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bluebeary-jay · 8 months

Text

Damage done

Pre/No-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: during a fight with Joel, he unknowingly sends you into a panic attack caused by your previous experiences. he deeply regrets it. (based on this wonderful ask!)

Tags: heavy ANGST, hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending (there's also fluff), established relationship, petnames, soft!Joel (he's trying his best fr 🥺). Several years pre outbreak. please read the warnings carefully

Warnings: fighting, talk and mention about previous abusive relationship, panic attack, emotional distress, self-destructive thoughts

Word count: 4K

A/N: i wrote it partially based on experiences with my own panic attacks, but i know everyone's is different. if there's a warning i missed, please let me know. also i want this man to take care of me so much 😢 anyway, stay safe, darlings, and as always: happy reading and i hope you'll enjoy!! 💕 comments and feedback are greatly appreciated 😌

It had been a rough couple of weeks. Things at your work were rocky to say the least, what with your boss firing several people every week and cutting your salary. Joel didn’t have it much better – from what you understood, two clients suddenly canceled their order, and Tommy got himself thrown into jail, again, breaking his longest record to date. On top of that, little Sarah went down with some kind of flu that was raging in schools recently, and for the last two weeks one of you had to be home with her almost all the time.

So it was probably no wonder that the tension and stress became too much at one point, and you both snapped.

It was about the play at Sarah’s school.

“You promised her, Joel! She was talking about it for the entire week.”

“It’s not my fault we have to go out of town on this date,” he answered through clenched teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose and not looking up at you. “I tried to reschedule, but the commissioning party refused. I can’t help it, for fuck’s sake.”

You were glad Sarah wasn’t home right now to listen to your fight. You dropped her off earlier at her friend’s house because she wanted to practice lines for the play they were doing next week. The play that Joel was apparently planning to miss.

You adored Joel – god, you loved him with all that you had – but he could be so stubborn sometimes, it was driving you up the fricking wall.

“It’s your kid, Joel–”

“Yeah, it’s my kid!” he raised his voice, only now lifting his head. His stare was cold and hard, so unlike how he usually looked at you. “Not yours.”

“Are you kidding me?!” you shouted, hurt by his words and the tone he used. “I’ve been taking care of her, loving her– She is like a daughter to me!”

“But still not yours,” he repeated harshly. That was a low blow, especially when he told you so many times that you might not be Sarah’s biological mother, but it’s obvious you love her like she’s your own blood.

“You’re only saying that ‘cause you know I’m right,” you snarled angrily, and Joel huffed a humorless laugh.

“Of course. You always know better, dont’cha?” He stood up, towering over you, but you didn’t back down. If anything, it only made you more mad, as if he was doing this to intimidate you. “I’m sorry I’m such a terrible father in your eyes, but I have to think about earning money. Especially since it’s only a matter of time ‘till that asshole boss of yours will fire you, too.”

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?! You really think so lowly of me to say it won’t be long until I get fired?”

“I don’t– Christ, you’re puttin’ words in my mouth again.”

“Again. Of course.” You spat out and took your sweatshirt from the couch, done with him and this conversation. “I’m going to my home,” you told him dryly. Joel’s nostrils flared and he took a step forward.

“No, you’re not.”

“Fuckin’ watch me,” you muttered under your breath, but loud enough for him to hear.

“We are not finished!!” Joel screamed, his booming voice echoing throughout the house.

It felt like a slap. In one second you froze, all your muscles seized up and a feeling of coldness gripped your heart and throat, sending panic flooding your veins. The sweatshirt you were holding slipped out from your stiff fingers.

Joel has never raised his voice at you like that. Never with such anger and fury. There was a bite to his tone that you couldn’t explain, but which you knew very well – the telltale sign that you went too far, and the other person’s patience was at an end, that now you were going to pay for it.

Your previous boyfriend taught you what it means. It meant bruises and split lips, and screaming when you started crying…

Joel noticed the shift in your behavior right away, and his anger immediately ebbed, replaced by confusion and concern.

“Darlin’?” he murmured the pet name, though it rolled off his tongue heavily and with difficulty.

He was still furious at you and your refusal to understand what he was going through, but it all died down when he saw how wide, how empty your eyes were. Your knees buckled, and you looked like you could fall down at any moment.

Joel didn’t have any idea what was happening with you – but knew that whatever it was, it was his fault.

You, in the meantime, felt like you couldn’t breathe. The man in front of you – you weren’t even sure anymore who that was – took a step forward with his hand lifted, and you quickly backed away, stumbling in the process.

“No! N-no, no, please, I’m sorry–” you started blabbering and sobbing, wrapping one arm around your middle to protect all the main internal organs. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“No, you didn’t…”

“Please… I’m sorry, I swear,” you cried, trembling at this point, but not daring to escape the room. “I’ll be better, just don’t… Please, don’t…”

Joel’s heart broke when he saw you bursting into tears and trying to make yourself as small as possible. All his anger disappeared in a cloud of smoke, replaced by the overpowering need to comfort the girl he loved.

But you seemed so scared when he wanted to come closer… And he didn’t know how to proceed.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he repeated in an even softer tone, his eyebrows scrunching in worry. “Sweetheart… M’not gonna hurt you.”

He took another slow step forward, but that seemed to already be too much, because the trembling intensified and you practically slumped against the wall, one arm around your stomach, and the other squeezing your throat tightly. Joel feared to know the reason why you would do that to yourself.

“Stop, plea– I can’t– I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“No, it’s okay, my baby, it’s alright…”

He fell down to his knees next to you and reached to take you in his arms, but you started shaking your head violently, backing away and squirming out of his reach.

“No, no, please, I’m sorry! Don’t– don’t touch me!!”

A bile rose up in his throat, and he retreated his hands, holding them low in front of him to show he’s not going to do anything.

“It’s alright, babygirl,” he muttered chokingly, feeling completely helpless and lost about what to do. “You… you’re safe.”

You were crying uncontrollably now, though it seemed like you tried to stifle the never-ending sobs and tears flowing out of your eyes, in result making your entire body shake. You flinched – actually flinched – when Joel opened his mouth, and your fingers around your throat tightened their grip.

“No,” Joel said decisively, breaking your wish and grabbing your wrists, moving them away from your neck where red crescents started to form. “Baby, please, don’t.”

“Let go!!” It was hard to distinguish the words from between your cries, but the message your body language was conveying was clear as day. “No, don’t… me…” You sobbed again, quickly weakening despite your efforts. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“Come ‘ere,” Joel whispered in a voice full of pain, carefully shifting closer and wrapping his arms around you, though being careful not to make you feel too crowded or trapped. “Shhh… it’s Joel, darlin’, m’here.”

Surprisingly, you let him hold you – maybe it was just because you didn’t have strength to resist and fight back anymore, Joel thought, but maybe you recognized him. Maybe it was both. But the tears didn’t stop. No matter how gently he stroked your back or whispered reassuring words, you couldn’t seem to stop crying.

Several times in the next couple of minutes you tried to grasp your neck or arm again, but every time he delicately, though firmly, moved them away. You still babbled half-intelligible apologies and pleas, and each time your voice broke or hitched on another fearful word, Joel’s heart was shattering into a million pieces all over again.

“I’m sorry…” you sobbed again, trembling in his arms. “I’m sorry, don’t hurt me, p-please–...”

“My darlin’...” Joel held you closer and more securely in his arms, rocking you back and forth. “Sweetheart, my sweet, sweet girl… I’m never gonna hurt you, I swear.” He planted soft, delicate kisses on your hair. Even though he wanted to hug you tightly, to show you how much he loves and cares about you, he restrained himself and tried to keep his touch as gentle as possible. “I swear, my babygirl, m’sorry, so sorry for screamin’... Didn’t mean to.”

You were still crying, albeit weaker now, in his arms, clinging to him like your life depended on it. Joel could feel your nails digging themselves into the skin of his back, but it was the furthest thing on his mind – hell, he could start bleeding and still it wouldn’t be as important as comforting you at this moment. Better him than you.

“I love you s’much, my babygirl, my life,” Joel continued murmuring into the top of your head, feeling close to crying himself when your tears seemingly couldn’t stop flowing. “M’so sorry. I won’t ever hurt you like that again, I swear…”

His words, though full of love and compassion, rolled off you like water off a duck’s back, and you still couldn’t locate yourself, couldn’t tether your being to this world and make sense of the difference between what you knew should happen, and what was actually happening.

Your whole body was hurting, yes, but it wasn’t the pain of being repeatedly hit. You could barely hear your own cries, but it wasn’t because of vicious and cruel words being thrown at you. You knew it was Joel you were clinging to, and he never hurt you in this way, but… but you also were never so angry at each other. You never fought like this – and experience taught you that crossing that invisible line will carry certain consequences.

You weren’t angry now. You were scared. And confused.

“Joel,” you whimpered between gasps, struggling to breathe through your rapid sobs. “I’m sorry. Please, don’t– don’t go.”

“M’not leavin’ ya, babygirl.” He spoke into your hair, closing his eyes. “M’not goin’ anywhere.”

You were calming down a little now, the sobs wrecking your body and breaking Joel’s heart dying down, though you were still shivering. Joel continued to hold and soothe you the best he could.

And wondered who must’ve hurt his darling so much that you’d react so badly.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered after a while, sniffling into Joel’s chest, but trying not to get snots on his shirt. Joel sighed sadly, but his hold on you just tightened.

“No, babygirl, my darlin’...” He pressed his lips to your hairline, stroking your back with his other hand. “You have nothin’ to be sorry for, I swear. It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” you whimpered pitifully, unable to stop another wave of tears from falling. “I’m sorry I reacted like that. I know… Joel, I know you won’t hurt me. Baby, please.” You took his head in your hands, searching his eyes with fear painted across your face. “I’m so sorry, wasn’t thinking and…”

“Hey. Love, it’s fine.” He placed his own hands on your cheeks, stroking lightly your damp skin with his thumbs. “Don’t say that. M’not angry at you and would never be because of that. It’s… it’s okay.” He petted your hair, trying to relax for your sake, but his chest remained tight. “It’s gonna be okay, I promise.”

You nodded weakly, though you weren’t sure if you believed him. Joel swallowed heavily and nodded after a while, too.

“Okay. I… I’ll run you a bath,” he whispered, but you held his hand tighter and shook your head with tears gathering in your eyes again.

“No, no! Just s-stay with me, please.”

Joel took your face in his hands, but you closed your eyes, feeling too vulnerable and exhausted to even try to maintain eye contact.

“I’m here, baby. C’mon, just hold onto me.”

He waited until your arms were around his neck before slowly standing up and tucking you securely in his arms. You hid your wet face in the crook of Joel’s neck, breathing in his soothing smell and trying to calm your breathing, which you still found difficult.

Neither of you said anything when he took you to the bathroom, sat down on the toilet seat and started to fill the bathtub with water and soothing oils. You just watched him, wiping your nose every once in a while.

Still remaining silent, Joel extended his hand and helped you stand up. Then, almost with fearful hesitation, he touched the hem of your shirt, sending you a questioning look. You just nodded, not having strength to undress yourself, and lifted your arms, letting him take your clothes off.

You didn’t let go of his hand even after he guided you to sit in the tub. You couldn’t bear being alone with your thoughts right now, and Joel, being as wonderful of a man as he was, stayed by your side as the warmth from the water seeped through your tired bones.

Another several minutes passed before he finally asked the question that was gnawing at him since the very beginning. You must’ve subconsciously known it was coming, cause it didn’t even surprise you.

“Who was it?” he asked quietly. His hand was still caressing your palm with the gentlest of touches, but his eyes were like ice, full of hidden rage and hatred. “Who did this to you, darlin’?”

You wrapped your arms around yourself, not sure whether to answer or not. Ever since you got to know him, Joel has been nothing but kind and understanding, never pressuring you into doing or saying something you didn’t want… but you had a feeling he wasn’t going to let the matter drop.

And honestly, you were afraid to tell him. To admit how your previous relationship looked and what exactly happened to make you act so strongly about something so small. Because… what if he’ll realize how broken you are, how much effort it’d take to put up with you, and he’ll leave? Even if he was willing to take care of you, it was really unlikely that he’d stay – even if he says that now.

You were doing good until today. You managed to hide the issues you had with yourself and all the pain you carried inside, never letting Joel know that something was wrong with you. But now he… he will…

You didn’t want him to leave. He made your life so much better and you loved him to pieces with all your heart, as weak and broken as it was.

You couldn’t lose him.

“Oh, baby…” Joel’s hands cupped your cheeks so carefully and lovingly that you almost started weeping again. “M’not goin’ anywhere. I love ya so much. You’re never gonna lose me.”

You didn’t realize you said those words out loud, but even so, somehow his affirmations didn’t make you feel any better. You wanted them to comfort you, but if anything, they just made you feel sick.

“I’m afraid you’re gonna leave someday,” you whispered hoarsely, keeping your eyes on the slowly disappearing bubbles. “I know I’m being selfish, but I don’t want you to. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Joel. I…” Tears spilled from your eyes again and you shook your head. “I know I’m too much. And… and broken. And I know it sounds like I wanna guilt-trip you, but I’m not, I’m just–” You choked on a sob, and wrapped your arms tighter around yourself, hugging your knees to your chest. “I don’t– don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Sweetheart, look at me, please.” Joel’s hands were rough to the touch, but so incredibly gentle when they guided you to meet his eyes, and a big pit formed in your stomach when you saw how they shone. He was on the verge of tears, too. “Don’t say things like that. Nothin’ is wrong with you. Who…” He sighed again. “Who made you believe such things?”

You didn’t answer at first, but Joel kept staring at you, and – finally – you relented.

“My previous boyfriend. The one I didn’t want to talk about. He– Look, I know he was a horrible person.” You let out a short laugh, but without any joy – or emotions altogether – in it. “And I hate him so much, but he… he was right. About some things.”

“He’s not.” Joel didn’t back down, feeling despair growing inside his chest as he saw the girl he adored with his whole heart put herself down like that. “You’re… fuck, you’re perfect, darlin’, and you didn’t deserve to be treated or talked to this way. M’so sorry it happened to you.”

He brushed some of your hair to the back and sighed silently. He seemed so lost and sad, it made you feel even worse.

“What can I do?”

That stopped the train of your thoughts, and you looked up.

“What?”

“What can I do?” he repeated softly. “To prove t’you that I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Your lips parted, and you were unsure what to say. Joel took your hand in his, delicately tracing patterns on the back of it.

“Babygirl, listen to me. You’re the most precious thing t’me. I don’t care what this asshole told you, but… but none of this is true. And it’s not gonna drive me away from you. Nothin’ is gonna make me leave,” he repeated more firmly, never taking his eyes off you. “Because I love you. More than anythin’ else in the world”

Joel sounded so sincere and desperate, tugging at your heartstrings with his gentle, sad eyes and loving words. The water became cool some time ago, but your insides felt like they were on fire – as if the next breath you were about to take would be your last.

“I’m sorry for everything I said.” You took a shaky breath, trying to keep your voice steady. “I don’t think you’re a bad father. I think you’re the best and most amazing dad Sarah could ever ask for. I didn’t want…” You sniffed and your shoulders started to shake again with silent cries. “I didn’t want to hurt you, I’m so sorry, I didn’t–”

The sob that you tried to stop with all your might suddenly escaped you, and Joel’s forehead scrunched in worry. He pulled you closer, leaning over the edge of the bathtub. Neither of you concerned yourself with water dripping off your skin, only feeling relieved from each other’s closeness.

“I know, babygirl. M’not mad.” Joel left a lingering kiss on your tearstained cheek, and then a second one on your forehead. “I’m sorry, too. For how I acted and for–” he sighed heavily into your shoulder, “for shouting at ya.”

“You couldn’t have known,” you mumbled, but he shook his head.

“That’s no excuse. I shouldn’t ‘ave done it in the first place.” He relaxed in your arms, and somehow it made your muscles less tense, too. “I’ll see what I can do about that job. So that I can see Sarah’s play.”

You nodded and let your eyelids drop, giving in to the feeling of calm and security that always came with being with Joel.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” you asked quietly. You still were a little afraid that he’s going to turn you down after what happened, but you really didn’t want to stay alone. “With you?”

“‘Course you can. D’ya want to go now?”

You nodded again. Not bathing seemed like a big waste of water, but you didn’t feel strong enough to actually wash your body. And Joel didn’t pressure you – he just bent over and wrapped his strong arms around you, practically pulling you out of the tub by himself.

His clothes were completely soaked when he put you down and reached for the fluffiest towel you had, wrapping it around you like a little cocoon. He got rid of his wet shirt, kissed your head gently and, without a word, scooped you up into his arms again.

“I can stand,” you offered when he started walking towards the bedroom, forcing you to wrap your hands around his neck for support.

“I want to take care of you.”

“But your back pains…”

“I’m not that old yet, sweetheart,” he answered with a half-smile, slowing down and gazing into your eyes softly. “Let me take care of you.”

You brushed his cheek with your fingertips tenderly, eyes flickering across his face. “But you’re always taking care of everyone, Joel.”

His throat bobbed and he almost immediately looked away. It was clear what he was thinking – that according to himself, he wasn’t doing a good enough job. Because you got hurt. Because he was the one who unintentionally hurt you and sent you into a panic attack.

He was silent when he put you down on the bed with care, turning around to fetch one of his shirts from the closet. During this whole time you didn’t say anything, either. Your mind was still a little closed off from when you tried to separate yourself from the painful memories that started to haunt you, and despite Joel’s efforts, it was still difficult to move past the experience.

But your head snapped up when Joel, after helping you put the shirt on, knelt in front of you, took your hand in his and leaned forward to kiss your knee gently.

“M’sorry,” Joel whispered with pain tinging his deep voice. “I’m sorry for sayin’ all those things about you and Sarah. I know you love her.” He pressed his lips to your knee again, and lifted his head, revealing how misty his own eyes were, which in turn made your heart ache even more. “My sweet girl. I swear I won’t ever hurt you again.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” you answered quietly, but Joel shook his head and took a deep breath.

“What can I do?” he repeated his question from earlier, and this time you knew exactly what you needed him for.

“Can you… can you hold me?”

Without missing a beat, Joel raised from his position and enveloped you in his embrace, making you feel safe and protected like never before. You sighed heavily, breathing in his scent and feeling like just by touching you with such love that only he was capable of, he helped you to lift some invisible load from your shoulders.

Despite the headache from all the crying and your chest still tightening with every shallow breath you took, you felt a little better now. You didn’t feel alone.

You knew you were safe with Joel.

It took some time for you to fall asleep, but even when you did, Joel could not find peace in the silky darkness of the evening.

Before you dozed off, Joel vowed again and again how much you mean to him, how you and Sarah are the best things that ever happened to him, and how he’ll never let anything happen to any of you – and he could clearly see that you believed his every word, and that you weren’t mad at him. You weren’t flinching when he rocked you back and forth, or later when he pressed small kisses to your forehead.

But you still were quiet and your face miserable, and several times Joel tucked you in closer to himself when he felt you shaking and sniffing. There wasn’t anything else he could do but hold you and whisper soothing promises into your hair. Once your eyelids started to drop, he began humming a familiar melody he knew you liked, and you nuzzled your face into his neck, curling up in his embrace.

And you whispered ‘I love you’ before you drifted off to an uneasy sleep in his arms. And before he could even answer, you thanked him for loving you.

When he heard it, he had to keep himself from breaking down with the last bit of his strength.

“You mean everythin’ to me, love. Everythin’,” he murmured after a couple of seconds, not even knowing if you were still awake. The guilt in his chest made it hard to breathe, but he pushed through it, and then he softly kissed your forehead, making a promise to himself.

He will find time to go to Sarah’s play with you. And he’ll make it right.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #the last of us #joel miller x y/n #tlou hbo #young joel miller #sarah miller #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff

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pearlywritings · 5 months

Text

A guide to motivate the General

synopsis: just a couple of messages and maybe a call from his loved ones is all Jing Yuan needs to find it in himself to finish his work and go home.

pairing: Jing Yuan x fem!reader

tw: fluff, domestic fluff, dad!Jing Yuan, Mimi being a huge spoiled baby

word count: 2.1k+ words

A loud yawn echoes in an empty space of The Seat of the Divine Foresight. The general squints, but immediately shakes his head - as much as he’d love to take a nap, there are still some urgent cases he has to attend to. It’s so quiet and lifeless with everyone being dismissed. Oh, what he would’ve given to be far far from here…

He knows, however, that dwelling on such a matter is just a waste of his resources. Instead of feeling jealous of the guards and secretaries he let go home three hours ago, he opts to redirect the remnants of his energy to the last pile of papers he’s already halfway through.

But just as he reaches for another document his phone vibrates, screen lighting up momentarily, but even a second-long glance is enough to see who the message is from.

And he can’t make his wife wait, can he?

As he carefully puts the ink brush down the device makes a sound a couple of more times, indicating that there are three messages already. Quickly typing eight numbers of his passcode - two most important dates of his life - Jing Yuan swipes away all the spam that has gathered there this evening. His thumb lightly taps on the messenger and goes right to the chat with you, tired golden eyes gaining a bit of their usual shine.

Good evening, my love. I suppose you weren’t lying when you said you’d be quite busy. Didn’t want to disturb you before, but I hope Yanqing wasn’t covering you up, telling me that you ‘dutifully ate’ the dinner I asked him to bring you earlier.

Jing Yuan chuckles. Ah, isn’t it wonderful to have a loving doting spouse who cares so much for her husband. Of course he took a break and ate his dinner - how could he ever deny your home-cooked meals? It would be a crime against your marriage.

Ignoring for a moment your two next messages, the man starts typing an answer.

Good evening, beloved. Yes, I’ll be here for another hour it seems. But I am planning to return home tonight, don’t worry. Yes, the dinner was delicious, thank you. And you know that boy knows better than to lie to you.

Though he, personally, finds your infuriated face adorable, not scary. Sending the message, he skips to the next ones.

Look who’s been waiting for your return

And the video attached. Not thinking too long, he presses play.

He is quick to recognize your shared bedroom and from the angle you were filming you were clearly in bed. He can see the double doors of the entrance, some of the furniture and fine tapestries decorating the walls. But the main focus is obviously the big lion pacing back and forth in the space between the bed and the doors, occasionally stopping, glancing at the wooden obstacle, huffing and continuing its pacing. Then he hears you sweet melodic giggle and his heart melts and then immediately bursts when your voice enters the recording.

“She’s been like that for the last half an hour. She clearly misses papa.”

At the word ‘papa’ Mimi swiftly stops and looks at you and then at the door. Her tail slowly moves.

“No, Mimi, sorry, but papa isn’t home yet. Though I am sure he will soon.”

She seems to understand you, because another huff of dissatisfaction passes through her nose and she butts her head against the left door.

“Jing Yuan, you better hurry, before she figures out how to open the door and go bother ‘her cub’. I barely managed to separate the two.”

As the video stops, the general can’t help but snort, mouth covered with his palm. Eyes glance to the side, to the photo frame sitting snugly on his table - of him, you, held against his side with one arm, and a little girl perched comfortably in the crook of his other one. The smiles the three of you presenting are joyful and he can recall why - the day was brilliant, after all.

Not given an opportunity to wonder however, his attention is brought back by another vibration - looks like you still have something to say.

True, but it never hurts to make sure.

Want me to wait for you?

Oh, he’d love for you to be awake and welcome his exhausted body into your embrace, but at the same time he wants you to have a night of good sleep before tomorrow. Even so…he can allow himself to indulge just a little bit, right?

Warmth swirls in his chest when you pick his video call.

“Hi, pretty,” a lazy smile tugs on the corners of his lips when he sees your cozy form - hair let down, a pillow tucked behind your back and two thin straps of the chemise resting on your beautiful shoulders.

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” he sees your eyes taking into his own visage, noting his tired gaze, messy hair and a palm supporting his chin. “Are you calling me to answer my question?”

“Yes and no. Just wanted to see you before you go to sleep,” and that is enough of a response to you.

“How sweet of you, Yuan,” there is a guttural noise in the background and he sees your eyes dart behind the phone. “Ah, looks like Mimi heard your voice. She started running around the room. Searching for you, Mister,” even though there is a hint of reproach in your voice, the general knows you are simply joking.

“My apologies. It seems I made all my girls wait. Speaking of my girls, how is-”

Suddenly you gasp and your body seems to jump and for a moment the phone tilts backwards and Jing Yuan has to stare at the ceiling.

“My dear? Everything is okay?”

“What-? Ah, yes, yes, it- Mimi, stop! Ouch, your paw is heavy!”

The ceiling is clearer now - you must’ve put the device down in an attempt to (what he can only guess) fight off the lion that jumped onto your bed, finally figuring out where the voice was coming from. Loud grunts and your noises of discontent with occasional complaints are the only things he can hear for a couple of minutes. Reasoning that it’s better if he stays silent for the time being, Jing Yuan sets the phone against the photo frame and returns to the paper he was about to review.

It’s almost three documents later - wow, a quick peak of his loved one is doing wonders to his worsened productivity - when the commotion settles down and you pick your phone back, heavily exhaling with an annoyed look on your face. Jing Yuan decides to simply turn to you, hand still skipping through the papers.

“I swear, this overgrown cat is the biggest baby I’ve ever dealt with. Here, look, papa is here,” and you practically shove the device into the animal’s muzzle. Big nose sniffs around, and, not finding the familiar scent of her caretaker, the lion gives you a side eye, which makes your husband choke on his laughter. The maned head whips to the left, keen hearing obviously picking a well-known voice.

“Who taught her that jumping onto the bed is okay?” You are in his sight again, fingers running through your hair, now no different from his own messy locks. “Right - you. I couldn’t get her off and barely managed to put this bulk down. You better pray she decides to leave on her own accord, or you are sleeping on the floor tonight.”

Yes, your annoyed expressions are truly marvelous. How he wished to be there with you and shower your puffy cheeks with dozens of kisses, cradling your face in his big warm palms. It would be so lovely.

“I’ll just go and sleep with my angel then. I am sure she won’t be against having dada by her side.”

He hears Mimi yawn loudly and you make an ‘oof’ sound, promptly lifting the phone.

“Everything is alright?”

“Yeah… She just dropped her head onto my lap. And is staring at me, quite offended.”

“Oooh, now you are stuck,” he can't help but smirk, relishing the roll of your eyes. He knows better than anyone how heavy his pet is. Even he feels a strain in his back whenever he picks her up. Or maybe he is just getting old.

“Wow, thanks, General Obviousness. Mimi, your papa is so-”

Abruptly you are interrupted again, but this time by a quiet, almost inaudible sound of the doors opening. He sees your body lean forward and by a warning “Mimi, stay” he knows you are pinning the animal down. Which can mean only one thing…

“Mom?” A sweet sleepy voice of his daughter proves his assumption right. Suddenly, hearing just one word from her, the man wants to abandon what little work he has left and rush home to envelope the little wonder into his arms, hear her giggle and call him “dad” or “dada” or “papa” - he'd take anything, really, as long as it’s from his little one.

“What is it, baby? Having trouble sleeping?” Oh, but your voice is so beautifully tender, he wants to have it directly caress his ears, while he is cuddled into your body, your fingers running through his thick hair. Aeons, he is losing focus.

“I heard Mimi running,” the little voice gets closer and Jing Yuan sees how your shoulder tenses - the arm is undoubtedly wrapped around the lion’s body. “I thought that daddy came home… has he not yet?”

Now, he really wants to get home as soon as possible.

“No, sweety. But guess what? I am talking to him right now. Want to say hi?”

As you are leaning back, your husband reaches for the phone, holding it properly in his hands, heart skipping a beat in anticipation, waiting for the girl to climb onto the bed and settle at your side.

Stars above, she is a carbon copy of him. Fluffy hair, tucked behind her ears not to obscure the vision, keeping the pretty liquid gold eyes on display, a beauty mark under her eye is charming, just as a lovely smile, stretching mouth when she finally catches the glimpse of her father.

“Papa hiii!” Her little hands wave happily at him, a toothy grin even wider than before. Pure excitement written all over her drowsy expression is adorable, so cute in fact, that Jing Yuan fists the shirt on his chest in a silent cry of his heart.

“Hi, my little sparrow,” he speaks softly, gazing at her with so much love, while his mind is screaming with joy. “I am going to be home very soon. But I want you, and mama, and Mimi all to go to sleep.”

“But whyyy,” she whines, pouting. He also hears the lion grunt, as if understanding what he is saying, and you just shake your head with a small chuckle.

“Because papa wants you to be well-rested. He promised us a walk tomorrow, right?” Your hand goes to rest on top of her head, patting. “It’ll be too bad if we are sleepy, don't you think?”

“Mama is right. I know you miss me, baby, and I miss you terribly too. But if we want to spend the whole day together, doing everything you, princess, want, I have to complete some of my cases. That's why I am going to say my good night’s and get back to work to finish it.”

The white-haired girl sighs, dropping her head, letting the heavy fringe escape and cover her eyes.

“Being an adult is awful,” he hears her murmur a complaint and can’t help but agree. Though, if he wasn’t an adult, would’ve he ever had you and her? “But I get it, daddy. I am a big girl!”

“That’s my girl,” he gives her an encouraging smile, when she lifts her eyes again to look at him from under the bangs. His smile is almost immediately mirrored.

“So…” Jing Yuan catches your gaze (you have been watching this whole exchange with a fond look in your eyes) and shares unspoken affection. “Good night, my love.”

“Have you soon in my arms, dear,” you blow a kiss and he makes a grabby motion with his hand, bringing it to his very heart.

“Baby,” the girl perks, wiggling in her place and tucking her hair away when his attention is focused on her once more, “sweet dreams. I promise to stop by and kiss you on the cheek.”

“I'll be waiting- I mean sleeping! Have fun with work, daddy.”

“I will. Rub Mimi’s tummy for me, will you?”

“Mhm!”

Giving the two of you one last glance before hanging up, Jing Yuan is filled with the new found motivation. At that moment he thinks that busying himself for the full duration of the day is absolutely worth it, if he gets to give his girls undivided attention tomorrow.

And he will be damned if he lets something ruin it.

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x fem!reader #jing yuan #dad!jing yuan #hsr fluff

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etherealperrie · 6 months

Text

Anywhere With You

Chapter 1: "it's time to go"

Coriolanus (Coryo) Snow x Reader Word count: 2.4k Contains: pre-hunger games Coryo | longtime friends to lovers | Coriolanus being soft for the one he loves | mentions of minor tbosas characters | immense amounts of fluff and comfort | slight tbosas spoilers (but not really)

Want More? Chapter 2

“The Plinth Prize is no longer.” Dean Highbottom’s voice echoes through the stadium of students, the weight of his words settling amongst the first three rows of Academy standouts. Gasps and whispers fill the crowd, the hair on the back of your neck standing at attention, the buzz of others’ words sending chills down your spine. You don’t dare look at Coriolanus, instead letting your eyes fall shut.

“You’ll face one more test to prove your worth,” the Dean continues, making his way up to the podium at the front of the hall. “After all, you are our most promising students. This is in your DNA.”

Swallowing hard, you force your eyes open, a sick feeling reeling in your stomach. This was supposed to be the end. This was supposed to be the start of your summer with Coriolanus – the time before University. The day that was supposed to change both of your lives for the better.

Murmurs fill the quiet space in between Dean Highbottom’s dramatic pause, stopping not only to drag out this horrific explanation but to soothe himself with a bottle of morphling. You’d never once wished to try the drug, but today, with your vision of the future thinning before your eyes, you’d gladly share the vile with him.

The feeling of skin brushing against yours turns your attention from the front of the room to the chair next to you. Coriolanus. You can’t hold back anymore. You didn’t care who saw, or what they thought. You watch his jaw twitch, his eyes still facing forward as his hand grasps yours, his thumb pressing slow, gentle circles into your skin. He’s holding it in. Another hurdle yet for him to surpass. When you squeeze his hand in return, an involuntary response, he lets out a shaky breath, his eyes flickering to you for only a moment.

Coryo.

Not Coriolanus Snow. Just your Coryo for that moment.

The eyes of your fellow classmates burn at the back of your neck. They all knew Coriolanus was meant for that prize. Top student with stellar marks, after all. Only you knew, though, how badly he needed it. How badly Tigris needed it. The Grandma’am. You, too. This day was supposed to change everything.

Indeed it had.

“On this day of the 10th annual Reaping for the Hunger Games, you all are no longer students, but mentors.” Dean Highbottom continues speaking, pulling you from your own head. Coriolanus shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his free hand tugging at the collar of his shirt. A shirt he’d nearly outgrown, even with Tigris’ adjustments. His other hand never releases yours, his thumb continuing to trace up and down your skin, working to calm you. In any other circumstance it might have worked.

“Each of you will be paired with a tribute from the districts and act their mentor leading up to and throughout the Games.”

“For what purpose?” you ask. The question leaves your lips before you have a chance to even think. Before you have a chance to consider the consequences. What harm could an innocent question have? It was innocent, of course. A student simply inquiring about the new assignment. Certainly nothing more. Most definitely not an imposition of the justness of withholding the Plinth Prize and meddling in “game” that was nearing its natural end. No one in the Capitol had watched the games in years, they were savage. Inhumane. Disconnected from the current state of affairs; the war had been over for years.

Deep, dark laughter fills the room, an unfamiliar voice echoing off the walls. Chills crawl up your spine, a shive running through your body. Everyone's heads whip around, a tall figure entering the auditorium. She slithers down the aisle towards the podium, stopping just in front of your chair. You slip your hand out of Coriolanus’, but he refuses to let go now more than ever. His grasp tightens on you and you notice him shift forward in his seat. It’s now your turn to soothe him, running your thumb over his.

“For what purpose?” the woman before you mimics. You swallow, noting her duochromatic eyes. Her makeup is severe, her hair frazzled, her hands draped in bright red latex gloves. The faint sound of hissing grows louder as she takes another step forward. A snake is wrapped delicately around her wrist, flicking its tongue, slithering over the shiny material. “My dear, remind me. What are the Hunger Games for?” She speaks softly, but in the silent room, her words are clear to all.

“I– well, they’re to –”

The woman shakes her head, clicking her tongue. “You see? We’ve already forgotten.” She turns to Coriolanus, a smile spreading over her lips. “Mr. Snow,” she says. “Why don’t you remind your –” her gaze drops to your intertwined hands, “classmate what the Hunger Games are for.”

Coriolanus shakes his head, looking at you then back to the woman. You weren’t sure who she was, but she knew Coryo. But then again, that came with the territory of being a Snow. He could never escape the history and prowess of his father, no matter how hard he tried. And believe you, he’d tried.

“You tell us they’re to punish the districts for the war.”

“Precisely, Mr. Snow. We all seem to have forgotten what this all is for. And that is where each of you come in.”

“Ah, Dr. Gaul, thank you for providing that insight,” Dean Highbottom interrupts, turning the attention back to the center of the room where the woman – Dr. Gaul – sulks away to join him. Coriolanus leans back in his seat, his breathing heavy. He releases your hand and leans in to place his hand on your thigh. The feeling of his warm palm through the fabric of your uniform lets you take your first deep breath since arriving.

He’s with you.

The remainder of the day goes by in a blur. When you emerge from the Academy, the afternoon sun is beginning to set. You, Coriolanus, and your classmates had each been assigned a tribute. A tribute to make a spectacle of. A tribute to use then sacrifice into the slaughter in order to obtain some prize. It made your stomach turn, the idea of being forced to take the small boy you’d been ‘given’ and parade him around only to send him to his death. A small boy no more than thirteen. A boy you were meant to despise simply because he’s district. But this boy, nor any of the tributes – especially the small girl assigned to Coriolanus – had seen the war, they hadn’t caused it. They were collateral in the Capitol’s game of control. Control they garnered with false promises of the prize. A prize that neither you nor Coryo thought actually existed.

“Who’s to say they don’t dangle it in front of us again?” you ask later that night, standing beside Coryo at the sink while he washed out the pot of potatoes and cabbage Tigris cooked. “That they don’t give us another assignment – another hurdle – to obtain the prize. Just to use us for their bidding?”

You slide behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He sighs, setting down the pot and turning to be face to face with you. His hands wander around your waist, pulling you tighter to him.

“Those poor kids are going to die for nothing, Coryo. And we’re to blame,” you cry, resting your head on his chest. He takes a deep breath and presses a kiss to the top of your head. You fit into him so perfectly. The steady, rhythmic beat of his heart in your ears grounds you, tethering you to the moment.

“It’s not your fault,” he whispers. “Dr. Gaul is clearly mad. The way she taunted you?” He pauses, sucking in a breath. There’s a few beats of silence before he speaks again. “I don’t know what she’s capable of, but if she’d have laid a hand on you, I-”

You lift your head to look up at him and lift your hands to place one on each side of his face. His eyes, a blue so clear you can see right into his soul, meet yours.

“I know, Coryo, I know.”

“We have to get out of here,” Coriolanus says. His gaze still holds yours, his demeanor serious.

Your brow furrows. “Get out of where? The Capitol? Coryo, where would we go?”

“Sejanus talks of a place up North, somewhere off the grid where nomads persist.”

“You can’t be serious,” you say, letting your hands fall from his face.

You wanted out. You’d heard rumors of this place up North too, but assumed it was fictitious – maybe a story the districts orchestrated to provide some hope after the war. You’d been taught to be grateful for a life in the Capitol, after all, your name would never be reaped. But the longer you spent here and the older you grew, the more the story of the Capitol and its protection seemed to fall apart. Today had been further proof. Putting the lives of district children in the hands of Capitol children for the sick purpose of entertainment and control.

Coryo turns his head to look out the floor to ceiling windows of the Snow penthouse. Coriolanus had many thoughts about his home, not all of them poignant and kind. He hated the way his home had crumbled throughout the war. Sure, it wasn’t as luxurious as it had once been, but you had an unspoken appreciation for it, knowing that everything within these walls shaped him into the Coryo you loved.

“If we go back to the Academy tomorrow, we’ll never escape. I have a sinking feeling about this game, love. I don’t want Gaul and her creatures hurting you and who’s Dean Highbottom to miss either of us? The miserable bastard will be three morphlings gone by the time the games begin.”

“What about Tigris? The Grandma’am? What about my family?”

Coriolanus sighs. “I’ll make arrangements with Pluribus tonight, he’s always done well to take care of us before.” Coryo reaches out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, taking a pause to caress the side of your face. “And I’ll go wherever you go. If you want to stay, I’ll remain here with you. Whatever you decide, I’ll be there to protect you. This,” he whispers, running his thumb over your bottom lip, “is the most important thing to me.”

When your eyes meet his, the defense falls away. He sometimes wished you didn’t have such an effect on him. He never struggles keeping things in, or keeping the world out of his head. But with you – those eyes – he couldn’t hide. He’s grateful for it, really, before you he’d never had a soft place to land. But now, with your hands caressing him, he knows he’s found it.

You could imagine it. The thing you’ve always wanted, a life with Coryo. A life without the influence and ever-looming threat of the Capitol. Of their control, of the stress of finding a way to the top. Coryo wanted the same thing, a life with you. A life where you two were free to be whomever you wanted; a simple life where you could eat what you wanted, when you wanted, and spend your days lying with one another and living amongst others peacefully the way you imagined you would when the war first ended.

“I can’t go back there, Coryo.”

“Then tomorrow morning, we’ll go.” He says it so matter of factly. As if it’s all going to be okay. You choose to believe him and sink into the strength of his chest, wrapping yourself around him tightly. He chuckles, bringing some levity to the decision the two of you just made. “Why don’t we bask in one last hot shower, hm?”

You follow him down the hallway to the bathroom, his foot kicking the door shut in one swift movement. He reaches into the deep green tiled shower and turns on the water, running his hand under to test the temperature. You’re out of your clothes within seconds, eager to shed the identity of the Academy. Coryo does the same, eyeing you with a grin as you step past him and into the shower. He’s so himself here, stripped before you, not carrying the weight of the day, letting it all wash away from him as he ducks beneath the water, dampening his curls.

Without thought, your hand is in his hair, pushing the light blonde strands away from his face, those piercing blue eyes wandering every inch of you. He breathes into your touch, his hands following his gaze, mapping every inch of your body as if committing it further to memory. They say it’s the things we love most that destroy us and – god – he was certain you destroyed the parts of himself that he sometimes feared. With you, he was just Coryo. Your Coryo. And starting tomorrow you could be each others forever.

The warmth of the water combined with the feeling of his skin pressed against yours is heavenly. The steam rises, fogging up the glass as you tip your head back to dampen your hair. Your eyes fall shut, letting the water run down your body. Your body awakens when Coryo’s lips meet your neck, peppering kisses up your jawline until eventually, his hands are tangled in the ends of your hair, lifting your head back to meet him. Sighing, your body alight with warmth and desire, Coryo presses his lips to yours. There’s a quiet moan that you can’t make out as distinctly his or yours, but a shared expression of your feelings.

Something about this being the last night with life as you’d known it changes the kiss. There’s no hesitation, but no urgency either, your bodies intertwining in a way they haven’t before. As if there was nothing and nowhere else that mattered. You’re typically both so consumed with academy assignments, or house work, or recovering from whatever the day brought you. But tonight, with tomorrow on the horizon, it was simply you and Coryo.

#etherealperrie #my writings #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #TBOSAS #TBOSAS fic #Coriolanus snow #Coriolanus snow x reader #Coryo snow #Coryo snow x reader #Tigris snow #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes fanfiction #tbosas fanfic #Coriolanus snow imagine #Coriolanus snow fic #Coryo snow fic #tom blyth #sejanus plinth

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6gumi · 21 days

Text

scandalous!

synopsis ﹒bllk men reassuring you that all those useless false scandals and fake news online are false ! ( in a rather . . peculiar way than normal reassurance . . <3 )

pairings﹒ michael kaiser, itoshi sae, oliver aiku x f!reader

cw ﹒nsfw MDNI. unedited ( mistakes might be present ) 、 blowie ( oliver aiku ) 、dirty talk 、riding ( michael kaiser ) 、small titplay ( itoshi sae ) 、mentions of cheating but it doesn’t acc happen, promise ! 、v4ginal fingering ( itoshi sae ) 、use of feminine terms ( girl, gf (?) etc) 、 more tba !

note ﹒hello every1 ! ! :,3 wrote this while working on my art project lol ! ! ! first bllk work i believe ? ? i hope there isn’t too many mistakes in this one i’m very very sleepy trying 2 make my art look nice . . :,3 | reblogs r highly appreciated, feel free 2 send me an ask ! — millie ♡

୨୧ 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑

“come on, mein liebling . . is that really what you’re worried about? i assure you . . these pathetic scandals aren’t true anyways.” with a firm grasp on your hip, he guided you on his cock with such elegance and ease, wanting to fuck all worrying emotions lingering beneath that pretty face of yours. “speak to me, liebling. do you seriously believe all of those rumours going around about me? about us?” his voice was addictive . . your head was completely empty . . filled with nothing but his damn voice. even so, these stupid rumours and scandals . . . as reassuring as he is, you can’t help but think maybe there’s some truth behind those rumours.

sweat glistened his well-fit body and yours, mingling the intoxicating fragrances within the air. squeezing your breasts in his hands with a lick of his lips, his fingers grazed down your spine, grunting at his own sharp and desperate thrusts. you rode him with the same amount of desperation and arousal he had. your passion filled him with both satisfaction and hope . . hope that you believed you were his only, utterly dependent and devoted to you. the blonde’s fingers dug into your soft flesh as every movement brought you both closer into harmony, each groan echoed against the walls of your shared bedroom. “that’s it . . .” he whispered hoarsely into your ear, his breathing ragged from exertion. "ride me hard, beautiful.”

your face contorted in pleasure as you slammed yourself down against his cock, feeling the tip kiss your sweet-spots as you struggle to speak up, the mere feeling of his cock was enough to send you to heaven itself ! just then, your mouth opened to speak. “i—it’s not impossible,” you murmured, “what if you’re lying to me . .” “oh baby . . . do you really think i’m not telling the truth?” kaiser’s face grew serious, snapping his hips upwards against your pussy. he relished the feel of your warm body against his, wanting to fuck those precious thoughts out of you. he was telling the truth, those stupid articles . . were only trying to ruin his image. his large hands gripped your hips tighter, his nails practically digging into your skin with a sense of desperation . . wanting to prove himself to you.

“mein liebling . . . seriously. i’m telling the truth. i’m telling the truth when i say this pussy is mine and mine only. and i’m definitely telling the truth when i say this cock is yours to fuck yourself dumb on.”

“ . . you, mein blume . . . have nothing to worry about. my cock belongs to you.”

୨୧ 𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐄

“i mean it, [name].” sae whispered against your ear, sending streams of electricity through your spine. his renewed determination to reassure you became his goal for the day, pressing his nose against your neck again, inhaling the scent of your fragrance. he had you seated on his lap, his hardness pressing close against your ass . . . trying his best to hold it in when the time comes. his fingers darted out again, swirling around the sensitive nub. “y—you don’t mean it . .” you protested, which only made things more harder for sae. he hated when you doubt his words, his movements growing more confident and skilled with each passing moment . . mind focused solely on pleasing his pretty girlfriend who was all worried about these articles that weren’t even true.

“i do mean it.” your boyfriend’s heart pounded in his chest, free hand reaching out to touch your breasts. his fingers brushed against your nipples, making them harder than steel. "hm. what can i do to make you believe me?” he grips your hips, pulling you towards him, erection straining against his shorts as he struggled the urges to fuck himself balls deep into your pussy. “those articles aren’t always true, angel-face. i mean it. i’m telling the truth, okay?”

grinding his cock against your lower back, he pushed another finger inside. your walls trembled, gripping his digits with pure vigour, you could almost feel his cock throb ! “mmh.. but the article . . .” your whimpers were music to his ears, pleasure dancing across your face, replacing the looks of uncertainty and concern. an absurd wave of protectiveness washed over sae then— the idea that these people were making up false and uncouth claims and lies filled his heart with sick dissatisfaction. their declaration of his infidelity was another layer to his coldness, he hated all of them, he wanted you and you only . . . was that not obvious ?

“i know, angel, but they’re not true.” he whispered huskily, holding your heavy breasts steady. “fuck . . . you always say such pretty things," he murmured against their your damp hair, fingers lightly grazing down your labia as he thrusted them back in, wanting to make you cum and lose your mind completely. “please, you know those articles are just bullcrap trying to put our relationship at risk. but i’m not letting it happen.” there was a dangerous gleam in his eyes as he pulled out from within you, leaving behind an echo of fullness in your core.

“you know i love you, angel-face. is that in your head yet? or do i have to fuck it into you?”

୨୧ 𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐈𝐊𝐔

“oh fuck . . baby, you’re suckin’ me good.” oliver bit back a grunt, eyes drifting shut. he was supposed to be reassuring your pretty little head that he only had eyes for you, but it feels too fucking good. too tempting. he hoped and prayed you wouldn’t blame him later for wanting your mouth. the way your wet heat surrounds him sends him in a frenzy . . . your tongue swirling and dancing around was enough to drive him absolutely insane, he wanted to push your head down further onto his dick, thrust inside and give you all of him . . show you just how truthful he was being at this moment. “m—mmf . . listen baby, all those articles are just tryna’ ruin people’s images of me, of us. they ain’t real and will never be, kay?”

the sensation of your soft mouth enveloping him sends electricity straight to his body, wanting more of your mouth. desire raced through his veins, drowning out rational thought. your warm breath, soft moans . . he can hear all, feel every stroke of your tongue. your small sobs, and even those pretty tears. ohh . . . those tears. he loves them. gripping the armrest, fighting to maintain control. your precious tears streaming down your face . . . it only aroused him further, his dick twitching in your mouth.

you sniffled, trying your best to accommodate his size. “baby, i’m really telling the truth. all those cheating rumours . . . those pictures are photoshopped— ah fuck . . baby you gotta’ believe me.” oliver groaned loudly, mouth curling into a satisfied yet concerned smile as he watched his dick go in and out of your lips, his hips slowly moving on their own as he slammed himself against you, forcing you to take more of his cock. “i’m tellin’ ya, baby doll,” his voice rasped hoarsely in the air, swallowing a lump in his throat. “does my cock being in ya not prove anythin’? you’re the only one i imagine suckin’ me off so perfectly like this . .”

oliver couldn’t help but grin cheekily at the slurping he heard from you, “damn, you’re takin’ it all, baby. always knew ya were my girl . . never thought i’d end up with such a pretty girl like you . . don’t believe those dumb rumours, kay?” a low groan escaped your beloved boyfriend, hands running through your hair tenderly, guiding your movements until he could take it no longer. “just like that, darlin'. make me yours, again and again."

“can’t wait to be inside ya tonight. provin’ to you that i only want my dick to be inside this pussy.”

#millie’s writings ✔︎#kaiser . . sae n oliver >< i luv them so muchies #bllk talk w/ millie :3 #blue lock #bllk #blue lock smut #bllk smut #bllk x reader #sae x reader #bllk x you #kaiser smut #oliver aiku x reader #oliver smut #sae x you #sae smut #michael kaiser x reader #kaiser x reader #kaiser x you

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sunsetsimon · 7 months

Text

boyfriend simon riley ♡ pt 2 nsfw edition

more nsfw here

simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

sorry this took longer than planned :( i kept overthinking it since i haven't written smut in like 4 years. let me know if you want the rest that i cut off of here since i didn't want it to be too long! - sun

─────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───────

nsfw under the cut! mdni

☼ when it comes to having sex for the first time, simon moves really slow. he's in no rush building his connection to you, but he's also facing his own trauma at the same time. you'd have to initiate for the first time, grabbing his hand and moving it to cup your breast while you're making out. he groans into the kiss, massaging you through your pajama shirt. he can feel your nipples harden through the thin fabric and his cock throbs. you whine into the kiss as he pinches your nipple, and it sends a spark right to your clit.

simon pulls away shortly after, a light chuckle on his lips, "i still need to shower, love."

he stops short the next few times too, doing some light touching over your shirt and on your ass until he gets bold enough to fondle you under your shirt. his rough fingers pinch your nipples, making them harden instantly. you mewl against his lips, tugging at the soft hair on the back of his neck. "like that, doll?" he asks, voice low with lust.

it's late one night when he finally touches you, his fingers deep in your pussy as he flicks his tongue on your nipples. you're so close, the wet squelching of your cunt echoes through the room. he has 2 fingers inserted, curling them hastily while his other thumb rubs circles into your clit. "c'mon lovie, need you to cum for me."

☼ the next time he wants more, his desire to please you just increases every time you're together. simon's large frame is between your thighs as he devours your sweet pussy, feeling dizzy when you grind down against his tongue, desperate for release. "fuck simon! i'm gonna cum..!" you whine, squeezing the sheets so hard your knuckles turn white.

he doesn't stop, easily pushing 2 fingers into you and curling them in a 'come hither' motion. you cum instantly, your walls clamping down on his fingers and flexing as he finger-fucks you through it. your clit burns in pleasure as he sucks on it, flicking his tongue on the small bud of nerves. you don't know if you want him to stop or make you cum again, it's all too much.

but simon decides for you, pulling away with a grin on his face, his chin covered in your juices, "was that okay for you, pretty?"

☼ then finally, after a few drinks together, he lets you touch him. he's so sensitive, his tip pink and swollen dripping precum. simon's eyes watch you the whole time, loving the way your brows furrow as you focus on him. one hand is wrapped around the base of his huge cock while you take him deeper into your throat, lightly gagging around him. you look so fucking cute with your little mouth full of his huge dick.

simon has the urge to fuck your mouth, his hips uncontrollably bucking as he gets close. he cums seeing the way you look at him, tears streaming down your face as drool drips from your mouth. his hips stutter, moaning your name as he grips your hair hard, shooting hot sticky cum down your throat.

☼ when you finally have sex, he's very gentle and slow to start in missionary. making sure you're completely sure and prepared to do this with him. he's nervous but won't let you notice it. he pushes in slowly, giving you light thrusts to be able to adjust to him. you're so warm and tight, feeling impossibly good already. he kisses you at first, moaning against each others lips while he fucks you. but then, simon tucks his head down into your shoulder, mind blank as he focuses only on you.

"look at me si," you whisper, pushing him back so he sits up. he sees the way your face twists, the creamy ring around his cock as he fucks into you with ease, the way your boobs bounce with each thrust. fuck. he's overwhelmed by the need to cum with you. simon leans down and takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking and nipping at it, his hands pushing your thighs back and further open. his pelvis kisses your clit and you quickly cum, walls clenching down tightly. he keeps fucking you, the spasms of your gummy pussy around him quickly pulling him to his own release. he quickly pulls out, pumping himself a few times before shooting his load all over your stomach and chest.

☼ he's a horny fuck all the time after that. wants sex anytime, anywhere, and has a long list of things he wants to try with you. also starts regularly jacking off again when he's not able to be with you.

#ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #.wbm #cod x reader #smut #simon riley smut

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harryslittlefreakk · 17 days

Text

arrogant s.o.b

summary: based on this request - grumpy/mean Harry and readers first fight and he says something really harsh/yells and makes her cry? And then feels really bad after like grumpyxsunshine vibes?

warnings: angst

wordcount: 1.6k

a/n: thank you to the anon who sent in this request!! 🥰💖 sorry it took me a while to get around to it. please let me know if this isn’t quite what you wanted, i don’t know if I’m 100% happy with it so im more than willing to tweak and rewrite!!!

my masterlist!! please feel free to send me more requests 💓 happy reading

“I miss you, Harry.”

You knew you were pushing it, he was already working himself to breaking point. But you couldn’t help it, you missed your boyfriend. His break was meant to be about finding time for himself again, spending time with his loved ones. And you thought that meant being with you, not spending every day confined to the four walls of a recording studio.

“I can’t delay my entire album because you miss me.”

“I’m not asking you to delay the entire album. Just take a day off, just once.”

“Why?! For what?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Now you were both pissed off. You didn’t understand why Harry couldn’t just slow down. You’d only been able to see him in Italy for a few days, your work schedule unexpectedly busy. Part of you thought he was ‘punishing’ you for that, the sane part of you knew that his summer in Italy was his rest, and now he was back in London he needed to work. Harry’s work ethic was one of the things you admired most about him, and now you were arguing with him over it.

“Clearly it does matter.” He was stood by the door, keys in his hand, a dark scowl printed on his face.

“It’s fine, just go. Have a good day.” The hurt was evident in your voice, but you didn’t even want Harry to stay now with the atmosphere you’d created.

He hesitated for a moment, torn between wanting to stay and needing to leave. Finally, he sighed and turned to walk out the door without another word. The sound of the door swinging shut behind him echoed through the silent room, leaving you alone in your thoughts.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you sank into the sofa. You’d pushed him away when all you wanted was for him to stay. You knew you’d always come second to his career, he prioritised you over almost everything in his life but his music was so important to him. But once he finished recording, there would be interviews and appearances, then a tour, and then you’d be back here again. It was constant, unrelenting, and if he couldn’t even sacrifice one day for you, how could you expect him to slow down?

—

Harry stood frozen on the other side of the door, still stuck between needing to come back in and wanting to go. It never usually got to this point, one of you would back down before someone got hurt. It wasn’t exactly healthy, but it worked for you. He hated fighting, hated seeing you upset. But he was only now realising that it was usually you that compromised. He knew you well, and for you to actually speak up and ask him to stay despite knowing how important his work is to him? He’d fucked up.

He leaned against the door, his hand gripping the handle tightly as he closed his eyes, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside him. Guilt washed over him as he replayed the conversation in his mind. He knew he needed to find a balance between his work and his relationship, but it was easier said than done.

His hand fell from the door handle as he turned on his heel, dragging his feet away from the house. If he was going to make it right, he needed to be armed with all of your favourite things.

—

Harry replayed the morning in his head the entire time he was out. You’d woken up to his alarm as always, rolling over in his arms to wake him up with soft kisses. “Why do you set alarms if you know you can’t wake up for them?” you laughed, tapping at his nose as his eyes fluttered open. “Because you wake up and I get morning kisses,” he smiled, pulling you tighter to his chest.

He remembered how the morning light hit you at just the right angle, illuminating your puffy eyes and blushed cheeks. He’d caught himself wishing he could have five more minutes in bed with you, time to savour waking up next to his love. But he’d rolled out of bed in the same way as always, slipping out from under you just as you tried to curl your body around his.

You’d followed him to the bathroom silently, lingering in the doorway as you rubbed your tired eyes. “Wish I got to see you more,” you’d mumbled, eyes following his through the mirror. “You see me every day, kitten,” he’d replied, poking his tongue out when he saw you watching. He’d noticed your face fall slightly, a misty kind of sadness replace the natural glint in your eye. He cringed as he thought back, but he’d purposely ignored it to save himself the trouble.

“I see you when I wake up and just before bed,” you’d pouted, eyes glued to your suddenly fidgety hands. “I cant help that right now, pet. You know I can’t,” he’d tried to reason with you, and looking back, Harry thought maybe he was trying to convince himself. “Just a morning or an afternoon at home would be nice. Not even a full day,” you’d told him, voice cracking as you looked back up at him.

“I can’t have this conversation right now,” he’d muttered, kicking at the door until it swung closed in front of you.

And there he was now, heart struck with guilt at the thought of how badly he had neglected you.

—

As he heard your keys jingle outside the door, Harry finished rearranging his purchases across the bed. He gave one final look to the flowers on your windowsill, the beautiful blush pink roses he knew you loved. It was perfect, he just hoped it would be enough.

“Hi darling,” he smiled sheepishly as he walked down the stairs.

“Hi, H,” you replied, brows knitted as you stared at him. “What are you doing?”

“Come,” Harry murmured, reaching out a hand for you to take. You dropped your bag by door and took it, fingers tangling with his as he lead you back to the bedroom.

He stopped outside the bedroom door, pulling you into his arms. “M’sorry,” he whispered into your hair. “Didn’t think about what it’s like for you. I need time with you just as much as you need it w’me.”

“No, I’m sorry,” you told him, cuddling into his chest. “Nothing to be sorry for, pet.”

“Shouldn’t have pushed you like that,” you murmured, eyes closed as you breathed in his musky aftershave.

“Gave me the push I needed. M’not good at taking time off.”

“Don’t have to tell me that,” you laughed, stepping away from him as he turned to open the bedroom door.

“Got you your perfect day,” he smiled, stepping out of the way so you could see his creation.

All your favourite snacks were laid out on the bed, your matching pyjamas folded on the corner. The most beautiful flowers you’d ever seen in your favourite vase on the windowsill, candles lit on your nightstand and a cheesy rom com loaded on the tv.

“You did all of this?” you cooed, a grin spreading across your face as your gaze turned to Harry. He nodded, pulling his t-shirt off.

“Nuh uh,” you swatted his hand away as he reached to pick up the pyjama top. “Only my perfect day if you’re topless,” you smirked, quickly peeling your clothes off to throw the pyjamas on.

You climbed into bed next to Harry, pulling the duvet up to your chin before wrapping your body around his, your head at home on his chest. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, arms wrapped right around you.

“Made a few calls. Gonna start only doing three days at a time in the studio, then three days off,” he whispered, grinning when you immediately whipped round to look at him. “Don’t have to do that for me baby,” you gasped, brows furrowed.

“It’s the right call. Just gonna be longer days but worth it all if it means more time with you,” Harry winked, his hand caressing the curve of your waist.

You shifted upwards, placing a gentle kiss to his lips. “Thank you,” you smiled. “And congratulations.”

Harry returned your kiss, his lips lingering just a second longer than yours had. His touch and his kisses felt like home to you, his smile your lifeblood. “To me? For what?”

“To us. For our first fight,” you giggled, holding out a hand to high-five Harry. He grabbed a hold of your hand, using it to pull you even closer to him, until your faces were only centimetres apart.

“Here’s to our first and last fight,” he whispered, eyes locked on yours. His teeth latched onto your bottom lip as he went in for another kiss, the rocky waves in your stomach turning to butterflies as his tongue moved around yours.

You pulled away after a minute, settling back into his arms with a smile so bright it could have lit up the room.

“Can’t believe we started the day with you thinking your album is more important than me,” you mumbled, a mischievous sparkle in your eye as you tangled your fingers between Harry’s.

“Millions of adoring fans who’d do anything for me versus one woman? I know who I’m picking,” he teased, laughing as you smacked his thigh with your free hand.

“Maybe they were right,” you whispered, peering up at him.

“Hm?”

“About you being an arrogant son of a bitch.”

taglist: @angeldavis777 @softestqueeen @jerseygirlinca @palmettogal508 @drewsephrry @vonnexann @austiebuttbutt @indigo24hughes @peterparkerbae @im-an-overthinker @daphnesutton @loveableidioticweirdo @harryshotpocket @thegrapejuiceblues1982 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @swag13r @ashleighsss @tswiftsgf @chesthairrry @nikkisimps @hannah9921 @lilfreakjez @prettygurl-2009 @s-h-e-l-b-e-e @indierockgirrl @cicicavill7 @harrystylesluverrrr @cohnfusedarling @ell0ra-br3kk3r @stylesfever

#harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry edward styles #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles masterlist #Harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harryslittlefreakk

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nateezfics · 2 months

Text

WITH SUGAR

♔ PAIRING — san x reader

♔ GENRE — smut, sugar daddy au, ceo au, sugar daddy!san, ceo!san, aged up!san, fem!reader, dom!san, sub!reader

♔ WARNINGS — smut, public sex (in an office/workplace), oral (f receiving), use of pet names (sweetheart/good girl), daddy/sir kink, sexual language

♔ WORD COUNT — 1.9k

♔ SUMMARY — “you have the sweetest taste. i’m addicted to it.”

your heels clacked rhythmically on the marble floor. the sound was hallow and echoed against the walls as you made your way through the hall. your vision was focused straight ahead, the few people that were around mere silhouettes in your periphery. you were steadfast, drawing closer to the all too familiar double doors you walked in and out of every day.

your grip tightened around the warm cup of coffee when you were only a few strides away from the double doors. you straightened your posture and inhaled. this was all routine. you did this every morning — deliver your boss’ coffee to him. just one of your many tasks as his secretary. you stopped just outside the doors and looked over the coffee cup, recounting in your head his exact order. he was very particular about how his coffee was prepared, and every morning you always felt a little nervous that something might be wrong or out of place. he was a man who knew what a liked and what he didn’t, and you were always eager to please.

your knuckles tapped against one of the doors to alert the man on the other side of your presence before you allowed yourself in. you were met with the usual sight of his grand office, with him dutifully working away at his desk in the center. as you approached, his head lifted to acknowledge you. on the outside you were every bit the collected secretary, but on the inside your heart was skipping at the sight of a small smile breaking across his face.

“ah, ms. y/l/n, you’ve arrived right on time.” san’s polite welcome made you smile as you neared his desk. he watched you as you placed his coffee in front of him, and smiled up at you with a nod. “as reliable as ever, ms. y/l/n.”

“of course, sir,” you responded gratefully. you took a few steps back to put some appropriate space between yourself and his desk before linking your hands behind your back. “is there anything else i can do for you, mr. choi?”

he reached for his coffee as he shook his head. “no, you’re good to go. i’ll send for you as needed, of course.” you nodded once just as he brought the cup to his lips, turning towards the doorway to make your exit. you were only a few strides away before your name was called.

“ms. y/l/n, how exactly did you order my coffee this morning?” you turned to see him eyeing his coffee with furrowed brows.

your heart fluttered. “i ordered it as i always do, sir. i even made sure to ask for extra sugar, just the way you like.”

san frowned at his cup of coffee as he placed it on his desk. he pushed it further away from him like it disgusted him to even look at it. “it wasn’t nearly sweet enough. much too bitter for my liking. certainly someone forgot the extra sugar.”

“perhaps i can revisit the cafe, and get you a new coffee —”

he waved dismissively. “don’t worry about it.” he sighed and stood from his chair. he stepped around the desk, drawing closer to you while you remained in place. with every step closer, the air inside the office changed. you weren’t sure when or why it had happened, but a switch had been flipped. the man before you morphed from your boss to something way less professional, something you typically only saw after office hours.

your breath caught in your throat when his hands grazed your sides, his fingers running along the dip of your waist. you were overwhelmed by his proximity and the scent of his cologne. you met his gaze which had grown much darker now, much more dangerous. you opened your mouth to speak, but he quieted you with a thumb to your lips.

“i think i have a much better idea to make up for the lack of sugar,” san said, voice low and sultry. he smirked, and you felt butterflies erupt in the pit of your stomach. “bend over my desk, and take off your panties.”

your face was hot from his words. “wait, are you sure —”

“yes, now do as i say, sweetheart.”

sweetheart. when he called you that, you always did as you were told. your dynamic with him went beyond that of a ceo and his secretary. he showered you with riches, and you gave him your body. it was a win-win situation for you, though you never imagined he’d ever attempt to explore this part of your relationship in his own office during hours. your front met the edge of his desk, and after pushing away some of the paperwork, you leaned forward until you were pressed flat over it.

“panties. off.” his voice was firm. you hiked your dress up over your hips, exposing yourself to his view. you pulled at the lace fabric of your panties, slipping them down your thighs until they fell on their own to the floor around your ankles. you kicked them to side, and now you were fully bare for the man just behind you. you heard his shoes against the floor as he closed the distance between you.

you sighed when his clothed erection pressed into you. you moaned at the hardness of him, skin erupting in goosebumps when his hands palmed your ass.

“that’s a good girl,” he praised, and though you couldn’t see it, he smirked at the sight of you beneath him, bent over his desk. “now, stay just like this for me. you can keep quiet, can’t you?”

before you could answer, two of his fingers rubbed at your clit. you bit your lip hard, and nodded at him. you feared that if you tried to speak, moans would spill out. you remained mostly silent while his fingers toyed with your sex, but nothing could’ve prepared you for what he did next.

san was on his knees, your pussy right in his face. he was so quick you almost didn’t even register that he’d moved until you felt the press of his tongue against your clit. his tongue licked a long stripe over your folds, collecting your wetness. he groaned just as your back arched.

“san!” his name escaped your lips at the jolt of pleasure. just the mere press of his tongue against you had you arching over his desk. his hands gripped your thighs tightly.

san pulled his tongue away from you at the sound of his own name. “i’m sorry, what was that, sweetheart?”

you realized your mistake. “daddy,” you amended. you felt him kiss your sex and mewled at the contact.

“that’s better. now,” san sucked on your clit, “be quiet. wouldn’t want the others in the office to hear me make a mess of you, would we?”

you responded with a simple nod, though you weren’t sure he could even see it from his place on the floor. you relaxed over the desk just as he resumed his feasting, face pressing into the cool, wooden surface. you felt immensely exposed like this, dress hiked up your body and lower half bare, san beneath you with his face full of your cunt. from this angle, anyone could’ve walked in and had a direct view of the debauchery unfolding here. the doors were not locked, and as ceo, san was certainly a popular man amongst the office. the threat of being caught didn’t seem to bother him, and to be honest, you felt excitement when you should’ve felt nervous. there wasn’t much room to think of anything other than his tongue and the pleasure it provided.

san’s tongue lapped at your cunt like it was the most delectable meal he’d ever tasted, like it was some sweet treat he’d been craving. he inhaled your scent and savored the flavor of you. there was something intoxicating about your pussy, something so addicting. san definitely had a sweet tooth, and you were the perfect indulgence. he found himself unable to pull away, not even caring for the need to breathe. he sucked on your clit and released it with a pop! “you have the sweetest taste. i’m addicted to it.”

you couldn’t respond, not when it was taking everything in your power not to dissolve into a moaning mess on his desk. you lifted your head to gaze outside the large window, watching the concrete jungle outside. the city was bustling and busy as usual, all the people within the buildings nearby unaware of the sin happening within this office. you hoped the city view would offer some sort of a distraction, but san’s tongue plunging into your hole took up every single one of your senses and flooded them with pleasure. you covered your mouth with your hand when a moan came dangerously close to slipping out.

“you’re sweeter than sugar, sweetheart. and i’d be happy to let my teeth rot if it meant i could have you on my tongue forever.” san’s words were whispered against your sex like a reverent promise. his lips moved over you while his spoke, only pushing you closer to the edge. “doing so good for me, so so good.”

his praise offered some encouragement as you began to grow insane from the pleasure. you were biting your hand now just to keep quiet. you needed to cum soon or else you’d end up disobeying him. your hips began to move, grinding your sex against his face in desperation.

san laughed, grip on your thighs tightening to keep your hips still. “is my sweetheart desperate to cum, huh?” when you didn’t respond verbally, he patted your thigh. “use your words, sweetheart.”

you exhaled shakily, releasing your hand from your mouth. “yes, daddy. i need to cum so bad…”

he hummed, using his thumbs to spread your pussy open. you were absolutely soaked, slick glistening over your folds. he almost came in his pants from the sight. “okay, sweetheart. cum for me like the good little girl you are.”

he fucked you with his tongue until stars exploded in your vision. you came on his tongue in a rush, pleasure surging through your veins. you shook over his desk, crumbling under the weight of the euphoria. san lapped and sucked until you began to come down from the high. you felt him trail kisses on your thighs before he got up from his knees.

san pulled your dress down to cover you. “you did so well for me.” his gaze shifted to the long forgotten cup of coffee sitting on his desk not too far from you. “and you were better than any sweetener.”

with his help, you lifted from his desk to stand. your legs were wobbly in your post orgasm state, and you wished you hadn’t decided to wear heels. your eyes found san’s before dropping to his still hardened cock. “daddy, what about you?”

san chuckled as he looked down. he was throbbing in his pants, cock feeling more than a little neglected. “we’ll worry about that later, sweetheart. i need you to go back to work now.”

you watched him reach down to retrieve your panties. heat rose to your cheeks. when you reached to take them, he jerked them just out of your grasp. you looked at him with confusion.

he smirked, stuffing the panties into his suit pocket. “i didn’t say you’d be getting these back. we are far from finished, sweetheart.” he leaned forward to graze his lips across your ear. “i will see you again after hours like usual. now, go back to work, ms. y/l/n.”

AUTHOR’S NOTES — this has taken me so long to upload simply because i kept erasing it all and rewriting it :’)

i am slowly but surely getting closer to finishing this spoiled series! it started out as a 3k follower milestone celebration, but now i’ve recently reached 6k followers. to say i’m thankful would be an understatement. the support is mind-blowing, i am beyond surprised at how much my blog has flourished over the years. thank you for every follow, every reblog, every fic rec mention, and for every nice comment left on my fics or in my askbox. it means a lot to me, though i may not always take the time to say it. thank you, thank you, thank you!!

please, if you enjoyed this, make sure to reblog it and leave some feedback!! 💞

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#wonderlandnet #san smut #ateez smut #san smut drabbles #ateez smut drabbles #ateez x reader #san x reader #ateez fanfiction #san fanfiction #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios

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wheeboo · 3 months

Text

run to you | lee chan

SYNOPSIS. in which your best friend picks you up in the middle of the night. PAIRING. biker!best friend!lee chan x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, hurt/comfort, lil angst, best friends to lovers WARNINGS. cursing, implied that reader lives in a troubled household, lil description of a twisted ankle, kissing WORD COUNT. 2.7k

notes: finally have something written for dino!! i haven't written anything for him in a HOT min that this almost feels out of character for some reason 😭 anyways enjoy <3

Chan doesn't understand why simply the sight of your name lighting up his phone has his heart quickening, head spinning, and adrenaline rushing all in a single moment. But he doesn't give it much thought, his hand instinctively pressing the answer button as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do.

He brings his phone up to his ear, calling out your name, "Y/N?"

"Hey, um..." Your voice is shaky on the other line, barely above a whisper, laced with something that sounds suspiciously like pain, and it sends a snake of worry up his back. "...can you do me a favour real quick?"

Chan glances at the time on his phone for a brief second, brows furrowing at the late time displayed on the screen. He sits up in bed, already somehow feeling more awake than just a few seconds ago. "Yeah, uh, what's up?"

Silence hangs heavy in the air, heavier than the late-night quiet pressing against Chan's window. He can almost hear your nervous inhale and picture the hesitant frown on your face.

"I left my... well, actually my entire skateboard bag... at your place," You admit quietly, sheepishly. "Could you possibly... drop it off at my door? It's really late, I know, but𑁋"

"Where are you?" Chan asks frantically and seriously that it cuts you off. He hears the way your breath hitches in your throat at the tone of his voice, and it only makes him more apprehensive and his heart hammering against his ribs anxiously. "Are you at the skate park?"

Crap, he knows. He always knows. "Look, I just... needed to clear my head and took a little fall. I'm fine, can you just𑁋"

"Stay put," he commands, leaving no room for argument. "I'm coming to get you."

"What? No, Chan, it's fine𑁋"

He cuts you off, refusing to hear your protests. "Don't move. I'll be there in ten."

He hangs up before you can utter another word, quickly tossing a shirt on and grabbing his keys, helmet (and a second one), and of course, your skateboard bag. As Chan throws the bag over his shoulder, a sharp pang of worry hits him. He knows you're downplaying the fall and everything else going on, but the tremor in your voice paints a different picture in his mind, and he seems to be listening to his heart more than he ever thought he would.

All he could think about is you.

Chan knows not to pry, but it isn't the first time this has happened𑁋where you 'clear your head' in the middle of the night and run away from home for a few hours. But the thought of you alone and hurt gnaws at him more than he cares to admit.

Pushing aside the questions and worries for later, Chan rushes out the door, the roar of his motorcycle echoing through the hushed night. His phone buzzes in his pocket, but he ignores it. As he speeds towards the familiar silhouette of the skate park, a million scenarios play in his mind, each one twisting his gut tighter. He forces them down, focusing only on one𑁋getting to you and making sure you're okay.

The wind whips past Chan's helmet, carrying with it the sting of the cool night air and the echo of your shaky voice. He rounds the last corner, the skate park coming into view, bathed in the dim glow of a streetlamp. He catches a single glance of your figure leaning against wall with your skateboard abandoned not that far away, and his heart jumps into his throat.

He throws the bike into a skid that leaves a dark streak on the pavement, the gravel crunching beneath his tires and the engine sputtering to a halt just beside you. You flinch at the sudden noise, looking up with wide, surprised eyes. Before you can speak, he's already hopping off and jogging towards you.

Something jumps in your stomach when he takes off his helmet, the streetlamp above illuminating the worry etched on his features and windswept, messy hair. Chan kneels before you, the gravel biting into his knees as his gaze takes note of the way you're gingerly clutching down at your ankle.

The concern in his eyes makes your defenses crumble. You open your mouth to explain, but he silences you with a gentle hand on your knee.

"Don't talk," he murmurs, voice surprisingly soft. "Let me see."

He gently pushes your hand away, his touch sending a spark through your already jittery nerves, calloused fingers lightly brushing against away the dirt clinging to your slightly swollen ankle. You wince at the contact, breath hitching at the unexpected touch. It's not painful, but it's strangely electrifying.

"It looks swollen," he states, carefully brushing his thumbs over the affected area. "Can you put any weight on it?"

You hesitantly try to wiggle your toes, wincing when a sharp pain shoots up your leg.

"Fuck, ow," You whisper, biting your lip. You feel the shame and embarrassment burn at your cheeks, making you want to sink into the cool concrete beneath you.

He's always right; you weren't fine. You hadn't been fine for a long time, but admitting it to yourself felt like opening a dam of emotions you weren't sure you could contain the longer you stay here, and you aren't sure if Chan being in front of you was helping with that or not.

"Does it hurt a lot?" Chan asks, voice a low rumble that vibrates through the gravel where he kneels. You can't help but meet his gaze, searching for judgment, but finding only concern and a hint of something deeper you couldn't decipher, or didn't want to acknowledge.

You shrug, hating how weak the gesture feels, pulling back your leg away from him slightly. "It's okay, just a twist."

Chan's jaw clenches, the concern on his face morphing into something else, something you couldn't quite place. "Just a twist? Y/N, it's the middle of the night, you're alone at the skate park, and you can barely stand. It's not okay."

You feel your chest tighten. "I told you I just needed to get some air. You didn't have to come if you didn't want to. I'm fine."

His eyes narrow, and you catch a glimpse of something raw and intense flickering in them.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" he asks, coming out a bit harsher than intended. "What if you... what if something bad happened and you couldn't call for help? Do you think I wouldn't want to be the one to find you?"

His words hit you like a physical blow. You flinch, the vulnerability you'd so carefully guarded threatening to spill out. God, you hate that he could see through you, hate that he cares so much, hate that you couldn't hate it no matter how much you tried.

"No," You mumble, swallowing back the heat threatening in your eyes. "I don't think you're stupid. It's just..." Your voice trails off.

"It's just what?" Chan demands, voice tight. "Just another night where you disappear and leave me wondering if you're okay? I would never forgive myself if something were to happen to you."

His words suspend heavy in the air, the only sounds coming from the occasional crickets and the rhythmic thump of your heart echoing loudly in your ears. You could only stare at Chan, his intense gaze boring into you, and feel a dam within yourself start to slowly crack.

Chan lets his eyes roam over you, and a twinge of guilt seems to twitch at his lips, his eyes softening noticeably, but barely. He lets out a sigh.

"Come on," he says firmly. "I can't let you stay here alone, not tonight. Let me take you back to my place, okay?" His eyes hold yours for a beat longer than necessary, a silent plea struggling beneath the surface.

He rises from the ground and offers you his hand. The heat radiating from his skin sends a familiar jolt through you. Hesitantly, you place your hand in his, his fingers warm and calloused as they intertwine together clumsily, like you're testing some type of waters. Then he lifts you with surprising ease, the sudden movement sending a fresh wave of pain shooting through your ankle, making you tighten your grip on his hand.

"Sorry," he murmurs, concern flickering in his eyes. "Let me know if it's too much."

You shake your head, unable to find your voice. You're a tangled mess of emotions𑁋relief, embarrassment, and a fluttering nervousness that you can't quite explain. He helps you onto the back of his motorcycle and secures the extra helmet around your head, before stepping away to collect your skateboard from the ground. Then you feel his hand cup over yours, bringing it to secure around his waist, the warmth of his body pressed against yours sending shivers down your spine.

"Hold on tight," he instructs. As the engine rolls to life, you feel the vibration through your body, and you scoot yourself impossibly closer to him, tightening your hold around his abdomen even more.

The ride to his apartment is a blur of streetlights and rushing wind. You cling to him even more, not entirely sure if it's for balance or something more, but it's awfully comforting and... intimate.

You lean your head on his back and breathe in the familiar scent of leather and warmth that seems to calm you more than it should. Shifting your eyes up, you steal a glance at Chan, the moonlight casting long shadows across his determined jaw and windblown hair. You can feel his muscles tense and relax with every shift of the bike, and a strange sense of safety washes over you. You feel a slight tug at your lips at the thought.

As the motorcycle comes to a stop outside Chan's apartment, you linger for a moment, the gentle rumble of the engine fading into the quiet night as he puts it into park. The warmth of his body still lingers onto yours as he takes off his helmet and hops off the bike, before turning around to help with yours.

The brush of your hands against each other sends a jolt through the two of you. Chan quickly pulls away, his hand hovering awkwardly by your helmet, but the heaviness in the air lingers. You look up at him, his gaze flickering between your face, before he fully slips the helmet off your head, hand lingering in the strands of your hair for a moment.

He clears his throat, looking away briefly before meeting your eyes again.

"I, uh... should get you inside," he finally says.

You only give a nod. But as you attempt to step off the bike, the pain in your ankle shoots up your leg, bringing a wince to your face.

"Here," Chan says quickly, kneeling before you again. "Let me help."

He carefully scoops you up in his arms, the familiar scent of leather and warmth enveloping you once more. This time, you don't try to pull away, your heart pounding against his chest as he carries you inside.

He takes you to his kitchen, helping you sit on top of the counter, and you can't help but let out a quiet, soft sigh of relief. As he draws away from you to rummage through the drawers, you glance around his kitchen, noting the small stack of dishes in the sink, the motorcycle magazines scattered across his little eating area, and an empty bowl of cereal𑁋a glimpse into his life you hadn't seen before.

It's silent when it all happens, almost too silent it's suffocating. But as Chan comes back to you with an ice pack and a bottle of pills, you could only watch him. The soft light from the hanging lamp above bathes his face in a warm glow, and you catch the way his gaze lingers on your face a moment too long.

He reaches out, gently placing the ice pack on your swollen ankle. His touch is light, almost tentative, yet the cold feeling makes you flinch, but Chan's hand rests gently on the skin above your ankle, the other cupping at your knee. There's a part of you that wants to pull away from him, from everything happening right now, but you don't. You don't want to. You can't. He's worried, frustrated, and maybe even a little hurt, and you understand why. You've pushed him away again, and he's tired of it.

"I..." You start, a tremor betraying your words. "I didn't mean to worry you."

Chan glances up at you. "But you did," he replies lowly. "You always do. And it scares the hell out of me."

The tension hangs thick in the air as Chan's words sink in.

"I-I'm sorry, I really am," You mutter, swallowing down the lump in your throat. "It's just... things are hard at home, and I don't know how to deal with it. Being away just seems to... clear it all up a little bit, you know?"

"Then why run away when you can run to me?" He's standing right in front of you at this point, one hand still on your knee.

"Why do care you so much?" You counter almost defensively, feeling yourself tense right under his gaze.

"Because the more this happens, the more I realise I don't want to be your friend anymore," he answers simply, then lowers his voice. "I can't be... just your friend anymore when I want to be the person you run to."

The world freezes. Everything freezes, and you could only stare at him with widened eyes and a pure look of shock. Nothing but silence stretches between the two of you, and the hammering in your chest only grows stronger by each passing second.

Chan lowers his gaze to the floor, taking his hand off your knee and running it through his hair. "Fuck, I shouldn't have..." He catches a glimpse of the bottle of pain medication right next to you. "Let me get you some water𑁋"

"No, wait." You grab at his hand, causing him to halt, and he looks back at you. "Don't... go yet, please?"

Chan hesitates, before giving in, finding himself standing right back in front of you, the two of you almost eye-level. Except you shoot a quick look at his lips, then up to his eyes, before letting the hand wrapped around his wrist pull him even closer to you, to the point where he's almost standing between your legs.

His breath hitches from the sudden closeness, but he shouldn't be like this right now. Not when you're hurt and vulnerable. He can't tell you that he wanted you the moment you met two years ago when you rolled past him one day on the way to the same skate park, can't tell you that he would choose you over everything else in a heartbeat.

But all those thoughts are pushed away the moment he feels your lips on his, and his hands come naturally to your waist, as if afraid you might slip away. His lips seemingly mold perfectly with yours, and you can feel the longing in the way his fingers seem to tighten its hold on your shirt.

Your lips part for a brief moment, and there's a long moment that passes before Chan leans in again, capturing your mouth a bit more fervently, a bit more passionately than before, yet nonetheless still sweet and tender. The world outside disappears, and for a moment, it's just the two of you, the soft hum of the refrigerator, the ticking of the clock on the wall, and the gentle glow of the kitchen light above.

When you both pull away, there's a breathless pause.

"Are you... are you okay?" he asks cautiously. "I'm sorry, it just..."

"No, I'm... I should say sorry for... everything," You cut him off. "I shouldn't have made you worried or... pushed you away. I'm sorry."

"All I ever want is to make sure you're okay, Y/N." His hand is back at your knee again, finger tracing reassuring shapes, easing the tension out of your body.

You let out a nervous, light-hearted chuckle. "We're not even together yet and I'm already causing you so much trouble."

Chan's expression softens, and he cups your cheek gently, his thumb brushing against your skin.

"Who said I wasn't yours yet?" He leans back in, teasing his lips back against yours. "I can be, if you want me to be."

another note: ending is a lil rushed im sorry oops i wrote this rlly late 😭

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charliemwrites · 3 months

Text

Part 6 of Nikto's Commandments!

A little angst because... yeah. Comfort next, though! Whenever I get around to it...

Content: Injury, Violence, Shock

Being shot feels exactly how you expected it would.

You’ve cared for enough bullet wounds, listened to enough agonized soldiers, to imagine it in vivid detail. Asked Nikto once. He didn’t have the words to explain it, just shook his head and ushered you off to the next thing. Mumbled something about not wondering after what wouldn’t come to pass.

Getting dragged bleeding and delirious with pain now, you have the hysterical thought I told you so.

Speaking of Nikto, you don’t know where he is now. You separated on O’Conor’s orders – Nikto needed for stealth, and you needed as support for another squad member. He hadn’t been happy about it, eyes searing into yours. But you had nodded for him to follow orders and ducked away to get the mission over with.

If you live through this, he’s never going to listen to you again.

You’ve got two men dragging your half-dead weight down the hall, another leading the way in front. A smear of crimson follows after your legs like a demented snail. You kick and try to thrash, but it just sends white-hot pain throughout your abdomen and leaves your vision spotty. One of the enemies says something – hard to hear over the beating of your heart, the rush of blood, the thrush of your blood-soaked clothes along the floor. But you hear something about torture and feel your already-ruined stomach sink.

KorTac doesn’t save compromised assets.

You can hear Nikto’s voice in your ear but can’t reach your headset to answer; the men have both your arms. Fuck, fuck.

His face flashes through your panicky mind. Handsome and ruined and still so sensitive to cold air and humid weather. Eyes so startlingly bright but fathomless. It’s like trying to find the bottom of the sky. You love waking up to them.

He’s getting more frantic now, voice hard but brittle. Others chiming in as well, but you hear his above all.

You murmur his name, the one you’ve only hushed in the quiet of a dark car. Wish you could tell him one more time.

There’s a shift in your captors’ gaits. A stairwell. Your body jolts down the first stair and sends spikes of fire straight from your throat. It’s an awful scream, loud and cracking and only serves to make it hurt worse.

But there’s a sudden, deafening silence in the echo of your voice.

Then Nikto.

“Copy.”

The men stop, realizing that your screams are going to be an issue. The one in the lead wrenches your head back, trying to shove some sort of fabric in your mouth. But the knowledge the Nikto is coming, that you just have to hold out, sends the pain to the back of your mind. You twist and struggle, teeth sinking into flesh.

Your boot catches on the corner of the step and you push.

The soldiers lose their grip, and you tumble halfway down the stairs, head bouncing off cement. But your arms are free, and you manage to grab the pistol at your thigh. Fire wildly and hit one in the leg with a ricochet off the wall. All the while trying to scramble out of sight before they can reach for their own weapons.

You hit the landing with a bitten-off yelp. But you’re low on bullets and you’re not confident in your abilities with a knife right now.

And then a blur of black armor slams into one of the men, a knee in his throat, crushing his windpipe. Someone follows just behind – you recognize Konig by height alone. He throws another down the stairs, and the soldier doesn’t hesitate to take the head start he’s been given. Doesn’t even pause to try to use you for leverage, just begins limping away. The third man is quick to turn tail while his comrades are being assaulted.

“Run, bastard,” Nikto laughs, ragged and manic.

He turns as if to follow and your heart turns to ice. “Stop!”

It’s like you’ve physically yanked on his leash. He goes rigid, head whipping around to take in the state of you. You can almost measure the fury that floods him when he realizes how badly you are.

“Nikto, I need you here,” you say, as calm and even as you can. Same voice you use as in medical emergencies – well, technically, you suppose this is a medical emergency. “Leave it to Konig.”

He jerks as if you’ve offended him somehow. Like you’re unjustly punishing him. You struggle up onto one arm, gun forgotten in favor of applying what little pressure you can to your abdomen. Your throat feels tight with repressed fear, struggling to breathe through radiating pain.

“I know you’re angry, I do,” you strain, “but I need your help right now. Revenge can come later. I’m sure Konig can save one for you.”

Understanding seems to dawn through bloodlust. Nikto darts to your side between one ragged breath and the next. He kneels beside you, pupils shrunken to pinpricks.

“Go on, Konig,” you call, “I’ll be alright.”

He nods and disappears. You turn to Nikto and softly call his name; instantly have his attention.

“I need you to apply pressure,” you explain, “I can’t do it myself.”

He does, but you know he’s trying to spare you. Doesn’t want to hurt you. You wrap your fingers around his wrist and tug.

“Harder, love,” you whisper, “or it’ll kill me.”

His mask shifts as he grits his teeth and puts his weight into it. You choke on a cry, swallow it down and try to blink through spots.

“G-good. Keep it like that.”

“You’re shaking.”

You hiss out through your teeth. “I might be going into shock.”

“That can kill you too.”

“I said ‘might’.”

“How do I fix?” he demands.

You swallow and lower your arms to your side. “Loosen my vest as much as you can. Radio someone else for help, they can get a blanket. Don’t let up on my side.”

You focus on regulating your breathing while he obeys, murmuring to himself in Russian. You occupy yourself with trying to translate – though it mostly sounds like curses. Still, it’s something for your brain to latch onto other than the severity of your injury. You wish you could risk speaking, but the adrenaline crash is already hitting, and you need to focus on staying conscious for as long as possible.

Soon O’Conor is there, the foil blanket flashing in the shitty stairwell lights. He also comes with a stim that stabilizes you enough for Nikto to scoop you up and get you to exfil. You lose the plot after that, swimming in and out of awareness through triage.

But through it all, you keep your hand around Nikto’s.

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #nikto x reader #cod nikto #nikto's commandments #commandments au

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kentobb · 4 months

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‘I hate you’

Character: Husband!Iwaizumi x Wife!Reader

Warning: Angst with no comfort (I know you guys hate me at this point).

A/N: I am a fan of angst w/ no comfort in case you guys didn’t notice. I will be releasing more angst and different scenarios. Be free to send a request babes!

The night was dark, the only source of light being the faint glow of the the city’s skyline as Iwaizumi parked his car in front of his home. The weight of a grueling practice session hanging heavily on his shoulders. His muscles ached, his mind was a whirlpool of strategies and his heart was filled with unspoken longing for the comforts of his home, but hey, nobody said that training the Japan’s Men’s Volleyball Team was easy.

As he opened the door, the warm glow of the living room light washed over him, a stark contrast to the cold darkness outside. You, his lovely wife, a beacon of love and support greeted him with a tired smile.

However, your six-year old daughter, Yuki, a bundle of energy and joy, ran towards him, her tiny arms wrapping around his tired legs.

Dinner was a quiet affair, the only sound being the clinking of cutlery against the plates. Yuki, however, was a chatterbox, her excitement about her upcoming ballet recital bubbling over. “And we will be doing the Swan Lake!” “I have been practicing a lot daddy!” She spoke animatedly, her eyes sparkling with anticipation, her voice filled with hope. She turned to her father, her innocent eyes searching his. “Daddy, will you come to my recital?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Iwaizumi looked at her daughter, his heart aching at the hopeful look in her eyes. He wanted to be there, he really does, to watch his little girl twirl and dance, to be the father she deserved. But he knew the harsh reality of his schedule, the relentless demands of his career. “We will see,” he said, it’s all he says, his voice heavy with regret.

Your smile faded, replaced by a look of disappointment. You knew your husband words for what they were— an unfulfilled promise. Yuki’s face fell, her excitement replaced by a quiet sadness that you were quick to notice. It was a scene all too familiar, a bitter pill you had to swallowed many times before.

After dinner, you cleaned the kitchen, the silence of the house echoing the heaviness in your heart. But you were determined to make this right, as you ascended the stairs into your shared bedroom, you made a silent vow. To take manners into your own hands. To ensure that your daughter recital would not be another missed milestone, another broken promise.

You husband may be a national hero, a symbol of strength and resilience, but to your daughter? He was simply ‘Daddy’. And she deserves to have her ‘Daddy’ cheering for her from the audience, not from miles away. She deserved to have her hero by her side, not just in spirit but in person.

The bedroom was bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, casting long shadows on the walls. You sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded in your lap. You turned to look at your husband, eyes reflecting the turmoil in your heart.

“Hajime,” You spoke, voice steady despite the storm brewing in your heart, “We need to talk about Yuki.”

Iwaizumi, still in his practice clothes, looked at you, his brows furrowing in confusion, “What about her, babe?” He asked, his voice betraying his exhaustion.

“You know she needs you there, Hajime. She needs her father,” You replied, voice barely a whisper.

Iwaizumi just sighed, raking a hand through his hair, “I’m here, aren’t I? I’m working hard for her, for us.”

You shook your head, a sad smile playing on your lips, “That’s not what she needs, Hajime. She doesn’t need the money, or the fame, or the glory. She needs her father. She needs you to be there for her, to support her, to love her.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes hardened, his patience wearing thin. “There will be a million recitals, I’ll go to one of them.”

His words hung in the air, a harsh reality you both had been avoiding. Your eyes welled up in tears, heart aching at this indifference. “You haven’t been to any of them, Hajime. Not one.”

Iwaizumi scoffed, his frustration clearly boiling over. “What am I missing? Kids twirling for three minutes and twenty five seconds? It’s stupid, honestly.”

His mean and harsh words echoed in the silence of the room, a stark reminder of the widening chasm between you two.

“Hajime, how could you say that? She has worked very hard.” You said in disbelief.

Unbeknownst to both of you, a tiny figure stood outside the door, her heart shattering at her father’s words. Yuki, your little ballerina, had heard it all. The argument, her father’s indifference, your heartbreak. She clutched her ballet shoes to her chest, heart soaking the satin fabric.

The harsh words continued to fly between the two of you, voices rising in the quiet of the night.

“You’re being mean, Hajime.” You said, voice trembling with emotion.

“I don’t have time for this,” Iwaizumi retorted, his exhaustion seeping into his words. “I’m too tired to argue.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing alone in the middle of the room. As he made his way to the bathroom, the argument continued, both of your voices echoing off the cold tiles.

Meanwhile, Yuki had silently made her way downstairs. With a heavy heart and tear-streaked cheeks, she threw her beloved ballet shoes in the trash, a silent testament of her shattered dreams.

The morning after the storm was always the calmest. Iwaizumi woke up, his body aching from the previous night's argument. It was his day off, a chance for him to rest and recover. Despite the tension between the two of you, you greeted him with a kiss, almost like a silent promise that you would speak about it later.

"I'll make breakfast," Iwaizumi offered, hoping to ease the tension. You nodded, attention focused on preparing Yuki's bag for ballet class.

As he entered the kitchen, he saw Yuki sitting at the table, her eyes devoid of their usual spark. Her small shoulders were slumped, her spirit seemingly crushed.

"Morning, Yuki," Iwaizumi said, his voice soft. "What do you want for breakfast?"

"I'm not hungry," Yuki replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

He couldn’t help but notice the change in his daughter’s demeanor. Her usual bright and bubbly personality was replaced by a quiet sadness that seemed to weigh her down. He found it odd, considering she was usually excited about her ballet classes.

“You’re okay bub?” He asked, concern lacing his voice.

But his question was met with silence. Yuki simply looked away, avoiding his gaze. He decided not to push her, instead focusing on preparing breakfast.

As he was cracking the eggs into a bowl, he heard your frantic voice from the other room. “Hajime, have you seen Yuki’s ballet shoes? I can’t find them anywhere. I swear they were here.”

He glanced at his daughter, but she was still avoiding his gaze. A sense of dread washed over him as he opened the trash bin to discard the eggshells. His heart sank as he saw the familiar pink ballet shoes nestled among the trash.

Realization hit him like a punch in the gut.

She had heard it all.

Fuck.

Was it possible? It couldn’t be!

“Honey,” he called out, his voice strained. You rushed into the kitchen, eyes wide with worry. He pointed to the trash bin, the discarded ballet shoes. The sight of it, it felt like a dagger into your heart. You turned your gaze to your daughter, your eyes pleading for an explanation.

“Yuki, why did you throw your ballet shoes away?” You asked, voice barely a whisper.

“I hate ballet! It’s stupid!” Yuki yelled, her voice filled with a bitterness that was far too heavy for her young age.

The harsh words hung in the air, a painful echo of the argument from the previous night. Iwaizumi felt guilt, realizing the impact his words had on his daughter, he didn’t know what to do.

“Yuki! Don’t speak to your mother that way!” He yelled, trying to regain control of the situation.

But Yuki’s next words cut through the air like a knife, “I hate you, Dad!”

The room fell silent, the harsh words echoing off the walls. You gasped, hand flying to your mouth. “Yuki, don’t say that…” You whispered, but it was too late.

Yuki was already running up the stairs, the slam of her bedroom door echoing through the house.

Iwaizumi stood there, stunned. The words ‘I hate you’ echoed in his mind, each repetition like a punch on the gut. He turned towards you, desperation in his eyes. “Fuck, I swear I didn’t mean any of it baby. I was just tired…” He said, but his words fell on deaf ears. Already making your way up to the stairs, attempts to coax your daughter out of her room, but you were only met with silence.

He was left alone in the kitchen, the guilt gnawing at him. He had hurt his daughter, and he didn’t know how to fix it. Has he destroyed his daughter dreams?

Reblogs, notes and comments are appreciated!

#haikyuu #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi hajime #hajime iwaizumi #haikyuu angst #angst no comfort #angst #hq angst #haikyuu dads #hq dads

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hobiebrownbrowser · 10 months

Text

Sing For Me

Hobie Brown x FEM!Reader

🔞No Kids Allowed🔞

Summary: It was the first time Hobie heard you sing, He wanted to hear more.

After Hobie had heard you sing for the first time it left you wrathing in embarrassment. He constantly asked for you to sing no matter where you were, out with friends, on a date or even at his own house. Of course out of shyness you declined every time.

It became a little obsession he had, Cooing you to sing for him every time his fingers were roaming inside of you. Scratch marks on his arm from when you'd 'sing for him'.

If he couldn't make you sing he'd make you scream. Often as punishment for not letting him hear your sweet voice or every time you'd tease him by whispering in his ear. You were teasing his patience so he'd make a mess out of you.

Your hands cuffed to the headboard of the bed. Your loud moans echoing throughout the room as Hobie plays with your clit using a small vibrator, Begging for you to sing for him louder.

Two fingers deep inside of you as he hums against your clitoris. Making sure every one of your sweet moans rung in his ears, fulfilling his needs, Eating you out as if he'd skipped breakfast, lunch and dinner.

His mouth capturing your nipples as he pulls on them with his lips, just to make you scream. The palm of his hand spanking harshly against your clit as he demands you too sing out his name, Making your mind lose count on how many times you coated his fingers with your arousal.

Your body desperately trying to get away from the overstimulation. Constant shushes as Hobie asked if you could sing for him one last time.

Incoherent mumbles coming from you as he dives into your pussy one last time, Tasting you on the tip of his tongue, Driving him mad. Drool tickling from the corner of your mouth as he repeatedly hits that delicious spot inside you.

Sometimes he'd sing for you. His words trembling off his lips as you continue to stroke his cock. A silver ring around the base of his dick as you reject his pleas to let him cum. Fingers intertwined with yours as you delightfully make him into a babbling mess.

Edging his orgasm until he was molded into nothing but your own manslut, Letting you use him all you wanted until you were left with satisfaction.

He'd gladly sing for you, Taking his guitar in hand and making up something from his mind, having you sit in his lap. Memorized by your cute smile or the way your hands would wrap around his neck,

Pulling him in for small little kisses or when you're bouncing on his swollen cock.

His whimpers coming out like broken melodies as he thrusts into your hips, Too fucked out to tell you to slow down before he passes out from exhaustion.

One way or another you'd both sing for each other. Sitting down on an empty concert stage after a long day. The sound of Hobie's guitar flowing through your ears, Kissing his chin every time he'd whisper for you to sing.

His hands caressing your thighs as he pins you up against the wall, his cock buried inside of you. His lips on your throat as you sing out his name in desperation and need, Pulling him aside just to let him demolish you. Not caring who'd hear your cries through the dimly lit halls.

Your constant begging sending him to fuck you without a condom sometimes, Telling you how eager he was to put a baby in you. Watching as your pussy stretches apart because the thickness of his cock.

Your cunt swollen from his hips smacking into yours. You were his drug addiction. Your voice soft enough to bring him down to his knees. Sucking your cunt until your thighs were soaked with your own juices. Your legs not being able to host you up any longer.

Messing your senses up until you couldn't walk for about 2 days. But he always thought to buy you herbal tea. Often cuddling you until you calmed down.

You'd definitely 'sing' if he wanted you too. He was the same for you.

Commission completed! (Click here to see the commission)

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dilemmaontwolegs · 1 year

Text

The Best Kept Secret on the Grid || Part Two

GR, CL, MV, LH x fem!reader Warnings: angsty drivers, more filth (masturbation, smut) WC: 3k F1 Masterlist || Part One || Part Two || Part Three

“Oh my word, what is going on?” David Croft, the official F1 commentator, was aghast at what he was seeing on the track in front of him and his voice echoed across the paddock from the loudspeakers. “This is looking like a repeat of Australia and nobody wants to see that again.”

You slunk down in your seat and pulled your hat further down your head. Maybe sending those nudes hadn’t been the best idea. It had been four weeks since the last race and to say you were feeling needy was a massive understatement. You hadn’t been able to stop yourself from sending your men some enticing pictures before the race.

“And there goes Gasly, into the gravel. We’ll have to see the replay on that but I think it was his own teammate that made contact with him. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it was Alpine on Alpine going into the corner and now Gasly will have a lot of time to make up for it. Ocon will be lucky if he doesn’t get a penalty for that aggressive move.”

You looked at the place board and saw the seven drivers who had already retired from the turbulent race. Max was one of them, and he was pissed.

You shoved the phone back in your purse and cheered with the rest of the grandstand as Lewis passed by, holding first position with 12 laps to go. Right on his tail was Charles but the real battle was taking place behind him for the third step on the podium.

It was a dog fight between Fernando, Esteban and Lando with less than a second separating each car. You screamed louder than anyone else as they shot past the lap line and a few heads turned your way but you ignored them. You weren’t even in bed and these guys were making you scream.

Another lap passed without incident but then the fight for third took a dangerous turn when Lando pushed Fernando wide and Esteban tried to take advantage by slipping past on the inside. Fernando ended up grazing his car along the wall while Lando thought he was in the clear only to clip the front wing of Esteban’s car and the two of them careened off the track.

Shock rippled through the crowd as another three cars were retired and their drivers were pulled apart by the marshalls that were trying to clear the track under a red flag. It was messy and you could almost taste the testosterone in the charged atmosphere.

“I don’t even have words to describe this race,” David commented. “That will be the third restart and what a change that makes to the standings. We have Hamilton in P1, Leclerc P2, Stroll P3, followed by Sainz, Russell, Gasly, then miraculously both Williams’ and AlphaTauri’s drivers are almost guaranteed those much needed but elusive points - if they can just stay on the track and cross the finish line in one piece.”

You couldn’t sit and listen to the spectators around you any longer. They all asked variations of the same question - what the hell had happened to the drivers? Blue balls was the answer. That’s what had happened after four weeks with no racing: all those explosive male hormones were building and building, and your nudes had struck the match.

You had been messaging most of the guys over the mid-season break, exchanging scandalous messages and promises of what they could do the next time they were on the podium, but you had stopped short of meeting up with any of them - no matter how much they begged. Your pussy hated you for denying it the pleasure but the waiting only increased the anticipation and made the climax all the better.

Plus the teasing was fun.

You slipped out of the grandstand and made your way to the motorhomes behind another fence for security. Ever since that first wild night you had received a Paddock Pass for every race and become a familiar face to the teams, though they never knew the extent of your ‘friendships’ with the drivers.

“Max isn’t here,” Tommy said just as you reached the door to the luxurious motorhome.

You winked at the Red Bull assistant and pressed a finger to your lips. “I’m just leaving him a commiseration gift. It’s a surprise, so no blabbering.”

The busy man left with a shake of his head and you closed the door behind you, sliding the bolt into place so no unexpected visitors could interrupt you.

Max’s bed was made with the precision you would expect from someone trained in the military, not a racer, and there wasn’t a single crease in the duvet cover.

“You’re such a perfectionist,” you muttered before jumping onto the bed and messing it up. His scent still clung to the pillow and you grabbed it as you rolled onto your knees, shoving it between your legs before hiking your dress up to your waist.

You grabbed your phone and set it up against the headboard as you hit record. “I’m going to miss you tonight, Maxy.” You sucked on your fingers before trailing them down your body and pushing your panties aside. “It could’ve been you I was riding.”

You moaned as you ground yourself shamelessly over your fingers and his pillow. Your head fell back and you grabbed your throat, gently squeezing it as your eyes fluttered shut.

“Oh, Max,” you cried out, rolling your hips faster until the wet sounds of your pussy filled the air and were definitely picked up by the microphone. “You’re going to dream of me tonight when you lay your head on this pillow. It’s going to make you so hard, you’re going to fuck your hand and imagine it’s my cunt squeezing you tight until you explode.”

Your words ignited the orgasm that had been building and you cried out as you came all over his pillow. Your body shuddered from the aftershocks and you tasted the release on your fingers, knowing it would drive him wild when he saw it. “Sweet dreams, Maxy.”

You made it back to the grandstand in time to see the final lap and you were on your feet screaming with the rest of the crowd as Lewis crossed the finish line first, soon followed by Charles and Carlos. You were giddy at the thought of sharing the three of them later and joined the mass of people as they began to make their way down to the track that was opening to the public.

You were well versed at having to push your way through the crowd and you knew you had time to get to the front since the winners were still on the big screen having their post-race interviews. You were only half listening to them as you inched your way closer to the stage.

“There was a very competitive atmosphere out there today, why do you think that was?”

Carlos and Charles looked at each other before looking down to hide the knowing grin they shared but it was Lewis that answered the interviewer.

“I mean first and foremost it is a race, so it will always be competitive. But, I think, for me at least, it’s been a long four weeks off the track and we were all eager to get back behind the wheel and more importantly back on the podium.”

“Speaking of podiums, it looks like our time is up.” He shook hands with Lewis, then Charles and Carlos. “Congratulations once again. Well deserved.”

You reached the front barricade as the guys climbed the stairs to the stage up above and their eyes scanned the crowd knowing you were somewhere among the throngs. Carlos spotted you first and slapped Charles’ chest before pointing your way. You blew them a kiss and gave them a wink, their smiles growing as they stepped closer to the glass balustrade. You crossed your arms and to anyone else it would have been an innocent gesture but from their vantage point it pushed your breasts to the very edge of your low cut dress.

Your phone vibrated in your purse and since you weren’t all that interested in the national anthems playing you pulled it out. Your scoff was swallowed by the sound of the crowd and you searched the shadows around the cordoned off areas to find Max staring back. Even with the distance you could see the harsh cut of his jaw as he clenched his teeth and his arms were crossed defensively over his chest.

You didn’t even bother to address the message he had sent, instead you replied with the video you had taken in his bed. You watched with a keen interest as he reached into his jeans and pulled out his phone.

Blue eyes turned to black as his pupils dilated and he ran a hand through his hair, tugging the dirty blond strands while he fisted his phone on the other. His thumbs flew across the keyboard as he typed his response before turning his back and leaving the celebration while you started at the reply.

You're going to pay for that.

Mummy don't know daddy's getting hot At the body shop, doing something unholy

The heat on the dance floor was quickly soaring as hands roamed your body. Charles’ entire front was pressed against your back and controlled the sway of your hips to the music as his lips grazed your neck and he whispered filthy words for only you to hear.

He wasn’t alone.

Lewis and Carlos’ bodies encircled you, obscuring your obscene display of affection from the dense crowd dancing to the music too. They were taking advantage of the disorienting strobe lights and the fact everyone else was in a drunken world of their own, it was daring even for them.

Charles pinned your hands behind your back, trapping them between your bodies, as Lewis stepped closer and used his thigh to push your legs apart. Cool air rushed in and kissed the heat of your pussy as your skirt rode up higher the more Lewis nudged your thighs apart.

“Hermosa,” Carlos groaned as he noticed the lack of lace panties beneath. “You forgot something when you were getting ready.”

You licked your lips and leaned back against Charles so your dress pulled up even higher and Lewis cursed lowly.

“I didn’t forget anything.”

And when you want it, baby, I know I got you covered And when you need it, baby, just jump under the covers

Your cry was swallowed by the chorus as they descended on you.

Carlos’ fingers were at your entrance, gathering the evidence of your need and using it to glide over your clit while Lewis and Charles left burn marks on your neck from the short beards they sported. Their hands cupped and squeezed and probed until you were lost to the overwhelming sensations and ready to float away like the clouds of dry ice around the room.

“Unless you’re planning to fuck me on the dance floor, we need to go.”

“The idea has crossed my mind,” Charles admitted between sucking at the sensitive skin below your ear.

“Time to go,” Lewis ordered before you could reach for his belt buckle, the only one out of the three men capable of using his head to think with and not his dick.

Carlos pouted as he pulled your dress back into place but he knew it would be coming off in a matter of minutes when he got you upstairs.

The music drifted away as the elevator doors closed in the lobby and Charles pushed you back into Lewis’ arms. “Don’t let her move,” he warned as he dropped to his knees.

Carlos’ hand slapped over your mouth in time to smother the moan that was ready to fill the small elevator when Charles’ tongue teased over your clit. You squirmed as you tried to roll your hips, silently begging for more, but Lewis curled a strong arm around your waist and pinned you to his body.

The floor levels ticked by and the higher they rose the closer you got to heaven.

Everywhere you looked you were blessed with the sight of the men around you and their infinite reflections in the mirrored walls. Even when your head fell back in ecstasy you swayed under the image on the ceiling, spying Charles’ eyes that rolled up to look at you coming undone over his tongue.

Ding!

Charles rose swiftly to his feet, pulling your dress back into place before the doors opened and a body filled the doorway. He already knew what had happened from the dazed look in your eyes and the way Lewis had to support your unsteady legs by holding you against him.

“What the fuck, Max?” Carlos asked as he stepped in front of you, Charles too busy wiping his lips to speak.

You wouldn’t say you were shocked to see him somehow get your room number from the receptionist - he was a world champion - no one would say no to him, even if it was a breach of privacy. You actually found his tenacity extremely hot, that and the way he stood blocking the exit with fire in his eyes.

“Mate, move out of the way,” Lewis said as he shifted you into Charles’ arms, though your legs were no longer trembling.

Max ignored them all and held your stare. “What’s my number, babygirl?”

You shook your head to try and clear the haze that your orgasm and the champagne had brought upon you but it didn’t work and you asked him confused, “What?”

“What. Is. My. Race. Number?” he asked, taking a step closer with each enunciation.

“One?”

“Good girl, that’s correct.” Max smirked as he came to a stop in front of Lewis and looked at you over his shoulder. “I think that means I won.”

“That’s bullshit, you DNF’d get over it,” Charles stated, knowing well enough the pain of missing out on a night with you because he crashed out earlier in the season.

“Wait,” you said, stepping between the four of them. “What if he’s right? What if the reigning champ can have me whenever they choose, off-track too?” You circled around the group seeing them contemplating it. “After today's race standings you all have a shot at winning the championship.”

“Hang on,” Max interrupted but you held up a finger to your lips to silence him.

“My body, my rules. So, what d’ya say boys?”

Lewis, Carlos and Charles looked at each other for a moment before Lewis’ lips parted in a grin. “I’m up for the challenge.”

“Did you not see how fucking messy it was out there today?” Max asked, stunned by the turn of events.

“Fuck it, I’m in,” Carlos chuckled before looking at his team mate.

“Max is right, it’s going to be an expensive season for repairs,” Charles said with a shake of his head before locking eyes with you and starting to smile, “but it’s not my money. I’m in.”

You walked out of the elevator, patting Max’s hard chest as you passed by. “This is what you wanted, big guy. Now, are you coming, or do you want to brood in the hallway all night?”

It was no surprise that he came, and came, and came again.

All of the men were athletes and the stamina showed when they were ready to go round after round. You were an overstimulated mess when you collapsed on the sofa, a sheen of sweat coating your skin. You could barely think with your head on cloud nine and their cum leaking down your legs.

“Our little cum slut is cock drunk,” Max teased as he took a seat beside you and pulled your head onto his lap. “You have another round in you, don’t you, babygirl?”

The sofa shifted as Carlos sat down at the other end, his strong hands starting to massage your feet. “Let her rest for a minute.”

“Just because you have nothing left,” Max scoffed and turned your head to him. His thumb traced your swollen lips with a smirk before parting your mouth. “Some of us can go all night. Right, Hamilton?”

Lewis barely lifted his head up from where he lay sprawled across the carpet, his chest rising and falling fast as he caught his breath. He had absolutely ruined you with the fast pace he had set while he knelt behind you and fucked you until you couldn’t hold yourself up any longer. Charles had been there to keep you up on your hands and knees with a fist full of your hair, right before he filled your mouth with his cock to silence the screams of pleasure.

All Lewis could do was raise his thumb in response as Charles returned to the living room with an armful of water bottles from the minibar. He tossed one to each of the guys before kneeling beside your head and cracking the lid of another and raising it to your lips. The cool liquid quickly soothed your dry throat and chased away some of the exhaustion that had settled into your relaxed muscles.

“Better, hermosa?” Carlos asked as his massage crept higher up your legs.

“Mhmm,” you sighed contentedly, letting your knees part for him. The temperature in the room rose rapidly and even Lewis found the strength to rise from the ground to drink in the sight. You might as well have just hung an open for business sign out and you chuckled at the hungry looks they shared. “Much better.”

Click here for part three.

Tagging: @slytherheign @alwaysclassyeagle

#f1 smut #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #lewis hamilton x you #max verstappen x you #charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz x reader #lewis hamilton smut #max verstappen smut #charles leclerc smut #carlos sainz smut

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buggysangel17 · 7 months

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Dissolution

Summary: The abolishment of the Seven Warlords has finally come, but it seems Mihawk is no longer alone in cleaning up the mess that the Marine has placed upon him. Characters: Dracule Mihawk x Wife!Female Reader (Amihan) Word Count: 926 Chapter Warnings: None divider by: @cafekitsune

Masterlist | Series Masterlist || Send Me An Ask?

“Your people’s debt is paid and there is a ship already waiting for you with everything you would need for your journey back to your island.”

There was a mix of sadness in the very root of Mihawk’s system as he stared as his wife, no, you were not his wife. Not in the way he would have hoped you to be one at least. You were a companion to him, a woman that was taken as collateral but had grown so fond of.

But there was also the excitement that never truly left him, not just for the Marine’s eventual arrival to take him away, but it was the excitement of the day that would come where he would see you again, on a much different circumstance than what was initially given to the both of you.

Maybe in another life, if the circumstance was in both of your favor. He would have loved to have you as his wife and profess his devotion to you in a way that you deserved. But it wasn’t in this moment, he loved you too much to allow you to be involved in the crossfire with the Marines.

“What are you talking about?”

The sound of the siren echoed through the outside walls of the castle. It was time.

“Surrender yourself now! “Hawk-eye” Mihawk!”

There was a trembling coursing through his fingers as he finally held onto his sword. But he wasn’t worried about himself, more worried about you. He placed his hat back on as he looked at you, genuinely looked up at you from where he sat.

This was the very thing that he loved so much about you. You feared nothing, the moment he had arrived at your island you held a sword right onto his neck, unfazed by his notoriety and the death that paved his way. You looked at him without fear and without doubt. He was certain that you would fight now if he so much as asked you, but he wouldn’t. He didn’t allow such a burden to also be placed on your shoulders because of him. It was too much that he had taken you away from your family. He will not allow for you to also take your life away that was all too precious to him.

“You need to leave, the Marines will be after me and I am uncertain if I will be able to keep you safe during the fight.”

It was his fear, more than you being a burden to him in this moment. He did not have the heart to allow you to be placed in the middle of all of this. He had feared that should either of you be able to escape this, the Marines would also place a bounty on your head, a target on your back that he no longer had the power to absolve you of.

“I’m not leaving.” Your voice held no hesitation as you tore the floor length dress you had on.

His brow quirked in wonder with what you had planned. Watching you dismantle one of your dresses’ skirt until it now reached above your knees, and the sleeves were haphazardly torn off without much effort much to his surprise. But then again, you were truly full of surprise.

“Am I your wife, Mihawk?” You inquired, voice never once wavered as your eyes stared onto the window, the blaring lights of the impending attack of the Marines were drawing near.

“You are.”

“Then as your wife, I will stand by you, when death takes my hand, I will hold you with the other and promise to find you in every lifetime.”

It was a vow, a vow that has never once escaped your lips during your arranged ceremony all those years ago. But you spoke of it as if it was a vow you had made since the beginning.

“But you can’t fight them with what they have in store. We have not yet trained you to your true potential.”

You smiled, holding onto his sword for a moment but he held onto it tighter but his eyes lingered on your skin as you held onto the base, A black essence had seeped through your skin and into your veins from just holding onto his sword. His eyes narrowed as you pulled away and your eyes turned to look at him.

“I know it’s far too late to explain myself now, but the Devil fruit that my people have been hiding for so long isn’t placed in a secured place as you had once believed.”

Taking a step back, he had watched you place your palms together, watching the black essences move upward to your palm and as your opened your hands, a sword quite similar to his own slowly materialized from your palms.

“I’ve already eaten the Ken Ken No Mi.” You confessed. “That’s the reason why my family has been isolating me from the world since I was a child.” You continued holding the sword in a stance that he would have never expected from you.

You held onto the sword in your hand. The exact replica of his Yoru sword gleamed ominously, and she wielded it with a grace that defied belief, even for someone like him, deemed the greatest Swordsman known to man.

“Aren’t you full of surprise, My Dear?” He chuckled finally standing up realizing that the circumstance would become more entertaining indeed.

“Isn’t that why you agreed to marry me, Dear Husband?” You quipped right back.

“Touché, my love. Touché.”

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theyhavetakenovermylife · 2 months

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How The Movie Night Went (18+)

Fortnite!Raphael x reader

A/N: Another short blurb like thingy I just had to do❤️

All characters are aged up.

Warnings: Rough sex, doggy style, unprotected sex, back shots.

It had started off like any other movie night for you and your boyfriend. You and Raph had decided to start watching a series together, and this time you would actually watch it, and not get caught up in any other activities. Well, that’s at least what the two of you have been saying for a while now. But each and every time, you and Raph would end up doing… other things. And those things would usually involve Netflix asking if the two of you were still watching, while you had either one of your openings stuffed, or Raph’s lips locked somewhere on you. And today… was no different.

The series you and Raph had wanted to watch together was playing in the background, with an important scene taking place. A tense showdown, the protagonist having a meeting with their enemy, tension slowly rising before the inevitable climax. But neither you or Raph was keeping an eye on it. In fact, it had very quickly turned into background noise to the activities you and your turtle boyfriend had gotten up to. To be honest, you couldn’t even hear what was going on on the screen, due to Raph’s heavy grunts and growls, and the echoing slaps from his skin meeting the back of your thighs.

You yelped as Raph’s three fingered hand came down on your right butt cheek, watching it jiggle before grabbing on with both hands, pulling you back on his as he increased the speed of his hips.

You cried out, resting your forehead against the soft surface of the couch, once again thanking the universe that Raph’s family wasn’t home, allowing you to be as loud as you wanted to. And Raph loves when you’re loud, his body reacting to it instantly, his speed increasing even further.

Moans left your lips as one of your hands slided down between your legs, finding your bundle of nerves, being wet from both you and Raph’s slick that had dripped down over it, using it to lubricate your fingers, rubbing them in circles over you. Raph saw you move your hand over you, and felt your walls close in around him, sending a low groan out with his deep churrs, his hips buckling against you from behind.

“Fuck yeah, babe”, he moaned, catching your eyes as you looked at him over your shoulder, your cheeks flushed and our mouth agape. “Rub yourself for me. Fucking cum on my dick”, he continued, before planting another slap to your butt cheek, the loud sound piercing through the empty lair.

“Raph! Babe!”, you called out, feeling tears of pleasure forming in your eyes, at the stinging yet pleasurable sensation on your soft flesh.

There sounded loud yells and screams from the tv screen, but neither you or Raph gave it a second thought. Instead Raph lifted his left knee, putting the weight on his foot instead, giving him another angle to plow into you with. You cried out once more, your back arching upwards, and your fingers stopping momentarily. Raph leaned over you, his plastron resting against your back, while one of his hands moved from your hips, up your sides and under your shirt, grabbing your breast in his fist. You felt his breath against the shell of your ear, slowly bringing life to your fingers once again. Raph chuckled.

“Do you love my dick, babe?”, he asked, amusement thick in his voice. “Do you love it when I fuck you stupid? Do you love it when I take you on the couch while no one is here, huh, (Y/N)?”

“Yes, Raph!”, you cried out, your fingers working just as fast as his thrusting member, both bringing immense pleasure, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You let out a desperate cry, letting Raph know that you were close. So damn close that you almost were going crazy.

“I’m going to make you cum so hard”, Raph mumbeled, before straightening back up, placing both hands back on your hips, going to town on you with all the power his strong body could muster.

You saw stars before your eyes, as Raph assaulted your g-spot over and over again, pushing you over the edge and into the ocean of pleasure that was your orgasm. Your body contorted under Raph, with the hand you hand used on yourself, instinctively reaching for Raph behind you. He held onto your hand, feeling his own high rabbitly appearance with the clenching of your walls around him, your juices gushing down his member. He felt the tightening of his muscles behind his cloaca, quickly pulling out of you, before resting himself between your cheeks, right before your lower back. With small grunts, Raph came onto your back side, closing his eyes as he emptied himself onto you, letting him run down the curve of your back, pooling at your spine.

Slowly coming down from your highs, panting as you opened your eyes, you were met with a very familiar message from Netflix on the tv screen; “Are you still watching?” Once again, you and Raph had failed to watch the damn show, creating a mess of your backside like all of the other times. Guess movie nights were just bound to fail for the two of you - just like you both secretly wanted it to.

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revasserium · 2 months

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Zoro and the hunter's heart (as, you know, he's a former pirate hunter... nudge nudge)

send me one + a character and i'll write u a drabble

a hunter's heart

opla!zoro; 6,553 words; fairytale retelling!au, fem!reader, no "y/n", hunter!zoro, fluff and angst (only a bit), hurt/comfort (kinda), mentions of witches and magic and curses

summary: there are some stories that the world can't stop telling

a/n: i should know better by now than to think an opla zoro fic could be anything but too involved... ╮(￣▽￣"")╭ tagging @dira333 bc its ur request and @bby-deerling bc u were kind enough to ask <3

It is a sordid tale, to hear the villager’s old witch tell it — one near and dear as the rise of the sun in the east, the set of the moon in the west, old as time itself. Because you see, there are some stories so ancient and so integral to the world that it bears, nay demands, retelling, reliving. Stories so stanch and certain that they wear groves into the truth of the world by the tracks they trail, over and over and over again. Stories that the world can never stop telling, no matter how hard it might want to or try.

This is one such tale.

“Take her into the forest — and bring me back her heart,” commanded the Queen.

The hunter had knelt before his queen and bowed his head, his swords heavy at his side. Inside his chest, his own heart was thundering, thundering. A storm brewing within the depths of his soul. But he’d schooled his expression straight and taken his orders.

You were nothing more than a kitchen maid, but you had the most beautiful voice he’d ever heard. All morning, he could hear it echoing through the cool stone halls as you went about your baking of the day’s fresh bread, your churning of the week’s soft butter. He’d lean against the wall just outside the kitchens to listen, to let the music of your voice wash over the ragged edges of his soul, to soothe his frayed ends, to mend what parts might have been broken.

Sometimes, he’d find himself wandering toward the gardens in the back of the castle grounds just to catch an echo of your voice near the wells, where he knows you’ll be in the early afternoons, collecting water for the day’s dinner service. Sometimes, he thinks he can hear it over the clink and clash of swords as he spars with his fellow knights and hunters, and he’d catch himself slowing, almost stilling, and those are the only times anyone’s ever managed to get the upper hand on him.

“C’mon doll, give us another tune.”

“Yeah, sweetheart, sing us a sea shanty! Or another one of your show tunes!”

Zoro frowns as he rounds the corner one day to find a few young knights leaning against the castle wall, towering over where you’re standing, a half-filled bucket of water clutched in your hands. He’s about to intervene when he hears the sound of splashing water, and a second later, the young knights are stumbling back, squawking with indignation as you huff, wiping your hands daintily on your apron.

“So sorry, seems like my hand’s slipped —” you drop into a rather sardonic curtsy before marching passed the stunned young men, leaving them blinking and drenched in your wake. Zoro chuckles, the sound making both of them whirl around, color rising ruddy into their cheeks. They sober immediately as they meet Zoro’s eyes.

He cocks an eyebrow, looking them over.

“S-sorry sir… we just — we were uh —”

“Just leaving,” the second knight supplies as he grabs the first by the arm and tugs him back out into the courtyard.

Zoro watches them go with a muted amusement twisting his lips before turning back to find you peering up at him with a bright, steely light in your eyes. Your shoulder is pressed to the edge of the wall, your body half-hidden behind it as if you’re uncertain of what he might do. As if you’re uncertain of him.

“Sorry about them…” Zoro dips his head, suddenly very aware of how he must seem to you — just another one of the Queen’s toy soldiers, gilded in gold, touched by the sly silver of her cool, slithering magic. Would you think he’d be like them — like those bumbling idiots who couldn’t tell a board sword from a longsword? Who thought braveness and bravado one and the same? And suddenly, the thought that you might sickens him, and he swallows hard, hurrying to explain.

“Not all of us are…” Zoro’s voice trails off as he casts about for the right word — idiots? “Like them”? Neither seems to do it all justice.

He watches as you take half a step out from behind the stone wall’s cover and drop into a slight curtsey.

“I know.” And there’s a bright sheen to the soft whisper of your voice, a certainty that Zoro can’t quite place. And he knew then as he knows now that you — you are just a bit different. Just a bit more than he’d ever given you thought or credit for. Perhaps that was his mistake — he makes a mental note not to make it again.

“I know you’re not…” you wave a light hand towards where the other two knights had stumbled away, and the pinkness in your cheeks makes Zoro’s stomach do a few choice flips he’d never remembered his own stomach capable of till now.

There’s a moment’s pause, and then — you both break into laughter at the same time — him, a tad self-conscious, you, unbidden and bright as birdsong.

“You have a beautiful voice.”

“Your sparring form is really nice.”

You both speak at the same time, and in the startled quiet that stretches right after, Zoro finds himself held still by the weight of your eyes, the heaviness of your gaze as it rests on him, wide and startled and… almost pleased. He clears his throat and tries again —

“I hear you all the time —”

“I see you sometimes —”

It happens again, and when you both pause this time, he can see the burgeoning smile threatening to spill over your petal-pink lips; he can feel his own smile breaking like ice in spring’s first thaw.

“I don’t know much about music but —”

“It looks like you’re dancing —”

By the third time, Zoro’s starting to wonder if you’re doing this on purpose, or perhaps he is — because what wouldn’t he do to keep on basking in the sunshine of your laughter, to soak in the brilliance of your smile? What stars and moons and planets wouldn’t conspire to align just for another chance to glance into the midnight dark of your eyes, as depthless as any sea, as wide as any self-respecting night?

“Well —” Zoro clears his throat; you purse your lips and wait for him to finish, “I’ve never danced…”

Mischief hinges on the edge of your smile as you peer up at him through your lashes, “You should try it sometime. I hear it’s quite the workout.”

And there’s something singing beneath the sweetness of your voice that hints at a darker, more intimate meaning to the word dance, but Zoro stops himself before his mind can unspool entirely. He sucks in a breath and chews over the words now sitting solid and unwieldy on his tongue —

“I’ve always thought dancing… required music and —” he swallows and forces his sentence onward like shepherding a stubborn and reluctant bull, “a partner.”

You let your held lilt sideways, watching him like a bird on a branch might consider a squirrel on the ground.

“It’s just… I’ve never quite had either before,” he hurries to explain, feeling heat creeping into his cheeks and finally, he forces his eyes away from you, glancing up towards the piercingly blue sky, completely devoid of clouds. He curses inwardly, his eyes wandering for something — anything — to latch onto that’s not you and your mesmerizing eyes, with the universe caught behind them, or your lips, shaped so much like the answer to a question he hadn’t realized he’d been asking for his whole, entire life.

He watches as you square your shoulders and take a half-step into his personal space, just the tips of your toes grazing into the proximity of too close and at the same time not nearly close enough — then, you dip into a curtsey, lowering your eyes so he has nothing to ground himself on except for the brief breath of your skin, the waft of your hair sweeping down over your shoulders, smelling so much like cotton and milk, salt and honey.

“But now, from where I’m standing…” you look up, and your smile is so much poisoned apples and cyanide, “you’ve got both, don’t you?”

Zoro sucks in a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his head spinning for a second too long and he almost stumbles. Almost. But he catches himself, and when he does, his body moves as a marionette on a string — as if his arms and legs already knew what his mind had for so long kept from him —

He dips into a bow, sweeping one arm over his stomach, the other out to the side. And there’s no dull, discordant clank of armor because hunters and soldiers are made different. Fighters, both, but hunters require a different kind of bloodlust, are a different strain of heartless.

You let out a soft laugh and Zoro wonders if there’s any better music in the world as he offers you his hand. You take it, and he draws your body near with reverent palms, exhaltant fingers — he can almost feel the wild birdwing beat of your heart fluttering in your chest, supplemented by the thundering of his own much more well-trained heartbeat, but even so, the dull pulse of it makes him feel heady with excitement — thump, thump, thump.

And slowly, ever so slowly, the pair of you begin to dance. At first, just to the soft inhale and exhale of your breaths and his. And then, you smile up at him, a startling, chest-piercing, swan-song thing — as you begin to sing.

His first step is hesitant, and the second less so. By the third, Zoro feels his shoulders flattening out and his chest rising as he clasps your palms against his and takes the lead. You let him, with a tinkling laugh, your smile light and bright as daybreak. Your feet skip like pebbles across a mirror lake, and by the time he lets you go, the midday sun is beating down over the castle grounds and the lunch bell is ringing off in the distance. You skip out of his reach and drop into another curtsey —

“Seems like it’s past time for me to go.”

“But —” Zoro bites back the urge to chase after you, his body surging forward to try and stay within the warmth of your orbit.

“Tomorrow,” you breathe, your cheeks a bit too pink, grinning up at him with mischief in your eyes, “after the morning meal… I think I might have some more water to collect.”

You shoot him a meaningful wink as you sweep by him, humming beneath your breath as you go. You brush by him with a sweep of skirt-tails, and it’s a full minute before Zoro can form a coherent thought, whipping around to see the shadow of you disappearing around the corner of the long corridor that leads down to the kitchens.

Up above, neither of you sees the Queen with her blood-red nails clicking against the wide windowsill, her eyes trailing the shape of Zoro as he sucks in a long breath, and shakes himself, before heading back to the training grounds, his earrings catching the afternoon light in a series of gold-gilded sparks.

The next day, Zoro finds you dancing to a two-step by yourself, a bucket of water propped on your hip, the late morning sun caressing your skin like a lover’s fingers. And he finds himself held still by the sight of you, your eyes closed, your body swaying to the rhythm and breath of the earth, the sound of your voice filling the air as water might an already-full glass — spilling over and over till it soaks the earth between you both.

He clears his throat, and you open your eyes. You smile.

Almost sheepishly, he offers you a hand. You take it, and the half-filled bucket is left to teeter precariously on the well’s stone-worn edge as you laugh, letting Zoro pull you in, his palm pressing to the bend of your waist, fingers skimming the small of your back.

Three days, you dance. Three days of blissful mornings and sun-soaked afternoons. Three nights of moonlit walks and roses dipped in starlight.

Because the best things in the world always come in threes — but it just so happens that so do the worst.

Zoro feels his skin crawling when he receives the summons from the Queen. There is only one reason the Queen would summon a hunter like him — she’s found something (or someone) worthy of being hunted. He prays it will not take him away for long.

“Zoro…” the Queen purrs, barely turning to look at him as he bows his head, holding the pose for three beats before straightening. She reaches up to grace her fingers over the edges of an ornate mirror hanging on her wall — a mirror she covets. Zoro has seen its magic, the dull, rough-edged ache thrumming through the earth and the air like poison. He schools his expression into one of flat disinterest as he squares his shoulders.

“Your Highness.”

“I trust you’re familiar with my mirror?”

Zoro makes a soft noise of consent, cold slipping down his spine like cool fingers.

“Then… I trust you know what it does?” the Queen asks, peering at him through it’s dark, onyx reflection.

Zoro glances down, “I can’t say I do, Your Highness.”

“Well then, I’d say you’re in for a treat today —” she chuckles, the sound soft and slithering, her painted lips twisting up in a cruel smirk, “this is a magic mirror, you see… and it’s magic… tells the truth —”

Zoro remains quiet, waiting, waiting.

“Mirror, mirror…”

Zoro feels the air around him condensing, the temperature dropping as the heat siphons from the room into the mirror. The darkened surface swirls with a sickly, purple light before a pallid face appears, empty eye sockets and a hollow mouth. The skeletal reflection peers imperiously back up at the image of the Queen standing before it.

“… tell me, who is the fairest in all the land?”

The Queen preens in front of the mirror, and Zoro feels his stomach filling with lead weight at her question.

Once upon a time, he’d met a kindly old witch in the woods. Her hut had been made of something that looked curiously like gingerbread, and the flowers that decorated her windowsill had glimmered with the shine of tempered sugar. He had offered to help her carry a basket of waxy red apples from the market to her hut and in return, she’d offered him the answer to one question.

“What… exactly is magic?” he’d asked, young and uncertain.

She’d laughed a laugh that might’ve once been high and imperious but then had only sounded like an amused old woman faced with a question she hadn’t quite expected.

“Magic… well — I’ll tell you this — magic is always more than meets the eye, and never what it promises.”

Zoro had blinked, frowning as she’d peered up at him with a pair of mismatched eyes — one milky and filmed over, the other dark as crow’s feathers.

“What does… that mean?”

“It means… that sometimes, magic lies. Sometimes… magic only tells you what you want to hear. Sometimes, magic is more about what you think is true because in the end… that’s the only truth that matters.”

The magic mirror contemplates the Queen’s question as Zoro stands behind her, holding his breath.

“There is but one fairer than Your Highness —”

Zoro’s vision tunnels, the voice of the mirror thickening around him as if his head were suddenly submerged in water. Heat creeps up the back of his neck like spider’s legs, quick and skittering, and he knows the answer before the mirror says your name.

“I see…” the Queen muses, though Zoro can hear the hard edge in her voice, the light catching on it like a twisting blade as she turns back around to face him. And she is beautiful, there’s no denying — the Queen’s face was, up until very recently, what Zoro had thought true beauty must be like.

He’d understood it only in the most abstract, academic sense — beauty — had only ever nodded when the other knights and hunters had wolf-whistled at the rosy-cheeked maids that dotted the castle, scattered along the halls like handfuls of sugar.

The first time he saw the Queen, he’d wondered at the perfect proportions of her eyes and nose, the dark, certain arch of her brows, the cruel tug at the ends of her painted lips and he’d thought — ah, is this what all the fuss is about?

But then he’d seen you, hadn’t he? And your face — he knows it is not perfect, he’s leaned in close enough to see the texture that mars your cheeks, the way one side of your mouth always lilts up first in a smile, the flecks that adorn your eyes like lost shards of sunlight caught beneath your lashes —

Beautiful, he’d thought.

Later, he wonders if that moment might’ve been your doom.

“Take her into the forest,” the Queen says, smiling her cruel, cruel smile as she watches Zoro lower his head, “and bring me back her heart.”

Zoro swallows hard as he bows.

You are waiting for him the next morning, just after breakfast, your hands laced behind your back, an empty bucket resting precariously along the edge of the well.

“No dancing today,” Zoro says, his voice clipped and low, his gaze darting away toward the darkness of the forest behind you. You blink up at him before following his gaze.

“Then… will you accompany me on a walk?”

Zoro frowns, nearly wincing away from you as you lean in, grinning your sly fox’s grin.

“But…”

“Oh, don’t tell me a hunter like you’s scared of the forest.” You dance away from him before he can protest, reaching for the bucket and propping it on your right hip, “C’mon, I promised the head cook I’d pick some berries for the feast tonight. Didn’t you hear? The Queen’s finally found a spell for eternal youth and beauty.”

Zoro stares after you as you pick your way across the garden, making for the wrought-iron gates that separate the castle grounds from the wilderness beyond.

“A spell for…” Zoro’s frown deepens as you glance at him over your shoulder with a sad little smile.

“They say the Queen was cursed by a powerful witch to always search for that which she can never have.”

Zoro keeps behind you as you meander into the shadow of the trees, seemingly following a trail only you can see, occasionally stopping to bend over a burst of bright red berries, picking a few and tossing them into your bucket before pressing one to your lips. He watches as berry juice dark as blood tints your lips and trickles down the edge of your mouth.

“Did you know… that there are only three ways to break a witch’s curse? One is for the witch herself to lift the curse.”

Here in the darkness of the forest, your eyes shine like twin stars.

“Another is to kill the witch and all those who cared for her.”

Here in the darkness of the forest, the lopsided lilt of your smile flashes white, and sharp, dripping dark red —

Zoro’s sword is in his hand before he realizes, and suddenly, every twig-snap and leaf-rustle sets his bones on edge. The wind tastes sweet on his tongue, swirls thick with magic as he whirls around, searching for the silhouette of you and finding nothing but endless, pressing dark.

“Zoro?” your voice nearly makes him stumble as he twists around, eyes wide, chest heaving, only to find the tip of his sword resting against the delicate hyphen of your clavicle. Your breath hitches, soft as he’d always remembered it, but you don’t pull away; you don’t even flinch as you stare up at him, as if waiting for him to do something.

“Are you going to kill me?” your voice is low and smooth, without a single flicker of fear.

Zoro’s grip loosens as he forces himself to pull back. He hisses out a breath and shakes loose his shoulders.

“No,” he says, his own voice coarse, clipped, “I’m not. But —”

“Oh good — that would’ve made things rather awkward for our date.”

Zoro gapes as you laugh, twirling around to continue on your way through the forest. He hastens after you a few seconds later, brushing aside low-hanging branches and shouldering passed thicker bits of underbrush.

“D-date?”

“Mhm,” you hum, sounding very pleased as you lead him on, and on, and on, “you wouldn’t want to miss it — grandma’s baking pie.”

“What… ” but his words trail off once more as you turn and make towards a clearing that he’s certain wasn’t there a moment ago — a clearing with a tiny hut that looks as if it’s made of gingerbread. The flowers on the windowsill glitter jewel-bright and candy-hard.

“My grandma’s house,” you say, smiling as you push through the door with your bucket of blood-red berries still perched on your hip.

Zoro’s frown carves ever harder into his brows as he follows after you on hesitant feet, though he can’t help the way his muscles loosen the second he steps over the small hut’s threshold and catches a whiff of something wonderful in the air — cinnamon and sugar and apples.

“Ah, you’ve made it just in time!” the old witch looks up from where she’s tending a vast fire that casts the entire hut in a warm, ethereal glow. Zoro glances back at the open patch of cloudless blue sky somehow visible in a small gap between the trees before stepping in.

“Apple pie again, grandma?”

“Your favorite,” the old witch replies with a grin as you set the bucket on the small wooden table, “And I see you’ve brought a guest, though…” the old witch’s single black eye catches the firelight as she peers are Zoro, still standing just inside the doorway.

“It’s nice to see you again, young man.”

Zoro bows, rather awkwardly, and though it’s been many years since he’d helped the old woman with her apples, she looks exactly the same. He can’t say quite the same for himself.

“Come, sit! Have some berry wine,” you say, ushering Zoro towards the table, where you’ve somehow replaced the bucket with two jars of red liquid that glimmers like garnets in the flickering firelight. You pour a glass and nudge it towards Zoro, who simply stares, trying very hard to wrap his head around what must be happening.

A dull, thrumming ache is gathering at the base of his skull, but the pie smells so sweet and the wine looks ever so tantalizing.

He reaches out and takes a sip, letting the cool liquid slip down his throat. He feels it slither through him, sending tiny pin-pricks of heat trailing along his limbs as he swallows.

“Ah… so he’s not like the rest of them.”

He blinks down at the wine in his cup for a second more before you reach out and tug it from his hand. A soft palm cups his cheek and forces his face up. He meets your eyes and finds them searching.

“You weren’t lying… you really hadn’t planned on killing me.”

You sound almost surprised as your grandma chuckles behind you, the noise like the clack of old stones against one another.

“I told you he was different,” the old witch says, slowly slicing a bit of pie and putting it on a plate.

“All men think they’re different,” you say, your voice resigned as you take the slice of pie and set it in front of Zoro, “Right, now eat — it’ll make you feel better. I’m sorry about that… just… you can never be sure.”

The old witch tuts, shaking her head, “A broken heart is it’s own kind of curse, you know.”

Zoro blearily takes a bite of cake and feels his senses returning to him one by one; he takes stock of them as if he’d forgotten entirely that he’d lost them in the first place. As he chews and swallows once, twice — by the third time he can feel the tightness in his muscles returning as panic and confusion flood his system.

He jerks up from the table and reaches for his sword.

“Please, there’s no need for that,” you say, though you sound hesitant as you hold up a hand, your expression earnest as you take half a step back.

“What the hell did you do to me?” he seethes, looking between you and the old witch, uncertain of who to aim his anger at.

“I had to be sure,” you say again, your voice imploring as you inch forward, “Please, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Yeah well —” Zoro gulps past the dryness in his mouth as he narrows his eyes, “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

You wince ever so slightly, looking away, “No, you’re right but… please,” you say again, and the word works like magic as it settles over Zoro’s shoulders. He wonders if it’s actual magic, but no — there’s no strange sweetness in the air, no thick fog threatening to cloud over his judgment.

“It might be quicker to show him,” the old witch suggests, still watching the pair of you with her one oil-black eye, sounding pleasant and entirely unfazed.

“Right… yes —” you sigh, motioning for the door, “The sty is just out behind the hut — you can go out first if you’d like,” you offer.

Zoro looks between you and the door before inching back and edging open the door with his foot, keeping his eyes fixed on you as you follow him with light, muted movements.

The air outside is crisp and cool and Zoro can’t help sucking in a breath as he steps out from the halo of the firelit hut. Grass crunches beneath his feet, birds sing overhead. There’s the lingering heat of magic still crackling in the air, but when his gaze falls back onto you, he finds you no less lovely than he’d done the first time.

“This way,” you say, rounding the edge of the hut and leading him towards a sizeable pigsty that he’d completely failed to notice the first time he’d been here as a young boy.

A looming sense of dread calcifies in the base of his stomach as he approaches the pigsty on heavy feet. The pigs all jostle against one another, snorting and snuffling with their noses pressed into the long feeding pen. From the pockets of your skirt, you produce a handful of bright red berries and toss it into the pen. Zoro watches with mixed fascination and mounting horror as the pigs tumble over each other to forage for the fruit in the dried hay and mud.

“Have you ever heard the saying that… there are some stories the world never stops telling?” your voice is quiet and sad as you reach over to skim your knuckles along the pale pink snout of a snorting pig.

And suddenly, Zoro understands — he doesn’t know if it was a trick of the light or perhaps the magic still working its way through his system but the understanding comes like a rainstorm, a few tiny droplets before the downpour. And were he a weaker man, he might’ve back and tried to make a run for it. But instead, he stands and stares with a strange pity welling up inside him at the lolling tongues and flopping ears.

“These were all men — hunters,” he says, his words slow at first, but picking up speed as he continues to speak, “Who tried to lure you into the wood to —”

“To kill me, yes, so that they could give the Queen my heart. Because you see, the heart of a witch would give her what she so desperately desires —”

“Eternal youth,” Zoro breathes.

“And the first time, I was heartbroken,” you turn away from him, pressing a hand to your heart, “But I managed to get away. And instead of going back empty-handed to face the Queen’s wrath, the hunter caught a wild boar in the forest and cut out its heart instead. Only — an old she-wolf had been hunting the boar for days, and was robbed of a meal. She and I… we came across each other and I was so — so hurt that I offered her my heart in return for putting me out of my misery.”

Zoro presses his lips as your words rush from you in a great wave, pieces of truths crystalizing before him even as they continue to shatter the world he thought he’d known.

“She told me then that… no man is worth dying for, especially not one who would lie to you just to steal your heart. And she offered to teach me —” you wave a hand at the pigsty, “And the rest…”

The soft silence that stretches between you is thin and pained. You cradle your hands to your chest as if trying to stem the hurt of some unspeakable heartbreak.

“And… the wine?” he asks.

Your face lifts and a strike of that familiar, mischievous light returns to your eyes as you grin.

“That was something I brewed up on my own — if the drinker bears me any ill intentions, then it’ll turn them into something a bit more… fitting of their true hearts. But if not then…” you grace him with a soft smile, “Then it’ll only ever just be wine, though a bit on the stronger side.”

“Yeah, a bit.”

A brief silence falls between the pair of you as the sky above begins to shift from blue to a soft lavender.

“You said… the first time,” Zoro says, curiosity now burgeoning from beneath the receding shock of the day, “Do you make a habit of luring men into the woods, then?”

You scoff, “Luring? Hardly. Magic can only do so much, and though the odd enchanted trinket will sell well at the monthly market, people still tend to be wary around witches.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Zoro says dryly, his eyes flickering toward the sty where the pigs, finally satisfied that there are no more berries to be found, have settled into the thick stacks of hay, grumbling and snorting.

You allow him a derisive smile, “Yes well — a girl and her grandmother still have to eat and bathe, and you can only stand so much apple pie before it starts to get a little old. So… I keep a job at the castle. Believe it or not, serving a self-obsessed Queen pays well. And all those… men —” you force out the word like spitting out poison, “Had seemed… good. At least at first.”

Zoro remains quiet as you pause, looking down at your own hands. It’s the first time he notices the light calluses that mar your palms, not so different from his own. He wonders at the smoothness of the handles on the wooden bucket you’d carried so easily through the woods, at how long it must’ve taken for a pair of hands like yours to wear them down so. The old witch’s words echo in his mind — a broken heart is it’s own kind of curse.

“Is that how you got so good at dancing?” he asks.

You grin, giving him a sidelong glance, “Perhaps.”

Zoro sighs, tilting his head back to look at the small patch of visible sky, now a deep, bruising purple.

“So. Now what?”

You echo his sigh, looking up as well, “You can go back, if you’d like.”

“And what? Tell the Queen that you got away?”

Your smile hardens ever so slightly, “Or, you could kill something else in the forest and offer her it’s heart instead.”

“But wouldn’t she know? After she ate it and doesn’t gain eternal youth?”

You shrug, looking away, “You’d be surprised what a person can trick themselves into believing, if they just try hard enough.”

Zoro nods, letting his eyes fall back down to his hand, resting idle against the hilt of his sword.

“Or, I could stay.”

He doesn’t know what makes him say it — and perhaps it was the darkness of the forest, the close, flustered whisper of the leaves, or perhaps it was the lingering sweetness of your home-brewed wine and the tantalizing smell of magic and cinnamon still in the air. But he says it, and he finds that even the strange, still shocked moment after, he doesn’t regret it.

“You… you want to stay?”

He doesn’t think he’s ever heard you sound so uncertain before.

“Why not? I can’t go back and…” he motions at the hut and the soft ring of warm firelight seeping out from the tiny windows, “The wine’s not bad.”

And perhaps for the first time, Zoro thinks, he sees you smile — a smile that isn’t sharp and full of hidden teeth. A smile that’s helpless and hopeful and just a little bit pained. He smiles back and hopes —

“C’mon then… you can help with the fire. And carry the water.”

“Hn. But you seemed so good at it.”

You shoot him a slight pout as the pair of you duck back into the hut to the smell of roasting vegetables.

There are some stories the world can never stop telling, stories so old that the sing harmony to the very tuning of the universe.

Once upon a time, there was a wolf, a grandmother, and a girl in the woods. Once upon a time, an old witch built a house of gingerbread to lure in the lives of unheedful children. Once upon a time, there was a Queen with a magic mirror. Once upon a time, a witch lived alone in a secluded hut and lured men to her table only to turn them into the pigs they’d always been inside.

Once upon a time, a boy asked a girl to dance.

Once, a boy told the truth and the girl didn’t believe him, because all the boys who’d broken her heart before had given her no reason not to. And a heart can only be broken so many times before it, too, gets tired.

Once, she thought that broken hearts could never be mended.

But she should’ve known that stories, like the magic they hold, very rarely tell the truth. Or perhaps, they too only tell the truths that the listener wants to hear, or is ready to hear. Never more, never less.

So, here is another story — one that’s not so frequently told, but is just as true as the others —

Once, there was a boy who was born with a sword in his hand, who had never know that his body could hold so much music or laughter. Then, he met a girl with the most beautiful voice in all the land, and he, like so many before him, fell in love. Only, the girl had been hurt by all those before him, and no longer trusted the words of boys with sword-hilt smiles and rough, callused fingers. But when he asked her to dance, she agreed anyway, and when she introduced him to her grandmother and offered him wine, he did not hesitate. Instead, he asked if he could stay the night.

That was a long, long time ago.

There will always be another girl with a pretty voice and a viper’s smile at the castle beyond the woods, and always another young knight too eager to please his Queen. There will always be apples at the morning market and magic in the air. But perhaps the pieces don’t fall right where they ought to; perhaps they never did. Perhaps the stories we tell are only ever stories.

“You told me once that there were three ways to lift a curse,” Zoro asks one day, a wooden bucket in one hand, three swords strapped to his opposite hip.

“Mhm,” you hum, not looking up from the large pot of soup bubbling over the fire, a song threading beneath your breath as you sway back and forth.

Zoro grunts as he puts the bucket on the worn wooden table, walking over to slip an around your middle and hook his chin over your shoulder. You laugh as you let yourself be pulled back into his embrace.

“You only ever told me two.”

“Ah… right —” you smile, a smile that is no longer jagged but worn soft around the edges, as if all the sharpness has been smoothed over by years and years of tenderness, years and years of trust, of love.

“So?”

“So…” you place down the wooden spoon and turn to face him, placing your hands on his shoulders as his large, callused palms settle around your waist. The pair of you sway to a song that only the two of you can hear, a song that sings harmony to the very tuning of the universe.

“The third way to break a curse is the easiest… but also the hardest way, depending on who you are,” you say, smiling and swaying in Zoro’s arms. Like this, you can see the late afternoon light as it pours through the small window and catches on the dull gold of his triplet earrings.

“It’s a simple thing, really,” you say, as Zoro leans down to press his forehead to yours, your breaths dancing in the negative space between your bodies. Outside, an old witch sits on a rocking chair and admires the sunset. Occasionally, she reaches into her skirt pockets for a handful of berries to toss into the pigsty to her right.

“Oh yeah? How simple?” Zoro asks.

“Why…” you lean up on your tiptoes, your nose brushing his, your lips mere inches apart. Behind you, bottles and bottles of home-brewed wine sit along the mantle of the great stone fireplace, the color bright and true and freshly spilled blood.

“It’s as simple as a kiss from your one true love, of course.”

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