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whatsnewalycat · 29 days

Text

SURRENDER

Part Two of Ruthless | Stepdad Joel Miller x f!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Word Count: 6.2k+

Warnings: non-canon, Boston Joel, dub con, step-cest, sneaky sex, use of the word daddy in a sexual context, dad kink (that’s a thing right?), age gap, degradation, praise kink, avoidance, silent treatment, sneaking into bedroom at night, angst, collective grief, mentions of explosions and gunshots (nothing graphic), *it’s about the yearning*, hair pulling, no physical descriptions of reader aside from hair can be pulled, reader is 18-19, Joel being a bad dom and a bad caretaker, hot shower, food mention, mentions of religion, unethical D/s dynamics, dry humping, anal sex, physical restraint, face fucking, sub-space unlocked, dirty talk, dd/lg maybe i think, masochism, like a lick of fluff if u squint

A/N: Heeeey buddy. As stated above, this is a second part to Ruthless. Big thanks to my love @frannyzooey for the help and hype, you're the best. Please be mindful of the warnings and tell me what cults you think exist in post-outbreak tlou.

[ my masterlist ] [ taglist ] [ AO3 ]

———

As the 19-year anniversary of Outbreak Day draws near, unrest festers in the streets of Boston.

Whenever August ticks over into September, residents of the QZ seem to divide into three distinct categories: people who want to forget, people who won’t let them forget, and people who are too young to remember.

Born post-apocalypse, you fall into this third category.

Which doesn’t mean the ripples of loss don’t touch you, contrary to what some may think. You still lost something. Everyone did.

This fact is apparent when you take the scenic route home from your job posting at the distribution center.

Rubble crunches under your shoes as you walk down the crowded sidewalk, passing by a message spray-painted over the battered brick building: WE’VE BEEN FORSAKEN.

Graffitied sentiments like these pop up constantly this time of year. Overnight, almost. Your mom and Joel mostly blame Fireflies for the vandalism. The bombs, too. Apparently they stir shit up to make people uneasy, then recruit those who seem susceptible. That’s what your mom thinks, anyway. ‘Leveraging their grief against them,’ she says.

You think it might be more than that, though.

Yesterday you saw three separate arguments break out in the streets. When you were taking inventory of k-rations this morning, an explosion went off so close-by that boxes rattled off the shelves. It was the second bombing this week, and you don’t foresee it getting better until October.

Sure, the Fireflies lay claim to the lion’s share of vandalism and destruction, but their activity is consistent year round. They are the baseline. But this? This is different.

You attribute the excess chaos to this heavy, static feeling in the air. It clings to your skin and gets stuck under your nails like a thick cloud of invisible dust or spores. Microscopic particles embed themselves in the cracks and creases of each person inside the QZ, fertile ground for clusters of violence to sprout up at every turn.

If you had to guess, you’d say this phenomenon probably spans the globe. All of you felt the loss of Outbreak Day, the whole human collective. Echoes of what humanity lost will likely still be heard a thousand years from now.

Some people refuse to accept this.

Like the guy a few strides ahead of you, who walks by an orange spray-painted message that reads REMEMBER WHAT YOU LOST and sneers, “Almost twenty goddamn years, fuckin’ let it go and move on.”

You watch him. See his neck get all red as he mutters to himself and clenches his fists at his sides. He looks around like he expects someone to challenge him. Nobody does.

This doesn’t seem to satisfy him.

Further up the sidewalk, he encounters a memorial made up of candles and wilting flowers hugging the side of a residential building. He kicks it over and repeats his earlier sentiment, this time louder and directed towards the brick wall.

“It’s been twenty fucking years, get the fuck over it already!”

Of course, a passing spectator indulges him.

“Hey—watch it, asshole!”

The two men puff up their chests and start yelling back and forth, so you cut right down an alleyway to avoid the situation completely.

When you arrive home, you find Joel at the dining room table, hunched over a map, holding a glass of whiskey like it’s a lifeline.

Neither of you say hello, but when you glance up while untying your gritty shoelaces, you catch him staring at you.

A jolt of electricity shoots through you.

He corrects himself, returning his eyes to the map as he takes a big swig from his glass.

“Mom home?”

“No.”

Nodding, you rise to your feet and slip out of your shoes, squirming with the excitement that one syllable brings you.

“When’s she gonna be home?”

He doesn’t look at you. Just shrugs and takes a sip of whiskey, too engrossed in his project to spare you attention.

For weeks, he’s been trying his hardest to pretend you don’t exist, which would be typical behavior if he didn’t fuck you dumb a few weeks ago. Sometimes you’re not even sure that what happened between you was real.

But, then again, sometimes… sometimes you feel him staring at you when he doesn’t think you’ll notice. Sometimes he touches your waist as he passes by. Sometimes at night you hear him pacing the hall outside your bedroom, the faint squeak of the warped floorboards giving him away.

When this happens, you stare at the door and will him to do it. Aching with something stronger than want, you pray for him to cross the threshold. But he never does.

You exhale through slack lips and wrinkle your nose at the canned goods.

“Hungry?”

He grunts in response, which is Joel for ‘I could eat.’

Tilting your head at the handwritten labels, you present the options, “Stew or… meat and beans?”

Another grunt, roughly translating to ‘Both options are fucking terrible,’ a sentiment with which you wholeheartedly agree. You grab the stew and empty it into a saucepan on the gas stovetop.

While it heats, you steal glances at Joel, noticing the rigidity in his demeanor. His set jaw and tense muscles. The deep creases in his furrowed brow.

You’ve coexisted with him long enough to understand he’s not immune to the heady thrum of anguish in the air this time of year. Like you said, nobody is.

Joel distinctly falls into the “people who want to forget” category of the forsaken, but carries whatever or whoever he lost on Outbreak Day like a ten thousand-pound weight on his broad shoulders. He white-knuckles his way through the season of chaos and mourning and tries to act like it doesn’t affect him, but it does.

You can tell, not just from the way he holds the grief captive in his body, but also from the obvious indulgence in his favorite coping mechanism: planning.

Joel is a meticulous planner.

Between smuggling runs, he comes home after a long day of manual labor at some job site and unwinds by plotting logistics. Drinking, too, but he clearly has a favorite.

Hours will go by while he pours over reference material, maps or blueprints, making addendums of any notable changes he and your mom discovered. After this, he deliberates. Joel could chew up weeks with this step. He plots out each possible route, taking into consideration all the penciled-in shortcuts and caches they’ve stashed within a 30-mile radius, then determines the most beneficial path for their next big adventure.

Given FEDRA’s current paranoid state, with the increased patrols and surveillance and whatnot, your mom and Joel won’t be making a trip outside anytime soon. But still, he drinks and plots and winds himself up into a tight obsessive knot.

You divvy up the simmering stew into two bowls, placing one next to his glass of bootleg booze while you take a seat across the table from him. He ignores your presence, just flicks his eyes around the map like it’s supposed to give him the answers.

When you’re halfway done with your bowl, you gently prod him, “It’s gonna get cold.”

Sitting up in his chair, he sighs and scrubs his face with his hands, then folds up the map and sets it aside.

The two of you eat in silence. Each wordless second twists hot beneath your skin. Your mind wanders to the dig of his fingertips in your soft flesh. The sting of his flattened palm. The stretch of his thick cock. The things he said to you—fuck.

You’re tempted to tell him to do it again. To tell him that you’re still abiding by his rules. That you don’t sneak out anymore. That you haven’t felt the sweet bliss of release for weeks because you don’t fucking come without his permission.

Over and over, you rehearse it in your head. You imagine yourself telling him, ‘I’ve been so good for you and you haven’t even noticed.’

The sound of him clearing his throat pulls you from your thoughts.

He shifts in his seat a little, studying you, “You still seein’ that boy downstairs?”

Your heart stutters. Heat floods your veins as you shake your head.

“Why not?”

All you can do is stare at him while trying to verbalize an answer. For weeks, you ached for his attention. And now that you have it? The words are stuck in your throat.

You shrug, pushing your empty bowl away to lean your elbows on the table. When you look up at him again, he blinks. Waiting for a response.

A rush of adrenaline makes the world around you buzz.

“Why do you care?”

He clenches his jaw for a moment, then parts his lips to respond.

The apartment door swings open.

Both of you start at the intrusion. You jump to your feet to collect the dirty dishes while Joel turns to greet your mother.

“It’s a fucking madhouse out there,” she grumbles, then pulls out the seat adjacent to him and starts telling him about her day.

———

You step into the shower and hiss in reaction to the scalding hot water.

The fact that it's warmed at all surprises you. Not an unwelcome surprise, even if it hurts a little. Most days the water comes out tepid at best, and you’d gladly accept a third-degree burn over a lukewarm shower.

Besides, the sting feels right on your skin, as weird as that sounds. You relish the pain while washing yourself, thinking, ‘this is what I deserve for feeling this way.’ Hell fire, if the sidewalk preachers are right. If there is such a thing. If you’re not there already.

Only once the water runs cold do you turn it off and go back to your room, leaving the door cracked open behind you. After putting on a big t-shirt and some underwear, you turn off the lights and climb into bed.

For a while you stare at the water-stained ceiling and listen. You hear the roar of FEDRA’s armed vehicles patrolling the streets. Far away, gunshots ring out into the night. Some kid starts crying next door, then his mother lulls him back to sleep.

Closing your eyes, you try to tune it all out and focus on the noises within this unit. Concentrate on the drip-drip-drip of the bathtub faucet. The ripping sound of your mom’s snores.

Then, you hear it.

A creak from the floorboards. Footsteps.

Their bedroom door squeaking open.

Everything goes silent long enough for you hold your breath and scream inside your head, please please please—

It starts again. One careful step, then another.

His presence hovers there at the door for six restless seconds before he opens it and steps inside, closing it behind him.

Your pounding heart squeezes your breath ragged. It comes out this shallow, shaky push and pull that broadcasts your consciousness.

Still, you pretend.

You keep your eyes pinned shut and listen to the advance of his footsteps to your bedside.

Down by your feet, the mattress shifts under his weight. He doesn’t touch you for a while, only watches you, his gaze burning into your skin.

Then, he murmurs, “I know you’re not sleepin’.”

You blink your eyes open to look at him, in boxers and an undershirt, all hunched over at the foot of your bed. Always carrying that weight on his shoulders. The glow of the street lamp outside your bedroom window casts this perfect golden light on him that makes you kind of hate how good he looks.

“What are you doing?” you ask in a whisper.

Over the blanket, he rests his hand on your calf, then takes it back and shakes his head.

You roll onto your side, swinging one leg over the blanket and tucking it between your thighs, a wordless plea for him to touch your hungry skin. Joel shifts further onto the bed, turning his body to stare down at you with a straight spine. His gaze drifts up your exposed skin, fingers twitching in his lap.

This faltering self-discipline compels you.

Joel is nothing if not self-disciplined. That much is true for all the forsaken, yourself included.

Your working theory is that nobody wants after the world ends, they just need. Need to sleep, need to eat, need to fight. Anything to survive one more fucking day. It’s all any of you can ask for.

So do you want him, or do you need him?

And what about him? Joel fucking Miller, with his reinforced concrete walls and heavy heart. Was he ever capable of wanting?

“Joel,” you reach out to touch him, beckoning him to meet you halfway.

His eyes flick to your outstretched hand, then back to your face. He shakes his head, as if declining the offer, but you don’t retreat. You sit up and crawl across the bed to him.

The column of his throat bobs, head rocking back as he watches you come to a stop. He almost lets you touch his cheek when you try again, but snatches your hand away before you can make contact.

“Don’t,” he warns, the tone of his hushed voice deadly serious.

He squeezes your fingers while you study his stonewalled expression, tilting your head at him, “Why did you ask me that earlier? If I’m still seeing Bert?”

“I was curious.”

“Curious why?”

His lips part, then close, gaze dropping to your mouth.

Heat pulses through every inch of your body. You drop your voice to a breathy whisper.

“Were you thinking about what you did to me?”

Something flickers behind his eyes when they snap onto yours. It draws you in, urging you to scoot so close your knees butt-up against his jackknifed leg.

“You fucking loved it, didn’t you?” you ask quietly, smirking a little when his stern face twitches, “You loved how it felt to make me surrender—”

The dull throb of his tightening grip around your hand makes you gasp. A rumble slips from his chest, which could be read as a warning if you had an ounce of self-control left. If you didn’t need him to combust.

You let your gaze drift from his burning gaze down the slope of his nose to his lips, “Do you think about it every time you see me, like I do with you? How fucking good it felt?”

“It was wrong—”

“Then why are you here?”

Your question comes out louder than you expected. It ricochets through the charged space between his body and yours, popping the bubble of awareness around you.

All the little sounds you picked up on earlier seep back into the foreground. FEDRA patrolling. The whiz-pop of firecrackers going off maybe a block away. A faint murmur of conversation in the upstairs unit.

He holds your stare, but doesn’t make a sound until a snore rips from your mom’s chest, signaling crisis averted. When he speaks, his words come out hushed and calm.

“You need to be quiet. Understand?”

The command liquifies your bones.

You lick your lips and nod, “I understand.”

“Good.” He studies you as if deep in thought, finally releasing your hand to pinch your chin and assert, “You know why I’m here. Stop pretendin’ you don’t.”

It’s hard not to fall in line when he’s looking down at you like this, all hot-blooded and self-assured. Cocky, almost. But you try to push his buttons anyway.

“I thought it was wrong.”

“Don’t get cute with me. Yes or no?”

Your pulse flutters. Tongue goes numb. All you can do is nod.

He jostles your head a little, “Say it.”

“Yes.”

“Say yes please.”

“Yes please.”

He works his jaw back and forth, studying you, then tugs your shirt.

“Take this off.”

While you pull the offending garment over your head and toss it aside, Joel moves further onto the mattress, leaning back against the wall.

You follow him, swallowing the static buzzing in your throat as he ushers you onto his lap. The scrape of his rough hands on your waist may as well be a live wire crackling across your skin. He pulls you closer and closer until your belly presses into the worn cotton of his shirt. The heat between your legs settles on his stiff length. When he twitches against you, a heady electric current courses through your body and coaxes a whimper from your lips.

It seems too intimate to look at him, so you cast your gaze downward. Your shaky hands lay flat against his chest, absorbing the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

Being with him like this feels strange. Not strange how it sometimes is with a new partner, that clumsiness before you know how your bodies work together.

It’s strange in a fucked up out-of-context sort of way. Of course, growing up around him never conditioned you to think of him like this. Joel fucking Miller, with his scarred-up knuckles and unending apathy. The only man who could make big brown eyes like that seem cold.

All those years, you never considered him anything more than an obstacle.

Even then, if there was some tiny shimmer of attraction lingering under your skin, a piece of you that wanted more from him, you never thought he could feel so solid and soft and alive. You never dreamed he could make you feel so fucking good.

“This stays between us,” he tells you, more of a command than a request.

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

The tips of his fingers dig into your hips, and he purrs, “You’ve been good for me, haven’t you?”

You preen at the warm timbre of his voice, body arching into him as you breathe, “Yes.”

Under your touch, his muscles tense. He exhales hot against your cheek and guides your hips in a rocking motion, slow and steady, rubbing all those aching nerves hard against him.

“You liked it, too. Didn’t you? How I fucked you last time?”

A low-frequency hum throbs deep inside you, amplifying every sensation tenfold. You nod, rolling your hips faster, “I did, I liked it.”

“Yeah, you liked it? Or did you fucking love it?” he hisses, “Dirty little slut like you. Bet you loved getting fucked in the ass, didn’t you?”

“Oh my god, Joel—”

“Tell me.”

“Yes yes yes I fucking loved it—”

Too loud.

He ceases all movement, locking you in place with a steel grip. All ten of his digits bury themselves in your skin. The exquisite pain makes you gasp.

“Hush.”

You clamp down on your lips in an attempt to stifle yourself. Each heaving breath wiggles down to your core and back.

“Look at me.”

If you do, you’ll dissolve at the edges. You know it. You are sugar paper and he is a humid room and you are so incredibly fucked.

Pinching your eyes shut harder, you shake your head and whisper, “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll come if I do.”

The confession makes him throb underneath you. He husks, “Do it, look at me.”

You do.

Even in the shadows you can make out his features, his parted lips and hooded gaze. The desire etched into his face as he stares at you, looking mystified in a way you’ve never seen before. Heat percolates beneath your skin, sending your heartbeat racing.

His hips arch into you just so, then he pulls you in and pushes you back, rubbing your body against his, “Do you wanna come? Come for me just like this?”

“Please—please,” you whine, feeling pleasure branch out from your middle as he slides you back and forth, “Please I wanna come for you it’s been so long—”

“Will you be quiet?”

Swallowing a moan, you nod frantically.

His eyes flicker around your face and he breathes, “Go ahead.”

You’re not sure if it’s the flames in his eyes or the fact that you haven’t had an orgasm in almost two months, but the second he gives you permission, the ecstasy you tried so hard to contain spills over the edges and floods your body. It pulses through you hot and hard and makes your mind go white. You have to clasp your hand over your mouth to muffle the guttural noises that try to escape.

“That’s it,” he coos from far away, still grinding your twitching body against him, “There we go. That’s my good girl, hmm?”

“Oh my god—” you whimper at the sharp aftershocks that shoot through you, “It feels so good, Joel, fuck—”

“Do you wanna come again?”

Nodding, you link your hands behind his neck and set yourself in motion, rubbing against him a little faster than his set rhythm. His eyelids flutter as he throws his head back, the muscles under his shirt going taught. Beneath the thin fabric of his boxers, he’s hard as a fucking rock.

Releasing the tight grasp on your hips, he roams up your sensitive skin to your breasts and tests their weight before squeezing. It shoots through you, the pleasure and pain indistinguishable, just a throbbing rush of need. Your breathing comes in heaving gasps and you pinch your eyes shut again, tilting your head towards the ceiling as you once again find yourself struggling to keep quiet.

“Eyes on me,” he reminds you.

You snap them open and meet his.

“Good girl.”

And—god, the way he looks at you, his gaze hungry and wild. Fucking maddening. Simultaneously, you wish he would stop—the contact too intense, too intimate—and pray that it never fucking ends.

Heat bubbles up inside you. You bury your fists in his hair and roll your hips faster, chasing the scorching need for more.

He hisses and pushes back against your thrusts, murmuring, “That’s it, grind that pussy on me, make yourself feel good.”

“Fuck—fuck yes, it feels so fucking good—”

“I can feel how fucking wet you are, leakin’ all over me. You do love it, don’t you, baby?”

You start to tremble and nod, trying your hardest to whisper when you tell him, “Yes yes yes I do I fucking love it—I wanna come again, can I please come again, please please—”

“Listen to you. So good, askin’ for permission.” He brings a hand to your face and brushes his knuckles against your cheek, “Such a quick learner.”

“Joel—”

“Do it. Make yourself come again.”

Something untethers inside you. Heartbeat pounding behind your ears, you work your body against him in jerky movements, each one more delicious than the last. His eyes burn into yours, all heavy-lidded and lust-blown in the darkness, watching your face twist up with pleasure as the hot gooey feeling between your legs stretches wider and wider, then overtakes you completely.

You give in to it with a shattered breath, burying your face against his shoulder to muffle your moans. He holds you down, making sure you smother your cries in the damp cotton of his t-shirt as wave after electric wave washes over you.

When your spasms start to peter out, and your rolling hips come to a stop, he releases his stronghold to pet your hair. Your heaving chests meld together, breath syncing up into a steady ebb and flow as he smooths his palm up and down your spine.

For a moment, it’s just this. Just the soothing motion of him rubbing your back, calming your boneless body. Soft and quiet with everything else stripped away.

Emotion swells in your chest and tingles up your throat, behind your eyes. You try to hide it, the fact that you’re crying, but it becomes obvious when a sob escapes you.

Joel shifts a little, then tilts your chin up to meet his eyes. He searches your face and frowns, furrowing his brow.

“I’m sorry,” you wipe your tears and cast your eyes downward, “I—I don’t know why this is happening, I’m sorry. I’m stupid.”

“No—hey, no,” he assures you, “It’s fine.”

You shake your head.

“Look at me,” he commands, and when you do, he cups your cheek and holds your gaze, “It-it’s normal to feel… emotional. Really, it’s ok.”

The warmth and sincerity of this—his touch, his eyes, his words—makes your heart stutter. It curls up inside you and sedates your jumpy nerves.

You sniffle and nod, “Ok.”

His adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he studies you, bringing his hands to your waist. The longer you stare at each other, the more all the subtle signs of his lust come back into focus. How his tongue peaks out to wet his lips when he looks at your mouth. The heavy thudding of his heart. His strained breath and throbbing cock.

Your gaze drifts to his lips. A needy, aching desire simmers at the base of your spine. It seems wrong to kiss him. More sensual than sexual, rooted in something he will never have for you. But still, you wonder.

You wonder how soft his plush lips would feel against yours. How he would taste. Whether or not he would use tongue, or teeth, or both.

Your fingertips twitch hesitantly towards his mouth. He doesn’t pull away or admonish you, even though you give him ample time to protest. When you make contact, smoothing your touch over the pillow of his bottom lip, he murmurs against your fingers, “I’m not your boyfriend. I’m never gonna be, either, I wanna make that clear. That’s not what this is.”

“I know you’re not my fucking boyfriend, Joel.” You scoff at the thought, “Boyfriend. I don’t want that. I don’t need a boyfriend. What I need…” you watch your touch drift from his mouth to his jawline, where you scrape your nails through his scruff, “What I need is someone to fuck the thoughts out of my head.”

“Fuck the thoughts outta your head,” he repeats, almost a chuckle, “That’s what you need, huh?”

“That’s what you need, too. Isn’t it?”

Something smolders behind his gaze as he searches your face.

“You can use me, you know. Take whatever you need from me. Use me like a fuck toy, Joel, I fucking need it.”

His whole body reacts to your request, muscles flexing taught as he clenches his jaw.

You bat your lashes at him and pull yourself close enough to feel his breath on yours when you ask, “Don’t you need a little fuck toy like me, daddy?”

“You’re a sick girl, you know that?”

“You like it.”

Neither of you can deny the other’s accusation, resulting in a stand-off that tingles beneath your skin and makes your heart pound in your throat.

Subconsciously, you rock your hips forward and suck in breath when his cock throbs against your clit. He pushes back, flooding your veins with fire, “Are you gonna keep quiet if I fuck you?”

“Are you gonna shut me up if I can’t?”

He lets out one single amused chuckle, then asks, “Are you really tryna test me right now?”

Suppressing a smile, you shake your head.

“That’s what I thought.”

Something in the way he says it blooms heat in your chest. His tone teasing, almost playful.

He gives your ass a light smack, then tugs at your underwear, “Take these off.”

You roll off him onto the mattress and slide them down your legs while he stands to strip naked. Seeing his cock makes your body hum. It stands at attention, bobbing a little when Joel catches you staring.

Sidling up to the bed, he beckons you closer, so you follow his silent guidance and crawl over to him, wrapping your hand around his thick length. You glance up at him, licking your lips as you await further instructions.

“Get it nice ‘n’ wet for me.”

Nodding, you bring your mouth to the head of his cock, exploring first with your tongue, licking up the salty dribbles of lust. You taste a hint of yourself on him too, arousal that soaked through his boxers and marked him yours. Temporarily, at least. At least for tonight, or at least for right now.

A pleased rumble erupts from his chest when you wrap your lips around him and start to slide up and down his shaft. He feels solid and warm and fills your mouth completely. The first time he hits the back of your throat, you gag and pull off him, working him with your hands as you catch your breath.

“Do it again.”

You take him in your mouth, rutting up and down a few times before sitting up taller to drive him down your throat. He buries his fists in your hair and thrusts his hips forward, “There we go, that’s it—fuck, you’re so fucking good at that.”

His praise sparks at your core. You whine around his cock and bob against his thrusts. It doesn’t matter that you can’t breathe. You don’t need oxygen, you just need this. The sting of his grip prodding your movements, the raw stretch of him fucking your airway, the wet squelch that fills the room.

When he yanks your head back and unclogs your throat, you gasp for breath and stroke him with both hands, churning his slick length. Fire roars in his eyes when you look up at him.

He grabs your chin and husks, “Say thank you.”

“Thank you.”

He smacks your cheek and grabs your chin again, “Say thank you for fucking my face.”

“Thank you for fucking my face, I fucking love it—”

“Say please can I have some more.”

“Please can I have some more, daddy?”

Stifling a groan, he crams it back in your drooling mouth, down your throat, snapping his hips in sharp, quick thrusts that make you gurgle with pleasure around him. Far away, you hear him panting, “Take it take it take it—”

The chorus makes your body tingle. You think about your mom sleeping in the other room, how there’s just a wall between her and this. How she could wake up at any moment and follow the muffled, hedonistic noises. How she would find Joel balls deep in your mouth and you giving him something she never could: control.

This time when he pulls you off his cock, he uses his white-knuckle grip on your hair to make you flip over and turn around, ass in the air towards him.

The head of him nudges up against the tight ring of your asshole. You hear a wet splat, then feel the heat of his spit trickling down between your cheeks. Your body clenches with anticipation as he smears it around.

“Remember, you gotta relax,” he murmurs, releasing your hair to smooth a palm against your spine.

You inhale a deep breath and exhale the tension from your muscles, letting your heart melt into the mattress.

“Good girl,” he arches forward, breaching your entrance.

The sharp sensation splits you open. It pulls a wanton moan from your lips that rings through the silent apartment like a siren.

Yanking you up by your hair, Joel secures your back to his humid chest and clasps a hand over your mouth. Stars invade your field of vision as he drives his cock deeper and deeper, only stopping when he can’t go any further. You sob against his palm, so he pulls it down harder, muffling the noise until you stop.

Everything goes silent and still, but you can’t even bring yourself to worry that you woke her. Not when all you can hear is your thudding heart and his ragged breath, coarse with what you assume is rage or lust or both. Not with his lightning rod cock vibrating hot up your middle.

It doesn’t matter that she could walk in to find her common-law husband fucking your ass, or that this discovery would burn all your lives to the ground. All you care about is more. More stimulation, more attention, more Joel—more more more—

You try to move your hips in an attempt to create friction, but his vice grip renders you immobile. So you stay in place and try not to make noise as the flames lick at your insides. You squirm and ache and claw at his arms while he muffles your whimpers.

Then your mom snores in the other room.

He pulls his hand from your mouth and you gasp for air.

Thinking you can get ahead of the inevitable scolding, you plead, “I’m sorry—”

He drags his cock out of your body, then plunges it back inside, all the while hissing, “If you’re gonna be my little fuck toy—”

“Holy fuck—”

“—You have to be fucking quiet. Do you understand?”

Nodding, you gasp, “I understand, I’ll do better, I promise—please just fuck me, please please—”

You strangle a moan in your throat when he slips a hand between your legs and draws tedious circles on your clit.

“Try ‘n’ breathe through it,” he coaches, “I’ll go slow for you this time, ok? Just remember, shut the fuck up and take deep breaths.”

You suck in air until your chest is full, then release it, restricting its flow through a narrow space between your lips. You do it again. Tension begins to melt from your bones. It has a clarifying effect, allowing you to relish in the heat of his touch. You take another deep breath, only hitting a snag when Joel starts to rock his hips.

It feels fucking unreal. Rough and raw, the steady drag of his cock fills you with static electricity over and over.

“Oh fuck—”

“Shhh…”

Your inhale stutters, but you regain control on the exhale. Everything disappears except him. His heated skin sticking to yours. How fucking full he makes you feel with each thrust. The thick swell of pleasure that accumulates every time he flicks his wrist. You surrender to all of it, to Joel, entrusting him with everything except your breath.

“That’s it, baby, let go.”

“It feels ssso gooood,” you whisper, head rolling back onto his shoulder, “Nothing’s ever felt this good, holy shit—”

His lips tickle your ear as he purrs, “Such a good little fuck toy, aren’t you, baby?”

You gasp a little when the velvet of his tongue rolls against your pulse. Nodding, you reach back behind his neck to scrape your fingernails through his curls. He does it again, this time sealing his lips to suck on the sensitive skin. Your heart pounds thick and hot through your body. The edges peel back at the corner of your mind. You push back against his thrusts, panting out subdued whimpers as the fire in your belly begins to spread.

“Do you wanna come?”

“I do, I wanna come—oh my god I wanna come, please make me come, daddy—”

His hand covers your mouth and holds you down so he can fuck you harder, stretching you out wide and filling you deep. He works your clit faster. The bed frame thumps against the wall in a frantic rhythm that matches the wet slap of his thrusts. Tears prick your eyes and heat swells beneath your skin, pressure building more and more until you think you can’t fucking take it anymore—

His palm smothers your moans as you fall apart, breaking into a million pieces and coming back together again with a choked sob. Joel buries his face in the crook of your neck and groans as his hips snap forward, then stutter to a stop.

The two of you go slack propping each other up, too loose-limbed and lethargic to peel yourselves away at first. He makes the first move to separate, though, uncovering your mouth to brush the damp hair from your forehead, “You ok?”

“Yeah,” you tell him instinctively, then second-guess yourself and look up to meet his eyes, “I mean, I don’t know. I think so.”

He studies you, nodding.

Hesitation buzzes in your chest when you contemplate whether or not to return his question. It seems unlikely he’d cooperate even if you wanted to know the answer. So instead, you give him his out.

“Is this goodnight, then?”

“Suppose it is.”

A flicker of something passes between your bodies as you stare at each other. It feels so hot to the touch that you chicken out, glancing away as you whisper, “Will you do something for me before you go?”

“Hmm?”

“Tuck me in?”

The noise that comes out of him is half-grunt, half-chuckle. Joel for, ‘You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.’ But he obliges, pulling his soft cock from your body at a mercifully slow speed before allowing you to make yourself comfortable. He sorts out your blanket and drapes it over your body, then starts fishing his clothes off the floor.

Tugging his shirt over his head, he asks, “Need anything else, princess?”

You’re sure it’s a dig, but choose to ignore it as you snuggle into the covers and hint, “Don’t make me wait so long next time.”

He sits down at the edge of your mattress and threads his legs through the boxers, “I’ll make you wait as long as you need to. What else?”

“Mmm. Goodnight kiss?”

“Goodnight kiss,” he scoffs to himself, then looks back over his shoulder at you, “Fine, then I’m goin’ to bed.”

He turns to face you more directly, folding a knee onto the bed as he leans in and tilts your head to the side, pressing a gentle kiss into your cheek. Even though you wish he had kissed your lips, you close your eyes and savor the affection while you can.

After murmuring goodnight, Joel leaves. He crawls back into bed with your mother while you memorize the sound of his retreating footsteps.

#joel miller #x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #the last of us smut #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #ruthless joel miller #whatsnewalycat writes #pedro pascal smut

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ellemj · 2 months

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Time & Temptation - Roommates w/ Benefits Pt. 4

Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Read parts 1-3 first if you haven't!

Summary: The somewhat hostile dynamic between you and Bucky shifts the morning after a questionable chain of events. The tension between you seems to be mostly resolved...until it isn't.

Warnings: profanity, teasing, alcohol consumption, mentions of previous smut, gunshot wounds, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: It took me too long to write this and I don't love it, but it'll do. My mind has been all over the place lately and I have a hundred different things going on irl. Side note for anyone who reads my A/Ns, I kinda wanna post a pic of me in a slutty little dress next week for absolutely no reason. That questionable decision is still under advisement.

Bucky wakes up to an ache in his side and the feeling of a wet sheet stuck against his bare abdomen. He doesn’t even have to open his eyes fully to know it’s his wounds from last night, bleeding through the bandages you’d fashioned for him. He heals quickly, but deeper wounds take a little more time. Only a couple of minutes later, Bucky is standing in front of the bathroom mirror, pressing a wet cloth to the exit wound on his lower left side. The bandage you put on his lower left back is still intact and fine, but the one in front just didn’t cut it.

Fuck, I’m cumming. Those three little words in your soft, breathy voice suddenly come to the forefront of Bucky’s mind. That’s the final thing he heard last night before he fell asleep. It all comes flooding back to him. The charged banter in the kitchen, the teasing, locking yourselves in your separate bedrooms for the night and then getting yourselves off. He remembers your moans and whimpers carrying through the walls, straight to his ears. What the hell were you the two of you thinking? You weren’t thinking, and Bucky sure as hell wasn’t thinking.

He glances down and peels the wet cloth away from his skin but sees a fresh stream of blood threatening to spill from the wound and drip into the waistband of his sweats, so he quickly presses it to his skin again and braces his free hand against the edge of the bathroom sink. He’s so lost in thought about last night that he doesn’t even notice your bedroom door opening a few feet down the hall and you shuffling out in your oversized t-shirt.

“Are you bleeding again?” Your raspy morning voice has an almost uncharacteristic meekness to it, and Bucky freezes at the sound of it. His gaze flits to the side and he sees you through the open bathroom door, standing a few feet down the hall, staring at him. Your hair is messy and your faded blue shirt looks like it could be fifteen years old, but your appearance and your soft tone send a bit of blush to his cheeks.

“It’s fine, it’s not bad.” He says flatly, watching as your eyes float down his bare torso and land on the red-tinged cloth he’s holding against his abs. You don’t listen to a word he says, and instead quickly begin walking toward him. You can tell it really isn’t all that bad as you place your palm over his hand and force him to pull the cloth away. It’s a steady bleed but it’s by no means a major hemorrhage.

“Are you going to let me fix it?” You ask, letting go of his hand and letting him press the cloth back to the wound. You stand between him and the bathroom vanity now, looking up at him with a raised brow. Bucky doesn’t really understand the difference in the dynamic of last night versus the dynamic of this morning. You were up in arms all yesterday evening after the incident at the club, and then the entire drive back to the apartment and even in the kitchen you were pissy with him. Is one self-serving orgasm all it takes to completely turn your mood around? Is that why you’re almost being nice this morning? Bucky’s confusion is evident on his face, but you continue to wait for his answer.

“You’re asking this time?”

“If you want to bleed out on the bathroom floor I won’t interfere, but try not to stain the rugs.” You say, rolling your eyes at his stubbornness. Bucky gauges the situation. You’re in a better mood than yesterday, it almost seems like you’ve forgotten the disaster that was last night’s mission. He isn’t going to ruin that and end up with you driving him mad for the rest of the day.

A few moments later, Bucky is sitting on the edge of the bathtub as you sit on your knees between his feet, using a special kind of quick-clotting gauze to fashion a new bandage for his wound. The atmosphere around the two of you doesn’t feel so electrically charged this time, there isn’t an undeniable tension threatening to snap with a single word or touch. Bucky peers down at you with a cloudy gaze as you carefully size the gauze and place it where it needs to be. He can’t help but wonder for a moment how the two of you went from sharing takeout and beer on his couch to being at each other’s throats yesterday. He thinks back to the night he invited you in, the night he said that you and Vision should switch apartments. He liked you that night. After your second beer, you talked to him like you hadn’t lived across the hall from each other for 6 months and simply been acquaintances all of that time. He never would have thought he’d end up taking a bullet for you within the first two days of sharing a place.

The sound of a key sliding into the apartment door catches the attention of you both, and your hands falter against Bucky’s lower abdomen as you look up at him with questioning eyes. Does Vision still have a key?

“Bucky, I swear to god if you laid up in this apartment and bled to death last night—” Sam stops short when the apartment door swings shut behind him and his eyes land on the two of you. He can see straight down the short hallway, through the open bathroom door, to where you sit between Bucky’s feet on the floor, still facing his torso. “Shit, I should’ve knocked.”

“Why the hell do you have a key to my apartment?” Bucky asks gruffly, lifting one hand from the edge of the bathtub and running it through his hair. It takes Sam two more seconds to figure out that it’s you on the floor, and that you’re not doing Bucky the kind of favor you appear to be doing him.

“Why the hell are the two of you half-dressed, sitting in there like that?” Sam’s question reminds you that you’re not wearing any pants. You let out a soft sigh before continuing your work on Bucky’s wound, placing the last piece of medical tape firmly against his skin to secure the three layers of gauze you so neatly arranged. “Wait, did you sleep here last night?” Sam asks with an obvious hint of amusement in his tone. Bucky narrows his eyes at the man and notices the playful smile taking over his features across the apartment.

“Why are you here, Sam?” Bucky responds with his own question. Placing your hands on Bucky’s knees, you push yourself up to a standing position and step away from him. For the quickest moment, he's staring right at the line where your t-shirt ends and your thighs begin, but then you’re gone, moving to the sink to wash your hands, and he’s left staring at Sam.

“I texted you three times last night and you didn’t answer me once. It’s sort of basic human decency to respond to texts after you’ve been shot.” Sam points out. He walks further into the apartment and turns in the direction of the kitchen. You shoot Bucky a look over your shoulder as you dry your hands on a towel. It’s a look that says are we not telling Sam I moved in here? Bucky understands it instantly and returns it with his own look that says I don’t know what to tell him. So, neither of you say anything about it.

You head back to your own room to find some pants while Bucky heads to the kitchen to see what Sam’s on about.

“It’s making more sense now.” Sam chuckles, just as Bucky rounds the corner of the hall and comes into his view. Sam pulls the fridge open and starts rummaging through its limited contents, searching for any semblance of breakfast food. Bucky leans his back against the nearest edge of the kitchen counter and listens to the soft fabric sounds down the hall as you search for a pair of sweats to pull on.

“What is?”

“You two being at each other’s throats last night. It didn’t make sense to me then but it makes sense now.” Sam has a shit-eating grin plastered across his face as he closes the fridge and turns around to face Bucky.

“How so?” Bucky really shouldn’t be egging him on, but here he is.

“You’re into each other.” Sam says assuredly. Bucky scoffs, shaking his head and crossing his arms over his still bare chest. “She slept over last night, didn’t she? Did you two take your heated differences straight to the bedroom after I dropped you both off here?”

“I slept in my own bed last night.” You interject. You’re tying the drawstrings on a pair of joggers as you step into the kitchen and shoot both of the men passing glances. Your claim may be blurring the truth in the slightest way, but it’s not a lie. Sam looks between the two of you with narrowed eyes and disbelief written all over his face.

“Fine. I’ll give it a rest.” Sam concedes, holding his hands up. He steps toward the middle of the kitchen and plants his hands on the surface of the island while you begin filling a small glass with water. Bucky’s eyes are heavy on you. He’s watching you closely, and you can tell, though your back is to him.

One orgasm. One orgasm is all it took to turn you back into the girl you were when he found you standing outside of his door with a bag of takeout and an offer to share with him. He doesn’t even tune into what you and Sam begin conversing about. He’s stuck in his head, thinking about how you went from becoming his roommate, to becoming his enemy, to patching him up, and then to getting yourself off at the end of it all. He thinks if he dwells on the chain of events too long, he may end up with whiplash.

—

You lie on your back on the living room floor with the backs of your thighs against the front side of the couch and your lower legs resting atop the seat cushion. You’re two and a half beers in and feeling buzzed, listening to good music and drowning in your own thoughts when you hear the apartment door handle turning.

Bucky had been out with Sam all day after he stopped by this morning. They were doing a bit of recon on Elias Leveaux. It was something you should’ve been a part of, and Sam had indeed asked you to ride over to SHIELD headquarters with them and spend the day working on it, but you politely declined.

“After last night, I think I deserve a day off.” You had said. “I would’ve nailed him last night if someone hadn’t interfered.” You were obviously referring to Bucky.

“I’m sure you would have.” Bucky grumbled back. You knew exactly what he was implying, yet your only response was a roll of your eyes in his direction and a friendly goodbye to Sam before they left.

You turn your head to the side and watch as the door swings open and Bucky steps inside, immediately looking to his right and taking in the sight of you half on the floor and half on the couch, with a couple of empty bottles and a few unopened ones scattered around your body. The first thing you notice when you meet his gaze is how tense he looks. You can see the beginnings of dark circles forming under his eyes, the way the muscles in his neck and jaw look taut, the unreadable look on his face. You’re sure he planned to come in, shower, and go straight to bed, even though it’s barely past eight at night. You’re so sure he had no intention of engaging with you, especially after last night. After the heated exchange in the kitchen and the following mutual masturbation through the walls of the apartment he probably wanted nothing more than to pretend you don’t exist. Letting you patch him up again this morning was likely just a lapse in judgment, or maybe he’d forgotten about last night entirely. For a second, you get the horrifying feeling that your moans and sensual sounds might’ve actually been forgettable for him. Wait, why does that possibility bother you?

As you lie on your shared living room floor, still staring at Bucky as you overthink, he starts tugging off his leather jacket.

“Drink with me.” You say softly, nudging one of the unopened bottles of beer across the floor with your index finger. Bucky drops his jacket on the arm of the couch nearest to him and weighs his options. He can hear a hot shower calling his name, but the way you’re looking at him is tugging at him a little more than it should. You smile to yourself when he narrows his eyes at you, yet sinks into the far seat of the couch and reaches down to the floor, accepting the beer you pushed in his direction. “Did you guys find anything good today?” You ask, returning your gaze back to the ceiling above.

“Nothing you don’t already know.” Bucky pops the cap of the beer with ease and raises the bottle to his lips, taking one long sip.

“But you were out there for almost twelve hours.” You say incredulously, giving him a questioning side-eye. Bucky raises a brow at you and cocks his head to one side.

“You were counting?”

“Counting every hour of pure, rejuvenating quiet time I got today.” You retort.

“Oh? After what I heard last night, I was sure that quiet wasn’t really your thing.” The words leave Bucky’s mouth and they come as a shock to him as much as they do to you. He’d like to blame the beer for his slip of the tongue, but only being one sip in and having the metabolism that he does renders the excuse unusable.

“If you want to talk about that, can we also talk about your volume? I heard you loud and clear, soldier.” With your heavenly sounds from last night replaying in his mind, Bucky begins to notice the way the front of his pants are starting to have a little less room than usual. He takes another sip of his beer and lifts his gaze from where you are on the floor to look out the windows making up the wall to your left. Ignore it, he thinks to himself.

“You started it.” He grumbles, his words sounding a bit like those of a child. You laugh to yourself as you tug your legs down from the couch and move to sit upright on the floor.

“But we both finished it, didn’t we?” When you look into each other’s eyes this time, you’re definitely feeling the effects of the drinks you downed before he made it back home. You’re thinking about him wrapping his hand around the shaft of his hard cock, working up and down the length of it while he lies in his bed and listens to you through the walls. You’re lost in thought, as evidenced by the look on your face, and Bucky narrows his eyes at you.

“Is that why you seemed so normal this morning?” The question comes tumbling out before he can second-guess himself and stop his tongue from forming the words. “Because you…finished?” He chooses to go with your safe choice of words.

“I seemed normal this morning?” You raise a brow at him. He runs a hand through his messy hair and holds his beer atop his knee with the other hand.

“You weren’t pissed like you were yesterday.” He’s watching you carefully, studying the way your expression softens and your eyes roll away from him, toward the ceiling again.

“I guess an orgasm does that to a girl.”

As the two of you continue drinking in the unexpectedly comfortable silence, you find yourself wondering if last night’s orgasm did him as much good as it did you. You woke up feeling refreshed and at ease, even though, just as Bucky said, you were pissed yesterday. It was the perfect solution to your anger. Just by listening to Bucky and touching yourself you were able to lull yourself into a nice sleep and your bad mood had seemingly dissipated by sunrise this morning.

“Maybe you should do that more often.” Bucky says under his breath. Though he doesn’t know why he decided to say it, he didn’t feel like holding the words back. He watches you with the most nonchalant gaze as your lips part and your eyes begin to search his. He shouldn’t have said it, he knows that. But it’s just like when he said maybe you and Vision should switch rooms. He sits down and drinks with you and somehow, his inhibitions melt away and he says shit that he shouldn’t say. He watches as your bewildered expression turns into a more adjusted, thoughtful expression. You push yourself up off of the floor, coming to stand on your bare feet as you continue looking into his steely blue eyes.

“On my own?” Now Bucky’s the bewildered one. He does a good job of masking it as he sips on his beer, but you know you’ve gotten to him with just three little words. You smirk at him before turning on your heel and bending over to gather your empty bottles from the floor. You don’t even think about the view you’re giving him. You have no idea that the combination of your insinuating question and your current stance in front of him have his cock straining against the fabric of his jeans. He draws his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down, squeezing his eyes shut for a second until he hears the clang of the last beer bottle being gathered into your arms. He looks back at you just as you’re turning around to face him once more.

Fuck it. Bucky shrugs his shoulders and you shoot him a quizzical look, frozen in place a foot to his right, with all of those bottles in your grasp. You follow every move he makes as he rises from the couch and downs the last sip of his beer, keeping his eyes trained on yours. His stare is hard and penetrating, feeling as if it’s going right through you.

“Did I say on your own?”

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#bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #mcu #bucky barnes x you #the winter soldier #winter soldier

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writerswall26 · 3 months

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My Sweet Cairo (Part 3)

Synopsis: The Ravens' Soccer team Captain fell in love for Cairo Sweet

Warning: Slight cursing, Student-Teacher relations, Anger rage. Other than that, none that I know of (but feel free to correct me)

Words: 2.2k

Masterlist | Previous Part| Next Part

A/N: Some small fluff before the start of it all. Also, I apologize to all the football (yes! I call it football, they use their foot! Sue me! But for the sake of the story, I'll call it soccer.) enthusiast out there that knows their thing. Happy Reading!

Y/N was on her way home on friday when she noticed a car on Cairo's driveway. She did not expect Cairo's parents to be home. She slowed down for a couple of moments only to be greeted by Mr. Miller walking out of Cairo's front door, looking horrified and dishevelled and wet.

There was stinging in her eyes as she watched their literature teacher run to his car and drive off without looking back. She watched him until he was out of sight before she let the tears fall. The anger inside her bubbling once again. She rode her bike, went home and slammed her bedroom door shut. Her mum's at the hospital right now, she's on call.

The next thing she knows, she's throwing everything that she got her hands on, punching a hole in the wall every chance she gets. Flash backs coming to her. She despises them. Students like them, like Cairo.

"Fuck you!" She shouted, throwing a lamp on the wall. "Fuck all of you!" She shouted before her sobs were heard. Her body slumping on her closet door as she cried. Her body was shaking. She couldn't take it.

The flashback of herself running to her parents' bedroom when she heard the gunshot, the red colour flowing down the floor, and the sight of her father's unmoving body, a bullet hole in his head as the gun's dropped on the floor. All of it, coming back to her like a tidal wave, taking her down with it and not letting her breathe even for a second. Then she was out cold.

When she woke up, her room was already tidied up, no more shattered glasses on the floor, the holes on the wall were still there, her hand bandaged up gently. She groaned as she pushed herself up, looking around her room. It was like the scene from last night did not happen. The only evidence of it were the holes.

When she got down to get herself lunch, which she did not notice, she found her mother already preparing the table. Y/M/N gave her daughter a smile as she patted the empty spot beside her.

"I was going to wake you up in a bit. Big night tonight." Y/M/N said, not mentioning or asking what the hell happened last night. She knows better.

"What time did you come in last night?" Y/N asked her mother who turned to her with a smile.

"Just a little over midnight. I was gonna check in on you but you were passed out cold on the floor so I dragged your heavy ass on your bed. Rough day yesterday?" Y/M/N said, not wanting to ask questions. She wants to let her daughter feel free to tell her things.

Y/N nodded. "It was, yeah. Or maybe the championship game is getting ahead of me. Thanks for patching my hand, cleaning my room, and dragging my huge ass on my bed." She smiled.

Y/M/N chuckled as they started to eat. "Are you ready for tonight's game? You know I'm still extremely proud of you even if you sit this down, right?" She assured.

"Nah, I can't. I want to win this game and whack Mr. Miller with the championship cup, together with my MVP trophy." She joked, hypothetically.

"Ooff, that's a bit aggressive." Y/M/N said, making Y/N laugh.

"We have a bet going on. I don't want to lose to a one time book publishing writer." Y/N said, there was something in her voice that Y/M/N can't quite pinpoint on, but she did not push it.

"I'll see you at school, mum." Y/N bid her mum goodbye a couple of hours after lunch to go get ready for the championship game.

"Good luck, sweetheart." Y/M/N told her daughter and gave her a kiss on the cheek before she let Y/N go.

When Y/N got to the locker room, everyone was already there, preparing.

"Where have you been, man? And what happened to your hand?" Jasmine was the first to find her.

Y/N just smiled before she put her duffel bag down, got her clothes and shoes out and went to go change. They didn't have enough time to speak as it was about to start in a few minutes. After Y/N changed, she removed the bandage in her hand with a wince, seeing the wounds but paying no mind as coach Fillmore clapped his hands to get their attention.

He did his usual motivational speech but this time, a bit aggressive and rough. Then they all turned to Y/N who was not in her usual smiling face.

"The Sharks were the hardest bunch to defeat in the rosters this year. But we already did that. However, we don't want to be complacent. The timberwolves were a menace last season, we managed to beat them but this is different. They're gonna be rough and dirty. So I suggest, if you must, join them at their game." She said, aggression and venom in her voice.

Everyone was quiet after that. They know she was not here to play and she's gonna do whatever means necessary to win that cup. Coach noticed the tense atmosphere so he clapped his hands and got their attention.

"Alright! Let's get out there and get this cup! Go, Ravens!" He shouted, guiding his team out the lockers to the dugout.

Y/N was front in line as they waited for their team name to be called. The usual starter went on with the national anthem and rules laid down from the refs.

"You sure you're down to play?" Coach Fillmore asked when he got a few moments with Y/N before the game started.

"Yes, sir." Y/N said, looking at the fields to focus herself.

"Y/N." He called out which got her to look at him. He was worried, she can see that. Her body is whacked and he's not sure if she's really ready for this game emotionally.

"I can do this. I can play." She assured them with a burning desire to win in her eyes. The coach nodded, not knowing what to say or do so he let her.

As soon as they got on the field, Y/N was aggressive. She was soloing the fields left and right, kicking the ball to the post whenever she could but nothing was going in. She was getting frustrated when the last 5 minutes of the first half came so she did what she knew in the moment, slamming bodies and aggressive goal kicking.

She heard a whistle blowing and then a yellow card on her face by the time the first half was over.

Y/N slammed the door of the locker room as soon as she got inside, then Jasmine lunged at her, screaming at her.

"What the fuck were you thinking?! What was that?!" Jasmine keeps berating her while their teammates are pulling Jasmine off her.

"Y/L/N! What was that?!" Coach Fillmore followed as Y/N fixed herself. "Get your ass out of here and take a breather before I pull you out of the game all together!"

Y/N picked up her water bottle and stormed out of the locker room. She was pacing back and forth on the dark dugout before throwing her water bottle on the wall.

"Y/N!" Someone called out, a voice she knew all too well.

"Cairo, get away from me, I swear to God." Y/N angrily said, facing the shorter girl as she breathes heavily.

Cairo stared at her for a moment before walking towards her but she stepped back.

"Leave, now!" She shouted, making Cairo flinched, but she made no attempt to leave.

"What is happening to you? You're throwing away your game, your championship. You literally tackled a player out there." Cairo said, a certain sweetness in her voice that made Y/N's knees buckle but she stood firm.

"What the fuck do you care?" Y/N asked aggressively. "Why are you even here?!"

"Because I care for you, I want you to win this game." Cairo said, slowly walking towards her, wanting their distance to close in so she could hold Y/N but the taller girl kept walking back.

"I saw you." Y/N said, staring at Cairo to see her reaction. "At Vanderbilt. With Mr. Miller. That's why you rejected my invite right? Because you were with Mr. Miller?"

Cairo's brows furrowed for a bit, Y/N almost saw her panic before Cairo smiled and walked towards her, holding a hand on her chest.

"Is that why you've been acting all weird lately? Because you saw me with Mr. Miller?" Cairo asked, her voice laced with amusement. "He's helping me with my essay, Y/N. It was nothing."

Y/N shook her head, not believing what she's hearing but Cairo held her cheek, pulling her face so she could look at the brunette in front of her. Cairo's smile never left her face as she caressed Y/N's face gently. Calming the taller girl.

"Are you jealous?" She asked, amused.

Y/N rolled her eyes and looked away again but Cairo pulled her face back so she could look at her.

"You're really jealous." Cairo let out a giggle before she pulled Y/N's face and gave her a long sweet kiss.

When Cairo pulled away, there was still the sweet smile, her forehead on Y/N's forehead.

"Y/N, I like you. I know I should've told you this earlier." She said.

"Then what was Mr. Miller doing at your house? Last friday. I saw him walk out of your front door looking bothered and disoriented." She asked, pulling herself away.

Cairo gave her a look. "There was a small mishap that happened, he accidentally grabbed my phone so he went to my place to give it back. He was supposed to be on a weekend getaway with his wife when she called it off because there was something wrong, I don't know."

Y/N stared at Cairo for a long time, reading her, seeing a semblance of a lie, but nothing. Then she sighed, walking over to Cairo and leaning her head on the shorter girl's shoulder. Cairo's hand was immediately at the back of her head, playing with her hair, soothing her.

"I cannot believe I got jealous over nothing." Y/N groaned before she pulled her head back to look at Cairo who's already giggling.

"Maybe next time before you go all hulk on everyone, try to ask me first."

"Yeah, I'll do that." Y/N said before she leaned forward to capture Cairo's lips for the last time.

When she pulled back, there was already a smile on her face. All the anger and resentment bubbling down with everything that Cairo said. She's finally at peace.

"Now, go back there. Apologize to your team and to coach Fillmore. Apologize to that player you tackled. And go win this damn championship." Cairo told her sweetly. Y/N nodded before she straightened up.

"See you after I win this game." Y/N said and went back to the locker room. When she got there, the team was already waiting for her, 2 minutes before the second half started.

"I'm sorry. My head is in shambles, I was a mess. But I promise, I am all calmed and ready to play nice." She told them.

Her team looked at each other before Jasmine stood up and walked to her. Jasmine smiled, holding a hand.

"Let's get this championship done." Jasmine said. Y/N took her hand before the locker room erupted in cheers and hype.

"Alright!" Coach shut them up. "We're gonna play nice, play fair, and we're gonna score. Ready?"

"Yes, sir!" Everyone shouted before they were out of the locker room and into the fields.

Y/N walked to the player she tackled and apologized. The player was pissed to say the least but she accepted Y/N apology and playfully taunted her. The game went smoothly with no aggressiveness.

"Y/L/N ran the fields, dodging 2 players at a time, the ball steady in her feet, she sidestepped and GOAL!" The commentator said, watching in anticipation as the Ravens scored their winning goal for the championship.

The stands erupted in cheers and whistles. The ravens tackled Y/N with a hug, throwing her on their shoulder and chanting her name. It was a wonderful game for both teams despite the earlier play.

Y/N held the championship trophy up, looking up at the sky with teary eyes.

"For you, dad." She muttered before she was let down to celebrate.

The first person Y/N looked for was her mum, who was patiently waiting on the side, tears in her eyes, her hands held together. Y/N ran to her mum and gave her a tight hug.

"I'm so so proud of you, darling!" Y/M/N said, holding her daughter's face to give her a kiss. Y/N let her mum before she gave her the MVP trophy as well.

"This game is for you, and dad." She said, smiling widely at her mum who sobbed. She held her mum tightly in her arms.

"Your father would be so proud of you, he would be so proud." Y/M/N cried in her daughter's arms.

When her mum finally calmed down, Y/M/N told her to go celebrate so she did. She looked around until she found the person she was looking for, she ran to Cairo and hugged her tight, making the shorter girl laugh in her arms.

"Congratulations, baby. I'm so proud of you." Cairo said, patting Y/N's back before the taller girl pulled away.

"I bet you are." Y/N said before she leaned down and gave Cairo a loving kiss.

They heard the Ravens shouting and cheering but they paid no mind as they got lost in their own world.

#jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega x fem reader #jenna ortega x you #cairo sweet x reader #tara carpenter #cairo sweet #wednesday addams #wednesday addams x reader #miller's girl

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the-guilty-writer · 1 year

Text

Work The Case

Request from @doctorsteeb: This may be too sensitive a topic but just an idea— Hotch!daughter taking out a school shooter?

Aaron Hotchner x daughter!reader

Summary: A normal Tuesday takes a turn when you come face to face with your father's work.

A/N: Not going to lie I wasn't going to write this because I felt like the idea was too sensitive but then I remembered that I'm the queen of writing too sensitive things in real life so I may as well do that here too (within limits of course. I still have ethics). So here it is!

CW: school shooting, fatal gun shot, talks of foyet, talks of dead mothers, talks of car crashes, talks of drunk driving, talks of divorce, Jackson Pollok slander

---

The morning started out like any other Tuesday: you got up and ready for the day before having breakfast with your dad and brother- oatmeal and orange juice- then your dad drove you and Jack to school. Jack always got dropped off first at the elementary school, and you at the high school. The ride between the two was short, but it was always long enough for a small, private conversation between you and your father.

“You okay?” he asked you.

Ugh. Profilers.

“I’m…” You thought about saying ‘fine,’ but you knew he wouldn’t take that as an answer. You sighed. “The teacher let the class vote on what chapter we would cover in class next, so we started on abnormal criminal psychology yesterday.”

“Oh.” You’d never heard your dad sound so uncertain.

“It’s an extra chapter. Since it’s not listed in the curriculum we aren’t being tested on the material. The teacher told me I could spend that period in the library if it was… too much,” you finished.

You dad pulled in front of the school, leaning over to kiss you on the forehead goodbye. “Whatever you need, sweetheart.”

“Thanks,” you told him.

“Try to have a good day,” he said before you shut the car door.

You nodded. “I’ll try.”

---

You took your teacher’s offer and went to the library instead of their classroom. The space was large, but mostly empty of people- there was just the librarian behind her desk and a few students scattered amongst the tables. You took a seat and pulled out your homework, trying not to think about what they were learning back in the classroom. You’d honestly overheard enough phone calls that whatever they were learning about you already knew. There was a buzz in your pocket, which automatically made you freeze. You kept your phone on do not disturb through the school day. The only reason your phone would buzz would be if your dad was texting you… and if your dad was texting you it was an emergency.

You pulled your phone out and you were right- it was a text from your dad. Three words: Work the case.

Shit. That was code for you and Jack to hide- to hide somewhere that you wouldn’t be found unless you wanted to be. You looked around the library, but the area was like an open plain. You shoved your work in your backpack and hurried towards the doors-

BOOM!

A gunshot.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

People began to scream. Through the glass windows of the library you could see students running, but it wasn’t because they were late to class. The lockdown alarm sounded and you scrambled under one of the tables, hoping it would be enough cover.

There was a stillness and a silence for a minute and you hoped that it was over, but gunshots rang out again- this time they were louder than they had been before. Someone was getting closer.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, making it feel as though your entire body was thumping to its too-fast rhythm. You wanted to cry, but you didn’t shed any tears. You wondered if this was what it had been like for Jack when Foyet had killed your mother and then tried to kill your father. As part of WISTEC, you had been sent away to a private boarding school with an alias while Jack and your mom were sent elsewhere. In the end, sending you away had saved your life, but now you were wondering if you were going to die soon anyway.

That was, until the library doors burst open. From your view under the table you could only see old shoes and baggy jeans but you heard the shots that were fired into the air.

“Get up! All of you!” It was a male voice.

You, along with the six other students in the library that had all dropped to the floor, looked around at one another- who would make the decision to stand up or stay down? Who would make that call?

More shots were fired. “I said get up!”

You thought about your dad- what would he do? And so you were the one to make the call, the first student to crawl out slowly from under the table and rise, your hands held up to show that you were no threat. The rest of the students followed your lead. This was your team now- if one of them died, it was on you.

You looked at the shooter and you knew who he was- Timmy Rogers. He’d been in some of your classes in middle school and high school. He had always been quiet- the kind of kid who did well in class but never answered any questions. The person who put their share into a group project and didn’t complain about having to pick up the slack if someone else bailed. He was nice enough of a person that you wouldn’t have expected him to be holding a firearm in the middle of your school, but then again most unsubs could keep themselves hidden for years- that much you knew.

“Line up against the wall. Now!” he shouted.

You walked calmly to the wall while some of the other students scampered. One girl was crying. Another boy’s fists were twisted with fear. The librarian was on her knees, pleading with Timmy. “You’re a good boy. You always have been. Your mother-”

“Don’t talk about my mother! Don’t talk about me! You don’t know me!”

“Yes I do,” the librarian was crying. “I do know you and your mom wouldn’t have wanted-”

Timmy pulled the trigger and she was gone. He marched over and grabbed the girl who was crying, dragging her out in front for the rest of you to see. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” She fell to her knees. “Please, I’m sorry-”

You thought quickly about everything you knew about Timmy. He wasn’t an athlete by any means but he joined the wrestling team anyway, he liked art and his project last year was based on his parent’s divorce, his father was a marine, and his mom…

Oh. His mom had died in a car crash last week. She was hit by a drunk driver.

“You never cared about me!” he yelled. “Nobody cares about me. Nobody cared about her-”

“I did.” You didn’t know where the words came from- they were solid and bold and half a lie, but they made Timmy let go of the girl.

“And who are you?” He pointed the gun in your direction. You wanted to scream, but you didn’t.

“I’m (Y/N) Hotchner. W-we had art class together last year.” You hoped your stumble wasn’t too obvious.

“Yeah, and why does that matter? Why should I let you live? Why should I let any of you live?” He waved the gun around in the air, making some of the students shriek, but somehow you stayed calm even though you wanted to explode.

“Y-your mom died in a car crash last week. But it wasn’t her fault. It was the other person who was driving drunk and it wasn’t fair that they got to live and she had to die,” you said.

“Why do you care?” He spat.

You reached deep down… really deep. “My mom died too. She was murdered by a serial killer. She deserved so much better, just like your mom did.”

Timmy paused, the gun in his hand was shaking but still pointed at you. From your view, you could see that through the glass there were officers moving into the school. No. Not just officers- they were wearing FBI vests. Help was almost there, you just had to stall.

“My parents got divorced too,” you said. “Your final project last year really spoke to me- your dad was away all the time and your mom got tired of it, even though they still loved each other.” That was a total lie- the guy was about as talented as Pollok, but you had to find something. “My parents were the same way.”

Now Timmy was crying. You could see behind him that agents were moving towards the library, but you were too focused on stalling Timmy that you weren’t focused on their faces.

“And I was at a boarding school when she died so I was alone- all alone, just like you, Timmy. My mom died and nobody was there to comfort me. My dad wasn’t with me, just like your dad isn’t here right now.”

He was so distracted by your words that he didn’t even notice that the library doors had opened behind him allowing Agent Morgan, Dr. Reid, and your dad to come in unnoticed.

“He- he didn’t even come for her funeral-” Timmy’s hand was getting weaker. He was crying harder. “I-I can’t reach him-”

“I know. I couldn’t reach my dad either since I was still in WISTEC. They couldn’t tell me anything about him until I got home. It’s not fair. I know it’s not fair. I care that it’s not fair.”

Timmy dropped the gun, crumbling to the ground in a fit of tears. Agent Morgan tackled him, pulling his hands behind his back while Dr. Reid disabled the firearm. Your dad ran straight to you, gripping you in a bone crushing hug and you sobbed into his chest.

He pulled you in tighter, stroking a hand down your hair. “It’s over, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. It’s over.”

“I worked the case, dad,” you managed to get out between your sobs. “I worked the case.”

#criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x daughter!reader #aaron hotchner x child!reader #hotch x daughter!reader #hotch x child!reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds x platonic!reader #criminal minds x teen!reader #criminal minds x daughter!reader #criminal minds x child!reader

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ddejavvu · 8 months

Note

for mvm, aaron doing a cognitive interview to reader, who has really bad memory (like she cant remember what she had for breakfast that morning and it's 12 pm)

"I'm not going to be very helpful," You warn the agent in front of you, correcting yourself when you realize you sound like you're resisting, "Uh, not like- I mean, I'll try, but my memory is really bad."

His face softens from where it had been bordering on stern, and he smiles kindly, "Don't worry about that. You might be surprised how much you can remember if you trust yourself."

You're fairly certain you trust yourself every day, but it doesn't mean you can remember much of anything. You blink at him, unconvinced, and he dims the lights in the room.

"Close your eyes," He instructs, "And try to think about where you were yesterday morning at 11AM."

That's... an issue. You'd been at work, sure, because this whole thing is about a man who'd put six bullet holes in your customers, but you have absolutely no idea what you were doing, or where you were standing. You let yourself think about standing at the cash register, hoping that something else will come back to you if you just squeeze your eyes tightly enough.

"What were you wearing?" He asks, and your brows furrow.

"I dunno."

"Think. Think about the clothes that you put on yesterday, what were they? Look down at yourself, what are you wearing?"

You're sure it's an exercise in memory, but the problem is, you're particularly weak in that area. You know it doesn't really matter what you were wearing, but you can't even remember that, so it's hard to hope that you'll ever be able to help him.

"Agent Hotchner?" You hum worriedly, and when he responds, you admit, "I don't even know what I'm wearing today."

There's a beat of silence, and it stretches just longer than you'd like it to, then he decides" "Let's try a different approach. What was it like directly after the shooting started? Take yourself back to when you heard the first gunshot; tell me about it, what did you do? What did you hear, what did you see?"

You heard a gunshot. You saw the backs of your eyelids.

"Agent Hotchner," You inhale sharply, eyes flying open and muscles tensing, "I'm sorry. I just- can't. I'm not the kind of person that these things work on," You stumble to your feet, but he catches your hands, and pulls you back down to your chair.

"Trust yourself," He repeats, voice smooth and easing your nerves, "You saw the entire thing. And your brain is more capable than you give it credit for. Just try one more time, that's all I'm asking."

You sit back down again, if only for the comforting warmth of Agent Hotchner's hands on your own after your the past 24 hours left you sufficiently rattled.

"Close your eyes," He reminds you, leaving his hands over your own, squeezing gently, "Okay. You're at work. It's 11:14 AM, and you're behind the counter. That's where they found you. Do you remember the customer you're serving?"

Your initial instinct is to say no, but your hands are still firmly anchored by his own, and you let yourself relax into them.

"Um," You try, "I think they were buying- something glass. Because it broke when I ducked behind the counter."

"Good. You have cuts on your hands," Agent Hotchner reminds you, "What were they buying that was made out of glass?"

You see a flash of purple lodged into your finger, "A vase. It was- a vase, for flowers. She was buying it for her daughter. As a wedding gift."

Another encouraging squeeze to your hands, "Good. Now, you hear the gunshots. Do you drop to the ground immediately, or do you look around?"

"I dropped- no, I- I froze for a second. And looked around."

"Did you see him?"

"The- what, the shooter?"

"The shooter," Agent Hotchner confirms, your hands secure in his hold, "Did you see the shooter?"

"I don't remember."

"Think."

"I don't- I don't remember!"

"Yes you do. You remember, you looked around, did you see him?"

"I don't know," You feel like sobbing, your chest tight, "Agent Hotchner, I don't know. Please-" You try pulling your hands away, uncomfortable with the pressure on your lungs as you recount the most traumatic experience of your life mere hours after it had transpired, "I can't!"

"You can," Agent Hotchner's voice rises with your own, driving an unstoppable force against your immovable object, gripping your hands like a vice, "Did you see him?"

"Yes!" You wail, and the weight on your chest evaporates. "Yes. I did. He was- he was white, and I don't know how... tall, but he was- he was white. And he was wearing black."

"All black?"

"Yeah. No- uh, grey pants. Black shirt."

"We have a lineup ready," Agent Hotchner informs you, standing and rounding the table without ever letting go of your trembling hands. "Let's go now, while the memory's fresh."

"You want me to see him?" You verify, cowed by the thought, "Like- I have to go in there, and- look at him?"

"He might be there, he might not." Agent Hotchner squeezes your hands again, the pressure soothing despite it's strength, "But I will be. Will you look at the lineup?"

He watches you with hopeful eyes, dark and kind despite having raised his voice only moments ago. You marvel at how his harsh tone had brought back the hazy reminder of the shooter's own, how they'd strung together like beads trailing one after the other in your mind.

"If you're there," You conclude in a shaky voice, "I'll go."

"You'll be safe with me," He promises, and though there's no smile on his face, you think that his intense gaze might calm your nerves more than a smile ever could. He's not being nice to you, he's being honest with you, and you believe him: you're safe with him.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner scenarip #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotchner hc #aaron hotchner hcs #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner dialogue #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction

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muchosbesitos · 5 months

Text

playing roblox with miguel :3

contents: some mild language 🥸

author’s note: i wrote this just for the sake of it so don’t take it too seriously 😭 got like three vc warnings yesterday in cart ride into josh hutcherson 😓

word count: 1.6K

Miguel found himself getting jealous of a sixteen year old kid. And he hated every second of it.

You'd been skipping on spending time with him to spend time with Miles, going from thirty minutes to almost two hours now. And while he knew that you had the right to go out and spend time with your friends, the truth was that your absence was starting to take a toll on him. Which is why he suggested the idea to you just when you were about to leave.

"Would it be an inconvenience if you played with me instead?" He spoke up when your hand touched the door knob, your brows raised in confusion. "I don't think you'd like it too much. But I'd love to play with you. Let me just send a message to Miles," you told him, taking off your jacket and hanging it on the wall hook. After sending a message to miles that you wouldn't be showing up for the daily game sesh, you pulled out your computer and settled down on the couch.

You stifled a laugh when you saw Miguel wearing his glasses, one finger tapping at the screen like a grandpa would do. "Stop laughing and come help me out," he grumbled, looking up from the phone at you. You got up from your spot on the couch, bending down to his level at the kitchen table to look at the phone. "Let me see the phone then," you told him, a dirty look being shot your way. "I'm not completely useless. Just show me how to do it," he responded, already annoyed and he hadn't made an account yet.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, filling out the information that was necessary to make an account. "All you have to do is make a username," you told him, going back to your spot on the couch. A couple minutes later, you received a friend request from 'bigbrain2099.' You scrolled through the games catalog, trying to find something that wouldn't piss him off too badly. "How do you feel about playing 'Da Hood'?" You inquired, a curt nod coming from him, his attention on setting up the voice chat settings.

"Where are you?" He asked after five minutes, running around in circles to look for you. "I'm by the bank. If you want, I'll go look for you," you told him, his fingers already on the controls once more when you finished speaking. You decided to go inside of the bank, punching the money registers while you waited for him to come find you. You went back outside when you saw his avatar come into frame, letting out a small gasp when he got shot. You were about to pick him up so he could heal properly but some headless girl took him away before you had the chance.

"Can you let my boyfriend go, please?" You pleaded with the girl, chasing her down the street. The girl continues running down the streets, going inside one of the houses and locking up the door. "I'll let him go under one condition," the girl spoke from the inside, another gunshot being heard after she finished. "I need a Discord sugar daddy so get him to agree to that and I'll let him go," she added on, your eyes immediately going over to Miguel. You saw the scowl on his face deepen even further, his hands gripping the phone with no remorse.

"Why do you play these games?" He asked you in a meek voice, sounding more disappointed than anything. "They're not that bad, it's just we got into a bad server," you tried to defend yourself, knowing damn well it was always this bad. "I'll give you a hundred thousand if you let him go," you unmuted your mic, speaking to the girl once more. "Broke ass bum. Get your money up," you heard Miguel's voice come from inside of the house, a *twack* being heard afterwards. "Make that 150 for the attitude."

"Pinche gonorrea hijo 'e puta. Me tienen hasta la puta madre," he grumbled, getting shot at for the thousandth time in the span of five minutes. "The way you switch from different types of Spanish is so poetic, truly," you murmured, a small smirk on your face at the glare that he shot you. "¡Coño! Vete a la chingada!" he screamed out once more, getting shot at just when he managed to find you once more. You resisted the urge to laugh so you wouldn't get him even more pissed off, running around to get some food for energy.

"Baby, some girl dressed in a thong killed me," he grumbled, putting the phone down on the table with more force than necessary. He rubbed his eyes as he waited for his character to respawn, a laugh threatening to come out of your chest at the sight. "I'll give you the money to get a gun once you come and find me again," you told him, watching his avatar come into sight after a couple seconds. The two of you ran into the armory, dropping some cash onto the floor for him to grab. "Do I step on it or just click on it?" he murmured to himself, doing both just to be safe.

He went back to find the girl, unable to get over the fact that he'd been killed by someone's e-kitten. "Please, I'm sorry! Your voice just sounded so hot when you were cursing," the girl pleaded, using an over exaggerated soft voice. You glanced over at Miguel, shooting the girl in the back of the head. "Too bad that he's my boyfriend," you grumbled, letting Miguel take the reign and shoot her. Gunshot after gunshot came, his frustrations being taken out on her. The girl began to crawl away once Miguel stopped shooting, being stopped by his avatar stomping down on her.

"Let's go play something else. I can't handle any more comments about my voice," he spoke up, looking over at you. You shrugged, exiting the game and scrolling through some more of the games that were available. You ended up choosing a candy land obby that seemed pretty easy, Miguel joining you a couple seconds later. You'd underestimated the size of his hands compared to the phone, his fingers making it impossible for him to move with the agility that the game required. Every time he kept getting close to making the jump on the first stage, he kept falling.

"Dawg, what the hell?!" He screamed, his voice booming in the apartment when he fell off once more. He slammed the phone against the kitchen table, taking a couple seconds to take a breather before he picked up the phone once more. If it weren't for the fact that you seemed to really enjoy playing these games, he would've rage quit by now. "Ay bendita sea," he grumbled once more, falling just as soon as he made it past the second stage. "You can do it, baby," you cheered him on as you waited for him on the platform, having made the jump a couple minutes prior.

Miguel had finally managed to make the jump onto the platform, having to use just the tip of his finger so he wouldn't slide off when he got pushed off by someone behind him. "What the fuck is your problem?!" He screamed at the avatar who pushed him off once he came back, a kid's voice coming in through the other end. "My mom said you're not supposed to cuss," the boy told him, your lips pursed as you suppressed a laugh. The kid didn't sound any older than 5. "Your mom probably doesn't even like you. You probably ruined her every dream and aspiration just by being born," he grumbled, your eyes darting up to him.

"I don't know what asparation means, anyways my mom died last week," the kid's voice coming back, sounding a bit like he was holding back tears. "The point still remains," you'd expected Miguel to apologize to the kid, not double down on the insult. "MIGUEL! He's sorry, he didn't mean that. Aren't you?" You spoke up, unmuting your mic as you gave Miguel a glare. "Sorry," he mumbled, his voice doing nothing to mask the irritation he was wielding. He raised his hands up in his defense at your glare, his attention back on his phone after a couple seconds.

You figured Miguel left the game on accident after that, waiting for him in the stage that the two of you had left on. Your attention was ripped away from the computer when you heard a shatter on the floor, looking over to see Miguel’s chest heaving as he stomped on the phone. The pieces of the phone clattered with every step that he took, his scowl deepening further with every second that passed. "What'd the phone do?!" You exclaimed, standing up from your spot on the couch and walking over to him slowly.

"Pinche escuincle got me banned," he grumbled, taking his feet off the phone once he was satisfied with the destruction of it. (fucking brat) "Was breaking your phone really necessary?" You inquired, your mouth shutting when his gaze came back to you. "I don't know why you like playing such stress inducing games. The only reason I did all this stupid shit was because I missed spending time with you," he told you, his breathing coming back to normal as he gripped one of the kitchen chairs. "Hey, it's okay. Maybe next time we'll just play Hello Kitty tycoon," you mumbled, bringing him close to you for a hug.

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mjolnirswriststrap · 4 months

Text

Trying To Derail My One Track Mind

Bucky Barnes x F!Reader Masterlist Part 2

Summary: Part 1/2 Life was simple, till you met your boss.

Word Count: 3,300

No warnings till part 2

You wake up to see sun rays peeking through the curtains. Rolling over to face your fiancé you smile at his sleeping form, he looks so peaceful. Too bad you have to go to work and couldn’t just stay like this with him.

You would lie in bed all day with him, if that’s what he wanted. You reach out and pet his beard, pecking his lips before you get up to get ready for work.

You threw on your recycled outfit. Discerning no difference between the black skirt and white button up you wore yesterday. You pull on the dreaded pantyhose that were required for your uniform. Black or tan, you couldn’t express yourself at all.

You look in the mirror, tightly pulling your hair into a high ponytail, leaving out a strand to wrap around the elastic. Makeup was allowed, and recommended during your orientation. Guests prefer being hosted by someone who looks put together.

You work in the kitchen, managing the cooks and wait staff. Sometimes it felt like a real restaurant, and you dreamed of having your own one day. But with the pay you get from the manor, you won’t be following that dream anytime soon.

You give your fiancé one last kiss before you leave. Breakfast is served at 8am, so that means you should be in the kitchen by 6. Most of the people renting it out stroll in well after 9.

You always have to remake half of what you’ve already prepared, with a smile. The owner didn’t care about costs, or you. You never met him, just talked over the phone weekly.

You remember bringing up the food waste after a month of working. He laughed and said “It doesn’t matter what time I serve breakfast, they will find a way to be late. They’re paying, they know they have the luxury to be late.”.

Maybe he was one of them. He sure sounded like it. Like he agreed that money lets you by with things. The people that eat at your table get by with far more than you could imagine at the manor. You’ve been told more than once not to mention a thing that happens inside these walls.

Screams and gunshots have been heard. Guests walking around naked in masquerade masks. One guest brought his own meat, insisted on preparing it himself for everyone. You never saw anything like it, it wasn’t pork, beef, or venison, it reminded you of that page in your biology textbook with the skinless human body.

You don’t like to think about what happened before. The only way you can go back is to forget what happened the day before. You never felt fear, you couldn’t describe it. Like you were apprehensive of every new face you met, but they never snapped their fingers at you. You were never in the room when you heard fights happening, your staff was always well on their way home before dessert finished.

You stayed till the last dish was clean. They’re notified when all the staff goes home, because then there’s no one to wait on them. The bells in the kitchen fall on no ears at all. Leading no one to see which room is ringing.

You saw when they began to turn rowdy. Their drinks from dinner finally hitting them. Drunken debates often broke out, causing the last remaining person on staff to clean up broken glass and wine stains. They were always apologetic and moved the argument to a different room, leaving you alone to clean up their mess.

You sped down the country road, you were running late, today is New Year’s Eve, meaning you’d be staying the night here. You tried to go home last year, but you only spent an hour in bed with your fiancé before you had to return for breakfast.

The owner didn’t care that you had a personal life. Telling you no when you asked to take your paid leave, you told him your fiancé planned the trip as a surprise. Causing him to scoff and deny you again. You knew you should’ve quit then, but you didn’t know what would happen to you if you did. You knew too much, and the mysterious owner was a dick, so you didn’t want to test it.

Pulling down the gravel driveway you park behind the house. Entering through the backdoor that only you have a key to. You prepared for the day, making it easier for your cooks when the guest start ordering things.

The day goes by normally, like there wasn’t a party planned for the night. The owner got it catered by this famous new chef, who wouldn’t be arriving till dinner. You had to wait to be ordered around your own kitchen. The guys French accent was so thick you couldn’t understand a word he said.

Somehow you pulled it together, and your servers were carting out a stuffed bird you’d never heard of. These guests might be the fanciest of any that darkened the doorstep of the manor. They held their heads high, and drank wine that was imported in a big wooden crate you broke a nail opening.

They laughed about politics, and argued pharmaceuticals. You’re about to return to the kitchen when the front of the house man, Bruce, approaches you. “Mr. Barnes will be here at 9. He asked that you be in the library when he gets here.”. He gives you a tight lipped smile, leaving you before you have a chance to respond.

You’ve worked here for two years and the night he decides to meet you is your busiest night. You groan as you walk into the packed kitchen. Dishes being tossed into the sink and metal skillets scrapping the stove causes you sensory overload. You’re already irritated and it’s only 7.

When 9 hits, you decide nows the time you should make your way to the library. You didn’t have time to wait around for him, that kitchen would burn down without you, especially tonight.

When you get there, the doors already cracked open, and there’s a glow of lamplight emitting from it. There’s a man standing with his back to you. “Mr. Barnes?” You ask, not sure since the man seemed younger than you expected.

“You’re late.” He says, you roll your eyes, as if this was planned. “I was busy.” You curtly respond. Taking this as a chance to get off your feet, you sit in the velvet chair across the desk. He turns around once you’ve made yourself comfortable, crossing one leg over the other.

He’s handsome, and like you said, way younger than you expected. He has dark blue eyes, the kind that make a girl act a fool. They had no effect on you though, since all you were focused on is your fiancé. You didn’t really look at other men that way, you could admit when they were attractive, but nothing more. You’re better than that.

He sits down opposite of you, unbuttoning his jacket. “So I’ve been going over your monthly reports. You’re meticulous, you know that?” He gives you a genuine smile. It broke down your wall, filling you with pride at the compliment. “Thank you, I try.” You look down at your hands, picking at your broken nail.

“I know you must be busy with the party and Francois in your kitchen,” he says, causing you to raise your eyebrows. He called it your kitchen, you’re happy the two of you are in agreement. ”, so I don’t want to keep you long. I just thought I should finally meet the person keeping this house afloat.”. You take his compliments like knives. You don’t know if he means them, but you find yourself hoping he does. Causing a pang of guilt to hit you.

Why should you care if another man complimented you. You’re engaged to marry the best guy you could ever ask for. You force the blush down, not letting him see any effect he has on you, you don’t want to give the wrong idea. “If that was all, I think I should be going, like we both said, I’m busy.” You stand up, brushing down your black skirt as you do.

“Of course.” He ignores your attitude, standing to escort you out of the room. You give him a weird look, you know where the door is. “Before you leave tonight I’d like to speak to you again about a pay raise, maybe even a promotion.”.

You stop at the door and turn around and he’s only a foot away from you. You can smell the expensive cologne rolling off him, it almost makes you dizzy. “I’m actually staying tonight.” He seems surprised. “Yeah, it’s just, after I finish closing up the kitchen it will be 2, and it’s almost an hour drive home. I wouldn’t get a wink of sleep before work tomorrow.”.

“Where exactly did you plan on staying? All of the rooms are spoken for?” He asks. “The couch in the break room. It’s employees only, so I was hoping no guests stumble upon me in the night.”. He nods, looking deep in thought. “We’ll talk more later.” He says, like it was a fact.

You return to the kitchen. Things had calmed down a lot, only one cook was left, sprinkling lemon on a platter of hors d’œuvres. You got caught up on washing dishes, and cleaned the messy floors. When you were done, you heard the guests counting down, you walked to the doorway, peering in at them. No one wanted to be alone at this moment, even if you had to spend it with people that didn’t look your way. You watched as a few couples kissed and older men raised their glasses high. Mr. Barnes raised his glass towards you. Keeping his eyes on you as he takes his first sip of the new year.

You flick the kitchen light off. Walking across the dark kitchen you hear the party goes laughing and dancing to thumping music. You know you’d be picking up your champagne flutes out of the carpet in the morning. You smile when you enter the break room, you asked Bonnie, the maid, if she found time today to put you a blanket in here, she didn’t forget. Completely forgetting that your boss wanted to speak to you, you close the door behind you. Grabbing your bag off its hook on the wall, you pull out shorts and a tank top to sleep in.

You quickly change and fall face down on the couch, you don’t even cover up, liking the way your bare legs cooled your body down after sweating in the kitchen all day. You’re out like the kitchen light. That is until you feel a hand on your ankle, shaking you awake.

“Huh?” You say, raising your body up on your knees, causing your ass to lift in the air. “I wanted to speak with you.”. You blink your eyes open, and realize who it is. “I’m so sorry, I completely forgot.” You say, pulling up the loose strap of your tank top.

You cross your arms in front of your chest, wanting to keep this professional. He sits down on the couch beside you, your heart starts beating a little faster than it should. You haven’t been this close to another man since you started dating your fiancé. It felt weird and taboo, you know you should scoot away, but you don’t.

“I appreciate the work you put in here, and I’d like to show my appreciation by hiring you on as a live in manager of the manor.” You look between his eyes, trying to see if he’s serious. “I- what?” You say, utterly shocked.

He turns, throwing his arm over the back of the couch. “Everyone would report to you, Bruce, security, the maids, a new kitchen manager. You’d be making a lot of the decisions in my place, I think I can trust you.” He says, you think over his offer for a second, you know the money would be out of this world, but “My fiancé, I can’t just move out, we’re getting married soon.” You know you have to turn him down.

“Do you want to see your room?” He stands up and starts walking out of the room, just like Bruce, not waiting on a reply. “I don’t think that’s necessary, sir.” He looks back at you, like he can convince you otherwise. “What’s a look gonna hurt?” He says.

He leads you to the end of the guest hall, the last door in sight. You hadn’t been upstairs since your tour of the mansion, so you weren’t really familiar on which room was which, but you’re pretty sure this is the master suite.

He takes a key from his pocket and unlocks the door, opening it to reveal none other than the master suite. “Mr. Barnes, this is the master suite, what are we doing here?” You say, taking in the giant poster bed and red velvet.

“I know where we are, this would be your room, if you were to accept my proposal and if you do, just call me Bucky.” He says, walking around the room, studying it, as if he didn’t know what every inch of his bedroom looked like. You’re at a loss for words, you never imagined living like this, or having such a high paying job. “I can’t, I want to, but I can’t.” You say, feeling like you’re making a mistake.

He crosses the room, standing infront of you. “Is there anything I can do to change your mind?” He says reaching out to touch your arm. You lock eyes with him when you feel his hand on your skin. This was inappropriate in so many ways. Here you were half naked at 2 am in the master bedroom being touched by a man that wasn’t your fiancé. You can’t move, just like on the couch.

It’s like you can’t act on what your brains telling you, step away, tell him you’re not okay with this, feel uncomfortable. But you can’t, and you won’t, your body wants to. But there’s something inside of you keeping you close to him like a magnet.

Your heart beats rapidly, fear rushes through you. Not fear of him, but what you could do in a state like this. You’re not thinking clearly, you can’t even remove his hand from your arm. The hand that was numbing the skin on your bicep.

“Like I said, Mr. Barnes, I can’t accept. I hope this doesn’t interfere with my current employment.” Finally, you put your brain on autopilot, jutting out a professional declining of his invitation.

He drops his hand, seemingly letting you win this battle. “Of course not,” he ushers you out of the room, locking it behind him. “I shall let the offer stand, as long as you keep up the good work.” You nod your head, knowing you would never bring it up again.

He insists that you join him for one last drink in the lounge. All the guests were in their rooms, fast asleep. “I’ll just have water thanks.” You say, sitting infront of the roaring fire. He walks over the the bar cart, pouring himself bourbon, and you a glass of water from the crystal pitcher.

He sits down beside you again, you notice he’s closer now than what he was in the break room. You clear your throat, “So how did you come by this place?” You ask, wanting to keep your mind off of the heat radiating off of him.

“Inheritance.” He answers curtly, like exposing any further detail was an invasion of privacy. You find yourself nodding your head yet again tonight. You look at the flames tickling the brick walls of the fireplace, they remind you of your fiancés eyes, and in that moment you feel a bullet create a hole in your chest.

If you found out he were having a drink at 2am with his boss, while she was wearing her pajamas; you’d be furious. How hypocritical, that you find yourself sipping your room temperature water, bumping knees with a man you’ve never even met before.

“What do you want in life?” He asks out of the blue. It shocks you, you don’t know if you should tell him the truth or not. You figured, he knows what he’s paying you, it would never buy a restaurant anyways. “Uhm, first and foremost a family, which I’m currently working on. But in the future?” You say, knowing that’s what he meant.

He seems unbothered by you constantly bringing up your fiancé, like it wasn’t a factor in his motives. “I want my own kitchen. My own tables and menu. My guests sitting in my restaurant.” You say, averting your eyes from him. It’s not everyday you tell your boss you don’t plan on working for them forever.

“If you accepted my offer, you’d have that. You would have say over the menu, you would greet the guests and get to know them as if they were your own. You could redecorate, whatever you wanted.” Your mouth drops open slightly, you don’t know if you should believe him, but he hasn’t given you a reason not to.

As soon as fireworks start popping in your head, they die out. “Missed opportunity I guess.”.

“Well it’s getting late, I should be getting to bed.” You say, leaving your empty glass beside his. You make a beeline for the swinging kitchen door, “I don’t think in good conscience I can let you stay on the couch, employee or not, hosting people is my profession after all.” He stands, giving you a smile that reads in different ways. One could be a business man, just doing what he does best, faking a smile.

The longer you stood on opposite sides of the room, silence growing thick between you, the charming smile read differently, like you were prey, caught in a trap. You could retreat and lick your wounds or stay, and be healed and coddled.

“I insist.” He puts his hands in his pockets, walking to the bottom of the stairs. You could see him waiting from the kitchen door, leaning on the banister. It was nonnegotiable, you huff out a breath before grabbing your bag and shoes from the break room. Might as well let this be the first and last night you every get to stay in one of these rooms.

You follow him back up to the master bedroom, he unlocks the door and leads you in yet again. “Where are you staying? I thought we had a full house?” You say, finally realizing, this locked room was the only free bed. He turns around and shrugs his shoulders, “I just thought, we could share, this beds big enough for the two of us, with plenty of professional space for a pillow wall.”. He says, throwing back the covers, tossing the decorative pillows in the middle of the bed.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” You say, crossing your arms. “I don’t think the couch is a good idea, seeing as you’re scheduled till 7 tomorrow.” He argues. You’re frozen again, like you should fight against him but you can’t, you just let it happen.

Without another word you drop your bag and shoes on the chest at the foot of the bed. You tuck yourself in close to the edge, facing away from him. You set your alarm and close your eyes when he flicks the light off. “Goodnight.” He says, and you try to pretend you’re already asleep, but “night.” Slips from your lips before you could rethink it.

#avengers fanfiction #avengers #bucky barnes #mcu #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader

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royalarchivist · 7 months

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Pac: Oh yeah, we were kidnapped once. Mike: Yeah, Pac and I, we were kidnapped. Fit: What?! Mike: Together. Pac: Yeah, together. Fit: You were kid- like actually? No joke, you were kidnapped?

Here's Pac and Mike's entire kidnapping story, since the version Pac told during yesterday's Halloween event was incomplete (and pretty tame).

[ Complete Transcript ↓ ]

Pac: Mike, have you ever been robbed?

Mike: Yeah. Yeah, I think.

Pac: Oh yeah, we were kidnapped once.

Mike: Yeah, Pac and I, we were kidnapped.

Fit: What?!

Mike: Together.

Pac: Yeah, together.

Fit: You were kid- like actually? No joke, you were kidnapped?

Pac: [Pac and Mike cheer] Was so cool Fit, was so cool that day.

Mike: Pac almost got his finger shot.

Pac: Yeah, they almost shot in our van- actually, they shot near our van, right? But they missed it for a few inches.

Mike: So we had these shows called- I'm going to explain the whole history.

Pac: Here we go!

Mike: We have these shows called Tazercraft Party when we go all over the state of Brazil.

Fit: Yeah?

Mike: And once we are heading to this city, and it was like 3am. And we have to arrive there early to make our show, to prepare the scenery, to prepare the stage.

Fit: Oh, I see, yeah yeah.

Mike: And then we were like on this van, really late in the night, and then we heard a gunshot. And then a car just crossed in front of our van, stop at the van, and entered two guys armored with guns and with that- uh...

Pac: Wearing balaclavas, Fit! Wearing balaclavas.

Mike: Yeah yeah. And they said like, "Everyone stay quiet. I'm going to take you-"

Pac: [Interrupts him with rapid-fire Portuguese, imitating what the kidnappers said, and Mike joins in with him]

Fit: Wow.

Mike: And then they took us to like a really far away place on the road was really dark and the moon was shining like the sun. And then they told us to put the hands against our hats and just wait until they took all the baggage and luggage. They even took our shoes!

Pac: Yeah!

Mike: And I had this Smartwatch that I bought like one- two days ago. And it got stolen too. We lost everything! We lost everything. Our cell phones, our luggage. But it was in a really sketchy place. \

Pac: Yeah, in the middle of nowhere!

Mike: Yeah, it was literally in the middle of nowhere.

Pac: [Cheerfully] But yeah, Brazil is pretty cool, you know, you should come!

Fit: [Laughs] Oh god.

Mike: There's this famous streamer- there's this famous streamer that plays LoL that he didn't want to give his baggage, his luggage, to the bandits. And one of the bandits said to Pac, "Hold the locker," that he's going to shoot the locker up open.

Pac: Yeah, but it was like, a small locker you know, and he was just going to fire at my fingers, you know. And I completely lost my mind you know, like, "Hey, hey! You're- you're going to make me lose a finger! Don't do that!" And you know, I could smell the gunpowder from his gun because he just fired it.

Mike: This motherfcker. He didn't want to get the keys off his luggage. I hate him.

Pac: [Laughing] Yeah. At the end, I didn't lost the fingers, and you know- Brazil is the BEST. Fit, please come to Brazil! [Cheers]

Mike: Brazil Fit!

Pac: It's going to be alright, it's gonna be alright! Alright alright.

Fit: That's- that's probably the most casual retelling of a kidnapping story I've ever heard. That's insane.

Pac: We used to call this a "Lightling McQueen" kidnapping it because it was really fast. We were kidnapped for 2 - 3 hours you know. Not a long time. So it was a lighting McQueen kidnapping.

Mike: Yeah...

Fit: Oh, I see. So wait, hold on– I'm still stuck on this kidnapping story. So wait- how long ago did this happen?

Pac: Three years, Mike?

Mike: Three years? Three or four years.

Pac: Three or four years.

Fit: ...Wow, that's crazy.

Mike: Let's show one of our shows to Fit.

Pac: At the end Fit, at least for me, I always try to see the things from the bright side. So at least for me, I learned a lot from this day. I learned that like, you need to avoid robberies and you need to avoid bad guys and also gunshots. And I learned that you always need to... to stay sharp, you know? So that was actually pretty cool. And I have an amazing story to tell everyone! So at the end, it was like a win, at least for me. I would be kidnapped again, you know, if I wasn't- if somebody doesn't shot me, you know.

#FitMC #Tazercraft #Mikethelink #Pactw #QSMP #Mike #Pac #This was a doozy to transcribe but I know not everyone has heard the full story #This is my community service #They also told Etoiles and Bad the story but that was the abridged version #I'll upload that one a bit later #Edited #by which I mean I took out 30 seconds where they briefly went off-topic

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murmiss · 1 month

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Headcanons about Yandere Simulator!COD.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Warning: mention of suicide, mention of alcohol, drugs, mental problems, possibly traumatic moments, etc. My personal vision of the character. OOC?

I think he's perfect for the role of Yandere.

His childhood was disgustingly shitty, and you can't blame him for that.

Born into a dysfunctional family, Simon was doomed to a hard life from childhood. His father was a drunk, a bloody alcoholic who prided himself on being able to drink for weeks and stay on his feet. A dirty man, with filthy and sadistic tendencies taken out on those closest to him. A freak who broke everyone he knew, trampling on his own son, turning the poor child into an unwilling broken doll.

Simon remembered those lonely nights in the old shed next to the house, cluttered with trash and rusty tools, like it was yesterday. The cold wind blew through the cracks between the boards, leaving goosebumps on Simon's skin and forcing him to pull his legs tighter together, curling up in a ball to keep warm. A night in the old barn was Mr. Riley's favorite punishment, a man crashing home after another rave binge to find out his son had gotten an F in school? Late for first period? Or maybe spent his pocket money on some silly comic book? - no matter what, Simon will fly instantly to the Locked Shed. No matter what happened, Simon was always drawn to his older brother, who, unfortunately, wasn't as good as his younger brother would have liked. Tommy was a jerk, that bad boy in high school who publicly cursed the teacher, broke the toilet faucet, and did stupid things. But the dumbest thing in Tommy's life was drugs - this jerk decided to prove once again to everyone that he was cool, not realizing that very soon this addiction would consume him, like everyone else who once got addicted. And Simon hovered between two fires, like a child dreaming of a normal family, like a son who had never seen his father smile and never heard praise. And the mother? Mrs. Riley-a dandelion of God, withering rapidly in her husband's dirty hands. She was a beautiful woman, the only person in that family who cared about Simon, and he loved her immensely, and still does. Mrs. Riley died when Simon was 14. It was a cold Sunday morning when a loud gunshot rang out, waking Simon from his sleep. Feeling an animal fear, he rushed to the sound, recognizing a sight that forever shattered his poor mind. On September 6, Mrs. Riley shot herself in the temple.Haunted by her husband's nightmares and torture, she couldn't take any more of this abusive behavior, couldn't watch her firstborn wither under drugs, couldn't see Simon hurt.But her act didn't make it better, hell, that kind of thing never makes anything better. After that day, Simon withdrew more than ever. Hitting his father was nothing, hunger was nothing, being forced to kiss a poisonous snake was a challenge.

Simon grew up, and with it grew his hatred and repressed aggression towards his father.One day in a club Simon watched his father attack a poor girl. She simply refused to spend the night with him and the drunkard, not confused, began to beat her as if he were a wrestler in the ring Simon could not do anything, just as he could not save his mother, stop his father's beatings or convince Tommy that drugs are evil. And he didn't understand why his father wasn't in jail. They'd find the girl, but when they did, no one would really care what happened. The freak always gets away with it.

After the death of his mother, Simon was forced to work part-time at the local machine shop. Old man Carson was happy to help the neighbor boy, so he took him into his shop as an assistant without any questions or demands. Yes, and Simon was a handy and understanding guy.

Simon started out washing cars, and after working like that for half a year, he was promoted to Carson's apprentice: the old man explained and taught the boy mechanics, letting him stay up late reading books about cars.

The old man was able to replace Simon's father, teaching the teenager simple things necessary for basic survival. For example, Simon, at 16, learned how to fix some appliances and how to use tools. But Mrs. Carson had already taught Simon cooking, laundry, and household chores, and he, as a bright boy, grasped everything on the fly. Simon noticed Mr. and Mrs. Carson had a son, which they never had, for unfortunately Paula Carson was barren.

Simon lived as a two-family household, mostly spending his days at his mentor's house, but when his father began to rage and throw himself at the neighbor's door, Simon would return, falling asleep again in his little room.

The work in the workshop brought quite a good income and Simon, having entered the desired college, was even able to rent a small apartment on the outskirts of the city, and finally moved out of his home, so as not to see this den, and not to put, in Simon's opinion, the family of his mentor in danger.

The old man Carson told him fatherly: "Simon, you'll be happy when you find love. Simon thought so, but he couldn't imagine what that love looked like. He couldn't believe it would happen someday, not just pass him by like it always did.

But one day that day has come. First day of college, Simon is walking toward the auditorium when a stranger suddenly sweeps him off his feet like a small tornado. It was just a moment when he looked into your eyes-- He felt like he was going to drown in them. The way your eyelashes fluttered as you stood there, rubbing your forehead after the blow and babbling something, was in his head. From that day on, he couldn't imagine his life if you weren't there for him.

"Finally, I'll be happy."

But is this how it's going to be? Simon can't contain his anger at seeing you talking sweetly to some cocky kid in the back of the class. And the voice in Simon's head whispered sweetly: "eliminate."

#call of duty #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #tf 141 x reader #poly tf141 #fanfic #headcanon

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am-i-interrupting · 3 months

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Welcome to Hell | Vox x Alastor’s Child— OATSH

Summary: You died and fell in hell. You saw people you hadn’t seen in years. You were shocked but not in a bad way. What you didn’t know was that while you had died, you had left a certain show host alone and he did not do well working alone.

All you felt was pain but pain was nothing new for you. What was new was that it was all encompassing. Every movement, every blink, every breath hurt. You heard someone say something. You heard a lot of noise.

There were sirens. More people talking. Then nothing.

The next morning, a show host looked down at his script in disbelief. “Yesterday, March 27th at 1:34 pm, famous author and daughter of the deceased radio show host and serial killer Alastor, was pronounced dead,” he said, voice not as strong as it normally was and filled with true, sincere grief instead of the faux sadness he would normally put on. “Known to the world for her resilience, known to her community for her theatrics and kindness, known to myself as a friend. The world will miss you. Now if you’ll excuse us for a brief intermission.”

He stood up from his seat and walked off set.

“I’m so sorry, we thought you knew because of—“

“Call Travis to continue. I’ll be gone for the rest of the week,” he said, slamming the door of the studio.

The pain wasn’t all encompassing when you opened your eyes. No, instead it was focused on your knees and the palms of your hands.

Speaking of your hands, why were you nails sharper and black?

You pulled yourself up and immediately took a step back when you saw someone cross the street. Someone or something with fur, horns, wings, and multiple eyes. You watched them walk past, trying to not draw attention to yourself while also not cowering.

You weren’t scared, after all, and cowering would only give that appearance. You were confused.

You walked down the street. Your heels clacked as you walked. Long strides, head up, slightest hint of a smile, eyes wondering lazily but not darting.

Glancing back down at your hands, you didn’t understand why your fingernails were more like claws and black. You flexed your fingers while you took stock of the rest of yourself.

Clothes were still on. You felt like you were higher than usual. Your torso, arms, and legs were. . . You rolled your ankle. Your foot felt different.

Okay, that’s odd.

You ran your fingers across your face. It felt the same. Your arms stretched above your head. You felt something. . . furry? Your ears twitched. You knew they were your ears but why did the furry thing move with it? Why were your ears higher on your head?

You slowly breathed in and then out, trying to calm yourself. However, your tongue hit the back of your teeth and they were pointed, sharp. You felt even more unnerved.

Then something brushed against your pants. You spun around in a circle. No one was behind you but it was still there.

Suddenly you realized it was attached to you and you felt yourself begin to panic. Curiosity gone.

“Oh, dear, you look lost as a lamb,” a strong Boston-like accent said. “I’ve got a couple minutes to spare. Where are you going? Maybe I can point you in the right direction.”

You turned to the source of the voice and were met with a tall woman in a burgundy dress. What stood out about her wasn’t her vintage attire. No, instead it was her pale grey skin, white hair, black eyes, and sharp teeth.

You smiled on instinct. “Why I’m not sure,” you told her.

She squinted her eyes at you and leaned close to you. You leaned back without taking a step, merely moving your torso.

“Ah, you’re new,” she said. “Come, come, I’ll give you the run down of this old place and get you something to eat. Fresh as you are, you must be starved.”

She started walking. You hung back for a moment.

“Unless of course, you’d prefer to learn the ropes yourself from the more unsavory times than me.” As if on queue gunshots rang out in the air.

You followed behind her.

“We’re gonna go to my district. You’ll be safe there for the time being,” she said.

“And where exactly are we now?” you asked, keeping a respectable distance between you and this woman for the time.

“Oh, silly me,” the woman said. “I forgot to introduce myself and this place. First thing’s first, my name is Rosie and welcome to your first day in Hell, sweetheart.”

You stopped walking for a moment. Pausing to take in the information.

“Are you alright, dear?” Rosie asked, her tone now less joyous and more concerned.

You shook your head to clear it. “Yes, I— Please, continue.”

“Alrighty then! From what I hear, here’s not so different from topside so you’ll probably get the hang of things real quick,” she began and continued to explain things as she walked you to a place that was far more well kept than any other place.

A sigh caught your attention. An eye and two words on it, “Cannibal Town.”

This is where Rosie seemed to be getting positive attention. She waved to people and stopped to introduce you to several. You felt yourself relax a bit though you didn’t allow your guard to slip.

The people here looked closer to normal. The setting was somewhat familiar. At least nothing was on fire. Then there was—

Wait a moment.

Your eyes zoned in on a woman. Short, curvy, blonde hair, dressed in a flapper dress with bright makeup. It couldn’t be. She caught your eye and hers widened. Apparently it was.

“Oh my stars! Is that who I think it is?” It definitely was. “Rosie, ya might wanna keep your hands off of this one when it comes to a deal, sugar.”

Rosie looked at her interested and intrigued but said nothing as she pulled you in for a hug. “You may be all grown up now but I’d recognize those features anywhere. You’re a damn near clone of your ma and pa. You do remember me right?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I go by Mimzy now but don’t think that means I’ve been changed much,” she said. “Come on, let Momma Mimzy take care of ya for a minute. I’ve got a meetin’ with your daddy this evening.”

“Let me rearrange a few things and I’ll come with you,” Rosie said. “You’ve got me intrigued.”

“How about you meet us at my club? That’s where Alastor’s meeting me anyway. I was just here to find some quality deer to bribe him but I don’t think I’ll be needing that anymore,” Mimzy said with a laugh.

Rosie’s eyes lit up. “Alastor? So this is. . . I feel silly for not seeing it before. It’s plain as day.”

“I know, I know,” Mimzy said, waving her off with one hand and using the other to drag you along, like you were once again a child. “So watcha been up too?”

“I— Daddy’s here?” Oh, dear lord, you were talking like a child now too but you couldn’t help it. It was the only thing you ever called your father when he was alive. You’d only switched to calling him your father when you’d realized people wouldn’t take you seriously otherwise. That’s also when you started adopting a fake accent full time instead of as a party trick and you could feel that slipping as well.

“Where’d you think he’d end up with all that killing, hon? Heaven? Ha! He’d die a second time before he let that happen,” she said. “No, no, no. Of course he’s here. He never did tell me how he died though.”

“He got shot,” you told her on autopilot.

“Ah, that’s why he’s got the X on his forehead. I had my suspicions but can’t be sure about these things with Alastor,” Mimzy told you. She paused for a moment, “Well, if you’re not gonna talk, I will.”

Thus began her story of everything that had happened to her since she died. You knew better than to take everything at face value. Even with two decades without seeing her, you remembered how she loved to over exaggerate her success and under sell her mishaps. Granted you didn’t listen to most of what she said. You were too busy taking in everything that happened to you in the last twenty-four hours.

That’s how you ended up sitting at a table while Mimzy ran around the club unable to sit still for too long without yapping and having realized you weren’t listening. You had a glass of whiskey in front of you. Untouched save for your finger absentmindedly circling the rim.

A gentle hand touched your arm. You looked up and saw Rosie. Her gentle, warm smile settled something inside you just a bit.

“Let’s go upstairs,” she said. “It’s quieter up there.”

You nodded and followed her like the lost lamb she’d called your earlier today.

The couch was softer than the wooden chairs downstairs. Rosie turned on the radio and soft jazz omitted from it.

For a moment you let your mind wander to your childhood. Jazz playing in the background as the smell of food cooking filled the house and you and your father were in the living area. The floor cleared as he took your little hands in his and slowed his movements to something you could keep up to even if it meant it was off beat.

It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows but nothing ever was. He let you learn the hard way most of the time but patched you up as soon you got hurt. There were times near the end, where you yelled at him and he gave no reaction, not a single flinch even when the door slammed. Still, you cleaned the blood from his clothes when he worked late or was out for a kill or a party and he spoiled you with things you’d asked for weeks or even months ago and had already forgotten about.

The door creaked as it opened. The sound of people talking flooded the room. Only one mattered.

“. . . you so sure I’ll help you.”

“Trust me, Alastor. This is a surprise you’re gonna love,” Mimzy said as she walked one the room.

“Good evening, Rosie,” Alastor said as he followed Mimzy. Rosie waved in reply, her eyes flickering over to you. Alastor followed her gaze.

He looked almost exactly how you remembered him. His skin was grey now, his hair red and black and a bit longer, there were ears and antlers on the top of his head, and his eyes were red. However, he was still your father.

“Hello, my dear, to what do I—“

His brows furrowed but his coffee stained teeth remained frozen in a smile. He lowered himself, bending at the hips, to level his head with yours.

“Do I know you?” he asked sincerely.

You inhaled shakily. “Daddy.” You pulled him down into a hug.

He placed one hand on the couch to steady himself as the other wrapped around you. He pulled you closer to him and moved you so you were sitting on his lap as he sat in the couch.

Alastor drew your head closer to him, almost hiding you in the crook of his neck. He rested his own head against yours.

“Mimzy, darling, you do have yourself a deal,” Alastor said as he continued to try to pull you as close to himself as possible and you did the same.

Alastor took you home with him. He filled a closet with clothing Rosie readily supplied and promised to take you shopping for things as soon as he could.

You went to take a shower at Alastor’s own request. He insisted you smelled “too much like the living world” and that in and of itself was a vulnerability.

Entering the bathroom, you caught site of yourself in the mirror almost immediately. You looked different but you’d already assumed that to some degree. You already knew your nails were black and your ears were in a different space.

What you hadn’t expected were large fox ears attached to your head and a tail flicking behind you. Your hair matched your ears in color, a soft white turning into a soft purple. Your eyes are completely black. You undressed and saw your feet. Your legs transformed into something fuzzy as your feet were now paws.

You were truly in hell then. Why was that the least shocking part of your day? Why instead was the thing you couldn’t comprehend was that you were reunited with your father?

It wasn’t raining. Of course, it wasn’t raining. This wasn’t some television program but it’d be so much easier if it was.

He placed an iris on the fresh grave. They were a flower you said reminded you of your true home. Maybe it’d give you comfort wherever you were.

To avoid another cliche he turned around and left so he collapsed in his car and not on your grave site.

There was so much he should have done, should have said to show you just how much he really cared. You didn’t know. You didn’t know how much he adored you.

He should have gone home. He knew he should just go home and rest and cry some more. It would do no one any good to catch a famous man drowning in his cups but he couldn’t help it.

He went to work a week later and if people noticed the show host persona fell immediately after the cameras stopped rolling they didn’t mention it. If they noticed him get more callous no one said anything. If they noticed he poured himself into work and went from just a show host to one of the top business men in television, well, they praised him for it.

#hazbin vox x reader #vox x reader #one author two show hosts

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sparrowrye · 2 months

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Demi Demon || Alastor x Reader, part 25

Synopsis: soulmate AU where you have the same mark on your body as your soulmate, and if your soulmate dies, you die too. Alastor needs to make sure that his soulmate is safe so he can continue his reign - whatever that takes. Though it looks like we have a couple secrets of our own.

Previous part

Part 25: newcomers

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"How do you want to do this?" Husker asked quietly.

"I'm thinking. This is different than before," I answered. Myself, Husker, Vaggie, Charlie, and Alastor were hidden in the shadows on the outskirts of an old city.

The cops here had busted a ring yesterday and were holding the fighters in the jail. We had heard over the radio that they intend to 'put down the delusional and sick fighters'. It was merely a cover to ensure a possible Demon child didn't live, even if they didn't know which one was it.

"I need those cops out the building," I finally said, "Something big and dangerous would draw most of them out." I glanced up at Alastor.

"What a thrilling night," he said as he disappeared into the shadows.

"I need someone here for the children to run to and protect them." I barely had to turn my head before Charlie offered herself. "And the rest of us will go in to get them out."

Alarms and screams went off on the other side of the city. I was grateful I couldn't see whatever Alastor was doing. The cops poured out of the old building and towards the commotion. Vaggie, Husker, and myself ran into the station.

Vaggie was the first to get through and spear one of the remaining officers. Husker attacked the other one as I ran into the back. The few cells were holding countless sleeping fighters.

"Husker!" I yelled, "How do you wake them up?"

He wiped his bloody claw on the man's shirt and ran over. "Imagine pulling their mind up from their heart." We melted the metal doors and started waking up each of the fighters. Most were children under seven but there were a few teenagers. They understood exactly what was happening and helped herd the children after Vaggie.

Husker and I pushed the last few kids to the door when a gunshot went off. A kid fell face first into the ground. I casted wind to throw off the next shot as we pulled him out of view.

I wrapped an arm around the screaming child and looked for the wound. I cut off my senses as I found their leg dripping with blood. I ripped a sleeve off the dead officer and wrapped it tightly around the wound. Husker dulled the pain for them so they were crying, not screaming.

The gunshots kept going off. Husker threw a card out the window and cleanly cut off the pistol end. I hoisted the child up and casted fire around the man. He screamed and writhed as we all sprinted down our escape route.

Vaggie was stabbing someone down one of the streets as we slipped into the cover of nature. I casted a dim light source to help us see where we were going. The child in my arms clung to my shoulder as they cried. I really hoped the bullet had gone clean through their leg.

"That felt too easy," Husker said.

"Yeah. It's making me worried," I agreed. I had to dull my hearing as the wails started to pierce my eardrums.

Eventually Alastor returned. The teenagers immediately stood behind someone, knowing exactly who had just arrived. The younger ones were not yet old enough to hear of his frightening reputation, but they sensed how the older kids were reacting. His eyes narrowed as they landed on me and the crying child, seemingly bothered by the sound.

He said nothing and walked to the center of the group. He put his cane down and lifted a claw into the air. The ground beneath us began to grow a bright green. I urged the child to look down at it to get their mind off the pain.

The ground gave way for a moment. Everyone let out a surprise yell and lost their balance when solid ground came back. We were back at the cliff side with a new, huge scorch mark in the ground. The house stood way up on the hill and the huts sat just to the side.

Charlie began to explain everything to them. The teenagers had the option to leave if they wanted but the youngest were just happy to be out of there. I didn't know how many of the teenagers had stayed as I was tending to the crying child.

I brought him into one of the huts and laid him on the ground. I undid the wrap and examined their leg. The bullet had gone through their leg entirely, meaning there was no bullet for me to dig for. I could remember my own painful experience of having a bullet removed from my body.

Their crying worsened as the pain started to come back. I made calming noises and put my Human hand on his forehead. I put my hand over the wound and imagined the skin pulling back together. He started to writhe and I immediately stopped. I tried to reason with him but he was in so much pain.

I touched his forehead and pictured the pain hitting a wall around his head. He physically relaxed and the crying slowed. I kept one hand there and the other back on the wound. I tried healing it much slower this time.

I was almost done when my senses suddenly came back. I could smell his blood and it made my skin itch all over. I cut off the sense but it had already done it's damage. The wound was healed enough already and no longer bleeding. Good enough.

Gritting my teeth, I picked the boy up again and brought him to one of the beds. I carefully laid him down and ran a hand through his hair, telling him he was going to be alright. I was taken aback by the look he gave me, by the genuine belief. He fell asleep almost instantly.

My veins started to hurt. I turned around to find Alastor behind me. He didn't seem like himself a second before he put his annoying, egotistical smile back on. He had been watching me.

I whisked out of the hut and took a deep breath of fresh air. It had only been two days since I last had Human blood.

The group was still crowded around Charlie, the teenagers asking most of the questions. Eventually they dispersed into the various huts, each and every one of them shocked but excited over having an actual bed. I suspected the teenagers would sleep on the floor for the first few nights like I had done. It was a hard transition.

"Something the matter, darling?" Alastor came up behind me.

I grimaced. "No." I started up to the house in the dark, Alastor close behind.

****

The rings we attacked next consisted mostly of young adults. Not to our surprise, most of them didn't care about the political or power issues between Humans and Demons. They were just grateful to have somewhere safe to stay.

We broke them up into groups to help build more huts and start the actual building of the city. Stones needed to be moved in place and the buildings were going to be made out of brick or stone.

However, not everything was perfect just yet. The children had nothing to do and the adults had resentment towards some of the other ex-fighters. It meant there were fights at least once a day from both the adults and children. Charlie tried her best to prevent the fighting while Vaggie and I were the ones who actually had to stop them.

The children were becoming a nuisance to the working adults that just edged on the fighting. So I took the group of children to the shoreline where the beach connected with the cliff.

Down here was rocky and had plenty for them to do. They were in awe at the new surroundings and occupied themselves for hours. As much as I wanted to help build the Safe Haven, which was as much my idea as Charlie's, but the children were preventing that and no one seemed interested in dealing with aggressive little fighters.

I brought a book down with me and sat on one of the flat boulders. Every now and then I would look up to count the heads to ensure I didn't lose a child or to break up a petty argument.

Two boys started arguing over throwing a large rock into the ocean. I could see them dropping the rock on their feet and having to deal with broken bones. So I swiftly took the rock from their hands and dropped it behind the rock I was sitting on, telling them to argue over a different rock. The others thought it was funny.

One of the teenagers came down one afternoon to sit with me. We were silent for awhile until she finally decided to talk. She asked me about my fights and we got into a really deep, serious conversation. The following afternoon another teenager came down. I was starting to remember everyone's name.

One of the girl's name was Reagan. Unlike most children who are taken from an orphanage or off the streets, she was born in the rings much like myself. Children born in the rings wasn't a very common thing since it put the mother at a disadvantage in the rings and took her from the books for months until the baby was born. It also meant someone had to take care of or get rid of the newborn if the mother died. No one wanted to get their hands messy.

We broke the ice through talking about various fighting techniques and maneuvers. She revealed that she had no magic. It was extremely rare to find anyone without magic at all. She couldn't move any element, even in the slightest. It left her at a slight disadvantage to her opponents who had some control over the basic elements. I was shocked that she survived fourteen years in the rings without any magic.

We were deep in conversation when I felt someone watching me. I scanned and counted the children in front of me but none of them were paying us any attention. There was no one further down the beach, either. I tilted my head back and caught Alastor watching from the cliff top. He phased into his shadow and crept down to the beach. Reagan left our rock as soon as he manifested a few paces away. The younger children stopped what they were doing to just kinda watch, eyes jumping between me and Alastor.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"Now is that any way to greet me?" He walked over to stand beside the rock I sat on. It put us at the same eye level.

"You stare at me all the time and interrupt my conversations," I gestured to Reagan with my head. "So yes. What do you want?"

"I merely came to see what you were doing. I rarely see you since you've been bringing them all down here." He leaned his arm on the rock so our shoulders touched. My hair stood up from the energy rush and I leaned away.

I lowered my voice, "You just want the high from our combined magic. I'm not stupid."

"I've never claimed such a thing," his voice was chipper as he straightened up. He turned to look at the children who had gone back to playing with the rocks or in the cold ocean. "You're certainly not stupid when it comes to dealing with these unruly beasts."

"Children are only a handful when they have nothing to do," I said, "They're just curious." I noticed a group of them had formed to look at something one of them was holding. There were plenty of shells, rocks, and sea glass for them to find. A small smile pulled at my lips.

"You handle them quite well." I hadn't heard him sit behind me. His legs were crossed over the edge of the rock and he leaned over my shoulder so there was some kind of contact.

The compliment caught me off guard. I had never heard him actually say something nice. What did he want? What was he trying to get at? Was there something about the children he wasn't telling me? What did he want from me?

I was about to say something when a cry caught my ears. I wasn't in my Demon form but I didn't need to be to know where exactly the child was crying. I jumped off the rock and found him walking around one of the boulders holding his arm. It looked like he had scrapped it and blood dripped down his forearm.

I stopped in my tracks. My throat tightened with my veins and I had to force myself to breathe. His cry cut through my ears again and I leaned down to put a hand on his shoulder. "Let's go find Charlie," I said, clenching my teeth and pushing him down the beach. I locked eyes with Reagan and told her I would send Vaggie down to help her watch the rest of them.

The walk up the beach was torturous. My steps were purposeful and tense, each one like stepping in quicksand. My hands and arms had practically locked and all my senses were cut off in an effort to control myself. Fortunately, Charlie was nearby and had run over when she saw the crying child. She seemed to handle crying kids better than fighting ones. So I left her to it, asked Vaggie to watch the rest of the children for a few minutes, and disappeared into the house.

I went to the freezer for the small bits of animal meat I had wrapped and stored away. I found small portions more helpful in keeping the pains away for longer, until they stopped working. It seemed my tolerance for the thin blood was dwindling.

When I opened the freezer I found my brown packages gone. I let my Demon form show and spun around when Alastor manifested. "What is your problem?" I demanded.

"What ever could you be talking about, dear?" He leaned against the wall with his cane resting in the bend of his arm.

"What did you do with the packages?"

"I'm afraid animal blood won't work for you much longer," he said, "It'll work as a supplement here and there, but you can't survive off it."

"I've been perfectly fine as is."

"You and I both know that is a lie, my dear." He straightened up and crossed the kitchen so he was towering over me. "Do you really want to risk doing something you'll regret to those children? Do you want them to find out? Especially those teenagers--"

"Shut up." I leaned against the counter and pressed a clawed hand to my face. I was getting nauseous and merely standing took a lot of effort. I looked to the window, to the counter, and to the floor. My claws tapped the counter quickly. "You..." I let out a heavy sigh. "Fine. Can...where do I get it?"

"You ask me." He leaned down so our faces were level and really close. He had no awareness for personal space.

"Then this is me asking you for more," I bared my teeth. Mine felt so much smaller and weaker than his huge yellow ones.

He chuckled and straightened up. He put a hand on my shoulder and snapped his fingers, revealing another small piece in his hand. I let him wrap his presence around my shields as I ate the antidote.

How did I get to this point?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note:

Holy crap! Act one IS DONE! Thank you so much for everyone who’s been reading along, liking, reblogging, following, and messaging! You’re motivating me to write every day :)

Our lovely Act Two will focus primarily on the development of our relationship with Alastor. Also, keep a look out tomorrow for a little sweet treat / insane idea I have

As always, let me hear your thoughts!

#alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin husk #soulmate au #soulmates #reqs open #hazbin hotel husk

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homeofthelonelywriter · 5 days

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Thai

(A/N) Here you go, Anon! Sorry it took so long, but I hope you like it!

Pairing: Chishiya x Reader (no Y/N)

Warning: flashbacks to the Borderland, fluff, talk of injuries and almost dying

Synopsis: based on this request

“Hey, hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

You cursed under your breath as you heard your boyfriend’s voice, accompanied by hurried footsteps from behind you. Your mind was racing, trying to think of an excuse, but nothing came to you in time. So when Chishiya reached you and grabbed the box you were carrying, all you could do was stand there with an awkward smile on your face.

“You know the doctor said not to lift anything for another few weeks.”

You rolled your eyes at his concern, although you couldn’t help but smile at him. Ever since you escaped from the Borderland, he had been fussing over you. Understandable if you consider that you had almost died at the end. If Arisu and Usagi had taken just a few minutes longer, you would’ve surely bled out. And the fact that Chishiya had been holding you through it all, unable to do anything to save you, didn’t make it better.

So now that you’d been released from the hospital, a few weeks after all your friends were allowed to leave, Chishiya was like a hawk, monitoring your every move. And you just wanted to help. Ever since you had decided to move in together, on day two in the hospital, you tried to convince him that it wasn’t that bad and that you could help. But the only thing he allowed you to do was unpack the boxes and decorate, and even with that little labor, he still forced you into breaks every few minutes.

You sighed as you followed him through the apartment, now empty-handed. He placed the box on the table in the kitchen and turned to you, reaching out and pulling you against him.

“I just want you to get better quickly, you know that right?”

You sighed again and leaned against his chest. Of course, you knew but it felt shitty that he was doing all the heavy lifting, literally, while you just stood to the side and watched. But instead of saying anything, you just cuddled against him and closed your eyes, flashbacks of the events in Borderland immediately appearing. You jumped as you heard what you thought was a gunshot. Chishiya tightened his hold around you.

“It was just a car, don’t worry.”

You nodded and slowly let go of your boyfriend, a tired smile on your lips.

“I’ll go unpack then.”

You were about to leave when Chishiya stopped you by grabbing onto your hand and pulling you back into his arms. His lips quickly connected to yours, his hands settling on your waist. As he pulled away from the short kiss, his nose nuzzling against yours.

“How about we take a break? Grab some food?”

You smiled.

“Thai?”

Chishiya pulled away, a playful frown on his face.

“We had Thai yesterday. And the day before.”

You chuckled and grabbed his hand, interlacing your fingers.

“Not my fault they have the best food.”

A chuckle escaped your lips as Chishiya started to explain how Ramen was superior to Thai. But you just pulled him out the door while listening, starting on the way to the Thai place you loved, while Chishiya was too lost in the discussion. He would only notice where you were leading him when you arrived. Or at least that’s what you thought. In truth, Chishiya could barely hide his own smile as he watched you lead him away from the apartment complex, thinking you had won. He’d let you believe that you had bested him as long as it made you happy. And hey, Thai isn’t that bad.

Please consider reblogging and following me! It helps a lot!

Alice in Borderland - Masterlist

Master-Masterlist

#chishiya shuntaro #chishiya x reader #shuntaro chishiya x reader #aib chishiya #chishiya alice in borderland #chishiya fanfiction #alice in borderland #alice in boderland x reader #alice in borderland fanfiction

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daffi-990 · 4 months

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✨ Inspiration Saturday ✨

Tagged by @wikiangela @disasterbuckdiaz & @wildlife4life. Thank you for the tag!

Was on a run yesterday when this song came on and it just screamed Buddie .. specifically Buck @ Eddie during Eddie’s breakdown arc and thus inspiration for a fic struck.

It’s gonna be Buck’s POV set from the beginning of Eddie’s breakdown to him and Chris coming back from El Paso. Buck will be going through the feels and taking care of his boys and of course a happy ending (first thing I wrote down for this idea was Buck picking them up at the airport and it may or may not involve a first kiss 👀).

The moodboard looks all angsty, but I’m not aiming for it to be 😅.

Here’s a lil teaser (tw: suicide mention):

Buck’s gotten a few panicked phone calls over his lifetime, he’s a firefighter, it kind of comes with the job. But nothing has made his blood go cold and his heart stutter like the phone call he gets from Christopher.

Something is wrong with Eddie.

Buck races to the Diaz house, Chris still on the line. He can hear thumping and smashing in the background along with the sounds of Eddie shouting. Chris sounds less panicked now that he knows Buck is on the way but he’s breathing heavily and his voice sounds wet from tears.

And then the background noises stop and Buck pushes his foot down harder on the accelerator. If the police try to pull him over they’ll have to wait, nothing is getting between him and his boys.

He pulls into the driveway behind Eddie’s truck and runs to the door. He doesn’t remember if he locked the Jeep or not but right now he doesn’t care, his only thoughts are Chris Eddie Chris Eddie Chris Eddie.

He finds Chris outside Eddie’s door, leaning against the wall with his phone held tightly in his hand. Buck reassures Chris that he’s here and that he’s going to help his dad before sending Chris to his room incase whatever is behind Eddie’s door is something a child should never have to witness.

Buck’s tried to avoid thinking it, but ever since the noises suddenly stopped, dread has been seeping into his bones, intertwining with his marrow and leaving him feeling heavy. He knows Eddie doesn’t own a gun and he heard no gunshots, but there are other ways to kill yourself and Buck doesn’t want Chris to see his father like that if Eddie has taken his own life. Buck doesn’t want to see Eddie like that either, but he has to get into the room. Right now it’s like Schrödinger’s cat, Eddie being the cat.

No pressure tagging: @hippolotamus @thewolvesof1998 @watchyourbuck @jamespearce9-1-1 @theotherbuckley @fortheloveofbuddie @callmenewbie @jeeyuns @athenagranted @exhuastedpigeon @rainbow-nerdss @fiona-fififi @rewritetheending @eddiebabygirldiaz @spotsandsocks @hoodie-buck @princessfbi @sibylsleaves @devirnis @lover-of-mine @jesuisici33 @ladydorian05 @honestlydarkprincess @loserdiaz @giddyupbuck @monsterrae1 @malewifediaz @spagheddiediaz @captain-hen @steadfastsaturnsrings @try-set-me-on-fire @nmcggg @mellaithwen and anyone else who wants to share something ☺️

#daffi writes #tw suicide mention #buddie wip #Spotify #do I need a new wip?#no .. no I do not 😅#but here I am haha #okay it’s gonna be angsty but not like rip your heart out angsty haha #fic: when your heart releases you won’t fall to pieces

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dandelionfairyyy · 7 months

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Messy G. G.

Summary: just two lost souls finally finding peace in each others company

Pairing: Greg “Mouse” Gerwitz x fem!reader

Wordcount: 7,193 (I’m sorry 😭)

Triggerwaning: 16+ because of slight mention of: blood, torture, GSWs, panic attacks, use of drugs, underweight, mental struggle, trauma and death as well as explicit described sexual acts and possible incorrect description of certain things/feelings and possible writing mistakes

A/N: this piece turned out longer than I expected but I hope you still like it. And as a disclaimer or something: just to make it clear, I didn’t experienced any of this so I apologize for incorrect descriptions.

Red-stained water flows from your hands as you look at yourself in the mirror. Your face bears more stains and you have to close your eyes for a moment and breathe deeply to push back the memory as you continue to wash the red from your skin.

It's like dejà vu. Every time you clean up after painting, you feel transported back to the night three months ago.

There was red everywhere, as if one of your colours had tipped over, but your Ma had been clear when she had forbidden you to paint in the living room. And you had kept to it.

Your gaze wandered through the room of chaos and your breath was taken away when you spotted someone.

"Dad!"

You go down on your knees in front of him, pressing your hands on the gunshot wound in his chest from which blood was still running. Tears now ran down your cheeks as you remembered your mum and siblings.

"Where's Ma? And Olivia? And Wesley? Dad!"

Your dad made a strained groan and mumbled something. You moved your ear closer to his mouth and heard, "They took her... They wanted... Documents... Ma doesn't know anything about it... Bank... 273B..." You couldn't make sense of it, to you it all sounded like the confused ramblings of a dying man, but soon you realised that he was actually serious.

Agitated, you wash the red colour and salty tears from your cheeks. Your hands clench around the ceramics of your sink in an attempt to push back the panic attack.

They cannot hurt you. They cannot hurt you.

They know nothing about you...

With shaky hands, you open the small medicine compartment next to the mirror.

Shit!

You had smoked the last one the day before yesterday... frustrated, you slam the door again and grab your fanny pack with your money before heading to your new friend Johnny. The shivering slowly subsides. The cold winter air seems to help.

"Hey Sugar," he greets you with his typical flirty smirk.

"Quit it. I'm not in the mood. I need another five...'

Johnny looks at you with a raised eyebrow. "When we met you didn't want to know anything about the drugs and now you're one of my most loyal customers? What the hell happened to you?"

"Let's not talk about it," you suggest and take a few dollar notes out of your pocket.

Johnny presses the little bag into your hand and takes the money from you. "Hey, if you ever need something stronger, let me know."

"Don't give me any ideas."

Johnny playfully raises his hands defensively. "Just an offer." He looks at you again with concern. You've known each other for a few years now, travelled in the same circles and he's taken you to his heart. But you've only really had closer contact since the incident. That's why he was worried about you now. You hadn't told him what happened, you'd just asked him three months ago for something to quiet the mind and let you sleep. "Sugar, there's a party at one of my boys' on Friday night. Do you want to come?"

"I'll think about it." With those words, you turn around and make your way back to your little flat. Your flat... It belonged to your parents. It was bought as an investment at the time. Along with two others. For you and your siblings, should you want to move out. Now you have three flats and a house, as well as a flourishing family business worth millions, and you don't know what to do with it. And that's just what you know.

When you check the letterbox, there is another letter from your family's lawyer. You know what it says. That you should accept or reject the inheritance listed. That you have to take care of so many things you never wanted to worry about...

Closing the flat door with one foot, you make your way to the couch.

It doesn't take long and you have your "medicine" in stock again and you reach for the lighter on the small table.

The herbal taste spreads through your mouth after the first hit. After the third, you finally start to feel the marijuana. The comforting blanket wraps around your thoughts and they finally quiet down. The traumatic images from three months ago blur into a simple mist in your mind and you breathe a sigh of relief.

Knowing that hunger will soon set in, you make your way to the kitchen with the joint between your lips and take a look in the fridge.

Margarita, your parents' housekeeper, who is now looking after you, has put something in the fridge for you. Reading the little message lying next to it, you start to heat it up in the pan.

Because I know you won't cook anything anyway, I took the liberty of preparing something for you. You really should eat more, child.

You smirk.

Margarita has been working for your family for more than twenty years, taking care of the household and you and your siblings as children. Now there is only you left for her to take care of. You take another drag and these thoughts also fall completely silent.

Instead, you focus on the food.

Margarita's food was always incredible, but with the effect of the marijuana it is even better. Smiling contentedly, you eat in complete silence before fatigue sets in soon after.

Yawning, you plod barefoot from the kitchen back to the couch.

Next to the pillow lies the little sheep that you have had as a cuddly toy since birth. If someone asked you, you would deny that you still sleep with a cuddly toy, but since what happened three months ago, the little sheep has given you comfort when no one else could.

You lovingly hug the fluffy thing to you and finally close your eyes to fall asleep shortly afterwards.

Your flat actually consists of three rooms. A bedroom, a study and a living room.

But two of the three rooms are empty. The walls are bare and there is not a single piece of furniture in them. Only in the living room is a couch where you sleep and a table next to it. Otherwise, the boxes that Margarita packed for you from the house are standing around. You haven't even opened most of them. Everything in them reminds you of something that is no longer there.

Friday morning you finally stand in front of the mirror and look at yourself. You have lost a lot of weight after the incident, but thanks to Margarita, who forced you to eat more in the beginning, your clothes start to fit again.

You no longer wear your belts in the last hole, your T-shirts no longer hang down like sacks. Your hair looks fuller and healthier again.

Maybe you should make a change?

After a moment's thought, you call Margarita. And only thirty minutes later she is standing in front of your flat with hair dye.

"Are you sure, dear?" she asks in her Russian accent for the third time and lowers the scissors again. "Your beautiful hair..." When you were little, she made you pigtails every morning. Sometimes one, sometimes two. Sometimes braided, sometimes not. And every day she admired your full and soft hair.

By now you can do most of the braids on your own. But in the last few months you have neglected yourself. This is also noticeable in your hair.

"Yes, Margarita. I'm sure of it. And don't worry. It will grow back anyway..." you reply with a grin and watch as she takes a strand of your hair, applies the scissors and squints. You hear the sound of the scissors cutting through your hair. There is no turning back now.

Three hours later, you're standing in front of the mirror again and looking at your new hairstyle.

The dark brown has turned into a light blonde and your hair is much shorter. Before it almost reached your bottom, now it doesn't even reach your shoulder. The end just hovers over it. You didn't know how heavy hair can actually be.

"Wow...", you say and run your fingers through your new hair. You part your hair in the middle, make a side parting, and finally bites your lower lip with an admiring smile.

"You look great, love," she confirms to you and as you turn to thank her, she sees for the first time the glow in your eyes again for three months.

She hopes so much that you will slowly get back on your feet. You are like a daughter to her. She has watched you grow up and looked after you when your parents were busy again. So it hurts her heart every time to see you the way you are. You are lost. Lost in a world where you don't belong, where you never wanted to belong.

How she would love to take this burden off your shoulders, but she could not. All she can do is stand by your side and help when it is needed. But first you have to find your footing again.

After another look in the mirror, you decide to go to that party Johnny invited you to. While Margarita tidies up the flat again, you carelessly go through the boxes of expensive clothes.

Finally, you're back in front of the mirror in a pair of ripped jeans and a crop top. You look at yourself with a smile.

"You look like an angel," Margarita says as she leans against the doorframe, watching you.

You would not describe yourself as an angel, but as beautiful.

It has been a long time since you felt yourself to be beautiful. You see in the eyes of your old friend and housekeeper the hope that you wanted to feel so much. You no longer want to be this wreck, this shadow of yourself. But you are now in this new world where you never wanted to belong. And you don't know how to find your footing in it.

Shaking your head, you push the thoughts aside and thank Margarita again with a kiss on the cheek. You still ask her for one last favour, because you have to get to the party somehow.

"Sugar, what a surprise. I didn't expect to see you." "Well, if you want, I can leave again..." you joke.

Johnny smiles and grabs your hand to pull you into the house and his arms. "You look hot by the way", he whispers in your ear and places a kiss on your temple.

"Whatever," you dismiss the compliment with a little laugh and let yourself join the group of other partygoers.

"Hey guys, this is Y/N," Johnny introduces you and drops onto one of the couches. He pulls you with him onto his lap.

"You wish, Johnny. Keep your hands off. I am your customer, not your girlfriend, Sugar." You emphasise the pet name, which he always uses for you, especially.

"Worth a try, isn't it?"

You let your gaze wander around the room. Apart from Johnny, there are four other men sitting in the room. spread out the couches. "You call this a party? Or is this just the warm-up round?" you finally ask.

"I didn't know if you'd really come and how much of a party animal you are." Had he really done that just for you?

"Since when do you care how I am?" you ask him, poking him in the side.

"Some people I just like to take care of.

You look at him with raised eyebrows and don't respond further to his comment. Instead you say, "You didn't answer my question?"

"Hey Timothy, send out a message that there's a party here at short notice," Johnny gives to one of the other guests.

"You got it, boss."

"You'll have your party in an hour," Johnny promises and you smile. He leans forward a little and finally presses his lips to yours. You allow it for a few seconds before you release and place a finger on his lips, shaking your head.

"Nice try." You turn away from him and disappear into the bathroom.

A few deep breaths, a little water over your forearms and you're all better.

When you come back, you don't sit down next to Johnny again, but on the sofa opposite him. You need some space between you and him.

You like Johnny, he's a good friend, you can count on him, but he wants something from you. He makes no secret of it, but he doesn't understand that you don't want anything from him.

Now you are sitting next to a lanky young man, about your age, maybe a little older. With your back against the armrest, you casually put your legs diagonally across his, eliciting an overwhelmed "oh... okay" from him before you say, "Johnny didn't introduce us. I'm Y/N." You reach out your hand to him.

He takes it and introduces himself as "Mouse". You look at him in amazement. "Mouse?"

"Actually it's Greg, Mouse is a ridiculous nickname, but I've come to terms with it. Nice to meet you, Y/N."

"Nice to meet you too."

As Johnny promised, less than an hour later there was a party going on in the house. Music booms muffled from the big room into the smaller one where you are still sitting on the couch with Mouse. He's thawed out enough by now that he had his hands on your thighs to keep your legs from sliding down.

You feel Johnny's jealous gaze on you, but try to ignore it as much as possible.

"Hey Mouse. Are you also part of Johnny's business?" you finally ask curiously. To be honest, he doesn't really look like a dealer, more like a customer.

"I would rather say business partner.”

You look at him curiously.

"He introduces me to people who I then work for. I'm a computer crack."

"Oh. That's cool. I don't have anything to do with it. I'm totally incompetent at it. My talents lie elsewhere."

"It's not that hard. What do you do?"

"Y/N has divine hands...", Johnny comments and one of the men laughs quietly in the background.

"You bet," you hear and roll your eyes. Thanks to a former girlfriend, you now have that reputation gone...

"So I'm an artist," you clarify. "Johnny also introduces me to people I work for. I've painted one or two forgeries of famous works of art. There's even one hanging in the museum here in Chicago." You wink at him with a proud grin. "But most of the works are my own."

"Are you selling them?"

"Some. I was organising an exhibition where I could sell the works. Sort of a silent auction." You shrug your shoulders as if to dismiss the subject.

"What happened to that?"

"Something's come up," you dodge the question and instead reach for his beer bottle to take a sip of it.

As soon as the tingling liquid hits your taste buds, you contort your face.

"Yuck. How can you drink that. That's super disgusting."

Mouse laughs and takes the bottle from you again to drink a sip from it himself.

For the rest of the evening you talk about different things. It feels easy with him, like you can finally be you again. As if you had found an anchor to swim back to the surface. But you push back the budding sense of security. People come and go all the time. You've had to learn that the hard way. And they always want something from you.

"Hey, what's with the sad face all of a sudden?" asks Mouse in a soft voice, lifting your head with his index finger under your chin until you look at him. You have the feeling that he is really interested in your answer. It has been a long time since a person was really interested in you. So far, they've all wanted something from you in return. To buy something, to borrow money, to introduce someone to them, to sleep with them. But Mouse seems to be interested in you and you alone.

Tears come to your eyes and you have to take a deep breath. You put your head back and have to blink a few times until you can control yourself again.

"Do you know when the bad thoughts get too loud? And you don't know where you are, what's real and what's imaginary? What exactly is your mind playing you now and what is really there?"

"That pretty much sums up what I went through some time ago."

The tears were back and burning in your eyes, threatening to run down your cheeks.

"Have you figured out how to get rid of it?"

He shakes his head. "Not really. But it gets easier with time, you learn to live with it. I can promise you that." You nod and look at him with a sad smile.

"God. I'm so pathetic.

"Hey, don't say that. You're amazing. From what I've heard of you so far." With more affectionate words he tries to make you feel better and the only appropriate response that comes to your mind is to kiss him.

You lean forward and simply place your lips on his, silencing him.

You sense that he is surprised and overwhelmed by your reaction, which is why you withdraw again.

"I’m sorry," you say apologetically and pinch your lips together a little. Actually, you're not sorry, it felt too good.

"Don't be," he replies now, putting down his beer bottle and pulling you closer again.

His hands on your cheeks, he puts his lips on yours again and begins to kiss you.

You change position a little until you are sitting astride his lap. His hands now on your back and in your hair, your arms around his neck, your hands also running through his hair, you kiss each other deeply.

You dare to let go. You feel that it's okay, that it's the right thing to do, you just let go and the tears trickle down your cheeks while Mouse holds you, is your anchor to reality, so that you don't get lost in the whirlpool. The images you constantly see in front of you just pass by this time, have no effect on you, because Mouse's is stronger. You feel light, safe and secure in his arms, even though you hardly know him.

Your kiss becomes more intimate, more demanding and you receive his tongue with yours. Then your head is empty.

There is nothing more. Just you and this stranger who has this incredible effect on you.

Finally, you break away breathlessly and just look into each other's eyes. You notice that he can't hold eye contact for long, but that's okay. You know... you have experienced first-hand the effects trauma can have. Your fingers begin to trace his contours.

He makes you feel like you've never felt before. You don't have to say a word. It is as if your looks communicate everything.

Gently he wipes your tears from your cheeks. You nod slightly at his questioning look. Yes, you feel much better now.

"Thank you," you form with your lips. A small smirk settles on his and you lean forward again to kiss him once more. This time it's different. You no longer seek a hold on him, this time it's a "thank you".

Your kiss is gentle, careful and sensual.

If someone had told you this morning what was happening, you would have said that they were nuts. You still can't quite understand how this one person can have such power over you. That this one person can simply silence your thoughts like that.

Time passed, you're sitting next to Mouse again. Your legs crossed his as Johnny brought you not only a cup of Coke but also a joint. You throw him a kissing hand.

After lighting the cigarette, you hold it out to Mouse, offering it to him. He takes a drag while you hold the joint before you take one too.

You blow out the smoke upwards with relish.

A few puffs later, you lean forward again a little until your lips are almost touching and you inhale his smoke before exhaling it back upwards.

"Hey Y/N...", you hear someone's voice before the owner enters the room, just as you inhale Mouse's smoke one more time. "..Johnny said you were here... And apparently you're busy."

You make a grumbling noise, detach yourself from Mouse and blow the smoke back upwards. "Just what I need..." you mutter, before turning to face her. Even through the wonderful fog of the Weed, you are pissed off by the presence of this horrible person. Inconspicuously, you squeeze Mouse's hand tightly, again looking for support, before finally letting go and standing up.

"Genevieve..." you reply, looking at her with a fake smile.

"It's good to see you again. Hey. I'm sorry about what happened."

"Please, don't talk about it and say what you want." Your voice is cold and distant.

"I wanted to apologise for my behaviour. I know it was not correct of me."

You laugh in disbelief. "You embarrassed me in front of everyone, Genevieve. That's not something you just shrug off with an 'I'm sorry'."

"I know that. That's why I want to make it up to you. Tell me what to do."

"Would you do what you put me through?" She remains silent and you snort snidely before taking another step back. You need distance between you. "Of course you wouldn't. After all, then your great image would be tarnished. The great benefactor Genevieve..." you scoff, before adding: "You make me sick."

You see her expression stiffen. "And you are a slut! You slept with my boyfriend even though you knew he was MY boyfriend!" There she is, the real Genevieve, as she lives and breathes. You knew she had this side in her, but you never expected to feel it yourself.

Your hands clench into fists and you feel your fingernails digging into your skin. The pain helps you to stay calm as much as possible.

"Excuse me? That was some pretty lie he breathed into your ear. I told him I didn't want anything from him! Do you think he cared? You know what he told me? That you were too innocent, too willing. Too boring. I slapped him and told him not to talk about my best friend like that in front of me. He then tried to rape me! So much for your perfect Richard and the evil evil Y/N!", you rage.

Shocked, she looks at you before regaining her composure. "Liar!" she hisses, then looks at Mouse. "Have fun with that bitch. Make sure she doesn't end up cheating on you with your best friend."

You gasp in indignation and shock at her impudence. Your former best friend turns around and disappears again.

One more time you have to take a deep breath.

"Wow... that was intense," you hear Mouse suddenly standing behind you. You notice how you immediately become calmer as soon as you feel him behind you.

"Welcome to the young high society of Chicago," you murmur and turn to him. "I'm sorry you overheard that."

"Hev. I want you to know that I don't believe a word she says."

You smile sadly. "Then you're the first. Even Johnny thinks I'm the evil whore in the story."

"Well. I think you're just lost and need someone to believe in you again."

"And you're saying that someone is you?"

"Maybe," Mouse replies with a grin.

You have to laugh and gently bite your lower lip, slightly swollen from your kiss, as you look up at him.

"Are you coming?"

"Where?"

"Get some fresh air, go to the other side of the world, or go to a diner and eat something. Just get away from here."

He takes your hand in his again and intertwines his fingers with yours.

"Where are you going?" he just asks.

You feel a tingle in your stomach as he smiles at you and you have to swallow.

You say goodbye to Johnny with a simple wave before leaving the house with Mouse by the hand.

A car on the other side of the road flashes its lights as soon as you are out of the front gate and you roll your eyes, while you mumble, "Margarita…”

Nevertheless, you walk with Mouse towards the black car with the tinted windows.

"Wow... are you super rich or something?" asks Mouse wryly.

"Please don't remind me,” you only reply, as Peter, your family's long-time driver, gets out and holds the door open.

"Miss Y/L/N," he greets you with a nod as you tell Mouse to get in. "Hey Pete," you say back and get into the car as well.

"Where to, Miss Y/L/N?"

"Hannah's Diner," you reply and Peter nods before pulling out of the parking space.

Next to you, you sense that Mouse would like to bombard you with a thousand questions, but he refrains.

You sigh and lean your head against his shoulder.

"I hate it," you admit.

In response, Mouse squeezes your hand.

You never wanted your family's money. Even though you got a lot of pocket money, you never touched it. Since you were 16 and allowed to work, you worked in a diner and earned your few bucks. Everything you bought since then, you always bought with your own money.

Until the incident three months ago, you worked at Hannah's Diner. But since then you have hardly left your flat. Hannah, who has become a friend over time, has been there for you and said that you can take as much time off as you want and when you are ready and willing, you can start working for her again.

Together with Mouse, you sit down at one of the tables and wait for Hannah to come

It was already late, but the diner was open 24/7. "Okay. What do you want?" you ask, "it's on me." Seeing the look on his face, you add, "Do me a favour and let me pay." After another look into your eyes, he nods. "Okay."

You are suddenly absolutely exhausted. The encounter with Genevieve has robbed you of all the strength you had today.

"Y/N. Good to see you again," you are finally greeted by Hannah with a smile. You return it and stand up to be pulled into a hug.

"How are you?" she asks, looking at you with concern.

You shrug your shoulders. "I'm still alive..."

Hannah's smile turns sad and compassionate. "Well, that's a start." She puts a hand on your shoulder as you sit back down across from Mouse. "What can I get you two?"

Once your milkshakes and fries are brought, Mouse begins to tell. "I was in the army, 3rd Battalion 75th Ranger Regiment. I did two tours in Afghanistan. When I came back, my best friend who I met on deployment and I were a total mess. There are things I don't want to think about anymore, there are things that are constantly in my head. You learn to live with it. The images eventually become less deterrent."

"What happened?" you ask cautiously.

"During my last tour... there was a convoy... Jay and I were in the first Humvee and then..." You can see him bobbing his leg restlessly as he tells the story, his fingers drumming on the table. "I thought that was it for me. Jay and I are about the only ones who got out of there alive."

"I'm sorry you had to go through that." You are silent for a moment and take a deep sip of your Strawberry milkshake before you decide to tell him about you.

"My family is... was...", you correct yourself, "actually super rich. The company my dad started after he invented something for computers or something that's now in pretty much every mobile device is incredibly huge. I honestly have no idea about the whole… thing" you run your fingers through your hair. It's still unfamiliar that it's now so short and, more importantly, so light. "He produces it himself, sells it himself. At least he did... He was tinkering with something newer, better, when he got mugged." You start to stir your milkshake with the straw, totally captured in your thoughts. "Someone tried to steal his designs. When he didn't hand them over, they shot and kidnapped my Ma and siblings. They blackmailed them to get the designs. But they knew nothing about it. Dad had never said anything about it." Tears burn in your eyes again. "I’ve found them...” Mouse carefully reaches across the table for your hand and brings you back from the memory.

You lift your gaze and meet his bright blue eyes. "Now I've inherited everything and have no idea where to go or what to do," you admit quietly. "The police never found the… offenders”

Mouse said nothing. He didn't have to say anything. Because nothing he could have said would have made you feel better. So you both remained silent for a moment while he still held your hand and gently caressed your skin with his thumb.

"Thank you for telling me," he finally says and you can't help but smile sadly at him.

"Okay. Let's talk about something else. Something nice..", you finally change the subject and force a liberated smile on your lips. "Tell me about your friend you mentioned, Jay. He seems important to you."

Mouse's expression brightens and he begins to smile honestly.

"Jay... we met in the army. Now he's with the CPD. He's managed to land on his feet. I.. well.."

"You can do it too. You just need someone who believes in you and gives you a chance."

"Yes. Maybe..."

"Okay. Crazy idea: we help each other get back on our feet." "And how do you imagine that?" He looks at you with interest.

"I don't know yet. But you can try, can't you?" "Okay. Let's try.”

After you have eaten and paid, you leave the diner again. "Do you want Pete to take you home? Or you can come upstairs. Then Pete can call it a night..”.

"Would be interested to see what an artist's flat looks like."

You snort in amusement. "Yes, don't expect too much. The artist hasn't moved in yet."

You get into the lift.

"Okay. All expectations are at zero. I promise," Mouse replies now and you have to laugh.

It's the first time in three months that you've really had an honest laugh.

"You have a very nice laugh," Mouse now says quietly.

"Thank you. I think that was the first time I laughed since the incident."

"Then I am honoured to be the first to hear it."

Again you giggle at his silliness.

The lift has arrived at the floor with your flat and you pull Mouse behind you down the corridor.

Once in your flat, Mouse looks around a bit. There is not much to see.

"I... haven't gotten around to decorating the flat yet," you now admit a little uncertainly and disappear into the kitchen.

"Since I don't drink beer, I only have wine in the fridge. But you get to decide which wine we head." You list a few varieties and as you look up, you meet Mouse's puzzled gaze, which makes you grin in amusement again.

"Just take any."

With a bottle of lovely white wine and two glasses in your hand, you go back into the living room and flop down on the couch.

"Sit down. I honestly have no idea what it is, Margarita got it for me...", you admit, and hand Mouse a glass with the alcohol.

Instead of sitting down, Mouse looks at the canvases that are standing around. Still lifes, landscapes. Chicago's skyline, portraits.

"That looks incredible. You should definitely exhibit it."

"Sometime, maybe. My parents were organising something when... well…”

Mouse nods in understanding.

"Hey, you want to try painting something?", you ask

"Oh no. I'd rather stick to my computer stuff."

"Come on. I'll help you." You direct him to the small stool that stands in front of your easel. "This is what I'm working on right now."

"Woah, no, I'm not touching that."

"No really. It didn't turn out so well anyway. I'll probably paint it over later."

"What?"

"Yeah, go on. What would you say is missing from this picture?"

You had painted an avenue where people were walking.

"Maybe make flowers out of the greenery? Then it doesn't look quite so gloomy.

"Okay." You stand behind Mouse, prepare the mixing palette and select a brush. "You do the flowers with dabs on the side."

You put the brush in his hand, put yours over it and guide it. Dab, dab, dab.

After a few dabs, you look at it and say with satisfaction: "Here. Now you try it on your own”

When Mouse did it alone, it didn't look as good as when you did it. But it wasn't a complete disaster either, which you consider a victory.

At some point, he taps his finger in the pink colour and taps you on the nose with it.

Outraged and surprised, you look at him before doing the same to him until you are both full of colour and end up laughing on the floor.

Over the next few weeks you and Mouse meet more often, regularly, sometimes he just sits on your couch and watches you paint, intently sticking your tongue out slightly, sometimes you watch him hacking in with ease somewhere to do something for Johnny's friends.

One day, your family's lawyer is at your door.

"Miss Y/L/N. It is time for you to attend to your duties. There are legal matters that we need to clarify." Mouse puts on his jacket and wants to leave, but you grab his hand. "Please stay." A look into your eyes is enough for him to nod and hang his jacket back up on the coat rack.

"Y/N. Once again, I would like to express my fullest condolences for your loss and for having to burden you with the legal stuff now."

"Thank you."

First he addresses the fact that you have still not accepted or renounced the inheritance. He lists all the things that are involved.

The house, the flats, the business, all the money of your parents and siblings. Mouse's ears almost fell off when he heard the buzzing.

"We can of course sell the house as well as the flats and the business."

"No. The company was Dad's life's work. It should continue to bear the name Y/L/N. Just hire someone competent to handle everything so far."

"I'II take care of it," promises Felix, the lawyer. "Then the properties." "Let's rent them out to people with little money..." Felix also makes a note of this.

"I want to donate most of the money..."

"Where?"

"'I’ll think about it.”

"Alright. Then I have everything for now. I'll get back to you." "Okay."

"You really are super rich”, Mouse said as soon as Felix was out the door.

"I don't want the money... What am I supposed to do with it? I can't spend as much as the company takes in. I probably donate monthly to women's shelters and children's homes or something.”

Mouse gently reaches for your hand and finally pulls you into a hug before the tears start running again.

Carefully he pulls you with him to the couch and onto his lap.

Shortly after your tears have dried up, Mouse feels you fall asleep and he smiles slightly.

In the last few weeks you have become so important to each other and you feel you have never told Mouse what it actually means to you that he is with you.

"Mouse... thank you..."

"For what?"

"That you're here. I... I was lost. Lost my footing and then I met you and... you became my anchor. I'm... I'm starting to be me again. Finding myself again."

He looks at you for a moment before he takes your hand and pulls you to him. The next moment his lips are on yours.

It doesn't take you long to recover from the surprise and you return the kiss. You open your lips slightly and receive his tongue, just like the night you met. But this time, when his tongue touches yours, a soft moan escapes you. You feel his little smirk against your lips. But at this moment you don't care.

Your hands run over his upper body and finally disappear under his T-shirt. You explore his chest and trace the contours of his muscles along his stomach. You tug lightly and he takes the hint and takes off his T-shirt before kissing you again without hesitation. His hands now roam over your body as well. Exploring every inch with such attentiveness to your reactions that you feel butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

Finally, you take off your T-shirt and Mouse takes a few seconds to admire your body. Your breasts are still hidden in your favourite bra.

Mouse lifts his gaze to your eyes. "May I?"

Your heart does a somersault. Mouse is not the first man you have slept with, but he is the first to ask you if he can do something. Unable to speak, you nod and bring his hands to your breasts and behind your back. Even though he can't look you in the eye for long, he watches your reaction very closely and as he slips the straps off your shoulders, goose bumps spread over your arms as his fingers touch you.

Kissing you again, still so lovingly, as if he were afraid you would break if he were too forceful, his hands wrap around your breasts and he begins to massage them.

His thumb strokes your hard nipples and you let out another moan as you begin to explore his mouth with your tongue.

Your excited moan shoots straight between his loins.

God, he wants you, so much, but even more he wants you to feel good, which is why he ignores the pulsing in his pants and continues to focus on you.

His hands go under your thighs and he looks at you briefly, the sign that you should jump. You wrap your legs around his hips and feel his hardness pressing against your middle.

The next moment, Mouse holds you between him and the wall, his lips now exploring your neck. With your eyes closed, you put your head to the side a little to give him more space.

He sucks a little on your skin, and leaves a little hickey.

An excited gasp escapes your throat and in response, he presses his hips a little harder against yours, only to have you moan lustily this time. "Fuck, Mouse..." you breathe as his lips reach your breast and cup your hard nipple.

Your head is swept clean as he begins to gently nibble, suck and lick over it.

Your hands are in his hair again, already you are searching for support in the storm of lust that threatens to take you in and you haven't even really started yet.

Each of his touches sends flashes of pleasure through your body, gathering in your centre and making you so fucking wet.

Finally, he sets you back down on the floor and his lips continue to travel down your body, over your belly to the waistband of your pants.

A loud shrill sound snaps you out of your frenzy of lust as a mobile phone begins to ring and you make a soft, agonised sound.

You want to ignore it, but it won't stop ringing.

Finally, Mouse, visibly annoyed about the interruption, breaks away from you and reaches for the phone on the table. "You've picked possibly the worst possible time, Halstead. I hope it's urgent."

You have to stifle a laugh as you hand him his shirt and put yours back on as well.

"Yes, in ten minutes, l'lI be there," you hear him say before he hangs up and looks at you apologetically. "Jay has some problem I need to help him with urgently, which of course couldn't wait." You nod in understanding and give him a breathtaking kiss goodbye.

The more time you spend with Mouse, the more you become yourself again. Margarita notices this too and confronts him when she happens to be in the flat while you and Mouse are there.

"Child, don't you want to start making your flat a home so that you no longer have to sleep in a storeroom?" she asks you, pointing to the boxes still standing around.

"Yeah, maybe I should start doing that, shouldn't I?"

When you then go to the kitchen to get something to drink, Margarita confronts Mouse: "If you hurt her, I'll make your life hell. She likes you and you are good for her, so don't ever let her go."

Then she turns to you as you re-enter the living room and says: "A nice young man you've caught yourself. I'II leave you to it then. Food is in the fridge, have a nice day." With a frown, you watch the woman scurry out of the front door.

"What was that?"

"I don't know what you mean," Mouse replies.

You shrug it off and change the subject. "Hey, about the flat furnishings...maybe you'd like to come with me?" You look at him with begging puppy eyes, which you know by now he cannot resist.

Your parents always had designer furniture everywhere and everything was made of very expensive material. You don't care, if you're honest, which is why you just decide according to what looks nicest to you. You notice how you think of your parents and don't immediately lose your grip. A small smile comes to your lips. Of course you still grieve and miss your family, that probably won't change, but it no longer paralyses you. You learn to live with it.

And Mouse has contributed a great deal to your healing, you are very sure of that, which is why you now take his hand and intertwine your fingers

A small smile also appears on his lips.

When you arrive in the bed department, you stand in front of a model and bite your lower lip, an idea forming in your head before you look at Mouse

"You know, you can't really try out the beds here. Just imagine, when you get home you realise that it's totally uncomfortable or impractical? If only you could try it out...." You look up at him meaningfully and he begins to laugh softly.

He understands what you are implying and looks at you with a raised eyebrow, before suggesting, "What do you say we come back later?"

"I think that's a great idea," you reply, stealing a small kiss from his lips.

…to be continued

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#mouse #mouse gerwitz #greg gerwitz x reader #greg gerwitz #greg mouse gerwitz #writing #writers on tumblr #short story #chicago pd #fiction #imagine #fanfiction

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