#just so it's easier for people to find on my masterlist !
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Winter's King 12
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)
Characters: Geralt of Rivia
Note: have a good weekend.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
You stand, still uncertain. You look at the king as he tilts his face up to the moonlight. The silver sheen washes over him with an unearthly glow. He looks lupine, much like your dream.
“Your highness?” You echo again, hands curling around the sides of your skirt.
“Will you continue to disregard my order?” He challenges as his gold eyes meet yours. You wince at the way they shine.
“No, your highness, I am only...” you hush yourself and clamp your lips tight. You turn and search around, numbly walking along the curve of the pond.
He growls as you reach the line of hedges into the next walkway.
“You will want to go much faster than that,” he warns as you hear him stand. “I will allow you some advance...” He exhales as you glance back at him, “ten...” he stares at you, his figure shrouded in shadow from far away, “nine...”
You blanch and tumble backward through the gap. You spin and stagger on your soles, throwing your arms out as your heart pulses madly. Something about his timbre, about his words, has you alight. There is something amiss about him.
You push your legs against your skirts and hurry blindly into the nocturnal void. The moonlight seeps in around the silhouette of leaves as you keep your hands ahead of you to prevent a collision. You try to see through the dark, like silk across your eyes, making out little more than hazy orbs.
You crash into a thicket of thorns and pull away from the rosy bunch. Their scent clings onto you as you turn to the left and dive down the next path. You don’t know these gardens, not like Debray. For all you know, you’re going even deeper.
You hear a step behind you and swirl to face it. You squint, trying to see who is there. Is it the king? Do you want it to be? What does he mean to do when he catches you? What is the meaning of this game?
You plunge back into a sprint, puffing as you pump your arms. You whimper and whine as you slow, legs heavy and feet dull. Where are you going? You don’t like this. You remember a night like this before, how the cold dew of the forest crept up your legs, feet hitting the earth in quick succession, the holler of men and snort of horses behind you.
You stagger and spin back. No, you can’t run anymore. You don’t like this. You don’t like those thoughts. That last night before you were taken to Debray, before you dawned the cap of your bearing. That orphan girl running from servitude.
You walk forward, shaking as you peer back and forth. You wade through the thick grey air. You hear a twig snap and a bush rustle, each noise from a different direction. Perhaps it is a rabbit or a chipmunk. You sniffle and wring your hands.
You must find the king. You will surrender this game and ask that he takes you back to the castle. You trudge over the beaten path and hear the soft trickle ahead. It must be the pond. The silver light blooms brighter as you come upon a space in the hedges.
Suddenly, there is only air beneath your feet. You kick out as something rigid wraps around your waist and lifts you. You wriggle desperately and cry out, your eyes tinging but not overflowing. Your fear has you clawing at the hold around your middle.
“Please, please, don’t hurt me!” You plead as you flail, “please, sir, I’ll go back to the castle--” you choke as the grasp on you slackens but your feet still do not meet the ground. You quiet as you recall your present, that you are not in that forest, that you are far from Debray.
You are sat upon the bench, the silver moon gleaming down on you as it outlines the broad shadow before you. King Geralt faces you, kneeling as you tremble and hug yourself. You put your head down in shame.
“Apologies, your highness, I was lost,” you reach to rub your cheek, flicking back your tears with your lashes, “I got confused.”
“No, it is I who should apologise, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he takes your hand between his big ones, “I only meant to make some fun.” He brushes his touch up your arms and squeezes as you drop your hand to your lap, “little maid, did I hurt you?”
You shake your head, “I was only... delirious. It is too dark out here. I cannot see,” you bite down and look away, “apologies, I did act out.”
“Little maid,” he tickles along your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine, “I would not let you get lost or hurt.” He tilts his hand to cradle your face, his thumb stroking your cheekbone, “what was it you were running from in your head? Who?”
“No one,” you lie. “Just a memory.”
“Memories are not just that,” he insists, “but I understand how they can hurt. Forgive me, treasure, I wasn’t--”
“Your highness,” the sullen voice has the king recoiling. He quickly plants his foot and stands. You rise as well, toying with that word he called you. Treasure. “The queen sends for you.”
Bryce steps out into the moonlight. You look at him then the ground. How long had he been there? How much had he heard?
“The queen,” King Geralt grumbles, “what is it she wants? It is late--”
“She would not say and I would not guess,” Bryce says, “but she screams for it. Like a yowling cat.”
The king sighs and lowers his head. He squares his shoulders and resets his posture. He steps away from you and gestures to his soldier. The king twists around and marches away. Bryce falls into pace with you as you follow. He is silent, you all are.
You approach the castle, guards lurking in the shadows, and are let past the front doors by a sombre pair. Inside, you follow the king through the great hall and up the stairs. You peek over at Bryce as you proceed down the corridor. He gently squeezes your wrist, just briefly, and carries on.
“Your highness,” Bryce speaks as you hear a racket ahead of you; screeching and crashing. “Should I escort the maid back to her chambers?”
“Cursed woman,” King Geralt mutters as he slows, Queen Jazlene’s door just ahead. He pauses and looks over his shoulder, “the cost of a kingdom...”
“Your highness?” Bryce prompts once again.
You echo him and step forward, “I could calm her. Bring some wine--”
“No, she will have no more of that,” the king declares sharply. “I wed her, I put my name next to hers, so it is I shall attend to her. Sir,” he looks at Bryce, “do as you suggest, put the maid in her chambers and I will put the queen in her place.”
“Aye, your highness,” Bryce bows his head and points you back, “come, maid, the night wears on.”
You glance up at the king. His golden eyes are wrought as his gaze holds yours for only an instant. You see the hesitation bob in his throat before he turns away. You mirror him and follow Bryce back along the corridor.
As you climb to the next floor and continue down another corridor, Bryce slows. He stops as he gets to the door and faces you. He takes a breath as he looks you up and down.
“It’s treacherous here in the summer kingdom,” he says, “but that will not change on the road. Mouse, you keep yourself well.”
“Thank you, sir, I am fine.”
“Aye, you do not take my meaning but you do not take the king’s either,” he puts his hand on his belt, “his favour might do you fine in this moment, but it is dangerous. Let not others notice so they may not envy it.”
You grimace and shake your head, “what do you mean?”
“Your little games do not need an audience. It is no tournament.”
Your chest sinks and your skin speckles. Is he accusing you of something?
“I... I haven’t done anything untoward. I would not, sir--”
“You may not,” he intones, “but we are all ruled by the will of the king.”
“Sir, the king is married to Lady Jazlene--”
“And we both see how they fare,” he states bluntly. “Carry my words with you, do with them as you may, but I could not leave them unsaid.”
Your eyes gloss and your nose tingles once more. He’s mad. Truly, he can’t think you and King Geralt. A maid and her master.
“I would not,” you repeat.
He huffs and nods curtly. He turns to the door and unlatches it, “go, rest your head while you can.”
“Sir Bryce--”
“I am bid protect you by the king,” he pushes the door inward and rests his hand on the frame, “not from him.” He looks past you, as if through, “little mouse, I do hope I am wrong as well but I know better than to depend on that.”
You shudder and tug at the end of your sleeve. You slump and drag your feet through the doorway. You stop, just inside, “good night, sir.”
He grunts and pulls the door shut. Your lip trembles as your heart races, just as it did in the garden. He is wrong. He must be. You saw yourself how the king is trying, he even said it was the queen he meant to game with earlier. It was only that she was too unwell. He said it!
And he goes to the queen’s chamber that night. He is not there. He has not been disloyal. The matter is not your concern. You serve wine, you lace gowns, you braid hair. You are only the maid.
⚔️
You return to the queen’s service the next morning. The world is a bit more familiar as you help her into her gown and twine her hair into an elaborate coif. Servants pass in and out of her chambers as they prepare for the royal party’s imminent departure.
“Why can we not keep this capital?” Queen Jazlene whines, “but my husband does insist on return to his frigid homelands.”
You say nothing as you sift through the old monarch’s jewelry chest. You present to her successor each gem, brooch, and chain. She has yet to turn any away though you wonder if there would be room in her already bustling luggage. Perhaps the cart will be a touch more crowded on your ride north.
“And yet my husband did come to me,” she boasts, “I think... hmm, well, perhaps this marriage won’t be so turbulent.”
You show her a cuff and she snatches it. She puts it on her wrist, turning her arm this way and that, as she oohs and aahs. She wiggles excitedly.
“I recall this piece. One year, when I came with father to court, the queen wore this cuff. You see the emeralds. I remember she was so proud of it even though all the court knew it was only gifted to her by her husband to distract from his mistress,” she trills, “oh, how foolish. But the old queen was so boring. It is a wonder the king didn’t dispose of her, who can blame him for taking an amour?”
She sighs and looks at the mirror, “and she wasn’t half so pretty as me.”
You remain silent, continuing to sort with her endless approval. You don’t think there is a single trinket she could ever turn away. You don’t see the need for so many of the same thing. Some stones are brighter than others but why not keep the brightest and do away with the rest.
“As I was saying,” she goes on, “last night when the king came to me, he was... almost meek. That man. Can you imagine? I admit I was distraught after the day I suffered but he listened and we spoke.” She strokes her fingers as she admires her oval nails. “There are some southern lords who will come north as well, some northern to stay behind. He says it will help us acquaint the two kingdoms into one.”
She drops her hands and pushes her shoulders straight, “he is wise. I suppose I should heed him if I am to be a good queen.”
You are want to agree but to do so aloud may be taken as insult. She might have done it sooner and saved herself some trouble. Yet it isn’t your place and you haven’t the wisdom of a queen. You’re merely a servant.
“Once I give him an heir, he will have to listen to me too. Yes, I will do what mother could never. Give my husband a son,” she drags her hand to her midsection, “I think last night...” she flutters her lashes dreamily. Her suggestion makes you squirm. Her and the king’s relations are hardly your concern. “It was better,” her voice is brittle, “even if...” she peers around and clamps her lips. She narrows her dark eyes, “close the door.”
You obey. You come back to her and return to your previous task. She reaches in to pluck out a string of pearls.
“He puts me on my stomach,” she whispers, almost as if she thinks you won’t hear, but she is speaking to you. There is no one else in the room. Perhaps she is only embarrassed that she has only to the courage to tell a maid. “And he behind me so I can’t see him and... he can’t see me but... but if he could...” she toys with the pearls, “if he’d just look at me, he might like it better.”
You lift a pair of medallions earrings and she ignores them. She tosses the pearls back in the chest and stands. You back away.
“He won’t let me touch him otherwise,” she mulls as she paces. “But he is warming. It is early, isn’t it? And compared to the first night... I don’t know. It will get better. It must.”
She quiets and stands by the window. Her anxiety is palpable. It’s uncharacteristic. You’ve never seen her uncertain of anything yet you can understand it. She is soon to set off to a new life and to brave a long road. When she reaches her destination, she will be a true queen. When you get there, you’ll still be a maid.
“I’ll go to him tonight,” she says and raises her head, “yes, yes, I will go to him and try again.” She spins and smirks at her grand idea, “maid, I must find something to wear for him. Well, nothing very much,” she remarks coyly, “but I will need a robe. Yes, I saw a satin one in the queen’s closet.” She swallows and stands as straight as she can, “my closet.”
You diligently cross the chamber and search the wardrobe. You find a white satin robe stitched with gold and silver. You turn to show the queen. She giggles and claps her hands.
“Wine,” she says, “I must find some courage too.”
#geralt of rivia#dark geralt#dark!geralt#geralt of rivia x reader#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#the witcher#series#au#medieval au#winter's king
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Keep thinking bout Yutu and his relationship to his dad. Like we know a little more about Ace, Floyd, Azul and Riddle (maybe I miss someone else?) but I was curious about other details or interactions with the other Overblot boys.
Like how does talking with someone who tries his best to not get involved in other people's business like Jamil work for making his parents fall in love (if that's even something Yutu can see happening with how distant he is)? How does Yutu go about trying to lay some clues for Vil without being found when Vil's doing his best (with Rook's help) to figure out what's going on?
Or what about the shenanigans Ortho would get to to ensure Idia and Yuu get together so they can try to stop the apocalypse and how would Yutu feel about having at least one person (his uncle at that!) who he can rely on? Or does Yutu ever find himself in a situation that makes him go "oh, I could've had this with dad if it weren't for the council" whenever Malleus says something deep without realizing?
Gaaaaahhhhh I just really like this au and I wanna ask you so many questions but I also don't wanna be annoying
ask is referencing the fyuuture kid au, information on which can be found here and here, or under the series section on my masterlist.
No one is annoying for asking questions! I have asks for Idia and Leona's Yutus, which I think makes every overblot boy except for Jamil and Vil due for a detailed post. Azul! Yutu is a bit of a grey area since I have talked about him a bunch but haven't done detailed hc for him. Yet anyway, Jade and Floyd got one so he needs one too otherwise it'll bug me.
Jamil! Yutu absolutely has a lot of guilt and self hatred around his entire existence. As I talked about in the post about the main cast, Jamil was executed in Yutu's future, and he feels personally responsible for that. If his dad had never fallen in love with Yuu then he would have had a chance at his freedom, that's how Yutu has come to see it anyway. He doesn't want Jamil to fall in love with Yuu, even if it means erasing his existence. Down that road lies only tragedy, but there is also something so beautiful about the way Jamil interacts with Yuu when he thinks no one is looking. There is a degree of mutual respect for how hard the other works and intense desire for approval and praise he can sympathize with. He just doesn't see a way for this to end well if it's allowed to continue, he's a very pessimistic kid Jamil! Yutu. But then again the others didn't have to see the rotted corpse of their father getting dragged around by a blot phantom and be told by a few angry relatives of Kalim that he is the one who put him there.
Vil! Yutu is a bit afraid of his dad. He knows from personal experience that the man is intense and does not take no for an answer but he's never been in the position to see 1) what a good thing that can be or 2) just how silly that can make him act. He's also NEVER had to contend with the real Rook before. The Rook he's familiar with is a mindless monster, dangerous sure, but with patterns you can memorize and protect yourself from. This guy is just wild, sure his dad says that he's only putting up for his behavior "for now" but someone tell him where the fucking line is??? The last thing he wants is to just say everything and risk ruining the timeline but Vil keeps demanding specifics. The main thing Yutu tries to do is get him cooperating with Idia in learning about blot phantoms, the way he sees it things will be much easier if his two most trusted adults are on the same page. It's not a difficult ask either post chapter six, I think Vil is someone who would want to understand what happened to him on a scientific level to some degree, but oh Yutu. Now you've just made him wonder how you know that little piece of information, not everyone knows about his overblot, but he didn't know that bit did he?
Ortho and Idia! Yutu wind up being very close. Having his uncle on his side puts Yutu in a much more stable place emotionally and mentally than other Yutus. They spend a lot of time analyzing old records about blot and phantoms, everyone else is convinced they're just hyping each other up for some weird PhD project inspired by the Ramshackle Prefect's time at NRC and hey. They aren't exactly wrong. As for how they go about trying to get Idia and Yuu together... it's a lot of anime recommendations and conveniently forgetting they had something else to do. Yutu has just as in depth knowledge of Idia's tastes as Ortho does, and the added bonus of knowing Yuu's, so they search through lists of things, pick out the shows they know will get the two of you talking and then sit back and let you interact. Yutu is genuinely confused about why or if this is working... but Ortho did send him a video of his dad hyping himself up to try and ask you out (he over heated and just hid inside his room instead but hey. It's the thought that counts.)
Malleus! Yutu just got his post here. And yes he does think regularly about what he could have had with his father if things had been different, but a lot of those thoughts come from his sillier moments. Hearing Malleus talk at length about ruins or seeing him confused about how to interact with technology make him seem more... human for lack of a better term to him. He's very familiar with the myth of Malleus Draconia, but he wasn't fathered by a myth. He was fathered by a man who fell in love with a human under very extraordinary circumstances and Yutu wants to know about why. What things did Malleus like most about Yuu? About Twisted Wonderland? If he had gotten a chance to be raised by him what things would Malleus have wanted to teach him? Would he be any different?
Azul! Yutu is also afraid of his dad, but not based on any personal experiences just his own insecurities. He's not a thin guy, he's not in Octavinelle, and he is extremely worried that his dad will see him as some sort of stupid muscle head and be disappointed in having him. He's also, understandably, extremely angry at him when he learns what he did in Book 3 to his parent. Fuck this guy, he'll just save Yuu himself and hopefully if they still get together he'll grow up to be a totally different person when he's born in this good timeline. But there's just something about Azul's approval that he can't help but want now that drives him crazy. Why can't he just be ok with being alone? He has been all this time anyway...
(Meanwhile Azul is deeply impressed with how well Yutu is at disguising himself as a dumb muscle head. Just look at the kid, he's got everyone thinking he just is controlling their shadows while he's actually using a really complicated bit of cosmic magic. Suckers all of them. Not him though. He's not being fooled by anything about Yutu, no sir.)
Leona, Leona, Leona. He's tricky for me to write. Scar apparently has children? In one the the Lion King sequels? Leona's dislike of kids seems to come from his complicated feelings around the throne and his want for people to be independent. I think he would be one of those gruff intense kind of dads who does the whole "we are never getting a pet" thing and then you see him asleep on the recliner with Princess Nooodles III chilling on his lap with him. Anyway back to Yutu-
Leona! Yutu's relationship with his dad is tempered by the fact Leona knows who and what he is from the start and demands to know why he has traveled back in time. He doesn't explicitly say he knows that he is his father or that Yuu is his other parent, just that he knows time travel is involved, so they have a fairly open amount of communication regarding the overblot "business" but not on much else. Yutu has a desire to understand his father and Leona has a desire to not disappoint him. Who would want their dad to be the second prince? He's destined for nothing but a miserable life anyway, all of the responsibility and none of the privilege (outside of the money but lets be real, Leona's ass does not understand that.) I don't think either Leona or Yutu fully understands that his existence is enough for the other to be happy. When they are forced to talk about it they both laugh it off and roll their eyes at how cheesy that sounds but deep down it means a lot to both of them.
Riddle! Yutu has gotten a lot of posts about him and his "hatred" of his dad but I thought I'd take this post to mention I like the idea of Yutu's favorite food being the chestnut tarts/mont blanc that aren't allowed at Unbirthday Parties but that Riddle still wanted to eat anyway. He's a lot like his father in his love of sweets and his determined denial of it, but he isn't the exact same. Also gives him one more thing to pick a fight with Riddle over (his dad doesn't get the big deal, they can just have a private tea party with Yuu and have all the different sweets they want... can't they?)
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hockey player!harry x ballerina!yn masterlist
in which harry's a cocky hockey player and y/n is a dedicated ballerina who has no time for his bullshit, until they accidentally figure out there may be some chemistry between them.
each blurb kind of builds on the last so I would recommend reading in chronological order!! :)
first position (original blurb)
harry's jealous | part two ("so I hear you're into pain" smut prompt)
how they met
the yoga class
drunk conversations
winter request (aka harry drives y/n home in the snow)
y/n gets hurt during practice and harry takes care of her
spit request* | harry gets jealous (sort of part 2) | part 3
main hockey h concepts/writing tag
#writing#just so it's easier for people to find on my masterlist !#also. I really tried finding a picture of a girl w a more muscular body type#but its rough on pinterest#everything is a sk*nny aesthetic#hockey h
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Well, I Wasn't On That Tunnel ❤️
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Please don't look too much into the plot holes. Canon can suck my ass, I'm making my own, xoxo 💋
Pairings: Ghoap x Reader.
Warnings: Poly relationship, mentions of death, mentions of guns, rotating POV (mostly Simon's), Spoilers → amnesia, smut, voyeurism
“THE TUNNEL IT'S COLLAPSING! FOLLOW MAKAROV! I'LL TAKE JOHNNY OUT!”
That was the last thing Ghost heard of you.
It's been months since Johnny and you were declared KIA on that mission.
You weren't even meant to be inside, you were the medic, you were supposed to wait outside.
But the moment Makarov shot Johnny he panicked.
Ghost panicked.
And Simon panicked.
You came in running, panting for the effort of carrying with you the medical bag half your size.
You were the one who told them to run. To go after Makarov and kill him.
You were trying to wake up Johnny, Ghost knew it was a lost cause. He couldn't find the pulse, he was gone.
His Johnny was gone.
The last thing he expected was that he was about to lose you too.
Once outside, he kept looking at the tunnel. Waiting for you to come out, whether it was dragging Johnny's body or alone; it didn't matter. You needed to get out.
But after the tunnel collapsed and you didn't get out, it was Price who finally pushed Ghost away.
He barely remembers getting back to base, doesn't remember what Price kept telling him on the helicopter, doesn't remember skipping meals for days, doesn't remember crying himself to sleep for weeks.
But he remembers your face, he remembers Johnny's face.
Oh, what a coward he was.
Two people that he loved, that found their way under his skin right into his heart. Two people that Simon wanted to grow old next to, two people that made Simon want to wake up every morning.
And he was still not brave enough to confess his feelings to neither of them.
He used to stay awake late at night dreaming about how he would do it. After a long time of debating with himself, figuring out what those feelings inside of him were.
Until he figured out it was love, only to them have to face the complex situation of loving two people at the same time.
But even how complicated of a man Simon Riley was, when it comes to his wants it all turns simpler. If on the menu there are two dishes that he likes? He is getting both, obviously. Why choose?
So if all his lonely and twisted life he had never loved anyone, now he suddenly fell in love with two people. He wasn't going to give up one of them and their love just for society's norms.
Murder is also against society’s norms, and he gets paid for it.
But it was too late now.
Maybe it was for the better.
He could lie to himself, agree that he never confessed because it was not his destiny.
Not because they would have not loved him back.
Not because they would have been scared of him.
Not because they wouldn't have been able to see past his mask.
Not because they would have rather dated each other than him.
It's easier like this.
Simon knows how to mourn a loved one.
What he doesn't know is, how it's possible he got a message from you this morning when you died four months ago.
You are stepping out of the shower, skin warm from the water and baby hairs sticking to your forehead; when someone knocks on the bathroom door.
You furrow your eyebrows at how hard they knock, the whole door shaking with it.
“Calm down, I'm almost finished.” You grumble, pulling the towel around your body.
You drag your feet over the towel on the floor to walk closer, and open the door annoyed by the insistent knocking.
“I told you I am almost finish-” Your words are cut off by the barrel of a gun right on your face.
You don't even have time to panic, because you immediately recognise the stupid skeleton gloves holding the gun.
“Simon?” You whisper,scared that if you talk any louder he will disappear. Price and Gaz are behind him, slowly lowering their gun when they see it's you.
There is a glistering layer over Ghost's eyes that if you didn't known any better you'd think are tears.
You push his gun down, the man still immobile as if you were the ghost; and you jump into his arms, circling his neck with your arms.
“It worked! It finally worked!” You exclaim, tears slowly running down your cheeks. “I have been trying to contact any of you for months, it finally fucking worked!”
Ghost struggles to tell whether you are laughing or crying, a mix of the two. But he can't focus on that, he can only focus on your skin under his gloves.
God, how he hated his gloves right now.
He bites the tip of his finger, pulling the glove off spitting it somewhere. And he snakes his hand under your towel.
He knows is improper, perverted even; but he needs it. He needs to feel your warm skin under his palm, your heart beating loud and fast.
He surrounds your waist, hands big enough to rest on your ribs, right under your chest.
Boom, boom… boom, boom… boom, boom…
He sighs, melting onto you, his tears getting absorbed by the mask on his face. He hugs you tighter, daring you to slip from his fingers again.
He bites his lips, copper taste on his tongue, to prevent himself from sobbing.
But the sobs can be heard, and Ghost it's almost disappointed with himself until he notices your body shaking.
It's you who is crying.
And he panics again, pulling back to look at you and you cup your face, apologizing.
“I'm sorry. I tried my best, I really did.” He can barely understand what you are trying to tell him between sobs. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”
He shushes you quickly, he understands; the survivor’s guilt is a special kind of poison. But he understands, he feels it too.
“It's alright, love. You are alright, everything is going to be alright.” He hugs you again, resting your head on his chest. Mourning Johnny will be easier if you are together, he now hates himself for thinking you were dead; for accepting it.
For mourning you for months and now having you on his arms.
Warm and breathing.
He can only imagine what you went through.
You entered the tunnel because he called for you, and then he left you inside with a corpse.
How did you get out?
How did anyone see you get out?
How did you find a house?
How did you survive alone with the guilt?
Are the scars on your shoulder for getting out or were they always there?
Were you trapped under the debris?
For how long?
But that doesn't matter, he knew you were strong. That you were clever. That you were better than him.
He already knew that.
Gaz and Price remain silent, reading in the situation that there is something underlying that they don't know. Letting the two of you, have your moment.
It's only when Gaz hears the almost unnoticeable steps get closer that he moves, turning his body and almost dropping his weapon in the process when he sees him.
“Johnny?” That's all he is able to see.
And that's all that is needed to hear.
Price and Ghost whip their head around like they have been smacked, coming face to face with the man.
There are still bandages on the side of his head, he looks thinner, less muscles, sunken eyes and dark bags. But it's Johnny.
A scarred, angry Johnny.
Holding the pistol on his hands pointing to Ghost's head.
Looking at him as if Simon was his greatest enemy.
“Johnny…” He tries to talk to him, keeping you behind his back by instincts.
“SHUT THE FUCK UP! WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?” Johnny shouts, his hands are shaking.
That explains it, why he look like a madman, why he looks so scared under the rage, why he keeps trying to look under him.
“Johnny, it's alright.” You finally say, moving from behind Ghost, softly pushing his arm back. You walk ahead, still only on the towel; and you walk up to Johnny. You rest your hand on the pistol, pushing it down with ease.
You raise your other hand to the men, the signal of “wait”.
Johnny looks at you with utter confusion, eyes shaking moving around your face for any kind of explanation. His hand move around you, checking for any damage; the hand that doesn't have the gun clinging to the towel.
You cup his face between your hands, the man bending down slightly to make it easier for you to reach; you whisper something to him making him relax almost immediately.
And then you kiss him.
On the cheek, right beside the nose making him close his eyes for a second.
But it feels like a stab on Simon's heart.
He tries to think rationally, you were just calming him down. He knows Johnny is always desperate for physical contact, that's all. Nothing else.
He really tries to think logically, but logically the two of you are dead and buried under a tunnel. Not standing at the end of the hall, kissing and comforting each other.
Something about it, about the possibility there is something more going on between Johnny and you; sends Simon's inner gears spinning.
He sees the virtual space between the two of you, slowly getting in the shape of his body.
You whisper something to Johnny, he nods, touching your forehead with his for a second, before walking back. Looking at Simon with hate on his cerulean blue eyes.
You sigh, watching Johnny move and turn to the three still shell-shocked.
“As far as I can tell…” You whisper, once you are close to them. “He only remembers up to when he was 20, little more, little less.”
“So he doesn't remember anyone?” Price asks after a moment.
You shake your head. “Not that he hasn't asked me about, he asked about some people but I don't know them. He thought I was a nurse when he woke up.” You explain.
“What happened in the tunnel?” Gaz asks, looking behind you to check Johnny is not back. “How did you get out? And him? He was dead.”
You shake your head again. “Not yet. Almost… but not yet. I-”
“Bonnie! You want coffee or tea?!” Johnny's voice makes everyone jump.
“Coffee, please!” You answer without skipping a beat and turn to them. “I'll explain it later, alright? It's not the place nor the time.”
Price nods once. “Get dressed, I'll contact the pilot to let them know we are flying back tonight, right?”
“Roger that.” The three of you reply almost by muscle memory.
“I'll be fast, don't rile him up.” You say, before entering the bedroom closing it behind you.
Ghost feels Price's eyes on him.
Wondering.
Asking.
What's between you and him?
What's between you and Soap?
What's inside his mind?
“Tea is ready.” It all gets interrupted by the amnesiac man calling them to the kitchen.
They walk together, sitting around the table. Gaz and Price find it almost easy to talk to Soap, about how happy they are to see him again, about how they are flying back later, easy chatter.
But Ghost can't.
Not when Soap finally smiles at Price making fun of Gaz's cap and Ghost's breath is knocked out of his chest.
That's his boy.
Breathing and warm.
Just like you.
He knows it's the universe talking, telling him not to fuck it up again.
Still, he feels his heart sink every time Soap looks at him with such a sour look. Offended even. His boy.
That would jump at any opportunity to impress him, to earn his respect, his affection. Now locked like he wanted to stab him on the chest, twisting the knife in the process.
He knows it's because of you, the way the man stared at his hand as you pushed it out of the towel didn't go unnoticed by Simon.
Not the greatest first impression.
Does it count as a first impression if he has known the man for years?
You walk into the kitchen not much later, Johnny's eyes lightening at seeing you; his saviour.
You walk past Ghost, your arm resting on his shoulder as you bend down to slightly knock your head against Soap's.
And that's it, that all Simon's needs. To be involved. He doesn't need to be in the middle of you two, he is fine with being in the sidelines, but he needs to be a part of it.
He knows you are on his side, you remember him unlike Johnny. You can be the bridge to get him to Johnny; to keep Johnny from running. Make a pack with him; keep the two of you close.
A turmoil of emotions keeps spinning inside Ghost's head, all the versions of himself wanting to be right.
The part of him he thinks is unable to love telling him to let the two of you alone, you are better of without him.
The part of him he thinks is unable to be loved telling him to not even try, save himself the rejection.
The part of him that is still unsure of what even are his feelings telling him to not get involved, that it would only confuse the two of you.
But then there is also that part of him. The part called Simon Riley; that still holds onto the chance of loving and getting love.
And he looks at you and Soap, the way Soap looks up to you. The way he used to look at him.
“Let's pack our things up, Johnny.” You say, patting Soap’s back. “The sooner we are back home, the better.”
And you smile at Soap so kindly, so wide, so warm.
He understands how you managed to calm Soap down. Waking up from what he assumed must be something close to a coma after getting shot on the head, not remembering anything, in pain, alone. And then you appeared, so soft and so kind.
He wouldn't blame Johnny if he was already in love with you, with you being literally the only thing he knows since waking up.
Johnny stands up, walking out of the kitchen but looking back to make sure you are walking behind him.
The two of you disappear down the hall, voices low as you move away.
“I can't believe they are alive…” Gaz comments, sipping his tea.
“Neither do I…” Price answers, sipping his. “Bloody necromancer…”
And you are, Simon was also dead before meeting you.
“I'm gonna check on them.” He says, downing the beverage on a gulp that burns down his throat.
He stands up, Price and Gaz look at him as he does. They are going to talk about him as soon as he gets out, but he doesn't care.
He has made his choice.
He loves you.
He loves Johnny.
He walks down the hall, seeing the door ajar.
His hand reaches the knob when he hears it.
His blood running cold.
“Johnny…”
It's your sweet voice moaning the name.
The unmistakable sounds of kisses inside the room.
“I don't like how he looks at you, bonnie.” The man whispers, his breathing unstable.
“He's your best friend, Joh-Ah!” You moan, interrupting yourself as you speak.
“I don't care! I don't know him. You are mine!” The man grunts, the sound of skin slapping slowly becoming more and more clear.
“Johnny…” You moan again, and Simon is sure that he can hear your cunt squelch around Johnny's length.
He opens the door the slightest bit, just enough for his eyes to see the way Johnny has you bent over on the bed.
With you laying on your stomach on the bed, legs hanging from him without strength to push yourself up. Johnny behind you, a foot on the ground and the other on the mattress as leverage to keep sinking into your weeping cunt.
Neither of you bothered to take off the clothes, simply lowered the pants enough for Johnny to get inside of you. Your pants pooling on your ankles, legs limp with the rhythm Johnny has settled.
Simon wishes he could see your face, pleasure painted on your expressions with your face buried on the mattress. Johnny keeps your hands on your back, keeping you pressed against the bed. But the only thing he can see is Johnny's back.
So he sees perfectly fine when the man turns his torso around, still thrusting into you, and looks at Simon.
He looks straight into Simon's eyes, who panic just for a second for getting caught peeking into their room, into them together.
But the Johnny smiles, not the adoration-filled smile he used to gift Simon with. Instead, is the smile filled with pride that he only kept for after winning a match or catching an enemy.
Johnny raises his hand to show him his middle finger.
As he mouths “Fuck you.”
And Simon wants to laugh.
Johnny wants to play?
Then they'll play.
Game's on.
@waiting-so-long
Taglist: @whos-fran @thevoidwriting @sklt987659 @kayden666 @dumb12bvtch1212 @thatonepupkai @darkangel4121 @risingofjupiter @spadekip @herefor-tojis-tits @soupinasock @marymustdie @arbesa-mind @cmbghost @multifandomheathenannie @tooloudarts @panikk-attackkk @reap3erslov3 @mothsdrabbles @ghosts-hoe @cassiecasluciluce @sleepdeprivedkat @lunamoonbby @hatterripper31 @contractedcriteria @cod-z @jaguarthecat @savagemickey03 @fraserbraw @rosiehale23 @keiva1000 @sw33tsnow @viisgrave @theloneshadow24 @loveandplanet @sobbingnshtting @dprmoon @simpsallthetime1997 @ladyxtiger @soapsmohawk-16 @nina6708 @katreintjie @sacvh @mothymunson @archenillo @thesinsoflust @sodavrr @yuki2129 @mikaronn
#call of duty#ghostsoap#ghost#simon ghost riley#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#cod x reader#cod#john soap mactavish#ghost cod#soapghost#simon riley#cod smut#ghost smut#call of duty x reader#cod modern warfare#soap x reader#call of duty modern warfare#cod mwii#ghoap#ghoap x reader#soap#call of duty smut#john mactavish#soap smut
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꒰꒰ ‧₊˚𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 ─ 𝐋𝐒𝟐 ˚₊· ꒱꒱
─ summary . . . ❨ your friend forces you onto a dating app and to be honest you weren't expecting much but maybe it was worth it ❩
─ pairing . . . ❨ logan sargent x fem! non-famous! reader ❩
─ genre . . . ❨ social media file ❩
─ author note . . . . ❨ now tbh I was meant to do this for a different driver but changed last min so I hope this is still good so enjoy! ❩
❨ taglist | masterlist ❩
WELCOME TO L♡VE LINE
the app where you are destined to find the one
create an account . . .
login
number: xxx-xxx-xxx
name: Y/N L/N
birthday: xx xx xxxx
nationally: british
idea type: funny, nice, and not a serial killer
about you: creeps stay away 🤺🤺🤺
add a profile picture . . .
please wait while we find your matches
loading . .
thank you for being patient,
we have found 4 matches
matt markson has requested to message you
accepted decline
birthday: november 10th, 2002
nationally: american
ideal type: sexy, funny, and submissive
bio: best haircut in ohio
matt
hey baby girl 😮💨
how about you give me a show 😏
Y/N
no 🥰
also you hair is fucked
you have blocked this person
try again
yes no
lukas morris has requested to message you
accepted decline
birthday: january 21st, 2000
nationally: poland
ideal type: hot, horny, shy
bio: drug, drinking, sex 4 life
lukas
what are your thoughts on gun play?
Y/N
...
lukas
not a fan I see
how about blood play
has anyone told you
that you would make a beautiful corpse 🥵
Y/N
no
goodbye 👋
you have blocked this person
try again
yes no
amir abbas has requested to message you
accepted decline
birthday: july 19th, 1999
nationally: uae
ideal type: modest, kind, god fearing
bio: habibi come to dubai
amir
you are so beautiful ❤️
Y/N
aww thank you ☺️
your good looking to 👀
amir
I would love to bring you to dubai 😉
Y/N
bit soon don't you think?
amir
no
I think it would make it easier to get to know each other
you know face to face
Y/N
yeah ig
amir
great
just don't tell my wife
Y/N
your what?
amir
my wife
also you can't post me
and I can't post you
but I'll buy you channel and a ferrari ❤️
how does that sound habibi
Y/N
fucking awful
I am not some fucking side hoe
hope your wife finds out what a piece of shit you are mate 🖕
you have blocked this person
yes no
logan sargent has requested to message you
accepted decline
birthday: july 19th, 1999
nationally: usa
ideal type: funny, kind, honest
bio: american f1 driver
logan
oh thank god
this app has finally matched me with someone normal 😮💨
Y/N
right?!?!?
eveyone on this app is givning either serial killer or scum bag 😭
but I gotta ask dude
what's up with that pfp 💀
logan
my friend alex took it
he forced me to make this account
he said it was a good photo
is it not?
Y/N
wait you got forced on here too??????
same 😭
my friend megan said I needed to
"meet new people"
what ever tf that means
also
if I were you
I would sue alex for defamation of character 💀
cuz that photo does not do you justice
makes you look like a ✨ serial killer ✨
very ✨ted bundy✨
also question
american white man
which type of american are you 🤔
logan
florida baby
RAHHHHHHH 🦅🔥🇺🇸
Y/N
oh dear 😅
it's always florida or ohio...
but anyway
thoughts on taylor 🧐
logan
queen 👸
icon 💅
the moment ✨
mother 😌
Y/N
hummmm
you have passed the test ✅
logan
yessss
anyway question
Y/N
shoot
not literally florida
figuratively 😭
logan
florida really?
anyway
what do you do for a living?
Y/N
barista
I know I know
before you say it yeah customers can be a bitch sometimes
but I'm a sucker for free coffee
what about you
logan
f1 driver for williams racing
Y/N
oh cool
don't really know what that is sorry 😭
I only really watch football
liverpool fan till i die 🫡
logan
you mean soccer
Y/N
football
logan
soccer
Y/N
football
logan
soccer
Y/N
football
logan
soccer
Y/N
it's football you twat 🥰
listen we don't call american football
kick run catch and occasionally punt now do we
logan
okay speak your truth queen 👸
Y/N
thank u king 🤴
okay but why when I googled your name
this was the first thing that came up 😭😭😭
logan
oh god
sorry you had to see that
Y/N
not a problem mate ☺️
logan
wow 💔
I just got mate zoned 😢
going dark 😞
Y/N
no no no no no
I'M SORRY 😭😭😭
I'M BRITSH IT'S IN MY DNA
logan
all I hear is excuses 😞
Y/N
WHAT CAN I DO TO MAKE IT BETTER
logan
I think you number would heal my broken heart rn 🫣
Y/N
smooth america real smooth 😭
logan
thank u thank u
Y/N
xxx-xxx-xxx
if you turn out to be a serial killer I'm going to be pissed 💀
logan
Is the photo really that bad 😭😭😭
Y/N
yes babe 😌
dw when we go on a date I'll take some yummy pic's of you
logan
bet
text me the deets
Y/N
will do mr miami 🫡
logan reacted with a ❤️
read
─ inspired by . . .
@landitolover ─ dulce hotline
─ requested by . . .
anon ─ Any driver of your choosing where the reader doesn’t know who they are and is just a regular person
#꒰꒰ ‧₊˚📁 ─ my works ˚₊· ꒱꒱#logan sargeant imagine#logan sargeant imagines#logan sargeant x reader#logan sargeant x you#logan sargeant x y/n#logan sargeant fluff#logan sargeant fanfiction#f1 instagram au#f1 social media au#f1 smau#f1 imagine#f1 imagines#f1 x you#f1 x reader#f1 x y/n#f1 fluff#f1 fanfiction#f1 fanfic#f1 one shot#logan sargeant
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forgetful.
pairing: minho x reader
genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff; minho is lowkey the biggest simp wbk, unedited ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
word count: 0.9k
note: first fic of 2024! don't look at me tho, at this point i just keep writing the most self-indulgent shit lol
as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡
navigation › masterlist › ko-fi
minho is the type to - 15 seconds after he meets you for your weekly date night - ask you where your gloves are when he sees your reddened and shivering hands. there was a greeting kiss preceding the question, of course.
"i think we both know what the answer is," you tell him, trying to rub your hands together for warmth until he takes them and presses your cold fingers against his cheeks, before he kisses your palms.
"what’s the point of getting matching gloves if you keep forgetting yours?" he says, a light scolding tone in his voice that matches the slight frown tugging on his brows.
"it's not my fault!" you try to defend yourself. you'd raise your hands for emphasis, but he's still keeping them near his face, alternating between kisses and blowing into them to get you all nice and toasty. "i keep them by the door on purpose so i wouldn't forget to take them with me when i go out. you have to at least give me a little credit for that. i just... never actually remember to bring them."
he rolls his eyes, an act that most would find patronizing especially if minho is the one who's doing it. but when it comes to you, everything minho does is full of affection, even as he pretends to be annoyed.
"what am i going to do with you?" he mutters like a disappointed parent.
"it was your idea to get the gloves. i didn't really need them though. i have you."
"but i'm not with you all the time, baby. you need to keep yourself warm."
"well, you're here with me, aren't you? you can keep me warm now. i'll worry about cold hands later."
squishing his cheeks together, you pull him toward you for a swift peck.
despite his exasperated sigh, minho still presses his lips against each of your palms one last time, even turns them over to kiss your knuckles, before he settles on intertwining his left hand with your right one, stuffing them in his coat pocket as he pulls the both of you toward the direction of your dinner reservation.
"wait!" you exclaim, holding up your neglected hand, "what about this one? it's cold too."
he turns to look at you, his face devoid of all emotions as he assesses your so-called dilemma. then, minho lets go of you, telling you to put both your hands in your own pockets.
"come onnn," you lament, pouting at the man in front of you.
"you come on," he retorts. "just do it."
you huff childishly, watching as the breath comes out in a puff of smoke in the cold air, thinking minho is really letting you fend for warmth by yourself for the remaining 10 minutes that it takes to walk to the restaurant.
it's not like you meant to forget the gloves at home.
before you can resume walking, minho moves to stand behind you, pulling you to him, eliciting a surprised oof! from you. he shoves his hands into your pockets, intertwining your fingers once again within the confines of the fabric as he shuffles you forward, his legs on either side of yours so it's easier for you to walk. the thick coats and wool scarves that you're both wearing already make you look like a pair of clumsy bears roaming the street, but with your back pressed against his front like this, you have no doubt that by-passers must be thinking you're two cotton balls waddling in the middle of the city.
"minho!" you laugh, partially embarrassed that people are side-eyeing this strange public display of affection. "stop!"
"you wanted me to keep you warm, didn't you?"
"people are staring!"
"you said you were cold." he seems unfazed though, continuing to nudge you forward like it's the most normal thing in the world. "make up your mind."
"i take it back!"
you do your best to plant your feet firmly on the ground to keep him from moving. it works though, or at least it staggers him enough for you to wriggle out of his hold. you take a few steps away from minho, and he looks at you with unimpressed eyes.
"i take it back," you repeat. "we're only a couple blocks away. i think i'll manage."
he stares at you for a moment longer, before he reaches into his bag and pulls out a pair of gloves, identical to the matching ones that you two picked out together a few weeks ago.
"how do you have my gloves?"
"these aren't the ones at your place," he clarifies. "this is your backup pair. i went back to the store and got them because i know you never remember to take shit with you."
you don't even try to suppress the grin that tugs on your lips when he walks closer to you, taking your hands and attentively covers your skin with the wool. "so you just... keep them with you at all times now?" you ask.
"pretty much, yeah."
once he's made sure that gloves are hugging your fingers snugly, you pull him down for a kiss, your lips moving together warmly. you feel him smile against you even though he's trying to look stern.
"you love me sooo much," you simper when you break from the kiss.
minho sighs, a long one as if to say yes, unfortunately i do love you very much.
"now come on." this time he does speak aloud. "let's go before they give away our table."
because that's just the kind of person minho is. because no matter how grumpy he may appear from the outside, he's still the type to always think of you and your wellbeing and show up for you even when you don't show up for yourself. no matter how callous his facade is, he is still the type to love you quietly. tenderly. completely.
permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos
all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 01.01.2024]
#stray kids fic#stray kids imagines#stray kids x reader#skz fic#skz imagines#skz x reader#skz x you#lee know fluff#lee know scenarios#lee know x reader#lee know imagines#lee know x you#lee minho x reader#lee minho x you#stray kids#lee know#lee minho
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YOUR? OUR MARGARET
PAIRING: Leon Kennedy x Single mom!reader
SUMMARY: Life slowed down when Leon first saw those tiny rays of sunlight. But he didn't think he would fall in love with the whole sun. Or: Leon falls in love with a single mother.
WARNINGS: Brief mentions of alcohol, government, leon's traumas, love confessions, Leon is a bit insecure and awkward but he's also a sweetheart and has a soft spot for kids, cheesy and corny type of love, this is just fluff believe me!
WORD COUNT: 4.5k
AUTHOR'S NOTE: If I had a nickel for every time I've written about Leon's transition from vendetta to death island I would have two which it isn't a lot but it's funny it happened twice. If you wish to know what song Leon played this is the one I had in mind. As always, I hope you like it. This is my Valentine's Day fic for today!
MY MASTERLIST
Gruesome scenarios and depressive states of mind have tainted Leon's path in life. However, the grizzled and gloomy agent has had a rather rough patch this last year in which he was left alone to die in his own sorrow—Raccoon City, Spain, China and his already-known addiction took a toll on him.
He doesn't have anyone to blame, nor does he want to. Yeah, he could blame the government for stripping him of his innocence and his genuine wish to help people but he felt like he had failed his nation, not the DSO, not the FBI, just him.
Behind closed doors, in the white house and for everyone else he's Agent Leon Kennedy, Mr. Kennedy, and if someone were to ask the president he'd say he's the most trusted weapon the country has.
He has grown accustomed. His shield has hardened to the point he's numb to most things he should find disturbing or annoying yet he couldn’t help but wish someone would see him the way he really is.
A bittersweet feeling grew in Leon’s system. Alcohol no longer brought the same dull sensation that’d put him to sleep even in the loudest and sleazy bar. So, slowly he grew out of his addiction. Not alone, though. Alongside him were a couple of therapists which he reluctantly confided in. Not because he didn’t believe in mental health, but because he thought it wasn’t for him.
Also, his friends made his life a bit better. Spare the man the embarrassment, but friendship does indeed make you see the world more colorfully. It was nice hearing his name slip out of his friends' lips. Leon, Leon! Aww, Leon.
However, life didn’t prepare him for the moment his name was replaced by a:
Dada.
Therapists had told him he should look for a hobby, something that’d fill those moments where boredom or monotony would push him to fall back into his deadly addictions. And he completely understood, he ought to follow the experts’ advice in order to actually improve.
It was rather easier, he was not a complicated man.
Even before the Raccoon City incident, he loved exercising. Whether it was lifting weights, cycling, or plain running he’d always be found doing something. The mere thought of just lying in bed was something he’d never engage in, especially not now that he’s getting better.
So, he combined two things. One he was familiar with and a second one he hasn’t been able to really connect with: nature.
Near his current apartment, there was a small park in which he goes jogging. Usually, his schedule would only allow him to go there in the early hours of the morning where the only people he’d find were retired grandparents who danced to some Spanish music he couldn’t understand.
Peaceful, he liked it.
But when he was getting used to his daily morning jogging, a call from work told him they needed him ASAP. So, his little detoxicating activity would be postponed to the afternoon.
After dealing with the usual stress from work, calls from Hunnigan, and a rather bothersome headache, he got to his apartment and decided to get ready and not skip his so-needed jogging.
The afternoon sky was painted with a hue of blue mixing with the slightest orange color, the gentle breeze hitting Leon’s face as he jogged around the park. His tempo never missed a beat not even after an hour or so between his physical training and some pauses. Sweat fell from his forehead and onto the ground with each step he took, meaning that he was reaching exhaustion.
At last, he found solace under a tree that cast a shadow, perfect for Leon to catch his breath. Closing his eyes, he let his lungs inhale as much air as they could.
His peaceful moment was broken when a tiny voice called out for him. Or rather, mistaken him for someone else.
“Dada!” A little girl came walking to where he was seated, wobbly steps trying to reach him.
“Margaret!” You appeared out of nowhere before the toddler could reach and hug the stranger. The giggling and excited kid seemed to have heard “run faster” by the way she didn’t stop at your call.
A hint of confusion washed over Leon as he watched the scene develop with rather curious eyes. A mop of curly hair running away from your grasp. The white dress turned into a slightly brown color, Leon guessed the child must have been playing in the dirt.
And then a glimpse of a faint smile replaced his previous bewilderment as his eyes fell on you. As you tried catching your daughter, he observed her antics and your patience.
Finally, your hands lifted the little one as her tiny legs kicked in the air, ready to run in the air.
You fixed Margaret’s dress and messy hair while her bright eyes continued being focused on the man sitting on the grass. Her hands doing the typical “grabby” motion to Leon. Sighing in defeat, you spoke to the man.
“Sorry, don’t know what happened.” You sheepishly said as you offered the man an apology for your daughter’s previous mischievous actions. “She usually doesn’t call random people dada I assure you.”
“She gave me quite the scare.” Leon chuckled as he got up from the grass. “My past actions flashed before my eyes.”
“As I said, I’m sorry.” You repeated your words while your daughter tried wriggling her way out of your arms. When she saw that her mother’s grip wasn’t budging, she took matters into her own hands.
She started crying.
You weren’t letting your daughter play with a stranger, that much you knew.
“My name’s Leon, by the way.” Leon said, extending his arm, but he pulled back as soon as he saw that you were too busy handling the tantrum your daughter was having.
You told Leon your name which easily fell from his lips to confirm he heard you well. “Do you normally come here?” You asked.
“Yes, but just in the mornings.” He responded, watching the little one pouting. “Something came out today so duty called. Cops don’t rest.”
“Wait, Are you a cop?” You seemed to relax at the revelation and he couldn’t help but get a Deja Vu from this little interaction. A friend of his asked him the same question, but at least now he wasn’t surrounded by zombies.
“A cop…” A whisper came out from Leon’s lips, a playful yet gentle smile formed on his face. “Kinda.”
“I’ll assume you’re way more important than that.” You adjusted Margaret in your arms when she finally calmed. Although she kept on staring at Leon, her bright eyes focused on him. “Because if you were indeed a cop or a chief you’d be puffing your chest out.”
“Are they always like that?” He acted surprised.
“Here, in New York? I don’t know… you tell me.”
It’s been a while since he last spoke with someone this freely. Surely he has talked with his friends a lot. But they were people he had previously known and shared the same past as him, a connection to the outside world seemed impossible and even greedy in a way.
Soon, both of you found yourselves unable to stop talking, even Margaret chirped from time to time, making her opinion loud and clear. He got to know a bit about you, and you got to know little fragments of his life. The ones who wouldn’t lead him to share more than necessary, obviously.
Despite the rough exterior, his constant frowning stopped as a soft expression replaced it. Margaret's chubby hands absentmindedly held one of Leon’s fingers as he spoke with you, blabbering and being overjoyed by his presence.
However, her cheerful mood slowly turned sour as soon as she got hungry. Glassy eyes and sobs warned you that the conversation would come to an end.
“Yup, I gotta go.” You murmured trying not to bring more stress to your already distressed baby. “It was nice talking to you.”
“Likewise.” Leon kept his hands in his pockets, unable to come up with anything else. He wanted to say that perhaps they could repeat this. But then again, he’s been so deprived of normal social interactions that he no longer knows if that would sound creepy.
“Have a good night.” He decided it would be the wisest thing to do. He watched your soft expression as you took your little girl’s hand and waved goodbye.
Ever since that little interaction, his schedule changed. His morning routine was long forgotten. An excuse was made, something between the lines that his shift changed so he has to work in the mornings.
And he was delighted to spend time with both of you. The highlights of his whole day would be getting to hear about you and Margaret.
Each day that passed meant new memories being made. From the way he got to know Margaret’s favorite ice cream flavor to your childhood dreams. Every detail mattered for him because he could now see how simple life could be.
He took—both of you mostly— on little dates. Let it be to try a new cafeteria near the park, drinking an americano while Margaret drank from her sippy cut which was filled with chocolate milk.
However, there were times in which Margaret would stay with a friend of yours. Allowing you to be alone with Leon. And while he appreciates the joy and happiness your daughter brought, he also loved the moments in which he could focus just on you.
Sadly, years of training didn’t prepare him to man up and make the first move. When he thought he would brush away every insecurity and second guesses, something would come up.
He wanted to grab your hand, the waiter would come at the worst time. He wants to compliment you, he'd almost choke with his own saliva. He wanted to give you a goodbye kiss after driving you home, someone would call him.
It was as if the universe was against him.
Thankfully, you had picked up those hints. And if Leon wasn't the luckiest man out there, you can help him in his predicament.
On a usual afternoon, as Margaret played with the leaves that had fallen from the trees, you shot him a question.
“Would you like to have dinner with me?”
“Huh? Yes, it sounds nice.” Leon absentmindedly replied, thinking it would be like the rest of your dates.
“I mean… In my house. I don't think I've invited you yet.”
In the meantime, Margaret had grabbed some leaves which she placed on Leon's hair. The man didn't even react to it, already used to her antics.
“I wouldn't like to intrude.”
“You wouldn't. See it as a friendly meeting.”
Friendly meeting, of course. He couldn’t be so selfish.
“If you insist.” He says as the little one giggles, her smile just showing two teeth. “When would it be?”
“Are you free this 14th?”
He nods, he doesn't even remember if he's in fact free. But he'd make time.
Besides, who works on Valentine’s Day?
⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹
He wishes he would've realized about the implications of the day sooner.
The other dates have been nothing but platonic. Of course he had been nervous, biting his nails to the point where had to put on clear nail polish.
But this one is for Valentine's Day. Day where people confess their love in dramatic ways. Some lucky people even propose on this date.
Leon has been out of the dating game for years. He believes he'll mess it up somehow, especially as he sees the reflection of himself in the mirror.
Of course, he knows he's getting better. But his appearance tells everyone otherwise. His hair continues being dark, a big contrast from his past self whose blond hair would be the talk of some people.
The palm of his hand brushes over his stubble cheek. The sensation of those tiny hairs is similar to blades. He looks at his watch, there is no time to shave. The last thing he wanted was to be late on his first date.
He sighs and walks toward the table, on top of it are two bouquets. One has multiple red and pink roses, that one is for you. The other one consists of a single white rose, for Margaret. Even if he has forgotten the basics of dating, he wouldn’t go empty-handed to your home.
The drive to your house isn’t an easy one. Not because he lacked driving skills, he is pretty much proud of how well he could drive when he is not facing life-or-death situations.
He takes his car, just for today. He knows he has to be himself and show you his love for bikes. But he would be lying if he wasn’t a tad scared about coming to your house driving his usual motorbike. What would you think? Surely you’d dump him for risking his life or something like that.
But he is so damned anxious. He turns on the radio, trying to muffle his thoughts but the first thing that comes up is a Valentine's Day advertisement. ‘Don’t mess up your date today! Try our newest product and—’ He’s trying, he doesn’t know what the ad is talking about but he needs no product for this date to be a success.
He turns off the stupid machine. After all, today’s music sucks. Nothing personal, he just doesn’t like it. He’d prefer if the radio played real music. Some Deftones and Korn would do.
But right now he’d dance to anything. Valentine’s Day, after all, should be a romantic getaway from the normalcy of life. Even though years had made him a corny individual, if it’s with you, romanticism should never die.
He’s rambling, his head is a mess. He sees himself slow dancing with you, Somethin’ Stupid playing in the background. He foresees a future in which he could paint next to your daughter, suns and trees never looked so pretty as he imagines that scenario.
Dating you would come with the whole pack, he knows well. But even at his age, he still feels like a broken child whenever he sees himself in the mirror. Memories of his innocence being stripped away of him and his present still clinging on to the faint threads of hope.
So that’s why he made the promise of taking this relationship seriously. No matter if you end up being nothing more than friends. People often say that you just know when you meet the one. And he saw the beacons of lights announcing the whole sun when he met you and your little one.
Eventually, he reaches your home. Double-checking the address you had previously sent him over text, he confirms this is the place you live in. A modest house, enough for you and Margaret.
He switches off the engine and takes out the key from the ignition. Placing his hands one last time on the steering wheel, he takes a deep breath, mentally preparing himself. And with a newfound conviction, he grabs the two bouquets and gets out of the car.
When he walks towards the door, he immediately knocks. If he dared to wait just a second just to calm his anxiety, he’d spend at least 5 minutes staring at the wooden material. So, he sacrifices that priceless time in order to face reality.
A ‘coming’ is heard by Leon a few seconds after he knocks. Eventually, the front door opens and you welcome him with Margaret in your arms. “Hey.” You greet him, Margaret doing the same as she waves her hand.
“Hey, you two.” Leon says with a warm smile, trying to hold back the fact that there hasn’t been a better image than this. “I couldn’t come empty-handed to your house so I took the liberty to bring you these.”
Leon then hands you the bouquets he had brought—the bigger one for you, and the smaller one with a single rose for Margaret.
“Are these for me?” A dumb question, of course. But there’s no harm to ask and surely it would get a nice reply from Leon who has been dancing around the idea of flirting with you. Too scared to come off as awkward and silly.
“I don’t see another pretty woman around here.” It slips so smoothly out of his lips. Leon Kennedy, you still got it, he mentally praises himself.
“Yeah, right.” You roll your eyes, satisfied with the answer you received. “Please, come in.”
Leon nods and enters your house. The living room was nicely organized, and the way some toys blended in with the decoration brought a smile to his face. The perfect balance between the sober expected room with the colorful and childish playthings.
You set Margaret on the floor not before giving her the rose Leon gifted her. She absentmindedly walks toward the couch and sits down to inspect what an amazing thing the funny man brought.
“Well, looks like she likes them.” Leon hums as he watches how Margaret starts happily tearing the flower into tiny pieces. Her antics filling Leon’s heart, he could get used to this feeling.
He wants to.
“Yup, definitely.” And your eyes meet Leon’s, his piercing blue eyes are not cold as he often thinks. They remind you of the beach sea, of the gentle waves and the gentleness they carry.
And he sees himself in yours. In your eyes, he isn’t a cold and depressed agent who is fighting off the odds. He admires the man he’s becoming. The man who despite everything he has experienced, wants to do better.
“I haven’t told you yet but…” Leon trails off as he gathers the courage to do this simple yet nerve-wracking action. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
He grabs your hand and brings it to his lips. Without breaking eye contact, he kisses your knuckles. A gentleman through and through. If he could win your heart, he’d do anything to protect both of you.
Although he was lying, even if he weren’t to win you over, you have already gained a friend who would literally save the world for you to live in with your most beautiful miracle.
“You’re sappy.” You shake your head laughing, but you don’t push Leon away. In a way, your teasing comes off as a thank you.
“And you break my heart.” He chuckles, letting go of your hand which falls to your side.
As it does, your eyes fall on Margaret. While she continues playing with torn pieces of the flower, you see her head swaying slowly from side to side, as if fighting off sleep.
“It’s nap time for little Margaret.” You break the silence as you walk toward Margaret whose tiny fingers still try to tear up the already destroyed rose.
You pick up Margaret and with the way she isn't getting fuzzy, your assumption was correct. She is fighting against Morpheus, sadly losing.
You glance at Leon who is standing in the same place you left him. Admiring the scene of you carrying your daughter.
“Would you like to help me?” You murmur.
Of course he does, he wants nothing more but to embark on this new life. He has seen so much horror and for once, he wants to indulge in this domestic dream of his.
“If you let me.”
Humble, timid, and definitely not showing how enthusiastic he was about helping you.
You nod and guide him upstairs. Margaret’s room was just next to yours, even though you prefer to sleep with her, still too nervous about her getting tangled in her own blankets.
As both of you reach the room, shades of pink and white greet Leon. Some toys are scattered around the floor too. Proof of Margaret’s wholesome behavior.
Margaret shifts in your arms, her previous peaceful demeanor changing given the frustration of not falling asleep yet. She is pretty much easy to handle when nap time comes, but today is one of those days.
“You told me I could help.” Leon's hushed voice reaches you. His eyes express the need to assist you in a task like this.
“Sure…” Your heart flutters as Leon steps up to help you. You indeed asked him if he wanted to come with you. But the fact he had so eagerly accepted the role made you appreciate him even more.
If that was even possible.
As Margaret starts letting out soft cries, you hand her to Leon who is quick to catch her. At first, Margaret is held rather awkwardly which brings a smile to your face before her cries get really serious.
You help Leon by moving his hand. That gains a quiet ‘ok ok’ meaning that he got the hang of it.
He positions Margaret on his chest, her face seeking the crook of his neck as she continues letting out tiny sobs. With his hand supporting his back, he rocks her.
If anyone were to see him, they'd think he's a father holding his daughter. But in his mind, he's holding your world, his world.
Oblivious to it, Leon started humming a song. He doesn’t know where he had heard it before. Maybe it came from his mother, a memory he thought was deeply buried in his mind.
Eventually, your baby falls asleep which definitely boosts Leon’s mood as she grins. He's built for this! He thinks.
He lays Margaret in her crib. The little one breathes slowly as she drifts off to dreamland.
Both of you slowly and quietly walk out of the room making sure not to make any loud noise and wake the sleeping princess.
As you slowly descend from the stairs and are once again in the living room, Leon’s mind is filled with expectations.
What's next?
What is he supposed to do now?
As if on cue, your words break the silence.
“I forgot to order the food.” You sheepishly admit as you nervously laugh. Between cleaning the house before Leon came and taking care of a toddler the fact that a dinner without food wouldn't be a dinner slipped out of your mind.
“I'll do it right now just give me a second to search for this one restau—”
“Hey, it's okay.” Leon reaches for your arm before you can walk toward where the phone is. He takes this opportunity to do all the things he has wanted to do with you. To accomplish each one of those silly yet endearing wishes of his.
“Besides… this is a great excuse for us to bond more.”
He lets go of your arm but instead, his hand takes out his cellphone. Your eyes curiously watch as he types something.
For a moment, Leon doesn't utter a word and you can see how his fingers are slightly shaking.
Leon looks up from the phone and gives you a gentle smile before he sets the phone aside. After a couple of seconds, the slow and wistful chords of a piano announce the beginning of a song.
“May I have this dance?” Leon extends his hand toward you.
You opt to accept his hand. In the back of your mind, you wanted to tease him one more time. Just like you did when he told you happy Valentine’s. But you feel this is way more important than those simple words.
As your hand locks with his, he pulls you closer to his body. His free arm finds its home in your lower back, not too low to keep it PG and not to discomfort you in this intimate dance.
Letting him guide you, you sway from side to side. His past self wouldn't have imagined that he could reach this level of serenity and tranquility. The simple thought of having a family was like a faraway dream.
Your head rests comfortably on Leon's shoulder, the scent of his cologne being your new favorite aroma. The one that brings you memories from the time you met him to all the dates you had that led to this very moment.
The song continues its course, and the outside world is forgotten for a moment. No words are exchanged as both of you drown in the homely feeling of dancing in each other's arms.
After a while, without lifting his head and allowing his lips to ever so slightly graze against your ears, Leon's voice cut through the peaceful melody.
“Let me in.” He whispers, his hands ever so slightly tightening around your middle section. His words brush against your ear like the soft melody that plays in the background.
“What do you mean?”
“Let me in, in your life. I don’t want to ask you to just be your partner.” The weight and truth of his statement turn your head in a messy place. “I want to be part of your life and Margaret’s.”
He wants to stick around, he wants to be greeted by you and Margaret each time he comes back from a mission. He wants to give Margaret the childhood he never had. And, he wants to fulfill every little dream you and he may have.
“I want to wake up next to you each morning. To Margaret telling us she's hungry in her own way.” He's always been a man of few words, but in this moment he could recite the whole bible if he wanted.
“I want to put Margaret to sleep every day just like I did today. And I want to sleep next to you every night, knowing that you're safe.”
“I don't want you to be a memory.” His lips move to the side of your face, daring to kiss your cheeks in a sweet manner. “I want you to be my whole life.”
Smoothly and with ease, his words fall from his lips while his tempo never falters. His thumb now softly rubs your skin, where his hand is located to support your back in the dance.
He'd want to take pride and tell you he's that good with words. However, many times he has rehearsed this speech that if he had stumbled on his words he'd have let the earth swallow him.
And as the song came to an end, so did Leon’s confession.
A few seconds of silence create the worst nightmare in Leon's imagination. He could already hear your words telling him you don't feel the same that you're already in love with someone else or—
Your knuckles caress Leon’s face, feeling the growing stubble on his cheek and jaw. The sensation of being touched like this has been a long-distance memory that he's completely forgotten what being loved felt like.
He now feels both of your hands cupping his face, prompting him to look you in the eyes. His blue eyes lock with yours and admire the softest of expressions drawn on your face.
As he gazes into you, he can only think how in love he is. And what a good life awaits for him.
And what feels like both an eternity and a split second, your lips connect with his in a tender yet meaningful kiss. One that he's been expecting after all this time.
The one is indeed not a myth.
AUTHOR'S NOTE 2: I had so much fun writing this. There's something about found family that makes me all soft and sappy lmao. And sorry if my despiction about cops is wrong... I've never set foot in the US so spare your writer the embarrassment. Anyway, I hope you all have a beautiful day! No matter if you spend it with your lover, friends or alone. (Dividers are from: @/cafekitsune)
💬 SHADESOFLSK: Comments, reblogs and likes are very much appreciated.
#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x you#leon kennedy#leon s kennedy#leon kennedy fluff#resident evil#resident evil x reader
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Part 2 of charmed serial killer Simon. (Part 1 is here.)
This part is heavily inspired by this particular Badjhur audio “Surviving the Slasher” from, like, a long time ago. Where he’s a killer. Easier to find than expected, thank you masterlist. It permanently has a room in my pea brain, no rent, utilities included.
You’re out with your little friends again. Simon scoffs to even call them that. You give them so much more than they even try to give you - support, encouragement, time, energy.
One of them has a shitty deadbeat boyfriend that’s throwing a flat party, so they’ve dragged you along per usual. You’re still swearing off alcohol after the last time you went out - when you got a ride home with him. So you’re totally sober when the rest of the idiots suggest “investigating” the abandoned hospital on the other end of the block.
You go with them as the only fully-sober one, but spend the whole, stumbling trip trying to convince them to go somewhere, anywhere, else.
Apparently the boyfriend fancies himself something of an urban explorer because he knows just how to get in, bragging that he’s going to start some stupid internet show looking for ghosts there. You end up getting knocked into a half dozen times just trying to keep your woozy friends from getting tetanus.
It doesn’t take long at all for someone to suggest hide and seek. You try adamantly to put your cute little foot down - reminding them that it’s dirty and structurally unstable and there could be people just trying to camp out in peace in here. You’re adamantly ignored and your friends scatter.
And Simon starts to hunt.
Oh, he wishes he could have seen your face when the screams first started. If you recognized the shriek of Addy, the one who yanked you away from a proper apology when you first bumped into him at the bar. Wonders if you felt anything when Simon stabbed her boyfriend in the stomach and sent him stumbling away to incite more terror.
Of course you did. His pretty little chatterbox, coming to the rescue as soon as you heard their cries.
You get yourself lost trying to find someone, anyone. He picks off your group one. By. One. He finds you trying to triage a nasty slice to Heather’s thigh. She was talking shit about you just two days ago to Addy.
And oh, how brave you are, trying to stick with her to the very end. All it takes is one well-placed throw and you’re scrambling back as Heather burbles blood.
He takes a single, loud step towards you - and you bolt. Such a smart thing, you don’t even glance back to see if he’s following. He’s not; there’s still trash to take care of.
You find one more friend - one he doesn’t mind so much, mostly because you just met tonight. She’s crying, making a fuss and you’re trying to soothe her while still focused on escape, letting her cling to your arm.
Simon starts herding you both towards an easy exit. A few well placed foot falls here, a jaunty whistle there. He loves watching your big eyes dart toward the noises, how you get low like a bunny hiding in brush. Always put yourself between your new friend and wherever you think he could come from.
Your friends’ blood is beginning to dry when he decides it’s time to wrap things up.
He appears in a doorway, and you shove at your fellow survivor, make her squeeze through the rusty door first. You’re just starting to follow when he snags you around the middle. You yelp, feet kicking at air, tugging at his soaked hoodie sleeve.
He shoves your back against a wall and presses close, the flat of his knife against your pretty cheek.
“What did we learn tonight, hm?” he mocks.
You’re flinching away, but know better than to struggle or scream. So clever.
“W-why are you doing this?” you ask.
How sweet, that you can’t understand the motivations of monsters like him. He indulges you.
“To teach you a lesson,” he answers. “Get better friends.”
You look furious, even as tears well in your eyes. He coos over them, tugs the bottom of his mask up enough to lick them as they fall down your cheek.
“S-Stop, that’s - that’s so gross,” you hiccup, pancaking yourself to the wall.
He snorts in amusement and tugs his mask down again.
“Now, I know you’re a good girl with good manners, so let’s see them.”
You blink at him, eyes soooo big. Don’t understand what he means.
He tuts. “Say: thank you, ghost, for teaching me a valuable lesson.”
You press your lips together in a tight, pouty line. He wants to bite them. Instead, taps the point of the knife against your jaw. A silent threat that’s he’s still debating if he means.
But you manage to get the sentence out, stuttering, voice breaking halfway through. Mm, he’s missed hearing your gratitude. It’s almost sweeter this way than all the times you said it in his car.
“You’re very welcome, sunshine. Now, off you go, before I decide to teach you something else.”
You don’t hesitate when he steps back. Peel yourself off the wall and wriggle out to freedom.
Simon chuckles. What a fun little playdate, he’s so glad he let you go that first time. He’ll have to arrange another one soon.
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Love What You've Done with the Place
song by Rascal Flatts
prompt: he's never been a man built for relationships, until you come into his life. now, the house feels like a home.
pairing: Tangerine x female!reader
fandom masterlist: Bullet Train
word count: 1.8k+
warnings: more brain rot rambles, probably cursing, NOT edited, very docile, fluff, romance, hardened men being simps.
It started with clothes. Just a few, here and there; left behind, forgotten, purposefully stuffed in his dresser for when you stayed the nights. He didn't mind, in fact, Tangerine encouraged you to bring whatever you felt comfortable with leaving since he hated how early you'd leave in the mornings to get ready for work. He found his mornings were peaceful when you were around; neither rushed, both content, starting your days on high notes with each other.
So, he made the decision and found an old sitting-vanity for you. He put it in his bedroom simply because he was fascinated with the hair and make-up process; thinking it was incredible that women had such skill. When he came home about 3 months ago, he noticed your vanity when he first got home from a particularly difficult mission. Your chair was draped in an old university tee shirt, and he smiled.
It was like watching your comfort grow and it warmed something deep in Tangerine's heart. Your make-up wasn't always in a neat array, sometimes just left from a quick touch-up; making the house feel more like a home.
Tangerine also bought a strainer for the shower's drain to catch your hair. He didn't get angry like previous boyfriends did when he found strands of your hair left behind - not on purpose or by some gross standard, but it was natural that hair shed in a shower and not every single strand could be picked up. So, to make life easier, he just quietly bought the hair trap, placed it, removed whatever empty bottles from the shower, and went about his day. But then he started to notice your hair left other places.
His counters, his sink, the floor, your vanity, his bed sheets and pillows.
Tangerine had his issues with possessiveness in the past, but this wasn't remotely similar. No, Tangerine found himself smiling when he would find your hair in his clothes; thinking it was funny, almost like a mark or badge of honor to designate him as yours. It was a brief thought, but Tangerine actually felt giddy by the idea of people just knowing he was off the market 'cause his lady's hair was clung to his suit jackets.
He liked it. He really did.
He'd not admit it aloud, but he liked it.
Tangerine wasn't the most humble man in the world, but he certainly liked to flash what was his. Golden jewelry, expensive, tailored suits, shining Italian leather shoes. And now, you, the woman who invaded his heart and head - and now his home. He adored showing you off, feeling affirmed and invigorated by the longing glances men threw your way, and while he expected jealousy from other women, they seemed more impressed by your beauty and grace as well.
He remembers one night, after a several weeks long mission, he just wanted to hold you. His throat was a little choked up when he called you, knowing you were at home after reading an earlier text. So, you rushed over in the middle of the night and he'd yet to let you go home - three days later.
"You've gonna have to let me out of bed sometime," you smiled playfully. "I have work tomorrow - and no, I'm not calling out again."
"C'mon, love, don't leave me alone," he whispered, looking like a beaten down puppy. The mission was much harder than he'd let on, but Lemon usually always filled you in. He thought it was important for you to know certain details that Tangerine was sure to omit, knowing those were the details that haunted him.
"I'll be back after my shift," you promised, nuzzling his nose with your own. "I also need new panties and clean clothes."
He sighed, "Some in there," he pointed to his closet now.
"What?" You giggled.
"You've left enough behind, got a bit of a collection goin', yeah?" He smiled softly, wrapping you back up in his arms. With a sigh, he relented, "I'll let yah go to work, love, just... Need this a bit longer."
You obliged, but the next day, you were gone before he woke up. With a frown, Tangerine dropped back onto the bed - but inhaled deeply when his nose buried into your pillow. He hummed in pleasure, feeling himself brim with contentment, bringing the fluffy item to his chest and nuzzling it; your perfume left behind to soothe him.
Was Tangerine clingy? Oh, for sure! He didn't think so, but you knew better. The contract killer liked you close, liked his hands on you; even if it was just a hand on your waist or a nose near your neck. He missed you when gone, but he usually held himself back from texting you all day - wanting you to be able to focus on your job.
But that day? He was inept, just wanting you; wondering if he paid you the same salary, if you'd consider just staying home. So, he texted you several times.
This obviously threw you off a little, knowing him better than himself most days. But he just missed you, so, you sent a selfie - promising you missed him too and would be home right after work.
He saved the photo and tried not to dwell on how you said you'd "be home" and not "come to his place". He had to take a few moments to calm down, feeling his heart zing with unfamiliarity - but not being afraid of it like he had been when you first started dating. He could recognize he was happy, that he was excited to see you everyday, and that the idea of coming home to you was far too appealing to ignore any longer.
It seemed neither of you needed to actually have an official conversation about living together. Lemon didn't mind, in fact, he was the one who insisted you have your own key; adoring you and whatever affect you had on his emotionally constipated brother. So, some mornings, Tangerine wasn't surprised to find a slightly damp towel left hanging in the bathroom, nor by the make-up on his counter - you using that mirror because of the fluorescent lighting. He never put it back, he didn't move it - he liked seeing it. It meant you were still here, and the idea of it being gone made his stomach knot with anxiety. He also wasn't surprised when he went to use the shampoo you insisted would help his curls flourish (you were right), only to find it damn-near empty. His shower gel, too.
When you came home that evening, you had Target bags in hand; replacing whatever was empty, making Tangerine grin to himself by how in-sync he felt with you. He'd never had a connection such as this, only ever feeling close enough to Lemon, but you changed everything for them both.
How Tangerine ended up with someone courteous was truly beyond either of them. Someone kind, caring, adventurous, sweeter than pie - someone definitely out of Tangerine's league, something he never let himself forget. He adored you to your core - thinking someone such as you should never have gotten tangled up in someone like him, but he knew, if the time ever came, he'd never be able to let you go. In fact, most days, he had to convince himself not to just pick you up and carry you around while he did chores or ran errands.
The very idea of losing you sent his heart into his stomach; hallowing his chest in a harrowing fashion that made it hard to breathe. Just a week or two ago, Lemon found Tangerine in the kitchen, hand to his chest as if he couldn't catch his breath, heaving for air; his worry spiking, but quickly realizing what was wrong.
"Bruv, you've gotta breathe - calm down," he tried to coax. "You're having a panic attack, you've gotta just focus on breathing."
"Fuck off with that!"
"Seriously, man," Lemon insisted, catching Tangerine in a vulnerable state enough that he actually listened without much of a fight. When Tan seemed a little more under control of his own emotions, Lemon asked, "What the hell happened?"
Tangerine shook his head, "Nothing t'worry 'bout - "
"Bullshit," Lemon snapped. "I've never seen yah like that, mate, the fuck happened?"
It was embarrassing, but Tangerine managed to answer, "Just... Just started thinking that if she ever left me, I'd fucking crumble, mate."
This made Lemon frown, "She's not gonna leave you, man. You know that. The girl's madly in love with you, yeah? Like madly in love - like to a degree it makes her stupid in the head, all right? Obviously, you too," he chuckled, shaking his head as he affectionately ran a hand over the back of Tan's head. "You're workin' yourself up, 's all right. You don't have to think about that - ever - 'cause she's it for you, mate. Yeah? Hear me? She ain't goin' nowhere, not without you."
Tangerine needed the assurance. Being alone after having a taste of your love felt impossible to Tan now, something he was never bothered by before. Seriously, why give a fuck about a relationship when he had his brother? Someone who loved him unconditionally and wouldn't leave? And then he met you and understood why people gave fucks about relationships.
It was as if every room you ever entered was brightened up simply by your smile. Your laugh wasn't always the most ladylike, but it was genuine and true and always made Tangerine smile to himself. During any public outing, Tan was always close - we've established this - but he liked to play a small game. One of your love languages was physical touch, so, you liked kissing him if even just for a single second. He was aware of your lipstick, feeling the tacky substance stain his cheek, but he wouldn't wipe it off. His game was to see how long it'd take before someone would point it out; his reputation didn't always warrant others to feel secure enough to speak up. Some nights, Lemon would motion to his cheek, and other nights, you'd return home, remove your make-up, and swipe make-up remover over his cheek to clear the color away.
However, it wasn't often you ventured in public due to Tangerine's innate introverted nature. You went if The Agency made it mandatory or if you were feeling stir crazy, but majority nights, Lemon would find you both lounged on the couch in various positions.
Sometimes, you'd be watching a movie together or binging a show. Other times, you were reading a book while Tangerine poured over paperwork. And once or twice, Lemon's come home to find you belly laughing and playfully scolding Tangerine as he tried to paint your toe nails. It was a homey sight to Lemon: seeing his brother so in love and at ease, hearing your laughter, the entire flat filled with warm smells of burning candles and homemade meals.
It wasn't evident at first, but with you laying in Tangerine's arms, clothes left on the floor, bellies full of whatever meal you had prepared that evening, favorite show playing on the bedroom TV, he realized that he loved what you had done with the place.
requesting rules and masterlist
Bullet Train masterlist
#tangerine#tangerine bullet train#bullet train tangerine#tangerine imagine#tangerine oneshot#tangerine x you#tangerine x reader#tangerine x fem!reader#tangerine x f!reader#tangerine x female!reader#bullet train#bullet train movie#bullet train 2022#tangerine atj#atj tangerine#atj#atj character
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Close Encounters of the Spiderkind
Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x Single Mother!Reader
Summary: When reader refuses to go on a mission, Miguel decides to pay a home visit to figure out why
Warnings: SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR ATSV! fluff, slight hurt/comfort and angst if you squint hard enough, Miguel is a softie around kids, it’s giving slow burn/platonic vibes, not fluent in Spanish so feel free to correct my wording/punctuation
A/N: This is kind of my way of dipping my toes back into the world of fanfiction writing, if ya’ll end up liking it I was planning on making it a little series of sorts. Not necessarily a multipart story, rather just little moments following the same general characters. I took the liberty of assigning a gender and name to the reader’s daughter since that sounded like it’d be easier in terms of writing, the rest is still like any Y/N story. Reader is also a spider person, but I’m not married to the idea for future oneshots? Drabbles? I don’t know what you kids call them nowadays...
MASTERLIST | TAGLIST
It had only been a couple months since you had joined Spider-Society and, while you were still trying to find your footing, things were going a lot better than expected. There was a comradery with being around other people with the same abilities, who had experienced the same losses, victories and all that came with wearing the mask. You had found some good friends among the other Spiders, particularly with Peter B and Jess, as there was a common ground there that you had yet to share with them; something that the three of you had in common.
That commonality was currently asleep in the other room, your daughter Vada. For once, it had been a day where the radios were quiet. No calls from HQ to go on missions, no worrying chatter on the police radios, so you had taken the day to spend time with your daughter. The three year old was going through a phase where she was having nightmares almost every night, so the day was spent at home relaxing. From watching movies, to cooking meals together, Vada had been your little shadow all day and you had enjoyed every second of it.
While your toddler had tuckered herself out, you were restless, curled up on the couch watching TV at a low enough volume that only you could hear, thanks to your heightened senses. It may have been almost midnight, but that was still considered an early night for you. Used to the regime of patrolling until early in the morning and crawling into bed to get a few hours asleep before Vada came in to ask for her breakfast. Just as you were starting to feel the pull of sleep on your eyelids, letting the quiet calm sink into your bones, the moment was then yanked from you.
When the beeping started the first time, you had acted on instinct to silence the noise. Your hand practically slapped the Gizmo on your wrist, the same Gizmo given to you by Miguel when you had joined his Spider-Society.
Ugh, Miguel.
It was a damn shame that such a pretty face was wasted on a sourpuss like him. While being the leader of an elite group of Spider-People sounded like no easy task, there were times the man definitely took it too seriously. Sure, he had a great work ethic and was a respectable leader, but that all came with the downside that you couldn’t stand being around him for more than five minutes. You two hadn’t gotten off on the right foot and it seemed like he wouldn’t let you live that down. Ever the stern, cold-hearted leader, barking orders and chewing your ass out if something went wrong. He hardly ever smiled and when he did it was condescending, almost smug as he questioned just how intelligent you actually were. A waste of a pretty face indeed.
That pretty face came to mind when you looked down at your Gizmo, which was beeping once more, finally processing that it was Miguel who was trying to contact you. Shit.
“Hello?” your voice is quiet, wary as you answer him finally; trying to keep quiet for the toddler sleeping in the other room. Also because of the worry that you’ve pissed him off once again.
“Why aren’t you answering?” his voice cuts through the silence, monotone and firm. “An anomaly was detected on Earth-616, go take care of it. Ben Reilly and Peter Parker from Earth-13122 are already en route.”
“I....can’t,” you cringe as the word leaves your mouth. The pregnant pause that follows feels like an eternity.
“What do you mean you ‘can’t’?” He spits the word back at you, like you offended him with just the one syllable. More silence follows, Miguel waiting for your answer and you not knowing what to say. “...Is something wrong?”
“I have to go,” you end the call, not even registering the concern that had slid its way into his tone. With a heavy sigh, you lay your head against the back of the couch, regretting how you handled the situation, but thankful it was dealt with. That is until the familiar sound of a portal opening and closing disturbs your precious quiet once more.
It makes you almost jump out of your skin, physically lurching off the couch, the warm hues from the light of the portal filling your living room and disappearing as quickly as they came. In their place is Miguel, clad in his spidersuit from head to toe. A wave of emotions goes through you, the look of shock, confusion and anger crossing your face in less than a second. He doesn’t seem to have noticed you yet, glancing around the space and disengaging his mask when he doesn’t register any immediate threats.
“What are you doing here!?” it takes all you have not to shout the words at him, instead resorting to a sort of hiss to keep your voice down. Miguel doesn’t seem to take the hint.
“This is why you couldn’t come? Because you’re too busy lounging around and watching trash TV?” he isn’t shouting per se, rather his tone makes him sound louder. That and the quiet of your apartment probably amplified his voice even more. “I know the weight of keeping the multiverse intact might go over your head, but the least you could do is be there for your teammates. I don’t allow slackers in my-”
“Shh!” you’re moving towards him without even realizing, motherly instinct telling you to silence the noise that dared try to wake your daughter. Your hand reaches to cover his loud mouth and Miguel takes a step back to avoid your touch, the frustration reflecting in his eyes turning into red, hot anger.
“Did you just ‘shh’ me!?” he sounds as if he’s in disbelief, his voice now actually rising in volume. You stumble over your words, trying to apologize and explain yourself all at once. Now it’s his turn to step towards you, his imposing frame towering over you and you can’t help but shrink back, “I don’t know who you think you are, but if you don’t get your ass in your suit, I’ll-”
“Mama?” Vada’s little voice cuts through the air, both Miguel and you freezing. When you turn to look at your daughter, who’s standing in the doorway to her bedroom, it feels like everything around you fades away. The static of the TV, Miguel, everything until all you can focus on is Vada. She’s clearly distressed, as you come to kneel in front of her you can see the tears in her big round eyes, the redness around them and on her nose, the slight tremble in her bottom lip. You know what’s wrong before she even has to explain.
“Sweet girl, another one?” you ask calmly, a hand going to stroke her hair. Vada nods, confirming your suspicion that she had been roused by yet another nightmare. The creak of the floorboards alerts you of Miguel taking a step closer and you’re suddenly very much aware of his presence once again. However, your eyes don’t leave Vada’s crying face. “Let’s get you back into bed,” you try to coax her into heading back the way she came, your toddler only resisting and shaking her head firmly.
“I want Mama’s bed,” she demands, sounding groggy as the sleep she had just risen from had yet to fully leave her. Vada doesn’t even let you respond before her tiny arms wrap around your neck, face pressing into the junction of your neck and shoulder, “Want you,” she mutters against you, the exhaustion and distress in her voice making your heart ache for her.
“Vada,” you sigh heavily, exhausted as well. Exhausted from the heavy workload of being Spider-Woman not just for your universe, but other universes as well. Exhausted from the fact your child couldn’t get a wink of sleep and seeing her frustrated made you frustrated as well. You cave, scooping your daughter up in your arms and standing. Her body molds to yours, relaxing against your frame like it had done so many times before. As you rub her back and kiss her temple, you’re forced to turn and deal with the elephant in the room. Or rather the spider.
You expect Miguel to look annoyed, as usual, but he isn’t. In fact, the anger he was prepared to unleash on you moments ago seems to have vanished, replaced with a look of curiosity, intrigue and dare you say....awe? He’s looking at Vada, who’s about to pass out in your arms, with a softened expression, the sight of the small girl seeming to tug the corners of his mouth up just slightly.
Huh.
Miguel seems to catch himself staring, shaking his head to clear the fog and meeting your gaze once more. “I...didn’t know,” is all he can say, not as confident in the way he stands.
“No one knows,” you reply in a much harsher tone than you intended. After a deep breath, you adjust how you speak, “I’ve only been on the team for a couple months. It’s not that I don’t trust the other spiders...I just want to be careful, yah know?” Miguel nods along with what you say and you can’t help but keep talking to fill the now awkward silence, “Usually I have someone to watch her, but it’s been so long since I’ve had a day to just give her all my attention- I promise, it won’t happen again. I know that I should answer if you call-”
“Cállate,” Miguel cuts you off and you’re almost grateful he’s saved you from rambling. There’s another moment of silence before he sighs, “You don’t have to explain yourself, really. If I had known,” he waves a hand to indicate to your daughter, “this was the reason you were ignoring my calls, I wouldn’t have been so hard on you. Your daughter comes first, I get it.”
His words hit harder than they should. Every Spider-Person had heard the story. How Miguel was willing to put his own duties aside to live in a universe where he had a daughter of his own. Replacing the him of that universe, who had died tragically, to live the life he had always wanted; only to have that universe crumble around him. Literally. It explained his cold demeanor, you’d probably be a bitch too if your daughter died in your arms, but that coldness you had become accustomed to seemed to melt away the longer he took in the sight of you holding your daughter.
“You said her name’s Vada?” he asks, stepping a little closer. Normally, you would probably keep your distance from him, maternal instincts in overdrive with an imposing figure like Miguel so close to Vada, but you stay in place. Not bothered by his presence for once. He’s looking at you, expecting an answer, and you nod your head. He hums, “How old?”
“Three,” you answer and he hums again. “...Is everything okay? Regarding the mission?”
“Huh? Oh,” he clears his throat, adjusting his stance and taking a small step back. When had he gotten so close to you? “I think those two should be fine on their own. Earth-13122′s Spider-Man knows what he’s doing and-”
“You know, you can just call him Lego Spider-Man. Everyone calls him Lego Spider-Man.”
“That’s not his correct title.”
“Uh-huh,” you smile, holding back a laugh at how serious Miguel seemed to be about the subject. “...Well, I think it’s time we go to bed.”
“Right, right,” Miguel moves like he’s about to walk out the front door, seeming to forget that he had come via portal and catching himself as his hand grasps the handle. Has he always been this socially awkward? He turns to look at you again, “Should I just...?”
“Yes, please open your noisy portal outside.”
“Claro que sí,” he nods in understanding, opening the door. Just as he’s about to leave, he pauses again, turning to look back at you, “Even if you’re busy, you should still answer when I call. I was worried about you.”
“Worried about me?” you repeat, a bit of teasing in your voice.
“Worried as in the normal amount of worried.”
“Sure, sure, O’Hara.”
“I’m leaving now,” he huffs, turning to leave again. Yet he can’t help but stop one more time, “Goodnight.”
He finally leaves, door shutting with a soft click. You go to the door to lock it, carrying Vada into your room for bed. It seems that she had managed to fall back asleep despite your little interaction with Miguel. As you lay down and pull the comforter over the two of you, Vada snuggling impossibly close to you once more, you lie there thinking about what had just transpired.
Maybe his pretty face wasn’t a waste.
Tags:
@l0sert0wn @deputy-videogamer @arctic4life @sasaleleselfships @autismsupermusicalassassin @snert-bees @qundadedingle11 @uniquelyabnormallyoriginal @fangirlreice7 @mouse-teagreat @andr3wgarfieldsupremacist @yellieeeee @thesrtuggleisveryreal @escherichiacolli @sweeteaacorner @marvelouslovely-barnes @meeom @candlewitch-cryptic @iwanttogohomeandtakeanap @melovetitties @ilovemycat6808 @vegas-writing-den @pippethealien @shibble @mommyhange1 @chiikasevennn @pokhouu @jenniferdixon05207 @m0sscr3ates @momos-peaches @insanelycrazyanddelusional @miggyoharaswife @justtnat @imliquidesmooth @thedevillovesflowers @mvc2019 @starrynightnight @risinglightmoon @charming4u @whitetearx @blueparadisecollection16s @idontknowwhatimgoinghere @ziyahshinez
#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara headcannons#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o'hara#across the spiderverse#spiderman 2099#close encounters of the spiderkind#miguel o'hara x single mother!reader
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do you want me (dead)? * op81
oscar finds himself with no memory of the race weekend, but he does find your company very comforting amidst all the confusion
pairings: oscar piastri x female!reader
word count: 1.4k
(f1 masterlist) | (series masterlist)
oscar doesn’t exactly remember leaving the house. perhaps he’d been running himself on autopilot the entire morning until he regained consciousness, finding himself roaming by the streets alone.
nobody seems to spare him a second glance as he walks, which in itself is kind of weird.
not that he’s let the fame get to his head — it’s just not out of the ordinary for him to be stopped for a photo or two on the daily. he doesn’t mind. in fact, it’s arguably one of the more fun parts of his day: interacting with people.
it gets easier the longer he works under mclaren and alongside lando. slowly but surely, he’s coming out of his shell again.
the next question in his head is if the race weekend has come and gone. the miami weekend is typically so grand and exciting that it seems to just get past him before he has the time to fully process it and enjoy every moment.
but why isn’t anybody rushing him to get into a plane to head to the next destination?
how weird. it’s even weirder that he can’t find his phone; there’s no way that he just left his hotel without it.
oscar stumbles back when a body collides against shoulder, a whine following the thud of something falling to the ground. he looks down and sees you, just crouching down to pick your things up.
“i’m so sorry,” oscar mutters, shaking his head. “i didn’t see you.”
“no, i’m sorry,” you laugh softly, shaking your head as you lift your eyes from your phone on the ground. “i should have known better than to be checking my emails while walking a busy street.”
he’d been so caught up with the sheer bizarreness of his circumstance that he hadn’t noticed your smaller frame zipping through the crowd. considering how significantly smaller you are compared to him, he just feels worse that now your phone is the one on the ground.
and you were so caught up awaiting the release of your final grades for the semester that you hadn’t seen the guy walking in your direction.
the guilt eats you up; you’re not typically the person to be so engrossed by your phone while walking in crowds.
“i’m sorry either way.” he stands up with you and grins. “is your phone okay? because if it isn’t…”
you take a quick glance at your phone and wave his concerns off. “i’m sure it’s fine.”
you remain in your spot for a few more seconds. people are manoeuvring around both of you, some throwing dirty looks and some stares of confusion as they pass you.
but oscar can’t help but feel drawn to you. the longer he looks into your eyes, the calmer he feels about every single unanswered question in his head.
he tries to look for an explanation in your eyes as to why he is feeling this way. maybe he knows you from somewhere? maybe you’ve met before and he just doesn’t know when or where from?
“are you okay?” you pipe with a small smile. “if it’s my phone, seriously don’t even worry about it. it’s dropped from greater heights and survived before.”
“no, i,” oscar trails off. “i… nothing, i just…” he shakes his head with a small grin. “it’s just been such a long day.”
“long day?” you chuckle. “it’s only noon.”
he scrunches his nose with a shrug. “there’s just a lot going on for me right now,” he laughs sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “well, again, i’m so sorry about your phone.”
“oh,” you frown slightly, “i’m sorry about what you’re going through. is there anything i can do to help?”
your own words shock you — you’re always extending a hand to help people, but this time it might just bite you back in the ass. because this man that stands in front of you is a stranger.
you don’t even know his name.
oscar blinks down at you, taken aback by your unwavering offer.
“i must have freaked you out!” you shriek, waving your arms in the air. “i mean, only if you want to. it’s just an offer; maybe you’ll feel better if you talk about it and get it off your chest.”
oscar furrows his eyebrows, a small smile playing on his lips. he points a finger at you, “are you asking me out?”
a blush creeps up your cheeks as you realise what you’ve said. “no!” you say immediately with wide eyes. “it’s not that you’re not cute, but that wasn’t my intention. i wasn’t asking you out! i was just offering a helping hand if you need one and i–“
you cut yourself off, staring at him wide-eyed and stiff as you realise that you’ve probably rambled his ear off. you clear your throat and stand a little straighter.
oscar looks down at you with amusement and a small smile. “is that offer still on?” he leans down slightly. “i don’t think you’re not cute either.”
“hm, alright,” you say softly. “do you have anywhere in mind?”
he shrugs, taking his spot next to you. “i’m not from here. i’m only here for the weekend.”
“the weekend?” you furrow your eyebrows as you start walking ahead, a place already in mind. “tourist?”
“for work,” oscar presses his lips into a thin line. “i travel a lot for work — miami is supposed to be a short stop.”
“you must be earning the big bucks,” you tease with a small grin.
oscar snorts. “you can say.” he follows you blindly, weaving through the crowd a couple of steps behind you. “so what do you do? studying?”
“yeah, my final year in university,” you confirm with a small nod, “i’m a business major.”
“smart kid,” oscar teases.
he stops abruptly behind you after you stop by a pair of doors.
you beam as the service staff approaches you with a grin. “table for 2, please.”
“2?” the staff repeats to you with eyebrows raised. “we have a time limit for dining in at 60 minutes — plus waiting time. sorry, it’s nearing lunch hour and there’s always an influx of diners…”
“yeah, that’s no problem,” you answer with hesitation in your voice. “do you have a table available? otherwise, that’s alright.”
“we do.” the staff takes a step back and gestures for you to follow her in.
she leads both of you to a table in the middle of the resto-bar, setting 2 menus on the table with a small grin. “can i get you a glass of water?”
“yes, please,” you grin as she walks away. you turn back to oscar. “wait, i don’t think i’ve gotten your name yet.”
“oh, could you turn that up?” someone asks loudly before oscar can open his mouth to give you an answer.
you huff and turn your attention to the tv screen hung behind the bar counter, the volume indeed being turned up by the waitress.
“the miami grand prix has been cancelled by the fia, announced in an emergency press conference following a gnarly crash involving a race car driver.”
the newscaster’s voice begins to bounce on the walls of the resto-bar and it gradually pervades every corner of the bustling room. the previously lively chatter among the patrons slowly dwindles, giving way to an enveloping silence as the news report takes centre stage.
“putting the season on hold,” oscar repeats under his breath, a scowl forming on his face as he processes the words. “why hasn’t anyone told me this?”
“mclaren driver, oscar piastri, remains in critical condition in a local hospital after sending his car into the barrier two nights ago in the track,” there’s a pause, “investigations are underway after foul play was suspected after an inspection of the car that evening.”
a picture pops up on the screen, making you throw your head back with a soft laugh. “hey, that guy kind of looks like you, doesn’t it?”
oscar takes a deep breath. “that is me.”
“what?”
@33-81 @darleneslane @nikfigueiredo @happy-nico @namgification @localwhoore
MAD THANKS TO @foreveralbon anD @vroomvroomcircuit AND SOAP FOR HELPING ME BRAINSTORM THIS FIC ILY GUYSSZZZZZ KISS KISS KISS KISS
#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri x you#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 fanfiction#f1 fanfic#disneyprincemuke#disneyprincemuke imagine#disneyprincemuke imagines#disneyprincemuke f1#disneyprincemuke 6futs
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Lost and found — Chapter 4
adult Neteyam x female human scientist
Words: 6.2k
Summary: Neteyam hates humans. One day, he finds you all alone and lost in the forest, but quickly decides against killing you. What might be the odd reason for that?
Warnings: explicit smut, neteyam‘s pov, queue play (hehe), Neteyam whimpers, praise kink, heavy size kink, alien biology, slight language barrier, p in v, belly bulge, creampie, hair-pulling, fluff <3
Notes: check my masterlist for all chapters
To say that his parents weren’t happy about the human that Neteyam bought home was an understatement.
Especially his mother was outright furious by the sight of the little demon, her smaller frame hiding behind her oldest son, seeking protection from her glaring gaze. His father, on the other hand, was very familiar with the story of a human and a Na’vi choosing each other as mates. Of course he wasn't thrilled when he found out that his son had simply chosen to make this decision for the little human, claiming her as his mate when she biologically wasn’t even able to do the same. Technically, he could’ve at least asked her out first, he said. But what was done now couldn’t be reversed. She might’ve not willingly accepted to become his mate at first, but Neteyam had chosen her and fulfilled his claim. (Multiple times by now, but obviously he didn’t tell his parents that.)
What mattered was, that they were mated now. And she willingly agreed to stay.
She got familiar with his clan, with high camp and his siblings pretty quickly. And even though she was hesitant at first, the little human even allowed him to take her on a ride on his ikran at some point, helping her explore places of the forest she had never seen before. It made his chest swell with pride, watching her eyes widen in awe at the sight of all the different flora and fauna he introduced her to.
Neteyam learned quickly, that she was a curious thing by nature. A little shy at first, but once she got comfortable, he jokingly debated putting her on a leash so she wouldn’t just wander off and get lost or hurt whenever he turned his back on her.
At least teaching his human mate the language of his people was easier than Neteyam originally thought. Which was a relief for the both of them, considering they would have to understand each other without Jake, Lo‘ak or any of the humans of high camp around to translate for them.
The forest was quiet today, save for the sound of a few Syaksyuk swinging from tree to tree, ruffling through the leaves where some rays of the sun shined through, warming Neteyams skin where they touched him. It wasn’t the same place they had met each other just a while ago, but similar enough that it bought back pleasant memories. The faint sound of an ikrans call made him aware that it was still there, circling above the trees, patiently waiting for his rider to return. But that wouldn’t be anytime soon.
"Zekwa", his human mate says, rolling her tongue in an attempt to pronounce the foreign word correctly. Finger. But Neteyam shakes his head with a sigh, "No, it’s Zekwä. Try it again, but slower."
"Zek…wä", she tries again and this time he nods, encouraging her to keep trying, "Zekwä, like this?"
One of the reasons she was so quick to understand and eager to learn, was probably the method of reward he had chosen to apply whenever she did something right.
"Good girl", Neteyam smiled, placing a soft kiss to one of her tender fingers. Then he moved higher, to the palm of her hand, kissing her there. "And this?"
"Tsyokx", she responds with a smile that rises her cheeks. Hand.
"What about this?" Neteyam leaned over to be closer to her. Holding her smaller face in his rather big palms, he gently tilted her head to gain better access to the space right below her jawline. Then, his tongue darts out to lick a small stripe along her pulse point and he feels her shiver underneath his touch. "That’s… Nikre", she says. Throat. And Neteyam doesn’t miss the way her voice slightly trembled. He takes a second or two before he moves, just staying close to her and inhaling her scent.
"Hmh", he hums, placing a kiss to her skin, where it was wet from his salvia now, "You’re getting better at this, little one."
While he rests his forehead against her throat, one of his hands comes to lay on her thigh, gently squeezing the soft flesh there. His hand was big enough to almost fully close around her small leg, her size difference making him utterly aware of her fragility whenever he touched her. Handling her with care had become his number one priority over the past few weeks and he had to learn how to gauge his own strength, in order not to break her.
"What’s this called?", he whispers, feeling her swallow around the lump in her throat.
"T-Taeng", she exhales softly to which Neteyam straightens his back and sits up to properly look at her. Of course, her cheeks had turned red. "It’s Ta'leng", he corrects her with a chuckle. Thigh. "Stay focused."
As he moves to sit back on his heels, some of his braids sway over his shoulder, the colorful beads in his hairs clicking together and he catches the way her eyes follow their movements.
Neteyam knew she liked them. He had braided a few strands of her hair himself and they were now decorated with a purplish-blue feather behind her ear and a few beads that were very similar to the ones in his hair. He had made them just for her.
Neteyam had caught her trying to recreate some of the hairstyles she had seen on his people, just a few days ago, but they never turned out how she preferred. He had to admit, she was an adorable little thing when she got frustrated, but he gladly offered to help her.
He just loved how much she cherished her braided hair and all the neat little accessories decorating them ever since.
Now she was staring at his hair again, but something told him that this time, it wasn’t his hairstyle or the pretty beads in his braids that caught her attention. Neteyam could only assume what it was.
"Neteyam?", she calls for him. The way his name rolls off of her tongue, like warm honey, makes goosebumps appear on his skin. It was the first word she had learned to pronounce in Na’vi and he wished it would’ve taken her a while longer to learn, just so he could hear her say it over and over again. He just knew he would never get tired of her saying his name.
Her short fingers point to the thick braid laying over his shoulder, the one that was longer than the rest of his hair. "What’s the Na’vi word for…this?" Neteyams gaze followed the direct of her finger, to see what she was pointing at. Reaching for his painstakingly braided tswin, he held it up for her to see.
"This? It’s my kuru", he explains with a soft smile, "or tswin."
"Oh I think I know that one", the human exclaims happily, "it’s called neural queue in my language!" Instinctively, her hands reach out to touch it and even though he’s a little taken aback by her curiosity, Neteyam let’s her. A pleasant chill runs down his back as she gently feels the braid up and down in awe, seemingly impressed with how tidily his hair was braided. Her hands glide over his hair, starting from the base of his skull, until she reaches the end of it. Turning it from side to side in her hand, the soft hair at the end of his braid part and reveal something that must’ve seem very alien to her, going by the way her eyes widened slightly.
She was looking at the little, pink tendrils, how they moved completely unwillingly and her small mouth opens like she intended to say something, but no words seem to come out. He knew that this wasn’t her first time seeing them. She had seen them before, just briefly when he had bonded with his ikran, but now he realized she must’ve never seen them up close before. And knowing that the humans anatomy did not possess anything similar to his, he doesn’t feel offended by her curiosity. She would have to learn more about his kind one way or another, he thought. And at least he could be the one to teach her.
Inhaling a shaky breathe to calm himself, he continues to let her explore. But curious as his little human mate was, exploring with her eyes only, seemingly wasn’t enough after just a short while. With wide eyes he watches as her other hand moves, inching closer to touch the tendrils and every hair on his body rises by the sheer sight of it.
Neteyam swallows thickly and watching her curiosity get the better of her, his first impulse is to take his tswin from her hand. Despite all of what they had shared together so far, this was still such an intimate part of his body and it felt… strange, to let her touch and explore him there.
But again, he lets her. She was his mate after all. And if she would’ve been even partly Na’vi, they would’ve already made tsaheylu with one another. The thought alone had his tail standing upright, curling and lashing in the air restlessly. He couldn’t deny that his body was yearning for this type of intimacy, the only one he couldn’t share with her.
Neteyam suddenly sucked in a sharp breath through clenched teeth, when she was just mere inches from touching him there. Immediately, her eyes shot up to look at him. It was just for a brief second, yet her eye contact was so intense, as if she was wordlessly asking for permission to continue. And even though it was almost unbearable for him, Neteyam once again decides to let it happen.
Her hand comes closer and closer, slow and steady, and it made his heart race and a warm feeling arose in his stomach. Still, he couldn’t tear his eyes away, until the pinkish tendrils wrapped themselves around one of her delicate fingers.
Neteyams whole body tensed at this and he squeezed his eyes shut as a shiver ran through him, his breathing increasing at the unfamiliar feeling.
"Th-This is tsaheylu", Neteyam murmured while he was trying his best to stay composed, "It’s the… the sacred bond between all of Eywa’s children. It allows us to mentally connect and share information. When you are bonded, you gain access to each other's physical senses. Pain, happiness, fear… ple-pleasure."
Her curious gaze flicked from his tswin, to his eyes and then back, as he spoke. Meanwhile her fingers continued to play with the extensions of his nervous system. Neteyam had to lean back on his palms to put some distance between her and himself, taking deep breathes to sort his own thoughts. She probably had no idea what she was even doing to him, he thought, trying his absolute most to keep all these noises down that arose from deep in his chest.
"But we", he exhales shakily, "we don’t bond like this. We bond by connecting them."
"Oh", she exclaimed quietly at that and he catches the way she looks down on her hands. Her eyebrows rise as if she had a sudden thought, before she asks him worriedly, "am I hurting you?"
Neteyam hesitates, but then shakes his head. What he was feeling in this moment was hard to describe. No, it didn’t hurt. But it also couldn’t be compared to the actual feeling of bonding with one another, it was more like a tingling sensation in his brain. Like getting tickled with a feather, with muscles twitching on their own, having no control over the way his body reacts to the sensation. It felt foreign, maybe a little weird too, but at the same time, it felt strangely pleasant. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before.
The idea of touching his own tswin like this had somehow never occurred him. It wasn’t like someone had specifically told him not to, it just wasn’t something that ever crossed his mind.
Watching and feeling the way the thin tendrils of his kuru moved into the embrace of her soft hands felt like someone was pouring warm syrup straight into his brain. Neteyam could feel how his pupils dilated further with every passing second, until they were almost fully black. The whole time, their focus was entirely on his mate. A low, breathy sound, like a whimper, escaped him as the unfamiliar feeling continued to spread through his whole body, the more she played with him like this.
Once again, he was dumbfounded at the things that this human was capable of. Not only was she able to sent him into his rut, when her biology was so different from his, but she also made him feel things he had never felt before. Things that he was sure no other Na‘vi could make him feel. How did she even know what to do and how to touch him to get him to react like this?
Neteyams breathing wasn’t just heavy, he was almost panting now. Letting his head fall back, he squeezed his eyes shut again to try and calm himself, but the heat that’s been spreading in his core slowly becomes hotter and hotter, until it’s almost unbearable for him to ignore. He doesn’t even realize how little whimpers and moans begin to fall from his parted lips freely, too busy to keep his focus on the strange feeling that could be mistaken as pleasure, entirely created by the humans hands playing with the tendrils of his kuru.
But maybe that’s what it was, what he was feeling. Pleasure.
Neteyam shifts a little as he feels something stir, right there under his loincloth, and he knows if he would look down, he would find himself hard and aching. Surely, this wasn’t supposed to make him feel like that, he thought. But it did.
Swallowing hard, he forces himself to open his eyes again, only to be greeted by a sight that just adds further to the tightness in his loincloth.
Her plump lips are parted, coated in a thin layer of salvia as if she had wet them with her tongue barely a minute ago. Her cheeks are flushed in deep red, eyes half lidded and heavy with lust and for a split second, Neteyams eyebrows furrow in confusion.
Was she… enjoying this?
It was like a switch had been flipped when her eyes suddenly met his. To his surprise, she unexpectedly lets go of his tswin in order to jump up to her feet. While he continued to watch her with great curiosity, she moved to stand directly over him. Even when he was sitting, leaning back on his palms like that, her navel only reached up to his chin and he was tempted to lean in and kiss her right there.
But the question, what she was even intending to do, already laid on his tongue. He quickly swallowed it down though, when she began to undress right in front of his eyes. The human fiddled with her clothes, discarding them quickly, which made her need become obvious to his eyes. She was, in fact, enjoying this.
During all the time they had spend together so far, he had never seen his little human so desperate before. And if so, it was usually him who would make the first move. It was him who would bend her in any position he favored, him who had to make her admit how needy she was, him who had to coax these pretty sounds out of her, because she was too shy and too flustered to act on her own. But not today, though, that was was for sure. Today she was acting different.
Her feather like weight settled on top of him, snapping him out of his thoughts when she straddled his waist. But Neteyam stays unmoving. He lets her act on her own this time, wanting to see what his sweet mate was carving for so much. Almost comically impatiently, her hands reached between their bodies. She scoots back just a little to make room to pull his loincloth to the side, just enough to let his cock spring free. It slaps against her lower stomach with a soft thud and Neteyams lips curve into a smug grin at the sound of her little gasp of surprise to find him this hard already.
His grin drops pretty quickly, as soon as she grabs him, her small hand not even close to closing around his shaft completely and a guttural groan leaves his lips. When her feather light touch becomes more firm and she begins to stroke him, Neteyam arches into her hand like she’s the only source of relief in the world. The contact of her warm skin on his own makes him twitch in her hand. There was no way he would be able to keep his cool when his mate was touching him like this, hovering above him, flushed and beautiful and so needy, she was ready to take what she wanted all on her own. Eywa, he prayed, give him the strength to not take a fucking bite out of her.
But Neteyam was getting impatient. Whatever she had done earlier to rile him up this much, in combination with the way she was sitting on him now– it bought him on the verge of his self restrain. His chest was heaving, sharp canines barred as he restrains every single urge to switch her position, pin her down and claim her like he’s done so many times by now. But no matter how impatient he was, he had to prepare her for his size first.
Mating with her, with a human, meant he had to take his time and get her ready to take him, fully take him, without inflicting any pain on her.
Usually, she knew that too. This time, however, it seemed like she was willing to take the pain that the stretch of his length and girth bought her, if it meant she could fill her entire being with him and not have to wait another second.
Not giving him much time to realize her intentions, the small human lifts her hips and lines his hard cock up with her entrance. Both of her hands find leverage on his shoulders, squeezing the taut flesh there, as she got into position. With a sharp hiss coming from him, his little mate begins to lower herself, letting him stretch her tight hole inch by inch.
"Oh great mother", Neteyam groans through gritted teeth, feeling her warmth embrace his cock as she sinks down on him, "Easy, go slow."
But his words fall on deaf ears, because the next thing he feels, is the suffocating tightness as she forces more of him inside her too quick. She whimpers and clenches around him, yet the little human tries everything in her might to get those last few inches of him inside.
Neteyams hands immediately grab her by her hips, his four fingers digging into the pillow-like flesh as he holds her firm so she’s unable to move any further.
"S-Stop that", he hisses and throws a pointed look at her, almost glaring as he clenches and unclenches his jaw, "You will hurt yourself, if you don’t slow down."
He would lie if he said he wasn’t as desperate as she was. In fact, Neteyam was fighting against his own body to rut up to take and take— take what’s his. Yet he wanted to let her do this, let her take on her own terms. But the reasonable and still rational thinking part of his brain told him that, even if she so desperately wanted to get stuffed like this, he had to be the one to remind her that she’s not supposed to hurt herself in the process.
A small pout formed on her lips at his words, but her face quickly turned into that of determination. He couldn’t deny the fact that he was amused by her strange antics today. But then he felt her shift, lifting herself off of him until only the very tip of his cock was still resting inside her. Neteyam, naïve as he was, allowed her this, loosening the grip around her hips.
It’s him who then throws his head back with a loud groan, every muscles of his body tensing, because suddenly, and too fast for him to react in time, she slams herself down, her tight hole swallowing all of his length to the base.
"Fu-ck", Neteyam chokes out, once she sits on him properly, her full body weight and gravity pulling her down further than he thought was even possible. This position allowed him a new depth that neither of them had ever experienced before. He feels the head of his cock nestled against her cervix, pressed right against the opening to her womb and it makes him physically shudder.
"Are you trying to kill me, little one?", he grunts and when his eyes finally regain their focus, he sees the way his little mate pants heavily, sweat beading on the frame of her mask and her pupils blown, probably just as much as his own.
For a split second he’s worried for her well-being, that she could’ve hurt herself with that stupid stunt she just pulled. If that was actually the case, she must’ve been pretty good at hiding it, because her facial expression was nothing that came close to the ones you’d see if someone was in pain. It was the complete opposite of that.
The little human shakes her head as if she had lost her voice, breath still coming out shallowly. His eyes are glued to her, waiting for her to do whatever she wanted with his body.
It belonged to her by now.
"I– I want…", she whimpers and her face flushes an even deeper shade of red, her breathing almost fogging the inside of her mask. The soft, velvety walls of her cunt squeeze around him at her words and Neteyams eyes almost cross at that.
"What do you want, hm?", he coos, "Just take it. Take what you want, it’s all yours."
It takes her foggy brain a moment to translate his words, but he’s patient with her, like he always is. Instead of a verbal response, she decides to let her body do all the talking for her. Starting with a pace that he least expected now, moving her hips hard and fast— lifting herself up and down on Neteyams cock and spilling moans that he feels deep to his core. His cock almost slips out each time, before she is slamming her whole body back down, turning herself into a moaning, whimpering mess.
Below her, Neteyam groans and his toes curl at the feeling of her tight heat swallowing him over and over again. He had leaned himself back on his palms to enjoy the full view of her, his mouth slightly agape as he watched her breasts bounce with every thrust. She was providing the perfect view of herself, moving how she pleased without a care for anything else.
Neteyam wanted to jerk up into her so badly. He wanted to slam into her, relishing in the way that his hip bones would leave marks from how hard he would thrust into his mate.
Once again, Neteyam realized just how tiny she was compared to him. His eyes had wandered down on her soft curves, stopping at the bulge on her lower belly that was more visible in certain positions. One of his hands comes to caress the swell, where his cock was nestled deep inside her. It was always a miracle that she was even physically able to take all of him. "Feel me inside you, sweet little human? I‘m so deep, all the way up here. See?", he grunts with a breathy chuckle, "You’re taking me so well, always doing so good for me."
Her cheeks burned with the praise, even though she only understood half of the words that were spoken to her yet. Still, it didn’t stop her from responding, "m‘feeling s-so good, haa- fuck, fuck, yes! Oh my– god, feels so good!"
With the way she plunged his cock into her pussy over and over again, deeper with every thrust, he was certain that it must feel like he was already in her stomach. She was moaning like that was the case, at least. The sounds she knocked out of his throat were a mixture of groans, grunts and sometimes even noises that sounded like whimpers, whenever his dick knocked on her cervix like an iron hammer.
"Neteyam, ahh– f-fuck, Neteyam", she moans and the sound of his name makes his cock throb inside her, "I‘m close, oh god I‘m gonna come!"
He knows these words by now, even if they’re spoken in the sky peoples tongue. It meant that she was nearing her sweet release.
Nodding, Neteyam then grabs her hips and when her breath hitches, she stays down against his pelvis, rotating her hips in circles and switching the direction randomly. Neteyam helps her grind herself against him, feeling her cunt pulse around him, her clit dragging against his skin before she slumped forward against his chest and her whole body went rigid. She gasped and moaned into his ear, her arms encircling his neck and holding him tight, while her legs twitched wildly on his sides.
"There you go, such a good girl", he coos softly, whispering the words of affirmation in her ear as she releases more slickness around his cock, "That’s it, come for me, let it all out. You’ve done so good, my pretty little mate."
She’s shuddering in his arms, broken sobs and whimpers leaving her parted lips and echoing under her exopack mask. Neteyam allows her a moment to breathe and collect herself, come down from the high of her orgasm in the warm embrace of his arms.
She still clings to him, even as he plants his feet firm on the ground. He keeps her flush with his chest, even as he spreads the soft cheeks of her ass with his big hands and then slowly thrusts up into her. She mewls and twitches, her body still sensitive from her previous orgasm, but Neteyam declares her as ready and capable enough to continue. It‘ll be quick anyways, with how hard and aching his cock was by now, throbbing inside her, so painfully desperate to finally reach his own release.
"Hmm, still so wet", Neteyam hums as he feels rich droplets of her arousal roll down his shaft and down on his balls, "You have another one in you, don’t you? Will you come for me again?"
The little human only sighs when his cock drives into her again, seemingly enjoying the feeling of being so full of him. Putting just a little more force behind his next thrust, she moans louder and Neteyam chuckles, "I want to come with you, so you have to hold it until I‘m ready, okay? Can you do that?"
Her first orgasm had already drained her to the point that she felt completely limp in his arms, her body covered in sweat that was sticking to him, mixing with his own, fusing them together as one. Her limbs still twitched with the aftershocks of her climax as he thrusted up and into her again, slowly picking up his pace to find a steady rhythm. Neteyam squeezed a handful of her ass cheeks, the supple flesh bouncing with the force of his pounding and she moaned so sweetly into his ear, completely ignoring his request.
"Hey, are you even listening?", he chuckled softly, sounding like the complete opposite of what he was doing to her.
"Hmm?", she hummed but it sounded more like a whine, muffled against the crook of his neck. Of course she didn’t listen. Well, even if she was, Neteyam realized he was probably asking too much of her again. It was already hard to communicate with her when she had the full brain capacity and focus to do so, but trying to get her to listen, translate the words and actually respond to him when she was this fucked out— impossible.
So he repeats the word that he can translate in her language. "Together", he whispers lowly in her ear and Neteyam could practically feel how the little hairs on the base of her nape raised at this. Her sweet pussy clenched and squeezed his cock so tightly, it caused him to groan from deep in his chest. Oh she definitely understood him this time.
His hips then snapped against hers and she tightened the hold of her arms around his neck for purchase.
She moans and whimpers foreign words in her alien tongue, like it’s been punched out of her by the sheer force of his thrusts. It's all garbled and sewn together, like vines weaving through the forest. Neteyam drinks it up, drinks up the begging and the pleases, the way she looks so blissfully fucked out and helpless in his arms while he forces her up and down on his cock.
Her inner walls cling tightly to his shaft, squeezing him, flexing around his warm, intruding length, coaxing him deep inside with each thrust.
Behind his back, he feels her arms shift around as if she was reaching for something and soon enough, he figures out what that something is. There’s a tug, just a gentle pull on the base of his nape, but it’s enough to make his hips stutter for a second.
"Wh–haa fuck, what are you doing?", he chuckles, albeit a little breathlessly, while the sound of skin slapping against skin still echoes through the forest. There’s no response, obviously, but Neteyam could already assume what she’s plotting.
Again, there’s a tug. This time, she had pulled just a little harder on his kuru and he couldn’t help but let a deep, wanton moan slip past his lips. The grip he had on her tightened to the point he was sure his fingers would leave bruises on her perfect skin.
So this is what it was about.
"You want to come, huh?", Neteyam asked her, even though he knew his question would remain unanswered, "Are you trying to get me to finish because you can’t– ca-haa— oh eywa, fuck!"
He’s interrupted by a feeling similar to electricity shooting through his body, tingling every nerve in his system and causing him to choke on his words.
Behind his back, he feels her hands move and yet again, a lightning of pleasure seers through his whole body. Neteyam just knew that if he would’ve turned his head to look back, he would’ve found her playing with the tendrils of his kuru just like she did earlier.
"S‘too much", he then hears the human whimper, "need to come so bad, please Neteyam I‘m- I can’t hold it!"
She’s a little more than a trembling, incoherent mess by now, the walls of your pussy bearing down around him as he plunges his cock into her. The squelching sounds of her arousal mixed with his pre-cum filled his ears, growing louder by the second. It was only overturned my sound of blood rushing to his head as she was pulling and fumbling with his kuru, her fingers dancing over the sensitive tendrils once again.
"Hmh that- that’s it", he groans, mouths it against her throat, "keep going. Yeah, just like that. Fuck, I’m close too."
The humans back arches as she suddenly begins to mover her hips again. She tries, tries so hard to fuck herself on his cock even though she’s completely exhausted and her legs must feel like jelly by now, yet it’s enough to drive him over the edge.
"teyaaam", she whimpers his name, or half of his name, and it’s the cutest yet most erotic sound his ears have ever heard before.
Her hands leave his kuru in order to grab onto whatever she could reach to steady herself, her dull nails scraping over his back, while he tightens his own hold on her. Neteyams arms encircle her middle completely now, pulling her close as he bucks his hips up and into her, until he’s not even thrusting anymore, it’s just grinding against each other.
Neteyam feels her insides pulsate, as if she was milking him for all his worth. Her legs tremble and every limb on her body tenses as she comes, clinging to him like her life depended on it. But he does too, squeezing her smaller frame and holding her as close as physically possible as he emptied his pleasure into her, filling her with his cum until he felt it leak out of her, leaving a sticky mess between their bodies.
For a moment, Neteyam feels nothing but the warmth of her body, the heat emerging from the little humans soft skin morphing into his own. He feels her chest expand, her lungs filling themselves with air, chest heaving from exhaustion. He also feels how she snuggles against him, a content hum leaving her lips that make his tail curl around her ankle as if trying to hold her even closer. Feeling his cock soften inside her makes her shudder and Neteyam can’t help but chuckle at this.
"Good lesson today", he snickers in the sky people’s language. Hearing his Na‘vi accent makes her giggle softly, which causes heat to rush to his cheeks.
Neteyam enjoys the comfortable silence that then falls over them, so he rests his chin on top of her head and closes his eyes for a while, just listening to the sound of her breathing and the familiar noises of the forest. But then the little human abruptly sits up, straightening her back to look at her mate. Immediately, Neteyams eyes are wide open again, the little hair on his tail raising in alert as she wordlessly scanned his face.
"It’s my turn to teach you a word", she tells him then and despite the fact that she was still entirely bare and sitting on top of him, her voice sounded small and shy. Neteyam felt a little startled at first, but his ears twitched inquisitively, ultimately giving away his inner thoughts.
"Hmh, is that so?", he hums, finally having found his voice again, "Okay then, teach me."
Her cheeks turn into a pretty shade of pink as he nods, giving her the affirmation to do as she pleases. Whatever it was that she wanted to teach him, he would listen.
To his horror, the little human then inhales a deep, sharp breath, her chest visibly expanding as air fills her lungs and then she hooks a finger under her exopack mask— but before he could even lift as much as a finger and bring her to an halt, she had already lifted the mask above her face, with a cute little grin plastered on her face as she held her breath.
Neteyam could only watch in complete shock, utterly dumbfounded. But then she surges forward, suddenly confident, and her lips find his. They move against each other, her arms wrapped around his neck, chests pressed together as tightly as possible and Neteyam never wants to leave, never wants this to end. He moves his hand from her hip, reaches up to hold her face as she kisses him and he kisses her. She’s so warm. So soft. So sweet.
She called the rumbly sound he made when he was so content a purr, and he loved doing it for her. Loved the smile it brought to her lovely lips, how it sometimes made her giggle when their chests were pressed together almost like this.
The kiss was gentle but searing, slow but all-consuming at the same time. It was good. Addicting even.
Unfortunately, she ends it sooner than he’d like, but Neteyam knew all too well that she had to breathe again at some point. Still, he feels a little disappointed when her kiss-swollen lips leave his own.
By the time she leant back enough to look him in the eyes, her mask pulled back over her flushed face, they were both panting helplessly. But now they stare at each other, a sweet smile across her face and he breathes deeply, soaks up the deep emotion dwelling in his chest. He can’t name it, doesn’t know what she feels, but he wants to feel it again.
"Thats called a kiss in my language", she smiles sheepishly, the sight alone enough to make Neteyam feel warm all over.
"Kiss", he repeats the foreign word, testing the right pronunciation on his tongue. "I’d like to have another", he tells her grinning and she giggles. It’s the most beautiful sound hes ever heard and Neteyam thinks that maybe… maybe humans aren’t so bad at all. Not this one at least. Definitely not his human.
"Okay, since you’re so eager to learn today…", he brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, his gaze lingering on her soft looking lips for a few more seconds, before he meets her curious eyes, "I have something else for you."
"What is it?"
Neteyam looks at her– he really looks at her now, taking in all of her features that seemed so alien to him when they first met, but now they were so familiar, so loved and adored by him. And then, without missing a beat, he tells her,:
"Oel ngati kamaeia."
"And what does that mean?", she tilts her head, nuzzling it further into the palm that’s been holding her face.
"It means I see you, my little mate."
#neteyam x female reader smut#neteyam smut#neteyam sully#neteyam x human reader#neteyam x you#neteyam x f!reader#neteyam x female reader#neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan#neteyam x reader#neteyam fanfiction#Avatar#Avatar 2#avatar the way of water#avatar neteyam#neteyam x oc
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Shifting Focus
DESCRIPTION: The moment they began to see you differently
WARNINGS: None
CHARACTERS: Shanks, Kid, Smoker | Sanji, Law
WORDS: 2,850
A/N: Another part of this in honour of reaching 500 followers. This was my first time writing for Smoker so here's hoping you all enjoy!
*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*
MASTERLIST
---------------
SHANKS
Everyone knew Shanks was a flirt, a laidback charmer who always had a smile and a wink at the ready for the next pretty face he came across. No-one was meant to really take it seriously, to see anything that happened to be more than what it was, a fleeting moment of enjoyment for both sides. Serious feelings never truly came into play, it was easier that way given that he was always on the move. To let anyone believe he was the settling down type would have been cruel and he didn’t find any enjoyment in hurting people needlessly, unless they were his enemy of course. Everyone in the crew were more than used to his mannerisms, yourself included. You could understand his worldview on the matter however you never entertained him when he chose to flirt with you. Something that he finally started to notice and when he did, he couldn’t let it go.
“Do I repulse you?” He asked suddenly one evening causing you to choke on your coffee. Your body tensed and you forced the liquid down your throat, wincing at the painful burn it caused and sharp tightness in your throat. You’d needed it to stay awake for your night shift but after that, you set the mostly untouched mug aside. Looking to your side you saw your captain staring at you intently, a small pout playing at his lips making you believe he was picking his words carefully to seem like he was keeping the conversation light. However underneath the joking you could tell there was a real question there.
“If you repulsed me Cap, I wouldn’t have joined your crew, now would I?” You answered, looking back down to the sea chart in your hands, needing to keep track of any notable features coming into view. “What is it you really want to ask me?”
“I’ve noticed something about you.” Shanks began, scowling when you looked away from him to continue your work. You were always so task-oriented and levelheaded that even when you were joking with another member of the crew, you were still focused on what was needed to be done. Finally you looked up at Shanks again, eyebrows raised slightly to invite him to keep talking. “You don’t flirt back.”
For a moment you had to think about what Shanks was getting at but finally you let out a laugh and lightly rolled your eyes. So he was in that kind of mood today. For a moment he almost had you by making you believe he was asking you a semi-serious question. Still smiling in amusement you shook your head and turned to go inside when a wind started to pick up. If you lost the charts in your hand it wouldn’t have been good. What you weren’t expecting was Shanks to follow you, with a sigh you settled down at your desk and sat back to stare at your captain who clearly wasn’t finished with this joke and you weren’t going to get any peace until you indulged him. “Am I being reprimanded for my lack of flirtation towards you, Cap? I’m surprised it’s affected you so much given how you’re never without company.”
“You flirt with the others on board.” Shanks pointed out, not really knowing why it was getting to him so much. Ever since he’d realised you’d joke around and tease the others on board but not him, it just kept gnawing at him. Shanks knew he shouldn’t get so irritated by it all but he just couldn’t help himself. He stepped closer until he was leaning of the edge of your desk, staring down at your calm expression. “So why not me?”
“I flirt with the others because it’s not serious and they know that.” You shrugged lightly, leaning back to regard your captain, a smile slowly pulling at your lips. “You, however are a different story, Cap.” With a breathy sigh you rose from your seat and Shanks’ earlier position meant you were now standing mere inches away from him, not quite touching but close enough for the warmth of your body to radiate into his. “If I gave in and flirted with you…I don’t think I’d be able to stop it as just a joke. I don’t have the same self-control that you do.” You murmured, tilting your head up slightly so your breath could softly dance against his skin. Satisfied that that should be enough for your Captain’s need for the joke to end you took a step back and grinned before sitting down at your desk.
With your presence no longer engulfing his, Shanks blinked and immediately wanted more. More of that rush, that spark, more of you. However fate had other plans when Lucky Roux called for him and he had to do his duties as the Captain. Sharply letting out a huff of annoyance, Shanks reluctantly left your side to head onto the deck. When he reached the doorway, he couldn’t help but look over his shoulder and see your attention already drawn back to your work. Yeah, this was far from over.
KID
There was never a dull moment on the Victoria Punk. Even on the calm days at sea, the heavy steps of the Captain and the usual tone of conversation was carried at a volume louder than some other ships were used to. But that was what you liked about it. It was only when the ship was deathly quiet outside of sleeping hours that any of you felt the need to worry. The seas were calm and laughter surrounded you all as you sat in the living quarters with plenty of drink to see you all through to morning if you wanted.
Currently you were all playing a game with the bounty posters you’d all seemed to collect. It was a simple enough form of ‘Kiss, Marry, Kill’ by selecting three posters from the pile however each person that had to answer ended up getting drawn into a fierce debate about their answers. If you didn’t want to answer on your turn however, you had to drink. It was an empty punishment since all of you were drinking happily regardless.
“Look I stand by my answer okay?!” Wire shouted, unable to keep the grin from his face knowing the argument was in good spirits. “I had the worst draw out of them all so far, you guys have been getting it easy.”
“Just hurry up and pick my three okay?” You grinned, sitting up from your lounged position to get a better look for your turn. Wire reached over to the pile of posters lying face down on the table and picked three at random, slowly flipping them over to reveal Blackbeard, Franky, and Bartolomelo. Grinning you sat back down into your previous position. “Kiss Bartolomelo, Marry Franky, Kill Blackbeard. Easy.”
“Not that I’d argue with the decisions, you just made up your mind so quickly…” Killer noted, a grin in his voice as his face remained hidden by his mask. You rolled your eyes and grinned.
“Nothing to think about, Blackbeard is…ugh” you suppressed a shudder at the mere thought of the Emperor. “Franky is dependable and skilled, and fun from what we saw when we allied with them so marrying him wouldn’t be the worst thing.”
“You didn’t think about Bartolomelo as marriage material?” Kid asked with a grin and you laughed up at your Captain who you’d been leaning against for a majority of the night.
“No way, he’s a major Strawhat fanboy. I’d be competing against that entire crew for his attention, sadly we just weren’t meant to be.”
“Yeah, you’re real heartbroken about it I see.” Kid laughed along with you and the others. The game continued for another while, some of the crew stopping from being too drunk to stay awake while others began to head for their quarters. Those remaining all agreed this would be the last round and it meant you were to deal out three posters for Kid.
You were still far too comfortable lounging against your Captain so you quickly reached over, fumbling you flipped over the first three you could get your hands on and flopped back before even seeing who he had to choose from. From the sound of the stifled laughter you could tell his options were going to be good. With an anticipated grin you turned on your side and pushed yourself up with your elbow only to become surprised to see your bounty on the table along with Buggy the Clown and Nico Robin. You couldn’t help but become curious about what your Captain would pick about you although you supposed as long as he didn’t pick you to kill it was all fine, it was just a game after all.
Kid suddenly felt tense and couldn’t help but look away from your printed face to the physical version of you. The you he suddenly became all too aware of. You’d been part of the crew forever and he’d never needed to see you as anything other than a valued member like the others. What if he said something that made you uncomfortable. But if he didn’t play then you could misread that too and make things worse. Fuck, why was he overthinking this? He had to finish the game and hope nothing more was said about it. “Kill the clown and kiss Robin.” He muttered quickly before looking away and draining the last of the alcohol in his mug.
“Aww you wanna marry me?” You cooed, the smile growing wider on your face. With everyone satisfied with a good ending to the game, the crew began to clear up their drinks and the bounty posters and move to turn in for the night. You got up with a groan and stretched out your arms, finally feeling the need to rest too. With a yawn you turned to Kid who was still sitting and smiled softly. “Not heading to bed, Kid?”
“Yeah, heading soon.” He grumbled lost in his own thoughts that were now occurring to him and you tilted your head, a frown falling on your lips. Quickly Kid realised you were going to worry and he recovered enough to smirk at you. “We need our rest, right? We’ve got a wedding to plan huh?” He forced the joke out, relieved to see you laugh and leave while wishing the rest in the room goodnight. When you were gone, Kid glared at Killer who was sitting far too relaxed for his liking. “When did you add their bounty to the pile, Kil?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about and you have no way of proving it.”
SMOKER
“Vice Admiral?” You paused in the middle of the G-5 Base corridor when you spotted the base commander leaning against the wall with his office just a few feet away. At the sound of your call he made no sign that he’d heard you. It wasn’t exactly uncommon for someone of his rank to get lost in thought especially if there were certain higher ups breathing down their neck or certain pirates occupying their minds. Adjusting the documents in your hands you approached the base commander. “Vice Admiral Smoker?” You asked again and moved to lightly touch his arm to get his attention.
At the same time, Smoker turned sharply and knocked into your hand causing you to drop your files in surprise. As the papers fluttered to the floor you kept your gaze on Smoker, concern growing in your eyes. His usual steely gaze seemed to have dimmed and you noticed the small tremor in his otherwise imposing frame. As one of the base’s medical staff your critical, scrutinising stare was pinpointing all that stood out to you. Since you were dealing with the commander himself, you felt you had to be somewhat nicer and couldn’t just order him to rest. “Are you sick?” You asked and immediately his stare sharpened at the implication.
“I’m fine.” Smoker’s answer was gruff as to be expected but you could hear the slight shake that could have been missed had you not been listening out for it. When he saw you weren’t fooled he finally took a proper look at you and through his mind that was getting foggier by the second he managed to recognise who you were and what department you worked for on the base. Inwardly he cursed his bad luck. He’d been trying to get to the safety of his office but a dizzy spell hit him hard and he had to stop to catch his breath just mere seconds before you’d approached him. Smoker didn’t want to be babied, getting sick was a rarity for him. He just wanted to get to his room and sit there in peace until he felt a little better. No one else had noticed his state all day, why did he get cursed with bad luck like this at the final moment? He just needed to get rid of you before you tried to take a closer look at him. “Aren’t you going to pick up your documents?”
“Well since you're not sick and are partly responsible for me dropping them. You can surely help me lift them, right Vice Admiral?” Your question was so sweet and innocent but still Smoker glared at the challenge in your eyes. In any of his previous interactions with you, you’d seemed so reserved and quiet but now he could see another side to you. With a grunt, Smoker lowered himself to the floor, trying to fight the wave of dizziness and aches rolling down his body. Mentally he cursed you as you smoothly crouched down and started collecting sheets at a pace far faster than he was able to. When Smoker was focused on the task you’d given him, you struck. Your hand touched his forehead before he could react and you scowled at the man in disapproval. “You’re burning up with a fever. You’re going to your room and resting.”
Your order left no room for disagreement and before Smoker’s mind could truly catch up, he found himself walking into his room with you. When he was lying on his bed you set about gathering what was needed to help his fever and aches before making yourself comfortable at his desk to fix the scattered documents into their right files again. From the small layer of dust gathering on the surface you could tell Smoker didn’t use it much, being a man of action over paperwork. “You don’t need to stay, I’m fine.” Smoker grumbled.
“The second I leave, you’ll rest for an hour at most and call yourself cured. I’m not leaving until I’m happy you’re actually fine.”
“An hour is all I need.”
“Didn’t know you had a medical degree.” You noted dryly. “Do I call you Doctor Vice Admiral Smoker or Vice Admiral Doctor Smoker?” It surprised you when Smoker’s deep laugh rumbled through the air and a small smile graced your lips at the sound. Perhaps he should laugh more, it was a nice sound and it would help make him more approachable to some people.
“You can call me whatever you want.” Smoker mumbled, it wasn’t often people stood up to him like this and he had to admit it was refreshing to see. Unable to fight it, Smoker yawned as his body was beginning to give in to its need for rest. When you heard the telltale signs of him falling asleep you let out a sigh of relief that the medicine you’d given him was started to take effect.
In the early hours of the morning, Smoker stirred at the soft feeling of fingers lightly running through his hair. It was a comforting feeling and still under the haze of sleep that hadn’t fully left him, his mind hadn’t properly caught up so he let himself relax into the feeling. Reaching up he curled his fingers around your wrist holding your hand in place as his eyes slowly opened and met your face.
“Your fever’s finally regulated.” You informed him gently, keeping mindful of the time and not wanting to speak too loudly. “If you promise to drink more fluids and stay in bed until at least late morning I can leave.”
“I promise, thanks Doc.” Smoker mumbled with a half-smile, stifling a small yawn and letting his eyes fall closed again but when he didn’t hear you leave he opened his eyes again to see you still standing there. “Problem?”
“Um, kinda need my hand back…or did you want me to stay?” you laughed softly, trying to hold back the grin when Smoker tensed and quickly let go of your wrist, allowing you to leave. “Remember your promise.” You reminded him as you left, smiling to yourself as you left to your room with the memory of Smoker’s blushing, embarrassed expression fresh in your mind. You had to admit it was pretty cute to see.
#one piece#one piece imagines#one piece x reader#one piece x you#shanks x reader#shanks x you#eustass kid x reader#eustass kid x you#smoker x reader#smoker x you#one piece fic#one piece scenario#one piece fanfiction#red haired shanks#shanks#red hair shanks#akagami no shanks#shanks one piece#kid x you#kid x reader#one piece kid#eustass kid#eustass captain kidd#smoker one piece#smoker op#smoker the white hunter#one piece smoker
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play fake | part three
series play fake
— ( masterlist )
pairing rafe cameron x female reader
summary when rafe cameron needs to secure a gf in order for his father to see him as a stable man, he enlists the help of a bartender who wants nothing to do with him.
content 18+, eventual smut, angst, fake-dating, jealousy, people-pleasing and independent! female reader, ward cameron pinning rafe and sarah against each other, rafe being an asshole
zya's notes this is a long one!! hope u guys enjoy <3
𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃
⋆.˚ ⋆.˚ ⋆.˚ ⋆.˚
The first 'date' is going to be at the country club.
You find it ironic that your first date, in general, is going to be a fake one. Truly, that sets up the rest of your love life. While you never had a steady boyfriend—simply because you don't have time or they couldn't stand that you didn't have time for them—you have fooled around before. You had flings. You had needs and they were met.
Now, funnily enough, so is your lack of dating experience.
You're closing Sailor early today. You hate that you had to but it was the only compromise you had with Rafe. He wanted to pick you up at your house, which you immediately rejected, and you wanted to meet him at the country club. Neither of you would settle, stubbornly, that Rafe decided it would be easier if he picked you up from work and let you get ready at Tannyhill.
As you're locking up the front, you hear a distinct voice calling out your name. Looking over your shoulder, you spot Pope and JJ approaching you, one offering a friendly wave while the blond tips his chin in greeting.
"Hey," Pope says, glancing at your locked doors. "You locking up early?"
"Yeah," you nod, dropping your keys into your bag. "I have to go somewhere."
"I never thought I'd live to see the day," JJ remarks, causing you to chuckle. You grew up with Pope and JJ, despite being a couple of years older, simply because they worked and live near you in The Cut. Pope, specifically, lives just a couple of houses down from yours—having helped you on several occasions with your siblings when you couldn't find a babysitter in time. "Does this mean you're finally getting a life?"
You roll your eyes at the blond. "I have a life."
"Sorry, let me rephrase that," he teases. "A life outside of bartending."
You cross your arms. "You don't seem to be complaining when I give you free booze."
JJ laughs, raising up both hands in surrender. "My bad. I didn't say shit."
Pope rolls his eyes, elbowing his best friend, before turning back to you. His expression is friendly. "Maybe this means you're free to attend some parties."
The idea sparks a reminder in JJ's eyes. "Oh, shit, that's right! We're about to head over to The Boneyard for a kegger. Wanna join?"
It's been a while since you've been to a Pogue party. The idea sounds appealing, but you had other priorities. "Sorry, boys, I got somewhere else I gotta be."
Pope shifts his gaze to the bag in your arms. "Yeah, what's that? Are you planning on running away?"
You chuckle softly. "Nope, not yet. I just have to get ready for an event and these are my new clothes."
JJ raises a brow, flicking his gaze down to the bag for a second. "Can we see?"
You flip the blond off and he laughs. Pope is about to add something else, when a car honks behind you. It must be Rafe. Without glancing behind, you declare that you need to head out and Pope nods, dragging his best friend off the docks with a farewell. When you reach the car parked near the back of the lot, the one that screams money, you get in.
Sliding into the passenger seat, you set the bag on your lap and buckle your seatbelt. Ready to go, but the car hasn't moved. When you turn your head, you see Rafe watching you with a slighted jaw.
"What?"
"What's that all about?" His voice is sharp.
"What?" You repeat, not understanding where the tone is coming from.
"Maybank and Heyward," his expression is hard and unreadable. "What were they talkin' to you about?"
"Nothing," you answer, shifting in your seat, but Rafe doesn't appear pleased. You sigh. "It was just about a party. They always invite me on the off-chance I'll go."
It takes him a beat before he responds.
"You party with them a lot?"
"No, that's why they invite me," you snap, getting a little agitated by the interrogation. "Can we go now? I still have to get ready."
Rafe looks like he wants to probe more, but thankfully, he didn't. He reverses the car out of the parking lot and takes you down the road to Tannyhill, while you admire the drive. You can't believe how split Outer Banks is—how the change in scenery goes from fishery and unkempt lawns to perfectly-manicured yards and a boat per house.
The ride is quiet. When he pulls up to the estate, the largest mansion on the island, you can't seem to stop the awe from flooding your vision. It truly is a sight. You've been here once, a couple of years ago, and the admiration still hasn't worn off. If anything, now older, it amplifies it.
When Rafe turns off the car, he exits from the vehicle in a swift motion. You half-expected him to play the boyfriend act and help you with your bags, but instead, he goes straight into the house. Asshole. You roll your eyes, unbuckling and following after him, meeting one step of his with twice of yours.
"Y'know, a boyfriend would’ve opened the door for me." You declare, following him up the stairs.
"Good to know," he sneers, "but I'm not paying to give you the boyfriend experience, am I?"
He cuts a look behind him to catch your expression and you flip him off, causing a smug look to lift at his face. When he reaches his bedroom door, he cracks it open for you to enter through.
Stepping inside, you noticed how clean it is. Then, you realized, of course it would be. Rafe probably has maids coming in every day to make it spotless for the crowned prince. You were just used to leaving your room a mess in the mornings that your Pogue expectations rolled over to him.
"You can use my bathroom." He points to the closed door on the other side of his room. You follow the voice to find him opening his closet, his back turned to you, searching for his own attire. Without a word, you nod, heading to the ensuite as you set your bags on the ground and unravel them on the sink counter.
You didn't own many fancy clothes. You never needed them and it wasn't affordable. However, you brought the most expensive thing you own. It was nothing in comparison to the luxuries in Rafe's closet, but it was enough. A white cocktail dress that cuts mid-thigh—it was what you wore for your high school graduation.
You put it on before you got ready, and when you did, it was tighter and shorter than you remember. You did gain some weight. You are also older. You try not to let the sentiment pass through you too much—that you're almost twenty-two but in the same place you were when you were eighteen.
You push the thoughts away.
You also push the reason for why you're here away too.
With a deep breath, you start on your makeup. You curl your hair. You even sprayed a little bit of the perfume that your parents got you as a birthday gift a long time ago. It's a bit faint, the smell has faded away from age, but it still smells like that morning when you opened the box, finding a present in your hands, for the first time in a long time.
You push those away too.
Stepping out, you find Rafe dressed. In a tailored dark blue suit, he sits on the edge of his mattress, his hands messing with his phone. Even you have to admit, he cleaned up nicely. His dress shirt spans perfectly across the broad of his shoulders, his biceps filling out the arms, and the form-fitting material latches onto his chest. He even styled his hair—gelled back but loose; a stark contrast to the rundown and casual look he sports upon entering your bars and parties.
The low click of your heels against the marble floor alerts him of your presence.
His gaze lifts to meet your face, before trailing down your body to take you in. You notice his Adam's apple slightly bobs and you wonder if it's because you're a little underdressed compared to him.
"Are you done?" He asks stiffly, clearing his throat and shifting his eyes away. You walk out of his bathroom completely, stopping in front of his closet mirror to apply the finishing touches of your makeup.
When you're finished, you turn back around and strike a small pose for him. "What do you think?"
"You look... good." He settles and you roll your eyes. Of course that's the only compliment he can come up with. You expect nothing less.
"You should expand your vocabulary and give better compliments to your girlfriend," you tease, stepping closer to him. His legs parts slightly, almost inviting you in. "Or else people might assume you aren't giving them enough."
He scoffs. "You look fuckable. Is that better?"
Your nose wrinkles. "Awful. 0/10."
He chuckles, looking to the floor, but his laugh is tense. You glance down, noticing the way his shoulders are rigid and his posture is straight as a rod, and realization strikes you. Just as you're nervous, so is Rafe.
You step forward, in between the space of his legs, and place a delicate hand on his shoulders. He looks up to you. "You good?" You ask gently.
"I'm fine." He quickly brushes off, pushing away from your touch. "I'm just ready to get this shit over with. I hate business dinners."
"Spoken by someone who wants to get in said business." You retort, turning around to grab your purse off his dresser, when suddenly, you feel Rafe grabs your exposed thigh, holding you in place between him.
You turn back, raising a confused brow.
"Give me a kiss."
This request startles you. "Why?"
His eyes study your face before shrugging. "Practice."
You can't help but laugh a little. It truly is your go-to response to everything, and you notice his shoulders slightly unwind at the sound. "Why? Are you a bad kisser?"
He rolls his eyes, and with one strong tug, you fall into his open lap. His hand cups your cheek, and without another word, he kisses you. Softly, at first, as if he's trying to get used to the feel of your lips against his, before deepening it. You can't help but let out a content sigh, enjoying the feeling.
When he slightly pulls away, he murmurs against your lips. "Someone needs to do something about that mouth of yours."
You scoff, placing both arms on either side of his shoulders and looping it around his neck, pulling back to get a better look of his face. His eyes are unreadable and his lips are faintly red from the shade of your lipstick.
"Isn't that supposed to be your job?" You tease, tilting your head to the side. "Or should I find another fake boyfriend to put me in my place?"
His expression goes hard. This time, he leans forward and captures your lips against him, in a firmer, more possessive manner. It's everything that accumulated so far—from seeing you with Maybank and Heyward outside the docks to the little dress-up you did specifically for him.
It's the idea of you, in his lap, knowing for the next couple of hours, you're his.
You only pull away to catch a breath, giggling at the sight of your lipstick smeared over his face. Running the pad of your thumb over his mouth, you attempt to wipe away the cosmetic product with no avail.
“You messed up my makeup,” you jokingly pout, rising from his lap. His touch loosens around you, but with great reluctance. When you go to the bathroom to take a paper towel, you return to wipe the remnant of your kisses off of Rafe.
"I'll buy you a new one." He says as you wipe away the last of it.
You roll your eyes at the suggestion. "No need." You declare, returning to his closet mirror to reapply your lipstick and fix the smudges.
He says nothing in return. His gaze follows your every move. It isn't until you're done, really done, that you step in front of him and hold out your hand for Rafe to take.
"Come on, boyfriend," you say the title with a tease. "Time to play house."
—
When you arrive at the country club, your heart stutters in your chest. It's a bit intimidating, the glory of Fight Eight and all their Kooks, pinned down to this exclusive membership to say you made it. You wonder, for a brief moment, if you'll ever get there.
But, then you remember, for the next couple of hours, you'll pretend you did.
You don't know if Rafe allowed you a few minutes in the car to get ready or if he needed it himself, but you take the scraps. When the moment was over, he stepped out and crossed over to the passenger side to open your door.
You smile at the gesture, allowing yourself to be led out of the car by his hand. When he closes the door behind you, you tilt your head up at him. "Thought boyfriend acts were below you?"
"Had to play the part in front of these people, didn’t I?"
You remember where you are and the smile fades out. You are no longer in the confines of your bar nor his desolated mansion. It's you, with people watching, with people reporting, with his father within proximity. Every decision, in the next couple of hours, is an act.
A falsity.
Remember that.
You silently nod as he places his arm around your waist, planting a soft kiss on the side of your forehead, as he leads you towards the entrance. There were waitstaff attending there, and when you approach close enough, they open the double doors. Rafe skips past them without a single acknowledgement, but you mumble a thank you in their direction, before being whisked away to the setting.
Your eyes admire the details. The decorations hung against the walls and railings of the place, the bouquets set on every corner, the streams of crystal chandeliers dangling above you in every room. It's glorious.
"They have tulips," you whisper to Rafe, who follows your gaze to the centerpiece in front of the stairwell. "It's not even in season."
"We're Kooks, sweetheart," he says with a scoff, an air of arrogance. "If we want something, we get it."
You say nothing as you scan the rest of the room, preparing yourself for the evening. Rafe and you went through most of the details about your arrangement, how you two got together, when it happened, and the minor sentiments to make it seem real. You believe you're prepared enough.
"Ready to meet my dad, sweetheart?" Rafe mumbles into your ear, his breath hot against your neck. You nod.
"As ready as I'll ever be, darling."
Rafe chuckles at the nickname you picked, but you figured it would play the part. Pretend there's some tenderness between the two of you. You may not have been given instructions on how to be a girlfriend, but you imagine it would be something cheesy. Sweet. A little bit unrealistic.
Just like this.
Rafe pulls you towards the crowd. While caterers and waiters waltz across the room in a coordinated dance, you couldn't help but search for the bartenders. Of who they booked this evening. You wonder, for a moment, if you were even on their radar.
A murmur of conversations starts to fade out as you arrive and your fingers squeeze Rafe's hand. Ward was the last to acknowledge your presence, his eyes observing you and trailing down to the intertwined hands of you and his eldest son.
"Dad," Rafe greets, his voice filled with proper and posh, you wonder if this was the same person you were talking to moments ago. "I'd like you to meet my girlfriend."
He introduces your name to the crowd and Ward stares in amazement, if not, with a little bit of disbelief. His eyes left his son, tracing you, trying to pinpoint anything out of place.
"Hi," you hold out your hand for a handshake. He takes it. "It's so nice to meet you. Rafe has told me all about you."
"He has?" Ward lifts his dark brow at you. "What does he say?"
Other than rants about you? Nothing good, you thought.
Rafe stiffens beside you, his eyes on the firmed on the side of your face but you don't falter. You've been in customer service for a long time, you knew how to lie.
"He said you're a good businessman for Cameron Development. Someone with a lot of difficult choices to make. He hopes to be there with you one day." You summarize, pinpointing the good details of Rafe's tirades. You hope he didn't recognize the little jab you placed there.
Ward looks amused. A bit proud. But says nothing more. Dinner is declared ready and everyone begins to take their place. You fall into a seat beside Rafe; he even pulled out a chair for you before he sat.
You want to stick your tongue at him and tease him, but you know this isn't the appropriate time. Returning your sight to what's before you, you feel slightly out of place. Usually, you're the one serving these people, not the ones being served. The reversed role is jarring.
When the waitress comes around and asks for everyone's drink orders, you internally frown. When she came to you, you answered that you wanted some pinot noir while Rafe chose whiskey neat. Leaving off, the business dinner proceeds.
You zone in-and-out at their conversations. It's mostly about marketplace and land developments, furthering relationships between companies, and the occasional jab on who has the better enterprise. You wanted to nod off, but you didn't.
So, you watch Rafe instead.
His eyes are set on his father, observing the interactions between him and his business partners. His gaze is focused and diligent, absorbing every little detail, as if he's making mental notes about it. About how he would proceed if he gets the company.
You admire that. It reminds you of how you view Sailor.
When the conversation winds down to casual talk, and you're on your second course, Ward surprises you by calling you out by name.
You lift your gaze to meet his. "I wanted to ask where I know you from," Ward begins, raising his glass. "You seem vaguely familiar."
You clear your throat before you answer.
"I work at Sailor," you explain, wiping your hands against the clothed napkin. "My family owns it. We catered for you a few years ago."
It takes a moment for it to click, and recognition dawns on his face. "That's right," he drawls, amused chuckles signals to the rest of the table. "You were working as the bartender for one of the company's charity events. You had that specific drink I like," he clicks his fingers, trying to remember the name. "That whiskey."
"The Godfather?" You offer, to which Ward nods in confirmation. You laugh softly. "Yeah, that's a family recipe. It's been in my family for a couple generations."
"I remember you saying that before," he nods. "So, that makes you a Pogue."
You know it wasn't said with disdain. Not the same manner that his son carries for the second class. Ward used to be a Pogue himself, being one of the very few who was able to rise out of lower-class and make a name for himself. Despite knowing he's on the opposite side of you, you did admire that. You wanted that yourself.
"So were you, sir. You're a legend around The Cut," you compliment. "The ideal story of how we can make it out."
"With your work ethic, I don't doubt it," he compliments with a wink and you smile. The compliment feels real, and you felt appreciated. Saying nothing else, you take a sip of your drink as you watch how Ward's gaze slides over to his son sitting quietly next to you.
The dinner proceeds with more chatter. You swear you were getting full by the end of the meal, before dessert, that you ask Rafe to take some of your food and finish them for himself. He begrudgingly accepts, allowing you to inconspicuously slide the plate over to his. When it came down to the final hour and everything was served, people started heading out for the night.
Everyone leaving, the table slowly empties until it was only Ward, Rose, Rafe and you.
"So, you're dating my son," Ward declares, and you hesitantly nod. You don't know which direction this conversation may lead, especially now that there's no social barriers constraining his interrogation. "How long?"
You lift your gaze to Rafe, hoping he could answer and you could supply.
"A few weeks," he answers curtly, his eyes set on his father. You notice his hands clenched on his lap, his leg bouncing under the table. "It's new."
"After our...?"
"Yes," Rafe answers without allowing him to finish. "I thought I would listen to your advice."
Ward nods, satisfied. You thought it would be the end of it, before he turned back to you. "Do you know about Rafe's habits?"
Rafe stiffens. His eyes pinned on his father with a hard expression, almost a silent plea not to continue, but Ward ignores his son. "His parties and his drinking? The occasional drugs?"
Rafe turns to you, watching you as you come up with an answer. You silently move your hand over his, enclosing it over his larger one, hoping it would ease some relief into his system. Almost a silent promise; a way to say I have your back.
"I do," you nod, letting the words roll off lightly.
"And you still choose to date him?"
You nod again. "Yes, sir."
Ward laughs. "A saint."
Rafe tense under your touch.
"It's not that." You shake your head, your expression serious. "He has his vices, sure, but that doesn't undermine who he is. He's determined and focused, and when he has a goal, he puts his whole being into it. It's good to have someone like him in your corner."
You avoid Rafe's eyes as you say this. It surprised him. He didn't think you would say some positive attributes about him, especially since he's been nothing but a pretentious asshole to you, but your words were genuine. Authentic. He heard you lie and tell truths, and this one leans towards the latter.
Ward looks to be in the same vein of astonishment and you say nothing as you smile, lifting your glass by the stem and taking another sip. The alcohol isn't as good as yours, but you were glad to make it out alive and passed the test.
When the caterers came back to clean up the table, you decided that you wanted to help them. You know it was unconventional, to be assisting the help as the guest, but you wanted to get out of the space for a moment. To get back to your roots.
You carry some dishes and head towards the kitchen, despite the gentle pleas from the waitstaff.
When you left, Rafe remained with his father. Rose is gathering her things as Ward rises from his chair, Rafe following in suit. When the patriarch gestures for him to approach, the diligent son listens, stepping towards his father.
Ward claps his hand on his shoulder, almost proud. "I'm surprised, Rafe, I never thought I'd see the day." He begins, glancing over to you in the kitchen, moving around in swift and coordinated style. "You did good, son, probably the best you'll ever do."
Rafe stiffens under his father's touch. The words pricking in his ears. "She's a capable woman. But, next time you bring her, make sure she wears something more... appropriate."
He glances back over to you, replacing the plates to the top cabinets, rising to your tippy-toes in a way that pulls up the back of your short dress. Yes, he noticed that it wasn't the typical business attire, a little shorter than recommended, but he pinned it as something a Pogue would wear. Something they didn't think about.
But, the criticism in his ear from his father, it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Rafe clenches his jaw, just as Ward slips his hand off his son's shoulder and gathers his wife to leave.
Rafe stands still. He watches you for a few more moments. He noticed some of the sparsely-remaining guests would pass the kitchen, on the way to the exit, and spare a glance at you and your barely-covered ass. His anger heightens.
Marching over, Rafe says nothing as he surprises you and grabs your arm. Without saying a word, he pulls you away from the kitchen and takes you to the nearest bathroom.
He locks the door close.
"What–what the hell?" You snap, pulling your arm out of his grip but his hold is firm. Your furrowed gaze looks up to meet him, finding his expression nothing short of a timid rage and fury, ready to boil over and burst.
Rafe is strumming with adrenaline. With anger. With all these emotions coursing through him in rapid succession, he can't reach out and grab any of them. Something about his father's comment tonight rubbed him in a bad way. The way Ward doesn't think he was good enough for you, a Pogue he found off the streets. The way your dress is too fucking short. The way you were being too kind—grabbing his hand, calming him, complimenting him. It was all wrong.
He needs release.
He needs to take it out on you.
"You had to wear the shortest fucking thing you owned?" He sneers, his hand sliding over your ass and squeezing it, hard. It elicits a small moan from you. "Had to show off what a fucking slut you are, didn't you?"
Your mind is spinning. You don't understand what is going on. You thought everything was good—you even sweared you saw a covert smile on Rafe's face before you left. You don't know what could happen between then and now and why he's being so aggressive to you. His words. His touch.
You don't know why you like it.
Turning around, you try to grab his attention, placing a hand on the side of his face. "What happened?" You say, breathless, "talk to me."
He flinches out your touch. "I don't want to talk."
"What do you want?"
"Get on your knees."
You do.
Rafe watches as you sink to the bathroom floor, the lack of coverage from your dress does nothing to soften the hardness of the ground. He unbuckles his pants, removes them, and reveals the impressive bulge hidden behind his boxer-briefs.
You watch attentively as he takes the last piece of barrier off, freeing his cock, just inches from your face. The tip is covered with a bit of precum, something that you want to put in your mouth. You feel the throb in your pussy, squeezing your legs tighter to relieve some of the ache.
"You want a boyfriend who puts you in your place?" He looks down at you, the look on his eyes is hard and detached, like he's out of it. "One who's there to do something with that mouth of yours? You want that, Pogue?"
You find yourself nodding, almost hungrily, following along to his words. He scoffs with a condescending laugh, gripping the base of his shaft with one hand and guiding it closer to your mouth. "Open."
Part of you want to use the moment to ask him what's going on. For him to clue you in on something. But you don't get the chance. Without your immediate obedience, Rafe roughly grabs your face and squeezes your cheeks, forcing your mouth to pop open.
"Are you going to listen to me, sweetheart?" He taunts, "or am I gonna have to teach you a lesson?"
"I'll listen." You confess, your voice doesn't sound like your own. The ache between your legs doesn't subside.
Satisfied, Rafe levels the tip to your face, tapping it against the plump of your bottom lip, before pushing it in.
He goes a little fast. Like he's trying to fuck your face. Your touch comes up to slow down, exchanging his hand with yours, grabbing his base to allow you to guide his cock into your mouth at your own discretion. He allows you to have that control, his hand traveling up to your hair, tugging at the roots.
When he hits the back of your throat, you gag, and Rafe lets out a guttural groan. "Fuck, just like that," he murmurs, tipping his head back at you take him in. "This fucking mouth."
He comes in and out of you, finding a rhythm that allows you to get used to his dick in your mouth. When you do something that makes him feel good, his grip around your hair tightens, pulling you to stay in place.
"Is this how I have to punish you?" His voice is sharp, but the edge comes off with every pleasure that elicits out of him. "You get one fucking chance to meet all these people, all these Kooks, and you had to dress like a slut. To show off?"
He grabs you by the roots, tilting your head in a way that pops his cock out and your eyes to find his. "Who do you belong to?" He asks.
Your core throbs at the possession. "You."
He nods and breathes out a raspy breath. "That's fucking right."
Letting you go, Rafe suddenly pulls you to your feet. His hands hooks under your ass and lifts, setting you down on the sink counter, your back slams against the wall in a harsh beat. Without wasting a second, Rafe grabs your thighs and pulls you towards the edge, just enough where you don't fall off.
"Rafe," you call out, as your eyes connect with his, his breathing is heavy. His eyes are wild. He doesn't answer you, roughly spreading apart your thighs, his hand traces the wet patch formed against your panties, causing a shiver to run down your spine. "God."
Rafe leans in, his lips just caressing your bare shoulders. "Just a Pogue who does what I want, when I want, aren't you?" He reminds you of your place, the gentle touches of his fingers erupting aches and unbearable heat between your legs. You don't answer him in time. "Aren't you?"
"Just yours."
He chuckles, pulling back to flick his gaze up to you. "And who made you this wet?"
Your voice is needy. "You did."
"That's right," he pushes your panties to the side, fingers moving up and down your slit in delicate strokes. You lean forward into his touch but his grip is placed on your hips. "I did. And I want you to remember that this is mine. No one can touch but me."
You nod into his words, willing to give him anything to prove some semblance of pleasure for you. "All yours," you choke desperately, "please, make me come."
His hand leaves your core, and the coldness that evades his absence pricks your sensitive skin. His hand raises to cup the back of your neck, forcing you to meet his eyes. "Aw, baby," he mocks, "bad girls don't get to come."
You open your mouth to object, but Rafe lines his cock against your entrance and, without warning, pushes himself in. You feel your body arches forward, letting out an uninhibited moan, as he stretches you out.
"Fuck," you press your forehead against his warm chest, your breathing unsteady and your eyes flutters in-and-out of consciousness. "It's so—you're so—" You can't find your words, your mind scrambled.
Rafe catches your jaw, forcing your eyes open and to look down at you see him lodge deeper and deeper inside of you. His motion is slow and steady, allowing you to adjust, before quickening his speed. "Look," he murmurs into your ear, your skin hot everywhere, "look at how good your pussy is taking me."
The sound of wetness echoes in the small bathroom, the evidence of your arousal to him, to Rafe, that you can't help but choke at the noise. Your head is spinning. You feel pleasure and pain ripping out of you, all at once, subdued by the rising credence of your climax.
Rafe doesn't loosen his grip around your jaw, forcing you to watch attentively to how his cock thrusts upon you, entering and leaving, the motion a mesmerizing sight that produces further need within you.
"Rafe," you moan with a whimper, you steady yourself by gripping his shoulders, digging your nails into your shoulder blades, trying to regain some control. "Faster. Please, I want to come so bad."
"What did I say, sweetheart?" He tilts your head to meet his hardened gaze, his breathing shakily and unorganized as the feeling of the way your walls grip him provides the most pleasurable sensation, he was sure to come soon. "Bad girls don't come."
Your eyes grow teary as you feel him fill you up, to the hilt, your stomach so full of him. He moves at a pace that works for him, that allows him to climb to his climax, while it's frustratingly slow for you. Not enough for you to reach the peak.
You lean into him, chest pressed to chest, your breathing unsteady as your walls tightens around cock.
"Come on, baby." He taunts. "Make me feel so good."
Him, you note, because this is about his pleasure. Because you didn't deserve to reach the same ecstasy.
"Rafe," your voice is so raspy, you resort to begging. You can feel his cock twitching inside of you. "Please, please, I'll be so so good—"
He slaps a hand over your mouth, covering your pleas. Your eyes teary as you stare up at him. "I don't want to hear anything." He snaps with a grunt, "you're a Pogue. Fucking act like it."
This Rafe is cruel. It isn't the same person who defended you against the drunk stranger. He isn't the same one who kissed you at Tannyhill. This is the Rafe you met on the back porch of Topper's house, the one who comes into your bar, the wildcard his father warns you about.
You know you should stop this. To come to your senses and deny him of the pleasure he so desperately chasing from you. To gain some control. But it feels so goddamn good, that the idea of losing the feeling of Rafe, inside of you, was harder to bear. It makes you lose all clarity.
When you feel Rafe's strokes growing more sloppy, a sudden realization dawns on you.
"Rafe," you say breathily, "pull out. I need—you need to pull out."
He cups your cheeks, a firm but not harsh grip like before, and forces your eyes to meet his. "What did I say about telling a Kook what to do?" He taunts lazily, just with one final thrust, he comes inside of you.
His hot cum fills you up, and it feels so warm and nice, you think you're going insane with the buzzing sensation you feel afterwards. He stiffens as he spazzes, his head leaning against the crook of your neck as the wave of his climax rolls over him, the stillness of his cock inside of you leaves an unbearable ache between your legs.
Rafe pulls out within a few short breaths, slipping his dick out of you as the cum leaks onto the counter and drips onto the floor. You are completely still, your eyes following him as he reshuffles around in his post-orgasmic haze, redressing his pants and briefs in one piece.
He moves around to grab some tissue papers, coming back to dab the area around your filled cunt to clean you up, his eyes not meeting yours. In shame, frustration, or clarity, you don't know.
When he finishes, he buckles his belt and throws the tissues into the trash. Pausing at the door, he glances at you for a brief, tiniest second. "Clean up. I'll drive you back."
When he leaves, you take a moment to gather yourself. To reel in everything. You slowly slip off the counter, landing on wobbly and aching legs, and turn around to view your reflection in the mirror.
The mess of your hair, the wrinkles of your clothes, his cum leaking down your thighs.
It takes a beat, then two, before you find yourself producing words.
"What the fuck just happened?"
— part four here —
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#rafe cameron#rafe obx#rafe x reader#rafe outer banks#rafe imagine#rafe smut#rafe fic#rafe x you#rafe fanfiction#rafe cameron fic#rafe cameron smut#obx fanfiction#obx fic#obx x reader#obx smut#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron x y/n#obx#rafe cameron x female reader#outer banks#zya's fics#zya's play fake series
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FANGTASIA. send in a character from my guide + one of the prompts below for a drabble!
OK LAST ONE I PROMISE. but you know I had to send in a theseus request so … theseus + "You think I like being like this? Every time someone fucking touches you I want to rip their hands off!" teehee 😋
'𝗖𝗔𝗨𝗦𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨'𝗥𝗘 𝗝𝗨𝗦𝗧 𝗔 𝗠𝗔𝗡 (𝗜𝗧'𝗦 𝗝𝗨𝗦𝗧 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗗𝗢)
theseus scamander x fem!reader
summary: 1.7k
“I can hear you sulking over there. C’mon,” you urge as you watch him out of your periphery. He closed his eyes before he exhaled slowly. Deeply, forcing all of the air out of his lungs in the hopes that his foul mood would exit with it. He didn’t want to be like this. He didn’t want to hate your secretary, to be the possessive guy that never let his partner speak to another man, but it was starting to eat away at him. It was a lot easier to lose you when he didn’t fully have you, yet.
or the one where theseus can't stand your secretary.
warnings: none that i can think of, semi-possessive theseus?
masterlist
He was just your secretary. That’s what you keep telling yourself. And Theseus. All he does is your filing and allow people entry into your office. And bring you your morning coffee without you needing to ask for it, with the exact amount of cream and sugar you take without you ever having told him in the past.
Of course, this was just him being excellent at his job, it was why you’d kept him on for so long. There was a quick turnover rate for secretaries at the ministry. A year or two, at most, before they were either fired by their respective bosses or they left to pursue a field they were actually passionate about. But not Richard. No, you’d been working with Richard for the better part of five years. Long before you’d ever met your now boyfriend–if you could even call him that, only having been on a dozen or so dates at this point. Not that the question hadn’t been on the tip of his tongue since the first time you batted your eyelashes at him.
That didn’t stop Theseus from clenching his jaw every morning when he stopped by to say hello only to find your secretary to have abandoned his post outside your office in favor of holing up in your loveseat and carrying on with whatever annoyingly dull topic of conversation he’d chosen to occupy your time with. It didn’t stop him from rolling his eyes at the way his hand lingered over yours as he dropped off the accounts you needed that afternoon during your lunch break, little more than a glance cast askew at him as he sat beside you. It didn’t stop him from biting his tongue so hard it bled each time you brought Richard up in the evenings when he walked you out of the building.
No, it didn’t matter how long you’d worked with the man. Theseus knew a crush when he saw one.
“What’s wrong, love? You’ve been tense all day,” you say, gently placing a hand onto his shoulder. He’d been sitting in your office for a little over an hour, his work day having already drawn to a close but you’d had to finish up a last minute assignment your boss had thrown on your desk fifteen minutes before you were supposed to leave. Theseus hadn’t minded waiting.
“Nothing,” he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Richard had been especially irritating that day. He’d barely had five minutes alone with you before you’d forced your secretary to go home once the clock hit six.
“I can hear you sulking over there. C’mon,” you urge as you watch him out of your periphery. He closed his eyes before he exhaled slowly. Deeply, forcing all of the air out of his lungs in the hopes that his foul mood would exit with it. He didn’t want to be like this. He didn’t want to hate your secretary, to be the possessive guy that never let his partner speak to another man, but it was starting to eat away at him. It was a lot easier to lose you when he didn’t fully have you, yet.
“It’s nothing, lovely. Promise,” he says. At the very least, having this time with you was beginning to dull the headache that had formed earlier in the day. He thinks it started when Richard had once again waltzed into your office during your lunch hour with the hopes of taking you out to the bakery a couple blocks away.
“Okay,” you drawl, eyebrows drawn together.
It’s then that Theseus notices the parchment stuck to your desk lamp. It was a charmed doodle, one that poorly illustrated a man with smoke shooting out of his ears sitting at a desk played on a loop. To keep you company while you work - Rich. Of course.
“You ready?” you ask, shuffling around documents and files on your desk to deal with on Monday when you return before grabbing your bag off the ground and slipping your coat on. You circle around the furniture in your office to stand in front of Theseus. He ran a firm hand across his brow bone as he stood to meet you. He leans forward to place a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth as he nods.
It’s hard to ignore how stiff he’s become.
“Are we still good for dinner at yours tonight?” you ask.
“Of course,” he hums. He wasn’t going to let this ruin the one of the few evenings a week he got to spend with you. Or, at least, he was going to try to not let it ruin it.
Once he was sure you’d both collected the remainders of your belongings, he takes your hand in his to apparate the two of you to his flat. Since you weren’t going back to your place, he didn’t feel the need to walk the two of you all the way across the ministry just to disapparate from there. He only did that to spend a couple extra minutes with you, anyway.
It’s only the second time you’ve been to his place, but the short wave of nausea prevents you from feeling too overwhelmingly nervous about it. You set your bag beside the door before you move to the kitchen to sit and let the urge to vomit begin to dissipate. Theseus smooths a palm over down your arm as he slides up behind you.
He leans down to whisper in your ear. His nose brushes against your cheek. “Can I get you anything?”
“Maybe a penny…” you trail off.
“A penny?” he huffs amused.
“For your thoughts,” you say.
“I told you it was nothing.”
“Darling, I know something’s wrong. I want to help if I can,” you say, tilting your head back enough to look at his face. He bends again to kiss your forehead. It’s tender, sweet. Nearly domestic.
“It’s just work stress, I guess,” he says. He wasn’t technically lying.
“I’m sorry,” you hum, bringing a hand up to smooth across his cheek for a second. “Do you want to talk about it? It might help if you get some of it off your chest.”
“I wouldn’t want to burden you, love,” he says as he begins to move away from your chair. He meanders around the small kitchen as he starts to gather the things he needs to cook dinner. You hardly notice as he charms the cutting board to dice vegetables for him.
“It wouldn’t be a burden. Richie’s always telling me about the kinds of things that bother him at the office,” you say. Theseus’ jaw clenches. With his suit coat already having been slung across the couch in the living room, he’s quick to roll his button-down sleeves up to his elbows.
“Fucking Richard,” he mutters. It’s so quiet you almost miss it. Your brows raise. He runs a palm over his jaw, resisting the urge to bite down on one of his fingers.
“This is about him?”
“What?” he asks as he turns away from you to grab noodles from his pantry. The first time he’d asked about Richard had been harmless. A one-off question at the end of your evening when he’d been walking you back to your flat. A question you’d answered simply. He’s just your secretary. Then he’d asked again. A second and a third time.
“This. Your… mood. It’s about him, isn’t it?” you ask. You’re attempting to sound understanding, but you know there’s an edge to your tone. He doesn’t elicit an answer. “I thought I told you he wasn’t anything to worry about. He works for me.”
“I know,” he grumbles.
“Then what’s this about, hm?” you ask, standing from your chair and moving into his space.
“It’s just.” He’s cracking, slightly. He hates that he’s allowed himself to get affected by something so trivial. “He’s always there.”
“You’ve got yourself in a fit because my secretary comes into my office during work hours?”
“It’s the way he is around you, you know? He’s always around, always touching or trying to touch. You should see the way he looks at you,” he huffs. The box in his hand drops onto the counter suddenly, his hands following as he pushes his weight against them.
“Thes-” you start.
“You think I like being like this? You think it’s something I want? To be so angry and aggravated about something that I can’t control? That you can’t control?” he asks. “Everytime he touches you I want to rip his fucking hands off.”
You step behind him, winding your arms around his middle until he’s stood straight again. His hands find yours and interweave between your fingers.
“It’s not you,” he sighs. “Well, I mean, it is you. I don’t see how there isn’t a single man left in the world not wrapped tight around your finger.”
You press a kiss between his collarbones. He relaxes into your hold.
“I don’t want Richard,” you say.
“I know.”
“I want you.”
“I want you, too, darling.”
“But I also want you to talk to me,” you say as you urge him to turn to face you with a tap of your fingers against his torso. “I’ll talk to him. I can’t say I haven’t noticed him being a little closer to me than some of the other secretaries have been with their bosses, because I have. So, I’ll talk to him. But, I need you to talk to me, too.”
His forehead falls forward until it’s pressed against yours.
You continue, “I need you to tell me when stuff like this bothers you. You can’t just be all angry at the world and do nothing about it and expect it all to change. Okay?”
��I can do that,” he hums.
“Good,” you nod.
“Good.”
“You also need to remember that I’m a grown-up and I can handle myself, too, right? Just because another man may or may not have his eyes on me doesn’t mean I’m going to go running off into the sunset with him,” you say. A soft laugh rumbles in his chest, his eyes crinkling with a soft smile at the sides.
“Alright,” he says.
“Now,” you say. “What’s for dinner?”
#theseus scamander#theseus scamander x reader#callum turner#callum turner x reader#harry potter#fantastic beasts and where to find them
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Batfamily Powerpoint Night! (Part 2: Dick)
<<Part 1: Bruce | Part 3: Tim >>
[Masterlist]
Dick: My turn! And thank you Bruce for setting me up so perfectly!
Tim: OH MY GOD
Jason: Okay this one I can get behind
[disgruntled Bruce noises]
Babs: You prioritized those reasons... interestingly.
Damian: I agree with Richard. My farm animals occasionally require my attention on a time-sensitive basis.
Bruce: People’s lives are literally on the line
Tim: IT WAS ONE TIME GUYS
Jason: “Great driver” is a stretch for you, Dickhead
Steph: Yeah haven’t you crashed like three cars
Dick: Okay sure but how many times has B crashed the Batmobile? Definitely more than three.
Duke: You’re a hazard to traffic in a Toyota Corolla, Dick. But I agree about Tim.
Tim: I CAN DRIVE
Dick: Plus everyone keeps changing their codename, it’s so much easier to just use their normal people names in a pinch.
Cass: (signs) Fair.
Jason: Maybe if Bruce stopped adopting so many Robins we would follow the rules.
[disgruntled Bruce noises]
Steph: SAY IT LOUDER FOR THE PEOPLE IN THE BACK
Bruce: Where did you get those pictures
Jason: Wow, Bruce not following his own rules? Who could have expected this baffling turn of events
Damian: Richard this is horrific
Bruce: Dick where did you find these
Jason: That meme is disgusting
Duke: I forget how much of a millennial you are sometimes
Steph: Maybe this is why we don’t answer your texts
Bruce: I-
Jason: Th-
Dick: I will be taking no questions at this time. Moving on-
Steph: JUSTICE FOR SPOILEROFFICIAL
Tim: Bruce please if Dick stops flirting with himself online can we have our accounts back
Bruce: No.
Steph: He’s just mad because Nightwing had more followers than Bruce Wayne on Twitter
Babs: richard
Dick: :)
Tim: Doesn’t Bruce kiss Selina with the mask off too-
Bruce: IS THIS ALMOST OVER
Damian: Todd and Father sharing a meal without injuring each other? Fascinating.
Jason: This is literally so humiliating where did you get this
Dick: :)
Bruce: I just gave a presentation on why these restrictions are important
Cass: (signing) You break them. Often.
Steph: Yeah I don’t know, Dick makes some pretty good points.
Bruce: [disgruntled Bruce noises]
Tim: My turn!
<<Part 1: Bruce | Part 3: Tim >>
[Masterlist]
#more will be made soon i promise#batman#dc robin#dick grayson#batfamily#jason todd#damian wayne#bruce wayne#tim drake#batfam#batfamily powerpoint au
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