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cupidddd-d · 3 months

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dumb love, i love being stupid

this is just a personal theory, but love is the most twisted curse of them all

wc: 1,891

pt. 2

it was stupid to have an affair with a married man. you knew he couldn't fully commit to you, and yet, like an idiot, you still went and fell in love with him. and like an even bigger idiot, he fell in love with you too.

you lay on the couch with him, enjoying another stolen moment before he's forced to go home to his wife. there's a lingering discomfort that settles deep within your bones, but you push it down.

"you're so pretty, you know that?" he says in a hushed tone, despite no one else being there to overhear him.

"i think i do know. after all, you say it every day, don't you?" you tease, nudging him playfully.

your smiles slowly fade as a familiar, high-pitched noise penetrates the air. but that chiming of his phone isn't just a noise. it's a special ringtone dedicated solely to his wife. it's the noise that shatters the perfect illusion of happiness that exists only in your home. because you can't be happy. not like this.

"i'll go wait in the kitchen. you should have privacy to talk to your wife," you offer him a tight-lipped smile, pressing a kiss to the top of his head as you stand up.

satoru cranes his head up, leaning as far into your touch as possible. it makes you laugh quietly, momentarily distracting you from the self-deprecating thoughts that swirl around inside your head.

you immediately busy yourself with making a cup of hot tea, not wanting to eavesdrop on his conversation. you knew you were just the other woman. maybe he loved you back, but he still had a wife waiting for him at home.

you had to be cool. you had to be the cool girl if you wanted him to stay. but sometimes it didn't even feel worth it anymore. what was the point in being cool if he couldn't be fully yours?

you stared down at your steaming mug, barely noticing his footsteps get closer and closer until you schooled your features into a mask of cheerfulness. "done already?"

"you don't have to fake your emotions with me, baby. i know you're upset, and i-i'm really sorry. i feel awful that you have to go through this." he says quietly, cupping your face and rubbing his thumb along your cheekbone.

"you clearly don't feel awful enough, seeing as you still haven't done anything about it." your tone is clipped and bitter, a pang of guilt settling in your stomach at the hurt in his eyes. "i'm sorry. i shouldn't have said that."

he winces, glancing down at his feet. "no, you shouldn't have to apologize. i-i know i deserved that. it's not that i don't feel bad, i do. it's just..."

"complicated?"

"i'm sorry." and he is sorry. but it's not enough for you anymore.

"of course it's complicated, satoru...but you told me you loved me. you told me you'd get a divorce. you told me that you wanted to shout from the rooftops about how much you loved me." your voice is embarrassingly fragile, and you hope he doesn't notice.

he rakes a hand through his silver hair, a gesture so familiar and endearing it aches. "i meant all of that, my love. i swear. i do want a divorce, but my parents won't let me,"

he reaches out for your hand, and you let him. he rubs the same soothing circles over your knuckles as he always does, but this time it does nothing to placate you.

"you're a grown man, satoru. you can make your own decisions now." you say quietly, tensing under his touch.

"i know that," he whispers, squeezing your hand. "but it's not that simple. they're my family. they wanted me to get married, and i can't disappoint them. their opinions are...everything, to me."

there's a slow dawn of resignation that comes to you, and it makes your shoulders slump with defeat. "i understand."

you stare up at him with a devastated look on your face you clearly don't cover up well enough, or maybe he just knows you too well. you allow yourself a selfish moment to engrave his face into your mind one last time. despite the numerous photos of him that sit in your camera roll, there isn't a single one of them that does his beauty any justice.

"please don't look at me like that, baby. please, don't..." he whimpers beseechingly, leaning down to your level with a pleading expression. "please, my love. don't look at me like i've already lost you,"

you take a deep, shuddering breath as you cup his face, trying to put on a brave face for his sake. "i know you're torn between me and your family..."

he shivers, looking so miserable you want to cry. he leans into your touch, desperate for any shred of comfort he can get. "i-i wish i could have it all, but i can't. but p-please, don't give up on me...please,"

"so i'll choose for you, satoru." you continue softly, leaning your forehead against his. you shut your eyes, breathing in his scent before the moment ends. every last one of his details needs to be committed to memory before you let him go. you need to let him go. it's for the greater good.

citrus, cedarwood, and mint. citrus, cedarwood, and mint. citrus, cedarwood, and mint. citrus, cedarwood, and mint.

"n-no, no, no! don't do this, please don't do this...please, don't do this to me," he pleads, his lips quivering. he grabs your wrists, refusing to let go as if you'd slip away from his grasp otherwise. "i'm begging you, please,"

"i wish it didn't have to be like this, satoru." you bite your tongue, determined not to cry. in this moment, at least one of you has to be strong.

"please, it doesn't have to be! w-we can fix this, please...! i can't lose you," desperation claws at his throat, his voice breaking as tears freely drip down his cheeks.

this man who is always so proud, so egotistical, is kneeling at your feet, hugging your waist and bowing his head into your stomach as if you are a goddess to be worshiped. he looks up at you pitifully with that yearning gaze you've become so accustomed to, as if you're his only salvation.

"satoru," you say softly, tracing a gentle finger over his cheekbone. "you'll be alright, i know it. can you promise me something?"

he shakes his head frantically, letting out a sob as he grips the fabric of your shirt. "n-no, no, i'll never be alright if you leave me, i swear it! p-please, please don't l-leave me, i'll do anything!"

"promise me that one day, if things ever become...less complicated, that you'll come find me. one day, if you have no other ties holding you down--no wife, no family you're worried about disappointing, i'd like you to come to me. i'll be waiting for you, alright?" you offer him a weak smile, the sight of his anguish too much to bear.

"i promise. i'm yours, a-always. i'll come find you, i swear." he whispers, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen as he slowly stands back up.

he envelops you in a hug, and for a moment, everything feels okay again. one arm wrapped around your waist, one hand cradling the back of your head to press you further into him. there is no safer space than in his arms, and it's a haven that you will soon no longer have access to.

"satoru...do you think we'd be happy in another universe?"

"so happy...we'd be the happiest...but not in this one. we're not meant to have our happy ending, are we?" he laughs bitterly, his arms clutching you tighter as if to mold your body to his.

"we might," you say halfheartedly. his cologne is stronger in this proximity.

citrus, cedarwood, and mint.

"still such an optimist, aren't you?" he laughs again, and it's a humorless, hollow sound that doesn't fit him at all.

"i know this is selfish, but...could i kiss you? one last time?" you whisper, your composure cracking as a single tear drips from your eye.

he instinctively brushes your tears away with his nimble fingers, not even taking a second thought to do so. "of course, my love. you can have anything you want. just ask, and it's yours. i'd give you...everything."

he sounds absolutely gutted, and it makes your heart shatter. how could this possibly be for the greater good if it feels so painful?

he kisses you the same way a drowning man claws for his last pockets of air--desperately, breathlessly, pleadingly. he kisses you like he's starving for your touch, and in a way, he is. he kisses you as if he's trying to remember the feel of your lips, the taste of your mouth in case he never gets to again, and you know he is--because you're doing the same.

he lets out a wounded noise as you pull away, chasing your lips. just to feel you one last time.

"i don't blame you for leaving. not one bit, baby. but i swear to you--i swear on my life, i'll find you again one day. and i won't be such a fool next time. i'll be the man you deserve, i promise." he lets out a shaky breath, resting his forehead against yours.

"i look forward to that day, satoru. i'll be waiting for you."

"i wish i could keep you forever," he whispers.

"i know. me too." you take a moment to breathe and collect yourself, knowing that if he stays for much longer, you won't have the strength to break up with him.

you cradle his face with your hands, memorizing the exact sensation of his hair between your fingers. "i love you," you speak into his skin as you press a lingering kiss on his forehead, almost hoping that he'd absorb your words and never forget how much you meant to him.

truthfully, you didn't really believe that he would come back to you one day. but as long as he could have his family, as long as he was happy, you would be fine.

he turns his head and brushes his lips against the inside of your wrist, a reverent act that makes your heart twist.

"goodbye satoru," you can't even muster up the strength to smile. satoru was your strength, your happiness, your love, your everything. and once he left your house, he would take all of that with him.

the sound of your front door closing is a white-hot spike driving into your stomach. it's so definitive, so final that you feel your heart break just a little bit more.

you watch him leave with a familiar ache in your chest, trying to ignore the way his shoulders shake, or the way he drags his feet. you try to ignore the way he turns back with a desolate expression, seeking your gaze one last time. you try to ignore the way his fists clench so tightly that blood trickles down his fingers. but you can't, so you close your curtains and turn away so you can cry properly.

he's not dead, so why does it feel as if you're mourning him?

#fem reader #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk satoru #gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu satoru #satorugojo #angst #angst no happy ending #satoru x reader #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #jjk #jjk x reader

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jolapeno · 11 months

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vi. hate my car

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter six of i like the way you

best friend! friends with benefits! frankie morales summary: what starts off as an offhand remark, quickly becomes a regular, scheduled 'stress relief'. the only problem is, both of you are in denial that you feel anything outside of friendship for the other.

warnings: friends with benefits. fwb! rules. flirting. idiots who are so in love it’s stupid. feelings. smut. praise kink. car sex. p in v. jealous!frankie, moody!frankie for a small part.

word count: 4.6k

an: thank you, as always, to @thetriumphantpanda for always reading my work even when she has a headache because she loves me.

Even though you had given him a key to your place, Frankie never used it.

He preferred knocking. Liked waiting to be invited in. Never wanting to be an inconvenience—as if he ever could be.

It’s for this exact reason why it takes you by surprise when you step out of your bedroom, finding him coming in through your front door.

No explanation, no reason.

Your thoughts stolen, ripped from your throat when his eyes land on you, taking you in. You’ve noticed he does that more and more recently—take your breath away, leave you thoughtless.

He does it again when he shuts your door without looking, doing the littlest of head shakes before he closes the gap between you in several strides.

No warning, nothing vocalised.

The jacket in your hand falls to the floor, hands busying themselves with pulling him by his jacket as his mouth slants itself over yours. He tastes of mint and happiness, the latter something he always seems to leave lingering in your mouth when he’s gone.

But it’s his hands. His fingers which purposefully find themselves on your waist before even a hello could be muttered. Keeping you close to him, thieving any question you may have had about what the fuck brought this one.

But you know. Deep down, you know.

It’s for the same reason why you let I’ve missed you, escape in a whisper. It gets stifled between kisses, as your hands hurry to remove his jacket, it dropping with a thud before you’re pulled flush, little to nothing between the two of you.

“I’m driving your car,” he rasps, walking you to your sofa.

Like the spark from a scorched match, it all unravels. Your earlier work of being ready—on time—quickly vanishes, it all coming undone.

Fingers are all dexterous and moving like they have a mission, all aiming to pop open and free you from your jeans. Temporarily, you lose his mouth from yours as he rips your trousers down your thighs before palms glide under your top and remove that over your head—all discarded, forgotten.

And, you don’t care. Not even a little bit.

“You are?”

Nodding, he kisses you—all open-mouth, breath dancing over your lip. “Because when we’re done, I can take my time taking you apart. Not rushing—like we’ll have to right now.”

Swallowing, your fingers slide up his jaw—feeling his cheeks rise, the pulse in his neck throbbing against your wrist.

“We could wait—“

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head—one hand rising to cup your jaw and chin. “No. You deserve this,” he adds, sliding his other hand into your underwear, “You do, so enjoy it, querida. This is about you”

It’s easier to moan against him, to vibrate your want against his lips, than begin to puzzle together what he could mean.

Which is precisely why you rock up to the bar late.

For as fucked out as you feel, he assures you that you don’t look it. Although, his hand is on the small of your back, guiding, propping, as he passes you your keys before opening the door for you.

Ever the gentleman—if he hadn’t been already for what he’d done to you at yours.

A part of you, a part that doubles, and triples, in size between the milliseconds, wants to face him, take his cheeks in your hands and ask him to take you back home. That you’ll make it worth his while, get on your knees for him; that you’ll make an excuse—

Even if there isn’t one.

There’s only truth. And that truth is that you want him to take you home because you had missed him. Both the friend and the other parts.

Swallowing, you offer a smile. Not asking him. Feeling disappointment slide down inside of you like mud, adding to the swirling concoction of complexities you don’t have the processing power to unravel.

You both spot the others, offering a wave, and pointing to the bar as you head to get drinks. A slither of you grateful for the moment to catch your breath.

“You want a drink qu…” his voice trails off, your name falling quickly, replacing it, attempting to cover the near slip-up.

And it makes your throat tighten, something growing there—large, pulsing and thick.

Your feelings rise, fighting their way out of the box you keep stuffing them in—all hands, fingers and toes, scratching and pulling, desperately wanting to claw their way out of your throat and embed themselves in his ear.

But you’ll lose him. Lose this if you do.

Steadying your forearms into the bar counter, you press down—hoping it’ll ground you, almost hurt.

Because if it hurts, you’ll stop thinking; you’ll find a second to take a breath that will calm you.

It doesn’t. It never does.

Curling your lips into a smile, you stare at him. “You should be careful, Morales.”

And he snorts. “So I’ve been told.” It’s your turn to snort, shaking your head until you feel him lean closer. “But, I think you liked me slipping up. Bet it made you—”

You’re just grateful the bartender interrupted his sentence.

For the last hour, Frankie has had his arm resting behind your head. The scent of him washing over you in waves you hope embed themselves in your soul.

But it’s his fingers occasionally squeezing your shoulder when he laughs, that you hope leave a mark. Each time you make him laugh, he wheezes ever so lightly.

It’s normal. A thing you do a lot—make him laugh. It’s not special. Yet, somehow, it is.

Your thigh pressed against his, curling into him as the table erupts, Benny sinking into the leather of the seat as his lips curl up.

And then, a drink gets placed down—taking the good time with it.

The bartender, a new guy (one you’re not used to) politely interrupting to offer it to you. It’s colourful, a fruit slice slotted into the rim—more ice than you know what to do with—and then the words that kill the last semblance of the night, “It’s from the man over there.

You feel Frankie still before your heart sinks. It further shatters when you feel his arm slide out from behind you—leaving you cool, cold. A chill brushes across the table, the other two not reacting either. Each pair of eyes staring at it.

But, you suspect the others aren’t struggling to swallow. They don’t feel like the happiness that had ballooned in their chest, had exploded.

“Go over there,” Benny says, poking your arm.

Narrowing your eyes, you swat at his finger as he goes for another poke. “I’m not interested.”

Glancing from the corner of your eye, you take note of the way Frankie is focused on the label of his drink. Not looking up—Will looking from you to the others all in turn.

“C’mon, when’s the last time you even got laid.”

Biting your tongue, you twist your head to meet Benny’s stare. “Last week, actually. How’s your dry spell, Ben?” Benny’s face drops and you smirk. “I don’t need drinks being bought for me, I have money.”

“It’s only a drink,” Will says, shrugging.

“It’s fine—can you move?” you huff.

Hands pushing at Benny, finding him unwilling to move quickly enough. Your body trying to clamber, to put enough distance between you and the person unwilling to meet your eye. Your thigh cooling to a freezing temperature too, the burning fading from being against his—leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

Sliding from the booth, you grab the drink—not making eye contact with anyone—walking up to the bar to find the man straightening up in his seat.

Hating that he of course has to be handsome. That he has nice eyes and a fucking charming smile.

“Thank you, it’s very kind of you. But I’m not—I don’t need a drink buying for me.”

“Just being a gentleman.”

Smiling, you place it down, sliding it across to him. “Well, I’m being pleasant, and saying it’s okay.”

The man eyes you, narrowing them, placing his elbow onto the bar top as he wipes his mouth, brushing over the hair above the top of his lip.

“I will say,” you continue. “It is bold to buy someone a drink when they’re surrounded by other men.”

Tilting his head, he smirks. “So, which one is it?”

“What?”

“The reason you won’t accept my drink—is it the conventionally pretty one who’s been eyeing up women? No, can’t be him. You’ve not reacted.”

Gritting your jaw, you narrow your eyes.

“So, it has to be the one glaring.”

Steadying your voice, you soften your smile. “Which one?”

“Blond.”

Your heart sinks, but you try to hide it. Stuff it down. Smother it—

“Which means, it’s the one I didn’t mention—who is staring, by the way.”

Your face burns, eyes dropping to the bar—trying to not show that your heart is racing. Trying not to focus on the fact you can feel Frankie staring. Them piercing, digging in, practically clawing.

It shouldn’t feel good. It shouldn’t feel like anything.

But it does. It does. It does.

“You should laugh.”

Snorting, you shake your head, digging your forearms into the bar. “I don’t do that on command.”

“Guess I’ll have to be funny then.”

Smirking, you tilt your head—because in another time, you’d be into this. Him. The quick-witted nature and charming personality. Another time, you’d find it more than appealing.

“You’re annoying.”

He takes a sip from his drink. “And, you’re very pretty. Hey, if you laugh, the guy who won’t stop staring might shatter his bottle.”

Rolling your eyes, you tap your phone against the machine. “Goodbye…?”

“Javi.”

“Enjoy your evening, Javi.”

“And you.”

He shouldn’t be jealous.

Shouldn’t be clutching his bottle with more firmness than he used to do a rifle.

There shouldn’t be things circling—doubts, and thoughts all pulverising him.

But then, they’d begun doing that earlier when he’d watched you head off to play darts with Will. His blood secretly simmering. He knows it should be, knows he’s being foolish. His body however wasn’t aware of that, least of all when your top rose up your back when you grabbed a stray dart from the floor—because you’ve always been bad at playing—and Will had the chance to bask in how you looked bent over.

He had needed to talk himself down from dragging you to a bathroom stall when you’d finally got a bullseye, had wanted to remind you that your calendar was synced with his, when you threw your arms around Will and jumped up and down.

Because all of his feelings were suddenly too much.

They felt too large. Bigger than him.

Jealousy weaves its way in, let in by the slither of darkness he always carries with him from bad days that led to bad months.

In truth, Frankie knew he had you to himself, but somehow it felt both too much and not enough all at once.

A sudden hunger, all unable to ignore, at wanting to have you all completely to himself, even if he knows he has nothing to offer you.

He’s a man with a blip on his record, a sketchy past of bad decisions, and some scars that show more proudly when it’s stormy, and the rain doesn’t stop coming.

Frankie knows this in great detail because he’s been here before.

He’d been stood in front of someone he cared about, being read his rights about why it wouldn’t work—and yet he’s no more prepared.

Bitterness worms further into his chest as he continues to watch you talk to him—the man at the bar. It buries itself deep, spreading its poison, reminding him he’s a secret, worth nothing more, nothing less.

You love her, don’t you? What the fuck are you asking me, Pope? I’m asking you if you lo—

He only snaps out of it when Benny slides out of the booth. Suddenly able to release the bottle, let out a sigh, sliding his eyes away, happily finding a new point to fix them on as he tried to get a hold of himself.

But, from the corner of his eye, he’s always watching.

He had been earlier, when he’d gone to get a round—you texting him to stop looking at me like that, Morales. He almost wonders if he’s always done it, or if you’ve only just caught on.

“So, how long?”

Snapping his head in Will’s direction, he blanks. Watching as his friends lean back in the booth, doing that head tilt he does.

“Alright, better question, you know what you’re doing? With her, I mean?”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Frankie swallows. A frown tumbles out across his forehead, somehow able to mutter a what do you mean as innocently as he could.

But, even he knows it holds nothing when it emerges. It’s wrapped, practically encased in the simmering annoyance that you’re still over there talking to him.

Will, though, is already not buying what he’s being sold. Likely hasn’t been way before tonight, before this. Frankie can tell. Should have guessed it when he spotted him ticking about an hour ago, two beers ago.

Even if they all had the same training, you couldn’t teach the level of observation Will had. The way he saw through things, people—more than ticks, secrets and lies, but truths and hidden woes. He was always watching, always aware.

“Y’know, I hadn’t put my finger on it until she said last week,” Will continues, “Then, it made sense. The shift—the difference between the two of you. So, I’ll ask again, you know what you’re doing, Fish?”

No. It almost falls out, all pitiful and weak.

But, he manages to claw it back, roll it to the back of his throat and submerge it back down his throat.

Because he can’t have this conversation with him. Not of all people.

Will who is both his friend and is somehow also yours.

The man who he often finds you huddled with, gossiping in low whispers, your smile wide, broad, fucking spreading up into your eyes as Will stares at you like you’re the one who hung the sun. He knows the two of you have your own things—ones he and Ben never get invited to.

And Frankie gets it, he does. Why wouldn’t Will look at you like that?

You’re wonderful, funny—practically the reason there’s a moon, stars and sun in Frankie’s world. He just wishes he deserved it, wishes he had more to offer.

Because unlike his friend, his job is unstable, practically rocky. His home is barely more than a one-bedroom, one-bath. He comes with baggage, often unable to close both his eyes comfortably and achieve more than five hours of sleep.

All things he knew Will didn’t struggle with. His job was good, his home nice, a body continuing to be curated in a gym—even around training Ben—and all he had was—

“Fish?”

“It’s fine.”

“Is it?” Will continues, tilting his head, dropping his voice. “Cause your fingers are turning white.”

Rolling his jaw, he fidgets with the bottle, running his tongue against his teeth. “She can talk to whoever she wants.”

Frankie almost believes his lie.

He suspects you’ve known something was off before you’d taken a seat at the table—choosing to slide in next to Will and not him.

You’d likely already spotted the mist hovering above the three of you—Benny still somewhere else, likely attempting to undo his dry spell.

It’s you who asks (suggests) you head home. A silent request, please take me home, Morales.

The two of you walk back to your car in silence, him still opening the door, watching you lingering on his eyes as you nod—searching, digging.

And, he can feel it, the way you’re pleading for him to open up, while he silently begs for you to stop.

But, the stare has already dug in. Is already driving him insane. It’s there when he blinks, sketched in concern, drawn into him, making his chest ache.

Because it’s a look you should never wear, never. Yet, he’s made it appear on your face far too many times.

It’s the only reason as to why he puts your car into park, killing the engine.

“Why are we in an abandoned parking lot, Morales?”

Trying to stretch his legs, he rubs the bridge of his nose. Unsure where to start, where to begin. A mixture of the evening mashing into the slowly building feelings he’s had since he synced the calendars.

Because now he’s had you, it’s all he wants.

Addicted, in only the best, fucking way.

“Just wanted to talk to you—before I dropped you off.”

From the corner of his eyes, he sees you fiddle, playing with the edge of your top. Twisting it around your finger, a habit you’ve always done.

Unlike before, you’re watching him through your brows, as he wipes his hand across his jaw—tongue swiping over his bottom lip, a punched breath escaping his nose.

“About the guy—at the bar—“

“Frankie.”

He hears you, but he’s already going, falling through his mind. Kind understanding flowing from his tongue, because he needs you to know you’re a good person, a person who deserves good things, nice things, a happy life.

Each thing wrapped in a compliment he isn’t sure if he should let slip, yet does—knowing each is tainted with a blend of truth and sadness.

Because of course he doesn’t want to give you up, doesn’t want to lose you. But he wants the best for you. He wants you happy, content—beaming like you were earlier without it ever having the chance to be stolen—

“—and so, if you wanna use that number the guy gave you and go on a date, you should—“

“I didn’t take his number.”

Whipping his head, he sees how you’ve twisted your body to face him. A sheepish, but slowly growing smile spreading. The streetlights put focus on it, on the two of you, illuminating the car, making every bit of you twinkle—and he’s sure there must be stars in his dark brown from the way your smile grows up into your cheeks.

Because he’s lost for words. Silenced.

His brain struggling to catch up. Even more so when you unbuckle your seatbelt, and he hears you take a steadying breath.

“I didn’t take his number,” you repeat, more forcibly, more sternly. “Because I didn’t want to.”

Sliding up onto your knees, you swallow, holding his gaze, placing a hand on his shoulder as you try and swing your leg over his—almost hitting the centre console—brows stitching, frustration mounting, until he reaches out, worrying you’ll get your fucking ankle stuck in the steering wheel.

“Be careful, querida.”

You inwardly groan, and he can’t be sure, but it sounded so close to an I’m trying, with it dying when he grasps your hips, his fingers brushing over the softness of your skin, all to aid your movement—but he can’t hide how glad he is to feel you.

Even more so when you’re straddled over his lap, all picture-perfect, something from a dream.

For a moment, he just stares. Processes. He’s sure you’re letting him catch up to what you were hoping to say without words being said.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” he whispers back.

Unable to stop staring, his heart begins to do that thing again—the double beat, the little hammer. The thing it does whenever he’s around you, long before the movie night when things blurred over the line, and has only increased in its strength since.

Slowly, your hands slide around his neck, his mouth instantly moving to press a kiss to your skin. Leaving it against your forearm, all invisible marks he hopes you’ll think about long after they’ve faded.

Then, you part your lips—but nothing emerges.

No words, no confession.

Even if he’s adamant something is there, gurgling at the back of your throat. Words. Sentences. Likely even paragraphs.

You don’t spill them, don’t share them. Holding them close to your chest—just like him. Except, instead of words, you dip your face under the beak of his hat. Not wanting to speak, to share anything more, and so he leans into it—this thing which courses through him. The thing which is tough to cage, and harder to ignore. Choosing, rather, to slot his mouth over yours—tasting the remnants of your last drink, the gum you’d poached from Will, and bask in the feeling of you moving your lips against his.

And, he hopes he’s not wrong, but he swears I want you is breathed into his soul.

Hopes it is what is thrumming in the air because he feels the same.

Knowing it’s just fear holding him back, it having stitched and embroidered itself all around how right this all feels. Because it does feel right, as scary as that is to admit. He’s lost in it, descending further into it. Just as a needy moan is suddenly buried against his mouth, his fingers trace a path up your neck and along your jaw. Desiring more. Needing more.

“Always sound so pretty for me,” he whispers.

You groan, light, delicate at his words—just as he slides his hand back around your hip, tugging you closer, keeping you right there. A silent, but loud demand of do not move, and he’s hoping you’d never want to, praying you don’t want to be anywhere that isn’t on top, under or alongside him.

A thought which makes his throat dry, makes him pause against your mouth.

Because he’s been wanting to kiss you all night in that booth. Had been wanting to forego all the secrecy and just wrap his fingers around your cheeks, pull your mouth to his—and publicly declare that there’s something (small, large—he’s not even sure) going on between the two of you.

Something he’s fought wanting, something he’s tried not to wish or linger on, because…

You mean so much to him.

It’s the backbone to all his movements as his fingers skim over your cheeks—searching, trying to read what’s going on in your mind as he looks into your eyes. Trying to ride through the storm that’s swirling around and around, wondering if it’s named after him—because of him.

Because he’s riding out one too, and it eerily is named after you.

“You want me to take you home, hermosa?”

You smile—whether at the name or the implication—and then it unfolds, twisting, changing into a smirk. Leaning closer, he spots something darkening in your eyes, something that makes his stomach knot and heat wash over his spine.

Because he knows that look now. He sees it in his dreams, thinks about it—

“I think we should fuck in my car, Morales…”

He swallows, just as you roll your hips.

Dragging his tongue across his teeth, he flicks down to your spread thighs—wondering how drenched his fingers would be if he dipped them into your underwear. Wondering how long you’ve been thinking about him—whether you had been as affected by being sat so close to him, as he had been by you.

For the last few hours, he’d just been bathed over and over again in your perfume. Felt the heat of your leg against his, your laugh reverbing through him each time it emerged.

“You want me to fuck you in this parking lot, hermosa?” he asks, biting down on your lip, forcing your hips to roll against his, swearing he hears a little fuck escape from your mouth. “Cause, I’ve thought about that all night. Fucking you in this shitty car that I hate.”

Your answer comes in your movement, pushing your head into his neck, grabbing the level of the seat before he’s pushing it back as far as it can go. Buying you both more space, more room—something you further aid when you twist the dial, around and around, his eyes able to stare up at you, watching how your tongue swipes across your bottom lip, until the back of the chair slowly sinks to meet the backseat.

For a moment, there’s a pause. A few breaths. A few beats.

“Do you want that, baby?” he whispers, cradling your cheek.

And you nod, slowly. “Please, Frankie. Want to feel you inside me.”

Then, it’s hurried.

Both of you attempting to bury something, run from it, hide. Your bottom layers gone, awkwardly, but discarded all the same, bunched up in the footwell as you help free him from the confines of his jeans. Those fucking jeans—the ones he knows you like him in, you confessing it once, a while ago.

“Didn’t know you’d were into exhibition, hermosa.”

Snorting, you tilt his chin up—his hat unlodging from its place, falling freely from his head into somewhere in the backseat. “You don’t know what I’m into, Morales.”

Your hand teases his length, palming him, torturing him beautifully. Taunting him.

“Bet you’ve been half-hard since we left mine.”

He groans, his hands finding purpose on your waist, guiding, aiding as you emit sweet noises that echo around the car as he helps you sink down on him, taking every inch of him. Because you’re not wrong.

“So big,” you whine.

Licking into your mouth, he swallows another moan, another groan. “So tight around me, hermosa.”

His hand sliding down, grasping your ass, slamming your hips down on his. And you’re perfect. All of you—your fucking ass, your thighs, all at the top of your perfect legs.

Everything about you is perfect.

Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.

“You like it, taking my cock in your car, baby?”

“Please, please, please.”

He grins against your mouth, feeling hot breath on his skin—your nails digging into his neck, his shoulder. “Can think about this when you’re driving to work—how good I feel inside you.”

You whine, louder, soft begging following.

“I’ve got you. Touch yourself for me, querida,” he moans.

Watching you nod, watching your hand slide from around his neck until it’s between the two of you. A little gasp emits from your pretty mouth when you begin circling, swiping over your clit as your walls flutter around him, reaching your peak.

Him burying against your neck how close you have him—feeling your pulse against his lip.

“Taking me so well...”

Your body stiffening, his feet planting on the floor of your car—thrusting up, watching your eyes clench shut as your fingers curl, digging, desperate to hold on to him. He hopes you leave more than half-moons that fade in time, he hopes it’ll bruise, it’ll be there when he showers later, can brush over it.

“You’re made for me, always feel so fucking good.”

You moan, loudly, his name never sounding so fucking good until he first heart it fall from your lips. And right now, it’s divine. Your lips parting, more hisses and pants filling the small space. They’re all embedding into the increasing steam on the windows—it clouding you both from view if anyone were to pass by. It all misting—a light sheen spreading over your skin. Another look he’ll dream up, conjure, of you.

For the second time today, he watches you unravel—how it floods you, him continuing to pound into you as you collapse against him, breathing heavily, painting his neck in it.

And, he’s nearing his own climax. So close to the edge. So close, so close, so close—

“I know you wanna come, I know you wanna finish inside of me,” you whisper, all sultry and soft into his ear.

His head turns, catching your eyes.

"Please. For me."

Hands full of your hips, he continues to feel your walls flutter around him as he fucks into you, body alight, burning, searing—

"I need it," you add.

And then he curses—a cascade of them—burying his spend in you as he pulls you close, pressing his lips against your neck.

CHAPTER SEVEN ->

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales smut #Frankie morales x reader smut #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales #jo: iltwy #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #frankie morales smut #triple frontier smut #frankie morales x f!reader smut #pedrostories

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flowersandbigteeth · 1 year

Note

I Have an idea for a character one shot (I'd just irk to fuck a centipede monster but same thing)

You get lost in the desert come across a cave, take a nap in the cave but when you wake up you’re trapped by a large centipede man who’s staring down at you like you’re a snack.

Preferably nsfw and Fem reader, also I’m sorry if you’re not taking requests I’m new to your blog

I really like this idea ^_^, It actually inspired a longer story I'm working on about a sarantopodarousacentaur. But for now, we have this.

sarantopodarousacentaur/half-centipede half-human (Mitas) x F reader

Word Count: 3K

Warning: nsfw, dubcon half-centipede smut, kidnapping, descriptions of violence, desert vibes

“Have you seen a witch run this way, miss?” a lanky member of the city guard asked.

You squinted in the desert sun as it reflected off his shiny gold armor.

“A witch?” you asked, leaning on your bow. “Nope, can’t say I have.”

He gave you a nod, glancing at your horse, Bina, who had her head in a bucket of water you’d drawn from the oasis.

“Pretty horse,” he said, tipping his hat. “Better stay safe tonight. There’s a witch on the loose. Murdered one of the merchants in town with black magic. Could be dangerous.”

“Sure thing,” you said, giving him a little salute as he walked away.

“She’s not here!” you heard him yell at his captain over your shoulder. “Just a huntress watering her horse.”

“She’s the bloody witch, you mouth-breathing dolt!” his captain shouted. “After her!”

Time to go!

You hurried to empty the bucket and climbed on Bina’s back, kicking her lightly to make your escape. Pulling your goggles over your eyes, you turned into the wind, heading towards the mountains where you might be able to hide. You weren’t any witch, as the guard thought. You’d killed the merchant with poison before you’d stolen all his gold. It only appeared to be magic to the idiotic guard, who apparently had no idea what poisoning looked like. He’d bled out of every orifice, but his death was faster than he deserved.

You could hear the hoofbeats of their horses on your tail. The guards were wearing heavy armor, however, and carrying swords. You were much faster. You twisted in your saddle and shot off a few arrows to ward them off.

“We’re under heavy fire!” one of the guards shouted, and you snorted.

A few odd arrows were hardly heavy fire. You could have killed them if you’d wanted, but you aimed at their obnoxiously shiny chests, and your arrows only dented the metal.

You often stole, but you didn’t often kill. The merchant had it coming, though. When he took you back to his home, thinking he’d seduced you, you’d found a house full of half-starved slaves. Slavery was illegal in Dechete, but he’d bragged to you about how he’d paid off the city magistrate to claim he’d adopted all the teens. So, annoyed that he was both a lech and a slaver, you hadn’t felt the least bad about dropping a few drops of Bloodweed essence in his drink. You let the teenagers take what they liked of his possessions and horses, pointing them towards the coast before you broke into his safe and pocketed the gold coins he kept there.

No one would have noticed for a few days if one of the newer slaves wasn’t a snitch and called the guard, hoping to gain a favor from the magistrate. He got an arrow to the chest for his opportunism. Probably didn’t kill him, but the punctured lung would keep his mouth shut while the others got away.

Which is why you were galloping through the desert, hoping to lose the city guard in the rising sandstorm. It was better they chase you than newly freed youths.

“Sorry, Bina,” you muttered, pushing her faster into the fading light. “I owe you as many apples as you can eat when we make it across the mountain.”

Beyond the mountains were the green lands of the Thundering Redwoods and safety. With all the gold you’d stolen, you could buy some animals and a little house in the woods. You’d never have to see this dismal desert again.

“Fall back! The storm’ll take ‘er!” you heard the guard shout as the wind whipped around you, shooting particles against your face like liquid sandpaper. If you could have breathed a sigh of relief, you would have. Instead, you focused on keeping Bina running straight so you didn’t end up lost.

“You’re a good girl, Bina,” you murmured, though you doubted she could hear you over the whistling wind.

The rocks of the mountains came on you so quickly, you would have driven her straight into a stone wall if she didn’t have better sense. She made a sharp 90-degree turn at the last moment and carried you into a canyon. The wind didn’t reach here, and you pulled off your goggles, looking around at the high cliffs stretching up above you.

“You’re worth your weight in gold,” you cheered, rubbing Bina’s neck.

She gave you a pleased whinny, happy to be safe from the irritating sand. Hopping off her back, you wandered through the winding canyon, hoping it would take you straight through to the other side of the range. Night fell, and you still hadn’t come upon the opposite end, so, lighting a torch, you looked for a cave where you might get some rest before starting off again in the morning.

“This look all right?” you asked Bina, holding your torch into a hole in the canyon wall only a bit larger than her.

She nuzzled your hair, and you supposed that was her approval. Inside the opening, the cave opened to a large hall with a high ceiling you couldn’t see with your weak light. The sound of trickling water echoed off the cold stone walls, and after making your way quietly through the passage, you found a spring pumping, clear icy water into a small stream that went deeper into the cave.

“I think you chose correct,” you said, smiling at your horse while you pulled your saddle and her bridle off so she could have a nice drink and a rest.

You washed the layer of dirt off your face before you plopped down on the floor to get comfortable. Pulling an apple, you’d nicked from your bag, you gave it to Bina as she’d done most of the work. You could find something to eat in the morning.

“Sleep tight, Bina,” you muttered, exhausted.

Curling into a ball on the hard floor, you quickly fell asleep.

You woke looking at the floor…but it was the ceiling…No. You were upside down. You blinked, peering in the low light at a shadowy creature silhouetted by the sun creeping in through the mouth of the cave. Your eyes frantically searched for Bina, but you found her safe and sound, resting in a bed of hay and eating a salad of apples, carrots, and melon from a crudely shaped clay bowl. Where did that-?

“Hello, little human,” the creature hissed.

As your eyes adjusted to the light, they popped open, realizing what was holding you aloft by your ankle.

“Sarantopodarousacentaur!” you gasped at the half-man, half-centipede smiling at you.

His body was long, and the segmented carapace looked like polished mahogany. Shiny gold legs tapped the stone floor as if he were excited. He righted you, lifting you so you were eye to eye. His face was rather handsome despite his mouth appearing far wider than a normal human. Messy black hair fell around his jaw, and his skin was as gold as the desert sand. Two odd, blood-red teeth poked past his lips, and you puzzled at what they could be until he stretched his maw in an eerie smile, and you found they were the tips of two mandibles that rested in his cheeks. He flexed them at you as if he were hungry.

“Um…hello…” you said, unsure what to say to a legendary monster.

Sarantopodarousacentaurs were a myth, a story the desert folk told to keep their children from wandering at night. Yet, here was in front of you, grinning like a demon. He set you on the ground and patted your head.

“You are a juicy little morsel,” he beamed, folding his muscled body to your height. “The perfect size to be my mate!”

You swallowed hard and waved your hands at him, stepping back.

“Oh no, I’m no…er…mate,” you said. “I’m just passing through. Bina and I will be on our way. Didn’t mean to disturb you!”

You inched towards the bow you’d left on the ground while sleeping. His body curled around you in one smooth movement, pinching legs trapping you in a golden cage. A finger tipped your chin up to meet his red eyes.

“You will be my mate,” he said. “But don’t be frightened.”

He waved a hand at Bina, who happily munched on her bowl of treats, not the least afraid of the monster.

“I will take good care of you and your Bina,” he said.

His black-clawed fingers tore at the filthy, sandy clothes you wore, slicing them to ribbons as he unwrapped you like a treat. Lifting one of your legs, he examined it closely.

“You look delicious,” he murmured as his eyes took stock of your body.

You wracked your brain, trying to remember if centipedes killed their mates, but you couldn’t think clearly under his careful inspection.

“Don’t you think we should get to know one another…before you…do…whatever…?” you asked.

Please don’t eat me.

He smiled again, his face so close to yours that his mandibles brushed your cheek.

“I go by Mitas,” he said while he sniffed your hair.

“I’m…ah…(Y/N),” you said, shivering.

The cave was cold now that you were naked, and Mitas frowned.

“You will be warm in my nest,” he assured you, tapping legs carrying him at a dizzying speed deeper into the cave.

You gasped at what must have been the creature’s bedroom. On one side of the room, jewel-toned blankets, furs, and pillows formed a large, wide bowl where he slept. Your mouth went dry as you took in the neatly piled bones and skulls of his victims. Some were split to make bowls for food, drinks, and pigments, while some were carved with intricate designs and hung on the walls like art.

He plopped you in his nest and coiled around you like a snake, his stiff legs holding you in place. His odd mandibles bloomed, pinching your cheek gently.

He’s definitely going to eat me, you thought. His heavy hands moved all over your body, tracing your curves as if he were getting to know them.

“Normally I devour little mouthfulls like you,” he hummed, tucking his nose behind your ear and sniffing you. “But you’re too pretty to be a meal.”

He sighed.

“I’m lonely,” he pouted. “I want a proper mate.”

“Yes but…” you started to say.

“No buts,” he hissed. “The goddess led you to me. You walked right into my den. She must have meant for you to be mine.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” you argued.

“You’re either a meal or my mate,” he reasoned. “Which would you rather? It’d be a pity to eat you, but I’m sure you’re scrumptious!”

Posed with those options, you chose the one that did not result in your immediate demise.

“M-m-mate,” you squeaked.

If only you had your bow nearby! The sarantopodarousacentaur was strong, but not invincible. A shot to the heart would kill anyone.

“We ought to kiss,” he decided.

“You think?” you asked.

He nodded and smiled his eerily wide smile.

“That’s what mated pairs do, no?” he replied.

At that you squeezed your eyes shut, prepared for the worst. What you felt, however, was rather nice. His lips were soft and warm as they brushed yours. With your eyes closed, you took more notice of the scent of his nest. He didn’t smell bad, more like sandalwood and moss. Without thinking you leaned in to him, your hands finding their way to his chest.

The muscles were firm and sculpted. Curious, your fingers drifted down to his abs as he tentatively brushed his tongue against your bottom lip. Your lips parted on their own and you were presented with his flavor. Surprisingly he tasted like mint and honey.

You sighed your appreciation as his fingers gently moved along your waist, exploring your curves. Your body betrayed any lingering sense of caution sparkling under his touch. It’d been a long time since you’d been with a man. As a desert scavenger, you were more likely to rob one than take him to bed.

You heard a lusty moan build in your throat and he pulled you closer, the sharp points of his legs scraping your skin in a not unpleasant way. His lips set off on an exploration of your body, drifting to your cheeks, then neck, until he was curiously nibbling at your breasts.

There was no holding in your gasps when he pulled a nipple past his lips and ran his tongue over it. The pointy mandibles tucked in his cheeks nipped at the tender skin making you shudder in pleasure, not pain.

He hummed, pleased that you were obviously enjoying his investigation. Thick fingers slid down your stomach to dip themselves into your wetness.

“What’s this?” he murmured as his roving fingers found your sensitive spot.

Inquisitive sanguine eyes met yours.

“It’s called a clit,” you explained in halting breaths.

He chuckled lightly as he felt your body stiffen while he circled it.

“You like that,” he observed and you gave him a tight nod punctuated by a loud moan.

He made an odd chattering noise that sounded rather victorious before returning to your breasts, to lick your nipples, one after the other. He had your head all fucked up. Pleasure rolled over you like a unstoppable wave, clouding any thoughts of escape with ones of surrender.

Feeling you relax into his arms, he pushed you down into the soft pile of blankets and pillows beneath you. Opening your eyes you found him looming over you, considering his strategy.

As you watched a portion of the yolk of carapace that wrapped around his hips parted and what must have been his cock emerged. It wasn’t like a man’s at all, instead the tip was slightly curved and the shaft lined with knobs arranged in a spiral. You whimpered at it’s size, unsure if it would even fit inside you.

“Oh,” you mewled and he smiled down at you, his mandibles stretching wide, obviously proud of what he had to offer.

“I like your little, squishy legs,” he purred opening them with ease and brushing his member against the soft skin of your thighs.

Precum mixed with your own fluids that had slid down your leg. Curious, he dipped his head and you felt his long tongue explore your channel, making you squeal. No one had ever been quite so close before. At first, you were frightened, but as he worked his tongue inside you, you couldn’t deny the pleasure he sent shooting up your spine. Your eyes rolled back in your head and your lashes fluttered. Panting your hands found his shaggy hair on their own and held him in place.

You heard a rumbling grow echo through the chamber, coming from his chest. He stopped for a moment to glance up at you.

“No, don’t stop,” you demanded despite yourself and he grinned at you, lowering his head again.

His efforts moved to your clit, his tongue twirling around it like some tentacle. His teasing pushed you up and up like a drifting balloon until you popped, screeching as you came. Pleased with himself, he loomed over you, licking his lips with the agile appendage.

“Now you’re mine,” he declared, his hips snapping forward and his cock plunging in to your soaking core.

Your body was his to take as his cock stretched you. His shaft was stiff and smooth, the covering feeling more like smooth bone than velvety flesh.

"Ahhhh!" you groaned as he drove into you.

His claws fingers held you in place, gripping your neck and all you could do was gaze up at him. His eyes had shifted from a deep garnet to cherry red.

"Minnnnne," he muttered in a labored hiss.

His hips slammed into yours mercilessly, rutting you like a beast. You started to lose yourself in bliss, his member stroking the places inside of you that felt the best.

Your eyelashes fluttered closed and the only thing that passed your lips was incoherent babble.

"Touch yourself, mate," he ordered, eyes eating up your vulnerable body and you obeyed.

Your narrow fingers desperately circled your clit, chasing your end and plucked at a nipple. His gaze on you was lecherous, enjoying your neediness. After a few minutes, he couldn't take it anymore, brushing your hand away and folding his large body in half so that he could nibble the pert nipples you'd tugged to a point.

His other hand found your clit and as he drove into you he pinched and stroked your little bundle of nerves until you were sobbing. Pleasure detonated in your core like a bomb and your back arched in the soft linens as you screamed his name.

You heard him chuckle, devolving into animal grunts as he took his pleasure. His glowing eyes narrowed and you could see the rapture growing in them. They were solely focused on you when he emptied himself inside.

You both laid there panting, his body curved over you like a cave, but not pressing his weight on you.

"Little mate," he purred, fingers stroking your cheek. "You are so lovely."

Like a gentleman, not a monster, he twisted around offering you a sip of water from a bone bowl. You were too thirsty and spent to complain, so you drank eagerly.

He hummed at you in satisfaction. It seemed providing for you pleased him. Your head was dotted in his happy kisses.

"When we are done resting we'll go pick fruit," he said, snuggling up next you and trapping you in a cage of his legs. "I won't let my scrap go hungry."

"Where?" you murmured. "We're in the middle of the desert."

His chuckle rolled over you like a heavy grumble of thunder, sending a shock of pleasure up your spine.

"There's an oasis where I cultivate plants," he explained, yawning. "Only I know about it. Very secret, but I'll share it with my mate. Sleep now, little one."

Escape briefly crossed your mind, but to be honest, you'd never been so satisfied carnally before and you were rethinking that plan. Your body was glowing and your hormones were slowly binding you to the myth made flesh dozing beside you. Maybe escape could wait until after a nap and some fruit salad. So you pressed your head into his chest and maneuvered his thick arm over you like a blanket, which earned you a satisfied hum from Mitas, and drifted into sleep.

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babydollmarauders · 1 year

Text

ILLICIT AFFAIRS — QUINN HUGHES

quinn hughes x fem!reader

summary: in which y/n is Quinn’s little secret.

specific lyrics: “what started in beautiful rooms; ends with meetings in parking lots” and “you wanna scream, don't call me ‘kid’, don't call me ‘baby’, look at this godforsaken mess that you made me” and “look at this idiotic fool that you made me” and “for you, i would ruin myself, a million little times”

warnings: cheating, 18+ content in the middle, ANGST!

notes: you will not think highly of the Quinn in this fic. i know i’m supposed to be writing the Speak Now Fic List— bear with me. this was written as a way to get out of my writers block.

i can always stop.

i can.

i have freewill to refuse his advances.

i think.

but the stolen stares, the weight of his body against mine, the feeling that comes with knowing he wants me in the way i’ve longed for him to want me, it’s an addiction.

a drug that i just can’t quit, despite how dirty and used i feel afterwards. despite having to sneak away with my hood up and my head down.

the high of being his, just for a moment, outweighs the inevitable self-criticism in the aftermath.

because that’s the thing about illicit affairs; they make you hate yourself a million little times.

i’ve barely just climbed off of him, my back skimming the mattress, before he’s already standing from my bed.

my eyes follow his movements, the fluidity and grace of flowing through steps he’s done a million times before.

his dress shirt buttoned back on, his suit pants following, his tie lazily swung around his neck and his suit jacket pulled over to complete the look.

while i’m tangled in my thin sheet, still recovering, he’s fixing his hair in the mirror above my dresser and letting his own eyes graze his neck for marks. finding none, as i know better than to make myself known on his skin.

never seen, never heard, always secret. no marks, never wear perfume nor lipstick, never leave any trace of existence. a ghost above all else.

his eyes lock with mine in the mirror, catching my longing stare with his indifferent one.

“i’ve gotta go. you watching the game?” he knows the answer, he always knows.

“yeah, Quinny, i’ll be watching.” my cheeks flush. “i always do.”

“good. i’ll try and score a goal for you.” he winks in the reflection, my heartbeat picking up as it does every time. “bye, baby.”

there’s no goodbye kisses, no whispered sweet nothings, just quirked lips and the sound of my bedroom door shutting behind him.

it’s not long until the bliss wears off, leaving me with nothing but self-depreciating thoughts. no one to blame but myself.

he has a girlfriend.

one who isn’t you.

aren’t you ashamed?

aren’t you disgusted with yourself?

don’t you deserve better?

although, maybe not.

my phone buzzes on the nightstand beside me, an incoming call from my best friend, and despite feeling like an idiotic fool and a betrayal of my own morality, i accept the call.

“hey, Lukey!” false cheer drips from my tongue, but just like every other time, i know he won’t know the difference. “to what do i owe the pleasure of your call?”

“hey, y/n/n!” Luke’s chuckle crackles over the speaker of my phone. “i just wanted to talk, i’ve been missing you extra the past few days. i want my movie buddy.”

“i miss you too, Lukey.”

god, if only he knew how badly i’ve fucked up without him to lead me the right way.

“don’t you have Jack now to watch movies with?” i question, shaking off the urge to confess my sins. to ask for his forgiveness and plead for him to talk some sense into my love-riddled mind.

“it’s not the same. he doesn’t pay attention to the little details as well as we do.” i can hear his pout through the phone, making me giggle.

“just one more month, then we’ll have the whole summer to watch as many movies as we want.” i remind him.

“yeah, one more month.” he replies, solemnly. “anyways, UBC is still treating you good, right? no chance you’d wanna transfer to, i don’t know, Rutgers or Princeton?”

i chuckle at his lame attempt at convincing me to leave my dream school.

“i’m sorry, moose; but UBC is still where my heart lies.” oh, if only he knew just what, or rather who, the reason was for that.

“yeah, alright. it was worth a shot.” he sighs. “and Quinny’s taking good care of you, right?”

i my throat closes up and i choke on the air in my lungs.

“what?” i ask him, sitting up in my bed and pulling the sheet closer to my body.

“Quinn.” he repeats. “he promised he’d look after you. has he?”

“oh, yeah. yeah, he’s been checking in on me. making sure i’m okay.” i guess that’s one way to put what we’ve been doing.

“good. i’d have to kill him if he let you get hurt.”

my feet have barely touched the ground outside of my car before the lake house door is flung open. my best friend bounds out of the house, his middle brother hot on his trail, attempting to speak to him about something long forgotten by Luke.

“YOU’RE HERE!” Luke’s arms are flung around my waist, hoisting me up in the air and spinning me around.

the melody of my laugh mingles in the air as my arms wrap around his neck.

“Lukey, put me down, i already feel sorta car sick! it was a very long drive.” despite the fact that my words are true, i can’t wipe the smile off my face from being reunited with my best friend.

my feet finally fall flat on the ground as Luke backs up to look at my face, his fingers grazing all over it, more specifically the under eye bags from stress and sleepless nights.

“i thought you said you were doing great? what are these?! they’re new!”

his concern is heartwarming but before i can respond, i notice all the people behind him on the lake house porch. Jack, their friends, and most importantly, Quinn. the real reason for my newly spotted dark circles.

i muster up a chuckle, rolling my eyes.

“they’re designer. they come with the UBC tuition.” i stress, hoping he buys the ‘i’ve just been working myself to the bone with schoolwork’ excuse.

“checks out. you’ve always been my little nerd.” he grins, slinging an arm around my shoulder and turning towards the porch. “aren’t you guys gonna come say hi?”

“didn’t wanna impose on your moment.” Jack jokes, hopping down the porch steps to pull me from Luke’s grasp and into a hug.

“hey, bubby. welcome back.” he smiles, ruffling my hair mid hug. i step on his foot in retaliation, making him push me back so he could check on his white sneakers.

“it’s good to be back, bubba.” i grin as he rolls his eyes.

“hey kid, long time no see.” my head snaps over to look at Quinn, who smirks at me with a knowing look.

we saw each other three days ago, the day before he flew out to Michigan.

“hey, Quinny.” a bashful smile takes over my lips and my heart beats overtime, the natural reaction when i’m in his vicinity.

“no.” Luke speaks, pulling me into his chest protectively. “you don’t get to ‘hi’ her. you got her all year. this is my turn.”

his words make me blush and i pat his chest.

“don’t worry Lukey, this is our time.” i reassure him. “i but i would like to go inside now.”

“yeah, right.” he nods, letting me push away from him. the guys all head back into the house, leaving me to open my trunk and grab my bag.

a strong hand encases mine on the handle of my suitcase, soft lips i know all too well grazing the shell of my ear.

“i hope Luke doesn’t mind sharing.” Quinn leaves me frozen behind him, taking my bag and my breath with him.

beats of time pass before i follow suit, closing my trunk and locking my car before jogging up the porch steps and into the house.

this will be one hell of a summer. literally.

“i’m going for a run.”

my words are spoken through Luke’s shut bedroom door, followed by the opening of said door.

“a run?” he asks me, sleep still prominent in his face from his mid-afternoon nap. “since when do you run?”

“i started running when i was in Vancouver. i thought i told you that?” the lie is like a sour candy on my tongue, spit out quickly as though another second of these words in my mouth would make me sick.

“oh, okay. how long will you be gone? i’ll have the movie set up for when you get back.”

“i shouldn’t be too long. like an hour at most.” i tell him, tightening my ponytail.

“you’ll actually probably be all sweaty when you get back. just wake me back up when you get back and i’ll get the movie ready while you shower.”

sweaty and flushed, for sure.

“okay.”

“Quinn, please.” my heavy pants turn to pleads, begging Quinn to get me over the edge. his hands hold mine behind my back as i grind my hips against his.

unable to risk being caught at the lake house, our rendezvous settings have downgraded from my bedroom back in vancouver. to the parking lot of a field, only a 15 minute walk from the house.

“you want me to make you come?” his words cause a shiver down my spine, my head nodding at rapid speed. “use your words, baby. say it.”

“i want you to make me come.” i beg. that’s all it takes for him to flip us over, my body laid across his back seat as he thrusts into me, hooking one of my legs over his shoulder.

“fuck, you’re so wet baby. feel so good squeezing my cock.” i clench around him, his dirty whispers echoing in my head as the coil in my stomach tightens. he angles his hips, thrusting up into the spot that makes my eyes roll back.

“right there.” i gasp, my hands coming up to grip his shoulders. i’m careful not to dig my nails into his skin. careful to never leave any sort of marks. his right hand trails down my body, settling on my stomach.

“right there?” he teases, repeating his previous move, all while pushing one hand down on my stomach. my legs shake, and i clench around him one final time before the pressure relieves and i achieve my orgasm.

Quinn thrusts a few more times, riding me through my high and chasing his before his hips stutter and he pulls out, painting my stomach with his release.

the glass windows are fogged, the car hot and reeking of sex, the only sound being our heavy breathing as we gather ourselves again.

my eyes flutter, my energy spent.

“hey, baby.” Quinn’s hand snakes onto my thigh, shaking it slightly. “you should go. Luke is probably waiting for you.”

i nod. i know he’s right, but it still stings, being dismissed so quickly.

i wipe my stomach with a napkin from his glovebox before slipping my biker shorts back on and pulling my tank top back over my head.

“i’ll see you at the house.” he bids me goodbye, as i slip out of his car, starting my walk back to the house.

aren’t you sick of this?

don’t you feel guilty for lying to your best friend?

for betraying him like this?

don’t you think you can do better?

that you deserve better than clandestine meetings?

than being someone’s ‘other woman’?

than being tossed aside the second he’s done with you?

i’m done.

“alright, you ready?” Luke asks, plopping down on the couch cushion beside me, a bowl of popcorn clutched in his hand.

“yeah, press play, moose.” Luke is just about to hit play on the netflix movie when the front door swings open. Quinn steps into the house, shutting the door before noticing us on the couch.

“hey.” he gives us a nod, walking towards the stairs. “oh, Olivia is flying in tomorrow morning.”

my heart stops, my muscles tensing.

Olivia.

Quinn’s girlfriend.

the one we’ve been sneaking around for four months.

“oh cool, what time?” Luke is oblivious to my silent panic.

“six a.m, so i’m heading to sleep. night, Luke. night, kid.”

there it is again. that stupid nickname. ‘kid’.

Quinn heads up the stairs and i hear the faint sound of his bedroom door shutting.

my head snaps over to Luke.

“hey, i gotta go get something from my room, i’ll be right back.” i pat his leg before rising from my seat, making my way towards the stairs.

“oh, okay.” he nods, getting on his phone as i walk up the stairs.

i come to a stop outside of Quinn’s door, debating knocking before i decide not to, in order to not raise suspicion from Luke.

i swing the door open, slipping in before quickly shutting it behind me.

Quinn sits on the foot of his bed, head rising from looking at his phone. his brows furrow before he raises one in questioning.

“didn’t get enough of me earlier?” he teases. “aren’t you and Luke watching a movie? i don’t think we can have a quickie right now-”

“we’re done.” his lips snap shut, whether in shock, or disbelief, or just plain speechlessness, i’m not sure. but he’s silent, so i continue. “no more meetings. no more.”

my heart aches in my chest, my throat getting tighter and tears bubble up in my eyes.

i thought it would be easy to stop.

i used to tell myself i could do it whenever i wanted. but now, i know it’s not true.

there was no ‘last time’, only this afternoon. no soft goodbyes. i’ll be stuck seeing him for the rest of my life. he’s a mistake that i became all too comfortable with. with him, i let my morals wash away like a drawing in sand. but i was done hating myself, thinking so low of myself for my forbidden actions.

he chuckles as if i told him a joke, as if i didn’t just tell him we were over. standing from the bed and prowling towards me, his hand raises to cup my cheek.

“what are you talking about, baby?”

it’s always ‘baby’ in secret. ‘kid’ while in company. he makes me feel so stupid, like i’m a child; naive and small.

“don’t call me ‘baby’.” i swat his hand away from my cheek. “and don’t call me ‘kid’, either. do you not know my name?

“do you not know the name of the girl you’ve been fucking in secret for the past four months? that you’ve known since you were ten?”

his nostrils flare, stepping back as though i’ve slapped him.

“i know your name, y/n.” his words drip with venom, his lips press together into a straight line. “they’re just nicknames.”

“they’re cruel.” i spit. “you know what you’re doing. i’ve made myself available to you for too long. i’ve let you use me and throw me to the side as if i’m nothing. i’ve become something i never would’ve imagined i would be-”

“y/n-”

“no! this is my turn to talk. look at this godforsaken mess that you made me. i’m actively lying to my best friend, your brother. i’ve become the ‘other woman’. a title i would’ve smacked myself for, just six months ago. i’ve lost my sense of morality. i’ve become someone that i don’t even recognize; because of you. so, i’m done.

“i will not be your secret anymore. i deserve more. i deserve better than someone who keeps me hidden. who dismisses me mere minutes after using my body.”

tear tracks stain my cheeks, my face feels tighter under the salty liquid and i quickly wipe them away.

“you’re right.” my lips part slightly, my gaze fixating on the man in front of me.

he seems genuine. his eyes glistening with pity and an unrecognizable emotion.

“i’m sorry. you deserve better.” he tells me, nodding his head solemnly.

“i do.” i reply. “and i’ve been rejecting everyone that is interested because i’ve been hoping and praying to any higher power that you would love me the way that i’ve loved you since i was sixteen, but that’s not gonna happen, is it?”

he shakes his head ‘no’ and i can’t even hold it against him, because at least he’s finally being honest with me.

i bite my lower lip, nodding dejectedly and gripping the doorknob behind me.

“for you, i’ve ruined myself a million times.”

i slip out the door, padding back down the stairs and leaving the man i love, and our illicit affairs behind me.

Luke’s head rises when i return, his eyebrow raised and his lips parted, surely ready to question what took me so long. but with one glance at my tear stained face and bloodshot eyes, his mouth closes, his arms opening instead.

i drop onto the couch, burying my face into his neck. his arms wrap around me tightly, one hand holding the back of my head as the other rubs my back.

“i know.” he whispers. “it’s okay. i know.”

his words are mumbled against the shell of my ear and the emotion with which their spoken confirms that he knew what i’d been doing. they only succeed in making me feel even more guilty. all this time, i thought i’d been doing a pretty good job of hiding our meetings this summer, but my best friend is smart, catching on a lot more than i realized.

“i’m so sorry, Lukey.” i sob, my apology muffled by his skin.

“it’s okay. and i promise, it’ll be okay, y/n/n. i’ve got you.”

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes blurb #vancouver canucks #nhl blurb #nhl fic #nhl imagine #faithlynn’s writings <3

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rabesbabe · 4 months

Text

intertwined, sewn together

Cassandra Webb x Reader

Summary: Your girlfriend, Cassie, has been away from you for too long. And now that she’s finally back around you she feels like you’re not giving her the attention she deserves. (alludes to smut but no actual smut)

Requests: Open!

A/N: I wanted to write a little bit of some insecure Cassie soo here’s that. Readers a little idiot in this but they get better towards the middle I swear. I hope you guys like this sorry for my shitty writing as usual!

Cassie rolled her eyes. She sat on the couch in the apartment you and her shared. She sipped at her wine while watching you laugh at a joke your friend, or so you said, made.

Your friend was gorgeous, she had brown eyes, freckles, blonde hair and somehow always looked like she came straight from the beach. So basically the exact opposite of your girlfriend, Cassie Webb.

Deep down Cassandra knew she shouldn’t be jealous. You were deeply devoted to her and she knew you’d never do anything to ruin your relationship. But, her surface feelings were greater than what her mind was telling her.

I mean, she had just gotten home from a week long trip to Peru and the most you had said to her since your friend arrived was “Good Morning”.

She couldn’t stand the sight of watching you two giggle while drinking wine and talking. Maybe she could’ve tried to join in the conversation but instead she got up suddenly and went into your shared room. She’d rather not watch her girlfriend be stolen away from her. So, instead she decided to go to sleep.

“Is she okay?” Your friend, Grace, said. You slightly raise your shoulders as if to shrug. And you look at her with a puzzled face. You had no idea why Cassie walked off so abruptly.

“It is getting late i’m sure she’s probably just tired,” You say looking down at your wrist checking the time.

“You’re right I should probably go home anyway.” Says the blonde.

“Sounds good i’ll see you later Grace.” You give her a sympathetic smile goodbye as she exits your apartment.

As you clean up the left over dishes you smile at the thought of finally being able to go to sleep next to your girlfriend after her being gone for so long.

But first you had to make sure she was okay.

Cassie has never really been a people person. So, you just assume that maybe having company drained her social battery faster than usual.

You walk over to your room to check on her.

“Cassie?” You say lightly before entering the room.

You take in the sight of her. She’s basically buried under the covers with just her head peaking out. She looks cute and you almost wish you could take a picture of her, but you knew better.

You sit down on the bed next to her and lift the covers up. “Are you okay babe?” You ask, while reaching over to fix her lopsided bangs.

She pushes your hand away from her face and mumbles out a barely audible “Yeah.” She turns away from you and pulls the covers back over herself.

You frown at her reaction and wonder if maybe she just doesn’t want to talk about whatever’s bothering her. Sometimes it takes her a while to open up and you wanted to respect that.

“Do you want to watch a movie maybe?” You ask hoping that maybe the topic change and the idea of relaxing together would cheer her up.

To your surprise she sits up and moves from under the covers. Glaring at you she snaps out, “Why? Wouldn’t you rather watch a movie with your friend Grace? I wouldn’t want to interrupt you guys ‘quality time.’” She says emphasizing the words quality time.

You widen your eyes at her accusation and even though she’s upset she moves closer to you silently begging for your attention. You finally start to realize that maybe, just maybe she was jealous.

You smile at her in a teasing way. She rolls her eyes at you, “What?” She says, struggling to stay mad at you when you have such a goofy smile on your face.

“Are you upset? About Grace and I hanging out?” You ask.

Cassie sighs and looks down realizing she was a little bit harsh. “No, It’s not her fault,” She shrugs “I guess I just wished you were paying attention to me and not her. I mean I haven’t seen you for a week. It’s like you didn’t miss me at all.” She admits running her hands through her hair.

“Cassie,” You whisper, not knowing what to say to her. You look at her and frown at how sad her beautiful blue eyes look. “I didn’t mean to make you feel ignored, you know I missed you. I spent the whole week thinking about when i’d be able to see you next,” She looks up at you, hopeful.

“I’m sorry my love. My focus should’ve been on you tonight.”

You lean into her for a hug and she opens herself up to you, accepting your apology.

She softly kisses you and when you pull back you notice a small blush over her cheeks.

“I missed you so much.” She admits.

“I missed you too Cassie.” You say and you lean back in to kiss her. This time more passionate than the last. She moves her hands down to your waist. Lightly trying to move your shirt up and you giggle. You pull away from her. “Ohh so you said all of that just to get lucky huh? Wow.” You say sarcastically.

She looks at you and laughs, slightly out of breath from kissing you. “You’re such an asshole.” She says, smiling through bruised lips.

“I know.” You say with a smile.

#wlw ship #dakota johnson #dakota johnson x reader #madame web #cassandra webb x reader #cassie webb x reader #sydney sweeney x reader #50 shades of gray #marvel x reader #mcu x reader #madame web x reader #Spotify

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clonemando · 4 months

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Fluff for Fox/Fives please? Or even Fox/Fives/Rex. They deserve a happier ending to their encounter 🥲

Fox/Fives!!! Yes! With Rex too. I can do that! I love them. Fives and Fox enable each other but Rex helps keep them from going too far. A good group. Thank you for the prompt and enjoy!

Rex was frozen as he stood in the doorway, a stolen bag of Fox's favorite chocolate covered berries under one arm with a berry half way to his mouth. He was dressed in an oversized blue hoodie with his signature Jaig eyes painted in white and a pair of bright red boxers he had stolen from Fox's closet.

"What the kriff did I walk in on?" He asked and Fox growled lowly in frustration although he didn't look up from his task.

"Your ARC-" he started but Rex cut him off with a noise of complaint.

"Why is he suddenly my ARC when he pisses you off? We agreed that on Taungsday he's the Guard's idiot." He said and finally popped the berry into his mouth and finished entering the room.

Fox was sitting on the couch with Fives positioned between his legs on the floor and a hair brush to his side. Half of Fives' head was arranged in what Rex might have called a high Nabooian style if he was being kind but was honestly just a lot of rubber bands and knots. The other side was twisted into many different braids. Fives was just staring ahead looking resigned to whatever was going on.

"Fine, my idiot ARC let a bunch of cadets use him as a doll and I'm trying to undo the damage without just shaving it all off." Fox finally looked over as Rex flopped on the couch beside him and offered Fox a berry which he took distractedly and ate with a little pleased hum.

"Thorn said they were good at it! I'm going to put green dye in his shampoo." Fives whined.

"You didn't realize Thorn lies like 80% of the time after he convinced you to eat that soap bar shaped like a piece of pie?" Rex asked raising an eyebrow as he stretched out and shoved his feet into Fox's lap so his boyfriend had to lean over them to look at Fives' head.

"It honestly didn't taste that bad." Fives said holding out a hand for a berry as well and Rex rolled his eyes but gave it to him.

The peace that filled Rex as he laid there with Fox slowly unknotting Fives' hair while Fives chattered about his ongoing feud with Thorn had him melting into the worn cushions. There had been several points in the war he had almost given up. Little moments like this made him grateful he kept fighting.

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lovezbrownies · 2 months

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plsplsplsplslsplpsls Gen x idiot darling 🙏🙏🙏🙏 like trips over everything and grabs the pan out of the oven with their bare hands typa idiot…….. 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

Oomf... forgive me... for being so late... I LOVE YOU!!!

Gen's Masterlist - General Masterlist

Synopsis: Gen with an idiot Darling... That's it.

Gen Ludenhart x GN!Reader

Gen loves you. Beyond that even. But sometimes, you make her doubt how much she loves you. Does she love you enough to tolerate your behavior? Or is it time to hold an intervention? Of course, the intervention would be about your humiliating stupidity, how one small fall turns into a house fire, or how you’d stare into the void when asked a common math question.

Your lack of… Brains, safe to say was concerning to your wife, so concerning enough she had taken you to the doctor, only to find out that’s just what you are… A moron, a healthy moron, but a moron nonetheless. So knowing that Gen had put many different safety nets around the house, pillows and a small soft mattress laid next to the side you sleep on due to your love of waking up and rolling off the comfy bed to the hardwood floor.

What Gen hadn’t thought of was the kitchen. Well, she did, closing it off and banning you from even nearing it, so how did you get in there, and out with a hot burn all over your arm, “I-I just w-wanted to flip my e-eggs! But I used oil instead of butter to-to be healthy and for some reason, it went everywhere!” That day Gen hadn’t left her office, spending the entire day pondering on the possibility of a Brain Cell Exchange surgery, but of course, that wasn’t possible… Unfortunately.

A recent pastime of Gen’s has become praying, praying to the gods above that you somehow develop what was stolen from you. Intelligence. But yet again, her prayers go unanswered as she listens to the nonsense you constantly spout.

“Hey, uh… my wife…?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Well, I was thinking, maybe we could get some cows, for produce you know?”

“And what spawned this silly little idea in your head?”

“Well, you know how regular cows make regular milk? We could get a variety of cows! Chocolate cows for chocolate milk, vanilla cows for vanilla milk, WAIT! Strawberry cows! For strawberry milk!!”

“God and heavens above please what have I done to deserve this…”

Grim knows his sister as the woman who hates it when someone proudly states information and corrects them even if it hurts their feelings, yet he sits there, watching his enamored sister look up at the moron sitting on her lap.

#yandere x reader #gn reader #oc x reader #yandere oc x reader #yandere x darling #x reader #tw yandere #yandere oc #yandere #gender neutral #female #female yandere #Yandere x Reader #Yandere x reader #yandere x yandere #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #female oc #female manipulator

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elaina-writes-things · 8 months

Text

I haven't seen a single episode of Hazbin Hotel yet. Prime's fuckin' expensive lmfao

Anyway, my TikTok FYP has been flooded with songs from the show, and fortunately I got a look at Big Daddy Lucifer himself, so...I think it's pretty clear I wanna take that for a ride.

I may make a part two. I may not. All I know is that I needed to write about him or it'd consume me.

~~~

Goddamn. Literally.

Look, you hadn't been a saint when you were alive, but you definitely hadn't anticipated eternal punishment in Hell. You hadn't killed anybody, or stolen anything, or been a huge hedonist. As far as you were concerned, you'd lived an extremely average life, the only remarkable part being that huge semi truck flattening you after the driver fell asleep behind the wheel. To you, the fact that you were condemned was bullshit, which is why you'd found yourself doing everything in your power to make it through this clearly-hastily-thrown-together rehab program at the Hazbin Hotel.

Now, though, standing in the lobby and watching a delicious little king strut around, you realized you wanted — needed — to fuck that guy more than you needed to get to Heaven.

"Charlie said her mom's pretty much out of the picture, right?" You whispered to Vaggie.

"Uh, yeah?" She whispered back, glancing at you briefly with her one good eye, then back to watching her girlfriend give Lucifer a tour of the hotel. "Why?"

"Just asking," you mumbled, enthralled. He was singing, now, with a voice like the gorgeous fallen angel he was. You wanted to know how musical his moans sounded, and what other sorts of things that mouth could do.

A glass of water suddenly appeared in front of you, held in a pink-gloved hand. You looked at Angel Dust, who smirked back and winked.

"Drink it up you thirsty bitch."

"Shut up," you hissed, taking the glass and pointedly setting it on the counter. His smirk only grew.

"Don't gotta be supes tall to ride that ride," the spider continued.

"Oh my god."

"Nah, He ain't watchin'. I could, though, if that's your thing."

You wanted to bury your head in your hands but refrained. If you did that, you wouldn't be able to stare at all six of Lucifer's wings. Those things were huge. How often did he preen them? Were they sensitive? Were they an erogenous zoNE OH SHIT CHARLIE AND HER DAD WERE COMING THIS WAY.

Like the others crowded together on the edge of the lobby, you straightened up and plastered a polite smile on your face. Down the line, your names were called out, and the king of Hell shook every corresponding hand. Then, he was face to face with you, and it shouldn't have been as adorable to need to tilt your head down just slightly to meet his eyes as it was.

"And this is another one of our guests! They volunteered to stay! Voluntarily!" Charlie boasted, giving her dad your name. Your hand fit nicely in his — warm, he was exceptionally warm. You didn't realize how cold Hell was until just this moment — and noticed how terribly it was trembling.

Lucifer repeated your name as Charlie gave it, staring almost as intently at you as you were to him. You'd give almost anything to hear him say it again.

Fuck, he had such pretty eyes.

"Thanks! I get that a lot!" He grinned. You'd said that out loud like an idiot. In your periphery, you could see Angel trying his best not to burst out laughing. Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

"That's good," you murmured without thinking, eyes flitting up and down, "your body deserves to be praised."

FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK.

The hand clasping yours tensed up, squeezing briefly, painfully. You both stared at each other with wide eyes, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

Then Lucifer quickly withdrew, turning away as though you weren't there and had never existed to begin with.

You ignored the curious look Charlie gave you, the wheezing coming from Angel, the annoyed understanding from Vaggie, and everything else as you excused yourself to go up to your room. Your face was beet red and your stomach was tight with shame. You wanted to disappear under the bed sheets, never to be seen again. Had you really just told the king of Hell you had a thing for praising people? At the very least, he probably thought you were a total whor—

Squeak!

You lifted your head up from where it was buried under all your pillows, coming face to face with a little, rubber ducky. It was cute, sporting two, rosy cheeks and a white top hat.

Gently lifting it, your fingers brushed against a scrap of paper taped to the underside.

"If you meant what you said, I'm free tonight."

A phone number was scrawled on the back. Your heart was thumping wildly in your chest as you read and reread the note, unable to fight the stupid grin on your face.

"Holy shit," you blurted, "I'm gonna fuck Lucifer."

#lucifer morningstar #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer x reader #YEAH I WANNA FUCK THE SHORT KING. HIS WIFE IS APPARENTLY MIA SO NOW'S MY CHANCE.

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corpsebasil · 1 year

Text

The Pirate Lord 18+

The battle had raged on for days.

You stood at the prow of your ship, staring out at enemy sails as they loomed on the horizon. Your chest tightened. You were exhausted. Every ounce of your Grisha power seemed drained, and you could barely summon a drop of water, let alone the tsunami you could’ve created had the enemy not forced you to waste it on smaller fleets over and over again.

The enemy were chasing after an enchanted sword, one that rightly belonged to Ravka, and it’s prince. You wondered over your captain’s intentions. Sure, you’d heard rumors about the prince Nikolai, but you didn’t imagine that any pompous royal deserved this much dedication to return his stolen treasure.

But if it was important to Sturmhond, it was important to you. And too many Grisha and sailors had already been sacrificed in this battle to back down now.

A ringed hand clasped your shoulder, his thumb rubbing against a knot in your skin. You closed your eyes, letting out a sigh as Sturmhond, your captain and lover, stood beside you.

“Looks like a piece of cake.” He said, tone sarcastic until the end. You glanced up to find him smirking, those blue eyes filled with a forced lightness that hurt you to the core.

“Definitely.” You purred, but still ran a thumb over the seashell amplifier pressed deep in the center of your collarbones, the opal and iridescent hues catching the light of the setting sun.

It had been a gift from a siren, a creature you’d thought mythical, when you’d rescued her from a group of lethal, piggish pirates. The shell had sang the whisper of the deepest parts of the sea when it’d been crafted into your chest, and Sturmhond swore sometimes that your collarbones and skin seemed to shine with the colors of a thousand rare shells when you used your power.

The captain had also sworn that you were the most beautiful thing on the seas, from anywhere, and you rolled your eyes whenever he lavished you with compliments and praises. The only praise that truly hit you in the gut was during the dark hours of the night, when you managed to pull sounds from him that made your blood run burning hot.

“Do you think we—” you stopped, running your fingertips again over the shell. You cleared your throat. “Do we have enough rum? I’m not going into the last night of my life sober.”

Sturmhond’s booming laugh brought a genuine smile to your face when he turned you, pulling you into his arms. He ran a hand down your braid, an intricate style that he still couldn’t comprehend. It contained beads and cuffs of gold, and tiny pearls that sparkled in the moonlight.

“You truly amaze me.” He said, and brought your mouth to his, savoring the feel of you. He’d never admit it, but if he lost you tomorrow… “What do you think? One last sea-shanty?”

“Eggs and pickles?”

“Rum and ale? Lots of rum, less of the ale?”

You grinned fiendishly, looping your arms around his neck.

“Now you’re speaking my language, captain.”

It was his turn to smile, a wicked smirk that make your cheeks flush and heat blossom in your chest. Even more so when he moved a hand to grab your ass, yanking your hips flush against his.

“I love it when you quote me.” He drawled, that devilish gleam in his eyes making your heart drop straight into your stomach. “And maybe,” he murmured, bending his head to nip your earlobe, his voice warm against your neck. “if you’re good, I’ll let you kiss me all over, later.”

“I’m always good.” You lied, and the slap he sent to your ass made you squeak out a laugh. “Bastard.”

“Hellion.”

“Idiot—”

“Are you two done confessing your love for one another? Because we have serious planning to do.” Tolya stood not ten feet away, neither of you having had noticed his approach.

You fought a wince as a mortified blush washed your features, immediately pulling out of Sturmhond’s grasp. You didn’t look at him, instead giving Tolya a cool look that could freeze the coldest ring of the afterlife.

“If you’re done gawking like a pervert,” you cooed, resting a hand casually, too casually, on the hilt of your sword. “then fine. Lead the way.”

Tolya gave Sturmhond a pointed look before walking away, and you didn’t give your blonde captain a second glance as you follow his third in command.

The silence strained as you followed after Tolya, the crashing waves and your boots the only noise against the deck as you walked. You tried to ignore his comment, but.. You and Sturmhond were not in love. No, what you shared was an easy, sometimes vicious banter, a loyalty that crossed every boundary, and some of the best sex you’d ever had in your life. The position you both played in each other’s lives was straightforward.

There’d never been a question of love. You knew he didn’t have those sorts of feelings for you, his second, just like you didn’t feel that way towards him. But sometimes, when he was extra sweet to you, or when he’d sink his hands in your hair as he kissed you, murmuring the most kind of compliments onto your mouth, you felt a painful tug towards him that you couldn’t ignore.

And the idea of losing him, of him dying tomorrow in battle, was unthinkable.

That night, drunk as bandicoots and finished with your planning, you and Sturmhond crashed into his cabins, unable to tear one another’s clothes off fast enough. You gasped as he almost tore your shirt in half, throwing you onto his desk and yanking your legs up around him. You almost collapsed at the first thrust up into you, your voice breaking on a cry you were sure the entire crew most likely heard.

But who cares.

“Y/N,” Sturmhond panted, pulling you flush against his chest as he slammed home over and over. “gods, Y/N.”

“Sturm—” you didn’t manage to get the word out, not when his hand found the place between your legs just as his mouth sucked a dangerously rough bruise against your neck.

Your finish hit you so fast and hard it was almost embarrassing, your face pressed against his shoulder as you choked on a moan. He lifted you and moved the both of you to the bed, slowing his pace to a lazy, almost reverent one as you slowed your breathing. And when you opened your eyes, finding him blinking open his own, the vast blue of them and the softness in his stare made your throat tighten so quickly you had to turn your head away.

“Y/N?” He asked, pausing his movements. You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t get the words out. “Darling, what is it?”

“You—” you swallowed, unable to look him in the eye when you forced a joke, running a hand down the smooth skin of his muscular back. Even the touch of him was beginning to make your eyes water, to your horror. “The orgasm was so good I’m a little emotional about it. Sorry.”

He laughed boyishly and kissed your neck, his rumbling chuckle easing something in your heart. He rolled his hips against your own, so slowly you could feel every inch of him, and you couldn’t stop the pleasure filled sigh that left your parted lips.

“I don’t believe that for a second.” He murmured against your skin, but didn’t argue, not when you flipped him onto his back, taking control of what was your last time bedding the captain.

His face was flushed, blue eyes heavy-lidded, and you kissed him, savoring every single Saints-given second.

The next morning was chaos.

Not only did a storm break over the sky, drenching your hair and clothes, but the enemy had fired their first blast at you, rocking the supposedly impenetrable ship with a force that almost threw you over the side of the ship.

“Get back.” Sturmhond growled, yanking you away from the rail. “Do you want to fall and drown before we start? Because if that’s the case, you might as well do it willingly.”

His anger surprised you into a sudden flash of annoyance, shoving his arm away.

“Now is not the time to be an asshole.” You spat, glaring fiercely as you stormed past him, knocking your shoulder against his as hard as you dared.

And when the first enemy pirate ship came into range, you stepped right back towards the ship’s rail, taking a deep breath. You tunneled deep into your power, as far as it could possibly go. Closer. Closer. Just when you could see the whites of the enemies’s eyes, you threw your hands out, gritting your teeth as a tidal wave so large and overpowering it crested the ship, slammed down with enough force to crack rock.

And when the water settled as much as it could again, the waves still roiling, you wiped the rain out of your eyes and stared out at the spot where the ship was. Was, because now it was sunk.

A battle cry rose behind you from your crew as you swallowed, shoving the sleeves of your wet shirt up to your elbow. Through the darkness of the thunderclouds and the water spearing out of the sky, a faint glow caught your attention. You glanced down, finding that shell, that siren’s gift, glowing faintly. And damn him for being right, but that light seemed to travel along your collarbones, threading throughout your very skin.

More. The ocean whispered to you, a lethal voice inside your own mind. More, child.

You shivered, but didn’t have much time to acknowledge the seas unending hunger before the next ship came, then the next.

“Fire!” Tolya shouted, and tugged his arrow back in its bow, straining up, up, up, until he and the rest of the archers on deck sent a volley of lethal arrows towards the enemy. It must’ve hit the man at the wheel, because a second later the ship turned, crashing directly into the one beside it. “Again!”

The enemy advanced one by one, and while the archers fired, as the few Grisha on board did their best to guide the winds so that ships would collide, they still neared. So you worked. You brought wave after crashing wave, your skin growing tight as you sunk one ship, then another, then another. You felt your chest tightening as the bottom of your power approached, and had to grip the rail momentarily as you heaved for a breath.

One ship left. One. Your crew had taken them out, had survived, thanks to the Grisha, the brave pirates beside you, and Sturmhond’s advanced weaponry. Nothing could have prepared you, though, when a bolt shot out from the other ship. When the crew on that ship began to crank your own vessel towards them.

The cord was too far to reach with your sword, so you slammed the bolt with water, trying over and over again to dislodge the deep-rooted point buried in the ship’s side. No. No, no, no. Men began to throw grappling hooks up onto the rail, you and other crew members dashing forward to yank them out as soon as possible. You tugged on one as hard as you could, the damn thing refusing to give, and your mouth dried out when a burly man below you climbed up with inhumane speed.

You barely had time to jerk away as he swung his blade for you, the edge of it coming within lethal distance of your head, but was stopped by another sword that slammed against the pirate’s own with so much force that the man fell back and plunged into the water.

You whirled to Sturmhond; your eyes were wide, heart beating in your chest, and you wouldn’t be lying if you said his face was the most amazing thing you could’ve seen in that moment.

“You need to hide.” He told you, tugging you away from the edge as your crewmates fought every pirate that attempted to board. “Your power is gone. You cant fight like this.”

“I can fight.” You scoffed, but your limbs were indeed weak. You weren’t sure you could lift your sword if you tried. “Let me help.” You urged, meeting his hardened stare, every inch of lover gone. This was only your captain, and a fighter, telling his subordinate a command. “Let me.”

“No.” He growled, an inch from your face, and you didn’t even have enough energy to rage at him. But then his face softened, a single fraction, as he kissed you, hard enough to bruise. And when he pulled back, eyes scanning your face as if to memorize it, he said, “if we survive this, remind me to marry you.”

Your heart stopped, stopped in your chest, and you clutched his shirt tightly, unable to let him go. You only had seconds, but your eyes were shining with tears as you stared up at him.

“Remind me to say yes.” You whispered, a last, desperate promise to the man you loved, and you could only stand there looking pathetic, feeling floored, as he left your side and threw himself into the fight.

You backed away, glancing around the chaotic deck as if looking for a sign from the Saints. You pressed a hand against your chest, begging the voice that had spoken to you since you’d gotten your amplifier, for aid. Please, you pressed your hand harder against it, looking out at the sky, and the sea, and the battle. Please. Please.

No. Was the silent response, and you almost sobbed aloud. You do not need my help.

“Please.” You whispered, this time out loud, the word a lost attempt for aid slipping away on the wind. And so you looked to the fight, trying to steel yourself. You wouldn’t die like a coward. You would not be afraid.

But your cry of fear was genuine when an arrow flew through the darkness, slamming home into one of your crewmates. And then your vision went white as Sturmhond crashed onto the deck, his head cracking violently against the wood.

You weren’t sure if you were exploding. One second you were you, and then you were screaming. Screaming—maybe that was the sound that filled your ears, your head, your heart, and the fighting paused briefly enough that you knew you had been. You strode forward, eyes on Sturmhond, then on the enemy still attempting to climb.

“Get out of my way.” You snarled at Tolya, death incarnate, and dove low enough back into your power that something in you cracked.

And then the biggest wave of your life, angry and hungry, rose in front of your ship. Enemy were already screaming, running, fleeing as best they could. Some even had the audacity to jump into the water, the damned fools. When you sent the wave plummeting down, the audible crack of the prow of the opposite ship was deafening. Pirates screamed, on both sides, as you raged and raged, forcing the ship down, down, down, shoving every pirate, every scrap of debris, onto the ocean floor.

And you held it there, insuring that there were no survivors, before you fell forward to grasp the rail, but not fast enough for your legs to catch you as you blacked out onto the deck.

Your body hurt. Ached. Your hand moved involuntarily to your chest, resting against the shell. The ocean hadn’t lied. And whether She had aided you or not, pushing alongside that last drop of power, you realized you didn’t care. That She allowed someone to wield Her at all was a blessing in itself.

You peeled your eyes open slowly, glancing around Sturmhond’s cabin. It felt like every inch of you had been wrung out to dry. You noticed, though, that your clothes had been changed. Tamar, most likely. And then you saw the body in the bed beside you, his blonde hair rumpled in sleep, as he slept soundly.

You could’ve sobbed, then. You reached out, running a hand as softly as possible against his forehead. He reached up, waking slowly, and grasped your wrist. His thumb ran along your skin as his eyes opened, that wicked blue finding your own.

“Y/N.” He rasped, shifting slightly, then winced. “My future wife.” You ignored the world ending surge of emotion you felt at those words, attempting to prop yourself up on an elbow.

“You were shot.” You whispered, the terrible words unable to rise any louder. “Shot. I thought I’d—” you swallowed. And then you forced away the urge to joke, to say what you didn’t mean. “I thought I’d lost you. It almost killed me.”

“Literally, I hear.” He murmured, groaning low in his throat as he managed to sit up, brow furrowed in concentration. “Took out the—the whole fleet, huh?”

“Not the whole fleet.” You argued. “I almost couldn’t do anything at the end. But then you—and I—” you squeezed your eyes against the tears that threatened when the blankets fell away from his chest and you saw the bandages, the wound that had cut through his shoulder having had barely missed his heart.

And then, damn you, you did weep. You cried as you covered your face, curling into yourself. You doubted that you’d ever forget that damning sound, that crack of his head against the deck. The fear you had felt was like nothing you’d ever felt before. Because you loved him. Loved Sturmhond. And you would’ve gladly allowed your power to kill you if that’s what would’ve saved him.

“Darling, no.” Sturmhond sighed, reaching out with a strained sound to touch your shoulder. “I’m fine. Thanks to you.”

You managed to calm yourself as you moved over to him, propping yourself up on your knees as your body adjusted to movement. You reached out, running your hands over his face and neck, surprised to see moisture in his own eyes as well. He looped his arms around you, fighting his grimace.

“Did you mean it?” You asked carefully, avoiding glancing down at his wound. “When you said you’d..” False hope was a terrible fate, so you couldn’t finish the sentence.

He craned his neck up a fraction, silently asking for it, and you gave him the soft kiss he wanted. When he pulled away, a line of moisture running down his cheek, you wiped his skin clean.

“Every word.” He said firmly, eyes fierce. “I want to marry you. I don’t want to just be your lover, Y/N. Nor your captain. Your equal.” His eyes trailed to your amplifier, then up. “I knew the first time you took out a ship with that gift that I loved you. That I was in love with you.” He squeezed his eyes shut again as a stab of pain rocked through his shoulder, and his voice was strained when he spoke again. “You could sail…anywhere. A thousand miles from me. And nowhere on this planet could save me from my ties to you. You’re mine. Always.”

You were crying again, embarrassingly enough, and he cracked a half-hearted smile.

“The prospect too upsetting? If you want we can have separate bedrooms.”

“Shut up.” You scoffed, and kissed him again. The moment that man was healed, you were going to ravish him. Then you pulled back, glancing over to the sword resting against the wall, it’s emerald encrusted hilt glinting in the candlelight. “Now, what the hell is all the fuss over that sword?”

He grinned slyly, that smile that always told you when trouble was on the horizon, and tucked you against his chest the best he could throughout his pain. And as he stroked your hair, kissing the top of your head, he spoke.

“Later,” he said, and you felt his grin against your head. “when I’m healed, I’ll tell you. But I’m not in the condition to be punched right now.”

“What?” You demanded, and he laughed, tugging you back down when you tried to sit up.

“Later.” He insisted, and closed his eyes, slipping off into sleep.

hello helloooooo

#this is very pirates of the Caribbean of me #sturmhond x reader #sturmhond the sassy biotch #shadow and bone #nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai x reader #wattpad #shadow and bone imagine #fluff #smut #nikolai lantsov smut #pirates #sturmhond smut

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s-lverwing · 21 days

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PECADO ; teaser

SUMMARY. Duty—the inescapable concept drilled into you from birth, embedded in your mind by relentless echoes and insistent tones. But now, since you’ve grown and become entangled in a tumultuous relationship with the King’s firstborn, duty has evolved into a word you loathe, a bitter reminder of the constraints and sacrifices that shapes your existence. As your world spins, the prospect of marrying Aegon's honorable twin, Maelor, intensifies the bitter irony of your plight, deepening your resentment and sense of betrayal from everyone.

PAIRING. aegon ii targaryen x targaryen!reader x maelor targaryen (aegon’s twin)

WORD COUNT. 1.3k

WARNINGS. just angst. english isn’t my first language. THIS IS MY NEW BLOG !! MAELOR IS AEGON’S TWIN !!!

A/N. I’m thinking so many thoughts. I want to make this a series, or smth but I don’t really know. I have 8k words now, and I want to keep going.

no betaed we die like viserys

She gazed at you, her lips parting only to release the haunting melody: “Pōja istin jehikagrī ēnka sir rāpūltan, isse iā rāpa, lyka nārhēdegon” (Their once bright hues now softened, in a tender, quiet loss).

Soon, the groans and heavy footsteps melded with the birds’ chirping and the distant murmur of voices from the hallways. Yet, the garden remained an isolated enclave, housing only Helaena’s ethereal song and your tumultuous thoughts. A palpable silence descended, compelling you to whip your head toward her.

Alicent’s only daughter was already regarding you with eyes brimming with worry and regret. It was uncommon for her to look at you this way, and the intensity of her gaze sent a shiver down your spine.

“Sealing the bond,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “One will drift away, the other will be chasing phantoms for an eternity” The innocence of her phrase was a dagger to your gut, making you want to retch, as you tasted bile on your tongue. Desperation clawed at you, and you fled, seeking refuge in the only place that could never offer you peace.

The room reeked of stale alcohol and sweat; a reminder of the first and last time you visited an inn. The once repugnant scent was now a grim familiarity. Each morning you arrived early, loyal as a hound and pristine as a dove. But not this morning; delicate petals from the garden were still tangled in your hair. You smell like fresh cut grass. And you’re late.

Aegon lay sprawled on his bed, utterly naked and feigning sleep. He was waiting, because even if he played the role of an idiot, a part of him still cared.

You swallowed hard, “Aegon?” Your voice trembled, a fragile thread of hesitation woven through it. Fear of him was not the issue; it was the looming dread, the haunting sense of something profoundly wrong, lurking just beyond the edges of your understanding.

The mere sight of him being humiliated by any member of his family or by himself was something you’ve become to accept, to make peace with. Aegon hasn’t been on a leash since he was a kid; since his father proclaimed Rhaenyra as his legitimate heir. And so he decided to indulge in the pleasure of the flesh… and alcohol — a sweet but ultimately lethal form of enjoyment. And the fact that he has harbored feelings for you doesn’t even move him into change. Not because of you, but for him. He deserves to be respected and the honor of a house such as the Targaryen. Though, he’s not even respected by his own kin. By his own parents. Viserys was old, and probably had an ounce of love for him which burned when he had realized he didn’t need more children to secure the bloodline. His firstborn was still very much alive; even if he was a woman. And Alicent only cherished his twin brother.

Aegon often wondered what it would be like to be the one born looking like a Hightower—instead of being a living reminder to his mother of the sacrifices she had to make, of her stolen childhood, and of every unavenged wound. Would he then be wanted as much as Maelor is? Deep down, he knew it was a futile dream. He tried not to care, but the fear of being crushed under the weight of everyone’s expectations gnawed at him incessantly.

After all, Maelor, has much more of a tender temperament and Aemond’s intellect and wit, which seemed to embody everything Aegon was not. His eyes were a warm, inviting brown, complementing his auburn hair—a perfect reflection of Alicent. He looked human, soft, approachable, and kind. In Aegon’s eyes, Maelor was the epitome of what Alicent desired, a role Aegon could never fulfill.

You dusted off your pale dress, swallowing down your rising frustration and anger. It wasn’t in your nature to be quick to anger, to point the finger, to blame others for their mistakes. But today, his actions felt unbearable. “Do—Do you even care?” Your voice sounded pathetic, a desperate plea for recognition, affection — just to be seen by your lover.

He didn’t bother opening his eyes. Everything was too bright, too loud for his liking, especially after Otto Hightower’s sermonizing. “Uhm—? Ah, oh,” He yawned, shifting to make himself more comfortable in bed. “Yes, sure.”

His indifference sparked a surge of anger within you, the bile rising to tinge your throat with its bitter taste. “I’m being serious.”

“Don’t speak so loud…” He groaned, dismissive. “You should go, I don’t want any of your services”

It makes your blood seethe, each word from him striking like arrows piercing through your heart. The indignity of being called a whore stings with a venomous edge.

It was always a struggle to engage in conversation with him when he was saturated with the remnants of last night’s excesses. But today felt especially grueling; your patience is unraveling, eroded by the relentless tide of his cruelty.

You approached his bed, standing close enough to block the sunlight that accentuated his handsome features. You wanted to scream, to hit him, hoping that maybe then he would love you, maybe then he would strive to be better and meet your mother’s expectations, so then they could be together. But Aegon wasn’t a fool; he knew you were the only one who forgave him every single time, without him even trying. Gathering all your courage, you spoke the words that had been festering within you: “You’re pathetic.”

So you think that too? He knew everything couldn’t be perfect. Aegon understood he was doomed, marked by fate’s cruel design. He knows this truth intimately… yet, despite everything, he clings to hope with a desperation that borders on madness. Because you’re the only one seeing him with different and softer eyes.

He can’t think because his mind is flooded with guilt, of everything that happened last night… Of everything he’s ever done to you, wether good or bad. But he keeps going, he doesn’t know anything else. “Go pester Maelor, he looks just like me. I’m sure he can entertain you… Maybe he won’t pleasure you as well as I do. But after all, all whores are the same, I’m sure he won’t mind”

Tears gathered at the corner of your eyes. His cruelty cuts deep, making you question if any of it is worth it—the sacrifices, the hurt, the strange looks, and your bleeding heart. Are they worth the fleeting moments of bliss? He’s capable of loving, and being kind — he has shown you that. Sometimes you like to fool yourself thinking that he actually cares about you, that maybe he thinks you’re more than just a pawn following everything he says… More than just a girl staring at him with wide, hopeful eyes. Thinking maybe, just maybe… he actually sees you.

But it’s the indifference, and his insolent words that creates a wall. One you’re too tired to try and bring it down.

You snort, deciding to play his game, ethough you know it will keep destroying everything. “Maybe I will, Aegon. Maelor has more honor in his little finger than you’ll ever have. You just wallow in your own filth.”

You speak with distaste, the words hurting you as much as they hurt him, because they come from a place of anger, a vengeful side you despise. It makes you want to throw up; the mere idea to succumb into your rage. After all, there’s pure dragon blood running in your veins, and it burns within you.

You turned around, unable to bear looking at him. If you meet his eyes, you’ll collapse under the weight of your own emotions and beg for forgiveness, even though it’s not your fault. You just wanted to make amends. “Do you know you’re throwing everything away, Aegon?” you ask, your voice trembling with the weight of unspoken despair. You don’t expect an answer. He already knows.

first chapter

#aegon ii targaryen #helaena targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen angst #hotd

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alwaysshallow · 10 months

Text

coffee at midnight, part 7

John "Soap" MacTavish x f!reader

You try the whole "dating" thing. Soap doesn't quite like that, and it shows. (4,4k)

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

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If you'd known how much of a fuss it would be, you wouldn't even tell him. Hell, you wouldn't even think about telling him, you'd just describe it as a simple meeting with an old friend, and he'd know everything afterwards.

Now, you felt like you were seventeen again, trying to explain yourself right in front of your mom when you did something that she didn't like.

The only difference was, Soap acted like your mom, proudly taking her place in scolding you.

"'s like a free invitation for an axe murderer to come and get ya. Bonnie, thought yer gonna be smarter than this." He looked at you, his eyebrows furrowed. You didn't have to be a rocket scientist to see how conflicted he was with you going out without him.

Well, maybe it was also the fact that you were going on a date; an unexpected one, but you couldn't really say no, when your best friend played as your wingman.

And, what could shock the most, the wingman wasn't Soap, but Gaz that got into the conclusion you needed something like this; after your injury, but also in general since he hasn't seen you in ages on date with someone. Truth, harsh but still truth, got into you, so you've decided he's completely right. You needed this, a fresh air in the whole situation.

Which was funnier, that date was with Cody. Cody, who got your fake number from Johnny just because he didn't like him and he gave off weird vibes and you deserved better. You felt bad for a moment considering it was a fucking helpline, but it was too late to do anything with it. What's more to it, you really didn't want to tell him that your idiotic best friend decided to joke, thinking it would be funny.

That guilt was until Garrick proudly admitted that he gave him your number because it felt right. Because Cody asked about you since he saw you with them, and after a quick "interrogation", he felt like a proud wingman to allow him to take a shot on you.

Pretty funny choice of words, but all in all, you knew what Gaz was thinking about. You've babbled with him about it for almost two hours straight, drinking wine, while Soap just listened, throwing his snarky remarks from time to time. He looked like a kid that got his candy stolen from him, and while you didn't really like that kind of behavior, it was kind of funny to see him like this.

Such a contrast to his usually playful nature, especially in something stupid; you were just getting ready for the date. Nothing too scandalous, nothing too fancy, and nothing too deep, but the last thing you kept to yourself, just to get him riled up.

"Axe murderer that I know, Soap," you groaned, when he stood in your way, clearly not wanting you to go any further. Or to at least think what you were doing, which was funny enough, given you were a grown up woman. Not his sister that he needed to protect because she's not mature enough to think for herself, his best friend that knew exactly what she's doing.

At least, she pretended like she knew it. He was so stern that even when you gave him a look, full of politeness, he wasn't impressed.

"You just met him after years," he emphasized the last word. "He could be so much different than the last time you've seen him, 'st sayin'. Yer too good to people, always been."

You sighed, a little defeated; there was nothing you could say that would convince him enough to Cody. "Yet, Kyle thinks he's pretty good for going out."

Soap laughed at your words, shaking his head with disbelief. His previously royal, blue eyes, were nothing like before; they were a bit... colder, if it was even possible. "And since when Kyle is your love advisor?" He raised his eyebrow, his arms crossed at his chest. It felt pretty defensive, even for him.

And, you would lie if you'd tell that you didn't like that, even if it was weird for you, to see him care about something like this. It was heartwarming; like he didn't actually want you to see that guy, to see him adding his statement.

But, of course, you couldn't admit that. It would only make his ego burst, and it was the last thing that he needed to know.

Besides, it would only make things more complicated.

"And like, it's..."

"Why do you care anyway?" you interrupted him; he opened his mouth for a moment, to close it right away, like your words actually hit him. "Genuinely. It's just a date."

Soap rolled his eyes, playing with his fingers – when you only glanced at them, he swiftly hid them behind his back. Like he wanted to keep them away from you, like you would say something about it. It was weird, but you didn't pay much attention to it back then.

"Carin' about you. 's all." He shrugged, looking carefully at you, when you put your shoes on. "'st... be careful, aye? 'm gonna kill this lad if he's..."

"...Johnny." You sent him a look; your hand instinctively covered his for a moment. "It's all gonna be alright. I'm not like, going to a mission where I'm gonna get another injury" you joked. He didn't take it quite well, considering that he gave you a scolding look.

"Mhm." Soap grumbled, helping you as you moved on to your coat. "Text me if you'll need anythin', bonnie. I mean it. Yer arm good?"

"Good, thank you. I'm gonna remember." You smiled softly, nudging him for goodbye, indicating that he could step down from his protective role. Cody was supposed to pick you up, so there was absolutely nothing for him left to do.

Well, at least you thought this way. His thoughts were a little different, as you saw the moment he escorted you to the exit of your apartment building, leaning against the door, as you were getting into your date's car. Cody even waved to him, but all Johnny did was a slight nod, like he was acknowledging him.

Small win, but a win anyway, you thought.

"Hope he's not your hidden boyfriend or something?" Your old friend looked at you for a second, before taking a turn to the left. "Like, he seems pretty... tense, when he sees me. Like he's protecting something."

You needed a few seconds to process what Cody was implying; and when you understood, you couldn't help but laugh and with disbelief. "No, he's completely harmless. Seriously, it's just... maybe he doesn't take strangers well, you know."

"Does he give strangers a distress hotline number instead of yours, or is it just me?" he grinned, and even then, you could hear the question in his tone, which made you gulp a little.

Well, if you’d think this way...

"Well. Johnny is... he's..."

Best friend. He's your best friend.

Why couldn't it leave your mouth?

"He's my... Johnny." You eventually said, looking at him. "He's like that, you'd understand after some time. But he's not my hidden boyfriend or something."

"Note taken. Would be awkward, if I'd taken you on a date and didn't know that." He laughed, shaking his head. "He'd probably kill me, huh?"

You laughed at this too, instead of telling him how Soap was already not pleased with you going out with him, and he was only your... best friend, technically. Heaven only knew what would happen if you'd want to meet Cody if you were in a relationship with him.

It was the possessiveness speaking. If anyone wanted to know something about MacTavish, he was possessive about his things. Obsessively so; it was cute when he clutched the Subway's sandwich to his chest from Ghost, when his friend wanted to take a bite. You, of course, had permission to take it (just a little bite since you were a girl), but no one else could. He cared about his things, he didn't let anyone touch his stuff if it had a sentimental matter to him.

The funny thing about it, he was possessive about people too, which sometimes irritated you to the core; he could have multiple friends and all, but you? Oh, he was interrogating the shit out of them, giving you the side eye if they managed to plan something with you before he did. He felt like he came before anyone, no matter what.

Not to mention, he was only like this about guy friends. Like a dog with a bone that's too precious to give to others. Funny thing is, they didn't even flirt with you, and he was acting like they were stealing you from him.

So, it wasn't really surprising when he didn't want to let you go out with Cody, especially that he somehow knew that you two had a history. You were thankful enough he didn't make a scene right in front of him because that would be humiliating.

Especially when your date seemed to be so nice. Not only did he open the car door for you, but also the restaurant's one, and you couldn't help but smile at that little gesture, nodding to him as a silent thank you. What was even better, you loved the place he chose for tonight.

Your old friend had to remember your taste, considering that the Italian restaurant was probably the prettiest building you've seen in a while. A lot of warm lamps around, climatic music that got your attention right when you walked into the room, greeted by an older waiter with a mustache; everything screamed Italy here, and you were taking in the view with pleasure.

"You like it so far?" Cody looked up at you from the menu; his bright, green eyes sparkled with curiosity in dim light. You suddenly felt bad, since you appreciated the effort more than you've probably let him know.

So, you nodded quickly, your painted nails clicking against the table. "Reminds me of this one restaurant back at home. You know, where we went with Stacy and others?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I remember." He laughed, shaking his head "I remember how Stacy spilled expensive wine on your shirt. Before meeting with your moms, you were pretty pissed back then."

You opened your eyes a little wider at this memory, suddenly remembering it; yeah, Stacy did something like that. What was also important to mention, you were right before an important dinner with your moms and their friends (Price involved), and the tragedy was huge back then. "So, you do remember things, huh?"

"Most of them," he admitted, tilting his head to the side with that boyish charm that he always had. It was something you couldn't really take away from him. "If something is worth remembering, I remember. Mostly situations with you."

It would be a lie if you'd say that dinner didn't go smoothly – because it did. Perfectly, even, knowing how much of a gentleman Cody was, how swiftly he balanced between topics, trying to entertain you. Trying to at least get a glimpse of your life that he didn't get to know since you left your hometown after being deployed and you cut ties with most of your friends. It was something that you liked, something that you adored, knowing he once was interested in you, and you were in him, when you were at high school.

Key words: high school.

As much as you liked him now, you knew it wouldn't work the moment waiter brought your food, and you awkwardly smiled to him, when he bon apetite'd you. Even if he tried to be smug, conversation wasn't effortless like you wanted it to be, you didn't like the way he asked you about your work, implying how it was men's work. Maybe it wasn't evident at first sight, but comments about you ruining your nails and your struggle as the only woman, and everything like that, irritated you.

Maybe it was you being hypersensitive, but you didn't really enjoy comments like this, no matter who it would be.

The chemistry between you two wasn't sparkling as well, and as much as you kept yourself from admitting it, you couldn't brush off a feeling that you would enjoy time with Johnny better. Hell, you were sure that your Scot would make those few hours a lot better. Movies, cooking together, even visiting the gym together... anything.

You felt bad for the thought, when Cody was so nice overall – yet, not nice in a way that would interest you.

"Is that your friend?" You heard him, which brought you back to Earth; he frowned, as he looked behind you. You were sitting right by the window, so he had a pretty clear view on the street.

"Friend?" You raised your eyebrow, amused.

"From earlier on."

You turned around, to see if your date was right; you doubted, really doubted that Cody would see Soap. Your friend was anything but someone that would disturb your date. "I really don't think Johnny..."

Well, Johnny indeed was here, and the thought of him not interrupting your date was completely crushed. You had to give him credit, though; he wasn't that recognizable, you didn't catch him right in the moment. He was in his dark sunglasses and brown cap; if the situation would've been different, you could laugh at how ridiculously similar he looked to all the Marvel characters when they had to hide.

Back then, you balanced on the line between being amused and furious that he didn't respect your time enough with someone else.

Having fun, Johnny?

As you observed him, you saw how quickly he looked around; for a brief moment, you felt like his gaze was on you, and it only confirmed itself when he started typing in his phone again.

dinnae ken what yer talkin about.

"I guess he's just here." You shrugged, lying to him swiftly. "It's the center of the town, yeah? Things... happens."

Cody chuckled, playing with his fork. "Yeah. Yeah. Maybe he is. As long as he doesn't disturb our date, right? It's too nice."

You're a menace to the society, MacTavish; you swiftly typed out under the table. "Yeah. It's too nice." you agreed, even if you thought how interesting it got only because your best friend was outside.

and yer mean: (

You had to hold back a laugh when you've read it; so, you put your phone down and came back to talking with Cody, eating and drinking that delicious wine; you knew you had to buy a bottle after this little adventure. Maybe they didn't sell it, but you were willing to try as soon as the waiter would come with the bill.

It was a personal win for you to come out twenty minutes later out of this restaurant with a bottle in your hand, laughing to your date about something convincing enough to sell it to you. You had to speak with two managers, but it was yours after all, ready to go home with you.

Soap was ready too, even if he acted like he wasn't here; you turned down Cody's proposition of taking you home just to call your best friend to ask where he is exactly, since he disappeared from that bench before you knew it.

"Over the date already? Had to suck, eh?" His eyebrow arched, as he wrapped his arm around your waist. "Sad. But yer sure that lad ain't for you."

"You know," you started, as you grabbed his glasses, just to wear it yourself "if you wouldn't be such a stalker, I'd let you drink wine with me at home. But, now, I have doubts about it."

"Stalker? C'mon. A simple coincidence, that is," he chuckled, as you two walked into his car. "Not my fault you'd rather have me on this date, not him. Can't really blame ya, hen."

You could feel how your face heated up in the moment; maybe if his statement wasn't true, you'd react differently, maybe you would think of a snarky comment. Back then, when you felt exactly like he said, well... It was hard enough.

He seemed to catch the hesitant look at your face, considering how smiley he got. "Oh? Got ye real good, if yer blushin'—"

"—you imagine too much, Johnny, " you mumbled out, as you got more comfortable in your seat, ready to go. "Let's go home, yeah?"

"'st sayin', bonnie. I could have a better date, even at home."

You didn't say anything about his reply. Not because it wasn't true (because it was), not because you were at a loss of words, but because you were conflicted about him and you having a date, when you two were friends. Was he honest, or playing like he always did?

It was just easier to think of it as just banter, ignore it, than actually take him seriously; because if you did and he would have to explain it to you it was just a joke... You were pretty sure that death of embarrassment was gonna happen, honestly. John was too important to you, friendship with him was too important to you to experiment with things like that.

Besides, it wasn't like you two would fit, right? There was a difference between being friends and someone that you could date. Your best friend was great, but as a lover? You didn't know this side of him, you could only guess.

When you finally arrived, you automatically left the car with your head in the clouds. Maybe that's why you haven't even noticed that your best friend was on the other side, trying to open the door for you; and that end up badly, considering that you've hit him with the door.

Low "fuck" snapped you from your thoughts, as well as him holding his nose; you immediately approached him, your expression bashful.

"I'm so sorry, Soap, I—"

"—S'alright." He shook his head, smiling at you like it was nothing. "I've been worse, you know. 'Suppose I deserved that." He nudged you, laughing when you rolled your eyes.

"It wasn't intentional," you groaned, grabbing his arm to start walking with him. "Come on, I'm gonna check it. Just in case."

"Apartment first, ma'am."

So, as soon as you were in the apartment with him, you had to check if nothing was broken – and even if it sounded like a wild thought, breaking a nose in close contact with the car's door, literally everything was possible with Soap, so it was better to be safe than sorry. Wouldn't be the first time that you did something to him without intention of doing it.

Once, when he pretended to be a burglar (he thought it would be funny this way) and he grabbed you from behind in your apartment, you hit him with a flower pot. You laughed afterwards, but you were pretty mad at him in the first ten minutes, trying to find something with ice that would help his headache.

After you checked everything, he seemed to be good. At least, excluding the moment where he thought it would be funny to whine and make you worry, which you smacked him for, but that was just his idiotic side speaking.

This incident though was definitely a lighter one. You've found yourself cleaning his shirt with soap and cold water, since he had a few drops of blood on it, and somehow you felt responsible there wouldn't be any stain left. Soap kept you company even then, shirtless, leaning against the doorframe to have a joke or two about how well you are cleaning blood, suggesting that you have "close connections" with underground fighters.

A simple answer would be period, but you didn't feel like going into that kind of conversation, so you just agreed, telling him he has to book you for the next cleaning. His laugh was everything.

Quickly after this, you were off to sleep, tired with the events of the day; you really needed a good rest, where you'd wrap yourself in the sheets, a warm nest around you. Calm environment, nothing to worry about since you were on leave, and your best friend was in your apartment too, it was the sense of safety here.

Except, your nightmares had a bit different plans than you had.

Ruthless, like they needed to remind themselves, and the worst thing about it was: you lived through every one of them. It wasn't something of your imagination, monsters and creatures that had no place in the real world, no – the realness of it all was scary. The memories you had from missions blended perfectly with events that didn't happen, causing you to have a heart-attack experience.

Nightmares about your team were the worst; where everyone was killed. Where you couldn't do anything but scream; this time, you watched their execution, as every one of your boys were killed right in front of you. Gun wounds, humiliation, where killers wanted them to beg for their life, when they cut the fingers of your comrades just to shoot them afterwards.

And you had to watch all of it, teary-eyed, just begging to stop all this madness.

The worst moment was when royal blue eyes looked right into yours, terrified, with a silent plea in them, hoping that you're gonna be the one to save his life; and the worst thing was, you knew you're gonna fail him. You knew there was nothing you could do to prevent the bloodshed, not when your body refused to move, not when you couldn't even move your finger, nor legs to defend them.

To defend him.

You remembered screaming, when the hope died in his eyes; silent, maybe meaningless words from your side that you're gonna fix all of this, no matter what. How you were the only one alive, and it felt worse than being dead with all of them.

And then, you woke up.

Your breath rapid, shuddery, you had no control over it, as well as you had no control over tears streaming down your face, without you acknowledging the fact of them. The only element that you saw? A pair of blues, looking at you with horror.

Owner of them shook you gently, trying to get you out of the trance you were in; after a minute you were pretty sure that he was talking, but you couldn't really recall what.

You had other things in mind.

"You're alive," you said, breathing out; he seemed shocked at least with your statement, but as he held your hands in his, he nodded quickly.

"Yeah. Yeah, 'm alive. Always will," he whispered. For a moment, the two of you were just looking at each other in silence and breathing. He took as it personal job to ease your nerves, and you could say that he really succeeded at it – the feeling like someone ripped your heart from your chest, slowly but surely vanished. "Better?"

"A bit," you murmured, sighing. You felt kind of bad, even if it wasn't your fault entirely. "I woke you up. I'm so sorry Johnny, I don't even—"

"—sssh. None of that right now, lassie, 'salright." He shook his head, leaning even more in your direction. "Come on. Give me a bosie."

"A bosie?" you chuckled, wiping away your tears. "It's a... hug, or...?"

"It's a hug, aye," he laughed too, wrapping his arms around you tightly – he knew how you liked to be hugged, he knew what you needed back then.

Soap hid his face in your hair, as he caressed your spine softly. He whispered a lot of words back then; soothing ones, encouraging, sweet nothings that made your heart go. How you weren't alone in all of this, how you could always count on him, how he was always gonna be here, no matter what was gonna happen.

All of this, in his arms, slightly rocked back and forth by him, seemed like the sweetest promise ever made, when you listened to his heart, slowly coming back to normal, just like your breath did not long ago. You two had magical influence on each other, you knew, but seeing it in action had you on a chokehold.

If this would be possible, you'd never leave this hug. You were more than happy to stay there with your eyes closed, your arms tightly around him, chin on top of his arm, where you could just smell his scent that somehow calmed you even more.

"'m gonna bring you a glass of water. Then, you're gonna go to sleep, all right?"

You couldn't care less about a glass of water, when you had all you needed in one person.

“Can you... stay?" you asked, slowly, when he started getting out of your bed. Somehow, you felt out of place asking that, but you needed to do this, even if it could seem outward weird to him.

You saw how he froze for a moment, before sitting in your bed again. "Of course."

This wasn't the first time; you once comforted him in bed, you slept next to him on missions just to keep both of you warm, but that was definitely the first time when both of you felt... more intimate. Like it was a change in the air, and after all it was your bed, in your apartment, and you wanted him to be next to you because he brought you comfort.

And because, somehow, it felt like he belonged here.

He spooned you from behind – one of his arms going under your head, so you could easily use it as a pillow if you'd only want, the other around your waist, like he was personally protecting you from anything that could happen to you. His body heat hit you the moment you snuggled more under the sheets. Soap was like a personal heater, ready to do anything to keep you warm.

You were in heaven.

"This will do?" he asked, his voice low. "Is it good for you, lassie?"

"...yeah." You smiled under your nose, when he ruffled your hair with the tips of his fingers, when you laid your head on his arm. "Good."

"Mhm. Sleep now, I'm gonna be here, if you need me." He kissed the back of your head, and from that gesture alone, you just knew for a fact that he was smiling too. "You know I love you, right?"

"I know. Love you too."

And for the first time, it felt a bit different from "I love you" than usual.

#soap x reader #soap x you #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x you #x reader #cod x reader #soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap fluff #soap fanfic #friends to lovers #soap cod #soap call of duty #john mactavish

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bsgpiece · 5 months

Note

Really enjoy reading your thoughts and seeing your artwork on SaNami moments. You capture them so well! I'm sure you get plenty of these kinds of questions so apologies for asking about another one.

What are your thoughts about a SaNami marriage proposal and how do you think it would happen?

Finally I got to answer this question!!! It took me months because I really couldn't decide how it would be. I'm so sorry! First of all thank you so much for saying this, it means a lot to me!!! Hope you like this post as well!

Here goes my thoughts about it... Warning for a VERY LONG post! (Almost a fanfic lol)

Sanji always wanted to marry Nami. Ever since he first saw her! Even more after they shared their feelings for each other, their first kiss...

They weren't even together yet when he bought the ring he would use to propose to her. They had stopped by an island famous for their diamonds, and when he was going to buy supplies, he saw that ring on a jewelry shop.

He just knew Nami-san would love it (he was actually lucky he found it before her, otherwise she would have already stolen it lmao), just didn't know when to give it to her. It had to be on a very special ocasion.

Time passes, the special ocasion never seemed special enough. Deep down he knew it was a engagement ring and it would only suit for a proposal... and then, they got together. Like, all his dreams became true. He could finally ask her to marry him, right?

Could he? Should he? Was he actually enough to give Nami all the wonders she deserved?

It's been some time since he last doubted his value that much. He learned his lesson in WCI, but... would Nami want to spend the rest of her life with him? Because that's what marriage means to him. Could he actually make her happy for that long?

On the other side, Nami always new, deep down, that a relationship with Sanji would last as long as she wanted. She had that kind of power over him, but more importantly, she was completely in love with him. Being with Sanji just gave her that comfort of knowing she would never be alone again, a feeling that she would be happy forever. Yes, forever. If it depended on her, their relationship would be for the rest of their lives.

She just didn't say these things out loud all the time. Nami just assumed, after such long time as nakamas, and then as lovers, Sanji knew this already.

Nami knew Sanji wanted to marry her. He always talked about growing old together, kids and family. But as time passes, she tought it was actually weird he never proposed.

She even started to doubt herself. What if Sanji didn't want to marry her afterall?! What if he didn't love her?

Yeah, no. That's silly.

There's got to be a reason. Nami swore to herself, after rescuing Sanji from WCI that she would not misread his feelings ever again. So she started to provoke him, once in a while showing him pictures of wedding dresses, talking about the married couples they met at islands and how it would be sweet to be like them... sometimes she would even say she always wanted to rob a engagement ring, but didn't have the opportunity.

And then.. she would observe his reaction.

Sanji got nervous a little everytime. However, she could see a spark in his eyes when he said no other woman would look as beautiful as she wearing those dresses... or that any life they chose would be the best, as long as they are together...

But then.. He would sometimes ask her if that's what she wanted. If she could she them together for that long when they saw old couples passing by... How perfect she was and how she deserved the best of the best forever.

And then it clicked her. Yeah, this time she read him well.

That damn traumatized man. How big of a idiot he was. How many times did she have to tell him she loved him? Nami even got a little angry when she realized he was actually insecure.

How can a man like him fight the worst enemies in the world without any fear of death, and at the same time be afraid of being rejected by a woman who openly said the loves him?!?!

Oh well. Guess she did had to give him a little push.

Sanji already planned a thousand times his proposal, but he would never think any of the possibilities were good enough. He was thinking so much about it, trying to get the courage to actually do it, that he would always carry the ring with him anywhere they go.

He never new when or if he would do it. He wanted so, so bad to ask her. He needed to.

One day the crew stopped by an isolated island. There were only a few small villages around, but the place was beautiful. One of the most amazing beaches they ever saw.

Before Sanji could think of anything, Nami asked him to take her on a walk at the beach on sunset. Of course he said yes with big heart eyes.

The crew were all exploring the island while they went the other side, walking by the sand till they were distant enough not to be seen.

Sanji was not prepared by how beautiful Nami looked (he never was). She was wearing a simple, yet gorgeous, green dress. He could see she even put on a little make up. This was an actual date, he thought.

Nami hold his hand really tight, she knew this was her chance to tell him what he needed to hear. This time she was the one who felt nervous.

Nami stopped walking and stared deep into Sanji's eyes for a while, without saying anything. She had planned telling him how she valued him and how she wanted to be with him till her final days. However, when she was about to say anything, she notice Sanji's hands trembling while holding hers.

He started to caress both her hands and looked down at them, avoiding her eyes for a few seconds.

What a big idiot he was.

He knew Nami better than any man ever could.. He connected the dots... Sanji glared back at her, he sensed her uneasiness. How could he doubt himself so much he let her realize that and want to reassure him?

He always admire how smart and determined Nami was. Why would he doubt her decision to be with him?

Suddenly a wave of courage overflowed him, and Sanji got on one knee right in front of her.

He never been so scared in his life, but if he was to be rejected, it better be after actually having the guts to ask her, right?

Nami froze for a second. She was planning on giving him a little push, but she never thought he would actually... propose?! Not that she didn't want it. She never got so many butterflies in her stomach like in that moment. How did he know what she was going to say? Was that observation haki?

Before she could think anything further, he slowly let go one of her hands and got something on his pocket.

Wait, did he actually had a ring all this time?! How didn't she notice? She wasn't the catbuglar she once was... erm, not that it mattered now. She quickly paid attention to him again.. and damn. He opened that little box and showed the most beautiful ring she ever saw in her life (and no one knew about jewelry like she did).

Sanji slowly started to speak, his voice trembling a little.

"N-Nami-san... I'm sorry I took so long to finally do this...

I love you more than anyone or anything in this world. I don't know if I'll ever be enough for you, or if I'll be able to give everything you deserve in this life... But I swear making you happy is and will always be my priority. Even though I'm a big fool...

Will you marry me?"

Damn right you're a fool. She already forgot about the ring while looking into his eyes while he spoke. She couldn't contain her smile.

Finally, she thought.

"Yes, I will."

She said, very affirmative, so he wouldn't misheard it.

His eyes widened, like he wouldn't believe what she just said. In seconds, he couldn't even see her straight for how many full of tears his eyes were.

"R-really? Am I really worth of... of spending the rest of my life with you?"

She sighed. Eyes also tearful.

"Of course, you idiot."

I don't even have to say they hugged and kissed right after!

That day the Thousand Sunny had one of it's biggest parties.

About the wedding itself, let's talk about it some other day!

If you got till here, hope you enjoyed it.

I would love to hear everyone thoughts!!! 🧡💙

#sanami #sanji x nami #sannami #nami #sanji #nami x sanji #one piece #proposal

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