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millerscoffee · 8 months

Note

reader lives in jackson and is friends with tommy, so she sees joel relatively frequently, and they just DONT get along. the reader is young and she’s got a sharp tongue and cheek that irritates the shit out of joel, who shoots back just as much condescending insults. they literally can’t be in a room without getting into it. however, the reader does it for his attention (she’s got daddy issues), and joel doesn’t catch onto this until she’s knocking on his door at midnight because she can’t sleep and she needs him and she doesn’t know how to admit it. he pulls her in the house and absolute filth ensues. he makes her blow him and then they fuck. joel is smug and condescending the whole time, and reader just becomes a ragdoll. Size kink, dirty talk, daddy kink, creampie/breeding, the works PLEASE

you got it, anon! ✨ this was requested on @atticrissfinch's page too, go check it out! i love how the same request can elicit two different stories. i did my best not to read it before i finished this (it was as difficult as it sounds cos HOO BOI 😅🥵♡)

only daddy that'll walk the line

6.2k | joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+ MDNI

warning: big mean dom!joel™️ lmao, alcoholism (reader's dad, but also drunk!joel for a second - **this is not in the smutty scenes**), parental abuse (verbal, it is brief), smut, age difference (joel is 56, reader is 18-early 20s - your choice), size kink, dirty talk (joel's a talker more than his usual grunty self), name calling (bitch, brat, slut, etc.), light praise kink & like- two pet names, ✨ degrading language and acts ✨, edging, choking/gagging, hair pulling, creampie, breeding kink, daddy kink, spitting kink!!!, spanking, oral (m receiving), no prepping the reader, brat tamer!joel, bratty reader, if i missed anything lmk

summary: based in jackson, you have the unfortunate predicament of being friends with tommy miller and hating his brother, joel – and you have no problem in letting either of them know that! until one night you are brought to joel's doorstep.

A/N: this is my first request! thank you! huzzah!! hopefully it's to your liking, nonnie. he's big mean dom!joel™️ but with a conscience yknow?? enjoy ♡ i did proofread this, but i wrote it over the course of a couple weeks. i did my best! lol

"Dude, what's his fucking problem!?"�� You roll into the dining hall in a huff. Shuffling to your seat for dinner, you slam your tray down and Maria gives you a combined look of worry and irritation at peace being compromised.

"Who, honey?" Tommy asks, handing you a glass of water with an entertained grin because he's positive he knows just who you're talking about.

He'd seen the two of you go at each other's throats earlier in the day when you were trying to get by him on your way out the door. His back was to you, and he all but ignored your request to get out of the way. Causing you to shove past him, which ensued an argument between the two of you. Which led you to both of you gunning each other with your words until you both left in a bad mood.

Joel had his back to you, his frame fully in the doorway as he spoke with a woman in town. It started off slow: a few clearings of your throat, a slight nudge of his back. No avail.

"Excuse me," you shouted, pushing at him again before he finally turned around quickly with his jaw ticked.

"Do you have any manners, Christ." He said dry and muttered under his breath, but the lady made room for you and you nodded politely in her direction.

"Maybe if you weren't so fucking old, you could've heard me!"

"And watch your fuckin' mouth."

Joel turned his back to you, not giving you a moment to retort. Conversation over.

"This fucker," when you look up, you see Joel coming towards the table. The sight of him gives you a set of shivers you can't explain. Not complete disgust, but certainly not excitement.

"You really oughta keep better company," Joel tells his brother, sitting down beside him, he frames his entire body towards Tommy so he's sitting in a way to make you feel ignored.

"I'm right here, you know." Your head is moving so you're in the line of his vision.

"Don't remind me. Listen, this is a family dinner. Go find your own."

A slap in the face would've hurt less. Before Tommy or Maria had the chance to come to your defences – both of their mouths open ready to take up for you – you stood up, shoving your tray over to Joel. So loud, other people turn their gaze to the four of you.

"Fuckin– eat up, then."

As you storm off to your house, you hear Tommy scold his older brother but you don't look back.

---

The next morning, your father wakes you up to the sound of his own yelling for you to come downstairs. You'd been helping out Maria and Tommy to get your own place, or at least a shared one with people your age and to hear your dad's voice; whiskey-soaked and cruel, makes your stomach churn.

After slipping on your clothes for the day, you make it to the kitchen where he's sitting at the table and reeking from alcohol even from where you're standing.

"Didn't you hear me call you?" His words were slurred and angry.

"Yes, I'm sorry." It's such a difference from how you talk to other people, talk to Joel, for example. Maybe because he's the last person you spoke to, but he's the first one who pops into your head during this interaction. You sound meek, scared to say something wrong. A stark difference from how you speak to Joel – abandoning all worries of punishment. Almost like you wanted that from him.

"Fuckinbetterbe – hiccup – breakfast. Now." Your dad all but snaps his fingers and rage creeps up the back of your throat, biting your tongue so hard you break the surface layer. A slight streak of blood coats your mouth, but you do as you're told.

This morning is kinder than others. Your dad did not say thank you for the pancakes, you didn't get hit or debased too much. You consider it a win. Once you leave your house as soon as you can, Joel's chest hits your face as soon as you turn the corner. The milliseconds seem long when you're met with the warmth and solidity of his chest, the scent of cedar and... whiskey? It seemed too early, even for him, to be drinking and you shake off the unreasonable rationale that he should be treated differently than your father for the same behaviour.

You ignore the similarities of him and your father all together, actually.

"Watch where you're goin'," Joel's brows are knit together, which is normal for him, but you've never been this close to see his lips from this angle above you. You almost say something out of the ordinary for the two of you, but you reel it in quickly.

"You're one to fuckin' talk. Morning coffee smells a lot like alcohol. Maybe I should tell Tommy about your habits."

"Does it ever hurt your head bein' a bitch all the time?"

"Not as bad as that hangover will be around noon. Move."

You push past the large build in front of you with a clenched jaw, unable to be around him a second longer. "Fuck you, Joel," you mutter for good measure on your way to Tommy and Maria's.

They'd given you safety on days when it seemed scarce, and showing up felt appropriate. You were a little closer with Tommy than Maria. He was able to listen to you without being too judgy, and you needed that. The lack of safety piece was a lot like how your day started off. You walk around to the back where Tommy's working on a new hobby and you sit in front of him, letting out a big sigh.

"Y'daddy givin' you trouble again?"

Typically when Tommy asks about your father he says it like this, but today it catches you off guard. Confusion twists your mind, but you nod distractedly. "Yea, he was drunk this morning. Your brother, too."

You slide that one in fast.

Tommy fists through his hair, letting out a heavy exhale. "Shit. We both got trouble this mornin', I guess."

"Seems like it."

You're unusually quiet, looking at the ground more than anything. It bugs you that Joel and your father have a similar quality to them. That they both are up reaching for the bottle, but for Joel it's not a common occurrence and that makes you worried – an emotion you don't have for him that often, if you're being honest. You don't think about his experiences that often. But this is the first time, really, you've even seen Joel drunk like that. You remember Tommy mentioning that he'd given up the stuff since Sarah's passing when everyone was around a fire one night sharing stories.

As if the dots connect in real time, you look over to Tommy who looks worried sick.

"He'll figure it out," you reassure, chewing the inside of your cheek before heading out. You call behind you, "I'll be around."

You've never really been good at the whole 'being there for someone' thing.

Later on, you find yourself in the mess hall again for the night's dinner and you catch Maria, Tommy, Joel, and Ellie all together and it feels weird to sit with them. They're all laughing, Joel looks sobered up. And it seems that Tommy didn't bring up the conversation the two of you shared. They look like a happy family and twists a knot in your throat and the proverbial knife at your side.

"Can I please spend the night at Tommy and Maria's? Please?" Ellie is looking over at Joel with the sweetest expression, you snicker to yourself at how menacing she actually was. It seemed to do the trick, though. Joel's eyes flicker over to you, and it feels like you're being caught for something. The look is inculpatory without you doing anything. As if to say you are witnessing something too personal, a side of him not meant for you. "Yeah, sure," his response to Ellie sounds distant.

This gives you no choice but to walk up to the scene, to sit down beside Maria. She gives you a welcoming grin and makes space for you. "What'd I miss?" You look over to Ellie who's excited to see you, but Joel? Not so much. His eyebrows narrow down his face, suddenly more quiet than usual, even for him. You set your sights back on Ellie who's telling you all of the cool things she's gonna do at her Uncle Tommy's and you flash a smile that lets her know you're listening. Or at least trying. It's hard when Joel isn't even initiating the usual conflict with each other. More arguing than speaking. And the fact it wasn't happening was off.

"That sounds like a blast...," you trail off, your chin in your hands.

"If you're not gonna listen to her, don't ask her questions." Joel barks, eyes now solemnly black in your direction. It makes you scared and delighted at once. Like he was back to normal. Your normal.

"I was listening to her?" You retort, and everyone's quiet now. Awkwardness filling the air as the two of you battle it out. "Maybe if you weren't so drunk all the time you'd know the differen–" "Hey, now." Tommy chimes in, giving you a stern look of disapproval and you feel bad. Reflective. Joel wasn't drunk all the time, and you knew exactly why he was this morning.

You exhale, "I'm sorry," you nod in the direction of everyone but Joel and stand up from your seat, "enjoy your family time."

On your way back to your house, you catch a glimpse of a group of people your age. People you'd grown up with, but they didn't acknowledge you and it digs the wound closer in. You truly felt alone. Like nothing fit, and maybe you didn't belong in Jackson but it wasn't like there were many choices to go to.

---

More times than not you sneak into your room. Not because you are past a type of curfew, you were an adult. It was more, you didn't want your dad to know you were around. Your door was locked when you climbed in through the window.

You got comfortable, spilling out of your clothes for the day and into your pajamas. Cotton shorts and a loose tee. Your breasts perky and nipples taut from the worn fabric. A lot of the day was spent dealing with heavy subjects that you just wanted to let your mind escape.

Staring at the ceiling in your bed, your eyes become blurry in need of sleep. Needing release. Anything.

Your mind wanders to why Joel was so quiet with you when you sat down. It wasn't like that was the first time the two of you had a shouting match in front of everyone, but this felt different. You deduce it to Joel having an off day and let your mind wander somewhere else.

Or, at least you try.

Because when your hands explore your body under the blankets, Joel comes back to life in your thoughts. You come back to the warmth of his chest when you ran into him this morning, the grunt that left him from impact. What that would sound like against your ear. Before you know it, you're shifting your thighs together, spreading the mess of your cunt. A craving ignites your bloodstream.

It's slick between your legs when you sit up, and you're full of determination unbeknownst of where it's coming from. The act itself is a little heady, but you have nothing to lose so why not?

Slipping on a pair of shoes and a jacket that covers your clothes, you turn your back to the window and scurry down until you're able to jump off onto the grass. One step close to where you want to be.

Joel's house is across the street which makes it easy to get to, but aggravating when you want a sense of peace. He's always around, shooting you a menacing stare when you're not down each other's throats but there's an ache you can't deny. A compulsion.

You knock on his door twice before he swings it open almost like he saw you approach, but he doesn't tug you inside like you thought he was. Doesn't make you get on your knees or fulfill any fantasy of being used. Of... making him proud.

"What?" His question is dry and a part of you is crushed. He isn't taking advantage of the way your legs look in your shorts right away.

"You're not the only one who had a bad fucking day," you start, but he doesn't give you a moment to push through the door because before you know it you're being pulled inside. The sound of a slamming door somewhere behind you. You're forced to look at him with his paw wrapped around your jaw, thumb tilting your chin up effortlessly. It locks you in place.

"You came here. Why? Y'want me to fuck your bad day away?"

You gape is panicked, eyes wide now in this compromising position. You can't think, you can't nod or say words. You just stare.

"She's real fuckin' quiet now," Joel shoves you against the closed door, not letting an inch of space be wasted and he takes your wrist with his free hand, palming you over his hardening cock in his jeans. "How about now. You payin' close attention?"

You whimper, nodding softly as your fingers massage and rub, tug at anything you can through the fabric.

"Did I tell you y'could do that?" His words make you pause, shivering at how truly empty your mind is in the moment. Even in your inexperience you don't know you've ever felt so instantly timid. Joel makes you fold at the first hint of misbehaviour. You can't think of a thing to say. Halfway don't know why you're here in the first place, and he's got you so wet from this it almost hurts. Stickiness coats your thighs as you squeeze your legs together and you're sure it will be obvious even through your cotton shorts.

You shake your head, and he's sick of you not speaking to him. Squeezes your face tighter, "Use your fucking words."

"No... no you didn't," you manage and you've never heard yourself sound so pathetic.

"I didn't, that's right. You answer to me." The snapping sound of his words causes your eyes to roll in annoyance. He doesn't own you, he never fucking could. The action makes his jaw tighten, his hand from your jaw in a grip that didn't hurt now is wrapped around your throat and although it's not tight, it certainly isn't loose. "What the fuck was that?"

You're back to being silent, unable to do anything but take.

"Not asking again."

"I rolled my ey–"

"You rolled your eyes. Roll your fuckin' eyes at me again, little girl. You'll regret it."

A cool threat, you think. Meaningless, even. What possible reproach would he have anyway?

It's then you take in the house. You'd been here once before to stay with Ellie. It's dark, a single lamp upstairs. All of this is background noise to the drone of your need prickling your youthful skin. It's apparent, your age difference, when you're this close. His rough fingers, wrinkles catching the moonlight peeking in through the windows.

"I–I'm sorry," you've been saying that a lot lately.

"Don't apologise to me. Don't say sorry when I know you're not." His thumb moves from your chin to your lips, thumbing over just how pliable and soft they are and it sends your nerves to the surface. Prying your lips apart, he presses inside and you willingly wrap your lips around it to lap the pad of his digit. "Look at that sweet thing," he says, more at you than to you, and your neck flushes being this willing to suck for him, "so easy for me to use. I put my thumb to y'er lips and you just took it right in, didn't ya?" The taste of his skin robs you of any other sense, his tone making you all but fold.

"Show me what this mouth is good for, 'cuz it sure ain't good at a sincere apology."

Before you know it, you're on your knees. Joel is kind enough that he ushers you down onto the hardwood floor and you can't believe you're face to face with his crotch in front of his door, no less.

"You couldn't wait to take me to your bedroom?"

Joel doesn't reply straight away. Instead you hear the clanking of metal, a zipper coming undone, and the slap of his cock hitting his abdomen on the way out of his pants. You take mental note that he hasn't been asleep by his attire, but it's all for nothing when your eyes make out the shapes in the dim light. You choke when you see just how big he is.

He tuts, leaning his head condescendingly as he takes a chunk of your hair in his palm to tilt your chin up to greet his cock. "Aw, you think you're goin' t'my room?" The words make you feel naïve, the one or two times you've done something like this didn't have nearly as much... compromise. And you certainly didn't hook up with someone twice your age. You don't have time to be self-conscious because the head of him, the leaky head of him, is tapping against your lips and your eyes roll back as you open your mouth for him. After jumping slightly in surprise, of course.

He sighs in relief with a deigned smile, pushing his hips further. "Fuck. You hear that? Nothing! Sounds so fuckin' good, shuttin' you up."

But it's not entirely nothing, is it? Not with your gagging, slurping up what you can but you don't know what you're doing all the way and fumbling through half of it. Doesn't seem to faze him much.

It's obscene as it feels, him using you like this – and you don't feel an ounce of guilt when it's exactly what you want. The switch flips on why you came to his door in the first place. His big thumb swipes over the corner of your full mouth, "You like that, dontcha, filthy thing?"

And you hated how right he was. You wanted to scream, kick him. Retaliate in a way so you could still be in this submission at the same time.

Your mouth was full by the earthy taste of him, obliterating whatever feelings you had about the day. A bad mood that he had contributions in, but it's melting from the constant thrust of his hips. And he's keeping your head locked in place, hand gripped in the strands so you can feel your spit mingling with the underside of his cock. Honestly, every part of his dick is covered in your spit. It spills down your chin, threatens up your nose when you gag, leaves your eyes to water when you look up at him in a dire need to breathe fully, but he's not done with you.

Not until the loudest, lewdest pop from your mouth you've ever heard does Joel break contact completely. Steps back until you're being observed in a patronising way. Your gone expression. All saliva and tears and his precum smeared over your mouth. You can barely bring yourself to look up, but his demands seem to do the trick.

Snapping his fingers at you to get your attention, you swallow hard. "Nuh uh. You're not gonna get all soft on me, girl. Wake the fuck up."

Which would be simple if he wasn't practically dragging you by your hair, making you crawl on your hands and knees until you're on your feet and you're shoved onto his couch.

All that and you're still dressed.

"Off," he's barking commands like you're a trainable being and if you were in any other state, you may reconsider this whole ordeal, but when he pushed you onto the couch your legs spread just enough for him to see the wetness smearing the cotton at the apex of your thighs and that amuses him. "not good at hidin' how much of a slut y'are."

"You think it's just you that does this to me?" You find your voice again, hoisting yourself up to sit on his couch as his cock – thick and proud – sways against the fabric caught between it. Your tongue presses to your cheek when you make eye contact, "You're kidding yourself."

The venom drips so fluidly from your tongue, Joel doesn't make a sound. Just peels off his clothes until he's standing there naked in his house, giving you living proof that you are kidding yourself.

The silence speaks for itself. He is pure smug under the sight of your drooling gaze.

"It's real cute that you think y'got control over the situation n'all," the weight shifting on this couch from the cushion shaping around his knee. Joel sits down, taking you by the scalp again to cloak you over his lap stomach-first, and you yelp in surprise when he does all of this and tugs your shorts down in one fell swoop.

With your hair in his fist, his other hand ghosts over your ass in effort to make sure you squirm for him before administering a devilishly loud spank to your ass. "But somebody better teach you better manners. Sure as shit itn’t your father."

You crack out a sob at that– from the contact and the truth. You couldn't retort, you were too busy getting slap after slap against your increasingly worn ass to think about anything else. "Lucky I ain't making y'count. You'd have this for eternity now."

Not that it mattered anyway. He's leaving mark after mark of his large handprint across your cheeks, probably ten more if you could even focus on anything else but finding the words to stop him.

"Please– y-you're right," tears stain your face as you bury your face in your arms. Flinching when Joel moves, you expect another searing punishment, but instead he pulls your ass apart and you gasp at the cool air striking your cunt that's hot and wet for him. "Joel!"

“Dirty fuckin’ girl, wet from gettin’ punished. I talked so bad about you, and you liked it? You’re as desperate as I thought. Only good for gettin’ my cock wet.” And it’s like a lever is pulled when your slutty little smile plasters over your face with him out of view. Not that you had much time to gloat, or to experience the pleasure of living in your own fantasy because Joel’s got you pulled again. His thick thighs spread apart when he maneuvers you so willingly to sit between his legs. Right where he wants you. Right where you can feel the throbbing pulse at your folds. He tells you to take off the rest of your clothes and you would be a fool to do otherwise.

“Bad girls don’t get the luxury of bein’ opened,” that Texan drawl slips over your ear when he holds the base of his cock, slicking himself through your folds, you gasp and wriggle against him – his grip tightening harder. Silently warning you if you make another move it’s over, you’re done. It’s over. All the while the searing stretch of him causes your cunt to flutter and clench around him. It’s too much, too overwhelming, and he won’t let you adjust long enough. “You’ll get over it,” but it’s not reassuring. He still sounds in control despite his laboured breathing and when he can, he moves his hands to grip your hips and guide you down on him. You scream, a knee jerk response wriggle away from him, but this position doesn’t quite allow for that.

“Be a good girl.”

That folds you, quite literally, as he moves his hips down to pound up into yours, using you like his own toy to get himself off with. And it’s just the incredible sounds of your squelching cunt and his balls tapping against your folds. The fucking isn’t frantic, but it certainly isn’t soft. He’s rough with you, a hand traveling up your back to grip your hair so your neck is back in place and he lifts you upright so your back is curved, neck craned so if you tried, you could make him out – upside down. “Poor thing couldn’t help it, had to get a daddy to take care of her. You want that, kitten? Wanna be used and as daddy’s little fucktoy – only good for makin’ me cum?” his hand sneaks around to the front of you with his free hand, he presses and digs into your pubic bone to make you feel exactly where he is. “Put a baby right here. Make everyone know what you fuckin’ did.”

You whine, eyes rolling back at the thought. It was so obscene, nothing like you’d ever even heard of before. Where did he fucking learn how to talk like this? Your brain is swimming while your sticky sweetness coats his lap, clawing at his thighs for any sort of stability, but it was dizzying how he had you. How his grunts filled the air in between slaps like he had your hips placed at the perfect angle for him to work you.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” His gritting teeth by the shell of your ear, he keeps you secure within your hair to snake his arm around the front of you tugging and rolling at the sensitive nubs of your nipples. When he feels you appear to drift off, those rough hands supply another smack, but to your tits this time, your fingernails clawing into his thighs involuntarily as you squeal in surprise. You tighten at that, fluttering around his cock and you feel it at the edge. So close you can almost taste it.

But he knows you’re close, too, and there’s no way in hell he’s giving that to you. Not when you’ve barged into his house like this, not when you’ve done nothing but be an insufferable brat to him since the moment he came to Jackson.

Joel hovers you over his lap, and your heels dig into the floorboard. His hips still, keeping the very tip of his cock inside of you – you feel panic flash over your body. “No,” it’s the first word you’ve uttered in god knows how long and it sounds desperate. Any hope of getting an orgasm swirls down the drain, and it’s set in stone when he pushes you on your back – the lumpy couch digging into your skin. “No, no, please. Why!”

His eyes could burn a hole through you. Like a hungry dog, his body hovers – shoulders stooped, head down when he pours his gaze into you. And he likes what he sees. Legs open and begging, willing to do anything to get him back into you. Your cunt glistening, even in the dull light and he can tell it’s pulsing. “Poor thing’s clampin’ around nothin’,” he teases, grunting when his knees meet the couch cushions – another tell of his age. But you, you’re too preoccupied in taming the ache between your legs to comment. It burns, coming back to a fixed state you realise how stretched out you were and it’s more than overwhelming. To know you haven’t been used to completion, all hope draining from your face.

“Joel,” your breath is shaky underneath him, pupils blown and wet when you make out his features, “Joel, please. Please, I want this.”

“Darlin’, I know you want it. Everybody in town knows you want it,” his words make you sob a whine as they approach closer to your neck, the delicate graze of his beard dances at your pulsepoint and you shudder. Hips raise and he’s quick to slam them back down into place. “If you want me, ‘Joel’ ain’t whatchu say to get me.”

And if you felt hopeless before, you really do now. Unable to do anything but debase yourself for your own pleasure. You’d heard it earlier, the way he referred to himself with a name that brought up mixed feelings at Tommy’s. You swallow down embarrassment, looking him in the eyes – which were faded obsidian, your fingernails dig into your own thighs as if to brace for what’s tempting to slip out of your throat.

You hated that he made you nervous.

And you hated the hold he had over you.

But he had it, there was no doubt about it. He had it. He had you.

Your jaw ticks forward, fully aware of your clit screaming for attention and exhale shakily. “Please, daddy. Please, I want this.”

“Eh,” Joel muses, shaking his head, “I don’t believe ya. Really gotta hear the desperation in your voice. Maybe if I,” his hand reaches for his cock, slapping the sloppy head of it against your folds and that– that sends you. Takes you to a different destination entirely because for the first time all night there’s attention to that bundle of nerves, and he knows it. He knows you need this in order to give everything over to him in full. “Daddy!” you screech, pelvis jutting up in full inclination and without a single word, Joel’s cock spears into you all the way to the hilt. All the way to your cervix.

His hands, emitting heat and wrapped largely around your hips, locks you where he wants you like some animal in heat. It forces you to bring your legs up into a position you aren’t sure you’ve ever been in – thighs against your stomach, by your sides. It’s so, “deep,” you whimper, head rocking as your mouth flies open and he’s delivering you thrust after thrust of pleasure so wrecking no noise comes from you.

“Is that what you needed? Fuckin' brat,” Joel is still able to tease, but even he isn’t immune to how tight you are around him. Your fluttering core begging for release as it moves in and out around him – as if it’s doing its own begging. “You wanna be filled up to the brim with my cum, babygirl? Needy fucking cunt like you only good for matin’ like this.” Your skin burns at his words, your body convulsing as you do your best to keep it together.

That’s when Joel’s hand wraps around your throat, a line of spit falling into your mouth and you willingly drink from him. “You hold off, you ain’t gettin’ it tonight,” you pout for a moment, not fully understanding what he means by that, but he clarifies when his hips get sharper, more precise. As if his cock is hooked inside of you, not letting a drip of precum spill out of you against your cervix. “Y’ain’t cummin’, but I am.”

His grip around your throat gets harder, and you swear you can see every vein in his face rise to the surface when he uses you. You’re limp, all thoughts washed away – his cock thick and long, you aren’t even sure how he fits it all inside of you but he does. The edge of your stomach bulges as he works you, his neck cranes back to expose his neck and it’s too much to take. For both of you. His hot cum ropes cords inside of you, sticking to your walls. Filling you up is an understatement with how much he has to give you. It’s as if you can discern the moment his seed grazes your cervix in its sticky texture. Your head is swimming at the sound of your animalistic grunts, he looks so… fucking hot like this. His name is replaced with ‘daddy’ more easily than you care to admit. You do try not to chase your orgasm… a part of you does, anyway.

But you’re defiant.

You can take yourself there without him telling you to, and in fact the opportunity to disobey him is just what you need to send yourself creaming all over his cock. You gasp, eyes wide before they roll back and you’re fucking yourself on his spent cock that somehow still has life to it. Even for his age, he can still keep it hard for you after his seed coats your insides. “Daddy, daddy, daddy,” becomes part of your breath, and you’re shocked he doesn’t pull out of you even though his hips are still. You don’t notice it until you come down considering you’re using him. Did he say you could do that? As if you’re woken up by an alarm, you jerk at the sensation of the orgasm you snuck. Without his permission. You look up, and his knuckles are bleached around your hips. He looks so menacing like this, scary. You shake your head, swallowing hard in your attempt to fix things.

But it’s too late for you. You’re a brat at the end of the day, and he has to train you. Make you realise the error of your ways.

His cock is still buried deep when his middle finger plays where the two of you connect. A whine escapes you, shivering now, not quite sure what he’s going to do. He’s lethally quiet, you aren’t sure how to react. He’s contemplating what to do to you, he’s not met someone who’s as menacing as he is. As unwilling to give away freedom. Not since… his nostrils flare as he inhales.

“I told you not to do that,” Joel stating the obvious makes you clear your throat, his cock twitching inside you in the aftershocks sends your teeth to bite down on your lip and you shake your head, “I c- I couldn’t help it!” You lie, and he knows it. Compels him to prod that middle finger just above his cock inside you and the stretch is too much. When you reach out for his forearm, his other hand darkens over your wrist, pinning it back in a way that hurts. You wince in tandem with it and his monstrous hook of the digit inside you. You’re so full, “It’s too-it’s too much!” you tap at anything you can, but he’s not listening.

Instead, the pad of his finger has no problem in touching that spongy bit inside of you – especially since your cunt is stretched from his cock and he can see it. His cum tempts to pool out of you, but he shoves it back in, working his finger inside you repeatedly but he’s just rubbing. He’s just rolling his finger against your g-spot until you feel so overstimulated it brings more pain than pleasure. “Came like you knew what you were doin’,” he finally remarks, thumb rolling over your clit and you can’t take it. “Please, pl– it’s too much! Daddy!” That rhythm is sly, though, in making you come undone. Again and again. As you’re on the peak of what would be an explosive orgasm, Joel pulls out of you entirely. His cock, his finger. His warmth is a distant memory when he stands up, palming over his cock. How did he get hard again?! He would deal with that on his own time.

Your moan is choked out, thighs pressing together for any sort of… something. A release, a grind. You’re left panting and begging, your tits perky and heaving for him.

“What did I say, little girl?” He climbs into his clothes, one button up at a time with his flannel. “You won’t be cumming for a week with that fuckin’ attitude.”

You’re so lost in chasing a feeling, soon to disappear as it could arrive that all you can do is whimper and nod. “I’m so–” his hand grips your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. Spit covers your face, and you hum like a kitten at the feeling of his hot saliva down your cheek, “What did I fucking say about apologisin’ when you’re not sorry?”

You wipe your face, sucking the spit off your thumb with a satisfied smirk. “Fuckin’ loved it, daddy.”

He swallows then, his head shaking in disbelief over how much of a filthy bitch you are. “Yeah, yeah you fuckin’ did. Belong to me now, you understand? Gonna let everybody know what a slut you are for this cock.”

And you would be lying if you didn’t experience a swell of pride in those words. You’d be down each other’s throats again in no time, but the look of ownership that adorns his face over you is too much not to bask in.

“A week?” You study him, eyes wet and round, look up at him and you see his cheek twitch in response.

“Gonna be two if you keep it up.”

You let out a faint sigh, resting your head back on the armrest. “Yes, daddy.”

“Good girl,” he coos, leaning down to press his lips at the shell of your ear. Fingers tucking his cum back in your hole. He relishes in how hot you feel under his fingers.

“Now get the fuck out of my house.”

taglist: @cool-iguana - dm to be added!

#bee's requests #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x afab!reader #tlou smut #joel miller requests #dom!joel #brat tamer!joel #brattamer!joel #bratty reader #bratty f!reader

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fanaticsnail · 6 months

Text

Remember Me

Hello Shanks fans!

This work was requested by @aishabbbb, which I linked back to here for the full description of the prompt. This is my third (technically fourth because my thoughts ran away with me!) requested work that I've completed.

I'm not currently taking requests, but if you do want to see my writing style depict a specific idea, I will honestly most likely hyper-fixate on it until the idea consumes me if you do ask me nice enough. I do appreciate a good prompt! And seriously, who doesn't love an amnesia trope!

Word Count: 6,636

My Masterlist is here!

Echoes of gruff laughter lingered in the air as tankards of ale clanged against one another. It had been a while since the Red-Hair Pirates had made port and as they viewed a rowdy port full of lively music, contagious laughter and bursting at the seams with a variety of pleasurable company; they could not resist.

This port had been known for some time to be a lawless town, accepting of any journeymen as they resupplied their vessels, sailors selling their wares and even the odd Marine here or there had graced the town with their presence. The World Government paid no mind to the comings or goings, knowing should the port be shut down; their supply of rum would slowly dwindle away.

The Captain of the Red-Hair Pirates sat upon a stool at the rear of the room as he stared into the bottom of his tankard, watching the amber liquid slosh from side to side. He withdrew into himself; his former joy and carefree attitude no longer present on his features this night.

A woman with a painted face sauntered over towards the captain, swaying her hips as she overemphasized her intentions.

“Care for some company, sweetheart?” she asked him in a sultry tone as she took his hand in hers that still clasped the tankard. He made eye contact and smiled from the corner of his mouth before withdrawing the hand from her grip and drew his drinking vessel to his mouth.

“Not today, love,” he said, taking a drink from his tankard, “but I can point you in the direction of someone who would be more than happy to share your time.”

She smiled as Shanks gestured to his senior officer, who had a black bandana featuring a white jolly roger insignia atop his lengthy blonde hair. His expression was one of a displeasing grimace, black glasses concealing more of his irritation behind them.

“See if you can bring a smile to his face, would you?” he laughed slightly as she nodded as she made her way to her next target.

Plonking two fresh pints down on the table before him, Benn Beckman sighed as he sat on a stool facing his Captain; taking one of the pints and gesturing for Shanks to do the same.

“You turned her away?” Beckman questioned his Captain, “I thought you’d enjoy a pretty blonde giving you attention this time.”

“I’m not as open today as I have been any other day to the company of a painted lady,” Shanks laughed in response raising his pint and clanging it against his First-Mate’s, “or any other man or woman you’ve since such sent my way. You know this.”

“Oh,” Beckman uttered, eyes widening before looking down at the table, “I didn’t realise it was today. Sorry Cap’n.”

“Don’t apologise, Beckman,” he smiled at him before drinking from the tankard. He moaned slightly as the cool, bubbling liquid hit his lips and he tasted the bitter flavour of the hoppy amber ale.

“How long has it been since-?” Beckman began, halting his words in search for the more appropriate way of phrasing it.

“How long has it been since my bride was claimed at sea?” Shanks offered to complete his First-Mate’s sentence. Beckman nodded in response, gesturing with his pint for Shanks to offer his answer.

Shanks sighed and leant back in his stool, his back thumping against the small railing at the back.

“This day marks ten years,” he added with a sad smile. A silence fell between them as they reminisced the day the Captain of the Red-Hair Pirate’s wife was lost to him.

After a brief pause, they commenced their drinking as they surveyed the movements of the patrons and crew interacting with one another.

Beckman raised his tankard to his lips and begin to gulp with gusto at the frothing liquid. He trailed his eyes throughout the bar as he did so; looking to Limejuice as he grit his teeth tightly at the blonde woman’s incessant and unrelenting flirtation was thrust upon him.

He continued his assessment of the room before his attention was caught by a group of sailors laughing amongst each other, a woman throwing her had back at the joke uttered by one among them. Benn Beckman spluttered into his tankard, coughing as the amber ale entered into his wind pipe and corrupted his lungs with it. He continued to draw in his breaths while maintaining visual contact on the situation unfolding before him.

“Benn,” Shanks addressed his choking crewman, “you alright?”

The First-Mate continued coughing and spluttering, managing to relieve his lungs of the bitter substance and gasping in a long breath. His pigment all but fled from his face as he continued staring blankly at the bar in horror.

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Shanks laughed, placing his tankard down on the table before clapping a hand against the upper arm of Beckman’s shoulder.

“I-I think I have,” Beckman stuttered slightly before bringing his attention to his captain, “look to the bar and tell me if you can see her too, Captain.”

Shanks furrowed his brows in confusion, laughing lightly at the confession of his crewman before turning and immediately having the playful expression pulled from his lips.

“You see her?” Beckman asked him in a voice just above a whisper.

The Captain wordlessly rose to his feet, almost toppling the stool over in the process as he made his way to approach the woman. His bride, his queen. His whole world was carelessly and unaware of his presence as the melodical laugh fell from her lips; a sound Shanks never thought he would once again experience.

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

You tapped the chest of the older sailor in front of you as you continued to laugh at his joke.

“Harold,” you gasped, wiping a tear from your eye, “and that’s the reason you only have three toes on your left foot?”

“Honest to goodness, lass,” he continued to rumble laughter, his eyes twinkling with utter mischievousness, “the bloody crab nearly carved the whole lot off, if not for my quick thinking!”

He imitated the pinching movements of a crab’s claw and crooked his head to make himself look as crab-like as he could, prompting another roar of laughter to erupt between the sailors and yourself.

“Alright, I’ll get you that drink then,” you teetered your laughter and turned to address the bartender you had come to know, “Mary, give us a couple schooners of ale- the pale stuff if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Right you are, my love,” she acknowledged your order and began pouring the foamed liquid into two smaller cups.

It had been ten years since you found yourself lying upon the shore with no recollection of who or what you were before your arrival. Thankfully enough, your body was strong. You knew how to hold your own when it came to unwarranted and unreciprocated attention, often brawling with men to assert yourself among them.

As you needed a job to afford food, you managed to bully Captain Harold of the Angelfish Shepherds Fishing Crew and would accompany them out to sea, bringing in several catches a day and selling their many items throughout town. It was only when the sun would disappear behind the horizon, you would come home to the tavern: "Mary’s Resting Track" and make yourself comfortable with your crew at the bar; drinking well into the night.

Just as Mary had finished pouring from the keg, you felt an arm placed upon your left shoulder, prompting you to turn to face it's source.

“My bride,” a tall, red-headed man gasped in a voice above a whisper as he drew you in to place his lips against yours. You squealed at the tender impact, a smile pulling at the corner of your mouth at the sudden softness and passion you felt from the unknown man. You pushed on his chest slightly before creasing your brows in confusion.

“Steady on, Sailor. Save it for your wife,” you laughed at him, collecting the two schooners from the bar and placing one into the hands of Captain Harold, “or at least buy me a drink first!”

You laughed, prompting your crew to do the same as they raised their glasses and took a drink. You rose yours to your lips and drank from it, keeping playful eye contact with the sailor before you.

He was handsome, his red hair immediately drawing you in. He had a black cloak shrouding his left arm from view and a three-point claw mark over his left eye. His face held a shocked, sobering expression on it as if he was staring at something extra-terrestrial in make.

“Y-You,” he stuttered out, “Y-You’re.”

The words caught in his throat as he again reached his right hand up to attempt to secure a fallen strand of your hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. You swatted his hand away from completing the action.

“No,” you said firmly, playfulness leaving your face as your eyebrows collected themselves with a frown, “no one touches my hair. It’s out of bounds to even those who know me, and know me; you do not.”

You swiped his arm away fully away from your face while keeping a warning, reprimanding look on your features. He continued to stare at you, his eyes swelling slightly as they fluttered between your own; pleading with you and searching within them for a small shroud of recognition.

“She’s saving it for her beloved,” your crewman mocked you in a high-pitched tone, bringing humour once again to the room. You laughed at his jest, prompting you to turn away from the red head to scold his imitation.

“I don’t sound like that,” you laughed at him, prompting your crewman to again mock you by wobbling his head from side to side and scrunching up his face.

You turned back around to see the man again gazing with a fierce intensity born deeply into your eyes and managed this time to tuck a strand of your hair behind your left ear with his right hand. At this, you brought your own hand firmly up and struck the side of his face, all humour once again leaving you.

At the crisp strike, chaos erupted at the bar. A crew of pirates drew their pistols, pointing it towards you; while your crew of sailors pulled their own from their belt and aimed it at them in response. You kept your eyes completely fixed on the red-haired pirate as his face continued to hold a yearning expression.

“She gave you a warning, Sailor,” your Captain spat at him, “I don’t care how much ale you consumed, you respect the wishes of a lady.”

This seemed to shatter whatever illusion was held on the redhead in front of you as he looked to the assortment of pirates behind him. He held up his hands in defence of himself, taking a step back from his proximity near you and nodding his head in a deep bow.

“Easy, lads,” he smiled, “put them away. We don’t bring out our guns at one little slap.”

The crew focussed their attention on you as you shook your head and creased your brows at his address. He again turned to you, and bowed his head slightly deeper as an apology.

“You’ll have to excuse me, miss,” he uttered, “I didn’t mean to cross your boundary. It was reactionary, and for that I offer my most sincere apologies.”

Your gaze softened at his words as you gently used your pointer finger to raise his chin to look at you once more.

“Apology accepted on the condition of buying me and my friends a round of drinks,” you scrunched your nose with a small wink. He laughed at your remark, shaking his head and smiling once more.

“I would have to agree, miss. Definitely the next one on me,” he continued to gaze into your eyes as you withdrew your finger from his chin and tapped his nose with it playfully.

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

You didn’t remember him. That must be the only reason you didn’t hoist yourself into his single arm and cling yourself against him. Why you didn’t lean into the kiss and allow him to lace his hand into your hair and relieve your face from it shrouding your vision. The act so intimately solidifying your relationship in the early days, holding onto it as you spoke your wedding vows.

No-one was to ever touch your hair apart from yourself and your beloved were the words you spoke while dressed in your white, lace dress aboard the Red Force; Beckman performing the ceremony all those years ago.

You were married in your youth, relationship blossoming from friendship to something more on the Oro Jackson under the watchful gaze of Gol D. Roger. The subtle glances turned into subtle touches, turning into kisses stolen from within the hidden halls of the Oro Jackson as you would press each other against the walls and roam your hands along your bodies.

He was obsessed with your hair, and with each caress, each embrace, he would find himself absent-mindedly playing with it. You vowed alongside your commitment in matrimony that only he and he alone would be allowed to tuck your hair behind your ear in adoration; and you be the only one permitted to place a kiss atop the crown of his head.

Shanks had to contain himself as his soul screamed within the chasms of his chest to embrace you, to hold you against him and cry out in joy at your return. He didn’t touch another woman in the ten long years it had been since your last departure; the notion turning to ash in his mouth at the mere suggestion. It had only been until recently that Beckman prompted him to seek out someone to relieve his tension, but he felt it would’ve been an insult to the beautiful memories you shared with one another.

You were even in the process of early conversations on what starting a family would look like aboard the Red Force with his assortment of rowdy crew.

You would bicker at having the ship make birth permanently at a port, returning every two weeks to the solid shore as Shanks refused to halt his travels. He wanted you and the children aboard, rearing them alongside his crew; an idea you immediately shot down as you understood infants waking and crying at every interval and the disruption would not be fair to bring to the crew.

Shanks remembered Beckman adding to that conversation with: “We’re already getting sleepless nights from the sounds echoing the halls originating at your quarters!”

He chuckled at the memory before he remembered the fear on your face as the storm threw you overboard in your attempt to raise the sheet from the topmast and secure it in place. The black sky and torrential winds making it impossible to see your form as you struggled against the waves. He didn’t see what happened, only noticing your departure once they successfully made it through the storm and into the central eye of it.

The roar-like scream rumbling throughout the chest of the Red-Haired Captain still reverberating within the ears and memories of the entire crew as they recollect it every year. The pain shared amongst them as their captain bore his grief openly; drowning in rum every night before Beckman pulled him out of his rut with the reprimand: “this is not what she would have wanted.”

It mattered not what happened to him from that point. The pain of loosing you was far greater than any earthly injury could bring forth. He didn’t even bat an eye as his arm was claimed by a great Sea-Beast; consuming his flesh within it’s belly. He was more upset by the fact his golden wedding band perished at its disappearance.

And here you were, not a scratch upon you; laughing as if you had not a care in the world.

You had no memory. That was the only explanation Shanks had as he gazed lovingly at you, drinking your free ale at his expense.

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

You shook your head at a comment made by one of your crewmen as they suggested to hold a drinking competition between the red-haired pirate’s crew and your own.

“I don’t think I have enough booze in the house for that,” Mary laughed from behind the bar.

You smiled at her comment, turning back around to see the far off look in the red-head’s eyes.

“You know,” you nudged him with your shoulder, bringing his attention back towards you, “for someone that leads in lips first, you’re awfully quiet.”

He chuckled at your comment, expression softening but with a hidden depth you couldn’t quite understand.

“I’m not usually like this,” he scrunched his nose up with a smile.

“Rough time at sea, then?” you asked him, gesturing to Mary with two fingers to indicate your intentions of purchasing the next round for you and the red-head.

“Not particularly, its just-,” his words trailed off, prompting you to gaze your eyes; flittering them between his own two deep brown orbs before he took a deep breath and looked forward at his crew interacting with your own.

“You gestured for the good stuff, right?” she asked, placing two short, round glasses down on the counter; spiced rum swishing in the base as she did so.

“That I did, love,” you replied, placing down your berry on the counter and taking the glasses from it. You went to place the glass into the red-head Captain’s hands, noticing it was already occupied with a half-drunk tankard of ale.

“You keen on a rum?” you asked him, bringing his gaze up. He gasped out a quick hum, raising the tankard and downing the remainder of his ale with haste and placing the empty vessel atop the bar. He rose his hand to accept your offer and his fingers brushed against your own as he claimed the drink from your hand.

He looked down to your collar bone and noticed a single gold ring hung from a piece of fine leather around it. He furrowed his brows at it as to inspect it from his great distance.

“The gold band around your neck,” he gestured down to your left hand, “are you married?”

“Not to my knowledge, Sailor,” you laughed at him, “I was found with it.”

You sipped at the rum and creased your brows as the heavy alcohol entered your system.

“I apologise for slapping you,” you uttered, “I, uh. I made a promise, you see. I don’t really know what about or to whom, truthfully.”

He hummed at your comment, fixing his eyes on your face as you spoke. He trailed his eyes over your body, looking at you with an expression completely unreadable. Somewhere between: bewildered, surprised, great sorrow, relief, curiosity and apprehension.

“I don’t actually have a lot of that – knowledge, I mean,” you reiterated with a smile, “For the better part of ten years, I’ve been building back what I think I used to be like. I have no idea, though. I could’ve been some prissy young lass with a string of twelve children; or some standoffish, uptight cow-.”

“-You were never like that,” the red-head interrupted you, prompting you to snap your gaze up to meet with his.

“Do you know me, Sailor?” you asked him, your brows creasing together.

“Shanks,” he corrected you, “my name is Shanks.”

“Alright, Shanks,” you corrected yourself, “Do you know me?”

He sighed, drinking a small amount of liquid from his glass and looking to the rowdy crowd as their boisterous laughter echoed throughout the walls.

“If you want to talk about it, I’m going to need two things,” he said, downing the remainder of alcohol from his glass in one quick swell, “another drink, preferably a bottle this time.”

You laughed at him, before asking; “and the other thing?”

“Privacy,” he uttered with a small hint of sadness. You expressed concern within your eyes before patting him on the back and rubbing small circles in comfort to him.

You weren’t sure why you brought your hand up to comfort him, it seemed almost reactionary. A natural instinct of familiarity; organic.

“Alright, Shanks,” you began, making eye contact with Mary once more, “I’ll buy you a bottle under one condition.”

“And what might that be?” he chuckled warmly.

“That you give me a small glint of information before we proceed to the beach,” Mary placed the bottle on the counter and you placed down more berry in response, “I need to know if you are threatening me with a good time, or if you plan on executing me to reclaim some debt.”

“Were we enemies?” you asked him, bearing your gaze at the wall behind the bar.

“Sometimes,” Shanks shrugged his shoulders, prompting you to snap your gaze back to his. He erupted a full belly laugh from his diaphragm at your reaction. He let out a deep sigh before he suggested; “let’s make to the beach and I’ll fill you in.”

Mary smiled, looking between the two of you before the beckoning of Captain Harold and several bottles of the cheapest rum called her from her place before you.

You nodded, neglecting to collect glassware while you grasped the neck of the bottle; not once removing your eyes from the red-head next to you.

You made your way down towards the beach, walking in step with Captain Shanks, as the crew bid him goodnight. You noticed several members of his crew gawked at you as if they had seen a phantom or something of the make.

Once gazing into the open sea, the Captain plonked himself unceremoniously on the sand, legs spread wide as he sat with his knees bent upwards. You smiled at him before crouching down to sit beside him, uncorking the fresh rum bottle in your hands and offering it to him. He smiled as he took it from your grasp and brought it to his lips.

You trailed your eyes over his form, trying to conjure a whisp of memory from the recesses of your mind. After having no image return to you, you rose up your voice.

“So-,” you began, only to be cut off my Shanks.

“You were – are,” he started to relay, laughing at the fact he spoke over you. You nodded to him to continue.

He paused, sighing before again voicing what he was attempting to confess to you.

“It’s been ten years to the day since I lost you,” he sighed, looking down to the sand near his knees, “and not a day went by that my thoughts were not drawn to you.”

You looked at him, puzzled at what he was telling you.

“Your gold band,” he gestured with his hand towards your neck grasping the bottle, keeping his eyes fixed on the sand below him, “was gifted to us by our former Captain we served under: Gol D. Roger. He had a lot of love for you and I.”

“The King of the Pirates?” you asked him, eyes wide before adding, “and us. What do you mean, us?”

He sighed again, this time bringing his head to slouch back as he gazed at the dark and cloudless sky above you.

“I can’t tell you what happened right now. It’s-,” he paused between the words, prompting you to inch forward and look at his face. He turned his face away from you as you attempted to gaze into his eyes; “-it’s too painful today.”

You frowned and instead reached down to the hand placed upon his hand, and swiftly reclaimed the rum bottle from within his grip. He turned his head towards you at this and trailed his eyes up to yours as you placed the lip of the bottle and downed two large gulps of the liquid. You squeezed your eyes as the strong alcohol burned its way down your throat and into the pit of your belly.

He laughed at your actions, finally the forlorn expression eclipsed by glee.

“You haven’t changed,” he uttered, reaching his hand up to your hair before recoiling it back again. You watched him do this, as processing the boundary you expressed earlier still lingered within his thoughts. Instead of reaching your hair with his hand, he fell his grasp to your hands as they held the rum bottle.

“Is there truly nothing you remember of me?” He asked you, looking down to where his single hand rested upon your own. You furrow your brows and search your mind through closed eyes, willing yourself to remember any aspect about him. You hissed out a growl in frustration as you found no recollection.

“I want to,” you whispered to him, “you seem a decent kind of man, if not a little forward with the kiss and all.”

He chuckled at your comment, his laughter building to a rumble. His shoulders began to quake lightly as his laughter died and morphed into soft sobs. He attempted to conceal them from you by raising his hand up from where it rested atop his knee and turned to face away from you. You were overwhelmed slightly by this man becoming wrecked with emotion.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to him, bringing yourself to rest on your knees as you pulled yourself closer to him.

You opened your arms and shimmied your legs forward, hoisting them over his bent knees and found a comfortable spot on the sand to rest between them. Your arms circled his shoulders as you felt his right arm wrap beneath your waist and hook up your spine. He held his face flush with your stomach and squeezed his hand to grasp at your body as if you were to slip away at any moment. You felt his shoulders begin to relax into your embrace while inhaling your scent. You looked down the top of his head before absentmindedly bringing your lips down to place a chaste kiss against his hair. He flinched slightly at this impact, tension building in his shoulders before he slumped them forward.

You heard him sigh into your diaphragm as you did so, bringing his face away from its hidden position against you and resting his chin atop your chest to bring his sights to look up at you. For some reason, this man as he held you in an intimate proximity did not have you thrusting him away from your with excessive force as you did with so many others.

You unwrapped your left hand from around his shoulders and set it against his cheek. His youthful smile returning as you caressed him. You warmly smiled in response, feeling the gruff of his stubble against the palm of your hand before he turned his head and placed a brief kiss atop your inner hand.

“I am willing to dedicate the rest of my life to getting you to fall in love with me once again,” he whispered against your hand before turning his head to meet your gaze, “this I swear.”

Your eyes widened at the comment with a small smile toying at your mouth.

“I gather my undying devotion is overwhelming for you,” he chuckled, prompting you to move your hand away from his face and place both hands atop his shoulders.

“It is, to be perfectly candid with you,” you giggled at him, smoothing your arms over his shoulders and tracing circles against them with your thumbs, “I have tried everything to bring a small fragment of the person I once was to the forefront of my being.”

He trailed his hand from its place at the small of your back and rested it atop your left hip, grasping it firmly within his palm and kneading the flesh beneath it.

You brought your attention to the gold ring on your leather necklace as you held onto his shoulder, narrowing your eyes at the metal slightly; pleading within your own mind to bring forth any memory of the man cradling himself against you.

“To put myself in your hideous sandals,” you uttered, prompting him to quirk his head slightly to the side, “you found me, and it’s almost as if you did so only to lose me again.”

“Aye, it is,” he nodded, looking down again and meeting his eyes with the flesh of your forearm. He ghosted his lips over your left arm, dragging it higher within the crook of your elbow. Your hair follicles stood on edge under his ministrations, as he continued to not kiss your skin; but rather feel the way your body tasted below his lips.

“And you looked lovely in my highly practical sandals, last time you wore them,” he smirked his lips against your flesh before placing a kiss against it. He trailed kisses varying in intensity back down your forearm and against your wrist, prompting your breath to hitch in your throat.

That comment was it. After a variety of interpersonal and intimate words shared regarding your prior relationship with the man beneath you; it was the ugly sandals that brought a flitter of memory to grace behind your eyes. Any other comment; the hand in your hair from earlier, the wedding ring gifted by Gol D. Roger before he was executed, anything else; it was the ugly sandals he found in the run of the mill town that he purchased and, much to your horror, wore in public.

You remember taking them from his room and fleeing above deck with them in an attempt to throw them overboard to rid yourself of their ugliness forever, only to have your waist caught by your husband as he twirled you around to face the deck again with playful reprimand in the process of doing so.

At the request of your husband, you placed them on your feet and experienced the absolute comfort they bore you; almost shrieking in disgust at yourself for relishing in the feeling; as he belly-laughed at you.

“We’ll get you some at the next port” you heard his voice within your mind, “then we can be matching.”

You remembered him wiggling his eyebrows, prompting you to place your closed fist against his chest and tap him slightly.

“We can even get tiny little ones for when you relent and let me put a child in you,” you remembered his tone, causing a blush to rise presently to your cheeks.

“Something the matter, love?” Shanks' voice brought you from your singular memory and back into the present moment you were sharing so intimately with your husband.

No other memory sprang forward, only a few whispers of certain smells: sea water, spiced rum and stagnant drinking water with the natural smell men aboard a boat. You circled your arms around his shoulders and again pressed him against yourself, smothering his face against your sternum between your breasts. Your mouth fell slack as you pressed your face into his hair and inhaled the aroma of the fragrance he favoured to utilise in his red locks: sandalwood and ginger prominent with his natural scent lingering beneath it.

You began to feel a rough flurry of taps from the man beneath you as he indicated for you to release him. His laughter was unrestrained as his eyes twinkled with mischievousness.

“As happy as I am to once again have my face pressed between your breasts,” he heaved his laughter, “I do require air to sustain me.”

He brought his eyes to meet yours as you stared your eyes on the crashing waves of the beach as the tide began to come in further. Your eyes remained wide as you continued to will a semblance of recollection to come to you.

Once you offered no rebuttal at his comment, he again reached his hand up towards your hair only to halt it once more.

“What is it?” he asked you, now placing his right hand atop your left arm, holding it lovingly.

“I-,” you began, the words now halting between your lips. You brought your eyes down to look down and you continued to flitter them between each of his own.

“I-,” you again said, leaning in closer to him; prompting him to have a sense of seriousness overcome his features, “-will never own a pair of those ugly sandals.”

Immediately his seriousness fell away and his face split into a wide grin as his laughter rumbled within his chest one more.

“Yes, you always hated them. I think they’re wonderful,” he gasped while stifling his laughter. You continued to hold his shoulders as his laughter teetered off into a dull rumble.

“I tried to throw them overboard,” you uttered almost inaudibly, “and you threatened me with buying more of them.”

“You remember,” he gasped out a breathy sigh, “you remember me.”

He brought his torso up further to bring your foreheads to rest against each other. He nuzzled your nose slightly at the impact and squeezed his eyes shut with delight. He began to lean in to graze your lips with his, only to be halted by your gentle touch to bring him back.

“I don’t remember anything else aside from your disgusting sandals,” you whispered, closing your eyes before reopening them again and looking at him half-lidded, “and the way you looked at me when you suggested we begin trying for a child.”

A small gasp left his lips as a single tear fell from his right eye. Immediately he pulled your head against his further, seeking out your lips with his own. He moved his hand from its place at your hip to snake around your waist and hold you firmly against his lap. You felt him moan against your lips as you reciprocated his enthusiasm by lacing your fingers into his hair and tugging lightly at the new growth at the back of his neck.

As your proximity was so flush against one another, you had no choice but to press your full weight against him as he laid with his back against the sand; his hair sprawling out atop the course surface. He expertly maneuvered his right leg beneath yours without breaking the kiss, gasping into it as he darted his tongue out to meet with your own.

A soft whimper flung itself from your lips as he relentlessly attacked your mouth with his own; flittering deep and hungry kisses while trying to taste as much of you as he could with his tongue. You unlaced your fingers from his hair and raked them down his shoulders to his chest, massaging the hard muscle beneath them as you continued in your exploration. He gently rose his hand from its place around your waist and drew itself beneath your shirt and groaned when he felt your tender flesh beneath the material.

Placing your right hand below his cloak, you raked your fingers further along his ribcage and drew them up towards his left arm – halting your movement as you found none residing there.

You squealed into his mouth, feeling him smirk against your lips. You attempted to break from the kiss, only to feel his hand climb higher beneath your blouse and lie flat against your spine between your shoulder blades and continue passionately exploring your lips.

“Shanks,” you murmured a warning reprimand against his lips. He smiled while maintaining his lips against your own, feeling the soft pearls of his teeth as they made contact with your mouth. He continued to chase your lips each time you attempted to flee from his embrace.

You brought your hands up to ball the material of his white shirt within your fists and held him further against yourself, prompting him to let down his guard as he whimpered into your lips at your sudden domination. As soon as you felt him relinquish a small spectrum of control, you pushed hard on his collar bones and pried him from your lips. He first groaned in frustration before his body was wracked with uncontrollable laughter. He collapsed against the ground, prompting you to roll your body from above him to onto your own back in the sand as his laughter became contagious.

And as earlier, the heaving of your shoulders in fits of laughter evolved into heavy sobs from the both of you as you mourned the time lost between you.

“My bride,” Shanks called from beside you as he placed his right hand upon his eyes in an attempt to control his emotions.

“Yes, my groom,” you said as more of a whimper than an address.

He rolled over onto his side and hovered his face above yours, as the tears freely fell down the faces of the two of you; the moonlight cascading over your lover’s hair. Hesitantly, he reached his right hand up to your hair and slowly brought some loose strands from your face and wove it behind your ear. He sighed in relief as he watched you close your eyes and lean into his touch, taking your quivering lip between your teeth as you did so.

“You are as beautiful as the day I lost you,” he whispered with a slight hitch of his voice. You reopened your eyes to watch him smiling through his sorrow. You returned his expression and caressed his chest and ghosting your fingertips over his left shoulder.

“And you are one arm less than I remember,” you beamed a wide smile and giggled a little at your prod. He joined you in your laughter and pressed a chaste kiss against your hair before rising to his feet and offering you his right hand to hoist you up to meet him. You took his hand and allowed him to hoist you to your feet, before he dipped his shoulder down to make contact with your waist and lifted you over his right shoulder. He secured you in place with a crisp slap upon your left ass-cheek as he effortlessly crouched down to retrieve the forgotten, half-drunk rum bottle. He rose again to his feet and began to walk with you over his shoulder, using his teeth to uncork the rum bottle and spitting it against the sand.

“Is this quite necessary?” you asked him, mock annoyance in your tone.

He laughed and took a long swig from the rum bottle and gasped in joy as the liquid burnt its way down his throat.

“Not only is it necessary,” he called to you over his left shoulder, “it is also compulsory.” You laughed at him as he almost jigged back towards the tavern, him joining you in your laughter upon arriving at its steps and flinging open the door with his feet.

The arrival of the two of you had cheers erupting and reverberating from every corner and crevasse of the wooden building. Tankards were thrust into the air, foam sloshing carelessly from the top and onto the floor; much to the many protestations of Mary.

Shanks placed you on the floor after setting aside the bottle of rum atop a cylindrical raised bar table.

“Alright lads,” he addressed the room, “let me reintroduce you to my wife!”

He extended his right hand out for you to place your left hand within. As soon as you did so, he effortlessly spun you into him, your left arm laced over your front as he cradled you against himself.

You looked up to his face, your neck laying against his shoulder as he brought his lips down to meet your own for the first time publicly in a decade. Applause, shouts of glee and delight, more sloshing of ale and verbal reprimands from the tavern keeper echoed the hall as you smiled against the lips of your beloved. Your husband, and his bride.

#one piece #opla #x reader #shanks opla #shanks x reader #red haired shanks #shanks #one piece live action #opla fic #amnesia trope #my playlist broke me #angst #angst with a happy ending

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blingblong55 · 6 months

Text

Little red riding hood- König NSFW

Based on a request:

Can I ask for a werewolf König with red riding hood reader and maybe age gap if you’re comfortable with it? And knotting and breeding kink if that’s also allowed Red is a witch in this if that’s okay since it’s October ☺️.Red is in her 20’s while I think König if I’m reading it right, he’s like late 30’s? I could be wrong.Red follows the tale of the story, but what if in this one, Red and König knew each other? Like he was her guardian angel for her growing up, and they were like friends of being outcasts; König being the Big Bad Wolf and Red for her red hood and for being a witch, all because she lives out more in nature then in a village but is their only known healer so they tolerate her. They always say that wherever Red went, the Wolf followed as to make sure Red was never harmed, lurking in the woods. But then, a mysterious woodsman/huntsman appears in town; and he helps around. Goes into the woods to chop trees and hunt; but it is secretly König posing as a man as to avoid suspicion but to also get close to Red 👀 _____ F!Reader, smut, MDNI, 18+, monster au, werewolf!könig, age gap, witch au, witch!reader, unprotected!sex, friends to lovers, P-in-V, breeding _____

A/N: It won't be as extensive as I wanted but I hope you enjoy and im sorry for posting this a day late

A small home in the woods, where a young witch lived, and a neighbour far away that became her friend. You and he became friends when he first introduced himself. Ever since, he has become your protector, friend and guidance. But with time, that sense of protecting you just because you were his friend changed. Infatuation for some. Love, respect and honesty for him. He wasn't normal, that was known and you weren't very much liked, that is a fact. But why don't you get the townspeople to pester you? You heal, and anyone in town sick comes to your small home for healing. No pharmacy in town, just the same old hospital and you. Yes it's true, while no one likes you, they respect you and your abilities to heal others.

It has taken time to get used to this newfound fame, but with König around to help and protect, life is great. And now as you made your way to the dark forest for another special herb for a healing session in the morning, you pulled the hood of your cloak on your head. The red material disguises you in the woods. This is perfect for the man who follows you like a shadow, a new stalker you swore was out to harm you. The dark magic protects you from it when it knows you don't know it. As it doesn't protect you from this mysterious creature, you begin to fasten your pace. König not with you this time scares you. "For the souls, help me," you whisper as you begin to sprint. A tree that you recognise in sight. "König," you remember and turn a sharp right, running towards the only haven besides your home.

Your wicker basket in hand, the plants and book moving with this quickened pace. You knock on his door, it takes time but when he opens it, he is in his human form. "König, there…there was a man- or thing…and-" you try to explain. His large form moves you inside, he smiles, knowing he has his precious thing with him now. "You're safe now, liebe," he whispers as he holds you in his arms. Your basket is now on the ground of his cabin, the cosy walls surrounding you both from the cold breeze and fog of the autumn season. The moon was almost full as it was the 30th of October, almost his time of turning. He pulls away and cups your face in his large hands, he chuckles to himself at this beautiful view. "Now, why don't you and I sit down and talk, ja?" And as time passes, he walks you home. Hallow Eve in the coming minutes, you with a journey to your grandma. He kisses your forehead and disappears in the night.

By morning, as you take your baked goods to the one lady who kept you sane, you see a lumberman, axe in hand as he walks through the woods. You stop in your tracks, as far as you are concerned, no one in town took trees down from your property. König at his home as you stared at his man. Figure more rougher than any man you've seen. Hallows hour is approaching soon, and your grandmother needs your protection at that time. You continued walking and then the man turned to you, scarecrow mask on, you know this wasn't normal. Everyone in town knew not to mess with you, for the man with the howls was behind when his precious girl came to town. With a hand on the dagger the old witch crafted, you never give this mysterious man your back as you walk past and before you make it to the sacred gardens, he chases you with the power most men can't possess.

König, you think of. He was not near, nowhere as near as this man posing as a noble lumberman. You can't drop the basket in fear that your potions and book will be stolen and used against yourself and the greater good of others. Three claw marks in a tree of where König left his mark. A haven, his home much closer as possible. The early morning fog made the ground nearly visible. "König!" you scream in hopes of having his ability to hear it all and listen to you. You run and run, the red cloak dancing with the wind like a willow tree.

Once you make it to him, you knock and knock, calling for him in desperation. It was the oldest trick in the book for dark, smart and in need-of-love wolves. To court and how to make it fast. "For heavens my Liebling, what's the matter?" he asks with a soft tone, breathing trying to slow down. "It happened again, but this…this time the man chased me with-…i..an axe and- well." He shakes his head, inside spirit smiling like the devil. "I'm here to protect you, my liebe," he kisses your forehead and acts as if he is determined to kill the man. The hoax is well done as he has you vulnerable and scared, all for him to use against you and kiss you and make you his finally. Your arms holding him close, he chuckles knowing that the woman he loves finds comfort in him. He kisses your forehead over and over, and guides you to his bedroom to, 'let you rest' but it's all part of his plan to make you, his.

They say to claim, is to leave a mark, and König intended to do just that. His scent on your red cloak, your dress and the basket you carried with care. His gaze softens, but his touch is rough as he lays you in bed. "Now, why don't I show you how good I can take care of you?" One nod from him and another from you has him removing the unnecessary clothes. There was something different in the atmosphere, he felt it and you know you can feel it too. "König, I-" you say but his finger flies to your lips. "Let me show you I care," his voice was still so soft but as time kept getting closer, that soft voice would turn to howls and hoarse words. He kisses you, you kiss him back, which he smiles to as he knows you feel the same way…finally. No longer does he have to lure you into his home, he can have you come here, willingly. The lumberman character is lost in the woods as he gets lost in you.

His hands are on your waist as with his thumb he lifts your dress, and you squirm. "It's okay, I won't hurt you, I want to please you," he tells you. You know it's not an empty word he ushers but honesty. Your body soon to be his, your love and devotion, written in time as his. His bulge, with a wet shadow as his pre-cum leaks from just this contact. You un-do his trousers, he looks down and then at you, "You want it that bad, don't you?" A devil smirk on him again. "I need it," you tell him. He pushes you deeper in the bed as his kisses become rough, trailing to your jaw and neck, he growls and time ticks. It's a countdown. Poets and other simple writers, all authoring about a woman in a red cloak, afraid of the big bad wolf, to have it debunked by you and him. Covered in lust and deep in love. His cock is ready to pump you full of his seed. He needs to breed your pretty pussy that drips the taste of heaven. Your hands fly to his back, he lets out a groan.

"That's it, baby, mark me," his hands fly to your cunt, fingers it and licks his fingers after. "Just like I predicted, heaven from you," he kisses you once more, this time so you can taste glory. His cock, in a desperate need to fuck itself into you, slowly lets his tip in. You moan, he was big, thick and already so red and swollen for you. Seconds pass and now, as his werewolf self comes to play with his prey, his heavy cock spreads you open. You whimper and cry. "That's right darling, keep making those pretty noises for me," he kisses you, and you moan into it. His large hands on you, claiming every last bit of you as his. His thrusts are like this form of himself, animalistic and wild. Your body and his, in unity, as he claims that cunt of yours. Your clit, rubbed by his large hands, your eyes rolling back. Thrusts so good it turns you into a blabbering mess. His dark laugh melts you, he loves this view of you.

Your orgasm building up, your pussy wrapping around him like a perfect glove. He groans and grunts. It was art for what sex can be. To have your cunt, spread and filled with his fat cock, it was art. Your hands, marking his back, he lets out a growl, his beast cannines on view. "Don't. Fucking. Stop." He adores how he claims you and you do him. His hands fly to your neck as he chokes you and as his moans and grunts fill the gap between you and him. And just as you were already riding your high, you feel him, his cock grow within you, creating a nest inside of you. The art of sex and knotting your mate, a plan he knew all too well. Your eyes leak with tears, tears he helped create as he proves to you, that love is not emotional at times but physical. His cum, leaking from your cunt that was already filled to the brim. "You like it when I breed you like that?" This is a not-so-innocent question that will be asked throughout this relationship. "You like it, I know my little whore does," eh kisses you, and thrusts slowly as he plans on keeping his cock in you for some more time.

A/N: I apologise if this wasn't good or how it was requested...sorry

Tags:

@bigtimesalt8196 @alxexhearts @kit-kats06 @greatstormcat @crimson404deer @liyanahelena @sleepydang @arithestrawberry @l0calfatherfiiigure @sigrid666 @killshotcodxxx @potatoknight @scarletevening @elowynnlane @brazen-haze @rinsworld @briefartnaturewolf @rnangoes @ess-perspective-blog @jihyowl

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ghostssweetgirl · 11 months

Note

Hello, I hope you are well. 141 men+Konig and Roach.Alex. How do they react when they accidentally see female reader in the city for the first time? And just like that. The reader is shopping at a grocery store. And men do not know her. because they never saw the reader's face. but the reader recognizes them because she has seen their faces before and the reader says. What's up? (name) I'll send you a photo of the reader's gaze. so the reader works on the same team as them but right now it's a free day

Have a nice day :)

Hey there! I really like this request <3

TF141 + König + Roach + Alex Reacting to Seeing the Reader's Face (in public)

warnings: cursing, other than that, none. they think you're pretty 😍

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Simon happened to be shopping in your town. No, he didn't do it on purpose. It was just on his way home.

You were shopping as well. You lived in a big city, so it wasn't unusual for you to be unmasked when doing your business. No one here knew you. You were on the pet food aisle, glancing over the ingredients of a specific brand until you suddenly felt a familiar presence walking by along the outside of the aisle. You look to your side and... spot Ghost.

Why was he here? Not like, why was he shopping, but why would he come to your city? It was too many people for his liking.

You watch him walk by, he doesn't give you a second glance as he goes about his business.

You set the bag of food down as you abandon your cart, walking fast to catch up to him. "Ghost!"

He heard a familiar voice call behind him, but as he turned around, he didn't know who he was looking at and how they knew his callsign. "What's up?" you asked, tilting your head at him. He stopped in his tracks, looking you up and down. "Bloody hell are you?"

You nervously laughed. "Y/N...?"

He was in disbelief. Wow, you were quite beautiful. He didn't think you'd be ugly, but my goodness, he was swept off his feet. "Fuckin' hell, kid," he rasped, chuckling nervously, you could tell.

"Sorry, I forgot you've never seen my face."

"Forgot to warn me you were quite stunning, too, darlin'."

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish

He heard about this big grocery store from a friend, deciding to check it out. It was also the one you were at, trying to find some new clothes.

In your own little world, you weren't paying attention to the fact you were absent-mindedly taking over the aisle as you were folding a shirt back up.

"Excuse me," a voice called from behind you.

"Sorry," you muttered, moving out of the way. The man gave you a polite smile, and as you made eye contact, your pupils dilated, recognizing your teammate, Soap. "What's up?" you asked.

"Oh, jus' shoppin', nothin' much." You looked into his cart, curious. Some beer, socks, small food items. Also hygiene products. He watched you nose into what he's buying, wondering who the hell this random (pretty) lady is.

You stifle a laugh, looking at the soap in his cart. "Soap." He shook his head, softly chuckling. "Wha's so funny about that?"

You teased him. "Soap! For Soap... Come on, do you not get it?"

For a minute, he recognized the voice but couldn't put two and two together. Wondered if you were who he thought you were.

After awkward staring, you throw your arms up playfully. "Soap! You must not... recognize me...?" "Y/N...?" you continued.

He just figured it out, the way you emphasized his name. "Y/N... Shite, yer... beautiful," he muttered. "Didn't think I'd ever see your face, lass."

Captain 'John' Price

He was just leaving, checking out with his cart full of his selected items. Damn this long line, he'd be here a while.

You were walking in with an empty cart, eyes glued to the front of you. Wanting to get in, and get out. You take notice of the long line. Sighing in annoyance, you go about your business.

You make your way up to the front, expecting the line to have made progress. Nope, still long. Some person had 3 full carts, and was giving one of the cashiers a hard time. Not to mention it was one of the rush hours of business. You look around to see a bunch of grumpy, tired faces. It was all just regular people, until you saw your captain. You smiled, hesitant to say hi to him, not wanting to be a bother.

"Hey, Captain Price!" you sang. He fixed his gaze onto you precisely, questionably. "What's up?"

He met you halfway in between the queues. "How in the bloody hell do you know who I am?" his voice was low.

"Because... I'm in the task force, silly," you laughed. "Y/N."

"Oh," he said plainly, his body visibly relieved. "Well, kid. Near freaked me out, some pretty lady knowin' my rank."

"Sorry," you blushed. "I'll leave you be, then? See you at work."

"Nice to see ya, y/n," his bright blue eyes beamed as they crinkled from his wide smile.

You were nearly finished up shopping, when you walked next to Gaz.

You didn't notice him at first, but when you did, he smiled at you with a polite nod as if you were a stranger.

You smiled back. "What's up, Garrick?"

He squinted his eyes at you, wondering how he knew you.

"I'm sorry, remind me of who you are?"

"Y/N, silly," you quipped.

"Oh," he sighed, looking over the features of your face. "Nice seein' you without the mask."

You almost blush, reaching up to soothe your unmasked face. "Thanks. Definitely didn't expect to see you... here."

"It was just on my way."

"Yeah, well, I hope you're enjoying your time off," you smiled.

"You, too, y/n," he smiled back, walking off but making sure to get one last look at you before you walked off, memorizing your face.

König

It's been such a long day already, and here you were stuck at a busy grocery store in your city. You usually stopped by here every so often, but didn't think the store would be busy when you came here today.

You were pretty much just looking at useless stuff at this point, to pass time by as the queues were not moving. You sigh as you grew tired of looking at this nonsense. Seeing some queues move, you finally hopped in one. You were in a hurry, and that was obvious, but so was someone else.

You almost bumped carts with this man, and before you go to apologize, you hear his thick German accent being the first one to apologize profusely. "I... am so sorry! You go ahead, ma'am," he muttered.

"König! I am so sorry!" you giggled. "I was in a hurry, I didn't see you there! What's up?" He stuttered, hands nearly shaking at you knowing his name. "I... was just shopping here."

"Are... you okay?"

"Ja... yes, I just... sorry, I don't think I know you..."

"Y/N! I don't have my mask on..." you rubbed your cheek. "Sorry to confuse you."

He was taken aback by how beautiful you were. He was already an anxious man, finally being able to put a voice to a very pretty face felt quite nice, but finding out just how gorgeous you were was making his heart slam against his ribcage.

"I-sorry," you could hear his nervousness, it was admittedly very cute. "You are very pretty, Maus."

Roach

You had gone to the store to get some alcohol, it was one of your days off and you wanted to enjoy yourself.

You went to the aisle, and started browsing.

You grabbed a few bottles of wine, and an extra bottle of liquor for another day and started walking out of the aisle to leave.

Until someone came around the corner.

You smiled as you spotted your teammate, Roach.

"Roach! Hey, what's up?"

He made eye contact with you, and you could tell he was confused.

"Sorry, do I know you?"

"It's Y/N! Sorry, don't have my mask on," you apologized, blushing.

"Oh. I was wondering how some beautiful woman knew me," he laughed. "It's nice to see you."

"Thanks, Roach," you smirked. You bid your goodbyes as you walked off, not seeing him look back at you once more.

You were stumped on a product, deciding if you should buy it. You started looking around for products that seemed popular, and went with the correct brand.

You were on your way to the front, when you spotted someone you knew. Alex. He was either in a hurry, or just wanted to get to where he was going, but you followed him.

You about lost him, but finally caught up.

"Alex! Hey!"

He looked around at a few people before he looked at you.

"What's up?" you smiled at him.

He stammered his words. "Hi. Who're you? How do I know you?"

You laughed as you playfully rolled your eyes. "Y/N."

"Damn, nice to see your face, lil lady," he chuckled, eyes wide at your beauty.

"Aw, thanks," you replied. "Enjoying your time off?"

"You know it." You both did some small talk before you had to make your way out. You waved goodbye at him, and he returned it with a polite smile, watching you as you walked away.

"Damn, she's beautiful," he whispered under his breath.

A/N - Hope this was good! I've never written for Roach or Alex, so I don't know if I wrote them out well, but thank you for this request and sorry it took a while to get finished! <3

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diejager · 1 month

Note

I saw something about Victorian COD so hear me out-

Victorian Price in the fanciest suit

I'm sorry but that man would be so hooooooooooot as a Victorian gentleman, it fits his vibe

p.s. Happy 2024!!!!!!!

I got to this 3 months later… Happy belated new year 😅

Cw: flirting? Price being a gentleman, older man/younger woman, established relationship, tell me if I missed any.

Your father’s business parties had always been boring, they were a chore for you to keep a perfect facade to the public, the frail yet strong lady of the house, donned in ridiculously frilly dresses and thighs corsets. Your mother had fussed over it your entire life, her rough fingers, brought from her commoner background, had made her harsher in every manner to keep her title, for you to keep yours as a noble born into a world of riches. But the upkeep of it was useless when you had no part in it, forced to play a part in something you had no right to be a part of.

Granted, you had your reservation, understanding that being on the same side as your father had it’s perks, the power his title - soon to be passed down to your older brother once your father passed - and his money. You didn’t necessarily depend on it wholly, you might live in his home, eat from his cooks and call for the maids and butlers he employed, but you had your studio away from home, somewhere in the city where you painted under natural light and sold portraits to people who paid you for a commission.

It wasn’t as grand as being a merchant, to sell the luxuries most nobles sought - gems, fabrics, gold and silver - but it built you connections, your work passed from mouth to ear, one noble at a time, and one town at a time. You had your clientele and your father had his, you had an image to keep for something you worked so hard for, but to invest an equal amount of face and finesse in a snobbish party was draining. Fortunately, a few of your father’s work affiliates were regular clients at your little studio, sending letters to you months in advance to organise dates for you to paint them, it varied between one and a few months.

Your favourite was a British merchant company, lead by one bear of a man that you knew well, managed by three - a kind-hearted brit with beautiful skin, a boisterous Scot with his unusual haircut, and a broad and rugged man who hid his identity under a fearsome mask - other you were well-acquainted with and advised by a strong headed woman too advanced for your era. John Price was his name, a man a decade older than you, but treated you kinder than any man had before him, a gentleman in a beautiful suit and slacks, a red shirt and waxed shoes. He - coincidentally - matched your attire, your frilly, red chemise with a high and bowed collar, the sleeves long and rumpled in waves of red silk, waist high pants that hugged your body the same way your mother’s corset hugged her form and slick shoes that shone under the high chandeliers.

“You seem bored, love,” his soft and baritone voice never failed to make you shudder, his hand on your back a reminder than he was with you.

He was always the gentleman, a man who worked his way to nobility, gaining a title and land through blood, sweat and tears. He was known for his trades, selling and shipping a large variety of items that some considered exotic simply because nobles hated interacting with foreigners, a kind of bred racism and xenophobia through generations to fear any uprising from their colonies and other countries. He was as broad as his company was known, every core member of it respected for climbing the echelon of society through hard work. Some purebred nobles might hate him for taking a title without being born into it, but none could object his craft, like an artist couldn’t do hate their canvas.

“There isn’t much to do, is there, John?” You nodded towards your father, knowing that he was observant enough to see the slightest of movement, “My father is… he loves bathing in luxury, in the popularity his name brings.”

He hummed, a low rumble from his throat, his eyes narrowed almost threateningly, but you knew the amused gleam in his eyes. You had years to get to know him, once an occasional client - a man who stumbled into your studio wanting to let a newly risen artist a chance to paint him, admiring your work for the smooth and confident strokes - who brought his art trade to you, now a trusted friend, someone you were blasphemously closed too for someone your age.

Your friendship hadn’t lasted long, the constant coaching from Kyle and Johnny, the silent push from Simon and the proud smile from Kate had both of you meeting halfway, throwing you into his open arms and fooling around at the back of your studio until John could take you away to marry.Eloping and always sounded interesting, you weren’t needed at home, your father had an heir and your mother had your younger sister to worry about.

“He flaunts it foolishly, yes,” he agreed, raising the cup to his lips, tipping it until the champagne flowed down the glass rim, “But we have a contract, one I intend to uphold until he complete his end of it. And I met you.”

He turned to you, a tender smile hidden under his beard, his stormy blues softening as he peered down at you, adoration gleaming in his eyes. You wished you could kiss him, to grip him by the collar and pull him down to press your lips against his course ones, to kiss him deeply and show him the love you felt for him.

“I would, love, but we’re in public,” had you spoken out loud? It seemed you did if John answered you, his chuckles shaking his shoulders, “Would you come home with me once I’ve finished my business?”

“Of course, John.”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

#cod mw2 #x reader #cod mw2 x reader #captain john price #john price #price mw2 #price x reader #captain price x reader #john price x reader #victorain au #female!reader #fem!reader #price modern warfare #established relationship #older man younger woman

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mrsbarnesblog · 6 months

Text

i can't let you get hurt

masterlist ko-fi ao3

Summary: You have just moved to New York, where your adopted brother Steve has been living for 5 years. Desperate to make new friends, you give the dating app another go. You didn’t even think that you would have to ask for help from the person who has not left your thoughts for the past month - your brother’s best friend.

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: fluff, reader is Steve's adopted sister, mechanic Bucky, creepy behaviour, protective Bucky.

Author's note: Does anyone know if community labels are reducing the number of likes and reblogs? because my last post received a suspiciously small amount of notes🤔 but I'm afraid to remove them because Tumblr might decide to block me again

Moving to New York was the idea that has been sitting in your head for a long period of time. Since your adopted brother Steve finished high school, he moved there without any money, without friends, and only with a lot of desires and dreams. You stayed in your small town with your and Steve’s adopted parents because you were only fifteen at the time. It’s been almost five years, and right now he owns an auto repair shop, and as far as you know, it’s a pretty successful place.

You knew that you had nothing to lose; you had no opportunities in your city, no close friends, and it was a really boring and gray life.

Steve only visited you two times, but you regularly spoke on the phone. So when your plane finally landed and you met him, you were kind of a crying mess. He was still your closest person, and you loved him with your whole heart. Steve was now much bigger, with broad shoulders and arms that were probably the same size as your head, but he still had that golden retriever energy, which you really loved.

Steve helped you find your apartment building, where you rented a small and cozy flat from a nice old lady. It wasn’t too much—just a bedroom and living room connected with a tiny kitchen and bathroom. Everything was clean, with light furniture and a lot of plants. It was actually surprising that this place had an affordable rent, and you were happy that luck was on your side.

On the next day, your brother finally showed you his famous place, which he owned with his now best friend Bucky Barnes. And talking about him, he was something else. A tall, big man with fluffy chocolate hair, stubble, and the most beautiful blue eyes you've ever seen. You knew that you were fucked as soon as he looked you directly in the eyes, shook your hand, and gave you a charming smile.

You met almost everyone in the garage. All the guys were super nice and friendly, they even showed you all of their cars that they were working with. You were happy that Steve found such a family here, they were all obviously so close to each other.

Yet, after a month here, you had almost no friends. You found a job in the coffee shop down the street, where you met an amazing redhead girl named Wanda. You chatted a lot during the work, but you two were still far from friends.

That's how you ended up here. On a date with John.

For some reason, you decided to give that stupid dating app another try. John found you there, and he seemed nice, so when on the second day he decided to invite you to a bar, you agreed without hesitation.

How long has it been since the last time someone asked you out? Year? Yes, it was a little sad to realize that no one was particularly interested in you. Before moving to New York, all the guys you talked to seemed to only want one thing, so you had high hopes for John.

Your evening went well at first. You ordered a drink and chatted. He really seemed nice. After the second drink, you decided to stop for a bit because the alcohol started to make you feel dizzy, even though John was persuading you to taste more of the cocktails that he had brought you .

"You know, I think I better slow down with drinks; I really don’t want to be drunk and embarrass myself on the first date." You pushed your glass back a little, smiling politely.

"Oh, c'mon, baby, don’t upset me." John chuckled and put his hand on yours. You awkwardly smiled, not ready for such physical contact. "You’re here alone, right?" He tilted his head, and you didn't miss how his eyes stopped at your boobs.

"Um, not exactly... I mean, I know like five people in this city, and one of them is my brother. But we don’t live together; he has his own life." John nodded his head and leaned a little closer to you.

"So it means that we can have some fun, right, baby?"

"Fun?"

"Mhm." One of his hands stayed on top of yours, and the other one suddenly fell on your leg. Your body tensed at the feeling of his fingers as they started to rub the bare skin of your inner thigh. You definitely didn’t expect it to happen. "I’ll take an Uber; we’ll go to my place, and we can continue our night. What do you think?"

"I didn’t want to—I mean, that’s not what I was looking for—I thought that we were going to just talk and drink, you know…" You tried to take his hand off of you, but his grip only became harder.

"Don’t try to run away now, baby." He grinned. "You dressed up for me, huh? Your tight little dress that shows your boobs says it all. You just want me." You felt goosebumps all over your body because of his look. It was intense and not as innocent as it was before. You felt disgusted because of his words. You wanted to look good, yes, but seducing him wasn’t part of your plan.

So what are you going to do now? You felt unsafe, and you didn’t know how you could escape this situation. He was obviously a creep, and he just wanted to have sex with you. You can’t go home because either he won't let you go or he might find out where you live.

"O-okay- um- just let me- I’ll go to the restroom real quick, and we can go, okay?" You nervously smiled and stood up, almost spilling your cocktail.

"Someone’s excited, huh?" He laughed, looking at your body up and down.

You left without an answer. You really went to the restroom because the bar was half empty, and John would’ve definitely seen you going out. Luckily, the restroom was empty. You locked the door and looked at yourself in the mirror for a few seconds, trying to figure out what to do.

You reached into your purse to get your phone. The first person that came to mind was Steve. Only long beeps were heard, and after the third call, you gave up.

"Fuck, Steve, I really need you right now." You scrolled through your contacts again. It wasn’t a lie that you knew five people from New York. Steve was not answering his phone. Your neighbor Natasha and Wanda from work, were not your close friends, so it would’ve been weird to call them because of this. There was a number of an old lady who rented you an apartment, and she was obviously not an option. And there was another person.

Bucky.

Calling him in this situation was the last thing you wanted to do. Hell, he probably won’t even answer you because he thinks that you’re just his best friend’s little sister, and he’ll definitely make fun of you about this stupid date. But you had no other variants.

"Hello?" He picked up his phone almost immediately, and you even forgot what you wanted to say. "Y/N? Are you okay?" His deep voice was full of worry, and you couldn’t help but feel butterflies in your stomach.

"H-hey, Bucky. Um… I’m really, really sorry that I’m calling you, but Steve is not picking up his phone. Do you know where he is?" You walked around the small room, trying to calm down.

"Yeah, he’s meeting with some girl he's been talking about for days. He’s probably really busy right now." He chuckled, and you felt like you were about to cry. Bucky must’ve heard your breathing change because he immediately went silent. "Doll? What happened?"

"My God, it’s so stupid…" You squeezed your eyes, not wanting to cry.

"Tell me."

"I’m at the bar. I’m on a date with a guy named John, and he became very persistent. He wants me to go to his place, but It’s- I’m not interested in this. And I can't just leave because I’m afraid that he can follow me and find out where I live… fuck I really don’t know what to do, and I wanted to ask Steve to pick me up." Your phone stayed silent for a few moments, and you already thought that he got tired of your mess and just ended the call. "Bucky?"

"Where are you? What bar? Are you in the restroom?" His voice was low, and you knew that he wasn’t happy with all of this.

"It’s that new place a few blocks away from my crib. With big neon red signs at the top. And I’m in the restroom right now."

"I’ll be there in five. Stay there and don’t open the door until you know it’s me." He said that and ended the call, leaving you nervous and excited at the same time.

The loud knock on the door almost made you jump. Fastly, but quietly, you reached there and tried to listen for any signs of who it could be.

"I hear you. Open the door; it’s me." The familiar voice came from behind the door.

You opened the door and met Bucky’s beautiful blue eyes. He seemed a little bit out of breath, as if he had run here. You quickly scanned his body, and the fact that he was wearing your favorite leather jacket made you weak in the knees. His dark brown locks that curled at the ends almost asked you to touch them. It was not your fault that this idiot always looked ridiculously hot every single time.

"C’mon, let’s get you home, doll." He grabbed your hand, leading you out of the bathroom to the bar, where you immediately saw a clearly annoyed John. You saw that Bucky looked at him too, but he stopped only when you were already on the street and when your bad date ran after you, loudly calling your name.

"Hey! Where the fuck are you going? We were supposed to go to my place! You already found someone else to fuck or what?" He yelled, grabbing your other hand at the same time. You felt Bucky quickly move you behind him while still holding your wrist.

"Don’t fucking touch her. She’s leaving, and if I ever see you near her again, I'll rip your useless hands off. Understood?" Bucky growled, straightening his body. He was obviously bigger than John, who was now less brave. John looked at you for a few seconds as he was thinking about what he should say to you, but then just turned around and left. Apparently, you weren't worth it.

You didn’t know whether it was the cool night air or this whole tense situation that made you tremble. You felt Bucky’s warm body get closer to you, and his large, calloused hand rested on your shoulder. It made you feel a little bit fuzzy because you were trying so hard to hide your little (big) crush on your brother’s best friend. Yeah, it was the biggest cliche, but you couldn’t even blame yourself. He was extremely beautiful, with those blue eyes, rosy lips, and a body that you knew was built like God's. Not to mention that Bucky was sweet and a true gentleman.

"You’re shaking, doll. Wait a second." He started to take off his jacket, and you tried to stop him.

"Bucky, no, what are you doing? You don’t have to; it’s not even that cold!" He just playfully rolled his eyes and still threw a jacket over your shoulders, leaving himself only in the tight black shirt. God, this man.

A sudden wave of his cologne surrounded you. Bucky always smelled good. Something clean with a spicy and woody scent. The leather was still warm from his body, and you fought against the desire to bury your nose in it. You didn't even realize that you actually did it, so when you opened your eyes, you saw Bucky, who had this annoying grin on his face.

"So you like it, huh?" He chuckled.

"Oh, shut up. I didn't want to do that."

"Of course, doll. But we should go, I have to take you home safely, right?" Bucky said, leading you to the parking lot. To a motorcycle.

"A motorcycle?" You asked Bucky as you stepped closer to him. "No, I—where’s your car? I’ve never ridden on one of those." He had already sat there and had two helmets in his hands.

"I left it in the garage and didn’t want to make you wait here for too long. But you don’t have to worry; I know what I'm doing, and I'll take care of you. I promise." You came closer to him and let him put a helmet on you. You really tried not to tremble as his hands gently fixed it under your chin. "Now sit behind me and put your legs here." He pointed at the weird looking thing.

You felt weird as soon as you sat in the passenger seat. Bucky was so close, and you could feel the warmth of his body even if it was cold outside. Where should I put my hands? Hug him? Put it behind me? You awkwardly placed it on your own legs, and Bucky must’ve immediately felt your tense body because you heard a chuckle, and the next moment he grabbed your hands and put it around his waist. "You should put it right here, doll. You don’t wanna fall, do you?"

You slightly shook your head before you placed it on his back. It was really hard to control yourself when your hands were laying on his hard press. For fuck’s sake, he should be perfect everywhere, huh?

"Hold on tight, Darlin'." You heard another deep chuckle, and he finally put his helmet on.

You don't know how long you were driving, but when Bucky finally pulled up outside your apartment building, you felt sad and happy at the same time. The ride was something else. This man almost gave you a heart attack when you stopped at a red light and he put his hand on your bare leg and asked if you were okay.

He’s just being nice, stop overthinking this.

You knew Bucky for only one month, but it was hard not to fall for him. He was an attractive, kind, and really generous man; you knew that he was like a part of Steve's family. Sometimes, when you visited your brother and accidentally met Bucky, for a few seconds you thought that maybe he finds you attractive. You always caught him looking at you.

But you knew this type of guy—always charming and flirting—who could have pretty much anyone. It was stupid of you to think that he saw you as something more than just Steve’s little sister.

"See, I told you that I was a good driver and that you'd get home safely." He hopped off the motorcycle and stood before you while you were trying to take the helmet off. "Let me unlock it."

"Thank you, Bucky." You said when you were finally free. "For this, for the jacket... You were probably very busy, and I just ruined your night by making you take care of me. Oh my god, I’m really sorry. I just wanted to forget about one person, and I thought that going on that stupid date would be a good idea, but it seems like the only thing that men want here is sex." You chuckled and watched to the ground.

"Now listen to me, doll." Bucky suddenly stepped closer to you, and you almost fainted when both of his hands took your face and forced you to look him right in the eyes. "You shouldn’t apologize for calling me. I was just hanging out with the guys from the garage, but as soon as you called me, I left everything because I can’t let you get hurt." He nervously licked his lips, and you hope that he didn’t notice how you stared at this movement. Bucky’s hands left your face and ended up on your upper arms. Did he come closer to me? "I don’t know who you were trying to forget about, but I hope that he or she is worth your time."

"We– we’re not really close. I’m probably not even his type." You shrugged. Bucky’s jaw clenched, and he buried his hands in the jeans pockets, as if he was angry and tried not to show you. As soon as he made a distance between you two, you body started trembling.

"Is it someone from the garage?" His head was a little bit tilted to the side, and you knew that right now he wouldn’t shut up about it until you gave him a name. "Maybe Sam? Or Thor? Many girls like him, you know. Do you like show-offs like Stark? Or…"

"You."

You both were silent.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. What were you thinking?

"Say it again." Your throat felt dry, and you just stared at him, not knowing what to do.

"I– Just forget about it, Bucky. It’s stupid–"

You weren't able to finish because a soft pair of lips interrupted you. One of Bucky’s hands cupped your face, lifting you up to his level, and another one laid on your waist. He was soft, warm, and gentle when his lips moved on top of yours. Your head was in the clouds, and it felt like your knees became weaker. You wrapped your arms around Bucky’s neck, completely melting into him. He wanted to stay like this forever. Your skin and your lips were so soft, he could smell your perfume and taste your sweet lip gloss. But he knew that he should stop and do it the right way. After a few seconds, he finally pulled away, but he put his forehead on yours, and it was so cozy, like you two were in a bubble.

"I’m sorry. Was this too much? I overstepped?" He licked his lips as if he were trying to get more of your taste. "I have been thinking about asking you out since the day I saw you. I wanted to do it right. To take you on a date, to be the gentleman that you deserve, and maybe get a kiss on the cheek at the end of the night. Sorry. I didn’t even know that you liked me." Bucky wrapped his hands around your waist, and you nuzzled into his neck, enjoying his scent.

"And I didn’t know that you liked me either. I thought that you felt obligated to take care of me because I'm your best friend’s sister."

"No, I promise you." He kissed the top of your head. "But Steve’s gonna kill me, by the way. He told all of us that you’re not an option and that we can’t touch you."

"Well, I love him, but he can’t decide for me."

"So… Does this mean that you’ll say ‘yes’ if I ask you to go on a date with me? On Sunday, maybe?" You lifted your head to look at him properly, and God, he was so cute when he was nervous.

"Of course, Buck, I wanna go out with you." You smiled at him, and he lowered himself again to give you another sweet kiss on the lips.

"Fuck, you should go home, doll. You’re too sweet for your own good. Wanna keep you all for myself." He mumbled against your lips. "Go."

"Goodnight, Bucky. Please text me when you get home, ‘kay?"

"I will. Goodnight, Doll." You left a soft kiss on his stubbled cheek before finally turning around to go home.

Only at home did you realize that you were still wearing his jacket. At least it was a good excuse for Bucky to see you again sooner. That night, you both ended up texting for hours until you couldn’t keep your eyes open.

Maybe a date with John wasn’t that bad of an idea.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky x you #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #marvel #bucky barnes x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine

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the-fiction-witch · 5 months

Text

I'm Gonna Kill Him

Media The Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Angsty Smut!

Requested:

Hello! Before I start, I just wanted to say that I love your book so much! Could you create an imagine or a smut scene from your Jack Dawkins' book where they've broken up, and Y/N visits Jack's place that led them to having a angry/makeup sex? Then, a week later, Y/N discovers she's pregnant with his baby, which ultimately brings them back together.

Warnings : angst / angry sex, cheating, slapping, spanking, choking, biting,

I didn't want to go back, I felt like I was never going to hear the end of it.

But I want my damn book back.

So I got myself dressed into my black and emerald dress doing my utmost to look beautiful and glamorous, If I have to see him then god damn it he's gonna have to look at me like I'm a princess.

I finished up and headed out into town making sure I was seen, making a point to be seen by men until I reached the hospital. I headed in proudly seeing the usual bustle of nurses and patience.

"Ohh Miss Y/n, Dr Dawkins is in his room" Hetty smiled as she saw me

"Thank you Hetty" I smiled

"He has said he didn't want you in there miss y/n"

"I'm well aware of what he wants." I rolled my eyes as I headed up to his room not even bothering to knock simply opened the door and saw Jack lying on his bed fiddling with a coin between his fingers, he looked up and looked annoyed

"Ohh. What do you want?"

"You know exactly what I want. Where is it?"

"I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about"

"Where is my book, Jack?"

"How should I know?"

"I left it here, I missed it when I was packing, I know you have it, where is it?"

"Why would I want your mouldy old book? I don't have it." He snapped getting up from his bed

"I know you do, you're just keeping it to be hurtful"

"Hurtful! I'm not the one who went bloody psycho !"

"PSYCHO!"

"You heard me!"

"I wasn't the one who violated the sanctity of a union"

"Ohh here we go again! I didn't violate anything!"

"You liar!"

"At least she didn't kick me out of bloody bed in the morning!"

"So you admit it!"

"Yeah fine, I admit it! does that soothe your ego princess!"

Immediately I slapped him across the face and he didn't even flinch

".... I will never hit a woman. But your making it really fucking tempting!"

"Ohh go on then you scrawny little shit I'd like to see you try!"

"I was a naval officer you think I can't take a little lady in a fight!"

"Officer! Like hell, you only were because you sat on the right laps!"

"How dare you!" He yelled, "You repugnant little witch!"

I went to slap him again but he grabbed my wrist before I could throwing my arm back

"Ohh you gonna hit me with your parasol too?" He glared

"You are an unbelievable bastard! I can't believe I-"

"You what?"

"I can't believe I even considered us for a moment!"

"Yeah well same here! I dodged a bloody bullet. I'd have spent my life stuck married to you!"

"Ohh I'd have made your life a living hell every second of it just for the thrill of it!"

"You would wouldn't you! you'd have turned me into some little pitiful house husband just to spide me wouldn't you!"

"I would I'd have torn you down so low you'd be looking up to kiss my feet!" I yelled "And I'd have taken pleasure in it you evil man! treacherous! fuckwit!"

He grabbed my waist and pulled me into a kiss, I was so very angry with him, I wanted to slap him off me but I didn't want to kiss him back I wanted to win! I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of my submission, So I kissed him with force, trying to take control, but he would not allow that so easily forcing his tongue down my throat but I argued with him even at this moment battling with him in a war of our tongues, I grabbed his shirt desperate for control but he grabbed my waist and unlaced my dress, making quick work of it given his quick nibble surgeons fingers, I didn't want him to win so I began unbuttoning his trousers, once undone he grabbed my waist and forced me down onto the bed But I grabbed his hips and forced him down flat on the mattress

"Don't you even think about it!" He groaned flipping us over so I was under him

"I refuse to be under such a bastard." I gritted my teeth

"You can ride me if you wish."

"Not on your life."

"Open your legs, Or I'll bend you over it's up to you."

"Maybe I'll bend you over."

"You would you little succubus!"

"Well, how else was I meant to keep up with you!"

"You always did you were a little Fucking whore for me" He growled forcing off my dress "God damn it you are an evil, conniving, little witch but god had to give you that fucking body didn't he!"

"He didn't have to make you such an unreasonable, arrogant, illiterate, Imbosile but here we are" I smirked clawing as his shirt

"And we both know what he gave me to make up for that" He growled pulling his suspenders off his shoulders and forcing off his shirt as he pulled me into another aggressive kiss I clawed down his chest almost drawing blood as he forced me on my knees,

"Don't even think about it, Jack!" I glared but he forced my hips up to his and dug his nails into my ass

"I'll do much more than think about it" he smirked pushing off his trousers and forcing himself inside me,

as much as I hated it, my anger bubbling in my bones, but... I moaned as I had missed the feeling of him inside me, he didn't waste a single moment starting his fast and angsty thrusts, pounding into me like his life utterly depended on it, I moved my hips back trying to take control but I think it was a little late for that even so I made sure to force him into the pace I wanted which only frustrated him more, the bed creaking and squeaking, his violent grunts and groans much the sounds one would make in a fight tumbling from behind me until he began to slow his breaths getting looser

"That all you got little boy?" I smirked moving myself

"I. Am. Not. A boy!" He groaned grabbing my hair and pulling on it to bring my ear to his lips "Don't make have to teach my succubus a lesson!" He growled bitting on my shoulder

"Ughhhhhh! Uhhhhh!" I squealed given his pace didn't stop his angle hitting where I needed "You whore so bad you missed me this much?!"

"Missed you? You know what I did I missed your pussy princess I've got it just how I love it. But we wanna talk about who missed who, who came here showing off like she was the fucking queen all for her little fucking book back"

"and you caved this quickly? I thought you had more resilience than that Jack?"

"Not around you I don't" He smirked moving a hand to rub my clit

"Uhhhhhh!" I gasped and he forced me back down onto the pillow "See I knew you missed me" I gasped

"You can't blame me for missing a pussy I've fucked for the last two years. took a long time to get you this good."

"Like I didn't train you" I smirked "Jack please-"

"Yeah? you need me that bad you had to come see me?" he cooed "Cause you know I'm the only person in port victoria who can make you cum"

"I can do it myself then I don't have to deal with your bloody ego!"

"fine, then I'll stop-" He smirked going to sloe

"Don't you fucking dare Jack!" I groaned forcing him to move quicker until I almost ripped his sheets as I screamed reaching my high

"fuck you sound good like that" He groaned "I could almost put up with your shit for that noise"

"I bet you could" I smirked forcing us over so he was down on his back

"I knew you couldn't resist" He smirked

"You dare I will slap that smirking face of yours" I warn moving to ride him as aggressively as possible

"UGhhhhhhhh fucking- you evil little thing"

"shut up Jack," I warn bouncing and moving mercilessly on him

"Come on then princess make me cum" He smirked

"I said shut up!" I yelled wrapping my hands around his neck to slightly choke him

"UUughhhhhhhhhh!" he groans "Fuck-" He gasped his hips bucking like crazy as he buried himself inside of me so I pulled my hands back and caught my breath "Fine. I admit it. I've missed you" he gasped

"Fine. I missed you too." I sighed climbing off him and going to get my dress but he grabbed me and pulled me back into the bed so he could cuddle me my head on his chest

"Now you have... all of that out of your system, and have had time to pout. am I allowed to actually explain myself?"

"What's there to explain, you fucked her Jack. Plain and simple, what do you have to explain?"

"Will you listen anyway?" He asked stroking my hair

"Fine. If you want to waste your breath."

"She has a problem"

"ohh I bet she did-"

"No. Listen. shut your mouth a while and listen to what I'm saying." he snapped "She has a problem, a medical problem, inoperable, incurable, she'll be dead within the month if not sooner" he explained quietly as he gently pets my hair "She was an innocent"

"was she? I bet she told you that." I said back almost in a whisper

"Y/n. I swear to you, she told me, in confidence that she was an innocent, given the state of her condition she accepted her death and had began to make arrangements for the future,"

"And where do you come into all this?"

"I'm her doctor. I've been treating her. She asked me to... she said of all the things in this world that she will miss, she wanted to feel the touch of a man just once in her life." He whispered "So I did, Yes I fucked her. Should I have done it... I don't know. But do I regret it? No. would I do it again, I frankly don't know. I'm not sure I would If I'd have known I'd lose you because of it."

"Why you? She could have asked many, barely a man in Port Victoria that wouldn't want to fuck a virgin."

"Because I'm her doctor, and I was engaged. She trusted me. She didn't want to be used like some old whore she wanted to feel loved, and she knew she could trust me because I'm her doctor, and she wouldn't leave a man utterly in love with her behind, because she knew I loved you."

"Is that true?"

"Why would I lie to you now? you've already left me."

"why didn't you just tell me that?"

"Because I fucked another woman plain and simple... you didn't want to listen and it would only dig myself deeper if I did"

"...it wasn't what you did Jack."

"No?"

"No. I just wish you'd have told me first."

"What?" he asked sitting up a little

"If you had come to me, and told me about her, about her illness, about what she had asked of you. I'd have allowed it."

"No, you wouldn't-"

"I would. Because it is a kind thing to do Jack, if I was dying I'd have asked you too. I wish you had come and asked me, I'd have allowed it, but instead, I had to find out afterwards, from Sneed of all people not even you, that you broke my trust."

"I know, I was just worried you'd be angry if I told you."

"I was more angry you didn't"

"That's fair." He nods "I fucked up, and I know that. it doesn't matter now... She's dead anyway."

"What?"

"Passed away this morning."

"I'm sorry Jack-"

"It's fine. she doesn't have to suffer anymore. I'm happy, I could make her final days somewhat enjoyable"

"You're kind, and sweet when you want to be"

"I am sorry. Believe me."

"Well... it doesn't matter now does it."

"I guess not." he sighed "She didn't even call me Jack."

"No?"

"No. Just Doctor Dawkins" He chuckled

"Did you use her name?"

"I did. I wanted to make her feel loved... But I thought of you." He whispered kissing my forehead

"You did?"

"I did. I imagined her body as yours, her voice as yours," He said "You know you're the only girl who can satisfy me. so I thought of you"

"... I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse." I sighed

"Y/n..."

"Yes, Jack?"

"Is there, any possibility, no matter how slim? That, you and I may... rekindle even a portion of what we had before?"

"I doubt it, Jack." I said moving to see his face "I will always love you, but I can't forgive you."

"Could I do anything for you to forgive me?"

"No. Once trust is broken... like a delicate vase chattered, the pieces may be placed back, but you will always see the crack." I explained "Who's to say... another girl, in a similar state, asks the same of you, I cannot trust that you wouldn't do it again"

"... I understand." he nods "And I am sorry. I will always love you, you know that. No matter what you do, or say, my heart will always be yours."

"And Mine yours." I smiled giving him a sweet kiss "I should go." I said climbing out the bed and starting to get dressed again

"I don't know what I'm gonna do without you," he said as he watched me dress

"I'm sure you shall find ladies to spend of the evening."

"It's not the evening that worries me, it's the mornings, and the middays, and the afternoons, and the middle of the nights, a fuck is a fuck, but when you cum it's over, with you... every moment and all of it felt like heaven"

"Well, such are the consequences of your actions." I sighed "Now? my book."

He rolled his eyes sitting up slipping his trousers on and pulling my book from under his mattress

"Thank you" I snapped taking it back "A reason you kept it?"

"...reminds me of you."

"You always complained you couldn't read it. my stupid spider scrawl handwriting"

"I can't. but I know what it says... when I read it, chasing the words around the page I- I heard your voice reading it to me"

for a moment I felt teary "Keep it." I said handing back the book

"No." he said pushing it back into my hand and kissing my lips in a soft and gentle way "Please don't labour me with memories of you."

"Alright," I nodded "Goodbye Jack."

"Goodbye Y/n" He nods fighting back his tears

I took my book and I left heading home.

I sat in bed fresh as the morning sun, unable to bring myself to rise just yet, I turned and saw my book on my bedside table and I thought of him, for a moment all our nights of enthroned passion returned, I thought of our last night together over a month ago now of angst and anger, I thought of how he held me that night, how he kissed me still with all the love that he had always done so,

I thought of the most wonderful moments, Of how his head would settle in my lap after the day's work, I would twist and knot my fingers in his golden locks, he would press a kiss to my thighs, and I would read to him, all that I had written, and he would offer me suggestions of words that suited better, listing synonyms for me to replace the overused words.

I forced such thoughts away and sat myself up checking the day on my calendar I knew what to expect today pulling back my covers but- they were as white as sheep. This couldn't be? I was late already. I tried not to allow panic to set in given my typical irregularities.

"Miss I have brought your you porridge with honey" The maid smiled as she came through with my breakfast but the simple smell was enough

"Out." I demanded throwing my head off my bed to upturn my stomach into the bucket I had left there, and she scurried away. "No... No this can't be possible." I forced myself up and over to my mirror pulling back my nightie to expose my stomach it didn't look any different or maybe it did... I don't know. and the memory of that night flooded into my mind, of him finishing burying himself inside me as I rode him, "No... no no no.... I'm gonna kill him..." I whined grabbing my dress and hurrying as fast as my feet could to the hospital rushing up to his room without a word. But I froze up as I saw his door-

to think of all that had happened, How I stormed out, I'd returned once and clearly that was an awful mistake I- didn't exactly feel thrilled I was returning yet again. but I knocked and soon enough he pulled it open.

"Oh, its you. What can I do for you?" He asked fixing his waistcoat

"I need you." I told him rushing into his room

"Uhh okay" He nods shutting his door with a wicked smile "So... Shall I repeat our last night my darling?"

"No." I snapped "I need your... medical, Intervention"

"my medical intervention?"

"Yes."

"You realize patients have to wait in the waiting room you know, you can't just come up to a doctor's bedroom to get seen faster, even if it is you."

"Jack. Please." I told him fear in my voice tears in my eyes and he melted his own panic set in

"What is it?"

"I am... so very scared Jack."

"Alright just sit down, tell me what's wrong," he said helping me to sit on his bed

"My monthly time is late."

"Alright, well such thing can happen you have been stressed these few weeks" He explained nervously pacing around his room as I spoke

"Over a month."

"Perhaps simple change in your cycle"

"I have been vomiting."

"A bad fish may have simply turned your stomach," he said his fear growing as he too was coming to the conclusion I had already suspected but he didn't want it to be true, he didn't want to believe me,

"My waist grows... Inch by inch. Almost weekly. gaining speed steadily"

"Bloating. could simply-"

"Jack. I might be pregnant."

"You might." He nods "It could be a million other-"

"I. Might be pregnant." I told him getting to my feet "By the grace of god I need to know."

"I'd need to track your cycle completely, and I don't have that information."

"You had it as up to date as I did until I left and I haven't bleed since so-"

"Well, how do I know what you've been doing?" He glared So I slapped him and he adjusted his jaw a little "How am I to know who the father is?"

"You." I said and the colour drained from his skin "I have never been touched by another man as long as I have lived. If I am pregnant... It is yours. or it is gods."

"It can't be mine. I always-"

"Not always, Our last evening together..."

"Fuck-" He gasped "I have thought of that night a hundred times, your right. I didn't"

"So, Doctor. What do we do?"

"I need a rabbit." He sighed

I had to return to the hospital, to Jack twice daily once in the morning, once at night and each day, for three days, and I had to drink a whole jug of water and well... expel it. and this was the final time.

"There, Now will we know?" I asked

"Yes. we should do" He said as he took it in a firm needle "shhh shhh there's a good girl" He cooed to the little rabbit on the table, I had since after all these days named her hoppy, and he injected her "Five minutes" he said

"I do not understand how these things work" I sighed

"You want me to explain?"

"Not really."

"Fair enough." He said turning to his tools a moment and grabbing a large knife

"Jack- What are you doing!"

"Finding out" He began moving quickly to-

"No!" I yelped stopping him "Jack! that's barbaric."

"I have been injecting her with your urine for the last three days, if her ovaries are enlarged and she has gone into heat then you are pregnant, if she hasn't you are not."

"Is there no way to check without killing her?"

"No. now do you want to know or not?"

"There must be a simpler way."

"Yes, there is. we wait nine months and see if a baby pops out of you."

"You know we can't do that. but that doesn't mean I allow you to butcher an innocent animal"

We both stopped a moment as hoppy moved a little and began humping the blanket she sat on aggressively

"I'd say she's in heat"

"I need to check. for sure."

"Fine" I sighed

"I'll be quick, painless" he said making quick work of killing the poor thing before then cutting it open to examine her

"And?"

".... her ovaries are Enlarged. Extremely so. She is in heat." He said dropping his knife on the table

"So..."

"You're pregnant."

"... I see." I nodded my hands settling on my stomach in absolute fear but Jack took my face in his hand and sweetly kissed me sending blood across my skin, till he pulled back stroking his nose on mine as he always used to

"This is the happiest news you could have given me."

"Happy? Jack, I am pregnant out of wedlock. My father will banish me, society will crucify me, and our child will suffer as a bastard all of its life." I explained, "What am I to do?"

"I know exactly what you are to do. Take back my ring."

"What?"

"Take back my ring, return our lives to how they were, before my mistake, marry me by the end of the week and we, can raise our child together. As husband and wife,"

"We cannot-"

"Why not?"

"I already told my father of our cancelled engagement"

"Then tell him it was nothing but a lovers tiff. and that all is as it was." He said "I still love you, I still want us to be together, I still want to marry you. and I want us to raise our child together. Please. You cannot expect me to let you go again, I made that mistake once letting you walk away from me, I am not foolish enough to allow it again, especially not while my child grows in your womb"

"You can not simply expect me to trust you again Jack."

"I'm not. I'm asking you to let me earn it back." He said, "Please Y/n."

"Yes" I gasped

"You-"

"Yes Jack."

"Y/n... my darling" He cooed pulling me back to his lips.

#thomas sangster #tbs smut #thomas brodie sangster #tbs imagines #thomas brodie sangster imagine #thomas sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster smut #tbs imagine #tbs #thomasbrodiesangster #jackdawkins #jack dawkins #jack #dr dawkins #thearttfuldodger #theartfuldogger #the artful dodger

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oizysian · 5 months

Text

Now That I’m With You | Wanda Maximoff

Pairing: Serial Killer!Wanda Maximoff x Innocent Fem!Reader Warnings: murder, mind control Word Count: 3.5k Genre: smutty, but not too smutty Summary: Y/N moves to Westview and makes some new friends that her neighbor, Wanda, isn’t too happy about.

• Kinktober Masterlist •

I keep having the same dream about the woman a few houses down from me; she’s calling me, beckoning me with a power I can’t explain. I’m drawn to her and I can’t resist her when she calls to me - calls my name so sweetly, so lovingly. Why did I keep having this dream about a woman I barely knew?

Wanda Maximoff was a sweet lady - one of the first people on the block to introduce themselves when I moved into town. She brought over a homemade chocolate cake and introduced herself the same afternoon I moved in.

She had a beautiful smile and the most gorgeous emerald eyes I had ever seen in my life. I couldn’t help but stare when I first saw her, completely enamored by her. She welcomed me to the neighborhood and I knew instantly that as long as she stayed here, I would never leave.

On that same day another woman came to my house to welcome me, bringing over a homemade pie, which I liked a lot less than the cake Wanda had made. Her name was Dolly and she was about my age, maybe a bit older, with a husband and a son. She was very hands on and clearly didn’t believe in personal space, but she was nice.

Dolly came over to my place a few times, friendly visits, just to see how I was settling in and to get to know me. I understood that as I was new to the neighborhood and everyone else already knew each other, so they didn’t want anyone to stay a stranger.

That was two months ago. Dolly was found dead a few days ago, brutally murdered in her living room. They have no idea who would do such a thing to a lady like her. The whole block is on edge now, everyone making sure their doors are locked and their blinds are pulled down.

Except Wanda.

She came over and offered to make me dinner, despite the police all over the place, questioning everyone.

“You have nothing to worry about, you didn’t do it.” She said confidently. “What would you like? Meatloaf? How about a nice pot roast?”

I couldn’t imagine eating at that moment but when I looked at her something switched up in my mind, and suddenly my stomach was growling.

“Pot roast sounds really nice, Miss Maximoff.”

“Please! It’s Wanda! Come on over at around five, okay?”

She smiled and walked away as if there wasn’t yellow tape all over the street and covering the house across the way.

I watched her as she left, the sway of her hips hypnotizing and I couldn’t help but stare at her departing form. Her reddish brown locks bounced as she walked, her steps were delicate and precise. She was perfect.

The honking of a passing car pulled me from my stupor and I turned my attention to the man across the street, Dolly’s husband, speaking to police again.

“A murder in Westview? It’s unheard of!”

A pair of women gossiping were overheard saying as they scurried down the street to their respective houses. They would lock their doors and sleep with one eye open tonight.

But I wouldn’t. I wasn’t afraid. Something inside me told me I was safe, that I would always be safe in Westview, and that I had nothing to worry about anymore.

I realized I’d been standing in my doorway for far too long and decided it was time to go inside and stop looking like a nosey neighbor. It was bad enough that there was a rumor going around that Dolly wasn’t her real name and that she was murdered because she was a secret agent of some kind. How ridiculous people could be when something happens in a small town.

Thoughts of Wanda flooded my mind as I closed my front door behind me. Why did I think of this woman so often? I sighed and rested my forehead against the door. I had to get myself together. Not everything in my life revolved around Wanda.

I tried to push the thoughts of her out of my head, but the harder I tried to think of something or someone else, the stronger the images of her flooded in.

A knock on the door brought me out of my thoughts. It was still early in the afternoon so it could’ve been anyone, but most people were just hiding in their houses instead of being social.

I took a deep breath and opened the door to see another one of my neighbors standing there, a smile on her face.

“Hi, Y/N,” Erica greeted me. “How are you doing?”

“Oh, me? I’m-I’m fine. I’m great!” I smiled at her and she looked at me expectantly.

“Can I … come in?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sure!” I moved aside for her to enter and she smiled, walking into my house.

“I wanted to come over and invite you over for dinner tonight.”

“Oh,” I turned from the door to face her. “I’m sorry, Erica. I’m going to Miss Maximoff’s house tonight.”

“Miss Maximoff? Oh, you mean Wanda?” She laughed, placing her hand on my bicep. “You’re so polite, it’s cute!”

I smiled nervously back at her, unsure of what to do.

“Well, what about tomorrow night?”

“Um, I’m not sure, I -”

“I can make you a better dinner than Wanda could. Come on. Give me a chance.”

I looked at her smiling face and tried to smile back, the thoughts of Wanda swimming in my head again as I stared at her. I pushed the thought of her out of my mind and nodded at Erica.

“Okay. Dinner tomorrow.”

“Great! Tomorrow, say six-ish?”

I nodded and opened the door for her. She smiled brightly, she kissed me on the cheek before leaving. I watched her leave, shocked that she had kissed me, even if it was just a kiss on the cheek.

She walked down the street, a purposeful sway in her hips, and I stared at her, my mind swimming once again with the image of Wanda walking away from me earlier. Erica definitely didn’t have the same sex appeal that Wanda had, and she certainly didn’t have the same sensual sway. Damn it, why couldn’t I stop thinking about Wanda?

Shaking myself from my thoughts, I closed the door and sighed. I didn’t have to be at Wanda’s for a few hours, so I had time to shower and get ready. I wanted to look my best for her, so naturally I’d wear something nice and wear my best perfume.

I headed into my bedroom to pick out my nicest outfit from my closet and get prepared for my shower. I stood and stared at my clothing before a little voice in my head told me she’d definitely like my little black skirt and a cute pink tank top. Whose voice was that? It wasn’t mine …

Deciding that arguing with the voices in my head was a little unhinged, I grabbed my clothing and headed into the bathroom, getting my towels and washcloths in preparation for my shower. A nice, hot shower would do wonders for my nerves.

I undressed and adjusted the water, stepping under the hot spray and getting myself wet. Why was I worried about what Wanda thought of my outfit? It was just dinner. Not a date. She was married to that Vision guy anyway. What kind of name was Vision anyway?

After scrubbing myself clean, I got out and dried off, realizing quickly that I had been in the shower for much longer than I had intended, and now I had to get dressed and go. How did time move so quickly.

I rushed to dress, sniffing all of my different perfumes and colognes before finally choosing one that was a little on the sweet side. She’ll love it.

I made my way through the rooms of my house, grabbing all of the things I would need for the evening; my keys, my shoes - got it all.

I put my shoes on and grabbed my bag, slinging it over my shoulder as I left the house, locking the door behind me and making my way down the block.

It was a cool evening and it made for a pleasant walk. Wanda lived only a few houses down from me, so I didn’t have far to walk late at night. I rarely wore skirts, so I was slightly uncomfortable as I made my way up her walkway. What made me wear such a skimpy outfit anyway?

Before I could process the regret, I made it to her front door, ringing the bell as I flattened down my skirt. Why did I wear this?!

The door swung open not seconds after I rang the bell, revealing Wanda looking absolutely gorgeous behind it.

Her hair was curled, falling down along her shoulders and she was wearing a red dress, which matched her red lipstick.

I licked my lips nervously and smiled, trying my hardest to look into her beautiful eyes instead of her inviting chest.

“You’re right on time, darling.” She said, her voice silky smooth.

She moved to the side and allowed me to enter. I looked around at her decor, noting the family picture of her, Vision, and her two boys. Where were they?

“Vision and our sons, Billy and Tommy, are out seeing a movie. It’s boys' night.” She sighed, but I saw little to no disappointment in her eyes.

How did she know what I was thinking?

“You look lovely.” She purred as she closed the door behind us, grabbing me gently by the arm and guiding me into the dining room. “And you smell divine.”

Okay, weird, but -

“Thank you,” I couldn’t help but blush ever so slightly. “You look great too. Gorgeous, even.”

“You’re such a charmer, Y/N.” She smiled, leading me to a chair and allowing me to sit. “I’ll be right back with dinner. You just relax.”

I would not be relaxing. I took a deep breath as she left the room, inhaling her vanilla perfume and letting it get to my head, almost making me dizzy. She really smelled nice.

“Here we are,” she returned before I could even process that she was gone. “My world famous pot roast. I know you’ll love it.”

“I’m sure I will.” I smiled brightly, watching as she walked back into the kitchen to retrieve whatever she left behind.

It smelled absolutely delicious. My mouth was watering as I shifted in my seat, suddenly very restless.

The table was set beautifully, complete with candles and matching silverware and china. It was breathtaking and I was shocked she did all of this for me.

She returned with mashed potatoes and spinach, placing it down in front of me and brushing her hand along my arm. I looked up at her, noting that she was definitely staring at my chest. Maybe I shouldn’t have worn this shirt.

“I love your top.” She said as she sat down. “It’s a lovely shade of pink.”

“Thank you.” I smiled, bringing my attention to the table. “This is very beautiful. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

“It was no trouble, sweetheart!” She began serving us, giving me a hearty helping of everything and I couldn’t help but almost start drooling at the sight.

“This looks amazing.” I said as I dug in as delicately as I could under the circumstances, as I was starving and it all smelled divine.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

We had a pleasant conversation over dinner. She offered me some wine, which I normally didn’t drink, but gratefully accepted, having one or two glasses before I felt my cheeks flush and I knew it was time to stop.

“Can I help you with the dishes? It’s the least I can do.”

I stood from the table and grabbed my dirty dish, and she shook her head, standing as well.

“You don’t have to.”

“Please, I’ll feel bad if you have to do them after cooking such a delicious meal.”

Her gaze softened and she picked up a few dishes off the table, leading me to the kitchen. I placed the dishes in the sink and started to wash, humming softly to myself as she continued to bring in what we left behind.

“You’re so cute.” She said as she slid up behind me, putting her wine glass in the sink.

I could feel her press herself up against me, her hands at my hips, sliding up and down my thighs. I felt her breasts against my back, my heart pounding fast as her hot breath hit the back of my neck.

“Absolutely adorable.”

She gripped at my hips and I gasped softly, nearly dropping the glass I was washing as she thrust herself up against me. I imagined that, right? She didn’t just -

Her pelvis hit my ass again and I let out a small whimper, grabbing onto the edge of the sink as she continued to hump my ass.

“W-Wanda …” I whispered and she shushed me, gasping softly into my ear as she pressed herself against me again.

“I want to thank you,” she breathed softly. “For being such a good girl.”

My head was foggy with the smell and feel of her. I couldn’t think about anything but her body pressed against my own. Suddenly, the thought of Vision and the boys entered my head and I shook myself out of my lust filled daze.

“I-I should really go.” I said as I turned off the water, her hips still thrusting into mine.

“Not yet, sweetheart.” She kissed my earlobe and I shivered. “I’m not done thanking you.”

I could feel her hands slipping up my skirt, her fingers pressing against my slit as she groped me through my panties.

“It’s late,” I tried to reason with her. “And I’m seeing Erica tomorrow so I really should go.”

“Erica?” She hissed into my ear, her hand cupping my covered sex. “Wouldn’t you rather be with me?”

“Y-yes,” I whimpered. “But, I made a promise.”

“Break it.” She pressed her lips to my neck and I used all my willpower to slide out from under her.

“This was lovely, Wanda, really.” I was aching painfully. “But I really need to go.”

She pouted, her cheeks flushed, her chest heaving - she looked so fuckable.

Before I lost control over myself again, I rushed to her front door, nearly running out as I made my way down the block. What the hell just happened?

•

I laid in bed, thinking about what happened at Wanda’s. She was married, with kids! Why would she do that? Did I imagine it? No, her hands were …

I bit my lip and slid my hand down inside my panties, my eager fingers circling my throbbing clit. The feel, the smell of Wanda still lingered, and I couldn’t help but touch myself at the thought of her.

I closed my eyes and it felt as if a mist washed over me, and all I could see inside my mind was Wanda doing the same, her hips rising slightly off the bed as she pleasured herself at the remembrance of touching me so intimately.

“W-Wanda …” I whimpered softly into the darkness, my hips bucking as I brought myself to the quickest orgasm of my life.

In my mind, she came saying my name, sweat built up on her furrowed brow, her hips still moving as she worked herself up once again.

I couldn’t bring myself to open my eyes and stop watching her. Something compelled me to stay inside my mind which was completely filled with Wanda - her smell, her feel … her taste?

My imagination was clearly running wild as I could almost taste her, sweet and musky on my tongue. I moaned softly, my fingers slipping into my wetness as I thought of Wanda sitting on my face, letting me pleasure her the way only I was meant to.

In my mind, she came multiple times already, begging me to both stop and for more. I was addicted to her. I needed more, more, more.

I opened my eyes as I came and everything was dark red. It took a moment for my vision to focus before the darkness of the room came back into sight. I panted softly, slipping my hand out of my panties and standing shakily from the bed so I could go to the bathroom. I really needed to get a hold of myself. This couldn’t be healthy.

•

It was nearly dinner time as I made my way over to Erica’s. She lived farther away than Wanda, but her house was still within walking distance. I was feeling uneasy about going there. I really had wanted to be with Wanda again, but I knew I wouldn’t be strong enough to resist her if she made a move on me again. I wasn’t sure how I resisted her the first time. Something was constantly pulling me towards her, physically and mentally.

I knocked on Erica’s door, waiting patiently to be let in. No answer. That was weird considering she was expecting me. I rang the doorbell, thinking maybe she didn’t hear me knock.

A few moments passed and I decided to see if the door was unlocked. Maybe she was in trouble. I turned the knob and the door opened. I stepped in cautiously, looking around as I entered.

“Erica?” I called out, walking further into the house.

I made it to the kitchen where I found her, on the floor in a pool of her own blood. I was stunned. I had no idea what I should do. I looked around, finding a knife nearby on the ground and blood smeared everywhere.

I rushed over to the phone and dialed 911. After telling them everything and them ordering me to stay where I was and not touch anything, I quickly realized I was now a suspect.

I hung up the phone and stared at her body. There was so much blood and she was completely mauled. Her eyes were still open and she was lying face up.

The pot on the stove was bubbling over and the table was set. Before any other observations could be made, I heard the sirens, and soon I was completely surrounded by police.

They questioned me for hours, grilling me about why I had gone to Erica’s house in the first place and where I was when she was killed. I had no answers for them, unable to help and insisting upon my innocence.

Once they said that I could go, I went straight to Wanda’s, having no one else I could turn to. I rang her bell frantically, almost in hysterics once she opened the door.

“Y/N, honey, what’s the matter?” She asked as she ushered me in, leading me into the living room and onto one of her plush couches.

“E-Erica is dead.” I stammered, looking up into her concerned eyes.

“I know, darling, it’s going to be alright.”

I tried to control my breathing, inhaling and exhaling deeply, attempting to calm myself down. It was hitting me all at once and I couldn’t believe I had seen a dead body.

“You’re going to be okay, Y/N, alright? I’m here. You’re with me and I’m here.”

She took me into her arms and I melted in her embrace, my face pressed against her breasts. She smelled like home and suddenly nothing really mattered but her. Erica’s death was irrelevant now that I was in Wanda’s arms.

“That’s my good girl.” She cooed, stroking my hair. “I’m here.”

Before I lost all sense of self in her presence, her previous words struck me funny. She knew Erica was dead? How could she know?

“I know,” she said, answering me before I could even ask her. “Because I killed her.”

I pulled away from her, staring up into her deep, emerald eyes. She killed Erica? But why?

“Because she thought she could have you, when you belong to me.”

She was reading my thoughts. I squeezed my eyes tight, trying to regain control over my mind, when I felt her hands on my cheeks, caressing them gently.

“It was all for you, Y/N. I couldn’t let them come between us.”

“Them?”

“Dolly, Erica, and anyone else who stands in my way.”

“Dolly too?” I was stunned.

There was no way Wanda, the woman that I had been completely obsessed with, could be a murderer.

“Shh,” she cooed, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Your mind is racing. Let me take care of you.”

Her eyes turned red and everything felt better. It was good that they were dead. They were trying to take me away from Westview. Away from Wanda.

“They were bad people. You’re safe now.”

I threw myself into her arms, letting her hold me close. But, wait …

“What about Vision?”

“About who?”

I looked at her, confused, then I noticed the photo on the table no longer featured a man, but me. All the photos in the house replaced Vision with me and then suddenly … who?

“I-I don’t know.” What was I even talking about?

“Are you feeling okay, honey? Maybe you need to lay down.”

“No, I-I feel fine now. I’m fine now that I’m with you, Wanda.”

•

@natashaswife4125, @poison-blackheart, @aemilia19, @claxre-bear, @dorabledewdroop

#oizysian’s kinktober #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #mommy wanda #wanda x reader #wanda fanfic #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda marvel

477 notes · View notes

uluvjay · 1 year

Text

Tattoos- T.Zegras

Summary: Your boyfriend looks extremely sexy while getting a tattoo

Tz x female reader!

Warnings?: SLUTTY, cursing, pain?, pet names

A/n: I hardly know anything about tattoos and this was hardly proofread so please excuse any errors!❤️

Do not repost my works as your own

Today Trevor has his first tattoo appointment out of three to get his half-sleeve finished. The guy was coming to the house like last time and Trevor was pretty much bouncing off the walls waiting.

When Trevor got his Nike tattoo last year you were out of town so you didn’t really know what to expect but still happy that your boyfriend was finally getting the tattoo he had been planning for months.

Your not sure what you were expecting but it definitely wasn’t that you would get horny watching your boyfriend in pain.

You were sat with your back against the opposite side of the couch with your feet in Trevor’s lap so he could hold onto one when needed and it didn’t hurt as much as It would with your hand.

You were also supposed to be planning your outfits for stagecoach in a few days but every time your boyfriend let out a light swear word or winced he took all your attention back.

You weren’t sure if it was the way his head was thrown back and his eyes were clenching as the artist took the tattoo gun over a more sensitive area of Trevor’s arm or the small grunts he was making but it had you clenching your thighs.

You couldn’t help but think about how pretty he looks from that angle when your in between his thighs on your knees and how good he taste- you needed a break from this view.

You wiggled your toes to signal for Trevor to let go so you could get up.

“Where you goin?” He asked as you stood up

“To get a drink, anyone want anything?” You asked but both men declined.

You chugged the glass of water you poured, you didn’t know what was wrong with you, how could you find your boyfriend in pain sexy? You should not have been this wet.

You must have been in the kitchen lost in your thoughts for longer than you thought because as you walked out Trevor was letting the Artist out of the house.

“All done already?” You asked slightly surprised

“Yeah we only did a majority of the outline today” he told you as he walked up to you to show you what he could from it being wrapped.

“Looks good babe” you told him as you looked at it

“You okay? Your red” he asked and you were sure your face got ten shades deeper.

“Yeah just a little hot” you told him looking down.

“You sure? Your not feeling sick or anything?” Poor boy thought you were getting sick, how were you gonna tell him you got turned on watching him get a tattoo?

“I’m sure baby, I’m feeling fine” you let him know.

“Now cmon let’s go watch our show” you said pulling him into the living room.

—

The next day you tried to get out of the house while Trevor got work done to his sleeve but you could only spend so long in the grocery store before people started to look at you weird.

And when you returned home with only four grocery bags after being gone for three hours Trevor looked at you a little weird as well.

“Were those old ladies holding up th-ahh shit” he started to ask but got cut off as the gun went over a sensitive spot.

You could already feel your core begin to throb at those simple sounds, it was pathetic honestly.

“Their names are Dolly and Marie, but yes they were holding up the deli line.” You said with a little laugh as you sat in the same place you did yesterday.

“They’re so sweet but take so lon-fuck” he once again got cut off by pain, the same pain that had you wet.

“I don’t mind it, they kind of remind me of you and Jamie” you told him with a laugh.

“Wow” he replied trying not laugh much so he didn’t move.

The conversation ended there as you turned the tv on, however it didn’t keep your attention for long as you boyfriends groans were a little louder today.

You couldn’t help but stare as you thought of all the things you wanted to do to your boy and all the things you wanted him to do to you. He was so pretty and the noises he made were even prettier.

“Baby!” You heard someone lightly shout and snap their fingers to get you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah? Sorry I zoned out” you told him getting red again

Trevor didn’t tell you because he wasn’t sure if he was right or not but he was pretty sure he saw you clenching your thighs and looking at his arm being tattooed.

“I was just asking if you could grab some paper towels please” he asked.

“Oh yeah, no problem” you said as you ran off

—

The next day Trevor decided he needed to figure out if he saw what he thought he saw, was his girlfriend really getting turned on to him in pain?

So here you were back in the same position as the last two days, your feet in his lap as you were leaned against the opposite side of the couch.

He’d been paying more attention to you then had had the past two days and he was beginning to think that his theory was right, you were getting turned on by his pain.

He noticed that every time he grunted, swore under his breath, or threw his head Back you were clenching your thighs and most of the time today you were lost in thought.

Once the sleeve was finished and he paid his artist he sat on the couch and called you in from the kitchen.

As you came in to stand in front of him he pulled you onto his lap, being mindful of his freshly done arm.

“I have a question” he said as he pulled you against him with your core right over his dick where he could feel you throbbing.

“Yeah?” You asked

“We’re you turned on by my pain?” He asked as he watched your face morph from shock to embarrassment.

“What!? No of course not” you said looking down in your laps.

“Baby?”

“Yeah?..”

“I can feel you throbbing on me” he said with a smirk as he began kissing your neck.

“Okay..maybe I did. You looked so pretty and you were making noises you do in bed” you said

“Oh I looked pretty in pain?” He asked with a grin

“Shut up” you said laughing

He didn’t reply just pulled your face down to his and kissed you nice and hard just how you liked it. He pulled your hair making you gasp and allow him to slip his tongue in your mouth and laying a smack on your ass.

“Z we can’t, I don’t want to accidentally grip your arm.” you said pulling away a from him.

“Looks like your gonna be riding me then” he told you as he pulled you back down to his lips.

—

Hope you enjoyed, thank you so much for reading!❤️❤️

#trevor zegras #trevor zegras imagine #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras smut #jack hughes #nhl fanfiction #quinn hughes #jamie drysdale #anahiem ducks #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #tattoos

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alpaca-clouds · 8 months

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Understanding Princess Mononoke

People on twitter have asked me to write this up, after speaking just a bit about it on the bird plattform.

So, recently I rewatched Princess Mononoke and talked about it with a friend, who is Japanese with a degree in Japanese history. And I think some of it was rather interesting.

Some of you might already know this. But others might not. So just endulge me for a moment.

Let me start with Ashitaka. The movie does mention that he is Emishi - but many people are not aware, what this means.

See, Japan had quite a lot of indigenous cultures (I will talk more about those tomorrow). Most might know the Ainu, as they are still around today. Fewer might know about the Ryukyuan people of Okinawa, who are also still around. But there are several indigenous people, who have once lived in Japan, but whose culture hence had become instinct. The Emishi are one of them. They lived in Northern Honshu and their culture disappeared around the 10th century.

The movie, of course, takes place in the late 14th century, which is why the monk notes, that he knows what Ashitaka is, but will keep it secret. The idea is that Ashtakas little village had stayed secret to avoid being destroyed. As such Ashitaka has a different relation to the nature and the nature spirits than the other characters of the movie, who are to engrossed in the mainly Buddhist culture.

Another thing that has to be addressed is Iron Town and Lady Eboshi's people. According to the official Japanese material to the movie, Lady Eboshi once was a prostitute herself, who happened to get power by getting taken to China. Which is why she is in possession of the Chinese gun technology. She then decided to use that to allow herself power - but not entirely out of selfish reasons. Because she, of course, takes in untouchables. Japan, to this day, has an untouchable caste. Which are people who work certain "dirty" jobs or sicknesses. Most of the women in Iron Town are prostitutes who Eboshi had bought free from their brothels. And she wants to have a town where those people can live good lives.

Because of this she has to hope for the support of the Emperor, as the Samurai lords in the surrounding areas do not want her there.

Which brings me to the finale and killing the god. Here is a thing that you have to understand of Japanese history. The original indigenous people of Japan believed in nature spirits, that at times were actually gods. Especially mountain gods. As Buddhism spread (again, something I will talk about more tomorrow) the upper class went out to kill the gods.

Old Japanese history will talk about people killing gods in the same way, as we talk about St. Patrick and the snakes of Ireland. As if it has really happened.

And that is something that Eboshi tries to do. It is killing the old god, but more than that: killing the old culture.

One of the central conflicts the movie shows is, that the nature spirits are loosing their self-awareness. That they revert to normal animals. Because the indigenous culture that revered the nature spirits is fading away.

Which then is, why Ashitaka, who comes from one of those indigenous cultures, is the main character of the movie. Because he still has this connection to the nature spirit, that the other people have lost.

Yes, the movie is very solarpunk in hindsight. But it also understands what it means to loose connection to nature.

And I find that really beautiful.

#anime #anime movie #ghibli #studio ghibli #princess mononoke #solarpunk #indigenous peoples #nature #japanese history

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withleeknow · 2 months

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wishful thinking. (05)

chapter five: say what you mean

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; mentions of sex, kissing, we’re starting to dip our toes into angsty territory !!, less edited than i’d like but what’s new lol word count: 2.8k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / series masterpost / taglist

Get me a drink, I get drunk off one sip, just so I can adore you I want the entire street out of town just so I can be alone with you Now go when you’re ready My head’s getting heavy, pressed against your arm Just to adore you, I adore you

Adore - Dean Lewis

Whenever Minho asks if you two could hang out together at your place, it usually means that you will end up in your bed.

Tonight you suppose is no different.

Even though you often cap off the night having engaged in activities that could make the Victorian lady in Hyunjin faint, it’s not all that you do. Both you and Minho never let yourselves forget that you’re friends first and foremost. Sex is the added benefit that should never take anything away from your friendship. He is still one of the people you’re most comfortable with, one of the few people whose company you enjoy.

You’re sprawled out on the couch in your small living room when Minho returns from the kitchen with a plate of freshly peeled tangerines, the same ones that he brought over earlier. You push yourself to half-sit up so he could squeeze himself between you and the armrest, before you go back to laying your head on his lap as you two resume watching a bad movie that you put on.

“I hate this so much,” you comment, your eyes glued to the TV screen.

“You picked the movie,” Minho says. “It’s not that bad. The plot is kind of decent.”

“I’m not talking about that. Jeez, if they wanted to make a movie where the main character is a graphic designer, you’d think that they would at least consult someone who knows literally anything about visual art. Look at that horrendous typography job, the text isn’t even aligned with the edges and corners. This is hurting my soul.”

Your cushions (Minho’s thighs) shake lightly as he laughs at your dramatic outburst over something as trivial as a fictional character’s poor standards of digital art. But you really aren’t kidding; the way the woman on screen is butchering the text alignment is quite literally making that very particular part of your brain want to shut down for the next five to seven business days.

“They should’ve consulted you first, is that right?” Minho asks.

“They really should have. I could’ve done wonders for them,” you say matter-of-factly. “I almost majored in graphic design, y’know.”

You have a habit of biting your tongue around others because you know that people don’t really care about the same things you do. Whenever the opportunity arises for you to share tidbits about your interests, excitement would tumble out of you only to be quashed soon after when no one wants to listen to your silly little rambles. It’s disheartening, you’re used to it.

But you never feel that way around Minho. He always lets you babble on about anything and everything, even if he might not know what the hell you’re talking about. He indulges you. He never makes you feel neglected or ignored.

“Hmm, my little genius artist.” He taps your cheek once, and when you turn your head to glance at him, he tells you to open up before he slips a slice of tangerine past your lips. “You’re right. Even I can tell that it’s horrendous.”

You hum appreciatively when the sweetness of the juicy fruit floods your tastebuds. Minho’s hand trails down your arm to rest on your stomach, just below your ribs where he fiddles with the worn fabric of your sleep shirt. If he moves his hand up, he would be grazing your bare chest underneath your shirt. You didn’t bother with a bra because, well, comfort above all else, especially within the four walls of your own home. Besides, it’s nothing that Minho hasn’t seen anyway.

He keeps on feeding you tangerines in between your complaints about bad design standards until the movie ends and the plate is cleared. The only sound in the room is the soft music on the TV as the credits start to roll.

You turn to lie on your back, staring up at Minho. “That was deeply disturbing.”

“You chose it,” he reminds you. “You went in knowing what the premise was.”

“Yeah, I have no one to blame but me. I had too much faith in humanity.”

“And you call me weird.”

“You are weird,” you say. “But I like weird.”

Minho looks down at you and for a moment, he says nothing. His fingers trace something on your stomach. A heart or an odd circle, you don’t know; you’re always bad at deciphering those. His eyelids fall a bit, softening the usual sharpness of his gaze.

Then he’s pulling you by your shoulders, guiding you to sit up and before you know it, you’re situated on his lap with one of his hands on your waist, the other on the back of your neck. Minho tugs you closer, meeting your lips in a kiss in which you waste no time returning.

He’s sweet, like the tangerines that you were sharing all evening. It tends to start like this - sort of randomly, whenever it feels right. He squeezes your side in a comforting gesture as his tongue slips into your mouth. There are times where it’s more urgent, where one of you is needy and desperately seeks the escape and release that can only be found in the other’s embrace. Other times, it’s slower, more gentle, where you can really focus on making each other feel fully satiated.

This, right now - you would pinpoint somewhere in the middle. There’s no fiery clothes-ripping urge, nor a need to lay the other person bare and knead every single knot of stress from their system. Today, there’s just languid wanting; an unhurried inclination to be close.

Him and his tangerine flavored kiss, you and your resolve built on shaky foundation.

You start rolling your hips over his, tugging on his shirt because you want to feel his skin against yours. Minho stops you though; he puts both hands on your hips and pulls his lips away from yours. You blink, dazed, confused.

“I...” he starts, trying to even out his breathing as he finds the words. “I don’t want to have sex tonight.”

Embarrassment instantly washes over you. The rejection is a little humiliating; it’s the first time you’ve ever felt like this around him. Your cheeks catch fire from the mortification, and you’re very aware that you’re still sitting in his lap, right over his crotch.

Wanting to climb off of him and just fucking bury yourself in a ditch, you start stuttering like an absolute fool, “Oh... Y-yeah, no, of course! Shit, shit, I’m sorry. Of course we don’t have t-”

Minho holds you in place, one of the hands on your hips goes to cup your cheek to make you look at him. It effectively shuts you right up.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have phrased it like that,” he says, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone in an earnest apology. “I just want to keep kissing you. Is that okay?”

You’re at a loss for words. He’s holding your face, your waist, so delicately. He looks drunk on your presence alone even though neither of you have had a single drop of alcohol tonight, so sincere in his simple request that you feel your heart swell tenfold.

You want it too. You’re more than okay with just kissing him.

You don’t answer him verbally. Instead, you just nod and move to kiss him again, your hands tangled in his soft hair. The sweetness of the tangerines grows more and more distant as you chase his lips, but you can taste his smile. It’s infinitely more saccharine, and it only grows sweeter when he holds you close and knocks the breath out of you.

When you pull away for air, you slump against him, hiding your face in the crook of his face, shy all of a sudden. He keeps you there but continues with his onslaught of kisses - on your hair, your cheek, your neck, anywhere his lips can reach. Like he simply can’t get enough of you.

“You really like kissing,” you comment, giggling quietly as you do. “Even when we… y’know, bone.”

“Bone? You’re so romantic, babe.” You feel the rumbles of Minho’s chest as he lets out a hearty laugh, the sound of which fills the space of your modest home, embeds itself in every nook and crevice, in between every minuscule crack in your walls until the whole place feels warmer, brighter somehow. “Are you complaining?”

“No... just pointing it out.”

“Well, I like kissing you,” he says. “You’re not a terrible kisser, I guess.”

You sit up straighter and catch the teasing grin on his face before you roll your eyes. “Gee, thanks. You really know how to sweet talk a girl.”

“Says the girl who uses ‘bone’ to describe sex.”

“It’s a perfectly good euphemism for ‘sex’.”

“You might as well just say ‘boink’.”

“Literally shut up.”

“Sure.”

Then he’s pressing his mischievous smile against your mouth once more, and you can’t really wrap your mind around how it’s even possible that he keeps getting sweeter and sweeter. His sugary kisses send warmth tingling up your spine, make a fluttery sensation erupt in your stomach. You’re lightheaded, and not the kind that can be remedied by a sufficient fix of blood oxygen.

Even though you’re perfectly content with kissing, there’s a certain implication that comes with only kissing that you’re not sure what to do with. He’s literally inside of you on a weekly basis and yet, this feels much more intimate than anything you two have ever done.

Because friends don’t kiss each other the way he’s kissing you right now. Friends don’t kiss each other the way you’re kissing him back.

A chime from your phone breaks you two apart, the intrusion forcing a mildly frustrated grunt from Minho. You find the mobile device hidden between the cushions of your couch, and after you quickly scan the notification on the screen, you tell him, “It’s Hyunjin.”

“What did I say? It’s always him at the scene of the crime,” Minho mutters, speaking in the same tone that one would when their sibling interrupts a round of their favorite video game. “What does he want?”

“Just wants me to send him a photo of the sample portfolio from our class.”

“Ignore him. He can wait.”

“He’ll call me if I don’t reply.”

“He’s so annoying,” Minho grumbles but loosens his hold on you nonetheless. “Hurry back.”

“It’ll only take a minute, you big baby,” you chuckle, pressing a swift peck to his lips before you get up from the couch and head toward your bedroom with your phone in hand, searching for the binder that Hyunjin is asking about.

Once you’ve snapped the picture and sent it to your friend, you return to the living room. When Minho hears your footsteps, he holds out an arm, silently beckoning you into his embrace again. And you do. You slide into the space next to him, slotting perfectly against his side.

Your fingers absentmindedly trace along his forearm until they reach his wrist. “This is pretty,” you say, touching the thin link bracelet that he always wears, the one with a small charm hanging off the center in the simple outline of a dove.

“You like it? I’ve had it for ages.”

“Mhmm, it suits you.”

A moment passes where you both sit in silence as you fiddle with the gold jewelry, and you can feel Minho’s eyes on your face the entire time. After a while, he pries your fingers off his skin, only to swiftly take off the trinket.

“No, Min. What are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer you. You attempt (in vain) to pull your wrist back but Minho is stronger. He holds it in place as he clasps the chain around your wrist.

“Minho, you are not giving me your bracelet.”

“Relax. It’s not like it was passed down from my great-great-grandfather. It’s just a random bracelet I bought when I was 18.”

“Why would you even give me your bracelet?”

He shrugs, as though he’s merely doing something as simple as letting you borrow you a pen. “It looks good on you.”

You look down to where his hand is still on your skin, his thumb gently sliding over your pulse point as he admires how the dainty gold reflects the dim lighting in your home.

And he’s right. It does look good, but he probably doesn’t mean it in the same way that you’re thinking of right now. You think it looks good because it’s something that belongs to him that’s now wrapped snugly around your wrist, like some sort of affirmation spoken in a language that only the two of you can understand.

Minho leans over and presses his warm lips to your forehead. It takes you by surprise, the way he does it as if it’s second nature to be this affectionate with you. It’s a tipping point, then suddenly your thoughts are running rampant.

The instruction has always been plain and simple: No strings attached.

But...

The chaste kisses with no expectation of sex, being protective when you’re in the presence of other guys, even giving you his bracelet to wear just because you said it was pretty.

Why do all of these sound an awful lot like strings?

You hesitate, then you ask, “What are we doing?”

“Hmm? You wanna watch another movie?”

“No, that’s not... What are we doing?” You don’t even know what word to put more emphasis on.

Minho looks at you and loosens his fingers. What he can’t understand through your words, you think he sees it in your eyes. “Say what you mean.”

“Are we friends?”

“Of course we are.”

“Are we still friends?”

“Do you not want to be friends anymore?” He cracks a smile, but you can tell that he’s just doing it to lighten you up. “You have terrible timing. I literally just gave you a bracelet.”

“Friends don’t do that.”

“Friends don’t give each other bracelets?”

“Friends don’t kiss like that.”

Minho seems a bit taken aback, though he regains his composure in mere seconds, his voice calm as he tells you, “Friends don’t have sex either.”

“What are you saying?”

“I don’t know. What are you saying? You brought it up.”

You open your mouth, only to subsequently close it because your thoughts were never really that coherent in the first place. You look away from him to glance down at your wrist.

“You’re being confusing,” Minho says quietly, honestly.

“I just… I don’t want anything to change.”

“Did anything change for you?” he asks.

“No,” is what you tell him after a long minute, when what you really mean to say is I don’t know. You can see it as it happens, some stars fading from his eyes, some light growing more faint in his irises. Though the despondence on his face disappears so fast that you’re not sure if it was even there at all, or if it was only a figment of your imagination.

Then you throw the question back at him. “Did anything change? For you?”

Minho’s answer is the same as yours - a clear No - and yet, it makes you feel like you’ve been punctured by something sharp. You don’t know why your heart drops upon hearing him say the exact same thing that you did, but you try not to let it show on your face. Your poker face isn’t anywhere as good as his, but you hope that it’s enough.

You give him a tight-lipped smile and nod a little.

“Then nothing’s changed.” He strokes your hair, emphasizing his point with a soft smile as he reassures you, “And nothing has to change. It’s a bracelet, don’t overthink it. We’re good.”

Sometimes, the decisions you make are bad because you can foresee the outcomes, or at least, you have an idea of the consequences will be later on and yet, you still choose to go through with it anyway.

Just like how you chose to watch a movie you knew would drive you crazy with its trivial details, you choose to accept the feeling of Minho’s bracelet around your wrist. You choose to believe him when he said nothing has changed, and that nothing has to change. You choose to sweep under the rug the thoughts that you’ve been having about him lately. You choose to overlook the reason why you’ve been having those thoughts instead of facing it head-on because you’re terrified of what you’d find if you dig deeper.

You choose to let the conversation end here though it still lingers in your mind, and you choose to let him kiss you goodnight when he leaves because tonight has already been a series of bad decision after bad decision anyway.

And when you fall asleep, it’s the soothing coolness of the golden dove against your skin that lulls you to slumber, like he’s here right beside you to hold you through the night.

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torturedpoetemotions · 8 months

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People miss the point about Dean's interaction with Marta the post office lady in 14x13 so hard and it's FRUSTRATING.

No, it's not a reversal of the running gag about older women finding Sam attractive (which is gross anyway because it usually involves playing his obvious discomfort at being touched without consent for laughs). It is also not just Dean trading on his looks and flirting to get what he wants.

The point is to illustrate a significant difference between the brothers!

Specifically how they interact with the community of Lebanon, and what that says about their characters.

At this point in the show, Sam and Dean have now lived in Lebanon for like, six and a half years. And yet Sam approaches this woman like he would approach any stranger or witness in any random town in the country. And she reacts to him like any witness would to a strange man asking questions--with caution and some level of suspicion. It is incredibly clear that they don't know each other at all, despite how long they've been living in the same community.

But Dean knows her! And not just by sight and in passing. He's on a first name basis with her! He asks about her grandson and she readily answers! She knows his first name, too! They very clearly have an established report and have talked many times, enough times for her to have complained to him about her "spoiled little jerk" of a grandson!

This scene establishes that Dean is a known entity to at least some of the people of Lebanon. A known and LIKED entity. Trusted, even! He has truly put down roots there in a way that Sam has not, despite them living there for the same amount of time. He's bonded with people he sees regularly. He has little interactions with them offscreen all the time. That tells us something about Dean as a character!

And if it's a reversal or play off of anything, it's 1x11 (Scarecrow) when Dean fails to convince a couple who is in danger to let him fix their car so they can leave town sooner. Dean assumes (incorrectly IMO) that it's because HE specifically comes off to "normal people" as abnormal and dangerous, whereas Sam would be able to convince them with just a sincere look. In reality, of course, it probably has more to do with Dean being a total stranger, with no obvious credentials for car-fixing other than his word, in an unfamiliar place, than it does any inherent quality of Dean himself.

Because the key is, Dean isn't putting in any special effort in either scene. The way he approaches the couple is a contrast to how he usually handles cases. There's no costume, no subterfuge, and no alias. He isn't trying to fool either the couple in 1x11 or Marta in 14x13 into liking and trusting him. He's just being himself and telling the truth in both scenes (maybe not ALL the truth, but the essential basics). It works on Marta because she already knows and likes him. It doesn't work on the couple because he's a stranger to them.

So in 14x13 (and at other times in the show too) we see that Sam is not any better with people than Dean, especially when he makes no effort. He in fact gives off somewhat alarming vibes to strangers when he doesn't present with some kind of subterfuge that engenders immediate trust (i.e. being an FBI or insurance agent). (Think of Amelia's initial reaction to him in season 8 for example.) And this is true even for people who have almost certainly seen him around before, in the town he's lived in for over half a decade.

And the fact that he has made no effort to get to know his neighbors is telling in itself. Sam isn't any more automatically trustworthy to regular people than Dean unless he puts in specific effort to be. Costumes and aliases, fake credentials, even that specific face and voice he uses to talk to witnesses are all effort he has to put in. And that effort is not something that comes naturally to him or occurs to him outside of the context of a case. (I think we also see in season 6 exactly how much conscious effort those things require of him, given that without a soul he not only lacks personability but is downright impatient with and insulting to people.)

It's actually Dean who's good at building bonds, establishing casual report, and eliciting trust from people. And moreover, it's Dean who thinks to make the effort to do so. Sam is better at leading hunters specifically, but that's a whole different story and meta.

#supernatural #spn meta #spn 14x13 #spn 1x11 #dean winchester #dean studies #winchester brothers #sam studies #lebanon #my meta

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thelov3lybookworm · 3 months

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Hi! Omg I loved reading your Rhys x reader secret pregnancy fic! May I please request a Lucien x reader where he’s been cursed to stay in the form of an actual fox and the then reader comes along to break his curse? Thank you!!

Cursed

Summary: The mother liked being cruel to Lucien. First she had him lose his eye, and now his body.

•○●⛦●○•

Tw: mention of being a child of forced intimate relation, other than that, I'm not sure there is more, so let me know if i need to add anything.

A/n: my love, my heart, my baby anon. come here so i can sing you to sleep and cuddle with you because holyyyy shit i love this idea aaaahhhhh. (i am ready to be your tumblr wifey)

also, the beginning is basically our Y/n trauma/info dumping

anyways, enjoy!

(I had fun talking to you about this @artists-ally)

•○🌑○•

A twig snapped behind Y/n, and she rolled her eyes in frustration.

After wondering for a moment if she should ignore the animal, she decided to turn to look.

There, next to a mighty tree, crouched the fox. Abnormally large, fluffier than a normal fox, it had been following Y/n around for the better part of the week.

The moment Y/n met the fox's mismatched eyes, it tensed, as if ready to bolt. But then, after a moment, it relaxed, again staring at Y/n curiously.

The problem wasn't the fact that it was a fox. No, there were plenty of foxes in the forest near Y/n's home. But those foxes didn't follow her around or sit outside her door at all hours.

This one did all of that.

She wouldn't have been much bothered if it had been a normal fox following her around. But this one had a weird aura about it, like it was not an ordinary fox.

The fox suddenly moved, slowly prowling towards Y/n. She watched it, its body moving and navigating through the roots and fallen branches graciously, as if it were an elegant lady in the royal court.

Y/n shook her head, turning away and continuing on her journey to the cluster of trees deep into the forest to collect some fruit for herself.

The fox fell in step beside her.

She did her best to ignore the animal, though its unnatural aura kept her glancing at it.

Unfortunately, it also had her distracted, and she almost didn't pull up the hood of her cloak when a mortal man walked into view, carrying a bunch of firewood on his back.

But thank the forgotten gods, the man was too busy grumbling to himself to notice the pointed tips of her ears before she covered them.

Being a half fae was hard when living among mortals.

She could get killed if anyone found out about her heritage, and that was the only real reason she had for living on the outskirts of the small town, right next to where the forest started and away from the mortals.

And honestly, she cursed whoever the bastard was that had raped her mother and sired her for the inconvenience.

But she couldn't go down that path of thought, because if she did, she would just end up on the same thought that had her staying up at night and bawling her eyes out.

She was lonely.

It had nothing to do with the solitude of her house. No. It was because she was a half fae, and while other girls her age would mingle with other young men or whoever caught their fancy, she could not do so for fear of being killed.

She also had no family, her mother having died when Y/n was still young. Y/n had no siblings or relatives who could have taken her in, and so, she had learned to take care of herself.

She had also early on learned that the world didn't take kindly to people that were even remotely different from their perception of normal.

Especially beings who had a reputation to torture innocent souls for fun.

Y/n could not blame mortals for hating fae, as she herself hated them, though for completely different reasons.

It was not the best experience when you were scorned by the people you were a part of.

Hated by mortals for being a product of human-fae union, and hated by fae for being a half breed.

She sighed, shooing those thoughts away as she reached the cluster of trees she had been on the journey to, and set down her basket for a moment, stretching.

The fox settled down under an apple tree, and simply stared at Y/n as she went about plucking different fruits and berries and piling them in her basket.

Once she was done, she turned to glance at the fox, who sat unnaturally still.

She thought for a moment, then picked out a juicy apple from her basket. "You want one?"

The fox kept staring at her, and Y/n felt silly for trying to communicate with a fox. She huffed, putting the apple back in her basket and beginning to make the journey back to her little cottage.

•○🌑○•

"Do you think it will storm?"

The fox cocked its head, staring up at the sky before making a small noise, which Y/n took as affirmation.

"I think so too."

While a month ago Y/n would have laughed at herself for talking to -trying to talk to- an animal, now it had become normal. The darn fox never left her side nowadays, and Y/n had grown fond of him, letting him into her house and keeping him fed and warm. She had even named him Rusty.

Rusty glanced at Y/n before it settled down, laying his head on her lap, snuggling into the soft and fluffy material of her thick leggings.

A small smile made its way onto Y/n's face, and her hand lifted of its own accord, burying itself into the fur on the top of his head.

Y/n still remembered how she had felt uncomfortable around the fox because of the unnatural aura it gave off, but she had gotten used to it. Now, it was a companion who Y/n simply adored.

A long moment passed, and Y/n was not entirely sure it wasn't hours, but the sky darkened just a fraction.

Y/n glanced up in confusion, because she was sure it had been brighter just a moment before. Suddenly, the warmth in her lap vanished, and Y/n's head snapped down, her brows furrowed.

Rusty was no longer next to Y/n. He was across the clearing, and Y/n could not fathom how he had crossed the vast area so quickly. Her suspicions about him grew, and she realized his body was beginning to shake.

Y/n quickly rolled to her feet, her eyes growing wide when he began spasming, a tortured whine escaping him. She could do nothing but stare as his paws dug into the soft ground, pain filled sounds continuing to rip from him.

The moment Y/n stepped forward, hoping to do something to help Rusty, his head snapped up, a low growl he emitted leaving her frozen in place. And his eyes...

They were glowing.

Unnatural, completely otherworldly brightness radiated from him, his aura becoming ten times different from what it had been.

Y/n watched, her blood chilling, as he continued to struggle until the smell of something burnt reach Y/n.

Everything stilled after that, and Rusty collapsed, breaths heaving out of him.

And, the place where his paws had been, was nothing but burnt remains of the leaves fallen from the trees

Y/n studied the fox until he had gained enough strength to stand again, and his eyes stared back at Y/n.

She swallowed as the fox prowled closer. "You are not a real fox, are you?"

Rusty swung his head from side to side, his eyes boring into Y/n.

She nodded, wondering why she was even surprised. "Are you fae?"

His head dipped.

Y/n dragged her palms down her face, trying not to lose her shit.

"Why are you here? What do you want from me?"

He cocked his head, as if questioning her how he was supposed to answer.

She released a frustrated breath, going through all the reasons why a shapeshifter would follow her around.

She could only find one reasonable reason.

"Have you... have you been cursed?"

The fox dipped his head slowly, and Y/n took a step back, horrified.

"And you are here because you... what? Want me to break you free?"

The fox whined, taking a step forward.

"No." She stepped back again, continuing until her back hit a tree. "Fuck. No. I will not be used and discarded by you too. I will not..."

The sadness in the fox's -Rusty's -eyes nearly brought Y/n to her knees, but the fox simply dipped its head again after a moment, turning and prowling away from the clearing and, in turn, Y/n.

She watched him go, his shoulders curved inwards, looking defeated.

And, despite her instincts telling her to go behind him, she turned away too, walking in the opposite direction, towards her small hut.

•○🌑○•

The windows shook, their sound a little too loud in the small home, and Y/n's fingers curled tighter on the book, the pages crinkling under her fingers.

Thunder cracked somewhere, and Y/n flinched, squeezing her eyes shut. With a sigh, she put her book away, tugging her blanket closer for warmth. She turned to look out the window, where it was completely dark, not one tree visible.

And, despite her attempts at trying to ignore her worries about Rusty, she could not help but wonder where he was.

Was he somewhere in the forest, getting soaked by the rain, shivering?

Was he wandering around hopelessly, hoping someone took pity on him?

Y/n shook her head, telling herself she did not care.

But of course, she did.

Since the moment she had turned away from his retreating form, she had not been able to think about anything but him.

Y/n had never had anyone that particularly cared about her, so having even a damned fox use her for his own gain cut something deep in her heart.

But then a thought occurred to her, and all her feelings of betrayal were forgotten.

What if it is a child?

Or what if it is just like me, never had anyone who cared?

What if he gets incinerated in the storm by lightning?

Oh fuck it.

The second to last thought was what snapped Y/n's restraint, and she grabbed her cloak, lit a lantern, and set off to find her Rusty.

•○🌑○•

The rain made it even harder to see in the night, but Y/n soldiered on, determined to rescue the damsel in distress. Though the damsel was a male and could probably not be in distress.

He could have found a cave to snooze in, and Y/n was setting herself up to be sick for nothing.

Her heart didn't seem to care for that judging by the way it was screeching in her ears.

A flash of light caught Y/n's eyes, and she stilled, lifting her lantern higher, hoping she had finally found the sneaky bastard.

It was just a piece of glass, and Y/n cursed whoever had thrown it here.

After a long time of searching, Y/n spied a gap in the trees, knowing it led to a small cliff. Her instincts told her to follow the trail, and she decided trusting her heart was the better option than trusting her brain.

She had decided to ignore her heart in that clearing, and now she was stuck in a storm.

Lightning brightened the world for a moment, and Y/n lifted her hand to shield herself as she reached the cliff.

Unfortunately, Rusty was not there as well.

Frustrated, Y/n sighed, turning away from the drop.

And then she paused, her eyes landing on a bush.

Under which lay Rusty, shivering and curled in on himself.

Guilt spread through Y/n, and she stepped closer with caution.

His eyes flew open, his teeth bared as he searched around for a predator.

His eyes widened when he realised it was Y/n who stood in front of him now, and he ducked his head, as if ashamed.

Y/n walked forward, and watched as his shoulders curved inwards, trying to make himself small.

She crouched, extending her hands towards him, and he stared at it for a moment, then at Y/n before taking a tentative step closer, gaining more confidence when her hand remained unwavering. He stopped a few with his face a few inches away from her hand, and she reached out to pet his nose.

"Come," she whispered, "let's go home."

He stared at her for a moment longer, and Y/n felt like there were tears in his eyes, but she couldn't be sure because it could very well be rain water.

Navigating the forest to return home was much easier and faster than it had been searching for Rusty, and Y/n was glad about that, as she could think of nothing but changing into warm clothes and getting warmed in front of her fireplace now that she had finally found Rusty. Also, she had to wash Rusty and feed him. It had been long since he had left and Y/n doubted that he had eaten anything.

As soon as Y/n stepped foot inside her home, she shucked off her cloak, setting down her lantern and turning to find that Rusty still hadn't crossed the threshold.

"Come on in, Rusty."

She beckoned to him, and he trotted in, shaking his head to get rid of the water.

"Let's get you into a warm bath first."

Y/n hurried into the bathing room and turned on the faucets, letting the tub fill with warm water. Feeling eyes on her, she glanced back to see Rusty sitting patiently by the door, like a gentleman. Y/n smiled.

"Get in." She told him when the water had filled to the point she knew he liked. "I will go and get changed, and you get yourself cleaned up until then. We can have food after."

At the last part, his head snapped up, his eyes wide. But then he jumped into the tub, and Y/n was left to wonder why he seemed so shocked.

•○🌑○•

Y/n wrapped the tiny towel around Rusty, giggling at how funny he looked before she placed the red coloured bowl in front of Rusty, his favourite.

She stared at him as he began eating, and stared, and stared.

The air changed the moment he took his first bite, growing thicker and heavier with every moment that passed.

Confused, Y/n glanced behind her, and when she turned back to rusty, she let out a small scream.

In the place that Rusty had been occupying, sat a man... naked.

Y/n had never climbed to her feet so quick in her whole life as she did then, covering her eyes. But then she peeked out from between her fingers, seeing him blushing furiously while trying to cover up his private parts with the tiny towel. It was barely enough to cover up his chest, so he had to hold it with both hands like a curtain in front of his hips.

"Who the hell are you?" Y/n screeched.

She noticed now that he had hair like liquid flame, his eyes were mismatched, and he was... fae.

Realisation washed through Y/n.

"You- You're Rusty."

He grimaced. "Yeah, though I am a little concerned with that name. Can we please not use that? Like, Rusty? Really?"

Y/n let her hands fall to her side, settling on her hips. "You bastard, you should be grateful I let you stay and gave you a name. Imagine how weird it would have been in if I called you fox."

"Yeah, I think that would have been better than Rusty."

Y/n scoffed. After a moment, she spoke again, struggling hard to keep her gaze on his. She deserved a fucking medal for it.

"So... what was your curse? And who had so much free time to put one on you?"

A hint of a smile appeared on his face. "Don't you think this is kind of inappropriate to talk about while I'm naked?"

Y/n rolled her eyes as she moved past him, walking into her bedroom. "You never had a problem before when you pranced about, wooing all the female foxes."

She was now sure he was grinning when he replied. "Yeah well, they didn't wear any clothes either. If you were to strip..."

Y/n whipped around from where she was rummaging in her closet for something to gape at him. He grinned, leaning against the doorframe, his hands folded against his chest.

That meant-

Y/n turned away from him just as fast as she had turned to him, and no matter how much she denied it, the image of him... it would be forever embedded in her mind.

"Asshole." She mumbled under her breath, her hand landing on a piece of clothing she was unfamiliar with.

It was a pant she had stolen years ago, and later realised it had been too big for her. It would have to do.

Without turning, Y/n threw the pants over her shoulder, and by the lack of sound, knew Rusty had caught it.

It was a few moment before he hummed, letting her know he was done, and Y/n turned, her mouth going dry at all the muscle displayed.

She hadn't had the time to appreciate what she saw before, as she was trying not to make a fool of herself by staring at his privates, but now that he was covered from the waist down, she could not help but stare at what she could see.

"Like what you see?"

Y/n's eyes flashed up, colour staining her cheeks as she huffed.

"Of course not. You are still Rusty for me, and I'd never think of someone called Rusty as anything I like."

He scoffed. "Please, my name is Lucien. I'd appreciate it if you stop referring to me as Rusty."

She lifted her chin defiantly. "No."

He sighed. "Very well, my lady. If that is what you wish for. After all, you broke my curse, I can't really order you around anymore."

"Yes, about that curse. Care to elaborate now that you are appropriate?"

He nodded, a seriousness coming over him. He followed her as she led him back out, settling down in front of the fireplace as she boiled some water for tea.

Once the tea was ready, Y/n passed one cup to Rusty- Lucien- and studied him, watching as he fumbled a little with the cup before he got a good grip on it.

"Let's start from the beginning." She nodded her head for him to continue. "Do you remember the most recent war that happened?"

She nodded. The destruction had been immense, according to what she had heard through rumours, but she lived far enough away from the wall that no harm reached her.

"There was a continent called Hybern. One of my closest friends was pretending to aid Hybern so he could gather intel about the kingdom's and the king's inner workings so he could help Prythian when the inevitable war came. Soldiers from Hybern had stolen the cauldron from its resting place in Prythian, and they knew that it could make anyone young and immortal."

"What is the cauldron?"

Lucien glanced at Y/n with raised brows, but explained to her what the cauldron was, who the mother was, and all the things that probably didn't matter to the story just because she didn't know about them.

A power like that? People would kill for it. Y/n thought.

"My friend's past lover, who had been mated to another high lord, arrived in Hybern, and realised her sisters had been kidnapped. The king ordered the sisters to be put into the cauldron. One of them turned out to be my... mate."

The jealousy that ripped through Y/n was unmatched from anything she had ever felt. And for what? The mention of someone she did not even know? Ridiculous.

"The older one, she apparently took something from the cauldron, in turn making the cauldron take away the youth from the human queen put in after her. The queen was furious, and she allied with a powerful death sorcerer."

"He found out about my... relationship with one of the sisters, and before we killed him, put a curse on me, because I was standing the closest to him. He turned me into a fox, and I could only be turned back if someone who loathed fae gave me shelter and food, even after knowing I was fae."

"Powerful death sorcerer, and all he could think of for his last breath was to turn you into a fox." Y/n muttered under her breath.

A breathy laugh escaped Lucien, which then full on turned into howls of laughter.

"So, what, your mate could not help?"

"She probably could have, given she couldn't bear being near me, but she wouldn't have. Me being a fox gave her freedom to pursue whomever she wished."

Y/n sighed. "Is everyone from the other side of the wall dumb?"

He shook his head, staring into the embers of the fire, though a smile remained on his mouth. Y/n glanced out the window, realising the sun was starting to rise.

"We should probably get some sleep."

Lucien followed her gaze to out the window, and he nodded.

"I will take the couch, you should sleep on your bed."

"Nonsense. You have been invading my space for the past month like your life depends on it. It won't be a big deal if you sleep next to me."

"Sleep next to you, not with you?"

"You know what? You can sleep on the porch."

He laughed, standing and pulling Y/n to her feet.

He leaned down, pressing his lips to her cheek.

"Thank you."

Y/n blushed, shaking her head.

"I will leave as soon as I can."

Hurt pierced Y/n's heart like a bolt from hell. "Why?"

His brows furrowed. "Why? I have taken enough advantage of you. I don't want to impose."

She shook her head again. "I like when you impose."

He smiled.

"If you say so."

•○🌑○•

General Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686 @cassie6392

Lucien Taglist: @kennedy-brooke @hnyclover @minnieoo @mirandasidefics @sidrapotter @hnyclover

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gardenofnoah · 1 year

Text

i’m coming up on a year of having this blog and i thought i’d do something with this drabble that i can’t stop thinking about so. yeah! thanks for reading my little stories and saying such nice things to me for a whole year <3 love u

summary: in his 40s, touya isn’t expecting anything outside of his normal, comfortable routine. you come along and give him far more than he ever wanted. oddly enough, he doesn’t think he minds.

tags: MDNI, i’ll call this a medium burn, mentions of drinking, reader uses she/her pronouns and is called a lady,etc, age gap (unspecified but like 10 years--both are consenting adults), very little angst (like, the least i’ve ever written. this is just cute, if you can believe that.), smut (dry humping, oral), this is very much a comfort fic to me idk. wc: 10.1k

much to his utter disdain, Touya sees you everywhere after your first encounter. and often.

you have this awful habit of just popping up. in the stool next to him at the bar, with such regularity that his friends now joke about it being your stool, and then around town—everywhere he goes. it’s a small town, sure—but he still finds it ridiculous. even more ridiculous—the fact that you might be growing on him, despite all his resistance.

he doesn’t know when he started expecting you to hop up on that stool every friday. has no idea when he memorized your drink order, or when he started ordering it for you preemptively. this goes on every friday for weeks—until you don’t show up.

and he’s irritated then, because it makes him sore—where else could you possibly be?

“where’s your girl?”

“don’t know,” he mutters. he catches the smirk on his friend’s face out of the corner of his eye. “and she’s not my fuckin’ girl.”

that makes him laugh, and Touya turns away in a huff, face burning.

“sure she’s not.”

it’s another two weeks before he sees you. not that he was counting.

when he sees you again, it’s a tuesday, and he’s just wrapped up at his neighbor’s house. he carries two loaves of bread in one arm, and his toolbox in the other. the old woman had chased him out of there early, telling him, “it’s a nice night. go out there and find you someone!”. he snorts, kicking a bit of asphalt down the pavement. that old bat acts worse than his mother.

there are a few vendors lined up along the road, so he lets himself take his time—strolling casually, eyes raking over the stalls. it is a nice evening—warm, but the breeze is cool as it rustles through his hair. he sees a white tip from the corner of his eye and it almost startles him. it doesn’t matter how much distance he puts between himself and Dabi—it still surprises him when he realizes that he is not the same. physically or otherwise.

lost in his thoughts, he finds himself nearly home when he sees you in his peripheral, taking something from the merchant of the produce stall across the street. he has half a mind to turn and walk the opposite way (away from his house) just to avoid this interaction—still wholly irritated over wasting the $7 on your stupid little drink, and that’s all—but you seem to have a weird sixth sense when it comes to him, and your head snaps up in his direction right before he can make a break for it. you give him that stupid smile that he has to look away from, waving at him happily before you take off in his direction.

he considers if he still has time to flee, but then you’re there in front of him.

“Touya!” you beam up at him, totally ignoring the scowl he levels you with, “what are you doing here?”

“i live here,” he grumbles, looking away from you again, “what are you doing here?”

“ah, i visit my family on tuesdays. whatcha got there?”

he pointedly looks down at the bread in his arms, and back up at you. you’re looking at it a little too intensely, eyebrows scrunched together like you’re trying to figure something out—and then the moment’s gone, and you’re smiling up at him again.

“want to share?” you ask, holding up your bag of produce to him.

he doesn’t, but he finds himself next to you anyway, sitting on a retaining wall while you chatter away—kicking your feet out and handing him slices of an orange between your own bites.

he learns more about you. early 30s (so not as young as he’d guessed, but still young enough to make him cringe), living alone like he is. you grew up in town, moved away for a while, and then came back. you don’t really like sweets but you do like fruit—hence the overflowing tote bag full of it—and you’re more inclined to reach for tea than coffee. you own the little flower shop a few blocks down. he thinks it suits you—and then he shakes his head, trying to dislodge the thought.

“i’m having an issue with the floor though, so part of the shop has been blocked off for a few weeks. not great for the foot traffic, but what can you do,” you shrug absentmindedly, more focused on digging another piece of fruit out of your bag. you settle on a peach, and it’s quiet between you for a beat. as if waiting for the silence, the thought that he’d been holding back for the better part of an hour finds its way out of his mouth.

“haven’t seen you at the bar,” he mutters, picking a stringy bit of peel off the orange piece he’s been holding.

“huh? oh, yeah. i had a wedding order that i was working on. it was so….much,” you shudder like you went off to war instead. “why, did you miss me?”

he looks away, eyes narrowed in a scowl. “just was a waste of a drink, s’all.”

he regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth.

“a drink? my—oh. wait.”

your eyes go wide—he should’ve known you’d catch on to the meaning behind his words and he wants to die—

“forget it—“

“Touya,” you cut him off, and he can hear your shit eating grin, “were you hoping to see me?”

he’s sure he’s gone bright red and resists the urge to recede into himself like a snail into a shell. now he’s irritated, because did you think your drink just magically appeared in front of you every friday? he can feel the smugness radiating off of you—you want him to say it. he huffs, still looking away from you.

“just…was a waste of money,” he grits out, knowing fully that he hasn’t worried about money in quite some time, “figured you’d be there.”

you hum, and he still can’t look at you. refuses to, actually.

“sorry, Touya,” you tell him, and it sounds so genuine that he finds himself turning to you, just to check—to make sure you’re not fucking with him. “i’ll be sure to let you know the next time i won't be there.”

he rolls his eyes at the way you’re smiling softly at him, always like you know something he doesn’t. he mumbles out a clipped “whatever” and he hates the way he sounds like he did when he was 23. you don’t pay it any mind though, right back to talking his ear off.

“so do you live, like, really alone? or do you have a pet? you strike me as a gerbil guy.”

he huffs out a laugh at that, caught wholly off guard at the thought of being the gerbil guy (have you seen him?) and you smile at the sound, clearly pleased with yourself.

“no gerbil. a dog,” he finally takes a bite of the orange he’s been cradling in his palm for the better half of the last 20 minutes. your eyes don’t leave him.

“mm. chihuahua,” you say solemnly, and he whips his head around to look at you, expression all twisted and incredulous.

“a big fuckin’ dog, you brat.”

you laugh at his outburst, seeming to get some sort of pleasure out of riling him up.

“can i meet him?”

he looks at you then, and you’re really laying it on thick—wide eyes blinking up at him, bottom lip jutted out in a little pout. he can’t find it in himself to say no to you. with a sigh, he pushes himself up from the wall.

“c’mon then.”

it’s a short walk to his place and you’re vibrating behind him. shoving his key into the lock, he hears the familiar thumping of a tail, at about the same frequency as your incessant excitement at his back—he wonders just what he’s done to attract this level of energy.

“wait a minute—he’s going to jump at you—“

“oh, who cares. let me see him!”

he shakes his head, swinging open the door. he sees his big oaf of a dog rear up to jump, and then—

and then his jaw drops, because for what may very well be the first time, his dog is suddenly sitting.

you squeal and the dog isn’t much better off—practically wiggling away from his spot on the floor and whining at the sight of you, but still sitting.

“Touya!” you laugh, shoving past him to throw your arms around the dog’s neck, squeezing him tightly, “i know this dog!”

“you—huh?”

“i—“ your own laugh cuts you off, giggling while the dog fights your grip to lick you directly on the face, “i know him! did you get him at the shelter in town?”

“…yeah?”

“oh man! i used to volunteer—i was there when he was dropped off. i was with him all the time—taught him some manners—but then i took that job out of town for a little bit, so i didn’t get to see him after that.”

Touya, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that his dog is sitting, can’t bring himself to formulate a coherent reply.

“oh, i was so worried about him,” you say quietly, hugging the dog tighter, “i’m really glad you have him. what did you name him?”

that snaps him out of it, and he looks away, sheepish.

“i—uh. didn’t.”

you blink at him, processing, and then you frown.

“are you kidding me?”

he shrugs, looking at the dog— who, also for the first time, seems to be glaring at him with the same sentiment.

you sigh, shaking your head. “that won’t do,” you mutter, more to the dog than to him. “i think i called him Buck.”

as if on cue, Buck’s tail thumps against the floor.

“why?”

“not sure,” you say, scratching behind a fuzzy ear, “he just reminded me a little bit of a deer.”

Touya scoffs, completely in the dark as to how the two were even remotely similar.

“alright. Buck it is, then.”

you smile, patting the dog on the head as if he’d done anything worth rewarding. with a sigh you get to your feet, stretching a bit.

“i really do have to go see my family now,” you tell him, and he swears he hears a tiny bit of regret in your voice, “but thanks for letting me see Buck.”

he only nods, watching you bend down to kiss Buck square on his stupid blockhead.

“see you Friday?”

he swallows thickly, nodding again. your eyes are too bright.

“okay. see you, Touya.”

“hey,” he stops himself from reaching for you as you go to open the door, “i can…look at that floor for you. if y’want.”

every time he thinks he’s used to the way you just throw your emotions around like live grenades, he’s not—you smile at him so brightly he thinks you might just kill him.

you have a hunch that Touya is secretly a really good guy.

it’s almost endearing—how hard he tries to be so prickly—but it’s always all for naught, because he can’t help but go out of his way to do things for you.

you don’t know what to call the relationship—you gathered enough information from hushed whispers to his friends anytime he left his stool at the bar to know that he pointedly did not seek out the affections of women (“or men,” one of his friends said with a shrug, like they weren’t really sure). you weren’t clear on where that left you, so you were content to keep learning what you could about him—to stick around, as long as he tolerated you.

and he just barely does that, but you have a hunch it’s a farce. especially when take out cups full of freshly steeped tea start appearing on your counter in the shop, more days than not.

you lean against the wood top, sipping today's tea with both hands to warm yourself while you watch Touya work. autumn was in full swing now, and you had some difficulty keeping the shop to your preferred level of warmth, but it didn’t seem to bother him. your eyes linger on the hem of his old t-shirt, rising up in the back just a little when he reached for a different tool. it was obvious that time had softened him a bit, but he was still in shape. your vision followed the faded, looping scar that moved with the curl of his bicep as he worked each tool. it was hard not to stare.

it was even harder to get away with it.

“you’ll burn a hole in my head, brat.”

“just checking your work,” you tell him through a grin. trying very hard to feign nonchalance.

“oh yeah?” Touya looks at you over his shoulder, smirking at you. you feel it bodily. “what’s the verdict?”

“looks….” you pause, examining the array of tools and the sizable hole he’s created in the floor, “yeah. yep. like good work.”

he scoffs, shaking his head and turning back to the task at hand. you resist the urge to slam your head off the counter—settling for tapping in lightly as reprimand for your less than intelligent response.

you decide that the best way to get the embarrassment to dissipate is to do the thing that is quickly becoming your favorite activity: bothering him.

“pick a color.”

“what?”

“i said pick a color, grandpa.”

the sigh he lets out makes you laugh. “you fuckin’—fine. red. what’re you doing?”

you smile at him, and you watch him flush. it makes you giddy.

“nothing,” you drawl, sing-songy and incriminating, “don’t you worry your little heart about it.”

“you are the worry to my little heart,” he deadpans, not bothering to look up from the measurement he’s taking.

another thing you learn about Touya—he’s got a bit of a (dry) sense of humor. he seems to enjoy making you laugh.

there’s a lull in customers and you use it to your advantage—you go around to every bucket to ensure that each cut stem is submerged, and take out the wilted ones to dry. you don’t sell those ones—you just hang them up around the shop. you think it’s better not to waste them.

you also pull out some good looking red ones, as inconspicuous as you can—you gather a tulip, a few poppies, a peony, and a big, variegated chrysanthemum for the center.

you hold the makeshift bouquet behind your back as you approach Touya—padding over to him quietly until you’re close enough to lean into his space.

“whatcha thinking about?”

he spares you a pointed glance over his shoulder. “pest control.”

“har har,” you plop down right next to him, grinning at the way he bristles. of course it’s all for show—he doesn’t move an inch.

“made you something.”

“hm?”

you bring the bouquet out from behind your back, brandishing it in front of him dramatically. “tada!”

his eyes go wide—you see it take a minute for him to process that you’re giving him a gift. he sets his tools down and reaches for it, tentatively, like you’re going to fake him out at the last second. you meet him halfway, setting it in his hands.

“well?” you ask after a minute, “what do you think? i do pretty well, right?”

he’s quiet—turning the flowers over and back again, like he’s committing all of the little petals to memory. “what are they?”

you tell him about each flower—where they grow naturally, what conditions they like to live in, how to take care of them. he listens intently, never looking away from them.

“you don’t have to keep them,” you tell him after another moment of silence, “it was just a silly thing.”

“no,” he says, firmly. he looks at you out of the corner of his eye and lets out a breath, looking back down at the flowers. “s’nice. thanks.”

you have to physically stop yourself from jumping up and cheering.

“you’re welcome, old man,” you murmur, nudging his shoulder with your own.

he groans, grumbling a lighthearted “get away from me” as he shoves you back playfully. you let out some sort of dramatic squeal as you topple over, and you don’t miss the tiny smile that stretches across his face as he sets the flowers down next to him and gets back to work.

customers come in and out throughout the afternoon—most not paying any mind to Touya as he works. there are a few customers that eye him hesitantly—and there are one or two that stare pointedly at the scars that split his face. it feels like second nature to drop the customer service persona then—and to do things like drop their change on the counter and revel in the way they scramble to catch it before it rolls off onto the floor.

“have the best day,” you say to one particularly rude customer, all but shooing her out of the door.

Touya huffs out a laugh when you walk back toward him. “didn’t think you had it in you, kid.”

you cock an eyebrow at him. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“surprised you didn’t kick out her kneecaps on the way out.”

“yeah, well,” you huff, waving a hand at the thought of someone so dreadfully rude, “she would’ve deserved it.”

“why’s that?”

you meet his eyes, then, and for the first time since you met him you think about the fact that they’ve seen terrible things. you knew of Touya, of course—all of Japan did. you knew he’d been through something awful and did things that you couldn’t imagine the man in front of you doing now. you know that he would not be surprised if you told him the reason why you felt she deserved it. you wonder if it bothers him the way it bothers you, or if time has hardened him to his own mistreatment.

“don’t worry about it,” you tell him, walking back behind the counter.

you haven’t seen much of Touya for the last few weeks.

you’d gotten another big order—what would probably be one of the last before winter really set in— so you were busy. he’d stop by sometimes with the excuse of checking the floor (and always with a tea for you in hand), but you learn that he’s uncomfortable with lingering, and he’s usually gone as quickly as he came.

you don’t mind—it’s nice to know he’s thinking of you. you’ve just been wondering if it’s in the way you want him to—and a lot more than you should be, lately.

you concede to having a little crush on him. who wouldn’t? he’s incredibly sweet in his own way and very nice to look at and you suppose anyone would if they’d gotten the opportunity to get to know him over the several months that you have. so what if you’re thinking about where he’s at or if he’s eaten lunch or if he’s at the bar without you, more often than not? it’s just a little secret you keep to yourself.

you try not to think about how it’s one that would make him never speak to you again if he found out about it.

you let out a groan, looking down at the half-formed bundle of alstroemeria and eucalyptus in your hands. you’d been staring at it for 20 minutes now and the motivation to continue just wasn’t coming. you suppose it was as good of a time as any to take a break.

standing up from the floor and stretching your arms above your head, your spine rewards you with a few satisfying pops as you get yourself moving again. your eyes scan the shop, surveying the damage—most of it caused by you in the last few weeks, with scraps of paper wrap and loose stems strewn about. the shop could definitely use a deep cleaning, but little things like that were just part of routine upkeep, so you don’t mind. it’s only when you roll out your neck that you spot it: a tiny, but noticeable, brown stain on the ceiling that certainly wasn’t there before. you lift your phone above your head to snap a picture of it.

sent 5:57pm>>> hi. do you think this is a big deal

received 5:59pm>>> looks like water damage

received 5:59pm>>> when did that happen?

sent 6:00 pm>>> not sure. just saw it

sent 6:00 pm>>> if i just pretend it’s not there will it go away?

received 6:01 pm>>> that ever worked for you before?

sent 6:04 pm>>> i don’t like your tone

received 6:06 pm>>> cry about it. i’ll be over to look at it tomorrow

you smile at his brashness, setting your phone down on the counter. it really was very hard to not be enamored by him. you shake your head, trying to get rid of the thought like a wrong answer in a magic 8 ball. you have no such luck, but you realize what time it is and feel relieved. It’s tuesday—you can finally start getting ready to see your family.

you clean up and pull on the spare coat you have in the shop storage room, locking the shop door behind you as you leave. your grandparents don’t live far—just a mile or so down the road, and it’s not too cold to walk yet, so you don’t mind the trek.

you have a standing weekly visit at your grandparents’ place. they’re just about the only family you have left, and they’re slowing down a bit. it’s meaningful to you to spend time with them when you can—even if your grandmother insists on filling it with her insistence that you find a boyfriend.

you know she means well, so you tolerate it. your grandparents’ love story is one for the ages—high school sweethearts, together and in love ever since. the dynamic is an amusing one—your grandmother, ever the chatterbox, and your grandfather, only ever amused and endeared by his wife’s inherent ability to take up space. you have always really admired their relationship, but a small part of you believed for a long time that there was something wrong with you for not being able to have the same thing. now that you’re older, you don’t feel that way—but that doesn’t make being on the receiving end of the badgering any easier.

like you’ve summoned her with your thoughts, she’s on the front stoop when you approach the house—hand already on her hip like she’s winding up to start her lecture.

“i was starting to think you wouldn’t come!”

“am i late?” you ask genuinely, pulling your phone out to check the time. 6:26pm—you’re early.

“you might as well be!” she quips, pulling you into a hug. you can smell dinner cooking through the open window behind her. you close your eyes, content to be held in the moment. you miss this feeling of home every time you leave—

“alright you old bat, s’fixed. you gotta quit dumping cooking oil down the—oh.”

your eyes snap open at the familiar voice and you find blue eyes staring back at you, shocked as you’ve ever seen them. you blink, still mid-embrace and trying to comprehend why Touya is standing in your grandmother’s doorway. or why he’s a little sweaty and dirty and wearing that tight old t-shirt. if he’s always worn a bandana to keep the hair out of his eyes, or if that’s a new thing and either way, why haven’t you seen it? it takes another long minute before you remember how to get words to come out of your mouth.

“i–uh. hi...hi Touya.” you stutter a little, and your grandmother notices that you’ve gone completely rigid in her arms. she pulls away to look at you, and then at Touya, and back to you—

and your stomach drops when you see the most shit eating grin spread across her face.

you give her your best you wouldn’t dare look.

she just smiles at you sweetly as if to say: i absolutely would.

“do you have dinner plans, Mr. Todoroki?”

he blinks. “i–uh–”

“no? excellent. go wash up! you can join us.”

she starts back up to the door with more pep in her step than you’ve seen in a long time, patting Touya’s shoulder before shoving him unceremoniously to the side with surprising strength and walking back into the house.

you’re left out there together, both clearly still trying to play catch up. true to your nature, you’re the first to break the silence.

“i see you’ve met my grandmother,” you say with a laugh, starting up the steps. he shakes himself in time to open the door for you.

“you’re related to that dinosaur?”

you pin him with your best glare. “that’s not nice. she came after the dinosaurs.”

he follows in after you, the smallest smirk on his face. that you caused it makes your chest feel light.

dinner is relatively tame. to your genuine surprise, your grandmother sticks to easy topics, save for one comment about how you’re “getting up there” and should start thinking about children.

“oh my god, Mam,” you squeeze the bridge of your nose, exasperated. you look to Touya for help—who is clearly very amused and not interested in saving you from this.

“i’m just saying,” you grandmother waves a dismissive hand at you, “now who wants dessert?”

you leave the house a few hours later—with Touya in tow, because he refused to let you walk home in the dark by yourself. you certainly don’t mind the company.

“i can’t believe i didn’t put it together that you knew my grandparents,” you say, shaking your head. no wonder those bread loaves, months ago now, had looked so familiar.

“been helpin’ them out with maintenance stuff around the house,” he mutters, the hands in his pockets the only indication that he feels the evening chill, “they’re good people.”

the way that he talks about them makes you feel warm. “i’m really happy to hear that,” you sigh. you bump into him, and he stays close. “i’m sorry you have to put up with all of my grandmother’s antics though.”

he huffs a laugh, looking at you from the corner of his eye, “s’not so bad. except maybe when she’s trying to arrange a marriage for me with half the town.”

“oh god,” you turn to him in absolute horror, “she does that to you, too? i thought it was just because i’m her grandkid. she really wants to have great grandkids.”

he laughs when you shudder. “what, you’re not gonna give ‘em to her?”

you make a face at that. “no. kids are great, just…not really something i ever wanted.”

you think you see him physically deflate with something akin to relief out of the corner of your eye. you smile and try not to read into it.

the wind picks up and you shiver. Touya blinks down at you.

“you didn’t think to wear a thicker coat?”

you roll your eyes pointedly at him. “no, dad, i didn’t.”

he scowls at you, clearly not entertained, but then he’s shrugging off his own jacket and draping it over your shoulders.

“what are you doing? it’s too cold!”

“s’fine,” he mutters, brushing up against you with each step, “can’t really feel it.”

you go quiet while you consider this, eyes drifting to the textured skin that wraps around his bicep. there’s an ache in your chest that flares up whenever you think about Touya, small and proud and burned within an inch of his life. you wonder if he still feels it, 30 some odd years later. you want to reach for him, but you think better of it.

“do they hurt still?” you ask quietly, after a moment.

“sometimes.”

you get the sense that he wouldn’t mind if you asked more, but you’re not sure what to say. you don’t think it would be fair to ask him to relive any of it to satisfy your own curiosity. there’s just one thing you’d still like to know.

“are you angry?”

he gives you a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes when he looks down at you. his gaze is searching, like he’s looking for your fear—fear of him, of what he’s done. you know he won’t find any.

“no.”

the rest of the walk home is shrouded in comfortable silence, save for the crunch of shoes against pavement. all too quickly you’re at the door to the shop again.

you dig for the keys for your apartment on the second floor while Touya leans against the door frame, watching you.

you feel the metal dig into your palm when you close your fist around them. you look back up at him, and it’s almost startling how soft he looks right now. unguarded.

“can i hug you?” you ask, startling yourself a little. he’s so clearly not a touchy guy, but you hope he’ll indulge you—just this once.

his eyes widen for a fraction of a second, and then his face smooths back into his practiced stoicism. he rolls his eyes, but steps forward anyway. you feel like you just won the lottery.

“make it quick, brat.”

you nearly tackle him in your excitement and you hear him grumble next to your ear. you feel an arm loop around your shoulders, and you are suddenly very aware that your little crush is far larger than you thought. you file it away for later, because the beat of his heart against your ear feels far more important right now. everything about him is warm—you stifle a sigh at the immediate comfort that rolls over you like a wave.

“now go inside before y’get sick.”

you resist the urge to pout. you stay there for another beat—and he doesn’t move either.

you untangle yourself from him with a sigh. if you didn’t know any better, you’d interpret the look on his face as something close to disappointment. you start shrug your shoulders out of his jacket to hand it back to him, but he stops you.

“just, ah—” he starts, looking away from you, “give it back to me tomorrow. when i fix your fuckin’ mess.”

you raise an eyebrow, posturing to argue, but something in his expression tells you not to.

“okay,” you say finally, quiet between you, “be careful going home. goodnight, Touya.”

he lingers for a moment more before letting out a little grunt and turning on his heel. your eyes trail over the expanse of his shoulders as he grows fainter down the road until he disappears into the dark.

you drag yourself up the stairs, suddenly feeling exhausted. you stumble through the dark of your apartment until your knees knock into your bed frame. you fall into bed face first, not bothering to change or even get under the covers. still wrapped in the jacket that smells like him.

you dream of fire that warms but doesn’t burn.

“good morning, Mr. Todoroki.”

Touya nearly comes out of his skin, hissing as he hits his head off of the counter he’s crouched under. it would be impressive, how stealthy the old bat was, if it wasn’t so god damned annoying.

“how many times do i have to tell you not to call me that?” he grumbles, rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head as he gets to his feet. she only chuckles.

“you’ll have to forgive me for not addressing you with the same familiarity that my granddaughter does.”

he whips his head around to look at her—which he finds to be a mistake, because she’s just looking at him with that knowing old lady smirk that makes his skin itch.

“don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he mutters, stooping down to lodge himself as far under the counter as he needs to to avoid the rest of this conversation.

“oh, please. do i look like i was born yesterday?”

he pauses, mid crouch, to look back at her over his shoulder. she clicks her tongue at him. “don’t answer that.”

“i think it would be nice for you both to have…companionship,” she settles on the last word like it’s not really what she wanted to say, and it reminds him far too much of his mother. usually he’d shut this conversation down, but for a reason unknown to him, he doesn’t.

“don’t y’think i’m a little too old for her?” he asks, half-joking. he’d be a liar to say that he hadn’t thought about it at length.

she waves a dismissive hand at him, rolling her eyes. “oh please—you wouldn’t know too old if it hit you upside the head.”

he hides another smirk from her—which she seems to expect anyway, shaking her head with a sigh.

“you’re both babies still,” she says quietly, with all of the wisdom and yearning of someone who has lived as long as she has, “you have nothing but time. just don’t waste it.”

Touya’s not sure when the shift happened, but he’s acutely aware that it has happened.

he’s doesn’t know when he started allowing you to touch him. he’s usually uncomfortable with that sort of thing—it tends to aggravate his skin and it does well to make him feel queasy. but you lay your arm over his to show him something about your flowers on your phone, and he doesn’t feel any urge to reel back from you. he wants to be surprised at his lack of reaction, but he supposes he’s not—proximity to him has always been something you’ve insisted on, physical or otherwise.

the bar is crowded tonight, which leaves him feeling uneasy. the noise level grates at his nerves and he finds himself having to lean into you just to hear what you’re saying. it sours his mood immensely.

he’s scowling into his beer when he feels you crowd his space. his head snaps up, ready to gripe at you, and he finds you’re turned away from him. he looks around you and sees that your space has been crowded—by some rowdy little punk he’s never seen before.

immediately and on some sort of primal instinct, Touya wraps an arm around you, yanking you into his side. you brace yourself with a hand on his chest to avoid flat out headbutting his chin.

“hey,” he snarls over your head, eyes like daggers at the offender, “watch where you’re fuckin’ going.”

the man turns around, posturing to defend himself, but one look at Touya has his eyes widening in the same expression of fear that he sees on everyone else’s face. usually the reaction sits in his stomach like a rock, but this time, he revels in it. “and while you’re at it, you can apologize to her.”

his looks down at the ground immediately, unwilling to spend another minute under scrutiny.

“sorry about that,” he mutters dejectedly. Touya feels your grip tighten around the hem of his shirt, but to his surprise, you say nothing.

“get the fuck out of here,” he barks, and he holds back a laugh as the man does just that—completely forgetting about the drink he ordered.

shaking his head, he lets you go—expecting you to scramble away from him and back to your stool. he feels himself cringe—he probably embarrassed you.

he’s worried when he realizes you’re still tethered to him by the fabric of his shirt.

“hey,” he murmurs, trying to push you back gently to look at your face, “you alright, kid? you’re not hurt, are you?”

you let go of him, albeit reluctantly. you only move back far enough to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. he can only think of how close you are.

“Touya,” you rasp, cheeks flushed and looking at him through half-hooded eyes, “that was, um—really hot.”

he blinks at you, a little dumbfounded. his eyes rake over your face, trying to find the punchline somewhere. wholly anticipating you to snap out of it and laugh at him—to tell him what a fool he is for falling for such a cruel joke.

but your expression never changes, and he realizes at once that it’s one of desire.

a shudder wracks up his spine. he pulls you toward him again, splaying his fingers across your back to feel the way it arches into him. he dips his head down, lips next to your ear. fighting a smirk at the way you shiver in his hold.

“come back to mine?”

you nod emphatically, and he’d tease you about it if he wasn’t feeling the same level of urgency. he throws a couple bills on the bar top and all but hauls you out the door. he has no idea what he’s doing, but he’s half out of his mind right now and can’t find it within himself to think it over before he does something he might regret.

his own desire is nearly stifling, and he finds he can’t go another minute without something to satiate him, if only for a moment. he pulls you into the alley next to the bar, crowding you against the brick.

“you drunk?” he asks suddenly—slivers of rationality making it through the haze of such thick lust. you laugh a little, breathy and overwhelmed. he can see the puff of steam from your exhale between you in the cold.

“not at all,” you murmur, reaching for him. you wrap a finger around one of his belt loops and pull him toward you—he knows with an unsettling certainty that he’d do whatever you asked him to right now. the knowledge burns him from the inside.

“tell me to stop,” his lips are only a breath away from yours, and yet he almost wishes you would tell him to stop, because he’s not sure what comes after this. he’s alarmed by the weight of his own need, and he has a hunch that whatever happens next may not be enough to quell it.

he has the sudden and sobering thought that he may never get his fill of you.

“no,” you breathe, and it’s all he needs to bridge the distance. he’s instantly overwhelmed by the soft warmth of your mouth, and lets out a quiet groan when he feels your tongue swipe at the seam of his. he opens his mouth to taste more of you, and he truly cannot get enough. you pull his tongue into your mouth, sucking on it gently, and he is nearly frantic when he pulls away from you. he feels absolutely debauched and a little humiliated—in his 40-some odd years, he’s never known himself to get so worked up over some kissing.

“we need to go right now,” he rasps, panting against your mouth. he feels your smile against him and wants to swallow you whole.

“lead the way, old man.”

he barely registers making it through the door—has no idea how he managed to unlock it, let alone open it—before he has you pressed up against it. to touch you like this feels foreign, and he wants to feel everything. after a moment, he gets impatient with himself. he grabs you around the backs of your thighs, hauling you up and carrying you to his bedroom. he has half a mind to thank Buck later, for not bounding between the two of you and ripping him from whatever trance you have him suspended in right now.

he drops you onto the bed unceremoniously and is quick to follow, mouth chasing yours on the way down. you pull your shirt off and he helps you with your pants—he can’t help but pull back to marvel at you.

your demeanor changes immediately.

you're entirely too tense, breath hitching and your grip on his arms uncomfortably tight. he pulls back to look at you and you flinch.

“jesus—the fuck are you so jumpy for?”

"i don't know!" you cross your arms over your chest with a huff, red when you look away from him. "maybe i just don't do this as often as you, okay?"

he snorts, rolling his eyes. "i don't do this often."

it’s not exactly the truth—because the truth is that he doesn't do this at all—but he's still got his pride. he’d been touched before, but mostly in his 20s and only when he was just shy of belligerent. only when he could go numb with the certainty that it would be over quickly and that he wouldn’t remember it in the morning.

no one could hold a flame to you, though—sprawled out underneath him, chest heaving and eyes hooded with unbridled desire. something about it makes him want to reach into the ether and stop time with his bare hands. he wants to savor every bead of sweat that rolls down the curve of your breast, every touch that makes your pupils dilate—the primal need to know takes over everything else.

“i just…” you start, lip jutting out with the tiniest pout. he feels insane. “i feel nervous.”

something inside him twists at your admission, and he finds himself wanting to comfort you. it’s a completely unfamiliar feeling, but he leans into it.

"relax," he murmurs, unwinding your arms and replacing them with his full body weight, directly on top of you. you squeak, and he presses his smile into the crook of your neck. "don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

he feels you slump underneath him—however minutely—and it feels like a reward. and then your hips kick into his, and his brain short circuits.

he pushes back onto his forearms to look at you, and he's endeared by the flush that creeps up your neck as you avoid his gaze. he finds it cute, how quickly you lay your ego down for him. that in itself is another reward, and one he doesn't take lightly.

you might be a little embarrassed under his stare, but that doesn't stop the roll of your hips. yours is a slow grind up into him and he meets you with one of his own, firm and demanding. your mouth drops open and the way you shudder under him pulls a groan from him.

"feel good?" he rasps, sneaking a hand around the back of your neck and holding you there, nosing against your cheek until you turn to him.

"yes."

it's borderline pornographic when it leaves you and his hips stutter—he feels it buzzing underneath his skin as it pushes him closer to a place wholly unfamiliar.

through his jeans, he's sure you can feel him—hot and aching against the flimsy material of your panties. he huffs a laugh against your lips—suddenly acutely aware of the possibility that he may cum in his pants like a fucking teenager.

you seem to be aware of that, too.

you kiss him hard and he nearly whines, and then he actually does when you tangle your fingers in his hair and pull. he reels back from you to catch his breath and you don't let him go very far.

"you feel so good," murmured into his mouth, it's nearly his undoing.

"you gotta stop," it sounds a lot like a plea when it leaves him, "i can't—i'm gonna—”

you hook a leg around his waist, keeping him pressed to you. he knows at once that he is well and truly fucked in a fundamental and totally unrelated way.

"no," you drawl, and it's almost a coo in his ear, "i don't think i will."

he doesn't know when you took the upper hand and he doesn't even care. he's lost in the movement of your hips and he knows that there's a mess between you both—he hears the tacky click of damp fabric meeting with every grind into you.

"you're—fuckin' wet," he grits out, and he's so close. the knowledge of your arousal has him curling in on himself.

you chuckle, like he's stating something so obvious. "how could i not be?"

he rewards you with a particularly sinful thrust, and you keen underneath him.

"please," you arch into him, "want you to cum."

and he does just that—all the breath is battered out of him with the force of it. his cock throbs with every wave of release in his jeans and he keeps himself pressed snuggly to you, hips thrusting with no particular rhythm as he rides out the last of it. he keeps his face pressed into your neck and lets out a long, broken groan. he stays there—full body weight collapsed on top of you again—and it's a moment before he comes back to his senses enough to feel your fingers scratch over his scalp.

"fucking hell," he presses a kiss to your throat and you giggle. it warms something inside of him that's hard to shake once it starts. he has the sneaking suspicion—in this fleeting moment of vulnerability—that it started well before now.

he gathers his wits and pushes back from you. he sees the look on your face and finds that he couldn't go any farther than an arm's length away, even if he tried.

adoration. it could only be that—you look at him like he hung the stars in the sky, and it twists in his gut. he doesn't understand—he's done so many wrong things. you look at him like they don't hang above his head—like you can't see them there.

what a sweet little thing that's found their way into his bed. and deeper than that, it seems.

"want to taste you," he murmurs, leaning back down to drag his lips over the curve of your jaw. you draw in a shuddering breath, nodding, and it fans his ego immensely.

he takes his time, then—there's intention behind every warm press of his mouth to every inch of your skin. he takes note of the way your breath hitches, and of what makes you squirm. you tip your head back with a moan when he catches a bead of sweat between the valley of your breasts with his tongue.

you breathe out a whisper of his name when he latches on to the skin that stretches over your ribs, and he feels his own arousal swell again—sloshing around in his gut, thick and needing. he finds himself grinding his hips into the mattress below him—lazy, really. just enough to dull the ache.

"hold on," you croak, and he looks up at you, "you’re too dressed."

he looks down at himself and realizes that you’re right—he’s still fully clothed. he huffs out a laugh, shaking his head at his own one track mind, and sits up to take care of it.

he grabs the back of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head in a fluid motion. he feels your gaze on him and feels a little bashful. he’s even quicker with the jeans—soiled and gross as they are now—shoving them down his hips and kicking them from his ankles until his clad in only his (also gross) boxers and leaning over you again.

you reach for him, brushing your fingertips over the scar across his chest. he half expects you to pull away—to recoil from him like you should—but you don’t.

“need you, Touya.”

he could just die.

"s'that right?" he bends down to press another hot kiss to the skin that stretches between your hips. he fixates on the softness of it, and has to stop himself from nuzzling into it. he'd love to draw this out—to really get you pleading for him like he hopes you would, writhing and so wet underneath him. but his own patience nears its end, so he decides to be merciful. he shuffles down until he's eye level with the damp spot in your panties that makes him curse under his breath.

"look at you," he breathes, dragging a finger through the mess. you let out a whine, arching to chase what little stimulation he's giving you. "poor thing. y'really do need it."

he doesn't wait for your response before his hooking a finger through the fabric and dragging it off of you. a string of your arousal stretches and snaps with it, and he commits the sight to memory.

he wastes no time—he sticks his tongue out flat and drags it through your folds, groaning at the slick that coats it.

"oh fuck," you wheeze, reaching down to thread your fingers through his hair to keep him there.

as if you'd ever need to do that.

he can't get enough of you. so swollen and sweet against his tongue, he's nearly out of his mind with the need for more of it. he dips the tip of his tongue inside you and feels you squeeze around it, and it's unbearable how badly he wants more of you.

"Touya," you groan out, eyes squeezed shut tight as he pulls your clit into his mouth and sucks, "please—please don't stop—"

he thinks you're fucking insane for ever believing he would. he pulses his tongue against your clit and revels in the way your back arches as you wail—he reaches up to pinch a pebbled nipple between his heated fingers just to feel you.

"oh fuck, fuck fuck—" the words tumble out of your mouth, slurred and nearly incoherent as he flattens out his tongue and lets you chase your pleasure.

in the throes of it, you reach down to tangle your fingers between his own. he's not sure if you even know that you've done it, but the knowledge that you seek him out for such an innocent display comfort has his heart fluttering in his chest. he gives your nipple a particularly harsh tug with his other hand.

"oh i'm gonna cum—" you cry, hips stuttering with every drag of your sex over his tongue, "please, Touya, i'm gonna—"

he squeezes your fingers when you do, and you let out a sob that goes straight to his cock. he feels you tense up—every muscle rigid for only a moment—and then you let it go, and he's mesmerized. it moves through you violently, like waves crashing into the shore during a storm. he keeps your clit between his lips as you thrash, letting you buck against his face, dragging it out for as long as he can.

he waits until he hears your breathing return to a semi-normal pace before he cleans you up—with his tongue, light and gentle through your folds, not wanting to waste any of the mess you reward him with. he forgets himself and slips his tongue inside of you—drinking up all of your slick. basking in the way you flutter around him and the sweet slide of you down his throat. he only comes back to himself when you start to tremble, whining at the overstimulation.

he rests his head on the inside of your thigh and closes his eyes, breathing you in. never in his life has he ever felt so satiated by something—it confuses him, to get so much pleasure from you without you ever even touching him. he feels you squeeze his fingers and realizes he's still holding your hand.

"you with me, kid?"

you sigh, stretching your free leg out. "think so, old man."

he untangles your fingers to rub at your leg, reaching down to knead at the muscles in your calf. you sigh, light and content, and it makes him smile. it's quiet between you then, and he's grateful that you don't feel the need to fill it. he pulls your leg over his shoulder, moving to massage the outside of your thigh.

"good to me," you sigh sleepily, and he knows you're only a second from falling asleep.

he doesn't answer—his throat suddenly feels too thick and he doesn't think he can—he just keeps rubbing your muscles gently until your breathing evens out.

he finds that he doesn't mind being trapped between your legs like this. when he thinks he might even be able to fall asleep, he realizes for the second time that he's in far deeper than he thought he'd be.

he lets his eyes flutter closed and has a hard time thinking of anything wrong with that.

there’s another shift, after that. the only person that seems to be oblivious to it is you.

it’s not that you haven’t noticed, because of course you have. Touya becomes uncharacteristically touchy, literally overnight. you bask in it when you can, because you know it’s fleeting.

that’s where you split off from, well—everyone else.

“c’mon kid, you can’t honestly think that.”

you huff, glaring into your drink. Touya’s friends had jumped at the opportunity to heckle you the minute he stood up to go to the restroom. you find it endearing, the way they act like little old ladies, gossiping amongst themselves.

“we’re not together,” you repeat, albeit bitterly, “it’s not like that for him.”

the friend closest to you barks out a laugh, and you pin him with your meanest stare. it only makes him laugh harder. he’s wiping tears from his eyes when Touya comes back, filling the space between you.

it hurts tremendously to know that this is temporary, and you feel ridiculous for feeling that way. it’s not like it comes as a surprise—you knew very well that Touya wasn’t one for romance or love. you thought you could live with that, especially with the sex being as good as it is—but it was just so easy to believe the opposite was true, because he really was good to you. if you allowed yourself to forget, it was nothing at all to pretend he was because he wanted this, too.

still—like a magnet, you’re drawn to him. you hop down from your stool to stand beside his, and rest your head on his shoulder.

“you hungry?,” he turns to murmur into your hair, “i’ll get you fries or somethin’.”

“wow, fries” you scoff, rolling your eyes, “how chivalrous.”

you feel him grin. “wasn’t raised in a barn.”

it’s a bad joke. it lodges itself in your skin and makes you ache for him. you try not to dwell on it.

“you could’ve fooled me.”

he rolls his eyes back at you with a little tch, but it’s lighthearted. he slings his arm around your neck and pulls you closer until you’re pressed into the warmth of his side, and presses a kiss to your temple.

“you know, most men would give up their seats for pretty women.” you tease, leaning into his touch.

“let me know if you see one, then.”

“hey!”

he laughs, brushing his lips against your forehead again before leaning back, patting his thigh.

“c’mon then, pretty lady.”

you feel warm as you climb up into his lap, and when you settle in, it’s like a key inside of a lock. you pointedly ignore the knowing glance from the man to your right, choosing instead to feel every inch that connects you to Touya. it feels like a reward, to mold to him this well—like something you’re owed after trimming off every one of his prickly little thorns for as long as you have. you want to tell him so, but you know he’d clam up or shove you off of him. you keep your feelings where they simmer under your skin and focus on the way his hand trails over the curve of your hip—back and forth, like he means to soothe, but his warmth feels like a brand. you close your eyes and imagine a reality in which he does it because he loves you.

“you alright?”

it sounds odd, coming from him—like he’s not used to asking the question. you suppose he’s not—he’s never had anyone to check up on. he reaches to brush a strand of hair from your face, and his fingers linger over your brow bone.

you’d been quiet since you left the bar—you’d followed him back to his house with an uncharacteristically little amount of banter. you’d been pliant as he pulled you down on the bed with him—nearly boneless and without so much as a teasing bite on the way down.

despite yourself, you feel your eyes start to burn. you let out a clipped curse, blinking rapidly and looking pointedly away from him—hoping he wouldn’t press you about it.

he does.

“hey, hey,” he says softly, reaching to grab your chin with warm, calloused fingers and turning you to face him, “what’s goin’ on?”

his blatant concern makes it worse—drives the knife a little deeper into your side—because it’s so starkly different (and far more intimate) from the Touya you started with. it only serves as a reminder of your original suspicion having long been confirmed—that he cares for you because he’s good. not because he loves you. not because he feels this unbearable, aching need that you do. you know there’s no escaping him now—he’s seeded himself somewhere deep in your chest and taken root. when his thumb brushes down over the curve of your jaw, you know that there’s no stopping the words that are about to come out of your mouth.

“i love you,” the tears crest and fall, and you ache when he brushes them away before they can slip down your temples, “i’m really sorry.”

you’re a little surprised when you see his eyebrows knit together slightly in an emotion that’s definitely not the overt and immediate dismay you thought it would be, but you close your eyes before you can see anything else—before you can watch him pull away from you, genuinely and for the last time.

you go rigid when you feel his forehead knock into yours, gently and only for an instant.

“s’that such a bad thing?”

your eyes snap open, and you think the sight might kill you—he’s open and giving you everything with a willingness that makes your breath stutter in your chest. he has his head propped up on his hand to look at you, and it’s almost enough to disarm you completely.

“don’t be cruel if you’re going to leave,” you hear yourself plead, despite what you’re seeing. he only snorts.

“and what makes you so sure i’ll do that?”

“i know that you don’t do this shit.”

he smiles at that—a little thing that stretches across his face slow. it amuses him to hear you swear.

“you’re right,” he murmurs, reaching to brush his fingers over your jaw again. holding you there so gently that it aches. “i don’t. s’different now, though.”

you blink at him through the sting in your eyes, more confused than anything. he lets out a slow sigh, but it’s not in frustration.

“you’re stuck to me now,” he says with such a fondness that you feel the words stick themselves to your bones, “m’not going anywhere.”

“i’m not trapping you here, Touya—“

“you’re not,” he agrees, with more patience than he’s ever afforded you. something starts to click in your mind, but for some reason, you find yourself fighting it.

“you don’t—you’re not—“

“hey,” he cuts you off with a flick to your forehead, “listen to what i’m tellin’ you.”

“it’s…hard. for me.” he says after thinking for a moment, eyebrows furrowed again like he’s trying to make up the words from scratch. “i‘m used to bein’ alone. never really thought about anybody else.”

you’re silent then, mostly stunned, because you don’t think he’s ever said so many words to you. not like this.

“i’m outta my depth here, kid,” it’s nearly whispered and it feels sacred, like a confession between you. you’re suddenly very aware that he’s giving you something that he’s parting with for the first time in his life. “but i can’t think about ya anywhere but here now. makes me feel a little sick.”

you reach for him then—tentative fingertips brushing over the rapid fluttering of his heart. he gathers them in his hand and holds you there.

“i might not be any good at this. but i’d like to try.”

his words hit your ears one at a time, like coins slotted into a carnival game—they reach your mind with a heavy clink and only when the last one drops in do you really hear him. he’s no casanova, but you understand the sentiment under his words as if he’d spoken it aloud.

you close your eyes and draw in one more shuddering breath, and it knocks loose the last of your reservations. you turn on your side, facing him fully, meeting the blue of his eyes with a slow smile that makes them narrow at you in suspicion.

“jeez. you didn’t have to go all soft on me.”

he scoffs, shaking his head. “glad to have you back, you fuckin’ brat.”

you laugh and he chases the sound, leaning forward until your foreheads knock together again. this time, he stays put.

“tell me again,” he murmurs, and your heart balloons inside your chest.

“i love you.”

epilogue—1 year later

Touya trudges up the steps to your apartment after finishing up at your grandparents’. you’d think he’d agreed to remodel the whole house, with how often they call him over now.

he had a hunch that he wasn’t really there just to make repairs, and he didn’t mind. he knew how much your family meant to you, and he’d be lying if he said they weren’t growing on him, too.

“you bring our girl over here to see us,” the old bat called after him as he walked out the door, “don’t let her work herself to death.”

he was quick to agree, because his concerns were similar—you’d gotten busy as the weather started to warm with the first hint of spring, and you did not appear to be particularly skilled at taking breaks or prioritizing yourself. predictable, but no less annoying.

walking up the steps to the home you now share, he looks down at the squirming thing in his arms and lets out a sigh.

it didn’t take much convincing for him to agree to move in. he got to see you everyday (which allowed him to ensure you were, at the very least, feeding yourself) and Buck was over the moon at living in a new space if that meant he could be with you all the time. he couldn’t find a reason to say no (and he really, really didn’t want to), so it was easy to say yes. the smile you gave him when he agreed is imprinted on his heart.

“babe? you here?”

you call to him in response from the kitchen, not looking up at him when he walks in—you’re hunched over the counter in front of your laptop, going through orders while Buck lays at your feet. he makes no move to greet Touya—in fact, the only acknowledgement Buck spares him is a few thuds of his tail against the tile. Touya narrows his eyes at him. traitor.

“hi,” you murmur, turning your body like you’re going to look at him—except you don’t actually look away from the computer.

“hi,” he grins, not moving in to kiss you like he usually does. waiting for you to turn to him.

“what did Mam need—oh.”

you’re finally looking at him—except you’re not really looking at him at all, because your eyes are focused on the shivering thing in his arms.

you look at it, and to him, and then back to it. you’re quiet for a beat, clearly trying to process, and then the thing nearly jumps out of his arms when you throw your head back and laugh.

“what the hell is that—” you say through a wheeze, wiping your eyes on your sleeve, “Touya—oh my god—where did you get that?”

you close the proximity between you—finally, he thinks—and he bends to kiss your temple when you take the chihuahua from his arms. instantly Buck is on his feet, sniffing the air but otherwise content just to look at the dog in your arms. Touya feels relief at the non-reaction—you really had taught his dog some manners.

“the fuckin’ thing was rooting around in the trash,” he mutters, slinging an arm around your shoulders, “figured you’d be mad at me if i left ‘im there.”

you roll your eyes and he knows you know it’s a lie—he wouldn’t have been able to sleep if he’d left the dog there.

“are we keeping him?” you ask absentmindedly, scratching his tiny head. it works to subdue him—the shaking stops (mostly) and he lets out a little huff before relaxing in your hold. it makes you smile, and Touya thinks he’d fill this whole fucking house with chihuahuas if it meant he could see it again.

“do y’want to?”

you let out a stray chuckle, finally looking up at him. “i guess he’d fit, won’t he?”

he feels the grin stretch across his face. “i don’t know. it’d be a tight squeeze.”

you snort, reaching with your free hand to poke at his ribs. “you have to name him, you know.”

“fuck,” he groans dramatically, pulling another giggle from you, “fine. what about…” he trails off, wracking his brain and looking around the kitchen, praying for even a semblance of inspiration. he sees your half-eaten lunch on the counter, and he thinks about the moldy cold cut he’d had to wrestle out of the little shit’s surprising tight grip—

“lunch meat.”

“...i’m sorry?”

“his name is lunch meat.”

you laugh at that, and the sound reverberates off every cell in his body.

“it’s a good thing we’re not having kids,” you say through a giggle, “they’d have the worst names.”

he grins at you and you just shake your head, cooing to the tiny dog in your arms. Touya peels himself from you, settling against the counter just to watch. the other surprise—the one he’d actually planned—involved a fancy dinner in the next town over, because it is your anniversary, after all—but right now it feels like he has nothing but time, and to do anything but stand here and feel every second with you would feel like a waste.

this fic belongs to me (@gardenofnoah). i do not allow anyone to repost, edit, or reproduce this work.

#am i....a sap?#i love him. oh my god do i love him #my baby deserves a good fucking ending #glares at horikoshi #todoroki touya x you #dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader #touya fluff #touya x reader #fic: when fire doesn't burn

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