#I don’t know if I made the right choice or not but I know there is no right or wrong choice here
Text
Wrong Delivery
Summary: Sleepin' with the hot construction guy doing the remodel at your work, he winds up buying flowers for someone else...
Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI go on get! No outbreak/pre outbreak(you decide), fluff, smut, miscommunication, cussing, oral f!receiving, unprotected piv(don't do that, make smart choices), cream pie, Joel being a dork.
A/N: First time I've ever actually finished a Joel story I started working on! Many thanks to @strang3lov3 for the encouragement and taking a look at this, @jay-zzle as always for giving me ideas and making moodboards for me because I hate doing them myself! ❤️❤️❤️
🌹This is for @morallyinept’s flora & fauna challenge! 🌹
Divider provided by @saradika-graphics
Masterlist||AO3 Link
As you rush into the building, trying to avoid the construction team surrounding the place, a timid smile crosses your face when you spot Joel, the man responsible for why you’re running late this morning. Instead of getting ready for work like you were supposed to, Joel Miller decided he wanted to spend his morning coaxing another orgasm out of you, as if the three last night weren’t enough. It’s been a couple of months of this.
It had never been your intention to start sleeping with the hot contractor who had been doing construction at your place of work, you both just happened to be at the same bar one night. One thing led to another and now it’s been this, whatever this is.
“Mornin’ guys,” you say passing the crew, each giving their own sort of greeting back, be it a grunt of acknowledgment or repeating the greeting.
“Mornin’ ma’am,” Joel says with a cheeky smile, “Runnin’ a little late?”
“Yeah, woke up late,” you shrugged, feeling your face heat up.
“There you are!” Becky shouts, making her way towards you, “Angie is up my ass right now about where you are with those reports you said you’d get done yesterday.”
“On it,” you sigh, “Nice talking to you Joel.”
“Oh!” Becky said with a smile, grabbing his bicep, “Hi Joel! You guys sure have been working hard on all of this.”
You try to keep your eyes from rolling at Becky’s consistent attempt at flirting with Joel. She has definitely tried her hardest to get his attention, made cookies “for the crew” but only handed some of them to Joel, tries to talk to him every chance she can, wearing lower cut tops so her cleavage is on full display, batting eyelashes and laughing at any dumb thing he says. It’s starting to get on your nerves, if you’re being honest. Making your way to your desk you open the drawer, shoving your purse inside before closing it and turning on your computer. You open the teams app, sending Angie a quick message to let her know you’ll put the file with the reports in the folder outside her door, grabbing the file and making your way to her office.
Becky is still talking Joel’s ear off and you have to stifle your laugh, watching his eyebrows scrunch together and his polite nod before excusing himself. She catches you as you're on your way back to your cubicle to start the work day.
“That Joel Miller is a man,” Becky sighs, walking beside you, “The things I would let him do to me.”
“Oh jeez,” you laugh awkwardly, sitting down at your desk.
“I wonder what his dick is like,” she continues, “I bet it’s big.”
You turn to your computer hoping she can’t see the look on your face because then the jig would be up.
“Uhm,” you say, clearing your throat, “You better be careful. Don’t wanna get turned into HR.”
—
“Hello,” a frazzled delivery guy announces himself at the entrance to your cubicle. “I have a delivery for you, miss.”
“For me?!” Becky asks excitedly, seeing the bouquet of flowers. The delivery guy nodded, handing her the flowers. “Who are they from?!”
“Uh… Joel Miller?” The guy says, looking at his sheet. Your jaw drops upon hearing his words. Why on earth would Joel send Becky flowers?
“Oh my god!” Becky squeals with delight, grabbing the card, “Aw! Look! It says darlin’ on the envelope!”
Becky opens the card, reading it aloud:
“Figured a pretty lady like you should have some flowers to look at. Been havin’ the time of my life gettin’ to know ya and would love to take you out. He signed it off with a heart and J. Miller! How sweet is that?!”
Beside yourself on handling this, the only thing you could think of was finding the man himself. If this entire thing between you two was just for fun so be it, but you needed answers.
“Real sweet,” you mutter standing up, “I’m… uh… I’ll be back.”
“Okay.” Becky hums dreamily, staring at the flowers on her desk.
You make your way to the front of the building, spotting Gus, one of the construction guys.
“Can you tell Joel I need to talk to him?”
“Sorry ma’am, he had to leave earlier, something about Tommy.” Gus shrugs.
“Uhm… okay.” You nod, deciding to make your way to the breakroom, sitting at one of the tables trying to collect your thoughts. Maybe it’s for the best that he left. That way the entire building wouldn’t see you blow up. Are you even still supposed to see each other tonight? That had been the plan when he left this morning. What the actual fuck, you think to yourself, give annoying ass Becky flowers to ask her out, and then fuck you? That two-timing son of a bitch!
“So fucking stupid,” you mutter to yourself.
—
You make it through the workday, as best as you can, trying not to think of Joel and how mad you are all while Becky continues to talk about him all day. What should she wear, wondering where he’d take her, what they would do, should she sleep with him on the first date. Hopefully, the Excedrin will kick in soon to help with the teeth grinding headache you’ve had all day. Walking to your car Becky’s shrill voice rings out wishing you a good evening.
“Yeah, you too,” you grumble, pulling your car door open and throwing your purse inside. You’re still so mad, fuming, seeing red as you drive towards your place. Once getting home, you quickly change into comfy clothes, and see you have a text from Joel.
JMiller: Can’t wait to see you beautiful ;) Leavin’ Tommy’s
You scowl looking at the text. How do you even respond to that? Petty, that’s how.
You: K.
You see the text bubbles pop up, disappear then pop up again before his face shows on your screen with an incoming call.
“Hello,” you snap.
“Hey,” Joel says hesitatingly, “Bad day at work?”
“Well, Becky got some lovely flowers delivered at work.”
“Oh?”
“Yep,” you say with a harsh pop at the end.
“And?” Joel asks, “Is that it?”
“Delivery guy and card said they were from you.”
“Fuck me,” Joel groans “Those were not for goddamn Becky!”
“Sure about that?”
“I got them for you.” Joel argues.
“Yeah, okay.” You huff into the receiver, rolling your eyes. “Look, I get it. It’s fine if you didn’t want this going anywhere but you could’ve been honest with me about it.”
“Fuck, darlin’,” Joel groans, “I do want this going somewhere! Like I said, the flowers were for you!”
“Sure,” you say, shaking your head, “Just be honest, Joel. This has just been fun, that’s it. You’re getting your dick wet, stringing me al—“
“God damn it! I am telling the truth!” Joel growls, cutting you off. “I even have proof!”
“What proof?!” You spit back, “The proof of the flowers you sent Becky? Yeah, I saw them, and the card too. Sweet touch signing it off with a heart and then your name.”
Suddenly there is a knock on your door. You cock your head to the side, hearing the knock sound through the phone as well. Of fucking course, Tommy’s is a five minute drive to your place, making your way to the door you swing it open to see Joel standing there. His nostrils flared, phone held up to his ear, dropping it and angrily stuffing it back into his pocket.
“Just give me five minutes, I swear, they were meant for you and I have fuckin’ proof,” Joel says, holding up a piece of paper.
“What the fuck, Joel?” You groan, smacking your phone onto the entry table. “Why are you here?”
“I was on my way home from Tommy’s. Figure I’d come here first,” Joel says, holding the paper out to you, “Go on, look at it.”
You grab it, glancing it over. Farrah’s Flowers printed at the top, with your name listed as the order’s recipient, eyes bulging out of your head as you look at him.
“Told you.”
“Wait, then how the fuck did they get to Becky then?”
“Somebody fucked up, that’s all I know but that is my copy of the receipt for buyin’ them in the first place, and that is your name on it,” Joel smirks in triumph, crossing his arms across his broad chest.
Your shoulders relax as you open the door wider, motioning your head for him to come in. He gives a subtle nod, making his way into your home, you slump against the door once it’s closed.
“Joel,” you start, “What the fuck are we?”
He cages you against the door, pushing his lower half into you. You sigh, looping your arms around his neck, looking at those dark chocolate eyes.
“Well,” Joel says, kissing your cheek, “I want you,” placing a soft kiss against your lips, “More than just for sex,” he whispers, against your lips breathing in each other's air causing you to feel a dizzying arousal. Lips collide with him in a hungry kiss, tongues rolling against one another, gasping when his hands creep down to hook around your thighs lifting you, grabbing onto your ass before pulling you away from the door and carrying you to your bedroom.
Joel lays you down on your bed hovering over you, never breaking away from your lips, licking into your mouth with desperation like this might be his last chance. Arousal begins pool in your underwear. Hands gliding down his back, feeling the warmth radiating from him, lifting the bottom of his shirt until he finally lifts to fling it off.
“Don’t want anyone else,” Joel husks, lightly biting your neck, causing you to moan at the sensation of his teeth against your skin, “Just you.”
“Joel,” you whimper as his hand travels down the length of your shirt, pushing it up to expose your tits, ducking his head down. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the stiffened peak before switching to give the other equal attention, kissing a trail down the soft flesh of your stomach until he reaches the top of your leggings.
“Can I?” He asks, looking at you, fingers hooking into your waistband. You give a firm nod and he pulls them off along with your underwear. He sighs once they are off, using his shoulders to spread your legs further apart, “So fucking pretty,” he hums, nipping and kissing along your inner thighs, slowly making his way to your center.
You can feel his breath against your folds, trembling with anticipation for his tongue and lips to make contact, letting out a soft moan Joel begins lapping at your folds, sucking your bundle of nerves into his mouth. Tongue massaging circles against your clit.
“Fuck,” you moan, raking your fingers through his hair and lightly tugging.
Joel’s hum reverberated into your core. His mouth opened and he began to fuck you with his tongue while firmly holding your gaze. You’re back arched at the sensation, letting out a gasp. You roll your hips against his face, his nose pressing deliciously against your clit. He grunts, moving his thumbs to spread your lips, licking a stripe up to your clit and sucking it into his mouth. Your legs begin to shake at the sensation.
“Oh my god, Joel!” You whine, arching your back, feeling the band tightening within your core, begging for release. Joel sinks two of his thick fingers into you causing you to cry out, moving them to massage that sweet spot against your walls, “Yes! Oh my god, fuck!” You could feel the smug smirk on his face, knowing you’re about to come.
“Come on,” he coos, firmly licking your bundle of nerves “Let me have it baby.”
You cry his name out over and over as you feel the waves of pleasure crashing through you. He continues lapping at your folds, wanting to make sure he gets every last drop before you push his head away. He crawls up the length of your body, the denim of his jeans scratching against your skin.
“Good?” He asks, you nod giggling and he smirks, grabbing the nape of his neck you pull him closer to your face, looking into your eyes he whispers a hi. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face, surging forward to kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue. He groans into your mouth, grinding his bulge against your center, the rough denim providing friction against your core. His hand moves to his belt, swiftly unhooking it and unbuttoning his jeans. Hands sliding down to help him push the denim off his hips, boxers following suit. You grip his hard length, stroking it from tip to base. Palm spreading the precome over his long thick length. Joel lets out a soft moan at the touch.
“Want you inside me,” you whimper, rubbing his cock against your slick heat. “Please.”
He bats your hand away, grabbing his cock to tease your folds more, rubbing his tip up and down your slit. You let out a moan when his tip catches against your entrance. Only for him to slide back up to your clit, rubbing agonizingly slow circles against you.
“Joel,” you begged, titling your pelvis, “Please, please fuck me.”
Joel smirks, sliding his cock back down to your entrance, feeding you his bulbous head. You writhe, feeling the stretch. He sinks into you slowly, filling you up until his tip kisses your cervix. Fingers gripping his back, each of you letting out a satisfied moan.
“Fuck, darlin’,” Joel murmurs into your neck, nipping and sucking on your pulse point, letting you adjust to his size, “Best pussy ever,” placing gentle kisses along your jaw.
“Joel, move,” you plead, hitching your legs up on his waist, “Need you to move.”
He pulls out slowly before snapping his length into you again, letting out a shaky breath at the harshness of his thrust. Your grip on his back tightens, sinking your nails into his skin. He lets out a hiss as he rocks his hips into you, trying to find that spot that makes you see stars.
“Fuck,” he grunted, “Don’t want anyone else, darlin’.”
Breathy moans shared between kisses, sweat slicked skin gliding against each other. He pushes your thighs back further into a mating press, finding that sweet spot inside your walls.
“Oh my god,” you whine, back beginning to arch, “Right there!”
His cock massages that spot with every stroke, causing your muscles to tighten. You can feel the coil in your belly tightening, walls beginning to flutter around his shaft as he drills into that spot over and over.
“Jesus Christ,” Joel growls, feeling the heat of his skin slapping against yours, “I need you to come, baby. Ain’t gonna last much longer.”
You moan wantonly as you feel his dick twitch inside of you. Joel holding out to make sure you come first. The coil in your belly finally snaps, sending you over the edge, white hot electricity flowing through every limb. He thrusts into you harshly half a dozen more times before his hips stutter.
“Only you, darlin’, only want you,” he grunts, as he empties himself inside you, painting your walls with his sticky release, “only want you.”
Joel collapses, holding himself up by his elbows on either side of your head, nuzzling his nose against yours, placing soft kisses against your lips.
“Only want you,” he sighs.
—
You spent the next hour, in each other's arms, talking, snuggling and kissing.
“I can’t believe you would think I’d want Becky,” Joel booms with laughter, eyes crinkling around the edges. You smirk playfully, slapping his arm.
“Look,” you giggle, “I didn’t know if her flirting finally wore you down!”
“Hi Joel!” He says in an exaggerated high pitch, batting his eyelashes, “My, you sure have been working hard!” he adds with a girly giggle, lifting his pecs to create some sort of cleavage.
“Oh shut up!”
“Did you see the flowers though? Like actually look at ‘em?”
“Not really,” you sigh, playing with a loose thread on your blanket.
“Purple tulips for new beginnings and love,” Joel says, planting a kiss on your cheek, “Jasmine for devotion,” he continues, kissing your other cheek, “and pink roses for appreciation,” he smiles before kissing the tip of your nose.
“Really?”
“Yep, the florist helped me pick them out,” Joel says, grabbing the back of your neck pulling you into a kiss, “Told ya they were for you.”
#jettsflora&faunachallenge#joel miller fanfic#joel miller smut#joel x reader#joel miller tlou#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x you
490 notes
·
View notes
Text
How About A Nuke?
Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V / Part VI / Part VII
The ghoul x fem!reader
A/N: I see a lot of comments talking about how you guys wished they would just communicate. They are communicating its just that neither of them know what they want.
Summary: All you want is to just be clean. He offers to show you a nice little spot where you can finally scrape the grime off of you. What could go wrong?
“So,” you shifted your bag further up your arm. You were favoring the left today on account of the giant gap he had left in your right bicep. You were still pretty pissed off about that. “Do you ever, you know, bathe?”
He looked over his shoulder at you, he seemed caught off guard by the question. “Bathe?” He repeated, face raised in surprise.
You rolled your eyes and nodded, “Yeah, bathe. I’ve been out here over a week. I’ve got about twenty layers of blood and sand stuck in every crevice.” Your skin crawled thinking about the different types of bodily fluid you’d been sprayed with since coming out of the cryo pod.
There was a lot of blood, of course, but Hollywood doesn’t show everything that gets excreted in death. You were itching for a good shower. You know that’s out of the question, but there’s got to be something.
He laughed and ripped off a piece of jerky. He offered you some, grinning when you shook your head. “Buckle up, sweetheart, you’re in for a rude awakening. You can always use the water, but that’s a waste of Radaway if you ask me.” You should have known. It’s not like anyone you’d encountered seemed particularly gung ho about personal hygiene, but you had hoped there would be something.
You reached down, digging your nails into your arm and scratching off flakes of blood and who knows what else. You shouldn’t have bothered, though, it only made the rest of you feel a hundred times worse. You looked crazy, scratching at yourself like a dog but you couldn’t help it.
“Alright, damn, I’ll give you some of my Radaway, you look half rabid.”
You stopped with your scratching and stared at him in shock. “You’ll give me some of your Radaway?”
He rolled his eyes, stopping only when he noticed you’d quit walking. “Is that not what I said?”
You crossed your arms and glared at him, “You’re not exactly known for your generosity. What’s the catch?”
He frowned and clutched at his chest like you’d actually done damage, “Now, that hurts darling. I’m just trying to help you out.” He turned around, walking to the right now, further towards greenery and away from the desert. “Plus, it’ll get rid of that fucking smell.”
You kept your mouth shut but he was one to talk. He hadn’t exactly tasted wonderful when he’d kissed you. Nor did he smell amazing. Still, he had made your heart race and it wasn’t from pure terror for once. Though, any positive feelings he’d caused within you had been negated the second he dropped you to the dirt like a used up toy.
You knew better than to try and bring it up to him, but it had stung. Attacked that vulnerable part of you that made you want to put up walls so high even the sun couldn’t get through.
With no other choice you sped up and caught up to him. Your hip was still bothering you, but it wasn’t dragging behind you as much as it was a few days ago. The only thing really bugging you now was your throbbing arm. He’d assured you that it couldn’t rot, he’d dealt with that, but that didn’t stop it from hurting like a bitch.
“Through here is a lake you can use.” He pointed towards the area where the trees started to thin out.
You looked at him skeptically, “You’re really letting me do this?”
He scoffed and glared at you, “The fuck did I tell you?” You don’t know if he’s talking about his new rule to stop questioning him or about giving you the Radaway, but you keep your mouth shut anyway. He hasn’t been as much of a dick today and you’d rather keep it that way.
“Here,” he motions through the trees and you stumble into an abandoned neighborhood. It’s been submerged in water, you can spot some old apartment buildings peeking up through the top.
Briefly, you wonder if you’ve ever passed your old home and just never realized it. You dismiss the thought as quickly as it comes, not willing to let your mind linger on thoughts like that today.
You slowly make your way to the water, still not entirely trusting of his intentions. He’s made it clear he’s keeping you around for the long haul, but that doesn’t mean he’s stopped tormenting you. “You’re really gonna let me use your Radaway?” You call over your shoulder.
He sighs and leans against the trunk of a tree. “Get your ass in the water, I won’t wait around all day.
You’re not dumb enough to fully submerge yourself in radiated water. You just rip a piece of your shirt off and dunk it into the startlingly blue lake. You use it to scrub yourself down, rubbing your arms until they’re raw and feel clean enough.
You shuffle closer to the water, trying to bend over enough to scrub your face a bit. But when you gaze down into the water you find something gazing back up at you. You scream, scrambling back just as that thing leaps out of the water and towards you.
Something pink and wet slams into your chest and knocks the air out of your lungs. You grope blindly in the mud for your gun as it opens its mouth. Horror and disgust fill you when you see what’s in its mouth, human fingers dangle like disgusting uvulas. It darts forward, jaw posed to clamp around your whole face.
A loud bang echoes through the lake. The thing goes flying back and causes ripples to drift across the surface of the water. You clutch your chest, trying to get your breath back and scoot closer to get a better look at whatever attacked you. It’s the size of your torso and looks startling like some deformed axolotl. He’s left a large bullet hole in the middle of it’s head deformed head.
“What the fuck?” You whisper, shakily getting to your feet and groaning when you realize whatever you’d manage to clean off had been replaced by a thick layer of mud.
You turn around, hoping for some sort of explanation from him, but he’s just bent over laughing, gun still smoking. You grab your bag out of the muck with a huff and glare at him. “Really?”
He straightens up, still grinning and shakes his head. “You should have seen your face, you were petrified.”
”Well, I’m glad someone enjoyed that.” You glare down at the corpse, eyes wide with horror, “It’s got fucking fingers in it’s throat. Human fingers!” He saunters over to you, entirely too pleased with himself. He grabs his inhaler out of his bag and loads it with Radaway. He tosses it over to you and you catch it with your good arm. “You knew that was going to happen, didn’t you?” You press down and take in a deep breath, ignoring how bitter the juice tastes.
“Never trust anything, rule number one of the Wastelands darling. Can’t even trust the water.” There was a loud roar off towards the middle of the lake and he nodded his head back towards the tree line. “Come on, that one was just a baby Gulper. Momma’s gonna be by soon and I can’t imagine she’ll be real happy.” He walks off without you and you’re stuck staring at the dead mutant.
“That was a fucking baby?” He laughs at you again and when you catch up with him, you can't help but laugh a little yourself. You probably looked ridiculous, wrestling in the mud with what, apparently, was only an infant.
He grins at you, “You got a lot to learn.”
You roll your eyes, “Yeah, I know.”
He’s kneeled down beside you, fingers prodding at the reddened area around your wound. It feels a bit better now, more like touching a fresh bruise rather than raw nerves. He poured some water from his canteen over the area and retied the bandage. He stood up and moved away from you while you dug around in your bag for another ration bar.
“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. You’ve got the bar positioned between your knees, and you’re trying, hopelessly, to open it up with one hand. Your fingers, now dusted with dried mud, slip uselessly against the packaging.
He looks up at you and lets out a loud sigh. “Give it here.”
”I’ve got it-”
“Give. It. Here.” You huff but toss the bar over to him. He rips it open in one smooth move and throws it back to you. You catch it with your good hand and take a large chunk out of it. It feels like rubber and tastes oddly like dried out meatloaf. You’re not exactly sure what flavor it’s supposed to be replicating, but you figure it’s so old it doesn’t really matter as long as it fills you up.
He pours some water from his canteen onto a ripped piece of cloth and tosses it at you. You’re unprepared, bar in hand and midchew, it slaps against your face and you scowl under the fabric. “Really?” You mutter, mouth half full. You yank it off your face and give him a questioning look.
“Just clean yourself up.”
You drag it across your face and arms, trying to get off as much residual mud as you can. Your clothes are a stained, lost cause, but this will do for now. Not like you’re going to get much better without going up against some mutant monster.
“You’re being nice today?” It comes out like a question more than anything. Probably because you’re having trouble trusting him, especially after the Gulper incident. You wished you could say you can’t believe he would do something like that, but you’re pretty sure he’d been hoping the mom would get you, not the baby.
He shrugged and leaned back against a fallen log. “Feelin’ chivalrous.”
You hummed but didn’t push. You forced down another lump of your ration and reached for your water. “Where are we heading anyway? Been walking for a long time but we haven’t seem to have gotten anywhere.”
“There’s a compound I took a bounty for. We’re on our way to deliver it.”
You tilted your head as far back as you could, tongue out and hoping to catch the remaining drops of your water. “Shit,” you tossed the canteen back in your bag, already knowing it was hopeless.
“Ah, hell,” you glanced up and saw Cooper rifling through his supply box.
“How are you on Radaway?”
He sighed and chucked the box back into his bag. “Got two vials left.” He ran his tongue along his teeth, a pensive expression on his face.
You sighed and rubbed idly at some mud left on your fingers. “You’re gonna need more soon.”
He cut you off with a sharp laugh. “Faster than soon, this is the diluted shit.” He rubbed at his chest and you wondered if he was already starting to feel the effects of being so low on the medicine. You can’t believe he gave you a vial of his own with so few left.
Bastard must’ve really wanted to see you get jumped by a gulper. Your face twisted up in distaste and any twinge of sympathy you’d felt for him dissapeared. You wished he would cough so hard he’d choke on his tongue, at least then you wouldn’t have to listen to his bullshit anymore.
He looked over at you and then your bag. “Got any of that purified water left?” You shook your head, crumpling the wrapper of your bar up and tossing it somewhere behind you,
“Just ran out, not sure where I’m gonna find more.”
He chuckled and stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I do,” you stood up and grabbed your own bag, following behind him.
Loud laughter and rowdy conversation drifts into the night air. You sit perched behind a large boulder, staring into the building across from you. It’s an old supermarket, refurbished to fit the Wastelanders' needs. “They’ll have what we need?”
He doesn’t look at you, his sight is dead set on the men milling about in front of you. They’re clearly guards, switching positions every couple of minutes and loaded to the teeth with weapons. Cooper silently tracks them, eyes darting between them as they switch positions yet again.
“Yep,” he lifts up into a squat and watches as one of the men turns his back to lace up his boot. “Now!” He grabs you by the sleeve of your jacket and drags you along as he weaves between the guards. He throws you in front of him, practically tossing you inside the store.
You hold back your gasp of shock and duck behind a waist-high shelf. There are only seven or eight men walking around inside. They’ve got a fire burning in the middle of the store, the empty shelves pushed back against the walls. Behind them is about the largest pile of supplies you’ve seen since being up here. They could give Ma June a run for her money.
You peek your head over the shelf and try to get a look at just how many weapons they have. You hear the familiar sound of spurs walking behind you and twist immediately to see Cooper walking calmly towards the group with his hands raised in surrender. He catches your eye and winks before he fully addresses them.
“Gentlemen!” You sigh and sink back against the shelf, an irritated look on your face. The shelf screeched forward slightly and you scrambled off it, you caught Cooper twitch a little in irritation but he didn’t say anything. He’s been fully noticed at this point, the others all glaring at him with their guns raised.
He had a full view of all eight men from his perspective. What he couldn’t see, which you could, was a ninth man sneaking up behind him with a knife. He had it poised, aiming to strike right through the back of Cooper’s neck.
Without thinking too much on it, you leapt out of your hiding spot and used your good arm to point your gun in the man’s face. He came to a stop almost cartoonishly, eyes wide and the knife in his hands trembling when you popped out.
Cooper barely gave you a glance out of the side of his eye and you figured he knew all about the ninth man. He must have been testing you, see if you really had his back. “Hey!”
“Who the fuck is she!”
“What are you doing here?”
You ignored the sounds of their voices, you kept the gun trained on the boy and motioned him towards the left of the room. He followed, letting you guide him backwards until he was scrambling to hide behind his friends. It’s then that you finally got a good look at just how many guns were trained on you.
One of them pumped their shotgun and you pulled back the hammer of your gun. Cooper’s guns were still tucked away in their holster, it was just you and however much firepower they could cram between ten pairs of hands.
“Now, I suggest that you gentlemen put those guns down or my friend here is gonna get a little too friendly with her trigger.”
One of them scoffed, gesturing with the barrel of their pistol towards your right arm hanging limply by your side. “She got a bad arm and a shaking hand.”
“Maybe,” you call out, “but I got a working finger. I only need one of ‘em to kill you.”
Before he can respond there’s another one stepping forward. “She can get real friendly with me.” He’s got a lecherous grin on his face and a look in his eyes that makes your skin crawl. You sigh, sick of the men up here being so predictable, and turn your gun on him. His eyes widen, like he hadn’t seen you pointing it at his friends, and you pull the trigger.
Your aim is a little off and the recoil is harder to handle with only one hand available to you, but you’ve got a sawed off shotgun in your hand, don’t have to have a great aim to kill a man with that. His twitching body has barely hit the ground before you’re diving to the right and ducking behind a shelving unit.
Cooper goes to the left, eyes wide in the same astonishment as those men. Bullets started flying the second their friend was on the ground. They were shouting all sorts of insults and threats at you but it was hard to make out over all the shooting.
“You shot him!” Cooper shouted over the hail fire of bullets.
You rolled your eyes and did your best to reload the gun with your wobbly hand. “He pissed me off,” you shouted back at him. You leveled the gun over the top of the shelves and fired blindly. There was a loud yelp and then another Bitch shouted at you, so you must have hit something.
“You know, I was trying to handle this civilly,” Cooper jumped to his knees and turned around quickly. He fired off a quick succession of shots, four bodies dropped as he did. The rate of gunfire slowed a bit as more men fell. He ducked down and ran across the room, throwing himself down next to you. He tossed his guns at you and tugged yours out of your hand. “Reload me,” you nodded and tugged some bullets out of his bandolier while he used your gun to shoot at them.
“I’m sure you handling it civilly would have ended the exact same fucking way.”
He grinned and sat back next to you, “Well,” he shrugged, “maybe. Maybe not, doesn’t matter now.” You handed him his reloaded guns and he dropped yours in your lap. “Only a few left, use the shelves as cover and circle around behind ‘em.” He didn’t stay to make sure you understood his plan, he immediately set off, drawing the fire away from you and making a run for it.
“Shit,” you hissed, struggling to your feet and following his instructions. With only a few of them left it should have been quick work to get rid of the last few stragglers, but the guards from outside had heard the scuffle and were rushing in. Cooper shot most of them but one got close enough to snatch his gun from his hands and throw it to the floor.
Cooper struggled against the man, his towering form easily overpowering Cooper. Though, your friend didn’t seem particularly worried, if anything it looked like he was letting the man live to draw out the fight, like he was enjoying it.
You were going to just leave him to it when you saw the same bastard from before with the knife sneaking up behind him again. You rush forward, scooping up Cooper’s gun as you go and shove the man backwards.
He grunts at the impact but he refused to be deterred. He charges at you, eyes red with rage and blackened mouth frothing like a rabid dog. You try and keep your guard up but you’ve got a gimp leg and a useless arm, it’s not a fight you’re going to win.
He wraps an arm around your waist and yanks you into him. You grunt, breathing out slowly as you feel his knife slide into your gut. You glance down at the rusted blade and shove your gun under his chin. His eyes widen when you draw the hammer back but you don’t flinch when you pull the trigger, not even when chunks of skull and hair start raining down on you.
Cooper must have finally noticed the tussle happening behind him because he draws his second gun out from under his coat and ends his little fight with the last of them. You must be in shock, you still haven’t fully experienced the pain that you should.
There’s a knife sunk past the handle slammed into your gut, you should be feeling something shouldn’t you? You’re sure it’s the adrenaline still pumping through you. Your body is warm from how fast your blood is pumping, your ears ringing from all the gunshots and head spinning from the amount of blood steadily leaking out of the wound.
“Hey,” you turn around to face him and his eyes widen ever so slightly. You lose your footing and he darts forward, quick arms grab you and draw you into his chest. You clutch onto the sleeve of his jacket, letting all of your weight rest on him while you try and get your panicked breathing under control.
You’ve had worse injuries than this. As hard as it is to believe, in your time up here, you’ve survived a lot worse than some measly stab wound.
So why does this feel so fucking bad?
“Oh,” you moan in pain, nearly doubling over. A feeling like a million exposed nerves being set on fire stops you from falling to the floor, instead you push off Cooper and struggle to your feet.
“Alright, come on,” he grabs your arm again and you have the ridiculous urge to just shove him off you. Your head is swimming, you feel like you could float away. You look down at the knife again and finally realize just how large it is. One of those hunting ones that was about the width of your hand curled into a fist.
Well, fuck.
“Hey,” he snaps when you stumble away from him again. “Sit your stubborn ass down, you need help.” He yanks on the straps of your shirt, holding you up and dragging you to a chair, you don’t have much choice as he forces you to sit. Though, the motion causes a wave of excruciating pain to flare through you.
He kneels in front of you and rips your shirt open, you’re in too much pain to complain about it right now. He hums low in the back of his throat as he takes in the wound. With no warning whatsoever he grabs the knife by the handle and yanks it out like he’s ripping off a fucking bandaid.
You nearly scream, lurching forward and shoving him away from you. The sudden shock of pain has left you half blind and panting like an animal. “What the fuck was that?” You force out through gritted teeth. He plants a hand on your shoulder and presses you firmly against the back of the chair.
“Need to get you a Stimpak.” He takes your hand in his and presses it against the wound. Where blood was once oozing, it’s now gushing. You hadn’t realized just how much keeping the knife in had kept the blood at bay. With how rapidly it’s leaving you now you’re afraid.
You’re afraid that you might not be able to make it back from the edge with just a Stimpak. You can already feel your fingers going cold, pretty soon you won’t be able to flex them and then you’d lose feeling in your arms too.
“Hey,” he uses the grip he has on your hand to press down on the wound. You groan but he keeps the pressure steady. His eyes bore into your dazed ones, some odd expression in them. “You don’t get to give up. Keep pressure on this, understand me?” Your head flops forward in a lazy nod.
He could have been gone for a minute or an hour, you wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. Your head is foggy, coherent thoughts replaced by loopy ones. You’re struggling to remember where you are or what you’re supposed to be doing.
Just as your hand slips from the wound, he comes back. He grabs your hand and places it back, holding it there with his own. You appreciate the way he warms your fingers back up, but the rest of you is freezing too. Maybe he’d share his jacket.
The thought of him sharing anything makes you laugh and he gives you a frustrated look. “Don’t go losing it on me. Not yet at least.”
You lean forward, face nearly pressed against his and grin. “You know, I haven’t heard a thank you yet.”
He scoffed, opening the Stimpak with one hand and preparing the injector. “Yeah, for what?”
“Saving your life, dick.”
You’re caught off guard when he slams the needle into your stomach, your lips part with a silent gasp and you wince at the cool rush of medicine. He grins at you, “Well, thank you for being the only dumbass to get herself stabbed in a gun fight.”
The medicine works fast, you learned that from when he’d shot you. You can already start to feel the pulse of blood slowing and your head clearing up slightly. “Asshole,” you hiss, leaning away from him. But his eyes stay trained on you, on both of your blood covered hands and where they still rest, linked together, on your stomach.
You find yourself taking advantage of his distraction to really look at him. It bothers you, how after everything, his eyes are still so pretty. It’s the first thing that drew your attention when you were younger. Those eyes of his had you swooning from the first time you saw him on the big screen.
He catches you but you can’t find it in yourself to care. There’s something odd in the air, a lingering tension from the kiss you’d never discussed. From the silent partnership you’d never voiced. You’d nearly gotten yourself killed for him tonight, the thought finally seemed to be dawning on him.
His eyes drop to your lips and he leans in. He doesn’t get very far, lips just barely brushing yours before you’re jerking back in surprise. You’re bleeding out in his hands and he kisses you? Your hand is up and cracking across his cheek before you can think about it.
His head whips to the side with a satisfying crack. He lets out a breathy chuckle, using his free hand to soothe the area you’d hit. He stretches the tension out of his jaw and shakes his head before he looks at you again.
Maybe he shouldn’t have kissed you. You definitely shouldn’t be further entertaining his ideas that he holds any sort of possession for you, but you’d just realized what that look in his eyes had been earlier. He had been worried about you.
Cooper has always been the one who protected you. Not the other way around. And as twisted as he’d become, it still relatively remained the same dynamic today. You’d caught him off guard earlier, putting yourself in danger like that for him. And he had been worried about you.
You grab him by the collar of his jacket and drag him forward before he can decide what to do with the fact that you slapped him. Your lips meet again and he hovers over you on your chair. The hand on your stomach pushes harder against you, deepening the pressure and making you groan into his mouth.
He doesn’t waste time, deepening the kiss and letting his other bloodied hand drift into your hair. His fingers curl around the strands and he yanks your neck back, manipulating you how he wants and bending you to his desires. You melt into it, into the complete control you allow him to momentarily wield over you.
You let your mind go blank and just focus on him. You can pretend, for now, that you’re in his old house. You’re coming back after a date at one of those fancy restaurants that he hates, but he takes you there anyway so you can have an excuse to dress up.
He’ll whisper I love you and drag you to the couch. You’ll start there, his kisses traveling lower until he’s dragging you back to his bedroom. You’ll feel valued, cherished, loved. Cooper will take care of you.
He parts slowly from you, still keeping a firm grip on your hair. It takes a moment for your eyes to flutter open again. You’re sure you look like a mess, staring up at him with glossy eyes and swollen lips, completely drenched in your own blood.
“Don’t think about him when I’m the one kissing you, darling.” Your eyes widen and he lets you go. He shoves back from you and paces towards his bag. Any warmth in his eyes, any care, was gone.
You want to say something to drag him back but the moment has passed. It’s not like he was wrong, you were pretending he was someone completely different to make yourself feel better.
But you couldn’t make yourself feel guilty when you remembered half the reason you needed the comfort was because of who he was now. He comes back with a needle and thread. He lets the needle hover over the men’s fire for a moment before he approaches you with it. “Stimpak will only do so much, need to sew you up.”
You nodded and looked away as he knelt down and pressed the needle into your skin. You barely felt it, could barely pay attention to him when your thoughts were on what it was like before. What he was like before. Sometimes it makes you sick to your stomach to look at him.
end. — I do not own the characters or the game/show Fallout, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
210 notes
·
View notes
Note
hi hi hi!!! i know you’re working on the bau sleepover buttttt i was wondering if you could write a aaron hotchner x reader fic where like what happened to garcia, reader gets shot and she’s in hospital and they don’t know if she gonna be okay and stuff. her and hotch have this mutual pining for each other and when she gets shot he kinda spirals. after being released, hotch takes her to her apartment and stays with her until they catch him and stuff. i know this is really long, thank you!!!
Some Profiler You Are - A.H
a/n: hi hi hi thank you so so sooo much for requesting <3 i kind of took this a more fluffy route and focused more on the recovery so let me know if you like it :)
masterlist
‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧
pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader
warnings: reader was shot, comfort, angst like a teensy bit, fluff, changing of bandages, kinda shitty ending per usual
wc: 2k
"Do you want to sit down?"
No, you really didn't. After spending the last six hours in a state of near-motionlessness, sprawled across various surfaces, the last thing you wanted was to do was sit down. Your legs had taken on the consistency of overcooked noodles, so you made the grave mistake of misreading the quiet of the house as Hotch's absence, a mistake punctuated by the garage door's sudden rumble.
You should have known better than to assume he would leave you alone for even a second. Now, you were face to face, his scrutinizing eyes boring into yours, arms crossed across his wide chest. He was in a casual zip-up--a rarity that you never imagined him wearing before practically moving in with him. But you really did enjoy this relaxed side of him, he wore it exceptionally well.
Taking work off was a concept you knew was foreign him, yet here he was, not at his desk, hovering over you like a concerned parent. The entire office, yourself included, gaped at him as if he had sprouted a different head when he told them. His next move was even crazier--he insisted you stay with him while you recovered.
You protested. A lot. Shocker. But he wouldn't take no for an answer. Again, Shocker.
You winced as you stepped forward, your hands automatically gravitating to the bandage that spanned around your thigh.
"You can't baby me forever, Hotch," you murmured, though your conviction wavered under the dull throb in your leg.
You braced yourself against the counter, trying to mask the discomfort you were sure was etched all over your face.
Filling the shoes of the communications liaison for the FBI post-JJ's shift to profiling, you signed up for a life of managing the media narrative, being the conduit between local and federal levels, and choosing the cases. You provided assistance in ways that aren't glaringly obvious.
What you didn't sign up for is getting shot.
The movies, the stories, even the firsthand accounts from coworkers--none of it could brace you for the raw, blistering pain of a gunshot wound. It fucking hurt. And the recovery? It was a different kind of torture, and you'd even argue that it was worse.
"It's not babying, it's common sense," Hotch countered.
He was frustrated. You had that effect. He stepped closer, his hand dragging down his face. "You took a bullet. It's still in your leg. It's perfectly rational for me to want to prevent any unnecessary strain on you."
"Feels dramatic," you shrugged, but he was right, like always.
Your grip on the counter tightened, knuckles growing white as you struggled to keep the pain under wraps. His brows lifted in response.
"I'm fine, really, Hotch. I hate this. You're probably dying to get back to work--don't let me be the reason you don't. Despite popular belief, I'm quite capable of fending for myself."
"I'm aware," he said, his attention briefly shifting to your bandaged leg. You were wearing shorts, a choice that felt less than appropriate, but practicality trumped formality under these circumstances. "Work will survive without me. I'm not sure I can say the same about you."
Your laughter was short-lived, swiftly turning into a stifled grimace as your footing slipped. Hotch's reflexes were quick, his hands steadying you--one against your ribs, the other just shy above the hem of your shorts.
"Point in case."
"Poking fun at a wounded woman? Shame on you, Hotch," you chided, your lower lip jutting out in a pout. His eyes darted to it momentarily.
He didn't move, his hands staying put, stirring a gentle, jelly-like feeling inside of you.
This was an odd sort of comfort, the kind you're not supposed to feel with your boss. You shouldn't be talking to him like this, shouldn't be in his kitchen, and certainly, his hands shouldn't be where they were. But the ache in your heart didn't seem to care about shoulds and shouldn'ts.
Hotch's presence was hard to ignore. He was reducing the space with every word.
"You're hardly acting like a wounded woman," he pointed out. "You should be in bed."
You tilted your head, sliding onto the barstool to carve some much-needed space between you. The scent of his cologne was intoxicating, and you needed distance to gather your wits before you did something that HR would definitely not look kindly upon.
The action was a mistake, a fact that became painfully clear as the feeling of something stabbing into your leg took hold. You tried to muster a smile, but you were sure it came across as a snarl. The last thing you wanted was to inflate Hotch's ego by showing that maybe, just maybe, he was right.
"Shit."
You followed his line of sight, landing on the fresh red seeping through the bandage and staining your shorts. Oh. That's not great. Don't think you can fool him with this one.
Hotch didn't hesitate, his response outpacing your own surge of panic, which was incredibly fast, because you were panicking and frankly not that great with blood. His hands were on your skin, easing the hem of your shorts upward to lay bare the wound you had stupidly underestimated.
You're never going on a date again.
I mean, the only reason you even went was to get your boss of your mind. Since the first day, you'd been hopelessly drawn to him--how could you not be?
But there are a couple factors to consider.
Firstly, he was your boss, and the whole notion of a coercive relationship dynamic seemed problematic.
Secondly, there's the age difference; it had never been an issue for you--perhaps a reflection of your daddy issues--but you knew it would raise some eyebrows.
And thirdly, he didn't even like you back. That was, of course, the biggest issue. If not for this, the other concerns could definitely be overlooked.
Before this whole incident, he barely acknowledged you beyond was professionally required of him. You knew you hadn't been part of the team long enough to bond--though you weren't sure Hotch did bond in the usual sense, but the point was made.
You were fairly sure you hadn't made much of an impression on him.
"Hold still." That was a tall order, considering it hurt more than a mother fucker.
You found yourself glaring at him--not that he was to blame, but you needed to anchor your frustration on something, or someone. Unknowingly, your grip had latched on the fabric of his zip-up, but he seemed unfazed. He grabbed a clean cloth from the drawer, pressing it against the wound, only furthering the colorful vocabulary going on in your head.
"Fuck, Hotch."
You didn't make a habit of cursing in front of your superior, but the sharp sting forced tears to the brink, your body going rigid as you snapped your eyes shut.
His other hand found its way to your uninjured thigh, giving it a firm squeeze--a clear attempt to divert your attention. It worked for a second. "I'm sorry, just keep this pressed here, okay?"
He motioned toward the cloth, and you complied, too drained to consider otherwise. Your brows knitted, and you bit into your lip until you tasted something metallicy, your mind desperately racing trying to think of anything other than the blood flowing freely from your thigh.
"Where are you going?" You knew how panicked you sounded as he turned away, stepping towards a cabinet.
He rummaged briefly before holding up a first aid kit. Catching the brief alarm in your face, he quickly returned to your side, his hand finding the crook of your neck as you instinctively clutched at his shirt once again.
"If you dare say I told you so, I swear, Hotch, fists will fly," you ground out through clenched teeth.
He laughed, and now that did distract you, your eyes zeroing in on his perfect teeth. It was a rare display, and it only served to aggravate you further. Of course he had perfect teeth.
"I didn't say anything."
"I could feel you thinking it," you said, your voice rough as you willed the moisture in your eyes not to fall. "Maybe I should be a profiler."
"Definitely."
"Sarcasm doesn't suit you." You were lying. Everything suited him. He stepped back, and you reluctantly peered at the wound, only to find a neatly sutured leg. "Where did you learn to do that?"
"In this job, you learn to be handy with more than just a gun.”
You’d love to know what else he’s handy with.
He pulled your leg up to rest on his as he took a seat on the opposite stool.
Your body was buzzing, from the closeness, from his hands on you, and also from the pain, but you were trying to ignore that. He grabs a new bandage from the counter, hands trailing up your thigh so slowly you thought you might pass out. He was so gentle. There was no other word for it.
"How's it feel?"
You paused. Eyes fully locked on his precise movements as he wrapped you up. You were closer than you realized, practically sharing the same breath.
"Fine."
"Yeah?"
You nodded, and he finished up his task, his hand lightly patting your thigh to show he was done. You didn't move your leg from his lap, and he didn't move his hand.
"I couldn't sleep for three days."
"What?" Your brows were furrowed, your focus sharpening on his face as the words left his lips.
"When I found out you had been shot." He cleared his throat, his thumb making gentle rotations on your calf. "I couldn't close my eyes without seeing red for days. I wanted to kill the son of a bitch who did that to you. I almost did."
You weren't sure how to process this information, or why he was telling you. "You and me both."
"I'm serious." And you could tell he was, his eyes narrowing slightly as his hand firmly encircled around your leg. You felt a lump in your throat form as heat rose from your neck to your ears. "Do you know what that was like? I felt like my heart stopped."
"Why?"
"Why?" It was more a scoff than a word. He blew out a breath, his fingers pinching into the space between his eyebrows. "Is it not obvious?"
Your heart was beating a lot faster. You wanted to say something, anything but your throat was dry and every time you opened your mouth you found it snapping shut.
Hotch's expression softened ever so slightly, his voice low and bouncing off the walls as he spoke. "Because I'm in love with you."
Your breath stalled, as if every ounce of oxygen had been vacuumed from your lungs. The air felt heavy, almost tangible.
You stared at him, heart skipping a beat.
"That's not funny," you said. It wasn't. You weren't in the mood for jokes, and your brain couldn't comprehend he might be telling the truth. "You...you don't even notice me."
He shook his head. "I notice everything about you." His thumb stilled on your calf. "I'm your boss," he said, as if that explained everything. "There are rules, protocols. I couldn't...I still shouldn't..."
The confession stripped the room of its warmth, leaving a raw aching silence in its wake. You searched his face.
"When you got shot," he continued, "I realized that if I lost you, I'd regret not telling you how I feel for the rest of my life."
"Hotch, I..."
He leaned closer, causing your words to catch in your throat. His hand moved from your leg to your face. You were speechless, the world narrowing down to the man in front of you, to his eyes, the warmth of his hands.
"Say something."
"Are you kidding me?" Your heart was pounding like it was trying to escape from your chest. "I've been in love with you since I started. How could you not see that?"
He looked taken aback, as if your words were the last thing he expected. "Well—,"
But you didn't let him finish. "Some profiler you are."
You were practically climbing into his lap, hands framing his face, pulling your lips to his.
He chuckled against your lips, the sound vibrating through you. "Easy," he murmured, "don't make me fix that bandage again."
You laugh, the sound muffled by his mouth. He tasted like cinnamon and coffee. "Shut up, Hotch."
taglist: @hotchhner @khxna
#aaron hotchner x reader#Aaron hotchner fluff#aaron hotchner x fem reader#Aaron hotchner#Hotch#criminal minds fic#Aaron hotchner fic#criminal minds#Thomas Gibson
327 notes
·
View notes
Note
i was wondering if you could do a fic with kate martin being too shy to ask out reader? maybe she’s like nervous or smthg?
hope you enjoy this 😇 if you want a part 2 lmk bc i feel like i ended it on a note where i could potentially make another part or just eventually edit this and add more!
Eyes on You - Kate Martin x Reader
Kate always saw you on Saturday mornings when you went into a coffee shop just outside your university to get coffee. She went there once for an early pick me up before a practice, but ever since she saw you it had become a staple part of her Saturday morning ritual.
Kate saw you today. She watched as you walked up to the barista and ordered your iced caramel latte with oat milk. She watched as you paid and put a $5 bill into the tip jar, and smiled to herself at how generous you seemed to be. She watched as you ran your fingers through your hair as you walked over to the side of the shop she was at as you waited for your drink to be made. She stared as you intently, and is mesmerized until you glance her way. That was the only thing that could bring her back to reality.
Kate had always been a go-getter. She was ambitious and once she had her eyes set on something there was no stopping her. That was until she met you. You were the one thing that she seemed too scared to chase. She wondered what it was about you that made her so scared to go for it. Could it be your dreamy eyes? Your beautiful, glowy face? Your fashionable style? Kate couldn’t seem to figure out what it was that stopped her from talking to you. So she sat there; she sat there in the corner of the coffee shop she waited for you in as you got your drink from the counter and left. She wanted to say something, anything, to you but she just couldn’t bring herself to. All she could do was keep her eyes locked on you.
Her face turned red at she brought herself back into reality, she wondered how long she’d been spaced out thinking of you. Her coffee shop crush. Kate looked at the time on her phone and sighed, it was time for practice already. She took a last sip of her matcha and tossed it as she walked out the exit.
“Kate, have you thought about, I don’t know, just talking to her?” Caitlin asked Kate facetiously. Kate was venting to her teammates about how she couldn’t bring herself to utter one word to you.
Gabbie nodded her head agreeing with Caitlin, “Yeah Kate, you don’t seem like the type to ever be at a loss for words.” The girls all laughed and Kate rolled her eyes. “Guys. I’m so serious. She is like the epitome of sunshine. She just looks like someone off of pinterest. Do you even think I could pull her?” Caitlin walked closer to Kate and patted her on the back in an attempt to brighten her spirits.
“Have some faith in yourself, Kate! Why don’t Gabbie, Jada, and I come with you next time you go? We can be your wing women or something?” Everyone laughed at Caitlin’s choice of words, but nodded and agreed this was a good starting plan for Kate. Kate folded her arms and shrugged. “I guess it couldn’t hurt. I don’t really have anything to lose.”
So the next Saturday came, and Kate, Gabbie, Jada, and Caitlin all walked into the little coffee shop right outside Iowa University. “This place is cute! We should come here more often!” Jada said to Gabbie as the bell on top of the door clinked as the four walked into the shop. Then, Kate spotted you. “Guys,” she whispered to her friends, “ok don’t look now but see that pretty girl over there? In the blue sweater? That’s her!” Kate grabbed her teammates in what looked like a mini game-day huddle so they could figure out their course of action. Kate was in a panic. Her questions ranged from asking the other three “she looks gay, right?” “have you guys seen her around before?” “what year is she in?” and a billion others. Gabbie put a hand over Kate’s mouth and Jada shushed her. “Kate,” Caitlin started to say to her, “we know you’re excited, but you’re just working yourself up. Take some deep breaths, walk over there, and ask her out. You got this.”
Kate sighed and nodded. Caitlin was right. She had done so many harder things than this, so why was this so hard for her to do? Kate started to walk over to you, but stopped herself until Jada gave her a little nudge and she kept going. Finally, she approached the place at the small island table where you sat. You took your headphones off your head and placed them around your neck and looked up from your textbook at her. “Hi! I think I’ve seen you in here before, once or twice?” You said to her with the same bright and cheery smile you always wore.
‘Yeah maybe a little more than that, yikes.’ Kate thought to herself. She cleared her throat and nodded at you. “Yeah, definitely! I’m, uh, I’m Kate! I go to Iowa just like a block from here. I assume you do too, right?” You nodded your head in response to her question. “You do? Ok, great. Cool. Well uh I was wondering if maybe I could, like, I don’t know just get your number? You’re just. God. You’re like so pretty and you seem so sweet and I don’t even know if you like, yeah, but can I just? Please?”
You looked at her like she was a lost puppy. “Okay you’re literally so cute. I’m Y/n, btw! Yes of course You can have my number here it’s xxx-xxx-xxxx.” You quickly scribbled your number on a sticky note and handed it to Kate. She looked at it in awe and smiled, “Thank you so much! Okay, I won’t keep you any longer! Well, for now that is. I’ll text you okay?”
“Nice meeting you, bye Kate! Text me!” You called after her as you watched her walk back to her friends. You saw the excited expression on her face as they all exchanged high fives and pumped their fists in the air in victory. Then, they all rushed out of the door, presumably to figure out what to text you. You smiled to yourself as you put your headphones back over your ears, but your eyes didn’t move from the door. They stayed watching it, hoping Kate would walk back through it again and the two of you could talk some more.
#wlw post#iowa wbb#kate martin x reader#kate martin#lv aces#wcbb x reader#wcbb#caitlin clark x reader#caitlin clark#wbb x reader#wlw yearning
196 notes
·
View notes
Text
I’m thinking about Amy Pond this morning and how Moffat didn’t give her any identity outside of The Doctor (and Rory).
Like series 5, we go through this whole thing where Amy “gets her parents back” and we literally NEVER see them again. And then Amy’s childhood friend, who we had never heard of, is revealed to be tied to the Doctor as well.
She’s shown to be a successful model during series 6, but that fact doesn’t go anywhere. We don’t see her friends. We don’t even know if she HAS friends.
River Song also has a similar problem—her story is intrinsically tied to the Doctor. And although Amy and River are technically mother and daughter, we don’t really get to see that, like does River come around and visit her parents when not traveling with the Doctor? What do they talk about ??
And on the note about children, iirc, Amy can’t (?) have any more children due to what her kidnappers did to her. But, on the same hand, it was never said that Amy wanted children or was upset that she missed out on the opportunity to raise Melody (it’s literally never mentioned again).
All the of NuWho companions, save for Martha, wanted to travel with the Doctor forever and ultimately their stories end in tragedy. I get that.
But then other companions, like Rose, Martha, and Donna - they all had people OUTSIDE the Doctor, which grounded them, tied to their humanity, to their earthly humanness.
I love Amy, but she is subjected to some poor writing choices. I know the viewers can fill in the blanks - we can assume she and Rory have lives outside traveling with the Doctor. But without seeing these people, it’s hard to connect when let’s say Earth is threatened. When the cyber men were trying to take over, Rose was concerned about her mum ! And we were too! Because we saw her mum and saw how much Rose loved her.
I know Amy’s arc ultimately ends with her “choosing Rory” (I guess because idk this wasn’t made clear when she married the guy idk).
But, consider this, consider how much more impactful her story would’ve been if she had like - I dunno - a sweet grandma who would tell her bedtime stories. The grandma gets some quips in about The Doctors fashion choices.
Rather than the Doctor realizing the Ponds are getting older (Amy’s glasses), it’s Amy realizing that her grandma is getting older, and the allure of traveling the stars is fading. She realizes that she wants to have her own child to tell stories to. And she wants her grandma to be alive to share in those stories. Hell, maybe she still finds a love for writing and becomes an author.
Amy makes the choice (much like Martha did) to leave the TARDIS. Rory comes too (I do think Moffat disliked Rory but that’s another topic). The Doctor is welcome to visit.
And when he does, he sees a slightly older Amy Pond, carrying a child that looks just like her, towards her grandmother in a wheelchair in the garden.
They let each other go. Unlike Rose and Ten who simply couldn’t let go because of the deep love they had for another.
The Doctor and Amy (or maybe it’s just Amy) have “grown up”. Amy has made a choice FOR HERSELF. After everything she’s seen, endured, all the trauma and suffering and grief - she creates her own happy ending.
It’s 8:00am right now - so who knows if this makes sense.
98 notes
·
View notes
Text
You're Pushing Me Sideways, but You Won't Let Go
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader (Vampire!Daryl)
Setting: Saviors Era
Warnings: Blood; Injury; Biting to feed; Suggestive dialogue
Summary: You rescued Daryl, once and then twice.
A/N: Just a quick little thing to satisfy this vampire Daryl obsession that I have.
You knew breaking him out of the sanctuary would be dangerous. It was a suicide mission. You knew you wouldn’t come out unscathed. You were blinded by your rage, your determination to pull Daryl to safety. Once you saw him, you had not a single doubt that you had made the right choice. They had tortured him with the sun, no animals on which to feed. He was burnt, the right side of his face blistered and raw. He couldn’t heal. He was weak, barely able to run fast enough to ensure the escape you had planned so carefully.
It was that hindrance that left you with a through and through bullet wound to your thigh. The femoral artery had been hit. With a makeshift tourniquet, you had been able to get him out, covered in a blanket to shield him from the dangerous rays that would kill him slowly, drain him of vitality until he was nothing.
Now, in the cover of the forest, he lay starving while you lay dying. There was really only one resolution and you knew he wouldn’t like it.
“Take my blood.” Your voice scraped against your vocal chords, mouth desert dry. Somehow summoning the energy, you looked up at him. He sat beside you with your head on his shoulder. His jaw was set, but the pain in his eyes remained unhidden.
“No.”
“Daryl, I’m dying.” You could feel it. You were cold, tired, the wound no longer hurting. Your blood seeped out, soaking your jeans. The tourniquet wasn’t enough against an entry and exit wound. “I can still save you.” You knew he could smell it, his heightened senses reacting unbidden. He was fighting the hunger. He always had, especially when it came to you. He would tell you how sweet your blood smelled while he moved inside you. How just a taste would never be enough. He turned to carnal pleasures to overshadow the desire to feed from you.
“I ain’t bitin’ ya.” He sounded desperately determined, still gazing straight ahead. His breathing was bordering erratic, chest heaving. “I’d kill ya. I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t be able to stop.”
“Then don’t. Take what you need, I’m dying anyway.” You stated nonchalantly. You didn’t need long to come to terms with it. Everyday was a battle to survive. You’d been lucky to make it as long as you had. Now, it was all about saving Daryl. The community couldn’t lose him, and you couldn’t die knowing he would follow. “Please.”
“Said I ain’t doin’ it!” As much as he tried to sound undaunted, his voice cracked.
“Please, Daryl.” Your vision was graying at the edges. “Let me do this for you.” You felt him shift, his movements stiff but deliberate until he was in front of you, irises an intense red instead of the mountain lake blue. You loved both of them, both sides of him, but you knew what this meant and you hoped against hope that he would follow through. He was grappling for control, on the edge of giving in to your request.
“Can’t lose ya. Won’t.” He ducked his head, intending on avoiding the plea in your eyes, forgetting the bloody mess of your leg. When he snapped his gaze back to your face, his pupils were dilated, he was panting harshly through his mouth with the tips of his fangs visible behind his lips. “I’ll do it, but Y/N—” You shivered, the cold fingers of death scrabbling for a permanent grip on your consciousness. “I ain’t losin’ ya.”
He dove forward, pulling on your shoulders to meet him halfway. You always wondered what it would feel like to have him bite you. It wasn’t as painful as you thought it’d be, but you were pounding on death’s door, your skin cold and on the edge of numb. There was a pull when he drew out the first mouthful, a groan vibrating against your neck. He jerked you closer for a better hold and it actually hurt, but you could feel his strength returning, eager to see his face without the burns, without the pinched lines of pain and hunger. Realistically, you wouldn’t. You knew that. You’d be dead by the time he stopped.
Your heart that had been pounding a tattoo against your ribs was now a gentle cadence, a rhythm that held its melody even as it slowed. He jerked you again with a growl that rattled you to your core. It was enough to know that because of you, he would survive.
“I—I love you.” And with that, your reserves were spent. You surrendered to the pull of nothingness, ready to exist in the darkness, but Daryl would live.
Then you were cold, chilled to the bone.
You had always read in the books that vampires were much like walkers in the sense that they held no body heat, there was no heartbeat, but also no reflections in the mirror, they would burst into flames or glitter in the sun. None of that was true. Daryl was a human space heater and you could tell the moment he pulled away from you.
He didn’t drain you. Why? DId he not realize that you were still alive? Were his senses so scrambled that he couldn’t hear your heart still beating? It really didn’t matter. You were dead anyway. He had only unintentionally prolonged the process.
“Told ya that I ain’t losin’ ya.” His face was suddenly hovering over you, the moonlight carving out his silhouette like a painting. He was beautiful. He was healing. He was—biting his wrist? You were pretty sure that meant something but your brain was shutting down, making coherency impossible. As the urge to close your eyes grew too intense for you to fight any longer, you let them slip shut, the last image being the glow of red morphing into a bright blue that you prayed would surround you in death.
“Daryl.” You breathed.
And then there was nothing.
With a deep inhale, you shot upright, the moonlight bright and the sounds around you amplified. You felt your heart begin to race, your breathing a panicked cycle of inhales and exhales. You could smell everything, hear everything. The hole in your leg was gone. When you bit your lip, the sharp tip of an elongated canine broke the skin. Overwhelmed, you sought out your peace, the one thing—the one person— that could tether you to reality, ground you. Daryl was sitting across from you, a fire burning between you.
He smiled, fangs still stained with your blood—and his own.
“Told ya that I wasn’t losin’ ya.” You blinked at him for a moment before you couldn’t help but smile back. “An’ I meant it.”
#murda writes#daryl dixon#the walking dead#daryl dixon x reader#daryl dixon fanfiction#vamp!daryl#vampire!daryl#daryl dixon au#vampire au#the walking dead au#daryl x female reader#daryl dixon x female reader#daryl dixon twd#daryl dixon the walking dead#Spotify
102 notes
·
View notes
Text
The sun and his flower
word count; 2133 – f!reader
Hinata never really got into driving. He took his driver's licence, but never got around to buying a car after returning to Japan. So when the snow fell overnight and he overslept for practice with the Black Jackals, he had no other choice but to leave his bike and hop on a bus.
And he would forever be thankful that he did. Because that morning was the first time he saw you. You sat closer to the front of the bus, in one of those unfortunate seats turned the other way, so Hinata could watch as you bopped your head carefully to whatever music you listened to and stared out the window. Your movements didn’t quite match up with his own music, which he found annoying so he turned his off. Who still uses earbuds with a cord? he thought as he watched how the cord was tangled in with your scarf.
Even though he didn’t know the names of any particular flowers, he started comparing you to them.
So he kept catching the bus, often running briskly to the bus stop just to make sure he could get on the right one, even if it was a bit early or a bit late.
Sometimes he got a seat where he could see your face, sometimes he had to pretend to adjust something to turn and catch glances at you, and sometimes he could only pout at the top of your head over the seat. Nonetheless, he started imagining what you did after stepping off the bus. Were you a student? A florist? A musician? Or maybe you worked in some office, like Kuroo.
You always got off before him, the same stop every time, and his eyes would follow you until you were blurry because the bus moved and then you were out of sight. He would then slump back in his seat, putting his headphones on for two more stops until he could get off, jogging to make up for the warm-up time he missed.
“You ever considered getting a car?” Sakusa asked him one day as Hinata shuffled into place beside them where they were finishing warm-ups while he started them, beginning with his thighs while Sakusa rolled his shoulders back into place.
“No,” Hinata answered sharply before chuckling, struggling a bit to keep his balance in the pose he used. “I mean, the bus is cheaper.”
Atsumu scoffed. “As if money for a car should be a problem, ya can get a little golf or something if yer so worried,” he said, jumping in place to loosen up his muscles.
“I could get a car, but I don’t really need it. Think of the environment, Tsumu.” Hinata teased back, switching legs as Bokuto came from the bathroom.
“Sho!” he cheered, not minding any conversation they might have had before. Hinata kept on with his warmup beside the net while they started with Atsumu setting for their spikes. Sakusa made little comments and quickly, everyone forgot about the previous conversation. Finally, Hinata was ready to spike. Atsumu set up a few for him before they were told to get ready for team practice, everyone taking a break to fill up on water.
As Hinata dried off his forehead with the bottom of his shirt, he sighed. “Actually, there’s this girl,” he said, stopping when he heard someone gasp dramatically, not sure which of his team members it was as he continued. “On the bus, she’s really pretty.”
“Don’t be shy, tell us about ‘er,” Atsumu encouraged, leaning his arm uncomfortably on Sakusa’s shoulder, a motion that was quickly denied.
So Hinata did, he got up from the bench and with unnecessary gestures, he told them about which stop you get off at and detailed the colour of your hair. He had a small discussion with himself about what word to use for the colour of your eyes, and then when he finished he looked at his friends with the sweetest smile.
Bokuto, ever the optimist, nodded encouragingly. “And?”
Hinata’s nose scrunched. “That’s it. We haven’t talked yet.”
“You take the bus every day just to stare at her? That’s not creepy at all,” Sakusa said sarcastically, ending the conversation on that note as they were called back to the court.
You didn’t mean to. Your eyes usually stayed on the scenery passing by, making up scenes in your head based on whatever music your shuffled playlist handed you, so you didn’t mean to make eye contact with the orange-haired guy when you were on your way off the bus. He sat in the seat closest to the door, and when your eyes met his, he smiled. You could have sworn it was cloudy outside, so why was the sun sitting on the bus with you this whole time? And why didn’t you notice it before?
The moment was cut short as more people were getting off, some burly man bumping your shoulder to get off and naturally pushing you along as you realised it was indeed drizzling outside. By the time you turned around to seek his warmth again, the bus doors were closing and the bus carried your sunshine away.
The day after, the volume on your earbuds was a bit lower as you stepped on the bus, looking around uncharacteristically and deflating when you realised there was no orange hair in sight. So you sat down in the seat behind where he sat yesterday and got back to looking out the window.
It wasn’t until four stops later that someone sat down beside you, and you frowned when you looked forward and saw that the bus wasn’t that full, so then you turned to whoever sat beside you. And there he was, warm just like the last time you saw him.
“Sorry, is it okay if I sit here?” he asked, loudly enough to disturb other commuters, but you couldn’t hear while your earbuds were still in. Your eyes zeroed in on his cheeks where there were tiny freckles kissed by a soft red flush, probably from running to the bus stop or something. Then you looked down, noticing how his lips were moving before his tongue ran between them, oh.
You picked your earbud out before tucking some hair behind your ear so you could see him properly, taking in a quick breath. “Sorry! What did you say?” you asked, corners of your lips tilted up.
Hinata chuckled, skipping the question of whether or not he could sit there. “What are you listening to?” he asked instead, pointing to the earbud you were rolling between your fingers.
You hesitated for a second before simply handing the earbud over, an inviting glint in your eyes as you silently let him indulge in your privacy. He smiled even brighter, making you squint slightly before he took the earbud and put it in his ear, subconsciously leaning a bit closer so he wouldn’t pull yours out.
And as he started slightly moving his head, you wondered what he was so happy about so early in the morning. If the sun’s brightest time is midday, why does it feel like it’s right here at 06.47? You chuckled silently under your breath, wondering if everyone else on the bus felt his warmth too. “I like your smile,” you said before you could stop yourself.
Hinata really liked your music, it suited you and at the same time, it was nothing like what he imagined. He didn’t listen to music that often, preferring to listen to his breathing and nature while jogging, but he could get used to this if he could share it with someone. With you.
When you took the initiative to talk more, he almost felt shy about it, lifting a hand to the back of his neck. “Thank you. I like your music,” he said, wanting to compliment you back but feeling like he couldn’t just say I like you. Because he did, he knew so little about you that it wasn’t easy to pinpoint anything, but he just liked you.
Eventually, you had to get off, so Hinata scrambled out of his seat, making your earbud fall out. Now he stood beside the seat, the two of you still connected as you held your phone and he had the earbud in. Quickly, he took it out and apologised, to which you told him not to worry before walking past him and in the heat of your fluster, you didn’t even say goodbye. You didn’t even catch his name.
The next time you sat down on the bus, you were determined to do better, exactly how Hinata was yesterday as he braced himself to talk to you. When Hinata once again stepped on the bus at his usual stop, you lifted your hand and waved at him, making him smile and come over to sit beside you. “Hey!” he greeted cheerfully.
“Hi,” you responded, very aware of your upper arm pressed against his even if there was space enough not to. You handed over one earbud for him, taking in a deep breath of courage. “You never told me your name.”
Hinata took the earbud but didn’t put it in his ear. “Shoyo. Hinata Shoyo.” He mentally cursed at how he sounded like James Bond, but every other thought dissipated when you responded with your name. He liked it. He looked at you, noticing how prettily your eyelashes swung out at the edge and how he could finally decide on your eye colour now that he saw you up close. “Pretty,” he whispered, not sure if he was talking about your name or just you.
You blushed, turning away for a moment and then looking back at him, wondering the same thing as he did. “What do you do, Shoyo?” you asked, letting his name roll off your tongue like a sour candy you weren’t sure you could handle but still felt tempted to eat up.
“I’m a professional volleyball player,” he answered, looking proud. Your eyes widened, lips parting in surprise.
“Really? That’s so cool!” you said, making sure you didn’t talk too loudly and disturb others on the bus. You were amazed and naturally let your eyes browse down to get a glimpse of his physique. Professional athlete. “I don’t know why I thought professional athletes didn’t use public transport.”
If you asked his teammates, they don't, he thought. Hinata nodded, mindlessly twirling the earbud in his hand, which made you take yours out and tug on the cord to put it away. “And you? What do you do?” He bit his lip lightly in anticipation, every one of his theories flashing by in his mind. He checked the screen to find it wasn’t that long until you had to get off.
“It’s boring, I work in a cafe,” you said, nose scrunching at how lame your job was compared to his.
“You don’t like it?” he asked curiously. You hummed a short tone, thinking about it.
“I kinda love it. It’s just not as cool as being a volleyball player,” you said, emphasis on the last words, which made Hinata huff out a short laugh. “I’m not sure what I want to do yet.”
“If you like it, it’s cool,” he said like there was no use arguing. And you suppose it wasn’t, because you should in fact enjoy these years of your life where you’re still figuring things out. “Can I come with you?”
You blinked at him, looking from the front of the bus and back to him. “Yes? But weren’t you going somewhere?”
“I don’t even have work today, I just got on the bus to see you,” he admitted, and you hoped your gleeful laughter covered the sound of your heartbeat.
Now you’re together all the time, but you’re not always on the bus. You’re at the cafe, taking a break and sharing a piece of cake, you’re in the park either talking and laughing or having him show you how to play volleyball and laughing even more, you’re at his place and kissing on his couch after not seeing each other all day while your music plays softly on the speakers, you’re at his game to cheer for him and then meet all his friends and perhaps even family, and you’re in a restaurant when he gives you a little silver ring to promise you two stick together even while figuring things out. Things like how to open a brand new cafe in Brazil after he airs the idea of moving back there.
Because the two of you just wanted to be together, like how flowers always seem to reach for the sun and the sun does its best to keep them warm in the limited time it has.
masterlist
/tags @hotvinimon @makkir0ll
#haikyu x reader#haikyuu#haikyu#fanfiction#hq#haikyuu x you#haikyuu x reader#hq x reader#haikyuu fluff#haikyu fluff#hinata shouyou#hinata shoyo#haikyuu shoyo#hq shoyo#shoyohinata#shoyo x reader#hinata#msby#msby black jackal#haikyuu msby
126 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi! I’m currently recovering from a pretty bad hip injury and am doing physical therapy right now. PT’s been really hard and hurts my hip like hell, so I was wondering if you could maybe write about either a McLaren or Ferrari driver (your choice) who’s going through it after a hip injury and is just having a really tough time, but all of the drivers (especially Lando, Charles, Carlos, Oscar, and Daniel if that’s okay - I know it’s a lot hahaha) are there to reassure her and cheer her on.
If you don’t feel comfortable writing this, I totally understand! I hope you have a nice rest of your day/night! :)
A/N: Hope I did ok with this one. Midterms prevented me from working on this but I tried to finish this as soon as possible. Hope you enjoy it.
Realistically you should be grateful that you can still walk after the massive crash you went through in Jeddah. Well “walk” is a loose term. Having to go through physical therapy and making sure your hip heals properly, you’re not able to put any weight on your foot and have to use crutches to walk. The combination of that and the lingering pain has not made the recovery process easy. But thankfully, you were only the reserve driver for Ferrari, which means you didn’t have to rush your recovery.
“How are you feeling?” Charles asked as he packed your bag for the day while you laid on the bed in your hotel room. Him and Carlos had been helping you throughout the week with getting around the Australian circuit and you were very grateful for your fellow teammates' willingness to help.
“I don’t want to walk or move. I don’t want to go anywhere.” You said.
“I could carry you if you’d like.” Carlos said. You shook your head.
“And risk you pulling your stitches? You just got cleared to get back in the car and we both know Ferrari can’t afford to have Bearman drive right now.” You told him.
“Please at least let me carry your stuff or drive you to the track. I'm the whole reason you got hurt.” Carlos said.
“No you're not Carlos. It's my own fault I crashed.” You said. You could tell that Carlos felt guilty about you having to fill in for him and then crashing during the race, but you kept trying to reassure him that injuries like yours came with the job of being a race car driver. The only person to blame for your injury is yourself, not the teammate you were filling in for.
“But if my appendix didn't burst, you wouldn’t have been in the car.” Carlos said. Charles rolled his eyes.
“Ok, the two of you can assign blame all you want for the rest of the day, but right now, we have to get to the paddock.” Charles said. “(Y/N), I will help you get down to the car. Carlos, you can carry her stuff.”
Charles helped you get out of bed and get situated with your crutches while Carlos grabbed your bag and the two helped you get down to the hotel lobby.
~~~
You had barely made it past the paddock entrance and the fan barricades before everything started to hurt. You knew that navigating the paddock was going to be difficult but you didn’t expect to have to stop and rest everytime your hip decided to flare up with pain. You had already told Carlos and Charles to go ahead of you, not wanting to slow them down. They were hesitant to leave you behind, but you assured them that it’s better they make it to the team meeting on time than have them constantly wait for you.
“Hey (Y/N)! How are you doing?” You looked up from leaning on your crutches to see Daniel and Oscar approaching you. They seemed to be in high spirits with it being their home race.
“I’m doing ok. I’m trying to get to the Ferrari garage but I’m having some difficulty.” You said, motioning to your hip.
“Let me help you then. I’ll give you a piggyback and get you there in no time.” Daniel said.
“Are you sure? I don’t want you to risk anything before your home race.”
“Nonsense. Plus it’s better than you having to walk all the way on crutches.” Daniel said with a smile that was hard to say no to you. You reluctantly agreed and handed your crutches to Oscar before climbing on Daniel’s back.
“C’mon, I’ll get you to the Ferrari garage.” Daniel said. Oscar followed you two and the three of you started conversing on your expectations for the upcoming race. You did admit to Daniel that the piggyback was much better than walking. Without the crutches, your hands were free to wave to fans as you passed and that helped improve your mood.
“Oh, (Y/N). My gran made these for the McLaren team and I grabbed you one as a get well soon gift.” Oscar said, handing you a nicely wrapped pastry.
“Aww, thanks Osc.” You said. You unwrapped the pastry and took a bite. It was delicious and you smiled.
“Oh my god. Oscar, can your gran send these to me every time I get injured? I can already feel my hip healing.” You said. Oscar chuckled.
“I’ll let her know you liked them. But promise me you won’t get injured just for the sake of my gran’s baking.” Oscar said.
“I promise.” You told him.
~~~
“What if I don't recover from this?”
It was late at night. You and other drivers were at a club celebrating Carlos’s win, but you had to step out to get some air.
“You will. And after you've recovered, you'll win the next race you're in. It's a basic guarantee now with Carlos’s win.” Lando said, who had decided to join you outside to make sure you were ok.
“I won’t be in another race for a long while. Either Charle’s appendix needs to burst or Kevin needs to get more penalty points for me to be in another race this season.” You said.
“Well with the way Magnussen drives, I think you’ll actually have a shot again this season.” Lando said. The two of you let out small laughs, knowing that statement was sort of true.
“I have to be fully healed before they let me get back into the car.” You said, your smile slowly dropping. “With how everything keeps hurting, especially after physical therapy, I can’t help but feel like that’s not a possibility.”
“Hey, look at me.” Lando moved your head so you could look him in the eyes.
“I know my words can’t automatically heal you, but I need you to know that this pain will eventually pass. You’ll heal, and you’ll get back in that car.” He said. He placed his arm around you and pulled you close to his side without trying to aggravate your injury.
“And when you do get back in that car, you’ll win that race. Proving that nothing can stop you.”
The smile returned to your face and you pulled Lando in for a hug.
“I can feel myself getting better already.”
#f1 x reader#formula 1 x reader#platonic grid x reader#charles leclerc x reader#carlos sainz x reader#daniel riccardo x reader#oscar piastri x reader#lando norris x reader
115 notes
·
View notes
Text
Wrong number
Jason Todd (left) x Male reader (right)
Reader gets a wrong number calling and the two get into a discussion
Boxes filled the floor space as you moved them to place, looking around you saw in your mind where you wanted everything.
Finally able to afford a new place of your own, moving from your parents. A bit reluctant about moving to Gotham City of all places sure, but rent is much cheaper here.
With a couple of weeks to spare until you began your new job, you had more time to make your home and home.
Your phone ringing distracted you, the vibration of your cell in your back pocket made you jump a little.
‘Hello?’ You answered, a man’s voice presented itself.
‘Hey Kevin, how are you?’ The man’s voice said.
‘This isn’t Kevin, sorry I think you have the wrong number’ you replied as the man sighed down the other side.
‘Fuck, my Grindr match must’ve given me a wrong number’ he said sadly.
You felt bad for the stranger on the other side, he just wanted to get to know a new guy and got rejected.
‘Guess he did, sorry’ you said as the man sighed again.
The man took a breath on the other end as he began to speak again.
‘So, what’s your name?’ He asked, you rested the phone between your shoulder and ear as you moved a box from the floor in the hallway, moving it to what would be the bedroom.
‘Y/n’ you replied, walking to the bedroom.
‘Well I’m Jason’ he introduced as you smiled a little.
‘Awesome, nice to meet you’ you smiled again.
You could hear Jason smilie on the other end, as he seemed to what you took as lay down.
‘You from here?’ He asked, you shook your head.
‘No, from Coast City, moved here for work and independence’ you revealed.
‘Well Gotham is an interesting choice’ Jason smirked.
‘I’m sure’ you chuckled as you placed the box on the bare mattress.
‘So, you single?’ Jason asked, you laughed.
‘Yeah’ you said as Jason chuckled.
‘You into guys?’ Jason asked, you raised an eyebrow.
‘Guess’ you said as Jason sighed again.
‘If I guess, can I take you out?’ Jason asked, you beamed.
You sat on the bare mattress, enjoying the phone call from a stranger. From his voice you guessed he was a big guy.
‘Go ahead’
‘You’re a bottom, you like men to dominate you’ Jason said.
‘Correct’ you laughed as Jason cheered on the other end of the phone.
‘This is creepy for a first phone call and we don’t even know what we look like’ Jason realised as you nodded.
‘I agree, but I guess we’ll have to meet up’ you suggested.
‘Great, how about tonight at six? There’s a bar not too far away from Iceberg. It’s called Red Sea’ Jason said.
‘Red Sea? Shall I dress up Captain Jack Sparrow or something?’ You chuckled, making Jason laugh on the other end of the phone.
‘Sure if you want’ Jason joked as you walked to a box of clothes.
‘Cool, see you at six, Jason’ you said, Jason’s voice was like music.
‘See you then, y/n’
The call ended, you couldn’t believe the luck you had of a random number calling you and asking you out within 30 minutes of talking.
You had no friends out here so it only made sense that you would not have objections to meeting up with someone.
Course, not a great meet and greet if you have no idea who he is, what he looks like or even if he is a serial killer or something.
‘I’m wearing a black tank top’ the text from Jason’s number said, you walked to the Red Sea doors.
Taking a breath as you walked in, finding Jason with a black tank top and black jeans. Black hair, tattoos, big arms on show.
‘Jason?’ You asked, the black haired man shot his eyes to you.
‘Whoa, hey, y/n?’ Jason took your form in as he stood up.
The two of you shook hands, Jason towered over you, his eyes drew you in.
The two of you had a drink and sat together, Jason’s skin was warm and soft. He reached for your hand across from the table.
The two of you heals onto each other, Jason reached across from the other side as he brushed your hair back.
Your heart raced, blood rushed down to your pants. You felt yourself rising in between the legs as you faced the most attractive man you’d ever seen.
‘Wanna dance?’ Jason asked, you nodded as Jason switched on the duke box.
The two of you held onto each other as you swayed to the music.
Jason leant down as he stroked your face, kissing you gently. You ran a hand up his arms as you deepened the kiss.
Holding onto his shoulders, Jason held your face as he snuck his tongue inside your mouth.
Kisses as sweet as heaven, Jason brushed himself against you as you felt his length rising too.
‘My place isn’t too far from here, want to head back there?’ Jason asked you, you nodded.
Jason took his time with you, greeting you with long slow kisses, little smiles and words of comfort.
Holding onto Jason, his back being greeted by scratches as his neck was greeted by your lips.
Jason was the best sex you’d ever had, you were certain that you were for him too. The two of you made so much noise, making so much mess from sweat, bites, clothes everywhere.
The two of you lay together as you slept sweetly in Jason’s arms, him being so determined to see you again.
You didn’t realise you could fall in love so quickly, neither did Jason.
All it took was a Grindr match to give a wrong number, and for you answer your phone.
#red hood#gotham#red hood fanfiction#red hood x reader#red hood x you#jason todd fanfiction#jason todd x reader#jason todd x y/n#jason todd x you#jason todd#jason todd x male reader#red hood x male reader
61 notes
·
View notes
Text
five — right?
tag, ur it! — sakusa ? iwaizumi ? osamu ?
*ੈ✩‧ love is a losing game
your roommate, your ex, or the guy you totally haven’t been seeing—the choice should be simple, right? right?
previous — masterlist — next
word count. 1.1k
content. profanity, mentions of previous cheating
“Will you stop that?” Iwaizumi says, glancing up from the paper that he’s been working on for the better half of the afternoon.
You bat your eyelashes at him innocently. “Stop what?”
He glares. “That,” he tells you, pointing at the growing pile of paper balls you’ve been making, crumpling up pages of old notes and unceremoniously dropping them at your feet. “It’s distracting.”
“Tough luck, bud. It’s for school.”
“That excuse is getting old,” he says. He takes one last look at his laptop, sighs, and closes it. He looks at you expectantly. “So what’s up?”
“Why do you think something’s up?”
“Because you’re being outwardly annoying,” Iwaizumi tells you, “Which isn’t particularly strange, but you’ve got this nervous energy around you right now.”
You try to silence the voice in your head that wants to ask him, You notice those kinds of things? Because it’s stupid. Of course your roommate notices when you’re acting weird. He’s subjected to your strangeness every day.
“Have you ever had a really stupid idea?” you ask him instead.
He raises his brow and puts his laptop away, making his way to the couch and plopping into the seat beside you. “What kind of idea?”
“I won’t go into the specifics,” you say. “But it’s just really stupid. Imagine you had a really good thing going for you now and it’s great, you know? But there’s this other thing that is really bad for you that you can’t seem to let go. So you have this idea, drop the really good thing for the bad thing. Which is stupid. But you want to do it.”
“Oh, that’s totally not specific at all.”
You stick your tongue out at him. “I need help here,” you say. “What would you do?”
He considers it for a moment. “How badly do you want the bad thing?”
“Really badly.”
There isn’t a hint of hesitation in your voice and it makes you want to hurl. After everything that’s happened, you’re exactly where you were before. It feels pathetic. Disappointing if nothing else.
And yet you don’t expect the next thing to come out of your roommate’s mouth. Not from Iwaizumi, the wise and kind and gentle and slightly aggressive but overall smart, good guy.
“Then fuck it,” he says, as if he were giving you his blessing. “Go for it. At some point, you can’t keep denying your feelings. They’ll blow up in your face eventually.”
You gape at him. “I can’t believe you just told me to fuck it.”
He grins, all teeth and sunshine. “Fuck it.”
Of course when Iwaizumi told you to fuck it, he had no idea that it meant you were going to show up here. At a coffee shop. Waiting for Osamu, the guy all your friends have told you to clearly stay away from.
When you see him, you notice that he looks a little different. Not much has changed, you’ve only been a part for a few months, but time has its way of making the past seem more distant than it is.
“Hey,” he says as he approaches you. His breath catches when you stand and he sees you, clearly surprised by how much you’ve changed too. “You look… great.”
You offer him a curt nod. Despite just how much you want this, to see him again, there’s something that’s physically holding you back. Reminding you of what Osamu did, what he made you go through.
“Thanks,” you say. “You wanna sit?”
If he’s put off by your slight coldness, he doesn’t show it. He sits in the chair across from yours as you fall back into your seat.
“How have you been?” he asks.
It’s so polite. So unbothered. You hate it.
“Fine,” you tell him. “How’s Maya?”
You see him recoil at the name, his lips twisting into a frown as he curls into himself ever so slightly. It’s stupid just how much you still know him, how you know how to push his buttons in just the right way.
“I don’t know,” he says. “I haven’t seen her since…”
And there it is. The unspeakable. The thing you’ve poked and prodded at. Alluded to in conversations with your friends. Hidden deep in the back of your throat.
“Since you fucked her.”
He shakes his head and leans forward, spreading his hands on the table as he looks you straight in the eye. “I told you,” he says, “It was a mistake.”
“You still did it.”
The truth is sour on your tongue. You’ve had this conversation with him before, hurled your righteous accusations at him as he tried to explain that it wasn’t anything, that it didn’t matter. What a fucking idiot.
“What did you wanna talk about?” you ask. The scales have tilted in your favor. You have the upperhand here. “What do you want from me?”
Osamu’s eyes flicker from remorseful to regretful to penitent. “Give me a chance,” he says. “I fucked up, I know I did. But I can’t keep doing this. I look for you everywhere I go. I stay up at night wondering when you’ll call. But you’re so distant, you avoid me every chance you get.”
You scoff. “Do you blame me for that?”
“No.” He looks down. “But I want you to give me a chance. I know it’s a long shot, but I don’t have much of a choice.”
The stronger, more sensible part of you wants to walk away. Maybe slap him in the face, throw your water at him to make yourself feel better. Anything, as long as you leave. As long as you don’t look back.
But there’s still the part of you that stays. The one that goes to places you know he’ll be just to see if he’s doing fine. That wants to ask his brother how his finals went. That wants to forgive him right then and there, rush back into his arms, make everything alright.
So you compromise with yourself. You say, “Then win me back.”
You can tell that isn’t the answer that he was expecting. As much as you know him, he knows you too. He never expected you to bend, and while you haven’t fully done so just yet, you’ve given him an inch.
He’ll be damned if he doesn’t take a mile.
“Deal,” he says, smiling now. “You won’t regret this.”
You can’t help but chuckle at the bright look on his face. The way he lights up at the prospect of having you again. In the end, you always knew just how much you meant to him. In the end, you always knew just how much he meant to you.
“Oh, I have a feeling I will,” you tell him. “But, well, you know… Fuck it, right?”
notes. i too would be weak for osamu no matter what he's done to me 🙂↕️
#hqbaby.tag ur it!#hqbaby#haikyuu#sakusa kiyoomi#sakusa#sakusa x reader#miya osamu#osamu#osamu x reader#iwaizumi hajime#iwaizumi#iwaizumi x reader
54 notes
·
View notes
Note
Well, the BAFTA’s were not what I expected without Michael there or David winning but wow, I enjoyed him serving looks, laughing freely, being joyous during interviews and having a general good time.
At the same time, that’s the coldest shoulder he’s given to Georgia yet, barely aknowledging her all night and she looked PISSED and awkward the whole time. Very far from the smug looks from previous awards. I’m genuinely thinking they’re done privately, although hardly divorcing soon, but he’s definitely not playing subservient to her anymore. Which suits him amazingly.
Funny too how the haters think they are in on the ‘loser’ joke and laugh at us for being offended on his behalf, when has he demonstrated it is something he enjoys? When has he made a self-deprecating joke about it? Not even when he hosted the event he tried to paint himself as a loser for laughs. And we are the ones with the parasocial relationship thinking we know them personally? We just have eyes.
Love your blog, keep the good content coming 🙌
Thank you my Angel ❤️❤️❤️❤️
I know we all hoped for a win and for Michael, but even without them we got better content than during Oliviers! Which is incredible.
David started the day with posting a fourth(!) pic to celebrate Nye, like a lil Angel under the poster, with the Bi Anthem song, then served another hot look at the awards, gave a cold shoulder to GT, stayed confident and Crowley coded, laughed with people, looked amazing, and did not shut up about Michael; about kissing him and wanting to spend everyday with him.
Just recently, both he and Michael saying how good omens changed their lives, Michael saying they will be connected with the matching bracelets, David talking about spending everyday with him… sigh.
Antis came up with the excuse and assumed that DT loves being called a loser. He never said it. Who the fuck would want to be called a loser anyway? That’s their assumption. They’re treating it as a fact, but that’s all it is - assumption, and they don’t understand that it’s nothing more but their choice to believe in something else than we do and their belief isn’t based on anything but what they want to believe. Even though they have zero proof for it, because everything that we have seen actually speaks against it. They’re so deep in this bullshit that she’d wish the worst to David and they’d giggle too. They need to separate themselves from this relationship to start judging things correctly again instead of screaming every time someone questions anything. But some people simply don’t possess critical thinking skills.
Remember when Michael did the sketch with David and took all the jokes about David not being nominated and not making it in Hollywood… on himself? Remember how Michael talked about David first thing on his interview to say how well he’s done and how good he looked? Michael, the one who never fails to praise David?
… who David can’t stop talking about either? And praise, and show his love for, and how he can’t wait to spend everyday with him…?
Right.
Edit:
Adding this quote from DT:
“You feel sorry for the people who don't win cause you can see them. They feel very alive to you.”
He doesn’t deserve this shit from her.
66 notes
·
View notes
Text
Seen some stuff about Astrid being problematic in the same breath as praising Essek. I know media literacy is tough, but let’s examine.
How is Astrid problematic and Essek isn’t? They both are manipulative when it’s called for. Both are capable of lying, killing, and other untold horrors. Both are incredibly powerful.
One has had a lonely by choice and privileged life as the weird but useful son of the head of a Den.
One has had their identity stripped from them in a way that combines the worst of cults and the military. Tortured, experimented on, changed in ways we don’t even know the extent of.
One has had the pressure of his Den, his mother, his father, his brother, his whole community pressing on him his whole life. He stepped up into the air and took the weight as if it was effortless. He focused his life on study because it was the only thing that gave him worth in this society and it was genuinely what he enjoyed, whatever enjoyment was for him then. He had access to materials, books, almost anything.
One has had the pressure of her community, her background, in her face as she tried to beat the odds. The expectations for her were nothing, but she said fuck that. She studied with nothing, clawed her way into the venerated halls of higher magic learning. She does everything for the Empire, for Trent. She wants success for herself, because that is what gets her approval, keeps her safe.
One is in a position of power in his society. He has the ability to pull strings. He doesn’t think about how his actions impact his community or really anything besides himself. Sure maybe he wants to find something to impair the religion in the region, but it feels like even that starts out as a quest to prove himself right. His life is largely his own, despite the derision of some.
One is continuously tortured, tested, forced to PROVE herself. Cut her hair, stomp out any resistance to her mentor through any means necessary. Find some solace in their two peers. Made to kill their family to prove themselves based on a lie. She is conditioned to fight because who else will protect her country in the dirty, dark ways she has to? She is trying to salvage her sacrifices into a purpose. Bren is one of those sacrifices.
One kills indiscriminately if they get in his way. The man the Nein dropped off at the peace talks? I still remember how sad it was as he tried to piece together his broken mind, a mind Essek broke to save himself.
One kills for their country. Follows orders, kills when they find it necessary to protect those who cannot protect themselves. This is what she believes.
One GAVE AWAY a powerful religious artifact to HIS PEOPLE’S ENEMY. The intent was purely selfish curiosity.
One helped protect and study that artifact to PROTECT her country. The intent is curiosity to assist in her job, protect her country.
One finds the strength to allow himself to be loved and have friends after years of solitude. Because he just never was so fully loved. He finds the strength to let the ultimate time travel power and the knowledge that he was right go. To become comfortable with time he has left.
One finds the strength to listen to one of the only real, genuine relationships she’s ever had. Her first love. A reminder of her younger, hopeful self. She changes. She realizes the lies she’s allowed herself to believe. She finds the strength to not kill her torturer just to kill him. She finds the strength to testify. To promise that no other kids will suffer. Justice. To become comfortable with the time she has left.
One is a he.
One is a she/they.
I wonder what the issue is.
These characters are two sides of the same coin. They are both INCREDIBLY WELL THOUGHT OUT characters. They are more than just paramours of Caleb Widogast.
#critical role#critical role spoilers#cr2#cr3#astrid becke#essek thelyss#caleb widogast#shadowgast#widobecke#character analysis
39 notes
·
View notes
Text
Potion Mishap ~ Vil Schoenheit
Word Count: 1 625
Pairing: Vil Schoenheit x Reader
Summary: Vil realizes he made a terrible mistake when the hate potion he was crafting for his potion assignment meant to get his mind off you turned into a lust potion.
A/N: This is a continuation of Mimi’s fic right here. It’s smut with plot. There is slight dubcon and reader is afab. Let me know what you think!
Loud knocks on your door startled you as you put your pen down on your desk, standing up from your chair. You walked up to the entrance of your bedroom and watched through the peephole only to see Vil. You frowned. It wasn’t unusual for him to seek you out without notice but the way he was so impatiently knocking on the wooden door had you wondering about what could be so urgent.
“Yes, Vil?” you said, opening the door, your eyes meeting his violet ones.
Vil’s pupils were strangely dilated, you noticed. He was also breathing unevenly, and the red dusting his cheeks didn’t seem to be a make-up choice. He pushed past you, not waiting to be invited and you let him in, closing the door behind the two of you.
“Vil, are you alright?” you asked, a little concerned.
Vil didn’t say anything, but his expression betrayed him. He looked like whatever was tormenting him was about to burst out of him and he had trouble containing it. Before you could question him any further, however, he pushed you against your door. Your eyes widened at the sudden action and you gasped.
“[Name],” he moaned, pressing his body against yours, his hands on either side of you. “I am so sorry.”
“Vil? What’s wrong?”
Your concern only grew with the way he was behaving. Vil breathed heavily before walking backwards, his legs trembling as he made his way to your bed. You immediately followed, worried for your friend. He cried out as he fell onto your mattress and you rushed to him, sitting right beside him on the bed.
“This potion… We made a mistake… [Name]… I cannot take it any more…” Vil said incoherently.
“Vil, what potion?” you replied, panicked and even more confused. “Should I get help? You’re scaring me.”
“No, [Name],” he moaned again, reaching for your hands. “I need you.”
This was when you noticed the tent forming in Vil’s pants and you finally understood.
He sat up on your bed almost immediately and wrapped an arm around your waist. Then he pushed you onto the mattress, climbing on top of you. You didn’t question him as he kissed you. You were frozen in place, having trouble processing what was happening. Vil’s tongue slid inside your mouth and it was aggressively that he undressed you. He pulled down your skirt and you were pretty sure your fishnets were torn with how quickly he took them off.
All of this was unexpected, to say the least, and it was only when he unbuttoned your shirt and pulled down your bra to suck on your exposed breast that you realized none of this should be happening with your closest friend even though you wanted it nearly as much as Vil did.
“Vil?” you breathed, as his tongue teased your nipples. “I don’t think we should be doing this.”
He ignored you, pulling on his tie instead and unbuttoning his shirt.
“You’re not being yourself,” you reminded him in between kisses.
“I think I am,” he whispered in your ear before kissing your neck.
Soon you were moaning Vil’s name too as he showed no signs of stopping anytime. Your legs tightened around him, feeling him bury himself inside you. He was absolutely heavenly, you couldn’t help thinking as he repeatedly bruised your lips with his. You lost count of the orgasms he stole from you and as you switched positions and he trapped you under his body once again, you started to lose track of time and your surroundings.
By the time he reached his release, you were out of breath and a sticky mess of limbs and sweat. Your hands were intertwined when he slowly pulled out from you and lay on your back as your core was still pulsating. You didn’t say anything and let him hold you an arm over your waist as he slid to your side. To be completely honest you didn’t know where to start if you were to speak so you kept quiet for a while enjoying his warmth. Once you finally broke the silence, however, it appeared that Vil had fallen asleep and you couldn’t help chuckling.
It was certainly an endearing sight, you thought as you turned around, facing him. You reached for your blanket, covering him up, a smile on your face as you lay with him. By the time he woke up, you had dressed up and folded his clothes neatly on your desk. You had wondered if you should have woke him up but you figured he was tired, the potion he had ingested was visibly potent after all. You also brought him a light snack and a cup of tea and as he started moving, you hoped he was feeling rested at the very least.
He rubbed his eyes as he awakened, proof that he was likely confused as the action smudged his make-up all over his eyes. He frowned at the sight of the mascara and brown eyeshadow on his fingertips then he looked around the room, realizing he was on your bed. You stood up from your chair by your desk and moved to sit next to him.
“Are you okay, Vil?” you asked, softly.
He took a moment before answering as if the memories of the past events were still foggy. Then his eyes widened as he remembered everything and jolted awake.
“Oh Sevens,” he muttered to himself, in shock, before finally making eye contact with you. “What have I done?”
“Well, a lot of things,” you replied, unsure about how he was taking what had just happened.
“I don’t know what to say. I have no words. What I did is terrible and I have no excuse. I take full accountability for sexually assaulting you and I will fix it in any way you see fit.”
The guilt on Vil’s face was apparent and the way with which he spoke these words immediately made you feel bad for him. He was mistaken, though. While it was true that you hadn’t given your consent for what had unfolded at first there was no point where you wanted him to stop and he didn’t. In fact, it was probably the most enjoyable sex you had ever had even if he had been very visibly consumed by his lust.
“Vil, please, you didn’t sexually assault me,” you reassured him. “Sure, I was a bit confused at first but I didn’t stop you because I was enjoying it. To be quite honest, I should have stopped you, you were clearly not being yourself. So, I am also at fault.”
“No. Don’t even try blaming yourself. I barged into your room and forcefully had sex with you,” he argued.
You couldn’t help chuckling at the absurdity of the situation even though Vil was everything except amused.
“We just had rough sex. I liked it. I liked it a lot even. Besides, I could have very easily neutralized you with my signature spell. I didn’t because I thought we were having a good time. I do feel bad though because if your actions were only motivated by the potion then it means I took advantage of you.”
“It wasn’t just the potion. While I didn’t intend it to turn out that way, I did want to have sex with you… Just not like that. I apologize again,” he explained, with a look of sadness on his face.
“Why the long face? If we both wanted to have sex then it’s alright. Sure it was unexpected but we can always try again with explicit consent this time.”
You chuckled and Vil shook his head.
“Are you sure you are alright?” he insisted. “I do really feel bad.”
“Don’t,” you said with a smile, moving closer to him. “Can I have the story behind this potion, though?”
Vil remained quiet for a moment. He was embarrassed.
“We were crafting a hate potion with Mai-Siri for our potionology class and it was supposed to neutralize my feelings for you for a short time but it backfired,” he confessed.
“A hate potion? Why were you trying to neutralize your feelings for me?”
“Well,” Vil hesitated. “It was only going to be temporary and I just wanted to get my mind off you… It was stupid, I know.”
“Hate potions react to the person ingesting the potion’s feelings for the target. Which means that if you had picked a random person to target, you would have developed hatred for them shortly. It works differently if you care for the person you are targeting, though.”
Vil nodded.
“Depending on how much and how you love your target, the effects of the potion differ. One of the side effects is lust. That said, this is only possible if the romantic love you feel for that person is overwhelmingly strong…” he continued.
You chuckled.
“So, in other words, you are so down bad for me that your hatred turned into lust. How embarrassing.”
Vil rolled his eyes.
“Would you please stop rubbing salt in the wounds? I am already ashamed for making such a stupid mistake.”
You laughed.
“Looks like you underestimated how much you love me.”
“I guess I did. This is so embarrassing.”
“I think it’s cute,” you reassured him, kissing his lips softly.
Vil smiled at the action. This was certainly not how he had planned to confess his feelings for you but at least you seemed to be happy with how it turned out regardless.
“So are we practising explicit consent yet or?”
“You are unbearable,” Vil replied before closing the distance between you two, kissing you as you wrapped your arms around him and you both fell onto the mattress again.
#twisted wonderland#vil schoenheit#vil schoenheit x you#vil schoenheit x reader#vil schoenheit smut#👑.the evil queen writes
25 notes
·
View notes
Text
Chapter Seven: The GoverMint
Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 7 - More Coming Soon
Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader
Summary: Two men bring you into custody and some new information comes to light.
Tags: Slow burn (and I mean SLOWWW), angst, eventually more smut, language, canon-typical violence, chem/alcohol use, more tags will be added
Posted on AO3: Smoothie and The Ghoul
Word Count: 2.1k
"What? Never had mornin’ wood before, Smoothie?” The Ghoul snickers as you shake your head in confusion. While yes, it’s a fairly natural thing to occur, you weren’t exactly expecting to see his hard-on first thing.
"Alright, love birds,” the man starts, causing both of you to glare at him. “Destroying a legitimate business? That's illegal 'round these parts.”
You exchange a quick glance with The Ghoul, both of you clearly annoyed by the man calling you ‘love birds’. "First of all, we are not together. And - will you please adjust yourself, Beef Jerky - second of all, this... was a legitimate business? Says who?” you ask, gesturing vaguely around the room as The Ghoul rolls his eyes and slowly covers himself with his hat.
"The government," the man proudly declares before abruptly striking The Ghoul in the face with his rifle.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Let's not get crazy here," you interject, raising your hands in protest, realizing that two against one isn't a smart choice at the moment. Your head is throbbing from the alcohol you drank the night before, leaving you in no condition to fight back.
“Don’t worry, miss. Your husband is okay, but you two gotta face justice,” the man replies. You huff a frustrated sigh at the continued assumption that you two are a couple. Looking the man over, you notice a crudely made sheriff badge with the name Troy etched onto it.
“May I call you Troy?” you ask, pointing to his badge. He gives you a smile, indicating it’s okay. “Now, Troy, this man right here isn’t my husband. We are just traveling companions who happened to come across this already destroyed business.”
Troy sighs, “We ain’t stupid, ma’am. We gotta bring ya both in. Rex!” He shouts at the other man, “Tie ‘em up and we’ll move out once that one wakes back up.”
Shortly after, The Ghoul wakes up and the four of you are on the move towards the supposed government. You keep stealing glances at him, hoping for any sign of a plan, but he remains silent and focused on the path ahead. The restraints around your wrists chafe against your skin, causing irritation. These two men seem dumb as hell but the one sure knows how to use rope.
Finally, the four of you approached a building sporting a sign that proudly proclaims "The GoverMint”. The Ghoul shot you a glance, and you couldn't help but roll your eyes in exasperation. The sight of the misspelled sign only reinforced your growing realization that you were dealing with a bunch of idiots. The building itself appeared run-down and neglected, a stark contrast to the grandeur one might expect from an actual government facility. The paint was peeling, the windows were dirty, and the overall atmosphere exuded an air of disarray. As you were escorted inside by Troy and Rex, you couldn't shake the feeling that this whole situation was more absurd than dangerous.
"Well, shit!" a hefty man exclaims, sitting at a table with a plate of food. "I heard it was a ghoul that messed up that Super Duper Mart. Nobody told me it was the ghoul."
"Why, Sorrel Booker," The Ghoul smirks.
You silently mouth to The Ghoul, "You know this guy?"
"You boys know who you just brought in? This sumbitch right here used to be the best bounty hunter to ever shoot a man in the ass," Sorrel chuckles as the two men usher you to sit in front of him. "Kids these days don’t know their goddamn history."
"Say, you got a needle and thread?” The Ghoul casually asks. “I think I got some in my bag, actually. Would you mind?"
Sorrel hesitates for a moment, eyeing him, but ultimately nods his head. Troy hands over the needle and thread, and The Ghoul's restraints are untied. With a calm demeanor, he picks up a perfectly cut finger and begins sewing it onto his missing one. You can't help but watch in disbelief, your mouth agape, trying to make sense of the bizarre scene unfolding before you. What the fuck is happening right now?
"Whose finger is that?!" You blurt out unintentionally, causing silence to take over the room.
Sorrel takes a good look at you as he spits out a piece of meat and puts it in a bowl labeled 'cysts’, turning his attention to the man next to you. “200 years. I don’t know what keeps you going. Maybe you just like the feeling of that good old California sunshine on your wrinkly-ass face. Or maybe you’re still looking for her. Maybe not though... this your girlfriend or somethin’?"
"You really think I’d shack up with some smoothskin? She ain’t even that pretty.” The Ghoul retorts, ignoring your offended look as he scrunches his newly sewn finger to make sure it's functional. “And I sure as hell ain't still alive so that I can have unintelligent conversations with dipshits like yourself."
“Mind your fucking mouth. That’s the president of the government you’re talking to.” Troy speaks up.
“Oh, you’re president now?” He raises a brow, “In that case, I am hearing a whole lot of chatter about some woman. Name of Moldaver. They call her the Flame Mother.”
This new information about a woman catches you off guard, as it's the first time you've heard about her on this journey. While the two men continue their conversation, you find yourself racking your brain as the mention of Moldaver triggers a memory in your mind. You vaguely recall whispers in the air about a woman who leads a group of people up in the mountains. Tension begins to build in the room as you find yourself deep in thought, analyzing her possible connection to the bounty you were originally after. You notice a shift in the dynamics between the men after The Ghoul taunts Troy about killing his father in Filly. It seems to have struck a nerve and Rex is ordered to take away Troy's weapons.
“Take him out back and feed him to the hogs,” Sorrel's harsh order snaps you out of your thoughts. "And this one might be good for the local brothel."
"Oh, hell no," you mutter as Troy pulls you up to take you away. Determined to fight back, you struggle to release yourself from his grasp, refusing to be taken without a fight. Suddenly, a gunshot rings out, causing chaos in the room. The Ghoul, seizing an opportunity, managed to grab Rex’s pistol and shot him.
With the distraction, you act quickly. In a burst of adrenaline-fueled strength, you headbutt Troy, feeling the sharp pain of impact, and then tackle him to the ground. Overwhelmed by a surge of emotions and a fierce desire for survival, you unleash a flurry of tied fists striking his face repeatedly. Blood splatters across your face as you continue to pummel him. He’s surely dead by now but you can't stop - there is no way you are going to a brothel against your will.
Feeling a warm hand touch your shoulder, you are startled out of your frenzy. Looking up, you lock eyes with The Ghoul, who is standing over you with a small crooked smile playing on his lips. There is a glint of amusement in his gaze, as if he is savoring this violent side of you. His presence and subtle expression of approval offer a strange sense of validation for you.
“Goddamn it,” Sorrel exclaims in frustration, throwing his fork onto the table. As you slowly rise from the man you just bludgeoned to death, The Ghoul starts untying the rope around your wrists. Despite gloves covering his hands again, you find solace in his gentle touch as he works to release you from your bindings. Once finished, he strides over to the wall littered with wanted posters and tears off a sketch of a woman.
“I got one question for you, ol’ buddy. Why do you have this picture on your wall?” The Ghoul inquires, holding up the sketch.
“That’s Moldaver. Why?” Sorrel responds, a sense of curiosity evident in his voice.
“Well, that’s not how I remember her, is all,” He remarks cryptically.
“Yeah? Well, how do you remember her?”
The Ghoul doesn’t say a word and without further explanation he leads you both outside. The two of you stand facing each other in silence. He lets out a sigh and reaches for a dirty rag in his pocket, handing it to you without a word. You take it and begin to clean yourself up but it’s proves pointless as it’s just smearing the blood all over.
"Well, that didn't do shit," he remarks as he takes the rag back from you. His gaze scans the area until he spots a barrel of grimy water, prompting him to grab you by the base of your hair and drag you over to it. As he dunks your face into the water, you shout in protest, the shock of the cold liquid causing you to react instinctively. He lifts your head up and looks at you, his expression unreadable.
"What the fuck are you doing?! Do you just like waterboarding women in your free time?!" you yell angrily, spitting excess water onto his face.
"You're clean now," he states simply as he gestures to the now wet and cleansed skin on your face. “Come on, let’s get goin’.”
“Wait, you still want me around?” you question, surprised by his response.
“I saw you back there. Proved useful,” he acknowledges, wiping the spit off his face with a nonchalant expression. He starts walking away, and you instinctively follow his lead, the rhythm of his steps guiding you away from the ‘government’.
Trailing behind him for most of the day, you're left with nothing but the echo of your dream still etched in your mind. The surreal scene of a nuclear explosion as he touched you intimately felt oddly real, even in its absurdity. Your eyes study his form, his posture, the way he moves - every detail etching itself into your consciousness. He dunked you in cold, murky water, and yet here you are, daydreaming what it might actually feel like to have his body pressed against you.
Unknown to you, The Ghoul is wrestling with his own inner turmoil. The dream he experienced replays in his mind like a haunting loop, stirring up emotions he'd rather keep buried. He finds himself irrationally angry with you for making him feel so vulnerable, even though he knows it was just a dream. His mind is now filled with thoughts of you - the curves of your body, the softness of your lips, the gentle touch of your hands.
He feels the weight of your gaze on him, and it unnerves him more than he'd like to admit. His fingers clench tighter around the hunting knife hanging on his belt, a physical manifestation of the internal struggle he's experiencing. He doesn't dare glance back at you, afraid that the turmoil in his eyes might give away more than he intends.
"Will you stop starin'?" His abrupt words cut through the tension, causing you to freeze in your tracks. Embarrassment washes over you as you realize he's aware of your lingering gaze. Attempting to play it off nonchalantly, you open your mouth to respond, but only incoherent sputtering and mumbled words escape. He turns to face you, an intense gaze piercing you like a bullet.
“I am not staring,” you manage to assert, a hint of defensiveness in your tone. “I’m just focused on the path ahead.”
“Listen up, Smoothie. I ain't keepin' you 'round 'cause we're best buds. It's 'cause you're damn good at spillin' blood. So don't be gettin' any ideas about you and me sharin' heartfelt moments or takin' strolls in the wasteland." He snaps.
“What the fuck are you going on about?” You laugh, but then a realization dawns on you. "Oh, hang on.… Am I the reason your 'little friend' made an appearance this morning?"
“Now what do you mean litt-“ He cuts himself off abruptly, “Don’t flatter yourself, Smoothie. I ain’t one for sentimentality or... entanglements.”
A small smile begins to tug at the corners of your lips, a reaction that visibly irks him, his annoyance evident in the way his features tighten. You can’t tell if he's contemplating strangling you or something even worse. Either way, there's a subtle thrill in knowing that you're the reason he’s so worked up. You approach him with a spring in your step and pat his chest, earning a fierce glare in return.
"Don't fret, sweetheart," you grin, your tone dripping with sarcasm as you use the endearing term, "I'll just pretend this never happened. Now, how about we find a spot to camp for the night?"
Tag List: @fallout-girl219 @ellabellabunny123 @sunnexaltation @coolrobloxkid28 @cheshirecat484 @capan-deveraux2 @rebelmarylou
#my longest chapter yet and it's about the stupid gOvErMiNt#the ghoul x reader#cooper howard x reader#fallout#cooper howard#the ghoul#smoothie and the ghoul
27 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hot for Teacher(s) 10
Part 9
Shawn tried not to think too hard about his dad and his teacher dating. He knew his family was a little different than the others. Most people had two parents. But he’d never as for his sire to show up. Never in a million years. He still remembered how bad it got.
It made him a little wary of Mr. Munson. He didn’t think he’d ever hit his father. But sometimes pain wasn’t physical. Even when Billy hadn’t put his hands on Steve, the yelling had been horrible too. But Steve had been in love. And there had been a time when Billy cared for him. He’d told Shawn so.
Shawn couldn’t believe it. People in love didn’t do that kind of thing. People in love did things like go out on dates, gave each other gifts and scented each other nicely.
Like how Shawn could smell Mr. Munson on his dad. He probably wouldn’t have been able to tell who it was if not by his powers of deduction. They’d been sitting on his bed, his dad reading him a bedtime story. He didn’t bring up the scent, or how it made him feel nice. He just hoped Mr. Munson would stay around a while.
“Are you and Mr. Munson in love?”
Steve fumbled with the basketball in his hands and Shawn used the opportunity to steal it from him and go for a shot. He missed, but getting a steal from his dad was still nice.
“He and I are…dating, as you know”, Steve said, grabbing the ball as it bounced his way. “I think it’s a little too soon to be using words like ‘love’.”
“He’s over here a lot”, Shawn said.
Steve didn’t know how much he should read into that. Was Shawn saying he didn’t like Eddie being around so much? Did he feel like someone else was taking time away from Steve? It was hard to tell with his son sometimes what he was thinking.
“How come you always make me go out when he’s over?”
“I don’t always-”
“I know you’re going on a date every time I have a sleepover. And I’ve been having a lot of sleepovers lately.” Shawn’s expression was a little too mature for a child his age.
“First, don’t interrupt, it’s rude. Second, I thought you liked having sleepovers.”
“I do. I just don’t know why you don’t want me around Mr. Munson. I see him all day at school.”
Steve kept his body language nonchalant while dribbling the ball. “Well that’s just it. I figured you’d be sick of him. He’s at school AND at home?” He shot and the ball went right in.
“If I score more than you, can we get ice cream?”
“Shawn, it’s January.”
“I want chocolate with gummy bears.”
Steve was still thinking of it a few days later when he had sent Shawn on yet another sleepover while he, Eddie, and Robin got drunk and gave powerpoint presentations on a subject of their choice. Robin was about ten slides deep into one about why TV shows sucked on writing lesbians on purpose but somehow made the most compelling character chemistry on accident.
At first, he’d been sitting close to Eddie, legs in his lap, playing with his hair but Steve had learned that Eddie never sat still for long. Every few slides, he’d jump up with an interjection and Steve knew if he didn’t want to flop off the couch, he’d better not get too tangled.
Robin was very open to discussion. Heated discussion but still. Steve finally cleared his throat when they started getting closer, hands moving wildly as they argued about the sexuality of Sandy the Squirrel.
“Hey, it’s Powerpoint Night, not debate night”, Steve said.
Robin gasped. “Steve! Can we have debate night. We finally have a third party to mediate.”
“What do you guys need a mediator for?”, Eddie asked.
“She has very strong opinions on salted caramel”, Steve said. “Your turn Eddie.”
Eddie got up, his presentation popping up as he cleared his throat. “Pluto’s Planet Status: Logic vs Sentimentality….”
Robin stayed the night, taking up the guest bed while Eddie went up to Steve’s room. He’d been inside before, but it always felt momentous. A space that not many had seen before and Steve was allowing him. They collapsed next to each other, limbs tangling through the night.
The next day, they got up, making a breakfast of sausage, eggs, and other greasy things to stave off any hangover symptoms. And before Eddie left, Steve asked a favor of him.
“Do you…mind scenting some of the pillows? Not for me, but for Shawn? I want to gauge his reaction to the idea of you becoming more…permanent.”
Eddie’s eyes got wide. “Do you want me to be more permanent?”
Steve bit his lip and nodded, moving in close to scent Eddie at his neck. “You’ve always smelled like safety to me. And now…you’re starting to smell like home.”
Eddie wrapped his arms around him, confirming that he felt the same. He wanted more of Steve’s scent around his own home. Eddie completed the favor, scenting the soft throw pillows on the couch.
When Shawn got home, he had Steve spent most of the day inside, doing various things but when the sun set, they had a movie night. Steve tried not to look too giddy when Shawn grabbed one of the pillows and held it to his chest, nose pressed to it. His body language may have been neutral, but the happiness must’ve shown in his scent because Shawn started to cuddle up to him. His omega hindbrain was filled with thoughts he hadn’t allowed for a long time.
Good alpha. Safe. Perfect alpha. Perfect for pup. Need to scent pup. Need him scented by both.
That was all Steve needed to move things up to the next step. He enacted it when picking Shawn up from school one day. He was mindful not to take up too much of Eddie’s time during dismissal, but Eddie always assured Steve that he’d rather talk to him than the other parents.
“What if you’ve got something important to tell them?”
“That’s what emails are for. And really, how many times can I say ‘your kid cried because someone looked at them’ or ‘ they’re chattier than a telemarketer’?”
Steve figured some things about being a teacher didn’t change all that much between the age groups. He built up his nerves to ask the question. He had already asked Shawn if it was okay and his pup was more than happy about it.
“You know, Shawn’s birthday is coming up soon. We usually go out and do whatever he wants. And we were wondering if you wanted to tag along?”
Eddie looked between them both, mouth agape and looking like he wanted to jump for joy, hug them both, and blast off like a rocket all at once. It really made Steve want to kiss him in front of all these people, parents, teachers and all.
“Hell yeah-I mean, y-yeah”, Eddie stuttered when he remembered where he was.
Shawn looked elated too and things couldn’t be more right.
And of course, that was when things started going wrong.
Part 11 coming soon
Tags
@anne-bennett-cosplayer @aol19 @lololol-1234 @gregre369 @attic-cat-blog
@hippieg1rl420 @spectrum-spectre
20 notes
·
View notes
Note
Omg hi! i was wondering if i could request a tommy fic? i was thinking during the whole luca changretta war tommy finds (Reader) who is a harley quinn typa gal in the psych ward gets her out and asks to help him kill luca?
•Thank you for the request! Apologies it took so long to come out, hope you enjoy!
Warnings: Altered storyline, mentions of smut
The hallways were narrow as he passed by each barred cell, ignoring the familiar faces of many of his enemies. With each step he was inching closer to her menacing yet playful laugh. He was desperate at this point and being a Shelby he’d never like to admit that.
He really didn’t want to do this, but what other choice did he have? Y/N L/N was known very well for her crimes, many she had gotten away with until she attempted to blow up Tommy’s fucking pub and threatened his family, also the time where you had managed to do seduce his men guarding the company and breaking into the vault stealing a tremendous amount of money.
“Mr. Shelby, crawling back already are we? To what do I owe the displeasure?” She snarled at the sight of his frigid, cold stare.
Folding his hands and standing with a straight back, feet implanted solidly in his stance, he released a disgruntled breath.
“I need your help. You’re the only one who’s been able to out play me numerous times, and we have a common enemy we both want dead.” She simply giggled and rolled her eyes, not at all phased by his demeanor. Was he being serious right now?
“Regardless of who it is, why should I help you? After all you’re the reason I’m in this filthy, low ridden place. What could you possibly offer me that I can’t already get myself?”
“You’re freedom. No strings attached after Luca Changretta is dead.” The man’s name rolling off Tommy’s tongue boiled the blood in your veins. He was the man who had killed your mother and made you an orphan, depending on others for food, living on the streets growing up all by yourself at the ripe age of twelve.
He noticed the sudden change in your facial features and how your hands clung to the metal bars, knuckles turning white in anger.
“So what do you say? Do we have a deal?”
The breath of fresh air warmed your body, refreshing your sense of smell. Tommy had a tight grip around your bicep, untrusting that you held any type of loyalty to the arrangement.
Shoving you roughly into the car and locking the doors, he drove off filling you in on what the Changretta’s have been doing to his family, mentioning the death of his brother John.
Pulling into the driveway, knowing it had been a long, painful day, he thought it was best just to show you to your room and create a plan of takedown the following morning.
Your eyes widened in shock at the big expensive house, surprised to see he had a maid waiting on him, yet you couldn’t steer away from all of the fine china on the walls, the glistening silverware laying out on the clothed table.
“If I had known where you lived I would’ve ramsacked this play awhile ago, I mean look at this!” You picked up the ferrarce pink egg in your hand carelessly, magnifying it’s beauty and not being able to stop thinking how much money the antique could get you. Grasping the object out of your hand, Tommy forced you around back to the stairs where you heard pitter pattering footsteps rushing past you down the stairs.
Seeing the little boy so alight and full of energy brought a profound joyfulness to you. A person’s childhood is so precious, supposed to be the best time of life, never worrying about a thing, not understanding the hatefullness in the world. It made you sympathize a little.
“You have a child?” Tommy wasn’t going to entertain any conversation of his private life. He was uncomfortable enough having you here in this house with Charlie but what choice did he have?
“Don’t get any ideas, breakfast is at 8 am. This will be your room, windows have been barred, any sharp objects have been taken out, don’t bother trying anything.” The room had nothing but a singular king size bed in the center of the white painted room, a bathroom attached with a shower, toilet, and sink but no towels.
“I know you’re fucking crazy, I don’t need you trying to hang yourself or some shit. Frances will bring you one if needed but one of my men will be outside the bathroom to ensure you don’t try anything. Take it or leave it.”
Begrudgingly you tossed your belongings onto the bed, Tommy pulling out a cigarette in the process, glossing the tube over his plump lip.
It was all settled then. You’d head out first thing in the morning.
When the following day arrived you awoke to Tommy busting through the door, causing you to jolt upwards reaching for your weapon that wasn’t there thanks to his stupid rules.
“Artillery Square. It’s 8:01, you’re late. Get dressed. I want you to see how they operate.”
Ripping the blankets off the bed, Tommy tossed you a change of clothes, black pants with a black hoodie marching your darkened personality.
Huffing, you looked at him expectedly awaiting for some privacy to which he rolled his eyes as if he hadn’t seen women nude before.
Closing the door he waited outside for you.
The car drive consisted of etching out a plan. Tommy knew they were following behind him and informed you of where he had weapons set up on the different floors and railings outside. Why did he have to plan everything and be serious? Didn’t he like risk taking every once in awhile, so utterly boring.
“Stay close.” The men had taken a different turn probably in hopes of throwing Tommy off but that wouldn’t work.
Passing by civilians he motioned for them to go inside that danger was near. They wasted no time in auietly running up to their rooms in fear, fully knowing that whenever a Shelby was around, trouble always seemed to follow.
Turning around Tommy realized you weren’t behind him anymore. Huffing and scanning the area he found you sitting on the curb of the sidewalk next to a bakery petting a stray pup with a croissant in your hand, as if there weren’t italian men scattered throughout Birmingham looking to complete their vendetta.
In a powerful stride he walked over to you, gripping the small of your wrist angrily and dragging you along with him.
“Hey! Y’know what your problem is Tommy? You’re so uptight all the time, jesus relax every once in awhile.” Rounding the corner, he shifted and slammed you against the alley wall effortlessly, causing your creamed croissant to fall to the ground, pissing you off.
“Really! That croissant was the only good thing going in my life, it gets tiring constantly being spied on and not being trusted y’know.” His hand struck you across the cheek, causing your head to whip to the left from his harmful blow, smacking against the brick wall.
“Ow! What the fuck Shelby!” Your stomach bubbled with fury, arms flailing and hitting his rock hard chest trying to fight back against his strong hold.
“Listen to me alright? This isn’t some fancy fucking get away. We had an agreement, so stay hidden before you blow our fucking cover or I will take you right back to the fucking coppers and have you readmitted, Got it, eh?” She giggled menacingly, rolling her eyes from the masculine, testosterone fueled facade, not at all intimidated by him. If anything a little turned on by his threats and the chokehold he had you in.
In a quick, swift movement you giggled before raising your knee and striking him directly in the ball causing the older Shelby to hunch over in pain.
“Lay a hand on me again and I will drown you in your fucking sleep. Got it?” You snickered sarcastically, smiling at the feeble position you put him in.
“Now, let’s get back to business and set aside the pleasure shall we?”
The two of you scoped Artillery Square, the block being hing with sheets and laundry around every turn while innocent civilians were inside the homes they rightfully owned.
Enough people had died from these fuckers, children included and Tommy refused to have any more unnecessary blood shed.
Hearing footsteps from behind, Tommy motioned for you to follow him in the building. The empty hallways eerily quiet as bystanders were crouched in their rooms hiding beneath tables, fleeing to corners and shielding their children.
All of Birmingham knew the Chagrettas were in town and what a black hand meant. The italian Mafia had been a profound problem back in the state of New York, innocent lived being taken just for being in the same vicinity as who they were after.
Quieting the worrisome families, you raised a finger to your lips with each passing room, ears and eyes at the ready to think fast.
At that moment a bullet richoeted through one of the windows, hitting a metal wall and flying up toward the ceiling shattering a light bulb connected to a ceiling fan.
On high alert, Tommy whipped you around toward the other side of the hallway, pushing you forth by the low of your back. Birmingham wasn’t a place you were completely familiar with but Tommy knew these streets and buildings like the back of his hand.
“Go! Go!” As windows shattered, you held your bat at the ready, looking to fight as Tommy instructed you where to go, but you had plans of your own.
Instead you turned around, walking back out toward the parking lot where the gunfire was coming from.
“Where the fuck are you going?!” You shrugged your shoulders, glancing back at him daringly while batting your eyelashes.
The need and want to see Luca’s face again after so long consumed you but Tommy was faster.
In an instant he thrashed your body down onto the floor, saving your head from a bullet that would’ve went right through you skull.
“That’s enough. Save your fucking anger for later. If he sees your face he will be a step ahead. So just fucking listen to me!” You groaned from the tumble, slamming your hand on the floor in frustration.
Days turned into weeks until you were face to face with the man.
Hiding in a room, you filed your nails carelessly listening in on the conversation, awaiting Tommy’s cue.
“You can sign the papers on your fucking knees.” The intimidating man pushed the papers off the table, the contracts scattering across the floor in a whimsy manner. When Tommy still didn’t move, still didn’t speak it angered Luca immensely, causing him to flip over the table in fury.
“Sign the fucking papers.” Tommy’s crystal blue eyes never left Luca’s in fact he found his little performance quite hysterical. He simply smirked, attempting to hold back his laughter.
“All of your blood relatives are gone Mr. Changretta. The men behind you will work for whoever the highest bidder is and well how the turned tables have turned.”
“Is that so?” When he turned around to face what were once his men, they stepped back with the guns in their hands fully aware of the plan Tommy had implemented.
“A friend of mine once told me big fucks small. So I had to find someone bigger than you. Someone whom you crossed years ago and has been locked up ever since. You see I did some digging as well.”
Coming out from the shadows, bat ready at the hand. You didn’t like guns as much, bullets were too much of an easy kill, you wanted to see him suffer. Tommy winked your way causing Luca to spin around only to be met with the brunt force of the wooden object against his skull.
At that moment Tommy fleed from his kneeling position, pulling his gun out to finally end this yet you stopped him.
“Allow me to do the honors. Boys stand down, I’ve been waiting my whole life to kill this piece of shit and oh how I want to see him suffer the way I did.
Luca fumbled to get up, a few of his teeth now lying on the floor while blood trickled out from his mouth like a river flowed down a winding stream.
The man jumped at you, spitting blood on your face. Oh how you loved a challenge.
In one powerful swing, the bat banged at his knee, shattering the bone completely leaving him once again on the floor writhing in pain.
In that moment a flashback of your childhood rushed to your head. Remembering the moment you eere cowering in the corner of the kitchen floor, scared and terrified of this man who had just killed your entire family, leaving you an orphan.
You began to beat him relentlessly with the bat, blood splattering on your face as his face became deformed from the brutal blows.
When you began to cry hysterically, Tommy slowly walked to your aid pulling you into his warm embrace carefully, rubbing your temple soothingly as you welt into his shoulder. The motion was unexpected to say the least.
“He’s dead now love. He’s dead.” Your fist scrunched in the fabric of his shirt, tears forming a puddle on him as you tried to relax. He nodded his head motioning for Pol and Michael to leave the room. To make light of the situation, Tommy decided a joke was necessary which was rare.
“Seeing as this wasn’t your vendetta alone, do you mind if I-“ His hand settled on his gun, and he waited for your agreement.
He emptied the chamber of his pistol onto Luca’s body before escorting you back to his home.
Offering you a glass of whiskey, he took a seat beside the fire nodding toward the chair beside him and pouring a glass for you.
The fire crackled in the darkened room, a comforting sense of relief after the strenuous events of today.
“Y’know you and me make a pretty good team, don’t you think?” Tommy smiled softly, something he hadn’t done in awhile.
Quirking his eyebrow, he pulled out a ciagrette, passing one to you before lighting the tube of tobacco.
“I guess you can say that.” There was a moment of silence before you stood up from your seat, walking slowly over to Tommy and straddling his lap. Your plush lips just centimeters away from his as your fingers intertwined in the strands of his hair. Your ass grinding down on his lap.
“Now that I’m a free little bird now, I don’t know about you, but I’m in desperate need of some stress relief. What do yuh say Tommy boy?” His hands placed on your thighs, he lifted you up effortlessly taking you by surprise and carrying you into the bedroom and slamming the door behind him.
#thomas shelby#Tommy shelby#thomas shelby x reader#tommy shelby x reader#thomas shelby imagine#tommy shelby imagine#peaky blinders#ranaewrites#requested
44 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
ticklee0007
Tickle
gomunimelive
Untitled
hetalia-gifsssss
Hetalia-gifsssss
hetalia-gifsssss
Hetalia-gifsssss
tobimina
The Bane