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mcrdvcks · 7 months ago

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fantasize

chapter summary: You have a crush on Logan, but you're not sure he likes you back. Why would he? You're not his type. At least that's what you thought.

word count: 2.4k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: here was the request

so i took a tad bit of creative freedom since i read a book on my kindle (that i got for christmas, one of the only good things about that day). it's a holiday romance/comedy book called 'good elf gone wrong' that you can read if you have kindle unlimited

anyways i took some inspiration from that book and applied it here, so i hope you enjoy it! and thank y'all for 900 followers!

warnings/tags: implied curvy!reader, slight angst, fluff, kinda protective!logan

The Danger Room was quieter than usual, with most of the team taking the rare free evening to relax or catch up on personal projects. Logan had been in there for a while, his gruff voice occasionally echoing out as he muttered to himself between sessions. The clang of metal on metal and the occasional snarl punctuated the stillness, but it wasn’t long before he stepped out, towel slung over his shoulder and a half-empty bottle of water in hand.

You were walking down the hall, carrying a box of supplies Hank had asked you to grab from the storage room. The box wasn’t heavy, but it was awkward, making it hard to see where you were going. You nearly bumped into Logan as he came around the corner.

“Whoa, easy there,” he said, steadying the box with one hand before it could topple.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, shifting it to your hip to get a better grip. “Hank needed these for his lab. Guess I should’ve watched where I was going.”

Logan smirked, leaning casually against the wall. “You’re always doin’ stuff for people, huh? Gotta learn to say no once in a while.”

“It’s fine,” you replied quickly. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Hmm,” Logan said, his tone somewhere between a grunt and genuine amusement. He stepped back to let you pass. “Well, don’t let McCoy bury ya in work. You’ve got your own stuff to handle too, y’know.”

You smiled faintly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Logan watched as you disappeared around the corner, his brow furrowing slightly before he shook his head and headed off toward the kitchen. He wasn’t one to meddle in other people’s lives, but something about you always made him pay a little more attention.

---

“Hey, would you mind making 50 copies of this? I need it for my class in 2 hours but I have a meeting with the Professor.” Jean said, holding a single piece of paper, some activity for her class.

Even though you were cleaning the kitchen because Scott asked you to, and you had to fix the sprinkler system since Ororo couldn’t figure out what was wrong with it, you obliged. “Yeah, sure!” you replied, taking off your gloves you were using to clean to grab the paper from Jean to put in your small tote for later.

It was later in the evening when you finally got a moment to yourself. The mansion had settled into its usual rhythm of quiet chaos, and you found yourself in the rec room, curled up on one of the oversized chairs with a book. The soft hum of conversation and distant clatter of dishes in the kitchen made the space feel alive but not overwhelming.

Logan walked in, towel around his neck and hair damp from a shower. He gave you a quick nod before heading to the fridge to grab a beer. As he twisted off the cap, he turned to you, leaning back against the counter.

“You’re always workin’, doll. Don’t you ever sit down and let someone else handle it?”

You looked up from your book, smiling faintly. “I’m sitting now, aren’t I?”

He chuckled, taking a swig of his beer before sauntering over to the chair opposite you. “Guess that counts. What’re you readin’?”

You held up the book to show the cover. “Just something light. Needed a break.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical but not unkind. “You? Takin’ a break? That’s a first.”

“It happens,” you teased, marking your page and setting the book down on the armrest. “What about you? You’re always either in the Danger Room or off somewhere on your bike.”

“Gotta keep busy,” he said with a shrug. “Helps keep my head straight.”

You nodded, understanding the unspoken weight behind his words. Logan wasn’t one to open up easily, but you’d learned to read between the lines.

“Fair enough. I guess we’re both bad at just sitting still,” you said.

He smirked. “Yeah, but at least I don’t let people walk all over me while I’m at it.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Here we go.”

“I’m just sayin’, sweetheart. You’ve got a good heart, but it’s okay to say no once in a while.” His tone was softer this time, less teasing and more genuine.

You looked down, fiddling with the edge of your book. “I don’t mind helping. Besides, it’s not like I’ve got anything else pressing to do.”

Logan leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he looked at you. “That’s not the point. You deserve time for yourself, too. Don’t let these jokers make you forget that.”

You smiled, a warmth blooming in your chest at his concern. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You better,” he said, leaning back again and taking another sip of his beer. “‘Cause if I catch you runnin’ yourself ragged again, I might just have to step in.”

“Oh, really? And what would that look like?” you asked, amused.

“Let’s just say it’d involve you sittin’ in that chair for more than five minutes without someone askin’ you to fix somethin’.”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Alright, deal. But only if you promise to do the same.”

He raised his beer in a mock toast. “Deal, doll.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in companionable silence, the noise of the mansion fading into the background. Logan’s presence was steady, grounding in a way you hadn’t quite expected when you first met him. It wasn’t hard to see why you’d grown to like him so much—even if he didn’t realize it.

As you picked up your book again, you caught him watching you out of the corner of your eye. When your eyes met, he just smirked and shook his head, muttering something under his breath before finishing his beer and heading out. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, the moment lingering long after he was gone.

---

You and Ororo were making dinner, her stirring food on the stove while you cut up chicken at the counter. The kitchen smelled warm and inviting, the quiet hum of activity making it a relaxing space to chat.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Logan lately,” Ororo said, her tone light but curious.

You paused mid-slice, glancing at her with a small smile. “He’s been around, yeah. We just… talk sometimes.”

“Mmhmm,” she replied, stirring the pot without looking at you. “And you don’t think that means something?”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “No, Ro. Logan talks to everyone—well, kind of. It’s not like I’m special or anything.”

She turned to look at you, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that? Because the way he looks at you sometimes…”

“What way?” you asked, feeling a warmth creep into your cheeks.

Ororo set down her spoon and crossed her arms, leaning back against the counter. “Like you’re the only person in the room. Like he actually wants to be around you—which, let’s be honest, is rare for Logan.”

You snorted, trying to brush off the comment. “He’s just… nice to me, that’s all. He probably feels sorry for me because I’m always running around doing things for everyone.”

“Nice? Logan?” Ororo gave you a pointed look. “That man growls at people for breathing wrong. He’s not just ‘nice.’”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. Could she be right? You’d always thought Logan’s kindness was just him looking out for you the way he did for everyone on the team, even if it seemed a little… different sometimes.

“Even if you’re right,” you said finally, “I don’t think he thinks about me like that. I’m not exactly his type.”

Ororo frowned, clearly unimpressed. “And what makes you think you’re not his type?”

You gestured to yourself vaguely. “Come on, ‘Ro. He’s this tough, no-nonsense guy, and I’m—”

“Amazing,” Ororo interrupted firmly. “You’re amazing. And if Logan doesn’t see that, then he’s a fool. But from where I’m standing, it seems like he does.”

You sighed, setting down the knife and leaning your elbows on the counter. “I don’t know. I just… I don’t want to make things awkward, you know? If I say something and I’m wrong, it could mess everything up.”

Ororo placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I get it. But sometimes, you’ve got to take a leap of faith. You deserve to be happy, and if Logan makes you happy, it’s worth the risk.”

Unbeknownst to either of you, Logan had wandered into the hall just in time to catch the tail end of the conversation. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his brow furrowed as he listened.

“I’ll think about it,” you said softly, returning to the chicken.

“You do that,” Ororo said with a knowing smile, turning back to the stove.

Logan cleared his throat as he stepped into the kitchen, startling both of you. “Smells good in here.”

“Oh!” You nearly dropped the knife, your heart racing. “Hey, Logan. Didn’t hear you come in.”

“Didn’t mean to sneak up on ya,” he said, his tone casual. His eyes lingered on you for a moment before flicking to Ororo. “You got room for one more?”

Ororo smirked, glancing between you and Logan. “Always. But only if you’re willing to set the table.”

Logan chuckled. “Fair enough.” He grabbed some plates from the cupboard, his movements unhurried but purposeful.

You tried to focus on the chicken, but your hands felt clumsier than usual under his gaze. Ororo shot you a sly look before turning her attention back to dinner, leaving you and Logan to fall into an easy, if slightly charged, silence.

---

Logan, for the first time in a long time, was clueless about what to do. He almost felt like a teenager, walking around with a secret—perhaps not-so-secret—crush.

To make matters worse, in the following days when he thought he had gathered himself to tell you how he felt, you flashed him a smile and all his previous thoughts went out the window. Logan found himself retreating to the Danger Room more often, grumbling under his breath about how he wasn’t built for this kind of thing.

One evening, after a particularly long day of running errands and fixing half the mansion’s quirks, you were in the rec room folding towels that had piled up in the laundry. Logan walked in, pausing in the doorway when he saw you. He frowned, his grip tightening around the beer in his hand.

“You’re kiddin’ me. Again?”

You looked up, startled. “What?”

“That,” he said, gesturing to the stack of towels. “You’re always doin’ somethin’ for everyone else.”

“It’s not a big deal,” you said, shrugging. “It needed to get done.”

Logan let out a low growl of frustration and set his beer down on the coffee table. He crossed the room in a few strides and grabbed the towel you were folding out of your hands, tossing it onto the pile. “Enough.”

“Logan, what are you doing?” you asked, startled.

“Savin’ you from yourself,” he replied, his tone firm but not unkind. “Sit.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the sudden intensity. “What?”

“I said sit, doll,” he repeated, pointing to the couch. “You’re takin’ a break whether you like it or not.”

Reluctantly, you sank onto the couch, watching as he grabbed a towel and started folding it himself. “You don’t have to do that,” you said.

“Yeah, well, neither do you,” he shot back, not looking at you.

You crossed your arms, feeling both touched and mildly annoyed. “I don’t see what the big deal is. I like helping.”

“You like helpin’ so much you forget to take care of yourself,” he muttered, finishing one towel and moving onto the next.

“That’s not true,” you protested.

Logan finally looked at you, his hazel eyes piercing. “Yeah, it is. You’re runnin’ yourself into the ground, sweetheart. And for what? So McCoy doesn’t have to walk ten feet to grab his own damn supplies?”

You opened your mouth to argue but stopped. He wasn’t entirely wrong. “It’s just… easier to say yes than to make a fuss,” you admitted.

“Easier for them,” he countered. “Not for you.”

You sighed, sinking further into the couch. “Why do you care so much?”

Logan’s hands stilled, and for a moment, he didn’t answer. Then he set the towel down and turned to face you fully, his expression unreadable. “Because I like you, that’s why.”

Your breath hitched. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less firm. “I like you. And it drives me nuts watchin’ you run yourself ragged for people who don’t appreciate it.”

You stared at him, your mind racing. “Logan…”

“Look, I ain’t good at this kinda thing,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “But I know what I feel. And what I feel is that you deserve better than this.”

You felt a warmth rise in your chest, a mix of disbelief and something else—hope. “I didn’t think… I mean, I thought you just saw me as some pushover,” you admitted.

He snorted. “A pushover? Nah. You’re tougher than you give yourself credit for. But that doesn’t mean you gotta carry everyone else’s weight all the time.”

You bit your lip, unsure of what to say. Logan took a step closer, crouching down in front of you so you were eye level. “You don’t gotta say anything, doll. Just… promise me you’ll start puttin’ yourself first for once.”

You nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll try.”

He gave you a small smile, one that made your heart flutter. “Good.”

Before you could overthink it, you leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Logan froze, his eyes widening slightly as he looked at you. “What was that for?”

You shrugged, feeling bold for the first time. “For caring.”

A slow grin spread across his face, and before you knew it, he was leaning in, his hand coming up to cup your cheek as he kissed you—gentle at first, then deeper, more sure. When he finally pulled back, you were both breathless.

“That… was overdue,” he said, his voice low and a little rough.

You laughed softly. “Yeah, maybe a little.”

Logan smirked, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Guess I’ll have to stick around more. Make sure you’re takin’ those breaks.”

“Oh, is that what this is about?” you teased.

“Part of it,” he said with a wink. “The other part… well, we’ll figure it out.”

And for once, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you deserved to be taken care of too.

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #james howlett x reader #james howlett x you #logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett fic #logan ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ #abby's works ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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thisapplepielife · 3 months ago

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Written for @steddiesportsau.

We Know What You Can Do

Prompt #4: High School Sports | Word Count: 1348 | Rating: M | CW: Mention of Weed, Nearly Fade to Black Sex | Tags: Eddie Munson Lives, Time Skips, Pre-S1, Post S4, Steve Harrington Needs Something From Eddie Munson

1981

"Just ask him!"

Eddie is standing behind the line of trees, cigarette pressed between his lips, listening to the bickering that's happening on the steps leading up into the woods, just outside the track, on the outskirts of school property. Usually he's alone out here, but today he's fairly confident Harrington and Hagan are trying to work up the courage to solicit his services.

Fucking freshman.

Well, tough luck, boys. He doesn't even have his lunchbox on him today, and even if he did, he doesn't sell to little goody two-shoes, anyway. Rich kid narcs. Not in their pressed polos and penny loafers. They'd fold like cheap suits if caught, and he's not stupid.

So, he doesn't step forward, doesn't do anything, because it's fun to listen to them argue back and forth, knowing they aren't gonna get what they want from him. Eddie relishes saying no. He's gonna savor the build up, only to crush their dreams.

Suddenly, Hagan is pushed forward into Eddie's line of sight.

Eddie just raises an eyebrow as Hagan wipes his hands on his jeans. Oh, this should be good.

"We have a question," Hagan says.

"We? You have a toad in your pocket?" Eddie asks, taking another drag off his cigarette.

Hagan reaches backwards, and pulls Harrington into Eddie's line of sight with a fistful of his shirt.

"Ah, we. The boys who think they're gonna rule the roost of Hawkins High."

Hagan scoffs like he's offended, but Harrington just smiles. But neither say anything. If they have a question, they have to actually ask it.

"Ask me what? Use your words," Eddie says, because he enjoys watching them squirm. And will enjoy it even more when he gets to say no and they walk away empty handed.

"So, like, we've seen you. And we know what you can do," Hagan says, as Harrington shoves his hands deep into his pockets. "And if we paid you, we were wondering if you'd be willing…"

Hagan trails off, and Eddie's getting bored of this. If they can't say it, they can't smoke it. Those are the rules. Eddie has lots of rules, and he enjoys enforcing them.

"Uh, you know that Paul broke his ankle, right?" Hagan asks, changing the subject, and Eddie just stares at him.

Yeah, he knows Paul DeWitt broke his ankle jumping out of the back of a pickup. That's what Eddie heard anyway. But he's not sure why that matters. Do they think some pot is gonna fix him?

"I guess I've heard that," Eddie says. He's seen him on crutches in the hallways, but it's not like he knows the kid.

"He was on our relay team," Harrington says.

Now Eddie's really lost.

"Okay, and…?"

"Would you take his place?" Harrington asks, looking at Eddie from beneath his coiffed, and far too hairsprayed, bangs.

"Say what?" Eddie asks with a barking laugh. They can't be serious.

"You're fast! You used to win the blue ribbon during every track and field day in grade school! I remember!" Harrington says, voice getting louder and louder.

Eddie just laughs harder, "I thought you two wanted to buy weed. You want me to run? On purpose? No fucking thanks."

"C'mon. Please. We made it to State, but now we're one guy short. We'll give you twenty bucks," Hagan whines.

"Not my problem," Eddie says, and this is the dumbest thing he's witnessed in at least a month. Did they really think he was gonna join their little sports cult? For twenty bucks? Unreal. "The answer is no."

Hagan wilts, and starts bitching under his breath that they could have gone to state as freshmans and now if they go it'll have to be with Craig Pollard and he is slow as molasses.

He can't believe they honestly thought Eddie was an option. He pushes off the tree, and starts walking away.

"Wait!" Harrington yells, "What if I paid you in another way?"

Eddie quirks an eyebrow. This should be good.

"What are you gonna do, Harrington? Suck my dick?"

Harrington flushes, a blush coloring his cheeks, "No! I mean, uh, Coach Griffin said if we could convince you he'd give you a C in PE. You'd pass."

Eddie pauses. He's failing Freshman PE for the second goddamn year in a row, and he really doesn't want to take it for a third time next year.

God help him, he's actually being tempted.

"One race?" Eddie asks, and Harrington bounces on the balls of his feet.

"One track meet," Harrington says, "we'd have to practice the handoff. That's the only part that's hard."

Eddie thinks about it. One track meet, and a little practice time might be worth it if he doesn't have to take PE again. He can run. He is fast. They aren't wrong about that.

"Fifty bucks, the C, and no promises that we'll win."

Hagan pumps his fist in the air, and Eddie already regrets this decision.

1987

"Coast is clear."

Eddie slinks around the corner of the gym, and slides through the door being held open for him. He walks across the wooden gym floor, his shoes making the wood creak with every step. He still hates being here. He never thought he'd come back after everything that happened.

But here he is.

He looks up at the banner hanging in the gym. The one that haunts him.

State Track & Field. 1981. State Champions. Tommy Hagan. Steve Harrington. Tim Killan. Eddie Munson.

It horrified him when it went up, and it horrifies him now. Nobody said there'd be a banner.

And now it's his greatest shame that he ever let those two doofuses talk him into running a fucking race for fifty bucks and a passing grade.

Eddie leans against the wall under it. This is another stupid decision, and if they get caught, they'll revoke his diploma that they very reluctantly gave him in the first place after that goddamn Spring Break from hell.

Steve leans the ladder up against the cinderblock wall and climbs. Eddie holds onto it, and watches as Steve unhooks the banner, and tosses it over his shoulder before climbing back down.

When he reaches the floor, he grins, "There. It's gone."

They'll probably replace it. Eddie knows that. But he appreciates the effort, nonetheless.

Steve shakes it out, and wraps it around his shoulders like a cape. He grins, eyes all soft and locked on Eddie's. It's stupid, and silly, but Eddie's fucking smitten. God help him.

Sometimes it's hard to reconcile that the kid who asked him to run in that race is somehow the same man that Eddie's so fucking in love with today. It doesn't seem possible.

"I think you asked for another form of payment," Steve says, and before Eddie can ask what he means, Steve is sliding to his knees in front of Eddie. Fingers working open his belt buckle, and then his jeans. "You wanted me to suck your dick. I guess I still owe you."

Steve Harrington doesn't owe Eddie anything. He saved his life. And then, for reasons Eddie still doesn't understand, he decided to stick around and love him.

If they get caught doing this, the stolen banner will be the least of their concerns. But for some reason, Eddie can't find it in himself to say no. Not with Steve kneeling before him, that stupid green banner draped over his back, and his hand wrapped around Eddie's cock.

Then he sinks down, taking Eddie into his mouth. It's not the first time. It's not the twentieth time, but Eddie's never gonna get used to this.

"Goddamn, Harrington," Eddie says, and Steve pulls off and laughs.

"I don't default on my debts, Munson."

Eddie touches the side of his face. He could say lots of things. Soft, mushy, sentimental things. He lived. Steve Harrington made sure of it. But Steve knows all those things. They've had those conversations during all the healing. Late at night, whispering in the dark.

Instead, he smiles.

"Well, then. You better pay up, Harrington. With interest."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiesportsau and follow along with the fun! 🏃‍♂️

#steddie sports au event #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fanfiction #steddie fic #thisapplepielife: short fic #thisapplepielife: steddiesportsau

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apple-kiwi · 9 months ago

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Skz Calling You Clingy Part 2

Chan, Lee Know, Changbin, Hyunjin, Han, Felix, Seungmin, I.N.

Part 1

Authors note: I tried to finish it fast but, you know, life. I tagged everyone who asked for a part 2. I will start the other members at some point.

Warning: none I think

Taglist: @jazziwritesthings @luckymilkshakerebel @lcmonriize @galaxy4489

Word count: 963

It's been 3 days since he snapped at you. You've been giving him space like he asked, not going to the door when he comes home, not asking him about his day, not texting him reminding him to eat and drink enough water, and not clinging onto him before going to sleep. You still cook dinner for him, your mind wouldn't leave you alone unless you knew he had a warm home-cooked meal at the end of the day, however, you no longer try bringing him the food, you just leave it covered on the table for him to eat when he comes home. You've been so distant with him that it feels like walking on eggshells whenever you are in the same room.

Seungmin had been feeling extremely guilty for snapping at you. He regretted it ever since the moment it happened but he was stubborn and prideful and hated having to admit when he was wrong. But with each day that passed, he could tell how hurt you were, and it was eating him up inside. His heart ached every time he came home to find the house quiet, with no sign of you even being there. It felt like he was living alone, and he hated it. He missed your presence, your voice, your laughter, everything about you.

Tonight was the same as the past 3 nights. He came home from practice late and found dinner on the table, but there was no sign of you, you must've been asleep already, he thought. He sat at the table and began to eat, the food was good but cold, you must've made it a while ago.

He ate it all anyway.

After finishing his meal, Seungmin sat there for a few minutes, staring at the empty chair across from him. He really wished you were sitting there right now, talking to him about your day, or just sitting in comfortable silence. He could no longer deny it, something needed to be fixed. Seungmin needed to talk to you, apologize, and make things right again. With a heavy heart, he forced himself to get up and head to the bedroom. Opening the door quietly, he looked around the room and spotted a lump under the covers, confirming you were asleep.

Seungmin moved closer to the edge of the bed, sitting down gently so he wouldn't wake you up. He took a moment to just look at your peaceful sleeping form and it made his heart ache even more. You were always sleeping by the time he came home nowadays. You were avoiding him, it was all his fault for lashing out.

Taking a deep breath, he spoke quietly, "Hey… Are you awake?” He waited a few seconds for you to respond but you stayed motionless and silent. He wasn't sure if you were pretending to be asleep, but he decided just to talk anyway, "I know you're mad at me… And you have every right to be. I was being an ass when I yelled at you. I'm really sorry." He paused for a moment, taking another deep breath before continuing.

"I didn't mean what I said. I was just tired and in a bad mood… That's no excuse though. I was being a jerk to you for no reason… I understand if you don't wanna talk to-"

He was cut off when you rolled over and threw yourself onto him.

Seungmin's heart skipped a beat as you suddenly threw yourself onto him. He was caught off guard at first, but quickly wrapped his arms around you, holding you against his chest tightly. He could feel you shaking slightly in his arms, and he gently began running a hand over your back in a soothing manner.

"I'm sorry… I'm really sorry." He repeated softly as he cradled you in his arms, feeling the guilt and regret weighing on him heavily.

“I know…and I forgive you.”

Seungmin tightened his hold on you, his heart swelling with relief at your words. You forgave him… and he was so grateful for that. He pulled back a bit to look down at your face, cupping your cheek gently. His eyes searched for any hint of anger or lingering hurt but there was none. Seeing your tired, yet slightly tear-stained face, his heart ached. He reached up with his other hand to gently brush away a few stray tears on your cheek.

"You're crying…" He mumbled softly, his thumb gently stroking your skin. "I really don't deserve you, do I…?" He let out a sigh, shifting slightly so he could lie down on the bed with you cradled in his arms.

“You're comfortable…it's making me sleepy…" You whisper, the sound muffled by his hoodie.

He continued to stroke your hair and caress your back soothingly, "Yeah? Then sleep… I'm not going anywhere."

“I love you…” You whisper to him

Seungmin's heart clenched at your words. Hearing those words from you again after all the coldness between you two hit him like a wave. He tightened his hold on you a bit more, pulling you even closer, and buried his face in your hair once more.

"I love you too.." he mumbled against your head, his voice filled with a mixture of regret, love, and relief. "So much… I really, really love you…"

Despite these past few days he didn't need to tell you he loved you because you would never doubt his love for you, and he would never doubt your love for him.

#🍎🥝’s post #seungmin x reader #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids #kim seungmin x reader #kim seungmin fanfic #seungmin imagine #seungmin imagines #kim seungmin angst #seungmin angst #kim seungmin x you #seungmin fluff #seungmin hurt/comfort

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anyshowwitharainbow · 2 months ago

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Hello, Sailor! (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary:

Anchors aweigh! Does this ship have seat belts? Oh well, its probably fine. Fair winds and following seas! OR You've never tried water sports... This is the story of when you get curious and find out your wives really, really want to.

A continuation of this prompt-fill. I'm considering this part of the Cootie-verse, but it can be read as a standalone!

Warnings + Tags: 18+ MDNI, mostly smut, some feel good fluff, Rio g!p, bottom reader, mommy!Agatha, daddy!Rio, cg/l themes, no mention of pronouns except 1-2 'they's, clit/pussy/cunt used for reader, pet names, water sports

Words: ~7k

A/N: Nobody look at me... I get shy when I post filth. I will edit as I find things that need fixing.

AO3 | My Fics | original prompt

Hello, Sailor!

It started around lunchtime. Rio had been mulching the garden and there was a ring of sweat on her gray, cutoff crop top that was distracting you. You hadn’t intended on your eyes focusing on the wave her drinking made in her throat. Something about the way her head tilted back as she gulped down water made your throat suddenly painfully dry.

“Want some?” She asked, handing the water bottle towards you.

You shook your head ‘no’ dumbly.

“I think it’s empty anyways.” She frowned slightly, peaking into the inside of your favorite water bottle she commandeered.

She sat it on the counter with a clank and came to give you a brief, brisk kiss before returning outside. You were frozen for a moment or two before springing into action and refilling the bottle. You had to see that again.

Making your way outside you hand her the bottle and retreat with her soft ‘Thanks, babe.’

You casually sat on a bar stool, lazily spinning left and right before you accidentally land where you have a perfect view of Rio working outside. Watching her work had always done something to you. Anytime sweat sheened off her warm, olive skin you became entranced at the way her body moved, folded, and strained under her tasks. Something was different today, though. Every time she pulled a glove off and held it between her fingers as she reached for her water bottle your breath caught in your chest. You felt anxious, anticipatory…did you really want to see it again that badly?

Then, she’d bring your bottle- your bottle- to her lips and take several gulps. Each time, her head craned back. The movement in her neck was delicious. Your cunt throbbed with each gulp and it made your cheeks burn hot. You thought about touching yourself. You knew it would only take a small shift for your wetness to spread over your thighs. What the fuck is happening to your body?

This cycle rinsed and repeated over the next few hours. A few times, you retrieved her bottle to refill it. Each time, she was more appreciative than the last.

“How’d you know it was empty? Good timing!”

“My savior, once again.”

“So good for me, bunny. Thank you.”

“You always know what Daddy needs. If I didn’t know better I’d think you were watching me.”

You’re certain your face turned as red as some of her potted plants. Had you been caught?

So you tried to be more casual about it. You pulled yourself into various tasks around the house and occasionally glanced out the window to see what Rio was up to. You must have missed her running out of water- because now you look up to find Rio clicking the head of the garden hose and turning it on at a low pressure.

Her mouth sits open and she holds the hose above her and to the side. As she drinks from the stream you’re conflicted, unsure of whether you want to be the hose or be Rio while she’s the hose.

Not like that …

You justify to no one in your mind. It just reminds you of Rio drinking up your juices. And the one time you squirted with her lips wrapped around your cunt and you made a mess all over her face. The release had been pure ecstasy…

You wonder if that’s how it feels for Rio when she cums down your throat.

“Boo!” Agatha pinches your sides and you screech in shock.

“Agatha, what the fuck!” You whisper-yell at her trying to keep her quiet.

Her brow raises dangerously at you, a silent question of: ‘Agatha?’

Before she can question your use of her full name, and frankly your tone, she follows your gaze. You see her swallow and the beginnings of a blush color her cheeks.

“Oh…” her understanding meets yours in kind.

You both let your eyes linger on Rio for a moment before Agatha snakes her arms under yours, resting her hands on the counter and pinning you there. She nuzzles your ear before whispering:

“Do you wish it was you making a mess on Daddy’s face, bunny?”

“I—“

“I bet we could make that happen. Hmm? I could make you ride my cock. I’d even let you choose which one. Though…” she chuckles dangerously, “I know you like how thick my purple one is. When I fuck you with it I know you feel it right here.”

Her drawl on the word ‘right’ toys with you and you groan when her cool hand rests at your lower belly, right above your waistline.

“I’d say I’d fuck your ass, but Daddy would be too tempted to breed your cunt. I wouldn’t want to distract her from sucking your needy little clit.” Her coo is shaped through a pitiful pout, “Then how would you be able to make a mess all over her face, bunny?”

Your skin catches fire and you’re certain you are moments away from burning the whole house down.

“Do you remember when you squirted all over her face?” A pause…she wants an answer.

“Yes.” Is all you are capable of mustering and she chides you gently in response.

“Yes what, love?”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“Good, bunny.” Her praise melts you into her frame. “Did you notice that Daddy never pulled away? In fact, I’m positive I saw her try and get closer.”

You hadn’t noticed… You question the validity of Agatha’s claim, but know she has no reason to lie.

“I think Daddy liked you being our little super-soaker. Do you think you’d be able to do it again? If Mommy fucked into you while Daddy ate you out? I bet it’d be easy to make you explode.”

As if on queue, Rio let the water from the hose fall over her forehead and down her chest.

“What if shes imagining that’s you, bunny? Would you give Daddy what she wants?”

Agatha’s hand slips into your shorts, groaning when she finds you aren’t wearing any underwear. She grunts and ruts into you when she’s met with your folds already being slick and white hot. She rubs lazy circles over you and you wish you could see her face.

“I could bottom out in one go. Grab your hips and yank you down til your ass is rubbing against my hips. You’d be whining, but the stretch would feel so, so good. Daddy would be at the end of the bed, stroking her cock. You’d want to taste her precum but I wouldn’t let you. You'd be too busy getting fucked like the good little slut you are for me. So good at taking Mommy’s cock…”

“Are you imagining it, baby? Me grabbing your sweet little throat,” her free hand wraps around the front of your neck for emphasis and you have no control of the harsh buck of your hips. “Can you hear it? Your ass smacking against me? It’s so loud, bunny…”

“Fuck… Yes, Mommy.”

You aren’t entirely sure where your body ends and Agatha’s begins. Perhaps if you’ve merged into one then she knows just how good she’s making you feel. You wiggle in an effort to get her to slip her fingers inside.

“Greedy today, aren’t we?” Her voice teeters on a growl, but her chuckle mists the possessiveness in her tone. “You don’t need my fingers, baby. Remember? Mommy has her cock buried in you.”

You are a fucking mess. You’d give anything for her words to be true.

“How does it feel to have Mommy rail you, hmm?”

“So fucking good.” You pant.

“Yeah? I bet I could make you our little super-soaker without even making you squirt.”

She is supporting most of your weight now and the subtle strain in her voice is delicious. You don’t have any time to consider what she means before she is husking at your ear.

“Is that what you want, bunny? For Mommy to fuck the piss out of you?”

Your body freezes, burning so hot that you feel cold.

Fuck the piss—?

Your thought barely forms into confusion when Agatha slams three fingers into you, curling them so purposefully your knees buckle.

“Jesus, fuck—“ you squeeze your eyes shut and you’re certain you open them, but you can’t see a thing.

“Maybe you’ll squirt first…maybe you’ll just think you’re going to. But no, baby. That’s just Mommy’s cock ramming into you.”

She is nearly battering your insides but your body only tries to suck her in deeper than her fingers can reach. The squelching noises coming from your cunt are filthy and only get louder when she drags her teeth against where your shoulder meets your neck.

“Such a naughty little bunny. Your pussy must really like what Mommy is saying.”

You clench at the way she coos in contrast of her harsh ministrations. Coherent thoughts are beyond you and your bones are jelly. If Agatha were to let go you’d fall to the floor.

“It’s okay, baby. I love that you’re this wet just imagining me fucking the piss out of you. And Daddy would be right there…letting you soak her just like she’s soaked right now.”

You groan at the thought of both women’s attention. If Agatha wants it, and if Rio wants it, you certainly aren’t one to deny them. You’ve always said you’d try anything once… Here in Agatha’s arms the thought of letting yourself go sounds like a dream. Even when you’ve squirted before, you always tried to hold back. What would it be like to give yourself to their whims so completely?

“Look at Daddy, bunny.” She removes her hand from your throat and harshly grips your chin, forcing you to lock your gaze onto where Rio is now stripping her soaked cut off and throwing it over her shoulder.

All you can do is whimper pathetically. She’s so fucking sexy and you’ll give her anything she wants. If she wants to lick your pussy while Agatha fucks you so hard your body has no choice but to piss everywhere…

“The next time she’s that wet it’s gonna be because of you. She’ll have her tongue buried in your cunt, licking from your clit to my cock. I’ll be right here whispering to you while you let me fill you up so full that if I hit just the right spot…fuck you at just the right angle…you’ll explode.”

You may as well be her puppet. Of fucking course you’d let them ravage you. They can have all of you. Whatever they want, it’s theirs.

“I know it’s hard to hold it all in. Such a big job…” she coos, “You’ll be a mess…a little rag doll for Mommy and Daddy to use. You’ll have held on for so long… It’ll be so easy to just…let go.”

Agatha bites your ear lobe and you yelp. Your insides are tight, throbbing coils and your body is buzzing in static tingles. She quickly retrieves her hand from your shorts and holds her fingers to your lips. She doesn’t wait for you to grant entry, she just slides them in and out until she’s determined they’re clean.

Your body is screaming for release. You’ve never been so aware of the weight that sits just above your cunt. Does your clit always throb when you have to pee this bad? Through the fog of whiplash you recognize a small gush your body clamps to contain.

Did you just… Was that…?

You try and subtly cross your legs, but the shift in pressure is just a threat to a dam that is moments away from bursting. She chuckles against your back and you know she’s clocked your uncomfortable wiggling. You can feel the smug pride radiating off of her.

“Or who knows,” she shrugs and pulls away, unpinning you from the counter. “Maybe Daddy wants to be the super-soaker this time. You’d look so cute getting pissed on by Daddy, bunny.”

Agatha’s smile is sweet as pie and a far cry from the filthy images she is planting in your mind. She leaves you there- a confused, horny mess that really, really has to pee. She’s sauntering away and you let her put some distance between you before you make a beeline for the bathroom. Unfortunately, she quickly cuts you off and slips into the bathroom.

Her smiles oozes kindness, but her eyes remind you who’s really in charge here. Perhaps that’s why your protest dies in your throat as she shuts the door and latches it, leaving you a desperate mess in the most unfamiliar, but certainly most delicious way.

______

Agatha’s commitment to her own bit is unparalleled. Eventually, you give up on waiting outside of the bathroom door. The urge to pee has died down considerably, so you choose to relax and wade through the days events. You’re rocking on the hammock near where Rio is working as you mull Agatha’s words over.

You aren’t naive. You’ve heard of water sports. You’ve even seen a few videos online that, while you’ve never lingered on them, did pique your curiosity.

There is something so forbidden about it, though. Your mind urges you to change course anytime you let yourself think of actually being part of the act. Working through Agatha’s words and your reaction to them felt like defusing a bomb. One wrong move and everything would crumble into chaos beyond repair.

That seems dramatic, even to you. It’s just pee. Is there that much difference between wetness, you and Agatha squirting, or Rio’s cum? It’s not like any of you are ever dehydrated or drink much else besides water and tea. Honestly, the times Agatha has squirted you remember painfully aching for more. Once, you had your fist buried in Agatha’s cunt for another ten minutes chasing for more and more before she had to tap out.

You try and imagine what it would be like if she did squirt for longer or released more liquid in general. You always lap up anything she gives you. You’re certain you’d cum the entire time she gushed all over your tongue, face, chest…

She clearly has an interest in water sports. How long has she fantasized about fucking you until you piss all over her and Rio? And her comment at the end about Rio peeing on you… Have her and Rio talked about this before? Does Rio share this fantasy? Does Agatha want to pee on you or Rio as well?

You will forever be desperate to taste as much of Agatha as possible, so you shouldn’t be as surprised as you are when you squeeze your thighs together to give your aching clit some relief. It’s easy to imagine Agatha riding your face, her silky cunt claiming your mouth and rutting against your nose. You often dream of her crouched over you, squatting so you can have access to feast on her puffy, dripping lips.

Your thoughts drift closer and closer to the unknown and before you know it you’re imagining various ways the three of you could explore water sports.

Maybe while Agatha is crouched over you she says:

“Open up, baby. Mommy’s got something for you.”

You clench at the thought of a jet stream of hot liquid gushing from Agatha. God, you know she’d soak you. Perhaps you’d be in a white t-shirt…the fabric clinging to you and cloaking you in Agatha’s warmth as it spreads.

Rio though…she is far more calculated and meticulous when it comes to how she gives you things. She likes to take her time, to give things with purpose. You imagine she may have you on your hands and knees, face shoved into the sheets and begging for more as she slowly slides her cock in and out of your ass.

It would be after several long tens-of-minutes of her stretching you, when her being fully sheathed tingled like stars and tasted of nothing but need. She’d pull all the way out and you’d whimper at how open and hollow you felt, at how pathetically you needed to be full again. You’d feel how widely gaped you were- clenching doing nothing to stop the tickle of the stream of cool air Rio blows into you.

“Finally,” she’d say, “nice and open for me.”

You’d hear the crack of a slap against your ass before its sting prickled at your ass cheek.

“Can you be good for Daddy now, bunny? I was so thirsty all day and now I’m so full… I really have to piss and your sweet little ass is the perfect place to do it.”

You unintentionally, and very audibly, moan. You clear your throat to hide it and Rio doesn’t even give you a sideways glance. Your celebration of concealing your pathetically needy noise is cut short when you clock a small smirk on Rio’s face. She seems content on letting you continue relaxing without any teasing so you take the time to study her.

Her jaw is soft, but well defined. Her shoulders are broad in their strength and her hands… Jesus, those hands are purposeful and you know they could destroy you.

You imagine one of them firmly gripping your ass cheek, the other firmly gripping her cock.

“Look how soaked your little cunny is, bunny. Is that what you want? Daddy to fill your ass up with my piss?”

You aren’t able to fantasize much more of the scene, your body catching fire at the mere thought of Rio’s hot stream hitting your walls and coating your insides. No matter how much she stretches you there’s no way she could fully release and it all fit in your ass. Would she stop? Would she direct her stream up your back? Would she let you overflow, her piss dripping down your cunt and onto the sheets?

Would she make you try and hold it all in? Would she fill you to the brim with her piss and then fuck it out of you? Would she just fill you with more while fucking you? Maybe she would fill you up then have Agatha eat your ass?

Your cheeks feel painfully sunburnt, yet you are still swaying in the shade. You hope it’s shaded enough that Rio can’t see your current state. Letting one foot drag on the ground, you force yourself to a halt when you see Rio making movement to leave.

“Where you going?” You are mostly curious, but hear a tinge of panic in your voice that you aren’t expecting.

“I have to pee.” Rio offers, casually, like she would on any normal day.

Today, however, was not a normal day. Today, you want to at least see.

“Agatha’s in the bathroom. I’ve had to pee this entire time.”

“Well fuck,” Rio sighs before shrugging. “Guess I’m going out here.”

She moves to find a spot behind the tree your hammock is attached to, out of your line of sight.

“Hey, wait!” You call, trying gracefully to roll out of the hammock and stumbling over your feet.

You run around the tree just as she pulls her cock free from her shorts and briefs.

“Yes, bunny?”

The subtle quirk in her brow tells you she’s half amused, half confused. You look down, eyeing her soft member and the way her hand pushes it in place to aim. You’re staring, and her amusement turns smug.

“See something you like?” She grips her cock to wiggle it gently.

“Can I…” you start, unsure if you should bail or throw caution to the wind. “Can I hold it?”

Rio snorts, but smirks proudly.

“Anything for you. Let me pee first though.”

“No!” You let out in a rushed bellow and she eyes you like you have three heads. Through your blush you continue.

“I mean…can I hold it while you…you know.” You try, embarrassment crawling up your neck.

“You want to hold it while I pee?” Rio questions without any amount of judgement.

Her seeking clarity to understand you disarms you in your battle against shyness and you can only nod. Her eyes are filled with questions, but none that she asks.

“Of course. Anything for my curious little bunny. Give me your hand.”

You comply and she guides you to her member, gently wrapping your hand around it. You squeeze, you’ve always loved the feeling of her cock when it’s soft.

“You have to be gentle but firm. Not too much though. He really likes when you touch him and it’ll be harder to go if he gets hard.”

You nod, fully absorbing every bit of information she’s offering. A deeply rooted curiosity, one that resided in you long before today, buzzes in anticipation of being satiated.

“You’ll have to aim it, okay? I have to go really bad so it’ll probably be a strong stream. When it comes it may make him jerk up, so just be sure to not let go.”

Your fingers adjust their grip and you are laser focused on where they rest.

“Okay, here it comes, bunny. Hold on tight.”

She looks up towards the leaves and you feel her tense lightly in her effort. Before you know it her cock is jerking harder than you expected and your loose grip allows the stream to shoot up nearly straight into the air.

“Tighter unless you want to have a wet t-shirt contest.”

Rio’s instruction is followed by a hearty chuckle and you feel the blood drain from your face. She assesses your flushed cheeks and her mouth falls open in something the resembles a deeply satisfied pride. The attention is too distracting so you grip tighter to meet her ask.

Her resulting groan could be classified as a growl if it had more vigor. Her head falls back against the tree and you feel stiffness start to push against your grip.

“Is it…are you getting hard?" You ask dumbly.

Clearly it’s getting hard, but maybe it just does that?

“It’s hard not to when I’ve got my little bunny’s hand wrapped around my cock. It’s especially hard not to when said little bunny seems particularly interested in Daddy’s pee…”

You blink and find Medusa waiting for you behind your eyelids. You’re as stiff as the tree Rio is leaning on and if your cheeks somehow weren’t tinted before then they are firetruck red now.

“Hey, don’t be shy, bunny. I like that you’re curious. Clearly.” She looks down to her semi-erection, that juts more proudly than it did before, before continuing.

“Do you want to feel it?”

Her tone is pillowy soft and lulls you away from your bashful, frozen state. You want to nod yes, but your brain threatens to sound sirens.

“Here, give me your finger.”

She takes over where your hand grips her and holds your wrist until you stick your pointer finger out. Her aim is now slightly downward and she guides your hand closer to her stream.

“Is this okay, bunny?”

You nod. As quick as you’d swipe a credit card, she swipes your finger through her stream. The warmth is fleeting, but combined with the pressure it offered you have to bite your lip to keep from showing your satisfaction.

“How was that?” She searches your face and her cautious hopefulness is what shatters your efforts to contain yourself, so you answer with a full smile. “Yeah? Want to do it again?”

This time, when you nod, she releases your wrist.

“You’re in charge, bunny. Go for it.”

Her smile is all-consuming and you’re emboldened by her clear contentedness and pride. She seems just as happy to share this moment with you as you are to share it with her.

You cautiously swipe your finger through her stream, eventually allowing two fingers to play in it and keeping them there. Her stream begins to trickle until only a few dribbles and drops make their way out. You frown but are quickly pulled out of your disappointment by a thumb stroking your cheek.

“Trust me, there will be plenty more where that came from. Daddy can always make more. Now get comfy again while I finish up.”

She tucks herself back into her shorts and readjusts her sports bra. You see two buds straining against the fabric and you playfully poke at one before she swats your hand away.

“Nice try, sailor.”

“Sailor?” You question the nickname.

“Yeah, you know. Cause you sailed through my stream.”

“Oh my fucking god.” You laugh at her corniness and she joins you, the sound a sign of satisfaction with her ability to bring you joy.

“Now go before I make you explain the nickname to Mommy.”

You don’t want that job so you scamper off, concocting a plan that you are sure to abandon if you don’t bring it to fruition right this second. You hear Rio call after you when you breeze past the hammock and into the house, but you pay her no mind. You find Agatha quickly and pull her by the wrist as she questions you in bursts of confusion.

“I’m not even wearing shoes! What has gotten into you, bunny?” Agatha questions as you pull her outside and to where Rio is still standing, equally confused.

There is no anger in her tone, only intrigue colored by confusion. You relish in the uncertainty you have pulled them into. It isn’t often you’re able to confuse both women at the same time. Still, you don’t let it linger for long.

“I didn’t think you’d be so eager to explain your new nickname, sailor.”

Rio lets the name hang in the air. Agatha raises both brows, but you aren’t sure if it is at the cockiness in Rio’s tone or the nickname she doesn't understand.

“What have you two been doing out here?” Agatha questions in suspicion.

Rio visibly relaxes and withdraws from her smug demeanor. Agatha doesn’t get jealous within your relationship, but she doesn’t enjoy being left out for too long, either. Your eyes follow Rio’s hand that falls on the small of Agatha’s back before gripping the furthest hip and pulling Agatha in closer to her side.

“I was on my way inside to use the restroom, but our little one informed me you were monopolizing the facilities. I went to pee behind this tree, but before I could I was stopped by a very, very curious little bunny that wanted to help. For what I can only assume is scientific research, bunny wanted to feel it. Thus, our little sailor was born.”

Agatha eyes both of you. Her tense shoulders tell you her dominant question is likely ‘You peed on them without me?!’, but her taught muscles relax quickly and her eyes twinkle with something mysterious.

“Our conversation from earlier must have resonated with you, bunny. I’m glad Mommy could help pique your curiosity.”

Rio is about to question what conversation Agatha is talking about when Agatha catches her eye and gives a barely-there shake of her head. Rio must receive the message, because her question never comes.

“What did it feel like, bunny? Did you like helping Daddy go peepee?”

Agatha so easily melts you into a space where you’re certain she is all-knowing. Her attention entrances you to the gentle warmth it offers. She is your sun and you are destined to look to her for how ever long ‘always’ amounts to.

“It was warm,” you hear the dreamy bliss in your voice, but don’t feel yourself speaking the words. “I liked how it felt on my fingers.”

She smiles brightly at you, as if you are something wholly irresistible. Rio seems content to watch as Agatha floats closer towards you and she settles some of her weight against the tree.

“Daddy was very thirsty today, I can only imagine how much she had to give you. Did you get to feel it anywhere else, sweetheart?”

You shake your head no and she hums, likely satisfied that she didn’t miss out on too much of the fun. You understand the desire to share this exploration with all three of you. That’s why you chased Agatha down and drug her out here, after all. As if reading your mind, she continues.

“What did you bring Mommy to see, bunny?”

You are staked down by bashful hesitancy. You want nothing more than for her to cut the ropes and allow you to float into her and Rio’s assurances.

“There’s something you want both Mommy and Daddy to see, baby. Can you tell us what it is?”

You’re saying the words in your head, but no response leaves you. Agatha pulls you into an all-too-short hug and you miss her warmth as soon as she pulls back.

“Can you help Mommy guess?”

Upon your nodded confirmation she lets her hands fall to your waistline and twirls one of the drawstrings on your shorts around her finger. The prominent veins in her hand make you clench around nothing. She's so close to where you’ve needed her all day. Yet, your need for her at the moment isn’t quite as simple. You need Agatha, yes, but you need Mommy too. Her guidance, her doting, her affection.

“Do you need these for what you want to show us?”

When you shake your head ‘no’ she gently pushes your shorts down. You gasp at the gentle breeze hitting your soaking wet center and she groans at the sight of it. Whether she remembered you aren’t wearing underwear or not, you’re sure her response would’ve been the same.

“You’re so wet, bunny. Is this all from helping Daddy pee?”

You shake your head ‘no’ and she hums.

“Some of this is still for Mommy from earlier, hmm?”

You whine when she crouches down and uses her thumbs to gently part your lips so she can see your clit straining for attention.

“It wasn’t very nice of Mommy to leave you so needy, was it?”

She finds your eyes and locks your gazes together.

“Can Mommy show you how sorry she is, bunny?”

You figure you must’ve nodded because her eyes continue to bore into yours as she sticks her tongue out and uses her head to move her tongue over the underside of your clit. You hear shuffling in Rio’s direction, but are unable to break your gaze from the blue eyes that beg for the whole of your attention. Your hips offer pathetic little jerks against Agatha’s tongue and she chuckles at your bodies eager desperation.

“I’m sorry, little one. I forgot there was something you wanted to show us! How silly of me. Do you mind if I go make sure Daddy is ready for what you want to show us?”

Again, you offer a shake of your head and she straightens herself up, turning around to face Rio. Your eyes finally fall on the woman who is observing and you squeeze your thighs together when you see her erection straining against her shorts. A gush of wetness escapes you and coats the insides of your thighs when you notice her hand is down her pants.

“That’s a job for Mommy, isn’t it Daddy?” she asserts and Rio may as well be a deer in the headlights as Agatha frees her cock by yanking her shorts and briefs down.

Neither you nor Rio are prepared for the sight of Agatha crouching down and taking the entirety of Rio’s length into her mouth and down her throat in one go. From your vantage point, you can see Agatha’s nose scrunch against Rio’s neat tuft of hair. The subtle bulging in Agatha’s throat moves as Agatha gives short bobs on Rio’s cock, keeping her nestled into her throat the entire time. Rio is a panting, moaning mess and you’re certain she’s about to cum down Agatha’s throat.

She doesn’t get the chance to, as Agatha gracefully draws her head back and straightens herself out.

“Now sit and be good. If you behave and save your cum for our little bunny then maybe the next time your cock is in my mouth I’ll let you piss down my throat.”

Rio’s cock twitches before her back slides down against the tree until she is seated. Agatha chuckles at the state of heady, all-consuming arousal Rio is left in. The coy smirk on her face is quickly replaced by a much sweeter smile as she turns back to you.

“Daddy’s all ready now, little love. Are you?”

You shuffle a bit on your feet. Your body is on fire from Rio’s hungry look that settles on you, but your current headspace is far more suited for compliance than taking the lead. Agatha seems to understand this and is next to you in a flash.

“I think you’re ready, love. You know your words and taps to make anything stop at anytime, yes?”

When you nod, you’re gently chided and you offer what Agatha wants to hear.

“If I say ‘red’ or tap you three times you’ll stop.”

She beams with pride and plants a kiss on your forehead.

“Good, bunny. That’s exactly right. Can you trust Mommy now?”

When you nod she rubs your back before guiding you to squat down.

“Can you spread your knees apart for me? We need to make sure Daddy gets to see too.”

You follow the instruction and you know they can both see you clenching at the feeling of the breeze against your completely exposed cunt. Agatha crouches next to you and uses one hand to stabilize you and the other to spread your lips open.

“You have such a pretty little pussy, bunny. Mommy needs you to be brave now, okay? I know it may seem scary, but I can’t even begin to tell you how long I’ve wanted this. I want to see you let go. Can you do that for me, baby? Can you let go for Mommy?”

You gnaw at your lip. You are spread wide open with Agatha’s hand on your cunt, Rio stroking herself slowly while watching. You’re momentarily distracted by the wetness on Rio’s cock, likely a mix of precum and Agatha’s spit.

“You don’t have to be shy in front of Daddy. Daddy wants this too. Look at how hard she is. You know, one time Mommy caught Daddy standing outside of the bathroom while you were going tinkle. She was hard as a rock. Almost as hard as she is right now.”

Its Rio’s turn for a blush to consume her features. You would question it, but the way her stroking picks up its pace tells you its likely true.

“I know she’s dying to see it just like I am. Can you go for us now, bunny?”

You finally give a confident nod. You’d do anything to receive the doting you are awarded with in return.

“Perfect, now just relax, baby. Mommy’s got you.”

You relax into her embrace and will your body to let go. Your body seems to not understand your brain’s request. Though you’re urging yourself to pee nothing happens.

“Does this help, bunny?” Agatha coos as she uses her fingers to lazily circle your clit, breaking through a mental dam you weren’t fully aware of.

Your resulting whine is pitiful.

“Mommy, I can’t…” the beginnings of frustration threaten your resolve, but quickly dissolve when she begins to shush you softly.

“Yes you can,” she coaches before slipping two fingers into you.

You and Rio moan at the same time and Agatha chuckles before moving back to your clit and continuing.

“Be good for Mommy and Daddy, bunny. It’s okay. Let go.”

Her whispers do a better job at willing your body than your own demands. Before you can think about it much further you feel a rush from somewhere deep within your lower belly all the way to your cunt. The three of you collectively gasp when the first spurt of hot, nearly-clear liquid gushes from you.

“Yes, good, bunny. So good for Mommy. Keep going. We want it all.” She encourages, lightly tapping your clit with her hand.

Part of you wants her to slap your clit harder, but before you can ask, she removes herself from your clit and uses her fingers to spread you open as widely as she can.

You bear down for a moment to encourage your body before you fully let yourself go and your powerful stream rushes out of you. You’re focused on watching yourself pee while Agatha is touching you when you hear Rio spit. You look up to see her rubbing the newly added lubrication over the head of her cock before she begins to stroke herself faster.

“You like that, Daddy? Watching our little bunny go peepee while Mommy rubs their little clit?”

“You’re doing so good for Daddy, baby,” Rio soothes through a groan, “Mommy was right. The last time you squirted on my face I was so tempted to fuck the piss out of you. You’re so fucking sexy.”

Your body is blooming into something entirely new. Freedom tickles at every nerve ending you have and you’re consumed by a euphoria that only comes from shared, raw, unadulterated honesty. It emboldens you to seize this moment while you have it, in case you don’t feel as brave later.

“It feels so good, Mommy. Thank you for helping me. It’s so easy to pee for you and Daddy when you touch me. Fuck, I can’t wait until I’m doing this with you or Daddy under me. I want to give you everything.”

Agatha’s growl strokes your ego and you aren’t entirely sure where everything you’re saying is coming from.

“You were right earlier. I want you to fuck the piss out of me so bad, Mommy. I want your cock fucking me so deep that it makes me completely lose control and wet myself all over the bed and Daddy’s face. Or, fuck,” you gush with wetness and the clenching temporarily pauses your stream before it returns full force. “I want to eat your pussy while Daddy fucks my ass so hard that I soak the sheets with my piss. I want Daddy so deep in my ass that I don’t have a choice, it all just comes out.”

You’re so far gone in your fantasies that you only pause when you hear a string of expletives from Rio. You look up just in time to see her paint her stomach with long, thick ropes of cum. She doesn’t even wipe her hand before coming over to you, pulling your legs out from under you, setting your ass onto the ground, and wrapping her arms around your thighs as she lays between them and begins feasting on your soaking wet cunt.

Agatha is stunned, but you can feel her arousal by the way she tries and fails to compose herself. Ultimately, she lets her hand travel down to spread your lips open again to give Rio better access.

“Don’t stop, baby. Give Daddy what she wants.”

You aren’t entirely sure how much you have left to give, but your body demands a full release and complies without your order to.

Your pussy is buzzing with the muffled groans coming from Rio’s mouth and you try to sear the image of your piss pooling around her lips into your brain. When she opens her mouth, your stream flows unhindered and you could cum just from seeing it ricochet off of her tongue. She stretches her lips to cover your entire cunt, leaving just your clit poking out for Agatha to toy with. Your body is screaming with pleasure, so you can’t be certain, but you vaguely wonder if the steady, timed movement of Rio’s tongue is her swallowing.

Is she…?

Your thoughts are cut off when Agatha finally rubs your clit with purpose.

“Do you like it when Daddy drinks from your leaky little pussy, baby?”

You can do nothing but pant as Agatha and Rio bring you closer and closer to erupting. Your orgasm is rapidly approaching and you worry once it hits you that you’ll combust into nothing but dust to be swept away by the wind. Rio’s tongue laps against your hole and its all you need before something in you snaps and you burst.

You let out a scream and you’re swimming in a tunnel of light headed bliss that consumes you whole. You vaguely register words of encouragement and praise from Agatha before oxygen slams back into your lungs you feel like your heart restarts from minutes of being stopped.

“Holy…” You start, but you lose the ability to form words when you see Agatha pull Rio up into a hungry kiss.

You’re lost in the way Agatha’s tongue seems to dig for more and more of a taste of you in Rio’s mouth. It isn’t until you see Agatha’s outstretched hand that you realize both women have stood up. Rio waves Agatha’s hand away and tucks an arm under your knees and behind your back to lift you easily.

“Upstairs,” Agatha directs and Rio nods before parting ways with Agatha as soon as the three of you reach the kitchen.

Your confusion must be painted onto your face because Rio just chuckles. You throb at the underlying hunger you hear and find matched in her eyes.

“What? You didn’t think playtime was over did you?” She smirks, knowing you’ll be nothing but eager to be fully devoured. “We’re not done with you yet, sailor.”

*—*

A/N: Gonna have to walk the plank to cool off. Lort this did a number on me just from writing it, LOL. I hope it did a number to you if you're reading this!

For just a few quick taps you can like, reblog, or reply to provide me validation. Its not required but just know this is what I look like checking my notifs as soon as I post a fic. 🥺👉👈

Looking for more? -> AO3 | My Fics

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breadbrobin · 2 years ago

Text

fate

clarisse la rue x reader — percy jackson and the olympians

[fem!daughter of apollo reader]

[part 2 to the trees]

summary: clarisse is being weirdly standoffish, and you’re not one to cave to that, no matter how much you like her. and no matter how things go, you still have to get your weapons from the forest.

warnings: swearing, arguing, fighting, monsters, PINING BUT THEYRE IDIOTS, everyone’s so mad at each other rn, kissing (AHHHH), canon typical violence, again probably slightly ooc clarisse but hey i love her anyway

word count: 3.2k

(uhhh so this is probably not what anyone was expecting for part two but this is how i alway a planned it, so here it is!! tag list in reblogs and also thank you for the love on the trees! i love you all so much <3 and i’d die for you just like clarisse and this dumb bitch here would die for each other)

(this is much more enemies to lovers than the first one btw so have fun)

———————————————

the day after capture the flag was always a little tense. of course it was. half the camp had just lost, and not many people at camp were good losers, especially not those who got their butts kicked.

this time, though, there was a new level of tension in the air.

ares kids didn’t often run the flag over the line themselves, and those who did were crowing about it at breakfast, then all morning too.

curiously, clarisse wasn’t. she was eating in silence, picking through her eggs like she was searching for something.

you’d never seen her like that before. no one had. but, it seemed you were the only person to notice. you always were, and you were okay with that.

your brother nudged your arm and shot you a questioning look, but you brushed him off with a smile.

why was clarisse so down? she’d won. what did she have to be upset about? was she mad at you? did you do something to piss her off in the tree? she hadn’t seemed exactly happy when she left.

stuck in your thoughts, you didn’t realise she’d met your eyes until your brother elbowed you.

“ow! what do you want?” you snapped, rubbing your rib cage tenderly.

“clarisse is staring at you,” he said with wide eyes. “dude… what did you do?”

“nothing,” you scoffed and stood up, taking your empty plate to the stack of dirty dishes, trying—and failing—to not look at clarisse as you left.

“y/n, wait up!”

you slowed down for sam as he jogged to catch up to you. there was a newfound bitterness in your mouth when you saw him. you’d never liked him, not like he’d liked you, but you’d never felt like you wanted to be away from him. not like you did in that moment then. but where would you go? to clarisse? yeah, right, she’d laugh in your face, regardless of whatever happened—or might have happened—in that tree.

“what’s up?” you asked. you couldn’t help your voice being drier than usual.

“just wanted to see how those arrows did you? were they good? i can make some more, if you want.” he looked almost eager to do so.

you smiled kindly. he really was sweet. “they were great, thanks, sam. best arrows i’ve ever used, even if i didn’t get too much of a chance to use them.” your steps faltered. “i did leave one in the forest though. i’ll have to get that later.”

your eyes locked on clarisse as she walked towards you down the path. two of her siblings were behind her, laughing, but she wasn’t. in fact, her jaw was set tight and she was glaring. at sam.

“i could come with you?” he suggested. “watch your back. keep you safe, you know?”

clarisse scoffed as she passed. “she doesn’t need you to keep her safe, tool-box.”

that was a little mean. sure, sam carried his tool-box everywhere, but you never know what might need to be fixed! despite yourself, you had to hold in a laugh. your eyes were alight with amusement as you locked gaze with clarisse.

she looked proud of herself, a jaunty grin on her lips. you couldn’t help your gaze dropping to them briefly. she smiled wider. it was infuriating. she now knew what her effect on you was, and she was using it.

“if she needed someone to protect her, she’d come to me, right, angel?” she tilted her head.

your mouth was infuriatingly dry. you nodded. “uh—“

“whatever,” sam snapped. “come on, y/n. let’s go.”

you kind of wanted to stay, but his grip on your arm didn’t leave any room for an argument. you trailed after him as he left, glancing over your shoulder just in time to see clarisse’s face darken with anger.

“angel?” sam scoffed. “who does she think she is?”

“uh…”

“whatever. gods, she’s just so—“ he turned and faced you, almost causing you to bump into his chest. you’d never seen him so intense before. “stay away from her, y/n. seriously. she’s bad news.”

“she’s nice to me,” you protested.

“she’s not nice to anyone. don’t be naive.” he turned on his heel and started to walk away, then turned back, his face softer. “come on. do you want to learn how to weld? you said you did last week.”

did you? you didn’t remember that. but you did vaguely remember a conversation with sam that you spent zoned out and staring at clarisse as she trained, so that was probably it. “oh, no… i have to… train…”

he looked disappointed, but nodded. “okay, that’s cool. maybe another day. or maybe, we can… go for a walk together? or even have lunch on the beach?”

you nodded absently. “maybe.”

“great, it’s a date!”

you frowned. “it’s a what?”

he looked happier than you’d ever seen him. he even kissed your cheek before walking off, a new spring in his step. you stood there for a moment, eyes wide, wondering what the hell just happened. then you heard a scoff from behind you.

when you turned around, clarisse was walking away.

“clarisse,” you said softly, jogging after her. “clarisse, wait!”

“go hang out with your boyfriend, l/n.” she snapped, her arms crossed as she walked. “he’s probably waiting for you so you two can make out in that sweaty little sex dungeon they call a workshop.”

your eyebrows shot up. “okay, first of all, i’m pretty sure it is actually a workshop, and second of all, he’s still not my boyfriend!”

she scoffed again but didn’t answer, stomping up the steps to the ares cabin and stopping at the top, looking down at you.

you felt small under her gaze, but you didn’t back down.

“what are you doing here?” she asked after a moment.

“you said i could come get a new dagger,”you said.

she rolled her eyes and leaned on the porch railing. “and?”

you frowned, looking up at her. “and… i’m here to get one?”

she regarded you for a few seconds in silence, then, just as she was about to speak, a new voice called out.

“clarisse, are you giving out girlfriend privileges already?” one of her brothers, marcus, you thought, stepped into the doorway of the cabin and peered around her to look at you. he looked like a stereotypical son of ares: buff, tall and mean. “that’s cute.” he continued, looking at you like you were an animal in a zoo.

“she’s not my girlfriend,” she scoffed like it was the most ridiculous thing in the world.

well, that hurt.

“yeah, we’re just—“

“we’re not even friends,” she added hurriedly, not even looking at you. “she just thinks she’s special.”

your jaw clenched. that really hurt. “i don’t think i’m special,” you snapped. “i think i want you to honour your word from yesterday or go and get my dagger out of the forest for me.”

“not my fault you forgot your dagger,” she studied her nails nonchalantly.

“but if you hadn’t thrown my dagger out of a tree and tossed my new arrow aside like it was trash then i wouldn’t have forgotten. and maybe if you hadn’t leaned in like you were about to kiss me, maybe i wouldn’t have forgotten either.” your gaze was as sharp as hers was, meeting in the middle with fire and lightning crackling between you.

she stepped forward, face to face with you. for a second, you thought she’d punch you, but you didn’t back down.

then she laughed. it wasn’t at all like her laugh in the tree the day before. this was her cold, cruel laugh that she usually saved for her victims. with a start, you realised that’s what you were: another victim of clarisse la rue. your heart broke for a split second before you pulled yourself together and straightened your back, meeting her eyes.

“kiss you?” she snickered. “get your head out of your ass, angel, you’re not all that because you can shoot a bow and climb a tree.”

you stepped closer to her, so you were right up in her face. “and you’re not all that because you scare away everyone who cares about you, just because your daddy’s a little mean. you don’t need to be a bitch about everything.”

you regretted it instantly. you’d gone too far. you knew that.

her face dropped and a hurt look flashed through her eyes, but it died as soon as it came to life.

you stepped back and turned, marching away.

“where are you going?” she called after you. “we’re not finished here!”

“you have something else to say to me, clarisse, you come find me!” you shot back, your voice hard. you didn’t start arguments often, but goddamn did you finish them.

you stomped into the forest, determined to find your dagger and arrow so you could prove to both clarisse and sam that you were capable of more than just shooting arrows from trees and running away from fights.

it was darker today. the clouds that covered camp half-blood permeated through the forest, leaving a heavy weight suspended among the trees. the air felt thicker, even, and the birdsong seemed quieter than usual. was there something around? something hanging in the air, waiting to attack you? drag your body back to camp and leave it on clarisse’s doorstep like a cat bringing in a dead bird?

or was your fear just because you were alone instead of with the rest of camp.

whatever it was, it put you on edge.

there was a clicking sound behind you, like someone was cracking a joint, but when you turned, no one was there. you weren’t foolish enough to call out.

you could feel a chill going down your spine, and that’s when you knew: the first shoe had dropped.

your eyelids fluttered and you nearly dropped to the ground, but you leaned heavily against a tree to catch yourself. typical. go out on your own, thinking you can take care of yourself and you get hit with a premonition. how’s that for fate?

you let the feeling wash over you; the pure panic of the near future and the warm grip of a hand on your wrist, like someone was pulling you along.

the future was not looking promising.

there was another clicking sound behind you as you finally managed to straighten up, much closer this time.

you turned around.

the bushes were rustling.

you suddenly realised what that clicking sound was.

mandibles.

two ants the size of german shepherds burst through the foliage. myrmeke.

there was the other shoe, dropping real hard.

“shit!” you stumbled backward, reaching for a weapon. you had no weapon. “double shit!”

you turned and ran.

the ants were fucking fast. they could have caught up to you if you weren’t so agile, turning and springing off in different directions every few steps, sending them careening into trees and rocks. that was the only thing keeping you alive.

where even were you? you didn’t recognise this area. hopefully you weren’t running directly for their anthill. that would be a real twist of fate.

then you burst into a new area, this one with a large tree—a large tree that you recognised.

“yes!” you exclaimed, dashing for the trunk. you found your dagger easily, then your discarded arrow too. you didn’t know what good they’d do against the myrmeke, considering that their shells were as hard as armour and, while force was good in some cases, you had to admit that sharpness may have helped you against them.

you couldn’t run anymore. your screaming lungs told you that. you couldn’t climb either. the ants could climb better than you and you’d be a sitting duck up there, no matter how high you went. but maybe, just maybe, you could hold them off until they got bored or someone realised you were missing.

it wasn’t easy, but you managed to deflect and dodge the myrmeke’s attacks. they were fast, but you were faster. you even managed a swipe at one of their legs as you rolled past, but all it did was leave a tiny chink in its armour.

you were beginning to lose hope.

honestly, what you wouldn’t give for a spear right now. your blunt dagger and slim arrow were about as good as a toothpick against these monsters.

just as you were backed against the tree that you’d once found a safe haven, you heard a battle cry. you could have sobbed from relief, but instead, as the spear-wielding figure landed on top of one of the ants, driving her weapon into the gap between its armoured plates, you took your opportunity to stab your arrow with as much force as you could into the other ant’s gaping mouth, slipping it precisely between its mandibles and, hopefully, into its brain.

it jerked back in pain and screeched, the sound making your ears ring, but it didn’t die. instead, it looked rightfully pissed off, and now it had an arrow sticking from its mouth.

as your saviour pulled her spear from the ants back, a warm, brown liquid sprayed on you. it smelled like ants always did after you crushed them, just a million times worse. you wondered if this was revenge for all the ants you’d murdered in your life.

“gross!” you exclaimed, wiping it off your face.

“grow up, bows, we gotta go!” clarisse. your saviour was clarisse. of course.

just as you were about to protest, two more myrmeke crept out of the forest towards you.

she gripped your wrist, right where that warmth was in your premonition, and dragged you away, making you drop your dagger in the rush.

“i dropped my—“

“save it!” she snapped, pulling you along.

the desperation in her voice kicked you into gear and you started running faster, alongside her now.

you didn’t use the same tactics as before. instead of dodging, you just ran as fast as you could and prayed that the myrmeke would be slower. clarisse seemed to know where she was going, at least.

“you’re such an idiot!” clarisse yelled as they ran.

“we’re doing this now?” you panted incredulously.

“you could have died!”

“we’ll both die if you don’t stop yelling at me!”

finally, gloriously, you breached the edge of the forest and stepped into camp. the myrmeke wouldn’t follow you there.

you dropped to you knees, panting and staring into the forest. clarisse was standing in front of you, her spear ready, just in case.

you’d stepped into a quiet part of camp up behind the amphitheatre, so there was no one around to see you, and no one around to help you. you had a feeling that if the myrmeke didn’t kill you, clarisse wouldn’t hesitate.

once it was clear that they weren’t following, she rounded on you.

you were still on your knees, your legs too tired and shaky with adrenaline to stand, but she didn’t seem to care.

“what were you thinking, going in on your own?” she snapped.

“well i wasn’t expecting to get attacked by killer ants within the camp’s borders!” you protested.

“everyone knows they’re there.”

“i forgot, okay? i’m not perfect.”

“oh, i know.” she rolled her eyes.

“gods, would you just fuck off?” you finally stood up, face to face with her. “you’re horrible sometimes, you know that? i can’t believe i’ve defended you.”

“i don’t need your defending.”

“and i don’t need your help!”

“you would have died!” she yelled, emphasising every word.

“but i didn’t!” you shouted back.

she rolled her eyes and stepped closer, anger practically radiating off her. “yeah, thanks to me. you’d be dead if i hadn’t followed you in there—“

“why did you follow me?” you asked suddenly, voice harsh.

“what?”

“why did you follow me?” you asked again, slower. “i didn’t ask you to look after me, clarisse.”

there it was again. that slightly relaxation of her shoulders when you said her name. it drove you nuts. you didn’t know if you wanted to kiss her for hours or throw her to the myrmeke.

she tensed up again and turned to leave. “whatever. i’m done here.”

“i’m not!” you gripped her shoulder and pulled her back around. to your surprise, she didn’t pull a weapon on you. “why did you follow me, clarisse? was it the same reason that you were flirting with me yesterday? and why you’re so protective of me? and why you hate sam?”

“i wasn’t flirting with you,” she grumbled. “and i hate sam for… personal reasons. and i’m not protective of you! why would you even think that?”

“that’s all bullshit and you know it,” you sneered.

“gods, you aggravate me!” she exclaimed.

“you didn’t have to come help me,” you scoffed, stepping back. “i didn’t ask for your help.”

“and i didn’t want to help you!”

“then why did you? huh? you could handle not winning a fight? you wanted to finish the argument on your terms?” your eyebrows were raised and your face was cold. “or were you gonna beat me up but the giant killer ants got to me first?”

she looked like she was about to explode with anger. “because i love you!”

the air escaped from your lungs in one sharp moment, and it looked like hers did the same thing.

“what?” you asked, your voice softer.

it was silent. she looked like she was trying to find something to say, but couldn’t. her mouth opened and closed weakly, and she shook her head, lips pressed together. you wanted to kiss her.

so you did.

she tensed up as your hands came to her waist, pulling her body and lips against yours hard. then, finally, she relaxed. she dropped her spear at your feet and raised her hands to your hair, threading her fingers through the strands. she was a softer kisser than you’d expected, but it was definitely her. it was all her. the tug on your hair, the underlying, undeniable harshness of the kiss, the spear that rested against your foot. it was perfectly clarisse. you could have kissed her until the sun went down and the ants came and carried you both to their anthill, and if you stayed kissing her like this, you wouldn’t even mind.

when, finally, you pulled away, you were both breathing heavily. all of the tension from the fight hid dissipated, leaving only a warm sparkling in the air, like a mirage around her face in the sunlight. maybe that was a sign? or a vision? whatever it was, it was heaven-sent.

she was smiling. she looked softer like this. gods, you loved it. it felt like fate, and you knew a lot about fate. fate was fickle. fate was cruel. fate brought you the arguments, the myrmeke, the terror. but fate also brought you this. this girl who was glowing in the sun like she was made of pure rays of light. the girl with a spear that she laid down at your feet and would save you barehanded if you asked. the girl who had sunk into your arms like she was made to be there.

“do you think i can get that new dagger now?” you asked cheekily, playing with the hem of her camp shirt. “i mean, i have girlfriend privileges now, right, babe?”

clarisse rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling. “shut up, devil.”

“ooh, devil. that’s new,” you teased. “i like it. it’s apt.”

“it sure is.” she looked down. “i’m… sorry, by the way.”

“me too,” you nodded. “i didn’t really mean any of that, you know?”

“‘cause you like me,” she said in a teasing voice.

“yeah, ‘cause i like you, or whatever.” you kissed her again, smiling against her lips. “and i know you like me too, because you so did nearly kiss me in that tree yesterday.”

she shrugged. “maybe. maybe not. guess we’ll never know.”

you found out at the next capture the flag game. and the next. and the next. she would go out of her way to find you, defeat you, then kiss you before running off to win the games. and honestly, you didn’t really mind.

fate was a fickle thing, but with clarisse by your side, no one could touch you. sam left you alone, people started treating you better, and you had everything you could ask for. her.

and whenever you two argued, you’d go into the woods together and kill some ants. after all, what says ‘couple’s bonding’ quite like murder?

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x you #pjo #pjo tv show #pjo x reader #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #dior goodjohn

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marstons-angel · 1 year ago

Text

i lose control (when you're not next to me.)

javier escuella x reader

✧ tags : afab + fem!reader (gendered language + wearing dresses etc), established relationship, religious imagery (maybe sacrilege)takes place in ch.4 of rdr2, submissive!reader, soft dom!javier, some spanish petnames (mi amor mi vida, and hermosa i think), pillowing humping, penetration, very lovesick sex lol, veryy established dynamic, praise kink, written like. sooo explicitly for @nanamimizz, 18+

✧ wc : 5.2k (after editing mind you)

✧ a/n : this is fucking nuts LMAOO. i wrote this like. no bullshit in a day. i don't know how that happened. mentioned in the tags that this is for my beloved best friend but i think it's still okay to post. im losing it a little. i have hw due in an hour

✧ synopsis : javier can't help but feel some ways about the way you miss him. so dreadfully obedient. so apparently needy. how could he not adore you?

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

There’s something a little pathetic in the way you pine after Javier that makes him a worse man than he is.

He’s good to you though. Always. Down to his bones, the core of him. The soul of him. It’s hard to be anything but good to you.

In all of his life, across lovers, men and women - he doesn’t think he’s met a single soul who simply likes him as much as you do. Who preens so pretty with so little, who doesn’t need much at all. Never met a woman who tucks and folds herself into corners just to be polite. Never thought he’d find it so fascinating, either - but you prove him wrong often.

It’s testament to Javier’s adoration that he can’t help but notice you anyway. That even when your featherlight footsteps and darling voice fall off and get caught on the wind and blown away - Javier will still manage to find you. Even with all of your attempts to make yourself small and unrecognizable, his sharp brown eyes will still catch on the linen of your skirts and the threaded gold of your cross necklace. Javier’s own body betrays him in his love for you, in his wanting.

Even though he’s not interested in pretending he doesn’t love you, his eyes and mouth and hands would look and call and search. They’d never give him the opportunity to be anything but in love.

It’s important that he makes that known. He’s only ever interested in being a good man to you. Holding you and kissing you and worshiping you until you’re melty between his fingers. Javier loves loving the resistance out of you and you always make it so easy for him.

He’s a good lover by nature and by practice. Passionate and maybe a little conceited, it’s not his first brush with romantics. He can only hope it’ll be his last.

Even so, he’s never been liked the way you like him.

You like Javier in a way you seem embarrassed by when you remember. It causes you to act in ways out of character on the surface, emboldened. Maybe just needy. Enough to bask in his praise and affection once a little liquor has touched your mouth. You like Javier in a way that makes you lovesick and puppylike, all honeyed gazes and pouty lips. He’s never met somebody who likes him the way you do, without grandstanding. Just pure, puppy love. Almost innocent if you don’t look too long.

Almost being what matters most.

Javier knows the way you were raised, after all. Knows the intimate ways in which you fold yourself and tuck your wants between the pages of your diary and slip your requests under your tongue. It’s hard for you to want for anything too much because you’ve been told your whole life that wanting at all is a sin. Wanting may even get you killed. A good woman should want nothing but salvation. Anything more than that is indulgence and there’s nothing good about that. It translates in the way you carry yourself. You’ll stop and fumble and shy away before even fixing your lips to ask, like you’re planning on being rejected or told no.

A good girl like you being told no so often, it’s made you all sacrifice and empty prayers. Javier often feels grief about your lives before each other but nothing makes it so evident as that. A good woman, a beautiful and kind and soft one like you should never hear the words no without the best of reasons. That’s what Javier believes for all of his lovers, but you’re special.

And that makes it worse.

For you he’d do anything. No price he wouldn’t pay, no place he wouldn’t go, nothing that’s too far out of his reach. He thinks maybe he’s so eager to give it to you because he knows you don’t have it in you to take it yourself. You won’t whine greedily even if Javier tells you too, so Javier’s giving is only a partial virtue. It’s mostly pride, after all. It hurts his ego a little when you refuse to bask in the love he so enthusiastically wants to drown you in.

Despite his complaints though, it’s a part of you that makes him so weak to you. That you want with such desperation but don’t allow yourself to take - so it makes you pliant and willing and terribly, adorably pathetic. You’re so weak for Javier. Just for him, you always say. Always with a hand in his, or wrapped around his bicep. All yours, Javi. Always his.

That’s the thing. Javier wants to give everything in the world to you. He wants to be good to you, and he so often is. But you do things sometimes, all collapsed under the weight of your own desire that drive him insane. Make him act in ways he normally wouldn’t dream of doing. Depraved and filthy and unromantic in all senses of the word.

It’s really not very polite for Javier to stand and watch you at his door - humping his pillow with weeps and huffs. It’s not kind to embarrass you. He’s a good man, and a good man would cover you with his coat and maybe smile about how much you care for him.

But there’s just something about the look on your face when you do it, something about the tear stains in your lashes and the way your cheek is pressed in his jacket. Something about that needy, incessant little ache in your voice as you call and call and call for him. As if you’re hoping you’ll answer despite him not being there.

Javier is a good man to you. Maybe he could be better. Maybe he’s not good enough.

He stands in the doorway of your shared bedroom with a soft, gentle grin. There’s no question he’s behaving a worse man than he is. Than he ought to be.

He’s quiet as he shuts the door, balancing his weight to remain noiseless.

Javier doesn’t particularly like being all the way out in Saint Denis nor is he fond of intel missions. The city is loud, the people unfriendly - though he likes the music and art. He prefers staying in camp if he can help it, but this big bank heist has everyone busy. He’s at least thankful that it’s given him an excuse to be with you. Your knowledge of herbs and poisons and the like have been helpful to gathering information. Been a lot of slipping things in drinks and making people forget. The sort of dirty work he’s accustomed too, while also getting a chance to be with you in a place with four walls and a bath. A dream for the future, maybe.

It’s been nice, but he’s been out now for two days - out in the streets gathering information about Bronte’s people. A bunch of lowlifes just like them, but with their hands in the pocket of the city. He’s only been gone for two days, so there’s no reason you should miss him this much. And yet he hears it anyway. And it pleases him, truthfully.

He takes off his coat as he listens to you at the doorway. Shrugs the middle-weight material of his sheen suit jacket over his shoulders and lays it on a chair, takes off his wingtip-gaiter shoes, undoes the yellow puff tie from around his neck. Nothing but a white linen dress shirt and the dark black slacks he’s been wearing for days now, some parts covered in bloodstains he only barely managed to wash out in the river not long ago.

He’s thankful he took a bath before getting in now, listening to you moan. His hands being clean feel like a blessing - just his luck.

He manages to remain quiet as he steps into the main room - a single bed in the center. Javier finds you there in a heap as he rests his body along the wall of the entrance to his right. He crosses his arms over his chest as he takes a minute to take in the scenery, admiring the soft lowlights and the way they cast shadow on your body.

The wooden bed frame creaks slightly as you rut your hips. You’re out of it, Javier can tell, since you’ve yet to sense the fact he’s come in. The paintings along the back wall click against soft red walls themselves, over and over in an arrhythmic tic. Javier tries not to laugh. Gives himself a minute to admire the moment for what it is, the vulnerable desperation of your lust. He has to get over the disbelief, too. Over the fact your face is buried in the open part of his bluecoat and that you’ve got a hotel pillow(his hotel pillow) between your legs. One that you’re humping so frantically he can’t help but feel sorry for you.

You’re making a mess.

You are a mess. The way the white chemise falls over your back and hips, and the lack of finesse in your gestures. If Javier had to bet money on it - he’d bet money on the fact you probably didn’t start this way. He figures you nested with his coat and pillow to go to sleep and then worked yourself into something senseless and desperate. And he’d figure if he didn’t show up, you wouldn’t cum at all. You’d go to bed all frustrated and tired and just wait for him like always.

Any man would be pleased by it, he thinks. And a good one would never embarrass you about it. Javier tries his best. Weighs his options, but the words slip from his mouth before he can think to stop them.

Pure elation in his words wrapped up in a smug delight. “Aye, hermosa - you’re gonna ruin my things you know?”

Your reaction is what he expects. You jump out of your skin first, sitting straight up. Javier bites back a laugh as you do, big wide eyes like a deer caught in the scope of a rifle. You look around the room, worried you’re imagining him. Once you’ve come back to reality enough to realize he’s real and tangible - all the neediness washes right back into your expression.

“Javier,” You sniffle and god. Javier hopes the heavens are more merciful to him than he is to you. “Javi,”

“I’m home,” He voices in a partial tease, walking towards you. He can tell you want to run to him. To crawl into his arms and lap and collapse there forever, but the dull throbbing between your legs is stopping you. “I would ask if you missed me but, somehow I get the feeling you did.”

You let out a soft, sniffly whine as Javier sits in the bed next to you. He turns his body to face you a little better but keeps distance. You turn your face towards him. Javier cups your cheek in his palm, eyes tracing your features. Your lips are bruised like you’ve been biting on them to keep the noise down and your eyes are wet with tears, red stained in the waterline. His thumb brushes along the thin skin of your lower lip, clicking his teeth at you.

“Look at you,” He reprimands, his voice tender as he leans in to give you a little relief. You kiss Javier too eagerly, impatient and lacking your usual timidness. It’s how he knows how far you’ve fallen. How simple and easy your reactions are. “You’re going to hurt yourself pushing so desperately,” He laughs again, a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Does it feel good, at least?”

“It’s better when you do it,” You admit, falling forward. Javier doesn’t let you drop, but he doesn’t comfort you right away either. He laughs and lets a hand rest on your lower back, relishing in your reaction. You shiver, sensitive and overstimulated with so little at all.

“I know,” He coos with as much faux-sympathy as he can manage. “Couldn’t wait for me a little longer? I’m hurt.”

“Nooo,” You draw the words out, pitiful and upset “I’m sorry. I missed you,”

“It’s okay,” Javier says, knowing he wasn’t mad in the first place. Not even a little. “Ahh, what should I do with you now, do you think?”

It’s hard not to laugh at the immediate noise of disapproval. He’s sure you’d be able to ask him for what you want if he coaxed you into it. One whispered word of tell me what you want, and you’d be begging for his cock with ease. Filthy words from such a pretty mouth, he likes the idea.

But he’s feeling… something. Something on the border of sadistic and loving that has him instead thinking.

Pretending to think.

“Maybe you should keep going, hm? You’ll think clearer once you’ve let it out, don’t you think?”

“I can’t,” You bemoan, pleading with him. “I’m trying but it’s—it’s not enough, Javier, please.”

He shakes his head. “Oh, man. What am I gonna do with you? Should I help you, mi amor?”

You nod your head rapidly. As if he’d ever leave you out to dry when you look all pretty helpless. He doesn’t mention it to you. “Please,”

“Yeah? I’ll help you then.” He offers, taking your hand and guiding you to his lap with his legs stretched out. He sits you over his thighs, glancing back at his jacket and pillow, brows raised when he sees how sticky they both are. Your habit of drooling and your cunt soaking his pillow case, he laughs just a little seeing the state of them. You must notice because you hit his shoulders weakly. “So needy,”

“Javier.”

“Alright, alright,” He laughs again, kissing your cheek as he brings you to him. You frown but comply with his handling of you, strong hands pulling you over his thigh. He sits you down until your bare cunt is pressed against the clothed muscle. It dawns on you what he’s doing as he’s doing it, a noisy little whimper sounding as Javier pulls you close. Close enough to wrap your arms around his neck. He puts a hand on the back of your head, encouraging you to bury his face into the space of his shoulder. He can feel the relief in you when you do, slumping into him a second time today. “You have to move on your own, you know? I won’t help you.”

“You’re being awful,” You say with no real malice or bite.

“I’m a little hurt, that’s all. And I’m helping you aren’t I? Is that not what you want?”

You groan against the skin of his neck. “I want your…ngh,”

He hums against you, decides to be merciful since he’s teased you plenty and he’s going to tease you more.

“Wanna feel me right here, don’t you?” He puts a hand between your bodies, pressing the back of his hand into your stomach. “I know, I know. But I want you to cum like this first.”

“Can’t do it by myself,” You sniffle. Don’t even try to push back, so obedient and willing. Javier hums sympathetically.

“I’m here right? I’ll help you, mi vida. I’m not that mean, am I?”

You shake your head no. He most definitely is, but maybe he can keep that a secret from you a little longer.

“Here,” He says. Javier pulls your chemise up until it’s pooling at your waist. Strong, tan hands hold at your hips, squeezing the soft skin with a warm sigh. You keen immediately. He pushes his thigh up just slightly to give you the right kind of friction. Hiccuping in his lap, he sets a pace for you to grind yourself on him. A slower back and forth. When you get too wet, too needy - you get sloppy. Sometimes he can give it to you hard and fast but you’re sensitive. Sensitive to the point it’s easy to make you hurt, make yourself hurt if you’re too clumsy.

You’re always chasing pleasure but you don’t know anything about build-up. For a girl who tends to keep to herself and is always so meticulous - there’s something about seeing you get so sloppy that turns Javier on. When you’re wet and can’t think straight “Not too fast, okay? You’re sensitive, need it slow at first to make it feel good if it’s like this. Did you forget?”

You nod, then moan hotly against his throat. Javier shivers at the way your tune changes. He can feel you breathe in his scent and relax as he guides your hips. He eventually stops touching you. Lets you take control of the pace just like he shows you. You manage to pace yourself despite how much you want to cum. Javier can feel how pent up you are. The fabric of his slacks going sticky, tacky from cum and arousal.

You smell nice and soft, like baby powder and something floral.

Javier’s been hard since he got in the door, but it’s starting to fog his mind up. Feeling your tits press against his chest, feeling your skin against his. Soft and pliant and beautiful. He kisses against your shoulders as you slowly start to build your orgasm up again. Not that it’s hard.

You pull away from him, briefly - and your face makes his dick twitch. You’re always pretty but you’re especially pretty like this. Drool drips from the corners of your mouth, eyes lidded and barely blinking.

“Javi,” Your words are slurred. Javier laughs but doesn’t clean you up. “Kiss me,”

“Sure,” He replies, though he’s all too happy to do it. Javier kisses you with tongue. He knows it’s what you want. Your hands curl up at his chest as he brings his own to cup your head and pull you to him. His tongue in your mouth is invasive but precise, knowing all the ways you want him to nip and kiss and suck on your mouth. You whine in complete pleasure, drunk from the sensation and he’s hardly touched you at all.

He thinks of how he’ll fuck you as he kisses you. He’ll touch you more than he is now and you’ll fuck like lovesick rabbits until sunrise. It’s less something Javier decides and more something he knows. Like once he opens the door to pleasing you like this, it’ll be tough on him to close it again.

“Javi,” You keep calling his name. It might be the only word you remember. Always seems to be when you get like this. “It feels so good. Feels so good when you touch me,”

Javier kisses against your bare shoulder and neck, teeth scraping soft against your clavicles. “Mm. You’re doing well. A very good girl today,”

You shudder at the praise, all the hairs on your neck raising from the drop of it. Javier laughs. You whine his name again but he doesn’t reply. He can feel you more than he can see you. Your body is twitching against his thigh and your muscles are tight where you hug against him. Javier calms you.

“Gonna cum soon, huh?”

You nod over and over, but can barely keep your head up to do it. And he laughs, full of fondness and affection as he peppers your face with kisses. He doesn’t have it in him suddenly, to tease you about it any more. He encourages you instead, hand on your hips to give you more friction as you start to grow erratic in your breathing. You pant hard against his ear, like you’re chasing something. Little bunny rabbit, he thinks. Your voice is little more than a croak.

“Oh,” You moan, loud and helpless and needy as you cling to him. Your hands fisted in the back of his shirt as you cry out his name one more time. A prayer, maybe. Or a curse. Something in between. “Javier, oh,”

“Shhh, that’s it. Just like that. Good girl. You’re so good to me.”

You weep into his neck as you cum, your whole body tightening before breaking out into aroused shakes. You’ve completely lost it in front of him. On the brink of insanity with nothing but pleasure filling your empty-head. You hump against him thoughtlessly as you ride out your high, then finally lean against him when you’ve managed to reach the end of it. You don’t move. Javier can feel how big the wet patch of his pants has grown and tries not to laugh.

You’re only barely coherent when you’ve finally pulled away. Your pupils are blown out and your face is flushed, sweat making your hair stick to your skin in the places it’s not tucked away. Javier laughs at the state you’re in, brushing his thumb along your cheek just beneath your eyes.

“Are you with me still, do you think?”

You nod, seemingly exhausted. He laughs again and kisses your temple.

“Want you,” You say, despite your state. His eyes widen again at how soon after you’re asking him. He was planning on taking his time, but that plan might just be out of the race. He’s not above you begging him so sweetly. “Please, Javi. Need you, need you so bad.”

You sound like you’re about to cry. He speaks in soft murmurs. “I thought you’d be too tired to keep going right away.”

“No,” You mumble and shake your head. “Please. Please, want you so bad.”

“You’re exhausted, mi vida.”

“Please,”

He chuckles. “Okay. Okay, don’t cry. Whatever you want, remember. Unbutton my shirt for me, mi amor.”

You sniffle, your hands shaking as you fulfill his request. You’re exceptional at listening. Javier smiles at you, your eyes meeting as you do. You flush and pout, only barely managing to maintain his gaze without looking away. You unbutton his shirt dutifully. He puts a hand on your arm and rubs it soothingly. “You must’ve missed me a lot, huh.”

You nod. “It’s bad, you know? Two days shouldn’t feel so long. It didn’t use too.”

“Just means we love each other,” Javier assures, a safe place for you to express your neediness. “That’s nothing bad,”

You nod, pressing your forehead to his. “That’s true,”

“See? And it’s nice you know. Having someone miss me. Wait for me. Makes me want to come home instead of, I don’t know.” He feels his throat tighten at the sincerity but pushes through anyway “Dying for the cause. Or even just because.”

It’s the first time you’ve smiled all day and god. Might be the only thing that’s ever mattered. Above all forms of love prior and past. Above revolution. Above god. Just you. You smile, happy and elated and keep unbuttoning his shirt with a coquettish-ness to you. Comfortable and safe.

You help Javier out of his shirt, and wait for his approval to go after his pants. Undoing the buttons, you free his cock from the confines with a soft gasp. Javier laughs at the reaction, cat-like grin on his features.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“It’s so big,” You say, your hand wrapping around it briefly. Javier swears, head against the headboard.

“Careful,” He warns, laughing thickly. “I’m pretty pent up too,”

“Want it inside me,” You say so easily it startles him. You blink up at him through your lashes, too pretty for your own good. “Please?”

“Should open you up a little.”

“Want it to hurt,” You reply instantly. Javier feels his breath hitch.

“Oh, fuck.” He breathes, trying to keep himself from cumming in your hands. “We’ll go slow.”

You nod quickly, not wanting to wait any longer. Javier curses himself for not being more polite.

He guides your arms around his neck, his own arm around your waist as he lays you down on your back. You look up at him, surprised by his handling of you but not upset by it all. You mumble something he doesn’t catch, but it sounds pleased.

Javier finds that he’s fond of missionary. He didn’t think he was the type, but there’s something about seeing you laid on your back that he likes. Likes being able to look at you and be close to you, to whisper sweet nothings in your ear as you curl into him. He lays you down gently on his spine, laughing at the way your legs wrap around his waist the second you’re comfortable. His hands go up under your knees but don’t push you too far. You spread your legs for him naturally, eyes fluttering with exhaustion and leftover stupid want. He looks down at you and smiles.

“One more, okay? Just the one.”

“I can’t,” You whine “Too sensitive. Just want you to cum on me,”

“Are you doubting me?” He challenges, only partially. Your eyes widen and he chuckles. “Of course you can. One more,”

You whimper, suddenly realizing you had no choice in the first place. But you nod, relenting to him like you so often do. Javier kisses you. It means more things that he’s comfortable telling. Means thank you, and that he’s sorry, that he loves you. He kisses you one more time after that, and smiles at how happy you seem because of it.

Finally, when Javier lays you down on the sheets beneath you - it feels like finding religion all over again. The loose material of your chemise has given up on covering you, exposing the soft mound of your chest and hardened nipples. He can see your neck and shoulders and everything else above and below. You’re so beautiful his cock twitches again, hard.

He sits back up on his knees and takes a deep breath as he lays his cock against your puffy folds. You breathe soft, an aching sound from the back of your throat as you pull your skirt up to give him better access. He laughs gently at that, examining how nearly seven inches measures up to you and feels a little dizzy in the process of it. He’s done this with you so many times now, practically trained your body to take him without too much trouble. A welcome change from when you could barely fit the tip, too inexperienced to do it but even more determined.

Even still some part of him worries about it. It’s not enough to stop him though, not nearly. His cock twitches against hard, wanting for you. He looks down at you and sees you stare up, admiring his figure. He laughs.

“Like the view?”

You nod. “Mm. Uh-huh.”

“I’m glad,” He replies, then adds “Deep breath,”

So you take a deep breath, and Javier pushes the tip of his cock into you with a loud grunt. You’re so soft. Wet, and pliant and soft around the swollen head of his cock, he can’t help but shudder with relief and desire. Can’t help but grit his teeth and grip onto your hips to steady himself.

You breathe like the air has been punched out of your lungs, saying his name dreamily. “Oh, Javi,”

He swears under his breath, something incoherent as he pushes the tip push into you evenly. It’s not easy. The resistance is there, but you don’t whine in pain right way - so it means it’s not too hard on you. Perhaps loosened by the previous orgasm, or simply so needy that it doesn’t bug you. Still, Javier makes sure to keep himself tight. He rocks, back and forth, ignoring the agony of that sensation to keep him from thrusting up into your soft, welcoming cunt. If he listened to what he wanted, he can’t be confident it wouldn’t make you ache. He already knows you will with this much.

It takes a few minutes, and some whimpering from you before he finally manages to bottom out.

You feel good. God, you feel good.

He can’t imagine heaven, but he thinks being inside of you might be close enough. There’s certainly all the makings of religion when he makes love to you. You, a soft and loving deity, and him - a man laden with sin who longs to be saved. It makes sense to compare you that way. And it feels just as euphoric as the always described, being wrapped in you. Being part of your completion. What's religion without worshippers, anyway?

Javier groans as he bottoms out inside of. When he manages to peel his eyes open and look at you, you’re debauched. He’s debased you this completely and he doesn’t know if you can even tell. He laughs, leaning down to kiss your neck and run pecks against your jaw.

“Feel good?”

“Feels so good,” You moan, then hold him tighter. “I love you. Love you Javier,”

“Me too, mi amor. Para siempre. ” He hums, kissing your forehead before looking at you. “Can I move?”

“Please,”

“Touch yourself for me,” He tells you patiently. “Make yourself feel good.”

You nod, dazed - a hand between your bodies as Javier sets a pace to fuck you. He knows you in and out. At least well enough to know exactly the ways to make you feel good. Only a few thrusts for him to find the perfect pace, perfect rhythm, perfect spot. You make a noise like a songbird, deep in the back of your throat and Javier can feel you pulse around him in pleasure.

You stay like that, with him. Javier fucks you to his hearts content in deep, long thrusts - angled against the softest parts of you and wanting to make you feel good. He whispers sweet nothings as your nails dig into the muscle of his back. You feel good for him. You are good for him, wet and perfect. It takes all of his strength to fuck you consistently, the bed rocking underneath you both as he gives it to you hard.

“I’m close,” You whimper, not seeming to believe yourself despite. “I’m so close, oh god, Javier.”

“That’s it,” He whispers, chuckling against your skin “One more. Just one more and I’ll give it to you.”

It’s the promise of his cum that drives you over the edge. You gasp and groan, shuddering as Javier pounds you through your second orgasms. He groans as he feels your pussy spasm and tighten around him, practically begging him to put it inside. He’s nearly lost his sense enough to do it, unhelped by the way your sweet voice begs him for it. He practically has to pry himself away from you, out of you to keep himself from cumming inside as deep as he can possibly go.

He manages, barely, to stave off his own orgasm. Long enough pull himself out of you with a broken gasp and cum outside of you. Making a mess of your stomach and your soft, swollen cunt with his seed. He paints you in thick ropes of whites as he swears loud in the process, euphoria rumbling through him uninterrupted.

“Fuck,” He moans, finally getting to the end of it. A little embarrassed by how much of a mess he’s made right along with you. “You do something crazy to me, you know that?”

You stare at him, bleary eyed and giggly despite your exhaustion. “I know. Me too. I missed you,”

He laughs, and can’t find the words to say anything but the same back. Of course Javier is a worse man when you’re around.

Any man loved this much is bound to be a little ruined.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

#javier escuella x reader #javier escuella smut #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 smut #red dead redemption 2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 smut #outlaws love letters

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fixyourwritinghabits · 6 months ago

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Editing Part 4: Worldbuilding Pass

Next up, worldbuilding! We're tackling this before structure, because you don't want to get too far into the weeds, realize a critical component of your story is wrong, and then throw your computer out the window in frustration.

Anyway, when it comes to worldbuilding, there's a lot of moving parts. There is no right or wrong way to worldbuild, but my preferred approach is to worldbuild as the story goes along. Any method works, and you can check out the worldbuilding tag for more. In editing your worldbuilding, you want to think about:

Trimming Front-loading/Info Dumps

When writing fantasy/sci-fi, getting down how the world works can take over the story. In first drafting, this is fine! But when you're trying to clean that draft up, it's better to weave this information in as you go.

Need to explain how the giant mechas guarding the city operate? Maybe your main character is trying to steal some precious alloy from one, giving you opportunity to explain how they work and how society feels about them. Have a magic system that relies on singing tunes? Show that off by having students practicing, or dueling rivals taking it too far.

You probably know by now that the thing you should avoid the most is "as you know" dialogue dumps - characters explaining concepts to each other that they both clearly understand. Another, weaker version of this is the "magic class" trap, where things are explained to the main character and the reader. A classroom environment is fine, but pair worldbuilding with action - demonstrations get out of hand, spells go wrong, etc. Make it fun!

Your World Needs Clear Rules (Sorry)

Listen, this is the part I hate. I have a WIP with the word "Rules" in the title and I'm still figuring out what those rules are. Argh. But the sooner you know the rules, the easier editing will be. The more clear those rules are to the reader, the more impactful breaking them will be.

If the rules of the world (you can't use warp speed too close to a planet's gravitational pull, the same type of magic cancels each other out) and the consequences of breaking them are clear, the pay-off will be satisfying for both you and the reader.

Use Your Environment to Your Full Advantage

You've no doubt heard 'make setting a character' and that's evergreen advice. Some of the best books out there are those where it feels like you could step through the page and into a real place, be it your childhood middle school or Narnia. Getting that feeling, however, is more than just describing a place really well.

Mood - How does the location make you feel? Does a dark, cramped room leave the characters with a feeling of dread? How would that feeling change if it was an overstuffed library with comfortable chairs?

Weather - Beyond the 'dark and stormy night' descriptions, weather impacts our daily lives and is often overlooked. A rain-drenched funeral scenes seems like it's the way to go, but how differently would that scene feel if it was a sunny day with birds singing?

City Versus Countryside - These books are a great reference for description, but also take a step back to compare how different situations would feel both in the setting and to your character. Quiet can mean very different things depending on where you are. A morning fog in the countryside might feel comforting to someone used to it, but to someone new to that environment, it might feel creepy. Think about both your environment and how your character reacts to it based on their backstory.

The Empty Room Problem

This is always a big challenge when moving from the first draft bare bones basics to fleshing things out. How much description is too much? (As a note, it's always okay to overcorrect - you'll have a chance to fix it later!) This post from @novlr has a lot of great questions - but you're still going to narrow it down to the most important details.

Escape the Movie Setting - You cannot describe the room like it's a movie set. Trying to do so is going to be overwhelming, and important details will be lost in the attempt. If you were to describe your room or your favorite coffee shop and could only highlight four or five details, what would you focus on? What gives the reader the essence of the place rather than a list of things that exist there?

Establish the Essentials - Is this your first character's first time in this room? Is it going to be key to several plot-important scenes? Some big, sweeping details when entering - how big it is, what's in it, where the windows are, how it feels, etc - are good to start with. Your character can briefly admire a full bookshelf in the first scene, and then study it in more detail in the second. If you have one scene in this place and spend too much time describing it, you're going to make your reader think it's more important than it is.

Engage the Senses - Does an old room smell musty? Does the coldness of the woods have a sharp taste? Does touching a shelf bring up a lot of dust? How does the lighting in the room make the main character feel?

Getting down the description of a room or setting is not something you'll nail in one shot, but if you approach each scene asking yourself "does this feel like a real place or a white room?" you can narrow down what's missing.

#editing #writing advice #writblr #writerblr

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cloveroctobers · 2 months ago

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THE BEST THAT I HAVE. | Bo Chow (Sinners) — summer prompts

A/N: idk should I keep offering my little percentage of feeding Bo’s tag? This is only happening because I came across a prompt and thought about a specific part that I included in the other thing I wrote about him. Not necessarily connected but still works as if it is. Also heard this song that fit the late night summer vibe so that really put a stamp on it. Not anything big but with summer prompts I like to be a little more soft hearted lol.

S/N: I’ve officially seen sinners (only) twice now and I’ve definitely missed out on a lot the first round lol—which happens! I appreciate this film even more and need some merch now 🤍

PROMPTS ARE FROM @urfriendlywriter since I can’t find the exact post but thankfully I jotted down which user I got this from & I’m using: when they wear tank-tops while doing manly labor and you're just there admiring the sight. + going out to get ice-cream at 2 am (this has got to be a love language)

<- read my previous summer anthology prompt here.

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“You alright over there, doll?” Bo’s voice holds humor in it as he steps down from the wooden ladder, empty box held underneath his bare muscular arm.

You’re on the outside aisle in front of the pear jam and canned plums in heavy syrup, crouched down as you hold a clipboard on your knee, blinking rapidly to bring yourself out of a daze.

That daze being Bo Chow’s arms in that tank top, with a light sweat patch around the neckline.

He hops off the last two steps of the ladder with a grunt, using his wrist to wipe any droplets of sweat from his forehead away as he continued on, “You’re lookin’ like you might just pass out. And I got a feelin’ it might be the sight of me.”

He’s half teasing, letting you know that he’s seen your stolen glances the moment he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it towards the back hallway. He’s even wiggling his brows at you while you huff and get up to your feet.

“Please. If anything’s gonna damage my eye sight and send me to the ground, it’ll be the smell of your musty underarms, and these dust bunnies hiding in the air vents.” You sass, making Bo chuckle as he peeks upwards at the ceiling fan that was squeaking and shaking about.

He fixed that thing over five times with the help of his soon to be father-in-law, Jian, who worked down at the laundry mat. He was the number one Mr. Fix-It, managing to repair lots of dryers to save money and because he got the run around from certain clear colored repairmen. Bo was convinced that this fan was on its way out and considered turning it off completely, even if you gave him a hard time about it.

It wasn’t the only fan in here anyway.

You move towards the opposite end of the store which the said fan stood on its own on the floor, blocking the air that cooled you from behind as your own shirt stuck to the skin of your back. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you peeled one eye open to see that Bo also moved to stand behind the register, checking the shelves underneath it.

“Shouldn’t your fiancée be here anyway?” You’re not necessarily prying since you were the one who offered to help once you got word that Bo was having a late night to do inventory.

Bo pops back up from behind the register laughing to himself, “Can’t get that woman to do anything after midnight but to chat about wedding dresses, do her skincare routine, party, or tell me how I’ve gotten on her nerves at some point during the day.” He begins flipping through some pages peering up as if thinking about it then finishes, “I’ve learned my lesson messing with her sleep.”

You tried not to think too much about that, considering Grace just recently started working on the other side and across the street of the grocery store.

“So you have your best friend here instead…it all worked out in the end.” You smirk.

Bo laughter lines appear while he grins, “Yeah you can say that,” he tosses whatever booklet he was browsing back underneath the register, “Plus you’re the ultimate night owl here. You’re mostly alive in the night time and live for the graveyard shift madness.”

That much was true yet that didn’t stop you from rolling your eyes. You’re not passing much judgment by any means, since everyone operated differently at certain times of the day and had many things to consider in times like these. The fact of the matter is, you didn’t mind helping, even if it meant sweeping built up dust, with your face starting to itch and couldn’t stop sneezing for a solid five minutes, or almost getting bit by a spider—spending time with Bo was no crime.

Bo notices your quietness and adds, “You can go on and take that cot in the back if you need the rest. Dawn isn’t for a few more hours but if you need to, go right ahead. Or should I follow through with my promise to your momma and bring you on home myself?”

“I just may,” you shrug being in tune with your body to see what type of energy you had left, “If you decide to stick me with those leaky freezers again.”

A grin tugged at his lips as he glanced the wall for the time. Bo definitely tended to get bossy once he was truly locked in. Granted it was just the two of you so of course the work would need to be put in. If Bo needed the extra hands, it would be like pulling teeth for him to ask any other family members…although Bo & Co. Delta Grocery & Market has been in his family’s hands for a while (under different names) Bo Chow was really the type of man who was particular and liked to do things himself.

The only good thing about the freezers was getting blessed with the cool air but that seemed to vanish the harder you worked, pulling what you could to take count and check expiration dates.

There had to be some bruises on your backside from constantly holding the freezer open with it or rather getting smacked with it, since you couldn’t really figure out the mechanism that would hold the door open for you. Until Bo did the honors, his hands messed with the screws so quickly, tempted to lock you in the freezer for jokes once you had to almost climb inside to reach the top, foot slipping from the condensation on the glass of the door while you let all the cold air out. Since the freezer was left open that meant the defrosting process happened thanks to no AC.

And twisting up your ankles on the damp floor was a sight to see.

“Damn doll and here I thought you were doing a new dance.” Bo teased, already behind you with a mop.

Bo speaks, “Nah, I’m callin’ time. We’ve done enough and I think we should reward ourselves don’t you?”

“Meaning?”

Bo exhales with his hands resting on his hips, “Well…Double Chin Harry’s been closed ‘round ten. Our only option for now is Milkshakes at Pepper’s Diner. The ice cream here doesn’t hold a candle to what we really want and I ain’t ashamed to say it.”

A crooked grin plays on your lips then, “I can’t believe my ears right now. Are you actually giving credit to another establishment, Mr. Perfectionist?”

Bo pulls a cigarette from his pocket to tug behind his ear, “‘Course I am. This is a community after all and it’s okay to say what’s lacking in your own business. If Double Chin Harry’s worked with a packaging distributor, I’d get them in here in a heartbeat and hope I get some sorta discount since we’re their favorite customers.”

He winks while you scoff stepping over to place the clipboard down on the counter.

“Well, remind me to write Double Chin Harry a thank you card, since they’re the only reason I’m about to get a milkshake with Bo Chow and not his fiancée.”

Bo clicks his tongue at you with a shake of his head.

Soon the both of you make it around the corner and up the street to Pepper’s which always sits right on the corner, brightly lit and facing the back road. Before your hand can even touch the handle, Bo beats you, yanking the door back and playfully rolling his hand about.

“After you madam.”

You snicker, lightly punching at his chest, “Why thank you, Pally.”

Leading the way into the diner, with the bells above your head signaling your arrival, you’re welcomed with the blast of chilled air that almost makes you hunch your shoulders at its brisk greeting compared to the muggy Mississippi heat, and the stench of burnt coffee, syrup, and grease.

You pick a booth somewhere in the middle, thankful that you wore pants for this occasion while you picked up a menu, eyes already skimming the words. Your ears perk up as you hear Bo greet one of the waitresses but don’t move your eyes from the dessert section.

Bo sits across from you, hands immediately going to the jukebox tabletop, which you whack away with the menu. “Now what was that for?”

“We talked about this. No hoggin’ the radio.”

Bo puffs out a breath, “You’re acting as if I don’t have impeccable taste.”

You tilt your head to the side, “There’s only so much Skip James, Mildred Bailey, and Duke Elllington you can play.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” He grinned, resting an arm along the back of the booth. “You’re welcome for that experience.”

You’re shaking your head at him but the smile is dead giveaway.

It’s Bo’s turn to tilt his head at you, eyes flicking back from you and the menu after fiddling with the jukebox for a little. “There ain’t no point studying the menu so hard when we’ve been here enough. We both know exactly what you want.”

You give him a look.

“No pouting.” He wags his finger at you before dropping it to knock against the menu to the beat of the music.

You tighten your stare, “I don’t pout!”

Bo smirks, “That’s what you think but I know you too well to know what a pout is and you certainly do. It’s adorable though sweetheart, so it’s fine.”

A waitress arrives before you could tear him a new one. She’s one of the ones you’re familiar with, salt and pepper curls always neatly pinned back into a bun, tall as billboards, and gap in between her two front teeth.

Bo sends her a charming smile, “Hey there, Ms. Lynette, right on time as always! We’ll do the strawberry milkshake with extra whip for the lady and a vanilla malt with the caramel syrup mixed in for myself.”

Ms. Lynette winks at the two of you, knowing not to ask if anything else was needed but still says, “Comin’ right up. I’ll be back with some water to tune down the sweetness if needed. If anything else comes to mind, be sure to holler.”

“Thank you, Ms. Lynette.” You smile as she sends you one right back.

Bo gives her a two finger salute, “Will do.”

You lean forward, pressing your chin on top of your hand as you squint over at the dark haired man across from you, “One of these days I’m just gon’ surprise you with my order and you won’t know what to do.”

Bo quirks up a brow, also leaning forward, resting his fingertips on the edge of the table, “Today ain’t one of them days, doll.”

Always matching your energy, you can’t help but to laugh, almost flinging yourself back against the seat of the booth. At Pepper’s the selection was limited compared to Double Chin Harry’s where there were many varieties and a routine. It was your thing to try every flavor together and Double Chin Harry’s had over a hundred and swapped them out during the seasons. Even when winter came along, you and Bo were his number one customers.

Outside the streets were still and quiet, with only the streetlights and moon being the main source of light. Even the neon sign of the diner buzzed like it was half-asleep. Inside, the hum of the AC and faint clanks from the kitchen filled the comfortable silence between you.

“So,” you start, taking your time for your eyes to meet Bo’s dark ones, “Less than a month huh?”

Bo reached up to awkwardly scratch the back of his neck, “Yeah…it’s comin’ up fast. End of September, right when the weather is bearable to be outdoors for longer. A change. Kinda poetic…at least that’s what Grace’s mama says.”

You hum, “Grace get to pick the date?”

“We were told a date,” Bo informs, “Yet Grace got to do the invitations. You know she’s real crafty and gets a kick out of shit like that. Had to put her foot down with that one.”

You can only imagine. You remembered being a in a wedding a few years back (a whole bridesmaid) for your old childhood neighbor who used to live here in the Delta until she met that Lawyer who was here on business and he swept her away to Alabama.

They have triplets now.

Yet it felt like a wedding close to hell if anyone asked you.

Bo’s eyes drop to his hands now, “This ain’t how I imagined a wedding, y’know? In someone else’s hands. Smoke said it’s all about being sure in your love and showin’ up. But families talk, make the decisions, things get knotted if you don’t agree hell—maybe it’ll all be fine.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you’re unsure what to say. You’ve seen them together, see that there’s love there and sure anyone should be nervous or a little…since your life has to change once you’re planning to spend forever with someone you deeply love.

Could it really be that deep if someone had to tell you how your relationship should be instead of just feeling it?

Ms. Lynette placed a pitcher of cool water down on the table followed by two plastic cups.

Then she leaves you to be.

You make quick work of downing the water, not realizing how much you needed it.

His eyes catch yours in the way that it makes your stomach tighten, “You know you’ll always be part of my world, don’t cha?” he said, gently. “I’ll give you the best that I have…and then some.”

Bo meant those words, this you knew.

Which is why you’re deeply exhaling, “…That’ll change the minute y’all say, ‘I do.’”

Bo doesn’t reply right away, choosing to let his eyes burn into your skin. Somewhere inside Bo already knew this moment would be the last of what you were before.

The milkshakes arrive not long after, Ms. Lynette still read the room, realizing that she didn’t need to say a thing but offered a polite smile and tap on the table in understanding, before retreating back behind the counter to chat with the only other customer in here.

A man named Ernest who tragically lost his family in a house fire right after New Year’s Day. For years he had a drinking problem but it seems since then he’s been cutting back on the booze, chews tobacco, and increased his caffeine intake instead.

Wrapping your fingers around the stem of the glass, you bring it closer to you, leaning forward to place your lips around the stripped straw. You’re hit with the perfect balance of sweet and creamy for this summer’s night.

Bo also quietly takes his spoon, dipping it into the glass to stir as your attention turns back to the window which brings you back to another day, ways from August, back in spring, and a painfully bright memory.

It was just touching mid-spring the day you met Grace Quon.

You’re walking along the sidewalk, bouquet lounging against your forearm, sunlight bouncing off the colorful petals just right. The SmokeStack twins requested a bouquet full of roses and lillies to be sent over to Mary’s mother’s residence for her birthday from your family’s flower shop.

On your way out from the shop you made a promise that you would deliver them after stopping by the market. You honestly didn’t plan to stop at Bo’s since there was a market—more of a run in and out type of market—closer to Mrs. Connie’s but he had been outside rearranging the strawberries and blackberries in a crate out front.

He caught sight of you from his peripheral, strand of dark hair hanging over his forehead, “Now I know I’m seein’ things. You, a creature of the night out and about before noon?”

His hands clasp down on your shoulders, lightly shaking them about that you’re tempted to whack him with the flowers…if they weren’t for someone else.

“Special delivery for Mary’s mama, Mrs. Connie,” you smile brushing his strand of hair back against the top of his head, “Momma also sent me for snap peas, rice, and beets. So don’t get used to me in the daylight.”

Bo steps back playfully raising his hands in surrender before letting his gaze eye you up and down before settling back on your face, “The sunlight looks mighty nice on you, doll. You should let it happen more often…but any time I get to see you is a good view.”

A soft smile appears on your face before you can even think to roll your eyes or let out a scoff.

“Who’s this?” Her voice cuts through, as she takes her spot right next to Bo.

Grace had emerged from the other side, the side catered to the whites. She had perfect posture, lipstick untouched by the heat, a knowing look in her eyes that hardened once fully settled on you.

Bo blinked once towards Grace and then back to you, “Hey, honey. This is uh,” he says your name, “A good friend of mine. Been a long time friend since I was a boy.”

There’s a polite smile on your face as you shifted the weight of the bouquet in your arms to hold out your hand, “Nice to meet you…Grace right? Bo’s bride to be.”

Grace looks at the flowers and then your hand, taking her time to place her’s in yours, “Mhm but just Grace is fine. I’ve heard about you, you work night shifts at that hotel.”

It wasn’t fully rude but it wasn’t innocent either, the way her hand slid into yours pinching at your fingertips instead of letting her full palm touch yours. It was as quick of a shake as you can imagine.

“Yes at the Willow Dune,” you answered smoothly, “Just good enough to have somethin’ in my pocket. My old man isn’t pleased but I do alright.”

Grace hums turning her gaze to fix Bo’s collar, “Working hard keeps you out of trouble doesn’t it?” It wasn’t really a question as she slides her hand down the length of Bo’s arm before looping her wrist around his, a move so casual it couldn’t be called possessive—yet it was, “Keeps you out of trouble,” she repeats, before softening her tone, “and focused on your responsibilities.”

Bo quietly catches on, clearing his throat to send Grace a warning look as she side eyed him before settling them back on yours. She doesn’t even bother to offer a faux smile.

“Right,” you trail off awkwardly glancing towards the market, “I won’t keep y’all. Just gonna grab a few things and get these babies delivered. See ya, Bo. And…it was great to finally meet you, Grace.”

Was it though?

Grace says nothing and you don’t wait for more. Her gaze stays on you like a hawk while Bo watches her now—reading her with fresh eyes, recognizing something he hadn’t before.

This was bold.

This was territorial.

By the time you push into the market, the sharp eyes of Grace Quon is still on your back but so was the sun.

You move around the store with ease, grateful for the brief shield of walls and glass—even with the front doors cracked just enough to let in the spring air…the couple on the outside share hushed words of their own that start to rise.

You ignore it.

Back inside Pepper’s, the spluttering of the coffee maker starting up was enough to pull you back into the present.

Bo was watching you with the same look—quiet, and careful, like he wasn’t sure what happens next.

Sliding the glass back and forth between your hands for moment, you stop and offer a smile.

A real one.

Even if it hurt, this was your time.

It was best to make the most of it.

“Just promise me one thing,” you said softly, clammy hands cooling from the sweat of the glass, “Don’t you sing your vows.”

Bo furrowed his brows so deeply that one would have thought you insulted his entire being, “I may not be skilled in that department, but I get by! My lady might even like it.”

Although that would be off the cob…who knows? Grace might be into it.

“Mm,” you can’t help but to smirk around the straw in between your lips, “If that’s y’all thing then who am I?”

Bo’s leaning in again even if it’s only a bit, “Who told you I was even thinkin’ about that? Annie?”

You didn’t answer, just smiled at him with your eyes.

That same kind of smile that used to make him weak in the knees once upon a time.

It should’ve felt like any other summer night.

To some, it appeared to be.

Then Bo reached across the table, gently pulling your hand away from the glass and toward the center. He rests his veiny warm hand right on top of yours, just staring at them for a moment.

Studying your hands as if he’s trying to pick the right fruit.

You don’t move.

The ache could wait.

The milkshakes and late hours were also in your grasp with a shared silence that said a lot of things.

Perhaps?

That is what was best.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚

Continue with my summer anthology prompts here.

#Spotify #sinners #sinners 2025 #sinners film #sinners fic #bo chow #bo chow x black reader #queued #summer prompts #bo x grace #grace chow #summer fiction

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pandora-writes-one-piece · 1 month ago

Text

The Meet-Cute - Kid's Story - 14

Source for pic

Imperfect 14

Word Count: 5845

Tags and Summary can be found here.

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Notes: I meant to release this earlier. Gosh, this story has such a hold on me! But my blood pressure has been really low for the past two days, and I'm feeling a tad drained. Anyway! Here's another angsty chapter with a huge revelation. I hope you enjoy it! Tell me all about it, will you? (didn't reach 6k, but it got close!

Additional Note: Ughhh, this song is everything Killer is feeling! I'm crying!

Here's a Spotify Playlist I created for this story if you want to check it out!

Masterlist

Shanks dropped him off five minutes ago, but Killer still hasn’t found the courage to knock on his friend’s door. Thunder still echoes in the distance, but it’s so far away its rumble is nearly imperceptible. The rain is nothing more than a drizzle and a bad memory, the scent of damp earth obliterating the stench of pain and regret that Killer can still sense.

He flexes his hand while a muscle tics in his jaw. His hand doesn’t hurt; he didn’t punch Kid that hard, but it’s like a lingering phantom pain from the accusation Kid sent his way. It was untrue and justified the punch, but it wasn’t completely unfounded.

The feelings were there. He’d just chosen not to act on them.

Did that make the whole ordeal better?

With a sigh, he shakes his head and knocks twice on the door. No answer.

“Open up, man. It’s me.” Killer knocks again. Still no answer. “For fuck’s sake.” He jiggles the handle, and it opens. Unlocked.

Careless.

The place reeks of alcohol, and the stench stings his eyes. The blinds are still drawn, and the dim light from the open door reveals empty bottles and cans scattered across the floor. Either Kid got right back to drinking once he got home, or he hasn’t cleaned up since he came back from the car show.

A bottle clinks against Killer’s boot and rolls away to join its brethren.

The latter option seems more likely. Kid’s just piling up empty bottles and regrets.

Killer walks to the window and opens the blinds to let in the meager light from the overcast sky, and Kid groans in response to his actions.

“You alive, man?” He opens another set of blinds and the windows too, to air out the place, before closing the door and walking towards the couch where Kid is sprawled.

The couch was always too big for Kid, but in the state he’s in, it’s an especially obvious fact. His friend has one leg propped over the arm and the other on the floor. There’s crusted blood on his lip and a defeated expression on his face.

“Barely…” Kid replies, swinging his arm over his eyes. Either to shield them from the light or to keep the shame out of Killer’s sight. “Came over to finish the job?” Kid snorts. “My jaw’s still workin’.”

“Should’ve hit you harder then, moron.” Killer looks around the chaos and flexes his hands, his body itching to do something, to clean this all up, to fix it. “I didn’t come here to finish nothing. I came to see if your head was still far up your ass.”

Kid just snorts again, and that’s answer enough.

Silence stretches, and Killer shuts down another urge. This one tells him to make some coffee and cook some breakfast for his best friend. Not yet, he thinks. He still needs to get his shit together.

Finally, Kid speaks, his face still buried in the crook of his arm, as if facing Killer could tear him apart.

“How is she…?” The words sound raspy and pained. Killer stares at Kid with his arms crossed. He wonders whether he should answer this or not, but of course he answers it. Of course he does.

“Broken, lost, a mess. Just like you. Minus the booze.” Kid stiffens but still doesn’t look at him. Killer can still feel your broken sobs against him, the warmth of your tears, the sound of your heart shattering. “It was fucking overkill, Kid. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I’m no good for her, man. Ye know that.”

“I think she should be the one to decide that. You just have to do your fucking job and love her back. Be there for her. Be the man I know you are. That’s all.”

Kid stands on the couch abruptly, his prosthetic hand gripping the arm tightly, because everything is surely still spinning. “I ain’t that man! I can never be that man, don’t ya get it? Fuck! I’m wreckage! I’m scraps! She deserves better!”

Killer kicks the nearest bottle, and it slams into the wall, shattering into pieces. “Then fucking change! Not just for her, but for you!” He takes a few steps forward and leans down, blue eyes burning with fury as Kid does nothing but blink back at him, mouth slightly agape.

“You say you’re no good? Fine! Be better! You convinced yourself you’ll only hurt her, you keep proving that one right. So just fucking learn to stop! Go to therapy! Get clean! Do whatever it takes to be a better man! You don’t run or quit, for fuck’s sake!”

Killer’s heart thunders away in his chest. He was always the one to lay down the tough love to his friend, but it has never been this personal, this gut-wrenching, this painful.

Kid swallows hard, his throat bobbing up and down as he runs a hand over his face. “It’s not that simple,” he growls.

“No. It’s not. It never is,” Killer whispers, placing one hand on Kid’s bare shoulder. “But you don’t fucking quit. Not when someone like her loves you the way she does.”

“Did,” Kid scoffs. “She don’t love me anymore. I made fuckin’ sure of that.” Silence. “I saw her face, man. She looked at me like I really am the monster everyone talks about. It fuckin’ haunts me.” He shakes his head, lips curling into a snarl. “She’ll move on! Aye, maybe we’re both in the shite now, but she’ll move on. Eventually.”

Killer takes a step back, taking him in, his throat tight with emotion. “You think what you’re doing is noble? That you’re being a hero and a martyr, letting her go even if it hurts you both? Fuck you, Kid. You’re not being righteous. You’re being an ass. And a fucking coward. You’re just running from yourself.”

Fuck. Fuck. Too harsh, too much.

But he can’t stop now. “This is not for her! You can paint it that way just to make yourself feel better, but it doesn’t make it true.” Killer gestures around the room, at the mess, at the broken bottles, at the stench and shame ingrained in these walls. “This is you running, just like you’ve been doing since we got sent back home! This is you putting your tail between your fucking legs and avoiding accountability for your own fucking actions!”

Kid stands up, breathing hard, chest heaving with ragged breaths as his eyes wander around the room, still not meeting Killer’s.

“I’m not fuckin’ runnin’.”

“Then why the fuck are you surrounded by your own wreckage instead of crawling out? Why are you beating yourself up instead of fighting back?”

Kid’s hand clenches into a fist, but he doesn’t answer. He can’t.

“You don’t get to use her as an excuse for your shit, Kid. It’s about time to take a stand. She saw something in you, she fought for you, teeth and nails, even when you kept breaking her heart, little by little. She came back. She got up and tried again. It’s your fucking turn to do it. To fight.”

Killer’s gaze burns into Kid, even if he doesn’t look back. “It’s not easy! Fuck, Kid, it’s everything but. You’re allowed to feel like shit. You’re allowed to feel worthless and guilty. But there comes a time when you just have to stamp your fucking foot down and choose to be a better man. That time is now, brother.”

Kid finally stares at Killer, eyes narrowed with guilt and shame, but still not enough flame to ignite a fight. Not just yet… fuck.

After a few seconds, he sits back down, elbows resting on his knees, eyes facing the floor. “Ye done?”

“Fuck no. Not even close.” But he is. For now, at least. Killer’s sure some of his words got through Kid’s thick skull. Now he needs to let him mull them over, taste them on his tongue, and see if this time his best friend is willing to rise up and fight for himself. “You know where to find me when you decide to stop being an idiot. If not, I’ll be back.”

Kid doesn’t say anything else as Killer exits the room. The last thing Killer sees is Kid’s hand hovering over another bottle.

He doesn’t stick around to witness his choice.

-*-

It still smells like him.

You tossed his jacket into the closet and closed the door, drew the curtains, and crawled into bed to hide beneath the covers, but it’s like the whole room smells like Kid.

The hollow ache in your chest expands, threatening to swallow you whole. He did it. He finally pushed you away for good. Everything you fought for went out the window the moment he chose to bleed you dry instead of fighting too.

You know that girl was just a pawn. You know for sure he didn’t feel anything for her. Maybe not even attraction. She was just a tool he used to hurt you deeply. A final blow to make sure you stayed away for good.

And fuck… this time, he might’ve succeeded.

The fact that he did that after you told him you loved him…

You swallow down a sob and push the covers over your head. Funny, you thought your tears had dried up by now.

Your phone lies forgotten on your desk, so you don’t have any idea how much time passes. Soon enough, you hear your dad’s truck parking, followed by the door opening and his footfalls on the stairs.

A soft knock at your door announces his presence, but you stay quiet. He might be ready to talk, but you’re not sure you are.

“Bug?” Shanks pushes the door open and peeks in. You don’t answer, but he enters the room anyway. “Errands ran late, so I brought you some lunch.” You don’t turn, keeping your face to the wall and head tucked under the covers. The warm scent of greasy food hits you, and you groan, curling into yourself.

“Not hungry?” You groan again, and Shanks sighs. He leaves your room for a moment, and when he returns, he’s not carrying the food. “Sweetheart, let me look at you, please?”

You let that sit for a second. There’s a good chance you’ll break down in tears the moment you look at him. Also, there’s that lingering feeling of shame that hiding beneath the covers helps to mask. Shanks told you this was going to happen, but you thought you knew better.

With a sigh, you pull the covers down and turn to face him. He tries to smile, but it's a weary grimace that twists his lips. You must look like hell.

“Hey.” He bends down and gives you a peck on your forehead before grabbing the chair from your desk and turning it around. “How are you doing?” Shanks sits, resting an elbow on the back of the chair, tilting his head.

You shrug, facing the ceiling. The old paint is still chipped and peeling in places from the fluorescent shooting stars you stuck up there when as a child.

Shanks stays quiet for a few beats before adding, “You don’t have to tell me what happened. And I’m not going to say I told you so. Trust me. I wish I had been wrong. It wouldn’t hurt as much.”

You fight the prickling in your eyes, but a stubborn tear still slips down unimpeded.

“It’s just,” he starts. Then he hesitates with a deep sigh. “I saw it coming, baby, I did. And now I’m kicking myself for not protecting you from heartbreak…” He looks down and groans. “Again…”

You shut your eyes tight, forcing more tears to stay in, even though they still find a way to spill over. It’s not your dad’s fault. It wasn’t with Ichiji, and it’s not with Kid.

Maybe you’re just undeserving of love?

“I know it hurts, Bug, I do. And I wish I could make it better. But time will make it better…”

Time… fucking time. You thought you had all the time in the world. Time to help Kid build himself up, to help him realise he’s not a monster, not bad, not just broken. But no. He had to ruin that.

“I told him I loved him.” Your voice is barely a whisper. “I told him that, and in the next moment, he used it against me. Just to make sure I left.” You sniff, a sob clawing its way through your defenses. “And the worst part? He thinks he’s protecting me.”

Shanks presses his lips together before reaching out and taking your hand in his. His thumb draws soothing circles on your skin, but you can feel him holding back his feelings, throat working, and jaw flexing.

“That sounds like a coward’s way out.” He clears his throat, trying to dispel the anger. “That’s not how you love someone. He doesn’t get to do that. He—”

Shanks cuts himself off and lets out a deep sigh.

“I thought I could make it work. That I was enough. That he’d want to fight for me. For us.”

Your dad grips your hand tighter. “You are enough. This is not your fault,” he snarls. “You’re worth fighting for, and don’t ever think otherwise. Shame’s on him for not seeing it.”

You nod at his words, though you’re not really absorbing them. It’s all still too fresh, too raw. You just want to close your eyes and rest, drift away, pretend it never happened.

“I’m here, sweetheart. For whatever you need. You want to yell, break stuff, cry… call me, okay?” He squeezes your hand, and you nod numbly. “I brought the food downstairs. Give me a holler if you want to eat.”

You nod again, and Shanks fills your water glass before pausing in the doorway for a beat.

“Love you, sweetheart.”

You hum in response, too tired to speak the words that damned you the day before.

-*-

Kid relocated to the garage in the middle of the afternoon, just to give his idle hands something to do besides drinking.

It didn’t work.

So now, instead of being slumped on the couch upstairs, he’s slumped on the couch in the corner of the garage, his ghosts keeping him company again. Ever since the party, they’ve refused to go away, no matter how much he drinks.

They’re just… there. Judging, taunting, punishing. And there’s nothing he can do about it.

Part of him wants to consider Killer’s words, that he’s worth something underneath all that garbage; that if he works a little harder on himself, he might be someone worth loving. But every time his mind starts to consider the possibilities, to imagine a life without ghosts, without misery, and… with you… he’s interrupted by the sneers and taunts of his dead friends, reminded once more why he’s undeserving.

When he hears the garage door opening, he knows it’s not Killer. It’s not his friend’s easy gait approaching. Kid straightens, and as soon as his eyes meet the visitor’s, he stiffens, the grip on the bottle tightening.

“Aye, let’s get this over with.” Kid angles his jaw, offering up the part of his face that’s not completely busted up. “Killer fucked up my left, so if ye’d take my right, I’d appreciate the kindness.”

Shanks takes two more steps and then stops. His eyes narrow as he takes in Kid’s sorry state, then wander around the garage, taking in more empty bottles and cans that litter the place. He presses his lips together, and Kid can feel hot waves of anger rolling off him.

“I’m not going to hit you, Eustass. Though I’m glad Killer did.” Shanks runs his hand through his hair, tightening his lips once more to keep from snarling. “I wasn’t going to come. I really wasn’t. You see, I’m trying this thing where I become a better parent.” He snorts. “And that comes with respecting her boundaries, but… shit, Eustass…”

Kid sets the bottle down and leans back, feigning indifference, but he fails. Shanks’ rage isn’t loud, it’s so much worse: controlled. Calculated. Intimidating all on its own. It simmers under the surface, controlled and contained, even though Kid knows that if he let it explode, it would be devastating.

“My baby girl is back home, breaking because she poured her heart out to you and you trampled it. Just like I fucking warned you not to.”

Even though he’s cursing and pacing the space in front of Kid, Shanks’ voice never rises. Barely even wavers.

“You think you’re protecting her? That by pushing her away, you’re being a hero, keeping her unharmed?” Shanks shakes his head, and his voice drops further. “It takes a special kind of coward to do that, you know? Because if you cared for her even a fraction as much as she feels for you, you would’ve fought.”

Heat snickers to his right, Wire sighs and shakes his head, and Bubblegum pounds the workbench, trying to contain his laughter. Kid’s heart constricts, and he growls, baring his teeth. And then he lowers his head and takes it. Because Shanks is right. And this is the wrong battle to fight. If he were going to fight, it would have been for you.

“I despise what you did to her, but I’m fucking glad that the action might finally make her realise what a useless shit you are.” Shanks kicks an empty bottle and takes another step closer to Kid.

He faces your father, raising his chin instead of cowering away. Enough of being a coward, enough of that. Fuck.

“You wanna destroy yourself? Drink yourself to death? Wallow in your own self-loathing? Fine.” Shanks’ voice drops lower, eyes narrowing like a predator. “Become the wreckage you think you are.”

Kid holds his breath, stands by the accusations because they hit too close to home. But he does not look away.

“But you do not get to drag my daughter down with you.” Shanks points a finger at him in warning. “You stay the fuck away from her. You do not get to try and fix this. You do not get to be a selfish bastard and pull her back into your fucking misery just to stamp on her heart again!”

The fire in Shanks’ eyes rivals the color of his hair. Kid grits his teeth. His first instinct is to fight back. He doesn’t take shit from anyone. But Shanks is just protecting you, and that is exactly what Kid is trying to do, too.

Even though he’s failing miserably.

So he clenches his fists and swallows down all his rage, taking in every word, every warning, every threat in silence. And then, with a herculean effort, he dips his chin in understanding.

“You made your fucking choice. Now live with it. Just know that if she spills more tears over your sorry ass, I won’t be as forgiving.”

They stare at each other, and Kid keeps fighting back his instinct to rage or to mock. He grinds his teeth, clenches his fist, and evens his breath before opening his mouth, “I wouldn’t expect ye to.”

Shanks holds his stare for another beat before he turns his back on him and walks away.

-*-

“It’s been three days, Killer. She’s not eating anything.” Shanks sighs, pacing the kitchen. “She’s surviving on water alone. I don’t know what to do! I’m taking her to the clinic. I—”

Killer places one hand on Shanks’ shoulder, trying to calm him down.

Three days. Three fucking days of hell. Killer’s been drifting from your house to Kid’s, trying to pick up all the pieces you two keep leaving behind, trying to patch you up as best he can, so you’re both whole when this all blows through.

But it’s been hell on earth.

You refuse to eat and spend your days curled up in bed, only getting up to use the bathroom and drink water. Killer spends hours by your side, trying to get you to talk, laugh, be you, but the best he gets is hums. You’re in a depressive state, and Shanks is not overreacting. Perhaps he should take you to the clinic.

Kid, on the other hand, just keeps spiraling further and further. Killer thought his initial conversation had gotten something out of him, that his friend might actually consider getting help. But he’s only gotten worse. If Killer thought Kid was at rock bottom before, he was wrong. He’s found a way to dig himself even deeper, and it’s getting harder to help him climb out.

He keeps saying his ghosts don’t leave him. He drinks and he fights. Killer forced him to stay inside last night, claiming to need his help with something he made up last minute, but he’s not sure if the same trick will work today. Kid’s running out of time. He’s about to hit the destruct button for good.

So before he does that, Killer plans to step in.

But you first… you first.

Killer removes a container from a bag and opens a cabinet, searching for a bowl. “I made her a hearty soup. Gonna try and get her to eat it, okay?” Killer hates that his voice already sounds defeated, like he knows he’s going to fail. “If she doesn’t eat it, I’ll help you take her to the clinic.”

Shanks slumps into the kitchen chair and nods, his hand running through the scruff of beard he hasn’t shaved in two days, his eyes restless. The soup is still hot. Killer made enough for you and Kid. In his opinion, comfort food is halfway to a healthy recovery. In both your cases, he’s hoping it’s the first step towards finally getting you out of your spiral.

He ladles two scoops into a bowl and grabs a spoon and a napkin. Each step up the stairs to your room is a broken plea to whichever deity might be listening. He needs you to eat.

Killer knocks, but he knows better than to expect a reply, so after a few minutes, he pushes the door open, sighing when he notices no difference from yesterday. The curtains are drawn, the blanket pulled up to your ears, and despair clings to the walls.

“Hey, love. How are you?” The chair is there for him. You don’t move it, and he stopped doing it, trying to purposely leave it in the middle of the room to see if you’d get up and put it away.

You don’t.

So he places the bowl on your nightstand, pulls the curtains to let in some light, and sits, leaning in to observe you. You lie in bed all day, but you don’t rest. There are heavy bags under your eyes, and your face looks pale and withdrawn.

You’re withering away.

“I made soup. I know you’re gonna love it. I don’t wanna brag, but I’m the best cook in this town.” Your lip twitches like you’re about to smile but quickly falls back, your eyes boring a hole in the wall. “Can you just try it? A few bites? Please…”

Nothing.

Killer’s chest tightens, and his jaw clenches. He stares at the steam curling slowly from the bowl, then back at your unmoving form, then closes his eyes, his breath shuddering with a heavy exhale.

“I’ll show you my face,” he states. You stop breathing for a moment, then slowly turn your head to stare at him, blinking softly, trying to process whether he’s speaking the truth. Killer swallows hard. “I’ll make you a deal. You eat that soup and you get up. You go about your day, and you start living again. And I’ll show you.”

A fleeting memory of a drunken you asking him to show you his face floats by his mind’s eye. How you made him claim that he’d show you his face if you ever needed cheering up.

Well… this is it.

You hold your breath, your weary eyes holding his ransom. He nods again, assuring you it’s true, he’ll do it. So you let out that breath and sit up slowly. Without breaking eye contact, you reach for the bowl with trembling hands. It takes you a while, but you eat more than half the portion before your stomach starts to complain.

Killer has to bite his lip to contain his excitement. You fucking ate. You chose to take that step. Finally. Fucking finally.

“I ate…” Your voice sounds raspy and affected from days of disuse, but it’s the most beautiful thing he’s heard recently.

“Yeah…” Killer nods, reaching to take the bowl from your hands, buying himself some time before he has to compose himself. “You did. And you will get up? Get out of bed?”

You nod slowly, and he raises his brow at you, expecting something else.

“I promise, Kill.”

Killer’s heart swells. It’s a beginning. It’s a win. It’s a fucking celebration. He has to close his eyes for another moment because, for a hot minute there, he thought that what Kid had done was irreparable.

“Alright.” He sighs, reaching for the knot in his bandana and untying it with precise movements. After the accident, he never let anyone see his face besides Kid. No one. So he won’t pretend he’s not terrified of showing it to you, to the one person that matters most.

But he’s not a coward. And he made a deal.

The knot breaks, and he closes his eyes for a second before letting the fabric slip. The air is warm and stale, but the skin on his jaw and cheek is extra sensitive, so he sucks in his breath to adjust as he follows your reaction closely.

Your eyes widen, lips parting slightly. Your gaze falls on his permanently curved lips, scarred from the burning kiss of flames. Then they follow the remaining scar tissue across his cheek, down his jaw, and around his nape, where the flames licked and lapped on that fateful day.

Your hand twitches, and then you raise it, meaning to touch him. He flinches briefly, and you catch your breath. You both adjust to the novelty before he nods, and your fingers caress him gently. You use a feather-light touch, but everything feels heightened.

Killer can’t remove his eyes from yours as you’re standing so close to his face. He sees the curve of your lips, the rise and fall of your chest; he feels the warmth of your breath and the curiosity in your eyes.

A slight dip. Just a tiny movement, and he would be able to kiss you.

Fuck.

“I’m—”

“Beautiful,” you finish for him. He was going to say hideous. Because that’s what he is. Who in their right mind would take one look at his scars and call them beautiful? Call him beautiful?

“You don’t have to lie for my sake…” The words barely find their way out of his lips. You’re still too close.

“I’m not lying, Kill,” you whisper, your eyes catching his now, making a mess out of the once steady beat of his heart. “How did this happen?” you ask softly, your gaze mercifully retreating back to his face.

Killer clenches his jaw. He can’t share the full story, he doesn’t know what Kid wants to share or if he’ll ever want to share it all.

A tiny, selfish part of him tells him that this is also his story, and he could tell you if he wanted, but Killer shuts that beast down before it has a chance to transform and overtake him.

“Our last mission… the one that… fell to shit,” he murmurs. “This was from a close-range explosion… I… Kid didn’t get out of the way in time, so I… forced him.”

I shielded him. It’s what Killer did, really. But he won’t say it like that. He doesn’t resent Kid for it, since he also lost an arm in that explosion. And they both lost so much more than that.

You still have your fingers pressed against his ugly face. You’re still too close to him. So he sees the way your nose scrunches, eyebrows shooting up.

“But… I saw the army picture in Kid’s garage. You had the bandana on there. Was it taken after? Because Kid had both arms in it…”

Killer swallows hard, his eyes turning to the side as he scrunches the black fabric of his bandana. He’s itching to cover his face again, he feels too exposed, like he’s baring his heart out to you.

“It was taken before. I never liked my smile. I used to wear the bandana for photos or videos, mostly. After… after, it just became permanent. It’s part of who I am now. I don’t want to bear the pity stares or see the disgust on other people’s faces.”

You shift slightly, pulling yourself even closer to him as you cup his cheek with both hands. It’s too much. Too close. Too overwhelming.

“You’re not disgusting, Kill. I’ll say it as many times as it takes: you’re beautiful.”

His throat works as he swallows down the emotions, and he nods because he can’t trust himself enough to speak. You let your hands fall to your lap but don’t retreat back into bed.

“Can I see it?” you ask.

“See what?”

“Your smile…”

No.

Killer shakes his head slowly, but when your eyes narrow, pleading, he falters. He’s always hated his smile. But, shit, if there’s someone he’d willingly show it to, it’s you…

“Maybe some other time, love, okay?”

He must sound really weary, because you nod softly and finally fall back, leaning against the headboard with a deep exhale, like you’ve been holding the weight of the world on your chest and he just helped relieve it.

“I’ll hold you to it, too, you know?” you joke, a ghost of a smile twitching your lips upwards, and Killer’s heart skips a beat. You’re smiling again. Fuck yes.

“Wouldn’t expect it otherwise, City Girl.”

A comfortable silence envelops the room while he fastens the bandana back into place, tying the knots easily like he’s done a thousand times. Except the fabric feels tighter this time, abrasive against his soft skin, begging him to stop hiding, perhaps.

No one has touched his face in years. No one but himself and doctors has even touched his scars. It’s fitting that you’re the first one to do it. For a fleeting moment, he wonders what would’ve happened if he let you see his smile.

He sighs and pushes that thought away, because it stings just thinking about it. Instead, he finishes the knot and watches you. You’re looking out the window, with that slight pull of your lips still present. There’s a small light behind your eyes now, something he thought was missing.

God, he could stare at you for hours.

“You’re gonna finish that soup later?” he asks instead, feeling gutted by reality.

You nod softly, training your gaze back on his. “It was very tasty, Kill. I’ll finish it.”

“Good,” he states, getting up and picking up the bowl. “I’ll toss it in the fridge, then. Don’t forget to get some fresh air, okay? You promised.”

You nod again, mock-saluting him in a way that crumbles some of the heaviness in his chest. You’re getting back to normal. You’ll get there.

He opens the door, ready to head downstairs before you stop him.

“Killer?” He pauses. He will never grow tired of the way you say his name. Soft, sweet, asking for nothing else but his attention. “Thank you. For… everything.”

He grits his teeth hard and nods once, just before closing the door as fast as he can. Just before words he can’t say spill out of his goddamned mouth. You’re recovering, and that’s all that matters.

As soon as Killer enters the kitchen, Shanks springs up from the chair, his eyes immediately landing on the half-empty bowl of soup.

“Oh, thank God!” he blurts, slumping back down, a heavy sigh of relief parting his lips.

“She says she’ll eat the rest later. I’ll store it in the fridge.” Killer feels exhausted, the weight of holding your and Kid’s recovery dragging him down. But he can’t give in to exhaustion yet. Not yet.

One down, one to go.

“You even got her to talk?” Shanks gets up and paces the kitchen as Killer busies himself with the soup.

“She promised to get up and get some air, so hold her to that promise, will you, Shanks?”

“She did?” Shanks huffs out a laugh. “God, that’s— God! Thank you, Killer.”

Killer nods, placing the container in the fridge and closing the door, then washing the spoon and cleaning up the little mess he made. All in contemplative silence. He can feel Shanks’ gaze boring into his back, but he doesn’t dare meet the older man’s eyes.

Until Shanks speaks.

“You love her.” Just three words, said with a finality that brooks no argument. Shanks speaks with the confidence of someone who’s lived through life, who knows things, who sees what people try to hide.

Killer wipes his hands on the kitchen towel, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “She’s not mine to love,” he says after a moment of silence.

“Doesn’t change the truth…” Silence. “Are you planning on telling her?”

“No.” Never. He won’t do that. Not to Kid, not to you, not even to himself. Because there’s no way anything good would come out of it.

“You’re the better man,” Shanks deadpans, contempt weighing his words down.

“He’s my brother, Shanks.” Killer turns to face him, his lips set in a fine line behind the bandana. “Not by blood, but… in every way that matters.”

“He’s not here. He’s not trying.”

“You told him not to!” Killer argues, using the words he knows Shanks said to Kid because his friend told him, after much persuasion.

“And would that stop you?” Killer hesitates. And that’s all Shanks needs to know his answer. “That’s what I thought.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Killer says, nipping the conversation in the bud. “He’ll get his shit together, and whatever has to happen, happens. It’ll be out of our hands. I’m just looking out for their happiness.”

Shanks holds his gaze, and Killer feels himself shrink. He’s looking at him like a father would. With care and worry, like someone who holds all the answers, but is waiting for him to figure them out.

“And who looks out for yours?”

He doesn’t have an answer to that.

So he grabs his stuff, mutters a quick goodbye, and flees to the porch, gulping in the fresh air with rapid breaths, trying to steady the harsh beating of his heart. Killer doesn’t care about himself. He can’t right now. Not when you and Kid need him. Not until he gathers all the broken pieces.

Not until he fixes it.

And even then… maybe you and Kid’s happiness is all he’ll ever allow himself to want.

Liked this story? Like my writing? Consider buying me a Ko-Fi, please!

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|Chapter 15|

#eustass kid x reader #eustass captain kid #eustass kid #eustass x reader #kid x reader #reader x kid #you x kid #kid x you #reader insert #the meet-cute #modern day world au #one piece

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sweeterthanficstion · 7 months ago

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— twelve dates 'til christmas || l.s.k ⋆⁺₊❅.

christmas party / fake relationship / re2r leon! ❆ for @leonsecretsanta event! ❆ gift for @calbloodypigeon ! <3

tags: no outbreak au, rookie leon, journalist reader, gn reader but if i've accidentally missed something please let me know so i can fix it up! --- lots of stupid hallmark christmas cliches, heavily inspired by how to lose a guy in 10 days.

summary: when the leads you're chasing for your feature article for the local paper have gone ice cold, and you've just about given up hope, the rpd's newest rookie shows up like a christmas miracle and proposes a deal that might just save you. or blow up in your face.

word count: 6.1k --- i know i went over the word count IM SO SORRY 😭

a/n: CAL! HI! i'm SO beyond sorry this is late, i fucked up the timings so bad and stupidly miscalculated how much time i had left to finalise this and then i got roped into my own christmas fiasco so i was RACING against the clock to try get this out asap. BUT i hope you like it regardless!! i saw re2r leon as your wild card and my eyes LIT UP!! this was such a pleasure to write, i absolutely love writing rookie leon! (also yes i know the twelve days of christmas technically come after christmas day but shhhh) anyway, hope you have a wonderful christmas!! lots of love, amber xx

masterlist⭑AO3

It starts with a faulty office printer and a burnt cup of coffee.

You stare pitifully at the cup of coffee in your hand—if you can even call it that anymore. Half empty and completely unsalvageable, the acrid smell lingers in the break room like some unwelcome ghost of Christmas caffeine. If only you hadn’t slept through your alarm this morning, you could’ve avoided the morning rush (since it seems that nobody in Raccoon City knows how to drive through snow), and made a good cup of coffee to accompany you for the day instead of having to fight the shitty office coffee machine instead.

With a half-hearted sigh you turn the mug over and dump its contents into the bin, watching forlornly as the liquid soaks through shredded paper and old protein bar wrappers instead.

“Bad morning?” One of your coworkers, Claire, quips from across the way. A perfectly fine cup of coffee sits on her desk in a mug that reads Journalists do It With Integrity!

You shoot her a withering glare, but before you can deliver any sort of witty remark, the printer across the room coughs out a single sheet of crumpled paper, and promptly dies.

“Bad week,” you mutter, running a hand down your face before stalking towards the offending machine.

The office, already buzzing with the chaos of holiday deadlines, feels like it’s working entirely against you. The case you’ve been chasing—a string of thefts tied to the Raccoon City holiday markets—has gone ice cold. Your editor is breathing down your neck for a feature piece that you can’t write without new leads. You’ve got twelve days left, twelve days until your editor wants that final copy on her desk.

And now the printer has decided to stage a mutiny. Just your luck.

You try to print out the documents again, but when the printer does nothing but splutter, and kicking it doesn’t seem to work, you decide maybe it just needs new ink.

You’re about halfway through jamming your hand into its guts when a voice, sweet yet awkward, startles you. You hit your head on the way up, only to find yourself staring into a pair of warm blue eyes beneath a mop of golden hair.

He’s wearing a leather jacket over a navy button-down, his badge clipped to his belt. He looks familiar, like someone you might’ve run into at the bullpen when you’re down at the RPD.

“Uh, need a hand?” he tilts his head, same awkward smile unfaltering.

“I’ve got it,” you say, though you clearly don’t. The printer lets out a final, pathetic whine before dying completely. Well, now you just look stupid.

He grins, the kind of lopsided, sheepish smile that makes him look younger than he probably is. “Guess that’s a no.”

You sigh, looking over your shoulder to catch Claire hiding a smile behind her mug. You fold your arms. “Sorry, can I help you?”

“Names Leon,” He introduces himself, and it all clicks into place for you. This is the RPD’s newest rookie. The guy Claire’s been yapping your ear off about Chris yapping her ear off about. “I’m just dropping off some paperwork. But, uh… I overheard you talking to your editor earlier. You’re working on the market thefts, right?”

Your eyes narrow. “And what’s it to you?”

Leon raises his hands in mock surrender at your scathing tone, the picture of good-natured defensiveness. “Nothing! Just thought you might want some… unofficial insight. Off the record, of course.”

Your skepticism doesn’t waver. “Why would a rookie like you have anything I can’t get from public records?”

Leon hesitates for a moment, as if deciding how much to say. “I’ve been helping out on the case. They’ve got me running reports, talking to market vendors, stuff like that. Not exactly glamorous work, but I’ve been hearing things that don’t make it into the official write-ups.”

Now you’re interested. RPD isn’t exactly known for transparency, you know that much. You also know better than most that a lot can slip through the cracks of “official” documentation.

“What’s the catch?” you ask, suspicious.

Leon shifts, “Well, uh… There’s this Christmas party at the precinct. And I might have mentioned to my coworkers that I was bringing a date.”

You blink. “You’re blackmailing me with case information to play your fake-datw at a cop Christmas party?”

“It’s not blackmail!” Leon protests, his ears turning red. “It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement. You get your story, and I… avoid being the precinct punchline for another year.”

You’re still sceptical, but the desperation in his voice softens your resolve. Saying no to him right now would be like kicking a poor puppy.

You stare at him for a moment, weighing your options. It’s ridiculous, sure, but then again, so is everything else in your life right now.

“Fine,” you say finally, sticking out your hand. “Twelve days. You give me what I need, and I’ll be the best fake date you’ve ever had.”

Leon shakes your hand with a grin, relief written all over his face. “Deal.”

And just like that, the countdown begins.

On the second day of Christmas, Leon sends you flowers.

Big ones. Loud ones. The kind of bouquet you’d expect to see at a wedding reception or an apology press conference. They’re wrapped in glittering gold paper—Poinsettias, as Claire so graciously points out.

“Looks like someone’s got an admirer,” she singsongs, loud enough for half the floor to hear.

Your stomach drops. There, sitting right in the middle of your disaster zone of a desk, is the offending bouquet. It’s massive, covered in festive bells and ribbon, and the card sticking out of it reads:

“To my Christmas angel. – L.”

You mutter a silent prayer to whatever God might be listening, snatching the card up like it might explode before anyone else might see. Your coworkers are already murmuring around you, though, so that seems like a bit of a lost cause.

Claire leans back in her chair, still grinning. “So when were you gonna tell me you’re dating someone?”

“Firstly, that is none of your business,” you snap, grabbing the entire bouquet in a desperate attempt to get it out of sight. The glitter gets everywhere, including your coat, your desk, and, somehow, your coffee. “And secondly—” You start, but backtrack when you remember that the deal you struck with Leon may require some confidentiality. Damn you for not figuring out boundaries sooner. “—that is also none of your business.”

You turn on your heel and you don’t stop moving until you’re outside the building, your fingers already dialing a number you swore to yourself you wouldn’t use unless absolutely necessary.

Leon picks up on the third ring. “Hey! What’s up?”

“Don’t you ‘what’s up’ me,” you hiss, pacing in the cold December air. “What the hell were you thinking sending me flowers? To my office?”

Leon hesitates for a second, and you can almost hear him cringing through the phone. “Uh, I thought it’d make things more… believable?”

You stop in your tracks. “Believable?”

“Yeah! You know, if people saw that you’re, like, dating someone, it might help sell the whole… thing.” His voice trails off, and there’s a pause before he adds, quieter, “Was it too much?”

“Too much?” you echo, your own voice rising in disbelief. “It’s not even lunchtime and I’ve already been asked twice if I’m engaged. At least take me to dinner first!”

There’s a beat of silence on his end before he says, “Okay. Let’s do it.”

You stop in your tracks. “Do what?”

“Dinner,” Leon says, like it’s obvious. “Tomorrow. You said I should take you to dinner, so… I’ll take you to dinner.”

You blink, your annoyance faltering for a second, only to give way to mild confusion. “Are you asking me out, or are you making this part of the deal?”

“Can’t it be both?”

You’re not sure if it’s the cold or the sheer absurdity of the situation that makes you smile, but you sigh and say, “Fine. Dinner. But you’re picking the place, and it better not be one of those sad 24-hour diners cops hang out in.”

Leon laughs, the sound warm enough to cut through the winter chill. “Deal.”

On the third day of Christmas, Leon takes you to dinner.

And yes, it is a sad diner.

It’s the kind of place that looks like it hasn’t updated its decor since the 70s, with faded garlands drooping from the light fixtures and a suspiciously sticky Rudolph figurine parked on the counter. Which is fine, in honesty. It’s perfect for this not-date, because that’s what this is. Not a date. Absolutely nothing about this screams romance.

Well, except maybe the crooked twig of mistletoe hanging over the entrance, but even that you’d pointedly avoided much to Leon’s amusement.

“So, remind me what I’m doing here,” you hum, pushing around your leftover pancakes on your plate. Leave it to Leon to convince you pancakes for dinner is an entirely acceptable meal choice.

“Well, we’re on a date,” Leon states matter-of-factly.

Across from you, he looks all too comfortable. You, on the other hand, feel like you’ve just agreed to help pull Santa’s sleigh blindfolded.

“Yeah, well, a date’s pushing it, rookie,” You all but scoff, setting your fork down before meeting his gaze properly. “Look, if we’re gonna do this, we probably need to set some ground rules.”

Leon raises a brow, lips curving into a half-smile, “You’re serious? This isn’t Fight Club.”

“Can’t believe you just broke the first rule of Fight Club,” you shoot back, matching his half-smile with your own self-satisfied one. “Okay, first off, who gets to know?”

“That this is fake? No one,” Leon says all too firmly, “I don’t need this blowing up in my face.”

“Likewise,” you hum. “Okay, next, how often are we gonna see each other outside of office hours? Are we really trying to sell this?”

“Well a coffee or two wouldn’t hurt,” Leon suggest. “And, uh… Physical stuff?” He asks, a generous blush dusting his cheeks.

You can’t hide your smile. “Afraid to hold my hand or something?”

“No! No— just… Don’t want to make this any more awkward than it has to be.”

“Alright, so no kissing unless absolutely necessary. And I’m talking someone-shoves-us-under-mistletoe-and-starts-chanting levels of necessary.”

He lets out a laugh, soft and boyish, and you can’t help but feel the corners of your mouth tug upwards.

On the Fourth Day of Christmas Leon takes you ice-skating. Well… Sort of.

You’d come to pick up some paperwork about the Christmas Market case Leon had promised you—an errand you figured would be quick and painless. No mingling, no unnecessary chit-chat, and absolutely no run-ins with anyone who might make this fake-dating charade any harder than it has to be.

The first hiccup comes the second you step into the precinct. You immediately spot him, leaning against the reception desk with an easy grin, chatting with some colleagues. You only recognise one of them, from the photo sitting on Claire’s desk no-less. Chris Redfield. The woman beside him, who’s donning a festive antler headband, looks oddly familiar as well, though you can’t quite place it.

Fantastic. Just what you needed.

“Leon!” you call, keeping your tone as casual as possible. You walk briskly, plastering on a tight-lipped smile, trying your best not to look like a deer caught in the headlights and to very pointedly avoid any eye-contact with Chris.

Leon turns at the sound of your voice, his expression brightening instantly. “Oh, hey! What’re you doing here?”

“Paperwork,” you reply, holding up the empty manila folder in your hand like it’s your golden ticket out of this situation. “You said you’d have it ready for me?”

Before Leon can answer, the woman next to Chris perks up—it’s then you recognise her as none other than Jill Valentine. You chalk it up to the antlers making it hard to recognise her.

“Paperwork? Wait, is this who you were talking about?” She elbows Leon in the ribs, earning a flustered yelp from him.

“What?” you echo, narrowing your eyes. Great, so he's already started mentioning you to colleagues.

Chris leans forward, “Wait, you’re Leon’s partner?”

You feel your stomach drop, the word partner ricocheting around your brain like a pinball.

Leon is already mid-spiral, his cheeks flushed red as he stammers out a reply. “Well, I didn’t say that— I mean, I said some of that, but not like that!”

Jill crosses her arms, smirking. “Well, now we have to meet you! What are you two doing tonight?”

“Nothing!” you and Leon blurt at the same time, a little too loudly.

Chris raises an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Jill before grinning even wider. “Perfect. You guys should come ice skating with us tonight, most of the Precinct will be there.”

Your mouth opens, ready to reject the idea outright, but Leon beats you to it.

“That sounds great!” he says, his voice breaking slightly on the last word. Stupid, stupid, stupid. If you could hit him over the head with this manilla folder right now, you would.

“Great,” Jill says, clapping her hands together. “Meet us at the rink at around seven tonight.”

“What the hell was that?” you hiss once both Chris and Jill have had enough teasing and they’re out of earshot.

“I panicked!” Leon whispers back, looking genuinely apologetic.

“You just signed us up for the least romantic fake date activity imaginable.” You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You owe me so much for this, rookie.”

“I’ll buy you hot chocolate?” Leon tries, sweet boyish smile and all. You hate how you feel your resolve begin to soften already.

“You better make it with extra marshmallows.”

He nods, his expression softening as his smile melts into something tentative yet determined. “Deal.”

You’ve decided you don’t like ice skating. Chalk that up to the fact you haven’t been to the rink since you were eight and using a push-along penguin to keep you upright.

“This is fine,” you mutter under your breath, wobbling precariously as you step onto the ice. “Totally fine. Nothing humiliating about face-planting on ice.”

“You’ve got this!” Leon cheers from a few feet away, his enthusiasm wildly misplaced considering he’s not doing much better. He looks like a newborn deer, legs flailing every time he tries to take a step.

“Don’t patronize me,” you hiss back, gripping the railing like your life depends on it.

Behind you, Jill glides past with all the effortless grace of an Olympic figure skater, followed closely by Chris—who despite a few wobbles—isn’t much worse. They’re laughing at something—probably you and Leon—but you’re too busy trying to avoid an embarrassing collision with the ice to care.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” Leon says, inching toward you with the kind of determination usually reserved for hostage negotiations. “You let go of the rail, and I’ll catch you if you fall.”

He looks just about as stupid as he sounds, you decide. “That’s assuming you don’t fall first.”

He grins, cheeks ruddy from the cold. “Have a little faith, would you?”

Against your better judgment, you release your grip on the rail, immediately flailing as your skates slide out from under you.

Leon lunges to catch you—a valiant effort, truly—which would be heroic if it didn’t result in both of you landing in a tangled heap on the ice.

“Well, that could’ve gone better.” Leon groans, pushing himself to his knees and wincing.

“You think?” you say, trying—and failing—to suppress a laugh as you roll onto your side. Your knees are sore, your pride is bruised, but when you look over at Leon—cheeks flushed, smile sheepish— it all feels a little less mortifying.

“Here,” he says, extending a hand to help you up, and there’s something strangely endearing about the gesture. You hesitate for a moment before taking it, letting him pull you to your feet. He doesn’t let go right away, steadying you as you find your balance.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice softer now.

“Yeah,” you reply, surprised to find that you actually mean it.

And somewhere between all of this chaos a group of kids barrels past, laughing as they race each other in a blur of neon jackets and mis-matched scarves. You and Leon instinctively jump out of their way, your skates sliding in all the wrong directions. You nearly crash into him again, grabbing his arm for balance as he steadies both of you.

And suddenly, you’re close. Closer than you’ve been all night.

His face is just inches from yours, his breath visible in soft clouds in the frigid air. His cheeks are bitten by the cold, his boyish grin tugging at his lips, and his eyes—God, his eyes—are the kind of blue that could rival a frosted winter’s lake.

You swallow hard, heart giving a little flutter you’d rather not think about. Brushing it off with a laugh, you take a step back, releasing his arm. “Okay, new rule: avoid the speed demons at all costs.”

“Agreed,” Leon says, but his voice a little softer now, his gaze a little firmer.

The rest of the night is chaos, as expected, and by the time you stumble off the ice, breathless and pink-cheeked, you’re smiling so wide and genuine that your cheeks hurt from it all.

On the sixth day of Christmas, Leon comes over for a very professional movie night.

The plan was simple enough: a low-key night to sort through leads and discuss the finer details of the article. Nothing more than that. Just two friends (are you even really friends?) mocking bad Hallmark movie tropes and terrible one-liners. But—as fate would have it—somewhere between the half-hearted scribbles in your notebook and the opening credits of the first movie, the evening takes a sharp left turn.

Popcorn crumbs litter the coffee table, and the air hums with laughter as you and Leon pick apart every ridiculous trope on the screen.

“New rule,” you declare, pointing at the screen with a handful of popcorn. “No more movies where the leads magically fall in love because of forced proximity. It's lazy writing.”

Leon raises a brow, smiling at you over his mug of cocoa. “Do you just... make up rules for everything?”

You shoot him a look, though your lips twitch in betrayal. “Rules are important. They keep things from going off the rails.”

“Sure they do,” he says, grinning. “But I think you might have a thing for them. Maybe it’s your love language”

You toss a kernel of popcorn at him, which he catches with an annoyingly quick reflex. The movie continues, but your attention drifts, his sweet smile lingering in your thoughts longer than you’d care to admit, and all at once you want to suffocate yourself with a pillow.

By the time the credits have rolled, the conversation has veered wildly away from work and movies. You find yourself talking about everything and nothing between here and there, the space separating you both narrowing in a way that feels very not-professional. Your leg brushes against his and his hand brushes against yours.

You didn’t make a new rule about that. Maybe you should have.

On the eighth day of Christmas, you finally chase down some of those leads for your article.

Or at least, you try to.

The holiday market is bustling with lights, laughter, and the scent of cinnamon and roasted chestnuts. It’s picturesque enough to be a postcard: striped tents draped in garlands, vendors bundled in scarves, and the faint hum of Christmas carols floating through the crisp evening air.

You’re here for work. This is professional business. Totally, totally.

“Professional” is exactly why you’re letting Leon lead you to a vendor handing out roasted chestnuts in steaming paper cones.

You raise a brow at him. “Seriously?”

“You’ve gotta try them. It’s tradition.” He says as if it’d be crazy to deny him.

And before you can even think about protesting, he’s already handing you a cone, the warmth seeping through your gloves as you eye the chestnuts—then him—warily. You pop a few in your mouth, only to find yourself pleasantly surprised.

“Good, right?” he asks, smug as anything. You scrunch your nose in response.

Next is funnel cake. Leon orders one to share, dusting himself in powdered sugar as he pulls off a piece and offers it to you.

“I could’ve got my own,” you reason, but take what he offers you anyway.

“Well that wouldn’t make me a very good date.”

“Fake-date,” you correct.

“Uhuh,” Leon hums, but he’s not even looking at you when you glance back up at him, already dragging you towards the next stall, and the next.

“I’m serious!” You call after him, trying to keep up as he weaves through the crowd like he’s trained to do this. Well, he probably is.

You don’t even realise how long it’s been until you're walking past empty market stalls, every other vendor packing up for the night. Leon leads you out into the street, strings of warm white lights swaying gently in the winter breeze.

Leon’s hands are stuffed into his coat pockets as the two of you walk side by side, your boots crunching softly against the thin dusting of snow on the pavement.

The streets are mostly empty now, save for a few stragglers heading home, but Leon leads you straight into the middle of the road without a second thought. You hesitate for half a second, glancing both ways like a habit.

“There’s no one out here,” he says over his shoulder, that lazy grin curling at the corners of his mouth. “You’re not scared of breaking the rules, are you?”

“Isn’t it your job to enforce rules?” You argue, but follow after him anyway.

When you tilt your head up, you feel the breath escape your lungs all at once. “You can actually see the stars tonight,” you murmur softly in awe, your breath clouding in the cold.

Leon doesn’t say anything right away, but when you glance over, you catch him watching you instead of the sky, his gaze softer than you’re used to. He quickly looks up, clearing his throat as if he hadn’t just been caught.

You don’t know what’s worse: the way his cheeks flush from something other than the cold or the fact that your stomach flutters in response.

And you don’t know what to do with the quiet that stretches between you, either, the sound of your steps filling it up like placeholders. You hadn’t meant for the day to linger this long—hadn’t meant to still be here, walking home with him.

Leon breaks the silence first. “You know, I thought you’d be sick of me by now.”

You glance over at him, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, I am.”

He laughs then, genuine and bright. “Oh thank God, I’d hate for this to actually be enjoyable for either of us.” Sarcasm laces his words in a way that makes you laugh in kind.

He’s grinning like he’s got all the time in the world as he turns to walk backward in front of you, and suddenly all at once this feels like something out of one of those Hallmark Christmas movies you swore to yourself you’d never recreate.

“You still haven’t thanked me for helping you today.” He says.

“Helping me?” you snort. “All you did was get funnel cake powder on my coat and in my cocoa.”

“Hey, I got you a quote from the candy vendor, didn’t I?” he defends, arms spreading wide.

“You mean the guy who told us about his grandma’s cookie recipe?”

“Hard-hitting stuff,” he shrugs.

You shake your head, but you’re smiling, and you hate that he notices. He spins back around to face the road ahead, walking a little slower now, like he’s dragging his feet.

“So,” you say after a moment, picking up your pace to fall back into step with him. “Why do you care so much about this Christmas party, anyway?”

Leon doesn’t answer right away. You glance over, and the grin that’s usually on his face has faded into something smaller, quieter.

“Guess I just… don’t want to look like a total loser,” he says eventually, his voice low but even. “It’s been a long first year. People talk.”

You frown at that. “They don’t have anything better to do at the RPD?”

“Apparently not.” He shrugs like it doesn’t bother him, but you can tell it does, at least a little.

The two of you walk in silence for another block, and when you speak again, your tone is softer. “You know, you could’ve asked someone who actually likes you to be your date.”

Leon glances over, and for some reason, his answer catches you off guard. “Yeah,” he says quietly, “but then it wouldn’t have been you.”

You look away too quickly, your chest tightening in a way you can’t explain. He doesn’t elaborate, and you don’t push him for more.

Instead, you both keep walking, the street stretching out ahead of you, the night colder and clearer than it’s been in weeks. The faint glow of your building comes into view up ahead, and for a moment, you wish it was just a little farther away.

On the tenth day of Christmas, Leon does something so absurd you briefly consider chucking him—and his ridiculous ideas—into a snowbank.

Leon shows up at your door, determined and annoyingly cheerful, with a Christmas tree strapped to the roof of his car and a twinkle in his eye that should’ve been your first warning. You don’t have the heart to turn him away or give him a lecture about how this is breaking at least three of your fake-dating rules.

Dragging the tree up the stairs is a disaster, his optimism only barely keeping the whole endeavor from collapsing. Decorating it? Worse. Leon’s enthusiasm for tinsel is unmatched, his ornament selection downright offensive. A plastic Rudolph here, a lopsided snowman there—it’s a full-scale disaster in red, green, and glitter.

By the end of the night, the tree looks more like a festive crime scene, fairy lights as police-tape and all, but you can’t bring yourself to care. The two of you collapse as you both watch the twinkling lights. A ribbon is tangled in your hair; Leon has tinsel stuck to his sleeve. The quiet settles in like freshly fallen snow, and for a moment, you forget this isn’t supposed to feel real.

You spent the eleventh night at Leon’s place. It was his idea to go over the finalities of this agreement, set your story straight in case anybody at the party asks too many questions. Make sure you're both on the same page.

But when you rocked up at his little studio apartment, it felt like he’d compensated for much more than a quick flashcard night.

Cinnamon scented candles burned and flicker, accompanied by a plate of cookies on the counter. Your half-crumpled notes quickly joined, as well as two cups of cocoa that have long-since gone cold.

“Alright, one more time, how’d we meet?”

Leon props his head up on his palm, looking like he’s had more than enough of your pointless flashcard game. “Coffee shop. You spilled hot chocolate on me, laughed, then walked away.”

“I offered to buy you a replacement!” You shoot back, hitting him atop the head with your stack of cards.

He winces dramatically, swatting our hand away. “Well I think it’s more believable if I pretend you didn’t and you bicker back. Y’know, like an old married couple or something.”

You reach for your cold cocoa to hide the way you splutter. “Woah, rookie, I only signed up for a fake-date, not a fake-wedding too.”

Leon grins, but something about him still looks oddly distant.

He kicks his feet off the barstool, takes your cup of cocoa and his to clean them away. “Have you finished your article at least?”

“Nearly,” You hum, but you’re more lying through your teeth. You’ve barely worked on it despite all the extra input Leon’s given you. Something, something, a very distracting Christmas fiasco got in your way. “I should be done by the end of the week.”

“And what happens once it’s done?” He asks, and you know in your right mind he means what happens to you. Promotion? New story? Next assignment? But instead your mind stupidly jumps to the idea that he’s asking about the both of you. What happens to us? written between the lines in invisible ink.

“Well, I suppose I find a new story to chase.” You clear your throat, “and you?”

“Go back to handing out speeding tickets,” Leon smiles through a sigh, “and I guess we drop this whole fake-dating thing, huh?” He asks, and you refuse to let yourself believe there’s any hope in his voice.

“Don’t see a reason to keep it going,” you shrug, to which Leon simply nods.

“Anyway, don’t try changing the subject on me,” you clear your throat, shuffling back through your pile of cards. “Next question: what’s my favourite holiday tradition?”

Leon shelves the now clean and dried mugs, “stealing Christmas cookies when no one’s looking.” He hums smugly over his shoulder.

You blink, “I never told you that.”

“Don’t need to, I pay attention.” He grins, pointedly flicking his gaze to the now empty plate of cookies. But you’re still hung on his words, the casual admission throws you entirely off kilter, and it seems by the twelfth day he still has you feeling that way.

You feel entirely out of place standing in the RPD. The precinct is sparkling with every Hallmark Christmas cliche imaginable—oversized tinsel, plastic mistletoe (that you’re still doing your best to avoid), and a garishly large tree that stands off to the side, completed by a shining white angel on top.

Leon, of course, has dressed the part. And damn him for looking so good in a navy suit and deep red tie to match your own attire. His presence is steady when you feel out of depth—it’s funny how he does that, despite usually being the one who requires an anchor.

“Are you alright?” He asks, leaning closer to be heard over the obnoxiously loud Christmas music. His voice is low, warm, entirely too distracting.

“Fine,” you lie with a sickly sweet smile, downing the last of your punch, “totally fine.”

Leon doesn’t buy it, and you’re starting to think he’s getting too good at reading you (which is your job, not his), but before he can press any further, your worst nightmare seems to come to fruition.

You're pulled then pushed, and before you can register what’s even happened you're colliding with Leon’s chest.

“Mistletoe,” he mutters, and when you finally lift your gaze you catch the offending sprig. Jesus Christ.

Honestly, this is your fault. You should’ve accounted for something like this. Nothing like a good bit of rookie hazing at a work party, right? Dammit. The rest of the precinct seems to cheer and chant, and you’d foolishly thought you’d left this behaviour behind in high school.

God, you wish the ground would part beneath your feet and swallow you whole right now—

“Well, this doesn’t break any of your rules, does it?” Leon asks then, and you can hear the smile in his voice, something about the way he says it makes it sound like he knows the answer.

And he does. Because if Leon’s good at one thing it’s remembering the finer details. No kissing unless absolutely necessary, you’d said. Like someone-shoves-us-under-mistletoe-and-starts-chanting levels of necessary, you’d said.

Okay, now you really want the ground to swallow you up.

Leon seems to pick up on your unease, and ever the gentleman drowns out the obnoxious chanting of his colleagues to focus on you.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he offers.

You shake your head. “It’s part of the deal.” You say firmly. You’re not going to back down now, you’re a stickler for rules, deals, and contracts. Totally not because you’ve been wondering what Leon’s lips might taste like for the past five minutes. Totally.

He counts you down, which feels stupid, but does actually help quell your nerves. What doesn’t help, though, is the way his hand slides to your jaw and his lips slot against yours so effortlessly. You forget the world exists, heart beating out of your chest before you let yourself melt into it, your own arms looping around his neck just before he pulls away.

He’s got blush on his cheeks, his eyes bright, smiling widely like he’s just one the powerball. And suddenly, all at once, your brain catches up to your heart and you realise how none of this seems to feel fake anymore.

Three days later, and your article had gone live that morning. Your editor had been quick to praise it, Claire more than proud when she’d shown up with a mini Christmas gift basket for you. But still, as the day wore on, the victory felt hollow. The article might have just been your best work, but now that the dust—or snow, rather—has settled, all you can think about is Leon and the strange ache left in his absence.

You glance out the window of your tiny office, the skyline glittering with holiday lights. It’s quiet, save for the distant hum of the city and the rhythmic tapping of your pen against your desk.

“You know, I expected a little more Christmas cheer from the person who just saved Christmas,” a familiar voice says.

You jump, spinning around in your squeaky office chair to find Leon leaning casually in your doorway. He’s dressed down from the last time you saw him after the party, his leather jacket slung over one shoulder, but the sight of him is enough to send your heart racing.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, your voice caught somewhere between surprise and something softer.

“I was in the neighborhood,” he shrugs, pushing himself off the cubicle wall and stepping inside.

You raise a brow. “The precinct is five blocks away.”

“Exactly,” he says with a grin. “Neighborhood.”

You roll your eyes but can’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. He steps closer still, and you feel the air shift.

“Look,” he starrs, running a hand through his hair like he’s still trying to work up the courage. “The other night, you said that after this was over, we wouldn’t have to see each other again.”

You swallow hard, your heart already knowing where this is going but your mind refusing to believe it. You remember how casually you’d thrown that out there, as if the thought hadn’t stung more than you cared to admit. “Yeah. I remember.”

“Well, I don’t want that,” he says simply.

Your breath hitches, but he keeps on going.

“I don’t want to go back to pretending this was all fake,” he continues, his voice steady but his eyes searching yours. “Because it might’ve started that way, but it didn’t end that way—not for me.”

The words hang in the air like softly drifting snowflakes, fragile and perfect, waiting for you to catch them.

“Leon…” you try, but your voice falters.

“I know,” he cuts in quickly. “I know this wasn’t the plan. But plans change, right? Rules get broken—and I know you hate that but hear me out—if there’s one thing I’ve learned these past twelve days, it’s that maybe breaking a rule or two isn’t the worst thing in the world.”

You laugh softly then despite yourself, a mix of nerves and something lighter. “You do realize you’re ruining my perfectly crafted narrative, right? Fake dating, falling in love…” you click your tongue, “this is all so cliché.”

He grins, stepping closer until there is almost no space left between you. “Then let’s give it a good ending.”

Before you can even give what he’s said a minute of thought, his hand is on your jaw again, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that’s unhurried and undeniably real.

When he finally pulls back, he stays close, his forehead resting against yours. “So,” he hums, his voice soft and teasing, “how’s that for a rewrite?”

You can’t help but laugh, your chest light for the first time in days. “It’s a start.”

The city sparkles outside as you stand there, snowflakes fall, the faint hum of Christmas carols from the office speakers bleed with the quiet rhythm of his breathing. Whatever comes next, you know one thing is for sure: this story isn’t over yet.

likes n reblogs r very much appreciated <3

#as always - catch the references for a gold star!#the banner was supposed to be a pretty gif too but i couldnt get it to optimize properly so :(#leonsecretsanta2024 #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fanfiction #resident evil fanfiction #leon s kennedy #spilled ink ₊˚⊹♡#sweeterthanficstion

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ninupi · 6 months ago

Note

Hello~I have a request about Hanma, how would he react to reader getting asked by someone as to why they like Hanma and she answers "well it's cuz he's a bundle of joy!" :D

sweetheart | s. hanma

₊˚⊹♡ tags; fem!reader, mentions of hanma being in a gang (obvi lol), readers friends assuming crazy stuff, lmk if anything else needs to tagged

₊˚⊹♡ wc; 900+

₊˚⊹♡ a/n; im soso sorry it took me so long to get to this but I hope you enjoy </3 also didn't realize it said HANMAS REACTION til like halfway through writing LOLL

"You'll pick me up after classes right?" you ask Hanma as you slide off his bike taking off the helmet he insists you wear when riding with him despite him not wearing one himself. He gives you an unimpressed look while fixing the hair on top of your head.

"Have I ever not picked you up after class?" you can't help but laugh at the tone of his voice. "I just like to be sure. It would be easier if you just came to class, though. " You give him a hopeful look, hoping he'll finally stop skipping class for once.

He immediately sucks his teeth causing you to roll your eyes "You know that's not my thing babe, I've got other stuff to do anyway" You let out a soft sigh knowing he just means gang-related things "Whatever...it'd just be nice to see you throughout the day sometimes."

He lets out a soft sigh when he sees the way you pick at the strap of your bag and stare at your shoes "C'mon don't be like that y/n..." he says reaching for your hand, holding it firmly while you still refuse to meet his eyes.

"I'll take you to that new cafe you wanted to go to today if you look at me" he can't help the grin on his face when you look up at him before he even finishes his sentence. "You mean it?" He fakes an annoyed groan causing you to playfully slap his arm.

"Yeah yeah I mean it, I'll take you" he smiles seeing how excited you are by the news "Ok ok, you better be here as soon as the last bell rings then!" you say to him turning to head through the school gates when you feel his grip on your hand tighten.

Turning towards him you give him a confused look but he only raises his eyebrows silently reminding you of what you forgot "You're such a sap" you giggle while pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his lips "Watch it or no cafe" he jokinglythreats.

You only roll your eyes at the empty threat while he brings your hand to his lips and presses a gentle kiss "I'll see you after class" he reassures while starting up his bike leaving you to wave goodbye to him before heading into school.

Once you've made it into your classroom you notice all your friends surrounding your desk talking about something. "Hey guys what's up?" they all look at you a bit wide-eyed at your 'sudden' arrival "Hey y/n…we were just talking."

You give Mai an odd look, obviously, they were talking "Yeah I know…about what though?" at this all of them stay quiet not wanting to talk anymore it seems, you give them all a weird look when your other friend Ayase sighs out "We were talking about your boyfriend."

At this you get a bit defensive, why would they be talking about Shuji? "What about him?" some of the girls cringe hearing the annoyed tone of your voice "No, not like that!" Ayase immediately says causing you to give her a suspicious look.

"Then what?" you question getting annoyed at the shy glances they give each other "It's just…" you give her an expected look waiting for her to finish "I mean why are you with that guy? Seriously? Is he threatening you or something? We can report him-"

"What the hell, he's not threatening me! Where did you even get something like that from?" you question her angrily while your other friends try to do damage control "I'm just asking y/n! He's a well-known delinquent, I've never heard anything good about him I just wanted to make sure you're okay!"

The two of you are now somewhat yelling at each which has gained the attention of other students in the class "Yeah he's a delinquent but he's a good boyfriend, he's never done anything to me or let anything to me!" You watch as your friend tries to find the right words to say.

"You don't know him Ayase, you just listen to what other people say! And yeah that other stuff is probably true but I don't know that Shuji, the Shuji I know is good to me and treats me right. So who cares if he's a delinquent, he's the greatest guy I've ever met!"

You feel your ears get hot once you finish talking, not realizing how loud you actually were. Your friends stare at you a bit dumbfounded at your outburst, Ayase finally goes to say something the classroom door opens bringing everyone's attention to it rather than you two.

"Didn't know you could get that loud babe" Your face contorts into an embarrassing scowl at Hanma's words "Don't mind me though, I just came by to drop this off" he's holding up your lunch that you seemingly forgot with a cheeky smile.

He softly places it on your desk along with a red bean bun that looks like it's from the convenience store across the street "Also got you this, know how much you love 'em" he winks loving how embarrassed you seem to be.

"Thanks, Shuji, you didn't have to though…" you mutter now hyperaware of everyone's eyes on the two of you "Anything for my girl, don't forget about the cafe after classes though! Don't want you to be too full to actually try anything" he teases ruffling the top of your head before leaving.

You keep your eyes on the packaged bun on your desk too embarrassed to meet your friend's eyes "You were right y/n, he seems like a great guy" You look up to see your friends giving you teasing smiles. You can feel all your annoyance come back at once "You guys suck!"

#ninupi #writing #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev x reader #fem reader #hanma shuji #hanma x reader #shuji hanma #hanma shuuji x reader #hanma tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers hanma

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becausebuckley · 7 months ago

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michelle's buddie fic recs: week 50!

another lovely round of fics for you all <3 full disclosure i did not double check this with my masterlist of recs so while i doubt it, it's possible that i've recced some of these before... i guess that could just be a sign that they're extra good lol.

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some might also contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

75 best knitting puns that will have you hooked | iphigenias/@oatflatwhite | 4.1k | GA

Buck—Buck is knitting. Eddie blinks, rubs his eyes. Yeah, Buck is knitting: thick fingers a little clumsy as Bobby shows him how to purl stitch with a soft-looking ball of pink ombre wool. softest most domestic little fic <3

all the lights are coming on | sharpbutsoft/@sharpbutsoft | 1.2k | GA

What good is having a key to your best friend’s house if you can’t use it to spread a little holiday magic? spreading the holiday magic <3<3 this was everything i needed and wanted and i love it so very much

any other bodily sense | kiwiibiird/@buckevanley | 10.2k | GA

Post-s2 sickfic. Buck is stuck with a broke leg and a bad cold. Maddie and Eddie help him out. forehead kisses and maddie and buddie and hurt/comfort... literally what else could a girl (me) need? the answer is nothing because this fic is everything!!

born with a weak heart | foxwatson/@eddiediazes | 7.5k | T

the one where eddie won't touch buck once he wakes up in the hospital, and buck goes absolutely bonkers bananas about it. is it truly a michelle rec list if there's no touch-starved fic on there? i don't think it is lol. i've reread this several times now and it's just the absolute loveliest <3

don't break | odysseus_calls | 2.4k | T

5 times the 118 is tired of Buck and Eddie acting like a couple, and the time they find out they've been dating the whole time. i LOVE hijinks and shenanigans <3 this captures them so perfectly!!

hooker | mansikka | 3.9k | T

When Eddie's life turns to hell, he turns to hooking. Crochet hooking. i've been attempting to crochet again (made a little cat today!) and it's only half because i want to be cool and crafty and half because people make it sound so cool and crafty in fics. anyway point is this was brilliant and so eddie and i loved it v v much!!

i sleep so i can see you ('cause i hate to wait so long) | turquoiseviolet/@turquoisevioiet | 25.7k | T

eddie’s not sleeping and buck’s worried. after all, he’s supposed to be the one who fixes everything, isn’t he? platonic cuddling! homoerotic friendship! getting together! if buddie fic had a bingo card, this would tick all of the boxes <3 so good!!

loves a game, wanna play? | 42hrb/@exhuastedpigeon | 57.5k | M

In the aftermath of Chris leaving for the summer, Buck convinces Eddie they should apply for Love Island together. okay so admittedly all my big plans to read my marked for later list this week failed miserably, cause this is the only fic from there that i actually read... on the other hand, what a brilliant one it is!! it's so funny and so good and i loved the social media elements in there. also, maya and maria <3

sub drop city, population: eddie diaz | peaktotheocean/@peaktotheocean | 4k | T

It takes Eddie longer than he cares to admit to realize that Buck has been giving him aftercare on the sly. i'm such a sucker for aftercare and this has SUCH a lovely buddie dynamic <3

swinging there, in the corner of our haven | anti_romantic_cherub | 1.6k | GA

Eddie bought Buck a hammock, and now he's reaping the rewards (Buck napping in his backyard). buck napping in eddie's backyard <3 such a lovely image and this is executed so so well, i love it!!

the city is a jungle and i'm a beast | putanauhere/@putanauhere | 42.8k | M

Eddie has enough on his plate this summer – a newly empty nest, a terrible new captain, and a new mustache – without adding a new werewolf to the mix. the most fascinating werewolf au <3 i love the buddie dynamic here and how they approach the werewolfism with such different attitudes. so good!!

toss up | saucerfulofsins/@saucerfulofsins | 3.5k | E

Eddie is caught browsing bad gay porn, and Buck takes it upon himself to show Eddie the good stuff. most glorious brilliant fic concept to ever fic <3 this is fantastic!!

trivial pursuit of love | niemi | 6.2k | T

Buck attends Tommy’s trivia night with Eddie, his newfound feelings for his best friend bottled up and ready to burst. As it turns out, he’s not the only one with a secret. buddie at trivia night!! i loved this fic so much, it was a real highlight on a rainy morning bus ride <3

weaving in our loose ends | PretentiousSwanQueen/@hotcinnamonsunset | 8.6k | T

Eddie is a knitter with the Loose Ends Project and he's assigned to finish the project of a loved one of Buck's. the gasp i let out when i realised what buck's project is... gorgeous fic!!

white sheets, you and me start to lay close | effervescentwolf/@effervescentwolf | 1.5k | T

He thinks of his empty bed at home, and his chest feels tight. It’s just that—it’s okay if it’s Buck. He can let Buck catch him. give me all the bed-sharing fics, please and thank you <3 this is one of the best uses of the trope i've seen in a long time, it's so lovely <3

#buddie #buddie fic #buddie fic rec #911 abc #911 fic #911 fic rec #michelle's recs #fic rec list #more winterberry glade coming tomorrow folks #i cannot wait for winter break so i'll have time for fun fandom things #i am. so tired #just one more week #anyway enjoy your reading <3

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year ago

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Follow You Anywhere 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You're online existence threatens to leak into your real life.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: I couldn't help myself.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

"So... this is what it looks like today?" You aim your camera at the sky outside your window, "sorry, the screen is kinda in the way."

You let out a nervous chuckle and flip the camera to yourself. You make a silly face. You were never overly fond of your image on the screen but the vlogs help. Like a little diary, mostly for yourself. You and your seven followers on Insta.

You bat your lashes and fix the clip in your hair, "oh, I got this free. Yeah, I bought a new hair oil and they threw this in the bag." You let your thoughts run wild from your tongue. You found a journal too daunting, the blank lines leaving you just as empty. This is easier. "Anyway, I shouldn't have spent the money to begin with."

You give another splintered laugh. The one you let out when you're anxious, or scared, or happy, or even mad. You bite your lip and catch yourself in your digitized reflection. You stop and turn your camera to your bedroom.

"Today, I'm gonna clean this mess. Me and you guys together."

You scour the room with the lens. Your laundry is piled on the floor and you have a stack of books you need to put on the shelf. It isn't the worst it's been but it's getting cluttered.

"But first, we'll have breakfast, can't start the stream on an empty stomach," you chirp and nearly drop the phone, "oops, uh..." You fix your grip and check the number in the corner. You have one viewer; on a good day, it's three, most days, it's just you talking to the void.

You go into the kitchen, just down the short hall from your bedroom, opening into your living room. You go to the counter and prop up the phone so the camera is on you again. You tap your fingers and hum.

"What should we have for breakfast?" You ask. You don't feel as crazy talking to yourself even if there's really no one watching. "Oo, French toast. Gotta use up the eggs."

You go to the fridge and pull out the eggs and the milk. You bring them back to the counter, shuffling around for a bowl, a whisk, and the cinnamon.

You mix up your ingredients and dip the bread, one piece at a time. You put on a skillet and fry up the slices, presenting a stack of three to the camera. You smile and dust some icing sugar over the top.

“Probably shouldn't have all this sugar for breakfast,” you shrug at the camera, “alright, quick break…”

You put the stream onto the ‘back soon’ page and take your plate to the small foldout table against the wall. You're not a fan of eating on camera. You finish and rinse up before snatching your phone up again.

You return to your bedroom and put the phone on a middle shelf and flip the stream back to live. Still that one viewer…

“Anyway, I'm back,” you wave at the lens.

You hesitate, looking around as you stand straight and spin. Cleaning, right. Before you can set to work, the phone dings.

A message?

You go back to your phone and squint at the chat bubble floating up.

‘Looked delicious too.’

“It was,” you agree with a grin, “thanks.”

‘Don't mean the toast.’

The next message has you blinking. Your nape burns. They can't mean… you clear your throat and giggle.

“Well, let's get started,” you back up and clap your hands, “you know, I've been so carried away with work. This place is a pigsty.”

You sit on the floor and sort through the clothes. You toss them into the basket as you sit in silence. You stop yourself and glance at the phone.

“How about some tunes?”

You walk on your knees to your bedside and turn on your bluetooth speaker. You go to your phone and find a playlist before pulling the stream back to full screen. As you do, you hear a noise you've never heard before.

‘BourbonBear has tipped.’ Huh? Really?

“Oh, thanks, er, BourbonBear,” you giggle around the name, “how nice. Maybe one day I can afford a proper camera for this, huh?”

You smile and go back to the dirty clothes. You quickly ball up a pair of panties and shove them in the basket. You carry on until they're all untangled.

You move on and tidy your desk, bending underneath to gather up a few loose pens. You make your way around the bedroom, putting away books, fixing the blankets on the bed, and straightening the little figurines on the shelf above the bed.

You grab the stick vacuum and suck up the dirt and proclaim your task done. It took a lot longer than you thought. It's after eleven. The one viewer is still there.

“Whew, okay, I'm gonna get myself washed up and go to the park. Maybe I'll post that later,” you give a thumbs up next to your head as you talk to the phone, “thank you.”

You end the stream and let out a sigh. Your videos aren't much and you doubt they're very interesting but it's like venting for you. Almost like having an invisible friend. You think you will take some pictures of the flowers to share.

🧸

You take your usual path through the park. The walks help you unwind your worries. You try to come after work at least a couple days during the week and both days on the weekend. You find the mindlessness of the routine to be calming.

The deeper you get into the wooded length of the path, you slow to admire the birds in the branches and the critters crawling in the brush. You take out your phone and snap a few photos of a blue jay before it wings away shyly. You smile and flip the cam, smiling as you take a goofy selfie. You can add that to your post.

The path winds ahead and you follow it in the din, listening to the river just down the incline to your left and the tweeting from the sky. You lift your face and inhale the woodsy scent. The sudden crack of a twig startles you and you spin to face the noise. There's no one there. Sometimes you forget other people are free to just walk on through.

You chuckle at yourself and continue on. The path leads out to a suburban street where you like to look at the houses. They're much more spacious and pretty than your grimy brick apartment building.

You come out from the shade of the trees and wander along the avenue. There's a mailbox painted to look like the house it stands before and a little nook for second hand children's books to be borrowed through the neighbourhood. Sometimes you picture yourself living in one of those houses though you don't think it could ever truly be.

As you crane your head, you sense a shadow in your peripheral. You're walking a bit slow. You sidle to the side to get out of the way of the other pedestrian. When no one passes, you look back. No one.

You must be imagining things. You shrug and plod along. You're already thinking of what kind of tea you'll have when you get in.

🧸

You sit down with your mug of ginger citrus tea and set to editing your post. You add a light filter to the photos as you shuffle through them on your laptop. The process is slow as the computer is nearly five years old now and chuffing on its 4GB drive. You get to the selfie you snapped, a stop.

You lean in to get a better glimpse of the background. It's fuzzy but there's a figure just over your shoulder. How could that be? You looked and there was no one there. That's so strange.

You stare as a chill courses through you. You're thankful you hadn't put your earphones in. You wouldn't have heard whoever it was and they may have even snuck up on you. Or maybe it's just a trick of the light.

You hit ‘post’ and try to shake off the foreboding. It's nothing. You're being silly. Besides, you're home and safe now. Next time, you'll be more alert.

A message pops up. You stare at the dot over the chat bubble. You tap with your thumb and bring up the DMs.

'Stream tonight?' BourbonBear asks.

You tilt your head. You already did some today. You're tired and want to lie down and enjoy your time off. You type back 'sorry, not tonight. tomorrow <3' and another notification vibrates. A comment on your latest post.

'Pretty sweater', also from BourbonBear. You heart their comment and leave a thanks below.

You flip back to the selfie. You can't really see your sweater in the picture, just the scalloped knitting of the collar. Well, you suppose it does look cute. You put your phone down and leave it on your desk. That's enough Insta for today.

🧸

You time your shopping trip for the least busy hour. It's early and the store is almost empty except for employees stacking bread on shelves or wandering listlessly around the deli. You have your phone in the basket of the cart, aimed at you as you roll it along slowly and check your list.

The stream is just as empty. It's only just started but you don't expect too many people to be up at this hour. You stop and grab a loaf of sourdough, checking the date before showing it to the lens and putting it in the cart. You smile and announce the next item.

"Strawberries... you know I was thinking I might get raspberries instead," you say, catching the eye of one of the yawning employees. You must seem like a weirdo. It's why you typically don't film in public.

As you roll around to the fruit, you notice the count change. One viewer. You choose a basket of raspberries and show those. You see a message float up; morning.

You smile and return the greeting softly and place the berries down carefully beside your phone. You need yogurt to go with the berries.

You work down the list, making some substitutes as you tick off each item. You linger in the ice cream section a bit too long and talk yourself out of a gallon of rocky road. You lean on the handle of the cart and smile down at the lens.

"Going to check out," you say, "see you all later."

All? There's still just the one. You end the stream and take your phone out of the basket.

You wheel around to checkout and line up at the only open till. You put your items up as you greet the cashier with a smile. She seems tired as she gives a dull response.

As you put the yogurt on the belt, you sense someone join the queue behind you. You glance over as a large man stands only feet away. He's tall and burly and staring at you. Maybe he heard you talking to your audience, or he would think, yourself. You continue to unload your groceries.

"Never tried those," he comments as you take out a box of strawberry Pocky.

You pause and hold them up, chuckling nervously, as you do.

"Pretty good," you answer, "I eat way too many."

You notice the man doesn't have a basket or a cart. That realisation needles under your skin. Maybe he's just getting lotto or smokes?

"You like sweet stuff."

"Too much," you squeak even though it doesn't sound like a question.

He just stares, not saying a word. You swallow tightly and pull the last few items out of the cart and get behind it to wheel it through the lane. As you do, he looms closely, adding to the sweat gathering on your lower back.

You roll along and wait for the cashier to ring through the rest of your things. She bags them up neatly in two large paper bags. You pay with your card and thank her as you lift the first into your cart. The man behind you moves forward and grabs the second, startling you.

"Got it," he says as he places it with the other, squeezing by you, crowding you.

"Oh, excuse me, sir," you stammer, "oh," you lean on the cart to roll it to the end of the lane as you make space between you and the stranger. "Thanks, er, uh... thanks."

You turn and grab the handle, jittering. He's really weirding you out. Especially as you realise he's walked right by the cashier. He's following you.

"I can help get ‘em in your car," he offers in a drawl.

"Oh, that's alright, I... bus," you cringe as you realise you've said too much.

"I could drive you. I have a truck."

"No thank you," you walk faster, the cart rattling with your pace.

"Why not?"

"I don't know you, erm, sorry--"

"You don't?" He catches up and shoves his phone in your face, your Insta profile glaring back at you, "I paid for the milk, maybe the berries..."

"What?" You stop, just by the door and turn to him. "I don't--"

"You haven't eaten, have you? I'll take you for French toast. That's your favourite."

"Um," you blink at him as your eyes tinge, "I don't..."

"You got me through a hard campaign, just wanna say thank you," he adjusts his cap and you notice the pin on it. He's a veteran. Oh, 'campaign'.

“Just got back home," he shifts on his feet, a meek gesture for such a large man, "and... your videos helped me remember it. Helped me hold onto it in the sh-- in the stuff."

"I... wow, okay, that's... I'm glad I could do that."

"I really don't mind giving you a ride. Lots of weirdos on the bus," he insists.

"That's nice but--"

"Please," he softens his tone, "been a while since I sat down and had breakfast without worrying about the sky falling."

You shudder and grip the cart tight. You don't know how to say no. You didn't think about who was watching. You always just assumed they were bots. Then you think of the chaching noise and the amount flashing on the screen.

"BourbonBear?" You ask.

"Yeah," he cracks a crooked smile and smooths his hand over his thick beard. "Everyone calls me Syv.”

#dark!captain syverson #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #follow you anywhere #sandcastle #captain syverson #dark captain syverson #captain syverson x reader

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zyart-jpg · 17 days ago

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"What Love Can't Fix"

Pairing: Vinny Hong x Reader

Summary: He can't come back yet, or maybe he could never. Who knows.

Tags: Post-breakup, Mutual yearning, Angst

A/N: This is a continuation of Vinny's part in my drabbles of Sabbath x Reader with chronic injury Also tagging my pookies bcs i miss their works and presence so this is a bribe to try and get them back: @owenight @ravenwritten @dzvelinaskebiyars @wthphe1n @sunariiiiiiin @i-nssomniia @sylith @bfwooin pls come back and feed us fics i am in drought :(

You’d peeled away from the rest of the Hummingbirds the second the race ended—shoulder-checking through the crowd like brute force could outrun the sting in your leg and the embarrassment clawing up your throat.

Behind the waiting area, you found a half-shaded corner—blissfully empty—and sank against the wall with a muted hiss.

The pain flared sharp under your skin. You pressed your palm over your knee like pressure alone could shut it up. It was fine. You were fine. Just winded. Just pissed. Mostly at yourself—a little at your teammates and everyone else.

But a lot at him.

“You look pathetic.”

The voice cut in from the right. You didn’t even need to look. That smug tone could only belong to one bastard.

You looked anyway—slow, unimpressed, dry-eyed like you were already over whatever conversation he thought this was going to be. His mismatched eyes met yours as he strolled closer—unhurried, unreadable, irritatingly steady.

“Get lost,” you muttered, voice low and gravelly. “Not in the mood for Sabbath’s stray skulking in my shadow.”

You shifted slightly, trying to draw your leg in like it was no big deal—like you hadn’t just bitten the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from groaning. Like you weren’t one twitch away from curling up like a kicked mutt.

He didn’t buy it. Of course he didn’t.

He knelt in front of you without a word, gloved hand reaching out to tug your leg toward him.

“Stop—” you hissed, jerking back instinctively.

He didn’t stop.

His thumb pressed just above your knee—right into a familiar pressure point that sent pain shooting up your thigh. You cried out before you could catch it.

He clicked his tongue. “If it hurts, genius, you go to the medic’s tent. You don’t limp off like some feral alley cat to die behind the bleachers.”

You kicked at him with your other leg, but it barely made him flinch.

“Leave me alone,” you growled. “Since you’re so good at leaving anyway.”

That made his brow twitch. Just a little. Barely. But you saw it.

“Still bitter?” he said, easy. “Thought Hummingbirds were all about rising above and flapping off into the sunset.”

“Oh, screw you,” you snapped. “You ditched us for a cult with better jerseys and half a moral compass.”

“Sabbath doesn’t do moral compasses,” he said without missing a beat. “They’re complete asses.”

You scoffed, trying again to wrest your leg free. “Traitor.”

He grinned, weakly, like something old and familiar was tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Still hurts more that I left, or that your knee’s busted?”

You opened your mouth to snap back, but shut it again, jaw clenched, heat rising in your face—not from the banter, but from the pain spiking again.

Vinny saw it. You caught the flicker in his eyes—his cocky veneer faltering for half a second before he exhaled.

“Hold still,” he said, voice lower now. His grip gentled. “I’m not gonna make it worse. Just checking.”

You grumbled but didn’t move. Didn’t stop him. Not even as your fingers curled into his shoulder—right over the jersey that somehow looked both right on him and entirely wrong. It wasn’t the one you used to share. It wasn’t yours.

“…Come back, Vinny.”

It slipped out quieter than you meant. A cracked whisper, thin as breath.

But the silence that followed was louder than anything else. It echoed between you, thick and unmoving. His hands stilled on your knee, fingers splayed like they could hold the words in place. Like touch could be enough.

He didn’t look at you. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t answer.

Just silence. Heavy and deliberate. The same kind he’d always used when he didn’t trust himself to speak.

It hurt more than being ignored. It was the kind of silence that knew what you wanted and didn’t offer it—not because he couldn’t feel it, but because he did. Because this was him choosing not to reach back.

You blinked hard, jaw locked against the ache behind your teeth. The pressure in your chest climbed higher. You didn’t want to cry. Not in front of him. Not like this.

But it was already spilling out—soft and quiet and too real.

“Please…”

The word came out shaky. Your fingers dug harder into his shoulder, curling over the edge of his collar. You leaned forward—barely—but enough to make it harder for him to pretend you weren’t there. That this wasn’t happening.

“Please just—just come back. If it’s the money, I can help. If it’s your mom, I can figure something out. We all can.”

Your voice cracked under the weight of it—quiet, trembling, but insistent. Like if you just offered enough, bargained hard enough, loved him loudly enough, you could anchor him back to you.

Vinny didn’t flinch. But his jaw tensed, the vein in his neck pulling tight beneath his skin. Still no eye contact. Still kneeling in front of you like the silence wasn’t already dragging him under.

“It’s not the money,” he said finally, voice rough and low. “It stopped being about money a long time ago.”

You stared at him, desperate, bewildered. “Then what?” you asked. “What the hell is it? What’s so broken that you couldn’t stay?”

He looked at you.

And God—it nearly leveled you.

Because it wasn’t anger you saw.

It wasn’t regret either.

It was guilt. Deep, old, marrow-level guilt. The kind that no one ever talks about but lives under the skin. Quiet. Constant.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said, barely above a whisper. “None of you did.”

He shifted back a little, like even this small closeness was making it harder to breathe.

“It’s me. It’s always been me.”

“Then let us help,” you said, voice cracking. “Let me help.”

His hand dragged across his face. He looked so tired. Not in the physical sense, but soul-deep—like someone who’d been carrying something for too long and forgotten what it felt like to put it down.

“I don’t need help,” he muttered. “I need to be someone. On my own. Not because I’m part of something. Not because someone believes in me. I need to build it from scratch. I need it to be mine. Just mine.”

You blinked. “And you can’t do that with me beside you?”

“I think it won’t,” he said, finally meeting your eyes again. “Because with you... I’ll never be able to pretend I’m okay.”

You looked at him like he’d just kicked your chest in.

“You think this is pity?” you whispered.

His gaze dropped, like it hurt to hold yours. “It might not be,” he said slowly. “But let’s not pretend it doesn’t look like that sometimes. Me—limping behind the golden team. Behind you.”

You exhaled shakily, hands curled in your lap.

“Isn’t being loved by someone enough?” you asked. “Isn’t me loving you enough?”

His eyes flicked up again—and this time, the pain was obvious. Raw. Undisguised. Like you’d just pulled out a piece of him he thought he buried long ago.

“It should be,” he said. “God, it should be.”

And then his voice flattened again. Blunt. Controlled. Like he needed to strip the softness out before it swallowed him whole.

“But not everything gets solved by romanticizing it.”

The words landed hard. Like concrete. Like finality.

You swallowed around the tightness building in your throat. You wanted to scream. To sob. To grab him and shake him and ask why he could see so clearly through everything except the part where you loved him.

“…Was it really that bad?” you asked, quieter now. “With us. With me.”

“No.” His answer came quick. Certain. “You were the only part that wasn’t.”

And that broke you more than anything else.

Because if even the good things couldn’t save him—what could?

Vinny stood slowly, brushing the dirt from his knees, and you could feel the distance between you grow even as he lingered for a beat longer.

His eyes dropped to you one last time—soft, glassy, but already turning away.

“I loved it,” he said. “Being yours. Being one of the Hummingbirds. I loved all of it.”

You reached out, barely thinking, just instinct.

“Then why are you leaving again?”

His hand twitched by his side. Maybe he was going to take yours. Maybe he wanted to.

But he didn’t.

“How can I take care of you when I can’t even take care of myself?”

It wasn’t angry. It wasn’t even cold.

It was honest.

Too honest.

And all you could do was sit there, too stunned to speak, too tired to argue anymore. Your silence begged for you. Your eyes begged. Your body—stiff with pain, held together by something brittle and fraying—begged.

But he still turned away. And this time, you didn’t stop him—couldn’t.

Because you understood.

You couldn't love him into healing. He had to choose it for himself.

Even if it meant walking away from everything he used to need.

Still, the ache stayed. Even as his silhouette disappeared past the edge of the stadium. Even as the buzz of the crowd swallowed him whole.

You sat there, knees drawn in, pain dull and distant. Fingers curled like they’d just let go of something warm. And under your breath, like a quiet prayer to no one in particular, you whispered again:

“Please… just come back.”

To you.

To your friends.

To the team.

To the version of him that was once starting to believe he had a place in the world without having to earn it.

But the only answer was the wind.

And the memory of his hand—steady, once, on your knee.

a/n2: lolol i tried making the post cute but i'm not familiar with getting those cute dividers hahshasha i just wanna have a cute post im sorry

MASTERLIST

#windbreaker webtoon #windbreaker x reader #windbreaker manhwa #sabbath crew #sabbath windbreaker #vinny hong x reader #vinny x reader #windbreaker vinny #vinny hong

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