#First that woman is assaulted by a creep

[coochiequeens]

The Canadian government wasn't confused about the term Woman before 1918. (That’s when Canadian women won their fight for the vote)

By Anna Slatz March 13, 2024

The Supreme Court of Canada has asserted that a lower court judge should not have referred to a sexual assault victim as “a woman,” a term which they claim was “unfortunate and engendered confusion.” The ruling, published on March 8, goes on to imply that the more effective term would be “person with a vagina.”

The case being discussed was that of Christopher James Kruk, a man from Maple Ridge, British Columbia who had been convicted of sexually assaulting a woman in 2020. According to past news coverage of the initial charges, the incident occurred the night of May 26, 2017, after Kruk encountered a heavily intoxicated woman in the city’s urban center. Kruk reportedly offered to ensure the woman got home safely, and then brought her to his residence via the SkyTrain and a taxi.

At some point during the journey, he called the woman’s mother on his cellphone to let her know that he was going to bring her daughter home. But instead, the woman reportedly passed out or fell asleep at Kruk’s home. Meanwhile, her mother was frantically calling Kruk, ringing him more than 20 times over an almost two-hour period without any response from the man.

The victim testified at the first trial that she woke up to find Kruk penetrating her, and that she tried and failed to push him off through her disorientation.

At around 4 a.m., many hours after Kruk had initially called her mother and told her she would be brought home, the woman’s father and brother managed to track down Kruk’s address using information from taxi cab drivers, and arrived in his neighborhood. When the woman heard her father’s voice calling out for her from the street, the woman rushed out the door wearing only her sweatshirt and underwear. She told her brother she had been raped, and filed a police complaint.

In his defense, Kruk claimed he never penetrated the woman, and that she had simply become startled when he had tried to wake her up, misinterpreting the sudden sensation as rape. He also claimed her pants were off because she had spilled water on them and that she had removed them herself while intoxicated earlier that evening.

Finding Kruk’s defense “fanciful,” Justice Michael Tammen found Kruk guilty of sexual assault in 2020, in part because he asserted that it would have been “extremely unlikely that a woman would be mistaken” about the feeling of penile penetration.

But a 2022 appeals court overruled Kruk’s conviction and ordered a new trial, arguing that Tammen had “engaged in speculative reasoning” and “made an assumption on a matter that was not so well known as to be notorious, that was not capable of immediate and accurate proof by resort to a readily accessible source of indisputable accuracy, or that was a matter of common sense.”

The Supreme Court of Canada has now found the appeals court erred in overturning Tammen’s conviction of Kruk, determining that Tammen had acted appropriately in the case. But despite upholding Tammen’s initial arguments, Justice Sheilah Martin took issue with Tammen’s description of the victim as “a woman.”

While she disagreed with the appeals court’s argument that Tammen’s ruling relied on “speculation” as to whether the sensation of penile penetration was readily identifiable, Martin did imply that the terminology needed to be changed.

“Where a person with a vagina testifies credibly and with certainty that they felt penile‑vaginal penetration, a trial judge must be entitled to conclude that they are unlikely to be mistaken,” Martin wrote.

“While the choice of the trial judge to use the words ‘a woman’ may have been unfortunate and engendered confusion, in context, it is clear the judge was reasoning that it was extremely unlikely that the complainant would be mistaken about the feeling of penile‑vaginal penetration because people generally, even if intoxicated, are not mistaken about that sensation.”

Martin does not specify what about the word “woman” could have “engendered confusion.”

The ruling, first highlighted by Canadian journalist Tristin Hopper, comes on the heels of recent controversy surrounding an updated guidebook on general practice issued by the Federal Court of Canada which references pronoun use.

According to the guidebook, “the Court invites counsel, parties and witnesses to provide information about the correct pronunciation of their names (phonetic or syllabic spelling), titles (Dr., Mrs., Mr., Ms., Miss, Mx., etc.) and pronouns (she, he, they, etc.) prior to and at the outset of proceedings.”

While amended in late December of 2023, screenshots from the guidebook began circulating on social media in February of this year, prompting backlash from those concerned with gender ideology’s impact on Canada’s judicial system. While some feared the process may be mandatory, Reduxx reached out to the Federal Court and was informed that was not the case.

“It is important to note that this is simply an invitation. Participants before the Court remain free to proceed in the manner that they prefer,” the Office of the Chief Justice of the Federal Court stated.

#Canada #The Supreme Court of Canada #British Columbia #Maple Ridge #Christopher James Kruk raped a women who couldn't defend herself #Exactly how was anyone confused about the term woman? #The justice system dragged this case out over terminology #First that woman is assaulted by a creep #Then the justice system refers to her as a person with a vagina instead of as a woman

[morgana-ren]

i love angst, and i love your writing, but please, PLEASE, i beg you, could you write some hope of tav ever returning now that the imbecile, has realised the error of his ways 🥺😭 (either way, thank you so much, for all your astarion writtings, it has made me feel things, the angst is real and my masochistic heart loves it🥲)

First part of the story HERE

Common complaint I got on that one! So I fixed it just for y'all. This ending is much less sad and much more sappy, so here is the comfort you need after all that angst!

"Darling, will you smile for me? Just once more. Please--"

He feels her cheeks in his palms, the soft skin against his battle-hardened callouses. Desperation cradles his unbeating heart, and for a moment, the emotion is far too much. A searing flame after centuries of frost. A bonfire in a blizzard. It hurts-- it burns--

"My love, I just need you to--"

"Anything my lord, anything at all for you. Simply command me and I will do anything you ask."

"No, I can't-- I-- I won't do it. I won't. I won't!"

"My lord?"

Her head cocks, turning slowly to look upon him, but her eyes-- they are empty; beetle-black and hollow. Her smile is uncanny as a painted doll, her movements disjointed and inhuman. Her teeth are stained crimson with blood, dripping, dripping, ever dripping down, never swallowed, only pooling.

She is light as a feather as she slips away from him, her skin marbling into a sickly gray before ash spreads across her body as a disease, smearing her form into nothingness. Only her face is left untouched, pretty as porcelain, unflinching and unfalling save a small crack that splinters down from her forehead down to her eyes, revealing inky black abyss beneath.

"My lord-- Oh, my tender, vicious lord. I can feel your anguish-- your hunger. Devour me to be whole once more--"

Her blood smells of rot and she--

She is too far gone to save. Too far gone to ever be saved.

"I won't!"

Whirlwind. Pain. Confusion and dread and seeping anguish. A maelstrom of rage and all-consuming despair swelling from within his soul—

—his soul?

The world around him falls away, a wicked tornado thrashing him about, his mind howling in the eternal winds--

And suddenly he is in a chair.

Not a throne. A chair— and a rather uncomfortable one at that.

"What in the hells—"

His vision spins, nausea curling his gut into a wicked tide of sickness barely restrained by his teeth. He tastes stale blood crawling up his throat, threatening to overturn onto the faded rug beneath him.

"Did you see what you wished for, little spawn?"

The voice takes him by surprise. It is not hers, but another, less familiar voice. The wailing animal in his head retreats to a dull roar as his memory creeps back. A brightly colored tent assaults his vision, piecemeal rugs and odd, foreign trinkets abound on makeshift shelves, and before him sits a strange old woman, hood pulled heavy over her straggling gray hair.

"I-- What was that?"

He sees her cracked, aging lips upturn, gnarled hands placed protectively over a strange orb on the table touching his knees. "I have shown you your future, vampling. Was it to your liking?" Panic rises within his stomach again, and though he does not breathe, he clutches his chest. The smell of incense clogs his nostrils and again, the wave of sick threatens to spill forth. Wretched taste of metallic, aged blood sits heavy on his tongue, all sensation too much-- all of it too much.

"No-- No, that cannot be it!"

"This is your path, Pale Elf. The road you walk. The power you seek is well within your grasp, but as I told you before, it will cost you everything."

He vehemently shakes his head, denying it. Denying it before her and all the Gods.

"You told me upon entry that no price was too great for your reward. Do you still agree with this sentiment?"

"No! Not-- not her. Not her. Not that! I couldn't--"

"You can and you shall, sure as the moon follows the sun. You will have everything you ever wanted, but cost of this ritual is plain before you. You cared not for the many souls left to your mercy that are crushed beneath your tyrannical fist in your ascension, but what of the sole one that resides in your heart?"

Her. The light of his life. The air he breathes. The sun on his frigid flesh, the warmth that melts his icy heart.

"No," He hisses, trying to stand, but ultimately unable to muster the strength. "I won't! There-- There must be another way. Show me!"

"There is no other way," She says, solemnly. "It is inevitable."

He swallows down the information like a boulder lodged in his gullet. Her words echo endlessly in his mind, bouncing off the walls and lodging shards of ice directly in his soul.

"What if I-- What if I don't ascend? Tell me, what if I don't?"

She smiles again, teeth flashing through her thin lips. "That is another path, little elf." "I need to know. I-- I need certainty. I won't do this to her, but I--" He pauses, grappling with everything in his mind, desperately flitting about to absorb it all. "If I am going to forgo this, I need to be certain. I need to know that I can protect her, that she will be safe--"

But the woman simply shakes her head.

"Everyone must choose. For some, the path is dark, but for you, you see more than most will ever have the comfort of knowing. I can offer you nothing more. Should you initiate the Rite, you know this will come to pass. I can tell you nothing more if you choose to not. The future is yet unwritten, and the quill resides in your hands." "Then why can I not have both!" He slams a fist on the table, clawing at the soft wood. For the first time in ages, tears prick at his pale lashes and frustration wells a knot in his throat. "Why--" "Because one path is wholly your own, while the other is a tangled web, such is the nature of deals with the Hells. You will get everything you ever wanted and lose everything that made it worth having."

His head slumps, defeated and miserable. Silvery tears slide down the curves of his cheeks, even as he attempts to bite them back. He thought he would find comfort in knowing the future, but all it has given him is utter horror.

"Despair not," She continues. "Yes, you will wither under the sun, an eternally cursed dweller of the night, but all is not lost, is it? The one you love, will she stray from your side?" "I wanted her to have better than that," He sniffles, needling his lip with a fang. "I cannot brave the sun, but her-- She deserves better than that-- better than me."

"And what of what she feels?"

His brows furrow, and he peers up at the woman from tear-beaded lashes.

"You are a night walker; it is in your nature to be selfish. But love is not selfish, little vampling. You must fight your nature, your inherent self-loathing, or your love will always find the fire. What of what she desires?"

"She loves me," He says with absolute certainty. "And I--" "Do you love her?"

"Yes," He hisses, almost insulted that she would ask. "More than anything. I'm here, aren't I?"

"Then the rest matters naught. If you love her, you will allow her the agency to choose-- something you deny her as an ascendent. You must grow past your own follies. To love is to be vulnerable, and you must allow both yourself and her this freedom."

They are hard words to swallow, and yet, he feels the truth resound in them. She would not leave his side, even as he tried to force her to understand. Even as an instrument of his manipulation and schemes came to light, she stood steadfast with him, hand entwined in his, ready to face the fire together.

"I-- I need to know she will be safe."

Again, the woman shakes her head. "You cannot. You must fight fate if you wish to overturn it. You face dire odds, though throwing the dice in your favor now will doom you later should this outcome be the confirmation of your fears."

He sighs, face crinkling as he sniffs once more, summoning the willpower to swallow down the agony of his choice. He finds the strength in his legs to push himself upward from the chair, weak and shaking as a newborn fawn as he does so. "I will do whatever I need to. Anything."

"Then you may yet see this through."

He can hear the fanfare of the circus outside, the bawdy bards strumming away on their lutes and banging on drums, the elated screams of the children and their parents. Facing the light now seems impossible, but he must find his way home to her-- he has to be with her now now now--

"The coin first, boy."

He snaps out of his delirium only long enough to fish his hands into one of his pockets, bringing out a coin. Aged and neglected, the sinister engraving of a skull peers up at him from his palm, ruby eyes gleaming in the light as he tosses it into the woman's knobbily-jointed hands.

"Best of luck to you, night-child," She tucks it away. "We may yet meet again." "No offense, but I hope not."

"Me too, Little Star."

He pays little mind to the bustling streets and bursting taverns of Baldur's Gate, his feet carrying him back to camp as swiftly as his body will allow. It takes him until sundown even as he damn near jobs, ripping through the tree line and into the ruins with the intensity of a man starved.

"Astarion!" Karlach greets him, trying to wave him over. "I've got a bet with Gale about--" "Where is she?" Astarion immediately cuts her off, looking around frantically.

"Who?" Karlach raises a brow.

"Who else?" Wyll crosses his arms, looking intrigued at Astarion's intensity.

"Oh! In her tent, I think. Why? Gotcha a special something' in town for her, eh?" Karlach tries to rib at him, but he pushes past her without a second glance.

"Bet it's a fancy new dress he needs to tear off of her immediately," Karlach rolls her eyes before returning to her business.

He bursts into her tent to find her hunched over a book, tongue poking from between her teeth, as she scans over the page. This only lasts a few seconds before he scrambles onto the bed, squeezing her as tightly as he can manage, burying his nose into her hair, tears brimming in his eyes once more.

"Woah, hey!" She laughs, carefully setting her book aside, trying to discern what in the hells he is mumbling endlessly into her neck.

Need you-- need you-- love you-- can't lose you-- don't ever--

She hushes him, realizing something has gone terribly, terribly wrong, kissing his head and tugging him close. "Hey, what's wrong?"

She tries to cup his cheeks and bring his face up but he adamantly refuses, hard-swallowing the urge to bawl into her shoulder with every ounce of willpower he has. All he can manage is to cling to her, half sobbing, visions of that terrible future swimming in his head. He cannot let it come to pass, he will not--

And she holds him, cradling him in her arms, hushing him gently. Her face creases with worry, running her hands through his silvery hair as he pulls him into her lap.

"Little Star, what's wrong? You seem so upset. What can I do to make you happy, my love?"

"Is it done?" Ulma leans down as she enters the tent, carefully dodging the intricate tassels of the blanket strewn over the entryway.

"It is," The strange old woman replies, still rubbing the coin with her worn thumb.

"And?"

"I showed him nothing but truth," She says quietly. "I did not manipulate his vision. Only channeled it."

"That tells me nothing. I need to know if our children are safe."

"I cannot tell you this, Ulma. You know of the ways of our tribe; our relationship with these magics." Ulma's lips purse, her exasperation evident in her humorless expression. "I need to know--"

"His reaction was genuine. That was not my doing. He knows the price of power. I cannot tell you if he will pay it regardless," The old woman's head lifts, a slight mischievous smile playing on her lips. "But I can tell you what I think."

"And what do you think?"

"I have seen his soul-- the heart of it. I believe you will see our children yet. He will spare our heart to spare his own in kind. It beats in that woman," Her eyes twinkle in the low candlelight, a genuine smile widening across her cheeks. "I believe he can find redemption yet."

#morgana and friends #astarion #astarion spoilers #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #heh that last one messed yall up huh #heres a fix for it #SUPER sappy FYI #SO ENJOY! #I don't usually write sap (or angst) so I am bad at this #sorry its bad fellas #I GENUINELY could not think of a way for him to fix him becoming her cazador so uh #have a retconn #call this a fast fixer upper lmao

[killerpancakeburger]

Bluebeard's wife

SUMMARY: On a visit to your boyfriend, you end up having to deal with a creep on base, but Soap and Ghost's methods of resolving your problem are... far more drastic than yours.

PAIRING: Soap x f!Reader (and BFF!Ghost)

TAGS: Dark content, Badass!Reader, Established relationship, Dark! a bit yandere! Soap, Dark! a bit yandere! Ghost.

WARNINGS: Canon violence, blood mention, sexual harassment, insults. Soap and Ghost are acting creepy but not towards Reader.

WORDS COUNT: 1,1k words.

A/N: Was thinking about how high the risks of sexual assault are in the military for women + about how much the Task Force could get away with (Soap's mohawk is NOT standard issue lol), but it turned out kinda dark. Not my usual kind of content. This is my first time writting those characters, pls be indulgent.

Your elbow connects with the man’s nose with a satisfying crack.

Immediately he howls, pressing his broken nose with one hand, blood dripping between his fingers.

“FUCK! What the fuck! You broke my nose, you crazy bitch!”

This. This is why you didn’t want to meet the Task Force on base. There was always one brainless fucker who didn’t get the memo that, no, despite having breasts, you weren’t here as a comfort woman.

The private is glaring at you with a hatred as deep as it is sudden, one that screams murder.

The only good side of the situation is, with how loud he’s being, you won’t even need to call for help. Already most of the soldiers nearby are staring at you, muttering among themselves. Not that you can’t beat this guy up on your own, but the military tends to frown upon civilians roughing up their members, you learned it at your expense quite early. On the other hand, soldiers settling accounts between each other was… well, not exactly authorized, but it was way less trouble for you.

He grabs you by the collar, his rage only exacerbated by your composure. The action stains your clothing with his blood. You mentally grimace. You’re no stranger to blood, but the idea of this repulsive individual’s bodily fluids being anywhere on your person is disgusting. 

“Are you listening, you dumb bitch!? I’m gonna fucking kill-”

The venom-filled verbal onslaught stops dead as a hand takes hold of your assailant’s wrist.

“Now, now, at ease, soldier. Ya making a spectacle of yourself.”

The thickly accented voice of your boyfriend sends a wave of warmth in your chest. 

Your harasser hesitates a second too long, so Soap makes the decision for him, tightening his grasp until the soldier winces, and finally takes the hint, letting you go and taking a few steps backward. Johnny immediately positions himself between the two of you, shielding you.

He’s been smiling the whole time, but it’s the kind of dangerous smile you wear when you’re about to give an asshole a righteous beating.

The private looks partially sheepish, but not defeated, indignation burning in his eyes. He lets loose a torrent of justifications and excuses, actively painting you as the villain, not caring if he contradicts himself in the process. You don’t pay attention to the details of his speech. It’s always the same “she was asking for it” kind of diatribe. The fact that he sincerely believes that there’s a chance that Soap will take his side instead of yours is laughable, but not surprising. 

You wonder how long this will go on, until the private notices something next to you, and all blood seems to desert his face as his voice deserts his vocal cords. 

You turn your head and, to no surprise to you, Ghost is there. He stands so close to you that your arms are almost touching. Clothed entirely in black, which brings out the white skull on his mask, his presence is as menacing as ever; all he needs to do is scowl at lesser soldiers to make them cower in fear. He doesn’t look back at you, but his support for you is so obvious through the rest of his behavior that he doesn’t need to.

Soap takes advantage of the newfound silence to turn to you.

“Ya good, yeah?” He asks, cradling your cheek tenderly, and stroking your cheekbone with his thumb. 

The question is futile - if you were hurt, he would have noticed right away. But it’s still cute to see.

“Yeah. Not a scratch.” you smile.

“That’s my girl”, he smiles back. “So, what the bloody hell happened here?”

You glance at the private behind him. He’s shaking, and the look he sends you back is begging for mercy. Remembering the first words he addressed to you earlier, you realize you’re all out of mercy for today. Thus, with a sadistic little smile, you recount the events.

“This man came to me complaining that I was unfairly privileging Sergeant Mctavish and that he wanted his turn. Then when I explained that I wasn’t some kind of free-for-all buffet, he took it the wrong way and put his hands on me. That’s when I exploded his nose.”

By the time you finish your explanation, Soap’s expression has darkened considerably.

“I see.” is all that leaves his mouth. Anyone familiar with him would know that for him to start talking by monosyllables like Ghost, something must be very wrong.

Pivoting again, he faces the private and, as the latter opens his mouth to plead for forgiveness, punches him right in the face. Blood gushes, drops of it landing on his face. You mentally count until three, one for every blow, and when Soap still doesn’t stop punching, you frown, disturbed and worried by his conduct. He’s never been one to remain impassive in the face of injustice, easily riled-up even in critical situations and despite his superiors’ orders, but you’ve never seen him go this far. 

You’re about to intervene when Ghost beats you to it, putting a hand on his sergeant’s shoulder. That’s right. Ghost, the voice of reason, the paragon of self-control, their cold-hearted leader, will fix everything.

However when you hear the next words that leave his mouth, it’s like the world tilted on its axis.

“Not out in the open, Johnny.”

The words are whispered low enough that only Soap and you would have heard. They send a cold shiver down your spine. Rattled and unsettled in a way that they never made you feel before, you contemplate the situation in silent incredulity.

“Aye, L.T.”, replies Soap with an abnormally monotonous tone.

Before you can ask what the fuck is happening, he proceeds to punch the soldier so hard in the stomach that the latter collapses without a sound, except for the muffled noise of someone winded. The scene makes you increasingly uncomfortable. You feel like Bluebeard's newest wife, having stumbled upon the one room you were forbidden from entering, having witnessed something you weren't supposed to see, and now you can never go back to how things were before.

You counted on Soap and Ghost’s intervention, sure, but you expected them to put an end to the fight, maybe intimidate the guy a little, and ultimately end things here. You didn’t expect… whatever this is.

Staring in shock at the two Special Forces, you shake your head to get a grip and come closer.

“Alright guys, I think he’s had enough-”

Ghost interrupts you with a hand on your shoulder. The Ghost touching two people in less than five minutes? Yes, something’s seriously wrong. Looking at him, you try to convey urgency with your gaze…

“Simon, this isn’t-” 

…but his next words make you lose hope of winning this argument.

“Easy there, love. Johnny’s takin’ care of it, ya don’t need to worry ‘bout a thing.”

The next thing you know, he presses a hand against your lower back, making you leave the premises, completely ignoring the way you stare at him in utter disbelief… and growing apprehension. 

He had never called you “love” before.

#mine #cod #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty x reader #soap x reader #soap x you #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mctavish x reader #johnny soap mctavish x you #cod fanfic #cod fic #call of duty fanfic #call of duty fic #ghost is also there #english not my native language. thought british accent was hard but scottish is the worst #writers on tumblr #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #call of duty mw2

[historiaxvanserra]

Whatever Our Souls Are Made Of | Chapter 2

Pairing: SingleDad!Rhys x Reader

Summary: The High Lord of Night makes a bargain with a beautiful Priestess and he has come to collect.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: allusions to sexual assault, allusions to depression, abandonment, broken homes (y'know keeping it light, in all seriousness this is not all angst it's quite sweet actually).

Last night you dreamt you went to Hewn City again.

You are a girl; coloured in the shadowed jade light of the Moonstone Palace, and your body feels unlike your own. A hostile vessel-- empty and aching-- longing for some semblance of release. You call into the darkness words akin to prayers; Mother, save me; Father, please. 

From the darkness no answer comes. 

Then, as all dreamers are, you are possessed of a sudden magic; you walk the halls of The Moonstone Palace. As a shadow or a memory. The cursed daughter of a capricious Lord. An Ill-faded bride to a mercurial God. The time passes strangely there in the dark dreamscape; the passing of time marked only by the slivers of opal light that pierce through the blanket of the dark each night. Fractured rays of pearlescent light that dapple the marble floors and high, onyx ceilings. You cherish those fleeting moments where hope bleeds into you with the rapidly falling night. It is those moments you cling to as dawn breaks.

The morning light creeps in like hunger; veins of first light that cascade-- all golden and ephemeral-- cutting through the darkness of your dormitory as the dream slips away from you again. A figure, obscured by your sleep addled haze, falls into view and you feel it as their weight settles at your side. The feeling of a fine bone hand runs along your bare arm, soothing and gentle and she whispers words close to comfort to you as the world around you comes back to life. 

A myriad of light and color. 

“Clotho is looking for you,” Gwny smiles down at you and her eyes shine in the first light. All glinting cerulean -- flecked with gold -- reminiscent of a diadem your mother had worn when you were a girl. That diadem and all memory of the woman you called mother is little more than a distant dream now. 

A cruel reminder of the home you left.

“What does she want?” You murmur lowly as the fleeting remnants of sleep still cling to you. You rise with haste from your bed with a quiet reluctance and make quick work of pulling on your heavy pewter robes before the morning chill has time to kiss its way up your bare skin. Judging by the slivers of gold light that spill onto the plush rug beneath your bare feet it must only be about 9am but nonetheless, you’re late at starting the day. Gwyn hovers by your cluttered desk, flicking over some of the parchments there, as you dress hastily. By the time you’re covered and running a comb through your unbound hair you turn to face her. 

She’s dressed in dark training leathers and her long auburn hair is adorned with white and silver ribbons that make her look as though she is crowned in starlight. She is every inch the Valkyrie in this light you think. Half-divine with an ethereal look about her.

Like a tragic heroine from some old myth.

“I didn’t ask,” Gwyn shrugs and her eyes meet yours in the broken mirror as your fingers twist and braid your hair as it cascades over your shoulder. Something flickers in those blue gold eyes then, some devilment pools in them as she regards you with a delighted smile that arches on smirking.

“Come on, you’ve got a visitor too.” You smooth a hand over the ill-fitting robes and sigh dramatically as you collect the scrolls and the hastily written notes you’d been studying. Gwyn retreats from your dormitory laughing and humming playfully as you fall into step with her as she rounds the corner into the Library itself. A night chilled breeze graces you as you descend into the lower levels where Clotho will be waiting for you and as you approach the balcony overlooking the ground floor you catch the scent of night blooming jasmine and citrus. 

That smell seems to follow you these days. It smells so much of the home that you left all those years ago.

A cruel trick of the mind.

Sunlight filters through the large stained glass window that lights the antechamber of the library and as you round the stone pillars the world as you know it is crowned in gold light as the shadowed sun beams illuminate the great cavern of the Library. The Library deep in the bowels of The House of Wind is a feat of architectural grandeur; Like Hewn City, the house itself is carved into the dark stone of the mountain that looms over the City of Starlight, and everything within is saturated in shades of coal and bone. The Library itself is made up of a series of levels and floors, all held in place by dark pillars of the same stone. The large Gothic archways are adorned with carvings and intricate patterns and tapestries -- embroidered on black cloth -- illustrate the mythos of the court you were born into. Tales of dark Gods and gentle maidens. As a girl you had spent many nights enamored by the dark magnetism of the Gods of old and the cruel and beautiful Goddesses they loved. The Library, sacred as it is, breeds a strange sense of reverence in you. For the knowledge contained between its sanctified walls. 

The Library is home to the High Lord’s vast collection of Prythian’s mythological texts; Holy relics of the arcane Gods which had once been venerated and revered in these lands so long ago. All that is left of them now, resides in the deepest part of the Library, where you spend most of your days. There in the bowels of the Library something ancient and foreboding calls to you. The knowledge contained here in the dark heart of Velaris could bring kingdoms to their knees if one were so inclined. And in truth, you had thought about surrendering yourself to the call of the darkness that lies dormant in the depths of the mountains more times than you can count or would care to admit. In it, you feel something kindred to you; something aching and empty that resonates somewhere deep in your soul. 

As if the very fibers of your being are composed of the same darkness. 

When the High Lord  had first brought you to the library-- broken and aching-- there existed in you a vengeful wrath that longed to rage until the mountains gave way beneath you. Until the men who had hurt you were nought but dust and age-worn bone. All that rage. All that grief. It had been a terrible thing; haunting and terrible. But it had been yours. So you clung to it, until the girl you were was dead and buried beneath that mountain. And from her ashes the woman was born; tempered by time, and made strong by the faith you had found there in the library’s darkening aisles, in sisterhood, and in forgiveness. 

Your thoughts are interrupted by Gwyn’s gentle humming as you are cast out of the memories that come back to you in flashes of jade and twilight. 

“I best get back to Merrill before she comes for my head,” Gwyn exclaims loudly, smiling so bright that you’re sure she must be up to something. You offer her a small nod and a polite goodbye which she returns in earnest as her footsteps fall in sporadic succession and they echo down the aisles. You smile at her fondly and descend further into the main floor of the library still clutching onto the hastily compiled notes that are stuffed into the small cloth bound book you had been reading. Anxiety pools in your stomach, coiling and twisting as you approach Clotho’s office. 

The office is situated on the main floor of the library and as you approach through the long, empty aisles the door to Clotho’s office falls into view and the swings open with a magical flourish. Through it a large figure emerges followed by the beautiful Priestess, who looks utterly impassive, even in the presence of such an intimidating figure as the High Lord. 

You had always admired Clotho; her unwavering courage and fierce devotion to the Priestesses in her care. Her soothing presence and gentle smiles had been a source of comfort and strength for you in those first few months where you had thought you might surrender yourself to the mercy of the darkness that lurks in the bottom of this sacred Library. Since then it is her courage that had made you strong and her friendship that you valued above all else. There was a faith in the sisterhood you had found here, bonds forged of suffering and healing, made strong by the time in these sacred walls. 

Now you must find something else to put your faith into. Who or what that might be you are not entirely certain. Yourself perhaps. And though Clotho was hesitant about your decision to leave the library and her behind, she had offered you her support and comfort all the same. 

You approach the Priestess and your High Lord with a quiet caution as your school your face to a neutral expression that doesn’t speak to your rippling anxiety at the thought of leaving the place you had come to know as home or the women who you had come to call family. 

The High Lord catches your eyes first; he’s swathed in shadow as he steps out and then the light cast through the windows wreaths him in a halo of topaz light and when his violet eyes find yours in the empty aisle he smiles at you. A carefully curated thing that glitters with false charm and behind the violet of his irises you see the darkness that lurks within them. Something kindred to you. 

Made of the same darkness.

“There she is!” The High Lord of Night muses, his well-sculpted arms branching out towards you as if in prayer, “my favorite acolyte.” The High Lord's voice is tempered and light, with an air of arrogance about him that makes you smile shyly as he makes three long strides towards you. 

There it is again; night-blooming jasmine and mandarin. 

Clotho waits a few paces behind him in wordless silence but the silver lined eyes and sad smile she offers you is an indicator of her true feelings at your leaving. And though you don’t broach the subject at that moment you offer her the promise to find her soon. So that you might say goodbye to your dearest friend in the privacy of her office. She only nods and quietly retreats into her office with a few books.

“I’ve sworn my vows,” You offer gently, surrendering yourself to the enigmatic male that stands before you.

Rhysand leans casually against the desk in the forum, his violet eyes trailing lazily over the elaborate cursive on the parchment left by another Priestess, one of his hands is buried in the pocket of his suit pants and the other flexing around the lip of the lectern. In this light, as the sun bleeds through the stained glass windows, he looks like an old God from one of the tapestries hung along the slate walls.

Cut from the same holy cloth.

At once The High Lord meets your eyes and you resist the urge to avert that arresting violet gaze. Instead you offer him the ghost of a smirk as you address him again.

“So, I believe it is Priestess to you, High Lord.” The High Lord’s laugh is a wondrous thing as it permeates the air, rich and deep, and shaded with that same dark magnetism you had witnessed that first night.

“Well then, Priestess, I believe we made a bargain,” Rhysand pushes himself from his perch on the armoire and closes the space between you. He’s so close that you swear he will hear the flutter of your heart as he meets your eyes, “and I’ve come to collect.” His voice drops an octave and the words are tainted with an air of seduction that makes you feel anxious even if you’re certain he doesn’t mean it. Even if you see the morose darkness behind those violet eyes. 

Rhysand studies you carefully and you feel his eyes on you even as you turn to shelve the book that you had cradled in your arms. Your silence does little to calm the air around you as you turn swiftly from him. “You still want to come, yes?” Rhysand sounds hesitant and quiet as he broaches the subject. You swallow thickly and cast your eyes along the long aisle of the library you had called home for the last few years. 

“Would it matter if I didn’t?” You laugh lightheartedly, gesturing to the tattoo brandished into your skin, still unable to meet his gaze. The High Lord doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t so much as smile half-heartedly. Rather, the High Lord draws dark, thick brows together as the swell of his bottom lip moves into a deep frown. So mournful and aching that you’re sure you feel your heart ache for him in response. 

“Of course it would matter,” The High Lord’s voice wavers once more as he addresses you with a sad smile. He’s so beautiful in this light and you regard him as you do all holy things, with equal parts reverence and anxiety. 

“You know that, don’t you?” There’s an uncertain quality to his demeanor that disarms you. He’s always struck you as this enigmatic and confident male, with an almost louche quality to him that seemed to exude and air of rehearsed arrogance. But now. Now you see him for what he is; something dark and beautiful and fragile. There is a hesitancy about him as he steps away from you as though the mere distance between you is enough for him to feel untethered to this plane. Left to drift amidst a vast, starless sky

It is you, who closes that gap once more in a bold display of trust and despite the tremor of your own hand when the heat of the High Lord’s golden skin melts into yours, you smile at him as one might smile at something lovely and full of sorrow.

And he smiles back-- as though you and he are not both broken, fragile things. 

“Yes,” You admit truthfully. 

There is so little that you are certain of now but you know this: that you and he are made of the same darkness -- born from the same star perhaps -- and that with him, you will always have a choice. 

“Yes, I do, High Lord.” 

______________________________________________________________

“This will be your bedroom,” Rhysand offers with a wave of his hand before it wraps around the burnished gold doorknob to reveal the room nestled between the nursery and his own chambers “I hope it is to your liking?”

The guest room in the High Lords townhouse is just as beautiful as the rest of the house; sunlight, golden and ephemeral, cuts through the drawn linen curtains and cascades along the dark mahogany floors. Through the open window you can hear melodious birdsong from the garden below and as you step into it’s heart, the view of the dark marble fountain at its center that looks as though it is carved from the same mountains that flank the city.  The garden itself is coloured with the climbing ivy and moonflowers that arch up the trellis and is shaded by a thick canopy of cypress and bergamot trees, whose citrus scent seems to bleed into the room itself. 

“It’s absolutely breathtaking,” You say, smiling so brightly that you’re sure it must rival the midday sun as it bathes you in its radiant light. The rooms' furnishings are made of rich rose wood and the walls are painted a muted sage blue color that reminds you so much of the robes you wear and the bed nestled into the alcove is adorned with many quilts and duvets of cream and pewter and mauve. You don’t think you’d ever seen anything quite as inviting. 

The High Lord crosses the threshold and instead of joining you in the center of the room to admire the view of the gardens in the sunlight he opens the door to the adjoining bathroom. The bathroom itself is almost as big as the guest room, with a beautiful claw-foot tub in the middle of the room and both the walls and floors are made of a champagne marble with decadent flecks of gold. You take a few steps towards the washroom and perch by the door frame to admire the craftsmanship. Rhysand does the same and makes no effort to put any space between you as the quiet settles over you both as the shadowed sunlight illuminates the gold accents in the marble. 

“There’s a writing desk over there,” Rhys says, retreating back into the main room, pointing towards a matching rose wood desk and chair with a mirror hung above it so that it doubles as a dressing table. “And an armoire there.” he points at the ornately carved chest of drawers by the desk.

“Though if you find you need more room for your clothes there’s plenty of space for another.” 

“I think I’ll be alright with just the one,” You say lightly, eyes traveling to the small, worn leather bag at your feet that contains all of your worldly possessions; a few sets of nightclothes, two dresses that are half as old as you are, four well worn books that you had sequestered from the Library and a small collection of trinkets you’d collected over the last half a century. Hardly an extravagant amount of personal belongings but they were yours. 

The High Lord hums thoughtfully at you and for a moment you think that he won’t think anything of it but then violet eyes drift to the worn leather satchel and though he doesn’t speak you see the look in his eyes as it morphs from neutral to something akin to pity. 

You don’t want pity, you think, and you feel something dark and ravenous nip at the back of your throat. It’s an ugly thing that you bite your lip and swallow down lest you bite the hand that feeds you. 

It had been so long since that anger and pride made itself known in your heart. 

“If you need anything you just have to ask,” Rhysand says, offering you a polite smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, he looks somewhere far off and you catch the scent of lilacs and pears when the breeze shifts, “whatever it is you want, you just have to ask.” 

“Really Rhys, I don’t need anything else,” You make a move to haul your bag onto the plush velvet armchair by the window but in a flurry of movement Rhy takes it from you and places it on the small end table near the bed for you. “it’s beautiful, thank you.” 

The High Lord does not respond, only smiles slyly at you from the end table, turning one of the straps of the brown leather bag in his deft fingers. 

“What?” You ask with an accusatory tone, narrowing your eyes at the beautiful male beside you. 

“Nothing,” The High Lord holds his hands up in surrender to you, his voice is velvet and lilting with his mirth as he looks at you again, “it’s just the first time you’ve called me my actual name.” 

“I wonder what it would sound like in other situations.” He all but purrs and neither you nor he can manage to keep a straight face when you roll your eyes dramatically at him and elbow him sharply in the ribs. 

The lull in the conversation comes with the passing of the afternoon clouds. They come in hordes of flowering grey and ivory, undercut with a darkness that spells a coming storm. In those quiet moments you watch as the confident facade that the High Lord wears so well melts away and he reverts back to the male you know him to be, tender and morose as the darkness in his eyes melts into a neutral expression that speaks to how truly tired he is.

“Get settled in and then come and find me later, Love.” Rhys voice is quiet and smooth and he offers you a gentle touch on your shoulder as he slips out into the hallway.

“Yes, High Lord.”

The High Lord’s eyes, iridescent and violet, meet yours and for a few moments while he is looking at you, you and he exist somewhere in the darkness between the stars.

TAGLIST: @awkardnerdd @ladybirdbeetle7 @lalaluch @saltedcoffeescotch @mybestfriendmademe @coisas-da-dani @justdreamstars

#acotar #acotar x reader #rhys x reader #rhys x you #rhys acotar #rhysand x reader #rhysand x you #rhysand fanfic #singledad!rhys x reader

[cosmicluka]

Pinch

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (Criminal Minds) 

Summary: It’s Saint Patrick’s Day and you’re not wearing any green. At least none that’s visible. Spencer tries to make you regret that, but he wasn’t prepared for your defense. 

Genre: Fluff, friends to lovers

Warnings: Slightly suggestive, not proofread at all 

Word Count: 781

Part 2

The day was had just begun when (Y/N) shuffled into the office, gripping her too-expensive coffee in one hand and her bag in the other. A yawn escaped her as she made her way to her desk without paying attention to the two men hovering by the coffee pot in the kitchen that watched her as she went past. Ignoring the look that J.J. sent her way as she plopped in her seat ungracefully, the woman rolled her shoulders before she got to work on the paperwork that sat waiting for her. 

“Happy Saint Patrick’s Day, lil’ momma.” Derek practically sang as he made his way to her desk with Spencer following close behind. Both men were donned in shades of green that made (Y/N) struggle to keep a straight face. “Yeah, yeah. Happy day to the saint who wasn’t a saint. In fact, did you know that Christianity used today as the cheat code during Lent to party. It only changed when- wait, Spencer, what are you doing?” Her words fell short as she saw the taller man’s arm reach up, slowly creeping closer to her arm. 

“You’re not wearing any green. You get pinched. It’s only the biggest trademark of this tradition!” He wiggled his fingers towards her menacingly as she backed away. “First of all, getting absolutely plastered is the biggest trademark. Second of all, I am wearing green! So you can’t pinch me.” She crossed her arms across her chest as if to protect herself from the oncoming assault of his annoyingly perfect hands and pretended not to notice the way his eyes raked over her from head to toe. It was too early to lose her composure due to his antics this morning. 

“I’m not seeing any.” He countered as his hands itched closer. “I’m wearing my green bra, if you must know.” She locked eyes with him, hoping to the adorable blush that usually took over his features at the innuendos she made not so sparingly. “You know me well enough to know by now that I am a man of science. Just like the existence of god or local cryptids, unless there is tangible evidence, I don’t believe it. So, until the facts are proven, I’ll pinch you as much as I’d like.” It was (Y/N)’s turn to sputter out an unintelligible response as her face heated up at the smirk that rested on his lips. 

“Wait, hold up… Did Pretty Boy just ask to see her underwear? As in nearly naked? Anyone else catch that?” It wasn’t until Derek’s shocked outburst that (Y/N) realized that their little fight had drawn an audience. Penelope and J.J had slack jaws as they stared and Emily just smirked at her when they made eye contact. David let out a boyish whistle from his spot in the doorway of Aaron’s office as he watched on. “I didn’t think the kid had it in him.” He commented. 

Heat began to creep up Spencer’s neck as the realization settled in that everyone had heard what he said just moments earlier. (Y/N) cleared her throat and did her best to ignore the way her face burned with embarrassment. “I wouldn’t be opposed to giving you proof once we clock out for the day.” She said with as much confidence as she could muster, which with all the eyes on her at the moment, wasn’t much. Penelope and Derek let out similar noises of what could’ve been shock or excitement, no one was able to tell. 

“I wish I could say that I don’t want to break up… whatever this is, but we have a case.” Aaron called from beside David and let a hint of a smile ghost over his expression as he winked at the red-faced duo. “Though it is time the pining for each other stopped.” One by one, everyone walked to the meeting room, leaving (Y/N) and Spencer awkwardly avoiding each others eyes. 

“I was being serious, a few minutes ago.” She said just above a whisper. “I-I’m sorry?” The red returned to Spencer’s face full force at her words. “Maybe not like that.” A laugh erupted from her lips as she moved past him to make her way to the other room. “But let’s do something tonight. Our own Saint Paddy’s Day tradition.” Spencer caught up to her with ease and let the back of his hand brush over hers before pulling away. “Our own tradition? I’d like that.” The two tried their best to ignore the constant glances from their coworkers during the debriefing as their thoughts drifted to what their time after work would bring.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #penelope garcia #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #(y/n) #reader insert #criminal minds x reader

[coryosbaby]

Camera Ready ✧･ﾟ: Finnick Odair x reader

Summary: Neither of you really care if anyone sees.

Warning: exhibitism, voyeurism, p n v, riding, they fuck in the arena while it’s being televised, spit kink, size kink, creampie, switch ! Finnick, switch! Reader

⭒

“You know you could walk a little slower, sweetness. ”

Finnick’s voice blares out teasingly into the morning air as he trails behind you. Your hair sticks to your forehead in sweaty strands, your body on high alert as you make sure to scope out any remaining candidates that aren’t on your side. Which isn’t much, considering you have Katniss and the others, but it’s still a good idea to be cautious. To your relief you had found Finnick in the woods last night. And as much of a victor as you are, the dark makes you nervous. So he had allowed you to sleep beside him, curled up with his arms wrapped around you. It wasn’t intentional, of course, but when he sleeps it seems that he tends to get handsy. And when the warmth of his body was beside you, you couldn’t resist letting him throw you into his embrace.

“Maybe you could walk a little faster, pretty boy.”

He chuckles at the nickname, his pace finally catching up with you so you can see the cocky smile on his face.

“You think I’m pretty?”

Your friendship is like this, a lot. Flirtation, playful banter, and a few hook ups every now and then since the two of you met at a capital event one year. And now, even when you’re supposed to be enemies, you’re working together. It’s just a connection, an order that makes you both flow freely with each other and get the things you desire.

You ignore the way Finnick’s hands ignite flames on your skin and the way his smile makes your heart flourish. You also ignore the way you feel the constant need to protect him and keep him alive. In this game, you can’t have anything serious.

“Mm..” you reply. “Sometimes.”

Your hands wrap around his neck as you pull him to you. He smiles, that pretty crooked smile, and presses a kiss to your temple.

And then, you hear a snap.

You and Finnick are both on high alert then, and turning around you’re both faced with a victor. Not an ally, it seems, as she’s pointing a knife at the both of you.

It doesn’t take long before she’s dead, but it’s still a bother to you. You don’t like murdering these people, and you’ve never liked the whole idea or subject of the hunger games. The first time you had won, but at what cost when they’ve sent you right back in?

It’s kill or be killed. And as the woman’s blood splatters on your face, you sense that familiar feeling of rage from the first time you killed creeping back into your psyche. That rage that loathes the capital, loathes those stupid fucking districts as they fall into the ground. And your knife doesn’t stop the assault on her as you make sure she’s dead. It’s better, this way, to overdo it so they don’t have to suffer. Finnick is surprised at your strength and skill, he always has been, but he finds it best not to bring it to attention.

As you two walk away, the woods begins to clear. And then you both watch as you see the Arena come into view, dark and blood soaked.

“Great,” you mutter. “More to show the people.”

It’s obvious that everything is being recorded, but this is the most clear spot. As you sit down on one of the rock formations, your lean back to watch the clouds and the orange sunset. Finnick sits beside you, his neck and chest splattered with blood. And after a moment, you begin to speak.

“I don’t like doing this.” You state. “It’s all bullshit. It’s psychotic.”

Finnick nods in agreement, his jaw clenched as he watches the stains on your shirt.

“We should give them a show.” He says. “Do something that we know they can’t get away from.”

And that’s when you get the idea.

You look at him, a mere glance. You’re both probably sweaty and disgusting, but even now Finnick looks absolutely god like. You know he’s chiseled, under that gray suit. And you know what big thing lies underneath the crotch of his underwear.

You smile, your hand coming to rest gently on his muscled thigh. His eyebrows furrow in confusion, as he watches your palm begin to move up more.

“What are you doing?” He asks. He doesn’t seem completely against the idea, though. Because then that cocky smirk you know so good and well is plastered onto his face, his hands finding there way to the exposed skin of your shoulder. He leans over and kisses your collarbone, gently. You huff, your lips moving to graze the spot below his ear.

“If they want them a show, let’s give them a show.”

Seeming to be on the same page, Finnick crashes his lips into yours in a bruising kiss.

Meanwhile, at the capital, the monitors in the room begin to awkwardly watch as you push Finnick down onto the rocky arm. His back hits the floor with a grunt, and then he’s watching as you sit up and unzip the back of your suit. He groans when your tits are revealed to them, full and sitting in all their glory. He brings his hands up and gropes one in his hand, feels the soft skin and your pert nipples being brought to attention. You tut when he tries to move his fingers down to your pussy.

“No, Finn.” You coo. Your nails scratch his addam’s apple, and he flushes as you begin to climb on top of him. “No touching there until I say.”

He groans when you press down against his growing bulge.

“You know if we don’t hurry we could die, right?” He huffs.

“I don’t want to hear excuses, baby. We both know fucking me again is the last thing you want to do before you go.”

He can’t deny that, and as you demand that he lift himself up and unzip his suit down to his thighs, he follows your directions with desperation. You watch as you pull his briefs down below his balls, watch as his girthy length springs to full attention. He moans when your hand connects to his skin, and begins to jerk him off with vigor. You can feel a tension in the air, the feeling of being watched extremely prominent. And it shouldn’t get you so wet, but it does. So you bring yourself to eye level with Finnick’s cock, and spit down on him, quick to shove his tip into the warm confines of your mouth. He makes a deep sound in his throat, and you move away teasingly when his hips try and move his cock farther into your throat.

“C’mon, sugar.” He says, overwhelmed. “Don’t be mean.”

“Why don’t you just shut up and do what I say, Odair?” You demand. You slap his cock, and he groans, legs beginning to tremble at the pain and pleasure mixing. “Besides, I’m not letting you use my mouth right now. I just needed to get you wet.”

He whines in protest when you pull away from him. But then you’re pushing your suit down, past your calfs and onto the ground.

So help you, if you’re going to die it’s going to be like this.

When your pussy is revealed to him, Finnick’s cock jumps and he sits up to guide you to his lap. He’s warm, his cock drooling and messy. You don’t hesitate to rub his tip against your clit, your thighs holding his lean body down.

“Please, y/n, fuck!” Finnick stutters, the feeling of your wet silky cunt making him go crazy.

You smile as you finally guide him to your entrance, and sink down. His cock fills you up to impossible levels, his balls pressed flush against you when he finally bottoms out. His hands go to your waist, and when you bounce on him, his eyes roll back and he cries out like a bitch in heat.

“Jesus Christ.. you feel so fuckin’ good, angel. Love your pussy so much.”

“I know, sweet boy.” You moan when he grazes a soft spot inside you. “It f-feels good, doesn’t it? My little pussy feel good around that big cock?”

“God, yes. Cmon, ride me harder, momma. I know you can.”

And when you begin to fuck him faster, he brings his hands down to your ass, and begins bucking up into you with a feral pace. Your arousal makes him keen, makes his brain turn to mush the moment your scent hits him. You look so beautiful, so flushed and perfect, and something snaps inside of Finnick, then. His fingers spread your cheeks apart, and his voice is raw.

“Bet you like this, huh? The whole capital watching you get fuckin’ destroyed by my big cock? Hm?”

You gasp at his words, your fingers clawing at his chest.

“Finn, baby, fuck!”

“You love it, don’t you?”

No reply. Finnick slaps your ass harshly, and you yelp at the sting. His hands grab your throat in a harsh grip.

“Answer me!” He demands. You cry out, trying to nod the best you can, and then uttering out a “Yes! Yes sir!” As his large hands cut off your air supply.

“That’s my fuckin girl.” He replies. His fingers rub your clit, leaving your throat as you gasp for air and your orgasm washes over you. Your pussy gushes all over him, soaking his cock and balls and the rock below the both of you, and without warning Finnick is grabbing your hips with his large hands and turning you over so you’re beneath him. It’s quick, and you’re incredibly surprised. You wrap your legs around him as he begins to pummel you, now with more leverage and strength, and his cock feels like it’s destroying you from the inside out. You don’t complain, though. And when Finnick’s hips begin stuttering, you know he’s about to cum.

“C’mon, baby, cum inside me, cum in my pussy!”

Your words spur him on, makes him leave bruising marks on your wrists as he holds them above your head and begins to cum in thick, messy ropes. Your walls practically milk him of everything he’s got, and when he’s done you can feel the stickiness of his seed dripping off his cock and onto your thighs.

He buries his face in your neck, then. And with a small laugh, he pulls himself out and begins to lick his cum out of you. Your middle finger comes up into the air as he does it. A sign, as the victor from district 4 eats your pussy. A big ‘fuck you’ to the capital.

The cameramen and people at home watch in shock and awe. There’s a debate of whether or not they should turn it off, and after a while everyone becomes too distracted by the images on screen to worry about it. The next day, none of the other tributes look at you both the same.

Because at that time, they had been watching, too.

@emsbookcase

#finnick odair #Finnick Odair x reader #Finnick Odair x fem! reader #Finnick Odair smut #switch! Finnick Odair #sub! Finnick Odair #dom! Finnick Odair #switch! reader #sub! reader #dom! reader #the hunger games #the hunger games catching fire #the hunger games mockingjay pt1 #the hunger games mockingjay pt2 #the hunger games fanfiction

[creepy-friday]

How would the Proxies react to fem, proxy reader having feelings for them also? (This can be romantic or smut whatever you are comfortable with)

I love their dynamics ngl

Creepypasta Proxies x Fem!Reader

|reciprocated feelings|

Warnings: violence,mental illness, abuse,slight suggestive themes mentions

I'll start with our favorite asshole Masky,whose ego would be over the roof if you happen to have romantic feelings towards him

It means that all of his bullying, harassing and abusing you kind of turned out to be in his favor after all!

He wouldn't believe they are genuine in the first place,he thinks that they are just feelings of lust,of passing the time in this fucked up place,he wouldn't mind if that would be the case either

Tim noticed how you care about him,from a simple light of his cigar to the way you offered to patch him up after training.The way you surprisingly went with him instead of suggesting Brian to assist him in a mission,all of these made his chest warm

Masky's assaults would mellow down A LOT to observe you more,he isn't dumb either to your advances.

If you're more confident I see the reader and Masky making out in the woods,giving life to fantasies,but even after that your relationship would take time to be "real"

But,if you're shy and prefer to not make the first move,Masky would continue to harass you until the point he will have a nervous breakdown and yell ask you directly

"Do you have the hots for me or something?stop fucking around with my fucking head"

After this he will actually realise how much of a dick he actually has been and the tiniest hope he had for someone like you to actually be interested in a piece of shit like him would make itself known

Masky will have a cold yet extremely rare moment of weakness with you while Tim would fully try to express himself while also trying to not creep you out

The man will start by treating you distant at first,but he will warm up to you! If you're more "submissive" he would definitely call you "his bitch" and would make very clear that you are his possession

Even if you're more "dominant" he will continue to guard you from the other residents,but he will treat you more like his equal instead of a princess he has to protect

Either way you're the fire of his ice-cold heart

Toby is already delusional,but the prolonged eye contact definitely made his nights longer,both to replay the way you looked at him and the "hand training" if you know what I mean

He knows there's something more to the way you walk and talk about your day with him,that's why he's even more anxious than usual,which is very very bad

If you just realised you liked him and warmed up more to him,you will have about a week or so time to confess before he will have a breakdown and be all over you

He knows he's a creep,a weirdo even (Creep by Radiohead would describe how he feels about you) and would pin you in some place while pressing his weight onto you and asking over and over again if you think he's "worth it"

Let's face it.He's a traumatized young adult who faces constant bullying,death and compares himself to the "competition" who are stronger and "more alluring" than him.His insecurity is more than justified

After the breakdown he will need one or two days to process his thoughts,he definitely needs some reassuraning from you,even if it's small like a side smile or a wink

He's scared of creeping you out and losing you,that's why he would try to be better.After all,he got the woman everybody craves,so this mindset would give him a littttleee confidence

"Lmao,fuck you Masky" eyes everytime both of you walk suspiciously close to each other.Don't get me wrong,you're not a prize but you're definitely worth bragging over with

Toby is also a hypersexual,so except a lot of begging and pretty moans and pleases to do something to him or to let him do things to you

He's a puppy after you,a very loyal and docile one~

We also have the perfect pervert,Hoodie,who much like his friend,doesn't believe your feelings at first to be genuine

He definitely knows you're onto him,that's why he comes to you first as a fuck buddy

If you accept he would except you to be "lovey dovey" with him only when you need something from him,so he finds strange that you continue to be warm even without any sexual needs

If you turn off his offer he would actually find it amusing that you fell over him from all deranged people

There are no mind games anymore for a while, he would simply return your over friendly gestures and slowly make your way deeper into his heart with some deep questions,to make sure you actually can love him

Brian knows you're capable of love,after all you're the most human of them all,but he doubts you want to see what is layered past him

For the first fucking time he becomes soft and is actually afraid of losing this connection,that's why he approaches you with a "fuck it we ball" mentality and asks you one night

"Do you want to love me?" he uses the L word after Toby.It's up to you how you respond,but he is set on making you accept who he is and to continue on letting you love him

As always,he will continue on staying by your side,even more so than he actually did before.

#creepypasta x reader #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta #headcanons #y/n #tim wright #tim wright x reader #brian thomas #brian thomas x reader #brian x reader #masky x reader #hoodie x reader #ticci toby #ticci toby x reader #toby x reader #creepypasta toby x reader #toby headcanons #masky headcanons #hoodie haeadcanons #marble hornets x reader #marble hornets #creepypasta masky x reader #creepypasta hoodie x reader #creepypasta toby headcanons #creepypasta masky headcanons #creepypasta hoodie headcanons

[avastrasposts]

Big Sky Country - ch. 1

Cowboy!Frankie x OFC

Hi!

I'm really excited to post the first chapter of my new fic after posting a little snippet of it almost a month ago! In it we meet a cowboy version of Frankie as he returns to New York to patch things up with his "maybe girlfriend", but he also makes a connection with another woman, who makes this lost cowboy feel welcome in her Brooklyn bar.

No age gap, OFC story, angsty as fuck in parts, some smut, and I'm putting poor Frankie through hell again (I love him, I swear...)

And a big shout out and thank you to @i-own-loki who made the beautiful banner!

Warnings can be found here - contains spoilers but please read if you know certain themes may be upsetting for you. This fic is dark in parts and I don't want to upset anyone.

Series Master List

Main Master list

Prologue

The Greyhound bus rumbled away down the pin straight highway, heading west, towards the darkening mountain range. The sun slowly sank behind the highest peaks, soon their shadows would touch her feet. Looking back, east, towards a past she’d left on a whim, she sighed and let her eyes drift up to the indigo sky. Big sky country indeed. 

So alien to her eyes, so open to someone used to living their life surrounded by tall buildings, busy people, small trees in small parks. 

Here, the open prairie gave speed to the cold wind that hurtled down from the mountain range, whipping dirt from the road, tugging at her loose hair. She briefly closed her eyes against the particles of dust, inhaled deeply, tasting it on her tongue, dry grass in the air, a hint of snow from the mountains. No way back now, the bus too far away to stop. Only her duffel bag and a phone number, hoping he’d pick up and let her in. 

He pressed his thumb to the button with her name, the taxi behind him rolling away down the crowded street. The buzz from the intercom added another layer of noise to the assault on his ears. 

He dropped his hand. 

Waited.

Glanced down the street, letting the tall steel and glass buildings pull his gaze upwards, to the thin sliver of dirty gray sky visible above them. With a sigh he dropped his eyes down, towards the end of the long street, where the buildings seemed to merge into one solid wall. He knew he was looking west, could feel it in his bones, in the way his feet wanted to start walking towards it. Towards the tall mountain range behind his home. 

He pressed his thumb against the button with her name on it again, the buzzer grated his skin. He had a way back, nothing stopping him from hailing a cab, climbing back on the Greyhound and heading west again. 

But she was here. If he wanted to make this work, he needed to be here. 

Chapter One

A wall of warm air hit Frankie as he pulled open the door to the bar, chatter spilling out onto the street. His shoulders pulled up to his ears, the environment uncomfortable to him and he stopped just inside the door, scanning the room for something familiar apart from the smell of stale beer in the air. This bar was the first one he saw that looked like it would maybe serve someone like him, a Texas boy, fresh off the bus from Montana. He’s pretty sure he still has horse dung stuck to the bottom of his cowboy boots, his old army duffel bag slung over his shoulder. 

The door behind him opened again, cold air hitting the nape of his neck under the ball cap. 

“You growing roots, old man?” 

The line is followed by a man snorting and a hand on Frankie’s arm, pushing him to the side. He would snap, bite back with a threatening remark, or at the very least fix the man with his most intimidating soldier scowl. But he just took two steps to the side, his shoulders creeping closer to his ears as he tugged at his cap, the movement unintentional, a nervous habit. He knew he was out of place here, a stranger. 

The young man, a yellow backpack slung over his shoulder and long hair pulled into a bun, shoved his way past Frankie, catching the eye of the woman behind the bar. 

“Hey, dickwad! Behave yourself or I’ll have you barred,” she barked, her eyebrows furrowed as she jabbed her finger at the man and he raised his hands in a weak gesture of apology as he sauntered towards the bar. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he snarked, heading towards a loud crowd further in, walking away and ignoring the frown from the woman. She turned her attention to Frankie instead and looked him up and down, an appraising look, before meeting his eyes. 

“You coming or going, cowboy?” 

“Uuh..coming,” he managed to press out, picking up his feet and walking to the bar. He felt heat creep up his neck at being so easily pegged as a cowboy, an out of towner, swallowing down the urge to turn on his heel and bolt out the door. He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and the woman behind it gave him a smile, setting down a coaster with a flick of her wrist. 

“What can I get you? You look like you’ve traveled far.” 

“Just a beer, thanks,” he said and she gave him a softer smile, pity flashing across her face. 

“This is Brooklyn, cowboy, I’ve got twenty beers on tap and forty in bottles,” she said and he felt fatigue set in, can’t even order a normal fucking beer in this city. He sighed deeply, dropping his head between his shoulders. But the woman just chuckled in a low voice, tapping her hand on the bar just in front of him. 

“Don’t despair, I’m a good bartender, I know what you’ll like.” 

He picked up his head as she stepped away, grabbed a glass, and moved to a tap further down the bar. Shooting him a quick grin, she began to pull the pint, amber liquid filling the glass, topping off with a creamy white head. He watched her from under the bill of his cap, shouldn’t really appraise her, but he couldn't help it. The fitted jeans on her curves, and the faded bar uniform shirt tied at the waist instead of tucking it in, made his eyes drop down over her ass in a way a man trying to save his relationship with another woman should avoid. And she clocked him, checking her out when she turned towards him again, making him snap his eyes to his hands on the bar. Heat crept up his neck as he rubbed the small bullseye tattoo next to his thumb. 

“Amber ale from a local brewery three blocks from here,” she said and placed the pint on the mat in front of him. 

“Thanks,” he replied, watching the bubbles rise to the bottom of the head, “looks good.” 

“One of my favorites, I’ve always had a soft spot for amber ale,” she nodded, picking up a cloth and returning to the never ending duty of cleaning glasses. 

Frankie picked up the glass and took a long sip, humming as the ale slipped down his throat. 

“Damn,” he said, “that’s good, that’s really good.” 

“Told you,” the woman smiled at him and he gave her a quick smile in return before he took another sip. 

She watched him from the corner of her eye as she moved around the bar, clean glasses getting wiped and stacked. Clearly a newcomer to the city, she’d called him ‘cowboy’ and he hadn’t protested, the boots and the duffel bag giving him away, even before she saw his uneasy eyes roam around the bar and his nervous shuffle. She’s used to assessing anyone who stepped in through the door, the loud ones, the quiet ones, the ones who are only coming to make trouble. 

This man was one of the quiet ones, she doesn’t think he’s loud even when he’s in his own element, surrounded by friends. 

As he took another long drink from his pint, she turned and picked up glass, catching his eyes on her. She smiled warmly at him, wanting to make him feel welcome, at least in this bar. The city outside is usually brutal to newcomers, and this one seemed to carry more of a burden than most. 

“So you’re new to the city?” she asked him, moving back to his side of the bar, pushing long strands of ginger red hair back behind her ears before wiping another glass. 

“Yeah, came in on the bus a few hours ago,” he replied and she nodded. He doesn’t look like he flew into the city, he’s got the tired face of someone who's spent too many hours leaning against a window, watching the Midwest slip past. But underneath the tired eyes there’s a warmth, a softness in the way he gives her a small crooked smile that makes a dimple appear on his right cheek. 

“Spent two fucking days on it,” he sighed, rubbing a large hand over his face before he lifted his cap and swept his thick curls back. She was temporarily mesmerized by how they bounced back around his ears as he squashed the cap back down. 

“Two days? Where did you come from, Texas?” she asked, her eyes widening at the thought of spending two whole days on a bus, but he shook his head. 

“No, I think Texas is like three days, I came from Montana,” he took another long drag of his beer. 

“I’m guessing this isn’t a weekend trip then”, she quipped, putting down the cloth, all the glasses done, and leaned back on the counter behind her. There’s more work to be done but the stranger chuckled softly at her joke and it pulled her in, making her smile in return. 

“No, I’m here to stay with someone, my..ah-a friend, of sorts,” he said, “Gonna see if I can find some work around here, try a different type of life.” 

“What do you do?” she asked, “Maybe I know someone who knows someone, that’s usually how it works here.” 

“Back in Montana I work with horses, on a ranch,” he replied, rubbing his thumb over the condensation on the beer glass, “Before that, I was a mechanic, cars, helicopters, anything really, I can usually fix it.” 

“That’s a pretty handy skill,” she replied, sounding impressed and he gave a little shrug, as if the ability to fix helicopters was something inconsequential, “I’m sure you’ll find work, especially if you can fix old cars, lots of those around here.” 

She turned and grabbed a notepad from next to the till, “What’s your name and number? I’ll keep it on hand and ask around for you.” 

“Really?” He sounded surprised as he sat up a bit straighter, “Uh yeah, I’m Frankie, Frankie Morales.” 

“Nice to meet you, Frankie,” she smiled back at him and slid the notepad across the bar, “Write it down, and your number. I can’t promise anything, and I’m not recommending you to anyone, I’ll just let them know you’re looking for work.” 

“Yeah, sure, of course, but anything helps,” he replied, grabbing the pen and jotting down his information. 

“What’s your name?” he asked, as he passed the notepad back to her. 

“Aisling,” she replied, slipping it in next to the till again. 

“Do you own this place,” he asked, looking around the bar. When he looked back at her she was shaking her head. 

“No, not at all, I’m just the bartender,” she said, “Give me a minute, I’m just gonna serve these guys.”  She gave him a quick smile and headed down the bar to two men who had just sat down. 

Frankie watched her as she took their orders, smiling and laughing easily as she pulled a beer for one of them. The men, her age, are both hanging on to her every word as she makes a joke,  the blonde one clapping the other one on the shoulder with a loud howl. She winked at him and turned, reaching for a bottle on the top shelf to serve the other man. As she stood on her tiptoes, stretching to reach, her shirt rose up, a soft sliver of creamy skin exposed in the dim light of the bar. Frankie couldn’t help but stare at the glimpse black underwear peeking out above the edge of her jeans, a flash of lace, his mouth suddenly dry as his cock reacted. He dipped his head, but couldn't keep his eyes away, she swayed on her tiptoes, refusing to get the stepladder and her breasts pressed against the shirt as it rode up higher. Frankie had an image of her underneath him, all that soft flesh, warm and smooth under his rough palms, sweet smelling and whimpering.  

She managed to slide the bottle off the shelf and grab a glass. Frankie peeled his eyes away, looking down at the now empty pint in his hands, pressed his thumb into the tattoo, forcing his thoughts in another direction. At the end of the bar, Aisling rang up the customers’ order and wiped down the bar before coming back towards him. 

“Do you want another?” she asked, nodding towards the empty glass. Frankie considered it for a beat and then shook his head. He wanted a clear head when he went back to the apartment, he needed to say the right things to save the relationship with the woman who lived there. He already knew that not even in his head could he bring himself to call her ‘girlfriend’, he’s far from sure that’s what she is anymore, not with the way they left it. 

“No, I can’t,” he said, “It was good though, what do I owe you?” 

“Fourteen fifty,” Aisling replied and he tried not to cough at the price as he pulled his wallet from the back of his jeans. 

She took his bills and he left her a tip on the bar that she deposited in the tip jar with a smile. 

“Uhm…tell me,” Frankie said, absentmindedly tugging at his cap, “Do I really look that much like a cowboy?” 

Aisling’s smile softened as she heard his nervous question, “Well…yeah, the cowboy boots are kinda a give away,” she replied, “It doesn’t exactly look like it’s a fashion choice, and the whole jeans, suede jacket, belt buckle look…” She motioned over his body as Frankie’s eyes dropped down to his jeans and belt, hidden from view by the counter. 

“You’re good,” he said, a small chuckle escaping him, “You got all that just from when I came in?” 

“Tricks of the trade,” she replied, “I need to know who steps into the bar and read them quickly.” 

“So you assessed me as soon as I walked in? What else did you pick up on?” He was curious now and leaned forward on the counter as she laughed. 

“Well, I’m cheating because we’ve been talking for a bit now. But you do look ‘new in town’ and I’d say ex-army maybe?”

“I guess the duffel bag gave it away?” Frankie smiled, glancing down at the old bag at his feet. 

“No, they’re ten dollars at the army surplus stores,” Aisling replied, shaking her head, “But you sat down with your back against a corner, and I bet you can tell me exactly where the exits are and how many people are in here and which ones could give you trouble.” 

Frankie raised his eyebrows in surprise at her and she shrugged. 

“You’ve been scanning the room since you walked in.” 

“Yeah, you’re not wrong,” he replied, letting his eyes roam across the room again, it’s instinct at this point, inherited from years in the army, “I quit the army years ago but it’s a habit I can’t seem to drop.” 

“What did you do? Mechanic?” Aisling asked and Frankie shook his head. 

“Helicopter pilot, which means I had to be able to fix anything, but mainly I flew things, anything really.” 

Aisling gave him a closer second look and the pieces fell into place, his quiet demeanor, the way he held himself, not exactly folded in on himself, but as if he was  trying to stay unseen and not be noticed unless he wanted to be. A strong, solid body gone slightly soft with age, betrayed by the gray in his beard and hair, small white scars across his knuckles, evidence of old injuries.

“What?” he asked as he noticed her eyes scanning him. 

“Just building the picture,” she said, a small crooked smile, “You know us bartenders, always trying to figure out the story of our patrons.” 

“Not much of a story,” he said, tugging at his cap and hiding his eyes, “just new in town, looking for work.” 

“Everyone has a story, Frankie Morales.” 

He shrugged at that and fumbled for his phone as it began to ring. Aisling gave him a quick smile and stepped away to let him answer in private. 

Frankie’s jaw ticked as he saw the name on the screen, Eva. He’s been expecting her to call since he left her front door. Their front door, maybe. The truth is, he doesn’t know where they stand anymore. They’d met in Florida, after a doomed mission to South America that left so much pain inside him, and a rift between old friends. She’d been a calming presence, someone who seemed to have his back when his mind spiraled out of control. But she hadn’t been enough, being in Florida became oppressive, and it wasn’t just the humid heat. The old haunts from the days he’d spent trying to numb his brain with white powder, bars and venues filled with memories of the friends he’d lost, both those who’d died and those who still lived, it all became claustrophobic. 

When Herb, his sponsor at the NA, first invited him to the ranch in Montana he’d scoffed at the idea. He was a pilot, not a ranch hand. But after a close call, nearly falling back into the habit, he’d taken him up on the offer and gone out there for two weeks. Herb had convinced him by talking about the clear, cool air making it easy to breathe, the open sky making the mind feel less claustrophobic. And he’d been right. The first evening they’d sat on the porch, the mountains at their back, the open prairie in front, and Frankie had looked up at the endless sky and it was almost as if he was back in a cockpit, flying close to the stars. Nothing encroached on his mind, no buzz in his ears, nothing tugged at his memories, just the open sky and an endless horizon. 

The two weeks of hard ranch work, aching muscles, blistered hands, sealed the deal. If he wanted to truly start over, he needed to leave Florida and come here. 

Eva had been enthusiastic at first, pulled in by Frankie’s talk of the horses, a new foal that had just been born, the small cabin they’d live in. He’d shared the pictures he’d taken, all rustic beams, sturdy wood furniture and a hammock on the porch. It looked like a romantic western dream and that’s what they both really thought it would be. And for the first few months they were happy. 

But when Frankie found peace and calm in the solitude of the isolated ranch, felt free and unrestricted, she began to feel claustrophobic and suffocated. The nearest town, a forty-five minute drive away, didn’t offer much of anything. She found work online and began to resent the life he’d trapped her in. That was the word she’d used, trapped. When the fights became a daily occurrence, Frankie felt the familiar itch of wanting to escape come back. Starting, as always, in his feet and crawling up his body until he spent more time out on the ranch than in the cabin. And for every hour he stayed away, Eva resented their life more, resented him more. 

Until eventually, one late evening when he came back after five days on the trails with a group of guests from a neighboring ranch, she’d left. Only a note saying she’d accepted a position in New York with the company she worked for. A line about needing a different type of life, no invitation to come with her, to follow her, just signed /E and that was it. 

He’d called her, spent hours on the phone when she eventually picked up, begged her to come back. Offered to move to a ranch closer to a bigger town, find a compromise where he could still have the peace of the ranch life, but let her live her life too. But she loved New York, after the silent cabin, she craved the noise and the tempo of the city. 

Eventually he agreed to come to New York, to see her new life and maybe find a place in it. But the city was an assault on his senses after so long on the ranch. The peace that his spiraling mind had finally found evaporated as he navigated the city, the metro, her friends, the bars. His feet itched, the skin around his nails was picked raw and he felt on edge, even in the apartment, his mind never getting a chance to be quiet. 

Eva called it his need for control, to always have a plan of escape, a way out. He knew it was the years in the army that had shredded his sense of safety, left his nerves ragged and too exposed to the mundane background noise of a city. Maybe he’d be able to deal with it some day, but now, he needed the silence. 

After two months in Brooklyn, he left. A loose promise from both of them to maybe try to patch things up, to try the long distance thing. But when he sent a text, saying he’d returned safely to the ranch, and she didn’t reply for two days, he knew it was over. And he didn’t miss her. He had loved her at some point, he thinks. But their lives didn’t match, their needs too different. And he saw that he should maybe not be with anyone while he laid down the foundations of a new life in a new place. He needed to find a way to live with himself, in silence, before he considered sharing his darkest sides with someone else. 

And then Eva called. Six weeks after he’d left Brooklyn. He could hear the heavy traffic behind her as she walked down a street somewhere, leaving a clinic that had confirmed what she’d suspected. 

“I’m pregnant, Frankie, and it’s yours.” 

The words floored him, sent a sharp jolt of dread through his system, his feet tingling, then his scalp. A baby. In New York. But his baby, their child. And the dread was replaced by nerves, how would they do this? Would she want to raise the baby in New York or come back to Montana? He had space for a child here, a guest bedroom with a view of the mountains. It would be a perfect nursery, he could paint it, build a crib with Herb’s help, the nearby town was a good place to raise a family when the child was old enough to begin school. Without even stopping to think, he built a new life around the unborn child. 

Or hell, even New York, he’d make himself put up with New York if that was what she wanted. The apartment only had one bedroom but maybe they could move further out, get a bigger place. He could renovate pretty much anything, he was sure of it. Maybe they could find a quiet neighborhood with trees, where his mind could find peace even in the city. Without even stopping, he built another new life around his, their, unborn child. 

“I don’t know if I’m keeping it, but I wanted to tell you.” 

Eva’s voice had been hard, letting him know that she was doing him a favor by telling him, letting him be part of it. 

“I’ll come to New York, I’ll get a bus today,” Frankie pleaded, “Let’s talk this through, a few more days won’t make a difference.” 

She’d conceded, and he’d thrown stuff into the old duffel bag, left a message with Herb, and driven to the crossroads where the Greyhound stopped. 

Now he was here, in a Brooklyn bar, looking down at her name on his phone as he pressed the green button to answer. 

Chapter 2

A/N: And we're off! I'm so nervous, I really hope you all will love this and follow along as I explore this new version of Frankie! I hope to post a new chapter every Sunday so fingers crossed life doesn't get in the way too much!

❤

Tagging the ususal suspects: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @thewiigers @laughing-in-th3-purple-rain @casa-boiardi

#frankie morales #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #frankie morales fanfic #triple frontier

[reaveries]

▬  risk

"I will save your life. I'll try for you."

pairings: re2 officer!leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: while trying to escape the police station in the midst of the infamous raccoon city disaster, rookie police officer leon s. kennedy finds a young woman in need of his help.

content warning: descriptions of violence and gore

word count: 4.4k (estimated 21 minutes reading time)

a/n: this .... has been in my drafts ......... since april. you're finally free........

masterlist archive of our own

Revised for clarity 12/30/2023.

Leon’s gun had always been a mere extension of his arm, a tool to be honed and wielded with precision. The academy, with its spiral target walls and foam-filled mannequins, had served as his training ground, preparing him for the hopefully unnecessary evil of one day having to take a life. This unspoken burden came with the territory—an occupational hazard in the line of duty. But no amount of half-hearted demonstrations and target practices could’ve equipped him for a night like this.

Until tonight, he’d never seen a body fall lifeless due to his own hand. But if he had, he wouldn’t have expected it to stumble from its spot of decay, staggering towards him with a newfound vigor that defied everything he thought he knew about morality and his fragile existence.

Tonight has been a night of unholy firsts, and the air about him suggests it has only just begun.

The pungent metallic scent of arterial spray assaults his senses as he steps out of the shower room. His heart sinks in his chest as he takes in the sight of carnage in the westmost corridor of the police station. Uniformed men and women lie in crumpled heaps against the walls. Their bodies are mangled and torn, some so abhorrently disfigured that they’re scarcely recognizable as humans. The presence of the dead was something he was uncomfortably growing comfortable with, and yet to imagine the animosity it must’ve required to create this scene… 

Well, it unsettled him, to say the least. He could’ve known them if things had gone differently.

He steps over their quiet corpses with his pistol in one hand and a flashlight raised in the other. He nudges one with the toe of his boot, aiming for their skull if they so much as twitch. But their bodies remain convincingly still, slain beyond any chance of revitalization. His grip tightens on his gun as he presses forward down the narrow corridor. If this is the result of those infected creatures he’s become acquainted with, they could be lurking ahead, waiting for him. 

The rain outside stings as it pelts his cheek, dampening his uniform that’s already slick with sweat. He ignores it.

Ahead should be the S.T.A.R.S. office if the map he found is correct. Hopefully, he can find relevant information about Claire’s brother in there, something to help her find him if he should ever see her again. With a deep breath, he reaches out to turn the knob when a groan suddenly creeps from down the hall. But there’s something different about it. 

It sounds alive, pained, and distinctly human.

“Is someone there?” He calls out, his voice echoing down the long hallway. The sound reverberates off the walls and fills the silence, and for a moment, there is nothing but his own breathing. 

Then a low growl echoes back at him.

With an annoyed huff, he raises his gun and aims for the corner he anticipates the creature to hobble from behind. But before he can catch a glimpse of it, something moves in the darkness. It's too fast for him to comprehend, a blurring figure scurrying towards him like a feral animal. He watches in horror as it crawls along the ceiling, its movements disturbingly fluid.

As it draws closer, the moonlight catches on to the glistening texture of its skin. A grotesque tentacle-like tongue unfurls from its mouth, swinging through the air like a scythe.

“What… what the fuck?”

He fires two rounds into the fleshy matter of the creature’s head, but it makes no difference. Doesn’t even flinch. The rookie officer prepares to fire another round when the monster flings itself off the ceiling and lunges its body through the air directly toward him.

In a split-second decision, Leon throws himself into the office, his body slamming against the door before he scrambles to his feet and secures it behind him. Outside, the creature is relentless. Its wet, clobbering movements spasm through the walls. With his back pressed against the door, he braces himself as the monster rams into it with a sickening force that rattles the hinges. 

It takes all his strength to keep it from buckling under the creature’s assault. The force of each blow makes his arms tremble, and he can feel his grip slipping. A bead of sweat trickles down his temple, and his heart thunders in his chest as he fights to hold the door in place. 

But then, just as suddenly as it began, the onslaught ceased. Leon takes a deep breath, his heart still pounding, and listens for any sign of movement outside.

He waits a second, then slowly pulls himself away from the door.

With his chest heaving, a word comes to mind.

Licker. 

He remembers the warning about these beasts scrawled on a note left by a likely deceased officer. His naive self didn’t expect to encounter one so soon.

He takes a moment to survey the room, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. The abandoned desks and personal items left behind tell him that S.T.A.R.S. personnel were just as underprepared for a viral outbreak as the rest of the city. The first thing that catches his eye is a trauma kit on the wall. He crosses the room and flips it open, finding it fully stocked. Dressings, hemostatic agents, antiseptic. A sense of relief washes over him. He reaches into his pocket to make room for the essentials, but to his dismay, finds them full of various necessities. There’s no space to carry anything in this damn uniform. With a sigh, the lid is closed and left as it was found.

“Hey!” 

He nearly jumps out of his skin at the sudden noise. 

“Please tell me you didn’t die,” a disembodied voice says. The end of their sentence tapers off with a shallow breath. With a sharp turn of his head, he tries to place the direction it's coming from. There’s no familiarity in their voice, which is no surprise considering he’d only become acquainted with a few officers during his orientation.

“Where are you?” He calls out, raising his flashlight in search of an answer, hoping for a door or some kind of opening.

“Linen closet. Down the hall.”

Their muffled words become clear as he approaches a far corner of the office, likely sharing a wall with the room they’re in. “Did it get you?” they ask, quieter this time.

Leon takes a deep breath to steady himself before responding. “Almost, but I’m alright,” he assures them. With a glance back to the door, he continues, “Listen, I know how to get past that thing now. Just… stay put. I’ll come to you.”

“Please be careful,” the stranger pleads. Something in their voice rings as desperation, lending to the pit forming in his stomach. It’s more than likely that whoever this is is a victim of the outbreak, clinging to their last shred of humanity before the virus consumes them. The thought of putting down another person, to see the life fade from their eyes—he’d like to avoid it if possible.

With the barrel of his pistol, he cracks open the door and peers into the corridor. It’s just as he left it, but there’s no sign of the monster anywhere. He holds back a sigh of relief as he opens the door further and steps into the hall. The ceiling, where his eyes are permanently trained, is empty. The revolting shape of the licker is nowhere to be found. 

He pushes forward, boots ghosting across the floorboards and pistol drawn. His breathing is slow, his muscles tensed. He’s convinced the creature can hear the blood rushing through his veins. When he reaches the end of the corridor, he halts and peeks behind the turn of the hall where the linen closet should sit. 

His heart drops.

It’s there.

Of course it’s there. Why should anything be easy for him?

Perched in the corner, its sinewy body is raised on its haunches and pressed wetly against the wall. Rows of jagged teeth have overgrown the confines of its decaying jaw, and long bone-like talons sprout from fleshy hands. 

He can't afford to freeze up. One misstep is all it takes, and he’ll be gutted like the rest of them. He reaches for a hook on the holster hanging at his hips, fingers trembling as he fumbles for the cold, smooth canister he's grown familiar with. This might be his only chance.

With one finger, he hooks the pin and yanks it. The sound of it clattering against the tile echoes throughout the hallway just as a cloud of white explodes, engulfing the creature as it lunges toward him. It falls to the floor in an instant, writhing in agony as the grenade pierces the air with a sharp ringing noise.

No time to think. Leon sprints to the door, feeling the hot stench of decay brush past him as he avoids the stunned beast. The door flies open against his weight, and he forces it shut behind him.

He leans against the door, panting heavily as he tries to steady himself.

As he catches his breath, a voice whispers in the darkness.

“You made it.”

His eyes dart to the corner, where a young woman sits leaning against a washing machine. Her uniform is in bad shape, torn at her midsection and stained to the hem. It looks like blood is seeping through, smearing her fingers red as she tries to stanch the bleeding. The sight of the mess has him quickly closing the space between them.

She looks him up and down as he kneels beside her.

“You’re an officer?” She asks with knitted brows. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“Leon Kennedy. I just started today,” he answers quickly, the adrenaline causing a noticeable waver in his voice.

She laughs but winces and screws her eyes shut. “And I thought my first day sucked,” she says through her teeth.

“Did that thing do this to you?” He asks, his tone gentle yet urgent, getting straight to the nagging thought in his mind.

She shakes her head, looking down at the wound with a suppressed grimace. “I thought the hallway was clear. And then, out of nowhere, it just…” Her mind seems to wander at the thought. “It came through the window. There was glass flying everywhere. It scratched me pretty good.”

Leon tilts his head to the side, trying to get a good look at the wound. Her uniform makes it difficult to see the full extent of the injury. However, the amount of blood is enough to give him an idea of the severity.

“‘Scratched’ is an understatement,” he says, looking back at her.

A dazed sort of smile finds its way to her face. “I like to be optimistic.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, or maybe precisely because of it, his smile mirrors hers. She’s not infected. Thank God.

“So do I,” he says. “Let’s get you cleaned up, alright? Then we can think about getting out of here.”

She nods and attempts to sit up straighter.

“Can you, um,” he starts to say, gesturing to the hem of her uniform.

“Yeah, I can take it off. I’m not shy.”

A blush creeps up his neck as she nimbly moves to undo the buttons of her uniform. Leon averts his gaze, suddenly transfixed by the desolate corner of the linen room. His fingers pluck idly at the skin around his nails. But from the corner of his eye, he catches her struggle to shrug off the top. It gets caught on her shoulders and refuses to slide down.

“Here, let me,” he offers reluctantly.

The room falls silent, the only sound being the soft rustle of fabric as he coaxes the shirt down her arms. She draws a sharp breath as it grazes over tender bruises and scrapes, and a strange sense of intimacy seeps in, making him feel guilty for having to undress her. As the shirt falls to the ground, revealing her white undershirt, his eyes are drawn to the dark magenta stain blossoming across the fabric. 

There, at the center of it all, is a shard of glass, roughly the size of the palm of his hand. Its edges are sharp and erratic, protruding from her lower stomach. 

It’s critical, he realizes.

“Sorry if it’s not the prettiest thing to look at,” she says, eyes fixated on the ceiling.

He shakes his head. “It’s not that bad,” he lies, hoping it sounds convincing. 

Apparently, it doesn’t, because she looks down for the first time and sees it.

“Jesus Christ!” She exclaims breathlessly. Her hands fly to hover above the shard, afraid to touch it. “You have to take it out,” she says with certainty, clearly unable to bring herself to do it.

His medical training at the academy left much to be desired, but even he was aware of the cardinal rule when it came to injuries such as these. Under the best of circumstances, the object should never be removed, lest the victim hemorrhage and bleed to death. However, he’d wager that they were far from the best of circumstances, and the alternative wasn’t enticing. Leon takes a deep breath, then places one hand on her shoulder and the other on the shard of glass. Their eyes lock, a silent agreement passing between them.

“Stay still,” he instructs, his voice wavering slightly. He hesitates for a moment before pulling it out in one swift motion. He can feel her muscles tense beneath his hand as she reacts to the jagged edges scraping against her insides. A torrent of hushed expletives tumbled from her lips, the pain etched deeply in her features.

“There,” he says softly, immediately deciding not to let her see the piece of glass once he realizes its morbid grandeur.

He can see the relief wash over her face, but it's short-lived as her condition quickly deteriorates. The sudden change startles him. Her eyes have started to glaze over, and her head falls limply to the side. Her words are barely audible, lost in labored breaths. 

“Hey,” he says urgently, reaching to cup her cheek. She responds with a groan and closes her eyes. He taps her cheek more desperately. “Hey, stay with me!”

With his other hand, he brings two fingers to the tender spot between her jaw and her neck. Her pulse is rapid but faint. Below, the stain spreads further along the cloth of her undershirt. He quickly lifts the hem, his fingers trembling as they brush against the cold skin of her stomach. Blood gushes from the wound at a frightening rate, dripping onto the floor and pooling. 

His heart races as he frantically searches for something to stem the bleeding. It ends up being the closest thing: her discarded uniform. The fabric immediately darkens as he applies pressure. 

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

The blood seeps through, coating his fingers. 

"Come on, stay with me," he pleads.

The blood flow slows a little, but only after having wholly soaked through her uniform. He undoes his vest and shrugs out of his shirt, leaving him in just the long sleeve he wore beneath. He brings the shirt to her waist and ties it tightly to keep the fabric firmly in place. As he secures it, her hand finds his arm. He looks down at her, meeting her gaze. Her eyes are glassy, and her breathing shallow.

"Don't worry, I've got you," he says, trying to sound confident.

Her fingers tighten around his arm, and she mumbles something. He leans closer, straining to hear her words. 

“Don’t let me die here,” she repeats, her voice barely audible. “Please.”

He feels a lump form in his throat. "I won't... I promise."

He leans back against the wall, his eyes never leaving the woman’s face. Breathing heavily, he runs a hand through his hair. Only then does he notice her blood staining his uniform, his hands, and the floor around him. He wipes his hands on his pants, but even in the dim, cold light of the linen room, it’s clear it isn’t going anywhere. 

This isn’t going to be enough to stabilize her; even someone with as little medical knowledge as him can see that it would be a miracle if it did. 

But despite that, amidst the chaos and the overwhelming odds, he still clung to the tenuous belief that he could save her life. He can do what he couldn’t for the others, who’d been only slightly out of his reach and beyond saving. Saving just one person would mean this all meant something, and that he, though just one person unsure of what he’s up against, could be the catalyst for a transformative ripple, a flicker of defiance in the face of the unknown evils inside this building.

It would mean everything.

He glances at the door, feeling his stomach drop with the knowledge of what he must do. The hemostatic agents, the antiseptic—those are her lifelines. If he doesn’t act now, she will die in this small corner of the police station, and she’ll have him to thank. Acknowledging this fact sets him in motion.

In a swift movement, he picks her up in his arms, careful not to exacerbate her injuries. She stirs uncomfortably for a moment, then settles against him. Blood drips from his shirt at her waist and trickles down his arm before pittering on the tile. It’s neverending. 

“Don’t make any noise,” he whispers down at her. Her eyes are screwed shut, but she nods in understanding.

Here goes nothing. He nudges the door open.

Once again, he is greeted with a quiet stillness. The corpses are still lost in a dreamless sleep, and light rain rhythmically blows in through the empty window frames. It could be somewhat comforting if he were ignorant of the foreboding presence lurking in the nearby shadows. With each soft step, he gets further from the haven of the linen room. He passes the expired stun grenade and is approaching the turn of the hall once again when she shifts in his arms. She presses her forehead against his chest, brows furrowed in an effort to stifle her pain. He can’t imagine how it must feel.

He pulls her closer, hoping to offer a modicum of reassurance. We’re almost there. 

It can be said with absolute certainty that he has never moved as slowly as he did turning that godforsaken corner. And for that, he’s been blessed with a clear pathway. Somehow, the creature has not made its presence known. A thought nags at him, daring him to consider that he may have underestimated its intelligence. That it will rear its grotesque head any minute, and its mouth will pull in a sadistic grin, enravished with the idea that he could’ve fooled it once again. 

But this is not the case. There, in the imperceptible darkness, inches above his head, there is a shift. It’s slight enough that he almost misses it. He doesn’t need to look up to know what it is—to know that it’s there, to know that he’s directly below it.

Somehow, he missed it.

His muscles tense, but there’s nothing left to do but continue forward. 

Just a few more steps. 

He places one foot cautiously before the other, careful to avoid shattered glass. The air feels thick with apprehension; every breath a calculated risk. 

Then there’s a tug on his pants. 

A deep, gurgling groan erupts from one of the corpses by his feet, and it pulls itself toward him. On instinct, he brings his boot down to silence it, crushing its skull beneath his heel before it can sink its teeth in. The woman gasps instantly, startled by the sudden jerking movement. Fuck. 

Run.

The walls blur, and time seems to slow as he sprints down the hallway. The woman’s cries intermingle with the sound of talons scraping against the floor, padding down the corridor with a ferocity he doesn’t need to see to know. 

Before it can reach him, he forces the office door open and kicks it shut behind him. He ignores the sounds of it screeching and thrashing about and hurries over to one of the desks, swiping the clutter to the floor before setting her down on the cool wooden surface. He wastes no time in retrieving the trauma kit and rummaging through it, letting items fall haphazardly to the floor.

The seconds are slipping through his fingers. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” he says between breaths. 

She watches him through furrowed brows, blinking slowly as he quickly removes the blood-soaked uniform from her waist. She says nothing, whether due to sheer incapability or hopeless acceptance.

He doesn’t notice either way. 

His hands move quickly. He’s too lost in his efforts to see her watching him. Before the darkness creeps in, her lips form a short, one-word apology that gets lost on its way out, unheard by even her. The whisper of remorse dissipates in the air and fades. Then the world follows suit.

An uncertain amount of time has passed when she begins to stir. The room is blurred beneath the heaviness of her eyelids, but its meager contents slowly reveal themselves: plain wooden desks, some chairs, and personal belongings that confirm she’s in the room she suspects. She’d only been in this office once before when working on an intense, high-profile assignment. Even then, her visit was brief. There’s no reason she should be in here.

She pushes through the clouded haze and props her elbow on the desk to raise herself. Immediately, she’s struck with a burning fire in her abdomen, crumpling her back onto the cold surface. It felt like an electrical fire. Spreading quickly with a force that raised the hair on her skin.

Looking down, she saw the crimson stain on her undershirt, and the memory of the attack came back to her with a visceral shudder. The horrifying creature, the unrelenting pain, and the man who saved her. His name eludes her, the residual memories feeling like a half-forgotten dream. His face, too. Until slowly, the memory begins to sharpen, and she can see his face with full clarity. The young officer had been handsome, with an angular jaw and straight nose that lent him a serious, almost stoic look. Yet there was an undeniable boyishness to him, from the tousled hair falling into his eyes to the way he moved with an easy grace that belied the sharpness of his features. Yes, the stranger had certainly been an easy sight for her weary eyes. 

“You’re awake.”

She nearly jumped out of her skin when the memory began to speak. She realized just then that it wasn’t a memory at all and that he’d emerged from a corner of the room upon hearing her awaken. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks when she doesn’t respond. He’s tense, but his nervous expression seems sincere, and a strange sense of trust begins to settle over her.

“Hurts,” she grumbles. Her throat ached too. Everything ached.

His mouth flattened into a thin line, and his brows furrowed in sympathy. “I know, I’m sorry,” he says.

She notices his hands tremble slightly as they reach out to touch her, brushing warily against the exposed skin at her hip. He doesn’t seem to mind the blood staining his fingers or the hair falling into his eyes as he checks the dressing. Once it’s clear it meets his standard of approval, he looks up, and his light eyes finding hers expectantly, searching for signs of discomfort.

Then it comes back to her. 

“Leon,” she murmurs absently, testing how it sounds out loud. 

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "That's me," he says softly. 

She studies his face once again, taking in the way his features soften as he smiles, the gentle curve of his lips, and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. 

“How long have I been out?” she asks hoarsely.

He pulls the hem of her shirt back down, covering the tender skin once again. “Not long, a few hours maybe.”

She tries to sit up once again, but her body protests with a sharp pain at her side. He places a hand on her upper arm, steadying her. 

“Take it easy,” he urges her in a whisper.

With a wave of her hand, she dismisses his concerns and her pain. She pulls herself off the desk and straightens her shirt. “I’m fine,” she assures him. “I feel like shit, but I’m fine.”

“You look better,” he says, observing her closely. “You have more color in your face.”

A faint smile graces her lips. “I think I have you to thank for that. If you hadn’t found me, I would’ve been done for,” she confesses. “I’d already made peace with it by the time you got there.”

He offers a modest shrug. “I’m not sure about that. You seem like you’re made of tougher stuff, deputy.”

His words prompt her to tilt her head, inspecting his face and searching for any remnants of recognition beyond their recent encounter. But apart from that, there's nothing.

“Oh. I ran your badge while you were out,” he admits, his gaze momentarily directed toward the floor.

“Is that so…” She crosses her arms with a touch of amusement in her voice. Her inner resolve slowly finds her once again. “So was all this done to impress your boss on the first day?”

He chuckles quietly, now somewhat sheepish in the presence of his superior, in a world where such distinctions no longer hold much meaning. Oddly enough, his laughter somehow finds its place seamlessly amidst the heavy air surrounding them. 

Despite the lurking horrors outside the sanctuary of this room and the even grimmer uncertainties ahead, for a brief moment, none of it matters. She stands there as a testament to his actions, breathing proof that he made a difference. Placing himself in the epicenter of this diseased storm no longer feels like ill-fated martyrdom. Within these walls and in the face of the darkness that looms beyond, they are not simply spectators to a morbid narrative; they are, instead, influential participants. All hope isn't lost.

With a smug smile, he finally lifts his gaze to meet hers.

“Did it work?”

#resident evil #resident evil 2 #resident evil 2 remake #re2 #re2 remake #re4 remake #resident evil 4 #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fic #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy x you #deftones #deftones inspo

[penkura]

last forever [1/13]

Summary: Zoro only offered to marry you to keep you out of an arranged marriage with a man much older than you. You agreed with the caveat of ending it via annulment once you received word from your parents regarding the original engagement, despite your growing feelings for your close friend.

Pairing: Zoro x Fem!reader, mentioned Sanami later (like epilogue later so chill)

Warnings: Marriage of Convenience, Fake Marriage, referenced sex (waaaaaay later on), mutual pining, Zoro is bad at feelings but what's new there, eventual romance I promise, mention of past attempted assault (I'll warn in that chapter), creepy older dude later on

Notes: Hello, this is a fanfic I've been working on for a few months now. I'm still not done, but I figured I would go ahead and start posting it here as a cross post with Quotev and AO3. Sometimes I find this, Zoro and the story, hard to write, but I'm trying. This will NOT be a one-to-one rehashing of the arcs but will have more focus on Zoro and Reader's relationship as it progresses. The first two chapters are written in past tense, everything afterward is present tense, sorry about that. I've been having more fun writing present tense instead of past tense. I have the first three chapters completed, I'm still working on chapter four, but hope to have it done for Monday, and I intend to update mostly on Mondays for this one. Zoro and Reader call each other husband and wife at times, it's in italics on purpose. Hope you enjoy this one.

You were so grateful you couldn't stop crying and thanked him numerous times, never once telling him you hoped you'd never have to get an annulment with him. Your feelings for him were still new, he was a year older than you, but he'd protected you well in the time you knew each other. Of course, you could hold your own as a swordswoman yourself, but Zoro always tried to leave the recon to you while he took out your bounty targets.

Never did you think or imagine your wedding day would be like this. In a courthouse in a backwoods town with no real witnesses, to someone you'd only known for about a year and a half now. This wasn't even out of love for him, he'd only agreed to prevent you from being legally forced into marriage with a man several years older than you who had two other wives already.

No, you and Roronoa Zoro weren't in love, but he was trying to help you out so you didn't end up in a bad situation or with bodyguards chasing you down to force you back to your home village. When you had told him the story, he was honestly disgusted hearing how your family was treating you like an object to be sold, instead of as your own person. The whole reason you'd run away from home was to avoid this, but a letter brought to you by your family's personal carrier bird a few weeks ago changed that. As soon as you turned eighteen, if you weren't married or engaged to someone else, you'd be forced into marrying the creep that agreed to this when you were just fifteen. While you broke down in tears out of fear, Zoro told you he'd marry you to keep you from being taken back home. You told him he didn't have to, but he brought up that after your family heard, if they dropped the arranged marriage, you could get an annulment and it would be like this marriage never happened. You'd be free from your family and the creep, still able to travel and live your own life.

So, a week after you turned eighteen, once you reached a small town with a courthouse, you both immediately went there to get this sham of a marriage completed. The clerk looked you both over several times, asking your ages and you lied, claiming you were both twenty-one when she said you'd need parental approval if you were younger than twenty. She didn't ask for proof, instead mumbling something to herself about how it seemed people were getting married younger and younger every year. No more questions about witnesses, parental approval, or identification to prove your ages, the older woman just filled out the paperwork and had you two sign it for processing.

While it was being processed, she sent you to the other side of the room to sit and wait.

"Thank you."

Zoro just shrugged, wishing the old bat would hurry it up so you could find a hotel and get a room so he could go to sleep. "You don't have to keep thanking me."

Nodding, you bit your lip. It was weird to think you'd legally be husband and wife, despite not being in love with each other, but part of you hoped that maybe over time Zoro would come to love you, and you him, so you'd be a few steps ahead of the curve.

The clerk called you both back over a few minutes later, stamping the papers in her hands and pulling a few more. "You're legally married now, congratulations. I've given you an extra copy since you requested it, and here's an annulment form if you've decided you made a mistake. You have six months to fill out and submit it, at any courthouse, otherwise you'll have to get a divorce."

You nodded and thanked the old woman, who told you two to be careful as you both left. You weren't entirely sure why, but if Zoro knew, he kept his mouth shut about it. Once you left, Zoro started looking for a place to stay while you found somewhere you could have dinner. Neither of you planned to stay in this town for more than a night, so you weren't worried about cashing in any bounties that day.

After finding a place to eat, you stayed nearby while you wrote a brief letter to your family and sent it to them, with your marriage certificate, by your family carrier bird. You really just hoped and prayed that they would accept this information and not still demand you return home, whether they wanted to meet Zoro because they believed your letter, or they wanted you to annul the marriage immediately to marry the creep that agreed to it first. Either way, you had no plans to follow their demands or return home.

You and Zoro didn't meet up until it was about dinner time, not a word about your marriage being spoken but your plans to leave the next morning and head to the next town were the main subject. You split off again after dinner, Zoro giving you the second key to your hotel room while he took a walk, in case you wanted to go and shower or go on to bed. You did so, taking a long shower to keep yourself distracted before choosing one of the two beds as yours for the night, laying face down with your face in the pillow. By the time Zoro did return, you were nearly asleep until he woke you when he opened the door.

"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

"It's fine…I wasn't sleeping yet."

You weren't sure if it was just you, but things felt awkward with Zoro now. It probably was just you, because he went to bed like nothing was different, telling you that he wanted to leave as soon as possible in the morning. Shells Town was the next destination for the two of you, since a Marine base was there you figured new bounty posters would be available.

You spent the night half awake, unsure of what you were feeling anymore, but you knew one thing.

It was definitely not the kind of wedding day you ever expected to have.

+!+

What do I do, what do I do??

Pacing around the Marine fortress, you didn't know if you should even try to break in and free Zoro or just wait for the month he agreed on with Helmeppo to be up. All of this because he protected a little girl from the brat's dogs and punched him in the face, the spoiled boy using it as an excuse to bring Zoro in like a criminal, and you just weren't sure what you should do. He'd told you not to interfere and when Helmeppo tried to include you in it, you were surprised Zoro threatened him further and said you had no part in the matter.

Stopping, you sighed and crouched, holding your head in your hands and whining. "What do I do…?"

"Hey, you okay??"

The voice above you sounded kind, and you looked up to see a boy with a straw hat and a scarf under his left eye, with another young boy who had pink hair and glasses. Both looked concerned, wondering why you looked like you were fighting a headache outside of the Marine fortress.

"I'm fine…"

"You sure?" The boy in the hat grinned at you, wanting to really make sure you were fine, getting eye level with you while the other boy looked nervously around. "You don't look fine!"

"Luffy!"

You laughed, sighing a bit and standing up, the boy called Luffy following suit. "Yeah, I'm…I'm sure. My friend just…the Marines got him, I'm not sure what to do."

Luffy and the other boy, Koby you learned, both questioned you until you revealed it was Zoro that was your friend, causing Luffy to get excited as he climbed the wall to look into the yard, while Koby was even more nervous than before. He couldn't even believe that you were friends with the notorious pirate hunter Zoro, let alone traveling with him.

"Hey so that's him??"

Koby climbed up with Luffy and nearly fainted, almost falling off the wall when he saw Zoro. You were so focused on the two boys you didn't notice the little girl, Rika, climbing in and over the wall with rice balls in hand. You could hear her offering them to Zoro despite him telling her to scram, before Helmeppo showed up and had her thrown back over the wall, Luffy catching her and surprising you.

"Hey, I'll take her back to her mom's place!"

Luffy nodded and gave Rika to you, letting you run off with her. You got Rika back to her mother's restaurant, making sure she was alright when Luffy and Koby arrived. Luffy told Rika that Zoro actually ate the rice balls Helmeppo ruined, which didn't really surprise you. He had a soft spot for kids, you'd noticed over time, and always tried to help them if he could.

When Helmeppo came back around and started bragging that he was going to have Zoro executed in a few days, Luffy did the same thing and punched him in the face. The three of you ran off, Luffy jumping over the wall to tell Zoro that if he helped him out, he had to join his pirate crew, but Zoro didn't get a chance to fully agree or deny before Luffy ran off to the fortress to find his swords. Koby and you attempted to untie Zoro, but he was arguing against this due to the deal he made with Helmeppo.

"Come on, I only have to last a couple weeks more!"

"He's not gonna let you go! He's gonna have you executed tomorrow!"

"What?!"

Zoro looked at you, wondering if you had heard that or if Koby was lying to him, even though the younger boy had no reason to lie to him.

"I heard every word, that's exactly what he said."

The Marines, including Axe-Hand Morgan, came after the three of you and attempted to fire at you and Koby, but you knew how to use your sword well enough to block them from hitting Koby or you with their bullets.

Luffy returned finally, blocking another set of bullets about to hit the three of you, showing off his rubber powers which actually kind of freaked you out. Zoro, finally having his three swords back, was able to get free and stop the Marines from attacking all of you any further, calling Luffy Captain after agreeing to join his pirate crew. Another shock for you, one that you'd have to deal with later on.

Luffy was the one to beat Morgan, the other Marines all cheering once they realized they were free from the tyrant's reign.

The whole thing made you smile, glad things had worked out, even as Zoro nearly passed out from hunger, making you laugh and shake your head.

"You're so lame sometimes, husband."

+!+

"So why'd you call him husband earlier??"

Face turning red, you looked at Zoro who sat next to you in Luffy's small boat that just barely comfortably held the three of you. Your husband was fast asleep, arms behind his head, but you waved your hand in front of his face to make doubly sure he was asleep, before hearing a light snore come from him.

Scooting across the boat, you sat right next to Luffy who gave you a confused smile.

"Look, Luffy…you can't tell anyone else you recruit."

"Huh?"

You were trying to keep your voice down so Zoro didn't wake, but Luffy acted like he couldn't even hear you.

"Zoro and I are married."

"You're WH–"

You threw your hands over his mouth, looking over to Zoro barely moving, but still fast asleep. You'd quieted Luffy just in time so he didn't wake your swordsman.

"We're married, but it's only because he's helping me with something. We're not in love, we're not a couple. It's…a marriage of convenience okay?"

Luffy nodded, like he understood everything you just told him. He didn't really, but he at least understood you and Zoro weren't in love, just married.

Weird, but he thought he got it.

"Please, don't tell anyone. I'm waiting to hear from my family before we annul the marriage."

That part confused him, but Luffy decided to agree and promised he wouldn't tell anyone, he didn't question you further. He thought you and Zoro were close, he wouldn't have been that surprised if you said you two were in love and together, but if you said you weren't, that this was just a friend helping another friend, he'd believe you.

That, and as soon as his stomach started growling he forgot anything else he wanted to ask.

"Do you have any food, Luffy?"

"Nope!" Luffy grinned and your face paled, looking at Zoro who just snored again and you had a feeling of dread.

"Oh lord what have we done?"

#one piece #roranoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #fem!reader #reader insert #one piece x reader #last forever

[ilylovelyz]

hi! read their past sakusa fics and the way they write kiyo is so hot and nice 😩 wondering if they could write more abt yandere / bully sakusa fics (or anyone in msby or all of them tgt tbh JSJJS) 😭

⍣ ೋ BEcause

˚ · . atsumu x afab!reader

: ̗̀➛ warning(s): noncon, gaslighting, manipulation, lovebombing, physical assault, physical and mental abuse, atsumu is a terrible person, cheating, forced solitude, baby trapping

until a man heals himself he'll be toxic to every woman who tries to love him.

yandere!atsumu, from the moment he met you, knew that you would be the absolute death of him.

yandere!atsumu, who verbally claimed you as his to anyone who could hear. a "cheerful" facade on his face while he boasted about you as if you were his girlfriend.

yandere!atsumu, who acted all understanding and almost apologetic to a guy that seemed to have a crush on you. he would pat the guy's back a little too hard, lightly giving him a "sorry, but i think she's taken." veins almost protruding out of his neck while he resisting the urge to choke out the guy just for showing interest in you.

yandere!atsumu, who is surprised when you confront him for spreading rumors about you, accusing him of being a creep. but you're quickly turned from being livid to blushing, as his charisma and charming demeanor is all too much for you. he apologizes for his actions, but denies the majority of it. as a way to make up for it, he formally asks you out to an expensive dinner.

yandere!atsumu, who violently assaults the whistleblower, not caring if it's a man or woman. he'll ram their head into the wall and kick them a few times while they are down, bleeding profusely. he'll spit on them as a cherry on top, condemning them to hell for snitching.

yandere!atsumu, who will act surprised when you point out his bruised knuckles, will literally say "how did this happen?" he'll brush off your concerns, and try to avoid using his hands the rest of the night.

yandere!atsumu, who even during the talking stage, is completely protective towards you and is hostile to anyone who even dares to talk to you. he'll act so sad and upset that nobody wants to be your friend anymore, comforting you when you cry that your own male best friend isn't talking to you anymore for some reason.

yandere!atsumu, who follows you home "just in case," memorizing your pad-code lock password and will eventually break in later that night, watching you while you sleep, "just in case."

yandere!atsumu, who walks around carefree in your house while you sleep, cleaning for you but also eating your leftovers. just for an extra measure, he'll bug your phone and send a text message to any remaining friends, saying that "you" don't want to be friends with them anymore, leaving nasty messages that will end up with you finding yourself blocked later that morning.

yandere!atsumu, who will kiss you so lovingly on after the sixth date, and ask you to be his official girlfriend. he feels relieved when you say yes, relieved that he won't have to beat common sense into you and guilt trip you into accepting.

yandere!atsumu, who will later jack off just at of the first kiss, mind already spinning at the thought of what he could do to you now that you're dating him.

yandere!atsumu who treats you and touches you as if you're glass, always "looking out" for you. you think his grip on your wrist is adorable, that his protectiveness is "cute." but really, he's just making sure that you're not going to run off or something.

yandere!atsumu who takes your virginity, and is absolutely doting and attentive the whole time, kissing you softly and whispering small "i love you"s against your skin. you don't notice the way his grip on your waist is bruising as he thrusts his cock in you so deliciously it has you coming multiple times. you don't notice the way his eyes are almost dead, jaw clenching at the thought of "someone else" potentially touching you after this.

yandere!atsumu, after successfully getting you attached to him will begin to show his true colors. the dates you two planned in advance seemingly "forgotten" by the pro volleyball player, as he's apparently so "busy" that he completely missed the date.

yandere!atsumu, who was really "busy" fucking some other woman while you waited patiently for him, food cold and ice melted.

yandere!atsumu, who will put the blame on you when you finally confront him about all the dates he's stood you up on and the way he's been distant and almost brushing you off everytime you text him. he'll call you manipulative and controlling, he doesn't like yelling at you, but it seems you needed to have a bit of an attitude check that day.

yandere!atsumu, who will only "forgive you" when you're on your knees begging for his forgiveness and apologizing for being "manipulative" and "controlling". he'll kneel down to your level, his face is morphed into one of concern, but his dark eyes say otherwise. he'll "forgive" you for the mess you created before taking a cold shower to relieve himself.

yandere!atsumu, who will realize that you're much of a tougher cookie than he thought when you confronted him with evidence of him cheating.

yandere!atsumu, who will slap you so hard you're tumbling down the steps of the apartment, the pain hitting you way before you realized what had happened. he'll grab you by your hair, dragging you across the rough floor and back up the stabbing steps of the staircase and eventually into the bedroom.

yandere!atsumu, who will force you into the bed and hold you down with his entire weight, yelling obscenities at you and threaten to kill himself if you try this shit ever again. he'll then remove all of your clothes, praising you because you're too scared to fight back when he forces himself onto you.

yandere!atsumu, who will point out the fact that he isn't using a condom and that you aren't on birth control. he'll ignore your cries of disapproval and pleas while he comes inside of you, unprotected.

yandere!atsumu, who will smirk down at you while you sob into the pillow, abused cunt leaking his cum, knowing you won't leave him if you're carrying his baby. who will you even run away to anyways? not like you have anyone left.

please like and repost with tags :)

#haikyuu texts #haikyu smut #haikyuu!! smut #haikyuu #haikyuu angst #haikyuu smut #haikyū!! #haikyuu breeding #haikyuu pregnant #haikyuu yandere #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #hq atsumu #atsumu x reader #atsumu miya smut #atsumu x you #haikyuu atsumu #sakusa x atsumu #atsumu fluff #atsumu x y/n #msby atsumu #miya atsumu #atsumu smut #⨳ noncon

[witchthewriter]

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐬' 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!  

Warnings: swears, mention of blood and bruising, also creeps

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

𝐉𝐀𝐗

・Not surprised, but a tad shocked. He was used to this behaviour from his mother.

・But when he laid his eyes on you, all he could feel was pride.

"How'd the other guy look?"

"Way fuckin' worse, sweetheart," you said with a smirk.

"That's my girl."

・His arm wrapped around you as you left the station, Unser already pulling strings to get you out. Plus, the guy wasn't going to press charges.

・While getting on the back of Jax's bike you said, "You know what, it felt pretty good."

"I know it does babe, but please don't make it a regular thing," he replied and lightly slapped you on your thigh.

"I'll do my best..."

𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐄

・"The hell did that come from?" He asked as you walked through the front door, nursing a very swollen black eye. Apparently punching first doesn't mean you've won the fight.

・"Ugh, would you believe me if I said I ran into a pole?"

"You hate running."

"Fuck, you're right."

・Out of all the guys, he's the most surprised. It took him a while to process it, the story, the lump on your forehead.

・But to him, it meant you accepted this life.

・From his first marriage, Opie was used to having a s/o who was against the club, but with you - you took it in your stride.

・Completely intergrating with it.

・He pulled you onto his lap, cupping your face.

"That's a fucking big one," Opie said, tracing the outline of the bruise.

"I know. But I was the only one left standing."

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐁𝐒

・Taken aback, mostly upset because you were arrested.

"You're saying my Old Lady, Y/n Telford, was arrested?"

"Yes," Unser said on the other side of the call. He watched you from the door.

Your head was leaning against the cold brick wall. Eyes shut, nose bleeding, but that was the extent of your injuries.

"And may I ask why, she got arrested," Chibs growled.

"She assaulted someone," with Unser's reply, a smile grew on your face.

"She fuckin' what-" then the line went fuzzy and all Unser heard was "I'm coming," before Chibs hung up.

・You weren't worried. Not about being arrested. Because you knew Chibs wouldn't let you stay in here.

・And you were right, because that very afternoon you were released and Chibs grabbed ahold of your face, checking for injuries.

"What were you thinking lass?"

"Oh honey, I wasn't-"

𝐓𝐈𝐆

・Surprised and kinda turned on by it

・It had been pure luck that you weren't arrested. The Sheriffs had been occupied with actual crime ... not a woman punching a creep square in the face.

・However, once Tig came home and saw the swollen, bruised hand of yours, he instantly knew what had happened.

"Look, all I'm gonna say is ... I'm proud of you baby. You put those creeps in their places. But next time, I want a few rounds too."

・You smiled up at him, and went to push yourself up from the couch but grimaced as you used your hand.

"Yeah, it's gonna be a bit tender for a while. Just relax. I'll do whatever you need me to."

・And then he came over and kissed your hand, examining the darkness that was still developing, the splits in the skin.

"Sheesh, you did a good job," Tig mumbled and went to go get your first aid kit.

𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐘

・The PROUDEST.

・The next day he told everyone in the meeting what happened and all the Sons clapped him on the back.

"Happens to all of us," Jax said with a wink.

・Not only was happy, Happy, he was ecstatic. Because it meant you weren't averse to violence...

・Not that he would readily bring it into the home now, it just meant that you didn't find him or his work disgusting.

・He's always worried about that. That one day, you'll just up and leave because this life isn't for you.

・But you know how he feels, and it was part of the reason why you gave that guy a shiner.

・He would've been only a few years older than you, but he wouldn't stop hitting on you. Not even when you told him you weren't single.

・So you thought, "fuck it, my family is a fucking bikie club," and you went for it.

・Explaining that to Happy made him ... kind of emotional.

𝐉𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐄

・Completely shocked.

・Not in a million years did he think you would be in a fight. Or at least a punch up.

・You were quite fiesty, and that's part of the reason why he loved you

・But he never thought that side of you would become physical.

"Babe, why?" Juice asked over his bowl. He had made dinner that night, wanting to do something.

"The fucker kept on staring at me. Even after I told him to knock it off, twice."

"Oh, he had it coming then."

・A part of him was upset that you had to defend yourself. He always wants to be the one to do that.

#witchthewriter #witch the writer's headcanons #sons of anarchy #soa #soa preference #preferences #sons of anarchy headcanons #sons of anarchy preferences #jax teller #opie winston #tig trager #chibs telford #happy lowman #juice ortiz #the club #gemma teller #headcanons #gemma teller morrow #the sons #the sons headcanons #the sons preference #witch the writer's preferences

[queenshelby]

Forbidden Desire (Part Two)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Fem!Reader

Warning: Incest (at this stage implied), Age Gap, PTSD, Domestic Abuse, Self-Harm, Fluff, Mild Smut

Words: 4,878

Summary:

This plays after Grace’s death but before Tommy becomes a politician. Lizzie is pregnant with Tommy’s child, so it is somewhere around season four.

In this fic, Tommy suffers from episodes of PTSD and so does the reader, resulting from trauma and abuse. They will help and save each other without realising that their connection is much stronger than they could have anticipated.

There will be love, fluff and smut as well as a highly taboo relationship.

PLEASE COMMENT AND ENGAGE! 

QUESTION: WHO IS TOMMY TO THE READER? WHOOPS!

The following morning…

The following morning, you woke up at 4 o’clock after hearing a loud bang, followed right by another. Your neighbour was clearly beating on his wife again and you wondered when she would finally leave him and this awful marriage of hers behind.

She reminded you of your mother. Your very own mother who, for almost eighteen years, had failed to protect you and protect herself from the monster who was your stepfather.

He was the cause of your pain and suffering, hurting you and abusing you, physically and mentally, until you ran away. But still, you were one of the lucky ones having been spared the sexual abuse and assault on your womanhood. He tried, but never quite got there. Thank God.

God? What God? Was there something like a God? You decided, probably not and then there it was again, the darkness which consumed you. You had no faith and the quiet sobs at night time that no one knew about came on creeping in. The urges that overwhelmed you started to haunt you once more and the intrusive thoughts and the fear of physical contact became a stark reminder of what you have been through.

You hated every god damn moment of this but, at least today, you had something to look forward to. There was someone who was giving you a chance, an opportunity and legal employment. Although, really, the legality of this man’s businesses was questionable and you knew that. But you did not care.

He was the kind of man your mother had warned you about and yet, there was something which intrigued you about him.  His demure, his attitude and his intelligence stood out to you and so did his god damn blue eyes.

Thus, with some reluctance, you eventually rolled out of bed and turned on the light. You looked down on yourself, still wearing your nightgown and, for the first time in a very long time, you saw a woman who was willing to change. It was not just about surviving anymore. It was about gaining something. Something important and real, whatever that may be.

A week ago, when you looked at yourself in the mirror, all you could see were your scars. Even now, having tattooed over some of them, the scars were still visible and you knew that they would always be.

But, this may not necessarily be a bad thing as the scars no longer defined who you are but, rather, were the remainder of times during which you were in an enormous amount of emotional pain.  

On your wrist, you featured a tattoo with the words “this story isn’t over” and, whilst in today’s society, pre 1930, tattoos were frowned upon if worn by women, on the days when shame overwhelmed you, and when you felt like you could no longer go on, you looked at your tattoo and reminded yourself that your story certainly was not over yet. In fact, it had only just begun as, clearly, today was going to be the day your life would change and you felt strongly about it. You had a feeling that, today, something great would happen to you and, with that in mind, you put on a dress which, too, was stolen, and a pair of heels which were just a little too high for you to walk in. You even wore a hat which, again, you misappropriated from a small shop downtown and tugged your hair back into a neat bun with some pearl clips.

For your first day at work, you wanted to look professional even though you had no experience in administerial work whatsoever and did not quite understand what your role at Shelby Company Limited would entail.

Later at the Small Heath Gambling Den…

“That’s her, surely” Lizzie spat as Linda and her watched you walk through the door of the gambling den which, to you, was hard to find. You heard them talk about you and were nervous like a young girl on her first day of school. This was your first proper job and you were excited about it.

“You must be Y/N, Thomas’s new secretary” Lizzie then said before assessing you from top to bottom. The fact that she used his first name to refer to him surprised you but when she told you that she was about to be laid up, the situation became much more obvious to you. She was carrying his child, but he clearly did not love her enough to marry her. Typical.

“I am Y/N, but did you just say that I will be the new secretary?” you asked with great surprise while a cold shiver ran down your spine. You could neither read nor write, so how on earth would you be able to fulfill this role you wondered?

“Yes, you will be a secretary to Thomas Shelby who, I may add, is very demanding in many ways” Lizzie exclaimed in response to your question.

“No doubt he is” you simply responded while glancing at her growing bump with a little jealousy perhaps, seeing that you took at least a mild interest in your new employer.

“I assume you have experience and this is why he hired you?” was the next question Lizzie asked you and she now spoke to you in an almost snobbish way, looking down on you which, of course, was not too difficult. She was much taller than you after all and absolutely, drop-dead gorgeous.

“Actually, no, I do not! I have no experience in this line of work. I only met Mr Shelby last night and he offered me a job. I didn’t even know what the job would entail but, stupidly enough, I accepted anyway as I need the money” you explained with honesty and this surprised Lizzie who, clearly, was expecting some competition at the den.

“Where did you meet?” another woman then asked before shaking your hand and introducing herself as Polly Gray. She was clearly of authority around here and took a good look at you as well.

The way she looked at you however was different to the way Lizzie looked at you. Lizzie’s looks were filled with anger, fear and concern as well as some jealousy, whereas Polly’s looks were filled with questions about your identity. She saw a familiarity inside of you which she could not explain.

“Have we met before? You seem familiar” she observed but you shook your head.

“Not that I know off” you told her but Polly’s intuition told her to keep an eye on you and figure out to whom you belonged. She felt a connection towards you and this was not necessarily a good thing.

“Very well, so tell me again, where did you and Tommy meet last night?” she then asked and you swallowed harshly.

“At Madam Juans” you then admitted, causing Polly to roll her eyes and laugh while Lizzie stormed off and took a seat behind her desk which, apparently, would become your desk soon.

“Men and their cocks never cease to amaze me” Polly chuckled while giving you a sorry pat on the back and you were quick to shake your head in order to correct her.

“Oh no. You misunderstand. We did not have intimate relations” you blurted out quickly without admitting that, in fact, you had never even been kissed before. Intimacy was alien to you and you were afraid of being hurt by a man in any physical kind of way after your stepfather had beaten the living hell out of you for years.

“You did not have sex?” Lizzie asked, confused. “But you are a whore?” she then queried and you shook your head.

“No. I am not. I am waitress there. That is all” you explained while Polly chuckled again.

“Interesting, but unfortunately, I must go now. I have several meetings to attend to Lizzie will show you the robes around here and, no doubt, Thomas will be in his office sometime today, or not. You never know with him” Polly said before making an elegant exit from the den while pondering on about your identity and Tommy’s urge to employ you without consulting with her first.

Several hours later…

Several more hours had passed and you were shown how to take calls and take notes which, luckily for you, Lizzie still had control over.

You had not yet admitted to her that you could neither read nor write and you knew that, as soon as she would find out, all hell would break loose.

Since you started at nine o’clock that morning, Tommy too had arrived in his office but, without even greeting you or Lizzie, he closed the door behind him and you had not heard from him since.

Lizzie informed you that, on occasion, he likes to keep to himself and, clearly, today was one of those occasions.

“Can you type?” she eventually asked and you shook your head before, finally, she saw you to her desk.

“Of course you can’t. That is not why he hired you” she then murmured under her breath and you queried what she had meant by that.

“Pardon?” you began to say and Lizzie sighed while setting up the typewriter for you.

“Never mind. I will have to fucking show you how to type then, don’t I?” she spat and then began dictating a letter to you which, clearly, you failed to transcribe properly.

“You can’t write” she then observed angrily and you nervously shook your head. You were embarrassed and nervous about loosing this job, the money for which you needed so desperately.

“Well, then me teaching you is absolutely pointless” Lizzie then said before storming off and into Tommy’s office without even bothering to knock first.

***

Several minutes later, and after some shouting and yelling from behind closed doors, you saw Lizzie again but she did not speak with you. She simply reached for her coat and bag, before storming off and leaving the den a little less graciously than Polly Gray did earlier that day. Clearly, she was angered by the fact that you were working here and you well and truly hoped that Tommy would not fire you over this.

But then again, who were you kidding, right? You could neither read nor write, so what would he do with you? Put you up in a factory, perhaps?

And then, there it was…the moment you feared…

“Y/N, a word please” Tommy said to you while poking his head through the door and you immediately jumped up from your seat and stumbled towards his office.

The height of your new heels certainly did not help with your trembling legs and, as you were fidgeting nervously when entering his office, you tripped and almost twisted your ankle.

‘I am sorry Mr Shelby’ you huffed out with embarrassment as you watched him watching you stumbling into the side of the bookshelf.

It was obvious to you that he tried hard not to laugh about what had just happened, but a small chuckle escaped him nonetheless.

‘Love, please take them off before you hurt yourself, eh’ Tommy said with a half-smile but it was when he looked at you directly that you felt your hands inevitably began to shake slightly. You weren’t that intimidated by him when you saw him at the brothel last night and you wondered yourself what had changed since then, within a span of twenty hours. He was your employer now, sure, but was that it? Or was there something more to it? Maybe it was the fact that he was about to fire you which made you nervous or maybe it was him, his eyes and his intoxicating scent.

Even though Tommy was slightly amused by your little accident, his eyes were both your favourite and least favourite feature about him. You noticed them last night too, so intimidating and yet soothing all at the same time. They were deep blue, and absolutely piercing when he made direct eye contact. It gave you a strange sense of fear, and you now found yourself looking down when you spoke to him, afraid that, if you made direct eye contact, you might lose your train of thought.

‘Have a seat next to me’ Tommy then instructed after you took off your shoes and approached his desk, tippy toeing across the very cold wooden floor.

He then glanced at your shoes again and smirked. “You stole them, didn’t you?” he asked and you nodded shyly.

“Yes. I did” you said, chuckling nervously.

“Well, perhaps next time, you should steal some shoes you can actually walk in Love” Tommy said with a great sense of amusement before asking you a very important question.

“Do you know what I do for a living?” he wanted to know and you shook your head.

“I have heard stories, but I don’t believe them to be true. I know that you own factories and gambling dens, but that is all” you said shyly, causing Tommy to cock his eyebrows.

“Tell me honestly Love, do you not believe them to be true or do you not want them to be true. Because, the way I see it, there is a distinct difference between those two scenarios” Tommy then said before pulling a chair to his side and gesturing for you to sit down.

“Okay. I know that some of what you do is probably illegal, but I do not care. I just want this job” you told Tommy who smirked before giving you a slight nod.

“You want the job, eh?” Tommy asked with a smirk on his face before handing you his pen. “Then write down the names of every mistress taking pay offs from my customers at Madam Juans” Tommy then said and you immediately had to grasp for air.

“I can’t” you said, fidgeting again before realising quickly how terribly embarrassing you must have looked in front of this man right now. This was not the look you were aiming for.

‘Do I intimidate you Love? Is that why you cannot write down the names?’ Tommy then asked bluntly, looking at you with a slight smirk on his face again as you continued to fidget even more nervously now.

‘No Mr Shelby’ you said nervously, causing him to chuckle.  

‘No?’ he then asked with a smug smile and you immediately looked away from him. This was too much for you and, if he had not asked you another question right away, drilling you for an answer, you would have stood up and left.

‘Look at me and tell me the truth Y/N. Do I intimidate you?’ Tommy asked again and you complied with his request and told him the truth.

‘Yes, you intimidate me. But that is not the reason I cannot write down the names’ you said shyly while looking into his piercing blue eyes.

‘You can’t write or read, can you?’ Tommy then said almost gently and it was clear to you that he already knew. Lizzie must have told him and he was simply teasing you now, playing a game of some sort.  

“No, I can’t write and I can’t read” you admitted reluctantly and it was at this point that Tommy lid himself a cigarette and leaned back into his chair.

“In that case, you are fired as a secretary” he smirked, causing you to gasp for air again. You were devastated, needing this job and the money he had offered you.

“I understand” you said nonetheless and Tommy smiled.

“But, I have another job for you Love” he then said, taking you by surprise. “Just because you did not learn how to write or read doesn’t mean that you are not smart and smart people is what I need right now as my export business is expanding” he then said before asking you to pour him and yourself a glass of whiskey.

‘You think that I am smart, do you?” you asked, causing Tommy to chuckle once more.

“I know that you are smart. You stole from my patrons and you got away with it for several months. You just couldn’t fool me, eh” Tommy observed before making another sly remark. “In fact, no one can fool me” he determined and you broke out in a giggle.

“Really? No one?” you asked as you stood up and walked over towards the desk on which the whiskey bottles were standing and, just as you walked there, you could feel Tommy’s eyes on you, watching you as you walked across his office barefooted.

“No, no one I have met so far” Tommy said while taking in your natural beauty and the scent you left behind.

“You are very full of yourself” you then said as you took hold of a whiskey bottle and poured two glasses from it before walking back with them to where Tommy was sitting.

“And you do not believe in yourself or your abilities Love. We need to change that” Tommy then said as you sat back down and handed him a glass while taking the other for yourself.

***

Just as you were sipping on your whiskey while talking with Tommy about the mistresses at Madam Juan and the job he had for you, you began to relax a little. Your mind was clearly eased by the effects of the alcohol you consumed and you began to realise why Lizzie took a liking in this man.

He was incredibly attractive but also charming in his very own and somewhat brutal way. Then there was his voice, low and gruffy, making it difficult for you to concentrate. He was burdened with intellect and, for some reason, he spoke to you as if you were his kin.

You drank and spoke for hours. You talked about your life which Tommy seemed to be interested in. He asked you about your family ties, doing his research on your background before revealing more of his businesses to you.

You told him about your mother but purposely omitted reference to your father.

“What about your father?” he thus asked and you sighed deeply.

“I never knew my father. My mother always said that he was a dangerous man so she kept me away from him. All I know is that he went to France with his two younger brothers and never came back” you said, causing Tommy to furrow his eyebrows. This, he did not know about you but, before he could question you about your biological father again, you explained to him that you grew up with your mother and your stepfather who you considered to be an evil man.

“Did he do this to you?” Tommy then asked while trying to get hold of one of your wrists but you pulled away abruptly in fear.

“Please don’t” you said and Tommy was quick to apologise. Your wrists were clearly off limit and he respected that.  

“I am sorry Love. I did not intend to hurt you” he was then quick to say after seeing your reaction. You had almost dropped your glass to the floor and started fidgeting again.

“It’s fine…and no, I did this to myself” you told him, which is when he recalled that, at the brothel, you too were afraid of his touch and he knew that there must have been a reason for this. There was something that bothered you. You clearly did not like to be held or restrained and he wondered what it was that made you so fearful.

In addition to that, Tommy remembered that, at the brothel, you were wearing long satin gloves, seemingly in an attempt to hide your scars, of which he got a closer look now. Your arms were covered in them and, once again, you tried to cover them up with your jacket.

“Let’s talk about something else, eh” Tommy eventually suggested after you began to feel rather vulnerable around him and, with that, you nodded before simply listening to Tommy’s ideas about how to improve his businesses and how he thought you could help him with that. This conversation took at least another hour and you were in a cheerful mood again. You were laughing and, much to his very own surprise, Tommy did the same. He laughed, genuinely, for the first time in two years.

As you were talking about business, you stammered out some ideas as well, easing into the conversation as you scribbled down a point in your notebook that you were sure would make no sense to your later.

“So you can write” Tommy then observed sarcastically and you shook your head.

“Barely and not without spelling mistakes” you chuckled just before Tommy asked you to pour the two of you some more whiskey.

‘Yes, of course Mr Shelby’ you said, looking at your watch before walking back over towards the sideboard and pouring Tommy and yourself another glass of Irish single malt.

‘Please, just call me Tommy, eh’ he said as you handed him back his glass, causing you to smile.

‘Okay, Tommy, but if this is your way of making an advance towards me, then I must disappoint you…” you teased and, whilst this was meant to come across as a joke, Tommy did not see it that way and cut you off.

“Love, if I was to make an advance towards you, then I would not be doing it through words” Tommy chuckled before moving on. “I would be doing this instead…” he then said before, ever so gently, caressing your face and then, in a careful but calculated move, pressing his soft lips against yours in order to see how you would react.

You immediately froze but allowed the kiss to happen nonetheless. It was your very first kiss and it happened so suddenly; with a man you barely knew but who, for whatever reason, you trusted enough to take this further.

You just had a feeling about him. It was a feeling of comfort and safety and you knew that, provided that his hands remained where they were now, namely caressing your cheeks, you would be able to tolerate his touch, and perhaps even enjoy it.

When he kissed you passionately, you could sense that he was taking it slowly. As such, the kiss was reluctant at first and you could taste the remnants of smoke and whiskey on his lips.

 His lips were so surprisingly soft and smooth against your own and, as Tommy moved them sensually, a warmth flooded your body, causing you to feel desired for the time in your life.

 There was no pressure or force in this kiss. It was tender and calm and you felt Tommy’s lips massage every inch of your mouth in the most sensual way.

 His rough thumbs moved over the soft skin on your cheeks, over and over again and, without hesitation, you responded to his touch, your passion increasing the longer it went on.

 With every second that passed, there was a new sensation you had to take in and it was after at least a minute that Tommy reached out slightly with his tongue. He ran the tip along the length of your lips, probing away where you joined, seeking an opportunity to dip inside. By now, your mind was awash with arousal, a sensation which, too, was alien and foreign to you. Any apprehension you had just vanished, and you just wanted more.

 You gasped under your breath and your hands eventually found their way into Tommy’s hair. No sooner had you parted your lips, no sooner had you given him an opening, than you felt the tip of his tongue ease inside. You gasped once more as your tongues touched, a sense of electricity passing through you.

 The more you kissed, the more you relaxed. The more you relaxed, the more you wanted him. And, the more you wanted him, the more you felt your arousal stir.

 What on earth was this feeling? So strange. So alien. So goddamn amazing…until, suddenly Tommy pulled away. He broke the kiss, leaving you wanting for more. You started to protest, but Tommy simply brought a finger to your lips urging you not to continue.

 "I am sorry Love” Tommy spoke softly.

 “For kissing me?” you queried while shyly bringing your middle and index finger to your lips, feeling them after they have been kissed for the very first time. They felt swollen and moist and you bit your lower lip inadvertently, wanting to feel Tommy’s mouth against yours again.

 “No, that I am not sorry for” Tommy chuckled. “But I am sorry for my motive having been two-fold when offering you employment at my company. So, I must ask, do you still want the job knowing that I have taken an interest in you?” Tommy then asked and you blushed.

“Well, Tommy…” you began to say while trying to find your words. “Yes. In fact, I believe that my appetite for the position in your company has just increased quite drastically” you then said shyly while Tommy caressed your cheek again.

 “Good. I am glad” Tommy smiled before kissing you once more, this time more briefly. He knew that this must have been a first for you and he also knew that you must have been about fifteen years younger than him. He could tell by the way you had reacted to his onslaught and, with that in mind, he didn’t take it any further than that. He was patient, giving you time, regardless of how much he wanted you and, the truth was, that he wanted you a lot. He wanted you more than anyone else since the day he had met Grace. He was in awe with you and, feeling that way again, worried him. He felt alive and when he felt alive, he knew that he would do dangerous things.

To be continued…

Please comment and engage. I love getting comments and predictions pretty please!

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#thomas shelby #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby smut #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby fanfiction #Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby smut #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinder #cillian murphy #cillian murphy fanfic #thomas shelby x you #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders fandom #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy imagine

[stwrkeys]

request : maybe rafe is y/n bodyguard and reader gets hurt or something maybe he has to save her ... but ends with him confessing his feelings toward y/n and soft smut 😵‍💫😛

i luv dis idea so bad

bodyguard!rafe x reader au

tw : sexual assault

not long after rafe had turned over a new leaf and moved out of the obx and into the city, he found himself in need of a job. with his luck, he’d been hired by a company CEO as his daughter’s personal bodyguard. at first he didn’t understand why a businessman’s daughter would need that much protection. but he soon learned that your father was a hugely successful and wealthy man, and you were a gorgeous, young woman. your father was a very well known man, making you an easy target to just about anyone who wanted to get their hands on you. after your apartment was broken into, your father thought it would be best to get you your own personal form of permanent protection.

rafe had been your bodyguard for almost a year and the two of you had become increasingly close with each other. he was the person you spent most of your time with, and he was more of a friend than a bodyguard. you two were close in age and had similar personalities. plus, he was always protecting you. plus, plus, he was very attractive. how could you not get close with him? previously, you hadn’t agreed with your dad about getting a bodyguard, acknowledging that some people are creeps but arguing that that’s just how the world is. but as you and rafe grew closer, you found yourself becoming grateful for the man and his services.

normally, a young, single woman as attractive as yourself would be the perfect person for creepy men to prey on. it didn’t help that you liked to go out often. but with rafe by your side at all times, none of them dared to even look your way. rafe towered over you, his tall and muscular figure threatening most of the men who thought about coming up to you. not that a fair share of them haven’t tried, only to freeze and walk away upon seeing the glower rafe was sending their way.

rafe had recommended a place to you and you decided to let him take you there for your usual saturday night out. you’re dancing with him in the nightclub, fifth drink of the night in your hand. you’re pretty sure rafe is sipping on a soda. he never drinks when he has to take you home. you on the other hand, are pretty drunk, and you don’t plan on stopping. you’re sweating from the close proximity of everyone. you’re enjoying yourself, swaying to the music without a care in the world when you feel a pair of large hands wrap around your waist. believing rafe’s still behind you, you dance onto the figure belonging to the hands. but when they move their way up your body to palm your breast, your head shoots back only to see the unknown man fall to the floor as rafe’s fist collides with his face. heads turn all around you at him hovering over the man’s body. he kneels down, grabs him by the collar, and lays another punch to his face. he looks at him with disgust, “did you never learn any respect, man?! you’re fucking disgusting.” shortly after, the security came and escorted the man out.

once you got in the car with rafe, you had sobered up enough to sense the tension between you two. he didn’t seem upset with you, but he seemed tense about the situation. you stay silent for most of the ride, contemplating whether or not you should talk to him. nearing your house, you decide to speak “thank you, rafe. you didn’t have to do that.” you speak softly. he taps his fingers on the wheel anxiously, "when i saw him touching you, something just took over me. i swear, i wanted to kill him." you dont know if you should feel scared or comforted by those words. "that's a little intense, don't you think?" you half-joke with him. he lets out a low chuckle and shakes his head. "no guy should be doing that to any girl, especially you," his eyes stay trained on the road. "especially me?" you cock your head, not quite understanding what he means. the tone in his voice displays his feelings slightly, but you need to hear it from him. "yeah, you're special, you know?" he answers with an obvious expression on his face, keeping his gaze forward. neither of you mentions it, but the demeanor of both of you changes. "special how?" he finally takes his eyes off of the road, turning and giving you a sly smirk, "come on, don't act clueless." you stare at him intensely, making sense of his words. he turns on your street and pulls into your driveway, stopping the car as he does so. he turns to you, the dome light making his features visible. making eye contact, he reaches over and places his hand on your knee. his tone is low and soft, "tell me you don't feel it too, and i'll stop right now." he slowly moves his hand higher up your leg, reaching your thigh. "rafe-" you mumble, not necessarily in protest. his hand inches higher. "just say the word and i'll stop." you pause, allowing his hand to move itself to your inner thigh, and your body gives into him. you all but jumped out of your seat, grabbing his face with both hands and pressing your lips against his in a heated, long-awaited kiss. he wastes no time in kissing you back, but you quickly pull away. "let's go inside," you suggest, catching your breath.

the two of you make your way inside and up the stairs of your house, hands and mouths never leaving each other. once you reach your bedroom, rafe sets you on the bed. you lay on your back as he straddles you, his knees on either side of you. he pulls his shirt over the back of his head and tosses it across the room. he helps you do the same with yours, discarding your bra with it and leaving you in only your skirt and panties. he leans down and kisses you again, then moves to press warm, sloppy kisses against your jaw and neck. he throws his head back with a groan as if you're the one touching him, and not the other way around. "fuck, you don't know how long i've wanted this. gonna treat you so good, just like you deserve." you turn your head to the side, allowing him better access to your neck area. he moves his mouth down your body, leaving a trail of wet, dark love bites from your neck to your tummy, paying extra attention to your boobs. when he reaches your skirt, he slows his movements, purposefully taunting you. he knows he's only making you want him more. "rafe- quit being a tease," you plead needily, earning a haughty laugh from him. he sticks his finger in the waistband and drags it from left to right, teasing you further. before you can scold him for fucking with you, he pulls your skirt down, getting rid of it as well. you're absolutely soaked through your panties and rafe notices right away. "all this for me, huh? guess you really did want it as much as me." you can see his ego grow about ten sizes in that very moment, and while normally it would piss you off, it only turned you on more. he drags a finger up your clothed slit, eliciting a gasp from you. not wanting to wait any longer, he pulls your panties down, sending them to the pile of clothes in the corner of the room. he sticks his index finger inside of you and begins pumping slowly, adding another finger when he starts to pick up the pace. as if you're not already writhing under his touch, he presses his mouth to your clit. he french kisses it, making you squirm as his tongue goes to work on your pussy. instinctively, your hand moves to the back of his head, grabbing onto his overgrown buzzcut and pushing his head down and causing his nose to push up against your clit. with the intensified pleasure of him eating you out while his nose continuously brushes up against your nerve, you start to feel that familiar wave of pleasure coursing through your veins and moving along your body. a few more flicks of his tongue and you're done with. you moan out his name along with a string of curse words as you cum. rafe comes up for air with his face glistening, "i wish i could take a picture of this moment and keep it forever. you look so pretty falling apart for me." still catching your breath, you don't notice him pulling his cock out of his pants and stroking himself until he's hovering over you and you feel him lining up with your entrance. he slides it in between your folds like a credit card before pushing it inside of you. snapping back into reality, you grab his shoulders for support as he moves back and forth. the room is filled with the sounds of the bed creaking and skin against skin, mixed with the sweet sounds rafe brings out of you and his own grunts and soft moans. your body parts fit together like puzzle pieces, as if they were made for each other. he hits you in all the right spots like he's explored your body in every past life. "this pussy is even better than i imagined, and my standards weren't low at all." he shakes his head with a small laugh as he praises you, bringing two fingers to your clit to rub circles on it. you reach up to grab his head and smash his face against yours in another heated kiss. your bodies move in sync and soon you feel your second climax approaching. he gets you through it, still plunging into you as you ride out your high. once his thrusts start to get sloppy and his body jerks, he pulls out of you and holds his cock over you, allowing his cum to spill all over your naked body.

"im gonna paint you like a canvas, make you all mine."

#rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #outer banks #obx3 #outer banks imagine #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader

[sungbeam]

BIRD HUNT — one

nonidol!choi line x f!reader

gotham city is a gutter running rampant with the ill, corrupt, and the insane. at times, justice and vengeance must be served by one's own hand... no matter the lengths one must go to do so.

▷ genre, au, etc. bat family au, dc comics inspired, dark, vigilantes au, slow burn, ceo/billionaire au, cat woman!reader, murder mystery au, action, suspense, angst, slow burn-ish?, love square??; choi line inspired by dick grayson (csb), jason todd (cyj), and tim drake (cbg), including bruce wayne for choi minho and damian wayne for nishimura riki, inspired by 2022's The Batman

▷ chapter warnings. swearing, mentions of insomnia, bank robbery, mentions of assault/violence, mentions of weaponry, depictions of death and blood, dead body

▷ word count. 3.8k // taglist. open

« m.list · next »

FILE_01 : a thing for strays

gotham city.

[beomgyu & yn are 15, soobin is 16, yeonjun is 17.]

The incessant, distinct cry of meowing drew 15-year-old Choi Beomgyu from his warm covers and his state of sleep. (Technically speaking, it was only partial unconsciousness, but this wasn't about his insomnia.) He had long accepted the fact that good night's rests were rare in this world and with his condition, so there was less irritation and more plain curiosity in his mind. In other words, he cared very much about how a cat could meow so loud over the city’s infinite soundtrack more than sleeping.

He dragged his palms over his eyes, scrubbing away the stinging in his irises due to sleep deprivation. The dull buzz at the back of his head kept him awake constantly anyway. As he made his way toward the window, his eyelids fluttered like the shutter of a camera lens, actively adjusting to the warm glow of a light radiating from the apartment across the alleyway from him and streaming into the darkness of his.

Beomgyu peered out of the window, hand idly scratching his chest while the other leaned on the sill. It wasn't completely uncommon to see at least one person wandering the streets late at night in Gotham City. No sane person would be out, but whoever said Gotham residents were sane in the first place?

In the alleyway below, he could make out a shadowy form crouched by a dingy cardboard box at the foot of a dumpster. You knelt there before the box; Beomgyu quietly lifted his window open to hear what you were saying. You didn't look much older than he was, and you were bundled in a straight trench coat that left much to the imagination. A pair of slippers peeked out from beneath you, however, where you braced yourself against the grainy gravel ground.

"I'm not gonna — yah! I'm trying to help you, you st—" You huffed, hands raised in the air. "Sorry, that's mean of me to say."

A small laugh fell from his lips.

Your head perked up at the sound, and he mentally praised your alertness. That was a critical skill to wield here. Your head whipped around, eyes searching the alleyway, before meeting his eyes. You narrowed your own. "Have you just been there watching me this whole time?"

"Depends; how long have you been out here?" He drawled back, his upper body leaning out of the window and his elbows bracing against the window sill.

You rolled your eyes and turned back to the cat in the box. "Creep."

"Weirdo."

That got you whirling around for him again, and this time, he stared at the way the amber streetlight posted just at the mouth of the alleyway illuminated your features and the feisty gleam in your eyes. There was a feline likeness to your eyes and tendencies—your posture and crouch stance, narrow-eyed cynicism, alertness and awareness. "The fuck d'you just call me?"

He shrugged with a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. "You called me a creep first."

You scoffed at his teasing. This was much more fun than tossing and turning for sleep that would never come.

"Are you not afraid of catching something from the animals out here?" Beomgyu queried, now leaning his chin in the palm of his hand. He was Juliet leaning out of her window to lament her dramatic soliloquy, unaware of Romeo's presence below. His father would scoff at such a romanticized view of life, but it was all said with an undertone of cynicism anyway. "I mean, have you seen what crawls out of the gutters? Ngh," he shivered.

There was something he couldn't place in your features as you suddenly scooped the mewling cat into your arms and stood facing him. Beomgyu watched in awe as the cat began to purr and nuzzle into the warmth that your body provided. Your hand gently smoothed over its fur, even if the feline was matted with dirt and grime.

"I have a thing for strays," you said simply. On the surface, it was a quote of defiance, but beneath it all, he sensed there was something else to it.

Beomgyu's heart stuttered when you had said that and looked him right in the eyes.

As if on cue, a pair of black and white cats padded their way out of the shadows toward you. From where, he had no clue. But they circled your legs, rubbing against your sweatpants adoringly. He guessed these were yours, but he shouldn't assume simply based on their cleaner and maintained coats. (Sarcasm—that was sarcasm. He was definitely going to guess based on that.)

The apartment across the alleyway opened up at ground level and more of its warm light streamed out into the alley. A woman stood at the doorway with one hand on her cocked hip. "Yn, you know we can't…"

"Oh, but mama," you pleaded. You lifted the purring mass of fur in your arms as if it would plead your case for you. It was kind of cute, really. "Look at her."

The woman's eyes twinkled. "Ah, all right. Let me see if we have more—" Her words died upon her tongue when she caught Beomgyu's frame at his window.

He marked the spark of recognition in her eyes. He wasn't completely surprised.

"You're—You're one of the Choi kids, aren't you?" She asked. Perhaps it was less of a question than a statement, because Beomgyu had no doubt she didn't need confirmation. He and his brothers' and his father's faces had been plastered all over the society columns since birth. "Beomgyu, isn't it?"

"Yes ma'am," he said. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

Her head tilted to the side, and he saw the curiosity in your features, as well. It seemed you hadn't recognized him though. "You're quite polite for…" She shook her head, dismissing her previous thought. "What're you doing on this side of the city?"

Ah, and that was yet another mystery, wasn't it? Besides the mystery of his entire family, it was the fact that the Choi kids, despite hardly being adult aged, did not live at Choi Manor all of the time. Eventually, Beomgyu figured they'd all amass there once more and dwell there more frequently, but for now, he liked his dingy, crumby, little apartment in this specific Gotham gutter. Folks usually didn't expect the child of a multimillionaire to pick this dump to have his own apartment in.

But that was the strategy, wasn't it? Not only to prove people's judgements wrong, but to also let himself live and breathe and learn from his own mistakes.

Oh, and learn to deal with his insomnia on his own. So far, the only solutions he'd found were copious doses of melatonin or just caffeine. But even those things were hit or miss.

"Got kicked out," he joked.

And then he regretted it immediately afterward when he realized how real that felt. It was sticky and metallic in his mouth, like blood, and it felt too real.

You and your mother were surprisingly sympathetic and neither of you made any brash comments concerning his status, his money, his family and being "kicked out." He expected something like "spoiled brat got an apartment to himself when he got kicked out of daddy's mansion," but nothing of the sort came forth.

I have a thing for strays, your words echoed in his mind.

The doorway to your apartment seemed to open just a little wider. "How about you come over for a little hot chocolate?"

Despite it being the beginning of summer, hot chocolate sounded nice. (Hot chocolate and company sounded nice.)

Beomgyu's eyes subtly flickered over to you, expecting some kind of catty objection, but even you stayed quiet, your eyes peering up at him. Waiting. I have a thing for strays.

"Okay," he swallowed. "I couldn't sleep anyway."

[3 years later.]

"You're a little young, don't you think?"

Nineteen-year old-Choi Soobin's head perked up at the question posed toward the current interviewee. Your name was Ln Yn, according to the manilla file folder of your records, application, and supplementary materials—all of which were quite good for someone of your age. When you presented yourself before the panel of interviewers for the opening of a job here at Choi Enterprises, you had done so with perfect posture and a professional vocabulary. You acted a lot older than your age, which was why Soobin thought that question was so goddamn absurd.

You didn't even fidget, all to your credit. You didn't shrink once under the stares of the interview panel, plus Soobin. He was just there to observe and learn, but he was given permission beforehand to step in if he felt any desire to. "Pardon?"

The man who had posed the question was one of Soobin's least favorite people here. Along with a balding head, he had a balding personality. Balding of what? Balding of humanity. He elaborated, "You've only just graduated from high school, you have yet to even begin a college degree. Do you not believe that you could learn and experience a little more?"

You cleared your throat. "With all due respect, sir, the hiring page said that this was an entry level job."

Yeah, Soobin thought to himself, that's what they always say. You must have been surprised by the extensive hiring process for said "entry level job." He really needed to have a talk with the people in Hiring and Recruitment; he picked up the pen tucked behind his ear to note it down in his little notebook to remind himself later.

"And yet, we also prefaced the description with a college degree requirement," added another member. Soobin begrudgingly admitted that that was true.

"I don't believe a college degree is particularly necessary for secretarial work, especially when most of the duties will be taught to me on site."

That is also true, he thought. Professional, calm… blank. You'd fit in great here.

"It would be difficult for partners and businesses to take a girl like you seriously—"

Soobin leaned forward and sent a look down toward the idiot who decided to open his mouth again. He sounded like he had a stick up his ass; Soobin wouldn't be surprised if he did. His posture said otherwise, but his attitude? Jesus fucking Christ. He cut in, "Excuse me."

As his father had told him time and time again: Sometimes you have to do things yourself.

The room shifted its attention to him. He poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue, his hand raised slightly with his pen, gesturing vaguely. "Your age is not really the main concern, Miss Ln. Not for me, at least." Your eyes had narrowed slightly on him, and he straightened in his chair. "The concern is that, while your résumé and references are good, your experience is lacking. This would be your first corporate job and we're looking for someone who could reliably carry out what we have outlined their duties to be."

That was how it should have been worded. That was how his father would have worded it.

"Then based off my references, Mr. Choi, would it not be safe to say that I am a reliable person?" It was definitely safe to say that you knew your way around words and requirements. There was a defiance about you that he couldn't deny, something rare that prodded at the back of his mind. It told him that if he didn't snatch you up now, someone else would.

When the interview ended, Soobin tucked the pen behind his ear once more. It was customary for interviewers to wait until the interviewee had left the room before they could leave, as well. They would think over their notes tonight before coming to a decision on all of the candidates tomorrow morning.

That feeling pricked at the back of Soobin's mind as he stood from his seat and hustled over to the elevator. He went down to the lobby, where he spotted you just pushing out the main glass doors.

"Miss Ln!"

Your head perked up at the sound of your name being shouted over the hustle and bustle of the Gotham City streets. Strands of your hair, windswept under the forever-overcast sky, blew across your face and you reached up to brush them out of your eyesight as you marked the young Choi heir making his way over to you. He was tall—perhaps around six foot or taller—with a crisp suit and that blue ballpoint pen behind one ear. The dark circles rimming his dark eyes were charming like his black bangs swept up by the breeze.

You didn't know what to say to him, really, but here you were—stopping and awaiting his thoughts. Soobin was grateful you did. There was something irking him about you, something he couldn't put his finger on. Anyone else would have stopped him, begged him for the position. He was younger, impressionable, a Choi.

You waited.

"I just wanted to say," he said, nodding, "good luck." He choked out the words, not because they tasted bitter on his tongue, but because he hadn't even known why he had chased you down in the first place.

Your eyes glanced at him up and down, but you were nodding back at him. You suddenly looked so uncomfortable in that formal wear. "Thank you."

Soobin heard the distant cries of his name from down the street—aw fuck. Just as he ducked back into the building, you had disappeared into the crowd. He hoped he might see you again.

[1 year later.]

"H-he has a young woman in ther—"

"Sick," twenty-one-year-old Choi Yeonjun said, patting the man on the head. The bank teller quivered like a leaf in the wind in the presence of Gotham's Red Hood. "Thanks, man."

As Yeonjun stepped over the fallen bodies of his victims—they didn't even deserve the label of "victim" when they had been the ones robbing this joint—he replaced the cartridge of his pistols. They were twins, pearl handles with just a touch of gold that he loved to twirl around in his hands. His father always rolled his old man eyes when he showboated, but Yeonjun never thought of it as showboating, rather an art. There were moments where he preferred the heft and damage of an AK-47, but his babies were always there for him, too.

He adjusted the crimson mask seated securely over his entire face; the metal was warm with his breathing, but he had gotten used to the suffocating feeling.

His old man would murder him if his face was seen while he was "serving justice" or whatever.

It was a shame that this last dude had taken a hostage though. That meant traumatized victim, a much more careful shot needed, and a whole lot of—

"Fuck you!"

He stopped clean at the threshold of the main vault at the back of the Gotham Bank (yes, the so-called "joint") as he watched the young woman in question, you, twist your captor's arm behind his back and pin him to the ground beneath the sole of your three-inch heel. He had gone red in the face, him and his bald ass head.

What a view. Yeonjun whistled lowly before he could stop himself.

Both heads looked up to watch him walk in. He caught the way your shoulders tensed at the sight of him, and he opened three of his fingers in each hand and showed his palms like his own way of raising his hands. "Hey, darlin', we're on the same side."

Your hair fell in disarray around your head and face, and your mascara had smudged around your eyes, but it didn't discount the sharp narrowing of them. "What took you so long? Aren't you supposed to be the hero or something?"

"Okay, first of all, I'm not a hero—" he blinked and sent a bullet through the robber's upper thigh. You shrieked, leaping away from him and Yeonjun, who suspected that you now thought of him as a maniac. Good. "—I'm just the dude who's trying to serve justice or something."

Yeonjun holstered his two baby pistols into the holsters on either side of his belt. "And second, that was—"

The sharp cry of sirens pierced the air, and he could hear the caws of incoming cops and their thundering footsteps heading right toward his and your location. Yeonjun swore under his breath, his instincts kicking in.

"Well, that's my cue to leave." He whirled on his heel and saluted you. "See ya!"

He ducked into the shadows of the hallway just outside the vault, and waited for the police to run past him with their blaring walkie talkies. They would find you in the carnage, no gun in sight, but with a wounded bad guy at your feet and a bullet hole in his thigh.

Yeonjun's head thumped back against the wall; he bit his lip beneath the mask. Fuck it, you were gonna be fine.

He had thought that, and yet, here he now sat, lounging in the passenger seat of your car in the alleyway by the bank, biding his time. His mask and dark brown leather jacket laid discarded at his booted feet, his aching arms given breathing room through his white muscle tee. He stretched out the kinks in his neck, hand running through his damp, black hair.

He was waiting.

Literally waited an hour and a half. Or maybe it was just half an hour. Sue him, he was hungry.

Finally, you rounded the corner to the symphony of your car unlocking. It gave a delightfully loud chirp and it knocked the drowsiness right out of his brain. Thank god there was still some light out or else you might have screamed. Instead, you stopped right outside your car, in front of the windshield with your eyes wide. (Actually, you didn't feel like the "scream in fright" type. It was more like "inhale sharply.")

Yeonjun didn't know what he was doing, to be honest. Then again, he never knew what he was doing. He smiled lazily at you and gave a small wave.

You must have had some kind of death wish, because you approached the car with him still in it, and he hadn't even introduced himself yet. Or maybe, he didn't have to introduce himself.

Your eyes narrowed again for the second time he had seen you. Was that your tell? Your thing?

Carefully, you tugged the driver's door open, but remained behind it and did not get in with him. Smart girl. "What the hell do you want and how the fuck did you get in here?"

"You kiss your mama with that mouth, darlin’?" He teased before he could stop himself. What could he say? He was a "shoot first, ask questions later" type of guy. His father hated that about him.

"Why are you in my car?"

He shook his head and let out a noise akin to feigned exasperation. "Just tryin' to make sure they didn't give you shit."

"I didn't see you in the bank, Choi Yeonjun."

Bingo. He smiled. "I like to be noticed when I wanna be noticed."

Your head cocked to the side. "I guess I believe you." You gestured to him vaguely with a lazy hand. "D'you mind?"

He sat up in the passenger seat and gestured his hand back toward you and the driver's seat. Maybe if his smile had widened, your eye would have twitched. There was something so amusing about him gradually frustrating you. "No, not at all."

Your pretty eyes rolled; he laughed.

"Okay, okay. Got the message." He briefly raised his hands in mock surrender, then leaned down to collect his red mask in the fabric of his brown leather jacket. He hadn't even bothered to remove or hide his pearl-handled pistols from his side holsters as he removed himself from your car.

A smirk flickered to his lips—out of your sight, of course—when he heard you sputter, "Wait—"

"Later, darlin'!" And then he was gone, out of your sight, as if he had been only a shadow from your memory.

You wondered if this day could get even weirder or even worse than it already was.

Exhaustion coursed through your veins as you slipped into the driver's seat and pulled out onto the main street. First, it was the strange email you'd received about a problem with your bank account. Then, it was whatever that interaction was. Choi Yeonjun as the Red Hood? Or perhaps only covering for one of the city’s resident vigilantes? But then, for what reason? If not for all of the trouble, you would have been home already; your joints loosened at the thought of coming home to your mom, pets, and something warm for dinner.

Brain muddied like a Gotham gutter during the wet season, the last thing that you wanted to worry about right now was how a Choi heir was connected to a vigilante.

When you arrived on your street, you pulled into the alley beside your complex and pushed back out into the grainy, Gotham evening.

Your head cocked to the side at the sound of loud meowing. As you approached the door, you could hear scratching from the other side.

Strange. Your cats usually knew to not scratch the doors anymore, and why wasn't your mom getting them to stop?

With a reprimand on your lips, you pushed your way in. “Guys, who is…”

A scream was left caught in your throat.

You felt yourself stumble forward into your home, the floorboards patterned in bloody paw prints, multicolored fur swarming your legs and meowing at you in distress.

Out—had they been trying to get out?

“Mom?” Your voice sounded strangled. “Mama?”

Bile crawled up your throat and your palm slammed against the side wall to keep yourself upright. You couldn’t get your eyes off of your mother’s taut and ashen skin, lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling, a bullet hole through her temple. Blood seeped into the floorboards to stain the wood beneath her limp body, and you were choking, hacking at the metal filling up your lungs.

You stumbled toward her body and blood oozed into the material of your pants as you knelt by her body to feel for her pulse.

Dead. Deaddeaddeaddead.

Your hands stained with your mother’s crimson life force stained your hands and trembled as you searched your body for your phone. You—what were—what was the number? Who did this? This couldn’t be real.

Blood rushed into your ears; you couldn’t hear the sirens, couldn’t hear the voice on the other end of the phone.

Your mind had gone blank, mouth dry, and you sat down on the ground next to your mother’s body, your tears slipping down the slopes of your cheeks to land on her own face.

Dead, how could she be dead? How was this real?

A mass of fur appeared in the corners of your vision and you followed their gaze back toward the front door. And for a chilling moment, you were stone-cold sober. There was a note staked into the doorframe: A Debt Repaid.

a/n: pls remember to comment and reblog!

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[strrwbrrryjam]

there are so many insane takes that come out of rdr2 tiktok but the one that baffles me the most is that "micah and arthur could be friends if micah were a little less terrible" because it completely comes out of nowhere and makes no sense at all.

micah is nothing but terrible. micah is one of the least complex characters to ever come out of rockstar, his terribleness is all there is to him. he's a character that thrives on cruelty and greed and does things purely out of his own benefit. that's it. he doesn't care about who gets hurt or dies as long as he profits in the end and he's willing to sell everyone and anyone as long as he stays on top. he views himself as above everyone and will make everyone know that. he's incredibly racist, often insulting and assaulting people of colour on the regular. he's a creep and misogynistic, believing that a woman's job is to obey their husband. he has no respect for anyone who he deems beneath him. he's threatened by arthur, because most gang members often rely on arthur more than they do dutch, and the reason micah is even tolerated in the gang is that dutch holds micah in a high position.

arthur on the other hand, is a complex character. he is more than his outlaw life. he is more than the crimes that he commits. he's kind, smart and creative. he's protective of the gang and despite his harsh words, or clearly complicated relationships with some of them (john) he clearly cares about most members of the gang (the one excluded from that being micah). he's protective of them and holds so many in high regard. he's nonjudgmental and constantly looks down upon those who do hold such prejudices, the old slavedriver, the man preaching about eugenics in saint denis, the shopkeeper in rhodes, members of the KKK and even those in the gang, micah and bill. he does have his moments, yes, but they are mostly him being an idiot - not ones born out of malice. he doesn't care what gender, sexuality or race you are - he mostly just cares if you've got money.

micah and arthur are fundamentally different from one another and from the first time we see the two of them interact with one another, its clear that they hate each other so much. they have no respect for one another, viewing each other as scum of the earth so i cannot for the life of me understand why people think there is a universe out there where micah and arthur would even tolerate one another - even low honour arthur hates him.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur morgan #micah bell #rdr2 micah bell #strawberry speaks