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soyeonsbabygirl · 4 months

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Hear me out

So y/n broke up with her boyfriend not long ago, and minnie (g!p) tried her best to see her smile again, happy and all cute again. But nothing worked she cried every night in her arms how she hated her ex boyfriend and how she wishes she never met him, she hated that. She hated that her bestfriend cried so much over a stupid men, so she took her way and made her feel like she's the most important person in the world in that moment. She made sure to make her feel good and to forget about that stupud ex boyfriend wich she did bc minnie showed her all the stars that he couldn't do, she fucker her with nothing but love and a promise to keep her bestfriend the happiest person in the world. But she couldn't keep her feelings anymore and she let them spit out like a river and thats when they became a thing

Minnie fucking y/n roughly but with a care so that she forgets about her ex stupud boyfriend and she confess to reader

(i'm sorry i needed to send this request it's stuck in my head since yesterday)

-the mimin x reader anon (also can i be your 🦤 if it's not taken?)

Hi honey! Sorry it took me so long to reply to this but ofc you can be 🦤 Anon! (My first anon this is so cool whatt)

I can be a better boyfriend than him.

G!P Nicha Yontarak/ Kim Minnie x Reader

Minnie sighed as she heard you crying again. It had been 2 weeks since you and your boyfriend — who Minnie personally never liked — had broke up. He had cheated on you which caused you to break up with him. Minnie was upset to see you so upset but was happy that you had finally left him.

She had known for a while that he was a player but she never said anything since she loved seeing you happy contrast to how you were now.Ever since you guys had broken up she would hear you crying, especially at night which made her hate for him grow even more. She wanted to see you smile or better yet just forget him and date her.

She knew how to treat you better and knew what was best for you, she was your best friend but in her mind she was your girlfriend. I mean you guys have slept in the same bed cuddling more times than she could count and each time you guys would cuddle it felt more intimate than the last time even if that wasn’t the goal. You would always kiss her cheek sometimes being too close to her mouth almost as if you meant to kiss her, she would dream of how your lips would feel against hers multiple times often getting hard from just the thought. And when you wore her clothes it made her even crazier imagining multiple scenarios of you being hers and not having to share you with anyone else because you’d be hers and hers only.

One night she had enough, you were in her arms as she held you crying your eyes out. Sobbing saying how you weren’t good enough for him, how everything was your fault, you were just a terrible girlfriend. She got tired of it and grabbed your face kissing you, the kiss was filled with love and passion. She pulled away quickly when she realized what she did.

“I’m sorry- I-I should've asked first I didn't mean to-” before she could finish you pulled her back in to another kiss. This time it had more lust than passion, Minnie’s hands went under your shirt her cool fingertips against your hot skin sent shivers down her spine.

Her tongue dancing with yours as you guys made out on your bed. You both pulled away breathing heavily as Minnie flew to your neck applying kisses to it, you let out soft moans and sighs after each kiss she left. “M-Minnie…please..I need you so badly..” your voice was no louder than a whisper. Minnie smirked against your skin as she lifted your shirt off your body, moving down to kiss your collarbones muttering small praises about how pretty you were, how long she's been waiting for this, and how she loves you.

Minnie took your sweatpants off while you pulled her shirt off her body. “You know,” she said in between kisses “I can be a better boyfriend than him.” She pushed your panties to the side as she slipped a finger inside you smiling at how much you whined. She went back up to your face kissing your cheeks as she began to move her digit in and out of you.

You moaned with every thrust of her finger she made loving the feeling already getting obsessed with how her finger felt inside her. By the time she added a second finger she took in your facial expressions and how pretty you looked like this. Your reactions told her enough of how your ex treated you during sex, and it made her upset. She was gonna show you how much better she was as she sped up making your face contort to pleasure, your walls tightened around her fingers making you mewl.

She knew you were close but if anything that just made her speed up even more til she heard you let out a loud moan your orgasm coating her fingers as she pulled them out. She saw you panting with a wide eyed star struck look as if this was your first time and then came to another conclusion that upset her.

“He’s never made you orgasm? was that your first time ever orgasming?” your shy nod told her everything. The idea of her being the first one to make you orgasm made her harder than she already was, “fuck I need to be inside you right now.” she murmured.

You bit your lip as you looked at her “Do it. I want you to fuck me Minnie.” That was all she needed to hear. She immediately took her pants off as she rubbed her tip on your lips, “how many inches are you used to?” you were silent for a few minutes before answering “I think..5..” Minnie was a bit dumbfounded by this.

It made her feel happy that she was bigger than your ex boyfriend but also a bit astonished. Seriously what did you see him? it doesn’t matter now since she was gonna make you forget all about him. She pushed into you making you count each inch til she was fully inside you. She smirked as she saw your reactions, the way you gripped her hand trying to adjust to her size, the whiner your voice got the more she entered inside you, all of it was beautiful to her.

She was smiling when she saw you take all of her dick in your pussy, once she was sure that you were used to feeling of her inside her was when she started moving. Her hands gripped your hips as she fucked into you. “Fuck, you're so tight. Your pussy feels so fucking good.” you could barely respond only moaning as your vision blurred from each thrust. Minnie began taking up speed as she went deeper and faster inside you.

One of her hands held you down by her hips while the other groped your boobs roughly enjoying how they felt. She felt you get wetter and wetter with each thrust making her moans mix with yours, all the times she would hear you moan for your ex during sex she’d never heard you moan like this. She went rougher even as she felt you orgasm coating her dick, but she had no plans of stopping.

You began to cry from overstimulation as it felt like she had only gone faster when you orgasmed, at one point only driven by lust as she hooked her arms under your legs placing them on her shoulders. With this new angle, she was able to reach even more deeper inside you loving the new angle.

Your moans were so loud that anyone who were to step inside the apartment would be able to hear you guys , the sounds of her thrusting in and out of you echoed throughout the room as both of your moans got louder.

She watched as your walls began clenching on her cock indicating you were close, she was also close and got an idea as she leaned down to your ear “cum for me baby, cum all over my cock. I want us both to cum at the same time.”

She went faster and deeper til she moaned your name in ecstasy painting your insides white, she looked down at you as she stayed inside you slowing down her thrusts, at one point she pulled out a bit and looked at your face.

She was confused as she saw you had a weird facial expression but then saw your eyes squeeze shut tightly as a clear liquid shot out of you. Minnie had a shocked look on her face as she looked down at you. She just made you squirt. Not only was she the first person to make you orgasm but she was also the first person to make you squirt.

You were panting as you looked like you were about to say something but before you could Minnie latched her lips on your clit lapping up all your juices harshly sucking on your clit. You moaned loudly gripping the sheets and due to how sensitive you were you orgasmed again in her mouth as she lapped it all up.

She came up to your lips and kissed you as she laid down moving you to lay on her chest. Once you both caught your breathes she spoke, “Y/N, I’ve been in love with you for so long. I know you just got out of a relationship but can you please give me a chance?”

It was quiet for a few minutes which to Minnie felt like hours. You pecked her lips as you smiled. That was all she needed to hear as she held you impossibly closer to her.

This requested me think of boyfriend by Dove Cameron and now I can’t unsee it��‍💫 I hope you liked the request lovey and I promise I’m working on that Mimin request💋💕

#gidle #gidle thoughts #gidle smut #kpop gidle #idle smut #fem! reader #g!p minnie #minnie smut #minnie #idle imagines #idle thoughts #idle #minnie idle #🦤 anon

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chilschuck · 7 days

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Can I maybe get a platonic thing where reader is dating one of Chilchucks daughters (probably flertom) but is also an adventurer themselves and join the party hoping to get their girlfriends dad to like them?

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ hi anon!!! ofc you can! <33 i hope this turned out okay, i wrote it in between clients at work, LOL. it’s short but sweet, and i had fun imagining chil being protective!

— CHILCHUCK (& FLERTOM): platonic!chil x gn!reader hcs.

꒰ warnings: ꒱ none! sfw + chil being protective dad, lol.

꒰ wc: ꒱ 627

✦ going insane bc tumblr deleted it right as i was about to post it. sobs. but i hope you enjoy it!! (;;w;;)

✦ When you first joined the party, it was under the guise that you just needed a group to help you get to the lower levels. Laios being who he is, was more than happy to get your help with the rest of the members.

✦ You had an ulterior motive, one you wouldn’t be revealing so soon: the goal to get your girlfriend’s dad to approve of you. Flertom had told you before that it was totally fine, and that you shouldn’t worry yourself too much over it. She loved you, and that’s all that should matter. Yet, you found yourself unhappy to know that not only did he not know of your existence in her life, but that he hadn’t given you his blessing.

✦ Making sure not to let too much slip, you did your absolute best to get the man to like you. Whether it be staying out of his way while he worked or by showing your own worth, you worked extremely hard to get on his good side.

✦ Occasionally you’d talk about your girlfriend, mainly how much you adored her and that she made you really content. Chilchuck would hum, mulling over everything you said. It never occurred to him that you’d be talking about his daughter of all people, but he’d give you advice once in a while about certain things.

✦ Chilchuck thought you were a good asset. You stayed in your own lane yet brought about your own skills, something he valued. Your interest in his work made him a little happy as well, and it was nice to have someone around his daughters’ age in the party. It made him miss his own kids a lot.

✦ It had been a good while of you being in the party, and you felt it was finally time to show your true motive. You waited until Chilchuck was relaxed, enjoying a drink as everyone made camp.

“You know, there’s something I haven’t told you about myself,” you began, a tinge of nervousness in your voice. You had worked so hard to build up the reputation you had with him, and didn’t want to tear it all down in one sitting.

Chilchuck raised an eyebrow at you, taking a sip of his drink. His silence was a push to keep talking.

“I’m… My girlfriend is Flertom.” The words weren’t rushed, in fact they left you in an exhale of relief that they finally were spoken. Meanwhile, you felt the fear return to your chest when Chilchuck choked on his drink.

After his coughing fit, the half-foot banged on his chest, turning to look at you incredulously. “My daughter is your girlfriend? This whole time, it’s been her?!”

✦ After that talk, he didn’t speak to you for a little while. It was discouraging, but you tried your best to give him the space he needed. When you seemed down more than usual one day, he turned his attention to you and sighed.

✦ “You know, I’ve been thinking… I guess if you’re the one with her, it’s not too bad… You’re an okay kid.” You immediately perked up at his words, before he stuck out an accusatory finger at you.

✦ “But! If you hurt her, or break her heart, or anything like that, you’re gonna have to go through me. Got it?” His voice came out in a tone that had you glued to the floor, but you nodded as quickly as you could. You’ll definitely keep that in mind.

✦ Chilchuck thought back to the letter he had received, with how happy Fler had seemed with you. Well… He guesses that if it stays the way it is now… He’d be fine with it.

✦ For now.

#⟡ lilia writes! 🌿#not sure what to tag this #dunmeshi x reader #delicious in dungeon x reader #dungeon meshi x reader #uhmmmmm #I’ll leave it at that!

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nerdieforpedro · 27 days

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Yes ma'am I am your new neighbor

Chapter One of "This is the Neighborhood Din"

Din Djarin modern AU x Sierra Harris (plus size OFC)

This fic is for readers over 18+ MDNI

Word Count: about 2.2k

Summary: Din Djarin is moving into his new home with his young son Grogu. His next door neighbor decides to introduce herself.

Warnings: Din and Grogu being adorable father and son, nosy neighbor (she's nice though), Oogling (two separate occasions but who wouldn't?!), chill vibes

Notes: This idea of Din being a single father who moves into next door has stuck with me since last year. It was only a month ago maybe that I finally started writing it because I've had a block on other projects. So here were are! Please mind warnings at the start of each chapter. Thanks to @alltheglitterandtheroar and @megamindsecretlair for hearing me talking about this idea for a week straight while I wrote out the first part. ❤️ Divider is by @saradika-graphics

Main Masterlist/ Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) Masterlist / This is the neighborhood Din Series

Moving day wasn’t that bad, it actually went well as Din surprisingly had a few of his coworkers show up to assist with moving furniture and boxes into the three-bedroom house he bought for him and his son Grogu. A new job in the suburbs wasn’t in his plans at all. Nothing really was except his job as a mechanical engineer. It was a cool spring morning and he found himself removing his black hoodie and tossing it over the side of the railing on the front of his home’s porch. Sweat coated the dark blue t-shirt he had underneath with a small cinnamon hand tugging on the back pocket of his gray sweatpants. The soft cotton of his shirt stuck to his back as he turned around to see his son peering up at him.

“Daddy, when are you gonna be done? I wanna play in the yard with you.” Little Grogu asked, poking his bottom lip out with chocolate eyes that matched his fathers perfectly. Din sighed and took his large palm to pat his son’s head.

“Not yet. I at least have to get all our things inside before we play, okay? Why don’t you take in a few of the boxes, and I’ll finish faster.” He suggested, to which Grogu gave a moment of thought and nodded, skipping to the U-Haul truck where two of his coworkers were taking out more boxes. They handed him the smaller and lighter boxes and the group kept unloading the truck.

Johnnie Mae Harris had been expecting her niece Sierra since the morning. “Lord that child is always late, be late to her own funeral.” She was sitting on her couch, with a sleeping four-year-old boy tucked under her arm. She heard some commotion outside and carefully rose from her seat, trying not to wake him. She peeped out of her kitchen window into the house next door. It looked like someone was moving in, there were four men moving boxes and a child carrying small ones. Maybe she would make someone to welcome them later after she figured out who exactly was moving in.

“Ms. Harris, whatcha lookin’ at?” A small voice asked, rubbing his eyes. He didn’t feel her warmth next to him and woke up. He didn’t see his mother or father outside the window so he was curious what else she could be looking for. He then spotted someone who might be his age, the only other kid was his baby sister and she’s two, she’s no fun at all.

“New people on the block Quinton. Not sure which ones though, could be all of ‘em.” It looks to Ms. Harris like the men had moved in all the boxes and furniture. One of them was leaving and three stayed, likely to place the furniture in the house. It was about lunch time, so she made sandwiches for herself and small Quinton. His sister Delia wasn’t awake from her nap yet, so she had a separate sandwich for her in the fridge. Johnnie Mae figured she could go say hello and figure out who was exactly in the house. It used to be her friend Mabel, but after her second stroke, she moved out of state with her daughter and son-in-law because she couldn’t care for herself anymore. Ms. Harris picked up Delia and put on her slip-on sneakers as she was already wearing a royal blue velvet sweatsuit that had capri pants. She did make sure she put on her black bob wig that covered her thinning gray hair. Not dying it helped her hair to stop thinning, but it still wasn’t growing back in as it did say twenty years ago. Now in her early seventies, Ms. Harris felt it was cheaper to have a few wigs than to sign up for all those supplements. Once she put jackets on both children, they made their way outside to see about these newcomers to the neighborhood.

Din was satisfied with where most of the furniture was placed or put together, dishes and silverware were taken out and put away. He wasn’t sure which box had the pots and pans he’d need for dinner tonight. “Dank Farrik…I feel like I set them near the kitchen area but now I can’t find them.” He scratched the back of his head, his soft taupe curls ruffling between his fingers as he surveyed the boxes again. He pauses, not hearing his son’s voice asking him what they’re having for lunch, that boy is always hungry… Din turns and makes his way to the front door, opening the screen door since either his son or his helpers left the main door open. “These guys…” He sighs, he appreciated the help, but he preferred things to be neat and orderly, basically non-existent with a five-year-old and doubly so from the workstations of these two. Tilting his head, he saw an older woman in a blue velvet sweatsuit holding a little girl and talking to his two friends. Grogu was playing with a boy who looked about his age. Maybe they lived here in the neighborhood?

“Why welcome new neighbor! Aren’t you a tall drink of water? I’m Johnnie Mae Harris, I live right next door.” Din watched as her red manicured nail pointed to the dark gray house that had stark white windows. He nodded and reached out his hand with a smile.

“Thank you for the welcome ma’am. I’m Din Dajrin. That is my son, Grogu.” A chuckle left his lips to see Grogo excitedly playing with someone already. Her grip was firm and she released his hand before adjusting the sleepy child in her arms.

“Did ya’ll boys have anything to eat for lunch? I just made the children here sandwiches. I can fix ya’ll somethin’.” Ms. Harris offered, Din was about to decline, but Grogu interrupted.

“Daddy! Quinton said that Ms. Harris has ham, cheese, and spicy mustard. I love the spicy mustard!”

Din was going to apologize but Ms. Harris stopped him and told Grogu to come on over to her house for lunch. The single father’s two coworkers checked in with him before leaving, making sure he didn’t at least need any more help with the furniture which he said he didn’t. Din followed his new neighbor and his son into her home. It was cozy, she had various knick knacks and black ballerinas and some soccer players which Grogu pointed to, and Din made sure he didn’t touch. He didn’t need to be breaking anything in her home. The sandwiches were welcome, and he hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he ate two of the sandwiches and was looking for a third after downing two glasses of lemonade. Ms. Harris made small talking, asking about Grogo and what led Din to buy a house in the neighborhood. He told her that the schools were good in the area and thankfully it was closer to work and not further away, though he would have made the drive for his son. She wanted to ask about his mother and the very clear absence of both a wedding ring and a tan from one. It could easily mean he didn’t wear one, she knew some people didn’t or he be in one of those open marriages she’d heard about. Ms. Harris decided she could find that out later. She did offer to watch Grogu when Din offered to buy her more sandwich supplies after him and his son apparently had eaten most of hers. She agreed and wished that her niece was here. Once Din departed, she went back outside and watched the three kids play in the yard, Delia was awake now and saw someone new.

“I swear, if she doesn’t meet this man, I’ll have to make up some reason to do a second welcome to the neighborhood. Maybe he’s separated or something.” The caretaker mused, rolling her eyes at her niece’s continued absence.

Din returned with groceries for both Ms. Harris and himself. He assisted her in putting hers away first before taking care of his and thankfully finding the dishes, pots, pans, glasses and silverware in his black Subaru ascent. Having a few moments to himself were excellent. He could put more items away than if he had to worry about what Grogu might have gotten into. Most of the boxes in the kitchen and dining room he was able to clear out as well as in Grogu’s room and a few in his room. Before he realized, it was a few hours, and it was well into the afternoon. “Damn, I should go get him. I just hope he hasn’t broken anything; I know he likes to touch stuff. There’s a time and place, little one.”

Thankfully, Din didn’t have anything to worry about. Grogu was rolling in the grass with Quinton and Delia, the three of the giggling about some pirate king. Din walked up the stairs and took a seat in a rocking chair next to Ms. Harris. “Thank you for watching him, ma’am. He can be rather active, but he’s a good kid.”

Johnnie Mae gave Din a sour face and pursed her lips. “Now Din, don’t call me ‘ma’am’. I know I’m old already. Just call me Ms. Harris. I appreciate that you’re polite though. You married hun?” She asked all in the same breath. Din blinked and she grinned, “I’m just curious. Don’t worry, I’m not one of those jaguars. I at least prefer men in their fifties. They’ve seen some things and might have some retirement money you know.” Her laugh was loud, and Din took a sigh of relief, at least she had a sense of humor. He pulled at the v-neck of his dark blue shirt to fan himself a bit. Given the time, the sun had warmed the air. The kids had long come out of their jacket and even Johnnie Mae took off the jacket of her sweatsuit to expose her black undershirt that said, ‘world’s best grandma.’ His shirt was sticking to him again, he normally did run hot and hated the warm spring days and summers. “You can take it off son. I’m going to go get you some water, you ain’t got nothing I haven’t seen before.” As she opened her screen door and walked inside, Din could have sworn she said under her breath, “Looks a helluva lot better than what I normally see though.” This earns a wide smile from Din as he removes his dark blue shirt and drapes it across the arm of the rocking chair. He turns the chair diagonally to face where the children are playing to see his son running around with the other two kids.

It’s then that a blue Nissan versa pulls into Ms. Harris’ driveway. She comes back out with Din’s ice water and hands it to him, nodding as she does. “Thank you, Ms. Harris.” He says before drinking it and she stands at the top of the steps, momentarily wondering what would happen if she was thirty years younger….

A stout woman exits the car and looks up at Ms. Harris, then her eyes widen at the sight of an unknown man who’s returning her gaze from the corner of his eyes. His dark damp curls are stuck to the back of his neck, beautiful bronze skin with a light glisten of sweat coated his body. On his left arm, were three black lines with triangles drawn from each line on his forearm and before he stood up, his back had the skull of some animal with tusks but three blood red lines going through the skull. Rising from the chair to turn and face the new arrival, she was able to see that he had a thin beard, patchy but it suited him as well as a prominent nose and an angled slope to it. He was tall, broad and solid. His biceps and chest were well defined, but he had a soft middle for balance which didn’t hang over the gray sweatpants he was wearing. On the lower right of his abdomen was a helmet she could make out. He adjusted his glasses and put on the navy-blue shirt that had been on the arm of the rocking chair out of view when she pulled up.

“Dear Lord in heaven I am not dressed or prepared to talk to that sort of man any day.” She muttered as Ms. Harris made her way down the stairs toward her, she hugged her, and her arms wrapped around her as well, eyes still lingering on the man sitting on the porch. His sweatpants did not leave much to the imagination. They weren’t tight by any means; one could just trace the lines. Thick thighs and well… heavy in the middle is the most polite way to say it. The only way she can think to describe it while hugging her aunt.

“Hey Auntie Mae, thank you so much for letting me come up here.” The two women hugged for longer still on the verge of tears. In thanking her aunt, Sierra remembered why she was grateful her aunt opened her home.

Peeps who may also need to think of a polite way to say things while hugging a family member and oogling Din 👀: @readingiskeepingmegoing @604to647 @syd-djarin @yorksgirl @harriedandharassed @survivingandenduring @pedroshotwifey @drawingdroid @katw474 @trulybetty @bitchwitch1981 @soft-girl-musings @syd-djarin @tinytinymenace @djarinmuse

#pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #din djarin #the mandalorian #star wars #grogu #grogu and din #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x plus size ofc #this is the neighborhood din

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capypub · 10 months

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Taking the High Road - Mafia!Joel Miller Extended Scene

Part of my Without Warning Extended Scenes Series (Mafia!Joel Miller x OFC)

Rating: T (language, hints to smut but no actual smut)

Summary: Joel doesn't like seeing his girl upset when she overhears some negative comments about their relationship. He chooses not to kill them, but still makes them pay for their insolence.

MDNI. 18+ content.

AN: Thank you so much to @diversemediums for so many amazing ideas and prompts ❤️❤️❤️

Without Warning Masterlist

“Pity Joel is stuck babysitting tonight…”

“That’s his date?! She’s like fourteen!”

“He must get so bored listening to her talk about homework and prom all the time…”

“She looks like she doesn’t have a clue what she’s doing in bed. He’s probably only in it because she’s a tight hole to fuck.”

They laughed.

Uncomfortable. Discouraged and uncomfortable were two of the first words that came to mind after she’d left the bathroom, her heels clicking hastily down the hall back to the main room.

She’d gone with Joel to some sort of networking event. Apparently his contracting company had constructed the building they were holding the event at tonight.

“What’s wrong?” Joel asked once she’d returned to his side, immediately noticing the change in her demeanor.

“N-nothing…I’m gonna head home,” she said, unable to look at him.

He didn’t even excuse himself from the group of wealthy-looking business men. Rather, he gave a hard look with a slight tilt of his head and they dispersed quickly. He pulled her away from the crowd to a corner near the entrance. “What’s wrong, baby girl?” he asked, the weight of his rough hands on her shoulders a comforting distraction from the shame tinting her whole body pink.

She couldn’t cry here, not when the same women who talked so crudely about her were lingering at the bar nearby, stealing glances and smirking triumphantly. She was just proving them right and she hated it.

“I need to go home, Joel,” Indi snapped, her voice quivering.

His brow arched. He’d tracked her gaze across the room to the group of wives lingering at one end. Scowling now, he suspected something had happened when you had gone to the bathroom.

“What happened?” he demanded, ignoring her request. “They say somethin’ to you?” he questioned, leaning down closer to their face.

“N-no, I just…” she sighed, looking up at the ceiling, willing her tears to remain behind her eyes.

They were still fairly new in their relationship, nothing official having been stated, but the implications were there. Joel made it very clear that he was committed to her with his actions, his demonstrations of affection. The words hadn’t been necessary.

Looking around, she realized just how out of place she felt. All these people were at least thirty or older, established, successful, they could probably explain to her what a 401(k) actually is and how to use it.

“Hey, look at me. What’d they say to you?” Joel demanded, his tone rough as he brought her focus back to him.

She shook her head, her anxious little brain now worried that she was upsetting him or that she might embarrass him when such a thought hadn’t crossed her mind even when he asked her to be his date.

“Sweetheart,” Joel sighed, softening his tone just a bit. “Let’s step outside, I need some air,” he decided, wrapping an arm around her and guiding the both of them out the front of the building, away from the curious eyes.

Once they were both standing out in the warm summer night air, she took a deep breath, her hands slightly trembling as she watched Joel pace in front of her. She saw how his hand would go to touch his gun, but then he’d stop himself and ball that same hand into a fist, continuing to walk in tense circles.

“Joel…Joel, stop that, please,” she sighed, tired of seeing him go round and round.

“Tell me what they said to you,I know how those stuck-up housewives can get, baby, so just say it,” he insisted, finally stopping to stand in front of her, placing both palms flat against the wall she leaned on, trapping her between his large arms.

Her lower lip trembled. She couldn’t look at him as she told him, eyes cast down to his dress boots, black and shiny under the street light.

“I’ll fuckin’ end them,” Joel all but growled to himself, his own head bowed as he closed his eyes, attempting to contain his rage.

“Stop that, you can’t solve everything with violence. It doesn’t matter anyway,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, still looking at the ground.

“Hey…hey!” he snapped after lifting his head, grabbing her chin with his thumb and forefinger, forcing her gaze to meet his own heated one. “You don’t believe a fuckin’ thing they say, sugar, you hear me?”

“Joel, lower your voice,” she sighed, shaking her head.

“Nothing, not a single fuckin’ word of what they said is even remotely true. You and I got somethin’ they wished they could have, yeah?”

“...yeah.”

He sighed. “I’m gonna make you believe it, baby, I know you don’t right now, but you will,” he said, pulling her into his chest, his arms like steel around her smaller frame as he hugged her.

Joel took them home quickly after bidding his client a quick goodbye, claiming something at home had come up with his kid.

Indi was quiet the entire ride, shoulders slouched forward, head bowed, lip trembling. He hated it. He hated seeing her usual bright eyes so dim and discouraged.

“I want you to know, darlin’, that I rarely think about the age difference,” he said slowly as they drove down the quiet road leading to his house. “You’re so smart and so funny, sweetheart, I will never get bored of talking to you. You make me feel young again, in all the best ways, baby, you have to see that. Tell me you see that…don’t you?” he asked, parking the car, turning the key, leaving them to sit in the stillness of the garage as he gripped both her hands in his.

“I-it’s just,” she sighed, frustrated and self-disparaging. “You have your life together, you have a house and a job, you have an actual savings account and your own car…you have a life established already, Joel…and I’m still trying to figure out mine day-by-day.”

“I don’t have shit without you, Indi,” he stated matter-of-factly, his voice sharp, commanding. “The house, the car, all that could get taken away and I’d get it back, I’d recover, rebuild, whatever. But you…you, darlin’, I can’t ever replace you, replace this feeling that I can get only with you,” he continued, his tone so serious and gruff, suggesting he was frustrated or angry.

“Thank you, Joel,” she said softly, his words touching her heart, relieving some of the negativity still flooding her mind.

“You let me deal with those bitches, alright? No one talks about you like that. Ever. If some shit like that ever happens again, you tell me, right then and there, understood?” he grunted, getting out of the truck in a haste, going around the front to get her door and pull her inside.

“Okay, Joel,” she murmured, his aggression teetering between comforting and unnerving.

He sighed, shutting the garage door and pulling his girl into a tight embrace. She closed her eyes as he kissed her forehead, inhaling her scent, exhaling a deep breath along with some of his tension.

They stood in the dark kitchen for a long while, the silence thick with Joel’s lingering anger and Indi’s lingering self-doubt.

“Do you promise?” she asked softly in his good ear.

“Promise what, sugar?” he murmured, his lips pressing into her temple as he held her.

“Do you promise that…you’re not only with me…because I’m…youn-.”

“Don’t even finish that question,” he cut her off with a low growl, removing his hands to hold her jaw tightly, keeping her teary eyes locked on him. “You know damn well I’m not with you for that, you could be thirty, forty years old, sweetheart, and I’d still be just as wild about you. It’s not the age, baby, it was never the age, okay?” he urged her, brushing his thumbs along her cheekbones.

She closed her eyes, relief from his words washing over her as a few tears slipped past her lashes. Joel immediately wiped them away with the tips of his thumbs, pressing his forehead to hers as he breathed her in, wanting nothing more than to take all her pain, all her doubt away.

“Let’s get you showered and in bed, hm? Wash off all that bullshit from tonight,” he suggested, kissing her forehead again before leading her up the stairs.

He took his time with her in the shower, whispering nothing but sweet praises and encouragement as he brought her to orgasm again and again. She would collapse into bed, satiated, clean, and comfortable, the scarce lingering doubt disappearing with her sense of logic while he fucked her under the shower head. That night while she slept beside him, Joel sat up on his phone. He had one of his informants look into the guest list at the event tonight, easily identifying who those women were based on security footage from that night sent to his phone. Glancing down at the woman still sleeping beside him, he leaned over and gently kissed her temple, running his fingers down the back of her head.

“I’ll take care of this, baby, don’t you worry,” he murmured softly, slipping out of bed to go to his office and make a few career ending, social status destroying, marriage ending phone calls.

Afterwards, when all was said and done and the sun had risen on a new day, Joel took his girl out to breakfast, feeling quite proud of himself for not immediately putting a hit on those women, rather taking the higher road and choosing to engage in social identity destruction that they’ll never come back from.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x ofc #joel miller au #joel miller imagine #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfic #joel miller #mafia!joel miller #last of us au

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mad-c1oud · 3 months

Note

perhaps a “Don’t freak out, please” from the injury prompts list for karaoke duo :3 only if you want ofc

KARAOKEDUO LETS GOOOOO

yes yes yes YES Went a completely different route (This isn't really an injury but uh you'll see) for fun and man, wanted to turn this one into a full oneshot but alas- kept it short for the sake of practice but who knows, this one was fun.

Thank you for the ask anon!!!!!

+++++

“Don’t freak out, please.”

Charlie feels a little hysterical at how calm Baghera is right now with all— this. “Don’t freak out? I’m not freaking out I am so completely and utterly calm right now.”

“Good!” She cheers, “It isn’t a big deal, right? We’ll be okay.” Baghera says happily as she’s actively melting into the ground, limbs turning a translucent yellow as her bones start poking out of what was always solid skin. Charlie whimpers a little at the sight, unable to acknowledge the new appendages at his back or along the side of his face. He can’t even talk about the fact that his bones are firmly in place. What he would give to pull a rib or three out in stress right now.

“Is slime like come. Or the feeling of breast milk? What if it was?”

“Baghera.” Charlie doesn’t even know how to continue that or even begin to reply, “You’re a piss-yellow more than anything. Go that direction, at least.”

The pile of goop bubbles and gurgles happily and holy fuck this is weird, knowing she’s laughing, amused and silly silly silly, but not being about to understand anything else than surface-level emotions. Something bubbles up in his own throat and he has to swallow it, panicked. The pile of lemon jello ripples happily and Charlie desperately needs someone more adult than them here. Phil. Where is Philza Minecraft. He can fix this switch-a-roo they’re stuck in.

“Were you going to chirp? You swallowed like you were going to chirp, Charlie.”

“Stop watching me swallow, you’re weird.”

Baghera sounds too delighted when she talks back, “Not until you chirp. Oh! Maybe you can fly! You are not a duck, but you still have w-“

Charlie groans loudly, “Don’t say it. Don’t.”

The pile of Baghera stays quiet and Charlie worries she lost her voice box in the mess of bones and organs, but he’s not that lucky. The mound bubbles.

“Your wings look like they belong to a little bird, like a hummingbird or a green bee-eater-”

“Baghera Jones what did I just-”

It’s fine. This is all fine. The wings at his back flutter anxiously and the ones at his temple keep trying to block his face like they want to protect him. Charlie wants to throw himself off of cliff to see if he can fly or just to die in general, but he has no idea how avian hybrids work. There’s no time for tests when his best friend is becoming one with the ground, also.

“Okay, enough goofing, it’s bucket time, Jones.”

“Oh, I have never had bucket time, I’m so excited! How many will it take? Can we bring my bones, please?”

Despite the situation they’ve found themselves in, Charlie smiles hard enough for it to hurt. He’s happy Baghera is here with him.

“At least five buckets. And of course, we can bring your bones.”

Her happy chittering doesn’t stop the entire trip it takes to find another islander to help them. And if Charlie lets out a few accidental chirps and trills too, there’s only one other person around to hear, and he’ll never mind that it’s Baghera.

#karaokeduo #fonduo #i miss that duo name can i just say #qsmp fic #qsmp slimecicle #qsmp baghera #baghera jones #slimecicle #qsmp #drabble prompt #mad writings

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intheorangebedroom · 1 year

Text

Pleased to meet you, chapter 16

Summary: Frankie's well-being your one and only concern, you've decided to go 'home' to Paris, taking your secret with you. Frankie doesn't quite agree...

Pairing: Frankie Morales x French fem!Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit 🔞🔞🔞🔞 (I blame the meds)

A/N: Please, be kind to my girl. She's had it tough all her life. I am so, so nervous about this one, it's hell. Thank you to every one who stuck with me (and them) this far, and for patiently waiting for my anxiety to lift and let me write again 🧡 Ily 🧡 Also, jfc they're filthy, I blame the meds. That shit is unbeta'd, you've been warned.

Word count: 6.5k (I blame the meds)

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Chapter 16: Plainsong

Once upon a time, there was an orange bedroom, its light kept burning through young lovers’ hearts, long after hurt and rain had turned it blue.

Once upon a time, there was a fire escape, a bed with white linen, and a Brooklyn bathroom. There was a book, its title cast a spell; lips of red, purple bites, and golden hues.

Once upon a time, there was him, and there was you. The outside world ceased to exist, only to better catch up with you.

—

“Stay,” Frankie says, his lips on your lips. His splayed fingers on the small of your back keeping you balanced, his gentle touch on your collarbone softly saying, “you are mine.”

It would be so easy for you to exist solely between his two palms. It would make you happy and content. It could be home, to you.

Exhaustion washes you over and drowns your mind. You raise on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his shoulders in a tight embrace, letting his scent take over your senses, your bodies sealed together. The soles of your sandals hit the tiles with a two-tone clapping sound when he circles your waist and lifts you.

He’s twice as massive as he once was, and it’s twice the safety to you. His large, open hand carefully cradling the back of your head, he holds you like a newborn baby, as if you were frail and fragile, as if you could snap in two, and you find it so fitting, for he’s truly the only one who could ever break you.

Others have tried and failed. You’ve been shunned, abandoned and let down, but you kept slipping between their fingers like running water seeping through cracks, flowing, imperturbable, in one direction and one direction only: to throw yourself into the ocean of him.

“I’ve got you, baby, let me–” Frankie pauses at your whimper, the term of endearment only ever carrying meaning in his low, husky baritone, “I’m here.”

The loud, violent beating of his heart rattles inside your chest like it was your own.

“You got me,” you acquiesce.

The slight release of your embrace signals him to loosen his hold. Your chest slides down along his, and the tiles feel cool under your bare feet.

You should go now, you think.

“I should go now,” you say, and he doesn’t answer, his face closed and sullen because he knows you’re right, you should leave now, this much the two of you can agree on, so when you press your lips to his, you’re not sure whether he reached for you, or if you reached for him.

It’s a chaste kiss, for a last goodbye. Frankie can almost feel the rising wind blowing litters around you on a Brooklyn sidewalk, and inside him, the tightly sealed lid is fractured, the damage irreversible.

At the light, hopeless pressure from his lips, his body tensing up, you open up, your tongue seeking his. And he’s inside you instantly.

That taste he’s been chasing through dozens of other women, that taste is on his tongue, at last, and he swallows it all, tugging you flush to his body with enough strength to shatter your bones. Frankie is done pacing himself, he will have you now, and he will eat you whole.

His hand slides up to your nape, his fingers grabbing your hair and tilting your head back, exposing the line of your throat to his hungry stare, while you span your hands over his sides, around the breadth of his back, up to his shoulders where they find purchase.

“Tell me to stop, Gabrielle. Ask me to stop now. Because I will not go back.”

So close you can taste the cold beer on his breath. So quiet you can still hear the echo of his words when he asked you to follow him all those years ago.

He’s not asking you to bear the weight of this decision. He’s relieving you of it. He’ll carry it for you.

“I want you,” you answer again, always.

His mouth crashes down on yours in a messy kiss, teeth colliding, lips reclaiming.

You can’t breathe and it is fine, you only need to breathe through him, for now, his tongue swirling avidly around yours inside your mouth makes everything easy and right.

A commanding tug from his hand angles your face to the side and he deepens the kiss, his left hand travelling down to the swell of your ass, giving it a hard, possessive squeeze, and you moan against his lips before he swallows that too.

And he hasn’t had his fill, not remotely, not even close. The urge to taste you everywhere else is overwhelming, so he trails down your neck, under your ear, licking and kissing and biting your soft skin. The unfamiliar, tickling prickle of his moustache sends your mind in a lewd spiral, and curiosity makes you moan again.

You think you might be dreaming. You think you’ll wake up alone in your cold, empty bed, but around you, everything feels so real. Could he be the one dreaming you?

Your touch wanders underneath his shirt, seeking out the heat from his skin, where it is raw and unfiltered by the cottony fabric, and the contact sets your insides ablaze, your entire body wanting more. Your fingers dig into the firm muscles, their tremor a mirrored response to the slick pooling down your core.

Frankie senses your panic the very moment you reach the lumpy stretch of skin below the left side of his rib cage. Your surprise is audible, muffled by the imperious, desperate press of his mouth over yours. His hold on you tightens, but you’re pushing him away with both hands. When he yields and lets go of you, he hasn’t given up yet, but the alarm that widens your eyes tells him he’s already lost this battle.

“What is it?” you breathe out.

“It’s nothing,” he lies in that steady, even tone he has learned to master a long time ago.

“It’s not nothing, let me see,” you insist, your own voice having gone up an octave.

He doesn’t budge, nor does he answer, frowning in his resolve, so you reach for his shirt, which only prompts him to take a step back. He’s stalling for time, ignoring your pleading eyes, knowing full well he’s only delaying the inevitable. In a moment, he’ll have you naked underneath him, nothing will keep that from happening, nothing but you could stop him.

And you just might, if he tells you the full story behind that fucking wound.

His mind is racing as he tries to figure out what would kill him faster, if you left now or after. If he has it in him to take that choice away from you.

“Does it hurt?” you ask in a softer voice, approaching him carefully.

His jaw doesn’t move as he answers, “No. No it doesn’t.”

“Let me see?” The inflection in your phrasing marks the question, but you’re already lifting his T-shirt with infinite care, your eyes on his face, trampling his defiance. He lets you pull it over his head, following your movement.

The sight of him, standing before you bare chest, has you swaying on your feet, and you forget to breathe for a moment. Broader, it seems, than he used to be, radiating warmth, solid and reassuring. The passage of time hasn't altered the recollection you have obsessively cultivated through the years. This part of his body you have mapped so meticulously is more familiar to you than your own. The pattern of his freckles on his golden skin, the small, brown circles of his nipples, the oval mark on the curve of his left shoulder are the landmarks of your desire.

Drawing in a shaky breath, you lower your gaze to the raised scar, a shade darker than the surrounding skin. You brush the tips of your fingers to it, careful but thorough, and you ask again, “Does it hurt?”

Frankie struggles to keep his eyes open, moving imperceptibly closer to your touch. It eases a pain he thought had been long gone. He breathes slowly, lowering his face, and when he speaks again, his tone has softened to match yours.

“It doesn’t anymore.”

“But it did?” you ask in a quivering voice.

“Just a little,” he lies again. You look up at him, and he can tell you know.

“Were you in a hospital? For long?”

“A few weeks.”

“And your sister–” Talking around the large lump in your throat makes your voice sound eerily unnatural, “did your sister come to visit?”

“She did. I wasn’t alone.”

Frankie gently pulls on your wrist to draw you near, and the urge to wrap yourself around his body crawls up your spine again. You recall a medieval French poem about honeysuckle that grows intertwined with hazel, and how both wither and die if they are separated, and your eyelids flicker under the weight of your impending tears.

“Hey, baby, look at me,” he asks, cupping your face, “look at me. It doesn’t hurt anymore, you hear me? Nothing does.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.” His certitude is vertiginous. It takes down all of your fears, and leaves you with nowhere to hide.

You should leave now. But you’ve been so cold, for so long. And he should let you go, but your skin is still vibrant under his palm.

In a few minutes, your naked bodies will touch thoroughly and fit into each other like a solved puzzle and none of this will matter, sixteen years sucked into an obliterating vacuum, minced into jagged pieces and scattered into complete oblivion.

Frankie undoes the shoulder bows of your dress one by one, the fluid fabric flowing down your naked breasts and he hisses through clenched teeth, as if through pain.

You bask into the untamed and unrestrained want darkening his eyes and brightening his face, you’ve never known a hunger like his and between your shaky legs, arousal leaks into your sensible underwear.

With a mind of reclaiming what is rightfully his, he reaches for your breasts, kneading the soft flesh with deliberate strength, his thumbs rubbing the rapidly hardening peaks of your nipples, and your skin breaks out in goosebumps. You cover his hands with yours, his grasp over you never strong enough.

You can’t hurt me, not like this.

“Lift up your skirt, baby.” His low, hoarse command is punctuated by a hard pinch to your nipple.

Your mouth goes slack and you exhale slowly, a pointless attempt at slowing down your frantic heartbeat and keeping your balance. You can’t think straight for how violently you want him everywhere inside and around you, but your hands diligently move down to your hips, grabbing the fabric of your dress and bunching it up in your trembling fists.

His tongue peeks out between his parted lips, his palm on your inner thigh, burning its way up towards your mound and he cups you there, roughly, an appreciating hum rumbling from the depth of his chest when his fingers find the dampened fabric of your panties, pushing it against your entrance.

“Naked. Now.” His tongue hits the back of his teeth on the letter D, round and textured. So thick, you can almost touch it. It trickles inside your lower belly, shivers running down your sides from under your arms.

You sigh in relief, numb fingers fumbling with the thin zipper on your hip, struggling to work it open. Unbuckling his belt, his deft hands still when your dress pools down at your feet.

“Yes,” he growls, grabbing you by the waist to pull you flush to his chest, and you think your skin might combust at the contact of his. Your feet shuffle on the hallway carpet as he walks you backward to his bedroom, his cock pulsating against your belly, his hungry mouth nibbling the lean column of your neck.

He has you disoriented, moving too fast for you to register anything outside of his hands and his lips. When he releases his hold, you fall sitting on the edge of a large bed. Instinctually, you scoot to the middle of the mattress while Frankie toes off his boots and undresses to his black briefs.

“That too,” he says, nodding at your panties, standing tall and mighty over you, palming his erection. You comply immediately, smacking your lips in hunger. Time has blunted the sharp edges of his silhouette, and his broad shoulders and tapered waist are an impressive sight to behold, one that has you thinking you might love his body even more than you did before.

It’s calling to you, and you're calling to it. You’ve got new paths to map and years to erase, the kisses, sweat and come of women who should have been you but weren’t.

He watches your gaze linger on the dip at the base of his neck before he takes off his briefs. You look so fucking pretty, and he can’t wait to make a mess of you. If there’s one thing he knows, one thing he’s never forgotten, it is how to undo you.

Climbing on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, he positions himself above you on all fours. You reach for his hair, threading your fingers through the longer curls on his nape, these are new to you, you need the feel of it.

“I don’t know–” he grunts in frustration, the ridge of his nose a drag over your temple, “I don’t know where to start, I want to open you on my cock but I want to eat you out before you taste of me.”

“Fuck me Frankie please,” you beg, bucking your hips upwards, his hard length sliding between your thigh.

“Oh I will, baby, I will. I’ll fuck you until you can’t take it and then I’ll fuck you some more.”

You ruffle his hair in your reluctance to let go when he backs down and hooks his hands in the back of your knees, and when he spreads your legs open, when they open with a telling squelching sound, his eyes are alight with a fierce possessiveness, something dark and primal, something you’d be shrinking away from if this was any other man.

But it’s Frankie.

How many nights have you longed for his return? Never not waiting, dragging his absence beside you like a weighed shadow, wrapping yourself in your longing like a suit of lead. Like an armour.

Tipping your head back on the sheets, you stare emptily at the ceiling, laughing without a sound, and for the first time since you stepped into his house less than half an hour ago, you take notice of your surroundings, of the luminosity. The only fundamental difference. It’s dusk, already. The setting sun casts a waning light through the bedroom curtains, and the room around you… it is blue.

You gasp out of your thoughts at the drag of Frankie’s fingers along your slick slit; he’s teasing your empty cunt with the tip of them, directing your arching body like a conductor.

Beads of sweat pearl on his forehead, his heart beats too fast in his ears. He can’t imagine ever wanting you as intensely as he wants you now, but he’s believed that before, nearly lost his sanity over it, and the attraction has never abated.

Frankie bends down into you, and swipes a broad stripe through your folds, from hole to clit, with the flat of his tongue. The salty tang of you quakes his entire frame. He plunges his tongue into you and you choke on your moan, hand clasped over your mouth.

He licks in leisurely, once, twice, before pulling out to ask you, “Lemme hear you, baby, you’ve no fucking idea how much I’ve missed you,” his words spoken straight into your cunt, where they belong.

Your hand flies to his hair, harshly tugging his face back to your core and you feel his lips curl into a smile between your folds.

He has just enough sense left in him to hook your legs over his shoulders, before his control gives out, before he gets lost in your taste. It is all that matters to him for now, his fingers digging into the dip of your hips, in a hold that is sure to leave your flesh bruised and mottled.

He’s diving into you, drinking you up. His wandering days are over and you roll your hips into his mouth with increasing speed as the ridge of his nose rubs against your clit.

The sounds filling the room are obscene, avid laps, rumbling grunts and high-pitched moans, and when he moves up to suck on your clit, because that’s what you like best, you get so close to come in his mouth. You’d warn him, but you know he can feel it too, his hands gripping you harder, until he suddenly pulls out and rasps, “not like this, around me.”

You whine in frustration, but he unclasps your hands from his hair, crouching back between your thighs, and tension breaks through you in a breathless laugh, remembering your last night and wondering if the repetition is wilful or involuntary.

Frankie quietly chuckles with you, sliding your body down the mattress and onto his lap, your back dragging on the sheet, your hair spread around your head like a dark halo, but his face drops and darkens when he lines up at your entrance. A droplet of sweat slides down his sideburns, and he asks, “You ready?”

Your laugh dies in a smile and a panting “yeah” is all you can provide, before he drives into you brutally. To the hilt. In one thrust. Your body pinned down by his hands on your waist, and you trash your head back at the blinding stretch with a cry, fingers scrambling over the sheet, a barely articulated string of “Thank you thank you thank you” spilling from you.

Words are too small to express what he does to you. He’s rearranging you, putting everything back into place, annihilating all that came before him.

He doesn’t move right away, he can’t, he might just lose his mind and dissolve into you.

His eyes tightly shut, the crease between his brow deeper than it’s ever been, his grip loosens, and the palm of his rough hand comes to span the soft skin of your lower belly, where he’s sheathed inside you.

“I can feel it. I can feel it, baby. Do you remember?”

“Yes Frankie, I remember everything.”

He bends down with fervour to cover your body with his, hooking your legs around his waist, and grinds down on you, both his hands hooked on your shoulders. You’re drowning in his musky scent, heat burning up your chest and neck, hitching your knees higher up on his sides, linking your ankles on his back.

And when he starts fucking into you, he drills in with all of his strength, deep, rapid thrusts, barely pulling out, your tight cunt catching around the heft of him, his damp forehead pressed to yours, your body slippery with sweat, his, yours, and his words spill out into the blue twilight of the room, “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry baby, I’m sorry.”

Sorry for letting time and distance separate you, sorry for his waning faith, for all the other bodies, for not flying to Paris and laying the entire city to waste to find you.

Your nails break the skin of his back and you ask, “Harder, Frankie, I want it harder.”

He leans back immediately, briskly clutching your hips, rocking into you with a rage, narrow hips slapping your ass, and you dig your fingers into the muscles of his forearms for leverage, meeting him thrust for thrust, leaking onto his length at the sound of his growls.

His damp curls form a halo around his face. Across his chest, a sheen of sweat glistens in the blue hues of the late evening light. Blue, your never-ending, cold and lonely nights. Blue, the strangers’ bodies that never felt right. Blue, the glimmer that flickers in your hooded eyes. Irrelevant, the place, the time, or the colour.

Too soon, always too soon, he feels you clenching down on him, your belly pulled taut and your whole body arching up under his hold, reaching out for the reassurance of his skin and that’s all he ever wants to do, give you that.

“Oh god Frankie, I’m coming, I’m coming,” you whine, and he lays down on you once again, throbbing inside your clutching heat, focused on the sounds and sensations he draws out of you as they ripple through him. He’s learned the hard way there are no other drugs that can give him that high.

“Come on, baby, come on, give it to me,” he grunts through gritted teeth, and his name tumbles down your tongue and stretches in your mouth. You slip out of consciousness, you grow bright and disintegrate into a million pieces of light between his arms.

His voice, hoarse and breathless, brings you back to the bed in the room, reassembling the fragments of you, his face buried in your hair, his lips brushing your ear, “…you’re perfect, Gabrielle, you’re so fucking– so perfect–”

The movement of his hips resumes with a plea, spoken after sucking in the smooth skin below your jaw, leaving his mark there, “I want another one, I–, I need another one, baby please, you need to take it, I need–” words like a fever scorching you raw inside and out.

Your nails dig trails of blood on the plane of his back before you answer, “Take everything you need.”

His cock drags along your walls at a debilitating speed, his mouth pouring filth into your ear, promises to make you feel good in every possible way for the rest of your days, to wreck you and kiss you better in an endless blissful loop, “I’m yours, baby, you’re mine.”

He roughly cups your jaw open and spits into your mouth, and at this you come hard with a broken cry, and he follows, so forcefully, so completely, you can feel his spend fill up your cunt, but he doesn’t slow down yet, and it’s a feral grunt before he says, “gonna fuck it deeper this time, gonna fuck it so it stays inside you forever.”

—

The midnight June has brought a cool breeze, wafting in through the large window, and in the spartan bedroom, the feeble moon casts a shy ray of light through the blue curtains.

You sucked your taste off his cock into another release, taking him down your throat without breaking eye contact, and he came faster than ever before, at the sound of your heavy breathing. His fingers threaded in your hair, pulling you close to his base, his thumb brushing the tear rolling down your cheek from the corner of your eye.

He sat up and came on your chest and rubbed his spend into your skin without asking for permission. Lazy circles and light pressure applied with two fingers as you lied, weak and sprawled on your back, a question revolving in his mind, another one he could not push down.

“Did you let him come on your skin?”

You covered your eyes with the heels of your hands, begging, “Please, don’t—” and when you moved your hands away from your face, you saw his soft eyes turning pitch-dark and his face twitching under the storm in his mind, his fingers pressing harder on your sternum. You watched the bobbing of his throat, the pebbled skin of his neck cast in the shadow of the waxing crescent moonlight.

“I let him come on my skin, because I wouldn’t let him come in my mouth. Because I never let him fuck my ass, or fuck me bare. I kept waiting for you, even when I thought you would never come back. I never stopped waiting, Frankie. This you have to understand.”

His hand stilled, pinned down by remorse. Words failing him in his desire to atone.

“Sit on my face.”

“I won’t be able to sit anywhere for a week, Frankie,” you said in a stern, albeit tired tone.

Bending down over you from where he lied at your side, he carefully parted your folds with his thick fingers, gathering his saliva on his tongue, letting it slide down and drip onto your swollen clit, shivers running up your spine that turned into prickling tears under your closed eyelids.

He teased gently, delicately nudging and licking around your bundle of nerves with the curled up tip of his tongue, suckling on it until you came like a flower blooms, unfurling slowly at first, and then all at once, and he drew away from you, mindful not to take too much.

He covered your entire body with revering kisses, from hips to shoulders and from head to toe, meticulous, repenting, thorough, a new smile on your grateful lips for each one of his “I love your skin.”

Now his spent cock is resting between your breasts as you’re lying on top of him, arms folded on his stomach, your chin propped on your hands because you can’t stop looking at him.

A lock of your hair twirled around his fingers, his other arm folded under his head for support because he can’t stop looking at you.

“And these curtains,” you say with a soft laughter, “these curtains were… I don’t know. They kept haunting me. Like they coloured my dreams, you know?” This ever present apology about your feelings, still, and his heart flinches in his ribcage. “Did you keep them?”

“Of course. They’re in a box in the garage.” His voice doesn’t give him away, steady and self-possessed.

“Oh, right! Your mother made them.” You tilt your head to the side so his fingers touch your cheek, and he lets you peck a kiss on his little tattoo.

“Yea. Because of that, too.”

Your smile blooms in his chest.

Lifting your head up to free your hand, you reach for the right side of his jaw and scrap your fingernails in his beard.

“When did the grays appear, here?”

He takes a deep breath, and your body follows the rising movement of his belly.

“I don’t know. I stopped shaving when I quit the Army two years ago, and it was there already. You don’t like it?” he asks. He can’t recall ever being self-conscious about the way he looked, not like he is now.

”I like it, I like it a little too much.”

You bob with the hearty laughter shaking his chest and tug on a streak of hair in reprimand.

“Hey, don’t laugh, stop it!”

“Ok, ok I’m not laughing,” he replies, his shoulders still heaving.

“There’s a bare patch here,” you press your finger to it, “and another one there.”

“Yea,” he’s not laughing anymore, and he lets go of your hair to scratch his beard, “it’s– I should probably shave.”

“No. No you shouldn’t, it’s perfect. It’s the exact same size as my lips. It’s like a target for kisses.” Your voice drops to a murmur. “And this one is… heart-shaped.”

You fall silent and he hopes you’ll come closer and kiss him there, like you said, but instead it’s sadness he sees playing across your face.

“You’ll be turning 40 next year, right?” you ask.

“No baby, I am 40 already. This year. Back in March.”

You sigh heavily, blinking repeatedly. You let your hand slide to his side and lay your cheek on his warm skin.

“Then I missed all of your thirties.”

His jaw ticks, guilt scrambling his mind. He feels useless again, helplessly contemplating your regrets. His voice is low and quiet when he says, “I know. I missed all of your twenties.”

“Not exactly,” you correct him, “I was twenty when we met.”

“Yea I know, that’s the point. What little I saw was really fascinating.”

You laugh unconvincingly. “No. No, it wasn’t very interesting. Lots of studying, lots of drinking.” You pause, hesitant. “Lots of bad decisions,” you finally add, very quiet.

Frankie frowns and closes his eyes. Unsure whether he wants to know what this entails. How much pain. How many other men. He’s registered the nearly invisible scars on the back of your arms. And remorse keeps burning through his chest.

A small dog barks in the distance. You span your hand over his side before lifting your head up again.

“But there’s more of you, now,” you tease with a cheeky smile, pinching his side.

“Oh, alright,” he chuckles self-deprecatingly, and your face lights up at the sight of his dimple, more pronounced in his fuller cheeks.

“I love that too,” you add in earnest.

Silence lingers for a beat, as he brushes his knuckles to your cheek. You look so young, when you look at him like that.

“You— you haven’t changed,” he says, worship in his hushed voice.

“Ha! Right!” you scoff, sitting up between his thighs.

“No, it’s true,” he insists, and you see it in his eyes, the way he perceives you, and it’s the most beautiful you will ever be.

Your hand caresses its way down his belly, scraping the thin path of rougher black hair leading downwards. You circle his cock with feather-like softness, and you stroke him lightly in silence, watching his lips part, his response to your touch immediate. A bead of precome, leaking for you, and you press your thighs together in your kneeled position, resisting the urge to taste it.

“Why do they call you Catfish?”

His heavy breathing hitches. He doesn’t answer, shaking his head slowly to the left, to the right.

You move up to straddle him, placing the round, blunt head of his half-erect length at your entrance, and sink smoothly onto him with an audible exhale you can’t control.

You start rolling your hips languidly, both hands splayed over his chest for balance, for pleasure, feeling him grow thicker inside you with every swaying movement.

“How many women have you fucked, Francisco Catfish Morales?”

He sits up surprisingly fast for a man his size, and the sudden change of angle makes you gasp. The flat of his hand finds the swell of your breast, and when he pinches your nipple between his index and middle fingers, your head drops limply on his shoulder.

He takes over, roughly grabbing the meat of your ass, your flesh gushing through his fingers and the way he slides you onto his cock at a quickening pace, his hair rubbing at your clit, has you moaning into the crook of his neck, your legs twitching. When you’re flush against him and pliant in his arms, Frankie leaps for your forgiveness, and murmurs in your ear.

“I was looking for you, baby. I was only looking for you.”

Your shoulders slump under the weight of his words. You pivot your head to the right, peeking your tongue out to taste the skin of his neck. And then you ask, “Will you come in my mouth, please?”

—

He left a new purple mark in the crook of your neck. Bit your hip with a mind to draw blood and you would have let him. Turned you around and laid you flat on your stomach to lick the sweat between your shoulder blades.

And then he covered your body with his and breached your tight ring as deep as you could take him, snaking his arm around you to sink a finger into your cunt, then two, then three, the heel of his hand deftly applying pressure to your clit. Your lips catching on the white linen; you might have been drooling.

He let himself go and came with you, mouthing his love against your nape in Spanish.

Exhausted, engulfed, overwhelmed, you cried just after you came; silent tears soaking the sheet, your words barely coherent.

“You feel so good,” you said, “I thought I made it up, what I remembered.”

He held you in his arms.

—

He reluctantly left the room to go get some water, and you smiled to yourself at the long-lasting habit, giving you the opportunity to take a look around you. The bed, bigger than any other you’ve ever seen, let alone slept in, the chest of drawers on the opposite side, a few items you can’t make out scattered on the top, family pictures pinned to the wall above it. A large closet on the left that you had failed to notice. Two simple bedside tables with lamps, and books lying about that you have no strength to pick up and study.

Quenched, sated, comfortably tucked up into his side, you’ve no desire to sleep but your eyelids have become lazy. The dark square of sky behind the blue curtains has turned into a lighter shade of night. You couldn’t care less about the time.

Under the palms of your hands braced on his chest, his breathing is even, and his skin warm, the beating of his heart peaceful and steady.

The pads of your fingers find his scar once again, and you feel him quiver.

“How did it happen?” you ask quietly.

Frankie doesn’t answer. Not now, he thinks, please, please not now.

But then, when?

“Frankie?” You tilt your head up to look at him. “When? When did it happen?”

He picks a strand of your hair from your face and tucks it behind your ear. The tips of his fingers rest on your pulse point until he finds the courage to answer.

“2005,” he articulates, his tongue heavy.

You stiffen against him. The year sounds familiar, but you can’t replace it. Your tired mind swivels around something Ironhead might have said.

“Isn’t that when you met— when you met the guys?” you ask tentatively. Your voice sounds like it’s coming from a distance.

“I met Pope back in 2001, and Redfly a couple years later, but— yea. That’s when I met Will and Ben.”

Benny’s name rings out in the dark, altering the silence between you. You've grown rigid, trying to control your breathing as the implications and consequences of what you’ve initiated dawns on you like iced water.

“Second tour, in Iraq. For Pope and I. We were supposed to back up a ground unit, but the whole thing went… it was fucked up from the start. We got ambushed. They were waiting for us. We took on some fire, a rocket hit the tail rotor, and I lost control of the helicopter.”

“Oh god. You crashed?”

You sat up as he talked, and in your pale, weary face, your eyes are immense. He straightens up after you, facing you, without quite meeting them.

“Yea. Bad fucking landing. I crashed the fucking chopper.”

You had thought, a few days back, that you had it all figured out. But now everything falls into place, glaring ugly under the crude light of hard facts. Your voice fails you, and you clear your throat feebly before you ask a question you’ve already guessed the answer to.

“Did anyone else get hurt?”

He looks at you with dim, beaten eyes that reveal his true wound.

“Pope made it with an injured knee. Got ejected before the crash. The two other snipers on board died when the helicopter exploded.”

You wait for the end, the key information of what took place between the crash and the explosion. He delivers it in a low, monochord tone, not a glimmer of light in his eyes.

“A piece of the cockpit got torn up and stabbed me. Benny— Benny was in the ground unit. He rescued me. Pulled me out of there before the explosion. Didn’t have time to go back for the others.”

An overwhelming urge to hurt yourself twitches your hands. You move fast, climbing into his lap, enveloping his body with your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms around his shoulders. He doesn’t stop you, but he doesn’t return your embrace, and you fight off your tears. This is not about you.

“Oh, baby,” you murmur, “baby, it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault.”

You repeat the words until you feel his clenched fists circling your back. You know you’re defeated. That he will never believe that. You hope he doesn’t hear you cry, and you grip him harder, until his shoulders sag under your hold. He feels so young, in your arms, like a boy, like a little child, hiding his face in your neck, and you wish for your skin to absorb all his tears.

Your next words feel like tearing your chest open to rip out your heart.

“I can’t stay.”

“Don’t, please don’t.” You hear the ragged sobbing in his voice.

“I can’t stay, I can’t stay Frankie, you know I can’t–”

“I don’t fucking care.”

You disentangle your body from his and he glares at you as you get down the bed and put on your panties.

“I can’t stay, I can’t ask you to choose—”

“You don’t have to ask me to choose, I already chose, I don’t care about anyone else,” he argues, getting off the bed as well.

“What about in a year?” you straighten up abruptly to face him. “Or five? Or ten? What if it doesn’t work out and you’ve lost all your friends?”

He comes to stand in front of you, towering over you, crushing you with his impressive silhouette backlit by the blue light of the early morning. The contained wrath in his voice raises the thin hair on your nape.

“Look at me, and tell me you don’t believe it would work. There’s no version of this in which you and me doesn’t work,” he accompanies his angry words with a back and forth movement of his index finger between you and him. “We work. You know we work. It’s the only fucking thing that makes any fucking sense.”

You turn away from him and exit the bedroom, walking hastily down the hallway toward the living-room and open kitchen, where you stood hours before and have no recollection of. Your dress is heaped on the tiles next to his t-shirt, and you proceed to put it back on, your trembling fingers utterly useless.

By the time you’ve managed to tie the shoulder bows, Frankie emerges from his bedroom fully dressed and booted. He picks up his cap from the floor where it had landed the evening before and adjusts it on his head after combing his hair with his fingers, and you stare at him, dumbfounded.

“What are you doing?” you ask in near panic, as he walks past you on his way to the front door.

“What do you think? I’m not letting you go back to your place on the fucking bus,” he snaps with his back to you, grabbing the car keys from the console.

“You know if you drive me back we’ll only end up fucking in your truck,” you retort, slipping on your sandals.

His hand stills on the keychain, his entire frame stiffening under his denim shirt. You straighten up slowly, horrified.

“Frankie, I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, I’m so sorry.”

You run up to him, throwing yourself against his tall figure, pressing your forehead to his nape, to the scent of his hair.

“I’m not letting you go back to your place on the bus,” he repeats, softer.

“I’m sorry. Forgive me,” you plead, your hands grabbing at his chest.

“I do. I forgive you. Let’s go.”

****

Taglist (thank you 🧡): @elegantduckturtle @mashomasho @lola766 @flowersandpotplantsandsunshine @nicolethered @littleone65 @bands-tv-movies-is-me @the-rambling-nerd @saintbedelia @pedrostories @trickstersp8 @all-the-way-down-here @deadmantis @hbc8 @princessdjarin @harriedandharassed @girlofchaos @gracie7209 @mrsparknuts

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sillyrabbit81 · 2 years

Text

The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood Part 3

Series Summary: Lori "Babycakes" Tate swore she would never date a biker but when her life is in danger, she is put under the protection of a small club known as The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood. She suddenly finds herself attracted to not one, but five bikers.

A reverse harem, biker AU.

Part Three Summary: Lori meets the Brothers.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC, Walter Marshall x OFC, Mike x OFC, Geralt x OFC, August Walker x OFC

Word Count: Approx. 4 k

Warnings:

Series Warnings:

Reverse harem, age gap (OFC 23, ages range from 23 to mid 40s), oral sex (male and female receiving), unprotected p in v sex, anal sex, group sex, masturbation, praise kink, mentions of body fluids, drug use, recreational drinking, sex work, criminal activities, mention of death, violence, use of weapons, mentions of war, mentions of abuse, angst, fluff, probably a lot more that I will add as they come up.

Part Three Warnings:

Masturbation, caught in the act, flirting, smutty thoughts, embarrassment, angst, fluff.

Authors Note: Thanks to @henryobsessed for beta reading.

I hope you enjoy it!

Divider made by me. Edited by me, there will be errors.

Masterlist

Parts Masterlist

Part Two Part Four

Lori

We had only been on the highway for a few minutes when I heard the other bikes. They drew up in formation and briefly took up all four lanes. Each rider was wearing their colours and full-face helmets so I couldn’t get a read on any of them, other than they all looked to be close to Sy’s size and build. Well, except one, who seemed a little slimmer, but was at least as tall as the others.

One of the riders signalled something to Syverson who inclined his head in response. Then two of the bikes pulled ahead while two others fell behind and they stayed that way for the rest of the journey.

The problem with being a pillion on a motorcycle, especially on a long stretch of highway, was that you didn’t have much to do except think.

It wasn’t something I normally had a problem with, I was fairly comfortable with my own company for the most part, but I had a lot on my mind and not a lot of it was pleasant.

There was one incessant thought, one that wouldn’t leave me alone despite how often I tried to ignore it. It was inescapable considering my arms were currently wrapped around the subject of those thoughts.

Syverson. He was a complication in my life that I didn't need right now.

The first problem was that he was attracted to me.

I shouldn’t be surprised really. Not because I thought of myself as remarkably good looking, but because he’s a biker and I’d heard the phrase “any hole is a goal” uttered too many times by guys like him to take his attraction as anything more than a passing interest.

When I realised he was checking me out, my first thought was that I should take advantage of it because if I got him on my side it might make dealing with him and the rest of the Brothers easier. So I played up the innocent girl act by biting my lip and looking wide-eyed. But if I'm honest with myself, it had only been partly an act.

The truth was I found Sy to be ridiculously hot.

And funny.

And honest.

And kind.

And sweet Jesus, when he swept his thumb over my lips I almost moaned.

Which was my second problem. I was attracted to him too.

Sy might appear a little different to most of the bikers I knew, but in the end, he was in the life and that meant he was not a viable option as a romantic partner. I’d seen too much heartache and too many failed relationships to go down that road.

I loved my mother, but I didn’t want her life. A life walking around a clubhouse wearing a patch that read “Property of ….” so other assholes don’t try to touch you, always being worried about his fidelity and the social stigma that comes from being associated. Not to mention the constant stress of knowing your partner could end up in jail or dead.

Still, there was no harm in flirting with him, right? Who knows how long I was going to be stuck with them, so what was the harm in having a bit of fun? I’m sure he’d be up for it. I've yet to meet a biker who wasn't keen for a bit of no strings attached sex.

No, not a good idea. Not with Sy anyway. I liked him too much already. He had made me laugh for God’s sake. After all the shit I’d been through, it only took one perfectly imperfect wink for me to melt. If he'd tried to pick me up in a bar and he wasn't in the life, there's no doubt in my mind I’d go home with him.

No. Hooking up with Sy would be too risky. The last thing I wanted was to catch feelings.

I concentrated on ignoring how hard his body was, how good he smelled, how blue his eyes were, and how cute his dimples were when he smiled.

Fuck. Maybe it was already too late.

After a couple of hours of fixating on Sy and arguing with myself, I finally found something that took my mind off it.

I was freezing.

The icy wind of the Arizona desert cut right through my jeans. My knees were starting to ache and my leg muscles cramped.

I huddled closer to Sy, leaning my head against his shoulder to use his huge form as a windbreak. It worked, mostly, but my hands were unprotected, my gloves were no longer enough to keep my fingers from growing numb. I started making fists, trying to keep the blood pumping, hoping it would warm me up.

I felt Sy take my hands, one at a time, and slip each into his unzipped pockets in the front of his jacket. Instantly they felt warmer, and once again I was surprised by his kind gesture.

I tightened my arms around him, hoping he’d realise I was trying to thank him. He seemed to understand and gave my knee a gentle pat. He left it there for a few moments, and I could feel the warmth of him heating my cold knee through his glove.

Ever so slowly, he moved his hand down my calf and rubbed it gently, as if he were massaging heat back into my cramping muscles, before he worked his way up again. I held my breath as he patted my thigh and I squeezed him tight again, this time tightening my thighs as well.

I suddenly didn’t feel quite as cold.

I was not going to fall for him, I was not going to let his tender gestures fool me. I was not going to be seduced by a few moments of sweetness and a nice smile and a strong body and amused eyes so clear and blue they were like the sky on a cloudless day.

No way. Not worth it.

As soon as the cold ebbed away, a sudden wave of weariness hit me and I felt tired. Dead tired.

The rumbling sound of the v-twin between my legs, its gentle vibration at this speed, and the smoothness of the road became a soothing lullaby, and I found myself dozing, suspended in the twilight between being awake and asleep. It made the final hours fly by and it wasn’t until we turned off the highway that I was able to stay awake.

By the time Sy and the other riders pulled into a motel it was very late, well after midnight, and I felt a little sorry for the other guests. Not many people can sleep through the sound of one set of aftermarket pipes, let alone five.

When Sy killed the engine, I groaned as a muscle in the bottom of my foot tightened. It was gonna take a minute for me to get off the damn bike and I was a little embarrassed as the others were already lifting their long legs over their rides and Sy was waiting patiently for me to dismount. The guy who had signalled Sy on the highway headed towards hotel reception immediately, not even taking the time to remove his helmet.

I took a deep breath and willed myself to clamber ungracefully off the bike. My legs protested, but I was able to clear the bike before they gave out and I stumbled into a firm body that caught me by the shoulders before I ate pavement.

“Ooft! Easy sweetheart.”

I looked up at a man with a beard similar to Sy’s, but his hair fell around his face in thick curls, almost like a cherub from an old painting. His blue eyes were serious and a little stern, even as a smile split his face and his voice was unexpectedly warm. My breath caught in my throat, he was gorgeous.

“Has Syverson already worn you out?” he asked in a gentle voice with a soft and polite English accent.

His hands held my upper arms, straightening me until I was standing again. My legs still felt like jelly, and not just because of exhaustion. I was right when I thought the other riders were as big as Sy, this guy was at least as burly. But unlike Syverson this guy had the appearance of a cranky grizzly, having little of Sy’s playfulness despite his smile.

“Ease up, Marshall,” Sy said. I looked at him gratefully and one side of his mouth turned up in a smile in return.

“She’s fine,” Marshall said, and I turned back to him.

He was staring at me, his head tilted to the side showing off a large black and grey rose tattoo on his neck and a small gage in his ear. He looked like he was studying me, and from the wolfish grin on his face, he seemed to like what he saw. My heart started to race, thundering so loud I thought there was no way he couldn’t hear it.

“Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

I nodded slowly and Marshall tentatively let me go, keeping his hands close as if he thought I would fall again. Once he was satisfied I could stand on my own accord, he loosened the straps of my helmet and gently took it off before smoothing my tousled hair. He tucked the helmet under his arm while he helped me take my gloves off and shoved them into the helmet.

Two more bikers flanked Marshall. Both were unbelievably appealing too. One of them drew my attention immediately because of his unusual and striking appearance. He had silvery-white hair pulled back into a braid which isn’t unusual in itself but his face wasn’t that of an old man; he looked to be in his late 30s. The other was younger, probably my age, no way was he over 25. He appeared to have a youthful enthusiasm that I hadn’t seen in the others.

I stared at all four of them with my mouth no doubt agape. These weren’t bikers, these were models, each one more attractive than the last.

“I’m Mike,” the younger one introduced himself, grinning broadly.

He was cute and cheerful, his blue eyes seemed to sparkle as if he knew something you didn’t. He had a barbell piercing through his eyebrow and a small stud in one of his ears. There was a glimpse of a tattoo that poked above his jacket and up his neck, but I couldn’t make out what it was.

I instantly liked him and returned his affable smile. In a way, he reminded me of my brother before the drugs and the club sucked the life out of his eyes. I stuck my hand out to give him a shake, but before I could introduce myself, he threw his arms wide and wrapped them around my waist. He squeezed with a groan and lifted my feet off the ground. I yelped but started to giggle; I was not expecting this level of flirtation within seconds of meeting him. I liked it though, his flirtations came across as playful and fun rather than sleazy.

“Mike,” Sy barked.

“Fuck, alright.” Mike put me down but not before he whispered in my ear, “He never lets me have any fun.”

Mike planted a quick kiss on my cheek and let me go. Marshall must have seen because he smacked the back of Mike’s head.

“Fucking creep,” Marshall reprimanded.

I was worried that it would go further than that, but Mike just chuckled and rubbed the back of his head like it was something he was used to.

Sy stood beside me and laid a heavy arm lightly around my shoulders, directing my attention to the other biker.

“This old man is Geralt,” he said, smirking.

Geralt gave Sy a weary look from beneath lowered brows before he offered me his hand with a half-smile. I took it and I gasped as I looked at his eyes, I had never seen such bright amber eyes in real life before. They were beautiful and appeared to shine even in the darkness of the car park. I opened my mouth to tell him my name when I heard another voice behind me.

“Syverson.” A set of keys were thrown at Sy, which Sy caught easily in one hand. “Take the client to her room, you take the first watch.”

I turned to the guy, he wasn’t looking at me, his eyes were on Marshall, throwing him another set of keys.

“Marshall, you’re with Mike, second, third shift. Geralt, you’re with me, fourth, I’m fifth. Any questions?”

I felt Sy stiffen, seeming to bristle at the orders. This last Brother was obviously in charge and when he finally looked in my direction, I could see why.

He took my breath away. He was just as attractive as the others but he had a next level aura of danger that the others couldn’t compete with. He shouldn’t be so good looking; by all rights his Tom Selleck moustache should look ridiculous, but it somehow didn’t.

“Walker,” he said simply.

“Lori,” I managed to mumble. There was something about Walker that simultaneously made me feel hot and cold. He wasn’t tattooed or pierced the way the others were, but he was far more intimidating than the rest of the Brothers.

He smirked and raised his eyebrows as he looked me up and down.

“She’s pretty,” he said, while still appraising me, and obviously not addressing me, “but I don’t get what all the fuss is about.”

Heat rose to my cheeks as anger and embarrassment swirled within me. I was tired, sore, and been through hell in the two weeks since my parents had been killed; the last thing I wanted to do was get into an argument in a car park. But I knew if I was going to get any respect from this guy I couldn’t let his rudeness slide. I knew guys like Walker and I couldn’t let him get away with shit like that or he’ll think he can walk all over me.

I was also too exhausted to fight, too tense, so I snatched the keys and my bag out of Sy’s hands and made my way to the room.

“Jesus, Walker,” Sy said behind me. “Do ya always have to be such an asshole?”

If Walker replied, I didn’t hear it.

I opened my room and slammed the door closed, locking it behind me. I went straight for the bathroom, dropping my pack carelessly on the bed and stripping off my clothes as I went.

The room was basic but clean and well maintained, however the bathroom left a lot to be desired. I took one look at the showerhead and knew it wouldn’t be the best shower of my life.

When I turned the water on, the pressure was so hard I had to cover my nipples before I could stand to be under the spray. But the water was blessedly hot and was exactly what I needed to soothe away the aches and pains of the ride.

I leaned my forehead against the tiles and took advantage of the harsh spray, letting the water massage my back. It felt good, real good, and as my thoughts started to drift, a familiar need began deep in my core as my body cried out for my nearly nightly ritual before I slept.

My hand moved slowly over my breasts, nipples hardening under my fingers, I turned around, the water pressure no longer hurt, the stinging pain only served to heighten my arousal. I pressed my back against the cool tiles as my hand drifted lower, the competing temperatures made my skin feel electrified, sensitive to every touch. My fingers danced slowly over my belly, getting lower, and lower until they slid over the small patch of hair on my mound. I shivered as the pads of my fingers ghosted over my clit, seeking the warmth and slick of my throbbing heat.

A moan escaped my throat as I slid two fingers inside me, curling them deeply, feeling for that smooth spongy spot. It was hard to reach at this angle, so I widened my legs, curled my spine and groaned as I found it.

I closed my eyes, letting my thoughts wander, thinking for a moment of Jake, my sometimes fuck buddy, but quickly my thoughts shifted, and it was no longer his face I saw in my mind.

Images of Sy came quickly, the way he felt as I held him while we rode. How he had caressed my leg sent shivers up my spine as I imagined him touching me like that again, skin against skin.

But that wasn’t all, I thought of all of them, Marshall, Mike, Geralt, wondered how each of them would feel. Would their hands be rough on my skin? Would their lips be soft on mine? Would they grunt and groan? Would they whisper words of praise in my ear? Were they dominant, or primal, or tender, or giving, or maybe all of it at once? I know I shouldn’t let these men invade my fantasies, but God, I couldn’t stop.

Then I thought of Walker with that smirk, that teasing grin that made me want to both slap him and drop to my knees.

“Fuck,” I mumbled as my thighs started to tremble.

“Fuck!” cried a louder, deeper voice.

I froze. I became a deer in headlights as I looked towards the door and saw a figure distorted by the thin layer of condensation that clung to the glass of the shower.

Snapping into action, I swiped an arm across the glass catching a fleeting glimpse of a wide-eyed Sy as he slammed the bathroom door shut.

I turned the water off and grabbed a towel, my breath coming in heaves, my guts churning as my face burned with embarrassment.

Okay. Think about this clearly. He couldn’t have actually seen anything, the glass was too fogged up.

He had heard though, there was no doubt about that.

Oh God.

I had been thinking about him, and the others too. I had left the bathroom door open and everything, he’s going to think that I did that on purpose. But I didn’t, I had locked the door to the room and…

Asshole!

Fury overtook my shame and I stormed out of the bathroom.

“You pervert! I locked the door.”

Sy was standing by the window, peeking through the curtains. His jacket was off, slung over the back of a chair and a silver handled gun was strapped to his thigh. He turned slowly, taking in my appearance and sucked on his bottom lip as he took a few steps towards me.

“It’s a hotel, Babycakes. They have spare keys.”

“My name is Lori and I would have thought a locked door meant I wanted privacy.”

Shrugging, he grinned. “You ain’t gonna get much privacy until we get to the Clubhouse.”

“What? You’re staying in here?” My voice was a little shrill but Sy nodded and I shook my head. “No. I thought you’d wait outside the door. I don’t want to be sleeping here with… men I don’t know.”

I almost said Walker but stopped myself. Oddly he was the only one I didn’t feel like I could trust.

“You scared of us, baby?” Sy asked in a low voice.

The back of his fingers skimmed over my still damp shoulder and down my arm. For a moment I couldn’t breathe, his touch was eerily similar to what I had just been fantasising about, gentle yet deliberate, hot and thrilling.

“Why?” My voice was huskier than I hoped it would be. “Does that turn you on? Is that the kind of sick shit your club is into?”

“Not at all,” Sy replied steadily, smirking, “I like my women willin’.” He cupped a hand under my jaw, lifting my chin higher. “Did ya finish the job in there?”

My eyes widened in shock, I didn’t think he would be so bold as to come right out and say what he saw. He chuckled as his hand slid down my neck, resting on the bare skin of my chest.

“I could give ya a hand if ya want,” Sy said, his voice seemed lower if that was possible, deeper, rougher, deliberately seductive, “Might feel good.”

“Is that a standard service you offer as part of your contract or…?”

I tried to sound disinterested, but my voice betrayed me. I was breathless, my body was a hot, throbbing mess. Sy licked his lips and my eyes were drawn to them. They looked so plush and inviting, and the whiskers surrounding his mouth seemed so soft.

“It’s an optional extra,” Sy shrugged and his fingers traced the edge of my towel, “But for you, I’ll throw it in for free, no charge.”

“No thanks.”

It’s what I said but it’s not what I meant. I said no out of habit, having said no to men like him my entire life. It was a lie and an obvious one. My fingers were already sinking into his beard, and I could feel him clench his jaw beneath my touch and his nostrils flared. Taking half a step closer, I met his eyes. They were hooded, dark and still held a glimmer of amusement. His hand moved to the nape of my neck, the other snaked around my waist, resting on the small of my back.

“Then how ‘bout I eat ya pussy cause I want to?”

He pulled me closer, our bodies met and his fingers slid into my hair. I put a hand to the centre of his chest, I had every intention of pushing him away and he must have known because he held me tighter, pressing his hardness into my hip.

“’Cause I wanna hear ya make those noises again, but this time I want you to make ‘em because of me.”

My core fluttered, no it was more than that, every muscle in my body seemed to quiver with anticipation of his offer, and dear God did he have the confidence of a man that knew he could deliver.

“No thanks,” I managed to utter. Barely.

Sy’s grin didn’t waver as he inhaled deeply and let me go.

“Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug and went back to his position by the window.

It took me a minute to get my bearings. I was completely dumbstruck, still overwhelmed by Sy even though he was now across the room.

I cleared my throat and swallowed hard. Fuck me, was I in trouble here.

Sy glanced at me over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow as the corner of his mouth twitched in a smirk.

“You’re really gonna stay here all night?” I asked.

“For a couple of hours, then one of the others will take over,” he said, his voice sounding a little more serious and matter of fact than it had moments ago.

I didn’t like the sound of that. All five of them coming and going in my room while I slept, me not knowing who I’d wake up to?

Despite Sy’s advance or maybe because of it, I felt like I could trust him and would rather he stayed with me than the others. Having to keep an eye on one horny biker would be easier than having to watch out for five.

I took my bag from the bed and dressed in the bathroom, with the door closed. Though I was beat, I blow dried my hair with the shitty hair dryer the hotel had attached to the wall before braiding it.

While I was brushing my teeth I looked at my pyjamas in the mirror, realising now why Sy had chuckled when he saw them. When I packed, I had no idea the Brothers would actually be in my room with me. The tank top was so thin you could see the dark pinkish skin around my nipples.

The thought made my body warm. Part of me liked the thought of them seeing me like this. But I knew it would be a mistake to go down that road. Nope, my pussy would be a barren wasteland for the foreseeable future.

Pointedly not looking at Sy, I went back into the room and grabbed my shirt from the floor, turning it the right way round and slipping it on over the top.

First thing I was going to do when I got to the clubhouse was buy new pyjamas.

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heliads · 2 years

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Hii I was wondering if you could write a Peter Hayse x Fem!Reader where the transfers are paired with a Dauntless-Born as a training exercise, and everyone wonders why the two get paired together and actually get along. bc she's like super sweet and not at all like Peter. But it turns out she's just as brutal and intense as he is, which is super scary but Peter is super into it - especially bc he doesn't have to fight against her, instead with her.

Ofc you don't have to write this! And you're stuff is amazing 🥰🥰

may not have seen top gun but i can still contribute to the miles teller obsession

masterlist

The initiates have been messing things up again, which might be why today is the way that it is. They’ve all been too loud, too easily distracted. Even Peter Hayes, the one person here who’s trying his hardest to end up on top, is at fault for this as well.

He can’t even help it, initiation just gets boring sometimes. He never thought he’d find himself saying such a thing, especially since their entrance into Dauntless started with them jumping off of a building, but it’s true. They’ve stuck with the same sort of training schedule for a couple of weeks now, and it’s making Peter lose his mind.

He’s not the only one losing it, either. All of the transfer initiates are rough at the seams by now, snapping at each other even more than Dauntless training demands. They’re acting out and causing problems, which is probably why Eric Coulter takes it into his head one day that if the trainees want a change, they’ll get one.

By now, Peter should have learned that Eric’s ideas are rarely fun for anyone who isn’t a training leader, but he still starts to perk up when the man mentions that they’ll be doing something different today. Peter’s good mood starts to flatten, however, when a door opens at the far side of the training complex and the Dauntless-born initiates walk in. This isn’t going to be a joyous afternoon, now, will it?

Eric’s devious grin deepens as if he can sense the desolation currently settling in around the room. Then again, Peter can see it in every other face as well. There’s one former Erudite a few paces away who looks like he’s choking back tears just from brainstorming all the ways that today could go wrong.

The training leader for the Dauntless-born reaches them, and Eric starts to address the room at large once more.

“Alright, then. We wanted to switch a few things up, keep you on your toes. Dauntless isn’t meant to be easy, nor routine, so you’d better learn to adapt quickly or you’ll end up somewhere you won’t enjoy half as much as here.”

That place is with the factionless, obviously. Threatening to kick the initiates out of Dauntless is one of Eric’s favorite gimmicks, and he never tires of tossing out the option just to see everyone’s stress level rise. Not Peter, though. He’s not going to let himself do anything but succeed here, no matter what it takes.

Eric allows himself a brief glance around the room, obviously treasuring the wave of nerves that’s just surfaced, then continues.

“We’ll be arranging fights between the transfers and the Dauntless-born, all based on your ranks. It’ll work like normal fights do, so get ready to head in the ring the second you hear your name called. Lauren and I will be watching the rounds, so if you want to do anything except drop behind in the rankings, I’d suggest you do your best to win.”

With that bright and cheery statement, Eric and the leader of the Dauntless-born, Lauren, start to announce the first round of fights. Peter considers the Dauntless-born warily, trying to pick out which opponents will be harder to crack than others.

They all look rough and hardened, but then again, appearances can be deceiving. Just because they were able to dye their hair at an earlier age than Peter doesn’t mean that he can’t kick their collective asses right here, right now.

Like a dream, Peter hears his name shouted from across the training hall, and just like that, his scheming time is over.

“Peter Hayes and… Y/N L/N!”

He scans the crowd hastily to figure out which one is Y/N, and spots her emerging from a pack of her friends. At first glance, she appears much like the others, but Peter starts to notice a confidence in the set of her shoulders, a sharp glare in her eyes much like his own. He can tell one truth even before they get into their initial fighting stances: this one is going to be hard.

Peter has no more moments left to ponder, however; they’ve jumped up into a fighting ring and it’s time to start. Surprisingly, both Eric and Lauren have stuck around to see how this match ends. If what Eric said is true, Y/N is likely at the same ranking as Peter, which means that they’re both near the top, if not at first place.

Yes, this is going to be difficult, but then again, what the hell here isn’t? Peter decides to let his nerves drive him on and he attacks first, which is usually a mistake, but he wants to see how Y/N will react. She responds as most of the higher level fighters do, by immediately sidestepping and aiming a new blow towards him, but she’ll be wrong if she thinks Peter will be fooled by one opening move.

He’s expecting this, of course, which is why his initial attack was a feint. He’s able to duck under her arm and counterattack by slamming his fist towards the side of her head, hoping to at least mess with her sense of balance if not strike her outright.

Peter has to admit it, Y/N’s good. Really good, actually. He gets it now why Eric and Lauren are still standing around, and why this fight is attracting a crowd of other initiates. Peter doesn’t think he’s faced a foe like this in his entire time at Dauntless, which is why even though he gets the feeling he isn’t going to win this one, he’s still having a good time.

That’s what Peter enjoys, anyway, a challenge. He doubts most of the other trainees here would agree with that, they probably all think he only transferred to Dauntless so he could kick babies or push people out of moving train cars. All in moderation, of course, but he’s mainly here so he can test his limits and the limits of those around him.

All this time, Peter has been hoping to find the final line drawn in the sand, the point at which he’ll fight his hardest and someone will finally push back hard enough to shock him. He wants an ending, terrible and cruel, he wants to find somebody who will go head to head with him and make him seriously doubt who will win. Peter didn’t expect to find this person in Y/N, but he’s not about to find a problem with it now.

In the end, they tie, which no one expects, least of all the training instructors still watching them. Peter and Y/N manage to put each other in simultaneous holds in which neither person can escape, and they struggle on the ground for a while before Lauren gives in and calls a stalemate. Peter can tell Eric wasn’t too pleased about that, the man would have gladly seen them keep fighting for hours until one of them finally gave in, but other fights need this ring too and so they’re allowed to leave.

Peter relaxes his grip at last, standing up slowly amid a chorus of pain from his knees and joints. He holds a hand out to Y/N, secretly using the time as an excuse to stare at her a little longer. Yeah, she’s cute. He’s not above noticing that, especially when she’s as cool as she is.

Y/N regards his outstretched hand with a raised eyebrow. “If you think I’m going to give you a chance to judo flip me again, you’re wrong.”

Peter grins, even as she stands up without laying another finger on him. “If I was going to flip you again, I wouldn’t need to fake you out with an offer for support. I’d just do it.”

Y/N scoffs, although Peter swears he can see the corners of her lips flicking up into a smile. “Yeah, right. I think you need all the help you can get. Otherwise, you would have actually won that fight.”

With that, she tosses him one last casual glance, a simple once over, and then she’s gone, jumping casually off of the raised platform and melding back into her group of Dauntless-born friends. Peter watches her go a second longer, then decides to risk his life a little more and follows her.

A brief thought flashes through his head that she may not actually want to see him, but just as Peter considers turning around, Y/N looks back at him and smiles, actually smiles this time.

“What,” she says, “haven’t had enough of me kicking your ass?”

Peter snickers before he can stop himself. “Yeah, there was a lot of ass kicking in the tie we had. We were dead even, remember?”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “That’s just because Lauren felt pity for you. She knows what it’s like for me to constantly beat people up, and she wanted to save your ego. Eric too, obviously, because us Dauntless-born are way better than his group.”

Peter arches a brow. “Way better? Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

“Not ridiculous,” she proclaims, “just honest. You’re the former Candor, aren’t you? You know I’m telling the truth.”

Peter is about to object to this when a better comeback occurs to him. “How’d you know I was a former Candor? I haven’t seen a Dauntless-born since we got here on that train.”

Y/N nods. “Yeah, and I saw you on that train. Don’t read too much into it.”

Peter smirks. “Well, I’m glad that you remembered me so well. I’ve clearly made an excellent impression on you.”

Y/N gives him an irritated look, but she can’t hold it for long, too busy trying unsuccessfully to hide another smile. They end up talking for a while after that, so much so that Peter’s allies over in the transfers confront him about it later that night. They all seem stunned that Peter, known the world over for being as cruel as he is strong, would spend time with Y/N, who only seems brutal in the ring.

After casually observing her at dinner, Peter realizes that it’s true. She laughs and jokes with her friends, tossing out smiles like she were Amity instead of Dauntless. It’s only when she starts a fight that something in her personality switches, and suddenly she’s just as tough as Peter himself.

When he tries to voice that to his friends, though, all Peter manages to say is that she’s a good fighter. They don’t seem convinced, so he supposes it’s a good thing that the Dauntless-born are there again in their training room the next day. This time, Peter doesn’t have to fight her in the first round, so he gets to sit back and watch her take on another one of the transfers.

Peter takes up a place near her ring, his friends beside him. He jerks his chin up at Y/N just as she gets into her opening stance.

“See, watch her and you’ll know what I mean. Trust me, she’s pretty intense.”

His friends are doubtful in the beginning, but once Y/N takes out the second highest ranked transfer within the span of about thirty seconds, they’re convinced fairly quickly. There’s a look in her eyes when she stands up, a brutal sort of stare that only matches the blood on her knuckles. The guy at her feet is so unconscious Peter feels the need to check and see if he’s still breathing, but he can’t seem to spare a second glance towards anyone who isn’t Y/N.

Y/N heads out of the fighting ring, as it’s pretty obvious that she’s won by a long shot. Peter watches her weave through the crowds of trainees towards the door, but she turns her head to look him in the eyes before disappearing out into the hall. It’s a quiet invitation, but all that Peter needs to convince himself to follow her once more.

The corridors of the Dauntless complex are cool and quiet as compared to the restless heat of the training room. It’s a balm against Peter’s skin, slowing him down even as his footsteps pick up. He finds Y/N within a few moments of walking, just around the corner, leaning casually against a wall as if she has been waiting her whole life for him to show up. He wishes it could be true, of course, that she could feel something half as strong as the pulse-racing stranger currently taking up residence in his chest.

“So,” she asks, casual as ever, “what did you think? Did I make my fellow Dauntless-born proud?”

Peter tries to match her attitude, as cool as he can manage. “I’d say so. I think you could have done it a little faster, though. I mean, you were in that ring for almost a minute. That’s way too long.”

Y/N chuckles. “I’ll try to do better next time.”

Peter’s lips twitch up in spite of himself. He casually walks closer, praying that he isn’t misreading this, praying that she wants this even half as much as he does.

“I don’t know,” he says, “I think your next fight is against me, and I doubt it’ll be that easy.”

“So do I,” she whispers, but whatever she was going to say next is lost to the silence of the halls because Peter can hold back no longer and he’s kissing her.

She startles for a second, then kisses him back just as hard. That’s how it is to be with her, he supposes, quiet and cruel, calm and as fiery as an inferno. He’s never met someone as mad as him, and he adores it. It’s a good thing, then, that they have all the time in the world to explore that feeling. Peter certainly intends on testing the limits once more.

divergent tag list: @rogueanschel, @with-inked-solace, @gods-fools-heroes

#peter hayes #peter hayes imagines #peter hayes x reader #peter hayes oneshot #divergent #divergent imagines #divergent x reader #divergent oneshot #divergent peter #divergent peter imagines #divergent peter x reader #divergent peter oneshot #insurgent #allegiant

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bisaster-energy · 4 months

Note

you can tell me about your idea!!!

thank you so much 😭 it's kinda long sorry

SO i was listening to a song my sister like (Valerie, Amy Winehouse) and there's this line about ginger hair and it was just so specific ig it stuck with me? so im thinking man who do i know with red hair...DUH KUWABARA!!!

nearly every song i listen to gets assigned a character or ship or relationship of some sort idk why but yeah once i fixated on the hair i was able to expand on the rest of the song and a sort of idea settled in the back of my head about kuwameshi

we all know kuwabara is always the one getting left behind but what if while he's off doing his thing yusuke also feels that sense of loss? an absence even though it was his decision to up and leave. it makes no sense cos hey! you felt the need to go back to the demon realm bro but he cannot help how he feels left behind in some illogical sense. i made some notes 😤😤

centers round the time where yusuke goes back to makai after the whole sensui debacle and kuwabara is getting his education studying in prep for college (hell yeah boy !!) not sure if the timelines even match up like that but i literally dont care

i'm working under the canon divergence that keiko really did decide she's not gonna wait for urameshi like that but ofc she's still his bestie and he loves her sooooo much <3

so he's going back. he's a demon now so he feels drawn to the culture. it's a side of himself he's never known after feeling so othered ofc he's interested right?

i mean sure he grew up with other humans but almost everyone hated him/was scared of him ironically he was called a demon or monster or wtv

reactions like that are why he almost decided not to come back to life in the first place!! it wasn't a welcoming atmosphere and even his home didn't feel great cos his mom isn't exactly the mothering type

im all for deadbeat moms but the neglect will fuck a kid up. demon heritage or not

and he loves her and all but it's just all fucked up at home so he ended up wandering around a lot being mad about his shitty life and he likes fighting so that's what he did!

and obviously in makai this behavior isnt like. crazy or uncalled for

but yeah the only connections he's got to ningenkai is his mom, keiko (her parents by extension) and of course kuwabara; the only friends he managed to not scare off

anyway. you get it. so yusuke is back in makai and without his permission his mind keeps wandering to kuwabara who he hasn't seen in let's say. a year and some change? i'll decide later but A While

and like. last time he was in the demon world kuwa was WITH him yknow? like yeah the world was ending but it feels weird without him even if he is having a blast fighting with his new demon buddies and acquaintances

so he's a little distracted when he literally came here to fight he cant even focus on it

"how is college prep treating him? are the teachers there just as bad as middle school? did he make new human friends? a girlfriend?" basically he's spiraling over changes he might be missing out on this very moment

there's a bunch of talk in the song where the singer wonders if valerie dyed her hair if she's busy if she ever paid that fine if she sold her house if she got a man so that's where i got it lol

yusuke doesn't have to worry about kurama and hiei cos hey they're from here and have lived way longer and they actually do visit but who knows what typa shit could be happening to kuwa right now

ofc he can take care of himself he's really strong but yusuke can't help but remember that time he let kuwabara go when he shouldn't have and he almost died because he wasn't there and yeah. he's worried. sue him

so it's half worry half wistfulness and maybe some other secret third thing and when hiei and maybe kurama (depending on how the idea forms as i write) come to visit or maybe they're also participating wtv

he cant help but think well kuwabara could be here with us if he really WANTED to :/ he's got the jigen to down pat by now so...why hasn't he...

and those old but ever remaining insecurities resurface about how people don't wanna be around him they think he's a nuisance at best no good waste of time a trouble maker. keiko already dumped my sorry ass so who knows maybe kuwabara just...wisened up

hiei and kurama are like this bitch is back on his bullshit (affectionate)

they manage to weedle his worries out of him hiei ofc trying to act like he doesnt really care (he cares a lot) "you must not have much faith in kuwabara if you think he'd abandon you just from some time apart. and i thought HE was the oaf between the two of you"

kurama with his fox self is like "well yes hiei is right of course kazuma is too loyal to do something like that. but he is human...the only human of us now."

yusuke is like wth is that supposed to mean on the defensive even tho kurama is their friend and hasn't even said anything untrue and hiei narrows his eyes a bit maybe but is still acting like this doesn't really concern him

"i just mean that...from what i've learned about humans over the time i've spent with them...time feels different. we demons live such long lives that when faced with the human lifespan well...it can be laughable to some. that's why demons can be so callous about their lives."

yusuke just wants him to get to the point ofc "what i'm saying is we don't need a lot of contact with each other to keep relationships fresh and healthy but, kuwabara might be a little different. 3 years will do nothing to your bond but...i do worry about longer periods..."

and he seems to just trail off and it just gets quiet and a little sad and hiei isn't looking at them anymore

kurama starts again pretty cheerfully tho "well, don't worry! i'm planning on staying in the human world for quite some time once i'm done with this visit! i do have the company to take care of so i'll make sure to see kazuma all the time! i'll even send him a message from you if you want to say anything :)"

kurama has deliberately been using kuwa's first name knowing damn well urameshi doesn't even use it because this dude is not JUST a sweetie he's a fucking master manipulator. gaslight gatekeep bbg

yusuke is like okay yeah no new plan i'll just go see him now. no need for a middle man thanks anyway and then he's just gone. left the tournament early. like bruh that's what you came here for 😐

so yeah he's breaking into kuwa's house next thing you know and ofc he goes through the window not the door like a normal person and he just kinda stops short because he hasn't seen his friend in what feels like forever even though it's only been like a year or so but he just looks so different

and yeah a big part might be the hair he's never seen without that popadour, long soft copper coils, and he's somehow even bigger than when yusuke left him jesus when did he get so swole? when did he have time in between all those brainiac classes

yusuke knows he's bound to look a lil different too ofc i mean they weren't kids anymore really but like. when they hell did you go and grow up?

"next time i come back is this even gonna be your house anymore? will you still wanna hang out with dropout delinquent demon urameshi?" he gets so insecure in so little time

anyway kuwabara didn't sense him at first cos yusuke isn't a threat and he never really thought he'd be coming especially not yet but when he does notice

kuwabara just gets the biggest goofiest grin he's like urameshi you dog when the hell did you get back in town you're early!!

and yusuke is significantly eased by this reaction but now he feels stupid cos he up a left everything just to what? bother kuwabara while he studies to achieve his dreams? yusuke has got no human world aspirations like keiko had. like kurama has. like kuwabara.

and ofc kuwabara looks glad to see him but he wasn't desperate enough to just show up like yusuke had just done and he feels like a pathetic loser so he pouts

he's like yeah hey man just uh. checking in. and i should probably check out hah you seem busy with your books so im gonna scram and he tries to retreat through the window

and ofc kuwa is NOT letting him get away

and there's that desperation yusuke had selfishly wanted to see. kuwabara had just grabbed him without thinking even though he'd promised himself when urameshi left he wasn't gonna just sit around waiting for his life to start when he came back

he remembers when yusuke took him into that headlock and he wanted to succeed like he said he would that day

but still he's just thinking about urameshi all the time and it's awful. he always said he was gonna beat him some day but he just wanted to be near him. but all he sees is his back, even right now

part ii cos it's too many words!

#kuwameshi #fic idea #yu yu hakusho #asks!

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artemiseamoon · 1 year

Text

As long as I’m alive

Riley Moore (ofc) x TF guys | special guest Tyler Rake

Words: 6,510

Part of Artes Year of Whump (with comfort and fluff) | @yearofcreation2023 (March 2023 entry)

✨✨✨Summary: Stuck in a cell, in the middle of no where, Riley and Will try to survive and hatch a plan to find the guys, dead or alive.✨✨✨

Warnings: very heavy on whump, injuries, blood, ptsd mentioned, guns and weapons, self defense driven violence and killing, mentions of torture (not shown).

The guards verbally creepy off screen (but there is no non-con or assault in this - zero. So please know you will not encounter that in this fic at all. I just wanted to mention this for anyone who might fear encountering that in the story, you won’t, you are safe!)

Below is a preview * read in full only on A03

Preview #1 here

They occasionally give them food and water, but it’s sparse and not on a schedule. The last time food was given was two days ago, based on the way the light changed through the ceiling bars. It was a narrow space, not wide enough to be a window but open enough to let in small amounts of fresh air and sunlight.

“Will,” Riley looked up at him, “the others - do you think - “

Will took a sharp breath in, “I don’t know-”

Will hopes they're alive.

He kept telling himself they are, and he just needed to get to them. To think they weren't - that hurt too damn much. He loved every single one of them, and his brother - Benny, his kid brother who he looked out for and protected his entire life- if anything happened to him -

Will felt like he failed Benny, he's supposed to keep Ben safe, and now he didn't know where he was.

In the silence, his mind went back to that moment they were torn apart. Everyone fought like hell, every single one of them, but they were outnumbered.

It was a dark room, like this without bars; guns in their faces after fists had been thrown, they fought until they couldn't anymore. Bruises and blood on both sides, the captors and the captees.

They all blocked Riley from the men, surrounding her like a protective pack of wolves. Still, they were pulled apart, one by one, kicking and screaming until Will and Riley were the only ones left. Will nearly got knocked out when he attacked the men taking Benny, he hit the ground with a thud, and a ringing sensation moved through his head.

Will faded in and out, coming to just as Riley bit down hard on one of the man's arms, tearing skin, his blood on her lips. When he hit her, she fell down and Will dragged her behind him, then putting his body over hers.

After that, his memory got spotty. From what he learned later, from Riley, he went wild- attacking both men with superhuman strength and fighting his ass off. It took a blow to the back of the head to knock him out, then everything went black. He wasn't conscious when they picked her up and dragged her out of the room.

Sometime after that, Will awoke in the same room, this time chained to the wall. He was later blindfolded, gagged, then moved. To his surprise, he wasn't alone, Riley was in there. He didn't know why they were paired up, but he was thankful. He could protect Riley, and he hoped Ben, Frankie and Santi were all together.

Will felt defeated, he had to remind himself of who he was; the call tag Ironhead was earned, he survived all kinds of crazy shit that should have killed him but didn't, including the one gunshot that solidified the name.

Will was getting Riley out of here, and he was going to find his brother - he was going to find Frankie and Santi even if he died trying.

Will knew exactly how many men there were now, the group was smaller, as far as he could tell. He knew the face of every guard, their habits and their schedules. Will counted 44 steps to the staircase, 10 descending steps, followed by a left turn: then a count of 56 steps to that fucking room.

Along with all this, the other thing churning in his mind was the why; why were they kept alive?

If their kidnappers wanted payback for Lorea, Will and the others would have been executed on the spot, or delivered to what’s left of Lorea’s men. If this was about ransom, which was a possibility, they’re being kept alive for money.

Another observation Will made was this; the men were getting lazy and too comfortable. He's taken the beatings, fought back, and watched at the same time. His time to act is soon approaching.