#final space blue strike

[strangersteddierthings]

Good People - Final Part

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Final Part

It is not often that Wayne is happy with the monotony of work. Tonight is one of those nights, if only because it allows him to think about where he went wrong speaking to Eddie. He had never meant to imply he thought Eddie was like Al; he'd meant the apple and tree comment to for Richard and Steve. However, he does acknowledge why Eddie drew the conclusion that Wayne might have thought Eddie would follow in Al's footsteps.

Wayne's being a hypocrite, applying the logic to one boy, but not the other. And even though he never, not once, thought that Eddie would become Al, he'll never be able to take that thought from Eddie's mind that he had. He can apologize until he's blue in the face, Eddie might even forgive him, but he's not sure Eddie will ever believe him. Not truly.

And how could Wayne expect him to?

No. That's a shame Wayne will take to the grave.

Next strike to Wayne's conscious; the misjudgment of Steve Harrington, and how it ties into the fact Eddie accused him of not trusting his judgement, and, moreover, Eddie being right. Wayne hadn't trusted in Eddie's trust of Steve.

He should have. It's been years since Eddie came home crying about a boy, but what father doesn't see their kid crying over their first heartbreak and doesn't grow protective? And with Eddie, it's even more terrifying. Getting mixed up with the wrong boy could mean bruised ribs, black eyes, or worse.

In a town like Hawkins, a boy would just have to claim Eddie made a sexual advance and his murder could (would) be justified.

Now add the manhunt and being suspected of murderer to that. Well, Wayne's scared for Eddie's life almost every minute of his day.

But it's no excuse. Or if it is, it's a poor one.

Wayne doesn't know the full story but he does know that Steve was with the group of people on Eddie's side; that he was there with the Henderson kid, the Buckley girl, and Nancy Wheeler, digging Eddie out of the rubble from the earthquake, getting him to the hospital as fast as they could.

Steve Harrington was part of the group that saved Eddie's life, and that should have meant more to begin with. Instead, Wayne's been waiting for a shoe to drop that very well isn't coming.

He's going to fix this.

He'll give Eddie his space to be angry with him, and he'll try again in a few days.

When Wayne gets home, around 6:30am, Eddie's van is gone. He's not surprised. He probably left shortly after Wayne did, not leaving sooner just to avoid him.

There is a note on Wayne's bed when he makes it there. Says he's at Steve, and instead of letting Wayne know when he'll return it just says the words 'be back' followed by a bunch of questions marks. He ends it with 'call if worried' and leaves a phone number that must be for the Harrington residence.

Another hurt Wayne can't blame on anyone but himself.

Wednesday passes. Wayne eats breakfast, goes grocery shopping, pretends to care about his shows before sleeping the afternoon away to prepare for another graveyard. Eddie has not returned when he wakes, and two short hours later, he's off to work.

Eddie's van remains gone.

Returns from work Thursday morning and repeats Wednesday. He replaces grocery shopping with laundry and cleaning out the leftovers for trash day tomorrow morning. Goes to work.

Friday morning he returns home. No Eddie. He waits for it to be a more appropriate time, a little before 10:00am to call the number Eddie left.

It rings, rings, rings, then, a voice he hasn't heard in years. Richard Harrington's voice sounds as cold as it always was as the answering machine recites, "You've reached the Harrington's. We are not available. Leave a message."

"This is Wayne Munson. I just wanted to make sure Eddie's- that's he's alright. Let him know that I called. Checked on him. He doesn't need to call back but I'd appreciate it."

He hangs up the phone, lump in his throat. He misses his boy, and he wants to make his right, but he can't force that. Eddie has to always want to make it okay between them.

He's usually off Fridays, but he asked to pick up a shift. He can't face Linda without having fixed this. He spends the morning and afternoon doing all the small fixes he'd been putting off. Anything to keep him busy. He goes to sleep at his usual time, and wakes up two hours before his shift like normal.

Check's his answering machine but if anyone called while he was asleep, they didn't leave a message. There's still no van when he heads to work.

The plant tells him to leave an hour early. He tries to argue to stay but he's just waved off, told to go get some sleep because he's been looking a little worse for the wear.

He gets back to Forest Hills around 5:40am and finds there is another car parked at his home. Not Eddie's van, but the sleek maroon BMW that belongs to Steve Harrington parked where the van usually is.

When he pulls into his spot, the headlights of his truck light up Steve, sitting on his steps, wrapped in a coat. It can't be more than 50℉ outside right now.

Steve stands as Wayne cuts the engine and climbs from his truck. He gets to the front of his truck and Steve speaks.

"Eddie's okay," Steve says, hands shoving deep into his pockets, "I tried to get him to call you back yesterday but, well, you know Eddie."

Wayne nods, because he does know Eddie. "I appreciate you tellin' me. But you coulda just called."

"I could have."

They look at each other for a moment, and just as Steve opens his mouth, probably to tell Wayne he's going to go, Wayne speaks first, "you wanna come inside and have a cup of coffee to warm up?"

Steve tilts his head slightly to the left before he says, "are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Alright," and then Steve steps away from the stairs so Wayne can climb them and let them into the trailer. Steve follows behind silently but with familiarity. He's spent so much of his time here since spring break- the shame crawls through Wayne again. He'd assumed, once upon a time, that Eddie and Steve spent more time here than at Steve's because why would Steve want the trailer park boy in his big fancy house? Now, though, he wonders if it's because this place felt more like a home, even with Wayne's cold shoulder.

Steve sits at their little kitchen table, a luxury they didn't have before because there was no room in the single wide, one bedroom they'd had before. The new double wide (with three bedrooms) offered them a bit more space for a dining area.

Wayne's still suspicious of the government's offer to replace their destroyed home, but he wasn't foolish enough to deny the offer when it was made to him by Jim Hopper (newly returned from the dead back then).

"How do you take your coffee?" Wayne asks, once the machine finishes filling the carafe.

"Oh, I can fix it-"

"Nonsense," Wayne waves him back to sitting, "just tell me."

"I like it with just enough milk to take the scalding heat out of it," Steve says, and while Wayne's not sure just how much that it, he tries anyway.

He sets a cup in front of Steve before taking a seat across from him. "I really do appreciate that you came to tell me Eddie's okay. I want to give him his space but...."

Steve sips his coffee before shooting his cup a small smile. Wayne must have got the ratio right. Then, he looks to Wayne and the smile drops, a more serious expression taking its place and he says, "Eddie wouldn't really tell me what your fight was about, other than, uh, me and that you... overheard some of what I said last time I was here. I don't, like, want to come between you and Eddie, but I'm not, I'm not going to let you scare me away. So, just tell me what I have to do to get Eddie to believe we're cool, and I'll do it. Anything, except for getting out of Eddie's life. 'Cause I won't."

"I would never ask you to do that," Wayne says. Steve squints at him, a look of suspicion now. Completely warranted, given what Steve has known of Wayne thus far. "I owe you an apology, Steve. For how I've been treatin' you."

Steve's eyes go wide, "Oh. What? Why?"

"You've been nothin' but good to Eddie. For Eddie. And I refused to see that. I made a judgment about you without knowin' anything but your name." Steve let's out a soft 'oh' at that, but Wayne plows on, "And that weren't fair, and it weren't right. I can't undo it, but I want you to know I regret it. I'm sorry."

"Okay," Steve says, after a moment. "I forgive you."

It's Wayne's turn to be surprised. He's a bit speechless. So much so, he takes a page right out of Eddie's book and asks, "are you sure?" which is a question he's never asked after having an apology accepted before, but one Eddie had asked a lot when he first came to live with Wayne, and they were learning to co-exist.

"Yeah. I get it."

He doesn't like that answer. Doesn't like the he contributed to the mind set that gave Steve that answer. "You're allowed to be mad at me for it."

"I think Eddie's mad enough for both of us."

It doesn't feel like closure. It doesn't feel like forgiveness, but Wayne doesn't know what to say. He can't just start sprouting all the bad things he thought about Steve; there's no reason Steve should have to listen to that. But without hearing it, Steve doesn't even know what he's forgiving Wayne for. "I'll be honest with ya, Steve. It feels like you shouldn't."

Steve frowns at him. "Why?"

Why? Why? For all the reasons Eddie yelled at him, and all the things Linda said, and all the agony he's felt these last few days. The guilt and the shame that still eat at him, even as Steve Harrington says he forgives him. "It's too easy."

Those three words have Steve leaning back against the chair. His eyes dance around Wayne's face before taking in the whole of him. Or, what Steve can see of him with from across the table. When Steve meets his eye again, Wayne sees recognition there. "If you can't forgive yourself, I get that. I do. I-I've spent most of my life as one big apology. And I'm not saying that I, like, don't still feel like- what I mean to say, is that, I forgive you. I'm not, like, gonna hold it against you that you were just trying to look out for Eddie, man. Like, two years ago your fears would have been justified, so."

"Don't make it right," Wayne argues, but he doesn't know why.

"No," Steve agrees, "but I'm forgiving you anyway. You think you're the first person to hear the name Steve Harrington and assume you know everything you need to know about me already?"

Steve's words sound like they could be confrontational, but his tone is light. Teasing? Wayne says, "no. Suppose I'm not."

"Every person I love has done that," Steve says, and the ease of which he says that has Wayne feeling some sort of way. Eddie's words echo in his mind 'you made me help him feel that way'. How many other people have made him feel like he's a bad person? "Even- even Eddie. He made a point, during spring break, to, uh, well, he didn't apologize for anything because there was nothing to apologize about, but he made a point to tell me I was very 'metal' and a 'cool dude' so.... I know my name comes with, like, a shadow or a curse or whatever. I think it will for as long as I live in Hawkins, but that's," Steve flaps his hand in the air, as if that fills in for the word he can't find, and it's a move so reminiscent of Eddie. "Anyway, if you aren't actually, like, ready to accept an apology, you shouldn't be making one."

Wayne sits in that for a moment. There's a lot more to Steve Harrington than he'd ever thought. So much he doesn't know, actually, but he thinks he's okay with learning more. This boy told Eddie he was half-way in love with him earlier this week, and while Wayne never heard Eddie say it back, he knew anyway. It's why he was so protective. "You're pretty wise for your age."

Steve grins and shakes his head. "Nah, that last part was all Robin. She says it all the time to me."

"Well, then you best stop apologizing when you ain't ready to accept the forgiveness," Wayne parrots back the words.

Steve throws his head back and laughs.

They finish their coffee with silence and small talk. Steve tells him about how he never thought he'd miss his job at the video store but working at Melvald's is making him long for the days when the biggest complaint was late fees. Apparently, there's so many more things to complain about in retail.

Wayne talks about working at the plant and how the tasks are repetitive and a bit labor intensive, but the graveyard pay is worth it. Steve asks him a few more questions about working at the plant that Wayne's happy to answer and the more Steve asks, the more Wayne becomes aware that Steve might be looking for a change of occupation. He makes a mental note to put in a good word to Floyd, just in case.

Steve leaves with the promise of returning with Eddie, as soon as possible. As he was heading to the door, Wayne asked why he showed up so early.

"Eddie can't stop me if he's not awake," was Steve's answer, a mischievous grin on his face.

Wayne watches from the porch as Steve backs out. Steve shoots him one last little wave with his fingers before heading away.

He goes back inside and washes the dishes. Even dries and puts them away, a feat usually done once a week; he and Eddie have no qualms with using dishes directly from the dish drainer. His only other chore for the day is leaving for work a bit early so he has time to stop at the gas station and fill up the truck.

Grabbing the remote from its spot on the coffee table, Wayne plops onto the couch to spend his day as mindlessly as possible with some TV.

He goes to sleep at his usual time and wakes up at 7:43pm according to his alarm clock; a little over two hours before his shift is to start. It's time for more coffee, he thinks as he dresses for work before heading to the kitchen.

He jerks to a stop when he sees Eddie and Steve sitting on the couch, leaned close and talking softly. He's not about to repeat a past mistake, so he makes his presence known. "Evenin' boys."

Eddie pops up from the couch quick as lightning, taking a few steps towards Wayne before stopping. "I don't like being mad at you."

Wayne nods, "I don't much like you bein' mad at me, either. For what it's worth, I am sorry."

Eddie closes the distance between them, then, and pulls Wayne into a tight hug. Wayne returns it instantly, how can he not? He hears Eddie say, softly, "it's worth an awful lot, you terrible old man."

They part, and Eddie speaks first, "but if you ever pull shit like this again, I won't be so quick to forgive."

"I won't," Wayne says, at the same time Steve says, "he won't."

Both Munsons look at Steve, who grins back at them.

"You think you know my uncle that well already, from one shared cup of coffee?" Eddie asks, sounding amused.

Steve shrugs, "no. I just, uh, plan to stick around, y'know. Kinda hoping there's no dude after me for him to be an angry dad about. I would appreciate it, though, Mr. Munson, if you'd skip the shovel talk bit of all this?"

Eddie sucks in a breath and Wayne's a bit shocked by what Steve's implied. What Steve's admitted, really, out loud in front of another person. Wayne wonders if any boy Eddie's ever liked before would have done that.

"What good's a shove talk when you've already told me you ain't goin' anywhere?" Wayne says, hoping his tone is as light and teasing as he wants it to be.

"Glad we're on the same page," Steve agrees, "but, uhh, do you want me to go? So you can have a real talk?"

"No," says Eddie.

"No," says Wayne, at the same time.

"Oh. Okay. Uh, in that case, you got anything to drink here besides coffee?"

Wayne nods and they all pile into the kitchen to get a beverage before settling in the living room. There will be time to talk later, Wayne realizes. He's going to apologize properly.

Later, though, when he'll really be ready to accept Eddie's forgiveness, because there's no doubt Eddie'll forgive him. So, he's going to sit in the living room and chat with his boys until he has to go to work.

By the time Friday comes around again, he'll be able to tell Linda she was right, everything's going to be okay one day, and maybe ask her on a date he's been putting off asking for since high school.

Done!! I hope the ending is sufficiently cheesy.

I'm so sorry if I missed you! There were a lot of people asking to be tagged haha

@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @afewproblems @skepsiss @unclewaynemunson @kaij-basil-lionelli88 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @mugloversonly @limpingpenguin @krazyperson @acrolius @salisbury-at-the-stake @littlebookworm86 @savedbytheirmusic @wxrmland @myownworstenemyyy @thelittleclare @awkotaco24 @djohawke @wrenisflying @croatoan-like-its-hot @actualwakingnightmare @krowepoison @jamieweasley13 @yourmom-isgay @irregular-child @oldwitcheshat @abstractnaturaldisaster @wishiwasacasualfan @vinteraltus @zerokrox-blog @warlordess @stevesbipanic @steveshairspray @slowandsteddie @samsoble @waelkyring @just-a-tiny-void @saramelaniemoon @halfadoginatank @nightmareglitter @scarletyeager @hellfireone @rovia2312 @munsonslure @a-little-unsteddie @soaringornithopter @eddiethehunted @starlight-archer @dryptid @inkjette

#steddie #my fic #wayne munson #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne pov #was this resolved on a quicker timeline than makes sense for men in the 80s? #maybe. but i dont care because if i wanted realism i would be asking my dad about the gripes and grudges he holds against his dad #(he was a teenager in the 80s) #but i wanted soft munson family vibes so you are all welcome for that #also please know that eddies not magically over it. #it's been four days of steve pestering him and reminding him that wayne loves him and he loves wayne #sorta edited. if u see a mistake no you didnt #OH NO I FORGOT THE READ MORE IM SO SORRY. added now

[ohbo-ohno]

run until you feel your lungs bleeding (ghost x reader)

summary: You're on the run after finally escaping from your abusive husband's clutches, hitchhiking south along California highways. A strange man in a black mask picks you up, and it doesn't take you long to realize that not every hand offered should be taken.

word count: 6.5k

cw: dark fic!, noncon somnophilia, referenced abuse from a past partner, ghost does not care about reader's feelings, mentioned drinking while driving but no intoxication

read on ao3 - see the pinterest board

One of your blisters is about to burst. You’d worn through your only pair of clean socks yesterday, leaving the back of your heel vulnerable to your old tennis shoes and their vendetta against your feet. You can feel your skin rubbing thinner and thinner with each step, know it’s only a matter of time before you’ve got blood flowing freely into your shoe. 

You keep your left arm stretched out, thumb held up in the hope that someone will take pity on your limping form and give you a ride.

It’s not likely, you’ve been hitchhiking for days now and not a single person has slowed down. You’ve got no real destination, just a goal of putting as much space between you and your piece of shit ex-husband as possible. Your end goal is Arizona - you’ve got an aunt somewhere in Scottsdale, if you can get to her you can only hope she’ll help you get back on your feet.

A few people honk as they drive by. In the two days you’ve been walking, none have stopped. You take short power naps at night off the side of the road, pray to every god you can think of that you don’t get run over or eaten by something.

You haven’t yet. But you know if you don’t get a good night's sleep soon, don’t start putting actual distance between him and you, then you might not survive your escape.

The sun is at its apex when the semi-truck pulls up beside you. It’s black, the trailer attached is plain white with no logo painted on. You can hardly believe your luck, gape up at the massive thing as it slows. The door pops open a moment after the truck rolls to a stop, but it’s so high up that you can’t see who’s driving past their hand - gloved - before they pull it back.

You don’t have the luxury of asking questions. You just stumble over, flinching back with a little hiss when you place your palm on the metal of the truck and burn your hand. It takes a minute to finagle your way into the truck, but you manage it eventually, huffing and puffing all the way up. 

The first thing you notice about the man in the driver’s seat is his size - he’s big. Bigger than any man you’ve seen before. You just reach his shoulders even with both of you sitting down, his legs are spread so wide his knees nearly rest on his door and the gearshift, his head is close to brushing the roof. He’s just… big.

He’s wearing a black neck gaiter pulled up to cover his mouth and nose, which strikes you as odd considering he’s driving on his own, but you brush the thought off. His hair is blond, greasy and limp on his scalp, you doubt he did more than run his fingers through it getting out of bed. His eyes are blue, a light shade that surprises you for some reason. You don’t know a thing about this man, certainly not enough to be surprised by anything about him, but the blond hair and the blue eyes… it doesn’t quite fit with the black gloves and the mask.

He’s reclined back in his seat, one hand resting on the wheel and the other on his thigh, eyes scanning you like a king his subject. His eyes linger on your tiny shorts (sleep shorts, what you’d been wearing the night of your escape), skip right past the sluggishly bleeding scrapes on your knees and scan your ratty backpack.

You hope he won’t ask you to empty it. You’d like to keep your gun for as long as possible, can’t imagine this trucker would be ok with the hitchhiker he just picked up having a loaded weapon.

He doesn’t speak when he finally makes eye contact with you. You can’t hold it for long at all, only manage a few seconds before you’re glancing around his truck.

He doesn’t speak. Neither do you.

His car reeks of smoke. There’s a beer bottle in his cup holder, open and helf empty. There are more bottles - empty - by your feet. He doesn’t have the radio playing.

When you look back at him, his eyes are already trained on yours. You can’t help but flinch - the intensity of his gaze feels suffocating, even after only a few seconds of being held under it.

You work up the nerve to speak, take a few deep breaths and a few more long looks around the truck, the space this man spends most of his days in.

There are cigarette stubs on the dashboard, which has clearly been used as a makeshift ashtray. The seats are old, the leather peeling and tempting you to pick, and the dash itself is sunbleached.

“I’m trying to go to Arizona,” you finally say, flickering your eyes quickly to his and away again. His jeans are worn - but naturally worn, like he’s had them for months and washed them so many times they’ve lost their color. “Are… are you heading that direction?”

You look at him long enough to see him incline his head a bit. You don’t think he’s blinked since you got in the car.

“Goin’ south,” he affirms. His voice is a low grumble, British accented. Not necessarily unsurprising to hear in California, but a shock from a truck driver. “I’ll drop you somewhere along the way.”

He pulls away from the shoulder with that and turns away from you, apparently finished with the interaction. 

Being dropped somewhere along the way isn’t necessarily your ideal situation, but your feet scream in relief at the lack of pressure, so you’re certainly not going to complain.

You shift a little further back in your seat, tuck the backpack between you and the passenger door. He could reach it if he wanted, but keeping yourself between this stranger and your prized possessions feels like the right choice. You think about propping your feet up on the dashboard, but decide you don’t want to seem too rude to your apparent savior.

You look out the window. You’ve never been in a car this high, and even the flat California highways look more interesting at a new vantage point. It’s easier to focus on the far-off mountains than the giant beside you.

“So,” you cough lightly, awkward in the relative silence of the truck. The engine is loud, but the driver’s radio is dead silent. “What’s your name?”

He grunts, gives no other response. You glance over to him, a little unsure of yourself. Had you made that bad of a first impression somehow?

He doesn’t turn to you, and he doesn’t answer your question.

Alright, you tell yourself. Maybe he does this all the time, maybe he’s tired of making small talk with homeless and desperate hitchhikers. That’s probably it.

You don’t give him your name. Instead, you tuck your feet up to the seat beneath your thighs, turn your body fully to the passenger window, fold your arms on the windowsill and lay your chin on your elbows.

The drive is smooth enough for you to relax, even though you know that logically you shouldn’t. You’re a young woman who’s just gotten into a car with a strange and intimidating man who could very clearly physically overpower you. Nobody knows where you are. You should have a hand on your gun already, ready for anything the driver might try.

But you’ve been walking for days, and hadn't been sleeping well before that either. You haven’t had a good night’s sleep since your wedding night. The low rumble of the engine, the heat of the sun beaming through the glass, the surprisingly gentle motions of the truck…

You don’t quite let yourself fall asleep, but it’s a near thing.

———————————————————————

The two of you stay like that for hours. Your benevolent driver seemingly comfortable in his silence with you drowsy and relaxing in his passenger seat. You don’t stay in the same position for more than an hour or two at once, shifting your legs and always keeping any pressure off your feet.

You’d like to pull your shoes off, to ask if the man has any band-aids. Maybe any food, any water. But you can’t risk pissing him off, not when your other options are nonexistent. So you settle for slow movements, trying to keep your blisters from being irritated.

He finishes his beer before the first hour has passed with you in his vehicle. Waits another two to have a second. You don’t comment on it, but the scent makes your lip curl, and you bury your face in your arms to hide the reaction. You hope he’s not a lightweight. And despite the heavy stench of cigarette smoke sunken into the interior, he hasn’t had one yet. 

He’s the one who speaks next.

It’s a quarter until 6, and the sun has started her slow journey to sleep. You’ve been watching the sight for a while, entranced by the slow process with nothing else to amuse you.

“Pullin’ off,” he grunts.

You can’t help but jerk up straight at the sound, caught off guard. You’d nearly forgotten about his accent, about how deep his voice really is.

“For gas?” You ask, turning in your seat to glance at him for the first time in at least an hour. He only grunts again, a noise you’re just going to assume means yes. 

“Alright,” you nod, letting your feet drop to the floor from where you’d crossed them beneath yourself. “Are you… do you want me to find someone else to ride with?” You cross your fingers where you tuck them beneath your thighs, pray to every god you know of that he doesn’t make that yes grunt again.

He looks over to you this time, and the two of you make eye contact for the first time since you’d gotten into the car nearly six hours ago. His eyes are brighter than you remember, and the impact of them sends a jolt up your spine.

You’re not sure how long he looks at you. You feel stuck under his gaze, a little wide-eyed prey animal spotted by a predator who can only lay still and hope they move on. You’ve never felt quite so pinned before, quite so unable to break eye contact. You don’t think you like it.

He looks away first, shifts in his seat and drops one hand from the steering wheel to lay on his thigh. You swallow at how tight his jeans are, how his thighs seem to nearly bulge from them. 

“No,” he finally answers. It takes a moment for you to remember your own question, but your sigh of relief is loud once you do.

If you’re lucky, he’ll try and drive through the night. Dangerous, since it’ll make for nearly twenty-four hours on the road, but you’d rather take your chances with him than falling asleep at the wheel then spend another night staring into a dark forest and wondering if there are wolves in this part of the country.

He turns off the highway three exits later, pulls his truck into the first reststop. It’s the only structure in the nearby area, a McDonald’s-Subway-Shell mix with ten pumps, less than half with someone using them. It’s the kind of rest stop you’ve seen on countless roadtrips, one that you know exists off half the exits in the States. The familiarity of it makes your lips twitch up in the corners.

There are several other semi-trucks pulled up getting gas, none quite the size of your driver’s. He parks quickly and easily, in one try, and turns the truck completely off. You shift a little in your seat, unsure what he’ll want from you, but he’s hauled himself up and out of the truck before you can open your mouth to ask.

You settle a bit. He’d said he wouldn’t make you leave but you still can’t fully relax for some reason, can’t bring back the looseness to your shoulders you’ve had since he picked you up. You entertain yourself by watching a middle aged couple try and wrangle six kids that look like they’re all under ten, since I’m sympathy when the littlest one’s face goes red and he starts to wail.

The door next to you opens without warning. You manage to catch your bag before it can go tumbling out of the car, can’t hold back the little yelp of surprise. Your eyes are wide, fingers holding tight to the bag, when you look up through your hair.

The driver’s face looks the same as it has for the last six hours - expressionless. Even with the mask, surely his eyebrows should move at least a bit? He looks almost like a corpse above you - pale face and flat features. It unnerves you. 

“Gettin’ food. You got money?”

You hesitate for a moment - you do have money, small bills you’d snuck from your husband’s wallet that you’d planned to use for a bus ticket. You’re not starving yet, the few granola bars you’d taken in your escape will tide you over for a little while longer.

You shake your head.

He nods, like he’d expected that, and glances over your form from head to toe again. “Alright. You want somethin’ to eat, now’s your chance. We’ll be back on the road for another few hours before I stop for the night.”

With that he turns away, jumps down to the parking lot and stalks off toward the McDonald’s. It takes you a minute to follow him, still a little shocked that you’d gotten multiple sentences from him at once.

The thought of free food is far too tempting to let you linger for too long, though, and you’re throwing your bag over your shoulders and scampering after him only a moment later. You have to trot a little awkwardly to keep up with his long strides. He doesn’t hold the door open for you, but you catch him glancing over his shoulder to see if you’re there.

The teenager working the register looks like it’s their first day, and you assume a middle-aged man leaning against the counter beside her is meant to be showing her the ropes. He’s far more occupied with whatever’s on his phone screen, leaving the cashier to stare up at your driver with wide eyes.

You get it. Standing next to him now, you decide he’s not big - he’s huge. Has to be at least six and a half feet tall, and at least a foot taller than you. Combined with his muscular form - another odd thing for a truck driver - and his all black attire, he seems almost like some sort of monster or omen come to warn about the future.

You step up to the counter beside him, give the cashier your best reassuring smile when she glances at you. It gives her enough courage to stumble over, “Welcome to McDonald’s, what can I get you today?” after only a few stuttering starts. You’re quite proud of her.

“Five Big Macs and fries. No drink.” The man rumbles, his mask umoving. He glances down at you, finally cocks an eyebrow (an expression!) for you to order.

“Uh, just… just ten nuggets for me,” you smile at the cashier, glance up at the driver to make sure you haven’t somehow ordered too much. “And, uh, a Coke?”

“Will that be all for you today?”

“Make it a twenty nugget meal,” your partner corrects, then pulls a worn leather from his back pocket and pays with a shiny card. You can’t help but eye the many bills folded neatly in the wallet.

“Thanks for the upgrade,” you say as the two of you slide onto a pair of stools to wait for your food. “I really appreciate it. I, uh, I can’t pay you back, though.”

He glances at you again, holds you pinned under his gaze and kicks your heartbeat up a few notches. It becomes a conscious effort to keep your breathing steady when he spreads his thighs enough to brush against yours. 

“Don’t worry about it.”

Your meal is largely silent. He all but inhales three of his five burgers, leaves the other two wrapped up presumably for later on the drive. You try and eat all of your nuggets and fries, but your granola bar diet of the last few days means your stomach feels stretched to his limit only a few bites into the meal.

After your fifth nugget, you tuck the little box closed. Shift towards your driver and glance up from the window you’d been staring out to see him already looking down at you.

You clear your throat, take a little sip of your Coke. “I’m done.”

He shakes his head once, reaches forward to pop the little box back open. “No, you’re not. We’re not getting back on the road ‘til you eat at least half.”

You can’t help but blink in surprise at him, not moving to take any more food. He won’t tell you his name, won’t make any small talk whatsoever, but he will worry about how much you’re eating?

He grunts when you don’t make a move to listen to him, pushes the little brown box closer to you. “C’mon. Eat.”

You get through another five under his eye. He doesn’t look away from you, and now you know about the stare. It feels heavier now, like every little twitch from you is catalouged by him. It makes every bite difficult to swallow.

He nods when you tuck the little box closed again, glance a bit wearily at him to make sure he’s content now. He picks up your tray, tucks his two sandwiches in one hand, and leaves. You scramble to keep up.

His strides are a little shorter in the parking lot this time, and the slower pace keeps your blisters from further irritation. You’re not sure it’s intentional, but you’re thankful nonetheless.

The truck is still difficult to get into, but the worn leather seats are a familiar comfort now. This time, your driver flicks on the radio as he pulls out of the rest stop.

For some reason, you feel like maybe he likes you. There’s something in the line of his body that feels a little softer now, the tension in the truck feels a little drained. It could be the music, but you prefer to think that he’s taken a bit of a liking to you. It means he’s less likely to end up hurting you, means you're less likely to have to rely on your non-existent shooting skills.

With the sun nearly fully set and the soft music from the radio, it’s much harder to keep yourself awake. You curl up in the seat, lay your head down on folded arms, and try your best to keep your eyes open.

———————————————————————

You don’t know how long it’s been when you wake up.

The truck is silent now, no engine and no radio, and the world outside is pitch black. You jerk up at the realization, quickly lay a hand on your bag and turn to your driver.

He’s staring at you. You nearly yelp in surprise, bite your tongue so harshly to keep the noise back that you taste the tang of iron.

He looks nearly inhuman in just the low light of the truck. Pale skin, blonde hair, blue eyes, a dark black mask obscuring half of his face. His body is turned towards you, black shirt and dark pants making him look almost like the top half of his face is just… floating. 

“I need to sleep,” he rumbles, keeping you held captive in what almost feels like a staring contest - like if you look away now, you’ll lose something. “You can take the bed in the back.”

That gets your heartbeat quickening, the thud of your pulse loud in your own ears. “Oh… I thought…” you swallow, finally tear your eyes from his to look around. You seem to be at another rest stop, this one a small dark building with two bathrooms and a few vending machines. There aren’t any other trucks parked around you. “I thought I might try and find a motel or something.”

“With what money?”

He’s got you there. You work your tongue against the roof of your mouth, clear away the blood and try to make your mouth not so bone-dry. “Yeah,” you nearly whisper, eyes darting back to his before away again. He hasn’t moved. You clear your throat before speaking again. “But, uh, I don’t want to kick you out of your bed. I can sleep up here.”

“You’ll take the bed,” he reaffirms, with no room for argument in his tone. You can’t help but feel like there’s something more here, like you’re missing something. You don’t feel safe anymore, not like you had after the McDonald’s. Why did you let yourself fall asleep? You could have pressured him to pull off somewhere with a motel, tried to finagle or scam yourself into a room with a lock on the door.

Now you’re stuck in this dark truck, no one else but the driver around for miles.

You swallow again, force down a cough.

You don’t want to sleep in his bed. But a glance over at him tells you that’s what’s going to happen. Your driver doesn’t seem the kind of man to take kindly to disobedience.

“What’s your name?” You ask again, voice weak and quiet. For some reason, this feels important. Like a name will make him more human, easier to swallow.

He only tilts his head a little, face still stoic. “Get in bed. We’ll drive again when the sun rises.”

“Please,” you try, a hint of desperation creeping into your voice. You can’t explain it, but you need his name. Need some evidence that he’s more man than he looks. This moment feels pivotal, and there’s a little voice screaming at the back of your head that things are going in the wrong direction.

“Sleep, doll,” is all he says. His voice isn’t softer, but it’s quieter, like maybe he understands the fear coursing through you.

You squeeze your eyes shut a moment before pushing yourself up, both hands holding onto your bag - your literal only possible defense againt this man - like a lifeline. You know they’d shake if your grips was any looser.

It’s too dark to make out much in the back of his cabin. The bed is a decent size for you, but you wonder if he’s able to stretch out fully on it. You think you can see the outline of a minifridge and a few books resting on the floor. 

He’s still watching you as you sit on the bed, his body unmoved but his head turned towards you. You try to keep your breathing steady as you toe your shoes off, tuck your feet up to the bed with you and curl up on your side.

The bag doesn’t leave your arms. His eyes don’t leave your form. He makes no move to stretch out and sleep like he’d said he would.

You force your eyes closed, no matter how wrong it feels. You try and will yourself to sleep, tell yourself everything will be fine. If he tries anything, you’ll shoot him.

You can still feel his gaze on you when you finally slip into unconsciousness.

———————————————————————

You wake slowly to movement behind you. 

You blink heavy eyelids open, let them fall shut again when there’s no difference in what you can see.  You feel cloaked by sleep still, like your brain has been held underwater and everything moves a little slowly, a little muffled.

The bed dips behind you, and there’s a warmth behind you. A hand at your waist. The top of a foot against the sole of yours. A chest against your back.

Your eyes stay closed, but your brows furrow a bit. Your husband has always hated the idea of cuddling, slept like a corpse on his back and berated you if you dared to touch him in your sleep. You nearly roll over, but figure that might set him off. Your arms still ache from the last argument you’d had.

The hand slips beneath your shirt, rough palm against your waist, thumb smoothing in little circles.

That catches your attention, too - your husband’s hands are soft. He’s never done a day of work in his life, the only job he’s had is some fake title made up by his father at his company. The hand on your skin isn’t soft at all, it’s rough with big, thick fingers that rest heavily on you.

The realization comes to you in pieces.

Your master bedroom was never this dark, the large windows always left wide open to allow moonlight into the room. Your ex-husband’s hands are smooth, boney and nearing on frail. The foot brushing against yours triggers a burning sensation in your blisters.

You keep your breathing even - an effort that feels impossible. 

It’s not your husband at your back, it’s the truck driver.

He’s silent as he tucks himself fully to you. His breath is damp against your neck and you fight down a shudder at the sensation. 

Your bag isn’t in your arms, which means you don’t have your gun. Whatever happens, whatever he does to you, you have no way of defending yourself.

The only reason you don’t cry at the thought is because you don’t want him to know you’re awake. It’s pure self-preservation that keeps your breathing even, your limbs loose, and your breathing slow.

He brings his head closer, his breathing loud in your ear. Every part of him is pressed against you, and you can’t help squeezing your eyes shut more tightly at the hardness poking into your back.

He’s silent as he sets his chin over your shoulder. His groin is tucked right beneath your ass, his knees behind yours and his feet benath yours. He’s just… spooning you.

It feels like an eternity passes just like that. Your heartbeat pounding in every bone, the heat of the driver’s body against yours. His breath is the only noise you hear, ghosting over your ear, heavier than your own.

Eventually, he starts to move. You almost whimper when you realize what he’s doing. 

He’s humping you.

His movements are slow at first, just a little rock of his hips against you. But as the minutes pass he becomes more incensed, his thrusts harder against you, his breathing heavier. He grunts at one point, and it takes everything in you not to flinch away.

You want to scream. You want to open your mouth and shout, to roll over and make him stop.

But you don’t have your gun. And he dwarfs you, every inch of your back covered by him and then some. You can’t stop him.

So you let it happen. You keep your eyes screwed shut, try desperately to go anywhere else in your head and pretend you don’t feel how quickly his hips begin to rock.

His hand moves from your hip to your stomach, his pinky resting on the waistband of your sleep shorts. You don’t think you could stay quiet any longer if his fingers slipped beneath the hem, and you let out a near silent breath of relief when his palm continues up instead of down.

He almost rolls you onto your stomach, angles you so your front is closer to the mattress and he can grind more on you than beside you. His hand slips further up your shirt, and you bite your tongue at the feeling of his rough palm against your nipples.

That gets another huff from him, another low sound that could almost be a moan. You feel him shift again, his hips working a little more roughly. You’re not sure how he possibly thinks you’re still asleep, but you pray he doesn’t take it any further as long as he does.

He doesn’t pinch, just softly strokes over one breast. His hand engulfs it fully, fingers wrapping all the way around the little mound of flesh. The calluses on his palm send little sparks down your spine, and you curse your body for the buzzing sensation between your thighs.

His breath gets heavier in your ear, he’s nearly panting over you. If you weren’t wearing shorts and he wasn’t wearing jeans, he’d be fucking you. His thrusting almost feels like he is. The… thing grinding against you is clearly large, even through all the layers of clothing, and you say another prayer that he doesn’t do more than this.

“Fuck,” he grunts, his chin pushing hard into your shoulder. You almost jerk at the sound of his voice, the evidence that this is real and not some horrible nightmare. 

You wish you could fall back asleep.

You don’t know how long the whole thing lasts. The pitch dark, the driver’s oppressive weight against you, it makes time feel liminal. You’re not sure if he lasts for five minutes or five hours.

But eventually his hips slow, give a few harder thrusts before he goes completely still and lets out a loud groan. Again, you wonder how he expects you to have slept through the noise. 

He shifts back a little in the aftermath, rolling you back to your side with a heavy hand on your stomach. You try to keep yourself as limp as possible, try to make your face go slack.

He lays with you for a while, breathing even and slow. You wish he would leave, wish he would let you start pretending this never happened. His hand stays on your stomach, and you can feel the other crossed over his midsection at your back. His feet hold your ankles to the bed. You hope he can’t feel that you’re squeezing your hands into tight fists where they rest against your thighs.

He doesn’t leave. Instead, he shifts his own thick thigh between your own, the rough denim of his jeans irritating the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. He tucks his leg up, settles it right against your core.

You can’t help the way your breath hitches at the sudden pressure. You hold it immediately after, then try to breathe normally again when you realize how obvious the sudden change sounds. He doesn’t react, though, so you think you’re safe. 

The pressure increases a bit more before stopping. You’re almost propped up on his thigh, your pussy pressed against him through your shorts. It’s hard not to open your eyes, to look down and see what’s happening.

His hand slips down from your stomach to the waistband of your shorts. You can’t keep yourself from moving this time, already knowing what he’s going to do. You shift your hips a little, make a tiny noise in your throat that you hope comes off as a normal still-asleep sound. The movement only presses you closer to him.

He hums lowly in your ear, fingers stroking across the waistband of your shorts before dipping inside, then past your little gray panties. You can’t help the little squeak you make, the way your hands twitch before you force them still.

The sound he makes is almost a laugh, too low and quiet to really be one though. He hushes you softly, pushes on the meat of your most vulnerable part to still you. 

You don’t know if he thinks you’re awake. You think he must, there’s no way you could have slept through what he’d just done, and you’ve moved twice now. But he doesn’t speak to you, doesn’t become more aggressive.

You debate putting up a fight when his fingers sink lower, his palm resting heavily over your cunt. But the thought of him becoming rough, of him restraining you… it makes bile churn in your stomach.

You resign yourself to waiting until it’s over, go limp against the bed again.

Another hum, and his free hand moves beneath your body to grasp your hip. He moves you slowly, little grinding motions over his thigh. The hand over your heat uses two fingers to spread the lips of your cunt, tucks the gusset of your underwear and the fabric of your shorts to the side so your clit makes direct contact with his jeans.

You keen quietly at the sensation, a little animal noise of fear, of pain. You wish you had your gun, wish you could make this man stop.

But you can’t. So you bear it.

He doesn’t touch your clit with his fingers, doesn’t touch any part of your pussy but to spread you wide. His thigh moves along yours, his hand grinding you against it. You hate the slickness gathering at your hole, hate the way your nipples tighten, the way your breaths become heavier.

You bite your tongue to hold back any other sounds, that tang of blood returning after only a few seconds.

“C’mon,” he says into your neck, his voice a low whisper. “Come f’r me, doll... be good.”

You don’t want to be good, can’t suppress the little whine you make at even the thought. He rumbles low in his chest in response, pushes against you a little harder.

You can’t stay quiet through your orgasm. It’s a slow thing, rolling and deep. You feel it in your toes, in your scalp, and in every vein between. Had you been willing, been with a partner of your choice, you may have thrown your head back and cried out. But here in the truck, with this man you can’t believe you were stupid enough to trust, you squeeze your eyes so tightly shut that tears eek out the corners and bite your cheek until there’s a sore. And still, a moan vibrates in your chest.

He stops grinding you against him when your orgasm is finished. His finges slip from you slowly, tuck your panties back over your mound and give you two little pats before he fully pulls his hand away. 

Both of his hands slip back up your stomach, grab a handful of your chest and massage you there for several moments. Your breathing gradually slows as your body comes down, your limbs going limp again despite the fact that his hands are still on you.

He rolls you to your back when he’s finished. You feel his lips press against each of your eyelids, squeezed shut no matter how hard you try to force your face to relax. Another tear slips down the side of your nose, and he kisses it away before it can reach your lips. You feel his tongue stroke beneath each eye, know that he’s cleaning away your tears. He gives you a final, chaste kiss on your lips before pulling away.

He’s gone a moment later, and you’re left cold and alone in his bed.

———————————————————————

He smokes a cigarette while he watches you sleep. Your nose twitches at the first hint of smoke, and he almost smirks at the expression.

He can’t believe he found you. A perfect little doll of a girl, limping all filthy and sad along the side of a highway, just waiting for someone to scoop you up. God truly does have a sick sense of humor, gifting a bastard like Ghost a gift like you.

He hadn’t planned to keep you at first. He figured he’d ride with you for a while, fuck you a few times to have a warm place to dump his cum before dropping you off at a rest stop for another driver to scoop up. But no, that won’t do now that he’s felt your cunt against his hand, watched you try desperately to hold back every expression because you thought it might keep you safe.

He’ll have to find out where the finger-shaped bruises on your arms are from. After this trip, he’ll find whoever left them and take care of them. He’ll be the only one hurting his little doll, no one else. Might even win him a few brownie points with you, if he’s lucky.

Your feet probably need bandaging, too. He’d seen the redness at the back of your ankles when you tucked your feet up on his seats, felt the blisters against his own feet when he laid with you. He’ll make sure you stay off your feet for a bit, give them time to heal.

That gets another smirk. You won’t be leaving the truck for a long time, there’ll be no need to worry about your blisters after tonight. He’ll keep you off your feet. Maybe have you thank him for taking such good care of you.

He’ll try your mouth next. He bites back a moan imagining your face pressed against his crotch, knows already that the difference in size between the two of you will be absolutely pornographic at that angle. Can’t wait to teach you to deepthroat him, salivating at the image of you holding him in your mouth on the road.

He’d already wasted one load, it’s only right you take the next. You’re his now, which means he shouldn’t have to come in his fucking pants like a teenager ever again. 

But he’d gone easy on you, hadn’t made you take him in any of your holes this first night. Even let you pretend to sleep through the whole thing, though your shifting hips and little scrunched up face gave you away as soon as he pressed himself against you.

It was endearing, really, the way you tried so hard to pretend it wasn’t happening. He can still taste your tears on his tongue, mixing with the acrid taste of nicotine. He can’t wait to learn what your pussy tastes like.

He takes a long pull from the cigarette and considers your little shaking form.

You won’t need much now that you’re with him. Only a few outfits in case he needs to bring you in somewhere, but you’ll be kept naked when in his truck. He’ll have to find a motel sometime soon, get all the grime washed off your skin and the grease out of your hair. He’d like to see it brushed out, see how you might style it for him.

He’ll take good care of you. Feed you when you’re hungry, maybe get some little toys or books if you’re good, fuck you whenever you - or he - needs it. 

It’ll take a while for you to settle, he knows. You’ll spend a bit looking for that girly little gun you’d been keeping tucked away in your bag. But that’s okay. He already knows he’ll enjoy training you, showing you just how to be the perfect little doll for him.

He stubs the cigarette out in an ashtray, climbs back into bed with you and tucks you tight to his chest. Your little sniffling breaths draw another little twitch of the lips from him, and he buries his nose in your hair before shutting his eyes.

Yeah, you're going to be perfect for him.

#cod #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost riley x reader #bo writes #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #ghost riley x you #dark fic #cod x reader #ghost cod #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic

[mochinomnoms]

The Private (not) Thoughts of a Moray Chapter 4: This thing called love, I just can’t handle it

Gender Neutral Reader x Jade Leech

Chapter 4 preview:

Jade! I’m so happy to see you! You look wonderful today. I mean you always look wonderful, so handsome! Oh, you look so cool as a human, not that you don’t look cool as an eelmer, but you’re always so cool and handsome and I just love you so much! I love, love, lovelovelovelove— Oh…  Jade (unfortunately) was looking back at you, thoughts of affection ramming through his head.  Darling! You’re so cute! You look so ethereal under the lights of Octavinelle, the blue reflects wonderfully in your eyes. You always look so angelic, though, but especially now that the color of the sea can act as a scenic environment for your presence. Oh, I love you~ I love you, I love you, I love you— Between the two’s thoughts fighting for space in your cramped mind, and you’re pretty sure you could feel a migraine coming on. 

[wc} - 8,150

[notes] - *crab raves* finally, struggled with it but it's out. i got done kinda setting up the characters and their dynamics so chapters should have an easier time getting out

back to chapter list

Chapter 4: This thing called love? I just can’t handle it

The liquid in your cat shaped mug (courtesy of Cater) slowly turned from a light purple back to a soft creamy brown as a few drops from your small vial of mauve liquid dripped into your drink.

One, two, and that’s three drops for me and for Grim…

Placing the vial back in your pocket, you set Grim’s own morning drink, a small cup of hot cocoa with the tiniest of marshmallows, to the side. The barely rising sun indicated it was just before 6 in the morning, so Grim, and most of the dorm was still asleep. 

You settled in on the nook of the windowsill facing the entrance of the dorm. From here, you could see the Hall of Mirrors, Sam’s shop, and the alchemy building. 

A loud yawn startled you as James entered the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and blinking at you owlishly. 

“Good morning James.” You said softly, waving. James mumbled what you assume was a ‘good morn’ back as he opened 

Frustrated grunts and growls emanated from James as he wrestled the, evidently well sealed, package of cereal. You think it was this world’s version of Captain Crunch, the image of a well-dressed pirate in red with a gleaming hook and mischievous grin staring back at you across the kitchen table. 

“Damn this—why do they make these things so hard to open!?” James hissed, throwing the colorful cardboard box across the room, nearly hitting a sleepy Tony in the face.

“Ack! Ayo?” Tony rapidly looked back and forth between the offending material and James, who was now yanking at the plastic bag of cereal with his teeth. Growling, he used his canines to rip the bag apart so that he could finally have a core part of a valuable, healthy breakfast. 

He was failing miserably. 

“Can you watch it? I’m walkin’ here—are you fightin’ a bag of cereal?” Tony asked incredulously. 

Taking a pause, James looked up, bag still in mouth, and gave a muffled “Yesh.”

“…and losin’?”

“…” Flushing, James let go of the bag and responded, “It’s my favorite.”

He yelped as one of the other freshmen walked past him and flicked his forehead. 

“Hey, what gives Yakub?”

Yabuk, one of the Scarabia students in your care, shoved James aside with his broad shoulders and tall frame, as he began to take out items from the small pantry in the corner. You weren’t sure what Yabuk was, you think either a beastman or fae based on the slight point in his ears and the way his bright red hair was ever so slightly feathery. 

In fact, you're pretty sure that it was actually feathers, the plumy hairline starting from the peak between his eyebrows and turning into a prominent widow’s peak. His hair, which was undercut and slicked up like a parrot, was quite striking against his dark brown skin and sharp yellow eyes. 

Framing his narrow face were a pair of red macaw feather earrings, which you think might’ve been plucked from his own head, as the blue and green ombre matched that on the tips of his hair/feathers. 

Yabuk sighed, deciding to turn and address James, who was back to gnawing at the bag. 

“How about this, how about you fight the rest of the cereal by yourself, and I’ll courageously make pancakes for those of us who want a little warmth in our mornings.”

James sneered at him, deciding that the best course of action was to vigorously shake his head in order to tear the bag open. He succeeded, after the bag split down the middle and spilled half of the yellow, red, and blue contents on the floors, where it would no doubt be vacuumed by the never-ending ravenous Grim. 

You lifted a hand to cover your mouth in an effort to hide the fact that you were seconds away from laughing your head off. 

…Uwwwah. 

James dejectedly poured himself a bowl of cereal, careful to not spill the rest of it. Deciding to be helpful, you walked over from your nook in the corner, surprised no one had yet noticed you. 

“Here, I’ll get the broom—”

“GWAH!” James shrieked at your “sudden” appearance. You wonder if it was just early morning fatigue that made him forget you were there, or if he genuinely didn’t process you sitting at the windowsill. 

“H-housewarden—I mean Prefect—I mean Y/N—” The poor man yelped as he knocked his bowl off the counter with his elbow. 

OH SHIT—

Yabuk, also squawking in surprise, managed to catch the bowl before it fell on the ground, wincing at the cold milk dripping down the slides onto his hand. 

“Hah—got it.” Clearing his throat, Yabuk gave you a nod. “Good morning, Housewarden Y/N, would you like a pancake?”

You too had been reaching for the bowl, bent over in an awkward position between Yabuk and James (who was internally screeching at the proximity between you two). 

“Ah, it’s fine, thank you, Yabuk.” You stood back, slightly puffing your chest out as you stretched your back, sighing in relief at your upper spine popping. 

“I have to go in here soon anyways, I’ll be out of the dorm for most of today.” 

Tony, who had poured himself a cup of coffee from the still warm pot you’d brewed earlier, piped up, “Oh yeah, ain’t we ‘upposed ta be going over to Octavinelle in halfa-hour?”

You winced and nodded. “Yep…that’s right.” 

Going over to the dragon’s lair. Or would it be the eel’s lair? Octopus’s lair technically…

“Ah yes! I’ve been ready to head back to our actual dorm for sometime now!” You jumped, noticing that Aspen had been watching your interaction from the doorway for who knows how long. 

Aspen gave a closed mouth smile, tilting his head. Can’t even be bothered to wake up early in the morning? Pathetic.

You raised your brow at that, deciding to return his smile with a polite one of your own as you greeted him, “Good morning Aspen, yes I’m aware—”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t keep us waiting, Prefect.” You didn’t miss the way he nearly hissed your nickname as he walked over to Tony and swiped his cup. 

“Hey! That was mine—”

“Ah, well, I’m sure you didn’t mean to do so on purpose.” Ignoring Tony’s grabby hands, he continued, “After all, being a magicless human for so long, and just becoming a housewarden so recently, I’m sure you’re still trying to manage everything.”

He made a face as he sipped from the cup, disgusted, most likely from the quality of your 2 thaumark grounds from Sam’s. Aspen decided to hand back the coffee to a pouting Tony, who was giving his friend the side-eye. 

“I have to wait on you anyways,” He sighed, turning around to head to the common area. “I’ll be in the living room, once you’re ready!”

He ended his sentence in a sing-songy tone, waving over his shoulder. You sighed, the 9 hours of sleep slipping away into exhaustion rather than rest, as you finished your now cooled coffee in just a few gulps. 

Myah! What’s this guy’s problem? Did someone steal his tuna? I bet it was Wynfred. Definitely Wynfred.  

Grim trotted on all fours to you, using the island barstool as leverage to jump onto your shoulder and affectionately smash his cheek into yours. 

“Mornin’ Henchman! Why did you leave the bed so early?” Grim pouted, hanging off of your shoulder as he winced at the sight of the hot cocoa you’d prepared. 

Mrrah, I don’t like the lavender taste! Grim grumbled in his head, taking the small mug with his paws and downing the now lukewarm drink like a child with a cup of bitter cough syrup. Next time, I get to choose the taste, sashimi-flavored, hehe!

You sighed, grimacing at the thought of a tuna flavored coffee syrup, “We gotta go to meet with Azul, remember?”

“Nooo!” Grim whined, fiddling with his mug. You tsked as cocoa spilled over. “I still don’t trust that shifty octopus, I still have nightmares of waking up with an anemone on my head again.”

Grim was still whining as he finished off the cocoa at your insistence. You yourself also finished your drink, placing both cups in the sink. A Heartslabyul student rushed over to clean them for you, muttering something about Riddle warning them to be helpful. 

Please tell him I’m good, I don’t want to get collared my first week like that freshman last year.

You withheld a snort, biting the inside of your cheek instead. You leaned down to whisper, “Thanks, I’ll tell Riddle that you’re doing a good job.” to the student, smiling at his beaming face. 

“Grim, let’s surprise everyone with our dorm uniforms today!” Grim whooped and jumped back down from your shoulder to climb up the stairs. He’d been so excited that you two had gotten proper uniforms, as he claimed that it was time everyone started taking him seriously as a mage. 

Once again, the ghosts had taken liberty to create your dorm uniform. Eliza had given them some of her old dresses from when she was alive as an apology for taking over your dorm. They’d decided to take those, as well as some of their own clothes to get you all dressed up. Your dorm uniform was relatively simple, compared to the other’s, but was comfortable. 

They’d given you two versions, noticing your affinity for both skirts and pants. Your top was made with a striped cream button-up blouse adorned with a silver collar chain sporting two mauve crystal ball pins. The top was accompanied by a dark blue cloak, reminiscent of the ghosts’ own capes. Of the two outfit variants, they had managed to find a dark gray and blue, front corset dress from Eliza’s collection. She had suggested to Bernard that you wear it over the blouse along with dark tights and her old, brown chunky-sole loafer shoes with the dress. 

The other outfit was recommended by Albert, who claimed he was rather fashionable while alive (Earnest gawked at that, so you’re not sure how true that claim was). This one had a vest, the same color as the cloak, with dark gray, high-waisted pants decorated with silver buttons along the waistband and pockets. You wore the same shoes as with the previous outfit, as they were in surprisingly good condition despite their age. 

Eliza must have taken really good care of her stuff before and after she passed. I hope she and Puffy are happily married in the afterlife. Maybe they’ll visit again…without the whole suitor stuff, though. 

You hummed as you decided to put on the dress version of the outfit. It was obvious that the clothes were older, time and dust took a toll on them, but you had to admit it was nice having a dorm uniform. Plus, the age of your clothes matched the appearance of a now fixed, but still full of character Ramshackle. Like an old Victorian ghost still trapped in their home. 

“Henchhuman! Help me with this cloak thing!” Grim was grumbling as he had trouble tying the bow of his own mini-cloak. He really looked like a mini-version of the ghosts, he just needed a hat! 

“Coming, coming!” You crouched down to help him, humming. “There we go. You look great, Grim!”

Hmph! Of course, I do! You don’t look bad yourself, henchhuman. 

Grim grinned as he jumped up to your shoulder, watching as you grabbed the hair pin with the Ramshackle crest and clipped your hair back. 

“We look like the real deal! Finally, gonna get some respect here, mehehe!” 

You and Grim shared a soft laugh as you pressed your foreheads together. The two of you rushed down the stairs, Grim gripping your shoulder so as to not fall off. Aspen and Tony were dressed in their school uniforms. Though, you noticed, Tony’s uniform was more hastily put together, vest and jacket unbuttoned and the tie messily put together. 

Aspen, who was prim and properly dressed, fussed over Tony’s appearance before noticing you and slamming his hands back to his sides. 

“Hello Prefect, took your time to look nice I see” Trying to impress? I still don’t see the appeal. “May we leave now? I’d like to actually be on time.”

Tony shoved an elbow into Aspen’s stomach, the latter smacking the former’s arm in retaliation as they shared a look. 

“Um, yeah. Follow me.” You gestured as you passed by Wynfred by the front door, who was currently trying to yank something out of Silas’s hands. 

“Give that to me—Oh! Prefect!” Wynfred happily greeted you as he managed to take the item from Silas’s hands and shove it in his pocket. “Off to Octavinelle? Will you be coming back for us Pomefiore students?” 

You nodded and replied, “Yes, but probably in the evening since I’ll have to do Scarabia and Heartslabyul first. Grim and I will both be out all day…”

Humming, you narrowed your eyes at Wynfred and listened to his thoughts. 

How nice, my club meeting was canceled today, so I’m bored. Maybe I’ll just watch everyone and see what they get up to.

“Hmm, hey Wynfred?” The redhead perked at the mention of his name. 

“Yes?”

“Can you do me a favor? Watch over Ramshackle and make sure no one gets into any trouble or anything like that. I have a chore board for tasks that Grim and I normally do around the dorm and school, but…”

You gestured to Aspen and Tony, the former looking and thinking about the inconvenience of stopping. 

“Well, we’re pretty busy now, so it would be a great help if—oh!”

Wynfred grabbed onto your hands, eyes dazzling and shimmering with glee. He yanked you close to him until your noses were nearly pressing together as he started yammering. 

“Of course I’ll be in charge! Oh, I’m so flattered that you’d ask me of that. You know I’m an exceptional leader of my coven, and I was back home as well, so you can depend on me! I’ll make sure everything is in tip-top shape, don't worry bout a thing! Off you go now!”

Wynfred gently pushed you out the front door, Aspen and Tony following, as he turned to start calling out to the remaining freshmen. 

“Alright! Housewarden Y/N put me in charge, so listen up!”

Geez, I hope this isn’t going to bite me in the butt later.  

The walk to the mirrors was short and quiet, on your end at least. A few steps behind you, Aspen and Tony trailed along, softly conversing between themselves. Based on their thoughts, you think they were arguing about something, or someone.

Gah! You’re more jealous than the nereids!

Tony’s voice rang through your head as you turned your head to look back at the duo, who was now muttering angrily at Aspen. The latter looked almost pouty, looking at the ground as he hissed back something to his friend. The image was actually pretty funny, with the near 1-foot difference between them, Aspen had to lean down fairly drastically to whisper with Tony. 

Gods, you’re so annoying, like a suckerfish, just take my side!

Tony, on the other hand, craned his neck up to reach Aspen’s ear, and kept darting his head into his friend’s eyesight every time Aspen looked away to pout further. 

Blah, blah, blah, jealous my ass, maybe I just don’t like them!

“It’s too early for them to be this loud, henchhuman! Make them stop!” Grim whined from his place in your arms, glaring at the pair over your shoulders. You cradled him as he sleepily rested his little chin on the crook of your neck.

“Let them be, they’re not that loud, be honest.” as you said that, you decided to turn your head to look back at the freshmen. 

Aspen locked eyes with you as he looked up at the same time you did, narrowing them as you turned back forward. You could still feel his stare burn into your back as the four of you turned the corner to the Hall of Mirrors. 

YOU! You’re nothing special, just a stupid human. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you, IhateyouIhateyouIhateyouIhatehatehatehatehatehate—

You abruptly turned around as you arrived in front of the Octavinelle mirror, disrupting Aspen’s little chant of loathing, to address the pair. 

“Before we enter, a few things!” You smiled at the pair, listing out your tasks with your free hand as you spoke. 

“First, I need to meet with Azul myself to work out the schedule for you and your two other dormmates. I believe you’ll get fitted into your dorm uniforms with your vice while I do. Second, you’ll get trained for the working lounge while I go meet with Heartslaybul’s housewarden-”

Grim jumped from your arms to place his paws on his hips and continue your sentence confidently. 

“The Great Grim will come get you after your training since my henchhuman will have to move on immediately to the other dorms, so you better do what I say-” 

“Wait, is the cat actually our vice housewarden?” Tony asked with a deadpan expression. “I thought that was a joke.”

“Hey! How dare you mock the greatest mage of all time? Bow down and beg for forgiveness—mmpphh!”

You quickly snatched Grim up and covered his mouth as you gave a tight smile. 

“Third, once you're back at the dorm, please make sure the Heartslabyul students all leave with Grim, and let the Scarabia students know that they’ll be next. Afterward, you can do what you want as long as you're back to the Ramshackle lounge by 5:30! Any questions?”

You could see the metaphorical roll of Aspen’s eyes as he thought, No-

“Yeah!” Tony raised his hand up, akin to an eager kindergartener in his favorite class, as he asked, “Is Jade gonna be meetin’ us at the Mostro Lounge or somethin’? He’s usually off hikin’ in the mornin’.” 

Yep, just as I intended. Thank god he’s consistent at least, same as last year.

You let out a sigh of relief at that, making Aspen and Tony share a look. Though, they seemed to think your sigh was for a different reason. 

Hmpf. “Disappointed, are we?” Aspen grumbled, hissing as Tony jabbed an elbow in his ribs in response. 

Tony chuckled, “Aw, don’t worry Prefect, don’t be sad, I’m sure he’ll be back soon! You can say hi to him then!” Ain’t that cute, Jade sure knows how to pick ‘em. 

“W-what?” You furrowed your brows in confusion, noting that both of their faces matched your expression. Your grasp on Grim’s squirming body had weakened enough for him to slip out and climb up your arm to sit on your shoulder. 

“Why would they be disappointed?” Grim questioned, “Jade’s too scary for my henchhuman to be hanging around!”

“Grim! Be nice! No, it’s not that, I just hardly know him.” you hurriedly clarified as Aspen’s face turned to one of elation and Tony’s of disbelief.

Thank. The. Fucking. Sea Witch.

No fucking way?!

“Whaddya mean ya hardly know him? All summer, he’s been-ow!” Tony yelped as Aspen pinched his side, glaring at him as he instead turned to give you a smile. 

“What he means to say is: you’ve been a hot topic all summer, Jade speaks…highly,” Aspen’s face soured as he said that. “Of you, so we assumed you were rather close, is that not the case?”

Grim snorted as his thoughts spoke to you. Yeah, I bet he wished he was reeeeal close to ya, huh Y/N?

You let out a nervous laugh as you stammered out, “No, uh, we’re not close at all. Now come on.”

Gesturing to the pair to follow you into the mirror, your vision was blinded by the light of the mirror. Its lavender shimmering morphed into the underwater dorm, a bubble developing around your small group once you’d made it far enough in. The tranquil ocean that Octavinelle resided in never ceased to enchant you, with the soft bluish gray seabed and the light purple reefs, not to mention the clear glass walls of the actual dorm building itself, built right into the lavender reefs. 

Despite it being so early in the morning, you could see a numerous number of students running through the halls of the dormitory from the aquarium walls. Peeking behind you, you smiled at Aspen and Tony’s faces of delight, the latter pressing against the bubble until his face was smooshed against it, grinning like a madman.

“Yooooo, this looks sick! Aspy, look at all the reefs!” 

“Aspy?” Grim asked while you hid your smile behind your hand. Aspen’s cheeks turned a light purple as he kicked the back of Tony’s knee. 

I thought I told him not to call me that here!

“It’s a childhood nickname…” Aspen trailed off, his eyes lighting up as the Mostro Lounge entrance came into view. “Woah…it really is in the skeleton of an ancient whale.”

You tilted your head at the two as you asked, “Is this your first time in your dorm? You guys didn’t get to see it after orientation?”

Tony shook his head. “Nah, when we found that we’re crowded, we’re sent over to ya right awayyyYYYEEH-”

The bubble, once past the magical barrier separating the water from the café entrance, popped, causing you, Grim, and Aspen to land on your feet just fine, if a bit unbalanced. Tony, who’d been leaning down farther and farther against the bubble, fell face-first into the ground. 

Aspen chuckled in response, looking back at you with pursed lips. So if you hardly know him…then why…

“So back to what I was saying earlier…what’s the nature of your relationship to Azul and the twins then? They, Jade especially, spoke of you quite often.”

The thought of a love struck Jade talking off Floyd and Azul’s ears all summer with the same level of intensity that his thoughts betrayed made a strange feeling pit in your stomach. 

Ugh, maybe I’m getting sick. I think…

“Like what Grim was saying, I don’t really know Jade outside of class or even Floyd. Actually, I’m closer to Azul though…we’ve been through…a lot together last year. Plus, we hung out over the summer!” 

Aspen nodded, grunting as Tony used his arm to yank himself back up.

“Right…you and the other overblot students had to meet with Crowley, right?” 

You perked up in surprise, as did Grim, who whipped his head around to Aspen and growled.

“Some random freshman ain’t supposed to know that. Have you been snoopin’ around? I’ll cast a whole spell of hurt at cha if ya have!”

“Grim!” You growled, gaze strict, at your familiar as the fire in his ears grew in his growing ire. “Behave yourself. He's right, though, Aspen? Please explain.”

Aspen tensed while Tony abruptly explained, “Our families are…tight-knit! They all do business—”

“Heh, you mean ‘business’?” Grim air-quoted as he scoffed. 

“We do business together. When the headmaster told his parents, they told ours, so we learned pretty soon after it happened.”

Aspen, quick to agree, nodded along. “Yes! We all…grew up together?” 

You squint your eyes at the pair, hoping that your, admittedly halfhearted, glare would provoke one of them to either blurt out a further explanation, or their thoughts would betray something. 

Instead, a synchronized screech was echoing through both of their heads. You took a long, deep breath, and sighed heavily. 

“I’ll ask your housewarden about it later instead, how about that?” With a cheeky smile, you turned back around briskly walking to the host stand of the Mostro Lounge as Aspen and Tony  quickly followed after, resuming their earlier bickering.

Looking over your shoulder, you smiled again, softer this time, at the two. The way they bantered, brushed and shoved each other with their shoulders, reminded you of your own favorite duo.

I’ll have to make sure I say hi to my boys before I see Riddle.

Aspen eyes met yours, widening slightly as a soft lilac blush formed on his cheeks. He looked to the side instead, huffing in his head.

What are you smiling at, stupid human. Turn back around and…huh?

Still smiling, you turned to see what had taken Aspen’s attention, before running face-first into someone’s chest. You and the very tall stranger tumbled a bit before they grabbed your shoulders to help steady you, grasping you gently like you were a precious stone. 

“Oof! Sorry, I—”

“It’s quite alright, Prefect.” My pearl~ “Perhaps you should pay more attention, you might bump into someone less savory, fuhuhu!”

“EEK!” You rapidly jumped back, Grim falling off your shoulder with an ‘oomph’ as your back smacked into Aspen and Tony. “Jade! I thought you were hiking! You usually do on Saturdays.”

Jade, his tall frame now in full view, smiled as he leaned down to tower over you. “Oh? I hadn’t realized that you’ve memorized my schedule.” 

Aaaah! Did you want to make sure we’d bump into each other, too? My sweet, you can ask for my time any day of the week!

“NO!” The volume of your yelp made everyone jump as you turned a deep pink. You laughed nervously, waving your hands rapidly. 

“Ahaha! No, I just remember from last year that you’d be out by the woods near Ramshackle! I figured you’d keep up the same routine.”

Oh, of course. Still, I’m so happy they remember, my darling pearl! I love you~

“I see,” Jade closed his eyes as he continued smiling, chuckling, “I usually would, but today I decided to make an exception.”

You heard Tony mumble under his breath, “Gee, wonder why.” Aspen shoved an elbow into Tony’s ribs, shushing at his friend before smiling shyly at Jade, a small lilac blush on his cheeks. 

“Hi Jade,” Aspen waved, voice soft and almost meek. 

Jade! I’m so happy to see you! You look wonderful today. I mean you always look wonderful, so handsome! Oh, you look so cool as a human, not that you don’t look cool as an eelmer, but you’re always so cool and handsome and I just love you so much! I love, love, lovelovelovelove—

Oh… 

“Hello Aspen. Tony. It’s wonderful to see you again so soon,” Jade’s attention shifted to the two momentarily. “It’s like we never left home.”

He (unfortunately) was looking back at you, thoughts of affection ramming through his head. 

Darling! You’re so cute! You look so ethereal under the lights of Octavinelle, the blue reflects wonderfully in your eyes. You always look so angelic, though, but especially now that the color of the sea can act as a scenic environment for your presence. Oh, I love you~ I love you, I love you, I love you—

Between the two’s thoughts fighting for space in your cramped mind, and you’re pretty sure you could feel a migraine coming on. 

“Ugh, my head.” You rubbed your temples as Grim climbed back up on your shoulders, hanging himself off you. 

“Ya good, Prefect?” Tony asked. His voice sounded concerned. 

“Yeah, um, are you going to be training the two while I meet with Azul?” 

Jade’s smile grew as he leaned down, just slightly, to meet your eyes. 

“Floyd will be training them, and you’ll be meeting with me instead.”

What! Nooooo! Not Floyd, he still pinches my cheeks…

Aspen seemed upset, both internally and visibly, as his face soured. Tony, on the other hand, brightened and pumped his fist. 

“Yes! Floyd, my boy!” 

Jade chuckled and reached over to ruffle Tony’s head. “Do try and stay out of trouble, for poor Aspen’s sake. I’ll be too busy with our dear Prefect to keep an eye on the three of you.”

“Oh, yes.” Aspen drawled, “Our ‘dear Prefect’ will need all the assistance they can get. Did you know, they didn’t even realize that they had to sign off on their students’ club registrations? Our paperwork was barely submitted to the guidance mage yesterday!”

Hmph, I still don’t see the appeal in them. They’re such a clumsy human. Barely a housewarden. You can do so much better, Jade!

Ooooooh. That makes more sense now…wait, NO.

“Are you sure that I’m not meeting with Azul?” You laughed nervously, the panic setting in. “I double-checked with him yesterday, he said that we were still set!”

“Something came up.” Jade explained. The image of Azul’s bedroom door with a broken lock, door shaking as Azul’s muffled voice shouted through the wooden door, entered your brain. 

You raised a brow and slowly replied, “Oh. Should we go check, or?”

“Nope. If you’ll please follow me, I will drop off our newest employees with Floyd.” Jade turned, looking over his shoulder. “You and I will have our meeting in the VIP Room.”

Alone~

You cringed, a shiver going up your spine as you gave Jade a tight smile, gritting out, “Greeeeat. Cool. That’s fine. Yep.”

Jade is either oblivious or maliciously ignorant to your distress as he guides the small group to the dining room. As you approached, you could hear the bickering of familiar voices, one angrier than the others. 

Near the bar was an irate Azul, arguing with a bored looking Floyd. Based on what you could hear, Azul was asking Floyd about why his bedroom lock was jerry-rigged to lock him instead. 

“IDK Azul, I didn’t do it, wasn’t feeling up to anything like that today.” Floyd whined, flopping his head around before looking over to your group’s direction. He perked up as he noticed you, more specifically, noticed Tony. 

“HEY! TONY!” 

“HEY! FLOYD!”

Tony ran up to the taller man, dodging his attempts to grab him and ruffle his hair. The two played a small game of chase as Azul came up to you with a pleasant smile. 

“Y/N! Welcome back, I see you’ve taken on the role of housewarden quite well.” Azul nodded his head at you in greeting, directing his gaze to a stiff Aspen as he continued, “None of my students are giving you any trouble, I hope?”

You had the theory that his question wasn’t really for you, as he eyed Aspen up and down. His thoughts confirmed it, though. 

Aspy, you better have not been a pain, I know how you can be. 

Said individual was pointedly staring at one of the aquarium walls, pretending to be enthralled with the reefs and fish. 

Why do you even care, it’s not like they’re an actual mage. Just, stop staring… Please…

“Yeah, they’ve all been great, don’t worry about it.” You answered, smiling as you noticed the freshman relax. 

Yeah, I’ve been great! Hmph! Take that Zully!

Zully? Huh.

Azul smiled back, shifting his weight on his cane. “Good, I’m glad to hear. I apologize for not coming to greet you myself, it seems that someone—”

He directed a glare to Jade, who was still standing next to you with a small smile.

“—tried to lock me in my room, you wouldn’t happen to know who that was, would you Jade?”

“No, I can’t imagine who would do such a thing.” Damn, I should’ve added a spell too. I was in a rush to get to them first. “Would you like me to investigate?” 

“WoULd yOu LiKE mE TO INvesTIgATe” Oh shut up Jade, I bet it was you. 

“Yes please, that would be quite helpful, thank you, Jade.” Azul gestured for you to follow him. “Shall we?”

“Oh, we’re meeting, right cool, yes!” You sighed in relief as you rushed away from Jade to Azul’s side. “Just us right?”

“Us and Jade.” You screamed internally. “He’s in charge of the schedules, training, and position placements, so he’ll have to be involved.”

Aaah, at least we’ll be together in the same room again. I wonder if you’ll get flustered if I sit too close? Maybe I can get Azul to step out so we can be on our own…

Jade tapped you against Azul’s desk, hands reaching down to caress your thighs, before trailing down and making you wrap your legs around his waist. Your dress was unlaced and shirt unbuttoned to reveal your chest and neck, covered in hickies and bite marks.  Your hands were running through Jade’s hair tenderly, holding him close as you shared a deep kiss.  “Mmm~ Jade! Hurry, we’re gonna get caught if we—AH!” You yelped as Jade reached under your dress to tear a hole into your tights for easier access. Jade shushed you with another kiss, swallowing a loud moan as his hand worked you.  “We’ll get caught if you don’t stay quiet, unless you want to get caught~ Is that what you want? For everyone to know that you’re mine? For everyone to know that the one making you cry out in pleasure is me?”

Your face was rapidly turning red as you tripped over your feet, stumbling as Azul and Jade both reached out to catch you. Instead, you straightened and rushed out of their grasp, looking at Grim with a strained smile. 

It’s just for a bit. You can deal with Jade for a bit. 

“Okay! Grim, please go take care of the Scarabia students, and tell Kalim and Jamil I said hi. I’ll see you later!” 

Hmm? Oh yeah. “Got it! Hehe, I got a whole group of henchhumans to be in charge of now!”

Grim ran off, happy and in blissful ignorance, as you turned to address Azul, “I just remembered, I will have to go to Diasomnia today as well, so I can’t stay for long.”

Azul raised a brow, humming, “Is that so? I thought you didn’t have any Diasomnia students on your roster.”

“They don’t.” Jade answered, fond thoughts bouncing around his brain as he watched you walk. 

“I believe they should only have ours, Heartslabyul, and Pomefiore’s freshmen. I’m surprised that you also have Scarabia students, Prefect.”

Are you stressed? Are all the students too much? I can help! Ask me for help and I’ll make sure you’re never bothered by your freshmen again! 

You huffed at the suggestion, replying, “Jamil let them take residence with me to have a bit of extra space, since they were getting close to being overcrowded. Silver didn’t want to burden me with more. That’s all.”

“How kind of him, though I have to wonder if it was really a decision all his own, or if a certain prince asked~” Azul let out a musical laugh, smirking at your glare. 

“Tsk, please.” You opened your mouth to refute Azul, pausing as you felt a dark, angry presence from behind you. 

Hmph, as if they’d need assistance from him! He’s off in Briar Valley while I’m the one here with you, he’s hardly reliable. I don’t like what you’re implying Azul, did something happen between them over the summer that you’re not telling me?! Do I have to ask your mother for your baby pictures?

Slow blinking, you kept your gaze straight ahead, Azul’s words becoming gibberish as Jade continued ranting in his head. He was becoming increasingly more annoyed at the thought of you interacting with Malleus over the summer. 

I’m willing to bet that you would’ve enjoyed visiting the Coral Sea instead, hm?

Huh? Seriously?

I hear it’s dreary in Briar Valley, I think the warm waters of the Rosarian reefs would’ve suited your disposition much better! 

It’s not dreary, only a bit… you’re one to talk, don’t you live in the cold deep sea? That’s probably drearier than anything else, you can’t even see anything!

I would’ve shown you the perfect sightseeing location at Atlantia! I’m willing to bet my terrariums that he would’ve taken you to see gargoyles.

So? I find them quite delightful, you know?

“Prefect? Is your head in the clouds?” Azul lightly tapped your forehead as he stopped in front of his office. “You seem a bit out of it. Tired?”

“Uh.” You shook your head and stuttered, “No, just lost in thought, let’s get started.”

Azul opened the door to his office, gesturing for you to enter first, as he and Jade quickly followed after. Surprisingly, the whole ordeal was rather smooth sailing, if Jade’s constant barrage of what you could only describe as internal love bombing.

Cute~

Azul had brought out 5 student files, one for each student in your care and gave you the copies of their information. Class and club schedules, student ID numbers, and lots of information about their school before NRC. Interestingly enough, Aspen and Tony’s files were... sparse, with only their student information on the file. But no mention of their life, hobbies, or family before NRC.

I like that dress on you, it makes you look quite posh. 

Aw, are you nervous? You always tap your leg when you are, is it Azul? Is it me? HOW CUTE! There’s no need to be nervous around me, darling~ I only wish to make you and every other being in this school know that you belong to me~

You tapped your leg faster before pausing and shifting in your seat instead. 

Geez, just how much are you watching me to notice stuff like that?

“Based on their schedules, they should all be able to work their 15 hours throughout five week days.” Azul handed you a few files to look at the class and club schedules of your Octavinelle students. Each did have about 3 hours per day that they were free for a shift. 

“That leaves their weekend open for any duties they may have for Ramshackle and club activities. Are there any issues that could occur on your dorm’s end?”

Shaking your head, you looked through the student’s schedules with mild curiosity. 

“No, probably not. The Heartslabyul students have taken up most of the chores at the dorm.” 

Oh, Tony’s one of the ones in Spelldrive? Heh, ironic. 

“I’m pretty sure Riddle instilled the fear of the Seven in them, before sending them off to me.”

Oh, looks like Aspen’s in Pop Music Club? Huh, doesn’t seem like the type. Man, I really didn’t pay attention to their club paperwork…

“My my, that does seem like the Riddle we know.” Azul chuckled, nodding as Jade refilled his cup of tea. “Not surprising knowing how fond he is of you, isn’t that right, Jade?”

“ISn’T thAT riGHt JAde?” Yes, I’m aware, quit mocking me you're not too skinny to make a meal of.  

“Oh yes, I’m quite aware. I’m sure you enjoy having such a protective friend, Prefect.” I can be protective! He’s nothing compared to me! “You do quite need it, with all the trouble you’ve gotten into.”

“Really?” You nervously laughed, half-hearted and soft. “I guess? He’s just being a good friend, that's all, I’m sure.”

Azul scoffed, “For being a friend, he does underestimate you. I still remember how you almost took Jade’s head off when we first met. Remember, when you charge in here demanding I free everyone?”

You blinked rapidly in confusion. “What? I never did that, what are you talking about?”

“Oh, you don’t remember? Hah! Jade, they don’t remember nearly smacking your face with a server’s plate!” Azul laughed as you continued to look on in confusion. 

Jade smiled, chuckling along. “Oh? I do. Quite vividly, really.”

An image, or you guess a memory, passed through your mind of you, very clearly, brandishing a large silver platter like a weapon. The memory's vision shifted, dodging your hits as you tried slamming the plate into Jade’s face. 

“You were quite angry that we took your 3 friends as anemones. A rare sight, seeing as you’re tended hearted, hm?”

Aaaaah! I look at that memory so fondly, you looked so beautiful, angry! Fighting is always the first step to a moray’s heart~ 

You choked on the cookie in your mouth, frantically reaching and gulping your own cup of tea. Choosing to ignore Azul’s snickering, and Jade’s internal fretting, you nervously gasp-laughed. 

“Oh, I guess? Probably why I don’t remember, aha.”

“Perhaps. Back to the topic at hand,” Azul gestured to the schedules and continued, “do you foresee any issues with the shift schedules Jade assigned?”

You looked again, noticing the blocks drawn in a few of the spare spots in blue pen. 

“Ah, no, it all looks good.” You looked at the clock, peeking at the time. “Did we cover everything? I’m supposed to be meeting Riddle in about 15.”

Azul and Jade turned to look at it as well, the former clicking his tongue in disappointment. 

“Oh my, yes, this has gone far longer than needed.” Azul squinted at Jade. “Jade, I thought you were keeping the time?”

I know you’re lovesick, but please! Your brain isn’t made of sea foam, you know?

“Apologies. I have been quite focused on the schedules, I do have to ensure that they are able to fill in a position at work.” Jade replied, humming as he cleared the table of your empty plates and cups. 

I was just so enthralled by my pearl’s loveliness. They’re breathtaking…my love. 

You’re not sure what’s worse: the raunchy daydreams, or these. Sentences so full of yearning and devotion that it almost made you feel flattered. 

I want to hear what they sound like out of breath, can you even moan with no air in your lungs? How could you when I’m eating them up with my tongue~

Nope. Actually, the raunchy ones are worse. 

“Well!” You got up, dusting the imaginary dirt off your outfit. “If that’s all, then I’ll be heading to Heartslabyul. Grim will be bringing the remaining Octavinelle later for training, they all had clubs this morning.”

Azul nodded, holding the VIP Room door open. “That works perfectly. I’ll have Jade escort you over.”

“What? No, no, no!” You laughed, waving your hands and shaking your head. “I’m perfectly find walking myself-”

“Nonsense, we are a dorm of gentlemen after all, Jade?”

Say something this time, I beg. I don’t want to hear you whining about clamming up again. 

“Of course, if you will, Prefect?” Thank you, Azul, perhaps I won’t eat you after all.

You stiffened, eyeing the arm Jade held out. With a resounding sigh, you nodded and ever so lightly wrapped a hand around his bicep. You chose to ignore the cheers in Jade’s head. 

“Okay, fine. Bye Azul, I’ll see you at the next housewarden meeting.” You waved as you and Jade made your way through the hall into the lounge’s main dining hall. It was fairly full, the Mostro Lounge was always busy over the weekends, and you could see Tony running around with Floyd. He was carrying two trays in each of his hands with ease, balancing drinks with little concern. 

What are you doing! Let go of Jade’s arm, you whore! Die die die diediediediediediedie—

You quickly swiped your hand back from Jade’s arm, noticing the small pout he gave at that. From the corner of your eye, you could see Aspen (and the rage that was practically emanating like an aura) seething at you. He was muttering to himself as he angrily cleaned the inside of a glass tumbler. It seemed that he was put at the bar to “train” though based on Floyd following around Tony, who was gossiping with him, Aspen wasn’t actually getting much training in. 

That’s right, you better take your filthy hands off of him, you’re a sorry excuse of a mage and an even worse excuse of a human! You’re not even that pretty, you gross little—oh crap you’re staring, look away look away!

Aspen turned a deep lavender, looking down at the glass in his hand like it was the most interesting thing since sliced bread. You gestured at Aspen and suggested to Jade, “It looks like Floyd kinda left Aspen to fend for himself, maybe you should help him out? I can make it to Heartslabyul just fine.”

“Hmm? Oh dear, I suppose you are correct.” Jade sighed, eyeing Floyd as he and Tony leaned against a wall, chatting away. 

“Though, I’m sure I can escort you and be back in a reasonable amount of time. It would be rude of me to abandon you so, especially when Azul asked me to do so.”

“It’s not that big of a deal…”

“Nonsense, let’s be off now.” Jade shushed any further concerns of you as he gently pushed you to the exit. He nodded to Aspen as you two walked by, mouthing ‘I’ll be back’ to the young man. 

From the corner of your eye, you could see Aspen physically deflate at Jade leaving. Floyd noticed and gave his brother a wink, while Tony briefly frowned, looking between you, Jade, and Aspen. 

Just let me be around you a bit longer, my pearl.

You sighed, relaxing as Jade’s hand remained comfortably on your upper back. Though the thought of Jade cornering you in a spare empty room as you headed to the mirror made you warm up, Jade seemed remarkably relaxed around you, for once. 

It was weird, him just humming along without any screams or daydreams of fucking you. 

Weird…wait no! This is ideal, don’t jinx it! Knock on wood, or he’s gonna think of something! Wood, wood, wood?? AH! It’s all glass and metal here!

“After you, Prefect.” you’d been so distracted that you didn’t notice that Jade and you made it to the lounge doors. He was holding the handle of the exit, motioning for you to enter the bubble forming at the door. 

You made a small sound of surprise, rushing forward to push your body through the bubble. You weren’t quite used to the bubble, so It took a bit of effort, which caused you to fall forward. Jade’s arm wrapped around your waist, catching your fall. A small gasp left your mouth as he pulled you flush against his torso, your cheeks warming. 

Ah, you’re so soft. And clumsy. You need me to care for you, don’t you?

“Careful,” Jade purred into your ear. “I would hate to see you hurt, though I’d be happy to tend to you if that happened.”

You felt your stomach flip and heat settle as Jade’s hand tightened its grip. If it wasn’t for the warm breath tingling your ear and the rumble of Jade’s chest against your back while he spoke, you’d think this was another one of his fantasies. 

I can feel your heart pounding, are you nervous? Do I make you nervous?

Jade leaned farther down, his body nearly covering your own. Ironically, he was nervous himself, if his quick breaths were anything to go by.

You feel so warm against me, I wonder if you’ll feel just as warm when I’m inside…

Oh Sevens, seriously? Now!?

I would make you feel good, give you the most incredible pleasure ever known…

Please, bubble, move faster! Eek! Jade, where are you putting that hand!

Jade’s hand trailed upward, resting just below your chest. 

Ah, is this really real? It is!! I can feel your heart. 

“Just ask, and I’ll serve. I’m sure you could use the help now and then.”

Just say something, please! I want to hear your voice. 

What am I supposed to… god, why am I so flustered?!

Despite your thoughts, you couldn’t find yourself trying to get out of his grasp. Maybe it was due to the nerves, or the way the warmth in your belly almost felt pleasant, but you weren’t sure how to respond to Jade. 

“Uh, n-no that’s fine.” You mumbled, shifting as Jade continued to hold you, though it seemed his hand was loosening. “I’m good…by myself.”

But you’re never by yourself, are you? You have many friends, ready to come at your beck and call. Why won’t you add me to your little roster? 

“If you say so. Just know I’m always ready to be of assistance.” Jade finally let you go as the bubble finally floated up to Octavinelle’s mirror. It pressed against the now glowing mirror, allowing you to push into the flickering glass of the mirror. 

The familiar Hall of Mirrors was comforting, the air filling your lungs as you took a deep breath to  calm your racing heart and nerves. Jade followed, though he stayed close to the Octavinelle entrance. 

“Ah, I should be heading to Heartslabyul before I run late.” You nodded at Jade as you walked away. “Take care of Aspen, I think he’s nervous.” 

You omitted ‘around you’ for Aspen’s sake. 

Oh, that’s sweet. Is that so? How can you tell?

Jade smiled as he walked away, “How kind, I’ll be sure to keep an extra eye on him.”

The teal-haired man gave a small wave as he disappeared into a soft light through the mirror. 

See you soon, my love. 

You briefly watched him leave, before sighing and turning back around. 

Geez, that was intense… I’m surprised a that you didn’t freak out more—

GAH! I CAN’T BELIEVE I DID THAT!!!!!!

You brought up a hand to cover the snort leaving your mouth. 

Ah, there it is. Okay, I guess you’re a bit funny sometimes…

#twst #twisted wonderland #jade leech #jade leech x reader #twst jade #jade leech x yuu #mochi fic #the private thoughts (not) of a moray #ptm #twst jade x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader

[aehvs]

𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥

𝐏𝐭 1

𝐦𝐢𝐳𝐮 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐦𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐝!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Mizu didn't expect to meet someone so similar to her in a brothel.

𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐞: fluff

Mizu was known far and wide for being a ruthless demon. A soulless halfbreed with one goal in life; revenge. And maybe part of it was true, she always considered stuff like friendship or love to be useless, nothing but a distraction towards her greater goal.

That was, until she met you.

While she and her 'apprentice' were in madam Kaji's brothel, you'd caught her attention immediately. Your slightly lighter, curly hair stood out like a sore thumb amongst your coworkers. You were the only worker there who hadn't tried to seduce her or Ringo.

"Master, do you see that lady? Do you think she's like you?" was the question Ringo loudly asked. Mizu just shook her head in dismissal. What did it matter if you were like her. You were nothing but a prostitute anyway.

After her conversation with madam Kaji, she retreated to a private room for the night. Just as she started to relax, a silent knock was heard on the door, before it slid open slightly. "I already stated I didn't want company." her cold voice pierced the small space.

"I am not here to seduce you, sir. I'm merely here to serve you fresh tea. It is included in the price of your stay" your voice was a stark contrast to hers, soft and gentle. She turned to face the door as you slid it open, bowing politely while holding the tray with tea and some rice cakes.

She eyed you closely as you set the tray down, taking the teapot to pour her a cup. Her bright blue eyes were cold, yet held a spark of intrigue in them. You did indeed look a bit like her. You were quite beautiful, your features unlike anything she'd ever seen before, aside from herself. Your pretty curly hair was loose, falling down your back in a way Mizu couldn't help but admire.

You noticed the intense stare directed at you, most importantly at your hair. It didn't bother you too much, it was nothing new. You handed her the small cup of tea while bowing your head politely "Here you go, sir. I hope it is to your liking. I brewed it just a few minutes ago."

"Thank you." the answer you received was curt, but polite.

Before silence could cover the room, you started speaking again "May I ask your name, sir? I don't think you ever mentioned it" you spoke kindly with a smile on your face.

Mizu felt slightly conflicted. On the one hand, she didn't know you, you were just a prostitute in a brothel, and now you were asking her name? But, a part of her was interested. "Mizu. My name is Mizu." She spoke curtly and carefully, clearly still somewhat suspicious of you.

You smile turned brighter upon hearing her name "Thats a very beautiful name, Mizu. My name is [name]. Its a pleasure to finally meet you. I noticed you and your friend when you entered, but I didn't wish to bother you." You couldn't help but stare at her as you introduced yourself. Everything about her screamed confidence and strength.

Your gaze lingered at her eyes for a moment. They were absolutely beautiful, a striking blue that you could gaze at for hours.

Upon noticing your interest, Mizu frowned "Whatever insult comes next is better left unsaid. I've heard it before" the sudden harshness made you break out of your little trance, your eyes falling down onto the tray infront of you.

"Oh, no, I wasn't going to insult you, I promise! It's just that.." you trailed off "Uh, your eyes are absolutely beautiful"

That... wasn't what Mizu expected. At all. 'Beautiful'? That was a new one. To say you threw her off-guard would be an understatement. Usually she wouldn't believe that whoever complimented her eyes was being genuine. She'd argue it's just a tactic to insult her in some way by lying.

"I apologize if I made you uncomfortable, I've just never seen eyes so clear. I see water in them, water is impossible to catch and can erode through even the toughest metals. It adapts to any weather and condition. And, I can understand what it's like to be regarded as something weird. As a monster" you touch your hair while speaking, eyes slightly solemn.

Mizu took in your words with shock in her eyes. Your little ramble sounded so sincere, and the way you were looking at her with the kindest, sweetest expression she'd ever seen anyone give her. It shook her to her core and made her even more inclined to believe your compliment.

"...Thank you. Your words mean a lot to me" she spoke quietly, almost as if waiting for a punchline to a cruel joke. But it never came. Your smile only brightened at her quiet, almost shy voice. You were happy to finally meet someone who could understand you on a level that many others couldn't. Being judged harshly for something neither one of you had a choice in.

"Ofcourse" you started speaking again while pouring her another cup of tea "I understand the fear. Believe me, Ive met my fair share of assholes here" you chuckle, making Mizu smile faintly "People here are just closed-minded. There is nothing wrong with us, sir." you gave her another one of your pretty smiles.

Mizu had to be honest, you were starting to grow on her a bit. Your soft voice and kind eyes were something she could definitely get used to. She looked at you, her eyes were softer than before "Yeah, I suppose you're right. People can really be cruel. It's difficult to not start to believe it yourself.."

You hummed understandingly "I suppose so. It's important to not give into the cruel words, though. And to find people that actually accept you" you looked right in her eyes again, this time your eyes held a look of adoration "You're always welcome here, sir"

Yeah, Mizu could get used to this.

#mizu x reader #fluff #blue eye samurai #mizu #ringo #x reader #xreader #blue eye samurai oneshot #bes #bes oneshot #mizu oneshot #mizu imagine #mizu blue eye samurai #bes x reader

[soulofapatrick]

I See You - Theodore Nott x Reader

Summary: Theodore steps in when Draco corners you Words: 1.8k Warnings: fluff really Notes: I blanked while writing this as I've had Theodore Nott brainrot recently so don't mind me if I post a few Theodore stories

Y/N’s POV

Today was meant to be a peaceful day with Harry still at Hogwarts with Remus and Ron and Hermione off giggling like a lovesick couple. Hogsmead is ever so pretty covered in a blanket of snow and the bustles of students here to have fun and buy each other last minute Christmas gifts. But, of course, I can’t have anything nice as I round the corner from where I left Ron and Hermione in The Three Broomsticks I bump into a familiar blond. 

The sneer ever present on Draco’s face as he shoves me away from him, causing me to stumble and before I know it I’m on my ass in the not so pretty snow. I just shake my head, pushing myself up from the snowy ground, brushing the cold flakes clinging to my jeans. Draco’s mocking laughter fills the air, eyes narrow with distain as he looks down at me like I’m dirt under his shoe.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the Weasley girl,” He sneers, tone dropping with derision, “As expected, stumbling through life like your family stumbles through poverty.” 

I take a deep breath, refusing to let Draco’s words bring me down, his little jabs always hurting but I’m never gonna let him see it so instead I meet his gaze with a defiant glare, sneering back, “Does your mother always look at you like she’s stepped in shit?” 

A flicker of something flashes across his face, but before I can decipher it he quickly regains his composure, “Watch your tongue, Weasley. You may think you're clever, but you'll always be just another insignificant blood traitor," he spits. 

I stand my ground, refusing to back down. "Oh, Draco, I would rather be a blood traitor than a heartless coward who hides behind his family name and pure-blood arrogance," I shoot back, my voice filled with determination. "At least I know the value of true friendship and the strength that comes from standing up for what's right. Something you'll never understand.” 

It all sounds so cliche and stupid but the surrounding students watching the exchange have mixed expressions, some wearing smirks of satisfaction at my words while others hold their breath, waiting to see how Draco will respond. But before he can retort, a tall figure steps forward, silently wedging himself between Draco and me. It's Theodore Nott, his typically enigmatic expression softened with a touch of resolve. Without saying a word, he calmly places a hand on Draco's shoulder and pushes him away, creating a safe space for me to stand. However, he may have pushed a little too hard as Draco stumbles backwards, momentarily taken aback by one his best friends apposing him let alone standing up to him. 

Draco is tall but Theodore stands taller, an undeniable air of quiet confidence surrounding him. His raven black hair, somehow perfect tousled, frames his striking features, drawing attention to his piercing blue eyes that hold a depth of mysteries. There’s an intriguing allure about him, an enigma that seems to follow his every move. 

With a subtle gesture, Theodore motions for Draco to dare take another step closer, the weight of his actions speaking volumes. The surrounding students, captivated by the unfolding scene, exchange whispers and glances filled with admiration and surprise. 

Draco, shaken by the unexpected opposition from one of his closest friends, regains his composure. His pride wounded, he attempts to mask his disbelief with a haughty glare. However, the cracks in his facade are evident. It's a rare sight to witness someone challenge Draco, and the students relish in the spectacle, some fighting back grins of satisfaction and with one final sneer Draco turns on his heels and struts away. 

There’s a flicker of concern behind Theodore’s piercing blue eyes as they shift their focus to me, a genuine care that sets my heart at ease. With a gentle smile, he takes a step closer, his voice resonating with a warmth that catches me off guard. 

“Are you alright?” Theodore’s voice, smooth and velvety, reaches my ears like a soothing melody. I think it’s the first time I’ve truly heard him speak, and there’s a captivating timbre to his words - a perfect harmony of confidence and tenderness. I find myself momentarily entranced by his presence, the way he effortlessly brushes a bit of snow out of my hair, his touch sending a gentle shiver down my spine. 

With a grateful smile, I reply, “Thank you Teddy, let me buy you a drink to make up?” The air around us seems to hold a certain electricity, a shared moment that lingers in the wintry atmosphere.

Theodore’s eyes widen slightly and I’m not sure if it’s at my offer or the fact I called him ‘Teddy’ without thinking about it, but either way, surprise mingles with the lingering warmth in his gaze. A hint of a smile plays at the corners of his lips as he considers my proposition and after a moment of silent contemplation he’s nodding and accepting my invitation. 

“Teddy?” He asks quietly, almost shyly, as we turn back and head towards The Three Broomsticks, the thoughts of Butterbeer already warming the chill working its way into my bones. A soft blush creeps up my cheeks as I meet his gaze, finding comfort int he genuine warmth radiating from him. 

“Yes, Teddy,” I respond with a gentle nod, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips, “If that’s okay with you? It feels right.” The admission carries a sense of vulnerability, as if I’m opening a door to something new, embracing the familiarity that seems to have effortlessly blossomed between us. 

A genuine smile spreads across Theodore’s face, eyes crinkling at the corners as he mumbles, “I like it.” There’s a softness in his expression as he speaks, a subtle shift in demeanour that draws me closer both physically and emotionally. I’m bumping shoulders with him lightly as he pushes open the door to The Three Broomsticks for me. 

The air is thick with the aroma of freshly brewed Butterbeer, mingling with the comforting scent of wood and fireplaces. The low ceiling is adorned with an array of floating lanterns, casting a soft, golden glow that dances upon the polished wooden floors. The walls are adorned with aging tapestries and moving portraits that I still can’t get used to, having been introduced to the magical world when the Weasley’s adopted me just after my 9th birthday. 

The tavern is filled with a harmonious blend of laughter and chatter, the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of magical fireworks, probably from some new toy Fred and George have created, punctuating the joyful atmosphere. The patrons, a mix of Hogwarts students and locals, gather in small groups at the wooden tables, engaged in animated conversations or enjoying a game of Wizarding chess. 

Madam Rosmerta moves with grace behind the bar, effortlessly serving Butterbeer and other magical drinks. Her warm smile and friendly banter create an inviting atmosphere, making everyone feel right at home. 

We make our way to the small table indicated by Madam Rosmerta, and as we settle down, Theodore takes the seat beside me. His presence is comforting, his arm casually draped over the back of my chair. It's a subtle gesture, yet it carries an intimacy that sends a thrill of anticipation coursing through my veins. As he lean in closer to hear me other over the lively ambiance of the pub, Theodore's head ducks down, his voice a soft murmur that tickles my ear. The proximity between us feels both exhilarating and comforting, like a secret shared between kindred spirits. In the midst of the bustling crowd, we create our own little world, cocooned in the warmth of our connection. The laughter and conversations of the other patrons blend into the background, fading away as our focus rests solely on each other. 

“You’re so beautiful.” The pads of his fingers brush lightly over my jaw, sending my face aflame as it’s something so unexpected and something so right. His voice is deep and full of genuinely which isn’t expected from Slytherins. Before either of us can say or do anything else Madam Rosmerta approaches with our drinks, a tray of steaming Butterbeer and a mischievous twinkle in her eye, Theodore’s hand moving away from me, his touch fleeting, but it sends a jolt of electricity through my fingertips, leaving me craving more. With a grateful smile, we accept our drinks, the frothy liquid adding a touch of sweetness to the atmosphere. The taste of the warm Butterbeer dances on my tongue, mirroring the warmth that spreads within me whenever Theodore's eyes meet mine. 

With Madam Rosmerta’s retreating figure a sense of anticipation lingers in the air. I feel Theodore’s gaze intensify, his eyes fixed on mine with a mixture of tenderness and desire. Without a word, he captures my jaw between his thumb and forefinger, guiding me gently toward him. 

Time seeming to stand still as our lips meet in a surprising yet delicate kiss. The world around us fading away, leaving only the soft press of his lips against mine, the warmth of his breath mingling with mine. It’s a kiss filled with unspoken promises and raw vulnerability. It has me melting into his strong presence, my body instinctively leaning closer. His touch both electrifying and gentle, as if he’s holding me with the utmost care. The taste of butterbeer lingering on his tongue adds to the intensity of the kiss, drawing an embarrassing sound from me. 

As the kiss comes to an end, both of us breathless and wide-eyes, a hint of surprise flickers across Theodore’s features. He stammers, voice laced with a touch of flustered apology, “I’m sorry, I… I didn’t mean to…” 

But, before he can finish his sentence, I’m silencing him with another kiss, my lips pressing against his with a mixture of urgency and tenderness. It’s my way of telling him that he doesn’t need to apologise, a soft sigh escaping me when he brings a hand up to cup my jaw as the kiss ends just as sweetly. I’m whispering softly, voice a blend of relief and affection, “I’m glad you like me Teddy. I’m surprised you even see me.” 

“Oh sweetheart,” His vice is low, eyes searching mine, a myriad of emotions swirling within them, thumb caressing my cheek as he leans closer, lips barely brushing mine and he murmurs four words that leave me speechless: 

“I’ve always seen you.” 

-----------

Harry Potter Universe Masterlist

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#Theodore nott #theodoren nott x reader #Theodore nott fanfiction #Theodore nott x y/n #theodorenott x you #Theodore nott fluff #Theodore nott smut #Theodore nott angst #Theodore nott x hufflepuff reader #Theodore nott x female reader #Harry Potter #hpu #Lorenzo zurzolo #theodore nott imagine #Theodore nott drabble #Theodore nott one shot

[autisticlancemcclain]

The ship was shaking like a kid holding a goldfish bag.

It was not, in case you were wondering, a good time. 

Keith grit his teeth, planting his boots on the ground and half-walking half-climbing over to Allura, who was paler than Keith had ever seen her. The grip she had on her podium was tight enough to drain the blood completely from her knuckles. Despite his own fear, Keith’s heart softened for her. 

“How is it looking?” he asked, shouting over the noise of a thousand asteroids and a million laser strikes. All while their lions sat, drained of quintessence, locked in their hangars

One goddamn thing after another. Jesus. 

“It is looking bad,” Allura shouted, not taking her eyes off the space in front of her. “I can’t – Coran, I can’t hold it on my own!”

Coran looked back at her grimly. He had probably the most success keeping upright – seriously, was it posture or did he have a steel rod anchored to his back at all times – but even he was struggling against the whipping and shuddering of the massive castleship, attention focused on the controls. Trying to keep the shield up as well as possible, trying to get their own defenses running. Trying, as always, to keep the castle going, even when the odds were a million to nothing. 

“You can,” he encouraged. The effect was less encouraging when a massive asteroid hit the side of the bridge point-blank, throwing him right off the controls and splat into the walls. Despite Lance and Allura’s cries of alarm, he made a startlingly dignified crawl back to the deck controls.

Hell of a man, that advisor. 

He continued once he was steady, sweat beading on his brow but gaze soft and assuring. He waited for Allura to meet his eyes, then nodded, once. “Focus, girl. Hands on the spheres. Mind cool on the exhale. However we need to get out of this – you can guide us. Make your decision. Your team is behind you.”

“Yeah!” Pidge cheered, lifting her fist in emphasis from where Shiro held her steady, eyes trained on her computer screen. Blaring red lines of code Keith could not pretend to read flashing rapid speed in front of her, and she typed back at it just as fast, keeping their crackling systems at bay. “You got this!”

Allura breathed out. The tense line of her shoulders softened, just slightly, despite the ongoing chaos. She lifted her hands and rested them, gently, on the podium spheres as Coran instructed. They glowed. 

“We retreat,” she decided, nodding to herself. “We’re already low on quintessence, standing to fight will drain us dangerously. We must get to safety if we are to survive with our home intact.” She bit her lip, eyes opening. “But, uh, full disclosure, I have enough strength in me to open a wormhole and that is About It. I will be out of commission the moment it closes.”

Hunk shrugged. “We’ll catch you, then.”

“Try not to wormhole us into a black hole,” Shiro suggested, smiling slightly. “We’ll manage anything else, Princess.”

She laughed slightly, thankfully, but within seconds called out for everyone to brace themselves. Keith did as she heeded, or he tried to – but the castle got hit as he tried to crawl back to his seat, sprawling him on the floor. He glanced over at Allura, panicked, but her eyes were already glowing, and the space in front of them was already starting to warp. He swallowed roughly, squeezing his eyes shut. The floor was shaking too badly for him to get his bearings. He couldn’t get his feet under him, couldn’t stand, couldn’t dream to crawl to his seat. He stilled, resigning himself – he didn’t know exactly what would happen if he wasn't strapped down and protected during a wormhole jump, but it couldn’t be good. He had to hope for the best.

“God,” sighed a voice to his left, “you’d die without me, Dropout.”

A hand clenched the back of his jacket and yanked, pulling him tumbling onto another body. Quick as lightning a seatbelt was stretched over him, clicking into place just as the space in front of the castle finally warped, bright blue, and the entire bridge lit up so bright Keith was blind with it. 

When the light finally died down, Keith was half-convinced nothing had changed. The castle stopped shaking, but instead it was plummeting, hard and fast, controls dead and energy gone, towards the surface of a planet. 

“Someone catch Allura!” Coran shouted, and on queue the princess’ eyes rolled up in her head and she slumped forward. Luckily, Hunk had been more prepared than the rest of them, seatbelt already off and arms extended to catch her. He carried her back to her seat, buckling her in carefully, and strapping himself in next to her. Wise move – trying to crawl back to his own seat, fighting against the G-forces, would be near impossible.

There was a click, and then a shove, and then Keith got to feel those G-forces firsthand.

“What the hell!” he demanded, barely managing to catch himself on the arm of the blue paladin’s seat. “I coulda brained myself!”

Lance shrugged, playing for innocent, but a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. Keith could’ve strangled him. “What? Thought I’d let you get back to your own chair. You're welcome for saving you, by the way.”

“Some saving, jerk! We're still falling!”

“Yeah. Personally, I would find somewhere to buckle up.”

“You’re so annoying,” Keith growled, and it was by spite alone that he managed to stomp back to his own seat and buckle himself in. He was bright red, anger making him hot – Lance always made him like this, so furious he could barely blink. One day they’d be making progress, working together like a dream, wiping the floor together, and the next it was like a switch was flipped. Like Lance was reminding himself that he and Keith could never get along. It was ridiculous, and Keith couldn’t for the life of him understand it. Was he so bad?

“Incoming!” Pidge shouted, shaking Keith back to himself. Her screen was now linked up with Coran’s, the only two things on in the entire castle – electronics seemed to come alive when Pidge touched them – and diagrams of the castle systems were blaring red, flashing with symbols Keith didn’t know, but recognised as bad. “The nav and power systems are down! It’s not safe to get anyone back there to force them back on manually, but I think I can get steering up in a sec. Shiro, I need your arm for power. Hunk, keep on Allura, make sure she’s upright when we crash, we don’t want a spinal injury. Lance, Keith, I’m turning steering over to you guys. Don’t fuck it up.”

Despite their bickering, both of them nodded. Neither of them particularly wanted to be turned into paladin pancake anytime soon, so they could collaborate for one thing. 

Seconds after Pidge spoke, a screen flickered to life in front of Keith. Stats blinked back up, glitching rapidly as they translated themselves into words and symbols Keith could understand. The hologram shifted and expanded to its usual 3D model, joystick in the middle, thrusters and controls to his left, a screen with Lance’s comm line to his right. In his little screen, Lance met his eyes, eyebrows raised in question. Keith nodded. Together, they wrapped their hands around the joysticks, breathed out, and let their minds fuse.

As always, it was a freaky feeling. Imagine the weird, shuddery feeling you get when you say the same thing as someone at the same time, voices layering, tone mixing, for a moment your own voice and the voice of a stranger synching into one. The weird, deja-vu-but-not of it, the uncanny valley feel of recognising your own voice but…different. 

Then multiply that freakiness by a hundred, and you still won’t quite get it. 

On some levels Keith was aware that he was his own person. He knew his name, knew his hands, knew his history – or well, some of it. Nothing about himself had changed. 

But at the same time, he was also Lance Esposita-McClain. He knew his name, knew his hands, knew his history, more of it than he could ever get from shared stories or mind melds. There’s no telling the way your sister’s arm feels hooked around your neck for the sixth noogie in as many minutes. There’s no explaining the way your breathing only gets calm with your feet in the saltwater. There’s no describing the curve of your mother’s smile. Nothing Keith was seeking out – no memories he would even know to look for – but they were there, simmering, triggered by a smell or the crook of his finger in a particular way. Memories stored in the body and the soul and the senses, not in the brain, shared when two consciousnesses become one. 

Lance’s mind was hyperspecific. It complemented Keith’s well, with all his flitting, quick detail-oriented observance. As Keith jumped from angle to angle, noticing the planet’s curve, the pull of its gravity, the heat of its atmosphere, Lance zeroed in on an island, one of the only ones big enough for them to land. While Keith kept their craft in control, steering along the air currents, Lance kept them directed, single-minded focus on a stretch of rocky beach – not exactly a soft landing, but not a lot of living things for them to destroy when they crash. (Keith would’ve chosen to land in the meadow. Crushing frogs and bugs or whatever is never something on his top priority list of things to avoid. But he didn’t argue when Lance nudged them towards what is about to be a very bumpy landing.)

“Brace yourself!” he shouted, not daring to look away to make sure his friends were buckled. Trusting that they were, he held his position, letting them plummet, coming closer and closer to splatting on the planet’s surface before finally yanking on the joystick as hard as he could. He felt Lance’s strength twist and tangle with his own, and together the two of them levelled the castle almost parallel with the ground, letting them glide on their own velocity until they slowed down enough to let the bottom of the craft brush against the rocky outcrop. 

It was the most turbulent landing Keith has ever felt, except maybe that time he and Lance crashed blindfolded into a sand dune, and every bump on the ground gave him whiplash. When the castle finally hit the ground for good, dragging them a gauge in the ground for several miles as friction finally slowed it to a stop, the leftover inertia yanked Keith forward so roughly the buckles of his seatbelt made something crack in his ribcage. When the castle finally stopped he got slammed back into his chair so hard he was almost surprised he didn’t fall right through the impenetrable material. 

It took a minute for everything to hit. His connection with Lance had been severed the second they hit the ground, too focused on being, y’know, crashed to keep holding on. After the shock of being tossed around like dice in a cup wore off, which did not take long, Keith’s body made it very clear that yeah, no, armour actually only does so much, and crash landing is one of those things that’s just bound to hurt. His skull pounded. At least one of his ribs was most definitely cracked. His wristed and knuckles ached from the strain of holding up the entire weight of the castle as he’d steered it. He was alive, obviously, but – Jesus. Being alive sucked.

“Sound off,” croaked Shiro from somewhere left of him.

“Ugh,” groaned Pidge. “Screw you, Keith, I hate it when you drive.”

“Next time I’ll be sure to let us crash,” Keith responded flatly.

“Um, you did, bozo, I asked you to land us –”

“The castle was dead! What did you expect me to –”

“Allura and I are both fine,” Hunk interrupted. Amusement lined his voice. “She’s still out, but she’s breathing fine, and I didn’t let her hit anything on impact. She should still get checked out, though.”

“Roger that,” Coran agreed. “Ease your worries, Number Two, you did well. I will have her in the MedBay as soon as our systems are up and running again.”

“Oh, whew, that’s a relief, because I didn’t want to say anything but she kinda jammed her elbow into my sternum by accident and I’m not blaming her or anything since she’s unconscious but I think my spleen may be a little dead, not a huge deal I’m sure but –”

“Everyone quiet!” barked Shiro. “That’s six accounted for! Who’s missing?”

Immediately, heart pounding, Keith whipped to his right. His stomach dropped. The Blue Lion Command Chair was empty – seatbelt torn somewhere on the shoulder, cracked helmet overturned carelessly on the seat. The crisp blue and white lines were marred by a small splash of red. Panic clawed its way up Keith’s throat, and he was out of his seat before he could register unbuckling his own straps, looking frantically around the bridge. 

“He’s here somewhere,” Pidge fretted, “he couldn’t’ve just disappeared –” 

Coran had a gloved hand clenched in his hair. “The windows and walls should be almost impenetrable, there is no way the crash broke them enough to let someone in –”

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck –”

“Guys,” a soft voice interrupted, and Keith could’ve collapsed with relief. The castle has been flipped sideways during the fall, floor suddenly now 90 degrees, and standing at the side of the control board, now the very high top, was Lance. For whatever reason he had climbed it while they bickered, and now stood very still, gloved hand pressed to the glass of the windshield. Blood trickled from his temple, tracing a line down the side of his face, disappearing in the neckline of his armour. “We got company.”

Shifting gears – Keith was about to tear him a new one, when Shiro says sound off you sound off – but froze when he looked out the window, following Lance’s gaze.

Marching towards them, in numbers Keith couldn’t pretend to count, was an army.

— — —

part two

#i am in my percabeth era 🩷 thus the past tense writing LMFAO #vld #voltron #keith #snarky protag keith my beloved <3 #keith kogane #lance #lance mcclain #klance #pre klance #s1 klance #blue paladin lance #red paladin keith #for u moth #rivals to lovers #jealous keith #aegis au #longpost #team as family #leader pidge #just as a treat #my writing #wip wednesday #pining keith #oblivious keith #adhd keith #autistic lance

[wood-white-writer]

"Didn't mean to make your heart Blue" || [6/...]

— OPLA!Buggy x F!Reader

“On sunny days I go out walking, I end up on a tree-lined street. I look up at the gaps of sunlight. I miss you more than anything."

— Mitski, "Francis Forever"

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live action) x F!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 7

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends.  The crew arrives at the Baratie, and several things go down in a matter of hours. Decisions are made, both stupid and not so stupid. Old and new faces come back into your life, and unable to deal with the events in Orange Town, you handle it in the worst best way possible: through the bottle.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, fem!reader, LA!Verse, slight canon divergence, alcoholic indulgence on a catastrophic scale (drink responsibly ppl), blackouts, morally grey reader, violence, mentions of everyone (marine, fish people, pirates, etc.) having a past beef with Reader/"Cross-Hairs", Buggy POV in the end,

A/N: So, since this chapter was delayed, I think it compensates due to the fact that it is approximately 7k words long. The chapter jumps a little between the events of the Baratie, but there's a reason for that: the reason being that the Reader is shitfaced for most of the time during this chapter. Also, shout out to @ay0nha for putting up with my rambles during this period, really appreciate it XD

It hurts. Everything hurts. That’s the first thing he feels. 

His feet, his back, his torso, but especially his head. It’s like a hamster is running on a wheel inside the bones in his skull, squeaking, chirping, driving him insane from the inside. 

The wheel is pounding, and pounding until all he wants is to chuck that fucking hamster into–

“Hey, he’s waking up!”

Shanks? Why is he in his head? Fuck, he takes it back. The hamster can stay, rent-free, for as long as it fucking wants to, as long as it isn’t fucking Shanks—

“Buggy?”

On second thoughts, that voice doesn’t strike any sense of irritation with him. In fact, he finds it comforting, like the morning sun shining atop the ship deck. He doesn’t mind listening to that.

“Buggy?”

His eyes open, and he thinks he's seeing the sun for the first time. The sun and the moon, in fact, at the same time. Golden, blinding, warm, and cold, but he wants to watch them until his vision turns white and all sense of sight abandons him. 

It’ll suck to be blind, but damn, what a hell of a way to go.

The more he stares, however, the more everything else falls back into place. He realizes it’s not suns he’s staring at, but two sharp eyes and a concerned face that makes him feel just as warm.

He’s in a bed, he finally discovers. There’s a pillow under his head, a fresh sheet up until his midsection which strangely smells of vinegar, inside a room he just now remembers is the Oro Jackson’s de-facto ‘infirmary’ which really is just an old storage space that was refurnished when they first got the ship.

There’s something wrapped around his head, tight but not too tight that it’s squeezing. It’s been done by precise and sturdy hands; a professional, someone who knows what they’re doing.

He blinks once, then twice, and everything around him finally settles. Including everyone perched around the bed.

“Ah, Buggy, my lad!” It’s hard not to recognize the booming voice of his captain, who proceeds to lean over him with his hands pressed around his biceps until the massive mustache trickles his chin. “Thought you were a goner for a moment!”

He kind of wishes he was one because the strength of Gol D. Roger is not to be underestimated. His ribs squeeze and it's hard to breathe, but out of respect for his captain, all that leaves his throat is a guttural groan that he hopes conveys the message clearly enough.

Gol D. promptly removes himself from his poor apprentice with his hands raised, and when he steps back, Shanks takes his place next to the bed. “Gods, Buggy! What were you thinking? You could’ve been killed! Rayleigh said you were lucky it was just a concussion!”

That’s when it dawns on him. Riiight, there was a scuttle. Some asshole pirates trying to ambush them, they picked the wrong fucking targets. Some … guy was flying over him? Did that happen, or was it just a fever dream?

He remembers kicking someone in the balls, and then … and then …

Lightning. Making its way for him as the darkness embraced his vision. A line of gold, straight as a sword, narrowing in on him.

Did it catch him before the darkness did? 

He hopes so.

“Lay off me, will ‘ya!” he shouts at his friend, trying to get up. However, the fucking hamster wheel in his head keeps spinning until he settles back down against the pillow. “I was doing good!”

“Yeah, until you weren’t!” Shanks disputes and grabs his fellow apprentice by the collar of his sleeve. “I told you to fucking move, but it’s like you spaced out! She had to carry you all the way back here with your head all bleeding!”

Carry him?

He glances at you, finally. You’re sitting there, hunched slightly over the bed with those eyes looking at him, and he’s thinking you fucking carried him? It’s not that he’s ashamed, not at all, but if anything, he was always hoping the roles were switched. 

He’d be the one carrying you. With your strength, he imagined it would be quite the weight to uphold, but he would do it. For you, he would move the seas if he could, Devil Fruit or not.

“Buggy, are you alright?” 

You’re the one talking this time. Not the captain, nor Shanks, just you. The lighting is here, and he feels his skin prick. It’s electric. Cold. Warm. All and nothing combined. He could listen to it – feel it – for hours, days, maybe even years without ever growing weary of it.

He puts on his best brave face and scoffs, forcing his arms to cross themselves despite the surge of aches that rush through his body doing so. “Of course I’m alright! I’m Buggy! I bounce back, always!”

“Still,” your hands fall on top of his, and he feels his body freeze. “I was worried.”

“’Worried’?” Shanks cackles and gestures to you with his thumb over his shoulder. “You should’ve seen the damage she left behind. The entire place was smithereens, I tell you, Buggy! She knocked over those assholes like frickin’ chessboard pieces!”

“What did I always tell you?” Gol D. slams a hand on top of your shoulder, knocking you slightly forward. “She’s got eyes sharp enough to cut through steel, and pirates too, apparently.”

You laugh awkwardly. “I didn’t cut through them, really. I just … knocked them a little over.”

Shanks cackles. “Don’t be humble. You should’ve seen the guy who knocked you out. I swear, none of his bones were where they were supposed to be. He won’t be walking, or doing much of anything, ever again.”

Buggy can imagine it, but also not. He looks at you now, and he sees his concerned friend with those kind eyes that contain both the sun and the moon. He’s always known you’re strong – the strongest person he knows of save for his captain, but not unkind. Not cruel. Not sadistic.

Yet, if what Shanks just said carries any weight, it confirms what he’s always known. 

You’re a beast, and beasts only follow their prime instincts. They don’t allow others to harm what or who they consider theirs.

And it means that you consider him yours. 

Maybe in a different way than he’d prefer, maybe in a way that’s different from the kind he harbors towards you, but it still confirms he’s yours. 

He will never want to find himself on the opposite side of that. Of you. Never you.

When he looks at you again, looks down at where your hand is pressed on top of his, he takes it in his own. 

“I’m fine,” he finally says, his lip tugging in what is supposed to be a smile. “Remind me not to get on your bad side, though.”

You chuckle softly, and he smiles. Fuck, how can he not? He remembers it all so clearly. The way your dimples are shaped, the length of your hair, the soft tint of your lips.

“You? Never.” You finally say. “Never you”

---

You reflect on how it's weird that some things change whereas others don't. 

Flowers prosper and bloom and die. The sun ascends, stays up for a few hours, then descends back into the horizon. 

Friendships grow strong, stay strong, then they aren't.

Some things change, some don't. 

Baratie being among the latter.

It's bright enough inside to momentarily blind you, just like it was a little over ten years ago. Save for new faces with the employees and some design choices, the overall place has stayed the same. 

There are people there of prestigious backgrounds - both pirate and not - and you think of how receptive the restaurant must've been to make both parts come together without any regular scuttles. 

A neutral ground for all to come and enjoy the feast. Well, that is the principle, but not everyone abides by it.

It’s been a while since you last visited the establishment, and last time, you were banned for life. 

Frankly, you don’t recall much of the events; too drunk on rum at the time.

What you do remember is that it involved a few broken bottles of Baratie’s finest wine, some mashed-up furniture, and cutlery, a rival captain who wouldn’t take a “fucking get lost” for a “no”, and it ended with you standing surrounded by a bunch of broken bodies of your own making.

Needless to say, Zeff was pissed. 

More than pissed, actually. He was fuming.

He probably still is.He has a thing for grudges if he’s still alive.

Maybe … Just maybe the old man’s chewed off something more than his leg and kicked the bucket? That’d be a sight to see considering he only has one remaining foot.

"My name is Sanji. What can I get for you?"

The waiter - Sanji - is fine, not going to lie. A good fighter, too, if his little display seconds ago is a testament to that. A bit too young for your preference, with a nose too small, and hair too bright and blonde. Not quite blue colorful enough.

All in all, not a bad look at all. Just for the aesthetics, though. A solid 7/10, you conclude.

"One of everything, please!" Luffy requests enthusiastically.

For whatever reason, Sanji does not seem to share your general affinity for the restaurant. That’s odd. Most people who work here tend to boast about their occupation in the famed restaurant.

Though, if you have to make a guess, Zeff is likely a contributing factor behind that disdain. He’s tough on people, even tougher if he likes someone.

As discontented as Sanji seems, however, it does not keep him from trying to withhold his flirtatious demeanor with Nami. A Casanova, it looks like. Funny.

"Waiter, can I get a beer and something for my friends?" Zoro asks, fed up with the one-sided dalliance going on between your shipmate and the waiter.

"Two beers!” Usopp promptly adds. “though, I usually have three."

"And one milk!" Luffy chimes in.

"Three beers and a milk," Sanji notes. His eyes land on you, and that signature smile falls to his lips. "And for the ladies?"

You’re already here, you think to yourself. Why not make the most of it? For nostalgia’s sake.

"A bottle of Baratie's Finest," you request, your chin resting in your palm. "Not the kind you keep for customers, though. Pick one from Zeff's private stash, if you can afford to smuggle it past his bushy nose?"

"A classy beverage for a classy lady, I see." A mischievous glimmer shines in his eyes and smile. "Although that stash is off-limits, what kind of a man would I be if I refused a lady her desired beverage?”

You tilt your head a fraction to the side. "I'm sure he won't mind. At his age, he needs to watch his liver."

"That is true,"

Quite frankly, everything else evades your attention the second the waiter arrives with your order. Sanji brings you your meals, and your pricey bottle of Baratie's Finest, and it’s the Red Apple edition.

Perfect.

You eat, and eat, and drink, and then drink some more, not even stopping to concern yourself with the price tag. 

The food at the Baratie's has not been in decline when it comes to quality above all else. It's delicious, and not a lot of places have earned that kind of claim in your life.

The food is good, but the drinks are ethereal. 

One glass turns into two, and two promptly becomes three. So forth, and so forth. Anything to dull the tightness lodged in your chest. 

A tightness that has not left you alone in the past couple of weeks.

You've developed a pretty good tolerance over the years, and after several more units, you begin to feel the tickle on the edge of your hands. Baratie’s Finest indeed.

After five, the feeling settles on the tip of your spine.

After seven, you start to wonder what went wrong. It's a dangerous area to indulge in, especially if liquor is involved, but you don’t stop.

What went wrong?

What did you do wrong?

In another life, you would've traveled the world with them, doing nothing but drinking, fighting, exploring together.

Instead, you’re here, drinking with a crew yet still feeling like the loneliest asshole in the world. It’s not your crew.

You lose a smidgen of focus, and in the grand specter of things, focus is something you could do well with less off. 

You can afford to think less, feel less, and know less. Life has been full of ups and downs, and quite frankly, you've grown weary of it all.

Fuck, maybe Luffy’s onto something? Maybe you are sad?

… Nah.

Once Zoro orders another beer, you go as far as to share your bottle with him. His face scrunches at the taste and he coughs several times, but he admits that it’s good.

As you sit there on the edge of the couch, sipping your beverage and tasting your food, Sanji arrives to collect the bill. You know Luffy doesn’t have a berry to his name yet, and so you wonder how long it'll take before Zeff notices.

More specifically, how long it’ll take him before he realizes he's missing something from his private collection?

“Who the hell is Monkey D. Luffy?!”

Speak of the Chief… and he shall appear.

This time, you do not interfere when Luffy attempts to bargain for his lack of cash. You simply sit back and observe. 

As much as Luffy tries, he does not have the words or mind suited for this kind of business yet. It’s Capitalism at its finest. 

“You eat, you pay!”

Thoughts and dreams can only get you so far in life, but at the Baratie, it’s coin.

When Zeff grabs Luffy by the front of his shirt, the chief's eyes turn to you, and holy hell, is he furious. 

“And what in the blazing hell are you doing here?!"

“Zeff,” You greet him and raise your beverage his way, a tilted smirk on your face. "It’s been too long."

"Not long enough! I thought I told you to get fucking lost last time? The damages you did cost a fortune!"

“In my defense, it was the other guys that started it.”

He gives you such a dirty look that his jaws clench. “Don’t give a shit. Why are you here?”

You twirl the bottle around in your hand. "Just enjoying the ambiance, as always. I was in the area, and so how could I pass up the chance to try your scrumptious meals again? Or drinks, for that matter?" 

On cue, you raise your - or rather his - bottle closer up to him. 

It’s stupid, the rational part of your brain argues. One does not fuck around with the Chief of the Baratie, but among the few joys you have left in life, this remains one of them.

His eyes narrow in on the bottle and there he is.In the blink of an eye, he snaps it out of your hand with such fast precision that you're almost caught off-guard. 

Zeff narrows in on the mostly empty flask like it's personally insulted him and his entire lineage. “Where did you get this?"

"It was on the menu."

"It sure as shit was not! How could you—" He freezes like a thought suddenly dawned on him, and if a man can become purple from anything other than oxygen deprivation, Zeff's current mood is the closest thing to it. "Sanji. Why that snot-nosed, little—! ... When I get my damn hands on him."

It seems that whatever vendetta Zeff has towards his employee, it outweighs the one he has for you tenfold, which says something. Without another word, he yanks Luffy by the scruff and all but drags him with him to the kitchen. 

Ordinarily, you would’ve intervened on behalf of your captain, but with Zeff now preoccupied, it’s your chance to rob the bar of a few more beverages.

And in your dictionary, “a few” is the equivalent of “a shitton”.

"Wow," Usopp murmurs with a low whistle. "That guy really hates your guts."

"What are you talking about? I’m his favorite customer." You raise what remains in your glass to them. “Anyone want another one?”

"I do," Nami relents.

Zoro laughs, probably for the first time since you’ve met him. "Now you're talking."

Maybe, just maybe, you’re beginning to like these people. 

With a couple more drinks, maybe you’ll be able to tell.

———

“You know, I kind— I kinda assumed you were an asshole when we first met?” 

Usopp’s struggling to stand on his feet, legs bent slightly forward as he makes a half-assed attempt at ordering another drink. You can’t tell if the bartender is electively ignoring him or not, and truth be told, you don't blame the guy if the former applies.

Between the two of you, you’re more adept when it comes to dealing with liquor. Sure, your lips are a little looser now and the bright lights are starting to hurt your eyes, but all in all, you’re not even half as drunk as you want to be. 

Seriously, fuck me sometimes. You just had to go all out when you were younger. Days and nights spent pouring bottle after bottle left your liver hardened rather than weakened.

Now, because of the high tolerance you stupidly developed, it's come here to bite you in the ass and keep you from getting wrecked. 

“Oh?” Your sarcasm couldn't be any more discernible than it is now as you eye your crew mate. “What made you reach that conclusion?”

Usopp twirls around, horribly off-balanced, and slaps a hand over your shoulder. 

A little too personal for your liking, but you let it slide for now.

“I mean, for starters, you—,” he hiccups. “You always have that look about you. Like someone just pissed in your ale.”

You give him an unimpressed but vaguely piqued once-over. “Descriptive. Go on,”

“And soso— And so I and the guys are wondering if you’re like that because some clown broke your heart or—,” he hiccups again. “Or some— something? Did he piss in your ale?”

You shrug his hand off at once. You don’t want to think about him, now least of all. "No.”

Not even a second later, his arm his back over your shoulder and he leans closer. It's probably meant as a comforting gesture, but given how absolutely wasted he looks, you perceive it with a grain of salt. 

"Y-You can tell the great Capt— I mean, the Great Usopp, alright? We've all been there before, I—I'm ssssure. I mean, Zoro doesn't strike me as much of a ladies' man, but he's probably got stories, too."

The bartender finally stops by and leaves a beer bottle in front of you on the table, completely ignoring your companion, and disappears to make his next rounds.

You take the flask and flick the cork off with your thumb. "Well, if you really want to help, —" 

You turn around so that your back hits the bar counter, twirl Ussop around with the guidance of your hand and shove him lightly towards where Nami and Zoro are sitting. "— Talk to the others first about their heartbreaks."

If he wants to object, he's too drunk to for it. Instead, he recollects his limited stance and all but wobbles over to the corner where your other companions are seated.

He’s their problem now, but it’ll be an interesting display.

You recline against the bar counter to chug your beverage in peace when a voice suddenly speaks up from next to you. 

“I thought you were retired.”

With how loud the music is, it might have slipped your notice completely. Then again, the owner of said voice has always had that thing about him. 

He could whisper, and the entire room would’ve heard.

You glance up at your side, and you’re halfway tempted to smile when you see who it is. 

“It’s been a while, Hawk-Eyes.”

Everything from the feather on his hat to the cross around his neck and the pointy way his beard is trimmed has stayed the same. Not a scar, a bruise, or blemish to spot on him.

In ten years, he looks to have aged only one. Some people are fortunate in terms of youth, and you would definitely consider Dracule Mihawk one of them.

“Cross-Hairs.” He inclines his head to you, a silent courtesy reserved only for those whose company he tolerates. “I believed you abandoned your life behind the mast years ago.”

You take another generous gulp from your bottle before you respond. "So did I, but life finds a way, doesn't it?"

"Indeed." He peeks over his shoulder to where your companions are seated, his countenance less than impressed. Then again, that's just his face by default, so hard to tell with him. "And last we met, you were a Captain."

"Last time we met, you almost cut my right arm off." For emphasis, you pull back your sleeve to show off the straight scar that separates your upper arm from the rest. It's faded, old, and never noticeable unless you decide to wear anything short-sleeved, but it's there all the same.

He doesn't apologize. Of course, he wouldn't. Instead, he raises his sparse glass of wine to you. "Nothing personal."

You raise your bottle to him in turn. "Of course not,"

Clink!

You drink your respective beverages in companionable silence. However, even with your halfway inebriated state of mind, you can't help but think of the reasons for his presence. 

You have your suspicions, and you're not shy about voicing them.

"This isn't your usual scenery." You say. “What makes one of the great Warlords of the Sea seek out a place such as this? Business or pleasure?"

"Business," he answers curtly, as though he'd prefer to do anything but. "I'm looking for a captain."

“It’s not Shanks, I take it?”

“No, it’s not. It’s a captain by the name of Luffy.”

It doesn't surprise you. It should, but it doesn’t.

The lengths the vice-admiral is willing to go to retrieve his grandson, which apparently includes hiring a Warlord to do so, doesn’t surprise you in the slightest. Unbreakable willpower is a family trait, after all, if you've learned anything from Luffy. 

It wouldn’t suffice with a gun; he had to send the entire fucking arsenal.

Still, at least it’s Mihawk of all people. It shouldn’t be a source of relief, but had it been anyone else, be it Kuro or Axe-hand or Bu-... 

Your fingers subconsciously dig into the fragile, empty bottle you’re holding.

The point is, had it been anyone else, you would've intervened. You have intervened, several times by now, but not tonight. 

Tonight, you're here to drink and forget, then drink some more. You don’t have the sobriety to worry about much of anything anymore.

"Garp must truly be at his wit's end if he employs you for his endeavors." Once you retrieve the bottle at your disposal, you pluck off the cap and swirl it lazily in your hand. The lights from the bar dance around the transparently brown rim, like a shooting star with no exit and no entrance to the rest of the universe. Forever stuck. "Seems excessive to send you of all people after something so seemingly simple."

"From what I've heard, this particular quarry is something of a wildcard."

"If you’re here, I’m sure of it."

Mihawk tilts his chin up, eyeing you curiously in your peripheral vision. "Are you saying that you're acquainted with this Luffy?"

"I'm saying no such thing. It's just mere speculations on my part." Another fistful of alcohol travels down your esophagus. "You're only employed when it's truly serious, and the vice-admiral is known for only getting involved in those kinds of matters. It adds up, is all I’m saying."

“I hardly consider it dire. It's more a means of killing some time on my part." He does not take his eyes off of you, and even in your current state, you can tell that something is brewing beneath those sharp eyes. "However, if said captain has you in his arsenal, then I feel like some investigation is warranted. After all, the Captain of the Cross-Haired pirates is not particularly known for her tendency to submit to others."

You quirk an eyebrow at him and circle your finger around the bottle rim, pondering on the subject yet not biting at the metaphorical carrot he dangles in front of you. "Technically, it’s just like you said: I'm retired, and the Cross-Haired pirates are no more. I’d think most people are aware of that.”

"The Marines believe otherwise,” he counters calmly. “The Cross-haired pirates may be disbanded, but their captain’s bounty remains on the posters. The vice-admiral was quite adamant that, while he wants the boy alive, he’d prefer it if you weren’t."

“I see.” The vice-admiral should learn to take a fucking number. “Tell me, have you elected a means of execution, or is it the dealer's choice?"

"I recall he mentioned something along the lines of wanting your head on a spike."

"Crude."

"I agree."

"Then," you raise your glass. "Am I to have my last drink here tonight?"

He shakes his head. "No, I'm here for the boy and nothing else."

You'd expect him to be forward with his line of questions; demand you just give Luffy up and be done with it, not side-stepping the subject like he's doing now. 

If he suspects something, he'll sniff it out like a bloodhound until he gets what he's searching for, regardless of how many cards or people fall around him. You’ve not exactly been subtle about your affiliations with his quarry, something you’ll berate yourself for come morning, but it all depends on how this plays out now.

"I won’t give you the answer you seek. You’ll have to do that on your own.”

You're not friends, but you're not necessarily foes either. 

For as long as you’ve known the swordsman, Mihawk's only ever had a beef with Shanks for reasons undisclosed even to you. Even after you parted ways with your red-haired crew mate, Mihawk never seemed to have anything personal against you despite the rather brutal nature of your previous encounter. 

If anything, there's a certain level of respect veiled between you, one former pirate to another semi-former one, and it’s something you hope he'll honor just this once.

To your relief, he decides to not push the matter, but the interest lingers in his eyes. 

It's not easy to notice, but you make it a habit to take note of limited details. "The boy must be something special to have earned your loyalty like this, Cross-Hairs." 

"I suppose you'll have to find out for yourself." 

"Perhaps so," he concedes.

You chug the rest of your drink in one go, put the empty bottle on the tabletop in the space between you, and push yourself off the counter. "For what it's worth, I wish you good fortune with your endeavor. However, I’ll warn you; if anything happens to the kid, I'll get involved.”

“Duly noted.” Once again, he dips his head to you. "And Cross-Hairs,"

"Hmmm?"

You glance at him from over your shoulder, but his gaze is fixated on something else this time. Something on the other side of the bar, to the borders of the waters. If he sees anything, you can't tell what it is, and he doesn’t share. 

Not explicitly.

"There is unrest brewing in the seas," he finally reveals, casually as if he's discussing the current state of the weather. "I'd suggest you keep your feet dry for now, at your convenience."

You don't know what he speaks of, but whatever it is, you'll follow. He is not a man who prides himself on his capacity to proclaim falsehood. If he tells you that the sun is green, you'll believe it, and you make it a habit not to believe in a lot of people.

That applies to this warning too.

"I'll see you around, Hawk-Eyes."

You need another drink.

———

You slip in and out of consciousness a couple of times throughout the night, never coming to the same places twice, with a belly full of rum, beer, and whatever else with enough alcoholic percentage to knock out a horse. 

At one point, you're in the restaurant munching on some bread rolls.

At another, you're puking your guts out in the bathroom stalls. 

At the third, you're chugging even more liquor straight out of the bottle while a bunch of people cheer you on.

The circle goes on and on and on until it spins out of control like a zoetrope. Faces flash in front of you, one after the other, never the same two times in a row. 

It's alright, you tell yourself, as long as you forget.

You forget about blue eyes, blue hair, and red noses. 

You forget about Gol D. Roger and the time you spent on his crew.

You forget it all, if only for a few hours.

Next time you come to, you're still miraculously standing on your feet. You’re currently in the kitchen on the Merry, and currently listening to Nami telling a ridiculous story about how Zoro challenged Dracule Mihawk to a duel.

What a funny story.

In fact, it’s so funny and so outlandish that you can't help but snort. Since when has Nami been the kind of person to tell jokes?

Maybe Usopp's tendencies have rubbed off on the standoffish young woman, or maybe she's smoked something along with her drinks? 

Fuck, you have to ask her where she got the stuff.

It takes a few moments of awkward silence until you realize that no one is joking, Nami least of all. The room is still, and as if all alcoholic content has left your blood, it dawns on you last of all.

Oh hell no.

You slowly turn to Zoro with a deadpan look in your eyes, and despite the urgency, you ask him as calmly as you can, "You challenged Dracule Mihawk to a duel?"

He bobs his head and continues polishing his swords. "Which he accepted,"

You blink, and blink, hoping that this is just a fragment your beer-and-bottle-drenched brain has conjured to fuck with you, but Zoro remains where he is and so is everyone and everything else.

Fuuuuuuuck…

You thought he was one of the smart ones, too. His sense of navigation doesn't work for shit and if anyone can get lost on their way to the lavatory, it's him. Still, you withheld some semblance of hope that he would exhibit the same kind of recklessness as his captain.

Turns out, it has all been for naught.

You rub your temples hard enough to sting. With a nasty headache developing, you decide to pop the question. "Cremation or burial at sea?"

"... What?"

"Pick one or the other, I'll see to it that arrangements can be made."

"I'm not going to die.”

"You are a fly to him." Nami grimaces. "Something to be swatted and forgotten,"

"Not if I win." Zoro is steadfast and determined, like every new pirate on their first voyage.

It’s a look you remember well. In a way, the young swordsman kind of reminds you of Mihawk himself, and if there's one thing you can link to both, it's that annoying stubbornness that never yields. Even when the odds are against them.

"You're not going to win," Nami tries.

Zoro remains infuriatingly unconvinced. "You don't know that."

"You won't." This situation, to your chagrin, sobers you up enough that you can't blame the liquor on your next actions or words. 

You take a step towards him, and with an iron fist, grab him by the front of his shirt and force him to face you. He's unamused. “I think I liked you better when you were drunk,” he murmurs.

"I want you to get this, really get this.” You snarl. “Once you go against Mihawk, and there's no coming back for most. He's not known as the World's Greatest Swordsman for no reason, and as good as you are, take it from me. He'll end you."

He inclines his head to the side with deep-rooted skepticism. "Sounds like you really know the guy,"

"It doesn't matter whether I know him or not." 

"Everywhere we go, we make enemies, and for some reason, they've already got a grudge against you, Captain Cross-Hairs." 

With one hand clenched against your offending wrist, he starts to list off his other hand. "Since you know just about every asshole we come across, you might as well tell me about Mihawk's preferred method of execution. Will he chop me in half, or is he excessive like the damn clown and goes all the way with splitting someone into pieces?"

You feel your nails begin to pierce through the fabric of his shirt, inches away from leaving open gaps. You're not their guardian or their mentor. You're not the one supposed to keep the crew at ease or lead them towards certain victories. 

That's the captain's role, and you're not it. Not on this ship, with this crew.

Your only purpose here is to keep them from killing themselves on their first voyage, but if they're so determined to do it themselves despite the warnings you provide, then it's not on you.

Pulling him a few inches closer to you, you look him straight in the eyes, and that's when you see it. The aforementioned stubbornness that follows each and every young pirate you've come across in your life. The notion that they're invulnerable; unkillable. 

Nothing can hope to end them.

You remember what it was like, that feeling, and it almost breaks you to see it in front of you like this. 

You know aggression won’t do it for him, so you try an approach you haven’t tried in years. Bargaining. 

“What will it take for you to pull back from this?”

“He’s coming for Luffy. I’m his first mate, it’s my duty to protect the captain.”

To protect the Captain…

That's how you know that there's no convincing the young swordsman to stand down, not this time. 

He's persistent, exceedingly so, and if there's one thing you've learned during this voyage with these people it's that hell hath no fury like a straw hat pirate determined.

This is not on you, yet it doesn't make it any easier to let go of him. But you do.

Taking a deep breath, you uncurl your fingers and let him step back. 

"Fine."

You need another drink.

Glancing over your shoulder, you meet Luffy’s concerned gaze. “This is your call, captain.”

You don’t need to be here for this. You’ve done your part, and now it’s his turn to do his.

You give Zoro a pat on his back, just one. It's not meant for comfort, it's not an act of sympathy either. 

It's just a pat, like the kind you give your friend when they're about to gamble away all their savings over a game of cards. It’s the “fuck around and find out, but do it yourself”-kind of gesture.

Heaving a sigh, you sidestep him and let your fingers fall off his shoulders. "It's been fun, Zoro." 

And the worst part about this all is that you mean it, truly. It has been fun to sail with them, share a few beers, and joke at the expense of others. Your time on this ship has been fun. 

Like old times.

You won't go as far as to call Zoro a friend, you never do, but it's close enough that you'll probably miss him in the long run.

Zoro looks at you, his countenance indecipherable. "Say that to me again when I win this fight,"

"I can't." Because you won't.

---

The water forces its way into his lungs at such speed that it feels like he's swallowed buckets by the time they finally come up for air. He harks and coughs and tries to get as much of it out, but he doesn’t feel any lighter. 

Get it? Lighter, because he’s just a head now and— alright, forget it.

For once, he's happy his head is disjointed from the rest of his body because if it wasn't, he'd probably sink to the bottom of the ocean from the fluid in his belly alone.

The taste of salt and sand stays like a sour afterthought on his tongue, and as much as he tries to spit it out, he can't be rid of all the grains. "Fuck! Give me a warning next time, will ya?! Kinda vulnerable to seawater and all that!"

Whatever fish-guy has him strapped to their back this time does not dignify his complaints with a verbal response. Instead, all he hears is a couple of snickers, like their humor is fuelled at his expense. 

Assholes, the lot of them. 

It takes some time for the tangy scent to abandon his nostrils, but once it does, it's immediately replaced by the fine scent of something divine. Something delicious. 

It smells of food. Actual fucking human food. Not whatever Arlong and his litter gorge on, which he personally believes to be carcasses of dead sea animals they happen to catch on the shores of their island. 

It's honest-to-god cooked, seasoned, edible food.

Buggy can feel his mouth water, and for once, he cannot blame it on seawater.

They're finally at Baratie.

The finest restaurant in all the East Blue, renowned for its excellent taste and unrivaled quality. Only the richest of the rich get to dine here, and while he's not exactly flowing with berries at the moment, he’s famished.

“Hey, Lips!" he yells out as loud as he can through the shitty bag. "How about you order me some hot dogs once we get a seat? A clown's gotta eat!"

The only sort of response he gets is an elbow to the bag, which incidentally clashes right into his nose. "FUCK!"

"Shut up!"

There's scuttling to be heard, doors opening, and a shitton of gasps echo from all around him. They have an audience, he deduces, and not a particularly receptive one at that. 

Arlong makes a spectacle, something about "serve" and yish and yash about dinner and last meals as they get a seat.

Fuck, what he would give for a meal.

For the first time in what feels like forever, he feels solid ground settle under his neck. Though it's a pleasant reprieve from being thrown back and forth like a yarn ball caught in a cat’s game, he won’t consider it much of an upgrade. He's fucking hungry, damnit!

"Who are you, old man?" Arlong speaks, and Buggy hears uneven steps approach them.

An unfamiliar voice answers. "My name's Zeff, and I own this place."

Right, the Chief. Maybe he can ask him for some crumbs since his captors aren’t exactly on the generous side.

"Well, I'm Arlong, and I own the East Blue."

"No one owns the sea. Not even a fish man."

Ooooh, burn! Suck on that, shitface!

"Listen up!” Arlong exclaims when the chief’s negotiation tactics fail to appease him. “I'm looking for a pirate in a straw hat! Goes by the name of Luffy!"

The saw-nosed motherfucker truly has to be even more extravagant than himself, Buggy admits to himself with no short amount of begrudging compliance. Fishface even goes as far as to threaten the poor diners with having them for dinner instead, by the sounds of it. 

Buggy can appreciate the message it conveys; he’s used it himself, but he refuses to find any common ground with his captor, so he buries the sentiment ten feet down into wherever the hell his body is.

He listens as the diners lose their appetite, all the while Arlong begins to gorge on whatever he has on his plate. For a while, all he can make out is the sound of meat being torn off something and the occasional cry from one of the diners in the distance.

Even from miles and miles away, Buggy can feel his stomach twist painfully due to the lack of food in it. Oh, it’s hell on earth to smell everything you want yet being unable to even grasp it. And here his captors are, toying with him, torturing him with it.

Seriously, fuck them.

He’s about to demand to get something to chew on when Arlong’s other henchman — Kuroobi or some shit like that — beats him to it. "Hey, boss, I'm feeling for a bottle right about now."

Arlong laughs. "Don’t have to tell me. Take what you please. I don’t think that one will mind sharing one of hers.”

“And get one for me too while you’re at it,” Lips supplies.

The henchman cackles and gets up to his feet to retrieve what he’s looking for, but not before lightly kicking the bag that is Buggy’s current prison cell in the side. 

“HEY!”

“Sorry.” He apologizes unapologetically.

Buggy grinds his teeth together and tries to think of something — anything — to keep his mind off his ever-rising hunger. When he gets his body back, he'll take some bottles and shove them right up these fuckers a—

CRASH!

Buggy hears the sound of something breaking from the opposite side of where the fish man just headed. Countless gasps ring through the restaurant’s interior, bouncing on the walls, and he hears the henchman’s painful wails from a distance away.

He’d laugh - he does laugh, because it seems like someone didn’t want to share their precious drinks and decided that full-on attacking one of the fish people was the appropriate kind of response.

It’s impressive, he thinks. Very much so. Oh, he’d pay to see that again, and he’ll have to give that person a fucking kiss, just for making his day a little bit better.

It’s a shame he can’t see the—

"Fucking get lost."

Buggy feels his head freeze in the bag.

He recognizes that voice. The morning sun shone atop the ship deck. Warm. Cold. All of them at once. 

He's finally found you.

---

Taglist: @kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk , @notyuralycat , @angeli-fucking-cat, @machinema7k , @shuujin, @avatar-lover, @gingernut1314, @autumn-slaves. @marvelouskatie, @floristoflillys, @dizzyenby, @redpool, @deliri-yum22, @aemondsb1tch, @ackroxia, @gayandfairycore (If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

#buggy the clown #buggy x reader #buggy one piece #buggy the clown x reader #one piece live action #one piece x reader #buggy x you #one piece #buggy the clown fanfiction #buggy x female reader #DMTMYHB #didn’t mean to make your heart blue

[varpusvaras]

Beru found out about their new neighbour on a one pretty unremarkable day.

Owen was out that afternoon, gone to recycle some of the old machinery parts they had left after one of their perimeter sensors had finally been worn down by the increased storms. The desert was calm that day, thankfully, as Luke had started to become very restless from not getting to go outside in days.

Perhaps Beru should've realised that such restlessness was going to make Luke forget their usual rules, in his haste to get out of the house, as all of a sudden she noticed that the immediate area around the house was uncharacteristically quiet, and not full of noises made by little boy playing space battles.

She didn't, however, get too far in her searches, when there was a tall shadow casted onto the sand right next to hers.

"Excuse me-" The man didn't even get to finish what he was saying, when Beru had already reacher for the prybar in the toolbox and turned around, gripping it tightly and ready to strike.

The Suns were partially behind the man, obscuring his features momentarily from her. She was tall and broad-shouldered, standing straight with his head held high even in the heat of the day. On his arms he held Luke, who had his arms around the man's neck in a relaxed, loose grip.

That made her loosen up her grip from the prybar just a little. Luke had the gift of knowing when to trust people, even if sometimes that trust overextended itself a little. The man's hold of Luke was, however, also relaxed, which made him a bit more trustworthy to Beru.

The man bend down and placed Luke onto the ground, and by doing so, he gave his face enough shadow for Beru to see him better.

He looked young, if a bit weathered, with some lines already forming on his face, though Beru could tell that they were in places that usually got creased up when someone was constantly concerned about something. There was a long scar running down the side of his face, showing up starkly as the skin around it had tanned more recently. It was the thing that told Beru that the man had not spent too much time on the desert yet, despite his clothes having already been weathered as well, and his footing being even enough on the sand. His dark, curly hair looked like it had only now started to grow out of a very well-maintained shorter cut. Another sign of him being a newcomer.

Still, there was something familiar in him, something Beru couldn't quite place, and she wasn't quite sure if that should've made her relax more or be more suspicious of him.

The man looked at her. His dark eyes were just as weathered as the rest of him, but still kind.

Beru made her decision. She lowered the prybar, and let go of it with her other hand, grabbing at Luke instead.

The man's shoulders lowered a bit as well.

"Excuse me", he said. "I saw your nephew had gotten a bit far away from the house."

Beru looked down at Luke. He looked up at her, and gave her a bit of a sheepish smile.

"Yes", Beru said, and looked back up at the man. "Thank you."

The man nodded.

"No problem at all", he said to her, and then turned to speak to Luke. "Stay where you're supposed to. The desert is a dangerous place."

"But you were there by yourself as well", Luke piped up, not able to resist the urge to talk back just a little.

The man smiled at him. Beru though he had a rather nice smile, even if it was worn down as well. She wondered what kind of hardships he had gone through, out there in the Galaxy, to seem like he had been sanded down by a multiple of storms already.

"I've seen a lot of places that are worse than this, kid", the man said. "I'll be just fine."

He then nodded his head again at Beru, lifted the back of the dark blue cape he had draped over his shoulders over his head, turned around and walked into the desert without another word.

Beru watched him go, ever so slightly confused about the whole interaction. She only moved his eyes away when Luke tugged at her hand.

"Did you know him?" He asked. "I've never seen him before. Not here or in town."

Beru shook her head.

"No", she said. "Did he say anything to you?"

She had not had the mind to even ask the man his name. She looked back out in the desert. He had already disappeared somewhere beyond the dunes.

Luke shook his head.

"He did know you are my aunt", he said. "And not my mom."

True, Beru realised. He had called Luke her nephew, without any introductions.

She decided not to be too alarmed about that. There weren't a lot of people who lived in the area. Chances were that the man had just heard about them already, and remembered who lived in the house.

Still. Not a lot people lived in the area, and even less had any business around there either. On top of that, even though she was more than sure that she had never seen the man before, Beru thought he had looked awfully familiar in some way.

"He seemed nice", Luke said. "He felt nice."

"If you say so, my little sun", Beru said. "Your feelings are often very precise."

She decided not to tell Owen about the man that evening. He would've just gotten unnecessarily worried about it.

----

Beru saw a dark blue cape in the corner of her eye.

When she turned, it wasn't the man from the desert, even if she was sure it was the same cape, with the tattered edges and faded shoulders.

She did know the man wearing it, though. Ben seemed to feel her eyes on him, as he also turned to look at her, and very briefly nodded at her before he went back to dealing with a customer.

Beru thought about it as she went on her business, and she walked back by Ben's stall as she came back.

Ben was already packing up by then, and Beru saw that he had also made purchases, as he was tying some wares that Beru didn't believe he had brought all the way from his house to the town. At the top were a new bedroll, and a pair of boots that even from afar looked too big for Ben's feet.

Beru smiled, before turning away. It really seemed like Ben wasn't alone anymore. That was good.

#idk just wanted to write something about desert husbands #a hot new bombshell has just entered the desert #sw #tcw #my writing #snippets #beru whitesun #commander cody #luke skywalker #obi wan kenobi #codywan #desert husbands #post order 66 au

[yorshie]

Saw this post @fuckedupcleric and I was struck by the writing bug when I saw your tags hehe

Bayverse x GN reader (uses of the word babygirl as a nickname) (set in 2023 turtles are 24-25) SFW

Leo

Is drinking tea when he hears your dramatic sigh and exclamation, and it brings a smirk to his mouth.

“How would you like to be kissed?” He asks, demeanor calm, moves telegraphed as he sets his tea down and turns to watch you fluster over an answer.

Unable to give him one, he tilts his head before moving into your space, caging you against the sagging cushions and blocking your legs with his plastron. “How do you want to be kissed?” He asks again

When he gets nothing but wide eyed blinks and a deepening blush, he continues:

“Do you want sweet kisses like the petals of flowers brushing against your cheeks?” He leans in closer, breath brushing against skin starting to grow sensitive from imagined touches “Do you want a tender friend to sip from the honeyed nectar of your lips?” His breath is now a ghost upon your mouth, his words breathed in and taken into your lungs. Finally, he whispers, “do you want a desperate lover to coil his tongue against your own, to seek the treasure of your sounds of pleasure at his touch?”

He waits, a moment, a heartbeat, for your eyes to flutter shut, before he pushes up off the couch, taking the fevered fantasy tinged blue and the scent of tea with him.

“Something to contemplate.” He says with a devious smile, grabbing his tea and heading out of the living room.

Raph

He’s wiping the sweat from his workout off his arms and face when he hears your pathetic whine, and he immediately looks in your direction incredulously. Babygirl wants a kiss?

You don’t realize the trouble you’re in until his hand is under your jaw and he’s tipped your head back. You have a moment to think Red before he’s licking into your mouth and swallowing any sound you might have made at the abrupt attention.

When he’s got you thoroughly stupid from lack of oxygen and the way he nips at your mouth whenever you move too slow to reciprocate, he finally pulls back and looks you over.

“Need more?” He asks, tone low and striking the tinder in your gut, fanning the coals there back to life. When you only blink up at him, dazed and chin slick with combined drool, he laughs and dips his head back for another taste, licking up your jaw before covering your mouth once more.

Swirls of his tongue, painting over yours, smothering your moans with the thick of his tongue before pulling more out of you with his teeth tugging on your abused bottom lip. His thumb pressing against your cheek and holding you open for his slow perusal

“You need to be kissed , and kissed often.” He told you finally when he pulled back. “Anytime you need some lovin’, sweetheart, you come find me.”

The couch protests when he pushes off it, and you stay exactly where you were left as he walks away, blinking up at the light and wondering what on god’s green earth just happened.

Angelo

Mikey pauses the game when he hears you whine from the couch behind his head, baby blues wide as he all but spins around and stares up at you.

“You want kisses, sunshine?” He asks, sounding surprised, before a grin breaks out across his face. “Don’t gotta tell me twice, come here, baby!”

Grabby hands, pulling you down the couch and taking the cushions with you, til your back is on the seat and you can’t breathe from the giggles as he blows a raspberry against your cheek before peppering your face with kisses.

When you beg him to stop, he chimes off with a “nu uh! You said you wanted kisses, and I’ve got plenty of kisses, angel.”

When you finally grab a hold of his mask tails and hold him still for a proper kiss, your jaw and cheeks hurt from laughing so much, but who needs to catch your breath when Mikey is giggling against your lips. Certainly not you, certainly not now.

His kisses taste like the cinnamon hard candies you got him just to spoil him, and he sighs happily into the affection, plastron pressing you against the cushion.

When his hand sneaks to your hip where your shirt has raised up and starts tickling you however, you can do nothing but squawk in outrage into his mouth, fighting to wiggle out from his hold while he continues to press kisses to your cheek.

Donnie

Donnie turns from his project and blinks at you in surprise when he hears you lamenting your lack of kisses, his hands still fiddling with the small project he’d brought to the living room to keep busy with while hanging out.

“You’re protesting a lack of affection?” He asked, finally, pushing his glasses up his beak with one long finger while watching you. When you nod eagerly, he sets the little project aside, turning to face you more directly.

“Are you wanting me to kiss you?” He asks, tone a little playful, golden eyes dancing down your features to land on your lips for just a moment. When you pout and nod again, he chuckles, rocking up on his knees to shuffle into your space.

The first touch is testing, a mere press of lips, before you huff loudly and his break crinkles in amusement. His head tips to the side, hands coming up to frame your jaw and hold you in place while he kisses you deeply.

You sigh into his mouth, and he pulls back, glasses fogged up and soft, dorky smile breaking out across his face. “Better?”

“I was hoping for more than one kiss.” You told him, tapping your feet along his calves. He hummed at that, his smile solidifying into something a little more mischievous. “You were lamenting not being kissed, you never specified how many kisses.”

He waited until you were sputtering mad from that point before he kissed you again, the little snort of his laugh almost lost between the press of your mouths.

#my writing snippets #TMNT bayverse #tmnt bayverse x reader #tmnt Leonardo #TMNT donatello #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt raphael #bayverse leonardo #bayverse raphael #bayverse donatello #bayverse michelangelo #bayverse leo x reader #bayverse raph x reader #bayverse donnie x reader #bayverse mikey x reader

[whereonceiwasfire]

If you're game to write a cheese melt (Vlad & Dani father-daughter dynamic) ficlet, I'd love to read one. If not, that's cool :)

*vibrating with excitement* My friend. Your cheese melt art has been living rent free in my head for WEEKS. It's my sincerest pleasure to write a ficlet for this. I hope it's okay that it's an outsider POV, I just had an idea and my brain went brrrrrrr LOL

May I offer you a dysfunctional parent-teacher interview?

Parent-teacher interviews are always a nightmare, but there's one in particular that’s making Amity Middle School’s beloved Ms. Burnell sweat through her shirt. As the time slot nears, her gaze keeps flickering to the clock, her classroom door, back to her nervously interlaced fingers on the desktop.

It’s going to be fine. Perfectly fine.

“This one! Over here! Dad! This is my class!” The excited words, shouted in the syrupy sweet voice of a little girl, sets every nerve on edge, Ms. Burnell’s heart plummeting straight into the pit of her stomach.

Oh lord. Maybe it’s not going to be fine. 

Her student comes bounding into the classroom, eyes bright and excited, oversized blue sweater sleeves slipping over her hands, even as she gestures emphatically for her father to follow. Black hair spills out of her ponytail, whipping across her face as she throws herself into a desk across from Ms. Burnell’s with a bright smile. 

Her father, on the other hand… 

The heel of his expensive Italian loafers strike against the linoleum as the man stops at the threshold of the classroom, cool gaze doing an assessing sweep of the space, expression crinkling in distaste as it does. He doesn’t say a single word, doesn’t make any move to actually step inside the classroom. 

Ms. Burnell is the one who clears her throat, pushing to an awkward stand as she extends a hand out to the man. 

“Hello, Mr. Masters. Thank you for making the time to come discuss your daughter’s education. I know you’re very busy.” 

The man’s eyes slip to her outstretched palm, and for a motifying second, she doesn’t think he’s going to take it. When he finally does, he just gives a brief, cursory shake before swiping his palm off on his suit jacket and striding past her toward his daughter. 

Ms. Burnell’s face is all kinds of warm, chest tight with embarassment as she fumbles back to her desk, trying to wrestle herself back into some kind of composure. Still, she barely looks up as she pulls out a folder with Danielle Masters scrawled across the tab.

“Dad! Dad! That one’s mine! Do you see it? Do you like it?” Danielle calls proudly, tugging on her father’s suit sleeve and pointing toward the paintings that are spread out beneath the windows to dry, paper wavy and crinkled.

“Oh, er. That’s actually a good place for us to start,” Ms. Burnell cuts in apologetically. 

Mr. Masters gaze snaps from where he’d been examining his daughter’s project, over to her, brows dropped low. 

“Why? Is there a problem with my daughter’s work?” The question is sharp, accusatory, and she’s pretty sure her soul shrivels up a little bit at the unguarded disdain in the man’s eyes.

Swallowing hard, sweat beading against the back of her neck, Ms. Burnell resists the urge to immediately take it back. Surely he can see the problem with the piece—isn’t going to make her say it? 

It's too scary.

When his challenging gaze doesn’t waver, she forces the words out. 

“Uhm. Well. It’s just. Not quite. Appropriate for a sixth grade class?” It pitches up into a question as she gestures vaguely toward Dani’s painting. 

It’s a bit sloppy, the layers of paint caked upon each other, the lines hasty and uneven, but the scene itself is clear enough—a little, smiling, white-haired girl in the shadow of some kind of hulking creature, its skin blue, eyes red, sharp fangs bared as its cape flares out to take up the rest of the page. 

Ms. Burnell almost set up an appointment for Danielle with the school counselor when she saw it, wondering if Dani felt like she was the little girl, trapped amongst nightmares and “monsters.” She decided against it for the time being, until she could speak with the girl’s father, but that’s proving rather unhelpful so far if the contemptuous way the man is looking at her is any indication.

“Did Danielle complete the assignment?” he asks finally. 

“Uhm. Yes.” 

“And adhere to the grading criteria?” 

“Sh-she did,” Ms. Burnell answers reluctantly.

“Then I don’t see the problem,” he answers, finality in the words as his gaze turns to his daughter. He takes a much softer tone with her, brushing the disorderly strands of hair off her face, an absent domesticity in the way he straightens the ponytail gone lopsided. “I think you did a lovely job, dear.” 

“Thank you! I used Alizarin Crimson,” she answers proudly, hair flopping right back into her eyes.

“Excellent choice.” 

“Uhm. Well, there’s also the matter of Danielle’s conduct,” Ms. Burnell cuts in.    

The man lets out an irritated sigh, arms crossing over his chest as he leans back against one of the desks, one ankle crossed over the other, unimpressed gaze finding Ms. Burnell once more. 

“What?” he says, like it’s an inconvenience.

She swallows hard. “She’s been…uhm. Not getting along with some of the other girls.” 

“That is so unfair, Mackenzie started it!” Danielle shouts abruptly, popping up to her knees on her chair, palms slapping down against the desktop. 

“Well that’s not what Mack—” 

The girl keeps going, cutting Ms. Burnell off. 

“She said the only reason Eli agreed to play with me at recess was because Joshua dared him too, and I said nuh unh and she said yuh hunh, and I asked how she knew that, and she couldn’t even prove it, it was so obvious she was making it up!” 

“Mackenzie told me that you said some pretty unkind words to her, Danielle.” 

“Barely! I just said it was a bad look for her to be so jealous of me and just because she looks like she fished her outfit from the same trash bin she got her personality from isn’t any reason to be a jerk.”

Her father’s expression twists into a sharp smirk, amusement lighting his blue eyes, and Ms. Burnell thinks she’s starting to get a better sense of why Danielle is proving to be one of the most challenging students in her class this year. 

“We treat people with kindness and respect in this classroom, Dani. Do you think what you said to Mackenzie was kind and respectful?” 

“Well…” Dani’s gaze drops, expression pinching in thought, and Ms. Burnell thinks she might actually be getting through to her.

“It doesn’t sound as though this other girl was treating Danielle with kindness and respect,” Mr. Masters answers, the words coming out with a mocking turn, like he finds the concepts incidental at best.

“That’s true. She did start it,” Dani reasserts, turning her gaze up to her dad.  

“I’ve spoken to Mackenzie about her part in everything,” Ms. Burnell answers tightly. “But we’re here to talk about Danielle’s conduct. That’s not the only incident of its kind that’s occurred this year and—” 

“You know, it sounds to me as though Danielle’s doing just fine,” Mr. Masters says, pushing up to a proper stand, tugging the bottom of his sleeves and smoothing the dark, wrinkleless fabric.

“But—” 

“Did she make this girl cry?” 

“Well. No, but—” 

“And how are my daughter’s academics?” he asks, gaze fixed on hers, sending a chill creeping down her spine. 

“Fine, but—” 

“Has she gotten into a physical altercation with anyone?” 

“Not exactly, but—” 

“Started any fires?” he asks, sarcasm and derision dripping from the words. 

“No, she hasn’t started any fires.” 

“Then I believe this meeting is finished. Thank you for your time, Ms…”

“Burnell,” she answers weakly.

“Thank you for your time, Ms. Burnell. Danielle, are you ready to go?”

“Yup!” She pops up to an enthusiastic stand, rushing over to the windows to snatch up her painting, twisting it toward Ms. Burnell. “Can I take this home?”

She gives a heavy sigh, massaging her temples with her fingertips. “Sure, Dani. That's fine.” 

“Thanks, Ms. B!” As the girl traipses after her dad, a bounce in her step, horrifying painting swinging at her side, Ms. Burnell can hear the girl still chattering away, even as they pass out of her classroom, voices growing distant. “Do you think I should have made Mackenzie cry?” she asks.

Ms. Burnell is glad she can’t hear the man’s response—she doesn’t even want to know his answer.

#dp ficlet #danny phantom ficlet #cheese melt #danielle phantom #vlad masters #outsider POV #thanks for the ask! #liliande-comics

[strawberrysturniolo]

can you please write Chris x kinda emoish/ grunge girl thanks bae 🙏

grungy love

summary: chris has a new interest in wearing eyeliner. super soft and adorable

“Baby? You ready to go?” my boyfriend, Chris, called out to me from his bedroom.

We were celebrating an anniversary tonight, a fancy-ish dinner that both of us wanted to bask in, but neither of us had wanted to fully dress up for.

I wore a tight black dress, skull tights lacing up my legs, and a pair of chunky platform black boots. A pair of white socks peeked out from the top of my shoes with a dainty pink bow on the back calf of both.

“Almost,” I mumbled in response, far too focused on perfecting my thick winged eyeliner, and my voice reaching any octave higher would be sure to strike a flaw in my work.

When my response wasn’t heard by Chris, despite my efforts, he entered the bathroom, seeking an answer.

“Did you hear me?” he asked, standing in the doorway.

“Yeah,” I nodded. “I was just focused. I answered but I guess you didn’t hear.”

“Oh. That’s my bad.”

He crept up behind me, resting his head on my shoulder from behind. He watched my gentle movements across my eyelid, silently to make sure he didn’t mess something up by interrupting.

Finally, when I looked up and paid close attention to the artwork on my eye, he said, “You look so pretty.”

I turned my head slightly and pressed a kiss to his nose.

“Can I have a real one?” he asked next, puckering his lips once more.

I met his lips with mine, closing the space between us before returning to the final touches of my makeup routine — some lip gloss and setting spray.

“Your eyes are so pretty,” he said, analyzing my art. “I don’t know how you do that every day.”

“Practice,” I smiled. I watched as he looked at the tube of my eyeliner, interest sparking his gaze. I waited for the question that I knew he was thinking, waiting for him to want me to hold his face in my hand and let me decorate his own eyes with black ink.

“Whatcha looking at?” I asked, smiling.

He nearly tossed the eyeliner down like he was embarrassed. “Nothing.”

I took the makeup from his hand. “Do you want me to put some on you?”

His lips parted, then closed almost instantly like he was regretting beginning to say anything.

“Sit down,” I motioned to the sink. “I’ll do just a little bit on your waterline. Just enough to make your eyes look brighter with the blue. No one will even notice.”

He nodded, shyly, then sat himself on the counter.

I cupped his chin in my hand, holding his cheeks lightly as I instructed him to look up. I pulled on his under eye gently, just enough for me to get full access of his waterline without him flinching.

“This feels weird,” he mumbled, afraid to interrupt my work.

“It’s not,” I assured him. “Is it the feeling of it or the idea of wearing makeup that’s weird?”

“Both.”

I stepped back, looking at one of his eyes, now decorated in black ink below the bright blue center. “Well you look handsome, so you have nothing to worry about.”

He gave me a soft smile before letting me complete the other eye. He looked into the mirror, inspecting the finished product.

“Do you think… could you make do a little on the top? Just a bit more?” he asks, hesitating a bit.

He was adorable, his shyness regarding this new thing making me blush.

“Of course,” I nodded, making sure to make him feel confident in case this was something he wanted to continue to do.

His fingers danced on my thighs as he waited for me to finish with his eye makeup, and once everything was done, he let me smudge it out a bit, keeping it a bit messy, smoking it out until he approved.

“Thank you,” he said, smiling at me with excitement over this new interest of his.

tag list: @luv4kozume @luverboychris @luvsturniolo @ev3rgreenxtrees @thottie777 @plasticferal @angelworldspost @alluringsturniolo @sturniolho @sturniolopowers @sleepysturnss @sturniolovoid @st7rnioioss @flowerxbunnie @gamermattsgf @christinarowie332 @nicksbf @n6ptunova @bernardenjoyer @bellybumm @mbbsgf @mattsneezing @mattitties @mangoposts @sturniololol @sturnswift @sturniololoverr @sturniololol @sturnioloos @lacysturniolo @sturniol0s @hearts4chris

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #strawberrysturniolo

[porcelainseashore]

Into the Ether (1)

(Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, ...)

Pairing: Vampire! Toreador! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Summary: At the all-night events cafe you run, you’ve become acquainted with an elusive patron, Leon, though you can never remember the last moments of your interactions together. After a harrowing encounter, a love-hate relationship develops between the two of you as you grapple with your newfound status in a world of darkness and investigate the reasons behind the untimely attacks.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Resident Evil x Vampire: The Masquerade crossover, horror, mystery, romance, slow burn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, swearing, smoking, non consensual blood drinking, blood bond, vampire turning, violence, injury, mild gore, torture, minor character death, RE characters (Chris, Claire, Ada, Wesker, Jill, Sherry, Hunnigan, Rebecca, Baker Family, Merchant, Patrick), VtM concepts (Camarilla, Anarch, Sabbat, Second Inquisition, Toreador, Ventrue, Brujah, Gangrel, Nosferatu, Malkavian, Tremere, Ghouls).

Authors' Note: Super excited for this crossover series! I’ll try to keep a regular update schedule on Wednesdays. I might take some liberties with VtM lore and mechanics to fit the story, but hope to stay as true as I can to the source material. Finally, I imagined RE2R Leon (my favorite!) in this role 🫶

AO3 Link

Chapter 1: RC By Night

You first saw him in summer, when the days were long and the nights were short, and the streets came to life again. There was the heady smell of pollen in the air and the humidity was sweltering. Just a couple of months after you and a bunch of idealistic friends from your theater school days had taken the plunge, and opened an all-night cafe in one of the cheaper, grittier areas of town, east of the river of Raccoon City.

It had been a scrappy little project, one you didn’t expect to receive a cult following and gain in popularity amongst the intellectuals and counterculture crowd. But then again, there was also the City College nearby and the events program you’d lined up each week drew them in. From comedy nights and disco fevers to site-specific and performance art, you knew what people liked and how they wanted to be entertained. A bit of kitsch, a sprinkle of avant-garde and a generous dose of unpretentious social drinking. It pulled him in too.

Him. You didn’t even know his name. The first thing you had noticed were his striking blue eyes that seemed to glow from the shadows of the dimly lit space, peering out at you. Always observing, always watching, never speaking. Sometimes he’d glance over across the opposite end of the room at another pair of companions - a rugged, broad-shouldered man with a dark crew cut bumping shoulders with a younger, spunky redhead in a matching biker jacket. They’d exchange subtle looks of recognition and mild suspicion before returning to whatever they were doing. Though they never uttered a single word to each other.

He came back week after week, ordering the same drink each time, but never touching it. One Manhattan, please. You obliged. A waitress you had sent over to pry on your behalf told you he enjoyed the cocktail, but couldn’t tolerate much alcohol. You saw him lift the drink to his nose, sniffing it as the corners of his mouth turned upwards, silently smiling to himself before he placed it back down on the table again. Strange. You shook your head and prepared a cup of black coffee, taking it over to him as his eyes lit up in surprise with your approach.

“On the house,” you explained, plonking it down on the table. He raised an eyebrow but remained tight-lipped.

Maybe he didn’t like coffee? Or how did he usually take it? “Uh-” you turned back towards the service area, as if to check that the condiments were still in place. “Would you like some creamer or sugar to go with it?”

He raised his hand to indicate it wasn’t necessary and his jaw clenched, before fixing it into an awkward smile. “Thank you.”

Those were the first words he had spoken to you. It rolled off his tongue like a swirl of mist, a sliver of a dream you couldn’t quite remember when waking up. You took another step forward to get a better look at him. He had a baby face, angelic almost, with that typical, boy next door charm your mom would have gushed at, and you imagined he couldn’t be older than his early twenties. Upon closer inspection, he seemed slightly pale, faint dark circles around his eyes that had seen more than his fair share for his age. There was a sense of weariness and jadedness behind them that made him appear older than he was.

Bringing the cup to his lips, he sipped a small mouthful, letting it sit for a moment, before swallowing it down languidly. You admired the curve of his Adam’s apple, bobbing as the liquid poured down his throat, littered with freckles and specks of moles. Something about his very presence mesmerized you, even more so than earlier. It was hard to place a finger on what it was exactly, and why this feeling seemed to grow with every second you were lingering near him.

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, tapping it on the table before offering one to you. Why not? You were a social smoker and took it as a sign to join him. In fact, there was no other place you’d rather be at the moment. You were confused, but did not question it as you took a seat beside him, noticing that he flinched each time he flicked open his lighter to ignite a flame.

His fingertips brushed across your wrist as he lit your cigarette, causing you to shiver in response, while his jaw tensed again, as if trying to rein something in. Licking his lips, he took a puff from his own, exhaling the smoke as it billowed around him and for a second you thought you’d lost him to a wall of fog. Both of you continued smoking in silence, checking in with each other through furtive glances, even though there was nothing to be ashamed about.

At some point, you followed the direction of his gaze and saw that same pair of companions he often regarded from the corner of his eye. They were frowning, giving him dirty looks as he shrugged nonchalantly in return.

“Not much of a talker, are you?” you broke through the thick stillness of the air that surrounded the both of you like a bubble, separated from the rest of the evening revelers.

“You’re observant,” he teased, his eyes crinkling as he stubbed out the leftovers of his cigarette in the ashtray. You followed suit.

“So, what brings you here?” you asked, gesturing to the suit attire sans tie that he was wearing. “Don’t get me wrong, but this place doesn’t exactly seem like the kind you types hang out at.”

“Hm,” he huffed, though your question didn’t phase him. “And what exactly is my type?”

“I’d say you were a yuppie,” you blurted out, your mouth rarely had a filter on these days. “But I can’t be sure, something about you seems…”

“Off?” he offered, smirking, yet his expression carried a hint of somberness.

“Different,” you corrected, but mumbled out a quick apology nonetheless soon after.

“Don’t be,” he grazed your hand again as he adjusted himself in his chair, and you felt like he was doing this on purpose. “At least you’re honest. It’s a rare quality to find these days.” Though the way he said the last sentence sounded loaded with a double meaning.

“These days?” you guffawed. “You’re speaking like an old man.”

He joined in your laughter though that was the end of your conversation for that night. The rest of the evening went by in a blind haze, and you found yourself in a dazed state later on in the wee hours of the morning, still sitting at the same table, but your newfound friend gone without a trace. None of your colleagues had noticed a thing. You didn’t even get his name, but you shook yourself, commanding your limbs to get back to business and clean up after the customers that had left.

The next time you saw him was when you were hosting the karaoke night of the month. Decked out in a shimmery mermaid glitter jumpsuit, hair tied up in pigtails and face caked with extravagant make up, you hopped onto the stage, only to nearly stumble on your flimsy heels when those piercing blue eyes landed on you from the all the way back. Of all the nights he could have dropped in, he chose this one.

You suppressed your embarrassment and warmed up the audience with a couple of well-placed jokes before kicking the event off with those who had registered to participate. It appeared to be a tough crowd as you only had a handful of sign ups, and would need to potentially seek out volunteers when they were done. You hoped the rackety sound system would hold up till then too.

Fortunately, when it came to the crunch - which it did - you always had an ace up your sleeve. “You there,” you called out, pointing towards the back of the room. “Yeah, blue eyes, you.” Crooking your finger, you beckoned him over, waiting in anticipation to see what he would do.

To your surprise, he bowed his head, accepting the challenge, before slowly weaving his way through the crowd, who were cheering him on with your prompting, towards the stage. He flashed you his pearly whites as he climbed up the short stairs, his floppy bangs bouncing with each step. For a moment, you thought you caught something feral in his gaze, but it dissipated when he reached out for the mic from you, his hands sweeping over yours with an electric touch.

You were in awe of him, like almost everyone else in the cafe, when he broke out in a rich tenor voice, effortlessly floating through the notes of the gentle melody, that you felt as though you were being wrapped in a serene, velvet cocoon. Enthusiastic claps and hoots filled the space when he finished. The only two people in the room who were scowling were the same pair of companions he knew from before.

“Will you join me after the show?” he whispered in your ear as he handed you back the mic. Nodding was the only appropriate response.

You were rushed off your feet for the next couple of hours and it was late by the time you called the event to a close, but he was still there, by his usual table, waiting patiently for you.

“So you decided to push me into the spotlight,” he accused with a wry smile.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it,” you shot back. “Here.” You set a cup of black coffee down in front of him. “My treat.”

“You’re too kind.” It sounded flat, like a game that had become routine between the two of you. He took a sip from it, nothing more, nothing less.

That was all you could recall from your conversation. You didn’t get his name until a few nights after.

“Hey, blue eyes,” you acknowledged as he strolled in.

“Leon,” he disclosed sharply. “It’s Leon.”

That was the night of exchanging introductions. You named all the nights you’d spent with him under various labels, so you wouldn’t forget.

Another night, he had whipped out a flip phone and you nearly choked on your drink. “They still make those?” You stared in disbelief.

He turned to face you in amusement.

“Bet you don’t have a-”

You didn’t even need to finish your sentence for him to fish out his pager, dangling it in front of you like a toy.

“Fuck off,” you laughed. “No fucking way.”

He grinned at your outburst and it was one of those times, few and far between, where you experienced a glimpse of that youthful energy he often hid behind a calm, matured facade.

“You’re still living in the 90s dude?” you jested, grabbing the pager as you flipped it over, trying to determine if it was real. It was.

His lips curled up into a playful smirk. “Something like that.”

“Healthcare,” you guessed, squinting at him. “I heard people there still have them. You’re a doctor?”

“I wish.” He coughed out a self-deprecating laugh, before rummaging through his wallet for a sleek white card, sliding over to you. “PI, actually.”

“Private Investigator Leon S. Kennedy,” you read the title out loud, deliberately emphasizing each word.

“Go ahead, shout it from the rooftops,” he joked.

“Don’t tempt me.” You gave what you hoped was a cheeky wink, not flirty, definitely not flirty.

A lopsided smile spread across his face, and you wondered if you were finally beginning to unravel the mystery of this man, one that he seemed to carry around like a burden.

“Well, now you know where to find me.” He winked back, taking a tiny sip of his free coffee.

That was the night of P.I. Kennedy. Soon, these nights blurred into each other. You felt like you were getting a step closer, but yet you weren’t. He always had you at an arm’s length for some reason, even though he seemed to want more. Why did he keep coming back?

He also appeared to care about what you thought of him. At some point forth, he started dressing down, exchanging his usual formal attire for a shirt with no blazer, and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A fine gold chain necklace peeked out from underneath his top collar, which was left unbuttoned. “Better like this?” he asked with no context. You had to pause and consider what he meant for a while before you understood.

“If you’d like to fit in.” You shrugged indifferently. “But I don’t think you want to.”

“You know me well,” he murmured fondly. The back of his fingers caressed the side of your neck, just under your jawline, along a pulse point. You closed your eyes and sighed. It felt sensitive and tender.

“And how well do you know me?” you asked. 

There was no reply, but somehow you already knew the answer.

Another thing you were vaguely aware of was that you kept missing the tail end of your interactions with him. It was as though after a certain point in the night, you would come to, like waking up from a daydream, and he would have disappeared by then.

Your colleagues asked if you were seeing each other. Were you? You were only chatting, you surmised. Nothing had gone that far yet, at least from what you had gathered. But you liked him more than you would’ve liked to admit.

He walked you home one night, and when you reached your doorstep, you were about to invite him in, but he interrupted you. “There’s something I need to tell you…”

Guilt clouded his eyes, unmistakable and heavy. But as he was about to say more, he held back, as if pulled by an invisible thread. Then, you felt yourself overcome with tiredness, but it was pleasant and comforting. “Can you help me to bed?” Your voice sounded far away.

All at once, you felt yourself being propped up under his arm and your weight shifting under your feet, until your head touched a feather-soft pillow. He draped a blanket over your unmoving body. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I never should have-” Even in your state, you could tell it pained him.

“I won’t do it again, unless you let me.” 

That was the last you heard from him for a while.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Leon couldn’t get enough of you. Believe him, he tried countless times, but it didn’t work. From the moment he had set foot into that establishment, he had damned himself. He knew it when he spotted you and smelled your sanguine resonance from afar. It was the humor of your blood, and it was stronger and more consistent than he was used to. You were just so full of life, and enjoying it to the point where he was envious. You signified all the hopes and dreams that had been dashed spectacularly to the ground, ever since becoming… what he was now.

He had to have a taste of you. A little drop wouldn’t hurt, would it? He’d been taught ages ago, by Ada, his sire, that he needed people like you to survive. If one ignored their hunger for too long, things would get worse, so much worse, and not just for himself, but for everyone else around him. It was simply the lesser of two evils to feed, and he’d never actually killed anyone by doing so. Then, why did it feel so wrong? He had gotten good at pushing down these thoughts, until they were reduced to an inaudible hum at the back of his mind. Just like many other things, he learnt to compromise. But compromising meant that sometimes, he’d lose a piece of himself. If there was an equivalent of a soul within the monster he had become, then it was fragmented, and he’d never get back the ones that had dissolved into the ether, due to the bad decisions he had made. Like the ones he would soon make with you.

Taste. Taste was something he had acquired since young. In his human life, he always had an eye for detail, an eye for what fit, what worked, and what didn’t. It certainly helped when he became a cold case detective with the police force, filled with unbridled potential, only to have that overturned, when he decided to chase after love instead of missing people and puzzle pieces. For years, he would’ve done anything for her, only for it to amount to wasted time and regret when the inevitable boredom that came with time struck, and he was tossed aside over something exciting and new. Still, he knew a delicious vessel when he saw one. You were just meant to be a special curiosity that he could pass on to the older vampire for a favor or two. At least, that was what he told himself, when you took the initial bait and he beckoned you to stay through unnatural means. That was the first lie.

When he bit into you, he was met with a burst of color, vibrant shades of all kinds of red. The flavor saturated his mouth: sweet roses, his favorite kind, their scent carried on a gentle zephyr; warm light that enveloped him but didn’t hurt; traces of nicotine coursing through your veins; and the familiar iron tang that gave it its kick. Your face, your voice, your very essence haunted him in that taste. He could see you like a will-o'-the-wisp performing on stage in one of your many plays across a lifetime, laughing with your friends in the back of a car speeding down the highway, crying into a pillow when you had your heart broken by your first love… How was this possible? Your memories came flooding through him and you were blissfully unaware of it all. He felt like a spy, listening in to all your secrets and desires, and his blatant invasion of your privacy disgusted him.

This was wrong. He shouldn’t have gotten so close. He should’ve heeded the warning glances the Redfield siblings were throwing his way. So, he tried his best to stay away, but like an addict, he kept crawling back, seeking you out like a dog with its tail between its legs. How could a mere mortal have such an effect on him? Did he taste this way to Ada when she turned him? He laughed sardonically. If only she could see him now, being so torn up over a woman he had just met.

He tried to erase you from his mind, but you were always meant to be something more. You reminded him of all the things he missed when he was living. You were the best he had ever tasted, but he didn’t want to turn you over to her, not yet. After all, he could afford to enjoy you for just one more time. The second lie had spun its thick, dark webs throughout his head. Truth be told, he would never share you with anyone else.

The third lie came when he resolved to tell you what he really was. He couldn’t keep going on like this and deceiving you, but his sire’s words bore down on him. “You don’t get attached to a vessel,” she scoffed. Wait, wasn’t he one too at some point? Her contradictory words replayed in his ears like a broken record. In any case, he wasn’t attached. He was being brave and honest, which was how he liked to think of himself. But when it came to the crunch outside your doorstep, he was a coward, finding himself unable to breach the rules of the Masquerade and gave in to his urges instead. It was then that he realized deep down, he was truly a despicable and hateful low-life.

Thump! He felt his body slam against a solid wall, as he entered a secluded alleyway round the corner from your apartment. A dull ache bloomed across his skin. After the events that had happened that night, he didn’t even bother putting up a fight. He slumped down until the brawny, older male sibling, Chris, lifted him by his collar and pinned him in place. At the same time, the slender redhead, Claire, Chris’ female counterpart, spoke, “Where the hell are you going with this, Leon?”

“Why do you care?” he spat, blood coating his teeth. “The cafe’s in neutral ground, no one’s claimed domain over it yet. I can feed on whoever I like.”

“Listen, you’re Cam scum, but you saved my brother back then, and you used to hang with us,” she hissed, jabbing her finger into his shoulder to emphasize each point. “So, I’m gonna give you a tip, but just this once.”

She brought her mouth to his ear. “There’s interest in the domain… and you’re not the only suitor vying for her attention.”

His eyes widened at the threat.

“Whatever you do, do it fast.”

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy fluff #resident evil #vampire au #vampire the masquerade #vtm #crossover #porcelainscribbles

[deblklesb]

[Three Strikes — Abby x Reader OneShot]

[established relationship, fem! reader, MDNI]

CW: name calling, semi-public masturbation, dom!abby, humiliation, degradation, pussy slapping, face grabbing, dacryphilia, edging, sub!reader, after care (more like middle care i guess?), the safeword isn't mentioned but it's already established too.

a/n: this took me TOO long to finish but i did it!!! anon tell me if you enjoy it, i truly hope you do 💗💗 reblogs keep the word turning y'all

word count: 3,6k | not proof read

The whole day Abby couldn't keep her hands to herself, but it was driving you insane.

On a beautiful, sunny day, you both were at a family party. Her father was retiring from the hospital and everyone was celebrating this new phase of his life. There was tons of food and a bunch of relatives, children running around, a nice music filling the air and the smell of the barbecue being prepared were messing with your senses already.

As a very socially embarrassed person, you always tried to keep a good impression in front of her family: being in your best behavior, smiling to each relative, answering questions and engaging in conversations as well as you could. Demanded too much of your social battery, but at the end of the day you could always try to put an effort for her, it was worth it.

But here's the thing: today, Abby wasn't in her best behavior. She kept touching you, kissing your neck, pushing you to empty corners, sneaking out to her old bedroom just to have an alone time. You both couldn't do much, so it was frustrating and painful and it was killing you inside. That ache between your legs grew at each sneak out, you always ended up with heart racing and bewildered in front of her relatives later, trying so hard to keep your mind in the right place. For God's sake, you had to hide a prominent bite from her 58 year-old aunt during a conversation, and the whole time Abby was looking at you from the other side of the room like she could undress you, with those piercing blue-eyes, from afar. The heat crept up your body; damn her and her effect on you.

"You have to stop!" Your voice cracked when she kissed your shoulder, strong hands on your waist pulling you closer while she bent to taste the skin on your cleavage. More time and you would surrender completely inside that bedroom, making a scene that would send her grandma into a cardiac arrest. Still, you had both arms around her shoulders.

"Just a little bit, hun…", her voice would make you crazy. "You're looking so good, being all polite today"

"Fuck, Abigail Anderson!" Finally you pushed her, adjusting your dress even though all you wanted was to come back and let her do her thing with you. Then you held her face and stared at her. "You have got to stop!"

And it was the look in her eyes that said it all: you were never demanding, never this aggressive, and it was the first strike. Not seriously, like in a relationship dynamic, but more when talking about… Sexual dynamic. She was the dominant one, you love to surrender, and talking back is a no-no. You could already feel that ache growing just by her expression. Fuck, maybe talk back wouldn't be that bad…

"Okay", was all she said, face still between your palms. "I got a bit carried away"

And she didn't say anything further. Although the conversation ended there and you gave her a small kiss before leaving the bedroom, something in the back of your mind reiterated that it wasn't as simple as that.

Later, after lunch, you got up from your place to drink a glass of water and when you came back those same hands pulled you closer, while she opened space for you to sit comfortably on her lap.

"I remember Abby always asked to go to the hospital with me. No matter how much I refused, she kept asking. One time, I swear, she cried until I agreed to take her. No doubt she ended up working inside a hospital", her father was talking and making people chuckle about it. Abby, on the other hand, roller those beautiful eyes and smirked.

"Come on, dad! Don't need to expose me like that"

"There's not much to expose, love, we all know you're a brat", you murmur under the hem of the cup, before sipping the water.

It was a simple comment only for her to hear, but apparently it went louder than expected and now a bunch of people were laughing.

"Damn right! When she was little I had to deal with scenes when she wanted to watch cartoons", her aunt said back.

Your face heats up, insides twirling under the aspect of being in the center of the attention, and while smiling fondly your girlfriend rests her face on your arm.

"That's strike two, babe", why the fuck her voice always sounds so good when whispering?

Her hand presses your waist and you clench the thighs, almost choking with the water.

The moment passes as a sign on the road, and when you notice you both are saying good-byes to everyone. The night is fresh and starry, and as Abby drove to your shared apartment you kept looking at her.

Calmer now, with the thought of going home in mind and the relief of not being around that many people, you relax in your seat and take in the sight of her.

Her eyes are locked on the road in concentration, lips calling for you as she keeps driving. Her side profile is really gorgeous, just like every other detail that makes you quiver just by thinking about it. You distinctly remember being so intimidated by her at first, because she was so serious and stressed.

You both met at the hospital, when you had to check in due to an injury so bad people thought you needed surgery. Abby was the professional at the emergency, and after taking a look at you she ran out to receive another patient, pretty much stressed out with the movement in the room. You barely talked, since you were in pain and trying to hide the embarrassment of needing an emergency treatment because of a stupid game.

"You said you were doing what?", she asked when she came back to check on you.

"Dancing on a coffee table", you murmur, pain significantly less intense after the medication.

"Now why would you do that?" She was looking at the medication bags, but you still felt your face getting warm and looked to the other side.

"I lost a game", and after she chuckled you rolled your eyes. "Come on, I'm sure I'm not the most stupid person in this room"

"Oh, you're absolutely not!" Her voice was different now, and when you turned back at her a fond smile adorned her pretty features. After adjusting the bags, she leaned over closer to your ear. The sudden lack of space startled you, but there was no time to process before she started talking again. And that was the first time you melted under her voice. "See that guy there? Swallowed a bunch of small plastic soldiers just to show off to his friends"

"What?!", you widen your eyes while she laughs, a cute little giggle.

"Last week a woman got here with a deodorant cap inside of her"

"What? But how-", the answer to the unfinished question comes when she just looks back at you, eyebrows a little bit arched, and then you're feeling your face getting warmer again. "Oh… Jesus"

And you both laugh together.

Looking back, you still don't know how you'd end up with her. But as much of an unexpected event, you're so glad you did it because you get to love the most amazing woman on earth.

"Why are you looking at me like that, babe?" She smirks when noticing you staring, all cocky and flustered. You're so dumb for her.

"Nothing", you smile back, a hand traveling to her thigh. "Just admiring you…"

"Liking the view?"

"Too much" An idea sparkles so bright you can't deny yourself the opportunity. You have to contain the smile, but not later the words come out. "You were very touchy today…"

"Yeah, you look too nice in this dress, still can't believe you put it on just to impress my family", she chuckles, a hand caressing your own exposed leg. "You know you didn't had to"

"I was kinda in the mood", she just hums in response, eyes on the road. "Y'know, it was a big surprise you didn't take advantage of it to touch me more, you were so clingy…"

"I didn't… Well, I certainly thought about it. But why are you talking about it now, you sure didn't let me go further then"

"Because we were in your family house and I didn't want to cause a scene", your fingers on her leg travel further in between her thighs, and then your free hand is doing the same with yourself. "But I can't deny I surely thought about it too"

She looks at you briefly, already getting the idea you're setting here. You know very well the traffic won't let you get home that fast, and how she takes driving seriously so she won't do anything while there. So Abby won't touch you at all… But that doesn't mean you can do it yourself.

"No. Don't do this", her voice is warning, serious now, and you recognize the tone because it's what she uses with you in the bedroom.

"But love, you won't be doing anything, you can drive", she hates every second of it as soon as your legs separate a bit and your hand go down inside your dress. She hates it, because all she wants it's to touch you herself.

And so you do. You fucking masturbate in the car, moaning and biting your lips, arching your chest, letting yourself go by the sudden desire that hits your body as soon as you get to see Abby in all her glory in a most private place.

By the time you get home, the adrenaline of the situation made the high easier and so you're soon hopping out of the car, legs kinda shaky. But your girlfriend was now pissed, fuming, silent and serious - and, oh, after so many times in that relationship you learned that silent and serious Abby is the most dangerous Abby.

She doesn't say a word on the elevator, the waiting thickening the tension as you both stand close inside the moving cabin. Her fingers are uneasy, like she's restraining herself to act up, and you just can imagine where they will be later that night.

As soon as the doors open, she walks out and goes on a beeline to the door. Glancing at her, you almost stop on track with her stare, so fucking piercing it could unravel you.

That was probably too far.

"That was strike three", she whispers as you unlock the door.

You expected her to take you as soon as you both get inside, but she doesn't. Instead, she proceeds like per usual, still restless, but your mind just stops functioning for a second because she's acting casually. Taking her shoes off, going to take a shower, making small talk.

The tension inside of you keeps growing, anxiety creeping, and a bit of disappointment making you pout everytime she gets closer but doesn't act. At some point she just gave you a peck on the lips and called you cute, but went sitting on the couch to watch something you were definitely not interested about. The sight of her in sweat pants and tank top made you quiver, why is she so fucking hot all the time?

In the meantime you also showered and changed clothes, and after all you end up standing in the living room, staring at her.

This isn't fair. She spent the whole day trying to get into you, and when you're finally ready she just ignores you? Leaving you needy like that?

"Abs, what's that all about?" You finally puts out, still standing.

"What, babe?" She briefly looks at you before turning to the TV again and it makes you extremely mad. She definitely notices the single shirt covering your body and stays quiet.

"You're… You're ignoring me", your demeanor changes, less pissed and more sulking.

"What? What are you talking about, come here", she taps the place next to her on the couch, where you sit. Her big, warm hand rests on your thigh as she looks at you more attentively. "What is it?"

"It's just… I thought you were… We would- You know", the words are a mess. It frustrates you to not be able to communicate, but after that overstimulating day you want nothing more than to step back and relax. Processing words it's not a part of the ideal scenario.

"Oh, you mean… You thought I would fuck you?" She's still casual about it, which deepens your sulking. You nod, receiving an arching of her brows. "Oh, so this is what this is about?" Before you can answer, she just throws: "You were so caught up in your little game that you forgot that stuff doesn't go just as you wish… Poor baby, sometimes you're such a dumb slut", she sulks in mocking.

Your face gets warmer as you find it harder to speak, too stunned. And she chuckles.

The sudden humiliation gets into your body in the form of a wetness between your legs and a sinking sensation in your stomach, the two things added to a deep need to look away. But you refuse to, you can't let her have that much so soon.

"Do you want me to take care of you?"

"Yes", you nod again, legs instinctively turning to her a bit as you lean closer now. Her hand caresses your skin, thumb going down in between your thighs as she looks at you like she's playing.

"What's the magical word?" Her breath reaches your face and you are so close now, the desperate need to kiss her growing inside. Fuck her.

"Please", you whisper, nose touching hers.

"Open your legs", she instructs.

You obliged, her hand traveling to hold your leg in that position whilst the free one lightly touched your core. The anticipation for long was consuming you from inside out, and the additional contact, just where you needed, was igniting the fire.

"Oh, look at that…!" She smiles at the perception that you're not using panties. "My sweet slut it's showing off"

The experience passes like a blur into your mind until she finally takes your shirt off and lays you down into the couch. After she almost made you cum once but left you hanging there, whiny and desperate, so close to begging after just a moment of her touches.

You moan so loud when she holds your face into a strong hand of hers, and the other sinks two of her fingers into your wet pussy. It's not just the overstimulation after you got so close to that high. It's all the tension from before, the way she keeps laughing and chuckling at the way you move your hips and her stare.

"Taking it so well, you're such a whore right?" You nod, remembering how she doesn't like when you don't answer. "Yes, yes you are. Needy and ready for being fucked, this pussy dripping when you think of me", you nod again and again.

Inside that river of sensations you scratch her back and arms. She gasps, digits massaging your insides as you tip into that high again.

Just the grip on your chin and the closeness would be enough to get you drunk on her massive presence. The way some strands of honey-blonde hair fall around your face, her bulky body on top of yours, the heat radiating from her. It's madness, it's like hypnosis. But right now she also fucking you so raw, so deep, and you just wanna scream with the amount of feelings inside. Your hips buckle up and your nipples are hard with the exposure, you just wanna come all around.

"Abby, please, I wanna… Fuck, I'm gonna-"

And she fucking retracts again. Her fingers get out from between your walls and you moan in desperation, small nails digging into her flesh the best it can as tears start to come.

"Fuck no, no, no, no", you shake your head, absolutely helpless with tears rolling down your face, before your girlfriend slaps your exposed pussy.

"Hungry bitch", you squeal with her velvety voice, body trembling under the slaps. Your core is already so fucking sensitive but it doesn't hurt like someone outside would imagine. No, the sting makes you clench around absolutely nothing and you think you just get wetter with pleasure. "Why are you crying, hm? Tell me, fucking say it"

"I wanna come, fuck", the pronunciation it's not the same since she's still holding your face, but you don't care. You'll let her humiliate you like this, have you begging for more, if it meant you could come just once with her fucking you. "Fuck me until I come, Abs, please"

Your face heats. She really can get you like that after edging you just twice. Any other time you'd take more of that torture, but not today. Not after a whole day of teasing.

"My mouth of my fingers, choose fast", and she fucking keeps going with all the teasing because she knows you can't function that fast in moments like this.

You freeze for a second, still processing the question, when she slaps your pussy once more and you clench, moaning. That would make you cry again.

"Mouth or fingers", her tone it's firmer but you can see she's enjoying this whole thing. She's probably soaking wet herself.

"Mouth! Mouth, your mouth"

And she's soon kneeling in front of the couch, lips connecting to your dripping core as fast as she can and you gasp. Her face between your thighs is a sight to be admired, especially considering the way she seems so hungry. Abby eats you out like a starving woman, using her tongue in the best way while her strong hands push your legs open. The vision, added to the sensations of the wet contact and the explicit sounds, makes you tremble.

Riding her face like a desperate, you hold her head and pull it in the direction of your pussy, like that way she'll do more, your high will come faster. But really it doesn't make any difference to her, or she's just keeping the same tempo to piss you off. In spite of that, the way her tongue tortuously laps your core starts to take moans and gasps out of you. You're already too stimulated, something tells your body won't wait for long before tipping down into that high again. And Abby knows it.

Deviously, she increases her ministrations gradually and holds you in place. The contact of her hands on your thighs almost makes your skin burn. Your nipples rigid against the cold air, toes curling and choppy breaths, eyes rolling back; you're a mess now.

Heat blooms in your core and a chill runs through your body, and then you're moaning louder. It's coming strong, and as soon as one of your hands grabs a cushion you call your girlfriend's name in warning. Abby goes faster, enjoying the view of you losing your mind on her mouth, without saying how much that makes her wet.

When you start to murmur her name non-stop, almost crying again, hips twitching and legs shaking, it comes. And it's cathartic the fact that she lets you finish this time. The release is mind-blowing.

Your back arch, every single sensation almost disappears for a second because you can only focus on that orgasm.

Abby holds you in place when you start to move, your legs trying to close around her head and your body contorting, trying to put a break into the overstimulation. She doesn't let it, though, continuing to taste you in her tongue and groaning against your soaked pussy.

"A-Abs!", you scream, pulling her hair again.

With a last fat lick, the blonde finally backs away with a devious smirk.

You still have twitching hips when she kisses your abdomen, trailing the caring act up your front until she can kiss your chest. Abby holds you by the waist and her heat involves every inch of you when she pecks your shoulder.

It all seems to pass through your vision like an out of body experience, but in contrast the tactile sensations are loud. You like having her close like this, and soon you're holding her face with all the care in the world to peck her lips over and over, still catching your breath.

"You okay, babe?" Abby smiles when you nod in response, faces so close you can feel her breath mixing with yours. "Wasn't too much?"

"It was perfect, love"

You wanted to stay like this forever and so as soon as she gets up you're making a face of discontent.

"Won't you… I wanted to make you feel good too"

Unlike yours her body still has all the clothes, which you just noticed because she decided to move away. Her hair is kinda messy and despite the look being to stay at home the woman still looks so gorgeous.

Thinking about the fact that she almost took your soul out minutes before, it's unfair you don't get to make her come too.

"Drink some water, sweetheart, and then we can continue. Okay?" Her voice comes from the kitchen, and you just get to verbally agree before she returns with a glass in hand.

The blonde sits next to you on the couch, caressing your neck and shoulders as you sip the liquid.

"You didn't think I would do just this after your joke in the car, right?" She whispers, smirking when you roll your eyes. Her hand rests on you exposed thigh, sensitive skin sending the feelings straight to your core. "You think you'll be that bold while I ride your face?"

#abby anderson #abby tlou2 #abby x reader #deblklesb #abby tlou #abby anderson x reader #abby x reader smut #abby anderson x reader smut #abby anderson oneshot #one shot #oneshot #abby anderson x female reader #abby x fem!reader #abby anderson tlou #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson the last of us 2 #abby anderson the last of us #tlou2 fic #tlou fanfiction #tlou abby #tlou2 abby #tlou2 abby anderson #ficblr #tlou fic

[yuadokjon]

you dare breakup with me?

summary: you dare to break up with sukuna. via text.

-----

"I think we should break up."

Almost an hour later since you've texted him that and still nothing. Typical. Sukuna wasn't the most responsive person, but you had still foolishly hoped something like this would elicit something more than the usual automatic acknowledgement. Anchored only by the tiny timestamp underneath, the text had long drifted among a sea of other blue bubbles before finally being swallowed up by the blackened screen. You half-swore he left these read receipts on just to torment you. He would see your messages - this one almost instantly - but wouldn't respond for hours or days at a time, if at all. Everything was always to be on his schedule. His whim. His mercy. And yet you gave in to it all every time. Every. Damn. Time. Typical. But not tonight.

The phone's screen had darkened long ago, only your tear-stained reflection staring blankly up at you. You tapped the surface and blinked at the white numbers that confirmed your self-imposed deadline was now up. An hour. That was all that you had given him and, even then, most might say an hour more than he deserved. You were tired. Just so tired and done. Tired of his games. The forgotten dates. The long nights alone. The blush of pink across a collar, the wisp of foreign perfume, the mysterious texts, the fights, the tears. Done.

Your thumbs seemed to move on their own as you absentmindedly re-opened the app to text someone else. A flurry of messages back and forth later, and Choso had invited himself to stay for the night -- with some cult slashers, boba, and assorted snacks in tow -- and refused to take no for an answer. You smiled into your pillow. He truly was the best. No matter what you were going through, Choso had proven time and time again that he would always be there for you. And, hell, you were going through a lot tonight. So you relented and even managed a laugh when he sent back a gif of a happily dancing panda. Deciding to clean up a bit before the arrival of your best friend, you dragged yourself out from the cavern of your covers to make your way to the restroom.

As you splashed the cool water across your face, you felt your heart starting to sink again as thoughts of him started to swarm. You eyed the second toothbrush and piled clothes in the corner, and the heaviness seemed to seep out and down into the very edges of your limbs. You gripped the sink and shut your eyes, thickly swallowing back the whimpers that eventually escaped as a surprised cry at a sudden knock on your front door. Choso arrived earlier than you expected. You pathetically sniffed and wiped away at your face. You didn't want your best friend to see you like this. But as you made your way to the front, you felt the tears threatening to overflow again and your steps quickened. You swung the door open and collapsed into the arms of your guest, broken sobs that hiccuped endlessly once the dam had broken.

"H-he's s-such an asshole," you cried into your friend's chest and felt him stiffen under your arms. You were sorry to put Choso into this position, again. How many times had he warned you about him? Hadn't he already told you how much of an asshole he was from day one? You were such an idiot. You should've listened to your friend and spared yourself the many heartbreaks. You squeezed him tighter, hoping he could somehow feel your thoughts through your embrace. It was only when he moved his arms that you noticed the familiar black bands encircling them and froze.

"Who's such an asshole, doll?"

You recoiled back at the inquiry purred into your ear, lightning strikes erupting across your skin and every cell in your body screaming to run. You could feel your heart thumping loudly within your throat, fighting for space with the words that were caught there. You barely managed to croak out the correct identity of your nightly visitor as you gazed upon his marked visage in stark terror:

"S-sukuna...."

A pair of bright scarlet eyes glowered down at your trembling form while a sinister crescent broke out from under their shine. The sickly sweet voice asked again with an amused tilt of the head and a dangerous step forward, the words now tinged with interrogation:

"Who's such an asshole?"

#sukuna x reader #sukuna fic #sukuna #choso x reader #choso fic #choso #jjk #fics

[healinghyunjin]

Ice

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x Reader (fem)

Genre: romance, angst, fluff, smut; mafia!AU, strangers-to-lovers, 18+

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: swearing, mentions of violence, mentions of blood; explicit sexual content, unprotected sex (seriously guys - don’t do what they do here, in terms of protection or consent), loss of virginity (graphic)

Author’s Note: Hello everyone! I’ve been gone for a really long time, I know - but I’m finally making my way back to this blog and to writing again. I have a few fics in the pipeline, but here’s my first new release! It’s a very different style/genre/length from what I’ve posted here before; it’s a bit darker in tone and less fluffy (all’s well that ends well though lol) - so feedback and thoughts are extra extra appreciated!

Summary: Sheer good looks aside though…you’d seen his face on the news. What was his name? You remembered that it was something elegant, soft on the lips - a name that didn’t seem to fit the cruel, hardened mafioso it belonged to. 

It was only when those cold icy eyes locked with yours, gaze chilling even from all the way across the bar, that it finally came to mind. 

Hwang Hyunjin. 

You looked pathetic, you supposed. 

Sitting painfully alone, ignored in the midst of this packed club, idly stirring a drink you hadn’t taken a sip of, hadn’t even wanted in the first place. Your so-called date had foisted it on you…before he realized that plying you with alcohol wasn’t going to affect his chances of getting any either way, and quickly left to try his luck elsewhere. 

And it was just as well. You really weren’t cut out for this type of stuff. You’d never been, honestly - you’d gone to a few parties in college, gone on even fewer dates, and done nothing that ended up with you going home with someone. Your roommate had finally had enough though, and that’s how you’d ended up here. 

“Go have some fun for once,” she’d said. “You need to lose that V-card before your tits start sagging, love.” And before you could even think of an adequately snippy response, she’d thrown a phone number at you - a friend of a friend of a friend, supposedly - and sashayed out of your room, hollering behind her that she’d be out all night, so you could bring anyone you wanted home with impunity. 

You’d snorted, shaking your head. You? Bringing someone home? With your dating skills and general luck, you were probably gonna bring home a serial killer - if you even managed to hit it off with anyone in the first place. 

Still, you’d let her squeeze you into a pretty pink bandage dress and ridiculously high heels and send you on your way...just for it to go exactly as you’d thought it would. 

With a sigh, you pushed yourself off your seat, attempting to wade your way back to the bar. You could do with a tall glass of water - and maybe something a little stronger, something that you actually liked - before retreating back to the sanctuary of your own four walls and soft bed. 

Even in the hazy lighting of the club, punctuated only by disorienting strobes, it was obvious that there was something strange going at the bar. The sweaty, suffocating cluster of humans on the dance floor came to an abrupt end, with no one occupying the empty space right next to them. This section of the bar was jarringly, eerily empty, seats and counter all open - except for four men, lounging about like they owned the place. 

You knew better - you really did. But still - you found yourself pushing closer and closer, straight to the outskirts of the crowd, until you could get a clear view. Three of them were turned away from you, leaving you nothing to see other than broad shoulders and backs, straining against tight leather jackets. As for the fourth, however…

The first thing to catch your eye, unique and beautiful, even in the dim lighting, was a gorgeous black and blue tattoo, winding its way around the neck of its equally striking owner. Sheer good looks aside though…you’d seen his face on the news. What was his name? You remembered that it was something elegant, soft on the lips - a name that didn’t seem to fit the cruel, hardened mafioso it belonged to. 

It was only when those cold, icy eyes locked with yours, gaze chilling even from all the way across the bar, that it finally came to mind. 

Hwang Hyunjin. 

You knew you should probably stop. Men like that hurt people for just glancing at them the wrong way - and here you were, having a staring match with the most ruthless of them all. 

And that’s how you found yourself in the alley behind the club, pinned against the rough brick wall - with Hyunjin pressed between your legs. He was everywhere - his lips ravishing yours with hot, predatory kisses; one hand hungrily palming your breasts, the other hiking up your dress, trailing along your sodden panties. He moaned a curse against your lips as he felt just how wet you were for him. 

“You’re ruining me,” he groaned, hand hastily dragging away from your chest to wind around your waist, pulling your lower half against his firmly. “Tell me what you want, angel,” he murmured before breaking off into a hiss, clutching at you as your hips bucked against his. 

“More,” you moaned. Your untouched, unexperienced self was overwhelmed by this man. You were stone-cold sober, your drink abandoned untouched back at the bar, but you were positively high off him, addicted to the way he was making you feel. “Whatever you want to do to me - just more.”

He laughed, pressing a surprisingly tender kiss to the side of your head. “You’re gonna regret that.” And he immediately made to deliver on his promise. You gasped as he flicked the embarrassingly large wet spot marring your panties, nail dragging tortuously against your clit, before drawing aside the gusset, running his fingers through your wet folds. 

You couldn’t help but whimper. “Please.”

“Begging now, huh?” He barked out a laugh, but seemed ready to comply. As he dove in for a messy, passionate, soul-consuming kiss, long fingers of one hand still working your clit, you faintly heard the metallic clink of his belt buckle, the rustle of his clothing, the small sigh of relief he let out against your lips as he freed his cock from its confines. 

“Last chance, angel,” he groaned out, head falling back in pleasure as his hard, hot length slid against your folds. “I’m not gonna hold back after this.”

“I still want it - want you,” you whispered back. “I can take it.”

Those plush lips curved into a wicked, almost malicious smirk. “Good.” And with no further ado, he slammed himself home deep in your cunt.

A soft cry of pain escaped your lips. It stung - but within a second, past the initial resistance, the pain had ebbed away, replaced by a curious pressure, a blossoming sensation of fullness unlike anything you’d felt before.

Hyunjin, however, froze. 

You knew he’d probably felt that thin tissue - your so-called “innocence” - give way. With ominous slowness, he slid his fingers to the place where you were connected and lifted them up to the light. In the harsh gleam of the streetlights above, the faint traces of blood - your blood - marring his pale skin was obvious. 

And when he looked at you again, those ice blue eyes were mask-like, unreadable once again. 

“You know who I am, don’t you, sweetheart?” The endearment sounded like a curse in his mouth; his tone - stiff, chillingly empty - sending a small shiver down your spine. All you could do was nod, silently. 

“Then you must be out of your fucking mind,” he hissed, fingers biting painfully into the meat of your hip, body still pressed heavily into yours. “The hell are you doing giving someone like me something this precious?”

“It’s…it’s not though?” 

Hyunjin raised a challenging eyebrow at you.

“I mean…yes, I’ve never been with anyone before, but why does it matter?” Your words came out in a gasp, almost jumbled - mind and body craving what had been so abruptly interrupted, the pull strong enough for you to blurt out your true feelings…all of them. “I want you, Hyunjin - I want you, and I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you right now.” 

The iciness of Hyunjin’s gaze wavered, melted just a smidge. His death grip on your hip morphed into a heavy, possessive pressure; his thumb started rubbing circles into that sensitive crease separating your thigh from your waist. “Why?”

You could barely string the words together at this point - but you knew they had to be said. “I…I was alone, you were surrounded by your boys b-but - something made me feel like you were the only person in this club who felt the same…the same loneliness that I did.”

At that, his fingers stilled. Hyunjin’s eyes searched yours carefully - looking for what? You didn’t know. But whatever he found…it seemed to be satisfactory. For those long arms wound tightly around you once again, hiking you higher against the rough wall.  

“Fine. You can have it your way, angel.” And as his head dipped to your neck, lips bruising the signs of his lust onto your skin, a choked moan spilled forth from your lips as those slender hips snapped into yours - pushing his cock further into you, balls deep, stretching your sensitive walls beyond belief.

“So fucking tight,” he murmured hoarsely, now driving himself into you in a steady, punishing pace. “How much would it take to fuck you loose for the first time, hmm? Maybe I should take you home and test it out,” he mused, a chuckle just this side of unhinged bubbling forth from his lips. “Tie you down and fuck this sweet little pussy until it’s swollen and red and aching.” Even just the thought made you involuntarily clench down on him, drawing what was almost a growl out of his throat. “Such a good girl.”

And you? You were lost. With just a small shift in angle, Hyunjin’s cock was now sliding right against that sweet spot, deep inside you, his pubic bone grinding deliciously against your clit. The feeling of his lithe body caged in between your thighs, crushing you in against the wall; the sinful trail of fire his mouth was leaving along the delicate skin of your neck, your throat…if you’d known that this, this is what sex was like - you would’ve had it long, long ago.

…But a little voice told you that - this might just be sex with Hyunjin that felt like this. 

And with that, it wasn’t long before you shattered in his arms, heels digging into his back as the peaks of your pleasure rolled over you - only to scream as Hyunjin’s large hands slammed you down against him, impaling you fully on his cock as, with a throaty groan, he filled you full, hot cum splattering against your sore, sensitive walls. 

There was a beat of silence, with only the sounds of heavy breathing to break the still. As you leaned your head back against the wall, struggling to come back down from your high, you could feel Hyunjin’s gaze burning through you. 

“Beautiful,” he whispered, as if just to himself. You blinked your eyes open to see him watching you - but something about the way he was looking at you had changed. Where before they’d been fiery, filled with unambiguous lust, desire, cockiness - that frenzy had given way to something more…profound. Like he was trying to see you, see through you - see you for who you really were. 

You hated to break the moment - but now that you weren’t burning up with lust, the very physical ramifications of being fucked up against a wall were making themselves known to you. You danced your fingers over Hyunjin’s collarbone. “Can you…”

He snapped out of whatever trance he was in, hands surprisingly gentle as they cupped your thighs, supporting your weight as he let you down from the wall. When you stumbled on landing, the strength in your legs failing you, he steadied you against him. 

“Does it hurt?” His voice was gruff, clearly masking some emotion he didn’t want you to see.

“Pretty sore, yeah,” you admitted with a wry smile. “But hey - makes it more memorable, right?”

It seemed like he wasn’t expecting that flippant of a response from you, for the next thing he blurted out was - “Romantic fool.”

You could tell he hadn’t meant to be so abrasive, a cloud of regret immediately passing over his face, but you knew what he meant. 

“It’s okay,” you told him, shrugging it off. “I know I am and that I shouldn’t-”

You stopped when you felt soft fingers under your chin, lifting your head back up. Hyunjin looked deep into your eyes, the corner of his plush mouth upturned in a crooked smile. “It takes one to know one, angel.”

He bit his lip, hesitating. It looked he wanted to, was about to say something more - but then…

“Well, well…and what do we have here? A stray dog rutting in an alleyway, tsk tsk...” An arrogant, menacing voice called out from the darkness, accompanied by the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps - of more than one person. 

“Fuck,” Hyunjin spat out, blue eyes narrowed in icy fury. “These assholes don’t know what’s good for them.” You watched as he transformed in front of you, back into that cold, dangerous - honestly sexy - mafioso. 

“You need to get out of here, angel - I don’t want those fuckers to get even a glimpse of you.” Hyunjin passed his hands over you, quickly, efficiently straightening out your clothes and his. “Can you do one thing for me? Run back to the boys and tell them that the fucking pirates are sailing in. I’m gonna need backup here.” You nodded quickly, knowing you - and he - didn’t have much time. 

Just as you turned to run away though, Hyunjin caught your hand in his, stopping you. “I…I’ll come find you, okay?” His voice was pitched low, serious in tone. You could tell he meant what he said…at least, for now. You murmured a soft agreement before making your escape. 

Luckily, Hyunjin’s boys were still where you left them. You decided to go up to the one in the middle, the one with muscles straight out of a GQ magazine, who was watching you waddle back into the bar with a knowing smirk plastered across his face. 

Bicep Boy - you might as well call him that - spoke first. “Boss still recovering?” 

You felt yourself flush with embarrassment. For a brief second, you wondered what they thought of you - wondered how many times they’d seen Hyunjin do this exact thing. The thought sent a sudden shudder of jealousy through you - but that wasn’t important right now.  

“No - he, um, he sent me to get you guys. There’s a few guys outside…and he wanted me to tell you that, uh, the pirates are sailing in?”

You startled back as their relaxed, nonchalant attitude disappeared in a flash, the three of them jumping to their feet immediately. “Fucking hell,” the man in front of you hissed, looking pissed as he fished around for a tip to throw on the bar. “Those motherfuckers just can’t stay in line, can they?”

“Wait…” the man next to him, almost drowning in a fancy mink coat, piped up abruptly. “If hyung sent her back to us…does someone need to walk her back?” The three men paused for a second, the weight of their gaze prickling as they turned to look at you again, size you up. 

“No no,” you protested. “I’ll take care of myself - they couldn’t have gotten a good look at me anyways. I’d rather you go back Hyunjin up...make sure nothing happens to him.”

From their approving looks, you’d clearly passed some sort of test. “Take this then,” the third man, silent until now, shoved a ball of fabric into your hands - Hyunjin’s abandoned coat. “That dress stands out too much - and I’m sure the boss’ll be getting it back from you soon.”

And with a surprisingly warm, friendly smile - he and the others were off. 

You were left standing at the bar, with an expensive, bulky coat in your arms and the eyes of most of the club on you. With nothing else to do, you slunk your way out of the club, just as you had looked forward to doing just a short while ago…

But why did it now feel so disheartening?

And…here you were. Alone, at home, on a weekend night - again.

You’d just curled up on your couch, idly watching TV - not because you particularly wanted to, but more because sleep had deserted you. Every time you closed your eyes, all you could feel was the ghost of Hyunjin’s touch - his body against yours, his lips, his fingers on your body. 

You shook yourself off. Maybe some ice cream would help, you mused, shoving off the blankets you’d just tucked yourself into to get up. 

But then - the doorbell rang. 

For a second, you froze. You and your roommate never really had visitors…and the fear that maybe someone had followed you home from that alleyway flitted through you. 

On the other hand though…what if it was him?

Taking a deep breath, you made your way to the door. Keeping the chain hooked, you slowly pulled it open, just a crack - and were immediately rewarded with the sight of those already familiar, icy blue eyes. 

Hyunjin. 

“I’ll…I’ll leave this second if you want me to,” he started, fingers fidgeting with his bracelets. “But I just felt that we left some things…unfinished back there.”

You agreed, but even if you didn’t - you weren’t going to miss out on this. 

Quietly, you let him in. Even though you were positive shit went down after you left, Hyunjin looked perfectly fine - statuesque, just as before. When you gestured to an armchair, he shook his head. “I think I want to stay standing for now.”

Your heart sunk. Maybe seeking you out, coming all the way to your apartment…wasn’t to make the gesture that you thought. Maybe this was just an apology, an attempt to tie things off between you, neatly, permanently, with a bow on top. Maybe…

Shuffling slowly back to your couch, you sat down and waited for him to speak. 

“I…I don’t do this often. I know what it might look like, but…I don’t really sleep around, chase after women just looking for a quick fuck. That’s not who I am…and that’s not what I want you…or this to be.”

At your sharp inhale, he took half a step away from you - his eyes solemn, searching yours to see what he could find. He bit his lip. “This is so selfish of me, I know…but I’d-I’d like to see you again. Take you out somewhere, more formally…as you deserve.”

“Why is that selfish?” A little bud of hope had flowered in your heart…but you were still confused by his hesitance.

He took a second to respond. “You’ll be a target, you know,” he murmured quietly, gazing down at his clasped hands. “I know a lot of dark people - and they wouldn’t give a shit about…using you to get at me. Being seen with me, being with me…you’ll never feel safe again.”

Slowly, you stood up and walked over to him. Standing right in front of him without your heels, without the wall hiking you up against him, you had to tilt your head back to actually look at his face full on - though his eyes still wouldn’t meet yours. And so, you did, running your hands carefully up his arms to rest on his shoulders. 

“Then why do I feel the safest I’ve ever been, Hyunjin, standing here in front of you?”

At that, his head snapped up, finally looking at you directly. 

“I want to try this,” you told him, your voice calm and steady. “I would love to…do something more formal with you too. And…” your voice wavered, as you gathered your confidence in turn, “maybe you could stay with me for a bit tonight too?”

You wished you had a camera to capture how Hyunjin’s face lit up - how those plush lips curved, eyes crinkled up in a genuine, warm smile. “I would love to.” You felt your heart stutter, your own lips curving in response. 

“Well then,” you dusted your hands off, putting on a business-like air for him. “Let’s get you settled first. Want me to make you something? Or is there anything you want to make?”

“I’m useless in a kitchen,” he told you, cracking a sheepish grin. “But I can whip up a mean ice cream sundae.”

So, that’s what he did. You let him make you that sundae - which really was good. You sat side-by-side and watched three episodes of drama, sharing your ice cream in increasingly comfortable, companionable silence. Hyunjin didn’t need to know how much of that time you spent watching him, your lips quirking at just how caught up he got in the show.

You let him take you back to your bed, let him thoroughly, passionately destroy any innocence you had left with every weapon he had at his disposal - his fingers, his lips, his tongue, his cock. Once you’d gotten your fill of each other - once you let him take you and take you again until your cunt was sore and swollen, your thighs quivering from exhaustion - you laid there together in your bed - naked, your head on his chest, his arm tentatively, carefully wrapped around your waist. 

And then…he talked. About how he’d dreamed of being a painter, an artist one day…before his world as he knew it went up in literal flames. About how he would gladly kill - and die - for his boys, his strays, who’d banded around him, put their trust in him when he was nothing. About how being the boss, being the top was lonely - was stressful, painful and exhilarating, all at once. 

By the end, you could tell he was exhausted; his body had drifted down against yours, his head now cocooned against your breasts, and you both were doing your best to pretend the droplets of moisture on your chest were sweat. But still, he listened to you too, never making you feel like your problems - your purposelessness, your friendlessness, your inability to make your own dreams reality - were too mundane or unworthy, even compared to his. 

Finally, you let him pull your weary body against his, curl his lanky torso around yours. “I’ve never slept the night in someone else’s bed before,” Hyunjin offered up, voice soft and vulnerable in your ear. “That makes two of us,” you whisper back, running your fingers up and down the arm wrapped around your waist. He tugged you a little closer in response - and closer still as he fell asleep, taking you underneath with him. 

Part of you had been nervous about going to sleep - in case you woke up just to find that…this had all been a dream. That you were alone, as always, in your cold bed - that you had no lover to wake up to. 

Those fears were dashed the second you woke up and felt Hyunjin’s warm presence still behind you. You rolled over slowly - only to find him already awake, watching you with a small smile. He was a study of contrasts in the pale morning light: soft, pouty lips; mussed hair - bruised knuckles; dark, swirling tattoos. He was beautiful, and - at least, for this morning, for now - he was yours. 

You shoved him headfirst in to the shower, and while he cleaned up and squeezed himself back into those delectably tight clothes from last night, you worked your ass off to make a feast for breakfast. It was worth it though - at least, the shy eye smile, the soft “thank you” that he gave you in response...it was worth it. 

And that’s how your roommate found you when she came back: the two of you perched on your rickety kitchen stools, Hyunjin’s arm now wrapped comfortably around you as the two of you giggled over a drunk video - a music video? - Bicep Boy (Hyunjin had laughed at you, telling you his name was Changbin) and the other two had fucked around shooting last night. 

“Oh!” She gasped. You whipped your head around to watch her do a literal double take at the sight of you and Hyunjin. 

Hyunjin stood up with a yawn, deliberately stretching himself to his full height. “I was just leaving.” You bit back a grin - sure, he might be shy, introverted at his core…but when he wanted to, Hyunjin definitely knew how to put on a show. So you just smiled fondly as, with a lascivious little wink, he leaned down to give you a whopping goodbye smooch, with tongue for good measure. He’d clearly listened to your retelling of your roommate’s role in this whole ordeal. 

“Bye, angel. I’ll text you.” And with a poignant look and a final squeeze of your hands, Hyunjin was off. You almost wanted to pinch yourself as another test, again. But before that - you had something - or someone - to deal with first. 

“Is that…”

“Yes,” you nodded. “The date you set me up with…didn’t pan out, but I ran into Hyunjin at the same club.”

“Looks like you did a little more than run into him alright,” a small, teasing smirk on her face as she looked you up and down. “That’s funny though. I used to…see one of the other guys from SKZ, a long while back…” she trailed off, lost in thought for a second. “It’s a long story,” she sighed, “but anyways…” She shook her head, turning her attention back squarely to you. “You and Hwang Hyunjin, eh? How’d it happen?”

“It’s a long story,” you smiled back up at her, before taking a deep breath. If you’d gained any perspective from what you’d spilled to Hyunjin last night, it would be that the only person who could lift you out of your loneliness…was you. “Wanna talk about it over breakfast?”

She stilled for a second, but you watched happily as a slow smile crept across her face.

“Let’s do it.”

As you got up to make her a plate, you heard a relatively unfamiliar sound - your phone buzzing from not just one, but multiple texts.  

> Hyunjinnie: Same time, same place this Friday?

> Hyunjinnie: If I can make it that long without you…

> Hyunjinnie: ❤️

You didn’t think your heart still had flutters left to give after everything that had happened…but here it was, flittering away. You responded in kind, telling Hyunjin you’d be counting down the days on your end too - and that was the honest truth. 

You’d just sat down again, about to pick up your fork, when your phone let out one final buzz. 

> Hyunjinnie: (Oh, and bring that roommate of yours too. I’m sure your ~Bicep Boy~ would be happy to see her 😉)

It took everything you had in you to keep a delighted giggle from spilling out past your lips. You eyed your roommate, who had a faraway look in her eyes as she methodically buttered her slices of banana. 

Things sure were gonna be interesting around here - and you were so looking forward to keeping it that way. 

#skz fic #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids fanfic #skz smut #stray kids smut #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin fic #hyunjin fic #hwang hyunjin smut #hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #skz fanfic #skz fanfiction #skz hyunjin #stray kids hyunjin

[ghouljams]

So glad I’m finally getting notifications!! I go through your blog like it’s the morning paper 💕

Happy belated 4th of July!!🦅 It’s the only day out of the year I’m patriotic lol. May I ask how crazy our cowboys got for the holiday??

It is a recent but honored Price family tradition that Soap and Goose almost burn down the barn every fourth. This is Ghost's first year seeing it actually happen.

"I assume you're both tired of having 10 fingers," Simon tells you nice and even, watching you and Soap tie cakes and mortars together.

"Haven't lost one yet," Soap responds at the same time you remind Simon,

"We've got a bucket of water nearby."

"Look we're at least a hundred extra feet from the barn this year, I've got a nice long fuse, nobody is losing any fingers." Soap nods, you nod.

"If you set the barn on fire again you're going on probation." Price gripes sitting back in his lawn chair. You give an affronted gasp and he nods solemnly, "both of you, shit mucking for the next month."

"I am your pride and joy!" You tell him.

"You're a fire hazard," you dad tells you, smoking a cigar on the edge of your safety perimeter. You don't think he fails to see the irony in that statement, but you do think he chooses to ignore it.

"I think it's a deserved punishment," Simon nods, Soap at least has the decency to glare at him for agreeing.

"We're not gonna catch the bard on fire, we've got plennae of room." Soap twists the last of the fuses together and inspects his work. "Somebody get Gaz out of the house, he's going to miss the show."

"Think that's the point," Simon mumbles as you go to drag your last guest off the porch.

"You're both insane," Gaz gripes, putting up more of a fight than you'd thought.

"Quit being a baby, nobody's ever been exploded before." You tell him, enjoying the noise Gaz makes at your joke.

"Ha ha, you're so funny," Gaz drags his feet as you tug him closer to the lawn chairs, "people die Goose, people die every year because of shit like that," he points at your explosive pyre.

"And yet you always have fun when we do this," you roll your eyes, pushing him down into the seat you'd put out for him.

"I really do," he settles into the lawn chair and takes the offered beer from your dad. You're pretty sure Gaz only puts up a fight to pretend so he can pretend he wasn't a cheering party when something unintended catches on fire.

"Alright everyone back up, I'm lighting this beauty." Soap announces, you grab Simon's hand and drag him back to the lawn chairs, sitting him down next to Gaz. His hands grab for your hips to pull you into his lap.

"Watch those hands Lieutenant," your dad barks. Simon's hands fly away from you, raised by his head like Daddy might point a gun at him to enforce the rule.

"I gotta be on stand by with the water anyway," you whisper to Simon, "but maybe I'll knock later?" He smiles behind his mask, eyes narrowing just enough to tell you what you already knew as he takes your hand in his.

"Doors always open." There's unspoken "for you" that settles between you two. Simon presses your knuckles against his mask, gentle and affectionate. He doesn't let anyone else into his private space as readily as he does you. Even Soap still knocks.

Speaking of Soap. The man of the hour strikes a hot match and lights the first fuse, jogging over to safety with the rest of you. He gives you a thumbs up.

The first mortar ignights and shoots a stream of blue into the sky. The loud bang-pop of the explosion echoing in your ribs. The flower of sparks fizzles and another shoots up behind it. Then a cake goes off and sparks fly like feathers shoot a high train that almost instantly ignights the next mortar to send more pops into the sky. Another jet of purple sparks from the cake sets off a Roman candle. The 'tump' of it shooting flares up is offset by the crackling of another fuse burning and-

"That's not supposed to happen," Soap mumbles, watching two more mortars and another Roman candle light.

The five of you watch solemnly as a flare from the Roman candle soars over your heads and onto the roof of the barn. Simon drops your hand as you watch the sparks try to catch on the tar, short bursts of flame lighting up the roof. Your dad sighs and dials the fire department as Gaz runs for the hose.

#cowboy!141 #cowboy!Soap #cowboy!Gaz #cowboy!Ghost #cowboy!Price #oc: goose #finally putting those fireworks soap got from Moon to good use #as usualy the adhd siblings are causing problems for the rest of the gang #very late from the fourth but happy holiday! #one of my faves i love setting shit on fire #this is like barely ship stuff just domestic cowboy goodness #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #cod x reader #ghost x reader #x reader #ghost mwii #cod ghost #johnny soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price