#this is directed at both apple and also my shoulder
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Three to Flee
Commission from the very sweet @ignoreprotocol
Someone leaves the door open and the pets get out.
Content Warning:
Established kidnapping situation, unhealthy relationships, collaring
Author's Note:
This does not mean Keeper/Kept is back. As far as I'm concerned, that story is finished, but this was a special case.
Shockingly, it’s not Feral that brings it up first.
The girls are having a little picnic at the edge of Johnny and Shy Thing’s yard, shaded by the tall trees. The men are chatting on the porch, sharing cigars and whiskey, far from earshot. Good behavior has earned them this bit of privacy, and so far, they’ve just used it to exchange keeper notes and offer bedroom advice.
“I can’t believe you don’t even have a fence,” Good Girl muses, glancing at the forest beyond. Her own yard is well fortified. It’s not just the sturdy, unclimbable fence, but also the monitors and floodlights connected to it.
Shy Thing sheepishly mentions a failed escape attempt several months earlier, a mad dash through the woods that ended with her dirty and disciplined. That prompts Good Girl to confess her own ill-fated getaway, a midnight attempt at sneaking out that resulted in a bruised ass.
Feral listens with her head cocked, nibbling at her apple slices. When their eyes turn to her, she shrugs.
“I haven’t tried to leave in a while,” she admits, “but I don’t think it would go well.”
Good Girl frowns. “How do you know if you haven’t tried?”
Feral snorts. “You’ve met Simon, haven’t you?”
All eyes turn to the boys on the porch. And there’s Simon, watching. Feral makes a rude gesture his way and they can see his shoulders shaking with a chuckle.
“Besides… it’s not so bad,” she muses. “Most of the time.”
Good Girl sits back, expression twisting. “I don’t want it to be ‘not so bad,’ I want it to be good. And I want it that way all the time.”
Shy Thing shifts. “What’s so wrong with John…?”
Good Girl huffs and begins picking at threads in the blanket. “He’s… fine. I mean, he would be if I could just leave. Don’t you miss being free?”
Feral hums.
“I… I miss going to the store when I wanted… or just… walking around town,” Shy Thing admits slowly. “I miss coffee shops and parks.”
Good Girl groans in agreement. “I miss the internet. It’s like being a fucking teenager again, having all my activity monitored.”
With a little more momentum now, Shy Things continues, “I haven’t been alone in months. Just… by myself. Doing whatever I want.”
“And not having rules,” Good Girl adds, sipping at the mojito John put in a little travel cup for her. “Fucking… sick of having a bedtime and chores and a fucking collar. Aren’t you sick of it?”
It’s directed at both of them, but Shy Thing nods, hands fidgeting.
“It gets to be a lot sometimes,” she mumbles, “I think I warmed up to Johnny out of pure exhaustion.”
Good Girl huffs again, worked into a proper fuss now. “And they’re so smug about it. Like we’re just these good, trained pets.”
Feral pipes up, “We could leave together.”
Both girls swivel to her with varying degrees of shock, hope, and disbelief.
“You said you didn’t think you could get past Simon,” Good Girl says.
Feral snorts and stretches out on her stomach in a mottled patch of sunlight creeping through the leaves.
“Yeah, I couldn’t on my own,” she explains, “but between the three of us…”
It’s uncomfortably simple when it happens. They just need to wait until the next big mission.
All three of them beg (or in Feral’s case, demand) to spend that time together while the keepers are away. It’s not unusual for the creatures to meet up when one or more of the men are gone. With all three off on a mission this time, they sniffle about being lonely and wanting company. That their houses feel too big and empty, that cooking for one is depressing.
Johnny caves instantly; John agrees on the stipulation that Good Girl is on her best behavior before he leaves. Simon, of course, is a foregone conclusion.
They go to Simon’s house. It’s the safest of the three homes and has the most space. Not to mention the girls will have some sort of access to the outside with the enclosed sunporch.
On the day of the mission, Good Girl and Shy Thing show up with fully packed bags, ready for their extended “sleepover” with Feral. The pets see their boys off, behave as normal for the cameras until Shy Thing gets the “heading out” message from Johnny. That’s the greenlight.
Feral has her own bag of things that she packs quickly and expertly. They fill a fourth bag with nonperishable provisions, just in case. Each of them has cash that they filched last minute from their keepers’ wallets – knowing they wouldn’t check them just before a classified mission.
The girls know it’ll be a day or two before anyone checks on them. Even Kyle is away with the team this time.
And then it all comes down to walking out the door.
The front door is, of course, locked. All the windows have alarms on them, and so does the garage door. But the sunporch…
“He didn’t lock the door,” Feral realizes as it swings open. And the alarm only engages when it’s locked.
All three of them take a single step out into the open air. And stop. Stare at each other a little moon-eyed.
They just left.
They stride at a quick clip around the side of the house and down the road. It’ll be an hour-long walk into town, but they have thick coats and each other for company. They chatter as they follow the pavement, just within the tree line out of caution. Pretend its giddy celebration at their escape and not a distraction from the creeping mix of dread and uncertainty beginning to simmer within each of them.
When they reach town, they blend into the crowds, weaving through the streets until they find a low-end hotel. It won’t be anything fancy, but at least it seems clean enough. Good Girl does all the talking with the receptionist (also a lady, thank god) since Feral and Shy Thing are jittery from so many people. They get a one-bed room with easy access to the fire exit.
It’s only after they’re inside that reality sinks its claws in.
They’re free. For the first time in months, they’re outside with no one standing behind their shoulders or holding their arms. No one to appease, nothing to behave for.
And Shy Thing throws up in the toilet.
“This is scary,” she wheezes, eyes watering. “I’m scared. I want—”
Though she stops, the other two know what the end of that sentence was. Good Girl rubs her back.
“Don’t worry, they’re not going to find us,” she soothes like she doesn’t know why Shy Thing is really scared.
Neither Shy Thing nor Feral reply. The answer hangs in the air, unspoken. We want them to.
Feral, feeling restless, goes back into the main room and begins rummaging through her bag.
“What are you doing?” Good Girl asks, giving Shy Thing privacy to clean up.
“Looking for something to cut that off with.” Feral nods to Good Girl���s collar. “It’s probably chipped or something. We should have taken it off at home.”
She stops as the blood drains from her fellow creature’s face. They stare at each other across the tiny motel room, the weight of their successful plan pressing heavier and heavier with each passing second.
“I…” Good Girl rasps, “I…”
“You don’t want to.”
Her eyes well with tears. “No.”
Feral drops her bag and crumples to the ground, tugging her knees up to her chest.
“Why don’t I want to?” Good Girl whispers, curling her arms around herself. “This… this was my idea. I complain all the time. Why do I miss him already?”
Shy Thing appears in the doorway, sniffling. “I-I don’t know if I can do this. I can’t imagine life without Johnny. I… I don’t know if I want to have a life without Johnny.”
And Feral, still on the floor and trembling all over, just looks at them with huge tears running down her face.
Needless to say, when three rather miffed keepers in full combat gear throw the door open at 3am, they are not expecting armfuls of distraught creatures sobbing into their chests.
#cod#my writing#fanfiction#reader fic#dark fic#commissioned work#commission#keeper/kept au#keeper price#keeper ghost#keeper johnny
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Don't be a stranger! Pt. 2
Part 1 Part 2
Simon "Ghost" Riley x FemReader
Content: Neighbors AU, fluff, developing relationship
"If you're going to insist on making dinner for the both of us I might as well pay for the groceries." Simon was standing next to your door waiting for you to finish getting ready. You had asked him this morning what he wanted for dinner as you were going to the store after work and could get anything he wanted.
"Me making dinner for you is supposed to be a thank you for helping me Simon. I love that you're joining me, but I'm not going to let you pay."
"We'll see."
You finally walk out of your bedroom towards Simon, "Your job on this trip is going to be pushing the cart and looking pretty. I'm going to be grabbing everything and paying." Giving Simon a playful glare as the two of you makes your way out the door.
Pretty?
Do you really think he looks pretty?
-
Simon hated grocery shopping; he has always felt that it was a waste of time, far too many people walking around, and the lights in here were almost blinding. He’s not happy to be here, but he also wasn’t going to let you continue to let you do all this work and not help in some way.
At the very least shopping with you did make the experience more enjoyable. All he had to do was follow you. Letting you take control of where they went and did was strangely freeing from his usual day to day. Plus getting to just watch and listen to you ramble about your day was not something he was going to give up now that he’s here.
"You know you still haven't told me what you wanted. I've been making my favorites every time you come over; it's your turn now to decide the menu."
"I've been living off military mess hall food for most of my life. Anything you make is going to be a favorite of mine, love."
"How about you tell me at least one thing you want?"
"Anything I want?"
"Anything!"
You.
That is the answer Simon wants to say, but he knows he can't, "I like shepherd’s pie.”
“Shepherd’s pie it is!” You say, giving him a wide grin.
The rest of the shopping is mostly uneventful. It isn't until the two of you were at the end of your grocery list did you seem to realize something was missing.
“Oh, meet me at the front! I forgot to add apples to the list; I’ll go grab it real quick.”
Before Simon could even disagree and say he’d just go with you; your figure was already speeding away from him. Slowly he made his way to the front of the store out of the way of others to wait. It wasn’t until eight minutes later when he saw no sign of you that he started to worry.
It took all but a moment to find you, and he was not pleased with what he saw when he did. A man was standing far too close to you. The uncomfortable look on your face only served in sealing the man’s fate.
Neither of you seemed to notice as he walked closer, but he was able to finally hear your conversation now.
“-on, just one date. I promise I’ll make it worth it.”
"My boyfriend is waiting for me; you need to leave me alone." You try to step around him, but the man is quick to side step in front of you and makes a move to grab you. Simon would happily beat the man into the ground, but he doesn’t want to frighten you. So he does the next best thing which is to rail the man with the cart.
With a loud grunt the man falls onto the ground holding his side in pain.
“She said to leave her alone. So why don’t you crawl away now like the worm you are.” Simon snarls down at him. Moving the cart and himself to stand between you and the man.
"What the fuck man!"
"I'll give you five seconds to get out of here." Simon wasn't about to have a pointless back and forth with this guy. The only thing he cared about right now was getting him away from you.
He stands slowly and glares in your direction before practically running away from Simon and you.
As soon as his figure disappears from sight Simon turns to you and gently grips your shoulder; tucking you into his side as he guides you back to the front of the store.
"Thank you for doing that; you didn't have to but I really appreciate it."
"It's no problem," Simon continued his hold on your shoulder; not wanting to yet let go of you, "If anyone messes with you send them my way. I'll deal with them."
You give him a smile in return. "That was honestly really funny by the way; hitting him with the cart."
"I would have ran him over with it, but I didn’t want you having to find a new grocery store because I got the two of us banned."
You laugh at his words and it makes his chest feel tight. He almost wants to record it just so that he could take it with him anywhere he goes.
"C'mon, let's get out of here before they change their minds then!"
Simon had of course won in the end when it came to who was going to be paying. He knew he would, but you still put in a good fight to beat him to it. He’d let you win in a lot of things, but this wasn’t one of them.
-
It wasn’t until the two of you were sitting in your flat after eating did you seem to notice that he had been acting more reserved than he normally would be. Of course you weren’t about to just let him stew in thoughts for long once you caught on to it.
“What’s wrong Simon? You’re acting a lot broodier tonight.”
“I’m leaving soon; next week.” There was no point in lying to you; Simon had gotten the call from Price just a couple of days ago. He had been wondering how he was going to break the news to you.
“Leaving? So soon; do you know when you’ll be back?”
No he doesn’t know when he’ll get to see you again. For all he knows the day he leaves could be the last day the two of you ever see each other again. “No, but I’ll see what I can do to come back soon.”
“You better,” You give him a soft elbow jab to the side, “I’m gonna miss you y'know. I’ve gotten so used to having you around these past few weeks.”
He had as well, almost regrettably so. Your presence in his life had done something to him that he’d never be able to undo. Simon wasn’t sure how he was going to feel not being able to see you. The daily morning walks, evening dinners, and weekend hangouts had quickly become a staple in his life.
For now though the only thing he wanted to do was live in the moment. He didn’t have to say goodbye right now and he wasn’t going to act like he did while he was with you. That time would come later.
Taglist:
@nexthyperfix @spicyspicyliving
#simon riley x reader#fem reader#x reader#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley#task force 141#tf 141#call of duty#female reader
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hey quick question. what hte Fuck was that,
#this is directed at both apple and also my shoulder#mad at apple bc: replaced the control bar on new laptops with a digital version#which includes a volume slider instead of just 'volume up' and 'volume down' buttons#mad at shoulder bc: two back-to-back subluxations??? wat are you DOING HONEY#what happened: accidentally tapped the top of the volume slider#which turns the volume up to MAX and blasts ur eardrums into smithereens#note that i did that whilst one of my hands was sorta loosely holding my arm#so in my panic. i think i must have grabbed and yanked on my arm???#and it popped RIGHT OUT of the socket (and then back in)#which is just adding insult to injury (or. injury to injury??) bc i was ALREADY dying#from the music blasting at an ungodly volume#and now my SHOULDER HURTS????#okay and um. i remembered how to turn down my headphones so i did that and took a moment to collect myself#and then guess waht. guess what i Immediately fucking did.#as soon as i was ready to proceed with the music listening???#i tapped the max volume AGAIN#and YANKED MY SHOULDER OUT AGAIN#bc i was kinda holding it since!! yk!!! it HURT!!!!#so yeah now ive figured out how to remove the slider and just put in the up/down buttons instead#but also im fucking Angy bc WHAY THE FUUCK#whatever the fuck
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consequences
a/n: I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE THIS CAME FROM BUT HERE YOU GO
also i'm more than happy to continue this if yall want more, just LET ME KNOW
other works
“You want to what?"
"To open our relationship."
You stare at him in disbelief, clutching the soft blanket in your hands. There's a sharp ringing sounding through your eardrums and everything around you slows. He keeps talking, his voice breaking through the barrier of fog that encompasses your senses.
"I want us to remain honest with each other, but this is the only way to keep our relationship healthy."
He steps away from the kitchen counter, wearing the sports jacket you bought him for your sister's wedding.
"I want the both of us to disclose when we start dating someone else. That's the main boundary, we can hammer out all the ground rules later. Right now, I'm going on a date, so uh," he pauses as he checks his reflection in the mirror beside the door one last time, "don't wait up."
You try to focus on his words, but no matter your efforts you weren't able to process anything. His keys jangle in his grip and you faintly recognize the sound of the door slamming closed and his footsteps echoing down the empty corridor of your apartment.
"I still can't believe he said that to you."
The singular ice ball hits against the sides of your glass with each tilt of your wrist. You take a long drag of the dark liquor before laughing sardonically.
"It's been six months of him parading his dates around." Another sip, your work skirt digs into your thighs painfully. You distract yourself by reaching for a peanut from the nearly empty bowl. "And what's worse is that he still expects me to be the doting wife that he comes home to every night!"
The bartender refills your glass while you sneak another peanut. You card your fingers through your hair as you continue to rant. A dull throb radiates in between your brows so your eyes slide closed as you take deep breaths.
"Well, I can't imagine you're doing so bad yourself."
You hum questioningly at the man, focusing your gaze on the dark-haired bartender, his stubble dusting his sharp jaw as the muscles work beneath the skin. His eyes haven't left you since you sat down in front of him.
"I see you in here." You begin to pick at the skin around your nails and he nudges a bowl of peanuts in your direction. "Men come up to you all the time. You've been on dates too, right?"
You reach for a peanut and crack open the grainy shell, biting the inside of your cheek. Your bartender laughs incredulously and then presses his hands into his side of the counter to lean over toward you. The cloth he tosses over his shoulder must be damp because the fabric of his white button-up is darkened there.
"Focus on me, Peanut."
Your eyes snap to his, unable to keep the overflow of expression from brimming beneath the surface. Your heart cracks further as he visibly softens, crumpling against the counter to cover your hand with his. A tense silence stretches between the two of you, charging the air with unwelcome emotions.
Your bartender’s spare hand cups your jaw and swipes away the glistening tears fleeing down your cheeks. Sniffling loudly while straightening in your seat, you pull away from his touch—effectively stopping yourself from melting into him.
You’ve worked so hard to make this shitty dive bar your safe place, you’ll be damned if you ruin it with a fling.
“I don’t even know why I’m wasting tears on this whole thing.” You take three deep breaths—whiskey and apples invade your senses. The man in front of you tilts his head to the side while drying a few crystal glasses.
“You’re avoiding my question, Peanut.” He turns briefly and you try to figure a way out as the cups clink softly. “You have been dating too, right?”
Your teeth trap your bottom lip, peeling off the thin layers of skin. You purposely avoid his eyes, doing less than nothing to hide your answer.
“Jesus, Peanut. What’s stopping you?”
You huff, focusing your attention on the patrons around you. There’s noticeably less than there were when you first arrived. The bar guests go about their business, underlying emotions kept close to their chest and out of sight to everyone else. You wish you could be that way, instead of sewing your heart to your sleeve for anyone to rip pieces from.
“I--" You hesitate, twirling your glass, watching as the ice fights to keep up with the sudden movements you force on its surroundings.
"Some small part of me still loves him. No matter how much he hurts me with this whole open relationship bullshit. I'm still thinking that one day he'll wake up and remember that I've been his loving wife and partner for the past six years. This can't be my new reality. It just can't. He's meant to be my partner for life, not my partner who has really good friends. Not my partner with a girlfriend or some fuck buddy across town."
This is the can of worms that you'd hoped to keep locked away from the Commando's dive bar. What you've held close to your chest every night you slink past the blonde bouncer, Steve. The information you never let slip to the six-foot-five bartender with the metal arm. And now, you can't seem to stop the words from leaving your mouth.
"He's supposed to be my husband. Why isn't he my husband? Is it me? He said that we would talk about what the reason was, but I can't get him to sit down with me. I can't even get him to reply to a text, much less answer questions about our relationship."
You spit the last word before downing the rest of your drink in one go. Bucky stands patiently as you let loose every emotion that you've bottled up for the past six years. Further in the bar, someone shouts for the last call.
"Why don't I date? Because I love him. Because outside of him, I don't know who I am. I don't date because I've been with the same man for almost a decade and I wouldn't even know where to begin. I can't see past where I'm at right now. There is no future for me outside of the hell that I find myself in now. I can't date because I want to be there for when my husband remembers that I exist. I want to be there for him like he wasn't for me because I know the novelty of his flings will wear off soon enough. And maybe that makes me worse than him, but I don't know if I have the energy to care anymore."
There's now a heavy silence covering you and your whole body slumps because of it. Despite feeling the biggest breath of relief of getting those emotions out in the open, you now have to deal with what they mean. You were always taught that saying your emotions out loud would only lead to more issues, but here you fucking are. Sometimes these things are unavoidable.
"I call bullshit."
Your jaw drops as your bartender rocks away from the counter. You flounder as he starts performing closing duties. You stare at Bucky's back, slightly distracted by the muscles working underneath the tight material.
"Did you just bullshit my feelings?"
Bucky turns halfway, eyebrows raised, "Yep."
Your bartender plucks the glass in front of you and drops it in the sink on his way to the cash register. If you were in a whole state, you'd smack back with a witty comment, but you're tired.
"You can't bullshit my feelings."
He holds a stack of twenties in one hand and he pins you with the same expression as before.
"Uh, yeah I can."
He continues to count the register and tosses a goodbye to the other bartender. A long lull stretches between you. Now it's just the two of you in the bar, and that must have been what he was waiting on because it's only now that he really talks.
"Peanut, how long have you been coming here?"
You furrow your brow at the question, not sure where he's taking his line of questioning.
"I don't know, four months?"
“Four months, twenty days."
Bucky's retort is quick and final. A fact. Something he's committed to memory. You're taken aback by the heavy tone he layers between the syllables.
"And for those four months and twenty days, I've stood behind this counter and watched you wallow. I've watched you turn down proposition after proposition. I've had Steve throw out dozens of men for how they speak about you. I've sat back and tried to be the listening ear that you need because you're clearly going through a really difficult time. I've never been in the position that you're in and I'm not going to pretend that I understand the half of it."
He slams the drawer closed and rounds the countertop. His boots thud against the floor violently, stopping beside the barstool next to you. Your bartender leans down and swings your stool to face his before taking a seat.
"I've stood behind that bar and was able to listen to quite a bit. But what I can't have is you thinking that you're the issue."
His hand slips into yours, his thumb tracing the knuckles of your fingers. Tears begin to brim at your waterline again, but you refuse to let them fall.
"Peanut, you're the most loyal person I've met in recent years. You love fiercely and you hurt even harder. Hell, you've been with this guy for almost ten years and he's been fucking you over for the past six months and you're sitting in this bar defending him to a relative stranger!"
"But he--"
"You're husband took the decision away from you and then framed it in a way that made you out to be the bad guy. He put you in a nearly impossible situation because he knew you were too loyal to him to do anything about it."
"He didn--"
"Yes, he did."
Having it laid out like that by the one person you wanted to be kept away from all of it was eye-opening. Your shoulders crumple and a new wave of tears threatens to escape.
"Now, this isn't the best time, but I feel like in a situation like yours there's never going to be a 'right' time."
Bucky sits up straighter and sticks his metal hand out to you.
"Hi. I'm Bucky Barnes. I'm a retired Army Sergeant and I now work in the Howling Commandos bar. I've been your bartender for the past four months and twenty days. Over that time, I've grown to care for you, more than a bartender should. Because of that fact, I want to take you out on a date."
You suck in a breath sharply, immediately going to deny him, only for Bucky to cut you off.
"You don't have to give me an answer right now, Peanut. Just think about it and whenever you're ready, I hope I'm your first call."
You chew on the inside of your cheek, gnawing on the idea. You have grown fond of Bucky. He's become a sort of safety net for you these past few months. Going home has proven to be more and more of a chore so you spend hours on end in the Howling Commandos.
What if you and Bucky go on a date and you hate it? What if you date and you have a huge falling out? What if you--
"I can see the wheels turning, Peanut." He taps your temple with a cold metal finger. "What are you thinking?"
"What if we end up not working out?"
"What if we do?"
The question hangs. The implication is clear. You could spend hours going through the what-if scenarios, both positive and negative. You'll never truly know until you take a leap of faith.
"What would your boss think of you dating one of your new regulars though?"
You're grasping at straws, but you're really trying to convince yourself that taking that leap with Bucky would be the worst thing in the world.
"Peanut, I'll sell the damn bar before someone other than you tells me that I can't date you."
Your eyes meet his and all you can see is the adoration and sincerity in them. His thumb is still working over your knuckles, but it's also expanded to tracing aimless circles into the back of your hand. The cool metal is the only way you've grounded yourself to reality.
A slow smile spreads across your features, the first of its kind tonight and you both know what it means.
#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x reader#bartender!bucky#bartender!bucky x reader#bartender!bucky barnes x reader#seb stan#sebastian stan#sebastian stan character#seb stan character#seb stan x reader#sebastian stan x reader#bartender!bucky x you#bartender!bucky x peanut!reader
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Hi! I really enjoy your one piece writings, they have given me so much comfort when I don't feel okay 😭
Can I please get a Mihawk (I'm completely in love w this man aah) imagine where his wife is a sensitive person who gets sad when someone is rude to them but they feel insecure couse they think it's stupid
Thank youuuuuu ❤️🥺
First of all, I'm honoured that I can provide a source of comfort to you. I'm glad my work has made you feel better in your time of need.
Second of all: oh yessss bestie this hits the spot. It also reminds me of a wonderful scene in The Gentlemen (10/10, highly recommend)
[it also hits close to home because I am a sensitive person]
The thing about strong people is that they make others want to be just as strong, which isn't always easy if even possible. You've always known you're a little 'softer' than most people but only after marrying Mihawk did you find the difference in temperament bothersome. Instead of considering your sensitivity a fact of nature, you've begun to find it a flaw, something that you should change about yourself.
You've never admitted it to yourself but the truth is plain and simple - you think it's embarrassing. That Mihawk will find your sensitivity embarrassing. Maybe if you had been up-front about it with your husband, you'd learn that he adores your soft heart. If he felt forthcoming enough, perhaps you'd even hear that you're the source of warmth and light in his life. Hence he calls you his 'sun'.
To say that Mihawk grew concerned when he heard your muffled sobs would be like not saying anything. A delicious euphemism at best. Anger and fear bubble inside his chest. There's a strange itch in his hands that eggs him to wreak havoc.
"Apple of my eye," his voice carries well through the rather empty room you're both staying at currently. "What is the meaning of this?"
Frantically wiping away your tears, you look over your shoulder to meet his gaze. Mihawk is leaning against the doorframe, blocking the entrance if you so wish to run away from this situation.
"Oh, it's nothing. Really, I'm alright. No need to worry," you half-heartedly attempt to reassure him.
The swordsman loudly exhales through his nose. He's your husband, worrying about you is his duty. In slow steps, Mihawk walks over to the edge of the bed where you're sitting. Pride and titles as if forgotten, he drops on one knee in front of you. One of his hands gently squeezes your knee.
Unsure what's the best way to go about these circumstances, you timidly meet his intense gaze. The passion in his yellow eyes makes you think of a maelstrom captured in a jar - something devastating held back by a miracle. He's already seething, just doesn't yet know who exactly to direct his violence at.
"Indulge me," he prompts you to confide in him. There's a rare sense of pleading in his tone.
So indulge him you do - you tell Mihawk all about the unpleasant encounter with a local tearaway. Your husband tries his best to control his expression as you recount the unambiguously offensive words, unwanted touches and threats of real violence coming from someone who was probably looking for a cowardly scapegoat to vent his anger. As you continue your story, tears just keep rolling down your cheeks, fear and humiliation finally finding their way out of your heart.
"I know I'm being stupid," you mumble as you clumsily wipe your face, "he was just rude and it's not like he actually hurt me but-"
Mihawk's touch makes you cut your sentence short. His hand, its skin rough and calloused, gently cups the side of your face. Your hot, salty tears disperse as his thumb slowly rubs them away. Something about the tenderness of his touch, of hands that have killed and maimed, is enough to make you feel like you're about to break in his arms. Even if you do, you know that when dawn breaks you will be whole again, put back together with the unending love Mihawk holds for you.
"You've always been too good, my sun," he tells you in a low voice. He could have said 'too soft' or 'too sensitive' but then his remark would come off as deceitful as it would suggest his dislike towards your nature. Nothing of that sort - Mihawk genuinely thinks you're a better person than most people walking this plane. And he'd rather succumb to torture than let anyone make you feel bad about that.
The man leans in and places his warm lips against your forehead. Without much effort, he lays you down on the bed and you let him. Even if you wanted to fight back, you're way too tired to do so.
He's sitting on the edge of the bed, caressing your face, neck, arms and back as he's waiting for you to fall asleep. The anticipation doesn't require much patience - Mihawk's tender touches lull you to peaceful slumber rather swiftly. When he's sure that you're asleep, he kisses your forehead again before cautiously leaving the bedroom and closing the door behind him.
Perhaps he can't turn back the time and make the offending man choke on his words but he can ensure that the tearway won't hurt you ever again. Someone resting in peace so you can rest peacefully is a good bargain.
Mihawk knows exactly who he's looking for. He made a note of a certain characteristic trait you had mentioned - an earring with a single, red-coloured feather. It doesn't seem like a piece of jewellery that would be common anywhere.
It doesn't take much to find the tearaway. He makes his presence well-known as he stumbles out of a tavern, his legs almost giving away with each step.
So he assaults random women minding their business and then gets blackout drunk. It's pathetic enough to consider his death merciful.
Staying true to his name, the swordsman stalks his prey before lunging. Appearing as another patron of the inn, Mihawk follows the stranger around the corner towards barns, stables and pigstys. Fitting place for the likes of him, Dracule thinks to himself.
The man with the curious earring staggers his way towards a drinking trough. He's fumbling with his pants, desperately trying to pull them down to relieve himself but his fingers are not dextrious enough.
Mihawk picks up the pitchfork leaning against the barn wall. In one, swift motion he gores the tool through the back of the man's knee. A guttural scream tears through the night as he falls to the ground.
The swordsman grabs a fistful of the tearaway's hair. He forces the kneeling man to look up into his seething, yellow eyes.
"Do I owe you money?" The man is slurring his words. He squints his eyes, trying to focus his hazy vision on Mihawk and, possibly, recognize his creditor. "It's money, isn't it? Shit, just give me two days, man. I'll give it back with interest."
"I don't care about money."
Instantaneously, panic appears in the tearaway's eyes. Did he just find himself in the same position he's put hundreds of people in to cure his own boredom and need for grandiosity?
"Then what it is?!" he shouts, fear settling in his viscera. Dracule's calmness put together with the sheer hatred emanating from him makes for a deeply unsettling impression.
"You hurt my wife," comes the answer. The fist clenching the man's hair tightens its hold further, threatening to tear off his scalp. "My wife," Mihawk growls.
But before the tearaway can ask for clarification, his head is forced into the drinking trough. Surprised and scared, oxygen is escaping him fast. Soon, his throat and chest begin to clench and throb painfully. Dark spots dance across his vision, foreboding blindness.
Then, Mihawk pulls his head just above the surface. The man desperately gasps for air.
"If you believe in a god," the swordsman begins in a low voice shaking with anger and adrenaline, "I suggest you start praying. Fast."
The tearaway's head is forced underwater again but this time, Mihawk keeps it there until the ruffian's body stops trembling and shaking. After that, Dracule waits for a while longer - just for good measure.
You're woken up by the creaking of doors as they slowly open. Blinking sleep away from your eyes, you look over your shoulder only to experience a sort of deja vu: Mihawk is standing in the doorway. Before you can ask about his strange behaviour, your husband makes his way to you in long, quick strides. He kneels on the floor beside the bed.
Mihawk takes your hand in his. He takes something out of his pocket and places it in your palm. You recognize the red feather earring immediately. And is that... a piece of skin still attached to it? Gently, your husband closes your fist and lifts your hand to place a chaste kiss on your knuckles.
"The rat has paid for its sins," he whispers to you. Judging by the intense look in his eyes, you don't want to know the details of this story.
#one piece x reader#one piece#mihawk x reader#mihawk x you#mihawk imagine#mihawk fanfiction#mihawk fanfic#dracule mihawk#mihawk#dracule mihawk x reader#dracule mihawk x you#dracule mihawk fanfiction#dracule mihawk fanfic#dracule mihawk imagine#one piece fanfiction#one piece imagine#one piece mihawk#one piece dracule mihawk#one piece x you#one piece fanfic#one piece live action#opla#mihawk opla#dracule mihawk opla
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☆ drunk confessions.
➷ in which a drunk person's words is a sober person's thoughts.
pairing: (opla!)zoro x (implied fem!) reader
genre: fluff, slight angst, slight crack, mutual pining, friends to lovers!AU (ish..?)
warnings: lots and lots of alcohol, none after that but if you find one i can add lmk!! (+ lots and love of love for smiley zoro!!!!)
word count: 3.4k words (SHEESH)
a/n: requested by @acupnoodle !! tysm bae for the request, i hope you like it!!!! my inbox is now open for requests for opla (mostly zoro tbh LOL) if anyone would like to request ^^ (make sure its sfw as i am a minor!!!)
This is sick. This is just so sick.
Okay, maybe Zoro could be exaggerating. But what else is supposed to think, when you, the you who he has feelings for, is in the kitchen with Sanji, the annoying cook who he bickers with at least 5 times a day?
And especially since the day Sanji got him to blurt out about his feelings for you while he was drunk?
Zoro never thought he'd say it, but maybe he should lay low with the booze.
The swordsman can only grumble and huff as Luffy goes on and on about something—he hears something about Shanks. But all Zoro can do, is replay the memory of you sitting on the counter, right next to Sanji, who was peeling a few apples, and with a small frown on your face at that.
First, he thought maybe the cook had hurt you in any way. Then he realized it couldn't be, you'd be marching away from him. Then he assumed it could be you, with some personal trouble. But then you would always, without a fail, go to Zoro for help in that case.
Then, Zoro came to his final conclusion.
He had hurt you in some way.
But how could he? He'd never even consider the thought—he'd kill anyone who'd hurt you, because he cares—
No.
There's no way.
Sanji didn't tell you about his feelings... right?
Indeed he didn't. But Zoro doesn't know that.
What he also doesn't know, is the fact that you went to Sanji to talk about your best friend himself.
"He's been avoiding me," You mumble out weakly, picking at a few crumbs left on the counter. Gross, but hey, it's a pirate ship. There could be much worse things than a few specks of food. "I don't remember if I did anything wrong,"
Sanji knows you didn't. In fact, it was all his fault that Zoro was avoiding you. At the moment, having the usually stoic, cold swordsman admit his feelings for you with a dopey smile, the most loving tone as he describes every little thing about you, it seemed like the best thing on Earth. The man who everyone thought would never break, broke, all because of you.
But now, Sanji thinks it's stupid. He thinks it's stupid that Zoro's avoiding you because one person knew about his feelings. How cowardly could he be? But then again, he has absolutely no experience in relationships.
Sanji offers you an apple slice, his voice comforting and soft. "I don't think it's you," He smiles when you take the apple, taking a bite. "you could never wrong him."
"Then what is it?" Your voice is laced with such helplessness, a tone of worry and guilt buried underneath. It breaks Sanji's heart to see you like this. You play with the bracelet on your wrist, something Zoro had bought you when you were at a small town. You hadn't taken it off since, and it's been 3 months.
3 months marks your feelings for him as well.
"Why don't you ask him?"
At this question, your head whips to Sanji's direction, shaking instantly. "No! Hell no, it'd make him hate me even more!"
"Y/N..." Sanji's hands are suddenly on your shoulders, his eyes glistening with genuine care. It shocks you how serious he is about the whole situation. "he doesn't hate you. You might be the only one he genuinely feels safe with, you hear me?"
It's silent for a moment, as you bask in his words, the words in which hit you unexpectedly deeply. Yes, there have been times you've patched him up after a particularly harsh fight, yes, you both have shed tears together, and yes, he lets you touch his swords and lets you use—holy shit, Roronoa Zoro does care about you!
You decide to ask him, just as Sanji had suggested you do.
Zoro, on the other hand, has a different plan.
Despite the wallowing pit in his stomach, occupied by the green monster labeled as jealousy, Zoro knows you wouldn't go for Sanji. He's like an older brother to you.
But alas, he cannot control his emotions. And so, he's come up with possibly the worst plan ever.
Roronoa Zoro is going to flirt with you. The same way Sanji flirts with Nami.
It's stupid, he knows it's stupid, but Zoro is desperate. He's never felt this way towards anyone, ever, and his pride is way too big for him to ask advice from anyone on the crew.
"Zoro!"
Said man's heartrate doubles the moment he realizes it's your voice, your sweet, sweet voice calling out to him. Oh, how special he feels now, to have you by his side, to have you care for him and make him smile, how has he not realized how blessed he was just in your presence?
Okay, maybe Zoro was exaggerating.
He glances over his shoulder, attempting to act cool with a neutral face, as he murmurs. "What is it?"
As cold as ever, his gaze pierces yours. But... there's something different in it. It's colder.
Of course, this wasn't Zoro's intentions, clearly just trying to act cool and not confess his feelings for you right then and there, but the ice in his tone, his gaze, his aura, has your heart sinking.
Maybe he really did hate you now.
"Do you mind if we could talk?"
God, just the thought of having a chat with you has Zoro's heart soaring, his whole mind and being flooding with tenderness knowing that you'd always talk to him.
"What's up?" He sighs, fully turning around to you. His body language is the usual, calm and collected, the usual hand on his swords. Zoro is thankful you can't get a look inside, you'd be seeing a whole zoo and his running thoughts about how pretty you look today.
You step closer to Zoro.
"Did... did I do something wrong?"
This time, Zoro's heart twists in confusion.
Wrong? You? How could you ever think that?
"Because if I have, don't hesitate to tell me—"
"—your face."
What?
Holy shit, Zoro thinks you're ugly?
"...Is this your way of telling someone they're ugly?"
To be frank, you're kind of glad it's not about anything that you did, that would break you.
However, him directly telling you you're ugly? You never really cared if anyone called you ugly, but Roronoa Zoro? The only man you'd every trust? Your own crush?
Your heart twists in pain.
"No! No, that's not what I meant,"
Zoro's heartstrings tug at the sight of your pained face, the frown curling on your lips, he should never open his mouth ever again.
"I-I just meant that... you..."
He feels his cheeks warm up. Is he blushing?!
"you look really pretty today,"
Those were the very last words you would have expected coming out of Zoro's mouth.
A silence envelops the air. It's... awkward, to say the least, but a little endearing, with the both of you shyly looking away.
Zoro thinks you're pretty.
Absolutely stunning with your pursed lips trying to contain a smile, the glint in your eyes known as relief, and a little hint of mischief.
"Thanks," You mumble quietly, shrugging, though you're a far cry from casual.
Zoro mirrors you, leaning his hip onto the ship railing. "Don't mention it."
And you don't. Not for the next few hours, at least.
To say Zoro's plan of flirting with you failed, was quite the understatement. Sure, he finally got to say what he's been holding in for months, but he was expecting Sanji level flattery, the teasing smiles and confidence, not whatever the two of you went through.
Zoro feels like an idiot.
You, on the other hand, quite enjoyed it. it was genuine, and unlike Sanji's flirting, it's left you thinking about the moment for hours after it's passed. It seemed so genuine, carefully thought out (though it wasn't) and soft, something you didn't know Zoro could be.
You like Zoro's flirting much more than Sanji's. Though, that may be due to the fact that you have feelings for the swordsman.
The sun sets, leaving the pirate ship quiet (for once) and calm, just like the ocean, with it's soft waves and tranquil energy.
What isn't tranquil tonight, is you.
Instead of going to sleep, you've decided to have a drink. Yes, you may have stolen from Zoro's hidden stash in which he only showed you. Yes, you may have had more than one drink.
3, to be precise.
Why? Well, how are you supposed to go on the night? Simply thinking over and over about Zoro's words? His words that have left a permanent place in your heart? Your mind and soul?
How are you supposed to spend the night thinking about a man who you were sure hated you, who called you pretty and set your heart on fire, without a drink?
Besides, what's the worst that could happen?
Maybe the fact that Zoro wants a drink tonight as well.
Okay, yeah, he did say he was gonna lay low with the booze. But bad habits die hard. He's bound to drink a little here and there.
The moment he gets to the kitchen, Zoro is shocked at the sight of you, sitting on the counter, with a bottle of his beer in your hands. Your eyes are droopy, almost sleepy, a stupid lopsided smile spreading on your lips. The bottle has Zoro's name on it, written on the tape and pasted lousily over the brand name, and seeing you eye the writing and mumble his name has Zoro's heart pounding, filling with such unexpected fondness for you, ready to burst as such a volcano would.
"That's my booze,"
Your eyes blink tiredly, with no energy, as they trail to Zoro, and when you spot him, he can't believe the way your frown completely transforms into a bright grin.
"Zoro! Hey! Yeaahh, it has your name on it,"
He's shocked when you extend your hand with the bottle in it, shaking it side to side lightly. "Wanna sip?"
Your 'p' pops, and Zoro can't help but find it utterly endearing.
"Don't mind if I do," He murmurs with a small smile, wrapping his fingers around the bottle. He doesn't miss the way you maneuver your fingers to brush with his, catching your smile once they've made contact. His fingers are warm, and slightly rough.
Life of a swordsman, you suppose.
When he takes a sip of the bottle, you scooch over on the counter, tapping the space beside you. "Come join me!" Under the low light of the moon shining through the window, you look unexpectedly elegant, despite your tipsiness, the rays settling on your cheek just right.
Zoro complies, but simply leans against the counter. He takes another swig. "Any reason as to why you're here alone? Drinking my booze?"
"Been thinking," you say simply, reaching over to fiddle with a bandage on Zoro's forearm. The action is an abrupt source of serotonin to him.
His voice is laced with care and curiosity, as he asks you, "Thinking about what?"
"You,"
Oh how you never fail to get him shy. His eyes grow wide, but with the little alcohol in his system, he supposes it could work as liquid luck for tonight.
"Yeah? What about me?"
You chuckle, drunkenly, your eyes flitting from the bandage on his arm to his own eyes, no hints of hesitation or doubt. "How pretty you are,"
"You think I'm pretty?"
"Mhm," You nod. A hand is placed on your cheek, as you lean on it and continue to gaze at Zoro, almost dreamily. "your smile is pretty,"
At the mention of his smile, it appears almost instantly, and causes you to swoon even more, if it were possible. "You like my smile?"
You sigh, your own grin joining his. "Always,"
You decide to elaborate even more, deciding your sober self will have to deal with the embarrassment of rejection later.
"And you've got these freckles on your cheeks and nose, from all the hours in the sun, I always tell you to use sunscreen,"
It's true, you do.
Zoro only chuckles lightly, growing fonder and fonder of you every time you speak.
"and I love how ambitious you are to become the worlds greatest swordsman. You're always the best. To me, at least."
God, Zoro might kiss you right then and there.
"And you're so caring for everyone on the crew, don't deny it, I always see the way you do! Helping Usopp clean the ship and tie knots, listening to Luffy's nonsense rambling and storing all the maps for Nami, even for Sanji! Always buying the right ingredients for him," You breathe out a soft laugh. "and you care about me too. I think. I mean, you're always there when I have a problem personally or not, sometimes I think maybe... we could have some connection, you know? And other days... it seems like you despise me."
What?
How could you ever think he could despise you? Sure, there are some instances where you disagree with each other, but he does not hate you. He could never even think about it.
Before Zoro could comment on it, you carry on, voice growing louder and louder.
"Did I mention I love your smile?"
Zoro can't help but chuckle, reaching over to brush a few strands of your hair from your eyes. Wow, that took him more confidence than he thought.
"Yes, you have, Y/N."
"Oh... then let me mention it more," A sheepish smile grazes your lips, as you lean in close to observe his smile once you realize he is.
"And your lips. They're pretty too,"
Your eyes squint as you lean in closer, so close that your noses brush against one another. Zoro doesn't find the will in him to lean in, neither to pull back either. He simply sits there, his heart growing softer and softer when you purse your lips and tilt your head, shaking it.
"they look lonely," you state. "wanna meet mine?"
Oh, you're cute.
With the confident, almost cocky smile on your lips, eyes growing wider and wider as Zoro starts laughing.
Through your drunken eyes, seeing him smile is one thing. One thing enough to set you rambling and rambling about how much you enjoy it. Hearing him laugh? You could talk about it for hours, but you'd have too many things to say at once, you'd be left speechless. And that's exactly what happens at the moment, as you're left gaping at the sweet melody of his laughs, simply keeping your loving gaze on him.
"I'm not kidding, Zoro." You mumble. "I love you, I do."
For months, Roronoa Zoro has been so unsure about himself around you. Is he enough? Will he ever be enough? But now, hearing you state that you love him, he's sure. He loves you too, more than he could ever comprehend, and he won't doubt himself anymore.
He leans in, bumping your foreheads together clumsily. Though it hurts for a moment, it's fond, caring, as he smiles softly at your drunk state.
You could just be drunk right now.
None of this could be true.
Zoro doesn't care. If it's true or not, there has to be a reason you're telling him this. He'll ask you when you're sober.
Speaking of, "I won't kiss you," He says.
Your heart plummets to the ground, you can feel it deep in your chest, crashing through the base of the ship and sinking to the bottom of the sea, buried under such hurt hearing his words.
It lifts a moment later, however, as he places his lips on your cheek lovingly, a kiss to your forehead following.
"not when you're drunk. Don't wanna take advantage of you,"
"But you're not—"
"—I know, but it won't feel the same,"
Really, all Zoro wants to do, is place just one kiss on your lips, your lips that pout as you look up at him, hold you so closely to him, finally accept his feelings and make a move.
But, he'll wait for the morning. He'd wait forever just for you.
And as he leaves, warning you to stop drinking his booze, you're left... with a half heart. Half full with love, knowing Zoro could very much feel the same way for you, half empty, sad to have made so much effort (getting drunk should not be the way to confess to your crush) just for him to leave you hanging.
That's on you, you suppose.
He makes a very good point about the whole 'taking advantage' thing.
You guess you'll be too much of a coward when you wake up sober, too scared to fully confess, too scared to even look at him.
Zoro could not disagree more. He swears, the moment the sun has risen and you're awake, he's going to make you his. All his to hold, all his to take care of and protect, all his to love.
And as the day starts, both your minds are instantly flooded with thoughts of the other. The moment you see him, yawning as he listens to Luffy's rambling, your heart starts racing.
You don't remember that much from last night.
All you remember is the feeling of Zoro's warm lips on your skin, his caring gaze, and the ridiculous amount of alcohol you had drank. Sure, it was a far cry from how much Zoro would usually drink, but it's still a big amount to you.
Zoro has last night's events imprinted in his mind, every lingering glance he sends your way, every shy smile the two of you share, the way you scurry away quickly with an embarrassed scrunch of your nose, it takes him back to the night.
And finally, some alone time.
You find Zoro in the kitchen, checking on his booze stash, the one you had invaded the night before.
"Sorry about that, by the way," You call out, announcing your presence.
Zoro's heart soars just at the sound of your voice, small, almost guilty, and when he turns around, seeing you sit on the counter, just as you had last night, he can't stop the smile from tugging his lips upward. "It's no problem," He shrugs. "you'd never bother me,"
Roronoa Zoro, the lone wolf, the harsh swordsman saying that to you says a lot.
He approaches your figure slowly, growing more and more confident once he's realized that's exactly what you want. It's exactly what he wants too.
Finally, he's stopped right in front of you, your knees brushing slightly against his shirt. You look down at your hands placed on your laps, too shy to say anything, nor even look up at him.
"Hey," A sudden touch at your chin shocks you, and you eventually melt against his hold as he tilts your head up to meet his eyes. Like a magnet, you grow closer collectively, up until Zoro has both his hands sitting by your hips, your noses once again brushing.
This scene seems familiar.
You conclude it's what had been done last night, when he had kissed along the skin of your cheeks.
"I'm not drunk anymore," You whisper out.
Zoro chuckles, causing your entire being to wave with warmth of safety and comfort. "Yeah, I can see that."
"So you gonna give me that kiss or—"
Zoro's lips feel much warmer than you expected. They feel complete, pressed against your softly, almost hesitantly. The moment your fingers graze against his jaw, he relaxes, leaning in deeper to not only kiss your lips, but your entire soul, with love and solace, finally coming to terms with his feelings.
God, does Roronoa Zoro love you so much. He loves the way your hands creep up to mess up his (already disheveled) hair, the sigh you let out against his lips, the way you chase his lips once he's pulled away.
"What exactly did I say last night?" You mumble against his lips once he's pulled away, grabbing at his hand to play lightly with his fingers.
"Well, you mentioned how much you loved my smile," Zoro chuckles. There he goes once again, with his pretty smile and laugh, leaving you speechless and starstruck. "like, a lot."
"Did I mention that I love you?"
Zoro feels a warmth bubble from his stomach, feeling it envelop his chest, his arms and fingers when you finally intertwine your hands in a lock, his cheeks as they redden, and his lips as he finally gives you one last flash of the smile you claim to adore so much.
It's love.
"Yeah," He leans in to press your foreheads together. "I think I love you more,"
#roronoa zoro#roronoa zoro x reader#zoro x reader#zoro#one piece#one piece imagines#one piece x reader#roronoa zoro imagines#zoro imagines#one piece live action#opla#roronoa zoro live action#zoro live action
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Memory lane
This is part 2 part one is here!
Please excuse any grammatical errors 😥!
—
"MAN ION LIKE BOYS BUT who was that fine ass boy you was talking to at the mall yesterday n/n?" London asked. "Oh he's someone from middle school." You shrugged and smiled.
"One of them kids that made you leave?" You nodded. You clacked your nails together as london mugged you. "No no he was the one who made them stop." You said defending armin.
"Ohhh okay." She said. "I'm happy that you found someone my love." She said smiling and wrapping you into a hug. Paris was sleeping cuddling with your dog kody who was also sleeping.
"I wanna see how they look now." You mumbled and laid on your stomach before opening instagram and clicking armin's page. You scrolled on his page.
"But maybe imma see them later." You said. "Girl you over there worried bout them,youn got nothing to be worried bout." London said. "Okay?" London asked. "Okay." You said clicking your phone off. "Now let's go do summm." She said smiling and getting off of your bed. She grabbed your beats pill speaker and grabbed your phone. She unlocked it and clicked shuffle on your playlist.
'Run tha streetz.' By Tupac started to play as you both of you starting singing. "YOU COULD RUN THE STREETS WITH YOUR THUGS ILL BE WAITING FOR YOUUUUUU." The both of you began singing outloud and laughing.
London went on her Instagram and began to go live.
User1: ouuuu who is thaaaat?
3rennn joined.
Mi.mikasa joined.
Meelasplayhouse: ouuuuu she reall prettyy.
"I know right!" London said bringing your face into the camera. You just smiled and lip synced to the song.
Armin.alert joined.
"Ohhh y/n there go your mannnnn." She said as you jerked your head back before looking closer to the phone and seeing that armin joined. Your face went hot as you just sucked your teeth."Girl that's not my mannnn." You said. "Yet." She whispered.
Niseyuserlol: whoooooo!?
^gossipqueennn: that basketball player armin alert.
Jaecomments: no way she talks to armin alert.
"That's cause I don't." You said throwing some hair over your shoulder.
You pulled your pants up and buckled them finally after jumping just to get them up. You took a breath out and just laid on your bed out of breath. "Lord have mercy." You sighed out and stood up before you walked to your dresser and grabbed a shirt and slid it on.
You walked to your closet and grabbed your jordan 4's before abusing your finger trying to put your shoe on.
You grabbed your bookbag and threw some blank journals, a binder,some mechanical pencils pens and some paper in it. You grabbed your France fragrance perfume by Victoria secret and sprayed some on you before placing it into your bookbag.
You grabbed a hoodie and made your way downstairs. You seen your mom throwing last minute things into her purse before looking up and seeing you.
"Oh hey baby you look beautiful as always." She said kissing your forehead. "Thank you ma." You said cheesing. Your mom grabbed her phone and held it up. "I need my pictures,this your last year mama." She said.
You groaned. "Maaaaaaaaa." She shook her head. "Ion wanna hear it,now pose." You did a pose with a fake smile and she clicked the button making the flash shine bright in your eye. Your eyes watered as she took a thousand more pictures.
"Okay ma. It's getting late." You said looking at your Apple Watch. "Okay fine."she said smiling at the pictures she did get. "Ahhhh my baby got so big." She said. You sat in the front with her as she started the car and backed out of the driveway. "Okay here's your schedule,just ask around and someone would point to where you have to go okay?" Your mom said handing you your schedule. You nodded before taking it from her.
You looked at it and scanned for your first class. "Psychology." You read outloud. You walked around asking for directions as everyone pointed to where your class was. Your heart was beating out of your chest as you knocked on the door.
Someone opened it as your heart was beating out of its chest as you walked to the teachers desk. She had glasses with a ponytail and a green suit on.
"Hello." She greeted as she took your schedule. She scanned it and nodded. "Okay you can sit in this group right here." She pointed to a group that had one seat missing. You nodded "thank you ms...." You trailed off you her name. "Oh it's hanji! Don't worry students always have a hard time pronouncing my name." She said smiling.
You just gave her a little smile before you turned and made your way to the back where you sat down in the seat drawing attention to yourself. "My goodness she's so pretty." One of the girls whispered to the other who just nodded in agreement.
"Y/n?" You heard someone call you. "You looked around and seen the familiar blonde. "Armin?" You asked scooting over to him and hugging him.
"Wait your name is y/n? As in y/n l/n?"the boy with a buzz cut asked as you nodded hesitantly. All of their eyes widened and their jaws dropped.
"Pick ya jaw up off the floor before someone step on it." Armin said mugging them. "How do you know that?" You asked them tracing your forearm tattoo. "Um I'm Connie,that's mikasa,Jean,Sasha and eren." Your body went hot as your eyes widened.
"My bad man we didn't mean to run you away." Connie apologized. You just shooed it off. "You good,I just hope that we're passed that point." Everyone eagerly nodded as you just chuckled. "You're so fine." Jean said as you just smiled. "Thank you." You said. Armin just chew on his inside cheek.
"Okay class so we're going to be talking about the mind responds to different things." Hanji said titling the board. "Make sure you take good notes and use a pen,do not write with a pencil in my class." Hanji said pushing her glasses up and turning around.
"Y/n." Armin lightly nudged you. "Hm?" You asked looking at him. "You're left handed?" He asked looking at you holding your pen. You just chuckled and nodded yes. "That's so cool." He said with a pearly smile.
His pink plumped lips looked so kissable right now. "Wanna go catch up wit you." He said. You nodded "yeah when?" You said bouncing your leg up and down. "Today after school." You nodded. "Yeah but you gotta come get me cause ion gotta car yet." He nodded his head. "Ight imma come get you around what? 5:30?" He asked. You nodded. "Bett." He smiled.
My kitty kitty meow meow is not meowing right now. It's growling,barking and waterfalling. Heyyy do you like hello kitty cause my kitty wanna say hi to you lollll.
His nose is so rideable. I can see his abs though his shirt. I should ask him what size shoe he wear for research purposes..
"Y/n you good?" He asked you "I'm good." You cleared your throat and continued to write the notes down.
"Okay so now that we're done with the notes! Please review with your partner what you've taken down. And exchange some information between the two. After that please give me two examples of the different types of responses and stimulus's" hanji said writing on the Promethean board.
You were sitting beside Sasha and armin. "Hiiii." She exitedly waved as you smiled and returned her wave. "Okay so I'm just going to let you know nowww,I'm INLOVE with you." She said. You just laughed and covered your mouth. "Thank you." You said barring your false eyelashes at her.
"Girl I'm so serious." She said with a serious expression before the both of you buses out laughing. "Na I'm just playing but wanna work with me?" She asked. "Yeah sure." You said.
Both you and Sasha exchanged socials and phone numbers before getting to know eachother. Hanji had to ask you two to quiet down more than once,which was horrible due to the both of you laughing out loud.
"So what's something you've been interested in?" Sasha asked you as the wrote down the answers "I've learned how to do hair." You replied as you worked.
"Ohhh that's niceee,I know how to do nails." She said showing you. You gasped and grabbed her hand as you looked at her nails. "Girllll these are so cuteeeeeee." You said looking at her short nails that were black French tipped with little planets on it.
"These $45 for you ma." She said with a little wink. "Ouuuuuuu." You covered your mouth from being excited. "So y/n..." Connie drew attention to you as they all started asking you questions until class was over with.
You placed your things in your bookbag and you looked up to see Sasha waiting for you at the door. You just smiled as you walked next to her. "I didn't think you was going to wait for me." You took your beats out and placed them around your neck. "Why?" She giggled out. "Becauseeeee." You trialed off.
"Listen I'm truly sorry for how we all treated you in middle school,but I promise you that we aren't like that anymore." You just played with your lanyard that held your id in it. "Okay." You said with a small smile.
She wrapped her arm in with yours and walked with you to where everyone was. "Y/nnnnnn!" Connie said running up to you.
This was honestly so weird. "Yes?" You asked looking for Armin.
#ayeyolooo#black y/n#aot x black reader#aot x reader#eren x black reader#onyankopon x black y/n#onyankopon x chubby reader#x black fem reader#aot x black y/n#black reader
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The Temple of the War
[ Ares • Ettore x Aphrodite • female ]
[ warnings: incest obviously, sex content, hate sex, smut, angst, violence, domination, swearing, marital infidelity ]
[ description: Although she thought it would be a fleeting affair, her disturbing relationship with the god of war only deepens, condemning them both to any attempt to reach an agreement. However, her brother loses his patience, wanting to find out what his lover gave Paris in exchange for the apple that Hera and Athena also deeply desired. ]
This is part 2 of The Temple of the God but it can be read as a standalone story. 💕
* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *
My other works: Masterlist
_____
She wasn't sure she had ever felt anything like she did then, that night, as his heavy, sweaty, muscular body lay on top of hers, his hot breath enveloping her cheek as the last waves of pleasure and heat surged through her.
She stroked his smooth buttocks with her hands feeling his hips rock softly in some natural, subconscious reflex, his half-soft manhood still throbbing deep inside her.
She heard him swallow hard and grunt before he rose up on his elbows, looking down at her with his lips slightly parted, sliding out of her slowly with a quiet click of her moisture, rising up on his knees, stepping off her bed as if nothing had happened, making her press her lips together, disappointed.
"Are you going to simply walk away?" She asked coldly, saw him stop in his half-step, glancing over his shoulder at her, some kind of shock in his eyes, as if she had surprised him.
"Hm?"
"Are you going to leave me like this?"
He looked at her dully, clearly not understanding what she meant, what he was supposed to do now, what more she expected of him.
She realised, sighing heavily with disapproval, that after his aggressive rapprochements with women he was simply leaving them, going back to his own affairs, thinking no more of them, not knowing the tenderness of embraces, of soft, dreamy kisses, of hands trailing over warm, soft, naked bodies, of peaceful, deep sleep after an intense closeness.
"What do you demand of me, sister?" He asked her impassively like a soldier asking his commander for an order; she raised herself up on her elbows, looking at him intensely.
"I do not demand. Do you desire that I should now, after you have warmed me, be left alone in a cold bed?" She asked regretfully. She saw him blink, his eyebrows raised, his gaze quickly traveling over her naked, bared flesh, his Adam's apple waved hard as he swallowed loudly.
"That is not my desire." He replied calmly, looking at her expectantly, his silhouette frozen in stillness like a marble statue, the same kind people placed to honour them in their temples.
She nodded, moving aside, looking at him expectantly. He hummed under his breath, his gaze softening a tad as he lay down beside her lazily, sighing quietly through his nose, watching her, his large hand in some simple, primitive gesture rising to her breast, squeezing it uncertainly. He lifted his gaze to her face, apparently wanting to see if he was causing her pain again as he had when he had first done it.
Something about how direct, how roughly honest he was captivated her; years of poetic chants under her windows, long, theatrical declarations of love that in the end turned out to be lies had tired her.
She thought, surprised, that perhaps such a change would do her some good.
Surprise flashed through his gaze as she moved closer to him, placing her hand on his, encouraging him not to stop, laying her body on her side facing him, looking straight into his face, for the first time so shamelessly, so closely.
His facial features were sharp, as if the sculptor had struck the stone with his chisel too brutally and without finesse, his mouth full, his eyes as dark as the night around her. He shuddered and swallowed hard, drawing in quiet breath as her hand rose tentatively to his cheek, closed his eyes as her fingertips brushed over his warm, soft skin.
She ran her hand like this over his exposed flesh, over his jaw, his neck, his collarbones, his shoulders, his chest, feeling him flinch as waves of heat surged through his body, the flick of her fingers leaving a trail of his goosebumps behind.
He opened his eyes as she suddenly took her hand away, placing it casually against her body, the fingers of his hand from her breasts slid down to her waist and from it to her buttocks, squeezing it, pushing her closer to him with a sure, soft movement, she felt his hard manhood on her stomach, ready again for him to possess her.
Though she wanted to protest, she let him take her for the second time that night, her folds slick from his seed and her moisture allowed him to slip easily into her hot interior, a low, animal grunt of satisfaction came from his throat as he threw her thigh against his waist, spreading her wide on his fat cock.
"I can do this all night, sister. You know I can." He exhaled with a hint of menace, from which her lips parted in a shy moan as her walls clenched around him tightly, making him gasp. He accelerated his pace, his free hand clenching in her hair, forcing her to look straight into his empty black eyes as he pounded aggressively into her again and again with loud splats of his thighs against her buttocks.
"This is what you want, isn't it? You despise these poets. Those weak, little boys. You don't believe them, because what's the truth in their pretty words? Hm? This is the truth, sister." He breathed out, and for some reason she clamped her hand on his broad chest and kissed him, heard his low groan of surprise, his tongue came out to meet her immediately, licking her encouragingly, teasing her with the very tip as she longed for him to slide it deep down her throat.
"− take care of me, brother −" She whispered in surprise as her voice trembled, as she felt tears under her eyelids, wishing for someone to protect her, for someone to watch over her, to be safe in someone's arms at last.
She felt him quiver all over, he gasped loudly as if he had waited his whole life for those very words, his hands clenched painfully tight on her hair and bare buttock, forcing her to fit him all the way in as deeply as he desired. Both of them moaned helplessly as they came out to meet their bodies, entwined together like vines, sweaty and hot with desire, his cock throbbing intensely inside her, betraying that he was close to fulfilment.
She thought in disbelief that he truly desired her all this time.
This rapprochement was more tender, more passionate than the first one, shamelessly close, her breasts pressed against his chest, their fingers digging into the naked skin of their bodies, their legs thrown over each other, making it so that if either of them wanted it, they couldn't break free.
"− beg −" He growled like a wild animal, panting right into her mouth, so she begged, again, again and again; she didn't even know when warm tears of relief and regret ran down her cheeks, his hot, accelerated breath enveloping her face, their kisses were an aggressive, wet dance of their tongues and lips, loud and slick.
After his last few desperate, deep, confident thrusts she was sure that all Olympus heard their groans of pleasure as they both finally reached their peak.
"− stay inside me −" She mumbled out, panting heavily along with him once the first waves of pleasure flowed through their bodies. She heard him hum under his breath; she knew he was grinning mischievously, his hand in a careless, lazy motion pressed her cheek against his chest, all wet from exertion.
"− sleep −"
Despite his command, she got no rest that night, and though she slept only for her own pleasure, unlike mortals do not need it every day, never before had anyone fucked her as many times in a row as he had, and as their brother, Helios, appeared in his chariot lighting up the sky, they both breathed heavily, his face snuggled into her bare, sweaty shoulder, one of his hands on her breast, the other on her womb.
"You will bear my children." He ordered, as if it was an obvious decision to which he was sure they were both agreed. She closed her eyes, sighing quietly, knowing that if he was going to leave this amount of his seed deep inside her frequently, for her to carry his legacy under her heart was only a matter of time.
She had no intention of denying him that.
To her surprise, he had visited her every night since that day, leaving his barracks late at night, returning there only at dawn.
He wanted her to satisfy him in every way possible.
She wasn't sure if he preferred to watch his fat cock thrust deep down her throat or between her thighs, she noticed, however, that as she caressed him with her tongue and her lips, licking and sucking him unhurriedly, sounds came from his throat that she hadn't heard before, higher and more helpless, as if the sight of her like this, with her mouth full of his swollen manhood, completely overwhelmed him.
"− f-fuck − faster −" He was panting then, clamping his fingers tighter on her soft hair, forcing her to quicken her pace, as impatient as always, wanting only to come down her throat as quickly as possible, the head of his cock hitting the back of her throat again and again, making her gag.
Out of sheer mischief, she gave the tip of his length a few encouraging, teasing licks of her pink, fleshy tongue, feeling his body quiver then, his hot spend spilling deep down her throat with his loud curses and groans of pleasure.
She swallowed everything he gave her, feeling him watching her; he hissed quietly, tilting his head back, clamping his hand warningly on her hair as she began to suck him again, his manhood twitching vigorously between her lips and throbbing, oversensitive after his fulfilment. However, after a moment he gave in, allowing her to repeat the whole process, his gaze hazy, hot, his lips puffy with desire and emotion.
"− sister −" He whispered then, completely absorbed in his deepest thoughts in a way that sent shivers down her spine, betraying what he truly wanted.
She could rarely count on him reciprocating in a similar way, but when he did he was merciless, eating her like a starved man; his tongue forced its way aggressively inside her, pressing and licking the bud between her muscles from which she was shaken again and again by waves of pleasure, his nose pressed against her pearl, his fingers digging into the soft, smooth skin of her hips, not letting her escape even when she begged him to stop.
She could hear his mocking grunt then, his dark eyes shining suddenly with a dangerous gleam, one that sent a cold sweat running down her back, he swapped his lips for his cock then, all hard and swollen from listening to her moans.
Rumours of their affair spread quickly across Olympus. Hermes tried to lay a trap for them, jealous of her and the fact that she had never let him possess her, however, when her fierce lover caught him in the act he would have nearly killed him with brutal, swift blows of his fist, if only their brother wasn't immortal.
Though still silent, cold and distant, in his own way he responded to her request, protecting her the way he was capable of.
"What have you done?" He asked her one day, infuriated, startling her, opening the door to her chamber with a loud slam, bursting inside at noon in full armour, his jaw clenched, his nostrils quivering in anxious breath.
He was furious.
She swallowed hard, putting aside her embroidery, looking at him in disbelief.
"What do you mean, brother?"
"What did you give him for that fucking apple? Hm? What did you give him to satisfy your vanity? Did you suck his cock? Did you let him come deep inside you?" He hissed coldly, walking towards her like an enraged, ferocious animal with the loud clang of his gilded steel armour, ready to hit her, to hurt her, to pierce her with his sword, to destroy her in every way possible.
She rose from her seat, furrowing her brow.
"I gave him what he asked for. I give him Helen of Sparta."
She saw him stop, hesitation in his eyes, as if he was comparing her words with his knowledge. He swallowed loudly, his broad chest rising and falling quickly in accelerated, heavy breaths.
"How."
She turned her face towards the large windows of her chamber open to the view of the halves and rivers around Olympus and sighed loudly.
"He wished to possess her. I described to him her desires and her weaknesses. How he could make her content."
"This whore ran away with him. The Achaeans declared war on the Trojans." He growled low. She looked at him wrinkling her brows and snorted, shrugging her shoulders.
"The God of War does not rejoice that in the name of love blood will be shed again? I do not follow your desires, brother."
"Be silent, woman. Do not speak on my behalf." He grunted warningly, looking at her with a sharp, piercing gaze from which she felt a drop of cold sweat run down her bared back. She smirked involuntarily and laughed helplessly, shaking her head.
"It is you who speak on my behalf, boasting before your brothers and comrades that I believed your words and, out of feminine naivety, let you between my thighs. I gave you what you desired and you come and spit in my face, jealous that another man could reach for what you think is yours. No wonder our father didn't give you my hand."
She snarled, and he stared at her, the corner of his mouth raised slightly in a grimace that could be called a smile if not for his gaze, his eyes wide open, filled to the brim with fire and rage, his hands clenched into fists, his nostrils quivering with each of his deep breaths.
A silence filled with suffocating tension fell between them, the quiet singing of birds outside her chamber windows, the rustling of grass and leaves, the pleasant breeze around them, cool and crisp.
She knew he was going to do it, but still she was surprised that a few brisk steps from him were all it took for him to be in front of her, turning her violently with her back to him, clasping his hand in her hair.
She whined helplessly when her cheek hit the table top in front of her, and whimpered loudly when she heard his fingers tear the material of her thin robe at the height of her buttocks, the fat head of his cock pressed against her fleshy walls without any preparation, without any caress.
"Do you think I fucking brag about how much seed I left in your womb to my soldiers? I have killed hundreds of those who dared to dream aloud about you and your body with my own hands." He gasped through clenched teeth, imposing a violent, fast pace on her at once, thrusting furiously inside her with sure, deep stabs of his hips. She heard his low chuckle when all it took was for the thick tip of his cock to rub a few times against the spot inside her, for her quivering to begin to be accompanied by the loud clicks of her moisture.
"I know exactly what you're doing. You like to fucking tease me, don't you? You know the way I'll fuck you then, hm?" He growled, one of his hands pressing her head against the table, the other digging hard into the bare skin of her buttocks, pounding into her so fast and brutally that he didn't slide out.
She could tell that he was staring at the place where their bodies joined, at what he was doing to her, at how wide he was opening her on his fat, aching length.
"− yes −" She mewled, heard him sigh loudly as he fucked her relentlessly, sinking his short fingernails painfully hard into the delicate skin of her hip as if he was just waiting for this; they both began to moan low hearing how loudly their bodies slapped against each other again and again.
"− that's what I thought − fucking take it now −" He snarled mockingly; she felt his words do something to her, the sensation she was experiencing was on the verge of ecstasy from pain and pleasure.
She cried out loudly, mumbling something, probably his name and how pleasurable it was. She lost control of her body as her walls began to suddenly squeeze him, sucking him inside.
"− shut the fuck up − mghmm − s-sister − fuck −" He gasped and she heard him groan low, feeling her fulfilment, her moisture running down his thighs, his hot spend finally filling her womb with his loud sigh of relief.
He rocked his hips for a moment longer with a lewd, sticky slap of skin against skin, his grip eased and she sighed heavily, feeling immense relief, wonderful shivers ran through her body, something like a tickle throbbing at the tips of her fingertips, her lips and inside lower abdomen.
"− you should stop doing this − at least until you're carrying my child inside you − " He gasped; she could feel him looking at her, his manhood still pulsing deep inside her, his large hand slid lower, stroking her slightly rounded abdomen for a moment in a manner that could be described as tender.
"− I can't −" She mumbled out, ashamed at how pleasurable it was, how wonderful it felt to be out of control, that there was something she had no power over.
His element, his aggressiveness, his unpredictability attracted her, just as he was drawn to her understanding of his complex, violent nature.
He hummed under his breath and she closed her eyes as his free hand took the unruly curls of her hair from her face with a gentle flick of his wrist.
"− let this little boy fuck his Helen of Sparta − I'll support you in the coming war − I'll gladly spit in the face of Athena and your sweet husband −" He sneered, and she sighed in relief, pleased with his words, rising on her hands.
His strong arm embraced her at the waist, his free hand clamped down on her cheeks, turning her face in his direction, their lips pressed together in a greedy, sticky kiss. She heard his low, drawn-out murmur of satisfaction, his soft manhood still twiched deep inside her.
"− brother −" She whispered, his nose pressed against her hot cheek in a sudden, surprising surge of tenderness, his hand ran over her soft, smooth hair, only one more word left his lips.
"− undress −"
#ettore#ettore fanfiction#ettore fanfic#ettore fic#ettore oneshot#ettore x reader#ettore x female#ettore x oc#ettore smut#ettore angst#ettore high life#ewanverse#ewan mitchell fanfiction#ewan mitchell fanfic#ewan mitchell fic#ewan mitchell smut#high life smut#high life fanfiction#high life fic#high life fanfic#high life angst#ewan mitchell angst#ettore x you
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One Saturday morning, as Keith and Lance descend the stairs on their way to the kitchen — as Keith practically carries a still half-asleep Lance, that is — Marcela whips towards them, points a scolding finger in their direction, and says, “I am tired of checking in on you two at night and seeing my son, sprawling over half the bed, while poor Keith clings to the edge. No more.”
Keith’s heart drops to his toes, pounding all the way down. His ears billow out and then fade slowly, like someone turned the volume down. He feels like a beyblade someone just spun and dropped onto the pavement, dizzy and sharp and sparking, trembling to a stop. For several horrifying moments he’s convinced that this may very well be it, and he’s shocked by his own surprise. He’s usually so prepared for the eventual end of someone’s affection, for the patience to run out, for the boot to kick him on the way out the door. It’s startling to realise how far he’s let his defences drop with the Esposita-McClains.
Dangerous.
But then Keith processes the entirety of her sentence, hears past “I’m tired of” and “Keith” in the same sentence. He sees her narrowed eyes and chiding finger and playful exasperation pointed at Lance’s guilty grin, not at Keith, and he realises she is exasperated by the fact that Lance takes up the whole bed every night Keith sleeps over, not that Keith sleeps over at all.
He unclenches his fist from the hem of Lance’s shirt. He’s not sure if Lance does it on purpose, but he leans farther into Keith, and the pressure helps ground him, helps him breathe again.
“I really don’t mind,” Keith mumbles. He keeps his eyes averted, unwilling to meet her knowing ones. “Lance isn’t that bad.”
Marcela snorts, ruffling his hair as she walks by to set the milk on the table. “Please, Keith. He’s a nightmare to sleep with and he knows it. He had to have those little toddler rails on the sides of his bed until he was seven years old because he kept falling off.”
Lance makes a noise of protest at the embarrassing anecdote. Keith smiles, patting his back slightly.
“He does drool.”
“And kick,” says Lance’s older sister Veronica, ducking into the kitchen to grab an apple. Rachel, his other sister, is right behind her, and she pipes up too.
“He also grinds his teeth!”
“And mutters freaky things. He said he was going to curse me once.”
“Oh, yeah, and there was the deal with the sleeping sitting up!”
“And there was —”
“Alright, girls,” Marcela interrupts, leaning over to hold down the hand Lance has clenched around a fork before he has a chance to launch breakfast at his sisters. She looks to have intervened in the nick of time, which makes Keith smile into his cereal. “Let’s not make your brother homicidal.”
Both girls leave the kitchen snickering. Lance’s face promises revenge. For their sake, Keith hopes they find a way to lock their room door, but somehow he doubts it. A part of him is intrigued about whatever scheme Lance will inevitably rope him into.
“I really am fine, though,” Keith repeats once calm has returned to the morning again. “I once had to sleep in a home that usually had more kids than beds, so Lance’s kicking is a significant improvement from a sleeping bag on the kitchen floor.”
He hadn’t meant for his comment to be upsetting. It wasn’t great, sure, but he’d had a roof over his head and food to eat, and he’d only been there for a couple days. The whole situation was funny in hindsight, hilarity inherent in the absurdity of his neon green sleeping bag next to the magnet-covered fridge, and that’s how he’d meant the comment. A joke.
But Marcela looks horrified, and Lance leans over to rest his head on Keith’s shoulder and wrap their hands together, and Keith realises he’s most definitely made a mistake.
“Kidding,” he tries anyway, but the damage is done. The determination in Marcela’s eyes becomes even more apparent, and she nods twice as if reassuring herself. Keith could kick himself.
“Be ready in twenty minutes,” she says resolutely. “We’re going out.”
———
In twenty minutes they’re in the car. Lance almost has his voice back by then, too, which is great, because Keith feels like he’s going to lose his — he’s expecting a fancy air mattress, really. At most he’s expecting to be delegated to his own space in the pull out couch or something. And even that is more than he ever thought he’d get. It’s not that he doesn’t think he deserves it, or anything like that. He knows that some of his living situations have been less than ideal, in the past few years.
But he…he’s not part of this family. He’s not supposed to be, anyway. He’s someone Lance dragged home someday, someone Lance latched onto and then everyone else seemed to follow his example. Keith knows his current foster family gets a cheque for an amount he’s too afraid to find out every month. He knows the state government pays people to home and house and feed him because no one else will. That’s how it’s been since that’s what it had to be.
He cannot understand what logic has inspired Marcela and Lance and all the Esposita-McClains, really, to home and house and feed him. He doesn’t understand.
He’s not expecting a forty minute drive to Ikea. He doesn’t understand why so much is being extended for him. He’s not expecting the determination in Marcela’s face and the way she holds Keith in one hand and Lance in the other, tightly, as if both are her children, until Lance whines and pulls himself free to come hold Keith’s other hand, as if he’s the commodity.
Keith doesn’t understand.
This is not how things are supposed to go.
This is never how things end up going. Not ever in a million years or even less.
“We should get a bunk bed!” Lance says excitedly, pulling Keith out of his thoughts and in a random direction. Marcela squeezes Keith’s hand once and lets go to allow it, stepping to the side to grab on of the boxy blue shopping carts.
Lance brightens even further when she brings over the cart, hopping onto the end of it and gesturing for Keith to do the same. Keith looks at the cart, then at Lance, then at the wheels, then at the total lack of space beside him, and imagines Marcela hitting the tiniest bump as they cram onto the little ledge and then them going flying.
He wisely chooses to walk over and grab the handlebar next to Marcela. She extends her pinky to rest next to Keith, which makes several emotions that he refuses to identify rise up in his throat.
“Let’s maybe consider our other options,” Marcela suggests as she pushes the cart farther. “You remember when we stayed over at your primo’s house when we first moved? You hit the ceiling every single morning because you could never remember that it was there. I don’t think bunk beds are for you, mijo.”
“And the toddler rail thing,” Keith adds. He’d meant it seriously — Lance has genuinely fallen a few times and Keith has had to drag him back up — but Lance huff-laughs in the way that he does when Keith teases him and he’s annoyed that he finds it funny, and Marcela straight up laughs. Keith meets Lance’s eyes and smiles to soften the unintentional dig.
“Fine,” Lance laments, dramatically leaning backwards on the rail. “We’ll just get boring normal beds I guess. Ooooou, we should get some bookshelves! Then Keith has somewhere to put all his nerd things.”
Marcela turns the shopping cart so quickly it screeches and nearly flings Lance right off, speeding towards the shelving area. Keith hurries to keep up.
“Excellent idea, Lancito. Bribing him to stay for longer. You’re so smart.”
Lance preens. Keith looks rapidly between them both, trying to find the joke, but there isn’t one. They, genuinely and truly, want to redesign Lance’s entire room to entice Keith to stay. However much it will cost, and Keith knows it will be a lot, they are doing more than what is reasonable to ensure they (not just Lance! All of them! The household!) can spend more time with Keith.
It’s baffling.
Try as he might, Keith simply cannot find a motive. He watches, gobsmacked, as Lance and Marcela hem and haw their way through the biggest furniture outlet chain in the world, comparing sturdy wooden shelving and colourful bean bag chairs and dorky spaceship themed beds, redesigning a whole room from scratch.
He startles out of his thoughts at Marcela’s beckoning, walking over to the display table she and Lance are illegally sitting at (there is a giant FOR VISUAL DISPLAY ONLY sign on it that they have ignored), half hunched over her cell and a pad of paper. “Keith, rojo, come here. We need you to sketch out the basics of Lance’s room so we know what fits. Marco is measuring the walls and everything right now. Don’t worry about anything that’s already in there, I think we’re taking it all out to paint it anyway. You like blue, right?”
Keith swallows roughly. He does like blue. He’s never painted his own room before.
“Yeah,” he manages, finally squishing down next to Lance on his chair.
Following Marco’s directions, he sketches out the foundations of the bedroom, marking the big window and weirdly narrow door and closet that Lance never uses because he has it piled full of stuff he doesn’t use but can’t bring himself to give away. The sketch is then used as a sort of map as they wander around the outlet, holding it up to various pieces of furniture and assessing how they would fit. It takes Keith some time, but after several hours of Lance’s energy and Marcela’s excitement, Keith starts to get hyped.
“Gasp!“ Lance says out loud, because he is a dork. He reaches a flapping hand over to Keith’s without looking, slapping him on the shoulder several times before finally managing to grip onto his sleeve. “Keith! Keith! Look!”
Keith squints in the direction Lance is emoting at. “A couch,” he says slowly, trying to figure out what warrants the intense excitement.
Honestly, it might be the couch. Lance got super excited about bar stools, earlier, so anything really goes.
“No no, farther!”
Keith squints harder. “The countertops?”
“Farther!”
“The…vases?”
“No! Farther!” Finally Lance gets frustrated enough to step behind Keith, gently pressing his palms to Keith’s cheeks and guiding his head in the right direction. “Now squint really hard and get excited with me.”
Keith tries. He sees grey blobs and says nothing, allowing the silence to speak for him.
“The stuffies, Keith! They’re sharks and hippos! Mama, Keith needs glasses.”
“I know,” she says at the same time that Keith says “No, I don’t.”
They stare at each other for several moments.
“As soon as you’re on the insurance,” she says levelly.
“I will feed them to a creek,” Keith promises.
He has never been this stubborn to Marcela before. He didn’t even mean to. If he had known he was going to say it he would have kept his mouth shut, but the words kind of bubbled out of him. He waits for her eyes to harden, her shoulders to square, for the annoyance to become evident at his insolence.
But she only snorts, leaning over to flick him on the forehead. “I got Marco to wear them. I got Lisa to wear them. I got my mule of a husband to wear them. If you need them, you will not out-stubborn me, toro.”
Keith shrugs. If she’s that hellbent on getting to know him, she’ll learn, he supposes.
By the time the time they break their intense eye contact, they realize that Lance has already wandered off towards the stuffed animals, and hasten to follow him (he gets lost easy). Lance is already halfway into this big bucket, digging for something specific.
“This is for you,” he says when he finally unearths himself, handing a hippo to Keith. “Smaller than the others, like you, and the fluff is a little matted but it’s softer than the others. The shark is for me because it was stuck on the hippo like I’m stuck on you.” He playfully checks Keith’s hip, giggling at his own joke, but Keith’s eyes are totally glued onto the wonky little hippo plushie in his hands. He holds it loosely, afraid of crushing it, and stares intensely at the matted fluff on the one side, the tangled mess of the little poof at the tail. He tries three times to swallow and fails each time, lump in his throat taking up too much space.
“We’re too old for stuffies,” he finally manages. He gives himself away by how tightly he holds the soft things in his hands.
Lance snorts. “Yeah, well, you’re a massive dweeb, so I think we’re fine.”
“I think they’ll be wonderful additions to your room,” Marcela says with finality, and that is that.
———
By the time they make it out of the maze that is Ikea, pack up the car, and set out on the ride home, it’s well after eight thirty. And Keith isn’t a baby, and neither is Lance, and they have a later bed time than that, but…
They’ve been walking around all day. There has been a lot of expended energy.
They’re tired.
Keith remembers being finagled into playing double-o seven with Lance in the back seat. He remembers losing. He remembers poking Lance in the cheek as he yawned just to hear him squawk.
He remembers nothing but the feeling of Lance’s warmth pressed against his, after that, and the seatbelt digging into his neck, and the numbness of his legs. Then he remembers nothing until he felt the familiar bump of the Esposita-McClain driveway, until he cracked open his eyes to see that they were home and closed them quickly again, hoping he wouldn’t be made to get up, still mostly asleep.
“Should we bother setting up the new beds?” comes a whispered voice, deeper and male.
“No, no,” comes another, higher and softer. “They can sleep together for tonight. You take Lancito. I’ll take Keith.”
He is awake enough to feel soft fingers brushing through his hair, then jostling, then heavy breathing beside his ear and the swaying of being carried. He falls fully asleep again against Marcela’s shoulder, leaning his weight onto her fully, forgetting to keep awake for the walk to their room. He stirs slightly again as he’s set down onto something soft, as he feels the familiar tug of Lance’s finger’s against the fabric of his shirt, the sound of his slow breathing.
“Goodnight, estrellitos,” comes the same whispered voice from earlier, and it’s the last thing Keith remembers before he slips away into sleep.
———
other parts in this universe: 1 2 3
#took a week but we’re here!! also marcela calling keith rojo is so important to me#vld#voltron#keith#keith kogane#lance#lance mcclain#klance#pre klance#childhood klance#kid keith#kid lance#baby keith#baby lance#keith angst#modern au#childhood friends to lovers#lance’s mother#keith & lance’s mother#my writing#longpost#wip wednesday#i truly love marcela with my whole heart
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one of jake’s ex gfs noticing how protective he is with you and it causes an argument because he’s never that way with her😭
am i right to assume you were thinking of Flyboy Jake (because this was sent around the time of some protective flyboy Jake content and has languished in my drafts ever since; if it is not i apologise!) also, as I have said before - Flyboy Jake is definitely a bit of an ass, pining for someone while dating another girl. so don’t tell me and don’t read on if you don’t like it!
anyway, college flyboy!
-
“You are so protective of her,” the accusation makes Jake look up at his girlfriend who is seated beside him. He takes in the daggers in her eyes, lips pulled into a thin, grim line, and arms crossed tightly over her chest.
“I am not,” Jake mumbles, his hand reaching out for his pint of beer, taking a swig, his eyes floating across the bar towards you. He sees you laugh, throwing your head back, shoulders shaking with glee as you and a two of his team mates wait around for service at the bar counter.
“Your eyes have followed her since she left the table,” Jake’s girlfriend accuses again, and Jake places the pint back down on the table. He forces himself to tear his gaze away from you, to refocus back in his girlfriend.
“She’s been my best friend forever,” he says simply, the explanation saying it all, while managing to be slightly weak.
“Yeah, friend,”his girlfriend says again, emphasising the word, “try not to forget that?” She all but snaps, and Jake feels his brow begin to furrow. He opens his mouth to shoot out a retort when he hears raised voices from the direction of the bar counter, your direction.
He closes his mouth, head snapping towards you; only to find two of his teammates stacked up in front of you, staring down a drunk looking guy who is sneering at them both.
“What the fuck?” Jake mutters under his breath, as he pushes himself to a stand. A quick assessment of the situation tells him that it was probably a case of unwanted attention.
“Are you really going to her?” His girlfriend says, and Jake turns his head to look at her, the annoyance now written clearly over his features.
“Yes,” he says simply, tone cool and emotionless, eyes darting back to you as he sees you rub the side of your arm, while shrinking back against the bar counter, “you can either wait here, or, if you decide you are still going to have a problem with it, leave.”
Jake’s words are ruthless, but all he can think about in that moment is you. The legs of his chair scrape back against the floor, as he begins his stride over to you.
“Do we have a problem here?” His voice, hard, angry, breaks through, and his teammates shift in unison, maintaining their human barricade between you and the drunk, all while allowing Jake to step in, placing himself closest to you,m.
“He tried to get handsy with her,” one of his teammates supplies, the three men now staring down the drunk who is growing less aggressive and more hesitant as the second past.
“Apologise,” Jake demands, arms crossing over his puffed chest.
The drunk opens his mouth, as if to protest, when the other of Jake’s teammate sighs loudly, before speaking in a bored tone, “if you knew better you would listen to the man.”
“I- I’m sorry,” the words rush out of the drunk’s mouth, his Adams apple bobbing along the column of his throat as he gulps in a display of clear distress.
“Leave,” Jake orders cooly, as he takes a step forward; the drunk doesn’t need to be told twice.
“You ok?” Jake watches him scurry out of sight before he turns to look at you, gaze running down from head to toe, examining you for any signs of hurt.
“I’m okay,” you say, eyes locking onto his. You see the anger walled behind his eyes, so you offer a small smile, reaching out with a hand to gently brush your fingers against an elbow. Jake loosens the cross his arms have across his chest as he feels your touch against his skin.
His teammates grab their drinks, and yours, which have now been slid across the counter by the bartender. It allows Jake the freedom to slide his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side as the three men guide you back to your table. It must, you find yourself musing to yourself, be quite the sight.
“Where is-” you begin to ask only for Jake to cut you off with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders that you feel because of your proximity to him.
“She had some friends to meet.”
“Oh,” you say, brow raising slightly in confusion, but let yourself be steered into your chair by Jake, who makes it a point to slide into the chair beside your, his knee bumping into yours, his jean covered leg pressing lightly against your own for the rest of the evening, arm slung casually across the back of your chair, a brand of casual dominance, Jake Seresin’s own brand of protection for you - something he always best achieved by letting the world know just whose girl you were.
#flyboy#flyboy universe#flyboy drabble#flyboy ideas#jake seresin x reader#jake seresin#jake seresin x you#jake seresin x y/n#jake seresin imagine#hangman#hangman imagine#hangman x reader#hangman x you#jake hangman seresin#jake hangman seresin imagine#jake hangman seresin x reader#jake hangman seresin x you#hangman seresin#hangman seresin imagine#hangman seresin x you#hangman seresin x reader#top gun maverick imagine#top gun maverick#top gun imagine#not cm#jake seresin fanfic#jake seresin fanfiction#hangman fanfic#hangman fanfiction
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My Mistake
Tags: Miguel x Spidey!Reader, Oneshot, Crush Blush, Gn!Reader, Close Proximity, Mad Miguel Just Bc 🤘😔
Warnings: None
When assisting Miguel with his leadership duties, you lend an extra hand with the boring computer work. But what happens when you slip and fall into his lap by accident?
Sorry for being so dead on tumblr LMFAO but like everyone else I watched ATSV and had sudden inspiration and also like. yk. miguel is FINE AF.
* ˚ ✦ 844 Words • Read below the cut
╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-╰┈➤ ❝ [14/06/23] ❞
As you entered Miguel's headquarters, you tore off the oppressive mask from your face. Although Miguel seemed somewhat icy as an individual, he hadn't thrown you out of the spider society yet for visiting him so frequently, so you took advantage of every opportunity you had to spend time with him. You greeted him heartily from the lower platform, but he was unwilling to turn or respond. Ever the charmer, that one.
You fired one of your webs at a wall to elevate yourself onto his platform. “What’cha working on?”
Miguel appeared to be cranky as he sifted through various anomaly alerts and classified them accordingly on his hologram monitor. He felt irritated by the tedious aspect of his job; it was difficult to find the time to do everything at once while simultaneously fulfilling his leadership duties and being Spiderman 2099. Miguel eventually stirred from his work as he detected your footsteps behind him, although his agitated look remained fixed.
You frowned at him. “What’s the matter?”
It's not surprising that Miguel's temperament deteriorated when you asked him this. What wasn’t wrong? He became belligerent and almost pouty at this.
He resumed swiping across his touchscreen device. “Nothing. Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
Miguel was fully aware that you had already fulfilled your daily responsibilities, yet he was merely inventing excuses to avoid having to explain himself or ask for your aid. You leant on one of the tables besides you, entertained by his brusque response.
You ignored the last half of his sentence. “It’s clearly not nothing. Seriously, what’s up? If you need help you can just ask.”
He sighed exasperatedly, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t need help.”
You had been gesticulating then, gazing at him incredulously. “You’re a bad liar.”
He subsequently focused on you, his head whipping in your direction in aggravation. “Fine! I need assistance with sorting through the anomaly alerts and pinpointing locations.”
You mock gasped, placing your hand over the spider emblem on your suit. “No way! The Miguel is asking me for help? Who are you?”
You chuckled as you stroked his shoulder. “Of course I’ll help.”
He merely grumbled in response. Oh, how you loved teasing this man.
...
God, this was so boring.
As much as you loved to annoy Miguel, you had not anticipated that the remainder of your day would be devoted to quietly reviewing and flicking through the informational screens in his frigid headquarters. Your lower back was suffering from sitting in your chair for so long, so you stood up to straighten out your posture and get a better look at the hologram panels.
Standing for an extended period of time became exhausting as well. You were unaware that the chair you'd sat in previously had rolled away from you slightly, causing you to stumble with a curse when you moved backwards to sit down again. Miguel's reaction time was swift, as he promptly stood behind you, prepared to catch you from tripping.
He felt your back hit his chest. “Ay!”
You were both hurled to the cold, unforgiving floor, hurting faintly from the impact. At the very least, you had Miguel to break the fall (seriously, his musculature was like a cushion). You hadn't noticed that you'd landed on him, his calloused hands anchored around your waist, you sprawled crosswise his powerful thighs. Given your close proximity, the apples of your cheeks flushed ruby.
You had a hard time looking him in the eye. “Sorry, I’m really clumsy...”
Miguel's glare bore down on you with menacing precision, scowling at your blunder. However, that expression was swiftly wiped off his face as he noted your reddened cheeks, and he couldn't help but smirk at you with a bit of sarcasm laced in his voice.
He traced his talons across your sides, through your suit in a teasing fashion. “Ten cuidado, Y/N. How are you clumsy and a spider person?”
You felt like you couldn’t breathe from how close Miguel was, and you could practically smell the lavender and sandalwood shampoo he used. He smelled woody and fresh, and the moment you inhaled his scent, you felt like you were going to faint.
You whispered breathlessly. “You smell nice.”
Miguel’s own cheeks tinged a slight pink, surprised by your sudden compliment. “...Thank you?”
Miguel seemed to be unimpressed, but deep down, he felt touched by your praise and tucked it away in his thoughts like a secret for safekeeping. He'd never admit it, but despite his soft glower, he quite liked seeing you on his lap...
Bonus!
Lyla emerged out of nowhere, searching for Miguel. Her gaze was drawn to you both on the floor right away.
She looked at you both on the floor, with mock disgust. “Someone moved on fast-”
Lyla ducked when Miguel tossed you off his lap, racing to get a piece of hardware to launch at the AI. You winced as Miguel shouted a string of incomprehensible curse words in Spanish at her.
Maybe helping him out was a bad idea...
#↳˳🖤;; ❝ oneshot ᵕ̈ ೫˚∗:#BRO.#MIGUEL IS SO FINE.#oneshot#across the spiderverse#atsv#atsv miguel#atsv miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara#miguel x reader#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel x you#miguel o'hara x you#spidey reader#spiderman reader#gender neutral reader#close proximity#crush blush
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To Be Loved - 03
Please be our guest
⤑ pairing: namjoon x reader (a bit of reader x jungkook)
⤑ genre: hybrid au, romance, hurt/comfort
⤑ rating: 18+
⤑ word count: 6.3k
⤑ warnings: hybrids are seen as sub-human, brief descriptions of abuse throughout the chapter, a bit of angst, the boys are very guarded and kind of mean toward the reader, reader is stress lol
⤑ note: sorry for the delay in this chapter, it's been really hectic these past few weeks being sick and super busy. i'm curious what your thoughts are and what you guys think namjoon is! also, i hope you all have a safe and warm holiday full of delicious food!
Chapters 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 (End)
Dinner is served.
Laid out across the table is a small feast consisting of homegrown vegetables from their garden, hand-picked fruits of the season, grilled fish caught from a nearby river, roasted poultry and cooked eggs, and homemade brew that’s been aging in their cellar. Food that’s clearly been hunted and gathered from around the manor.
“You two are our guests,” Rap Monster says to you and Jungkook from the head of the table, sitting directly across from you. “Please feel free to help yourselves.”
He glances over at the wolf hybrid and gives him a tiny nod. The eldest among the pack picks up his utensils and begins to put food on his plate, and the others soon follow suit, reaching for whatever appeals to their appetites. Even Jungkook begins to pile up on the food he’s been eyeing since they’ve been set down before him, and then passes the dish to you, starving after everything you’ve both been through since you’ve ventured off the main roads.
“This is seriously so good!” Jungkook praises between bites. His eyebrows are furrowed together, as if he’s angry at how incredibly tasty everything is.
“You’re just hungry,” the leopard hybrid remarks, shoulders raising a bit as he puts some fish on his plate.
“Thank you for cooking,” you add softly, though you’re not really sure who to direct it to. Jimin had mentioned that someone named Seokjin and someone named Yoongi prepared tonight’s meal. The deer hybrid only stares at you with a frown, the leopard hybrid doesn’t even bother to make eye-contact with you, and the wolf hybrid merely nods his head without saying anything back.
The table is relatively quiet, but you can tell that it’s a level of silence they’re not used to. Although the pack of hybrids try not to make it too obvious, you can tell they’re all observing you closely.
It starts to make you feel self-conscious as you bite into an apple, not really tasting the food but going through the motions of it.
You hate attention. You’ve always had.
The pressure of everyone’s eyes on you, watching your every move, and judging your every word and action makes your skin crawl, constricts your breath, and knots your stomach. Whenever you’re forced into the spotlight – Kangdae dangling you around like a pretty thing to envy – you keep your gaze on the ground. Your voice starts to tremble. You hear people asking what’s wrong with you.
As your eyes burn on the plate, you realize that’s what’s happening now. The hybrids are making you as nervous as you’re probably making them.
Humans, after all, are the most dangerous threat to them.
“My name is Jimin.”
To your right, opposite of Jungkook, the swan hybrid speaks. He seems to sense your uneasiness and then gestures for the others to follow.
Next to him, the bear hybrid grunts, “Taehyung.”
“Seokjin,” says the wolf hybrid, gnawing on a bone.
“I’m Hoseok,” the deer hybrid pipes up from the other side of the table, across the wolf.
“Yoongi,” the leopard hybrid calls himself, sitting between Hoseok and Jungkook.
Across from you, at the other end of the table, the one you know as Rap Monster merely smiles. The dimples on his cheeks are deep as he looks at his pack fondly before his colorful eyes meet your gaze. “I don’t go by Rap Monster anymore, so you can call me by my real name. It’s Namjoon.”
Namjoon.
Finally, you have the name of the mysterious rapper.
You tell them your name, and Jungkook finishes the round of introductions with his. With one question answered, another one pops up. This time, from you. “How do you all know each other?”
The air shifts with a sudden tension, and you instantly regret the words leaving your mouth. It feels like you’ve come across a taboo topic. Information that, perhaps, none of them feel comfortable sharing with a human. You can see, by some of the emotions that cross their faces, that it hadn’t been easy for them to get here.
“The short story is that I took them all in,” Namjoon explains lightly. “Society isn’t exactly kind to creatures like us. Humans only see us as abominations. A lot of them can be unnecessarily cruel to the things they’re afraid of. To the things they don’t understand. I found them and I offered them a place in my home.”
“Which brings us to question,” Seokjin interrupts, his yellow eyes practically glowing when he looks at you, “what brought you into our territory?”
It’s a question they all seem to be wondering. Even before the car accident in the woods.
The words get stuck in your throat.
Taehyung crosses his arms. He looks broader when he does that. More intimidating. “We don’t allow humans to come anywhere near this place.”
“But she’s not like other humans!” Jungkook speaks up on your behalf, eyes wide as if that would help convince them of his plight. “She’s really nice, and she’s my friend.”
“Jungkook,” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. You want to stop him. To tell him that he doesn’t need to defend you. That you understand their hostility, and that you swear you’ll be gone as soon as the storm stops.
His ear twitches toward you, showing that he’s heard you, but he decides to ignore you.
“I was in bad shape when I met her, but she helped me. She treated my wounds after my owner nearly…” He shudders, unable to finish his sentence. Given the bruises and cuts on his face, and the welts and scars on his body, it’s not hard to imagine what could’ve happened. Or how far his owner would’ve gone to hurt him. “She fed me too. And bought me ice cream and banana milk.”
Seokjin snorts at that. For a brief second, Hoseok and Taehyung look a little amused by his last comment. Whereas Yoongi and Jimin visibly frown as they look more closely at Jungkook’s wounds. Namjoon’s eyes meet yours for a moment, and you feel your heart flutter before he turns to Jungkook and gives him a nod, encouraging him to go on.
“And she’s been trying to find a safe place to take me to,” he continues, turning to look at you. There’s gratitude in his eyes when he does. “We were trying to take a shortcut through the woods, but it was raining so hard and we could barely see where we were going. We’re both just trying to get away from our bad humans.”
By the silence that follows, you’re not entirely sure if they believe you’re a good person yet. That, despite Jungkook trying to defend your honor, there’s still a bit of skepticism over a human helping a hybrid out of the goodness from their heart. After everything they must have gone through by the hands of those who try to control them, you can’t blame them at all for feeling jaded.
“I believe it,” is all Namjoon says. His gaze is fixed on you now, and again, you start to feel nervous at the attention. But… not in an entirely unwanted way. “You were kind to me once before, too.”
For years, the old manor has been something straight out of a storybook. A beautiful, old home, stuck in time, untouched by humans. Deep in the woods and hard to find unless you know your way to it. Forgotten, but with a timeless and enchanting charm.
It begins with Namjoon, who discovers it. And then Yoongi, who helps him rebuild and restore it. Then, they find Hoseok, and for a while, it’s just the three of them. But that all changes when they meet Jimin and Taehyung and take them in at the same time. And finally, Seokjin joins their pack.
One by one, the hybrids have contributed and worked together to make this abandoned place their own. You see the way they protect each other, how they take care of each other. Humans haven’t stepped near their secret haven for years, and yet, here you are – an intruding threat to their sanctuary. A walking reminder of what they’ve run away from.
Yoongi, captured and thrown into a cage, about to be sent overseas in cargo to be auctioned off had he not managed to escape from his captives.
Hoseok, left for dead by the hands of hunters, antlers forcibly cut by the time Namjoon and Yoongi find him barely breathing.
Jimin and Taehyung running away from a shelter that was abusing the hybrids, starving them out, depriving them of basic essentials, and throwing them into tiny, cramped spaces before they’re next in line to be euthanized.
And Seokjin, forced to become a lone wolf after violently losing his home, family, and everything he knows to the greed of humans until he finally found the others.
“If you need anything, don’t be afraid to ask,” Namjoon assures you, clearing the plates away from dinner to wash. “I want you to feel comfortable while you’re here.”
“I appreciate it, Namjoon. Thank you,” you tell him sincerely. He grins at you, practically beaming as his name rolls off your tongue. You can’t help but smile back at him, although shyly.
It’s strange how flustered you feel around him.
“Can we look around?” Jungkook asks, coming up between you and Namjoon. He looks at him curiously as the two of you finally look away from each other.
“Of course. Jimin? Mind showing them around?” Namjoon asks the swan hybrid, who just finishes up wiping down the table.
He looks a bit surprised, but nods his head. “Oh. Sure. Let me finish this up and I’ll be right with you guys.”
“I’ll go with you guys,” Taehyung offers, glancing at you for a brief moment before he finishes up sweeping.
“What about you?” you ask. Not that you don’t mind Jimin. He’s been nice to you. Taehyung as well, though out of obligation.
You were just hoping to spend more time with Namjoon.
“I’ll catch up with you later,” he promises as he looks at the other hybrids, all pretending they aren’t listening to the conversation. “I need to make sure no one else followed you here.”
As requested, Jimin and Taehyung show you and Jungkook around the manor.
The east wing is where you’ll be staying. The room that you woke up in is yours, and Jungkook has his own room near you. Dinner is at the same time every evening, and it is expected that the two of you will join the rest of the pack. There are many rooms that make this place feel like a modern castle: a ballroom with a grand piano, a lounge room with board games, puzzles, a pool table, and old gaming consoles, a conservatory with curtainless windows, table tennis, a seating area, and a greenhouse.
You can see that Jungkook is fascinated with the manor as much as you are. Maybe even more so. His eyes practically sparkle with excitement when he sees a familiar game that he played as a child, or that cheeky smile on his face when he asks if you can dance or play any instruments in the ballroom. You see Jimin and Taehyung eager to show him the cool stuff around the manor too, and you suspect that at one point, they’ve forgotten you’re on this tour as well.
Still, it’s so nice to see Jungkook smiling and laughing. Despite everything he’s been through, there’s still an endearing, childlike innocence to him. A shy, friendly aura that makes him so approachable and well-liked.
You can see him being very happy here. Even if you’re not in the picture.
“What’s over there?” Jungkook asks, curious as he nods toward the west wing.
“Oh, that place is off-limits,” Taehyung explains without giving it a second glance. “No one is allowed to go there.”
You’re a bit surprised by that. The west wing looks completely normal from where you stand. “Why not?”
“It just is,” Taehyung cuts in a little harshly as he glares at you. Your mouth immediately snaps shut, a bit hurt and taken aback by the outburst.
“You’re free to go anywhere else in the manor,” Jimin adds, trying to drop the topic. His voice is gentler as he shoots his companion a warning glance. “Just not the west wing. Understand?”
You merely nod your head, not trusting your voice at this point.
While the hybrids like Jungkook, it’s clear that they don’t feel the same about you. And you’re not certain they ever will.
As the tour continues, you can’t help but notice the other hybrids’ reactions when you come within their personal spaces in the manor. Yoongi stares at you from the high wooden beams on the ceiling. His spotted tail slowly swishes back and forth in distrust as his glaring, feline eyes never leave yours. Hoseok hides from you whenever he hears you approaching. He’s so scared, he’s trembling as you catch his wide-eyed, petrified gaze, and the guilt of almost hurting him weighs more heavily on you. Seokjin covers his mouth to hold back a low growl when you come near his room. His body is tense and his lips are curled back into a snarl. Even Taehyung is only accompanying you to make sure that Jimin is safe. That you won’t harm his dear friend.
Rain continues to heavily pour outside. You wish that the storm would die down already. Clearly, you’re not welcomed here.
A hand touches the small of your back, and you raise your head to see Jungkook giving you a tiny, comforting smile. Just like at the motel stop with the scary men, he subtly assures you that he has your back.
You give him a wry smile back, squeezing his arm in appreciation. It’s a silent exchange that doesn’t go unnoticed by the other two hybrids with you.
“This is our last stop,” Jimin announces as he and Taehyung open the double-doors. Your eyes widen in awe at the sight before you.
A library.
There are two levels, and both have standing shelves full of books. Art pieces that look like they belong in museums decorate the room as well, from busts of philosophers to exquisite paintings hung on the walls. In the center is a large couch that looks cozy enough to sink into, curled up with a good book. It’s a place much bigger and prettier than the tiny book nook in your town.
“Wow…” You step inside, mood instantly lifting as you marvel at the sight before you. You could spend months here, just trying to read through the massive collection. “This is amazing!”
Jungkook looks surprised. “You think so?”
“Is it okay if I look around?”
Jimin and Taehyung exchange looks with each other, but they nod their heads. You disappear into the nearest aisle, browsing around. Your fingers run across the spines of books and their printed titles before landing on the ones that catch your interest. Things that were in your to-read list, things that you’ve just discovered now, things that you fondly remember reading before.
To the two residential hybrids, it’s probably one of the more boring parts of the manor, yet you’re absolutely enthralled by the room.
“Are there any comics?” Jungkook shyly asks, and Taehyung’s eyes brighten a bit as he takes his wrist and shows him where they are. The two leave Jimin alone as he watches you with curiosity.
“That’s funny,” he says to himself before he follows after the other hybrids. “This is his favorite room too.”
Sleep doesn’t come easy for you. Not tonight, at least.
After everything you’ve been through – running away from Kangdae, being on the road for days, looking for the perfect home for Jungkook, being careful to cover your tracks and not get caught, and finally ending up here – you’d think you would’ve been knocked out by now, exhausted from everything.
But as you turn to face the window, the relentless storm outside seems to reflect the turmoil you feel.
The storm won’t last forever. You’ll probably be here for two or three nights. Maybe a week at most. Then, as soon as the rainy days clear up, you’ll be out of here.
But Jungkook should stay.
As you toured around the manor with Jimin and Taehyung, it’s so clear to you that this place could be exactly what you two were hoping to find for him. A place to call home.
The hybrids provide for each other. They take care of each other. And they’ve clearly taken a liking to Jungkook. He’ll have his meals, a warm bed in his own room, plenty of fun things to do, friends to talk to. He’ll be happy here with them.
You turn to face the ceiling, already dreading the inevitable conversation you’ll have to have with him. He’s become your friend, and someone you care a lot about. You just hope he won’t be so stubborn and make it harder for you to let him go.
Especially since the other hybrids don’t like you as much. Or rather, at all. In fact, you’re pretty sure they’re eager for the storm to pass as much as you are so that you can leave their secret haven.
The mean looks some of them give you. The way they snarl and hiss and tremble at your presence. It feels like there isn’t anything you can do about it. Even if Namjoon allows you to stay, even if Jungkook is there to vouch for you, they’ll just hate you no matter what, simply because you’re human.
You sigh. You can’t force them to like you, of course, and you don’t blame them for being weary of you. But the bigger problem seems to be how you’re going to get out of the woods without a car. With your face all over the news. With Kangdae’s family exhausting all their efforts to look for you.
And as you roll to face the door, you think about Namjoon.
He’s as much of a mystery to you now as he was back then. He has a charisma that commands the room, that makes it obvious that he’s the leader of the pack. That alone has all the hybrids respect him and look up to him. And to top it off, he’s also so kind for letting you and Jungkook in, for making you both feel comfortable in his home.
You can’t remember the last time Kangdae treated you as nicely. He was always so selfish and cruel, and you feel foolish to think that’s what love was.
When in reality, ever since you finally left him, you realize you know nothing about love at all. You thought, if you stayed with him long enough, you could learn to love him. That you could learn how to be loved back.
But the pitiful ache in your heart only makes you realize that, at least with Kangdae, there was never any love at all.
And yet, Namjoon…
With a finality, you throw the covers off of you. Since you can’t sleep, you decide to do something else to force your thoughts away.
You try your best to avoid the creaks on the floor as you quietly sneak out of the room. The halls of the east wing are dark, but luckily, you aren’t met with any grumpy hybrids just yet. As quietly as possible, you shut the door to your room and try to navigate through the shadowy hall, trying to remember where exactly the library is located in the huge manor.
However, your endeavor is halted when you hear voices at the end of the hall.
“You could be a little nicer to her,” Jimin begins, standing near a window where the moonlight illuminates his face. The tone in his voice sounds like he’s disappointed.
Standing before him is no one other than Taehyung. “She’s human.”
“She could be—” Jimin starts, but lowers his voice. You barely hear him as he tells Taehyung, “I think she’s it.”
His eyes widen a little, seeming to know exactly what he’s talking about.
“You think she’s—” An abrupt silence follows when they sense they’re not alone. Both of them turn to you. Even in the darkness, you think they can still see you. Then, Taehyung confirms they can when he asks, “Little human, where do you think you’re going?”
“I can’t sleep,” you reply honestly. On cue, the rumble of thunder ominously rolls in, sounding like the roar of a beast. You’re vaguely reminded of the sound that spooked Jungkook right before the accident, and you wonder if whatever it was is still out there.
“Are you afraid of the storm?” Jimin asks with a tilt of his head.
“It’s not that.” You don’t mind the rain or the sound of thunder, especially if you can stay safe and cozy indoors, sheltered from the bad weather. Under other circumstances, you might even enjoy the ambiance it brings in the background of a good book. “I think I just want to read something before I go to bed.”
“Are you afraid of us?” Taehyung suddenly asks you. His eyes glowering as he waits for your response.
But you look confused. “What do you mean?”
“Do you think we’re monsters?”
“Taehyung,” Jimin warns with a frown. He turns back to you, opening his mouth as if he’s about to tell you to just forget about his friend’s question.
“You’re not monsters,” you tell him seriously, without hesitation, without looking away. Your answer surprises not just the two hybrids before you, but also the ones in the shadows, listening in. “None of you are.”
You love books.
From the stories that your parents would read you to sleep, to the short stories full of childlike adventure and wonder, and later opening up to genres of drama, horror, fantasy, and romance. Even now, you love immersing yourself in the worlds of writers, escaping and overcoming trails that aren’t your own, and imagining yourself as the main character with every page you turn. It’s something that you can’t get enough of.
You love the weight of a book in your hand, the smooth texture of paper beneath your fingertips, and the earthy, musty smell of aged and worn pages that’ve been sitting on their shelves. You love being so captured by a story, you forget everything else around you, hung to every inked word across the page until the final conclusion.
Entering the library for the first time, surrounded by one of your favorite things, brings you a comfort that you haven’t felt in a long time.
Kangdae never understood your fascination with books. He couldn’t relate to that interest at all, finding it boring and a waste of time. It got harder to indulge in reading when you were with him. There were always chores to do after a long day at work that he never bothered to help with, or spontaneous trips and outings that he’d drag you to just so he can ignore you for his friends and other pretty women throughout the night. Even the books you do own, Kangdae never respected them – he never did with any of your belongings – throwing them when he was mad until the pages were bent and torn from the bindings, or using them as coasters or to spill his drinks on.
Finding yourself in a place like this brings you back to a time before you ever met Kangdae. Where no one really knew you, and you could quietly indulge yourself in the stories you’ve always loved.
Of all the books in the library, one of them catches your eye.
It’s your favorite one. The one about a far-off place with daring sword fights and a prince in disguise.
Your eyes widen in disbelief as you hold the book in your hands, flipping through the pages. It’s been well-kept, as have all the other books here. Unlike the copy you had at your home, ruined beyond repair. As you skim through the pages, the story immediately jumps out at you. The descriptions make it easy to imagine, and the flow of words make it hard to put the book down.
Even though you’ve read this story countless times, it never gets old. Because within the pages, entwined with all the action, adventure, and drama, is a love story.
To be loved and to be loved in return.
You’ve always wished for something like that for yourself.
All you’ve ever known about love is from Kangdae. The misery, the arguments, the fear, the anger. You think that’s just the reality of what love is supposed to be. But at least in this story, love seems nice. Even if it’s only fiction.
“That’s a good one.”
You’re startled when Namjoon appears beside you, looking at the book that you have in your hands. He looks wet, as if he’s been outside. Water drips from his soaked clothes, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it at all.
You smile at him sheepishly and admit, “It’s actually my favorite.”
He returns your smile. Those deep dimples pop up on his cheeks as he offers, “If you want it, it’s yours.”
“Oh! Thank you, I appreciate it, but I really can’t,” you decline, although very touched and almost tempted by the gift. “I don’t know how I can repay you for letting us stay here until the storm passes.”
“You don’t need to repay me anything,” he assures you sincerely. Perhaps to him, he’s just returning the favor you did for him years ago.
“I should at least give you money or something.” You don’t have much on you, though. Just whatever is left of what you’ve been secretly saving up.
Namjoon seems to consider it, but then, almost a bit shyly, he asks, “What about a date instead?”
You’re not entirely sure what Namjoon is thinking when he asks you on a date.
It’s still raining outside. Thunder, lightning, strong winds, and all. Even if you could leave the old manor, there isn’t anywhere to go. You’re surrounded by a thick forest in the middle of nowhere.
Still, Namjoon has you close your eyes.
His big, strong, and incredibly warm hands take yours in his, as he guides you to wherever he plans to take you. He smells like rain, and his clothes are still slightly damp from patrolling outside.
Your footsteps echo together in the quiet manor as he leads you out of the library. You can feel his gaze on your face, making sure you don’t ruin his surprise, and taking in all your features up close. And you bite back a giggle when you hear him bump into things every now and then before quickly assuring you that he’s okay and reminding you not to open your eyes yet.
“Watch your step,” he warns as he takes you somewhere colder. You clumsily stumble over the step anyway, nearly falling if it isn’t for his hands steadying you.
“Namjoon, where—?”
“Okay,” he says with a baited breath. “Open your eyes.”
Connected to the curtainless sunroom with the tennis table and the comfortable seating area is a greenhouse. You noticed it when Jimin and Taehyung showed you around earlier, but you didn’t have a chance to look inside. Namjoon smiles eagerly as he shows you his private, indoor garden: the bonsai trees that are starting to bloom with flowers, monstera plants standing tall with giant leaves, and bundles of flowers like roses, snapdragons, and lilies.
“Wow, Namjoon,” you say in awe, looking around. It feels like walking into the library for the first time, marveling at the magic the room brings. “These are beautiful.”
“I grew them myself,” Namjoon proudly states, rubbing his neck shyly. “They’re nothing compared to Hoseok and Jimin’s garden, but I thought I should still show you this place. I like coming here when I have a lot on my mind.”
“I can see why,” you remark. It’s nice here. All the flowers and plants look like they’re well-taken care of, healthy and thriving despite the ominous weather conditions. You come across a flower that you’ve never seen before. It looks like a cross between a lily and a rose, iridescent in color but with a thing of blue and purple. Their leaves and stems shine green like emeralds. “What are these?”
“Pretty, right? I call them smeraldo flowers,” he explains. His eyes light up with the way you admire them. “In the language of flowers, they mean non potevo dire la verità – the truth that couldn’t be told.”
“I’ve never seen anything like them.” You carefully touch the soft, delicate petal of the flower. They almost look like they’re made of magic.
“They’re beautiful like you.”
You look up at Namjoon just then, a bit surprised by the compliment. He seems a bit embarrassed, trying to hide his face as if he hadn’t meant to say those words out loud.
You’ve been called beautiful before. Sometimes, you think your natural beauty is all that Kangdae sees in you. It’s the only reason he ever tried to pursue you. But hearing it from Namjoon, who seems sincere with his words and intentions, it feels different.
It feels nice.
“I don’t know about that. These are very beautiful flowers,” you reply with a shy smile. “But thank you, Namjoon. You’re really kind.”
“I know the other guys are having a… difficult time adjusting to you. We haven’t had a guest here in a long time, especially a human one,” Namjoon tries to justify on their behalf. “They’re not bad, though. None of us are. So, you don’t need to be afraid while you’re here. But if you ever feel lost or scared, you can always come here. This place, these flowers, they bring me comfort. I hope they do the same for you.”
“Thanks Namjoon,” you repeat with a small smile. He really is so kind to you. “And I get it. Don’t worry. I don’t know what any of them have been through, but I don’t blame them for being cautious of me.”
Although you haven’t had many encounters with hybrids before, you know of the mistreatment they’ve endured from humans. How they’re treated like outcasts, and are constantly on the threat of being enslaved as laborers, entertainers, or pets. You see them protesting for their rights, and how laws constantly change to their disadvantage.
But if you’ve learned anything while being with Jungkook, it’s that he isn’t too different from you. He likes to sing and dance to music while you’re driving, he snores in his sleep, he loves the taste of banana milk and ice cream.
It hurts a little, but you understand why they’re weary of you. Why the hybrids aren’t able to easily trust you the way they can trust Jungkook, even though he’s just as much of a stranger to them as you are.
“You really are different from other humans,” Namjoon states with intrigue. The look in his colorful eyes is full of warmth and sincerity.
“I don’t think I’m doing anything different than what any decent person would do.”
“It’s because not a lot of humans treat us like decent people,” Namjoon explains again with a sad smile. “You know, you humans are so fascinating to me. You build grand cities with tall skyscrapers, you create beautiful art pieces that evoke feelings and different interpretations to your work, you write countless moving stories of wisdom, fantasy, and poetry. I wanted to be a rapper because I felt like I needed my voice to be heard in this world. All the anger I felt about being born a hybrid, all the sadness and loneliness I felt from being shunned away, all the fear of never being able to be heard or accepted. I went to the underground to prove that I can be as good as the humans are. That my voice is just as worthy to be heard as theirs.”
“It is worthy,” you tell him firmly. “I still remember the night I saw you perform so clearly. You were the best one out of all of them. Even better than some professional rappers in the industry these days.”
He looks away bashfully, but quietly replies, “Thank you. I’m glad you think so.”
“After the incident,” you start, both of you recalling that night when people discovered that he was a hybrid, “I was hoping that I’d see you again.”
“I had hoped to see you too.”
The confession is soft, but you still hear it over the sound of rain and thunder. In the greenhouse, standing in the garden where loneliness is in full bloom, you feel something stir inside you. Something warm. Something real.
You can’t place your finger on why. But you start to think about the meaning of love.
And you have to wonder, has Namjoon been thinking about you this whole time? Does he remember that night he met you as clearly as you do? Is that why he’s so welcoming to bring you into his home? Is that why he’s been so kind to you?
“Namjoon?”
“Yes?”
His eyes are so mesmerizing, you don’t realize the rain has stopped. That the roars of thunder and flashes of lightning have suddenly died down. That all you can hear is your own heartbeat in your chest as you look up at the handsome man before you.
“What kind of hybrid are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”
For the other hybrids, it’s obvious what they are: Seokjin is a wolf, Yoongi is a leopard, Hoseok is a deer, Jimin is a swan, Taehyung is a bear, and Jungkook is a bunny. But Namjoon, who mostly looks human, you have a hard time figuring out what he could be.
“I’m a beast. A miserable, ugly beast.”
Your brows furrow slightly. “I don’t think you’re—”
“But I am,” he interrupts with a frown. He looks at you seriously. “Trust me. You don’t want to see me in that form. You’ll be scared.”
You want to disagree. But you can tell that he doesn’t want to talk about the side of himself that he seems to hate so much, so you drop it. “Sorry for bringing it up.”
“No, it’s okay. I knew you’d be curious.” He sighs and rubs his neck again, seeming a bit torn with himself. A clash of thunder sounds from the distance, as if the storm is about to pick up again. As if the anger and sadness in the skies reflect Namjoon himself. “It’s just… if I had it my way, you’d never have to see it. You’ll always remember me the way that you see me now.”
You nod your head in understanding. Perhaps that’s why you’re also forbidden to go into the west wing. Maybe the truth of what kind of beast he is lies in that area.
Your gaze turns back to the smeraldo flowers. Under the moonlight, they almost look like they’re glowing with an ethereal and tragic beauty Flowers that mean an untold truth. Somehow, that makes you feel a little sad.
“Whether you’re a beast or a human, you’re not a monster, Namjoon.”
He smiles at you sadly. “I wish I could believe that. But thank you.”
The spontaneous “date” comes to an end, and like a gentleman, Namjoon walks you up to the east wing and stops in front of your bedroom.
Before you go inside, you turn to face him. “I had a nice time, Namjoon.”
You mean it, too. Quiet nights in, looking at beautiful flowers in the garden, sharing book recommendations in the library. It’s the perfect night for you.
“You don’t have to go after the storm ends,” Namjoon suddenly tells you. “You can stay here if you want. Both you and Jungkook.”
“I don’t know, Namjoon. Your pack—”
“I’ll talk to them. I’m sure they’ll come around to the idea,” he starts, looking like he wants to add more to it. Because, for some reason, you’re very special to him.
“It’s not just that.”
He’s already done so much for you already. There’s no way you’ll be able to repay him.
“How about we make a deal?”
You pause, looking at him with hesitance. “What kind of deal?”
“I don’t want your money, or do anything that you won’t feel comfortable with,” he quickly assures you. “The woods are dangerous, and the storm isn’t going to stop anytime soon. At least here, you’ll be safe. You’ll have your own room, you can have dinner with us, you’re free to wander the east wing and use the common rooms. All I ask is that you go on another date with me tomorrow night. And the night after, if you still decide to stay.”
You think about it. It seems like the best option for now.
You’ll still be hidden from Kangdae and the people looking for you. You’ll be safe from the wolves and other predators lurking in the deep, dark woods. You won’t have to say goodbye to Jungkook so soon, and you can spend another night like this with Namjoon.
“Why would you want me to stay when I’m human?” you ask him.
“Humans are fascinating. You’re fascinating,” Namjoon admits with a shy smile. “I just want to get to know you more.”
“I don’t think I’m that interesting of a human.” You can’t build skyscrapers, you can’t create masterpieces, and you can’t write stories the way your favorite authors do. “You’ll be disappointed.”
“I won’t. Because you’re you.” He seems so sure of that.
You smile a little at that.
“I’ll consider it,” you decide, heart fluttering as you half-joke, “I feel like you’re trying to make me fall in love with you.”
“You won’t,” Namjoon softly says, also just as sure. The way he looks at you makes your heart ache. “Why would someone as beautiful as you ever love a beast like me?”
Thank you for reading ♡
Comments & reviews are greatly appreciated!
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#to be loved#namjoon x reader#namjoon x you#hybrid namjoon#hybrid namjoon x reader#hybrid namjoon x you#hybrid bts#bts fanfic#bts fic#bts hybrid au#bts hybrid fic#bts hybrid x reader
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You called and here I am. Maybe some Chad smut(if you’re comfortable)? Him crushing on the reader and finally making a move? They were also in woodsboro together
Request: Please do more riley!reader x chad!!!!! Can you add height difference too? I'm a sucker for those
Warnings: smut (very light), mention of scream 5
my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time
—
‘’So...goodnight.’’
You smiled back at him, shifting on your feet. ‘’Goodnight, Chad.’’
Your keys were in your hand, their metal cool against your fingers, but you couldn't bring yourself to turn around and unlock your door.
After the movie night at Sam and Tara’s, Chad had kindly walked you to your apartment. His dorm was blocks away in the opposite direction, but the streets of New York weren't the safest place for women after 10pm and he would never miss an opportunity to play the protective bodyguard.
It also gave him an excuse to be alone with you.
You stayed standing in the corridor in front of your apartment, looking at each other as Chad towered over you, neither moving, neither speaking. You could stare at him for hours and never get bored, but your neighbor always takes his dog ‘Leonard’ out around this time and he would give you and Chad a massive side-eye if he saw you.
‘’Goodnight,’’ the brunet repeated, clinging to the last moments of tonight, not yet ready to part ways.
You broke your silence with a soft chuckle. ‘’You’ve already said that.’’
The corner of Chad’s mouth curled. ‘’I know, but I sort of don’t want to leave,’’ he admitted, fidgeting with the sleeve of his old letterman jacket. He didn't want to walk away. Not this time.
It was no secret that there was something between you and Chad. He’s had a small crush on you since the day he saw you laughing at a gore-y scene in his living room with Tara and Mindy, but never acted on it because he was terrified of your father. Dewey wasn’t a scary cop, but the sheriff badge on his chest and the gun attached to his belt had fourteen years old Chad peeing his pants — figuratively.
Life went on and your parents got tangled into a painful separation and divorce that ended with your mother moving to New York. You followed her to the big apple and built a new life while Chad started building muscles and dating girls.
Then, a new wave of ghostface attacks came and your paths crossed again, but you both needed space to grieve and heal before exploring the roads not taken.
You admired the way that the ceiling spots illuminated the features of Chad's gorgeous face, the lips you were dying to taste. It almost happened last week, but someone walked in and ruined the moment.
‘’Me either.’’
You let out a soft breath of air as Chad leaned in, his hand reaching up to rest gently on your jaw and connecting your lips in a slow kiss. You felt your skin erupt in goosebumps, your hands instantly reaching up behind Chad’s neck and shoulder to pull him down as the butterflies in your belly swooped.
His other hand found your lower back and you didn’t hesitate to jump and wrap your legs around him, turning this goodnight kiss into something a little more risqué. They kiss gently at first, finding a pace that felt so natural, but a burning desire grew and started flowing through you, needing to turn the kiss into something deeper.
Your mind turned blank as Chad’s tongue slipped into your mouth, finally satisfying a craving he’s had for a long time. It was a good thing your keychain was tied around your wrist, or else you would have dropped them, too entranced by everything Chad. His taste, his touch, the faint scent of his cologne, you never wanted the moment to end.
Unfortunately, you had to take a break for air.
You pressed your forehead against his, idly toying with the collar of his Blackmore hoodie. ‘’Do you wanna come in? My mom is away on a business trip to meet with her publishing house.’’
Clothes hastily got removed as you stumbled through the apartment, leaving a trail on the way to your bedroom. Although you had the place to yourself, you had enough respect to not have sex on your mother’s expensive couch or kitchen table.
Chad had you pinned against your bedroom wall, mouth slanted on yours and tongue imploring hungrily as his hands wandered over your curves. You reached back to unhook your bra and let it fall to the floor, giving him more terrain to kiss and grab.
His strong arms picked you up again, taking you to your bed and laying you down so he could crawl over you and kiss between your breasts. Your hands found their way into his hair, eliciting a quiet groan from him.
The room grew hotter as Chad’s hand wandered; one to your breast and the other to your panties — which did not match your bra. He dipped his hand underneath the thin fabric, making you gasp as his fingers teased your folds, feeling the wetness that had gathered.
He’s been dreaming of that moment — and secretly so did you. Chad pinched your nipple as he brushed your clit with his thumb, waking a rush of pleasure through your body.
‘’Aah,’’ you sighed softly, head falling back against your mattress.
—
Scream taglist: @misfityanii @beautybyfire @iluvscream191 @mariposa555 @bella7866 @o638 @lulubelle14 @luvvtxinityy @frasersgf @Eddiefrickenmunson @jasperr-the-friendly-ghost @ghostf4cee @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @wandaswigglywoos @xjennyx2 @jennasslut @thatonesblog @mikaelsonsstuff @icarly23 @tcddszn @bt.oliana
All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs @gillybear17 @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713 @marzipaanz
#chad meeks x reader#chad meeks martin#chad meeks martin imagine#chad meeks martin smut#chad meeks martin x reader#scream 6 imagines#scream 6
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The Arcana HCs: M6 administering first aid when it's their fault MC is slightly hurt
~ this idea has been sitting in my drafts for forever and I got an ask or two for something similar, enjoy the fluff! - brainrot ~
Part 2 is here:
- to set the scene -
It was evening time, and the two of you were in your shared space getting ready to decompress after a long week of work. You had just finished your bath and were drying your hair, but you couldn't find your comb. You glance across the room to where your beloved is and notice that it's right next to them.
"Darling, could you toss me my hair comb?"
They smile, pick it up, and toss it gently in your direction. Except that it flies faster than they expect it to. And they put a little more push and spin into it than they meant to. And when the comb smacks you in the face, one of the prongs manages to nick your eyebrow. You only feel a slight sting, but it's when your fingers come away from your face with a slight smear of blood that you notice the horror on your beloved's face. Oh dear.
Julian
Torn between the deep despair of what he's just done and his doctor's instinct to FIX IT, FIX IT NOW
Scrambling to find something to disinfect it with and clean it up, berating himself the whole time and concocting a thousand harebrained schemes to earn your forgiveness
During his search the memory of your little scratch is multiplying tenfold, what if you need stitches, what if you're permanently scarred across the face -
- until he sits you down and passes the clean rag across your face and oh, it's already stopped bleeding. It doesn't even need a bandage
The sheer relief has him cackling hysterically with tiny tears in his eyes, burying his face in your shoulder and asking for your forgiveness between sobs of laughter
It's also the stress of a long week getting to him, once five minutes have passed and he's still shaking you go pour a glass of something strong for the two of you to share and take your mind off of things
Asra
Both hands clasped over their mouth, eyes wide with horror
You can see tears threatening to pool in his eyes, he hurt you, how could he hurt you
As soon as you make a move towards them they are dashing to your side and brushing a shaky hand across your face to get a better look at it
Using healing magic as soon as you give him permission and then double and triple checking that there's no mark leftover
You're able to pull them out of their little spiral by asking them to kiss it better
That makes him laugh, and then he's pulling you closer and covering your face with smiling kisses
Will apologize for hurting you, and then for not giving you more credit to handle it
They'll stop feeling bad about it if you get the elephant out if the room by teasing him about it
"Yeah, you say you like my face, and then you go slicing it up with a hair comb, call me crazy but I'm getting mixed signals here..."
Hides his face in shame with the prettiest blush each time, "I said I was sorry, MC!"
Nadia
Utterly horrified. How could she. You asked her to do the simplest thing and she injured you instead
Completely at a loss on how to respond. She doesn't know first aid, she thinks one is supposed to elevate the injured area, but it's on your face and you're already standing up
It's on your face. She's officially responsible for scarring the greatest living work of art in the world, she'll never forgive herself
Her facial expression is the kind you'd expect to see on the kid who broke the cookie jar, not the Countess of Vesuvia
You're making your way across the room, holding in a giggle at the unusual look on her face, trying to tell her that you're fine without laughing
She's not convinced until you take a damp handkerchief and dab away the little drop of blood, showing a barely visible scratch underneath
"... oh." *recomposes herself* "well I suppose you didn't defeat the Devil for nothing."
You can see the little smile playing at the corners of her mouth and you know exactly how to make it blossom
"You have quite the arm, my lady."
Muriel
Be kind to him, he has trauma and from his perspective the sight of blood is all he needs to think that his worst fear is coming true
The first thing you do is use the edge of your towel to wipe off your face so there's only the scratch left
Then you're pulling him by the hand to sit down while Inanna climbs in his lap to ground him
Right about now he's realizing that technically someone could say he's overreacting so now he's flushing red and embarrassed and thinking about ways to hide
Obviously you're not going to let him hide or belittle himself, a trigger is a trigger regardless of how small it may seem to an outsider
Once he's taken a few deep breaths he'll steel himself to look at you before you even plan to work towards that and assess the damage
Oh, it really is just a scratch. There's not even any blood visible anymore
You're not going to tease him about it but Inanna will
Portia
She's laughing before you can even process what just happened
Her preferred method of sisterly comfort is a fist to the gut, mostly she's impressed at the fact that she could throw a comb that dangerously
She's also got her handkerchief in hand, pressing it to your forehead while you both giggle at the ridiculousness of the situation
She'll put a little bandaid on it too
The rest of the evening will be "injured warrior" themed
"Oh no, my dear MC, you have returned from war with a most horrible disfigurement! Whatever shall I do!"
She's doing this with her version of a posh Vesuvian accent, which layers hilariously over her natural Nevivon pronunciation
She'll comb your hair for you as her version of an apology
Can and will threaten you, Pepi, and Ilya with the hair comb in the future
"You leave me no choice. You laugh now, but if you do not help me wash the dishes I will remind you what these prongs are truly capable of!"
Lucio
"Oopsie."
The irony hits you that for once this is the completely appropriate response for him to make to his mistake
He can tell almost immediately that you're fine, he knows what major head wounds can look like and this ain't that
Grabbing a discarded shirt and tiptoeing across the room to you Captain Jack Sparrow style, he's dabbing the blood away gingerly and squinting at the scratch leftover like it's offended him
"We should get rid of that comb. It's weirdly shaped so it can't be aimed."
He's honestly not that bothered. He knows you're made of tough stuff, he knows you both got worse scratches than this earlier walking through a thorny patch of underbrush
If you decide to give him grief for it he'll suggest you throw the comb back at him, just so you're even
If you do and he doesn't duck and it does successfully scratch him too he'll be very proud of your matching battle wounds
"You aren't actually mad at me though, right?"
#the arcana headcanons#the arcana hc#the arcana#asra alnazar#julian devorak#nadia satrinava#portia devorak#lucio morgasson#muriel of the kokhuri#asra the arcana#julian the arcana#nadia the arcana#portia the arcana#muriel the arcana#lucio the arcana#the arcana game#the arcana shitpost#the arcana fluff#ask arcana brainrot
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Garden of Earthly Delights - one shot
sub!Joel Miller x f!dom!reader
A/N: I've been sick and sort of in a feverish fugue state for a couple of days and I wrote this. Definitely inspired by reading this excellent sub!Joel fic by @haylzcyon, but it turned out quite a bit darker. So, welcome to my horny fever dream I guess?
Summary: Joel gets dommed by a bratty shopgirl he meets in the Boston QZ and discovers a very unexpected side of himself
Rating: explicit 18+ MDNI
Word count: 3.5k
Warnings/tags: no use of y/n, hard dom!reader, irresponsible dom behavior that would be abusive irl (don't dom people you meet on the street kids. And for god's sake, use active consent and a safe word), reader described as young and has hair, slapping, spitting, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected PIV sex, premature ejaculation, cum eating, praise, degradation, pet names (good boy, baby boy, kitten, mama), submissive produce washing
Joel was tired, and hungry, and he wanted to go home. At home he had half a bottle left of some dark moonshine that approximated whiskey, and a day off tomorrow to sleep through its aftereffects. But his cupboards were otherwise empty, and he knew he needed to lay in some supplies.
Unfortunately, it was the end of first shift and half of the goddamn QZ was thinking the same thing. The line snaking up to the counter at the ration shop was moving slower than he even thought possible, and he shifted irritably from side to side. He was trying, unsuccessfully, to find a way to stand that didn’t make his whole body hurt.
Even more maddening, only one person was working the counter today. He was sympathetic with operations being short staffed, but that clearly wasn’t the case. He could see right past the greasy hair of the young guy doling out food, and another person was back there, just leaning against the wall. Looking bored.
He watched you as you idly checked your nails. He watched you as you ran your fingers through your hair. He watched you cock one hip to the side and lean down to pull a shiny red apple from a burlap sack, then toss it loosely back and forth between your hands. Like you had all the time in the goddamn world.
You were beautiful.
You were young.
You weren’t bothered one bit by the grumbling line of customers stretching down the street.
He fucking hated you.
Finally, he reached the front, throwing down a thick sheaf of ration cards. “Two loaves a’ bread. Cooking oil. And a couple apples,” he grunted out.
“Sorry, out of apples,” the gormless kid answered. Behind him, he watched as you lifted the smooth red fruit to your lips and bit down, hard, the flesh giving way with a gratifying crunch. You noted with satisfaction that it was a particularly good apple— tart, sweet, crisp.
The shop boy saw Joel glaring and shrugged. “Last one.” Joel looked over at where you stood again, one knee bent with your foot pressed oh-so-casually against the cinderblock wall. Beside you, the burlap sack bulged with the shape of a good dozen round, suspiciously apple-sized lumps.
A thin rivulet of juice dripped out from the fruit in your hand, sliding down the curve of your wrist. You saw him watching you, and you bent your head to run your tongue along your skin, lapping up every last, sweet drop.
You liked the way he was looking at you. An older guy, gray streaking through his dark hair and down his stubbled jawline. But fucking built, the solid shape of his shoulders stretching out the worn chambray of his work shirt. His eyes were narrowed, his strong brow pinched. The cut of his jaw practically vibrating with tension.
He wanted to kill you. He also, definitely, wanted to fuck you. Maybe both at the same time. And below all of that simmering ferociousness, there was a hint of something else in his big brown eyes. Something that definitely interested you.
He’d been halfway home when a FEDRA sweep forced him back in the direction of the shops. He wasted a good hour waiting for a bunch of fifteen-year-olds in body armor to “clear the area,” then finally got back on his way.
He was deep in thought, thinking about a smuggling trip he was planning for late next week. Wondering if the soldier he was bribing for intel was too far gone on oxy to be reliable anymore. He didn’t want a repeat of last November, inches away from being gunned down as his crew sprinted across what was supposed to be an unguarded field at the edge of town.
So he didn’t see you coming until you were only a couple yards in front of him, walking home yourself— bag of apples slung over your shoulder.
When his eyes flicked up, finally, you’d stopped walking and were standing there in a wide stance with one hand on your hip. You saw the way his eyes widened briefly, then narrowed again, shining darkly as you watched him watching you. You ran your tongue around the perimeter of your lips, and his gaze followed its slow swirl.
Then you reached into your bag and pulled out an apple. You gave your arm a desultory swing and let it loose. It bounced to the ground, rolling toward his boots, then came to a stop just an inch away from him.
He looked at the apple.
He looked at you.
“Thought you might like a taste.”
The loathing that poured over his features was so intense that for a moment, you thought you might’ve misread things. But no, you could see it there in his face again. That bloom of need.
This poor, beautiful man needed to be taken care of.
And sure enough, you watched as he crouched down there in the street to pick up the apple. You watched as he straightened himself up, his knees crackling audibly.
“Good. Now take a bite.”
The apple, tasty as it was sure to be, had just rolled across the godforsaken ground of Boston QZ. Across dust and ash and human detritus, ground down to a smudging blackness that covered every surface here. He didn’t even know why he’d picked the thing up, and he sure as shit wasn’t going to put his mouth on it.
He shook his head, lip curling in a sneer.
“Don’t think so, honey.”
You tutted softly, walking forward to close the gap between you. He held the apple down at one side, the other hand hooked into his belt loop. Shoulders squaring up to you as you neared. Even as he was doing it, he felt like a fool. What exactly did he have to prove to this bratty little shopgirl? And why wasn’t he walking away?
“That’s really too bad,” you said, letting your words drip slowly from your mouth. “I thought you were gonna be a good boy for me.”
You were right in front of him now, close enough to see the rise and fall of his chest as his breathing quickened.
“‘Cause I know how to take really good care of good boys.”
Joel closed his eyes for a moment. He didn’t understand why, but his cock had swollen to half-mast just from crouching down to pick up that apple while you stood over him. And every time you spoke he felt more warmth pooling in his groin. He wasn’t sure if he was going to have to pay for what you were offering, or if you’d do it for free. But he knew he wanted it, unexpectedly, very badly.
He clenched his hand around the smooth skin of the fruit, and against his conscious judgement he felt his arm lifting it up toward his face.
You watched him moving, his eyes still closed, a smile slowly spreading across your face. As the fruit approached his gently parting lips, you reached up to grab him by the wrist, stilling him. You could feel the jump of his pulse below the rough skin.
“Not so fast, boy.” His eyes blinked open, their soft brown blown out to black. “I think since you’re being so good, we can go back to your place and get that apple nice and clean for you. And then you can show me how pretty you are when you eat.”
His place was nicer than many, a handful of rooms that were worn but clean. Functional furniture, a radio, a shelf with books. He clearly was doing okay for himself. The ones who needed this the most usually were.
He led you inside with a nervous energy that told you he hadn’t done this before. He’d surely brought women to his apartment, with those broad shoulders and that roughly handsome face. But never someone like you. And he wasn’t sure what to do. He stood in the living room, still holding the apple in one hand, his other hand clenching and opening at his side.
You looked him up and down. “What’s your name?”
You saw him hesitate. Wondering if this was a good idea— if you were a psychopath about to rob him or worse. But then he swallowed.
“Joel.”
���Joel,” you purred. “Do you have soap, Joel?” He looked blank for a second, then nodded. “Then go and wash that filthy apple off like a good boy.”
He paused again, and then gave a bewildered shake of his head before walking off toward the kitchen. There was a table in the room, across from an unmade bed. You pulled yourself up to sit on top of it, resting your feet on the seat of a battered old chair, and waited.
Joel returned after a minute, holding the now damp and glistening apple. He still wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. Or his body. He held the fruit out to you, watched the bored way your eyes ran down his form as you sat there.
You made a soft tsk. “I see a speck of dirt. Better try again, boy.”
Joel looked at the spotless apple, then back at you. His heart felt like it was going to beat right through the wall of his chest.
He hated you.
And he wanted to hear you call him a good boy again.
He stalked off to the kitchen and stood by the sink, carefully running the damp, soapy washrag back and forth across the smooth, hard peel. The apple was a deep red, flecked with burgundy. Joel held it up in the light that filtered through his window, turning it in circles to inspect for any blemish. When he was satisfied, he carried it carefully back to you. Despite himself, he could feel his brow draw up, his expression pleading, as he offered it again.
You gestured desultorily at the table beside you, and he set down the apple gently. You ignored it.
He was uncomfortably hard now, straining against the too-tight denim of his pants. You looked down at the thick shape of him, and raised a single eyebrow.
“I think you better take your clothes off, kitten. Before you make a mess of yourself.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.
You watched as he unbuttoned and zipped down his fly, the relief washing over his face as his cock sprung free and bobbed up toward his stomach. You had to fight to keep your face impassive as you took in the sight— you were impressed by the sheer size of him, thick and long and richly veined. The swollen head was stained almost purple as the blood pulsed through him, slick from where he’d been weeping against his boxers.
You had a good feeling about this one. A very good feeling.
“All of your clothes.”
You waited, arms crossed over your chest in a posture of impatience, as he slid all the way out of his pants and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the curving planes of his muscles and the dusting of dark hair. A little soft right around his tummy and thick thighs, the perfect counterpoint to everything that was hard and rigid about him.
He saw how you were looking at him, and he moved toward you, desperation painting his face.
“Please, baby— I—I need you,” he stuttered, his dark eyes wide and desperate.
Your hand slapped across his face, hard and fast.
He stumbled backward, stunned momentarily as his hand flew up to cup his stinging cheek.
“Did I tell you you could speak?”
Part of him wanted to throw you against the wall, and part of him wanted to fall to his knees and beg your forgiveness. He felt his cock twitch, growing somehow even harder, a thick bead of precum oozing from the slit.
You watched him, smirking. “I think you liked that, didn’t you, boy?”
A hot blush seeped up his neck as you looked down at his needy cock. He knew you were right. If you kept slapping him like that, looking at him like that, talking to him like that— he’d come harder than he ever had in his life.
“Now,” you said, pointing down at the floor. “Kneel for me.”
Joel lowered himself to the hardwood floor, unconcerned with how his knees were going to feel tomorrow. He watched as you pulled the fabric of your skirt up around your waist, revealing a thin pair of cotton panties, sopping wet where the fabric ran between your legs.
“See what you can do for me when you’re a good boy?” You ran a finger up and down along the slick cloth, ghosting over the shape of your slit.
Then he watched, mesmerized, as you slid the underwear down your legs. Leaving your pussy bare, drenched, and just out of reach.
God, you were perfect.
His tongue darted out to moisten his lips as he stared at you, desperate for a taste.
You smiled. “It looks like you’re ready to serve me already. And you’re very, very lucky today. Because I’m going to let you eat me out, if you just ask nicely. Are you ready to ask nicely?”
He nodded eagerly. You noted with satisfaction that his face was loosening— the jaw no longer so tensed, the deep furrow between his brows softening. He was relinquishing himself to you, little by little. You reached down with one finger and tipped his chin upward, to look into your face.
“Okay, sweet boy. You can ask me now.”
“Please, please let me eat your pretty pussy,” he spoke, his voice hoarse with need. His eyes, looking up at you, were all pupil— hungry pools of black.
You nodded appreciatively, then you reached your hands around to the back of his head and pulled him into you. Your fingers threaded through the thick, salt-and-pepper curls, holding him tightly in place as he began to lick. His beard was scratchy against your sensitive skin, but his lips were surprisingly soft.
You gave him directions— how hard to suck against your swollen clit, how fast to draw his tongue through your folds— and tugged him by the hair to adjust his angle. You could feel the vibration of him whimpering against you.
“Good boy,” you cooed down at him. “Eating that pussy so good for me.” And he was, following your every instruction, responding to the subtlest tap and tug. Like he was born to do this. As you felt your orgasm building, you pressed him deeper against your core, squeezing him between your thighs. He was trapped, and clearly loving it. Below you, you could see the muscular swell of his ass, clenching as he thrust his hips up against nothing.
“That’s it, that’s it. Make Mama come like a good boy.” You pulled hard on his hair as you pressed your hips forward, toes curling, waves of pleasure crashing through you. He moaned just as loudly as you did, your cunt spasming against the press of his hot tongue.
You took your time catching your breath, still holding Joel by the hair. When you finally pulled him free of you, the sight was delicious. Skin blotched and red, your glistening juices smeared everywhere. Hair tousled and sticking out, breath coming fast and hard.
You smiled down at him.
“Don’t worry, pet. We’re not done yet. Now—” you pointed over at the unmade bed—“you’re gonna be my little toy. You’re gonna lie down over there and let me ride you.”
Joel felt a rush of relief at the thought of you finally touching his achy, leaking cock. He nodded up at you, rising to his feet. The sheets of the bed were cool and smooth against his flushed skin.
You took your time, sliding down off the table top and languidly stretching your arms out. Enjoying the way Joel looked lying there, waiting for you with his giant erection jutting up into the air. Finally, you made your way over to the mattress and climbed up on your knees, straddling him.
Your sweet cunt was hovering in the air, inches above the tip of his cock. You paused there, and smiled condescendingly down at him.
“Beg me for it, little boy.”
“Please, please, please.” The words spilled out of his lips, his voice cracked and shameless.
“Please what?”
“Please ride me. Please fuck yourself on my cock like it’s your little toy.”
You reached down and wrapped one hand around his thickness, the grip sending sparks through his body. Then you began to slide his head along your drenched lips, wetting it down. Instead of moving him toward your entrance, you guided the tip to nudge against your clit, and began to tap it against the swollen nub, again and again. His poor, sensitive cockhead was so engorged by now that it hurt, and he whimpered each time you pressed against him.
Then, finally, you slid him down to the hot, wet center of you. You drove your hips down, throwing your head back as you filled yourself with him. He could only fit halfway in your tight little pussy on that first downward thrust, and you whined as you reared up and down again, spearing yourself on his cock. He felt his thighs shaking as you pushed yourself further and further down, until finally he bottomed out inside you. You paused there, letting yourself settle around the heavy length of him.
And then— fuck— he felt that familiar warmth growing in his abdomen, his balls tightening upward. His face screwed up, as he tensed and fought to pull back from the edge.
“Oh, poor boy,” you said, smiling down at him as you began to move your hips in a slow, easy roll. “You’re trying so hard not to come, aren’t you?” The warm slide of your pussy was unbelievable, and Joel’s mind scrambled for something to distract him— think about work detail, plumbing repair, fucking baseball, anything.
“But you can’t hold back, can you? You’re not even gonna make it another minute in this tight little cunt, are you?” You were right. Of course you were right. He grabbed fistfuls of bedsheet in each hand, gripping as hard as he could, knuckles going white as he fought against his hips that wanted to thrust, thrust, thrust into you. He screwed his eyes shut tight.
His eyes flew back open as a spray of warm spit hit his face.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” Your voice jolted through him.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he moaned.
“Tell me you’re sorry for coming so fast, you filthy little boy.”
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I’m a filthy little boy and I’m going to come.” The words poured out of Joel, his hips bucking uncontrollably as the electric warmth spilled over. “I’m sorry Mama, I’m coming, I’m so sorry, fuck, fuck, fuck.” He began to shoot into you, spurt after helpless spurt, coming so hard he thought for a second he might pass out.
It was only when his cock and his hips finally stilled that he realized he was crying. Hot tears rolled down the sides of his face to pool against the sheets.
You leaned down, stroking your hand along his stubbled cheeks. “Shhh, shhh. It’s okay baby. Mama forgives you.” You slid yourself off his sticky, half-hard cock and moved forward, still straddling him. Your soft hands gently combed through his messy curls.
“Don’t worry, baby boy. You can clean up this mess and I’ll be good as new.” Your hips pushed forward, and you pulled one hand back to hold yourself open, showing Joel where his milky seed was dripping down between your folds.
He nodded, looking up at your encouraging smile. His tongue slipped out between his lips, and he took a first, tentative lick along your slit. The sweet tang of your slick mixed with his own bitter, salty spend.
“That’s a good boy. Clean it all up.” He lapped at you, gathering speed. His tongue pressed inside you, curling against your walls to release every last drop.
Finally, when you were satisfied he’d done his job, you pulled away. He released his mouth from you with a mournful groan, and you sat down against the head of his bed.
You looked him over from head to toe. He was a fucked out mess of a man. Flushed skin, limbs sprawling. Sticky cock still swollen against his thigh. Lips slick with his own come, and yours.
“Come here, sweet boy,” you murmured softly. You pulled his head into your lap, cradling him there as you gently petted him. “You did good. Close your eyes, Joel. I’ve got you.”
His eyes drifted shut, and in less than a minute he’d fallen asleep. Dark, deep, dreamless sleep— the best sleep he’d had in a long, long time.
When he woke up, it was morning and you were gone. On his table, you’d left the core of an apple, its sweetness slowly turning brown.
#joel miller#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x reader#sub!joel#joel miller smut#the last of us fanfiction#the last of us smut#tlou smut#divider by cafekitsune
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Day 9 - Fake Dating
Fandom: Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Character(s): Link
Type of Request: 31 Days of Oc-Trope-R
Note(s): The requester wanted Reader helping Link fend off his suitors and I love this idea so much. Also, I make Link talk a tiny bit in this (like only a few words at a time) Also Also I felt so bad for Paya while writing this ngl (sorry Paya!!)
You blamed it on how nice he is to everyone. Oh, you need ten apples? He's doing it. One hundred crickets to impress a girl? Done. It's insane what he'll do (you're still annoyed that you watched him cut grass for hours to get the crickets to only actually give the guy ten).
But then he was going to Karkariko Village next. He seemed nervous as you two traveled on the new horse he tackled and won over. Usually, he liked using his Sheika sleight, but you both quickly found out that you are not transported with him, and he had to hurry to get back to you before the Guardian shot you. It was not a fun time.
"What's wrong, Link?" You ask as your arms are wrapped around his waist while he directed the horse. He's quiet for a bit as he ponders the question. Or maybe he heard you and was choosing to be quiet like he sometimes does. A sigh is heard from him as he looks over his shoulder. You did not realize how closely you were holding him and tried to put some space between you.
"Be my girlfriend," he says. No lead in, no 'hey I have a favor', just a flat-out proposal and your jaw dropped. Link quickly realized his mistake and pink crossed his cheeks as he shook his head. "Pretend! Pretend to be my girlfriend!"
You had a million questions and were starting to ask before Link filled you in. Apparently almost every girl and woman (some men too) in Karkariko village has a crush on Link. Well, maybe not Impa, but that's still a large number. And Link does not know how many excuses he can give so he wants you to pretend to be his girlfriend just to keep them off of him.
And you agreed.
You don't know what came across your mind to agree, but you did. You and Link talked about things like how you started dating or other couple questions that might be asked. It was a bit weird, but ended up being fun? Mostly because he's a dork and you teased him quite a bit when he talked about how he didn't realize a lizalfo tail couldn't be used as food for some reason and a fairy had to save him after eating the dubious food.
When you make it to the village, you don't quite understand what Link needed help fending off. The people seemed nice, some kids wanted to play tag (and you found it adorable how Link did so), and there was a shrine that Link stole the apples from. It wasn't until you and Link went into a shop that you realized.
"Why hello, Link, here to fill up your quiver?" She practically purrs and your jaw drops at how much confidence she has while Link pushes you forward.
"Um, actually, we would like some arrows please," you say, and she glances to you in disappointment at you being between her and Link, who she still tries to eye as a piece of meat.
"And you are?" She asks, her tone a bit bored, but you can tell she tries her best to be nice to a new customer. Even if you're a bit annoyed with how she's treating you.
"His partner," you tell her, and she pauses as Link breathes a sigh of relief. She glances between the two of you and, without thinking, Link holds your hand.
Sure, he's held hands with you before. Mostly so you didn't fall off a cliff or when the wind was really bad. But this context felt different. Well, you're fake dating so it really shouldn't be that weird, but the issue is that you liked it.
You hear her mutter something about "typical men breaking a woman's heart" but you ignore it as Link buys up about every arrow in the store. You thank her as he drags you outside and sighs.
"'Fill up your quiver'." You are so quick to tease him, and his face goes a dark red as he puts his hands over his face to hide. You're interrupted from your next teasing as you hear a gasp and you glance over and see a, well, a very pretty girl.
"Hello Paya," Link greets politely to the girl while continuing to hide his face and her face gets redder than his is. And you realize that she likes him too. It's difficult not to realize it as Link gives you a look for help and you smile gently at the girl, Paya.
"Hi," you say, and she looks to you in confusion as her eyes glance between you and Link and how close you stand together. And you watch as her heart seems to shatter, but she keeps giving a smile. Your own heart aches with her reaction.
"Hello, I'm Paya. It was nice seeing you again, Link." It was sweet how she greeted you if only tears weren't forming in her eyes as she quickly walked off and Link sighed, muttering that he'll have to talk to her later.
You keep walking through the village with Link, continuing to be his fake girlfriend but the smile on your face felt faker. Your mind kept going back to the shattered look on Paya's face and you imagined yourself in her shoes. Link is your friend; one you've traveled with for so long. How would you react if he suddenly showed up with someone he looked really close to? You didn't like those thoughts.
Eventually you and him walk out of the village, going to where the fairy shrine is so he can catch some just in case. And you see the shining lights surrounding him and how handsome his face looks as he glances in the pool of the fountain. And you realize your "just friends" thoughts are full of crap.
You're silent as you two walk away from the fountain, following the path to a little overlook. Link sighs in relief as he sits on the ground, taking a break from the excitement while you stay standing and overthinking.
"What's wrong?" Link asks and you hate how perceptive he is. Or at least, when it comes to you, he seems overly preceptive. You force a smile and sit next to him.
"I was thinking of Paya, she looked heartbroken," you tell him and Link sighs at that.
"I know." Is his reply and you can hear the heaviness in his tone, as if he also feels guilt, but he doesn't say anything afterwards. Nothing about telling the truth or even hoping she'll be okay. You know earlier he said he'd talk to her, but you don't know what that entails. The only thing you're thinking of right now is, you don't want to end up like her, the poor girl.
"It'd be unfair if she learned that we are lying about dating," you say and Link glances over at you, giving a slow nod. "So, we should actually date." His eyes look like they'll pop out of his head.
"What?!" You wince at his reaction and are about to apologize and start to think 'maybe I will end up like Paya' but then you see the massive blush on his face again.
"Well, we've traveled together for so long and-"
"Let's date." He cuts you off from the long speech you're about to give to explain your feelings. You're a bit annoyed by how quickly he recovered, but that goes away as you sigh and lean against him, something you did as friends but now it feels different, but a good different.
#randoimago 31 days of october#legend of zelda x reader#breath of the wild x reader#botw x reader#link x reader#botw link x reader#loz link x reader
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