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ozzgin · 10 months

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Yandere! Yakuza x Reader

I've been plagued by this idea for a while, so let me know what you think! This is just the character introduction. Your new landlord is a Yakuza boss, and his scary looking underling has been tasked to deal with your tenant needs! Although he didn't expect you to be this cute. And you didn't expect him to be this unhinged.

Content: female reader, violence, mentions of stalking

[Part 2] | [Yakuza Masterlist]

This was the last straw.

You're angrily stuffing your suitcase with necessities before the moving company arrives. Each glimpse around the cramped apartment fills you with outrage, as you're still heavily shaken from the events of last night.

You first begun to suspect you might have a stalker when you found your outer lock with a fresh dent in it. You then picked a small scrap from the ground nearby and assumed it was leftover damage, but upon further inspection you discovered, disgusted, that it was part of your peephole. Someone must've fiddled with your door a fair amount. You tried to approach your immediate neighbors for help, but they either refused to answer your persistent knocks or downright scurried away when faced with your questions. They didn't want to deal with a foreigner.

You tried to put it behind you. The police advised you to be cautions, as there was nothing else they could do without concrete evidence. And thankfully, you had several peaceful weeks following the incident. Last night you were suddenly awakened by faint scratches coming from your balcony. You groggily got up and wondered if your recently added bird feeder was attracting nocturnal visitors. You got up without turning on the light, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious animal. As you pulled the drape, however, you were met with the large frame of a man plucking your laundry in a hurry.

A panicked scream erupted from the depths of your chest and you slapped the light switch, erratically searching for your phone. By the time you dialed emergency, the intruder had vanished. You were sobbing against the wall under the fake reassurances of the operator, eyeing the sliding door that had no lock. Had he wished, the masked man could've easily invited himself in. You were at the mercy of a lunatic and no one seemed to be impressed by your situation.

No more. Ideally you'd go back to your home country and forget about your plans to build yourself a life in Japan. What were you even thinking? A lonely girl, low on funds, signing a contract to be relocated across the ocean for work. You barely scraped the first months of a mandatory year.

You close your suitcase with a satisfying click and on your way out you wipe the table of all the newspaper clippings. You've been scanning the potential offers on the market. The ones within your budget, of course, which means you don't have to worry about being picky. Until you find a new place, your belongings can wait in storage. Dusty furniture is a better prospect than waking up with a pervert looming over you.

By the time the clock hits evening hours, you're sipping on your iced coffee with a defeated sigh. Most of the cheap apartments seem to be given to locals. Not outsiders like you. At least they spared you of the false hopes and curtly told you to not expect any call back, so you can swiftly move on to the next circled address. You pull out the crumbled sheet of paper from your pocket. Reading over your list of crossed out lines like this deflates you greatly. At the very bottom lies your final hope: the ad you'd stumbled upon this morning was too good to be true and the realtor was available for viewing at any time, so you're almost certain it's some sort of scam. Yet you can't afford to skip it, can you? You stand up, pat your jeans and take a deep breath in.

As you check your phone to confirm the location, you begin to doubt your decision. It's hard to believe no other potential renters have showed up. The apartment is in a convenient area, very close to public transport, at a great price, on what looks like a busy street. Isn't it the dream? So why? You glance around, examining the surroundings. The shops are bustling with people. You try to come up with possible explanations, when a deep voice startles you.

"You must be (Y/N), right? You sure are easy to spot."

You turn around to greet the person. Although the second you spot him, you take an unconscious step back. You'd expected a middle aged man dressed in formal attire with a shy bow and clumsy movements. The one standing before you resembles none of that. He's imposingly tall, with a muscular built and slicked back hair. You can discern the tattoos peeking out from under the rolled up sleeves. His face has multiple deep scars and you can only assume that the pale, discolored eye that's transfixed in one direction is a fake made of glass. One might call him handsome, if you're into the kind of appearance you see in documentaries about the mafia.

"Y-you're the landlord?" You stutter, immediately covering your mouth and regretting your lack of tact.

"Nuh uh, Boss sent me to deal with it." He flashes you a genuine grin, completely unperturbed by your offhanded implication. "I'm Daitou."

He continues towards the entrance and you follow behind, too awkward to back down now. He describes the living quarters with surprising enthusiasm. If you were to close your eyes and disregard his heavy Kansai accent, you could very well be convinced it's a professional real estate agent hard at work.

"Excuse me for asking, but..." Once he finishes his marketing presentation, you cannot help the increasing anxiety. "What's the catch?"

"Huh?"

"For something like this to be so cheap...and no one else being interested...may I be frank and ask what's wrong with it? Please understand, I just left my previous apartment because of a stalker. I don't want to be packing again anytime soon."

"Well, isn't it obvious?" He searches your gaze for a moment, before gasping as if remembering something. "Wait, you're a foreigner, so I guess you don't know. Ah, that explains it."

He lets out a hearty laugh, satisfied with his conclusion.

"You didn't notice anything strange outside?"

You ponder his question before slowly shaking your head in denial.

"Really? A bunch of heavily tattooed guys with family pins on their suits...This is a yakuza quarter. Our Family owns most businesses here. But lately we've had a lot of police on our backs, ya know? Bound to happen when the street is swarming with us. So Boss had this great idea - he's smart like that, ya know, I've never been the bright one - anyways, he suggested we rent some of our housing to regular civilians. Less suspicious that way."

He crosses his arms and nods to himself proudly.

"I myself think it's a great deal. You won't find anything cheaper for the kind of stuff you're getting. All you have to do is, you know, mind your business. If some weasel questions you, no Sir, you haven't seen or heard anything suspicious. That's all."

You can only stare wide eyed, somewhat taken aback by his honesty.

"Uh...Are you sure you were supposed to tell me all of this? I feel we're skipping some steps before admitting to organized crime."

Now it's his turn to consider your inquiry.

"Probably not, but I'm not good with words. You look like a smart girl, so I thought I won't sugarcoat it. I'm sure you already know that if you leave and rat us out I'll be throwing your chopped up remains in the nearby river. Or would you want to be shipped home instead? I'm a nice guy like that, hehe."

You return a crooked smile and purse your lips in the process. You'd rather not learn the percentage of truth in his humor anytime soon.

"You mentioned a stalker? I can guarantee you he won't follow here, miss. And if he's that dumb to wander on our turf, well, me and my guys always hang around the block. Leave him to me and I'll bring you his teeth in a box."

"I-...Why teeth of all the things?"

"Just easier to pull out, ya know." He winks and reaches for his back pocket, revealing an old pair of pliers with childish delight. "See, I'm a bit of a handyman, so I always have some tools on me."

Strangely enough, you're not as terrified as you would expect from someone in your shoes. Certainly your knees are weaker when compared to your pre-encounter state, but there's something about his demeanor that doesn't feel malicious or threatening. Like conversing with an old friend at a pub.

"Will I truly not get in trouble? You guys do your thing and I'm 100% not involved?"

"You have my word." And with that, as if closing the sale of his lifetime, he confidently slaps a stack of papers on the nearby counter and hands you a pen. "You already have my number, if anyone pisses you off just hit me up and I'll be at your service. Boss left everything to me."

No perverts and less of your monthly allowance going towards rent. Maybe it's your despair talking, but you've been persuaded nonetheless. You scribble your name in the designated field and shove the documents towards your new acquaintance.

"Pleasure doing business with you, miss (Y/N)." He cheerfully dangles the keys before dropping them in your hand and heads for the door.

"Oh, is shipping included in the rent?"

He stops and turns to you, mildly confused.

"You said if I mess up you'll ship my remains home. Do I pay for the postage myself, or is that part of the monthly tax?" You ask with a cheeky grin.

His eyes narrow in delight and you can tell he's greatly amused by your words.

"Nah, consider it a gift from me. Gotta treat a lady nice, 'specially if it's a pretty one like you."

And with that, you're alone again. You look around the room, trying to visualize your new home. It's already getting dark outside. Now that you've had the situation explained to you, you can definitely see what Daitou meant. There's the occasional police officer patrolling the street, and plenty of men dressed in similar fashion walking in small groups.

"And?"

Outside the building, a young man is leaning against the wall with a cigarette in his mouth. He seems to have been waiting for Daitou.

"It's done. Some cute foreigner is moving in." He lifts an arm in a flexing motion, patting his bicep in a congratulatory manner. "Boss will be surprised, eh?"

"You're fucking with me."

"What? You wanna go back upstairs and check?" He responds, appalled. "Might've taken longer than expected, but I told ya I can manage!"

"Are you sure you didn't threaten her or something? I still don't know what Boss was thinking when he asked a nutcase like you to deal with the civvies."

"Hey hey hey, I may not be all fancy speaking like you or Kazuya, but I'm not dumb. Matter of fact, she already signed the papers."

"I never said you're dumb. Just batshit crazy." The young man sighs and flicks his cigarette butt away, stomping on it.

"Let's go and tell the others."

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #female reader #yandere yakuza #yakuza x reader #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere original character #yandere mafia #mafia x reader #original work #oc x reader #male yandere x reader #x reader

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charliemwrites · 8 months

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…. So Mister(s) steal your girl, huh?

Content: Unhappy Relationship, (Brief) Gaslighting, Sad Reader

Bombshells, you always thought, were supposed to making a whistling sound before landing. A high pitched warning of impending doom. Too late to escape the incoming devastation, but at least it wouldn’t come out of nowhere. There’d be some time to brace, for all the good it would do.

Maybe you watched too many movies.

Three months. That’s how long you got to enjoy the bliss of engagement before the world began to fall around you.

Your fiance came home and sat you down, his hand around yours. You thought he was breaking it off for some reason. What he did instead was worse.

In the aftermath you can only remember snippets of the one-sided conversation. Like tinnitus, an awful running in your ears left over from a dropped bomb.

Things like,

Still young, I want to explore…

How will I know you’re my forever unless I know what’s out there?

Last bit of freedom before being tied down…

If you love me and our relationship…

You love your fiance and your relationship. You don’t want to lose it just because you’re selfish. He’s still coming home to you, after all. You’re the one with the ring and all the plans for the future. So what if he wants to… explore? He’s even offering the same to you.

An open relationship, he calls it, like it’s some innovative idea.

You’ve heard of them before, never had much interest. Still don’t, honestly, but it was that or the desolution of 4 years.

You insisted on a long engagement. Your fiance promises that you two can revisit the open relationship when you’re married.

Within a week of agreeing, he’s leaves for the weekend. He doesn’t tell you where he’s going, who he’s meeting. He comes back Sunday evening smelling like someone else’s perfume with a hickey on his collarbone. When you refuse any advances, he sighs and says he “understands that this is a transition” and goes to shower.

It’s like that for six months. Weekends without him. Sometimes sending him off Friday morning and not seeing him until Monday evening. Lipstick on his collars, strange perfume invading the laundry. You start doing his clothes separately.

Six months. You spend months suffering in silence, sniffling through Saturdays and drifting through Sundays. Adjusting meal plans to cook for one.

The last straw is when you try to make plans on a holiday. You and your fiance haven’t done on a proper date in months. You want to go out, have all his attention on you, not shared with his phone.

“Ooh, sorry dear, I’ve already got plans with Malorie. Rain check, yeah? We’ll do something next week.”

You decide to go out anyway, sick of feeling sorry for yourself. Nothing fancy, just a bit of self care. You buy yourself a cute new outfit, put on a bit more makeup than usual, do your hair. Find an interesting little late night book shop. They serve wine and food and have comfy booths for people to read or talk or play board games.

The perfect place to be out but alone.

You’re debating the merits of a romance novel when a voice comes from your left.

“Love that one.”

You blink, glance up. Find a handsome man with eyes simultaneously so dark and so warm. Coals, you think. There’s a cheeky little quirk to his mouth as he nods at the novel.

“It’s good if you like will-they, won’t-they.”

You hum. “I’m more in the market for something… easier? If that makes sense.”

He hums, gives you a solemn look. “It does. Here, you might like this then.”

He plucks a book off the shelf and offers it for inspection. You feel awkward reading it the summary thoroughly, especially when you can feel his eyes on you. But you skim it, it looks promising, and a hot guy just suggested it, so…

“Read a lot of romance?” you ask curiously.

He ducks his head a bit, endearingly shy. “A bit, yeah. Call me hopeless.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, but can’t help saying. “I think it’s just romantic.”

His eyes light up. “Yeah? And what kind of books d’you usually like?”

Before you know it, you’re talking thrillers and horror novels with him. Recommending your favorite spooky novel and then following up that you always read a comedy afterwards as a palette cleanser.

You end up touring each other around the shop, talking books and authors and genres. Yet you’re somehow surprised when he asks if you’d like to sit with him. But you agree, a little thrill in your stomach that you haven’t felt since… a while.

You each buy a stack of books, then claim a booth and proceed to read none of them. He tells you his name is Kyle, that he’s in the military but on leave right now, stocking up on entertainment for flights or long spans of hurrying up and waiting.

You’ve never met a military guy before, and you trip over your curiosity. Trying not to pry but interested in what he does. He’s polite and patient, admitting there are a lot of things he can’t tell you but he’ll answer. You don’t stay on the subject long, figuring the last thing he wants to talk about it work.

He gets you back in the department of uncomfortable topics when he notices the ring on your finger. You’re quick to explain the situation, hot with shame all over again, eyes stinging despite yourself.

Instead of mocking you or just getting up and walking away, Kyle sits back looking flabbergasted.

“That’s fucking mental,” he says, “excuse me for saying.”

You burst into laughter. Haven’t told anyone any of this out of embarrassment, but hearing someone on your side is… good.

“I thought so too, but… he’s happy,” you admit.

Kyle frowns. “What about you?”

You blink, can’t look him in the eye. You know the answer but make a show of thinking about it.

“I’d… like to be again. This — the open relationship thing — seems to be working for him. So… maybe it’ll work for me too?” You shrug. “Worth a try.”

Kyle reaches across the table, a big warm hand enveloping yours. There are callouses you’re not expecting. Tantalizingly different.

“Would you like to try it with me?” he asks. “Don’t have to put a label on it or anything. But my schedule is a bit… it’s hard to keep up a traditional relationship, you know? But I like you, and I think your fiance is a knob.”

You snort, but flip your hand around, thumb brushing over his.

“Yeah…” you muse, and after saying it, a surge of confidence infuses you. “Yeah, I’d like to try this with you.”

His smile is absolutely brilliant. You won’t admit — not even to yourself for a long time — but you fall in love a little right then and there.

Masterlist

#thoughts™️#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #misters steal your girl #poly 141 #open relationship trope #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz x reader

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asunflowerana · 1 month

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𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐭

summary: usual grocery day with your husband

with: bokuto koutaro, oikawa tooru, sakusa kyoomi and osamu miya.

n/a: brought this one from my old blog, one of my favorites. I'm thinking about making a part 2 with more hq boys, I personally enjoy imagining them dealing with grocery with me 😂. hope you guys enjoy!

⊛ bokuto koutaro

a child inside a full-grow 190cm male body, that's what he is. The fact that he still pouts whenever you remind him that "no, you can't get inside the cart baby, you won't fit" proves the point. But besides his childish mood, he can turn your time shopping a lot funnier.

he does cart races, searches for lower prices like hunting a treasure, throw his hands in the air when he finds his favorite snacks and cackles at every single brand with a silly name. He's a total dork, but his excitement is so endearing that you cannot help but absorb it. It's actually sweet, the way he lightly takes a domestic duty. He's also helpful, willingly carrying the bags to the car, and storing the groceries later at home.

he yearns to stay close to you, so even if his both hands are grabbing the cart handle, at least some arm-brushing will happen. He'll feel pretty lost if you both need to part ways through the market, but it's cute how he beams when you guys find each other later.

favorite section: breakfast food section (he's addicted to cereal), and meat section.

what you usually hear from him: "babe, can we buy this?"

⊛ oikawa tooru

if there's something Tooru doesn't look forward to, is grocery day. He even tried to wipe it off the fridge calendar a few times before, but you're too good to be fooled. "the Santos already ordered by delivery, why can't we do the same?" and he always uses the neighbor's card to try to convince you, whining like his teenager version would.

but one way or another, you always get him to go. If he's in a bad mood, he'll probably sulk in the beginning, lazily riding the cart while sighing every two minutes 'cause this is a total "waste of time". But as the shopping proceeds, he gets used to it, even forgetting what he was so grumpy about when a product catches his attention. With some subtle kisses and a small treat, you can even get a smile out of him.

He likes to wrap his arm around your back or keep you close by the waist. Not having you there with him it's the worst thing it could happen, so he needs to make sure you stay by his side (also because he simply likes holding you).

favorite section: checkouts (not a surprise), and cosmetics section (he can spend a good amount of time selecting body products).

what you usually hear from him: "are we done?"; "baby, I need your help. This one, or this one?".

⊛ sakusa kiyoomi

He's the one looking forward to this day. He gets uneasy when things run out in the house, so going shopping is almost necessary for his peace of mind. What he doesn't look forward to, though, is dealing with people at the supermarket. Most precisely, the lines, but let's not talk about it to not ruin the mood.

he's very selective, taking whatever time he has to inspect and be sure of the products, in case it isn't a common choice of yours. He appreciates being aware of what you are consuming, not only for being an athlete but because he cares about your health. He likes to share what he's been learning from the team's nutritionist, but he is not a dictator: if you want to treat yourself to some tasty sweets or snacks, he won't get in the way. He'll even join the party.

He'll offer his arm for you to wrap your own, or hold hands. He's grateful to have your company, so he'll cherish it as much as he can. He's also very protective if the place or the lines are too crowned, keeping you by his side and holding you close with his arm.

favorite section: cleaning products (you have no idea how relieved he gets when he goes there).

what you usually hear from him: "I know you want it. Go ahead, put in the cart"; "tsc, they always put the gloves way back there"; "these stupid lines. Again."

⊛ osamu miya

The king of groceries. He's used to doing this two, or three times a week, and it never gets boring. The experience has made him smarter about where and when it is best to buy, plus he has a good eye when it comes to product quality and price. So yeah, you have almost nothing to worry about when Osamu Miya is your grocery partner. Almost.

He's very chill and helpful while shopping, but you better keep a good eye on the cart: it'll get filled to the brim in one minute. When Osamu likes something, he makes a point of buying as much as he can. Once, he filled almost three entire carts, and half of one was just from rice bags. Someone might think you have a whole volleyball team as a family with the amount of food he wants to take home.

Hands on your back, shoulder, waist, any free space he has to keep you close to him – and he'll keep it there the whole time. Touch is one of his love languages, so there's no way he won't keep in contact with you.

favorite section: fruit and vegetables section, and bakery section (he loves the smell of fresh ingredients).

what you usually hear from him: "sweetheart, just one more. It'll be the last, I promise"; "hope Tsum doesn't visit us today"

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revasserium · 1 year

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to the lighthouse - Zoro and what guides him home

10. to the lighthouse

zoro; 2,320 words, opla!zoro, the fluffiest of fluff, straw hat!reader, established relationship

summary: you just wanted to buy some apples; now complete with a prequel right here

a/n: aggressively adorable, truly -- i have no excuse for this okay. i'm just so freakishly whipped for opla!zoro pls dont look at at me

zoro has never been great shakes at directions (navigation has always been more nami’s thing, and he knows his place in the world), but he’s never needed a compass to find his way home. once, he might have. once, he would’ve wandered and wondered forever and ever, believing the great unknowns of the world to be his compass rose, the horizon his true north, but not anymore. because you see, he’s grown since then — he’s gotten bigger, stronger, more ruthless, more deadly. but he’s gotten smarter too… if only just by a little bit.

he’s learned since then that home doesn’t have to be a place, that it can just as easily be a person.

or, in his case, that it could be both.

“warn me, the next time you plan on getting kidnapped for ransom, would’ya?”

there’s blood on his headband and blood on his shoes, but he can’t quite keep his voice as gruff as he’d like, even as he hauls you bodily onto the deck of the going merry, scowling as you kick your feet in a feeble attempt to get him to let you go.

“it’s not like i was trying to get kidnapped! i was getting apples from the market!”

“yeah, in broad daylight, in a giant port town where all our faces are plastered across wanted posters! even i could’ve told you that’s a bad idea.”

you yelp as he dumps you unceremoniously onto the kitchen’s large wooden table, mumbling to himself as he beings to rummage through the drawers for a first aide kit, slamming cupboards as he goes.

you fold your arms, unable to stop the grin from tugging at your lips.

“did you… just call yourself dumb?”

zoro whirls around, color blotching into his cheeks as he glares, “i — f — you know what i mean!”

he whips back around and slams a drawer so hard the handle breaks; he swears even as you start to laugh, wincing and clutching at your stomach, the skin of your side tender and growing more so by the minute.

“o-ow! don’t make me laugh! it hurts!”

“serves you right… stupid… parading around… not paying attention…”

he slams the first aid kit onto the table next to you, roughly swatting your hand out of the way as he gingerly lifts your shirt to inspect the damage.

“i’m fine —”

“you’re not fine, and quit squirming. i’m not chopper so if i fuck up, it’s your fault.”

you press your lips and hold still, hissing as he carefully dabs at a rather large gash between two of your ribs.

“and i wasn’t parading… i mean, my face isn’t on a wanted poster yet so…”

zoro spares you a single look before going back to his work, “yeah. yet.”

you deflate, inching forward slightly to make his job a bit easier as he continues to clean your wound, his touch now so much gentler than anyone might give him credit for. you watch him with soft eyes, trail the tracks of his fingers as he fumbles with the alcohol soaked cotton pad, daubing at the raw red of your skin. you wondered if anyone who hunted him from his picture on a wanted poster would recognize him now, his cheeks flushed, his brows lightly furrowed, his eyes sharp and steady as tried his best not to hurt you.

“there,” he says, his voice short and rough as he presses his palm over a strip of clean gauze, sealing it in place. he pulls back to admire his handiwork, looking as pleased as he might’ve been if he’d just decapitated an entire infantry’s worth of men without drawing a single sword.

you gingerly tug your shirt back down, your skin feeling much warmer at the places where he’d touched, his palm-print burning like a brand along the expanse of your ribs. you gulp and clear your throat.

“sorry… i — i didn’t mean to.”

“save it,” and then, when you wince at his tone, zoro sighs, scratching at the back of his neck as he leans up against the table next to you, “i know you didn’t. i was just…”

and it’s his turn to pause, to clear his throat and look away.

“sanji… sanji wanted apples for the curry he’s making tonight,” you say, kicking your feet, your eyes trained on the tips of your shoes as they swing up and down in succession — right, left, right, left, right —

“apples in curry? ew.”

“he said they’re the secret ingredient! and — apparently, the better the apples, the better the curry, and it’s — well, it’s fall so they’re in season right now, and nami said this island is known for their apple orchards so i thought — maybe if i went to the market on the first day i’d be able to snag the best ones —”

he cuts you off with a kiss, swallowing passed your surprised squeak before your eyes flutter shut, your lashes tickling his cheeks like moth wings. you can almost taste his satisfied smirk when your fingers curl into the front of his shirt to tug him closer.

“you’re rambling… you only do that when you’re nervous.”

you bite your lip but zoro presses his thumb to your chin, tilting your head up till he meets your eyes.

“why’re you nervous?”

“i — i’m not —”

“hm. you’ve always been a shit liar.”

you try to tug your head away from him but his grip is strong, his other hand casually resting below your waist, his fingers pressing into the soft of your hips, holding you in place.

“it’s… nothing…” but he’s right. you have always been a terrible liar, even worse to the people who know you. and god does zoro know you.

zoro’s grin goes wolfish as he cocks his head, eyeing you as a hunter might his prey, “pretty little liar though… i gotta say,” he drags his thumb along the bottom of your lip, pushing against the plush of your mouth, his eyes going dark as he watches the way your breath hitches.

“but even pretty little liars deserve to be punished, don’t they?” he leans in, breath hot by your ear, his words chasing shivers up and down your spine. you fight back a whimper, knowing that if he were truly to pin you there, there’d be nothing you could do to escape him.

“unless… you wanna tell me the truth?”

you let out a shuddering breath before sighing.

“w-we — we wanted to — to throw you a birthday party.”

zoro pauses, his darkened gaze going wide for a second before he pulls back, visibly confused.

“b…birthday? uh — that’s not till november —”

“i know but… who knows if we’ll be docked by then, and… your favorite season is autumn so…” you shrug, voice small even as you try to duck and hide the blush rushing up into your cheeks.

“so… you went to get apples… for my not-birthday birthday dinner?”

“i mean — your favorite food is rice and… curry goes the best with rice, right?”

zoro lets out a breathy laugh, his hand falling to press against your other hip. but before he can say anything else, sanji’s voice echoes in from just beyond the door before it swings open to reveal sanji, with his arms full of groceries and usopp close behind him, nearly running into sanji’s back as he comes to an abrupt stop at the sight before him.

“darling, did you manage to get those apples? y’know if we’re really gonna make this curry, it’ll have to stew for a good three or so hours — oh — my apologies… was i interrupting something? decide to give the lucky man an amuse bouche before his main course tonight, yeah?”

you groan and try to tug away but zoro merely quirks an eyebrow, seemingly unphased.

“why’re you putting apples into perfectly good curry?”

at this, sanji rolls his eyes and hoists the groceries on to the kitchen table next to you, casting zoro a scathing look.

“look man, i don’t question your sword-swinging and you don’t question my cooking, alright? now, if you’re really thirsting to know — the sweetness in the apples gives texture to the curry as it stews, and that’s what makes it so damn delicious when you pair it with the rice, got it?”

zoro scoffs, his hands still planted firmly on either side of your hips even as sanji starts to pull out all the varied ingredients for the meal. behind him, usopp is juggling an impressive number of liquor bottles as he tries to slot them into the drinks rack.

“yeah. we’ll see,” and with a single arm, zoro hoists you from the table and sets you down on the ground next to him, guiding you from the kitchens even as sanji shoots you a salacious wink.

“you’ll be singin’ to a different tune when you’ve had your first taste, moss-head!”

zoro doesn’t grace that with a response, steering you out of the kitchens before yelling for usopp to toss him a bottle of something good over his shoulder.

later that night, when the party is in full swing, he finds you by the carved white railings at the darkened head of the ship, eyes trained on the far horizon. behind you both, luffy is standing on a barrel, belting some old drinking song while nami laughs and sanji swings chopper in a strange, uncoordinated two-step.

“hey,” he says, bumping your shoulder with his.

“oh! hey…” you cast him a smile as he takes another swig from his nearly empty glass.

“why aren’t you —” he jerks his head back towards the swinging, dancing, laughing crew.

you bite back a smile, shrugging, “i was just… thinking.”

“oh. well, that’s not good.”

you slam your shoulder into his but he barely moves, chuckling.

“today… when you saved me from those kidnappers… how’dyou know where to find me?”

you turn to look at him, and for a second, the question almost catches him off guard. he stares at you, as if unsure himself how to answer before he grins, his eyes slipping from you out towards the darkness beyond as behind you both, sanji starts in on a showtune in a warbled language neither of you can understand.

“actually, ‘m not sure… i just… had a feeling.”

you blink, “you… had a feeling?”

“yeah like… y’know when uh — turtles and stuff always know how to get back to the beach where they were born?”

your eyebrows slowly migrate up your forehead this words as you stare at him, dumbstruck.

“zoro… you’ve gotten lost on a straight road before —”

“shut up! it’s not — it’s different though… i dunno how to explain it, but i just… i just knew. something — something wasn’t right and i knew i had to find you.”

and even in the relative darkness, you can see the color seeping into his cheeks. you let yourself laugh, glancing down at the half-finished drink in your own hands.

“i’ll… i’ll always find you.”

you look up at his words, his voice so much softer than you’re used to, the words so much more tender. you look up to find him watching you, his gaze soft and warm, sweet and molten.

“even if it takes me forever… i’ll… i’ll always find my way to you.”

and you wonder if it’s the alcohol, you wonder if it’s the darkness gifted by the moonless night, the prickling light of a hundred thousand stars winking above in the velvet sky.

you nod, raising your glass in quiet acceptance of his words, of this solemn vow that you know he’d never make without the intention of honoring it until time itself has breathed its last.

you clink your glass against his.

“happy birthday.”

zoro laughs, shaking his head, “can’t believe you’re making me celebrate two months early.”

“we can throw another party when its your actual birthday.”

“yeah — just promise me you won’t get kidnapped again.”

you laugh, shaking your head, “as long as you promise that if i do… you’ll be there to find me.”

zoro raises his glass to his lips, “i’ll drink to that.”

you toss your own drink back, feel the burn of it work it’s way down your throat, the fire settling in the pit of your stomach as zoro tugs you by the hand back to the heart of the party, where nami screams and throws her arms round you, pulling you into a suffocating hug and sanji nearly trips over trying to refill your glass.

zoro grins, laughing as luffy wobbles and nearly smashes into the main mast. he lets sanji refill his drink; he lets luffy pull him into a unwilling sea shanty, everyone swaying left and right with the uneven rhythm of the drowsy sea.

and he realizes, not for the first time, though it still sometimes comes as a surprise — that there’s no place he’d rather be. because you see, for zoro home is both a place and a person — the place is here with his crew around him, the ocean beneath them, the world sprawled out like a map at their feet.

and the person… he looks up across the raucous merry-making to catch your eye, to catch a breath of your bright, bell-like laughter — he’s never been more sure of anything else in his entire life that the person… is you.

opla!zoro requests r open LOL (literally idk if i will write anyone else but him at this point but EY if u got a req....)

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marcusakito · 6 months

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Boothill x Mechanic!Reader

I was inspired by a post from @buggytales so please show them some love for this amazing idea!

CW: I feel like Boothill is OOC and has my own hcs mixed in since it's written before his release, but that's about it.

Names Used: Darlin', Sweetheart

For as long as Boothill can remember, he's been the rootin' tootin' cyborg cowboy of the galaxy. The gunslinging galaxy ranger, fighting evil and bringing justice. His mechanical augmentations were a byproduct of his lifestyle, starting off with just an arm, then a leg, or perhaps a part of his chest? It was a blur now, because before he knew it, he was less human than machine. But that never really bothered him, not when he's got the best mechanic this side of the galaxy; you.

You weren't his first mechanic by any means, but you certainly were the first he trusted with all his being. Your shop was small, hidden away in a busy market district of your home planet. It wasn't famous, nor was it busy at any given day, so it always made you wonder what got Boothill to visit your shop. Some would call it fate, or maybe it was mere chance that he stumbled into the store needing urgent repairs. Nevertheless, since that faithful day, he's been your loyal customer ever since. Whether it be a phone call from you asking how he's been, a routine maintenance to make sure his systems are in working order, or repairs from a battle, he was happy hearing you, seeing you, he loved everything about you.

His heart may now be a machine, having a steady, rhythmic beat. But he swears it beats faster when he's close to you.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

"Welcome!" You greet, looking up from your desk behind the counter. A smile forms on your lips once you see it's Boothill. He returns your bright smile with his own as he leans on the countertop. "It's not your maintenance day, so do you need anything repaired?" You ask as you eye him up and down for any visible damages, to which there were none.

"My handgun ain't workin', was hopin' you'd take a look at it."

"You can place it on my table-Oh!" You couldn't help but giggle when Boothill placed his left arm on your desk, his body halfway over the counter.

"What? Ya said to place it on your desk!" He laughed along with you, his heart skipping a beat when he heard your laugh. He's heard it countless times, but it always made his day to hear it.

"Come around here and let me take a look." Boothill nodded and circled around the counter, sitting next to you on the spare stool. You gently took his left arm, using a tool to inspect it further. "It seems the cylinder isn't revolving like it's supposed too... Don't worry, it's an easy fix!" You smiled reassuringly, carefully dismantling the arm and repairing it. "This has been broken for a while now, weren't their any repair shops on the planet you were on?"

"There's plenty, but none of 'em were as good as you."

"If you say so." You playfully rolled your eyes as you continued the repair. That is until a question caught you off guard.

"Why you always so gentle, darlin'?" The cyborg couldn't help but ask as you work. "Am I more fragile than I'm thinkin'?"

"No, no, I'm just... worried I might hurt you, that's all." At this, Boothill laughed heartily, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye out of habit.

"You ain't gonna hurt me darlin'! I trust you, more than any mechanic in the galaxy." Your cheeks flushed red and you avert your gaze, opting to stare at the floor. "Aww what's that look for? It's only the truth."

Taking a deep breath, you look up at him. "T-That's really sweet of you, but why me? I don't think I'm the best, you know." Boothill gave a dismissive wave and took your hand in his.

"You don't gotta be the best, you've taken care of me plenty! I'm trustin' you with all of me, sweetheart, don't ya forget it." He winked and you felt your heart pounding in your chest as your face reddens.

"Thank you..." You take deep breaths and calm your emotions.

"I should be thankin' you." He let go of your hands, allowing you to finish your repair work. A soft smile on your face as you work, he was mesmerized watching you. He couldn't take his eyes off of you for even a moment. Before he knew it, you were already done. Which sadly meant it was time for him to go again.

Aeons did he hate leaving your side, even if he came back in a few months for a check-up or a repair within weeks.

But that's why he cherishes every moment he's got with you working on him. Perhaps one day, when he's not so busy, he'll take you out for a date or two.

"Before you go, I have an idea I have for a new augmentation!" You pulled out a few blueprints from under your desk and showed it to the cowboy. Boothill snorted and tried to contain his laughter.

"Butt lasers? Darlin' I don't think I'm gonna have use for that."

"What? But think about it, what if your arms and legs malfunction and you can't move?"

"What makes ya think anyone's gonna defeat me and I ain't able to kick and shoot 'em?"

"Well, um... It's just a precaution, that's all." Boothill stood up and took your hand, placing a kiss on your knuckles.

"Don't worry too much darlin'. I ain't gettin' roughed up all that much, wouldn't want ya to worry." He thought for a moment. "But if it makes ya happy, feel free to add it next time I visit. Some extra firepower will do me good, even when I got three guns." He slapped the gun on his waist and flexed his metal arms, causing you to giggle.

"Okay then. I'll see you around, space cowboy." With a tip of his hat, Boothill headed out of your store.

"See ya, darlin'."

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #hsr boothill #boothill x reader #hsr boothill x reader

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lana-angel-writes · 6 months

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Winter’s Kitten

Pairing| Bucky Barnes x reader (gender is not really specified)

Summary| Bucky comes home from the market with a very unexpected but adorable surprise.

Warnings| Absolutely none- Just some random cute fluff

Materlist

Today was a very cold winter day in brooklyn and you had sent bucky out to get more bread from the corner market. It started snowing when he left, which was thirty minutes ago, and it was getting really thick and windy. You were starting to get worried, what if something happened to him? You decided to give it ten minutes until you were going to call him and make sure he wasn’t in trouble. Just as you were about to go to get your phone the door to your shared apartment opened. When Bucky walked through the entry he was covered in snow from head to toe, with a grocery bag in his hand. But what you also didn’t miss to notice was the abnormal lump coming off of his abdomen. “Hey doll, sorry it took me so long, the weathers really getting bad out there.” You stood in front of him speechless did he not think you noticed the now moving lump under his coat. “Buck, what's under your coat?” One thing you always found cute about Bucky was that he couldn’t lie to you. The give away signs were that he couldn’t look you in the eyes, and he’d blush. And right now the big super soldier in front of you looked like a schoolgirl with a crush. “Well, I uh, found her outside on my way back from the market, she doesn’t have a home doll.” As he unzipped his coat a ball of white fluff appeared. “Baby, is that a cat?”,”Yeah.” As soon as Bucky spoke the cat started to move, she tried to crawl up his chest but ended up snuggling back into his arms. Now that she adjusted you could actually see the cat's features,she had big bright blue eyes and tiny little ears.You could now totally understand why he couldn’t leave her behind. She was adorable and the way she looked at you just made you want to melt. “So what do you think of her doll? Can we keep her?” You had no idea your boyfriend could look so innocent, he was giving you the biggest puppy dog eyes with a pout on his lips. How could you ever say no to him or the adorable cat. “Of course we can keep her, Buck.” You couldn’t help but chuckle at the pure excitement on his face and as if the cat knew she had just found a permanent home she jumped out of Bucky’s arms and started to inspect the cozy apartment. After Bucky took off his jacket and boots he pulled you into his arms. “Thank you doll.” Instead of answering him you pulled your head off of his chest to kiss his stubbled jaw. Bucky moved his head down to give you a proper kiss and right before your lips touched there was a loud crash in the living room. "Well I better go check what that was.", "Yeah, I think that's a good idea,Buck."

Later that night when you and Bucky were settled down in bed, he asked “What about alpine.”, “What do you mean Buck?”, “For our new addition to the family.” You loved how easily Bucky said ‘family’ . You felt honored and proud that you were able to keep that special place in his heart.Since Bucky was the one who brought the cat home you thought that he should have the honor of naming her. “I think that's perfect, baby.”

Just after Bucky went to sleep a certain fluffy white cat decided she was going to sleep right on Bucky's chest. You couldn’t help the smile that came across your face, the sight of a man, most are afraid of cuddling with a little cat, was so wholesomely adorable. You were glad that Bucky brought home your new addition to your little family.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fandom #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x fluff #bucky barnes x gender neutral reader #marvel mcu #marvel #mcu fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #winter soldier

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eleanor-bradstreet · 1 year

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Locked Out (Anthony Bridgerton x Reader)

Anthony Bridgerton x fem!Reader Modern AU Rated: 18+, explicit sexual content, language, mentions of blood Word count: 4.2k

Summary: When you find yourselves locked out of your house in the middle of the night, Anthony has some ideas for how you can kill time.

Author's Note: Inspired by true events that involved all the frustration but none of the fun 😜 This was just an idea that rooted itself. A silly little fic outside my usual style. Thanks to @faye-tale for chatting with me while I waited for a locksmith. 😊 And thanks to @colettebronte who always has the right JB pic for the job. 💜

You knew this would happen. You had never trusted the smart lock ever since Anthony had installed it. Either some criminal masterminds would hack the whole network of them, or the battery would die and leave you precisely where you were now, standing on the stoop in the chilly air as midnight approached, the moon and your phone as your only light sources. Again you wondered what was so bad about traditional locks as your phone flashed the error message. But Anthony had to get his way, as usual. One news story about a burglar three towns away and the next day he had bought every ‘smart’ home security device on the market.

Well now the stupid lock didn’t work. The first time you had pressed the button you assumed you had tapped something wrong, given how distracted you were. Anthony was crowding against you, one hand slithering over your backside while the other moved to wrap lightly around your throat. He was breathing heavy in your ear, licking your neck with his untamable tongue, a move that always made your eyes cross a bit. But now you had tried three times to unlock the door and it clearly wasn’t working.

“Anthony…”

He just rumbled in response, biting your lobe.

“Anthony!” You nudged him back with your hips, trying to snap him out of it. “The damn lock is broken.”

“What?” Of course he then had to inspect it himself for a full five minutes, trying every trick on his phone that you had, to no avail.

You stood with your arms crossed. “Where’s the spare key?”

Even in the dim light you could see his jaw set with aggravation. “Inside.”

You scoffed, “You didn’t hide it outside like you said you would?”

“I don’t want to leave a key to our property lying around for anyone to find. This thing was supposed to be top-of-the-line.” He growled.

You couldn’t help your eyes from rolling. “Anthony, that’s why you hide it…”

“Let me try the back.” He jogged off the steps and around the house through your garden gate. You both knew full well that he had rigged your back door with the same space age lock as the front and wasn’t likely to have any success. All you wanted was to get inside, to get warm and have a glass of wine. You looked up at the glare of the full moon. That must be to blame for your misfortune.

You weren’t going to wait forever and searched the number for a 24-hour locksmith. You were just about to dial when the sound of shattering glass echoed over your lawn followed by a loud curse. Oh good lord…

Before you could even detect which side of the house it came from, Anthony stepped out of the shadows, holding a forearm aloft.

“Anthony Bridgerton, what the hell did you do?” You hissed as loud as you dared, mindful of disturbing your neighbors.

But you knew exactly what he had done when he drew closer and you could see the bloody pulp that now constituted his knuckles. More alarming was the long, jagged tear in the sleeve of his shirt through which you could see the matching slice on his skin, blood already seeping out to darken the fabric.

“Broke the side window,” he grumbled.

“And how did that work out for you, genius?”

His eyes flashed. “The damn latch is too high. I couldn’t reach it inside.”

Excellent. Now you would need to replace your window as well as hire a locksmith. Your simple date night was turning into quite the misadventure. The cold was starting to seep in. Not expecting to spend time outside, you wore only a dress and no coat. You were so tired and irked you were bordering on a tantrum. But your husband was bleeding, quite a lot, and you couldn’t bring yourself to ream him out while he was injured.

“Jesus,” You huffed, taking his good arm and pulling him over to your car in the drive. Fortunately this piece of your property had a keyfob, making it your only form of shelter at the moment. “Sit down,” you ordered, opening the driver’s side door and pushing him into the seat. You crouched next to him and turned his wrist to inspect the damage. It was ugly, the whole sleeve from the elbow down stained red already.

Before you even suggested it, he tugged the cuff of his other sleeve with his teeth, slipping his whole shirt up and over his head until it hung only on his bloodied limb.

“Haven’t you ever watched movies?” You chastised as you began to wind the fabric around the gash. A gorgeous knit shirt ruined forever. “You wrap your arm with your shirt before you punch through glass.”

“Well I’m sorry for trying to solve our problem.” He snipped. You responded by pulling a tight knot, causing him to hiss.

But your frustrated energy threatened to redirect into something else entirely as you surveyed him. Even after all this time together, you went a bit speechless whenever you saw him shirtless. It really was obscene for someone to be so attractive. Broad-shouldered and muscular, with the most perfect patch of soft hair across his chest. Running your hands over him had reached the level of compulsion, beyond mere desire. Seeing as his torso was streaked with blood from his haphazardly bandaged arm, you gave in under the pretense of tending to him. You drifted your fingers up his carved abdomen and onto his chest where his movements slowed under your palm, his breaths deepening.

“I don’t have anything to clean you up with.” You were more agitated than apologetic. How fast were you going to devolve into naked, bloodied neanderthals all because you didn’t have a house key?

“It’s fine.” He laid his good hand over yours, holding it in place. You could feel the strong thrum of his heart. He knew what he was doing. Trying to dissipate your anger by turning himself into a distraction. But you wouldn’t let him. Someone had to remedy this situation.

You quirked a brow. “Should I call the paramedics or the locksmith?”

His pursed-lips look of annoyance was one you saw often and always relished. It was usually the only way he admitted you were right in a spat. Nudging him a few inches, you perched next to him on the seat.

“How long will they take?” he asked when you hung up.

“Half an hour.”

“What are we supposed to do until then?” You knew that silky edge to his voice and turned to look at him. His eyes, always dark, glinted most dangerously at night. Darkness suited him much more than daylight and even though you knew your husband was putty in your hands, one flash of those eyes made you feel like prey.

You shivered, due to him as much as the wind. “Whatever we do, I’m staying in here. It’s too cold.” You wouldn’t give in that easily. You stood and moved to walk to the passenger side but an arm curled around your waist and tugged you back onto his lap, then the door was pulled shut beside you.

“Imagine how cold I am without a shirt on.” His low voice reverberated through the enclosed space and soft lips landed on your shoulder. His arm was still banded around you, holding you tight. The devil.

You twisted to face him again, already knowing you would lose this battle. He smirked, just a glimpse of teeth in the blue glow of the fading dash lights lending fangs to your predator. Wasn’t he the wounded one? How did he gain the upper hand so quickly? You rested your hands on his chest again and knew he was lying. He was warmer than you and heating up by the second, his breath gusting over your forearms as you stared each other down. Each time you touched one another in places otherwise typically clothed, it brought out your animalistic tendencies. But seeing him like this, cast in shadow and roughed up, was causing something especially carnal to simmer inside you.

“We can turn the car on for heat.” You argued, never wanting to grant him the last word.

But then he pressed himself against you, hands spreading wide to grasp your bottom as he nuzzled his jaw against your cheek. He knew all of your buttons. One pass of his short beard across your skin and it was over.

“Mmmm…” he hummed in your ear, the baritone he reserved to devastate you. “Bad for the environment. We can keep each other warm.”

Then his tongue resumed its journey up your neck, leaving you gasping until he traced it into your waiting mouth.

Damn him. You hated and loved how easily he made you go to pieces. If you were being honest, the feelings worked in tandem. It was often when you were the most aggravated with him that you reached the highest peaks in your lovemaking. As your tongues swirled around each other, you knew this would be one of those times. But you’d have to be quick unless you wanted to put on a show for the locksmith. This was reckless, juvenile, but you didn’t care.

“I suppose you’re right.” You murmured over his lips then pushed him roughly back against the seat. His eyes lit with excitement as you maneuvered to straddle him, hiking your skirt up your thighs, kicking off your heels and underwear as you went. His splayed hands ran up to your back and crushed you to him for another hungry kiss. You moaned into one another, overcome with the rush of it all, with the risk you may be seen. As you held his jaw possessively, you wormed a hand down to the seam of his trousers.

“Do you have enough blood left to power this thing?” You smirked, nipping at his lower lip.

“See for yourself,” came the husky reply. Pressing down, you felt the bulge and rocked your palm against it. His responding noise caused a familiar jolt of desire to shoot through your every cell. You knew you were already soaking, aching and ready for him. In a flurry, the two of you fought off his belt and buttons and shoved his clothes down his thighs until his cock sprang free, rigid and hot in your hand. Positioning yourself, you swiped the head across your entrance, gathering the slick then swirling it around your throbbing clit. Anthony groaned, biting his lip and gripping you tight by the hips as you lined up and sank down onto him, your cry seeming all the louder in the small, insulated cab.

There was a reason you had given him the private nickname ‘Logsplitter’. Getting far too candid over too many drinks one night, you had told him how fantastically split open he made you feel. Had described that meniscus seal between pain and pleasure and how his body drove yours to it perfectly and kept you dancing upon it until it fractured and plunged you into liquid bliss. The next day you had been mortified but he eased your anxieties by making it the most enduring joke in your relationship. The bastard had even woven it into his wedding speech, announcing that he would still find joy in life’s mundane tasks with you, whether it be laundry, dishes, or log splitting. Public mentions of it sent heat rushing to your cheeks, but in practice behind closed doors it sent heat rocketing under every inch of your skin. He was so stiff and formidable, stretching you so splendidly. You began to move so that you could savor every inch.

Planting your hands on his shoulders for leverage you began to ride him at a steady clip, reminding yourself that you couldn’t dally. His fingers pressed deeper into your hips as his breath turned staccato with whispered curses. You gave a passing thought to the fact that his injured arm was probably streaking blood across your dress, but thankfully it was black and therefore might be saved.

As much as you were enjoying yourself, this was still a ridiculous situation. Bleeding and rutting in the driver’s seat of your car like you were criminal lovers on the lam and not just idiots who hadn’t kept a spare key to the house. And you were on a timeline. Fueled by a potent blend of frustration and arousal you began to move faster, pistoning on your knees as the leather squeaked. There wasn’t much extra space on the seat for your legs and your increased pace made you slip, pitching forward as one shin fell off the side.

Anthony caught you, hands moving up to your ribs as he chuckled. “Woah. Do I need to strap you in, baby girl?”

You could have slapped him. He only used that name for you when he really wanted to get you riled. Clearly he was enjoying your little tryst, finding the fun in this mess that he caused. You’d like to see him try and fuck you in the front seat. Glaring, you stepped on the recline controls and he stuttered in surprise as he sank backward until he was supine beneath you. Steadying yourself again you doubled your efforts, riding him hard as you held him pinned at the chest.

“You’re enjoying this too fucking much.” You ground out.

“What?” He played the innocent.

“We could be inside,” You panted, every word bouncing with your movements. “In bed. Uninjured. If you had just hidden the key…” Your breath caught as you tilted your hips and felt him strike against the deepest part of you, a twinge that increased your ache. “...and not changed the stupid locks.”

“So this is my fault?” His voice was all seduction, no remorse to be found. His eyes, what little you could see of them, gazed up at you as a hand moved to knead your breast.

“Yes.” You moaned, starting to climb the ladder as his fingers and his cock simultaneously found all the right spots to make you mindless.

“And you’re mad at me?”

“So fucking mad.” You gasped, leaning forward into his palm and angling yourself just so, feeling the ridge of him deep inside start to massage your center of sensation.

He craned his neck to ghost his lips over yours and whispered, “How can I apologize?”

Then his hand moved below your skirt and his fingertips found your clit. Pierced with sensation, you screamed some garbled syllables of his name.

He chuckled, warm and dark. “What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

Oh, he was awful. Driving you to delirium even when you were the one on top. You had found your rhythm, rolling your hips to sink him perfectly into place over and over. Coupled with the press of his circling fingers, you were shooting up the ladder, your blood beginning to hum with anticipation. Maybe you could pull this off in time after all.

“Fuck you…” you hissed.

“You certainly are.”

“Anthony, shut up!” You clamped a hand over his mouth, bringing the other to claw into his shoulder. You had assumed Anthony Bridgerton, man of refined tastes, would have found this all as debased as you did, but he was evidently having the time of his life. Maybe the laugh riot was precisely because he knew you were so flustered, which just made you angrier. But the anger was consigned to your mind only, as your body delighted in him. Warm and firm beneath your palms, he started to move with you, thrusting ever so slightly while his mangled hand pulled you down at the hip, slamming your bodies together as tight as he could on your every descent. His fingers swirled faster, just where you needed them, and soon enough you reached the top rungs, everything surging within.

Anthony mumbled something against your fingers, his breath hot and short, matching yours as you hovered over him. You released him, your mind too clouded with pleasure to fight him anymore. Your thighs began to quake while the rest of you started to tense.

“It feels like you’re about to forgive me.” He purred, and all you could do was whine, squeezing your eyes shut as your hips bucked against him desperately. “Come on then,” he coaxed. “I think I’ve earned it.”

One more thrust and circle of his fingers and you peaked, crying out as your nails sank into the flesh of his shoulder and your other hand scrabbled for purchase in his thick hair. Release radiated out from the epicenter of his touch, spasms clenching around his cock which now felt impossibly huge, fanning out through every muscle. You writhed, circling your pelvis against his as you rode it out and moaned.

“Oh, fuck yes,” he growled from the darkness. “That’s my girl.”

Gasping, you collapsed on top of him, basking in the warmth of his bare skin and the caresses of his hands across your back as aftershocks curled your spine. As you floated, you trailed your fingers into his chest hair. You contemplated extending your forgiveness verbally too, but when you propped up to look at him you saw a flash of headlights through the back window. A truck was turning down your street.

You cursed under your breath and glanced a kiss across Anthony’s lips before pulling yourself off of him and opening the door, stumbling out into the driveway, your mind still swimming. You tugged your skirt down and tried to smooth your hair as Anthony scrambled to hitch his clothes back over his stark erection.

“Stay here,” you cautioned and closed the door.

The truck was indeed the locksmith, a very beatific fellow named Lumley. He didn’t cast any judgment as you explained your situation. He professed to having seen it all and you believed him. But you might have been added to his list of unusual encounters after he deftly popped the door lock and let you in to turn on your lights. That’s when his eyes widened and he asked if you were alright. You looked down and realized he was gesturing to the blood streaks on your exposed arms. The way he fixated on your chin, you suspected you had a streak there too.

You laughed to calm him, explaining that your husband had cut his hand (you elected not to tell him how) and that you were both perfectly fine and would clean up now that you could get inside. A little shaken, he politely wrapped up your transaction and drove away. You were too relieved to be embarrassed and went to collect Anthony from the car.

“Come on, let’s get you inside.” You swung the door open to find him still reclined. His trousers were back on thankfully, but he was slumped, eyes closed, cradling his raggedly wrapped arm. “Anthony?” You put a hand on his shoulder. “You alright?”

He blinked his eyes open and looked at you blearily. “Feeling a bit woozy.” He mumbled.

Fantastic. Not only had he lost blood, he had sent whatever remained shooting down to his cock and now there was none left in his brain. You didn’t think you were strong enough to carry him indoors if he collapsed, but you wouldn’t leave him in the damned car any longer. Tugging him by his good arm to slowly stand, you then draped it over your shoulders and steered him inside. He could walk just fine even if his head was drooping a bit.

You kicked the door closed behind you and walked to the sofa, easing him onto it.

“Aright, sit down. I’m going to get the first aid kit.”

You turned but were immediately halted by a hand around your wrist.

“There’s only one thing that’s going to make me feel better.”

The next you knew, you were on your back on the sofa, Anthony pressing you down as his lips consumed yours. He vocalized his want down your throat as his beard rasped against you. What happened to woozy? Maybe being horizontal was the only way he could function at the moment. He rocked his hips between yours, his unsatisfied stiffness insistently seeking entry. Within seconds you were ignited again, helpless against the weight of him, the taste of him, the smell of him.

“Anthony, if you stain the couch too, I swear…” You mumbled as he sucked at your neck. Tallying the cleanup that remained between the shattered window and your ruined clothes, you would not sacrifice your plush upholstery too. Reaching behind your head, you dragged the throw blanket from the arm of the sofa and quickly bunched it under his blood soaked shirt bandage. He didn’t seem to have heard you, or perhaps he just didn’t care, as he balanced on that elbow and used his other hand to tear open his trouser buttons. You lifted your skirt and helped him, as eager for this as he was.

You groaned in stereo as he sank into you once again, the sensation more overwhelming now that he was on top of you. His tongue dove into your mouth as well, the most delicious parts of him penetrating you as deeply as they could simultaneously. Vanilla as this position may have been in comparison, you loved it. Being completely underneath him, crushed, consumed and controlled by him. You had taken your pleasure and now you wanted to be a ragdoll in his arms. You didn’t know if your desires were romantic or perverse, but you didn’t care. The feeling of being filled and surrounded by the man you loved made you wildly aroused.

With no pretense, Anthony went to work pummeling you, chasing his release as urgently and selfishly as you had chased yours. You opened your legs wide, locking your ankles around his back and letting him plough even deeper. You still found this entire ordeal comical, but the man deserved some relief. In the span of an hour he had been chastised, injured, exposed and now blue-balled. This was his only reprieve until you had to undertake the ghastly business of dealing with his wound. And he was bringing pleasure to more than just himself. Predictably, his every thrust teased your clit, his sizable cock pulling all of you so tight that every feeling was heightened. While he panted harsh in your ear, you ran your nails down his rippled back and pert bum, leveraging with your wrapped legs to push up into him, the two of you grinding into one another as you whispered encouragements.

He was splitting you, sending you back to that place where all of your focus zoned in on the feeling of him inside, the relentless pounding of his body into yours that promised to quell every need of your flesh. Your whispered filth turned into small cries and then into silence as he drove harder and harder, his movements frenzied as he started to growl, pushing for the finish. All you could do was hold on as your whole body shifted beneath him, wearing tracks into the upholstery under your shoulders. You held your breath as your mouth fell open, unfailingly stunned at how he could propel you to the edge so easily. He shifted to look down at you. His hair was growing damp with sweat, a chestnut curl falling beautifully across his forehead. His dark eyes locked into yours, molten. You could read it in each other’s faces - you would come undone together.

Sparing Anthony the balancing act, you brought your hand between your legs and in seconds were breaking, tossing your head back as you succumbed. While the rest of you trembled, you clung to him with your limbs, luxuriating in all the hallmarks of his orgasm, triggered by your own. The way his back arched under your hands as his hips stuttered between your thighs. You loved how his whole body went rigid just before you felt the pulsing inside. He made the most beautiful gasping sound, so contrasted with his animalistic growls leading up to it, his mouth hanging open against your cheek, hot breath stirring your hair.

Absorbing each other’s tremors, he melted into you, resting his head in the crook of your neck and going full dead weight. You tightened your hold around him before he rolled onto the floor. You wound a hand into his hair, tracing patterns across his scalp as you both caught your breath. You looked over at his maimed arm and grimaced. It was a bloody mess. How he had been in the mood for not one, but two romps without a single complaint about an open laceration was a level of stubbornness and libido possessed only by Anthony Bridgerton. Now playtime was over. You had to be adults and handle this.

You kissed the top of his head. “Anthony.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t even grunt in acknowledgement.

You felt a stab of alarm and shook him lightly. “Anthony?”

Then he groaned, nuzzling closer into you. “I think you’re right,” he slurred against your neck. “I need stitches.”

You rolled your eyes but rubbed his back reassuringly. It appeared the adventures of the evening would continue. You just hoped he could still stumble back to the car.

“Okay. I’ll get you another shirt and then drive you to the hospital. And we are taking the spare key with us.”

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp

#bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton smut #female reader #smut #whump #modern au #bridgerton smut

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centrally-unplanned · 2 months

Text

To counter a bit my own housing libertarianism on main, it is of course quite theoretically possible for housing developers to cheap out on quality to make a buck. In the historical times when housing was that very free market, you saw that all the time! Like medicine, the ability for consumers to evaluate the "quality" of a build is quite low, you can sneak shitty pipes by them, so you saw/see that kind of stuff frequently in the right context.

The problem is that the argument is being presented around developed countries today in comparison to like 30 years ago. The US housing market isn't a free market in any way, shape, or form! We have not deregulated safety standards, or loosened building codes, or repealed fire safety mandates. We have gotten more restrictive, not less, over that time period. Developers in 1980 or 1950 were trying to cut just as many corners as they used to, the profit motive hasn't changed there. But in places like the US doing much of that is illegal, and gets caught by the mandatory home inspections, and law and order in the housing market has not collapsed in the past 30 years. No one is saying the occasional criminal doesn't slip through, but that was equally true in the past. Many of these codes are quite good - they work! They are regulations that make people better off.

If you really want to make an argument about specific shifting building standards you totally can, but it has to be much more sophisticated than this sort of blanket ~neoliberalism~. Matt Yglesias has been reading my mind recently, very annoying, and he wrote a take I wanted to write about "neoliberalism" as the dog that didn't bark. The idea that the modern era is an era of mass deregulation and growth-at-all-costs, that we live in a more capitalist and laissez faire era than our ancestors did, is probably not true! It varies by sector, yeah trade barriers went down for example. But housing most certainly didn't; neither did healthcare, or education, and that is the majority of how all humans spend their money. We never got growth-at-all-costs; much to my chagrin when it comes to housing. These takes lack a causal mechanism as for what changed.

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honey-minded-hivemind · 4 months

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Gem Au where everyone is a Gem except Reader, who is a Half-Gem like Steven.

Maybe they were friends with Reader's human or gem parent, maybe they found them in a dumpster, maybe one of them is Reader's parent (if the human parent was the one who gave birth) .

However they got them, they now have a little baby that they love with everything they are. Even if they don't exactly get why their fragile meat child needs to eat or sleep or why they cant walk and talk as a newborn, they will be their every step of the way.

Maybe Reader is already grown up when they finally meet. Reader knows they're half-Gem but doesn't know anything about that because they were raised by humans, so they continue doing their normal human life of going to work, paying the bills, and doing all of their normal human thing

Meanwhile all the Yans are just horrified because Reader is so FRAGILE, humans can die to almost anything but Reader keeps doing things! And they have so little experience 20 years is nothing to a Gem lifespan. Even the newer Gems like Kurt and Kitty are centuries older than them so Reader clearly needs protection! (Not really, all the yans have done is invaded their house and added the extra responsibility of teaching them Earth and human things)

Hahaha! Okay! Let's mash those two ideas together, @sugar-soda!

Reader is a half human/half gem who is about, say, 16 or 17. They're old enough to know basic safety, how to cook easy meals, how to clean, and has survived mostly with a little help from their human parent. Then they passed away, and Reader ends up in an abandoned gem temple they turn into a home. They add an old couch, whatever blankets they can find or buy, and a fridge that miraculously works. They earn their keep by setting up a market stall to sell odd knick-knacks and rocks and random old gem artifacts in the temple...

Then one day, they meet a few of the platonic yam X-Men gems, who, when Reader sees them, realizes they are not human, while the gems believe Reader is one of them (or a poor, possible force-fused one). They struggle to understand the concept of birth amd parents and death, only for Reader to walk them through it. Slowly, Reader becomes friends with them (or at least the youngest gems) (the teens).

The gems try to be careful with Reader, remembering that humans are rather fragile, squishy, easy to die beings who need constant food and water, each and every day. They ask, almost jokingly, how old Reader is, guessing maybe a few centuries, rather young... And Reader drops on them that they're only 16 or 17... To say the gems are horrified is an understatement.

This poor, defenseless, court-less, Dimaond-less gem, was without any other gems, and has no idea of their society, their culture, or that they even were a gem?! And were essential a GEMLING?! A GEODE?!

Oh no. NononNonONO! They are coming with them back to their mighty, safe, secure, beautiful Homeworld, free from these death traps they call a planet, and are going to learn how to be a gem! They can't leave them like this! They're so new, so naive, they can't even think of themself as a gem-! How could they leave them there to suffer?!

Reader insists they are fine in Earth, and have to block the entrances to the temple so the platonic yans don't break in or catch them while they're asleep. Attempts are certainly made. Until finally, one late night/early morning, Reader goes out, ends up knocked out, and is forcefully adopted by the platonic yans and taken aboard a hand ship or other gem spacecraft, and are held somewhere to be inspected and slowly "unconditioned"...

(Ask questions for this AU, please! And @sugar-soda, surprise, you have helped inspire/make an AU! Now, I need to figure out what gem Reader should be... Does anyone have any suggestions or ideas? I'm open to a few...)

#honeycomb thoughts #platonic yandere marvel #yandere platonic marvel #platonic yandere xmen #yandere x-men #platonic yandere marvel x reader #platonic yandere xmen evolution #platonic yandere xmen evolution au #🪨Gem in the Rough💎 AU

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holly-the-trash-writer · 2 years

Text

Matching

Eleveneth Doctor x Fem!Reader

For an annonymous request!

Synopsis: For their movie date Y/n got them matching bowtie pyjamas and the Doctor loves them!

Word Count: 1,183

A/N: I'm going to stop doing requests for a little while. I have a serious case of writers block and also wanting to write for other things. I will try and get through the requests I have and then take a little break. But I hope to be writing for Eleven again soon! I love you all!

Y/n rushed around the apartment as she got everything ready for their movie night.

She had finally got him to agree to it as long as she followed a few ground rules.

Rule Number 1: Stay away from alien movies. The Doctor begins ranting about inaccuracies, the racisim and gets insulted about the portrayal of aliens in movies.

"Do I look like I have green skin or huge eyes? In all my years I have never seen any species look like that! I have seen Martians and that is not one of them!"

Rule Number 2: There must be many snacks provided.

Rule Number 3: It must not be boring.

So, with these rules in mind Y/n decided to go for 'Back to the Future Part I'.

She wanted to ask so many questions and also she wanted to hear the Doctor's opinion about the time travel in the movie.

She set down a plate of Jammie Dodgers on the table next to the bowl of jelly babies. There were two bags of popcorn sitting in the kitchen ready for popping and her secret surprise was sitting wrapped on the sofa.

There wasn't long to wait before she heard the familiar mechanical scraping noise coming from her bedroom. She ran into the kitchen and turned on the microwave before rushing to her bedroom.

She opened the door to see the Tardis cramped beside the wall and her bed. The Doctor was standing with his feet crossed and he was leaning back on the frame of the door, "Hi honey, I'm home."

Y/n's smile was dazzling him as she bolted across the room, "Doctor!"

He quickly stood straight and opened his arms for Y/n to jump into, "Ah, There's my girl." He caught her around the waist and spun her around happily. He set her down and pulled back grinning, "Am I late?"

Y/n giggled and straightened his lapels, "For once, you are right on time."

The Doctor smiled and clapped his hands, "So! What's the plan?"

"It's movie night!" Y/n yelled excitedly and grabbed one of his hands and pulled him out of the bedroom, through the hall and into the living room. Spreading her arms out and pointing to all the snacks she left on the table, "Ta da!"

The Doctor looked at the scene in front of him, the T.V was sitting paused on a movie, there were some of his favourite Earth sweets on the table, a large blanket that he had gotten her from a market they went to on another planet a few months ago and two differently wrapped packages sat in the middle of the sofa.

He grinned at the sight and ran over to the table, grabbing one of the biscuits and biting into three-quarters of it, "You can't beat a Jammie Dodger." He stated as crumbs flew out of his mouth.

Y/n smiled and walked over to the sofa to grab one of the presents, presenting it to the Doctor.

"Is it my birthday?" He greedily took the present from her and inspected it, how soft it was gave him the impression that it was clothes on the inside, "No, wait. It isn't my birthday." Thinking on it for a moment he raised a finger, "Actually, it could be. It's been so long I could have forgotten." His eyes sparkled at a new realisation, "I could choose a new birthday!"

Y/n placed her hands over his, "It isn't your birthday. I saw them in the shop and I thought of you."

The Doctor giggled and his hearts swelled at the idea of something making her think of him in a shop. He looked down at the present and ripped the paper off like a six-year-old on Christmas Day.

"They're pyjamas!" Y/n did jazz hands to make them seem a bit flashier.

The Doctor shook them out and inspected them, "They're better than that, Y/n. They have bowties on them." He lifted his other hand to wiggle his own bowtie, "And bowties are cool."

Y/n held up her hands, "Hold that thought." She grabbed her own parcel off the sofa and ripped the paper off. Showing him her own matching bowtie pyjamas.

The Doctor's mouth fell open as he looked between the two. Giggling to himself at the thought of you both in matching outfits. He vaulted over her arm chair with his pyjamas clutched in his hand, "Race you!"

Y/n also ran to her own room so she could quickly change. The shirt was a white silk button up with the small red bowties printed all over it and the shorts were a match.

When she finished changing she walked out of her bedroom to find the Doctor already slouched on the sofa, feet on the table, with a bowl of popcorn on his lap, his own pyjamas were the same material as her own but instead of her shorts and short sleeves he had long-sleeves for his shirt and trousers. He was grinning while throwing popcorn in the air and trying to catch it with his mouth. There were a few pieces scattered on the sofa, floor and his lap that had came from previous attempts.

"Having fun?" She teased him as she fluffed his hair and hopped over his legs to sit down next to him.

"You took too long." He whined before raising his arm to let Y/n cuddle into his side.

Y/n leaned up to kiss his cheek, "My apologies."

The Doctor blushed furiously and stuttered, "No, it's- it's, well, it's fine."

Y/n grabbed the remote and pressed play on the movie.

"What did you pick?"

Y/n stole some popcorn, "You'll have to find out."

The Doctor had been excited for her choice and had been invested in the movie. Up until his right hand curled around her waist and he rubbed his thumb across the soft material. Just about daring to brush his fingers under the hem and run along her skin.

Y/n did look cute in her pyjamas. Well, Y/n looked cute all the time.

Halfway through the movie and Y/n had thought she had done a good job at keeping her questions to a minimum. That was until...

"Why is it eighty-eight miles-per-hour?"

The Doctor thought about it for a moment before he frowned.

Y/n was going to question is silence when he jumped to his feet, scaring Y/n half to death as he pulled her hands and brought her to her own feet.

"What's going on?"

The Doctor pressed pause on the remote before dragging her out of her room and into the Tardis.

"Doctor? What're we doing?" The both of them slid around on the glass of the Tardis as they were only in their socks.

The Doctor grinned as he stood on the bottom level of the Tardis in front of a large whiteboard.

Y/n couldn't help but giggle at the sight of him in button down pyjamas, socks, a marker in his hand and a sparkle in his eye.

He walked over to her and grabbed her cheeks to kiss her forehead, "We, my dear, are going to do the math!"

He uncapped the marker with his teeth and turned towards the board. "The Doctor is in."

Y/n never got to watch the rest of the movie with him but sitting in the Tardis while watching the Doctor work in his pyjamas was quite a night indeed.

#doctor who #eleventh doctor x y/n #doctor who x reader #eleventh doctor x reader #eleventh doctor #eleventh doctor x fem!reader #eleventhdoctor #eleventh doctor fanfiction #doctor who x fem!reader #doctor who x y/n

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lostinwoso · 2 years

Text

'Alexia's Property' (Alexia x Reader)

Part two of Quite the Catch and thank you for the idea!

Running into the empty locker room, you quickly put on your cleats before running out on the field, where training has already started.

"Look who made it to training." Mapi says quietly when she spots you jogging over to where all the girls were standing listening to the plan of what is done at today's training.

Alexia, who heard what Mapi said, turns her head around to see you jogging over to where she is standing, a teasing grin forming on her face. When arriving, you notice her teasing grin to which you give her a light shove, muttering, "Don't.", which makes the midfielder let out a quiet laugh.

She had left your shared apartment earlier this morning while you were still asleep due to having a media appointment, which also led you to being late now as no one was there to wake you up after sleeping through your alarm.

After the plan was talked through and everyone got told where they had to go, the team got into little groups to start their drills. Walking over to where you would start your training today, you felt an arm wrap around your shoulder, turning your head you see Mapi being the one, "So what made you late?" she asks you.

"I didn't hear my alarm this morning." you answer her, taking a glimpse towards her after you notice a smirk on her face, "What?".

"I mean if those marks on your neck are from yesterday then I'm not surprised you haven't heard the alarm.", she says, the smirk growing when your hand quickly flies up to your neck.

You and Alexia had a date the night prior where one of the waitresses started to flirt with you, leading to a rather long night with your girlfriend and with you already waking up late this morning you totally forgot to check for the potential marks your girlfriend left behind.

The panicked look in your eyes makes Mapi laugh, "Is it bad?", you asked her in hope that it's not as bad as you think it might be.

"Not that bad, you know just a bit here, here, here and he-.", she starts while pointing to different parts of your neck before you interrupt her, "Okay, I get it, it's bad!", you hiss out, annoyed at yourself for being late and not being able to cover the countless hickeys scattered across your neck.

Looking across the field, trying to ignore Mapis laugh, who is clearly enjoying the situation way too much, you catch the eyes of your girlfriend, who has a huge smirk on her face, having witnessed yours and Mapis encounter.

Rolling your eyes at her, you focus back on training, hoping that no one else would comment on the state of your neck for the rest of the training.

____

After a successful training session, you all huddle together one more time at the end to listen to the ending words of the trainer before they leave and training is officially over.

"Damn Alexia, you couldn't have marked her any more than that huh?", Patri speaks upcoming closer to you to inspect your neck, pushing her softly back a little.

"Maybe people get the message now that our Y/N here is off the market.", Claudia being the one speaking up this time, "Okay, can we stop this now? I'm sure we should all get ready now since we agreed on going to the men's game tonight.", you speak up, hoping to break up the conversation.

Hearing some agreements in the group that it probably would be smart to go home to get ready for later, you all make your way towards then tunnel, when you feel the hand of your girlfriend landing on your lower back.

"Stop looking so smug, Putellas.", you tell her, causing her to let out the laugh you love so much.

____

Arriving at the stadium later that day, you and the girls all take your seat, ready to enjoy a night of football.

When half-time came your girlfriend and some of the other girls went to get some drinks, when you feel someone stumbling into you from behind, your shirt getting a bit wet on the shoulder.

Standing up from your seat in surprise, you turn around where you are met with a woman your age who quickly starts apologizing, "Lo siento, I lost my footing and kind of tumbled into you, which caused some water to spill on you.".

Offering a smile you try to calm her down, "It's fine, don't worry about it, it's just water.", noticing that you are not upset about the situation she lets out a relieved sigh, before her eyes scan over your face and body.

"You know, maybe I could buy you a drink as an apology sometime?", she asks with a smile, her eyes scanning over your body a second longer before she meets your eyes.

Letting out an awkward chuckle you start talking, "I'm sorry but I-" "Here is your drink mi amor.", Alexia interrupts handing you your drink, while pressing a short kiss to one of the hickeys on your neck, sending the woman a sharp look after.

The woman muttering a quick, "Sorry.", before leaving to probably go to her seats.

Turning to look at your girlfriend, you notice the annoyed look on her face, wondering "Really? Even with hickeys on your neck, people still flirt with you? What do I have to do?", you two, sitting down while she talks.

"Get her a shirt that says 'Alexia's Property'.", Mapi speaks up as if it's the most normal thing to do.

"No, don't get me that shirt.", you say when you notice your girlfriend actually thinking about the words one of her best friend's just spoke.

After just staring into each other eyes for a moment, holding a daring stare, she lets out a sigh after a minute before agreeing, "Fine, I won't." also muttering something under her breath you can't really catch.

"Good, and thank you for the drink, love.", you thank her, pressing a short kiss on her lips after, causing a smile to form on Alexia's face again.

____

A few months later your birthday came around, spending a nice morning with your girlfriend before making your way to training together, where the girls all started singing Happy Birthday as soon as you came through the door.

"Thank you.", you say to each and every one of them after they came up to hug you.

"We have a present for you.", Mapi says, walking up to you with a small package in her hands, "Here.", holding it out for you to take.

"You know you didn't have to get me anything.", you tell them while accepting the small present.

"Just open it!", one of your teammates yelled.

Opening the package, you don't see the smirk forming on your girlfriend's lips and the way she exchanged looks with Mapi. Looking into the open package, you are met with a white shirt, pulling it out of the package, "A white shirt? Thank you guys.", you say, the confusion clear in your voice.

"Turn it around." Alexia says, giving her a confused look, you do as she says when you are met with two words on the shirt, 'Alexia's Property'.

"Really? You said you wouldn't get one?", you direct towards your girlfriend, who is quickly to respond, "I didn't, they did!".

"You all suck.", you mutter, making everyone laugh before you are pulled into a hug by your girlfriend, which quickly turns into a group hug.

After the group hug broke up, you all start to make your way out onto the field for training, when Alexia whisper in your ear, "You should wear it when we are going out later tonight, so people finally back off, plus I'm pretty sure it will look amazing on you.", clearly enjoying the thought of you wearing a shirt that marks you as hers.

#alexia putellas imagines #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #woso x reader #woso imagines #woso imagine #espwnt x reader

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oharamwah · 1 year

Text

♡☆— a secret ? : your life-long partner has been keeping a big secret from you about his career. → 2.3k

read pt. two → it’s not a onsie

husband!miguel o’hara x fem!reader

contents : au!miguel, florist!reader, sliiiightly ooc (he never had gabi), slight gore? (i kinda just describe injuries miguel has),

posted july 22nd - to be edited !

like any other day, you sat in your living room mindlessly listening to the tv blaring a brain frying romance reality show. you already ate dinner, though today you ate alone. despite the tv playing and the dishwasher running, the house was quiet.

‘he’s usually home by now, this is the fourth time this week.’ you thought.

your husband, miguel, worked at alchemax, the biggest scientific research company in all of new york. he was always so dedicated to his job, always giving it his all, but you are his wife. he always made time for you. you are his world. right?

new york, new york - 2089

6:03 pm : you run a small floral shop in new york right on the edge of broadway street. flowers are your favourite thing in the world — they’re so beautiful without even trying. you sat down, ready to take your first break of the day. a bad storm had hit the city the previous night and completely ruined your outdoor setup. what used to be a lovely arrangement of wooden shelves bathing in different floral collections you gardened became a mess of buckets, paper wrappings and loose flower petals. so, you spent the entirety of the day cleaning up and gathering the remains of your flowers.

you dusted your hands off on your apron and collapsed into your chair, a deep sigh following after. you closed your eyes and settled into relaxation, but suddenly..

door chime

your eyes jolt open. ‘seriously? the shop is open all day and no one comes in until now?’

you got up anyway. before your eyes at the entrance of the shop is a man. a tall man, nearly as tall as the door itself. he must’ve had to crouch to get in. he had messy brown hair, reddish-brown eyes, and a small scar on his left cheek.

you greeted him sweetly as he walked towards the counter and flashed a handsome smile, his canines slightly pointy. “evening,” he said politely, leaning one elbow on the counter. “i need a bouquet.” he said. duh. “well, you came to the right place,” you replied. “what kind of flowers are we looking for?”

the man thought for a second before sheepishly asking for advice.

“actually, they’re for my mother. i’m not very good at flowers or gifts, but it’s her birthday tomorrow.”

you gawk at this. ‘awww how sweet. does this mean he’s on the market??’ you thought. “oh, well, do you know her favourite colour?” you ask. “hm.. i know she likes pink. and yellow.”

you nod and walk past the counter, past the tall handsome man, and take a look around the shop. you come across a patch of pink dahlias and an idea pops into your head.

“might i suggest these lovely things? they make lovely centre pieces in assorted bouquets.” you say, your mouth curving into a smile as you make eye contact with the beautiful stranger. he smiles back. you hold up one of the flowers and he takes it into his hand, inspecting it as if it were some oddly creature — it was a flower. he rose the flower to his nose to smell it and his eyes closed in delight. he opened his eyes and looked into yours. ‘god his gaze is intense.’

“perfect.” he said with a small smile.

he had a certain look to him. not skeevy, not overbearing, he just looked good. now, not in an attractive sense (although that was definitely something that was on your mind) but in a human way — something about this man and his demeanour screamed “i’m a good man with a good heart who loves deeply.”

and at the time, little did you know, but the man thought nothing less of you. he knew for certain the second he saw you: that first visit to your floral shop would not be the last.

by the time miguel got home, it was already 4 o’clock in the morning. to say you were upset was an understatement.

yes, you were still awake, but only a little. you lay in bed scrolling on your phone as your eyelids weigh down on themselves, your brain fighting to keep them open. the idea of making sure miguel got home safe was the only thing keeping you up. and then, you hear the familiar sound of the door unlocking, followed by the kicking of boots and the dropping of a briefcase. miguel grunts.

in this moment you are livid. your husband has come home late in the past, yes, but never this late. before you know it, you’re on your feet again, awake as ever.

“miguel?” you call out as you leave the bedroom. the more you near the front door, the more you hear him panting. you get closer, and there he is. your husband is leaning against the wall, his scrunched up face showing nothing but pain. he has a few blood stains on his shirt, his hair is a disheveled mess, and the entirety expresses a deep exhaustion.

“oh my god, miguel,” you say in a sigh, rushing to him, your heartbeat picking up with every second. you grab onto his shoulders to support him from falling. “miguel, dios mío what happened to you??” you pleaded. “y/n,” he said in an exhale, “you should be asleep, my love.”

you couldn’t believe him. first, he comes home late. second, he’s clearly injured. and third, he’s completely ignoring the fact that he is injured.

“miguel..” he refuses to look at you. he can’t. “miguel look at me.” you say sternly, your voice slightly louder than normal.

miguel is convinced that in your entire marriage, and in the whole 11 years of you two knowing each other, you never raised your voice when you don’t have to. parties? sure. calling miguel down for dinner? of course. but when you’re upset with him? never.

miguel looks up at you, breathing heavily. his eyes are worn and weak. in this moment, he feels ashamed.

“what happened, miguel?” you said in a whisper, cupping his face in your hand. “who hurt you..” your other hand reaches his chest, his quick heartbeat along with the warmth of his skin seeping through his blood stained shirt. your faces were inches away, miguel could feel your breath on his nose. he only looked at you.

“miguel, please. talk to me.”

by now you were more desperate than upset with him. all you wanted was to make sure he was okay. you and your husband aren’t the kind to keep secrets from each other. anything and everything about yourselves, the other could recite the fact in their sleep. so what happened this time? what’s been happening this week to make miguel think he had to hide and come home at ungodly hours? let alone covered in his own blood?

you reached for the buttons of his shirt and slowly undid them, and what was revealed shattered you. miguel’s chest was painted with scratches, and one big gash right across the middle. he could only look down with embarrassment. it was hard for him to know you were seeing him in this state.

the most that’d happen to him at work is a small cut on his hand that he’d play off as a paper cut, or even red eyes that he’d blame on being around too many chemicals. he was your strong husband, your miguel who never felt any pain, or showed it. him being this vulnerable infront of you made his heart clench. he never wanted you to see, to know. but this was inexcusable. he knows today is the day.

“y/n,” he said, breaking his silence. “cariño.”

he looks at you, for the first time in what felt like hours.

“i haven’t been good to you, and i know that.” he admits. “and i know that i’ve been coming home late, and dismissing your concerns when i do,” he takes your hand and gently holds it. “miguel-“ you start, but he interrupts you.

“my love, i hope you know i mean well. i only want to be good to you.” he assures you, almost begging for you to hear him out.

“i know that baby but-“ “but today is different, i know.”

you’re at a loss for words. on one hand, you’re extremely confused; where on earth is he going with this? but on the other hand, all you want is to kiss him, clean him up and go to bed.

“mi reina, i haven’t been 100% truthful with you. about my job.” he states. “i..”

miguel pauses, trying to think of the tamest way to tell you the truth without sugar coating it. “you..?” you say, getting impatient.

“i’m not just a scientist at alchemax.” he looks at your lips and back into your eyes. “what, you’re a shitty hit-man too?” you say, half joking, half serious. ‘dios bueno is going on..’ you think. “no.” he says in a sigh, “no i’m.. i’m..” “what is it miguel please..”

and then he says it.

“i’m spiderman.” he looks at you.

“you know, that guy that’s always on the news?”

“oh.. you’re.. you’re… are you serious?” you let go of him. miguel nods. he isn’t surprised, he knew this wasn’t easy information digest.

the news stories didn’t exactly show is best side either. sure, he helped people, but he’s killed people too. out of malice? no, definitely not. but for the sake of the civilians? give or take a few. and miguel knew exactly what you thought of vigilante types.

“i just wish they didn’t hurt anyone at all,” he recalled you saying one evening. “this spider guy would be a lot better in my eyes if he just saved a kitty stuck in a tree once in a while.” to which miguel would get defensive and argue that “maybe he’s doing his best not to hurt them, honey.”

it all started to make sense.

“please let me explain.”

“explain..” you say in disbelief. “oh yeah take a minute to explain this huge secret you’ve been hiding for how long?!” you exclaimed. here comes the anger once again.

“y/n, please just hear me out.”

you look at his face, and then at his wounds, and suddenly you remember who you’re yelling at.

he was stupid to lie to you. really stupid. but you love miguel, you’ve loved him since you met him that one evening in ‘89. so you cross your arms and stay quiet.

“i wanted to tell you, my love. i did. and i should’ve. but.. you just don’t understand.”

“understand what, miguel?” you ask, so quietly you’re almost certain he didn’t hear. your heart hurts.

“i kept this from you to keep you safe.” he explained, and you scoff. he can’t be serious.

“miguel-“

“i know you, cariño. i know that if you knew, you would find a way to get involved and end up getting hurt. i could lose you.” he takes a step forward and reaches out for your waist, pulling you closer. you give in.

“i’m involved regardless, miguel. i’m your wife.” you explain, desperate to show him that you care. “we’re supposed to be a team, remember?”

you’re looking up at him with teary eyes, the same eyes that miguel fell in love with years ago. miguel’s got many weaknesses with you, but your eyes have proven themselves fail proof. the way you’re looking at him makes his entire brain go fuzzy.

miguel sighs. he knows you’re right. all of a sudden, his shoulders feel 10x heavier with all the guilt he’s carrying.

“you’re..” you pause. you have to think.

“you’re spiderman,” you whisper nervously, “but you’re my miguel first.”

miguel is taken aback by this. the anger he expected, but this? he did not prepare for.

“i don’t want you to feel as if you have to hide who you are.” you gently trace the scar on his cheek. “if this is who you are,” you say, gently touching around his injuries, “i still love you miguel.”

the weight on his shoulders is lifted. he knew you loved him, but the confrontation inevitably led him to think that might not last.

he sighs, “i just don’t want to let you get hurt, my love. i could never forgive myself if i did.” he looks at you longingly.

“if i promise to stay out of it,” you grab his hand, “to stay as far away from all the danger you face..” he gives you a sorry look. “would you just trust me?”

“i love you y/n, i do trust you. you are my entire universe and more.” his usually furrowed eyebrows are softened and his heartbeat had calmed down. “and i.. i’m sorry for not telling you. for making you feel like i don’t trust you. i really do,” he leans his forehead against yours. you can feel his breath again, but this time, it’s breaths of relief.

“i forgive you, miguel.”

his eyes are deep, but you’re close enough to see that his pupils dilate at the sound of your mercy. miguel felt his body regain strength, rejuvenating itself. he leaned in to kiss you softly, so soft in fear that if he was too rough then you’d crumble away and disappear. the kiss was gentle and loving, but the feeling that lingered after was begging for more.

your eyes remain gazing at only each other and you both smile wistfully.

“whaddya say we get you cleaned up and in bed,” you say, comfortingly rubbing his shoulders. miguel chuckles.

“only if you’re gonna help me,” he said, looking at you in a way that showed he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

you jokingly roll your eyes, smiling.

“lead the way, mi héroe.”

spanish glossary :

dios mío - oh my god

dios bueno - good god

cariño - my dear, sweetie, honey

mi reina - my queen

mi héroe - my hero

#miguel ohara angst #miguel ohara x fem!reader #miguel x you #miguel spiderverse #atsv miguel #miguel x y/n #miguel ohara fluff #miguel fucking o’hara #i love miguel ohara #atsv fanfiction #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel ohara oneshot #atsv oneshot #miguel ohara scenario #miguel o’hara #AHHH FIRST POST

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