#moral slights are nothing new for her

[skallyeen]

GLaDOS's insults are interesting. Because they're so clearly prejudiced, right? She's making fun of Chell for being fat and adopted. These are scummy things to make fun of someone for, and things that would realistically be punching bags for prejudiced people interacting with this character.

But I don't think GLaDOS actually holds the sentiments she's expressing. Rather, they're a means to an end.

I get this mostly from her lines in co-op on the subject:

"Did you know humans frown on weight variances? If you want to upset a human, just say their weight variance is above or below the norm."

She calls Chell fat not because she thinks she's fat or that she personally finds anything wrong with weight variances, but because she knows calling humans fat makes them feel bad, and she's bitter about being killed and wants to make Chell feel bad.

Same goes with her being adopted. As soon as it doesn't emotionally or pragmatically benefit GLaDOS to make fun of Chell for being fat or adopted, she actively refutes Wheatley's attempt at bullying her for these things:

"And...? What, exactly, is wrong with being adopted?" "Also: Look at her, you moron. She's not fat."

She walks back her previous derogatory assertions as if they don't mean anything to her, because they don't. She never believed them in the first place.

She treats Rattmann's schizophrenia much the same way. She uses it to try and manipulate him, to make him doubt himself enough to come out of hiding where she can kill him, the same way she tries to make Chell doubt herself and turn back when she's escaping the facility back in Portal 1. The ableism she expresses is not a genuinely held belief, but a means to an end that she has no qualms about using.

Whether that makes it better or worse, I have no idea! I'd say worse on account of the intention to cause doubt or hurt to the target. But it's a very unique combination of values, isn't it? You're much more used to seeing the inverse: people being insulting, with no actual malicious intent, as a result of unchecked biases. Like, for instance, friendly little Wheatley unintentionally being super condescending about Chell's brain damage and muteness.

#for the record this isn't a condemnation of either character #in the 'therefore you shouldn't like them' sense anyways #like obviously these are immoral intentions and actions #but so is murder #moral slights are nothing new for her #i just found this really interesting #glados #yeenwords #portal #portal 2 #character analysis #portal analysis #skall got into the ramble jar again #i do think glados is legit ableist in regards to wheatley #but so is the writing itself #so it's hard to make a character judgement off of that

[tarjapearce]

Lips Anon! Okay, imagine imagine... You are the 18 yr old daughter of Miguel's secretary. Your mom had to work harder because of the death of her husband/your father, and managed to become Miguel's Secretary. Secretary has a huge crush on Miguel after becoming his secretary, but he's after something else... You. He's not the kindest of men here. He tells you if you ever reject or tell he'll fire your mom. A dark fate awaits you...I'm sorry in a dark mood lol love u

Remember when I said I wanted something dark? Jksjsksj found this in the ask box and YESSS BABY

WICKED GAMES

ShamelessCEO! Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Power play, power imbalance, smut, No proofread, fingering, slight anal play, implicit mentions of squirt, oral (F receiving), Dom! Miguel, Corruption Kink, Mild degratadion, blackmailing, nipple play, cum, Dark Miguel, slight angst, dubious morals.

Summary: Miguel offers you a deal you can't refuse, even if you wanted to.

"Bend over, preciosa."

The voice you had been obeying for the last month ordered. Ever deep and sultry, it had butterflies rioting in your stomach.

Your skin crawled when two deft fingers hovered and dragged over the outline of a flimsy piece of mesh fabric, that accomplished poorly it's role of a thong, leaving little to nothing to his already wild and rampant imagination.

Hands trailed the supple globes of flesh your rear always carried, awaiting to be spanked. It was his ritual before he messed with your senses, his new favorite hobby.

The sight made him groan. Lace and tulle adorned your body in the most skimpiest of ways you had only seen in famous catalogues of lingerie.

And somehow he had turned you into his personal Polly Pocket. If he told you to undress in the middle of his office, you'd obey. If he told you to put on some lingerie that barely covered your tits or holes, you'd obey.

And if he told you to open up, you'd sit ontop of his desk and spread your legs.

Refusal of his antics would only bring devastating consequences to your already little and tattered home. Or so, he had cleared up a month ago. He was shameless.

A shameless CEO of the Medical Research Facility in Alchemax, Miguel O'Hara, that also happened to be your mother's boss.

A boss which, the poor woman had been crushing over for months now. She'd come home with a brightest beam on her face, something that only your father provoked when he lived. She'd gush about him like a teenager in love. She'd ramble for hours if she could and for what you heard he seemed to be a pretty decent man.

A sudden heart attack had left you both widowed and fatherless.

But life didn't stopped. Debts and bills that always arrived on time in the mailbox, the house's mortgage that had slowly chipped away your mother's sanity, had made you drop out of college to find a job and help around with the expenses. And still wasn't enough.

You had seen the exhaustion in your mother's eyes, her depleting smile faltering through the months after she was fired from her current job, trying to be strong for the both as you turned into the main provider, until she landed a job at Alchemax.

Things improved, you quit your second job and had the option to do some trade school. Life gave you a little slack.

Until you assisted to a gala with your mom.

She had enough to afford a beautiful pair of dresses and a lovely makeover that had left you both looking mesmerizing. She tried her best into have a bit of Miguel's attention. She was beautiful, a milf according to your male friends. Nearly in her late thirties.

You didn't want to interrupt whatever thing rich men did in these sort of events, but your mother, stunning and stubborn as she was wanted to greet her boss, despite your initial refusals. You didn't have the heart to say no to her.

And no wonder why she was over the moon with him. Handsome was an understatement, his imposing aura made your eyes avert from his form, skin crawled when you both stepped closer to his personal space. Like if presenting yourselves to the big bad wolf.

"Mr. O'Hara?" The man in question turned to your mother with a piercing stare, watching her with his usual cold look until his brown eyes landed on you. "This is my daughter."

Twinkling with a discreet amusement, ignoring your mother's words to take you in completely.

"Nice to meet you, hermosa."

He squeezed your hand in a gentle and polite handshake while a brief smile appeared. One look, was all he needed for his brain to whirlwind with thoughts he rarely indulged. Miguel was bored.

But not for long.

In the rest of the party you felt someone watching your every move from the shadows.

----

Call it a coincidence, fate or whatever powerful strength above you that put you in the same elevator as him when you were about to visit your mother.

"This is the executive elevator"

Shit.

Your mind immediately reprimanded you for not being careful enough

"I'm sorry."

You were about to leave when the doors slammed shut on your face, your feet stepping back. He had closed the doors.

"I didn't know it was exclusive use only."

Miguel took a brief look at his watch, "It's alright. We're going to the same floor anyways."

Of course, your mother worked in the same floor as he was. Silence however made a space between you, comfortable enough until Miguel broke it.

"Do you study?"

Your throat cleared while giving a quiet nod.

"Work?"

"Yeah. Uhm... Today is my day off actually. Just wanted to say hi to mom."

How cute.

Miguel chuckled while the elevator kept moving upwards, taking it's time. His presence alone had your arms holding yourself, squeezing at the flesh nearby the elbows and heart pounding up your throat.

"You two seem close." Miguel tilted his head as his eyes remained on you, seizing you with the same stare he gave you at the party.

"Oh, heh. Yeah. It's just us. Dad died some years ago."

"Sorry to hear about it."

You shrugged as your feet shuffled. The butterflies in your stomach tickled your insides, blood rushed involuntarily to your cheeks the more scrutinized you felt.

"Thanks. Life goes on though."

"True. How much you get paid in your job?"

"W-What?" You had to blink a couple of times before facing him.

"Not much, that for sure."

He just hummed while his lips pursed. It was more than enough info to have his plan set into motions.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

A derisive snort came your way, "No. I don't have time for it."

"Too busy working?."

"Exactly. Mom needs all the help she can."

Miguel squeezed the metallic bar behind him. It was perfect. Absolutely perfect.

"You're a good woman."

The compliment deepened the flush. A meek thank you was music to his ears and he pulled out a card to then giving it to you. His cologne mushing your senses into a pulp.

Your brow quirked and again, he focused all the attention in you.

"If you need extra help, call me. I think I need a personal assistant"

"Wait... I thought mom was already doing that?"

"She's my secretary, not my assistant. Different jobs. But the choice is all yours."

The elevator's door dinged, finally releasing you both.

"I'll await for your response."

With those final words he left you alone, setting his plan in motion.

----

You were fired. Without much explanation, or a valid reason other than 'We're cutting people short."

It was too soon, too sudden and way too coincidental. It had only been two days since you talked to Miguel, and two days things had been tense at work.

When your mom knew about the news, she wasn't pleased but couldn't really blame you, and when you told her about Miguel, the hesitation was more than enough to send you spiraling in anxiety.

"He's a demanding person, cupcake. Are you sure you wanna do this?"

Resolution only increased when the new mortgage bill rested on the table.

"I know it won't be easy, but I have to. We're almost done with the house's payments."

"That's my job, sweetie. You can go back to college and-"

"Get even more in debt again? No. Mom, look. I know you don't like me to help you, but I wanna do it. Okay?"

She didn't say much, but supported you.

His phone rang and rang to no avail.

I'm the morning however a text message had you rushing through everything.

—Interview at 10.

----

You made it. barely. Mom helped you to dry the sweat forming in your forehead as she announced your presence to Miguel.

"You can do this, ok? If not, don't worry."

She kissed your forehead and let you in. A security door locked behind you.

You knew Alchemax was rotting in money, but his office was ridiculous. Expensive portraits adorning the beige walls, seats made out of the fine leathers, perfect for hosting a personal party if he wished, and finally your eyes met him. Sitting in his throne, watching you with his usual piercing eyes.

His hands motioned you to follow him as he entered through the previous door you saw before to reveal a much more personal space. A semicircular leather couch, with a bar in front.

Bottles of different liqueurs and colors had you looking back and forth through them. Cups and glasses neatly arranged in them, he went behind the bar and served himself some whiskey.

Your surprise at the place grandeur didn't go unnoticed by him. It made him smirk.

"Want a drink?"

"Uh, no. I'm alright. Thanks."

He downed a shot of whiskey while sitting on the couch, to then pat the space next to him.

Hesitation started to nest out when you sat, his aura and form swallowing you whole.

"Let's go straight to the point."

Eyes darted back at his face while nodding.

"Of course. What would my functions be?"

"None of that boring bureaucratic shit, that's for sure."

You blinked, confused, but your senses flared in danger when a bold hand of his rested on your knee, gently squeezing you.

"Uhm... Mr. O'Hara-"

"I need your full commitment, if you're working for me. Can you do that?"

"I-I need to know what's gonna be my job, if I'm-"

"If?" A disapproving array of 'tsk' came out of him, his whole frame faced you now while he loosened his tie.

"I don't think you're understanding, sweetie. I don't want ifs here. I like a yes or no. You see, your mother is a good employee."

You gulped, not really enjoying where this conversation was going.

"And you're jobless. A lot of debts to pay come your mailbox every month" Your face recoiled from his lingering touch as he removed a strand of hair out of your face, "Must be hard for her, taking all of that in her shoulders"

His hand slid on your shoulder and you casted your eyes away.

"But you, are brave to help her. I like brave girls like you."

It was more than enough for you to stand in a rush to leave, but he grabbed your wrist with enough force to stop you, but immediately pulled you against his chest, back colliding against his solid wall of muscles.

"Don't be afraid, cielito. I won't hurt you."

"Let me go, please."

"Why would I let my new assistant go?"

"I don't want to-"

"The only thing you have to do is be there for me whenever I require it from you."

"I'm not turning into your fucking fuck toy!"

His hand covered yours for a second to tone down your voice.

"Fuck toy? Quite the imagination you have. Let me put it simple and straight for you. You leave? Your mom does too."

Angry tears flooded your eyes while he squeezed your chin with a lazy smile

"But if you stay, and take the job, "He nuzzled your neck softly, sending shivers down your spine," I'll give her a raise."

You stilled for a moment and he let you go, to pour himself some more whiskey.

Numbness spreaded through your head, the glass clinking echoed in the little space. Head felt buzzing and spinning with so many thoughts that screamed and pushed in your head to come up to a proper reply.

Leave it!

No, your mom, the mortgage-

Take it!

He's rich, and mom needs a break from money, you're so close paying up everything!

No! He's bad. You're not a slut! He only wants your body!

But mom would be happy...

A hand on your cheek, stroking you lips put a halt to all the rebelling thoughts, forcing your focus to go back to him.

"So, yes or no?"

----

"W-Wait!" Your plea came out as a shaky moan as he rubbed in lazy circles your clit over the lace panties he made you wear.

Lace and tulle were his favorites, you noted. The first thing he did was to give you the rules.

"Someone could enter at any moment!"

If he'd need you, you'd assist him in any way he saw fit. You wouldn't call him for anything besides business. Everything would happen between you both, was to remain between you and whatever the place he chose.

He shrugged "We're working. Ahora callate." (Shut up)

You wouldn't call him by his name, Mr. O'Hara or Sir would suffice. Contraceptives were a must. No kissing, you weren't to wear underwear around him unless absolute necessary and certainly no interaction past your stablished contract.

He picked a red silk and mesh set of panties, that perfectly adjusted at your size.

His thumb applied the gradual pressure that had you covering your mouth and trapping his hand between your legs.

"Why am I not hearing you?"

His hand slapped with enough force your pussy to send a jolt through your body, ending in a loud gasp.

"Don't cover your mouth. Understood?"

"Y-Yes, sir."

Mom was so excited when you told her you had accepted the job offer.

His hands fumbled with his buckle, moving past the layers of clothes to release his proud and girthy cock free. You were sprawled all over his desk, tits exposed from the confinements of your button shirt.

He trailed a finger between the moist and supple pair of lips that swallowed the silk, soaking them when he pushed it above your pulsating cunt.

Breathings heaved, and a tiny whimper was brave enough to escape as he rubbed his tip between your clothed folds.

His grunts and foreign mumbling had your skin tickling. He slapped his cock before pressing tighter against your pussy, rubbing urgently and desperately.

You groaned as your breaths turned curt and shallow. One of his hands pinned your hips down in place, his cock moved sideways on your clit with such speed it had you sputtering and trembling.

He covered your mouth, drowning the delicious cry that announced your climax, as he glazed your folds with his cum. Hot and thick blobs of cum permeated the fabric, burning your skin deliciously.

The flush in his cheeks and ears spreaded through his face. Plump lips panted and heaved as his eyes trailed over your convulsing body. Taut peaks swayed at the pace of your breathings.

The phone next to you rang, startling you both. With the remaining strength in your body, you stood to fix your clothing and hair to look the least unkempt as possible.

"Mr. O'Hara, the meeting with Aaron is within two hours. Would you like to confirm?"

Your mother's voice pierced through the intercom. Your eyes casted away from him and the crime scene.

There wasn't an aftercare per say, it all revolved around his pleasure after all. But apparently he loved having you marked with his scent. But you weren't one for following such things, too uncomfortable to walk around with cum stained panties, so you threw them away and cleaned yourself up in his personal's bathroom, then went back to your mini office on his right.

----

At first there was nothing more but him jerking off to oblivion and cumming on your panties, that always were discarded afterwards, no matter how cute they were.

But as days passed, his ways turned bolder. He had asked you to get undressed and give him a show on his chair. Although shy at first, he talked through the whole process, training you to the point of cumming with three fingers inside you all while he recorded your climax with one hand, and stroked himself with the other.

But it wasn't enough. On a particular day, he felt like having you sit on his lap, mounds out, one on his mouth as his cock was trapped between your thighs, covered in the slick your drenched folds drowned him in.

Tongue swirled while he suckled, earning lovely mewls from your mouth. Your phone rang, and he groaned, frustrated.

The vibrations of his grumble made you whimper, while shaky hands grabbed the trinket. Mom's number on the screen.

"Pick up." His tongue twirled on your nipple once more as his arms pulled you upwards to sit on his lap. One of his hands darted on your soaked swell to prod two fingers around, but stopped upon seeing you looking at him.

"Pick the fuck up" With a gulp you took some air before pressing the green button. It was your mom's day off

"H-Hey mom"

You had to pill the phone away as he slid in the two digits inside and you bit your lip.

"-you? How is it going?"

"I'm doing just fine."

His fingers prodded and buried themselves deeper while wriggling inside.   Brown deep eyes never faltered in watching you. Engraving each and single one of your expressions as he moved his  fingers deftly inside you, leaving wet slurps of your cunt echoing the more he moved. His mouth sucked the hardened nub with such hunger it had you biting your lip to avoid moaning.

"What do you want for dinner? I'm making pasta. Is that alright?"

"Y-Yeah. That's-"

Your spine arched as you watched his fingers disappearing inside your slick and folds, "That's great." You clenched your jaw while your head threw back.

"Okay! See you at night, sweetie. Love you!"

"Lov... Love you too"

Miguel grabbed your phone and hung the call, to hear you as he increased the pace of his fingering. The tight knot coiling into your lower pit, spreading and consuming everything like a wild fire.

Miguel could only watch your blissful face as you gushed all over his hand.

"Such a good girl."

He mumbled through rough licks and sucks, leaving your nipple puffed and sensitive.

And now a month after getting used to a certain part of his antics, you were bent over the desk, flimsy mesh fabric covering your awaiting hole.

"Beautiful" His praising was odd, yet it left a tingling and warm shimmy on your heart. He pulled you to stand again and pulled the panties off.

He put one of your legs ontop of the sturdy surface and kneeled behind you. Face immediately sinking between your thighs and flesh. A yelp flew out in the air as he slurped and played with your clit, two of his fingers teasing your butthole.

Papers were crumpled underneath your hands as he delved his tongue and coiled it inside your weeping pussy. Souping and guzzling down your slick. His fingers sunk in your tighter hole, prodding softly.

"Look at that" He mumbled while sucking the outer labia before dribbling his tongue up and down, skin full of goosebumps, as your jaw clenched, trying to not scream at the unbearable sensation in your holes.

"You didn't want this job and now look at you." He slapped your glutes so hard it left a flushed pink imprint on it. And it only made you wetter, "Such a good little toy for me."

His fingers in your butthole prodded and spreaded. His hot breath fanned on your cunt, a trail of your slick and his lips connected on eachother.

"Feels good doesn't it?"

Miguel pulled your hips backwards, pressing your pussy against his mouth, devouring you like a starved man. Your knees bucked and your toes curled in. He  gasped for air while you mumbled the most incoherent things that came out your mouth, a clear reflect on what he did to your mind.

"Feels good to be paid to be used, Hm?"

Another spank and it had you whimpering a delicious 'Yes'

"You love when I use you, preciosa?"

The tip his fingers rubbed and poked at your insides.

"Y-Yes"

"See? Honesty can take you places."

You noted that he'd never go to the extent of fucking you, despite the implant nesting within your left arm.

"P-Please"

"Hm? What was that?"

His fingers dug deeper and faster as they hooked inside you, reaching easily that sweet spot that had you sobbing and pushing your hips against it.

"Please, sir!"

Miguel's dark smirk widened when he suddenly stopped, just when you were about to cum. A frustrated whine came off your lips and he grabbed you by the hair, cornering you against him and the desk.

"Go change, sweetie. That's all for today."

"But-"

"I said, that's fucking it for today, understood?"

"Yes, sir"

A shamed pant came off your mouth while getting off the desk, hips protested, but you made your way towards the bathroom.

Reality came flooding like a tsunami on your thoughts. You had been too carried away to remember it was all a game.

You cleaned yourself up before beginning to change.

He'd always have the upper hand. And no matter how much you tried to not react to his ministrations, your body always disobeyed greatly.

Your hair was fixed as you put on the outer layers of clothes. Miguel had made you admit all those shameful things you were avoiding to say.

At first it was just to keep mom happy and away from trouble. Hell, she even doubled her praising for Miguel and how much a good boss he was. And your paycheck always came on time, he had kept his sword like he said he would.

And still the emotional toll of such choice you had taken was finally catching up with you.

It all was a game. And you his favorite toy.

#t writes✨ #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #💋 anon #miguel o'hara smut #miguel ohara smut #miguel x y/n #miguel x you #miguel x reader #miguel imagine

[jenscx]

YOUR MAJESTY — jang wonyoung x f!reader

happily married, you assumed nothing would come between you and wonyoung. but everyone makes mistakes sometimes, right?

TAGS — angst, jealousy, princess!wonyoung, commoner!yn, wony’s lowk mean, aaa i feel bad for yn, pt.2 to my darling but you can read this without reading that

WORDCOUNT — 3.1k

marrying the princess was a dream. after being introduced to the emperor and empress, they immediately started preparations for your wedding. soon, wonyoung was to take over the throne and you would have to be by her side. the public were certainly shocked when wonyoung announced the lifelong partnership not to a duke or a noble, but a commoner. even now, curious gazes wander all over you, wondering what made you so attractive for the princess to reject other handsome and wealthy nobles.

after the wedding, wonyoung had been swarmed with work. being her partner, you had to take up some of the assignments as well. while wonyoung had to deal with external affairs such as relations with foreign countries, you were to deal with internal affairs— overseeing the public’s perspective of the royal family and making sure that all the funds were fairly dealt with.

at first it was tiring. you didn’t expect to be handed so much workload the moment you agreed to marry wonyoung. and it was even worse after wonyoung’s coronation. your princess had become her majesty and had to take care of everything concerning the empire. while you felt extremely proud of wonyoung’s ability to stay focused and finish tasks, a certain part of you felt lonely at the increasing distance between you and the empress.

even in your shared room, you spent countless nights waiting for wonyoung, only to be informed that once again, she was drowning in a sea of assignments and would be held up in her office. the first few times, you couldn’t control your emotions, disappointment wrecked your face and even the messenger, gaeul, one of wonyoung’s personal guards, had to comfort you.

the empty side of your bed always seemed to be mocking you. pristine silk sheets, never touched when you were around. it was like wonyoung was avoiding you. your face fell. wonyoung was avoiding you.

you turn your body away from the empty space reserved for wonyoung, squeezing your eyes shut to not imagine the empress staring at you coldly, unwilling to even share a bed with you.

hours had passed and you were still battling your uncertainty. what if she was really busy? wonyoung being newly crowned had launched her into a pile of work. despite training to become the new empress, she could easily be struggling with the workload. as her partner, shouldn’t you be taking the initiative to help her out? you got out of bed, throwing on a robe above your nightdress.

despite the late hour, the hallways were still brightly lit, probably by request of wonyoung who was burning the midnight oil. you remember the first time you and wonyoung had drank together. it was right after your wedding, wine being one of the biggest congratulatory gifts. with wonyoung’s invitation to test out every single one of the bottles, you had gotten extremely intoxicated, as well as the princess at that time. you recall the stumble back to your room, giggling and grasping onto any surface of the hallway.

sighing, you walk through the same hallway and headed for wonyoung’s office. with it being so late, there were no guards stationed outside. wonyoung’s personal guard was probably protecting the empress inside. there was a slight crack in the door, emitting light. you inched closer, hearing the passionate voice of the woman you loved. it was wrong to eavesdrop but when you had caught your name uttered in a hush whisper, your curiosity took over your moral compass.

“—and how can you leave your wife alone? a few weeks ago you could barely even leave her side, now all she does is live every day without your presence.”

“even if i love her with all my heart, i can’t deal with her bothering me every second. i just need time alone away from her.” your heart plummets. the sinking realisation that wonyoung was annoyed with you being around her hurt more than any stab wound could.

you had thought wonyoung was busy and therefore didn’t have any time for you, yet she was actively finding ways to avoid spending even a second with you. how could you be so naive to think she wouldn’t be bothered by your clingy nature? deciding to spare yourself the hurt, you slithered away from the door, not wanting to hear the rest of the conversation.

why would you? the empress had so clearly expressed her discomfort. you wouldn’t want to force her to endure any more burden. with a heavy heart, you lugged yourself to the first floor, through the many hallways and eventually arrived at the garden with connected the emperor and empress’ palaces, or in your case, wonyoung and yours.

normally the emperor’s consort would live in a room separate from the emperor, but wonyoung had put on such a cute facade with her big doe eyes and pout, begging you to reside in her palace instead. how could she change her behaviour so easily? you wondered. the walk to your unused bedroom was fleeting and like a robot, you dropped onto the bed, sheets barely touched, reminiscent of the side you constantly watched back in wonyoung’s room.

you couldn’t help but think of the past memories. wonyoung was so sweet and way more affectionate than you. now she was complaining about you being the same? you gritted your teeth, tears staining the pillowcase. for some reason, the bed felt colder than usual.

one thing was for certain, wonyoung was bewildered at your sudden distance. it was strange that when she finally headed to bed, you weren’t there wrapped in the duvet cover. it was even stranger that you barely spoke a word during breakfast, choosing to just hum or nod in acknowledgement.

the only time you spoke was to question the progress of the newest trading decree with the nearby kingdom. wonyoung’s patience was running thin. she could only stand a few more days of silent treatment before bringing it up.

“i noticed you weren’t in our bedroom last night,” or the previous nights, wonyoung wanted to add on. you pause, thinking of what to say in return.

“it felt stuffy,” you merely reply. wonyoung nods, “should i expect you to be in our bedroom tonight?”

“should i expect you in our bedroom?” you ask sharply, raising an eyebrow as you brought a piece of the cut strawberry into your mouth.

wonyoung parts her lips, shock invading her face, “what do you mean?”

you push yourself up from the table, “nothing. i’m done eating.”

the empress eyes you weirdly, deciding to stand up as well. she had to get to the bottom of your sudden strange behaviour.

“is something bothering you?” wonyoung reaches out a hand, attempting to grab yours, “you can tell me anything.”

you shift away from her, dodging her hand. hurt flashes across her face and you feel bad momentarily. but that moment of hurt couldn’t compare to what you felt that night. wonyoung sighs, “what’s going on?”

with pursed lips, you resisted the urge to blurt out what you had heard, choosing to stay silent, chin up in defiance.

“i don’t have all day, darling. a certain prince from a neighbouring land is visiting and demands an audience,” wonyoung frowns, “i do not know what time he's arriving, so i can’t humour you.”

you nod, “i don’t want to hold you back any longer then. have a good day, your majesty.”

it was obvious how much the title affected wonyoung, especially from you. when you had discovered her identity, it wasn’t easy for her to deal with that fact, thus you never called her by her proper title, choosing to stick to wonyoung or pet names.

she stood rooted to the ground as you left the dining room. what on earth were you playing at? the lack of curiosity when she had brought up conversation topics and your absence last night had made her question things. however, now she was certain something was wrong.

what made you change so quickly?

she decided firmly that no one would rest until her sweet and caring y/n returned to her side.

wonyoung was true to her word, always asking yujin and gaeul (her personal guards) to keep a close watch on you. they would bring back reports of you strolling in the garden, reading, but most of the time, you were holed up in your own office, probably dealing with some internal affairs. even during dinner you barely spoke. she brings a hand up to her forehead, thoroughly affected by your absence in her life. nothing had bothered her this much before.

groaning, she finally decides to pay you a visit. the piles of papers left undone. she was only going to take half an hour to visit you, maybe an hour to resolve the conflict you had. the decrees could wait. it wasn’t like she was getting much work done anyway.

“i’ll be back soon, just paying my lady a visit,” wonyoung informs her guards. yujin perks up, mouth agape, as if she wants to say something. wonyoung notices the heated exchange of gazes between the two but pay it no mind as she makes her way through the connected garden.

“your majesty! i think it would be better to not visit miss y/n now,” gaeul hurriedly says with yujin’s insistent nodding.

wonyoung grits her teeth.

“are you telling me what to do, gaeul?”

“i’m not saying this from a guard’s perspective but a friend’s,” she says, eyes darting to familiar curls of hair dancing in the garden, “you said that miss y/n was annoying you and now you’re upset that she isn’t paying you any attention? wait, isn’t that…”

“who allowed prince osaki to even be in the vicinity of y/n?” wonyoung brandishes a fiery gaze, jealous waves emitting off her as she struts towards you and your new acquaintance.

yujin and gaeul gulp, closely following behind wonyoung as she confronts the prince.

“good evening, prince osaki,” she hisses out, “why are you with y/n? aren’t you meant to be heading towards the meeting room now?” you eye wonyoung suspiciously. you didn’t know that the random young man who showed up in the garden was the prince wonyoung had mentioned! you’re shocked that he wasn’t even guarded by anyone.

“taro got lost, so i was guiding him,” you explain. looking at the reaction of wonyoung, your words only fuel the fire, ensuring the empress’ had a strong distaste for the young prince.

“taro,” wonyoung repeats. it repeats incessantly in her brain. she was demoted from wonyoung to her majesty and now some random prince shows up and he instantly gains your favour?

you nod, a blush rising to your cheeks when wonyoung stares at you intensely. shotaro bows politely, “my apologies, your majesty. i lost my way. this is an unfortunate way of meeting but i hope we can come to an agreement.”

your lover nods slowly, eyes raking all over you instead of shotaro. sensing that you were in trouble, you bow and quickly make your exit.

wonyoung sighs. she barely got a chance to speak to you and now she was definitely going to have to endure hours long of discussion. so much for talking to you.

(“why is she acting like this?” yujin asks gaeul.

“i mean, even if she finds miss y/n annoying—”

yujin groans, frustrated, “no, not her majesty! miss y/n! her behaviour changed so quickly, it’s like,” her eyes widen, “she heard her majesty’s conversation with us.”

gaeul blinks once. then twice. “her majesty is fucked.”)

after coming to an agreement with the prince, wonyoung was relieved of her duties. this time, there was no way you could run away from her. she had gaeul send you a message that you were to return to your shared bedroom tonight. she would head back to your bedroom early and finally have a proper discussion about your behaviour. wonyoung was hesitant to admit this but she missed you. she missed your constant appearances and visits to her office. she missed your incessant questioning about her day. she missed how much you would pay attention when she was talking. now, you barely even spared her a glance, choosing to pick at your food or stare out the window.

her knocks resounded on the door. a soft voice telling her to come in. she could do this. she wasn’t the empress for nothing.

“darling,” wonyoung greets. you nod at her, putting down the book you were reading.

“have you bathed yet?” she asks. once again, you respond by nodding. “okay, i’ll go bathe and join you in bed.”

she shouldn’t expect you to even reply verbally. it’s been so long since she had you whisper into her ear, confessing your affections. wonyoung slips into the tub, letting the warm water remind her of your embrace, one that she so dearly missed.

she should have felt happy that you weren’t visiting her so often. she should have felt happy that you didn’t bring sweet desserts to her office anymore. she should have felt happy that you stopped ranting about the newest duke who got exposed for cheating. but all she felt was emptiness. this was all her fault, you were only doing what she wanted.

her mind cleared of doubt, she finishes up quickly. you were sitting on the bed, reading the book you had previously put down. it's a reminiscence of the first time you had met wonyoung; in a quaint bookstore with rain pouring. now, you were in a four poster king-sized bed with gemstones and gold decorating the room. in some way, you missed your previous life. at least then wonyoung had paid some sort of attention to you.

the silence that was once filled with conversation is overwhelming. wonyoung takes a good look at you, noticing that you looked sullen, contrary to the cheerful persona you had before.

“y/n,” wonyoung starts. your eyes darted to her and suddenly, she forgets how to speak, “uhm, what were you doing with the prince?” your face falls but you mask it instantly, which wonyoung wouldn’t notice if she hadn’t spent hours constantly memorising every inch of you.

“just accompanying someone who was lost. i needed someone to talk to anyway,” you mutter. your response makes wonyoung heat up in anger. she had willingly offered a listening ear but you had denied her. was it so difficult for you to even talk to her about your worries? sure, you may be from different backgrounds but you should know that wonyoung would try her best to help.

“so i’m just the only person you can’t talk to?” wonyoung asks, unamused. you sigh, placing the book onto the nightstand. she takes this time to crawl into the empty spot next to you.

“that’s not it. i just… don’t want to be a bother to your majesty.”

her heart is suddenly wracked with guilt. your words remind her of that night, when she had confessed that you were annoying her. it was so familiar, and with your sudden behaviour…

“you heard me.”

you widen your eyes, turning away to hide the tears forming, “yes.”

“that’s the reason for your distance,” wonyoung confirms. you nod.

“i would have rathered you to tell me instead of letting me embarrass myself. i didn’t know you felt that way. i’m sorry for bothering you, your majesty,” you mumble, hands coming up to wipe the tears away. wonyoung only stares at you unwaveringly. it hurt her to see you like this, it hurt her more to know she was the reason behind your hidden pain. how could she behave in such a manner? she took your kindness for granted and hurt you.

“my darling,” wonyoung breathes, reaching out to turn your face towards her, “you shouldn’t be the one apologising. it should be me. i was just so focused with everything else that i forgot about the only thing that got me through this. it was wrong of me to ignore your actions of affection. please don’t hold back anymore, these few days without you were enough. it was torture. and don’t refer to me by my title, please.”

you sigh, “i don’t know, wonyoung. everytime i want to do something for you, i can only think about that night and how hurt i was.”

wonyoung swallows a lump in her throat as she feels her eyes brimming with tears. how could she make you feel as if you were annoying her? how could she say that about you? you were the best thing to happen to her and she didn’t even appreciate you. she had sworn that she would protect you for the rest of her life and it seemed the only thing harming you, was her.

“it’s fine,” it wasn’t for wonyoung, “i’ll give you all the time you need but let me make it up to you.”

“tell me you’re sorry,” you say firmly.

“i’m sorry.”

“tell me you regret saying those words.”

“i regret saying that you were bothering me. in no universe would you ever be a bother to me.”

“tell me that this will not ever happen again.”

“i would never do this ever again. not in this lifetime, nor the next. nothing you do would ever annoy me, because i truly love you. i missed you so much, my love. i swear that if i’m ever the reason for your tears again, i’ll beg for your forgiveness forever.”

you give another nonverbal response but the empress enjoyed this one much more than your blank stares and nods. she sighs contentedly, finally letting herself relax in your arms.

“i missed you too,” you utter in her ear, burying your head further into the crook of her neck. how long had it been since you embraced her? the flowery scent of her perfume seemed unfamiliar to you, yet it brought waves of delight that you finally had wonyoung again.

you would never admit it willingly but as soon as wonyoung’s arms were wrapped around your waist, cuddling you tightly as you both fell asleep, you were ready to forgive her.

it was the first of many nights where you didn’t have to receive the news of wonyoung not being able to spend time with you. it was the first of many nights that you didn’t dream of anything except a familiar empress with soft brown locks, full glossy lips and batting eyelashes.

it was the first of many mornings that you woke up to a bouquet of flowers on your nightstand, accompanied by a romantic handwritten letter.

to my darling y/n,

i have ordered the kitchen staff to not prepare breakfast for today as i will be attempting to do so for you. it will take some time for you to forgive me but i will be trying my best for your forgiveness. i hope you know how much i adore your visits and inquisitive nature. i cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with you. i love you dearly.

forever yours,

wonyoung

#jang wonyoung x reader #wonyoung x reader #ive x reader #ive

[cocteaucherry]

fuckboy!suguru x reader

a/n-something I wrote in like two days, :p

cws- geto is fr a douche, nipple play, nipple piercing, tongue piercings, unprotected p in v, 18+, geto with tattoos, mention of bodily fluids, slight coercion, reader uses she/her pronouns

fuckboy!Suguru who was the sweetest boy through your years of high school.

His hair was relatively long and his face was still developing, he’d offer to help you study for upcoming quizzes and would often invite you out for coffee study dates.

The summer after graduation Geto had cut contact with most of his friends (other than Gojo and Shoko) you didn't look too deep into it, I mean he was cutting social ties starting fresh, turning over a new great leaf. Oh how wrong you were

That fall you attended your local college excited to enter a new chapter, a few weeks into your first semester everything had gone calmly until you saw him.

He was more sculpted, his raven hair cascaded down his back and, how did he get jacked in a matter of months? Although to be fair he always wore baggy clothes. To add onto his new look was a long dragon sleeve tattoo and a cool metal ball pierced through his tongue.

You wondered where this pivot came from until the rumors and whispers began, many people regaling with tears how he fucked, led them on then broke it off with swift quickness.

A pang of disappointment rang through your body, over a boy you hung out with a few times was crazy your mind told you but you couldn't care.

fuckboy!Suguru who approached you in the dining hall with a sickeningly sweet smile and his usual hushed tone, “Y/N, long time no see.” a fake smile generated on your face as you listened to him try to powder and egg you on.

“I think we should catch up this weekend whaddya’ think?”

“I don't know..”

“Come on pleasee, it'll be like old times.”

“Fine,”

“Saturday at five good?”

Fuckboy!suguru picking you up in his surprisingly nice black Jeep, for being a douche he had a suspiciously clean car. He wore baggy jeans and a tight black t-shirt, his muscles looking as if they're trying to bust out the tight fabric but your eyes are brought to his chest.

Four small metal balls on either side of his nipples and you were gobsmacked.

“It's rude to stare, angel.”

You were bought out of your gaze, a heat creeping up your neck, you hadn't registered the nick name he gave you.

The date with Suguru had gone surprisingly well, you held your breath for the level of sleaze he could give off but so far nothing came.

So how come you found yourself on his couch sloppily making out with him?

His lips attacked and bruised yours aggressively, his large hands running over the slight exposure of your skin, small grunts came from his mouth as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

In the back of your mind this went against all your morals but at the moment you didn't care.

Fuckboy!Suguru who had you ride his thick, aching cock in the comfort of his bed, you whimpered as you struggled to slam your hips down completely on his length.

His amber eyes scanned your body as his muscles tensed as he felt you clench around him. Rough hands came to your soft bouncing breasts as he squeezed a nipple aggressively in-between his fingers, “Feel how hard you make me angel?” he cooed using his other hand to slap his hand harshly on the fat of your ass.

“Letting me fuck this tight pussy on our first outing too? tch.” he clicked his tongue latching his mouth onto your erect nipple, he swirled the tip of his tongue around purposely moving the cold metal around the space.

Whines escaped from your mouth as you pleaded, “S-Sugu, let me cum please,” you moaned continuing to bounce off his cock.

“Mm should I?” he mumbled pulling off your nipple to smirk at your sweaty face, “Don't know if you earned it,” the grip on your ass getting harsher each second.

Fuckboy!suguru who edged you for about two hours that night but came about four times all over your face, tits, and ass.

Fuckboy!suguru who left you naked in his bed to smoke outside as he ran into his white haired roommate hair tousled, “Suguru, do you always have to do this shit here? I'm not getting any sleep.” he groaned, rubbing his eyes.

Suguru smirked, holding a cigarette in hand as his sweatpants hung dangerously low on his hips, “You'll be fine.”

“Who’s on the roster tonight?”

“Cute girl, met her in the dinner hall.”

“Huh, might’ve been the quickest fuck you've gotten usually you wait a week or two what's different?”

Suguru shrugged while walking towards the balcony, “No idea, just met her this week.”

Satoru raised an eyebrow with a grin, “Sugu~ y’know you're a terrible liar right?”

I feel like I could've gone a lot more extreme but I didn't wanna hurt my own feelings)

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu x reader #x reader #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #geto suguru #geto x reader #geto angst #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto #geto smut #jjk smut

[tainted-liquor]

✮ 4th Baby Mama‧₊˚ ⋅ 「15.10.23」 ft. Earth42 Miles G. Morales

ingredients; Sugar, kisses, n a lil bit of smiles!

Listen, ik you said make it just one, but a part 2 is going to be made lol

It was a warm day out in Brooklyn, New York. The air gently caressed and kissed your skin, leaving your blue plaid skirt flowing as you trekked through the messy streets of Brooklyn. You paid no attention to the gunshots, explosions, or any of the...cherry-wine tinted 'spills' coming from a random trash bag in the alley. You mumbled along to the music you had blasting through your blue metallic beats, putting a slight pep in your step as Summer Walker spoke to your soul.

"I wanna start wit' yo mama, she shoulda whooped yo ass..." you grunted, giggling to yourself before swinging open the massive oak doors to Brooklyn Visions Academy. You felt rather giddy about the day ahead, knowing that you would be getting robotic babies as part of your home economics class. The problem was that you didn't know who you would be partnered with. It was all shits and giggles, and you were pretty sure the task would be as easy as ever. No matter who you were partnered with! Right?

No.

You made your way to the locker, checking your lashes and light makeup in the small mirror you had placed in the top right corner before placing all your unnecessary materials inside the navy blue metal. You did a quick fluff of your slick low bun and threw on your clear-framed glasses. You opened up your spearmint mentos gum, popping two small pieces in your mouth before closing your locker and proceeding through the bustling halls to find your friends. You lowered your headphones down to your neck, pausing the music and locating your girls all crowded together in what sounded like frantic whispers and sharp giggles. Catching up to the rest of the group, you merged into their tight circle to see what was going on as they all looked down at each other's phones.

"Yooo, what's happening? What y'all lookin' at?" You inquired whilst pulling out your phone and opening your school email. You turned your head to face your friend, Tierra, watching as the cyber-blue hue illuminated her facial features as she stared down at her screen with a hand over her mouth. Layla spoke up, nudging you gently so you could see what she was talking about, "They picked the partners for the...the fuckin' baby project at random!" She giggled, tears pricking her waterline as she flipped her screen to show you what was on her phone. You scanned through the list, eyes widening when you came across your name right next to Miles'.

"WHAT!" You shouted, breaking out into laughter with the rest of the group. "They paired me with my fuckin' ex, at least you got that quiet kid!" Tierra grunted, whacking you on the shoulder with a rolled-up homework assignment. You nearly fell on the floor, gripping Katie's shoulder while she held up upright. The idea of raising a baby, real or not, with a stranger sounded hilarious. You weren't mad, but he wasn't exactly the partner you wanted. You originally hoped for one of your girlfriends, or maybe even a cute guy from the basketball team that you could yap about later. But alas, the forms were out and the choices were final, so there was nothing more that you could do.

You were familiar with Miles; saying hi to him now and again in the hallways and always getting the same upward nod in the process. He was known to be an adept artist who wasn't big on having a large circle of friends, but that didn't mean he was weird. You held your stomach as you wiped your tears, easing into the steady flow of conversation your friends began to hold before it was time for you to head to your advisory. You waved bye to your friends before heading to Mrs. Thomas’ classroom for said advisory, where she covered the school's upcoming events and big tests we needed to be ready for. You fiddled and played with a loose curl in your bun, pulling it down and watching as it sprang back up at an instantaneous rate. 

The room was dull and filled with nothing but sleep until the bell rang, signaling for everyone to file out to their next class. You hastily grabbed your things, panicking slightly at the fact that in the next 30 minutes, you would be classified as a ‘mother’. The classroom was warm and comfortable, allowing your nerves to relax slightly as you sat in your usual seat. It didn’t take long for more voices to pour in, loud gossip and strained laughter filling the room as everyone took their respective seats. ”Girl this class finna be the death of me…how we havin’ kids at 8:35 in the morning!” Your friend Jayda mumbled, finally sitting down next to you as your teacher prepared to start today’s lesson.

“Nah that’s what I’m saying…Like, tell me how I got-” you began, cutting yourself off as soon as Ms. Kaylee cleared her throat and stood up from her desk with a warm smile. She spoke, her voice cutting clearly through the silence that hung over the room like a mistletoe over a pair with chemistry as thick as butter, “Alright, everyone! I’m sure you saw the email about your partners for your week-long project, but in case you didn’t have time or missed a couple of lessons I’ll go over everything for a couple minutes before we get started with our gender reveal!” You tensed in your seat, looking over at Jayda with wide eyes and an upside-down smile. The classroom door came swinging open, revealing a Miles who had a tiny matte-black bandage right next to his lip. His uniform jacket was missing, his tie askew, and his sleeves were rolled up to his upper bicep, displaying a ton of tiny scratches and a small bruise above the curve of his elbow. 

The teacher glared at him for what felt like a minute, calmly pulling him to the side to discuss his entrance while you glared at him, too. But you weren’t staring because he was a disruption to the classroom. He looked delicious like this…when he was finally out of his usual blue school hoodie and grey slacks. You watched as he nodded at the teacher, towering over her 5’4 stature before you felt a light tap on your arm. 

“Ayo, stop drooling girl we see you” Jayda laughed, giving her a firm eye-roll as you watched Miles stroll back to his desk and sit down. Ms. Kaylee let go of a deep sigh, shaking her head before continuing with her speech. She gave a brief explanation of what it was that we’d be doing, what the final goal was, and how we would be graded on our project. She clapped her hands together, setting out a bunch of baby holders and car seats before rolling out a massive case labeled ‘RealCare’. “Alright! When I call you and your partner's name, please come up and grab one bath bomb and a pail of water”

The people around you made quick work of finding their partners and grabbing the necessary supplies between chortles and hushed conversation. Your chest felt heavy as you talked Jayda’s ear off, nearing the order of people that you last saw on the Google form she had emailed you earlier. You perked up as soon as you heard your name, turning around to see Ms. Kaylee check off two spaces on her clipboard before beckoning the both of you to come up and grab your things. You sighed, getting up from your desk and grabbing a plain white bath bomb and a small beach pale filled with lukewarm water while Miles grunted and grabbed a car seat, muscles tensing and flexing under the weight of the surprisingly heavy chunk of plastic. He turned over to look at you, nodding his head back to his desk as a signal for you to follow him while you waited for the teacher to finish reading out the pairs. 

“Wassup, Miles” you beamed, pulling up a chair in front of his desk so you could sit face-to-face with him while you placed the sunny yellow pale on the desk, holding the bath bomb as delicately as possible in your cupped hands. He nodded upward, setting the car seat on the floor next to him and cracking his knuckles. His skin was perfectly smooth, his braids laid neatly at the tip of his collarbones and he had a skinny but lean build on him. It wasn’t long after you took note of him avoiding your gaze that the teacher spoke up, instructing you to all drop your bath bombs in the pail of water and then rinse your hands at the sink. You squealed in anticipation, making sure that Miles was watching as you dropped the chalky white bath bomb into the sparkling clear water.

The bucket exploded with color, white foam suddenly turning into shades of bright pink and pastel fuchsia. You beamed from ear to ear, pure joy and excitement illuminating your face as you joined the rest of the class in their shouts of joy, exclaiming their ‘babies’ gender at the top of their lungs. Miles smiled slightly, nodding with a content expression before he leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. Shortly after everyone's joyful exclamation, the teacher wasted no time in collecting everyone's attention and going over the plan for the next week. “You will need to devise a custody plan with your partner, so this means exchange numbers or whatever you need to do now. You may now all come up and select your baby” Ms. Kaylee explained and gestured to the now-open box.

You went up with Miles, quickly scooping up a pretty baby doll with deep brown skin and curly brown hair. You analyzed her little face, taking in her deep black eyes and light pink headband that came with her matching pink onesie while Miles got your baby bag full of supplies and wristbands. Miles cleared his throat, holding up his phone before mumbling “Just send me what days you want me to get her and I’ll make it work.”

You nodded, putting your number in his contacts and vice versa. “Actually,” he stated, gently taking the baby from your arms and hoisting up the bright pink baby bag. “I got her until lunch today. I’ll come find you and we’ll work sum’ out,” he shrugged as you handed him back his phone.

“Oh aight, bet. What we naming her?” You asked, attempting to reach for the car seat, but being instantly denied by Miles. “Uhh…” he mumbled, visibly blanking at the idea of having to name his baby. “Uhh…Anylah?” He smirked, attempting to cover up the fact he just thought of a name on the spot. You looked him up and down, playing over how the name sounded in your mind before nodding slowly. Miles let go of a deep breath, posture relaxing only a fraction before he reached into the bag to put on both of your orange wristbands.

“Aight, I’ll catch you at lunch,” Miles stated, making his way out of the classroom with a heavy load of baby items and a fake baby. You made your way to your remaining 4 classes, internally groaning at how fast the time was passing by.

“She ain’t even tell us these fuckin babies cry…I didn’t know that shit made noise! It started going off in the library!” Your friend Jayda moaned, attempting to shush her fussy baby she named Mariah. “The fuck you mean you didn’t know they cried…it was literally in the paper she gave us about the babies?” You asked, looking at her like she had a second head. She shrugged, eyeing you with slightly widened eyes and a smirk to silently convey that she didn’t read the forms. “JAYDA!” You giggled, half-shoving her as you opened up the doors to the cafeteria. The line was nothing short of demonic, so you decided to hop a couple of places forward with your friends who had already made it to the cafeteria.

The food was mediocre, but at least it was edible. You sat with your girls for a good 5 minutes, enjoying your food and conversing with each other before you spotted Miles making his way over. He held the baby like a football, making space for himself at your table with a low “excuse me” in between you and Tierra. “Aight so my schedule is weird cuz I have work some days, but I’ll make it work what days should I get this thing?” He asked, his voice low and stoic as he began typing away in the notes app on his phone. You gave him a playful glare, attempting to push down the smirk that was forming on your face. “Don’t call her a thing, this is your daughter,” you joked with an exaggerated roll of your eyes. “But you can take…Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday!” You exclaimed, taking the baby from Miles and checking your calendar. Great, Wednesday!

“My daughter huh? Aight, I gotchu,” he sniggered before tucking his phone in his back pocket. He tapped on the table, shooting you a wink you swear you hallucinated before retreating to his group of homies without another word. Your head dropped down to your fake baby, fighting back a smirk as you submerged yourself back in your conversation.

Whatever you thought this project was going to be, you certainly didn’t anticipate anything from the road ahead.

It was 1 AM, and your arms felt sore from the constant rocking of this baby that weighed nothing less than 7 pounds. You changed what felt like 4 diapers, fed her for almost 20 minutes, and spent your night pacing through your kitchen to calm her down. You whined along with the baby, praying to whoever was listening that she’d be finished soon. You grabbed your phone from your shorts pocket, quickly dialing up Miles as a last attempt. You felt like you were intruding on his private life, but something in this goddamn world has to give.

The phone rang twice, sighing to yourself when you heard the familiar ringtone come to an abrupt stop. There was rustling, what sounded like a low breathy grunt, before Miles picked up the phone. “Yo…what’s good, whatchu need?” he mumbled, his voice sounding sickeningly velvety as he attempted to shake the sleep from his vocal cords. “Uh, hey. Anylah won’t stop crying and I don’t know what to do…Can you come help, please?” You winced, balancing your phone between your cheek and shoulder. He made a low noise that sounded like a cross of a low hum of approval, and a groan of missed sleep before he got up, stretched, threw on a quick hoodie, and knotted his sweats. “I’ll be over in like…a couple minutes” he grumbled, hanging up almost as soon as you could say “thanks.”

He knocked at your front door not even five minutes later, leaving you to drown in his shadow as he stood over you with a tired, blank, and semi-serious expression. The frosty air from the outdoors nipped at any inch of skin it could find purchase, leaving you to beckon him inside the door as quickly as possible. You handed him the crying infant, watching as his eyes widened by a fraction before returning to their initial low post. “Damn, not even a hello?” He chuckled as he took a wailing Anylah in his arms, rocking the baby at an oddly specific angle. “I know you didn’t just pull up to my crib talkin’ like someone's absent baby father…” you joked, rolling your eyes and taking your respective place back on the couch. 

“Hello, Morales.” You commented, leaning your head on his shoulder sleepily as he sat next to you on the couch. He nodded, somehow managing to hush the baby within the first 45 seconds of holding her. You huffed, feeling slightly irritated at how he managed to finish what you were attempting to do for over an hour in only a minute. “You were rocking her…too fast,” he slurred, clearly tired as he attempted to hold his eyes open. You didn’t even realize that you had fallen asleep, attempting to reach for the baby before ultimately clocking out for the night.

You woke up feeling groggy, sluggish, and plagued by a small migraine. Both Anylah and Miles were nowhere to be found, feeling around for your phone only to grab a purple sticky note stuck to the back of your phone case.

‘Went back home.’

You sighed, shooting Miles a text immediately that let him know to not disappear like that with the doll. You got ready for school, taking a scalding hot shower and repeating your daily routine of thoroughly scrubbing and exfoliating your face. You threw on your uniform, prioritizing the aesthetic of your uniform as you tugged on some rather cutesy slouch socks. You skipped breakfast at home, opting to grab something from the cafeteria before slipping out the front door and facing the cold air once again. Damn, this day was bound to be long as hell.

You reached school, giggling at your phone down the street as you ‘bickered’ back and forth with Miles.

‘alr alr mb. I didnt think it thru.’

‘Fym you didn’t think it through? I thought I was finna fail’

‘u actin like sb baby mama rn.’

‘Ntm now’

‘my fault’

You powered off your phone, jamming the smooth plastic case into the deep pockets of your black shorts under your school skirt. Today you had a class on burping babies and how to properly dress them for the winter, eagerly anticipating the cute little coats they’d provide for your shared babydoll. You took your seat, silently doodling in your notebook until you heard the familiar cold tone fade into the classroom. “Qué quieres decir? Esta mi mamá del bebé es ahí mismo,” he chuckled, carrying both the baby bag in one hand and Anylah in the other. “Baby mama is craaazy…” the boy he was talking to muttered, looking utterly tired and vaguely annoyed.

He took his seat next to you, giving you an upward nod as he cradled Anylah in one arm while he mindlessly scrolled through his phone with the other. 

“Not you calling me your baby mother…”

"It's funny"

Tags ♡

@ashsostrangee @chessboxx @janaeby @faeriesoiree333 @fivestardior @an1bara @bachirasegoist @milesnanana77 @niaurluv @sp1derw1re @ban-al3x @we-loveebony @kae2kaee @dxrlingcc

#atsv #across the spiderverse #into the spiderverse #miles morales #miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles #e42 miles x black!reader #e42 miles #earth 42 miles morales #earth 42 miles morales x reader

[bradshawsbitch]

halo effect | bradley bradshaw x reader

PLEASE, heed these warnings. this is porn without plot, 18+ only, minors absolutely do NOT interact!!

disclaimer; this came about after an unhinged convo with @whoreforseresin thank you sofi!!! this is just a smidge dark. hyper realism(?).

Bradley is in his late thirties/early forties. daddy.

this one goes out to all us fatherless girlies 🫶

plot: Commander Bradshaw is content with his job as a Top Gun instructor and mentor, and very careful to never abuse his power...

word count; 2.8K.

warnings; female reader, afab, daddy kink, ddlg, abuse of power, power imbalance, naval inaccuracies, condescencion, dumbification, sub space, ass play, spit kink, creampie, p in v, unprotected sex, hair pulling, spanking, dry sex, size kink(?), rank kink(?), uhhhh rooster has a huge cock we been knew.

tagging people who might like; @notroosterbradshaw @roosterforme @mak-32 @roleycoleyreccenter @lewmagoo @rhettabbotts @hangmanapologist @hangmanbrainrot @sebsxphia @roosterbruiser @theharddeck @gretagerwigsmuse @mothdruid @laracrofted @sunlightmurdock @topguncortez

Nothing could have prepared Rooster for this situation. For how he had so easily fallen into skewed morals and excuses. After climbing the ranks and being honored to come on as an instructor for Top Gun as he neared his forties, Bradley felt comfortable in the choices he’d made, the views he had - and he felt very strongly about right and wrong, and not abusing the power he held as a higher ranking officer than some of his pupils. 

Commander Bradshaw was still flying most days, spending countless hours researching and learning more of new technology, working closely with engineers and lecturing and offering advice to those attending his lectures. Just recently, he’d been assigned a trainee, a woman in her mid to late twenties, who’d finished up at Top Gun just the year before. That’s where it had started.

In the beginning, she’d been like any other colleague, and Rooster had been careful to treat her as he would any other individual he was the responsible supervisor for. He was supposed to help her in her path to becoming an instructor, just like himself. She was sharp. Witty, and always had a quick mouth - something that had gotten her into some trouble with him in the beginning. She was used to taking up space unapologetically, and that, Rooster admired immensely. 

Now though, as he had her bent over his desk with her flight suit pooled by her ankles, her soft gasps spilling from parted lips, Rooster wondered briefly if he was abusing his position of power over her. He’d of course noticed the way her eyes twinkled, the way she bit her lip and seemed so eager to please her superior officer and mentor. How she’d lightheartedly flirted, and how he had done nothing to stop it. In fact, he’d found himself winking at her when their eyes met across the room. 

Something he knew she thought he did with everyone to check in on them - she was however proven wrong when Rooster had begun to inch closer to her when they were in conversation, towering over her, letting his boot knock with hers, his hand brush close to her body as he reached for a folder. 

She was intoxicating though, and Rooster was only a man after all, with her soft curves and fucking incredible tits… it was difficult not to get affected when she reacted so strongly to his subtle flirtations. 

She had come into his office late one night, asking questions after a grueling day of flight training and offering her advice on her research. That night she had seemed so high strung, a slight whine and breathlessness to her voice as she spoke “Commander Bradshaw…” as she entered the room, brows furrowed, eyes misty with frustration as she showed him a passage that was underlined heavily in her book.

“I– I don’t, fuck, it doesn’t make any sense when compared to the F-35, sir–” Bradley could only let the softest of smiles grace his lips as his hand moved on its own accord, reaching up to let the back of his hand stroke her cheek softly.

“Shh, calm down… relax,” his voice was steady and deep, intending to halt her in her stressed out spiral. What he didn’t anticipate was the soft whimper that would leave her at his touch, her head falling forward slightly as her breath hitched in her throat. 

“Is there something the matter, Lieutenant?” Bradley raised a brow, a small smirk on his face as he braved up, letting his palm slide to grip her chin, eliciting another gasp from her plump parted lips.

“Are you high strung, Lieutenant?” Rooster purred, and was rewarded by her soft, compliant noise, brows furrowed and breathing labored as she nodded pitifully against his palm.

“Aw, do you need your Commander to help you relax a little?” nodding again, Rooster let himself sit back in his office chair, legs spread, inviting her to straddle him if she so pleased.

With a soft moan she sank down, her hands quickly gripping his shoulders as her legs encompassed his hips, toes barely gracing the floor, putting her weight right on top of his stirring cock. Another soft whimper left her lips, followed by a pout “Commander Bradshaw…” Rooster let his large hands grip her hips, his lips slowly exploring the exposed skin of her neck as she mewled softly at his touch. Hips swiveling slowly down against his hardening cock.

“Shh, baby… I’ll guide you through this, I’ll help you out,” Bradley murmured against her neck as he helped her grind her clothed cunt against him. 

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good already, baby,” her soft moan urged him on, gripping her hips tighter and fucking up into her core. The friction of her clothed pussy against the underside of his cock felt heavenly, and as his khaki uniform trousers tented, he felt his swollen tip catch against her surely soaked core… he was so close, felt his cockhead sink just slightly… just what the fabric of their uniforms would allow. He cursed softly under his breath, which had picked up considerably as his trainee bounced on his lap, sighing and gasping as she felt his hard cock stimulate her sensitive clit.

“Please, Rooster–” small hands grasped at his shirt, his hair, his shoulders - needy for more “please, fuck me, I need you so bad,” looking into her eyes, he saw that she did need him. Needed him perhaps more than he originally thought. There was a vulnerability in her gaze that made his cock twitch, a trust there, and an innocent need to please him - that paired with her soft cry as she came had Rooster shooting his load in his pants, grunting hard as they kissed sloppily for the first time. 

And so it had progressed. Rooster had never met a woman like her, had never met anyone who was willing to put their trust in him as she did. She trusted him to care for her, to see to her safety and wellbeing - not only in their line of work, but sexually too. She followed his lead, so deliciously submissive and pliant, hanging on to his every word. They’d discussed it all of course after that first time, when Rooster had spotted that glint, that misty, faraway look in her eye - the one that made him suspect she desperately needed to let go… to slip away. To be taken care of. 

So now, a half year down the line, he had her bent over his desk, her soft mewls still filling his otherwise silent office. “Roos–” she whined, before receiving a harsh spank to her ass as Bradley dragged his cock between her slick asscheeks. He’d made a point of spreading her slick, letting his own spit slowly drip from his mouth, reveling in the way her body spasmed as it unexpectedly came into contact with her tight hole, dribbling slowly down to her puffy cunt. 

“Look at you, so pretty… what do you need, baby?” Rooster was cooing, letting his palm soothe the sting it had just landed on her ass, kneading and separating her cheeks just to see how her holes were clenching around nothing in anticipation of his cock. 

“D-daddy!” fuck, how he loved when she called him that. A growl rumbled deep within his chest as he brought his hand up to fist her hair, roughly pulling her against his broad chest.

“You want daddy to fuck this tight litte pussy of yours?” he gritted out through clenched teeth, biting down on her earlobe as she whined and squirmed against his strong hold. “Need this needy little cunt to be filled with daddys cock?” gasping and whining, she nodded, a pitiful whimper leaving her as her chest heaved rapidly. 

“Tell me. Tell me you want to be filled to the brim with my cum.” Bradley commanded, one hand roughly grasping her tit, pinching her pebbled nipple before palming it again. 

“Please, please… daddy– need y’to fill.. my needy little pussy,” she gasped as Roosters thick fingers delved into her slick folds, drawing sharp, tight circles on her clit, before letting his fingers slip into her to prepare her for him “w-want your hot cum so– so deep in me.. oh fuck, Rooster!”

“Mm, good girl… so good for your daddy, is that it?” she nodded, almost sobbing as his fingers retracted from her fluttering pussy, only to sob in relief as he shoved the same fingers into her mouth, her tongue eagerly swirling around them, and those pretty lips suckling him so good. 

“You’re being so good baby, asking so nicely for daddy’s cock,” he was cooing now, something he knew made her eyes roll back into her head, body almost going limp against his hold as her breath hitched. 

Slowly, he lowered her back down to his desk, her bare chest resting against the wood, legs spread for him. Letting the tip of his cock slowly drag up and down her folds, parting them and gently letting it prod at her entrance, she whimpered again. Rooster groaned softly as he looked at how the head of his cock slowly sank in, just the tip, before he withdrew again - over and over, letting her clenching opening create delicious pleasure around his sensitive cockhead. 

Moaning softly, he withdrew slowly to push in a bit deeper, reveling in the way her desperate moans fell more frequently now, hips rutting back against his cock to try to fuck herself onto his cock. It was honestly adorable. 

Strong hands gripped her hips “Gotta stay still for me baby, daddy decides when you’re ready to take it all,” his voice was stern, and now he could see tears glittering in her eyes as she let out a small sob, one that made his heart clench just a little in his chest. “Aw, baby, shhh, I’ll give it to you, daddy’s here - don’t you worry, I’ll take care of you sweet thing,” he murmured as he fucked his cock slowly deeper and deeper, withdrawing slightly before fucking himself closer and closer to the hilt of his cock.

“Taking it so well, honey… fuck, look at you… look so pretty with my cock buried so deep in your needy cunt,” Rooster again let his spit slowly drip onto her hole, and he felt her pussy hug his cock a little tighter as it made contact with her skin, a broken moan tumbling from her lips as she repeated the words “daddy” over and over again. 

“That’s it, baby - let go for me… I’ll take care of you,” he murmured, fucking into her in a steady rhythm, his palms squeezing and kneading her asscheeks, his thumb gently swirling his spit around her tight hole, making her chest heave and gasps and whimpers fell closer and closer together as he stretched her with his cock.

“Fuck, baby - you’d look so pretty with a cute little plug in that tight ass of yours… gotta fuck you when you’re all filled to the brim… you’d like that, wouldn’t you honey? Stuffed so full?” he was cooing again, heart warming at her little nod against the wood beneath her cheek. Rooster could see the streaks of tears that had fallen down those cute little cheeks, and saw a soft glimmer on the wood, which he realized must be a small pooling of her drool. 

Throwing his head back, his cock stirred inside her plush cunt at the sight of her drooling for his fucking cock “Fuck, baby! You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” he groaned as he sped up, his fat cockhead brushing against her spot over and over again, drawing high pitched whines and sobs from her form. 

“Answer me.” he growled, letting his palm gently swat at her asscheek “No, daddy! Don’t–” god, this fucking brilliant girl, smart as all hell, had just yesterday talked him through advanced aerodynamics, was fucked so dumb by his cock. 

“Too much of a dumb baby huh? My dumb little slut,” Rooster sounded just a bit condescending, letting his thumb swipe away some of the drool that had gathered by the corner of her pretty lips. A pout was forming as she nodded obediently “Your dumb little baby slut, daddy,” she didn’t even make sense, Rooster looked at her with pity as he drove deeper and deeper into her.

“You’re so pretty like this, sweetheart, so dumb for me,” only gasps was leaving you now as Roosters grip on your hips tightened, fucking into you deeper and harder, almost lifting you clean off the floor to get a deeper angle, driving your hips to meet his thrusts as he felt that familiar tightening in his lower abdomen, could feel his balls tightening with the need to spill deep into your welcoming heat.

“Daddy I’m– gon’-- oh, s-so good, please, please,” you were babbling incoherently, but Bradley knew you were close, could feel your fluttering walls. Every time he made you cum from penetration alone, he felt on top of the fucking world.

“Please fuck me fuck me fuck– don’t stop, oh god, Rooster don’t stop, please - keep fucking me so good, I’m gonna cum so hard on your cock, please— oh! I love your cock daddy, fuck, I love– I– please cum in me Sir, please I’ve been so good please let me have your load” you were sobbing, eyes rolling back in your head as Bradley’s harsh, deep thrust picked up speed, thick head repeatedly hitting that sweet spot over and over as he slammed your hips back against his thrusts, your feet now off the floor as he had your hips and ass in a tight grip against his cock. 

“Cum for me, baby, daddy’s gonna fill you up so good,” Rooster growled, throwing his head back as he felt you tip over the edge, creaming on his cock with a drawn out string of moans, intertwined with ‘daddy’ and what sounded like ‘thank you’.

Bradley himself drove harder into you, speeding up and fucking you through your orgasm, eyes transfixed on the way his cock moved in and out of your cunt, seeing it become wetter, a ring of your creamy cum settling against his base. The sight was enough for Bradley to stutter his hip, driving deep, hips flush with your ass as he twitched and shot his warm load deep into your fluttering pussy, hips jerking slightly to grind it deeper into you. 

Grunting loudly, Bradley stayed with his softening cock buried deep within you as he caught his breath. Your upper body was still pressed against the desktop, and Bradley gently slipped out of you before he gathered you in his strong arms, shushing you softly as you nuzzled your face into his neck, his scent soothing you.

“Did so good for me baby, felt so fuckin incredible… are you okay, sweet thing?” Bradley was stroking your hair, kissing your forehead and making sure his arms were wound tight around you, wanting you to feel safe and cared for.

“Feel so good, daddy…” you murmured against his skin, pawing softly at his bare chest whilst nuzzling even closer into his neck, making him smile. “You’re so good to me, baby, sweetest girl I know,” Bradley murmured softly, gently guiding you to the sofa situated against one of the walls of his home office, where he laid you down, before rising.

“Where you going?” you pouted as he moved to retrieve some water and a snack from his nearby stash. “Shh, baby, just want to care of my baby love, okay? Getting us some nice drinks, some wipes so I can clean you up real good okay, honey?” he spoke slow and soft, and a soft little smile played on your lips, eyes still a little dazed and hazy as you nodded. 

“Good girl,” Bradley praised as he came back, cleaning you up and helping you drink and have a little something to eat before he again wrapped you up in his arms, letting you settle against his chest, where he could feel you leaving kisses as you sighed happily. 

“Love you, babygirl,” Bradley murmured, kissing the top of your head. 

“Luv you, Roos,” you murmured back as your eyes drifted closed. Bradley was well aware that he shouldn’t have started this all of those months ago, and maybe he had abused his influence as your mentor and instructor… but fuck, it felt so good. Felt so good to know you let him take care of you, relieve you of the stress of being one of the most brilliant women at Top Gun.

#a demon possessed me y'all i dont know #help #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw smut #smut #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #rooster x reader #rooster x you

[bits-and-babs]

𝐀𝐭𝐭𝐚 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Previous Joel Fics: Mule [5.1K Words]

Summary: Marlene thinks Joel can save the fireflies. You’re not so sure.

Word Count: 10.2k!!!!

CW: LONG FIC. You have been warned! Slow burn Enemies to Fuck Buddies. Joel is 40 here, 10 years before the events of the game! Military and political themes because, say it with me now, “Jas loves plot”. Moody Joel, before Tess. Aggression. Slight gore. Power play. Hair pulling, f masturbation. Angst. Based off Game!Joel

Tease: “Look at you,” Joel growls. “Totally shameless.”

‘When you’re lost in the darkness, look for the light.’

The white graffiti paint drips down the chipped terracotta walls of the hallway you were designated to patrol. Your feet ache in the brand-new leather boots gifted to you in the last donation drop-off, and you want nothing more than to crawl back to bed and ignore the arrival of this smuggler that had Marlene promising that she could take control of Boston in a fortnight.

“What a bunch of bullshit,” you scoff bitterly, picking at your cuticles. The skin is red raw under the fluorescent lighting, crimson blood pooling around your nails. It's a nervous habit you picked up since joining the Fireflies, marginally healthier than staying up all night but still torturing your body somehow.

There was no light to this way of life, no promise that the darkness would ever subside. It was a brutal cycle of killing a handful of soldiers only for them to execute swathes of Fireflies. You saw it in your dreams, your colleague's brains splattered across the streets in the exclusion zone, a carmine reminder that the military would not tolerate any form of mutiny within their controlled zones. Too many had devoted themselves to suicide missions, but still, you had nothing to show for it. How much longer could Marlene continue to hurl young lives at a promise she couldn't fulfil? The likelihood of finding an immune individual grew smaller and smaller each time squadrons of Fireflies failed to return home, and even the most faithful of individuals were beginning to lose hope that this martyr would ever arrive. That was despite your dogged leader insisting that there must be someone out there that could help provide the vaccine that would eradicate the Cordyceps virus.

You hiss sharply as you subconsciously pull a hang nail down your first knuckle, resulting in a stinging sensation that rips you from your pessimistic thoughts. It's light outside now, and you wonder how long you will have to wait to meet this smuggler that Marlene speaks of so highly. She had claimed that she knew the man's brother, stating that Tommy had fought valiantly for the cause until he found himself unable to justify putting his life on the line for someone that they weren't sure even existed.

As Firefly numbers dwindled, so too did the morale that held the frayed edges of the organisation together. Everyone had sacrificed something and lost someone dear for seemingly no reward. Marlene's fantastical idea that one lone smuggler could change the course of the firefly's suffering left you feeling that options were running out.

As you begin to resign bitterly to your seemingly inevitable end, a pair of footsteps sound down the corridor in an indication of your saviour’s arrival, broken bottles crunching beneath his boots. When you look up from your throbbing finger, now stripped to ribbons, you are caught off guard by the view.

Marlene's expression is grave; eyebrows pulled together in a stark and silent warning. Soldiers aren't coming home today. You had seen that gaunt visage before. Hell, you'd seen it almost every week recently. However, the most shocking sight was the person who accompanied her.

The man is old, much older than you had been expecting. His mousy brown hair, trimmed short, is greying to match the thick, peppery beard that coats his jaw. The edges of his eyes are creased, no doubt carved with the years he spent fighting to survive. His thin lips turn downwards, and his eyes are cold and hardy, indicating his desire to get the job done and escape Marlene’s control.

"Soldier," Marlene addresses you with an air of authority that can only indicate she is attempting to impress her guest, "You will be coming with me."

"Yes, ma'am," you stand at attention and cast your eyes over the guest of honour, who is yet to introduce himself. He doesn't look as though he intends to. He watches you with an air of caution as though he doesn't trust you. It doesn’t surprise you. Everyone in this new world order is a threat. Perhaps this wariness is how he survived so long.

Falling in line, you follow behind your superior. There is an uneasy silence settling amongst you. The Commander and The Smuggler don't seem comfortable in each other's presence.

"So, say you take back Boston. What then?" The man's gruff Texan accent cuts through the silence like a dull blade. It's agonising, an unwanted intrusion to the apparent mutual decision to remain quiet.

"I think you know," Marlene speaks with frustration, "Restore democratically elected government control.”

"Didn’t you say that at the beginning? It ain’t as though you are any closer than 10 years ago." The smuggler points out, his assessment lacking any form of amusement. He doesn't seem to revel in the Fireflies' losses, yet he has the confidence to call Marlene out on her ridiculous ambition.

Marlene shoots the stranger a look of indignation, clearly not appreciating his accurate assessment of the Fireflies’ track record. She doesn't attempt to argue, instead leading him into a room and ushering you inside.

“Joel,” she begins, naming the enigma that had walked in and undermined the entire principal of the organisation he had joined momentarily. Marlene closes the door and locks it for good measure before turning to face her ‘last hope’. “I need you to tell me the plan. I can’t just let you blindly lead the last of my men into a war zone-“

“Didn’t expect you to,” he answers lazily, crossing his arms over his chest. The sleeves of his flannel stretch across his broad biceps, buttons straining slightly against his frame. You assume that his physique is thanks to lugging around the oversized backpack that rests over his shoulders, the worn nylon fabric practically bursting at the seams.

Marlene offers Joel a look, the kind that indicates she doesn't feel like joking around. He inhales slowly through his nose, then exhales as if preparing to begin a presentation at a job interview. In a way, that is exactly what this meeting was.

"Y’all can only gather the number of weapons you need from one place. You won't find this shit just lyin’ around. We'll have to take it from the military themselves."

You nearly choke on the oxygen in your lungs, rocked back by Joel’s confidence in his ability to steal directly from under the noses of the US Military. You knew that Marlene had faith in him, but this was lunacy.

"And just how do you suppose we do that?" Even Marlene, ever the optimist, looks at Joel as if he is crazy. There was no way to infiltrate the military bases that the Federal Disaster Response Agency sanctioned. They had the place secure, triple-locked to keep out humans and infected alike.

"We'll catch them on one of their supply runs," Joe answers her question simply, as though he thought of this already, “If we ambush during the night in the Outskirts, they’ll lack the defences to hold us off. At most, there'll be four of ‘em in the delivery vehicle.”

It's an insane plan. The soldier’s on the border of the quarantine zones are armed to the teeth to defend against the infected. The team would need to be stealthy, catching them off guard and dispatching them before they had a chance to call for backup.

Perhaps it's the kamikaze-like nature of Joel's plan, or maybe the lack of detail he’s sharing, but understandably Marlene seems unsure. "Do you think it'll be worth it, all that risk?"

"What, armin’ yourself and strippin’ them of their next lot of ammunition? Seems beneficial to me."

You can't help but wonder what Marlene is trading for Joel to run headfirst into a death trap like this. Likewise, is it wise for her to place all her bets on one man who seems intent on being captured and sentenced to execution?

The heavy sigh that rattles through Marlene's lungs indicates to you that she has nowhere else to turn. In exchange for Joel's basic scheme, she extends a nod of approval.

"You will be escorting Joel." It takes a second for you to realise that Marlene is talking to you, still caught up in shock. When you do, Joel looks less than pleased at the concept of having a babysitter. He drags his eyes over to you, expression flat. You can't say that you're precisely thrilled, either.

"Yes, ma'am," you offer confidently despite wanting to beg for mercy. She doesn't offer you the chance.

"Joel, gather all the men and firepower you’ll need." With that final comment, Marlene turns toward the exit, leaving the two of you alone in the unfurnished room. She seems animated and enthusiastic about getting this plot up and running.

Joel makes no move to leave, instead leaning against the wall and peering at the Firefly pendant that rests on your collarbone. You know what he's thinking, but he himself fails to speak the ‘why’ out loud. There’s an awkward edge to him, indicating a man who had grown too accustomed to surviving as a lone wolf.

"I heard your brother was a Firefly," you beat Joel to it, asking the question before he has the opportunity to interrogate you. This area of the conversation appears to irritate Joel, his eyes turning to the ceiling.

"Yeah, he wasn't happy with the way I did things. Said it was too violent. Instead, he joined you and continued his brutal crusade here despite criticisin’ mine." Joel scoffs, picking at the thread-worn sleeves of the flannel he wore. His words are bitter, leading you to believe that the brothers don't talk anymore.

"It's less of a crusade than an attempt to set things right," you justify.

"You're killin’ people," Joel accuses bluntly. It's as though he's tarring you with the same pitch-black brush as those who killed for their own benefit. It sparks a rage in you, the words spilling from your lips before you can stop them.

"You kill people to survive this world. I’m trying my best to revert it to the old one. If I have to kill soldiers to do it, who, by the way, act worse than the infected most of the time, then so be it.”

Joel appears to let your argument settle before he nods, pushing himself from the wall and making his way to the door. His boots scuff the flooring, the grating sound punctuating the silence as you await his response, which he delivers with an air of finality.

"Yeah, you just keep tellin’ yourself that bullshit."

—————————————————

Joel has a wealth of knowledge that can only result from his smuggling adventures and the network of insiders he worked with. He is somehow aware of the military's next supply drop-off date, which just so happens to coincide nicely with his arrival. It gave the team two days to plan their attack. It was almost too good to be true.

Your suspicions against the smuggler grow with your inability to discern his reason for aiding Marlene. There was no question that he was no longer involved with his brother Tommy, the two seemingly ending their relationship on less than amicable terms, and there also appeared to be no love lost between your sergeant and Joel.

Yet despite his apparent limited reward, Joel was focusing all of his efforts on ensuring that this mission was successful. His rucksack, which he had held close to him since entering the Fireflies’ hideout, was filled to the brim with rudimentary grenades and modified firearms. He admitted his knowledge of creating these weapons had come from manuals scavenged throughout his time as a smuggler. Reluctantly, Joel shares the blueprints, and the mission squad are armed with Molotov cocktails and nail bombs by the end of the evening.

You wish you could say that Joel's helpfulness had warmed you to his presence; however, you find yourself increasingly irritated by his constant attendance. You see him arrogant and consistently standoffish despite your fellow member's attempts to appease him with light conversation.

Following the half-a-day-long effort to sufficiently arm the team, Marlene had pulled all on-site members of the Fireflies into a meeting room. She stands at a table, an aged, worn map of the Boston quarantine zone spread across the surface. From where you're standing, you can see circles marked in red ink along the border.

Something akin to optimism clings to the air of the dusty meeting room. You feel it when the group goes silent as Marlene raises her hand for attention. Joel stands by her side, eyes assessing the map as he awaits the beginning of the briefing.

"Everyone listen in," Marlene orders, authority drenching her tone as she commands her army, "I want everyone confident in their role on this mission. We only have one chance to get this right."

You swallow thickly, readying yourself to hear how Marlene had taken Joel's absurd mission plan and cultivated it into a scheme for which her troops would feel comfortable risking their lives.

"We have information that the military is due a supply drop from FEDRA in two days. We are almost certain that this restock will contain firearms and ammo that could help us take down the military presence in Boston." A series of murmurs sound, those in the room comforted by the prospect that they may no longer need to ration their supplies.

"It is crucial that we obtain these weapons to take control of the Boston quarantine zone. With civilian support, we could increase our numbers and once again focus our efforts on obtaining a vaccine for the Cordyceps virus."

It was an unspoken truth that the Fireflies' efforts to acquire a vaccine had ultimately fallen by the wayside, the lack of soldiers, weapons and equipment making it increasingly difficult to travel across the country to the medical facility at Salt Lake City where the trials were taking place. The Fireflies focused most of their resources towards protecting the medical officials integral to finding a cure. Taking control of the militarised zone would provide more than enough manpower, vehicles, and firearms to travel safely and restart the process of searching for an immune individual who could help turn the tide of the war against the virus.

"I can confirm that most supply drops are handed over on the east side of the quarantine zone. Our best option is catching the vehicle containing the cache in the Outskirts before it reaches the wall.”

The Outskirts are notoriously dangerous, their desolate plains unlit and infested with runners that try their luck getting past the military blockade. If you somehow managed to survive the creatures, you then had to contend with the snipers on the wall. Many Fireflies had lost their lives crossing these lands to supply the medical facility in Salt Lake City at the peak of testing.

"I will be handing the mission over to Joel to ensure we have the best chance of obtaining these critical supplies,” Marlene finishes, stepping back and letting Joel take control of the meeting.

Wasting no time, Joel points towards the circled area on the east side of the quarantine wall. "They plan to hand over the cache at the gate on the East wall. If we can intercept ‘em before they reach the lit areas surroundin’ the zone, we should be able to take out the soldiers and grab the weapons before they can call for backup."

You're unsure where your frustrations come from. Perhaps it's the simplicity with which Joel delivers his plans, but you find yourself questioning whether or not it was possible to succeed without losing enough men to bring the Fireflies to their knees.

"I assume you expect us to travel through the underground tunnels beneath the apartment buildings. Who's to say we won't run into Clickers and Runners that drain our resources or leave us late and unable to complete the mission?" You question Joel with sincerity, but he looks at you as though you’ve queried his authority.

Marlene opens her mouth to interject and scold you for insubordination, but Joel raises his hand.

"I am gonna do a run of the smugglin’ tunnels myself and sweep for any infected so that the path is clear for tomorrow evenin’," Joel answered smoothly, despite the obvious irritation laced between his words, "Shipment is due at 9 p.m. tomorrow. We're gonna move out at 5 to make sure that we have enough time to get to the Outskirts and set up for engagement."

Still, you find yourself concerned with Joel’s leadership. None of you knew him. He hadn’t developed trust between the team and himself; instead, he kept you all at arm's length and maintained distance.

“How do we know you won’t hand us all in and take the weapons yourself? You’re a smuggler; you’d earn a lot from them,” you accuse, not unlike the tone Joel had taken with you hours before.

“Soldier-!” Marlene speaks up, running out of patience with your disregard for her ‘smuggling saviour’. Once again, Joel keeps his hand aloft to quieten her and fight his own corner.

“This is a job,” he states with a gravelly tone that betrays his relaxed posture, “I ain’t for your little militia group, and I’m not against it. I will lead this mission, hand the weapons over, take my ration cards and my cut of the firearms and leave. You wanna distrust me and end up dead? Be my guest.”

You can’t help but scoff, taken aback by his inability to choose his side of the moral compass. To fight for good with the Fireflies or battle to maintain the new world order with FEDRA. Instead, he doesn’t even sit on the fence. He’s situated in the shadows, benefitting from either side only for himself.

Joel’s expression serves as a warning to interrupt him again, pointing to the map as he begins to detail the step-by-step of his mission.

“Plan’ll go like this….”

—————————————————

You can’t exactly claim to be surprised that you had been left out of the mission squad and ordered to remain at the hideout after questioning Joel’s leadership. ‘One loose link’ and all that. However, you find yourself wracked with nerves as you return to your room for the night. What if they needed you? What if everything went south, and you were the one pair of hands required to maintain a grip on the delicate situation?

That wasn't to say that you didn't have faith in your fellow soldiers to carry out the mission successfully. Joel had picked the brightest and most skilled of Marlene's troops to carry out this night raid, and you knew they had enough experience to achieve this critical assignment. But what if…?

Marlene had delivered her scathing reprimand following the meeting when she had dragged you down a corridor and insisted you get your act together. You hadn’t been able to look her in the eye, believing her reckless for putting the lives of her troops, your friends, in the hands of a man who couldn’t care less what happened to them as long as he got his payout.

Were you being naive? Was it foolish to believe that every surviving person not aligned with FEDRA should stand opposed to the regime and attempt to restore some level of order? Or had humanity evolved beyond the return to everyday life, much preferring to fight for themselves, to remain in the dog-eat-dog system this virus had granted them?

You find yourself fearing the answer.

As you enter the doorway to the barracks, you hear the rapid pacing of footsteps down the hallway approaching you. The sound drags you from your thoughts, but not before a hand firmly grips your collar and pushes your back to the wall so hard that you hit your head off the jagged brickwork.

Pushing his forearm across your chest, Joel stares back at you with rage burning in his pupils. The metal of a watch strapped around his wrist digs into your collarbone painfully, but you grit your teeth in response, standing firm against Joel's display of intimidation.

His chest is heaving with heavy breaths, seemingly infuriated by your display in the meeting room. Despite his fury, his voice is relatively even. "You gotta problem with me?"

"Ha," you scoff, "That's funny. What was it you said? ‘Be my guest’?”

Joel answers first by applying pressure to your chest, his forearm balancing his weight and crushing your bones beneath it in a painful warning. You grab at the skin exposed by his rolled-up sleeves and dig your nails in, though it does little to de-escalate the tension.

"Look,” he sneers, brows creased together, “You don’t gotta like me. Ain’t even gotta respect me. But what you’re not gonna do is put doubt into your fellow soldier's heads. That shit’ll get them killed. You want that?”

"What's it matter to you? You don't care how many die as long as you get your payout," you dig in, not allowing Joel to think he could muscle you into submission.

He inhales shakily in anger, glaring at you as you attempt to pry his arms off. "The role Marlene gave me ain't to ensure the survival of your friends. My only goal is to guarantee y’all get your hands on those weapons, no matter the cost. So I suggest you assure their best chance of survival by keeping your mouth shut and your opinions of me to yourself."

"Aye, Aye, Captain,” you sneer.

"Atta girl."

The sarcasm dripping from those three syllables sets you off again. You grit your teeth while pushing hard on the limb that has you firmly pinned down, but your limited strength has little effect until Joel pulls away completely. Almost instantly, a bruising ache settles across your skin, and you suppose it's Joel's version of a parting gift.

There is a pause between the two of you as you take in Joel's command. He appears to be watching your expression for any sign of acknowledgement towards his order. You both breathe heavily, on the comedown from your respective anger aimed at each other. It's intense, the crackling tension in the air shared by both of you.

You're unsure how or why the mood shifts so violently in the room, but you can feel your heart racing as you watch Joel settle his hands on his hips. His tongue darts out to lick his lower lip as he exhales what must be the last of his anger. In this quiet moment, you note how handsome he is despite his weathered appearance. His usually aggressive, guarded expression is momentarily brought down and exposes the warm, earthy brown tone of his irises.

"Just…" Joel hesitates, searching for the correct words as he looks you in the eye. He's quiet for a long, drawn-out second as if processing you. "You ain't gonna like the guilty conscience of believin’ somethin’ you said is the reason your friends died. Trust me."

The gentle tone Joel offers indicates he has experience in what he's warning you against. When he offers this advice so calmly, who are you to deny this slither of kindness? So you just nod in acknowledgement, refusing to extend him any more appreciation.

Joel steps away whilst clearing his throat, appearing satisfied with your non-answer. He, too, provides little recognition, instead turning around and exiting your room in the direction he came.

You watch as he paces down the corridor, his broad back disappearing around the corner and leaving you alone to dissect what the fuck just happened.

—————————————————

On the morning of the mission, you see very little of Joel. It's all hands on deck, the mission team working hard to ensure they had the supplies needed for the hijacking. Every so often, you would catch glimpses of Joel's red tartan flannel or hear the rough intonation of his Texan accent. It was silly, but you began to think he was purposely avoiding you.

Yes, he had acted carelessly last night by cornering you the way that he did, though you're not sure that is entirely out of character for him. Instead, you believe that whatever happened that caused your heart to race when he pulled away was a shared experience.

Rather than concerning yourself with why he was skirting around you, intentional or not, you focus on enacting your promise from last night. You work hard to ready the troops for the deadline, a subtle nod that you approve of Joel's leadership to urge their confidence in him.

It is painful, but you take your time with each of them. There is almost a certainty that some may not return home, and so you commit them to your memory. It's something you did every time someone left to enter the field, but it felt especially pertinent considering how close the Fireflies were to shifting their luck. Those who died tonight wouldn't get to appreciate the spoils of their sacrifice.

By mid-afternoon, Marlene considered her soldiers ready for battle and ordered them at ease to relax and rest up before heading out. Some opted to share their last meal; others played card games while recounting the time they had spent together with fondness despite the difficulties shared.

Quietly, you had slipped away from the main halls and left them to their final goodbyes. You weren't going out there, so it felt disrespectful to sit amongst those waiting for the call to arms. Alternatively, you made your way to one of the medical bays to ensure that someone set up enough equipment for those who may come back wounded.

By now, you had set out multiple antibiotic syringes, readied bandages and sutures and prepped gurneys so that everything was ready should there be an emergency. You felt better this way, as though you had aided in the effort.

So caught up in the process, you failed to notice Joel leaning his shoulder against the doorway until he cleared his throat to alert you to his presence. When you look up, the sound having startled you, you find him watching you with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Do you… Uh-do you need something?" You offer awkwardly, unsure of what else to say. Joel shakes his head, eyes flitting down to where you had laid out the medical equipment.

"No. Everythin’ is ready, and the tunnels are clear of infected. Just comin’ to tell you I'm headed out." He walks across the room towards the desk you are sitting at, stopping at the foot of the wooden table and laying his palms flat along the surface. You can see the veins raised through his skin.

You look at him through your lashes, swallowing back the nervous energy you feel creeping to the surface as he leans over the table.

"Why should I care?" You ask. You intend for it to appear nonchalant, but it just sounds breathy even to your ears. Joel raises an eyebrow in question.

"Woah Woah, easy. Still bratty then, I see," Joel points out, his tone flat. You cringe inwardly, knowing that that must have been his attempt to extend an olive branch. "Thought we could put this little disagreement behind us before heading out."

"There isn't one."

"Could’a fooled me," Joel chuckles, but it lacks humour. His gaze slips over your body and appears to take note of all the tiny details. You hope it's all in your mind, but you can feel your face heat up and your heart thrum in your chest again.

"You know, you really remind me of Marlene."

Of all the things you expected Joel to say, that certainly wasn't one of them. You look back at him slack-jawed as you feel the warmth of what you assume was a compliment wash over you.

"Huh?”

"She doesn't put up with none of my bullshit neither. Always tellin’ me to take a hike when I'm outta line and put me back in my place," there's a hint of a smile and Joel's face as he recounts their strange dynamic. A fondness touches his eyes, a fraction of warmth you hadn't yet seen in the hardened smuggler. "Thinkin’ that's maybe how she managed to keep Tommy in check for as long as she did."

You hesitate in your response, unsure how to approach this conversation due to the awkwardness from this morning. Turns out you don't have to because Joel continues.

"Only difference between y’all is that you have the balls to question things you feel ain't right. That's a high-value quality in a leader."

You feel as though you've been bowled over. Yet another compliment from the man who had attempted to strangle the life out of you nearly 12 hours ago. They were starting to make you think that maybe he'd succeeded and that you had entered a strange alternate dimension.

Laughing awkwardly, you shift the syringes around the tabletop in an attempt to keep your nervous hands busy. "Don't let Marlene hear that, shall consider it mutiny."

That earns you another elusive chuckle, the Texan shaking his head in amusement.

"Yeah, well, it ain't mutiny if I ain't part of her little militia army. Don't think I got much to worry about." This dynamic isn't friendship, you figure, though it's undoubtedly more amicable than tussling in your bedroom. It may be the closest Joel ever got to anything akin to amity.

It's not hard to assume that almost 20 years of solitary survival might make it challenging to establish emotional ties. Plus, you know nothing of Joel's ordeals getting to this point. Still didn't excuse his arrogance, though.

Again, silence creeps between you and you feel your stomach somersault while Joel maintains his close proximity. You dread to think what you look like, horrified that your expression could give away your internal panic. Even if it did, it wasn't Joel causing it. It wasn't.

"I'm off," Joel grumbles, standing up and pulling away from the desk and allowing you to breathe a silent sigh of relief. You watch him stroll leisurely towards the door, his hands on his hips. "I'll see you in the mornin’."

Most people in the Fireflies were surprisingly superstitious. It wasn't often you heard someone announce with such certainty that they would return from a mission. Regardless of its abnormality, it manages to ease your nerves – not that you were concerned about what happened to Joel.

"Good luck."

The flippant comment causes Joel to stop in his tracks, pausing in the doorway. He peers over his shoulder at you as if to make certain that you said it. He appears surprised.

"Yeah. Thanks."

—————————————————

Pacing.

You're pacing uncontrollably, circling the room in a failed attempt to ease the nervous energy pent up in your system. No matter how hard you attempt to block out the repetitive dialogue in your mind, it rushes back to the surface of your brain. What if, what if, what if –

Joel and his squad had moved out the minute the clock struck five, just as he had promised. Although Marlene had provided Joel with a walkie-talkie, the mission's reliance on stealth meant that no one intended to use it. You were completely cut off, uncertain of Mission status or if the squad was even alive.

Hoping it would make your wait more bearable, you turned your ticking clock to face the wall and put your watch inside your bedside drawer. It had helped initially, but now the sun had set, and you were expecting their imminent arrival. Every second your colleagues don't step back into the compound, your faith dwindles.

Though she maintained a stony expression, you knew Marlene was equally anxious. The most wanted woman in America, though able to defend herself, still depended heavily on her armed personnel. Reliant on this mission being a success, she had offered them up to Joel in the hope that their experience would assure victory. You can't help but wonder if she feels exposed without them.

What if they didn't come back? Could she survive without them?

It’s bordering on the edge of midnight when Marlene informs you she’s turning in for the night. You can’t say you blame her, needing to sleep on the off chance the team didn't return. She had informed you upon the group's exit that if the mission failed, the two of you would be heading to Salt Lake City at dawn.

You opt to stay awake, knowing well enough that you won't sleep until you are confident there will be no return.

Continuing your anxious circling of the room, you pick at your wounded cuticles. They are weeping blood down their knuckles thanks to hours of torture, yet you can't bring yourself to stop the self-destructive behaviour. Not while you wait for news.

Your heart practically leaps out of your chest at the sound of the main doors creaking open. It's so quiet you almost miss it in the silence, the sound of your blood rushing through the shell of your ear nearly drowning out the barely audible noise.

Grappling for your pistol, you release the safety and suck in a shaky breath. No one had announced themselves, and without guards on the door, there was no way to discern that those who had entered the building were Fireflies.

You shake with nervous energy, carefully stepping across the rickety wooden floor to conceal the sound of your movements. Had the US military found your hideaway? Surely not; they would have moved in before any threat to their organisation could be enacted

Leaning your back flush to the door frame in an attempt to conceal yourself, you listen out for any advancing danger. It's quiet at first, but you hear the scuff of a boot against the uneven floor cut through the silence. Inhaling swiftly, you ready yourself before lurching out from behind the door frame with your pistol aloft.

Shock wracks your body upon setting your eyes on the intruder that stands before you. Joel. Covered in blood from head to toe, his hands drip the viscous liquid onto the floor. The shoulder of his flannel is ripped open, loose threads sticking to his sweat-soaked skin.

"Oh-oh shit-“ you gasp out, horrified by the state you find him in. Given the state of his clothes and the sheer amount of blood that continues to run from his hair down his temples, your immediate thought is to check for wounds-but you can't see any. Sure, there is a scrape on his shoulder where the fabric of his flannel has ripped open and a cut that spans the length of his whole knuckle that you can see when he wipes the sweat from his brow, but other than that, you can't see any wound that would cause that much blood loss.

Joel, however, appears relatively unfazed as he points over his shoulder.

"Most came out with minor wounds," he states calmly, his gruff voice laced with exhaustion, "Lettin’ Marlene know we are back and that I have her guns."

It's as though Joel had just completed a simple sweep of the hideout parameters rather than one of the most dangerous and vital missions since the fireflies began their fight for humility, all without having received a single major wound.

As he walks away and leaves you gawping after him, frozen in place, you hear your team filtering in through the main doors behind you one by one. They are shouting your name and proclaiming their victory as they surround you, holding their hard-won weapons aloft. Despite their hollering, you can barely hear them over the frantic thoughts buzzing through your mind.

How?

It takes hours to ease the excitement and adrenaline buzzing through each of Joel's soldiers. You stitch up the wounded and listen to their battle stories in awe. They are enthusiastic about informing you of Joel's brilliance, frequently admitting that they could not understate how much of this victory they owed to him.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” one laughs incredulously. "There were more than we had expected, but it didn't phase him. He took out two of them on his own, and when his gun jammed, he knocked them out with his fists!”

Turns out that the four soldiers the fireflies had expected were accompanied by another five unaccounted for. Joel hadn't let it affect the team, pushing them ahead with the mission. By blinding them with smoke grenades, the team had been able to ambush successfully, and despite the physical tussle that resulted in Joel's bloodbath, the mission had otherwise gone just as planned, the fighting all wrapped up within moments.

According to the many recounts told as you patched up your friends, the only reason it took so long was that the weapons boxes were heavy and made for a tight squeeze in the tunnels. You could have cried at the stupidity of it all.

Eventually, Marlene joined in with the festivities, having been woken by Joel to confirm "Mission accomplished." Leftover Molotov cocktails from the mission we used as celebratory drinks that had the majority of your colleagues wasted within the hour - including your commander.

As fresh, golden beams of sunlight peered through the windows, you excused yourself to bed despite the drunken protests of your colleagues. After explaining your exhaustion, thanks to your immense concern, they reluctantly allowed you to leave on the condition you would celebrate with them later. You imagined their hangovers would be too severe for further partying.

Practically clawing your way to your barracks, you breathe a sigh of relief as you walk through the open door. You can still hear the shouts of jubilation downstairs, noting that you’d probably have to drown out the sounds by covering your head with a pillow. The mattress calls to you like a siren, promising rest. You plan to skip removing your clothes and fall into bed as you are-

"Didn't expect to be greeted with a gun to my head."

The heavy, Southern drawl that sounds from your doorway behind you makes the hairs on your arms stand on end. You wish you could say it was a fear response or disgust, but your heart leaps in your chest with excitement.

Swallowing thickly, you close your eyes to collect yourself before you turn to face him. Your inhale is so deep you feel the edges of your lungs ache at the strain before you turn around to face the Walking Headache.

Joel is leaning against the door frame as he had in the medical room before he left. He has bathed since you saw him an hour ago, scrubbing the gore from his body and dressing in fresh clothes. His hair is still damp, and you assume he’s been forced to borrow the outfit from one of his new-found friends, the seams a little too tight on his broad body.

"Yeah, well, I didn't expect to find a serial killer walking the halls either," you dig at the state he had returned in. It earns you a deep chuckle that resonates in his chest, and you can't help but note the way you hold your breath to hear the pleasant sound better.

"That how you treat all your commanders?" Joel questions, his voice lilting with a hint of humour that you find dangerous, your heart stuttering at the drastic change in him since the last time you were in this room together.

You let out a scoff that doesn't quite match the indifference you were attempting to convey. "Don't flatter yourself. You were consulted to lead one mission; that doesn't make you a commander."

He doesn’t like that.

Standing gormlessly in the middle of the room, you immediately regret the words as soon as they leave your lips. Joel is gazing at you with an intensity in his earthy irises, taking in your feigned lack of respect with a slight arch of his brow. It's less of a look of surprise than it is an unspoken challenge. It makes your body flush with heat.

The sense of security you feel with him on the other side of the threshold to your door bursts the moment he effortlessly steps inside. He has no issue with invading your personal space, finding it even easier when you fail to find the words to protest his intrusion.

Joel doesn't hesitate, but he also lacks urgency, taking his time to leisurely bridge the space between the two of you. Again, he is close enough that you can see the intricacies of his face. There is a myriad of delicate freckles and a small, ruddy scar that kisses the bridge of his nose.

You're so wrapped up in the tiny details that you almost miss the flicker of consideration in his eyes. Despite his steady, authoritative body language, he’s questioning whether or not he can say what he has in mind as he studies your expression carefully.

He leaps.

"Insubordination results in punishment, don’t it, soldier?" His volume pitches right down, each syllable buzzing through your veins as he maintains heavy eye contact that has your knees melting beneath you.

It's only when he speaks that you realise you have stopped breathing, your lungs burning in a desperate attempt to shake you from the trance he’s put you in.

You have no explanation for your response. You don’t have the chance to argue, to insult him for playing this ridiculous role. Instead, each word forces itself from your mouth upon your shaky exhale, coming out in a broken whisper.

“Yes, Sir." Your answer is spoken embarrassingly quickly. There’s a flash of something powerful in his eyes, like he’s still buzzing on residual adrenaline left over from the mission. It surges forward at your answer, and he clings to it, taking control of the room- of you.

“Atta Girl.”

It drips through you like honey, coating your insides and warming them. Your body tingles and pleads for Joel’s attention despite your best efforts to fight the need he draws from it as he drags his eyes across its length.

A tiny voice in your mind rears its ugly head. He’s probably pent up from fighting, and you’re still stressed from waiting up all night. You could give in to what you want. Doesn’t mean you like him.

Joel seems to hear it too, his eyes searching for a hint of approval. You can see he’s itching to touch you, to release the anger that you’ve built in him back onto you with tongues and teeth.

Doesn’t mean you like him.

“On your knees, soldier.” He commands, and it’s like his voice strokes something hedonistic inside of you because your body surges with arousal at the implication of his order.

Doesn’t mean you like him.

Against your better judgement, you slowly sink to your knees in front of Joel, eyes pin-set on the toes of his dirtied boots. The wooden floor smarts your knees, but you maintain your position in an effort to appease him.

Joel doesn’t move, feet firm in their place on the floor as you bow before him. He’s making you wait, arms loose at his sides. You don’t dare to lift your head to look at him, to urge him forward, instead straining your eyes upwards to watch the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Prickling heat teases at your skin, your arousal triggered, knowing he was watching you submit to him so easily. The tension grips you, finding it ironic that Joel entered every situation all-guns-blazing yet had utmost patience when it came to prolonging your suffering.

Your need condenses, acutely aware of Joel’s entire being. It’s as though you can feel his eyes trail over your body like a feather-light touch, and you swear that you can smell the dampness of his hair. Most of all, you focus on Joel’s even, quiet breathing, the expansion and deflation of his lungs acting like a metronome in the silence.

Then- God, then he’s moving his hand forward achingly slowly, fingertips pressing delicately against your left temple. The brush of his fingerprint over your skin ignites a humming arousal between your thighs, and you subconsciously press them together when he pushes his digits into your hairline.

Your jaw drops, slack as you exhale shakily. So starved for Joel’s touch, you’re more than grateful for the innocuous brush of his fingers along your scalp. It’s probably so obvious to him, your desperation, but he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he takes a step forward, his boot settling into the wooden planks you’re kneeling on, his feet on either side of your thighs.

Joel is so close you can feel the fabric of his jeans brush against your forehead. So frequently worn, the denim has lost that rough texture and could almost pass for cotton. You don’t dare to move, knowing if you so much as twitched, your nose would graze over his crotch through the material.

“Atta girl,” Joel murmurs, unironically this time, his voice rumbling in his chest. It cuts through the quiet so suddenly that it makes you jump, almost loud to your ears. He sounds pleased with your reception of his proximity, rewarding you by taking a firm but painless grip on the roots of your hair.

It’s as though you can read his mind. His pulse thrums in his palm against the soft flesh of your scalp, matching the thumping pace of your own. Joel doesn’t speak his thoughts out loud, yet it’s like he whispers into your ear. ‘Good soldiers get rewarded.’

The pressure he applies to the crown of your skull is minute, but it’s enough to push your face into his crotch. Your gasp of surprise is so loud that it almost drowns out the resonant hum that he releases, gripping tighter to your hair as you nuzzle into him.

Rock hard beneath your cheek; you can feel Joel’s cock twitch at the delicate friction you gift him. Having plunged so deep now, you no longer have to reason with yourself to take what you want, kissing the shaft of his dick through the fabric he wears. Again, your reward is to be pushed closer to him, the adrenaline pulsing through Joel’s veins causing a heavy-handedness that makes the walls of your pussy flutter.

“Look at you,” Joel growls as your tongue drags across the fabric his cock strains against, as if resorting to desperate measures to taste him, “Totally shameless.”

You can’t contain it, the whimper that bubbles in your throat. It sounds around Joel’s twitching cock, and it seems to rile him up, momentarily cracking his composure when he thrusts his hips forward slightly.

Fuck, it’s like he’s hypnotising you with his grunts and groans, your body liquidating as they heat you from the inside out. Heaving breaths indicate the magnitude of your desire, and you’re kneeling up before you can even think of the consequences of taking matters into your own hands.

Pushing your nose into the seam of the crotch in his jeans, you use the tip of your tongue to search for the zipper. The brass is warm when it brushes your tastebuds, a metallic tang coating them as you slide your tongue beneath it.

Carefully, you take the fastening between your teeth, lowering your head to drag the zipper down. You probably only manage four links of the chain before Joel’s hand shoves itself between you and the fabric, bumping your nose as he tears the button of his jeans open with a stuttery exhale.

He releases his cock from the confines of his pants, and God, you’re so thankful he does. A thatch of thick curls frames the base of his cock, a subtle curve to the veiny shaft that stands at attention beneath your gaze. The tip gleams in the low light seeping through your thin curtains, coated with precum that weeps from the head that’s flushed a dusty purple. He’s not too big, with a perfect girth and length to him that has you convinced he’d fit inside you just right-

Joel doesn’t allow himself to examine how you practically melt at the sight of him, wrapping his fingers around his shaft and steadying it with his thumb. In any other situation, the gentle slap of his cock against your cheek would have you leaping from the floor and throttling him, but you’re both so needy that you open your mouth greedily without prompt. It drives Joel insane.

“Hah,” he heaves, pressing the tip of his dick to your flat tongue, “Shit- oh shitshitsh-“

Joel sheathes himself inside your mouth with one long stroke of his hips, and you’re almost sure your throat stretches beyond its limits to accommodate him.

“Fuckin’ shit,” Joel curses heavily, watching your eyes brim with tears at the intrusion as you fight your gag reflex. When you glance up at him through your watery lashes, you catch the way his upper lip arches at the sensation of your tongue tracing the underside of his cock. He’s sweating, brow glistening with evident arousal on his brow, and your stomach flips at the concept that you were the one making him feel this way- breaking his almost impenetrable composure.

Carefully, you inch him further down your throat until the tip of your nose buries into the curls framing his pubic bone. A musky smell that is uniquely Joel coats your senses, and you find yourself almost dizzy at the concept of being totally surrounded by him, filled by him. Just hours ago, you couldn't stand him, couldn't bear to be around him, and yet now you think you'd cry if you pulled away.

Joel groans above you as you swallow around his length, his fingers grappling with your hair for purchase and gripping tightly to the strands at the crown of your head. You use Joel’s distraction to begin bobbing your head, slowly pulling off him and feeling him drag against the walls of your throat until the tip of his cock rests over the flat of your tongue. Before he can complain, you sink back down and take all of him back into your mouth, and you swear that you can see Joel’s eyes roll back into his school in your periphery.

"Ah- fu-“ Joel appears entirely enraptured by the sensation of the head of his cock catching on each little ridge of your throat, and you can see him watching you work him in and out of your mouth at a lazy pace. "Look at you- Hnng- So fuckin’ good."

As you get used to the sensation of the velvety skin bumping against your throat, you begin to experiment a little more. You use the slow, steady pace to drag your tongue over the length of his fraenulum and swirl it around the head. The salty taste of the precum beading at the slit pushes you further, feeling him twitch with your ministrations.

Throbbing aches begin to settle in your knees, complaining about kneeling against the wooden floor but are drowned out by Joel's heady groans and the tight coil of arousal between your thighs. It's as though you can feel your pulse throughout your body, complaining about the lack of attention, but also invested in the way Joel appears to be losing his composure that you can't find it in yourself to protest.

“Christ-“ Joel groans out above you, suddenly taking a firm grip of your hair and pulling you up and off of him. The burn in your lungs has you gasping for air as you look up at him in concern. Had you messed up?

Opening your mouth to ask him what you’d done wrong, you find the words die in your throat when Joel pushes the tip of his weeping cockhead against your lips again. He’s staring down at you with this look in his eyes, something dark and potent swirling in his pupils. You taste him on your tongue again, and Joel pushes your head down onto him again.

He's unable to control himself, driven by the sensation of your mouth around him. The comprehension makes your mind spin with pride, and again you submit to Joel.

It’s rough, your hair wrapped around his fingers to better his grip as he forces you to still. Your eyes tear up, leaking tears down your cheeks as he begins to fuck your mouth at a brutally satisfying pace. Despite the bruising sensation of his cock hitting your throat, you’re practically dripping in your underwear when seeing the way Joel snarls at the overwhelming bliss.

Grasping desperately onto his hips to brace yourself, you cling on as Joel fucks deep into your throat. The hinges of your jaw ache at the effort of holding your mouth open for him, but Joel doesn’t let your efforts go unnoticed.

His free hand brushes his rough knuckles across your cheekbone, sliding down your face so his palm can cup your throat. Joel lets out the most wicked groan, applying pressure to your neck to feel himself slide in and out of you.

“God- You feel that?” He laughs out incredulously, his cock twitching, “You’re takin’ me so fuckin’ good.” He’s mouthing off, a lot more talkative than usual. You put it down to the blood having rushed from his head to his co-

“Touch yourself,” he orders, and it’s like the oxygen he’s starving you of begins to make you think you’ve imagined it. Your eyes flutter and blink back tears, your brain working to figure out if he honestly said it. It’s only when he yanks your hair in an attempt to wordlessly urge you to do as told that your hands snap down to your waistband.

Blindly, you push your fingers beneath the waistband of your trousers, practically sobbing with relief as your fingertips clumsily brush your clit. It sparks white hot, the muscles in your thighs trembling as they brace your weight on your knees.

“Mhmmm fuck,” Joel rumbles, watching your face as he fucks into it, noting how your brows pull up at the pleasure you draw for yourself between your thighs.

It drives him insane. You can feel it. His dick twitches against your tastebuds, and you can feel his pulse in the thick vein that runs down the underside of his cock. Joel’s fingers paw at the back of your head, pushing you down onto his length and making you take him impossibly deeper. You’re choking on him, gagging around his girth. It makes your eyes stream, yet it just makes your fingertip swirl around your clit quicker, seeking that high you craved.

“Nuh-uh,” you hear Joel’s gruff voice, his palm patting you harshly on the cheek. Just enough to sting. “Focus right here, right here.”

Blinking through the teary haze and the surging arousal that grips your muscles, you only notice with a particularly sharp slap to your cheekbone that you had closed your eyes. Joel’s urging has you looking up through your wet eyelashes as he continues with his harsh thrusts.

Sinking your digits into your heat, you melt against the intrusion in your throat as the walls of your cunt flutter around your fingerprints. Severely neglected, your pussy aches and arches towards orgasm at breakneck speed. Under the weight of your body, your thighs tremble at your ministrations, and your brows pull together as if to brace against the impending crest of ecstasy.

“Oh fuck, yeah, just like that,” Joel rumbles under his breath, eyes set on your twisted expression as his hips begin to stutter. You feel his pulse on your tongue and draw clumsy, sloppy circles over your clit to match.

The groan that tears its way through Joel’s throat when he cums almost startles you, and you’re almost sure it does the same to him. His fingers are white-knuckling your hair in an attempt to brace for the surge of pleasure, his cum streaking down the back of your throat.

He watches as you desperately stroke over your throbbing clit and swallow his load without prompt. Even through your blurred vision, you can see his awed visage as he watches you take everything he gives.

Perhaps it’s the apparent appreciation he shows you when you hear him mumble a muffled ‘Jesus fuckin’ Christ’, or it’s finally rendering the argumentative Joel Miller borderline speechless. Still, you hurtle off the edge with barely any warning other than a split second of a hot white crackle up your spine.

Your body contracts inwards as you rub yourself through the crescendo, grateful Joel was with it enough to remove himself from your mouth just before. The ragged gasp you exhale sounds strangled, your orgasm blinding you in its onslaught. Your vision spots and slides out of focus, seeing double as the warmth ebbs away.

Soon, the only thing your hearing focuses on is the inhale and exhale of your lungs, sharp and clawing at the oxygen that keeps you from blacking out. Had you stopped breathing?

Joel turns away for a moment to right himself, pulling his jeans back up and buckling his belt again. The afterglow of such an earth-shattering orgasm makes everything slow, and you can’t help but smile almost dopily to yourself as you watch him ruffle his salt-and-peppered brown locks.

A sharp inhale drags you from your brain-melting comedown, settling back on your haunches and stretching out your aching legs as you watch Joel struggle for words. He looks conflicted, opening his mouth to speak and then firmly pressing his lips together in frustration.

Cotton sticks to your back thanks to the perspiration beading there, patches of the khaki shirt you wear stained with darker sweat patches. The birds are singing to fill his silence, allowing him a moment to approach his thoughts without awkwardness. You don’t push him.

“You wanna help me?” He tests the waters, mahogany eyes flicking to your face to gauge your reaction, “You know… Takin’ some time to smuggle instead’a doin’ this militia suicide task?”

It’s like he douses your sticky sweet, pleased muscles in ice-cold water in your shock. You certainly hadn’t expected him to like you, let alone ask you to work for him. It’s your turn to be speechless, the oxygen you had fought so hard to breathe catching in your throat and choking you.

“I-“ You swallow thickly, wanting to approach this carefully, “Joel, I made a promise.”

He nods slowly, eyes shifting to the wooden floor and seemingly tracing the rough surface of each plank as though it were the most exciting art installation he had ever had the time to take in. Perhaps it was. Joel didn’t seem the type to stop and smell the roses.

“I have to fulfil my promise to help find a cure,” you tread delicately, but it’s almost pointless because Joel agrees with a nod of his head, neither forceful nor resentful. He appears to take your word, wordlessly encouraging you to chase that ‘pipe dream’, as he had once called it.

“You got it,” he clears his throat roughly, clasping his hips with both hands as he exhales slowly, letting the implications of your decision sink into his bones. Certain death. There wasn’t much else out there for a Firefly, and you weren’t naive enough to think any different.

‘When you’re lost in the darkness, look for the light.’

You couldn’t turn away now. Not when these guns he’d hand-delivered made that light almost close enough to touch.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you watch him slowly pace to the door, wood creaking beneath his weight. He leans his palm against the frame, glancing back at you momentarily.

“There’s a spot for you, y’know? If you change your mind.”

A melancholy smile plays at the corner of your lips. The likelihood that you’d survive long enough to begin sufficiently regretting your decision and change your mind was slim, but the thought that Joel was willing to set a place aside for you…

“Thank you, Joel,” you whisper, shocked to hear your voice crack with emotion with the gratitude you show him.

Doesn’t mean you like him.

“Mhm,” he nods awkwardly, thumb brushing against the circumference of the watch that had dug into your collarbone 48 hours ago. There’s a tenderness in that touch, something that your cheekbones ache to experience. Instead, you ignore the infuriating pining of your body for the man who had irritated you only moments before, watching as he steps out into the hallway and out of sight, no doubt to grab his stupidly oversized backpack and slink away into the darkness of the underground tunnels and return to his regular trade.

Your heart strains in your chest, but it doesn’t mean you like him.

It doesn’t.

END

Taglist 🏷️ : @hoeneey @howaboutcastiel @welcometostayingawake @syrma-sensei @ethanhoewke @polaroidpetal @foxilayde @bookfrog242 @wh0reforbucknasty @zakizigekwe @ahookedheroespureheart @buckys-other-punk @anxious-sappho @alexloveskili @captainrexstan @astroboots @knights-power @southcrnbelle @niallsbunny @ofmortems @hold-our-destiny @xcatnapsx @vermillionwinter @stormkobra-5 @erenbissexual @alwritey-aphrodite @maggotzombie @deadpige0n @bakerstreethound @whatthehekko @cottagebunny9 @bit-dodgy-innit @peachyproserpina

#Joel miller #Joel miller x reader #Joel x reader #Joel miller x y/n #Joel miller x you #Joel miller fanfiction #Joel miller fic #Joel miller imagine #Joel miller the last of us #joel the last of us #the last of us #TLOU #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #1k+ club

[megumismymannz]

No one asked but here you go some cute maybe a little suggestive Earth-42 Miles Morales headcanons, and a few blurbs 😌

WARNING ⚠️readers gender not specified, jealous behavior, guy with hot accent.

(Let me know if I missed any)

I have this huge urge to braid his hair 😭 (I’m I the only one??)

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Earth!42 Miles X Reader Headcanons and Blurbs

“Wear what you want, I can fight” type guy but with a little twist. He would still get slight jealous that other people besides him get to see your attractive features (which they all are) but likes to see you smile so he sucks it up just for you

Will NEVER raise his voice at you, when you guys are in the middle of a silly fight no one yells, when you both get frustrated, you both walk away take deep breaths, think over the reason why you were fighting in the first place, then you guys stop and talk it out

Rio loves to bake/cook with you depending on what your good at

If you can’t do both she more than happy to help teach her future daughter in law

Shopping with or for you is a MUST

Loves resting his tired little head on your chest, but around Rio your shoulders, and Aaron nothing (he gotta look tough yk, no sappy bullshit around the big man)

Though he doesn’t seem like it, he’s a big whiner, and when he does he drags out the word Ma

Loves teasing you when you accidentally say something that can be unintentionally dirty

You see it, you like it, you want it, Miles buys it

I see Miles as the type of guy to go on calming car rides while listening to music for fun

He definitely listens to Rema (even if he can’t understand him)

If you draw, he will absolutely just lean on your chair and watch as you hum along to a tune in your head

Tries so hard to make sure you don’t know he’s Prowler

Eventually tells you because he knows he shouldn’t keep secrets (husband material)

When he told you, you were shock and need some time to get used to it but loved him the same no matter what

Later would say things to him like “you know, that kind of makes you more hotter babe?”

Likes to hold you so tight in bed that you have to beg him to let go so that you don’t pee your pants

Calls you unique versions of your first/ last name to seem more special

When Aaron meets you he was shocked

He didn’t expect to see such an understanding and nice people to be with Miles

Invited to all family events (by Rio)

Practically know everyone from the Morales family

Your friends and family are shocked when they found out you were with someone like Miles

Got used to it and love him, but not as much as you

Matching shoes everyday, and if you guys can’t see each other for some reason he will text to ask which Jordan’s your planning to wear so that he could match

When your flustered will call you Mami, or Mi amor to make it worse

Loves to lay on your thighs while you play with his hair

(If you have siblings) before they officially met him they would tease you when they walk into your room unannounced to see you looking like a tomato with your phone to your ear

Will whisper “good morning/goodnight Ma” in his groggy voice bc he knows it makes go🥴

Loves finding new matching wallpapers with you every two weeks

If someone is looking at you, he will gently but swiftly grab your chin and give you a kiss, even if he doesn’t like PDA

Rio brags about you to all her coworkers, and how she’s “So lucky that my son found someone as amazing as [Name]”

When Miles annoys you, all you have to do is walk to the living room/ kitchen, point upstairs, and she will yell at Miles to quit bothering you

Loves when you patch him up because when your done you kiss each and every spot making him wanna get hurt even more

Would kill for you “Ma, not saying I will, but I would if it came down to it” in which you would say “Someone complimenting me is not ‘coming down to it’ you understand?”

When you roll your eyes at him just has to be like “do that again I dare you” and you shut that down real quick

Folds when he hugs you from behind and vice versa

Finished this at 11:20 pm, so if it’s not to your liking to bad bc at least most of this stuff is completely original 😌✋🏽

#earth 42 miles morales x reader #headcanon #spider man across the spider verse #atsv miles #fluff #i am obsessed #blurbs #miles morales prowler #earth 42

[mrs-lockley]

Once Upon a December

Pairing: Hades & Persephone AU, Miguel O’Hara x WOC!Reader (no use of Y/N) Word Count: 4.5k  Warnings: Arranged marriage, implied age gap (reader is a couple centuries old and of age), mention of death and a child death/funeral (no actual death graphically described or specified), dark imagery of the Underworld, use and mentions of Greek mythology, conflicted feelings, magical realism, no time period specified Summary: In the early decades of your marriage to the god of the Underworld, you resented him for abruptly ending your maidenhood. As the decades go by, you learn that there is more to the man who rules the dead than you realize. One day, your husband takes you to Tartarus, the depths of the Underworld, to suggest a proposition.

Author's Note: Hi my little doves, I'm semi-back with a new fic! To be honest, this fic has been in my draft for 3 years (date of origin: 12/30/2020) with First Order!Poe originally, but I thought Miguel suited Hades much better. I have a few fics in my wips and it's honestly like Russian Roulette because i did not expect to complete a Miguel fic before a Jake fic, lol. Special thanks to @soft-girl-musings and @v4mpires0ap for supporting me in completing this and giving me feedback! This fic was also deeply inspired by this comic illustrated by @katadesmoi, another take on the Hades & Persephone myth. If you like to listen to music while reading, I highly suggest listening to this Once Upon a December playlist on Youtube. Happy reading! Likes are appreciated, but reblogs make my heart go warm 🤍

Tagging: @soft-girl-musings @v4mpires0ap @venting402 @musing-magpie @writefightandflightclub but only if you would like to read it!

You have seen this place before. The place where the stars fall to the earth, where the roots meet the soil, where the ocean meets the shore. 

Where the dead meet the living, where the living meet the dead. 

Your reflection mirrors you in the sky as you look up to the clouds with the whispering images of Earth shining down on you. On Earth, the clouds weep at the loss of the sun, but other clouds have gone soft with crystals catching the last kiss of sunlight before nightfall. Other places show the yellow sun shining over glistening forests and beaches, and some a starlight projection over snowfall. 

A snowflake flutters from the sky, and you stretch your palm to watch it melt on your skin. 

“It’s beautiful,” you whisper.

Underneath the moonlight, the trace of a smile tugs at your husband’s lips. He moves to stand beside you and the two of you gaze at the glassy sky above. 

Miguel keeps his distance, a shadow’s length between the two of you. 

For a brief moment, a sparkling ember is reflected in those brown eyes, only to quickly disappear within a blink and a slight shake of his head. 

Your husband was not malevolent, nor was he benevolent. Miguel was a man whose moral conviction strongly aligned with the laws of nature, life, and death. He takes no sides, but only stands in the middle, seeing nothing but carnage to his right and hearing the wailing of tears to his left. 

You met him once before your arranged marriage. You and your mother were at a banquet one evening, your first banquet after the war when he caught your eye. Standing at the side of the hall with a glass of red wine in his hands, everyone fell into a hushed whisper. It was rare to see the god of the dead at a gathering like this, especially since the collapse of a universe. 

As your mother mingled with one of her sisters, your curious eyes drifted into his orbit. It was as if the darkness of the Underworld followed him into the light, but you were entranced by the shadows that caressed the contours of his face. Centuries of carnage and war clouded his eyes a deep brown, but in the dim candlelight, you could see that in spite of witnessing the heaviness of humanity, there were traces of his youth in smile.

A pair of older women passed you, whispering quietly about him. 

The wine looks too much like blood in his hands, one of them remarked with disdain. 

But not to you.

It was difficult to not notice him with his imposing height and stature. Even as he stood to the side and in the shadows of the banquet hall, the wine in his hands reminded you of the deep crimson of a pomegranate, waiting for you to cut it open so you could taste its juices. 

Smoothing your hair, you quickly averted your gaze and distracted yourself by listening to your mother discuss the upcoming spring harvest. You smiled at your aunt as she pitched in, acknowledging how the winter rain would help water the crops and contribute to a bountiful spring for the mortal universe. 

But as the conversation continued, your skin prickled. It was as if something was burning you, a small flame lit on your skin and was rapidly growing into a thunderous wildfire that consumed everything in its wake.

You tried to ignore the sensation as you listened to your mother and your aunt's plan for the harvest, but the longer you ignored it, the hotter the fire burned your skin. It was as if you were thrown into a wildfire with the smoke filling your lungs, traveling to your throat, and threatening to spill from your mouth. Their voices began to fade into the distance as the roar of your heartbeat thundered in your ears. 

Unable to ignore the feeling any longer, you began to look around to find the cause of your discomfort. 

Your innocent eyes met his, and you could barely breathe. 

His brown eyes darkened into what you would believe to be the darkness of the Underworld. It was as if he was pulling you into its depths– not seducing you into temptation– but revealing all of your secrets into the light. 

All you could feel was the blood rushing to your face as he looked at you. You could not read the expression on his face as his eyes drank you in, but you could not tear yourself away. You were caught in his snare. 

But as your eyes met, you saw something else. As he was reading you, you were reading him, trying to translate the pages of a book that was presented to you in an ancient language you discovered for the first time. The introduction was breathtaking, but the first chapter was consuming and inviting. 

His eyes only left yours when you saw your father call and approach him. As he looked away, you too turned your eyes back to your mother and her sister. You could not hear what your father and Miguel were discussing behind you and your mother’s back, but you would soon learn that the god of the dead was blessed by your father for your hand in marriage. 

There was no warning. One day, you were laying under the sun in the springfields with flowers in your hair, singing a love song from days of old. The next day, you were escorted to the world below you, climbing your way through its webs to become queen of the dark kingdom to your betrothed. 

“I know you have assumptions about me.” Miguel’s voice is quiet as he speaks, barely above a whisper in the snowfall. “I cannot change them or how you feel, nor do I intend on changing your mind, but …” 

His words trail off, his voice fading into the distant sound of the winter winds howling in the cavern. 

Looking back up at the dome above you, you catch his reflection. A shadow crosses his stern face, its fingers stretching across his tan skin. In the dim moonlight, you could almost catch streaks of silver in his dark waves. The centuries have taken a toll on him, and while you were a couple hundred years younger than him, you, too, felt the heaviness in your chest. 

“I’ve heard stories,” you tell him quietly.

His eyes remain on the sky above with an unreadable expression. The only sound between you is the silent snowfall and the white clouds that puff around your lips with each breath you take. 

“Do you believe them?”

His question catches you by surprise. Your eyes widen, your breath stuttering in your throat as you think about how to answer him. 

Your husband turns to you then, a stormy look on his face as he looks at you. 

You remembered the stories and cautionary tales your mother told you about him. While you were tending the rose garden one day, your mother shared with you the stories she heard from the other gods after attending a banquet. 

He was the reason one of the universes collapsed. He meddled into the mortal realm when he should have stayed where he belonged- in the depths and shadows of the dead. 

He chased a young boy to the edges of the Underworld, all because the poor boy wanted to save his father from dying. Imagine how cruel a man could be to stop a boy from saving his father.

That man shows no mercy or remorse for the dearly departed. He only sits on his throne as he listens to their tears of sadness and cries of anguish. He would not even show mercy to a mortal man who ventured into the Underworld to bring his lover back to life– instead, granting an impossible task that doomed the poor man from the start.

Decades ago, you might have believed the whispers of the gods, goddesses, and other celestial beings as they spoke about him behind his back. For the first few decades of your marriage, you resented him for taking you away from your mother and the mortal realm. He stole you away from the sun with just a simple blessing from your father, and he had not even spoken a single word to you before making you his bride and queen. 

What he did not know was that once, you ran away. 

As Miguel was in the heart of the Underworld, you briefly escaped its darkness. It was winter in the land of the living, and somehow, you managed to sneak past the hounds, the souls, and the suspecting ferryman who stood at the crossroads between realms. 

(Whether he knew your plan of escape or not, he did not say. The ferryman merely watched with unknowing eyes as you slipped past him.)

Your lungs ached as you climbed your way out from underground. Soil crusted beneath your fingernails, your skin covered in earth when the light of the winter sun nearly burned your eyes upon your ascent. 

You did not know how long you wandered, but you walked until the soles of your feet burned crimson. The skies darkened into icy shades of gray and white before weeping for the loss of the sun and your fingertips mirrored the color of your feet. 

Day turned to night, and before long, you stumbled upon an evening wake. 

Outside the church, the deceased’s family mingled in the winter night. Their eyes burned with tears as their voices trembled with each word spoken. Loved ones gathered around them to offer their condolences while the children sat outside on the steps, playing with makeshift paper dolls and animals to pass the time. 

You wondered if anyone saw you, but the thought of someone recognizing you never crossed your mind. While your mother advised you to stay out of mortal affairs, there was something pulling you towards the coffin, urging you to stay. 

It did not take long for your heart to break. 

Tears pricked your eyes as you gazed at the little girl laying inside the wooden box. You remembered her youthful spirit and jovial smile as she would sit under your favorite tree, weaving flower crowns and sharing fruit with some of the wildlife that dwelled in the forest. The nymphs and dryads spoke fondly of her whenever she visited the lake, and a few times, you remembered picking up the blooming flowers that she left behind as an offering.

Overcome with grief, you placed your hand over hers, whispering words of assurance and comfort to her. Her skin was cold to touch, but you did not shy away as you left behind a small white lily in her embrace.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, you immediately stepped aside. You assumed the man who approached the coffin to be her father as you watched him place the coins over her eyes, whispering to his daughter in their native tongue with tears streaming down his cheeks. 

Your heart ached for the girl and her family as you watched them gather around her coffin. No one noticed you while you walked away, following the fallen petals of dried flowers to guide you back to the world below. 

It was as if nothing changed since your brief departure. The ferryman merely watched you with apathetic eyes when you returned, his boat filled with souls as he carried them over the Styx. 

You did not meet with Miguel that day, but as you wandered the Isles of the Blessed, you heard a familiar voice ring in the air. 

Not wanting to be seen or scolded for wandering off, you quickly hid behind a tree. Peeking from behind the trunk, your heart warmed to see that same little girl playing in the field with a man holding her hand. 

Miguel. 

You watched as he knelt down to her height, a gentle look on his face as he held her hands. You could not hear what they were saying, but from the smile on her face, you knew that he was nothing but kind and gentle with her as she adjusted to her new life in Elysium. 

“What is your name, little one?”

“Gabriella.”

“Gabriella,” your husband repeated as he brushed her hair out of her eyes. His fingers paused over the lily tucked behind her ear. “This is a beautiful flower you have in your hair.”

She smiled as she removed it from her ear and offered it to him. 

“I had it with me when the ferryman took me here. I don’t remember how I got it, but he told me to keep it.”

You held your breath as Miguel held the lily in his hand. It was not unusual for flowers to spring wherever you went, and you wondered if he knew that you snuck into the mortal realm under his watch. 

To your surprise, he smiled at her as he tucked the lily back in her hair. 

“He was right. You should keep it.”

You have not seen Gabriella since that day, but you never forgot her. Whenever you walked near the Isles of the Blessed, you could hear her laugh in the wind with the river twinkling in the shape of her smile. 

His question hangs frozen mid-air as the snow crystallizes around you. 

Did you believe the horrid tales, after what you have seen?

His eyes search yours as the two of you stand under the shadow of the earth, its roots tangling around you. 

Of all the myths and legends you heard about Miguel, it would be easy to sway you into believing he was an apathetic man who ruled the land of the dead. He stole you away from spring, but in the decades that followed since your marriage, you realized that not once did he ever try to hold you back. There were countless times you snuck away into the mortal realm, and every time he could have held you back or ordered the hounds to follow you. Yet, he never did.

Perhaps you have judged him too harshly before learning about the man beneath the mask. While a part of you still resented him for the marriage, you could not bring yourself to truly hate him. 

“I would have,” you answer him quietly, “once upon a December.” 

The corners of his eyes crinkle slightly, amusement briefly flickering across his eyes as the ghost of a smile tickles his lips. 

In the mirror above, snow continues to fall like kisses from the earth. Its kisses leave droplets on your skin, but as you turn to your husband, you could count the snowflakes like stars in the night sky as they melt into his dark hair and brown skin. 

It was one of those rare moments where there was nothing and no one else in the world but the two of you. While Miguel was known to mortals under a different name and had a duty to follow in his realm, he gave you freedom to roam his world as you pleased without fear. You were his queen, and he treated you as such in his own quiet way. 

While he kept you at arm’s length, you were no fool.

“Why did you bring me here?”

The cavern almost seemed to engulf him as the moonlight shined upon him. Whispers of snow glistened in his hair, and the perpetual scowl on his lips appeared to soften the longer he gazed at the sky. 

He pauses, calculating his words. 

“Long before the mortals named me, I stumbled upon this place by chance. It is safe to presume that the deepest depths of the Underworld to be a frightening place of terror and grief, but it is more than what the legends say.”

Miguel takes a step forward until he is directly underneath the center of the mirror. Behind him, the outlines of a tree stretched its branches around him with its root tangling your shadow with his. 

The wind continues to howl like a wounded wolf in the dead of night. While the mortals would call this place Tartarus, it was not what you imagined. 

A deep ache settles in your chest, its roots ensnaring the heart in your ribs as the winter breeze fills your lungs with sharp knives of ice. 

“Only once in a blue moon could I walk into the world above, but here … it is the only way I could see the mortal realm without leaving mine behind.”

His eyes seem to mist in the moonlight, and your heart softens. The fortress of the castle he built around him begins to crumble, and for the first time, you see the lone king that resides within the darkness of its walls. 

The longing of the sun, the yearning for something warm, for someone to hold. 

As you look up at the mirror, you remember a time when you wandered the meadow in your youth and stumbled upon a stream where the carrion birds often flocked to. The nymphs, dryads, and your overbearing mother advised you to never venture near the river, but your youthful curiosity overcame you against their best wishes. 

The birds followed your movements as you stepped towards the river. Dark clouds gathered in the sky above with thunder rumbling in the distance, but you remained steadfast. White peace lilies and roses bloomed underneath your feet as you fell to your knees to peer into the murky waters beneath. 

Darkness swirled around your reflection as you gazed at the water below. The longer you looked, the more confused you were as you tried to decipher what lurked underneath the surface. What could cause the dryads and nymphs to urge you to stay away from this place? What worried your mother that you found a secret beneath?

You never told them about the river, nor did you ever return since that day, but as you look up at the familiar mirror above you, you wonder if the forbidden river drifted into the Styx. Perhaps the carrion birds were the ones who guarded the river in the mortal realm.

Perhaps as you wondered and peered into the dark waters, another face watched you from below.

His voice pulls you out of your thoughts, urging you to look at him.

“I know a part of you must resent me for taking you away from your mother — and I do not blame you for it — but this…” He gestures to the mirror above, a soft expression relaxing the curves  of his face, “is the only way we could see into the mortal universe. If I could bring a piece of the mortal world to you, it is the least I can do.”

Snow continues to fall with the winter winds howling around the two of you, causing a small flurry of snow to surround your two bodies. Frost begins to crystallize at your feet, indicating the official arrival of winter in the world above.

Your husband illuminates in the moonlight, a serene glow casted across his frame as he keeps his gaze on the sky. The corners of his lips curve into a lazy smile, and you could not help but think back to all the legends and myths you were taught about him, and the river that your mother warned you to stay away from. 

If this was the face that watched you from below, how could you despise him for bringing a piece of your world back to you, especially when he was not welcome in the light? 

“It is the winter solstice in the mortal world,” you tell him softly. The sky darkens above you, but you do not feel the cold as much anymore, not with the snowdrops beginning to surface from the frost. “The shortest day and the longest night of the year.”

You wonder what flowers would bloom in the spheres of the universe, what sky and stars the mortals see as they bask in the moonlight. While your marriage to the god of the Underworld dictated the seasons above, you lived long enough to know that the worlds above adjusted to your absence or presence in their own ways. 

The first winter you spent in the Underworld, you were inconsolable. While Miguel tried to comfort you, you were distraught, crying tears of anguish into your pillow as the darkness surrounded you. For the first time, no flowers bloomed where you stepped or where you lay.  Instead, only roseless thorns and weeds gathered where you walked, and in the world above, it was the worst harvest the mortals have seen in decades. 

While your parents argued with your husband about the conditions and length of your stay, you blocked out their voices. The only sounds you heard were your cracks splintering through your heart as you mourned the warmth of the sun and the endless blue sky. As much as Miguel tried to coax you out of your chambers and into the dark gardens of his kingdom, you planted your roots into the ground, refusing to be anywhere near him. 

Only for the winter, your father proposed. Your mother wept by his side, but your husband nodded in agreement, sealing your fate as swiftly as the seasons changed. 

It took some time, but throughout the first few years of your marriage, you began to be civil with Miguel. Much like him, you kept him at arm’s length, watching him and trying to understand what kind of king he was to his subjects in the world below. While you heard the whispering lore and legends of him in your ears, you soon learned that he was not everything that the people believed him to be.

A cloud storms in his brown irises as he looks over at you, his brow slightly furrowed. “If I may ask, are you happy here?”

A bitter laugh threatens to spill from your lips, but you quickly bite your tongue.

It has been decades since you were taken to rule the world below. While you may not have lived long enough to control your godly emotions, you still felt an aching pain and loss as you grieved leaving your home. 

“I did not have a choice in becoming your bride,” you answer, your voice laden with sadness and despair. “What say do I have as your wife?”

You were a younger goddess who lived only a couple centuries, but you had yet to learn the complexities of the universe. You still needed to experience the worlds around you, both above and below, but your maidenhood was cut short by the man your father arranged to be your husband. 

Even with the decades behind you, time had yet to fully heal the part of your heart that grieved for your maidenhood. You were conflicted in your grief and loss when Miguel had been cordial and respectful, in his own sentimental way. A part of you may resent him, but you still did not completely understand the feelings you held towards him. 

His brown eyes soften at your words, his lips slightly parted as white cotton clouds flutter in the air from his breath. 

“You are not a prisoner here,” he assures you gently, approaching you as if you were a skittish deer in the woods. “I am truly sorry for the pain I brought upon you.”

You look up at him slowly, seeing nothing but remorse in his gaze. You wonder if he would ask for your forgiveness, but it was too late for that. It has been half a century since your marriage, and the world already recorded the event in the stars and the sky. 

Miguel was a man of many things, but you know in his eyes, he is lawful. With the living and the dead, he merely rules over the departed to balance the universes. He only follows the rules of nature, but in godly matters, he follows the customs and traditions. A marriage only needs a father’s blessing for his daughter to be wedded without the husband needing to court or ask the bride. He broke no laws, but he did not fully understand the depths of your grief.

His voice is gentle as the winds quiet around him.

“I know it will take time for you to fully accept me as your husband, but I am a patient man. All I ask and plead is for you to give me a chance.”

The winter winds pull the air out of your lungs as Miguel turns with his hand outstretched towards you.

As you grieved the sudden end of your maidenhood, you reflect on everything you have seen. The gods and goddesses may indulge in heresy and scandals whenever they pleased, but from what you learned from their whispers, some of their stories did not reflect what you have seen. 

The god of the dead was not cruel, nor was he kind. He often deals in absolutes and ultimatums, with the universes remaining in balance as he ruled over his domain. 

Even so, you remember Gabriella’s smile as he held her hand in Elysium. A child taken too soon, but found comfort in the man who guided her to the Isles of the Blessed. 

Perhaps he was kinder than you believed.

Snow gathers in his palm as he holds his hand towards you. It would be easier for you to turn away and loathe him for the rest of your days, but something stirs in your heart. 

Darkness may have taken its hold over the mortal realm, but it has not fully consumed yours. 

Your fate is already written in the stars, your marriage bound in a godly affair. While you are still a younger goddess in a single web of the universe, perhaps it would do you no harm to trim the thorns that protected you and allow a rose to bloom. 

Slowly, you take his hand, his skin oddly warm against yours.

Your husband smiles gently at you and raises your hand to his lips. 

“I promise to love and care for you,” he whispers, “as long as you are by my side.”

Snowdrops and hydrangeas begin to bloom from the frost that dusted the ground beneath you, tangling with the roots of the tree as you walk beside him, allowing him to guide you away from the moonlight and towards the river from where you came. 

A comfortable silence falls upon you as Miguel rows the boat along the Styx, the water calm and quiet on the journey away from the darkness. The winter winds begin to fade into a distant echo, and as much as you wish to turn back to gaze at the world above one more time, you keep your eyes forward.

The winter solstice may have begun in the mortal realm, but the spring solstice has begun to blossom in the world below. 

And in the depths of the Underworld, the tree that holds the mirror above sprouts a single crimson fruit, a small pomegranate in the start of spring.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel ohara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x woc!reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman-2099 x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel ohara x you #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel ohara imagine #spiderman 2099 imagine

[buckrecs]

2023 𝙗𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙮 𝙗𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙚𝙨 𝙛𝙞𝙘 𝙧𝙚𝙘 1

masterlist | ✨- fav fics | status - complete

All of them are COMPLETE Series.

1. hurts like hell by @extremelyblackandwhite

Bucky x Maximoff!Reader

she loses him at the battle of wakanda and grows into a morally grey witch trying to gain him back.

2. Broken by @soulgazingwithbucky

Bucky x Reader

You built the bridge between you and Bucky Barnes, but he only knows how to watch things burn.

3. Blood Petals by @picassho-18

Mob!Bucky x Assassin!Reader

When the famous death hungry assassin, the Blood Mistress, and the charismatic mob boss of Brooklyn city, James Barnes meet, heads will most definitely roll.

4. It’s A Match by @ofstarsandvibranium

Chubby!Bucky x Reader

You’re back home for Spring Break and you’re swiping through Tinder in the middle of the night. You come across the profile of your high school history teacher that you may or may not have had a slight crush on. Throwing impulse control out the window, you swipe right. Lo and behold, you’re shocked to find that you matched.

5. Ruin by @sinner-as-saint

Mob!Bucky x Reader

You work at a café owned by your family, close to your uni. And most of your days are pretty laid back and calm, but that is until you catch the eye of the mob boss. Your cute skirts and soft sweaters make him weak. Your innocence captivates him. And he wants you, badly. He wants you in his bed, wants his hand under those cute little skirts… he wants to ruin you. 

6. A Taste for Older Men by @seventven

DBF!Bucky x Reader

y/n is moving back in with her parents after breaking up with her college boyfriend. due to an emergency at work, y/n’s dad is unable to pick her up and sends his friend bucky in his stead. to bucky’s surprise, y/n is no longer the innocent girl he remembers from years back.

7. Always by @jadedvibes

Best Friend!Bucky x Reader

Bucky realizes he's in love with you right before graduation, but you accepted a job offer across the country. Fortunately, nothing, not even distance can hinder the way you feel about one another.

8. Running From the Past by @green-eyeddragonfanfiction

Bucky x Mutant!Reader

Reader is a mutant who was experimented on by HYDRA. Due to her unique powers, she escapes without being seen when the Avengers attack the Hydra compound she’s been kept in for the last 5 years of her life. Her mutations and Hydra experiments allow her to blend in with her surroundings and change her appearance in minor ways, though the changes are only temporary. She’s now on the run, avoiding both Hydra and SHIELD.

9. Operation: Faking It…? by @povlvr

Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Surely faking a relationship to improve the public opinion of one beefy super solider known as Bucky Barnes would be the easiest of mission for two well seasoned Avengers? Tony Stark seems to think so & decides to task you with 'Operation: Faking it', but what happens when you realise there might be less faking needed than originally planned?

10. Misconceptions by @firefly-in-darkness

Bucky x Reader

Bucky Barnes overhears a conversation that he shouldn’t have…

11. Bucky & the Beast by @thejamesoldier

Assistant!Bucky x Boss!Reader

“You were an asshole back in high school but now you’re my boss.”

12. Buckyvision by @fictionalmemories ✨

Bucky x Reader

While fighting Wanda with you, Bucky gets hit with her power and wakes up to a reality that’s not his own.

13. Best. Date. Ever | Best. Proposal. Ever by @bitsandbobsandstuff

Bucky x Reader

This wasn’t quite what you had in mind.

14. Just Like You by @ladyfallonavenger

Dad!Bucky x Mom!Reader

The Reader loses Bucky in the snap and life presents a whole new challenge.

15. Heart of Steal by @invisibleanonymousmonsters

Knight!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Sir James is known throughout the lands as the most fearsome and honorable warrior. Ballads have been written about him. Men fear him. He is the most trusted knight of the King Henry. So why has he given up the glories of war and pledged his loyalty to Princess Y/N? 

16. will you love me tomorrow? by @buckys-darling

Bucky x Reader

You and Bucky are friends who fuck and nothing more. That’s what you’ll keep telling yourself, at least.

17. I Needed You by @ofheroesandvillains ✨

Bucky x Reader

Reader tries to make sense of her feelings, it doesn’t really go too well, especially when Bucky already has a girl. 

18. sweet by @noceurous

FWB!Bucky x Reader

it was something cliche but your fuck buddy fell for you nonetheless, even though you swore you would never do relationships again. But rules are meant to be broken.

19. Hope Of It All by @bethdutten ✨

Bucky x Avenger!Reader

set between WS and CW; after saving Steve and breaking from Hydra, Bucky remembers you from the helicarrier. He doesn’t know where else to go.

20. Season Of The Witch by @msmarvelwrites

Bucky x Enhanced!Reader

Your witchy abilities get you in quite a bit of trouble from time to time… But this time you don’t mind so much. 

21. The Last Word by @thefallenbibliophilequote

Bucky x Reader

you and Bucky never get along, it’s not that you hate him- it’s just that he always finds ways to get on your nerves. You’ve had enough of it.

22. Super Mom by @marvelous-imagining

Bucky x Single Mom!Reader

23. Take Me Out by @shamevillain

Assassin!Bucky x Assassin!Reader

You and Bucky are both professionally trained assassins. Both contracted to kill the other. Both completely unaware.

24. Like I Want You by @tmpestuous

College!Bucky x Reader

you and bucky have been best friends your entire life and it’s never been anything but platonic. so why do things get so bad when he gets a new girlfriend?

25. Overthinking by @galaxy-siren

Bucky x Assistant!Reader

Tony and Bruce’s lab assistant, Y/N, is harboring feelings for Bucky. When she accidentally texts him that he’s cute, she overthinks the whole situation. It might just take the meddling of the other Avengers to work this out.

26. So This Is Love by @ofstarsandvibranium

Chubby!College!Bucky x Reader

friend and roommate, Bucky, is a bit of an annoying fuckboy. He sleeps around as well as tries to be as annoying to you as possible. But here’s the thing: you don’t mind any of it.

27. Some Alpha by @/ofstarsandvibranium

Alpha!Bucky x Reader

Bucky is an Alpha, but can never seem to find someone who wants him to be their Alpha. Until he finds you, a Beta, who’s as firey as an Alpha, yet also tender-hearted like an Omega.

28. The Favors by @bbyboybucket

Virgin!Bucky x Reader

Reader assumes that Bucky is experienced due to him being a ladies man in the 40s, however, she finds out that he’s never been touched and decides to help him out.

29. take my breath away by @buckycuddlebuddy ✨

Dilf!Neighbor!Pornstar!Bucky x Reader

who knew that your silent, very good-looking neighbor with the cutest kid was such a devil under his grumpy and quiet behavior... 

30. Capital Letters by @sinner-as-saint

Writer!Bucky x Assistant!Reader

James Buchanan Barnes, one of the best, most admired and affluent authors of your time turns out to be nothing but a heartless man... or so you thought. 

#bucky barnes fic rec #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes series #winter soldier x reader #mob!bucky #chubby!bucky #bucky x assassin!reader #dbf!bucky #best friend!bucky #bucky x enhanced!reader #bucky x mutant!reader #bucky x avenger!reader #dad!bucky x mom!reader #dad!bucky #bucky barnes x single mom!reader #Knight!Bucky x Princess!Reader #fwb!bucky #bucky x hydra!reader #assassin!bucky #roommate!bucky #bucky barnes college au #college!bucky #bucky x assistant!reader #alpha!bucky x omega!reader #alpha!bucky #pornstar!bucky #dilf!bucky

[bejeweledblondie]

Miss Americana

Simon “Ghost” Riley x F! Reader

Summary: After being crowned Miss America Y/N goes onto a military tour of bases to bring a morale boost to the troops

Warnings: innuendos, slight misogyny, I’m part of a military family so I’ll try my hardest to get make sure it’s somewhat accurate

“It’s you & me there’s nothing like this Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince”

Every little girl at least once dreams of standing on stage in a drop dead gorgeous gown being crowned the Miss America. For Y/N her childhood dreams came true when the rhinestone crown was put on her head. Ever since then she’s been constantly on the move. One appearance after the next, it was becoming exhausting.

While sitting on the balcony of one of the hotel rooms she was currently living out of her agent walked up to her, laptop in hand.

“So Y/N, we have a new appearance set up,” She started. “The USO has invited you to tour with them for their upcoming Summer Tour.”

“When does it start?” Y/N asked rubbing her eyes from lack of sleep.

“In two days, but in order to be able to make it we have to board a flight at the nearest airbase tomorrow.” Her agent explained. “So get some rest, & I’ll see you tomorrow morning at six am sharp.”

The next morning Y/N & her agent where off to nearest base to catch their flight. Other entertainers & celebrities were standing around luggage in hand outside of the C-130 aircraft. Slowly they all began to board & headed to their destination. The flight constantly had her on edge. She sat up against the wall of the aircraft gripping her seatbelt out of anxiety. The airmen on board explained they have to do a combat landing & that left her with jello legs.

Once the door to the aircraft opened everyone started to collect themselves & started to make their way off of the aircraft. One of the airmen offered to carry her luggage off of the aircraft for her, probably hoping to receive something in return. Military vehicles met them at the end of the ramp & everyone started to disperse to their respective vehicle.

Task Force 141 was just returning from an intense debriefing from a previous mission when they first got a glimpse of the beauty queen.

“Hey, get a load of that.” Soap called out making everyone’s head turn around. He spotted the young airman carrying Y/N’s bags. “Poor lad thinks he’s really going to get laid.” He chuckled.

“Hell I’d carry her bags, you see the legs on that bird.” Gaz whistled as they watched her walk to the Humvee. A groan collectively erupted from the men as she bent down tie her shoe, giving them a clear view of her cleavage.

“Steamin’ Jesus.” Soap exclaimed licking his lips.

The only one who stood in silent, arms crossed & hiding behind his skull mask as always was Ghost. He was equally as surprised & turned on by the sight of the attractive woman. It’s not often that in the middle of Afghanistan on a military base that a very attractive young woman appears. The place was typically a sausage fest. He noticed how the light reflected off of her hair, & the slight bounced of her breasts as she walked. Suddenly, there was a tightness in his crotch area & uncomfortably shifted around.

Y/N climbed inside of the Humvee, & the airman who she learned was name James closed the door for her. With her agent in the backseat the soldier that was driving them took off. She noticed the base was really isolated. Just industrial buildings & military equipment. “It must be quite boring here,” she thought to herself. Soon enough they pulled up to the barracks they’d temporarily be staying in. Once she was settled in her room, & showered there was a knock at her door. It was her agent.

“Get ready & dressed. We have a tour of the base in a hour.” She stated. One hour later there Y/N sat in the back of the Humvee looking around as the soldiers in the front conducted the tour. They pulled up to a building, & she was handed hearing protection.

“This is our shooting range.” One of the soldiers explained. “We have special forces & operators from defense companies training here. We’d thought you’d might want to try your hand at shooting & why not with the best.” They followed the soldiers in & she could hear the loud pings of the bullet ricocheting off of the metal targets. She must’ve drawn some attention from the training because soon the air was filled with soldiers asking her for photos. A gentleman with a mohawk approached her, & asked for a selfie. His accent threw her off guard not realizing that international military personnel were also there.

“I had no idea there were other countries training here.” She said as they finished taking the photo.

“Oh sure lass, we have people from all over. Our team is mainly made up of Brits. I’m Scottish though.” He winked at her. “Let me introduce you to some of my team.” He held out his arm to her which she took & walked her over to where the rest of Task Force 141 was situated. “Lads!” There heads all turned, wide eyed with jaws on the ground. Ghost was in the middle of examining his grouping when Gaz nudged him to look up. He chucked & shook his head only Johnny would be able to pull this off. “This is Y/N L/N or otherwise known as Miss America.”

She looked around at them & waved. The large man in the skull mask caught her off guard a little as he loomed over his other teammates. Standing like the grim reaper himself. Noticing a change in her body language when she locked eyes with the skull faced man, Soap tried to play it off knowing full well how intimidating Ghost can be.

“That’s our guard dog, Ghost.” He chuckled. “What a peculiar nickname,” she thought. Both Gaz & Price walked up to her formerly introducing themselves. Price asked for a photo to send to his wife & little girl. Y/N whipped out an autograph card & signed it for Price’s daughter. She knew deep down how much these men missed out on a lot in life to protect her & others. It was the most she could do in the moment. Ghost still stood there admiring her kindness towards his Captain. He watched as she showed genuine interest in what Price was saying. His heart started to skip a few beats the more he watched her. From the way her clothing hugged every curve on her body, to her flawless pageant smile. He found himself feeling butterflies in his stomach.

She had expressed interest in learning how to shoot, & he immediately jumped at the opportunity.

“I’ll show her.” His booming Manchester accent echoing off of the shooting ranges walls. She walked over & introduced herself with an out stretched hand.

“Y/N.” She stated, his hand immediately engulfed hers. It had to at least be twice the size.

“Lieutenant Simon Riley,” He replied. “Ghost is just my call sign.” She looked up at him with the most beautiful big doe eyes he’s every seen. So full of kindness, love, & warmth. He went over the functions of the rifle he had in his hand & the safety procedures. She listened intently & couldn’t stop staring at his hands. His hands although covered in calluses & cuts there was something comforting about them. “I’m going to walk you through the first couple of times.” He explained shaking her out of her trance. She nodded, & he brought the rifle up to her body. Pressing his front to her back he helped her get situated into the right position. Simon felt that familiar tightness in his crotch as her ass pressed into his crotch. The friction of her shifting around didn’t help. His body eclipsed her small frame as he adjusted her hands.

“Alrighty love I’m going to turn off the safety, & when I do pull the trigger.” He instructed. A chill went down her spine as his voice vibrated through his chest into her back. Her finger pressed the trigger of the rifle down & the recoil pushed her body slightly back into Simon. A small smirk painted itself on her lips as she felt his erection poking her in the back. Once she finished the rifle’s magazine they both lowered the rifle. “That’s a good girl.” He praised looking at her grouping. She bit her lip turned her head to look at him.

“I know I’m a good shot.” She flirted with a wink. In that moment Simon knew there was no other woman in the world like her. She was insatiable.

#cod imagines #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #call of duty #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost imagines #ghost x y/n #ghost mw2 #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #captain price #soap mctavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #task force 141 #captain john price

[blackypanther9]

How M/n met Mimzy

WARNING!: Cursing, insulting words, threatening, Racist behavior (in memories), angst, Reader is supportive of Alastor, mention of drugging, poisoning, abuse AND MORE ! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED !!!

A/N: Remember it is only a fanfic and I just built in background ! Nothing is REAL nor intented to hurt anyone ! Picture belongs to rightful owner ! zeotropes0 The sick part is after the Mimzy part it starts at "M/n felt like utter shit."

TAGLIST!: @zoetropes0, @l0liamk @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved

Words: 7 365

It had been almost 3 years since M/n was living with Alastor. They formed a strong and very close bond too, in that short time. The Radio Host found it high time, that M/n met one of his close friends, Mimzy.

The boy was excited and nervous since Alastor informed him about that. That day was a Friday and the second week of the month in October. Alastor got Saturday and Sunday off from work and decided to meet up with Mimzy again.

“So...what are they like ?”, M/n asked his Father.

Alastor didn’t tell M/n that it was a girl. All he said was “a friend”.

“Oh, you’ll LOVE her, mon petit (My little one) ! She’s a real Sweetheart !”, Alastor replied happily.

M/n stopped dead in his tracks, of cleaning up his Dad’s office. He turned to him, stiffly.

“HER ?”, the boy repeated and stared at his Father, who just threw away packages of their lunches from the day.

“Yes indeedy ! You’ll love her ! And I’m sure she’ll love you as well !”

M/n suddenly didn’t feel too sure about that anymore. With his Dad’s new Boss, after Mr. Floyd was found dead in the park not far from here, he started to get very possessive and protective of his Father.

Miss Revonna Ducasse was her name. She constantly tried to get into his pants. M/n couldn’t really blame all the women that threw longing eyes at his Father. He looked handsome and well groomed, he was an absolute Goofball, he never complained about anything, he had manners, he had high morals, he was well raised despite his bad Childhood and he was an absolute charming Gentleman. There was nothing to hate about him. At least in M/n’s opinion.

Of course there were haters. The racists mostly. Because his Dad had a mixed skin color. What M/n loved most about his Dad was that he was a Creole. He spoke English and French. It gave him a slight accent in his voice, but Alastor always tried to suppress it, no one ever really heard his accent, not even M/n did. Why was Alastor hiding his New Orleans accent ?

Because he is ashamed to have it. His Father and a few kids in his school made fun out of him for a long time. His Father later on forced him to speak, what he considered, normally. His Mother was the only one that was still allowed to hear it, as she was still alive. After she died, he always suppressed it.

How did M/n know about his Father’s accent ? Well...let’s just say a lot of people have it around and it confused the boy greatly, until Alastor explained it to him. He knew that his Father was born and raised here, so M/n came to the simple conclusion that he suppressed his accent, for whatever reason. M/n pestered him about it once and Alastor spilled the tea.

Why did M/n not have that accent ? His birth parents and Sister didn’t have that accent. He supposed they came from a different state and then just moved here. After all...Alastor had to teach M/n French, to understand his Dad and to communicate with him, when he doesn’t want anyone else to know, what they are discussing.

M/n was not as thrilled anymore, to meet his Dad’s friend. It was a girl. YUCK !

“Are you sure you can trust her, Papa ?”, M/n asked gently.

He turned to his Son.

“Of course I am sure, Cher !”, he said, surprised that his Son seemed to not like the idea as much anymore.

M/n bit his lip and only nodded gently.

“Parle-t-elle français ? (Does she speak French ?)”, M/n asked.

“Elle le fait un peu. (She does a bit.)”

So M/n can’t converse with his Dad in French...great...

“Applesauce.”, M/n cursed in a huff.

Alastor looked at his Son in slight concern. Why was he so annoyed suddenly ?

“What seems to be the Problem, Son ?”, he asked gently.

“I don’t like that she can partly understand and speak French. I hate it when people understand what we converse. What if there is something I want to tell you and she is not supposed to hear it ? I will have to wait until we are home and who knows what could have happened until then !”, the boy stressed.

Alastor gave him a confused look.

“What are you implying, mon petit ?”

M/n looked at his Father, as if he was the most stupid man on earth.

“With all due respect, Papa...HAVE YOU LOOKED AT YOURSELF IN THE MIRROR ?!”, M/n yelled and wildly pointed all over Alastor’s figure.

The Radio Host grew insecure about his form. What was his Son trying to get across ?

M/n saw insecurity creeping into his Father and he huffed. He approached his Father, snatched his hand in a tight grip and dragged him away, to the men bathroom. He locked the door behind himself and then pushed Alastor in front of the full body mirror.

The Radio Host could see his Son’s glare, arms crossed over his chest. Even though he was soon a 9 year old boy, he seemed very wise.

“What do you see, and do not DARE to lie to me.”, M/n said.

Alastor looked into the mirror, nervously.

“Uhm...What...am I supposed to see, Cher ?”

M/n face palmed.

“Look at yourself in the mirror and tell me what you see, when you look at yourself. Applesauce, Father !”, M/n cursed with a slight glare.

Alastor did and memories came crashing back down on him. His smile wavered.

 “Look at you ! Disgusting ! Look how brown you are !”

“Eww ! Why is he so dark ?!”

“Freak !”

“Just as disgusting as your Mother ! I knew it was a stupid idea to marry that Bitch and have a brat like you with her !”

“He needs a bath to wash the color off of his skin !”

_________________

Children pushed him into the mud and “Bathed” him to be browner.

“Let’s bathe him in mud, so he will get darker ! Hahahaha !”

“Stop it ! Please, stop it !”, his younger self sobbed out.

He couldn’t control how he came out. Why was he punished for this ? Why did color of skin matter ?!

_________________

His Father threw him onto the ground outside, onto small stones. His grin was sinister.

“Come on, Brat. You need a bath.”

His child self sobbed, staring at his Father in fear. His own Father...

The man grabbed small stones in his hands, snatched his younger self’s left arm and started to roughly rub the stones on his skin. Causing the boy to cry and his skin to split open. He tried to pull it away.

“Maybe you are lighter underneath once this disgusting layer is off !”, the man mocked the boy.

“Dad ?”

“Rub it off !”

The boy tried to fight his Father off.

“Papa ?!”

“RuB iT oFf !”

He continued to fight him, yelling and screaming in pain, but the man didn’t stop.

“Papa !”

“RUB IT OFF !”

There was so much pain and blood-

“PAPA !!!”

Alastor jolted out of his memories with a flinch. He looked at M/n from the mirror, who had wide eyes of worry and fear. Unshed tears stood in the boy’s eyes, which confused Alastor, until he looked at himself in the mirror.

His smile was gone, his fingers were digging into his arms, which were in front of his chest and tears were running down his cheeks. He was in every aspect...NOT alright. He jolted in surprise as something collided with his legs and waist. He looked down and saw his Son, hugging him tightly.

He released his hold on his arms and ran his right hand through his Son’s hair, gently.

“I see a dark skin colored man, with a weak figure and he has silly little tantrums over nothing.”, Alastor answered softly.

That’s how he really felt, since his own Father hated him. He was the hated child since he was born. The only one who loved him...was his Mother.

M/n squeezed his Father’s legs, before he let go.

“That is not true at all, Papa.”

“You wanted me to tell you what I see. I see just that when I see...myself.”

Alastor yelped in surprise as he felt a smack on his ass, a harsh one. He looked at his Son in the mirror, M/n’s eyes gave him a harsh stare back.

“Well then, here is what me and many others see, you absolute Dumbo !”

Alastor felt slightly insulted, but kept it in for now.

“I see a very charismatic man, he is charming, sweet, gentle, understanding, has a big heart, loves to do his job, loves to help, hates people with bad manners and he is so much more showing into the open world. The man, me and many others see, is handsome, a Gentleman, looks always well groomed, he is an absolute Goofball, he never complains about anything, he has manners, he has high morals, he was well raised despite his bad Childhood and he is an absolute Sweetheart.”, M/n listed off.

Alastor’s eyes were wide in shock and awe. That’s how his Son saw him ?

“You always dress properly, you always talk politely, you never show your annoyance, whatever you do, you do it politely. You barely lie, you take care of the people you care about and it is easy to make friends with you. You are easy to approach and talk to. You can make someone feel very welcomed and listened to. Not many have these traits, Papa. All in all...you are true Husband material. You scream ravishing and sexy no matter where you are.”, M/n continued.

The Radio Host looked at M/n from the mirror, while he eyed himself too. He never saw the appeals. If M/n points all that out though...he had a point.

“Where are you going with this, Cher ?”, Alastor asked gently.

“What I am getting at is that a lot of women are attracted to you and would do anything to get into your bed ! You scream sexy ! I don’t want you to think that girl pals will suddenly be happy, with you just being their friend ! Stay alerted ! Friends like that could easily use you ! I want what is best for you and I saw many women and even a few men eye you like candy in a store !”, M/n yelled at him frustrated.

At that Alastor turned around and actually looked at his Son. Was that all ? M/n was worried about him ? Overprotective ? He gave his Son a small smile.

“Are you worried about me or jealous that you could lose all my attention ?”, he asked his Son.

“I am concerned for you, Dad. Miss Ducasse already tried multiple times to get into your pants, claiming that she was your Boss and you have to listen to her. Do you really think I would not hear that Blueberry juice ?”, he asked him stressed out.

Alastor’s smile wavered. Ah yes...Ducasse tried to force him into sexual activity with herself, by threatening to fire him. Since then M/n was most of the times with him and if he wasn’t one of his coworkers waited for him to arrive and be by his side at all times. He still had no idea how they knew.

He shook himself out of his thoughts and gave his Son a big smile.

“Don’t worry about me, Cher ! Nothing bad will happen !”, he assured him.

Then he looked at his watch and tutted.

“We have to hurry, otherwise we will be late to meet up with her !”

With that he unlocked and opened the door. M/n followed behind his Father. He had a BAD gut feeling about this...

And his gut was NEVER wrong before.

-Time skip-

They finally arrived at their destination, which was a bar. M/n looked around in nerves and Alastor led him to a table. It was close to a small stage in the bar and M/n felt even worse in his gut. He looked around, nervously.

“Relax, Cher ! Nothing bad will happen here.”, the Radio Host assured the boy with a smile.

Then a waitress came and asked for their orders. Alastor ordered himself a New Orleans Sazerac and for M/n a nonalcoholic orange juice. She noted it all down and then left to get them their drinks.

Suddenly music started and the stage lit up. Alastor had a big smile on his face and looked at the stage. M/n turned and looked too, soon enough there was a woman. She was a bit on the shorter size, she started to sing. M/n didn’t like her voice all that much...

It was a good song, but the woman’s voice just didn’t really fit for it. But as he looked at his Father, he only saw him smile and enjoy the show.

‘How can he like the song with this voice ?’

Soon enough their drinks arrived and Alastor was casually sipping his New Orleans Sazerac. M/n didn’t touch his juice and looked at the female, singing. He scoffed in his mind, knowing he could do better with his kid voice. He can sing his Father’s favorite song without any help and would sing better than her.

‘This is gonna be a loooong night...’, M/n groaned annoyed in his mind.

He looked at his happy Father again. He didn’t glare at him, but he would so love to at the moment.

‘The things I do for him...He better be happy for the rest of this week, otherwise I will NEVER come here with him again. This is pushing my patience...This woman is NOT my cup of tea...’

-An hour later-

The show was over, finally.

‘Finally ! I thought I will die soon enough !’

Some songs were alright, with that voice of the woman, but most of them didn’t really...get the glory and appreciation with that voice. In his eyes it sounded like a woman’s voice trying too hard to fit with every song. In some it just...didn’t sound good. That so many clapped at that, his own adoptive Father included, is beyond him.

What M/n couldn’t help with though...was questioning himself with where his Father’s girl buddy was. She is an hour late. Did his Dad lie to him, to go drinking ? He had his second New Orleans Sazerac and M/n had his fifth orange juice.

Ten minutes passed as suddenly the same voice, from the woman on the stage from before, called out Alastor’s name. M/n snapped his head around and stared at the woman, that approached their table with a smile. He looked at his Father and his eyes almost bulged out of his skull, his old man was smiling at her and waved her over.

‘Oh HELL NO.’

M/n slumped his shoulders for three seconds then sat back up properly and looked at her.

“Hello, dear Mimzy !”, Alastor greeted happily.

Alastor waited for her to approach and then she sat down on the chair next to Alastor, practically in front of M/n. He fought very hard the glare he wanted to send her and looked at his Dad instead. He looked at his Son in return, with a bright smile.

“M/n, this lovely woman is Mimzy. Mimzy, this is my Son, M/n.”, he introduced the two of them.

She gave the boy a smile and waved at him.

“Hello there, little one. Nice to meet you.”, she greeted warmly.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Miss Mimzy.”, M/n politely greeted back, a smile on his face.

He knew women like Mimzy. She was just putting up a show right now. She was NOT friendly. Alastor chuckled and emptied his glass again, then stood up, looking at them both.

“I need to use the restroom. Please do get acquainted, you two.”, Alastor encouraged them, then left.

“Be careful, Papa !”, M/n called after him.

“I will be, Cher !”, Alastor replied and then was gone.

M/n turned to Mimzy and as expected...she glared at him.

“So you are the little runt, Al took in out of pity.”, she snarled.

M/n glared back at her.

“Excuse you ? What did you fucking call me, bitch ?”, the soon to be nine year old asked darkly.

“Oh and such bad manners towards a Lady too. How disgusting.”, she said with an insulted voice.

“I’m not a mirror, woman. You called me a fucking runt. Do you really expect me to still be polite, when you can’t be polite towards me ? You want my respect ? Fucking earn it.”, M/n growled out with a death glare.

“Respect your elders, you rude brat.”, she scoffed.

“Respect your next generation, if you still want the world to turn, after your departure, disgusting, foul, bitch. Your future is in OUR hands. The next generation’s hands.”, M/n spat.

She glared harshly at him, which didn’t intimidate M/n. He stayed strong and didn’t look away at all. Staring contest ? You are on, Mimzy.

“I will tell you how this will go now, brat. I want you gone, away from MY Alastor, in a week. You aren’t until then, I will make him get rid of you.”, she threatened M/n.

The boy scoffed.

“For what do you take me for ? A stupid child ? Listen here whore, my Father doesn’t belong to you, he doesn’t even belong to me. I belong to HIM. Big difference, sugar cube. Alastor OWNS me. You want to own him and I won’t let that happen. Curl up and die, bitch.”, M/n told her darkly and gave her the finger.

“What would Alastor just think, if he hears about this, hmm ?”, she asked with a grin, thinking she had the upper hand.

M/n smirked back.

“What would Papa think, if he finds out what kind of bitch his friend is, hmm ? He believes me everything, because I never lie. He KNOWS he can trust my words more than anyone’s.”, he countered.

Her eyes grew wide at that. Her face turned red and the soon to be 9 year old could see how angered she was at that. Then M/n saw his Father return and pretended like nothing happened. He gave Mimzy a subtle smirk, only she could see and then a wink. She scowled.

“So, what have I missed, you two ?”, Alastor asked happily as he sat back down.

M/n looked at his Father with a big smile.

“Not much. Can I have another glass of Orange juice, please, Papa ?”, M/n asked with a smile.

Alastor smiled warmly at his Son, thinking he warmed up to Mimzy, and nodded. He called over a waitress and asked for a glass of whiskey and a glass of orange juice. After the waitress left, Alastor suggested that Mimzy would talk about her life a bit, before she came here as performer.

With that they stayed for at least another hour, listening to Mimzy’s life story, which didn’t interest M/n at all, after the stunt she pulled. He just wanted to get out and never come back, with his Father in tow.

M/n gave Mimzy very little information about himself, which Alastor respected. It took M/n a bit, to warm up to him too. After it was starting to get really late for M/n, in Alastor’s opinion, he decided to pay for the drinks he and his Son had, to say Goodbye and then he went home with M/n.

“So, how was she, Cher ?”

‘An absolute self centered, needy, bratty Bitch...’

“She was alright, I guess. I still need time to connect to her, but I think we will get there, Papa.”, M/n lied easily.

For Alastor, the boy didn’t speak his mind. He wants to keep his Father safe and sheltered, but he doesn’t want to see him sad either, so he will not tell him that they both hate each other and they insulted one another.

“That’s good news, mon petit !”, the Radio Host replied happily, unaware of what really happened.

As they arrived home, Alastor quickly got to cooking a warm meal and M/n went to his room and started to get dressed into his Pyjamas. He washed his hands and growled. The last glass of Orange juice tasted weird. Mimzy brought it. Did she spike it ?

“I swear if this hoe spiked my drink...I will go fucking wild...”, he growled under his breath.

After a few minutes, Alastor called M/n down for Dinner, which he quickly sat down for. Together they ate their meal and then went to bed. M/n promised to wash the dishes tomorrow morning for him.

-The next day-

M/n felt like utter shit. He twisted in bed, didn’t want to get up either. His stomach was doing flips and it was hurting. Mimzy did put something in his drink then...

The door opened to his room.

“Mon petit~! Wake up, rise and shine !”, Alastor cheerily called.

He had a bright smile on his face, but it weakened as he heard his Son groan weakly. M/n never did that, he always got up and greeted him with a yawn. He opened the curtains for the windows and then approached the bed, with M/n inside it. He knelt down and looked at the boy’s face, which was hidden in the blanket.

“Cher ? What’s wrong ?”, he asked worried.

M/n couldn’t speak. He was afraid to throw up if he did. He waved his hands slowly around and tried to communicate with his Dad like that, but Alastor didn’t understand anything. Why was he waving his hands slowly, instead of talking ?

The boy got tears in his eyes. He wanted to speak, but he felt too on edge of throwing up, to do so. He pointed to his desk. It took Alastor a bit to understand what he wanted him to do, but he turned to the desk.

“You want me at your desk ?”, he asked his Son and looked at him.

A thumbs up.

Alastor got up and went to it.

“What now, Cher ?”

M/n made a motion for his note book and a pen, then motioned a writing motion carefully.

“You want me to get your note book and a pen ?”

Thumbs up.

Alastor grabbed the items and then returned to his Son’s side. M/n VERY carefully sat up and took the items, his teeth clenched shut and Alastor saw how pale his Son was. He slowly wrote into the note book. As he finished he gave his Father the book to read.

I don’t feel good. Feel like vomiting and my stomach is all over the place.

He looked at his Son and gave the book back to him.

“Do you know what caused it ?”, he asked.

Again M/n wrote then gave it back to Alastor.

I think it was the last glass of orange juice. Tasted different than the other glasses I had.

His eyes widened at that and he rushed down the stairs as fast as possible, almost falling over his own feet twice. He ripped up his phone and quickly called his house Doctor. He picked up quickly and answered.

“Mr. Hugo, I think my nine year old Son got drugged yesterday ! What shall I do ?!”, Alastor panicked.

On the other line the man replied and asked questions.

“I don’t know ! He said the last orange juice he had yesterday evening tasted funny ! All he had after that was Dinner, but he didn’t complain ! His face was only scrunched up with the last glass of orange juice ! He feels like throwing up and his stomach is all over the place !”

He was silent again, worried sick. What if his Son will die ?! No, no, no ! He can’t think like that !

“Alright ! I will do that ! Thank you ! I will see you there !”

He hung up and hurried to get ready to leave the house, then he rushed to his Son’s room, who laid back down and was confused. Alastor picked him up, bridal style and still wrapped up in his blanket, then he went out of the room, down the stairs, out of the house and put M/n into his car, in the back.

Then he closed the car door and rushed back into the house. He got a bucket for his Son and then he got a few clothes for M/n packed, then he rushed back out, locked the house door, jumped into his car, started the engine and drove off.

“We are driving to the hospital, M/n. Hold on and try to not puke.”, Alastor said with a frightened voice.

The boy felt bad for worrying his Dad and slowly lifted his arm, showing a thumb up. Alastor hurried over to the hospital quickly and there his house doctor already stood. Dr. Hugo. The Radio Host stopped the car, turned off the engine, unlocked the car and then jumped out, while the doctor also rushed to the car.

Alastor carefully got out his Son from the back and then turned to Dr. Hugo. He looked at M/n’s pale face and took a sharp inhale.

“This pale skin is NOT normal, not even for sick kids. Follow me, Mr. Hazbin.”, Dr. Hugo said and rushed into the hospital.

Alastor locked up his car and ran after his doctor, with M/n in his arms.

“I need an empty room ! We need to pump out a little boy’s stomach ASAP !”, Mr. Hugo yelled.

Nurses and other doctors rushed around at that and the three were led into an empty patient room. Alastor put him down on the table and Dr. Hugo was about to shoo him out, but he saw how tightly M/n held his Father.

M/n was scared shitless. He had no idea what was going on and Alastor was the only one, he could trust and he knew him best. Everything went too fast, too much stress at once, he was so scared. He didn’t want his Father to leave.

Alastor looked down at his Son and saw that M/n was so scared that he even let tears fall. His plea was obvious.

He wanted him to stay by his side.

He turned to Mr. Hugo, who sighed and pulled up a chair, for the Radio Host to sit down on. He sat down and held his Son’s hand the whole time, while the nurses and Dr. Hugo worked on M/n.

Alastor himself had a few tears in his eyes. How could he let this happen to his Son ?! Whoever drugged M/n...will PAY. Not his child. No one hurts HIS child and gets away with it !

-Time skip-

M/n was passed out on the bed, he was moved onto, after they pumped out his stomach. Right now, the remains, which were in M/n’s stomach, were in the lab. Alastor sat next to his Son on the bed, watching over him. Some color returned to his Son’s face at least. That was a positive thing. At least that was what Dr. Hugo said.

The door opened again and Alastor’s head snapped up, spotting his house doctor.

“What did you find ?”, the Radio Host asked softly.

The doctor sighed and leaned against the closed door.

“You are lucky that you have such a fighter, for a Son, Mr. Hazbin. M/n should be dead already.”, the man informed.

The Radio Host’s eyes widened, in horror.

“Wh-what ?”

“It was a very high overdose on painkillers. It should have killed him overnight, but he made it through until now. And color seems to return to his face just fine now, so he survived it closely. Just throwing up...wouldn’t have solved it. The stomach pumping was his salvation. Good quick thinking.”

He looked at his Son in horror. Someone wanted to KILL him !

“W-was it...in the orange juice ?”, Alastor shakily asked.

“It was, I’m afraid.”, Dr. Hugo confirmed with a sigh.

That solved it then. No more going to the bar for a while. If Mimzy wants to meet up with him again, she will have to come and visit him, no more bars for a while.

“As soon as he wakes up we will run a few tests and determine if he can go back home. He will be very weak and have a weakened Immune System for a few days. He needs a lot of bed rest and he will need a lot of help, moving to the bathroom and such.”

“I can take care of that, if he is allowed back home. I just need a sick leave for my Job and then I can take full care of my Son.”, Alastor replied.

He will always be there for M/n, no matter what.

The doctor nodded and left.

-Time skip-

M/n woke up a while ago, had all the tests run on him and was allowed to return home. Dr. Hugo himself said that he will send the sick leave, for the Radio Host, to his workplace, himself.

Alastor brought him to bed and covered him in the blanket properly, then opened the boy’s bedroom window, to let fresh air inside.

“Papa...?”, M/n called out weakly.

Alastor turned around, looking at M/n with a small smile.

“Yes, mon petit ?”

“Are...are you mad at me...?”

It shocked the man. Why would his Son think that ?

“Why would you think that, Son ? No, I’m not mad at you. Why would I be ? You should be mad at me, for letting this happen to you, in the first place.”

M/n gave him a soft smile.

“You couldn’t have known. I never blamed you in the first place. I should have told you the juice tasted off as soon as I tasted it...”, the boy said, fumbling with his fingers.

“It’s alright, Cher. Now we need to focus on getting you back to health. A lot of chicken soup, vitamin juices and herbal teas will do the trick in no time.”

M/n gave his Father a smile. It was weak, but he tried and Alastor appreciated the effort. He ran his hand through his Son’s hair with a soft smile.

“Now get some more rest. I will wake you up, when the food is done cooking. Deal ?”

M/n gave the adult a big smile.

“Deal. Don’t hurt yourself on accident, Papa. I love you.”

Alastor’s smile became brighter. His Son really cared about him.

“I’ll be careful, Cher. I love you too. Now get some rest.”

With that Alastor left the room and went into the kitchen. He left M/n’s bedroom door ajar, in case M/n needed something. Then he got, quickly, to cooking his Mother’s infamous chicken soup.

As the soup was done, Alastor prepared two bowls with it and then carried them up the stairs. He almost dropped the bowls, as he saw his Son standing on badly shaking legs. He rushed to M/n’s desk, put the two bowls down and then returned to his child’s side, quickly.

“What were you thinking ? Mon petit, you are far too weakened to move on your own.”, Alastor scolded softly.

“S-sorry, Papa. I just wanted to go to the Bathroom and I didn’t want to bother you. I thought I will be able to make it alone...”, M/n replied softly.

The Radio Host sighed softly. He forgot that M/n was very selfless and never wants to bother him with small things the boy can deal with alone. He lend the small boy his arm, which the child took as support.

“Now then, let’s get you to the Bathroom, Cher.”

“O-okay, Papa.”

With Alastor’s help, M/n was guided to the Bathroom, that was connected with his Bedroom. He let the boy support himself from the sink to the toilet, then he closed the door.

“Tell me when you are done, Cher. Then we can eat.”

“I will, Papa. Thank you.”

“No problem, mon petit.”

Alastor waited at the door. He heard his Son flush the toilet and not long later the water running in the sink. He washed his hands then.

“I’m done, Dad.”, M/n said softly as the water was off again.

Alastor opened the door and then reached out his arm again. M/n grabbed it tightly and then he was led back to bed. The Father helped to cover the boy in his blankets again and then he went to fetch the bowls. M/n sat up comfortably, while Alastor sat next to him, on his bed, to the right side.

“Bon apetit, Cher.”, the man said.

“Bon apetit, Papa.”, the boy repeated.

Together they dug into their soup and the boy hummed, loving the taste.

“This tastes awesome, Dad ! How did you make it ?”, M/n asked in wonder, eating another spoonful after he asked.

Alastor chuckled lightly, a fond smile on his face.

“My Mother made a recipe for a good chicken soup. Sadly...it doesn’t taste as good as when she made it. I...always seem to miss something to add into it.”

M/n looked at his Father. He rarely heard about his Grandma.

“How was Grandma ? What was she like ?”, the boy asked.

Alastor looked at him, contemplating if the boy was ready to hear of her. He shook his head.

“Another time, Cher.”

“Dad, come on ! You told me a bit about her already. Why not more ? You clearly loved her a lot ! Was she really THAT bad ?”, M/n asked.

His head whipped around quickly, to look at his Son.

“She was NOT bad !”, Alastor yelled, slightly angered.

The boy flinched, but didn’t back down.

“Then why do you not want to share with me anything about her ?! I am YOUR SON, Dad ! She would be basically my Grandma !”

Alastor looked away after a while of seeing his Son frustrated with his closed off behavior.

“It...is hard to talk about her with others, Cher. I don’t tell everyone how my Family used to be.”, Alastor replied.

“I understand that, Papa. I really do, but I am Family too, aren’t I ? I am your child. Do I not deserve to know how my Grandparents used to be ? I already missed the opportunity to meet them in person. I can only hope for stories from you now.”

His Son had a point and the Radio Host knew that. He sighed and had a soft smile on his face. He knew it might fade soon, but...M/n was Family. He can let his charade drop around him.

“My Mother...Your Mummo (Grandma), was a very kind and caring soul. She loved to cook, she always knew how to cheer me up and she taught me everything I know, to be a Gentleman.”

M/n just looked at him, as his Father opened up about his Mother, eating his soup slowly. VERY slowly.

“She never had much problems with what I did. There were simple, loose rules in the house. Don’t curse, don’t yell in the house, arms off of the table when you eat, sit straight, respect your elders, no running in the house, don’t lie to Momma and no pets. I always kept to the rules, my Mom put up. I never yelled at her, I never hurt her on purpose and I always listened.”

M/n grew concerned. It seemed like his Father was out of the picture...

“What about your...Father ?”

Alastor tensed, but sighed and tried to relax.

“You are too young to hear everything about that man yet, but...he was NOT a good man, mon petit.”

At that M/n grew worried.

“What...what did he do to you two ?”, he asked worried.

Alastor looked at his Son, smile gone and a certain darkness in his eyes, dancing around like a wild fire.

“Whenever he came home...he usually had bad, stressful days and couldn’t get drunk and cheat on my Mother.”

‘So a drinking, cheating Bastard...’

“When he came home in such moods...there were more rules.”

“Like ?”

“Do not speak unless spoken to, you eat what was on the table, do not engage with him unless he starts to engage with you, you are not allowed to leave the table until he said you can or left himself first, you are not allowed to give him any attitude either and you are not allowed to say no to him. He wants you to get him a beer, you will get it, otherwise...”, Alastor cut himself off.

M/n stared at his Father in horror.

“You are NOT telling me that he was abusive, are you ?”

Alastor looked into his soup, head hanging low.

“That is exactly what I am telling you, Cher.”, he weakly replied.

‘Holy shit... we actually have something in common, just that he had a loving Mom by his side and I only had my Sister.’

The Radio Host took a deep breath. M/n gave him his full attention.

“He wanted me to act like him. Abusive, towards women and lesser people. He said if someone comes at me with attitude, I give it back to them, while my Mother said that is NOT how I should behave. When my Father was out of the house, my Mother taught me how to be a Gentleman. When he noticed what she was doing, that she taught me everything I needed to know and do one day, for myself, he forced me into other activities with him. I made a small mistake...well, I think you can guess the outcome.”, Alastor told him dully.

M/n stared at him, mouth agape. He always thought that at least his Family was great, when he was a child.

“YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO BEG YOUR OWN PARENTS TO NOT STOP BEING YOUR PARENTS ! YOU WEREN’T BLAMED FOR YOUR SISTER’S DEATH ! YOU WEREN’T BEATEN AND ABUSED BY YOUR OWN PARENTS ! YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO HAVE A FEELING TO ALWAYS TRY TO BE GOOD ENOUGH FOR THEM SO THEY WILL ACCEPT YOU ! YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO SLEEP OUTSIDE AND STARVE ! YOU WEREN’T ABANDONED BY YOUR OWN PARENTS ! YOU DIDN’T HAD TO SEE YOUR OWN SISTER’S CONDITIONS WHEN SHE CAME HOME WOUNDED BADLY AND YOU HAD TO TAKE CARE OF HER AND LISTEN TO HER TALK ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED ! YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO SEE HOW THEY BEAT YOUR SISTER IN SCHOOL AND NO ONE CARED! YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO SEE HER GETTING TAKEN BY SOME PERVERTED FREAKS ! YOU DIDN’T HAD TO FIND HER LIKE THIS THE NEXT DAY AND FIND OUT THAT THESE SICK FUCKS ARE STILL OUT THERE ! I DID ! I HAD TO ! WHILE NO ONE ELSE NEEDED TO BE PERFECT FOR THEIR PARENTS, I HAD TO BE THAT AND SO MUCH MORE !”

M/n looked down in shame as he remembered that day. He judged his Father way too quickly. Just because he seemed happy all the time, didn’t that mean that he really was. His childhood wasn’t rainbows and sunshine either.

He might not have been forced to beg both parents to not stop loving him, but he had to practically endure his Father’s torture. He didn’t have to see a sibling getting hurt all the time, but he probably was forced to see his Mother getting hurt a lot. He was beaten and bruised as a child, just as his Mother was probably. The worst was...it happened at home, a place you were supposed to be safest. His Mother might have confided in him and he probably saw her crumbling a lot. Just as M/n had to see Linda crumble apart all the time and it was up to him, to get her back up. Alastor and M/n had something in common. Shit parents. At least...shit Fathers, in Alastor’s case.

The boy put the empty bowl on the nightstand and then hugged his Father tightly, who took a deep inhale.

“I’m sorry I asked. But, if it helps, he is gone now. No more pain and torture.”, the child said softly.

Alastor chuckled weakly and put his hand on top of M/n’s smaller ones, that were on his stomach, wrapped around.

“Yes, he is gone now. Anyways !”

And the switch flipped again. M/n found it amusing nowadays. Alastor can change the mood so quickly...

“My Mother she cooked the best foods ever ! Jambalaya was one of the best ! I always helped her in the kitchen and cooked with her, when I could ! She was such a loving person, you would have LOVED her ! There were a few times she scolded me, but it wasn’t often. Without her...I would never be the person I am today, mon petit.”

M/n smiled at that and hugged his Father tighter, while Alastor finally ate the rest of his own soup. After he made sure that they both were full, he collected the bowls and brought them into the kitchen. He entered his Son’s room again, with a bright smile on his face.

“Now, you better take a nap, Cher. The more you sleep and drink, the faster you will be better !”, the Father said happily.

“Papa ?”, M/n called softly.

Alastor stopped dead in his tracks, as he was about to leave. He turned back around, looking at the boy.

“Yes, mon petit ?”

“Can you...tell me a Story to fall asleep to ? I don’t care which.”

Alastor put his finger on his chin, pretending to think about it.

“Hmmm....Oh, alright then. But only one.”, the adult replied.

M/n smiled and nodded. Only one.

Alastor sat down next to his Son, on his bed, and started to tell the story about the wolf and the seven little goats.

As he finished, his Son was fast asleep and Alastor left, smiling softly. It felt good to confide in his child about his past. He thought it would feel...bad. Like a forbidden thing to do. Maybe...he will take M/n to his Mother’s grave soon. He deserved that kind of closure. But for now...Alastor has to help his child back on his little feet.

He will kill whoever poisoned his Son, as soon as he finds them.

Over the days, M/n quickly regained his strength. But while he was sick, he gave Alastor a hard time keeping up. At some nights, M/n woke up and needed the Bathroom. The Radio Host was a light sleeper, so imagine his fright when he jumped out of sleep, due to a loud thump, coming from his Son’s room, only to find him hissing in pain on the floor.

He quickly noticed that his Son hated to bother him with such small things. He wanted to move on his own and didn’t want his Father to feel forced to care for M/n, like he was a newborn fawn, that still needs to learn how to walk.

Most food M/n consumed, but some of the dishes, Alastor cooked, made M/n feel sick, so the adult was mindful of what he cooked. It wasn’t his Son’s fault, that his body recovered like that. He will be back to normal soon enough, was all they both always thought. And in less than a week, he was completely fine again.

Alastor had to scold him a lot for trying to walk on his own, after he continuously fell on his face anyways, but otherwise, M/n didn’t put up much of a fight.

What the man didn’t know, was that M/n knew who poisoned him and he was giving that person a lesson to learn from one day.

The audacity of that bitch...

Masterlist HERE !

#Read the warnings above #male!reader #fanfiction #Hazbin Hotel #alastor x reader #alastor the radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel #Father!Alastor x Son!Reader #How M/n met Mimzy – Father!Human!Alastor x Son!Reader

[bitchesuntitled]

Paint with Me

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Summary: You have a crush on the dad of your daughter’s best friend.

Warnings: Sexual innuendos and cursing

A/N: @beefrobeefcal issued a prompt and I jumped at the chance. She also helped beta this along with @strang3lov3. As always, I gotta tag @jay-zzle, who once again was kind enough to make a moodboard for this little story of mine, is my main cheerleader and listens to me rant all the time about stories I’ve read and my own 🥰

Masterlist

“Hello and welcome to those who are new to the class! Go ahead and find a spare seat” The woman at the front, Miss Janice said, “This is a very basic painting class and please parents. Let your kids get messy! Art isn’t clean!”

All the kids cheered and you sighed thinking about the stains you will now have to be washing out from Nora’s clothes. Your ex had decided the white sundress was the perfect outfit for her today. Dropping her off here with no time to go home you just had to cross your fingers hoping that Miss Janice had a spare smock for her.

“Mommy!” Nora said, grabbing your hand and tugging you along to a table, “I see Missy!”

Nora dragged you along to the table where Missy and her father sat. This had become a weekly thing, coming to the paint with me class and sitting with Missy and Frankie.

“Hi Nora!” Missy squealed, “Daddy was starting to worry you guys weren’t coming.”

“Missy,” Frankie hissed, looking at her while you could see his cheeks starting to gain a warmer shade.

“No, Mommy was mad at my dad because of my dress.”

“Nora!” You said, looking at her wide eyed.

“Your dress is very pretty, Nora.” Frankie said, letting out a low chuckle.

“Thank you! Mommy always wants to look pretty for these classes so I wanted to try too!”

You could feel your face getting warm. It wasn’t like you intentionally did it or anything but you couldn’t deny having formed a crush on Frankie within the past few weeks of attending this class. If you wanted to spruce up your looks a little, so what? You just didn’t think your kid would take notice of it. Oh god, has it been obvious? Has Frankie noticed?

“Nora, do you need a smock?” Miss Janice asked, interrupting your thoughts.

“No, I—“

“Yes, she does!” You say, giving Miss Janice a pleading look. Miss Janice smiled and handed one to you to help Nora put it on.

“No one will be able to see my dress!” Nora said, furrowing her brows and crossing her arms across her chest.

“Aw, come on now,” Frankie said, “You don’t want to ruin your pretty dress!”

“Fine,” Nora said, rolling her eyes.

You smiled at him and mouthed a thank you while putting the smock on her. He winked at you with a slight nod of his head. Miss Janice began to show everyone how to paint a rose. Frankie had his brows furrowed, focusing on his paper instead of watching the board like everyone else.

“Daddy!” Missy scolded, “You’re supposed to be painting a rose!”

“Don’t feel like painting a rose.” Frankie stated lowering his voice, “Flowers are boring.”

“Then what are you painting instead?” Nora asked curiously, leaning over to look at his paper.

“It’s a surprise!” Frankie said, hovering his hands over his paper to keep anyone from trying to peek. “Can you hand me that yellowy color?” He asked, nodding his head towards the tube in front of you. Careful of your rose painting you reached for the tube and handed it over.

“Ever heard of goldenrod?” Frankie asked, reading the tube and looking at Missy.

“Been years since I had one of those,” You think out loud. Frankie whipped his head to look at you. “Oh my god!” You say slapping your hand over your mouth.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

Frankie eyes you suspiciously while continuing to talk to Missy and Nora. You and your big fucking mouth. Sure, it’s been a while since you got laid but you are in a painting class with your kid, her friend, and her friend’s incredibly attractive dad. Kids being the main focal point. Thankfully they were too into their paintings to hear what you said. You zero in on your own painting of a rose. Gliding the paint brush over and over until you feel like the petal is to your liking.

—

“Alright everyone, time is up for the day!” Miss Janice announces, “We need to start cleaning up. Parents please grab the paint brushes and water cups, kiddos grab the paintings and clip them to the board so we can all see them!”

Nora starts cackling along with Missy looking at Frankie’s painting. Frankie furrows his brows while you both begin gathering up the paint brushes plopping them into the water cup.

“What the heck is that?!” Nora asked, holding her stomach from laughing so hard. You decide to take a look at what was so funny. You’re not sure what it’s supposed to be. It just looks like a yellow peanut with what you think might be wings and some McDonald’s Golden Arches in the background.

“It’s a bird,” Frankie says, scratching the back of his neck.

“Oh,” You say, nodding your head subtly, “That’s what it’s supposed to be?”

“It looks like a peanut!” Missy said

“It does!” Nora shouted, beginning to laugh even more.

“Yeah, yeah. Go hang the paintings up you goofs” Frankie said, shooing them away.

“Least you tried,” You smile, with a small shrug.

“I guess. Missy’s right though, it does look like a peanut,” He grinned, walking with you over to the now free sink to help clean brushes.

“Hey, you said it— not me,” You laughed.

You dumped the water into the sink, while Frankie grabbed the soap, squirting some in his and your hands. Making small conversation about Nora and Missy, your weeks ahead of you, what you plan to do for the rest of your weekend.

“So,” Frankie started, leaning over to whisper in your ear, “Haven’t had a golden rod in a long time?”

“Oh my god,” You groaned, “Listen, I’m so sorry about that. I swear, I didn't even mean to say it out loud.”

“Nah, it’s all good. I could probably help with–” Frankie said, then began to panic, “I mean, like, if you wanted to go do something sometime, or not that’s cool too, not like I’m saying we should have sex or something cause that’s not cool. I’m sorry it was just a stup–”

“Frankie,” You giggle, grabbing his hand to make him stop. He looked up at you bashfully.

“It’s been a while since I’ve tried asking someone out,” He admitted. “My friends keep giving me shit because I keep talking about you and they said I should try asking you out, but I’ve been too nervous to and wow, I just won’t shut the fuck up. What is wrong with me?!”

“I’d love to,” You say before he can start speaking again.

“Really?” He asked, raising his eyebrows, “Go out? With me? Like a date?”

“Duh,” You said, squeezing his hand and winking, “Is there a golden rod included?”

“Haven’t had any complaints before,” Frankie said with a shrug, blushing.

#frankie morales x you #francisco catfish morales #frankie catfish morales fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

spider society

pairing: miles morales x gn!spidey (platonic)

WC: 3.3K

warnings: cursing and slight spoilers!

summary: a new friend is welcomed but is quick to become foe.

A/N: SPOILER WARNING FOR ATSV!!!! i wrote this in a day and on little sleep, so that will explain if this is terrible. also barely proofread so apologies for any writing errors. i did the best i could for the scene based on memory and clips from tik tok.

masterlist

earth-42

the lobby was crowded. like always. spider people here, there, everywhere. floor to ceiling as they traversed to their different destinations whether that be another dimension to fix anomalies or just the food court to get some lunch.

your headphones covered your ears to keep the loud conversations at bay as you mind your business. nothing to do, just tapping finger to finger in random patterns as you observed everyone with your background music. with your eyes landing near the entrance of the building you saw gwen and hobie, along with someone you’d never met before but excited for the new face. literally new face.

“gwen! hobie!” you shouted after pushing the bulky headphones down to your neck before rushing towards them. they waved you close to them, gwen with a friendly smile and hobie with his watchful eyes but only filled with kindness.

you stopped before the three of them and gave the two of them quick hugs before they could make any objections. attention now on the new person. his was tall and lean and looked a few years younger than you. black kid with curly hair and wandering dark eyes.

“hi, i’m y/n l/n. or spidey or spider, if you want. but best to use my name since we’re all spiders.” mouth moving on its own. “sorry. just haven’t seen a new face or person in a little bit. no offense to the peter’s,” you leaned closer to his face and he leaned away slightly from the intrusion, “but there are too many of him. and a lot of them sound closely the same.”

“don’t let peter hear that.” gwen joke. she gave a quick nudge to her quiet friend. “this is miles morales.”

“h-hi. yeah, i’m miles. nice to meet you, this place is just… wow.” head turning in all directions to get the full scope.

“yeah, kinda crazy. but miguel worked hard to make all this happen for us. kinda nice to physically see you're not alone in the fight.”

“speaking of-“ gwen got cut off by miles glitching out and dropping to the floor in pain. you knelt with him and touched his shoulder. “he doesn’t have a watch?” frantic as you check his wrist for the bulky device but not finding it. gwen bit her lip but avoided eye contact and looked at someone behind you.

“here,” you heard the motherly voice of jessica drew, “day pass.” and saw how miles caught the flimsy band before slipping it on.

“why don’t we get some food?” trying to break the sudden tension jessica brought with her. but before anyone could agree or disagree with your idea, she spoke up. “actually the three…” her eyes lingered on you and the touch of your hand to miles’s shoulder, “the four of you need to see miguel. it’s urgent.”

you didn’t like that. you don’t like it whenever miguel calls for you and it’s not for a job. you tried making an excuse, “actually, i should get-“ “don’t lie your way out, y/n. just follow the rules.” jessica commanded.

she started to walk away, then gwen and hobie followed after her. “hey,” miles tried to make eye contact. you felt like shrinking into yourself. “don’t worry. i’m sure it’ll be fine.”

you knew it wasn’t but didn’t bother. a weary smile, “why don’t we stop by the food court?” fingers circling his wrist as you tugged him along. “miguel loves the empanadas and it wouldn’t hurt to keep him on the nice side.” miles happily agreed.

-

the walk to miguel’s ‘office’ was always dark and quiet. too quiet, the sound of just your breathing and footsteps sounding like blaring sirens that bounced off the walls. you hated the walk. instinctively you wore your headphones over your ears and played something, but at a low volume to still hear miles and hobie converse. gwen led your group, her back the only thing you saw as she didn’t bother with facing any of you. she felt closed off.

you eyed hobie as he nicked bits and pieces from walls, tables, and junk. you didn’t stop him like miles was trying, just watching with pure curiosity, wondering what he was up to. always doing something to rebel.

miles turned to you and you saw his mouth moving, but only faintly heard his words. pausing the music and moving the device back to your neck you asked him to repeat his sentence.

“so, how does one get recruited for this spider society?” he held the to-go box in both hands. his thumbs rubbing at the top in a nervous sort of gesture.

“i- i don’t think you’d like it very much.” not wanting miles to be stuck like the rest of you. “catching anomalies is very annoying. and very busy. wouldn’t you like to stay in your dimension? with your friends and family?” voice going soft and melancholy. fingers toying with the device at your wrist.

you didn’t notice how miles eyes softened from your tone or how gwen looked fully over her shoulder towards you, knowing the true meaning of your words. and hobie continued to knick bits.

“well…” miles tried to restart the conversation, “i mean. at least with the watch, i can visit my friends. i can hang out with you more.” a playful nudge to your arm pulled a smile. a new friend, you liked the thought.

“why not just make your own watch?” hobie commented. he broke something off a defective project and stuffed it into his vest pocket. “you look smart enough to build from scraps.” he kicked his thick boots at objects in his path.

“i wanna do this by the rules. by the books.” he shrugged his shoulders. face looking just a bit glum.

“are either of your parents' cops?” a simple question you posed.

he looked confused but still answered, “my dad. gonna be captain soon.” he smiled down at the ground. he must be very proud of his family.

now you nudge his shoulder, “well, i bet your dad is proud of you. knowing or not knowing. but sometimes, you shouldn’t play by the book.” a hushed whisper.

“aye, y/n!” hobie slapped his hands on your shoulders, “that’s what i like to hear! screw the system. do what you need to do, my guy.”

“guys!” gwen raised her voice, “please can we just-“ she trailed her sentence off with a tilt of her head. the four of you were getting closer.

“miles, just remember,” hobie leaned towards miles, “don’t join the establishment until you know what you’re fighting for.”

the hallway widened out and when you looked up, miguel had his back turned as he stood on his platform. miles looked to gwen and she held a hand up, “yeah. i know, but it’s his thing. so just…” and she trailed off again.

gwen and miles walked further into the light as you and hobie stayed near the dark. hobie situated himself along the wall, fingers playing with whatever he got his hands on. you leaned beside him with your arms crossed over your chest and hip cocked. just from this show alone, you know miles is in for a miguel tantrum.

“how’s it been?” eyes on hobie, “um… okay.” you picked at the nylon of your suit, “sometimes if i’m bored, i go to other places. they let me as long as i don’t cause trouble. sorry i haven’t visited recently.” a twist to your lips.

hobie waved you off, “ain’t a problem. pop by whenever. gwendys around most times.”

your heads turned when miguel raised his voice and threw the food box to the ground. you pushed away from the wall and walked closer to the light.

“what’d i do?” “miguel. it’s not his fault.” miles and gwen’s voices mixed. you heard a thwip and turned to see hobie stealing the free food.

“he’s screwed everything up! just like doctor strange and that little nerd from earth-1999999.” miguel pinched his nose bridge.

“i visited there once. interesting place.” miles seemed to be the only one intrigued by your story. “they have this group called the avengers.” eyes widening at the word.

“are they like a band?” miles cocked his head. “no earth’s mightiest-“

“who the hell cares!”

you flinched at the boom of miguel’s voice and slinked back into the dark shadows by hobie. automatically he threw an arm over your shoulder and pulled you to his side.

“someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” he muttered. you wanted to comment but felt if you even made a peep miguel would be on your ass. hobie, always the kind friend, noticed your silence and slipped your headphones back on. you didn’t need music at the moment just something to muffle the noise.

eyes watched how miguel and miles spoke. their bodies tense, miguel using his looming height advantage to have more authority. mile's lanky arms fling about and look from gwen to miguel. with your headphones, you couldn’t hear, but you saw how miles turned around and his face was graced with a smile as he ran to someone.

“oh great. humbling reality spider-man has joined.” hobie’s words muffled before you made your ears free again.

you saw peter parker, peter b parker, as he liked to be called. he and miles shared a hug and you started to look at the walls and ceilings.

“why do you have a baby carrier?” miles pointed at the carrier peter always wore.

“mayday!” you squeal when you see her crawling your way. the two of you were well acquainted since you’ll babysit for peter and mj on short notice. or whenever really, they were such a kind family.

the little bundle of joy yipped when you crouched to her level and pulled her to your chest. her tiny hands setting on your shoulders as her blue and green eyes darted over your face. a gloved hand smoothed some of her flyaways and wind-swept hair.

“you have a baby!” you heard miles. “i have a baby! yeah, it’s crazy kid.” peter sighed.

“how’s my favorite web crawler? huh? causing trouble for your dad?” cooing in a baby voice. pretending she could understand every word and would reply in detail about the chaos she brings. you pinched at her chubby cheeks.

“can we get back to business? serious business?” miguel always brings the mood down.

“you are the only serious spider person. we’re supposed to be funny. throwing quips as we punch bad guys.” peter grumbled and made a mocking tone of miguel. he looked about ready to send everyone away.

“lyla, do the thing.” the computer teased miguel for a moment before doing the thing he asked. she pulled up the web of life and destiny.

“it’s called something very scientific, but i like to just call it the spider web. short and simple.” a side comment to miles. “cool.”

“these are canon events. things that can’t change no matter what or the universe collapses.” getting bit by the spider. uncle ben dying or someone close to you. a captain saving a kid but getting killed in the process.

miguel showed different versions of spider-man in those different scenarios. he specifically showed the spiders mourning the death of captain stacy.

you pressed mayday’s head into your shoulder, not wanting her to see this. you turned to gwen and saw her poker face, but you could see the emotion swimming in her irises. she hadn’t been back to her dimension in a while, always crashing in different spots.

“miles,” you looked away as you bounced the child, “what you did back in pavitr’s reality, it broke canon. that’s what caused the black hole and hopefully, we can stop it. but it doesn’t always happen.”

you felt eyes on you. you didn’t like the sudden attention. but you were starting to get why jessica brought you here. why miguel pointed a finger at you to miles confusion. he wanted you to be on his side.

“y/n… do you want to tell miles what happened?” you ignored him. playing with mayday, knuckles caressing her rosy cheeks. “y/n… the kid needs to understand the importance.” you sighed and pressed a kiss to mayday’s temple.

“understand what?” miles walked closer to you. “y/n? what happened?”

you licked your lips. “my reality is gone. i… i got to love my gwen stacy. i didn’t lose any family or a captain who i was bickering friends with. i- i got to have it all. i ‘broke’ canon, but i don’t believe that crap.”

“y/n…” miguel had a warning tone.

“everything was wonderful. not once after each event happened a giant hole formed until one day it just did. it was just a normal day. gwen and i were having a date at this ice cream shop she loved, she looked so pretty. she always did. we were walking towards the met since she kept saying we needed to visit more.”

you raised mayday above you and flashed a toothy smile. she giggled and you pulled her close to rub noses. a sigh as you continue your story.

“it- it just happened out of nowhere. i can’t even place what the cause would have been. one minute it’s a normal day and then next a black hole a few blocks away which then changed into… reality being eaten away.”

you didn’t notice the tears falling until little hands touched your cheeks. mayday stared and baby babbled. a hand to your shoulder, peter giving a pitying look. you handed his daughter back to him and wiped your tears. done with talking, but miguel finished the story.

“they already had a watch and when i noticed what was happening and the rate it was destroying everything… i managed to pull them out in time. they are the last remnants of their home reality.”

it was quiet. no one was speaking and it still felt too loud.

“but… what’s this got to do with me?” happy that miles pulled the attention back to him.

“you are the first anomaly.” miguel voiced. “your spider bite wasn’t from your dimension, you already had a spider-man. and yet somehow… everything is fine.” he seemed pissed at the simple fact.

“miles in two days your dad is gonna become captain.” gwen spoke. her tone seeping in sorrow.

miles looked around. his face scrunched in confusion and growing anger. then he did another look at the images of different peters with captain stacy. his face was dropping.

“your- you're saying i just have to let my dad die? to- to avoid reality crashing? cause it’s a- a canon event?”

“yes,” miguel replied as if that didn’t sound crazy.

miles turned to gwen, “your dad. he’s a captain right?” she nodded. “you’re just, what? just gonna let him die?” her eyes fell to the floor.

“we have to do things to keep reality stable. it’s not always pretty, but it comes with the cost of being spider-man. you can’t have both.”

“i can! i know i can! i can be spider-man and miles!”

your senses went off just a bit and you took account of all the people starting to crowd the room. this felt wrong. it felt like a trap, and for once you're the bad guys. peter and gwen tried to calm miles down, he was understandably upset at everyone shouting orders at him. you wanted to pull miles away and hide the both of you from miguel and the others. this wasn’t right.

“this will hold you for a few days.” and miguel dropped one of his devices to the floor that changed to a red-screened cage.

“miles!” you rushed to the holoprojection and started to bang your fist along with miles. gwen and peter were bickering with miguel. and hobie popped up beside you with his palms facing miles with a knowing smile.

hobie pulled you away when you started to see the electricity start to spark. then suddenly there was a loud boom and explosion of air. everyone was swept off their feet. hobie was able to keep you upright.

miles stood free and looked at his palms as he panted. he quickly looked your way and you only could say, “run.” and he took off.

“no!” miguel roared.

he started to chase after him, but you shot a web to his feet to slow him down. his crazed eyes widened at your disobedience. “you have no idea what you’ve done.” he extended the red blades from his arms, cutting himself free and rushing out of the room with others following.

your chest was panting with fear and worry. you looked to hobie for help, but he stood in a portal and threw his watch away. “for the record i quit.” and he was gone in the blink of an eye.

you were the only one on miles’s side.

you shot web after web at different spider people. at their feet, wrist, faces, anything to slow them down and give miles enough time to form a plan and execute it. you tried to catch up to him, but a few people gave you a taste of your own medicine and fought you.

you were being held down by one of the many peter parker variants, “stay out of our way!” he shouted as he webbed you uptight. you struggled against the hold but it was no use. so you were left alone once the tower was emptied, you just hoped miles was okay.

-

you were sure how long you’ve been webbed up. your body started to get that prickly feeling when it wasn’t getting proper blood flow through the body. wiggling your body in the hold, hoping to loosen it, a voice called out.

“y/n?” eyes connected with miles who was hanging upside down on a web. one side of his suit was ripped, but he looked safe.

“oh thank goodness. i tried to catch up, but as you can see, i’ve been webbed.”

miles looked around. when he eyed you again he looked hesitant to free you, you understood. some of his friends that he’s known longer turned on him behind his back. but you knew he was a different case, miguel was just using this canon logic as a cover.

“go miles. i don’t want to keep you from getting home.” a reassuring smile to his tired eyes. but he didn’t leave, he started to pull at the webbing and helped you free.

“let’s go.” he led you to the go-home machine. he was able to go invisible as he worked the computers so you stayed on the ceiling in the dark shadows.

when the machine was up and running he hopped in and called your name. you looked to margo, spider byte, who was busy with lyla as the two tried to stop the stitching process. you dived in and stood beside him, the two of you getting anxious the longer it was taking.

“stop the machine!” miguel was charging forward. you knew margo shouted a comment back without hearing her.

the machine was getting closer, it was about eighty percent closed. you thought you were in the clear, but miguel sunk his blood-red claws into the threading and started to rip at it. you pushed miles behind you, “just let us go, miguel!”

“i can’t do that, y/n! why can’t you understand i’m doing this for everyone’s safety!” he growled. the threading was holding.

“because this canon shit is a lie! if miles wasn’t supposed to be spider-man, his reality would have broken a long time ago! you’re just trying to manipulate everyone!”

your body lifted into the air. it was time to leave. and just before you were gone, you did one more reckless thing. you tore the watch off your wrist and threw it to the ground making it shatter. you stared directly into miguel’s burning eyes.

“i quit.”

-

a/n2: i actually wrote a little more after this part, but it just didnt end off well. i wrote this from like the hours of 8pm to 6am (i did sleep a little in between dont worry)

#spiderman x reader #spider-man #spider-man imagine #spider-man x gn!reader #spider-man x spidey!person #spider-man fluff #spider-man angst #spider-man across the spiderverse spoilers #spider-man across the spider-verse #across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse fic #across the spider verse imagine #miles morales #miles morales imagine #miles morales x reader #miles morales x platonic!reader #miles morales angst #miles morales fluff #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #Spotify

[xetswan]

IMAGINES- Carlisle Cullen

It’s Okay

Requested

(This is placed in the 1850s obviously this is fictional not everything is correct but I tried and this is also my first time writing for an earlier year set. But I hope everyone enjoys. I did my own spin on it but this is in which Carlisle can’t control himself around [Name] due to her being his blood singer.)

Masterlist

Carlisle moved again. Trying to find a better lifestyle, the last place got too sunny.

Now being in New York in the winter time for now until he figures out a better place, other than going to the freezing places.

He’s been exhausted, just wanting a better life, or what ever he can get being what he is.

“Doctor!? Is anyone a doctor?!” A woman shouted, desperately on the look out. Her face was in a frantic expression.

“My brother! Please!” She cries out, hovering over a teenage boy on the ground obviously turning blue. Carlisle’s eyes widen, looking around to see if anyone was going to help, instead people stared.

They crowded but did nothing but help shout for a doctor. He was just moving into his apartment.

He wasn’t expecting to already be putting his skills to use by being a doctor. He was still trying to find an office to build into his own.

But of course he quickly raises a hand half way, moving fast through the crowd.

“I’m a doctor!” He gets to the ground with the boy and woman, immediately getting hit with a strong smell of blood.

His nostrils flair but he tries to push the feeling back.

“What-“ He clears his throat. “What happened?” He needs to know before he does anything.

“He- I um, I’m sorry I don’t know. I walked away and came back to him struggling to breathe.” The woman tries to calm herself, hiccuping as tears fell down her face.

Not even noticing the fact that the man in front of her was struggling to contain himself around her blood.

“Okay,” He lays his head down on the boys chest, still hearing a faint heart beat.

Carlisle didn’t need to do that but if anyone was watching and knew what he was doing it was necessary.

He breathes out heavily, starting to push down on the boys chest, his one hand in a slight fist and the other laid on top.

Doing it for a while before pinching his nose and blowing air into his mouth.

Repetitively doing it until the boy gasps for air, coughing roughly.

Moaning from the pain in his chest.

Carlisle stands up, letting the lady hug her brother.

The crowd cheers, calling Carlisle a hero as the lady cries, cradling the teenager. The wind hits them and her hair flows out causing the young man to smell it stronger.

His nose burns in agony. It’s becoming too hard to resist and as the lady turns to thank him he’s already disappeared.

He rushes up to his apartment, opening the door like a mad man, slamming it right behind him as well. He grabs the wall, confused on what just happened.

Not understanding the pain he just went through.

Blood has always been a constant battle to fight off, not wanting to put humans in pain.

This.

This was different.

It was like her blood was special. Her blood hurt him in a good way.

The smell was so enticing.

He needed it. But he couldn’t it’s wrong. It’s against his morals.

He knew if he started drinking he wouldn’t be able to stop. He’d kill her just for a taste. He stiffens at the thought, he shakes his head, trying to stop it.

Stop all the thoughts of killing her from happening.

And just a week and a half later, as he thought he forgot about it all.

A week and a half later as he got his new Doctor’s office, getting it ready to open there she was.

Wearing a white dress and light pink details. She strolls down the walkway, he hoped he stayed across the street.

He practically begged any sort of God to keep her away.

It looks like God was against him.

“Sir?” She shouted, squinting her eyes as she made her way towards Carlisle. He glances at her and she waves her hand.

“It is you!” She breathily giggles, jogging across the street after looking both ways on the rocky road. “Hello, ma’am.” He politely smiles.

Trying to hold his breath, mainly towards his nose.

“Oh just call me [Name]. Ma’am is so aging! Anyways, I’ve been trying to find you for days!” Her eyes twinkle as she grins ear to ear.

“What ever for?” He jokes, he knows what it’s for.

“You’re the one who saved my brother are you not?” Her face dropped suddenly, now embarrassed thinking she got the wrong man.

He swallows thickly, her smell affecting him already.

“I am, sorry. Just jokes.” He says in a worried manner.

“Oh,” She laughs it off.

“My mind is scattered, apologies.” She sighs, she goes to step closer but he steps back as her smell is too strong.

“I wanted to thank you…” She waits for his name, Carlisle’s busy talking to himself to not attack her right in front of everyone.

“Carlisle.” He finally spits out, her eyes widen. “That’s a beautiful name.” [Name] compliments, completely oblivious to the man who’s extremely uncomfortable looking like he’s constipated from the pain of resisting her.

“I better get going ma- [Name]. It was lovely bumping into you.” Carlisle quickly speaks, trying to get into the building before she speaks again.

“Wait, could I take you out to eat sometime. As a true thank you.” She places a hand on his shoulder, he sucks in air, squeezing his eyes shut tight. Hissing under his breath quietly, his body tensed tremendously and she takes her hand back.

He calms himself down, building his demeanor back up, turning to smile at the girl.

“Well, I’m quite busy at the moment.” He offers a sad smile to which her shoulders drop but she still manages to attempt a smile back.

Wanting to be understanding but any form of rejection hurts. He observes every movement she makes too.

“Oh, I understand.” She forces a smile, about to turn to leave.

“I hope nothing stresses you too much, Dr. Carlisle.” She sweetly tells him. He watches as she goes to walk across the street, waiting for two carriages to pass. He mentally curses to what he’s about to do.

“Wait, I… I’m not busy tomorrow.” He informs her and her body freezes before turning to him with a smile.

“Meet me here at noon.” She tells Carlisle before crossing the road once again.

That night he was met with a letter on his desk in his room. He furrows his brows in confusion but still picks it up.

Its address from Aro.

Carlisle glances around the room, nothing was out of order. Nothing changed.

He obviously knew how he got in but it was still unsettling.

He wrote Aro yesterday, he wasn’t expecting something so soon but he knew how the Volturi was.

He’s not stupid.

It read:

“Dearest Carlisle,

You want to know what you are experiencing? That draw to the poor woman’s blood? She’s your blood singer. Your personal blood bank just for you. Addictive thing she’ll be. You’ll suck the life out of that poor girl. It’s out of your control. It’s bound to happen… Unless you can control yourself enough to turn her, knowing you, you wouldn’t want her to be in pain though. So thoughtful of you. Always so thoughtful, Carlisle.

Aro”

Carlisle rereads the letter over and over again. Getting angrier and angrier.

Some help he is.

“Why did I even think that was a good idea?” He whispers to himself.

The next day at noon, Carlisle amps up, he needs to learn to control himself around [Name].

Knowing for a fact it’s not going to be easy to get her out of his life.

He stands outside, hands behind his back as he waits for the young lady.

He glimpses up at sky, seeing the clouds getting darker. It’s about time for a storm.

“Hey!” A voice yells, he puts his head back down and sees [Name] holding her dress so she can run up to Carlisle.

“Sorry! My brother needed help with school work.” She tells him, slightly out of breath, still holding a smile nonetheless.

He tries to hold back a smile, nodding his head.

“It’s quite alright. Where shall we be going today?” He offers his arm to the girl, not even a hesitation, [Name] grabs ahold of it.

“I was thinking we could eat by the water, a picnic if you will.” She giggles like a teenager.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea.” He compliments, and the two go to the store. [Name] talks Carlisle’s head off, all about thanking him and how he’s a hero to the town.

Everyone will be switching their doctors to him once he opens up his office. Updating him about her brother.

As he struggles to keep his composure. Sometimes he can handle it, other times he suffers when she gets a little bit too close.

It’s somehow worth it for him though. He feels oddly attached to the woman he just met.

Getting things for the picnic they went to a near by pond.

They even bought a blanket for the occasion and by they I mean Dr. Carlisle Cullen.

As he sets it up, [Name] patiently waits, observing the man.

How perfect he was, like he was created by God himself who took his time with him.

She enjoyed the way he looked.

She felt lucky to be in his presence.

Even though her brother kept telling her how cold his touch was, and even she felt odd about it but he saved her brother. He was good and that’s all that mattered to her.

Carlisle stands up, taking his hat off to wipe his forehead.

He goes to put the hat back on but [Name] stops him. “I would like to see your face.” She takes it from him, placing it on her own head with a laugh.

“Let’s feast!” She plops down, her dress puffing up from the air caught in it.

He carefully sits across from her, admiring the woman who got into the fruit first.

“It’s not fair that I don’t get to see your face now.” Carlisle smirks, flicking the hat off of her.

She watches as it lands beside her and she smiles to herself.

“How old are you?” She suddenly asks, popping a grape into her mouth.

“23,” He answers, clasping his hands together. “What about you? How old might you be?” He takes one of the grapes from her hands.

“A man should never ask how old a woman is.” She teasingly tells him.

“My apologies, ma’am.” He purposely pronounces ‘ma’am’ prominently. [Name] gasps, throwing a grape at him as he laughs.

“Ouch, how rude.” He takes the grape, showing it to her before eating it. She scrunches her nose at him. Then gets quiet.

“I’m 22.” She smiles sweetly.

“22, no husband?” Carlisle boldly asks, and once it’s out of his mouth he goes to apologize but instead is found with her signature giggle.

“No, no husband. Not yet at least. I’ve been waiting until I found the one I guess you could say.” She eats a strawberry, not looking him in the eyes.

“You’ll find him soon.” He sits up straighter, she nods her head. “I hope so.”

Throughout the picnic they talk, messing with each other as they joke about the people they see or the animals that pass by. [Name] offers food to some of the animals.

And soon that smell that was bothering Carlisle seemed to be in the back of his mind.

Until they were skipping rocks and stuck in the rocks was a broken glass bottle they didn’t notice.

[Name] clumsily cutting herself. She hissing, holding her hand like a baby.

Carlisle covers his nose with his sleeve, holding it tightly. Turning away from him.

“Hey, Doctor.” She huffs out. “Yes?” He squints his eyes, trying not to grunt from the uncomfortableness.

“I need a little help here.” She chuckles but then hisses again from the pain.

“Right, follow me.” He guides her to their picnic. He rips an end of the blanket.

Biting the inside of his mouth as he holds her wrist to show him her hand. His nostrils flare as he inhales the scent of her blood outside of her body now.

Wanting to bring it up to his mouth.

She looks away as he inspects the cut before tightly wrapping it.

“I have to get you to my office. I have supplies that will help.” He insists, she looks up at him. “It’s bad?” She frowns.

“It needs stitches.” He nods his head, letting go of her hand and quickly cleaning their picnic area up before taking her to the office which is only a block away from the pond they found.

She hums to herself to calm down. Only wincing in pain when she moves her arm a little bit too much.

He frustratedly opens the door to his office. Restricting himself from attacking her in broad daylight and now having to do it with them alone. “Sit on that counter.” He orders, to which she follows, using one of the near by chairs to get herself up.

“I’m sorry.” She mutters.

“What are you sorry for, love?” He asks, trying to sound as soothing as possible as he gathers his things to clean her off and stitch up the problem.

“You seem agitated… I’m sure this is not what you wanted to deal with on your non busy day.” [Name] apologetically explains to him.

“I don’t mind it. This is what I do for a living.” He shrugs it off, now bringing the tray of things over to her.

Setting it down beside her. He looks down at the wrap and hesitantly takes it off.

The smell hits his nose and he grips the cloth in his hand that has her blood on it.

He makes a low growl like noise and [Name] furrows her eyebrows. He quietly apologizes and moves away from her.

“I can’t do this.” He mumbles into his sleeve, dropping the cloth.

“You can’t do your job?” She questions.

“I can’t do my job on you.” He turns around, his eyes piercing into hers.

“I’m sorry?” She tenses up, holding her hand to her chest.

“Your blood, it’s strong, [Name]. It’s strong and it hurts.” He cries out, holding his head as he backs away from him.

“My blood is strong? What is wrong with you?” She asks, getting up from the counter and going to touch him but her pushes her hand back.

“Stop.” He groans, he backs into a wall.

“You’re scaring me Carlisle acting in pain like this.” She worriedly watches him fight with himself.

“I need you to get out of here and never come back.” He sternly tells her. She doesn’t move, her body frozen in mixed emotions.

“[Name] do you hear me? Get out!” He points to the door.

“I can’t. You’re in pain! Let me help!” She steps closer to him and in a swift movement she’s not against the counter.

“I told you to leave.” He huffs loudly.

“I can’t fight it, I’m sorry.” He grips onto her.

“It’s okay.” She assures him. Touching his face with her bloodied hand.

His fangs come down and her eyes widen, but weirdly she’s not scared of him.

“It’s okay.” She says again.

“I could turn you. You don’t know me. I don’t want you apart of this.” He cries, no tears come down his face but his voice breaks in hurt.

“It’s okay.” Is all she says.

“I don’t need to know you to know I need you to be mine.” She quietly tells him, and finally after all the restrictions he’s put himself on, his teeth sunk into her skin.

The pain was quick like a pinch.

Requested by: @nephitis

#bella swan #jacob black #twilight #twilight x reader #alice cullen #carlisle cullen #jasper whitlock #jasper hale x reader #alice cullen x reader #esme cullen #carlisle cullen x reader #x reader #twilight imagine #rosalie twilight #the twilight saga #twilight saga #edward cullen #emmett x reader #rosalie x emmett #embry call #volturi #charlie swan #twilight x y/n

[wood-white-writer]

“Didn’t mean to make your heart Blue” || [9/…]

— OPLA!Buggy x F!Reader

“And I know no one will save me, I just need someone to kiss.

Give me one good honest kiss and I’ll be alright.”

— Mitski, “Nobody”

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

Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends.  In which there is lost affections, mentions of the past, and re-bonding over a bath. Unshared thoughts and feelings of regret return from years of negligence, and whereas some aspects remain buried, others have a chance to resurface from the depths.

Warnings: fem!reader, LA!Verse, slight canon divergence, morally grey reader, mentions of violence and blood, dual-pov (though primarily Buggy's), Buggy being a simp, implications of Buggy being a horny simp

A/N: AND HERE WE ARE! FINALLY, AFTER SO MANY WEEKS, THE NEW CHAPTER IS UP! Seriously, I want to thank you all for your immense patience and support. As I mentioned in a previous post, work has been hectic as hell and I know I wrote that this chapter would hopefully be finished last week, but life took its toll. Hopefully, you'll enjoy this chapter, though I myself have mixed feelings about it.

INCLUDES SOME SELF-MADE SKETCHES AT THE BOTTOM, so you’re warned

The sun warms your face as you breathe in the fresh scent of the sea. You’re lounging on deck, hands folded behind your head and feet hanging over the railings in a rather peculiar position, but you’re perfectly content.

Luffy benched you for the rest of the voyage to Arlong Park, a decision you initially found insulting to no short degree. Well, maybe benched is not the right term to use, but more like “I don’t want you to die, and I think you need to relax this once”.

You had argued that no, you’re fine and the love bites Arlong left you are nothing compared to the marks Mihawk left on Zoro, and he’s still up and about as usual.

But Luffy is firm about his decision, and what the Captain says goes.

So, here you are, enjoying some quiet all while letting your wounds heal, and it seems that nothing can hope to put an end to this ambiance that is—

“HEY! THERE ‘YA ARE!”

…. You spoke too soon. Way too soon.

A shadow falls over your face like a curtain and blocks the view of the sun. A shadow belonging to - you make a lucky guess - a severed head that’s been talking for way longer than a severed head typically should, in your experience.

You open one lazy eye to pinpoint the exact perpetrator and see a bright red dot staring down at you from Usopp’s grip.

Buggy winks at you, making those mildly irritating clink-clink noises.

“I can’t stand it anymore,” Usopp grumbles. “You take him! He’s annoying and keeps telling me my nose is too long!”

“Because it is, you shidiot!”

“It’s average!”

“That’s what your mom said!”

“You keep my mom’s name out of your mouth, you psychotic, fucking—!”

“Be quiet.”

Both the clown and the slingshot simultaneously shut their mouths before things have a chance to escalate on a non-verbal scale, and you take this as a sign that your break is officially over and buried ten feet under.

Stretching your arms out loud enough to pop a few vertebrae, you shift to lean your back against the railing and give both boys an unimpressed look-over, like a disappointed mother having caught both of her children in the act of something. “It’s too early for you to be making a ruckus.”

“It’s 11 am,” Usopp points out.

“Still too early.” Deciding that you’d rather not deal with this with more effort than you’re willing to spend, you return to your previous position. “Leave the head, or don’t. Just let me rest.”

“Fine by me.”

With a thud and an “OW FUCK!”, Usopp unceremoniously drops the clown and forgoes his Buggy-sitting duties to do whatever he wants to do, leaving you to pick up the slack.

A string of curses flow from Buggy’s mouth, which you only vaguely pay attention to. There was something along the lines of “Long-nosed asshat,” and “Right on the nose”, but you abandon all interest in favor of feeling the sun on your cheek.

“So…” you hear him jump a little closer. “Alone at last.”

You don’t answer.

“What? Don’t give me that! I thought we were good!”

You remain selectively mute.

“Hey! Don’t ignore me! I don’t like it!”

“You survived it for twenty years. I’m sure you can stand it for a few more minutes.”

“…. Seriously?”

“Mhmm.”

You don’t know what possesses him, but he keeps quiet for most of the next thirty minutes, and you take the time to continue basking in the sun. 

It’s a luxury you can rarely afford, and you’ll be damned if it gets ruined now or all time, least of all by him. You’re not going to even open the can of worms that is last night’s events, so you lock it in a chest to be dug up for another day. 

Not now. It won't be that long until you reach Arlong Park, and shit will go down. This might be the only chance you get to replenish your strength and gods do you need it now more than ever.

"… Hey?” Buggy starts.

You let him decide whether to perceive your silence as an opening or a locked door.

“I’m bored.”

“Tough.”

“Can’t we do something else?”

“We could fish. Your head might serve as a good bait.” Despite yourself, your lip tugs a little in what is supposed to be a halfway smirk. The image of Buggy dangling above the shark-infested waters from a hook to his bandana would be an entertaining sight to behold.

He swallows audibly. “Was that a joke?”

“Keep bothering me and we’ll find out soon enough.”

“C’mon! Don’t be like that! Seriously, I’m bored! Ain’t much you can do when you’re just a head… except to give one, but that’s beside the point.”

Too much detailing, you think. He wants entertainment of any kind; you want peace and quiet. What to do and how to kill two birds with one stone? You open one eye and let it drift over to Buggy, who in turn is staring intently at you. 

In the sun, you make out every detail of his rugged face. His make-up’s almost wiped completely off the skin, with only remnants of the red lipstick and blue diamonds vaguely in place. His stubbles have grown slightly, given the lack of access to a barber, and if you get close enough, he probably stinks of—

A lightbulb goes off in your head. A devious one, blinking to every corner of your brain. 

Despite what anyone thinks, you’re not above being petty.

With a push, you sit up and glance over at him. “Anything?” 

Buggy raises his eyebrows and nods desperately. “Yeah! Anything! As long as I ain’t got to sit here doing naught-shit, I’m game!”

You turn to him, put each of your hands to the edges of his jaw, and lift him a little closer to you. Whether from the sun or just him alone, he’s warm and soft under your digits.

“Alright,” is all you say.

Buggy beams much like the bulb in your head, and a loud bark of laughter erupts from his mouth. You almost pity him, pity him for being oblivious to what’s to come.

But it needs to be done.

There’s no other way around it and he’s had it coming. He deserves this, you tell yourself. He deserves every inch of ruthlessness you can offer, and you’ll deliver.

————

Buggy blanches, lips wobbling in horror as he slowly glances up at you. Betrayal fills his bright-blue eyes and, for the first time since Orange Town, he sees you as the beast you both know you are. 

He’s afraid.

He’s afraid of you.

He knows you can be vindictive; he knows you can be brutal, but in all the time he’s known you, he’s never perceived you as cruel.

Maybe it’s time for him to reassess that thought.

“No,” he whispers softly. “No, please.”

Your face is blank, and cold, and he doesn’t know if it’s a trick of the light or not, but there’s a shadow across your face that darkens everything but your eyes. Those bright eyes he used to hold in such high regard.

“You want my forgiveness,” you state calmly as you gradually lower him to his demise. “You have to earn it.

“Please, anything but this. I’ll do anything other than this!”

But his pleas earn no mercy from you. He wiggles in your grasp like a fish out of water, and as much as he tries to beg and move and free himself, your hold is iron incarnate.

Buggy lets out an ear-curdling scream the moment he feels the water under his neck.

“NOOOOO!”

————

Honestly, how childish, you think as you begin to soak him in the basin you procured from the kitchens. He hisses like a cat as you pour the water over his head, rinsing his hair. Try as he might, he cannot escape your grasp. 

It’s not even deep enough to reach his chin, and still, he acts like it’s acid he’s been thrown into.

But you’re determined, this has to be done.

“Oh, quit whining” you chastise, getting drops of water your way with all his scuttling. “You need this.”

“You’re gonna drown me!” he accuses.

“It’s soap and water, and it’s not even that deep.”

“You say that now, sure! But the moment you let go, plop! Oh, there goes Buggy the Clown! Taken from this world too early!”

You roll your eyes. “I’m holding you up, you’re not going to drown. Now, stop acting like a child.”

Buggy is restless and continues to thrash around for a good ten seconds more before finally relenting, a look of sour disapproval on his face. It’s so caricatured and animated that it threatens to make a suppressed chuckle leave your throat.

He still looks the same when he’s mad.

Now that he’s finally calm, you lower him so that the edge of his neck finally stands on the bottom of the basin. Then, you soak a rag and raise it towards his face.

Buggy flinches. “Can you …. Eh… leave the face?”

“There’s hardly anything there anymore, and it’ll irritate your skin if you leave it on for too long.”

“I think I can tell you what irritates me or not, like this bird bath for instance, thank you very much.” He scowls and edges further away from the wet rag. “Seriously, just leave it.”

“I’ll reapply the make-up.”

“… What?”

When you first boarded the Merry, you happened to find some leftover make-up hidden away in one of the shelves. It was strange, considering how the boat was freshly built, and imagined that one of the builders had taken some personal liberty in the large space before the project was finished.

For whatever reason, you didn’t throw it out, though you didn’t use it yourself.

If it can get him to accept the fact that he needs a wash, you’re willing to do it.

“I’ll put on your make-up if I can wash off what you currently have,” you clarify. “Deal?”

Buggy goes quiet, and his eyes widen slightly, but not out of horror or dread. It’s more like … when you catch the sight of something unexpected; a delayed reaction that stirs feelings you have yet to decipher. 

Finally, after some internal debates with himself, Buggy nods. “Fuckin’ fine then,” he utters, and despite the crudeness of his words, they’re lenient.

Content, you gently place your free hand to his left to keep him stable and use the other one to carefully drag the rag across his stained cheek. 

Buggy watches you intently through the process, never taking his eyes off you unless you’re wiping off the painted diamonds on his eyes. Your hands, for once, are soft to the touch. They’re soft for him, as though a single misplaced touch might shatter him like glass.

He used to be acquainted with the soft touches long before the cold and brutal ones. Soft fingers that pinched his cheeks as you helped apply the paint over his face. 

Soft touches against his arm when he was feeling particular for some reason, whether it was good or bad.

Your fingers intertwined with his’ as you came to terms with your captain’s death, sitting by the edge of the docks as the rain poured from above. It was cold, he was freezing, and too close to the waters for his comfort, but he wanted nothing more than to sit in the rain with you and share the heat from your fingers.

Even after everything, you’re still capable of reserving those touches for him.

After wiping the makeup completely off him, you raise the cup and fill it with water. “Close your eyes.”

He doesn’t want to, but he does and feels the water rushing down like the rain on those docks.

When he’s finally finished, you fish him up from the basin and put him down atop a soft towel on the table. Like a cat, he instinctively shakes off the residue of water, only to find you already raising a new towel towards him.

He stops moving, and you takes this as your cue to continue. You’re attentive, he notices. You wipe his face first, then his ears, then his hair. You dry it and scratch his scalp at the same time through the fabric, and he instinctively leans against your touch.

This is … nice.

“When did you cut your hair?” You ask out of the blue as you continue to dry him, making sure to leave no spot too humid.

He almost failed to catch onto your words with how at ease he is. “Hmmm?”

“You used to have long hair before,” you elaborate. “Why did you cut it?”

“…. Too much of a hassle to maintain,” he answers after some thought. “It’s hard to find the time to take care of it.”

“… I see.”

The truth is, he cut it right after he left. Not particularly clean either. You know that feeling you get when you feel like you’re losing control, and ridding yourself of any additional weight seems to relieve it? 

Well, that’s what Buggy did.

He cut it with a pair of rusty scissors, severing chunks at a time — some bigger than others — until all he was left with was pieces sticking out to each side like a madman.

It didn’t help though. It didn’t make him feel any lighter from the weight on his chest. From that gnawing feeling.

Still, he maintained the habit and got better with practice. It became more of a practical thing with time; he was a busy man, and he could do well with fewer things to get in his eyes, but it never eased the pain.

But feeling the tips of your fingers lightly graze his hair, however, he feels more relieved than he’s done in the last twenty years.

After a few minutes, you remove the towel and give him a neutral one-over. It’s the first time you’ve seen him as an adult without any of that makeup, and you’re reminded of just how much he’s changed, but also how he’s not.

Even after all this time, it’s still Buggy.

Buggy sees you watching him, and he can’t help but feel slightly self-conscious now that your eyes are on him without his usual armor.

But you don’t comment on it, nor show any surprise in any sense of the word. There are times when he hates your face, not because of anything superficial, but because you make it so damn challenging for him to figure out what goes in that brain of yours. He’s reminded of how you were when you were younger, how lifeless you used to be, and it feels like you’ve regressed to that state.

Another thing to add to the shitlist of things he’s regretful about.

He licks his lips and opens his mouth to say something when the door suddenly bursts open. Buggy jumps whereas you merely look over your shoulder to spot Zoro standing there, his eyes narrowed between you and the clown.

Buggy frowns.

“Zoro,” you speak plainly, as if you failed to notice his annoyance towards the spectacle presented before him. “Is there anything?”

“The hell is this?” His eyes flicker between you and Buggy like it’s the worst show on earth. “What’s going on?”

“He reeked,” you explain. “I have merely been rectifying it for the sake of our noses.”

Buggy wants to argue with the statement that No, he fucking doesn’t, but he suppresses it for the sake of figuring out where this conversation’s headed.

“Since when do we make it a habit of bathing prisoners?” Zoro asks, his hand resting on the handle of his sword.

“Since when have we had prisoners?” You counter.

The swordsman scoffs. “The clown’s needed upstairs in ten.”

“Sure.”

“I’m right here, you know?”

Zoro gives him a nasty look and nothing more before heading back out the door, shutting it with a forceful thud.

“Why do you even stick around with these nobodies?!” Buggy questions. “They can’t navigate for shit, they have no sense of preservation, and they suck at fighting!”

You shift back to raise a knowing eyebrow at him. “They defeated you, didn’t they?”

“That’s—! … I was outnumbered, it wasn’t a fair fight!”

“No fights are fair in the life of piracy,” you point out. 

He bites the inside of his cheek. “All I’m saying is, you’re too powerful to be with these losers. You could join my crew! Think about it! We’d be unstoppable!”

“You mean, join the same people who locked me up and whose asses I subsequently kicked?” 

“Exactly! Don’t worry, they’ll get over it! Once they see how awesome you are, they’ll accept you with open ar—!”

“I decline.”

Buggy pauses, his enthusiasm promptly vanishing and getting replaced with bitter disappointment. “You’re not even going to consider it?”

“Why would I?” You wipe away a descending drop from his right eye. “I have no interest in joining another crew.”

“You say that, and yet here you are with these losers.”

“I was never going to stay permanently.” 

He pauses. “You weren’t?”

“I’m here for Luffy, and once I’ve decided that he can hold his own weight above the waters, I’ll leave.”

“… Where will you go? After, then?”

It takes you a moment to answer, like you don’t know the answer yourself quite yet. Your hand stills for a moment before resuming with the task at hand.

“Who knows?” You shrug. “The sea is my home. I’ve missed it, so I will remain where the waves pull me.”

That won’t do on its own. Stay with me. Buggy wants to ask, and if he had knees, he’d ask on them. Come with me. Be with me. You won’t have to be an official member of his crew; you don’t have to bend to him. You just have to stay. 

Stay with him.

That’s all he’ll ask.

Stay with him until he has the opportunity to figure out a way to make it up to you. 

Stay with him so he can compensate for the twenty years you suffered in each other’s absences.

Just stay.

“Hey.” He’s surprised by his own initiative. “Why’d you even leave your crew and stick your feet on land if you love the sea so much?”

You raise an eyebrow in question.

“I mean, you were Captain of the Cross-Haired Pirates, for crying out loud! You used to be legendary!” He proclaims, almost saddened by your apparent dismissal of your previous title. “You had fame, berries, a reputation that preceded everyone! Everyone feared you! Why’d you ditch all of that? Because of that rubbery prick? Because of Shanks?”

“Is that really what you want to ask me?”

“Yeah!”

You sigh through your nose and put the towel down to recline in your chair. “I didn’t become a Captain because that’s what I wanted. I became a Captain because it provided an outlet.”

“An outlet? For fucking what?”

It takes you a few seconds to finally reach a suitable response. 

“Anger,” you admit calmly, your arms crossing over your chest as the words stir on your tongue. They must taste bitter. “I was angry, and it festered every day, churning into a poisonous substance in my body. Being a captain with a crew, I could take it out on whoever I wanted. Pirate, marine, unruly crew member, it didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered.”

It makes sense now, he thinks, the reputation you’ve garnered over the years. Beware the Beast in the East, people would chant in passing towns and harbors, like you were a ghost story. Her eyes were like swords, and her hands were twice as sharp.

There wasn’t a single place where blood didn’t paint your steps.

He never met you while you were a captain; he didn’t want to, couldn’t find it in himself to pop by even once. Still, he kept your poster hidden in the dark depths of the chest in his quarters, if only for acrimonious reminiscence. He would spend some drunken nights doing nothing but staring at it, and it was like he could feel your rage seep through the ink on the page and scorch his fingers. A reminder of what he did.

Now, looking at you and comparing you to the poster, he fails to see the resemblance. He doubts he could’ve spotted it had you reunited earlier on. Captain Cross-Hairs was sharp around the edges, with pecks of blood on her cheeks and fresh scars on her face.

He licks his lips in deliberation. “You were pissed… because of what?”

Because of me?

“I don’t know.” He watches your chest expand with your breath, mesmerized simply by watching you commit to living. There used to be a time when you didn’t. “I didn’t care about money or power. I didn’t care for much of anything, except to purge that rage from my body. I fought, and I killed. It helped, for a time; I felt satisfied, but after a while, you grow bored of eating the same meal.”

When he looked at you when you were younger, he imagined he saw the scorching sun. Burning and bright and enlightening. 

You were … everything, but he never imagined that the same fire that used to mesmerize him would burn a thousand ships in his absence. 

But he was a boy back then. He’s older now, more experienced in the ways of life, he knows better.

He knows enough.

"But the boy," you say with a certain gentleness in your voice that does not evade his notice. "He's good."

"He's weak," Buggy scoffs, feeling his belly fill with sour smoke. He recognizes the feeling. It's the feeling he got when he watched Shanks talk to you that night by the fire. The same feeling he got when he watched you stay with Shanks that day. 

"He's defeated every opponent he's come across."

"Didn't beat Arlong, though." Buggy points out with a smidgen of childish pride and smirks. "Got his ass handed to him real good if I remember correctly."

You look back at him in that narrow way you usually reserve for him when he's crossed a line, and he can already tell he fucked up.

"I watched him grow, Buggy.” You say firmly. “I was there for all of it. I watched him learn, I watched him fight, I watched him leave land. He’s not like us — he doesn’t waste time on regret. He’ll become better than we ever were.”

Buggy glowers but doesn’t say anything else, insisting on letting your words simmer in his brain until he can find the will to let them go.

You procure something from the drawers and it’s only when he looks down that he realizes it’s the make-up. With gentle hands, you lift him and place him in your lap, the brush already blue and ready.

“I’m not here to talk about what used to be,” you say. “Now hold still.”

The diamonds across his eyes come first, the brushing makes his face tickle and it’s only by sheer willpower alone that he manages to refrain from staring at you. 

“Takes us back,” he whispers and closes his eyes so that you can finish. “Doesn’t it?”

He hears something akin to a chortle that doesn’t quite reach your throat, but he considers it a small win.

“You looked a mess,” you answer. “A child could’ve done a better job than I did.”

“Wasn’t bad for your first try, though.”

Except that it was. It was pretty bad. Your hands were shaking, and you held your breath like you were afraid of making a mistake. By the time you were finished, he looked like a canvas painted by a child, but he didn’t have the heart to tell you that.

He used to think that it was strange. You were skilled at nearly everything you committed yourself to, without even trying. 

When he thinks back on it, maybe it wasn’t skill; maybe it was just an ingrained fear of failure that drove you to become the best at what you did.

Then again, your worst could never be the worst in his eyes.

You finish his eyes, and when he looks up at you, he sees the same determination and focus in your eyes as he did that day. It’s the same look you have when you’re targeting something, be it an enemy or a point of interest. It’s always the same.

And he can’t look away.

You move onto the crossbones next, and he’s happy he won’t have to close his eyes for this one. He’s not certain you can pull off his iconic look, but he’ll give you the benefit of the doubt for now.

After all, you strive for perfection. He doubts this will be an exception.

Get it? Perfection and except— You know what? Nevermind.

He can feel your attention in every stroke of the brush, feel the white paint glisten on his skin before it dries. Your warmth lingers like burning embers, he feels like getting too close will burn him, yet he wants nothing more than blisters upon his skin.

He looks at you, looks into your focused eyes, and he feels … something tightening, back where his body is. It could be his stomach, his head… other places, but he can’t tell. Arlong’s been busy abusing his body long enough that he can’t differentiate between a kick or a punch anymore.

But this isn’t Arlong.

It’s you.

He can handle a tight body if it’s because of you.

When he was young, and his body began to work in the way of a man, he would sometimes wake up and feel sweaty and … stiff. He knew enough to know what it was, to know what caused it, but he didn’t know how to approach the situation.

He knew the source of his frustrations. He knew how to alleviate them, but he didn’t. He respected you far too much to ever dare cross the threshold. He figured that simply talking to you, simply holding your hand, and being at your side would be enough. He would be content with just that.

But he watched you … develop. It didn’t seem like such a big deal at the time, but he couldn’t help but marvel at the sight. He imagined feeling your flesh under his digits. The softness across your chest and hips. The warm skin. 

He looks at you now, sees the scars peeking from under your shirt, on your face, and he wants to feel the rough edges. 

Buggy gulps and he’s rather happy now that the rest of his body is not attached to him. He’s lost enough dignity as it is.

“And now, the mouth.”

Yes, he wants to touch that t—

You take the lipstick, and in a straight line, smear it across his mouth in a way that snaps him out of his thoughts. He can feel the warmth emitting from your thumb as you finish his face, and it takes him half a mind not to—

“Done.”

Disappointment lingers in the clown’s visage, and even when you present him a mirror and see the identical likeness to his wanted posters, it does not alleviate the feeling. For what it's worth, he's impressed with how far your make-up-applying skills have reached since last time. 

It's perfect.

But it means you’re done, and the nobodies require his flashy expertise to get Miss Ginger back. 

You dump the discolored water out and put the rest of the equipment away, and he feels his head weigh another ten pounds at so. He somewhat hopes it would; maybe it would be heavy enough that you wouldn’t bother carrying him up the deck?

… Oh, who is he kidding? It’s you. You won’t have any trouble in that department even if he were to weigh as much as a boulder. Ten boulders, even.

To his surprise, instead of reaching for him, you lounge back into your seat and nonchalantly cross your arms and ankles. He’s confused. Weren’t you going to go up with him already?

“If Zoro needs you, he can get you himself.”

That’s what you’ll leave it be like. He, freshly washed, dried, and painted. You, just casually sitting like you have no urgency to get back to the world.

“He’ll be pissed at you,” Buggy warns. “And probably threaten to throw you into the sea.”

You shrug, your eyes already closed, giving him no indication whatsoever that you’re particularly concerned with the veryscary swordsman. He grins with all his teeth on show.

Unfortunately, the green-haired asshole turns up not even five minutes later. All but ripping the clown by the roots of his hair and taking him away like a sack of flour. Buggy spews curses and threats, but they all fall on deaf ears.

It’s only when he’s positioned on deck that he’s finally free of his torment, if only for an hour or two. He begrudgingly instructs the long-nosed slingshot where to sail, adding a few creative insults along the way. Hey, it’s not Buggy’s fault they’re too easy to rile up.

“Is that long nose compensating for something?”

To which he earned a slap to the back of his head. From whom, he doesn’t know, but he’ll take his victories in whatever light weight they come in.

After a while, he shifts his head to eject another insult to the slingshot when he sees that you’re standing a few feet away, your arms crossed while leaning against the railing; eyes closed but face focused and attentive.

He cuts his verbal daggers down a notch.

It gets late, the sky darkens, and one after another, the crew members resign to their chambers save for the slingshot, who still insists on going for a while longer. Him, and you, surprisingly enough. 

You stay, for all of it; neither complaining nor muttering a sound. 

You're stoically positioned on the sidelines, hardly moving at all. He would've died if he'd been standing in the same position for more than one hour, but you endured a total of six without a shiver or a strain. Like a soldier in the rain. A monk in a temple of thorns. 

A beast in an empty forest, lonesome in its hunger, yet content with what content remains buried in its stomach for the time being.

Long-nosed slingshot finally calls it a night and withdraws from the steering wheel with his hands outreached for the head. Before his dirty fingers can hope to graze the magnificent head that is Buggy's, you stretch your arm out like a shield between them.

"I'll take him."

Slingshot snorts. "Really? You want to?"

"Do you want to?"

With his hands raised in mock surrender, Slingshot relents. "... Fine, be my guest."

With a nod, you take the head and retire back to your chamber on the ship. Buggy yawns in your arms, tired, but satisfied with the warmth embracing him. Your steps feel like waves with each one you take, nudging him further and further toward the edge of sleep. Only unadulterated stubbornness keeps him awake.

It darkens for a moment. When he rouses back, he feels softness underneath him. A pillow of sorts, not comforting enough to offer him sleep, but enough to keep him relaxed.

He nudges around, like a fish in a small bowl, only to find that he's not on the table, nor in a barrel, nor a bag. The surface beneath him is made of fabric, and swings with his movements. 

He's in a hammock.

More precisely, your hammock.

“Sleep.” He hears your command. 

He finally locates you, seated by the window of your cabin with your palm under your chin, staring out into the darkened ocean.

He turns, voice diluted with drowsiness. “You too…”

“Soon.”

“Now," he almost whines.

The look you give him is not any different from the kind you usually provide, but it lacks the usual undertone of annoyance. He can tell you're tired, even if you're refusing to show it. The shadows under your eyes stand out more prominently, even in the dimmed candlelight. 

With an inaudible sigh, you stand and while he expects you to move towards the hammock, he's disappointed to see you aiming towards the door instead.

"H-Hey, where are you going?"

"The kitchens," you respond. "You can sleep here for the night; I'll take the couch."

"That's not necessary!" He wiggles so that he can look at you from over the edge of the hammock, careful as not to fall from the height. A thought dawns over him, one that makes his cheeks feel warm. "We- We can share! I don't take a lot of space!"

"You still take up too much of it."

"Are you calling me fat?!"

He's almost insulted when you don't answer to contradict his assumption, yet despite the innate urge to defend his honor and spew shit at you, he decides to let it slide.

"C'mon! I promise I'll behave," he tries again. "You'll hardly notice me. Those couches suck balls anyway, so why not?"

He watches you give it some thought for probably a good two minutes. He expects you'll decline his proposition, finding that your own pride weighs more than the need for decent sleep. 

Then, you lower your shoulders in defeat and make your way over to the hammock. "Scoot over."

He obliges rather excitedly, and when he wiggles back a bit too much to make space, he can feel gravity threaten to drop him on the other side of the hammock. Before it gets to that point, you grab him by the side of his face and hold him until you can lift yourself and lay down. 

Only then do you lay him down, on the right side of your abdomen. He's mindful of the wounds that have yet to heal there, so he tries not to invade too much. Still, he can't deny, he's quite comfortable. Very comfortable. 

He's the most comfortable he's been in a long time - twenty years.

He surpasses the urge to push closer to you, share your warmth, and elects to look up at the ceiling instead.

"Hope you don't snore," he jokes, only to have a yawn follow promptly behind.

"I don't snore," you answer, deadpan. "Now go to sleep."

He's not convinced, but he doesn't comment on it. This peace hangs by a thread, and he'll be damned if it's cut short now of all times. He shuts his eyes, and in his dreams, he's presented with the sun on the blue skies above.

He feels warm all over.

----

Taglist: @kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk , @notyuralycat, @angeli-fucking-cat, @machinema7k , @shuujin, @avatar-lover, @gingernut1314, @autumn-slaves. @marvelouskatie, @floristoflillys, @dizzyenby, @redpool, @deliri-yum22, @aemondsb1tch, @ackroxia, @gayandfairycore, @knightsfavoriteprincess, @asterizee, @aamethyst23, @lizzie1107, @cyberwears, @heylookliisten, @f41k47, @beep-beep1, @crimsonflameproxy, @unpopular-sober-thoughts, @rayleeya, @timeladyrikaofgallifrey, @fanshavegottensotoxic, @fluffybunnyu, @sirenmelody23

(If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

(Additionally, some sketches of how I imagine Cross-Hairs to look like while I’m writing.)

#buggy the clown #buggy x reader #one piece live action #buggy the clown x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #buggy one piece #buggy x you #buggy the clown fanfiction #buggy x female reader #DMTMYHB #didn’t mean to make your heart blue