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clockwayswrites · 1 month

Text

City Pigeons Part 12 CW: blood, past trauma and experimentation

Jason could almost go to sleep. He wouldn’t, not when he was the only Bat in the apartment, but it would be so easy to. Danny made a really good weighted blanket.

It seemed once the kid got over touching someone, he basically became a koala. Cass and Danny had spent the morning wrapped around each other on the couch. Cass was playing one of her weird clicking games and Danny, blue bear in his lap, was scrolling through articles on the tablet that Tim had brought him the other day.

Now, though, Cass was out on a snack run and Danny had slowly slumped over until he was laying across Jason. It wasn’t minded. Jason could admit he still had some trouble with touch himself, but it was easy to be there for Danny like this.

The problem was, Jason needed to get back to Crime Alley for at least a few nights. He was already past when Red Hood should have made an appearance. It he didn’t go back soon, rumors were going to start that he was dead. Again.

Jason waited for Danny to start searching for a new article to read to ask, “Are you alright with meeting someone soon?”

He didn’t expect Danny to tense like he did.

“Robin?”

“No, Dandelion,” Jason said, stroking Danny’s white hair. “N talked with Robin and he knows not to stop by like that without warning. We’ll have him over when you’re comfortable but not before.”

“Okay. Sorry. I don’t mean to…”

“None of that. He freaked you out,” Jason said. “I know he didn’t mean to, and from our guess it’s not his fault how he feels like to you, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t. It’s okay to set boundaries.”

“He… doesn’t feel weird to you?”

Jason sighed. “No. I guess I don’t sense it. I didn’t know you had died until you told me.”

“Oh.” Danny’s voice was small and quiet.

“But I knew that I had died— the others know it’s too,” Jason was quick to add. “It’s alright that you died. No one will think differently of you.”

“They might. It’s… you’re different than me, I guess.”

“I don’t know, because I don’t know what happened to you, but I actually hope so. The way I came back wasn’t pleasant.” Jason had to take a breath before he continued. “I was murdered by a rogue in town called the Joker. I woke up… we’re still not sure when exactly, but somewhere about half a year later. I didn’t have any of my memories, but I still had most of my injuries.

“I was picked up by some people you might hear us refer to— the League of Assassins. They put me back together about a year after my death by tossing me in something called the Lazarus Pits. Those things come with a price though, one that I’m still paying. Coming back was… hard, in a lot of ways.”

“Oh,” Danny said. He clung a little to Jason’s shirt, like he wanted to make sure Jason was still there. It was a feeling Jason understood all too well. “I, um, don’t think I’ve ever stayed really dead for more than a minute or two. At least not like… not like you were.”

Jason rested his hand on Danny’s back, feeling him breath. Feeling him… feeling him not breathe.

“…Danny?”

Danny clung tighter to Jason’s shirt. “Go ahead, ask.”

“Are you… somewhat dead right now?”

“Yes.”

Just one word. A simple answer.

“Okay. That’s— okay. I’m glad there’s a reason that you’re not breathing,” Jason said and pressed a kiss to the top of Danny’s head as he tried to calm his own pounding heart.

“I think B.B. knows. I usually… it’s habit to breath but sometimes I forget and—”

“She’s good at noticing things.” Jason would have to talk with her. “But that goes to what I said, right? None of the others will thinking of you differently.”

“Even if…”

“Even if anything.”

Danny sat up and Jason resisted the urge to reach for him. It took him a moment longer to release Jason’s shirt. Jason sat up slowly and waited for Danny to get the words out he was obviously working on.

“Can I show you?”

“Course.” Jason braced himself for anything.

“It might be bright, close your eyes.”

The flash still shown through Jason’s eyelids.

“Oh.” Danny’s voice wavered horribly. “I didn’t think of that.”

“Danny?” Jason was reaching forward even as he opened his eyes.

It was good he did.

He had to catch Danny as he wavered dangerously. Danny’s who hair was black. Who’s eyes were blue. Who looked all the more like Bruce’s son. Who was bleeding red.

“Jesus and Mother Mary,” Dick cursed, resting his forehead against his wrist’s.

Cass came over and peeled the bloody gloves off for him. “Breathe.”

“I am breathing,” Dick wheezed.

“Badly.”

Jason barked out a laugh at that. It was unstable in a way that reminded the room of worse days.

The door banged open and they all jolted, everyone but Cass, who was better than that, and Danny who was still out cold.

“Shit, fuck, sorry,” Tim rambled. “Is he stable?”

“Yes,” Cass answered. Her voice was calm, but but Duke could see the way that she fidgeted. For anyone else it wouldn’t be called fidgeting, but the way that she untied and retied and untied the trash bag in his visions told Dick otherwise.

Cass was as worried as the rest of them.

“Signal?” Tim asked. He came into the room, tablet already pulled up to record everything.

“Hard for me to say,” Duke said with a little shrug. He wished he could say, but he was still trying to understand what he was seeing. “The guy is… he’s like no one I’ve ever seen before. But I think he’s getting stronger.”

“That’s— holy fuck.” Tim paused as he finally got a look at Danny.

“Really looks like the old man like this, doesn’t he?” Jason asked. He was trying to hide how his hands were trembling by keeping his arms crossed. Everyone in the room let him pretend.

Duke sure wouldn’t have wanted to be the one Danny collapsed on like that. It was bad enough being the third one there as he swung over from his patrol. The cuts had still been appearing on Danny’s skin, ripping him apart like he was nothing.

He didn’t look much better all bandaged up.

“I think the cuts were ones he must have sustained before changing forms before he even met us,” Duke reasoned. “They… felt old.”

Dick rubbed at his face. “So the whole time they were there just waiting to bleed?”

Jason laughed again. “Waiting for him to be alive again.”

Slowly, Dick dropped his hands and looked up at Jason. “Jay?”

Okay, so they were at the point of forgetting cape-names now. That was a great sign.

Confusingly, Jason looked to Cass, who actually fidgeted.

“He doesn’t breathe. He does, not always. His heart beats, not always. It is like he…,” she twisted her hand as if trying to grab onto the right word. “Like he relaxes and forgets.”

Well that was weird. Dick nodded to the monitor that he had helped hook up. “He’s breathing right now and the monitor says his heartbeat is hella slow, but steady.”

“This is his alive form, I think. More alive form,” Jason said with a shrug. “His other form is his more dead form. He said he’s never stayed ‘really dead’ like I was. I think ‘really’ was the important word in that. He stressed it like it was… a technically or some shit.”

“Or a loophole,” Tim said. He was watching Danny with his head tilted just slightly to the right.

It was a pose that had Duke straightening up in attention. “What do you see that I can’t?”

Tim glanced at him and then back down at Danny. “The scars don’t match.”

“Ti—Red, please just say it,” Dick pleaded, exhaustion hanging on his words.

“Sorry, I was. I mean, the scars he has now don’t exactly match the scars he had in his— what are we calling it? Dead form?”

Jason flinched.

Dick’s eyes flicked from Jason to Tim. “Let’s go with… ghost. Undead, you know?”

Tim continued on valiantly. “His scars don’t match with what he had in his ghost form. There are a few like around his neck that I think are one-to-one and a lot of them are in the same place from what I can see and might be the same? I’d have to take photos and compare. But… he has more in this living form, I’m sure of it.”

“Okay, right, so that’s a thing,” Jason said. He slid down the wall he was leaning against until he was squatting. He hung his head between his knee and wrapped his hands around the back of his neck.

Duke could see Jason passing out with enough probability that he slipped out of the room to grab some sour candy for Jason and an icepack for the back of his neck. Being honest with himself, Duke could use the moment out of the room. It was a lot to deal with.

Man, someone would have to do something about the bloody couch too… Dick sighed and took the time to send a message to Babs about it as well as an update. Knowing her she had a list of all the furniture in all the safe houses and could get a slipcover ordered on same day delivery. At least he hoped so. Everyone was taking this pretty hard and they didn’t need the reminder.

Duke figured the bad reaction was pretty fair though, they had thought that Danny was getting better and now his healing was going to be set back. Dick would be guilty because he hadn’t been here, Jason going through his issues about kids and violence and death, and Cass already counted Danny as family. She was never good when family was hurt. It was even worse that Danny should have been safe, he was under their watch.

Duke set the pack of candy and ice pack down next to Jason’s foot, close enough that he should be able to feel the cold, and backed up to his corner. It was best not to touch right then. He wasn’t afraid of Jason ever hurting him purposefully, but he was also very aware for Jason it might not always be purposeful.

Cass joined him, leaning against his side, and Duke wrapped an arm around her. Tim was tapping away on his tablet, mostly muttering to himself, but Dick had gotten up to peer over his shoulder.

Jason tore open the packet of candies and popped one in his mouth.

They’d be okay.

It would take work, but they were Bats. They were stubborn.

Dukes wrist buzzed. The tracking number for slipcover flashed across his hud. It would be there by 9 pm.

They’d be okay.

Everything hurt. Everything ached all the way down through his skin and muscled and bones. His breath caught in his chest, ragged and frayed like his lungs were full of shattered glass.

He tried not to make a noise.

He tried to stay quiet.

They would notice him if he made a noise. He couldn’t take any more attention. He didn’t think he’d survive more attention. God, that thought was almost enough to kill him. Once he would have done anything for his parents attention and now—

There was a hand in his hair. It was gentle.

Oh, he was crying.

“…going to be okay. We have you, Dandelion, and we’re not letting them touch you ever again. The two Reds will make sure it can never happen again. Once you’re better they’ll take a little road trip.”

That was… that wasn’t… a sob broke through Danny’s lips and he didn’t stop it. He didn’t even try.

He wasn’t there.

He could make noises.

He was safe.

“Danny? Hey, are you awake.”

Danny nodded as much as he could manage.

“Hey there,” Nightwing said, voice so kind that it just made Danny cry harder. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

Danny shook his head.

“Okay, that’s okay, thank you for answering me Danny. How’s the pain? Um, squeeze my hand once if it’s okay, twice if it’s really bad.”

Danny squeezed it three times.

“Really, really bad, huh? Okay. Okay… we can give you some pain meds through your IV. We have you on a saline drip because you looked really bad. We didn’t want to give you any meds without your consent though. Are you alright with some pain medication? Once for yes, twice for no.”

One squeeze.

“Okay, let me go—”

Danny clung to Nightwing’s hand a tightly at he could. His breath stuttered around the glass.

“Not leaving, Dandelion. I’m going to text Red Robin, okay? He’s in the living room. Hood and B.B are out… running an errand. They’ll be back soon. I’ll text Red and he’ll bring the pain meds.”

Danny nodded. Nightwing shifted around, but didn’t let go of Danny’s hand. The breathing calmed, got easier. Danny let out a slow breath.

“Hey Danny,” a new voice said. “The medication will make you feel fuzzy and maybe disoriented. You’ll probably sleep a lot. We don’t want you to wake up panicked. Is there anything we can do to help you know you’re here with us and safe?”

“Bear,” Danny croaked. He wet his lips and tried to continue. “Smells that aren’t… Touch. Warmth.”

“Red will get your teddy bear as soon as the meds are hooked up and we’ll work on the other things. One of us will always be here with you,” Nightwing said.

Danny squeezed his hand again.

“Okay. We won’t leave you alone, Danny, we’ll keep you safe. You’ll be okay.”

Danny trusted that.

It was surprising.

He didn’t think he could trust anymore, but Danny trusted that, trusted them.

The warmth of that thought followed him back into the black.

---

AN: This all Danny's fault, not mine! He decided to reveal his form early and then... welp.....

...Stay delightful, darlings?

#dp x dc #batpham #city pigeons

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xothatnerdykid · 7 months

Text

what's love got to do with it?

The students and teachers alike at UA High can't help but notice the strange behavior of the typically stern and stoic teacher of Class 1-A. They come up with all sorts of theories but soon discover the even more surprising truth: Aizawa-sensei is simply falling in love. Fluffy Aizawa x fem!reader drabble. SFW. 2,828 words.

The way everyone looks at him when he walks in, you’d think he’d grown a second head or something.

Aizawa glances up from his phone after reading a sweet little text from you, greeting him good morning and wishing him a good day at work, only to find every student's wide-eyed, unblinking attention focused solely on him.

One second, they were all happily chattering, and then, the next…

"Hmm? What?" He asks his class offhandedly, throwing his things on the table and taking his usual seat.

But instead of answering him, the whole room erupts into a whispered frenzy.

"Did you see that? Did he just...?"

"No way! Must have been a trick of the light or something."

"What the heck? I feel so unnerved. Llike we just spotted a UFO or there’s been a glitch in the matrix."

“You guys saw it too, right? Are we all just collectively hallucinating?”

"Oi!" He calls their attention. "Would anyone care to tell me what it is exactly that's gotten all of you so worked up this morning?"

Stunned silence falls over Class 1-A again, and Aizawa can’t help but cross his arms and sigh. “Iida? Yaoyorozu? What’s going on?”

He doesn’t miss the way the class president and vice-president exchange a hesitant look before Iida answers him.

“Apologies, sensei!” He hastily gets up to bow. “I will personally make sure everyone quiets down.” He zooms around the room and gestures frantically at his noisy classmates to settle down.

Bemused by their commotion, Aizawa observes them all carefully. What could’ve caused such a stir? He wonders. And why are they all so reluctant to tell him? Did he have a piece of spinach in his teeth or something? A quick glance downwards tells him he didn’t forget to wear pants or shoes or anything, so what was it?

“If I may, sensei?” Yaoyorozu raises her hand and he nods at her. “I think everyone was just a little distracted by your change in demeanor today."

He furrows his eyebrows at the young girl. "What change?"

"Well, we’ve never seen you smile before. Or at least, not like that.”

He blinks in surprise. He’d been smiling when he walked into class this morning? "What about it?"

"Well, sir," Iida adds, taking his seat once everyone's finally settled down. "It's quite an uncommon sight. Naturally, they were taken aback."

“You usually only smile when you’re giving us a tough time in exams or training exercises, sensei.”

The corners of Aizawa’s mouth twitch upwards at that, which he quickly covers up with a small cough. “Well, enough of that. Let’s get on with today’s lesson, shall we?”

Everyone straightens up to listen as their homeroom teacher goes over a few important announcements. And although he isn’t smiling anymore, Class 1-A doesn't miss the way his usually sharp gaze has grown soft and almost...fond as he speaks to them.

As soon as the homeroom bell rings, Aizawa dismisses them with an absent-minded wave of his hand and takes out his phone to text you: Do I really never smile?

You smile when you’re rounding up bad guys sometimes. You reply almost right away. Or when you see a cat.

He chuckles. Apparently I also do it when I’m torturing my students. Then…Or when I’m texting you.

You send back a little cat emoji, and the grin you get after reading that doesn't leave your face for the rest of the day.

_________________________________________

“Shouta! Helloooo? I said Earth to Shouta?” Kayama waves her hand in Aizawa’s face.

It seems to snap him out of whatever trance he’s in. “Sorry, what?” He blinks up at her.

She gives Yamada a look. “What’s with him today?”

“Dunno,” he shrugs, then turns to his friend. “Hey buddy, didn’t get any sleep again last night or something?”

You could say that, Aizawa thinks to himself with a smirk, then hastily scolds his features into their usually stoic expression. “No. Why?”

Kayama raises an eyebrow at him. “You've just been acting a little...off. Distracted, maybe?”

"Nothing to worry about," Aizawa reassures them, dismissing their concerns with a wave of his hand. He goes back to observing his students closely in the hopes of them moving past the subject, but Kayama and Yamada aren’t convinced. Anyone looking at him could tell something was different today.

“Sensei?” Kirishima hesitantly calls out to him. “I’m having a little trouble with my balance. Could you show me that move again?”

Aizawa nods, and everyone’s jaw just about drops to the floor when he demonstrates the proper stance with uncharacteristic patience.

"Remember to be mindful of where you shift your weight," He guides Kirishima through the motions with a supportive tone, a stark departure from his normally gruff and no-nonsense approach. "And keep your focus. You'll get it."

Kirishima does as he’s told and looks to his teacher for feedback.

"No, adjust your stance a bit like this. Yes, that's it. Great improvement," Aizawa says, offering a rare compliment.

Flabbergasted, the red-haired boy manages a stuttering, "Th-Thank you, sensei," before Aizawa moves on to help the next student.

Observing everything from afar, Kayama leans over to Yamada and whispers, “He didn’t get a concussion on that last mission, did he? I've never seen him like this."

“Check what was in his coffee a while ago. And if he still has more — oof, it was just a joke!”

_________________________________________

“Okay, enough is enough!” Mina bursts into the room, dramatically crying. “I have to know!”

“Know what?” Kirishima asks as the others start to gather around her.

“What’s going on with Aizawa sensei? I saw him on the way here — he’s wearing a buttoned up shirt.”

There’s a collective gasp.

“Are you sure?” Momo asks.

Mina nods frantically. “And it was freshly pressed, too!”

Another round of gasps.

“And his hair was tied up!” The pink girl all but weeps, throwing herself onto the nearest desk.

“What do you think is going on with him?” Deku rubs his chin thoughtfully.

“He’s been acting so weird lately!” Uraraka whines.

As if on cue, Aizawa walks in. “Good morning, class,” he greets them without his usual gruffness.

Everyone hurries back to their seats, but Mina leans over to grab Kaminari’s sleeve, screaming under her breath, “He said good morning!”

“Look at his eyes!” He points frantically. “No puffy, dark circles or redness at all! He actually looks well-rested for once!”

“That’s where I draw the line!” Kirishima almost slams his fist on his desk. “We have to get to the bottom of this.”

Sero joins them, “Do you think Mic sensei and Midnight sensei know anything?”

Kaminari shrugs, “It’s worth asking.”

“Maybe Aizawa sensei has a secret twin and he’s pulling a prank on us?” Deku contemplates.

Uraraka shakes her head, “Sensei? Pulling a prank? I doubt it. What if there’s a new teacher at UA with a shape-shifting quirk?”

“Or Shinsou brainwashed him into being in a good mood?” Jirou chimes in.

As they huddle and murmur, Todoroki and Tokoyami shoot them curious glances, and Iida has to shush them discreetly.

They snap back to attention every time Aizawa faces them, pretending to listen to the lesson. But as soon as their sensei turns away again, the room buzzes with whispered speculation.

And though he acts none the wiser, seemingly engrossed in the topic they're supposed to be discussing, Aizawa can't help his amusement listening to their outlandish theories. A small, smug part of him relishes stoking the fires of their confusion.

He knew he'd have some explaining to do, but for now, he’s more than happy to just let them wonder.

_________________________________________

“Oh, look who finally decided to show up!” is the first thing Mic says when he spots him. The colorful cocktail in his hand is practically empty, but he happily sips the fun loopy straw for whatever dredges he can anyway.

“Are you going to make me regret it?” Aizawa grumbles, taking his seat next to his friends.

But Mic and Midnight just snicker, unfazed. They’ve had years to get used to his grumpiness after all (and a few drinks to put them in a better mood).

"We have to admit, Aizawa," Midnight smirks up at him. "We had an ulterior motive for asking you to come hang out tonight."

"Don't you always?" He deadpans, lazily chewing at the gyoza they ordered without him. Although he doesn’t show it, he’s pleased to see there’s already a whiskey neat waiting on the table for him.

Midnight rolls her eyes as she slides it over to him, "Yeah, but aside from just getting you to lighten up as usual."

"And getting you to sing karaoke with us, which I still can't believe—"

"You promised me we'd never talk about it again,” Aizawa groans as he rubs his hand over his face. “And that you'd never let me get that drunk again.”

"Awww, come on, buddy," Yamada slings his arm around him. "What's the point of having a good story you can't tell?"

"Fine, but I'll deny it, so no one will believe you anyway."

"I don’t know,” Midnight sing-songs, swirling her margarita in its glass. “With the way you’ve been acting lately, they just might.”

He frowns at her. “Meaning?”

Mic grins, leaning forward with an impish glint in his eye, "Meaning we heard you've been keeping secrets from us, Aizawa."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh really? Then would you care to tell us why you’ve been smiling so much lately?”

“Or who you’ve been trying to look nice for?”

Realizing they weren’t going to let this go easily, Aizawa sighs and takes a deep sip of his whiskey, the familiar warmth sliding down his throat. He's not one to discuss his personal life openly, even with his close friends, but there's something about their teasing that doesn't quite irk him tonight.

Aizawa tilts his head slightly, thoughtfully. "I'm just...happy, I suppose."

“But it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

“Come on, buddy, you can tell us!” Mic nudges him playfully.

“We want to know what’s got our favorite grump acting like a—" Midnight’s hands quickly fly up to cover her gasp.

“Like a what?” Mic gives her a puzzled look, but Aizawa’s shoulders tense up at the glint in her eyes. That look usually meant very bad things for him.

“Like a lovesick puppy!” She grabs Mic’s arm, excitedly slapping it before shaking Aizawa’s shoulders and squealing into his ear. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re in love!”

Aizawa chokes on his drink, and Mic pats him on the back to ease his coughing fit.

"Real smooth, Kayama,” he teases her.

"Sorry, but I couldn't resist," Midnight pouts, the twinkle of amusement still shining bright in her eyes.

Aizawa wipes his mouth and sets his glass down with a sigh. “Well, if you must know…There is…someone I’ve been spending time with.”

"Someone!" His friends chorus, delighted.

Mic nudges him gently. “Well? Don’t leave us in suspense!”

"Who is it? Do we know them?" Midnight leans forward, giggling.

Aizawa looks down at his glass for a moment, contemplating how much he should reveal. Although he feels a little overwhelmed by their excitement and their scrutiny, he also secretly relishes the joy of sharing this part of his life with his closest friends.

It feels good, he thinks, to be around them and to know that they care so much about him. And though he’s never been one to discuss his personal affairs, he trusts these two enough to share the parts of himself he usually kept guarded.

Seeing the expectant looks on their faces, eagerly awaiting his answer, Aizawa's ears turn the faintest shade of red.

“Do you want to meet her?”

_________________________________________

"Had a fun night?" You greet your boyfriend with a hug when he shows up at your door well past a reasonable hour.

You don't miss the small smile on his face when he takes off his shoes. "Actually, I did. But Yamada and Kayama were pretty insistent on meeting you."

"You told them about me?" you respond, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves.

He nods, not quite meeting your gaze. "I think they'd like you."

"Really?" You plop down on the couch with him and stretch your legs atop his lap.

"Yeah," He gently grazes your thigh. "They were wondering why I've been acting so differently lately."

"Like what?"

"Apparently I'm smiling more and acting nicer and" — He air quotes — “Stopped looking homeless."

You laugh. "And what did you say?"

He shrugs, “That I guess my girlfriend just makes me really happy.”

“Awww,” you pat his cheek playfully. “What’s next? You gonna tell me you’re in love with me or something?”

"Yes? I thought it was obvious?"

"What?" Your heart skips a beat at his nonchalant admission.

“Hmm?” He looks over, and seeing the evident surprise on your face makes Aizawa chuckle. "I thought I'd been making it pretty clear, but I suppose I should say it outright. Yes, I'm in love with you."

Your heart flutters at his words, a warmth spreading through you. "Well, for someone who's known for being so straightforward, you sure took your time saying that."

He brushes a strand of hair from your face and leaves a soft, lingering kiss on your temple. “I’ll say it as many times as you want to hear it, baby.”

You lean in closer, your lips almost touching his. “Alright,” you look up at him with a sleepy smile and half-lidded eyes. “I’m waiting.”

"I love you," he whispers, his voice low and tender. He places a gentle kiss on your nose. “I love you,” and then another on your cheeks…“I love you.” Before gently brushing his lips against yours, cupping your jaw so you can’t help but gaze deeply into his dark, smoky eyes before he finally closes the distance between you.

“Mhhm.” You smile, contentment washing over you like a gentle wave. "I love you, too, baby."

#aizawa shouta #bnha shouta aizawa #shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa x reader #mha aizawa #bnha aizawa #aizawa sensei #eraserhead #aizawa imagine #aizawa shouta imagine #aizawa shouta x you #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa shouta x y/n #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #chloe writes #chloe's fics

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gottaluvharry · 8 months

Text

family

carlos sainz jr x pregnant!reader

summary: your son has a few questions about why his little sister is in your belly, and carlos is happy to explain

———————————

Lazy mornings with your little family were your favorite. You smiled to yourself as you woke to the hushed whispers of your husband and your son. As you turn to face the other side of the bed, you’re met with 2 pairs of brown puppy dog eyes and 2 identical smiles.

“Buenos dias, mama!” good morning mom your son screeched, proud of himself for using Spanish. “Buenos dias baby” you say through a smile. He latches on to your neck and you feel Carlos’ hand rubbing patterns on your stomach. “Morning hermosa” beautiful he says going in for a kiss. “How is little girl?” he asks. “Sleeping I think. She must be tired after all the kicking she did last night” you groan, recalling the many hours you were woken due to the relentless kicking in your stomach. “lo lamento, se amable con mami” i’m sorry, be nice to mommy he says leaning to talk to his unborn daughter. You just laugh and shake your head at the pout he has on his face, guiding him up by his chin to give him another kiss.

“Papa,” your little boy starts, breaking you and Carlos apart. “How did baby get in mommy’s belly?” he asks as he puts his hand over Carlos’ on your stomach. “Well hijo” son Carlos starts. “Me and mommy love each other, and we made your sister together because we love each other” he says, hoping it’s enough to settle your sons curiosity. “Like when you and mommy make pancakes together?” he asks, now moving to sit in his fathers lap. “No, not like when we make pancakes” he laughs. “He is just made out of love, baby. When 2 people love each other so much and want a little baby like you, they will make one. That’s all I can tell you” he says, avoiding a heavier subject. “But mommy, did it hurt when baby went in your tummy?” he now turns to you with fear in his eyes over the thought of you hurting. “No buddy it didn’t hurt” you assure him, ruffling his hair; but you don’t miss the smirk Carlos sends your way remembering the night in question. “So why does baby stay in mommy’s belly for so long?” he asks, now turning to look at Carlos for the answer. “That’s just where they grow buddy. Babies need lots of space to grow and the only place there is enough room is in a mommy’s tummy” he responds. “Oh” he hums, taking in all the information he’s learning. “But how does baby come out?” he goes on, his eyes lighting up when he gets another question. “When he is ready to come out me and Mommy will go to the hospital and the doctors will help her come out” Carlos answers. “But does it hurt?” your son asks, once again scared of you being hurt. “Only a little bit” you say, “but it is worth it because then we get to hold your little sister”.

As your son continues asking questions and Carlos continues tracing patterns across your stomach, you can’t help but smile at the little life you’ve created. Who knew one bed could hold so much love on a random morning.

—————————————

hope you guys enjoyed this short little blurb:) sorry it’s been so long since i’ve posted, there was a lot going on and then i started school but in honor of Carlos’ birthday AND pole today i figured i’d post something!! might clear my drafts out and post some more in the next week or so<3

also my inbox is open, so request anything if you have any ideas! or if you just want to talk to someone, feel free!

okay last thing, thank you all for the support, it’s so special to me to have people with the same interests reading and liking my work, i want to give you all hugs<333

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puckinghischier · 23 days

Text

Locksmith - Nico Hischier

nico hischier x fem!reader, jack hughes x platonic!reader, luke hughes x platonic!reader

summary: reader has been friends with the hughes brothers for years, and when she finally arrives in Jersey to move in with her best friends, she finds herself locked out and stuck in the hallway, with only the neighbor to save her

notes: this is my first time ever writing ANYTHING, so this could be terrible. BUT it’s really only a peek at where i want the story to go so possible series if anyone actually wants to read it??? 🫣

part 2, part 3, part 4

[2.4k]

You know, three suitcases didn’t seem like enough when you were packing, but trying to roll three suitcases down the long, carpeted hallway is proving to be one of the most difficult tasks you’ve ever had to do in your life.

Seriously, the building didn’t look this long from the outside.

After a trek that felt like miles, you reach the door you’ve been scanning for, only to find it locked tight. “I swear to god I’m literally going to kill them,” you said to yourself, out loud. “They tell the doorman to let me in, have me bring all this luggage up by myself, only to leave the fucking door locked. Why did I expect anything less?”

Grabbing your phone, you dial Jack’s number, silently begging him to pick up. You know he’s at a charity thing with Luke, but surely he’s allowed to answer his phone, right? Wrong. His phone goes straight to voicemail, twice. Classic Jack. You know there’s not any point to calling Luke, he always leaves his phone during charity events in order to connect with the kids better. Usually you find that endearing and admirable, but right now you wish that he was maybe just a bit more selfish.

“Well, I guess I live in the hallway now. Hope the carpet is plush enough to sleep on.” You’ve always had a habit of talking out loud to yourself when you’re nervous or, in this case, annoyed. It helps you work through your thoughts and not dwell on anything for too long. Purges your emotions a bit.

“Trust me, it’s not. Speaking from experience here, you’d be much better off sleeping on the couches in the lobby” a voice startles you.

“Oh my god,” you jumped. You turned around to see the door to the apartment behind you wide open, a dark haired man leaning against the doorway, smile on his face.

“I- how long have you been standing there?” you asked, hand on your chest trying to calm your racing heart.

“Long enough to know you’re thinking about sleeping on the carpet, not long enough to know why,” he states, humor lacing his tone.

“Well, if you must know, my roommates left the door locked, no spare key, and won’t answer their phones. So, until they get home, the hallway is my new bedroom,” you surveyed the stranger.

He was tall, much taller than you were. He wore a simple white t-shirt, black sweatpants, and a backwards hat on his head, hiding what looked like hair that was in need of a trim based on how much it was spilling out the sides of the hat. But what made you stop in your tracks were his eyes. You don’t think you had ever truly understood the phrase ‘warm eyes’ until now. They were the most spectacular shade of brown you had ever seen in your life. And they were filled with amusement. Amusement directed towards you, since he had just heard you talking to yourself like a madwoman.

“Ahh, you must be Y/N! I thought Jack said you weren’t coming until tomorrow?” He asked, understanding washing over his face.

“I caught an earlier flight and was going to surprise them. However, Jack texted me earlier this morning and told me he and Luke had to go to a charity skate, so I had to tell them I was coming early. He told me he’d leave the door unlocked so I could go ahead and settle in, but, as you can see, they did not,” you explained, only slightly shocked Jack told his neighbor about you. That boy sure liked to talk, yapping anyone’s ear off who would listen.

“Well, lucky for you, I happen to have a spare key you can use,” the stranger tells you, walking out of your view for a brief moment.

“Should I be concerned that the neighbor has a spare key? Does he just go around handing out spares left and right?” you ask, starting to feel a bit awkward standing among all of your luggage.

“No, not exactly,” the man laughs. “He gave me a spare after one too many nights of me hauling him home from the bar only to realize he didn’t have his key with him.”

He walks out of his apartment, a small golden key in hand. The stranger, whose name you forgot to ask, unlocks the door and stands back with a warm smile on his face.

“There, you just got upgraded to a real bedroom,” he recalls, standing in the now open doorway.

“I would say thank you, but I’m still a little concerned that a strange man just had to let me into my own apartment,” you (semi) joke, attempting to gather your suitcases.

“I’m Nico,” he explains, taking the suitcase you were struggling to heave into the apartment.

“Oh, you’re the captain!” you exclaim, recalling all the times Jack and Luke had talked about their beloved leader to you. “Jack never mentioned you lived next door!”

“That’s me. I only just moved in about a week ago. Was looking for a place closer to the rink and Jack told me about his previous neighbors moving out, so I decided to move in. Nice having them just across the hall. They’re like the little brothers I never had,” Nico pronounces brothers like ‘brudders’. You nearly forgot Jack had mentioned he was from Switzerland, too distracted to have picked up on his accent before now.

“Yeah, they seem to have that effect on people, huh?” you understood the sentiment behind Nico’s words all too well.

You’ve known Jack, Luke, and Quinn since you were all kids. Your family owned the lake house next to theirs when you were growing up. You spent every summer with them up until Quinn got drafted to the Canucks a few years back. Then Jack to the Devils, then Luke following Jack. Your families grew incredibly close to one another over the years, though. Trips to visit the other outside of the summer months became a regular occurrence. Trips to watch their hockey games, traveling to watch Luke play college hockey, and attending their drafts. These three were the brothers you never had but always wanted. They treated you like their own sister from the very start.

“They especially have the annoying aspect of younger brothers perfected,” Nico replied, both of you fully inside your new apartment now.

“God, don’t I know it,” you laughed.

Looking up, you finally took in your new home. Geez, this place is nice. It shouldn’t surprise you, really, with how much Jack and Luke both make, but the apartment is like, really nice. Definitely out of your price range, by likely a couple thousand dollars. You suddenly feel bad that Jack refused to let you pay any share of the rent. You had fought him on it, several times. He insisted that they had the spare bedroom anyways, and they had no trouble making rent as is. You demanded that you contribute in some way, so you were now tasked with grocery shopping and cooking for two professional hockey players. Honestly, after seeing the meal plans the team nutritionist gave them, it might be a fair trade.

It's only as you look over towards the kitchen at the thought of having to go grocery shopping soon, you realize Nico is still there. He’s just standing there, watching you take in your surroundings, lost in your own thoughts.

“Well, thanks for not letting me waste away in the hallway. And helping me with my luggage. I think someone from TSA filled my suitcases with rocks or something. I swear it didn’t seem like I had that much stuff when I left home,” you explain, not knowing what else to say to the stranger.

“No problem, seriously. I feel like I’m over here more than I’m at my own apartment, anyways. Jack is always calling me to come over or insisting that we have to watch game film together after practice. It’s a little concerning how obsessed he is with hockey. I mean, I’m the captain of the team and I feel like I spend less time thinking about work than he does,” Nico chuckles, not seeming to want to end the conversation just yet.

“God, don’t even get me started. I’ve had to listen to him ramble on and on about hockey for years. I’m just glad someone else finally understands my pain.”

“You know, the only other subject he seems to talk about as much as hockey is you. And his family, but according to him the two are one in the same. Every time I’ve seen him this week, which is nearly every day, he’s updated me on the countdown to when you were set to arrive. He’s seriously excited to have you here. They both are. It’s nice to finally put a face to the name,” Nico reveals.

You and Jack had always been the closest out of the three brothers. With your age falling directly in-between Quinn and Jack, you and Jack had the most common interests as a kid. Quinn was always trying to be the grown one, not concerning himself with whatever you and Jack were interested in while growing up. As teens, Quinn was always training or going off by himself to do who knows what. Luke was still slightly too young to go off with you and Jack alone, so it was usually just the two of you embarking on your own little adventures on those summer days. Once Jack got his boating license neither of your parents would let Luke go out on the water without them. So, more often than not, you and Jack would take the boat to God knows where in the middle of the lake and spend the whole day there, not returning until after dark. Those days were your favorite to think back on. The conversations between you and Jack never ceased to flow. From hockey, to your boy troubles back home, to whatever girl Jack wanted to impress that summer, to what your lives would look like one day, to always vowing to be in each other’s lives, even if he became a big shot hockey player that lived on the other side of the world.

“Yeah, well, he always has been the sentimental type, no matter how hard he tries to deny it,” you chuckle, a fond smile finding its way onto your face.

“Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you around, Y/N. If you ever find yourself faced with sleeping in the hallway again, you know where to find me,” Nico drops his eye into a wink, walking over to the door and opening it once again.

“Thank goodness someone around here understands the severity of the situation at hand. Me and my back thank you,” you wave your arms around for dramatic effect, walking to take hold of the open door as he steps into the hallway and back into his own doorway.

“Welcome to Jersey. We’re glad to have you here,” Nico turns to face you after he’s back in his own apartment, a genuine smile settled on his face.

“Thanks, Nico. It’s good to be here,” you respond, matching his smile, thinking of how well it suits him.

———————————————————————————

“Y/n!!!! Where are you!?” you hear, currently elbow deep in suitcase number two, trying your hardest to unpack everything. You really don’t know how you managed to fit so much clothing in three suitcases. Or how you ended up with so many clothes to begin with. You stand up and start making your way to the door of your bedroom, hand on the doorknob as it flies open, revealing a very excited looking Jack and Luke. You suddenly feel your body flying forward, face hitting a clothed shoulder.

“Ow! Jack, that was my nose!” you tried to say, but everything was muffled because of how tight your body was being held in place. Seriously, he acts like he hadn’t seen you in years. You were literally here a few months ago to visit and arrange plans to move in. Leave it to Jack to always bring the dramatics.

“Just a few more seconds, I missed you,” he mumbles, squeezing even tighter, if that was even possible.

“Jack, no fair! Quit hogging her, I missed her too!”

“Luke, please save me. I might suffocate soon if he doesn’t let go,” you beg the younger brother.

“Oh my god, will you two quit being dramatic? Can’t a man be excited his best friend is finally moving in after months of waiting?” Jack whines as he releases his hold on you.

“No one said you couldn’t be excited, Rowdy, but suffocating me two minutes into living together might not be the best way to show your excitement,” you say, smoothing out your sweatshirt and making your way towards the open arms of the younger, yet much larger, brother.

“Oh Moose, how have you been? Have you been getting enough sleep?” You question, always worried about his wellbeing, especially these past few weeks.

“Yeah, m’alright. A little tired, but we have some home games lined up soon. I’ll catch up on sleep then,” he responds, squeezing you a little tighter at the end of his sentence.

Luke’s rookie year has been a rollercoaster not only for him, but for you as well. You worry about the youngest Hughes, having such a soft spot for the boy. You know he’s talented, and you know he’ll do well, but you can see the exhaustion on his face and in his actions. You know he carries the weight of the foul comments he receives about his gameplay, and you try your hardest to take some of it off of his shoulders.

“Alright, but now that I’m here just know I’ll be holding you to that,” a stern look on your face.

Turning back around towards Jack, you find him surveying your room, looking over the mess you created in the few hours it took for them to return home.

“So, are you going to spend the rest of the day unpacking, or can we go have some fun and celebrate the fact that you live in New Jersey now?” Jack spoke, looking at the pictures you decided to display, most of them pictures of you and the brothers throughout the years.

“I mean, I was hoping to get as much done today as I can, but I’m guessing you’ve already made plans, huh?”

“You would be correct. We’re leaving at 8, be ready,” is all Jack says, before dragging Luke out of your room.

#nhl oneshot #nhl blurb #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nico hischier #nico hischier blurb #nico hischier fanfic #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier x y/n #nico hischier x you #luke hughes #jack hughes #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier one shot #new jersey devils #hockey imagine #hockey

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flemingsfreckles · 23 days

Text

Better Boyfriend than Him (18+) pt. 5

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Read the 4 previous parts here

Warnings: SMUT (18+) frat boy Jessie vibes, oral sex (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), masturbation, sexting but not really

WC: 5.6k (she’s a little long)

A/N: I got a little carried away and this one ended up a little long.

Jessie 🦖: feel free to dream about me tonight when you go to sleep

Jessie 🦖: or when you’re touching yourself, I don’t mind ;)

Those texts started back at you as you looked at your phone. You couldn’t help but follow both of her texts, about thinking about her while you touched yourself and while you dreamed. You got home and almost immediately moved into your bedroom.

For a second, you debate taking a photo to send to Jessie, show her what she was missing by claiming she doesn’t fuck on the first date. You weren’t sure if that was too forward now that the mood seemed to shift from just sex to something more between the two of you. You decide to meet your idea halfway. You take your phone, open the camera and slide your right hand under your panties, just cupping your hand around yourself, not trying to get yourself off yet.

You snap a photo, before pulling back your phone to admire it. It just showed your bare stomach, starting at just above your belly button showing your hand creeping into your underwear, your legs spread. It’s telling enough without showing her anything too explicit. Without thinking too much about it you put it in a message to Jessie and hit send.

You: glad you don’t mind ;)

Jessie 🦖: holy shit

Jessie 🦖: I should’ve gone against my rule of not fucking on the first date

Jessie 🦖: maybe I can change my dating rules and fuck on the second date

Jessie 🦖: I don’t even date I don’t know why I have “rules”

The last text makes you laugh to yourself. Satisfied with her reaction, you get back to what you were doing. You hook your thumbs into your panties and slide them off your legs. Your hand returns between your legs, you slowly slide a finger between your folds, feeling how wet you had become at the thought of Jessie. She didn’t take much to get you worked up.

A couple minutes and a lot of thoughts about Jessie later, your orgasm takes over, lasting a few seconds, a whisper of Jessie’s name coming from your mouth. Sure, an orgasm was an orgasm but doing it yourself wasn't nearly as satisfying as letting Jessie do it.

Having followed one of her two instructions to think about her, you figured you may as well follow her second text and fall asleep thinking of her. Getting up you move to the bathroom, washing your hands before getting ready for bed.

Before you climb into bed you send her a quick goodnight text, you don’t get an immediate response and assume she has already fallen asleep. When you lay your head down on the pillow, thoughts of Jessie fill your mind. You wished she was next to you, her arms wrapped around you, holding you tight. Instead of listening to your fan, you wish it was the sound of her breathing putting you to sleep.

The next morning you’re woken up by a call from Jessie.

“Hi.” You’re half asleep when you answer the phone, voice still full of sleep. You clear your throat after hearing how your voice sounded.

“Hey, want coffee?” She sounded far too awake on a weekend, as if she had been up for hours already. It was Saturday so you both didn’t have any commitments to attend to. You glanced at the time, seeing it was still early part of you wanted to go back to sleep, fall back into your warm bed and into your dreams of Jessie. But seeing the girl in person would be even better, even if it meant dragging yourself out from the warmth of bed.

“You already know the answer to that.” You never turned down coffee.

“Okay. Can I pick you up in 20?”

“Is this your way of asking me on a date Fleming?”

“Maybe? Is that okay?” Her voice changes as she asks for confirmation.

“Yes, that’s perfect. I’ll see you in a bit.” Before you let her respond to you, you hang up and the line goes dead and you scramble out of bed throwing on a pair of jeans and pulling out a sweatshirt. It was cold out and you wanted to just throw on sweatpants and you would have on a regular trip to coffee with Jessie. Except now this was a date, you had to look nice.

You get distracted by brushing your teeth and hair, tidying up your room a bit. You end up forgetting to finish getting dressed. You had half a mind to make your bed, knowing there was a chance you’d be bringing back a guest later.

You hear, said expected guest, come through the door as you were still getting ready. Cursing yourself for not being ready you continue to rush around cleaning while yelling a greeting to her.

“Hi Jess!”

“Hi, can I come in?” You can hear her voice coming through your bedroom door. You open the door instead of answering. You’re only half dressed but you don’t care. Her eyes draw to your chest for a second where you had on a simple bra, nothing compared to the one you had worn the other day to tease her, she then looks up to your eyes. She realizes she was caught looking and just gives you a smile and greeting.

“Hi.”

You raise an eyebrow at her, “Are you saying hi to me or to my boobs?”

“Who says it can’t be both?” She argues your point. She’s wearing a red flannel over a plain sweatshirt and jeans. You half wish she had shown up in sweats and given you an excuse to also put them on but you also were pleased to see she was treating this as a date.

You grab your shirt and finish pulling it over your head and down your torso. “Considering someone doesn’t fuck on the first date, I don’t think you have the right to say hi to them.” You finish by throwing on your sweatshirt and walk past her out of your room and into the living room.

The two of you decide against walking to the coffee shop, usually you would if it wasn't too far but with the temperature and wind, you decided to hop in Jessie’s car and drive. A few minutes into the drive, Jessie’s hand comes across the center console, finding its place on your thigh. That’s new, you think to yourself but you don’t comment fearing you’ll scare her into moving her hand.

You walk into the coffee shop, it’s quiet, the majority of college students not yet awake at this hour on a Saturday. You both ordered your usual coffees, Jessie adding an extra shot of espresso to hers before offering to pay. It wasn’t uncommon for her to buy your coffee or for you to buy hers, you both traded off paying, it was easier than ordering separately. Knowing this was a date made watching her offer to pay feel different.

Watching Jessie as she sat across from you you could tell something was up with her. She wasn’t one to add extra caffeine into her coffee besides the standard, claiming anymore made her feel like she was vibrating. She usually wasn’t one to be up before 10 on the weekends. It was noticeable she was zoning out as well, staring off behind your head for periods of time before snapping back to focus on the two of you. She leaned back in her chair covering her mouth as she let out a big yawn.

“What's up with you today? Late night fucking your other girlfriend yesterday?” The sentence comes out more serious than you intended, your attempt at sarcasm completely missing.

“My other girlfriend? Are you claiming to be my first girlfriend?” She’s got one eyebrow raised at your sentence.

“Um. I didn't mean it like that,” You definitely didn't mean to call yourself her girlfriend, sure it had crossed your mind but now was not the time for that conversation. “I just meant that we’re dating.” That didn't help the point you were trying to make, you realize how much of a fool you were making of yourself. “Not that we're dating, like officially dating, but we’ve done on dates, well one date, besides today, this is two. I just meant, it was a joke.”

“Okayyy.” Jessie looks as if she's about to laugh. “Are you good?”

“Perfect, just we’re not girlfriends, I didn't mean for it to come off that way, I know we aren't anything officially.” If this was happening with anyone besides Jessie you would have ran out of the coffee shop by now and never shown your face again.

“We could be?” The words come out of Jessie’s mouth as both a question and a statement. For a second you think you must have heard her wrong. There’s no way miss ‘i dont date’ was already willing to commit to the girlfriend label after one official date.

“What?”

“Yeah that's actually what kept me up last night. It was you, not my other girlfriend.” she kicks you softly under the table. “I was just thinking. Thinking about you, well us.” She pauses, taking a sip of coffee, you can tell she has more to say. Staying silent you just watch her, giving her the space to talk.

“I’m going to need help though, I still really don't know what I’m doing as far as dating. I can't promise that I’ll be perfect, but I couldn't stop thinking about you last night and I haven't had that happen in years. And I’m still scared, not of you, just of how badly she messed me up, and I know you're not her, but I think I’m ready to try again.”

You knew what Jessie meant, bringing up her ex girlfriend and how she had messed her up. For the first few months of your friendship you never heard much about the girl, Lauren. Jessie would occasionally reference her ex, but never giving much detail. She finally spilled all of the details to you on the couch after a long night of drinking. Jessie told you all about the girl, how she was her first everything. First proper date, first kiss, first relationship, first sexual experience, first person she brought home to meet her parents, first and only person she had said I love you to, first person she pictured a future with, and ultimately her first heartbreak.

Lauren was older by a year and when she went off to college, they agreed to do long distance. It lasted for a couple months, going well, facetime calls and texts keeping the couple in touch and happily in a relationship. Or at least that's what Jessie thought until she took a surprise visit to see her then girlfriend. Jessie told you how Lauren had not seemed super excited to see her but she was still young and naive and thought nothing of it. She noticed Lauren’s behavior was different but figured that's just what happens when you go to college and get a taste of adulthood. Jessie only learned the truth when the two found themselves in bed later that day and Jessie removed Lauren’s shirt to find her then girlfriend covered in hickeys. It quickly came to light that Lauren had been cheating on Jessie since quite literally the first day she arrived at school. Their relationship ended following a screaming match between the two, breaking Jessie’s heart and wrecking her ability to trust people and future partners.

When she went to college a year later, Jessie wanted nothing to do with relationships, only wanting to have the same “fun” her ex had behind her back for months. She started sleeping around, enjoying her no strings attached lifestyle for the first few years, until now.

“I don’t expect you to be perfect.” Reaching across the table you put her hand on hers. You didn't want her to think you had insanely high expectations for this relationship. “I expect you to be how you already are, that's why I like you in the first place, because of how you are already, you don't need to change anything just because we change this from friendship to relationship. Except maybe more kissing than when we were just friends.”

“Okay.”

“So are you and I-”

“Does that me we-”

You both start your sentences only to fall silent once the other starts talking. You just sit and look at each other, waiting for the other to speak.

“Go ahead.” Jessie gestures toward you.

“So are you and I, like, dating then? Are we girlfriends?” This felt like the least romantic way you could be asking her to be your girlfriend but you weren’t sure Jessie would be interested in some form of big gesture to ask her.

“That’s what I was going to ask.” Part of you is relieved hearing she was on the same page. She didn’t date, you didn’t want to make her feel pressured.

“Is two dates too soon? I mean for someone who doesn’t date, that seems fast.”

“I don’t know, is it too fast?” Jessie gives you a shrug when she asks.

“I don’t know. It’s confusing. Because I already know you so well, so it feels different.” It was true you didn’t have to do all the pleasantries like you normally would on the first few dates. You didn’t have to ask if she had siblings, where she grew up, what major she was, what her favorite food was. All those details were already ingrained in your brain and that was nice but it was throwing off the usual dating timeline.

“I mean you said we could just do this how we want to, trial and error and all.”

“I’m gonna let you take the lead, if you want to make this formal, say we’re dating, that we’re a couple, I’m comfortable with that. But I’m also comfortable if you’re not ready for that, that’s okay, we can just keep doing what we’re doing.”

Jessie takes a second to ponder your options. Her hands spin her empty coffee cup around, she’s looking down at it. It’s as if she zones out for a minute, her eyes not blinking as she stares down. After what feels like an hour to you, she gives her head a shake and blinks a couple of times before looking up at you from across the table.

“I’m ready to make it formal.” She gives a soft nod with her response.

“Okay.”

You both sit, grinning at each other from across the table. You’re filled with a warm, glowing feeling looking at her. Someone who was just your best friend a few weeks ago had suddenly become so much more than that, it was perfect.

You finish up for coffee, putting out your hand to take Jessie’s empty from her. You throw out your empty cups and return to the table.

“Do you want to come over for the rest of the day?” It’s silly to ask, Jessie probably already assumed she’d be coming over like she usually did but you felt the need to ask her anyway.

With a nod and a quiet “yes” Jessie stands up, grabbing her keys from the table and follows you out of the coffee shop and to her car. Almost immediately after sitting down in the car, Jessie’s hand is back on your thigh, this time it sits more on the inside and higher up. Her hand on the ride to coffee had sat in a more appropriate location, more of a reassuring touch. Now her hand gripped your thigh in a more possessive, bordering sexual manner. You could feel her fingers flex and tighten on you as she drove.

When you got home you told Jessie you were going to change, not wanting to be in jeans all day. You throw on some soft shorts, made out of an old pair of sweatpants that you had cut. They weren’t the most flattering for your figure but they were comfortable. When you emerge from your bedroom Jessie is on the couch. She looks up at you, giving you a glance head to toe and a quick smile. You move over to the couch, picking up a book on the way over.

You sat in a comfortable silence with Jessie on the couch, your calves and feet placed comfortably in her lap. She sat on her phone, probably playing some mind numbing game, while you read. It wasn’t anything special but having the peaceful morning with her was the best start to a weekend you had had in a while.

With a sigh Jessie put down her phone, her hands coming to rest on your shins instead. Peering over the book you look at her, confused if the sigh she gave was one of content or unrest. She looked relaxed, looking forward out the window, a small smile on her face, so you went back to reading. You were only able to focus for a couple more paragraphs before you felt her hands start to move.

Not wanting to give her the satisfaction of how easily she could affect you, you kept your eyes down at the text in front of you. You weren’t able to actually focus on the words but you could pretend for a bit. Jessie’s hands crept up, making it past your knees and onto your thighs. She was having to lean over slightly in your direction to keep moving her hand upward.

She shifts again, taking away one hand and leaving the one closest to you, her movement allowing her to have even further reach, dipping between your shorts and your skin.

“Jessie,” you say as her hand creeps up your thigh even higher, her fingers finding where the edge of your underwear sat in the crease of your thigh and hip.

“What?” She gives you a smile playing dumb.

“You know what, don’t play dumb with me, I know you’re trying to tease me, so just do it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” As she says it she lets her hand slide into the inner most part of your thigh, her pinky moves out to slide across your core with feather light pressure you barely even notice her movement.

“Your girlfriend is asking you to fuck her, are you going to do something or not?”

Uncharacteristically, Jessie’s face turns bright red at your comment. Her hand freezes against you.

“Um, yeah, right.” You notice an uncertainty in her voice, her eyes no longer meet yours, she looks off behind your head to the wall.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah just, girlfriend, isn't something I’m used to hearing.”

“If you’re having second thoughts about this, we really can wait on labeling it Jessie. I don't mind waiting. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s just new for us. Not bad, just different. I haven’t heard that word used since… Lauren.” Jessie lets her name fall from her lips as if it’s poisoned, she says it quickly and quietly.

You cringe slightly at the mention of her ex, not really an ideal thing to be brought up when she’s got her hand touching your pussy through your panties.

Jessie must have noticed your reaction to the mention of Lauren. “Sorry I don’t mean to keep bringing her up, it’s just the only comparison I have.”

“No I know, it’s okay, I understand, just I don’t want to necessarily hear about another girl you’ve fucked while your hand is between my legs.”

“I’m sorry, let me make it up to you?” As she says the words she moves her head, letting her lips meet your neck, placing open mouth kisses down from just behind your ear to where your neck meets your shoulder. Your mouth falls open at the feeling of hers on your neck, a breathy sigh leaving your body.

Jessie stands up from the couch, pulling you to stand with her. She turns to face you and picks you up, her hands roughly gripping the back of your thighs as she moves the two of you to your bedroom. She places you softly on the bed, climbing to place herself above you.

She’s hovering close, holding herself up on her forearms so her face is just inches from yours. She hovers above you for just a second before sitting back and moving her hands to your shirt.

“Off?” You loved that even though it was very clear you wanted her, Jessie still took the time to check with you before she would undress you or do anything to your body.

You sit up, throwing your arms up above your head to let Jessie know you wanted your top off. You get your arms out of the shirt and while Jessie pulls it over your head, your own hand moves to your back finding your bra clasp and releasing it. You slide the straps down your arms. Jessie’s hand comes up, resting the valet of your breasts and she gives you a push, making you lay back down. She moves her hand to cup your chest, her thumb and index finger making their way to your nipple, giving it a soft touch before a firm pinch. Her other hand moves to support her body and she moves back to being face to face with you, she just looks at you, a cocky smile on her face.

“Kiss me!” Sick of her teasing you decide to just tell her what you want. She obliges, bringing her lips to yours in a searing kiss. It doesn’t take long for her tongue to brush against your lips. You feel her grind her hips against yours, causing a moan to find its way out between kisses.

Wanting to take a bit of control for once, you gently bite on Jessie’s bottom lip, pulling away from the kiss, her lip still between your teeth. You give it a firmer bite before releasing it, letting it pop back against her teeth. Her fingers pinch your nipple harder out of reaction to your bite.

You open your eyes to see her surprised reaction.

“That was hot.” Her eyes are wide as she stares down at you, her own teeth now biting her bottom lip.

“Just giving you a taste of your own medicine.” You try to give her your best innocent look, as if you didn’t know you were turning her on.

She switches her hands, giving your other nipple the same treatment. Feeling a loss from her hand, you bring your own hand up to your chest, mimicking her actions on the nipple she had abandoned.

“No.” Jessie is quick to grab your wrist, pinning it to the pillow above your head. “You don’t get to touch right now, let me please you.” She moves down so her lips brush your ear. “You can show me how you touch yourself another time.” That sends a wave of heat through your body, the thought of showing Jessie how you had touched yourself all the times you thought of her. You get lost in the thought of that fantasy for a minute before you’re brought back to reality with Jessie’s mouth closing around your right nipple, her hand still playing with your left. She stays focused on your chest, biting, squeezing, kissing, sucking until you’re practically thrusting up at her with your hips, desperate for contact. You knew when she took off your shorts there would be a noticeable wetness in your underwear, you could feel it dripping from where you needed Jessie the most.

“Someone’s getting impatient.” Jessie laughs to herself, you give her a scowl, but she gives in, her hands finding where your shorts sat on your hips and she hooks her fingers in the waistband, looking up at you for consent. You lift your hips, nonverbally telling her to take them off. Much to your disappointment she only starts to remove your shorts. She has them just at your knees when you figure you may as well ask.

“Take it all off please.”

“Wow, really impatient aren’t we?”

“Yes, I need you Jessie.”

You hear a soft mutter of “fuck” leave Jessie mouth, you’re not entirely sure she meant to say it, more that it was the reaction to you using her name. You’re not sure she’s going to give in, her hand stalling where they held your shorts. She starts moving again, finishing pulling off your shorts. Before you can protest that she left your panties, the thumbs are in the waistband of them, pulling them down quickly.

Once she finishes removing your underwear she sits back. Her hands find your inner thighs and she spreads your legs, leaving you fully exposed under her gaze. As if she hadn’t just exposed your dripping pussy, she looks away from where you desperately needed her. Jessie’s hands come up to hold you right above your waist. Her thumbs caress the skin where they sat, rubbing back and forth. Her gaze is all over your body, looking at every inch of your exposed skin.

“You look so pretty like this.” You feel a blush start at your cheeks and move down your chest as she studies your naked body. She’d seen you like this before, but it felt like the first time she was really looking at you, seeing you. There was a different admiration in her eyes, mixed with the lust you had come to know. “All mine.”

“Only yours.” You tell her when her eyes make their way up from your navel to your chest and to meet your own gaze.

Jessie pulls her hand from your waist, letting her fingers trail a path down to the apex of your legs. Despite your legs already being open, you spread them further, encouraging Jessie to touch you.

“Fuck, baby.” The noise comes out deep and raspy from her mouth as Jessie’s fingers finally feel between your legs where your arousal had pooled. Jessie then looks at you, her fingers stalling their movements, her voice returning to her regular voice, not the same husky voice form before. “Is baby okay? We didn’t really talk about that.”

“Yeah, I like it.” You did, you liked it when she called you her’s a second ago and you liked the pet names.

Jessie fingers get back to their movements. She moves two fingers down to your entrance, gathering some of your slick and pulling it upward before she starts circling your clit. Her touch has you throwing back your head against the pillow.

“You’re so fucking wet.” Jessie hums in your ear and her fingers continue to tease your clit, circling around it and down to your opening.

“All because of you babe.” You groan back in her ear. It was true, you were never this wet when you touched yourself, or when anyone else had ever touched you, you were only like this with her, because of her.

Each time she would move her fingers toward your entrance she’d dip into you, just barley letting her fingers inside before she’d pull back and move up to where you were most sensitive.

Getting impatient again, when her hand makes the move back down to your entrance you try grabbing her hand, trying to push her fingers further inside of you.

“What are you doing?” Jessie stalls her hand, she was stronger than you and as much as you were trying, you weren’t able to overpower her and her fingers remained just outside.

“You’re taking too long.”

“You could’ve just said something.” You rolled your eyes at her, you knew she was joking, you hadn’t explicitly said you wanted her fingers in you but you figured the displeased moans every time she pulled back and the bucking of your hips when she’d get close was enough to give the hint.

You go to make a smart comment back but as you open your mouth, two of Jessie’s fingers slide into you, she pushes in until her fingers are fully inside. Instead of a sentence, a loud moan comes out.

“Is that what you wanted?” Jessie moves so that she’s laying between your legs now, her cheek resting on the inside of your thigh, her eyes look between where her fingers were buried in your pussy and where your mouth was hung open, your eyes closed in pleasure.

“Mmhm.” The murmur is all you’re able to get out, overwhelmed from the sudden sensation of her fingers opening you.

Jessie begins to move her fingers the same methodical curling she had done to you before. Already worked up from the teasing you knew it wouldn’t be long before you were clenching on her fingers. You have your eyes closed, focusing on the feeling of her fingers, both trying not to cum too quickly but also wanting to let the feeling fully take over your body.

With your eyes closed you don’t see Jessie moving to place her mouth on your clit, you only feel it once her tongue is lapping against you. Instinctively your hand moves to her head, gripping her hair as you sit up slightly to look at her. Her eyes are closed, as if she’s fully concentrating on making you feel good. The sight of her so focused between your legs makes your stomach clench and you feel yourself tighten on her fingers.

“Jessie, please.”

She hums in response against your pussy, that’s all you need as you feel your legs tense and your grip in her hair tightening.

“Fuck babe.” You groan as you cum on her fingers and lips. Her fingers continue pumping inside of you, working you through your orgasm until your own fingers come to push on her wrist silently telling her you were done. She slowly pulls her fingers from you, you watch as a string on your arousal connects them to you for a second before it breaks. Looking at you then to her fingers Jessie spreads them slightly, you can see the wetness that connect her fingers. She makes sure you’re watching as she brings her fingers to her lips, sucking them slowly between her lips.

It’s an erotic sight, your newly named girlfriend, sucking off her own fingers that were covered in your orgasm. It stirred something deep inside of you. You wanted to fuck Jessie, you wanted to return the favor, you wanted to be sucking her arousal off your fingers, but you weren’t sure how.

You weren’t sure how to ask, and even if you found the courage to ask, you weren’t sure what to do. You had always thought about sleeping with a girl, girls were hot, you were attracted to women, you just had never gotten around to acting on it, the fear of being considered a “virgin” as far as sleeping with women had kept you from trying any casual hookups. But now you were dating Jessie, that was different than a casual hookup.

While you were too busy hyper fixated on your lack of sexual experience with women, Jessie had made her way up to lay next to you. She was watching your face and you were staring off to the wall.

She placed a kiss to your forehead. You could smell the strong smell of yourself still on her face. She pulled back looking down at you. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you thinking about?” Here it was the perfect time to bring it up, she was asking, there was no pressure, no expectations.

“Nothing.” That was the easy route, not telling her, letting your concerns and fears stay in the back of your mind. You could fake like you knew what you were doing.

“Seriously? You weren’t allowed to lie to me when we were just friends, we’re dating now so you’re really not allowed to lie to me.” She knew you too well, knew when you were lying, she knew when you were overthinking.

“Are you ever going to want me to touch you?” For the second time today your words come out not in the way you wanted. You meant to ask differently, in a way that was less accusatory, less hostile.

“Oh.” Jessie looks like she regrets pushing on the lie before. “I, yes, I just, I haven’t let anyone touch me besides…” you get the hint that she was referring to Lauren as she lets her sentence trail off.

“Oh.” You don’t mean for it to come off negatively, that was just your initial reaction.

“Yeah, and then after her I just, I didn’t want to trust anyone with my body like that again, I was, I’m worried about giving that vulnerability to someone just for them to ruin me again, to betray my trust.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” It’s all you can think to say. You now felt like a dick for wanting to see her naked. While you were too caught up in never having been on the giving side of sapphic sex, here was your girlfriend with more real, genuine concerns.

“It’s okay, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it, I just couldn’t bring myself to. It’s embarrassing.” Her eyes move from your face to the blanket covering the both of you.

You reach a hand out to her cheek. “It’s not embarrassing babe.” You place a kiss on her nose. “We can do this at whatever pace you want, you just tell me.”

“Okay.” Jessie gives you a halfhearted smile.

“I’m going to go shower, is that okay?” You start to move from the bed, still completely naked. You’re about to move into the bathroom when you hear Jessie speak up from behind you.

“Can I join you?”

#jessie fleming #jessie fleming x reader #jessie fleming imagine #jflem #woso imagine #woso x reader #canwnt #portland thorns

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haechvn · 1 year

Text

Sit Down Please (Headcanon) (18+ NSFW)

Pairing: Shuri x F!Reader

Warning: Nasty whoreish good for nothing filth..

Summary/Request: Am I the only one that thinks Shuri would love when reader sits on her face 👀🥵

Word Count: 0.7k+

Author’s Note: Just read you whores. Thank you Anon! <3

Taglist : @melodykisses, @blackhottie25, @tonakings, @coalmistyy, @szalipcombo, @prettyluhlaiiii, @yelenabelovasgf, @callmeoncette, @clqrosmgc, @beautybyfire, @homelessmicechild, @shurisbitch

Translations: Sthandwa = My love

The S in Shuri also stands for seat in case you didn’t know

Her facial structure is so pristine and clean cut. Why you may ask? IT’S BC THAT’S WHERE YOUR COOCHIE IS DESIGNED TO BE

Wants to eat you out in her lab, the throne room (ON THE THRONEEEE), on a ship. Literally everywhere

Don’t think about how Shuri practically begs you every morning to eat you as a part of her breakfast

“Sthandwa, as Princess of Wakanda, I decree that you must place yourself on my face in order for me to truly be able to guide my country in the best way possible. I cannot go without it. ”

Just the thought of her tongue circling your clit gives her more strength than the heart-shaped herb

She loves when you choke her with your pussy, constantly moaning into your pussy and rubbing both of her hands over your ass

Breathing isn’t that important anyways

You could see your juice fall down on the sides of her face and make her jaw glitter omg

She would ask you to wipe it off with your fingers and stick them in your mouth I—

Tugging you further and further into her mouth as if she is treasure hunting up your insides

Shuri would force you to always keep your eyes on her

But other times, she would shut her eyes so tight and just focus on how soft and luscious you feel in her mouth and she wouldn’t be able to stop moaning i promise

Being the kinky fuck she is, she may or may not put a finger up your a—

She wouldn’t let you go until you’ve cum at least twice and she would want you to watch her gulp your cum down her throat OMG AH

Constantly shaking her head north south east and west, wanting to catch every part of you in her mouth

SPITS ON YOUR CLIT EVERY TEN SECONDS BC THE S IN SHURI STANDS FOR WHAT??

I think she would also have a thing for biting your clit

Like when you feel like you are going to explode and want to run away, she would teasingly bite you and pull you down even closer or wrap your legs around her head even tighter bc she could care less if she died between your thighs or not

I feel like when she goes down on you, she’s more of a munch vs a fingering kinda gal buttt

Every time she fingers you, it's always three fingers bc she needs you to feel her in all her glory

She likes doing the infamous ‘come here’ motion but at any extremely slow place so you would feel her fingers on your g spot for AT LEAST five seconds at a time

DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG FIVE SECONDS IS???

while doing that, Shuri would move her whole head in circles going in one direction (#zarry) and have her tongue moving in the opposite direction!!!!

SHURI IS A DIRTY GIRL LIKE YALL

Would force you to sit on her during zoom calls and phone conversations

WOULD PURPOSELY SPEAK XHOSA INTO YOUR PUSSY WHEN YOU ARE ABOUT TO CUM BC IF THAT DOESN’T THROW YOU OVER THE EDGE I DON’T KNOW WHAT WILL

“You better bounce this pussy on my face Princess before I punish you for not being slutty enough for me” !!!!!!

Loves when you grab her hair and force her head up and just GRIND THE FUCK OUT OF THAT STUNNING FACE

WANTS YOU TO BE AGRESSIVE WITH HER SO SHE FEELS SLUTTED OUTTTTT

You would always be seeing her eyes roll to the back of her head and fuck does she look amazing

Would completely blow down to you when you reach back and start stroking her pussy bc your Queen needs attention too <3

Rubbing on her clit or fingering her would literally bring growls out of Shuri likee

She would deliver the hardest and loudest slaps to your ass, and groan like the little bitch she is bc truth be told, SHE LIKE BEING HANDLED LIKE A WHORE

She would grind her hips up to meet your fingers and just whore herself out

“Fuck baby right there ughh” BUT YOU WOULDN’T EVEN KNOW WHAT SHE’S SAYING SINCE HER MOUTH IS VERY MUCH FULL

I can see her wanting to eat you out for an entire hour but “baby you have an entire country to rule”

“yea and somehow this pussy is still more important”

I rest my case

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lotanxiety · 6 months

Text

Ballsy

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem reader

Summary: Your alter ego does something you always dreamed of but never had the balls to do. Let’s just say it leads to something great😈

Warnings: Shower sex, SMUT, NSFW 18+, slight breading, oral (female receiving), praise

____________________________________________

You grew up a hunter and crossed paths with Sam and Dean ages ago. Since you were around their age, you guys hit it off well and stayed in touch over the years. Soon after the boys had moved into the bunker, you did another hunt with them and mentioned you didn’t have a permanent home either and they graciously offered for you to stay with them! It’s now been 8 months of living with Sam and Dean. For the most part, it’s all great despite your hopeless crush on the eldest brother. You and Sam were best friends, and you and Dean had a weird, complicated friendship. You could never read him. Sometimes he would be flirty with you, giving you hope that something could happen, but then he would bring a girl home from the bar, breaking your heart a little more each time.

For the past two weeks, however, Dean has been extra flirty with you. He enjoyed making you blush and making inappropriate jokes at the worst times to embarrass you. This morning at breakfast, you sat across from Dean. While you both ate bacon, he kept watchful eyes on your every movement and when you’d make eye contact, he would wink at you or raise his eyebrows up and down. It made you giggle. You particularly loved when Dean was in a flirty mood, soaking up any and all attention from him before it would be gone.

You were pacing the floor in your room, thinking about the advice Charlie had given you.

“Just pretend you’re someone else and make a move.” Charlie said earlier in the week.

“I can’t do that, what if he doesn’t feel the same. It would ruin the whole dynamic. I’d have to move out and then go back to crappy motels and eat diner food all the time and-“ you rambled on.

“Y/N, please. Dean has had eyes for you for like… ever. Why else would he flirt with you like that? You can do it, just create an alternate version of yourself. She can have a new name and all the personality traits you want to have.” Charlie said.

“I don’t know, this feels kind of dumb”

“Just do it. Introduce yourself to me as the new you.”

“…um hi my name is-“

“Oh absolutely not, more confidence. Say it like you’re the queen of LARPing” Charlie states.

You clear your throat and try to push away any resistance that you normally would have. Right now you’re not Y/N, you’re Tessa; a smart, sexy, confident chick who goes and gets what she wants. You switch into this alter ego as best as you can and confidently say with some sultry in your voice, “Hi Charlie, I’m Tessa.”

“Much better. You got this, just go for it!”

I can do this. I just have to go for it. No fear. Well lots of fear, but fake it til you make it, right? Walking out of your room, you head for Dean’s bedroom. As you near the door, your heart races. The sound of the shower comes to your attention. “Oh shoot, of course once I muster up the courage to do this, he’s in the shower” you whisper to yourself, rolling your eyes. Then a thought crosses your mind. What would Tessa do? Walk right in there and take what she wants. Am I actually going to do this?

You open the door and enter Dean’s room, heart beating so loudly you were sure it was audible for the whole bunker to hear. You come to the bathroom door and knock so quietly that Dean doesn’t hear you. You take the opportunity to pause and get into character. You knock a second time, this time he hears you.

“Who is it?” Dean calls out behind the sound of water hitting the floor.

“It’s me” you shout back.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” Dean asks from behind the door.

“Can I come in?” You ask. Despite wanting to walk in there, you obviously want to ask for consent.

“I- I’m kind of showering” Dean says thrown off by your question.

“I know” You retort back, lacing your voice with undertones.

Dean blinks under the running water, realizing what’s going on. “Come on in, sweetheart” he says. You open the door, trying to not let your fear show on your face, but the second you see his naked body dripping wet under the water, you’re sure your face falters. Without saying a word, you start stripping off your clothes. Dean watches in shock of the sight in front of him. Once your clothes are nothing but a pile in the floor, you stand in front of each other, both breathing kind of heavy but not saying a word.

“Y/N, what are you doing?” Dean asks cautiously.

“Making a move” you say more confident that you thought possible with a smirk on your face. You slowly close the gap between the two of you. Deans eyes are dark with lust.

“Are you sure this is something you want?” He says, his voice much deeper than before. You nod your head as you look at him with your doe eyes.

“Words, sweetheart” he urges.

“Yes” you say breathless, now an inch away from him. With that confirmation, he quickly closes the gap between you two. The kiss was needy, but soft however quickly grew hungry for more. Stepping more into the shower, the warm water runs down your back and Dean starts to push you back against the wall, lifting your leg to his hip with his hand.

Breaking apart only for air he says, “You have no idea how many times I’ve dreamed of this moment”. He lips make contact with your neck, trailing down to your collarbone as he tentatively paws at your boob. It’s all passion between you. 8 months of sexual tension all being released at once. His kisses move lower, as he starts sucking on one of your nipples, slowly lowering himself to his knees. His mouth follows this southbound patter until he lands on his knees in front of you.

Grabbing your hips with his hands he looks up at you. “God- you are so fucking sexy” he says as he starts to kiss and nibble at your thighs, urging them apart. Your core is aching for any kind of contact. Dean pokes out his tongue between your wet folds, causing you to gasp at the contact. He gives you one last devilish smirk before he laps away at your sex. It throws you off guard, almost causing you to lose balance, but Dean steadies you with his hands never stopping his pace. His mouth latched onto your clit, sucking and biting. It doesn’t take very long before that coil winds up so tight and you release all over his face. He rides out your orgasm and then you pull him up to kiss him again. The kiss is different this time, almost more meaningful but still steamy. You open your mouth, allowing his tongue to graze over yours tasting yourself on him. You reach a hand in between you to palm his hard cock, causing the most pornographic groan from Dean into your mouth. Despite having just came, your core was practically crying for more. Wanting to return the favor for him, you started lowering yourself to your knees, as you still palmed him.

He quickly grabbed your arms. “Not this time, darlin. I want to feel you. Can I do that?” Dean asks.

“Yes please Dean, I need you.” You say standing upright again. Dean lined himself up with you and slowly pushed in, allowing you to adjust. You squeeze your eyes tight as the pain melts into pleasure.

“You can move now” you tell Dean and he does at a gruelingly slow pace. He starts speeding up as he kisses your lips again and rests his forehead against yours. The only sounds are of the water hitting the floor, the contact of your skin, and the heavy breaths and moans coming from the both of you. Dean reaches his hand down in between the two of you putting his thumb against your clit and making small circles. You’re sensitive from your last orgasm so you suck a breath in through your teeth and close your eyes.

“Please look at me, I want to watch you unravel on my cock. You look so beautiful like this” Dean praises. That familiar sensation builds and builds.

“That’s it. Cum for me. You can do it, uh huh. Good girl” Praise repeatedly falls from Deans lips as you orgasm for the second time, so much harder than before. The tightening of your cunt around Deans cock causes him to cum as well, spilling his juices into you. You both stay in that position for a moment, foreheads pressed together, taking deep breaths. Dean slowly pulls out of you and leans in for another kiss.

“We should’ve done that a long time ago” he says and you just chuckled. You two clean up by finishing up the shower together, Dean sweetly cleaning up your sex and washing your hair for you. Once you two get out, you both cuddle up on his bed.

“So, um… what caused you to be so bold?” Dean asked as you nuzzled your head into his shoulder.

“I don’t know, I guess I was just tired of you flirting with me but not making any real moves” You teased.

“Hey, those are my moves” Dean said defensively.

You two chatted some more, then fell asleep in each others arms watching old tv show re-runs.

The End.

#dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #fanfic #sam winchester #supernatural #dean winchester smut #smut #praise k!nk #shower scene

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beetlejuicyy · 10 days

Text

Eraser | Ryomen Sukuna x reader

3. Only Memories

Summary: happy memories of your relationship come to haunt modern!Sukuna (featuring money hungry Toji)

Warnings: gaslighting, toxicity, mentions of cheating

Word count: 3,052

Series masterlist: 1. Ultimatum 2. Wash Away 3. Only Memories

Read on AO3

Notes: here goes part three! this is mostly flashback before the angst coming in the next part. that you for reading!!

General Masterlist | Divider @rookthornesartistry

answer the fucking phone

Two weeks ago

you’re playing hard to get for too long

Two weeks ago

good morning

Two weeks ago

can we just talk?

One week ago

i swear things are not the way you think

One week ago

don’t get that bastard’s hopes up you’re mine

Three days ago

i miss you

Yesterday 23:47

good night

Today 05:51

i’ll give you anything just talk to me

Today 16:23

Rereading Sukuna’s messages had become the only consolation you could afford in this unbearable ordeal you were bringing upon yourself. Biting at your fingernail, you scrolled up to the first messages after the night you broke up. Despite all the contradicting tones and emotions his choice of words expressed, from anger to begging to pity, he never missed a day to tell you good morning and good night, even though his nights could have been anywhere between midnight and 6 a.m. while his mornings could start at ten or 4 p.m. But a part of you liked that.

Maybe that foolish woman inside you who didn’t think she had a chance with such a handsome man was rejoicing in seeing him beg for your attention. And you kept refusing to make up just to see him crawl even more to you. You had been tutoring Yuuji for his college admission for three months before he broke his leg and couldn’t go to school anymore. That was more than a year ago, when you would offer private lessons to make some extra money besides your corporate job. You accepted continuing the sessions at his house, since it was hard for the poor kid to move. That’s where you first saw Sukuna.

You knew Yuuji had an older brother who was not home that often. But you would have never thought in your entire life that, the moment he walked in, arriving from the gym just in time for dinner, you would feel so attracted, so fascinated by him. He was tall and muscular, body covered in tattoos, even his face. He looked just like Yuuji but very different in the same time, his eyes sharper, his look more tough. He was so manly. So addictive. He only greeted your formally, without paying much attention to your presence, but to you the world had stopped. A classic case of love at first sight, which you didn’t believe in.

Ever since that day, the only thing brining excitement into your life was your next tutoring session at his house. Would he be there? Maybe you could exchange some words. What should you wear? You should try that new lipgloss and put a bit more effort into your makeup. Soon, you started bringing homemade treats. You would play the nice, selfless elder sister card, staying overtime for Yuuji to finish some more exercises, just in case Sukuna would arrive later and you could see him. You even cooked once, at their house, hoping Sukuna would be home sooner or later and you could impress him with your skills. The next day Yuuji texted you that his brother enjoyed your meal very much, when he came back home at 3 a.m.

You were pathetic. Desperate.

Sukuna must have seen all your efforts to get noticed. They were so obvious, so shameless. Yet, he never showed any interest. You would dream about him, all kinds of dreams from harmless romantic type to wet dreams. Your brain was intoxicated with him and your limited interactions, eager for more. You couldn’t concentrate at work. You had lost your appetite. You were acting like a schoolgirl that never had a crush before.

You decided to overstep your boundaries when Yuuji informed you he would be at a friend’s birthday party so your session for the following week would be cancelled. Of course you mindlessly forgot that aspect, that you even noted in your calendar, and presented yourself at Sukuna’s door, dressed in the shortest pleaded skirt you owned and a tight blouse. Of course you prayed he was home. Of course you played dumb, asking about Yuuji when, in fact, your outfit was a hundred times more provocative than anything you ever wore in your student’s presence. Of course Sukuna humoured your cheap theatre and welcomed you in, offering you a drink since you had come all that way. At last, when it was only the two of you, you could notice his pupils dilating as he looked at your body, the sexual tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Sukuna later confessed that he enjoyed seeing you yearning so badly for him that he played with you a little longer that he should have.

Now, you were the one toying with him. But this wasn’t a game and it wasn’t fun for any of you.

♡

"What is this supposed to be?" You asked him for the tenth time and Sukuna couldn't help but smile at your cuteness. You had been going around his room for the past 15 minutes, as if you were on a quest. This time you picked an unlabelled jar that looked like it belonged on the kitchen counter.

"It's protein powder. Strawberry." He indulged your curiosity, enjoying the warm feeling spreading all over his body while your short bare legs took you around his personal space, your small hands touching everything, eager to get to know him better.

"Shouldn't it be in the kitchen?" You asked as you opened the lid and sniffed. Sukuna had to press his lips together to contain a chuckle as your lips pouted cutely when you noticed the strawberry scent. "It's the same colour as your hair!" You exclaimed excitedly, putting it back in its place and moving to the next drawer.

"Yuuji would steal it if I leave it in the kitchen." He explained and you nodded, showing him that you understood his reasoning. Sukuna would have never imagined you could be this adorable, especially after he just had you sprawled on his bed and moaning his name only half an hour ago. Maybe it was just the after sex glow, or maybe you really were bewitching him right now. In any case, he would have never imagined allowing someone to look into his personal space so closely.

"Ah, I shouldn't be looking here." You said as you pushed the drawer shut after a few moments, your energy dropping significantly. Sukuna's eyebrows raised in surprise and disappointment, as it seemed that your fun, consequentially his, was about to end.

He didn’t spend much time at home. Always busy, phone buzzing with calls from his informants everywhere, travelling between locations for meetings with possible partners, he rarely even slept at home, not to mention bringing a woman to his room. That’s what hotels were for. It was a habit he developed when Yuuji was still too young to be exposed and their old house too cramped.

"What's there, baby?" He asked, eager to answer your every question just to have that excited and curious girl back. He had nothing to hide in his room, nothing that he wouldn't want you to find.

"It doesn’t matter.” You said, your voice dropping with every word, as you turned around to face him, back pressing against the drawer. He tilted his head to the side, trying to read the answer in your eyes. “It’s a family photo.” You bit your lip as you gave up to his inquiring eyes. Sukuna never talked about his family, or lack thereof, to anyone.

He gestured for you to come back to bed, and you slowly crawled closer to where he was sitting with his back against the headboard. He took his time to look at you a bit longer, hair still messy, the hickey on your neck already purple, his oversized t-shirt hiding all your curves while your doe eyes watched him in anticipation. He smiled, realizing he was completely defeated in front of your raw beauty. He would give you anything.

“My parents died in a car crash when I was sixteen.” He said, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yuuji was still in primary school so I had to take care of him.” Your eyebrows raised in a pitiful expression.

“Don’t you have other relatives?” You asked, taking his hand into yours. It felt strange for him to talk about these things. But he was looking at you and all he could see was a loving and merciful goddess that he could confess to. The thought brought him unexpected comfort.

“A few, but they live in the countryside. Yuuji deserved to have the best education and opportunities.” Sukuna explained. There was something new about him as he talked in a gentle, low voice, as if he didn’t want to upset you with his sad story. The sunlight coming through the thin curtains in his room bathed his hair in a soft cotton candy pink shade, contrasting even more with his darker undercut.

“What about you?” You asked and he felt how you tightened your grip on his hand. It was cute, how your gentle fingers clung to his larger hand. No one had worried about him at the time, he realized, only now that you articulated the question after so many years. Yuuji was the child, the innocent eight year-old whose parents were taken away from him when he needed them most.

“I tried to get a job. But they didn’t pay enough, obviously.” You shifted on the sheets, moving closer to him. One leg over his waist, straddling him, arms wrapped around his naked torso and your head on his shoulder, holding him in a tight hug. He welcomed your comforting gesture with his palms creeping under the t-shirt, fingers aimlessly caressing the soft skin of your back. “So I started stealing.”

Your chest was pressed right below his, your heartbeats synchronizing like one.

“I got really good at it.” He chuckled as he placed his chin on the crown of your head, his eyes looking out the window at the peaceful neighbourhood drowned in bright sunlight. “I made all sorts of connections so I could quickly sell stuff at half the price and get some money. One time I stole a watch from a man that looked really rich. I thought it was enough to pay rent for some good years.”

His calloused fingertips were slightly cold on top of your warm back.

“He found me the next day. Had me beaten up by his henchmen then gave me a choice. Leave me dead in the alley or come work for him. Apparently I impressed him with my stealing skills. He didn’t even want his watch back.”

Your heart started beating faster against him as your mind vividly imagined what he had gone through. On the contrary, he was calm and composed, like he had been over these things a long time ago.

“He had a strip club and had me steal from the clients while the girls kept them distracted. He paid me well, even helped me get Yuuji moved to a better school.” He was fond of his old boss, you could tell from the way he was choosing his words.

“Wasn’t it dangerous?” You asked, one of your hands moving away from his back to caress the tattooed skin of his muscular arm. He lightly chuckled at your innocent concern.

“It was, yeah. But it was more dangerous for the poor girls working there. I learned how to fight thanks to all the obsessed bastards stalking them.”

Another kind of concern took form in your mind, one that you didn’t voice. How many girls had he seen naked, working in a strip club? How many of them did he like, did he touch? How beautiful were they? Were you even half as attractive? It was a selfish thought, born out of your own insecurities. Ever since you first laid your eyes on him, you knew. The realization came along with the undeniable attraction you felt towards him, that he was desired by many and well experienced with women. When you asked Yuuji, he told you his brother never introduced him to his girlfriends, if he ever had any stable relationship, but one look was enough to tell how popular he was.

“Where’s your boss now?” You chose to ask instead, feeling guilty that your strongest emotions uncovered by his honesty were jealousy, insecurity and doubt.

“In prison.”

♡

Sukuna rested his forehead on the palm of his hand, a freshly lit cigarette between his fingers. He had been smoking way too much in your absence. A thin cloud of smoke floated in the air as he exhaled, his tired eyes resting on a thick folder full of documents on the table. At the top of it, a single piece of paper that mattered for him.

Business Authorization

You would have been so happy.

At the bottom of the page, a big round stamp and a hand signature contrasted with the aligned black text. The signature of the board director, granting him the legal right to start the business. A clean, spotless business. A perfectly legal cover-up for everything else. Now he could rest more, stop worrying as much. Maybe he could finally take you on that overseas vacation you often talked about. Two weeks only for the two of you, away from everything.

Of course you wouldn't be so happy to know how he got that. Blackmailing the director with information he got from his own daughter that he seduced in a club. You had a video of it. He couldn't even enjoy this achievement. Everyone congratulated him, everyone was happy and he should have been most delighted by this. But all he could think about was that he earned it at your expense.

You don’t love me!

Your strained voice would reverberate inside his brain like playing an old broken record. How could you say that? How could you doubt him when all he ever did was shower you with gifts, dedicate all his free time to you, think of you in every moment. He was infatuated with you. And you discarded him so easily just because he couldn’t say some words out loud.

Sukuna didn't fuck anyone else since you became his girlfriend. He didn't flirt with anyone, didn't make out with anyone else but you. But that night, when he was at the club for a completely different business, some of his men informed him that the daughter of the big guy was a bit too drunk a couple of tables away. All he had to do was throw in a few words in her direction and she already ate from his hand like an oblivious bird in the park. It came so natural to him, taking advantage of her. He had put so much time and effort and money into this, he couldn’t walk away from the opportunity. Life was giving him this chance on a silver platter.

He didn’t even waste a moment to think about the implications. First of all, you would never find out. Second, he was sure that you trusted him enough, that you loved him enough to get over it even if, through some kind of bad luck, you found out. He never showered you with words and empty promises, he was aware of that. He couldn’t. Every time he realized how much he loved you, how important you were to him, his feelings would get stuck in his throat, unable to be conveyed out of his mouth.

“Payment’s late.” The voice of a man interrupted his train of thought. Rising his face from his palm, he noticed Toji standing in the doorframe. Half of his cigarette was already burnt away.

“Must be the bank’s fault.” Sukuna answered, stubbing out his cigarette. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms.

“The bank?” The other man asked, walking closer. The scar across his lips stretched as he smirked mockingly. “When did you start using bank transfers?”

“Today.” Toji peeked at the papers scattered on the table and nodded, impressed. “My men made you a new account for the contract. As a bodyguard.”

“I am not your employee.” The raven haired man spat the last word like it was a curse.

“You are, because I pay you. Any news?”

Ever since you kicked him out of your house, Sukuna had Toji follow you everywhere. Since he didn’t have the time and you would have seen him stalking you anyway, he offered the man an obscene amount of money just to have your every move recorded.

“Your little girl goes home from work and back around. If she’s feeling spicy maybe she’ll hit the convenience store.” Toji replied sarcastically as he sat down on another chair, legs spread comfortably his hands gesturing in the air. “I really don’t understand why you want me following her. She does nothing.”

“Yet, when she was out with another man you failed to report.” Sukuna said as he stood up, walking around the table to lean against it in front of the other man.

“Oh, come on, I was on a break. I’m feeling very lucky with betting these days.” He looked up in the pink haired man’s eyes, unfazed by the threatening look. On the contrary, Toji felt like irking him just a little. “Besides, she is so breedable. No wonder men-“

All of Sukuna’s pent up frustration and fatigue over the past few weeks culminated with those words. In a moment, his foot was on the chair Toji was sitting on, the tip of his shoe threatening to kick him between the legs, while his hands wrapped around the other man’s neck, choking him. Toji gasped for air, that irritating grin still splattered on his lips as Sukuna lowered his head to growl in his face.

“I don’t pay you to fantasize about fucking my woman.”

Toji raised his hands in a peaceful gesture, not trying to fight back. Sukuna let him go, pushing the chair with his foot, but the other man was already steady on his legs, sitting up before the chair fell on the floor with a thud.

“Good thing I don’t have to pay child support anymore.” Toji said as he waved a playful goodbye.

《previous: 2. Wash Away next》 Ascension |

True Form! Sukuna x Reader

tags: @sukunasleftkneecap @domainofmarie @nicxl333 @st4r-s4r4

@vinnieswife @rosaryia @iluvoaldmen @rowrowrowyourboat13 @sterzin @siriuslyblackonback

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna #sukuna jjk #jujustu kaisen #sukuna imagine #sukuna angst #jjk

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macfrog · 8 months

Text

ghost

when i wrote jet, she was always a two-parter to me. two characters, two horses, two stories. equal and distinct. you guys loved the first part so much that i figured i'd leave it as it was, but recently i hit 2k and thought this could be a cool way to mark it. think of this as jet's sister story. walks right alongside her; same universe, same joel - but still very much a standalone. she can be read with or without her predecessor. thank you a million times over for all the love y'all show me on the daily. writing for you guys is so much fun. love you all the most. 🤎🖤 dedicated to @hellishjoel whose love for this pair inspires me daily

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

summary: your loyalty to joel - and your ability in yourself - are tested in st. louis. the reward might just be worth the risk

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) post-outbreak!joel, graphic violence, moderate threat, a horse is shot and killed (though i don't think i made this too graphic, more gutwrenching), reader and joel are separated, badass stealthy reader, near-SA (more intended than attempted), very protective & very violent joel, unprotected piv sex, like...bloodplay i guess? lil bit of consensual choking and spitting, creampie, possessive!joel, dom!joel but also softdom!joel, big fluff at the end, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), strong language. this fic is not sponsored by nike. lol.

word count: 10.1k

main masterlist

It’s been weeks. Weeks of just the two of you, shoulders brushing together, hips moving in stride. Horses parallel to one another, heads nodding in unison. The time you’ve spent without Joel since leaving the QZ amounts to a grand total of about ten minutes. What if something goes wrong? If he doesn’t cover himself properly? If you clear the building, come back, and you’re not only a horse down, but a partner, too? You’re standing by the hole in the wall, trying to convince yourself to duck under the bare brick when Joel’s urgent voice does it for you. “Go now. Now!” And you do.

St. Louis is quiet, still, but fruitless.

It’s been two long days of wandering around and you’ve found one building safe enough to camp in. One. The rest have either been inaccessible – boarded up, broken down, or otherwise already inhabited by infected – or Joel’s deemed them too close to the middle of town, too open, not safe enough.

Not safe enough in a world overrun by a brain-rotting fungal infection? you’d asked.

He shut you up with a sharp expression which you understood simply as: Enough.

It meant that you were wasting days, though. The night you arrived, Joel quickly combed the area surrounding the barber shop you were holed up in for supplies, and found none. He woke you at the crack of dawn next morning to set off, saying he didn’t like the fact nothing was around here. Meant someone had been through before you guys and taken it all.

Meant company, is what he was saying.

So you’d ridden around for – what, maybe three hours? You and Jet, following Joel and Ghost down cracked roads, under rusted street signs. Listening to the wind circle the buildings overhead, nudging traffic lights gently until they sang in distorted, off-key creaks to you. Always keeping your eye on the Gateway Arch between buildings, using it as some kind of north star – not for any reason other than you’d never seen it before up close, but when you mentioned this to Joel, his brows furrowed and he chewed on the inside of his cheek.

Which meant that no, you wouldn’t be paying it a visit anytime soon.

It was mid-afternoon when Joel pulled on Ghost’s reins, brought her to a halt, and held his hand out to you. Jet huffed to a stop, and you swear you felt her cock her hip angrily at him.

“Turn back,” he muttered.

“What?”

“I said, turn back. Ain’t nothin’ out this way.”

“Turn back ‘n go where?”

He jerked his head back in the direction you’d come, swerved the reins sideways and then clicked to the black-coated horse to set off. She nodded obediently, like she knew what he was thinking and she figured he was right, and began the long walk back to the barbers.

You muttered an expletive and Joel coughed a Ha, hearing you loud and clear. So you turned to silently praying for a rainstorm, for a horde of infected, for anything you could sling an I told you so in and whip it at Joel.

You followed him, though, deliberately a good few paces behind, knowing he’d keep twisting around to check on you, and letting him fucking do it. Asshole.

When you finally arrived back at your spot, the red sun low behind the buildings and bleeding skyward into twilight, you slept with your back to him.

He didn’t seem to mind. He never seems to mind when you’re distant. You wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t even notice. He knows you’ll come back when you need something from him – want his words in your ear, want his body on yours, want…him.

The splintered sunlight through the boarded-up windows of the shop stirs you from your sleep. It wasn’t much of a sleep, despite Joel’s promise late last night that he’d let you lie for a little longer; knew you had a long day ahead if you were to get out of St. Louis, and he’d already drained your energy with the travelling yesterday.

You’d woven in and out of unconsciousness all night, dreaming of creaky farmhouses with clicking children inside, their skin torn and swollen and sprouting in swirls of pale white, singed with raw red and rotten green. And you dreamt of Joel’s shotgun blowing their moldy maws apart, blood and bone splattering across the floral wallpaper behind them.

You’re lying on your stomach, flat out on the floor with nothing but a worn comforter separating your fatigued body from the dusty tile. Joel’s out front feeding the horses on the street. You push yourself up, stretching your back, and a red-hot pain licks around your wrists.

“Motherf–”

You wince, falling onto your elbows, and your fingers link lightly around the red skin. The marks from Joel’s belt two nights ago still haven’t eased, haven’t cooled down so much as a degree. They’re still glowing, still burning, still painful.

Joel’s rugged face appears through a busted window. “Y’alright?”

“’m fine,” you mumble, turning over and examining the sores in the sunlight. The sting as your fingertips trace over the skin draws sharp tears to your eyes.

He feeds Jet the last handful of the hay you’d stocked up on and steps in from the golden morning to the dim light of the shop, dusting his hands on his jeans.

“You want more water on ‘em? Cold flannel?” he asks, avoiding the sight of your pained hands.

You shake your head. “Don’t think it’s helping.”

Eyebrows close, crease between them deep, he lowers himself with an achy groan and says, “We’ll find somewhere. You ready to go?”

You nod, tight lips blocking any words you think you’d probably regret later.

Joel helps you up, hands you a bag of beef jerky from his back pocket, and tells you to go get settled on Jet. He’ll pack up.

As you walk by him, he runs a hand from the crown of your head down to the nape of your neck. Gentle as air. And you almost fucking turn back. Almost catch his hand as it leaves your hair, almost wind your body into his. Almost.

Almost.

You follow at Ghost’s tail for another two hours, this time west instead of north. Joel turns to check on you more than he did yesterday; asks a couple times if you need more water, if you want any food. Even asks once if you need a break.

Each time, you reply with a flat, No. It seems to come from your throat more than your lips, more a grunt than an actual rounded word. Teeth locked tight around it, barely separating to let the sound through.

And each time, Joel turns back wordlessly. A mutual understanding; an unspoken agreement – as most of them are – to not talk any more than absolutely fucking necessary.

You spend most of the ride hunched over, your palms pushing heavily against the horn of Jet’s saddle. The sleeves of your jacket rolled up to stop them from brushing against your wrists.

The horse whinnies softly, and you reply to her as though she’s actually speaking. As though you can understand her thoughts, your forehead pressed lightly to the crest of her neck. You tell her you’re fine; tell her she’s doing a great job. You notice Joel’s jaw turn whenever you speak to her.

And then he whispers, “Hey,” and you lift your head, following the flick of his head to a tiny, lone pharmacy up ahead. You could fall off Jet’s back in equal parts shock and relief.

Joel winds Ghost along the road towards the building, stops by the curb outside it.

Its windows are smashed, broken glass decorating the sidewalk in front. There’s dried blood painting the white stone exterior, and empty shell casings dotted along the paved ground. You draw your eyes from the sight to look at Joel, and he’s already noticed them. He’s staring around the street, eyes darting from building to building, looking them all up and down.

The back wall inside the pharmacy is blocked, rubble and rafters hanging loose from a huge hole in the ceiling. Dusty insulation hangs between beams, and through the tears in the candy floss material, you can see the metal grate of the dispensing area. Joel sees it, too; notes it with a grumble and a click of his teeth.

“You stay here,” he tells you, dismounting Ghost.

“’n what if you get stuck in there?”

“Stuck in front of the collapsed ceiling? I ain’t gettin’ anywhere close to bein’ stuck. Stay put.”

You slide to the side, rubber-toed sneaker angling toward the ground to jump off of Jet. Joel swings back around and shoots you a look like fire on your skin.

“You got a death wish, or som’?”

“You just said you won’t get stuck. The hell’s gonna kill me in there?”

“Me, if you don’t listen to my damn instructions. Get back on the horse.”

“I ain’t off it,” you snap, a little louder than you intended. Sure, you want him to comfort you sometimes, but fuck, he pisses you off.

Joel stalks off without another word, head low between his shoulders. You hook your foot back into the stirrup and shake your head, averting your gaze to the other side of the street where the sight of an ill-tempered man-child won’t piss you off more.

The street is lined with stores and cafes, a bar on the corner with torn-up leather seats spilling out of the door like someone’s barricaded it. Your eye travels further down, where faded, moldy bunting ruffles in the wind, hooked around a traffic light.

There’s a red-brick building directly across from you, a truck with green tarpaulin parked out front. The doors to the building creak as they swing back and forth in the wind. The windows are still intact – surprising for this deep in the city. Other than that, the place looks pretty damn abandoned.

Ghost shakes her head, ears flicking. A heavy, shuddered breath jolts from her flared nostrils in the form of two white clouds, lit golden in the sunlight. She moves from foot to foot. You pat Jet gently, distracting yourself with the feel of her long, ginger mane.

You hum quietly, filling an eerie silence. Something to the beat of your heart, quickening with each second. Trying to calm the horses, calm yourself. Joel’s still wandering around inside.

You read an article once before the outbreak that said horses can smell fear on humans. It was for a school project. Said it affected their nervous system, like, made their heartrate pick up, though they never concluded whether it made the horses more afraid themselves or not.

Feeling Jet’s body weight shift from side to side as you swerve around atop her, analyzing every movement, every sound, every change in direction of the wind on this street, you figure you know the answer now.

Yeah. She feels edgy.

The wind picks up, carrying leaves across the broken road, fluttering by burnt-out cars. There’s a scuff from the store and your head shoots back to find Joel emerging from the shadows.

“Nothin’,” he mumbles, giving the street a sideways look as he walks back over to Ghost.

“Nothing I need, or nothing at all?”

He lifts his hands to take hold of her. “Nothin’ at all. Place is ransacked. Whole damn city’s –”

It all happens in the blink of an eye. One minute you’re looking at Joel, watching his lips form the words, his fingertips coming to land on the leather strap of Ghost’s bridle, and barely a heartbeat later, there’s a deafening crack from across the street.

Ghost’s body falls to the earth like she’s nothing but an inanimate sack. Her front legs buckle first, her chest crashes down towards the smooth stone, and then she’s rolling onto her left side. She’s dead before she hits the ground.

Dust and dirt are thrown skyward as she slams down, head falling heavy and still on the sidewalk.

“Ghost!” you shriek, and then you feel Joel’s hands on the sleeve of your jacket – rough. Painfully squeezing, canvas burning against your wrists.

He’s gripping the material, hauling you down to him, only you won’t let go of Jet’s reins. You’re being tossed to-and-fro atop the now-panicking horse. Ghost is bleeding from her head; thick, dark blood spilling out like tar and dripping down the curb.

You scream at Joel, fighting his grip off, eyes never leaving the black horse. But then another shot fires, ricocheting off of the ground by the pharmacy window, missing his head by less than a foot, and you fall limp.

You let him drag you off of Jet’s back and hurl you inside the pharmacy, shoving you out of view and into the dingy shadows. When you turn, you realize she’s still out there, a chestnut-colored blur as she rears and spins, fleeing from the noise. You scream her name but Joel whips around and plants his palm flat against your mouth, smothering your cry into a muffled whimper against the curve of his calloused skin.

“Shut up,” he whispers, free hand reaching into his holster for his own gun.

You drag his hand from your face, dropping it. “Jet’s still out –”

“They ain’t aimin’ for Jet,” he replies, switching the handgun into his right. “They’re aimin’ for us, and they’re gonna be down here soon. I need you to listen to me.”

“But Ghost –”

“Baby,” he says, laced with frustration and desperation and panic. Your sentence falls flat on your tongue. “Listen – to – me. Now.”

You nod, tears forming in your eyes. The horse is still lying out front; you can see her past Joel’s shoulder. You think back to your agreement: Do as you say. He’s shaking you by the shoulders, forcing you to look him in the eye, repeating those words to you. Listen to him. Focus on him. Stay alive. You don’t survive this if you don’t wake the fuck up right now.

And then he has his hands either side of your face, shaking you back to reality. “Hear me?”

“What? No, I didn’t hear. I didn’t fucking hear!”

He wastes no time chastising you. Just says it again. Calm, clear. Every word its own sharpened shape.

“I need you to move, need you to get out of here. They’re across the street, in that red building. There’s probably a gang of ‘em, right? So we gotta take ‘em out.”

“Take ‘em out? We gotta fuckin’ run, Joel! We don’t even know how many –”

“You,” his voice sounds like he’s about to break, “are gonna head out of there.”

He points past you, behind an upturned shelving unit, where there’s a small hole blown in the side of the pharmacy. Unnoticeable from outside, though if the perps across the street have ransacked this place, they’ll know it exists.

“You’re gonna make your way around the street, head low, quiet, ‘n get in the back of that building. You got it?”

“What the fuck are you gonna do?”

“I’m gonna distract ‘em. I’ll cover you, alright? Just do it.”

Just do it. Just fucking do it. I tell you what to do, and you just do it, because it’s me. Because you trust me, because we’ve kept each other alive this long.

Just do it. Because right now, what the fuck else are you going to do?

Your head’s still spinning. Pulse throbbing in your ears. Lungs hammering against your chest wall for breath. You can barely think straight.

“What do I do once I’m in?”

He’s kneeling down, swinging his backpack off of his shoulders. “Take – them – out. You’ve done it before, you know what you’re doin’.”

“Real noble of you, Joel,” you hiss, taking the spare gun he offers and slipping it under the back of your jeans, “sendin’ me in alone to kill who the hell knows how many fuckin’ guys.”

You pull the switchblade he picked up from that farm in Nebraska and flick it once, letting it glint fiercely in the light from out front, then close it and place it back in your pocket, ready to hand if – and when – you need it.

Joel’s loading his rifle, unable to meet your eye. He sniffs. “Do it quiet, you hear me? Sneak up on ‘em.”

You shake your head in disbelief, feet starting to carry you over to the side of the room. Powered by adrenaline only, letting go of any emotion that might keep you inside this stupid pharmacy. Forgetting anything in you that might convince you to stay glued to Joel’s side.

Yeah, you can fucking do it. You’re not a kid. You’ve been doing this long enough.

This was life before the QZ. You were in a group then, a collective of survivors whose only interest was staying alive. At all costs. And you got good at it. You’ve told Joel about it before – you were the first wave. Whenever you came across another group – no matter if it was hunters, smugglers, fucking FEDRA – they’d send you in, alongside Mila. The two of you lightest on your feet, best with a knife in your hands.

You started to find it fun, after a while. Thrill of the chase and all that. Creeping up behind them, dragging the blade along their throat, dropping them to their knees as they choked and gargled and bled out. The two of you could clear an entire building in ten minutes, not a single bullet fired.

Mila preferred puncturing them. She’d lift her arm and bring the knife down with the weight of her entire body, sinking it into their necks, under their jaws, sometimes through their fucking temples. You’d seen that girl do some pretty fucked-up stuff.

You’d seen yourself do some pretty fucked-up stuff. Stuff that’d have you avoiding mirrors for weeks.

And none of it scared Joel away. None of it made him think twice about setting off with you.

Certainly never made him think twice about sending you on what can only be described as a suicide mission, just to rid St. Louis of a few bandits.

Doing it isn’t the problem, though, is it? You haven’t had to do it in a while, sure. Joel takes care of you well enough that you barely have to look twice at a threat before there’s a bullet, a blade, or an arrow through it. And you’re not scared, either. Not of those guys across the street.

No. You’re scared of leaving him. Parting with him.

You’re standing by the hole in the wall, trying to convince yourself to duck under the bare brick when Joel’s urgent voice does it for you.

“Go now. Now!”

And you do.

You emerge into an alleyway, concealed from the street by a rusty blue dumpster. Overgrown weeds at your feet, you stay crouched and still until you’re sure there are no eyes on you from the windows overhead.

I mean, you’d be dead by now if there were. So that’s hopeful.

You slink around the jagged metal, slow, silent. More gunshots sound from across the street, and you know Joel’s tossed them a bone. Maybe he’s shown himself – a flash of his jacket or scuff of his heel as he settles to fire back. Maybe they’ve already killed him. Who fucking knows?

At the end of the alleyway sits a black gate, bent and contorted into an archway which separates you from the street. Still covered by knee-high weeds, you kneel down onto your stomach and peer between the wiry green plant to get your first scope of the street ahead.

There’s a long-abandoned nail bar on the right, a few doors down from that bunting you spotted earlier. And right outside it, cast in shadow from the awning: a chestnut horse, saddle hanging lopsided on her back. Waiting, patiently, watching the shootout before her.

You breathe a sigh of relief. Stay there. Stay right there.

Joel’s on his knees outside the pharmacy, crouched behind a Jersey barrier. He lifts his head every thirty seconds, fires one heavy shot at the windows on the top floor of the red-bricked building, and then ducks for cover when they send a burst of erratic bullets back down to him, pelting against the concrete.

You watch for a minute, studying the pattern, and then slip back between the weeds like a lion hiding in the bushes. When Joel fires at the window, you push yourself up and make a swift run for it.

There’s a truck in the middle of the street. Black paint scraped, shot, and sun-burnt off. You take three good strides, kneeling once you’re at the tailgate. You peer around the rear of the truck, huge tires flat and melted into the broken tarmac. You spot your opening.

A gray fence faded by the sun, a few slats missing from the bottom half, guarding an overgrown yard, and, sitting wide open: the backdoor to the building.

Bingo.

It’s an easy enough route. Looks almost like someone’s laid it out for you this way, a perfect path. You wait for your signal – Joel’s gunfire – and sprint over to the fence, back flush against the rotting wood.

You pull the revolver from your jeans and open the chamber. Five bullets. Not bad. You snap it back and adjust your grip on it, finger ghosting the trigger. And then you hear them.

“The girl’s still inside,” a voice grunts from over the fence. Your blood runs cold.

“He’s gotta run out sometime. What the fuck’s Nico doing wasting bullets?”

“How often do strays come through? Let him have his fun.”

Strays. Like a little pet name. Like it’s sport for them. It pisses you off, your adrenaline channeling into rage, white hot across the nape of your neck, growing into determination to put your knife through every single one of them.

So, you return the gun, favoring your switchblade.

Old dog, new tricks. Yadda yadda.

You bend down, peering through the gap like a dog searching for scraps.

It’s just the two of them. One, standing by the door; looks about six feet tall by six feet wide, buzzcut atop a puffy face, tattooed arms hanging loose by his side. The other, pacing around the yard; when his worn jeans pass the opening in the fence, you scan up the tall figure and notice dirty blond hair, scraped back from a gaunt face into a greasy ponytail.

“And if anything hears him? Runners? Fuckin’…we ain’t ready for that.”

Neither of them seem to have a gun. Scrawny doesn’t, anyway, and if Buzzcut does, it’s not in his hands. Which gives you a few seconds’ advantage.

Once Scrawny turns away, you slip through and hook your arm around his neck, holding your knife to the spongey skin under the ridge of his jaw. Buzzcut steps forward, hands reach into his waistband. Fuck.

“Make a sound, I’ll cut him.”

It’s not hard for your voice to fall back to that pitch, that same old tone. Muscle memory. Hushed, so no one inside hears; serious, flat, not a hint of fear. Even though this guy can probably feel your heart hammering into his back.

There’s still shooting on the street. Buzzcut steps forward, pistol between his fingers, silver reflecting the sun into your eyes. He’s unsure if he should lift it or not. Unsure if he should do anything or not. There’s panic painted across his face the color of crimson. He’s not built for this stuff, and he knows it. His free hand comes up, palm forward. Half of a surrender.

Not good enough.

“Put the gun down.”

“Fucking bitch,” Scrawny mutters, wrestling around, long legs bent awkwardly as he leans into your smaller frame.

Fucking idiot, you think. He doesn’t know that this is the fun part. This is why you chose the knife, and not the gun. Blade over bullets. It’d be too easy to rip his brain apart with the squeeze of a trigger. Too quick. Nah, you want to hear him. Want to feel him writhe against you.

You let the blade sink into his whiskered neck. Ever so slightly. He hisses and settles.

“Put – the fucking gun – down.”

“Patrick,” your hostage spits, “just do it.”

Just do it.

Patrick glances down briefly and then nods, eyes flitting back to you. Your eyes stay locked on him, your grip tightens around the knife, but you deafen to the heaving of the chest under your elbow.

Just do it.

Where’s Joel? Is he alive? His voice is ringing in your ears.

Just do it.

There’s a pause between the bullets across the street. Have they hit him?

Just do it.

Patrick’s gun hits the ground with a blunt thud.

Just do it.

And then you feel it.

Searing pain, hot as fire in your upper thigh. A sharp scratch just below your hip, teeth cutting through denim and flesh, then a rutting feeling, twisting and digging and fucking burning as the knife is pushed further and further. You let an angry groan pass your lips and dig your own blade deep into his throat.

His skin bursts open like a bag of water. You pull on him, letting him sink to his knees flush against your chest. Before he’s even on the ground, you’re lurching forward, retrieving the pistol and swiping your knife at Patrick’s outstretched hand. He gasps, clutching his split palm, and then backs away a couple steps.

This time, he lifts both hands. That’s better, fucker.

“Don’t – don’t gotta –”

“Shut the fuck up,” you cut back, staring him down while his buddy writhes at your feet, taking his last few gulps of air. Fresh, warm blood seeps into the grass. Your thigh is on fire.

You edge closer to Patrick, and Patrick edges further away. Until his back is pressed against the wall, his knuckles scratching against the brick; his own blood streaming down his wrist.

“How many are in there?” you ask, head nodding to the doorway, barrel of the gun pressed into his cheek.

He gulps.

“How many?”

“Th-three. Please.”

“Where?”

“One in the h-hall. Two upstairs. Please,” he says again, and you drop the gun, leaving a white ring in his skin.

Mila would sink it in deep, right into his neck. The trapezius. Her favorite spot. She’d just plunge the knife in, push until he collapsed, and then leave him to bleed out. But this is a big guy. He’s gonna need more than that to floor him.

“Alright,” you concede, stepping forward. “Since you asked so nicely.”

You pull your arm down to your hip, knuckles white around the handle and take a fistful of his shirt with the other. Draw him in real close, and angle the blade to the sky, shoving it up under his chin. Nice ‘n snug.

It glides through his skin like it’s butter, and you catch the butt of the knife in your palm, pushing further up. You watch as his eyes widen, his pupils focus on yours long enough to take the memory of your face with him – and then they relax, roll back to check out the metal intrusion behind them.

Patrick gargles, chokes on blood and blade, then gasps as you haul it back out, bright red gushing down his front.

His body folds, both hands come up to cup his torn jaw, and with one kick which cracks into his knees, he’s flat on his face, breathing in dirt and grass and…the blood of his buddy.

“You’re welcome, Patrick,” you breathe, limping over him to enter the building.

Shots are firing again upstairs. It’s dark, your eyes take a few seconds to adjust, but you’re in a derelict store. Place is empty, probably looted by these assholes.

Patrick told you there was one guy in the hall, which you assume is through the door sat ajar on your left. Patrick, however, was most likely a liar. And even if he was telling the truth, you don’t know what this place looks like. You have no idea when or where you’ll come across this one guy.

The only things you have on you are your gun and your knife. So you open the revolver again, your trembling fingers fish one bullet out, and you toss it, aiming for the sliver of light between the door and its frame.

It rattles through, rolling over the solid floor.

“Patrick?” a voice calls, and footsteps begin to approach. “Tucker?”

You duck behind a battered, empty shelf.

A third guy, long brown hair tangled across his shoulders, thick beard patchy with white and gray, pushes the door open and sidles in.

“Pat–”

You’re on him before he can finish his pal’s name, same way you jumped Scrawny – now Tucker, out there. Your blade glides across his throat and he buckles, much quicker than his predecessor outside did. You settle him face down on the tile floor, nodding to him as some twisted form of a thank-you, and slip out of the room, swinging down to collect your bullet as you go.

Patrick, as it turns out, was not a liar. The bottom floor of the house is empty. You’re in a long, narrow hallway. A bloodstained runner at your feet. There are muffled voices upstairs – roaring, cursing. The sunlight streaming in through the arch-shaped window on the front door draws you nearer.

Your breathing is labored, with stress, exhaustion, and pain. Your thigh throbs under your jeans, pain shooting like lightning from the wound anytime you put weight on it. You drag yourself to the bottom of the stairs.

More shots. You swear they’ve only been coming from this building for the last five minutes. Where the fuck is Joel?

You lift your foot hesitantly, hovering over the first step. Don’t fuck this up now. You line it up, applying your weight bit by bit until you’re pushing up off the floor with a whimper, balancing on one leg, bracing for the inevitable creak of the wood.

Nothing.

You’re about to step onto the second, when the door behind you bursts open. Light screams into the hallway, shining on you like a spotlight, and three huge figures stumble in the doorway.

“Wh–? That’s the bitch on the horse!”

You throw yourself up the stairs desperately, taking them two – three at a time, but a pair of fists are in your hair, dragging you back down to the man they belong to. You cry out, swinging around, and catch him square on the nose with your elbow. He swears, retreating only momentarily, before looking you dead in the eye, blood pouring down his lips.

“Fucking – cunt,” he seethes, arms darting out to reach up for you.

His attempt is short-lived, for a number of reasons.

First: you kick his chest before he can grab you, sending him hurtling back down where he came from.

Second: one of the two Patrick said would be up here is at the top of the stairs now, taking you by the shoulders and hauling you up.

And third: Joel just opened fire downstairs.

The bullets pelt around the hallway, coming from the side you just snuck in through. He must’ve followed you across the street.

The last thing you see as you’re dragged off into another room is the three of them ducking for cover, and then you’re being flung onto a cold, dusty floor, knocking the wind out of your lungs and the revolver from your waistband. You roll over and groan, staring up at two men standing over you.

One of them – the one whose vice grip dragged you in here – is big and bulky. Like a brick wall. You realize you’ve no chance of getting by him. His fists are clenched, face reddened, black beady eyes boring into yours. Then he lurches forward, steals the gun from the floor beside you, and points it at you. The safety’s still fucking on.

The other looks younger, but still built. Toned. His shoulders swell in the green canvas jacket he’s wearing, patches on the sleeves. Short, black hair, face sculpted and smooth, chin hairless. Lips pursed as he surveys you, tosses over what to do.

“Cute little game you were playin’, down there,” he muses. “Took out half my guys.”

“Wasn’t that hard,” you pant in reply, “you’re all fucking idiots.”

You can hear Joel fighting off the rest of them, grunts and growls of pain echoing up the stairs. You don’t know which are him and which are them, and it sends fleets of panic through your chest, tightening your breath.

“Sounds like your man’s losing.”

You laugh, masking your fear with a roll of your eyes, head leaning back. “I don’t think so.”

The two men look at each other. The black-haired one nods down to you, then turns on his heel. “Do what you want to her,” he tells Brick Wall, bored, and begins walking away.

A repulsive smile pulls on the man’s lips as he glares down at you. Putrid pink cheeks swell, eyes disappear. Your heels dig against the floorboards, beginning to push yourself in a dizzy haze backwards as his huge, beefy hand reaches down for your waistband.

Something of a scream, warped by the way your body so quickly jumps away from him, escapes your throat, but it only makes him laugh. Your hand slips up inside your sleeve, fingers clutch the cold metal handle of your blade. It flicks open under the fabric, and, just as the noise draws the attention of the man now fumbling with the button of your jeans, you take one good swipe and cut through his forearm. One clean slice, separating skin and soaking the tip of your knife in his blood.

He hisses, stumbles backwards two steps, clutching his arm. You throw yourself to your feet, backing into the corner opposite.

“Nico!” Brick Wall cries out, and the canvas jacket spins to face you.

You clutch your knife, hunched, panting. The room slowly tilts, resetting every time you blink, then begins rotating again.

Nico laughs, pulling a gun of his own and aiming it straight at your face. It’s a nightmare – two on one, both of them armed. But it’s better than what was about to fucking happen.

“Fucking – bitch,” Nico snarls.

“Y’all keep saying that,” you utter, eyes never leaving the barrel of the gun, “I don’t get it. I’m goin’ easy on you here.”

“You’re gonna fuckin’ get it,” Nico spits, apparently not paying enough attention.

The building’s silent. The fighting’s stopped downstairs. And there are no loud footsteps making their way up here, which means one thing.

There’s a quieter, deadlier threat on his way up.

A brutal shot fires from the hallway, taking your breath with it, and Brick Wall’s body flops to the floor. Bullet hole in his temple. Spray of blood across the wall. Only three beating hearts left in the building.

Nico seems to gasp, whether from fright or the way he lunges toward you, wrapping a tight, choking arm around your neck and holding the gun to your temple, both of you waiting for Joel to materialize for two very different reasons.

His figure creeps around the doorway, footsteps slow and soft. His eyes flit over yours, shoulders hunched, rifle aimed ahead. Your breath lets go in one huge, shaky gasp, feeling your muscles relax.

“I’ll do it,” Nico hisses, panic strung through his voice tighter than the bow of a violin. “One wrong move and she’s dead, asshole.”

Joel shrugs. “Do it.”

Nico doesn’t move. He shakes your body, pushes the gun harder into your skin.

Joel looks you dead in the eye. “Do – it.”

Your fingers run over the handle of your knife, lowering it until you have a good enough grip to lock your fist and tilt the blade, lifting your right arm and hammering it backwards, stabbing deep into Nico’s side.

Your head leans to the right as he screams out; he falls to the left. And Joel takes his shot.

Nico’s hand bursts open, blood spraying everywhere. The revolver is thrown from his grip, rattling against the floor as your fist takes one good swing across his jaw and then you fall apart from one another – you, rocking into the steady weight of Joel’s body, and Nico, collapsing against a desk.

Joel catches you in his arms and straightens you up, shifting you to aim his gun back at the threat – though there’s not much about him that warrants such a name anymore. He’s slumped against the dark wood, dark stain seeping through his shirt, head rolled back and groaning. One hand cupping what’s left of the other, blood snaking through his fingers and down his hand like vines on a tree trunk. He looks…pathetic.

Joel fires another shot at him without fucking looking; it lands in Nico’s thigh, and he screams. Mouth full of blood and loose teeth, it’s a gargled, drowned howl of pain.

“They try somethin’?” the fierce drawl asks you, brows low, eyes dark. You know what he’s talking about. The button of your jeans is undone.

You want to say, It’s fine, I’m fine. You want to tell Joel to leave Nico to bleed out. He’s the last one, he’ll be dead inside of ten minutes. You want to go, want to climb onto Jet’s back and let her carry your weak, limp body as far from here as her legs will gallop, and then, once she’s rested, further.

But Joel won’t hear any of that, you know it. Won’t leave this little son of a bitch to slip into a half-conscious drowse, the dripping of his own blood ticking down the seconds he has left while the sound of Jet’s hooves fading into the distance lulls him to hell.

He knows you. Joel. He can read lies on your lips like they’re words scrawled into your skin, so that’s a waste of time, too.

You nod. Joel’s jaw locks. And his eyes flood black like ink.

He hands you the rifle, pulls his arms out of his backpack, and paces over to Nico. The bloody, injured figure begins to back up, push himself further away from Joel, who’s reaching down for something.

“Look, man,” Nico heaves, “you gotta see it from our point of v-view. You guys came walkin’ into our territory, you – you…”

There’s the sound of metal dragging across the bare floorboards, vibration strong enough that it rattles your entire body. You turn away, figuring you don’t need to see him pummel a man to death with a broken pipe.

You hear it, though. Every grunt from Joel, every cry from his victim. Every time the pipe bludgeons into him, the wet squelch of warm flesh and blood meeting cold, rusting metal. You wander off to the other side of the room, closing your eyes.

It’s like a pattern – like the shooting from earlier. Joel sucks in breath as he lifts the pipe above his head, groans as he hurtles it down. There’s the blunt sound, a ding almost of the metal whacking against Nico’s skull, the splatter of blood bursting. And repeat. Deep breath as the pipe winds back – groan as it uppercuts through the dusty air, crack of bone breaking when it makes contact.

Finally, he stops. Takes three deep breaths. Drops his weapon. You turn.

The limp body lies at his feet, a dent the size of Texas in the globe of his skull. Olive skin now splattered red, face unrecognizable. Blood pouring out of somewhere – everywhere in his head, circling his body in a thin, fast-moving pool.

Joel’s staring at you when your eyes lift. Sweat glistening on his forehead, lips apart. Shoulders tight. You’re standing face to face, both of your breathing heavy and labored. Exhausted. And yet…you fucking need him.

You take one step forward and suddenly Joel’s advancing, too, hands out to meet you when you collide into him. Your fingers scram for his collar, ripping his jacket from his shoulders while he messily tears apart the waist of your jeans.

His weight bears down on top of you and he pushes you to the floor, following you down. The floorboards are dirty, coated in a thick layer of dust disturbed by the scuffle you just had, and glazed by the blood of those who lost. You sit up only long enough to remove your jacket before Joel’s pinning you down, unbuckling his own jeans and taking a grip of yours.

You flinch when he tugs on the waistband, and he pauses. Looks up, watches your expression twist. Then follows your eyeline, down to your thigh, where the fresh stab wound oozes thick, dark blood.

Joel slowly peels your jeans down your legs and over the gash. When they pool loose around your knees, you bend them, angling your broken skin in the sunlight. It’s swollen, the cut, reddened and raw. Flesh dragged back and forth, torn and ripped around the edges. You can’t even feel the pain of it anymore, only a prickling heat leading up to the ridges of your broken skin.

And so, when Joel’s fingers run through the air directly above it, and he mutters something about cleanin’ you up, you grunt. Straighten your legs. Pull him by the shoulders back down to you. Reply with a rushed whisper, a Hurry the fuck up.

And he listens; he unbuckles his own jeans, sags them low on his hips, and bends your knees at his shoulders. His cock is already stiff, bead of precum at his wide tip, which he dips between your folds to collect your slick, and then fists himself slowly.

Hurryhurryhurry “– the fuck up,” you groan, watching your wet glisten off the smooth skin of his shaft.

He smirks, then pushes straight in.

Your head hits the floor, eyes rolling with it as he fills you up. His face buries between your breasts, voice muffled by the material of the fabric when he lets out an open-mouthed moan. You both adjust to the feeling – the stretch and the tightness – and then, with a couple more shallow thrusts, Joel begins really fucking you.

He drags his forehead up to yours, sweat mixing where your skin touches. Your jaw clenched; you’re hissing every time he hits that sweet spot inside of you. Holding onto him by the shoulders as he rocks his hips forward, pushing you closer and closer to your first release.

Joel lifts his hand, placing it flat on the floor above your head to steady himself. Then, he quickly glances up at it, an unusual look on his face. You crane your neck and follow his eyeline to find his hand gleaming wet with blood. Bright red. Fresh.

It’s the guy he shot. Bullet wound peering out from the other side of the desk you’re lying next to; his blood has travelled across the uneven flooring.

Joel studies his palm intently, thrusts slowing down some. His face looks…puzzled? As if he’s never had to physically encounter the result of him and his bullets. As if he doesn’t know where to put his hand, now that it’s covered in that result.

You do, though. You know exactly where you want him to put it.

You take his wrist in both hands and draw his gaze down to you. The blood drips from his almost trembling palm down your fingers.

His expression changes – softens, when he sees you looking up at him, watching him from under hooded lids. And then it darkens, when you pull his palm flat against your neck, and the red fluid stains your throat.

You can feel the warm wet between Joel’s skin and yours – the same warmth on the back of your head, creeping through your hair as it seeps further across the floorboards. You’re both covered in blood and dirt, anyway. Joel seems to consider the same, and his grip tightens.

His thumb and forefinger pinch, cutting into your windpipe. Your vision falters for a second, Joel blinks out of focus, and a tiny wave of euphoria crashes over your body. A sick grin pulls across your lips, mirrored in Joel’s.

He releases you and you gasp, oxygen surging through your throat like a burst of water in a dried-up pipe. You let go of his wrists to run your blood-soaked fingers across his face, through his hair. He’s still fucking you hard, and you need something to ground you as white-hot heat pools rapidly between your legs, and a knot begins to tighten.

“You like that?” Joel grunts, driving his hips harder.

“Mhm,” you reply, mouth falling open in a silent gasp when his tip punches into your cervix. The edges of the world start to whiten.

“You’re mine, you hear?” he says through gritted teeth. “Belong to me.”

You’re nodding, throat tossing out an, Uhuh.

“Ain’t no one gets this but me, h-uh?”

Joel’s hand is back around your neck, this time taking either side of your jaw between his fingers, keeping your eyes trained on his. Whatever the fuck makes you do it – the look in his eye, silently commanding, or maybe your own fucking desperation – you’re not sure. But you open your mouth wider, rest your tongue on your bottom lip, and plead with your eyes for him to do it.

So, he does.

His jaw slackens and a bead of spit falls from his mouth into yours. He watches as it lands on your tongue and you run it along your lips, coating yourself in him, before swallowing it.

Joel groans, lets a staggered, “F-fuck, baby,” pass his lips.

You smile in return, filthy, but needy, and beginning to crash hard as your orgasm bursts through you.

He fucks you through it, pace never faltering, still stringing wet saliva between your lips as he kisses you. You pull away when it becomes too much, burying your head in his shoulder and biting down on his shirt.

“Yeah,” he coaxes you, “that’s it. Fuck. Nice ‘n tight, baby.”

As soon as the room starts to return to your vision, the feeling back in your body, you’re rolling him over. Ignoring the burn of the wound in your thigh, you push him back down and straddle him, his cock still deep inside.

You roll your hips lazily, fingers coming down to toy with your clit as Joel stretches you even more from this angle. He groans, hands finding home tight on your hips, head rolling back. He bucks his hips and your free hand steadies yourself on his chest.

“Faster, baby,” he says, trying to move you with his hands.

“No,” you hum, “we go slow. I want to go slow.”

He grunts, pissed off. Good. Keep him that way.

You begin to slowly bounce, pads of your fingers drawing circles over your swollen clit, almost hurting with overstimulation.

“Tell me what you did downstairs,” you whisper, eyes falling shut.

“Downstairs?” Joel asks in a broken voice.

“Mhm. What did you do to ‘em?”

He catches on. “Shot one of ‘em under the jaw.”

You shake your head. “Next.”

“Ch-choked one of them out.”

“No. Not him.”

You want blood. You want Joel’s fists wrapped around someone’s vital organs. You want the sound of your screams in his ears, whether they were really there or not, driving him to commit acts so heinous he won’t look you in the eye when he confesses them.

That’s what you want: him to confess them.

“One of ‘em had a Bowie…” he breathes, knowing what you’re looking for.

You fall forward with a deep moan. “That’s it. Him.”

“…hangin’ from his belt. Shot his leg, right above his knee –”

You moan again, sighing as you sink down on his cock and that feeling creeps over you again.

“– then took the knife.”

“He on the floor?”

“He got up. He – fuck – he stood up, ‘n I put it between his shoulders.”

“Fuck, yeah?”

“Yeah. Ripped ‘im apart, baby.”

You cry out in pleasure, bouncing up and down faster and faster the more the image replays in your head. You’re leaning forward, hovering over Joel as your skin slaps against his every time his hard length fills you. Fucking him to the thought of him slaughtering anyone who posed any threat to you. Those guys didn’t make it upstairs, you’re not even sure they got a good look at you before you were hauled away. But Joel tore them limb from limb at just the possibility.

“Did he – did he scream?”

“Yeah, he fuckin’ screamed.”

Your head drops between your shoulders, hands splayed on either side of Joel’s head, and his fingers knot in your hair. He pulls your forehead against his again, whispering into your mouth.

“Begged me not to do it,” he hums, and you’re thrown over the edge for the second time.

Your hips stop moving to allow space for your high; a second blinding, screaming orgasm ripples through you. You’re gasping now, fingers clutching for Joel, but he’s already moving again.

He slips out from underneath you and lets you down gently on your front, taking your hips and pulling them up to him as he positions himself behind you. And then, without a second’s hesitation, he’s back inside you, chasing his own high. Your back arches as he fucks you, chest flat against the floor.

There’s blood fucking everywhere. On your clothes, in your hair, on the floor beneath you, streaming down your thigh. The entire room smells of it – that suffocating, sickly sweet bite of iron. The bitterness so thick that it coats your lungs with every desperate pant of breath.

And finally, fucking – finally, all the adrenaline and momentum is brought to a climax when Joel releases deep inside you, and you feel yourself contract around him as a third orgasm pulses through you. Your cunt swollen, aching, you almost don’t feel it, but for the way your legs give as soon as he stills inside you.

He’s groaning, borderline fucking whining, before he draws out of you and slumps down beside you on the floor. You’re both staring at one another, almost afraid to touch each other – as if you’re made of glass. Fragile. Breakable.

Yeah. You’re his. And he fucks you like you’re his, like your only purpose is to relieve his stress, tire out his anger, but then…then he looks at you like this, the sunlight twinkling in his warm eyes, dust falling over him like snow. Then he shifts the hair from your face so he can take a proper look at you, study every detail on your face – the cracks in your lips, the curve of your nose. And you know you’re so much more than that to him.

Always have been. Always will be.

You lean over and run your fingers across his cheek, dried blood the color of wine all over your hands. Joel lies still, places a soft kiss to the pad of your thumb when it touches his lips. Your nails sift through his beard. His eyes close over, laying in the comfortable stillness as you trace his face, delicately drawing from his dark brows down to the patches of skin between the graying hair on his jawline.

He doesn’t move when you push yourself up and roll over onto his chest. Doesn’t flinch when you press your mouth to his neck, running from the bottom of his ear up to the tip of his chin.

And when you bring your lips up to meet his, he kisses you back.

His hand sneaks through your hair to the crown of your head and he sits up, rolling you onto your back and caging you underneath him, teeth grazing along your bottom lip, asking it to part. His tongue slips inside, wet and warm and comforting against yours. Your fingers lace at the back of his head, your own cradled in his hands on the hardwood.

It’s like he’s starving. Like he’s been holding off on doing this, for whatever reason. And now that you’ve been the one to open the floodgates – fucking, destroy them – everything comes rushing to the surface. Every time he wanted to, and didn’t. Every time he was buried inside you, and purposefully held his jaw apart from yours. Every minute he’s spent since he met you, without his lips on yours. It all comes rocketing up.

And before it gets too heated, before he begins winding that coil again, he’s pulling away. Lips leaving yours, noses bumping together as they part. You smile, and Joel breathes a laugh for the first time in what feels like weeks.

“Hey,” he whispers.

“Hey.”

You glance down at his flannel: stained with dirt, with sweat, with blood. It brings you down a little from your sun-kissed, golden-rayed eutopia. You suck in a deep breath, and his finger hooks under your chin to lift your face to his.

“Should get that leg covered.”

You nod, and he pulls up off of you, letting you sit up. He wanders around the room, checking the backpacks of Nico and his guys, and pulls some gauze and a bottle of alcohol from a side pocket.

He kneels slowly by your side, offers you the white pad. You shake your head. He has to do it. You don’t know why, don’t know what’s stopping you from wrapping your own wound – something you’ve done hundreds of times by now. But it has to be Joel.

He tips the bottle over the dressing, dousing it in alcohol, and settles it carefully on the floor by your hip. You look at one another, a Ready? and a No, but do it anyway pass across your gaze.

The clear fluid seeps from the pad down his hands, thinning the bloodstains and dragging them in light orange streaks down to his wrist. And when your eyes are distracted, watching the stream of blood and alcohol, he presses the gauze to your thigh.

“Fuck – you,” you stammer, eyes screwing tight enough that you see stars.

“I know,” Joel breathes, and pushes the gauze down harder. Firmer. It shoots heat up your leg, flashes the image of that plank of wood named Tucker who stabbed you across your mind. Your teeth grit, the tendons in your neck leap.

Still holding the pad to your skin, Joel winds a dressing around your thigh. He knots it, gives it a little tug, and then sits back on his heels.

“Okay?”

You tilt your head, lift your eyebrows in form of a Yeah. A half-truth – it feels better to have it covered, but fuck is it stinging. You lift a roll of spare bandage and wrap your wrists.

Joel nods, and then passes you your jeans.

“We should go,” he tells you. Then, softer, kinder, “Gotta go back to the pharmacy. Still supplies in the…”

You push yourself to your feet, unable to listen to the end of his sentence. Ghost was carrying most of your food. The map is still in her saddlebag. Ammo, too. The thought of seeing her again turns your stomach, and Joel seems to figure.

“Why don’t you head out back, go get Jet? I’ll grab everything.”

You stare down at him. Your head shakes before words filter through it. You don’t want to be apart from him again. Not today, at least.

He seems to figure that, too. He nods once, then stands with a low grunt. He fixes his jeans, shrugs his jacket back over his shoulders, and his hand finds the nape of your neck again. He pulls you nearer him, your lips brush against the shoulder of his jacket, and then you split, grabbing your supplies and searching the room for any that these assholes might’ve left to you.

When your pockets are full, you limp at Joel’s heels down the stairs and outside, glancing down the street. The silhouette of a horse slowly meanders back over to you, head bobbing, hooves clicking across the asphalt. Show’s over.

Joel stops and waits for her to approach, lets you bury your face into her strong body when she reaches you.

You squeeze your eyes shut against her muzzle, your forehead between her glossy eyes, and hope the message finds a way through flesh and bone – strong enough and sincere enough to push its way through your skull to hers. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Joel’s hand leaves your back and he walks slowly over to the pharmacy.

Your hands run over Jet’s soft mane, combing her gently, reassuring her as if she’s the one covered in blood, bruised and pained. You hook a finger around her bridle and follow Joel.

As you slowly approach, he’s emerging from the shadows of the pharmacy, a backpack in each hand. He reaches the same curb you were stood on less than an hour ago, and looks up to check on you. Your stomach lurches, glancing down to his boots.

There she is. Black coat shining, chest not moving. Legs splayed out on the road. Pool of blood around her velvety soft ears. She seemed so lean, so fit and graceful when she was on all fours. Now, lying in a heap in the shade of some barren street, she looks huge and clumsy. It makes your eyes swell with tears.

You shift with Jet, turning her to avert her gaze. It’s stupid; she’s a horse. How would she know what’s going on? But then, the way she’s breathing – soft, quiet. It’s like – it’s like she fucking knows.

Joel does it gently – kneels beside Ghost, searches in each pocket for your belongings. He knows your eyes are on him. He pulls a box of bullets and the folded-up map from the bag, slips them into his jacket pocket. Collects the tins of soup and canned fruit in one hand, standing to roll them into Jet’s bag.

He turns to you. “You got your switchblade?”

You nod, and he holds his hand out. You drop the heavy knife into his palm, and he bends back down to Ghost’s side.

He uses your blade to cut the bridle by the corner of her mouth, slicing through the leather running from the bit up to the headpiece. Then pulls it apart, a single strap with a tiny buckle still attached, a silver hoop at one end.

He reaches for your backpack, drags it across the rough ground, and knots one of the canvas ties through the silver hoop of Ghost’s bridle. Triple knots it, to make sure it won’t budge. And then he leans back, surveys his handiwork, and turns to gain your approval.

You can’t do much more than nod, tears dappling down your raw cheeks.

When he’s sure he’s got everything, Joel passes you your backpack, slings his on, and then kneels by her side one last time. He places a gentle palm on her head, runs his hand down her muzzle. Sniffs.

A thank-you, you think. A Farewell, brave girl.

He stands again, turns back to you. Waits for you to decide it’s time to move on.

“I can’t do it…” you whisper, and Joel nods, taking a step closer. “I don’t want to leave her.”

And then you’re sobbing, and he’s taking hold of your shoulders and pulling you into his arms, and your cries are muffled by the soft fabric of his shirt. You wrap yourself close around him, bury deeper into his chest, and Joel tightens his grip. The steady beat of his heart pulls you back down, grounds you. You match your breathing with his and pull away.

You approach Ghost shakily, then crouch, fix her mane out of her eyes, scratch her silky ears one last time, and let her go.

Joel’s face is tight when you turn back. Eyebrows low. You bite the inside of your cheek as you pass him, and then hoist yourself up onto the brown horse’s back.

He pulls himself up in front and leans back into you, head cocked to wait for your signal. You snake your arms around his waist and feel a delicate hand rest on top of yours, interlaced on his belt buckle. His thumb traces your knuckles, and when you lean your ear between his shoulder blades, he clicks to Jet.

The horse swerves off, beginning your long journey out of the city.

----------

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vodika-vibes · 3 months

Note

Hi Vodika 🥰

I'm back with a second ask for your follower celebration!

Could I get a Wolffe x Fem!Reader with a narcissus and pansy bouquet? Where the reader ends up in the hospital and Wolffe confesses his love for her when he visits and realizes how much she means to him?

Please and thank you 💚😘💚

@the-bad-batch-baroness

Accidents Happen

Summary: You've been crushing on Wolffe for, what seems like, forever. But you're convinced that he'll never feel the same. However, when you're injured at work, things change.

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x F!Reader

Word Count: 2020

Prompts: Narcissus - unrequited love, Pansy - you occupy my thoughts

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: You did say that Wolffe was on your brain! So I hope this story makes you happy! And here's your personal divider that I made for you. As a note This is Wolffe's message, and This is the reader's messaging.

Early mornings are the worst, you think as your alarm goes off at 5 am.

You lay in bed for a moment, listening to your alarm scream at you from across the room, before you sigh and swing your legs out of the bed and push to your feet.

Early mornings where you actually have to do work the whole day are even worse. You blearily cross the room and hit the button on top of your clock, before you flip the lightswitch, making it impossible for you to go back to sleep.

And then you cross back to your bed, and grab your comm from its charger.

Several messages from your friends from the night before. Several more from your boss from last night and early this morning. A handful of emails that need to be deleted or responded to in kind.

You sigh heavily, and open the app for your work. You quickly log in for the day, before you go back to your emails. You absently answer several work emails as you pad through the apartment into your kitchen.

You set your comm down on the counter, still scanning your emails, and you grab your electric kettle to fill it with water. You set it back on it’s stand and flick the power switch, before you grab your comm again and turn to leave the room.

You start to reply to an email when the dark blue bubble of your instant messenger pops up on the screen.

You up?

Your heart speeds up and your face heats when you see the simple words sent to you by Wolffe. Your crush on him is, frankly, embarrassing.

Tragically. Morning Wolffe. What’s up?

Comet has been harassing me to remind you about the book. The one with the birds.

You stare at the screen blankly for a moment, You mean The Raven Emperor series?

How should I know? Probably.

You giggle, Wolffe, there aren’t any actual birds in that book.

I really don’t care, sarad.

Well, someone’s grumpy this morning.

You’d be grumpy too if your twin brother stole all of your caf.

What, the GAR doesn’t give you a caf supply.

The GAR wouldn’t give us armor if we didn’t need it to win the war.

You can hear him rolling his eyes across the text message, and it’s kind of impressive.

Anyway

Me and the boys are going to 79s this evening

Coming?

I wish.

I have a building that I need to appraise, and it’s something like 200 apartment buildings.

I’m going to be busy until midnight

🥺

Ah.

Well, next time then.

You wait a moment for Wolffe to say something else, but he went offline soon after.

I want to go on a date with you. Your finger hovers over the send button, before you sigh and shake your head, deleting the message.

Wolffe would never be interested in you. Not like that.

You just have to be happy with his friendship.

And here you thought ‘love unrequited’ was just something in the trashy romance novels you read in secret.

You allow yourself to wallow for a whole 30 seconds, and then you remember that you still have to shower and eat breakfast, and you toss your comm on your bed as you hurry into the fresher.

The chat with Wolffe means that you don’t have time for a proper breakfast, especially if you give yourself time enough to shower properly, but you think it was worth it. He’s Wolffe, after all.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re scrambling out of your fresher, pulling your wet hair into a messy knot at the back of your head, and you hurry back into the kitchen.

In your rush you accidentally pour some hot water over your thumb as you fill your travel mug with the water, and you release a pained hiss. “I don’t have time for this,” You say to the empty apartment. You eye the blister critically, and decide that it’s not worth the hassle of treating it

Quickly, but carefully, you finish putting your breakfast together, and you hurry out the front door.

Your boss wants you at the complex by 6 am.

And luckily, you make it. By the skin of your teeth, maybe, but you’re still on time.

“You’re almost late,” the stern looking older man scolds.

“The keyword there being almost,” You counter, as you look up at the building, “This is the Meridian Complex?”

“Yep.”

“You spent how much on this?”

“2.5 Million Credits,” He sounds proud about it.

“This is a death trap.” You point out, cringing as a fake shutter falls off a window three stories up.

“It just needs a little work.” Your boss says, and then he pauses, “You are up to date on your vaccines, right?”

“Ha. You’re hilarious.” You pull your datapad out of your car, and glance at the information on the screen, “You have the keys?”

“Yup, all of the door codes are set to 00000.”

“Noted.” You make a note on the datapad, “After you.”

Half an hour later, you realize that your conservative estimation of this taking until midnight was far, far too generous. This is going to take days.

You look around at the rotting floorboards, and at the graffiti and holes on the walls, and you sigh. At least the paycheck is going to be really nice.

“Hey! I think I found a half decent apartment!” Your boss calls from down the stairs, “Second floor, 209. We can use this as a staging room.”

“Coming!” You shake your head at the sheer mess, and half wonder if you could message Wolffe and ask for the Wolfpack to help. You laugh softly at the idea, the boys would be more than happy to help, you’re sure, but it’s not realistic.

You start up the stairs.

But, if he was willing to help, you could spend more time with Wolffe, which would be a win.

A weird noise makes you slow to a stop, and you pause, tilting your head to listen better.

“What are you doing?” Your boss asks from the top of the stairs.

“...I heard something-” You trail off as there’s a cracking noise under your feet.

Your boss’ face goes gray. “Hurry!”

You go to take one more step, when the cracking noise returns. And when you put your foot down on the stair…it keeps going.

You don’t even have time to scream as the staircase collapses under you.

The last thing you see as you topple backwards is your boss’ horrified face, and you hear a shout of your name.

Wolffe is not having a super day.

On top of the fact that Fox stole all of the Caf and the fact that he’s been confined in his office doing paperwork all morning, the fact that the Wolfpack’s pretty sarad won’t be joining them at 79s tonight just shoved him into an awful mood.

Nights out are always better when she’s with them.

He glowers at the various documents that need his signatures. He should be grateful. He’s not Marshal Commander. He’s seen the amount of work that Cody, Fox, and Bly have on a daily basis.

He’s lucky that he is only a commander and he only has this much work to do.

…yeah, nope. That didn’t help.

He rests his head on his hand as he taps his stylus against the table. “When Alpha said that a command position was worth it, he was a filthy liar.” Wolffe announces to the room at large.

He should make Comet do this paperwork in exchange for the free time he’ll need to read that book series he’s going to borrow-

Wolffe’s thought process is cut off when his office door slides open and Comet bursts in, “Commander!”

“What is it?”

“Sarad is in the hospital.”

Wolffe’s heart drops into his stomach. He drops all of his work and grabs his helmet, “Which hospital?”

“Coruscant General. Sir, where-?”

“I’m going to go check on her, of course.” He pushes past Comet, “You’re in charge until I get back.”

“Yes, sir.” Comet pauses, “Let us know how she is?”

“I will,”

The trip to Coruscant General doesn’t take long, Wolffe is able to walk the distance. And, as luck has it, no one stops him when he enters the hospital properly.

“Can I help you sir?” The nurse at reception asks.

“I hope so,” Wolffe replies, before he offers her name, “I was told that she’s here.”

The woman nods, “Are you the husband?”

Wolffe pauses for half a second, “Yes, that's right.” He lies.

She nods again, “On the fifth floor, room 517.”

“Thank you.” He marches over to the lift, and presses the button for the fifth floor. Wolffe’s mind is whirling. How was she hurt? How badly? Does he need to set up a guard rotation for her?

Did someone attack her? Does he need to get the guard involved?

The lift comes to a stop and he steps out, and heads to the nurses station. He offers her name once more, and again, lies about being her husband, and he’s pointed in the right direction.

The door is shut, and Wolffe lightly knocks on the door. He doesn’t get a response, but he pushes the door open anyway.

“Sarad?” The lights are dimmed, but not so much that he’s not able to see her.

She looks…bad.

Covered in bruises and bandages. Various machines attached to her, monitoring her heart rate and blood pressure and giving her IV medication.

“Oh, cyare.” Wolffe walks over to her, and looks her over. Every inch of her is covered in angry looking bruises or cuts. “What happened?” Gently, very gently, he brushes a strand of hair out of her face.

A lot of the tension he hadn’t realized that he was carrying drains from his body now that he’s sure that she’s not dying or dead.

It’s kind of funny, in a way.

Sure, he’s always known that his sarad was important to him. He’s not been blind to the fact that she’s always on his mind and that he never isn’t thinking about her. But he didn’t know just how important until this very moment.

Wolffe’s fingers linger on her cheek, and he’s startled when he hears a soft moan from her. “Sarad?”

Hazy eyes peer up at him, confused, “‘lffe?”

“Yeah,” He smiles at her, “It’s me. How are you feeling?”

“...wh’re?”

“You’re at Coruscant General, you were hurt, do you remember?”

Her fingers flex, and Wolffe takes her hand in his free hand, “Stairs,” She mumbles, some of the haze leaving her voice, “The stairs collapsed-”

“Unlucky,” Wolffe says quietly, as he sets his helmet on the side table and then sits in a seat, “How are you feeling?”

She’s quiet as she considers his question, “...fuzzy.” She finally says.

He chuckles, “I’m not surprised, by the look of it, you’re on some good pain medicine.”

“Wolffe?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you in the hospital? Are you hurt?” She asks, her brow furrowed as she tries to puzzle it out.

“Come on, Sarad. You know the hospital doesn’t treat clones.” Wolffe brushes his fingers across her lips, “I’m here for you, of course.” He pauses, “I also let everyone believe that I’m your husband. Sorry.”

She hums, “I don’t mind.”

“That I lied?”

“Being your wife.” She clarifies, “Sounds like fun. Let’s do that.”

Wolffe laughs, “I think we’re skipping a couple of steps, Sarad.”

She hums again, her eyes fluttering closed, “Don’ care. Love Wolffe.” She mumbles.

His breath catches in his throat for a moment. And then a wide grin crosses his face. “Are you still awake, cyare?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I love you.” He whispers into her ear, and then he presses a light kiss to her temple, “You’re not going to remember this when you sober up, and that’s okay. I’ll just tell you again and again, as many times as you need.”

She smiles at him, the drugs hitting her hard again, “Stay?”

“For as long as you want me, sarad. Promise.”

#star wars #tcw #vodika-vibes follower celebration #commander wolffe x reader #wolffe x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks

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munson-blurbs · 1 year

Note

Hi darling sister wife! I have a request for a bookworm!reader who always has her nose in a book and has a huge crush on Eddie, but thinks he doesn’t even know she’s alive. And maybe they run into each other somewhere in town and he’s like “oh hey y/n!” and she’s dumbfounded lol

Love youuuuu - @corroded-hellfire

Anything for you, bb 💚

Warnings: none, all fluff <3

WC: 3.8 k

There’s a lump in your throat as you approach the wooden door marked “DETENTION” in scolding letters. You’ve never been in trouble before, always keeping your head down and doing the right thing.

But that was before you’d started reading The Handmaid’s Tale. You’d picked up the novel in the school library that morning, curious to see what all of the fuss was about. It was so gripping, so eerie, so chilling, that you didn’t want to put it down. And so you didn’t—you read it in the halls when walking between classes, during lunch as your friends talked about their prom dresses, even faking cramps during PE so you could sit on the bleachers and continue devouring Margaret Atwood’s words. None of that posed any issues.

You were nearly finished with the entire book by the time last period rolled around. Mrs. Click was droning on and on about the Enlightenment and its influence on European culture. It wasn’t anything the textbook didn’t already explain. How bad would it be to quickly read the final chapter in an incredible book while she yammered about a continent you didn’t even live on?

As you soon discovered, it would be pretty bad. Mrs. Click marched over to you as you tried to hunch down inconspicuously. She plucked the book from your hands and frowned. “Tell me, Ms. Y/L/N,” she’d snapped, never breaking eye contact with you, “what makes you so special that you can select your own reading material during my class?”

You could only shake your head, heat rising in your cheeks. “‘M sorry, Mrs. Click,” you mumble. Other students snicker around you, and you hear someone whisper, “what a nerd.”

“Well,” your teacher starts, placing The Handmaid’s Tale on her already-cluttered desk, “maybe you can come up with a better answer after detention this afternoon.” You nodded dumbly, too humiliated to protest the punishment.

The worst part? She never even gave you back the book.

Fingers trembling, you push the door open and take a seat all the way in the back. You’re the only one there; maybe you can avoid any further embarrassment if it stays that way. You take out your math textbook and start on the first problem, barely able to concentrate. Detention. It shouldn’t be such a big deal, but you hate getting in trouble. Hate having people mad at you, even if that person is your uppity history teacher. It’s why you’re such a goody two-shoes, a people pleaser; you just want everything to be peaceful.

“Honey, I’m home!” a familiar voice calls out. Your head snaps up to see Eddie Munson burst through the doorway. There’s a loose cigarette tucked behind his ear, almost completely covered by his mess of curly hair. His grin widens as he spots you. “Hey, Y/N! What brings you to my home away from home?”

Your mouth goes dry. Eddie Munson knows who you are? The handsome, charismatic, sometimes scary-seeming metalhead knows your name? You clear your throat when you realize he’s staring at you expectantly, waiting for a response. “Oh, um, nothing. Jus’ something stupid,” you manage, picking at your fingernails anxiously.

“Yeah, well, I’m the king of doing stupid things, so, lay it on me.” He sits on top of the desk in front of you, leaning his forearms on his thighs.

The blush creeps back up through your body. “I got busted in Click’s class for reading.”

Eddie furrows his brows in confusion. “Reading what?” he questions. “Like, a nudie magazine or somethin’? That happened to me once, and Click was pissed. Never did get that magazine back either. What a shame.” He tuts gently at the memory.

“God, no!” You shake your head. “It was a book I was reading for fun. And not that kind of fun,” you add pointedly. “It was, um, The Handmaid’s Tale? The novel by Margaret Atwood?” It comes out as a question, and you could smack yourself for your timid disposition. “It’s about a group of women—the handmaids—who are essentially forced to be these birthing machines for their owners. Their entire worth is based on making healthy babies. And if they try to escape, the men of Gilead will hurt them.” Shut up, you scold yourself silently. He didn’t ask you for a damn book report.

But Eddie looks intrigued. “Well, that’s no Playboy, but it sounds really good. I’ll have to read it when you’re done.”

“That might not be for awhile,” you reply somberly. “Much like your Playboy, my book has been confiscated, unlikely to ever be returned.”

Eddie smacks his palms on his knees, startling you, but he pays this no mind. “I’ll be right back,” he says. “If Higgins comes in, tell him I had to take a leak.” And with that, he’s out the door.

What is going on? You thrum your fingers against the desk, considering your circumstances. You’re in detention with Eddie Munson, having a conversation about The Handmaid’s Tale. Never in your wildest dreams did you think this would happen.

Eddie returns triumphantly. “Ta-da!” he exclaims, holding up the novel in his left hand. He places it on your desk and smiles. “Now you can finish it.”

“My hero,” you put your hand over your heart and grin back at him. Butterflies flutter in your stomach. “Like the Robin Hood of books.”

“Robin Hood, huh?” he smirks, sliding into the chair next to yours, “I’ll take it. Better nickname than ‘The Freak,’ anyway.”

You frown, averting your gaze as you say softly, “I never called you that. And I never thought you were a freak, either.”

“‘Course not,” Eddie chuckles, nudging you with his shoulder. “‘Cause you’re a freak, too.” He laughs harder when you scoff. “C’mon, Y/N. Who else gets detention for reading?”

“Fair enough,” you concede. “Why are you here?”

“Besides this basically being my permanent residency? Um, I got caught cutting class? Or smoking in the bathroom? Or maybe it was because I flipped off Jason Carver in the cafeteria? I can’t remember what this one was, honestly. They all just kinda…blur together.” He waves his hand nonchalantly.

“One more question,” you start. “How do you, um, how do you know my name?” You took all honors and Advanced Placement classes, and Eddie…well, he certainly did not.

He gives you an astonished look. “You really don’t remember?” He continues when you shake your head bashfully. “You interviewed Corroded Coffin for the school newspaper last year! I invited you to come to the Hideout and see us in action, but you never showed.”

“Oh, yeah.” It comes back to you now. You’d been all dressed and ready to go, but your mom went ballistic at the thought of you in a dive bar. “I tried, but my parents are really strict.”

“So then don’t tell them!” Eddie says simply. “Just say you’re going to the library or something.”

“At 10 pm?” you raise your eyebrows. “If this is your idea of being clever, it’s no wonder you keep failing senior year!”

His jaw drops at your teasing. “And here I thought you were nice. Y’know what?” He scrunches up his face and eyes your desk. “I’m takin’ my book back!” And with that, he swipes it and clutches it to his chest.

“Eddie!” you shriek, giggling as you grab at the paperback, only to have him jerk away in response. “Stop!”

“Hmm…nope!” Eddie shakes his head, unruly curls brushing his cheeks. “This is a lot more fun for me.” He stands up and holds the book above his head.

You jump up a few times to try and snatch it back, to no avail. As a last resort, you jut out your lower lip in a pout. “Please?”

He uses his free hand to tap his finger on his chin. “What’s the magic phrase?”

“What?”

“Fine, I’ll help you out,” he sighs, feigning exasperation. “It’s ‘Eddie Munson is the smartest, most handsome man in the world.’”

You begrudgingly repeat the sentence, grumbling it under your breath. But Eddie still doesn’t hand over the book. “I said it!” you groan. “You gotta give it back!”

“Oh, did I forget to mention part two?” There’s a mischievous glint in his deep brown eyes. “Now you have to say, ‘And because I heartlessly ditched his concert last year, I will make it up to him by letting him take me out tonight.”

“Me?” You can’t hide the shock in your voice. “Are you joking?” Why would Eddie Munson want to take a shy little bookworm out? He probably had outgoing, boisterous girls fawning all over him at his shows. Girls who didn’t care whether or not they got mommy and daddy’s permission to go to a bar.

“‘M dead serious, sweetheart.” Eddie gives you a soft smile. “Don’t say anything, because it’ll totally ruin my reputation as Hawkins’ evil cult leader, but I also love to read.” He reaches into his backpack and pulls out a tattered copy of The Hobbit. “This one is my absolute favorite. I re-read it, like, once a month.”

“I should’ve known you were a nerd,” you muse, looking up at him through your lashes innocently. “Honestly, the whole Dungeons & Dragons thing should’ve given it away.”

Eddie gently bops you on the head with his book. “So, whaddya say to that date?” He’s trying to sound confident, but you catch him nervously playing with the rings that adorn his fingers.

“I’d love to,” you answer honestly, heart fluttering as he takes your hand in his.

“Great! Let’s go!” He tugs you out of your seat, but you shift your weight so you sink back down. He looks at you, puzzled.

“We can’t just leave!” you gesture to the detention room. “I don’t wanna get in more trouble.” The last thing you need is another round of Click-induced humiliation.

“Why not?” Eddie asks. “No one comes in here. I usually just use this time to work on my lyrics, even though I’m supposed to think about what I’ve done.” He lowers his voice an octave and wiggles his fingers at the last part, making you giggle.

“You’re a bad influence, Eddie Munson,” you say, but you oblige. You tip-toe behind him, keeping a watchful eye out for straggling teachers or—God forbid—Principal Higgins. Eddie doesn’t let go of your hand until you reach his van, opening the passenger side door with a quick bow.

“Ladies first,” he grins, shuffling to the driver’s side and starting the car. It backfires at first, startling you, but he gets the engine to turn over on the second try. “Sorry, my Jaguar is in the shop.”

“Of course,” you reply in a posh accent. “They just don’t make cars the way they used to.” You lean over to turn the radio dial, spinning past Eddie’s favorite station and straight for your own. Stevie Nicks’s voice wafts from the speakers as a Fleetwood Mac song plays.

“You’re really lucky you’re cute,” he tells you, flashing his signature smirk, “or I’d be totally pissed that you changed Ozzy for this.” If he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t think that you could do anything to anger him. You watch as his strong hand grips the gearshift, throwing the van in reverse. He reaches behind your seat as he backs up, tongue poking out in concentration.

You can’t stop the smile that blossoms on your face at the compliment. Eddie Munson thinks I’m cute. The thought buzzes through your body like a hyperactive bumblebee. You try to push it away, mumbling, “Where are we going?”

“D’you trust me?” He threads his fingers through yours, and you feel yourself heat up despite the coolness of his metal rings.

“Not in the slightest,” you tease him again, offering your sweetest smile. “After all, the last time you did something nice for me, it ended with you holding my book hostage. Which you still have, by the way.”

Eddie squeezes your hand affectionately. “Fair enough.” But he doesn’t give you any further information, just sings along with the radio despite his initial protests. It’s melodic and relaxing, and you find yourself staring at the way his soft lips move as he recites the lyrics and uses his forefinger to keep the tempo against the steering wheel. “Okay, y’caught me.” He breathes out a small laugh. “I kinda like their stuff. I mean, I wouldn’t spend money for their concerts, but I don’t mind it if there’s nothing else on. Or if a pretty girl wants to listen to them.” This time, he notices the way you hide behind your hair at his words. “C’mon now; don’t get all shy just because someone called you ‘pretty.’”

But he’s not someone; he’s Eddie. He’s the guy you’ve had a crush on for far too long, and he stole your book back from Mrs. Click, asked you on a date, snuck you out of detention, held your hand, and complimented you repeatedly—all within the span of thirty minutes.

“I was really upset earlier about getting detention,” you confess, steering the conversation away from your timidness and relentless crush on Eddie. “But you cheered me up and, um, that meant a lot to me.”

“Glad I could be of service,” he says, tipping an invisible hat. “But take it from me—detention isn’t the end of the world. Especially since you rarely ever get it.”

“Never,” you correct him.

“Huh?”

“I’ve never gotten detention. Until today.” You feel childish admitting it. Senior year of high school and this is the only time you broke the rules—and in such a geeky way, too.

“Well, it was an honor to witness you pop your detention cherry.” The phrasing makes you burst out with laughter, and you clap your free hand over your mouth. “Don’t do that,” he says softly, letting go of the hand he’s holding to nudge the one that’s pressed to your lips. “You have a nice laugh.” He pulls into a parking lot, finding the nearest spot before killing the engine.

“No way,” you whisper, gazing at the building. You’d figured he would take you out for pizza or s movie, but this is even better. “Eddie, did you bring me to a bookstore?”

He nods proudly. “This one has a little café inside, if you want a coffee or something.” He takes your hand again as you both stride towards the shop. “Pick out a book—it’s on me. Paperback, hardcover—whatever you want.”

“Hardcover? You really know how to spoil a girl, Munson.” Your tone is joking, but there’s truth to it. You normally only splurge for hardcover books when you have a gift card. You peruse the aisles, trying to quickly scan the spines for something that catches your eye. It wouldn’t be out of character for you to spend hours searching for the perfect book, but you didn’t want to drag Eddie along on a boring date.

“Let me grab us something to drink,” Eddie says as you start towards the ‘thrillers’ section. “How do you take your coffee?” You give him your order and promise to meet him by the café in a few minutes. “No rush,” he assures you, and he kisses your cheek quickly before ducking away and heading for the barista.

There’s a whole display dedicated to Stephen King, and you check out the offerings before settling on Firestarter. You’ve been meaning to read it, and now is the perfect chance to snatch it up. Before you go to the café, you wander over to the fantasy section. If Eddie likes Lord of the Rings, you’re sure to find another book he’ll enjoy here. Anne Rice’s Interview with a Vampire stands out; it’s dark and gothic and seems perfect for him. Pulling off the shelf, you make a stop at the cash register before joining him at the café. At a quick glance, you can see he’s chatting with the barista, so you sneakily pay for your gift to him, promising the cashier that you’ll be back to pay for Firestarter. He doesn’t seem too worried, and you flounce over to your date with a wide smile.

Eddie’s sitting at a table for two. There’s a steaming cup of coffee in front of each place setting, with a slice of chocolate cake and two plastic forks in the center. “Figured we could use something sweet,” he says nonchalantly, as though he didn’t just have a small panic attack trying to decide between flavors. His brows furrow when he notices the bag in your hand. “Hey, I said I was treating you to a book!” he whines.

“Don’t worry, I have my choice right here,” you tell him, flashing the paperback. “This is from me to you.”

He takes the bag curiously, sticking his hand in without looking. The tip of his tongue brushes against his upper lip, much like it did in the van, as he dramatically rifles through, conveniently ignoring the fact that there’s only one item in there. After a solid ten seconds of that, he fishes out the book.

“Have you read it? Like, do you already own it? Because I can return it right there,” you blabber, motioning to where the bored cashier is twiddling his thumbs, “if you don’t want it. And you can pick out something else.”

“Hey, hey,” Eddie says softly, cupping your chin with his left hand. “I love it, okay? I haven’t read it yet, but I want to.” He plops down on the chair as you slide into yours, relieved. “In fact, maybe I’ll read it right now.” He opens to the first page, and you giggle as his eyes scan the words. “Oh, I’m being rude, aren’t I?” He fakes innocence, making you laugh harder. “My apologies. I’ll read aloud so you can listen.” He starts speaking in his deep, dramatic Dungeon Master voice. Although he’s trying to be silly, there’s something comforting about having him read to you. You almost don’t want him to stop, sipping from your mug and drinking in the sound of him.

He slams the book shut and gently places it back in the bag. “So, besides read and piss off Click, what do you like to do for fun?” he asks, digging his fork into the cake slice and taking a bite. “Holy shit, this is delicious.”

You take another swallow of coffee. There’s still a hint of bitterness to it, just the way you like it. “I write for the school newspaper. Mostly just reporting on school events, student council budget reports…”

“And entertainment?” Eddie finishes.

“Huh?”

“Writing the entertainment section? Isn’t that why you interviewed us last year?” he adds, pushing the cake towards you as an invitation. You oblige, answering his question before eating.

“Oh,” you mumble, keeping your gaze trained on the confection. “I don’t normally do that, but I asked Nancy if I could cover it that week.”

“Oh?” He’s intrigued, and you’re grateful for the mouthful of cake when he follows up with, “And why is that?”

You chew carefully, probably more times than necessary while you consider your response. Fuck it; we’re already on a date. “Kinda had a crush on their lead guitarist-slash-vocalist,” you say shyly, “and I always wanted to talk to him but couldn’t work up the courage to do it, like, normally.”

Eddie crosses his arms and leans back, smiling proudly. “So you hid behind the guise of your work to flirt with me?” He lets out a soft whistle. “And here I thought you had journalistic integrity.” He puts his hand over yours once again, rubbing his thumb over it rhythmically. “S’okay, because I totally have a crush on this reporter.”

“Fred Benson?” you joke.

Pouting, Eddie pulls the slice of cake directly in front of him. “Y’know what? You’ve lost your dessert privileges for being such a mean date.” To emphasize his point, he takes a giant bite while glaring at you. Chocolate frosting smears on his lips. “Do I have something on my face?” he asks when he catches you staring at his mouth.

“Actually, yes.” You start to lean over with a paper napkin in hand, but decide against it, bringing your lips to his. He tastes like sugar from the cake, burnt caramel from the coffee, and clove from his cigarettes, and your stomach flip-flops when he brings his hand to your cheek and deepens the kiss. “Mmm, my favorite,” you manage when you break away.

“What? Me or the chocolate?” Eddie asks, eyes blown wide just from a simple kiss.

You smile, biting your lower lip. “Right now? The cake, because you still haven’t given me back the book you stole in detention.”

He throws his head back and sighs. “But if I don’t hold your book hostage, how can I secure that second date?”

You brush a lock of hair out of his face. “What if I told you that you already have?” He looks genuinely astonished, so you elaborate. “Eddie, this is the best date I’ve ever had. I can’t think of the last time I was this happy.”

The handsome metalhead reaches into his worn backpack and takes out the book. “You probably already figured this out, but flattery works with me, so…”

You grab it victoriously. “Thank you,” you chirp, stowing it away before he can take it back. Eddie grins at you, just enjoying being in your company.

“I kinda have a little confession of my own,” he says quietly. You pinch your eyebrows together in confusion. “I, um, I didn’t have detention today.”

“Then why—”

“Saw you sitting there alone, and I wanted to talk to you. I keep lookin’ for you in the cafeteria so I can ask you to eat with us, but I never see you.”

You clear your throat. “Yeah, I-I like to eat in the library. It’s quieter there.” And you don’t have to deal with Jason Carver and his posse picking on you, but you withhold that information.

Eddie looks at you inquisitively. “I thought you couldn’t eat in the library.” He raises his brows. “You little rebel. Sneaking food in the library, reading for fun during class…” He trails off and chuckles. “You’re always welcome at our table. I’d really like it if you sat with us, actually.”

“Okay,” you agree easily. “I’d really like that, too.” You kiss him again and again, stopping only to indulge in coffee or cake.

Maybe getting detention isn’t so bad, after all.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things

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neonghostlights · 10 months

Note

Hi! I just found your account and started following you❤️ could I request a Eddie x Henderson reader ( Dustin’s sister) where she’s dating billy and they argue a lot and she’s been crying a lot and one day Dustin’s talking to Eddie about it at lunch and is like “ I’m so sick of billy making my sister cry” and stuff like that and Eddie has a huge crush on her and so he’s like no no nobody’s gonna make her cry so he goes and confronts billy about it and it’s some confrontation then end how you want ofc and add whatever else! I hope you’re okay with writing this, I’m so excited to read it❤️

Hi there ❤️ thank you so much. I made every one in their mid 20’s for this one. I also made reader Dustin’s stepsister. And Neighbors to lovers. Sorry it took me a bit to get this one out (:

Warnings: secret crush, Reader is in an abusive relationship with Billy, Crying, Angst, Breakups, a plate is thrown at reader, Hurt/Comfort 18+ Only

Wordcount: 2.6k

Wait

Eddie liked you. He liked you a lot.

It bordered on the edge of obsession sometimes, just how much he liked you. He would never admit that to anyone else, though.

It was so bad in highschool, that he genuinely thought that maybe he had failed some of his classes because he had been staring and daydreaming about you. In reality it was most likely because he had a hard time with math, but he still did spend a lot of time thinking about you. What it would be like if he finally approached you and admitted the way you made him feel.

You graduated and he didn’t. He thought that would be the perfect time to get over you and move on. To his surprise though, one of the freshmen he took under his wing was your stepbrother.

Dustin brought you up in conversation a lot. A curse and a blessing for poor Eddie.

He saw you in passing sometimes after you graduated. Sometimes you would pick up Dustin, or be at the Henderson house when Eddie was dropping him off after Hellfire. You were in college now, though, so the sightings of you were few and far between. Eventually, you stopped coming around the Henderson house to Eddie’s dismay. Dustin had mentioned that you were too busy to stop by anymore and could only make it by during the holidays.

Eddie avoided asking about you to keep his infatuation secret, only gathering information when it was freely offered to him.

Sometimes Eddie would wonder how different his life would be if he had spoken up in school and asked you on a date. Would the both of you be happy together right now, living a dream life? Eddie always considered you the one that got away. Even as the years passed by he never did forget about you.

Eddie was in his mid 20’s now with a job at the local mechanic shop off main street. He had a trailer to himself, across the park from his uncles, now that he was an adult. Life at the trailer park alone was quiet and normal as always. Everyone who had lived there had already been there for years, so he knew his neighbors well.

It was a sunny summer morning when the moving van came barreling through the gravel drive of the trailer park, hitting every pothole that the park owners never bothered to fix.

Eddie was curious since his neighbors moved out who would take their spot. He hoped they wouldn’t mind that he played his music too loud while he worked on his car out in the driveway sometimes, or think he was the devil based on his choice of clothing and music.

The truck parked, lurching on the uneven ground. Eddie watched as the metal door swung open and two pairs of legs popped out. He leaned forward on the front porch couch, trying to catch a better glimpse. He knew Wayne would want to gossip later during their nightly talks and if Eddie didn’t have all the details right the old man would just come down here himself.

Eddie’s eyes followed the legs, traveling up your body to your face. His eyes grew wide and his heart stuttered. His lit cigarette fell into his lap. “Shit,” he hissed, frantically picking it up before it did any damage.

You glanced up at the noise, making direct eye contact with Eddie. A wide smile grew on your face and you gave a happy wave.

“Eddie? Is that you?” You asked, using your hand to shield the sun out of your eyes so you could see him.

Eddie wished he could melt into the old wooden planks under his feet. You looked beautiful standing there smiling up at him. You wandered closer, abandoning the open door to the moving truck behind you.

Eddie cleared his throat. “Y-yep. It’s me.”

Your grin grew miraculously wider and Eddie thought he was going to pass out. It had been years since he had seen you up close at this point and you still looked just as good as you did in highschool.

“I can’t believe it. I mean Dustin mentioned you lived here but I didn’t know we were gonna be neighbors!” You said cheerfully, bouncing up the porch steps towards him.

Eddie stood up, because he didn’t know what else to do.

“What are you doing here? I thought you’d be living in some big city by now?” Eddie didn’t mean for his words to come out like that. He thought that they sounded lighthearted but the smile dropping on your face had him second guessing himself.

“Yeah. Life happens I guess,” you said with a forced smile.

There was a brief awkward silence before Eddie spoke up again. “Do you need any help?”

A loud engine and music cut out Eddie’s words as a blue Camaro pulled into the lot, revving its engine obnoxiously. Eddie recognized the car but couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

You went to scurry off the porch. “See you later, Eddie!” You called, rushing to the side of the moving van.

Your reaction bothered Eddie but he didn’t know why. You had started the conversation so cheerful and then he watched the joy drain from your face, like being near him was scary. The feeling made Eddie’s heart drop. Were you scared of him?

The car parked beside the moving van. Eddie dropped his cigarette again, now burnt to nothing but ash, when Billy Hargrove stepped out.

You greeted him with a kiss. Eddie thought he was going to throw up his breakfast right into the grass. There was no fucking way someone as kind as you ended up with Billy fucking Hargrove. Eddie had imagined throughout the years what would happen if he ever ran into you again, he just didn’t ever expect you to be taken by someone else when it happened.

Eddie couldn’t watch as you started moving your belongings into the trailer with Billy. He went inside his own trailer and locked the door.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Eddie said as Henderson approached his work station. “Don’t tell me your car broke down again?”

Dustin shook his head, looking a little pale. “I need to talk to you.”

Eddie straightened at Dustin’s distressed expression. Even though Dustin was grown now, Eddie still felt an urge to protect him. Eddie motioned over to his boss that he was taking a break and led Dustin through the back door of the building where only the employees parked so they would have some sense of privacy.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie asked as soon as the door was shut behind them.

“Have you seen my sister?” Dustin asked, using the toe of his shoe to push some gravel around.

“Yeah. I saw her yesterday when she was moving in. Why?”

“Can you keep an eye on her for me?” Dustin asked, looking up at Eddie now with a pleading expression.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

Dustin shook his head, looking up at Eddie now. “I don’t like Billy.”

Eddie scoffed. “Yeah. Who does? The guy was an asshole in highschool.”

“Yeah, well that hasn’t changed,” Dustin explained in a mumble.

“What do you mean?” Eddie asked. It wasn’t a surprise but he needed to know if this meant what he thought it meant.

“I mean. He’s used up all her money and she lost her apartment. That’s why she’s back in Hawkins and moving into the trailer park. I didn’t know because I’ve been at school but he’s not nice to her. She’s come home to my house a few times crying until she eventually goes back to him. My mom said it’s just regular relationship drama but it doesn’t feel right.”

Eddie processed the information he was given for a bit. He wanted to jump in his car and drive back to the trailer park right at that moment to check on you. But he knew that if he came on strong it would only push you away. “I’ll listen out for her Dustin.”

Dustin visibly relaxed. “If you see anything, call me.”

You were out on your porch when Eddie got home that evening.

You smiled and waved. What Dustin had told him about your relationship with Billy stayed in the back of his mind for the whole day.

Billy’s car wasn’t in the driveway, so he thought it would be a good time to talk to you.

“Hey,” you greeted as Eddie approached.

“Hey. How’s the moving in going?”

“Good. I’m mostly unpacked now. I didn’t have that much stuff to begin with,” you told him. Eddie wondered if Billy was the reason you didn’t have that much stuff but he didn’t voice it.

Eddie hummed in response as he leaned against the railing to the steps as nonchalantly as possible. He could feel his pulse hammering in his chest and he felt like he was in highschool again asking you if you had the answers to last night's homework.

“Everything else okay over here?” Eddie asked, suddenly finding his rings more interesting than anything else around him.

When you didn’t answer, Eddie chanced a look up at your face. Your head was tilted and you were squinting your eyes at him like you couldn’t quite figure out what he meant by the question. Eddie felt like you knew what he was alluding to.

“Everythings fine,” you said slowly, pushing yourself up from the plastic chair. “You should go. Billy will be home soon,” you said before going inside without another word.

Eddie kicked himself the whole short walk back to his trailer. He just hoped that he wasn’t stupid enough to cause you to pull yourself away.

Eddie didn’t ever see anything but he heard it about a week later. You and Billy both came and went from the trailer park without incident. The few times Eddie had seen you, you avoided eye contact at all costs. Eddie wondered if it was because Billy was around both times or if you hated him now.

Trailer walls were thin so he always heard quite a bit of his neighbors' lives. Usually, he would just ignore it and move on. But he couldn’t ignore this.

He was smoking his evening cigarette, barefooted with his hair still wet from his after work shower. He was just about to put it out and head inside for the night when a smashing plate caught his attention. Ears perked, he listened for where it came from. That’s when the yelling started in your trailer.

Eddie got up without thinking. Gravel cut into his bare feet as he crossed from his lot to yours.

“You think you can just break up with me?! After everything I do for you?!”

Eddie didn’t waste any time yanking the trailer door open. You stood up against the wall, tears streaming down your face. A broken plate laid on the floor beside you with a dent in the wall beside your head from where it hit. Billy stood across from you, a bag packed in his clenched hand.

Your wide eyed stare met with Eddie’s. You shook your head slightly, silently pleading for him to go.

Eddie saw red. “Did you fucking throw that at her?!” He seethed.

Billy whipped around, making eye contact with Eddie. “Get the fuck out and mind your business, freak.”

“Don’t call him that,” you snapped, straightening your shoulders.

Billy let out a humorless laugh and pointed his thumb at Eddie. “This why you want me to leave? Because of him.”

“Does it matter? Just go,” you begged.

Eddie made his way closer to you, placing himself between you and Billy in case something else got thrown or he wanted to lash out. Eddie knew he wouldn’t win a fight against Billy but he would try. Eddie knew Billy’s type though, he wanted to beat on someone he knew he could win with. The rumors about Eddie being a fighter around town were too strong for Billy to take the chance. Eddie silently thanked who ever started that rumor.

Billy scoffed, tossing the duffel bag over his shoulder. He exited the trailer with a loud slam of the door, causing the walls to shake. Eddie wasted no time locking the door behind him in case he changed his mind and decided to come back in. Neither of you breathed until you heard his car start and pull away.

“You okay? Did he hurt you?” Eddie asked, assessing you for injury.

You quickly shook your head. “No. I’m sorry you had to see that, Eddie,” you apologized. Eddie could see the walls coming up around you.

“Don’t apologize. Be careful. I’m gonna pick up the plate,” Eddie warned as he picked up the sharp, shattered pieces. “Do you think he’ll come back tonight?”

You shook your head. “No. He’ll go stay the night with some girl in Indianapolis for a week and when he gets bored he’ll come back. That’s why he left so easily. He actually wanted to leave but didn’t want me to think I was in control or something,” you said calmly.

Eddie wondered how often this had happened for you to have it understood like a science. He looked down at the pieces of broken plate in his hands, he wouldn’t say that that was him leaving easily.

“I can go and get some new locks for the door in the morning,” Eddie offered. “If you don’t want him to come back this time.”

“That would be great, Eddie. Thank you so much,” you said.

Eddie noticed the way you kept glancing at the door despite telling him that Billy wouldn’t come back that night.

“Do you want me to stay? I can sleep on the couch just in case?” Eddie asked, not wanting to leave you here alone just in case.

You eventually agreed and called it a night, but not before blocking the front door with a chair just in case.

Billy never came back that night, but like clockwork, showed up a week later trying to get back in.

You didn’t let him in this time, instead flexing that new restraining order to have him removed from the property by Hopper.

“Thank you, Eddie,” you said suddenly one evening during your daily talks. It had been about two months since Billy left and you were doing good. Dustin was even able to come over to the trailer to see you, something you never let him do before.

“For what?” Eddie asked.

“For looking out for me,” you shrugged.

Eddie cleared his throat. “You know, I’ll always look out for you. If you want.”

You raised your eyebrows and did your best to hold in your laugh.

“What?” Eddie questioned, feeling insecure now.

“Are you finally admitting you have a crush on me?” You teased.

Eddie dropped his head in his hands. Of course you knew. And now you were going to laugh at him.

“It’s okay,” you said in a soothing voice. “I guess I can admit that I have one on you too.”

“Really?” Eddie was shocked.

You placed a quick kiss on his cheek. “I’ll see you around, Eddie. Same time tomorrow?”

Eddie nodded, speechless as he watched you walk back over to your trailer. His brain caught up with his body as he jumped up from his seat and ran after you. He wasn’t going to let you get away this time without asking you out on a date.

And when you said yes, Eddie realized the wait had been worth it.

#eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson au #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie stranger things #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x you #eddie munson request #eddie munson fanfiction

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drabblesandimagines · 5 months

Text

Dove (part three)

Leon Kennedy x female reader Part one. Part two. Warnings: Things get a bit gory in a flashback, description of panic attack.

“Anything will be great. We’ll take it slow. You ready?”

You’re not, but you doubt you ever will be.

“Ready.”

Leon taps twice on the laptop’s trackpad and it emits a beep, signaling the recording has begun, before he leans back, places his hands on his thighs and smiles. He has a nice smile, it’s reaching his eyes and you try and focus on that and not the sick feeling that’s growing in your stomach. “So, let’s go from the top. Yesterday morning…” You feel yourself inhale sharply. “..alarm goes off, or are you a natural riser?”

You weren’t expecting that to be the first question.

“I… I have an alarm.”

“What time did it go off?”

“I set it for 0630. And I got out of bed right away, otherwise I linger and then I’m late.” If only you knew what was to come you would’ve stayed in bed all day - covers pulled up and over your head.

“Then what did you do?”

“I had a shower, then I got dressed – in what you saw me in.” You hesitate - does he need that much detail, or was that too obvious and waste his time? You wait another beat, in case he wants to say anything, dismiss it from the record, but Leon just sits there there, hands resting on his thighs, looking at you, encouragingly, to continue. You press your nails into the palm of your hand, trying to concentrate. “Then I made a coffee to take with me on the walk to the office. I… I like to get there for 0745.”

“No breakfast?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Sorry. I made a slice of toast, ate it while I was waiting for the coffee to brew.” You remember leaning up against your kitchen counter to eat it – you hadn’t even got a plate out the cupboard, just buttered it on the chopping board, left the knife in the sink to wash up later… Is there going to be a later? You dig your nails into palm again, hard enough to leave indents. “Sometimes I’ll get a bagel from this cart near work, if that matters.” It probably doesn’t, but you want to stop thinking about home.

“And do you walk to the office every day?”

“No – weather dependent. I mean, there’s a bus I can take. There’s just a lot of traffic and so many stops that I found it takes the same amount of time to ride that as walk, so I get that if it’s too cold or wet. Listen to music, usually.”

“Okay, good.” He’s laying on the praise a little thick, but you accept it gratefully all the same, along with his smile. “Doing really good. So, you walked to work. Anything unusual you remember from on the way there?”

“No. Just the same walk, really. I’m pretty good at the whole awareness of my surroundings cos of the job, so…”

“Of course,” he nods. “And you got in the office at 0745?”

“Erm… Probably not precisely 0745.” You scan in through a turnstile, don’t wanna say you got in at a specific time in case it comes back to haunt you. “And I don’t need to be clocked on until 0800, but I had time to made another coffee in the breakroom before I logged on to my terminal, so probably between 0745 and 0800.”

“And are there turnstiles or a security check when you enter?” Had he read your mind? No, he probably has it noted down to cross-check your story.

“Yeah – bag searched, walk through the metal detector, then there’s a turnstile I have to scan in at.” Like any of those protocols had stopped whatever or whoever it was who had got inside.

“Okay, good. Headed to the breakroom, then from there to your terminal, and no other stops, no colleague interruptions?”

“Er… Yeah, one.” You swallow, her face flashing across your mind. “Am I allowed to use their name?”

Leon nods.

“Clara was in the breakroom when I got there, making a coffee. She had a date the night before – I asked her how it went.”

“Okay. Do you know what the date’s name was?”

“No. She’d just mentioned it the day before, though. We were leaving at the same time and she was excited about it, so I thought I’d ask. He’d been really dull at dinner apparently. She didn’t think she’d bother seeing him again.”

And no-one will be seeing her ever again either, your brain so helpfully reminds you.

“Okay. So, you’ve made it to the office, made your coffee, spoke to Clara, sat down at the terminal… What’s that, exactly?”

“It’s a computer, basically. All linked in to the main server, sit in like half cubicles. The screens have these hoods on, so no-one can see what you’re looking at unless they’re in the seat. They’re called terminals on all the internal documents.”

“Right, got you. What’s a usual work day for you? Did yesterday’s seem any different?”

“Do you know much about the surveillance department?”

Leon shakes his head. “I know you’re an intel source.”

“Yeah, that’s about it. Individuals get marked for surveillance from email scans or phone calls, travel plans, receipts, CCTV – it can be just be a word that flags them up or someone makes a tip-off, then we conduct investigations to see whether they’re involved in bioterrorism. So, I log on and open my assigned cases. We rotate every day and there’s always a few you can dismiss immediately because it’s flagged up erroneously. Some, there’s already previous analysis done, so you go through the notes and then check if there’s been any activity or correspondence logged overnight. If there hasn’t been on those cases, I open up a new case – rinse and repeat. It’ll give me a notification on the system if there’s activity on any of my pre-allocated cases, so I switch between as activity starts and stops.”

“Huh,” he muses. “How do you pick up a new case – just see what takes your fancy?”

“No,” you shake your head. “They’re random. You click a button and the system assigns you one. They change the code every week of how it does it.”

“Why’s it random?”

“Er, in case anyone is… trying to protect someone, I guess? Or being blackmailed into, like, closing a case.”

“I see. And nothing out of the ordinary all morning?”

“No. I… I had one case that had had a lot of email activity overnight, so I went through that. Then I submitted a couple of reports advising three… or maybe four cases be closed - I can’t remember exactly - but it’s not unusual to advise closing cases as people get flagged up all the time.”

“Yeah, all make sense. Did you get a break?”

“Yeah, I had a break at 1300 to 1330. I brought in a boxed lunch…” You didn’t mention that earlier, did you? “I made it the night before – not in the morning. I grabbed it out of the fridge before I left my apartment.”

“It’s all right, Dove.” Leon soothes. “I’m not expecting you to remember every finite detail – you’re doing really well.”

You nod, a little shakily. “I ate it in the breakroom. A couple of my colleagues popped in and out, but no-one sat with me that day. I made a coffee and went back to my terminal.”

“Okay.” He nods, leaning forward then and squinting a little at something on the laptop screen. “So, 1442 is when the power was cut to the building. Where were you when that happened?”

“I had an active call that I was listening in on, it hadn’t been going on very long. And then…” You fix your stare on the coffee table then – you don’t want to look at Leon’s face anymore, those sympathetic blue eyes. “..everything went dark. There was about 15 seconds before the emergency lighting came on, or it should’ve been. We have drills every so often, and it’s meant to be quick, but only enough to light the path to the fire exits, you know? But it looked like the back-up generator was coming on too, because I’m sure I saw the terminal screen reboot a second.”

“And you didn’t hear anyone say anything?”

“I think it was quiet, I don’t know if anyone said anything, but there wasn’t an alarm to evacuate. I had my headphones on still as I thought when the terminal reboots, I’ll just get straight back into the call if it was still going after I logged in because they’ll be annoyed if we all left unnecessarily, you know?” Your eyes are still fixed on the coffee table, so you don’t know if he nods or not. “But then…” You wonder if your nails will pierce through the skin of your palm this time with how hard you're pressing. “Then I heard this scream and… And…”

You let out a shuddering breath, hearing the scream echoing around in your mind.

“It’s all right, Dove,” Leon reaches out a hand but stops himself, leaving it hovering awkwardly over your knee. “Here,” he leans forward instead, picks up the glass. “Have some water, okay?”

You take the glass, not even able to say thank you, and put it up to your lips, but it clinks against your teeth, feels too cold sliding down your throat and into your stomach.

He takes the glass back from you as you lower it from your lips, placing it down on the table gently, and waits. He doesn’t press, he doesn’t smile, just waits.

You exhale, close your eyes – you’re not sure if it makes it worse.

“I… I took my headphones off and I… I couldn’t work out what it was. It didn’t sound human – something guttural. I think I heard someone swear, and more screams, but those were human. I-I got up from my chair, stepped out and looked down the hall and… there was this thing, like…” You search for the words, but not for too long. “Sorry, I don’t how to describe it.”

“That’s all right. We’ve got them on the CCTV.”

“But it had... someone in its mouth. And I should know who it was, because I’ve worked with these people for so long, but it h-had their head in its mouth. How could I not know?” Your voice breaks.

“Dove,” Leon starts, gently, “I think we should take a break.”

You shake your head, determined to get it over with. “It shook its head, like a dog shakes a toy, but it bit down and… I don’t know if I blacked it out because I don’t remember how I got there, but I was on the ground, like something had knocked me down and… someone was on top of me.”

“I am so sorry.”

“There were more and more screams and sounds I can’t describe - from all around – and everywhere I looked there just seemed another one of those things, clambering over cubicles with these awful, long tongues, snapping around limbs and, like, ricocheting people back. I got up and ran but there was blood in my eyes and I don’t know if it was mine or someone else’s, but I didn’t get far because this horrible wet thing wrapped around my arm and I got thrown into the wall or something else hard. My arm went limp – I think that’s when it dislocated my shoulder and maybe that confused it because it let go? I don’t know why it would let go when it didn’t for anyone else and… I… The stairs…”

And that’s it, your resolve has cracked and sobs erupt from deep within your chest, your whole body shaking, your vision obscured with hot tears and you can’t breathe with the grief.

There’s a beep – Leon’s frantically stopped the laptop recording, and then he’s sat right next to you, taking your good hand in his and squeezing it.

“I need you to breathe, okay? It’s going to seem hard, but I know you can do it, Dove. We’re going to breathe in through the nose for four, hold that breath in our lungs for another four, and then we’re going to exhale through our mouths for four. Okay? I’m gonna keep count with a squeeze of your hand, close your eyes if you want, I just really need you to breathe.”

You nod, sobs instead of breaths, and it feels impossible as Leon begins squeezing your hand in rounds of four. It’s poor at best, not inhaling enough, breaths still cut short as you cry, but he persists, round after round until, finally, you feel the air is finally reaching the bottom of your lungs, crying reduced to sniffles – feeling exhausted.

“I should’ve stopped you – realized you needed a break.” He stops squeezing your hand but he doesn’t let go.

“No,” your voice still feels tight. “I wanted it over with. Is that selfish?”

“Not at all.” Leon replies quickly, firmly, before his tone softens. “I know this a dumb question before I even ask, but is there anything I can do for you right now, or get you?”

“Can I have a hug?” You ask, quietly - a fleeting thought of that surely would be against protocol, but you need something grounding.

“Of course.” His arms wrap around you – strong, solid, warm arms, mindful of your shoulder, pressing you into his chest and the scent of the strawberry bodywash. You can hear his heartbeat as you press your face into him.

Leon doesn’t speak, doesn’t move either, just keeps holding you close. Hell, he needed a hug after Raccoon City, he’d just never got the guts to ask Claire for one. Not in front of Sherry anyway, and no-one was gonna hug him when he got sent off to military training.

He doesn’t know how long you’ve sat like that, but he is aware as you grow limp against his chest, falling into an emotionally exhausted sleep. He knows it’s not proper for him to be doing this with you, the DSO asset he’s meant to be protecting, but from past experience, he knows you won’t be asleep long and what the DSO doesn’t know can’t hurt them.

Speaking of, he thinks, leaning against the back of the sofa and tilting you gently down with him, he slips a hand into his pocket for his phone and types a quick message.

Interview concluded. Will have timeline of incident and report sent by 2000. Summary - experiencing survivor's guilt, not a suspect.

Part four.

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day! PS: I'm sorry if this was extremely boring but hopefully some nice fluff in there for you at the end x

#ghostdogwrites #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x female reader

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bidisastersanji · 6 months

Text

Just published chapter 3 for the "Zoro learns french" story on AO3 if anyone's interested! Or you can read it right here (part 1, part 2, part 4) and under the cut:

“Sanjiiiiii,” the little doctor wails as he goes through the familiar motions of treating Sanji’s blood loss. “Who did this to you??” He sniffles loudly. “There are no mermaids here! I thought you were over this!”

Next to him, Luffy absentmindedly picks his nose- seemingly amused by the situation- as the handful of straw hats gathered in the med bay whisper conspiratorially amongst themselves. What could have possibly caused the cook to pass out from a nosebleed?

Arms crossed under his chest, Zoro’s eye flits nervously to Robin’s and is unsurprisingly met with her ever impassive and mysterious smile, which he notes reach her eyes. She most likely heard everything, Zoro figures. Probably even popped one of her ears near them to hear better. Fuck, this was such a mess. He swallows hard, his mind still racing with the explicit thoughts Sanji had drunkenly admitted to. Not to mention the long-awaited confirmation that he has indeed been sleeping with men at various ports. So maybe learning French had come in handy. He’d never tell Mihawk though.

“Et puis si tu savais ce que je te laisserais me faire- ” Sanji’s sultry words echo in his mind and Zoro’s ears feel dangerously warm at the memory. He really shouldn’t let himself imagine just what the cook would ‘let him do to him’. Fighting the unconscious impulse to screw his eye shut and shake this off, he follows Chopper’s movements in an attempt to distract himself from the lewd images he’s conjuring. He’s honestly surprised at the self-control he displayed earlier. He was so close to just yanking him by his stupid necktie, kissing him silly, locking his sinfully strong thighs around his hips and carrying him back to bed right then and there, the others be damned.

He can still feel a tightness in his shoulder muscles from the restraint it took to just sit there and listen to the man’s rant. Before he can dwell any more on his struggle, he’s thankfully interrupted by the sound of Chopper speaking up cheerfully, seemingly satisfied with his work.

“Sanji will be ok- he actually didn’t lose that much blood. Relatively. I think his training-” a snort from Usopp is quickly silenced by the doctor’s stern look. “must’ve kicked in. He should be fine by tomorrow morning; I've treated him with something that should help with his blood production.”

The crew, happy to learn their cook will recover just fine, file out of the room to rejoin the festivities, and Zoro does his best to linger just a little longer to peek at the blonde’s soft curls and endearing sleeping face. And if a little bit of pride swells in his chest from knowing he’s the cause of this nosebleed, well...no one will know.

He’s barely out of the room when he finds himself cornered by Nami. Damnit.

“I know Sanji was with you when this happened.” the redhead gives him a serious, pointed look.

Zoro scowls. ‘Yeah, and?”

“And???” her hands fly, up, exasperated. “What happened?”

“None of your business, witch.”

“Oh? And I suppose your debt is none of my business too, you big brute? You wouldn’t mind me adding to it for insubordination, would you?”

At the mention of his ever-growing debt to the navigator, Zoro’s left gaping down at her, mouth silently forming words in anger.

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll get me back for this, I’m the worst, blah blah blah.” Her eyes roll and her hands gesture him to move along. “Now tell me what happened. What could’ve possibly triggered Sanji’s nosebleed?” her eyes momentarily flit down to his chest and her lips curl to the side in a little smirk.

“Unless... no, your tits are always out. Just tell me what happened, and I’ll take 0.5% off your debt.”

Zoro sighs and relents. “I didn’t do much, he’s the one who came up to me and started screaming at me in French.”

Nami stares him down with an unimpressed look. “And then...?”

“And then I just answered him, and he passed out.” he grumbles out petulantly.

“That’s so weird- wait. What do you mean you ‘answered him’?” brown eyes narrow at him. “In French?”

“...yeah.”

“...you speak French?”

“Oui.”

Pain flares on his head from the navigator’s swift punch. She has no sense of humour, damn.

“Stop fucking around. Why would you of all people know how to speak French?”

“You don’t believe me?!” he tries to keep his indignant scream as low as he can.

“No- I’m saying that you wouldn’t go through the trouble of learning a language unless there was something in it for you- so there’s gotta be someth-” Nami comes to a realisation, and her eyebrows raise in shock, giving Zoro an appraising look.

“Oh my god.”

“Shut up.”

“You-”

“Shut up.”

By some stroke of luck, Nami leaves the elephant in the room alone, and returns to the matter at hand. “Ok, ok, so you speak French. I can only imagine what you must’ve said to get that kind of reaction from him, though.” She runs her hand across her face, tired.

---

Sanji wakes up and is immediately blinded by the sun shining through the window. Ugh. He groans at the dull, pounding feeling behind his eyes and turns to his side to hide from the offending light. He’d definitely had too much to drink last night.

He snorts into the pillow. He’d drunk so much he’d either dreamed or hallucinated that Zoro could speak French. Wow. His unfiltered imagination really went wild, didn’t it. He can almost hear the seductive words dripping like sex from dream Zoro’s lips, the rough timber of his voice causing a shiver to shoot up his spine and-

A distinctive, sterile smell cuts through his train of thought.

Wait.

Is this the infirmary?

He cracks open an eye, confirming his theory. This is the med bay all right. He groggily sits up, blanket falling from his torso, and catches a stain on his usually pristine white shirt from the corner of his eye. His chin drops to get a better look. Is that... blood?

His blood. He’s had this happen enough times to recognise the results of a nosebleed. Grumbling, he throws his legs over the bed to stand up, annoyed at the prospect of having to scrub the stain out of his good shirt, when it finally hits him. The moment his feet touch the floor, the evening and his current predicament suddenly click together and bring his thoughts of hydrogen peroxide and baking powder to a screeching halt.

A beat passes.

Like a rubber band stretched tight, a myriad of thoughts is catapulted to the forefront of his mind, jumbling together in a mess of realisations. Zoro speaks French. Zoro sounds unfairly sexy when he does. How long has he spoken French. Where did he even learn it. Zoro probably overheard his conversation with Robin. Zoro understood the filthy things he told him. To his face. Zoro flirted with him.

His face burns even brighter at the memory of that last one. Oh god. He even called his dick “big” right to his face.

Well-versed in burying his feelings deep deep down (years of practice), Sanji staggers through his usual morning routine. Once back in the comfort of his kitchen, his hands go into autopilot mode as he preps for a big healthy brunch to revive his nakama from a long night of festivities.

It takes him a second longer than usual to notice the creak of the door as someone walks into the kitchen, and he doesn’t bother turning around to see who it is, too busy trying to catch up on his cooking schedule from his late rise. Luffy will be up soon, and he needs to satiate the black hole that is his captain’s stomach.

“Oi. Tu cuisines quoi.”

(Oi, what’re you cooking.)

“J’prépare un brunch bien gras. Je suis sûr que ça soulagera la gueule de bois collective.” Sanji absentmindedly answers the annoying swordsman. Tch. Always up in his business.

(I'm cooking a greasy brunch. I'm sure it will help relieve the collective hangover.)

“Ça sent bon. Je peux goûter?” (It smells good. Can I taste?)

The mosshead’s gorilla arm comes into view from over his shoulder as he reaches to dip his hand into the batter Sanji’s whipping up, and the cook slaps his hand away and heavily crushes his foot without even breaking his rhythm.

“Non. Bas les pattes.”

(No. Paws off.)

Zoro makes a disgruntled noise and properly steps up next to him, leaning his back against the counter. From his peripheral vision, Sanji notes him standing there, head turned towards him, looking at him cooking. Just looking. Odd behaviour for a marimo.

Minutes pass before the swordsman’s voice interrupts the rhythmic sound of Sanji’s cooking, saving him from the panicked screaming in his mind: They’re speaking French. Zoro’s clumsy pronunciation is the hottest thing he’s ever heard. Why are they acting like this is normal. Why is he standing so close. And are they ever going to address what happened last night? All this stops at the sound of:

“Et toi, je peux te goûter?” (And you, can I taste you?)

Sanji’s breath hitches and he feels a warmth creep up his spine, to his neck, his ears, and all the way to the top of his head. He’s going to implode.

Where did he learn to say that. He hears himself squeak out that very question, eyes looking down at the bowl of batter, pointedly ignoring the other man’s heated gaze.

Zoro's deep voice rumbles in a low chuckle. “Ça ne répond pas à ma question. Ni à celle de hier soir.”

(That doesn’t answer my question. Nor last night’s question.)

Callused fingers suddenly grip his chin, and now he’s face to face with Zoro, who to Sanji’s surprise is sporting a dangerously tender expression, his hand moving up to cup his cheek. His voice is softer, this time.

“Dis moi.” (Tell me)

His chest aches. “Tell you what?”

Sanji doesn’t like the vulnerability voicing his feelings in French makes him feel. It’s so much easier to revert to his usual abrasiveness. Safer. “I already told you how you drive me up the wall. What, do you want me to embarrass myself further by telling you how badly I’ve wanted you?”

An expectant eye stares back at him. Patient. Silent.

The blonde huffs and raises his flour-dusted hand to the one Zoro is gently cupping his face with. “You’re the most infuriating person I’ve ever met. Do you have any idea the self-control it takes to not just -“ he feels a tightness in his throat - he didn’t think it would be so hard to actually say it- “de ne pas te dire tous les jours combien je t’aime?”

(-to not tell you every day how much I love you?)

He blinks and Zoro’s lips are on his, soft and delicately pressing against his own like he could break at any moment. And boy does he feel like he could. He immediately starts pushing back, angling his head just so to deepen the kiss, melting from the sheer tenderness, his fingers still gripping Zoro’s hand where it lays, rough calluses against his soft skin.

They briefly part for air but Zoro immediately dives back in like a man starved, tugging the cook by his hips to stand between his legs, and the blonde has to bite back a moan at the manhandling. Sanji’s arms loop around his neck and find purchase in his ridiculous green hair.

Zoro will never get enough of kissing this man. It’s simply too intoxicating, and perfect, and everything he’s ever wanted. Which is why it’s with great reluctance that he retreats from this slice of heaven, if only to make sure his own intentions are clear. He can’t believe the bastard beat him to it. He’d walked in here with a plan to test the waters and flirt back- get a little revenge on the blonde from the way he made his brain short circuit the previous night. Maybe test out a few phrases he’d learned in those Harlequin books the pervy cook loves so much. What happened instead was so much better.

He’s glad to be propped up against the counter because his knees feel weak at the raw, exposed emotion on Sanji’s face when he tells him–

“Je t’aime.”

A radiant smile. A wet laugh through misty eyes.

“Imbécile.” (Idiot)

The man buries his face in his neck and presses him close in an intimate embrace, holding tight at the back of his shirt. Zoro’s chest swells with love and he holds him back just at tightly, rubbing soothing circles on his lower back.

“Ton imbécile.” (Your idiot.)

#zoro x sanji #zosan fic #zoro learns french story #zoro learns french #one piece zosan #zosan #hope you guys like emotions #black leg sanji #roronoa zoro #with a dash of my favourite thing #nosebleed sanji

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