#i have not forgotten my original love i promise

[schwarzkatje]

dark!orphan!ellie x nun!reader || part 3

disclaimer: alright, i'm just gonna say that this is filth in its original form aka contains SMUT that is immoral; offensive to religion if you believe and/or practice the religion implied here; it deals with power dynamics between an educational figure and a supposed pupil even though it has no age gap warning since they are basically the same age; it has violence in the form of slapping; it shows both ellie AND reader being dark characters with questionable morals. so if ANY of this triggers you, i prefer you skip for my but mostly your sake. also, not proofread srry

> for part 1 click here || for part 2 click here

"admit it, you act like a brat all the fucking time because you love it when you get punished," never in a million years would you have thought these words would have exited your mouth. nor would you have entertained the idea of breaking your vows because of something so futile like losing your temper.

except what was happening was proof of how delusional your beliefs and how fragile the rope you were walking on had both been. more specifically what was happening underneath you.

you were straddling ellie, the heels of her feet planted on the mattress and her thighs spread to accommodate your hand as it furiously flicked her pulsating clit and the outer zones of her pussy, drenched in white slick.

the other hand was feigning in her task to handcuff ellie's wrists, as it bore no real force nor did it occur to you that she could break free whenever she decided. you simply ignored it, too drunk off of nothing but a ravaging and ravenous hallucination of retribution. ellie had brought an earthquake inside you, causing casualties in the process, namely what you stood for, the light in your eyes and the faith towards god. in a regained moment of lucidity you could have recognised you were turning into the reflection of ellie's sufferings.

and god, wasn't she willing to dance this macabre tango with you and accept the pleasure that was making her delirious. her hips thrusted up, closer to your fingers, imagining they were your pussy humping her own, riding her in this exact same position that naive you had thought to be a cage for ellie.

"don't lie, you're too – fuck yeah – you're way too good at this. do you fuck the other sisters, when you are done tormenting me, mh?" the contorted expression was the perfect mask to hide the trail of jealousy implied in such an insisting enquiry and to distract from the fact that her eyes would have rolled back to her skull hadn't she been more lucid. "do you suck the pastor's cock when he comes to visit, too?"

"you wish. you wish i had so your fantasies about me get more realistic, don't you?" both your middle and ring finger were exploring the outer region of ellie's intoxicatingly warm hole, with such a slow pace that ellie feared you would stop at any time.

only one hour prior to this enactment of pure debauchery you were busing your mind with paperwork, locked in your room, locked away from ellie. you hadn't planned this.

the exact way you hadn't planned to abandon your dummy remnants of resolution as you let ellie enter your quarters. the exact way you hadn't planned to fight for the umpteenth time knowing it would have resulted in ulterior mortification for you. the exact way you hadn't planned to slap her. for the second time. completely throwing away the memory of ellie promising to make you pay for this the first time you had done it. except, ellie too had seemed to have forgotten all about this threat.

"do it again," ellie had been prompting you, daring you to do it, if not for the fact that she had trapped your wrist, actually impeding the fulfilment of what was acquiring the shape of a wish trough and through. her superior strength had proven a perfect feature to yank your entire body closer to her.

your other hand was holding the bible and you reckoned that once you had dropped it, it would have meant bending irremediably, to the point of breaking, in favour of the evil pulling that had been dancing around you throughout your entire life.

the deaf thud of the sacred text hitting the floor had rivalled with the same echoed sound of ellie's cheek getting slapped once again. the capillaries were fast breaking and the warm sensation over the beaten skin sat rather uncomfortable. not so much so as to hinder the devilish grin that ellie had no shame in sporting.

"at least now you're dropping the act of the prissy nun thinking she's better than everyone," her raspy voice had become lower, almost inaudible. but as subtle – and therefore armless – as it may have seemed, its ability to insinuate just as venom does, with blind cruelty, hadn't left space for mercy. "beating me like the other sisters when you faked compassion the moment they did it to me."

the whole context hadn't given you the chance to develop not even a semblance of pity towards ellie. no, it couldn't have found it in the midst of the scorching flames hell that was engulfing your guts. "you deserve every punishment they gave you. my only mistake was thinking you could gain god's forgiveness," you had inched closer to ellie, mimicking, without having full control over it, her tone and setting a twisted game with the loser's destruction as the prize.

"i'm yet to see how you discipline your bad kids," ellie had taken your free hand, the one responsible for the red heat spreading on half of her face, had brought it closer to her chipped lips, "since you're a sick pervert, i imagine you make them do sick shit as well. what is it? spanking? making them kneel down to eat your pussy?" the last bit of her degrading speech had been accompanied by the wet noise of her saliva coating your thumb and your thumb pressing as though it had had life of its own down ellie's tongue.

"want me to show it to you?" it must have been the devil himself that had smelt how deliciously sinfully your soul was accepting to delve into a grave without possibility to repent. everything had been lost.

"fuck– fucking slut knows hot to– oh man—," that was the agonised prize that your fingers entering ellie and pumping with no care in the world inside her pussy had won for you. there was a spot under ellie, a combination of her own cum and the saliva you had spat on your hand because depravity was the puppeteer moving and angling your strings, and you, brainless and unable to feel shame, followed along, being the only purpose of your tainted existence.

you were becoming obsessed with that sight, your pussy had long started to grind on ellie's stomach, lifting more and more of her black shirt, revealing the toned muscles that helped the friction you were ready to sell your soul to encounter.

fitting a third finger inside ellie, you moaned as though you were the one being penetrated. your teeth were munching your lower lip as a manner to deal with the inexplicable pleasure you were both giving and experiencing. like the previous things, you definitely hadn't planned not only to do this, but to enjoy it as much as an animal in heat would have.

ellie decided she had had enough and pulled her hands out of the pathetic cage that was your numb digits, reckoning they would be of more use gripping the soft flesh of your hips and helping you cover her navel with more your intoxicating precum.

"why can't you always be this obedient? why can't you be a good girl?" your now free hand found a new grip in your own hair, all while indulging in ellie's silent desire to hump harder above her. which meant automatically increasing the speed with which your fingers were claiming her fucked out hole.

ellie sobbed at your words, reading them as indirect praise, the affirmation that like a madwoman she had been searching her all life, the affirmation that frustrated her so much it made her into the shadow of herself.

"oh god please– please, forgive me... oh god, ellie– don't stop..." came out corrupted beyond salvation, tainted by your tears of pleasure and the chocked scream of the most mind numbing orgasm you have ever had, fearing your brain would never recover its sanity.

if you had been captured by the image of ellie, fucked out on the bed where you sleep, ellie too had endured a sight of her own that pushed its limit with you coming on her. it happened during the first second of your high, for this reason you understood that ellie had flipped both of you over, so that now she was between your legs, only when your clothed core met ellie's naked one.

she was humping you like you had been humping her, only with more domineering force due to the position you were in. ellie had her own release in mind and nothing else. there was only the heat stuck in her belly finally exploding with spikes making different parts of her body convulse in quick succession.

the ache of your pussy was no match to the fuelling sensation of having ellie take you like this, using you for her own pleasure after you doing the same to her, putting you in a subordinate position to have full control of what to do to you. "e-ellie come, please come," you begged and pathetically tried to confirm what you wanted by holding ellie's ass to deepen her movements.

she, on the other hand, couldn't resist any longer and with a last thrust she halted flush against you, mere centimetres away from your lips, your legs spread impossibly wide with the only intention of providing ellie with the best position to let go of her built up arousal.

her face had somewhat softened, not taking into account the frown on her forehead, her eyebrows knitted in a desperate expression, almost confused by the force with which her orgasm had deprived her of the characteristic vulgarity and witty behaviour.

she looked... vulnerable. and her lips looked so ready to be kissed and maybe even bitten or sucked. but the delirious feeling of the orgasm had wore off completely by then and anger for a further loss in dignity was covering the entirety of your thoughts. you weren't going to show any more of what you had already done.

you pushed her away, shivering in cold once her body left yours and as quickly as your trembling legs permitted you, you sat on the edge of your bed. facing away from ellie who was waiting for your next move.

"get the fuck out of my room," and with that, a deafening noise produced by the slamming of your wooden door was all was left for you to hear.

#ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader smut #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie x y/n #ellie smut #ellie x you #the last of us smut #dark ellie #ellie williams x you #ellie the last of us #ellie williams #ellie tlou

[cynicalmusings]

just got hit with an extremely strong wave of cloaked cyno nostalgia… i’m going to have to crawl tooth and nail out of this hole, aren’t i?

#i saw one piece of fanart of him in the manga outfit and my heart exploded #i have not forgotten my original love i promise #god #scholar cyno is the best #i want him. i miss him. #anyway #r’s random thoughts

[cinnbar-bun]

Affinity (Various OP Characters x Reader)

Characters: Brook, Buggy, Beckman, Crocodile, Zoro, Mihawk, Corazon, Shanks, Law

Rating: SFW

Word Count: ~4k

A/n: Reader is GN! I kinda made this after hearing about a special thing in my religion, and decided I wanted to do this. I of course made it more romantic in nature than the original idea goes, but hey, romance! I had my followers choose 7 originally but it went to 9, which is a very lucky number in my religion so maybe it was a sign? Who knows! Please enjoy <3

Tagging: @fanaticsnail @gingernut1314 @undeadeurydice @i-am-vita @kiribuchi @therosietoesy (sorry, I forgot who asked for Law my bad)

———————————————————————

There is a belief that before you are born, you were once a soul that had existed with other souls. Souls who had an affinity for each other would find that affinity carried in their time as a human. Souls who repelled each other would find that distaste carried over as well. Perhaps it was preordained, fate, destiny- whatever you’d call it. Regardless, it seems your soul has met with someone who once had an affinity for you…

Brook

Being an undead figure unable to pass on was not what Brook had in mind. In some ways, he was grateful for another chance at life, another chance to do what he previously was too dead to finish. Albeit, being a pile of bones did have its drawbacks.

While he could still function and do things many humans did, fact was, he was anything but. One look at him would easily make him stand out as something like a freak of nature.

Skeletons cannot love and be loved like a human. He could hold, but could not be held like a human. Admittedly, it had bothered him on occasion, but he always tried to brush it off with a simple hum or shrug. After all, he had his friends and crewmates- and he had a promise to continue fighting for. That should be enough.

But he couldn’t stop his eyes (if he had any) from wandering… couldn’t stop the way his mind wondered…

Just what could it be like if I too could fall in love?

Ah, but that’s such a silly thing for a skeleton to consider. Who could ever love the undead remains of someone long forgotten?

He’d practically given up on such silly notions like love or a relationship- it didn’t fit his current predicament.

So Brook focused on his music and his performances instead. He held up his violin and decided to waste some time on this sunny day playing for his audience of a few blue birds chirping at this green park. It was beautiful and reminded him of his day with the Rumbar Pirates- agh, nostalgia was always his weakest attribute, he thinks.

His fingers drift along the strings of the instrument, peacefully playing his weary heart away. He doesn’t recognize he has another guest until he hears slow clapping.

“What?” He turns his head, surprised to see you on the bench, smiling and clapping.

“That was lovely,” you comment. Time slows still and your eyes meet, shining (e/c) eyes with hollow black sockets.

If he had skin, perhaps he would’ve been red or sweating buckets. As a skeleton, he was not able to do things. But Brook was still a man through and through, and he couldn’t help but freeze at seeing the way your eyes were soft and full of admiration.

“I’m glad you thought so. Music is my pride and joy.”

“I can tell,” you reply. “I felt like I forgot to breathe for a moment when I heard that. I’m sorry for watching, though, if you weren’t looking for an audience.”

“N-no, actually it was…” he was too caught up in the way his soul was resonating and burning within him. “I appreciate it actually. Would you like me to play a song for you?”

“Would you? I’d love to hear more!”

Buggy

Buggy never believed in things like soulmates or fairy tales or blah blah blah- it was all junk! The only thing he ever could trust was treasure- shiny, bright, treasure! What else did a pirate need or want?

Is what he would say out loud- Buggy, even at a young age, was secretly a romantic who refused to let himself be swept up in the sentiment. When him and Shanks would sail together on Roger’s ship, Shanks would often ask what he thought about love.

Unlike Buggy, Shanks was pretty honest and confident about his assertions. Buggy would stumble and try to keep the bravado up, pretending as if he didn’t secretly yearn for a person who could look past his red nose and maybe possibly sorta kinda like him? Was that too much to ask? If you were Buggy, the answer was yes, because he would never allow himself the chance to be soft or vulnerable with someone. Especially not when he was already so sensitive about his looks and attitude. The thought of letting his guard down to be loved terrified him- what if they left? What if they made fun of him, too?

It was just too much for his fragile ego, so he brushed it aside and continued his hunt for treasure.

“Now where the hell am I?” He yelled, tilting the map in his hand left and right, as if that would somehow make his destination clearer. “Kinda crappy treasure map is this?”

He glared and shoved the map back in his pocket as he stomped around this town. He hadn’t ever bothered to come to this place before, so everything was new for him. He glared at the kids who were pointing at his nose to scare them off (mission accomplished), but his foul attitude still didn’t lessen.

As Buggy turned a corner, he accidentally rammed into someone. They shrieked, and his hat fell off his face and covered his eyes.

“Watch it, will ya? I’m walkin’ he…” he pushed his hat back up and came face to face with perhaps the most gorgeous person he’s ever met. His mouth was wide open, gawking at you as you gave an apologetic smile.

“Sorry. I didn’t see you there,” you said sheepishly.

“Y-yeah it’s… it’s cool. No biggie,” he mumbled in a daze.

“Are you alright?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” he returned to normal. “I mean, yeah, totally.”

You chuckle at his behavior, and something within Buggy’s chest makes it feel like there’s a million butterflies flapping inside his ribcage. He can’t help the dumb grin on his face as he laughs along.

“Sorry again, sir. I’ll keep an eye out for you next time,” you wink and begin walking away, making Buggy flabbergasted. N-next time? Was that a promise? He didn’t even realize what he was thinking before he turned around and tried to jog back to you.

“H-hey, wait up-!”

Beckman

Beckman was fairly ambivalent to the idea of a “soulmate” or “affinity”. Sure, he humored his often childish captain with those notions, but the fact was, Beckman was simply a sailor at heart. He didn’t think being “stuck” to someone was the life he wanted, and he was fairly sure a sane, rational person would not want to be the lover of a first mate to perhaps one of the most infamous pirate crews on the sea.

Now, this would imply you were sane and rational, and this would also imply that he was also not a sucker for you. Perhaps that was what made him attracted to you in the first place, or maybe it was something that gave him the idea that his captain wasn’t so off base.

When it came to you, Beckman was eager, a bit too eager, the others would joke. Whenever you called, he came running and answering like a loyal servant. Whenever you wrote, his lips would form a large smile while he refused to let the others look at the letter you sent. Whenever he was away from you for long periods of time, he drank a bit too much.

It was common place enough for the others to notice and tease him about, even if Beckman was adamant there was nothing there. You guys were just… friends, or something ambiguous like that. You didn’t need a label for your relationship. This was completely normal, you were normal, he was normal- nothing was out of the ordinary, so if they would please stop asking and make him confront those pesky feelings he-

Maybe he had a problem. He never felt this way for anyone else he encountered. You knew of his philandering, not seeming to care all that much, but damn it, even he couldn’t continue that streak because his mind would get occupied with you, you, you. Love was too complicated. Maybe this was the alcohol talking. Or Shanks getting in his head about “souls being attuned” or whatever spiritual jazz the red-haired captain would spout.

No, it really made sense, all things considered. There was no one else but you to make him quit fooling around with others on the islands he stopped at. There was no one else but you who invaded his thoughts, who plagued him day and night with those eyes, that smile, the way you hated that red cologne he once bought and-

Oh dear god, he was deep into this, wasn’t he?

Crocodile

Love? Spirits? Souls? Soulmates?

Yeah right, add that to the list of stupid things weak poets say to make their miserable lives have some meaning. You could jump through a million hoops to try and blame encounters and relationships on things like “destiny” or “fate”. To a man like Crocodile, however, “destiny” was just something he could control. Whether through bribes of money or through making them submit with his fearsome powers, “destiny” was nothing but another means of his affluence.

Only those who were weak and had nothing could not control their lives.

Something like love was a crutch used by those who had nothing to pretend they did. What was love to power? What was love to wealth? To fame? To greatness?

Love was the longest-running scam that Crocodile almost could be impressed with, if not for the fact that the sentiment around love made him want to gag.

Except, now he was actively looking for jewelry to buy you, flowers to deliver to your doorstep, and outfits to clothe you in for when you visited him.

It was almost disgusting how Crocodile was eagerly awaiting for your next arrival, for when he could be able to see you on the street or at his casino so he could see that face he adored so much. Those eyes that made him want to melt, that voice that echoed in his head, that smile that made him want to have an image of you adorned on his wall so he could always see it.

Something, he could never place what it was, drew him to you. Something made you seem to stand out to him in ways that no other could. He was Crocodile- world famous business man and pirate- he had no shortage of people throwing themselves at him or fearing him. Only to you was he trying his luck attempting to woo you to give him that look he loved. Only for you was he making excuse after excuse to continue seeing you, lying over and over that he had a reason to use you, that it was just a part of some master plan.

He exhaled another puff of his cigar and rubbed his temples.

Gods, why was he acting this way? He was Crocodile. Not a lovesick teenage boy, not some lonely man, not some simpering-

“Sir, (Y/n) has arrived.” His ears perked up as he quickly slicked back his hair.

“Is that so? Send them up,” he orders, grabbing his expensive cologne to spray onto him again.

Zoro

Zoro had never heard of the idea of soulmates or anything like that. When one lives, breathes, and dies by the sword, something like “soulmates” is just comical. He doesn’t need love to become the best swordsman. He didn’t need love to teach him how to pick up a sword and kill another with it. That was, in fact, the complete opposite of love.

Survival of the fittest, he thought. Nothing more, nothing less. You kill for bounties, bounties that pay, pay that gives you a chance to eat food. Nothing more to it. He never did more than he needed to, never worked harder for anything outside of his sword training and hunting. What else did a swordsman need to live?

He was currently drinking his fill at a local tavern of some random village he washed out upon. He didn’t care to get names, not when he was always moving, always killing, always leaving. “Zoro” was a passing chance encounter few got to ever meet or understand. He was fine with that. A bounty hunter didn’t need attachments. A bounty hunter definitely didn’t need someone weighing him down.

At the tavern, a few rowdy pirates were acting up. Yelling obscenities, throwing food and liquor at one another, making rude gestures- nothing out of the ordinary for drunk pirates. Zoro had no business with them, so he ignored them, continuing to order pint after pint.

It wasn’t until he heard a crash that he looked up. You were angrily yelling at one of the pirates who threw a drink at you, and his mates were drawing their weapons. It was clear you were outnumbered, so you looked around the bar for anyone that would help.

Normally, Zoro wouldn’t bother, figuring you dug your own grave by messing with pirates like that. However, when he glanced to your eyes, he found himself… staring. Lost. Entranced?

He didn’t know why he felt like he should protect you, but he always had a good intuition when it came to these sorts of things. He sighed, placed his mug down, then stood up, drawing his swords from their sheathes.

“Zoro,” he stated. A rare thing for him to admit so casually to a normal person. The pirates heard his name and shriveled up in fear. Zoro didn’t pay them any mind, instead tapping his sword against his shoulder impatiently. “Need me to shut these guys up?”

Mihawk

If you had asked a young Mihawk about love, he would have most certainly called you a fool for daring to think of such illogical things instead of focusing on one’s own strength and potential. While he had heard of the sentiments about love and soulmates before, he didn’t place much value into it. Love was a distraction from the training he could have done. Love was a waste of time. Love was just for weak-minded people who let themselves be vulnerable or gentle with another. Love wasn’t for people like him.

Which was why he was now trying to instill the opposite into his foolhardy protege, Zoro. Yes, yes, unfortunately, Mihawk was proven wrong from his earlier ways of thinking, and ever since then, he’s been doing his best to be a good man for you.

“I didn’t think a guy like you would have a partner…” Zoro would mumble.

“Of course I would. Do I not look like a suitable husband?” Mihawk replied as he was sipping his wine. “A marriage is only an aspect of your training and power.”

“How does cooking dinner help you train?” Zoro raised a brow, not believing a word.

“If you cannot handle a routine for even the most mundane and domestic of tasks, you cannot expect to be disciplined enough to train. If you think something like making your love a cup of tea or folding laundry is too hard or not worthy enough, you are not worthy enough to hold a sword.”

Zoro nodded, impressed by Mihawk’s reasoning (or maybe impressed at how you somehow made the world’s greatest swordsman so whipped and happy to make you dinner).

“Well, when you put it like that,” Zoro scratched his cheek, looking back at his mentor to see him staring at you longingly from the window. You and Perona were outside picking some of the vegetables at the garden, an activity you insisted upon doing despite Mihawk’s protests. You and the young lady were joking and laughing about something Perona said, and Mihawk sighed.

“Something wrong?” Zoro asked, unsure what Mihawk was thinking with his stoic appearance.

“No, not at all,” Mihawk shook his head, taking another sip.

“Then why did you sigh like that?” Zoro questioned. A smirk grew on Mihawk’s lips as he chuckled, continuing to look at you. You… you who were so special, who had become the apple of his eye, his strength, his joy, his passion.

“Oh, you wouldn’t understand it right now, my student,” Mihawk closed his eyes. “Fate is… it’s simply a humorous thing.”

Corazon

He always was a sensitive soul, despite his outer appearance and harsh exterior. But even as a child, Law could tell something was up with Corazon.

“Why are you always looking at them?” Law grumpily asked, folding his arms and raising a brow at his benefactor.

“Hm? At who?” Corazon dumbly responded, cigarette in his lips.

“You know who I mean! Don’t act stupid!” Law shouted. Corazon chuckled and exhaled the smoke.

“Sorry, gotta be more specific.”

Of course, Corazon knew who Law was referring to. It wasn’t like Corazon had hidden his affection for you, but that was for another time. You were something special, something that Corazon yearned for but could never have. Not when Doflamingo’s influence was so large and looming over his life. But even if Corazon himself could not love you so freely, he always did like to tell the young boy stories. Of course, Law, being a jaded little boy, had never really given thought to such things like “soulmates” or “souls knowing each other”. That was stupid and impossible.

Corazon liked to believe, though. It comforted him. It made him feel happy that, hey, even if this life perhaps didn’t work out for him and you, at least he had known you before. At least he was able to see you again. At least he got you in his life for a moment, even if it would end in nothing but heartache and pain. At he least, for just a bit, he got to see that smile, those eyes, and feel your hands over his.

It made his life a little less hard, a little less dull. The romanticism that despite Doffy meddling in his life, Corazon still had a chance with you, was meant to know and be with you… well, that was plenty enough for him. It made him happier, too, knowing Law was perhaps a soul he was acquainted with before. It made him feel like he was always going to be guaranteed love and kindness with you and Law, even if the world was unkind to him.

Yes, this new family he had found was perhaps where he belonged the most. With you and Law by his side, there was nothing more he could ask for.

Shanks

“You’re obsessed.”

“Am not!” Shanks yelled childishly at Beckman, before turning back to face the island they were planning on docking at soon. The wide smile on his face made it clear he was beyond excited to be there, and the other men chuckled.

“Don’t tell me you’re planning on running off to see em?” Yassop asked, knowing the answer.

“Oh, stop bugging about it! It’s just a little reunion with (Y/n), not anything crazy,” Shanks waved off. He breathed into his palm and winced at the smell of his breath. “Crap, does anyone have any mouthwash?”

“I don’t think anything can get that stench out. If they hadn’t run away cuz of your smell before, I think you’re good now!”

“Haha, very funny guys. Besides, it’s just between friends. Nothing weird.”

Of course, that was a bit of a fib, but who doesn’t tell little white lies? Surely he’d be forgiven for saying that by whomever was possibly in charge of making this happen?

Shanks, even with his overwhelming power and influence, did believe in superstition. It would be foolish not to, especially in such a dangerous world that a pirate inhabits. Sure, some of them were old wive’s tales from scared-straight sailors, but he did find them having some merit. He didn’t like to discount the seemingly impossible, not when it made even the most outlandish things possible.

He believed it was fate he got to meet Buggy and be a part of Roger’s crew. He believed it fate he met little Luffy in Foosha Village. He also believed it was fate he saved you that day. Some things just “made sense” like that to Shanks. It certainly made his life more interesting while also giving him a chance to bother you as always.

“Oh, come on, you can’t really kick out your soulmate, can you?” Shanks would tease.

“Soulmate?” You laugh. “Is this your attempt at proposing to me?”

“Hey, if you’d like it to be, I can absolutely make it happen,” Shanks replied, an earnest look in his eyes. You smile at him- crap, how do you always manage to make him ache and miss you? It’s gotta be fate, because no way could anyone have his heart in tight vice like this.

“Well… if you’re insisting, Captain,” you begin, smirking at him. “Why not take me with you? As your soulmate.”

Shanks’s eyes widened and the look on his face was a mixture of bewilderment and excitement.

“You know I can always make room for you,” he answered, trying to steady himself.

“Good. Although, we could share a room.”

“You drive a hard bargain, dear,” he chugs his rum. “Cheers to us!”

Law

Since he was a young boy, Law always tried to remain by himself. You couldn’t really trust anyone in a world of piracy and violence like that. Corazon, of course, always recommended otherwise. He even shared stories about a place where souls all were together.

It didn’t sound plausible or even remotely make sense. How would you even know if your soul was supposedly affiliated with someone?

It had been years since those days and the loss of Corazon, and even though he tried his hardest not to, Law still kept those stories in his mind. They were pointless and silly, but they were something Corazon believed wholeheartedly, even saying it was a miracle he got to meet a young Law. In some ways, Law felt somewhat similarly.

Love wasn’t for someone like Law. Too damaged, too cold, too logical, too afraid to ever let that feeling grow. It was how he stayed and remained for his life, and how he was planning on operating for the rest of time.

Until you, quite literally, crashed into him.

Jeez, you had to be a pest. Or a virus. Or a parasite. Something like that, but gosh, you were contagious. When you smiled, he found himself wanting to smile back. When you talked, he found himself thinking over every word you spoke in great detail. Maybe he was overthinking things, maybe when you said you were happy to have met him that was just you being friendly. Or something.

Almost always his mind drifted to you, feeling a certain way for you that he didn’t feel with the others in his crew or from the Straw Hats. You were different.

Perfect? Maybe. Definitely too good for someone like him, he’d think. But even with that self-loathing and apprehension, he found himself being drawn to you like a magnet.

Cora, if this is what you meant before…

Damn it, now he was letting things like soulmates and affinity cloud his judgment. He was a grown man, not a young boy, he didn’t need those silly delusions and ideas growing in his head and making him think he had a chance with you.

“Tora-o!” Luffy called. “Come here!!”

“No,” Law grumbled.

“Law,” you asked right after. “Do you mind helping me with this?”

“...yes,” he replied, stoically walking up to you to see what your problem was. Luffy gawked and pouted from the side, while a few of the others chuckled at Law.

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece oneshots #x reader #reader insert #benn beckman x reader #benn beckman #shanks x reader #shanks #law x reader #trafalgar law #trafalgar law x reader #dracule mihawk x reader #mihawk #mihawk x reader #sir crocodile x reader #crocodile x reader #crocodile #rosinante corazon #corazon x reader #rosinante x reader #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #buggy x reader #buggy the clown #op brook x reader #soul king brook x reader #soulmate au #roronoa zoro x reader #soul king brook

[ozzgin]

Hii I was wondering if u could do a yandere Kazuya x yn x yandere Daitou I’m not sure if u do character x yn x character tho

Yandere! Yakuza x Reader Spinoff

Two yakuza men who have fallen in love with their new foreign tenant. A what-if spinoff to the original story for that love triangle spice. Happy Valentine's Day!

Content: female reader, NSFW, organized crime, obsessive behavior, violence, BDSM themes (choking), threats

Credits: My boyfriend for giving me the Daitou smut idea

[Main Story] [General Headcanons]

Kazuya is sitting on the sidewalk, checking his watch occasionally and tapping his foot. The cigarette seems to have been forgotten, hanging lowly from his lips.

"Sorry I'm late." Daitou speedily makes his way towards his friend, smiling awkwardly.

"Where the fuck were you, man? We don't know how much time we have before the cops arrive."

"Uh uh, leave it to me." The cheeky grin doesn't leave his face as he pulls out his gun and carefully but swiftly inspects the barrel and safety one final time. "(Y/N) needed some help with the mailbox. I couldn't just say no, ya know?"

The blonde man's eyebrows raise for a second, but he quickly recollects himself.

"I see. That's good."

"She asked me to show her the area tomorrow, so I'll be working extra hard tonight. Hehe."

"That's good."

Daitou glances at Kazuya, somewhat wary.

"You okay?"

Stupid question. What's he supposed to answer? Yeah, he loves waiting like a dumbass while his friend flirts with the new tenant, who conveniently happens to be a cute foreigner, who's been unexpectedly nice and relaxed around them despite them explicitly stating they're part of the Japanese mafia. Fucking hell. It doesn't help that this idiot is as obvious as a blaring, blinding cluster of ads smack in the middle of Kabukicho. He can tell from miles away that Daitou's completely fallen for her. Just like that, in an instant.

They've been partners and best friends for years now, so the natural reaction would be happiness, right? Daitou has always been one scary motherfucker. Even the seniors scramble when he's in the room, let alone women. For him to find someone that isn't bothered the slightest by his appearance or background should be a celebratory occasion. Kazuya should be rooting for him. Except, well, he fell for you just as hard. Tough luck.

The Bushido moral code, often used as guidance within their own lifestyle, covers matters such as loyalty and honesty quite extensively. A true warrior remains fiercely faithful to his master or companions. And yet, love interests are more of a grey area, especially if they happen to overlap. Who dictates the proper etiquette for this dilemma? To whom is loyalty directed towards? Truth be told, Kazuya couldn’t care less. He’s always been a man of vice, impulsive and greedy. If he wants something, he takes it.

The trouble starts when the other person is of the same mindset. Two ferocious predators eyeing the same victim.

***

You fiddle next to the tall, dark-haired man. Similarly, Daitou is avoiding eye contact, looking around in hopes of finding something to focus on. It’s the first time he’s come over since the incident. After his little mission with Kazuya, he was tasked to “interrogate” some of the remaining members to get even more names for the hitlist. He’d completely forgotten about his promise to show you the neighborhood. Hands sticky with blood, he was in the middle of his signature act of benevolence, putting the lad out of his misery.

It was around that time you decided to be the one picking him up instead, for your grand tour. Your knocks on the door remained unheard, however, so you decided to politely make your way in.

“Sorry, I hope I’m not-”

You froze in place. A man (you assumed at least based on the few visible traits left), tied up on the chair, canvas bag roped around his head. Daitou’s hands were secured around his throat. In the few seconds of silence, you could hear a muffled wheezing, as the stranger’s chest heaved in short convulsions.

“-intruding.” You mumbled, regaining your speech.

He messed up, didn’t he? Daitou sighs and slicks his hair back. He can’t blame you if you’re now terrified of him. He had to come over for some tenant checkups and you’ve been maintaining a safe distance from him during his entire visit. What can he possibly tell you? “Hey, I know I threatened to chop you up and you’ve now witnessed firsthand I’m a legit murderer, but, uh…I have a crush on you? Dinner at seven?”

You’re terrified alright, but not of his deeds. Rather, your newly discovered perversion as a consequence of the gory scene. It’s not that you relished in the torment of another. It’s the other details that left you reminiscing. Daitou’s imposing frame, the unbuttoned shirt revealing his traditional tattoos glistening in beads of sweat, his flexed, brawny arms, and large hands. You’re scared of your shamelessness. It can’t be normal. Yet you can’t stop thinking about it. Just a glimpse into this memory and your cheeks become burning red.

“I’ll be on my way then”, the yakuza announces politely.

Though he immediately stops in his tracks, and you realize you’ve unconsciously grabbed onto his sleeve. Uh oh. What now? You mumble an apology without releasing your hold. Being this close to him makes your heart drum inside your chest.

To hell with it.

“I might say something terribly inappropriate right now, but…”

“Sorry?” He stares at you, dumbfounded.

“Do you have anything planned after this?” You ask quietly.

“N-no?”

“Would you mind staying over?”

“Huh? Sure…w-what for?” His mouth is dry, and he searches your eyes in confusion.

“You know…” Choke me until I pass out and such, you think to yourself sarcastically.

He turns to face you, lips pursed awkwardly.

“You’ll have to be clear with me, Miss (Y/N). I’m not good with all this tiptoeing around and I might get the wrong idea.”

Your ears perk up hearing his final words, a deep blush now spreading over your flustered features.

“What wrong idea?”

Daitou fidgets with his glass prosthetic nervously.

“Well, uh, a man can only dream, ya know? Especially around a cute girl like you.” He reveals with a stutter.

“Suppose I’d be willing to go along with anything on your mind. What then?” You twirl your hair, gazing shyly at the floor. Not even you can believe the audacity leaving your lips.

The tall man steps before you, towering above with a certain gleam in his eye. It’s yearning. Your knees weaken.

“Don’t tease me, please. I can hardly control myself around you as it is.”

You release his sleeve and instead cling onto his shirt with both hands, looking up through your lashes.

“I’m dead serious.”

He ponders his next move with a click of the tongue, then cups your cheeks between his hands and lowers himself until his hot breath tickles your nose.

“Are you? There’s no going back after this. Can you handle it?” His voice is suddenly deeper, raspier.

Before you can respond, you feel yourself lifted and you yelp, surprised, instinctively wrapping your limbs around the yakuza. In between the greedy kisses that leave your lips bruised and swollen, you don’t notice the movement back towards the seating area.

As you pull away to gasp for air, he throws you onto the couch, flipping you over in the process so that you’re kneeling away from him. Your nails dig into the soft fabric of the sofa. You hear Daitou unbuckle his belt and you squeeze your legs together, heavily aroused. He presses his palm gently into your back, arching it. You sense his fingers grazing over your core and you whimper.

“G-go on, please.” You beg, swaying your hips tentatively. “I really can’t wait anymore.”

“As you wish, Miss.” He reassures you with a grin.

He adjusts himself and carefully makes his way in. You don’t have time to enjoy the feeling; following almost instantly is his belt looped around your neck, tightening under his grip as he pulls the ends towards him. Your head is forced back, and you groan. You can hear the leather stretch and creak over your assaulted skin, the constriction briefly cutting your oxygen intake. Hot drool trickles down your chin and your eyes almost roll back in pleasure.

“Look at my little Miss (Y/N), taking it like a champion.” He bends over and bites your earlobe playfully. “Does that mean I can be as rough as I want?”

You nod erratically.

The grip around your throat intensifies and your vision becomes blurry.

“Hey, don’t pass out now.” He inserts two fingers in your mouth, pulling you by the cheek and tilting your head to look him in the eye. “Not before you show me that you understand your situation. You’re mine. Is that clear?”

He drags his fingers downwards, aiding your response as you struggle to contract your muscles.

“Attagirl.” He concludes, satisfied.

In the morning you wake up with a dreadful soreness, and you can quickly see why. Your body is peppered in bruises. Daitou is smoking by the window and promptly flicks his cigarette out once he realizes you’re no longer asleep.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” He begins, remorseful, and squats in front of the bed. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

“I will need a day or two to recover before the next time, but otherwise I’m fine.”

He beams with delight upon registering your words: next time. You can’t help but snicker at his childish enthusiasm. It’s a mystery how Daitou can switch between ruthless killer and cute partner with such ease.

Although it’s no secret, really. It’s you.

***

“Thanks for driving me home, Kazuya.”

You smile and unbuckle your seatbelt, reaching for the door handle. Daitou has been busy with work for the past days, so Kazuya took his place in looking after your needs.

“Huh?” You rattle the grab handle one more time to make sure. “It’s still locked.”

The blonde raps the wheel impatiently with his fingers. Is he to silently accept his loss? Does it even count as a loss when he hasn’t even had the chance to present his piece? Daitou has been quiet about it, but he can read that bastard like an open book. Something definitely happened between the two of you and the mere thought drives him insane.

Ah, this is so unlike him. There are few things he cares about. His pride, his Family’s honor, his freedom. Women aren’t exactly on that list, yet somehow, you’ve snuck your way to the very top of priorities and he’s realizing it just now. It’s becoming harder to ignore his maddening urge to have you. Out of all the things…He’d give Daitou the world. But not you. He can’t. He can’t.

“Kazuya? Are you listening? You forgot to unlock the door.”

“Say, (Y/N) …ever fucked in a car before?”

“What?” You ask, baffled.

“Come here for a moment.” He swiftly slides his seat all the way back and pats his thigh.

“Are you out of your mind?”

He answers your inquiry by pulling out his handgun and lazily pointing it towards you.

“I’m only going to ask once.”

You clumsily climb over the center console, straddling the yakuza with a slight pout.

“Someone’s in a sour mood, that’s for sure”, you complain. “It’s not even loaded.”

“Even I’m not crazy enough to risk shooting my Princess.” He smiles apologetically, throwing the gun on the backseat. “I thought it’d be more threatening that way.”

He removes a strand of hair from your face, gazing at you intently. His hand lingers for a second, before sliding its way down, tracing the side of your body. You shiver.

“Can you truly blame me when there’s such a pretty girl right before my eyes?” The blonde exhales and focuses on your shirt instead. “Won’t you let me prove myself?”

From this distance, despite the dim lights, you can discern his features in agonizing detail. His long lashes, his fleshy lips, currently parted, the luscious locks of hair casually thrown back. Kazuya has always been effortlessly handsome. It’s not just his good looks, but his overflowing charisma. He always knows exactly what to say and do. A devilish power to have over people, and you’re presently his victim.

His slender fingers play with your first button and cheekily undo it. You can only observe it, entranced. Your legs are weak, and your arms are stuck in place, resting limply over his broad shoulders.

“May I?” He glances up at you with a pleading expression. “I won’t be able to hold back afterwards.”

You bite your lower lip, distracted. Whether or not this is a wise choice, you can’t currently tell. You squirm in his lap and suddenly feel the pressure coming from below.

“Go ahead.” You finally confess.

He doesn’t hesitate and slithers his hand underneath your shirt, popping the rest of the buttons open. Like a hungry animal that has stumbled upon a feast, he sinks his teeth into your neck, leaving mean, wet kisses on his way down.

One hand is greedily kneading your curves, encouraged by your soft whimpers, while the other strokes your thigh in anticipation. With a bit of readjustment, he finds the right spot between your trembling legs. You jolt at the sensation of his cold fingers.

“My, you’re already dripping. How lewd.” He whispers between breaths. “Do you want it now?”

He nonchalantly slips out and undoes his own pants. You lift yourself expectantly and let a moan escape your lips upon feeling the erection throbbing right below.

“Well then, can’t forget our manners, can we?” He announces, visibly excited. “What should I do?”

You glare at him, feverish.

“Stop teasing me.”

“Come on, be a good girl. Tell me what to do and I will do it, Love.”

Why, this…You lower yourself to his ear and answer in a lulled whine.

“Isn’t it obvious? I want you to fuck me.”

Words enough to send the blonde man over the edge. He abruptly clutches your thighs for support, easing himself in before continuing with increasingly aggressive thrusts. Husky whimpers roll out of his mouth, desperate and starved.

“Oh, I’ve waited so long for this. My darling, perfect little (Y/N).” He presses his forehead into your chest, indulging in the moment. “Now say that you’re mine. Please. Please say it.”

“I’m…ah…I’m all yours, Kazuya.” You manage to blurt out, growing dizzy.

“That’s my girl. Such a good girl.”

Once the deed is finished, you flop your head over his chest, trying to catch your breath. Kazuya smoothens your clothes meticulously, holding you with one arm for support. Can’t leave a lady all disheveled, after all.

“Won’t Daitou be upset?” You point out, somewhat anxiously.

His muscles are tense for a second and he furrows his brows.

“That’s one strange way to thank me for making you come at least twice. Mentioning another man’s name.”

“I’m just…” your words trail off.

“What? Worried? You think I can’t handle it or something?”

Far from the truth. Both Kazuya and Daitou are violent, dangerous men. Given their stubbornness, you’re rather certain they’d end up killing each other. Not your favorite outcome.

“I don’t want either of you to get hurt.”

He sighs loudly.

“I’ll tell you what. Under normal circumstances, I’d probably dismember whoever had the guts to even entertain the idea of meddling with you. But…just because it’s Daitou, I might be willing to share. Nothing more than that.”

Kazuya ruffles your hair and chuckles.

“Aren’t you glad I’m such a diplomat, Love?”

“More like batshit crazy, both of you.” You retort, stretching.

#yandere yakuza #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #male yandere x reader #yakuza x reader #mafia x reader #yandere mafia #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere smut #yandere fic #male yandere #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc #oc x reader #yandere original character #original work #smut

[almostwisegalaxy]

My insecure boy

Cha hyun su x reader

The night grenn home was demolished by the army and hyun su lost his memory, you chose to flee, abandoning your friends and HIM. It wasn't your choice. He advised you to leave because he believed that if you stayed with the others you'd be killed. So he packed you a bag, all the food he could find and some weapons.

"I don't know who you are anymore, but I feel you're dear to me. I promise I'll find you later, but right now you've got to get away from here.

"But what about the others? I can't leave them like this, they're waiting for us."

"If we all stay together, do you really think we'll survive? We're running out of time. Leave before the building is demolished"

So you ran away at his request, really hoping to find him later.

D+345 after monsterserification

Pov de hyun su

after yi-kyeong transformed

Eun-yoo followed her friend's monster. He had told her he was there to find the person for whom hyun su refused to succumb to monsterserification.

"If hyun su knew where she was all the time, why didn't he go and meet her sooner?"

"She's fragile right now. He thinks that by protecting her from afar, she'll be safer and more at peace".

They continued forward, chatting. Arriving in a valley far from "the city", Eun-yoo wanted to know more about this mysterious person, and frankly, the monster was getting fed up.

He raised his head to eunyoo's level and spoke to her about the spell that had created such tension when they were both in the building.

"Why are you taking so long to find out who this person is? Does knowing that he cherishes and protects this girl more than you does make your miserable human blood boil inside you? "

"No, I don't know what you're talking about." she said defensively.

"Oh, so I'm wrong. Am I also wrong that you wanted to cuddle him from the moment you saw him, that if he'd really been talking so boldly to you in that room, you'd have jumped on him? "

An argument broke out between the two. But the instant his gaze fell on her, hyun su's eyes changed from blue to their original color. It only took one look to regain possession of her body.

"She's... She gave birth..."

He knew she was carrying their children, but not that she'd given birth yet.

At that moment he hadn't listened to eun-yoo for a while. With his heart pounding, he ran to her and embraced her. But when she met the sound of his footsteps on the grass, he stopped dead in his tracks. All kinds of ideas came to mind

Will she be angry with me for leaving her all this time?

What if she doesn't want me anymore?

What if she rejected me?

What if she didn't want me around the baby? OUR child

I listened to her call me so many times, but I didn't come.

It was her voice that snapped me out of my reverie

"Hyun su? Is that you? "

Without missing a beat, he hugged her warmly, and she hugged him back. His doubts evolved.

"I'm sorry I didn't come earlier. I don't have any. I left you alone for so long to fend for yourself, I thought it was for the best but-"

"Chute, it's okay. Better late than never, right? "

They exchange a soft, passionate, loving kiss. Only the baby's chirping on his beloved's breast could stop them. Together they enter the little hut that serves as y/n's roof. The hut soon becomes their home

Yes, eun-yoo was forgotten.

#sweet home x reader #sweet home imagines #sweet home #cha hyun su #cha hyun su x reader #sweet home scenario #song kang #song kang x reader #kdrama fic #kdrama

[janaispunk]

no one has to know what we do

chapter 2 • series masterlist

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

summary: Try as you might, Dave and you can’t stay away from each other.

word count: 4.4k

tags/warnings: explicit smut -> 18+ mdni, dbf!Dave, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, angst, daddy issues (reader’s dad sucks), able-bodied reader, reader has hair that Dave pulls, no use of y/n, divorced Dave, unprotected p in v, fingering, rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink, spanking, sooooo many pussy slaps (don’t look at us), pet names, let me know if anything is missing!

a/n: co-written with my love @joelscurls, who unfortunately couldn’t write this entire chapter the way we had originally planned, so you’re stuck with me again. if you notice that some parts are better written than others, those are most likely hers haha <3 this is lowkey my favorite thing that i’ve ever put out, and i hope you like it as much as i do 🤍

follow @joelscurlsupdates and @janaispunknotifs for updates and find jess’s masterlist here and my masterlist here :)

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

The phone feels like a paperweight in your hand. It’s late — you should be sleeping, but you know it’s useless to even attempt shutting your eyes. It’s too loud in your head right now — that promise of just one time blaring: a warning. Still, you can’t help but consider ignoring it, texting David and begging to see him again.

It’s probably a bit pathetic, yearning for a man who made it clear he wanted nothing to do with you beyond a one night stand. Daydreaming about the timbre of his voice, the stretch of his cock. Getting his phone number from your father, who’s none the wiser. Your father, who is asleep in his own room just down the hall. Being home for the summer has never felt like such a burden.

Guilt eats at you as your fingers hover over the screen, David’s contact front and center. It would be so easy to send him a text right now, let him know you’re thinking about him. About the other night. But your conscience reins you in. Your father’s face flashes behind your eyes — rage and disappointment painting his features scarlet, and you drop the phone beside you on the mattress with a huff.

It’s difficult to even imagine the inevitable severity of his reaction if he ever found out. He’d probably cut you off, the revelation of you whoring around with his friend — and the possibility of this news getting out, tarnishing your family’s pure reputation — more than enough for him to disown you.

You hate him sometimes. Hate the life he’s forced onto you. You’re not even interested in studying law — not really. You never had a choice, though. It was determined before you even graduated high school that you’d follow in your dad’s footsteps. And as long as he’s funding your studies, your future, you have no right to complain. This is the life you should want. The life everyone wants. He reminds you of that fact regularly. Him, and his countless snooty club buddies.

But David — David is refreshing.

He doesn’t come from old money. He doesn’t pinch your cheeks and talk around you rather than to you, declarations of you must be so proud aimed at your father as you stand awkwardly to the side. You’re pretty sure he’s the first person outside of your professors to really look at you, take interest in anything you have to say in… god knows how long.

You can still feel his eyes boring into you. The subtle but tactful brush of his leg against yours under the table. The exhilaration that had thrummed in your veins. He’d made you feel something. You’d almost forgotten you could feel anything apart from stress and agitation. And as you lay in bed, mind swimming with arousal and impending remorse, you fear you may not be able to control yourself much longer, consequences be damned.

He’s not expecting you to reach out.

Why would you? You’d mutually agreed on that night in his car being a one time thing — just a hookup; something he would’ve done before meeting Carol. Something he should probably be doing more often now. Except you’ve somehow sunk your teeth in him, injected him with a sort of venom.

Because all he can think about is seeing you again.

It’s wrong — beyond wrong. You’re so young; still in college, for christ sake. He never met you before the other night, but he’d been stationed overseas with your father when your mother was pregnant with you. He still remembers reading the letters she’d sent in care packages over his shoulder, the ones detailing her symptoms, what foods she was craving.

Strawberries. She always wanted strawberries. Maybe that’s why you’re so sweet.

He’s never been with a woman like you; never had someone trust him with so much vigor. Your needy little pleas, your vehement obedience, your desperation to take all of him in the driver’s seat of his car — you are nothing short of intoxicating.

Still, he tells himself you’re off limits. Trudges through the days that follow with the thought of you bouncing in his lap fogging his head. Struggles to focus at work and recovers in an increasingly poor manner when called on in meetings.

And then, late on a Friday night, you text him.

He only knows it’s you because you tell him so — your full name flashing across the screen followed by an apology for messaging him so late. You say you’re out with friends, and he’d probably have guessed anyway by the typos littering your sentences.

Seconds after the first, another text comes through:

[1:23am] csnt stop thinking about u. pls see me again i promise i won’t twll anyone

Fuck. Fuck.

His muscles tense; his cock twitches in his boxers. And before he does something stupid, like responds, he sets the phone face down on his bedside table. Stalks off to the bathroom with the intention of taking an icy-cold shower, detoxing himself best he can.

He hasn’t even closed the door yet when he hears it ring.

The rhythmic jingle drones through his studio apartment, and he all but leaps at the noise. Sure enough, it's you, calling him drunk in the middle of the night.

His head swims. He presses ‘answer’ anyway.

“David?” Your voice sounds so sugary-sweet, cloying with innocence. He can hear people in the background, maybe your friends, talking about getting another round of drinks.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” he asks first. You tell him yes; say you're waiting on a rideshare.

He exhales. And even though hearing you is making him dizzy with a fucked up sort of desire, echoes of your pleasured sounds ringing in his ears, he manages to maintain composure when you say, “can I please come over?”

“Don't think that's the best idea,” he mutters. The lack of conviction in his words would likely be painfully obvious if you weren't intoxicated. But you are, and you whine through the receiver at his rejection.

Dave fights to ignore the increasing stiffness in his boxers.

“Please,” you beg. Fuck, he loves the way you sound when you beg. “I just got off the phone with my dad…he doesn't want me coming home so drunk; said he's working on a case and I’ll be a nuisance.”

His heart breaks for you. For the girl who just wants a father who loves her, who sees her as a person with feelings. Dave can't imagine ever treating his daughters this way. Would never dream of it.

“C-can I?” your voice sounds through the speaker again — softer, less sure. Like you've prepared yourself already for the blow of him rejecting you too.

“Can't– can’t you stay with one of your friends?”

You sigh, defeated. “I want to stay with you.”

It’s not that he doesn’t want to. God, it would be so easy to say yes. To go and pick you up from the bar himself, bring you back to his place. Help you sober up a bit and fuck you until you can't take it anymore. But he can’t; he shouldn't even be speaking to you right now. He needs to cut this off. Needs to make it clear to you that you can't reach out to him again.

“You– we can’t.” He’s stern, direct. It pains him. “The other night shouldn’t have happened.” True, though he doesn’t regret it. Not one bit.

You’re quiet on the other end of the line for a second too long. When you finally do speak again, your voice breaks.

“You don’t like me?”

He’s going to tell you that of course that’s not it, that he’s been thinking about you constantly, that he wishes he could get you out of his fucking head. But he doesn’t get the chance. Because your friends are laughing boisterously around you, then, sounds growing more and more muffled through the speaker, and you’re telling him rather unceremoniously that you have to go.

The call disconnects with a beep.

You wake the following morning with a dizzying headache, daylight burning a hole between your eyes. With your friend still soundly asleep, you slip out of her room and then her apartment; find yourself home just as your father is getting ready to leave for work.

His travel mug sits on the entrance table as he pulls his shoes on, and you're immediately met with the smells of coffee and his leathery cologne.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” he mutters as he grabs his briefcase. You don't dare look him in the eyes, lest you be met with their disapproving stare.

“Hi,” you reply, small and non confrontational. When he doesn't answer, you continue past him, begin your ascent up the stairs toward your room.

“Not very appropriate for a young professional, going out and getting wasted. Your future employer could've been there. Could've seen you acting like an imbecile.”

Annoyance furls behind your temples; makes the pounding in your head grow tenfold.

“Well then they probably won't be my future employer,” you snip.

“Probably not.”

You hear the front door close behind you and, with an agitated sigh, drag your feet the rest of the way up the stairs. You fall onto the covers of your bed, well aware that you should probably shower, but your body feels too heavy, in no way ready to move again just yet.

When you pull out your phone, ready for some mindless scrolling to numb your thoughts for a while, you’re met with a notification that sends your heart racing.

Have fun last night?

From David, sent five minutes ago.

You hastily scroll up, reading your own texts from last night, full of typos and barely coherent. csnt stop thinking about u. Your head falls back with a groan. You had gone out to forget about him, not to drunkenly confess your feelings to him in the middle of the night.

Now that you’re thinking about it, you also vaguely recall speaking to him. You tap on your call log and sure enough, there’s his name, only minutes after you texted him. You have no idea what you might have said to him, only a blurry memory of being upset about something. Great, this is great.

Sighing deeply, you go back to messages.

i was very drunk. sorry for bothering you

His reply comes almost instantly.

Who said you bothered me?

You’ve only met him once, and yet you can picture his smirk as if you’ve seen it a thousand times.

Dave is sipping his coffee, black, no sugar, and listens to Jim going over his plans for the both of them going golfing next weekend, humming occasionally.

It pains him, looking at the man in front of him, while your voice from last night is still ringing through his head. How hurt you sounded, looking for a place to stay, not being welcome in your own home.

When Jim stands up to leave for work, he remains seated, gesturing towards his half eaten bagel, but assuring the other man that he doesn’t have to wait for him.

You still haven’t left his thoughts. If anything, the longing he feels for you has gotten worse since you told him how much you want to see him again. And he’s so tired of denying himself the one thing he really wants.

He’s patient, chipping away at the bagel until he sees your father’s gray Dodge peel out of the parking lot. And then he gives it another 10 minutes, just to be safe.

Come join me for coffee? I’m downtown at Roasted Beans.

You respond moments later — such an obedient little thing, you are — letting him know you’ll be there shortly. He finishes off his drink, discards the cup along with the bagel wrapper, and orders two fresh coffees.

He sees you before you see him. Eyes wide, lips parted ever so slightly, you look so cute as you scan the cafe. You’re wearing a sundress, the blue fabric dancing around your thighs with every turn of your body, and Dave finds himself entranced by you.

You smile when you finally catch sight of him, your entire face lighting up and he smiles back without a second thought.

You shouldn’t meet him again. You really, really shouldn’t. But the conversation with your father this morning keeps replaying in your head, the disapproval weighing heavy on you, the feeling of being unable to do anything right.

You long for someone to look at you without judgment, for the sound of good girl against your skin. You long for David.

After last night and the fact that he obviously didn’t invite you over, you had thought that for him, maybe it really had been a just one time thing. Like you both had agreed on multiple times.

But then he’d texted you again, asking you to meet him. It’s almost embarrassing, how quickly you got ready, eager to see him again, despite knowing better.

On the drive over, you run through countless discussions in your head, trying to decide what you’re going to say to him. You have to be reasonable. There’s too much at stake. David is a mistake that you wouldn’t be able to come back from. You’re just going to meet him because he asked you to, because that’s the nice thing to do. It’ll just be coffee, nothing more.

Your resolve crumbles as soon as you see him. His eyes are already on you, their expression so full of want that it makes you ache. You walk over, feigning confidence as you slide onto the chair next to his, a quiet greeting on your lips. The deep, smooth sound of his voice when he returns it is enough to make you melt.

He has already ordered for you. It’s a small thing, rationally, but it’s once again more care, more attention than you’re used to. Warmth is spreading through your chest, but you try steeling yourself, forcing out the words that you’ve prepared to say.

“Listen, I want to apologize about last night. I shouldn’t have– I wasn’t thinking straight, I’m sorry for bothering–”

“Hey, sweetheart.” He interrupts your nervous stuttering, his hand gently wrapping around yours on the table. “I already told you that you didn’t bother me. If anything–” He sighs, his grip tightening. “I’m the one who’s sorry, you were looking for somewhere to stay, I shouldn’t have turned you down like that.”

It breaks Dave’s heart, seeing how you’re making yourself smaller, how ready you seem for him to scold you. Your quiet You don’t like me? still echoes in his mind. How your own father didn’t care where his daughter spent the night, as long as she didn’t come home. Didn’t bother him.

He clocked the way your eyes widened in surprise at the coffee that he got you, how you huff a relieved breath when he assures you again that he’s not annoyed with you. You’re so sweet, so deserving of being loved and cared for, and he so desperately wants to be the person who does that for you.

He felt the same pull from that night towards you as soon as he laid eyes on you again, and it’s only gotten worse, now that you’re right next to him, now that he’s touching the soft surface of your hand. He vividly remembers how your skin felt under his fingertips, how you writhed against him.

The urge to get just a taste of that again becomes overwhelming. He holds your gaze as his fingers start gliding over your thighs under the table, inching towards the hem of your dress. Your lips part, the softest whimper escaping your throat at his touch.

He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t be touching you like this, shouldn’t be thinking about you like this. Can’t stop thinking about you. I want to stay with you. How is he supposed to keep away, to stop himself, when you come to him so willingly, so desperate to be wanted?

“David?” Fuck, he loves that you call him that. “Will you take me home with you? Please?”

He can tell that you’re scared to ask, bracing yourself to be rejected again. He’s not nearly as strong as you think he is.

“Yes. Come on.”

He pulls you to your feet and out of the door before either of you have the chance to change your minds.

He’s a bad man, shouldn’t be getting off on having total control over you like this. He’s probably sick; should see that shrink Carol recommended a couple months ago after the divorce was officially finalized. But the way you’re looking at him — with the same big-eyed, doleful stare you’d given him that first night — tells him you want this. Need this, even. You long to relinquish control to someone other than your hawkish father.

So pliant in his lap, limbs all gooey and relaxed under his touch, it’s clear that you trust him. Maybe more than he trusts himself.

You’re spread out on his couch, clothes hastily discarded as soon as the both of you stumbled over the threshold, already entangled in each other. He’s led you to the living room, the thought of fucking you in his bed, of your presence lingering there, your scent permeating his sheets, the last invisible line that he’s determined not to cross.

He has been toying with your body, collected your wrists in a hold over your head and told you to keep them there while he flicked and tugged on your nipples, sucked marks into your skin while you writhed underneath him.

He’s taking it slow, now that you’re here with him, now that he has the time to thoroughly break you down and put you back together again.

You’re already soaked when he sinks a finger into you, your tight walls clenching around him immediately. You coo up at him — a needy little noise that has his resolve disintegrating in seconds flat — and you look relieved when his hand loosely wraps around your throat.

“Please,” you whisper then, and he tuts.

“You want me to take care of you?”

You nod.

“Then you take what I give you. No begging. Do I make myself clear?”

Another noise — this one smaller, stuck in your throat — and he’s pulling his finger out of you again, lips curling into a cruel smile.

He doesn’t give you any time to prepare before the first slap lands on your already-throbbing clit. You can’t help but shriek. In response, he tightens the grip on your throat slightly. Gives three more stinging smacks in quick succession. Dave almost doesn’t notice when your eyes begin to roll back. He does notice, however, when your hips begin to roll upward, your body chasing his hand.

“Oh, such a good girl you are,” he praises.

Slap.

“You love this, don’t you?”

“Mhm,” you moan, garbled and a little breathless.

Slap.

“Pathetic little girl. Bet you could come just from this, you’re so desperate. Couldn’t you?”

You gasp.

Slap.

“Answer me,” Dave demands. “Or I’ll stop.”

It’s almost comical how quickly you sputter the word yes, eyes desperately pleading with him to keep going. And he’s almost shocked just how badly you needed this. In this moment, any guilt he’d been feeling is replaced with the desperate desire to give you exactly what you crave.

He slaps you again, a little harder this time, and you wail. Your legs are trembling, but you make no move to close them, keeping yourself spread wide open and accessible for him.

He’s throbbing, fighting the urge to sink his cock into your tight heat, but he wants, needs to know how far he can push you. How far you’ll go for him.

You’re dripping onto his cushions and he collects some of your slick with his fingers, rubs them against your clit. Your skin is burning under his fingertips. He teases the oversensitive nub with gentle touches, relishes in the way your eyes are glued to his face, the way your lips are trembling as you’re silently pleading with him.

No words are escaping you, and you’re so good, making him so proud with how you’re following his commands.

He slaps your clit again, and again, and again, until you’re a babbling mess, your throat constricting against his grip and your back arching as you come with a cry. Wetness floods out of you and you’re shuddering in his hold, broken whimpers of his name falling from your lips.

He watches with sick fascination, almost unable to believe that he drove you to this point. How much you enjoy being treated like this. That you’re just as twisted as he is.

When you come down, your arms weakly reach for him and he scoops you up, pulls you into his lap until your face is nuzzled into his neck.

“Good girl,” he coos, gently stroking your hair, “you did so good.”

He gives you a few moments to rest, tracing shapes across your back, until his fingers dip deeper, gliding over your ass and between your spread legs, where you’re still so fucking wet.

You squirm under his touch, needy little sounds traveling up to his ears once more. “Please,” you whisper.

One hand grabs into your hair, pulling your head back until he can see your face. You look wrecked. Pupils blown wide, your eyes wet with tears, but what really gets him is the way you look at him. He had worried, for a second, that he might have been too rough, but there’s only pure trust and longing in your eyes.

“I thought I told you no begging.”

You bite your lip, furrow your brow in that adorable way of yours. “I’m sorry. It just– it all feels so good.”

He presses his thumb down on your bottom lip, releasing it from your teeth.

“I know it does, sweetheart. You need more?”

You nod quietly, your eyes wide and pleading.

“Alright then.” He turns you over so quickly that you gasp, scrambling for a second to get your bearings. You’re on all fours, your legs still spread, your ass on display for him.

He had wanted to prepare you a little more, to give you several of his fingers first before he stretches you out on his cock, but he can’t possibly hold back any longer. Judging from the loud moan that you let out, he thinks that you like the sting of him sinking into you unprepared.

It’s even better than he remembers, your slick walls engulfing him so tightly. He starts pounding into you, the depth of his thrusts jolting your body forward and forcing more sounds from you.

He wants you to still feel him tomorrow, wants you to remember him, wants to stake a claim that he knows he doesn’t have. He groans your name, his fingers digging into your hips, greedy for every part of you that he can reach.

Perfect, you’re so fucking perfect, giving yourself to him like this.

“Come on,” he growls, reaching down to find your clit again, rubbing in tight circles. “Give me another one.”

You cry out, pushing back against him. So fucking eager. He lands two quick slaps on your ass and you fall apart, trembling wildly as your walls pulse around him and you scream out his name.

He can’t hold himself back any more and follows you over the edge, pumping into you once more and holding your hips pressed against his.

You both collapse down onto his couch, a mess of tangled, sweaty limbs and quick breaths. You curl your body into his and he presses kisses against your cheeks, your temples, your lips.

Slowly, as he’s coming back to his senses, the guilt settles in.

He lets go of you much too quickly, stands up and starts getting dressed quietly. You watch him for a moment, wracking your mind for something to say, before he looks at you.

“Get dressed. I’ll drive you home.”

He sounds cold, distant. So different from the man who just took you to heights that you didn’t know existed until now. You suppress a shiver and get up hastily. Suddenly, being naked around him feels much too exposed, too vulnerable for your liking.

You pull your dress over your head and slide your shoes back on, but one crucial item is missing.

“Did– did you see my underwear?” you force yourself to ask. He shakes his head, not gracing you with a verbal answer.

Eventually, you give up the search and follow him down the stairs and into his car. The silence grows, until its weight is pressing down, almost suffocating you. You steal glances at him, but his eyes are fixed on the road, staring straight ahead, never wavering. A muscle in his jaw is ticking.

The mix of his spend and yours is pooling between your legs, but it makes you feel dirty now. You force down the lump that’s building in your throat.

When he stops in front of your house, you scramble out of the car without a word. You don’t know what would be worse, if he said goodbye like nothing was wrong or if he remained silent. You don’t want to find out.

It’s late in the evening, you’re lying on your bed, eyelids squeezed shut, willing sleep to finally overtake you. Thoughts keep spiraling through your head, so many questions that you have no answers to.

He asked you to meet up, for fuck’s sake. You don’t understand why he’s treating you like this, but you’re determined to not let it happen again. Just two times, you think with a bitter scoff.

Your phone vibrates on your bedside table, indicating a new message.

[11:55pm] I can’t stop thinking about you either.

Attached is a photo. A photo of a familiar lacy scrap of fabric, grasped in his hand and covered in milky white cum.

It’s filthy, and wrong, and you feel yourself getting obscenely wet at the thought of him touching himself with your missing panties clutched between his fingers.

Maybe just one more time.

thank you for reading 🤍 if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask, it truly makes my day every single time!

#janas fics #fic: wildest dreams #dave york x reader #dave york #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #dave york fanfiction #dave york smut #dave york x you #dave york x female reader #dave york x f!reader #pedrostories

[neil-gaiman]

hi neil! me again. won't be asking you for friend of dorothy origin sources this time promise. i also saw your talks at slu w a friend but they seem to have lost my question card so ill try here!

as someone whomst ppl seem incapable of being normal about, either worshipping the ground you walk on or despising you w a level of vitriol that seems disproportionate to your flaws, what advice do you have for aspiring writers who themselves might garner similar audiences on how to navigate intense parasocial relationships?

I guess the biggest piece of advice I have is it's only Chinatown. And for Chinatown, you can substitute Twitter or Tumblr or whatever.

I remember about seven years ago watching a post I'd made on Twitter turning into a dogpile. And it was particularly weird because in order for people to get upset enough to dogpile they had to pretend I meant something that I obviously didn't by it. And there were lots of people in the dogpile going "well, it would be rational not to take this absolutely literally but we now need to get shouty" and I was about to get very upset when my newish baby flipped himself onto his back for the very first time. And the Twitter nonsense became very trivial. And a day or two later it was forgotten.

There are people who have a relationship of some kind with someone they think I am, and those people don't really know me. And they aren't really part of my life. Whether they hate me or they love me. My friends are and my family are.

Or to put it another way, I remember a decade ago posting on Twitter that I was lonely. I had gone off on my own to write and I hadn't seen anyone in a few weeks. Someone replied incredulous that I could be lonely with hundreds of thousands of people following me and replying on Twitter, and I replied asking if anyone could bring me a cup of tea. But nobody did.

Nobody will.

And that's okay.

(And that's not to diminish actual relationships where you haven't met the person you are talking to in the flesh. But it's also, as the many catfish scams demonstrate, also not always the relationship you think you are in.)

[rosemaze-reveries]

During an interview, the manor guests suddenly get a question about you. (Part 2)

hello hello! here is part 2 as promised. there are less characters than I hoped to write, but in exchange each blurb is a little longer than pt.1 !

part 1 can be found here

🦌🪼🤡🦎🪞🤕🕯️🎭

Q. Could you describe your relationship with (Y/N)?

🦌 Bane rubs his chin, tracing his memory. "Hm... Indeed, I'm familiar with that name. I'd suppose that's someone I knew when I worked for the DeRosses." He crosses his arms with a low, contemplative grunt, as if struggling to remember anything else. "I'd need a photograph." I happen to have a couple on hand, and he takes them gently. A long period of silence follows. After leafing through the photos for some time, he says: "I remember. They were always talking about marriage." With you? "Mm. I was never interested, but I never said no. Eventually I made them a ring from a scrap of iron. I hoped they'd stop visiting me if I satisfied them... It's too dangerous to come to the forest everyday." Then he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a ring of his own. "In exchange, they gave one back." He's been cherishing it all this time, even when he'd forgotten its origin.

🪼 Ivy - "I'm no stranger to feeling like I'm missing my other half, you know. That sense of loss is one of the only constants I have left. (Y/N) fills my emptiness, and without them it increases twofold." I open my mouth to ask, Do you think you could be soulmates? but then my eyes dart to the Yithian and I realize my mistake. Sorry, was that insensitive? Ivy is not amused with my implication that she might be interested in claiming (Y/N)'s soul. "My dear interviewer, I am a scholar, not a monster. Whatever you're insinuating, you're gravely mistaken."

🤡 Joker's face suddenly hardens, in spite of the fragile, twiddling-thumbs demeanor he'd shown me thus far. His hands ball into shaking fists and his lips purse, as if he's psyching himself up for a fight. Are you okay? I ask, preemptively guarding myself with my clipboard. Tears brim his eyes and the strength falls from his shoulders. He mutters out, "All I wanted was to be their sword and shield, their angel of light, and they left me out of my mind. Hahaha... Wanna know the biggest joke of all? I'd let them drive me crazy all over again."

🦎 Luchino's mouth stretches into a lazy grin. "That one's a cutie, eh? Had the pleasure of meeting them yet?" I shake my head, reminding him that (Y/N) is the focus of my current investigation. I guess his laidback attitude fooled me into saying too much. He promptly straightens his back, the smile fading. "Yeah... Yeah, from one researcher to another, I get the intrigue," he says. "But I can't say I fancy another guy using my love as a test subject."

🪞 Mary - "Do you take pleasure in nosing around a lady's private affairs? I'd expect more tact, even for an interviewer." The chill in her tone startles me. I sputter out something in my defense, but Mary huffs and waves me into silence. "(Y/N) is enjoying the privilege of being my right-hand. They're my favorite one so far, too. I dismissed the others without a second thought."

🤕 Naib - "On good terms." Wringing out any insightful answers from this man is tougher than I thought. In hopes of inspiring more of a reaction, I tell a small lie: When I interviewed (Y/N), they described a rather colorful affection for you... Almost immediately, Naib breaks eye contact and crosses his arms. But I still only get a guttural "Hm." in response. Can you confirm if this is true? I press. His answer is, once again, a curt "Hm." (Slightly more affirmative, I would say).

🕯️ Philippe - "My work has always stood as a testament to my love," he caresses the wax figure grafted onto his shoulder, "but shielding someone in life is a far greater challenge than honoring my losses. My worries are endless." Suddenly reminded of his sister's tragedy, I offer a sympathetic smile. Do you believe (Y/N) is in danger? Philippe returns my smile, though I can't make out the intent. "Of course. Evil lurks around every corner. At the very least, it won't reach them while I'm around."

🎭 Sangria - A fond smile graces her face as she recounts her memory. "It was clear to me after some time that I had disastrously entranced them." Then she adds, lightly, "I hadn't meant to, of course. At the time, I thought, I'm not looking for love—no, I'd had enough of it all—but soon, their smile would appear in my mind every time I sang. When someone gives you that much inspiration? You'd be a fool to let them go." She has a playful tone of voice, but I can tell (Y/N) means a great deal to her.

#SORRY FOR THE DELAY 😭 did not mean to disappear for a month oml #identity v #idv x reader #identity v x reader #bane perez x reader #ivy x reader #joker x reader #luchino diruse x reader #mary x reader #naib subedar x reader #philippe x reader #sangria x reader #idv imagines

[tarjapearce]

Iridiscent (Pt.2)

PirateAU!Miguel x Mermaid!Reader

WARNINGS: Angst, Historical Figure use, mild sexual situations, a dash of history inaccurracy just for the sake of the plot, implied mysticism, character origins, mourning and grief, mentions of slavery.

Summary: The origins of The Red Eyed Demon.

Pt. 3

I apologize in adavance if this one is a bit too boring or too difficult to read, they'll meet ;) I promise <;3 . Hope you like!

The incessant wailing of a toddler echoed through the barns of the sugar cane plantation. English man with wide eyes as he held a knife, looking how the olive skinned woman flailed like a fish out of water, gaping her mouth open as blood flooded her airways.

Air stagnant in iron, horse shit and sweat. Each odor fighting to see who was the stronger one in the secluded area. The man dropped the knife as he tried to dress his lower parts as quickly as he could. His wide and horrified sight settled in the woman that, despite having her life slipping through the deep wounds, tried to reach for the crying toddler.

The woman choked as the tiny human hiccuped watching his mama.

Everything went still.

"Conchata!" the man panicked when the true commanding voice of Hacienda De La Vega, called for the woman that laid before him, lifeless.

He was the foreman, and of course he would have authority above everything that breathed under his command, even the owner's favorite plaything. Conchata.

The woman was beautiful, cinnamon skin, dark ravenous hair that reached to her waist, pouty lips, strong nose, high cheek bones, eyes that could kill with a single look as they were a deep shade of red, almost mahogany, hooded under thick brows, a plump hourglass figure that had captured almost immediately the owner's attention as she came down the slave shipment he just had acquired in Veracruz, México, long ago. A rare gem among coal and stones that had given birth to a bastard child.

And now, she was gone, dead on the floor after trying to retaliate the big english man that was trying to force himself on her as she was attending her duties in the barn. Anger took over him as she denied him multiple times with a plain disgusted expression on her sharp features.

"Conchata!" The owner, Guillermo de la Vega, called again, worry laced with anger in his voice. The forgotten infant looked at the door, as his tiny face contorted into a crying one.

"¿Dónde se habrá metido esa mujer?" (Where did that woman go?)

The foreman escaped. It took a couple of hours for the crime to be discovered. Guillermo could only look with heavy eyes as his lover was taken out, and thrown in the mass grave down the hill that was used to bury the ones that were too weak and sick to withstand life itself. After all, he had an image to uphold.

"Mi señor, ¿qué haréis con el infante?" (My lord, what must be done with the baby?)

Her spaniard accent thick as she spoke. The little boy resembling his mother raised little to no suspicions as to who was the father, was nested in her arms quietly.

The midwife asked as the little boy had cried himself to sleep. He was but two years old.

"Dáselo a una de las esclavas que lo cuide. De preferencia una que esté amamantado." (Give him to one of the slaves. Preferably one that is nursing.)

-----

The boy was now twelve years old, features a bit more prominent and the resemblance to his old love had settled in. Despite his age, the boy was tall and his face was already showing the hardships of life, frown on his brows as he dug yet another grave, this time wasn't for another slave that died under poor conditions, no.

Miguel had taken his bittersweet time in digging a grave comfortable enough for the person that perpetually rested next to him. Adia, an african slave that had nursed him to health, wiped his tears, consoled him the best she could at the hard, cold, lonely nights in the settlement. A woman that without a doubt had taken him in, and had turned into his mother. The only form of love he had known so far.

He had begged Guillermo to have her burried, De la Vega accepted with the condition that he would have to do it himself, since everyone was busy enough as it was in the sugar cane harvesting season. It had been hours since he was shoveling dirt. His tears watered the land. Adia had died out of malaria.

At everyone's sight, Miguel was trying to put his mother's body on the grave, but it was too heavy. He sobbed in frustration and kicked dirt. Cold realization hit harder than a whipping on his flesh, there would be no more sleeping stories, none to wait for him after helping in the fields, none to sing him to sleep when his nightamares frequented him at night, none that actually cared for him.

Two other men had been kind enough to help him as they tried to keep an eye for the foreman. One of them patted Miguel on the shoulder, a measly yet comforting gesture to show him compassion. Another form of love that was foreign to him. No words were needed.

Calloused, hard and shaky hands shoved dirt back, covering bit by bit the lifeless form of his mother. Oddly enough, the vocalizations of the men and women around that shared the same fate of slavery as him and origins of Adia, raised their voice in a foreign chant. A chant that promised a new start, in another life. Strangely enough; comforting, soothing to his aching little heart as he kept shoveling dirt back in it's place.

A forever farewell song.

----------

"¡Maldito hijo de puta!" (You son of a bitch!)

Miguel had rolled the loose leather handle of the weathered whip in his large hand and walloped his mother's killer with all his might, over and over again. The whip tore and ripped the feeble fabric of the supervisor's clothes to then tear viciously at his flesh, biting harder each time Miguel struck him down with it.

A gunshot resonated through the air, Miguel didn't stop.

"Golpeas a ese hombre una vez más, y el próximo en ser enterrado serás tú." (Strike that man one more time and you'll be the next one in being buried)

"¡Pues Hazlo! Pero primero lo mataré." (Then do it! But I'm killing him first)

Miguel's rage had consumed him, people just stared with horror at the damage he had done on the agonizing man. Eyes flashed red in anger, teeth baring as the overseer held his hands up in defense, a rather pathetic tactic to gain some sympathy from those witnessing his eventual fall.

Tall, yet lanky looking sixteen year old boy had whipped him real good, given him a taste of his own medicine. Some of the men in the back had been silently cheering on the boy

"No lo repetiré de nuevo, Miguel."(I won't repeat myself again, Miguel)

"¡Él mató a mi mamá! ¡Este maldito animal la mató!" (He killed my mother! This fucking animal killed her)

Tears were simmering in his eyes as he struck once more. No gunshot came. A bone shrilling cry snapped Guillermo out of his stupor. Glaring at the boy, he put the gun away and marched towards both.

"¿Qué acabas de decir?" (What did you just said?) His voice wasn't threatening, rather confused and surprised at Miguel's accusation.

"¡¿Qué no oyes?! ¡Este maldito bastardo mató a Conchata, mi madre. Mi verdadera madre! ( Are you deaf? This fucking bastard killed Conchata, my mother. My real mother!)

He didn't mean to insult or despise Adia's memory and efforts in his upbringing, but his origins was something he had always been denied no matter how much he cried for answers.

It all took one night to remain hidden as he watched one of the women being dragged away from the group by the overseer and had his fun with her, and not exactly in a willing way.

The rapist was admitting his crimes one by one as he thrusted harder into the poor girl, marveling at the fact that none had caught him so far. Not even Guillermo himself. He detailed how he killed them, but turned vicious as he explained how he ended the life of a certainslave that refused him because she was in love of his master, and even had a boy with him.

A bastard child.

The thought sparked a fire he thought long gone, and when his mother's killer was unaware the next day as he was polishing his shoes, his punishment begun.

Miguel had aimed to kill him, not caring if it took him hours. He cursed and spat at the man. Guillermo took him by the arms softly but he flinched at his touch.

De La Vega could only stare at him, a bit of himself on his features, strong jaw, his prominent height and frame were his doings. And so was the hatred Miguel looked back at him. His son had grown.

Guillermo turned around and left. A killer and a hero at sixteen.

--------

The sound of the canons blowing all he had known made him freeze in his spot. Bells rang more than his ears allowed to tolerate, people ran in all directions, trying to put themselves into safety.

Hacienda De La Vega was under attack.

"¡Aseguren las entradas! ¡No les permitan avanzar!" (Secure the entrances, do not allow them to advance!)

De la Vega barked orders as he shot a few pirates away from the walls.

Pirates.

A chill ran down Miguel's spine as he watched the men slaying the guards in their wake. Slaves, his friends, were all rounded up like cattle, as the rest of armed men shoot, killed, maimed, any foe on sight.

"Por Mundaca!"

He had been on his studies, something that Guillermo had insisted for him to partake in a few weeks later after the overseer was killed, despite the broken bond between them. He couldn't give Miguel properties and lands, but the least he could do was to give him the power of knowledge. His one and only gift towards him.

Everything happened in a blur. A ground shaking explosion had blown brick, stone and debris on Guillermo's position, erasing him from existence within a blink of an eye. Miguel's body was sent flying as another projectile impacted his study hall area. Glass and shrapnel cutting into his skin. Pain biting and screaming at his bones, he whimpered almost breathless as he tried to stand and go to a safer zone.

He passed out only to wake up being dragged down by a group of armed, tattooed and dangerous men. The captain, wore a black robe, big laced rimmed hat with a black large feather, a clear mockery to the Spaniards.

Fermín Antonio de Mundaca had attacked Hacienda De La Vega, thanks to the rumor that Guillermo bought the best slaves other privateers offered. And not only did he find that, but a rich property, women, spices and of course, Miguel.

Dark eyes fixed on the eighteen year old young man that had put some of his men to sleep despite being injured. Adrenaline pumping through his veins as he fought for his life.

"¡Alto!" (Stop)

Fermín barked as he sheathed his swords and marched towards a wobbly standing Miguel. Never in his life had seen someone this tall with spark.

"A este lo ponen a parte. Los demás van al fondo." (This one goes separately. The rest goes to the bottom)

An air knocking punch was the last thing Miguel felt before collapsing.

-------

Fermín was an outlaw accused of slave trafficking and commerce among other illicits by the Spaniards. By the time they had arrived to Cuba, his ship was one of the most expected by the pro-slavers settled in La Habana.

"¿Cuánto por él?" (How much is he?)

One of the buyers had asked as Miguel glared holes into the man.

"No se ve como los otros. ¿De dónde es?" (He doesn't look like the others, where is he from?)

"¿De dónde eres, muchacho?" (Where are you from, kid?)

Fermín asked in a serene tone, with curiosity in his eyes.

"De tu puta madre, cabrón" (Your fucking mother, you dipshit)

Fermín couldn't help but laugh merrily at his temper. The buyer gasped, horrified.

"Nacido y criado en alguna Hacienda española en Yucatán de seguro. No está a la venta." (Born and raised in a Spaniard estate for sure. He's not for sale)

Once the sale was over, Miguel was shackled and pulled to Fermín's headquarters. The ship once more sailing after restocking. The swaying movement made Miguel's stomach to churn. Fermín only chuckled as he removed his robe and hat.

Weathered face along some graying strands poking here and there and his trimmed yet irregular shaped beard. He was tall, but Miguel was taller.

"Not used to travel by ships?" Mundaca spoke in a chewed yet understandable english that had earned him what he possessed now. An unethical and morally questionable fortune born by the traffic and smuggling of lives.

Miguel frowned, confused at the sudden language switching.

"Te he preguntado si estás acostumbrado a viajar en barco. Pero, viendo lo pálido que estás, ya es una respuesta en sí misma." (I've asked you if are you used to travel by ship, but seeing how pale you are, it's already an answer itself.)

Mundaca served himself a cup of tea, to then sip it and smiling, relishing at it's flavor.

" ¿Porqué no me vendiste en Cuba?" (Why didn't you sell be back in Cuba?)

"¿Y desperdiciar el potencial que tienes? No me hagas reír." (And waste away your potential? Don't make me laugh.)

Miguel sighed and held his stomach, dizziness slowly taking over.

"¿Qué edad tienes?" (How old are you?)

"Dieciocho." (Eighteen.)

Mundaca stared at him, doubt splattered all over his face, it felt like a terrible joke said.

"¿Con esa altura, puedes hacerte pasar por lo menos de unos veinticinco años." (With that height you could pass as a twenty five yeard old)

"¿Para qué me tienes aquí?" (What am I here for?)

"Creí que era bastante obvio, niño." (Thought that was pretty obvious, kid.)

"Un esclavo toda tu vida, que probablemente nunca conoció a su madre, hijo bastardo, y un padre que nunca miraba en tu dirección, ¿cierto?" (A slave all your life that probably never met his mother bastard child and a father that barely or never looked your way. Right?)

Miguel's lips remained in a tight line.

" Tema delicado, ya veo." ( A delicate topic, I see.)

Mundaca finished his tea and gave a cup of water to Miguel, who quenched it in a gulp.

"De nada. Ahora, no tienes nada que perder, estás solo, pero puedo ayudarte en eso." (You're welcome. Now, You've got nothing to lose, you're on your own but I can help you with it.)

"No gusto de hombres, gracias." (I'm not into men, thanks.)

Fermín laughed almost into a fit, and only made Miguel's anger to rise again.

"¿Qué mierda te da tanta risa?" (What's so fucking funny?)

"Mira, niño, si realmente quisiera ese tipo de cosas, ya las hubiera tomado. Pero, piensa en grande, piensa más allá de lo que tu limitada imaginación puede." (Look, kid, if I'd want those sort of things, I would've already took them. But think big, think beyond what yout limited imagination can)

" ¡Riquezas, mujeres, propiedades por todo el mundo produciendo para tí! No tienes que darle explicaciones a nadie, y si las debes, sólo matas y escapas." (Wealth, women, properties all over the world producing for you! , you won't owe none an explanation, and if you do, just kill them and escape.)

"No soy un pirata." (I'm not a pirate)

Mundaca rolled his eyes and smirked

"Nadie es un pirata hasta que la probreza y la injusticias de la sociedad te arrastran y te obligan a serlo, muchacho." (None is a pirate until poverty and social injustices drag you down and force you to be one, kid.)

"Nadie es un maldito pirata hasta que los malditos ricos se ponen en guerra y las personas como nosotros sufren las consecuencias de dicha guerra" (None is a fucking pirate until the fucking rich wage their wars and it's people like us who suffer the consequences of said wars)

Miguel gulped as his eyes casted down, pondering in the elder man's words. He was slightly privileged to at least know hoe to read and write properly, a simple yet powerful difference between him and the people he used to bury.

"No hay malditas oportunidades en tierra firme, muchacho. Mientras los ricos se dan un banquete cada noche en base a nuestro sudor y sangre, los pobres mueren olvidados, solos y enfermos. Y me rehúso a eso." (There are no fucking opportunities on land, kid. While the rich feast each night thanks to our blood and sweat, poor ones die forgotten, sick and alone. And I reject that)

"¿Entonces solo tomamos de nuevo lo que nos pertenece? "(So we just take back what belong to us?)

Mundaca smiled and unshackled Miguel.

"Tienes un largo camino por recorrer, muchacho. Pero primero es lo primero. Aprende inglés." (You've got a long way to go, kid. But first thing first. you must learn English.)

-----------

He had just raided his first ship. A Spaniard ship named "Valencia Co.", He found medicines, people, spices and some materials that could be used to repair some wilthered parts of the ship Mundaca had gotten him.

Excitement was almost turned into ecstasy. He had proven to be worthy of something more than just burying people he once held dear and loved.

Life on land had shaped his body, but life at sea and Mundaca had shapen his mind. Mundaca had taken him under his wing, fed him, trained him, taught him everything he knew.

One night he had admitted through a bit too much rum, that he was better father than his own ever was. His body had also changed.

Work and food on land had gained him muscles, his english although chewed, had earned him more open doors within navy engineers that worked for either privateers or royalty itself.

Even though he chose to decline Mundaca's lesson on slave trafficking, and their views on said topic had created a small rift between them, where Miguel would stay at Isla Mujeres as Fermín made sure to deliver the slaves. The twenty six year old, rookie pirate never participated in a smuggling. Lives were out of his list.

----

Miguel couldn't help but notice how Mundaca's health deteriorated the more he traveled.

"You gotta stay here, old man. Ya no estás para esos trotes." (You're no longer young for that sort of action.)

Fermín's laugh was unavoidable as he listened to Miguel.

"Shut up, O'Hara." O'Hara. A surname that he adopted after his carpentry instructor passed. Old, wrinkly yet honest and kind man that gave him a chance onnthe spot as he was sent to learn how to repair boats through a fake note.

Pretensions had been necessary to learn everything he knew, but never actually indulged too much in it. It felt a  disrespect to himself, even though it got some benefits.

"La trigueña looked at me today. She looked so beautiful as usual." Miguel was almost pitying his old man. A woman, 37 years younger than him, green eyes and overall pretty had been the reason of his sick look.

"Mundaca..." Miguel started but knew it was futile. Fermin had been deeply infatuated with the youngest daughter of the Pantoja family. Martiniana Gomez Pantoja, better known as "La Trigueña". Even killed his own crew to avoid any lose ends to reveal his location at Isla Mujeres where he finally settled down.

The portraits, pages full of poems, even small sculpts with a womanly face that resembled alot to Martiniana, loitered Mundaca's room. Fermín was unabashedly in love with her, but said obsession was taken too far when he out of the blue started to build "Vista Alegre", a estate that would be a gift to Martiniana. But of course, the young woman rejected him.

Crushing all his hopes once and for all. even though Miguel took him to Merida, to be medically assisted, Fermín Antonio de Mundaca ended up dying.

Once more, Miguel was alone, this time however he had much more than knowledge. He had a purpose. He took what Mundaca had inherited him, and used it to build his own ship. It was time to make his own history.

--------

He wasn't love sick, but definitely the woman had put him in a trance enough to make her be swollen with his child.

He was scared, even questioned way too many times if he would be a good father, something that was hard to grasp at the begining.

"Why do you stare at her like she will grow a second head?" The mother giggled as she looked from the doorframe of the small room. Miguel wasn't fancy, but practical. He provided enough for his family.

The sheer word made his skin crawl, the baby before him, a product of a one night stand, even though the woman played her role as a doting bride, he knew what she did behind his back. He couldn't be an hypocrite to call her anything but decent when he was much worse and still she had no idea.

She left as soon as she found out where Miguel went off to get money. She didn't hesitated in abandon him and their four year old daughter, Gabriela.

Oddly enough, despite living under the same roof, the both had felt like strangers sharing a common goal. As unethical both jobs were, they provided enough to keep the pretense of a good family. The mother couldn't complain of Miguel, he came home injured, but with enough money to live by another couple of months.

But of course, her leaving had put him in a difficult position where, he couldn't leave since none was willing to take care of his daughter, neither he trusted people to do so. And then, what he never thought possible, happened. Gabriela fell ill.

The Typhus had walloped mostly of the places in Campeche, and no matter how much he tried to look for medicines that would help his little girl to feel better, even being gullible enough to do small rituals that supposedly attracted mermaids to get one and make his wish true, nothing prepared him to see her exhale her last breath in his hands.

He spreaded her ashes in the sea, a reason why he turned himself into a full time pirate.

"Miguel?" The soft spoken voice had pulled him out the trance as the woman before rested her chin on his chest, staring with concern at him.

"Must be a powerful cunt if ye space out like that." The courtesan giggled but Miguel remained shut. A hand tucked behind his head as he rested on the perched pillows.

"What's on yer mind?" the woman asked as she gathered her clothes that had been discarded long ago. A few of the fancy courtesans that he knew was clean. Her sight drifted to the shiny pearl that rested on his trousers.

"Look at that! So shiny" The woman took the pearl and sat next to him.

"I could accept this as a payment." her tone playful, but a large hand retrieved the pearl and his dark ruby eyes looked at her.

"Do you believe in... those fairy-tales?"

"Like?"

"Mermaids."

Her nose scrunched up and shook her ginger locked head.

"The only thing I believe is money."

Of course, she was rational and had shared her hardships enough to make her who she was. Even though her hand stretched towards him, a signal for payment.

Sighing, he towered over her, then pulled out a couple of coins and a small gemstone and handed it over the woman's hand.

"A pleasure doing business with you, darling." He could help but fix his eyes on her, gorgeous, fascinated by shiny things, and surely knew how to lure men to a certain death. Difference between her and a mermaid was that the death part was just temporary, and of course she wasn't a fish like creature.

She was dressing up, and he went back to the bed. His frame occupied mostly of the space.

"I don't know if... would it be too personal to share this but..." Dark ruby eyes stared at her flushed back that still had some of his fingers imprinted on.

"When I was little, my grandmother used t'tell me about mermaids and shite." Her stockings were up on her feet.

"And I believed her, because... I had the feeling of being watched as I was on the shore, watching ships come and go." Her trousers were up to her hips as she fetched another layer of clothing that scattered somewhere nearby

"And then I saw her. I... I saw a mermaid. or at least I want to think that it was a mermaid." She shrugged and turned to him, breast still uncovered, and still he focused on her words.

"Because the pair of eyes I saw... were nothing like I had seen before. You could literally see the stars on them, Miguel."

The woman sighed and dressed her breast with a easily removal, yet beautiful looking dress. His fingers helped to secure it closed.

" Thanks. And... You know, I couldn't help but make a wish."

She put her lacy gloves on, and picked up her hair before a small mirror available in the room.

"And what did you wish for?"

She went silent and sighed, sadness flashing on a small smile.

"A better life, but... Im still here, so that wishing thing is just a big fat lie."

Miguel hummed and looked at the pearl.

"If I could, I'd slap her for... making us all so hopeful."

The door was closed and Miguel sighed.

"You and everyone, bonita." he squeezed the pearl on his hand. A new route on his mind.

---------------

Tag List:

@nerdykat @munixumai @raiirai @sarapaprikas-blog @deputy-videogamer @rizahawkeye1380 @littlenyx @marit332 @iz-iplier @mad-hatter-rici @viriexo @

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv miguel #pirate au #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara angst #t writes✨ #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel spiderman

[shepscapades]

HI IMPULSIVE UPDATE POST <3

HI everyone i know i've been like (wiggles fingers) a ghost lately-- for anyone who doesn't know I'm in my final semester for my masters degree and i have a freaking 100 piece show i'm putting up in two months!! (screams really loud) so all of my art brain is being consumed by my personal projects/comics so i haven't had any brain space for dbhc or posting art or anything :(

i definitely haven't abandoned dbhc though, or destruction, or anything like that! and I really want to put the master post together but its like such a big task in my brain and i haven't gotten around to finding enough motivation to tackle it :( so i apologize to all of you who've been asking for master posts and dbhc stuff <3 i have not forgotten about you or this blog i promise!

Since i've been working so much on my studies and teaching, i've actually been playing a lot of pokemon in my downtime (my background hyperfixation surfaces!!) so if theres anyone who would be interested in my posting that or streaming it or anything i might consider it :]

(or honestly, if anyone would be interested to see me working on my exhibition stuff! its an original mc-rp inspired comic series set to a playlist so its just been a bunch of comic work :3)

but yeah just wanted to give a little update and apologize for virtually disappearing!! <3 love u all okay byebye

#hermitcraft 10 is also serving to fill my art video time i love these buffoons so much #i have a little list of stuff i occasionally add to every time i get an idea for a moment to redraw in dbhc #who knows if i'll ever get to them but theyre still in my brain <3 #OKAY I SKEDADDLE AWAY WITH MR KRABS WALK SOUND EFFECT

[clownery-and-fuckery]

As promised, my commentary on Hunter.... to the people that like him, im sorry.

Spoiler warnings and the like, this is pretty negative aside from like maybe three sentences?? Feel free to leave you're own opinions on this too ofc !!! >:)

I dont like Hunter.

Actually, that's not entirely true, I liked him in TCW season 7, when he was that silly man who fucked droids around the place, took no shit, and loved his brothers. I like the Hunter who, not putting this nicely, had a personality.

This is not a dig on him as a character, it's a dig on how he was handled, writing wise

Listen, I totally get that the "rugged-man-adopts-a-star-child" trope is popular, and I do LOVE that trope, really I do- I just don't really think it was done that well here? It's bothered me since s1 of the Bad Batch, and I don't think it's going to get any better this season....

My only real problem with the writing inconsistency of Hunter being an older brother of three to "Omega this, Omega that" and while I agree childcare is SUPER difficult at the best of times, Hunter had four brothers who were equally capable of taking care of Omega, too. It just never sat right with me that taking care of her became his ENTIRE personality

Hes a soldier, who despite being completely out of his element, had a routine he strictly followed for the whole war. Yet he seemed to completely forget about that ?? Stressed or not stressed, that worn in routines and LIFELONG LESSONS should not have left his head as quickly as they seemed to.

The most obvious and frustrating example of the oversimplification of Hunter's character is with Crosshair. I cannot even BEGIN to describe my anger when it comes to Hunter and Crosshair. It mainly stems from the way he just FORGETS his brother is with the Empire. Conveniently never bringing it up unless someone else did it first.

As the oldest sibling and squad leader, I personally think Hunter should have been the one to bring him up. It should not have had to be specifically mentioned by another character for Hunter to discuss it. He loves his brothers, he loved Crosshair, broody or not, he should have brought it up AT LEAST once, imo.

We also see this complete disregard for Crosshair AGAIN in s3, now that we have seen Hunter looking for Omega and not ONCE mentioning Crosshair. Has he forgotten that they were originally going to find Crosshair??? That they never actually FOUND their brother ??????? Annoyed me so much, tbh.

What else annoyed me was the singular language he used during the whole episode. "She's part of our squad." "Hemlock took SOMEONE from us." He's completely and utterly disregarding the OTHER TWO SIBLINGS that the Empire took away from him !!!!! It genuinely frustrates me so much.

I know I'm DEFINITELY nit-picking here, but even when Hunter looked to Tech's goggles, it was in a "He should've been here to do this." Way, not a "He should be here." Way. That's his brother, who died looking for another that Hunter has forgotten.

Hunter's tunnel vision is probably one my least favourite things about the Bad Batch, if I dare even MENTION that- and I love this show. It means so much to me, but I just can't handle this particular part of it...

I have so SO much anger directed towards the treatment of Hunter by the writers. I want the Hunter who was devoted to his WHOLE family, who fought for ALL of them, who would have NEVER allowed Crosshair to leave in the first place. Give me that Hunter back.

(Saying this- I do not mind Hunter and Omega's father/daughter and brother/sister relationship !!! I do really enjoy it- in small amounts. The fact that Hunter became nearly an extention of Omega really just- threw me off his whole character, really)

I specifically pick to ignore this when I'm making anything. Hunter has been a sergeant of three idiots(named endearingly) for the entirety of the war. One child who wanders around should not have taken up 100% of Hunter's attention, ESPECIALLY when he was surrounded and supported. It just bothers me, idk

Anyway, thats my rant !!! Back to some positives soon, promise !! I just had to get this off my chest, it's been BOTHERING me.

#sw the bad batch #tbb hunter #sw the bad batch spoilers #its a uh... #its a writing choice #definitely. #idk man i just dont like it that much

[hiorisgf]

##TOO FAR, AND NOW THE TRUST IS GONE.

↪ft. Kaiser

Arguements are normal in relationships. But when he gets way too heated to the point of hurting you—to the point where one could say they went too far, how does he act?

It's been how many minutes since the arguement had started, maybe you had spent a hundred minutes shouting at the top of your lungs, a few couple tears shed in the proccess. But no matter how long, it was clear that neither sides had plans to step down. The original topic by now, was long forgotten as harmful insults directed to one's insecurities were thrown haphzardly; carelessly reloading and shooting the bullet all over the place, desperate to hurt the other person even if only a little. Neither backs off, eager to clear their name, even if it meant harming the other's ego. And amidst the chaos that you and your dereast lover found yourselves in; Kaiser raises his arm, and he swings it—far enough to reach your cheeks and hurt it just enough.

Slap!

The sound resounds throughout the living room, and it grows deathly silent— the kind of silence where only the ragged breathing from the hours of shouting could be heard. A second, and then a minute passes, you cradle your now reddish cheek with tremblig hands as you shakily look up at Kaiser. And there, on his face, laid a fury that boiled his head and turned him to be someone unrecognizable. It hurts, you think ,thrice as much knowing that the look of fury, was directed at you.

The first of teardrops spills from your eyes and wets the ground underneath. The liquid clouds your vision, and you think you're partly greatful for it. Because then, you wouldn't have to see the way he looks at you with anger like no other. You look down, trying to calm down your shallow breaths, and as a result, you don't notice the way Kaiser looks the moment he clears his head atleast a little bit.

The feeling of his hand hitting something—or in this case, someone, is still apparent on his hand. He takes a few deep breaths, taking the chance to calm down and clear his head now that the quiet had arrived. From then on, he finally registers the way his hand is numb, and the small, yet not completely silent sobbing he hears from infront of him.

A horrified look takes form on his face when he finally puts the two and two together.

Oh, oh my god.

"I—mein schatz—I-I'm sorry" he stutters, stepping forward to come closer, but he freezes in place when he sees you flinch and cower away.

His heart shatters when he sees how you react, the trust you've placed in him just hours ago now all but gone as he went and did what he promised he won't.

Shit, he inwardly curses. He's really done it now hasn't he?

He kneels, down on his knees as he hugs your legs. "Mein schatz I'm sorry I-I don't know what came over me. M' sorry love please please forgive me" he pleads, begging for forgiveness, and it's funny. How easily he's doing the one thing he thought was an impossible task just hours ago. He would have done this earlier had he known this'd be the outcome of his stubborness.

Kaiser trembles—the first in years as he fears the growing possibility of you leaving him. His apologies are rushed and messy, but sincere nonetheless. Kaiser kneels, begging for forgiveness like a sinner who's done the most heinous crime—and maybe it isn't inacurrate. Because to have the nerve to actually hurt you, the one sent by the gods solely for him, was a crime punishable by death.

Kaiser pleads for forgiveness, but he doesn't expect you to accept them. Only that you'd stop your cries that he himself had caused. Because he thinks—firmly believes that you shouldn't waste your tears for sinners like him; for someone like him.

It's unreal, how easily he's forgotten his ego when it comes to you. But he thinks it's perfectly valid. Because while he is the king, you are the angel he seeks comfort and power of, the one whom he takes his strength from. And now, because of his painfully human parts, he's gone and hurt the one person he's held dear.

Kaiser begs for you to stop crying, to do nothing but rest as he picks up the broken shards of trust, to stay with him—as greedy as that might be—as he clumsily tries to put it all back together. You needn't waste your tears, nor should you trouble yourself with trying to put it all back, because he'll do it himself, for it was him that broke it—and thus, it should be him that fixes it too.

↪ooc?? Yea i think, huhahahahahah

#blue lock x you #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #michael kaiser x reader #kaiser x reader #@@.xylvie's works

[feyhunter78]

Pink Pastels Pt 16

Description: Miguel and Gabi have a much needed talk.

Part 17

Miguel and Gabi walk you back next door. He watches as you give her a tight hug, whispering platitudes in her ear before you let go. You then brush your lips across her forehead and giving him a small smile, then the door to your apartment is closed and Gabi starts to cry once more.

Miguel scoops her up, cradling her to his chest, her arms wrapped around his neck, her tears wetting his shirt as she sobs. He misses holding her like this, when she was a baby she clung to him constantly, crying if he put her down for even a second. Then she grew older and became so curious about everything, she wanted to be on the ground, have the freedom to run and play and explore the world around her.

He’s proud of her for being so courageous, so adventurous it reminds him of a younger him, before he became Spiderman, before he lost his original universe and searched the multiverse desperately for a new one. But he’s forgotten that courage takes a lot of strength, and obviously Gabi has been running on empty for a while.

“Gabi, Mija, I’m sorry.” He says, settling on their couch and squeezing her tightly.

“Why are you sorry?” She asks, looking up at him with those big round eyes.

He can’t explain how much he loves his daughter; he’s tried a million times to verbalize the depth of his emotions and finds he always comes up short. So he’s come to the conclusion that it’s simple. He loves her beyond words.

“I didn’t notice you heard my call with your mother, and then I continued to fail to see how it hurt you, and I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to feel all that sadness on your own.” He shifts her, so she’s facing him, and brushes back the hair from her face, it’s like his mother’s hair. He’ll have to call her, ask her how she’s doing, if she wants to see him and Gabi sometime soon.

She snuggles into him, her tears slowly drying. “It’s okay, Papá, I’m strong.”

He swallows hard, tears pricking at the back of his eyes.

“Mijo you shouldn’t have done that, you know your father; he gets angry.”

“But Mamá it’s not fair he shouldn’t treat you like that.”

“It’s better me than you or Gabriel, I’m strong Miguel, I can take it.”

He fears he’s going to wretch, and he takes a deep breath counting ten things he can see, he can feel, hear, smell, until his heart rate has slowed, and the nausea is gone.

“You are strong, but you are also little—”

She goes to protest, and he stops her with a playfully stern look that makes her giggle.

“You are my baby girl, my daughter, you are not alone, you will never be alone, you don’t have to be strong all by yourself, especially not when you’re sad.”

Gabi mulls over his words, fidgeting with the little watch he made for her. “But I want to be strong like you.”

“Mija, I am strong because of you. Because I love you so very much, and I want to make sure the world is safe for you.” He tells her, praying that she understands how earnestly he’s speaking.

She nods and wraps her arms around as much of his torso as she can. “I love you, Papá, and I promise I’ll tell you next time I’m sad.”

He returns her hug, resting his chin on the crown of her head. “I love you more than you can imagine, Mija.”

He makes a mental note to make sure Lyla saves this video file, adding it to the hundreds upon hundreds of clips he has saved of Gabi. He’ll never have enough, never get enough time with her, but here in this moment he feels like everything he’s done, everything he’s been through and suffered was worth it.

“I think Ms. Y/N saw my superpowers.” Gabi says hesitantly, her voice muffled by his chest.

He pulls back, scanning her face. “What?”

“I got mad, and I threw my doll, and now the wall is broken.” She says as she leads him into her room.

Miguel’s mind is turning, churning, roiling. You know he’s Spiderman, as of last night, but he hasn’t been able to go through it with you to explain what happened, or to tell you how Gabi might have developed a lesser version of his abilities and was just now coming into her powers.

He inspects the wall. It’s a small dent, but clearly in the shape of a doll. He can fix it, he’s picked up a number of skills during his time in the multiverse, but he isn’t sure how you’re going to react to the truth.

“What did Ms. Y/N say when this happened?” He asks carefully, running calculations in his head of how much damage control he was going to have to do. You’re a reader, he knows this. Maybe he’ll hack into your laptop and see what kind of books you like. Buy you a first edition of your favorite book, or see if there’s any erotica, you’re fond of that he can read and put to good use to distract you.

Gabi’s brushing her doll Carmen’s hair in rapid jerky strokes, something she did when she was nervous. “Nothing, she just kept playing with me. Well…she seemed a little…tomada por sorpresa.” Trsl: take/taken by surprise.

He smiled at her lapse into Spanish. Gabi spoke both languages fluently, but he noticed a year or so ago that she’d picked up a quirk from him. They both tended to fall back on his first language whenever they were nervous or overwhelmed with emotions.

“Ah, well, Ms. Y/N just found out I was Spiderman last night.” He’s taking a gamble, telling her this. He knows Gabi can keep a secret, she’s been keeping theirs since she was little, but now that you’re involved, he isn’t sure how she’s going to react.

Gabi nods. “Well, that’s okay because you’re going to get married, and married people have to keep each other’s secrets, that’s what Auntie Monica said.”

His half-sister would say something like that…

“She is right, married people do keep each other’s secrets, but Gabi, Ms. Y/N have only known each other for a little while now, not even half a year. Most people like to know each other for at least a year before they get married.”

Gabi sets down her doll and her lips tick to one side in thought. “Yeah, I guess you should wait until the year is done, because if you marry her, then they might move me out of her class. Kids don’t get to be in their mom’s classes, apparently, it’s called a conflict of interest, but I just think it’s because then they’ll be the favorite. But I’m already Ms. Y/N’s favorite, so I don’t think it’ll be any different.”

Miguel laughs, he doesn’t mean to, but that’s his daughter, thinking three steps ahead while still attempting to get what she wants.

“It’s true!” Gabi pouts. “She’s still wearing the necklace we gave her!”

Yes, you are, and he is so thankful for that fact.

“You’re right, Mija, she is.”

She gives him a smug, satisfied ‘I told you so’ smile and begins to clean up her toys. “I bet if you asked her on a date, she’d say yes.”

“I think Ms. Y/N would say yes, but her job is very important to her, so she wouldn’t agree to go out with me until the year was finished.”

“So, you’ll just have to go on secret dates like in the telenovelas, me and Tia Margo watch.” Gabi says, nodding her head knowingly, as if this had been his plan all along, and she was just now catching on.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, a half exasperated, half amused smile on his face. “No more telenovelas for you, they’re giving you too many crazy ideas.”

Gabi throws herself into his lap dramatically. “No Papá, but I need them to live, they’re the only thing keeping my secret half-sister maybe actually my cousin alive.”

He laughs again and shakes his head, scooping her up and holding her above his head, making her giggle. “But I do not, for I am the evil tio and I want your half-sister maybe cousin gone, so I can steal her inheritance.”

“¡Monstruo!” Gabi gasps, her face an exaggerated look of horror and surprise. Trsl: You monster!

“Yes, I am an evil monster who says now it is time to go to bed, so you can wake up and have a good day at school tomorrow.”

Gabi wrinkles her nose, but nods, and he sets her back down. She throws her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. “I love you, Papá.”

He hugs her back. “I love you too, Mija.”

If you haven't seen my answer to an ask, I will be going on vacay for 10 daysss, but I'll be back and will be picking this fic up once I return, so don't worry! I'm not abandoning it!!!!

Tag list: @miggyoharaswife, @badbishsblog, @imisshim2much, @wanderlustingcastaway, @lynn-9703, @sleepyamaya, @erensbbg, @sweetea85, @ilovemiguelohara, @natthernandez, @stxrrielle, @ihateuguys, @jenniferdixon05207, @blep-23, @luvisaaxoxo, @minimari415, @emerald-09, @violet-19999, @kenchosaikuo, @groovycass, @youcantseem3, @lovefks, @nightshxdex, @dusstory, @aesniri, @munsonssecretblog, @kirke-is-my-name, @starbearieee, @chatoicboy, @act1839, @needsleep3000, @totally-not-georgia, @witchy-lizard, @cxmeiloorun7, @justrandomlolidk, @chimpkinnuggies, @alicefallsintotherabbithole, @loser-alert, @wwwellacom, @ryantryan6969, @lollipopin, @blakeaha, @youcantseem3, @a-cult-leader, @verexi, @purpleskiesandroses, @they2luv1naia, @sophiaj650, @idolautism, @rheannajrs, @merakiq, @rexs-wife, @sukaretto-n, @twilight-loveer, @f1shb0nez, @callsign-blue, @marcelineormars

#miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #meg's writing #miguel's pastels #spiderman 2099 x reader #more good dad Miguel

[writingduhh]

Heeyyyy could u pretty pls do a fic about Schlatt with a gf who manspreads like they’ll be sitting kinda close in like the car or a booth or something and they have like a mini battle for dominance over the leg room (p.s this is my first ask so sry if it doesn’t make sense)

Hello! Your ask made perfect sense do not sorry! I love the originality :)

Hope this is what you were looking for <3

Jschlatt || Leg Room

In the cramped booth of their favorite diner, Schlatt and y/n found themselves engaged in yet another of their playful yet stubborn battles. This time, it wasn't about who could eat the spiciest burger or who had the best poker face while making ridiculous bets. No, this battle was much more personal—it was the war over leg room.

Schlatt, with his typically relaxed demeanor, stretched his legs out under the table after settling into the booth. Y/n, ever the spirited counterpart, immediately challenged his territorial claim by extending her own legs, casually encroaching on his space. Y/n shot him a cheeky grin, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Really?" Schlatt raised an eyebrow, half-amused and half-provocative. "We're doing this now?"

"Always," Y/n replied, a mischievous tilt to her lips. Y/ns foot nudged against his with a playful assertiveness. It was a familiar dance for them, this gentle jockeying for space, each push and nudge a silent conversation layered with affection and a shared history of similar skirmishes.

As their knees brushed under the table, neither was willing to give an inch. Schlatt attempted a strategic maneuver, trying to reclaim territory by shifting his legs slightly to the left, but y/n countered immediately, movement fluid and assertive.

"Careful, I might just have to start playing dirty," Schlatt warned, his voice low and teasing. In response, y/n laughed, the sound bright and clear, resonating above the soft murmur of the diner.

"Promises, promises," y/n taunted back, tone light and airy. The challenge seemed to invigorate her , and she doubled down, pressing her leg more firmly against his.

As they continued their playful battle, the waitress approached, a knowing smile on her face as she slid plates of their usual orders in front of them. "You two always seem to be having the most fun," she commented, shaking her head with a mixture of amusement and disbelief.

Schlatt and y/n glanced at each other, their eyes alight with shared joy. With a mutual, unspoken agreement, they both relaxed their legs at the same time, settling into a more comfortable, albeit slightly less competitive, position. Their hands found each other on top of the table, fingers intertwining naturally.

"You know," Schlatt started, giving y/ns hand a gentle squeeze, "I think I win this time."

"Oh, really?" Y/b raised an eyebrow, her voice dripping with playful skepticism. "Because I feel pretty victorious right now."

With a soft chuckle, Schlatt leaned closer, his voice dropping to a tender murmur only y/n could hear. "Yeah, but see, I got you to hold my hand, didn't I? I'd say that's a win in my book."

Blushing slightly, she squeezed his hand back, her smile soft and loving. "Alright, you got me there," she admitted, her heart swelling with affection.

As they began to eat, their playful spirits subdued by the delicious food, they continued to share glances and small touches, the battle for leg room forgotten.

#chuckle sandwich #chuckle sammy #jschlatt #jschlatt x reader #jschlatt hcs #hc #jschlatt fluff #jschlatt imagines #jschaltt #jschlatt imagine #schlatt hcs #schlatt x you #schlatt imagine #schlatt x reader #schlatt #ted nivison