “Cry it out, sweetheart. It just feels too good, doesn’t it?”

“Y-yeah,” you whimper with a weak nod.

“Yes it does. I know, baby,” he says condescendingly. His gloved hand continues caressing your back while he snaps in and out. You grow louder still, whining and moaning through tears.

“Someone’s gonna hear you, doll,” he teases. Your cheeks warm with embarrassment, but you’re past the point of being able to control your volume. “You’d probably get off on that though, you little freak.”

“N-no,” you stutter out in an attempt to defend yourself, but you’re cut off by your own gasps of pleasure.

“No? You wouldn’t cum on the spot if someone saw you like this? Taking my cock like the good little whore you are. Crying cause it’s just too much for you.”

You shake your head as best you can while being pressed against the ground. Your pussy clenches around him though from the description alone.

“Sure,” he chuckles before grunting, “Someone could be watching right now. It’s so fucking dark out here you wouldn’t even know.”

You can’t hide the thrill that gives you. A loud cry tears through you and your hips squirm within his grasp, trying to get you to that peak.

“Yeah, I know you like that,” he growls, leaning down and encasing you with his arms. The new angle lets him piston himself even deeper within you.

He keeps grinding himself into you as you both feel the coils of release getting closer to snapping. One of his arms snakes around your head, his bicep curling around your neck. The plastic front of the ghostface mask presses into the side of your head. He’s grunting and moaning into your ear, bringing you right to the edge.

“I feel it coming, honey. Let it go. Cream on my cock, baby girl. Give it all to me,” he mumbles.

With no reason to hold back, you let your release explode. You writhe in his hold, gasping and crying as euphoria floods your being. You bite your lip and tilt your head back to nuzzle and sloppily kiss at the mask.

He’s not far behind you. A few thrusts later, he’s draining himself in you, filling your insides with hot and sticky cum. His hips sputter and the mask becomes misaligned on his head as the two of you press against each other.

You’re both panting in the end. Leon pulls out and rolls off of you, landing on the ground next to you. You don’t move from your place in the dirt and just look over at him. He tugs off the mask and drops it near the knife. For the first time tonight, you see his charming smile and sweet eyes, a sharp contrast to the performance he just put on. He leans over and gives you a soft kiss as he adjusts the rest of his clothing.

You still don’t move from your position. He sits up and rubs your back again. His hands massage the muscles there for a moment before trailing down your leg. He gently lifts your foot and kisses your ankle.

“Your foot ok, baby?” he asks while rubbing your thigh. Even after all that, he hadn’t forgotten your fall earlier.

“Mhm,” you hum with a nod.

“Ok, good,” he says.

He starts to help you roll over so you can get up. He smiles at you, brushing some dirt off your cheek.

“Let’s get you home so we can shower,” he says and helps you pull your shorts back on as you sit up. He kisses your temple a few times and strokes your hair, “Then we can cuddle and watch some scary movies.”

That makes you crack a smile, and you kiss his lips.

“Let’s get home quick. It’s cold out here, and I don’t have a shirt anymore thanks to you,” you tease.

You rise to your feet and lean on him for support. He picks up the knife and mask as well as the scrap of cloth that was once your top. He offers it to you with a sheepish smile. You roll your eyes and shake your head.

“Guess, you’ll just have to stay close then,” he says and tucks you under his arm. He kisses the crown of your head before you two start walking back through the woods to your home together.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #resident evil imagines #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy imagine #resident evil smut #smut

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milswrites · 2 months

Text

Hobbies Epilogue.

~ Azriel X Reader

Summary: In an attempt to keep Azriel away from Elain, Rhys sends him on a sabbatical to the Day Court. With a lot more free time on his hands Azriel needs to find something to keep him occupied. Unfortunately he meets Y/N who has the annoying habit of not staying away. Can she teach him that there’s more to life than he thought?

Grumpy!Azriel X Sunshine!Reader

Series masterlist

Warnings: Mentions of sex. Mentions of drinking. Crippling sadness over the fact that this series is over maybe? (Just me? 😭)

Feyre and Y/N were hurriedly running through the streets of Velaris towards the townhouse, Nyx held lovingly in the latter woman’s arms, his little legs too small to be able to keep up with his rushing family.

They were running late, the two having decided to meet for a coffee in the Rainbow before Y/N and Azriel set off on their long travels. A honeymoon of sorts, Azriel’s gift to Y/N for finally accepting the golden bond between them after a year of taking it slowly.

A year of the two taking in turns to visit the other’s court, of spending every minute they weren’t working in the other’s company. Azriel’s shadows were a great help in this, aiding the male in swiftly travelling to her home at the end of each day, ensuring that the pair slept soundly in the comfort of each other’s arms by the time night fell.

A year of Y/N getting to know her mates family. Her family. Who didn’t just see the woman as Azriel’s mate, but as their sister. Her bright aura being the missing piece of their puzzle, her shining presence a sign that their family was now complete.

And what a family it was. Azriel sometimes miserably complained that he swore Y/N only visited him to get to spend her precious time with everyone else.

To paint with Feyre in her studio, using Nyx as their giggling muse as he failed to sit still for them. Wriggling and squirming, as the women attempted to capture his beaming face on the canvas. Wanting to capture every minute of his youth as they could before he grew old.

The drinking with Cassian and Mor and Rita’s, there being many nights where a grumbling Azriel had to hide his smirk as he had to lift a wobbly Y/N into his arms in order to carry her home to sleep away the alcohol in her system.

Amren and Nesta were always up for a reading session with Y/N. The women spending hours of their time perusing through the dusty shelves of all the quaint bookshops in Velaris. Excitedly exchanging reviews whenever the woman from Day returned to the Night Court.

Y/N had even began to help Elain in her garden. Bringing trimmings of the plants that blossomed in Day, hoping that with Elain’s tender nurturing they would bloom just as beautifully in Night. Growing a piece of Y/N’s home in Azriel’s court.

Life had been perfect. A constant upwards spiral of contentment. The shadowsinger doing everything in his power to ensure that Y/N always had a dazzling smile across her face, the male undertaking this task with a grave seriousness as if it were a matter of life and death.

Now the shimmering bond had been tethered permanently between them, life could only keep on getting better and better. And it was going to, starting with this magical trip he was going to take her on across the courts, just as Azriel had promised Y/N before the bond between them had even made its appearance.

At least it would be if Y/N actually got there in time.

~~~~~

“And you’ll make sure to write to us every week right?…And starfall! You have to come back for starfall!” Feyre panted heavily as she spoke to Y/N, the shadow of the townhouse appearing in the distance as they continued to quickly dash towards it, the figures of their impatient mates coming into their view the closer they got to the building.

“Oh of course we wouldn’t miss it Fey! Besides I promised this little man that I’d save him a dance this year” Y/N lovingly pecked Nyx on the cheek as she answered Feyre, the young boy blushing profusely at the action. His little heart belonging entirely to the woman who held him in her arms, Feyre’s child having a youthful crush on the lady. Threatening Azriel that whilst Y/N was his mate, he would be the one to marry her.

“I know” Feyre flashed a gentle smile over to Y/N as they slowed in their approach to the waiting males, “I just know Azriel would keep you wandering around Prythian for an eternity if he could.”

“No, we’d miss our family far too much. We can’t stay away for too long, we wouldn’t want to.”

Y/N plastered one last affectionate kiss onto Nyx’s cheek before passing him over to Feyre, the boy starting to cry as he left her tender embrace.

“Finally” Azriel huffed, walking over to the two women, giving Nyx a gentle squeeze to his cheek when he finally came to stand before you, “I was thinking you’d started to have second thoughts about this.”

“Second thoughts about spending night after night alone with my dashingly handsome mate? I think not” Y/N teased, her eyes moving to rake over her mates form. Azriel was once again wearing one of her own creations, it was all he wore these days when he didn’t have to be in leathers. He said it was because he didn’t like to waste money on clothes, Rhysand said it was because he was whipped.

Feyre rolled her eyes at the scent which had started to radiate from the shadowsinger, his dark eyes locked onto Y/N. “Save it for the trip Az” she chided, tapping him on the chest as she passed by him, moving to stand by Rhys.

Azriel came to stand behind Y/N his arms wrapping protectively around her as he pulled back into his chest, leaning down to whisper in her ear, “Thank the mother you’re here, the sooner we set off the sooner we can get away from Cassian.”

The woman looked over the silvery-eyed male who was hiccuping from the overwhelming force of his emotions, tears rolling down his cheeks at the realisation that his brother was leaving him for a few months.

“Oh come on Az he’s not so bad” Y/N muttered, eyes going wide in shock as the General released a particularly loud sob.

“He spent three hours crying last night at Rita’s over the fact we’re going.”

“See he loves you!”

“I think he was more so crying over the fact you were leaving him” Azriel said this jokingly, but failed to cover the bitter jealous edge to his voice. The frenzy of the bond’s acceptance still not quite fading, even after the two months you had spent feeding his desires.

“You’ll miss him” you smiled softly, warm eyes looking to your family who had gathered to wish you goodbye as you set off on your journey.

“Yeah” Azriel admitted, his own contented amber gaze taking in the same view of yours, “but something tells me we are going to have a lot of fun these next few months. We have to make the most of our time together before you go back to Day.”

Y/N stilled, going slightly stiff in Azriel’s arms as she lifted her head to meet his face, shyly speaking to her mate, “What if I told you that I don’t have to go back?”

“What?” Azriel asked, anticipation building in his chest as he turned Y/N around until her body faced his, needing to properly absorb her expression to see if what she was saying was really true.

“What if I said that Helion offered me a promotion? Emissary to the Night Court. He seemed to think that you guys needed some cheering up, something about you being miserable whenever I wasn’t there.”

Azriel laughed, a deep, earthshaking laugh. Sweeping Y/N into his arms as he spun her around, his enthusiastic movement gathering the attention of his family.

“Then I would tell you,” Azriel started, his forehead pressing lovingly against his mates, “that I’m ready for whatever adventure life will throw our way.”

“You’ll never be bored again” Y/N grinned, eyes bright and lively at the prospect of an eternity with her mate in Night, “not if I have anything to do with it.”

“My love” Azriel breathed deeply as he hovered his soft lips over Y/N’s, “It’s impossible to be bored when I have a mate as captivating as you are.”

There was no doubt in his mind that Azriel would never find himself short of anything to do again. After all Azriel was no longer alone. He had found his mate. His other half. And he would allow himself to spend an eternity trying out new things, as long as he meant he got to do it with her. With the woman who stole his heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes: Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!

Excuse me while I go cry.

Just want to thank you guys for all the love and support and comments and enthusiasm you’ve shown this series. There’s absolutely no way this would have been done without you guys and you’re all amazing and I appreciate each and every one of you so so much <3

Taglist:

@thelov3lybookworm @minnieoo @going-through-shit @iluvyewman-blog @laughterafter @amysangel @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @aaronwarnerobsessedmylove @justvibbinghere @honeybeeboobaa @willowpains @tele86 @mysticalfuncollectorus @mybestfriendmademe @starryhiraeth @gorlillaglue25 @moonlwghts @darling006 @anuttellaa @serendipityx150 @xxxalicerogersxx @that-one-little-soybean @scatteredstardustt @naturakaashi @nyx-the-alien @lostinpages13 @namelesssav @dreamlandreader @fightmedraco @maxmouse001

#acotar #fanfic #acotar imagine #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses #azriel x reader #azriel imagine #azriel #azriel oneshot #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar

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wordstome · 4 months

Note

könig as the nutcracker 🥹🥹

you just brought some terrible sleeping beast out of me, anon.

nutcracker prince König x fem reader (mostly gender neutral but you're wearing a dressing gown)

tw: mouse murder???

He's a very odd looking nutcracker, all things considered, but you can't take your eyes off of him.

"If it's a nutcracker why does it have that stupid veil over its face?" Your brother asks, noisily crunching candies between his molars. You glare at him, both for the rude remark and for chewing with his mouth open.

"This is a special one," your aunt gushes. "He's based off of a legendary soldier who never showed his face on the battlefield. One of a kind, from a specialty toy shop.”

"How interesting..." You muse, gently rubbing the fabric of the veil between your fingers. It's sturdy fabric, but still soft to the touch.

"He was probably ugly as hell," your brother declares. You swat him, and he only cackles and gets up to graze at some more sweets.

"Maybe you should try covering that ugly mug up once in a while," you call after him. He pelts you with a walnut shell.

Your aunt shakes her head fondly. "This one's not just decorative," she says. "He's a real nutcracker by Steinbach."

You look at her, wide-eyed. "So he can crack nuts?"

She nods and tosses you a hazelnut. "Try it."

You lift the wooden man's veil a little to put the hazelnut in his mouth. You could just pull the whole thing up and out of the way, but that feels almost...forbidden? You're not sure why you feel this way—he's just a piece of wood, after all, and he probably doesn't even have anything painted on underneath the veil other than those vibrant blue eyes. But even so, you're hesitant to unmask him.

Cracking the nut works like a charm, though, and some childish excitement bubbles up inside you as the remnants of the cracked hazelnut spill into your palm. "That's incredible!" you gush, running your thumb over the nutcracker's lacquered uniform.

"What do you mean incredible, that's what nutcrackers are for." Your brother returns, a few walnuts rolling around in his palm. He holds his other hand out. "Give him here."

"No. You called him ugly, so he's mad at you," you say, teasing him by holding the nutcracker out of his reach.

Your brother rolls his eyes. "Give it here, you little shit."

"Crack your own nuts," you shoot back. "This is my nutcracker."

He makes another grab for it, and this time he manages to grab the nutcracker's arm. It's only a lighthearted tussle between siblings as you shove at your brother and he refuses to let go of the nutcracker's arm—until it's not.

A terrible snapping of breaking wood causes you to gasp. The two of you stumble away from each other from the force, your brother holding a tiny wooden arm in his hand. He's just pulled it clean off. On closer inspection, your idiot brother has somehow managed to Hulk-rip the arm piece off of the piece that fits inside the socket. "This is a brand new nutcracker, how did you fuck it up?!" you cry.

"Hey, you should have—" Your brother takes one look at your expression and decides not to give you a hard time. "Look, I'm sorry. I was too rough on it. Sit tight for a second." You sit there, numbly staring at the pieces of your poor nutcracker. Really, it's your fault too—why didn't you just let him have the damn thing?

And why is this upsetting you so much? The nutcracker's just a decoration, albeit one with a little more function than most. You feel a sort of attraction to this little wooden man in your hand, though. Maybe it's because his unique design is interesting, or maybe it's because you're intrigued by the idea of a masked soldier who never shows his face. Either way, he was your gift anyway, so it's not that unusual that you're attached to him...right?

"Here, let me see him." Your brother's back, but to your horror, he's holding a pair of needle-nose pliers. "Absolutely not," you respond, jumping up from where you were sitting on the floor. "You are not getting anywhere near my nutcracker with those things. You're just going to fuck it up even more."

"It'll be fiiine," he insists, clicking the pliers open and closed like some maniacal toy surgeon. You're not sure you like the devious glint in his eye. Your brother's a nice guy for the most part, but sometimes he gets this look in his eye that you imagine Dr Frankenstein must have had when he was assembling his creation.

You hold the nutcracker and his detached arm protectively to your chest. "I'll figure out how to fix him in the morning with glue or something," you insist. "I don't need you poking around with pliers and splintering the wood."

"Are you sure? I am sorry, for what it's worth."

You wave him off. You're still kind of mad at him, but you're both adults. You'll live. "Don't worry about it. I think I'm going to head to bed soon, anyway."

"You should keep his arm with him, dear," you aunt pipes up. She had gone into the kitchen during the whole ordeal, but had probably heard everything go down. "Tape it to his side or something. You wouldn't want to lose it."

That's a good idea, you muse, examining your poor amputated nutcracker. You're just about to take her suggestion when you get an idea.

Your brother checks in with you later, right before he goes to bed as well. "You can't be serious," he says. "You made him an arm sling?"

You tie the knot on the little scrap of cloth around the little wooden man's arm nice and snug. "Oh, I'm dead serious," you say. "Doesn't he look cute?"

Your brother lets out a resigned sigh. "Yeah. Sure."

The rest of the evening is relatively uneventful. You put the nutcracker in your room, right on top of the dresser, while you go about your bedtime routine. It always brings you a bit of joy to walk out of the bathroom and see him there, standing tall and proud.

Well, your evening would have been uneventful...had you not bolted awake in bed an hour or two later.

You're groggy and confused, trying to figure out what the hell is going on, when you hear the cacophony of noise. It sounds like footsteps, dozens upon dozens of them, stampeding through your walls. And then the mice show up.

They crawl up from the corners and the floorboards, swarming across your room. You're too terrified to move or even scream out, sure that you must be having some terrible nightmare or hallucination.

And then your nutcracker moves.

You're absolutely positive now that you must be dreaming, watching frozen from your bed as your nutcracker leaps down from your dresser as if he's a living, breathing man and beginning to fight the mice. And he's even...talking?

"Finally, some worthy adversaries!" you hear him cry. You gape at this bloodthirsty little soldier as he beats through mouse after mouse with his tiny sword.

It's an impossible battle, you think. There's no way he can take all those mice alone, and with one injured arm aside...you're usually pretty squeamish when it comes to dubious little animals, but you can't just leave your nutcracker to be overwhelmed. Besides, this is all a dream, so nothing matters, right?

There's one mouse, larger than the others, who's at the back of the pack, squeaking as if giving orders. You're having quite a wild dream, honestly, because the mouse is even wearing a little crown. Like a king, you think with some amusement. You reach over the edge of your bed to pick the mouse up by the scruff.

You're not quite sure what happens next. One moment, the mouse is chattering angrily at you, the next you're on the floor. At first you think you've simply lost your balance and fallen onto the floor, but when you scramble to your feet, you nearly fall over again as you take in your surroundings.

You've shrunk.

Your bedroom is cavernous above your head, your bedposts and furniture as tall as skyscrapers. And worse still, the mice are huge too: the once palm-sized mouse king is now as large as you are, sneering down at you from his snout. You didn't even know mice could sneer.

You yelp and throw yourself to the side to dodge one of the mice lunging at you. "It's time to wake up," you mutter to yourself through clenched teeth. "It would be really really nice to wake up right about now...!"

The mice are unrelenting, a vicious gleam in their eyes as they nip at your heels. They manage to corner you against a piece of furniture, snapping their jaws menacingly. All you can think to do is pray as they draw ever closer, their breath hot as they crowd around you—

A sword neatly lops off the head of one of the mice in front of you.

You gasp and look upwards to see your nutcracker looming above you, his sword gleaming in the low light of your bedroom. He's incredibly menacing at this size, his veil becoming intimidating rather than charming. You're far smaller than him now—if he had been a normal sized man, he would have easily cleared six feet. His eyes are vibrant and intense, staring down at you for a brief moment before they turn back towards his enemy.

You sit there, stock-still in awe as you watch him mow through his adversaries. It takes you a moment to realize you probably shouldn't be hanging around and gawping. Good thing, too, because your knight in shining lacquer is too distracted to notice he's being snuck up on. The larger mouse is creeping up behind him, a wicked glint in its eye.

"No!" you cry. Thinking fast, you pull off your slipper and chuck it at the mouse's head, stunning it. I can't believe that actually worked, you think.

You have to give your nutcracker some credit, his reflexes are wicked-sharp. In a single heartbeat, he's run the mouse king through with his sword. He cuts an imposing figure, his eyes sharp and deadly. But there's a sort of glee in them as well, the kind of thing that should make you uneasy.

It doesn't.

The rest of the mice, seeing their leader fallen, beat a hasty retreat, tugging the corpses of their fallen comrades along with them. You watch them, fascinated, until all that remains of the bloody conflict are a few tiny pools of blood streaked along your floorboards.

"I must thank you," comes the voice of your nutcracker. You look at him, unsure of what to say. You're welcome for throwing a shoe at a giant mouse to keep it from killing you?

"I...of course," is what eventually comes out. You smooth out your dressing gown in a futile effort to look presentable. "I couldn't let him hurt you."

The nutcracker tilts his head curiously. "You don't know me."

"Of course I do. You're my nutcracker," you say, instantly feeling silly once the words leave your mouth. You just received him as a gift, and you only just found out he was sentient anyway. You don't know why you feel so protective...

He shifts his injured arm, the sling still in place. "You bound my arm, as well."

You flush with embarrassment. "I-it was the least I could do," you stammer. "I shouldn't have let my brother do that. Really, it was my own fault—" Your words die in your throat as the nutcracker moves in close to you, so close that you can feel his body heat. Since when did he have body heat?

"Pretty," he murmurs under his breath. You stare at him, dumbfounded. Is your nutcracker...hitting on you?

Suddenly, you snap back to your senses. "Oh my God," you exclaim, staring down at yourself and then back towards your surroundings. "I'm still small. And I haven't woken up yet. Am I dreaming? I must be dreaming. Please tell me I'm dreaming." You pinch your skin, letting out a small exclamation when it hurts. But you still don't wake up.

"Hmm...you won't solve your predicament that easily, little one," the nutcracker muses.

"Wha—do you know how to fix this?"

"I have a hunch," he responds, brow furrowing. You hadn't noticed eyebrows on him when you were examining him earlier in the evening, you note.

"Do tell."

"You've had a curse placed on you, but I don't know how to break it. I do, however, know someone who might know how."

"Well then take me to them!" You stare at him beseechingly. You watch as several indecipherable emotions run through his eyes, then he nods.

You visibly relax. "Thank you."

"You'll have to trust me. You may find the whole process a little...fantastical."

"More fantastical than my nutcracker coming to life and fighting an army of mice on my bedroom floor?" you ask, cocking an eyebrow. His eyes crinkle in a way that must mean he's smiling.

"More fantastical than that," he says. He offers you a hand like a true gentleman, and to your shock, it feels like flesh, not wood. His grip is firm but soothing, his hand so huge it dwarfs your own.

"Let's do this, then."

uhhhhhhh wow this got kinda long I had to cut it short. I'll probably write a part 2? But it's gotta wait because I've got a gazillion other things to write first :P Thank you for the inspiration, anon! 🥺

#yes this König has blue eyes #könig #konig #könig x reader #konig x reader #könig x you #konig x you #könig fanfiction #konig fanfiction #könig cod #konig cod #könig call of duty #cod #call of duty

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toxicanonymity · 5 months

Note

You can totally say no if your not comfy doing it but maybe you can suggest another writer who you may think might? But if yoir request are open is there anyway I can convince you to write on the topic of reader being Sara's best friend and has tried to come onto Joel multiple times (ie sneaking into his room etc) and then escalating to slipping a roofie into his drink one night while her and Sara are home on winter break from college? If you're not comfortable i totally understand and im sorry if I made you uncomfortable its just your writing for the darker stuff is so amazing 💖

locket.

2k, joel miller x dark f!reader | master list A/N: here's your 🕊️ in a pear tree 🖤 in a way, it's kinda the inverse of night talks 😅 didn't overthink this one, so FIWB. this is my 3000th tumblr post! WARNINGS: I8+ big girthy age gap (44/21), drugs, dosing, f masturbation, dubcon unsafe p in v, somnophilia-ish, choking adjacent move, degradation (both), cum, dead dove december ig (idk if i'll do a deader one this month).

You're tired of her hot Dad playing hard-to-get, and you're going to put an end to it tonight. You've come home with your college roommate, as you often do since your family lives far. Once again, her dad is dressed like a piece of meat. Tight, white, ride-me t-shirt. Cock bulging in his slutty joggers. He’s walking around double cheeked up on a Friday night in front of his daughter’s best friend. His daughter’s best friend who thinks about him every time she touches herself.

Sarah falls asleep fast, and you can still hear the TV downstairs. You put on your locket, take off your underwear, and adjust your oversized, wide neck t-shirt to make a wardrobe malfunction inevitable with the slightest movement. You creep down the stairs and pause at the landing, where you lightly caress your nipples, bringing them to full attention. You’re already tingling downstairs. You creep up to the edge of the living room with your arms straight down, pushing your boobs together, hands clasped together near your crotch as if you're cold. And to be fair, the air is a little cool on your bare cunt. You’re dripping for him, and the shirt barely covers your asscheeks. Joel barely glances, then does a double take.

His eyes fall on your breasts before reaching your face. His jaw clenches. After a few seconds, he asks, "What?"

"Sorry to bother you. I couldn't sleep."

"What am I s'posed to do about that," he grumbles, looking away from you, resuming his focus on the television.

You shiver and briskly rub your arms, feeling the air hit your exposed nipple for a moment, and you ask about changing the thermostat. He sighs, braces his hands on his knees, and gets up. You shamelessly ogle the bulge in his gray joggers. While he's on his way to adjust the thermostat, you open your locket and drop a little medicine into his can of beer: half a sleeping pill and half a Viagra.

In the corner of your eye, Joel is lingering in the hall. He rubs his beard, looking at you while you pretend to look at the TV. He slowly walks forward. "Goddamn slut," he mutters under his breath, and you force away a smile as you sit down.

When Joel returns to the sofa, you're sitting next to his seat. You bring your knee up to rest on the sofa and feel your pussy exposed. He picks up a blanket off the other end and sets it in your lap.

"Take this with ya." He picks up his beer, and moves to the easy chair. You don't miss the way he adjusts himself as he settles into the chair.

You make yourself comfortable, and when you just sit there, he says, "thought ya said ya were cold.”

“I'm comfy now.”

You sit there in silence watching TV. He finishes his beer and gets another. You keep an eye on him. The sleeping pill seems to hit him first. His eyelids get heavy and he rests his head back on the chair. His breathing is steady. You think you see him getting hard. Yeah, something definitely moves in his joggers. He’s nodding off and jolts awake. He grabs his crotch and mutters, “fuck,” before he remembers you're there. You shift positions to lie on your stomach, facing him, with your ass exposed so he can see your butt cheeks.

“Go to sleep, darlin’. God damn.” Your heart flutters. Oh, now he’s done for.

“You sure?” You ask and go into a cat pose with your ass higher in the air.

“Yeah.” His eyes are half shut. He tries to be subtle about slowly rubbing himself for relief, but you can see just fine. “Fuck-” he interrupts himself with a yawn. He shakes his head at you. “gave me somethin’, didn't ya?”

You wet your lips and look down. “What makes you say that? Do you feel funny?”

“Like you don't know.”

In for a penny, in for a pound. You shift onto your side, then swing your legs around in front of you as you sit up on the sofa. “Well. . .I feel funny, Mr. Miller,” you purr as you spread your legs for him. “Yeah, I feel funny right here.” You slowly, lightly caress your mound near your clit with two fingers, then spread them to trace down your outer lips.

“Somethin’ wrong with you,” he shakes his head. His brow furrows and he swallows. But he doesn’t leave. . .He looks back at the television. Your body is churning out slick, getting ready for him, but right now it’s going to waste on his sofa. You gather some from your hole and bring it up to your clit. You grab a breast and begin to touch yourself. He’s sleepy, but he's hanging in there. The heel of his palm is planted in his lap.

When he begins to nod off again, you get up and approach the chair. He stays seated, awake but sleepy, and his breath deepens as you brace your hand on one arm of the chair. You wedge one knee between his outer thigh and the chair’s arm. Then the other side, so you're straddling him. You both look down at his visible erection. He looks up. His lips form a subtle pout, then part slightly. His brown eyes glaze over as he studies your face.

“Dress like you want it,” you whisper. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. You reach for his cock and he gently stops your wrist.

“I could be your dad,” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

“Please,” you whisper. Your hand doesn't stop, and he doesn't try to stop it anymore as you reach. You grab the rock hard protrusion and he silently grunts from the back of his throat. He’s throbbing against your palm through the thin cotton. Your breath hitches at the first contact. You twitch and ache for him. His brow furrows.

“‘If you’re gonna do it, do it,” he challenges you in a near whisper. He must be painfully hard. He can't take it. You massage him through the soft fabric.

Your lips part, and you tilt your head as you read his face.

He mumbles, “Gonna pussy out?” He cracks a little smile and adds, “with your pussy out?”

You sigh. “You’re so fucking cute.”

“Such a rotten girl,” he murmurs with half lidded eyes as his hands come to your thighs. You shiver in a bolt of pleasure as his hands wrap around the backs of your thighs and slowly run down to your knees, then up to your ass. He squeezes your cheeks, and his cock throbs in your hand.

“Coward,” he whispers with a snarl and takes his hands away, resting his arms on the chair.

You brace one hand next to his head on the back of the chair, and your heart shaped locket dangles as you take down his waistband with your free hand. His cock slaps against his white t-shirt, making a wet spot.

Good Lord. Your mouth falls open. You tug the joggers down more. He grunts softly when you cup his soft, fuzzy balls. Then you release them, grab his shaft, and hear yourself moan. Never felt anything stiffer. It's angry and now the tip is actively oozing. Your mouth waters and your body opens up for him.

He watches your face, then yawns again. You rub yourself and gather your slick, then wrap your slippery hand around his cock. You scoot your knees forward and hover over it. He inhales through his nose as you lower yourself to make contact. You pause with the tip just inside. It's already a stretch, but deeper inside, your core is begging for more. Your entrance spasms around his tip. He gasps and tenses, gripping the arms of the chair as you begin to sink down. He closes his eyes and winces as his cock divides your walls and you moan as your bodies become flush. You sit on his dick while your body makes space for him and you get even wetter.

“Fu–ohh” he tilts his head back. His neck veins strain. He's so goddamn hot.

You slowly tilt your hips and let out only an inch of him before bottoming out again. His cock takes up so much space inside you. You look down between your bodies. His white shirt has ridden up to expose the happy trail and the slight pudge of his lower belly. His stomach heaves with deep breaths. You begin to move on him, slowly.

“Ahhh, fuhh-uhhhk,” he sighs. His brows knit together and he watches you ride him.

You tilt your hips, seeking the pressure of your clit nudging his body. “Yeah,” you breathe and move a little faster. Your necklace swings, the silver heart getting closer and closer to him. Then his hand flies up to wrap around your neck, trapping the chain. His grip isn’t firm, but the presence of his hand around your throat is enough to freeze you on his cock and give you a surge of need. Your pussy spasms, your slick walls begging for the friction they've earned.

“You’re sick,” he mutters, then his hips punch up and he sighs. He lets go of your throat, then tugs your shirt down under your tits.

“Fuck,” he sighs, the corners of his mouth glistening with saliva. He reaches out and palms your breasts, then hooks his hands under your arms. He watches your tits move with your rhythm.

“How many times have you thought about this,” you ask.

“I don't think about it,” he claims, but his face says constantly. You massage your own breasts as you ride him, and he sighs. Hopefully he can't get enough. Hopefully he comes back for more. You roll your hips with a moan. That's why you didn't use a roofie - He needs to remember this. He needs to need it. “Mmm.” Maybe he’ll be desperate, mad. As he watches you ride him, his eyelids begin to droop again. Maybe he’ll be mad enough to take it.

You gently slap his cheek. “Stay with me,” you command, and begin to ride him harder. You slot your fingers into his hair. “When's the last time you came,” you ask, massaging his scalp as you move on his cock. “Hmm?” You pause with his cock all the way inside, and he twitches inside you. “Hmm?”

“Days,” he whispers. You start rolling your hips again. “Been days, ohhh–fuck.”

“You're gonna come inside,” you nod. His cock twitches again.

“Ohh, fuck. Are you–ohhh,” he sighs, “are you–ugghh.”

“It's okay,” you reassure him, “It's okay.” God, the thought of Mr. Miller nutting in your cunt has gotten you over the edge so many times alone. You're close. You bring your body closer against his and grind your clit into him, your body moving his swollen manhood, subtly rocking it as your clit presses into his pubic hair and your insides swell with the pressure of pent up pleasure. “Ohh, God,” you sigh and feel your body tighten, tighten, almost there. “Ohh, fuck,” you pant.

“Ohh,” he moans and his hips lift under you. The tension snaps and your clit pulses, making you whine. You grind into him as you pulse, release pressure, pulse, release more, losing yourself in waves of release.

“Oh, God,” you moan, fluttering around his stiff cock.

“Ugggh,” he groans and his hands come to your ass. He begins to move you on his cock as your climax wanes. He moves you harder and moans unrestrained. He grits his teeth, and his fingertips dig into the plush of your ass. ”Ohh,” he sighs and fucking erupts.

“Oh shit,” you whine, and keep clenching around him with warm bursts of him flooding your core. “Ohh God.”

“Oh, fuck,” he pants, bursting again and again, filling you with his seed. “Ohhh,” his pulses fade and you come to a rest in his lap. He lays back against the chair breathing heavily. You lean forward and hug him. He doesn't have the energy to push you away. Soon, he's snoring and you're just sitting there enjoying the fullness of his cock and cum.

“Mmm,” you sigh softly and begin to push yourself up. You let his cock out and some of his cum comes with it. You scoop it up from around his tip and draw a heart on his shirt, imagining how cute it'll be when it's dry and hard. Then you get off the chair entirely and draw a few small hearts of cum on his joggers. You pull the waistband up for him, then plant a kiss on his lips before leaving him there. Then you go back upstairs and put on your underwear before you get back in his daughter's bed.

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Thank you so much for reading, ILY 💖 If you really like dark reader, you might wanna try my ghostface series every inch (there is also some power struggle/shift).

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