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loveindefinitely · 4 months

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༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

05 — THESE THINGS EAT AT YOUR BONES

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

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You were seventeen when you enlisted.

Obviously, you had to lie about your age – just a year off, not a drastic difference. The recruiters wouldn’t care enough to double check, anyways. Anyone willing to join their forces was good enough in their books.

You’d been desperate, desperate for a sense of community, for a home, for something to occupy your time with.

Things hadn’t been easy after your mother had passed.

She’d raised you on her own; having taken you from your father before you could realise what a father was. Said he was a bad man, didn’t deserve an angel like yourself. Sometimes, you wished that you’d known him, or at least had a father figure to look up to.

That was rare, however. Your mother had done a great job in raising you – making sure you had morals and looked out for others. Always had a roof over your head, food made with love in your tummy.

It was only three months prior to your enlistment that she passed.

While you were at school, she was shot and killed in your childhood home. The day you walked through that front door, backpack a hefty weight on your shoulders, and saw her wide-eyed corpse on the living room carpet, was the day that a piece of you died.

That night, with the cool fabric of the paramedic’s shock blanket around your frame, you looked up what happens after you die with shaky, blood-stained hands. A question you hadn’t had to consider. Not until then.

The police wrote down your stilted words in their government-issued notepads, attempts of sympathy on their faces.

All you could focus on was the tap tap tap of your foot against the carpet, the chewed up flesh of your inner cheek, and the burning of your eyes.

You had, thankfully, managed a choked up explanation of what you’d seen.

“I came home. From school. She was just. There. On the carpet. Her eyes were open,” you managed to whisper, eyes remaining in your lap.

“How did you feel when you saw her?” The officer asked.

You had half the mind to ask him that very same question. You didn’t, of course.

“I felt that she deserved a better death than this. Sir.”

The time after that passed in quick, blurry memories. A hand on your shoulder here, a trauma nurse there, all the while your mind could only supply you with the image of the one person you had. Gone.

“Here.”

You’d looked up with bloodshot eyes and chapped lips. The man looked to be in his late forties, with greying hair and saggy features. In his hands was a steaming cup of tea – extended towards you. With trembling fingers, you took it from the man.

“Thank you,” you’d murmured, before blowing across the liquid with a soft breath. It rippled with the flowing air, tea leaves simmering on the bottom. If you looked hard enough, you could make out a tree.

“Is it alright if I join you?” He asked, gesturing to the chair in front of you. You nodded, and he moved to get comfortable in his seat, eyes remaining on you. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

That was, funnily enough, the first time you’d heard those words said to you.

“I’m Herschel Shepherd,” the man supplied, with a small, comforting smile. He extended a weathered hand to you, and after a moment, you accepted it with a light shake. “I think I might know who’s responsible for your mother’s death.”

You swallowed. “What? Are you,” you worked your heavy tongue, “Are you in the FBI?”

He loosed a hearty chuckle at that, before shaking his head. “No, kid. I’m a bit higher up than that.”

You didn’t have it in you to push. Not then, not with the smell of blood a consistent rot in your nose. You just nodded, accepting that explanation, squeezing your hands together for comfort.

“There’s been some rumours,” Shepherd leaned his elbows against his knees, lowering himself to meet you at eye level. “Of a secret organisation, searching and killing those affiliated with the army. Especially those who served, and then ran.”

Your brows furrowed, mouth opening and closing around nothing. “What does this have to do. With anything – my mum, she wasn’t –”

“She was, kid,” Shepherd interrupted with a raised hand. “She was a renowned Lieutenant. Served for ten years.”

Tap tap tap, your foot goes.

“She would’ve told me,” you managed out, throat choking up and nostrils flaring. “She wouldn’t have hid that from me. I’d know. You’re lying.”

“She didn’t tell you to keep you safe,” he urged, resting his hand on your bouncing knee in comfort. “But… This is more than just her. This is an attack on our country, on you, kid. I’m investigating this group, their ideals, their plans. You can help.”

You shook your head adamantly. “No. This has nothing to do with me.”

“It has everything to do with you,” Shepherd immediately retorted, and you felt your chest caving in, your shoulders deflating. “It’s up to you. I hope to see you in my regiment, kid.”

Then, he’d stood, and dropped a card onto your lap. Without another word, he left.

It was later that night, when you found yourself near passing out, that you’d read his business card. It had his name, his title – Lieutenant General – and a regiment. You weren’t sure how any of it worked, if you could do this, if you were made for something like the army. That night, you’d studied and watched and learned everything you could about his regiment.

Three months later, you’d stood before him, gun in hand.

He just smiled, knowingly, and clapped a hand on your shoulder. He leaned down and whispered, “Together, we’ll avenge her.”

And you did, under his wing. You set things right.

Your ears ring, the bumps of the vehicle doing nothing to snap you out of your daze. It’s like your insides have turned inside out, every molecule of liquid evaporated with a single name.

“He’s a good man,” you manage to say, breaking the stunned silence of the 141. You don’t dare to look up, to see their expressions, their apprehension. “He saved me. Multiple times. He wouldn’t hurt anyone without a reason, he wouldn’t.”

Even as you say the words, try and plead, you find yourself losing faith. It’s a devastating thing, one that has you wanting to wretch your near-empty stomach.

“We did some digging,” Price murmurs, sounding sorrowful and almost guilty. “We found the truth.”

The entire time that Price retells the intel he and ‘Laswell’ found, you find yourself falling deeper and deeper into your pit of despair. Like you’re clawing with your nails to get out, yet all you’re finding is unrelenting stone, breaking the keratin with every scratch.

By the time that all the information has been told, your body feels as though it’s frozen.

It isn’t until you feel a thumb wipe against your cheek that you realise you’re crying. Finally, finally, you look up, and meet Soap’s mirthful eyes. His thumb is rough where it wipes away your tears, gathering the salty liquid against the ridges of his fingertips.

Could it get worse than this? Worse than being told that the only other man in your life – the only other person you’d trusted – was a bad man? Working with Graves? How hadn’t you known? Why hadn’t Graves told you –

Why. Why. Why?

“He was the closest thing I had to a father,” you manage, feeling almost manic with it. “He – he and Graves, they’re all I have, I can’t, you can’t–”

You barely manage to open the small window before you’re hurling your empty guts, nothing coming out but air and some bile burning the back of your throat. Your throat, eyes, your entire body aches.

Two large hands rub at your back, and you can hear words being said, but you can’t understand them, can’t hear anything but a low buzz in the back of your mind. Your breath comes out in loud, sharp pants, and you can’t help but sniffle as tears roll down your cheeks and drip from your chin.

Your entire life has just been flipped on its head, and you can’t handle it. You are a Colonel, you’re supposed to be impenetrable, but this, this is everything you ever had. Gone with a few words, a single mission.

“It’s okay, lass, fuck,” you can finally make out Soap saying, recognising one of the hands as his. It’s an, admittedly, comforting weight, one that you find yourself leaning back into. “Steamin’ Jesus.”

“Kyle, do you have water?” Price calls out to the front, and soon, a hand directs your head to enter the van once more, an opened water bottle being pressed to your lips. Price holds it, his hand stroking the back of your neck in support. “Have a drink, darlin’,” he encourages, tilting your head back as you swallow the ice-cold water. “There we go,”he murmurs, his touch unrelenting.

“You good, love?” Gaz calls from the front, brows furrowed where he’s half-watching in the rearview mirror.

All you can give him is a small, weak nod, but he seems to accept it.

Your mind is spinning at a mile per minute, shuddering when Price pulls the bottle away and Soap continues to rub your back in calming circles. This is, you think, the one time you’ll allow yourself to be comforted by them. This was already crossing too many of the boundaries you’d put up in your head, a clear violation of the separation you’d planned out.

Ghost, true to his name, remains still where he sits in front of you, calculating as he stares you down.

“What are the chances,” he begins, focus remaining on you even if everyone else’s is suddenly on him, “That General’s personal pet is also Graves’ girl who had a change of heart?”

“Si–” Soap begins, before Ghost cuts him off.

“How do we know she’s not a fuckin’ spy,” he spits out, glaring at you with everything he has, “And we’ve been too fuckin’ stupid to figure it out!”

You’re not in control of your body, at this point. Your emotions are.

With one breath, you pull out the blade hooked to your hollister, grip it in a fist, and grab the scruff of Ghost’s uniform and pull him close. Grabbing his hand, you slide the knife into it, grabbing his wrist, pulling it forward so the knife is pressed against your neck.

“Kill me,” you breathe, chest heaving, eyes burning with rage, “Kill me if you think I’m a spy. Slice the knife through my fucking throat, Lieutenant, do it.”

His irises are blown black, the white of his eyes stark against the grease paint smeared over his visible skin. You can feel his heavy breaths through his mask, brushing against your snarled lips. You pull him even closer, your fist unrelenting against the fabric of his uniform.

There’s an uproar around you, Soap yelling something to you both, Price trying to tug you away by his grip on your upper arm, Gaz trying to both focus on not crashing and whatever the hell is happening behind him.

You’re strong, however. Trained and built for hand-to-hand battle, and you don’t move an inch. Not when you’re so determined, so stubborn.

“Kill. Me.” You hiss, the words quiet enough to only be heard by the man holding a knife to your throat. You lean in closer, and you can feel a small trickle of blood fall down your bared neck, but it’s a thrilling type of pain.

“You’re a crazy bastard,” he spits back, but he notably eases the knife away from your skin. You just lean into it further, more blood being let. “If you keep tryna call bluffs like this, you’ll be sent home in a casket.”

“What home, Lieutenant?” You ask, almost desperate for his answer, a demand. You narrow your gaze, refusing to break eye contact. “If you can find where the fuck I belong, I’ll be happy to die within its walls.”

The two of you standoff, your eyes doing all the speaking, before Ghost allows the blade to fall from his grip, hitting the floor of the van with a clunk. “You win, Sweetheart,” he taunts, the words being breathed against your own mouth, mere millimetres apart. “Congratulations.”

You finally allow yourself to be pulled back, Soap shooting you a shell-shocked look, his jaw clenching as he looks between you both. Price finally eases his grip around your arm, barking, “Don’t pull that shit! One wrong move and –”

“My whole life has been one wrong move,” you grit out, falling back into your seat with shallow breaths. You drag your hand down your face, before resting against the sticky heat of your blood, pooling at the dip of your neck. “What’s one more?”

There’s no response. You don’t hope for one, don’t expect one, but it still leaves you unsteady. Unsure. Even when everyone just sits in an odd sort of limbo for a few minutes, you struggle to come down from that high, that overwhelming need for control.

“Here.”

When you look up, it’s to see Soap, a medkit in his lap. Price is sitting on the other side next to Ghost, talking quietly to him, stern expressions displayed on them both. They seem lost in conversation – a serious one, considering your current situation.

“What’re you doing?” You find yourself asking, watching as he rips open an alcoholic wipe and takes it out, your leg bouncing. He gives you a friendly smile, this side of hopeful.

“Patchin’ ye up, Sweetheart. Goes both ways,” he explains, and your eyes go glassy once more. “Can aye fix ye up?”

You don’t trust your words, so you simply nod, tilting your head back. You find yourself rocked by the rhythm of Gaz’s driving, finding solace in the comfort of semi-safety. Although not as safe as you would’ve been at Graves’ base, there was a sense of… protectiveness that came with being with the 141.

Wincing, you grit your teeth as Soap cleans up the blood from your throat, his gentle ministrations so at odds with his bumbling, charismatic character. He’s precise, careful to not hurt you too much, delicate movements made by harsh hands.

“You sure do like playin’ with fire, lass,” he murmurs, swiping the last bits of drying blood from the hollow of your throat, the tip of his tongue peeking out from between his lips. “Can respect that.”

“I’m sorry for… that,” you sigh, watching as he deposits the used wipe into a hazard bag. Good practice, you think, prioritising avoiding any bloodborne diseases. You’re silently impressed. “Didn’t mean to lose my shit. Just. A lot.”

“I know,” he returns, earnest, opening a bottle of sanitary cream and swiping some onto his finger, bringing it to soothe over your small wound.

“I don’t know who to trust.”

Those words aren’t exactly good ones to say, not to a borderline enemy with his hands on your neck. But it feels like an otherworldly force makes you say them, makes you expose yourself even further to this man. Maybe a taunt, maybe a small punishment for saving his life.

He pauses, but quickly covers up his hesitation with returned fervour. “I don’t envy ya, hen. It’s an absolute shitshow. But…” he grabs some medical tape, cutting it to length to put over your wound. Apparently it’s worse than you’d thought. “Ye heard what happened. Shepherd, Graves, they’re not worthy of ya.”

That gives you pause. Worthy. What made someone worthy? What kind of clarifications?

Did he think he was worthy? Ghost? Price? Gaz?

“You think I’m better than the General?” You raise a brow, attempting to goad him, spark that flame of banter that always seemed to haunt the Scot.

“I know ye are. Seen it with my own eyes.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“We’re nearly back at the safehouse,” Gaz calls from the front, tapping his hands against the steering wheel to a silent rhythm. Price grunts out a reply, and Ghost remains silent, watching. Always watching.

Finishing up his quick first aid job, Soap tilts your head back down with a grip on your chin, his thumb stroking along your bottom lip. “There we go, Sweetheart. Good as new,” he whispers, the corner of his lips tilting into a kind grin.

“How’s the arm?” You find yourself asking, looking to the bandaged ligament. “Feeling alright?”

“Definitely better than if aye’d let it get infected,” he hums, looking down to his arm. “Once this blows over, nurses on base will sort it out.”

You hadn’t noticed before, but you realise that his thigh is pressed against yours, and your leg has stopped bouncing. No more tap tap tap. Just… the feel of fabric against your own, heated by the flesh underneath. The comforting touch of another human, not sexual, not for any reason but to simply… exist.

Ten minutes pass of comfortable silence between you both, before the vehicle comes to a stop, Gaz turning off the engine with a turn of his keys, unbuckling his seat belt and hopping out of the car.

“Out we get,” Price says to you all, gentler than he’d been before. The doors burst open, Gaz flinging the keys back to his Captain, urging the four of you to hop out and head in.

You’re the last to get out, Gaz extending a calloused hand for you to take, ever the gentleman. Accepting it, you jump down, looking to the awaiting men. The Los Vaqueros are rushing inside, talking amongst themselves, relief thick in their words, hands being slapped against each other’s backs.

Price is looking at you as he says, “I think we have a call to make.”

As it turns out, the call is to the last person on Earth you want to talk to right now. In the middle of the same table you’d stood beside Rudy at, mere hours ago, is a computer.

One with General Shepherd’s face on it.

Price had given you the mercy in deciding whether you’d show yourself or not. You still hadn’t made the choice, instead standing off to the side, Gaz and Soap at either side of you. Alejandro stands at the right of the table, and Ghost has his arms folded over his chest at the left.

“You hid this,” Price grips the table, livid, “Why.”

Not a question, not really, more of a command than anything. An order from a Captain.

Shepherd’s response has your blood running cold, reality finally cementing inside of yourself. You claw at your palms when he responds, drily, “We all keep secrets, Captain.”

And, oh, what a slap in the face that is.

“Why the hell wasn’t I informed?” Price snaps, his shoulders rising and falling with each barely restrained breath. He seems to fill out his uniform more than he had before, in the dim light of the room.

The boarded up window allows for a small sliver of sunset to cast against all of you, a small joy in the darkness of the safehouse. And the situation at hand.

“Consider yourself well informed now, John,” Shepherd’s tone lowers, more grating, forceful.

“Oh, that's really fuckin' helpful, General. Thank you. But you're a day late and a missile short. There's three of them – we only found two.”

“Then point yourself in that direction, and fix it,” Shepherd booms, and you can’t help the instinctual flinch of your body. You’d grown up being frightened of his raised voice, the threat that came along with it. Even in the safety of this house, you can’t help your response.

Price scoffs a laugh with no humour, his mouth falling into a grim, dangerous line. “And who fixes you, eh?”

You can hear, more than see, Shepherd’s returning snarl. “I don’t need fixing. I’m a patriot protecting my country.”

Gaz and Soap share a look above your head, but you don’t care, not now. Not when Price stands up, slamming his hand against the table, not when Alejandro curses under his breath.

Not when all you can think about is the empty promises Shepherd made.

“You’re protecting your own ass,” Price cusses, turning back to glare at the man on the screen.

“I do what needs to be done, and no one holds me down with a roll of red tape. I know what's best for the cause.”

Price chuckles, eyes a fire of fury, leaning down once more to the laptop. ��You’ve lost your mind, General.”

“And you've forgotten what you're fighting for, John. To do good, you gotta do some bad. When we shit, we bury it, that's how it works,” Shepherd replies, hard and strong in his belief.

You’re at the verge of losing it.

“Yeah,” Price begins, before pointing his finger to the camera, “But we don’t bury each other with it, do we?”

“You need to turn off that side o' your head and face down the real enemy,” Shepherd warns, and it’s the final straw.

“Isn’t that what you told me, Herschel? That the organisation was the real enemy?” You quip, and for a minute, you wonder if he’s ended the call.

That is, until, a choked off voice filters in, “Kid?”

Rushing forward, you turn the laptop to face you, and your entire system seems to revolt as you see the man you once cared for like a father.

“Tell me that you didn’t betray them,” you hiss, leaning in closer, your entire face filling the screen. “Tell me that you didn’t ruin lives – tell me you didn’t make a deal with my Commander behind my back. Tell me, Herschel.”

“You wouldn’t understand –” he begins, but that’s all you needed to know.

Stepping away, you give him a final, cold smile. “Was it worth it?”

“What –” he starts once more, before you grab the handle of your gun, pulling it up to rest as a comforting weight in your hand.

“Was it worth ruining my life? Was it worth ruining this mission?”

“You’re just a kid.”

“I am a Colonel!” You shout, emotions bubbling over as you slam the gun onto the table, eyes blazing. “And when I find you, you’re going to wish you never fucked me over. What was your favourite method? Flaying? Dismemberment?”

“You’ve always been too soft and easy to manipulate,” Shepherd snaps back, voice booming through the speakers.

Your voice is as dangerous as you’ve ever heard it.

“Immolation? That was your favourite, wasn’t it?”

His eyes widen on the screen, seeming to understand, to seemingly take you seriously. Too late. Too fucking late.

“Let’s see if it’s still your favourite when it’s your turn to be the victim,” you slowly say, annunciating every word with clear speech. “Thank you for your teachings, General.”

With that, you slam the laptop screen shut, and prepare to face the fire.

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author's note. im so hyped for all of the future plot points. and romance. ohmygod. yes, ghost does eventually come around. yes, he's the longest slow burn. yes, he's the most intense enemies to lovers. wbk. i also got covid so i have a lot of time to rot in bed and suffer while writing!! ALSOOO there is so much fire symbolism... ;)

your comments mean soso much to me, every time iread one i squeal and feel all excited!! thank u for ur support commenters, i DO read all of them. more than once. <3

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tragedybunny · 6 months

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A Lovely Night - Astarion x F!Reader - TW: Mentions of past suicide attempts

Just an idea that came to me that I had to write. I promise next thing up is one of the requests that was waiting for awhile.

You and Astarion share a quiet night at camp and end up getting to know a lot more about each other and your relationship.

“Astarion, honestly,” you scold, fussing with one tent pole. “You’re making this difficult on purpose.”

“I don’t know what you mean, my Dear,” he smirks, and moves suddenly, the half-finished tent collapsing on itself. It’s just a little game to maximize his time with you. The longer you two work at this, the less chance the others have to steal you away.

“Gods, I’m going to sharpen one of these into a nice, pointy stake.” Your threat is undercut by a poorly concealed smile.

“Oh, what a cruel thing to say.” He widens his eyes at you, all feigned hurt.

“That’s it, set it up yourself!” Throwing your hands up, you start to walk away, when he catches you, arms around your waist, pulling you in.

“Fine, fine, I apologize,” little kisses pepper your neck as you squirm, still playing at a show of indignation, and start to giggle.

“Let me go, you vile beast,” you’ve twisted until you face him, and he brushes his lips against yours.

Words die away, and you rest your forehead against his, arms looping around his neck. Another soft kiss and the two of you have forgotten the tent entirely.

Someone groans intentionally loud enough for you both to hear and the two of you dissolve into laughter. Astarion lets you go. The two of you really should make sure you have some place to sleep tonight anyway.

When the tent is finally up, you settle next to each other by the fire. Gale’s cooking again, which Astarion finds preferable. Sometimes when unoccupied, he stares at you like a parched man at a cool stream. Reaching for your hand, his fingers brush the scar on your wrist. At first, he hadn't noticed it existed, his mind divorcing itself from his body when he was intimate with you. Later he'd found it, when he was trying to study and memorize every bit of you while denying the ever-growing place in his heart that you occupied.

You hadn't told him about what led to it, and he hadn’t known how to ask. Tonight you jerk back as though burnt when his touch finds it, and he wants to be hurt. But you've given him space and patience, he could at least do the same for you.

So he hooks his arm around your waist and pulls you close until your head rests on his shoulder as you both stare at the crackling fire. "Favorite season," he asks. It's a little game the two of you invented, learning otherwise small details about each other. You knew the larger parts of his past, Cazador and all, and he knew the broad swathes of yours. You left home because you disagreed with your parents, he'd started to figure you for a noble before you'd all but admitted it, and you were a Warlock who couldn't say much beyond that. But the tiny details of you, those you could be free with.

"Spring, it feels full of second chances and rebirth." You nuzzle your face into his shoulder.

"Summer," that's the rule, you both have to answer, "it's the only time the night feels alive, even if it is short."

A sympathetic noise and you kiss his cheek. "A pet that's not a dog or cat?"

"Rabbits," he answers without hesitation.

"Really?"

"They make a rather compliant food supply in a pinch."

"Astarion!" You try to sound scandalized, like you didn't know you were in a relationship with a vampire. Playfully, you swat at his shoulder. "Pets are not for eating."

Scratch gives him a look from across the fire, the mutt never far from your side. "I thought we weren't judging each other," he scolds with a smile. "Your turn."

“What could I trust you with? Maybe something more appropriate like a raven,” you snicker, and he rolls his eyes knowing you can see him. “Oooh, maybe a bat.”

“Are you making fun of me? You know, if we had anything like that, the neighbors would figure me out for sure, and then there’d be a mob after me. Is that what you want?”

“Well I can’t trust you not to eat the rabbits it would seem, so what am I supposed to do,” the last word is squeezed out between giggles. Gods, it’s amazing to hear you laugh, even if it is at his expense.

“Fine, no eating any pets. I promise,” he uses the same honeyed tone from the first days of knowing you, stifling his own laughter. It’s absurd, and wondrous, it almost feels like you're talking about real possibilities of some future beyond all this.

“What about chickens? What if we had a farm with a bunch of chickens. Would I have to chase you out of the hen house like a fox?”

“Madame, I’m highly insulted, you would think so low of me. Also, birds are harder to catch than you would think.” Arms crossed, he pouts.

“You poor thing,” you kiss his temple, “I’m sorry for offending you.” Settling back down, you sigh wistfully. "That would be nice, wouldn't it? A little farm, the middle of nowhere, after we deal with everything."

"If that would make you happy. I'll refrain from any untoward curiosity about your chickens." Not that he ever expects you would really want that with him, you'll come to your senses after all this.

"Deal. Seal it with a kiss?" He barely gets the agreement out and your lips are on his, gentle at first, waiting for his lead to something more fervent. Lips part, he invades your mouth, the noise you make music to him. A small step, a moment of desire that doesn't send him hurtling back into the abyss.

"Dinner is done, if you two can tear yourselves apart for a few minutes," Gale practically scolds from across the fire.

You pull away, blushing, another musical laugh echoing around him. “We can continue this later.” Reluctantly, he surrenders you to dinner, and the conversations the others pull you into.

After what seems like an eternity, the two of you are finally alone again, the dying fire casting a soft light through the walls of the tent. In the flickering shadows, he watches as you begin to strip, casting the day away as you toss your garments to the side. The sight of you unclothed no longer sparks anxiety, now just a casual expression of your comfort around him. He drinks you in, alluring and unguarded. You are, admittedly, very pretty, but there's something beyond that. It’s that heart of yours, full of kindness, even for someone like him.

"Why do you always have to play the hero?" He'd accosted you once after yet another noble deed.

"I can't just look away when I could've done something. This is a choice I make every day Astarion. To try to do what's right." You tapped his nose lightly with a finger, and he glared at you. "Even when it comes to you, my dear bloodsucker."

Somehow that was even more amazing to him. Kindness and goodness didn't just come to you, you fought to be that person. He suspected it was against a past that had tried to teach you the opposite.

You reach for the loose nightshirt you'd pulled from your pack. "Leave it off, please." Pausing, you give him a questioning look. "I just want to feel you tonight."

The way your eyes softened at that made his still heart tremble. "Alright, Love."

After you settled among the blankets, he lays down in your arms, back pressed to your chest, your arms wrapping around him. He knows the touch of his skin brings a chill to yours, but that’s what the generous pile of blankets is for, so he pulls them over the both of you, trapping the warmth of you.

"This is nice," you say, kissing his neck and shoulders until he feels the tension in his muscles giving way, and he relaxes in your embrace.

Inhaling, his nostrils are filled with the scent of you. It's the most wondrous thing, and somehow it clings to everything now that you share a bed; blankets, pillows, even his clothes. He's surrounded by you all the time, and even more amazing, he smells himself on you, tangible proof you’re really his. His in the way that you gave yourself to him, just as he was yours.

Something still feels unsettled in him though, a curiosity, no a concern, from earlier. “Can I touch it?” He blurts without thinking.

Feeling you stiffen behind him, he curses, you’d had such a lovely evening, and now he’d ruined it. An arm unwraps from him, and you hold it where his fingers could find it. “Go ahead.”

Two fingers caress it, running along your wrist, deep, straight, no jagged edges. A sharp blade and no hesitation, did they find you before it was too late, or was magic needed to bring you back? A cry tries to tug its way out of his throat, but he clamps his lips shut. There was almost a world without you, a world where you weren’t there to find him on that beach. The thought presses down, threatening to strangle him, and he tries to blink away tears. But he can feel your pulse thrumming under that scar, you’re here, you survived, and you found him. “If anyone ever makes you feel like this again, I’ll tear their throat out.” He knows you can’t say the why or when of it, but he’ll be damned if it ever happens again.

“Hmm,” you don’t elaborate, but let him keep on with the small circles he’s now rubbing on your wrist.

“What?” It was probably a stupid notion, look how far you’d brought this group, whatever your past, you didn’t need protection anymore.

“It’s just different, thinking about someone trying to protect me.”

“I do try…” Not that you could tell, apparently.

Your arm shifts back, and before he can be anxious, it finds its previous spot, encircling his chest. Lips bury themselves in his curls and back down along his neck again. “I know. I meant, I don’t know, emotionally.” You huff, and he finds one of your hands to squeeze. “If I was happy never mattered much before.”

“Well, it matters now.” There’s a deluge of emotion threatening in your words behind a dam that barely holds it back. That’s not for tonight though, or any night soon, he knows you have to finish this fight first. But when he can, when you’re ready, he’ll be there, repayment for the way you hold his heart with a delicate touch.

“I think I’m starting to realize that.” Another kiss, this one on his ear, making him shiver. “I love you, Astarion.”

“I love you too. Just…please don’t ever forget that.” It’s all gone entirely too serious. “Withers doesn’t need any more of our gold.”

Behind him, you make a sound that’s half laugh, half sob, your face is wet where you press it into his shoulder. “Just whine at him, it seems to work well enough on the rest of us.”

You pull him tight against you, and for this moment, everything is perfect and wonderful and lovely. Tag List:

@micropoe10 @spacebarbarianweird@writingmysanity @mxxny-lupin @azu21 @tallymonster @dependsonthedream @sunfire-ancunin @bambamwolf87 @fayeriess @lumienyx @lisrelly

#astarion #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #astarion x reader #astarion x f!reader #x reader #my writing #my fanfiction

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presleyanswrites · 14 days

Note

Hey I got a request for jj

That jj is a single dad to a baby girl and he is to scared to hold because he will think he will drop her and John b everyday will try and get jj to hold her then one day jj was holding her on his chest then he takes her everywhere With him hope that make sense

Koala Care

dad!jj x fem!reader x daughter

a/n ahh this is so cutie! thank you for the request anon, love you bunches!

desc JJ holds his baby girl for the first time

wc 1.2k

warnings cursing, grammar, fluff

"Peaches?" JJ comes in through the back door of the chateau, carefully shutting it behind him as he walks through the kitchen to set down a box full of baby supplies.

The usual. Diapers, baby food, her favorite yogurt melts, more of his old band & surf t-shirts to wrap her up in.

He notices Aria crying her eyes out behind him in between the white rails of her bed. he must have forgotten to change her when he left. He also noticed it was pissing off John B who was trying to work on something probably useless and he caught the hint that he's been listening to her cry for at least an hour.

"Shit," he mutters, messing with his backwards hat as he turns his attention away from Aria for a split second to glance at John B. Turns out he was fixing a cooler for the boat.

"Bro." he goes over to him, kicking him in the leg slightly, "You seen Y/n? I really need her help knowing what measurements of tit milk I'm supposed to feed mini me."

John B rolls his eyes to the ceiling as he screws in the side of the cooler handle.

"First of all," he says through a gritted tone from a bolt in between his teeth.

"You gotta stop with the teenage boy, language wording shit."

He spits out the bolt and screws another nail into the bottom.

"You're like a dad now. Its your dick and your daughter, buddy. You really want your kid to go around saying, tit milk?"

JJ tuts. "Bro she cant even talk yet. Plus, I don't remember half the shit i said as a fucking baby. Maybe thats cause my dad probably beat the shit out of me where I like- lost half my cells, but i ain't changing. Plus, daddy will raise her to be the best hooker of man kind. Shes a Pogue, shes not gonna be a goody two shoes if my life depends on it."

John B turns his head around and gives him a look.

"Jesus Christ JJ, did anything click when your girlfriend popped a living thing out of her ass?" He purses his lips.

JJ points his lips downwards and shrugs.

"Or are you always gonna be known as the dad who raised a stripper?" John B rolls his eyes again, taking a weird clear plate out of his box, "Y/n is a doctor for fucks sake, she's the only hope for raising her I swear to God."

John B shakes his head, "I've told you everyday now. You haven't even held her yet."

JJ grips his hat, "Thats because im gonna drop the kid!"

John b slaps his forehead.

"You're litterally her DAD, JJ! Y/n popped a baby out of her kitty sack and you seriously didnt even touch her the day she was born." John B raises his eyebrows. "Do you remember that? Y/n cried in Kie's room FOR AN HOUR thinking you didnt want the kid!"

JJ opens his mouth to respond then stops.

"Whatever. Go back to fixing your cold box and shit," He turns his back to walk away.

John B changes the tip on his screwdriver, "You're gonna have to hold your own ass daughter eventually, dude."

"I hope you screw a nail in your dick!" JJ calls out and tuts again, mumbling under his breath, "teaching me how to handle my own kid..."

"im the one fixing this goddamn cooler so you can drink your shit ass blue moon chilled!" John b yells back, JJ opening the door and slamming it shut to try and find you again.

"y/nnnn," he groans, calling out your name, finding you sitting on the steps outside.

He kneels down and wraps his big arms around you, kissing the side of your head gently.

"Hi baby," he mutters, "How was work?"

you felt your head pulsating before forcing yourself to give a response.

"Hmmm fine. it was busy."

"Yeah?" he strokes your head, "Real quick."

You sigh slightly, "Hmm?"

"how much ti-" He stops, and clears his throat.

"How much milk do I need to feed Ari?" He says in a soft voice, knowing you had a blaring headache from your shift.

You exhale, leaning your arms on your knees.

"theres about 7 oz in the fridge."

He nods, "thank you sweets," he kisses your hair one last time before leaving you in peace to rest your mind.

He goes back inside the chateau, opening the fridge and taking out the bottle, reaching over Aria's crib and putting the tip to her mouth.

"there we are, sweet girl.." he holds the back of her head while she drinks gently, her cries settling down.

After Aria is finished, he stares at her for a moment.

Why was it so hard for him to hold his own daughter? He feels a wave of guilt floods over his spine.

He reaches his hands out, then stops.

"God damnit," He sighs.

"Okay." He stares at Aria one more time. "3, 2.."

"Fuck this."

He picks Aria up gently in his arms, his heart jumping as he does so.

"Holy shit," he breathes. "Oh my God."

He holds her to his chest, making sure to support her back, something he learned in a parenting book he found online as he feels his soul melt in his stomach.

"There we go," he coos softly, rocking her up and down gently.

"Hi love." he holds her up to look in her eyes with the biggest grin on his face.

"You have your mommas eyes, don't you?"

It's like he fell in love with you all over again. Just this time, it was a baby. And it was his baby.

He holds her to him again, hearing you opening the screen door to come back inside the chateau as he looks at you with the stupidest smile on his face.

"JJ.." you breathe, a grin full of your white perfect teeth filling the room as you jog over to him.

You rub his arm gently as you stare at Aria in JJ's arms.

"im so glad." You said, tears slightly filling the bottom of your eyes as your breath catches in your throat.

"She has your eyes," He repeats the observation he made earlier.

You nod with a sniffle, chuckling slightly.

"She has your lips."

JJ presses another soft kiss into the side of your neck.

A few days later, you noticed that JJ dorkily bought one of those baby carrier things to attach to your chest, and you had to admit it was pretty cute seeing Aria giggle with him, taking her everywhere he went.

John B was relieved her finally built up the balls to hold his kid, and if you were honest, you were relieved too.

Kiara bullied him everyday for taking Aria with him everywhere because the baby holder he chose was literally hot pink. Really hot pink.

He was so happy everyday. To be the dad that he never had. The one he had prayed and wished for everyday as a kid.

JJ was such a tough guy, tough face, tough love, tough soul.

but I guess not when it came to you and Aria. You and her were his new world and there was nothing in the entire universe that could take that away from him.

☆ divider & gif credits to @viixcyre @baby-bearie

my navigation ♡

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iliketangerines · 2 months

Note

could i interest you in a reader who takes pity on shang tsung after he gets beat up by the crowd trying to sell his scam potion? takes him in and tends to his wounds, lets him rest in her bed, only for him to grow unhealthily obsessed with her because no one has ever cared for him before :) uh oh

keeping watch of you

a/n: god shang tsung and dark content just goes sooo well together

pairing: obssessed!shang tsung x gn!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), kidnapping at end, wet dreams of blowjobs, bondage, somnophilia, dacryphilia

you’re walking by with a basket of fresh fruits from the forest next to the village, the sun has just started to set and rain clouds gather on the horizon

you squint at the storm brewing in the distance, thankful that you decided to have the sixth sense to leave the forest early today

as you walk back to your cottage, you pass by a new traveling caravan and a man passed out on the ground next to it, bruised, bloody, and beaten

you look around, no one seems to be paying the man any mind, but your heart aches at the sight of bruises blooming along the sites of exposed skin on his torn clothes and blood seeping into his clothing

you can’t do this, you’re already low on supplies and food in forest has been scarce to find these days

but…

you curse at yourself and drag yourself over to the man to help him out

he seems to be old, but the fading make-up along with the way the beard half hangs off his face tells you he was actually quite young underneath all that guise, and you wonder what the hell you’re getting yourself into

you close up his caravan for him and grab onto his shoulders so you can carry him back to your place

he can barely walk, but you’re surprised to find you can carry him quite well

but it makes sense when you strip off his clothes to assess the damage and find you can see his rib cage poking through the skin

you place your fruits on the ground next to the counters and go wet a rag from a pail of water you already have in the cottage

you clean his wounds carefully and gingerly, using your limited medicinal knowledge you learned from your parents to crush herbs and apply them to his body

you press the back of your hand against his forehead and find it unnaturally warm, and so you start up a hot soup with vegetables and lay a cool rag on him

you help him eat the broth, and well, not to pat yourself on the back, but you think you did a pretty good job patching up the man

however, he is taking up your bed, and so you wrap yourself up in an extra sweater and fall asleep in the dining room chair, falling asleep quickly

Shang Tsung wakes up with a start, heart pounding as he wonders where he is

he groans and places a hand to his broken ribs but finds it wrapped and covered in a finely-made medicinal-smelling herb

he spots you sleeping in an old kitchen chair, jacket fallen to the floor, arms crossed, head tilted down and drool slightly seeping out of your mouth as you sleep

he wants to know who you are, but he has to get moving, to go check his wares and go to the next town before the village people beat him senseless again

he sits up, sucking in a pained breath as his head pounds and his ribs ache

you startle in the corner, jumping up and rubbing at your eyes as you mumble saying that you’re up you’re up, no need to get the ice water

but you quickly recover from your dream and spot Shang Tsung in the corner and rush over to him to push him back down on your bed

you berate him, telling him that he must get his rest, that you locked up his little caravan so everything inside is safe, and that he should really be laying back down

Shang Tsung is slightly bewildered at your kindness but lays back down dutifully and watches you walk around the small home in a hurried fashion as you grab a small container and a small pail of water

you wash away the old salve and apply new ones to his wounds, and you pour him a glass of water from a glass jug of drinking water that you have

you tell him to rest, that you have some scrolls right next to the bed for him to read if he gets bored, but you need to gather your fruit and make your wares

you wave at him goodbye and leave but not before shooting him a glare and telling him to get some more rest

the routine repeats itself for a month as he heals from his broken ribs and slashes, and Shang Tsung learns about you at his time in your home

he learns that you make jams and jellies, collecting fruit from the nearby forests and crushing the fruits with your hands and storing them in containers

he learns that you love children and give them free fruits from your basket that you had spent hours picking

he learns that you’re struggling for money right now because no one has the money to buy a luxury like jam or fresh fruits, but you can’t lower the prices either because your home is falling apart and repairs are expensive

and you can’t quit now, your family came from making jams and jellies and selling fresh fruits, and you are too stubborn to give up the family tradition

he helps you around the house when you’re here, washing the fruits and helping you crush them up with his hands

he tells you stories of his travels and you quip with him about his stories, telling him that maybe he shouldn’t be selling sham potions

strangely enough, he doesn’t feel the need to defend his position around you

you feed him food, keep the home warm, make him laugh

he even remembers on one notable occasion that you had bought him a new shirt despite your financial struggles, and when he learned the price, he almost had you return it

with every passing day, he feels himself growing more and more obsessed with you, with your kindness, your laughter, your smile, everything about you

you’re the first person to have shown him kindness in the centuries since he first started learning sorcery, and now that he’s finally felt a glimpse of warmness, he wants to be consumed by the heat

whenever you leave to collect fruits, he raids your dresser, finding your panties and pulling down his pants to reveal his aching cock

he wraps your panties around him and spreads his pre-cum along the shaft as he imagines that it’s your sweet mouth instead

he thinks you would look so pretty on your knees, sucking on his cock and whining and needy for him to please you, to fuck you

you would have tears dripping down your face, and you would rub your thighs together, desperate for any type of friction

he wonders whether or not you would be able to take his entire cock in his throat or if he would have to train your throat to do so

he wonders how soft your skin is underneath your clothes, and he wonders how wet and warm your pussy would be around his cock

he thinks you’d make the prettiest sounds, all fucked-out and whiny as you beg him for more as he teases you with feather light touches

he wants to cover you up in his marks, bite you and claim you as his and keep you away from prying eyes

Shang Tsung groans as he pumps at his cock faster, cumming into your panties with a loud moan, and his chest heaves as he tries to calm himself

he hides the shameful act, washing your panties and drying them quickly before folding it neatly and stuffing it back into your drawer

he watches you as you walk around the house, cutting up vegetables and walking between the table and the stirring pot, unaware that the strings on your clothing are loosening to reveal the dip between your chest

and he can barely contain himself as he imagines sucking at your chest and teasing your nipples sore and swollen

when he finally convinces you to sleep on the bed with him, saying that you can’t be comfortable sleeping on that rickety old chair, he waits for you to fall asleep before turning to look at your features traced by the soft moonlight

he wonders how you would react if he tied you down to the bed and settle in between your legs to awake you

he wonders if you would scream and cry or whimper and whine for him to make you cum

he reads every single scroll you have, and one day he finds your diary tucked in a hidden place underneath your bed

he reads through it, learns every dirty little secret you have, every single thing you like and every single thing you hate

when you finally bring him out into the village, he sees the way the other people in the village stare at you, your chest, your legs, your waist, your hips, and he wants to hide you away just for himself

or he wants to kill them instead, he can’t decide

one night, you’re late arriving home, and Damashi approaches him with an offer he can't refuse

Shang Tsung can become the most powerful sorcerer in all of the realms, and he can have you all to himself

finally, on a rainy day, he waves goodbye to you and starts his studies underneath Damashi

and months later, when Shang Tsung’s powerful and in the high courts, he travels back in the stealth of the night and whisks you away

you wake up with a collar on your neck and body stripped bare of clothing

you see Shang Tsung, but the crazed look in his eye tells you all you need to know

he finally has you all to himself, and when he drags you closer to him by the collar around your neck, Shang Tsung knows he’ll never let go now

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tightjeansjavi · 4 months

Text

Catfish | Chapter 1

🫧Filet O’Frankie🫧

A/N: this is my first ever Frankie fic and while I’m excited, I’m also a little nervous since I have never written for him before 😭 be prepared for lot of corny ocean/fish innuendo’s and Frankie being an ass because why would he just admit to the reader that he’s attracted to her? Nah, that would be too easy!

~word count: 3.0k~

Summary: a fisherman walks into a bar..you again with the damn umbrellas in his drink.

Pairing | fisherman!Frankie Morales x bartender f!reader

Warnings: fluff ,teasing, banter, reader has thoughts of jealousy and feelings of insecurity, language, sexual tension, mutual pining, implied smut (not with the reader) mentions of alcohol, ouid, mean!frankie, grumpy!frankie, is really just a big ole softy!frankie, close proximity, no fish fingers..I swear, no age gap, readers nickname is Starfish, reader has no physical descriptions, +18 minors dni

A fisherman walks into a bar..you again with the damn umbrellas in his drink.

You’ve been working at the town bar right along the harbor where fishermen and tourists would parade down the wooden docks like a flock of seagulls.

Instead of throwing yourself head first into figuring out your career after graduating with your masters in publishing, you decided to take a year off and return to your roots. You grew up in this little beach town, and it would always be your home.

Then there was him; Frankie Morales. A local fisherman that you used to attend highschool with..except, you lived in two completely different worlds. Frankie’s parents owned a small fishing business that Frankie attended to. And once his father could no longer hold down the business on his own, Frankie took over the business entirely.

Now, here’s where your two worlds finally meet. The bar you work at? It’s owned by your parents who gratefully hired you to be a bartender. The catch? (literally). Frankie gets drinks and food on the house simply for the fact that he supplies fish to the bar. It’s a fair trade, and even though he frowns upon some of the trendier menu items, business is good so he really has no room to complain.

Unless..that complaint is directly rooted back to you.

Frankie Morales can’t stand you, and those stupid little multi-colored umbrellas that you insistently put in his beer, every. Goddamn. Time.

Other than those stupid little umbrellas, you’re an alright person. Pretty, bubbly, chatty with everyone that crosses paths with you. Your infectious energy can be described to be similar to a Golden Retriever or a Husky. Whereas for Frankie? Well, he’d agree that he has black cat energy, and not an ounce of Golden. (You’d beg to disagree).

Sure, he’s a bit offstandish, mean at times, but man, is he handsome. Handsome to the point where you want to giggle and kick your feet anytime you see him. He’s mean, but you can’t help the way that you feel. Maybe he’s so grumpy all the time because he’s out at sea from morning to evening, and he smells a bit, well, fishy.

You remind me of a starfish. He said completely out of the blue on one particularly hot summer day while you were pouring his first beer after a long day out at sea. Just down the dock, the water was glistening under the bright sunlight, shimmering like a million diamonds.

Because they’re pretty? You set his glass down between his hands where they were resting along the bartop. Before he could take a sip, you placed a hot pink umbrella stick into his glass.

He grumbled, like he always did, before he adjusted his usual baseball cap on his mess of curls. Sometimes you wondered if he ever washed that damn hat.

No. Not because they’re pretty, but because they suction themselves to everything. He said casually while gingerly plucking the umbrella from his glass and tossing it to the side.

You glare at him while you feel your heart clench inwards like a tight fist. “Well, if I’m a Starfish, then I’m going to start calling you..Fish Filet.”

His brow raises in mock amusement at your little nickname for him. “Fish Filet?” He scoffs, “how original.”

You want to stomp your foot and tell him that he’s really being an ass, but that voice inside of your head reminds you to refrain from stooping to his level. “It’s either that, or Catfish. So, I suggest you pick one, Morales.” You quip.

He grimaces as soon as the words “Catfish” leave your lips. His face scrunches inwards like he has just gotten a taste of something sour, revolting. You can’t see his deep brown eyes as they’re hidden from your view by his sunglasses, but you imagine he’s glaring at you now too. “Do not call me Catfish ever. Call me Fish Filet or whatever, but not Catfish.” His words are firm, straight to the point as he brings the rim of his glass to his lips and takes a large sip.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Fish Filet.” your middle finger slowly rises upwards, but before it can be fully extended, he reaches over the bartop and swiftly interjects with his hand.

His palm is warm, and albeit, a tad sweaty, but that doesn’t stop the sparks from shooting up through your arm from his sudden contact.

He says nothing, scoffs, assumably rolls his eyes before he retracts his hand.

He’s so mean, but your heart skips a beat whenever he’s near.

“I don’t get what you see in him honestly. Sure, he’s a good looking guy, but he’s such fucking dick to you during every interaction i’ve seen.” Your coworker, and close friend says to you while fixing up another drink. It’s happy hour at the bar and the tourists are in full swing tonight.

You laugh, because you know she’s right, why continuously bat your lashes at a man who wants nothing to do with you? Is it the chase that excites you? The coursing adrenaline firing through your veins. The close proximity?

There was that one time that you believed Frankie almost was attracted to you. It was during a little beach bash that ended up with you and a few friends making a drunk decision to skinny dip in the ocean. You caught Frankie trying to inconspicuously sneak a peek, but you caught him in the act, and you had never seen a man’s face turn so red.

“Yeah, he’s mean, he’s an asshole.” You agree, “but, June, look at him. He’s a dreamboat, literally. I think he’s just a big fat grump all the time because he’s forgetting to wear his sunscreen, and he faintly smells of fish. I don’t know about you, but I’d be pretty pissed if I kept getting nasty sunburns and smelled..fishy.”

You know that Juniper is just looking out for your well-being and just wants the best for you. But she just can’t seem to grasp why you were so attracted to a man who seemed like he could frankly give two-shits about you, and your existence in his life.

“I wouldn’t exactly call Frankie Morales a dreamboat in my books, but I just think you’re a total catch, and any guy would be lucky to just breathe the same air as you.” Juniper said while she expertly lifted a tray of freshly made shots to deliver to her table.

When she walks away, that's when you notice the devil himself with another tourist who’s wrapped tightly around his finger like a worm on a fishing wire. Frankie doesn’t have to try very hard to get his dick wet practically every night. He just has to smile, run his fingers through his curls, and look in their direction before they’re ensnared. You used to think he was like a shark, swimming in the depths of the ocean, targeting his prey when they least expect it. But now, he reminded you of a Barracuda. Calculated, precise, and almost always successful in his ‘hunts.’

You never considered yourself to be jealous in nature. Not even in past friendships or fizzled out relationships with mediocre guys that you spent your college days with. These feelings didn’t begin to breach the surface until Frankie Fucking Morales showed up on your radar

Your fist clenched tightly around the little paper umbrella in your grasp while you watched Frankie work his magic. He made a point to freshen up before heading to the bar. He’s wearing a clean shirt, and that same stupid baseball cap. His jeans fit snugly on his waist and thighs. What you wouldn’t give to slip your hands into the stitched back pockets of his jeans.

He leans in close, whispering something into the female tourist's ear that elicits her to throw her head back a little and giggle. Her hand slides up the expanse of his chest where he’s left two buttons purposely undone for this exact reason.

You can see the sliver of exposed skin glistening under the fairy lights strung along one of the wooden beams. His skin is tanned, bronzed, and you imagine dragging your tongue between his pecs, tasting the tang of the sea, and of him all in one swipe.

His hand rests along the lower back of the woman, fingers sliding down further to rest along the curve of her ass. She’s wearing a flowy sundress, one that you’ve seen in a boutique in town. She looks beautiful, and even though you know you shouldn’t compare yourself to others, you can’t help but feel like you look frumpy next to this stranger.

You can’t tear your eyes away from the scene that is unfolding in front of you even if you tried. It reminds you of the feeling while watching a really bad movie or tv show, and feeling like you probably should stop, but the small part of you is dying to know what happens next. You watch closely as he leans in, lips brushing the shell of the woman’s ear in a teasing fashion. You wonder if he popped in a few breath mints, and spritzed on some cologne. You were so used to him wearing the sea on his skin, that it was hard to picture him smelling any different.

Wanna get out of here, beautiful?

She nods, and he reels her in, just like he did with the last one, and the one before that. He was the enticing bait on a hook, and they were the unsuspecting, curious fish that just had to go in for a taste.

You hear his warm laughter that echoes through the hot summer night air as he entwines his fingers through the woman’s hand and leads her to the bartop with nothing short of enthusiasm in his step.

“Evening, Starfish. Mind hooking up my lady friend and I here with a couple shots of tequila?” He’s dropped her hand now and rests his bare tanned elbow along the sea glass countertop. His other arm is wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against his side. His small grin is enticing, tantalizing and sending the butterflies swarming in the pit of your stomach. On the outside, you remain calm, collected, and professional.

“Good evening, Fish Filet. Sure, you want salt and lime on the side as well?” You smile politely at him and his catch of the evening.

“Fish Filet?” The woman giggles, dragging her nails across his bicep as she leans into his strong grip around her waist. “Is that your nickname, Frankie?”

He chuckles, ignoring her for a moment to focus all of his attention on you while he pulls out a five dollar bill and places it in the tip jar. “Salt and lime on the side as well. Thank you, Starfish.”

He usually never bothers to tip you, and it’s not expected given the arrangement, but you think that maybe he’s just doing it all for show so that his lady friend believes him to be a chivalrous man.

“You got it, Catfish.” You shoot him a wink before he even has the chance to open his mouth to spit something back.

Your face heats up at the realization of what you just called him while you turn your back swiftly and grab the nearest bottle of tequila and two shot glasses.

Yeah, dollface. It’s my nickname because y’know, I’m a fisherman. He’s leaned in close again that the woman can feel his hot breath fanning her cheeks and parted lips.

Well, you don’t smell like a fisherman, Frankie.

His hand moves from her waist and slowly ascends upwards, drifting across her exposed cleavage before settling at the base of her throat, feeling her pulsepoint quicken and jump from his lingering touch. He presses a hidden kiss to the spot where the base of her ear connects with her jaw. His patchy, uneven beard tickles her skin as she lurches forward for even closer contact.

No, I don’t. He agrees, But I fuck like one.

Her knees nearly buckle in on themselves from the tone of his voice and the way that every word drips from his lips like warm, sticky, sugary sweet, syrup.

“Two shots of tequila on the house.” You announce, breaking through the building, palpable tension like a hot knife on a pad of butter. You can hear the sizzling sound now.

“Thanks, Starfish. You wanna take one too?” He offers, knowing that you’ll decline his invitation.

“Can’t drink on the job, Frankie.” You think about saying thank you, but for what? You don’t really owe him that either.

He shrugs, unfazed by your immediate choice to decline him as he returns his attention back to the woman beside him.

“You ever taken a tequila shot before, cariño? Goes down nice and smooth with a bit of salt and lime.” He slides the shot glass of shelf Tequila to her with ease while he grabs the two lime wedges and the salt shaker.

“No, I'm afraid I've been taking tequila shots wrong this entire time.” She might be lying, but you can’t really tell just based on her tone.

“That’s alright, beautiful.” He reassures her. “I’ll show ya how to do it properly.” He licks the back of his left hand before sprinkling a bit of salt on it. “Licking the salt before you take the shot really minimizes the burn on its way down.” He explains.

“Care to do the honors?” She asks while holding her hand out towards him.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at the scene playing out in front of you, but that would give yourself away. And you’d be damned if Frankie ever knew how you really felt, so you busied yourself with wiping down the same glasses you had cleaned off earlier in the evening.

In your peripheral you see Frankie drag his tongue across the back of her left hand, his eyes flit upwards towards her face so she can get a mental image of exactly what he’ll look like when his face is buried between her thighs–

He pours a trail of salt granules on the outside of her hand and his own. “Now, we lick the salt, cariño, then immediately take the shot, and finish with the lime. It really brings the flavor of the tequila out.” He grabs his own shot glass and lightly taps it with hers before he licks the back of his hand, throws the shot down his throat, and grabs the lime wedge. He sucks the citrus juice from the fruit expertly just as she’s taking her own shot. Before she reaches for her own lime wedge, his hand drops to her waist, pulling her flush against his chest before he kisses her deeply. She’s surprised, but eager as her arms loop around his neck in the heated kiss. She can taste the salt, tequila and the lime juice on his tongue as he licks greedily into her mouth.

Get a fucking room, Morales. You say to yourself internally. The jealousy burns deep and is stoked at with a hot iron that scorches your insides.

That’s how a real man kisses, and I'll never know what it's like.

He pulls away from the bruising kiss just for a lick of air. His lips are slightly swollen, and now coated in a light pink shimmer from her pretty lipgloss. Her fingers are toying with curls at the nape of his neck, pulling him back in for another kiss. “I see what you mean about the salt and lime now, Frankie.” She purrs.

His eyes meet yours across the bartop, brow raised as he waits to see if this will be the night that you finally snap and show him that his attraction to you hasn’t gone blindly unnoticed. That maybe you’ll stop him from taking this woman back to his boat, stop him from fucking her till her legs shake, and the only name she’ll remember on her vacation is his; Frankie Morales, the fisherman. Whereas come morning, she’ll be gone, and he won’t even remember her name, just like the rest of them.

Instead, you stand there, eyes meeting him in an even-toned gaze. There’s no indication given on how you feel towards him, or that you wish it was you he was taking back to his boat. You simply smile, give him a small nod before you return to wiping down the glasses.

Only when his back is turned towards you, and you hear the scraping of the bar stool, and the light jingling of his keys being pulled from his pocket does your face finally fall, and your mask loses its place like loosened strings on a violin that hasn’t been properly tuned in a very, very long time.

His arm stays wrapped around his catch of the night as he leads her down the dock where his boat is gently bobbing with the evening current. He kisses her again, calloused hands from tugging coarse rope, and fastening fishing lines, now bunches up the fabric of her dress in a haste.

Through the open window at the stern of his ship, you can hear her breathy high-pitched moans, and his deeper, more prominent groans as he drills his hips into her pelvis over and over again, imagining it was you instead.

It’s an hour past closing time for the bar when his catch of the night finally stumbles from his boat, heels clutched in one hand as she wobbles up the dock. She’s close enough that you can see her face, and her wild mess of hair and swollen lips, and that post-fuck glow to her skin as she passes by you without a glance.

Frankie emerges minutes later, shirtless, boxers hung low on his lips, baseball cap on his mess of curls. In one hand he holds a cheap beer, and in the other, a joint and a lighter held between his middle and forefinger. He sits along the bow of his boat, sparks up the joint, before he lays on his back and gazes up at the starry night sky longingly.

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revrover · 1 year

Text

The Stranger - Pt. 2

Part One: The Stranger

Part Three

Pairing: Namor x Reader

Word Count: 8k (lol whoops)

Warnings: Violence, Blood, Language, PLOT

Summary: Namor isn’t the only one who has been searching for his general. Thanks to you, Namora’s life was saved -- but when your connection to the two strangers brings you face to face with a hostile group of government agents, you find yourself in the crossfire of a much bigger conflict.

A/N: OMG first and foremost thank you for being here, thank your for coming back, and thank you for reading. This has taken me a bit longer to post because I’ve been pouring over it every day for a month, trying to get it just right. Comments, feedback and reblogs mean THE WORLD to me, so feel free to show some love and as always please be kind!

***I do not give permission to copy, plagiarize, or repost my work as your own in any form!

There is a growing unrest inside you.

Days have passed since your encounter with Namor after saving the life of his general, Namora. Two mysterious strangers who have left your mind reeling with questions, unrelenting and unquenchable as a flame that dares to spread like wildfire, consuming your thoughts entirely.

You repeatedly play the memory over in your head with no rational way to explain what you witnessed; her blue skin, his superhuman strength; the curious metal that outfitted both of their armor; how they disappeared into the vast open ocean.

"Something on your mind?" A fruit vendor asks, snapping you back to reality. You stand in the middle of the bustling village marketplace, doing your best to orient yourself quickly.

“Your head is — how you say…? — in the clouds, yes?” The vendor asks in her best English, smiling politely at you as she stands next to her cart, eager for you to buy something.

"Is it that obvious?" You joke with a tired laugh. "Two, please."

You scoop up a pair of fresh mangos and hand the woman some change from your pocket. She kindly accepts it with a nod of appreciation. Carefully sliding the fruit into your bag, you return a nod of your own.

You continue to walk through the market, the damp air carrying an aroma of local cuisine and sweat fills your lungs. Weaving your way in and out of aisles created by vendor carts, you feel a sense of calm as you watch the locals interacting with one another. There's beauty to be found in their sense of community.

Typically, you would gather your needed food and supplies and then be on your way back home, but today as your mind wanders, so do your feet.

Meandering down another aisle, your thoughts drift back to Namor, specifically the morning you found him on your front porch. You can practically feel the warmth of that sunrise as you imagine its light illuminating his dark eyes. You picture the smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth when you asked him if he would come back, a moment you hold onto tightly. The memory gives you optimism that you will see him again someday and hopefully have the opportunity to ask him more questions.

Lost in thought, you hardly notice a small crate sticking out a few inches further than other accompanying carts in the aisle. Tripping your foot as you walk by, it nearly tumbles you to the ground. You manage to catch your balance and your breath before face-planting into the dirt. Immediately turning to apologize, you find an elderly man seated behind the crate, his back leaning against the wagon behind him and his eyes shut.

The man is slender and his head bald, save for a few wisps of hair above his ears. Most of his body is covered by a knitted green poncho, well-worn and fraying along the hem. To both your relief and surprise, he seems completely undisturbed by your clumsy collision with his crate of goods. Unsure if he’s even awake, you reach down to help reset any items on the crate you may have displaced.

Your jaw drops slightly as you see the contents on display. Spread out on a velvet brown tablecloth sits a small assortment of beautiful books, scrolls, and other documents. Admiring them, you reach out and push back one of the scrolls, revealing a gorgeous hand-sketched portrait of the island.

“Did you draw this?” You ask, impressed by the skill of it.

“Mmm,” He hums, shaking his head, "But I made very good trade with the man who did.”

You find his answer odd, though slightly amusing, considering he never opened his eyes to see which piece you were referring to. As you browse the rest of the items, a particular book stands out to you. It’s different from the rest of the collection — small and bound in leather, although the leather itself is worn and brittle-looking. You pick it up and inspect it closer. The binding is loose, the pages aged and tattered.

“Careful with that one. Very old.” The elderly man says, his eyes remaining shut. “Nearly 400 years. Got it in a trade with a visiting merchant from our southeastern sister islands."

How does he even do that? You wonder as you start delicately flipping through the pages of the book. You make it about midway through when you open to a particular page that makes you freeze, your heart nearly jumping out of your throat. Your eyes widen as you bring the page closer to your face.

It’s a crude drawing — basic, two-dimensional, and very old like the man said, but the likeness is undeniable. Depicted is the figure of a man. He dawns a grand snake-like headpiece and is grasping a spear. His body is adorned with jade and other metals. Sharp ears. Winged ankles.

"Excuse me!” you ask the elderly man with an exasperated breath, practically jumping over the crate as you lean forward and shout, “These!" You flip the book around to show him the open page, pointing excessively at the picture and the glyphs below it. "What do these say?!"

Your voice is eager and desperate, emotions you hardly try to hide.

The man's left eye slowly squints open.

“Only few are still legible.” He says, shrugging.

“Okay, yes, but the ones you can read, what do they say?!” You plead.

He sighs, opening his other eye and leaning forward slightly to get a better look. After a moment, he leans back against the wagon and closes his eyes again.

"King. Serpent. God. Monster."

You hang on to each word he tells you. Turning the book back around, you bring it back up to your face for another closer inspection.

"How much?" You ask, ready to make a deal.

The elderly man cracks one eye open to look at you for a moment as he considers his price, then wordlessly points to your arm with a feeble finger. You follow his gaze down to the small beaded bracelet around your wrist — the last reminder of your life before coming to the island. You hold your arm up to him, making sure you understand correctly. He nods politely, and without hesitation, you untie the bracelet and toss it to him.

"Nice doing business!" He says with a wide grin as he holds up the bracelet. You are already nose-deep in the book as you turn on your heels, quickening your pace as you head home where you can study more carefully.

Maneuvering your way out of the market to the outskirts of the village, you hardly need your eyes to guide your feet home. You take advantage of the remaining daylight to examine the pages as you walk, turning page after page and scanning for any information about Namor and his people. There’s little there, the book seeming to be a very old, mingled account of island history and lore. Seeing as you are not a historian and certainly not a linguist, it’s difficult to decipher. Still, you do your best to piece together what you can from the pictures.

King. Serpent. God. Monster.

The sky begins to dim. You can hear the faint roar of waves as you near the coastline. It’s too dark to see much detail on the pages now, so you carefully tuck the book into your bag as you step over the trunks of palm trees. The path beneath your feet gradually turns from brush to sand, and soon you find yourself walking along the familiar stretch of beach that leads you home. You stare out into the darkness, listening to the rhythmic pattern of ocean waves and breathing in the salty evening air. The moon hovers above the water, burning brightly as countless stars paint the sky behind it.

You continue walking in the darkness, but there’s an uneasiness building in your gut the further you go. You should be nearing home by now, but no lanterns have come into view. You always light lanterns before heading into town. They burn for hours in your absence so, by the time you return, you have light to guide you. All you see now are shadows and silhouettes that dance against the tree line, and every sound and indiscernible movement has you on edge.

It’s not until you are nearly a stone's throw away that the bungalow materializes in the night. Your stomach twists as the wind blows by you, rustling your hair and causing the snuffed-out lanterns hanging from your porch to creak as they swing back and forth. You hear shuffling, and small beams of light sporadically shine through the cracks of lumber that make up the walls of your home.

There is someone inside.

An alarm goes off in your head, screaming at you to get out. As quietly as possible, you begin backing away. Eyes fixed on the bungalow, you take one step back. Then another. Then another. Then — thud.

Your stomach flips and your throat tightens. While you pray you’ve miscalculated and miraculously made it to the tree line in three short steps instead of thirty, you feel the unmistakable presence of a body directly behind you.

“Going somewhere?” A deep voice growls menacingly. It belongs to a man, his tone gruff, although you can’t quite make out his accent. You do, however, feel the blood drain from your face as you slowly turn your head, finding what is quite possibly the largest human being you have ever seen. Dressed in black military-grade tactical gear and armed with enough ammo and firepower to take on a small army, you know there is no fucking way you are getting away from this guy.

The man grabs your arm and forcefully drags you toward the bungalow. Once up the stairs, he pushes you inside and releases his grasp. You rub your arm and look up to find another man standing in your kitchen, his back turned away from you as he stands hunched over your table. He’s dressed in similar tactical gear and has a walkie-talkie hooked to his belt. A lantern burns next to him as he seems to be pouring over some sort of map.

“Sir,” the man behind you bellows.

The man at the table straightens his posture and turns around to face you both. His hair is buzzed and his face is stubbly, with a thick prominent mustache that stretches across his upper lip. He seems a bit older, and by the ‘sir’ formality, you are fairly confident he is in charge.

“Ah, we were wondering when you would be back.” He says in a sly tone, his accent American.

“Who the hell are you? What are you doing in my house?” You respond in anger to the unwelcome visitor.

The man takes a sweeping look around the place, then his eyes come back to you.

“I think we can agree that “house” is a bit of a loose term.” He responds with sarcasm, a knowing look on his face. You continue to stare him down, unresponsive to his quip. The man loosens his shoulders and smiles at you. “Where are my manners? Agent Barrett.” He reaches his hand out, offering to shake yours.

You don’t move a muscle.

There is an awkward moment of silence, then Agent Barrett’s hand retreats. He turns, beginning to pace around your tiny kitchen. The room is in rougher shape than usual, clearly ransacked by whatever search was conducted before your arrival. The agent picks up a small roll of gauze from off the counter and holds it up.

“Tell me,” he says, inspecting the bandage material closely, “have you had any visitors recently?” His gaze quickly flicks over to you, an eyebrow raised.

Your pulse quickens as your blood turns to ice. Your mind immediately flashes to Namora floating wounded in the water; to Namor breaking down your door; to the two of them disappearing into the night. You put on your best poker face and shake your head.

“There’s no one around here for miles,” you explain, trying to be as convincing as possible. “You should try more inland towards the village. Most tourists, if any, stick closer to town or retreat to the far side of the island where—“

“Oh, she’s no tourist.” Agent Barrett chuckles, cutting you off. It feels insulting as if your suggestion were so preposterous it was borderline humorous.

She. He is looking for Namora.

Setting the gauze down next to the sink, Agent Barrett turns and walks over to you.

“You’re certain you haven’t seen anybody unusual around here in the past few days?”

He’s standing much closer now. Something about him makes your skin crawl. You eye the gun strapped to his hip and doubt it is for self-defense. Again, you shake your head.

Barrett sighs and gives you a disappointed smile.

“Okay.” He says softly while nodding his head. He backs away from you as the room lingers in silence. You allow yourself to take a breath, but the relief is short-lived. “Looks like we’re doing this the hard way.”

On Barrett’s cue, the large man behind you grabs your shoulder and kicks the back of your legs, dropping you hard to your knees. With his free hand, he yanks the bag off your other shoulder and tosses it to another man who emerges from the doorway to your bedroom. He catches the bag and immediately starts rummaging through it.

“Hey—HEY!” You shout, “What the hell are you—“

“A woman!” Barrett yells. “Pale blue skin. Very skilled swimmer. Four days ago, she single-handedly took down three UN-sanctioned vessels in the middle of the goddamn Atlantic! Three! Now where I’m from,” he crouches down to your level, aggressively getting in your face as he drops his voice lower, “that’s what we call an act of terrorism.”

Adrenaline overtakes your body as you feel your heart beat so intensely it threatens to break right out of your chest. From the corner of your eye, you watch as Barrett’s henchman searches your bag. He pulls out the mangos and tosses them on the floor. Then, he grabs the old leather-bound book. Turning it over in his hand, he looks at it for a moment and tucks it into his belt.

“She was wounded,” Barrett continues, calling your attention back to him, “and our intelligence indicates she washed up somewhere along this shoreline. That's where her trail goes cold. And as you said, there's no one around here for miles. No one, except you."

His implication is obvious.

“This woman, where is she?” He makes a last-ditch effort to convey a friendly tone, but you can hear his patience dwindling. "And please don't make me ask again."

You stare at him coldly, lips sealed together. You’re not telling this man a damn thing.

"Mmmm," is all he grunts, his eyes dropping to the ground. He heaves a heavy sigh as he pushes against his knees to stand up. Once on his feet, Agent Barrett stares at you for another moment before nodding his head to the agent behind you. The next thing you know, you are suddenly being pulled up by your hair, the man’s grip tight against the back of your neck as he turns and pushes you out the door.

Your hands clamor to his as you struggle against him to relieve the painful tension pulling on your scalp, attempting to release his grip on you. But the man is too strong and drags you down the stairs of your porch with ease. You make it a few meters down the shore when he shoves you down to your knees. Your legs make divots in the sand as your hands catch the rest of your body’s momentum. Hunched over, your knees and palms sting from the sand's friction.

You immediately tense up as you feel a gun press against your head, the cool metal barrel hungry to fire. Hearing footsteps approaching behind, you quickly swallow your fear to maintain composure. Agent Barrett walks past, turning to position himself directly in front of you again — only this time, he doesn’t crouch down to your level.

“Look at me.” He demands as he towers over you. His body language makes it clear who is in control. In the only act of defiance you have left in your arsenal, you keep your gaze laser-focused on the water straight ahead of you, refusing to give in to his instruction. Growing impatient, Barrett roughly grabs your chin. He clasps it tightly as he yanks your jaw upward, forcing you to make eye contact with him.

“You’re going to tell me about your friend, and you’re going to tell me where she is, right now," he growls.

You stare at him, disdain in your eyes. You momentarily scan your surroundings and count nearly twenty other men on the beach now. It’s enough to make your gaze and your heart sink straight to the ground.

Even if you wanted to tell him, you don't have the answers Barrett is looking for. His face hardens as your lack of cooperation and unwillingness to talk becomes clearer and clearer. Loosening his grip and dropping your chin, Agent Barrett looks at the agent next to you.

“Do it,” he orders, leaving you without another word as he walks back up the beach toward the bungalow.

The gun presses even harder against your temple and you hear the irrefutable sound of it being cocked as a bullet rolls into the chamber. Your heart is heavy as your eyes begin to well with tears. You stare out at the ocean, the night swallowing the horizon save it for the piercing glow of the moon that cuts its way through the sky down to Earth. It’s a better view than most get in their final moments, you suppose. For that, you consider yourself lucky.

Time seems suspended as you feel the ocean breeze blow past you, pouring over your skin and filling your lungs as you deeply inhale these final moments. You savor the way the salty air envelops you like the comforting embrace of an old friend. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try fighting back the tears. Despite your best efforts, one single drop escapes, racing down your cheek as you accept your fate.

Zzzzziiinnng!

Where you expect to hear the split-second ring of a gun firing before getting your brain blasted out the side of your skull, you instead hear a high-pitched whistling through the air and the unmistakable slice of a blade penetrating flesh. The weight of the gun barrel against your head slides limply away, followed by the thud of a body hitting the ground next to you.

Your eyes shoot open. You turn to see your executioner now lying dead on his back with a spear pelted through his chest. Your eyes widen in fear, then settle on the spear itself. A spear you recognize — because it’s the same one that was held to your throat only a few days earlier.

Namor.

He's here. Desperately your eyes search the ocean line, scouring the darkness for him.

"We're under attack!" Someone yells frantically from behind you. It is one of Barrett’s men.

"Open Fire! Open fire!" Another one shouts.

You immediately abandon your search for Namor, hitting the deck and covering your head as dueling bullets and spears fly over you. Hearing anguished cries from both sides, you peek out from over your arm and watch in horror as an agent a few meters away looks down at their dart-ridden chest. They drop to their knees, then fall forward onto their face.

Your head whirls around at the sound of another spear making contact with a body and dropping it to the ground. This agent is about ten meters away from you, and while your first instinct is to get the hell out of there — run as far as you can as fast as you can — you notice your little leather-bound book tucked into the belt of the lifeless body.

You tell yourself to leave it. You plead with yourself to leave it.

“Damn it,” you mutter in frustration to yourself. You are getting that book.

Before you can give it another thought, you are already army-crawling through the sand. The sound of gunfire rings in your ears as more weapons return their fire. You scramble to the body, staying low to the ground on your chest and abdomen. Once there, you reach out and grab the book, wrangling it free from the deceased man's belt. You shove it into your waistband when something behind you explodes, causing you to duck your head and shield yourself with your arms.

The battle is deafening and disorienting. The mix of adrenaline and shock threatens to override your entire system as you try to maintain your focus.

Keep moving, you tell yourself.

You lift your head, ready to run, but your breath catches and you freeze. Mere inches from your face, you find yourself staring at someone’s feet and feel the presence of their body hovering over you. You brush the stinging sand out of your eyes, pleading in your mind that this is not the end. Not now. As your vision sharpens, you feel a surge of hope. There in front of you are two winged ankles.

Your eyes shoot up. Standing above you, illuminated by the light of the moon and the rapid sparks of machine guns firing, is Namor.

He looks down at you, his stare intense as his nostrils flare and his chest rises and falls with each breath. Gripping the hilt of the spear, he effortlessly removes it from the body next to you with one pull, his eyes never leaving yours. The ongoing battle on the beach doesn’t deter his attention from you in the slightest. From behind him, a handful of armed warriors with pale blue skin come storming out of the ocean.

“Namora!” He calls, and one warrior immediately splits off from the group. While the others continue to push the team of agents to the far side of the beach, the general comes to Namor’s side and your eyes widen as you take her in. Almost unrecognizable from when you first met her, Namora is a sight to behold. Instead of weak and wounded, she now stands strong and commanding, fully outfitted in her armor of woven jade and metal. Dazzling lionfish spines adorn her head and neck, and she wears the same mesh apparatus over her nose and mouth as before. You are astounded when you squint and barely see a seam remaining where you had stitched her up.

“K'uk'ulkan.” She answers, standing at attention.

Namor’s eyes are still fixed on you. He hands the retrieved spear to Namora and then nods in your direction.

You become nervous, suddenly uncertain if the pair of them have come to you as friend or foe, watching as Namora tightens her grip around the weapon.

“Go.” Namor urges, and a wave of relief washes over you. Friend.

“Where are my goddamn reinforcements?!!” You hear someone shout into a walkie-talkie. You recognize the voice as Agent Barrett's.

“Go NOW,” Namor commands, his eyes flicking up in Barrett’s direction. The expression on his face becomes menacing as he strides past you, his muscles rigid and his pace purposeful. He pulls his own spear out of the larger agent who nearly executed you as he walks past the body, arming himself.

Without hesitation, Namora strides forward and links her arm under your shoulder, pulling you up to your feet and yanking you quickly toward the trees. Before you can reach them, however, more men dressed in black combat gear come pouring out of the thick foliage, ready to attack.

Three surround you as the others rush to provide relief further down the beach. Instead of guns, these agents come armed with batons and other blunt weapons. Namora whips you back behind her, placing herself between you and the approaching enemy. She walks toward the agents, rotating her spear in her hand. You’re surprised by how relaxed her posture is as she waits for the men, each one at least twice her size, to make the first move.

The agent to her right makes the first advance, lunging forward at Namora. She meets him with speed and ferocity, quickly sidestepping him only to grab hold of his shoulders. She uses them as an anchor to whirl herself around him, gracefully landing and her feet and then lodging her spear into his back. The man cries out in pain, but Namora quickly delivers the final blow as she twists the spear in deeper and shoves it upward toward his lungs.

No sooner does his body hit the ground when the two other men charge at her. Like a beautifully choreographed dance, Namora drops to her knees, sliding across the sand between them to duck under their attacks. As she does so, she nimbly summersaults back onto her feet and turns one hundred and eighty degrees. Back on the attack, she runs hard at them. You watch as Namora delivers a combination of charged punches to one agent, then springs back to avoid the swing of the baton from the other. To counter the move, she kicks the man above the kneecap with so much power it sends his whole leg backward and brings him to his knees. She grabs the sides of his head with both of her hands, thrusting it down hard against her knee. You feel the grisly sound of blunt broken bone deep in your core as his skull makes contact.

As the man’s head reels backward, blood pouring from his face, Namora seamlessly transitions between her two opponents, avoiding another attack from the third agent she had previously deflected with punches. Her attention back on him, she trades blows as they fight in more hand-to-hand combat. Between kicks, punches, and counter-punches, Namora strategically inches herself backward until she’s practically standing on top of the first body she dropped. Baiting her current opponent forward, she taunts him with the tilt of her head, exaggerated by her headpiece. It works like a charm. He charges at her, and swooping under him, she wraps around his chest and pulls him over the top of her, flipping him onto his back. In one calculated motion, she pulls her spear from the body of the first agent which is now easily within reaching distance, and drives it into the second.

It all plays out in front of you so quickly when the third agent with the broken nose — well, broken face, really — groans as he gets himself up, ready to have another go at Namora. She engages, but as she moves towards him you see a fourth man emerge from the trees, raising a gun to shoot.

“LOOK OUT!” You yell to warn her, but pure instinct has your feet sprinting forward to stop him.

You don’t process any thought or consider any tactic, you just hurl yourself at him. The two of you collide, crashing to the ground with all the power and momentum you can muster. You scramble for his gun and manage to knock it away, but he barrels you over him and slams your back against the ground. The impact forces the air out of your lungs, temporarily paralyzing you as you struggle for breath. The agent straddles your body, putting more pressure on your chest as he pulls a knife from his hip. With all your strength, you fight to hold his arm back. He breaks through your grasp and takes a swipe at you, but reflexively you deflect it away with your hand. The knife slices open your palm and you cry out as you try to continue pushing his arms back.

When he raises his blade again, a blur of orange lionfish spines come streaking across as Namora flies over the back of the agent and yanks him off of you. They tumble across the sand, but she quickly gains the upper hand by entangling him in a headlock. Clutching your injured hand and still struggling for oxygen, you look on as she tightens her grip around the man’s neck and then abruptly cracks it to the side.

The sound makes you sick to your stomach, but you also feel a sense of relief. And gratitude. Your chest heaves as you finally start to catch your breath, your entire body buzzing. You turn to see the dead agents Namora has so quickly disposed of, their bodies dispersed across the sand. She unwraps herself from her most recent kill and makes her way to you with haste.

As she reaches you, you hear the chaos and fighting continue further down the beach. Then, the faint sound of a helicopter approaching. Barrett’s reinforcements.

“There are too many of them,” you say in distress as you witness more agents pour out onto the sand to fight Namor’s warriors. Even if each one had Namora’s four-to-one kill ratio, they are still outnumbered. As the chopper blades get louder, Namora looks at you intensely, reaching out her hand.

“Come,” she insists.

She’s gotten you this far. You grasp her hand without hesitation and she pulls you to your feet. You edge closer to the tree line where you hope safety and concealment await you, but as you reach the lush landscape something pricks your ears. It’s not gunfire. It’s not the chopper.

Namora tugs your arm as she tries to usher you into the trees, but your focus is elsewhere. A faint, melodic breeze moves past you like a ghost, causing your mind to become hazy. As the sound grows louder, an indescribable melody rings in your ears that is both euphoric and dreadful. You don’t even notice the tension of Namora’s grip on your hand increase as your feet redirect you toward the water, compelled by its call.

“No!” Namora yells at you as she yanks your arm. The force of it snaps your attention back for a moment, and you watch as the agents who line the beach suddenly cease fighting and instead walk undeterred paths straight into the water. Terror fills you as they wade further and further out, the water coming up to their knees, then their hips, then their chests, until they are completely submerged underneath.

You shoot a glance to Namora, petrified and confused. Whatever is happening, she seems unaffected. Your thoughts and vision begin to cloud again, and you feel like someone else is controlling your body as the ocean summons you along with the others. Every part of you feels entranced by the chorus of voices in the air as their notes overwhelm your senses and leave you disoriented. Namora grabs you, practically throwing you over her shoulder as she runs into the trees. You become hard to carry, so she pulls you both into the cove of a sheltered root system at the edge of the foliage. Huddling next to you, Namora tightly wraps her arms around your head to cover your ears with her hands.

Pupils dilated, you desperately try to hold onto any shred of active consciousness before giving in entirely to the song. Your mind becomes infiltrated by it and begins to process what you see in pieces; men in the water, drowning themselves; gunfire raining down from the night sky; Namor, spear in hand, leaping into the air, taking impossible strides toward a chopper; the chopper spinning out of control.

You feel the heat against your face as the chopper crashes to the ground, exploding on impact. The last thing you remember seeing is Namor in the distance, standing on the sand. Illuminated by the raging inferno that burns behind him from the destroyed chopper, he is fierce, incredible, and terrifying.

A god. A monster.

The haunting chorus melody continues to consume your mind. Even with Namora’s help, you feel your body shift as it involuntarily attempts to get up. Namora squeezes her palms over your ears with even more strength and restrains your movements.

"No." She whispers fiercely.

You squeeze your eyes shut, covering your hands over Namora's as tightly as possible. Blood pours from your hand down hers, trickling onto your shoulder. The noise is too much, and as you feel yourself begin to scream, everything goes black.

——

Your feet drag through the cool sand.

That’s the first thing you see when you finally become conscious again. Your head hangs low in front of you, pounding as it bobs up and down. It’s still dark out, but you find your home lit up by more lanterns as you approach the pathway to your porch.

You glance to your right and left, discovering you are being assisted by two people on either side of you — Namora on your right and a much taller blue-skinned man on your left. His shoulders are wide and his head is outfitted with an armored hammerhead skull. Arms slung around both of their necks, your body is in a state of pure exhaustion as they get you up the stairs to the door.

As you start to step with your own feet, they are alerted by your recovered consciousness. Quickly, the man unhooks your arm from around him, steadying you against Namora. He retreats as you find yourself gaining feeling back in your body. Namora patiently waits for you to get your bearings, and when you do she opens the front door for you, ushering you to go inside. You follow her instruction, and there waiting for you in the bungalow is Namor.

Namor stands against your kitchen counter, the same place you stood when he first came crashing into your home. His arms are folded across his broad chest. Although his head is down, his eyes are flicked upward toward you, watching your every move. The flame of a lantern on the table glints off his irises, illuminating the dark stare that hovers just below his furrowed brow.

“Please, sit.” He says with a stern voice, his open palm gesturing toward a chair at the table.

As you sit down, you hear the front door close behind you.

Silence.

"Those men," he finally says, pushing himself away from the counter as he stands up straighter, “they were seeking information?"

You only nod, afraid to say too much.

“It’s safe to speak here. I’ve made sure of it.” He promises, sensing your reluctance to engage in conversation.

“They wanted to know about Namora." You answer cautiously.

Namor's expression grows even more serious. He subtly shifts his weight from side to side before settling back into the center of his powerful stance.

"And even with your life on the line, you said nothing."

You are unsure if he is making a statement or a question.

"Why?" He asks through a clenched jaw.

"Why?" You repeat back to him, caught off guard by the question. "Does it matter why?"

"Yes,” Namor says directly, raising his eyebrows. “Because I need to know if I put my spear through the right person.”

The seriousness of his statement hits you like a brick. Your mind flashes back to the beach, you on your knees with a gun to your head as Namor’s spear plows its way through the man next to you. How easily, you wonder, could he have changed his aim by just a few degrees if you had decided to open your mouth and spill what little information you did know to those men?

As you think about it, you also begin to ask yourself why. Why did you keep your mouth shut? Why did you help Namor and his people?

You take a deep breath as you consider your reasons, then lift your gaze to him.

“You barged into my home, broke down my door, and threatened my life. But even then, the motives behind your actions were clear — the love and concern for your people. These men,” your eyes trail away as you feel a wave of anger build up inside, "these men were driven by self-interest and self-preservation. It wasn’t hard to choose a side.”

His face is stoic as he listens to your answer.

“Plus,” you add, “I promised you I wouldn’t say anything. Twice.”

Namor looks at you the same way he did the night you met him. The look that tells you he is debating whether or not you are telling the truth. You are a witness testifying on the stand, and Namor is your judge and jury.

“Well, that is twice now you have saved my people. Again you have my gratitude." He says with a sigh, his expression softening.

You give a small smile, but it disappears when an unrelenting ache pounds inside your head, pulling you out of the moment. You reach up to rub your temple and suddenly feel a surge of pain coming from your hand, instantly reminding you of the injury you sustained from your face off against one of the agents on the beach.

“Shit,” You exclaim, pulling your cut, bloodied palm away from your face and looking at it.

"Here," Namor says, grabbing the roll of gauze off your kitchen counter as he moves in your direction. Pulling up a chair, he sits down directly in front of you so your knees are practically touching. He gestures for your hand. “May I?"

You consider his offer as you stare at the thick veins protruding from his forearm, binding themselves to his defined muscles like vines around a tree. Eyes darting back up to his, you cautiously nod your head to accept his help while simultaneously extending your arm to him.

Namor takes your injured hand gently in his own, cradling it as if it could shatter into a million pieces. Amazed by how his hand dwarfs yours, you feel a surge of energy in your chest when his thumb begins to rub along your wrist. He takes the roll of gauze and begins carefully wrapping it around your palm.

Calmly maneuvering each layer of the bandage, Namor's brow furrows ever so slightly as he slips deeper into a state of concentration. His grasp is firm but gentle, rotating your hand in tandem with the bandage and you take comfort in his touch.

Studying his face, you admire each feature and detail closely. You see the traces of salt against the rich tones of his skin, and soon your willpower gives way to a desire slowly being coaxed inside you as you allow your eyes to trail from his face to his broad shoulders, down his muscular biceps, and finally to his strong hands as they work to take care of you.

Namor begins humming softly as he continues wrapping your hand. There's a warm timbre in his voice that resonates in your ears, drawing your gaze back up to his face.

"That song..." your voice trails off as you grow more entranced by it, unable to find the words to describe its intoxicating melody. But a surge of fear runs through you as you recall another tune, the one from the beach, its haunting cadence prickling the back of your mind.

"My people have many songs," Namor says in a tone equally rich to his humming, calming you instantly. "Each one with a meaning and purpose."

"What is the purpose of that one?" You ask quietly.

Namor’s hands stop as his eyes wander up to yours.

"It's a lullaby, meant to bring the soul peace." His eyes flutter back down as he resumes wrapping the bandage around your hand. "My mother would sing it to me when I was a child."

"It's beautiful." You say reverently.

A smile spreads across Namor's face, but there's a hint of sadness in it. He leans down to your hand and you can feel your heart beat faster as his mouth hovers mere inches above your skin. The warmth of his breath rushes against your wrist, sending shivers through you. With great care, he tears the gauze with his teeth before tucking the loose end into a fold of the bandage.

"It is," he agrees, staring down at your hand which he now holds carefully between his own. "Especially in a world where peace is scarcely found."

His voice is gentle, but there is a bitterness brewing beneath the statement.

"I have spent my life ensuring peace for my people. Protecting it. Preserving it."

Namor looks back up at you, letting go of your hand as he sits up straighter in his chair. The room is quiet as his words sink in and you drop your gaze to think. As you do so, your good free hand migrates to the leather book still tucked in your waistband, your fingers fiddling with the binding.

“What is it?” Namor asks, snapping your eyes back up to his. You swallow nervously, unsure if you should share what is on your mind. Then again, you may not get another opportunity.

Slowly, you pull the book out from against your side, opening it to its marked page before pushing it across the table to him.

“You say you’ve spent your entire life protecting your people.” You preface, hesitating a moment before asking your question. “Is that... you?"

Namor stares at the book in front of him, tracing the outline of his likeness delicately on the open page with his fingertips.

"A version of me." He answers.

"How...." you rub your temple as you do the unnecessary math in your head, already knowing the hundreds of years difference between the book and the man in front of you doesn't add up. "How is that even possible? That book is centuries old, I mean," you are at a loss trying to wrap your head around it all, coming up short with any logical explanation, “who are you?"

Namor looks up at you, then his gaze descends back onto the open book. He gives a sad smirk.

“You are one of very few to ever ask who I am instead of what I am." He strokes his jaw with his thumb and forefinger. "The answer to neither of which will be found in your book." He says, shutting it and sliding it back toward you. You reach for it, only he doesn’t take his hand off the leather cover right away.

"You must always be weary of your authors.” He warns. “The preservation of one's opinion over time does not make it fact, no matter how long ago it was written."

He relinquishes his hold, you finish sliding the book back to your side of the table. Namor searches your face as his eyebrows pull closer together, a rare look of vulnerability in his eyes.

"I wear the mantle of king and am the protector of my people.” He begins. “They are my responsibility by birthright, a charge I’ve dedicated my entire life to upholding.”

Namor proceeds to tell you the story of his people — how they were driven from their home by Spanish conquistadors, and how their gods provided a remedy for a foreign disease that led them to seek sanctuary in the ocean itself. He explains that his mother was among them, pregnant with Namor at the time, and how the remedy herb altered his very being in the womb. Mutant is the word he uses, the reason for his strength and abilities, as well as his slow aging. He then describes the horrors he had seen upon returning his mother’s body to the surface world after her death, and the vow he took to keep outsiders away from his people and his beloved city he calls Talokan.

"So you see," he says leaning forward as he places his forearms on his knees, his face even closer to yours now, "I am no god. Nor am I a man. What I am is a leader who loves his people. If that makes me a monster, so be it. I will see the world burn before I subject my people to its sins and savagery.”

It’s a lot to take in. You study Namor’s expression as his stare now lingers away from you, his mind somewhere in the past. You can’t even begin to comprehend all that he has seen or experienced, but you do feel a clearer understanding of why he is the way he is. Filled with compassion for him, you cautiously reach up and cradle his face with your non-bandaged hand.

"You're not a monster." You reassure him gently.

This brings Namor’s attention back to you immediately, his dark eyes searching your face earnestly as he takes a deep breath through his nose. The bristles of his scruff are rough against your palm, creating a warm friction when he leans into your touch. Namor closes his eyes and lets out a sigh so deep it's as if he's releasing a weight from his shoulders, one that he has been carrying for far too long. His hand comes up to cover yours, pressing it deeper against his cheek.

“K’uk’ulkan,” a voice calls from behind you. You drop your hand back down to your lap as Namor glances over your shoulder. The man with the metal hammerhead skull stands at attention in the front doorway, his body so large it consumes the space entirely. Namor nods at him, then looks back at you.

"It's time," he says, pushing himself up to his feet. “More men will be coming. Namora is outside — collect what you need quickly, she will take you to a safe place.”

The realization sets in, and your heart sinks. Your home is no longer safe and you can’t stay here.

Namor offers you his hand, helping you out of your chair and onto your feet. In doing so, he pulls you into him and tucks his hand delicately under your chin. He’s impossibly close as he tilts your face upward toward his own.

"I am sorry." He whispers, a soft and apologetic tone in his voice. He gives you a remorseful look, but all you can think about is how little space currently exists between his lips and yours. Namor’s gaze flutters down from your eyes to your mouth, but the moment is fleeting as he drops his hand from your chin and takes a step back.

“Go.” He says, encouraging you to get your things. It’s his last word before walking past you and exiting out the front door.

Left alone in the empty bungalow, you make your way over to your bag still on the floor from earlier that evening. You take it and march into your room, grabbing some clothes, your toothbrush, and other small essentials. You don't have much in terms of possessions in the first place, so it doesn’t take long for you to collect what you need.

As you exit your bedroom, you get ready to leave when you look over at the small book on your table. Namor insisted it held no answers for you, but you go to retrieve it anyway, stuffing it in your bag along with the rest of your belongings.

You take one last look around your home, once an unfamiliar broken place that over time became your haven and sanctuary. It breaks your heart to leave, but you know you must.

“Thank you,” you quietly whisper to the room, hoping in some way its energy or spirit or anything can hear you. You make your final exit, walking out to the front porch just as the dawn is starting to break over the horizon. Warm hues cast shadows of orange and red across the island, and you breathe in the early morning air. As you look out across the beach, you are surprised by what little evidence remains of the night’s events. No bodies. No fires. Just large divots in the sand and some smoke along the tree line from a few singed palms.

Namora is standing at the edge of the pathway leading to your porch, waiting for you. Descending the stairs, nerves prompt you to tighten your grip on the shoulder strap of your bag as you brace yourself for the unknown.

“I’m ready,” you say when you reach her.

Namora looks at you seriously, then nods her head. Reaching up to her face, she carefully removes the apparatus from over her nose and mouth. It is the first time you have seen her whole face, unobstructed by the peculiar covering. She’s just as striking without it, and you notice a beautiful jade ring pierced through her septum, echoing Namor’s. She turns the mask in her hand and guides it onto your face, sealing it against your skin.

“Come,” she tells you, turning toward the ocean.

You take one last look back at your home, then fall into stride behind Namora as the two of you walk into the water.

-- -- --

Tag List (I think this is how you do it? Sorry if not, still figuring this whole Tumblr-thing out): @looneylikesbooks @omgsuperstarg @chixkencxrry @vainillasmil157 @demoiseller @sodonuthideout @shoutaaizawas @stany0url0calwh0res111 @hjjks @duckwithsunglasses

#namor #namor x reader #namor x you #namor x gen!reader #Namor x y/n #mcu namor #namor fluff #namor fanfiction #namor fanfic #namor imagine #k'uk'ulkan #black panther wakanda forever #namora #namor of talokan #Wakanda forever #fanfiction

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heartpiratedrabbles · 3 months

Text

Misunderstanding Part 2

Part 1 ~ Part 3

Crocodile X Fem Reader

After watching Crocodile and his, associates, you decided to ask for more Brandy from Miss. All-Sunday, who gladly brought you the top-shelf supply with an amused look. “Miss. Y/N, Why don’t you enjoy yourself?” Miss. All-Sunday muses at you and you give her a quizzical look but raise your glass to urge her to continue, “Well, if Sir Crocodile is having fun acting. Why not have some fun yourself?”

You glance out the window, seeing how he was still in the notorious VIP section just talking. Business took time, you knew that, and you anxiety was growing and withering just sitting in the room doing nothing. “How do you mean?”

~~~

After she had gotten you new clothes and fixed your hair and make-up, she sent you to the casino floor and a destination of the VIP table adjacent to where your lover sat with those strange women. As you walked by, you noticed some guards glancing your way but none of them made a move to stop you.

As you walked up to the bouncer, he looked at you and became stiff, glancing behind him for a second before turning back around, “This area is for VIP’s only ma’am. I’m sorry but I’ll have to tur-“

“Miss. Princess, I should be on the list.” You gleamed, flipping your hair over your shoulder. His eyes go wide a bit and stare for a second, “Well?” You ask impatiently, “Aren’t you going to check?” You cross your arms after pointing at the book in front of him.

“O-Oh of course Ma’am. My apologies,” He clammers out before flipping the pages open. You watch as the man scans the page, and see him freeze when his eyes meet the name you had given. “Well. You see. Ma’am, we’re at maximum capacity at the momen-“

“I see plenty of empty tables. Do I need to seat myself? What type of place is this?” You loudly proclaim, some people closer to the bouncer started to turn their heads to see what the commotion was. You could see further back, in the booth Crocodile was seated, Mr. 1 glance out to see the event unfolding. You give a charming smile to the bouncer who was starting to panic, “How about I just go to the back? I won’t bother no one,” You lean forward to whisper, “We wouldn’t want to cause a scene when the boss is in an important meeting would we?”

“Miss. Y/N-“

“Miss. Princess.” You straighten your back and hold your hand out expectingly.

“Miss. Princess, I don’t think this is a good idea,” Despite his worried words he takes hold of your hand, leading you to a booth away from Crocodile.

“I haven’t a clue what you mean,” You smile as you continue to walk to the second closest booth to your target, you make a comment of getting some food while the bouncer stares at you and glances about. You must admit that watching those who know you be frantic was making you feel a little better than when you were in the dark.

You’re left alone quickly but can sense eyes on you every now and then as you lean back to listen in on the closest occupied booth.

~~~

Crocodile heard a bit of a commotion and noticed some people looking to the entrance of the VIP. The displeasure on his face evident to anyone who had known him for awhile as he nodded at Daz Bones to see what was happening.

This was taking too long for his pleasure, he had already meticulously planned how this would go, but unfortunately the men in front of him wouldn’t take the bait yet. It was obvious they were just stalling for time. The floozy next to him leaned in closer and it took a lot to not knock her away. When Crocodile choose her he had assumed she’d be brighter, she had cheated the casino out of just under a million berries at this point. Yet here she was, oblivious of her actual role, even confident enough to think she deserved this.

The sooner he could get out of this the better. The sooner they’d take the bait and the rest would unfold, the sooner Crocodile could stop doing this stupid parading around. Daz Bones leans in close and Crocodile glances at his associates before offering a ear, “There’s a certain… Guest, who has made themselves comfortable.” Crocodile raises his brow, curious at his wording before looking at his face.

There wasn’t anyone he’d allow to make such a scene; the staff could handle problems accordingly, so who was it that had been allowed to do what they wanted. His thoughts quickly left him as he felt a squeeze around his arm, and looked down to the main actress of the show.

It had been a month since Crocodile approached her, giving her the bare minimum attention and taking her to his meetings. Letting her do as she pleased while she was next to him, she had no idea what was truly in store for her and he couldn’t find the time to care of what will happen after this. “Crocy-poo this is boring. Lets go do something fun~”

Crocodile could feel his fist clench, those stupid fucken nicknames had been the bane of his existence this entire time. You never tried to do something so tacky as she had, you wouldn’t wear a shirt 2 sizes to small while leaning over to show everyone everything.

His associates, no doubt tipsy at this point watched the display in front of them, waiting for a response. This was too much for him to deal with. “Mr. One, go take care of that guest,” He waved his hand as a dismissal, “And why don’t you show our guests to their rooms? I’ll meet you afterwards.” He looked down to see the drunken sparkle in her eyes as she stared at the men in front of her. Even in this façade of a relationship that Crocodile had concocted he was shocked at how unfaithful the sleuth next to him could be at times. He took a long drag of his cigar to calm himself down before leaning into her ear, “I’ll make it worth your while,” He said loud enough for the men across from them to hear.

The two men glanced at each other smirking, Crocodile knew they’d take the bait this time. They were simpletons, though it had taken some time for them to believe this act, they had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.

~~~

“Miss. Will you please come with me?” Mr. one had come to your booth right after you heard the most ridiculous name for your lover to be called out. You were still stifling your laughter when he had towered over you. After taking a second to compose your most certainly drunken self, you stare up at him with a smile on your face.

“Oh? And why should I do that?” You raised your now empty glass towards him, the ice clinking against the edge, “You know, it’s quite rude to not introduce yourself to a single lady.” You emphasized your words, the liquid courage becoming stronger with every passing moment. You could see the cogs in Mr. One’s brain, as he tries to figure out a way to dance around the situation for a favorable outcome. You sat up, grabbing another glass from the setting and pouring a drink for two, setting the other one closer to the edge of the table, “I’m Miss. Princess… and you are?”

The intimidating presence of Mr. One had long since disappeared since the first time you met him; he’d follow orders to a tea but knew the nuances of situations. And you certainly hadn’t gotten to where you were by being a docile person yourself. You heard shuffling behind him and you could only assume that the meeting had ended. Mr. One shifting to cover you from their view in the most subtle of ways, only being able to hear an obnoxious laughing walk by.

You glance around Mr. One, seeing the 2 men and that women but no crocodile. You couldn’t believe how she was conducting herself though, she had taken her place between the men, holding onto either of their arms and she stumbled with them in tow. You scoff at the uncouth display, sipping the drink in your hand. “I can’t believe the manners of some people,” You mutter under your breath, the anger you had forgotten moments earlier coming back to you.

“Miss. Princess, If you could please follow me to a more secluded area,” Mr. One had finally urged out once the grouping was far enough away and you shot the man a glare before softening your face with a gleam.

~~~

Crocodile watched the group disappear, noticing the Daz Bones was still in front of a rather close booth. He leaned back, finally breathing at the nuisances being gone. Deciding he’d rather not deal with things for a second, he tried to listen into what his subordinate was already supposed to have taken care of. “My, I didn’t know you would be so forward. I don’t even know your name and you’re already asking me to bed?” The sickly sweet, slightly slurred words tickled his ears, the familiar voice wracking his brain.

He had clearly remembered sending word to Mrs. All-Sunday to watch over you in his absence, making sure you didn’t get into trouble. He held back a frustrated sigh, glancing to make sure the group was long gone before getting up to walk behind Daz Bones, “Miss Princess, please allow me to escort you to-“

“Mr. One I’ll take it from here. Watch over the plan.” Crocodile could hear the flustered voice of his subordinate, quirking a brow at the name you had seemingly chosen. He looked at the table, seeing the conveniently placed glass and seeing you, head held high but face averted from him in defiance. Mr. One breathes a sigh of relief, retreating to the easier task at hand.

You cross your arms, disappointed to not see more of Mr. One flustered actions, but refuse to acknowledge the man in front of you now. You hear a scoff and the heat of a body next to you as Crocodile sits. “I didn’t think the trouble maker would be such a brat” He grumbles, taking the glass in front of him.

You feel a hook brush over your shoulder and you turn further away from him, “I wouldn’t be such a brat if you’d let me in on things.” You take another swig of your own glass.

“That’s enough of that princess,” he takes the glass from your hand, blowing a puff of smoke your way in the process, “It’s obvious you’ve drank too much.” Your forced to lean on him as his hooked arm pulls you in closer.

“At least I’m not an embarrassing excuse of your partner,” You bite back, “She can’t even talk to your business partners appropriately.” The anger was sizzling but you were still able to keep it under control for the most part.

Crocodile hums in agreeance, “Good thing she’ll be forgotten before I even remember her name.” He glances out, making eye contact with a couple of guards, “Why don’t we take this somewhere more private?”

You grumble and weakly resist but know that it’s no use when it comes to Crocodile himself. He stands up, pulling you with him, “Won’t your girlfriend be jealous,” You slur out while lightly hitting his chest.

You feel the below of a laugh come out, “Please, I’m sure she’s getting exactly what she deserves. Besides, I have business with you.” Crocodile ushers at those around him in a familiar dance as you’re led somewhere else once again.

#One Piece #One Piece X Reader #Sir Crocodile #Crocodile X Reader #Part 2

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aleskyyy · 4 days

Text

Saved — Kyle Garrick x F!Reader

Three years of marriage with your husband who you thought would change for the better and he didn't. And finally being saved by someone who has been around you all along but both of you didn't know it.

Warnings — fem!reader, light angst, unhealthy relationship, cheating (not reader), attempt of sexual assault, a bit of violence/blood, fluff, fingering, oral [fem!receiving], cum eating, 18+ MDNI, etc.

3,2k words (maybe I'll make a second part, but I don't know when).

Main Masterlist COD Masterlist

You know this is not a healthy relationship to be in. But you still hope your husband can change for the better, giving you the attention you deserve like when you were still dating. Even though you know all this is tiring, you still try to serve your husband well. Cooking food for him, cleaning the house and running errands for you and your husband.

Like right now, you are cooking dinner for you and your husband who will soon be home from work. You cook his favorite food and you hope he comes home from work in a good mood. Especially since today is the third year anniversary of your marriage. You really hope that tonight will go very well.

After your cooking is done, you look at the clock on the wall and it's already seven in the evening. Your husband should have been home half an hour ago. Without thinking about it anymore you immediately arrange the food onto the dining table. After finishing you hurry to clean yourself, you want to look very good in front of your husband.

After cleaning up, you return to sit at the dining table while waiting for your husband to come home. But until the clock strikes ten at night your husband hasn't come home. You tried calling your husband many times but there was no answer. You are very worried about him. You sigh and prepare to clear the dining table.

While clearing the table you hear the door being rudely opened making you rush over. You see your husband come home drunk and with his clothes all messed up. You rush towards him wanting to help him walk but he pushes you roughly.

"Dante, why are you home so late? I've been waiting for you and called you but you didn't answer," you tell him in a worried tone.

You again try to help your husband walk ignoring the smell of the woman's perfume and the color of the lipstick printed on your husband's shirt. You try to get rid of the bad thoughts that cross your head. This must be a one time mistake, your husband won't do it again. You're sure of this.

It's been two weeks since the incident with your husband you are currently shopping for supplies that have been emptied. You're so serious about looking at every shelf in the super market that you accidentally bump into someone in front of you with the trolley you're using. Your eyes widened and you tried to apologize to the man in front of you.

"Oh my God, I'm really sorry. Does anything hurt?" you asked in a panicked tone. The man in front of you just laughs softly while shaking his head.

"No, ma'am. I'm fine," he says casually.

But you're not sure he's really okay, you're sure you hit him a little hard earlier. You try to look at him to see if he's really okay. But your gaze is distracted as you look at his handsome face, which is very sweet in your opinion. A gentle look on his face as he turned to look at you.

"I really apologize. I should have paid more attention to my surroundings," you say feeling embarrassed.

"It's okay. I'm Kyle by the way," he introduced himself with a smile on his face.

"Kyle..." you spell his name softly. Then introduced yourself to him with a smile.

"So, did you shop alone or with someone with this much groceries?" Kyle said as he pointed at the items in your trolley.

You look at your almost full trolley, you didn't think it would be this much. Especially since you came here by taxi. You really regret it now.

"Ah no, I'm alone," you reply as you push your trolley again.

You thought Kyle would leave after hearing your answer but you were wrong he walked after you. You walk side by side while talking casually, Kyle even helps you pick up the items on the high shelves. When you have finished shopping you smile happily because you were faster than usual, thanks to Kyle. You looked at him with a smile full of gratitude.

"Thank you Kyle, you shouldn't have helped me. But I'm really grateful and once again sorry for bumping into you earlier," you say to Kyle who smiles at you.

"I said I was fine, and I was happy to help you too," Kyle replies.

"But I made you stay longer, even though you didn't shop as much as I did," you say pointing at the groceries in his hand.

Kyle just laughs. He walks with you to the cashier. After you guys finished paying, Kyle took more of your shopping bags and helped you carry them out. You try to take your shopping bags from his hands but he still wants to carry your stuff.

"So where's your car?" Kyle asks.

You feel embarrassed again, you should have brought a car but your husband's car suddenly didn't start so he brought your car to work instead.

"I took a taxi here, just leave it and I'll find a taxi," you reply as you put down the groceries you're carrying.

"Let me take you home," he invites.

You can only shake your head. You've just met, you don't want to take any chances. Besides, it's not good to go home with another man when your husband isn't home. Kyle seemed to know what you were thinking, trying to calm you down.

"Believe me I'm not a criminal who would kidnap people," he said with a laugh.

You laughed stiffly at his words, Kyle who saw your expression at his unhelpful words scratched the back of his neck with an embarrassed smile.

"I'm sorry, I just want to help you that's all," he said.

You tried to consider his request. If you went with Kyle you wouldn't spend any more money than you had to. Finally, you nodded your head in acceptance of Kyle's invitation. Hopefully you made the right choice. Kyle carries your groceries back to the jeep that you believe belongs to him.

You try to help Kyle put your groceries in but he takes them all and puts them in by himself. Then he opens the passenger door and lets you in. Even your husband when you were still dating until now has never opened the car door for you. You thank Kyle and he follows you into the car. After starting the car Kyle asks where you live.

"What?" Kyle says after hearing where you live. You think he didn't hear you so you repeat yourself.

"I heard what you said, I just didn't expect you to live there," he says with a chuckle.

You looked at Kyle with a puzzled expression. "Why?"

"Because I also live there, if you know the house at the end of the street is my house," he said.

"That's your house?"

"Yes."

"But as far as I know it's often empty," you confirmed.

Kyle just nodded in confirmation of your words. "Because I rarely go home, if I come home from duty I always sleep in the barracks."

"You're a soldier?" You asked in a surprised. Kyle just nods answer your question while smiling at you briefly then refocuses on the road.

When you got to the road, you showed Kyle which one was your house. Until now you still don't believe that you and Kyle are neighbors because you've never seen him. Or maybe it's because you have a hard time socializing, is what you think.

When you get to the front of your house you panic seeing your car in the garage. It's a sign that your husband is home, but it's still noon and not even lunchtime. You and Kyle get out of the car to get your groceries. Before you can thank Kyle you hear your husband's voice yelling your name. You're so grateful that it's quiet in your neighborhood so you don't become the talk of the neighbors.

"I'm sorry, it looks like my husband came home early," you say while holding your groceries.

"Husband?" You hear the hesitant tone of Kyle's question.

"Oh God, I forgot to tell you that I'm married. I'm really so–"

Once again your husband's voice rang out loudly calling your name. You see your husband standing at the door looking at you and Kyle. Your heart was beating fast, you were afraid that your husband would get angry and do something bad.

"I apologize in advance and thank you for your help, Kyle," you say as you run a little with your groceries.

Kyle who saw you struggling to carry the groceries wants to help but he doesn't want to interfere in someone's household. But Kyle felt angry when he saw you struggling to carry the groceries but your husband didn't help. Still standing by his car, he saw your husband violently close the door to the house. Kyle sighed harshly, he was just attracted to someone but it turned out that the person he liked was married.

It's been three days since he met you, but Kyle is still thinking about you. He feels something odd that makes him not stop thinking about you. He knows he's wrong, you're married and he shouldn't be thinking about someone else's wife. But Kyle felt something was wrong. Since that day, every morning he did his morning running past your house but didn't see you come out of the house. He didn't even see your husband go to work.

It was the fifth day he saw you come out and it looked like your husband wasn't home. You were watering the plants in the yard. Kyle walked up to you and called out to you, making you startle and accidentally splash Kyle with water.

"Kyle!" you yell in surprise at him.

You frantically disconnect the water hose and walk towards Kyle. You tried to dry his face with your hands, Kyle could only laugh and said it was fine. Hearing the sound of his laughter makes you laugh too. Your hands return to your sides. You look at the surrounding area which is quiet because people have gone to work.

"Is your husband home?"

Hearing Kyle's question about your husband makes the smile on your face disappear. Ever since your husband saw you coming home with Kyle he had become more grumpy, especially with your husband having been fired from the company making him dare to hit you when he was angry with you.

"He went out," you reply. The truth is that you don't even know where your husband is at the moment.

Seeing the change on your face made Kyle try to change the subject. But before he could ask about anything else Kyle's eyes caught the bruise under your eye. Even though he knew you were trying to cover it up with makeup, he was sure it was a bruise. Kyle walks slowly towards you and holds your face gently which makes you surprised by his actions.

"What's wrong with your face?" he asked. His voice sounds different in your ears. You instinctively held the bruise under your eye. The bruise caused by your husband last night. You try to smile and answer that you fell in the bathroom last night and hit your face. But Kyle can see through your lie. He moves away from you a little, afraid that if anyone sees your closeness, it will become a problem for you.

"You know I'm here if you need anything, right? I can help you anytime, if I'm not home you can call me."

Kyle looked for something in his pants pocket and found a pen and a small book that he always carried around. He wrote down the number and tore off the paper to give it to you. You can only be silent while accepting it. You are so grateful to have someone like Kyle in your life even though you have only known him for a few days.

"Thank you Kyle, you have no idea how helpful you are right now," you say with a grateful smile.

Tonight you're cooking for your husband who hasn't come home yet, the rain is pouring down with thunder and lightning. As you finish cooking you hear your husband's voice with someone else's voice that you never heard. You walk up to your husband and see a man who looks older than him.

"Dante, who is that?" you ask. But your husband is only silent while looking at the man who is with him. He whispers something to the man then walks out and drives back in his car.

"You know I paid a lot of money for this with your husband. I hope you taste as good as he says," the stranger says.

You try to process the situation in front of you. You try to run towards the door but are quickly stopped by the man. The man pulls you towards the sofa in the living room, he tries to rip off the clothes you are wearing. With all your might you try to escape his grasp. You grabbed the man's face and pressed your thumb on his right eye until he screamed and blood came out of it. He immediately releases you and holds his eye.

"Bitch!" he yelled at you.

Before he could touch you again, you picked up the vase on the table and smashed it on the man's head. After that you ran outside barefoot. The area near your house looks empty because of the heavy rain. You run towards Kyle's house at the end of the street. You hoped he was still home and not on duty.

When you get to Kyle's house, you knock on his door with all your might. Tears are already mixing with the rainwater on your face. Your body shakes with fear and cold. You feel like you're going to faint if Kyle doesn't open the door. He looks at you with a worried face and brings you in. Kyle hugs you from the side to take you inside his house. He finds clothes and towels for you to wear. He takes you to the bathroom and asks you to change without demanding any explanation from you. When you come out of the bathroom Kyle takes you to the kitchen and makes you some hot tea.

"If you're calmer and want to talk I'll listen," Kyle says as he places the hot tea in front of you.

"He wanted to sell me, my husband wanted to sell me to someone and that person was still in my house when I ran away. I wounded his eyes and hit his head with a vase. And I don't know if he's still there or not," you explain in a trembling voice. Your tears fall again remembering what just happened to you.

You see Kyle taking his cell phone out of his pocket and calling someone, you can only hear a little of what he's saying. All you know is that he's on the phone with someone he calls captain and there are strange words like 'ghost' and 'soap'. You try to calm yourself down and drink the tea Kyle made. Kyle sits back down next to you and holds your hand gently.

"Everything will be fine, maybe tomorrow I need you to answer some questions. So you can sleep here, I'll prepare a guest room for you," he said while stroking your hand.

And sure enough, the next day Kyle somehow got all the information about your husband. Even your husband was linked to the drug dealer. Kyle also got information about the man last night that you confirmed with his picture in the file. And a few hours later you hear the news that your husband and the man last night were arrested by the police but unfortunately the car carrying them crashed leaving your husband and the man dead on the spot. You know this all seems strange, but you ignore it all. In fact, you feel relieved when you hear the news. You didn't even come to your husband's funeral and let his family take care of it.

You're washing dishes when you feel hands around your waist. You feel little kisses being placed on your neck. You can only laugh amusedly when your neck is bitten lightly.

"Kyle! I'm washing dishes here. Don't distract me," you said with a laugh. Kyle just laughed while kissing your cheek lightly.

It's been two years since that night, and one year since you and Kyle got together. He's been patiently waiting for you to open your heart to someone else ever since that night. He even moved out of the neighborhood and took you with him so that you wouldn't remember what happened that night. He took you to a house near the house of a man named John Price. And you know John Price is his captain and also the person who helped you that night.

"I want to take you out to dinner tonight. I hope you'll wear the red dress we bought earlier," Kyle said. His hand moved to graze your inner thigh which was only covered by his t-shirt.

"Tonight?"

Kyle just cleared his throat and went back to kissing your neck while giving a small bite there. His hand slowly touched your pussy from outside the underwear you were wearing. Kyle carried you straight to your room when he saw you finished washing the dishes. He immediately laid you on the bed and pinned you there.

"What are you doing, handsome?" You ask in a flirting tone that makes him laugh.

"You know what I'm going to do," Kyle said as he took off his your t-shirt. Leaving you with only your underwear.

Kyle kisses you passionately again, he plays with your breasts making you moan his name. Kyle is always gentle with you and focuses on your needs first. His kisses move down your neck and bite there, leaving a lot of hickeys. Then he brings his mouth to your breasts, taking turns sucking on them. He sucks one of your breasts and lightly nibbles on the other.

Kyle goes back down to your pussy and kisses it from outside the underwear you're wearing. His tongue plays with your pussy and makes you moan loudly and your back arches. Kyle quickly takes off your underwear and throws it in a random direction. His lips went back to kissing your pussy and suckling your clit.

Kyle puts one of his fingers inside your pussy and moves it slowly. Soon he fastens his movements after inserting another finger there and curls his finger on your tight walls which makes you cry out his name loudly. He also goes back to kissing your pussy and gives your clit a gentle bite. Your breathing has become ragged and your lower abdomen is tightening. Soon you will come and Kyle knows it so he quickens his hand movements and kisses your pussy even more.

"Kyle I'm coming, please, please, Kyle..."

"Come baby, come in my mouth."

Your hand gripped his hair as you came. Your body trembles and your toes curl. As you came Kyle kept licking your pussy which was leaking cum.

"Tonight baby, tonight I will fuck you so hard. I love you so much," Kyle said. He glanced at the bedside table drawer for a moment. Let's hope tonight goes well.

#kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x you #kyle garrick x fem!reader #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw2 #kyle garrick fluff #kyle garrick smut #kyle garrick imagine #gaz x reader

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candycandy00 · 9 months

Note

Could you right a zombie apocalypse au with dabi? I don’t have any idea about how it could go but always love the only one bed trope haha

The Trade Part 1 - A Dabi x Reader Zombie AU

Splitting this into parts because it was getting too long. Part one has no smut (but there will be plenty in part two, don’t worry!).

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Smut to follow in part two, strong language, violence, implied (failed) rape attempt, etc. 18+.

The first time you saw the mysterious black haired man in the woods, you were convinced he was one of them. After all, in the shadows of the trees his extensive, deep purple scarring had looked like wounds. He’d walked slowly, almost lumbering. It wasn’t until later that you realized his unusual gait was due to him dragging a large animal behind him.

When he emerged from the forest and into the sunlight, with you watching silently from the tree line, you finally understood that this was no zombie. It was a scarred man who had just killed a deer for his supper.

From there, you followed him to a clearing by the road, where a rusty white van was parked. You stayed hidden just inside the woods as you watched him set up camp around the van. He drove plastic gardening stakes into the ground all around him, then wrapped some sort of wire around them, marking a perimeter. He then methodically tied empty cans in sets of threes to the wire, every few feet. It seemed like a lot of work, but it would definitely alert him if a zombie wandered into his area.

He didn’t seem to have any system in place to detect human interlopers though, as they could easily spot the cans and step over them. Either he was foolish enough to believe he was completely alone out here, or he was confident enough in his ability to defend himself that he wasn’t worried. You hoped it was the former.

He started a small fire, then went to work skinning and cleaning the deer. You took note of the fact that he seemed to have plenty of supplies, including bottled water. You couldn’t help licking your dry lips. You’d been drinking water from a nearby river, but it was unfiltered, and sometimes made you sick. You drank as little of it as possible, so it kept you alive but you were persistently thirsty.

When he began cooking the deer meat, you had a battle on your hands to keep your stomach from growling loudly enough to give away your presence. You reached into your tattered backpack and pulled out the last strip of rabbit jerky you had. A family you’d met over a week ago had given you some wrapped in paper, and you’d made it last as long as you could. Aside from a fish you’d managed to catch in the river and three potatoes you’d dug out of an abandoned garden, the jerky was all you’d eaten in ten days.

The deer meat smelled delicious, but you didn’t dare approach. You had to observe this man for a while first. He’d pulled several things out of his van, so it clearly had lots of supplies inside. If you could learn his habits, maybe you could steal from him. You’d certainly done it before, to anyone who seemed to have more than they absolutely needed.

Eventually you retreated further into the woods and climbed into a tree to sleep. It was the only way you could rest while knowing zombies roamed about. The next morning, the man with the van was gone, and you cursed yourself for sleeping so soundly.

Two days later, you spotted the man coming out of a convenience store that had obviously been looted already. It was in a tiny, empty town, and you’d crept in to look for food. When you heard loud crashes and bangs coming from the store, you ducked into an alley across the street and watched.

The glass door of the shop burst open as a zombie was seemingly thrown outside. As it tried to stand back up, the black haired man stepped out of the store, holding an aluminum baseball bat. He pressed his boot into the zombie’s chest to hold it down, then swung the bat, smashing the zombie’s head with one hit.

Two more zombies followed him out of the store, and three others lumbered over from nearby streets, attracted to the commotion. You felt a sense of panic, even though you were hidden and far enough away that you could easily flee before any of them reached you. Zombies in general did not scare you. They were slow and dumb and easy to lure into traps. You’d killed plenty with your hunting knife. But in groups, they could be terrifying. Any more than three at a time sent you into flight mode.

The man was surrounded by five zombies, but he didn’t seem worried or scared at all. In fact, he seemed… pissed off.

He swung the bat with a fury that made you more nervous than the zombies did, splattering blood and brains all over the concrete beneath his feet. When only one was left, he hit it over and over, long after it had stopped moving and its head had been reduced to mush.

“Motherfuckers!” he screamed. Then he panted as he regained his composure. He shoved the bat into a sling at his back and went back into the store. Later, he emerged carrying a crate full of stuff. You couldn’t see much of what he had, but you were pretty sure he had found some useful items left behind by looters.

He climbed into his van and left. This time, you were not alarmed by losing sight of him. Clearly the two of you were traveling in the same direction, and even though he was traveling faster in his van, he was apparently making stops along the way, probably to hunt. You’d catch up to him again, you felt certain of it.

You decided to venture into the store. It was very likely that he had cleared any zombies from the interior, and it had been several minutes since the fight outside and no other zombies had appeared.

Inside, the shelves were almost completely bare, save for some trash and items deemed too useless to bother carrying around - toys, a pair of foam flip flops, a cane that looked too flimsy to be a proper mobility aid. You got down on the floor and looked under the shelves. A fellow survivor you met two months ago had told you about this trick. “People tend to be in a hurry when they’re gathering supplies,” he’d explained, “so they end up dropping stuff. Some of it ends up kicked under the shelves and the people who come in later don’t think to check there.”

Beneath the shelf to your right, you found a package of expired gummy bears. You ripped them open and shoved a handful in your mouth, savoring the juicy sweetness. They were the best gummy bears you’d ever eaten. When you had half the pack left, you rolled it down and pushed it into your backpack for later.

Under the shelf to your left, you found a bottle of shampoo that was open and spilling out. You grabbed it and closed the lid. There was still over half a bottle left! You hadn’t shampooed your hair in over a month, so this would be a luxurious treat.

You found a few more items under the other shelves: a single battery that would fit your flashlight (you hoped it wasn’t drained), a small box of bandaids, and (most precious of all), an unopened bottle of sweet tea.

These treasures safely tucked in your backpack, you left the store and headed in the same direction you’d seen the white van leave in. As you passed by the alley you’d hidden in earlier, a pair of pale white hands suddenly reached out from it and grabbed your arm. You jerked free, repulsed by the feeling of cold, damp flesh on your skin.

A single zombie shambled out of the alley, arms raised in front of it as it reached for you again, mouth biting the air in anticipation of tasting human meat. You backed away from it as you slid the hunting knife out of the holster on your thigh. In most cases, you chose not to fight or kill zombies. It was messy and, even in the best circumstances, risky. Plus it was a pain to sanitize your knife in a fire before using it to skin the small animals your sometimes caught.

You looked back at the store. Should you lure it in there and shut the door? But that would leave a rather nasty surprise for the next person who came along and decided to check the store for supplies. You sighed and pulled your backpack off as you continued backing away, keeping a modest distance from the zombie. If there was a struggle, you didn’t want to risk your backpack being ripped or damaged. It was sturdy and easy to carry, and who knew when you’d come across another one? You dropped it on the ground and backed a few more feet away.

Once you felt you were in a good position (plenty of open space in all directions so you could flee if necessary), you stopped and waited for the zombie to get closer. Once it was near enough to almost touch you with its outstretched arms, you quickly ducked around behind it and shoved your knife into its ear. The arms dropped, then the body collapsed onto the pavement. You retrieved the knife and breathed a sigh of relief as you wiped the blade off on the zombie’s shirt.

Poor bastard. He died in the most hideous lime green T-shirt you’d ever seen.

You picked up your backpack and left the small town, excited to drink some of your tea later in the evening.

It took you four days to find the man with the van again, and it was totally by accident. You’d followed the nearby river to a waterfall. You’d grown up in this area, so you remembered there being a waterfall around here somewhere. Figuring it would be a great place to wash up and use that shampoo you found, you followed the sound of rushing water until you spotted it.

The waterfall wasn’t huge, but it was high enough that falling from it would probably be dangerous. The water at the base of it, near where you stood, was only around four feet deep, as you recalled. You and your friends would occasionally go swimming there during particularly hot summers. You remembered picnics under the shade of the trees that lined the river, laughter as you took turns running into the falling water. The memories made you feel numb more than anything else.

As you stood there beside a tree, you heard a loud splash. You ducked behind the tree by reflex, then peeked around it to see the man emerging from the water. Had he been under for the whole three or four minutes you’d been there? All your thoughts suddenly froze in your brain when you realized the man was completely naked. Apparently he also thought this was a good place to bathe.

His body was marred by the same deep purple scarring that covered parts of his face and arms, like a patchwork. There was something oddly mesmerizing about those scars. He was lean, with just the right amount of muscle, and his black hair glistened in the sun as water dripped from the tips and ran down his torso.

As he stepped out of the water, you couldn’t help stealing a glance at the rather impressive appendage between his legs. Even wet and cold, it looked pleasingly large.

The man walked over to small brown bag and pulled out a towel. How had you missed that bag? Regardless, he toweled off and then spread the towel on the ground and sat down. He pulled a can of what looked like beer from the bag and cracked it open. Then he pulled out a tattered paperback book and leaned over on his side.

Was he seriously just going to relax by the river… naked? That’s when you noticed the handle of some sort of weapon sticking out of the bag. He certainly wasn’t defenseless. You’d seen his incredible strength a few days before.

With a start, you realized this was a great opportunity to check out his van. It had to be parked close by, and the man clearly planned to be there for a while. You took one more long look at his well toned body before tearing your eyes away and heading back into the woods.

The trees were tall and their dark green foliage nearly blotted out the sunlight above you. But there was enough light to spot a white van amongst the browns and greens of the forest, so it didn’t take you long to find it.

You approached carefully, remembering the man’s tendency to use traps and systems to alert him of danger. The leaves were moist and slippery under your feet, perfect for remaining silent as you stepped lightly around the van to reach the back. Then your heart dropped to your feet.

The back doors of the van were covered in wire lined with metal cans. It would be physically impossible to open them without causing a huge racket. You checked the side doors, and they were locked tight. You had some experience breaking into vehicles, though you were definitely no expert. You peered in through the window, only to spot more wires and cans tied to the inside of each door.

You sighed and walked away, heading back to the waterfall. When you reached the trees you’d hidden in before, the man was pulling on a faded black T-shirt over his ripped jeans. He looked good in them. He gathered the rest of his belongings into the brown bag, zipped it up, and walked off in the direction of his van. He passed within twenty feet of you, but you were perfectly still behind a tree.

You waited for a while after he left, to be sure he didn’t return for something he forgot, then you moved close to the water, slipped off your backpack and pulled out a few items. A change of clothes, a towel, and the shampoo you’d been saving. You stripped off your clothes, leaving only the thigh holster with your knife snapped inside. You washed the clothes you took off in the water then draped them over low branches in the nearby trees to dry.

Finally, you stepped into the water and dipped your whole head in to get your hair wet. The water was cool, but not enough to be uncomfortable. It looked crystal clear and clean, and it soothed the various cuts and scrapes you’d incurred over the past several days.

You squeezed out some shampoo before tossing the bottle onto the shore and lathering up your hair. It smelled heavenly! Like fresh flowers and honey. You rubbed the lather all over your body, figuring that if men had been using one product for their hair and bodies for years, so could you.

Once you were covered in soap, you went over to the waterfall and stood under it, letting it rinse you clean. It felt so close to an actual shower, you nearly cried.

You played around in the water for a little while, then stepped out and dried off before dressing in clean clothes. You relaxed by the water, just as the man had done, while waiting for your wet clothes to dry. The sun, reaching you now that you were out of the woods, felt warm on your skin.

You left back through the woods, but just before you broke free of the tree line by the highway, you heard the distinctive sound of someone walking. Someone alive. Twigs snapped and leaves crunched, the noise so close that you whirled around to look for the source.

Two men approached from the direction of down river. You could smell them from several yards away. Apparently being so close to the river had not inspired them to wash up, at all. They appeared to be in their mid thirties, both sporting unkempt beards and long, scraggly hair. Both carried backpacks, rifles on their backs, and numerous knives attached to their belts.

These were exactly the sort of people you tried to avoid. In your time on your own, you only approached certain types: women, families, small mixed groups that seemed to get along with each other. You never approached single men, much less multiple men together with no woman in sight.

Usually, you were extremely vigilant. You always spotted other people in plenty of time to hide or flee if they seemed like bad news. In the early weeks of the outbreak, when you’d first ventured out on your own, you’d met a younger girl who was exceptionally good at sneaking around and avoiding being caught by the living or the dead. You’d traveled with her for a while, learning her techniques as well as how to use a knife. Since then, you’d always managed to evade danger. But today you had dropped your guard. Perhaps the shower had been a little too relaxing.

“Hey there,” one of the men said, throwing up his hand in a wave.

You debated whether you should make a run for it or not. They had rifles, so they could probably shoot your legs out from under you if they wanted to. You stood completely still, watching them as they got closer.

“You out here alone, girl?”

“No,” you said, trying to keep your voice firm, “my friends are waiting for me just up the road.”

You hoped they would believe the lie, that they’d rather avoid getting into a fight with a group they knew nothing about.

“That’s funny,” the other man said, “we walked along the road for a long time and we didn’t see anyone waiting for you. Are you sure they didn’t leave you behind?”

His tone made it clear that he didn’t believe you. Shit. How could you get out of this situation? You kept yourself steady and replied. “Really? Maybe they parked in the woods. They do that sometimes, for the shade.”

“Good idea,” the first man said. “These trees sure do block out the sun. They block out a lot of stuff.”

“Well,” you said casually as you turned toward the road, “I better head over there before they get worried and come looking for me.”

You made it a few steps away, walking at a leisurely pace to feign nonchalance, when you heard fast, heavy footsteps running toward you. Glancing back, you saw one of the men rapidly closing the distance, holding up the butt of his rifle like a club.

You broke into a run then, but you didn’t make it far. The rifle struck your head, your vision blurred and darkened, and you felt yourself falling over. You were unconscious before you ever hit the ground.

*****

When you woke up, you heard the sounds of a crackling fire before your eyes adjusted to the bright orange light against the murky darkness of the forest.

You were lying on your side on the ground, close enough to the fire to feel its heat on your skin. Your hands were tied together in front of you with thick, coarse rope that rubbed your wrists in an unpleasant way. One of the men was sitting nearby, skinning a rabbit. The other, the one who had knocked you out, was standing on the other side of the fire, stoking it with a long stick. Your backpack was lying a few feet away from you.

Afternoon had turned to dusk, still light enough to see without a fire or flashlight, but dark enough to make you wary. From your experience, fires in the woods at night were not the best idea. The glow sometimes attracted zombies, so only groups with enough people to keep watch normally lit them. You had stuck to small fires in the daytime, just lit long enough to cook some food or boil some water from the river. Zombies didn’t know to look for smoke.

The two men didn’t seem to be conversing at all, so pretending to be asleep to listen to them was pointless. You pulled yourself to a sitting position, your knees pulled up in front of you. They hadn’t bothered to take your knife from the holster on your thigh. Had they simply not noticed it? Or did they think you were this little of a threat?

The man standing at the fire noticed you were awake and flashed you a smile. It was a repulsive smile, accompanied by dark eyes moving over you hungrily. You could guess why they had taken you captive. You’d heard plenty of stories. You glared at him and steeled yourself for a fight.

“We’ll have dinner first,” he said in his rough voice, gesturing toward his friend with the stick. “Then we’ll have dessert,” he added with a grin, pointing the stick at you. His friend chuckled.

You suddenly felt like throwing up. These men were disgusting, with their leering stares and stinking bodies. The thought of one of them touching you for even a moment sent ripples of revulsion through your entire body.

Shame it wasn’t the handsome black haired stranger with the scars.

Wait… did you seriously just think that? Ugh. You’d been out here in the woods for far too long.

You tried to stay calm as you assessed the situation. The good: you still had your knife, and your hands were tied in front of you instead of behind you. Cutting yourself free would be easy once you got away. You also knew these woods fairly well, and were accustomed to moving around in the dark. The bad: there were two of them, and they were clearly much stronger than you. They both had those rifles too.

You glanced around, taking in the now blazing fire and the positions of the two men in relation to it. You almost smiled. This was nearly identical to a scenario Toga, the girl you’d traveled with, had told you about being in before she met you. And you remembered exactly how she’d said she escaped.

You scooted over a bit, making a show of wincing and leaning as if your backside was sore. You needed to have both men on the other side of the fire from you. The one sitting on the ground cleaning the rabbit would be easy. The other was pacing back and forth, occasionally stirring the branches and logs in the fire. If you timed it just right…

There! As soon as the pacing man got close to the other one, and they were both across the fire from you, you suddenly kicked out both your legs, shoving your boots into the base of the fire. Sparks and embers flew everywhere, flames reached out like glowing hands and crawled along the ground, alighting leaves and twigs. The sitting man yelped and fell backwards, the other one cursed and backed away from the flames, but he was too slow. Fire danced up his pant leg as he screamed and tried to put it out by slapping at it with his hand.

In the chaos you got to your feet, grabbed your backpack off the ground, and ran into the trees. You heard one of the men yelling for the other to go after you, then a screamed reply of “Fuck you, I’m on fire!”

Once you’d ran so far that you could no longer hear their shouts or see the glow from the fire, you huddled next to a tree and used your knife to cut the rope, freeing yourself. You holstered the knife and pulled your backpack onto your shoulders, then looked around for a hiding spot. The woods were getting darker by the minute, but that was an advantage for you, not them.

Eventually you found a tree that was perfect, and you climbed it quietly and carefully. You tucked yourself against the trunk and nestled into the branch, an action deeply familiar to you by now. Around half an hour later, you heard one of the men run by your tree. By that time it was so dark that you would’ve been shocked if he’d spotted you. After that, you only heard the usual sounds of the forest as you drifted off to sleep.

The next morning you didn’t climb down immediately. You used your high vantage point to look out over the area, scanning the woods for any sign of the two men. Would they give up on you, deeming you too much of a hassle to deal with? Or would last night’s events only make them pursue you more doggedly? You couldn’t be sure, but you also couldn’t spend the entire day up in the tree. After watching for a few more minutes and feeling certain the men were not close by, you climbed down to the ground.

You headed to the river first to wash your face and fill your water bottle. You doubted you’d be able to start a fire today, for fear that the smoke would give away your location, so you couldn’t boil the water. You grimaced at the thought of drinking raw river water again, but you’d sip it if you absolutely had to. Having an upset stomach was better than being dead. There was maybe a mouthful of sweet tea left in the bottle you’d found in the store, but you wanted to save it for as long as you could.

When ready, you made your way back through the woods and to the trees that lined the highway. You didn’t dare step out into the open. Too many dangerous folks traveling the roads. But you stayed close enough to be able to see the highway at all times. You rarely saw cars going by these days. The last one you’d seen, besides the white van, had been over a week ago.

You walked through the edge of the forest, moving in the same direction you had been for a few weeks now. You didn’t have a particular destination in mind. You simply wanted to keep moving, keep away from people, stay near the river where you could always get water and sometimes even catch fish, stick to the woods where you could occasionally catch a squirrel or a rabbit. It wasn’t a great life, but it was all you had at the moment.

You’d walked nearly the whole day when you saw a very welcome sight: the white van parked just inside the woods, several yards ahead. You were surprised that you’d caught up with him so quickly, especially after being slowed down by those two assholes last night.

As usual, you approached it carefully. When you got close enough, you realized the back door was standing wide open. No wires or cans had been strung up. The driver’s side door was open as well.

What the hell was going on?

There was no way the man would leave his van like this. Even if he suddenly had to shit, he wouldn’t leave his stash of supplies completely unguarded. Had he been attacked? The image of the two men flashed in your mind. The black haired man was strong, but they had guns. They could have forced him out of the van. But in that case, where were they?

You circled around the van from a distance, looking for signs or clues as to what had happened. You strained your ears to listen for footsteps, but you heard nothing. Could the man have been attacked by zombies? Maybe he stepped out to pee, was suddenly surrounded, and had to run deeper into the woods to get away.

Mind racing with possible explanations, you decided to watch the van for a little while, in case someone came for it. After nearly an hour, the woods were getting dark again. If you were going to make a move, now was the time. You took a deep breath, then walked over to the back of the van. You peered inside, and to your hungry, desperate eyes, it looked like the holy grail. The entire back of the van was filled to the brim with supplies.

You climbed up into it and looked around in wonder. There were cases full of canned goods, bottled water, snacks, and even a few packs of beer. There were boxes with things written on them like, “bandages,” “batteries,” and “soap”. Curiously, there were several boxes of black hair dye. It almost looked like the storeroom of some convenience store.

All of this was too suspicious. You didn’t dare grab a lot of stuff. What if the man really did have to suddenly relieve himself? Or had to run from zombies but was circling back around to his van? You decided to be cautious and grab only a small number of items, things he probably wouldn’t even notice. Then you could watch the van from an afar and grab more stuff if he never came back.

You opened your backpack and shoved in two bottles of water, a can of peaches, a can of pork and beans, a bag of potato chips, and two chocolate candy bars. The carbs would come in very handy. You’d had so little energy lately. Pleased with your choices, you zipped up your backpack and pulled it on, then turned to exit the van.

You stopped dead in your tracks. Standing right outside the van, staring at you with one hand on his hip, was the black haired man. He looked at you with a deadpan expression and said, “Looks like I caught myself a thief.”

#dabi x reader #dabi smut #Dabi #touya todoroki #touya x reader #bnha zombie AU #Dabi x you #X reader #bnha x reader

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melliejellybellybean · 18 days

Text

It's a Tradition, Right?

Wrecker/Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: none really? does accidentally written miscommunication need a warning???

Food is the way to a man like Wrecker's heart. When his favorite Pabu resident surprises him with his favorite snack after a mission, he just can't help but confess to her. But is it really the picture perfect confession he imagined?

I am back! Once again participating in an amazing @cloneficgiftexchange organized by @ghostofskywalker.

This particular fic is written for @hunterscyarika with the prompts, "I'm falling in love with you" and "You're always on my mind." I really hope you love it! Wrecker was, surprisingly, the hardest clone I've written for so far, and I really hope I did him justice. Without further ado, I present to you: Wrecker's Guide on How to NOT Confess to Someone.

Well, if you squint your eyes and tilt your head, maybe it does look like the holo Omega showed you. The colors are a little off, and you lost count when you were measuring out the sugar, but that’s not what really matters. As long as it tastes like Omega and Wrecker’s beloved mantell mix. As long as you get to see one of Wrecker’s brilliant smiles when he tries it.

Pabu was one of the most special places in the galaxy. A paradise comprised of so many people from so many systems and cultures coming together in a perfect blend of peace and harmony. Even when tragedy strikes, like the sea surge a year ago, it provides an opportunity for the community to grow closer as a unit. It also provided you with an opportunity to meet the group of clones that called themselves the Bad Batch.

You volunteered to help distribute blankets and other emergency supplies immediately following the surge, and your curiosity about the newcomers led you to approach the two little girls and one much larger man who fell asleep against the trunk of a large tree. You first placed a blanket around the two girls, then turned to the man and stopped short. He was gorgeous. Everything about his physique showcased the dangerous weapon that he was designed to be, but the way he laid there, entirely open and vulnerable, made you think there was so much more below the surface for him. He must’ve sensed your stare because he shifted and opened his eyes a bit, startling you out of your trance. You quickly tossed two blankets on him, only hesitating once before tossing one more for good measure and hastily walked off to hand out more blankets.

You were perfectly content to leave your interactions with the clone and his sister at that, with you hopelessly pining from a distance while he was blissfully unaware of your existence. That plan lasted for about 12 hours, when the very next morning, the two clones waltzed right back into your life to help you distribute supplies. The girl cheerfully introduced herself as Omega and her brother as Wrecker while he effortlessly swooped up the box of rations that you had been struggling with just a minute before. The pair bonded quickly with you, and before long you found yourself thinking of them as your closest friends on Pabu.

The time you spent with Wrecker did nothing to help your crush on him, and the time you spent apart helped even less. So, while the Batch was out with Phee on another adventure of liberating ancient wonders, you were stuck replaying your last interaction with Omega and Wrecker in your head.

“It was a tradition on Ord Mantell.” Omega explained, “After every mission, we’d head straight to the mantell mix stand.”

“I would do anything to have one last carton.” Wrecker reminisced.

The spark in his eye was the thing that stuck with you the most. You wanted to see him with that look of pure adoration and happiness again. That desire led you to manically interview anyone you possibly could on Pabu for information about this mantell mix. None of Pabu’s current residents had come from Ord Mantell, and those that had visited it at one time or another were equally unhelpful. Eventually, you grew desperate enough to comm Echo, and after he scolded you for using his hyper encrypted comm channel for something as low priority as a mantell mix recipe, he was able to provide a really good description of the snack. Echo had been to many systems and planets during his time in the 501st, so eventually he was able to relate mantell mix to another type of sweet popped corn that you had eaten.

Once you knew the basic principle of mantell mix, you were able to find ingredients and start attempting to recreate it easily enough. It took an embarrassing amount of batches to have a product that you were semi-happy with, and even now if you had more time, you would likely try it again. But Omega had commed you earlier that day to tell you that they would be arriving back to Pabu in a few hours, so this batch was as best as it would get. The corn wasn’t completely or evenly covered by the syrup, and the slightly grainy texture of the syrup made you think that you may have added too much sugar after you lost count, but a glance at your chrono let you know that you were running out of time. You hurriedly scooped some mantell mix into little cartons that looked somewhat similar to the ones in the holo, it had taken you an entire day to hunt those down, and set off to the top of Pabu’s mountain to wait for their ship to touch down.

Pabu was a small island, and word must have caught that the Batch and Phee would be arriving today because there was already a small crowd forming when you got to the top of the mountain. Excited children were accompanied by their curious parents waited to hear the stories of this latest adventure, while young scholars and old historians gathered to see what ancient treasure Phee had tracked down this time. Once the ship landed, and the landing ramp descended, it seemed as though every person in the crowd was holding their breath. Eventually, Hunter stepped out of the ship, followed by Phee and Tech, then Omega, and finally, Wrecker. Some people in the crowd approached them with their questions about the journey, and many parents had to physically restrain their children from piling onto Wrecker, but you decided to stay put. If this mantell mix thing ended up going south, you’d rather have a smaller crowd of witnesses. You were currently holding the two cartons behind your back, your hands slightly shaking, and taking some deep calming breaths. What if the mantell mix brought back bad memories of Ord Mantell? You had never been able to hear the whole story of how the Batch ended up on Pabu, not that it was your business. What if you get their hopes up and then they’re crushed with disappointment over your attempt at recreating their favorite snack?

But what if it went right? What if the surprise makes Wrecker’s face light up with that beautiful smile that you secretly hoped was only for you? What if he realizes that you’ve been here all along, hoping for the day that he’ll pick you up and twirl you around and-

Your embarrassing daydream is cut off by the sound of someone shouting your name. Looking up, you see a large figure, in gray and yellow armor, coming at you full speed with his arms spread wide for a hug. You come to your bearings, just fast enough to dodge out of the way, worried that his bear hug would crush the two cartons in your hands.

His smile dips in confusion for just a second, but you greet him before he’s able to dwell on your aversion for too long, “Wrecker! How was the trip?”

“Oh, you know, the usual.” Wrecker smirks, “Weird alien thing attacked us, Tech almost crashed, but Phee got her ugly vase, so our record is still perfect!”

You laughed, his carefree attitude helping lift some of your nerves, as always. “Was it a hot desert planet or a swampy humid one this time?”

“Neither! It had these nice grassy hills and mountains, and the weather was perfect.” Wrecker glanced down at you for a second, “I think you’d really like it, we’ll have to go back one day and maybe even have a picnic.”

Your brain short-circuited at the thought of having a picnic in a grassy field with Wrecker, but before you could ask who “we” entailed, exactly, someone shouted “Boo!” and jumped out from behind you.

Starting, you whirled around, “Omega! How long were you standing behind me?!”

“Only for a bit.” Omega answered, in between her laughs, “Wrecker almost gave me away, but I signaled for him to be quiet.”

You turned towards the older clone, a brow raised, but noticed that he hadn’t been listening to your conversation. His eyes were glued to your hands, which were miraculously still holding onto the two cartons.

“Oh.” You backed up so both clones were in front of you and brought your hands out from behind your back, “Um, I remember you guys talking about mantell mix a few weeks ago, and I got really curious about it so… I did a lot of research, and talked to some people, most of which were not helpful, but I guess that’s expected. You would be shocked at how few people there are on Pabu that have been to Ord Mantell, and I think I still owe Echo and Rex an apology. But I think I got it right, or at least I hope so, I’ve never had it, so taste tests were pretty useless, but-” You cut off your rambling, took a deep breath, and held out the cartons, “It’s a tradition, right?”

You were met with silence as five wide-eyed faces stared back at you. Apparently, in your rambling, you hadn’t noticed the two other members of the Bad Batch approach along with Phee. You only had a beat to start regretting all of your life choices, before everything exploded. Omega snatched the cartons out of your hands, thanking you over and over. Hunter sighed and rubbed his face, likely imagining the sugar high Omega he’d need to deal with later, but thanked you as well after seeing how happy she was. Tech began asking question after question about your research methods into Ord Mantell snacking culture and what other planets had similar treats and how they differed from other planets he had researched.

You could hardly keep up with answering the questions and accepting the thanks and giving Hunter apologetic smiles every once in a while, when Phee interceded, “All right, this is exciting, but we do have things we need to finish up. Hunter, didn’t you say something about dropping off those crates by the docks? And Omega, I think Lyana’s been looking for you. I’m going to drop off this vase in the Archium, in case anyone wants to join me.” Hunter and Omega split off to their forgotten tasks. On her way past you, Phee gave you one last sly smirk and a wink before heading off with Tech trailing behind her, his face buried in his datapad.

That left you alone, once again, with Wrecker. You noticed that his mantell mix sat untouched in its carton, and your nerves returned full force. Slowly, he picked up a piece and put it in his mouth. His composure melted, and he looked up at you with a blinding smile. There’s that spark.

He ate two more pieces and hummed in satisfaction. “I’m falling in love with you. This is perfect.”

“Oh thank you.” You answered, before fully registering his first sentence to you. You froze, but he just continued to eat his snack. You blinked, “It took more attempts than I’d like to admit.”

“Do you have leftovers from those? I’ll eat them too.” Wrecker spoke casually, like he hadn’t uttered anything about his feelings for you.

“Um, yeah, a bit.” You desperately tried to keep up with the conversation, even though you were internally screaming. “I can bring some over, if you’d like?”

“That’d be great. Oh! I didn’t even notice,” Your heart stopped as he sheepishly looked up, “I was supposed to help Hunter with those crates, I hope he’s not mad.”

He quickly ate the rest of the mantell mix, then turned to rush off. If he bid you goodbye properly, you didn’t notice. You were too busy lost in your thoughts. The rest of the day went by in a blur. The entire mantell mix fiasco took up most of your mind, and the words “I’m falling in love with you” replayed over and over.

“That’s enough!” You snapped to yourself as you laid in bed that night. “You’re being ridiculous. It just slipped out. It doesn’t mean anything. It changes nothing.” And for the first time, your mind went quiet. Of course. Wrecker was friendly and loud. He’s very loving to everyone. In the heat of the moment, with the shock of the surprise, the words slipped out. He didn’t even notice. It was an accident.

But what if it wasn’t?

Groaning, you rolled over, not knowing how you’d sleep tonight.

…

Wrecker slept great that night.

His dreams were full of sugary mantell mix and beautiful smiles, both of which made him think of you. Not that he was complaining. Thinking of you was his favorite pastime.

“Wrecker, it’s time to go.”

Unfortunately, Wrecker hadn’t had a good chance to see you since he confessed two weeks ago.

“Wrecker, don’t make me say it again.”

Whenever you both happened to be in the same general area, one of you was being rushed off in some direction and the most you could spare was a wave to acknowledge the other’s presence.

“Wrecker! Can you hear me?”

But Wrecker finally had an afternoon free, and no matter how busy you were, he was determined to steal you away, even if only for a moment.

“Wrecker!” Hunter finally burst into Wrecker’s room. “The garden fence isn’t going to fix itself. Stop daydreaming about your girlfriend, get off your shebs, and come help me.”

“Sorry, Hunter.” Wrecker finished putting on his boot and stood to follow Hunter out of the room.

Hunter nodded in satisfaction, starting to turn around. “Wait a minute.” He whirled back to face Wrecker and shoved his chest. Wrecker, caught off guard, fell back to a sitting position on his bed again. “You didn’t correct me.”

“Huh?” Wrecker tried to stand up again, but was only shoved back down.

“You didn’t correct me.” Hunter pulled a chair up and sat on it backwards, his crossed forearms resting on the back. “Every single time I call that girl your girlfriend, you correct me. But not this time. So what did you do?”

Looking towards the doorway, Wrecker attempted to avoid his brother’s squinted gaze, but only met an identical one from Tech, who had heard the commotion and curiously wandered by. “I, uh…” Wrecker brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck. “I told her how I felt.”

He shrugged and tried once more to stand up, but one look at Hunter’s face told him that this conversation was not done.

“And?” Hunter pressed. “What did she say?”

“What do you mean?”

“He wants the details, Wrecker.” Tech sighed from the doorway, where he made himself comfortable leaning on the frame. “How did the conversation go?”

“In exact words.” Hunter ordered.

“Well, it was the day she gave Omega and I the mantell mix. And I told her I was falling in love with her.” A subconscious smile grew on Wrecker’s face as he remembered how enchanting you looked that day, with the sun setting behind you in Pabu’s sky. Then, for Hunter’s benefit, he added. “Oh, and that the mantell mix was perfect.”

Frustrated, Hunter snapped his fingers in front of Wrecker’s face. “What. Did. She. Say?”

“Uh,” Wrecker shook his head, “she said, ‘Thank you’.”

“I don’t care about what she said about the mantell mix!” Hunter snapped.

“Wrecker,” Tech interrupted before Hunter resorted to violence, “What was her response to your confession? Are the two of you romantically involved in a relationship now?”

“Well, yeah! I told her I loved her!”

“Yes, and what did she say?”

“She said, ‘Thank you’!” Now all three brothers were frustrated.

“Okay.” Hunter took a deep breath. “Forget the garden fence, Tech and I can handle it. I think you need to go talk to your girlfriend.”

Tech sputtered some protests about his busy day and the plans he had later that were ruined now, thanks Wrecker, but those were largely ignored.

Wrecker was more than a little confused, but he didn’t need to be told twice to spend time with you. He found you in the market, inspecting some produce from a nearby stall.

You turned when he called your name, and this time, you weren’t quick enough to sidestep his hug. “Good morning, cyare.” He muttered into your ear.

“Hey,” You greeted, “I didn’t expect to see you this morning. I heard something about a garden fence?”

“Nah, Hunter’s got that taken care of.” Wrecker pulled back from the hug to look at you, but he kept his arms firmly wrapped around you.

You both stood there for an awkward second. Wrecker looking at you in contentment and you at him in mild confusion. “Did you… need something?”

“Do I need a reason to come visit my girlfriend?” Wrecker asked.

Your eyes widened. “Your what?”

It was Wrecker’s turn to be mildly confused. “Yeah? Is something wrong?” His grip had loosened enough for you to step out of it.

“I just… I didn’t know…” You shook your head, trying to ignore the feeling of your heart breaking. “I’m happy for you, she must be a lucky girl.”

Wrecker looked at you for a bit before bursting out laughing. “Oh, I get it. You’re messing with me. That’s a good one, really had me going!”

“What are you talking about?” You crossed your arms, “You didn’t tell me you got a girlfriend.”

Wrecker blinked. “But you’re my girlfriend.”

“I’m what?!” You scoffed. “Since when?”

Wrecker’s smile started slowly slipping away, “Since I got back from that mission… for Phee’s ugly vase? Two weeks ago?”

“Were you planning on telling me?” You raised a brow.

“I did! When you gave me the mantell mix!”

The words that have been haunting you for the past two weeks rang through your mind. “I’m falling in love with you.”

Your jaw dropped. “I thought you were joking.”

“Why would I joke about that?” Wrecker asked, shocked.

“Because you joke a lot!” You defended, “Because you didn’t wait for me to respond and you didn’t bring it up again. I thought you weren’t serious.”

“You did respond! I told you I was in love with you and you said-” Wrecker stopped. You said “Thank you” for his compliment to your mantell mix. And then he had to leave to help Hunter. You never did respond to his confession. “Oh…”

He looked at you. Your eyes were glued to the ground, your arms crossed in front of you. Taking a step toward you, lifting your chin so your gaze met his. “I’m so sorry. I was so excited about getting to tell you how I felt that I didn’t even let you answer.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” You stepped towards him this time, “I mean, it was a chaotic day for everyone.”

“Yeah.” Wrecker cleared his throat. “I’m still really sorry about this mix-up. You probably had a lot on your mind that day, and you probably don’t feel the same, so I’ll just be going now.”

You grabbed his hands before he could turn away. “You’re always on my mind.”

This time your confession left Wrecker speechless. So you continued. “I think about you all the time, and when you told me you loved me, I really hoped that you were serious. But then we didn’t see each other and when we did you acted like everything was normal, but I didn’t want it to be normal. I still don’t want it to be normal.”

Then that smile crept onto Wrecker’s face. The one that accompanied that gorgeous spark in his eyes. “So is that an ‘I’m falling in love with you too’? And an ‘I’ll go out with you’?”

“I’m falling in love with you too.” You responded, finally, “And going out with you depends. Will you actually ask me this time?”

“Will you go out with me?” He asked, finally.

“I’d love to.” You leaned in to place a small kiss on his cheek, but Wrecker had other plans. He turned his face, catching your lips with his at the last moment. Neither of you felt particularly motivated to pull back immediately, but when you did, it was accompanied by relieved laughs and loving glances.

…

Omega was getting spoiled. She knew that, at any moment, she could visit your house and you’d have a supply of mantell mix ready for her. She also knew that, at any moment, she could mention visiting you and Wrecker would be more than happy to join her in her sneaking mission. However, she noticed that he never joined her in enjoying the mantell mix spoils, which was unlike him. Whenever she offered him some, he just smiled at you and said, “I’ve already got my prize.”

For Wrecker, eating mantell mix on Ord Mantell gave him something to look forward to. It always meant that the mission was over and he was home with his family. On Pabu, he didn’t need to eat mantell mix to feel at home, he just had to look at you.

Of course, you still greeted him and Omega after missions with a carton of mantell mix, and of course, he ate it then. You made it for him. And it was a tradition, wasn’t it?

#tbbe24 #wrecker x reader #the bad batch #wrecker tbb #a lil tech x phee for the soul #if you squint

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melozykizzes · 1 year

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fatui harbingers first love ; part 1

warnings: blood, an injury.

scaramouche

scaramouche had never found anyone worthy of love, plus he had no idea how to handle it. when someone showed him the slightest bit of affection, he would think it was a prank, and insult them. till you came strolling into his life.

you met him in sumeru, though you didn’t know what his origins were you still went up to him “Hi! sorry to bother, but do you know where the nearest tavern is?” you say tapping on his back. “excuse me?” he says turning around with a judgemental face. “i said-“ “do you even know who i am?” he says with the still, judging face. you look at him, you both making eye contact. you giggle “i just asked you where the nearest tavern is! i don’t know why you think i’m a threat” at that moment, his face slightly softened, but not as much so you could read his face. he was shocked at the least, but he felt angry now. “i need you to stop pestering me, go find someone else to annoy.” he said sternly, looking you in the eye, you just smiled. he points behind you “keep waking forward and turn to the right, there’s your destination.” you smile at him “thank you, it wasn’t that hard was it?”

the next day, you had decided to go to the tavern, using the directions the blue haired man had given you. you find yourself at a table with a beautiful view out the window, you were having (insert food) while enjoying the view, then you realized the same blue haired man walking into the tavern. “hey! over here!” you call out to him, you see him hesitate but sigh and walk over to you, as you offer him a seat. “it’s special seeing you here! i didn’t take you as the type to hang out in taverns.” you tease at him. he looks at you then the scenery out the window. “i had nothing better to do. everything at work is boring.” he complains “well good thing you came here! and good thing you told me where this tavern is, otherwise i wouldn’t have been able to enjoy this view with you.” you say, looking out the window. “hey, i never caught your name?” he looks at you “just call me scaramouche.” you smile at him genuinely. “Y/N”

he didn’t understand it, why your so nice to him. why do you always make an effort to be acknowledged by him, why wouldn’t you just give up already? he was a fatui harbinger, he had mercilessly killed people before, he was a wreck. while you, you were a saint, you helped people, you cared for the smallest things. it was annoying, but it also made him perplexed. are you toying with him? why can’t you just be afraid of him like the others. when he could stare at you with disgust in his face, you would just smile gently back. he hated to admit it, he really did, but he might find himself inlove.

childe

childe, he personally never had the time for a relationship, as he takes his position to seriously. he thought he would just end up making someone hurt in the end, so he avoided it.

you were picking flowers, in a field in the mountains of liyue. you were minding your own, then you heard someone groaning. you concerningly try to follow the disturbing sounds, till your met with a ginger haired boy, laying down in a patch of dead grass “hello? are you okay?” you say as you walk up to his body, and you kneel down. he groans “oh, haha this isn’t a good timing to see me like this.” he slightly slurs on his words. you look down at his leg, which is bleeding out, you look at him with sympathy “your in luck, i always bring medical supplies with me.” you take out your supplies and place them on the withering grass. “oh please, i could handle this myself.” he says, chuckling. you decide to ignore his comment. “how did this happen anyway?” you say with concern as you are wiping his gash with wipes. he whines at the stinging pain. “oh- oh i actually uh fell down a cliff.” he says with embarrassment pigmenting his cheeks. you let out a giggle “but it’s not what it looks like. i promise you, i never get injured, i’m the one that does the injuring” he brags, and you just laugh. you finish up the last steps and bandage his wound, and pack your supplies. “here, take this medicine just in case you get into a situation like this ag—“ “i told you i’m not the type to get hurt” you internally face palm “as i was saying, here.” you hand him a small bottle of herbal medicine powered by your element/vision. “one more thing” you reach your hand for your backpack, grabbing your favourite flower, and you place it in his hand, and you smile at him. “oh well thank you, flower! your that smitten by me huh? can i at least get your name, flower?” he flirts, you just laugh in return. “Y/N”

after that interaction, he found that he always seemed to bump into you, which turned into a deep conversation, that of course made him lose track of time. he saw you more then you guys had even interacted, he always seemed to find you somewhere, helping an animal in the wild, playing with a kid in liuye streets, as if he couldn’t escape you. but maybe it wasn’t a bad thing, maybe it was something he could be okay with calling, love.

#scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche angst #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche smut #childe x reader #childe angst #childe fluff #childe smut #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia angst #ajax x reader #fatui x reader #fatui #fatui harbingers #fatui harbingers x reader #genshin x reader #genshin dark content #genshin fanfic

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iovetecchou · 1 year

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Fluff 2 turning into smut 7 with Jouno…please *^*

prompt: "You're jealous aren't you?" "I'm not jealous."

“You can take it.” / “Look how good you take it.”

i combined this one with another similar request that said:

“The one who get jealous is Jouno because reader talking with tecchou. Reader is not working in hunting dogs, she just meets tecchou while walking to her house and Jouno knows about it.”

the nsfw part will be separated by the dashed line!

AFAB Reader.

1.6k words.

It was a Saturday, which meant your hard-working boyfriend, Jouno was off from work today! You had snuck out of bed around 6 am. Heading down to your local convenient store. Picking up supplies so you could make your boyfriend some well-deserved breakfast in bed! On your way back to your shared apartment though, you bumped into a tall man. He wasn’t looking where he was going. His uniform looked oddly familiar but you hardly thought anything of it. Too excited to get back to your sleeping boyfriend.

“I’m sorry miss, I wasn’t paying attention.” He bowed in front of you, and that’s when you noticed his hat. It had a Hunting Dogs logo, the same one Jouno had. You looked up at the man before you squeaked out. “You’re a Hunting Dog, aren’t you? Do you perhaps know Jouno Saigiku?” You asked politely, now smiling up at the pretty man in front of you.

He gave you a tight-lipped smile before nodding down at you. “Yes, Jouno is my colleague. And you are?” The man tilted his head down at you, awaiting a response. “Oh, I’m y/n! Jouno’s girlfriend and you are?” You held out your hand to shake his own, and without missing a beat, the man reciprocated the handshake. Quite firmly, if you might add. “I’m Tecchou Suehiro, it’s a pleasure to meet you y/n. Jouno gushes about you constantly at the office.” That’s right, Jouno! “Ah, the pleasure is all mine, but I truly must be going! I’ll let Jouno know you said hi!” Tecchou just waved goodbye as you scurried back to your apartment. Hoping that Jouno hadn’t woken up yet.

You quietly unlocked your apartment door, making your way to the kitchen softly as you began to whip up some breakfast. You were trying your hardest to be as quiet as you could. You knew your boyfriend had heightened senses, and you wanted him to sleep in for once after the stressful week he’s had.

You plated up the lovely breakfast, as well as a cup of coffee just the way Jouno liked it before tip-toeing to your shared bedroom. Jouno was, thankfully, still asleep. You quietly approached where he was resting, before placing the tray of breakfast at the foot of the bed. You brushed the bangs away from his forehead, leaving a chaste kiss atop the now-exposed skin. “Giku, baby? It’s time to get up, I made you some breakfast!” You whispered softly, not wanting to alarm him with the close proximity you had to his sensitive ears. He began to stir awake, his eyebrows scrunched up endearingly before he gave you a warm smile.

“Oh? Well thank you, princess, I might just get used to you being my little housewife.” His signature smirk was plastered across his face now as he sat up. Placing a small kiss on the corner of your lips. You flushed at his words before grabbing the tray of food and moving it to your lap. You made quick work of cutting through the fluffy pancakes, bringing the fork up to press against Jouno’s lips. “Say ahh!” You giggled out, enjoying the way Jouno quirked his brow up at the gesture. But, indulged you nonetheless. “Ahh…” he opened his mouth slowly as you began to feed him piece after piece.

You were enjoying this little domestic moment with your usually stern boyfriend. Maybe the sleepiness was still clouding his brain, and that’s why he was being so pliable. “Oh! that reminds me, I ran into your coworker on the way home… he said his name was Tecchou! He wanted me to tell you he said hi!” You smiled to yourself, moving the fork up to Jouno's lips for the umpteenth time this morning.

Jouno quickly grasped the wrist you were using to feed him so sweetly. His face fell into an unreadable expression, it was almost eerie how quickly his demeanor changed. “Oh? Did he now… tell me, princess, did he say anything else?” You bit your lip in concentration, trying to remember if he did in fact say anything else.

“Mm, no not that I can recall… but we shook hands as I introduced myself to him! He’s so tall, and he wasn’t paying attention so he bumped into me! Can you believe that? He also had his uniform on even though it’s Saturday, I thought that was kind of odd…” You trailed off as Jouno’s grip on your wrist tightened a bit. You brought your attention back to his face, his lips were pulled into a straight line now. “That idiot Tecchou… he never watches where he’s going. I'm not nearly as careless as him, and I'm blind, for fucks sake.” Jouno clicked his tongue and grimaced at the memory of Tecchou pulling something similar while they were patrolling.

You had only ever seen Jouno get like this when a waiter would flirt with you at a restaurant, or some stranger on the street offered you a compliment. But this time he seemed to be… more on edge.

“Are you jealous?”

You snickered out, bringing your free hand up to stroke against Jouno’s bare chest. He instantly stiffened at your touch and words. Your mockery was making him increasingly more irritated.

"I'm not jealous."

Tecchou is simply a fool, and I don’t appreciate him bumping into my girlfriend. Let alone touching your hand, the thought of it is revolting. I do hope you washed your hands.” His face scrunched up into a scowl, you were now drawing small circles into his lean tummy. Still giggling to yourself at his words.

“Baby, it was just a handshake! Relax!”

————————————————————————

His eyebrow ticked up in offense, and before you knew it you were underneath Jouno. He had grasped your other wrist that was toying with his sensitive flesh, flipping you over so you were now resting against the pillows. His frame was towering over your own now, a smirk etched into his features as he leaned dangerously close to your face. “Y/n… I think it’s time I devour my real breakfast, hm?” You flushed at what he was insinuating. And before you could say another word, Jouno was making quick work of pulling off your clothing.

He pulled your pants down past your trembling legs, as well as your panties. He then pulled away for a moment, to free his hardening cock from his boxers. Leaving him completely bare between your legs, as you were now half naked. He wasted no time prodding at your hole, sticking in two of his deft digits before he started stretching you out at a leisurely pace. You let out a sultry whine at the feeling, and Jouno couldn’t help but chuckle at how easily you fell apart for him.

“Look how good you take it.”

Your pussy is squeezing my fingers so sweetly, princess.” He whispered, his voice having dropped a few octaves. Making you whimper out his name. He swiftly pulled his fingers out of your drooling cunt, making you whine at the empty feeling. He slowly moved his fingers up to his mouth, pushing his slicked-up digits past his own lips. He let out a satisfied groan at your taste.

“Mm, even better than pancakes. My favorite breakfast.” You bit your lip at his words, clenching around nothing. Fuck, your boyfriend was so alluring. He wasted no more time, lining his now throbbing cock up to your needy pussy, before shoving himself in with one sharp thrust. You gasped out at the feeling, as he began to plunge into you with so much vigor. His lips were now ghosting over your own as he moaned so sweetly against your mouth. You felt so wonderful, squeezing around his cock for dear life. I guess this was one of the perks of having heightened senses. Sex felt a million times better, for Jouno.

“Giku— its t-too much ahn—!” You wailed out. The feeling of him fucking into you at a relentless pace, hitting all of your sweet spots made your eyes roll back into your head.

“You can take it.”

He grunted out above you before locking his lips against your own. Wasting no time slipping his tongue past your lips. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and that’s when you snapped. “Baby.. ahn.. i— Giku—! m’ cumming!” Your body harshly shook underneath his frame as you gushed all over his twitching cock.

You were squeezing and pulsing around his cock so perfectly, and that was his breaking point. “Fuck princess… so t-tight…” He shot his load deep inside your cunt. Pushing his pelvis flush against your own as his cock continued to twitch and throb from within you.

You moaned at the feeling of being filled up by your jealous boyfriend. He began to soften within you before he pulled out a moment later. Already feeling overstimulated from the way your pussy kept clenching around him, you were really trying to milk him for all he was worth, huh?

He placed a small kiss on your lips before pulling you up so you were sitting upright with him. You had a lazy smile against your lips, feeling completely satisfied. That was until you saw the entire mess Jouno’s movements had made. Your perfectly crafted coffee and breakfast were now all over your duvet. Spilling onto the floor below, most definitely leaving a stain.

“Jouno! if you could see the mess you just made right now, you would not be happy!” You squeaked out, scrambling up to clean up the mess. Hoping that the rug wasn’t permanently stained. He just laughed at your panicked state. He could hear your heartbeat thumping out of your chest from where he sat.

“Well, then I guess it’s a good thing I can’t see, hm princess?”

i hope it’s okay that i put these two requests together! i tried to separate the nsfw part the best i could because i know that’s no everyone’s cup of tea. thank you so much for your support! (:

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