#and like this... sassiness... is that the right word. just the way she holds herself is very distinct already and i love it ^o^

[theotherrookie]

"I sure hope so. Things start going bad when we don't care anymore what happens to children."

"It must be quite interesting whenever you and the rest of your brothers meet up. With such a wide array of professions, you may never be at risk of running out of conversation topics." Willow chimed in. It was a touchy matter for Erica and she didn't want her to upset herself with the current topic too much.

"We have to take turns and there's just four of us!" The trick had worked perfectly. "Well, I didn't feel much pain as a zombie, but elves like me are just born with a hollow back. I don't know what it was for, it didn't really do anything. So I let Willow get rid of it."

"It was merely an aesthetic change that didn't interfere with Erica's magical affinity, as we have now confirmed."

"Yeah, it's no big deal." Erica reassured, "But I guess that's why we didn't know about it. I'm glad Rook met Russell, though. We wouldn't know all of you guys if she hadn't!"

"And for that, we're both thankful."

Erica nodded fiercely at Willow's words, before looking ahead. "I think I've seen this part of the city before."

Right on cue, Willow started giving out directions.

"I had to do it for my own peace of mind. Imagine dropping anything in here. The noise will bounce back and forth for days." Rook said, before eyeing Antonio, "And I had to think of my guests. After all, if you're too sassy while in the void, the void will eventually sass you back."

Luckily, there weren't signs so far of the pocket having any level of awareness. Perhaps its artificial nature meant it'd never fully go beyond reacting to the presence of those tied to it.

"Oh, I really panicked at first." Rook admitted, "Because I kinda sneaked in to see where mum was going and I got left behind. But then I just got bored of the panic and started poking around again. I guess it's just the effect this place has on you after you've been here for a while."

It did help that after a while it occurred to her she wasn't feeling hungry or tired. Not being directly affected by the passing of time while being in that glorified broom closet took part of the urgency away.

"Alchemy and herbalism are different disciplines. The ability to directly control the temperature and intensity of our fire is however a major advantage." Veronica replied, "I wouldn't mind sharing some of my knowledge on the subject. It can be very useful at times."

It wasn't just good for creating huge piles of precious items they could treat like Lego, after all. Rook was glad to see her gift was being appreciated.

"Anything for my big bro. But that coin you picked," She paused to point at it, "that's a lucky one."

She proceeded to pass more pouches around, even holding one up so it could be stored in the drone for the time being. They'd figure out a way to get it over to Simon's place later.

"Thanks, Leofric." She offered a second bag, "I can't wait to see what he'll make with these. It seems like he really likes smithing."

"I'm no expert, but I'll do my best with it." Lucien said, standing up, "Russell deserves to have something that shines at least half as much as him."

Rook rolled her eyes, "You guys are so mushy. I bet it's all those sweets you two eat."

Still, she was very happy for what Russell and Lucien had going for themselves. It was clear it made both happy and that was all that mattered.

"Well, let's catch up with Bill. He should be almost at the exit by now."

"They never do. I don't get why adults are like that with kids." Erica grumbled, "Well, that served him right. He should be thankful he can still see other people holding mops or anything else. I used to scratch those who picked on isolated survivors."

She tried liking everybody, but she simply couldn't stomach bullies. They should be better people if they didn't want their butts kicked.

"Oh, I just dress comfy for myself and for Smokey. He used to sleep in the hole on my back, but I don't have it anymore. So we need pockets now." Erica explained, "Oh, I see! Russell always gets in trouble, uh? But I'm glad he's going to be okay."

She scratched at the tip of her ear as she tried to recall anything about the accident Travis had mentioned. "Hey, Willow, how long have we known Russell?"

Willow, of course, provided an answer without hesitation. "Rook met Russell about six years ago. However, the accident in question was never mentioned to me, which might imply she isn't aware of that particular misadventure. It isn't the sort of topic one would so casually discuss with a person they only recently met."

Rook would have definitely brought it up at some point. The topic of Russell's ability to get in dangerous situations and narrowly escaping it had been discussed often over the years and neither had been able to provide an explanation on how he managed to do that.

"And I met him later because I was still figuring stuff out after Willow found a way to reverse my zombieness."

"We were all very busy at the time." Willow said, leaning back, "To think I was only two years old then. Time really does fly outside the matrix."

"You know, we could watch that show together." Erica offered, "It'd be the first time for me!"

Rook stopped to look around while the pocket kept shifting to create a suitable way out of there.

"That would become unbearable quickly. The first thing I did when I learned there was a way to interact with this place was removing the echo." Rook said, "I really didn't have a great time the first time I got stuck in here. It took mum half a day to notice I was missing."

"I only had control over a limited portion of this place. Chick had to keep busy rearranging all my supplies." Veronica added.

But of course, everything had changed when Rook had retrieved one of their lost books from the clutches of the Brotherhood. They finally had access to a powerful tool that made their activities far easier and were a bit closer to unlocking other hunting techniques previously lost to time.

The last few blocks fell into place just as Bill was sent off to enjoy the panoramic view. Veronica figured she would make herself useful while they waited for Rook to tend to her business and shifted her focus to keeping their surroundings stable while they lingered there.

"Alchemy has always been one of our strongest suit. I dare say Erika has a natural talent for it." Veronica said, pride evident in her tone.

Rook wasn't feeling particularly proud of herself, but still managed a small nod. "I'm alright. I see you guys found my pile of gold without the rainbow. Do you want some?"

The coin shined and felt like the real deal. It was made of gold of the highest quality and with both sides decorated with a crude rendition of a bird's foot.

Rook went ahead and dug up a candy scoop she then used to fill a small bag with coins under Lucien's very intrigued gaze. She closed the bag by pulling the strings at the sides, then offered it to Antonio.

"I've got plenty to spare. I really don't mind."

"The one he picked might be worth more than the entire pile, dear."

"Let me splurge, mum. I'm trying to ignore my feelings right now."

Unable to resist to the shiny himself, Lucien quietly took the scoop from her and started filling another bag for himself.

"Oh, please, don't make compliments." Rook said, nudging him with her boot.

"Get off my back. I can make a lovely pendant for Russell with these." The half fae hastily pushed back with his arm, before scooping up a few more coins.

[princessbrunette]

sometimes, pogue!rafe had a funny way of showing pogue!puppy!reader that he cared. if there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was when she was mean to herself.

you’d had a slight meltdown.

it was one of those days, you were overstimulated, irritated, stressed — which in your head was a direct consequence of being sassy and rude, something you prided yourself on never being. in all honesty, rafe had enough on his plate — as impatient and strict as he could be, a little bit of attitude from his girl was the least of his worries.

but to you it was a big deal.

the two of you had come home and you’d been a mess of tears, choking on your saliva, barely able to breathe at the fact you’d been ‘so rude’ to rafe all because of your own bad mood. he was confused, to say the least. standing infront of you wearing that dirty wifebeater after work, face screwed up in concern.

“kid, m’not bothered. stop the crying, alright — it’s— it’s not needed. no one’s mad at you.” he was going to move past you, let you calm yourself down because he figured if you’d been so overstimulated maybe you just needed space and quiet time, but as he goes to do so he hears you hurl an insult — not towards him but yourself.

“i’m bad. i’m stupid and i’m just bad.” you sob, which stops him in his tracks. not on his watch.

that’s how you end up in a mean mating press, letting your big strong boyfriend massage those bad feelings out from the inside. he was mad now, not because of this so called attitude you had, but because you had talked badly on yourself when you knew rafe didn’t approve of that.

you continue to cry, whining and wriggling in his firm grasp as he holds you still. “nah, nah quit runnin’ and repeat what i’m tellin’ you. look at me.” he grips your jaw, forcing you to blink your hazy, sore gaze up at him. “alright — c’mon. say it.” he pants.

“no!” your expression crumbles, more hot tears rolling down your cheeks. you’d feel like a fraud, you tell yourself. you don’t believe the good things he wants you to say about yourself. irritated with this response, his eyes flutter, licking his lips before he grips you, yanking you into a new position. now, your ass is lurched into the ear in doggy style and you stabilising yourself on shaky hands, pushing yourself up to come face to face with the mirror by the bed.

his lips are at your ear now, talking low and mean as he holds your jaw up so that you can’t look away, staring yourself and him down through the reflective glass.

“say it. say you’re my good girl.” he grits through his teeth, cock stretching back through your walls from this new angle making your lashes flutter at the sensation.

“i’m— ohh,” you moan, weak and feeble as you hold your sniffles back. your boyfriend gives your cheek a firm tap to open your eyes back up.

“come on baby, c’mon.”

“i’m your good girl, rafe.” you mewl, the words settling high in your stomach between your ribs, the area where guilt would reside.

as soon as the words leave your mouth, you’re back to lying on your back. this time, he’s holding your thighs up and driving into you— hitting deeper than he was before with a determination you only saw during sex. your lip wobbles as he pants above you, breathless. “yeah. you are. right? don’t— don’t wanna hear you talkin’ all that shit about being bad okay? you’re my good girl. you’re my good girl. you are my good girl.” he repeats, each repetition of the affirmation punctuated by a firm thrust, tip kissing your cervix with a painful pleasure that he knew would stick in your memory — not wanting you to forget what he was telling you.

maybe if he said it enough times, you’d believe it.

[spicyschemmenti]

POWER SHIFT ʚଓ alex cabot x sassy bimbo!fem!reader

alex finally kisses you and confesses she feels something towards you

no warnings??

alex cabot masterlist alex cabot taglist

The message comes at 3:12 p.m. sharp.

My office. Now.

No subject line. No pleasantries. Just three clipped words in Alex’s signature style: cold, professional, and pulsing with barely veiled tension.

You stare at your screen for a moment, letting a slow smile curl your lips.

The office around you hums with its usual sterile rhythm—low murmurs of calls, the rhythmic clack of keyboards, the buzz of fluorescent lights too white to be natural. But under it all is something else now. Something charged. Ever since that dinner.

That definitely-not-a-date.

You haven’t stopped thinking about it. About her.

The quiet command in her voice, the way her eyes lingered on your mouth more than once, the feel of her thumb grazing the corner of your lips. A touch that haunted your skin for hours after. She hasn’t mentioned it since, of course. Classic Alex. But something shifted. She flinches a little slower now when you lean too close. Lets her eyes linger a little longer. You’ve started watching her watching you.

You rise from your desk with a stretch, the motion exaggerated just enough. Your outfit—a tight, white halter top that clings to your curves like second skin and leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, paired with a short pink tweed skirt that barely counts as office-appropriate—elicits a few stares as you walk. The heels don’t help, high and glossy, each click a siren song. Lip gloss: sticky sweet. Intentional.

Bimbo chic. Your armor. Your weapon. And you know exactly what it does to her.

You knock once—out of habit, not necessity—before slipping into Alex’s office without waiting for a response. You never wait.

She’s standing behind her desk when you enter, arms crossed over her chest, posture so perfectly upright it looks painful. Her suit is crisp and dark as ever—deep charcoal instead of black today, paired with a pale silk blouse that does nothing to soften the sharp lines of her silhouette. The top two buttons are undone. Her sleeves are rolled up, revealing toned forearms and a watch that probably cost more than your rent. Her hair is pulled back in a bun, tight and severe, as if she’s afraid even one strand out of place might lead to disaster.

Her eyes meet yours. Cool. Sharp. Unreadable.

But there’s a flicker.

A single, split-second glance down the length of you before her gaze snaps back up, jaw tightening just slightly.

“You wanted me, boss?” you purr, voice all saccharine and sin, as you saunter to the chair in front of her desk and sit without being asked. You cross your legs slowly, deliberately, and let your skirt ride up just enough to make her look away.

Alex doesn’t respond immediately. She exhales instead, like she’s trying to exorcise something.

You glance around her office, letting the silence stretch. It’s cool in here—calm, minimalist, not a single object out of place. Everything feels precise. Controlled. Like her.

“You could’ve just texted me to flirt,” you say lightly, tapping a manicured nail against the arm of the chair. “But I do like the drama.”

Alex finally moves, slowly lowering herself into her chair, her hands steepling in front of her on the desk like she needs a barrier between you. “This is work.”

“Right. That’s why you’re pretending you didn’t stare at my mouth all through dessert.”

A muscle jumps in her cheek.

“I don’t—” She stops herself, blinks once, then says more carefully, “That dinner was... irrelevant.”

You hum, unconvinced. “Sure, boss. Totally irrelevant. Not at all romantic. Not at all intense. Not at all the best brownie I’ve ever had while you stared at me like I was the dessert.”

“Enough,” she says quietly, and the word is sharp, clipped, but there’s no heat in it—only something weary. Desperate. Like she’s tired of holding something back.

You lean forward, elbows on her desk, the neckline of your top dipping scandalously low. Her eyes flick down again—traitorous—and this time she doesn’t bother pretending she wasn’t looking.

“You touched me,” you say, voice softer now. “In the restaurant. You wiped chocolate from my mouth with your thumb. That wasn’t irrelevant, Alex.”

Her name lands between you like a challenge. You never use it. Not here.

Alex looks away, briefly, like the memory has weight. Her fingers tense on the desk.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” she says. “This isn’t a game.”

“No,” you say, voice still soft, still dangerous, “it’s not. But you’ve been playing anyway.”

You can see the war in her eyes—logic against longing, discipline against desire. She’s balancing on the edge, trying so hard to stay neutral, to stay in control. But control only works when the other person isn’t quite so determined to pull you apart.

And you?

You’ve been unraveling her thread by thread.

She stands abruptly, walking around the desk, stopping just beside you. She doesn’t touch you. Not yet. But her presence is magnetic, intense, the air between your bodies humming like a live wire.

She looks down at you, jaw tight, gaze stormy. “You think this is fun. But you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

You smile slowly, all sugar and heat. “Then tell me.”

Her breath hitches. Just slightly.

And then, finally, finally, she reaches out. One hand under your jaw, tilting your chin up—not rough, not gentle either. Just intentional. Her thumb brushes along your cheek, lingering near your mouth like it remembers the way it tasted chocolate there.

Her voice, when it comes, is quiet. Controlled. Deadly.

“This is your last chance to walk away. Because the second I stop pretending... I’m not putting the mask back on.”

And just like that, the air shifts again—sharper, hungrier, and charged with the weight of everything you’ve both refused to say.

Your answer is a whisper. “Then stop pretending.”

There’s a heartbeat—maybe two—where she just stares at you, her fingers still cradling your chin like she’s afraid of what happens next.

Then she moves.

Not fast, not impulsive. Intentional. Controlled. But trembling slightly beneath the surface, like something wild is trying to break free from its cage.

She leans in and kisses you.

It starts precise—because of course it does. Alex kisses the way she does everything else: like she’s thought about it far too long, mapped it out in advance, calculated every angle. Her lips press into yours with restraint, like she’s holding back even as she gives in. But then you kiss her back—and her plan falls apart.

You melt into her like you were made to fit there, lips parting, tongue teasing just the edge of hers, daring her, drawing her deeper. Her control slips with a quiet gasp as your fingers slide into the front of her blouse, gripping the fabric just enough to make her exhale into your mouth.

And then she kisses you again—harder this time. Less careful. Less calculated.

Messy. Honest. Devastating.

You can feel how long she’s wanted this in the way her hand slides behind your neck, anchoring you to her like she’s afraid you’ll disappear. You kiss her like you’re trying to crawl inside her chest and live there, like you’re done teasing and ready to take. Her lips are soft but sure, her mouth tasting of tension and heat and something sweeter—like she’s been craving this since the night of that not-date and finally stopped pretending she could resist.

It’s not like any kiss you’ve had before.

No one’s ever kissed you like this—like you’re not just a game or a trophy or a thrill, but something more. Like you matter in a way neither of you is ready to say out loud yet.

When she finally pulls back, you're both breathless, your gloss smudged on her mouth, your heartbeat hammering like you just ran a mile in stilettos.

Alex stares at you, flushed, lips parted slightly, her hand still holding your face like she doesn't trust herself to let go.

“I...” She hesitates. Her voice cracks the tiniest bit. “I don’t know what this is. But it’s not just nothing.”

You arch an eyebrow, still catching your breath. “Wow. Alex-from-Legal caught feelings? Should I call HR or just start planning the wedding?”

Her mouth twitches—almost a smile. Almost.

But then you drop the teasing, just enough to meet her gaze without the shield of flirtation.

“Hey. I know I joke, but... I felt it too. That night. Tonight. This isn’t just a game to me. Not with you.”

You brush your fingers along her jaw, soft now, reverent.

“I’m not saying I’m about to write your name in hearts with glitter pens or anything, but... I want to see where this goes. If you do.”

Alex doesn’t respond with words.

She just leans in and kisses you again—softer this time. Slower.

And you know exactly what that means.

She’s in. Just as much as you are.

Maybe even more.

taglist: @m-1234-5, @frozengenderfluid, @archetype-d, @gbab09

[alexa-yukiyu]

HEAR ME OUT

Asl + Garp or Whitebeard pirates with a Sassy!(nine year old) reader!

Like, lil Dokucha literally destroys with sarcasm and cynicism, spitting out facts left and right

Cynical Ways Ft Ace and Luffy

A/n Woop woop guess who did in fact for the first time in forever actually did what she planned on doing in the plane and managed to write a fic and a half ✊🏼. I ‘m hoping this one hit cause I had lil trouble understanding the concept of cynicism but hopefully I got it; or at least got close

Reader here is replaced by dokucha which stands for reader in japanese for the enjoyment of both Reader and oc characters readers!

“Oh Goody, he’s back,” Dokucha called from her spot on the branch as she glanced down at her brother, who just gave her a side glance.

“What are you talking about?” Ace grumbled as he lowered his pipe once he was sure the animal below him was down for the count.

“Your favorite old man!” She grinned, letting her body fall from the branch only to hold herself upside down using her legs

“Great,” He grumbled.

“He brought another kid with him,” she added.

“That better be a joke”

“C’mon Ace, don’t be too mean, alright? Maybe the kid will be tough like Sabo.”

Dokucha sighed at her brother’s action; he did in fact not, listen to his sister’s words. The first thing he did the moment the kid had gotten close enough was spit on him, which threw the latter into a small rage, demanding answers from Ace, who simply sat above his recent kill, glaring at the newcomer.

She rolled her eyes at his broody intimidation as she jumped down from her branch, giving the child a small spook.

“Ah, There he is,” Garp piped in, approaching the trio.

“Luffy, this is Ace and Dokucha; they are twins, three years older than you. You will be living with them from now on.”

“Hello,” she teased, approaching Luffy.

“What’s up with him? I’m still waiting for an answer!” he growled, pointing at Ace, who remained on his spot above the animal.

“Your definitely are energetic, and what’s up with the hat?” She mused as she circled Luffy, taking a hold of the item only to blink owlishly as Luffy snatched it back with a Snarl

“Don’t touch it!”

“Protective, aren’t you? Not bad for a squirt. Maybe if you keep it up, you might get somewhere, but yet again, probably not,” she piped up.

“What did you call me?! Do you want to fight?!”

“Out of all I said that’s what bothered you?I I like you, kid,” she grinned, leaning closer to him.

“But I don’t trust people like you; we don’t trust people like you, the ambitious type, I mean. I can already tell you’re way too reckless for your own good.”

“Dokucha, Luffy; behave yourselves,” Garp growled as he gave Luffy a bonk on his head, the latter giving a slight whine in response.

“That’s rich coming from an old man who is on his way to dump a third kid to some bandits. Talk about duty and responsibility,” she shot back, ignoring the way Garped narrowed his eyes at the girl.

“I’m about to show you what duty looks like if you keep it up with your snide remarks, Dokucha,” he called as he gave her the same treatment he had given Luffy seconds before. However, this time, he received a hit in the arm in response to his action.

“Don’t hit her old man!” Ace growled pipe rised up in his direction as he placed himself between Garp and his sister who crouched on the floor holding her head in pain.

“So you want to join too?! That’s alright. I can simply set you all straight with a fist of love.” Garp exclaimed, giving one final Bonk to Ace

Ace tsked, holding his head in pain at the hit, as he watched the old man make his existence after giving them all some of his ‘love.’ Irritated at the interaction, he grabbed the animal he had hunted and stomped his way to the lodge.

“Geez, that really hurt,” Dokucha groaned, rubbing her head.

“Dokucha, let’s go,” he ordered flatly without looking back at her.

“Yes, Yes, don’t get your panties in a twist,” she grumbled, trotting her way behind him but not before towards Luffy one last time.

“Bye, Luffy, we’ll talk again if you’re still alive then,” she called, turning around in time to meet a fuming Dadan at the door of the lodge.

“Where do you brats think you’re going?! Why don’t you scram for the rest of the day?!” She called as she blocked their way.

Not in the mood to deal with a pissed Dadan, Ace threw a glance to his sister, gesturing to deal with the situation; her cynicism always seemed to be what was needed to beat Dadan’s rage.

“That’s fine by us, but know that will mean that we will be taking the hunt with us,” she started gesturing towards the animal that Ace had been dragging.

“It would be a pity having to eat it in the wild, but if you want to spend the rest of the evening trying to catch another animal, be my guest. Maybe if you look hard enough, you will find some insects to get you through the night, seeing as most of the big guys are already tapped out for the day. I do admire your desire to better yourself,” she called, fake amazement dripping from her voice.

Dadan simply glared at her, knowing that the girl was not wrong. Sending her away, though it could save her a headache, would mean the group would go to sleep hungry while the little brats feasted outside.

“Just get inside and stay out of the way!” She huffed out, turning around to head inside, not bothering to give them another glance

“I’m Glad you still have common sense, Miss Dadan,” she replied in a saccharine voice as she and her brother followed after her.

🤭🤭

Taglist:

@Imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

@hannahbarberra162

@epochal-oracle

[e-evangeline]

𝐴𝑛 𝐸𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑅𝑒𝑏𝑖𝑟𝑡ℎ

Tomura Shigaraki x Reader

Part 2, wc: 1k+

Synopsis: “The last thing you were expecting to see tonight was him. Caked in mud and stumbling down your hallway. Tomura Shigaraki. The headstone you’d been visiting and writing your Plath-esque, teenage rage poetry beside at Kamino Graveyard. More importantly, he’s supposed to be dead.”

Warnings: none.

PSA: My ao3 is up! You can find me at @/e_evangeline

To say she was confused would be an understatement.

In all actuality, she believed she’d finally gone insane. She thought that in a moment, she’d blink and the mud on the carpeted entrance way would disappear. It didn’t.

Instead, when she reopened her eyes, there he stood. Dressed in a black trench coat, fitted black trousers, and a strange pair of red loafers? His hair was tussled in all directions from the wind and rain outside, she even thought she could see a small twig stuck in the matted mess. He’d turned his face towards her, looking her in the eye, in a perplexed expression, but one that held a sort of unknown relief.

‘Uh… h-how…’, she broke the silence, struggling to find the words.

‘How are you here? Why are you here? I’m sorry, I…’.

Relieving a small sigh, she muttered to herself, a little ‘okay, what the fuck?’.

Whether he heard her or not she didn’t know, but he stood up straighter and tilted his head to the side like a puppy, lost. Then, a gargled warp of sound seemed to exit his mouth. Along with it, splatters of mud flew past his lips as if she’d told a funny joke and he’d laughed so hard spit came out. If only. He heaved something again. Louder.

‘Okay come here, I’m taking you to the bathroom’. She approached him with wide eyes and arms outreached towards him to take a hold of the sides of his own. At the initial contact he flinched and all but nudged her away with his shoulder.

‘Hey, hey, I’m just trying to help you okay? You look like shit… no offence’ she trailed her eyes over him once more, ‘you must be so cold’.

With that he nodded his head which drew her attention back to his face. His face that was so close to hers. The air in the hallway stilled for a moment as she took notice of his eyes, which were an unnatural red colour. The best way she could have described them was being as dark as a blooded ruby.

‘Let’s warm you up and then uh.. we can figure this out after, okay?’

He nodded again, and moved his right foot in front of himself to follow her up the stairs but stumbled as soon as he tried, falling into the wall. The picture frames rattled as she swerved a little to catch him, one arm around his waist and the other throwing an arm around her shoulder.

As they climbed the stairs (albeit clumsily for a guy who’s just managed to walk again after the odd 150 years or so), he kept glancing towards her as she tried her best to not huff and puff with exhaustion. Just how much did this guy weigh? And …did she have chocolate on her face or something? She hoped not. Curses to her own indulgence!

They reached the bathroom as her legs started to give out and her hip knocked into the edge of the porcelain sink, letting out a tiny squeal in response.

The guy draped over her shoulder let out a grunt and she looked up at his face of slight concern.

‘I’m okay!’, she smiled softly.

She thought she heard a little ‘hmph’ as he turned his face forward to where the shower was. His face settled into that same resting, semi-frown she’d noticed earlier. He seems a little sassy, she thought passively. Cute.

‘Y..y…y/n’ .

Setting him down on the shower floor and kneeling in front of him ‘Yes!’ Ecstatic, ‘Yes, that’s me, you know my name ?’ She asked, but at this point she’d started to realise getting any coherent answer from him was not going to happen tonight. She’d leave all the complex questions for later.

‘I’m going to turn the shower on now, it’s going to be cold, but I’m sure being 6 feet deep was probably worse right?’. She let out a little pathetic laugh that dissipated quickly. He just stared at her with a blank look.

The water came rushing down fast. He let out a gentle gasp. The pressure doused his hair flat against his face and trickled down his trench coat like droplets on a car window, filling up the shower floor in a puddle of brown mush.

She stood up. ‘I’m just going to get you some clothes’, walking to the door she looked back and added, ‘just stay here okay?’.

Her bare feet slapped against the cold wood of the landing as she opened her bedroom door, slamming and pressing her back against it. What was happening?

Her head fell into her hands not knowing how to react. What do you do when the dead dude you’d been developing some Shelley-Esque crush on magically rises from the dead and ends up in your house? How did he even find you? Yeah, there was no Reddit or Quora forum for this. She was truly living through an original experience. Her heart was lightly thudding against her chest with a mix of butterflies and adrenaline. Should she be happy? Should she call the police? Maybe the tarot card, self-proclaimed psychic she met at the mall a couple weeks ago? She was utterly lost. But excited? Yeah, in her own freak-of-nature way, she was. If he was here now, she may as well be a good host!

Fetching a pair of grey shorts she’d stolen from her dad a couple years back and an oversized pink t-shirt (she hoped he liked pink because this was all she had that might fit him) and headed back to the bathroom.

Before she could though, there he was stumbling once again through another door into her room and traipsing water all along the floor.

‘Tomura! I said to stay in the bathroom. Ahh, you’re soaking!’

‘T..too…l-long’ he coughed out.

She replied in a small, snarky tone, ‘ I should be annoyed, you’re being a little rude you know! But at least it’s a good sign you’re already beginning to talk… so I’ll let it slide for now, I guess’. She passed him the clothes, pushing them a little towards him with a look on her face telling him to change out of his soggy clothes.

He began taking his coat off, letting it drop to the floor. Followed by his shirt, then he reached for the belt holding his trousers …

‘Wow, okay s-slow down!’, in a pitch higher than usual.

She was about to turn around when she noticed the gashes on his chest and the hanging flesh on one of his hands. He was alive. But he still had signs of rot. Surprisingly, not as bad as it should have been. She could fix that! But not tonight, too much has happened. So she let him change, now donned in a pair of her old lounge clothes.

‘Much better’ she nodded.

He nodded back, reminding her of a baby chick.

‘Well, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do now, but I’m really fucking tired so… ’, she paused.

‘Here! Lie down, I’m guessing it was probably pretty taboo to sleep next to a woman you weren’t married to back in your day. However, in the 21st century gender is just a social construct!’ She puffed her chest out with a smart add grin.

The skin on Tomura’s cheeks began to dust with a light shade of pink as he looked away with an amused eye roll, sitting down (more so falling down) on her bed.

Following suit, she collapsed beside him, arms spread by her head. The pillow beneath her felt like she was floating on a fluffy cloud and she could feel the sensation of sinking into her mattress against her aching back. Sleep was about to take her any moment, but before that she chanced a final look at the man next to her. His eyes were dry and his lips chapped. He had a small beauty mark below them and near his chin that reminded her of Marie Antoinette. She could feel her body grow warmer. God she was such a creep. More so considering the… peculiar circumstances.

He shifted his own head slightly, now looking into her eyes. Neither of them blinked for a while as they both seemingly tried to make sense of the situation they’d found themselves in tonight.

She broke the eye contact and dipped into the sheets, turning off the side table tiffany lamp.

‘Goodnight, Tomura’ she whispered.

And as she let her eyes close, succumbing to sleep, she silently wished that when she woke up tomorrow. He’d be there, just as she'd captured him in her mind, before the lights went out.

[jobean12-blog]

Play To Win

Pairing: Javier Peña x female reader

Word Count: 2,714

Summary: When you walk into your favorite bar for a regular night of fun, you never expect to meet a man that changes everything.

Author's Note: Honestly, if I met this man in a bar I'd be a goner from the moment I laid on eyes on him...so yep. HAHA! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the sweet @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: lots of fun flirting, banter, tension, a curse or two, Javi is bold and doesn't hold back, reader is sassy herself, thigh riding (bc I love his legs so much)

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

It’s hard to hear over the loud chatter of the crowded bar and when Steve and Javi share a brief look of irritation the third agent sitting at the table, Dan, repeats his question, raising expectant eyebrows at the two other men.

“I asked gentlemen, what’s your type?” 

Steve snorts into his drink. “Type? I like them all.”  

Javi nods in agreement, but still doesn’t answer Dan’s question. He keeps his focus on his drink, pressing his lips to the cool glass to down the rest of the amber liquid.

Dan is undeterred.

“Come on Peña? You must have a type…”

Javi sets his drink down, ready to deliver some cheeky answer to interrupt Dan’s repeated annoyance, when you walk in. His original thought dies on his lips, to be immediately replaced with, “Her. She’s my type.”

He watches as you gracefully weave your way through the crowd, politely excusing yourself to squeeze between the several men who stare. As if sensing Javi’s gaze following you around the bar, your eyes flash in his direction as you pass him by.

It hits him like a punch to the gut.

Steve leans back against the bar and a smirk plays on his lips.

“Guess we have your answer then,” Steve quips.

Dan lets out a low whistle and continues to stare in your direction.

Javi ignores them both and instead follows your progress toward the end of the bar. After warmly greeting the bar tender and offering him a hug you set your things down and weave back the way you came, sidling up on the stool next to Javi.

“So brown eyes. Why don’t you stop staring and buy me a drink? I might dehydrate before you work up the nerve.”

Javi can’t hide the way your boldness affects him and the corner of his mouth twitches with a lopsided smile.

He aimlessly twirls his empty glass between his long fingers and responds with, “Ask nicely, and maybe I’ll think about it.”

You still, your lips pressing together firmly.

“Now where’s the fun in that?” you ask when you turn to face him.

“I’m not really in the mood for fun,” he counters.

“That’s too bad,” you hum. I’m just full of good fun.”

Javi’s clever eyes scan the seedy bar, assessing every access point, escape route and person nearby.

“If you’re looking for fun, I’m not sure this is the right place gorgeous.”

Amusement flashes across your face, at his endearment or his warning he’s not sure.

“You think so?” you ask, crossing your arms and leaning against the bar. “I’ve had a lot of fun in this bar.”

“Is that because you’re all cozy with the bartender?” he asks.

Javi’s eyes drift toward the bartender who is watching your exchange and when Javi looks back to you, you’re smiling widely at him.

“Jealous already?” you purr. “You haven’t even gotten me my drink yet! Should I ask one of your friends instead?”

You glance over his shoulder to see Steve and Dan dip their heads in greeting. You give them a little wave.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you gorgeous.”

“Then maybe you should be a little more friendly.”

“Now where’ the fun in that?”

At having your words thrown back at you, your eyes sparkle and you throw your head back with a laugh. Javi’s eyes travel down the column of your neck, his fingers twitching against his thigh with his need to reach out and feel your soft skin.

“I’ll tell you what…”

“Javier Peña. But you can call me Javi.”

“Javi,” you repeat.

The sound of his name falling from your lips makes his pants tighten around his crotch and he quickly shifts on the stool.

You motion to the opposite wall where an old dart board hangs.

“Let’s play a game of darts. If I win, you buy me a drink. Fair?”

Leaning back and spreading his legs wider, he considers you.

“And if you lose?”

You don’t answer, merely sending him a wink and sliding off the stool to saunter toward the dart board. You collect the darts and wait for him with a crook of your finger.

Not wanting to let you out of his sight he quickly gets up and joins you, taking the darts you hold out and gesturing for you to throw first.

He stands close. Too close. You can feel the heat from his body, smell his spiciness and it’s starting to throw you off.

With a deep inhale you slowly let the breath out and focus on your shot, lining it up before letting the dart sail. It lands just outside the bullseye.

Javi raises an impressed brow and steps into the spot you just vacated, readying his throw.

He lets the dart go and you watch it land just a bit further out from where yours is.

He’s better than you thought.

You throw your next dart and hit the center, smiling sweetly as you step out of the way so he can go.

The next few rounds are all in your favor and just before you’re about to make your final throw and win the game, you say over your shoulder, “you can go ahead and order me a martini. This will be over in a minute.”

For the first time he smiles fully, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and you suck in a little gasp of air at how unbelievably sexy he is.

As he turns to signal for the bartender, you lean forward and take your last shot, sinking the dart into the outer rim of the bullseye circle.

“You’re not bad honey. Wanna play me?”

You spin around at the sound of an unfamiliar voice and take in the man standing in front of you, not hiding your unenthused expression.

Before you can answer, Javi reappears with your drink and slides up next to you.

“She’s busy,” Javi says, handing you the martini. “We were just about to enjoy our drinks.”

His words are smooth and good-natured but you can hear the underlying steel in his tone as he addresses the random guy.

The man looks like he wants to argue but when Javi silently edges around to stand in front of you, he thinks better of it, tossing Javi a disgruntled look before walking away.

“What if I wanted to play with that guy?” you ask as you sip your drink. “He might be a lot of fun.”

“You didn’t want to,” Javi replies. “And no he isn’t.”

You purse your lips. “Like you would know anything about fun.”

He smiles over his drink.

“So are you going to tell me about the bartender?” he asks.

“You’ve got a lot of concerns and questions for a first date.” 

“You call this a date?”

His tone is incredulous.

You meet his gaze head-on, appreciating once again how incredibly handsome he is.

“Since you bought me a drink and I’m planning to kiss you, then yes. I think this qualifies as a date.”

His eyes drop to your mouth and you can’t stop yourself from running your tongue along your lips. If the atmosphere weren’t so loud, you know you’d have heard his groan.

“Sorry, I can’t kiss you.”

As embarrassment starts to heat your skin you finish the rest of your drink, and say, “No kissing, no fun, had to win a drink out of you. I’m starting to forget why I was interested.”

Before you can blink, he slips behind you, crowding you against the edge of the bar and laying his hands on either side, blocking any escape.

When he speaks, you feel every word.

“You think I could stop at kissing?”

A shiver runs down your spine at his tone.

“What else did you have in mind?”

“Do you really want to know?” He asks. “Think very carefully before you give me an answer gorgeous.”

You audibly swallow, breathing out, “Tell me.”

He moves closer, his chest brushing your back, just a tease, but it makes you want to lean into him. His lips hover just above your ear when he murmurs, “I have a lot of things on my mind when it comes to you.”

One hand leaves the bar and he brushes it along your hip and you can’t stop yourself from backing up and pressing into him.

He hums as if satisfied by your need.

“I want to hike that skirt up over your hips and rock you over my thigh until you come apart for me.”

Heat covers your entre body and settles between your legs and you can hear your quick intakes of breath.

“I didn’t say you could touch me.”

You want him to touch you. Everywhere.

“Do you want me to stop?”

One calloused fingertip traces the hem of your skirt, slowly, invitingly.

“No,” you whisper.

“Good. Then come home with me. Let me take you for a ride.”

You try to regain some of your composure, remembering that you barely know this man and he’s talking to you in a way that should feel wrong. Except it doesn’t. You feel coveted. Safe. You know he would never do anything without your clear consent. But still…

You push off the bar and move away from him, already regretting the loss of contact.

“I’m not going home with you.”

You glance over his shoulder at the bartender.

“Are you going home with him?” he asks, growling out the words.

“No,” you say immediately. “We’re just friends. Always have been.

“But I know for fact there are several women here that would love for you to take them home.”

He shook his head once. “I’m not interested in any other women.”

Frowning, you study his expression and find nothing but honesty.

With a jolt of surprise you realize you want to go home with him…to see exactly what it would feel like for him to worship you.

“It’s getting late…I should start heading to the train station.”

He scoffed.

“You’re not taking the train this late. It’s after one in the morning.”

“I’ll be just fine, thank you. I’ve gotten myself home before!”

He studies you for a moment then shrugs. “Fine. I’ll take the train with you, make sure you get to your door safely. Then leave.”

“Why go to all the trouble Javi?”

In a single step he’s in your space, promptly muddling your coherent thoughts with his proximity.

“It’s either that or you let me drive you home gorgeous.”

There’s one part of you that wants to turn on your heel and march out the door but another part of you doesn’t want to say goodnight just yet.

Or ever.

You both stand still, eyeballing each other.

“Fine,” you concede.

He smiles and starts to pull his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. You catch a flash of shiny metal and grab his hand.

“You’re an agent?”

“DEA agent, yes.”

“I should have known,” you smirk.

“Why’s that?” he asks as he drops cash onto the bar.

“You’re not afraid of a challenge and you go for what you want.”

“I know exactly what I want,” he adds as his eyes darken.

He holds out his hand and you take it, letting him tuck you into his side as he give his friends a curt nod and walks you toward the door.  

As he’s reaching for the handle, a young woman dancing nearby twirls herself into Javi and spills most of her fruity drink on his shirt.

The woman’s eyes go wide and she starts to sputter out an apology, quickly lifting her hands to press them to Javi’s chest. Without thinking you move to block her, smiling as sweetly as you can and letting her know you’ll take care of it.

Javi’s lips turn up into a smirk and when your eyes meet he says, “jealous gorgeous?”

“You should talk!” you hiss. “At least no one tried to grope me tonight.”

‘Everyone wanted to though,” he grunts as you grab some napkins and start to pat his shirt dry.

The more you try to dry his shirt the more it sticks to his tan skin, the damp material revealing the hard planes of his chest beneath.

With your bottom lip caught between your teeth you give him one last pat, reluctant to remove your hands.

“I don’t think it’s going to get any better than this. I can give you a shirt when you drop me off?”

The question hangs in the air for a moment before he agrees and takes your hand again.

He pulls up outside your building and cuts the engine, exiting the car to open your door. The ride to your floor is silent but the atmosphere feels charged.

Javi stares straight ahead at the double doors with his jaw flexing and you stare at him so when the elevator dings the sound startles you.

“Your shirt really is soaked,” you state as you walk toward the door.

“And sticky too,” he adds in a huff.

You unlock your apartment and walk through the door, dropping your bag to the floor and kicking off your shoes. You can feel his eyes on you, watching from just inside your door.

The silence between you seems to grow thicker with each passing minute. Anticipation thrums along your skin and when you reappear from your bedroom holding one of your favorite over sized tee shirts you find Javi working on the button of his shirt.

You stop walking and linger in the doorway of your room.

He looks up, distracted by your presence, his fingers fumbling with the buttons. With tentative steps you reach him and push his hands away, slowly unbuttoning finishing the task. Your eyes stay focused on the buttons but his eyes never leave your face.

Warmth spreads through you at the heat and intensity of his gaze.

“Should I get you a towel?” you ask, just as you get to the last few buttons and reveal the dark trail of hair that disappears into his pants.

Your fingers press against his skin, lightly tracing the outline of hair and when you meet his eyes his lips are parted and his hands are fisted at his sides.

“Javi?” you whisper.

“The things I want to do to you…”

You feel defenseless under his heated regard, his sensuality making your resolve and capacity to think clearly slip away.

He moves closer, backing you up until you bump into the wall. His eyelashes lower as his gaze drops to your thighs and his fingers trace the edge of your skirt. He starts to lift the fabric, so slowly you wonder if you’re imagining it but when he looks up, his eyes pleading with a silent request you breathe out his name.

His eyes stay on yours until he has the fabric up and over your hips then you have the satisfaction of watching his jaw loosen and his eyes glaze as they dip to the soft fabric between your legs, damp and sticking to your skin.

With a hiss of approval he lifts one large hand to frame your jaw, tracing his lips along yours before capturing them in a demanding kiss.

He pushes you into the wall, wedging his thick thigh between your legs. Digging desperate hands into his hair, you pull him closer, begging him to deepen the kiss…to move his thigh.

He obliges in both, pressing his muscular thigh higher and tighter against you. The insistent pressure makes you roll your hips, creating friction that’s just right.

“Would you like to come now, gorgeous?”

Your answer is a breathless whine as your head falls back along the wall, exposing your neck. His lips find your throat and he scrapes his teeth gently along your skin, sending a tremble through your body.

“Say please, baby.”

“Please Javi,” you moan.

“Fuck I love hearing my name on your lips.”

You come hard, shaking against him and dragging your fingers down his chest. His mouth covers yours, absorbing your chants of pleasure.

He groans your name, releasing you for air and cursing again when he takes in your blissfully recked expression.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. I can’t wait to see how gorgeous you look coming on my cock.”

@lizette50 @littleseasiren @hiddles-rose @lorilane33 @kmc1989

[jolenes-doppelganger]

ok official riza stavros request! riza x reader in her castle or whatever you want to call it. does it have to be smut? no. preferably

but idk…. i just feel like she has the same kind of sassy vibe as rose the hat. so maybe reader is a mib agent, going to capture riza or something she has (ig you could use the original story from the movie) and then they meet. and riza is a tease, flirt and lowkey a menace. would be kind of fun if she like grabs reader with that third arm, shocking reader.

anyway

🫡🫡🫡🫡

Time of MY Life

Riza’s Stavros x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lonely and caught up in conflict with the Men In Black, Riza finds herself going to desperate degrees to secure companionship. Manipulating the MiB was just the beginning…

Warnings: Contract marriage, mentions of genitalia but no smut

A/N: I tried to make this a smut fic, but I simply couldn’t get the momentum to do that while still making the one shot relatively size-appropriate. It's still cute, fluffy and with room for future one-shot spin offs!

Word Count: 4.7k

Intergalactic armistice between a Tribrachian weapon’s dealer and a long withstanding peace conduit of a remote solar system in the Milky Way should have been a simple, cursory endeavor. Few things were ever simple, or cursory when it came to weapons dealer Riza Stavros. Riza resented the Men in Black, loathed them and carried an eternal animosity that would not be settled by the promise of a ‘better commerce environment’. This wasn’t from previous history, or the tampering of trade in the past. Sure, they’d confiscated weapons, imposed intergalactic tariffs, and even overtly screwed with her business dealings, but that wasn’t why Riza refused to budge. Business was business, there were bound to be a few hiccups here and there. The straw that broke Riza’s arm-sprouting back was one simple negligence. The MIB had fucked with Riza’s love life.

Given the perpetual rivalries between species in the Virgo galaxy cluster, Riza always had business. Weapons were a hot commodity, and she spent every day selling, buying and distributing them wherever weapons were needed, assuming they were well compensated for. Being situated in the Milky Way galaxy had its perks, especially when her main business operation was situated on Earth. A beautiful climate, consistent access to communication lines, trade distribution centers and aliens aplenty kept Riza in a steady hum of both commercial and personal wellness. And if the Men in Black hadn’t removed her from her status as a ‘Red Level Threat’, she’d still be drowning in the luxuries of many, many lovers.

One feature the vast majority of intelligent beings inside the Virgo Cluster shared was the fascination for the ‘bad one’. A certain level of danger, a sultriness that only came from being connected to nothing good, that is what gave Riza her appeal. Eccentric fashion choices aside, three arms, a startlingly sexy accent, and a rough double life had kept her lovers enthralled. But being an Orange Class Threat? What a downgrade. Most aliens were flagged with a ‘yellow’, or minor misdemeanor at least once in their lifetimes. An orange was your average run of the mill criminal, and Riza had spent too long in this business to be considered ‘average.’ 

As the negotiation deals and unanswered calls began to pile up, the Men In Black grew desperate for a solution. They offered increasing levels of leniency in exchange for a simple, upfront answer from Riza regarding her connections to a particularly violent group of Tarantians. She wouldn’t budge. More weapons would be distributed amongst other gangs, each holding their own brand of oppressive disinterest in following the Men in Black’s regulations, and more chaos would ensue. Finally, after six months of no progress through digital means, a representative was sent right to Riza’s door. 

A sweaty, beady eyed agent stood in Riza’s office, seeming to vibrate with anxiety. If it weren’t the pitying sight of such a puny, adrenaline-filled little imp of a man, Riza would’ve killed him before he stepped onto her porch. When she had finally set her eyes on the little agent, she felt… Amused. This was their plan? Personal contact? 

“Eh… Ms… Ms. Stavros. I am here on behalf of the… The Men in Black. I am Agent B.” he choked, appearing to be visibly trembling.

“Relax. You’re an office worker, I can tell. That stun gun isn’t properly attached to your belt.” Riza hummed. “Now, what conditions are you offering?”

The little man seemed to seize up, astonished by her complete disregard for normal pleasantries. Adjusting his spectacles, Agent B pulled out a clipboard from his briefcase, beginning to read the offer. His voice shook as he read, a bead of sweat sliding right along the bridge of his nose, fascinating Riza.

“Following a small meeting with a former organization-designated associate of yours-”

“Just say Henry. Agent Henry.” Riza groaned, massaging her temple.

Agent B looked up, taking a long swallow. He’d tried to be subtle, and yet Riza remained stubbornly dismissive. Riza, for her part, didn’t care. She poured herself a large helping of whisky, not even feigning to offer the agent any.

“Well. Henry said that you were perhaps not upset by the business dealings, but upset with the organization for… Personal histories.” 

Riza rolled her eyes in a long, fluid cascade, her lips pursed and upper lip pulled up in a haughty display of disgust. The little man’s information was correct, she was entirely consumed by the loss of her love life, but it wasn’t the loss of H that had done it. 

“Sure, whatever. We’ll call it a grudge, I have a grudge against the Men in Black.” Riza drawled, taking a slow sip of whiskey in an effort to cool the rising tension in her stomach.

The little man nodded, one of his hands wavering as he turned a page. It would have been too easy for Riza to raise a gun and shoot. Truthfully she didn’t have much respect for humans, aside from how pleasurable they were in bed.

“We have an unconventional proposal for you.”

Riza’s silence was confirmation enough for Agent B to continue.

“Your fascination with human lovers is noted in our database. Following Agent H you dated four human females, all within rapid succession. We offer you… Committed companionship.”

A hoarse wheeze, what would have been a laugh if Riza hadn’t been so startled, clapped the assurance of safety Agent B had been working up to right out of his composure. The rapid trembling started anew, and the sweating, though it had been abating, returned.

“Well, well you see… I have these files… Potential ladies you’d be interested in meeting, to help the, well the stress of this ongoing armistice. I have the file right here.”

Riza slapped the file his trembling hand had been holding out of his grasp, snapping her fingers. Two large ‘yes’ men snagged the agent underneath his shoulders, dragging him out of her fortress. The madness that was Riza’s life had reached a level of abysmality that she couldn’t process. She finished the whiskey in a long gulp, pouring another immediately after re. Halfway into her pity fest, she walked back into her office to snag another bottle of wine, swaying a little from her previous consumption. A good night was about to turn into a better night when she slipped, falling butt first. Her third arm slapped against the ground and atop one of the scattered leaflets to break her fall, leaving her a shaking mess. Looking down and seeing what she’d slipped on, a new inebriated fury came over her. She snatched up the paper her third hand had found, preparing to crumple it.

A pretty human face greeted her, a simple color photo. It gave her pause. Perusing through the various leaflets, she took her time, examining each photo, skimming through the information on the women. Amidst all of the profiles, she saw a brief offer. A marriage contract to any of these women was offered in addition to several dates with all of them, if she was so inclined. It was absurd, blazingly pitiful, but she was lonely and sexually frustrated enough to want it. Especially when she saw the profile still hidden in the folder. Yes. That one. If Riza had a type, the woman in the picture fit it. And her personality description… It was enough to make her toes curl in delight. The flippant disinterest she’d had in the interview questions, the dismissive attitude peeking through her answers…

Riza liked her.

←→

Twenty five hundred thousand dollars in debt. That’s how much you had accumulated by skipping legal repatriation orders to return to Earth. The agent had made your situation clear, it was to be paid in full by the end of the month or legal action would be taken. You were a model, displaying looks for Chanel Galactica every year in rotating shows around the Milky Way. But even if you were a millionaire with galactic currency, the Men in Black was wealthy enough to smash the conversion rate into something abysmal, every one dollar the equivalent to six galactic credits.

“To put it simply, Ms. Radivayon,” Agent N began, using your clan’s name, “You won’t make enough money this month to cover this debt without accepting a secondary offer from the Men in Black.”

A secondary offer, a plea deal. It was common with the Men in Black to seek asylum under special circumstances, and yours was especially, being that you had fled from the Tarantian occupied TRAPPIST-1 system, completely ignoring the usual diplomatic steps of repatriating yourself to Earth. It had been that or… Death by terrorists.

“Alright, I was hoping we could make an agreement.” you smiled, adjusting your collarbones into something more elegant.

It was common to spend time dolling yourself up, and you knew your angles after half a decade in the business. Agent N seemed oblivious to these tactics, however.

“A key diplomatic arrangement with a particularly volatile Tribrachian has been continuously delayed by interpersonal conflicts. To put it simply, Ms. Radivayon, we were hoping with your connections to the TRAPPIST-1 system that you would be willing to fulfill a mission with the Men in Black.” Agent N said, delicately avoiding telling you too much too soon.

“… Which would be?”

“Riza Stavros. Intergalactic weapons dealer.” Agent N said, turning his computer monitor to show you her picture.

Her face was familiar, and you tilted your head, curious. But then you processed the second half of his sentence. Weapon’s dealer, intergalactic. This woman wasn’t just a criminal, but a monster ten times over. She was supplying the terrorists that had attacked your system, and he was… Asking you to do what?

“She likes pretty things,” Agent N gestured to you, “Is easily swayed by them. We would like you to entertain her for a period of weeks, perhaps elevate her mood.”

The look on your face probably singed a few hairs on Agent N’s mustache; the way his face cringed was spectacularly noteworthy. What he was proposing was hardly ethical, and definitely legally dubious, considering prostitution and escorting was widely outlawed across several neighboring star systems, including this one.

“We’ve already made an agreement of sorts with her, you would be handsomely compensated on top of the erasure of your debt.” Agent N said, displaying a currency order of three million dollars, well worth 18 million intergalactic credits.

The money wasn’t convincing enough. You’d been offered similar things in the past, and dating such a volatile individual could put your current and future career opportunities in jeopardy.

“So you’re telling me that you’ve promised, what exactly? That I date her?” you asked, voice rising in pitch.

“Well, this is… Date to marry.”

“Date to what?!”

Again with that insufferable cringe of his mustache. It seemed more of a disdain thing than a fear reaction.

“At least agree to one date, Ms. Radivayon. This is intergalactic peace we’re discussing!”

You stared up at him in absolute shock. You had barely wrapped your head around the idea when he dropped another bomb.

“I’m afraid that if you do not accept this deal, we will be unable to cancel your fine and you will be deported come the end of the month.” 

Blackmail. Of course. You’d heard rumors of shady deals within the MiB, but considering how large its tourism and immigration sector was, you’d written it off as exaggeration. Large organizations didn’t last long if they were shady in other star systems. It appeared you’d been grievously misled.

“Now. We are not going to marry you off right away, Riza might not like you. There is hope yet, so don’t go all moping and wilting dreams on me just yet.” Agent N said in response to your shell-shocked expression. “You are a bright young lady, and we will not allow your career to be impacted in the adjustment periods.”

For as many words as this man routinely used, he said a whole lot of nothing.

“So. When is our first date?” you mumbled, leaning back into your chair with a dull glare.

The man seemed to brighten a little, completely ignoring the apathetic aura that hung over you like a dark cloud. You were screwed, not even just a little, but a lot. And if this Riza Stavros was as bad as she appeared to be, you’d be doing some literal screwing, regardless of how exploitative the dynamic was. Agent N gestured you up, opening a side door in his office. 

“That is up to her.” he said, making a simple gesture towards a figure inside.

Standing tall and proud in a large meeting room stood the most humanoid alien you’d stumbled upon yet. She looked exactly like the picture, her appearance glaringly zany, and over the top, but she had such well placed features that it only made her natural beauty more prominent. If she hadn’t been labeled as a Tribrachian, you would’ve glazed right over her cape and assumed those visible limbs of two arms and two legs summed her up into a human. She turned slowly, conversation dying around her as her blue-gray eyes landed squarely on you, like she’d drawn a target right on your face.

The room was silent. She stepped closer, feet clacking audibly over the concrete floor. Riza wasn’t afraid to get close, stopping six inches away from you, taking a moment to look. You looked at her, noting the faint signs of freckles under what you assumed to be full coverage foundation. Her hair felt too tall for her head, and it might’ve been the straight line of the bangs, but it also could’ve been a wig. She looked human. This close and you couldn’t tell a single difference from a human face to hers. Given how aesthetically pleasing she was, given the appearance she put out, the care she seemed to take in the way she presented herself, it made sense. Riza was desperately, painstakingly trying to appear as familiar and alluring as someone from your own race would be.

“Yes.” Riza sighed out, one of her hands reaching up towards you.

The hand stuttered, suddenly withdrawing. You looked down, trying to see which hand had been the culprit, but the rush of her cape gave it away. Riza had reached out with her third hand, one of the most vulnerable parts of her body, being that it wasn’t attached to the front, where she could see it. The soft crumple of her brow gave away the anxiety that came with such an impulsive gesture. It was… Human. Or intelligent, you supposed.

“Sorry, Ms. Stavros, yes as in…?” Agent N asked.

“Yes, as in I want her.” Riza replied, squaring her shoulders, the faux pas forgotten.

She’d appeared to brush off whatever the brief moment of familiarity had been. But she didn’t look away from you, her eyes remained locked on you, analyzing your expression, gauging whatever personality she could distinguish from the unconscious cues of your body.

“Well, let’s schedule the date-”

“Maybe I was not clear, Agent N,” Riza abruptly turned, the edge of her cape brushing over your heels, “I want her. I want the marriage contract.”

The room went quiet again. Your breath stuttered in your chest, and you fought to maintain your composure, but it was all too sudden, too authoritarian for you to refrain from objection.

“Ms. Stavros, your eagerness is noted, but Ms. Radivayon is to be protected with diplomatic immunity, the period of dating is mandatory.” 

All Riza did was pick up a contract from the table, tearing it right down the middle.

“Then it’s no deal.” she said, much to your immediate relief.

The other men in the room, all dressed in identical black suits converged, quietly discussing with themselves. Agent N turned, taking a fresh contract off of the printer. Time stretched on, and you felt awkward, entirely ignored by everyone, even Riza who made a point of keeping her back turned.

“An exception can be made, with limits. There will be an escape clause for Ms. Radivayon, but a pro bono marriage contract will be permitted.” Agent N cooley said, offering the both of you two crisp contracts.

You stared down, noting the ‘escape clause’ outlined. Only in the case of abuse, violent threats or special circumstances made at the Men in Black’s discretion could this contract end. Nothing about your career, about your freedoms, and to your horror, your signature was already printed. Beneath the line was an asterisk, “The above party has consented by assumption of citizenship.” Assumption of citizenship… Assumption of.. What? It was all too complicated and vague, it was happening too fast…

“Excuse me, but since when was there no ‘I do’ in this equation?” you snapped, voice betraying  the barest twinge of anxiety.

The men in the room looked at one another, each displaying their own subtle signs of discomfort. Riza herself raised a brow, displeased. Agent N’s mustache twitched again.

“Your ‘I do’ is a stipulation of your sanctuary on Earth. Otherwise you will be deported without due process. You are now legally, intergalactically recognized as the lawful spouse of this Ms. Riza Stavros.”

Whatever words of protest you had, the clever, spiteful, colorful phrases you were about to throw at every single one of these agents died. You didn’t have a choice. Without due process you had no way of extending residency on Earth, of seeking political asylum. The intergalactic courts had limited jurisdiction over Earth, and a plea would take… This was simply your only choice, blackmail or otherwise.

Riza had turned, looking at you slyly as she signed the contract in front of her. Agent N took it, nodding at Riza to move forward. She turned, sauntering over towards you with a pleased expression on her face.

“Well. Let’s skip the doom and gloom, come on love.” Riza hummed, extending one of her front hands for you to take.

It was too much for you to process both your arranged marriage and now the expectancy of touch. You clasped your hands together, completely avoiding her eyes. Her hand could shrivel and fall off, you’d never take it anyways. 

“I need to gather my things from the hotel.” 

Your voice sounded as shaky and unsure as you felt. The excuse was weak, she knew it was weak. Riza’s face twitched. It could have been a tell for a thousand different thoughts and emotions, but you didn’t know Riza. Not one bit. But she, for better or worse, held the reins in your union; you were married until she got bored. You prayed it would be sooner than later.

“... You don’t seriously believe you’ll need anything, do you?” Riza’s face crinkled.

The face twitch was a tell of anger, a tell you picked up on too late.

“I understand you’re impatient-” you tried.

“I am. There’s nothing to wait for, no reason to delay.” Riza huffed, crossing her three arms in an almost pretzel-like shape.

Agent N gestured to Riza from behind her back, looking at you imploringly. Everyone was being affected by your delays. 

“You can’t make one allowance for me? Everything I own is in that hotel. I am tempted to make an ultimatum.” you said, glaring up at her sourly.

Riza took a long breath in, her face set into an unblinking mask of consideration. She adjusted her cloak on her shoulders, reaching up to fix her bangs.

“Fine. Can her things be sent for?” Riza asked, pursing her lips.

“Yes. I will have them sent to your ship by the hour.” Agent N said, opening the door and departing.

The agents frantically shuffled out, leaving you alone with this perfect, dangerous stranger. The room grew awkward. You didn’t make conversation, both out of spite and sheer incompetence. What do you say to a weapons dealer that’s more or less bought your hand in marriage? Could you say anything casual, or even mildly conversational without growing sarcastic or cynical? Probably not. She must have felt that same barrier, because she just stared. Her blue eyes looked almost inhumanly piercing when they were framed in the dark kohl. It made the very action of opening your mouth to speak impossible. There was a five pound bag of sand atop your tongue, and it filled your throat with grainy substrate until the very act of breathing felt like defiance. 

“This isn’t the ideal way to meet the person you’re supposed to be married to.” Riza drawled, examining her nails.

You let out a deep breath, letting out a tired laugh. She seemed moderately pleased with the reaction, stepping closer.

“No it’s not.”

Once again she sighed, making a motion for you to follow her as she made her way out of the door.

“Come on.” Riza tiredly gestured, hardly sparing a backwards glance.

←→

Riza lived in paradise. A beautiful island, tropical weather and enough employees to keep her fortress supplied with all of the necessities a girl could wish for. But since yesterday you hadn’t seen her. The marriage contract had been signed, you’d taken a residential air ship out to her island… And then she’d disappeared into her office. You were left to unpack your things, to fill a small section of the master bedroom you were to share with Riza. That was the only direction she’d given, to make yourself at home. Underneath a palm tree, sipping a mojito… It was as good as it was going to get for you. Riza’s voice broke the silence before her presence did.

“... Yes, I know. We had an agreement, I was to ship those blasters out last Wednesday, but supply is low, and I have to find new channels for weapons distributions. I’m in an arrangement with MiB and the Intergalactic councils… Well that’s not my fault is it?” Riza drawled, slipping beside you on the padded swingset without sparing a glance.

Her third arm snaked around your middle, pulling you close without even hinting at a request to do so. Her argument with her client had ripped whatever sense of relaxation from you, and the continued argument, the touching, the lack of boundaries was enough for you to start seeing red.

“No, I don’t do contracts by word of mouth. No. I said no. I’m forwarding you to my secretary.” Riza finished, hanging up her phone and dropping it a moment later. 

The tribrachian gave a long, exhaustive sigh, slumping back into the cushions of the swingset. She finally turned to look at you, a pleased hum rumbling from her chest. The glare you were giving her didn’t seem to phase her one bit, merely giving a sympathetic frown in response.

“I know. I’ve been neglecting my little wife because of work.” Riza cooed, entirely assumptive regarding your feelings. “I’m here now. I promise we’ll be able to get in some time for a proper honeymoon in a month or two.”

Honeymoon. You almost gagged. Riza outright laughed at your disgust, curling closer to you instead of pulling away.

“You’re my wife, dear. Not my slave. I know it’s early yet to be having intimacies.” Riza said, taking a sneaky whiff of your hair. “And yet I’m quite impatient. You’ve been on my mind since I got the booklet.”

The booklet? Had the MiB given her a catalogue, some sort of ‘mail order bride’ in exchange for her cooperation with diplomatic relations? The thought felt both nauseating and ironic. She’d had a choice, so much so that you’d been her first choice. And yet what were you but a pawn? Choosing between death or arranged marriage.

“Darling, we are going to have the time of our lives here pretty soon.” Riza promised, trying and failing to counter your resistance against her caresses.

“The time of your life.” you snapped, abandoning your mojito in the hopes of slipping out of her unwanted clutches.

Riza let out a plaintative groan, something distinctly childish, spoiled. 

“Come on, I just sat down!” 

She followed you through the garden, making repetitive swipes at your arms until you were practically running from her. Birds cawed and screeched in alarm as you took a detour through a large cluster of foliage, navigating the bark dust in flimsy house shoes. She caught up quickly, practically outpacing you even with the various tree branches smacking at her face. Her arms encircled you, a growl of victory against your ear when a tree root caught your ankle, sending you careening into a patch of fancy azaleas. Riza’s desperate grasp, the unbalanced attempt to stop your running brought her crashing down with you, crumpled in a heap of fancy azaleas.

Her elbow, met your ribs, your skull her chin, and your leg her crotch. The two of you were left groaning, tangled in each other’s limbs as the world spun. Riza was the first to move, gently untangling her arms from you until she could rest on her side. Your head had smacked against a stone paver. Not hard enough to be concussive, but hard enough to hurt. 

“Bitch. I hit my head.” you whined, trying to slip out of her arms.

“Yeah? You kneed my crotch. Asshole.” Riza wheezed, face scrunched up in immense pain.

You wanted to laugh, to find vindication at her complaint, but a part of you paused. There was something about the Tribrachian species, an old joke you’d heard about their culture. ‘Even if the men have strong arms,  the women have bigger dicks to compensate.’ It had been vulgar, a bit weird and what you assumed to be a metaphor. But now…

“You don’t have anything… Delicate down there, do you?” 

Riza stared up at you in pained anguish, letting out a laugh that turned into a moan of pain.

“Just… The family jewels.” she gasped, her third arm wrapped protectively around what you assumed to be her pubic bone.

It wasn’t a rumor, not at all. Tribrachian woman had… Penises. Full on appendages dangling between their legs. Riza’s breathing only got more labored, and she rolled you onto your side, slumping against you.

“Get… Get off!” you groaned, trying to push her off with no success.

Your head hurt like a bitch, and putting pressure on it lying on your side was making it worse.

“Stop, stop. Let me…” Riza groaned, finally adjusting her pelvis until your knee wasn’t poking into it. 

An arm slipped beneath your neck, elevating your head. The pressure went away, replaced with only dull throbbing. The fight had left you, all that remained was exhaustion and a bit of pain.

“You hit your head?” Riza broke the silence, carefully bringing her third hand down, stroking over the tender spot.

Her voice was so low, genuinely concerned instead of performative. You met her eyes, looking beyond the dark kohl, beyond the strange hair… Riza was quite pretty. As pretty as the first glance, but now you were recognizing it again.

“Yeah.” 

Riza gently pulled you closer, making herself comfortable in the patch of trampled flowers.

“I’m not as shallow as you think I am.” Riza began, gently tapping your nose. “I have an eye for beauty, for beautiful things, but I was given a choice between twenty beautiful humans. I liked the way you stare at the camera, like you’re challenging it.”

Every word spoken seemed to bring her lips closer, her eyes tender, but hungry. It filled you with a spike of excitement, seeing her so focused on you. The attention was flattering, at the very least.

“Your attitude is….” Riza began, breaking off into a flustered chuckle, leaning in until your foreheads were a few inches apart. “Don’t let me scare you away, okay pumpkin?”

You rolled your eyes, picking up on her desire for closeness. One gentle tilt of your head was all it took for Riza to finally kiss you, lips meeting in a tender, searching smooch. 

“You gonna let me up now?” you whispered against her lips, opening her eyes to catch her staring softly. “Absolutely not.” she snorted, bringing you to straddle her lap as those three arms wrapped tighter around you. “I’m having the time of my life.”

[mothiepixie]

If I may, and if you haven’t answered it yet, how do all the boys react to Mottie being/getting sick?

Absolutely!! I hope you enjoy

Sans:

He knows something is off immediately; Maybe he hasn't gotten a call or a text like he's used to that day. He tries to think nothing of it but usually before noon he gets at least a text. He sends a quick meme that he knows would have her key smashing a reply, but he gets nothing. He lets it be and just figured she's busy, but when half the day has gone by that's when he decides to give a call.

The moment he hears her voice, he grimaces at how coarse it sounds. “geez, have you been chewing glass?” And he knows it's bad when she doesn't retort and just hears a quiet sigh.

“yeah, i agree.. not one of my best jokes… hang on, kiddo.” He doesn't give time for Motti to think and hangs up. He'll show up at her house with a bag full of soup and such. He's nonchalant about the hold thing, but he's pretty worried. He doesn't like that she barely responds.

He stays late making sure she's okay.

Boysen:

Their world isn't soft when it comes to caring for others. Boysen has different ways of showing affection, and only will get better in the later years that doesn't have to do with showering in gifts. And so, when Motti first gets sick he is concerned but he's also unsure what to do. He is a bit of a germaphobe and human sickness is always something that disgusts him.

So, there he stands at Motti's side; he has gloves on, clear up to his elbows, an apron while holding a tray of soup, juices and medicine. Through his mask, he tells her sternly that she's to finish it all and to shower after and he'll wash her clothes. She'll thank him and he just says “Don't thank me, just quit being diseased.”

Big Red:

He doesn't realize right away that Motti is sick, but when she blatantly tells him, he inwardly panics. He's reliving trauma from his younger years of when he,or Papyrus, was ill, and they had to hide it. Staying locked away or pretending they weren't weak in fear of someone coming for them at their worst.

He doesn't know how to react other than telling her she can't leave their house and to stay out of sight. It confuses her, and freaks her out a little, and Red gets more angry at himself for frightening her.

He barks at her to relax and obviously she can't now. So in frustration, he asks what she needs and he'll get it. He doesn't know how to take care of her needs since monster illnesses are different from humans, and he hates how he feels helpless.

Although there isn't much for him to do but watch her sniffle and hack her lungs out, he sulks and gets frustrated when she tries to do anything herself. “ya dont gotta get up, damn it! i'm right here!” And will grumble all the way to the kitchen.

Farmer:

It's nearly the crack of dawn when he gets a call from Motti. She can barely get a word out without going into a coughing fit. He hears her sniffling, but he cannot tell if it's because of her stuffy nose or she's crying.

“I'm so sorry, but can I ask you to take care of my animals for me?”

The cracking of her voice breaks his heart. “you never have to ask, peaches.”

He has the majority of her chores done before the sun even rises. Of course, Papyrus helped as well since he was already up, but he pushed Sans to go check on her frequently.

Homemade soup was brought over frequently and Farmer tells her about how sassy Creampuff has been since Motti has been bedridden. Farmer is a master at playing it cool, but when he goes home he lies in his bed worried about her. He doesn't like that she's alone and ill. He thinks about changing that.

Dream:

He senses it and will come to check on her. Although he's never been sick himself, he has felt it through millions of lives and knows just how miserable Motti is.

He is the best at taking care of her because he will know when the symptoms get worse or come back before she does. She'll wake up and he will be there with a glass of water and medicine, urging her to take it before her previous medicine fully wears off. She doesn't have to ask, seek or express her needs and Dream is there with whatever she requires.

With him being there also improves her mood and makes her feel better faster.

Cross:

He fumbles around the most when he realizes she is sick. “Oh whoa, okay. Let's get you to bed, yeah???” but he's quick to make sure she's taken care of. He feels a bit awkward and not sure what she needs so he looks up what's best for humans. But he also realizes humans can die (that's his fault for looking at webmd)

But he'll make chicken soup from scratch, and feed it to her. He doesn't like how miserable she sounds and he will pull her into his lap to let her rest against his chest. He doesn't know how else to help but feed her and comfort her. He's not a big fan of feeling helpless and secretly panicking that she has some terminal illness disguised as a cold.

Ink:

Unfortunately he doesn't really take care of Motti. He will hang around her and keep her company, maybe grab a few things for her here and there, but he's more interested in distracting her. If he drinks one of his vials, then the worry sets in and he comforts her.

Nightmare:

He will feed off her misery and surprisingly that makes her get well faster? Forces the others to take care of her though and gets agitated if they buffoon around. Ends up doing himself and snippily if anyone points it out.

[ozzgin]

Could I perhaps request something with Guriko from Worst? Maybe foreigner S/O that makes him work for her number or attention? I just need a sassy girl who doesn’t put up with his shit lol

Oof, I was trying to avoid Guriko at all costs. Not because I don’t like him or anything, but I was faced with the dilemma of whether I should stick to the 8-girlfriend-harem or whip him into monogamy. Would he still be the true Guriko, then? That’s the trouble. But the way you worded it, I’m tempted to go for the latter. Additionally, if it’s alright with you, I’ll be using this as the opportunity to do even more character headcanons. Hence the delay. ^^"

WORST Characters x Reader (II)

Featuring Hanaki Guriko, Kurosawa Kazumitsu, Nara Akira, Higuchi Shuuji and a new-in-town Reader who grabs their attention.

Come get your delinquent boy content! I included photos for those who don't know the characters. (Once again my attempt to advertise old school manga because there's not enough of us out there)

Content: female reader, foreigner reader, Japanese delinquents, everyone is 18+

Hanaki Guriko

Uh oh. Whatever Eriko-chan was complaining about is no longer registered by Guriko's ears. He's holding the phone away from his ear, frozen in place. Are his eyes deceiving him, or is a cute foreigner sitting by herself just a few steps ahead? Without a word he hangs up and shoves the device in his pocket. Sorry, Eriko-chan, he can't miss this chance of a lifetime. He approaches you with a predatory smirk and questions with furrowed brows how a hottie like you ended up alone. You glare at him with a bored expression and assure him you can speak Japanese just fine. Even better. He slides next to you and introduces himself, reaching for a handshake. "(Y/N)." Is all you respond. "A pretty name for a pretty girl, eh?" He retorts, smugly. "You know...Not to intrude or anything, but I might've been more impressed with your flirting if I didn't just hear you talking on the phone with a girl, calling her 'baby'." Ah. Damn it.

"And? What did you tell her?" Kurosawa is leaning against the wall, holding the cigarette between his lips. Naturally, he was the first to hear about Guriko's complaints. To whom else could he have whined? His girlfriends? "I tried to explain it's my little cousin." He pouts a little, then continues. "She started laughing and said next time she won't forget her clown nose." Kurosawa chuckles at the image and gives his friend a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "That's what you get for trying to pull this shit on a foreigner." The man, however, straightens his back and crosses his arms, with a glint of determination in his eyes. "Nah. I still have a chance. She said 'next time', didn't she?" The strongest man in town isn't about to shy away from a challenge when it arises. Once he has his eyes on something, giving up is no longer part of the vocabulary. He'll win you over one way or another.

...Even if it means paying for it dearly. "C-can you repeat that, please?" He mumbles in a sheepish voice, turning pale. As luck would have it, you happen to live on the same street as the Umehoshi Household. Which made it easier for him to find you again, but it also means you've been briefed on his situation by the Suzuran boys that were eager to get their revenge for his scummy behavior. "I think you heard me just fine, you shameless horndog. If you insist on dating, you can't keep your harem of girlfriends." You stipulate with a scowl. He closes his eyes, weighing the options. You are hot, and he does like your attitude. Is it worth ditching everyone else for it? After a moment of contemplation, he shakes his head solemnly. "Alright. I'll break up with them right now as you watch. But that makes us official. Deal?"

You're wondering if this was to your advantage, after all. Against your expectations, Guriko is a very involved and caring boyfriend; having all those girlfriends before you certainly paid off, as he knows exactly how to spoil you and can read you frustratingly well. On the other hand...you're not sure if you can get used to the reputation. True to his word, he has made it very clear you're his girlfriend and so it's not uncommon for you to bump into someone and have them beg for forgiveness, muttering something about being the Demon's woman. "What exactly have you done to have people this terrified of you?" you ask, baffled, during one of your dates. "Didn't I tell you?" he states proudly, throwing an arm over your shoulders. "I'm the strongest around! Only the best of the best for Miss (Y/N)." You blush at the words, but before you can open your mouth he adds: "Also, can I come over to your place tonight? I don't want to spoil the fun, but I got you something to wear for me~" Nevermind. You ruffle his hair with a groan. "I should put a collar on you, like the dog in heat you are." You conclude.

Kurosawa Kazumitsu

Christ, what the hell is he doing? Kurosawa is pacing back and forth, taking another drag on his cigarette. Earlier this week Guriko approached him with an idiotic grin on his face, begging for a favor. One of his girls had befriended a foreigner and they didn't want her to be the third wheel. Somehow he was conned into some sort of a double date with a complete stranger. He whips out his phone and is about to text the bastard he changed his mind, but it's too late. He hears that annoying voice calling him: "Yo, Kurosar~" and then, to someone else: "That's the guy. He looks scary, but he's just an awkward loner, heheheh". Kurosawa turns around, opening his mouth to bark a proper comeback, though he is quickly silenced once his eyes meet yours. He did not expect to instantly fall for you.

The fact that you're good-looking obviously makes matters even worse. He's not much of a talker to begin with, and now he feels like someone just gave him an uppercut straight into the jaw and twirled his brain into mush. "So, you went to Suzuran?" You ask politely, sitting next to him at the table. "Y-yeah?" he mutters, dumbfounded. Why the hell did he phrase it like a question!? His heart is threatening to burst out of his chest and he's twisting and turning the chopsticks in an attempt to calm down. It doesn't help that Guriko is in his own little world right now, baby talking to his girlfriend like the two of you are invisible. Maybe he should spare you the disturbing view. "I'm going out for a smoke. Wanna join?" He finally manages to state with some regained confidence. Outside he can exhale in relief. "Sorry, I don't like groups that much." He explains, and you nod in agreement. Would Guriko even notice if the two of you were to sneak away? Worth a try.

And so he finds himself walking you through town and lastly back to your place. It's only common sense to take your date back home safely. Right? He can only guess, as he's never been in this situation before. "Well, it was nice hanging out with you." He says as he turns away. He can definitely imagine your delight to be done with this overall awkward, spontaneous date with a shady looking guy like him. "That's all?" You inquire, raising your eyebrows. He freezes. Did he forget something? He faces you with a confused expression. "What, don't tell me you want to exchange numbers or something." You stare at him expectantly. Oh.

Kurosawa is the typical cool and laid-back boyfriend. Compared to the other delinquents, he prefers to keep to himself, so most of his free time will be spent with you. He's also rather stoic and prefers to listen to you talk. He's not too expressive and tends to show his affection through physical gestures rather than words, like hugging you from behind or giving you a quick kiss on the forehead. Surprisingly, he can be quite jealous and if he sees someone trying to flirt with you he won't even bother to give any warnings, he'll knock them out and proceed with his day as if nothing happened.

Nara Akira

"Cool bike." Akira doesn't immediately respond to the comment behind him, doing a final check on the engine. Probably some curious brat anyways, so he just mumbles a thank you. Finally he gets up, wipes his hands and turns around. Once he realizes who spoke to him, he nearly chokes. Oh, God. He's had a dream or two involving girls, but none dared to venture as far as a cute foreigner suddenly hitting him up. "Uh...Are you okay?" You ask, raising your eyebrows in mild worry. He realizes he's been staring like an idiot, with his mouth wide open. "Yeah, sorry about that." He fumbles to reply. Fuck. How the hell do you talk to women? He scratches his now burning cheek, trying to come up with something else to say. Thankfully you spare him the torment and casually follow up with questions about his custom motorcycle and printed leather jacket. He answers with way too many details, trying to drag it on for long enough to figure out a way to ask for your number.

Not as smooth as he would've preferred (he ended up stuttering it right before you left), nonetheless his first ever female contact outside his mom and relatives is now in his possession. He returns to the junkyard and greets the others with a lazy sway of the arm, whistling. "What's with that shit eating grin?" One of the Armament guys inquires. "Oh, nothing, nothing. Sorry for being late." Akira answers casually. "Late for what? We're not doing anything", the other man retorts, incredulous. "It's just, you know, I would've arrived sooner if it wasn't for this girl complimenting my bike..." he finally makes his point, smoothening his hair. The place goes quiet and even Shougo has to walk out of the shed, not believing his ears. "What did you say?" He retells the story like an apostle before his followers, omitting his anxiety and pitiful attempts.

Although all the bragging will have been in vain if nothing else comes out of it. So after a lot of coaching and teamwork (the rest of the bikers are just as invested now) he manages to type out a message to ask you out on a date. He sends the text with the sombreness of a president signing off a historical document before the masses (the guys don't believe he can pull it off). Shortly afterwards they all gaze at the affirmative response peppered with cute emojis, mesmerized. Is this what it's like to talk to a girl?

Akira is a little clumsy when it comes to romance, even though he has the best intentions at heart. He's not the most chiseled and often forgets you're with him when some other guy is looking for trouble. Even among the Front of Armament he has a reputation for being reckless and violent. Thankfully, he is not without help. Occasionally he will surprise you with unexpectedly thoughtful gestures; Takumi has taken it upon himself to discipline your boyfriend. All you need is a little bit of patience. In his mind, Akira doesn't have the looks nor the brains, he's just strong. Thus his only way of proving his worth to you is by fighting other people.

Just a funny interaction I thought of: During the war with E.M.O.D., Akira becomes somewhat fidgety and nervous and eventually asks you if you find Muneharu to be handsome. You cross your arms and frown. "If there's one thing I hate in this world, it's guys that are popular with chicks. Makes me wanna vomit." You argue with a grimace. Akira has to look away and cover his burning face. That's...that's his catchphrase. Is it too early to look for a ring? Because he's officially decided you're the one.

Higuchi Shuuji

The men throw Hana a doubtful look. "Oi, are you sure about this...? We're not going on a holiday. We're about to fight the Manji Empire!" Mitsumasa finally words out everyone's worry. The Suzuran senior laughs and pulls the hood over your head. "It's fine, it's fine! No one can tell it's a girl. And if they find out, I'll take care of it." You smile nervously and ask again if it really is okay to join them. You were curious to see the supposedly strongest gang in Japan, but you don't want to be a burden. "Do what you want, I don't care either way." Is what Amachi concludes, walking ahead. Muneharu quietly observes the ongoing argument. To be quite honest with himself, there's only one thing bothering him presently: how the hell did these guys befriend a cute foreigner girl?

You sheepishly follow after the team and into the building. This is where the matches should take place in order to settle the conflict between all the parties. Soon enough it's Amachi's turn to fight, and a man with cornrows and patterned shirt steps forward. He barks something about fairness, that he's not going to fight an injured man (pointing at Amachi's bandaged face). Then, he swiftly proceeds to smash his own head against a pillar and you gasp in shock. That's one way to make it equal, you think to yourself. "That's Higuchi Shuuji, leader of the Zento group." Sera whispers in your ear, seeing your surprise. "Has a hot temper apparently." You nod. That's...a mild description. Despite the bleeding forehead he joins the fight, completely unbothered. Although it quickly becomes obvious the brief contact with concrete is taking a toll on his body. The fight doesn't last long, and Amachi returns to your group, victorious. Feeling bad for the fellow, you sneak towards the passed out Manji leader and splash some water over his face, offering to bandage his wounds.

Once it's time to depart, Higuchi glances at you, suddenly remembering to mention: "Thanks for the help, by the way. You one of their lackeys?" He inquires, given you didn't take part in the matches and just sat aside. You turn towards Hana and he nods with a smile. "Guess there's no point in hiding it anymore", he says and you promptly lower the hood of your jacket. "I'm (Y/N). Not exactly a lackey, just a friend." The Manji guys stare for a long moment, speechless. Higuchi suddenly groans, irritated and red faced, and runs a hand over his head. "Fuck! Y'all bring a fucking girl over and let me embarrass myself like that?! And a pretty one too...Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you all right now." He moans, exasperated. No way. Is he still out of it? Did he mess up his head for good? Out of all the times...you had to see him lose like that. He feels like strangling someone. "I...uh...I'm sorry?" your begin, but you're unsure what exactly to apologize for. "Give me a minute" he announces, abruptly pulling you after him at a safe distance from the rest of the confused group.

“What did the weirdo want?” Mitsumasa asks, eyeing you suspiciously on the train back to Toarushi. You wave your hand in dismissal, trying to hide the faint blush dusting your cheeks. You’d rather not have this kind of conversation on public transport, and besides, how would you explain that one of the Manji leaders had quite literally asked you out on the spot, and you just went along with it? They’ll find out either way at some point. Maybe due to your sudden frequent trips to Tokyo, or because Higuchi’s yakuza-like appearance gathers the attention of the delinquents in your small town.

Your relationship most certainly won’t go unnoticed. Not with his short fuse and obvious jealousy. He’s the type that’ll immediately start a fight if he thinks the bloke passing by stared at you. “What the hell? Were you looking at my girlfriend? You must have a death wish, motherfucker”, he’ll warn loudly. You often have to keep his attitude in check, pulling him back and scolding him to stop threatening people. He’ll naturally do his best to listen, but he does love your assertiveness and it’s hard to focus when you’re being this cute. Alright, alright, he'll try to be less aggressive (It lasts a day).

Bonus scenario I had in my head after writing this: The Manji leaders sitting at a table and discussing the next potential gang war, until one of them notices Higuchi's phone wallpaper. "What the hell is that?" he can't help but blurt it out in disbelief. "Oh, (Y/N) wanted to try out a new cat café and they took this photo of us. Comes with hearts and shit, but eh. It's nice" he explains, indifferent to the grimace of the guys piled up to gaze at the cute themed, cat-eared picture.

[buzzcutlip]

congrats on 100 maggie that’s amazing!! 🎉🫶🏻

could I request carmy with a single!mom reader and they’re still kinda fresh in their relationship and with both of their busy schedules it’s hard to have any alone time and whenever they’re trying to have privacy for adult fun time it keeps being interrupted by reader’s little one bc reader’s daughter loves carmy and they’re both going crazy but also love becoming a new lil family. I just keep thinking about how carmy would be with a little kid and how he’d take over the role of a stepdad-dad 😩

Thank you! :)

I would like to say that I love kids and I worked in childcare for years. However, I'm not much into kid fics - rarely read them and never wrote one! Your prompt got me thinking so I'm sharing my head canons about stepdad!Carmy (explicit stuff behind the cut!)

You're so scared to tell Carmy you're a mom because you've started having real feelings; it's not just fooling around anymore. When you finally share that you've got a little girl, you're sick to your stomach with nerves, worried about the possibility of being rejected or ridiculed. But Carmy surprises you—pleasantly—by not freaking out at all. He nods and asks a couple of basic questions: "How old is she? Who's looking after her when you two are together? What's her favorite Disney movie?"

Carmy does freak out—once he's at home. He barely sleeps that night, thinking of all the ways the "wrong" in him or with him could rub off on the little girl once they meet. Because he's a messed-up grown-up who has no clue how to behave.

You can't keep putting off Carmen meeting your daughter after four months of dating. You can't, and you don't want to. It takes a bit of effort before Carmen opens up about his difficult childhood and messed-up family. You assure him that it's not going to affect your daughter and promise him that you absolutely believe he's a good person.

Your little one is almost four, and she's independent, sassy, and loving, so she probably understands Carmy's hesitation and worries better than you do—without Carmen ever needing to say a word. She knows he's a chef—a cook—so she takes his hand and shows him her own wooden kids' kitchen. Carmy's eyes are huge and glassy when he looks up at you, and you hold back your own tears.

The first time you witness Carmy and your daughter cooking together (not in the kids' kitchen), your heart almost stops. You know how sacred the kitchen—any kitchen—is for him, as well as the whole process of meal prepping. They're just baking cookies, from what you can see over Carmy's broad back, flour everywhere, and he uses the softest voice on her: "You make a ball from the dough, that's right. Well done, chef," and "You got it, darling," and "Good job, good girl," followed by a high-five, your daughter giggling, clearly proud of herself.

That night, you ask Carmy to stay - the first time while your daugher is at home too - and he agrees, with a soft smile and a chaste kiss to your temple. You're a bit apprehensive about having sex, anxious about your little one overhearing something or waking up in the middle of it, but at the end it's you who asks Carmen for it. You beg him with your eyes, your hands and mouth, and who's he to say 'no'? The day had been emotional and the remaints of it hang between you as he fucks you on your back, staring into your soul, reaching there with his cock too. You're kinda trying to hurry up, Carmy thrusting into you with sharp movements that make you gasp out puffs of air between the two of you. He leans in to whisper into your ear "You're taking it so well, you would take my load so well, would you want another baby, hm?" His words surprise you and make you so hot that you come with a startle the next second.

Fuck, Carmy Berzzato wants a kid with you?

[obislittleone]

The Winner Takes It All

Episode 11

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Tribute(OC)!Reader

Chapter Warnings: more death, more canon typical violence, literally this one is so sad idk what else to say (sassy and protective finnick from the capitol)

Chapter Summary: The numbers are dwindling down, and allies are falling from every side of the competition. Meanwhile, Finnick is struggling with the Capitol citizens.

Word Count: 5.4k

i launched my fashion brand yesterday at an event, not that anyone cares lmaooo (if you do care please follow @houseofaven on instagram!!!)

“It’s the girl, right?”  Finnick didn’t really know what to say. She’d cornered him with nothing he could say. Should he even say anything at all? Or just remain silent? Turns out, even if he doesn’t say a word, this recent victor has a way of showing him just how much she already knows. 

You’d cried, and cried some more. You cried your heart out and felt like you’d reached the limit of spent tears for the rest of your life. Of course, you didn’t necessarily think your life would last too much longer, now. There were six tributes remaining, and you were positive that everyone else in the arena was more worthy of the win. You’d probably be the next to go. 

You’d finally fallen asleep, arms wrapped tightly around the person who’d been the first to hold you since it happened. Rodey stayed still, his arms around you in a comforting grip, one hand smoothing over the unruly strands of your hair. It had originally been in a complicated and neat braid, but after a few days of running and hiking and falling into water, it didn’t look quite as good as it probably did originally. 

Lukas sat and watched with pity, his best friend who seemingly was stronger than any trial she faced, having to be comforted so deeply by someone she barely knew. But he understood, Rodey had a fancy for her, and was happy to see that it held up in her time of need. He hoped that the extent of his fast feelings would go further than to just comfort you, though. 

“I don’t get it. Copelin and Freeda died, too. She didn’t shed a tear…” Rodey whispered, only loud enough for Lukas to hear. Rodey was supposed to be sleeping, too. He was supposed to take the next watch before the morning, which would be yours, but he couldn’t stop the thoughts from swirling in his mind. He didn’t ever think that his hunger games tribute crush would amount to anything, because it literally could not. But here he was, letting her cling to him as if she were wet clothes on his back. 

“She feels guilty for Lyra,” he explained. He knew your heart, and the things you put yourself through sometimes on the account of other people. You’d been bullied as a kid for your stutter, and somehow you’d thought it was actually your fault. You were the one with a speech impediment, they wouldn’t be making fun of you if you didn’t have it. That mentality shook him to his core many times in his life. It’s why he’d struck up that first conversation, all those years ago. To try and know you, to understand that there was a person behind the botched up sentences. 

“It wasn’t her fault.”

“I know. It’s just how she thinks.”

“She has to know that it could’ve been any of us, right? It’s not like Lyra sacrificed herself…” Rodey didn’t seem to be getting the point in Lukas’ words. Didn’t seem to understand that you didn’t feel guilty about the snake. 

“That’s not it,” Lukas sat forward, his eyes raking over your slowly breathing form before shaking his head a bit. “She feels guilty that after the venom started, she couldn’t stop it.” 

“She tried. Lyra didn’t want her to.”

“Yeah.”

Rodey was still confused. You weren’t responsible for the girl’s death in any way, so why, when you’d shown her extreme mercy, did you find fault in yourself? You should be proud that you didn’t let her suffer, that you didn’t cause her more pain and anguish in the last moments she had left. 

“The snake bit Lyra, but Mercedes let the venom kill her.”

And then Rodey understood. He sat in silence for a second before prying just a bit, only since she wasn’t awake to hear.

“How long have you known her?” He asked, his brow furrowed from curiosity.

“Nine years, maybe ten. It’s been a while, we met as kids.” 

And in those nine, maybe ten years, he’d learned more about you than any other person possibly could. In those years, during the trials of not only childhood, but nearing adulthood, where he’d become in tune to your emotions, he almost felt them with you. He was the greatest friend you’d ever known, and he loved you as such. 

“I won’t ever understand how you spent that much of your life with her, and never fell in love,” he said jokingly, only, it was partly true. He’d been thinking about it since that first conversation about you in the cave. 

“I think I did, once. When we were fourteen, she had a crush on this one guy… total douchebag, by the way,” Lukas laughed, thinking back to that time. You’d been head over heels for a boy simply because he spoke to you. He didn’t treat you well, but he did interact with you, which was a rare sight to see outside of Lukas himself. “She asked me how to impress him, what other guys like, stupid stuff like that.”

“And did you tell her?” 

“Of course I did. I wanted to help her,” he paused again, looking over at you and remembering those feelings, now long gone and replaced with a friendly love for you. “She tried on this one dress she had, thinking maybe he’d notice her more. She started spinning around her room and acting like some sorta crazed wind turbine.”

Rodey laughed, too. He could picture you, your sweet smile and wonderful personality showing through as you spun around in your favorite sundress. He imagined it was a light blue, or maybe a sea foam green with white lace around the edges. Either way, you were probably beautiful in it. It’s a shame he’ll never see you wear one.

“I just sat on her bed and watched her. I thought then that maybe we’d grow up and I’d marry her or something… but then we got older and she started arguing with me about things I didn’t even realize needed an argument.”

“So she’s a fighter after all,” Rodey replied, slightly surprised by the change in tune. It didn’t seem possible, because you seemed all too gentle natured to argue with anyone. 

“Not really, I usually won every argument. The point is, I loved her too much as a friend to even take a chance, and after a while, I guess those feelings wore off.”

The boy across from him nodded, careful not to wake you up. He tried to shift in place, but wouldn’t dare move any further if he felt you stirring. 

There were a few moments of silence before Rodey started back in. 

“Truth be told, I think she’s the first person I’ve ever met that I’ve felt this way for. The girls in my district are these beautiful, amazing creatures that are practically skilled from the time they exit the womb… the thing is, career girls don’t exactly have a finity for career boys until they become victors. Makes it kind of hard for us to even try.”

“You’re kidding,” now it was Lukas’ turn to be shocked. A tall, handsome, dashing boy like Rodey never received any female attention from his district? Now, that was something to hear. He almost didn’t believe it. 

“I’m absolutely serious. They think we’re stupid and brutish and whatever else,” he rolled his eyes, circling back to his last comment. “Now, I mostly agree with them… but even still.”

“It’s like they can sense they’re smarter than us,” Lukas joked, squinting his eyes towards you, fast asleep in Rodey’s arms. 

“The girl I came here with, Estelle… She's just about as stoic as they come. She’s here to win, and honestly, I just hope someone else takes her out before we have to.”

“You’d want her dead before us?” Lukas was taken a bit off guard, but wasn’t too surprised by his statement. Estelle seemed like a hardass, and he had no intention of trying to fight her. He knew he’d lose. He didn’t want you to be in that position, either. 

Rodey shrugged, his face indifferent to the girl he’d mentioned. 

“She’s not my ally anymore. She left me and the rest of the careers, why should I want her to outlast you?”

“I don’t know. Just curious, I guess.”

Rodey felt that maybe Lukas didn’t believe the extent of his affection for you. Maybe he was having a hard time believing such things could be true so fast. He wanted- no, needed to convince him.

“Listen, I know I haven’t known her long, but I do have feelings for her. I’m willing to prove it if I have to.”

Lukas didn’t want to argue with this boy. He was the best shot you and him had at staying alive another day. As long as you stayed together, you’d be the strongest alliance. You didn’t know what the other three tributes were up to, but Lukas felt that by now, Estelle and Brock from eleven had teamed up, leaving one last lonesome tribute on her own. The girl from three. 

“I asked you this already but you couldn’t answer me… are you willing to die for her?” 

Rodey smiled, looking down at you. He was a skilled tribute, and he felt he’d lived a great life thus far… but he didn’t want to watch you die in this arena just so he could make it out. Maybe you were just making him soft, but he felt that he could now answer Lukas’ question now, with great confidence. 

“I don’t think I’m getting out of here… but she might. I’d rather make it easier for her.”

Lukas didn’t know what he was expecting, but hearing it from his own lips, that he was willing to die in your place… he had quickly given respect to him as a tribute, as a fighter who would continue to labor not for himself but for her to escape. A career volunteers to win… but if he wins what then? Does he just forget about the girl he’d fallen so quickly for? How she would die so he could live? He didn’t even like thinking about it, so he put an end to it.

Lukas let this resonate with him. The boy was serious, and it seemed as though he understood that with dwindling numbers, the chances of him being next were sinking in. 

“I know I said not to tell her that you… you know,” Lukas trailed, but having regrouped his words, he started on again, his permission coming about. “But maybe you should.”

“Really?” Rodey looked at him skeptically.

“Yeah, I mean… guys haven’t ever paid her any attention. I think she’d wanna know if one finally did.”

Rodey was thankful. Not because he earned your best friend’s permission to tell you about his feelings, but because he’d earned his respect. 

It didn’t take him long after that to fall asleep with you, leaving Lukas to take watch until it was his turn. 

-

Finnick was practically pulling his hair out. These two idiots had no idea what they were doing, everytime they romanticized you, or made you out to be this ethereal being that they couldn’t help but look to for your beauty. He’d been back in the Elite Capitol Lounge, the winner’s circle, if you will… but he felt like the biggest loser there ever was. Everything he did to get you out of this arena, and now that he was almost certain you would make it, the talk of you escalated. 

Capitol men thirsted for a taste of you, longed to be near and beside you, or worse, inside you. He thought he’d been upset when he first heard the two comments of those men earlier. Now he was fuming, hearing things far nastier and without a filter. The men didn’t care that he was your mentor, or that he was hearing the perverse things they said. They said them without remorse, planning to empty their pocketbooks out onto the table to ensure your survival, just to have a taste of you. Finnick felt like throwing up several times in the night, but now his anger took him over. 

He wished he could just send a petty sponsor to Lukas, just so he could write a note that said ‘STOP TALKING ABOUT MERCEDES!’ in bold letters. He had no idea what to do, now. If you came home, and this terror was all that awaited you, he would not be able to sleep at night for the rest of his life. He would be the mentor that was selfish enough to promise himself a victor, at the cost of your physical and mental wellbeing. 

Rodey was just a kid. Lukas was just a kid. They had no idea what was happening right now, and how could they? Those boys were doing all they could to stay alive in the arena, and also doing their best to care for you. Rodey had saved you from the panther, and Lukas saved you from drowning. Today, they comforted you during the loss of an ally you felt you betrayed. They were doing everything he wishes he could do for you, and yet, he still finds reason to be angry with them. 

He listens to Rodey’s confession, that he would die for you, and an echoed response of a filthy tongued man in the room, not far from him. 

“I would die for her, too. Only if she rides me till I’m gone,” he says smugly, his tone is one of a joke, and it earns the laughter of whoever is stupid enough to be standing close by 

Finnick can’t take it anymore, and acts impulsively. He raises the glass in his hand, throwing it as hard as he can into the wall across from him, barely missing several people by doing so. His face is red and hot, and he knows he’ll explode and kill that guy if he doesn’t leave. 

He steps down to the couch his white-knit sweater rested on and grabs it, quickly rushing his walk towards the door, not even realizing he was being followed out. 

“Hey!” an aggressive shout of the elder mentor was heard behind him, and he stopped before hitting the street, turning around. Haymitch Abernathy, not quite as drunk as he usually is, even though both his tributes are dead already. “Call me crazy, but I don’t think that scene was warranted.”

FInnick scoffed, shaking his head and getting ready to walk away again. 

“I really don’t need this right now,” his hand wiped over his face, the sweat from his palm making his face a bit cooler when the wind hit against it. He needed to cool down, because he was so close to blowing up. 

“You’ve got no reason to be this upset, right now. Both your tributes are alive, and barely a scratch on em’.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, alright?” Finnick shot back, not quite sure why his feet remain still when he’d rather be back at his and Mags’ apartment, where he can stew in his misery without the looming threat of eyes constantly watching. 

“Try me,” Haymitch held his arms out, willing the younger man to explain what his outburst was all about. 

Finnick had told other victors about this before, but only because he suspected they had gone through it, too. Both Cashmere and Gloss from one had been given the same punishment as him, and for years, he’d felt they understood him. A stunningly gorgeous model of a victor from eight had also been cornered by Snow. He didn’t want to suggest Haymitch was undesirable, but being from twelve, Haymitch had started with a disadvantage, he was never a favorite of the Capitol. It was in these times, during the games themselves, in which a tribute gained popularity and status that would far outlast the final boom of the cannon.

“Do you know about Snow’s favors?” Finnick came closer to the man, and Haymitch, as clueless as he’d been before, started putting together the pieces. He might be a drunkard, but he’s for certain not an idiot.

“I’ve heard some things,” he spoke more evenly now, his sympathy growing the more he realized this wasn’t just a pathetic temper tantrum from the Capitol’s darling. “Mostly just talk, ‘bout assisting folks in the Capitol…”

“Do you know what gets you there?” 

“I can’t say that I do,” he admitted, swallowing his pride for a moment and hearing Finnick's explanation. 

The younger man directed his eyes back towards the building, where despite the broken glass still being brushed away, the party ensued with great joy and probably more whispers of how much they would like to ruin you. 

“That, in there. The things they’re saying about Mercedes, the way they think she’s some sort of object that they can use when they want to. She hasn’t even made it out of that arena yet, and they’re already making plans, getting their payments ready.”

Haymitch couldn’t even say another word. He looked to the younger man, scanning his features for what he believed to be actual concern. Something he hasn’t seen on Finnick for his tributes since… well, ever. 

The need to find out more dissipates completely as Finnick’s face heats up from his small rant. 

“Tell me again how that ‘scene’ was unwarranted.”

And with that, Finnick walked away.

-

The next morning, Johanna cornered Finnick in the lounge, handing him one of the many drinks they had been serving around. Does anyone in this place do anything else except for drink and gossip? 

“Try not to chuck that one against the wall.”

“Ha,” his sarcasm laced through his tone, but he had been grateful for the drink. 

“I’ve been counting the times you leave the couch,” she started, sitting near him, her attitude seemingly much more angry than how she had been before. “Three times. Except one of those doesn’t count, because you only stood up to get closer to the screen.”

“Today might be the last day,” he shrugged, throwing back almost all the liquor from his glass. He hated being completely sober in times of immense anxiety. 

“So then what about yesterday? Or maybe the day before?” 

He ducked his head, the screen not of any use to him while it showed the girl from district three, building some sort of contraption whilst Caesar Flickerman narrated. They all suspected it was a sort of protection device, one she could set up and not have to worry about defending herself. 

“You said it yourself, the odds are in my favor. It’s never been like this before.”

“So, who’s your pick?” 

“Excuse me?” 

She was leaning on the backrest when he turned his head to meet her stare.

“It’s the girl, right?” 

Finnick didn’t really know what to say. She’d cornered him with nothing he could say. Should he even say anything at all? Or just remain silent?

Turns out, even if he doesn’t say a word, this recent victor has a way of showing him just how much she already knows. 

“I get it. She’s kind, smart, beautiful,” she taunted, though Finnick hated hearing those words repeated to him, knowing just how much trouble it’s causing her, or will cause her. “And she helped Lyra.”

Finally, a change of subject. Lyra was a year behind Johanna. She was a friend of hers in school. A tragic loss that she chooses to cope with by gossiping among other victors, making them as uncomfortable as she constantly feels.

“I’m sorry about your tributes,” he spoke solemnly, giving her an apologetic glance. 

“I knew they weren’t going to make it.”

“Even still.”

His eyes turned back to the screen when Caesar started narrating your morning routine, waking up and eating whatever was left from yesterday’s catch. You’d also taken an apple from the small stash to keep up your energy. Smart girl. 

He watched Rodey approach you, sitting down beside your little patch against the nearest tree. Finnick knew what conversation was about to play out, and honestly, he didn’t much care to watch it… except for there had been a surprise turn of events that he wasn’t expecting.

-

You’d woken up earlier than you anticipated, and snorted a laugh when you realized that the boys had both been asleep. You weren’t sure which one was supposed to keep watch, but you’d say they did a stupendous job. You went about the early morning, the dawn of the day being a quiet reminder that yet another day had passed, and you were still here. You weren’t going to win, but already you’d made it further than you had originally planned for. Part of you thought you were going to die in the bloodbath, unwilling to kill someone else for the sake of your own life. But your allies had your back, and they still do. 

You would have died three times, had it not been for the help they had given you. You could have drowned, mauled to death, or eaten alive. Lukas, Rodey, and Lyra. They all saved you, and now one of them is gone… and it’s your fault.

You had to try not to dwell on it. You’d cried all your tears out, and today was about staying alive, not mourning those who could not. 

You didn’t eat for several hours, you wanted to wait till the boys woke up to see how you were going to be splitting and saving the rations. 

Lukas was the first to wake, having gotten a longer sleep than Rodey, still clinging to one of the backpacks you’d slipped into his arms in your place. He was a sweet boy. He was lethal, a killer of three other tributes, but still, a sweet boy. Tributes don’t have the luxury of being one or the other. Everyone in this arena has to acknowledge that, one time or another. Rodey doesn’t let it sink into his skin, though. He tried to remain happy, humorous, never taking himself too seriously. He and Lukas had gotten on better than anyone else could have expected. Lukas was a non-career tribute, but he still volunteered. That has to command the respect of the other careers, right? Except Freeda and Copelin picked on him, and Estelle straight up hated him. All for his connection to you, but even still. 

Lukas wasn’t taken seriously as a contender until the day he was scored. You still have no idea what he did to earn that perfect twelve. You had thought you’d performed as average, but the game makers thought otherwise. Your strength and skill, matched with your wit and pure imagination… That's what won you those numbers.

You thought to yourself more, wondering if you’d ever get another chance to ask those things of Lukas, or if your time was nearly up. 

You’d made peace with your death before you even entered the arena. You even tried to look for it. Now, you treasured every last second you had, waiting blissfully unaware of when the last moment would pass. 

When Rodey finally woke up, you all centered yourselves in the middle of the cornucopia, a makeshift breakfast being passed around. Leftover fish, and some of the plant food the others had scouted. You took an apple from the sack of supplies, almost gone for how little there was to begin with. You were lucky enough to have exclusive access to the cornucopia. If you hadn’t been the primary users, you felt you may have died to other causes than just being attacked, or in your strange case, drowning. 

You walked out of the centerpiece of the arena, wanting to sit under a large canopy of tree branches. As much as you detested this place, you could not help but admit, it was beautiful. You’d never seen a rainforest before. Never seen a forest before. You had lots of plant life on four, but it was mostly tropical, palm trees, common gorse, beach grass, and even seaweed that washed up nearly every morning. You missed those things. The little things that you regretted you wouldn’t see again, mostly because you took them for granted before. They had been so mundane, so ordinary, you didn’t think there was anything to miss about them.

You’d nearly finished your apple when Rodey came to sit beside you, his back against one of the trees beside your little patch on the ground. 

“M-morning to ya,” you smiled, another bite of your apple gone the next second. 

“Morning…” He seemed nervous, and tense… and awkward. He’d acted so different before, you hoped this wasn’t about bad news. “Can I talk to you?”

“Of c-course,” you replied, trying to remain genuine, though you feared what he might say to you… was the time drawing near that the tributes were going to turn on each other? Was he asking if it was okay to kill you if he had to? Maybe you should just listen to the poor kid, and stop jumping to conclusions.

“I know this might be sudden, and I know that I don’t really have any reason to be telling you this,” he chuckled under his breath, his hand reaching up to scratch his neck. 

What on earth is this about?

He seemed stuck, but you didn’t want to interrupt, so as you most of the time did, you just sat quietly, waiting for him to speak. 

“I think I might have feelings f-”

A wild scream caught both of your attention, and you turned your head to face it the second you heard. The girl from three, anger written on her face, charged towards you, causing an immediate panic. You and Rodey jumped from your sitting position, and he reached into his cargo pants pocket for his knife, holding it out. 

She’d gotten too close for you both to just back away, so you stood your ground to fight, willing to do what you needed if it was absolutely necessary. She seemed to be wielding a sort of contraption, strapped to her arm as she charged. It looked like some sort of slingshot, a tiny kunai knife inserted at the center, but you didn’t even have another second to process as she stepped towards you first. You had your knife in hand as well, raising it up in hopes of intimidation. You couldn’t kill her, but she didn’t know that… or maybe she did, because she didn’t stop. 

You were about to turn heel before Rodey stepped in front of you, his knife hitting straight through her chest. He stumbled back a bit, and you came before him to kneel down, checking to make sure the girl was completely dead. The cannon sounded momentarily after, which confirmed it for you, but when you looked down at her wrist contraption, you saw that the kunai knife was gone. 

“Mercy…” His voice was grave, and it scared you before you even turned around. 

“Rodey,” you stood back up, rushing over to him before he could collapse. His hand held his ribs, where the Kunai knife had deeply pierced through, probably into his lung. 

He sunk down against you, his breath hollow as you lowered him to the ground. 

“Lukas!” You screamed over your shoulder towards the cornucopia, hoping he would understand your great need and come quickly. 

“Mercy,” Rodey tried to speak again, a sense of urgency in his eyes. He was dying, he could feel it. “Look at me.”

“Y-you’re fine, Lukas is g-gonna help me carry y-you back, and we’ll fix y-you up.”

“No,” he smiled, he had the audacity to smile. “Just hold me here, keep looking at me.”

His voice wasn’t even solid anymore. 

“Don’t do that, y-you’re fine… Lukas!” You nearly broke your vocal chords trying to get him to hear you. In the distance you could hear him running, but he had been too far away to begin with. Your eyes welled up with tears, and your free hand tried to hold the blood from escaping his body, but the knife had gone too deep, and there was no chance of anything clotting in time. His lungs would fill up with blood in seconds, and he would die choking on it, if the intense bloodloss didn’t kill him first.

“Don’t cry,” he took your hand from his ribs, moving the red stained appendage and placing it on the side of his face instead. “Just keep looking at me.”

“I can’t, I h-have to get you help.”

“No, I don’t want help. I wanna die looking at you,” he admitted, the confession breaking your heart. Another tribute, dead under your hands. Another ally, succumbing to defeat while you stood watch, helpless to even try and save them. He didn’t want to be saved. He wanted this to be it. This was a far better death anyways. He saved you. He took the hit. He didn’t have to outlast you and watch you die, or watch your best friend die and see your pain from it. He gets to go out now, knowing he saved your life and that you had two less people to kill. 

“Why?” You cried out, shaking your head as the tears rolled fresh and freely. You didn’t understand it. You’d come to terms with your death, too… but you couldn’t understand him. He was a career, someone with a chance to win it all. But he sacrificed himself to save you.

“Because you’re pretty,” he said as though it were completely obvious. Everyone had made clear the past week how beautiful you were, but you felt you didn’t deserve the praise, Not because you felt ugly or comparable, but because you never prided yourself on it. You never looked in the mirror and felt superior by it, nor did you think it made you better than anyone else… So then why? Why did they praise your beauty? 

You think you found understanding when you looked down to him again, Lukas’ footsteps closing in behind you. You saw on his face the gratification he got just from looking into your eyes. The way you looked inspired a feeling in him that transformed into more, and you felt it, too. The attraction, the connection, the feelings. You’d drawn him in with your beauty, but he stayed for everything else about you. He could have taken off with Estelle that first day, but he stayed. He could have ditched you both when you decided to take Lyra as an ally, but he didn’t. He should have let you die in his place just now, but he saved you instead. That was the power of your beauty, unharnessed, untamed, and unforgiving. 

Your eyes became blurry with tears, and you could no longer see his face clearly, but the second the cannon sounded, you closed your eyes completely. Lyra may not have been completely your fault, but this certainly was, and his blood was covering your hands. 

“What happened?” Lukas asked, his breath harsh and unsteady as he came over your shoulder to see the scene in front of him. He knelt down, examining Rodey, having fully heard the cannon that already sounded. “Who did this?”

You couldn’t say a word, you just pointed to the girl from three. She laid dead on the ground, Rodey’s knife in her chest, right where her heart stopped beating. 

Lukas tried to pull you away, to try and gather what sense of sanity you had left, but you kept hitting his hands away, screaming and crying at him to let you go. You didn’t care that without the third member of your alliance, you were now more vulnerable. Probably the weakest in combat left in the arena. You kept clinging to Rodey’s body, holding on and unwilling to leave him yet. He’s your ally, and he didn’t ever leave you behind.

“We have to go,” he finally managed to drag you, under your arms, kicking and screaming. The scene that had been caused would alert the other tributes that they only had two more enemies to deal with. 

-

Those watching in the capitol were teary eyed, but not genuinely. To them, it was as though their favorite character just lost her beloved, never to see him again… and it made for great dramatic effect, and they loved it. 

Cashmere, one of the district one mentors, was sitting by herself in a corner, with the only other person who actually cared to be alone while watching these games right now. Finnick watched the scene play out, and it caused him great upset, not just for his tribute, but for the woman beside him. She still had a tribute left, but the care for that one seemed almost secondary. Finnick was almost certain that Rodey had been her prized tribute. The one she would have wanted to win above anything else. 

-

tags(open): @thepassionatereader @i-voluntears @secretsicanthideanymore @mystargirl-interlude @c4ttheart @lilibrn

[hyuuukais]

.・゜-: ✧ :- FICTIONAL REALITY .・゜-: ✧ :-

pairing • bang chan x fem reader

synopsis • fiction or reality? y/n preferred the former, escaping into another world, escaping her problems. so what happens when reality takes that away from her; wiping her own story-in-progress off both her laptop and beloved usb? and what happens when she opens the door in the middle of a crisis to none other then the love interest of her novel... and he's holding her usb?

warnings • general, y/n is lowkey scared of storms

MASTERLIST | NEXT

CHAPTER ONE • REALITY CHECK (1.4K)

Living in a small town meant knowing everyone, and everyone being known for something. For Mrs. Yang down the street, it was her sassy attitude at the ripe age of 85 made you forget she wasn't a young lady anymore (her words). Or the Hans on the other side of town, always having something going on in that little house of theirs. At this point, they were considered daily entertainment for their neighbours or whoever else they ran into that day.

For Y/N, it was being a bit of a recluse.

Holed up for days on end doing God knows what, only leaving to go to work at the little bookshop on Main Street. People wondered what you got up to in your big house, much too big for just one person. Did you ever get lonely? Did it ever feel like too much? How in the world did someone so young manage to buy such a property?

Having lived in the town for just over a year, and working at the bookstore for a few months less, one would think you'd have made at least one friend.

Wrong.

Of course, you had regulars you'd chat with, or people around town to share a casual conversation, but no one to really hang out with. You didn't mind. All it meant was more free time to work on your novel.

Tonight, in particular, you didn't mind. Outside was dark, rain pouring and hitting your windows harshly. Thunder booms, and lightning blows up the sky. It was a wonder anyone still had power. Tornadoes weren't common to this town, but it was still a worry for you, occasionally glancing uneasily out of the window directly behind your desk.

Hunched over your laptop and typing furiously, you only flinch slightly at the next thunderclap, too invested in your own writing to pay attention to the outside world. What was out there right now that you couldn't conjure up yourself?

(...maybe a social life).

It was getting late, and knowing that you'd have to succumb to sleep soon, you save the latest draft onto your trusty USB. Like yourself, the USB had been through some shit, any design originally on it wiped clean, leaving a plain, scuffed-up silver body. Dangling off of it was a small keychain with your address written on it, just in case.

As if the universe saw you click save deciding, alright, we're in the clear, the house went dark.

"Good timing," You mutter, swiveling your chair around and preparing to get up.

Shoving your feet into some plush faux-fur slippers, you turn around to grab a long-forgotten coffee cup, illuminating the desk with your phone's light.

"Wait-" You pause, hand outstretched. "Did my laptop die? Really?"

You groan, throwing your face into the palm of your hand. Last time you checked, the battery was nearly full, and you intended to keep it that way in case sleep escaped you. It was also just a weird coincidence; your laptop dying at the same time the power went out?

Just... pure coincidence, right?

Right.

The pounding against the house draws your attention away from the mystery, shrugging it off. Creaks sound as you walk down the long hallway, toward the master bedroom. Having an old house meant being unable to walk quietly; you knew this all too well.

Hand against the wall, you feel for the doorknob to the room. Despite owning the house, it never truly felt like yours, and you still struggled with the concept of having your own bedroom again after-

"Stop that," you scold herself. "Don't think about that right now. You've done so well today."

You sigh wearily, crossing the floor and flopping onto your bed, sinking slightly into the mattress. The lightning grew more frequent, and although you lay in the comfort of your blankets, warm and safe from the outside world, unease settles in your stomach. Eventually, you struggle to sleep, but only to be plagued by visions of the past.

•

You woke in a cold sweat. Your blankets were thrown off halfway to the floor, and you gripped a pillow so tight you didn't know how it was still intact.

A headache formed under your brow bone, eliciting a groan. Carefully, you stand, taking a deep breath before moving out of the bedroom. Your morning ritual was more or less the same every day; it started with tea, a book, and feeding the stray cat that lived in the forest nearby. However, today felt off, even more so when you look into the home office to see your laptop open to the login screen.

"Didn't you die last night?" You question the air, heart pounding in your ears as you approach the seemingly haunted laptop.

But there it was- battery fully charged.

"There's no way..." You log in, face going pale.

The screen was blank.

All your files gone.

Your novel gone.

"No, no, no, no!" You shout, hands raking through your hair. "This cannot be fucking happening!"

You click everything you can, but to no avail. Nothing worked. Tears brim at the corners of your eyes. This was the second time losing your work, barely making it through the first time. But back then, you were only halfway through. Now?

All you needed was your perfect ending.

Trying to keep calm, you remember- you always keep a backup on your USB. The one that's supposed to be in your laptop. The one that's missing when you look down.

"Are you joking?" You barely choke the words out.

Panic was starting to overtake you, arms numb, chest tight, fingers gripping the edge of your desk. Calm and collected was no longer an option; you needed to find that USB and you needed to find it now. Papers flew as you ripped your desk apart in a frantic search, drawers open, stationary everywhere.

A knock on your door, barely heard over your own heavy breathing, ripped you away from your thoughts. It was only now you could see your destruction. You can't help but laugh, picturing your future self groaning at you now for making her have to clean up this mess.

You jog downstairs, ready to tell whoever it is they caught you at a bad time, but when you open the door, you're rendered speechless. Why? Because standing in front of you is a man who looks exactly like the main love interest of your novel and-

What the fuck?

"Hey!" The man holds his hand up. "Sorry to bug, but I found this while cleaning up last night. I always see you with your laptop, so I figured it was pretty important to return asap."

He holds his palm out to you, and sitting in the center is your missing USB.

"How did you..." You grab it from him hesitantly, confusion written all over your face.

"I gotta get going to open, see you around?" With his final words, he smiles and waves goodbye, descending the front steps before you can reply.

Baffled, you shut the door, trying to process what just happened.

"How is that possible- that's literally not possible," you speak to yourself, voice barely above a whisper. "He's... no way? Nuh-uh. I have to be dreaming."

But you're not- after hours of your master plan to fall back asleep and wake up in the real world fails, you finally accept it. Somehow there's a man walking around town you've never noticed before who's exactly like the love interest you created (right down to the Australian accent!) and somehow he acquired your USB during the night and-

Wait.

"The USB!" You nearly shout, covering your mouth.

You rush into the other room where you're laptop sits in sleep mode. After clicking a few buttons, it turns back on, and you're quick to plug your usb in. Anticipation runs through your veins as the folder pops up.

"No," you breath, defeated, shoulders sagging. There's a document, but it's not your novel.

Although it's not what you're looking for, the document piques your interest. It's labeled "OPEN ME!" and you, being you, click on it. Yeah, it could have been a virus, or just something gross, but hey. After everything? How could you resist? The document loads, showing a mostly blank page save for one sentence in the middle;

"CALL HIM! XXX-XXX-XXXX."

And when you open your phone, he's already in your contacts.

"Cafe guy?"

•▪︎•▪︎•

notes • first chapter 🙊 i can't wait to write & share more of this story !!!!!!!! :)

taglist • @yongbbokkie

TAGLIST CLOSED

[mythicalmagical-monkeyman]

Fic Title: "It's me bozo-"

Hallo, I come bearing Greenwings duo content because i love them @murkystarlight

Summary:

Logan uses Lute as a middleman to get Mateo to help with homework

Additional Tags:

Logan Chan has DID - Dissociative Identity Disorder, Lute is one of Logan's alters. Lute and Mateo are buddies. Homework, Slice of Life. two bros just hanging out. Logan and Cooper are mentioned. Bilingual Character(s). no beta we die like Mateo's math grades. Lute's pronouns: she/her/he/him

Logan is tossing down his bag onto the chair across from him before Mateo can even begin to register that it’s Logan of all people that has joined him in the library. 

Mateo looks up from his comic and squints as Logan sits down. He was usually still skeptical when he and Logan hung out one on one. 

“Qué pasa, amigo?” Mateo hears Logan rasp out like he’s purposely making his voice sound more nasally. For a second Mateo’s caught off guard by the voice; and Logan's much more stiff demeanor as he cracks his neck like he’s ready to throw hands with the first person who unfortunately pisses him off. 

“What?” Mateo finds himself questioning only for Logan to roll his eyes at the response. 

“It’s me bozo,” Logan responds as he reaches forward to snag Mateo’s pencil right out from in between his fingers. 

“Hey-!” Mateo makes a grab for his pencil but Logan’s already back in his chair and graffitiing the table between them with the graphite.   

Mateo stares until Logan catches him doing so. Logan glances up and gives Mateo a look underlined with curiosity. 

“You still can’t tell can you,” Logan states, though it’s just as much of a question. 

“Tell what?”

Logan tosses the pencil back which, somehow, Mateo catches, “I’m fronting for Logan right now, it’s me. Lute.” 

In a second it all clicks. 

Ohhhhhh-

The understanding must have been evident on Mateo’s face as Logan, or more accurately Lute, just laughs.  

“Sorry,” Mateo apologizes, feeling a little sheepish, “I still can’t tell.” 

“It’s fine,” Lute hisses, “Don’t worry half the time we can’t tell either. Only reason Coop can as well as he does is ‘cause he’s freaky like that.” 

Mateo grins at the mention of their friend; a dorky one he knows that’s absolutely dripping with fondness as he thinks about the blond. 

Lute recoils slightly, holding up her hands in surrender, “Woah, warn me before you do that.”

“Do what?” 

“Simp, publicly.” Lute answers in short before turning slightly to fish something out of her bag. 

Mateo chokes on nothing, sputtering as he tries to dissuade Lute from that line of thought. It’s fruitless; however, he knows especially with the way he can feel his face heat up and flush red. 

Lute snorts before moving on to spare Mateo the embarrassment as he changes the topic. He slaps a stack of homework down on the table. 

“Dumb dumb,” Lute starts, no doubt referring to Logan with the sassy nickname, “Needs help with homework, but he didn’t want to ask you himself.” 

Mateo eyes the stack, “I feel like I’m not the best person to ask for help with this,” he admits. He had a barely passing math grade to back him on that , “Couldn’t you have asked Cooper?”

A flash of annoyance crosses Lute’s face, “No way. We got him in trouble with his folks so he’s not talking to us.” 

“What!?” Mateo practically yells only to wince at the sudden volume increase, “ Whyyyy would you do that!? You know how they are–” 

Of course Lute knew, they all did. 

“Yeah, down right stuck ups with metal poles shoved so far up their culos todos ellos pueden saben es iron.” Lute mutters to herself before moving on, “Blondie looks downright miserable so we tried to help him out. Went… as expected.” 

Lute bit out the last word as a grimy feeling began to swarm in Mateo’s stomach. He had been noting a bit of Cooper’s new… sadder behavior. Cooper seemed happy enough, joking around and whatnot, but sometimes Mateo caught his friend staring off into space, lost in thought in a way where even if Mateo called out for him Cooper didn’t seem to be all there . Or how even if he was very clearly hurt, Cooper nowadays just seemed to brush it all off with a very firm, ‘I’m fine.’ Amongst other things.  

It was a little… concerning, all of it, Mateo had to admit. He wondered if anything had to do with some of the things that had happened to Cooper in the dream world recently–     

“Point is.” Lute taps her pointer finger against the stack of paper, “Homework.” 

Mateo was pulled back into the conversation at that. 

“I’m surprised Logan just. Doesn’t do it.” He admits.  

“Well he’s not– ” Lute pointed out, reminding Mateo of the technicality of it all, “For the record.” 

“Right, but uh…” Mateo trails off, not sure how to continue.   

Lute, thankfully, picked up on what he was trying to ask, “The moms won’t let Logan go to Germany to visit Astrid this summer if he can’t at least pass all of his classes. Just so it wouldn’t interfere with summer school or anything.” she explained, sounding a bit bored.   

Ahhhh, that made sense. Logan had been talking about his potential trip to Germany to visit Astrid in person for a while now.   

Mateo gave half a shrug, he had a feeling he himself was bound for summer school with the way some of his grades were looking. Yet he seemed to at least be somewhat in the universe’s graces as he wasn’t lacking entirely with all of his classes.   

Mateo fiddles with his pencil in hand as he drags the stack of homework a bit closer to himself, “I can help with science and maybe some English but that’s about it.”          

Lute smirks, victoriously, “Just remember Logan’s shit at grammer.”

[pbaz7]

my day wasn't as bad today, but still not great so im very excited for this chap. praying that elle is gone for good...

sexual content

so excited right now. lemme put on my playlist

Paige adjusted her tie

already staring the chap off right

Paige smirked, brushing off her nerves as best she could

what's happening im scared

“Paige, I trust you’re taking good care of my daughter?”

only the best for her princess

“You look great tonight.”

the things id do to see p in a tie again

Or are you just hyping her up because she’s your girlfriend now?”

don't even be trying to call p overrated that's my goat

I can’t imagine what it’ll be like with two big ego’s in the house now, yours is already bad enough..”

LMAO JOSE IS SO SASSY

She tried to stay engaged, laughing at Jon’s jokes when no one else did and chiming in here and there, but her gaze kept drifting back to Paige.

Azzi's horny again... can't exactly say im surprised with her track record

Paige, sitting confidently beside her, was dressed in a crisp white shirt and a perfectly knotted tie that Azzi hadn’t seen her wear before. Her hair was slicked back into a neat bun, highlighting her jawline and the sparkle of her diamond stud earrings. A tennis bracelet caught the light every time Paige moved, drawing Azzi’s eyes to her long, graceful fingers adorned with rings on each hand.

I mean with this description... who can blame azzi.

and warmed her core in a way she wasn’t prepared for at this very moment.

azzi babe... ur parents are RIGHT there

“Something in my dress is poking me. Can you come with me to the bathroom to help me fix it, please?”

azzi! your pant are on fire! quick!

Paige placed a light hand on the small of Azzi’s back,

protective p😋

“Azzi—” Paige began, but her words were cut off as Azzi locked the door behind them and crashed her lips against Paige’s.

do y'all know where u are...

“We can’t go this long without sex again,”

well u certainly won't be doing it in this bathroom stall... right guys...

“Think you can do it in less than ten?”

guys. ur family is gonna know. and yes of course she can.

She toyed with Paige’s fingers, as she began sliding the rings off one by one

Im not sure if im okay rn

Paige moves her hand in between Azzi’s legs pulling her underwear hastily to the side

wasting no time I see..

“I miss you so much,” Azzi panted, her voice trembling as she tilted her head back.

she is currently INSIDE of you what do you mean you miss her

“You look too good tonight. I’m sorry I couldn’t wait.

can't even blame azzi cuz knowing me id probably do the exact same thing

“Oh fuck..right there baby. That’s the spot…don’t stop.”

are there not other people in the bathroom... like are they hearing this

“You look so fucking good like this Az. I can’t wait to have you later..take my time with you

ROUND 2 CONFIRMED

Azz grabs Paige’s free hand and brings it to her lips, sinking her teeth into it to muffle herself as she comes undone on Paige’s hand.

that's gotta be some kind of record time

her movements a little too calm for what just happened.

Jose is definitely going to know

Katie popped into the bathroom. “Everything okay in here?”

LMAO KATIE BE GLAD YOU DIDNT COME IN EARLIER

“I think you might’ve left these in the bathroom when you were washing your hands,” the server said with a polite smile, holding out the rings Azzi had taken off of her.

IM DEAD. I AM SO DEAD. guys she just took them off to wash her hands I swear.

Before Paige could finish or reach for the rings, the server continued, her tone becoming more conversational. “They’re really cool honestly.

everyone wants both of them im deaaad

Jon and Jose exchanged knowing glances and immediately began snickering, their shoulders shaking with restrained laughter

they know so bad

“It’s already been taken care of.”

YEP I KNOW DAMN WELL THATS MY BABYS NIL MONEY

“Nah,” Jon said, slinging an arm around Jose. “We’re gonna hang out with Paige and Azzi for a bit.”

I can only imagine how messy this duo is

The sight of her had Azzi’s mind wandering again far more than she cared to admit.

azzi babe its been around one hour

Maybe she was the horn-ball after all.

Im starting to believe lil paigey

Suddenly, a memory resurfaced: a conversation she’d had with Paige a few weeks ago in the library.

yes can we pls go back to this

Azzi cut her off, her voice lower and softer now, but with a hint of urgency. “They can’t stay.”

Paige is boutta kick them out so fast

“Come find out.”

AZZI. U WERE SUPPOSED TO BE OVER THIS AFTER ROUND ONE LITERALLY ONE HOUR AGO

“Go sit on the bed,” Azzi said softly.

im scared... why am I scared

You remember what you found on my phone in the library?”

no I don't actually

“I never got to wear it for you when it got here.”

I KNEW IT I KNEW IT I KNEW IT

“Do you want to see?”

yes.

“Fuck, baby,” she murmured, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

I just said the same exact thing

“Like what you see?”

yes.

“You’re... perfect,”

princess for a reason

Her eyes traced the lines of Azzi’s toned abs, the curve of her waist, the strength in her long legs, and the soft pink lace that framed her so perfectly.

author- I- like wha- I can't- guys- I don't even- oh my god.

“Azzi, come here.”

sprinting

“Do you know how lucky I am? How lucky I feel every time I look at you?”

has anyone ever like fully say down and realized that pazzi is possibly the most attractive couple to ever live. like both of them are so insanely lucky.

Azzi followed Paige’s guidance, letting herself be drawn into her lap until her legs straddled Paige’s waist

is p ever gonna get something in return... like don't get me wrong top p over bottom p anyway but I wanna see a little bit of top az bottom p (edit: I got my wish and im so happy rn)

im choosing not to live react to this smut scene because I just can't you guys ill tweak out

“I can feel you all over my stomach pretty girl.”

this needs its own live react tho cuz. I don't think I can breathe.

author, I don't think there are even words for me to express my love for you and this chap

this was seriously incredible, my eyes feel blessed to have read this

I can never get enough of ur writing

-🍉

lmaoo you reacting to that SINGULAR line at the end is sending me for some reason 😭

i knew you wanted top azzi i made everybody wishes come true with this chapter 🙂‍↕️

what do i need to do to make your days great 🍉 i can’t keep allowing these eh days

[thebibutterflyao3]

Day Five - Pathetic @sapphicmicrofics

April Daily Series - 715 words

<<<Previous Part OR Start Here

Dorcas paced her bedroom while she gestured wildly with her spiralling thoughts. It was absurd for Pandora to think that a surprise visit from her ex-girlfriend was a good idea. Her roommate was so caught up in her own lovestruck nonsense that she couldn’t see reality anymore. The fact that Dorcas’s heart leapt in her chest at the sight of Marlene was not the point.

It’s because she surprised me. That’s all.

Lying to herself was pathetic, but she needed something to hold onto. Denial was a ledge that she clung to desperately. Falling into the chasm beneath her feet was far worse. Dorcas knew exactly what was in that chasm and she refused to let it reign over her life again.

Her attention snagged on the collection of photos on the wall beside her bed and Dorcas’s shoulders sagged in defeat. It was practically a shrine in Marlene’s honour. There were a dozen or so that she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of and it seemed a shame to keep them hidden in a box at the bottom of her closet with the rest of their mementos.

Dorcas rubbed her temples firmly. “I can’t go through that again. Nothing’s changed.”

“Hasn’t it?”

She whirled around to face Pandora, fury resurfacing at the sound of the woman’s voice. “What were you thinking? Have you taken leave of your senses?”

Pandora sauntered into their room with a confident smile. She offered Dorcas a slight shrug, then plopped onto her bed with an exaggerated sigh. “No, but I’m beginning to think that you’re a tad delusional.”

“Me?! You’re the one who–”

“Dorcas, darling,” Pandora said softly, reaching for her hand and tugging her onto the bed beside her. She gestured at the wall of photos and aimed a pointed look at Dorcas. “Did you truly expect me to stand by and watch you torture yourself over this woman? You’re clearly still in love with her.”

“No. I just enjoy looking at her, that’s all. It’s been over a year and I’m over it. Over…her, I mean.”

Pandora arched an eyebrow sceptically. “Right. Your reaction to seeing her was exactly what a woman who has recovered and moved on would do. Not at all the twitchy panic of a secret addict who was on the verge of exposure.”

“I am not an addict,” Dorcas protested, crossing her arms over her chest.

Pandora eyed the pictures on the wall. “Yes, because this is entirely normal behaviour.”

Dorcas’s hands squeezed her elbows tight. It wasn’t an option and she refused to allow herself to consider the possibility. Not a possibility, an impossibility. Marlene was a piece of her past. A part of her history that she wanted to cherish, not repeat.

She wouldn’t deny that they were good together and that their relationship set the bar a little too high for anyone else to meet, but she wouldn’t taint that memory by trying to rekindle a long dead flame. It wouldn’t be the same. Hope would suck the life out of her and she couldn’t stand the idea of regressing after so much progress.

I moved on! I’m better than this. I don’t need any distractions right now.

“Dorcas, you should at least talk to her,” Pandora said, budging her arm. “She’s close friends with James, so it’s likely you’re going to see her around now that Regulus is dating him.”

“I’m well aware of her friendship with Potter. That doesn’t mean I have to engage in whatever foolishness you’re trying to stir up.”

Pandora’s amused breath sent a prickly sensation down Dorcas’s spine. It wasn’t funny! None of this was fucking funny!

“Well, I’d say it’s about time I stirred things up. Ever since you started assisting at that law firm, you’ve lost the fire in your eyes. Just now, in that room with Marlene, is the first time I’ve seen it in months,” Pandora insisted. “The sexual tension between the two of you is…wild.”

“Shut it.”

“Make me.”

Dorcas’s chest clenched hard. That was Marlene’s favourite way to rile her up. She would run that sassy mouth of hers until Dorcas was spitting fire, then smirk and say “make me.” It never failed. They always ended up in bed afterwards.

That cannot happen. I will not allow that to happen.

Next Part>>>

[anoddopal]

🐰 Thoughts: Bun and Teach

@gideongrovel @moondane-lovers @strawberryselfships

oH WOW 3 FOR 3?! 💀💀💀

I’ve already gone a bit into how Blackbeard sees Silva HERE!! But allow me to elaborate some more on the subject!

👆Ah, that’s just it… Teach sees Silva. He perceives who and what bun is with alarming accuracy. Sometimes it makes Bun feel called out. But other times? It makes her feel appreciated. He knows that she tends to be underestimated by most people. They do not see the depth of what she is capable of, or where her real strengths lie. Like he once did, Bun does a decent job of masking and hiding in plain sight.

Teach encourages the worst of her traits. Get mad! Lash back! Don’t ya dare apologize! Give ‘em hell and bite the hand that feeds ya. Prey animals can fight back with a surprising ferociousness when it comes to it. Be all of what ya are. Never let anyone tell ya otherwise. He’s almost like a physical manifestation of that little evil voice that lives in the back of her head… And bun feels some… relief to know that she has a significant breadth of freedom when around him and the crew.

She can poke fun at him. She can be sassy, if not a bit nasty about it, too. And Teach seems to love it. He merely laughs about her quips, or gives her some guff in return. Bun keeps waiting for the day that she presses his buttons too hard and suffers the consequences. But it hasn't happened yet.

Bun isn’t always sure just how much her relationship with Teach is an authentic connection and how much of it is a fabricated bond on his end. On one hand, Bun knows that he has a history of manipulation; the kind of man who ultimately seeks to achieve his own goals by any means necessary. On the other, none of the Bl.ackbeard Pirates - Teach included - have ever lied to her. In the back of her mind she knows he only really took an interest in her because he thought having her on his side would be advantageous. Yet even that in itself is a bit flattering. He really does think she’s strong. He sees it even when she doesn’t. And it’s hard to imagine that he doesn’t genuinely care about her… at least a little? Why else would he take the time to discuss history and philosophy with her during those late nights; when the rest of the world is asleep and her insomnia takes hold? Why would he be considerate enough to put all that effort to get her a Devil Fruit that complimented the inner depths of her soul? 🐰 Why would he tolerate her sitting up on his shoulder and yapping incessantly; nagging and scolding the recklessness of his schemes? Why would he encourage her to doodle sea kings on the maps that La.ffitte draws, if not for the fact he simply likes to look at them?

Still… he does manage to irk her every now and then. Bun was there at Ma.rineford. She saw how Teach reacted when Wh.itebeard briefly had the upper hand over him. He was scared. He was afraid to die. So much for his alleged devil may care attitude.

And the way he propositioned Je.welry Bonney on that flaming island in the New World? Had La.ffitte not held her in place, Bun might have lunged forward and gotten herself into an altercation she ultimately couldn’t win.

Bun isn't the type to hang on to every little thing Teach says [*cough unlikeherspouseCOUGH*]. She questions him. She doesn’t buy into all of his nonsense. [🎶"I might join your century, but only as a doubtful guest."🎶]

Maybe he respects that about her.

Bonus Crumble of Content Under Cut: 👇

There was one time where the crew had all had quite a bit to drink. Right after Silva made a playful, yet scathing comment regarding Teach he grabbed her under one of his forearms so he could ruffle her hair in retaliation.

“Zehahahaha! Bun here is like the daughter I never wanted!”

To which everyone laughed, Bun included. But when she looked back up at Teach to mouth off some more, the admiral had something of a strained expression on his face. As though the words came out before he could stop them. As though he had just blurted something he had never intended to leave his mind…