#i attempted to tag them in the order of which they appear | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

topherwrites · 8 months

Text

- start of a silver fox

summary - back from deployment, you notice a change in your boyfriend's appearance. pairing - jake seresin x (fem!)reader word count - 1.4k rating - no smut, but 18+ anyways, mdni! content warnings & tags - age gap (reader is in her early twenties, jake is in his early thirties) / fwb to lovers / no use of (y/n) / vague allusions to sex / mentions of nudes / mentions of masturbation / no actual smut / mentions of death (sorta) / lmk if i missed anything! a/n: saw these recent photos of glen ➙ became possessed ➙ wrote this. reblogs, comments, and likes super appreciated!

Jake is back after three long months on deployment, a fourth of your relationship — not counting the first couple months when you were ‘just hooking up’. This is your first welcome back. Having texted extensively with Nat’s girlfriend, Sasha, you were given a pretty good lay of the land by her, informed of what to expect.

Homecoming day has arrived, and excitement has consumed your entire body, making your limbs buzz.

Awaiting his arrival on the pier, your foot tapping out a nervous rhythm, you stand in the back, allowing spouses and children to be the first in line. You’re just the girlfriend, the one almost a decade younger than him, the one you know his friends assumed wouldn't be around long. You assumed you wouldn't be around long. Jake is a charmer, and when he set his sights on you, you assumed it would be a one-night stand, a fling at most.

But one night turned into two and then three, which turned into nearly three months of falling asleep and waking up next to him. Most days you’d get a text the second he was done with training, the buzz of your phone always kicking up your heartbeat.

At first, you’d just meet him at The Hard Deck for drinks, then dinner at sit-down restaurants — the preambles to him fucking the shit out of you growing longer and decidedly less casual. Post-coital, he’d sling an arm around your waist in an attempt to keep you from slipping out, waking up with that same soothing weight on you. Eventually, he casually mentioned that you could keep some of your stuff at his place — for convenience, he said. He tried slipping the suggestion under the radar, pre-coffee on a Saturday morning. Bleary-eyed and half-asleep, you barely processed his words, absent-mindedly humming in response.

Then you saw the half-cleared-out drawer — which you later learned was a measure in order not to spook you. Like a full drawer would make you wise to his intentions, like he was trying to acclimate you to the idea of commitment, to a relationship with him.

You remember the feeling of placing spare clothes in that drawer; a spare bra and sweatshirt. Jake watching you from the doorway, trying to not act too pleased in response.

You liked him, his company and his laugh and his baffling love of Taylor Swift that he blamed on his nieces. The man under the bravado wormed his way into your brain.

Though, you could appreciate how he looked puffed-chest and cocksure. Near equally competitive as you are. The first game night you spent with his friends meant you both were banned from ever being on the same team again. Pictionary, trivia, One-Night Ultimate Werewolf — you mopped the floor with them. The rule wasn't entirely the case of sore losers, you can acknowledge the fact that you two were immediately, freakishly in sync. Ultimate Werewolf may have ended in tears of betrayal being shed.

And that's how things progressed for a while, falling deeper while avoiding acknowledging the fact that you were in a relationship. Afraid to say the words and make things complicated. Near everyone in both your and his life were trying to push you both to just trust it. Have a little faith in one another.

One minute you were his girlfriend in all but name, and then you were just his girlfriend. A confession on his couch in the midst of rewatching Veep, ‘Relax, cow eyes’ the soundtrack to everything falling into place.

────────────────────────

Once officers start filtering off the ship, your mind blanks in anxiety. Around you, tears are shed, and poster board is ditched in favor of tight hugs. Laughter and children squealing background noise. You scan the crowd, the sun beating down on you, searching for the handsome shape of Jake Seresin. People come and go, giving you a better view of the naval officers, till you finally spot yours moving towards you. He weaves through the throng with ease, standing before you in a matter of seconds.

A smile stretches your face, eyes squinting from both happiness and the sun. You scan him, categorizing any minute change. Gray. A small streak above his right ear. Your nerve endings light up like a Christmas tree, the sensation doubling at the slight hint of age. Reaching out, your fingers run across his scalp, nails tracing back, playing with the hair that has decided in his relatively brief absence to go gray.

He doesn't shy from your touch, his lashes fluttering at the sensation, an intimate moment playing out in public. Though no one is probably taking notice, wrapped up in their own reunion. He does seem to be a hint abashed at your attention.

He breaks the quiet, “Hey, sweetheart.”

The sound of his voice, clear and unobstructed by distance, rushes through you. Fuck. You're trying to suppress the blatant arousal coursing through your system, keep it out of your voice. Words startled, voice pitched, “You've gone gray.”

Despite your age gap, it’s never been your thing, your Tinder age range has only ever been set 3 years older — but seeing Jake in the flesh, and with a few more grays, is making you muster every ounce of self-control so you don't fuck him in the parking lot, ride him in the backseat of his truck. He probably wouldn't enjoy getting dishonorably discharged.

He hefts his duffle over his shoulder, free hand taking your own to lead you to the car — his truck that he handed the keys over to, something in his gaze when he told you to not let the battery die. Maybe a way for him to feel connected to you, maybe a reassurance that you'd be around when he got back. Your board is still in the bed, having taken up surfing in the mornings since your time was no longer being occupied by Jake slowly fucking you into the mattress.

“I already had grays, I'm just… grayer now.” His pace is quick. It's clear that he's itching to get home. Your boots stamp on the pavement as you practically skip behind him, content with his hand in yours. He looks at you out of the side of his eye, eyebrow raised, “And I wonder why that is.”

“That suspiciously sounds like an accusation.”

“Those photos…” He stops at the teal-striped Ford, throwing his duffle next to your surfboard. Crowding you against the side of it., his voice dropping, “I was opening my mail in the mess, ‘bout gave me a heart attack.”

You’d sent them on a whim — a well-researched whim, you didn't need some random desk jockey finding out your taste in lingerie. But you had missed Jake and wanted him to miss you in return. And what better way to make the heart grow fonder than with scantily clad pictures of your body?

“Well? Did you like them?” You know he liked them, it was a whole production to take them, but even if it wasn't — he’s a man, and you were in lingerie. You looked hot, are hot, present tense. An indisputable fact. And he’s not reserved with telling you and showing you that, but you can't pass up a moment to hear it voiced to you, not after how long he’s been gone.

“I think I have carpal tunnel.”

You snort out a laugh as he exaggeratedly shakes out his hand, clenching and unclenching his fist for your amusement. Eyes skating along your features, he huffs, “Add that to the long list of ailments you've inflicted.”

Letting your fingers lightly trace down his biceps, you press your body even closer to his, perhaps a touch too scandalous for a parking lot in broad daylight. A coy reply rolls off your tongue, “I keep you young.”

“You're going to send me to an early grave.”

Rising to your toes, you brush your lips against his, holding back from full contact. You feel his breath stall in his chest, desperate for it. His hands settle on your waist, squeezing, his face awash in anticipation. He’s beautiful.

Your palm stroking the side of his head, you brush the hair away from his face, pinky skimming the top of his ear. You single out the silver strands between your fingers, silky soft as ever. He’s real and yours — home.

“Ditto. Might as well invest in matching plots, right?”

Broad shoulders shaking with laughter, he brushes his nose against yours. Palms cupping the side of your face, thumbs sweeping across your cheeks, he stops waiting. A long-awaited kiss pressed to your lips, neither one of you able to keep the smiles off your faces.

e/n: thank you for reading!

#jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin fic #top gun fandom #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fic #my writing

2K notes · View notes

midnightblues444 · 4 months

Text

No hard feelings |

College!! Geto and Gojo x fem reader

Note: local manwhores versus maneater

Tags: your playing them, cherry chasers geto and Gojo, just yall being hoes together,

"No way you have follow requests, from both Geto Suguru and Gojo Satoru" your roommate gasps

You guys were currently watching reels on your phone and the notification that Gojo requested popped up.

"Whys that so shocking" you turn to her, with a pout

"Well they're like, big players, known for it actually" she explains "cherry chasers I think they're called"

"Like known known?" You ask, she nods vigorously.

You hum back, not really suprised at the fact they're known manwhores. Thinking back on the first impressions they both left, it gave you a feeling that they were the type. You're only suprised that they're friends.

And after stalking their accounts some more you find they're best friends.

Thats when a devious plot begins to brew in the back of your head; If two best friends want you, and they're both cherry chasing, would it be so bad if you two timed them. Got double of what you already wanted.

Its risky but thats what makes it fun

You met Gojo in a stereotypical fashion, a frat party, Brent Faiyaz was blasting in the background, and you werent having a good time.

Your friends had ditched you , and your phone was at three percent. Needing to find a way home, you were looking around lost and wide eyed.

That's probably what got his attention

"Hey there Mary" he was tall, appearing taller through the mesh of people.

"What!" you scream, attempting to talk over the speakers.

"I said, hey there" he talks into your ear, bending down to your level

"Oh!" You yell again, making him chuckle, he points upwards to the stairs, you already knew what he meant and gave him a taken aback look

He laughed again, and leaned down once more "its quieter"

You guys got to chatting, letting him know youre a first year and all that. When you told him the predicament you were in, he offered you a ride home .

While you guys drove he bought food for you and yall ate in the parking lot of your residence.

"Wanna makeout?" He offered casually, with a smirk

You laughed, and somehow ended up making out with him

It was hot, he knew what he was doing, his hands eventually traveled down to your thighs and you pulled back. Flustered by the boldness, in that moment being hit by how fast everything's moving you then told him to wait.

He said he understood, and gave you his insta and number (for when you change your mind of course)

You met Geto through the bar he tends, you werlooking as freshly legal as can be, visibly excitedto order a drink. Because It was mid afternoon the place was relatively empty, he could give you as much attention as he pleased.

"And what could I do for you pretty" he asked smugly

You flushed at the laced compliment, smiling shyly at him, putting a finger to your chin in thought. Eventually giving him an order, which you worded wrong, he found it amusing.

You guys chatted, as you drank. It was pleasant but you could basically smell his goal from a mile away. By the low look he gave you, tracing your figure with his eyes.

People, well guys, usually take you're doe eyes, and shy smile and assume your some lil naive virgin. A sweet cherry ripe for the picking.

You could tell that with these boys, that's what they perceived you as

Before you left the bar, he gave you his number cockily

hugging you on your way out. Placing his hands on the small of your back, resting his hands there as he spoke to you

"I'll make you a drink sometime" he smiled,

"Sure yea, that's sounds fun" you giggled back

He was the first to slide into your dms infact

Sugu_geto: hey stranger ;)

Sugu_geto: been thinking bout that drink, your place or mine?

Your roommate basically loses her mind,when you snatch your phone. While you try think up a witty response you get another dm.

_Satoruuuu_: yo

_Satoruuuu_: u up for a drive?

You can feel your heart start to race, as you respond to both. You know what you want;

both

For the plot of course

Part two

#jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujustu kaisen #jjk fic #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #jjk geto #getou x reader #jjk getou #geto fic #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fic #jjk gojo #satusugu x reader #jjk smut

353 notes · View notes

angelltheninth · 7 months

Text

Jealous Boyfriend Bakugo Misunderstands the Situation

Pairing: Bakugo Katsuki x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, misunderstandings, party, kissing, hickies, protectiveness, jealousy, Bakugo is really bad at feelings

Flufftober Day 13: Wrong

A/N: This one was easy cause Bakugo needs some flufftuber goodness after the shit he's been through.

Jealous!Bakugo appeared seemingly out of nowhere while you were talking to Deku and Eijiro. They were his friends so the murderous look he shot them made no sense to you or to them. This was your first time meeting his friends, some of which you admired a lot seeing as you had no Quirk of your own. Naturally he took on a protective role, even at this party he himself threw.

"Why ya talking to them so much eh? I'm glad you're getting along with them but I'm your boyfriend ya know? Did ya forget me already? Maybe ya could use a little reminder of who the best couple around here is. As for the two of ya, stop flirting with my girlfriend!"

Jealous!Bakugo locked his bedroom cause he didn't want anyone snooping around but now his bedroom is occupied by the two of you. His lips are on yours sooner then the door closes, your back on his bed, not even letting you get a word in as he kisses you, he's too set on showing you that he didn't like what he saw downstairs, he needs to make sure that when you go back you leave with visible kiss and suck marks on your neck.

"Didn't think they'd have the nerve to flirt with you in front of me. Pretty shameless if ya ask me. Could be just looking for a fight, which I would win of course. Ya'd cheer for me right? Of course ya would. Who else would be your number one?"

Jealous!Bakugo pauses when you start laughing so hard he hears it louder then the music blasting outside. He doesn't like that you're laughing when he's being 100% serious here. Worst yet you keep avoiding his attempts to kiss you in order to shut you up. The more he tries the more you laugh and it gets to the point that your lungs burn. As he's getting ready to kiss you again you hug him close to you, stunning him again.

"What's the big idea?! Think I'm not being serious? I'll kick anyone's ass for ya. Yeah, even Deku's, that little loser, I'll teach him to flirt with my girl. What? Why are you- he- they weren't? But you've been talking to them all night, I know cause I've left you with them and you haven't moved from your spot."

Jealous!Bakugo can feel his whole body burning up when you explain that his friends were actually talking about him for the most part. They didn't quite know you were dating so they were trying to make you see what a great guy he is under all that tough surface of his. You were about to tell them that he was your boyfriend when he interjected into the conversation. Both sides had the situation all wrong.

"Talking 'bout me huh? Heh, bet they had nice things to say. I hope, at least. Not gonna lie, not everyone thinks I'm that good of a guy. Those idiots, I swear I told them about us at some point. Ah, fuck, now I gotta- why did you let me drag you in here in the first place? You made me look like a jealous asshole."

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha headcanon #mha headcanon #bakugou headcanon #bakugou fluff #flufftober #x female reader

686 notes · View notes

cozage · 1 year

Note

Please, please, PLEASE MAKE A FOLLOW-UP ON LAW ON THE DARE CHALLENGE

😭😭😭😭😭

A/N: Did someone order Law x reader with an extra slow burn??? Oh my sweet sweet anon I love you and everyone else who requested this. This was such a pleasure to write. I truly hope I did it justice and made up for not having a section for him earlier. For those who are new here, this is part two for an earlier headcanon list I did. Check that out first for more context.

Characters: GN! reader x Law

Cw: NSFW. MINORS - DNI. I promise I’ll have so much other content for you to consume, please respect me and my work and keep scrolling. If I catch a minor on my NSFW posts, I will block you (and then you don't get to see any of my writing! So just skip this one.)

Total word count: 4.2k

tag list: @error404-tryagain @jadedrrose @patchofblue @nikos-a-clown @evilunicorns4minions @reader101 @gaynerdnotkid @augustanna @uchihabbynic

Push and Pull

“Y/N-ya, what the hell was that?” You could hear the frustration in his voice follow after you as you dashed out of the room and retreated down the hallway. The game was finally over. The moment Shachi released you from your place on Law’s lap you had made a beeline for your room.

“N-Nothing!” You keep moving, feeling heat rise to your face at the thought of your earlier flirtation attempt. Shachi may have been the one to force you to do it, but it would have been a lot better if you hadn’t fumbled it so badly.

Law quickly caught up to you and grabbed your wrist, pulling you back from your escape. He spins you around to face him, and he towers over you. His face was contorted with such anger that you instinctively shrank away from him.

“Did Shachi put you up to that?” His face had softened some and you could tell he was attempting to control his voice, but his anger was apparent. You hesitated, which was enough of an answer for him. You could feel his grip tighten on your wrist, and you resist the urge not to squirm away from him again. You want to be far away from him and his rage, which now appeared to be centered on your crew mates. You could hear their laughs echoing from the common room, and Law glared in their direction.

“I’m sorry you had to do that,” he says, still facing the common area. You start to respond, wanting to let Law know that it wasn’t a big deal, but he’s already dropped your wrist and is striding back to the common room. A dark aura is rolling off him as he heads towards the crew, and you turn on your heels and bolt to your room, thankful for an escape.

You make yourself scarce over the next few days, and the captain seems to be doing the same. You stay locked in your room, and he stays locked in his office. The only time you interact with Law is over meals, and you catch yourself glancing over at him several times throughout those moments. A few times you glance over to catch his golden eyes staring back at you, and you both quickly look away, praying nobody else caught you all.

You and your captain have been doing this strange dance of avoiding each other and catching stolen looks for three days before the crew decided to step in.

At lunch on the third day, Ikkaku hunts you down to pull you into your room. “You should wear something super nice tonight!” She’s already sifting through the clothes in your drawer.

“What? Why?” You start picking up the clothes that Ikakku has tossed on the floor, but she’s oblivious to your efforts, which irritates you. “Do you mind not making such a mess?”

She ignores your request, still shifting through your belongings and mumbling to herself. “Not a lot to work with here but I’m sure we can find something.”

“Hey-stop that! Ikakku, what is this all about anyway?” You’re throwing your clothes back into the dresser as fast as she’s throwing them out, frustration growing with every shirt you have to refold.

Ikkaku doesn’t offer much explanation. “It’s for the captain.”

You stand there staring at her, dumbfounded, until a stray shirt is thrown at your face. “What’s for the captain?” You finally ask.

Ikakku moves onto the next drawer and keeps digging through your clothes, unfazed by your question. “You gotta dress to impress, sweetheart!”

“Why would I do that?” Your voice comes out choked, and you know your secret has been found out. You still can’t find the will to move, even though your friend is continuing to demolish your room.

Finally, your words catch up to Ikakku, and she turns to face you. She stares at you a long while, as if she’s trying to decide if you’re even worth explaining her motives to. After a few long seconds, Ikakku laughs. “Don’t try to deny it, dear. I know you’re head over heels for him.”

Your mouth falls open in shock. She says it with such confidence that you know there’s no point in denying it. Ikakku always had a sixth sense for these things. “How long have you known?”

“I’ve had my suspicions for a little while, but you made it pretty obvious during game night. At this point everyone must know.” There’s something extra in her voice that sends you over the edge. She said her words so condescendingly, as if she pitied you and your circumstances.

“Get out! Get out now!” You shoved Ikakku out the door and slammed it behind her, refusing to come out until the dinner call. You feel so humiliated, though you’re not sure why. Your cheeks still turn pink at the thought of that night, which was the last time you had talked to your captain in three days. It felt like Shachi and Ikakku had ruined your entire relationship with the captain because of that stupid dare, and now they were trying to meddle in your life even more.

You were late to dinner because of Penguin. He was trying to get you to put a nicer outfit on, which led to a big fight and left you in a sour mood. By the time the two of you got there, only two seats remained. One next to Shachi, which was obviously meant for Penguin, and one next to the captain, which was obviously meant for you.

Everyone’s eyes followed you as you took your place next to Law, but nobody said anything. You could see Ikakku and Shachi silently questioning Penguin over your outfit choice, but he simply rolled his eyes and waved it off. A few members exchanged glances, and you could feel that someone was waiting for something to happen.

“Sorry for being late to dinner, everyone.” You finally say, trying to sound genuine.

“Shall we eat, then?” Law spoke to the crew, ignoring you and your apology, and you felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

You didn’t have much of an appetite, and you weren’t in the mood to talk to the man who you had spent the past few days avoiding, so you occupied your time by pushing your food around on your plate. You tried to take a few bites every now and then, but you weren’t making much of a dent on your food.

“Y/N-ya.” The voice made you freeze. It was the first time your captain had spoken to you since game night. Your eyes shifted over to your captain, but when you made eye contact with him, they darted back to the peas on your plate.

“Are you feeling okay?” There was a calculated levelness in his voice. You go the sense he was asking as a doctor, not as a captain or a friend.

“I’m fine.”

You could see his eye twitch in irritation, but his voice remained calm. “If you would like something else to eat-”

“I don’t.” You interrupt, not giving him the chance to finish his sentence. The other conversations at the table start to die down, and you’ve become painfully aware of everyone’s eyes on you now.

“Captainnnn,” Shachi called to the man next to you. “How about you give Y/N some of your food?”

You’re not sure why, but something snaps inside of you. He’s using that same condescending tone that Ikakku used with you earlier, and the anger that has built inside you over the past three days finally explodes.

“How about you go straight to hell, Shachi?” You say, slamming your fork down onto the table. You see everyone’s mouths fall open in shock, including your captain’s, but you don’t care anymore. You storm out of the room and back to your cabin, furious with the position you’ve allowed yourself to be put into because you have feelings for some guy. You lock your door to avoid unwanted visitors, but nobody tries to come talk to you anyway.

“It’s not my fault that they want to rip off each other’s clothes!” You freeze as you hear Shachi’s voice call out in frustration from the kitchen down the hall. You hadn’t seen them-or anyone- since dinner last night, and you were hoping to avoid everyone while you ventured to the kitchen for lunch today. You had even waited until far after the normal lunchtime to lower your chances of running into someone, but it seems you had waiting too long and now you had stumbled upon the people who were cooking dinner tonight.

“Hush!” A feminine voice scolds at the man in a low hiss. Ikkaku. “Someone is going to hear you.”

“I don’t care if they do hear me!” Shachi shoots back. “Everyone on this damn ship can see it except them! It’s been painfully obvious since game night! The way they avoid each other now, the glances over dinner, and now all this hostility!?! I knew the captain would be pissed at us, but now…”

He trails off, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks when you realize it is you they are talking about. You stay frozen in the hallway, praying that nobody comes around the corner and catches you eavesdropping.

“Listen,” Shachi continues, now in a full-blown rant. “Captain told me that he liked Y/N! And Y/N told you the same thing, right? What were they expecting us to do? Of course we’re going to meddle in that! We’re the most meddlesome people on the ship! They wanted us to intervene! And we did and now they’re avoiding each other like they have some kind of plague and I’m so tired of it!” He pauses for a beat. “We should just tell them.”

Your hand flies up to your mouth to stifle a horrified gasp and Ikkaku speaks in a deadly serious tone. “We are not doing that, Shachi. Neither of them would ever forgive us.”

“I know, I know.” Shachi seems to have calmed down a bit. “It’s just frustrating to watch. And now they’re both upset with us. I just want them to be happy.”

“As do I. Come on, let’s make dinner,” Ikkaku suggests, trying to change the subject. “We’ll figure out a way to make them forgive us and each other. Until then, we’ll just count their awkward glances.”

“The record is eleven, you know. Eleven times they made eye contact and then quickly glanced away from each other. Just at one dinner!”

So they had noticed the looks you and Law had been sharing. In fact, the more they talk, it sounds like they had been actively watching the two of you. It seems like it was a sort of game to them. They were able to recall most of the ones that had happened over the previous nights, chatting quietly and laughing at the exceptionally embarrassing ones.

There was no way you could face them after learning this. There was no way you could face anyone on the ship. You wanted to go hide in your room forever. You retreat back down the hallway the way you came and quickly rounded the corner to return to your room.

You crashed into someone as you turned the corner, too in a hurry to notice them until it was too late. You’re about to let out a small squeal of surprise when a hand covers your mouth tightly. Panic sets in for a moment, thinking someone may have stowed away on the ship, but when you see equally wide golden eyes staring down at you, you feel a twinge of relief.

A different kind of panic sets in, and your heartbeat starts to pick up. Suddenly, you’re painfully aware of how close you are to your captain; how his tattooed fingers are still gripping around your face, holding your mouth shut.

He must realize it too, because his face begins to tint with pink, and he releases you from his grasp. He holds a finger up to his lips and looks around the corner to see if anyone is watching, but Shachi and Ikkaku are still chatting in the kitchen, and nobody else is in the hallway. He takes your wrist and silently leads you away from the kitchen in the direction of his office.

You can feel your heart rate accelerating in your chest with every step closer to the captain’s quarters. Based on his reaction, you weren’t the only one who had heard Shachi’s and Ikkaku’s conversation in the kitchen. A part of you wanted to run, to find a way to put as much distance between you and your captain as you could on this small ship. But you let him lead you down the halls, too afraid to say or do anything else but follow him.

He didn’t look back at you the entire time you walked through the halls. His pace was fast, and at times you struggled to keep up. He quickly opened the door to his office and yanked you inside, looking back in the hallway once more to make sure you weren’t followed before closing it and locking the deadbolt firmly.

“What are you-” You had begun to question him, but quickly lost your voice when he started towards you with such intensity.

“Shachi and Ikakku, were they telling the truth?” His voice is harsh and rough when he speaks to you. You could hear the disbelief in his words, and you knew for a fact that he had heard them in the kitchen. He was towering over you with an intense gaze, and you were doing your best not to cower away from him like before.

“What-”

“A yes or no will do.” He takes a step towards you, and you instinctively step backwards, pressing your back against a random bookcase behind you. He had you cornered now, and your stomach ties into a knot as you look up at him. You feel so small, trapped here in his office with him. There’s a hungry look in his eyes, like a predator when they’ve found their next meal. He’s a little terrifying, yet you can’t bring yourself to look away from him.

“Y/N.” He prompts again. He didn’t add the normal nickname to it, which was a solidified sign that he was pissed. You didn’t normally find your captain intimidating, but since game night he made your hair stand on edge. You’re too embarrassed to admit your feelings for him, not while staring straight in the eyes like this. You finally break away from his gaze and stare at the floor, too ashamed to answer.

But your captain wants your full attention, and Law’s index finger tucks under your chin and guides your face back up to meet him, beckoning you to look him in the eyes again. You resist at first, but eventually give in, locking back into his honey irises.

He leans down, only centimeters from your face. He’s so close that you can feel his breath on your lips as he exhales. His breath is hitched and shallow, warm as it brushes against your skin.

Your knees feel weak with him so close to you, and think they might give out any second. The electricity between the two of you is palpable, and you wonder if this is what it means to be alive. You are suspended in this moment only with him, completely isolated from the outside world and everyone in it.

“Was it the truth?” He whispers the question softly this time, and now you can sense a trace of hope laced into his words. You open your mouth to respond, but your words fail you. He looks down at your lips, waiting, and you do the only thing you can. You nod.

That’s all he needs. His lips crash into yours with such force that you have to take a step back to steady yourself, but you stumble against the bookcase. Law’s free hand wraps tightly around you to help you stay balanced, and he pushes you back against the bookcase for more support. Inked fingers trace your jawline and cup your cheek, pulling you closer to him while he leans further into you. There’s been far too much distance between the two of you recently, and he needs to make up for lost time.

You wrap your arms around his body, digging your fingernails into the back of his shirt as you pull him against you, showing him how much you want this-how much you need this. His tongue flicked across your lips and a soft moan escaped your mouth as your lips parted, granting him access to you. He dives in without hesitation, eager for his first taste of you.

His hands trailed down your back, sending shivers throughout your entire body. He reached your waist, and you could feel him hesitate for a moment, unsure how much further to proceed. You press against him harder, encouraging him further, and your hands move upwards, wrapping around his neck to pull him into you more. Your fingers twisted around his midnight locks, tugging at them gently.

His lips finally release from your mouth, and you gasp for air while you have a second to breathe. Both of his hands slip under your ass and he lifts you up, your back still against the shelf for assistance. Your legs wrap around his body, pulling him into you.

He kissed your jawline, and then slowly made his way down to your neck. The sensation of his tongue swirling and his lips sucking on your sensitive skin made you pull at his hair harder, shoving his mouth further into your nape. You had to bite your lips to stifle a moan, and he gave a dark chuckle against your skin.

“Come on now,” he teased, nipping at your neck a few times. “Moan for me, y/n-ya”

You didn’t immediately oblige, and he was quickly growing impatient. His lips continued to suck at your skin with such ferocity that you were sure his marks of passion would be displayed there later. He gripped your ass tighter and pushed his groin into the opening between your legs. You could feel his hardened cock through his jeans grinding against you, and you couldn’t hold your words in any longer.

“Fuck, Captain!” You had tried to keep quiet, but the moan rang out loudly against the silent room. Either Law didn’t care about the level of your voice, or he liked it. Judging by the way he thrust into you again, you would guess the latter. Your fingers dug deeper into his locks, pure ecstasy running through your veins now. You wanted to ride this high all the way to the end with your captain, and you continued to call out his name every time his bulge rubbed against you in the perfect way.

Law abandoned your neck to return back to your lips again, muffling your moans with his mouth. He continued to grip your ass tightly and push into you, and you could hear books falling to the ground behind you as his pace began to pick up.

“Errr, Captain?” The voice came from the other side of the door, distorted and concerned. In shock, Law pulled away from you and your hand flew to your mouth in horror, both of you frozen in place.

The door jiggled, and your eyes widened at its movement. Thankfully it stayed shut, locked earlier by the captain.

Law’s eyes stayed connected with yours. He kept you against him, refusing to put you down. “What is it, Bepo?”

“Is everything okay, Captain? I was coming to tell you dinner is ready, and I heard some commotion as I-“

Law cut him off before he let Bepo’s rambling go on too long. “Everything is fine, Bepo. Thank you. We will be at dinner soon.”

Your eyes widen at him, and he realizes his mistake too late.

“We?”

Law curses under his breath and you smile at his uncharacteristic slip up. You can only thank the stars that it’s Bepo summoning him and not anyone else on the crew.

“I’ll see you at dinner, Bepo.” Law corrects, and you can hear Bepo’s feet padding away down the hall without further commentary.

You start to unwrap your legs from around his waist, but he grips you tighter, refusing to release you just yet.

You giggle at him and place a quick kiss on his nose, and in shock, his arms loosen from around you. He releases you, and you hop down happily. All the tension between you two has finally broken, and the air feels lighter now

You do a quick check in the mirror nearby, and attempt to fix the things you can control. You use your fingers to comb through your hair quickly and smooth your shirt, trying your best to make yourself look presentable. Unfortunately, there’s nothing you can do about the welts that are already forming on your neck other than pull up your shirt collar and hope for the best.

“Go ahead, I’m going to clean up and then I’ll be there.” Law bends down to pick up his hat and places it back on his head. It must’ve fallen off at some point, though you’re not sure when. He waves you on, bending back down to begin collecting the books you’ve scattered across the floor.

You start to think that you’ve done something wrong or he’s ashamed to be seen with you, and you feel that familiar pit forming in your stomach.

“Save me a seat,” he calls to you as you exit the room, and your fear instantly melts away.

You walk into the kitchen to find that most people have already congregated around the table. A few people look over to see you come in, and your eyes find Shachi. You smile at him politely, trying to start the process of making up for your outburst yesterday. His eyes glance down to your neck, and you watch as his eyes grow wide. He mutters something to Ikakku and Penguin, and you look away before you become more embarrassed.

You take a seat, and a few minutes later Law walks in and sits next to you. He’s sitting extremely close to you, his leg pressed against yours. You try to avoid the looks Shachi is sharing with the rest of the crew.

Dinner starts out casual, everyone attempting to ignore the elephant in the room. You were chatty with your crew mates, and everyone began to relax more. It finally felt like the crew dynamic was returning to normal again.

Halfway through dinner, you feel a hand rest on the top of your thigh, and you resist the urge to look over at your captain. You can feel his thumb lazily rubbing in circles, and electricity starts through your veins again.

After a few moments his fingers reach down, gripping your inner thigh and giving it a squeeze. You have to bite down on your lip to avoid showing any outward signs of his advancements. You snap your legs shut and attempt to continue your conversation with Clione, ignoring the hint of a smirk dancing across Law’s face.

He pushed further into your inner thigh, massaging it slowly. Continuing his taunt, he spreads his fingers closer to your core and flexes his fingers against you. You shift away from him, and he gripped your thigh harder to prevent you from completely leaving his grasp.

He leans close to you, whispering so only you can hear him. His voice is low and thick with desire. “Do you want to finish what we started?”

Your cheeks burn as he releases your thigh and gets up from the table, not waiting for your response. You wait a few moments before deciding to follow him.

“Thank you, Shachi.” You look at him and pause, and you can feel a sense of understanding pass between you two. “For the meal.” You add in, for sake of appearance.

You get up and walk out of the room, and Law is waiting for you outside. He grabs your hand and leads you back towards his office once again. You’re uncertain of what lies ahead, but it’s better than where you’ve been.

“Thank FUCK!” You hear Shachi scream from the kitchen, and the crew joins in with a chorus of laughter. You found yourself agreeing with them, grinning to yourself as the captain pulls you along, hand laced in yours.

#one piece #one piece imagine #one piece scenario #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #one piece x reader #trafalgar law #trafalgar d water law #law x reader #law x y/n #trafalgar law smut #cozage #✧˚law✧˚

3K notes · View notes

vasiktomis · 3 months

Text

Overqualified (Choso x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: A series of vignettes over the course of which you decide you're actually pretty cool with the idea of giving Choso head.

Rating: Explicit (Minors do NOT interact). Word Count: ~7300. Tags/Warnings: Female Pronouns and Anatomy for Reader, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Time Blow Jobs, Social Anxiety, Vomiting (not part of the sex stuff I swear but icks are icks), Angst, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Mentions of Non-Con but No Descriptions. Canon-variant, nobody’s dead, everyone’s fine etc etc. Read it on Ao3 Here!

“You’re kidding, right?”

You’re all too familiar with how curses wear their expressions when they become powerful enough to learn to make them.

In your line of work — at the level you’ve risen to — you’re often stuck with the ones that take human form. The ones that learn to mimic sounds and words and mannerisms. You’ve watched time and time again, the intelligence that forms in First and Special-grades that allows them to appear so convincingly human in such a short period of time. You learned the hard way early in your career, what it’s like to fall for the act and take pity on a curse. You’ve lost kind people to the trap of sentiment.

You became wise to it; despite all that intelligence that came with such a degree of power, curses bore an unquenchable drive to harm humans.

You learned to see through the pleading. The crying. High-level curses learning to comprehend terror changes nothing. When you despatch them, it changes nothing. No matter how they beg for mercy, the instinct to kill you never ceases.

It’s in their eyes, you learn.

It’s in his eyes, when the remaining students and teachers at Shibuya bring him home to Jujutsu High. A Death Painting Womb. A half-curse. You don’t need to hear the human half of it. Your mind’s made up the moment they put you in the same room as him, ordered in spite of all your protests not to kill him where he stands. He won’t harm the Itadori kid, you’re assured. The kid is safe with him.

Choso.

You can’t even believe he’s got a name.

He sticks to the boy’s side, insisting their blood-relation while he glances about his environment with baby-fresh eyes. He’s a curse in the way he takes in information. Everything is new. Every emotion he feels borders on fresh.

Brow knitted. Jaw set. The dozens of little muscles around his mouth tighten. His eyes don’t blink for their minutes of fixation. Not until his attention is called away and Itadori leaves the room, beckoning him to follow.

It’s in his eyes. You won’t be fooled.

He watches you like he wants to kill you.

_________________________________

Your orders keep you from destroying Choso. They force you to co-exist with your guard consistently up, and as the weeks draw on, your exhaustion builds. You manage to steer clear of him for a good month before Tsukumo weighs in with a surprisingly high opinion of him. Drinking buddies? Fuck off. That’s your job. You’re not going to be muscled out of your place at her side.

You’re confident in her opinion, of course. But it doesn’t change yours. Weakened resolve be damned — there’s no way you’re letting yourself be in the same room as him again.

…

Still, you suppose it couldn’t hurt humouring her suggestions for you to tolerate him. It’s not like you need to do much more than that. If somehow you turn out to be wrong and she starts buying free rounds for a curse instead of you, you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself.

It’s a rainy day lunchtime when you force yourself to approach the man, holding your lunch tray over your torso in the event he makes a jab for your internal organs as you join the line.

He glances at you once. Twice. Aborting a too-late attempt to reach for a rice bowl when you snatch one from the warmer and take a step forward to force him along.

Fear. Good. He’s learned fear.

Your tongue readies in your mouth. Your throat runs dry.

“Shitty weather.” You manage.

His head whips around. Eyes bug out of his skull as he turns to regard you. There’s that clench in his jaw again.

Choso does not respond. His posture changes, dipping down. Momentarily, you ready yourself for an attack, flinching to keep yourself from countering when he makes a sudden lurch for as many items he can reach. Shoving them onto his tray. Half a cup of steaming miso soup spills into his sleeve as he reels back and around you, storming out of the line without a word.

You eat your lunch at the window. Watching as he eats his on a step in the pouring rain, glaring into the middle-distance.

He must know you’re onto him.

_________________________________

The weeks drag on. Somehow, it feels simultaneously like your every move on campus grounds is watched by the half-curse while your every attempt to observe him close up is met with a hurried getaway.

By social means, Choso develops quickly. He still spends most of his time by Itadori’s side, but he begins to branch out. Much to your chagrin, the staff warm to him, too.

It isn’t long until they have the kid hooked up to you, much like Nanami’s old role before his run-in with the disaster curses knocked enough sense into him to go part-time. It pissed you off the first you hear about it; it had to be Choso’s doing. He must have known that you’d had it out for him and he was going to try his luck separating you from your peers after gaining Itadori’s trust.

You knew it. He was plotting to kill you.

Then, you find out that it was Itadori who’d requested you as a mentor, and the wind gets knocked out of your sails pretty fast.

It starts with a “Teacher!” Bellowed across the walkway. You’re hunched over, sipping from a faulty water fountain that the students seem to find great entertainment shoving twigs into to mess with the pressure. You know the kid’s voice well enough that embarrassment creeps up the back of your neck.

You straighten out, wiping your mouth on your sleeve, angling to look a little less lame after being caught at the mercy of a shitty fountain. “Itadori.” You greet the approaching boy. The only acknowledgement you offer his company is in your periphery. Were it not so rude, you’d close one eye so that you only have to look at the kid while you regard them. “Looks like you’re my new protege.”

There’s a pause.

Itadori looks between you and Choso, waiting for the two of you to exchange your own greetings.

It doesn’t happen.

More and more, Choso watches you with those unblinking eyes. Your focus is drawn. Minutely, you realise, he’s trembling.

“You — you know! It occurred to me that you haven’t properly met my half-brother.” Itadori ventures to break the ice. “Figured it would be nice for you two to know one another if we’re going to be learning from you.”

We’re.

You’re not a two-for-one deal. You never agreed to help train a curse.

“You don’t say.” You mutter, finally meeting Choso’s eye. Alright, then. Just because you like the kid, you’ll humour him. “Hey.”

There’s no answer. Not right away. Not until there’s an elbow nudging at Choso’s ribs. His adam’s apple bobs in a visible gulp.

“H-“

That’s all he manages before a mouthful of bile sprays out of his mouth. He has good reaction time, you’ll give him that. But it doesn’t help his cause. It just spills between his fingers as he tries to cover his face. You’d liken it to placing one’s thumb over a garden hose.

Itadori, meanwhile, springs into a panicked attempt to get between the two of you, shielding Choso from view with his body. “Haha! Okay! Great, so we’ll be seeing you!” He exclaims, alternating between leading his doubled-over brother back the way they came and waving at you.

Once again, you watch. Once again, perplexed.

“That was good, but it could have gone better. Next time, don’t throw up, okay?”

Anxiety vomiting.

Huh.

You’ll admit — this is a first.

_________________________________

Okay, maybe he’s not so bad.

Sure, he can hardly formulate a sentence around you, but at least the lack of interjection makes it easier to focus on Itadori’s development. Is Choso’s presence a constant irritation? Absolutely, but not unlike his little brother, you grow accustomed to his presence. That’s not to say that you’d ever grow to care for him to the same extent you do Itadori. In fact, the only reason you keep your trap shut about having him along for the ride is for the kid’s sake.

One thing that does start to irk you, however — even moreso than being stuck with a half-fucking-curse in your downtime, is how quickly Choso develops an opinion on your teaching style.

Rather, how critical he becomes of it.

First, there’s a huff. A sharp exhale out his nose marking disdain when you call Itadori back to rest. It builds from there. Pointed looks. Scoffs. A subtle rolling of his eyes when you snap at the kid to watch his blind spots over the passing weeks.

You’re sure you might end up killing him unprompted at this rate.

“You ought to praise him more.” Is the first full sentence he manages to get through when you’re alone with him. Itadori has left the two of you alone in a booth at CoCo Curry to excuse himself to the bathroom, and Choso jumps at the opportunity to level his criticism at you.

It’s a miracle he’s even speaking to you at all, you think at first.

Then, once you’ve registered what he’s said, you think it’s a miracle you managed to refrain from bringing your spoon down through his hand.

“Excuse me?” You seethe. “For your information, he does this every time. He always picks extra hot. He always empties the shaker when it gets brought out. He’s always shocked when he has to run off and shit himself before he’s halfway done.”

“I know that. His courage is unmatched.” Choso bites back, twisting in his seat to face you. “That’s not what I’m talking about. You’re too harsh on him in training.”

Where is all this bravery coming from all of a sudden? Is this really how protective he gets around the kid?

How misplaced. How sentimental. If you weren’t a sorcerer you might be moved by what comes off as brotherly affection.

You won’t fall for it.

A snarl curls at your lip. “Where do you get off, talking to me? You wanna give me life advice next? Wanna apply for my job? How many months have you been living outside a test tube, huh?”

“I’m only talking to you because I’m looking out for him.” He glares.

“Yeah, you and me both.” You dismiss him. “Look. I’ve got big shoes to fill. Itadori’s last mentor was hard on him. He’s closer to that guy than I could ever hope to be, but at least I know he listens to me when I boss him around. I’d rather the kid be covering his bases and coming home to me alive, than letting too much praise to go his head and getting him killed."

Choso doesn’t reply for a moment. His gaze remains hard, bottom jaw jutting out like a petulant kid. After a moment, he breaks away, redirecting his glare down at his emptied bowl.

“He respects you a lot. He looks up to you.” The man mumbles, crossing his arms and sinking down in the booth. “Please praise him.”

The two of you sit in stubborn silence for the better part of half an hour, until your student returns from the bathroom with an exhilarated huff. You can practically see the stink lines radiating off him.

“Whew!” The kid exclaims, throwing himself down beside Choso. “Aw man, my food’s probably cold.”

Yeah, whose fault is that.

“Hey. Itadori.” You grumble, earning the kid’s attention.

“Hm?” He perks up, mouth full.

“You did well today.”

You’ve turned your attention to the menu, scouring a drinks menu you’re far too full to even consider ordering.

In your periphery, Choso sits up a little.

_________________________________

You don’t make a secret of where you live. In the Jujutsu world, generally speaking (with Tsukumo being an enigmatic exception), the more secretive one tries to be about their lifestyle, the more curious it makes everyone else. You watched Nanami learn this the hard way after his return to the job and the sheer effort he put in for a while there to ensure no one knew how to contact him outside of work hours.

Of course, everyone wound up with his landline number and personal address whether any of you visit him of not.

It helps, having everyone generally know where they stand with you, anyway. ‘Emergencies only’ tends to be your rule. Approachable on campus and on the street, but home time is home time. Only show up if you’re in need of help. Or if you’re bringing free stuff.

So imagine your surprise when you open your front door and find Choso of all people, not at eye-level, but on his knees at your feet, forehead stamped to the doormat.

“What the fu-“

“Forgive me.” The man’s voice wobbles. He doesn’t move from the bow. You take the opportunity to look right. Left. Right again. Scanning for Itadori to come bounding over to escort him away from you once more.

Today, Choso is alone, but the thought of being attacked by him has dimmed to embers by now. You’ll chide yourself for it later, you think.

Right now, you’re more concerned with not drawing too much attention from the neighbours.

“Woah. Hey.” You crouch down. Choso flinches at your fingertips brushing his shoulder blade, but he doesn’t withdraw. Once again, he just starts trembling.

Man, he really is the sensitive sort.

He better not throw up again. Not while you’re close enough to be in the firing line.

“Forgive me.” Choso repeats. “I’ve been rude to you. I’ll try harder from now on. Let me redeem myself.”

“Okay! Okay, you’re forgiven, you’re redeemed. Now would you get up? I wipe my feet on that mat.” You hiss, tugging at his sleeve. This time, he gets the hint, getting to his feet and regarding you with an expression resembling hopeful and a patch of grit on his forehead.

In spite of all the confusion, you’ll admit, he’s cute. In a — born sexy yesterday kind of way.

In spite of yourself, you tug at his sleeve, taking the opportunity to rub the crap off his head. “Come inside before people get the wrong idea. You want a drink?”

“No, I’d throw up again.”

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate your candor…—“ You trail, gesturing for him to take a seat on your couch. He does as instructed, scanning your apartment from left to right, committing it to memory. “Do I freak you out that much?”

Choso doesn’t mince his words. He isn’t learned enough quite yet to beat around the bush. Maybe he might not be the type, regardless. “Yes.” He nods, avoiding your gaze in favour of staring at your reflection on the TV screen. “You have every right to feel uncomfortable around me, but I want your permission to be honest.”

Frowning, you incline your head in acknowledgement.

It’s almost like it’s the answer he didn’t want. All of a sudden, he’s not even capable of looking at your reflection. He seats himself on your couch and rubs his thumb into his palm. Holding his own hand. “I have awful feelings toward you.”

Something pricks at the base of your skull. Your eyebrows shoot up. Is this finally it? Is this your moment of vindication? Is he finally going to admit he wants to kill you?

“How awful are we talking?” You prod.

”Terrible.”

Your gaze flits around the living room for something to imbue, just in the event that he does pounce. “Uhhh, go on. I’m listening.”

“Looking at you makes me queasy.”

You abort an attempt to reach for your shark-grabber, reconsidering its promotion from TV remote reaching. “Harsh.”

“Were it not for the possibility of disappointing Yuji, I don’t know how else I’d be capable of controlling it. If I hurt you, he’d never speak to me again.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re trying to put a lid on it—“

“You’ve been putting in a lot of effort to tolerate me just so you can help make sure Yuji is okay, and I haven’t given you the same kindness. You’re good to him. It intimidates me.”

Okay, this is taking a weird turn-

“—I just can’t stop thinking about you.”

…

Heat creeps up your neck and into your ears.

“Oh.” You breathe, chest tightening as the realisation dawns on you.

Ohh, you get it now. Despite the deviation, Choso looks guilty enough that he may as well have admitted to wanting to kill you after all.

You swallow your pride, sitting down beside him on the couch. “You have a crush on me.”

His brow furrows. There’s that stare again. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure how to handle it. I don’t know what I should do.”

This whole time, it wasn’t aggression he’s been dealing with.

It was attraction.

“It’s okay.” You assure him for once, orbiting a fine line between emotional whiplash, awkwardness, and flattered sort of accomplishment. “You don’t need to do anything. People get crushes, it’s normal.”

People. It’s a person thing. There’s nothing cursed to it. Guilt pools in your gut. Just how nasty have you been toward the guy? Of course you’ve been freaking him out; he’s been catching up with the world this whole time and all you’ve done is make things harder on him.

And he still holds you in high enough regard to seek guidance from you, despite how embarrassing this must be?

“So what do I do?”

It’s not like there’s much of a choice. It’s not like you’ve really analysed your own feelings toward this man beyond bare tolerance at best — but you owe it to him to be sensible. You owe it to him to be a little more merciful than you would, even to a full-blooded human. Were he another sorcerer, you’d probably tell him to fuck off. Stop wasting your time. But he’s trusting you with a first that’s been torturing him.

He’s handsome, sure — but you don’t even know if you’re capable of trusting him not to end your life despite all he’s said. A single conversation can’t undo everything you’ve learned to feel.

“Well, if you wanna spare us both the discomfort, you could try asking another dude about how to handle it.” You suggest, casually as you can muster. “Not your teenage brother. Find an adult.”

Choso nods. You sense his tongue shifting behind his teeth. Considering asking why not you? But he seems to realise the implications by sheer instinct. The kind of conversation he needs to have can’t be with you. Not without altering your relationship before it can even find its feet.

“Yeah.” He agrees, not quite able to hold eye contact with you for more than a few seconds at a time. “I’ll do my best.”

You’re getting sick of this. You’ve never heard such sincerity in your life.

Oh, fine.

You offer him a smile. Another first.

You’d fuck him.

_________________________________

You could never get sick of this.

“Saved you a spot.” Choso’s platforms lift off the seat beside him before you have a chance to notice the half-dozen empty alternatives. You do, however, become painfully aware that you’d been on your way to sit beside him anyway. There are plenty of alternatives. Years-long professional and personal relationships scattered all around the room, but your recent months with this one in particular have made him a begrudging favourite.

“Yeah, yeah.” You grumble, slumping down with a huff.

He’s been ten times easier to handle since your little deep-and-meaningful. As much as you hate to admit it, he’s actually been kind of a cool guy to hang around.

As much as you hate to admit it, you can’t help but indulge in the idea that it’s probably all the jerking off he’s likely been doing. Nevertheless, as far as your increasing curiosity imagines, he hasn’t broached the topic with you since.

“Bring my Kagome?” Choso asks, prompting you to hand him your bag to search through.

“Didn’t miss anything, did I?” You ask.

“Competition’s started, but no one’s made contact yet.” Utahime answers from up front, not bothering to break away from the screens showcasing the exchange event’s progress.

Beside her, Gojo sinks further into his seat. His head lolls against the arm rest. “It’s so boring in here with you lot. Hey, Utahime, why don’t you embarrass yourself for everyone’s entertainment?“

The ensuing squabbling is quickly dulled to you as Choso hands your bag back, stabbing a straw into the juicebox he’s withdrawn. Both of you watch the screens, looking for your protege in particular.

“Yuji’s trying to group up with the other Tokyo kids.” Choso mentions, fingers brushing yours without flinching when you hand the box back after he offers.

“He knows he doesn’t have to do that, right?”

”Depends on how bored he gets on his own.”

Your comment causes Gojo’s head to dip back, angling his attention at you. His mouth opens, but no sound escapes him.

His attention shifts to the side of you.

“Hey, why does he get a juice?”

“Pipe down and watch the competition!” Utahime barks at him. Curiosity draws her attention up and back to you, however, gaze dropping to the drink in Choso’s hand. “Hey — is that berry salad?”

“Berry salad!” Gojo whines. “C’mon, share.”

You watch in your periphery as Choso leans forward, and the two up front stretch out an arm each. Gojo’s spindly limbs have poor Utahime beat, but Choso carries the prize just barely out of the man’s reach.

He holds it out to you instead.

You don't even mind that half the sip is backwash. It's nice being the favourite of your favourite.

One of these days you really ought to blow him.

_________________________________

The doorbell rings.

Habit has conditioned you to expect Choso at your door. When you open it, however, you’re made aware of two surprises: a plummeting excitement that had no right building in the first place that the person bowing at your front step isn’t the man in question, and secondly, that it’s his brother, your protege that stands in his place.

“Oh, for the love of-“

“Teacher!” Itadori exclaims, bent from the hip at a perfect right-angle. “Please date my brother!”

…

What the hell is wrong with this family?

Your throat closes on itself as you claw for a response that doesn’t involve punching this poor child in the back of his head. “Wha—! Who told you I — get off my property!” You bark, heat flushing your ears.

“I thought you rented.” Itadori straightens, confusion tugging an eyebrow up.

“That’s beside the point.”

Then he’s dropping right back down again. “Please date Choso!”

Choso. What’s he been telling the kid? Did he go back on his word and seek relationship advice from a teenager? Is he trying to kill you after all?

“What gives?!” You snarl down at him. “I’m your mentor! Would you pull this kinda shit with Nanami?”

“To be fair, Nanami is the one person I wouldn’t pull this with.” Itadori protests, holding his hands up in defense. “Date my brother!”

“Agh!” With that, you slam the door on the kid. “Learn some damn respect! Jeez, I’m starting to get where Utahime’s coming from.”

There’s a grumble behind the wood. A defeat well-picked.

“Fine. See you tomorrow.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Yeah, yeah. Think about what you want for lunch.”

_________________________________

The moment you wrap the training day and send the kid on his way, you snatch at Choso’s sleeve before he can shuffle off after his brother. “What the hell did you tell him!”

The man flinches at your touch. He frowns hard. “I didn’t tell him anything.” He grunts back, shrugging uncomfortably away from you. “You told me not to. Why are you mad?”

“Don’t jump to calling women angry. It’s anti-feminist.”

It doesn’t immediately occur to you that with just yourself and Tsukumo being the only adult women Choso knows, he probably hasn’t had much interaction with the women’s rights movement. Nevertheless, he runs with it.

“Okay. You’re not mad.”

“I am mad! Why’s your little brother knocking on my door telling me to go out with you, huh?”

“What?!” Choso whips around, regarding you with terror. “Yuji?! I only talked to Ino-“

Your fist collides with your palm. “Ino!” You seethe, content to settle on such a target, at least until Choso taps his index fingers together. Almost…like he’s counting.

“— and he gave me some advice, but he couldn’t help me with one question I had. So I asked Ijichi, but he didn’t have an answer for me, either. So then I asked Tsukumo, and she couldn’t —“

Great, just great, you think, zoning out while the man continues to list off the names of almost every adult you interact with on a regular basis — the entire faculty staff and beyond know. Serves you right for trusting any one of those jackasses to keep a secret from a child.

You relent, if not at his sincerity, then at least just to escape the roll-call. “Okay. It’s fine. It’s all right. We’ll figure it out.” You sigh. “In any case, did you get an answer for your question?”

Choso pauses. Averts his gaze. “No. Well, Nanami gave me an answer he said works, but it’s not something I want to do.”

“…Can I help?” You offer.

“You said-“

“I know, but you’ve exhausted your other options.”

The look on his face is nothing short of defeated. You are not the person he wanted to have to ask.

“Can I take a raincheck?” Choso asks.

You touch a hand to his arm, an assurance of support. After how many months of progress, he shifts away from contact for a second time today.

Months ago, you would have felt relieved by such a rejection; now, it pools hollow and worrisome in your gut.

Something’s changed.

“Yeah. It’s fine.” You lie.

_________________________________

Weeks pass. It feels like an eternity.

You’re beginning to adjust to walking just yourself home again.

Choso seems to make himself scarce in your life what ever way he can, and where he can’t, he puts as much distance between himself and you as possible. He doesn’t look at you anymore. He doesn’t speak to you. You’re not the sort to reach out; you’re plenty used to people disappearing from your life without a trace — but this feels different.

There’s no one to remind to take their big stupid giant shoes off at the step when you enter your flat.

It’s quiet. Lonesome, a needier person might call it.

Had you not convinced yourself this was something you’d wanted from the start, you’d confront him about it. Ask him why he’s avoiding you — but what would that fix?

What would you hope to get out of closure?

You should be relieved that he’s lost interest in you. You should be over the moon that he ejects from conversations entirely upon your arrival. That he stands up and moves to the opposite side of the room should you put yourself in an empty seat beside him.

Your life is no longer haunted by his gawking presence. Itadori shows up alone to his training sessions, and were you not hell-bent on putting on a show of relief at Choso’s absence to the rest of the world, you’d stoop to asking the kid what the hell was going on.

As little as you can convince yourself any longer, you’ve got to convince the rest of the world.

You don’t give a shit.

Pulling the fridge door open, you pull a juice box out of your bag and place it back on the shelf you’d plucked it from this morning.

Yeah. You’re fine. You’re great, actually.

You don’t even fucking like berry salad.

_________________________________

“How do I stop?”

You stare at the man in your doorway, halfway caught between dumbfounded and furious.

He stares back, refusing to elaborate for you.

“Are you kidding me? You haven’t spoken to me in months-“

“You promised me I could take a raincheck.” Choso says. “I’ve tried everything. Tell me how to make it stop.”

You should turn him away. You should say something awful and hurt him. Make him think twice before daring to get under someone’s skin the way he did yours.

A muscle in Choso’s jaw tenses. That would’ve been all it took, and you hate yourself for that much — but then he hits you with a staggered, weak little: “Please.”

“Make what—…ugh.” You relent, stepping aside to let him pass. “Shoes.”

He’s already stepping out of them, padding through your hallway on his way to the kitchen out of sheer habit.

“Don’t even think about taking a Kagome.”

There’s a grunt. The fridge door closes.

Choso’s stepping back into the living room when you’ve caught up with him. “I’m…really sorry.” He fiddles with his hands, shrinking into himself under the heat of your scrutiny. “I’ve—…missed talking to you.”

“Yeah, well I haven’t.” You snap. His gaze hits the floor, and guilt threatens to well in your throat. “I’m angry you ghosted me, okay?”

“I was trying to take Nanami’s advice.” He mumbles.

”Nanami.”

“But it hasn’t worked.“ The man continues, ignoring your targeted rage. “I asked him how I can stop feeling how I feel about you, and he told me to stay away, but I can’t, and I don’t know how to stop, and I know how sad it’s making you, but I can’t—“

You snap out of your haze at the wobble in the man’s voice, finding him clutching at his own sleeves, a futile endeavour at self-soothing. For just a moment, his gaze locks to yours.

Fuck, you’ve missed him looking at you. How sad is that.

“Why do you want to stop?” You ask, and all of a sudden he can’t look you in the eye again. “Did I do something to make you upset?”

“Because you don’t want it.” He explains, frustration mounting. “Everything I’ve read, everything I’ve watched, it’s not one-sided. In real life, with you — it’s only me. It makes-…it makes me feel terrible.” A pit forms in your stomach as he goes on. “Do you know how me and my siblings exist? Through my mother’s suffering.”

...

Oh, fuck.

You’ve been so stupid.

How could you have not thought this through? Choso’s a sensitive guy even without the nature of his existence coming into play, and your most rational thought when he came to you with this problem was to save your own embarrassment and throw him at porn?

The only prior understanding he’s had of sexuality is forced procreation.

All this time you’ve been torturing him, throwing him under the bus. Putting the entire responsibility for his interest in you onto him, without him even understanding any of it. You’ve been leading him along under the impression that you’re not interested, that you detest him, and while that might have been true at the start—

“I don’t want to feel the way my father might have felt about my mother.” Choso admits. “I don’t want to want someone who doesn’t want me back.”

“You’ve got it wrong.” You manage. “You’re not bad for wanting me. There’s nothing I don’t like about that.”

Your words fall on deaf ears. He’s already far too swept up in his own thoughts to hear you.

“Choso.” You speak firmly, and you’re not sure if it’s the tone you take or his own catastrophising, but you’ve never seen him look more afraid of you than he does right now. “It’s not the same, I promise you. That’s not how it works. I know you won’t hurt me.”

“But it does hurt you.” Choso insists, snatching at your shoulders like he's trying to snap you out of a stupor. “I see how much it bothers you. I don’t want to make you suffer.”

Your brow knits. Maybe if you weren’t such a pussy about all this you’d admit to him that the hurt of his absence has by far beaten any negative feelings brought about by having him around.

“You treat my brother so well.” He offers, solemnly. “You tolerate me for his sake. It makes me feel so selfish — I want Yuji to be happy and continue to learn from you — but if you choose not to train him anymore because of me, then I won’t be able to be near you anymore either. I can’t stay away from you, but I can’t bear to make you carry the burden of knowing how I feel about you. So please, tell me how I can stop.”

"I don't want you to stop." You blurt. This time, you're the one incapable of meeting his eye. Instead, you scowl at the wrap over his chest, doing your best not to get swept up in reuniting with the scent of him. "I'm sorry for making you go through this by yourself. I hate that I drove you away and made you feel like this. You can do what you want, but you need to know that what you're going through isn't bad. It's human."

Choso tentatively runs the fabric of your shirt between his fingers. Not quite touching you. Closing your proximity all the while. You feel his breath. You feel his warmth.

“It’s nothing like that,” You promise, “because I think the same of you.”

Then, you feel the fucker smirk down at you. "Yeah, yeah, I get the picture."

"Shut up. I'm trying."

His gaze flits between your eyes and your mouth, no doubt running through the natural course of events he’s been studying in whatever material the others have had him watch. His head dips, catching your attention, and then ever lower, nose almost brushing yours.

“You’re sure.” He breathes.

You answer by covering the distance, ghosting your lips against his. Choso’s body stiffens, leaning into you in what he must assume is how he should reciprocate. You quell the insecurity, sliding your fingers down his arm before you find your balance with a palm pressed to his chest. He’s too inexperienced to take the cue, but he’s smart enough to break away with a questioning look. The blood mark across his nose has altered its shape. Not quite as straight as it once was.

“You can touch me. I want you to.” You murmur, tugging the bands out of his hair one at a time. “I’ll like it.”

The blood mark stretches over Choso’s cheeks. A hollow breathe escapes him just as he pulls you against him in another kiss, long arms wrapping firmly around your waist. He’s clearly inexperienced, but he's a quick learner. He follows your lead, mimicking your motions. Large hands drift over your ribcage. Pawing at your waist. Then, the moment your tongue slips over Choso’s bottom lip, he’s holding your hips just shy of his own.

“You’re sure.”

His pupils are dilated beyond belief as he holds you at bay, lacking the willpower to keep from allowing you to push back into his grasp just a little, just enough to feel a burgeoning erection jutting against your stomach.

His hairties roll onto your wrist. Your fingers toy with his locks, gathering on his shoulders. “I think,” You smile up at him, “You should show me what you’ve been learning.”

Something in him snaps. His mouth is back on yours in a heartbeat, florid, hands yanking you in against his body. A ragged hum spills from his throat as you respond in kind, snatching at his cowl, breaking away from him just to untie the thing and pulling it off over his head.

Choso isn’t much of a talker. Not yet, at least. Not while so much of his concentration is on making up for lost time exploring you. For the moment, you have to find satisfaction in pulling wordless sounds from him, learning where he’s most sensitive. His ribcage. His throat. His hipbones. It’s not until your fingertips graze his cock through his pants that he musters a breathy little ”fuck—“

His weight braces against you naturally, chasing more, confidence growing. He spends a particularly long moment squeezing your ass before he hurriedly shifts his attention — just pointed enough to have you noting that he might already be figuring out his favourites.

When Choso’s fingers paw at your tits, though — a favourite of your own — you can’t help the little noise that escapes you.

He draws back. Pupils constricted. Blood mark tightening across his face. Sensing competition.

Not today, you affirm silently, walking the man backward until his legs hit the couch and he falls into a sit. You follow, sinking to your knees between his, palms resting on his thighs.

“Won’t you?” You ask sweetly, angling for a look akin to innocent, watching Choso gulp at the sight.

“Won’t I wh-what…” He stammers. So much for competition.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his pants. You don’t take your eyes off him. “Show me.”

Choso takes a moment, considering your words in total silence. Then, with a shuddering breath, he’s fumbling with his underclothes, juban tugging up out of the way. Flashing his lower stomach as he busies himself with pulling his cock out of his pants. You find yourself vaguely scandalised at the sight. You’ve scarcely seen more of Choso than his arms. The flat of his stomach feels oddly intimate.

His cock is just as pale as his fingers. He slowly, steadily pulls his foreskin up, though his grip conceals him for the most part, much to your disappointment. When he draws back, you lean in insistently, ignoring a little shiver on his part at how close your face gets. Colour gathers on the delicate tip, much like the hue of his eyelids. Choso draws up again, and you find your mouth running dry at the glimmer of a tiny drop of pre-cum, at least before it gets swept away by his fingers.

“If you wanted to watch so bad, you should’ve asked.” He mutters, tone chastising — yet undermined by the flush blotting his neck, and again, you make a note. He’s going to be bratty once he gets the hang of this.

“Maybe if you’d been nice about it-“

“Are you gonna let me blow you, or what?” You interject.

Choso goes silent. Eyes wide. You’d think you’d gone too far if he hadn’t immediately relinquished his grip.

You waste no time replacing his hand with your own, balancing his cock between your fingers, tipping it toward you as you shimmy closer, nudging his knees further apart.

The flat of your tongue presses to the tip, and you grin at the way his whole body seems to flinch. A hum vibrates in his chest. Flagging permission to keep going. He can handle it. You don’t have to be content with just a taste.

Your mouth envelops his cock, and Choso grips hard at the cushion beneath him. He stops making noise altogether as your lips venture mid-way, holding his breath while you pause to run your tongue against the underside. Then, when you hollow your cheeks and pull back up, a ragged sound escapes his throat. Pre-cum spurts over your tastebuds. So much so that you’re worried he might already be done for. Waiting another moment brings nothing else, but he probably needs a moment regardless.

Sitting back on your heels, you check in, poising your wettened lips just shy of the head. Choso looks like he’s on the verge of tears. It isn’t helped by the rorschach blotting of the blood mark dripping down his cheeks like drenched mascara.

“You okay?” You check in. “You need to stop?”

“No!” He yips, sitting up, bordering outraged. It takes a moment for him to register the smile on your face as a taunt. That you’re not serious about backing out.

All the same, if you didn’t have him pinned to the couch right now, you’re sure he’d be bowing at your feet again.

“Keep going. I can take it.”

Your hand works him slowly from base to tip, squeezing out another clear, oozing droplet. You smear it back and forth over your lips, and Choso’s head dips back against the couch, scrunching his eyes shut. Poor thing. As fun as it is teasing him, you owe it to him to at least get him off.

“Just relax.” You murmur, licking your lips, brushing your tongue around the head of his cock and waiting for a minute nod on his part before continuing on. Sinking down, you take him deeper with each bob of your head, building into a steady, consistent rhythm so as not to catch him off-guard. You want to draw this out as long as possible for him. You want him at your door again, at your feet, begging you for more.

You want to be the only one he wants doing this to him.

There’s no helping a swallow on your part when he nudges the back of your throat one too many times, though, and Choso gasps like he’s dying. His posture curls, instinctively trying to find purchase on something that isn’t just the couch. His cock twitches in your mouth, and you go still.

He’s on the brink, but you’re convinced you can work just a bit more out of him with a little patience.

Choso’s hands come to hover over your head. You don’t have the ability right now to tell him you’d be fine with having his grip guide you, and without that go-ahead, he’s not taking his chances. He’s far too considerate to do that.

So he just sits there, letting himself suffer, not quite sure what to do with himself beyond entrusting that part to you.

Once his muscles have relaxed enough, signalling his body’s retreat from the orgasm that had been building, you deem it safe to resume. Starting slow and shallow once again, you earn yourself a frustrated groan.

That’s more like it. The nerves are settling. He wants to cum, now.

You can’t help but go back on your word, just a little. You can’t help but taunt him, pulling back to suck on just the head until his fingernails are digging into his palms. Choso’s hips judder, threatening to buck up into your mouth and taking a conscious effort to be stilled. His breaths push and pull through gritted teeth, and fine, it might be time to give the poor guy a break.

Choso all but cries out when you take him all the way in again, stifling an instinctual gag when another spurt of pre-cum hits your overworked throat. You don’t let up, for his sake. His breaths come short and sharp. His cock swells on your tongue, leaking pitifully in sync with an equally pitiful sound in his chest.

“I—“ He whimpers, voice wobbling, “I’m gonna—“

There’s no curse words he’s been exposed to enough to pick out, and when Choso peaks, he does so wordlessly in a mess of gasps and groans. The first pulse of cum jets across your tongue, and you draw back to hold your mouth open, working him through it with your hand. Ribbon after ribbon coats your face as Choso keens his way through the aftershocks, only filling your mouth when the force dwindles and his body slackens.

You’d mistake him for a corpse, were he not twitching every few seconds. His eyes are fixed on your face, glassy and unmoving, mouth agape as if he might burst into tears at any moment, unaided by the running of his blood mark down his cheeks.

Sitting back and admiring your handiwork, you swipe a thumb across a stripe of cum that starts to streak down your face, watching the man with a smile. You pop your thumb into your mouth, and Choso jolts to life at the sight, sitting up, suddenly breathing again.

His hand brushes your face. His own thumb tentatively brushing across the bridge of your nose.

“Please date me.”

You’re pretty certain he’ll cry for real if you say no.

#choso x reader #chousou x reader #choso jjk #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #as usual if you see a typo no you didn't #vas fics

215 notes · View notes

lordofthecherubs · 2 months

Text

Hello Euphoria [Part 2]

“You can tell me how you’re really feeling,” He said, attempting to meet your eyes. “I promise.”

His words helped to push you in the direction you needed to go with his conversation. Ripping off the bandaid. Confessing.

Tell him how you’re really feeling.

“I like you, Arthur.”

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x F!Reader

Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI. Smut. Slight Exhibitionism. Slow burn burned. Miscommunication.

The morning sun had a particular way of forcing its beams of light into a room, abruptly waking whoever inhabited it up with a striking light to their face. Along with that, the sound of people chatting and wagons moving product along a muddy ground seemed to be nonstop once the day started. Clearly, the gang wanted to get an early start to their chores, otherwise you wouldn’t have been disturbed in the midst of your sleep.

Just five more minutes, you pleaded with yourself.

Opting to keep your eyes closed after having been nearly blinded by the rays the sun had provided earlier, your bearings began coming to you, despite your efforts to push them off and remain in a blissful state of slumber. Turning yourself on your side, you felt a gentle warmth in your bed beside you. This feeling, while unfamiliar to your usual morning routine, was not unpleasant. Leaning into it, you sighed out contently in your attempt to return to dreamland, hardly noticing the sound of quiet breathing filling your ears behind you.

Breathing?

Eyes shooting open with a newfound sense of urgency, you quickly sat up in the bed, scanning your surroundings. The space you were in was foreign to you. For starters, it had four walls and a roof over your head, far different from the usual scene of your tent nearly falling off its post over your makeshift bed. Not only that, but there was decor lain about— a dresser on one far corner of the room, and a nightstand that had a lamp along with an all too familiar hat beside where you were previously sleeping.

Then, your eyes met soft chestnut hair. Was that… Arthur?

The cowboy, still deep into slumber, let out faint puffs of air with every breath he took. His skin appeared smooth to the touch, and your hand itched to reach out and find out if there was any truth to that thought. However, your body had different plans. All at once, you felt an onslaught of pain and discomfort, bringing back vague memories of the night before. Most of which were blurry, and rather snapshots of a moment instead of a reeling recollection of what had happened. All of this, with the added twinge of pain in your head and stomach, made you grow dizzy where you sat.

Last you remembered, Dutch was going on about how the camp was appearing sluggish due to the sweltering heat. Then, he’d sent you and Arthur out to Valentine’s saloon. Once you got there, Arthur ordered you a revolting drink; just the thought of it alone was enough to make you wince as your stomach turned.

The puzzle pieces began to connect in your still aching head.

You settled on putting the blame of your current predicament on having had too much to drink. Though you typically weren’t much of a drinker, you figured there had to be an underlying reasoning behind why you bit off more than you knew you could chew.

Another glance at the cowboy beside you. There was no doubt that his presence had something to do with it.

While you weren’t the kind of person who cared too deeply what others thought of you, you’ve always wanted to be someone that Arthur thought highly of. He was a noble man, by your standards. The way you felt towards him wasn’t anything like the way you felt for others in the gang. Yes, you cared about them as if they were your own family, but with Arthur, it was different. He was always the person that looked out for you, even when you assured him you could handle yourself. There was a certain softness you had when it came to him, and if you weren’t careful, it would consume you whole.

With the minutes passing by in your lost thoughts, the cowboy stirred in his sleep, looking as though he might wake up. Suddenly, you were filled with the overwhelming urge to be anywhere but here.

It’s not as if you didn’t want to be around him. God, you’d give everything to be with him forever if he’d have you. But, you felt embarrassed of yourself, and of what you possibly did the night before.

As your eyes averted to the space between your bodies, you knew Arthur hadn’t gotten into bed with you on his own will, especially while you were under the influence of alcohol. That wasn’t the kind of man he was. That’s why you liked him.

Slowly, you pushed the covers of the bed away from yourself, urging yourself to get over the sticky feeling of yesterdays clothes as you attempted to crawl to the foot of the bed undetected. This task proved itself to be easier said than done, especially in the case that the person you were trying not to be detected by had his wits about him at all times, even in his sleep. Surprisingly, you made it to your desired location outside of the bed without too much disruption, looking around the bed for your shoes as you readied yourself to leave.

While you reached for the pair of boots that you assumed Arthur had taken off for you after you’d fallen asleep, a gravelly voice sounded behind you, causing you to pause your actions and freeze on the spot like a deer caught in the headlights.

“You awake already, cowpoke?”

Of course, how could you turn your back on a man such as Arthur Morgan and expect he wouldn’t notice you there? Turning your head in the direction of the voice, you were met with the sharp feeling of regret— and a twinge of heat boiling in your stomach. The cowboy sat upwards on the bed, strong arms carrying his weight as they pushed against the bed to aid him in this action. His hair was messy in a way that was perfect at the same time, and his eyes were half-lidded and tired, just as they had been the day before when Dutch woke him up for this mission.

This mission, that lead you to the situation you were in now, standing across from Arthur with your shoes in your hands and a guilty look on your face. To someone on the outside looking in, it would appear that something completely different had happened here. Perhaps they’d even expect you to waltz out of the building in a walk of shame.

When met with silence as an answer to his question, Arthur spoke up again.

“Are you… leavin’?”

Your heart couldn’t help but break at the faint sound of disappointment in his tone. He wanted you to stay.

In the past, you would have brushed off any suggestions of Arthur making an advance towards you. In your mind, it just wouldn’t make sense. How could he want to be anything more than friends with you? You were just another member of the gang, it was highly possible he didn’t see you as any different than he saw someone like Hosea or Tilly. Regardless of this, there was no denying those impressions of flirtatious nature now. Not when he continued to sit in the bed, looking as beautiful as he did, without any attempt to hide the look of dismay on his face.

Arthur was a good man. In all likelihood, he was the best man you’d ever known in your life. You trusted him far more than you’d trust anyone else. He looked out for you, made sure you were doing alright, didn’t let anyone in the gang pick on you. So why was it so hard for you to face him right now? What was stalling you from just telling him how you really feel?

The sound of movement signaled to you that he was getting out of bed himself, and you realized you still hadn’t said anything to him yet. Swallowing down feelings of anxiety and bashfulness, you opened your mouth to speak.

“I…” As the word left your mouth, your thoughts lingered in your mind. What could you say to him? Thanks for taking care of me while I was blackout drunk, Arthur. Sorry I can’t muster up the courage to say anything to you right now. Maybe later?

That would never work.

“If you’re worryin’ that you did anything you might regret, there’s no need.” Arthur sighed out, reaching to grab his hat as he threw his legs over the side of the bed. “It might not seem like it, but I wouldn’t—“

“I know you wouldn’t, Arthur.”

Finally, he looked at you again. Though, he didn’t say anything, clearly waiting for you to continue in your words.

“I just wanted to thank you. For taking care of me— I mean.” You nervously said, scratching the back of your neck as a heat of embarrassment began to rise.

Whatever you said must have been amusing, because Arthur let out a laugh as he stood up from the bed. “Thank me? All I did is what you asked me to do. No sense in thankin’ me for that.”

As the cowboy put his boots on, you couldn’t help finding yourself back in your usual place of staring. Every action done by Arthur was captivating to you. And, you’re sure the long drag of his fingers against the leather is not done on purpose, the same way the sudden weakness in your knees was not an instinctual reaction. Shaking your head free of thoughts that did not benefit the current situation, you tried to round up something to say to him.

But it was too late.

Already outside the front door of the room, Arthur cleared his throat.

“I best get goin’ then…”

Before you could even implore him to stay, the cowboy was gone. There was a sudden coldness to the room now that he was no longer in it, causing you to wrap your arms around yourself softly. Probably one of the closest opportunities you ever had to tell Arthur how you truly feel, and you blew it by daydreaming about him when he was right in front of you. Perhaps if you had said something, it wouldn’t be a daydream anymore. It would be real.

That statement alone was enough to get the gears turning in your head again.

Maybe it didn’t have to end there.

With a newfound energy despite your hangover, you quickly made your way out of the room, using the railings of the stairwell to help guide you down the stairs and out of the hotel as fast as your legs could carry you. Once through the front door, you scanned the area for any traces of Arthur. Just outside the saloon, your horse stood alone. But, there were fresh footprints in the shape of a horseshoe that had traveled away from the spot next to it— a sign to which direction the cowboy had taken to vacate the premises. For once, you were thankful for the muddy streets that Valentine provided, hopping onto the back of your horse to follow the tracks wherever they would take you.

This process, while somewhat difficult, was not impossible. Almost immediately you noticed that Arthur had taken a different route than usual to exit the city. You willed your horse to keep a steady, yet swift pace to keep up with the path. If he was going back to the camp, you wanted to catch him before he got there. For the sake of him as well as yourself, the conversation you wanted to have was not one either of you would be too keen on having in front of the rest of the gang.

As the sound of vendors and chit-chat began to pale in comparison to your horses footsteps hitting the ground, you knew you were making progress in your mission to find Arthur. Wherever he was going, it was not close to camp. For a slight moment, you felt that perhaps this was a bad idea. Maybe, you had really upset him. Maybe he didn’t want to see you at all.

Shaking those thoughts from your head, you scanned the dirt beneath you for more telltale signs of where the cowboy had gone. Working along the path, you found yourself in the Heartlands, where previously muddy footprints were now faded into slight indentions on dirt roads. He couldn’t be too far now, you were only just minutes behind him if anything.

Suddenly, a familiar noise filled your ears. A sound only someone as observant as yourself would have picked up on, the particular way Arthur urged his horse to continue moving forward when it sensed that there was some kind of threat around. Silently, you thanked whichever God above who was responsible for this distraction along the road, because there was no telling how much longer this semi-chase would have gone on without it.

“Easy boy!”

Just as you rounded the corner of a small hill, you couldn’t help but beam at the sight before you. Arthurs hat sat on the ground along with him, evidently having been kicked off his horse due to whatever had spooked it. The cowboy, looking as defeated as he had prior to leaving the hotel, groaned from his spot on the dirt path at the sight of his horse continuing off without him, whinnying as it went.

This was your chance.

Slowly, you tugged on the reigns of your horse to urge it to continue forward leisurely, hoping that whatever had scared of Arthurs wouldn’t do the same to your own next.

“Need a hand?”

At the sound of your voice, Arthur snapped his head in your direction, almost as if it was a second nature response to your presence. For a moment, he eyed the outstretched hand that came from where you sat on top of your horse, a small smile on your face. Had he not been so aware of his actions around you, he would have let on how weak even a grin in his direction by you would make him. So, instead of revealing that side to you just yet, he opted for reaching over to grab his hat on the dirt beside him, placing it on his head with a soft sigh.

Then, he met your eyes.

There was no world where he didn’t give in to you.

“Suppose so.”

With this, Arthurs calloused hands reached forward and grabbed hold of your soft, yet firm ones, using it as leverage to ease himself upwards from the ground. Once he had finally made it off the ground, the two of you were detached— perhaps far too soon for either of your likings.

“Must’ve been a snake or somethin’.” He quietly said, hands resting comfortably on his belt as he looked in the direction the creature had run off to.

“Can’t say I blame him, the way those things slither around is real creepy.”

Finally, he smiled. There was that playful Arthur you knew.

The cowboy watched as you suddenly moved from your spot on your horse, sitting on the back of it, patting the now empty saddle in front of you. Clearly, he had confusion written all over his face, because you laughed and opened your mouth to explain to him what you had in mind.

“Listen, you and I both know just how fast that horse can run. Just ask the countless times I’ve watched you fire at the O’Driscolls while making ground at the same time,” You paused in your commentary when he half-smiled while shaking his head. “You can take mine for a ride to find him. Promise she won’t give you too much trouble.”

Arthur didn’t immediately give in to your offer, remaining where he stood as if debating on whether or not this was truly a good idea. Slowly, he reached for the saddle to help himself onto the horse, uncertainty filling his face. He knew you had a point, this was the smartest way to go about catching that horse before someone else did. But, was it a wise to be this close to you again after last time?

From where you sat behind him, you couldn’t stop the smile that made its way to your face. Having this proximity to Arthur again would give you the opportunity you needed to fix things; and maybe even gather the courage to bring up another topic that’s been weighing in on your mind.

“So, while I’m fightin’ those damned O’Driscoll’s, you’re sat pretty watchin’ me?”

“Guess you’re a good view.” You fired back, a laugh escaping your lips.

The cowboy smiled to himself and moved his hands to tightly grasp onto the reigns of your horse, readying himself to take off. Though he didn’t say anything, the way he looked back to make sure you were ready signaled to you that you should probably hold onto something in order to not find yourself in a similar situation to the one you spotted Arthur in. It had been a while since you rode on the back of someone else’s horse, so you paused for a moment to decide your next move.

You could clutch onto the back of the saddle, though it wouldn’t provide you much support. Arthur must have sensed your hesitation, because in one bold move, he wordlessly reached behind him and grabbed onto one of your hands, placing it on his midsection for you to hold onto. When you were both settled, Arthur whipped the reigns, setting off to your desired location.

With the sound of the breeze blowing while your horse gained speed, you couldn’t help but notice that this ride was similar to the one into Valentine the day before. Quiet. But the silence was comfortable, almost too much so. Arthur whistled a couple times with each area he passed. You took in the way you could see him up close from where you sat, admiring the way his eyes were intently scanning every hidden spot his horse could have possibly ran off to. The still early sunlight of the day gave a warm look to his back, appearing as if it was just asking for you to lay your head on it.

But you couldn’t. It already seemed to be a stretch to be holding onto him the way that you were, and you didn’t want to mess anything up— again.

***

As the time passed in your newfound mission to track down Arthurs horse, it appeared that he was growing uneasy. You assumed it was from the unexpected amount of time the task was taking, a pang of guilt filling your chest. The way things were now, it wasn’t looking as if the animal was going to be found anytime soon.

The feeling of unrest began to consume you. The once comfortable quiet of this ride had grown uncomfortable with time. Possibly because you’ve had time to sit with your thoughts, and they were beginning to itch to be released from your head.

You sighed.

“Alright back there?” Arthur asked, turning his head to look at you momentarily.

All you did was nod in response, turning your gaze away from him. You feared that if you opened your mouth to say anything at all, you’d let slip what was really on your mind.

Arthur, seemingly unsatisfied with your answer, slowed your horses previously steady pace to a stop. “I could take you back to the camp, if you’d like. This could take a while—“

“Can we just take a break for a moment?” You cut him off, your voice strained.

Pulling the reigns, Arthur led the horse off the path and onto a shady part of the woods that had surrounded you.

In an attempt to distract yourself, you analyzed the area. It was fairly quiet, and decently well hidden from the rest of the public. There was an abandoned makeshift camp left behind, some crates and a charred fire filling the space. Had you not stopped when you did, you would have missed it.

When you looked back up, you saw Arthur tying up your horse on a tree towards the entrance of the small encampment, giving the animal a pat on its side before turning to make his way towards you.

At this, you shot your eyes back at the ground, a sudden interest in the leaves and grass that filled it.

His footsteps approached.

“You sure you’re alright?” The cowboy asked, watching as you fidgeted where you stood.

This wasn’t an occurrence out of the ordinary. Arthur, being the man that he is, often asked you about you wellbeing. Most of the time, you replied with a generic answer of assuring him you were fine— regardless of how readable your true feelings were. Then, he would have to pry to get you to talk, just as he was now.

Glazed over eyes met his piercing ones.

“Oh, cowpoke—“

“I’m okay, it’s just,” You paused, catching your breath in order to calm down. “I think there’s something I need to tell you.”

“You think?”

You looked back down at the ground at this response, wanting nothing more than to just sink into the dirt beneath you.

Raising your head to continue with what you had to say, Arthur was suddenly far closer than he had been before, nearly towering over you. Had you not known the softer side of the cowboy, you would have cowered in fear at the sight.

Reaching forward, he put a hand on your shoulder.

“You can tell me how you’re really feeling,” He said, attempting to meet your eyes. “I promise.”

Nodding your head, his words helped to push you in the direction you needed to go with his conversation. Ripping off the bandaid. Confessing.

Tell him how you’re really feeling.

“Arthur,” You began, staring at his chest in front of you. “I don’t know how to describe the way I feel about you. But, I can describe the way I feel around you.”

He remained silent.

“You just… make me feel really warm. A type of warmth I’ve never felt before. Like a tight hug, or a heavy blanket. And I,” Finally, you forced yourself to meet his eyes, noticing the way he intensely stared back at you. “I feel different about you than I do with anyone else. I can’t really put my finger on why, but I’ve got an idea.”

“What’s that?” He softly asked, urging you to continue on.

“I like you, Arthur.” The statement was too vague for him to make any kind of assumption on, and he stepped forward to place both of his hands on your shoulders.

“Please.” He whispered.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I wouldn’t mind being with you the way we were this morning. Close, comfortable, together.”

That seemed to be enough for him.

In an instant, Arthur lurched forward, connecting his lips with yours in a heated and desperate kiss. The suddenness of the movement caused you to hesitate momentarily, but once you got your bearings, the two of you slotted your lips together like pieces of a puzzle. A perfect, long-awaited puzzle.

The cowboys hands made their way up to your face, holding onto your jaw on both sides to help the embrace grow deeper, wanting to be as close to you as possible for him. This action, caused you to whine out quietly, struggling to keep up with his movements despite desperate efforts to try.

Upon hearing this noise leave your lips, something ignited inside of Arthur. He wanted that. He wanted to hear more of that. While he could tell you weren’t entirely inexperienced, it seemed like you needed a bit of guidance through this. So, he used his tongue to push against your lips, urging them to part for his entrance into your mouth.

The sound of the leaves blowing in the wind along with heavy, labored breathing was all that filled this old encampment. It felt like you were the only two people in the world. It felt like too much and not enough at the same time. More whines left your lips as you pressed your body against Arthurs subconsciously, adding to the warm feeling that was growing in your abdomen.

“Arthur…” You said, finally pulling away to catch your breath, an anguished look on your face. You were drunk on him from only moments of kissing, and he knew it.

Humming in response, he moved his efforts downward to attack your neck with kisses, lingering on certain spots for longer than others when he got the telltale reaction of your breathing hitching.

What he had not expected, though, was for the sudden roll of your hips into his slightly bent thigh.

Pausing his movements, he looked at your face again. Your cheeks were flushed a dark shade of crimson, and your pupils were blown wider than he’d ever seen before.

“Please,” You begged. “I need you.”

Arthur thought back to the night before, when you pleaded with him to sleep in the bed with you. Your behavior now was quite similar to then. Only now, instead of feeling his heart grow soft in his chest, he felt himself grow hard in his pants. Despite the fact that you were quite literally asking for him to take things a step further, he couldn’t help the uncertain feeling in the back of his mind. Was now the best time? Did you really want this? Was any of this real at all?

Your hand grabbed hold of his wrist, leading him to a spot in the abandoned camp where a thin blanket laid on the ground. Then, you lowered yourself onto it, laying yourself down while looking up at Arthur with hazy eyes.

He wondered why he ever even bothered to think he could deny you of anything.

Quickly, Arthur kneeled down to where you were. Then, he moved to lean on top of you, taking in the way you looked. Whatever part of him that wanted to take this slow was cut off by the way you wrapped your legs around his midsection, locking his hips in with yours as he began to grind himself against you— a groan leaving his lips. With how euphoric he was already feeling, he wouldn’t last long like this. He needed to be inside you.

The cowboys hand hovered over the belt of your pants, slowing his movements to meet your eyes again. Silently, he asked for consent, not moving his hand any further until you nodded your head in reassurance.

Instantly, your clothes were practically ripped off your body, revealing a soaking wet cunt to the eyes of the man before you. In all honesty, he could have devoured you whole right then and there and been happy. But, he knew what you wanted. He knew what you needed.

Rough fingers met the swollen bundle of nerves before him, rubbing gently at it to gauge a reaction. It was evidently the right move, due to the way your back immediately arched, a soft moan escaping your lips at the same time. Then, taking two large fingers, he pushed them inside of you, stretching you out and preparing you for him. With how slick you were, his fingers glided in and out of you without much struggle, making his mind run wild with thoughts.

“Please, Arthur.” You begged once again, reaching an arm out towards him to pull his face towards yours. “I can’t wait any longer.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Pulling his long fingers out of your heat, he reached down in a similar fashion to removing your own clothes, tugging at his own pants to release his throbbing length from their confines in his drawers. It was almost sad, how desperate it looked, already leaking and eager to be inside you.

Then, he used his hand to angle himself at your entrance, already feeling you clench around nothing before he could fill the empty space inside you. With one movement, he slid into your cunt, both of you gasping out at the feeling. Inch by inch, he admired the way you took him, a strangled but pleasant look on your face. Through the process, he reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, smiling softly.

“You sure are pretty, cowpoke.” He muttered, still sinking himself into you.

In response to his compliment, you tightened around him, a reaction not entirely in your control.

Arthur laughed. “You like when I call you pretty, sweetheart?” His voice nearly a purr now, testing the waters of what you liked.

All you could do was bite your lip and nod desperately, digging your nails into his buff arms from where they caged you in on either side of your head.

While he would have preferred an actual response from you, he decided to let things be on your terms this time.

As his length was fully bottomed out inside you, he allowed you a few moments to adjust, regardless of the voice in his head screaming at him to move.

Your eyes were screwed shut as you got used to the feeling, head thrown to the side as the slight pain of the stretch began to subside.

Then, wordlessly, you gave him a signal to move by rolling your own hips up to meet his, the unexpected movement making the man nearly fall forward on his elbows above you.

“Jesus, cowpoke, you’re going to be the death of me.” Arthur groaned out, now snapping his hips forward to experimentally thrust into you. Then, he did it again. And again, and again, until he set a steady pace inside of you.

The feeling was somehow more amazing than you had imagined. Restless nights of dreams about this exact scene began to fill your head, only to be crushed away by the real deal. Arthur’s movements were relentless, but at the same time, he was still somehow gentle with you.

The sound of both of your moans filled the area, and yours only got louder when Arthur reached down to rub at your clit again, his strong fingers creating a feeling that was extremely intense for you.

“A-ah—, Arthur…” You managed to whimper out.

“What is it?” He said back, somehow managing to sound composed despite the feeling of how tightly you wrapped around him.

“C-close.” You sighed out, eyes watering at the feeling of an approaching climax.

Speeding up his movements not only inside of you, but upon the bud he was creating friction with outside of you, Arthur lowered his lips down to beside your ear. From there, he whispered, “Cum for me, sweet girl.”

And that, you did. Your vision went blurry, and the intense feeling you had experienced before was suddenly ripping through you like a tidal wave, your back arching off the ground and your jaw hanging slack. As he helped you ride out your orgasm, he couldn’t help but be thankful you had reached your climax as soon as you did, because he wasn’t far behind you.

Once you relaxed back down, Arthur pulled out of you, the feeling of warm release landing on your stomach pulled your eyes open to take in the sight before you.

Arthur Morgan, looking exhausted as ever, sitting above you.

You giggled quietly.

Arthur laid himself down beside you to catch his breath, closing his eyes to momentarily take in all of what just happened.

“Not sure that’s where I expected that conversation to go.” You said with another laugh.

He laughed along with you, opening his eyes again to stare upwards at the trees providing shade where the two of you laid. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

Looking back at the man next to you, you sighed out contently. “I was just… nervous, I suppose. Wasn’t sure you’d feel the same way.”

Arthur, sitting up now, looked at the mess he made between your thighs. “I think the answer to that one is obvious now.”

From where you laid, you playfully pushed his shoulder, a smile filling your face.

“Let me get you cleaned up.” He then said, pulling his pants back up and buckling his belt to stand up from where he was laying. He eyed the small camp momentarily, looking to see if there was anything suitable to fix the mess he created. When nothing met his satisfaction, he dug in his pocket for a moment until he pulled out a handkerchief. Leaning down with the colored piece of fabric in his hand, Arthur began to softly wipe away the substances, pulling your bottoms back up when he was done.

This was the part of Arthur you loved the most. Even despite being the person he was, or doing the things he did, he still found time to be sweet to you. He wasn’t the same person that was on those wanted posters all over Blackwater. He was soft. Gentle. Loving. Even now, as he leaned forward to place a tender kiss on your forehead, you felt yourself falling head over heels again. Only now, he knew you liked him. And he felt the same.

“Do you think the gang is—“

“Arthur! Arthur are you around here?”

A loud, familiar voice rang through the clearing of where the two of you were. Though it sounded recognizable, you couldn’t put a name to it just yet, only quickly standing up from your once comfortable spot on the ground. Whoever it was, you didn’t want them to catch you like this.

Both you and Arthur began walking towards your horse, a slight wobble in your step as you did so.

“Okay there?” The cowboy teased, holding onto your arm as you made your way to lean against the horse.

“Just fine, mister.” You said back, kicking his boot playfully.

“Arthur!!! I have your horse, are you there?”

Suddenly, the voice was louder than before, clearly approaching your current location at any moment. Whoever they were, they did a better job of finding Arthur’s horse than the two of you did, that was for sure.

“I’m over here!” Arthur called back, whistling loudly to the voice.

After a few moments passed, the sound of horseshoes pounding against the ground made their way to you, and you were able to put a face to the voice.

“Arthur, there you are!” Lenny exclaimed, handing the lead of the other mans horse over to him. “You two never came back yesterday, we were all worried you’d been thrown in jail like old Micah, too.”

Arthur’s brows furrowed. “Micah’s in jail?”

Lenny nodded. “In Strawberry. Dutch wanted us to go break him out but you weren’t at the camp. Found your horse behind some old wagons, and thought somethin’ bad had happened.” He rambled, looking between the two of you.

“Wait, Dutch wants us to break Micah out of jail?” You scoffed, looking up at Lenny from where he sat on his horse.

“I know, I don’t want to as much as the rest of you, but it’s Dutch’s orders. He’ll be hung if we don’t get there soon.”

With a shared sigh, both you and Arthur hopped on the backs of your horses, readying yourselves to take off and follow Lenny.

“Guess we best get goin’, then.” Arthur begrudgingly said, gritting his teeth.

As Lenny turned around to ride in the other direction, he glanced back at the two of you. “So why didn’t y’all come back last night?”

With wide eyes, you looked at Arthur, who already had his eyes trained on you with a smile.

“Too much to drink.” He simply said, picking up his pace on the path.

As you rode up next to him, the two of you shared a knowing smile and flushed cheeks, following Lenny on your new mission to Strawberry.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #rdr2 #rdr2 fic #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 smut #rdr2 community

105 notes · View notes

brittle-doughie · 7 months

Note

It appears that Y/N Cookie just can't catch a break from these folks.

It'd be honestly interesting to see how some cookies would react to Y/N finally snapping back or getting enraged from all the stress.

- 🐼 Anon.

(p.s: Remember that your mental health is important too! Please take a break if you need one!)

Halt! The Restriction Mayhem Update!

This and a reply on that post about restraining orders gave me this idea heheha

Greetings, Cookie Runners. I’m Brittle, a writer for the CR x Reader tag.

Today, I’ll be introducing this totally not made up new event starring Y/N Cookie, a cookie that that can never seem to catch a break from the shower of attention their fellow cookies give them.

After many major incidents involving a feud between cookies, Y/N Cookie is at their wits end for some peace and quiet, and so has decided to have some time apart..with restraining orders! Will Y/N Cookie finally get their tranquility with this method? You’ll find out by playing the new event mode!

In this event, you’ll play various stages themed around certain clingy cookies, collect the evidence jellies you need to file the restraining order against the Cookie.

You can attempt the harder difficulties after completing Normal Mode with Hard and Intense Mode, which will up the challenge in stages and evidence!

For costumes, Scorpion and Cocoa will be receiving Epic costumes while a Super Epic is ready for Y/N Cookie, it’s Y/N Cookie’s Super Epic Costume, Absolute Heartstopper! There’s a new sheriff in town and your heart is their bounty!

That’s all that will be shared for today, hopefully Y/N Cookie survives the wait for the update and try not to get dogpiled on by upset cookies. Take care bye byeeee

Coupon Code: RUN Y/N COOKIE RUN (To clarify, this isn’t an actual code, but you probably already knew that)

Normal Mode:

Kumiho Cookie

“W-what? But darling, you can’t be serious!”

Cocoa Cookie

(Cocoa just stands there, confused and heartbroken)

Ninja Cookie

“…..Why would you do that? Did I come off too strong?”

Hard Mode:

Okchun Cookie

“I just wanted to make you feel welcome in our village. Why leave when your home is here…”

Lilac Cookie

“A piece of paper won’t stop me from you..”

Timekeeper Cookie

“Understood.” (Tears restraining order out from the fabric of reality. Thank Tree you had copies)

Intense Mode:

Sea Fairy Cookie

“I am very passionate about you, Y/N Cookie. Is there anything wrong with that?”

Fire Spirit Cookie

“HA HA! NO PIECE OF PAPER IS KEEPING FROM YOU, Y/N COOKIE!”

Lotus Dragon Cookie

“That’s a difficult wish to fulfill, Y/N Cookie. A dragon’s desire for a companion is strong, regardless of any restrictions like this one, a dragon WILL get what they desire eventually…”

#cookie run x you #cookie run x reader #cr x reader #cookie run #cookie run ovenbreak #cookie run ovenbreak x reader #cr ovenbreak #crob #crob x reader #kumiho cookie #cocoa cookie #lilac cookie #ninja cookie #okchun cookie #timekeeper cookie #fire spirit cookie #sea fairy cookie #lotus dragon cookie

313 notes · View notes

hesbuckcompton-baby · 2 months

Text

I'm Your Man - Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal x OFC - Chapter 4

AO3

Summary: Frankie and Rosie grow closer in the aftermath of another tough mission

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 3.8k

Tags: @mads-weasley @xxluckystrike @curaheehee @footprintsinthesxnd @dcyllom @storysimp @latibvles @love-studying58

Rosie sat in the cockpit waiting for the order to depart, practically twiddling his thumbs as every minute that passed spurred his anxiety for his team's first mission. He had never been a nervous flyer - quite the opposite, it was the reason he'd been given command in the first place - but the seemingly endless wait left him growing irritable, the headset that covered his ears reflecting the relentless thump of his heartbeat right back at him.

The smell inside the bombers was a constant, permeating combination of sweat and smoke, a smell he could never quite get used to, no matter how much time he spent sitting in it. Pappy was in the seat beside him, using the cuff of his sleeve to wipe a wark off of his goggles that Rosie was fairly certain was a scratch, and no amount of scrubbing would make it yield.

His attention was caught by the sound of yelling outside, the exact words muffled by the glass barrier that existed between the pilots and the outside world. Looking out, Rosie spied Frankie and Lemmons, calling to each other as they approached from either side of the runway. They were each holding empty fuel cans in both hands, and clinked them together like glasses in greeting as they met in the middle. Frankie passed her weight from foot to foot, swaying slightly on her hips as if to a song only she could hear - she must have been hours into her work, and it seemed that on mornings this hectic once she had begun moving she didn't stop.

A huff of laughter escaped him, which drew Pappy's gaze away from his goggles, leaning forward in his seat to peer at the scene outside. The pair of mechanics were in such a hurry that they didn't even bother stopping for the duration of their conversation, still calling to each other over their shoulders as they went their separate ways. As Frankie passed, she noticed Rosie up in the cockpit and offered a wave, her bright, energised grin a far cry from the tired smiles she had offered him the first time they'd met. Sweat beading on her brow in the morning sun, she was practically glowing.

Rosie raised his hand to reciprocate with a shy wave of his own, watching his co-pilot in his peripherals as Pappy craned further forward still to watch her disappear from view around the side of their plane.

"D'ya think her and Egan are a thing?" The man asked. Rosie turned pointedly to look at him, raised brow tilting the rim of his hat.

"A thing?"

"Yeah. Yunno. Together, n' all. Nash told me some of the fellas have been takin' bets, apparently they sang a duet at one of them shindigs a while back."

"You fellas talkin' about the mechanic and Major Egan?" Nash's voice piped up, his head suddenly appearing through the gap between their seats. "Oh yeah, that's definitely happenin'."

Rosie gave Nash a playful shove, forcing him back out of the cockpit. "That is not happening, I promise. Have you even met her?"

Pappy raised a brow. "Have you?"

He paused for a long moment. "... Once. But it was enough to know that is not what's going on there."

"If you say so," His co-pilot shrugged, far from wholly convinced, returning to attempting to clean the mark from his goggles.

"It's a scratch, Pappy, you can't wipe it off."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Frankie had been running inventory when the planes began to roll back in, tallying up what they had and in what quantities, writing up a list of things they needed to pass on to the higher ups. She stuck her head out of the hut, clinging to the doorframe as she counted the forts passing overhead, the list of supplies becoming crumpled as she shoved it into her pocket, rushing for the hardstand.

"Thirteen," She muttered, calling the number again as she spotted Lemmons. "Thirteen?"

"I counted the same," He confirmed, the colour drained from his face as they tossed their tools into the back of one of the jeeps. Climbing into the passenger seat, Frankie reached over and pressed the back of her palm against Ken's forehead, the younger mechanic batting her away as he tugged on the handbrake.

"No Cleven?" It didn't take a fool to figure out what had shaken Lemmons so fiercely. She had been in full support of his last-ditch effort to repair Cleven's engine, but it had been a makeshift move at best. If his plane had gone down, mechanical failure was far from out of the question.

"No," Ken shook his head, a slight tremor in his voice. "No Cleven."

How the hell were they going to break it to Bucky?

They'd certainly seen forts return in worse shape than this, although Frankie scarcely dared to imagine what state those that hadn't returned had ended up in. The mental image she had created of Curtis Biddick's final moments replayed in her mind, and it was near impossible to fathom the weight of that fear multiplied by the number of men they had lost. Frankie and Lemmons had split up near the interrogation huts, the creased list of supplies clutched in her grip as she slid out of her seat, promising to catch him up once her business was done.

Crowds of disoriented-looking soldiers made their way towards the Red Cross' hut, hopeful hands open and waiting to receive a cup of coffee or a bite to eat as a meagre reward for their feats. As much as she longed to search for familiar faces in the crowd, Frankie found she had more pressing issues at hand - she didn't quite know who to pass on her list to, let alone where to find them, but the longer the mechanics went without adequate supplies, the more forts would be out of commission when it really counted.

Entering through the side door, her gaze scanned the room, landing on the first man she saw with a high-ranking insignia. Squeezing her way through the exhausted men who filled the place like bewildered sardines, she emerged beside the man, pressing the paper into his hand before he even had a chance to register her arrival. Turning his head to her, he looked almost offended by Frankie's presence.

"Supply orders for the mechanics, pass it up to whoever's in charge," She nodded firmly.

The officer shook his head, spluttering slightly. "I don't have time to deal with your shopping list, we've got-"

"No one ever has time for it, but suddenly it's my bloody fault when half of your planes don't fly because we don't have the fucking rivets - take it."

His mouth hung open, but she didn't bother waiting for him to formulate a response, vanishing as soon as she had appeared. Just as Frankie was about to leave again, she caught sight of Rosie among the returning pilots, a weight suddenly lifted from her shoulders. A smile spreading across her expression, she was about to call out to him, when Helen - one of the Red Cross volunteers she had grown somewhat acquainted with - crossed the room between them, the Captain's gaze following her without ever noticing Frankie, moving to follow out through the side door.

Frankie's jaw snapped shut, and she nodded to herself, continuing to make her way outside. It made sense when she thought about it. Helen was a nice girl - pretty - she was sure she'd seen almost half of the 100th ogling her at some point by now. Everyone needed someone to come back for.

They were talking on the edge of the grass as she left, and Frankie kept her gaze purposely averted, glancing down at her hands, which were already dirty. Helen probably never had filthy hands. She kept walking.

"Frankie!" A familiar voice called with its American lilt, and she turned, brow raised. Rosie was jogging up behind her, exhaustion tugging at his features, sweat-soaked curls sticking up at various angles like a startled bird.

"Hi."

He let out a huff as he caught his breath, mouth open to speak for a few seconds before he was actually able to find the words. "H-... Hi."

"You alright?" She asked slowly, gesturing to Helen, oblivious to the way he was smiling at her, the tiredness in his eyes washed out by pure relief.

Rosie followed her gaze, brow furrowing as he nodded. "Nash didn't make it. Him and Helen they were... they were close."

Suddenly Frankie felt so deeply, horrendously stupid that she was almost nauseous. "Jesus. Oh, I'm sorry, I just- I'm really sorry, Rosie."

He shook his head slightly, and she could almost hear his voice telling her not to apologise again. "He was a good kid. Are you ok?"

"Me? Yeah, yeah, I'm ok - shit, all I do is sit around and wait for the action to be over." As she spoke, Rosie's expression grew more and more concerned, and she could tell exactly what he was thinking.

"... Have they told you about-?"

"Cleven? ...Yeah. Ken's really beating himself up about it, I just don't know how they're gonna tell Bucky."

He frowned, and neither of them spoke for a long moment. Sucking in a deep breath, Rosie reached into his pocket, retrieving a slightly squished Red Cross doughnut that he'd wrapped in a napkin. He held it out to her.

Frankie's eyes widened slightly at the offering. "Oh! Oh, no, it's yours, I couldn't. My hands are dirty anyway."

"Who cares? I smell like I just crawled out of a donkey's ass," Rosie joked, and she let out a chuckle as he tore the doughnut in two, holding out the bigger half to her. She felt her cheeks warming up, and prayed the flush wasn't noticeable as she accepted his offering.

It was.

Rosie hid his smile behind the hand he raised to his mouth as he chewed, savouring the taste of sugar on his tongue as it soothed the hoarseness in his throat. "Hope we haven't left you with too big a mess to clean up," He said, brushing the powdered sugar from his fingertips.

Frankie screwed up her face, shaking her head as she finished chewing. "Nah, I've seen much worse. Glad you're back, s'all. Might actually get to bed at a sane time tonight, wouldn't that be something?" She grinned, and he found himself momentarily sidetracked by the smear of sugar that streaked her lip until she wiped it away, his thoughts once again coherent.

"It sure would be."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Rosie couldn't sleep. It was almost ten o'clock - barely late enough to class his sudden insomnia as problematic - but he found he simply had nothing else to do. As long as he was awake, the guilt of what happened to Nash, the guilt of simply making it back alive, tugged at him like a deadweight, and he was yet to find a pastime that worked as a sufficient distraction. His hope had been that an early night and a deep sleep would wipe his mind clear, or at least give him a few hours of peace.

But alas, it was not to be. Sitting up on the edge of his mattress, feet pressed against the cool floor, the idea of simply waiting for sleep to come, of drowning in his own thoughts until it did, seemed less and less appealing by the second. He got up, tugging on a jacket and some more socially acceptable trousers, and ducking out into the night air, the cool breeze hitting him as his curls blew back and forth.

It was quiet outside. Usually, on nights like this, you could barely walk ten feet without encountering a drunken airman staggering back from the pub, but it seemed the day's mission had soured everyone's spirits. With his hands in his pockets, Rosie strolled down the middle of the road, glancing at each Nissen hut as he passed, silently taking in his surroundings as a welcome distraction.

As he neared the women's huts, he spied another figure coming the other way, her blue uniform skirt swaying with each step, glowing embers dropping off the end of her cigarette as she tapped the ashes away. He was about to ignore her, when she called out. "Oi!" Brow raised, Rosie met the woman's gaze as she strode towards him, taking a final drag of her cigarette before tossing it into a nearby puddle. "You're Captain Rosenthal, right?"

He spluttered for a moment, taken aback. "Uh, yes ma'am."

The woman held out her hand, a smile parting her lipstick-red lips. "George Aarons. I'm Frankie's best friend, she's told me about you."

Suddenly it made sense. But wait - 'she's told me about you'? "Oh. Yes, hello," Rosie nodded, shaking her hand. "I think she has mentioned you."

George's brow furrowed, smirking. "She'd better have. If you're looking for her, she's still working on the hardstand," She added, beginning to continue her walk back to her hut.

He almost rolled his eyes. Of course she was. "Thank you, goodnight."

They had both begun to go their separate ways when her voice rang out in the darkness again. "Poppies."

Rosie turned, expression contorted in confusion. "Pardon?"

"Poppies," George repeated. "They're her favourite."

The corner of his mouth raised in a smile as he shoved his cold hands back into his pockets, beginning to stray towards the airstrip without even noticing.

He had only just made it to the runway, gaze scanning the dark horizon for any signs of life, when the road up ahead seemed to burst into flames, a roaring wall of red rising from nowhere. Rosie frowned, dashing forward, almost out of breath by the time he arrived, slowing gradually to a halt as he took in the scene before him.

The tarmac was indeed alight, the fire burning bright and high, but there was Frankie, sitting about fifteen metres away from the blaze in one of the rickety chairs from the mechanics' hut, a tartan blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders.

Rosie paused for a moment, taking several breaths to calm his panicked heart before he spoke. "So much for an early night."

She looked up at him, face bathed in the orange glow. She had barely reacted to his arrival, almost as if she'd been expecting him. "This is my last job for the night."

"What, arson?"

Frankie snorted. "No. I'm burning the oil off the runway - it's the best way to get rid of it all, you don't want it all over the place when the planes come in next time, otherwise-" She made a booming sound, imitating an explosion with her hands.

Rosie nodded, gaze cutting sharply between her and the inferno still burning away, the smell of fuel thick in the air. "So this is... this is all good?"

"I'm definitely not about to burn to death, if that's what you're asking."

He realised it was, and it made him feel a little stupid.

"There's more chairs inside," She added, gesturing to the nearby hut. "You can stay if you want."

Rosie's lack of sleep seemed a foregone conclusion by now, so he obliged, heading inside and collecting the chair with the least amount of wobbly legs and bringing it back to where she sat, maintaining a polite gap between them as he sat down.

The burning oil truly did stink, but the longer he sat there, the fire became quite beautiful, really. It was silent for a long time, nothing but the sound of the wind filling the air. Sometimes when it dropped, he could hear her breathing over the whoosh of the flames, but the sudden scraping of chair legs against tarmac tore through the quiet altogether.

"Can see you shivering from over there," She muttered, dragging her chair to close the gap between them, and Rosie realised he was still cold. He had managed to trick himself, to accept the fire's illusion of warmth, but in reality, his jaw had begun to chatter.

Frankie's blanket was huge - folded twice over just so that it wouldn't drag against the ground - and as she stood up he watched her unfurl it, the outline of her body silhouetted by the flames' light. She held out one corner to him, the opposite end firmly in her grip, and as she sat back down the fabric encircled them both, bracketing them together as he was warmed by both the blanket and her shoulder pressed against his.

Her hands remained firmly in her lap, clasped together as she fiddled with the blanket's fraying hem, gaze unmoving as it remained firmly planted on the blaze in front of them. Rosie stared at her face in profile for a moment, unable to suppress his smirk as he leaned back against his seat, just letting the moment be.

"I met George on the way over," He said quietly. Frankie seemed to light up at this, suddenly grinning as she looked up at him.

"You did?!" She beamed, and he couldn't help but laugh.

"Yeah, yeah - she's nice."

"She is the best person in the entire world," Frankie asserted, nodding as if it were a universally acknowledged fact.

Rosie smiled back at her, letting himself lean back against her as she put her weight on his shoulder. "Y'know, I didn't know you could sing."

She scoffed loudly, throwing her head back in a laugh. "Now who the hell told you that?"

"Pappy said you sang with Egan at one of those parties."

Frankie wagged her finger as she spoke, so close to his face that he almost went cross-eyed from watching it. "Just because I did it, doesn't mean it was good."

He chuckled, their foreheads almost touching when he momentarily leant forward. "Alright, point taken."

"If there is one thing I do not have, it's musicality," She grinned. "I just make up for it with my myriad of other talents."

"And I would love to see those someday," Rosie teased, gasping mockingly as she thumped him in the shoulder. Without realising, they had both almost doubled over in their seats, practically cheek-to-cheek as their laughs echoed into the night air. He felt like he was drunk, although it had been days since he'd taken even a sip of alcohol. The stench of oil in the air had begun to subside, and looking up, they both realised the fire had almost wholly burnt itself out.

"Well, shit," Frankie murmured, her breath forming a cloud in front of her face as the temperature seemed to drop instantly, the air turning freezing as the last flame died. She shrugged her corner of the blanket away, rising to her feet, and for a second Rosie felt the urge to reach out and grab her wrist, tug her back down beside him. "Come on," She sighed. "You might have to fly tomorrow, I don't want you exhausted on my account."

He smiled gently at this, letting the blanket drape across his shoulders as he stood, picking up both chairs before she got the chance to take her own. Rolling her eyes, Frankie followed him to the mechanics' hut, keys jangling as she locked the door once everything had been stowed safely inside.

They walked side by side in the dark for a long while, nothing but the occasional barn owl overhead piercing the quiet. A new thought had begun to plague Rosie's mind, and he rolled it around in his head like a marble until he knew it needed to be released.

"Why do you do it?" He asked. She looked at him questioningly. "I mean, all the rest of the ground crew left hours ago, they always do, but you're always here. You must barely sleep, I don't get it."

Frankie frowned for a moment, and then shrugged. "The rest of the ground crew are Americans. It's different for us. Of course, everyone’s got skin in the game these days, but it is different. I mean, before the war I’d never even left Warwickshire, but they destroyed half of Coventry in one night - people walked with their kids and their bags to the closest town ‘cause their homes were just gone. Half the boys I grew up working the garage with are dead now. They joined up and now they’re never coming back... And almost anyone you ask around here has some link to someone who lost a home or died in the bombing raids. That’s why we’ll get up at the crack of dawn and work into the night, ‘cause we’re fighting for our homes.”

Rosie considered this for a while. There was nothing he could say to that. In fact, he felt rather silly for asking in the first place now. He'd joined up because he hated the Nazis - he hated what they stood for and what they believed in, and he wanted them gone. But they couldn't get him, not in his home. They couldn't touch his family. But the same just couldn't be said for people like Frankie. Every job they did, every hour they put in, it was all to maintain that desperate last line of defence, to protect the people they loved.

War was hell. War was fear. But it wasn't that kind of fear, not for Rosie.

He had been so deep in thought that he scarcely noticed when they arrived at the end of Frankie's row of Nissen huts, his footsteps following alongside hers without even thinking about it. Looking up from the ground, his eyes widened as he took in his surroundings for a second, barely a light left on as everyone else tried to sleep off the trying day.

"If I keep walking you to your door like this people are gonna start to talk," Rosie pointed out before he could stop himself.

Frankie shrugged, turning to face him as she began to walk backwards towards her hut, her hand skimming against his arm one last time. "I'd much rather they talk about you than Bucky," She grinned.

The place where her fingers had touched his arm seemed to tingle, and even through his jacket it was as if he could still feel her there, stuck frozen for a moment, mouth hanging open as his mind flailed to come up with anything to say to that. Nothing came to him. As she returned to her hut, he found he could offer nothing but an awkward wave, her giggle echoing in the night air as she waved back, disappearing through the opening in the door.

Rosie just stood there for a moment, passing his weight from foot to foot as he waited for his thoughts to slow down to an intelligible speed. He took a deep breath, puffing out his cheeks as he ran a hand through his hair. He was a pilot, a damn good one - he faced death every day and it never rattled him, not once.

So what the fuck was this.

#masters of the air #masters of the air oc #masters of the air fic #mota #rosie rosenthal #rosie rosenthal x oc #ken lemmons #oc: frankie #fic | i'm your man #oc: george

89 notes · View notes

kykyonthemoon · 2 months

Text

Limerence (noun) — a mental state of profound romantic infatuation, deep obsession, and fantastical longing.

⋆˚✿˖° This chapter is a part of a mini-series of dark fairy tales and romance sets in another universe. It consists of three chapters, each with a Male Lead and is separated from one another.

⋆˚✿˖° Character x Reader/MC, from another (OC's) point of view. Reader/MC's pronounce is "she/her/hers".

⋆˚✿˖° Warnings & tags: 16+, MDNI, angst, hurt, thriller, emotional and mind control, manipulation, love spell, obsession, unrequited love, major character death, dark fantasy, dark fairy tale, m.urder, s.uicide attempt.

⋆˚✿˖° Leonard is my OC.

⋆˚✿˖° Read more chapters:

✦ Xavier's ✦ Zayne's

⋆˚✿˖° Masterlist

⋆˚✿˖° My friend Cery made an art for this fic here: x

Chapter: The Muse — in which he brings the world his most significant work of art.

⋆˚✿˖° Word count: 3k1

These days, the artist community was vibrant, with some even competing for acceptance to the exhibition at Mo Art Studio.

So did Leonard. He had to rush around and ask for help everywhere in order to be given a chance. Money was not an issue, but the host of this exhibition was certainly not an ordinary person. He wasn't offering tickets to the highest bidder, but rather to those who possessed an artistic vision and passed his evaluation.

“The ticket will be sent to you within the next three days. Please keep in touch.” The other end of the line cut the discussion off, but Leonard's mind remained lightheaded, unable to believe the gift he had just received.

“Wait…” He spoke before the other person hung up. “Excuse me… May I do an interview with that artist in the exhibition?”

There was no response. Leonard believed they were reviewing his proposal. He held his breath and wait for a while, then the manager named Thomas spoke:

“We do not accept interviews. But a few individual queries could suffice. Of course, if you are able to leave a good impression.”

"I got it. Thank you."

Putting the phone aside, Leonard leaned back in his office chair. How to impress Linkon's most talented painter, or should he say - the world's best artist? Despite his young age, there was no one in this city who had never heard of his work.

The artist's name was Rafayel. He became well-known for his landscape paintings, which brought admirers to a dreamlike state when they stood in front of them. He seldom appeared in public, despite having organized hundreds of major and minor exhibitions. Who he truly was remained a question, and the most mysterious part was probably his disappearance a year ago.

For a whole year there were no new paintings or art activities. No one saw him in Linkon during that time. His manager and studio kept it silent, as if everything had evaporated overnight. Then, last weekend, he unexpectedly reappeared and made an important announcement, which was an exhibition called The Muse.

In contrast to his previous events, guests had no idea what they were about to witness. According to the majority of internet comments, Rafayel returned with a work of a lifetime, a painting that exceeded anything he had ever created. That was the final result of a year-long hunt for inspiration. Of course, there were those who believed he was steadily degrading since he hadn't been able to draw anything decent in a long time and had simply planned this event to earn some money.

For Leonard, either truth was fair. He must uncover all of the details and secrets surrounding Rafayel's reappearance. Since that was what he did for a living.

Leonard was a journalist who specialized in arts. Despite his greatest efforts over several years, he still had little hope of succeeding. He had been without a single decent piece for a long time. Then the opportunity to visit the Mo Art studio presented itself before his eyes. He was not going to miss the chance to see a place that had never been accessible to the public before.

The day of the exhibition approached. Leonard had purposefully showed up early, but as he reached the gate, he noticed that about fifty formally dressed guests were already present. They were enjoying wine and food as they walked in groups into the main hall, where the primary event was held. Leonard also entered with nervousness. All of the windows and doors were wide open, allowing the sea air to convey a salty fragrance into the hallway. Rafayel's famous works are framed, and hung or placed in the center of a floral garden that the host tenderly arranged himself, giving guests the impression that they had just lost themselves in the Garden of Eden.

However, that was not the primary attention of the event. Something massive and cylindrical appeared in the center of the hall. It spanned from the ground to an exceedingly high glass ceiling. It had a diameter of up to ten meters, and was covered in a crimson velvet fabric, protecting it from inquisitive eyes of guests. Even the personnel had not an idea of what was inside.

"Rafayel did all of this himself." Thomas, the manager, spoke up. "I can't answer your questions because I'm not sure what's there. But whatever it is, it will undoubtedly live up to the name of his Muse."

The flock of intrigued guests around Thomas nodded, then split out to stroll around and admire the pillar, as if its very presence was already an art. To them, the less they comprehended something, the more valuable it became.

Leonard found a seat close to the window but not too far from the center of the hall. He was afraid of missing the opportunity to witness Rafayel's Muse. Late in the afternoon, the sun glided across the horizon, casting golden rays into the place. The guests began to get tipsy, wondering if Rafayel would show up or if this was all a hoax, when, down the stairs, the host of the party appeared.

He donned a lavish dark blue suit with sculpted sleeves and shoulders that looked to be encrusted with spectrum fish scales. His presence was as magnificent as his name, causing the entire hall to fall silent. Guests held their breath as they watched the young artist stroll down the steps, the heels of his shoes reverberating on the marble floor as if a piece of music had just been executed.

“Welcome to the exhibition.” Rafayel spoke in a solemn voice. "It appears that all of the guests here are wondering; what exactly has he been doing during the past year? Why didn't he present any of his new work? What's the point of this exhibition?"

Rafayel halted for a moment, his dark eyes behind a few purple curls scrutinizing each guest individually, as if reading them all. The corner of his mouth twisted up in delight as he effectively piqued everyone's interest. He resumed his speech:

“It all began with a muse. My muse. That's a story perhaps a lucky visitor would unveil in this exhibition. But for now…” Rafayel lifted a hand. “Let me introduce you to my one and only, Muse.”

The scorched cloth transformed into crimson tiny particles that flew all about, blending into the fiery sunset outside. The crimson sun halted in the center of the room's largest window, and emerged as an illusion was Rafayel's Muse.

Leonard blinked. In front of him stood a tank of water with a thick glass cylinder. The inside was ornamented with flowers, coral, and white pillars of broken plaster encircling an oval of the glass tank, offering him the sense that he was staring at a lost city under the depths of the ocean. There were schools of brilliant small fish swimming around, weaving between the crevices of the broken world. In the midst of the tableau, there was a woman floating in the water in an upright stance, a few meters above the tank's bottom, conveying an illusion that she was flying. Her head was adorned with pearl jewelry, eyes were closed, as if she was in deep slumber. Her hands opened, allowing the orange-red fish to whirl around her wrists. Then they invited each other to swim along her tiny unclothed arms, to her exquisite neck covered in shimmering pearls, and down to the thin white garment that was floating in the water like her own body. Her bare feet lingered above the seaweed, as if to tease them with the fact that they were unable to grasp her no matter how hard they tried.

A beauty out of this world. That was what Leonard's mind could think of. When he came here, he was full of determination to discover Rafayel's secret, but now, when he witnessed its beauty with his own eyes, he was speechless. His brain felt empty, as if that beauty had filled it and he no longer needed anything else. A melodic rhythm could be heard somewhere, distant seemingly from another universe, but apparently emanating from the tank itself.

All guests were drawn to the center. Rafayel vanished among the crowd that was cheering him. Nobody suspected that Rafayel's Muse was not a painting but an entirely distinct thing. Whatever it was, she was the size of an adult in her mid-twenties. A statue or a doll that resembled a real person?

Leonard brushed past a few astonished others to get closer to the tank. Rafayel's exhibit could easily shock the entire art field. Leonard had already begun pondering concepts for his next piece. Unlike the other guests, who were merely engaged in the beauty in front of them, he was more enthralled by the narrative behind The Muse.

Who was she? Where did her story begin? Leonard sought around for Rafayel's silhouette but could not find him. However, near the stairs, he encountered Thomas with a look of panic and utter shock on his face.

“It can't be… No… It can't be her…” Those were the words Leonard could hear before Thomas bolted out of the hall.

There were just a few people invited to the show, and after approximately an hour, they had presumably spent all of their admiration and hypothesis on the tank. They met again in groups to tour Rafayel's studio. Who knows when they would be able to return here again, in ten, twenty, or even fifty years?

Leonard took advantage of the reality that people had left the area to approach closer and examine more, now that he was the only one standing nearby. The Muse was still inside, a smile on her lips, but why did Leonard feel a suffering coming from her? He strolled around the tank to better view her. It was hard to discern whether this was in fact a sculpture by Rafayel or a real person. That was also what the guests spoke about all day.

The Muse was so genuine. To the point that Leonard expected her to open her eyes and climb out of the tank. But she remained still, absorbed in her own undersea world. He stayed frozen, unable to move his gaze away from the tank, for Rafayel had previously stated that within this, his secrets hidden.

Yet Leonard, with his mundane eyes, might never discover it. The only thing he found was possibly a tiny coating of pinkish red water coming from The Muse's breast. That ruby hue seeped through the attire that enveloped her, and it looked nothing like the color that Rafayel often used in his paintings. There was something rather odd about it. It resembled blood, from The Muse herself.

The exhibition came to an end. Guests departed on their own after being notified. Rafayel returned to the lobby. Leonard took the opportunity to ask in an instance:

“Mr. Rafayel. May I ask you a few questions regarding the exhibition?

Rafayel gazed at him. To increase his reputation, he identified himself as a journalist who specialized in writing about art.

"Ah. "I remember you." Rafayel responded. "Among the guests, you were the only one who gave an impressive answer to my question."

Leonard tried to recall the survey he was required to complete before Thomas reached him to inform he had an invitation. These questions were all about Rafayel's career, and the answers were readily accessible online. There was just one question, the last one, that sparked a lot of consideration in Leonard, while having nothing to do with Rafayel's works at all.

"If you were given a magical spell that made the person you love love you forever, would you use it?" Rafayel reiterated his query. "You're the only one who chose not to."

Leonard nodded. It was truly what he had said.

"May I know, why?" Rafayel glanced at him with curiosity. Leonard was taken aback, as he had come here expecting to be an interviewer. Who would have guessed it was the other way around?

"A spell is just an illusion." Leonard responded honestly. "That is not love." "Love must come from a true heart."

"A true heart…" Rafayel repeated each word. His eyes were as sorrowful and deep as the tranquil water, yet it was terrifying since he had no idea when the storm would arrive. "Perhaps, she would choose the same answer as you."

"Pardon?…" Leonard interrupted Rafayel's thoughts. "Who are you talking about?"

Rafayel smiled but remained silent. Fearing that the young artist might leave without answering, Leonard impatiently said:

“Aren't you talking about your Muse? Can you tell me who she is?”

Rafayel gazed at the girl in the aquarium. He smiled. Just a small movement of the lips conveyed devotion, anguish, and regret.

"She is my true heart." Rafayel's voice resembled a song. But he said nothing more, and Leonard was asked to leave right away.

The Muse's story was forever a mystery. The mystery that Leonard had yet to come very close.

That story began a year ago. Or perhaps, it had originated a long, long time ago.

When a Lemurian gives their heart to someone, it will die if not reciprocated.

Rafayel had given his to a human girl.

He met her when she was a child. She was his savior when he was expecting such a painful death on land, and she helped him return to the sea.

She could not remember who he was, nor did she know that all those years, he had been watching her from afar. Amid the waves, behind the rocks, he watched her grow up.

He met her again as a painter many years later. She happily accepted his company. But it was not all he wanted. He longed for her. He craved her touch to make her become his, in the way he had determined his heart belonged to her.

But, her heart belonged to someone else.

A year ago, she told him that she was getting married.

Rafayel could not recall how frightening his emotions were. No matter how powerful the storms were at sea, they could never match his rage at the time. And, with a dreadful calamity brewing in his head, he did what he did to her.

He bound her with an ancient Lemurian enchantment. He made her fall desperately in love with him. She did everything for him, even abandoning her engagement and following him to a far away place. A secluded island only for them. Glorious summer nights lingered forever on the beach, when she and he were entangled, merging in the waves of never-ending love. He had her how he wished.

However, like an illusion, that spell did not persist forever. It drove her to insanity. She wandered alone on the shore, tears streaming and her mouth constantly crying out the name of the person she truthfully loved with each sob. She begged of him.

“Rafayel… Please… Let me go… Please… set me free… Set me free!”

Her screams were drowned in the ocean waves. Little did she realize that seeing her in this way made his heart bleed as well.

"Please…" She sobbed. Rafayel's dagger was in her grasp, and she pressed it to her throat. "If you won't let me leave... I must free myself..."

"Hush now, my dearest…" Rafayel quietly stretched out to her. This was not her first time in this state. He approached her, placed a hand on her forehead, and brushed away her wind-blown hair. Her fingers on the dagger tightened, urging him to back away. However, Rafayel seized the blade that was cutting into her neck, forcing his hand to bleed.

"You don't want to cut yourself, dear."

She trembled and stared at Rafayel. He hummed a very familiar melody, which made her thoughts muddled once more. The dagger slipped from her hand as she collapsed to her knees on the damp beach. Screaming.

“Be still, dearest love.” Rafayel gently lowered down. His knees were next to hers, as if he, too, was begging her to stay. “I can ease all our suffering… If you listen to me now…”

She covered her ears and shook her head with ferocity as if she never wanted to hear another word from him. Rafayel smiled in bitter. She had been like this lately, forgetting who she was and how profoundly she was in love with him. But that was alright. He would help her rekindle her love. She would obey at once as soon as he began singing.

He sang their song. He sang it the first time they met, and he still sang it day by day with her by his side.

She wept tremendously. She clutched her head and pleaded with him to stop. But Rafayel could never. Just like he could not stop the waves from crashing against the shore, who could ever stop his love for her?

After a while, she became quiet. No more yelling and pleading. She gave him an empty stare and a smile.

"Rafayel." She called his name. Her hand found his body, as though she had desired to be close to him since forever. Rafayel embraced her. He stroked and kissed the top of her head. His tears sank, condensing into pearls and nestling on her hair.

“I'm sorry… I'm sorry for turning you into someone like this…” Rafayel whispered in her ear. “But I've found a way to fix everything. You shall not suffer any longer... And neither shall I..."

Rafayel held her with one hand as the other sought the dagger's hilt in the moist sand.

“Will you do this for me?”

He gazed into the eyes of hers which were dreamy under the spell of love. She nodded.

"I vow to do everything for my dearest beloved."

"Very good." Rafayel smiled as he kissed her lips. "You will always be my Muse… Mine, forever..."

The dagger swung across the fiery sunset. The water chanted its melody in an ancient ritual. Then everything fell silent.

Rafayel watched her passionately as she slept within the water tank he had specifically built for her. That was her home, now and forever.

His hand stroked across the beautiful design. Her body was adorned with jewelry crafted from his teardrops. She was a masterpiece of his lifetime, which extended to no end. His Muse. His lips found hers on the other side of the glass, and he pressed a kiss.

From now on, she would weep no more. She would feel no pain.

A crimson light emanated from inside the pocket near Rafayel's chest. He pulled out a blazing red protocore.

This entire world will soon know that, her true heart shall forever belong to him and him alone.

98 notes · View notes

heartfullofleeches · 9 months

Text

Maunder Labyrinth Character Intros/General Information

A concept blurb for my haunted attraction yan series in which the Reader applies for a position at the location to make some extra cash for the upcoming season. This post lists the main cast plus a few of the rules they have to follow. Feel free to ask any questions

SawBones (she/they)

Doctor; grouchy 24/7

A woman of science looked down upon by peers and loved ones for her unorthodox methods. Tricked into visited the Labyrinth by "friends" and betrayed by that same group right before the exit. Seeing the talent in her twisted mind she was given a second chance. Was gifted the bodies of all four members as a welcome present to her new home which she then stitched into a new pet who carries out patrols for her. Turns every guest she gets her hands on into a new guard or another trophy on her shelf.

Sawbones lost an eye to a guest before being fully twinned to the Labyrinth. Hates Hound for stopping her from chasing after them once they had safely escaped her section. Her sole comfort is a cassette player she had in her pocket before venturing to the attraction with a mixtape of the songs it once loved. It serves a deeper purpose as her real name is on the tape.

Martyr (He/Him)

"You can trust me!" You can't trust him.

A once shy and awkward body with a tame love for horror now a homicidal fanatic. Lost his mind to the horrors and wonders of the Labyrinth, and slaughtered his friends as offerings for a hope to appease. Bangs himself up and dupes his way into large groups to slowly bump them off one before breaking into a frenzy and killing the rest in his lust.

Welds a chainsaw he decorates with stickers and prints guests might have on them. If something they own is cute enough he will let a guest go - if a ten minute headstart means anything.

Jumpscare

...

....boo

Not much is know about Jumpscare. They reappear and disappear mostly as they please. There one second and gone the next. Devoid of expression and is alot jumpier than they look. Half of their scares are from being startled upon finding living guests while disassociating, and screaming their head off because of the realization.

Jumpscare is one of two actors who will not actively kill guests (unless they have a heart condition). They are interested in the outside world and offer places to hide in exchange for knowledge. Pulls back from this habit once Reader joins the crew and dumps their questions on them instead.

Bedevil

"I see dead people...." "B, that's a mirror." "I know...."

Plagued by wails and visions of the damned. Has trouble telling guests from living or dead and will fly into panic when they attempt to interact- adding another voice to the choir that haunts them. Reader's name tag helps Bedevil differ them from others, but they cling to their side to assure their companion is still among the living. Has thought of asking Reader to quite, but is too afraid of being alone again.

Hound (they/them)

Do not remove their muzzle. Do not interact.

Hound is the other member who will not kill guests - they are also the most monstrous in appearance. Hound is reluctant in their cannibalistic urges, but feels they deserve to live same as everyone else. Eats the corpses of guests littered around and offers sanctuary for survivors in their bunker. It is the only safe zone in the main building.

Twins - Leader (he/him) & Follower (whatever you want)

Follower and Leader swap between manning the front and being guides for the tour. Follower is very assertive, dominant, and boastful. Leader is reserved, submissive and self hating. Follower will lead a tour safely through the maze unless a guest acts against them. Leader will do just about any order giving to them, but has a walkie-talkie at all times to receive them from their bother. If a guests asks for a discount - they will give it. If they ask to be let go - Leader will let them go.

Spector [It]

Enforcer of law, order, and punishment. Has free range of all corners of the Labyrinth and the ability to phase through walls. A tell tale sign of their arrival is the temperature dropping. The cameras around the attraction are their eyes.

Boogeyman

Your Boss.

THE SEVEN IMPORTANT RULES ACTORS HAVE TO FOLLOW

Do not attack guests until signaled.

Do not fight amongst each other.

Once inside Hound's bunker no actor is permitted to attack guests until they exit.

Do not leave your assigned area.

Do not cover the cameras.

Do not take the hired helps name tag. Failure to comply to this rule will be met immediate termination.

Failure to comply otherwise will result in the mask given to you sewn into place. A second strike will give the jailer free range of punishment.

#yandere imagines #yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere blurb #yandere insert #male yandere #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere oc #female yandere #yandere harem #yandere horror #yandere character #yandere concept #yandere x reader

189 notes · View notes

gogandmagog · 26 days

Note

Do you think you can expound on what you meant by LMM showing her hand/Dean being condemned by cat aversion? I was skimming the Emily tag and came across your post. Just curious!

I’m sooo cracking up and embarrassed right now, because while I do fr believe that... I’m not exactly sure I can wholly defend it. Or even remotely ask anyone else to consider getting onboard with that kind of intense inferring. But I’m going to do my best to have a go at it (🥴) and attempt to explain where my head was at with all that, while also letting it be a lesson to myself to not just be out here saying things sometimes, lol.

Also as a small sidenote: I tried to find the post you might be referencing, and I’m all but certain it must’ve been a very old conversation with @no-where-new-hero, but it must’ve also predated my searchable tagging practices because alas, I cannot find it. So… I’m already sorry-in-advance if I veer off into unrelated areas or miss the ‘ask’ mark completely. But I think you mean that at some point I said Maud “showed her hand” early in the Emily series by having Dean Priest say that he wouldn’t keep a cat. I’ll double check, but I think his exact quote is: “I like cats but I never keep one.”

Which, to a casual reader... doesn’t mean a whole lot. Yet when I look back at this, as a non-casual reader, after many re-reads and a little bit of Maud experience, I do kind of now recognise that as a tell. At least it’s a proper LMM red flag. Especially when we experience and feel the depth of cat symbolism and heavy-handed cat presence in the Emily series. And of Emily. How Emily is repeatedly and often assigned a cat-like nature + appearance in the narrative and by other characters in the book. She’s told at school that she has cat ears, and she’s even nicknamed “puss” by Cousin Jimmy. Emily’s Wind Woman purrs. It’s everywhere in Emily. If we advance even a bit further, into broad and ancient symbolism, we can also reflect on timeless and universal cat symbolism… the cat alignment with femininity. The same way dogs are aligned and representative of masculinity.

So when we consider all of this and juxtapose Dean’s statement against Montgomery’s men that did get their girls, I think it speaks even louder. Teddy had Smoke and Buttercup. Barney had Good Luck and Banjo. Cats are so important to Maud and her stories that she has Gilbert (the son of a cat lady, eventual owner of the First Mate, and saviour of Ingleside housecat the Shrimp) mention them in his finally-accepted proposal to Anne. He says, “I dream of a home with a hearth-fire in it, a cat and dog, the footsteps of friends—and you!” (Which P.S. is even a veeeery interesting order, in my veeeery-stretched opinion. A cat, then a dog. The feminine before the masculine. You before me, Gilbert says.)

To me... Emily is the cat that Dean will never keep. Much later, when their engagement is dissolving, he says, “… Perhaps that is why I couldn’t keep you.” Which is lowkey full circle. (If you squint.)

52 notes · View notes

antianakin · 8 months

Text

So someone just left some tags on a post I reblogged about Kanera stating that if Kanan and Hera had been able to get together in a world that still had a Jedi Order and a Republic in it, that their relationship would've been considered a political scandal. Why, though? What would MAKE it a political scandal?

Of the two genuine romantic relationships between a Jedi and a non-Jedi that we know of in high canon, BOTH involve someone who is actively a political leader of their planet or system (Satine as Duchess of Mandalore and Padme as Senator for Naboo's system). The part that makes it a political scandal is the POLITICIAN part, not necessarily the Jedi part. And even that is not necessarily that big of a deal on the Jedi's end since clearly Mace and Yoda, two very veteran Council members, are very much aware that Anakin is at least sleeping with Padme if not in a romantic relationship with her and make zero attempt at trying to talk him out of it or even force him to admit to it. Obi-Wan is the singular person to do something like that and he only does so when he can tell Anakin is literally starting to fly off the handle with rage.

All Obi-Wan ever says is that the feelings are natural and we know via Lucas that the Jedi are not celibate, so it seems as though the Jedi ARE allowed to act on their feelings to some degree so long as the relationship remains somewhat casual. The Jedi can't really commit fully to any romantic relationship and the person they're in that relationship with would have to be willing to accept whatever that ended up looking like for them. I imagine the reason the Jedi DON'T end up in relationships very often, especially with people outside of the Order, is because most people who are looking for romantic relationships are simultaneously looking for a commitment that the Jedi just aren't offering. So it's easier to just bow out of the entire relationship and let it remain completely platonic than to try to work something out that isn't really meeting the other person's needs and guaranteed to go badly down the line.

Which leads us to Kanan and Hera. There's no real reason Kanan COULDN'T act on his feelings for Hera so long as they kept it relatively casual so that Kanan wasn't breaking any vows. And Hera's not a politician or a leader of any kind. Even Cham doesn't appear to be a real political leader, he's chosen to lead a small local rebellion, sure, but he explicitly never actually runs for any kind of political office the way Orn Free Taa seems terrified of. We never hear him given any title but General to my knowledge, so even though the Syndullas are clearly WEALTHY just based on their house, I'm not sure if he's actually considered a local political leader, a mayor or a governor of some kind. There's certainly no discussion of Hera taking over that responsibility within Rebels, a responsibility she would've abandoned when she left Ryloth. So I don't see that there would be any actual political scandal within their relationship since Hera's family just isn't politically important enough for there to BE a scandal.

Jedi having relationships isn't a political scandal in and of itself, it just isn't. Nobody in the Republic gives enough of a shit for that to be true.

#star wars #jedi #jedi order #kanan jarrus #caleb dume #hera syndulla #kanera #pro jedi #pro jedi order #jedi appreciation #jedi culture appreciation #jedi order appreciation

121 notes · View notes

miss-hyoko · 11 months

Note

I read your fic about the arranged marriage with Floyd and I loved it sm!! I noticed in it that he changed his mind about reader after seeing how small and wary they were of floyd. I was wondering if i could request what would happen if the reader had an intimidating look to them when they first met. Like if they were a mershark. Would he still be the same?

Thank you!!

"Thanks for your patience, dear customer. Your order of [The Eel's Scary Fiancé(e)] gado-gado is now served. I hope you find it delicious."

The Eel's Scary Fiancé(e)

Character(s): Floyd

Summary: Floyd's fiancé(e) is an intimidating person

Tag(s) and warning(s): GN!Reader, fluff, romantic, reader is NOT Yuu, arranged marriage, Floyd being Floyd, Floyd Leech is his own warning, slightly Yandere!Floyd if you squint hard enough

Note: Another version of this. It took me quite a long time to write because of Floyd's complexity. But, all in all, I'm glad I could write Floyd again. Thank you for the request, anon 🫶

If you appear intimidating and/or have a larger body size compared to other merfolks, then Floyd might be interested in you the first time you meet each other. Instead of feeling scared or threatened by your fierce countenance, he finds your extremely serious expression irresistible, prompting him to continuously tease you to provoke a reaction. If you do respond to his teasing, Floyd will grin widely and continue teasing you. But if you don't, then brace yourself because Floyd won't stop bothering you until you react.

From that point on, you've been frequently seen together with Floyd. He's always the one who comes looking for you, whether because he's bored and wants you to accompany him or merely to amuse himself by teasing you at random times.

When you're not around, Floyd embodies the persona of a fearless and notorious eel, striking fear in the hearts of many nightmares for countless individuals. Yet, when he's by your side, he transforms into nothing but a harmless big eel, seemingly forgetting about his position as one of the ocean's apex predators.

Although it happens rarely, it's not uncommon for Floyd to find himself entangled in intense fights against someone. However, the moment he catches a glimpse of you appearing around the corner, he abruptly ceases the fight and rushes towards you to lament about being relentlessly bullied, all the while revealing the injuries he has sustained. Those he fights with attempt to defend themselves, but facing your intimidating look, which is simply your expression of confusion, they immediately fall silent and retreat without uttering a word. As you stand there, bewildered about what just happened, watching their retreating figures, Floyd bursts into fits of uncontrollable laughter with one arm around your shoulder.

People frequently describe you as scary, and you also agree with their sentiment. However, Floyd agrees to disagree. He firmly believes that your intimidating presence is what makes you shine above others and precisely the one that makes you stand out among the crowd. Should someone has the nerve to speak negatively about your appearance, don't be taken aback if he disappears the following day and is nowhere to be found.

Given that you're not some delicate and weak creature, Floyd never holds back when it comes to squeezing you with all his strength. He's delighted that he doesn't have to restrain himself in expressing his feelings to you through his powerful, bone-crushing hugs. When he's happy, Floyd will let out a hearty laugh while squeezing you tight. And when he's in a bad mood, Floyd will come to you with a face contorted into a pout and hold you firmly without saying anything until his mood gets better. In short, every time he senses your presence, Floyd won't hesitate to abandon whatever he's doing at that moment to give you a nice squeeze.

Surprisingly (or unsurprisingly), many people said that you and Floyd are a perfect fit for each other. Thanks to the intimidating aura you both possess, you swiftly became known as the 'mafia fish' couple. Every time you come across this peculiar nickname, your forehead creases in confusion, while Floyd finds great amusement seeing your puzzled look. Unbeknownst to you, it was him and Jade who came up with that nickname and spread it around so people would know that the two of you are together.

#disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst wonderland #twst x reader #twst imagines #floyd leech #floyd leech x reader #floyd x reader #gado-gado #🍽️_ordered #👀_anonymous

194 notes · View notes

widowbitessting · 2 years

Text

Sugar Mommies Season 2, Pt:1

My finger slipped...whoopsie...

Hi my loves! Welcome back to my Sugar Mommies Universe and a big welcome back to our lovely Trio!❤️

Updates (hopefully) will be every Sunday, 9pm GMT time (UK) unless I state otherwise.

I’ll still use my old tag list, so hopefully it’ll work! If you’d like to be tagged, comment below and let me know❤️

My work is for 18+ and over. No minors allowed.

Hope you all enjoy

Love,

Livvy

❤️💋❤️💋

“No. No, no, no.” You shove your free hand frantically into your bag. “Please, not now, c’mon.”

Your keys seem to be doing everything in their willpower to hide from you; knowing that you’re desperate to get to the bathroom.

You can almost hear them saying, “fuck you!” from their hiding spot.

You really regret wearing shorts so close to your period but you had nothing else and everything you owned needed washing.

And now you’re sure you’re about three seconds from starting -- right there in the hallway.

You’d leave a trail of blood as you scamper into your apartment.

Your neighbours would probably slip in it…

“Fuck.”

Being lazy has finally come to bite you on the ass.

You jerk your bag in an attempt to dislodge the keys into appearing, and in the process nearly drop the tray of hot drinks that are settled on top of your laptop in your other hand.

The barista, when you had told her it was okay, had given you a look of complete bewilderment; and after promising you lived literally down the street, she had listened; placing the tray of drinks on top of your laptop which was nestled in the crook of your arm.

You’re sure she called you and idiot as you slowly left the cafe.

It was a disaster waiting to happen.

Really.

God, why didn’t you just buy the stupid laptop bag?

You know exactly where it is: in your Amazon basket, right under the moisturising face mask that you’ve been eyeing for weeks.

Karma.

Through and through.

That’s what this was.

Karma for deciding that alcohol was more important than a new laptop bag.

You sigh.

When you can’t find them for a second time, a spike of fear hits you as you worry that you left your keys on the counter when ordering your drinks.

But no, you wouldn’t have.

Why would you have?

You paid with your cell; Apple Pay being both a godsend and a curse at this point.

When you finally see the corner of the keychain gifted to you by Wanda, you let out a very audible squeal; fingers grasping at it so fast as if it was seconds away from burrowing away into the depths of your bag again.

“Gotcha!”

You throw open your front door and speed inside.

It should have been smooth sailing from there.

You’ve walked the route from your front door to the bathroom countless times.

Only today, there’s an obstacle in the way.

Rather, two obstacles.

A pair of shoes you had left carelessly the day previous.

The same shoes you had bought over the weekend and had rubbed your feet raw.

And after suffering all day, you had torn them off your feet and dumped them right there in the middle of the floor - stating that you’d move them later.

You never did.

It’s those stupid shoes that you end up tripping over.

One second you’re storming into the room and the next, your ankle snaps to the left and your balance just goes.

Everything that you had in your arms topple.

The drinks slide from your laptop and splatter onto the floor; as well as splashing against your very white walls; spraying them with dots of brown and black.

Your momentum takes you down.

You stumble first, laptop slamming loudly on the wooden flooring, and as you fall to your knees, a small scream passes your lips.

You land on your hands and knees, groaning.

Your bag slides down your arm and falls in a heavy heap beside you, with strands of your hair stuck in its handle.

You can’t help the wince as you can feel some of your hair get torn from your scalp.

“Mother fucker!”

You slam your hand down hard on the floor before snatching one of your shoes and launching it across the apartment.

“Stupid! Useless! Shoes!”

You get to your feet and, after kicking the other shoe as far away as possible, you hobble to the kitchen to get a towel.

Your ankle is throbbing.

Like it hurts.

From your bag, you hear the text notification go off.

Whoever it is can wait; you’ve got a shit storm to sort out.

It surprisingly takes a long time to clean up the coffee and hot chocolate from the wall and the floor - your cheap kitchen towel doing nothing to soak up the liquid.

Finally, you manage to get it all.

Even if your walls are still stained.

That’s another problem you’ll deal with later…once it dries.

You then check your laptop, which, mercifully, survived the drop to the floor and you let out a huge sigh of relief.

Your day finally is looking your way.

You quickly dash to the toilet and sigh in relief.

Your period hasn’t come yet.

There is no crime scene in your underwear.

Which means you're one day closer to the weekend where you can be reunited with your women.

Or rather…railed by your women.

It’s been so long.

A long and agonising 7 days without them.

But Christ.

7 days to you it felt like 7 years.

You check your cell as you pee, scrolling up your previous messages to re read their words.

Nat sent yesterday (19:06): I can’t wait to kiss that little dimple when we get home.

Wands sent yesterday (19:07): Or the freckle on your inner thigh…

Carol sent yesterday (19:07) I just can’t wait to kiss you, baby.

“Fuck.”

The last message sent to you was from Carol, this morning before you went and started your day: have a good time in class my love, speak to you later xo

And you hadn’t had time to reply to her, to them.

You had been running late - madly dashing out the door behind MJ, screaming at her to grab her keys before you vanished down the stairs.

You nibble your bottom lip as you debate texting back.

You know they’re busy; that’s why they had to go away.

A boring business meeting that you couldn’t tag along to because of your own equally boring classes.

You decide to text back; if they’re busy they’re busy.

They will text you back when they can.

So here you are; sitting on the toilet, texting Carol back almost eight hours later.

Y/N (17:29): Hiii, sorry I was running late for class so I completely forgot to reply! Hope you three are okay, text me when you can xox

You check the other message.

MJ (17:25): I’ll be home later. Fancy take out? Cos I fucking do.

You finish off in the bathroom and type your reply to your best friend.

Y/N (17:31): If I ever say no, drop me off at the nearest hospital yes? What take out do you want?

You limp back into the living room before making yourself stop.

“Ice. I need ice.”

Letting out a groan of frustration, you awkwardly amble to the kitchen; grabbing the first thing from the freezer that you can find.

Once you’ve wrapped it up in a kitchen towel, you limp back to your sofa and finally, fucking finally, rest your ankle with something cold.

Your head falls back and your eyes close.

A sigh escaping your lips.

God today just really has been something else.

Fucking you over at any chance it could get; the only good thing being that you didn’t get your period.

When your phone buzzes, you can’t help the smile.

MJ (17:33): Well I’m at our usual. Same as always?

Y/N (17:34): Have I told you lately that I love you?

The dots appear almost immediately.

MJ (17:34): yes but say it again, my ego loves it baby.

Y/N (17:34): I love you MJ. Now bring mommy her food, she is starving.

MJ (17:35): Okay two things. 1) keep whatever kinks you and your trio have between the four of you because 🤢 b) I know for a fact they’re the ones that make you call them mommy. I’m not an idiot, Y/N/N.

Y/N (17:36): Shut up you idiot.

MJ (17:36): You know I’m right

Tossing your phone to the side, you grab the TV remote and flick unenthusiastically through the channels before settling on Netflix.

You choose your comfort show and, after checking your aching ankle, you settle down for the night.

Only, five minutes into your relaxation, your phone starts to ring.

You answer it almost immediately.

“What MJ?”

“Hey, I’m just checking you’re at home. Like our place.”

“Where else would I be…” You let out a laugh. “Oh hang on, sorry I didn’t tell you? I’m in Jamaica.”

“God you’re a fucking idiot.”

“Don’t ask stupid questions then.” You reply.

“I was making sure you weren’t at your girls’ place.” MJ replies. “I’m not getting all this food to waste it.”

“I’m at our place. Why would I stay at theirs? We’ve only just started dating, how weird is that?”

“You’re gay. Isn’t the time frame for you guys like sped up? You should be getting married by now!”

You burst out laughing.

“Shut up.” You reply.

You move your ankle and wince.

“Hey, how long are you gonna be? I might have a shower to ease my ankle.”

“Your ankle? What did you do?”

“Tripped over my shoes.”

“The ones you said you’d move yesterday?” MJ asks.

“That’s not important.”

“Are you okay?”

“I - yes. I survived. Our drinks didn’t…”

You hear MJ’s gasp and roll your eyes.

“Did you spill my hot chocolate?”

“Wow. No, MJ. When I was crashing to the ground, I made sure to save your precious hot chocolate from any harm.”

“I can’t even tell -”

“- y’know I actually threw my laptop away…just to ensure your drinks safety.”

MJ is silent for a moment.

“Dick.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“I’m never going to get that drink from you, am I?”

“You will, eventually…”

“...what? Yeah okay hang on.”

“Who are you talking to?” You ask.

“Sorry, I’m trying to talk to two people.” MJ replies. “Er, have a bath. For your ankle. It’ll help more.”

“A bath? You check the time on your phone. “How long will you be, MJ? I might need help getting out…”

MJ snorts. “About half an hour. I’m not helping your naked ass out of the bath.”

“You're my best friend. It’s your duty.”

MJ is silent for a second before replying, “yeah fine, whatever.”

“Did you know that takeout trays float in the bath?” You ask.

This time MJ doesn’t even reply, and even has the cheek to put you on hold.

You scoff, looking at your phone again in disbelief.

When MJ finally takes you off hold, you’re just about to hit the first chorus of All By Myself by Celine Dion.

“What are -- are you seriously singing right now? Y/N/N ow! You’re too loud!”

You giggle.

“Aw, I was just getting to the best part, MJ.”

“Why were you singing?” She asks.

“You put me on hold! What else was I supposed to do?”

“Wait patiently like a normal person?”

“We both know I can’t do that, MJ.” You say. “Why did you put me on hold?”

“I was trying to order dinner. You can be very distracting when you want to be.”

You smile.

“So I’ve been told.”

“Mmm.” MJ says. “Go and have your bath, Y/N. I’ll be home in a bit with our food and we both know it doesn’t do well once it’s cold.”

“Don’t forget the -”

“...fortune cookies I know. Bye, dork.”

“Bye!”

You have no idea how long you’ve been in the bath for.

Except for quite some time.

Your phone - God, you need to sort out a new one with a decent battery - had pretty much died within ten minutes of you not so gracefully getting into the bath.

And even though you had wanted to move, to go and charge it; the thought of getting up was just not an option to you.

Which meant you were stuck in the bath with no form of entertainment.

Which had made you groan as you sunk further into the bubbles.

Which had then resulted in your eyes falling shut and you waking with a start when you heard the unmistakable squeak of the front door to your apartment opening.

You have to blink a couple of times to make your eyes work, completely disoriented as to where you are.

You lean forwards and snatch your phone from the side of the bath; heart stopping when it nearly drops into the water.

“That could have been bad.”

You remember it’s dead and throw the useless thing to the bathroom floor, where it thuds loudly.

“Shit.”

The water isn’t cold so you can’t have been asleep that long.

“MJ?” You call out.

There’s no reply and your fight or flight mode instantly kicks in.

You’re out of the bath within seconds.

The second you apply weight to your ankle you nearly topple down, teeth burrowing into your bottom lip to stifle the scream you want to let out.

If there is an intruder in your apartment, you can’t alert them to where you’re hiding.

Even though you threw your phone to the ground about five seconds previous.

“Yeah, they already know where I am.”

And you’re suddenly very aware that you’re naked.

You stumble to the door, snatching the towel from its hanger and wrap it firmly around your shivering body.

Trickles of water dribble down your face.

“Fuck…” You should have charged your phone. “MJ…”

You hear footsteps stomping down the corridor and automatically back away from the door, heart hammering.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!”

You look around for anywhere to hide and of course, you find none, except for the bath that you had just been in.

You could drag the shower curtain across and pray they don’t check behind -

There’s a knock on the door.

Your head snaps up.

A polite intruder?

“Y/N?”

“MJ?”

The door handle turns and you prepare yourself to tackle whoever it is on the other side of the door.

Only, it’s blonde hair you catch sight of.

Not MJ’s curly locks.

Or a faceless intruder.

“Carol?!”

“Hi kitten!”

Carol smiles when she fully sees you, letting out a laugh when you slam your body into hers for a bone crushing hug.

“Happy to see me, baby?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” You peer up at her and grin. “So happy to see you!”

Carol manages to drag you away a little, giving her enough room to work so she can lean down and finally, fucking finally kiss you.

You automatically melt into her, as if it was the first kiss you had shared.

One of her strong arms holds you tightly whilst her other hand wanders down to grip your ass.

“I’ve missed you too, baby.” She kisses you again. “Next time I think I’ll pack you into my suitcase. You’re only small, I think you’ll fit.”

You go to roll your eyes but stop at the last second.

Carol notices and gives your nose a quick peck.

“Such a good girl, don’t want to be punished already, do we?” Her eyes wander down your body. “Did you dress up just for me?”

You blush.

“I - I…”

“God, you’re adorable.” Carol winks at you before she looks at your feet. “MJ said you hurt your ankle, are you okay?”

“How did you -”

“I was with her, kitten. Why do you think she rang?”

Your eyes widen.

“You - you were with her?”

“Who do you think gave her the idea of a bath, kitten?”

If your eyes were able to go any wider, they would.

Instead, you opt to shove her shoulder instead.

Stumbling a little into the wall, Carol lets out a chuckle.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were back? I missed you!”

“I’m sorry, baby. I am.” She drags you towards her, holding you just right so you don't have to apply much pressure to your injured ankle. “I wanted to surprise you…”

“Well I am surprised…” You can’t help but pout. “Even if you did scare the sh - the life out of me.”

“I’m sorry baby.” She kisses your cheek. “I brought us food…”

Your eyes lighten up.

Carol trails her lips along your jaw before dipping into the crook of your neck; where her teeth graze at your skin.

When she bites down, you let out a shaky gasp, fingers tightening on her body.

“Although…there’s someone I’d rather eat right now…”

She lifts you too easily, dragging you up her body until your legs wrap around her waist.

Her lips never leave your skin.

“But…” Your hips twitch. “...dinner…”

“If it tastes like shit after I’m done with you then I’ll buy us more food. I’ll cook us a five course meal, I don’t fucking care.” Carol growls, carrying you from the bathroom.

She walks you both to your bedroom as if she’s walked it hundreds of times and when she deposits you onto your bed, you can’t help a startled scream.

“Mommy and daddy will be home in a few days. Your captain got sent home earlier.” Carol says, prying the towel from your body. “Is that okay with you baby? You’ve got my full and undivided attention…think you can handle that?”

The towel is opened to reveal your still damp body to her and you have to bite your bottom lip to stop yourself moaning.

“C’mon now, little one. Use your words.” She straddles your hips, not caring about her own clothes getting wet. “Otherwise your captain will stop and she will go and sort dinner out.”

“Icanhandleit.”

“What was that, baby girl? I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

You glare at her.

“Tell me again. Go on.”

Carol’s fingers circle your nipples.

“Or I’ll stop. It’s that simple.”

“I can handle it.”

“You can handle it?”

“Yes.”

“You can handle just having me give you my full attention, baby girl?” Her fingers tickle down your body until they settle at your entrance; where she slowly circles and taunts you.

“Yes.”

“You’re already so wet, baby. Why is that?”

“You.”

“Oh baby.” She pouts down at you. “I haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

“Please.” You whisper.

Carol pushes one finger slowly into you, eyes dark as she watches you.

“You’ve been such a good girl. So good for me. Fuck, I’ve missed you.”

“I - I’ve missed you too, captain.”

You try to sit up but Carol shoves you back down, slamming her lips onto yours before pumping her finger roughly into you.

When she adds another, you gasp against her and Carol takes full advantage by shoving her tongue into your mouth.

Carol’s fingers curl inside of you and your hips move against her.

“Let’s slow things down, baby; I don’t want to rush this.”

It feels almost like her fingers stop completely when she slows down.

You whine.

“I know, baby, I know. Let the captain enjoy this. Let her enjoy you.”

Her thumb presses down onto your clit and your head falls back.

Fuck.

“Did you touch yourself while we were away, baby?”

Carol’s eyes are so dark, you find yourself getting lost in them.

A small but sharp slap brings you back to reality.

“Answer me.”

“What was the question again?”

Her hand gently presses against your throat.

“Did you touch yourself whilst we were gone, little one?”

“No.”

“Because you’re our good girl.” Carol places her face at your neck and begins to suck. “Such a good girl. Listening to her instructions…doing as she’s told…”

Your breath hitches.

“Do you think you can follow another instruction for me?” she asks.

It takes all of your effort to nod.

“Sit on my lap and ride my fingers.”

Your cheeks redden.

“Can you do that for me? You’ve been such a good girl for me. You deserve to be on my lap.”

“O-okay.”

When Carol removes her fingers, they’re glistening but not just in your juices.

You’re mortified and quickly cover your face when you see your blood coating her fingers.

“I am -- I’m so sorry!”

You try to move, to close your legs and to get yourself as far away from Carol as possible but the blonde isn’t having it.

She refuses to let you move.

Pinning you down with one hand as she inspects her other.

“Oh baby, don’t be embarrassed.” Her fingers plunge back into you. “I’m not done with you yet.”

When will MJ get her hot chocolate? Stay tuned to find out!

Tag List:

@fishlikestuff @spartanghost118 @ironsnowstorm @romeo-the-cactus @brutashafan @midnightreme @your-my-mission @trikruismybitch @bitxhinthecomments @messuhp @severepeanutartisanhands @8plasma @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @khiaraaa-in-spacee @madamevirgo @selluequestrian @kaitlynroseb @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @coollemonsaresour @pianogirl2121 @loomontoia @wandas-lover @cybeleceto @tomy5girls @starmako26 @claudiamyan @emilyprentisslittlewhore @vynia @cordeliaswhore @angelicl-y @ashadash0904 @the-most-unicorn-of-them-all @stuckyforliife @ktstudies @your-my-mission @tomy5girls @coollemonsaresour @khiaraaa-in-spacee @emilyprentisslittlewhore @umsolikeblog @angelicblackwolf @pianogirl2121 @upsidedowndanvers @anastasiabeaverhousen87 @wrennieee-blog-blog @spiderling-18 @madamevirgo @beforeoursecrets @8plasma @imdreamingblo@wandas-love @mmmmokdok @greydinosauregg @crazylittlereader2474 @thatonehippiefriend @midgardianweasley @battleg03 @sav06nat @marvelwomen-simp @ineedafinghug @suki-is-a-queen @wandanatblogs @wandanatstan @im-in-demilesbians-with-you @crispychaospanda @raqelacevedo @harmoni0527 @starmako26 @osterfield23 @wandanatblogs @ophelias-heart @natashafamdreams @osterfield23 @sweeterlust @adyadalia @jemilyssecretlover @aleynaishere @jayxxace @smileyromanoff @ashadash0904 @scxpingdrms @amcg0615 @insomniac-delusions @yorkthelocksmith @emilyprentisslittlewhore @wandavixen @gay-ant @iwantwatermelonrn @marvelxdickinsonmarvelxdickinson @marvelwomen-simp @alianovnasworld @whhyyynottt @wandaswigglywoos-ish @lexi-2003-love @smallestavenger @mcu-churrio @fastlikealambo @luflufsstuff @birdie0101 @fabgronsky @insomniac-delusions @theheeheeman @idontknownemore @scxpingdrms @depression-desu @ashadash0904 @demonslayer06 @spookymomfriendtm @smromanoff @raqelacevedo @wandanatfan @simpforflorencepugh1 @s1ut4nat @d14n4ol @alianovnasworld @academiagaymess @natblidaclexa @childofsapph0 @mellxa @messuhp @valiantmugcowboyscissors @luflufsstuff @lorsstar1st @alianovnasworld @wandaswigglywoos-ish @itwas-neverreal @pianogirl2121 @itwas-neverreal @forever-a-diamond-bitch @sayah13 @scxrlett-wid0w @alianovnasworld @froufrousnowman @scarletwidow21 @robnicole @likefirenrain @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @ejeiwbskqn @arin-swear-rose @aloaph @jjs-doll @mommysslutsworld @geico-insuranc @ashadash0904 @scxrlett-wid0w @sayah13 @froufrousnowman @anyilherrona @alianovnasworld @whhyyynottt @schuylersthelimit @tomy5girls @caylusromanoff @sadlesbitch @silver-lotus @milaackerman69 @onmykneesforwanda @imtrebleandsharp @alana-debnamcarey @comfy-mee @immathinkerg @simpforwandanat @alianovnasworld @luckypupsmama @sophiecala @shrekisloveshrekislifw @xoxolittledizzy @nattyswidow @mcu-romanoff @njavezan @laurenmaximoff @druggedduck @laylayb1106 @speedytimetravelgalaxy @snowdrop1026 @scarletts-future-wife @darling-dontforgetme @r4nd0mgir1 @heartsforlee @r4nd0mgir1 @heartsforlee @geico-insuranc @copper-boom @emmamaximoff11@sweetmissnothing @readings-stuff @villanelles-little-wh0r3 @bigfinsquidd @copper-boom @yelenatwanda @wizardofstories @beinggayanddoingcrime @ashw0lf @adnawidow @wandanats-ghost @mall6ry @violetromanova @navyblueobsessed @elle-romanoff@readings-stuff @practiceinpublic@yelenatwanda@simplysimping999@darling-dontforgetme@talia-alianovna@maiyaisdumb @inluvwithfictionalwomen@gay-ant@wannabe-fic-reader@10-19-17uswnt@rt–link@sluttyforfemaleavengers@im-just-a-gay-fanfic-reader@anastasiabeaverhousen87@olicity-boo@gryffindorkromanoff@ara-a-bird@lesbianfornatasha@anchorjdm@whoreforjimhopper @wandamaximommy22

#natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #carol danvers #reader insert #wanda x reader #carol x reader #natasha x reader #y/n #natasha x y/n #wanda x y/n #carol x y/n #no minors #not suitable for minors #minors begone #sugar mommies #sugar mommies season 2 #sugar mommies universe

683 notes · View notes