#as i write these tag descriptions i realize how much this system comes from my need to categorize things to a high degree of specificity | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

itwasntimethatdidit40 · 14 days

Text

You look like a fun place to sit.

Gif credits

Pairing: Neighbor!Frankie Morales x f!reader

Words count: 2667

Rating: + 18, MDNI

Summary: You decide to enjoy a night at the movies, your neighbor Frankie ruins it all. Or maybe not?

Tags: pov second person, no use of y/n, fluff, sort of romcom vibes (?), smut, enemies to lovers, age unspecified but they are both full grown adults, Frankie is annoying but also cute and lovely and fucking gorgeous, reader has hair, breasts and vagina, other than that no other description of her is given, fingering (f receiving), sexual acts in public places (again? Again. I'm not even particularly interested in doing that irl I don't know what to say to you, please forgive me), pet names (honey, baby, princess), arguing, kissing, no use of Spanish because I terribly suck at it and I don't want to butcher another language LOL. If by chance I realize I forgot something I'll add it right away.

It’s my first Frankie ff and I’m so incredibly nervous to post it you all! I really hope it doesn’t sucks because I had so much fun writing it today in one sitting ‘cause I’m just an impulsive impatient mess. (Leo sun and Aries moon, what do you expect from me if not chaos? I had nothing a few hours ago, I even skipped WIP Wednesday and btw thanks for the tag @almostempty 🩷)

Title comes from a gif of Karen Walker from Will and Grace that I saw last night, it made me laugh a lot and this thing was born LOL

As usual, English is not my first language so please be gentle, no beta and no proofreading, it’s tiny and it’s all my fault, I’m sorry 💀 Thanks to anyone who will read this!

“Excuse me, you should stand up, that’s my seat”

Frankie turns, looking at you with a surprised expression “I don’t think so, you’re wrong” he replies.

Ugh, your neighbor.

Frankie lives two houses away from you. Last winter you had a fight at a neighborhood meeting because you pointed out that he keeps forgetting to put the recycling bins back in, and he told you to mind your own business and called you an hysterical witch.

A stupid fight that ended up with you not saying hello to each other and various other arguments about your flashy Christmas lights or his overgrown yard. You and Frankie fight constantly, about everything. And now he's here.

You glare at him “I’m not wrong at all, look” and you wave your ticket under his nose “P10, see? It’s my seat and you’re rude”.

A grin spreads across his face “listen, honey, I don’t know where you got this ticket, you probably made it yourself, I bought it a moment ago and it’s the same seat”

He takes a card out of his pocket and hands it to you, remaining comfortably seated with a large popcorn box.

You look at the ticket, him again, the ticket again “how the hell is that possible?! I booked it on their website a week ago”

He sneers “I told you! It must be a system error, I don’t know, I’m not getting up from here”

You are furious. The theater is filling up and you absolutely don’t want to leave, you have been waiting for this movie for months and you have inspected the theater map choosing a seat that would guarantee you the very best view.

“I bought it first, so I have more right to be here than you do,” you say firmly and Frankie laughs.

“Where are we, elementary school? Listen, honey, go buy yourself another ticket and leave me alone.” He replies crunching on popcorn.

The way he calls you “honey” irritates you deeply, it sounds like an insult.

“I’m not going anywhere, YOU get the fuck out of here” you hiss.

“No” he simply replies and then he turns back at the screen pretending you’re not there.

“Truly a gentleman, as usual. I have no words.” you roll your eyes and search for an usher to ask for help. No one is there.

The movie starts in 5 minutes and you don’t want to miss anything you paid for. If you went to the box office right now to complain it would take forever to get back in.

“Fuck” you exclaim and sit down next to him huffing. You are sure that someone will make you get up very early and it pisses you off.

Frankie continues to nibble on his popcorn and looks at you with an extremely amused expression, it seems like the show has become you.

“Why do you care so much about this movie anyway?” he asks you. “Does any of your relatives happen to be in it?“

You’re fuming.

His teasing tone, his vaguely Spanish accent, his smirk, the sound of him chewing, everything bothers you.

“No. Shut the fuck up” you tell him with a death stare.

You won’t tell him that your favorite actor stars in it, that you have every photo from the set of this movie saved on your phone, that you’ve read every article about it, and that you couldn’t wait to enjoy it on the first day of screening.

You can already hear his raucous laughter. No, you would never tell Frankie anything like that.

“You're not one of that guy's crazy fans, are you?”

“What guy?” you ask him, pretending not to know what he's talking about. “Gladiator is one of my favorite movies, that's all. I just wanted to watch the sequel in peace. Someone is stopping me, though”

“That guy, I bet you like him, what’s his name? Paul Pascal?” he stares at you searching for every little involuntary movement on your face that might give you away.

“Oh for God’s sake, what are you doing here anyway? Do you even know what you're about to see? They are Paul Mescal and Pedro Pascal, two different people, you uncultered swine.” You yell. This guy is impossible.

“Yeah, whatever, so which one do you fancy?”

“Fucking nobody” you lie “I just want to watch a movie after a horrible week at work, okay?” You try to play on his guilt. If he has one, you think.

“Well, I've had a rough week too, okay?” he shrugs without stopping to give you that annoying little smile. “And it's not my fault that this theater is having problems with its computer system.”

You glance at him, wondering if he's telling the truth, it's impossible to guess from his face.

People keep sitting in the front rows and you start hoping that luck will be on your side and that no one will make you get up.

“Okay, look, now we're going to watch this movie and then we'll go our separate ways, please don't bother me anymore"

“As you wish, princess” he replies ironically.

You don't even answer him, you're too busy checking that no other people come in.

Finally the opening credits start to roll and the doors close with a dull thud.

You made it, despite this unbearable guy, you feel victorious.

You begin to relax in your chair and you don't know why you turn to look at him, lingering on his face for the first time in months.

His eyes are fixed on the screen. In the dim light you observe his raven curly hair tucked under his baseball cap, his dark eyes, the line of his prominent nose, his scruffy beard, his mustache, just above a pair of lips that seem made for kissing.

Really, truly, gorgeous.

You're so busy arguing with him all the time that you never realized how handsome he is.

He's wearing a grey t-shirt and a pair of jeans, you can’t help but admire the way the fabrics hug his body so deliciously.

He’s just your type, built up in all the right ways, you find yourself unable to take your eyes off him until the last second. Then the movie starts and you look away.

He’s still your number one enemy, what the hell were you thinking?

When Pedro first appears, you shift in your seat, crossing your legs.

“FUCK” you scream internally “here we go”

Unbelievably stunning in his armor, you’re basically drooling.

You try to stay as composed as possible but Frankie is next to you and notices.

He comes closer to you and whispers in your ear “So it was all about this guy… the fuss before” You feel one of his large hand brushing your arm that is resting on the armchair and you try with all your strength to remain still even if he causes a storm inside you and especially in your panties.

“Shut. Up.” You hiss, without moving your gaze. You feel his breath on your skin and it’s intoxicating.

He chuckles “Yeah, that was I was thinking” and throws another popcorn into his mouth.

Your cheeks burn and you're thankful you're in the cinema, in the dark.

“What’s so special about this guy?” Frankie approaches again “is his penis platinum by any chance? All my female colleagues at work are crazy about him”

You turn to look at him with the desire to slap him “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

“Okay, okay, I was just asking”

You hate people talking at the movies. You wonder if you could have a more annoying guy than Frankie next to you. Probably.

Hotter? Probably not.

This dude hits on your last nerve but he makes you horny at the same time.

Terrible combination.

Frankie settles back into his seat and resumes watching the film.

You can't help but look at him from time to time and your desire grows. even if you're offended that he didn't even offer you his popcorn. Rude.

His mouth pouted and his eyebrows furrowed as he seems all focused on the movie makes you want to cup his face and kiss him.

You can still feel the warmth of his hand on your arm and his breath on your neck.

Concentrate, you tell yourself, it's the neighbor you hate, the neighbor you hate, the neighbor you hate. Fuck. You want him so bad. This revelation drives you crazier than Pedro half naked on screen.

At a particularly bloody scene you involuntarily turn around and hide your face on his shoulder.

You feel his arm around you “hey, it’s okay. I’ll tell you when it’s over” and he holds you tight the whole time.

He smells clean and fresh, like citrus and sage with a light hint of cigarette that you assume he smoked right before entering.

Your mind goes fuzzy and your pulse races at an impossibly high rate.

“You can look now” and it takes you a few seconds too long to register his words.

“Th-Thanks” you mutter, shifting back to your place.

Halfway through the movie the lights come back on and Frankie bursts out laughing looking at you. “What?” you ask him with wide eyes “what is it that makes you laugh so much?”

“Your face” he grins “it's clearly painted on it how much you want that guy. He turns you on, huh?”

You roll your eyes “Oh my God! Can't you go sit somewhere else? Two rows down, look how many free seats there are”

“I like it better here”

You cuss, there’s no way to get rid of him.

He has something magnetic that destabilizes you, your eyes fall involuntarily on his neck, slide along his broad chest and stop at the crotch of his pants. From the way he sits you can clearly see that he is quite big.

“What are you looking at?” he asks you amusedly.

You immediately look up. “Nothing”

“Nothing my ass. Did you like what you saw?”

Fuck. He noticed. You're done for. You hate to make him understand that after all, yes, you like what you saw. He seems pleased, proud, you would so much like to wipe that little smile off his face. As much as you struggle to admit it to yourself, you like him.

“Well, maybe…after all, you look like a fun place to sit”

You can't believe you actually said that.

Frankie's response is not long in coming, his eyes immediately darken and his smile twists in a mischievous way.

The lights go out again and you feel him tug gently on your arm “come here, pretty”

He sits you down on his lap and as the movie starts again he whispers “was that what you wanted the whole time? Were you offended that I didn’t invite you?” you can clearly feel his smile spread across your skin just before he places his lips on your neck.

You would like to say something back but his closeness makes you confused and excited.

He sucks your skin like he's hungry and you moan in the dark "shh baby you gotta stay quiet while I give you what you want”

You don't know how but you find the strength to reply, "God, you're so arrogant.”

He tightens his hands on your hips, pulling you towards him, now you are practically sitting on his cock. You feel it pressing against your ass, trapped in his pants.

A rush of pleasure wets your pussy and you bite your lips to hold back another moan, you hear his hoarse voice in your ear “Maybe. You like it though” You hate to admit that he is right.

The heat of his body envelops you pleasantly, he raises a hand to one of your breasts and squeezes it over your shirt. You like his hands. They are big, expert and eager to touch you, they make your head spin.

You completely forgot about the movie, which seemed impossible to you, if they had told you you would have laughed in their face. In no universe would you have expected this.

“God” you whine “oh my God” His hand slides under your shirt and reveals your breast pulling down your bra, it is still covered but now you can feel his skin against yours. His fingers gently grasp one of your nipples, pulling and twisting it.

“Open your eyes, baby. Watch the movie like a good girl” his voice sounds authoritative, it irritates you and another rush of pleasure floods you at the same time.

“It’s not that easy” you mutter between your teeth as you feel his other hand dangerously approaching the hem of your skirt. He slowly goes up, as you try to hold back and make sure no one notices what he’s doing to you. Luckily, everyone seems enthralled by the film.

At this moment you don't even know why you started arguing so fiercely, if you had known before you would have tried to smooth things over a long time ago.

His fingers reach your panties, you feel them barely touching you and you already feel yourself burning with anticipation.

They move under your skirt, pushing your panties aside, grazing at your outer lips and then dipping inside you “Fuck, you’re soaking”

He moves them up and down between your folds, gathering your wetness towards your clit.

You feel his heavy breathing on your neck, his tongue running over your skin and his teeth nibbling on you.

“Fuck, Frankie” you cry

“Eyes to the movie”

You want to turn around and straddle him but there isn't enough room and Frankie holds you firmly anyway.

He applies pressure on your clit just right, starting to move two of his thick fingers in circle over it, the motion of his hand is partially hidden by the fabric of your skirt and your moans die in your throat one after the other. Frankie is rubbing away your sanity, you feel possessed and delirious under his touch.

Your last shred of control is torn by his fingers entering inside you, claiming your cunt as his, curling and scratching at your spongy spot.

Your eyes are still fixed on the screen but your vision is totally blurred, you see nothing, you understand nothing, you only feel Frankie pumping incessantly inside you while continuing to rub your clit with his thumb.

You feel the soft reverberation of his voice behind you, close to your ear “good girl, you're taking me so well”

The subtle Spanish accent in his voice now seems to you the most erotic sound in the world, sweet, melodious, addictive.

He takes you to the edge, you throw your head on his shoulder, shutting your eyes so everything goes black and you only feel him, until even biting your lips doesn't help anymore. He covers your mouth with his hand as you explode in a devastating orgasm, you moan against his skin, between his thick fingers that have just left your breast and you already miss them, feeling full and satiated by him.

He uncovers your mouth and kisses your neck, pressing his hand to your hip to keep you from slipping off his lap as your body trembles against his.

“Shit” you mutter “Frankie…oh my god”

“Do you think we can stop arguing all the time now?” He playfully says as he nuzzles at your hair.

“I don’t like being told what to do unless I’m naked, you know, I’m just like that” you reply, grinning and turning around to finally fix your eyes on his.

“I noticed it”

You take off his cap laughing and put it on backwards and before he starts to protest you kiss him deeply, licking into his mouth, tasting butter and salt on his tongue.

“Take me home”

“The movie isn't over yet,” Frankie observes, and you reply, “that means you'll have to take me to see it again and you’ll pay”

“Fine to me, princess”

#pedro pascal #frankie morales x you #francisco morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie catfish morales #one shot #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales smut #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ppcu

203 notes · View notes

the-kr8tor · 5 months

Note

Okay I had a fic idea and rushed to tumblr to see if your requests were open I'm lowkey shaking rn.

Anyway can we imagine hobie and reader who are friends but secretly having feelings for each other, and one night reader gets a little too drunk at a party and sends a confession text to hobie ?! And the way he would come to pick her up right after this and confess in return AAAAAAAKFODJODNXODBF do you think you could write something about it ? No one can write Hobie fics like you 💕❤️

Hi hi I combined both of your requests bc they were similar hope you don't mind. Changed it up a bit but it's basically the same! Thank you for requesting!! 😘❤️❤️❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 2.3k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), CW alcohol, fluff.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Getting wine drunk is a bad idea, getting wine drunk alone is an even worse idea. Your vision swirls whilst you watch the most mind numbing reality tv there is. Mind hazy, the smell of stale popcorn filtering in the air, blanket comfortably on your legs. You look at your phone right next to you like it owes you money.

With a narrowed glance, the screen blinks open like you commanded it in your mind. You don't miss how you quickly take it in your wobbly hands despite the alcohol warming your insides. Huffing, you're immensely disappointed to see a notification from one of the games you play to pass the time.

‘Your castle is under attack!’ it says in bold letters, and you wish it was him texting you instead. Your wallpaper doesn't help much with your pining, the picture’s a bit blurry but even the blurriness can't hide how deeply in love you are with your best friend. You remember when the photo was taken, and you remember how fast your heart was beating in your ribcage when Hobie yanked you towards him. Sweat still clinging to him from his energetic performance, adrenaline still flowing in his veins as he squeezes his face close to yours. He gives the camera his signature smirk, whilst you could only manage a lopsided smile. Eyes shimmering under the spotlights, arms bravely wrapped around his middle.

You still can't believe you fumbled that day, you thought you had your confession in the bag, but when he stared at you with those brown eyes you loved so much since year eight, the words got stuck in your throat. With alcohol in your system, flooding your nerves with courage, you open your phone to finally tell him your feelings.

> Heyyy boo thang <3

You giggle whilst you hover your thumb at the send button. Backtracking and drunk off cheap wine, you add more to your message.

> Heyyy boo thang <3 just messaging u how ur doing and also I love u so much like a lot ever somce you held my hand during pe when that ball hit my face I loveee u and not just a friend muah <3

Eyes scanning the message, a sudden realization hits you like a truck, as if sobering you immediately. The thought of sending a love confession to *your best friend has you sitting up right on the settee, moreso via text message. But before you could erase it and forget about it, a sudden scream startles you, jolting, the sound making you drop your phone on the carpet.

“Shit!” You glare at the fallen phone then at the telly where the reality stars are now pulling each other's hair like they're in the playground.

With an annoyed click of your tongue, you take your phone from the ground to check the damage. Sighing in relief, you see no cracks in the screen, but your heart falls on the floor once you see that your drunken message has been sent. “No! Motherfucker—!”

Hobie’s head is pounding from the combined powers of the pints he chugged and the loud music banging on stage. The old leather seats of the booth scratch at his jeans, the smoky and musty air entering his lungs, and the warm lights shining in his blurring vision. He usually doesn't mind it, he thrives in the environment. But his band mates basically dragged him into the pub when he was supposed to be hanging out with you tonight.

“Mates before chicks!” James said, earning a loud slap from Yuri a second later. “You hang around her too much, we miss our guitarist.” Ned mumbles with his puppy dog eyes that Hobie never thought would actually work on him. “Just one round with us! And you can come back home to your girl.” Riri added with a teasing grin. Hobie didn't even correct her at this point, and he knows it’s not just for one round.

After sending you a heartfelt message using Ned's phone, he rescheduled the weekly hangout where you and Hobie would watch the crappiest show you could find airing on cable, and whoever leaves the couch first owes the winner dinner. To which Hobie always sees as a win/win, he gets to hangout with you more, and he gets to see you smile when he purposely loses. Hobie invited you to the pub, even though he knows you'd reject his proposal, simply because he knows you hate the place, and how the carpet sticks to your shoes.

He knows you more than he knows himself.

It's hard enough to find the time to see you with all his responsibilities. He hates it when he could only settle with a quick phone call every night to check in on eachother. Especially when just a few years ago you were hanging out with him almost everyday.

He never thought he'd miss you this much when he agreed.

Hobie loves his friends, he really does, but you just have a very special place in his heart that he wishes he was in yours too.

Nursing a pint, he drowns his feelings with the amber drink and loud chatter with his band mates. Riri grumbles something about her landlord, while Yuri replies back with a ‘mine’s always open for subletting,’ she says in a singing tone. A minute later, the entire table looks at him with similar glints in their eyes.

“What?” He asks a little too roughly.

“You should get your own phone, mate, because I don't want to see your bloody messages.” Ned scoffs, his phone in hand. “Seriously, this one is sweet and all but this could take a turn real fucking quick, and I don't want to see that shit.”

“What the fuck are you talkin' ‘bout?” Hobie doesn't think he's that drunk yet, even though he doesn't notice how his words slur together, or how his tongue sits heavy in his mouth.

Riri and Yuri giggle amongst themselves, while James takes a peek at Ned's phone before making a dramatic shocked face.

His nerves shoot up when James mouths your name. Are you hurt? Are you mad at him? “Y/N, texted? What’d she say?” Hobie tries to snatch the phone from Ned, to which his friend pulls it away from him playfully.

“Oh I'm gonna need some popcorn.” Yuri snickers.

Ned, being equally drunk, clears his throat dramatically while leaning away from Hobie, who is too drunk to even win against James who's currently holding him back. James laughs like a hyena in Hobie's ear, while Riri takes a picture of the chaos.

“Hey! Boo thang! Heart emoji.” Ned reads unabashedly, the girls laugh louder at Hobie's expense. “Just messaging you how you're doing, and also I love you so much!” Ned tries to copy your voice, “Like a lot—!” Hobie has had enough, cheeks hot (not from the alcohol) he uses his spider strength to push past James, then grabbing the phone so quickly that not even the owner processed what happened until he sees it in Hobie's hand. “You're no fun, mate.”

“Has anyone ever told you not to read someone else's messages?” Hobie hides the screen on his chest.

“It's my fucking phone!” Ned gestures wildly.

Hobie glares at his bassist, he peeks down at the bright screen, your name up top and caller ID smiling at him. He can't help but smile back.

He might be drunk, but he's not drunk enough to hallucinate you confessing your love to him. Via Ned's phone nonetheless.

He feels bodies crowd around him, Yuri's chin is pressed on his left shoulder while Ned on his right. Riri pushes James away to get a closer look at the screen while James settles to loom over everyone like some muscle-bound shield.

“What the fuck are you lot doin’?” Hobie asks, hands gripping the phone like it's about to be snatched from him.

“We're dying from anticipation here, bruv.” James says above everyone.

“‘Anticipation’, that's a big word, James.”

“Eat a bag of dicks, Yuri.”

“You first—”

“Would you all shut up?” Hobie hisses, eyes glued to the tiny dots at the bottom, indicating that you're currently typing.

“She's typing.” Riri whispers.

“We can all see that, Riri.” Ned whispers back.

Hobie shushes them both when the three dots disappear without a new message. His heart hammers at his chest, he feels like he's back in high school, way back when you could just smile at him and his day will be made better.

“Just tell her, mate.” Ned says a lot softer than Hobie thought he was capable. “We all know you love her, just bloody tell her because I'm gonna need my phone back to call a cab real fucking soon.” And he ruined it.

“D’you have a curfew, Neddy?” James asks teasingly, earning a scowl from Ned.

Ned rolls his eyes. “I'm just saying, she might appreciate it if you actually reply to it.”

“I think she's drunk.” Riri pipes up, everyone looks at her. She roams her eyes towards each of their faces. Rolling her eyes she points at the message. “Look, there's so many mistakes there and I've texted with Y/N before, she doesn't text like that.”

“What's wrong with texting with spelling mistakes? I do that.” James smiles.

“Because it's just you, you ding dong.” Yuri teases, and James fakes a deep frown.

“Being drunk doesn't mean she didn't mean the text. The alcohol might've just helped her send it.” Ned reassures Hobie.

“I did it.” Hobie half exclaims, bleary eyes repeatedly reading his text. I fucking did it, shit! He thinks to himself. Hobie's suddenly incredibly sweaty.

“Oh shit! That's my guy!” Ned punches Hobie's bicep. The rest look at him with bewilderment.

“What did you even say?” Riri scooches closer to read.

> I love you too I might be drunk right now but I wasn't when I first realized it I have loved you since you gave me hot chocolate when I was freezing my ass off trying to win that stupid selling contest

“Holy fuck.” Yuri pats Hobie's cheek. “Can't believe you're capable of being sweet.”

“Shit, bruv,” James sniffs, his tears falling on the screen. “that shit is awe inspiring— don't even start, Yuri”

“Wasn't gonna,” she shrugs.

Ned pokes Hobie's side when he realizes his friend hasn't moved an inch from his position. “You okay, Hobs?”

Hobie inhales shakily, a smile slowly spreading across his lips once your message pops up. He swears that fireworks suddenly lit up inside him.

“Oh my god—” Riri tears up, but before the rest of the band reads the message, Hobie jumps out of his seat, even forgetting his own jacket in the process.

“Hobie—shit! Wait!” Ned tries to call him back, but Hobie's already out of the pub, sprinting fast. “My fucking phone.” He could only scratch his head.

The wind nips at his bare arms, lungs heaving whilst he runs at full speed. He should've brought his web shooters with him, but he unfortunately left it in his jacket pockets. If he had them he'd be swinging to your place so he could get to you faster.

Hobie's glad that it's late, or else he'll be dodging people left and right. Boots thumping loudly across the pavement, hand gripping Ned's phone, getting closer to your familiar street, he curves around the corner, almost bumping into you.

He stops your momentum with his arms. He feels his own jacket against his arms, you wear his hoodie well. Your chest heaves, grin slowly appearing on your wind whipped lips.

“Hobie?” You ask and everything clicks together in his mind.

All the tentative touches you two shared, all the hugs that lingered a few seconds longer, all the times that you looked at him like he fished the moon out for you. And all the times he looked at you like you're made out of stars. It all comes together in that dusty street corner where you both have crossed a thousand times before.

“Looks like we had the same idea.” Hobie softly says, clammy hands sliding down to your own sweaty palms. He doesn't mind, it's you, so he would never mind it.

“I guess you read my message.” You hold him close, hands squeezing at his hands that you've mapped out in your mind.

He chuckles, sliding his hand out from yours to show you the screen. “‘Say it to me in person and I'll say it back,’ doesn't give me much leeway, love.” The streetlight above perfectly aligns above you, giving you both a spotlight.

You mirror his smitten smile. “What are you waiting for then?”

Hobie pockets the phone, then he holds your face gently, eyes staring at you like he always has. “I love you.”

You pull him closer by his collar. “I love you too, Hobie Brown.”

“Since when?” He rags you on.

You roll your eyes with a smile. “Ever since I got hit in the face with a basketball and you deflated it with your spiked bracelet and then called the jock who threw it a wanker.” He smiles wider at every word you utter. Leaning closer, he smells the wine on your lips. “The hot cocoa, really? That—” you fight the tears from flowing. “That was years before we became best friends.”

“And I've continued to love you since then, and will love you as long as you let me.” Hobie presses his forehead atop yours, a kiss would suffice better, but for now, he'll settle for this.

You know him better than you know yourself. “Save me a kiss once we're both sober?”

“They're all reserved for you, love.”

#request done #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #the kr8tor's creations #atsv x reader #atsv fluff #atsv fanfiction #x reader #hobie fluff #hobie brown x fem!reader #spider punk x fem!reader #hobie x reader #hobie brown x you #spider punk x you #cw drinking #fanfic

228 notes · View notes

onestepbackwards · 8 months

Text

Love That Bites Pt. 11

Hi! Here's part 11 to my Dracula x Reader series! I apologize for the huge delay, I've had a lot going on IRL, so I haven't has as much time/energy to write as I would have liked. Still, I hope you enjoy! I hope to have more happen in the next chapter as well, hopefully some action! Summary: Dracula finally manages to get things running somewhat smoothly, only to run into a snag when it comes to the potions he's had made for you. Thankfully, it isn't as big of a setback as it could be, so long as he can see you beginning to heal. During all of it, he begins to recognize some old feelings...

CW: Injury mention, death mention, brief description of injury, thoughts of murder,

Word Count: 6244 Words!

Like my work? Come support me here! Link Every little bit helps!

Likes and reblogs appreciated!

Tag List: @pumpkinvampie, @bethleeham, @mshope16, @sixsixtwenty, @haleypearce, @rvautomatic, @tinystarfishgalaxy, @marshmelloe, @maorizon, @ursamajor17, @sapphicsfordracula, @dame-sunflowers, @sleepyendymion, @starrlo0ver, @onewiththebeanbag First: Here! Last: Here! Next: Here! - - -

Dracula was beginning to wonder just how you had managed to survive so long on your own.

He wasn’t doubting your skills. In fact, Dracula could tell from a glance you were a powerful fighter, much like your ancestors had been. He wouldn’t be surprised if you were one of the strongest Belmonts yet.

No, he was concerned over how you seemed lacking when it came to taking care of yourself.

Sure, you had bandaged yourself on the way to his castle, and he was thankful you seemed to have some sort of survival instinct.

But he noticed you didn’t put in too much effort though in your own health overall.

It wasn’t just from how you came to his castle recently, but something he had noticed long before he had been freed.

After the first few times he saw you, it was clear to him. You would briefly mention your headaches, and your homelife, how you just ‘dealt’ with it.

You had mentioned to him in a joke how even though you had been sick at one point, you just pushed through it while sleeping in your car for a week.

He couldn’t ask you at the time why you did such things, being trapped in stone. Now, he felt it would be counterproductive to ask you. Not until you were comfortable around him.

But it was a horrifying thing you mentioned offhandedly while eating a sandwich, and you refused to elaborate. Why would you put yourself through that?

Add that to his mental list of reasons why he had to investigate your home life. If anything, that was blatantly unhealthy. How the hell was your immune system putting up such a fight on its own if that was how you handled being sick at your home?

How did you handle most injuries before you met him? A part of him really did not wish to find out, but he couldn’t help but feel the desire to know.

Dracula was at least thankful you mentioned a small cabin once. After you had mentioned it while he was stone, you realized what you had said, and were quick to try and change the subject. You had not meant to tell him about it, it seemed.

But he was thankful at least that you had a small place nearby to rest.

At one point throughout the day as he checked in on you, he briefly considered going to see this cabin, or sending a scout to see where it was. However, he dismissed this idea almost as soon as he had thought it.

You’d no doubt be upset if you found out he had done so, and he would be willing to bet you had traps all over the land leading up to your small sanctuary away from your home.

It was only logical to assume so. You had found his castle nearby your own property.

Something he didn’t fail to see irony in. Of course his castle would choose a place nearby a Belmont’s property.

Still, if it had been him in your situation, he would have placed traps on top of traps once finding out such a thing. Sending an underling was just asking for it to either be captured, destroyed, or injured. Or for such information to spread to less enthusiastic minions who were disgruntled about your stay here.

No doubt when you inevitably left, you would check the traps, or at least notice one out of place, if not finding a dead monster's remains on your land. Dracula couldn’t afford to have you lose trust in him just because he was curious.

Yes… Dracula would wait, and put his patience to the test. He’d try to get you to open up to him, and show him yourself.

You already were showing you didn’t detest him, something that was bringing an old warmth to his cold heart.

He’d even wager you opened up to him just a little earlier, when you had mentioned your injuries had been from something personal.

Sure, it wasn’t a large amount of information, but it was progress.

Now, he just had to keep this progress going forward, something Dracula knew was not going to be smooth sailing as he had hoped. There was already unrest in the castle, he could just feel it.

No one had said anything to him, but Dracula was more in tune with his castle and its magic than people gave him credit for. Every being here had energy that was woven with the castle’s in some way shape or form.

And people were anxious.

Some were restless, some were afraid. Many were irritated.

A Belmont being treated as a guest? He knew it would only be a matter of time before someone or something acted out.

Dracula just hoped it wouldn’t be at your expense. He could clean any other mess as need be, but he wouldn’t stand you being injured further.

Alas, he couldn’t act unless someone else acted out first, or he could see they were planning something that involved you. Dracula, loathe as he may to admit it, would only cause more unrest by acting too hastily.

That was fine though, he could bide his time.

The only thing that had him on edge was your current injuries. Or rather, he didn’t want you fighting with your injuries and making them worse, especially after your healing has been progressing nicely.

Speaking of which, You were healing incredibly quickly. If it wasn’t for your lineage, he would have guessed you had some sort of distant supernatural blood in your veins, such as vampirism.

Still, even though you were healing at an impressive rate, it still wasn’t enough. Your injuries by all means could have killed you, and they were still deep and fresh.

His fingers tapped on the wood of his desk in his study, concern no doubt etched clear on his features.

Those potions should be finished today, or at least the first batch of them. The stronger type usually required a longer amount of time to simmer for better healing effects. Time though, was not something he could afford, so a batch of the regular sort would have to do.

Of course, he’d have to thoroughly check them himself after his alchemists were finished. He had not explained who the potions were for when he had ordered it to be done, but now, there was no doubt in his mind the ones creating the potions knew it was for a hunter.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t even trust most of his underlings with this. Even his more trusted ones, he was going to be forced to keep an eye on.

The chances of his alchemists messing with your potions were low, but not impossible. Thankfully, he knew potions very well after studying them centuries ago. Dracula was confident he could catch any ‘unneeded’ ingredients that might slip in the finished batch.

However, he hated that he would have to check.

“How bothersome…” he mumbled as he pressed his face into the palm of one of his hands.

Looking for poison itself wasn’t the issue, it’s something he’ll gladly do. It was the fact this would mean it would take longer to get the potions to you that irritated him.

If the potions were tampered with, like he worried they might be, he’d probably have to make them himself. Something he would also do without pause, but again, he didn’t wish for you to stay injured any longer than necessary.

Dracula rubbed his eyes for a moment, wondering how he had grown so protective of you like a mother hen.

The last time he could remember fretting over someone, was whenever his late wife had gotten sick, or when his son fell ill once or twice.

Back before everything fell apart.

He sighed, feeling another migraine coming on. It wouldn’t do well to think of that now. The less distractions, the better.

At least one good thing came from this. You were receptive to him checking in on you. Dracula doubted you would trust any of his underlings to do it, or at least any of them bringing you meals.

Not without him there to supervise, it seemed.

It was small, but that amount of trust you had in him was a lot for the circumstances.

Dracula felt another sigh escape his lips, and he ignored the temptation to lay his head on his desk like a daydreaming school boy.

What were you doing to him? Had the Great Dracula really fallen for a Belmont?

His eyes widened slightly at his own thoughts.

Fallen? No. Though he detested the idea of admitting he had a schoolboy crush.

He could at least admit he felt fonder for you than some human teenager just figuring themselves out, thank you very much.

Deep down however, thinking about this unsettled him.

Dracula cared for you. He could admit that in his head whole heartedly. Somehow, the Little Belmont had wormed their way into his cold, dead heart without even trying.

But he feared to think about what that meant for him. His life. His future. Your future.

The trust between you two was rocky, but it was there. Could he really push to have you trust him more? Was that really a future he could hope for? Try for? To even care about?

Was it even worth it?

Dracula ran a hand through his hair, and debated summoning another glass of blood to sooth the migraine he could already feel forming in his temples.

Himself and your family had been doomed to fight for centuries. Would even trying to open up the possibilities of at least a friendship be very wise?

Looking from the outside, it seemed like something doomed to fail.

So why did he want to try?

His fingers began to thrum idly on the desk again.

The answer was still the same as before. It was you.

You were different. Different from most Belmonts.

Was wanting to bet on that difference really worth the possible pain? Heartbreak? Potential agony?

Vlad’s eyes drifted over to a portrait that hung in his private study. One depicting his precious Lisa.

Lisa had been worth it, even if his time with her had been so cruelly cut short. He knew her time with her would have been limited, as she had wanted to stay human. It was one of the things that had made her so precious.

One of the few things he regretted was not being there for her when she needed him most. Probably one of his biggest regrets, alongside not being next to Elisabetha when she passed back when he had been human.

So perhaps… This too, would be worth it.

He could not deny that this was a golden opportunity. If, by small chance, he could change fate…

Perhaps he would not have to suffer being killed once more, and this damned cycle between him and your family could finally break.

Dracula was no fool. He was sure this cycle affected your family just as much as it did him. Ever since Leon, almost every Belmont has had to learn to fight creatures of the night. Either to be a hunter, or to avoid simply being the prey.

No doubt not every Belmont liked this, and judging from the small glimpses of your home life he has seen, the Belmont clan seems to have fallen into disrepair.

There was a darkness in your eyes when you spoke about your home, one that had him worrying all over again.

That was something else he was going to have to focus on. Your life at home.

Given that your clan was full of vampire hunters, even if he did by chance get your home’s location, he doubted himself or any of his underlings would be able to get too close. Surveillance wouldn’t be an easy option, or most likely would not be an option at all.

Unless, of course, your family’s home and protections have also deteriorated. Perhaps getting close to the home wouldn’t be as big of an issue.

But alas, he wouldn’t risk most of his underlings finding your home like that. He has a few he trusts, sure, but he couldn’t in good faith let most of them know where you lived.

All it would take is one slip up, and your home would no doubt be swarmed. Even if it wasn’t monsters from his circles, it wouldn’t take much from other groups to learn and decide to exterminate you en masse.

Even if no one could penetrate your home’s defenses, it wouldn’t be hard to stage an ambush to have you assassinated the moment you left your property. Or anyone else that lived with you.

Dracula’s eyes narrowed at that thought. Oh, how that was tempting, just to see those who may have hurt you torn to shreds.

But he had to wait. He’d have vengeance for you one way or another.

Before he could contemplate who he had to murder, he heard a brisk knock at his door. Crimson eyes narrowed, and with his mask slipping back into place, he sat back in his chair.

“Enter.”

Large doors to his study creaked open, and one of the alchemists he had working on your potions stepped into the room. A young man who had answered the Castle’s magical call for power and safety.

The young man before him tried not to tremble under his gaze, barely making eye contact before looking at a different part of the room. Dracula had to hold back an annoyed sigh.

A shame those who could create potions were few and far between, leaving him with such a sniveling fool. At least he could get the job done, along with the few others he had working under him.

“Is the task I set for you and the others finished?” he asked, thrumming his fingers against the desk once again, a bored look on his face.

Swallowing nervously, the alchemist nodded, before remembering he needed to speak.

“Y-Yes, milord. The first batch of potions has finished, but…”

Dracula raised an eyebrow. He was already nearing the end of his patience.

“But?”

The young man flinched, and the vampire tried not to roll his eyes.

“I’m afraid, ah… this batch won’t be that potent, due t-to us having to rush…”

As if Dracula didn’t already anticipate that.

No matter though. What was important was getting you something to fend back the majority of your injuries. Even if it is just enough to help you fight infection and mend a few patches of skin, it was better than nothing.

“I’m aware of the effect of making potions on such short notice. Is that everything?”

For a split second, the alchemist’s heartbeat spiked, and he avoided looking at the Vampire Lord. Dracula forced his face to remain neutral.

How curious.

“That’s everything, sir.”

Almost immediately, the shadows in the room crawled forward, and the temperature dropped a noticeable amount.

Dracula stood up from his chair to his full height, and leaned over his desk. His claws dug into the wood, and his eyes grew black and red.

“Tell me, Alchemist, why are you lying to me?”

A squeak left the young man’s lips, and he physically shrunk in on himself. No one wanted to be on Dracula’s bad side.

“I don’t tolerate liars in my court.”

The Alchemist fell backwards onto the floor in a scramble, and shuffled backwards a few feet. The door magically shut behind him, and he looked as if he were to faint.

Dracula felt the air grow heavy around him, and the pathetic man in front of him began to pant and shake.

“Now, what is it you are hiding from me?”

The threat was clear as day. Should the young man in front of him lie, or do something foolish, he would not live to see tomorrow.

Swallowing thickly, the Alchemist shakily stood to his feet.

“I… As I was finishing up my batch of potions, I overheard a few of the witches talking.”

Dracula had the tension in the air lesson to a degree. The boy in front of him was willing to speak, so he may as well not make it too difficult, lest the coward faint.

Though he made sure his displeasure was apparent.

“Go on.” Eyes darted between him and other parts of the room, the Alchemist shrunk in on himself further before speaking.

“I… I overheard them talking about how they think the hunter has bewitched you. That the hunter is going to kill you, and everyone involved.”

Dracula wanted to scoff. Just mild gossip. He wasn’t surprised it was already making the rounds, though he’d have to keep an eye on it lest it fester into something unmanageable without conflict.

Rumors and resentment building would only cause unrest, and the less he had to deal with, the better.

“And just who were the witches who were discussing this?” The man swallowed. “I don’t know.” “So you didn’t think to get a look on who it might be?” He shook his head, fingers twitching idly.

“No sir. But…”

Dracula could feel the throbbing in his temples. Perhaps he should summon some wine…

“...The witches talked about wanting to do something before it was too late.”

Now that caught Dracula’s attention.

“They what?!”

The Alchemist winced, though straightened up a little now that Dracula’s ire wasn’t entirely directed at him.

“I-I have no evidence, nor was I able to follow them, but- I think some of them might be planning something, sir.”

The room’s temperature dropped further, and at the moment, the Alchemist felt like his soul left his body.

Dracula was well known for his fury.

How his anger was icy, yet his fury ran hot.

“Planning something?”

His voice was low, in a way that was like a growl. Like a predator readying to bite down on the neck of its prey. It was inviting, yet it had the survival instincts of anything around him screaming to run.

The wind picked up around the castle, and lightning began to strike across the clouded sky. The flashes of light only seemed to emphasize the anger on his face.

Briefly, The King of the Night hoped you weren’t bothered by the pick up of the storm. Surely you’d notice the change in atmosphere…

But that was something he could check in with you later.

“And do you happen to know just what they might be planning? Or which ones it even was?”

Dracula’s mind was beginning to work overtime. Which witches lingered near the Alchemy lab? He's going to have to do a sweep it seemed, and soon. At least Castlevania would give him some insight should he ask for it.

If some of his underlings were already conspiring against him…

The boy in front of him was eerily silent, and Dracula held back from snapping. Killing the fool wouldn’t solve any of his issues, especially as he needed him for now.

Then, a thought suddenly hit Dracula, and he sat back into his seat, his claws growing sharper.

“Boy, where is the finished batch of potions?”

The Alchemist froze for a moment, taken aback by the sudden question.

“Um… In the labs?”

Dracula’s eyes sharpened, almost glowing red.

“And is there anyone or anything protecting the finished batch of potions in the labs?”

“Ah…”

Running a hand across his face, Dracula fought the urge to kill something.

He was going to need that drink before visiting you.

—

Much to Dracula’s disappointment (and hidden fury), it was just as he had expected.

He had decided to check on the batch of the potion himself after that conversation, just to be sure it hadn’t been tampered with.

It was something he was already going to do, but now it was incredibly important to do so after hearing what the Alchemist had to say.

Just as he had feared, the main batch that had been left out had indeed been soiled.

The potion itself was a darker blue than it should have been, a first tell that something wasn’t quite right. Then there was the smell.

Potions already smelled a bit bland, with a hint of bitterness to them. However, he was able to catch the scent of something almost sour.

The texture itself was also a bit… thick. Closer to a cream rather than the liquid form it was supposed to have.

Dracula felt his brow twitch with thinly veiled disdain.

With a sigh, and barely hidden rage, he ended up banishing the whole batch. No point in taste testing when he could already smell the signs of tampering. The only thing he would be able to get out of a test would be what ingredients specifically had been added, but there was no point. Not when he already knew the results.

It seems he would have to keep a closer eye on things than he thought.

Even if the alchemists and potioneers he had working on this were as trustworthy as they could get, it seemed that there was only so much he could do before the rats began to poke their noses where they didn't belong.

As much as he hated to section off parts of the lab, it seems he would have to until you were healed, or he found all the idiots involved who dared try and pull a fast one on him.

Thankfully however, not everything was lost.

Dracula was thankful that moment for employing several alchemists to the lab for different batches of potions. He could just take from those, since they would have a similar effect.

The other alchemists were to keep working on different batches of potions, so he could have stronger ones brewing while the first batch was finished. This meant there would be less powerful ones, sure, but he would simply have more made.

What mattered was getting this first batch to you.

You may be healing relatively quickly and well, but he was quickly growing to dislike seeing you injured.

The shadows under your eyes, and how sunken in your face looked, added to your winces of pain… He hoped that he could help with that by taking care of your wounds.

It would be a long journey, he was sure. No doubt it would take more than just healing your injuries to actually have you looked… alive.

That was what had his cold, undead heart beating worriedly in his chest.

You didn’t look like you were living.

Sure, your blood pumped, your heart still beats, but you didn’t have a happy light in your eyes. Dracula could mistake you for one of his minions with how those eyes alone looked.

He was thankful though, seeing a spark in them. It was subtle, and only showed up on occasion.

However, he found himself yearning to protect it.

Ha. Him. Lord of the Night. King of all Vampires, wanting to protect his own supposed enemy. Even more so, with such… feelings developing.

Dracula still wasn’t sure whether to find it amusing, or pitiful.

The beast in his mind that he had embraced so long ago surprisingly didn’t fight him on it. At first, it had called him pathetic the first time he found himself wanting to help you.

But that same beast had quickly done a 180, quickly growing to respect you much like his logical side had.

And oh, how it had quickly grown protective.

Dracula felt his lips almost twitch upward at the thought, feeling the very same protectiveness stir in his soul as he approached your door.

He gave a brisk knock at the door, casting a brief glance to the living armors he had stationed near your room. Stone still as always.

After a brief moment, he heard your voice, telling him to come in.

Carefully he opened the door, and it was as if a weight was lifted off his chest just seeing you. The way you subtly perked up when seeing him, sitting up in your bed…

He tried not to let his pride get to him, how it was him that you were sitting up for.

‘One step at a time, Vlad.’

The scent of your blood though soon quickly caught his nose, and he felt himself stand straighter as he walked quickly to your side.

“Your injuries… did one re-open?” He was quick to ask, internally scolding himself when he felt the urge to have a taste.

For a Belmont, your blood was still such an intoxicating scent…

Sheepishly, you looked away from him after he arrived at your side.

“Ah… I fell on the way to the restroom. I accidentally pulled some stitches open, but I got the wound under control.”

If he had been a human, he would have sworn you were trying to give him a heart attack at this rate. How was it you were such a trouble magnet?

Gently, he leaned over you, his hands hovering over where your shirt was. Underneath, he could already smell the irritated wound and fresh blood.

His eyes met your own.

“May I?” He asked, desiring to see how bad it had gotten. His voice was soft and tender, not wishing to push you or make you uncomfortable.

You froze for a moment, and a glimmer of emotion passed in your eyes. However, it left as quick as it came, and you carefully pulled your arms up to give him access.

Even now, Dracula was still incredibly impressed with the trust you were giving him. If this had been any of your ancestors, or any hunter, really, he would no doubt be in a fight.

Gently, his cool hands brushed against your warm skin as he lifted your shirt upwards to see the bandaged wound. He pointedly ignored the shiver you have, no doubt his cold hands most likely the cause.

At least, that’s what he told himself, also ignoring how you tensed slightly. Or how he heard your pulse pick up as he got closer.

It was not the time to let his mind wander and theorize.

Dracula would give you credit, though. Your pain tolerance wasn’t anything to scoff at, and you were taking everything in stride, even now.

He removed the bandages with a gentle ease, and immediately internally stomped down the sudden hunger he felt.

The fresh scent of your blood still somehow managed to drive him crazy, even when he wasn’t starving.

To think he’d find a Belmont’s blood so appealing?

It took a bit of his will power to calm himself, before continuing to look at the wound. Pursing his lips, he let out a hum.

His hands held your midsection still as he observed the new damage, ignoring your sharp intake of air.

“Apologies…” He mumbled, knowing full and well his hands were most likely even colder the closer they were to your feverish flesh.

“No worries…” You breathed, your voice small. His eyes flickered up to your face, and your own were wide as you watched him. Still vigilant, even now. Cute.

Eyes back on your wound, he felt a bit of relief. Thankfully you hadn’t torn open as many stitches as he had feared, and you had cleaned the wound up well.

It seems getting rest and meals was helping you both physically, and mentally. You weren’t hanging on a thread, wrapping wounds with little regard to your life now.

Really, he shouldn’t be surprised. Even if he was worried about how you thought of yourself and your health in general, you of all people would know how to properly wrap a wound when in good conditions to do so.

After a moment, he pressed the bandages back onto your injury, and stepped back.

“Despite several stitches being pulled, it could have been worse.”

You pull your shirt down, and smile sheepishly.

“That’s good. It didn’t look too bad, but I’m glad you agree.” You spoke, rubbing the back of your neck a bit nervously.

It seemed you were still on edge, though he didn’t mind too much.

He looked you over for a moment as you fixed your shirt. You really were looking better than when you first arrived. Even from when he saw you this morning, you seemed to be improving.

At least, he was definitely thankful you no longer looked like you were dead on your feet.

Clearing his throat for a moment, he nearly smirked at how you almost jumped. Most would have missed how your muscles tensed, though he decided to count the fact he wasn’t outright scaring you a plus.

“I have something for you.”

Immediately your interest was piqued.

How you subtly leaned towards him and tilted your head, you were curious.

“You do?”

He stepped back for a moment, before holding out his hand. In a flash of smoke and light, a bottle appeared in his hand.

As he held it out to you, your eyes widened as you gently took it from his grip.

“A potion? You really made some?”

Dracula crossed his arms a bit in pride as you looked over the bottle.

“Of course. You’ll find I am not fond of breaking promises, or going back on my word.”

You took a moment to look over the bottle you now held in your hands, almost disbelieving. Dracula felt a pang of something in his heart. Pity? Worry? He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t like how astounded you looked over the fact he would get you some basic potions.

“I do apologize in advance. Due to the fact your injuries were severe, I had this made as fast as possible. It won’t heal you completely, but it should heal the worst of your wounds.”

For a moment, you were silent, clearly thinking.

“If you are worried about it being poisoned-” he began, but you raised a hand to cut him off.

“No! No, it’s fine. Sorry. I trust it isn’t poisoned.” You spoke. After another moment, you pulled the cork off the bottle, and debated if you should take a sip.

“However, I do wish to warn you about something.” Dracula said, speaking before you could drink it. He may as well tell you now, before you take a drink. No doubt you’d be upset if he told you after.

You froze, looking at him expectantly.

“Yes…?”

Dracula let out a frustrated sigh, a hand coming up to his forehead just thinking about it.

“Someone has tried to tamper with one of the batches of potions I have commissioned to be made.”

Your eyes widened, flickering to the potion, but he held up a hand to try and calm you before you could panic.

“I tossed that batch out after testing it myself. I can assure you the potion you hold in your hand has been deemed clean by myself personally. That one you hold in your hand was not supposed to go to you today. It was a batch that was supposed to simmer for a few more days.”

“To become a stronger batch…” You murmured, and Dracula felt a small twinge of pride. He supposes it shouldn’t be a surprise you would know such things, given how often you probably used potions in general.

“So… Someone wanted me dead…?” You asked, still eyeing the bottle critically. Dracula’s face turned a bit more sour.

“Unfortunately so. I will not lie to you, having you as my guest has… ruffled some feathers. I’m currently investigating those I believe tried to lace the potion with poison.”

Bright eyes flickered to him, and he caught that look, one of near disbelief.

“Why? I don’t particularly blame them, I’m a hunter, after all…” You murmured once again, eyes glancing back to the bottle.

“Because you are my guest. I will not tolerate those who wish to go against my orders, and attempt to kill the company I deemed worthy to keep.”

Dracula wondered if you weren’t used to such thoughts, with the way he saw emotions flicker across your face, gone as quick as they came.

Summoning a chair from the side of the room, he sat down, placing his elbows on his knees as he rested his chin over his clasped hands.

“If you don’t wish to drink that potion, I will not force you. It will just take a longer period for you to fully recover. I will not blame you for doing so.”

After all, he just admitted someone tried to use a different batch to kill you. He wouldn’t blame you for being careful.

You seemed to think for a moment, and Dracula decided to keep speaking as you thought about it.

“I also wish to officially inform you that unrest is beginning to stir in the castle. However,” Dracula began, taking in your expression of slight alarm, “I once again wish to reiterate something. You are allowed to protect yourself. I will not vilify you if you defend yourself from an attack.”

It was the truth. He had means to see if it was self defense, or a planned attack. He doubted you would attack unprompted.

You look at him a bit confused.

“But… How would you know it was self defense? The monsters who want me dead could just lie as a group, right?”

Dracula felt the corners of his lips twitch upwards. You had clearly been thinking about this, though he could tell it was something that must have weighed on your mind.

Not so much you thinking you could get away with attacking his subordinate, rather, you were worried about being attacked and thinking ahead.

He felt his lips curl into a small, amused smirk.

“I have my ways of figuring out what happens throughout my castle without being present.”

It was through his close connection with Castlevania, really.

Thanks to his connection, he was able to loosely figure out just who had tampered with your potions. Needless to say, it wasn’t hard to get the two witches to admit it, with how weak willed they were.

His castle was now a few witches less. Not that it mattered.

It wasn’t all of them, he was sure. Dracula still had a bit of investigating to do. The two he disposed of were just the ones who admitted to it, and Dracula could tell more were involved. No doubt he would be busy later looking further into the matter.

Some certainly weren’t happy with him, but alas, that was what happened when you attempted to hurt those he was protecting.

You seemed a bit skeptical, or perhaps curious?

“Um… Is it through the power of Chaos you can?”

As soon as you asked it, a worried look appeared on your face.

“Uh, if that isn’t too personal of a question, I mean…?”

He almost wanted to laugh. You were trying to be respectful, unsure if that was too much information to ask for.

“Trying to figure out a way to one up your enemy, hm?” He asked, though his lips ticked upwards in a full grin, clearly teasing you. Dracula could tell that wasn’t what you meant.

“No! That’s not what I-! I didn’t- fuck, I mean-”

It was adorable how you sputtered, and tried to catch your words to apologize.

“Relax, I’m only teasing you. Yes, it’s partially through the power of Chaos. Though Castlevania itself is bound to my very soul. Not much gets past me, should the castle alert me about it.”

You instantly relaxed at his words, and seemed to perk up in interest.

Once again, your eyes flickered to the bottle in your hand.

“Is that how you found out the last potion was poisoned?”

Dracula hummed, leaning back in the chair.

“No. One of my Alchemists alerted me to the fact several witches were discussing how they were… unhappy about your presence. I decided to check on the potion early, even if it was finished. I simply had my castle assist me in finding out who had done it.”

Silence filled the room once more. It seemed you were unsure what you wanted to say next.

After a beat passed, you looked back at him.

“Thank you, then. For checking. And for giving this to me.”

Your voice was soft, as was your smile.

If Dracula still breathed, he just knows his breath would have caught in his throat.

That was a smile that was worth protecting.

After you thanked him, you brought the bottle to your lips, and began to drink down the potion.

The effect was almost immediate. Even if he couldn’t see most of your wounds, he could see how you changed.

You no longer favored one side, leaning oddly to the left. Nor did you hold your arm as close as before. In fact, your body seemed to relax even further, now that the worst of the injuries were finally repairing from the magic treatment.

When you finished the drink, you pulled the bottle away from your lips, a disgusted look on your face presumably due to the taste. You coughed for a moment, and shook your head a bit.

After gathering your bearings, you then looked back up to Dracula, and truly smiled.

For once, you looked happy. You looked alive.

Yes, Dracula thought. Pursuing a future where you two don’t have to fight, would be one worth aiming for, just to see you smile once more.

#castlevania #dracula #castlevania dracula #vlad dracula tepes #dracula x reader #castlevania x reader #vlad dracula țepeș #x reader #reader insert #Belmont!reader #love that bites #long post #zed.writes

228 notes · View notes

covencupid · 2 years

Text

I Want You (The Cabin Story) : Chapter Two

Y'all I'm sorry for the delay! I rarely get a three-day weekend, so I was stoned and shlumped the whole time. Really, I do my best work (writing) while I'm supposed to actually be working (employment). I'm also realizing I maybe took too fat a rip before work. It's ok I work from home. :)

Danny's had his eye on you. He's been finding himself enjoying the times he interacts with you a little too much. He's got to get you out of his system. A little house call. Once that's done it'll be easier for him to go for the kill. Right?

Pairing: Danny Johnson X Fem!Reader. Use of gendered language.

TW/CW: The usual (stalking, manipulation, threats of violence, actual violence) gore, descriptions of torture, corpses, and murder. Psychological horror, child murder (imma need you to hold your judgement on this one, it's not what you think, but it's also not good), hallucinations, descriptions of visual hallucinations.

Tags will be updated as needed, but to be honest I kinda forgot what I put in this.

When I said you just kinda roll with being kidnapped, this is what I meant.

Your Place // The Cabin // The Woods

~I Want You~

~Chapter Two: The Cabin~

When you awoke you became aware of the restraints at your wrists and ankles at the same time that you noted that you were in a very different room. Your feet were bound at the ankles and your hands were tied behind your back. Your bed had turned into what was easily a California King. It felt like an island in the dimly lit room. A soft, dark green comforter made your awkward position a little more comfortable. You rolled over onto your side to survey the rest of the room. You could make out a dresser on the far wall with a mirror above it. To your left there was a writing desk stacked with books, journals and loose paper. There was a window to the left of the desk and on the other side of it, meeting the corner wall, was a low bookshelf near the bed. You could see a book that had been plucked from the shelf sitting on top next to a little figure of a rabbit, carved from wood. You tried to glean as much detail of the small sculpture as you could in the low light. You must've been looking so intently, so reverently that you hadn't noticed him come into the room until he spoke.

"You like that one huh?" Your head whipped around so fast you flopped on your back. The Ghostface creeped forward, giving a short little exhale through his nose as he picked up the rabbit carving. He turned to lean over you, wiggling the figure in your face. "Ya know, there's a story there, but it wouldn't play well with your little bunny sensibilities." You didn't have a chance to raise a question before he popped it on the nightstand and jumped into bed, causing you to wobble around a bit until he grabbed you by the waist to face him. He was leaning on his side, propped up by his elbow. "Well, how do you like the place?" He sounded excited and that made you very nervous.

"I- it's nice, it's a nice room. Where are we?" You wanted to be home. You wanted to be anywhere that assured your safety and into the lion's den is decidedly not so.

"We are in my cabin. Our little love shack, if you will."

You blinked at him. "What? When can I go home?"

Baby there is no “going home”, but you can think of this as one until your final home in the ground. “Where’s the fun in putting limits to our time here? Let’s just let this play out.” He booped your nose.

“Are you going to leave me tied up the whole time?” You wiggled around to emphasize your restraints.

“Come on, babe. Give me some credit, but I need to be sure you won’t run before I start being a gentleman.”

You begin to plead your case immediately. “I won’t run, I promise. I’ll stay here. I promise I won’t go anywhere you don’t tell me to, I swear. I’ll do what you want, please.” Being bound in front of him, you felt far more vulnerable than in his grasp. Being in his hand felt oddly reassuring. Being presented before him felt distant, like a specimen on a slab. You could feel the tears building up. You looked at him like he was the god of your tiny life, in a way he was. Looking at him like that, it imbued a sense of power into Danny that was so unlike the power he held right before snuffing out a life. You handed him a loaded gun.

The girl delivered her promises with more veneration than others had recited prayers at his feet before their final moments. Her eyes were wide with fear and maybe a little bit of hope. He’d love to see those pupils get blown out as he fucks into her. Watch as her gaze locks onto his, as she recites her pretty promises to him. He would untie her, but he can’t have her thinking she can just bat her eyelashes and tell him what he wants to hear for her to get her way. He reached his hand out to stroke her hair, his thumb reaching down to wipe tears on her cheek.

“Don’t feed me any promises you don’t plan to keep.” He gripped the back of her head shoved it back down onto the bed. “I’ll untie you.” He gave her shoulder a shove so that she was flat on her belly. He straddled her, sitting on her legs. One hand ran up and down the length of her arms while the other pulled the hunting knife from its sheath. “But not because you asked, though I’m still gonna hold you to your word.” He sliced through the ropes at her wrists like butter. Her arms sprung out to her side as a sigh escaped her lips. His mind danced back to those lips on his. His hand grazed her back as it made its way up her neck into her hair. His fingers spread out across her head in a way that must’ve felt nice to her because she let out a small moan she tried to hide in the mattress. I’ll have more of that in time.

His fingers tangled up in your hair made your skin prick up and sent little tingles up your spine. Before you could even express any gratitude towards your captor for freeing your wrists, white hot pain seared across your scalp as his fist yanked your head up by your hair. You felt the cool metal of his blade on your neck. His warm breath was in your ear.

“I untie you because I want to, I keep you alive because I want to. You are here at my pleasure and I will not hesitate to let my hand slip if you go back on the promises you swore to me.” His tone was as harsh as his grip. He jerked her head back a bit to punctuate his last remark, “Understood?” Your eyes tried to find him in your periphery.

“Yes, I understand. I Understand.” you gasped out. Satisfied, he pulled the knife back and let your face drop onto the mattress. You yelped and went to prop yourself up by your arms when you felt him tug you down to the foot of the bed. He was dragging you by the rope that bound your ankles. “Ow, hey!” You flipped over to face him, your expression miffed.

“Oh sorry, baby. I can leave these be if you prefer?” He tapped at the ropes playfully.

“What, no! You pulled me so hard, I’ll get friction burn.” He laughed, actually threw his head back and laughed.

“You know you’ve really got your priorities screwed up, but it works for me.” He slit the ropes off so fast. The speed of his movement unnerved you, but he was moving up the hand that held your leg before you could think. He was letting your newly freed legs spread enough to let him fit comfortably between you. He was hovering over you and looking down at you like starved dog would a juicy steak. “Sorry baby, let me apologize.”

It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. You released a breath you didn't know you were holding. You had gone from annoyed to flustered at breakneck speed. When your eyes locked with the black holes of the mask you felt your head go fuzzy and your veins run cold. You had always felt that you had some preternatural awareness for what people wanted from you. Yet, trapped underneath him, you still didn't know. You thought he wanted to hurt you, but his hand slowly trailing up your skin made you think otherwise. But he threatened you! You felt the sting of his grip on your head echoing in your memory. Could be that same hand making languid strides up your side. How can the same hand touch you so tenderly after such harsh treatment.

"I don't know what you want from me." You blurted the words out before you could stop yourself. He pulled back for a bit, his hand went up to stroke your cheek. It took everything within you not to lean into his incredibly warm touch. You hadn't even noticed when he took off his gloves. His hand dipped to gently hold your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"I just wanna get to know you, have you get to know me." His tone was cheeky, like he was playing a game he didn't explain the rules for. "How can I get to know you when I don't even know what you look like, I don't even know your name just what everyone calls you."

He let out a little chuckle and bid you to continue "...and that is?" Saying it out loud felt like an entirely different hurdle. You couldn't, it would make it real. Too real, that you are trapped in a cabin with him somewhere you didn't even know. You swallowed when you felt his grip on your chin tighten. "Say it." He was firm. No room for arguments.

"Ghostface"

Danny was stalling. Though he did like hearing how the words came out a breathy whisper. He wants her to know his name, to say it over and over until it's the only word she knows. He was debating whether to gamble his luck with her. Letting her know these things shifted the power in to her hands. She could run, she could tell anyone she could all about him. What could she say? Realistically, where could she go? She'd wander the woods for miles before she'd ever encounter another person. She's not exactly a survivalist. She wouldn't last. She needs me to stay alive. He tried to weigh the risks rationally, but his growing lust for the soft creature he had caught in his trap made it all the more difficult. He could tell her his name. Not much that cops can do with "Danny." There it was again, the doe-eyed expression.

"My name is Danny. Good for you to know what you're gonna be screaming out later." She looked at him like he dropped a dead rat at her feet.

"What- I'm not- why would I?" Her features twisted into something resembling disgust but without the true repulsion behind it.

Hmm maybe I like it when you play dumb. He inched down so that the tip of her nose touched the mask. He wanted the barrier between them gone. He wanted to feel her skin on his, to lock eyes with her while he touched her and see her face change with pleasure. But if he takes it off it seals her fate, there will be no hope for her outside his grasp. If she knows his face, she can never leave this place. She could never leave him. She'd have to stay here, with him, or else she'd have to die. Can't have anyone knowing his identity. It's merciful, really. A good deed. Keeping the girl alive. She should be grateful. Feeling his resolve break, he tore off the mask. Seeing her clearly like this only solidified his plan.

"I can show you exactly what I mean." His lips crashed into hers. She can never leave.

He didn’t let you think, he never let you think. He just did as he wished, took you where he wanted to, held you how he wanted to. The taste of his mouth, almost bitter, like dark chocolate. It made your head swim. You already felt unsteady and now you are scrambling to hold on to anything to make you feel grounded. The only place you found that stability was against the chest of the man that held you in place. Your hands grabbed onto the soft fabric of his black hoodie. His hands were in your hair again, but this time holding you tenderly, gently weaving out his hands from your locks to avoid tangling. One hand reached down to your neck and gave it a light squeeze. You couldn’t help the little moan you made into his lips. It fueled him further. You felt his other hand reach down between your thighs. You closed tried to close them out of instinct, but you only tightened the grip your legs had on him. You pushed at his chest.

“No-wait.” You took a moment to catch your breath. Being able to actually get a look at him now you felt even more flustered. In a way, you can expected him to be ugly. A face worth hiding. Instead you found yourself avoiding those dark, sleepy eyes that felt like they saw right through you. He was handsome in a slightly rugged way. His hair was black and cropped shirt, but you could see the hints of a curl to his hair. He licked his lips. He wore an impish little smile. You could see a scar on his bottom lip and another splitting the end of one eyebrow. They looked old. He had light stubble about this jaw. You wondered what he would look like with a full beard. How it would be like to kiss him with it.

“You know I won’t tell anyone you put out on the first date. It’ll be our little secret.” He gave you a wink. You wanted to strangle him again.

Danny enjoyed every second he watched her struggling to form words. It was so easy to work her up.

“No that’s- I’m not- First of all I don’t.” She looked downright offended.

“Why not, I do.” Danny interjected. He savored how she blushed in response.

“Well congrats, but I’m not just going to let you fuck me when I don’t know the first thing about you other than that you are very wanted by police.”

Oh, she wants a connection first. How cute. “So I tell you my favorite color and then you let me see if it matches your panties?”

The girl huffed. “Nice try. Are you from here?”

Danny let out a hearty laugh. “Be a little less obvious with your detective work, babe. What do you want my mom’s maiden name too?” The girl gripped the hem of her shorts.

“No, that’s not what I meant. I just-” tears threatened to spill from her eyes. “I mean fuck! Can you blame me for wanting to get to know the man that wants to fuck me?” The tears began to flow freely, at first slowly falling down her cheeks until they turned in small sobs. Fuck. This isn’t what Danny wanted. He wanted her screaming and crying, but from the sheer bliss of being fucked to stupidity, not from a lack of connection with her captor. Fix it, fucker. Danny scooted closer to her on the bed where she had shrunk into herself.

“Hey, hey. Baby, come here.” He pulled her into his lap and held her head close to his chest. He tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear as he cooed into her ear. “Ya know this was my grandpa’s cabin first. My mom’s dad. She would bring me here in the summer to visit. He taught me about woodcarving the last summer I came to visit. I spent my summer learning how to carve out that little bunny.” And when I came home and showed my old man what I learned he told me he would show me “the only right way to carve a rabbit” and dragged me out into the woods. Just me and him, he had looked down at me and told me he was going to show me how to build a trap. When the scared little thing fell into one of my newly built traps he handed me his knife. He talked me through it. He didn’t like the sloppy job I did with the first one so he made me do it again “until I can see the confidence in your cut”. It was four in the morning until he was satisfied.

The girl sniffed. “Have you made others?”

“I never really picked it back up.” Always had something else to carve. She blinked at him and turned to look at the bunny carving on the nightstand.

“But it’s good! And you did that as a kid?” Danny reached over to pick up the bunny and pass it to her. Her eyes lit up. She turned it around in her hands as she admired his work.

“Yeah, heh. Not exactly a masterpiece-”

She cut him off, “What no! It’s really good, I know I couldn’t even do this as an adult.” She was smiling, it made his heart rise in his throat. He wanted to elicit more smiles from her. He wanted, more than for her to feel better, to be the reason she felt good. Holding her in his lap, he could smell her hair. A mix of cherry scented shampoo and her own scent. It was intoxicating. He want to breathe all of her in, to fall asleep with that sweet scent tucked under his chin.

“I could show you how. I think. I could show you the basics.” Her whole face lit up like Christmas.

“Really? To make a bunny?” He let out a small chuckle.

“A bunny for a bunny. We can start tomorrow.” She gave him a look. He couldn’t decipher it until she kissed him. It tasted sweeter than ever before.

Maybe this was the beginnings of insanity. You had to be losing it. You had always heard of instinct kicking in just in time for people to react in life threatening situations. You doubted the capabilities of your ancestors if your instinct was to kiss your captor. But you didn’t feel threatened, not anymore at least. Being in his arms was comforting. It unnerved you how easily you fell into them. How soothing you found his touch. It felt right. He didn’t hesitate to kiss you back. You reached back to place the bunny on the nightstand without breaking the kiss. Your arms wrapped around his neck as his hands held your waist. One hand went up into his hair. You were growing to like the taste of his mouth, maybe he smoked. Your legs spread at either side of his lap. As you leaned into the kiss you felt him react to your touch. He was getting hard. No doubt ready to continue what he had started. It felt so wrong before, but now? Even though you thought you were going against all logic, it just felt so right. Maybe you wanted him to go further. You felt his hand come up your sides. You wanted him to reach up your shirt. Instead, he got you by your shoulders and gently pushed you back.

“You should sleep. It’s been a long night. I’ll bring you water.” Before you could protest he got off the bed and left the room, leaving you hot and bothered alone. When he came back with a glass of water you tried to make eye contact with him. You wanted to talk to him, to apologize for whatever way you overstepped. You started to speak but he cut you off, “Rest up, we got a date tomorrow.”

You awoke to him, Danny, bringing in bags of clothes, your clothes. "What are you doing?" You rubbed the sleep from your eyes as you pulled yourself out of bed.

"I want you to wear something nice, but I wasn't about to chauffer you back and forth to let you get ready. There's a bag in there with your bathroom stuff. Makeup, soaps, perfume, stuff."

You walked over to him and sat down by the bags, rummaging through their contents. "Where? You just dumped them into a garbage bag?" It would've been a thoughtful gesture, but your things had been transported like he was evacuating for a hurricane.

"Oh I'm sorry, princess. I should've taken my time, packed 'em with care, maybe say hi to your neighbors while I load up your precious cargo?" You shot him a look. You were annoyed at him, but in the end grateful. He's bringing you your things. He's not planning on killing you anytime soon. You are still alive, and you were grateful.

The little miffed expression she put on gave way to a soft look in her eyes. "Thank you. I really do appreciate it."

Danny gave her a little smirk. "Yeah well, you can thank me later." He winked which caused a slight blush to rise in her cheeks.

"What are we going to do anyway?"

Eager aren't we. "I'm not ruining the surprise, sweet cheeks. Have a little patience, pick out a nice dress." Danny went for the door. "Breakfast is ready."

She looked surprised. "There's a kitchen?" Danny raised an eyebrow at her.

"This isn't a shack, babe. You don't have to shit in the woods either."

She scoffed, "Well how was I supposed to know? I haven't left this room." Danny opened the bedroom door with a flourish and extended his hand out graciously, inviting her to take it.

"Then let me give you the grand tour." Her face lit up. She hurried to her feet to take his hand.

"Oh, why thank you, sir." Oh? I think I like that. Sir.

You wrapped your arm around his upper arm as he guided you through the rest of the moderately sized cabin. It had no frills. Aside from the bedroom and the small bathroom connected to it, the rest of the cabin was laid out in a single room, an open floorplan. There was a small kitchenette on the far wall, the back door sitting next to it. There was a little breakfast nook in the upper left corner of the room. The sunlight peeking through made the scene look dreamy. There was an old, worn-in couch by the front door, facing the breakfast nook. A large bookshelf sat perpendicular to the couch. It was filled to the brim and stacked in the gaps between the shelves and the books as well. A dark rug pulling together the cozy little spot. There was not much else in terms of decoration. A few gardening tools hung near the back door. A simple coat rack stood by the front. Danny walked a bit ahead of you to stand in the center of the room. He extended his arms out at his sides, a showman.

"Well, this is it. What'd ya think?"

Danny didn't expect her to look so impressed. He might as well had shown her the Taj Mahal.

"Wow. You know, I've never been in a cabin. But they always looked so cozy. You said your grandpa lived here?" She walked right by him to his bookshelf, tilting her head as she eyed the titles.

"Yeah, he was a bit of a hermit, hated most people except for my mom and me." She was looking at him now.

"What about your dad?" Danny wanted to talk about something else now.

"They didn't really mesh." Danny remembered begging his mother to let him stay past the summer. "No, Danny you have to go back to school." his mother had reminded him, dragging him back to the car. If he couldn't get her to see reason he could make it as difficult as possible for her to get him in the car. He made himself go dead weight. "I don't wanna go! I don't need to go to school, poppy said he learned at home and not school!" His mother looked exasperated at the sky. "Poppy is from a different time. He learned at home because his parents were very strict." Danny pouted up at her. "Dad is very strict, so I should learn here." He kicked at the ground while his mother tried to hoist him up. "Daniel. Enough." Danny's mother sat at his level. "Sweetie please, if we're late back your father will want to know why." She didn't need to say more. Danny peeled himself off the ground with a groan. His mother brushed the leaves from his back. He hated having to leave. He didn't know it yet, but it would be the last time he was allowed to visit poppy's cabin. Last time he'd see it again until he learned that he had passed and left the cabin to him the year he turned nineteen.

You felt the air had shifted in the room. The change was almost imperceptible, but you noticed the way his jaw tightened ever so slightly. He was there with you, a tight smile on his lips, and he was somewhere unreachable. Unaware, you granted him mercy.

"So when did you make it your own?" He snapped back into reality. Back to you.

"Not until I came back from the military. Only place to come back to really. No rent so, it was just convenient." This took you by surprise.

"You were in the military? How long?"

He sucked in his teeth a bit, "A stint after high school. Paid for college." You eyed him, squinting.

"So where are your dog tags? Don't you get those?" Danny exhaled sharply through his nose.

"They're somewhere, not here. Not about to traipse around with a chain that has my government name. That'd be a goldmine for detectives." You rolled your eyes.

"So you never wear them." He looked at you with a cocked eyebrow.

"No. I don't. But it seems like you're real interested in them, so if you wanna see them dangle on your tits when we fuck, I can make an exception." You slapped his arm playfully.

"That is not why I was asking. I just thought they were a big deal." Danny went to get the percolator off the stove.

"Not for a man like me." He looked at you again, a devilish smile playing on his lips.

After your breakfast, Danny showed you the back of the cabin. A patch of worn out ground made a small back patio. Danny sat you on a log stool.

"Ok wait here, I'll be right back." He hadn't told you why he wanted to show you the outside. You had figured, being captive and all, the outside wouldn't be a feature he'd like to advertise. You heard his bootsteps getting further away. You heard the sound of something heavy. Your head whipped around. He didn't say not to look. He was setting a short log onto another considerably large one. He was holding an axe. In a flash, he struck down, splitting the log with a small grunt. You saw the muscles in his arm tense. They were soft, almost hidden, built over the grueling physical labor of his work, his true profession. He lazily discarded one half to the side. The ease of his movements made your insides flutter. The off white crew neck shirt he wore fit snug, tucked into his black pants. He split a half even further vertically and then once again horizontally. Sensing an audience he cocked his head to you and gave you a cheeky grin. He plucked the last two pieces in his hand, giving them a wiggle out to you. He swiped the rest of the pieces off the large log with his axe before burying the blade into the wood. He sauntered over to you.

"Enjoyed the show, did ya?" He tossed one half to you. You catch it awkwardly midair.

"I wasn't looking- like that. And anyway, you didn't say I couldn't!" You could feel the heat creeping up your neck.

"Sounding a little defensive there. Don't ya think, bunny?" You scoffed, too hard you were realizing.

"I'm not defensive! I can't be defensive, there's nothing to be defensive about." You felt stung with shame.

"Hey, I'm not trying to make you feel guilty about liking what you see." He winked.

"Ok, well if this is what your lessons are going to be like, I'll pass." You went up to leave, but his hand gripped your shoulder. It wasn't harsh, but it was unshakable.

"Wait." You stared at your shoes. You couldn't meet his eyes. He tipped up your chin. "C'mon baby, I'm just teasin'."

Just show her how to work the knife. Danny pulled a small folding knife from his pocket and presented it to the girl. She just stared at it before he made mocking little growling noise while crawling the knife through the air towards her. She looked appalled up at him. He snickered.

“Oh come on. It’s not gonna bite you.” Her hand reached up timidly to pick up the knife. She held it elegantly, but unsure. Danny grabbed the knife by the blade and pulled it out of her hand in a blink of a moment. “I shouldn’t be able to do that.” Danny said flatly at her. He exhaled sharply, pointing the handle out to her. She grabbed the knife, but he held onto the blade when she tried to pull it back. She pulled a little harder, he held a little tighter. The knife hung suspended, unmoving. “That’s the grip I want you to have.” He remarked before letting go. She wordlessly adjusted her grip. Better. “Alright,” he pulled his own small knife from his pocket, “hold the wood you carve with the same grip. You slip, you slice a finger, my first aid does the best it can.” Her eyes went wide again. “Babe, you’re working with knives, you’re going to have to get comfortable with a small amount of danger. The risk for the reward.” She let out a steady exhale. The morning sun illuminating her in a halo of light. She was adjusting her grip. The curve of her neck sloping down to her shoulders invited his eyes to scan further. Following the soft turns of her body he looked down at the curve of her breasts peeking from the top of her tank top. He swallowed. “Ok, so you see how I hold it against the would here? You’re gonna apply steady pressure-” Danny was making a slow glide into a corner of the wood when she cut him off.

“How will I know that I’m carving out a right amount for the bunny?” Danny looked at her, amused.

“Slow down, Michelangelo. You crawl before you walk. I said I’d teach you the basics. You don’t even know how to hold the knife without shaking, so let’s tackle the things in our skill set first.” She looked back at him, her eyebrows beginning to furrow. “Don’t pout at me. I could be teaching you my old man’s way. Could tell you I wanna come back to a job done right and leave you here to figure it out.” She looked stung, but she also gave him a look he couldn’t quite decode. Not sadness, maybe recognition. Either way, lost on Danny.

Danny had a boy’s confidence and the power of a man’s body. He wore his exterior well. Proud, sure of himself. He knows exactly where he falls on the food chain. He knows what to say without thinking. He sleeps easy knowing he will never be prey. Not anymore. His features looked stern. Tired. Frustrated with you. You felt a needy pit growing in the center of your chest. You wanted him to look at you fondly, proud. You tried to make a cut, smooth and confident into the wood. Danny’s knife had glided through the wood piece like butter, with a soft grinding sound. Your blade dug into the wood at a harsh angle, stuck. You looked back up at him, nervous.

“It got stuck, I’m sorry I don’t know how- I tried to do it like you did, but you made it look so easy and-” he cut off your appeal.

“Alright alright.” He tossed his chunk of wood out to the pile by the cabin and popped the knife into his pocket. “Before you start cryin’, I was expecting that for your first cut. It’s fine. Look, I’m gonna show you.” He walked behind you, leaned over and held your hands in his. You felt his breath, hot, kissing a small patch of your temple. You felt your face go fuzzy. He was working your hands like a doll. He moved you right where you needed to be. He knew exactly what you needed. Where you needed more pressure, and where you need a softer touch. He had capable hands. Capable of brutality and ecstasy with the same feverish intensity. You smelled the hint of coffee on his breath. It mixed with the warm leather musk of his skin and the cigarette he had after breakfast. You leaned back ever so slightly into his chest. You didn’t just let him play with your arms. You moved within his movements with your own force behind them. You trusted his direction, in the knowledge of his hands. You put your trust directly in his hands. His lips grazed the shell of your ear. A voice low, admiring “Good job. You’re on your way, bunny.” As soon as the words hit the inside of your brain it triggered a craving. You wanted him to sing your praises. You wanted to make him happy.

Danny pressed his thumbs onto the tops of your own. The one supporting the knife applied a little more pressure. Your cuts were becoming more confident and smooth. He loosened the pressure so that his hands merely shadowed your own. It allowed you to show him what you learned, without the push of his hand. You heard him hum approvingly as you knife cut smoothly through the wood. You felt the gentle rumble pass through his chest and into your back. It trickled down between your legs.

"There you go. That's very good. See what happens when you listen to me?" He abruptly pulled away leaving you feeling exposed. You wanted his warmth on your back again, arms grazing yours. He seemed to notice. "Don't look so disappointed. You don't need me hovering over you. Besides, I have to get some things ready for tonight. I'll be gone most of the day. Stay inside, don't make a mess." You felt as though you had been emptied. He was leaving you here. You aren't sure why you expected him to take you where he went. You wanted to go with him.

"What do I do?" He gave a wide grin that pushed at his tired eyes.

"C'mon. you don't need me to tell you that. Carve some shit, or read, or fold your clothes, I don't know. Fill up the time until I need you ready at eight." He was already halfway in the door. You followed him, still clutching the oblong carved wood and knife. When you neared him he whipped around and caught your wrist how a lizard would catch a fly. Instant, instinctual. He held the fist that held the knife up to his face and plucked the knife from your hand.

"Actually, I'm taking this. I don't want you getting any ideas." He turned and continued walking without waiting for a response. You quickened your pace to follow after him.

"What did you think I was going to do?" It was accusatory. He held you captive in the middle of the woods and you were hurt that he didn't trust you. You wanted to laugh, maybe it would cover up the sting.

"Oh please, don't act innocent. Leaving a weapon behind for the girl I'm keeping? What kinda man do you take me for?" He popped a cigarette in his mouth, lighting it. He spoke with the filter between his lips, "Besides you can play around with all of Daddy's knives while I'm around." You hated how he flirted with you as he put you back into your place. Back into the place where he wanted you. A doll in box. He's almost out the front door. He blows a plume of smoke out through his nose and plucks the cigarette from his lips. He turns to you at the doorway, cupping your cheek with the hand holding the cigarette, "You know I've gotta supervise you to make sure these pretty hands don't get hurt." He picks up your other hand, holding it up to his lips to give your fingers a delicate kiss. He drops your hand like he had never held it, and turned to leave. Opening the door, he speaks to you without turning to face you. "If I come back and you're not here I will hunt you down these woods like the wild game that you are. I'll find you wherever you are, and I will drag you back here and gut you like a little bunny rabbit using the same knife I taught you with. Tell me you understand." He stood, eerily still. He could probably hear how hard you swallowed and how unsteady your breath sounded.

"I understand, Danny." You saw him straighten a bit.

"Good." He locked the door behind him. You heard his car start up and pull away.

#ghostface x you #ghostface x reader #dbd ghostface x reader #ghostface dbd #danny johnson x y/n #danny johnson smut #danny johnson x reader #danny johnson #danny jed olsen johnson #dbd ghostface #dead by daylight #Spotify

141 notes · View notes

prismaticpichu · 1 year

Text

Zack & Sephiroth Floofcanon #…! I have no idea I lost track when the Trojan war began.

(This is still Weenie Hut Jrs I didn’t forget!)

Due to his english skills capping at the 7th grade, as he skedaddled off to join SOLDIER, Zack’s mission reports weren’t allllwaayys in squeaky-clean condition. Yessir, he could absolutely recap the events of the missions—almost telling stories of how he obliterated that horde of Ahriman or how he caught that Wutai spy masquerading as a crossing guard. But when it comes to the nitty-gritty stuff… yeahhh those things were littered with typos, grammatical errors, and very colloquial yee-haw language (like me! *clears throat* sorry). Not exactly what Lazard was hoping for, in terms of his elite SOLDIERs.

Luckily, Zack’s got someone who had his back.

Sephiroth was pretty appalled upon first reading Zack’s reports, in the early stages of their friendship. “Gonna?” He was seriously using “gonna”?? Angeal should have taught him better…! But it wasn’t long until he came to realize that only Firsts were required to write up reports, and Zack was only promoted once Angeal was gone. Couple that with his severed education and it really wasn’t the pupper’s fault. And how would it look if one of the men under his command was sending lousy reports…? He needed to help in some way. And so he did!

Over time, as their bond budded and blossomed, the two developed a system: Zack would go on missions, writing up his reports in vivid detail in his little tent. And then, instead of sending them to Lazard, bleeding with all sorts of red underlines, he sent them off to Sephiroth; there the man would grammarly-scan the pages and manually fix any errors himself. Hallelujah!! Some might say it’s mundane, or tedious, or just adding to the already mountainous pile of work he already had… but in actuality. It’s one of Sephiroth’s favorite things to do: he loved reading Zack’s colorful descriptions, seeing the world through his kaleidoscope of a lens; he loved being able to experience that childlike, wondrous perspective and have it be shared with him. To experience it himself. A million missions he went on over the years, and sometimes the most exciting ones are right from his desk <33

(Ofc, it’s more than jusssst the free editing service.)

As their buddiness became even stronger, more additions were sprinkled into the system. Most notably, now that the reports were being sent to Sephiroth first, Zack began tagging on little messages at the end for Seph and only Seph to see. Tiny little notes and reminders like the thingies someone might write on their kid’s napkin for lunch. They’re one of the only things that brings a smile to his face when the pupper is gone.

Hey pal! :D I miss you so much! Don’t forget to eat again!

Hey Seph! I know I’m not there right now, but I’m thinking of you!

I really wish you were here, Seph :))) Missions are never the same without ya. And guess what???? I completely took down Ifrit this time! You didn’t need to save my butt! :DD (though I slipped on a rock and fell on it afterwards).

And when the pupper eventually came home, after a day or week or two, Sephiroth was there waiting for him. Nothing could beat hugging seeing his best friend in person, spewing his wonderful colloquial slang and all <333

#zack fair #sephiroth #ffvii #crisis core #fangirl #weenie hut jrs #the zack and sephiroth safe haven

45 notes · View notes

hunnythebee · 2 years

Note

hunter 6 & 10, you getting trapped somewhere dangerous and something happens and hunter assumes you’re dead, but then you go out safely but hurt

Hello Anon! Thank you for the request, here is your fic ❤️

Trapped

A mission goes horribly wrong and you end up trapped in a tunnel and alone.

1.2k words - first person - gender neutral

Tags & Warnings; Hunter x Reader, Hunter x gn!Reader, fluff, angst, romance, hurt, comfort, newly established relationship, mildly graphic description of injury, trapped, saved, pain.

Writing prompt 6. You have to leave right now. 10. Come here.

The tunnel was so dark I couldn’t see too far past the lamp that I was holding up in front of me. It was cold and damp, and I could hear the faint rumbling of the storm above. Hunter was slightly ahead of me, holding his lamp in his left hand and running his right along the tunnel wall. He was understandably on edge, given the cave-in that had just separated us from the others. Tech had reassured us that there were multiple entrances to this particular tunnel system before we lost contact via comms. This knowledge, coupled with Hunter's keen senses, put my mind at ease.

"How much farther do you think we've got till we see daylight?" I inquired at the man ahead of me.

"At least another 2 klicks, but this part of the tunnel is highly unstable. Stay close," he shot a quick glance at me over my shoulder. I shuffled closer to him so that I was right behind him. I wanted to reach for his hand, but I knew that now wasn’t the time. We typically didn’t act as a couple when on missions. Our relationship is fresh, so new that we hadn’t even told the others yet. We decided we wanted to figure out what was between us first before going public. But right now we were completely alone, with no chance of the others stumbling across us, and maybe hanging onto him in some way would be beneficial in case another cave in occurs. I was reaching a hand out to grab the crook of his elbow when he shifted suddenly and grabbed for my hand.

“Run!” He commanded as he pulled at me. I picked up my feet as the tunnel began to crumble behind us. I was running as fast as I could but I hadn’t been watching my step. I tripped in a hole in the tunnel and fell down onto the ground, knocking the wind out of me. Hunter stopped the moment he felt my hand slip from his. He turned to me with panic in his eyes. The collapse was rapidly approaching and there was no time, I was only going to slow down.

“You have to leave right now!” I shouted at him. He was still frozen. “Hunter! Leave me! GO!” I yelled at him. He was about to run, but he quickly turned back to say something to me but the cave in was too loud for me to hear him. Everything went dark.

I came to, coughing out dust. The cave-in had miraculously stopped short of my head, however I was completely pinned beneath the rocks. I cried out, feeling the pain of my numerous broken bones all at once. My cries echoed throughout the dark empty tunnel. I had one hand free from the rubble, and I tried to shift the larger rocks off of me, but to no avail. I felt utterly hopeless. That was until I realized the hand that was free was the wrist with my comm. I brought it to my face and bit into the call button. Static. Nothing. I bit it again. Again nothing. One more time…

Static and then faintly, a frantic voice. Hunter’s voice. He was saying my name. I tried to speak, to answer him but I couldn’t say anything. The weight on my chest was preventing me from forming words. I summoned all the strength I could and managed to croak out a small “Help…me…” before I lost consciousness again.

The chain of events that followed is a blur. I remember lights and running footsteps. Hunter’s face. Tech’s voice. I remember crying out as the rocks were moved off of me. Dexterous fingers against my head, examining me, and then another set of hands gently caressing my hair. I remember being lifted, gently from the ground and held gently against a very large chest. The movement of him walking with me hurt so much. I don’t remember leaving the cave. I don’t remember boarding the Marauder. I don’t remember AZI or Omega tending to me. All I can remember from that period of time is pain.

When I came to, finally, I was in one of the beds. Hunter was sitting at my bedside, his features distorted with worry. I shifted, attempting to reach out to him, but instead was met with a sharp pain in my sides. I hissed in pain and fell back into the mattress. The sudden noise startled Hunter, which was a first. He whipped around and our eyes met. Hunter’s beautiful eyes were brimming with tears as he took my hand in his gently.

“You’re safe, cyar’ika,” he spoke softly as he rubbed a thumb over my hand. “And alive.”

The last words sounded like they were more for his benefit. I tried to speak but my throat was so destroyed from the dust and debris I could only manage a small whisper.

“Hunter…”

The whisper was so quiet he didn’t hear it. He continued talking, rambling practically.

“Never do that again. I thought I had lost you forever… Never ask me to leave you again. I am never leaving you again. I can’t lose you.” Tears were staining his cheeks as he spoke frantically. I released his hand and lifted mine to cup his cheek, I didn’t care how much it hurt. I wiped his tears with my thumb. He cupped his hand over mine and leaned into it. It was then that I noticed the bandages. I was covered in them. Both arms and my torso. One leg was wrapped in bandages as well and the other was splinted. I swallowed hard and pushed that to the back of my mind.

“Hunter…” I managed a slightly louder whisper this time and got his attention.

“Yes?” He sounded so desperate, so broken.

“Come… here…” I croaked. Hunter sat on the edge of the bunk and leaned over me.

“K-kiss me.” I requested softly. His lips found mine immediately. In that moment, all the pain washed from my body and there was only him. Warm and gentle against my mouth. I smiled against his mouth and he pulled away slightly, his nose still tucked against mine.

“I love you…” he breathed out against my lips. “I love you and I never want to lose you. Promise you won’t make me leave you again.” I was still processing his words, but managed to stammer out “P-promise.”

“Good,” and he caught my lips with his again. My thoughts were so out of focus, I was trying to find my words. He pulled away one last time and said, “let me go tell the oth-”

My hand gripped the sleeve of his blacks with what little strength I had. I finally had found the words I was looking for. He stopped mid-sentence and leaned back over me, “What is it, cyare?”

I was breathing heavily, which was stinging my ribs, but I didn’t care.

“I…love…you, too…” the words left my lips and hung in the air as he processed them. Suddenly he was cupping my face with his hands and kissing me again. Despite all of my injury, I felt at peace. Finally, we broke apart and he looked deep into my eyes. “Do you really mean it?” He asked so innocently it made my heart melt. I was beginning to lose my strength again, so all I could manage was a small nod. He kissed my forehead gently and told me to get some rest.

“I’ll be right here when you wake up, I promise.”

Masterlist

#hunter x reader #reader x hunter #hunter x you #you x hunter #hunter x gn!reader #gn!reader x hunter #the bad batch #the bad batch fanfiction #the bad batch fanfic #bad batch #bad batch fanfiction #bad batch fanfic #tbb fanfiction #tbb fanfic #tbb #anon #request

121 notes · View notes

bluberimufim · 8 months

Text

Writer Q&A Tag Game

Hello. I got tagged for this by @squarebracket-trick on this post and I thought it sounded super fun. So, here we are!

1. What motivates you to write?

I started out as an artist, but I began writing once I realized that visual art as a medium wasn't enough to tell the stories I wanted to tell - it had no way of codifying lore, defining character traits, or even just easily telling a long story. I think it's still largely that, in a way. I come up with all these stories and I "get them out" through writing because I sure as hell can't keep them inside my brain for eternity.

2. A line/short snippet of your writing that you are most proud/happy of. If not maybe share a line of someone else's work you love (just please credit them)

This one is pretty recent, from a few chapters ago in DoS, but I'm really proud of it. I just feel like it emphasizes how much Seth's experience with souls connects with the body, which is the Goddess of Time's domain. A lot of metaphors in this story centre around bodies and physicality because of this. Here's the snippet:

And yet, there was Theo, with her soul so unwound there was no fixing it anymore. The most she could do was keep healing and healing, covering the cracks of the bowl with her own hands in the hope that they'd go back to normal. Keep filling the ocean so that, no matter how many holes lined its bed, it would never be empty. [...] She held her so tight she thought her hands would fuse to her skin. As if she could cover the cracks of her soul with her own body.

Idk, I just vibe with it.

5. What part of writing do you think you are the best at? (Yes stroke your own ego it's okay)

(what happened to 3 and 4? where did they go?)

I'd say back-and-forth banter, probably because of my time in theatre, but also horror description. It creeps up on me. I keep writing horror on accident. And I always really like it. Just something about describing something weird and spooky.

6. What do you enjoy most about the Writeblr community?

Mostly the fact that there's all these other writers who have cool stuff and also wanna see my cool stuff. I already loved writing on my own, but knowing that there are people Out There who also care about my stories just feels amazing.

And also, the casual friendship between people. You interact with someone's blog, they interact with yours, and you suddenly feel like you're friends, kinda. I can only compare it to making quick friends with someone on the playground as a kid. I like it <3

7. A writing tool/device you use that helps you with writing? (It could be speech-to-text, a writing program etc)

I am a very ✨analogue✨ person, so my best writing advice in this scenario is always: put that shit on paper.

Feel unsure about a scene? Put that shit on paper. It's like a 0.5th (hehe "halfth") draft that you will copy onto your document and you will always improve it with that second look.

Worried about perfectionism? Put that shit on paper. Even pencil, at least to me, feels hard to erase. It's mostly about living with the stuff you've written and not looking back - erasing is such a pain in the ass that you might as well just keep going forward.

Wanna write secretly during class/lectures/whatever where you're not allowed to have a device? Wadda ya know, the answer is also paper.

Wanna edit? Printing stuff out helps you get some distance from your own writing and it also makes you see it more as a book than as just something you've made.

It also generally makes you feel less bad about changing stuff later in the document, because you have a solid, physical record of what you've written before.

Put that shit on paper. It works well.

(sorry for the rant sbdhagjk)

8. A piece of worldbuilding that you like in your own story? (It could be the magic system, a particular place in the story, a law etc)

I once made a post about the art movements in the world of the dystopia WIP (yes, seriously) but I can't find it anymore. I'm not gonna explain it again, it was stupidly long the first time around.

I guess, outside the dystopia WIP, I'm pretty proud of the whole Three Sister Goddesses thing from DoS. I have drawn designs, but I'll make another post sometime. I'm also proud of the relationship between the Goddesses tho.

They're at war with each other, but they're just doing it for entertainment. They kiiiinda hate each other but not as much as their desire to have fun. Like, they will send their daughters to decimate each other's armies, but they'll also hang out together in the Plane of the Gods. The war is kind of like a decades-long game of Monopoly they're having at the family function. And I just think it's cool. Goes into that whole thing about mortals being like ants to uncaring gods that I like.

9. What piece of advice would you say to encourage others to write if they are having a rough patch?

Kinda cliché, but I'd say this: it happens to everyone, dude (gender neutral). Everyone has periods of time when they feel bad and can't write. Or where they feel like their writing is terrible. Doesn't make you less of a writer.

Even if you're not as productive as other people: who cares, honestly? As long as you're having a good time and doing something you love, it doesn't matter how much time you need or don't need to finish something. Even if you never finish anything. And if you feel like you're not as good as other people: who cares either, you know? Everybody starts somewhere. And everybody has different strengths. You'll get better. You always do.

At the end of the day, we're all just doing this because we love it. Don't force yourself. The time will pass anyway.

Ooooookay that last one was a bit more serious than the rest. Anyway, I wanna tag, no pressure, @fleurtygurl @stesierra @cheeto-flavoured-pasta and @sarandipitywrites

#writeblr #writing #tag game #ramblies

10 notes · View notes

beardedhandstoadshark · 2 years

Note

Is there any fic you would recommend us on ao3? Something that stole your heart or that was different/special for you?

Uhhhhhhh My Immortal

…Ok no, actual rec‘s. Um.

Meet us at the Milk Bar is a really good fic. It’s about all the NPC‘s in Legend of Zelda: Majoras Mask getting together one by one to spend their last hours until the moon falls onto them, and man. The emotions. You don’t even need much context from the game to understand it (though it obvs has more impact that way) so please, read it.

That’s kinda the main one rn but for a bunch of other stuff (ignore it, it’s just a lot of self-indulgent fic recs)

Harry Potter and the Lack of Lambsauce. A fic about Gordon Ramsey (the way he‘s presented in his shows) being a professor in Hogwarts. I know it sounds like a pure crack-fic, but isn’t, has 99 chapters and is genuinely pretty good as far as I can tell. And I don’t even care about Gordon Ramsey, let alone Harry Potter.

The Heart and Soul Series which is pretty much the Kirby fic series (I don’t. Actually read anything Kirby related otherwise, surprisingly). Though, granted, it needs a bit of character context. Enemies to friends but they’re still rivals and also idiots.

(grabs the funny subway man) YOURE GOING BACK HOME FUCKER is not a crack fic. It’s a submas reunion fic. The Hurt/Comfort is real and strong with this one

And also 97% of what I read is in Legend of Zelda & related fandoms, sooooo. Yeah. If nesting multiple readmores into each other were a thing, I‘d put one here, but alas. I

Hero, what ails you? Whump. Hero collapses after being too stubborn to realize he’s got pneumonia, gives skeleton-mentor a second heart attack in the process

My Inner Life, their outer Nope. Roast-fic. Assortment of various Zelda characters torture themselves live-read and comment on the fic "My Inner Life“, also known as the My Immortal of Zelda fics

Dimensional Links, the OG of OG‘s of "throw all the Link‘s together“ AU‘s, pretty much the first ever fic I read, forgot everything what happens in the plot but still remember it being really good so it must be

And speaking of "throw Links together“ AU‘s, since you genuinely can’t take two steps in any Zelda tag on AO3 or tumblr without coming across Linked Universe stuff might as well throw some of those here too

How to kill a God Really engaging Murder Mystery with lots of world-building. Might as well be Original Work. Which is great so you don��t even need any context!

The Most Sincere Kind of Lie someone put this one in a collection called "Darkest LU shit I can find“ and. Yeah. It’s really good. Angst. So much Angst. It hurts a lot, but it’s. Just. Really well written

Stick a Fork in 'em cause they Done got Roasted crack/roast fic parodying the way fanon generally writes the different Links. I hate/love how accurate these are lmao

A Fishing Rod in Hand is Worth 2 in System Memory LU but glitches are a thing. Whatever this particular type of "4th wall break but not quite“ is called (Undertale does that too) I like it. + Crack treated seriously is always fun. + this has an actual story, so honestly I‘m not even sure if it can still be called crack, + it comes with descriptions for all the glitches, + while it says 6/? the way it currently ends makes for a pretty good open ending so it’s cool

#another anon ask #reading fics when your fave tags are found family and Gen is pure pain #also didn’t list any one-shots (even though that’s what I mainly read)#because THAT list would probably hit the word limit for a post #recommending fics feels kinda weird when you know the author of one of those will see this post on their dashboard #on one hand- hi!!! I like your stuff!!#on the other hand - what if the rest of my taste is trash then that fic will als get lumped together with the rest and that’s weird oh no-

2 notes · View notes

infinitywritesnyc · 3 months

Text

9AM is the Gurlllll, the early morning traffic that takes over the sound of New York City residents starting their day, keys jinggling, construction work down the block, the chit chatter between one another, catching up on the night before, or their odd sex dreams with their coworkers. People taking their first hit of their ciggerates, blunts or even taking their first sip of coffee as they walk their NYC feet to work or to run errands.

My day today is defined as that; "running errands". As a child? that phrase was disappointing to hear from a parent, especially when you just want to catch up on your favorite show or play nintendo, cuddled up at home. or maybe it was exciting because you got to tag along. As a teenager? that phrase sounds like excuses, a reason to leave the house when you really wanted to stay, or to spend quality time with your parents because you're "always outside with friends", retrospectively you may also have to use that term as you start paying bills, or when payment is due for your first credit card month. As a full grown adult ? I've come to realize errands are just tasks that lead us directly to where you vision yourself. 9AM mornings helps so much though, and let me tell you why!

Now imagine yourself waking up at 1-3pm as you usually do, everyone is getting out of work, going straight home sometimes in distress, people in service positions are transitioning from morning shifts to night shifts. 5PM rush hour? Trust me, you do not want to be caught up in the middle of that. And let's say by the time you're done scrolling through your Social Medias,or reading this article (within that time frame) it will already be 4-5PM, where the evening just begun. Now this schedule works FAB for anyone who has an artistic background. But if you are on a Corporate, LawMaking, Saving Lives journey? Then my friend I sincerely apologize but yes your only options are 9-5 jobs, and yes, you will be that person who goes to sleep early and misses out on "All The Fun". Having to catch up on what's tea, discreetly during work hours. Honestly though, Rather that then a world full of confusion and misalignments.

Misalignment? You might be asking yourself what do i mean by that?! Well, news flash, this journey called LIFE? That we are all collectively experiencing? Is a script. Like an actual movie script and I genuinely wish i was kidding, this description can seem far reached or unrealistic for many, but we were all introduced a system as we were growing up! In which I like to call it the govt script. Now erase everything you know? And relearn what is in front of you NOW. The entire planet has resources to pretty much provide anything you set your mind too. The people, the culture, the travels, equipment and support, is all that you need, and it's waiting for you right outside your door. So write your script, do not let distractions and negative attachments get in the way of your end goal! That's why when I get back home early from stepping out at 9AM to run my errands, I take a quick shower, settle, and around 1-3PM! everything would be checked off my list! Making me feel light like a feather, floating round the sky, falling with nowhere to land. Consequently, accomplishing all the daily goals I need to fulfill to place myself a step forward towards the end of my script. And that is my friend, why 9AM is DAAA GURLLL!

Evidence: https://www.summahealth.org/flourish/entries/2023/09/4-benefits-to-waking-early-and-how-to-make-the-transition

https://www.summahealth.org/flourish/entries/2023/09/4-benefits-to-waking-early-and-how-to-make-the-transition

#blog #nyclife #nyc #adulting #article #good morning #reading #long reads #fem reader #lgbtq community #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #writer stuff #writerscreed #writerblr #writer things #writers and poets #blogging

0 notes

fruitzbat · 2 years

Note

5 and 7 for the fic ask

5: How many wips do you have? What fandoms/pairings are they for?

I'm prone to fixating on one character and wanting to put them in A Situation, so I often find myself writing stuff about one canon character (or comparatively few of them) and a litany of original ones.

I've got two AO3 accounts, one for my more present work and another for my archived stuff that I might revisit later. My current WIP on my main acct (fruitzbat) would be my post-canon CR fic, The Devil & The Details ("Devilverse") which is all about Kingsley Tealeaf and his ascent to the throne of Darktow.

In it, I ship him with an original character (they have a tag on here, which is "kilogram hours"; I refer to their relationship using the call name of either kilogram or stormleaf, kilogram more frequently when posting/tagging stuff because it's a little less obvious that I am Being Cringe but I think the latter is the more official one) -- there's some Fjorester, too, that I'm pretty proud of, but the central point of the story is about Kingsley and him learning how to navigate relationships outside of the Nein, so that relationship is the main one.

(there's also king of glass, my fic about molly and yasha...mostly molly, if I'm being real with myself, but yasha is also important; I realized after posting the first chapter that the plot I had in mind hinged on molly being a very different person, so maybe I'll revisit that when I'm sufficiently satisfied with devilverse)

The other WIP would be Aegis, which was my historical hetalia fic series that I've been writing on-and-off since 2016 on my alt acct and has been on hiatus since 2021 or so. It's centered around my passion, which is the history of the Mediterranean, chiefly Italy's islands -- starting with the annexation of Malta into the British Empire and slated to end with the conclusion of WWII. Basically the subject of the fourth and final installment (Min jistenna jithenna) is the subject of my current doctoral research, and I realized once I started doing work that wasn't casual that like nearly EVERYTHING I wrote was bullshit in a way that I couldn't condone, so I wouldn't be comfortable revisiting it unless I was going to do a page one rewrite of that entire fourth fic.

Saying that, Aegis is nearly "done" while being the exact same length as my current WIP, which is not yet even halfway finished. So it might not be that much work comparatively -- it just feels daunting as hell, and as a period historian I think I owe it the diligence.

In Aegis, I multishipped out the wazoo, but the action chiefly focused on Frying Pangle, SpAus, and Romano/Sicily (an original character). I have a bit of a thing for ships that feel like they are divorced (or are divorced) that I think REALLY comes through in that series, lol.

7: Post a snippet from a wip.

WOOGH okay I posted a snippet from Aegis earlier so I think it's only fair I do a devilverse one here. Some descriptive writing that I really love from the first book:

The waters that girded Bosa and Scoria Benatar’s keep in Mount Arcade were consistently blitzed with some sort of turbulence, some kind of interlocking system of whirlpools, merrow traps, that meant there was only one consistently safe passage towards it: the channel between the islands of Seri and Edda, one that sailors called the Hag’s Fingers.

It was said by many that the channel was the realm of a coven of sea hags; as a result, even though it was the safest way, it was not uncommon for crews to keep their wits painfully about them for the entire passage. Song upon song existed of pretty young cabin boys on ships passing the Fingers, swept away by a hag in the dead of night – made to suffer for their offending beauty.

It was known that the two islands had once been connected with an isthmus, and their joining was made weak with high sea caves. When a falling god in the Calamity had knocked the two islands apart, the only thing that was left was standing columns that had once been the walls of great caverns. Eroded, over time, into outstretched, withered digits that pocked the shallow water. Like so much else in this region, all that seemed to remain of their prior glorious existence was splinters of stories, words, an unrelenting echo of you should have seen it back then.

In the early morning, the mist crept upwards from the blue-greenish depths, crawled with its slimy fingers up the singular pillars of broken, limpet-caped stone it so meticulously hid throughout the channel to watch the Mollymauk do its best to dodge its way through. Once they passed it – with Melora’s sweet breath and blessing at their sails, unscathed – the Mollymauk would nose into the open mouth of the Bosa Gulf.

Each pole of stone that they narrowly scraped past made Kingsley wonder when the mist would empty out into that bottomless expanse of green water. He looked over at Felaun, leaning next to him – peeling his breakfast with a pocket knife. They felt the mist rattle uneasily in their lungs as they breathed in, out, let it fly back to where it draped across the world around them in flimsy ribbons of moisture.

FANFICTION ASK MEME

#remy's asks #thank you!!

0 notes

tinyidle · 3 years

Note

Hey I wanted to ask if you can do more with ateez and piss kink 👉👈 oh and BTW I love your account

ATEEZ Having a P⚠️ss Kink as Doms (in Depth)

ive been getting lots of love for my mtl that i was even asked to do the piss kink fics with other groups! this ask in particular, however, caught my attention. trust me, after this fic ill get to the other asks. but since i made the mtl and my mind has manipulated my body to clench in my pee (tmi i know lol 💀) i just had to write this.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

WARNING: pure filth lmao (aka smut), title gives the description, bladder control, tw: fluid k*nk, mentions of drinking liquids (water + alcohol), mentions of *nal, sp*nk*ng, consensual force (rough s*x, as in reader gives permission to let atz use them harshly), light bdsm (always remember boundaries folks!), nicknaming (cuz im not a "y/n" writer lol), dom!ateez, sub!reader, fem!reader, light cursing, all fiction

tags: @eclipsehye , @rap1inewhore , @fyeah-bubblekey , @xduygu-arsx , @staytinyexe , @aigokayla , @glitteryskzstraykidsdream , @amultislifeforme

▞▞▞▞▞▞▞▞▞▞▞▞▞▞▞▞▞▞▞▞▞▞

▞▞▞▞▞▞▞▞▞▞▞▞▞▞▞▞▞▞

▞▞▞▞▞▞▞▞▞▞▞▞

▞▞▞▞▞▞▞

▞▞▞▞

Hongjoong

you wanted to pee so fucking bad. your boyfriend made you drink 1 liter of water in the past 2 hours and then made you sit and watch netflix while he himself was checking out samples for a new song piece, just for fun. but you had to go.

"joong, i can't take it anymore. i need to use the bathroom," you said, squirming on the couch and desperately clenching so that no water droplets could come out of your system.

the aforementioned man then turned around with a sly smirk. "ah, you need to go, baby?" he then lifted himself from his computer desk and went to the couch where you sat down. he then lifted you up a bit to bring you down on his lap. "then turn around and go on me."

you widened your eyes in both shock and pleasure. the sharp burn of arousal that hit your pelvis didn't help your already expanded bladder either. when hongjoong realized that you were too stunned to move, he encouraged you by grasping onto your hips and moving you forwards and backward. "come on, baby. you can do it," he encouraged with a smile on his face.

you swiveled around and then took it upon yourself to grind against your boyfriend, finding a sweet yet sinister feeling in knowing you'd leak any time soon. when you felt yourself leaking, you started whimpering, and despite your attempts to clench, the streams kept going. "fuck, joong. im leaking," you sobbed, grinding even harder until your arousal mixed with the piss you had that pooled on your boyfriend's sweatpants.

he caressed your back through all of this. "it's okay, baby. i got you." while you shook until you calmed down, he himself had also cum in his pants. which meant your guys' clothes will have to wash immediately, he'd have to find a better way to do this without much mess, and there would need to be a shower time afterward because you pissed a lot and he came a lot.

he tucked your hair behind you ear and talked to you softly. "when we get in the shower, how about you ride me as a reward for being so good?" your libido rose up again and you moaned a 'yes', much to hongjoong's liking.

Seonghwa

nothing made seonghwa feel better than pleasing his baby, even if he didn't enjoy it much. your satisfaction above his was his motto. he knew you wanted to try pissing for pleasure, but he wanted nothing less than cleanliness. although you respected that, he still wanted to please you. so today he was going to fulfill your desires his way.

"princess, would you like to take a shower together?" seonghwa asked when you guys were getting ready for bed. you, always loving intimacy with your boyfriend, accepted with a smile.

you guys were in the shower cuddling and showering when all of a sudden you felt your taller partner kiss your left shoulder. "can i give you a bit of an extra wash?" you, liking how this is going, agreed to let him do what he wanted. he kissed your left shoulder in a silent thanks before you felt warm streams.

it kept pooling until you felt both your feet get warm by the clear liquid. you gasped when you felt seonghwa's cock grow behind your ass, his crotch rubbing against your leg. "hwa-" you quietly moaned, feeling your arousal grow in your own crotch.

"if you don't mind, doll, i'd like to finish what i started." you never nodded so fast, knees buckling, ready to be pleasured to entirety.

Yunho

you acted up just to see how your boyfriend would punish you. never in a million years have you thought he'd used one of your most dirtiest kinks against you.

"yun, i can't take it anymore," you said, squirming while leaning over the island of the kitchen you guys were hanging out at. while attempting to cook, instead you were trying not to pee all over the floor.

"fucking hold it," the tall man growled, his back to you while finishing up on the rice for lunch. unfortunately, it's been over 20 minutes and you drank way too much water prior. you ended up having an accident right where you were standing.

yunho, hearing the sound of you leaking on the floor, smirked, turned around, instructed you to take off your clothes, and rubbed your clit until you couldn't piss anymore. "my tiny little baby really couldn't take it anymore, hmm." although you were whining, you've got to admit: you were loving every second of it.

Yeosang

one time you guys tried anal, and as fun as it was and as enjoyable as it felt for you both, the lube stains on the sheets were extensive. yeosang couldn't help himself as he's just a messy man. a beautiful man, but a messy one. the line crossed when he tried to make your squirt. you let out so much that he was wondering how long it would take for his bed to fully air out. no way is he going to try pissing. on purpose, that is.

you like to drink water before bed so that your bladder can wake you up in the morning. it was obvious that you drank too much alcohol that night because of your wooziness and your boyfriend's constant hold on to your body while you were wobbling to the bedroom. trying to help you out, he gave you water to help clear your head. apparently, you drank too much of that too.

yeosang was holding onto your side until he felt something warm. shit, he thought. you were too comfortable in your sleep that you forgot to go to the bathroom. luckily he has plastic over the bed from the last sex session. he woke up, and although your hangover didn't hurt that much, you groaned due to the mess you made.

"little doll forgot to pee in the toilet," he said teasing you a bit. he didn't expect you to be aroused by his simple rhetorical question, but you in fact were very turned on. you ended up whining, which yeosang's ears caught on to very quickly. he chuckled and kissed your forehead. "you like being my messy little doll, huh? maybe after i clean up this mess we can make even more mess in the bathroom."

San

this man knew you loved to watch him do things. you loved watching him dance, him singing, him acting, him modeling, even him just breathing. but san knew something only you and he knew: you were a voyeur. you loved when your boyfriend chased his own pleasure while you watched. you especially loved it when you could help him out.

"be a good girl and get me off, then ill return the favor." you quickly went on your knees, stroking him just the way he liked. at times you'd take his dick in your mouth to egg him on, but you knew san loved being teased in order for him to properly make a mess on your body.

soon enough san warned you about his release, and you took off your shirt and shorts, just leaving your panties on. you continued jacking him off until you saw small spurts of clear liquid come from his tip. you let his streams go down on your chest, covering your boobs and almost drowning your underwear.

the short-haired man smiled while looking at you, and you looked back at him. you were now going to get the favor returned.

Mingi

you guys were fucking for about an hour now. at first you guys used protection, but then your dumb brain told mingi afterward that he could go in bare because you were on the pill. some 3 more orgasms later, you guys were sensitive yet still very horny. no way was mingi pulling out now, and no way were you going to tell him to stop.

"fuck, honey im gonna pee soon," he said, still going at near-full speed on top of you. you were being lifted forwards a bit with every thrust, and you wanted to pee as well, but you still wanted him.

"let me go on top and ride you until you have to pull out," you said, almost breathless. mingi moaned at your request and moved from on top of you and sat you down on his throbbing cock. you started bouncing, your breasts in mingi's face. he happily took them and sucked on your nipples while licking around the areola area. he was very close, so he pressed onto your bladder and lightly rubbed clit simultaneously so you could get there. "fuck!" you yelled out.

your tall boyfriend quickly lifted you off his dick and pissed on the sheets underneath you too, while you were spazzing and leaking on top of him. "you did so well for me, honey."

Wooyoung

"woo, i need to go," you said while rocking back and forth on your heels.

"go where? baby, it's raining outside." you knew your boyfriend was playing with you since he knew where you want to go to the bathroom. yet here he was, acting stupidly oblivious.

"dammit, jung wooyoung, i need to pee! let me gooooooo~" you said, now full-on dancing. you saw as the cocky man started laughing at your comprising state. he loved fucking with you as much as fucking you. he left and came back with the sheet you knew all too well. he's gonna have fun with this.

wooyoung took off all his clothes then tugged on your tank top. "i told you not to drink too much water. now you're gonna use me as your bathroom." you've done this many times before ever since he found out you were into it, but every time you still blushed. "unless you don't want to go?"

you shook your head, face still hot by the embarrassment (that honestly shouldn't be there). you took your tank and bra off, before quickly sliding off your skirt and underwear before you leaked anything. humming in approval, the dancer lay himself down on the 'designated piss cloth' and held your waist as you went on top of him. leaning forward and holding onto your boyfriend's shoulders, you slowly started grinding onto him.

wooyoung tried to chase his own pleasure, so he gripped your hips and made you rub against his dick harder. your small gasps turned into huge ones, and soon enough (with the help of the cocky man's teasingly pressing his tip to your ass) made you pee hard.

he kissed your cheek and caressed your back while waiting for your shaking to cease. "such a dirty baby. you deserve a rest, yeah?" you mumbled a small 'yes', and your boyfriend kept holding onto you.

Jongho

you were told to hold in your bladder. usually, it's easy for you, but your strong boyfriend showed that you are weak-willed when around him. he was pressing on your stomach when you guys were watching tv, made sure to leave the door open when he went to the bathroom to shower, pee, and wash his hands.

you to your disdain were going to break when jongho saw that you gave him the silent treatment. "listen here, sweetie, just because you can't go to the bathroom doesn't mean you ignore me. come here." he caught you by your hip and tugged you to him. he effortlessly lifted you up over his shoulder from the living room area to the couch where the tv was.

"no jongho, no! i was so close to winning-"

"you should have thought about that before purposefully ignoring me all day." he was right, and you knew it. you in an attempt to win his challenge ended up disregarding him, being outright rude sometimes. well, your punishment was waiting for you now. he sat down on the couch, with you over his lap. he pulled your shorts and panties down in one go. he then gave your right cheek a light tap, making you jolt due to the gentle force. "count until i feel like you've learned your lesson."

you haven't even reached 10 yet and had leaked all over your boyfriend's trousers. jongho didn't care, however, as he loved seeing you moan from the pleasurable pain, as well as having an excuse to tap that cute ass of yours. it was more like a harsh smack for you, as you felt both cheeks getting hot. once the tenth spank occurred, you cried out. "10! please jjong i can't take it anymore"

jongho gave your ass a break and lifted you onto his pissed-soaked lap to hold onto you. you sobbed in pleasure that couldn't be explained. "shh, shh, sweetie. you've done well. ill run you a bath soon and we can cuddle later, okay?" wiping the tears from your eyes, you nodded.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

i wrote this while feeling sad about my current state, but when i finished writing this felt somewhat better (probably because writing is a comfort for me). hopefully you guys are feeling 10x better than me!

if you have any asks or suggestions, let me know! i can write for more groups, but more atz asks are okay.

#ateez smut #에이티즈 #ateez imagines #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #ateez yunho #ateez yeosang #ateez san #ateez mingi #ateez wooyoung #ateez jongho

254 notes · View notes

javier-pena · 4 years

Text

alone

Chapter 1 of The Hunt

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Rating: Mature (for now but that will - spoilers! - change eventually)

Summary: When your best friend and companion is abducted by a group of outlaws, you hire a Mandalorian to help track down the men and get your revenge. What seems like a simple enough task stretches into a month-long trek through inhospitable terrain while both you and the Mandalorian are trying to come to terms with events in your past you cannot change. Set after Season 2.

Warnings: mentions (and short descriptions) of death, murder, and torture | a lot of hurt and no comfort | mentions of loss | mild to moderate language | a lot - and I mean A LOT - of talk about Din’s hands lmao

Notes: This is my first attempt at a Mandalorian fic and the first time in months I’ve written anything. It’s vaguely inspired by my favorite western movies, True Grit (1969/2010), The Quick and the Dead (1995), and The World to Come (2020). So yes, this is going to be very much like a western. I also want to - again - thank Dani @javierpcna who was like “are you writing Mandalorian stuff?” about a month ago and has, since then, read through this chapter more often than me and encouraged me to continue to write it and offered so much valuable insight whenever I came to her with an idea ... seriously, Dani, this fic wouldn’t exist without you and I hope I can find a way to repay you! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this first chapter (I’m already working on the second one) ...

masterlist | join the tag list

The day the Mandalorian arrives on Alvorine is the day you lose your best friend. You’re still busy putting out the fire, running your soot-blackened hand across your face, where the dirt mingles with the tears you’re too tired to stop from streaming down your face, when you hear the thrusters of a spacecraft roaring above you. You barely glance up; you can’t be bothered to. It could be the remnants of the Empire looking for recruits, it could be the New Republic looking for the remnants of the Empire, or it could be the bandits coming back for more. But what do you care? They already took away the one person you care most about in the galaxy. You just grip the shovel tighter and drive it into the soil so you can choke the fire underneath moist stones and dirt.

While you exhaust your body with physical labor, you occupy your mind with thoughts of revenge. Revenge as dark and quenching as the soil beneath you. With every load of dirt you heave onto the searing flames, your plan gains another sharp edge until all you can think of is driving the cutting edge down onto the throat of the man who gripped Brea’s arm and pulled her onto the speeder bike. Maybe his head would come off right away, maybe your tool would just obstruct his windpipe as you watch the life drain slowly out of his eyes. And even that would be too good an end for that monster.

It’s not just in your mind – those thoughts aren’t simply there to ground you while you continue your work in the ruins of what was once your home. It’s not pure fantasy, something to give you back a feeling of control. You are determined to follow through on it; you are going to hunt down these men who burned down your farm and stole Brea from you. You will not rest until they are all dead by your hand. And if you should die in the process … then you won’t go out without a fight, without taking as many of those bastards with you as you can. They have sealed their own fate by coming here today.

You know Brea isn’t dead; they won’t kill her unless she tries to kill one of them first. And she wouldn’t do that, she is too gentle for that, too docile. She would rather turn the other cheek. They should have taken you instead; she doesn’t deserve the fate that awaits her. You would’ve at least put up a fight, make them pay for what they did. And Brea? She would just die.

For now, she’s alive. But whatever you set out to do once you’re done here won’t be a rescue mission. You aren’t under the illusion you can save her. You know that even if you were to leave right now, even if you had your own speeder bike, you would never find her in time. No, this possibility hasn’t even crossed your mind. All you want to do is cause these men more pain than they caused you. You know it is impossible because you cannot imagine anything worse, but you sure as hell will do your best.

You straighten your back, drive the shovel into the ground, and use it as support while you try to catch your breath. The air burns in your lungs, and not just from the cold. There is also the steadily rising black smoke that makes breathing hard; your throat stings, so do your sides, and there is a bitter taste in your mouth. But you’re almost finished here, you’re almost done putting out the fire, so it won’t endanger the surrounding forest. And with every flame you bury, you also bury a piece of your soul until you feel like there is nothing left that makes you human, until all the pain and despair you’re feeling since listening to Brea’s screams grow quieter and quieter until they were swallowed up by silence has turned into a cold, brazen cry for revenge. But you’re glad this has made you less forgiving, less kind, less … human. Those things would only get in the way of the task ahead of you.

As the last flames go out with a wet hiss, one of Alvorine’s three blue white suns vanishes behind the treetops. You know the other two will be quick to follow. And you don’t have anywhere to spend the night. You wouldn’t mind sleeping with your back propped against a tree. You’ve done it often enough. But it’s winter, and the air is already cold and will be even colder once the other two suns set too. And you just lost every blanket, every single piece of fabric that could keep you warm in a small inferno. You know this is just an excuse, a comforting lie you tell yourself. The truth is you cannot spend a minute longer on this clearing, even if that means you have to walk the four miles to the next settlement. You’re so exhausted you cannot feel your legs, but you don’t care. Anything is better than spending the night here, even collapsing in the middle of the dark forest.

You leave the shovel where you stand and walk to the edge of the clearing, swallowing around the lump in your throat, trying to hold down more tears that are threatening to spill over and down your cheeks. Once you reach the edge of the forest, where the air is a bit clearer, you take a deep breath and turn around to look at the ruins of your home, now nothing more than a black pile of rubble. You have nothing, nothing but the clothes you’re wearing, not even a small trinket to remind you of Brea and the many happy hours you spent here tending to your fields, sweeping the front porch or sitting around the fireplace sharing supper. Even remembering how you worked on menial chores now feels like the most precious memory, one you will hold onto until your last breath. Because even though they have taken everything from you, they can’t take away the memory of Brea’s laugh.

***

They stare at you as you enter the inn. They stare and then look away. They can’t bear your presence because it reminds them of their own guilt. Not one of them came to your aid this morning, not one of them came afterwards to offer help. And you ignore them too because there is nothing left to say. All you want is some food and a dry place to sleep before you turn your back on them forever.

You sit down at a small table in a dark corner. The patrons around you either turn their backs to you or stand up to move their meals and conversations someplace else. It’s as if you’ve been marked. If you had any strength left in you, you would call them out on their behavior. Shit, you would wreak havoc, and only stop when the last one of them is on their knees begging for forgiveness. But you’re glad you’re too exhausted because your sudden hatred for everyone and everything scares you. The villagers don’t deserve to fall victim to your rage. There is nothing they could’ve done. They are just as defenseless and helpless as you. Would you have come to their aid if your positions were reversed? You would like to think so, but just because it gives you a false sense of moral superiority. Deep down you know the truth. Deep down you know you would hide too, praying that you would be spared.

As you dig into your bowl of soup, you realize how hungry you are. Even though everything tastes like ash in your mouth, your stomach is glad to have something to clench around when your thoughts stray to this morning’s events again. And you know there’s no need to punish yourself by refusing your body the nourishment it needs. The opposite, in fact – you know you’ll need all the strength you can get if you’re really going after them.

As you swallow one ashy bite after the other, you let your eyes wander around the room, looking for something that will distract you from your thoughts and your feelings of guilt. Everyone avoids your gaze; everyone acts as if your corner is empty. Everyone … except one stranger.

He sits in a booth close to the bar, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze on you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you – he’s wearing a helmet that covers his entire head, the kind you’ve seen twice before in this corner of the galaxy. He’s a Mandalorian, a bounty hunter, and his presence here doesn’t really surprise you. Even though actually seeing one is a rare occurrence, stories about them are countless.

Alvorine is a planet without laws, a planet that lives by its own rules, so many criminals decide to hide out here while they wait for their crimes to be forgotten. There is no military presence on the planet, no judicial system, no one to catch and punish the wrongdoers. The planet follows the rules of whoever is in charge, which changes frequently, but none of the powerful people have enough resources to enforce those rules anyway. Disputes are often just settled by the parties involved in whatever way they see fit. Only the Mandalorians, who are hired by people on other worlds, by people who have never experienced what it is like to live on Alovrine, are brave enough to get involved in those disputes. You have to admit you do feel a tiny bit curious as to why that particular Mandalorian is here ... who hired him? And who is he hunting?

You tentatively let your gaze wander over his stoic body, over the beskar covering his arms and chest, over the bandolier wrapped around his upper body, over the visor hiding his eyes. If you had one like him on your side, you wouldn’t need to worry about getting your revenge. He would catch those men in the blink of an eye. And if you paid him enough, he would do to them whatever you wanted.

He would cut off their limbs but keep them alive long enough to feel it.

He would make them run for it, give them the illusion of hope, only to crush it like their bones.

He would let you watch, let you choose whatever punishment you saw fit.

You shift in your seat because you can almost smell the blood, you can hear a faint echo of their screams, and it makes you feel light-headed and nauseous, but also elevates you, lifts a weight off your shoulders, even if just for a brief moment.

But he’s not here to do your bidding. And when you lift your head again, he’s gone.

You finish your bowl of soup and then decide to rent a room upstairs for the night. You don’t have a place to stay anymore and it’s too dangerous to start your pursuit while it’s dark. The forest belongs to dangerous creatures during the night, more dangerous than any man out there. And you’re planning on staying alive for just a little while longer.

You stretch and yawn and move to get up when your path is suddenly blocked. It happens so fast you don’t register anything at first apart from the cold, hard beskar chest plate that is level with your face. Its unexpected appearance makes you lose your balance and you fall back down onto the bench you’ve been sitting on. The Mandalorian extends his hand, his fingers closing around thin air. It’s a half-hearted attempt to stop your fall, and it comes too late – your backside has already painfully collided with the hard wood.

“May I join you?” His voice sounds distorted through the modulator in his helmet. He sounds like a machine, not like a being with a heartbeat.

You want to tell him no, want to tell him to fuck off, but for tonight you have no fight left in you. So you nod.

He sits down and you expect to hear the clink of his armor, expect to feel a tremor when his heavy body comes to rest on a stool opposite you. But there is no sound, no movement, and the lack makes you sit up straighter. This isn’t just another cowardly villager you can get rid of by glaring at him … this is an apex predator.

You swallow with some difficulty. “Can I help you?” you ask, your voice level, your eyes resting on his glove-clad hands lying on the table. You figure you’re safe as long as you can see them.

At first, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you. You cannot see his eyes behind the tinted visor. No matter how uncomfortable the situation makes you feel, you try not to move … you try not to show any sign of weakness, to give him any excuse to lunge across the table and strangle you.

Finally, he answers. “I’m looking for work.”

Now you cannot help but move. You exhale sharply, and with that release of breath comes a release of tension as you slump backwards, your back hitting the wall behind you. You cross your arms over your chest. “I can’t help you,” you say. You don’t have any work to offer him, no work worthy of the skills of a Mandalorian who usually hunts down important people, kings, merchants, people who influence the course of the galaxy’s history. Following a few lowly bandits is not the work he’s used to. You don’t even want to tell him about it because you know he’d take it as an insult. And even if - by some miracle - your quest for revenge would be deemed a worthy cause in the eyes of the Mandalorian, you couldn’t afford his services.

The slightest movement of his helmet is the only reaction your answer gets out of him. Whether he shifts because he’s surprised or because he’s angry, or whether his scalp itches under the metal you cannot tell.

Still, you feel the need to explain yourself. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any money.”

Shit, that’s the wrong thing to say. It implies you have work for him, but that you’re too poor to pay him. For all you know, this could be a grave insult in Mandalorian society.

His fingers on the table clench around thin air again. “What can you offer?” he asks.

He doesn’t want to know about the job, the quarry as you know they call it. No, he just wants to know how much he can earn.

“240 credits,” you answer. It’s all you have. You won’t need it anymore.

He tilts his head and you expect him to refuse, but then he says, “That’s enough.”

You’re taken aback, surprised. He’s caught you off-guard. You were fully prepared to see him walk away at hearing the ridiculously low amount of money you just offered. “You don’t even know what the job is,” you protest. The last thing you need is a Mandalorian hunting you down because you’re not paying him enough.

“They told me,” he says with a nod behind him.

You follow the movement with your eyes and see heads whip to the side, gazes wandering downwards, you notice conversations being picked up again. White hot fury fills you, more powerful than the flames that destroyed your house.

“They had no right,” you press out through clenched teeth.

The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything. He sits still like a statue, unwavering, as you fight a small battle with yourself. You should leave without looking back. Messing with a Mandalorian is even more dangerous than the task ahead of you. But he’s offering you something invaluable, something no amount of credits can get you: a chance. If you go alone, you’ll be dead in about a week. There’s no use pretending you’ll get out of it alive. But if you accept the Mandalorian’s help – his services, you have to remind yourself – you might make it through two. You might get to see your dreams of revenge become reality.

You sigh deeply as a heavy weariness settles over you. You’re exhausted, and now that all the adrenaline has left your body, you can feel all the small cuts and bruises today’s labors have left behind. And you feel empty … cold and empty, and utterly alone.

The Mandalorian still doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t defend the villagers, he doesn’t tell you what he knows about you or the job, he doesn’t try to persuade you to take him up on his offer, nor does he walk away from it. He just sits there and waits for you to make up your mind, as if it’s all the same to him. And it probably is. Either he goes with you and earns some money, or he doesn’t and looks for work elsewhere. He is completely detached from the whole affair. There is no emotional investment, just a job that needs to be done.

He doesn’t care if you live or die, he just cares if you pay him or not.

This realization is what finally helps you make up your mind. “I want to hire you,” you say, your tongue heavy in your mouth. All you really want is to sleep.

There is no reaction for the longest time but then the Mandalorian nods. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to say something, give him details or explain the specifics of the job to him. But before you can decide what to say next, he stands abruptly.

“I’ll be back in a few days,” he says before turning around.

Your brain needs a moment to catch up but when it does, you’re already on your feet. “Wait,” you say, and to your surprise the broad, steel-clad man listens to you.

He doesn’t face you, but he stops.

You briefly consider asking him if you can accompany him, but you don’t. You don’t have to ask, you get to decide.

“I’m coming with you,” you tell him.

You tell a stranger, a dangerous one at that, one who makes his money by making other people’s lives a living hell, that you will travel with him through dark, deserted forests where no one will stop him from taking what he wants from you instead of earning it, where no one will come to your aid should he not honor the deal you apparently just made with him. And you don’t care. Because no matter what he will do to you, it can’t be worse than what has already been done.

But all your worries and fears focus in on just one tiny aspect of this whole, fucked-up situation when he says, “I work alone.”

You don’t want to negotiate. This shouldn’t even be up for debate. You’re his employer now, you get to decide how things are done. But if you insist on this, he could just walk away from you. And you cannot let that happen now that you’ve had an idea of what it would be like to have a Mandalorian on your side.

“We’re not a team,” you say. “Think of me as an interested party. As someone who is fascinated by your work.”

You’re not sure if that is the right thing to say. His shoulders move, but he still doesn’t turn around. When he speaks again, you know it was the wrong thing to say.

“I work alone or not at all.”

You don’t want to accept that. You want to be there when those men are punished for what they did. You don’t want to wait around for the Mandalorian to come back, not when you don’t have anywhere to wait around in. You’ve lost everything. Had he talked to the villagers as he claims, he would know this. Or maybe he does. Maybe he knows you lost your home today but doesn’t care. He doesn’t even know the definition of the word home. It means nothing to him.

You take a deep breath. “Then I won’t be needing your services.”

This finally makes him turn around. Everything in you screams for you to take a few steps back, to put yourself out of his reach. You can feel the atmosphere between you shift – he draws back his shoulders, makes himself even taller than he already is. And you know, you just know, that refusing his offer, that backtracking on your agreement is the worst mistake you made tonight.

You’re pretty sure that not honoring a deal is the worst insult to a Mandalorian.

“Going alone will be your death,” he says when you cannot bear the tension a second longer.

“What’s it to you?”

The words are out. They are a challenge, one you didn’t mean to make, one you shouldn’t have made, but it’s done now. Your hand begins to tremble, and your feet grow cold with fear as you prepare yourself for his reaction. You don’t know if he will hit you, tie you up, torture you, or just kill you on the spot. He could do all of these things without having to fear any repercussions. You curse yourself for not having been more careful, for making this fatal mistake, because now Brea will go unavenged. Just because you couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut, just because you’re stubborn and hot-headed and oh so stupid.

But to your surprise, the Mandalorian shrugs. He lifts his broad shoulders, then lowers them again as your eyes follow the movement. But he’s not giving you anything more: He doesn’t insist on going alone, he doesn’t turn around and leave, he just keeps standing opposite you, motionless, emotionless, until you’re convinced you imagined the shrug.

So you decide to make the next move by removing yourself from this situation before he changes his mind and drags you back to his ship to do whatever he wants to you. You take a deep breath and start to step around him, a movement that is almost impossible to complete in this small space you’re both in. But you attempt it, nevertheless. When you’re level with him, doing your best not to brush up against him so you won’t enrage him, you hear his voice. It’s just one sentence, four words, but for some reason it sounds so much more human than it did when he was opposite you. Maybe it has something to do with the distance between his helmet and your ear, maybe it’s the angle from which the sounds hit your eardrums or maybe it’s because you feel light-headed, dizzy with the realization he hasn’t killed you yet and probably won’t.

He says, “Have it your way.”

You stop right next to him, staring ahead at a group of three men who do their best not to look at you. But you don’t see them anyway. In fact, you don’t see anything at all because the rushing sound in your ears drowns out everything else, even other senses.

“You can come with me,” he says, and it’s the first time he has spoken two sentences in a row. “But you do as I say.” Three. “If I tell you to run, you run.” Four. “If I tell you to get out of the way, you do so.” Five. “And if I tell you to kill, you kill.” Six.

Then nothing, just the faint sound of his deep breaths through the modulator.

Your thoughts are racing, tripping over their own feet like children running down a hill, and they’re unbearably loud. Everything is loud suddenly, from the sound of the barkeep filling a glass to the way that woman over there is chewing her food. The only thing that’s quiet is the last one you would have suspected to be so: the Mandalorian. Now he is waiting for you to say something and as he does, he balls his hand into a fist and then releases the tension again, over and over like a nervous tic, like he needs an outlet for the tension in his body, the tension you have no idea he is feeling until you see his arm flex beneath the fabric covering it.

But, once more, you’re at war with yourself. You don’t know what to tell him. There is still that shimmer of hope on the horizon, the light that makes you believe you stand a chance if you bring him along. But his terms … you’re not sure if you can accept them. He doesn’t know Alvorine or the men you would be hunting half as well as you do. And you’ve never been one for following orders. So if you feel that his assessment of a situation is wrong, you’re not sure you’ll be able to run just because he tells you to.

You have a feeling that defying his orders would be the most dangerous thing you could ever do, even more dangerous than hunting down a group of ruthless bandits who like to torture and kill for fun.

“All right,” you say finally.

His fist unclenches one last time and he exhales slowly.

“But when we find them,” you swallow hard, once, but your mouth is completely dry, “I get to decide what happens to them.”

The Mandalorian turns toward you so abruptly that you almost lose your balance. You lean back and hit your elbow on the wall behind you. The pain makes you curse under your breath.

“Agreed,” he whispers. He sounds like a machine again, as if everything that makes him human is shut away beneath that cold, hard, invaluable beskar steel. You too feel cold suddenly, cold and afraid. “But until then you do as I say. Understood?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. He is too close to you, and drowns out everything else, even the sounds that you considered to be too loud mere seconds ago. If he wouldn’t be wearing a helmet, you would be able to feel his breath on your cheek. He takes up your field of vision almost entirely. You’ve never felt more on display, and yet more hidden. And you know that if you say the wrong thing now, it will have terrible consequences.

So you just nod again.

“We leave in the morning,” he tells you, then turns around suddenly and leaves, his cape trailing behind him.

All sounds come rushing back at once, as if you’ve just emerged out of a pool of water. You release your breath quickly, only now realizing you’ve been holding it. Then you slump back against the wall, a shaking, quivering mess.

***

tag list: @bella-ciao, @filthybookworm, @frannyzooey, @khalysa, @leannawithacapitala, @mothandpidgeon, @mrsparknuts, @mxsamwilson, @piscespussybabe, @something-tofightfor

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mando x reader #star wars #din djarin #pedro pascal #fanfic #the hunt fic #yes i've queued this #yes i'm asleep right now #and yes i'm too much of a coward

302 notes · View notes

hoboal87 · 3 years

Text

You Broke Us, Part 5 (Fin)

Title: You Broke Us, Part 5

Characters: Reader, Sam, Dean, OFCs

Pairing: au!Lawyer!Sam x Reader, past Dean x Reader

Word Count: 3.1k+

Warnings: angst, past cheating, mentions of past non-con, non-graphic descriptions of past non-con, unrealistic recovery from past non-con, fearful reader, implied stalking, self-loathing, implied murder, America has a bad justice system. (To avoid spoilers, more warnings will be in the tags)

A/N: This got much darker in some parts than I had intended.

TW: mentions of past Non-con and the realization that the encounter was actually rape. "Rape" and "Sexual Assault" will be used to describe said past encounter throughout this part.

A/N 2: Again, to avoid certain spoilers, I didn’t warn for them, but they are in the tags. If you'd like to DM me about any of the possible warnings, please feel free.

As always, I’d like to blame/thank @superbadassnatural for requesting the first part that inspired me to write this mini-series. Love Ya, Julia!

Beta’ by @negans-lucille-tblr

You Broke Us Masterlist

My Full Masterlist

Part Four

‘member sweetheart, this stays between us.

You wake in a cold sweat. Every night since you’d left Sam, Dean’s words haunted your dreams. You wanted to be back with Sam, back in your bed, curled up against him, feeling the warmth of his body against your own. Instead, you were in a motel two states away, making your way towards Seattle, where what little family you had left was settled. You thought getting distance would help; help ease your guilt, help you try to forget what Dean had done to you, but, if anything, it only seemed to make things worse.

You don’t tell anyone where you’re going, afraid that somehow Dean may track you down, make you sleep with him again, continuing to use your one-time mistake as a way to keep you quiet. You had to disappear, for Sam’s sake; he’d lost too much already, and you loved him enough to keep the secret that his brother was a predator — a monster — from him.

A few weeks after leaving Sam, you settle in Kenmore, and reconnect with your cousin, Thea, who you hadn’t seen since you and Sam had gotten married. Thea offers to let you stay with her until you’ve found a job and place to live, and you’re grateful that she doesn’t question why you’ve arrived in Kenmore alone. It takes nearly a month, but you find a small house to rent and are offered a position at a family law firm.

Once you’ve moved into your new home, Thea breaches the topic of Sam, and why you’ve arrived in Washington without him. You try to spin a tale of Sam growing ever more absent in your life, that you wanted different things, but your body and emotions betray you when she gently pushes for more information. You break down, and tell her everything; how you’d cheated unknowingly with Sam’s brother.

Thea doesn’t judge you, or if she does, she gracefully keeps it to herself. The dam breaks and you tell her how Dean blackmailed you into sleeping with him again, and how he insisted that Sam would never have believed you over him. Thea’s hand rests on yours as you continue your story through broken sobs, making you cry even harder when she says the words you’d been avoiding since the day you left.

“He raped you.”

6 months later

Imma fill up the perfect little pussy, isn’t that what you want, sweetheart?

You thought you were past the nightmares, past waking up in the middle of the night, unable to move because you could still feel the weight of Dean’s body on top of yours, holding you down as he came deep inside you. You focus on one of the only mementos you’d taken when you’d left Sam; your wedding photo. Your hand lightly traces the frame, studying the picture even though you’ve already committed it to memory, and a fluttering comes from your stomach.

You rub the swell of your belly, grounding yourself as your breathing evens out. You smile slightly at the faint kick from the baby growing inside you, calming yourself as the memory of Dean slowly fades away. Finding out you were pregnant scared the ever-living hell out of you, especially since you didn’t know who the father was; Sam or Dean.

Thea was with you when you found out you were pregnant, insisting on taking you to a doctor even though it had, at that point, been over a month since Dean assaulted you. You breathed a sigh of relief when the doctor told you that you were negative for STDs and HIV, before explaining that you had come back positive on one test– pregnancy.

You toiled with the idea of termination, unsure if you could continue carrying a baby that may be the result of Dean’s assault. You’d wanted to grow your family with Sam for years, but with how much he was working, you’d both decided to put it off for the time being. Thea promised to support whatever decision you made, and as much as the rational part of your brain told you it would be better, you couldn’t bring yourself to end your pregnancy.

As you relax, another kick comes from the baby, and you sigh loudly. Okay, I get it, you’re up now. You throw back the covers, and swing your legs over the bed, struggling for a moment to stand up. You can barely see your toes over your ever-growing stomach, and waddle towards the bathroom. You crawl back into bed, curling up with the pregnancy pillow that Thea had graciously gifted you a few months ago and letting yourself fall back to sleep.

Hours later, you’re sitting on a park bench humming a lullaby as you watch parents play with their children. This was your favorite thing to do nowadays; daydream about the family you could’ve had with Sam. Your phone chirps, taking your attention off of a toddler being pushed in a swing, laughing wildly and begging to go higher. You don't recognize the number, but you know all of your coworkers have access to your number, so you open it without a second thought.

>>Pregnancy suits you, sweetheart.

Your heart falls into your stomach and you look around frantically. No, no, no, it can’t be Dean. You’d gotten rid of your old cell, cancelled all your credit cards that you shared with Sam, closed your checking account; only using cash until you arrived in Kenmore. You’d been careful; you hadn’t made contact with anyone in Kansas since you’d left. Another message pops up before you've barely had time to process the first one.

>>Didn’t think you could hide forever did ya, sweetheart?

Tears well in your eyes, it's been over six months, why would Dean choose now to track you down? You'd left Kansas for this very reason, to rid yourself of him. You try to take a calming breath, but another mother seems to notice your increasing panic.

"You alright there, hon?" She approaches you cautiously, and you nod slightly. "Are you sure?”

“Yeah, you know… hormones,” you try to laugh off your discomfort. “One minute laughing, the next crying.”

The woman sits with you for a few minutes, giving you a little extra time to calm down. Once you’ve convinced her that you’re okay, you carefully get off the bench, instinctively wrapping your arms around your stomach, and head for your car.

The drive back to your home seems to take longer than usual, your eyes falling on the mirrors constantly, as it would help you find Dean in the traffic. You pull into your driveway, almost expecting to see Dean there. Maybe he was just screwing with you, he’d made it obvious that it’s what he enjoyed doing. But how did he get your number. How did he even know you are pregnant?

You run inside, locking the door frantically behind you. You call the police and less than ten minutes later two armed officers are standing at your front door. The two officers listen silently as you explain that you believe that you’re being stalked, and show them the messages from Dean. The female is sympathetic, but explains that without proof, there’s nothing they can do. You ask about a restraining order, surely then you can keep Dean away.

“Ma’am, from what you’ve told us, this man doesn’t live in the area, or even the state,” the elder man states.

“That shouldn’t matter!” Thea comes to your defense, walking past the officers and taking a seat by your side. “He assaulted her, she’s pregnant, and afraid he’s going to do it again.”

“Did you file an order of protection in Kansas?” The woman asks gently, and you shake your head. “Is there any record of the alleged assault? Did you file a police report? Did you see a doctor?”

You listen carefully as the officers tell you to keep records of everything, and if you see Dean to notify them, but they also remind you that until it’s proven otherwise, Dean is a “law-abiding citizen.”

Two weeks later

“I think you should call Sam.” Thea sits a cup of tea in front of you. “You might be separated, but legally, he’s still your husband.”

“I– I can’t Thea. I broke his heart when I left. I told him that it was his fault that I cheated. I can’t tell him now that it was with his brother.”

“Y/N,” Thea sighs, “Sam needs to know. He needs to know what happened, why you left. I know you don’t want to take away the only family he has left, but he has a right to know that Dean didn’t just trick you into sleeping with him, he assaulted you.”

“What am I supposed to do?” you snap, letting your anger get the better of you. “Call him after being gone for the better part of a year, and say ‘your brother is a monster, and he’s the reason why I left?’”

“Yes!” Thea lets out an exasperated sigh, “and you also need to tell him about–” her eyes fall on your stomach. “They could be his, y’know? Call ‘im, Y/N.”

You hadn’t gotten any other texts since that first day. Maybe it was all in your head; a wrong number, a cruel prank. You know Thea’s right, you should reach out to Sam, but you’re afraid that with Sam comes Dean.

When Thea leaves you that night, you reluctantly dial Sam’s number, praying that he’ll give you the chance to explain yourself. Your heart beats rapidly in your chest as you wait for him to answer.

“Hello?”

Three Days Later

You didn’t explain much to Sam over the phone, how could you? You asked him to come to Kenmore, alone, and that once he was there you would explain everything. You take a calming breath, smoothing down your dress as you wait for Sam to arrive. Thea’s with you, promising that she will stay as long as you need her to. A faint knock comes from your front door, and you can hear Thea introducing herself to Sam. You take another long breath, before stepping out of your bedroom and making your way towards Sam.

Even from a distance, Sam looks worse than you imagined he would. You hide in the shadows of the hall, taking in his appearance. He looks as if he hasn’t slept in weeks, large bags are prominent under his eyes, hair longer than you’d seen it before, and his clothes are loose on his body. You watch as he makes polite conversation with Thea, his eyes shooting up when you make the slightest of noises, alerting him to your presence. His face lights up when his eyes meet yours as you step out of the shadows.

A wide grin forms as you lay eyes on each other for the first time in what feels like an eternity. The smile that you've missed quickly drops as Sam’s gaze falls on to your belly, a questioning look forms and he opens his mouth to speak but no words come. Tears brim in his eyes as he closes the distance between you, wrapping his arms around you as tightly as he can given your swollen center. You’ve missed this; you’ve ignored how much you’ve missed him, but now with him here you can’t deny it any more. Sam loosens his arms and pulls back slightly, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“Is this why you left?” He asks as one of his hands hovers above your belly, and the implication of the question doesn’t go past either of you.

“No,” you shake your head and Sam guides you both to the nearby couch. “But I couldn’t stay, Sam. I left because I couldn’t stand what I’d done,” you half-lie, not knowing how to break the truth to him. “You deserve someone better than me; you deserve a wife who doesn’t cheat because she’s lonely.”

“Honey,” Sam sighs and caresses your arm. “Whatever made you say those things you said that day, it doesn’t matter. I meant what I said, I want us to start over, everything that happened before, all of it – it’s behind us now. You and me, the baby,” he rests his hand on your belly, “this is our chance.”

“Sam–” You want to cry. How are you lucky enough to have him be so understanding? But then again, he doesn’t know everything yet. “I have to tell you,” you take a deep breath, and look to Thea, who’s been listening silently. “The baby… I don’t– I don't know if it’s yours.”

Sam’s hand drops from your stomach, and his body tenses. He’s on his feet, pacing in front of you, face growing redder by the minute.

“So you didn’t stop seeing the bartender?” Sam accuses, anger laced in his voice. “Did you sleep with him the same day that we slept together?”

“I–”

“Did he move here with you? Is that why you called me out here, so you could follow through with a divorce? You made me think you wanted to reconcile, was it all a lie?”

“Let her explain,” Thea interjects.

Sam stops in his tracks and turns around to face you again.

“It was Dean,” you mumble, “he’s why I left.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“Dean was blackmailing me.”

“Why?”

“Before Dean came over that night, I’d already met him, I just didn’t know it. He was the bartender, and when I realized who he was I didn’t know what to do. He said I had to agree to his conditions, or he’d tell you. We’d just got back together, and I didn’t want anything to ruin that. I didn’t know what he wanted from me, and then the next day, after you left, he told me that I had to sleep with him again.

“I didn’t want to, but I didn’t want to hurt you again. So I did.” You choke back a sob. “He’d been watching us Sam, been keeping tabs on you, I know he’s your brother, but he’s a monster. When he wasn’t satisfied, he made me– Dean assaulted me. He would’ve kept doing it too, and I couldn’t live like that, Sam, I didn’t want to leave... but I had to. I had to protect myself, protect you, and this was the only way I knew how. And then a couple of weeks ago, I started getting these messages, and I can’t prove it but, I know they’re from him. He’d tracked me down, I don’t know what he wants, but I can’t let him come near me again.”

“Such a sob story, Y/N,” a voice tsks, sending shivers through your spine. “How ‘bout you tell Sammy about when you came to my place and begged like a whore for my cock?” What was he doing here, why was he here? “Oh, sweetheart,” Dean seems to read your mind. “You honestly think that I ever lost track of you?”

“Tell me she’s wrong, Dean.”

A wicked grin appears on Dean’s face. “The only thing she’s wrong about is me tracking her down. You could never hide from me, sweetheart, even if you wanted to. She did make the mistake of trying to get the cops involved, but I’ve kept enough distance that they’ll never be able to prove anything.”

Sam steps between you and Dean, and you’re not sure if it’s to protect you, or defend him.

“She was begging for it, Sammy, just like Jess. But she couldn’t live with herself afterwards, so I did what needed to be done.” You’d known Jess briefly, and the circumstances of her death always felt strange to you. “I thought you’d come crawling back, but no, you drowned your sorrows in Y/N’s sweet little pussy.”

Your eyes flick to Thea, who cautiously makes her way towards a discarded phone on a side table.

“I wouldn’t do that if I was you,” Dean turns around, as if he has eyes in the back of his head. It’s then that you notice it; a gun tucked into his jeans. Thea doesn’t stop until Dean aims the gun at her. “Not too bright, are you, sweetheart?”

“Dean…” Sam keeps his voice steady, and you watch in horror as Dean turns the gun away from Thea, and onto you. “You don’t have to do this. Hurting Y/N, it’s not going to help you. You want me to come back on the road with you again? Live life like we did before Stanford? I know what the police look for, and I can help you stay outta jail, but you have to let Y/N go. I won’t let what happened to Dad happen to you, man, I swear. Just put the gun away, and we’ll walk outta here, you and me, how it’s supposed to be.”

“There’s only one problem with that, Sammy,” Dean seems to be calmed by Sam’s offer, and while you don’t want Sam to go away, if it’ll keep your baby safe, you’ll resign to never seeing him again. “That kid’s mine, and I’m not gonna be some dead-beat dad.”

“Y/N will let you visit, won’t you, honey?” Sam pushes gently, and you nod your head in agreement, though you’re unsure why he would make you promise such a thing. “She’ll take back the statements she made to the police, tell them it was all a misunderstanding. You’re just a man concerned for the safety of his unborn child, isn’t that right?” You’d forgotten how good Sam was at this, getting someone to believe whatever he wanted them to. “But we can’t do any of that if you’re threatening to harm Y/N. So, please, just put the gun down.”

Dean complies, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. Dean moves towards you, and reaches out to touch your belly. You do your best to control your uncomfortableness, if Dean never touched you again it would be too soon. As soon as Dean has put some space between the two of you again, Sam has him on the ground, wrestling to get the gun out of his hand. You move as fast as your body will let you, slumping behind the couch as grunts and groans come from either of the brothers. Dean murmurs something you can’t quite make out, before a loud bang silences the brothers.

You keep your eyes closed as a large hand grips you by the arm and lifts you to your feet. You stumble over your feet, but another body appears beside you, swinging your arm around their shoulder.

“I gotcha, honey,” you open your eyes to see Sam by your side. “Dean can’t hurt you again, Y/N, he’s gone.”

This mini-series started with a request from @superbadassnatural, if you’d like to request a drabble/blurb/one-shot you can send me an ask with a song, gif or prompt.

Epilogue

Please, please, tell me what you think! Feedback is what keeps me going!

158 notes · View notes

applejongho · 3 years

Text

cherry on top | choi jongho

genre: fluff, realistic fiction, humor

character: starbucks employee!jongho

description: Jongho has an interesting run-in with a Karen during his shift at Starbucks.

word count: 2k

warnings: mild swearing

author’s note: jongho as a coffee barista was swimming in my mind for quite some time, so here he is.

masterlist here!

There was something about that coffee stain on Jongho's employee shirt that made it impossible to get rid of. It was likely the mix of the ingredients that had stacked the receipt when it was printed, but Jongho couldn't help but feel she had somehow planned this as he scrubbed harder with bleach.

Jongho wouldn't have guessed the day to turn out as it did, but maybe he should have. Working with the public was always a gamble, but Jongho's optimism blinded him. Most customers were nice enough. Most customers gave a smile when he handed them their overpriced coffee. There weren't too many comments about his red and black hair, and he could shrug off all of them. The compliments were what he remembered.

The day started off normally - with Jongho's coworkers nudging him towards the mound of bagged coffee beans. "I could do it myself, but you just do it quicker, you know?" One of his coworkers had whined, twirling a piece of curly hair around her finger. "It" was picking up the bags of coffee beans to put into the grinder, and Jongho didn't mind it. As he slung a bag over his shoulder with ease and glanced at her, he could swear her face flushed. Perhaps it was just the sun. The sun hit her face like that when he broke apples in half with his bare hands too. It was strange how the universe liked her like that.

After his bean tasks, Jongho took to the drive-thru of the coffee shop. He was told he had a nice voice, but he doubted he sounded that heavenly through a cheap speaker that hadn't been changed for five years. Nonetheless, Jongho enjoyed doing the drive-thru and taking orders. When there were multiple drive-thru lanes open, he would challenge his coworkers to see who could get through orders the fastest. This caused him and his coworkers to resent vans - vans almost always meant there was a large order - a sure loss, unless Jongho's fingers could learn to dance very quickly on the ordering screen.

Taking orders via the drive thru took up his morning, and then he was released for his lunch break. His coworkers had become accustomed to bringing him apples for the sole purpose of him to break them. He didn't mind, and it allowed him to be more comfortable with his coworkers because he could sometimes be shy. "Is that why part of your hair is red?" A coworker had asked him one day after he had broken multiple apples in a row. Jongho shook his head.

"No. Just red," he shrugged, ignoring his coworker's eyebrow raise. "I just like the color red." He thought he looked good with it.

But not everyone agreed - there were some customers that liked to point it out, like he had never seen himself in a reflection before. "You missed the roots," an older woman had told him at the register and gestured to his hair. Jongho added fifty cents to her order.

But for this day in particular, his hair was the reason for his downfall. For the latter half of the day, Jongho would be at the register. He yearned to be in the bar making drinks because it could become so mindless at points, but he was placed in front of the register before he could say anything. He assumed it was because he was the longest working employee out of the staff today, and Jongho vaguely remembered a newbie was working with him. He guessed the manager didn't want them at the register. The register wasn't much different than the drive thru, but there was something about actually seeing the customer or touching their cash or credit card that made it not enjoyable for Jongho.

About an hour into working at the register, Karen walked in. Jongho saw her and his stomach dropped. She looked exactly like a Karen should look: bobbed blonde hair with caramel highlights that were too dark, opaque and round sunglasses, an obnoxiously pink phone case, and a tacky red American flag shirt that said something about how America was blessed. Jongho knew he shouldn't judge people so quickly, but he had dealt with this breed of women before. He had to brace himself for the worst and the unexpected.

"Hello, ma'am," he said cheerfully when Karen got to the front of the line. Her dark sunglasses obscured her eyes, but she was clearly paying attention to her phone instead of him. She suddenly realized she was in Starbucks and lifted up her glasses. She took one look at Jongho's name tag.

"Hello, John," she said, and Jongho had to bite his tongue to keep from making a noise.

"Jongho," he said.

"John," she continued, and listed off her order, Jongho begrudgingly typing it in as she spoke. It's not that hard of a name, he thought to himself as he kept typing. Why was Karen's order so long? Jongho kept translating her vegan, dairy-free, blood-of-firstborn, extra-expresso venti iced coffee into the system until she stopped talking, and even then she wasn't done.

"So is everyone your age just dying their hair like that?" Karen said without prologue. "I'd never let my kid dye their hair like that. It's so unprofessional."

"Thank you," Jongho said, dodging the question and not wanting to provoke her. He hoped his cheeks weren't also red. "Here's your total. Cash or credit?"

Karen pulled out her purse, but not without clicking her tongue in annoyance. "You all really should lower the prices. It's too damn expensive."

Then make your own, Jongho wanted to reply, but he held his tongue. "I wish I could," he said with a smile. Karen frowned in return, and, without warning, dumped her entire coin bag onto the counter. Jongho yelped and scrambled to keep flying pennies and quarters from rolling off of the counter. In the corner of his eye, a coworker ogled Karen.

"I used the bills to buy my groceries, so I'll pay in coins," Karen yawned while Jongho threw himself onto the floor to make sure no coins had reached there. He got up, plastering on a fake smile. He hadn't had a customer like this in a long time, but if he could just get through her, everything would be okay. He reached for her quarters first and began counting dollars. He knew for a fact that his manager wouldn't have tolerated this kind of behavior from a customer, but Jongho knew he could be too soft at times. Besides, her jangling keys on her wrist glimmered and showed off their sharpness. He swore he saw her teeth glimmer as well.

"Hurry up," Karen said after a few seconds. "Count faster."

Jongho considered shoving pennies into her eyes. "Certainly," he said, and tried to pick up his pace. He could feel her eyes burning on his neck as he shoved the change into the cash register. He pushed her receipt over to her and eagerly began with the customer behind her, glad to be ridden of her.

But his escape was short lived. He heard a whine from the corner of the store and knew it was the Karen immediately. He was currently helping out a different customer, but there was no one else in line behind them. He'd deal with it after the customer if things escalated with Karen.

"Are you sure you made this correctly?" Karen snarled at Jongho's coworker, her nostrils flailing. The coworker looked like she wanted to sink into the floor. "This doesn't taste like how it usually does. Make it again."

Jongho wouldn't have done anything - customers asked for drinks to be remade frequently. But this was Karen, and upon further inspection, this was the new employee that his manager had talked about. He couldn't leave her hanging, it would be rude as an older and more experienced employee. Jongho finished ringing up the final customer and went over to Karen and the other coworker.

"Cherry head," Karen growled, and Jongho only raised his eyebrows. That was a new one.

"I'll make a new one, ma'am, sorry," he said, taking the drink from her. "I'm sure you were fine," he muttered to the worried coworker and was pleased to see her smile.

Iced coffee wasn't difficult, and with the lack of new customers Jongho took the time to make sure the drink was entirely accurate. It's not that she deserved a drink, it's that he wanted her out of the store as soon as possible. He even had the temperature right, and gave it a perfect dairy-free whipped cream swirl at the top before handing it back to her.

Karen ogled the drink for a moment, looking back and forth at the cup and Jongho. Then she threw the drink at him.

The whipped cream top hit Jongho square in the face and he could taste it. Then came the slow and cold trickle of the coffee down his apron and shirt underneath, and at that moment, he was so glad she hadn't ordered anything hot.

"I said I didn't want whipped cream!" Karen bellowed, but Jongho's choir practice had made him desensitized to loud vocals. He wiped the whipped cream from his face and looked at Karen straight in the eyes.

"Get out," he said coldly. "There's a Dunkin across the parking lot. They can have your coins." He paused for a moment, and then his mouth twitched upward. "My name is John, you can write me up if you want. I don't care."

"I will be," Karen growled, red-faced and clutching her purse at her side like Jongho was going to reach out and nab it. he couldn't believe Karen thought that she was the victim here when Jongho had a new fluffy white beard adorning his face.

"John's right," a third coworker said, coming from behind. He could vaguely hear his laugh under his voice. "We don't tolerate harassment on our employees. You're the one that could end up in trouble."

Karen stared daggers at this new employee, and Jongho was surprised she didn't jump over the counter to tackle him. "Good riddance, I knew Starbucks was going downhill anyway." She gave one last snarl at Jongho, who fluffed up his hair at her glance, before walking out of the Starbucks.

The three employees were silent, and then Jongho felt a towel touch his arm. "Oh my God, Jongho, I'm sorry," the third coworker said.

"I don't think I've ever been drenched quite as much as I am now," he said, accepting the towel. He began to dry himself off as best he could, but he knew his face and clothes were going to be sticky for the remainder of the shift.

"I think there's another apron in the back," the new coworker said, and then scurried off to get it before Jongho could say anything.

"I'm just glad it wasn't her that got absolutely wrecked by coffee," the other coworker murmured. "I think she might have cried."

Jongho nodded, still drying himself off. It was a terrible feeling, the coffee all over his skin and clothes, but now that she was gone, he couldn't help but smile. It was comical, how insane the public could be. "I hope John gets hell for what he did," he smiled.

"Absolutely," the coworker agreed, laughing. The new coworker arrived back with the apron, which Jongho gratefully took.

"Give me a minute to clean up," he told the both of them before going to the back to inspect the wreckage on his clothes and face. It could have been better, but it also could have been worse. He licked a part of the whipped cream that was near his lips and grimaced at the flavor. Despite it all, Jongho was amused at the situation. It kept him on his toes. It would be a funny story to share at a party. Jongho wrote a note in his phone to re-dye his red tips when he got home. Then, smiling, he returned to work.

75 notes · View notes