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cheapshrimpysheep · 7 months

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Meanwhile with Malleus

SUMMARY: You spent a lot of time with Malleus while the others fought ghosts. What could have happened in all that time? You needed to sleep before the party. And maybe he taught you how to play the organ.

CHARACTERS: Malleus Draconia x Reader 🐉🦐

TAGS: Fluff, GN Reader, Cuddles, Flirting, Kissing

WARNING: Spoilers from Twisted Halloween: Spectral Soiree

WORD COUNT: 2.830 words

COMMENTS: The truth is that I started writing this a few weeks (maybe months) ago and it has been on hold for a long time. As this event returned to the Eng Server I decided to finish it and post it in October.

I hope you enjoy 💚

After all that Halloween week, the Magicam Monsters and that parade, you were dead tired. You just wanted to rest after all that. But someone knocks on the door of Ramshackle Dorm.

“Tsunotarou?!” You didn't know whether to show that you were happy to see him or to ask if anything was wrong.

“Child of Man,” Malleus speaks with a smile “I'm here to invite you and the rest of the Ramshackle Dorm residents to an Halloween party at the Spectral Realm.”

You don't seem as happy about the idea as he thought you would be. And you were confused too. “A Halloween party? At the... what's the Spectral Realm?”

He briefly tells you about the ghosts and the party he plans to throw with the other NRC students at the Spectral Realm.

“I don't know if I can handle another party, Tsunotarou.” you say sadly “I'm really so tired.”

“Yeah...” Grim says “I mean, even if there's a feast, I still need to rest to have the energy to eat more.”

“Besides.” you look at the clock “Halloween is almost over.”

“Oh, don't worry about that little detail.” Malleus smiles and snaps his fingers. You stop listening to the clock ticking and when you look at the clock again it's eleven fifty-nine.

“Can you stop time?” you say almost in a whisper.

“You should know by now that I am capable of doing many things.” he smirk “But this spell is only affecting the Sage's Island. And about your tiredness, I'll let everyone else sleep until the party preparations are done, I can arrange a quiet place for you to rest in the Spectral Realm if you like.”

“We already sleep with ghosts so it shouldn't make much difference, right (Y/N)?” Grim says.

You sigh and end up accepting it. Malleus smile gladly and then looks at your tired posture.

“If you are also very tired from walking all day, I don't mind helping you.”

“Would you carry me in your arms?” you ask partly jokingly, partly hoping he would say yes.

He laughs, loving your boldness. “Are you sure you want to make such request?”

“Is that a no?”

“No, it is not a No. Fu fu. Honestly answering your question, yes, I would carry you if you needed. And yes, I would carry you to the Spectral Realm.” he smiles amusedly at you.

“Oh come on, just jump to his arms already or something!” Grim complains. “And do everyone a favour and get that room.”

You blush, Malleus laughs. “In fact, we should go. I don't want to keep Lilia waiting any longer. May I?” He asks you.

You nod and he picks you up, bridal style. One hand behind your knees and the other on your back. As easily as if you weighed nothing. Inevitably, you need to support yourself by putting your arms around his neck and your faces get very close. He’s smiling and his eyes looking at you affectionately.

“OI!” Grim complains again “My paws are hurting too. I also want to be carried.”

Malleus laughs again. “That can be arranged.” He turns his back to Grim and wraps his draconic tail around the little beast's waist. “MRAH!” And picks his up. “You are able to come by yourselves, correct?” he asks the three ghosts who have been watching in secret from you.

When you arrive at the Mirror chamber, Lilia was there waiting for you all. He just didn't expect Malleus to bring Grim with his tail and you in his arms. First Lilia worries.

“Oh! Did something happened? Did (Y/N) get hurt on your way here?”

You get even more embarrassed. Mainly because you knew that Malleus would tell Lilia the truth.

“Fu fu fu. Don't fret, Lilia.” Malleus smiles, like he's glad Lilia saw the two of you like this. “Child of Man is just really tired of walking all day and asked me if I could carry them.”

Lilia looks at you and gives you his sly smile. “Oh, truly? Fu fu fu. How daring for a human.”

“Can we go to that ghost world already?!” you hear Grim's voice complaining. “This is not that comfortable you know.” Malleus flicks his tail to the side, revealing to Lilia a Grim caught in a black dragon's tail. And Lilia starts to laugh heartily, almost bringing tears to his eyes.

Malleus only put you back on the ground when you arrived at the Sparkling Chamber. You took a moment to admire the place. But it didn't take long for you and Grim to start yawning.

“Ah, yes. I promised you that I would find you a place to rest.” Malleus remembers.

“Indeed, (Y/N) must rest.” Lilia says “I sure know how harmful lack of sleep can be to a human. If I'm not mistaken, I think there are some rooms beyond this Chamber that you can use.”

Malleus would go with you to find a room while Lilia started getting the chamber ready for the party.

You found a good one, but it had no furniture or what little it had was broken. You comment on trying to find another one, but Malleus says that won't be necessary. With a snap of his fingers the room is cleaned and the furniture repaired.

In one corner of the small room was an antique carved pine single bed. The sheets were white and the cover a pale purple. Similar to Malleus' own bed in Diasomnia. Grim jumped to the foot of the bed and was asleep in seconds. You, on the other hand, look a little unease.

“I can change your clothes to pajamas with magic if it makes you more comfortable.” Malleus suggests.

You say that would help a lot, so he gestures and your Halloween costume changes to pale green pajamas. It was comfortable, like the bed you sit on. But even so, there was still something that didn't leave you completely at ease.

“I know I sleep in a dorm with ghosts now.” You explain. “But I only sleep well today because I've gotten used to them and the dorm has had some improvements. But I almost couldn't sleep the first few nights. I don't know if I'll be able to fall asleep here.”

“I see. Would you feel more rested if I stayed by your side until you fell asleep?” He was smiling, like he was sure you were going to say no.

When you say yes, he is taken aback for a moment. His bright green eyes looking at you wide open in astonishment. But then he remembered who he was talking to and laughed with the greatest of joys. He smiled warmly at you. “You know, I believe some children want company to fall asleep so that person can protect them from me. This is... an interesting... no, delightful turn of events. I dare say”

You open the sheets and lie down. After placing them on top of you and settling down on the bed, Malleus sits down beside you. He could use magic to put you to sleep, but he didn't want to. He wanted to see if you genuinely felt comfortable around him to the point where you could fall asleep.

“Briar Valley has many lullabies.” He tells you, with the softest of voices. “Sleep and dreams are deeply embedded in our culture. Would you like me to sing you one of our lullabies? Allowed me to guess, your answer is yes.”

“You can't make a proposal like that and expect me to say no.” You say with a soft smile and already with your eyes closed.

Malleus chuckles and happily fulfills your request. He sings to you in a sweet tone, that becomes even more affectionate when he looks at your sleepy smile.

When he finishes, you are already fast asleep. He is smiling looking at you and take one of his hands to your head. But stop before touching you, hesitating. As if he's afraid that the moment he touches you, you'll startle awake. But even so, he took the risk.

He puts his hand on your head, stroking your hair. And you don't wake up. Actually, your smile comes back slightly. He is so happy about it. And he decides to risk it just one more time.

He leans over you and kisses your forehead. And you were still sleeping. “Dream of me. As I dream of you.”

He stayed with you for a while longer. Before he finally left to assist with the party preparations, he did two things. First, he cast another spell so that outside noises wouldn't disturb your sleep. And second, he put a paper on your bedside table in case you wake up earlier than necessary. It said that since you had no way of knowing if you slept too much or too little, because time was still, you didn't have to worry that he would wake you up when the time came.

And that is what happened. You feel a kiss on your cheek and a familiar voice in a sweet tone saying your name. You open your eyes to find Malleus's bright green ones looking at you, over a sweet smile.

“We hear that the other students have already woken up and are on their way here.” Malleus explains, sitting on your bed watching you stretch. “So we figured you should have gotten enough rest too. Did you sleep well?”

“I did. Thank you so much.” you sit on the bed.

“For asking?” He seems confused that you would thank him so much for something so trivial.

“No. For what you've done. For fixing the room, giving me a comfortable bed and mostly staying with me until I fall asleep. I probably wouldn't have been able to sleep here without you.” You hear snoring at the foot of your bed, behind Malleus who was facing you. “Unlike Grim.”

Malleus seems very happy about what you said. And there was something he really wanted to ask you. “Do you happen to remember what you dreamed? People dream every night, but sometimes they forget about them and that's why they think they didn't dream that night.”

A dream? You think. And yes, you remember! But you say it was a silly dream. When the truth is, you're slightly embarrassed.

“I've heard that the silly dreams can be the most meaningful.” Malleus says. “I would love to hear about yours. But if it's something you don't want to tell me, I understand. Dreams can be extremely personal.”

You think about it. It was no dream that I couldn't tell anyone. It was even...cute. So you decide to tell him.

You remember you were in a forest, for some reason. You lived there? You had lots of animal friends and you remember singing and dancing with them. What you were singing... you recognize... it was the lullaby Malleus sang to you. There was an owl wearing the cape of the Houseworden of Diasomnia, a rabbit in each black boot with green heels, and a squirrel with a small pillbox hat, balancing on top of the owl's head.

When you finish describing this part, both you and Malleus are laughing. “I wouldn't be surprised if I ever witness the same scenario with Silver's clothes.” Malleus comments between laughs. But you hadn't finished telling the dream yet.

As you danced with the animals, someone appeared behind you and continued singing and dancing with you, making that song a duet. When you turn around, you find Malleus.

“Did I scared you?” He asks about the Malleus in the dream. He was smiling, but you knew that wasn't his real smile. It was a smile that hid some apprehension.

“No, of course not. I was very happy to meet you there.” He looked like you had lifted a weight off his shoulders with just those words of yours. The next thing you remember is dancing with Malleus in a ballroom. and what you were wearing was constantly changing color because... Two Lilias? Were arguing about whether you should be wearing green or purple.

And with that the two of you started laughing again. Malleus said you should tell that last part to Lilia, he'll love it.

“I dreamed of flying tuna cans.” Grim said, to prove that he too was already awake. "But I couldn't catch any. It was a nightmare.”

“Fret not, Grim. There will be plenty of food for you when everyone arrives and the party begins.” Malleus assured him. “And now that you two are awake, I should change your clothes back.” He wave his hand and Grim's hat and cap come back, but this time they're green instead of purple.

He gets up from your bed and holds out his hand to you, like one of those gentleman helping you out of the carriage. You give him your hand and get out of the bed. Then he surprises you by spinning you, like the dance move.

When the spin ends your clothes have changed. But not like Grim's that stayed the same, just changing the colour. Your clothes were also green now, where once were purple, but they weren't the same as the ones the ghosts gave you. It looks like an improved version, with more details and accessories. Malleus looked at you as if admiring you and proud of his work.

“How do I look?” you ask.

“Wonderful.” He simply says with a smile, as if it were an obvious truth.

He offers you his arm for you to walk arm in arm into the Sparkling Hall. He tells you about the plans for the party as you walk down the hall and explains about the mirror ball. And when he tells you that he plans to play the organ during the party you are so excited and curious that you ask him if he could play something for you.

He smiles. “I think there will be no problem. I may even take this opportunity to practice.” He takes you to the organ and asks you to sit next to him while he plays.

It's no surprise that he plays beautifully. You look at him playing which practically hypnotizes you. Your ears appreciate music while your eyes appreciate him.

He looks at you smiling, as if he knew you were looking at him the whole time. He lets you get flattered, he loves seeing you like that, before asking you: “You can play?”

“Organ? Oh no, I don't.”

“Would you like to try? We have plenty of time until the guests arrive. I can teach you a simple melody.”

You accept his offer. He smiles happily.

“I'm glad. I'm eager to hear you play. Even if it is a basic song. However, forgive me if this is an impolite question, but would you mind sitting on my lap while I teach you? it will be easier for me to show you the keys and the correct way to move your fingers from a similar perspective as yours.”

You try to say you don't mind without showing how happy you really are. However, it's not that easy, and he laughs with delight that you not only don't mind but are happy with the suggestion.

You sit on his lap and hear a soft sound on the floor behind you. You glance back and Malleus tries to hide his draconic tail whose tip was happily wagging. You don't hide your giggle. Your back finds his chest, his hands cover yours to indicate the keys you should play and he begins to teach you a simple but beautiful song.

After a few minutes, you forget the world. It's just you, Malleus and the organ. You fail a few notes and he corrects you with a laugh. When you get it right you hear him congratulating you and saying you're doing well. And all the while you can feel the affection he has for you, the gentle way he holds your hands, the sweet way he talks to you even when you miss the notes. Until you end up reaching the end of the song.

“Wonderful.” Malleus says with a sweet and dreamy voice “That was the most beautiful play I ever heard.”

“But I failed so many notes.” You remember him, smiling.

“I'm very aware of that. But it was the first thing I heard you play. So it will always be special to me from now on.” he takes his hands out of yours and hugs you around the waist. And lay his head on your shoulder. “You will always be special to me.” he whispers in your ear, and kiss your cheek.

You hear that sound of his tail wagging happily on the ground behind you again.

If you decide to tip your head back, tell him how you feel about him and allow him to kiss your lips, you will receive the most loving kiss and he will hug you tighter.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

#Twisted Wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twst imagines #twst wonderland #twst fluf #Twisted Wonderland Fluf #twst fluff #Twisted Wonderland Fluff #Twisted Halloween #Malleus Draconia #Malleus Draconia x Reader #Malleus x Reader

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natsaffection · 1 year

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My sweet Baby. | part 1 | N.Romanoff

Sugar Mommy!Natasha x Sugar Baby!Reader

Word Count: 2,997

warnings: none (until now..)

A/n: Here it is! The first part of: My sweet Baby. I don't really have a post schedule, so I will post anytime. Maybe every two days. However have fun..

(Pls keep in Mind that English is not my first language. So if you see any Mistakes please let me know)

It's the first day of your hard-earned vacation in L.A. You've wanted to go here since you were about seven, and now the time has finally come. You arrive at your...well, hotel, if you can call it a hotel. It was one of the cheapest in town, and since you were just sleeping here and out on the town the rest of the time, it wasn't too bad for you.

You put your things down and opened the only window in the room. You look out and breathe in the new fresh air that you could only dream of until today. You looked down at the people who were beginning their daily lives. What do you think it's like to live in such a big city forever? What do they work down there, so they can afford it all?

You shake off the thoughts and remember why you are actually here. You went to the bathroom to freshen up, and then you started your first morning of the day.

The first two days went according to your plan. You saw your sights, you bought a t-shirt with the palm tree, you went to the Santa Monica Pier and much more. You could get used to that.

It was already late, and you decided to go to a cafe to wind down. So, you googled again which of the stores serve good drinks and above all at a pleasant price. After all, you didn't have much left. You found one after a while and were surprised when you stood in front of it... "It doesn't look that bad...".

You were at first taken back about the statements of the café, but once you dared to take a look inside, the feeling quickly faded. You went inside and stood at the counter, you looked at the menu card and ordered what sounded best to you. The lady just smiled kindly and went to work. Meanwhile, you looked around and felt a little uncomfortable. You saw people with expensive clothes, expensive watches, was that a Rolex? Is that even a Rolex? All over the place.

You were so lost in thought that you didn't notice another person ordering a drink. And you didn't notice until the barista went back to work. You took a few steps to the side so that the other person would also have more room to wait. You looked at her and..wow. That is now the final sign that you were in the wrong place. How can someone be so pretty? She had long, red, curly hair that went a little past her shoulders. At her neck, a necklace that must have cost more than your whole vacation here. Her clothes must be handled with soft gloves...And of course again, a watch that has more parts than your cell phone. You suddenly had an urge to say it out loud,

"You have a really nice watch.."

"Oh, thank you..Do you own a Philippe too?"

Philippe?

"I'm sorry, what?" You looked at the woman, confused. Why is she asking you about a country now? "The Patek watch, sweet." You looked back down at her wrist and back up at her,

"Oh! No, no...I don't own one." God, this is embarrassing, "It's very pretty! You must have paid a fortune for it..." The older woman looked at you and leaned back a little, "Three million." Now it was your turn again, who looked at her confused, "Three million what?”

The woman just had to smile, "Three million dollars, the watch I mean."

Okay, now what's the quickest and easiest way to leave this store? THREE MILLION FOR A WATCH? Who would do this?...I- Who would spend that kind of money on a device that can only tell the time?

"Wow that's a l-"

"Ms. your late is ready." You were interrupted by the barista as she placed your drink on the counter. You looked at the redhead again and smiled, "That seems to be mine."

She just looked after you as you took it and asked how much you should pay now,

"That'll be 13 dollar."

HUH?

"E-Excuse me, but could you please repeat that? I think I mis-" You clearly misunderstood her, it was three, THREE dollars-.

"That's thirteen dollars." You looked at her as if you had seen a ghost, "T-Thir-"

"Put it on my bill please, here you can keep the rest." A soft voice brought you out of your thoughts again, and you saw the red haired woman with the totally overpriced watch, hand the other woman a $50 bill. The barista just nodded, and you didn't know what to do with yourself. Did a strange woman just give you money? Why? "W-Well, thank you..I'll give you this back-" She held a hand in front of your face to stop you, "Please, that was for the compliment earlier." She smiled and looked back as she got her drink. She looked back at you, "Shall we sit down?"

You looked deep into her eyes and thought about it. What could possibly go wrong? "Yeah sure, why not..."

Her smile widened, and she made her way to a window seat. She pushed out the chair and waited for you to sit down, "Thanks..." You smacked yourself inside, as your voice sounded totally pathetic. She's just trying to be nice, right?

"So, what's a pretty young girl like you doing in one of the most expensive cafes in the neighborhoods?" Most expensive?!"Wait, that's this one, right?" You took out your phone and showed her the picture you had googled earlier. She leaned further forward and looked at the picture, "No, that would be one street over. This one..."

She looked at you for a moment, and you didn't know why. She then took a finger and scrolled around a bit on your phone, "This is it, that's where we are right now." You looked at her before turning your phone towards you and looking at the screen. Your jaw dropped now for the fourth time today. You are in a five star coffee shop. One of the best in town. Well, that explains a lot...

"Okay, this is a little embarrassing..." You held your drink up to your face so the other woman next to you wouldn't see your red face. "You're not from around here, are you?" That the woman finds this amusing was totally audible,

"No...I'm actually from Denver. I'm just here for a few days." The redhead took a sip, "Why?"

"I'm here for a short vacation, since I've always wanted to come here. I mean..we're talking about the real Los Angeles! The city that's probably in most games or movies. I wanted to see it for real." You think your answer was enough for her, "So, what do you think so far?" You thought a little, "Well..Damn expensive..I mean, we are drinking a coffee for thirteen dollars right now! In college, it's 1,50..."

"You're still studying?" I've only known this person for five minutes and still could hear out that the question sounded surprised. "Yes..art history. It's fun, so there's nothing to complain about..."

I smiled at my self and so had to the woman, "May I ask how old you are?"

Can she? I mean, I don't know this woman... "I'm 21." The woman looked at you with a monotone facial expression, but inside she tried to hide her lust, "Still so young..wow," you had to laugh, "Yeah and still doesn't know what to do with me.."

"You don't?"

"No..I mean.. I'm barely managing to pay my college, so..."

The woman looked at you curiosity. She took out her cell phone and typed on it for a bit until she put it back. "What's your name?" The question was unexpected. You just cried your heart out, and she just wants to know your name?

"Y/n..Y/n L/n."

"Well Y/n, I think today is our lucky day..."

"Why? Are you offering me a job? I don't know if you were listening to me earlier, but I'm not from here..I live thousands of miles away..So if that's not a home office job that also pays better than my two current jobs to-”

She watched you as you let your frustration out. She makes a mental note to her to not fire her assistant after all, who screwed up bringing her the coffee and had to go herself. "Believe me ms. L/n this offer will blow you wide open." You looked at the woman and tried to get a glimpse of whether she was joking. However, you realize she is total serious. "Okay.. go ahead Ms?"

"Natasha Romanoff."

Natasha Romanoff..you knew that name from somewhere..But- "But we don't discuss that here. I appreciate my privacy and most of all yours."

What?

"Now you're scaring me a little..If you want me to walk over dead bodies for you, it's going to be difficult-" The woman chuckled, "No..I have another department for that." What- "I'm just kidding."

"I-I knew that! Um..With all due respect, but I'd like to discuss the offer here..."

So I could run..

"I wouldn't do that if I w-"

"Here or not at all..Ms Romanoff." You leaned back, proud of your statement. I mean what could that woman possibly do to you?

Meanwhile, Natasha is trying her hardest not to pull a fist one on you, and spank your ass after that answer. She leans forward again and looks you right in the face, "One more answer like that Y/n and I'll put you over my lap in front of everyone."

You just imagined this. No way- no way did she just say that to you. "Do you understand?"

"W-What?"

No. You didn't imagine it. Did she- "Y/n?"

Perhaps Natasha did act too quickly when she saw your notification on your phone from the app called: Sugar Mommy Fee. However, your concerns evaporated when, "Yes..."

"Yes, what?"

"I understand, sorry..." Natasha nearly moaned. You even have manners, that's a lottery win she wouldn't even need. "So as you wish, I-" you shifted in your chair, "N-No..um..I'll get back to you on that offer from earlier..not here." Natasha just smirked, "All right then, follow me."

The two of you left the cafe and walked towards a black Bentley. In front of it, someone in a black suit waited and opened the back door for Natasha. She stepped aside and let you go in first. You thanked her and sat down in the back.

Your mother would throw her beloved cup against your head if she knew you got into someone else's car. But what could happen? Natasha obviously has something big to lose if she decides to kill you.

"May I ask what you do for a living?" Natasha looked over at you from her Ipad,

"My company is a global leader in communication technologies, eco-production and next generation agriculture solutions."

Her company??

You couldn't keep up with the first word. The woman sitting next to you is a literal doer. That explains the car, the clothes, hell that watch..So why does she want anything to do with you? The one who has a hole in her sock and paints her toe black, so you can't see it. You also take your cell phone out of your pocket and wanted to write your friend whats happening. And maybe send your location. You were about to unlock your phone when you saw the disaster.

You saw a few messages from Instagram, a message from your family group and...a notification from Sugar Mommy fee. That's it. You're screwed. Natasha must have seen it when she wanted to show the real cafe. That's why she was staring at you! Fuck..Is it fuck? I mean.. The app was just a joke between you and a friend, but look where it got you. You're probably sitting in a sugar mommy car right now. Oh god...Nata-

"What's on your mind?"

"N-Nothing!!!" Rule number one, you probably already understood: Don’t tell Lies.

"You're lucky we haven't cleared up the contract yet Ms. L/n."

She looked back at her Ipad and continued reading the article she had open. You put your phone back in your pocket and looked out the window. You are on the complete other side of the city, everywhere you saw only big buildings, and then you stopped at one yourself. Natasha got out and you were overwhelmed because you didn't know what to do until Natasha opened your door. You took a deep breath and got out.

You entered the building and people were everywhere greeting the red-haired woman. You entered an elevator and the man from earlier stayed outside, "Is he here for your safety?" The woman looked down at you, she could literally feel your fear, "Steve?" She chuckled, "No, I'm good at taking care of myself, but my marketing department insisted. Good looks for the public, the normal stuff. "Oh..” The normal stuff, what have I gotten myself into?

Before you could worry anymore, the door opened and Natasha was waiting for you to get off the elevator. "Just follow the red carpet."

"Red seems to be your favorite color, doesn't it?"

Natasha just grinned and put her hand on your back to guide you. Don’t Blush Y/n! The two of you walk a bit until you arrived in front of a large wooden door, which of course was opened again by two staff members. In the room, which is twice the size of your hotel room, has a stunning view over the whole city. You could barely see the people below you. "Have a seat."

Natasha pointed where, and while you sat down, she went to a cabinet and pulled out an envelope. She came back and sat down as well and unwrapped the envelope to put it in front of you.

"What is this?"

"A confidentiality agreement. It says you can't talk to anyone about anything that concerns us. I'm afraid my lawyer insists on it." You looked at the piece of paper and back at her, "Are you putting this in front of everyone you want to start to Date? And as I mentioned..I can't stay here, Ms. Romanoff. I'm going to college for a few more months, I-I'm going to work, and it's all miles away..." Natasha leaned back in her chair,

"First of all. I don't date. Second, we can work out that distance thing, there's more than one way. Besides, it's only an hour flight. I can handle that."

Now the alarm bells were ringing. "You? You can handle that? What about me?"

"Y/n..." She leaned forward again and bowed her hands in front of her, "do you even know what a sugar mommy contract is?" Why does she never mince words and always blurts everything out right away?!

"Answer me, Y/n." You shifted,

"N-Well..Two people enter into a relationship while Person A gives money to person B and Person B gives Person A..Love..." Natasha sighed and took a breath,

"Okay..I want you to listen to me carefully now. In such a..relationship as you call it, it is strictly speaking a soft form of prostitution. In exchange for expensive gifts or other forms of payment, the Sugar Baby," She points to you, "provides her companionship and usually sexual favors. I'm looking for just that. A person who will keep me company at various things and in the nights-"

"I'll be your Toy? Is that it?" She didn't like your tone at all.

"Yes. Just that and nothing more." She looked you straight in the eye to check on your feelings. "Steve is downstairs to drive you to your hotel right now if you want to decline. But..I can give you everything, Y/n. And when I mean anything, I don't just mean financial."

What are you supposed to do? Leave? Stay? BOTH? You don't know..Natasha's offer sounds..tempting, but would you be willing to put your body on the line for it?

"Can..Can I think about it?"

Natasha felt a tiny bit of success. She pretty much has you in the palm of her hands.

"Of course. When's your flight back?"

If I tell her, will she refuse?

"In two days..." You could see a little movement. "Well that's short notice, but we'll work it out, don't worry about it."

She always makes it sound so easy..

"Okay and..are we sleeping with each other now o-or?" Natasha slid her chair a little to the side and opened a drawer by her desk. She took out another sheet of paper and a pen and put the two things in front of you, "Write your email on there please. I will send you all the details." You did as she said and wrote it on the paper. "You can keep the pen." You look at her and see her just smiling, "See as with souvenirs."

"I-I don't have a laptop..And the mail program on the phone is-" Natasha pressed a button at her desk. "Don't worry about it, it's already taken care of." A few seconds later, another woman opened the door and brought you a wrapped box. I rolled my eyes as the paper it was wrapped in was red, of course.

"I'll mail everything to you tonight, and after that, you can still refuse, anytime, okay? But think about it.“ You both got up from your chairs, "Okay..thank you.."

She walked you to her door, "Steve will drive you to your hotel. If you have any questions, don't be shy to ask me okay? I need you to be as comfortable as I am, understood?"

"Got it, thanks..." The older woman looked at you and smiled. She did then walk you to the elevator by herself, and you went inside. You both looked at each other and the elevator doors closed.

"Y/n."

"Natasha.."

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov x reader #nat x reader #natasha smut #natasha romanov smut #black widow #dom!natasha x reader #natasha x you #natasha romonova

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minjiarchive · 3 months

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my way or fuck it out | jiu x fem!reader

i'll stop shit posting for now just to feed you all 🥲

warnings / smut, mommy kink (lolol i wish i could stop with the mommy kink with minji)

Minji doesn't always choose 'fucking it out' as an option to handle bad behavior.

That's only when it comes to other people though.

She's the leader in her group and sometimes her position can bleed into your relationship and sex, which is why she didn't tolerate the way you teased her all night during dinner with the other girls.

It was an innocent game after all – but that's if you didn't get her wet in the process of teasing her earlier. You enjoyed watching her flushed and fucked out face every time you touched her under the table,

Minji doesn't take your game very lightly and in fact, she lays out all the different ways she could handle you on the drive back home.

She sat in the passenger seat of the car while you were seated at the back. The distance seemed good for now, she was able to settle whatever the fuck happened earlier in silence.

“Any reason you wanted to tease me tonight?” Minji texts, hearing your phone chime from the back of the van. You smile to yourself, knowing it's a message from her since she's the only one awake in the car.

“Nope.”

Your single-worded message is funny to her, she knows you'd never be that bold if she was on top of you.

“You're being such a brat, I hate it.” She doesn't really hate it, it just gives her a bigger excuse to be rough with you.

Minji notices your smirk grow bigger in the rear-view mirror, you aren't subtle at all, she suspects. She's prepared for a message that's going to get her wet (again) or another snarky remark from you.

And if she could pick, she'd rather want the message that would get her wet.

“It's not a big deal, unnie.”

Minji slacks her jaw at your text, it's like you're purposely trying to get on her last nerve. This conversation was going nowhere at all and not in the way she wanted to handle it. Minji is a composed woman though, working her thoughts by herself, so she thinks of ways to approach her last few texts to you since you'd be arriving at the dorm soon.

She quickly types the one phrase that always has that effect on you, “Is that so?”

You could say she gave you a million chances tonight, turning down all those opportunities to be good just to turn her on. And you don’t process how severe you've already made the situation, Minji can take a little more of your games, you're sure of it.

“Yeah?”

Yeah.

Minji isn't really having it with you this time, she knows that her messages will never get through your head until she does something – touch you, fuck you. You aren't close to deserving a simple request like that and with the time you have left until you reach the dorm, she doesn't have the patience to take care of your mess anymore.

“Tell Bora she's sleeping alone tonight, you're coming with me to my room.”

“It's a shame that you don't get to be loud tonight,” she speaks, her voice low and calm while she positions you on her lap, “because you obviously want to be a smart ass and you don't know your place, do you?”

You're honestly losing your shit and you don't know how to reply. She isn't wrong, she's never wrong, but you don't want to admit that she's right.

It's embarrassing to say the least.

You feel humiliated just squirming when she's barely touched you, skin already feeling sensitive. You choose not to say anything and nod at her words instead, which is a horrible idea for tonight.

She slaps the side of your thigh, not as hard as she would if she slapped your ass instead but still left a lingering sting.

“Words.”

The way heat traveled to your center almost immediately made you question what unhealed part of you was so attracted to that. Maybe it's the disciplining part in this, her voice, or maybe everything about her has you down to her mercy, all of the above could work.

“I do know my place, I'm sorry mommy,” your words slipping out faster from the desperation.

“Good, now,” her fingers gripping your jaw, making sure she has your full attention, “you're going to take my fingers, okay? Don't fight it.”

One second, you're clenching around nothing, another second, and you clench around her slender digits.

She pumps her fingers in a monitored pace, stretching your cunt out with each thrust. Your mouth fell open, letting out moan after moan as your legs spread wider for her. Minji keeps your legs there, using her one free hand to push your thigh open.

“Tell mommy how sorry you are.”

“I'm sorry... I'm sorry,” you whine, stuttering over your pleas when her palm starts rubbing faster against your clit.

She enjoys herself, loving how easy it is to fuck this side out of you, hearing you beg for her. Minji finds you so pretty like this, all open and flushed out for her as you let her do whatever she wants. Although she can't see your face directly, she knows the rush she’ll get seeing your flustered face afterward.

Minji doesn't think it's enough though. This is your punishment, it's not supposed to be quick and easy,

“Are you getting close?” Minji asks.

“Yes, please, I'm gonna cum.”

She wasn't sure who gave you permission to cum but you were far from earning that now.

Minji's question was soon followed by her fingers slowly leaving your entrance, the pressure on your clit gone. Your soul entering your body again once the pleasure is all taken away. It would be a long night of edging if you think you'd be let off that fast.

You cried out, “No, no, please! I'm sorry for misbehaving earlier, I promise it won't happen again...”

Minji believes you, you're so good for her already. Words are important to her play though, she'd always remind you to use your words when you forget which is often lately. But you're lucky that Minji is a patient girl because she has no problem with giving you reminders, she understands that it takes time.

She hasn't had all her fun yet – so she isn't satisfied. You're aware of how embarrassingly quick it took for you to get close, it wouldn't be fair if she didn't tease you just a little bit more.

“And how are you going to prove that to me?”

Her fingers were covered in your slick, making it easier to spread it throughout your folds, your breath picking up when her thumb rolls over your clit. Minji hears you very clearly and uses it to her advantage, running a few more strokes along your swollen bud.

She wants you broken down to your lowest, having you reach your high multiple times that you can't speak without sobs coming out.

Minji pulls every muscle in your body to its peak, hips jerking up and your walls tensing tighter. It feels too good that you almost forget to answer her question in which you scrambled to speak before further consequences,

“I-I'm sorry, please... I'll let you fix my attitude by making me cum as many times as you want.”

“Good girl, baby,” Minji praising, “I'll fuck you so hard that you'll think twice before acting up again.”

#edged at the end bc if i write too much then #writers block will be 100x worse #i'll make a pt2 if i can i promise #dreamcatcher scenarios #dreamcatcher imagines #dreamcatcher x reader #dreamcatcher smut #dreamcatcher #jiu scenarios #jiu imagines #jiu x reader #jiu smut #wlw #wlw smut #kpop smut

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suddencolds · 5 months

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Small Price to Pay | [1/1]

you know all those posts about making out with someone with a cold and the associated consequences? This is that in fic form, ~8.8k words. I'm embarrassing myself typing this, so here it is.

This is an OC fic ft. Vincent and Yves - you can read more of these two here! :)

Summary:

“So,” Brendon says. “You’re still dating him.” Something about the way he inflects the word still makes something sour in Yves’s chest. Yves frowns at him. “Is that supposed to be surprising?”

Yves has a birthday party to attend and a fake relationship to prove. Vincent is nothing if not adaptable. (ft. fake dating, an argument, contagion)

—

Here’s the problem:

Francesca throws a party.

It’s a birthday party, strictly speaking, but functionally it’s more of a college reunion—Francesca invites everyone from their year who rowed crew, which means that one: Yves will be surrounded by some of his best friends from college, and two: Erika will be there.

He thinks up an entire contingency plan—if Vincent can’t make it that weekend, for one reason or another, Yves will show up, hand Francesca his gift, spend the rest of the hour avoiding Erika and Brendon, and leave early, citing some excuse or other. It’s not that he doesn’t think he could handle talking to Erika—it’s just seeing her feels like reopening a wound. A part of him is scared that he’ll see her, and feel the loss intensely all over again—or, worse, he’ll get ideas about forgiving her, about letting her into his life again, about accepting her explanations.

And Brendon, too—seeing Erika means seeing Brendon, most likely, and Yves doesn’t want to justify himself to him any more than he already has.

The point is: the less of the both of them that he has to deal with, the better.

When he asks Vincent a week before the event, though, Vincent’s response is immediate.

V: You can fill me in on the details later. I’ll be there.

It’s a little strange, he thinks, that Vincent always agrees so readily. Vincent isn’t a fan of parties—he’d been clear about that. He doesn’t seem interested in talking much about himself, either—he’s just the kind of person, Yves is realizing, who likes to keep his personal details close unless they offer some sort of utility.

Perhaps there’s something else that Vincent is getting out of this, then.

But when Yves asks, he’s met with the same cryptic answer:

“I don’t mind it,” Vincent says. “And you have something you want to prove to your ex. Ultimately, it’s a net positive.”

“While that’s technically true,” Yves says, “this seems like an unfair arrangement. I mean, you’re only doing this because I dragged you into it.”

“If I didn’t want to be dragged into it,” Vincent says, “I would say so.” as if it’s really that simple.

It can’t be that simple, Yves thinks—there must be more to his reasoning that he’s omitting—but he doesn’t press. Vincent is right. Vincent is the kind of person who knows precisely what he wants. If he really had a problem with this arrangement, he would’ve said so.

And, besides—a little selfishly, perhaps—Yves has started looking forward to their outings as of late.

—

Nevertheless, he doesn’t think about the party again until the Friday before it, when Vincent shows up at his desk.

“Do you have a moment?” he says.

“Yes,” Yves says, saving the spreadsheet he’s been working on and shutting his laptop. “What’s up?”

When he looks up, Vincent looks a little tired, though that’s not unusual—it’s been a long week, and busy season always means long hours and little sleep.

“We can talk later if you’re busy,” Vincent says.

“I’m very free,” Yves says. He’s decisively not—and he’s sure that Vincent knows this, too, so whatever Vincent is approaching him with now must be important.

“Regarding Francesca’s party tomorrow,” Vincent starts. He looks a little sheepish—as if he doesn’t quite want to be the deliverer of bad news. “I can still go. But I’m…”

“If something came up,” Yves says immediately, “you don’t have to come.” “It’s not that,” Vincent says.

“Or even if nothing’s come up,” Yves backtracks, “and you’re just not feeling it anymore? Also totally fine. Seriously. I can always just go by myself.”

Vincent seems to consider this. Yves is starting to get worried that something might actually be very wrong—something that Vincent is hesitant to even bring up—when Vincent takes a generous step backwards, raising his elbow to his face as his eyes squeeze shut.

“hhih’nGKTsHuhh-!”

The sneeze sounds harsh, even muffled into the fabric of his sleeve; it tears through him with little warning, loud enough to echo slightly in the confines of the office space.

That’s when it all clicks into place: the tiredness. The slight off-ness to his complexion, the tension to the way he’s holding himself, the fact that Yves hasn’t caught him in the break room at all over the past couple days. The fact that he’s currently standing so far away from Yves’s desk.

“You’re ill,” Yves says, comprehending.

“Yes,” Vincent says. His voice sounds a little off, too, now that Yves knows what to look for; it has that quality it often takes on after a long day of discussions with clients—not quite hoarse, but getting there. “I’m positive it’s just a cold. I just wanted to give you a heads up.”

“Don’t worry about it at all, seriously,” Yves says. He feels guilty, suddenly—here he is, asking Vincent to spend his already-limited free time at a party, when Vincent probably has a high volume of important clients—and a burgeoning head cold—to deal with. “If you want to take a rain check, you should. I’m sure this week has already been rough for you as it is.”

“When is the next time you’ll be going to an event where Erika’s going to be there?”

That question makes him pause. “I don’t know. In another month, or so, if I had to guess?”

“So this event is important,” Vincent says, sniffling. It’s the kind of light, liquid sniffle that implies that whatever he’s caught, he’s just at the start of it. “In that case, I’ll go.”

“Wait,” Yves says. “That’s not what I—your health is more important than any event. You shouldn’t push yourself.”

“I feel fine,” Vincent says. “No headache, no fever. It’s just a slight cold. I will be fine tomorrow if I make it a point to sleep early.” he sniffles again, his expression growing hazy for a brief moment before he blinks, rubbing his nose on one knuckle. “I just wanted to make sure you were fine with it.”

“I am completely fine with it,” Yves says, reaching for the box of tissues that’s perched on his desk. He holds it out. “I just feel bad about making you go if you’re sick.”

Vincent takes a handful of tissues out of the box, brings them up to cover his nose, just in time for—

“hh- hH’nGKT-! snf-! hH-Hhih… hh’hiHhh’iiZSCHHh-uhh!”

“Bless you,” Yves says, with emphasis, pushing the entire tissue box towards him. “Times two. Seriously. I think you could use the weekend off—you know, to catch up on sleep.”

“Assuming that things haven’t changed from the event details you forwarded me, the party will be in the evening,” Vincent says, taking the tissue box from him, a little hesitantly, and tucking it under his arm. “I’ll have plenty of time to sleep in.”

Yves opens his mouth to protest.

Vincent says, “I’m fine. I’ll call a rain check if I wake up with a fever.” He turns on his heels. “Otherwise, see you tomorrow.”

—

Vincent, as Yves is coming to realize, is very good at appearing presentable, even when he’s under the weather.

“You made it,” he says. This time, they’d driven here separately. Yves had thought, initially, that it’d be easier to just drive Vincent places, so that the only thing he’d had to account for was his actual presence—but Francesca lives between them. I don’t mind driving, Vincent had said. You’d be going out of your way to pick me up, but he’d coordinated a spot a couple blocks down to meet up, so that it would look like they’d come together.

It’s cold outside still—it’s the sort of indecisive weather that seems to periodically hint at spring: a cold front, then a few warm days when all the ice thaws, a few flowers lining the grass along the road where the snow’s melted, and then another snowstorm. It’s easy enough, then, to chalk up the slight redness of his cheeks, the redness at the tip of his nose, as another effect of the not-quite-spring weather.

Yves is carrying his present for Francesca under one arm—a hardcover book—a sequel to one she’d read last year and gushed to him about liking; a couple fridge magnets, which she likes to collect; film for the polaroid camera her sister got her last year; and a letter, all wrapped up in a brown paper parcel.

It’s nice to have an excuse to see everyone again, especially some of the members from crew whom he’s not close enough to invite to parties personally, that he knows Francesca was closer to.

“It was a pain to find parking,” Vincent says. He’s wearing a red scarf today, and a white overcoat with black buttons and a sharply cut collar. Personally, Yves thinks it’s unfair that someone can be down with an irritating head cold and still look so good.

“No kidding,” Yves says. “You would’ve thought there’d be more than one tiny parking lot for all those shops.”

Yves asks how he is (fine, Vincent says—perfectly capable of spending a few hours at a party. Yves says, I feel like you would say that even if you were like, dead on your feet with a high fever, to which Vincent laughs, but doesn’t explicitly deny.)

Yves supposes he isn’t one to talk—he’d showed up to a crew event, near the end of the season, with the flu, just because it had been their then-captain’s last big event, and he’d been planning to give him a farewell speech. The speech had gone fine—and so had the first few hours—but then all his symptoms had hit at once—fever chills, exhaustion, a pounding headache, the likes—and Francesca and Erika had practically had to drag him home.

But that had been an important event—a once in a lifetime thing—and he’d drafted that speech for two weeks. This is so much less high-stakes.

“I prombise I’m fine,” Vincent tells him, lifting up the side of his scarf to muffle a cough into it. “It’s just all the - hHIh-! all the annoyidg symptoms. I dod’t - snf-! - feel any worse than I did yesterday.” “Any worse?” Yves says. “Does that mean you were already feeling pretty badly off yesterday?”

“I barely even feel udwell at all,” Vincent says. “It’s just— I keep havidg to— hHih-! hihH’IIITshHHh-uuH!”

He sniffles, raising a sleeve to his face to cover the next, resounding,

“hHih’iITTSshh’Uhh! snf-!” He buries his face deeper into his sleeve, his shoulders trembling with another gasp. “Hhih…. HIih’nNGKT—SHhuh!”

“Bless you,” Yves says, laughing. “Okay. Point taken.”

Vincent lowers his arm slowly with a curt sniffle. “Are Erika and Francesca close?”

“Yeah,” Yves says. “I think they still keep in touch pretty frequently.” it’s one of the reasons why he hasn’t told Francesca—or anyone else in the friend group—about the specifics of their breakup.

It feels wrong, somehow, to paint her in a bad light, to give people reason to take sides, when it’s always been all of them together as a group. 5am practice was a hell of a bonding experience, she was part of all of that, too. He has no right to take that from her.

“How about Brendon?”

“Brendon’s sort of an odd one out,” Yves says. “I don’t think most of us had met him until he started dating Erika during our senior year. He usually hangs out with a different crowd, so he’s only really around when Erika is.”

Perhaps that’s better, too—more merciful—that when Erika had left him for someone new, it hadn’t been one of the people he knew and deeply trusted. If Brendon had been there too, at all those 5am practices, at all those oddly timed meetings—if Yves had had that much time to look back on, to wonder when Erika’s feelings for Brendon had materialized, to watch her fall for him firsthand, to look back and know that he was losing her…

It’s better, this way, he thinks, that at least he can look back on his time rowing crew as he’d always wanted to—not like the way he feels when he looks at Erika: heartbroken, and a little betrayed.

“I guess I’m in that positiod now,” Vincent says.

“In the sense that you didn’t meet everyone through crew?”

“In the sedse that I’m an outsider.”

Yves considers this. “My friends really like you, though,” he says. “I don’t think they think of you that way.” It’s a short walk to Francesca’s doorstep. Vincent really does seem to be okay, Yves notes—aside from the frequent sniffling, and the sneezes he turns away to direct into his sleeve, he isn’t shivering under his coat, and he doesn’t look more tired than usual.

Despite everything, Yves finds himself feeling cautiously hopeful. Something about Vincent’s presence has that effect on him. Vincent is always so sure of himself, even in situations Yves thinks he can’t possibly be certain will go well.

It makes Yves want to have faith in this too. Yves will see Francesca and his friends from crew, and he won’t have to say anything to Erika and Brendon, his friends will like Vincent very much, and everything will be just fine.

“Wait,” Vincent says, right after Francesca’s let them in through the apartment buzzer. “We should look like we actually like each other.” He holds his hand out, expectant.

“Good point.” Yves takes it. Vincent’s hand is warm, and a little calloused—when Yves tugs his hand a little closer, Vincent’s fingers interlace nicely with his.

“For the record, I do like you,” he adds.

Vincent laughs. “You kdow what I meant.”

—

It’s almost a relief, seeing everyone again. Yves used to feel a little apprehensive about reunions—around the possibility for the people that he’d known and loved to have changed past recognition, to have internalized everything some way but to come back and see that everyone’s moved on in their own ways, grown a little more into themselves—and a little further from him—than he remembers them to be.

But when he sees Francesca, she still greets him with the same hug — one arm looped around his shoulders, for a firm squeeze. He hands her her gift, and wishes her a happy birthday, and she laughs and says the only good part about getting old is having an excuse to have everyone back in her living room.

“And Vincent’s here too,” Francesca says, turning to Vincent, who—after looking caught off guard for a second—smiles back at her. “I’m so glad you were able to come!”

“It’s good to see you agaid,” Vincent says. “And happy birthday. You look great, by the way.”

“Thank you!” she says, beaming. She’s wearing a cocktail party dress which slips elegantly over her still-bare shoulders. “I needed to pick something out for the occasion. I swear, these days, half my closet is just business formal attire. It’s depressing.”

“If that mbeans that the other half of your closet is filled out with idteresting clothes,” Vincent says, with a quiet sniffle, “you’re doing a lot better than I am.”

Francesca laughs. “It’s just for my sanity,” she says. “Can’t let the clients dictate everything I wear.”

“It’s ndice that you’re celebrating your birthday, though,” Vincent says. He lifts a hand to rub his slightly-reddening nose with one knuckle. “My coworkers are always sayidg that they’re too old to want to ackdowledge it anymore.”

“It definitely feels that way sometimes,” Francesca says. “But it’s a good excuse to have everyone here, while we still can. Speaking of which—Yves is the worst at planning things for himself, which is ironic, because he’s always the one planning things for everyone else.”

“That is not true,” Yves says.

Francesca gives him a pointed look. “Last year, you were practically banking on having everyone forget your birthday.”

That is an exaggeration. “I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t let that happen, even if I wanted it to,” Yves says.

“You’re damn right.”

“The ndext time you’re planning a birthday for him,” Vincent says, clearing his throat with a quiet cough, “I’ll pitch in.”

Francesca brightens, at this. “Finally another soldier on the right side of the war,” she says. “You can definitely be part of the secret planning council.”

“Thadk god,” Vincent says, playing along. “I was starting to thidk I was going to have to do it all alone.”

“It’s not a secret if I’m right here,” Yves says. Francesca ignores him in favor of having Vincent type his number into her phone.

—

Halfway through the evening, Vincent disappears into the kitchen for a moment. When he comes back, it’s with two drinks in hand—canned cocktails, Yves realizes, judging by the cans. He hands one over to Yves.

“I actually don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink before,” Yves says to him. “Even at happy hours.”

“I don’t drink very often,” Vincent says.

“Does this mean that I get to see you tipsy? I’m sure our coworkers will be jealous.”

“If you’re expecting my personality to change,” Vincent says, “you will be disappointed.” he says it with such certainty that Yves pays closer attention to him after that.

Vincent does hold his alcohol well, as it turns out, with the exception of the slight flush to his cheeks a few drinks later—though even then, Yves can’t be entirely sure it can’t be entirely attributed to his cold. He listens intently as Yves talks to Diane—who’s a couple years younger than Yves—about how Crew has been ever since Yves graduated (mostly the same; the new underclassmen are good at showing up to practices on time, but that’s partially because their captain this year is a little intimidating). He gives several of the crew members a candid summary of his relationship with Yves, when asked. He tells Marin how they first met and he tells Kenneth what it’s like keeping their relationship secret at work and he laughs—a little sheepishly—when Sasha says they make a cute couple. If lying so openly is difficult for him, it doesn’t show.

If there’s anything that’s off, it’s subtle. It takes some time for Yves to notice—

The next time Vincent sneezes, his breath hitches with a sharp, desperate, — “hHhiH—!” Then he turns away, craning his neck over his shoulder for an uncovered, “HIiiIKTshH-uh-!”

He blinks in the wake of it, as if a little dazed, before he seems to straighten, lifting a hand to wipe his nose on one knuckle. It’s not stifled, as it usually is, nor is it neatly pinched off into his fingers, which is unexpected.

It’s as if the sneeze has fully caught him off guard—as if all the systems he has in place to sneeze as quietly and as unobtrusively as possible are just slightly impaired by the alcohol. Not that it matters much—Francesca has put some music on, and it sits in the background now, a low thrum, all but the percussive elements muted by the chatter of conversation.

“Bless you,” Yves says, leaning over to grab a cocktail napkin from one of the neighboring tables. He hands it to Vincent, who blows his nose and emerges with a small cough. “How’s the cold?”

“Fide,” Vincent says, with a sniffle. “Ndo worse than before.”

“Are you just saying that to get me to drop the subject?”

“I’m sayidg it because I actually mean it. It’s a very tolerable cold.”

Yves laughs, and reaches for his drink. He’s about to take a sip when he feels Vincent’s fingers close around his wrist

It’s only a brief moment of contact, but the warmth it leaves around his wrist stays, even when Vincent lets go.

“Sorry,” Vincent says, a little panicked. He withdraws his hand. “That’s mine.”

“What?”

“The cocktail.”

“Oh.” Yves looks down to the can in his hands. He supposes Vincent might be right—they’ve both had a few drinks, so he’d lost track awhile ago. A lot of the canned cocktails taste roughly the same to him, anyways. “Is it? I can get you another one if you want.”

“No,” Vincent says. “I drank from it.” As if that explains everything. And then—a little quieter, as if he’s embarrassed to say it: “I don’t wadt you to catch this.”

Truthfully, the possibility hadn’t crossed his mind until Vincent mentioned it. It seems a little endearing that Vincent would be worried about it in the first place—Yves has certainly shared food and drinks with friends who were worse off. “I’m not worried about that,” he says. “It’s just a cold. Didn’t you say it was very tolerable?”

“It’s still…” Vincent trails off, averting his glance with a sniffle. “...an annoyance.”

He looks like he’s about to say more when his expression goes distant, his eyebrows furrowing.

“HHih’IIIzSCH-uhh!” It sounds so thoroughly unsatisfying, half-shielded by a hand raised a few moments too late. “hh-HIh-! Hh…” He pauses, his eyes watering, his breath still wavering, and—after a few seconds of nothing—sniffles; a forceful, liquid sniffle that practically emanates frustration. “hIiIIh’kSHhhhh! snf-!”

“Bless you!”

Vincent emerges, teary-eyed, still sniffling. “Case in point,” he says.

—

He doesn’t see Erika when she gets there. It isn’t until she passes him in the living room, halfway in a conversation, that she makes her presence known to him.

“Hi Yves,” she says, and he looks up. Today she’s wearing a pink dress which cuts off at her knees—a strapless dress, save for a pink rose over her left shoulder which blooms into a sleeve. She is every inch as beautiful as she always is.

He smiles at her, cordial, tight-lipped. “You made it,” he says. She looks at him expectantly, waiting for him to say more, and he realizes—with a flash of panic—that he doesn’t know what more to say to her. He hasn’t kept up with her over the past few months. He knows that she’s working as a quantitative analyst, at a company she’d been hired at a couple months after they’d broken up, but he doesn’t know if she likes her work, if she likes her coworkers, if it’s been busy as of late. If she works long hours, if she’s taken up any new projects. “Glad you found time. I assume work’s been keeping you busy,” he says,

“Are you kidding? It’s Francesca,” Erika says. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

And there it is—that decisiveness. That same resolve that, back then, made everything with her seem so easy. Erika and Francesca have always been close—through college, back when they met during crew, and even after, when all of them had been still settling into their jobs or going off to grad school or moving halfway across the country; when seeing each other no longer meant just a fifteen minute walk across campus.

“Yeah,” Yves says. “I know.”

They don’t speak, after that. Yves thinks it’s probably for the best—he doesn’t have anything to say to Erika right now. Back then, he could talk to her about anything, even if it was pointless or insignificant or of no real importance, and she’d make the conversation fun.

These days, he only tells her things on a strict need-to-know basis, and—given that the only times he sees her these days is at events like this—there’s not really all that much to talk about.

It had been difficult, at first. He’d wanted to share everything with her, still, back when his work schedule had settled enough for him to take long walks downtown, to start to go to concerts and bars again; when he’d redecorated his apartment, when he’d gotten someone to mentor at work, when he’d gotten back into cooking. For some time after the breakup, it still felt instinctual to turn to her, to text her about something interesting that’d happened, to ask her to try out something new that he’d found.

But he hadn’t. Something about feigning normalcy seemed worse, even then, than accepting that she was really gone.

Perhaps her avoidance of him tonight is merciful. It’s easier, when he’s not thinking about her, to slip into the familiarity of talking to everyone, to enjoy all of it just as himself.

It’s only when he excuses himself to get another drink that he runs into Brendon.

Yves has always been civil with Brendon.

Brendon is—well, to say that Brendon isn’t someone he considers a friend is a vast understatement. The less of Brendon Yves sees, the better. Yves avoids him when he can, but he is good at holding up small talk, when it’s necessary, and on most days, Brendon has enough good sense to not start a fight.

Today, it seems, is not one of those days.

“So,” Brendon says. “You’re still dating him.” Something about the way he inflects the word still makes something sour in Yves’s chest.

Yves frowns at him. “Is that supposed to be surprising?”

“I guess I’m surprised,” Brendon says. “I have to say, I wasn’t expecting it to last.”

“Well, I’m happy to have exceeded your expectations,” Yves says. “Though it doesn’t sound like they were very high.”

“I don’t mean it like that,” Brendon says, waving a hand. “It’s just—new relationships can be fairly unreliable. Especially when you’re dating around.”

“Maybe in your experience, that’s the case,” Yves says. “But personally, I tend to date people I can see myself with long term.”

“That’s the thing,” Brendon says. “I’m surprised you can see yourself with him.”

Yves sets the drink he’s holding down and turns to face him properly. “I’m not sure what you mean by that.”

Brendon scoffs. “It doesn’t take a genius to see that you two are very different people.”

“So people can only date their clones,” Yves says flatly. He’s already tired of this conversation. “My bad. I must’ve missed that rule somewhere in dating 101.”

“Obviously, I don’t mean it to that extent. You’re blowing it out of proportion. I just mean that you can only be so different from someone before you’re incompatible. ”

“I agree,” Yves says. “And I don’t think we’re incompatible.”

“Are you sure?” Brendon crosses his arms. “This isn’t his scene, is it? Cocktail parties? I mean, he’s practically married to his work. Does he even like parties?”

Vincent doesn’t like parties—Brendon is right about that point. But hadn’t Vincent been the one who’d agreed to come here in the first place? To imply that he’s only here because Yves has dragged him along seems somewhat disingenuous.

Yves says, “If Vincent didn’t want to be here, he wouldn’t be here.”

“Sure, but from what I’ve heard from Erika—” Yves doesn’t like this implication that Brendon and Erika talk about them behind their back, but he supposes it’s to be expected. “—he’s not exactly the type of person you’ve tended to go for in the past.”

That sounds awfully like an accusation.

“What exactly are you getting at, here?”

“I’m saying that it sort of looks like you just picked the most convenient rebound you could find,” Brendon says, quiet. “But usually people are honest with themselves when that’s the case.”

That startles a short, indignant laugh out of Yves. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says.

“Do you really not think that’s the case? Wouldn’t you say you’d usually go for someone more personable?”

“Personable?” Yves repeats. “Personable? Don’t make me laugh. Do you know how many clients I’ve seen Vincent talk down to a pleasant resolution because he’s so good at negotiating? Do you know how many conferences I’ve been in where Vincent is the one people come to after to privately compliment, because he’s so good at knowing how to talk to people?” he thinks to Joel’s housewarming party—to how compellingly Vincent had lied for him, then; to how good he had been at conjuring up a sense of history between them, of warmth. “His ability to answer difficult questions on the spot, with virtually no preparation at all, is something I can’t even begin to comprehend.”

He’s not sure why the accusation from Brendon makes him so upset, only that it does. Only that he wants to do nothing but tell Brendon just how wrong he is. “If you’re trying to imply that I’m settling for him, don’t patronize me,” he says. “Vincent is one of the smartest and most thoughtful people I know. Do you seriously believe I’d be dissatisfied with someone who holds himself to such a high standard?”

“I’m happier than I’ve been in months,” he says, resolute. “Because of him.”

Through the adrenaline, Yves realizes, faintly, that he hasn’t lied about any of it. He certainly could have—after all, Brendon would be none the wiser—but everything he’s said about Vincent is something he really, genuinely believes.

“Ah,” Brendon says, knowingly, as if he has it all figured out. “I got it wrong. This whole time I thought you were the one that felt lukewarm about him. But it’s the other way around, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re so sure he’s the one that you’re willing to overlook all of your obvious differences,” Brendon says. “Have you ever stopped to consider whether he feels the same way?”

“Presumably, he does,” Yves says. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t be in a relationship.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” Brendon says, as if Yves should already know this from past experience, which—if Yves is being really honest—makes him want to punch him.

Instead, he takes in a deep breath, schools his expression into a smile. “Usually, people in relationships aren’t still looking for other options.”

“Yes,” Brendon says. “Unless they’re unhappy.”

“Yves!”

When Yves turns to look, Vincent is standing in the doorway. How long has he been here? Just how much of the conversation has he overheard?

“Sorry for the wait,” Yves says sheepishly. “I was getting us drinks.” Evidently, he’s been away long enough for Vincent to come check up on him, so he’s already spent unreasonably long getting drinks, and now he doesn’t even have the drinks to show for it. “Or, I guess I got a little sidetracked, but I swear that drinks are on the w—”

Vincent leans in, unprompted, and kisses him.

Yves’s brain grinds to a complete halt.

It’s only a moment later that Vincent pulls away, but the decisiveness with which he’s carried it out, the broad confidence on his face as he smiles, unwavering, is—

Fuck.

“Oh,” Yves all but stammers. His face is most certainly red right now, and he can’t even blame it on the alcohol. “Um. Did you need anything?”

“No,” Vincent says. There’s something telling to his expression, some sort of quiet acknowledgement. “Just wanted to see what was takidg you so long.”

Suddenly, it makes sense.

Vincent must have heard. Everything Brendon said—or at least, the last part of it; the implication that Vincent isn’t as invested in this relationship as Yves is; the implication that their attraction towards each other is somehow one-sided. Vincent is doing this to cover for him, because he wants to make it excruciatingly obvious that Brendon is wrong.

The fact that he would go to such lengths to make a point makes something settle in Yves’s chest.

“It’s actually good that you showed up,” he says, playing along. “I don’t know what kind of drink you want. I was just going to get you something generic.”

He heads over to the ice box on the other side of the kitchen, and Vincent follows.

They’re far enough that they’re separated from Brendon by the granite island—and, beyond that, the cushioned high stools lined up next to it, but not so far that Brendon can’t still see them.

So he certainly can see, Yves thinks, this:

Yves leans in, reaching up a hand to cup Vincent’s jaw, and closes the distance between them.

It’s nothing like the kiss at the New Year’s party.

That one had been all nerves—brief, impulsive, all adrenaline. This kiss is much more involved—Yves presses in closer, so close that he can feel the heat radiating from Vincent’s skin, so close that he can smell the faint, not unpleasant smell of laundry detergent on Vincent’s shirt collar. So close that he can feel the breath that Vincent exhales, warm on his cheek; can feel the softness of Vincent’s hair as he shifts. He feels Vincent’s hand settle on his chest, feels his fingers curl inwards to rest on the fabric of his shirt, and—

On the other side of the kitchen, Brendon is watching, and Vincent is here—here, present, in the flesh, looking as put together as always, looking like someone out of a goddamn magazine—so Yves kisses him like he’s used to kissing—greedily, as if he’s been wanting this for ages. It’s been awhile since he’s kissed someone like this. Back then, there was university—the people at parties who he’d met and kissed out of momentary attraction, or out of alcohol-induced courage—though of course back then, neither party had harbored any delusions about how impermanent that connection was, or how little it meant. And then there was Erika, who, for the longest time, he thought was going to be the last person he’d ever kiss like this.

For months after they’d broken up, he hadn’t looked for anything. It felt wrong to subject others—even strangers, to which he had no allegiance—to the messy remnants of his feelings, to attempt to get into something he knew could only be half-hearted, at best, when there was a person in his mind who lingered so sharply.

But Vincent crowds up every corner of his mind, as if to say, pay attention, and Yves finds that for once, he’s not thinking about Erika at all.

When he feels the small hitch in Vincent’s breath, he thinks nothing of it.

Except, then—abruptly, and with barely any warning—Vincent is wrenching away, craning his head over Yves’s shoulder to let out a sudden, uncovered—

“hh-hIIIH’hH-IIKTshHuh!”

Their proximity to each other means he feels the way Vincent’s body jerks forward under his hands, his chest tensing. For a moment after, the rigidness of his posture doesn’t dissipate, tension still strung through the line of his shoulders.

“Bless you,” Yves says, surprised.

Then Vincent curses under his breath, drawing away with a sniffle. “I’mb sorry,” he says, sounding really, honestly panicked—a reaction which Yves finds both disproportionate to the situation and a little endearing. “That was— sorry, I should’ve—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Yves says, with a laugh; “I honestly couldn’t care less.” Impulsively—and maybe to prove just how little it bothers him—he leans back in.

Vincent is less hesitant, this time around, when it seems to register to him that Yves really doesn’t mind. He’s a surprisingly good kisser—Yves probably isn’t the first person he’s kissed, and he probably won’t be the last, but the second Vincent’s mouth works around his, Yves feels himself nearly go weak in the knees.

Fuck. Yves can’t say he expected to spend this evening making out with his very attractive coworker-slash-fake-boyfriend, but at the same time, he isn’t complaining. Yves thinks he could do this for hours, given the chance. He kisses Vincent as if to say, thank you—for the New Year’s party, for going along with this, for lying on my behalf—and Vincent kisses him back as if he wants this just as much.

It registers to him, faintly—as Vincent pulls away with a sharp gasp before he pitches forward, smothering another abrupt, wrenching sneeze into the palm of his hand—that he’s probably dooming himself to Vincent’s cold ten times over. But it occurs to him, too, that if he were really dating Vincent—if, after the party, they’d head back to Vincent’s place together; if they were really close enough to share car rides and food and drinks on the regular, to see each other frequently both in the office and outside of it—he would’ve almost certainly caught this anyways.

Something about the intimacy of it, the false closeness it seems to imply, is a little intoxicating.

When he finally pulls away, Vincent is breathing a little heavily, his glasses askew, his hair slightly unkempt from where Yves had—mid-kiss—run his fingers through it. Yves looks over his shoulder to see that Brendon has, at some point over the last few minutes, slipped off. Presumably, he’s gotten the point, then.

It’s a relief. Yves is glad to not have to talk with him for any longer than he has to.

“God,” Yves says, with a laugh. “Where did you learn to kiss like that, anyways?”

Vincent smiles. “I’ve had some practice,” he says, which Yves thinks must be a massive understatement. “Do you think it was convincidg?”

“I don’t know what kinds of standards Brendon has,” Yves says, lowering his voice so that he’s certain no one outside of the kitchen will be able to hear. “But I’d definitely be convinced.”

“He seems strangely idvested in our relationship,” Vincent says.

Yves sighs. “I think he was just trying to make trouble. How much of our conversation did you hear?”

“Just the tail end of it,” Vincent says. “I—”

His gaze goes distant, which is the only warning Yves gets before he’s turning away, steepling his hands over his nose and mouth with a forceful:

“hH-! hhH-hH’iiKTsSHH-uhh! Hh-! Hih… HIIh’IzsSCCHh’hhh!”

“Bless you,” Yves says.

Vincent is quiet for a moment, his expression still hazy, the irritation evident on his features, before he’s ducking away again.

“hIiih’GKTTSHh-uhHh!”

The sneeze is loud enough to scrape against his throat. It leaves him coughing a little, his eyes watering.

“Bless you,” Yves says, with emphasis. He takes a small stack of napkins off of the kitchen counter and hands it over to Vincent, who eyes it for a moment. There’s a slight flush to his complexion—whether it’s from the alcohol, or from embarrassment, or from slight fever, Yves can’t tell.

“I hope you dod’t regret this in a few days,” Vincent says, carefully extricating one napkin from the stack to blow his nose softly into it. “You—” His breath hitches, sharply, and then he’s pitching forward into the handful of napkins with a muffled, “hiiHh’IZSSCHh-uhh!”

He emerges, sniffling, looking a little apologetic. “You’ll almost certaidly catch this.”

Yves laughs. “It’s fine. I know what I signed up for. Besides, I’m glad you stepped in.” He kneels down, at last, to procure two drinks from the long-neglected icebox. “A cold was a small price to pay for getting out of that conversation.”

He hands Vincent a drink. “Can I have a sip of yours? Now that I’ve doomed myself to it already, I suppose you don’t have to try so hard to keep me from catching it.”

“That’s not very reassuring,” Vincent says, but he lets Yves try some, nonetheless.

Brendon is suspiciously quiet for the rest of the evening. Neither he nor Erika so much as look Yves’s way, which Yves thinks is better than another confrontation. Vincent looks happy—a little tired, a little tipsy, but happy. At some point into the evening he resorts to crossing his arms as a means to keep warm (“Is it too cold in here?” Francesca asks, passing him from where he’s sitting on the couch, to which Vincent shakes his head quickly, his face flushing red. “I’mb just slightly under the weather,” he says. “The temperature’s perfect.” to this, Francesca brings over a quilt from one of the closets and drapes it over his shoulders. “Your friends are very nice,” Vincent says, pinning the quilt in place with one hand, and Yves laughs).

At some point, Francesca brings out a cake (“earl gray with buttercream,” she says, “Erika and I made a smaller one as a test run last week, and it was a little too dense, so we’ll have to see how this one turned out.” which Yves thinks is very impressive—he’s certainly better than average at cooking, but that expertise does not transfer well to baking—truly, he’s not sure he’d be confident in his ability to pipe frosting in a straight line. When he tells Vincent this, Vincent laughs and says, “I’m sure people would forgive you as long as it tasted good,” to which Yves says, “I think you’re underestimating how bad I am at decorating.”) She’s piped small blue flowers around the periphery of it, and leaves that curl around the edges of the cake. Diane says, “this is way too pretty to eat,” and “are you sure you want us to destroy it,” while Kenneth—their year’s Crew captain—helps Francesca with setting up the candles around the periphery of the cake and lighting them one by one.

Francesca laughs when Erika tells a story about a series of errors pertaining to their last grocery store run and tears up when Marin gives a speech about how Francesca is the main reason she stayed in Crew. After that, everyone sings—for a brief moment, the clamor in the living room becomes strictly unified. Then she blows out all the candles in one go, and everyone claps.

All in all, it’s a good evening.

—

It’s really not a surprise when Yves wakes up a few days later with a sore throat.

It’s not a surprise, either, when his nose starts running shortly after, or when—a couple hours later—a harsh, wrenching sneeze catches him off guard at work.

It’s as if that first sneeze has opened the floodgates. After that, he finds himself muffling sneezes into his elbow, scrambling for tissues from the rapidly depleting stash—a travel sized tissue pack that he keeps in his briefcase, just in case. The persistent tickle that settles in his nose seems impossible to appease, no matter how many times he sneezes, or how diligently he tries to ignore it. Worse, the sneezes are forceful enough to leave his throat feeling tender and painful, and violent enough that he finds himself coughing a little after.

Vincent was right. The cold isn’t particularly miserable—aside from the sore throat, he’s a little tired, but he doesn’t feel strictly worse than usual. It is irritating, though, to deal with—and irritating, too, to be at the office as it settles in.

It’s probably not worth taking a sick day for. It’s more an annoyance than a tangible inconvenience. Besides, he has only a couple days left of work before it’s the weekend, when he can catch up on sleep.

He’s scheduled himself for a morning’s worth of back to back meetings—two meetings with clients, one with a coworker he’s been working with to go over her findings, another status update meeting to review the work they’ve all done over the past few weeks.

Yves is prone to losing his voice when he’s ill. It’s one of his most embarrassing tells—it’d certainly garnered more attention than he’d wanted in college whenever he was under the weather—but in a work setting where his participation in meetings is non-negotiable, with every meeting he takes, he can feel his voice get closer and closer to unusable.

His second meeting ends a few minutes early, which is a relief. But when he heads to the break room to make himself a cup of much-needed tea, he finds that the hot water machine is out of order.

Just his luck.

He pours himself a cup of cold water and looks through some of the storage cabinets for tissues, though he has no luck with that, either.

The office is always turned a notch too cool—air conditioned to keep everyone awake in the afternoons—but today, it feels brutally, unnecessarily cold. He really should’ve dressed warmer. Yves heads to the conference room his next meeting is booked in, speaks on the material he’s prepared, and tries his best not to shiver too visibly. His meeting before lunch runs over, too, which is not uncommon, but today it just feels like insult to injury.

All in all, he’s exhausted. He eats a quick lunch in the cafeteria, downs two glasses of water, and goes through an embarrassing number of cafeteria napkins.

“Coming down with something?” Stanley, one of his coworkers, asks him.

Yves smiles at him sheepishly. “I wish it wasd’t so obvious,” he says.

“It’s just the season for it, I think. Vincent was just sick last week.”

“Oh, was he?” Yves says, feigning ignorance. His cold is definitely, most certainly not related to Vincent’s. “I was just goidg to grab a bottle of hand saditizer to keep at my desk,” he says, with a small cough. “I thidk there’s somethidg going around.”

Thankfully, the afternoon is—for the most part—just occupied with work. Still, it’s becoming increasingly more difficult to focus on the financial statements in front of him, the slew of emails he has pulled up.

His nose is running fiercely, the trash can at the foot of his desk is close to overflowing, and the stack of napkins he’d taken from the cafeteria—certainly not an ideal solution, but it’s the best one he can come up with at the moment—is almost entirely gone.

He grabs one off the top of the stack—he’s only able to unfold it partially before he’s jerking forward with a wet, spraying, “hhEHh’iiiZZSCHh’EW!”

Fuck. The napkins, while infinitely better than nothing, are not as soft as tissues would have been. Given the frequency with which he’s been using him, he’s almost positive that his nose is redder than usual.

The next sneeze nearly catches him off guard. He barely has time to lift the napkin up to his face again before his breath hitches again, sharply.

“Hhehh… HEHh—’IIDDSCHhiew! hEHH’iITSSHh’Yyew!”

His nose is still running fiercely, and worse, the sneezes are loud enough to scrape against his throat. He thinks his voice is never going to recover if he keeps this up.

From behind him, he hears someone clear their throat.

Yves freezes. His first thought is that he’s probably being disruptive. His second thought is that even if he isn’t, whoever’s behind him must have been waiting to speak to him for some time—he’d just been too caught up with sneezing to realize, which is a little embarrassing.

His third thought is—whoever it is, he wants to face them looking at least marginally presentable. He’s almost certain that right now, he doesn’t.

He blows his nose into the napkins he’s holding, runs a hand through his hair, and pivots around in his office chair with a smile that is admittedly a little forced. “What’s up?”

He expects to see Cara, who he’s been working more with, or perhaps Laurent, who he’s been shadowing. But standing there, looking every inch as formal and as put together as he always does, is Vincent.

For a moment, Vincent just stares at him, as if he’s cataloging Yves’s appearance in silence.

Yves tries not to fidget under his scrutiny. “Did you ndeed anythidg?”

In lieu of responding, Vincent steps past him to set a box of tissues down at the edge of his desk.

“I figured you’d want this back,” Vincent says.

It’s the same tissue box he’d handed off to Vincent last week, he realizes, when Vincent was the one who had a use for it. Vincent has taken care to set it down at the same spot where it was initially: at the right edge, next to his monitor.

“Thadk you,” Yves says. “I’ll treasure it.”

“This, too,” Vincent says, setting a mug down in front of him. Whatever’s in there is hot enough to be steaming.

Yves muffles a cough into his hand. “What?”

“Tea,” Vincent says, as if that explains everything. “Chamomile, if it matters. I didn’t know if caffeine would keep you up.”

“Oh.” Yves stares at it. “You got the hot water machide workidg. It was broken this morning. Or maybe I’mb just really bad at using it.”

“Actually, no,” Vincent says. “I got this from the third floor.”

“You walked all the way up here from the third floor?” Yves says, a little surprised. He’s about to say more, but then—in a progression that he should probably be used to by now—he finds himself succumbing, with little warning, to another sneeze, which he muffles into a perhaps-too-generous handful of tissues. At this rate, he might run out of them, even given Vincent’s generous contribution.

“It was just two flights of stairs,” Vincent says.

“Still,” Yves says, lowering the tissues from his face so he can take a sip. The thought of Vincent precariously taking the tea up two flights of stairs, careful to not let it spill, just to get it to his desk is so endearing that he finds himself smiling. “Thank you.”

Vincent blinks at him, as if he wasn’t expecting to be thanked. “I don’t think it will keep you from losing your voice,” he says, at last. “But it might help with your sore throat.”

Yves doesn’t remember mentioning that. “How did you kdow I had a sore throat?”

“How do you think?” Vincent says. “I had the same cold a week ago.”

Even so, the idea that Vincent already probably knows, and knows intimately, how he’s feeling right now, even though Yves hasn’t said anything about it, feels a little incriminating. Yves is under no illusion that his current affliction is subtle, by any means, but at the very least he’d thought that the less visible parts of it—his sore throat, the growing exhaustion, the pressure he feels building at his temples—were things that no one else would have to think about.

“Was it this bad for you?” he says. “I’d feel terrible if I mbade you talk to all my friends if your throat was already— Hh- heHh-! hHEH-heHh’iSSSchh-Iiew!”

It’s a good thing, Yves thinks, hazily, that he’s still holding onto the tissues from earlier. His nose is running again, and the tissues feel traitorously soft as compared to the napkins he’s been using all day.

“No,” Vincent says, frowning. “I think you just wore your voice out at work.”

“That mbight be the case,” Yves says. “I had a lot of meetidgs this morning. Ndow it’s pretty much just heads-down work, thankfully.” He muffles a yawn into one hand. Vincent is probably here for a reason—but Vincent is usually very conscientious about the work he passes onto others, so whatever he needs Yves to do for him, Yves doesn’t expect it should take too long. “Did you ndeed me to look over somethidg?” “I just wanted to see how you were feeling,” Vincent says, which is not the answer Yves expects.

Yves blinks at him. “How did you find out I was sick?”

“I heard from Cara.”

“Ah.” He probably owes Cara an apology—he’s sure that she’d probably prefer to work somewhere quiet, and his cold is certainly making that difficult. “Yeah, she would kdow. I’ve been like this all day—well, sidce this mording, I guess.”

“It came on quickly for me, too,” Vincent says. “Can I get you anything?”

“It’s just a cold,” Yves says with a laugh. “I’ll mbanage.” He means for it to be reassuring, but Vincent just frowns, looking off to the side.

He looks… strangely upset, Yves realizes.

“It’s ndot really all that bad,” Yves insists, backtracking. “And the weekend’s coming up soon. I’ll catch up on sleep when I get the chance.” Now is a really inopportune time to have to cough. He raises an elbow to his face to cough as quietly as he can, though the effort only seems to prolong the coughing fit—it leaves him slightly breathless, blinking away the tears that surface in his vision. “Seriously, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m sorry,” Vincent says, quiet.

“For what?”

“For giving you my cold.”

“I dod’t think you can even take credit for that,” Yves says. “I was the one who kissed you.”

Vincent does smile, at that—a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Even so.”

Yves wants to tell him that he would do it again, if he had the chance to. He wants to tell Vincent how easy it had felt to kiss him, how right.

How it felt to forget about Erika, and Brendon, and all of it—even if just for a moment—to feel so perfectly grounded in someone other than himself. To let himself experience the sort of closeness he’s been scared of seeking out, after the breakup, after Erika, in fear that no one would ever fit quite the same. To lean into the warmth of someone who still, even now, continues to be kind to him for reasons he can’t quite rationalize.

How long has it been since he’s been able to place his trust into someone, blindly, in the way he trusts Vincent to keep up this act of theirs, to lie on his behalf? Vincent is nothing if not competent, but Yves hadn’t expected that competence to extend to this arrangement of theirs. How long has it been since Yves has been able to lean on someone the way he’s leaned on Vincent, to trust someone to meet him where he is?

“For the record, I dod’t regret it,” Yves says. He finds that he really means it.

#snz fic #sneeze fic #snz kink #sneeze kink #parts of this are very self indulgent and familiar but also #this took me 3 weeks of writing every day after i came home from work to finish T.T #the number of hours i sat there just deleting and rewriting a few sentences #but it's done! at last! (and i will not look at it for the next 24 hrs)#thank you to everyone who read foreign home and left their thoughts on it!!#reading your tags makes me really happy 🥹 thank you #my fic #me writing vincent's part: just a slight cold :) not miserable at all #me writing yves's part: ...okay. maybe a little miserable #yvverse

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diluclover300 · 2 months

Text

Just One Week (1)

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

Also posted on my ao3 account: diluclover300

CHAPTER INDEX:

I H8 U

My Kinda Fun

Balance

{S] Awake

Eggs and Rice

Wait, but I'm broke

Couple's Discount

CHAPTER 1: I H8 U

...

Ha. Ha. You roll your eyes, arms crossed before they unfold again. The elevator opens and you're back at the lobby of the building again. Ha. Ha.

You hate this place. Normal was so ordinary. So predictable. So boring. Blah!

Whatever, whatever, whatever. You just want to go home already. It's been a long day at work.

You walk, as the general population does, because even though you're special, and so different, you're human before any of that bull crap. Genetically, you're a programmed sheep. Mentally, you stick out like a sore thumb.

And you walk with the help of wired earbuds, ones that you grabbed at the nearest department store. You understand why people can't leave the house without these babies. They're so convenient, a socially accepted escape from the real world.

Selfishly, as it should be, you're listening to the same sickly sweet, syrupy-lyric filled song. Generic, yet so stupid catchy that even a zombie would dumbly mumble it in its sleep. With it's unintelligible voice, muddy and groggy as it lowly moans the melody. Like pure mush, frothing with spit.

Love. Love. Love. A boyband, the popular one you've loved since highschool, is singing about what sells— sex. Oh, baby. I want you. I love you. Give me all of you. Kiss me until I can't breath, wrap me with your heat.

You understand the gist of it, don't you? Because you certainly do.

Bouncy, your steps are, almost preppy that you feel like everyone else. You suppose that's fine for now. You're forcibly, undeniably put into a swarm of people. People that will always be like you. Vise versa. It's the way of life.

Same old.

Beep. Your lanyard scans across the kind of thing you'd see in a new-york subway. Too bad you're across the globe in Japan, in some remote town, so you don't live miles away from the famous–or was it infamous– you don't know, times square. Boring.

You suck in a hefty amount of hair, and it's humiliating when you push the door that so politely–and obviously— asks to be pulled. Wow. You turn back to confirm that no one has just seen you do that. But you're suddenly biting back another heap of cringe mixed with embarrassment when you realize that someone behind you blankly stares at you. Probably to hurry up so that they could get out too.

"Oops." You laugh, but they don't. "Sorry about–"

"Are you going to open that door?"

"Oh, uh, yes. I am."

Right. You pull the handle of the door that you've touched thousands of times.

The breeze hits you and as physics do, your hair whips across your face, sprawling over your dry, cracked lips. You push on, steps now long strides. You're fighting with the wind and it's terrible.

Welp. That was life. Mother nature wasn't, never was, kind to you.

Another idiotic event, another "let's make a fool out of Y/N" moment. You fold your arms underneath the crevice of your chest, that white button up so thin you're sure that you've developed hypothermia in the last few minutes you've been walking.

Another sigh. Then you realize it looks hopeless, and stupid. Then you wipe your cheek, holding your lips together and realize that looks equally awkward. Damn.

Incident after incident. Mistake after mistake. Everything feels like a math equation, and it's all adding up to make you look a fool.

At least nothing too terrible happened today.

Then, as if it was clockwork, an ominous feeling began to settle in the depths of your heart. As if your instincts were telling you to run.

You don't. Your hopes of a normal day, your suspicions of having a great day are so terribly...

Wrong. You look up and see the face that you don't want to see. The face that looks back at you like a mirror, the face who's lips turn up into a slight smile. The face who's glasses tip down his rather long, yet socially accepted nose. The face who's eyes are freakishly blue, who's eyes would receive the predictable comparison– "Hey, your eyes look just like the sky."

This can't be real.

This can't be happening.

Maybe today wasn't destined to be a good day, but there was no way in hell, no way that things could go this south.

A bad day was when you got in trouble during work, when someone's kid spilled your burning hot coffee all over your new white clothes. Bad was when...

Bad was when Gojo Satoru wasn't here.

Terrible was when he was.

"Hi." He holds his hand up, palm open, fingers spread into a wave. "It's been a while."

Your chest tightens, air contracting the thing like a damn accordion. He's definitely a fair distance from you, standing beneath the trees, far from the stairs leading up to the building behind you both. Traffic bustles a couple more feet away, and that same song, on repeat, buzzes in your ear like a mosquito.

Love. You seem to feel everything but that at the sight of his face.

"Gojo." The breeze slaps against your skin, stinging as it leaves it's harsh marks. Your fingers travel down to the hems of your skirt, and you fidget with the cloth.

You're anxious, not as you envisioned the hundreds of other times you mulled over this sort of situation. Instead of holding your head up high, you're cowering, heart wrenching, the lines you so carefully wrote, seared into your mind escaping your tongue.

"Gojo?" Ha. Ha. Real funny, you think as he mocks you.

It makes you angry. Why did he, how did he have, how was he not– where was his shame? After five years? Did he just realize you were gone after all this time?

You don't want to ask, but you do.

"Why are you–"

"What happened to Satoru? Don't be so formal. It's only been five years."

"The name disgusts me."

You're silent as he steps forward, a bouquet of flowers tucked underneath his armpit. He's decked out in all black, not that you care, or that it's any different from how he was a few years back. If anything, he's the exact same. Unchanged.

It makes your blood boil.

"Ah. Look at you. You've changed."

He chides, crouching down as if he's trying to taunt a child. You bite back the strange croak in your throat.

"Your turn. What about me? Say something."

No. Please. "Don't do this to me."

His lips, as if pulled by a set of strings, ghost a smile. Those eyes exposed, bare through those glasses as they reflect the pathetic image of you. Your expression which tries to hard to look expressionless. The scrunch of your eyebrows as you look down at him.

No, he's looking down on you. Even though it should be the opposite.

"You look the same." It's robotic, the usual cadence of your voice he so remembers void of emotion.

It's true. He does.

"Oh? You're cold. So cold." He tilts his head, a strand of hair falling in between his eyes as he gives you a slight pout.

And, you? You're not the same as you were before.

"I know." You step back. "People tell me that all the time."

You feel so... so...

Was pathetic the right word? It didn't even do the situation justice.

Wow. Honestly, you never wanted to admit this, but you've always imagined this sort of thing happening. A reunion, to put it simply and you'd always imagine such witty responses, such great comebacks.

However, you're no different from everyone else. Not underneath the umbrella of fear. However, you're not even shielded from those raindrops of confrontation.

You're soaked. The umbrella's defective. You can't bring yourself to say the words you practiced, to put an end to the tortuous fire in your heart.

Because as much as you want to hear those answers, you're afraid of the void that lies beneath them.

"Is that something to brag about these days?" He straightens up, the plastic lining of the bouquet crinkling.

You shrug as answer, but your eyes stick onto the floor like a piece of gum. They've rolled out of their sockets, breeze guiding them along the concrete.

Satoru whistles for a moment, eyes careful as they study your figure.

A white button up shirt, tucked into a pencil skirt, glasses that usually wouldn't suit you because you were the contact lens type, flats because he could never imagine you walking down a flight of stairs in heels.

Though you've fallen to the inevitable concept of change, you're still...

Oh. He's forgot to mention that you've been listening to music this whole time. It's noticeable now. Partly because you're wearing wired headphones, and partly because he can hear the faintest bit of singing coming from your direction.

"Whatcha listening to?"

You peek up, and for the first time in years, he's properly– no, you're making eye contact with him.

"It's the new XXX song. Do you remember when I..."

What the hell?

He never tried to stop you back then.

Why would he remember a single thing about you?

"Nevermind." You look away, and he swears he sees the faintest film of water pooling against your eyes. "You wouldn't know."

Yeah. You're the same as ever.

"Oh. You still like that group?"

You nod, and he swears he can see the faint image of you from highschool. Nodding along to the sound of your mp3 player, busted around the corners as it rests on the edge of your desk, threatening to fall. And when it did, he'd usually catch it before pulling out your earbuds.

Then you'd grumble at him, call him a "bastard" or a "piece of shit". And he'd laugh, loud enough that people would turn their heads.

Weird. A wave of nostalgia hits him.

"Ha." The thought of it makes him snicker. God. He was such an asshole. "Haha."

Look at how the tables turned. It's painful that you're so rough around the edges now. You're barely smiling, and now there's an offended look trespassing your lips and eyes.

You're angry again. So angry that the image of your smile is trampled on, dirtied by a frown.

It's like throwing away a perfectly good slice of cake.

Satoru decides he hates it. The look of it is sickening, the thought of it is unappetizing, the existence of it is...

"What are you–"

"Come back to Jujutsu High and help me teach."

As he expects, and the revelation behind it frustrates him, you've gone completely unresponsive. What he's realized is that you're just existing through your life.

You've been wasting time. And now you're just going to ignore him. No matter how right he is.

"Y/N. Can you hear me?"

You don't answer for a long while, slowly ripping out each earbud as you stuff it into the pocket of your shirt. The question, the request is... it's...

Disgustingly selfish. Did he only think for himself? Did he only care for himself?

Of course he did. Of course he did.

He's Gojo Satoru.

"Why did you come here? Go home."

"For you. Come back and be a Jujutsu sorcerer again–" He doesn't waste a singular second, as if he was reading off a script to some terrible horror movie.

You feel sick.

"No." You spit out. "You don't know what I want, you can't tell me what to do either."

You want to laugh, you can't believe all this bullshit.

You can't believe that after all the trouble you went through to fit in, you're going back to square one. Like a baby trying to learn how to walk all over again.

All the trouble you went through to convince yourself that you were still special despite being so, despite living so normally now.

All the trouble you went through to ignore those cursed spirits.

All those sacrifices you made, those risks you took.

You can't believe that it's all going down the drain like this, like your struggles are the water to someone else's shower.

Could you be easily discarded like that? Like trash?

Wrong. Incorrect. Wrong. Nothing could be more... wrong.

No, you're different. Important. Nothing like trash. Incomparable. If there was a mold, you'd break it. If there was an expectation, you'd exceed it. If there was...

If there was...

There's nothing because he... he's...

Gojo Satoru is stepping on your sob story like it's a piece of gum, smearing it with the sole of his shoe.

He tries to intervene with your peace, picking apart at your facade, your play-pretend act of tranquility.

"I know what you want–"

You don't even give him the chance to finish.

"It's been five years."

He knows. You don't have to remind him that it's been that long.

"So?"

"You don't know a thing about me, Gojo."

"I do." He steps forward. "And what do those people back there know about you?" Then he points back at your workplace.

You grimace, aware that what you're about to say is an obvious, a bitter lie. He knows it too, but you say it anyway.

"They know a lot about me." You bite back, desperately trying to save face. "So much more than you do."

When you force that out, it dawns on you. The fact that you have to lie about something so insignificant to prove that you're doing just fine to some asshole you haven't seen in five years.

"Like what? Your favorite member in that stupid boyband?"

"They're not stupid! Okay? They're– They're...!" You stumble over your words, voice coming out louder than you anticipate.

Damn it. Now everyone around you is staring like a bunch of sheep, the same kind back at work, relishing in an argument– no, a conversation – that they had no rightful part in.

"They don't know anything about you, do they?" He whispers, a pitiful expression on his face when he sees how worked up you've gotten. "Be honest with me then. What do you want?"

"Honest? You want me to be honest?"

"Well, yes. I'd like that."

"Fine then. I want to fight you right now because I hate you."

"Sure."

"You make me sick."

"Okay."

"I want to–"

"I already said okay."

...

#fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #enemies to lovers #friends to lovers #eventual smut #eventual romance #romance #angst #drama #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer

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the-cat-and-the-birdie · 4 months

Text

Tryna write this post about Hobie's Black-Cat OC MysStray and like 😭😭 I'm Strugglin' I really am

ummm I'm too lazy to go and finish it and make it all nice so imma just infodump about her and Hobies past and dynamic heehee

Anyway 😈 her name is pronounced Miss Stray or Mystery. And Myssie is just Missy but Boujee

Spider-Punk x Black Cat: MysStray - Miranda Straizand

Her real name is Miranda but everyone calls her Myssie. Only Hobie calls her Miranda and that's only when they about to start arguing.

[she be like 'don't Miranda me, ya dickhead. If I start calling you Hobart it's gonna get embarrassing 🤨']

She's 22, an exotic dancer, bud dealer, and credit-card scamming hacker.

HOWEVER

Not only is her faceclaim Rico Nasty but she's also his ex and I have no idea how to write her without ppl being like 'damn why she so mean to him 😐'

Like nooo she means shut the fuck up affectionately. She means tosser in a nice way 😭😭 she's telling him to roll hey blunt cause her love language is acts of service I promise

But uhh yeah they meet as civilians a couple years back but didn't get into it until Hobie was in a tight spot money wise and needed a place to stay - this was right after he got his powers and was patrolling 24/7 to the point it was wearing him down and he had no interest in making money.

And his friend Harry was like 'you can stay with my bud dealer but she might have you working for her'

Hobie ended up staying with her as her pseudo-body guard and blunt roller until he started hitting on her.

Which, she was like 'that's fucking bold of you. You sleeping in my crib, eating my food and now you wanna sleep in my bed? AND YOU'RE BROKE?'

But somehow it worked. He has the rizz. I'm serious.

He got a 'promotion'.

Though Myssie would never say they're dating or that she's his girlfriend.

She'd always say specifically "Hobie's my boyfriend."

And if you asked him, he'd specifically say "I'm her boyfriend."

ie, He's hers. Like not in a possessive way but in a 'She ain't his any-fucking-thing. She ain't nobodies nothing' kinda way - do that make sense 😭

They dated for about a year, with Myssie finding out he was Spider-Man on her own a couple months in.

She was not thrilled. She wasn't mad. She just -

That crawling on walls shit night be cute - but being out in them streets fighting some punk-ass cops talking about 'I'm an anarchist suicide-machine'?

No, no I think not.

Originally she was not into it. That righteous shit was not for her. Her and Hobie had been handling business smoothly, Myssie had moneying come in. The whole circle was eating good - why was he trying to be a hero?

She much preferred he did it on his own time like before. The webs can stay though, she likes the webs.

Hobie on the other hand was like 'okay fuck whatever'. It's not like he needed to be held and babied 24/7. And he knew how Black Cats were, but still - damn.

He'd come home after the shittiest patrol, and she'd act like it was a bad day at the office. A blunt can't fix everything.

Eventually as Myssie learned that Hobie being Spider-man didn't mean he was trying to force righteousness on her - or looked down on her for not seeking it, she got more comfortable with the idea.

And then she got her ass locked up.

All of a sudden she's like 'Hey Spidey come get me 🤣🤣🤣'

Of course he comes. But of course he's like

"I should leave you're arse here but I won't because I'm a good person."

And she's like "You won't because you know better - I'm just joking stop playing and get me out babes 😭😭'

So they had a few good months of crime and justice. Having government systems, stealing funds. Myssie dancing and dealing on the side while Hobie does shows.

They dated maybe a year, a little over that.

Eventually she broke up with him. It was a harsh one. Myssie has Borderline Personality Disorder and although she really loved Hobie, after finding out he was Spider-Man the concern and worry and stress it put on her was too much and she choose to look after her mental health instead.

She's not the type to patch him up when he comes home bloody. Waking up to that shit genuinely stresses her out.

Sitting around waiting not knowing if he would make it home really fucked with her head every night.

She's not trying to take down a system. She's trying to put food on her table and money in her account and live her life fucking quietly.

Eventually she was like 'I'm sorry. I love you, but you're driving me nuts.'

Hobie couldn't fault her. But damn it hurt. Especially because it wasn't like a 'oh btw maybe we should break up' kinda thing it was a 'i can't take this shit anymore' type thing.

He actually felt bad for putting her in the situation because she signed up to date him not Spider-man. And Myssie was never a hero to begin with, she doesn't have a righteous bone in her body.

And then it came to the topic of - UH OH you now live with your ex-boyfriend (plus he's broke and reckless)

Myssie offered to pay for a place for him but Hobie was like 'fuck no' and took off.

Eventually through Harry, Myssie learned that Hobie got a place - his boathouse - making a steady income on his band's mixtape and merch. She was happy for him, but she still kept her distance. Cause like, how do you even approach that?

After breaking up with a dude then low-key kicking him out your flat? It's not like she just stopped having feelings for him. So she kept her distance, for both of their sakes.

No hard feelings, but doing what she has to do.

So that was it. Until one day, Hobie shows up at her job.

Mind you, Myssie dances. So Hobies options were coming to her house unannounced, or show up to her strip club unannounced.

He meets her backstage but, she refuses to see him unless he pays like everyone else.

He can either buy a dance or buy some weed, but she'll only link with him as a customer. They can't just be hanging to hang, y'know?

So Hobie leaves and the next day, he turns up to her place early with the money - having gotten an early advance from a performance.

He buys a quarter of buds from her, and while he rolls a blunt he tells her that he needs her to hack an extremely sophisticated system.

One more complicated than anything they've ever seen.

He can't pay her for the job. He's asking her as a friend.

He tells her that if she takes it, she's going to have to learn a lot about him being Spider-man, and that it might change a lot of things for her, but it's something he can't do on his own.

Reluctantly, Myssie agrees.

He shows her is Spider Society watch - and tells her he needs help hacking the system and disabling the AI on it.

He wants to find the backdoor that leads to HQ's mainframes, and deconstruct it from there.

He tells her about what it can do, and the other Spider-people. Myssie agrees to do the job, but stops him from telling her more, because she'd rather live not knowing everything about the universe.

For a couple weeks they work on it together, and surprisingly they don't rip out each other's throats. In fact, it's kinda nice.

Then Diane enters the picture.

Myssie isn't jealous. She's just very confused.

For one, it's very obvious Diane is from a different planet. She acts like it. There's nothing punk or edgy about her. She's very clearly not from 138.

But she's Spiderwoman. The idea that there's more of them? A whole multiverse of them - a whole multiverse of Black Cats - Myssie... isn't with it.

And secondly, Diane is the opposite of Myssie. Myssie has never heard her say a joke that wasn't well-meaning.

The first time Diane heard Myssie tell Hobie 'Shut the fuck up' (within ten minutes of meeting her) Diane audibly gasped.

Myssie was like 'girl you too tf 🤨 shit both y'all pissin me off'

It's not that Myssie doesn't like Diane - it's just that half the time when Diane speaks Myssie is like

Diane is nice and all - but where the fuck did he find this chick? Why she always here?

Why does she like Hobie so much? He's a lame!! He's broke!! He tells wack ass jokes!!

Like yeah Myssie dated him and loves him but also ????? Groupie??? Girl get a grip!!!!!!

But anyway Myssie helped Hobie hack Spider Society's systems.

They're currently defined as 'Exes' in a nonexistent situationship. Diane has floated the idea with Hobie of them getting back together, now that Hobie has her to support him in the Spideystuff (they're polyam) but Hobie is like 'that ain't up to me'

What happens to them? Idk.

But they've started hanging out to hang out again, so that's a start.

And she's been flipping him off more, which is like her way of flirting.

But like.... That's cute and all - but in the moment she's so mean.

He says a stupid joke to mess with her and she's like ' shut the fuck up and roll the blunt bruv 😒🤨' even though she's stickering and cackling.

But I don't want y'all to think she's just being mean to him just to be mean 😭😭 noo

The way they talk to each other is mad aggressive

Like when he makes a bad joke and she calls him 'one daft bastard' she means he's funny and cheeky and being a silly little guy

Noooo when he calls her a hell spawn or a demon he means that affectionately 🥺🥺 he's making a funny

Nooo they're not fighting they're wrestling over the blunt and also getting play-hits in and also accidentally trashing Myssies place

She's like 'Quit talking shit and come cuddle me. Arsehole.'

He's like 'How about you calm the hell down and give me a kiss 😐'

He calls her Pryssie like prissy because she's highstrung as fuck

She calls him bug boy and pipsqueak even though he's like a foot taller than her

They're just rough around the edges okay them telling each other to go to hell means I love you okay

Mysbie aka StrayPunk or MysPunk idk which one I like more

Oh ALSO Myssie and Hobie have had the Spiderman PS4 timeline

ie Myssie lied and was like uhhh I need money for my son that's why I'm running game

And Hobie was like fuck is that kid mine I cannot a dad and he starts stressing out

Only for her to be like 'first of all I lied second of all why would you think it's yours? That's bold of you. You ain't the only dick on dial 😐🤨'

Okay but I PROMISE They're cute together I promise TRUST ME PLEASE

#ummm I'm out of energy #no proofread #lol #spiderman #atsv #spider man #marvel #across the spiderverse #hobie brown #spider punk #spiderpunk #hobie x oc #hobie brown x oc

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babybadger · 2 years

Note

What about an imagine where you are Daniels girlfriend and you are also part of the media team at McLaren and you do a video with him where you show him imagines from Tumblr and Wattpad.

Now this is simply hilarious. I knew I had to write this now. Thank you for requesting :) P.S not really smut but gets suggestive towards the end x

Reading Fanfiction

As soon as Daniel had decided to sign with McLaren he knew that you would need a job in England to to occupy your time while he was at the factory. He very quickly got you a job in the media team. It also just so happened that the woman who was supposed to be head of his marketing team had to go on maternity leave the following month and you were fresh meat with the team. Everyone had seen how crazy Daniel could be in the media and who bets to handle that than his very own girlfriend. You already got headaches from him anyway.

Today as Daniel entered the marketing rooms of MTC, you were already sitting there with some of your colleagues having a chat and a coffee. "Well hello there Mrs" Daniel says in a horrific Southern American accent. "I heard you were looking for a tough hunk to woo the ladies online with and here I am" he says gesturing towards his body. You turn back to your friends and role your eyes before saying "excuse my embarrassment of a boyfriend for being late, he was most likely repeating that to perfection in the mirror this morning. Weren't you babe?" Two can play at the unprofessional game. "Only for you sweet baby" He smiles wrapping his arms around you and trapping you in a bone crushing hug.

"Right Dan lets get this over with. Actually I think we'll do this video today." You say laughing mischievously and pointing to your laptop screen while your colleagues laughed and agreed. "What's so funny huh joker" Daniel asks as you stand up and peck his cheek before guiding him down behind the laptop and squeezing his shoulders from behind. "Okay so introduce yourself and just say today we are going to read some fan posts. Then begin on the first tab and read them through till tab 5, do NOT read tab 6, that's for later. Got it?" You directed him about. God you were so sexy when you ordered him about when you were working. Daniel just smirked at you and nodded in agreement.

"Hi guys tis I Daniel Ricciardo and today we are here at the beautiful M to the T to the C and I'm gonna read some fan posts from all our beautiful supporters out there. Let me know in the comments if any of these are from you and yeah lets get straight into the first one." You had to hold back a chuckle when he said about the commenting, knowing most people wouldn't own up to it. You watched as Daniel's eyes took a trip across the screen before landing back on yours behind the camera. "Are you serious right now? You want me to read 'Daniel soothes you to sleep part 2' to the world?" Staring at you he's unsure if you're playing with him again or if this is actually a video McLaren have approved. "Even Andreas said it would be funny now carry on."

Daniel was so overwhelmed by the time he got to the 5th one he was so confused. "Okay so this is the last story I've read about myself that's not actually about myself and it's honestly quite accurate. I have many a time had to take my girlfriends makeup off her drunk as a skunk face and put her in pjs before tucking her into my warm king size bed so whoever wrote this does get me on like a deeper level." You looked at him with a face like thunder. "Really Daniel?" "Hey I didn't pick the stories you did." Once again you role your eyes but end it with a chuckle. Okay for the outro can you just give your overall opinion of the fictions and obviously be nice and appreciative of the fans. Thank you kindly" You direct before looking back at your paperwork. "Wow so they were some interesting reads guys, It was interesting to see how the fans perceive me and at least in all of there I'm either the strong protective guy or the kind supportive boyfriend and you know what I'll take both of them. Thank you to all the fans who spend their time helping other immense in the world of Danny Ric but for now it's kind, protective, strong loving boyfriend over and out" He finishes the video.

Later on you and Daniel are at home getting ready for bed. You're in the bathroom finishing your skincare and he's lying on his phone laughing at the medias group chat talking about today's video pinging on your phone as you let him read it to you. "Oh yeah Y/N you never told me what was on tab 6." You giggle and walk through into the bedroom. "Open up my phone its on there too." You blush as you get into bed.

"Daniel Ricciardo is definitely the most attentive boyfriend. He gives flowers and hugs you all day long. He would look after you so well if you were sick or feeling crampy. He would make you laugh all day long. Don't even get me started on the bedroom. This man practically created the clit with how well he knows how to use it. Y/N is so lucky. I rest my case"

Daniel reads out loud and looks over at you kneeling on the bed beside him blushing. "The others were fiction but this one seemed a bit too true. I love you" You said quietly as his hand stroked up and down your thigh. "Babe" Daniel smirks making you look up at him from staring at his slow moving hand. "I think its time I check on my most marvellous creation" You let out a squeal as he pulls you down onto the bed and laugh as he begins to kiss you. You’re not sure if there actually is a difference between real or fiction daniel, because both knew exactly what they were doing

#f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 blurb #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 one shot #formula 1 imagines #formula one imagine #formula 1 imagine #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo imagines

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callsign-bunnie · 3 months

Note

Can i get some uhhhhhh RudyGhost? With Ghost getting jealous for the first time in ages? In a sexy way

I haven't written for them in AGES

Rodolfo couldn't remember the last time he'd had enough free time to go to a bar, let alone the last time he'd gotten drunk.

However, Ghost and he were... figuring out what exactly was between them and though neither had pointed anywhere in the area of exclusive, there definitely was something, so they'd both agreed to try a date.

It was... very obvious, very quickly, that neither of them were very experienced in that area. Ghost revealed that he didn't have much because pre-Roba, as Ghost put it, he was too anxious to really do much more than sleep around and then post Roba... Rodolfo could put the pieces together as to why he'd never dated.

Rodolfo, himself, never had fucking time. Alejandro kept him so busy with Los Vaqueros that going out on dates was nearly impossible and then... well, he'd never been that interested in them, if he was being honest.

Ghost had yet to show up, though.

Rodolfo had started out slow with the drinks. Alvarez had agreed to be his ride home, so he didn't have to worry about driving, but after about the first hour of waiting and texting and getting so response... he'd picked up the pace a bit.

He'd started with just two in the first hour, but he'd long lost count now that they were nearing the three hours late mark. God, this was embarrassing... Alejandro had expressed a worry that Ghost wasn't there for anything serious, despite him and Ghost being friends. Rodolfo had chalked it up to Alejandro just being overprotective, but now he was starting to believe it.

This was fucking embarrassing, too. He could handle being stood up, but the first semi date he'd ever been on and being stood up? This was mortifying.

Especially being stood up by Ghost... Everyone else had considered him to be this dark and closed off person, but Rodolfo had genuinely seen more. He'd genuinely wanted there to be more but... had he been wrong? Had Ghost really just been stringing them along?

They'd already hooked up a few times, despite not dating, and now Rodolfo was worried that that's all he'd been to Ghost, a just a cheap hookup, which stung. He wasn't easy, by any means. He didn't sleep around, he'd never slept around before Ghost. Just... something about him was very exciting to Rodolfo and so he'd leaned out of his comfort zone and one thing led to another...

The sex was very good, too, which just made this all so much more embarrassing.

He groaned and held his head, trying to count off just how much he'd had to drink and getting out his phone to text Alvarez to just come get him and take him to the ranch so he could lick his wounds a bit before having to face Ghost, again. God, he was probably laughing with Soap about how gullible Rodolfo was, and now Rodolfo was right back at Prom, trying to hold Alejandro back from beating the shit out of the dude who decided to target the only obviously gay kid in the school.

"Hey, while you're on that, want to put my number in?"

Rodolfo lifted his head, blinking and trying to clear the alcohol haze enough to look at the person to his left. Their words hit him and he realized they were very much flirting with him, which had his face bright red before his brain even knew to be flustered. "Oh uh... sorry, I'm waiting for someone." He mumbled, awkward even then when dealing with any sort of romantic attention.

They raised an eyebrow, looking around. "Doesn't look like they're showing up. You've been here for a while."

Rodolfo's face went more red, this time with embarrassment, and he shook his head, turning back to the bar. "I should go home."

"Wait, wait, I'm sorry." They quickly said and Rodolfo frowned as his arm was gently grabbed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so mean. You're just... really attractive and I guess I'm desperate to get lucky tonight."

Rodolfo did soften at the apology, it working a little too well on his very drunk self. Even still, it worked, because he did consider staying a bit longer. "Alright... I forgive you."

They relaxed and grinned before very suddenly their expression was dropping and they were taking several steps back right when Rodolfo's drunk brain took note of a presence at his back. He frowned and turned a little, being met with Ghost, who was very imposing in the dim light of the bar. "Get lost." Was all Ghost said, his voice hardly more than a cold snarl, and the other was quick to rush off with several mumbled apologies.

Rodolfo would admit that that display may have gotten him hot in a few places, but he was not going to just forget that he was mad at Ghost for being so late! Or... well, he wasn't going to forget until Ghost had him up against the bar, his hand on Rodolfo's shoulder, a thumb on his neck. Rodolfo swallowed, watching Ghost's eyes watch his throat. Fuck... "You're late..." Was all he could manage and it did not sound nearly as irritated as he felt about ten seconds before the action.

"You moved on fairly quick."

"I did not!" The irritation was back and Rodolfo huffed. "I wasn't even entertaining anything, I was just...." What was he doing?? Fuck, he couldn't remember, instead he just moved closer to Ghost. "I thought you'd stood me up..."

Finally, Ghost softened and he sighed, his eyes flicking to the other person, who was now all the way across the bar and occasionally glancing at them. "I was just... anxious. But I'm here now and I'm sticking close to you."

"Why?" Rodolfo asked, taking the back of Ghost's hand and pressing it to his face. Ghost's hands were always cold, and Rodolfo's face was very hot as of that moment,.

Ghost looked almost amused before his expression was turning to irritation, again. "I don't know. I don't like this feeling."

"What feeling?" Rodolfo had a bit of an idea, his stomach fluttering already, and the fluttering only intensified when Ghost leaned down to speak low in his ear. He became intensely aware of his own breathing, and just how hard it became at the action.

Ghost breathed out, though the sound was closer to a ragged growl, and his hot breath hit Rodolfo's neck in a very very arousing fashion. "I have to keep people away from what's mine, don't I?"

Oh, oh... Rodolfo shivered and then decided the best course of action was to bury his face in Ghost's chest and melt. "I think people would be more likely to stay away from what's yours if you came back to the ranch with me... Alejandro already gave me the keys, just in case for tonight."

"I think you're right, Rudy."

Oh god, what Ghost did to him... This feeling of someone being jealous over him was... so new. He was going to have to find ways to make it happen, again.

Do you want to be added to this taglist? Reply to this post that you wish to be added to the taglist and I will start to tag you in it every time I post it. You can also use this form!

@thegodofsleep @lieutenant-storm @roachboy @del79jji @stardust-medic99 @crazy-phan-girl13 @Loartacc @lvndr-swtr @idiot_rxxcoon @the-blue-substitute

#call of duty #rodolfo parra #simon ghost riley #ghostrudy #ghost x rudy #rodolfo parra x simon ghost riley #rodolfo cod #ghost cod #queue for dinner again hunny?

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ladylooch · 6 months

Note

B - again, thank you so much for all of your amazing posts/responses. I'm sorry if this has already been covered, but how do the ladies in any of your AU's handle their men when they're frustrated with everything, and they just continue to sit in their shit? I know each would be incredibly supportive in their own ways, but do any of the ladies eventually just get fed up with the moodiness etc.?

OH! THANK YOU!! I appreciate the love in my lil (big?) celebration!

Also, I love this! I think we have a good grasp of this for the other AUs, but let’s go visit the Fialas for a moment.

Sam is over Kevin right now. So damn over him.

His mopey ass is slumped on the couch, arms crossed, refusing to help as she works through the final preparations of food before his parents arrive into town. She’s gone out of her way to prepare all the Fiala traditions that she can, despite her husband’s lack of contribution. He is in a scoring slump right now. When he takes a break from cross-checking other players on the ice, he’s icy to his wife at home.

“Babe, can you please get Luca up? He is sleeping too long.” Sam calls from where she is at the stove, making a quick simple syrup for their festive drinks later.

“I’m watching film.”

Sam pauses her stirring.

“Seriously?”

“I have ten minutes left.”

Sam slams the wooden spoon down, shoving the pot off the burner and stalking into the living room to her husband. She grabs the iPad out of his hands, throwing it across the room to the opposite chair.

“Over this.” She waves her hand around his body. “Get up. Participate in this household and help your wife.” Kevin stares back at her, wide eyed. He blinks a few times, then slowly stands, walking down to Luca’s room without a word to her. Sam has returned to the stove, finishing off the syrup when he returns with their son. He watches her quietly. Luca is gradually waking up against his shoulder.

“I needed that. I’m sorry.”

“You better be.” She huffs. “You need to start leaving hockey at the rink. Not bringing it back here. We have a kid and a family that needs your attention too.”

“I know. I’ll change.” Sam sighs, sensing his sincerity. She hopes his family coming from Switzerland will help his mood. She’s tried to be considerate and empathetic, but this last week has been too much for her. She doesn’t even want to attend his games anymore because she’s embarrassed by his on-ice behavior too.

“I thought we were beyond this with you.” She says lowly. “I don’t want to feel left behind when you’re struggling.” Her eyes fall to their son. “And you can’t do that to him. He’s just a baby, Kev.”

“I know.” Kevin closes his eyes when she brings up Luca. “I will be better. I have to be.” Sam nods, then steps forward to hug him. Kevin rests his chin on her head. “I love you. Thank you for staying with me. I know it’s hard.”

“Can’t live without you at this point.” Sam responds lightly, kissing his chest before they pull apart to finish getting ready for their international visitors.

#letters in your last name au

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dantakeyoman · 9 months

Text

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑 | 𝐫. 𝐳𝐨𝐫𝐨

♡ 𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐚 𝐳𝐨𝐫𝐨 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

♡ * "𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒂𝒔𝒔, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕? 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏. 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏, 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒅, 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒍, 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒕, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒆, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒕. …𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒊 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒊𝒕." *

♡ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐰𝐰𝐰𝐰 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧, 𝐞𝐭𝐜.

♡ * 𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒚 - 𝒑𝒐𝒗: 𝒖𝒓 𝒛𝒐𝒓𝒐'𝒔 𝒈𝒇 *

𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍

You groaned as you felt something shake you roughly, faint voices surrounding you.

"(y/n)! (y/n), what happened?!" you heard Zoro's voice frantically ask.

You slowly opened your eyes to see him, Nami, Luffy, and the Usopp pirates surrounding you.

"Oh, hey guys. *yawn* What'd I miss?" you groggily asked as you stood up, stretching your arms and your wings.

"YOU IDIOT! DON'T SCARE ME LIKE THAT!" Zoro shouted, shaking me.

"Zoro, you're gonna give me brain damage!" you exclaimed, which stopped his shaking.

"Gah! How are you alive?!" Nami exclaimed, repulsed by the dent your head made in the rock.

'My powers again.'

"I don't know. All I remember is seeing a ring, and then falling asleep," you shrugged.

"It was that Jango guy. He's a hypnotist," Zoro grumbled, firmly gripping the handle of one of his swords.

"I figured."

"Well we've got a lot to catch you up on," Nami sighed.

*2 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓*

"That's why he looked familiar. I remember seeing Kuro's wanted poster all over my village," you facepalmed, embarrassed you didn't realize sooner.

"Oh, wait!" Luffy exclaimed.

"What is it?" you, Zoro, and Nami asked, thinking it was something important.

"We need to stock up before the meat shop guy leaves!"

You smacked Luffy upside the head.

"That's not our priority right now!" you exclaimed.

"We gotta find a way to save Kaya and the village before it's too late."

"The kids already said that Usopp went ahead to worry the town and get Kaya, don't worry about it," Nami waved off, a smirk on her face.

"We do have to worry about it. Usopp is the town liar. Do you really think anyone is gonna believe him?" you asked, cocking a brow.

Their eyes went wide.

"I'm gonna go fly ahead, I have a hunch about something."

"Are you sure? The last time you went off by yourself you almost cracked your skull open," Zoro ask as he walked up to you, talking in a low voice so only you could hear him.

"I'll be fine. I have an idea of what Usopp's plan is going to be and I need to get to the north shore," you nodded.

Zoro sighed.

He still looked uneasy.

So you gave him a quick, awkward hug

"Relax, moss head. It's gonna take a lot more than a rock to kill me," you assured him, backing out of the hug and flashing a warm smile before unfurling your wings and flying away.

He looked so dazed, you were beginning to regret your decision.

海賊狩

You landed at the mouth of this narrow passageway on the north shore and made your perch, sitting criss-crossed and staring out at the sea.

'If my hunch is right, Usopp is gonna make a bunch of defenses at the south shore since that's where he saw the secret meeting. But just in case they switch up, I'll post here at the north shore.'

You sighed and looked up at the moon.

'I gotta get to the Grand Line soon. For Cora.'

海賊狩

You were woken up by the sounds of battle cries and snapped your eyes open to see Usopp trembling behind you.

"Usopp! Why didn't you wake me up?!" you exclaimed, unfurling your wings and drawing your mace.

"I tried to! You sleep like a rock!" Usopp sniveled.

You flew straight up in the air and gripped the handle tight.

"Heaven's Gate!" you shouted, dive bombing for the group of pirates and swinging the mace back and forth, bashing them in the chest.

"Heavenward Stomp!" you shouted again, flying up and doing a front flip and slamming your mace on the ground, causing an earthquake.

Back at your village, your mace was imbued with a powerful energy that makes it around ten times more powerful than a normal one.

"GO (Y/N)!" Usopp and Nami cheered.

Suddenly, they all jumped on top of you, but you managed to throw them all off.

But you accidentally threw them towards Nami and Usopp.

"NOT OVER HERE!" They shouted in unison.

Just then, Luffy and Zoro came out of nowhere and sent the pirates flying back over to Jango.

"It's about time," you panted, landing next to them.

"I took out half of 'em while you two were out doing God knows what."

"Wow. That was great. You guys are really that strong?" Usopp asked in awe.

"Could you have been any slower? What took you so long?" Nami spat.

"You're the one who pushed me down that oil slick so you could get out!" Zoro exclaimed, glaring at the red-headed girl.

"It was an accident. I slipped, you fell, at least one of us made it out of there. That's better than both of us being stuck at the bottom," She rolled her eyes.

"It shoulda just been you!" Zoro shouted.

"'Run straight north' he says. How am I supposed to know which way north even is out here, huh?!" Luffy scolded Usopp.

"Shut up! You're the one who ran away so sure of yourself, ready to take on anyone," Usopp scoffed.

"CAN WE STOP ARGUING?! We got bigger fish to fry," you groaned, shutting everyone up.

You all turned back to the pirates to see them running straight for you, more riled up than before.

"You guys need to get out the way. Me and Luffy'll take it from here," Zoro ordered.

"Alright then, I'm taking a nap. Wake me up when you need help," you sighed, walking a few feet away before dropping to take a quick tiger snooze.

海賊狩

You were woken up, yet again, by the sound of battle cries, and snapped your eyes open to see these two, creepy-looking at guys charging at Zoro, and Kuro watching from the top of the slope.

Zoro only had one sword and the other two were all the way over with Jango.

Your eyes went wide and you quickly took off, scooping up the swords before Jango could noticed and then flying into the air.

"ZORO!" you called, him quickly turning around to see you in the sky, dropping him his swords.

And looking up at you, Zoro could already feel his heart rate speed up impossibly fast.

With the sun behind you, and your wings unfurled and wide, you looked like an honest to goodness angel, giving him the divine delivery of his swords.

But he had to push these new feelings to the back of his head for a moment.

"Thanks, (y/n)," He smirked, jumping in the air and grabbing them before getting into position

"Tiger Trap!"

He slashed the creepy cat guys just as they passed and they landed with a hard thump, knocking them out.

While Zoro said a few words to Kuro, you saw Jango hypnotizing the fat cat guy.

You pulled out your pistols and shot Jango in both his arms, which stopped him for a moment, but Fat Cat was already finished growing muscle.

While he was heading for Zoro, you saw Nami running for where Luffy was still asleep.

Jango noticed and began swirling his ring around before throwing it at her.

"NAMI! LOOK OUT! DODGE IT! QUICK!" you and Zoro shouted.

She turned around and looked wide eyed at the ring before Luffy grabbed her ankle, pulling her down and standing up instead.

"NAMI! YOU CAN'T JUST STEP ON PEOPLES' EYES LIKE THAT!" He shouted.

But was quickly silenced by the ring landing in his mouth.

Everyone froze for a moment before Luffy snapped his head up, crushing the ring with his teeth.

"Luffy!" you and Nami cheered.

"OWWWWWWWWWWWW!" Luffy shouted as he held the sides of his mouth.

'That guy's gonna give me a heart attack one of these days.'

The sound of unsheathing swords made everyone turn to Kuro, who had his sword-length claws around Usopp's head.

Your eyes went wide but you quickly relaxed when Luffy socked Kuro square in the face.

The captain went flying and landed on the ground where he stayed for a moment, craning his neck slightly to glare at Luffy.

Just then, Pepper, Carrot, and Onion came out of nowhere and jumped on top of Kuro, smacking him in the face with their shovels and wooden swords.

"The Usopp Pirates have arrived!" They exclaimed.

"NO! DON'T" Usopp shouted in unison.

"Stay away!" Kaya cried.

"Take this you lousy, no good, pirate!" Carrot shouted, landing an extra hard smack with his shovel.

"Those rugrats have a death wish," Zoro winced as they continued to beat on the pirate.

"No kidding," you cringed.

"You don't know what you're doing! Stop!" Usopp shouted again.

After a few more moments, they stopped to take a breath, and Kuro was eerily still.

"Alright. This time, we'll let you off without anymore brutality! This time," Pepper panted before the group ran over to Usopp and Kaya.

They looked like they were talking for a moment before Kuro got up and started walking towards them.

The boys screamed but Kuro walked right past them and right up to Usopp, kicking him halfway down the slope.

'I gotta get the kids and Kaya out of here now.'

You flew over to the kids as fast as you could and scooped them up under your arm, throwing Kaya over your shoulder as well before darting into the forest.

海賊狩

"Hey, is that hypnotist still behind us?" you asked as you weaved through the trees, trying to get as far away from the fight as possible.

"I don't know. I can't see him anymore. Let's make sure we lose him for good!" Onion exclaimed.

"There's no way that nut job could catch up to us in our own forest!" Carrot smirked.

"Don't you worry, Miss Kaya! The Usopp pirates are gonna keep you safe and sound!" Pepper assured.

"Not if you three keep shouting your not. Shut up!" you whisper-yelled at the boys, squeezing them a little tighter to get the message across.

Suddenly, metal rings began zipping past us, cutting some of the surrounding trees clean in half.

"Fools! I'm coming to get you! Do you really think you could run from me?!" Jango shouted.

"We could do this the easy way, or I could just level this entire forest!"

"Whoa, that guy is really mad," Carrot uneasily stated as the five of us ducked behind a downed tree.

"Listen very carefully, you three. I've taken you all a good ways away from the fight, but you still have to get Kaya somewhere safe. You guys know these woods better than I do so find somewhere for her to hide until this blows over. I'm gonna buy you some time. Got it, Usopp Pirates?" you explained, whipping out my mace.

"Got it!" They cheered, jumping in the air.

Your eyes went wide.

"Found you!" Jango exclaimed, throwing more rings your way.

"RUN!" you shouted, batting away the rings as the kids and Kaya ran off.

You flew straight for him and tackled him to the ground, switching your position so you were behind him and throwing your arm around his neck, choking him.

Jango gurgled and gasped as he scratched at your arms, but you just pulled tighter.

Suddenly, he grabbed one of his rings and threw it straight at your eye, slicing it.

You let out a blood-curdling scream of pain as you threw him away from you, your hands covering your eye.

"Goddamn it!" you spat as you tried to breath yourself through the pain, using your free hand to claw the crap out of the ground.

Just then, you heard the rustling of a bush.

"There you are," Jango stated.

You could practically hear his smirk.

'Crap! Someone's here! I gotta heal quick!'

"No! Miss Kaya! Run for your life!" Pepper, Carrot, and Onion shouted in unison, somewhat far away.

You couldn't see out of your left eye. It felt like your socket and the area around it was on fire.

You used your hands to cover your face, muffling the glow as your eye finished healing.

"There's no need for that. Please, leave the children be. I'll write the will," Kaya said in a low voice.

"Damn it! Don't do it!" you growled, shakily standing up as you turned to where the voices were coming from.

Your sight was slowly returning, but it wasn't completely back.

"Silly girl. Don't you know you can't bargain with me? Captain Kuro specifically instructed me to get rid of everyone," Jango smirked.

You growled, grabbing your mace and throwing it in the direction you sensed him, landing a direct hit.

"You damn brat!" he shouted, grabbing you by the neck and hoisting you up.

'Damn it!'

"Angel lady!" The kids exclaimed.

"You've been a thorn in my side for far too long. I'll enjoy ending you," Jango glared at me.

You began to hear footsteps, and they were rapidly getting closer.

"Ha! It looks like you're one step too late, Swordsman!"

"Zoro!" you exclaimed.

You heard him slice something and a light chucked followed.

"Excellent. That branch was getting in the way of my shot," Usopp stated.

"Usopp?!" you quizzically stated.

You quickly understood what was happening and gripped your mace tight, smashing it in Jango's face as one of Usopp's exploding stars hit him.

Jango let go of your neck and you dropped to the ground.

You got up and kicked him in the face a few times before taking a deep breath, turning around to see Zoro behind you.

"You alright?" He quickly asked, catching his breath.

"Why does your chest look like a checker board?" you asked, your eyes going wide at the criss-crossed slashes to his chest.

"Whatever. Let's get off this island," He sighed, scooping you up and walking away.

"Hey! I-I can walk on my own!" you shouted, flustered.

"Just shut up," he groaned, rolling his eyes.

"You're probably gonna get us lost," you grumbled under your breath, crossing your arms.

"What was that!?" He exclaimed.

海賊狩

Luckily, your power prevented you from losing your eye, but it was a close call.

Kaya and those kids almost saw.

But after the others got patched up and got something to eat, Kaya brought everyone to the beach for a surprise.

And when you all got there, a pretty big caravel was waiting for you.

"Are you actually giving this to us?!" Luffy happily exclaimed, throwing his fists in the air.

"Mhm. As a token of my appreciation," Kaya nodded, smiling.

"It's a slightly older model but I personally designed it and she sails like a dream. She has a carvel-make caravel with lateen sails. She's a fine ship, and he name is the Going Merry," Kaya's other butler, Merry, explained.

"This definitely shows up our fishing boat," you exhaled, impressed.

"What a cool ship! Have you guys seen the front? It's totally awesome!" Luffy smiled, gawking at the sheep head.

"We've packed all the provisions you might need on a long voyage," Kaya added.

"Thanks! It leaves nothing to beat tired," Luffy cheesed.

"That's leaves nothing to be desired, idiot," Zoro scoffed, rolling his eyes.

Just then, Usopp came barreling down the slope, rolling along with his gigantic backpack.

"Somebody stop this thing!" He exclaimed.

"That dumbass is on a collision course with our boat," Nami stated.

Luffy and Zoro put their foot up and stopped Usopp from rolling, but planted their feet on his face while doing so.

"Thanks, guys," Usopp winced.

"Anytime," Luffy shrugged.

海賊狩

Once the four of you got onto the Merry, you watched Usopp bid his farewell to Kaya, then turn to you.

"You guys take care! I hope we meet again sometime!" Usopp called.

"How come?" Luffy asked.

"Uh. Well...Because I...Are you antisocial or something? I'm taking off for life on the high seas, and I hope that we'll eventually meet again, that's all," Usopp explained, cocking his brow.

"What're you talkin' about? Get on, already," Zoro rolled his eyes, pointing to the ship.

"Huh?" Usopp asked.

"We're friends, right? So get on," you stated, leaning against the taffrail.

Usopp looked taken aback before he broke out in a stupid grin.

"I'm really a pirate captain now!" He cheered, jumping in the air.

"Don't be stupid, Usopp! I'm the captain!" Luffy shouted.

海賊狩

#roronoa x reader #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa #zoro x reader #zoro #one piece #one piece x reader

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