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deadsetobsessions · 4 days

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Once more the hallucinations hit, and once more I am here writing it out.

My brain is fucking terrifying and I want out, so bad. This came to me in the form of a nightmare.

Also, please don’t take the timeline into consideration, because I have no idea what’s going on. Again, nightmares and dreams tend to not have the best coherency when it comes to plot and timelines. The reincarnation doesn’t have a name, I was too busy feeling terrified. Shit in parentheses was how I experienced the nightmare. Everything else is just me adding sprinkle sprinkle.

——

Ra’s al Ghul.

Talia al Ghul.

Two names that she had been aware of, in the peripherals of her hyper fixation. Two characters meant to enhance the story of the Dark Knight. Side characters, on a good day. Perhaps, a main antagonist on a better day.

On a bad day?

Main characters. Real, living people. Real, living, breathing assassins.

Unfortunately, they’re her new family. One she remembered coming into, bathed in a pool of blood and screams.

She was not a baby.

She is now, a baby. The first of Talia al Ghul’s children. The eldest, once Damian al Ghul was born.

Swaddled in emerald green and gold silks, she was presented to a man with silver streaked hair and a receding hairline. He too, was robed in green and golds.

“A daughter, Talia?” He rumbled, the smooth Arabic flowing out of his mouth failing to hide the acrid disappointment. The child, past the haze of confusion of suddenly being deported from her own adult body into one of a helpless child, felt a stirring of irritation. It’s good she learned the language, because now she knew exactly how Ra’s felt about her. The child grumbled a displeased sound. Not that she would have ignored the fact that her grandfather was Ra’s al Ghul. (He smelled like moth eaten fabric and blood- but I think that was because my cat accidentally scratched me.)

“My apologies, father.”

“Do not tell the young detective of this. Had it been a son, perhaps things would have been different. No, a daughter would only hinder him.”

Talia bowed, hands tightening on her daughter. “May I raise her, father?”

“A resource is still a resource. Go ahead, Talia.”

“Yes, father.” Talia took the dismissal and bowed before leaving.

On her way back to the room with the reincarnation’s crib, Talia al Ghul stroked her daughter’s head.

“I wish you were born a boy, my daughter. I am sorry my beloved will never know of you.”

The reincarnation looked at her new mother. She’s young, the woman-child realized. A teenager.

“You’ll have to be useful, my daughter. Your grandfather is not so kind as to keep the useless. I… do not wish for your death,” her mother muttered.

Great. She got new life and it’s already in danger.

——

She learned to swing a knife. Swords. She learned and devoured the teachings. She learned to be useful.

But then they asked her to take the life of a man who did her no wrong.

Her baby blues clashed with her grandfather’s Lazarus green.

She was still young. A child.

“No.”

“No?”

“He did no wrong.”

“He failed, granddaughter.” Ra’s smiled down at her, patronizing. Cruel. “Perhaps you possess your father’s heart, and you are foolishly sentimental, as women and children tend to be. But in the end, you are an al Ghul and you will obey. Plunge in your blade and I will reward you.”

The reincarnation looked at the man kneeling in front of her, resignation and a hint of pity in what little she could see of his face.

She’s already died before. What did she have to be afraid of?

“No.”

They tried to beat the weakness out of her. It didn’t work.

——

The reincarnation stared at the mirror, left alone in an opulent cage of gold and emeralds and precious stones that meant little to her now.

Her hands traced her back, small fingers finding purchase in soft skin. Her mouth opened fruitlessly, noise refusing to escape. She still felt the burning magic, the brand her own blood had carved into her skin and soul because she refused to kill. The chains her grandfather had shackled around her with magic and cruel amusement.

She had killed him, in the end. Obey, or be punished. Her body had moved without her permission, the reincarnation a prisoner in a body that refused to do as she commanded. The knife swung, a life taken, her hands dipped in red.

She learned a valuable lesson that day.

There were things worse than death.

“This is an order, granddaughter.”

The Magic had flared a searing heat at her neck, forcing her to kneel on broken legs. Ra’s loomed above, authority in his voice. She was bound to obey, regardless.

“You will never speak another word of affection, you will never speak another word to anyone unless I allow it. Perhaps this will teach you of your folly, and your place in this world.”

The loss of her freedom and the fear that came with it was a bitter and devastating lesson.

——

Ra’s al Ghul was so much worse than what little she knew of him.

She was right to be afraid for herself.

Her mother had worried, when she’d withdrawn and refused to speak to her. Even if she could, the reincarnation would not have wanted to. The reincarnation had felt furious, back then, when she thought of Talia. Her mother who refused to protect her. Her mother, who claimed she loved her but refused to see the chains Ra’s wrapped around her neck. She who plied the reincarnation with a supportive hand but forced her into the fighting pits.

But, as the reincarnation stumbled out on bruised and used legs from Ra’s al Ghul’s meeting chambers where he had allowed his business partners to partake in her, she realized that Ra’s was a monster in a human’s body and her mother was a victim of his making.

The lesson Ra’s taught her that day was that if she was not useful, if she did not kill, he would take what was left of her and make use of her.

Hate flared in her heart, and the beginning of Ra’s downfall began the day he let her go from the chambers alive. Injured, but alive. Injured and violated, but alive and furious.

——

She carved her hate and rage and helplessness and fear in the bodies of the people he bid her to kill. Her silenced screams were expressed in the way she splattered blood, the way she covered herself in it. A killing machine first, a stress reliever second, and a child… wasn’t on the list of things she was allowed to be.

His enemies were felled, one after another. He gave her his approval, something she detested.

But still, she continued, bodies racking upwards, tens turning to hundreds, hundreds edging into thousands.

The red in her ledger became ichor and guilt. Her language became violence and obedience.

“You have become a sharp tool, granddaughter.”

She was a genius, after all. And now, she could not disobey. A blade that Ra’s believed will never point towards him. She kneeled. She obeyed.

“Thank you, grandfather.” Her words were only allowed to come out- without searing, terrible pain- when she was thanking him. She tried not to do it as often as he wanted. He thought he broke her when he read the obedience she carved into her body language.

But she never bowed. Never. Not to him. Never.

——

“My weapon could learn much from your granddaughter,” David Cain sat across from Ra’s, wine in their stupid goblets. How she detested the green and blacks he’s seen fit to dress her with. She’s dressed provocatively, not of her own choice. She doesn’t have much of those- doesn’t have much in ways of choices- these days.

She was twelve, and Ra’s al Ghul deserved to die.

“Her combat is a higher form of what my daughter has achieved. How did you do it?”

When Ra’s began to reply, she slipped away.

She found the girl. She found… the cage- the black box- the child was placed in. The child flinched from her when she opened the metal box, fear only easing as the reincarnation kept her body language neutral and kind. (It was pitch black, and about the size of like, a closet. No light. Only from whatever door the box had.) (Cass’ hands hurt from banging on the walls to be let out)

David Cain’s daughter, her mind whispered, the memories of another life once more making itself known.

“Cassandra.” She whispered, regretting it immediately when pain wracked her body. She fell to her knees as the punishment for disobeying an order slammed into her.

The girl looked at her in concern, but did not move closer. The reincarnation stared at this girl and saw a reflection of herself.

David Cain would be here for a month. She will free Cassandra in those days.

——

The weapon stared at the girl in front of her, kneeling in pain.

She did not understand.

The girl came back. Water. Food. Kind.

The weapon felt warm. The girl was quiet. No sounds. Good. The weapon knew the girl understood. The weapon thinks that the girl is a weapon too.

The girl comes back, again. This time, she makes a sound. It hurt her, but she did it again. The weapon understands when the girl points at herself and repeats the sound. The sound means the girl. The girl expects something from the weapon.

The weapon makes the sound, flinching to see if the owner will come to punish it. The girl purposefully sits, relaxed but vigilant… and protective. Of the weapon?

The weapon relaxed. It repeated the sound, pointing at the girl.

The girl smiles, in pain. But approval. The weapon feels- the weapon is warm, like under the blanket. Approval.

The girl teaches her to make sounds but the weapon communicates without it. It does not like the sounds, does not need them, but the girl seems to think it’s important.

The weapon likes the girl, so the weapon learns. They still understand through no sounds, through reading each other.

The girl comes back, silently. Secretly. The weapon does not notify the owner. The weapon feels- does not want to.

The girl- the girl with the sound- she says a different sound. Her body tells the weapon that it’s important, this sound.

And when the girl points at herself and says her own sound, then points at the weapon and says that new sound again, the weapon begins to understand.

The girl had given the weapon her own sound.

“Cass—n- ra.”

“Cass,” the girl said, and Cassandra understood.

“Cass.” Cassandra pointed to herself.

The owner wanted- wanted Cassandra to end a life. Cassandra watched the owner kill and gesture to the dead thing.

Cassandra did not want to.

When Cassandra is placed back into the pitch black box, she waited for the girl.

The girl came.

“Don’t want.” Cassandra clung to her, reading the welcome and the sadness in the girl’s body. Cassandra tucked her face into the girl’s shoulder. She is cold. The girl is warm.

The girl hugged her back. The girl understood. Sadness hardened into lines of determination. Cassandra felt… light. Felt hope.

Cassandra slipped away from the place, water in her pack for the dessert and money to run from the country. The girl stayed behind, seeing her off. The girl tells her to never come back.

Cassandra did not want to leave the girl behind, but the girl could not go.

“Be free, Cass.” The girl had whispered through the pain. “For the both of us.”

——

Her grandfather knew. He allowed David Cain to break her, not kill because she was of use to him still, as a lesson. She found that she hated his lessons. But, she hated his attention more.

And still, she could not regret. How could she, when Cass trusted her with what fragile hope she had?

So, she lets him beat her, and provokes him with smirks and fearless eyes because the longer he’s focused on her, the more time Cass has to run.

Then, he gets too angry, and insults Ra’s, whose eyes grew cold. Her grandfather gestured and while she usually hated the command that followed that gesture, she could not feel that hatred now.

She got back up, legs broken and arms twisted once more, and attacked David Cain.

Ra’s would not follow Cass. Not when she was not his business to deal with, and not when David Carin’s fury amused him so.

David Cain would not follow Cass. Not while she still drew breath. The reincarnation stood, and threw herself at one of the best assassins of the century.

She tore his throat out with nothing but her teeth. She felt, for once, not like a monster. Not even when Ra’s nodded in approval and ordered for David Cain’s broken body to be cleaned up.

——

She’s been granted a mission in New Jersey, once her months of discipline- of torture- ended. She does not get ordered to find Cassandra. She’s fourteen now, and as silent as ever. Her mother had adjusted to her silence by then- long ago, actually, taking it as a quirk her daughter had developed. She hadn’t been a terribly vocal child, after all. Talia praised her for being useful even as a woman- the self degradation something the reincarnation had no doubt Ra’s had insidiously trained into Talia- and for being loyal to Ra’s.

Sometimes, she hates Talia for being- for-

Never mind. She couldn’t afford to hate anyone else.

She killed her targets early, determination and wistfulness urging her movements into sharp . Then, she made her way to Gotham and slipped into the city of darkness- where her father was.

She watched as he hid in the shadows almost as easily as she did. She watched as he flew and glided with the younger Robin. (He was younger than her by a year. She checked.) He was free. They were free.

She wished…

As she turned away, she saw a child tumbling from the edge of a roof. It was an instinct she’d thought Ra’s had managed to bury after the months he’d spent making sure she killed only children.

She hated him.

She caught him, swooping in and tucking him against her side as she plucked him from the air and plopped him back onto the crumbling roof of Gotham’s slums.

“Oh, thank you! So much- are you a vigilante?” The boy asked, looking at her masked face. It’s a good thing she wasn’t exactly dressed like a regular League operative.

She shook her head. Her eyes fell onto his camera, faint memories rising once more. She had an inkling-

“I’m- uh- Tim!” The boy introduced himself nervously, edging away from her silence. “Thank you for saving me…?”

She nodded. She pointed to the camera, tilting her head.

“Oh- you… want to see it?” He clutched his camera closer. Oh, he did have some sense of self preservation. She wondered why a seven year old was allowed to roam these streets… but she did worse at seven.

She held her hand up and back up. The boy hesitated, and then showed her the camera. “Uh- I took pictures of Robin and Batman!”

They sat on that roof for hours, and she let Tim Drake tell her stories about her father and his son. Ward. Son.

She could tell that Tim didn’t have anyone to listen to him.

She didn’t have long until she had to go back or risk severe punishment, but… she could make time for Tim, to listen to him.

She wondered if Cass managed to escape completely. She wondered if her sister all but in name and blood learned how to smile.

——

Tim had never had a friend before!

She listened to him! And gave him hugs the one time he was brave enough to ask! And she seemed to like Batman and Robin as much as he did! No one who didn’t like them would listen to his endless rambling otherwise, right? (Tim was super skinny, like ribs poking out skinny. He looked like a sickly Victorian child and he was kind of cold)

“And then, Robin went like this,” he pantomimed the awesome punch Dick Grayson did on a Joker goon. “And the guys got knocked out just like that!”

His new friend nodded, looking interested.

“Sorry, am I talking too much?” Tim asked anxiously. He didn’t want to make his friend hate him!

She shook her head, and gestured for him to continue.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded.

His new friend was so cool! She even taught him how to throw a punch and to fight!

——

When she had to leave, she prepared Tim for it.

“Do you have to go?”

She nodded and placed a hand on his head, ruffling his hair. Her other hand held a duffle bag with an assortment of weapons she carefully kept from him. (One of the blades still had guts on it, which, ew.)

“Try not to fall off anymore roofs, little photographer.” She said, smiling at his shocked look before leaping away.

“Wait, you can talk?!” He shouted at her back. She smiled a little wider.

——

“A son, this time.” Ra’s al Ghul’s voice echoed in his disgustingly flashy throne room. It rings of approval.

The reincarnation stood behind her mother, eyes cast downwards.

“Well done, Talia. I finally have a worthy heir.”

Damian al Ghul cooed.

The reincarnation was scared. But… she could not allow her younger brother to be trapped like she was. She’s fifteen now, a decade of slavery having worn her down and nearly broken her. But with her brother… no, she could not allow it.

She met her mother’s eyes and knew then that they agreed. Protect Damian, at all costs.

She ignored the sting of envy. So what her mother could not find it in herself to protect her daughter? So long as she protected Damian, it didn’t matter.

Maybe she didn’t matter. Maybe she wasn’t worth anything. Maybe- maybe- maybe.

She also ignored the seed of disgust she had for mother’s actions in conceiving Damian. She couldn’t do anything about it. Talia was also a victim.

A louder voice in her asked if she could really excuse that, when Talia had a choice and she chose to hurt and violate Bruce Wayne like that. She wondered if she could truly ever forgive Talia. She wondered if Bruce Wayne got therapy.

——

She stared at the tome in front of her, eyes blank. (Actually, she had no eyes. Like? Empty sockets, but then later she had eyes???)

The brand- the shackles- the chains could only be broken if Ra’s died. She wasn’t opposed to that. But if he died, so did she. She couldn’t even kill herself to get out, because the chains would be there even if she died. If she was revived- a high chance, thanks to the fucking pits- then the chains would still be there.

Perhaps… she could use the pits?

Her mind turned and turned.

——

“This is your ukht.” Her mother pointed at her. Damian stared up at her, and she melted. Her brother was too damn cute.

“Ukhti?”

She nodded as her mother smiled in joy. “Yes, habibi.”

She was better at hiding the pain, now. She was better at enduring it, too, that fucking burning feeling. She spoke more, but only to Damian.

It would not do for her brother to grow up not knowing how to receive verbal expressions of affection. Not like she did, in this life.

Still, it hurt to speak. But then, she had an idea, based on Cassandra.

She could not speak, but speaking wasn’t the only way of communication. She’ll teach Damian sign language- standard, as commanded- but also her own version. Yes, she could do it. It wouldn’t be hard.

She was a genius, after all, and creating languages wasn’t as hard as people seem to think.

——

Damian copied her, small fingers patting his hand four times.

She did it back to him. “I love you.” She tells him, with sounds and with motions.

He does it back, excitedly, because he had a secret with ukhti!

——

Sometimes, she dared not to touch Damian. She wants to ruffle his hair and give him hugs but the ichor on her hands reminds her to not get to greedy. She did not deserve it.

Not when her hands were stained with the lives of so many people.

——

Another mission.

She was twenty now, and not much closer to escaping her bonds. Though, once she hit her majority, Ra’s lost interest in her in that way. A blessing, even if she had to seduce his “business partners” into giving him better deals more often now.

She stops by Bludhaven. The Robin she watched so many years ago- six, by her count- had grown new wings and moved. She wanted to see if he could fly still.

He could. He flew as free- no, freer than his days as Robin.

She dipped away to complete her mission (nuclear weapon trading, really?) and swings back to see a spider trying to break the former Robin’s wings.

“No.” Nightwing whispered, staring upwards at the cloudy sky blankly. “Please, stop.”

She didn’t need to hear any more. She saw red, and dove feet first straight onto the spider’s head, knocking her out.

She picked up a near-catatonic Nightwing, and helped him to his apartment. She left Tarantula in the rain and felt zero guilt about it.

He changed mechanically, some kind of instinct keeping him from removing his domino, but it was a bit pointless considering she escorted him to his personal apartment.

She watched as Nightwing slipped into an exhausted sleep before leaving. She had a spider to squish, and traces to hide.

——

Dick wakes up, drained and exhausted. He… someone saved him.

He sees a scrawled note, handwriting impeccable enough to be a font, written with his pen. He picked it up from his table, and his eyes tiredly read the message.

“Don’t worry about Tarantula. Or your identity.”- A friend.

He remembered- the mask- the mask of the stranger that saved him vividly. He’d remember. And he’d thank them if they ever came back.

——

She was in charge of training assassins, these days. A year and a half later after Bludhaven, she was back in Nanda Parbat, and she’s devoured every magical tome she could get her hands on. They all say the same things.

Her assassins were trained well, and Ra’s praises her with more responsibilities as he followed the pit in his obsessions. Her mother began to splinter the group, not knowing that as Ra’s began his descent into madness, people looked towards her instead of Talia for leadership. They did not know that her unwavering presence by Ra’s side wasn’t voluntary but it is their true that she became his right hand out of pure skill. And flawless obedience, of course.

Then, someone new joins.

Someone with pit rage and empty eyes that goes rigid when she approaches.

Then again, most of the operatives freeze up when she walks towards them.

Her memories roar. A child.

He bowed, and her eyes followed the streak of white hair at the forefront of his skull.

She gestured at him to follow, and ignored the pitiful eyes the rest of the assassins gave to the kid- they act like her training was hard when she went easy on them (it was)- and led the kid towards the training rooms.

She knew who he was, even if her grandfather and mother didn’t think she knew.

Her… Bruce Wayne would probably appreciate his son being returned relatively sane.

But first, she had to beat the Pit out of him. Then, she could assign body guarding duties to him, in an attempt to protect him.

——

“Grandfather, I will take Damian’s punishment.”

“A whipping girl, granddaughter?” But he nodded anyways. He made Damian watch.

She kneeled and allowed the punishment. She couldn’t always protect him from Ra’s, but this she could do anytime. It’s not like she was unfamiliar with the torture. (The whip had barbs. Rusty. And they sprinkled salt.)

——

“I liked poetry….” Jason Todd tells her after a training session. “I think.”

“Sure. I’ll call you Grave, then.” Pain. But she was used to it.

He tilted his head, eyes going blank once more. She sighed. There went his memories again. (His eyes were blank and glazed. Like looking at someone you love and knowing they’re looking through you.)

——

“I would not trust her,” she says to the air, next to a Red Hood emerging from Talia al Ghul’s chambers. She could see it, the beginnings of Gotham’s new crime lord. But still, “Talia al Ghul is known for her lies.”

She pushed away from the wall. It was up to Grave if he listened. It was out of her hands now.

——

She’s twenty-five, and she’s helping Damian pack for his first meeting with Bruce Wayne.

“You must not tell him about me.” Because he’d come rushing here, and she had worked too hard to save Damian for her fool of a father to come and ruin all of that effort.

“I promise.” Her little brother said solemnly. Ukhti said it out loud, which meant it was important and she expected him to keep that promise.

The only other time he’d heard her speak was to tell him she loved him.

The reincarnation smiled and told him through their special sign language, to treat the current Robin with respect and to try his best to get the current Robin to pass down his title.

‘Robin is earned. They have different rules, over there. Try your best to learn those rules.’

Her brother was sheltered. She loved him, but he was spoilt and sheltered. Of course she was worried. Talia barely mothered him.

“I know. You do not have to remind me so often, ukhti.”

She smiled, and patted his head.

“Be safe,” she whispered. “I will miss you.”

Damian darted in for a hug. “Of course. Goodbye, sister. See you soon.”

She hoped not. It was hard enough to convince Ra’s that Damian would learn more under Bruce Wayne.

(She was locked in a small closet- like Cass- for about a week, because she brought up the idea first.)

——

She found it.

The answer to pit rage laid in an old, all but crumbling tome from Atlantis- answers “from a ghost.”

——

Bruce Wayne died. Months after Damian came to live with him. That- irritating- she sighed and worked with her mother to turn Ra’s al Ghul’s attention away from Gotham, lest he called Damian back in Bruce Wayne’s absence.

The little photographer caught grandfather’s attention. She stood vigil as he played chess with Ra’s. His interest in Damian wavered. Anticipation blurred in her veins.

She saved his friends. Her assassins. She let them go, telling them to wait for the little photographer’s plan. (Y’all miss girl had fucking bloody handprints on her pants like someone tried to grab it.)

The first few people who had an inking she might not be loyal to Ra’s… and it was them.

When her other assassins attacked Red Robin, she cut them down before they could touch him, helping him with a furious League of Spiders or whatever operative. She hated spiders.

“What…?”

“You’re a lot of trouble, little photographer.” She sighed. His jaw dropped.

“It’s you!”

“Go,” she cut him off. “Blow this place up. I left a surprise for you outside.”

——

“Owens?! Z?!” Tim trembled, exhaustion and shock and wonder hitting him at once.

“Heya, boss!” Z chirped. Owens helped Tim up while Z helped Tam. Pry walked around them, looking out for further threats. “The nightmare trainer let us go. She knew you, I think.”

Tim smiles, all shark teeth and zero hero. (In the background, the song zero to hero from Hercules 2, played in reverse.) “Tell me more.”

——

Damian grunted, bracing himself for the magical creature’s attack.

“Robin!” His father barked out, panicked. Damian hoped he’d survive-

Shhhlk!

He looked up and there stood his ukht. She bounded forwards, using the odd fauna of the magical plane to bolster her movements as she sliced the creatures apart with her swords, magic humming brightly as she cut through them… and the magicians attacking them.

“What- what are you doing here?” He asked. She greeted him, three fingers curled over her shoulder.

‘My question is,’ she signed. ‘Why were you here without a magical weapon.’

Damian sighed as father stepped in between them.

“Who are you.”

“Batman. Cease your excessive worry. I trust her with my life,” Damian snapped. He stepped around a shocked Batman, looked him in the eyes, and unsheathed his katana. He handed it over to his ukht, who took it with amusement.

‘See?’ His eyes seemed to say. Father tensed when his sister unsheathed her own blade and handed it to him.

‘Are you here for a specific reason?’ His sister signed to him.

“Uh, you gonna introduce us, little man?”

Damian sent the Flash a derisive look and ignored him.

“We’re looking for a magician. He set a squadron of demons loose into D.C. last night. He has a tower.” Damian added.

“Robin,” Father growled. “Who is this.” Damian shot him a look and turned back to his sister.

The reincarnation tilted her head. ‘Tower… it’ll have to be that way.’

“Could you take us there?” Damian asked. Truthfully, he could find the way himself. But he wanted more time around his ukht. She nodded and Damian straightened.

“I feel like we should be concerned that Robin’s friend just murdered a bunch of people.”

His sister glanced back and ignored them.

“Silence, incompetents. Speak another word against her, and Batman’s no killing rule will be applied creatively.” He hissed. (The fucking surroundings hissed with him y’all what the fuck)

He turned when his sister ruffled his hair (Superman muttered a super shocked “what the fuck.”) and Damian allowed it. He had missed his sister.

——

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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 6 months

Text

It's Flawless, Really Something

Roy Kent x Teacher!Reader

Warnings: Language, flirting, a pervy parent, non-academic activities in the classroom

2.6k words

Teach Me Tonight Masterlist

“Did you save me that biscuit?”

Roy Kent leaned forward, hands on the plastic table, and smiled at you. His eyes were bright, and his black leather jacket hugged him deliciously; he was perfect, you thought. Stupidly, ridiculously, wonderfully perfect.

“Only if you’ve got exact change,” you managed to joke, holding out your outstretched hand.

Roy looked surprised at your teasing reply. Surprised, but also pleased. After your talk with Leanne, you’d made the terrifying decision that you were going to flirt with Roy Kent. You liked him, you knew that much. He clearly liked you, at least a little. And if he was ever going to ask him out, he, like any other man, needed a little encouragement.

With a content chuckle, the coach reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of quid, definitely more than the cost of one chocolate chip cookie. He pressed the money into your hand, curling your fingers into a fist as his warm grip lingered.

Despite your immediately wavering bravery, you held his gaze, not caring that he could probably see the way you gulped at his touch. “That’s a little too much, Coach,” you hummed.

“Consider the rest a tip,” he answered, giving your hand a squeeze before letting go. “For exemplary service.” He tilted his head at you. “How long’re you here for? Do they let you take a break, or do I need to call the union?”

“Maybe another half hour and then I’m pretty much done.” You smiled, not caring that there were students, and parents, and other teachers flittering around. “Why? You want to buy me a lemonade or something?”

He shrugged and picked up a chocolate chip cookie. “Or something,” he echoed with a wink. “Have fun.”

You watched unabashedly as he walked away, to where his sister and Phoebe were waiting for him. He handed the cookie to a bouncy Phoebe, while his sister waggled her eyebrows at him. Roy gave his sister a shove before glancing back at you, his smile widening when he caught you staring.

As you were wondering whether Leanne would kill you if you left her alone, Mrs. Seling rushed over mischief all over her face.

“Teresa’s dog got sick,” she said in place of a greeting. “We need someone in the dunk tank, just for twenty minutes until it’s Mrs. Halpern’s turn. Can you do it?”

Shit. The damn dunk tank. Every year, teachers brokered deals and offered bribes to avoid having a shift on the stupid thing, treating it like the torture chamber it was. The water was gross and weirdly warm. The air was freezing cold when you were soaked. Students lined up in droves to try to dunk their teacher into the water, and, worse, dads lined up to see the results.

Of course, Lee chose that moment to absolutely betray you and busy herself with selling brownies to a student’s grandmother, leaving you only able to smile weakly at Karen and mumble, “I guess.”

So, there you sat, hating the fact that you’d chosen today to wear a light-colored shirt to go with your jeans, but thankful for the fact that your students had terrible aim. Phoebe O’Sullivan stood among the gaggle of children who were desperate to see you fall into the tub of water that you tried not to think too hard about; her uncle stood not far, eyebrows raised in amusement, trying not to think too hard about how you’d look once you got dunked.

Normally, Roy thought of you as cute, pretty, adorable. An absolute distraction. But the thought of you in a soaked shirt, material clinging to your body… fuck, he needed to get his thoughts under control. After all, he hadn’t asked you out yet, hadn’t kissed you yet. But fucking hell, his mind was racing as he tried not to turn into a teenage boy with fantasies of a beautiful teacher in a wet t-shirt.

“Uncle Roy, you should try!”

Phoebe’s little voice dragged him out of his increasingly adult thoughts. “Hmm?” He stared at the ball in his niece’s outstretched hand, quickly comprehending what she’d just said. “Oh. Sure.”

He stepped up after watching one of Phoebe’s classmates throw a very wild pitch. Your eyes found his, carrying a mixture of amusement and embarrassment. He knew he could hit that stupid red target; he was a retired athlete, after all. A flick of his wrist, and you’d be soaked from head to toe.

But he saw the way Jack Price’s dad was leering at you, the way that fucker always did when his wife wasn’t around. And he felt that tightness in his chest again, the tightness he’d had that day at the zoo when he watched that skeeze put his hand on your shoulder. No way was Roy going to let slime see his personal fantasy.

Besides, you’d probably appreciate Roy not dunking you, right? It’d be rather gentlemanly. And you seemed like the type that wanted a gentleman. And Roy wanted to be what you wanted.

So, he gently tossed the ball, shrugging at you when it hit the backboard instead of the target.

“Thank you,” you mouthed, warming away that tightness in his chest. The relief and gratitude on your face was worth looking like he couldn’t throw a damn ball, as well as the fifty pence the ball had cost.

As he pondered how he could leverage his chivalrous gesture to finally ask you on a date, someone tapped his shoulder.

Jack Price’s dad smiled at him, that stupid, sharkish smile, tossing a ball up and down. “Guess you’re not as good at pitching as kicking, hmm?” he joked, as if they were the kind of people who joked with each other. “Watch and learn.”

Your gasp was sharp as you felt the bench disappear from under you and were instantly underwater. Dammit. You’d almost made it the full twenty minutes dry as a bone. Fucking Mr. Price and his fucking cricket hobby. You came back up rapidly, cheeks burning as the kids cheered on the sight of seeing their beloved teacher soaked.

To add insult to injury, Mrs. Halpern stood beside the dunk tank, ready to take your place. You clambered out of the dunk tank, shivering in the approaching evening air. All you wanted to do now was go home, shower, and put on your warmest pajamas. Never mind letting Roy Kent buy you a lemonade. You were cold, wet, and, admittedly, a little embarrassed by the way your shirt clung to your skin.

But you grabbed your things and put on that fake smile for your students who giggled over your misfortune and tried to make a speedy exit. Unfortunately, Mr. Price slowed down your plans.

“No hard feelings, right?” he hummed, eyes everywhere but your face. “It’s for a good cause, after all.”

Instinctively, you crossed your arms, attempting to hide as much as you could. “Of course,” you murmured, making a pathetic attempt to sidestep him.

He blocked your path, eyeing your figure. “Need help with those wet clothes?” he whispered as his hand landed on your shoulder, the way it had at the zoo.

“Oi.”

As you shrugged off Mr. Price’s hand, Roy Kent approached, peeling off his leather jacket. “You must be fucking cold,” he mumbled. Pointedly ignoring Jack’s dad, he wrapped the jacket around your shoulders. “How about that lemonade?”

“Thanks,” you sighed as Mr. Price scampered away. “But I should probably head home. Need a shower after being in that thing.” As you spoke, you did your best to ignore the feeling of Roy Kent’s jacket hugging you, enveloping you in the scent of whatever wonderful cologne he was wearing, a cologne he’d picked out in the hopes of bumping into you today.

“Sorry the jacket’s not more comfortable,” he grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “But you can just give it back to me Monday. Keep you warm on your way home.”

You shook your head. “I have a sweatshirt in my classroom. I can just throw that on.” Seeing the slight disappointment in his brown eyes, you swayed forward slightly, batting your eyes at him- something you weren’t sure you’d ever done. “Walk me to my classroom?”

There was that smile. That fucking smile, the one that was bright enough to make you forget Roy Kent’s infamous rage, the perfect smile you wanted to kiss right off his bearded face. He kept on smiling as the two of you slipped away from the fall festival.

He liked seeing you in his jacket. It was just big enough to look cozy wrapped around your shoulders, and he cherished the way you tugged it tightly around yourself. Admittedly, he was a big jealous of the way his jacket got to be wrapped around you. He wondered if it would smell like you when he got it back; probably like the dunk tank water, unfortunately. Maybe he could offer it to you again sometime. Maybe even after a date.

You quickly unlocked your classroom and led Roy in, trying not to flinch when you heard the door close, silencing the already distant sounds of the festival. Neither of you bothered with the lights, instead letting the last of the sun softly illuminate the classroom. Roy followed you to your desk, wondering if you wanted him to leave or stay, and hoping beyond hope that it was the latter.

“Oh, here.” You slipped off his jacket and handed it to him. “Thanks again, Coach. Very chivalrous of you.” Your smile was probably the most confident he’d seen, playful and teasing. It was probably his favorite smile.

“Any fucking time,” he breathed. He was fighting so fucking hard not to stare at you. He knew he wasn’t a married dad like Mr. Price or the others, and he was pretty sure you liked the way he stared at you- but still. He didn’t want to be grouped with them, a creep who ogled you like a piece of meat.

But fuck, you were making it hard. That shirt clung to you like it wanted you even more than Roy did, flaunting the body you usually covered with cute dresses and jean jackets- a body Roy really liked. You pulled your dripping hair up in a clip you found on your desk, exposing a neck that Roy was sure would look great with a few marks on it. And you gazed up at him with wide eyes and parted lips, as if you were going to ask him a question.

He cleared his throat. “You headin’ home after you grab your sweater?”

You nodded absently. “Probably.” You took a tiny step back, hitting the edge of your desk. “You sticking around?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m with, uh, my sister and Pheebs.” Despite his best efforts, his eyes wandered. Fuck. “Sorry,” he muttered, wincing when he realized how obvious it was; he might as well be drooling.

You cocked your head at him. “For what?”

He shook his head, ears burning with shame and, if he was being really honest, desire. “For fucking…. Staring.” He made himself look you in the eye, which was somehow worse. “’m sorry.”

To his surprise, you smiled. “Don’t be. I… I like it when you stare.”

“Do you?” His voice was quiet, as if he thought being any louder would scare you off. “Why?”

You shrugged and hopped up onto your desk. “Because it’s you,” you said simply. Feeling dizzy from the way Roy looked at you, you reached out and touched his hand, grazing his skin with the tip of your finger. “You’re… you’re the kind of guy a girl likes to have staring.”

There it was. Since the first day of school, when he saw you in your little white sneakers and jean jacket, he’d been waiting for a clear sign that you were just as infatuated as he felt. And now, in your dark classroom, with your eyebrows raised and your hand on his and your lip caught between your teeth, Roy finally had his fucking sign.

He took a step forward and settled himself between your knees. Watching you carefully, he put his hands on your waist, digging his fingers into the soaking material of your shirt. You tilted your face towards him, finally giving him permission to do the one thing he’d been desperate to do since the moment you met.

Your lips were soft, even softer than Roy had let himself imagine. He had often wondered what kind of ChapStick he watched you apply on warm afternoons; cherry, he realized. Fucking cherry. For the rest of his life, he knew, whenever he tasted cherry, he’d be thrown back to this moment, kissing the pretty teacher in her classroom, amazed that someone so sweet would kiss someone so fucking miserable.

And kiss him you did. You brought your hands to the back of his head, pressing your chest flush against his. His hands fisted at your shirt, tugging it up a little so his fingertips could brush over your soft skin, still wet from the dunk tank, but quickly heating up as you deepened the kiss. Roy let you take the lead; he waited until your lips parted to open his own mouth, and your tongue was the first one to tentatively flick against his.

He groaned softly into your mouth and let one hand cup your face, thumb caressing your heated cheek. He could get used to this, Roy thought. Used to your cherry-flavored kisses and hands in his hair and body pressed against his, and used to your sweet smiles and shy giggles and bright eyes. He wondered briefly what other things he could look forward to getting used to.

“We,” you huffed into the kiss. “We should go before-” Your breath hitched as Roy’s mouth wandered to your jaw. “-before someone sees us.”

He sighed against your skin. You were right. Roy knew you were fucking right. This was a school. You were in your classroom. As exciting and tempting as it was to keep going, he needed to respect that. After harshly pressing his lips to yours one more time, he pulled back.

“Let me take you out,” he all but begged. “On a fucking proper date.”

Your smile was brilliant. “That would be lovely, Coach.”

He let out a breathy chuckle, the hand on your waist giving you a gentle squeeze. “I think you can call me Roy now.”

“Right.” You giggled, that adorable bashfulness returning, somehow even more endearing now. “That would be lovely, Roy.”

Fucking hell, his name sounded good coming out of your mouth. It sounded so good he couldn’t help pulling you in for another kiss, a slow, tender one.

“Any chance you’re free tonight?” he breathed.

You nodded. “I just need to go home. Shower away the dunk tank.”

Roy did his best not to let his mind wander to that shower. “Right. Right.” He cleared his throat. “And I’ve got to drop my sister and Phoebe at home. Think I could come around at eight?” He kissed your jaw. “We could go get a drink. I can stare at you some more.”

“Sounds perfect.” With a teasing shove to Roy’s chest, you hopped down from the desk and grabbed your sweatshirt from where it hung over your chair, quickly pulling it over your head.

The two of you ambled out of the classroom wearing matching grins and blushes. It was a good thing your classroom was clear across campus from the festival, because it was painfully obvious that the two of you had just been pawing at each other.

“Be ready at eight,” Roy hummed, intertwining his fingers with yours. “And get ready to be stared at all night.”

“Looking forward to it.” You leaned forward and kissed his lips quickly. “See you in a bit, Coach.”

Roy growled at you, a playful, sexy sound.

Your laugh warmed his chest. “Roy,” you corrected as you squeezed his hand. “See you in a bit Roy.”

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wandering-winchesters · 1 year

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Tragedy

Pairing: Dean x Reader Word Count: 3,626 Summary: The reader is used to hunting solo, yet this solo hunt does not turn out quite like she had hoped. She is required to call on Dean and Sam after she is injured. Trigger Warnings: injury, firearms, blood, death. SPN level violence Requested: No A/N: I hope you enjoy this, I had fun writing it. Please let me know what you think. :)

Masterlist

I let out a sigh, tossing my laptop onto the motel bed, frustrated didn’t even begin to cover it. I had spent the last several hours searching through local records, looking for any deaths that fit the profile of the ghosty murderer floating around town, but nothing lined up. I wished Sam was here, he would’ve been incredibly helpful searching for an answer. But I had split off from them a couple weeks ago, returning to solo hunts, like the old days. They had both argued with me, tried to convince me to stay with them., but I had insisted on going off on my own again. I had to prove to myself that I still could, I felt as if I was slipping into a pit of dependance and a lack of self sufficiency.

I had spent the last six months hunting with the two Winchester boys, helping them tackle numerous cases, which was nice. However, it terrified me how comfortable I was around them, I had told myself that I wouldn’t ever get too close to someone ever again. But with them, it was too easy to fall into comfortable dependency. Especially Dean. God, Dean Winchester. His eyes could pierce my soul if I let them, they appeal to me like a siren appeals to helpless sailors. I couldn’t resist him when I was around him, causing me to make stupid choices, I went with his gut over my own and it left me feeling helpless. It wasn’t his fault, he wasn’t doing anything intentionally, I just couldn’t help but fall further in love with the green eyed hunter every moment I spent with him. Which is exactly why I left, love had never come easy for me. I had lost my parents as a teenager and branched off on my own, evading the torment that would have greeted me had I gone to live with my Uncle. I never went to college, I hunted. Yet while on one of those hunts, I met Ian. Ian had been the love of my life, before he met an unfortunate end in a terrible car accident, eerily similar to the way my parents died. Death, followed me and those that I let in and loved.

So I had sworn off love, friendship and anything else that let people into my life. That was until the two Winchesters had busted down the door to the old house, guns drawn, expecting to find me in the captivity of a werewolf den. Instead, they found me. My own weapon drawn, the body of a dead werewolf at my feet. I wish I had been recording that moment, the looks on their faces were utterly priceless. I had agreed to help them on one more hunt, that turned into three, which turned into six months worth. I was getting too comfortable and I just had to get out. That’s how I wound up alone in this motel, attempting to crack the case in this podunk town. I laid down on the musty motel bed, pushing my laptop onto the far side and leaving enough room for me to lay down. I stare at the cracks in the ceiling, following the trail they make and trying to distinguish where one starts and another one ends. Then it hits me, I have been looking in the wrong place this whole time. All of the deaths had occurred at the local bar and I had assumed it was a vengeful spirit, but what if it wasn’t? What if it was a, shit- what are they called? I grab my laptop hurriedly pulling up the lore I had been reading earlier, my eyes scanning the words quickly, skimming until I land on what I was looking for. A wraith. They had all died under mysterious circumstances, but they all had the same wound on their forehead. A small, circular incision. It had to be a wraith, but who was it? There was one bartender, he was my number one suspect. I glance at the clock, it’s not too late to go now. I ensure it is loaded with silver bullets before I tuck my gun into the holster, placing it at the small of my back and covering it with my leather jacket. I glance around my room once more making sure that I am not leaving anything behind. I send Sam a quick text, updating him as to my suspicions, he had texted me earlier in the day just checking in with me, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to keep him updated.

The drive to the small little dive bar was short and uneventful. I checked to make sure my gun was still in place as I opened the door to the interior, the hinges in need of help judging by the loud shriek of protest they gave off as I opened it. I take in my surroundings, making note of the few people inside the bar. There were five, the bartender and four other customers not including myself. The bartender glances my way, gesturing that I can sit anywhere, he’s an unassuming man. His hair neat and well groomed, yet everything else about him is a mystery, we’ll call him blondie. I take a seat at the corner of the bar, my back to a wall and my field of view encompassing the majority of the room.

“What can I get you?” He asks, setting a coaster down in front of me. I consider him carefully, trying to determine if he was a threat. I order a beer and a water, fully prepared to sit back and wait everyone else out. The television is the loudest sound in the bar, conversations around me hushed and sparse. Most people too focused on their drinks or the television to be deep in conversation. That’s how the next hour goes, I sip my beer and observe the people around me, watching and waiting. I pull out my phone and see a text and a missed call.

-Missed call, 9:53 P.M. Sam Winchester

-10:13 P.M., From Dean Winchester- Sammy said you found a wraith? Want some backup? They can be tricky bastards.

An unconscious smile pricks my lips, the concern in his text obvious. I respond with a brief thanks, but no thanks and send Sammy another text asking if everything is okay.

A few of the other people in the room had left by this point, leaving just myself, the blonde man behind the bar and one other guy, who appeared to be in his mid thirties. I drained the last sip of my beer, setting the bottle down on the surface of the bar. I rolled my shoulders back, my upper back starting to ache from the lack of support provided by the stool that I had been sitting on for the last while. I am taken aback by another beer being set down in front of me, I hadn’t ordered it. The confusion must be clear on my face, because the bar tender gestures to the man a few seats away from me. “It’s from him.” Blondie says, a small smile pulling at his features, which confuses me further. I glance once more to the one other customer in the bar and I find his eyes are already fixed on me, dark and focused.

“Thanks.” I mutter, raising my beer towards him, suspicion heavy in my voice. For whatever reason, this rubs me the wrong way. The environment in the room had changed and every bone in my body was screaming danger. My gut said this was about to get bad.

“I figured you deserved another beer before you meet your accidental death. We knew you were a hunter from the second you pulled into town. It’s a pity, you’re too pretty to die this young. Too bad.” His words hit me like a brick to the face, my eyes close and I take a deep breath. This was it, it wasn’t one wraith it was two. In that moment, I regretted leaving the safety of numbers. Had Sam and Dean been here, it would’ve been three to two. Not two to one, with me on the losing team. I blink once more, taking one more deep breath, the kind that makes your lungs scream from too much oxygen and I hurl my beer bottle at the bartenders head. This action buying me a few seconds, enough to get off the stool and anchor my feet on the old wooden floor. Nevertheless, it wasn’t enough. Blondie had stumbled back from the impact of my beer smacking off the side of his head, however that had given the other wraith the opportunity to close the distance between us. His fist collided with the corner of my jaw he then proceeded to throw me into the hard surface of the bar. I grunt, the sheer force that he had thrown me with enough to knock the air out of my lungs. This hunt was about to go down terribly, I could handle one wraith on my own, but two? I don’t know if I could manage to take out both of them. I can already feel the throbbing in my jaw from his blow and I am dreading how I will feel in the morning, if I make it to the morning. I rest my elbows on the bar top, using my momentum to kick my feet into his chest and send him flying backwards. I use the gap I have created to pull my gun from the waistband of my pants, aim and fire a silver bullet right between his eyes. He drops, dead weight.

“NO! You’re going to pay for that, you bitch!” Blondie yells, his eyes trained on his friend who had just fallen, dead, to the floor of the bar. I turn to face him, my gun pointed directly at him. He snarls, his attention turned towards me. For whatever reason, I hesitate, my finger doesn’t pull the trigger and I don’t end him. A complete mistake, he closes the distance between us faster than I can comprehend and sends my gun clattering to the floor. His hands shoving me backwards, causing me to stumble and fall to the floor. It happens in a matter of seconds, seconds I cannot even process. My gun is no longer in my hands, but it is clutched in his grip. He points it towards me and fires, it hits me directly in the side. A scream leaves my lips, but I don’t have time to process what just happened because his body is now on top of mine, his anger clear and pulsating through him. My hands come up to defend my face, pushing him away with all of my strength, but he is stronger. I wrap my fingers around his wrist, knowing what is to follow. The spike in his wrist is already extended and it is clear that he intends to send it straight through my skull.

“Any last words?” He asks, his mouth set into a sneer, his fingers just brushing my forehead preparing to send the spike through my forehead.

I grit my teeth, every nerve in my body screaming, adrenaline pumping and thoughts rushing through me. I laugh, bitter and cold and It catches him off guard. That slight hesitation is all I need to get the upper hand, I slide my hand up from where I was gripping his arm. I grab onto the spike extended from his wrist and wrench it backwards with all of my strength, effectively breaking it in two. His scream sends shivers down my spine, the spike still clutched tightly in my fist. I pull the knife from where I keep it hidden around my neck and drive it through his skull, much like he had intended to do to me. His full weight falls onto me and I cry out in pain, his body crushing the oxygen out of my lungs and the bullet wound in my side is throbbing like no other. I manage to slide out from underneath of him, slowly and agonizingly. I scoot myself backwards towards the wall, finally reaching it and I slump back against it. I look down at the hand I had pressed to the gun shot wound on my side and wince, it’s not a pretty sight. Crimson has soaked through the white t-shirt I was wearing, a lot of blood by the looks of it. My head is spinning, either from blood loss or the blow to the head, I wasn’t sure which one. I cover my mouth as a coughing fit wracks my body and when I pull my hand away there are traces of blood there too. Fuck. This really wasn’t good. Before I could even register what I was doing, I had pulled my phone out of my pocket and called Dean. He picks up on the second ring.

“How’s it going sweetheart? Did you change your mind about wanting help with the wraiths?” He asks, his tone cheery, I can hear the roar of the Impala in the background and it brings a slight smile to my face. I must have remained silent for longer than I thought because Dean speaks again, his voice serious and concern flecked throughout. “Y/N, are you okay?”

“Mmm, I took out the wraiths, but they got me good too. Any chance you’re nearby?” I groan, trying to reposition myself in such a way that I can apply better pressure to the wound in my side. I can hear the Impala accelerating, as Dean responds. “Shit. We are twenty minutes out from town, figured we’d surprise you. Where’s the bar?” I manage to give him brief directions, doing my best to recall where exactly I was.

“I’m so tired Dean.” I whisper, the phone beginning to slip from my hand and away from my ear.

“Hey, no, don’t do that. You don’t get to do that, you hear me? You stay with me, talk to me. I am almost there sweetheart.” He responds and I can hear the panic rising in his voice but its too late. Every breath is a battle, holding my phone to my ear is impossible. The amount of strength it requires is simply too much. I watch as it clatters to the floor, my eyes slowly blinking shut. I slump forward, the world around me fading into black.

—

I vaguely notice voices, irritating voices drawing me back towards consciousness. I try my damndest to ignore them, the more I focus on them the greater the pain is flowing through my body. I hear my name being yelled, my shoulders behind jostled and my body being laid flat on a hard wooden surface. My head is placed onto something soft and I take that as permission to sleep. Yet I don’t get to do that, hands grab my face pulling me back into consciousness.

“Y/N, hey, oh thank God, look at me Y/N.” Dean is leaning over me grim faced, his hand pressed tightly against my rips holding something against it. I wince, trying to pull his hand away but he stops me. Sam’s face swims into view as well, his hand cradling the back of my head.

“Dean.” I sigh, my voice weak and seemingly coming from someone other than myself. “Doesn’t seem too bad, does it?” I ask, laughing slightly before grimacing from the pain that causes. His face is pale, eyes searching for the answer to my question, he doesn’t have to answer, I know it doesn’t look good.

“Im going to get you out of here, I promise. You’re gonna be okay.” He says, lifting my shirt so he can tie the bandage around me as tight as he can. He picks me up, a yell leaving my lips in the process. I can hear him whispering reassurances and apologies as he carries me out to the Impala. It all feels like a dream, as if I am watching from above as all of this happens. I drift in and out of the darkness the entire car ride, the whole way into the motel room. Until eventually, it all fades to black once again.

—

“I don’t know what else to do Sammy, the bullet went all of the way through. We stopped the bleeding and stitched her up. But that was hours ago! She still hasn’t woken back up.” Deans voice sounds nearby, anxious and completely grating on my nerves at the moment.

“Would you shut up! ‘M trying to sleep here.” I groan, the throbbing of my nerves returning like a wave of pain rushing over me. I hear a flurry of movement, before the bed sinks down next to me and I can feel a hand rest against the side of my face. I open my eyes, blinking rapidly, trying to adjust my eyes to the harsh lighting a stark comparison to the darkness of sleep I was used to. When my eyes his, he falls apart. Tears spring to his eyes and he breaks down before my very eyes. His mouth opens and closes multiple times, searching for something, anything to say.

“Dean, Im okay.” I whisper, my voice raspy and aching in my throat. He shakes his head, his eyes still trained on my own.

“You weren’t, we almost lost you so many times Y/N.” His words sink in slowly, understanding for his reaction lands on me in droves.

“I’m sorry I worried you. Thank you for getting to me in time.” I reach my hand up and touch the side of his face, surprised when he leans into my touch.

“He made the twenty minute drive into an eight minute one.” Sam says, and for the first time I realize that he’s sitting in the chair a couple of feet from the bed. I chuckle lightly, unsurprised, Dean was always able to drive way too fast when he needed to, a talent almost.

We spend the next few hours talking, questions being thrown at me from every angle. I do my best to answer them, but exhaustion quickly settles in. Sam notices and mentions to Dean that they should let me get some sleep, there’s a slight argument over who will stay with me. Much to my surprise, Dean is insistent upon staying himself. Sam gives me a quick hug and excuses himself from the room, which leaves Dean and I alone. Oh so alone. It wasn’t the first time we had shared a room, but it felt completely different this time. An uncomfortable silence hangs between us, neither one of us wanting to be the one that breaks it. I shift my body, trying to prop myself up further in bed. A decision I regret as soon as I flex the wrong muscle and am greeted by a screaming pain in my side. I throw my head back, my mouth opening in a silent yell. Deans hands are on me in an instant, helping me settle into a more comfortable position. I give him a grateful smile and expect the silence to continue, but it doesn’t.

“You’re never doing this again, you hear me? You’re only ever hunting with us from now on. I could’t bear it when I found you like that and I definitely couldn’t bear it if it ever happened again.” Dean says quietly, his eyes trained on the floor. I’m quiet for a minute, considering my response carefully, unsure where his words were coming from. Dean wasn’t controlling, so it wasn’t that. Concern was evident, but I didn’t think that was enough to spur him to make that declaration.

“Dean, I am really okay. It was a bad turn of events, but I have been hunting for years on my own and I made it this far. You don’t need to worry about me, ill be-“ He cuts me off, his voice raised and his hands running through his already disheveled hair.

“You don’t get it, do you? Ever since that night, six months ago, I have worried about you. I care about you, Y/N, so worrying comes with the territory. For a time, I thought you cared about me in that way. But then you left. You just left and I didn’t know what to do with myself, so I followed after you, not wanting something to happen to you and thank god I did.” His words leave me speechless, did he mean what I think he means? Before I can protest or respond in anyway, he’s walking over to me. He sits on the edge of the bed, leaning towards me. His hand comes to rest on the back of my neck, pulling me towards him ever so slightly. He leans in, his face nearing my own and my eyes flutter shut. His nose brushes my own, his breath causing goosebumps to rise on my skin.

“ I love you, Y/N and nearly losing you, made me realize that I couldn’t keep that to myself any longer. Fear in the face of tragedy and all of that.” He mumbles, his lips nearly brushing against my own as he speaks. I don’t think, I just act. I close the distance and press my lips against his own, dissolving into the kiss and I can tell he does too. His warmth envelopes me entirely, his lips, his touch, everything. When I finally pull away, my head is spinning. His words rushing through my mind, over and over again. “I love you too, Dean.” I whisper, smiling gently and I press another kiss to his lips. “Fear in the face of tragedy, how poetic.”

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jksprincess10 · 1 year

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Everyone is a bad guy || Joel Miller x reader

A/N: This is a part three (and final part) of Lucky for me, I run on spite and sweet revenge. I recommend reading the two other parts to get the full picture.

Part 1

Part 2

CW: References to an attempted rape, violence and gore, smut, thigh riding, sub!joel, language, dirty talk, edging, forced bj, implied age gap. I’m honestly probably missing a couple. Idk. It’s a lot, reader beware.

After the last incident, you couldn’t keep going like this. You tried getting your normal life back, but you couldn’t even get out without men following you. You would put everyone in your group in danger. They didn’t even know you were working with Joel Miller, and if they did, you’d be terrified. So, you took your decision: you’d leave.

Noah put a bounty on your ass… he couldn’t take that you didn’t listen to his men and that Joel killed four of them, including his assistant. You knew he would bring everyone against you and you wouldn’t survive.

It wasn’t livable. You’d have to negotiate with him or leave Boston. Simple as that. The latter seemed less scary.

You had left a message at Joel’s door. Your delicate cursive letters read: “Packing my shit and leaving. You in or not, big guy? Meet me outside the walls at midnight if you are.”

It was worth a try.

You laid low for the rest of the day, hiding in unoccupied streets, face covered with a scarf. Your face had mostly healed – but you could still see remaining shades of blue. You tried to put most of your belongings together and looked through some of your hiding spots to find anything useful.

Eventually, you came back home. But something felt off.

Mel, the oldest of the group, a woman in her 30s, was waiting for you at the door.

“Hey, sorry, am I late?” You asked innocently.

“Sit down.”

“Alllllright.” You said as you did, putting your bag on the ground and taking off your scarf.

“I didn’t know you were conspiring with Joel Miller.”

You seemed uneasy and she read right through you. You couldn’t bullshit your way out of that one.

“I… happened to have made a deal with him, and then… things went down a different path.”

“Are you fucking crazy, y/n? This man will get us all killed! He’s a bad person.” She raised her voice at you. Suddenly, you felt like you were a kid again, with parents… Yeah. Let’s not think about that.

“Well, he saved me. He isn’t really that bad.”

You realized what you had said sounded bad since he had killed four men for you, but Joel had a terrible reputation way before that.

“And, this is why I decided to leave. I’m waiting on him to meet me or I’ll go alone. ” You added with determination in your eyes. Mel knew she couldn’t dissuade you, even though she seemed hurt by your words.

“Well, you won’t have to wait for too long…”

Your brows furrowed together as she pointed to your room. You got up and ran to the door. Joel was tied to a chair and had a rag in his mouth as a gag, three boys of the group around him. You looked at him, amused. Not long ago, you would have loved to put him yourself in this exact position.

“Didn’t know you would get your ass beat by a group of teenagers, old man.” You scoffed and you heard him try to say something, but it was muffled against the rag.

You gestured to the group so they would leave, but they didn’t bat an eye.

“You’ll have to explain, y/n. He tried getting in by your window.” The youngest said.

“I already have to Mel. I’m leaving. Now, scram.”

They closed the door behind them, and you sat on your bed, grinning from ear to ear as you looked at Joel looking helpless. He was squirming on the chair, trying to get to you. You laughed, before approaching him and taking off his gag.

“What the fuck’s that about… Leaving? You think I won’t put up a fight?”

You went behind him to untie him slowly, even though a part of you wanted to leave him there.

“You can, Joel… But I can’t put them at risk. You’re alone. I’m not.”

“My brother can help.”

“He won’t. It ain’t his fight.”

Your hands caressed slowly his broad shoulders, feeling his muscles flexing under your touch.

“Then, I’ll take care of it. Alone.” He argued.

You rolled your eyes.

“No.” You sat on his spread thighs, holding his dark gaze. “You’ll think of a plan that involves me if you really want to kill those assholes. And I’ll follow you. I’ll meet you when the sun is set. Deal?”

He groaned, not responding. Your fingers squished his cheeks. “I said. Deal?” You repeated. You were done being his little submissive puppet.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You got up and let him go.

When you went out of your room, the group was already talking about how they could help you. You were moved but you showed none of it, keeping your cold mask. Your frame rested against your closed bedroom door while you listened to their conversation.

“We’ll help you kill them before they kill us first.” Said Mel, lifting her chin to look at you.

You approached the group, seeing they had reunited most of their firearms and various weapons.

“You don’t have to.” You sighed.

“No, we don’t… but you did so much for us. So, we will. And then… you can choose to leave or to stay.” One of the teenage boys said.

You agreed and helped them getting ready for a fight. You would do everything to not have their blood on your hands.

***

“Do you trust me, y/n?” You were sitting in Joel’s lounge room in his decrepit apartment, your small group crowded around you. You played with your knife as you listened to the older man’s voice.

“I trust you, Joel.”

“I asked Noah to meet us in a specific abandoned house at 1AM. I forged your writing and said you’d redeem yourself for what happened last time.”

You swallowed nervously, remembering the pain caused by Noah’s assistant and his men. Only because you refused to get down on your knees.

“You’ll be our bait. We’ll wait nearby while you seduce him. And after five minutes, we’ll all be there with you, okay? Once we get there, we kill every one of them.”

***

You felt ridiculous in that red lingerie set Joel put you in to make you seem less deadly and more appealing. But it was necessary for things to go smoothly. And he seemed secretly pleased to see you in that stupid outfit. “Take that sweet smirk out of your face, big guy, or I’ll rip it off your face.” You had whispered to him, so the rest of the group wouldn’t understand.

When you got to the meeting spot, you sat on the chair in the middle of the empty house, waiting for Noah and his men to get here. Soon enough, they came barging in, guns up,expecting to find a group waiting for them. But you were alone, sitting prettily on that chair, legs crossed. They seemed pleasantly surprised, all except for Noah, who kept his gun near his body.

“Shush, let’s not make any sudden moves.” You said softly, walking to him like a feline. You put a hand on his gun and he froze in place. He couldn’t say that he feared you, but he knew you could be unhinged.

“How do I know your boogeyman isn’t waiting for us?”

“You’ll never know for sure… but let me redeem myself.” You pressed a kiss on his ugly face, before dropping to your knees in front of him, resisting the urge to vomit.

As you unbuckled his belt, your group and Joel came rushing in. Joel shoved a gun and a knife in your direction. You kept the knife between your lips as you fired in Noah’s men’s direction. You saw the world as red as your lingerie, a blinding rage taking over you. You thought about every time they used you to benefit their perverted needs. You thought about every time they hit you and gave it back to them with twice the energy.

Shots were fired on both sides. All of Noah’s men had fallen. Your group seemed mostly fine, except a few bullet injuries in non-lethal areas that would be an easy fix.

When you turned around after shooting another man, you saw Joel struggling with Noah. You shot his feet so your lover would have the advantage over him as he fell. He forced your enemy to sit on the empty chair and tied him up. The man was struggling in vain to get out of his position. He was in horrible pain, moving caused him to wince.

“Do what you want with him, girl. Everyone else, leave and take care of your injuries.”

When your group was standing still, not obeying Joel’s order, he shot towards the ceiling to let them now that he was serious. They left you three alone, almost running out of the house.

You kneeled in front of Noah’s tied body, Joel watching over you, always ready to shoot. As you sat down, you caught a glimpse of your bloodied legs. You must look like the sexy version of a zombie that women would wear before the outbreak for Halloween.

“How many times have I dreamed of this…” You said, holding your knife in hand. The men knew, as they saw your wicked grin, that you had every need to torture Noah until he bled out. “First, you’re gonna tell us where you hide all of your stuff. ”

“Like I fucking will.” He spat.

“Oh, babes, you will.” You pushed the knife blade in the flesh of his thigh, smiling as the man screamed in pain. As you saw that he wasn’t talking, you pressed harder, blood gushing out of the wound.

He groaned and almost screamed the address. It was nearby.

“Send someone to make sure he isn’t lying, Joel, while I cut him in small parts.” Noah screamed again, and you had barely touched him. He had seen nothing so far.

Joel obeyed and got someone of the group that had stayed back to keep watch. You didn’t know when you started to have that much power over Miller, but you liked it.

“Shut the fuck up or I’ll cut your throat first.” You growled. Noah stayed silent, nodding. “Good boy.”

When Joel came back silently, he watched with a smirk as you plunged the blade in the man’s bulge, twisting it. Noah tried not to scream; you had told him to shut up after all.

“That way, you can never have sex again, hm?” You turned again and again, for each time you had your mouth on his dirty parts. Eventually, a mixture of flesh and fabric fell from his legs. Noah fell into a coma; the pain was too much.

When the person from your group confirmed that he didn’t lie, you got up to look at Joel. “You can finish him off now, boogeyman. I’m done playing these twisted games. Shoot him in the head.”

The gunshot sound resonated in the empty walls as it was silencing him forever.

Finally, you realized the mess you had made. The floor was covered in bodies, blood, and various pieces of flesh. You felt sick to your stomach. Joel pulled you out of the abandoned massacre house, waiting in a dark alleyway for you to calm down.

“You did so good.” He praised softly. You shivered under the tone of his low voice and pressed your body against his. Strong arms circled your shoulders and pulled you closer. You tried to ignore the feeling of heat that lit your lower stomach.

***

As you two walked back to Joel’s apartment, he put his jacket over your naked shoulders. You were both silent, he didn’t know what else to say after seeing your most twisted side and you, you were simply coming down from your adrenaline.

He lit up a few candles to have some light in his dark apartment.

“Are you hurt?” You simply asked him.

“Just got cut a bit. I’ll be okay.”

You nodded.

“We should… try to wash up.”

You both helped each other getting out of your torn clothes, too numb to feel anything from the other’s touches. Sharing a shower with him felt oddly domestic and intimate. The water was cold, but at least, it washed the blood from your body. You watched as the bathtub became red.

“What do we do now?” He finally asked the question that was burning his lips, as he grabbed you from behind to bring him close to his chest.

“We can live freely… we can… take over the city. We can… figure out what we are. The sky’s the limit, big guy.” You turned around in his arms and got on your tiptoes to press a kiss against his plump mouth. He nodded. Joel was a man of few words. “Are you scared of me?” You let your head rest on his shoulder, and he hugged you harder.

“No. I think it was well deserved. I also… think I found my equal.” He caressed your chin with his fingers, before lifting your head and making you meet his gaze. Soft, caramel irises had become an endless dark river. His lips crashed against yours, a violent wave under a thunderstorm. You pushed him away, laughing softly.

“I’m cold. Let’s finish washing up.”

He agreed. You finished washing the dirt and blood from your bodies, before coming out of the shower. You barely had time to dry yourself until the older man was all over you. He lifted you up and you put your thighs against his hips, bringing you closer to him. He found the closest wall to push your back against it, trapping your body between his and the wall. You gasped, but the noise was stopped by Joel’s digits finding their way to your lips. You closed your mouth against them and sucked, until he pulled them off. You protested, but he shushed you.

“So hungry, little girl…”

You teasingly bit his finger.

“You’ll have to stop or I’m not touching you.”

Finally, you behaved. He praised you as he inserted two digits into you, starting immediately to fuck into you harshly. You gasped and dug your nails in his strong shoulders, finally feeling the relief procured by his addicting touch. He started doing a cutting motion with his two fingers, hitting every sweet spot inside your walls. Your own fingers went to your clit, circling around it as you squirmed on Joel, feeling your orgasm coming. Suddenly, he stopped touching you. You groaned in frustration. He let your body go completely and your feet found the cold wood floor.

“What do you think you’re doing, Miller?”

“I’m being selfish.” He smirked. “On your knees, girl.” He forced you down as he held you by the throat. Your knees found the floor. “Open your filthy mouth for me.”

You obliged, parting your lips and sticking your tongue out. Joel pleased himself, his tip hitting your wet tongue, barely stimulating him. Finally, he inserted his length between your lips, fingers holding you in place by the hair. You closed your mouth around him, sucking in harshly. He winced at the feeling.

“Careful there, girl.”

You pulled away, your teeth grazing slightly his foreskin. His hand on your hair tightened.

“Stop playing with me.” He growled.

“I’m only making things fair, Joel.” You smirked. You disobeyed him once more by getting up, and you pushed his strong body to his room. You were playing a dominance game with him, and tonight, you felt invincible.

“I’m more in a mood to use you. I’m tired of being your sweet little girl. Anyway, you must be tired, old man.” You said as your once bloodied hands pushed him on the bed.

You found rope in your bag under Joel’s angry eyes - but you knew he was secretly enjoying it. You jumped on the bed and straddled his hips with your thighs before your expert fingers tied him up tightly to his headdress. You bent over his body and forced him to open his mouth with your fingers. Just like he did earlier, you pressed two fingers in his mouth and asked him to lick them.

“Good boy.” You praised. “You don’t look so strong now, do you, hm?”

His eyes filled with hope as your hands went down. He thought you were going to please him. But instead, at the last minute, your fingers went to your core. Joel was tugging at his restraints, trying to free himself. He looked furious; his mouth had become a line that disappeared under his moustache and his brows were frowned. You kept touching yourself as you were looking at him straight in the eye, fingers tracing delicious circles around your most sensitive spot. Your legs straddled his thigh, and you started riding him as you kept pleasuring yourself, marking his skin with your sweet juices. His expression softened as he kept his eyes on you. He looked at you like you were both the apocalypse and the paradise at the same time. If he were a painter, he would have painted a portrait of you in that exact moment: hand between your folds, riding his thigh, mouth slightly opened, and hair still wet from the shower.

When your movements got harder and faster, you finally found your release and you spilled your sweet juice all over the thigh of your lover. You let your body fall on top of him with a smile on your face, ignoring his hard and angry cock between you two.

“You’re beautiful.” He finally said, whispering it like a secret.

Of course, he had seen your beauty before this moment. For example, when you would follow him around to get information from him, when you would screw up his deals, when he went after you to get his revenge… you were gorgeous. You probably were the least pure woman from QZ, but still, you were blushing like a virgin under his compliment.

You lifted your chin to look at his face and you stroked his greying curls.

“You’re… so handsome, Joel. It pissed me off for a while.”

“Yeah, why?” He was still frustrated with his restraints, he just wanted to hold you close.

“Because I wanted you.”

“You have me, now.”

You nodded and pressed a kiss to his soft lips as your hand stroked his length few times, wetting it with your own juices. You went back to your initial spot, treating him like a nice chair. You easily aligned his member to your hole before coming down, absorbing him beautifully like you were made for each other.

Joel gasped of relief in that moment.

“I’ll play my game for a little bit and then I’ll release you if you’re good to me, okay?” You cooed, poking the tip of his beautiful nose with your finger. He nodded, not saying a word.

You started moving on top of him, your hips swaying at your own rhythm, under your own music. You let small moans come out of your mouth, you knew he liked hearing you. You kept a steady pace for a while, until your legs were tired.

“Not so young now, are we?” Joel teased, punctuating his sentence with a swing of his hips.

“Shut up, I just killed a few men.” You grunted as you undid the ropes holding him.

When he was freed, he got back up to kiss you, holding you down with his rough hands as he fucked up into you.

“M’not gonna last… Been hard for too fucking long. I just want to cum.” He sighed against your lips between a few powerful swings of his hips.

“C’mon, just give me another orgasm, old man.” You hid your face in the crook of his next, leaving bites and bruises behind you. He suddenly exchanged your positions to have more control over you, your back laying on the mattress as he kept thrusting, harder with each thrust. Your legs started to shake under the familiar feeling and your walls closed around him. He finished his part of the exchange, now, he had to please himself. He kept going as your body went limp under your strong release, until he joined you in pure bliss, pulling out at the last possible minute to enjoy his stay for the longest time possible.

He washed your bodies with a rag near his bed, before getting up. You looked at him through your half-closed eyelids as he left the room. He came back seconds later with two glasses filled with a brownish liquid that smelled like strong liquor. You sat up and happily drank with him.

“What are we drinking for?”

“To the eventual takeover of the QZ. And the world.”

You smirked and pulled him close for an opened-mouth kiss.

THE END

#joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel miller #joel x yn #joel x y/n #joel miller smut #tlou #tlou series #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x yn #joel miller x you

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ghenry · 4 days

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Rewatched the Avatar TLA series with my partner recently, and fell in love with the world and characters all over again. I especially love the journey Zuko goes through the show as a character.

Zuko, son of Fire Lord Ozai. He seems pretty by-the-books at first as this angry villain, but something that makes him immediately unique for this kind of setting is his young age. He's barely older than Aang, our child protagonist.

"You're just a child." "Well, you're just a teenager!"

Although early on you start getting the idea that there's more nuance to him than this villain trying to incapacitate our protag, he shows some depth in his character here and there, usually through his uncle Iroh, a wise warrior that's there to aid and comfort his nephew, joining his banished trip on his own accord. While he's on the villain's side, it's worth noting he never hurts or intimidates innocent people, only ever fighting those already attacking or threatening him.

Even so, Zuko made it blatantly clear what his intents were. "I must capture the avatar to regain my honor." And he barely changed his mind about this throughout the entire first season, even when the two helped each-other out of hopeless circumstances, hinting that they're not meant to be sworn enemies.

"If we knew each-other back then, do you think we could've been friends too?"

Knowing the show and how it transpires across all 3 seasons, it's interesting seeing the intent the writers and showrunners had for these characters, and their hidden depth, all the way back in this first season. One of the finest examples would be Iroh sharing Zuko's history with fellow soldiers. A history which helps said soldiers --and in turn, the audience-- empathize with him.

Behind Zuko's scarred face is a story about a boy already feeling lost and unsure of himself, stumbling into a tragedy where his father --in sheer arrogance-- abused his son to a high degree in front of all his subordinates, in a heinous act he would call punishment.

Ever since then, he was banished to travel across the world to search for the avatar, a task his father felt was worthless, but was the same as leaving him out to die. This isn't the origin of a villain, but a downtrodden individual who couldn't find his place in life.

What Zuko called "honor" over and over again wasn't that, but his father's love. He already lost his mother, and instead yearned for his father's approval and affection. This culminated to his ultimate betrayal, siding with his sister and turning his back on his uncle, which lead to his imprisonment. During a crossroad and moment of insecurity, he threw his uncle Iroh to the wolves because he thought he would regain his honor and earn his right to be a part of his family once again.

Zuko would be welcomed back into his family, he retrieved what he thought was his honor --and what he thought was genuine love from his father.

"You have redeemed yourself, my son."

But even then, he still felt lost, alone, and without a sense of direction. Nothing changed, his soul still felt incomplete.

"For so long, I thought that if my dad accepted me, I'd be happy. My dad talks to me, he even thinks I'm a hero! Everything should be perfect, right? I should be happy now, but I'm not! I'm angrier than ever, and I don't know why!"

It took him a long time (about 2 and a half seasons) to realize he didn't need this sense of "honor" and what he was chasing was just a farce. His father only showed Zuko "love" when he seemed useful, an asset that was helping his fascist conquering of multiple nations by killing the Avatar.

All of this drew to an enthralling, terrifying, heart-wrenching moment between him and his father during the day of the eclipse. He used the minutes they could not fire bend as an opportunity to let out the truth and his own epiphany. He admitted that he never killed Aang --didn't even try, for that matter-- and that he's going to help him defeat his father's regime. Ozai immediately despised Zuko for this, proving his 'love' was conditional and hollow. And at that moment, as soon as the eclipse ceased, he attempted to kill his own son right then and there in a moment that never fails to draw tears out of me as soon as it happens.

Zuko survived his father's lethal attack, only by sheer will, and a lighting-redirection technique his uncle happened to teach him a while back, emphasizing how important Iroh is to him. Iroh is the father figure that truly loved Zuko unconditionally. Ozai, his biological father, could only grant him death. His uncle Iroh, at that moment, inadvertently granted him life.

And Zuko's story (mostly) ends in the middle of the 4-part finale. With the help of his friends, he tracked down Iroh who escaped from prison. The moment he sees his uncle, he breaks down as he's horribly ashamed of his actions, expecting Iroh to shun him as he feels he does not deserve his uncle's love after what he did to him.

"I was never angry with you . . . I was sad, because I was afraid you lost your way."

But Iroh doesn't hesitate to embrace him. Like I said, his love is unconditional. He knew Zuko wasn't evil, he was only being manipulated by the likes of his father and sister. He knew Zuko would find the right path, restore his own honor, and come back to him. It's such a beautiful moment and the soul-piercing conclusion to Zuko's story, a story they were building up since the literal first episode.

Of course, there's also Azula, his sister. She was considered a prodigy with her amazing fire bending abilities, mastering the skill of bending lightning, something only her father and uncle were able to do before her.

She was a spitting image of her father; fierce, manipulative, wrathful, the only thing she shared with her brother Zuko was their sense of determination. But we don't learn what really drives Azula until the finale. It's similar to Zuko. He felt incomplete without his father's love. While this was implied before the finale, Azula felt she was missing her mother's love.

While I think the argument could be made that this was just her own projection, it's important that this shows how --despite her more respected place in their family and nation-- she was just as broken and spiritually lost as Zuko. While Ozai showered his daughter with praise for all of her life, Azula felt her mother didn't love her, which ate away at her, deep inside. Much like Zuko, who felt he was fighting to earn his father's love.

Azula, to me, represents Zuko's future if he let his father manipulate him, just like Azula did to him. Would he have become this tyrannical fire lord if he just listened to his father, abandoned his inhibitions, and ensured his nation's regime? Maybe. But like Azula's interrupted crowning, it would have been shallow, lonely, and without any real sense of self-worth. Nothing to show for it but a broken mind.

Instead, Zuko became the fire lord on his own terms, and with the entire world in support of him, as he helped this quest for peace and balance across the nations. He earned his place in life through his own will, his own actions, and his amazing uncle who only wanted the best for him. He restored his honor himself, with lifelong friends by his side.

That's it, that's all I wanted to write about. This show rules.

#avatar the last airbender #atla #zuko #prince zuko #azula #uncle iroh #fire lord zuko

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dellalyra · 10 months

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Figure You Out 𓇊 Choso Kamo x Reader

Band AU!Choso 𓇊 friends to lovers 𓇊 7k

CW: smut, lots of it, filthy, swearing, fluff, p-in-v sex, fem reader, pining, mentions of alcohol, oral f!receiving, creampie, possessive choso, acc really sweet

A/N: My first AU! Also my first Choso writing! Based off and song included is Figure You Out by Vóila - I don’t own the song or anything I just love it and it gave me brainrot for this. Tonssss of requests coming up for family formations so stay tuned and also always if ur under 18 go away

When he met you, aged 5 – you were a ball of sunshine. A radiant angel that oozed love and warmth from every pore. The moment you sat beside him in the schoolyard, both too shy to join the other groups playing on your first day and offered him an animal cracker with nothing but a shy smile – he thinks it was then.

He’s pretty sure, because he can’t think of a moment since then that he hasn’t been hopelessly in love with you. You stayed glued to each other for the next 15 years, you practically moved in when his grandpa died – leaving him to care for a 10-year-old Yuuji alone – hell, you’d helped him forge the guardianship documents since he was only 15 himself.

Every teenage romance, every test, every class, your first kiss with the guy from your history class, his first kiss with the girl from his music class - you’d dealt with everything side by side.

It wasn’t your typical unreciprocated love though, not like he thought.

You pined for him equally. Every girl that passed his way, every hardship with raising Yuuji, every empty gig - you’d been there. Hell, you’d sat beside him as he got the tattoo on the bridge of his nose and applied ointment every day after to help the healing.

You remember being terrified on your first day of school. All of the other kids seemed bigger, louder, more frightening. Then you saw a boy sitting on the bench, legs hanging off with his dark, shaggy hair falling over his face. You decided to listen to your mom,

“I know it’s hard baby, but even if you can make one friend today - you’re doing amazing.”

So, you chose him.

You sat beside him quietly, thinking of what you’d want as an offer of friendship – something yummy.

So, you popped open your transformers lunchbox and silently tapped him on the shoulder, smiling – and offered him an animal cracker.

He had looked up at you, and your 5-year-old mind had never seen eyes so dark – eyes which soon crinkled in a gentle smile and a soft little ‘thank you.’

You think it was then.

That must have been the moment, because a day hasn’t passed since that you haven’t been in love with him.

If an omniscient outsider had been looking in on you both, they’d have seen identical trains of thought. Around 13, all of ‘those’ thoughts began. Yours always seemed to encompass dark eyes and dark hair and gentle hands. His always seemed to feature a sunshine smile, H/C glinting in the lamplight of his room and your soft, rose scented skin.

Not that either of you would say anything.

Things only got worse from there.

When you were about 14, you both realised you were in love with the other. But how could you ruin 9 years of friendship for something as silly as love?

At 16, you both realised that love wasn’t silly. Not when you worked in tandem to get you, him and Yuuji ready for school. Not when he smoked his first joint and got the munchies but only for your cookies. Not when he held back your hair when you got drunk and vomited for the first time. But how could you ruin a friendship like that, at the risk of losing the other.

So, nobody said anything.

Everyone knew.

Yuuji even knew, and he’s only 15 now.

At 18, after graduation, Choso’s big brain got him an internship at a lab, flexible hours so he could still care for his brother but decent pay. You took over your family's florist, the only think you ever wanted to do. Around that time, Choso’s true passion took flight too. His band, Death Paintings, began to book some small local shows. His songs, along with his band mates Eso and Chez – had started to try write some songs too, along with the alt rock covers the usually played.

Then, at 19 – you met him. Geto Suguru. Tall, dark and handsome (not that you had a type). You liked him, he liked you – you started dating. He was charming, smooth as fuck, fun to be around and smart.

Choso didn’t mind Geto a huge amount. He wasn’t a terrible guy, didn’t get pissy about your best friend being a guy like other guys had (probably because he and his best friend, Gojo, had a preternatural kind of ‘friendship’). He was pretty chill, nice to you. You didn’t laugh as much around him, but that was okay, he’d fill in the gaps. He hadn’t stayed completely celibate either, he’d dated a few people – one girl Yuki who was really cool and you ended up staying in contact with, but she left to travel the world with a parting message for Choso to tell you he loved you – fuck, she’d kick his ass if she knew he was still being a wuss. He’d hooked up with some people after some gigs too, frequently on nights you went home with a date too.

He remembers you rang him one night, saying Geto was taking you away for the weekend – he said that was awesome, and questioned why you felt panicked.

“Yeah, it’s great. But Cho, the Airbnb - it’s…” You flustered down the line.

“It’s what?” He replied, smirking at the sounds of you fighting to shut your suitcase in the background.

“It’s on the goddamn 50th floor of a skyscraper with panoramic views of the goddamn fucking city.” You huffed.

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah, oh shit!”

“Ya tell him?” He asked, flicking the pencil across the desk from where he’d been hitting down lyric ideas.

“And say what? ‘Oh, hello Geto thank you for this surprise trip to a ridiculously expensive penthouse for the weekend – sadly, you gotta shove your plans in the fucking trash because I’m terrified of heights, bye!’”

“Maybe word it differently, but yeah, that’s the gist.”

I’d never forget shit like that, he thinks.

Stop being a pick-me, Jesus Christ Choso. He also thinks.

“Right, we’ll – I gotta go psych myself up to spend 2 days sleeping in a collapse waiting to happen. Love ya, Cho.”

I love you too.

Fuck, he should just say it. Maybe it wouldn’t go as bad as he thinks.

But he never does. He just stays quiet. He won’t lose you, he’ll take you however he can have you in his life.

He brought you on a date one weekend too – you told him about it over ramen on Sunday night, a picnic in a cute park where you and Choso had tried tandem biking when you were younger – but Geto had driven you there in his Benz. Flashing wealth wouldn’t steal a heart like yours. He remembers the glow on your face as you both failed miserable at the biking for about an hour until you both got the hang of it – he swears your giggles and peals of laughter that day has to be the sound you hear when you get to heaven.

He introduced you to some new people, who you were going for drinks with one Friday night too – you didn’t really want to go, but Geto seemed to really want you to meet them. They were successful people, he thought you could get contacts to expand your floristry business to an international level by hanging around them. You told Choso you weren’t going to do that over your dead body, your shop was yours. It was quiet, it was peaceful, it was a family business. It did pretty well financially, making enough to make you pretty comfortable for a girl in her early twenties – but you worked hard, and you were damn good at your job.

“Then why are you going?” He shrugged as you watched him pluck at the strings of his guitar aimlessly.

“Geto seems excited. Gotta hang out with your man’s friends, right?”

His friends love you. They plead with him daily to confess to you. They actually already have a scrapbook on how they want to split best man duties at the wedding.

He was unloading a delivery of flowers one day into your shop with you, he had a free day and offered to help you out with some stuff around the place. You immediately jumped at the chance to spend time with him, seeing him – your favourite person – there, in your favourite place. The boy you loved helping you run the life you loved – shit, you thought, I’m dating Suguru, I can’t say shit like that anymore. You have to get over him. It was hot that day, your breezy light blue sundress even feeling too hot, so Choso was boiling in his black cargo pants and black T-shirt and was completely unaided by the weight of the buckets of fresh cut flowers he was carting back and forth. He paused for a moment in the back room of your store as you began to organise the delivery. Chugging his water, you noticed a bead of condensation running down the slope of his throat.

I wanna lick it off. Shut the fuck up, inner Y/N.

It was like having an angel and a devil on your shoulders.

But Choso only made it worse.

The heat was obviously too much in his all black ensemble – and so he could continue comfortably, he pulled his black T-shirt over his head by the back of the neck and left it on the counter.

Thank heavens to anyone who was listening – that he didn’t spare a glance at you.

You eyes widened and jaw fell as the sight before you. Muscled, thick arms and broad shoulders – scattered with tattoos, including the one on his bicep of a small daisy that you drew – fell into a chiselled chest, and abs that would make Adonis weep for their beauty. The sweat made his pale skin glisten and all you wanted in that moment was to feel his solid planes up against your skin – feel his heat seeping into you, into every single crevice. Your eyes flicked up, and the action of removing his shirt had caused some of the hair from his twin buns atop his head to fall loose – they fell and framed his face, drawing focus to the eyes you fell in love with. You didn’t really need the help today, you just needed to see him. To be near him, to hear his voice and see his smile. He’s so perfect, you think, you’d never met someone with a heart as big as Choso.

You heard a cough behind you, and you spun around.

“Oh my god! Suguru! I thought you were working today!” You hoped he didn’t notice your ogling, as you wrapped your hands around his neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Suguru really was gorgeous, like model beautiful. You’re lucky to have him, you repeat to yourself, and it’s true but he’s not - don’t finish that thought.

“Hi baby, I am. I’m just on my lunch break but I had a surprise for you I wanted to drop off.” He says as he kisses your cheek and hands you an envelope, then notices Choso.

“Hey Choso, how you doing, man? How was your show last weekend?” He asks him.

Stop being such a good guy and let me hate you.

“Hey man, yeah it was a good turnout – got a couple more coming up soon so come along if you get a chance.”

Why am I inviting him? Shut up, Choso.

Their conversation is interrupted by your gasp.

“Suguru! Wow! This, these must have been really hard to get, thank you so much – I can’t wait to go with you.” You smile, but Choso can see it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“It’s no problem, you said you like him when I was playing him in the car a while back, so I got us front row.” He said, and Choso quietly excused himself, not before sneaking a peak at the concert tickets in your hand.

Your favourite artist was playing next month one city over, how did he not get you tickets for that instead? I’m on six waiting lists for them.

When he gets home that night - he’s pent up. He’s not angry, or frustrated. He’s not sad or resigned. Maybe he is, maybe he’s all of those things. He’s just feeling so fucking much right now that after saying goodnight to his brother and his boyfriend, Megumi he makes his wait into his makeshift studio in the back of the house.

The second he sits down, and pen meets paper, the words fall out like a fucking tsunami. After the words, come the notes. After the notes, comes the riff and it snowballs. Soon enough, he’s got a whole fucking song on his hands.

The next day, he rings Eso and Chez and they come running over to listen to what he’s come up with.

When he plays it for them, jaws fall slack.

“Holy fuck bro.”

“Fuck – I’m gonna try fall in love with my best friend if I get to be able to write shit that good.” Chez muses.

“Please fucking don’t, that’s me. I see enough of you as it is.” Eso cringes.

That afternoon and evening and well into the night, the drums and bass are added and it’s perfect.

“We’re playing this next weekend at The Tech, no questions.” Eso announces.

Choso clenches his jaw, this song – you can’t hear it. It would ruin everything, this perfect balance he’s so carefully curated.

But they were right, his soul went into that song and it’s fucking amazing.

“Fine. But absolutely – Y/N cannot know. Nobody tells her about the gig, she can’t come and she sure as shit can’t hear this song.”

Yuuji heard all this, because he’s eavesdropping. Megumi smacks him across the head, but he doesn’t listen. He knows what he has to do, and he whips out his phone.

Yuuji: Heyyyyyyyyy so IDEA Cho is playin a gig next weekend and he’s all shy about it n shit bc he’s dumb and won’t tell anyone but u should totally not say anything and surprise him!!! He won’t tell u abt it but it wld be a fun surprise for him!!!! Besties and all that wooohoooo

Your phone pinged with a message, and you smiled at the message. Choso had always been bashful about his talents, and you usually had to hound him to get the details of his gigs – but Yuuji was your little spy, and surprising him was a great idea, so after replying in the affirmative, you set your phone back down and continued dinner with Suguru.

The week came and went, and Saturday soon arrived. The gig was at 10pm, so at 6pm when your doorbell rang you were surprised.

Behind the door, stood Geto. His pretty face seemed uneasy in place of its usual languid smirk.

“Can we talk?” He asked.

Oh, shit he did see; he saw me basically salivating over choso in the store last week. Gigs up.

“Eh, sure. This sounds ominous.” You awkwardly giggle as he walks in, hands in his pockets and sits at your kitchen island.

There’s silence for a minute, as you pour some coffee.

“Neither of us are being honest. With ourselves, or each other.” He shrugs, a small smile on his face.

You cock your head, a motion for him to continue.

“You’re in love with Choso.” He sighs, but still smiles.

You freeze. You were right, gigs up. You lean on the counter and look at the ceiling. There was no point in acting anymore, and you didn’t think you had the energy to pretend otherwise anymore.

“I’m sorry Suguru.” Your tears well up now, guilt overtaking you.

“Don’t be, I’m not.” He shrugs, sipping the coffee.

“What?” Your head whips to him.

“You’re in love with Choso, I’m in love with Satoru.” He smiles.

You’re actually… not shocked. It makes sense. Everything does. It all makes sense.

There’s a beat of silence before you catch each other's gaze, and you both begin to softly laugh.

“We’re fucking idiots, Suguru.” You say, running to wrap him in a hug.

“You’re an idiot. It’s just you now. Satoru told me he loved me last night, I told him I loved him too, have done since high school. You’re probably gonna hate me but – it was the best night of my life.” His lazy smirk has returned.

Despite just hearing you were technically just cheated on – you feel elated.

“Suguru, truly – I am so happy for you. You’re a good man – and I’m – I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you from the get-go. Truth is I’ve always been in love with Choso and, I’ve been trying to get over him for years.” The tears are back again. You try to will them away, but Suguru swipes them off your cheek with his thumb.

“You’re a dumbass.”

“I know.”

“You’re still going to his gig tonight, right?” He asks.

You nod.

“Go get ready. I gotta go, but – I am sorry too. For how things worked out, but I’m glad I met you. Tell him tonight, Y/N. I think you’ll be surprised.” Suguru says, waltzing toward the door with that easy confidence that only he has.

“I’m sorry too, Suguru. I’m happy for you, really.” You shrug, smiling.

He opens the door and just before he leaves, he turns.

“Wear that baby blue set under your outfit - it’s fucking sexy as hell.” He says, winking at you as he closes the door and your jaw drops.

You’re left alone and as you stand there; you break into laughter.

That might have been the weirdest break up in history.

But – maybe, this was your sign.

If things could work out for Satoru and Suguru – maybe you could get your happy ending too.

By 10.15pm, you were walking in the door of the bar. The place was packed like a tin of sardines, and the first thing you heard was the Smokey tones of Choso’s voice mingled in with cheers and drunken singing from the audience, people were clamouring to the front to get a better view and place to enjoy the gig. The place must have been completely sold out, by the looks of things. You went to the bar and ordered a Gin and Tonic and sang along under your breath to the songs you’ve heard thousands of times as you sat in on practice sessions as the guy's test audience.

After about 15 minutes, you found a nice spot to lean against a pillar far enough away from the stage that you won’t be seen. You just want to enjoy the view for a while, he looks so beautiful under the lights. Signature buns gleaming with sweat under the lights and guitar hanging loosely off of his shoulder, another all-black outfit – tight black long-sleeved shirt with rips around the collar and black cargo’s again – your favourite on him. They make his ass look damn good.

You could hear murmurs in the audience as people passed, everything ranging from “Damn, I’d climb that front man like a tree,” to “the things I’d let their lead singer do to me would have me sent to hell,” and it make your skin crawl. Not that you disagreed, actually the opposite. You never used to feel such jealousy, hell you had set him up with some people but sometimes it reared its ugly head and tonight it was raging – pulsing through your veins like it was making its home there. You shake your head, looking back up at him. He looks so at home, so peaceful on the stage – that usual tension and awkwardness in his shoulders are gone when he’s on stage. You think happy Choso is the most beautiful Choso.

You were broken out of your thoughts by Choso’s words.

“Um – next songs a new one.” He murmurs into the mic and is met with cheers and applause.

The beat starts up, and you don’t recognise it. You always heard the songs first, before the other band members sometimes. You let yourself relax; he’s probably just forgotten. You take a swig of your drink.

I heard he got you a penthouse

on the westside when will he learn

That you're afraid of heights?

Choso’s voice croons through the room and you blink – wait, like that weekend Geto took you on? Did he take inspiration from your situation? That’s cool!

I heard he got you a new Benz

with the white wheels when will he learn

That you like to tandem bike?

Like the picnic weekend? He really had! That’s cool that your slightly mismatched relationship had been fodder for this song. No wonder he hadn’t told you, he was probably worried you’d be mad.

Mm mmh and I hate that

Wait, what?

His voice begins to swell, and the passion in his voice is something you’ve never heard in his covers of other artists, or in songs written by the other boys. This was new, the pain, the raw emotion seeping into his chords was so powerful it felt like the energy of the room changed completely.

And then, you heard the lyrics.

I could love you with my eyes closed

Kiss you with a blindfold

Figure you out (mm mmh)

I might hold you with my hands tied

Show you I'm the right guy

To figure you out

Your heart stops, you drop the glass you’re holding but the sound is swallowed by the rasping delight of Choso’s voice booming through the speakers as he holds the mic and you stare at his face, eyes closed, and you could swear you can see his very soul in his body at that moment.

Because it hits you,

This song.

You weren’t just some inspirations.

You were the song.

He wrote it.

About you. For you.

He loved you.

Holy shit.

I heard he got you some new friends

with some big dreams when will he learn

That you already got your own? (Mm mmh)

Oh, I heard he got you the front row

at the rap show when will he learn

That you like The Rolling Stones?

You began to walk forward, still near the back of the crowd but close enough now that you’re within range for him to see you.

The chorus finishes, and he opens his eyes and his heart nearly drops from his body and his blood runs icey. You were there, standing, slack jawed and staring him in the eyes. You’ve heard the fucking song and you fucking know. It’s not hard to figure out when you hear it. How did you know? How were you here? He locks eyes with you, and sees tears glinting even from this distance but then – the corners of your lips, they quirk up into a smile. Wide, and so beautiful his breath almost catches. Your hands fly up to your mouth in surprise. He hopes to whatever power there is that’s a good reaction, because fuck, this is make it or break it. This could be 15 years of friendship and the love of his life gone.

Fuck it, damage is done now.

Might as well make it a good show.

And I've been thinking

Of all the little things

That you've been missing

When will you learn?

He wants you to understand, he needs you to feel what he’s telling you in this song. So, he pulls every fibre of himself, every ounce of love he’s ever had for you and spills it onto his guitar and down the mic.

I could love you with my eyes closed

Kiss you with a blindfold

Figure you out (mm mmh)

I might hold you with my hands tied

Show you I'm the right guy

to figure you out.

His eyes never leave yours, and your hand drops from your mouth and he almost missed the moment of your mouth.

Four tiny words. He can’t even hear them over his own voice and music, or the cacophonous crowd.

But he sees them.

You see them on your lips.

I love you too.

He can’t help it. The smile takes over his body as he holds one of his hands in a fist to his heart as he stares at you through the crowd. Eso and Chez have seen what’s going on now too, and the drums and bass get some extra oomph poured into them at the sight.

I could treat you so much better

I've known you forever figured you out

You throw your hands up into the air, he saw you. He heard you; he knows. He knows you love him.

He loves you.

Fuck, he loves you too.

I could love you with my eyes closed

Kiss you with a blindfold, yeah

Figure you out (Figure you out, yeah)

I might hold you with my hands tied

Show you I'm the right guy

To figure you out

With a final cheer, the song comes to a close and without even a goodbye to the crowd, Choso’s guitar is left abandoned on the stage as he pushes through the room toward you and then you feel large, warm, calloused and oh so sweaty hands grip your waist and your feet leave the ground as you notice you’ve been hauled by Choso onto his shoulder and he’s walking toward the backstage area with you.

Privacy.

How very Choso.

The sound dies down but you can’t even find your footing when your feet touch the ground because before you even open your eyes, you’re pinned against a wall – and you’re suddenly engulfed in the smell of sweat, smoke and sandalwood cologne. Hands are on your cheeks and then lips are on yours and this might be heaven. You meet Choso’s lips with equal passion and ferocity – years of longing and desire and love spilling into a kiss because words just won’t be enough right now, and he just has to taste you.

He tastes like rum and coke, his favourite drink to have before a show and with a hint of spearmint gum and his lips just slot so perfectly against yours you think that they were puzzle pieces destined to fit like this forever. One hand finds its way into your hair, and the other to your waist to pull you flush against his chest and yours find purchase in his raven hair, wild from the show. You vaguely hear a door open and close – as if someone came in then very quickly left, but you couldn’t care less. Not when right now Choso was everywhere. His hands clutched you tight against him and you’ve never felt more on fire than you did in that moment.

The need for oxygen soon overtakes your need for Choso and you pull your lips away. You rest your forehead against his, both pairs of eyes still closed, but you can see the small smile on his flushed face.

“Do you mean it?” He whispers.

“Every word.”

“Me too.”

“I’d hope so – you just sang a whole song about it.” You laugh and he follows suit.

He kisses you softly, almost chaste.

“I love you. I’ve loved you since we were kids, since you gave me an animal cracker to buy my friendship.” He says, and you feel his lips move as he speaks.

“I’ve love you too Cho – since you let me buy your friendship with an animal cracker.”

You can feel him smiling into the kiss now, it grows messy – all teeth and giggles and shaking hands.

He stills.

And pulls away.

“Oh my god – we can’t, you’ve a boyfriend. What about Geto?” His eyes look panicked.

“In love with Satoru. We broke up earlier – he knew I was in love with you, told me to come and get my man.” You lean into him, cupping his cheeks so he looks straight down at you and his gaze softens.

“I’m all yours, Cho. I always have been.”

And that’s the final straw. You hear a sound you never thought the man capable of making as he grabs the back of your hair and pulls you in by your hip and fucking growls into your ear. You shiver.

“We’re leaving.” He says, grasping your hand and dragging you out the back door. Before you can think he’s lifted you onto the back of his motorcycle and plopped a helmet on your head, then he’s swinging a leg over and you wrap your arms around his stomach – as he revs the engine to life and takes off. You know he’s going back to your place – but you can’t focus when you can see his thick thighs flexing as he straddles the motorcycle and the purring of the engine does little to quell the heat between your thighs. As he parks up, he lifts you off the bike and once again throws you over his shoulder as you squeak in delight – he was so much larger than you, and the feeling of being manhandled like this was making you weak in the knees.

He takes your keys from your purse and opens the door, slamming it shut behind him and not even pausing as he strides straight for your room.

You’re unceremoniously tossed onto the bed and you love it and you squeeze your thighs together in the hopes of some form of friction where you need it most. He stands at the edge of your mattress and rips his shirt over his head before he falls down on top of you. Arms caging around your head and one thigh slotted between yours, the kiss that follows is all consuming. Devouring. You place your hands through his hair, pulling his silky raven hair from its buns and you tug slightly, and he bucks his hips into yours with a groan.

“Angel – please. Later, tomorrow, whenever you want - I’ll make love to you, properly. Show you how much I love you but right now, I gotta fuck you. I need’ta feel you, alright?” He growls into your ear, restraint quavering.

His words send a flush of wetness into your already ruined panties. That’s what you want, no - that’s what you need.

“Cho – look at me.”

And he does, the fire in his eyes is scorching and you stare right into it.

“I want you to fucking ruin me. Please, Cho.” You whine, and he can’t take it anymore.

Your shirt is being tugged over your head, and you can see him being so gentle - he’s trying to be, as least. You reach around and unclip your bra, flinging it across the room as he shimmy’s your jeans and panties down your legs. Had had worn the baby blue lingerie set – not that it mattered how in a heap on your bedroom floor.

Your senses clicked back into place and you were brought back down to reality. You were bare, naked as the day you were born, laying on your bed and about to have sex with Choso. Your Choso. Your best friend, your other half. The man you have always sworn you were destined for. You can’t help the tears that well up as you look at him. The light from your lamp behind him illuminated him in the most beautiful light and your breath hitches with a sob which startles him.

“Fuck, angel - what’s going on? Am I taking it too fast? We can stop – I don’t expect anything. Just talk to me.” He sits beside you now and you don’t even let him finish his sentence.

“I’m just happy, Choso. I’ve wanted this for so fucking long.” You say as you flip you both around so you’re straddling his thighs.

“Fuck angel, you’ve no idea. Always had me so fucking hard from doing nothing, have me feeling like a virgin all over again.” He says as you unbuckle his trousers and start pulling them down his thighs, as he finishes the job for you.

He pauses for a moment, his turn for a reality check.

His eyes scan your naked figure, no art could do this justice. No dream of what you looked like under your clothes, no wet dream could come close.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on. How are you even real?” He says, gripping your hips and sitting up to capture your lips once more.

“You’re one to talk.” You tease as you gasp, feeling his desire clearer now with just his black boxers between you.

All softness was gone now.

He laid you on your back, laid a big hand over your lower stomach to keep you still and spread your thighs with his other.

“Gotta fuckin taste you. God, such a pretty pussy. Knew you’d be just as perfect down here.” He’s not even talking to you now, just rambling.

And he wastes no time in getting what he wants, face diving into your slickness and tongue exploring your folds like a man parched. The feeling of his wet mouth on your most sensitive parts makes you whine and gasp as he laps at you like an ice cream cone – once he wraps his pretty pink lips around your little Pearl of nerves you know you’re done for. You were already so worked up, you know you won’t last long. You didn’t even realise he’d slid a finger inside until he thrust in a second and curled them up into your squishy spot inside making you gasp out a stuttered version of his name and he groans into you – the sound of his name on your lips being said with such pleasure could almost make him cum on the spot, and he realises she’s grinding his hips into the mattress like a horny teenager. He’s ready for use his trump card now, he knows your close – can feel you clenching your thighs around his head. He stops suckling on your clip and you protest the lack of stimulation until you feel it – oh my god, how had you forgotten? The small, solid, metal nub laving against your clit was his fucking tongue piercing and within seconds, he had you gushing all over his face and fingers and moaning out like you never have before – vision completely white as you body shakes and waves of pleasure control your movements. He lets you ride out your high on his face before lifts away, reaching for his pants pocket before a tiny shaking hand is stopping him.

“Cho - I’m clean, and I’ve a coil, and I know you’re clean too. You don’t gotta wear one.” Your lashes flutter at him as his heart stutters.

“Angel, are you asking me to fuck you raw?” He asks, incredulous as your wide eyes blink innocently as if you don’t know what you’re doing, and you nod up at him.

He lifts his head to look at the ceiling to try and regulate his breathing, so he doesn’t just finish then and there. He must have done something really good in another life.

Your eyes scour his body, and you land on the bulge in his boxers, it looks big, heavy straining against the fabric, and you can see the wet patch where his tip has been leaking arousal this whole time. You wrap your fingers into the waistband and pull them down to free him. His pretty pick cock slaps up against his abs, spreading shiny pre across the sweaty skin there and oh he’s big. You always thought he would be, from outlines you’ve seen in swimming trunks and sweatpants. He’s perfect, 7.5 inches or so – and girthy, so deliciously girthy that you know the stretch will send you to heaven. You wanna taste him, but you need him inside you like, yesterday.

He hissed when you grip his length and spit into your hand to allow you to pump him a few times before you lay back and open your legs, inviting him into you. In the blink of an eye, your hand darts into your bedside drawer and a bottle of lube appears, no matter how prepped and wet you are you know you’ll need it to take him.

He takes it from you and exhales a breath as he squeezes some onto his cock and spreads it around and the sight is glorious. You always had a thing for guys jacking off, and seeing Choso palm and tug at his own dick was peak dream-fuel.

He spreads your folds with deft, nimble guitarists fingers and you hook your ankles around his back as he begins to push in and you both hiss at the feeling, the first taste of your union.

“You good, angel?” He asks, always such a sweet boy.

You bite your lip and nod at him, clutching at his back to pull him deeper and he obliges by filling you the rest of the way with one smooth thrust and when he bottoms out a string of profanities from both of you fills the air of the room. You lust addled brains pause for a second.

“I love you, Cho.”

“I love you too, angel. Please, be mine?”

“I’ve always been yours. All yours Cho. Make me yours, claim me.” You whimper and with that he pulls out only to slam his hips back into yours and he begins to barrel his hips into yours with the speed and force of a jackhammer and your breath is taken from your body.

“You want me to claim you? Fuck, such a perfect cunt. Made for me, you were made for me. I’m all yours, forever – angel. Jesus, squeezing me so tight. Cock’s all yours, angel. I love you.” He groans as he watches himself thrusting into your wetness.

He hooks your ankles over his shoulders and you can see the bulge in your tummy from how deep he is and you wordlessly grab his hand and press it to your tummy so he can feel himself in you. He’s possessive, that much is clear – so you know it’ll drive him wild.

He actually fucking whimpers and you’ve never heard anything hotter and you attach your lips to his neck and suck a dark bruise onto the juncture of his neck and shoulder and he bites down on your throat leaving clear indication of where he’d been. You feel your peak approaching fast and he does too, he pulls down to watch your face as you cum.

“Cum for me pretty, I’m so close – where can I – fuck, where can I cum?” He whimpers into your skin.

“Inside Cho. Please.” You reply, sounding so fucked out that his hips grow sloppy and he twitches into your magic spot and you clench around him, and the fluttering feeling of your tight walls as you cum around his cock sends him over the cliff with the most powerful orgasm of his life.

He thrusts a few more times, savouring the feeling of your heat. As he pulls out, his eyes are drawn to the sight of your mixed spends leaking from your clenching hole and he swears he’d immediately hard again.

You grab his shoulders and pull him beside you, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“You’re incredible.” You whisper.

“No more than you, angel.” He presses a kiss to the tip of your nose as you giggle.

He relaxes and clutches you into him.

“So, ehm – are we like, yaknow – do you wanna… maybe?” His eyes dart around the room and you struggle to connect the lustful, dominant, possessive man who’s just fucked you into your mattress with the shy, kind boy trying to talk to you now.

“Yes Cho. We’re dating. I’m your girlfriend, if that’s what you’re asking.” You giggle, swinging your legs from the bed and waltzing to the en suite door.

“That’s the best sentence I ever heard.” He says, with a hazy, fucked out smile.

You whisper sweet nothings into the night as you clean up together, and find time for another round before you finally drift off in each others arms, limbs entwined. No more separate beds at sleepovers, just wrapped up in each other.

Nothing had ever felt more right.

A 15 year old boy, curled up watching a film with his boyfriend jumped when his phone buzzed.

Big Bro: I know it was u little shit that told her abt the gig. She heard the song.

Yuuji: idk what ur talking about 😇😇😇😇😇

Big bro: idiot. But I’m not coming home tonight - I’m staying at hers. So, thank you – even if ur a menace to society. Megumi can stay, u can stay w ur bf bc I’m stayin w my gf.

And the boyfriend in question jumps out of his skin when Yuuji jumps up cheering.

“They got together! ‘Gumi! Look, Y/N’s his girlfriend! YES!” Yuuji is jumping in the air like he just won the lottery.

Megumi rolls his eyes, but mutters.

“Fucking finally.”

#jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso smut #choso kamo #choso imagine #choso au #band au #jjk smut

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proudfreakmetarusonniku · 4 months

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I think it’s really interesting how c!Tommy being an annoying little shit masks how much of a people pleaser he is when it’s also a massive part of how he tries to appeal to those around him like. He's gotten positive attention from being an obnoxious dick! People go along with what he does and help him pull dumb pranks. It’s just when he crosses the line people get mad at him, and c!Tommy's an incredibly reckless teenager- he crosses that line a lot because he hasn’t learnt it yet, he’s still pushing boundaries (which is completely developmentally appropriate for a sixteen year old, it’s Healthy and Good because it’s a part of learning how to respect them) but as far as he’s been Shown people find it funny when he’s annoying until it isn’t anymore. c!Tommy wants people to like him he wants to be helpful and funny and he thinks that being a little shit is making people laugh (because like it does) so he keeps doing it.

Like, c!Tommy is a very self conscious character in a lot of ways, it’s just hard to tell because he projects this image of cockiness. But he’s not- he has chronically low self esteem to the point he needed the discs to feel worthy of being alive even at the beginning of the server. And one of those ways he’s self conscious is that he places an unhealthy amount of value in his ability to be helpful and please others. Like, this isn’t to say he’s never a prick intentionally- he is a lot of the time, that’s Also developmentally appropriate and a Healthy and Good thing that teenagers learning social skills do. But the reason he’s “annoying at first” is because he knows about the “at first” bit. It endears him to people, at least some of them, and while he’s very emotionally intelligent and perceptive, he’s still a teenager and goes too far with it a lot.

c!Tommy is strong-willed, but that isn’t because of self confidence- it’s sheer stubborn defiance. Which is a strength in some ways- confidence can be eroded, but you can’t take away that fundamental personality trait so easily. c!Tommy is a character that shifts a lot, trying to appeal to those around him- especially those who frighten him, he has a very strong fawn instinct, as Exile shows- but he’s also a character that's got a strong and consistent personality, due to this stubbornness. He refuses to change who he fundamentally is, even if he tries to use it to seem charming and desperately try and prevent people from leaving, because he’s terrified of being alone more than anything else. His stubbornness just overpowers his fear in all but the most extreme circumstances.

Idk where I’m going with this I just think c!Tommy's a very interesting and deep character who manages to do the “totally different to how he appears on the surface” thing so well because his facade and his true self are so consistent and come from very prominent character traits even if they differ a lot. c!Tommy the Big Man and c!Tommy the insecure people pleaser feel congruent, in a way that Oh c!Dream Was Secretly A Sad Boy doesn't (and I’m saying that as someone who writes an incredibly pathetic wet cat c!Dream)

#c!tommy #minor finale neg at the end #Dream smp #dsmp analysis

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bisexualchaosdemon · 4 months

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What if Neil was trans and had a baby after Mary died?

I've seen a few atfg fics where Neil has a sibling or kid but all the ones I've read were heavily influenced by Mary's presence. It got me thinking about what it would be like if she wasn't around when the kid came into the picture. I wrote a little prologue, lemme know if it's something you guys might wanna read.

**trigger warning: mentions of SA, forced pregnancy, and traumatic childbirth**

Hope was a dangerous, disquieting thing

🩵🩷🤍🩷🩵Prologue🩵🩷🤍🩷🩵

When Neil was fourteen, his father caught up to them in Seattle and he got separated from Mary. Nathan went after Mary and a couple of his men went after Neil. While they were apart, Neil was raped for the first time and Mary was beaten for the last time. Somehow, they both escaped, managing to reunite at one of their emergency rendezvous and take off running.

That's where their luck ran out though because they only made it to California before Mary's injuries finally bested her. In the end, his mother couldn't go on but she made Neil promise to keep running because one of them had to make it. With no other choice, Neil burned her body, buried her ashes on the beach, and did what he had promised.

Then, impossibly, things went from bad to worse — After a month of just sort of drifting in his grief, Neil found out he was pregnant.

He had no way out this one, there was no backdoor to slip through or bus to catch. He couldn't risk someone contacting the police or social services when a fourteen-year-old turned up at a clinic to request an abortion without parental consent. And, even if they weren't incredibly dangerous, any illegal methods for a termination risked Nathan tracking him down. So, with no choice but to keep the pregnancy, he spent the next eight months jumping from place to place, trying to remain out of sight whenever possible. And he hated every minute of it.

He spent the entirety of his pregnancy terrified and alone, and he gave birth alone too. He hadn't been able to see any doctors or go to a hospital for obvious reasons. He tried his best to have a healthy pregnancy but the research he had managed to do on childbirth was extremely limited. He didn't even know what was happening really before he ended up giving birth in a back ally somewhere — fourteen years old and completely alone.

The baby hadn't cried at first and Neil had never been more terrified than he had been in those few seconds. That first cry brought a relief heavy enough to break him completely. His plan the whole time had been to give the baby up, just leave them at a fire station somewhere and pray they'd have a better life than he did. He thought about it a thousand times but every time he looked at his daughter's face, and he just couldn't do it. He couldn't give her up. He didn't want to be alone again.

So he picked himself up, skipped town with his daughter craddled close, and decided to do the one thing he had always wanted; He cut off all of his hair, taped down his chest and started telling people he was a boy. He had always felt like being a girl wasn't right for him but he never dared voice this while on the run with his mother. Without her controling everything though, he was free to do this one thing for himself, and he hoped it might even help him stay hidden. More importantly, it helped him reclaim part of himself he thought he lost after the rape and pregnancy.

The first few years, they moved around a lot because Neil was always worried someone would start to notice the teenager and baby without parents anywhere in sight. However, when his daughter was almost three, they ran a ground in Millport, a dying town where they could squat in an empty house unnoticed. Neil just needed a moment to breathe. So, he got an ID that said he was eighteen which let him go to high school and play Exy without anyone needing to speak to his parents. Then he forged the signatures of their fictional parents to get his daughter enrolled in preschool and after school childcare for the days he had practice. Finally, he got them phones for emergencies and pretended to be his mother any time someone called.

He became Neil and he gifted his daughter his middle name, Anastasia, and on paper they became the Josten siblings.

He knew they would need to pack up and leave soon enough, but he was exhausted and he just wanted Ana to have a semi-normal life for a year. He'd clear out after graduation and figure out where to go from there. But just as their time in Millport is running out, in walks David Wymack with an offer that's too dangerous to trust but too impossible to leave behind...

#aftg #all for the game #neil josten #aftg fanfic #trans!neil #kid fic #trans neil josten

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wandamyconfort · 11 months

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if I were you.. | CH.1

wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

CH.2

summary: y/n is best friends with vision, who ironically, is the boyfriend of his worst enemy, wanda maximoff. until one night, when the clock struck midnight, they are both struck by something mysterious that completely changes the fate of their best friends, including a certain redhead… be careful what you wish for.

note: this is an adaptation, all credits to my star allyszoka. ☆

sorry for any translation errors, english is not my first language

(...)

"Can I sleep with you tonight?" you murmured at the entrance to the room, slightly startled by the thunder that collapsed into the sky with a noise that echoed throughout the house.

Of course, my love. - Scott responded by giving her a space in the bed for her daughter.

Despite being a teenager, you was still scared to death of lightning and the rumble of thunder terrified her. The girl cracked a beautiful childish smile, showing off her nasal muscles, and snuggled between her parents.

You are considered unpopular by most students as you seemed to be very "self-centered and impatient." You are known to be very competitive and always want to get the role you thought was right. And not forgetting: you're best known for getting cold scratch cards on your face.

Wanda Maximoff is their card-carrying enemy: the popular cheerleading captain, the kind of girl they die of envy and love for. Girlfriend of Vision Stark, the newest member of the popular group, and who ironically is his best friend.

Obviously, much to Maximoff's chagrin, you and Vision became best friends when he came two years ago to attend Harbor High School in another all-boys boarding school town. He didn't have much of a knack for girls. And with dyslexia, the grades weren't as good, but you always tried to help him with these problems.

He also had his nerdy side, he loved Star Wars, Harry Potter and Avatar, At first he got a lot of scratch cards for being a joke, but that changed about a year ago, when he decided to join the football team and when he started dating Maximoff to become more popular. Because he was new there he was afraid of being socially excluded, but gradually he fell in love with Wanda, and vice versa.

But not for these reasons did he abandon his friendship with you; Raised in a lower-middle-class place. was mocked for being poor and not having the conditions like most students, and for the way she dressed badly, in an infantilized way.

Such a trait given by one of her classmates, Natasha, "as a grandmother and at the same time a five-year-old." you was a virgin and wasn't shy about admitting it. and was also a vegetarian.

The day was born you got a yellow star plush from your parents. To them, you was a star. At least, that's what you been telling herself since you won her first dance contest at the age of three.

You loves stars, and her signature is always followed by a golden one, because metaphors are important.

It's a metaphor, and metaphors are important. My golden stars are a metaphor for me being a star.

Though some — the vast majority — don't agree with the things you does.

You was the essential voice in the Choral Club.

- Comes... Let me help you. - Vision said with a friendly smile on his face.

He opened the cupboard next to his and grabbed a blue towel that read, "Best friends forever." A gift you gave him, having an equal, only in lilac color. The boy helped clean himself up

"These brutes will never leave me alone. - She grumbled. - They'll regret it when they're the drivers of my expensive limousines.

Vision laughed in agreement.

- But look on the bright side... At least it's strawberry. Your favorite.

- Tried to force a smile and got a simple one back.

- Idiot. - Punched his arm weakly.

- Already filling my boyfriend again, homeless? You rolled her eyes at hearing that queasy voice.

- Good to see you too, hunchback. - you said in a sarcastic tone and still rolling his eyes in boredom.

"Who do you think you are, imbecile?"

The two shot each other with their eyes and Vision stared from one to the other in fright, not knowing exactly what to do. Wanda was already about to open her mouth when she was interrupted.

- Shall we stop? - Asked the boy.

- I don't know how you handle this... thing. - Kept teasing.

- I don't know how you handle this sour barbie project! -Retorted.

- Oh, please. Go to the garbage can that is your place. Enjoy and take the rest of your family. That which you call father and mother!

- That's enough! - The boy said firmly.

- I'm not going to stand here listening to your shit. See you later, Vision. - After that, you left a little upset.

you couldn't stand Wanda maximoff! The most annoying girl. you didn't understand what Vision had in her head to date something like... that! And then she was popular and beautiful? It was just that! She was shy, cold, calculating. A bitch. That's what you thought

"You shouldn't have talked to her like that. - Reproached the boy realizing how sad his friend had been.

-What? Are you going to be defending your weird friend now? - Replied in the same tone

Vision looked at her completely seriously.

- It's not about defending or which side I'm on. I'm just tired of my best friend and my girlfriend fighting like dog and cat!

Wanda rolled her eyes and the boy sighed giving up on talking about it.

- Let's not talk about that now... Is the invitation to spend the night at your house still standing? - He tried to change the subject.

"But don't you think you're only going because my parents won't be home, that there's going to be something else besides sleeping.

-Calm. That didn't even cross my mind. - Smiled mischievously.

"Mom, are you home yet?" - Shouted looking at the rooms of his house while locking the front door.

Vision lived only with his mother. A woman who liked to occupy her time with work. Especially after the death of her husband five years ago, after that she never left or fell in love with anyone. She worked as a nurse in one of the best hospitals in Miami, where she occupied all her time. And since she had to deal with it alone, she always tried to work as many overtime hours as possible, coming home late and already tired. Although Vision understood his mother's necessary absence, that didn't mean he didn't miss her company. But whenever she had free time she did not hesitate to spend with her only child.

The boy realized his mother wasn't home, but found a note attached to the fridge.

"I'm sorry, son, but I'll be back later today. I'll have to stay on duty. Lunch is in the fridge, just need to heat in the microwave. Mom loves you!"

"I love you too, Mom," he whispered in a thread of voice in that quiet kitchen.

But what made him happy was that he, today, would not spend his night alone...

(...)

The plan was to sleep in a shell but a series of warm kisses began between the two young men. He was already on top of Wanda kissing her, he was panting and tried to take off the girl's blouse but was stopped.

-No... I'm not ready yet. - Murmured composing himself.

Whenever he had a little loophole, he would try to go beyond kissing Wanda. I couldn't help it, they had been together for almost a year and nothing was happening but kneading and kissing. He also never forced anything, Vision respected her.

- Alright, I'm sorry. - Said sympathetically coming out of it.

- How about we just sleep in shells? - The girl asked for candy looking into his eyes. He nodded with a smile.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x reader #wanda x y/n #wanda imagine #wanda maximoff #wanda x you #wanda maximoff fluff #my fic #wanda maximoff imagine #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #the scarlet witch #marvel fanfiction

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analogwriting · 2 months

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Star-Crossed

Chapter 14: Coração

Donquixote Rosinante x gn!reader word count: 3.5k a/n: obligatory pov swap lmao first|next

As you laid there sleeping, Corazon laid there just watching you. The light from your lamp was dim, creating a warm orange glow that really just emphasized how beautiful you were. It was the kind of light that the sun even produced at a certain time of day that people loved taking photos in. What was it called - the golden hour?

He pushed a strand of hair out of your face, watching as you scrunched your nose slightly before relaxing again. You looked so peaceful like this - sleeping, curled against him. He wished you’d be able to look this way all the time. You worked so hard for everything you had and cared so much for your patients and the people around you. He just wanted to be able to help give you some kind of peace, but he felt like there wasn’t anything he could do. He wished you wouldn’t push yourself too hard. You deserved a break too.

Though, you’d always been like this, hardworking and making a name for yourself. Growing up, before he had left the family, there had been rumors about you. People had all kinds of names for you - none of them kind. No one had seen you, your appearance had always been covered if you were in the field - scarce as that was. You were your father’s secret weapon. No one would know who you were sent in until the damage was done - people were terrified of your name alone. You could take out entire squads just by yourself.

Still, no one really knew who you were. You were just a faceless shadow of destruction. He had feared you just as much as everyone else did.

Corazon would’ve never guessed that you and the doctor that had shown him and Law such kindness were the same person. Never in a million years would he have put two and two together. When you had first pointed your gun at him that night all those years ago, he thought that’s exactly who you were - the being of destruction, come to kill him as well. Only for your entire gaze to soften the moment you heard Law’s voice. Then he thought that you definitely weren’t the rumored shadow. Someone like that would never be able to show such softness and compassion. Someone like that only knew how to destroy, much like Law when he had first met him. The kid just wasn’t as deadly, obviously.

Between the kindness and the absolute confidence in finding a cure for Law, he wasn’t sure when one caused that first spark of a small crush. He had felt like some high school teenage boy back then. Just having a silly crush on some random person who was nice to him. Law had caught on and teased him about it, but that’s all it was - some silly little crush. He knew he was going to be leaving with Law as soon as he was better.

He would never forget the amount of relief he felt when you said you had found a cure for him. He had been at his wit’s end, almost giving up. As much as he still looked for it, he had mostly resulted in just giving Law’s final days as much comfort as possible. Then you showed up like some twisted angel that night. He thought he was going to be the one to die, only for you to end up his savior; Law’s savior.

Then, he had to leave. Law was better and the town was overall too dangerous - especially for children. Corazon didn’t exactly blend in, people still knew his face well, and the rivalry between the Donquixote family and your family was at an all time high. The tension was awful, people were dying left and right. And again, there was that person that could wipe out just about anyone in mere seconds. It was no place for a child to grow up. Besides, you made him promise to get him out of there, so he did.

He hadn’t wanted to come back either - that was all Law. Law was the one that had wanted to come back to the hospital that saved him, he had wanted to find the person that saved him. There was a bit of argument about it, but Law said that he’d move by himself if he had to, so Corazon ended up agreeing to go with him.

He had been worried about the state of the city. If it was that bad then, he could only imagine how bad it was now. Even if the hospital had gained a more positive reputation, he was sure one of the families took it over; so he decided he’d tag along to keep the boys safe since he knew how things worked in the underbelly of the world.

He was surprised to see that things had mellowed out over the years. The town wasn’t just some constant crossfire anymore. You didn’t seem to realize it, but it was because of you. The safe haven of your hospital had somehow kept everyone in line for the most part. Since you helped everyone no matter where they were from, families weren’t losing people as easily. Everything came to a stalemate of some kind. You were some kind of god that was keeping people, who should be long gone, alive.

When he ran into you that first time, as in the first time you caught him, you immediately felt familiar. He felt like he knew you somehow. He had even brought it up, but you denied it. He didn’t make the connection that you were the doctor, no. Just that he felt like he knew you. He let it go, accepting your throw away comment of just having one of those faces.

Also a face that he couldn’t seem to get out of his mind either. He thought about you often, trying to place where he knew you. The connection was so strong, he couldn’t help it.

Then it happened again. He had taken a tumble only to be caught by you once more. He knew then that there had to be something special about you. What were the odds of it happening twice? If anything, it at least meant the two of you were supposed to be linked in some kind of way. He just didn’t know what it was. Destined to be friends? Lovers? Coworkers? Who the hell knew?

But hell, he knew one thing. You were absolutely breathtaking from the moment he saw you. You also seemed to have the kind of aura that drew people in and made them feel safe. At least that’s how he felt. He felt safe around you, even if he wasn’t in any kind of danger - like he didn’t have to worry about anything. He wanted to get to know you.

You had radiated kindness and seemed to actually care for his well-being. Sure, you had been strangers when you patched him up that second time he ran into you, but he could tell you actually cared. It had reminded him of the compassion of the doctor from a decade prior. He wanted to know more about you but you were quick to leave.

That third time, however, he was determined to know who you were. When the opportunity presented itself - him helping you carry things - he took it. Talking to you was easy; it felt like he'd known you forever. It was then that he also realized that he really liked you.

When he found out you were a doctor at the hospital where Law was so determined to work, along with the feeling of familiarity, he had started getting the suspicion that you were the doctor that they had been seeking. Everything checked out, the timeline seemed right. You had mentioned working at the hospital a long time as well and ‘knowing’ the doctor in question.

But you were being tight lipped about it. He didn't really understand why, just respected your decision.

He often found himself walking by the hospital, which is why he ended up visiting so often. It was as if some invisible force always guided him there, so he always made up some kind of excuse for why he was there. He had wanted to see you, even if only for a second. You just brightened his day so easily, took his breath away even. When he’d be there and happen to see you from across the waiting room, he could feel his breathing catch with excitement.

Then there was the surprise with your father. Corazon would admit it, that wasn't his best moment. He definitely could've handled it better. Learning that this kind and compassionate doctor that he had been falling for all this time was some heartless killer? The faceless scary story from a decade ago? He wasn't in the scene anymore, so he had no idea if you were as well. You denied that you were, but he refused to listen - like an idiot.

Some insane grim reaper being the nicest and warmest person he's ever met? He couldn't connect the two, but all the evidence pointed to being as such. However, that didn't stop his dumbass from doing something rash.

He had expected to see the legendary killer when he confronted you. He had expected you to do a 180 and completely change your demeanor, to show him just why people feared you so. Only you didn’t do any of that. You just looked at him in a way that hurt more than any gunshot wound.

You looked disappointed and betrayed; and he didn't blame you for it. Things had been going great - hell, he was going to ask you out. Then he had to go and be an idiot. You looked so tired at that moment, but also like you had been expecting it. And that somehow hurt even worse. If he could turn back time, he wouldn’t have reacted in that way.

He wasn’t going to lie, he was impressed by how easily you were able to dismantle his gun and how quickly too. For a moment, he had seen a glimpse of the person people feared, but he still only saw you. He saw the talent of the famed killer, but you were still you, just wounded and hurt. He should’ve apologized right then and there, only he didn’t and he honestly wasn’t sure why. Cowardice, probably. Resignation. The belief that he had already fucked up beyond repair - whatever word covers that.

Law found out immediately, apparently having seen the whole ordeal from a distance. Man, he wasn’t sure where the kid learned to scold like that, but he sure let Corazon have it. He let him do it, too. He deserved it. Law was right, he had completely fucked this up. He didn’t know how he’d ever make this up or have you forgive him. He had given up all hope, but Law kept pressing him to at least apologize. Again, cowardice stopped him. He couldn’t bring himself to face you.

Ultimately, he didn’t care where you came from. He was from the same underbelly, so it’d be hypocritical of him if he did. You also didn’t judge people where they were from, that much was obvious in your work - that was the whole point of your work. He thought you had to have hated him for the way he reacted; not that he blamed you.

He was forced to face you when he discovered you stumbling around the streets. He had slowly been building the confidence to talk to you again, but seeing you, he just clammed right back up.

It also didn’t help that you were absolutely plastered, so he assumed that no matter what you talked about, you wouldn’t remember. He had decided he’d just take you to the hospital where he assumed someone would know how to take care of you from there. Then you went and ultimately broke down, thinking he was Marco. Hearing the hurt and pain in your voice made his own heart hurt. You cared so much about others that he felt foolish and stupid all over again for ever questioning your motives in the first place.

There wasn’t a single bad bone in your body. You had merely just been surviving before, just as he had. It’s not like it was your fault your dad used you to his advantage. It wasn’t your fault you were just that talented in fighting.

Then you dropped an absolute bomb on him when you hinted at the fact that you were the doctor that saved Law. Sure, he had already suspected it, but he had long forgotten that theory since the blow up. He was right back to square one, trying to connect all the dots. You were so heavily entangled in his life and he didn’t even realize it. Fate had played her hand and it took him too long to figure it out - at least that’s what he thought.

He had decided that he needed to bite the bullet, ironically enough, and talk to you. Even if you didn’t forgive him, he wouldn’t blame you. You had every right to be angry at him for as long as you felt was right, but he wanted to be able to at least apologize and talk to you one more time. He just hoped you’d be willing to talk to him.

He had remembered Marco telling him that you enjoyed coffee and weren’t exactly a flowers type of person, so he figured a bouquet of coffee-flavored chocolates could say what he couldn’t. Only he didn’t exactly think of how wasted you had gotten the night before. When he showed up only to be told you weren’t in, he was bummed out.

Then you showed up and it was as if fate was giving him a break. He was able to talk to you. He thought that being able to start with a clean slate, completely open and honest with you was the best way to go. Now that he thought about it, however, it was embarrassing the way he had went about it. You didn’t seem to mind too much, delivering the same kind of monologue that he did.

It had given hope that he hadn’t completely crumbled everything. You were way too good for him.

Only he wasn’t really able to have a proper conversation with you about it for too long before your father had called you away. Shortly thereafter, his brother and Crocodile had shown up to take over the hospital. He had been ushered away with Law and his friends to a side of the hospital he had never seen. He just assumed it was the one you had spoken about.

Despite this, he didn’t once suspect you were behind what was going on. He had already done that to you once and immediately regretted it. He knew you wouldn’t do anything like this. His worry for you only grew. Were you okay? Were you aware of what was going on? He just hoped that you would be fine. Though, you were the single most feared person in the area, so he knew you’d be able to handle yourself. It was clear that Doflamingo, Crocodile, and your father all feared you considering they took hostages. They wouldn’t have done that if they thought they could take you.

After all, you were just one person. They were that scared of you, that they used other means to get to you. Part of him hoped that you wouldn’t play into that trap and take them on anyway, but you were too kind. He knew you were going to do whatever you could to make sure no one was hurt.

Hell, even after he was shot, he didn’t blame you. There was no one else to blame besides the bastard that did it and himself. He knew that Doflamingo had been itching to shoot him since he laid eyes on him again. He knew the man would feel betrayed in whatever twisted way of thinking he had. He had fully prepared on dying in that moment when he raised the gun to him again. He had already silently apologized to you and begged for your forgiveness.

Then you came in like the aggressive ray of sunshine that you were. That cold look in your eye as you advanced on Doflamingo. That was the very person so many people feared, but you were his saving grace. He wasn’t going to lie, it did rile him up a little bit as he laid there bleeding out. He had felt bad that he didn’t notice Crocodile in time for you, but he was honestly struggling to keep his eyes open.

The cool headedness you displayed was honestly admirable. He could only watch you in awe as you were so calculated and so sure in your movements. It was like watching that Sora show that Law liked so much and you were the main character - a superhero.

When you came closer however, he would tell just how close to breaking down you really were. Dealing with everything, everything falling out of your grasp, all after losing a patient and while hungover? It was as if Fate was enjoying having you as her punching bag. Of course no one was really as cold and heartless as your father painted you to be. No one was invincible. He just wanted to hold you, but he could barely stay sitting up.

He didn’t want to leave you that day, but he did. He knew he had to. You had a plan and he was going to let you carry it out, as much as he didn’t want to. He knew that if they weren’t there, you would’ve taken care of everyone in no time. He had felt like he held you back, not that he had meant to, but it’s just what happened.

You went radio silent and he did nothing but worry the entire time. He couldn’t do much as he healed from his injuries. He reached out to Marco several times, but even he was terrible at providing updates. The only one he really received was that you were at his place resting. He felt so much relief hearing that you were okay. He was able to relax a bit, but he was still worried about you. He knew you couldn’t have been doing well mentally.

Eventually, Marco reached out to him. He asked him to come and talk some sense into you. Nothing that he or Whitebeard were saying was going through. You had lost all motivation to do anything. You were withering away and they were worried about you. He wasn’t sure what he was going to be able to do, but he figured he’d give it a shot.

And, boy howdy, was he glad he did. Seeing you curled into bed in the fashion that you were, he knew that you weren’t doing good - not when he was used to seeing you in constant movement. Then there was the immediate decline of a meal. Marco had said you hadn’t been eating, so you had to be starving - whether you would admit it or not. He could definitely tell when you sat up. Your face had thinned out and your eyes looked gaunt. You hadn’t been taking care of yourself and were downspiralling faster than anyone could keep track of.

He just wanted to hold you and tell you it was okay. And that's…kind of what he did. Well, after he completely biffed it and tripped over himself, but you had done the same. He had asked how you were doing and you had just unleashed on him. Everything that you had been holding back came out all at once. He had just been glad he was able to be there for you.

After, you immediately seemed to do better. You just needed to let it all out. When you started to apologize, he almost wanted to laugh. The last person that should be apologizing was you. You didn’t do anything wrong. You did everything in your power to do everything right, to keep everyone safe.

All he knew was that he was glad to see life in your eyes again. He just hoped he could provide more help. He wanted to be able to do anything for you. He knew you’d get your hospital back. He believed in you. You were smart, cunning - you’d figure it all out. You’d kick ass and take it over, it was just figuring out how first.

As he was thinking, he couldn’t help but realize that he, quite literally, fell for you. He chuckled softly, pulling you in closer as he kissed your head. He couldn’t be happier than when he was with you and he’d do anything for you.

The thoughts in his head slowly dissipated as he fell asleep curled around you.

----

first|next

#i was gonna have this posted like an hour ago and i got distracted replaying off for the 398473984 time in my life #i realized having a pov swap was something i had in the last two fics and i figured might as well have it here too lmfao #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #donquixote rosinante x reader #donquixote rosinante #donquixote corazon #corazon x you #rosinante corazon #corazon x reader #corazon #rosinante x reader #rosinante #am fics #sc

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