#let’s just get some liquor from the corner store

[tteokdoroki]

ೀ⋆OCT 1ST PRINCESS DIARIES ━━ satoru gojo + breeding !

୨୧ — caution, you are now watching. satoru gojo + breeding. thirty days until you become queen, thirty days to get married and thirty days to stop sneaking around with the man trying to steal your crown… (5.2K)

୨୧ — rated r. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, royalty!au, enemies to lovers (?), forbidden romance, infidelity and cheating, spit kink, breeding kink, daddy kink, pregnancy kink, breast play, agoraphilia, baby trapping, oral sex (f!recieving), unprotected sex, princess + fem!reader, lord!satoru gojo.

୨୧ — director’s note. woo happy spooky season my loves. welcome back to another tteokdoroki kinktober! im excited for you to see whats in store this year, hope you enjoy this fic to start off mwah! - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ✧

you have thirty days to get married.

being from a small town, somewhere that’s not even on the map — you never expected your family name to carry much meaning aside from the one you carved out for yourself. let alone expect your name to come from royalty.

if you thought discovering how to be a teenager at sixteen was hard, then try discovering how to be a princess at sixteen on for size. everything you’ve ever done since finding out you were royalty has been for your family. you’ve kept your head down, out of the spotlight aside for the occasional appearance and charitable events. you’ve studied hard, double-majoring in international relations alongside political science and diplomacy. 

you’ve prepared yourself thoroughly enough to feel ready to take the mantle of queen — especially with your grandmother planning to step down. all of your accomplishments have been leading up to this very moment — it’s so close that you can practically feel the weight of the crown on your head. 

except there’s one itty, bitty, little problem.

you still have to get married in thirty days. otherwise, your family title will be poached from right beneath your nose.

satoru gojo (aka public enemy number one) is the nephew of a member of parliament who just so conveniently knows genovian law better than your grandmother does. since satoru came of age before you did, and he’s lived in genovia for longer than you have, and has some random distant relative in connection to the first king — the men of parliament have decided that he too is in line for the throne. 

especially if you, the princess, do not marry before your coronation. 

how ridiculous is that? 

and not only is this satoru gojo an evil, conniving, crown-stealing bastard. but he’s charming, a silver tongue wrapped around each and every one of his words. charming, like a prince (blegh) he’s also stupidly attractive. with deep sapphire blue eyes that are gorgeous enough to make the crown jewellers weak in the knees and a smile so sweet it feels like a sugar rush whenever he looks at you. there’s something so unique about the frostiness to his soft white hair, matching his unfairly long lashes — the ones you know girls back home would kill for. 

it angers you to know that you’d been dancing with your rival at your welcome ball, pains you to know that you’ll never forget his slender fingers splayed out against the small of your back to guide your every movement. if you had been back in college (and had a few litres of hard liquor in your system), perhaps gojo would have been the type of guy you’d have snuck into the dorms for a night of fun and an NDA in the morning — your secret signed away from the paparazzi’s keen eyes. 

alas, these are very different circumstances and there’s a lot riding on you being sensible about the situation. yet, satoru proves himself to be a problem every chance that he gets — cornering you in closets with his breath hot against your ear, trapping you against the walls while the ghost of his touch feels like heaven against your skin… on the staircase too, insistent on reminding you of the passionate dance you once shared.

all while you’re set to marry the duke of another country so you can keep your fucking crown (pardon the language, your highness).

suguru geto would be the perfect king consort if you managed not to mess this up. he is warm, where satoru is a flip between disastrously hot and frustratingly cold. he balances you out, a mellowness to your clumsiness whilst understanding your need for a rushed proposal and wedding. raised a gentleman, suguru is mindful of you in every action he takes. he doesn’t stare too long but smiles when you think he’s not looking and he’s a wonder with your grandmother — the parents, too. his family gem (a serpentine, making you feel much like a snake) sits heavy on your ring finger, dazzling under camera flashes at your engagement dinner…. and he recognises duty and honour above anything else too. 

if satoru is your enemy, then guilt is your friend. no matter what either of the men in your life do, you find yourself comparing their every move. when you’re with suguru your mind is away chasing the fairies, imagining the touch of another man who sets your heart alight in a cool blaze — like gasoline trickling through your veins waiting for its candle match. when you’re with satoru, all you can think about is how wrong this is. how geto doesn’t deserve this. but you’re an addict without a cure, and your drug is satoru gojo and you don’t see yourself ever  quitting him.

you're in desperate need of a wake up call and a nicotine patch, the cocky yet lecherous air about him almost acting like a smog in your healthy and capable lungs. sometimes through the fog, you wonder if satoru knows how much he weighs heavy on your mind— though if he did, you’d never hear the end of it. 

the current queen tells you not to worry about the white haired man that’s slowly freezing over the four chambers of your heart. you tell yourself that suguru geto is the only man that you need, one that could help you rule and create a beautiful and better kingdom for many years to come. geto tells you that he loves you, that he can’t wait to marry you in two or three weeks time and you respond with equal (yet, faux) excitement.

perhaps that’s why you find yourself sneaking away from this respectful, loving man to be with the one trying to ruin your life?

why are you following satoru gojo deep into the royal gardens, where the rose bushes are the only witness to your sick and twisted sins?

your back hits the jagged pattern of tree bark before your brain can catch up — causing a little wet whimper to bubble up on your pinky-peach tainted lips. the flutter of pain just beneath your skin only lasts for a second before it’s replaced by the sensation of satoru’s fingers traversing up the dips and curves of your body. he soothes you where it hurts the most, rough fingertips leaving bruising marks made with affection along your thighs and small of your back while he swallows your sweet gasps — licking into the wet cavern of your mouth to taste you. 

“you’re not even…” his words spill into you, adding fuel to the spark of lust beginning to form a pit in your stomach. “you’re not even attracted to him,” he spews, surging forward like a storm knocking on your door to press his greedy spit slicked lips to yours. his tongue, syrupy and wet, intertwined with your own, filling you up and giving you something to suck on. 

before you can even think of kissing your rival back, he retreats and takes his swollen lips with him — latching onto your neck and weaponizing his teeth against it. you gasp, your angel’s song tipping out into the rose garden while your fingers tangle in silver-moon locks and let him work against you, claiming you just below the neckline of your dress where no one will be able to see. 

except for maybe your fiancé and only god knows how you’ll be able to explain the marks to him tonight. ‘oh you know me, suguru. i’m way too clumsy for my own good.’ you’ll say, all while thinking about how the man after your crown blew your back out at your engagement party. 

you know why satoru’s acting such a fool — taking risks that he wouldn’t normally. the dress you’re wearing, the colour of his eyes, drives him fucking insane. you can’t say that you didn’t ask for this, like it wasn’t on purpose. 

“can’t fucking stand you,” gojo groans against your skin, nose pressed to your collarbone as he inhales the candied notes of your perfume. “been giving me those angel eyes all day. knowing that i can’t take my fucking eyes off of you when you wear that colour, princess.” 

he’s insufferable, but here you find yourself at the mercy of his touch — offering up your body to satoru gojo like a sacrificial lamb as your back arches away from the tree and presses your chest into his eager strawberry tongue. it leaves a slimy track over your neck and dips between the cleavage of your dress while gojo makes his descent down to hell — tasting the shimmering crystals of salt on your skin. 

satoru gojo belongs on his knees. 

kneeling before you with the royal blue tule of your dress between his shaking hands. you can tell he’s trying not to rip it off of you. born to worship you.  mirth weighs down his lashes and desire dances between the navy blue flecks in his sapphire eyes — he needs you so bad it might kill him. from this position he can practically smell how turned on you are, he’d recognise the mouth-watering aroma of your drooling cunt anywhere, slick gathering in the crotch of your barely there panties. 

there’s a depraved, royal treasure hidden between the string of fabric that runs between your juicy pussy lips — swollen and waiting to be devoured by your enemy. not that you’d ever admit that to him. “i think you should be referring to me as your queen.” you manage between ragged breaths, satoru eyeing the way your chest heaves from beneath the bust of your dress. 

instead of responding, his head unceremoniously dips beneath your skirts and he drags a thigh over the width of his broad shoulders. “watch your mouth,” the lord purrs salaciously as he licks up your inner thigh, the vibrations shooting straight to your swollen clit. “let’s remind you of who’s really in charge.” the both of you feel it, the aching throb of your pussy against gojo’s lips as he wedges his face right between your thighs. you can’t help but grind against him in wanton, desperate to be filled up with fingers, tongue whatever your sworn enemy has to offer up to the crown. 

but your warmth and wetness does nothing to coax satoru into tongue fucking his way past your clenching, creaming entrance. rather, he draws his head back just a touch and rubs at your cunt like he loves you, dips his fingers just into your quivering hole and then — smack !

juices run down satoru’s arms as if he’s taken a bite into the fruit that tempted eve while he laughs in awe of just how fucking sloppy you are between your thighs. the spank to your puffy folds makes you jolt in surprise, causing you to scratch your back against the jagged tree bark. 

“gojo!” you squeak in warning as your thighs close around his veiny hand. 

he sticks his tongue into his cheek, smirking in amusement before prying your shaky legs apart. “that’s not quite right, try again for me, princess...” gojo repeats the process, running between your slick folds and spanking you against them when you fail to respond. “you know my name, baby. c’mon it’s easy, i’ll even say it with you. d…d…” 

you refuse to stoop so low, to let demeaning words escape from underneath your tongue but not having satoru’s mouth on you is like torture — just his breath against your cunt is akin to dangling a carrot in front of a starving horse. you know what that pleasure is like, you crave it and you’re not above begging no matter how royal you may be. 

“f-fuck, daddy!” you whinge defiantly, screwing your eyes shut and letting your head fall back against the tree. satoru wastes no more time then, slotting his hot mouth against the entire length of your silken slit. the first thing he does is moan, the vibrations shooting twinges of ecstasy from your clit through the rest of your body and even reaching your head — making the world around you spin. 

the tip of his tongue teases its way past your entrance, squirming around to brush up against pleasure spots your little fingers can’t even reach. “that’s right princess, knew you could do it. you’re not just some stuck up little girl.” the white haired lord praises, drawing back from your quivering hole — connected to you by a string of your glistening slick. 

“shut up, just… put your mouth to good use.” you grunt, your hips canterint down onto gojo’s face to keep him quiet. your fingers take root in his silvery moon locks, dragging the man and his pink tongue onto your sex once more. gojo takes the hint, making your cute little clit his next victim as he rolls it between perfect rows of pearly whites and sends your eyes into the dark depths of your skull. 

the sinful and salacious sensation provides a welcomed distraction from your responsibilities as the crown princess. if your grandmother could see you now, you know that all she’d feel is disappointment— especially if she knew her granddaughter was fucking the biggest threat to the crown. and suguru, your poor fiancé — he was probably stuck mingling with guests he didn’t even know, looking for your eyes in the crowd like he always did. 

shame should be burning through your veins, not the white hot trickle of desire that you’re filled with as satoru slurps your juices from between your fat pussy lips. the needy groans he lets out against you inch down your spine, drown you in stormy waves of lust and you find yourself addicted to the bob of gojo’s head from underneath your tule skirts. you’re just so wet, pouring the royal family’s riches, liquid gold straight into the man’s greedy mouth as he drinks you in.

your nectar glazes his cheeks and chin in a devilish shine, brighter than the crown set to sit atop your head — his mouth barely parts from your ravaged and swollen romping as if he’s married to eating you out, tongue licking you up and down before your juices even have a chance to drip to the ground. you can only imagine what would happen if the press found out, your life would be over and so would satoru’s. but you don’t care, because every second that gojo spends between your thighs dragging you to orgasm is worth it. every single time. 

he grips at your ass, pulling you back onto his tongue as it flickers in and out of you. the whole ordeal is disgusting and delightful and you never want it to end. pleasure mounts high within you, evident in the shakiness of your gripes and grouses, lust laden in its tune. 

“s-satoru…satoru. i’m gonna… g’na fuckin’ cum!” a high pitch squeal tears in your throat like music to gojo’s ears — now working relentlessly to get you off just like you need. he doesn’t care if he’s suffocating, at least he’ll die a happy man between the thighs of a princess. 

he chuckles against your sex. “such a dirty mouth for such a proper lady.” the lord says as if he’s a scolding you.

but you can barely hear him, for static rings in your ears as your body loses the war to your orgasm. your release bubbles up on his tongue like the fresh pop of champagne, while your brain fizzles and clears itself of all logical thought. guilt is replaced by bouts of lust, making you realise that this cycle of avoiding and fucking gojo will never end. you’re too addicted to him and he’s too obsessed with you, as long as things remain that way — sex with him will always be on the agenda. 

you can’t promise yourself, your grandmother or suguru that this will be the last time. 

dopamine dances across gojo’s brain as he drinks in the tangy-honey flavour of your release, letting it splatter against his puffy lips as they encircle your clit to prolong your orgasm. you gush as if you’re a rushing erotic river, spilling into satoru’s earnest mouth while he licks you clean with wanton.

“look at that… oh look at you. cumming for me already.” 

“f-fuck you.”

“fuck me?” he smirks, making your gut lurch with wanton. “fuck you. i’m the one that’s working on it, princess.” satoru slowly rises to his feet, licking a nasty spit-slicked trail from your hole to the cleavage peeking out from underneath your dress. he doesn’t even stand to his full height, his large frame towering over you as he yanks down the front of your dress to lick and suck and play with your breasts until you can’t tell what’s up or down anymore.

his perfect teeth graze a pert nipple which makes you gasp and cry, loosely looping your arms around satoru’s neck while his ravaging mouth works your sensitive breasts, even going as far to swipe his tongue over the spot where each one meets your ribcage. he doesn’t leave any marks, you’re not his to keep. large and rough hands replace the warmth of his mouth on you to toy with your mounds of flesh — pinching and pulling as satoru kisses you senseless. you groan at the taste of your slick on his tongue and salt of your skin as well, tugging him closer so that there’s no space between your heated bodies. 

“don’t cry,” satoru comments softly against your swollen, cherry-bitten lips — cupping your face between his fingers. blinking slowly, you allow your frenzied brain the chance to catch up to reality  and you don’t realise the tears that wet your cheeks until he points them out. why are you even crying? “you’re too pretty for that.” his compliments do nothing to clear the lustful, confused fog settling over your mind like a dark cloud so you follow your body’s instincts and reach for the metal clasp on his belt. 

nimble fingers make their way down the front of gojo’s dress pants and he hisses at the quick pumps of his perfectly hard cock before you’re dragging up your skirts and guiding him towards your entrance. “baby, wait—“

you push his pants down enough to let his erection spring free, pulsing with need and standing at full mast against the cotton blouse covering his tummy. “i need you.” you sniff, dropping your panties to your ankles. “please.” 

the thing about sex with satoru is that it never feels like just sex. he tenderly hikes the meat of your thigh over his slender hips, lets his dribbly, sticky cockhead twitch forward and ease past the salaciously slick barriers of your empty hole, and presses your bodies so close together that you think you might forget how to breathe. satoru makes love to you each and every time — and it’s terrible. 

like eating too much sugar or indulging in a bad smoking habit. you’re not supposed to be in love with him and the way he fucks up into you, chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis even with all of the fabric in the way. “don’t cry for him, f-fuck,” the both of you look down, your pupils dilating at the sight of your pussy swallowing his lengthy shaft whole — catching on the ridges of each blue vein spiralling around him. “cry for me, princess. i’m the one that’s ruining you.” 

with his forehead pressed to yours, silver hair matted down by the line of perspiration against it — satoru braces a hand against the tree above your head and sets stream to his passionate thrusts, fluid like water under a bridge. it’s not fair, how wrong this is and how good it feels to have gojo lick over the parts of you he would bite down on if you were his. your pulse point, your neck, the spot just under your ear that’s way too sensitive for your own good. it should be suguru fucking you like this, your fiancé. 

yet, there’s no room for self-loathing and despair between the rough tree and satoru gojo above you. nothing aside for the thick curtain of lust that protects you from prying eyes in the rose garden, floral scents twisting with the raw, aphrodisiac-like smell of sex and sweat while he pounds away at your swollen pussy, grinding his cock wetly against the sweet spots dotted along your ribbed walls. 

“i should put a baby in you,” he says suddenly, just barely audible over the wet pap, pap, pap of your sexes working together. embarrassment burns bright under the surface of your cheeks because you’re that wet and it’s that loud, the remainders of your previous orgasm making it easier for satoru’s cock to glide in and out of you. “leave you with a little gift. a present — reminder of our time together, yeah?” he knows that he’s not making any sense, leaving his confession behind sex and sultry words. he would never admit to how much he loves you, he’s already ruined you enough. he’s already taken more than enough from you too. “i’ll get to the crown either fuckin’ way.” 

satoru talks with his dick and you fucking like it, squeezing the damn daylights out of him. he can barely pull back with you locked down on like that, his seedy tip snug between your ruined folds — clinging into him by viscous ropes of your last orgasm and freshly formed globs of his white hot precum. “you like that, don’t you princess?” he coos down to you condescendingly, picking up the pace of his hips as he rams into you mercilessly. the tree shakes from the force, sprinkling pretty and innocent petals over you both. “you wanna make me a daddy? my queen? give me a little prince or princess.”

“fuck yes, satoru!” nodding your head with wanton, you press yourself into his neck and squeeze him close by the ass cheeks so the only place your lover can go is deeper. you want to be able to feel him in your guts, hot in your womb like an iron rod — anything to forget the trickle of betrayal filling you up like a glass of wine. “i want it, i want it…i want—“

you cut yourself of with an abrasive sob, as you moan your agreements. i want you. you feel the words on the tip of your tongue, drowned out by the slippery sounds of sex and creaking tree trunk. you’ve never wanted anyone as much as you’ve wanted satoru gojo.

but he’s the wrong person, in the wrong place, at the wrong time. 

“i know you do, i know,” you can feel gojo move to slobber over your chest, pacifying his whistle tone whimpers with your nipples bouncing in his mouth. he looks up at you with vacant cerulean eyes that shimmer like the skies above, the crude mix of your arousals slinging at the point at which your bodies join. “tell me how much you love daddy’s cock, princess.” 

he goads because he craves your attention. satoru can feel you slipping from between his fingers, the guilt that rolls off of you in waves as he languidly rams into your cunt. he’s asking a lot of someone who’s too stimulated, too fucked out to speak — your tongue barely staying in your mouth. 

“sato—!”

“c’mon… answer me, fuck, there we go.”

that’s when he hikes you up in his arms, lifting you a little to feverishly thrust up into you — dragging you closer to another high. your nails dig deep into his taut ass, nudging his dick against your g-spot. suguru would never be this rough with you, would never want to fuck you so good that the pleasure hurts.

shaking your head, your eyes glisten but the denial doesn’t stop small streams of arousal from squirting out and webbing against gojo’s soft pubes. “i-i can’t! i don’t—“ satoru bites down on your nipple, hard, cutting through your train of blurry thought. “i love…h-him!” 

you love your fiancé, but you both know that’s a lie.

“yeah, sure you do. that’s why your pussy’s huggin’ my cock so tight. you don’t wanna let me go, baby.” even while he’s a mess for you, your rival still finds it in him to be such an egotistical prick. you can’t even tell him that he’s wrong, because you never ever want to be without satoru, without this immensely overwhelming feeling of ecstasy fluttering through your entire body. it’s all too much, he’s too much, stretching you wide and filling you with the love (and cum) you should be getting from suguru. 

thunder cracks above your head, lightning flashes through the trees as if the higher power up above is bearing witness — growing distraught at your sins. it’s not long before the heavens open up on you both and your sweaty, sex slicked bodies are doused in rain. but it doesn’t stop you, doesn’t stop satoru from dragging down your bottom lip to lovingly spit into your mouth. 

he kisses you as if it’s not enough, rocking his hips into you so he can bully your insides and mark them with his pre. “bet he’s lookin’ for you right now, hm? his precious wife to be…drenched in my cum ‘n drenched in the rain.” satoru heaves, letting the patter of the rain drown out the sound of his tightening balls slapping against your ass. “bet he wishes he could fuck you like i do.” 

you can’t tell if it’s the tears of guilt and longing or the rain that blurs your vision. “h-he doesn’t get to!” you cry like a dirty porn-star, hardly becoming of a soon to be queen. “o-only you!” 

“only me, hm? i’m flattered.” he seems elated, hiding his flushed face and happy smile in the junction between your neck and shoulder. his wet hair tickles your skin. “too bad he doesn’t know his princess comes used and abused between her pretty legs, huh?”

the rain is cold against your skin, seeping through your clothes, ruining your makeup — but the way satoru licks up your hot streaky tears and the droplets of water against your skin as if to sooth you… the way he does it fills you with warmth. 

your limbs become heavy from your water-logged clothes and exhaustion, your whole body slumped against satoru’s strength but you still manage to rake your nails down his back as if you can’t be any closer. gojo doesn’t let your hips run from his either.  his mind races, stuck on the idea of asking you to run away with him because he can’t just let you go back to geto. not again. 

he can’t let you marry someone you’re not in love with. 

it would be selfish of him to ask you to stay, even when you wrap your legs around him and have him plug up your tiny little hole with sticky white. he sees it in your eyes how much you care for him, even through the rain. he’s ruining you, from the inside out, knocking the crown from your head and he hates it.

“daddy loves this pussy,” he wishes for the moment to last forever, but you’re already so close — crying from every hole, suffocating his throbbing cock. neither of you can hold back. “he loves you. i love you.”

the confession nearly tears your world in two — but it’s all you need to hear before everything comes crashing down on you. “i-i love you!” you tell him, wailing the words loud and proud as you release on him for a second time, gushing obscene amounts against gojo’s tummy smooshed up on your clit. “sato—! satoru! cum with me, cum inside me!” scratching down his back and screwing your eyes shut, you tilt your head up to capture his lips in a passionate kiss. 

the taste of salt on your cupid’s bow throws gojo over the edge too — his cockhead pours viscous white directly into your womb. “fuuuck, you’re so good princess…” and even though you know you should tell him to pull out, you don’t want him too. you want his baby, want his cum, want him always. even if that’s greedy of you.“fuckin’ take it…take all of me. all of that cum’s for you.” he slurs, beyond brainless.

lewd clapping noises echo between your bodies like the thunder up above as satoru fucks you through the rest of your highs, nose nudging your cheeks tenderly to soothe your tears. moaning, and crying against one another’s swollen lip. when his slow grinds come to a stop and your breathing recovers, the white haired lord gently sets you back in the ground — tenderly helping you to fix your drenched clothes back into place. 

your thighs are completely bruised and his back is completely torn up. the last marks you’ll ever leave with each other.

“so about—“

“we… we can’t do this anymore, satoru.” you say almost immediately, shaky as if you’re in the verge of panic. 

for the first time since you started doing this, sneaking off with one another, gojo notices the glint  on your ring finger. and you feel the very same weight of that ring. 

he shrugs you off, pulling up his pants and smirking. “that’s what you said last time—

“no satoru, i mean it now. we can’t.” it’s like you’ve come to your senses, realised the gravity of it all and what’s at stake. thirty days to get married, thirty days to become queen. “i’m going to become queen, your queen, in a matter of weeks and to do that i need to be married to him. i can’t mess this up. we have to stop.”

“but you don’t even want him,” he growls like a petulant child, roaring above the rain that cascades down on you both. “you want me. i want you. who gives a fuck about anything else?”

“duty gives a fuck! i have to marry him!”

throwing his hands up in defeat, satoru steps towards you, loud and intimidating, and you step back towards the tree. “you can’t even say his fucking name.” 

“his name is suguru geto and i will marry him because you forced me to.” you spit, going toe to toe with him — chest heaving but tight from your heart break. “if you and your stupid higher ups had just stayed out my way. maybe there could have been a chance for us. but they didn’t and here we are and duty freaking calls, gojo.” 

you storm off shortly after, be before he can see you cry again (for real this time). from his place hidden in the royal gardens, gojo watches sullenly as you approach your grandmother and fiancé — the elder queen disappointed in your current state and suguru clearly worried that the rain might make you catch a cold. 

the perfect alibi to cover up the fact that you’d just fucked satoru gojo. 

but the entire time, you never look back. 

you don’t even look at gojo — and  that’s how he knows you meant it. you always look back, always look for him in the crowd. 

the knowledge hits him like a strike of lightning. he’s royally fucked up — you’re marrying for the crown, all because of him. and there’s no room for loving when you’ve got the weight of the nation on your shoulders.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [4.2K] loosely based on the movie float, lifeguard!steve, a summer full of swim lessons. mentions of drowning, eventual smut 18+

SWIM LESSON SCHEDULE

LESSON #1

“Oh, come on,” the guy coaxed, voice wheedling and a little slurred. 

You didn’t really know him, a friend of a friend's cousin who was visiting from out of town but he’d been cute enough to entertain five beers ago. He’d grown sloppier now, a little leery, his hand around your wrist as he udder you towards the dock that overlooked Lover’s Lake. 

You’d dug your heels in, smiling through your teeth as you shook your head and tried not to spill the cheap wine Robin had brought down the front of your shirt. The small beach that was hidden in a cove was surrounded by trees, green in the summer, full and making the crescent moon strip of land perfect for a bonfire and for some drinking. 

There were small crowds of people all over the sandy patch, sitting on blankets and cheap camping chairs, familiar faces lit by the small fire, people you didn’t know as well lingering between, bare feet on the edge of the shoreline. 

You’d came with Eddie, riding in the front seat of his van with a rucksack full of corner store liquor on your lap, the smell of weed coming off strong from the pocket inside his leather jacket. 

“A night full of potential clients, sweetheart, please,” he’d pleaded with you, brown button eyes wide. “The Jacksons have their cousins over from the backass of Georgia, they’ll pay for the rest of our summer if I show them the good shit.”

So you’d agreed, albeit grudgingly, letting your best friend haul you off your sofa and to the get together that you didn’t really want to go to. But Robin was there, and Nancy too, a few people you hadn’t seen since senior year, back for the summer to visit their folks and well - it wasn't all bad. 

Then the evening faded into night and the lavender skies turned inky, the same shade as the lake water. And when people got a little looser, whisky and bud light warming their veins, they laughed as they stripped down to mismatched underwear and dove off the dock, splashing and shrieking in water you couldn’t see the bottom of and god—

You’d, grimaced, turning away from the shoreline and sticking close to Eddie, the boy’s arm always brushing your own even when he was busy dealing, twenties fisted in his hand as he passed over baggies to a twenty something girl you’d never seen before. 

But then that guy found you, relatively sober and sweet until he wasn’t, sloppy with his arm around your neck, breath smelling like smoke and beer and he was pulling you towards the people in the water, telling you it was all part of the fun. You’d protested immediately, intensely, eyes wide as the water came closer and your feet hit the wooden planks of the dock. 

Between the gaps, you could see black, dark water rippling, the moon overhead glinting white off the tips of the current. Eddie hadn’t noticed you were gone until the stranger had dragged you half way down the decking. Your wrist burned from how tight he held it, how hard you tried to twist it from his grasp. 

“Hey— hey!” Eddie had barked out, loud and brash and aggressive enough to make a lot of people around him startle. He broke free from the circle that had gathered around him, lips set in a snarl and determination in his eyes. You knew fine well that when Eddie got his hands on this guy, it wasn’t going to be pretty. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Let her fucking go—”

But Eddie couldn’t reach you in time, not when his boots dug too deep into the sand and there were too many people to push out of the way. The guy laughed at a joke you weren’t a part of and then he pushed. 

Your arms swung wildly, windmilling as gravity took over, your balance gone and you were too near the edge of the dock to do anything about it. Your hands grabbed at the air, fingertips just brushing your new acquaintances shirt and his grinning face and beer blurred eyes were the last thing you saw before you back hit the water. 

It was as dark underneath the surface of the lake as it was above it, an icy shock despite how warm the day had been, how the heat still lingered in the night. You gasped, immediately inhaling, murky water filling your mouth and throat and you kicked, hoping that the direction your hands were clawing in was up. 

But nothing happened and your body didn’t move. 

On the beach, people were murmuring, too drunk to consider the consequences, too stoned to fly into action. Besides, only seconds had passed. Bubbles were floating in the spot you’d gone under, ripples evidence of the fact that you’d once been there. Eddie was sweating, shoving at people as he ripped off his leather jacket and prepared to vault himself onto the water after you but someone at the bottom of the deck beat him to it. 

Steve Harrington had dropped his beer at the first sign of the commotion, his part in the conversation with Jonathan Byers and his friend from California dying off as he turned to watch a guy he didn’t know drag you down the dock. The stranger had been laughing but you hadn’t, and before he could say something, Steve only had a second to look at the absolute horror on your face before you were forced backwards and into the lake. 

He was on his feet immediately, facing back up the dock to where you’d disappeared from, watching wildly for signs of you returning to the surface. And then Eddie was yelling at him, pushing past some underage kids from out of town, half of his jacket hanging from his shoulders and he was yelling. 

“Steve! Steve, she can’t fuckin’ swim, man—”

If Eddie finished the sentence or said anything else, Steve didn’t hear it. He launched himself off of the side, hitting the cold water with a splash he didn’t hear. Water filled his ears and fuck, he could barely see. But somewhere a little below him there was a flash of white from your shirt that had tangled itself up around your neck, your arms flailing wildly as you tried your damn hardest to kick up the way. 

Steve had grabbed your arm, your panic making you slip before he curled his fingers around your wrist and then you were being hauled against him, your back to his chest as he moved with a confidence you could never imagine for yourself. You’d been under for a minute, maybe a little more, maybe a little less, but Steve had your head breaking the surface of the lake in seconds. You were gasping and coughing, your fingernails tattooing half moon lines in Steve’s forearm as you held onto him, fear gripping you as hard as you did him. 

You thought you’d heard his voice, a low murmur in your ear that was fuzzy from the water lodged there, from the buzz and clamour that had then awoken on the beach as the music stopped and people were gathered by the shoreline. 

Eddie had been knee deep in the water, readily meeting you and Steve as the boy swam closer with you, and once your feet hit the sandy bottom, you lurched forward, hands held out to grab Eddie’s waiting ones. 

Steve’s were on your back, keeping you upright and steady until he saw that Eddie had you. You and Steve were both dripping and Eddie was swearing, his cheeks red and his eyes wide, unsure whether to rush you to his van first or hunt down the creep that had put you in danger in the first place. 

But Nancy was rushing forward with a blanket, wrapping it around your shoulders and taking in your chattering teeth and panicked stare, the vice-like grip you had around Eddie’s fingers. “He’s gone,” she said to the boy. “He ran off when he saw Steve dive in. Just get her home, Eddie.”

Steve Harrington had ended up in the front bench with you in Eddie’s van, your shivering frame sandwiched between both boy’s and no one said anything until you all got back to Eddie’s trailer. 

You hadn’t said anything as you’d headed for a hot shower, your wet clothes slapping on the bathroom tiles as you had stripped, slimy weeds and grains of sand stuck to your cold skin and your hands were still shaking as you twisted the squeaky handle to turn the water up hotter still. 

And when Eddie was ripping his room apart for dry clothes for you and Steve to change into, his eyes watery with anger, his throat tight with rage, Steve had been leaning against his door frame with his arms crossed over his damp chest.  

“We’ll get him,” he’d said quietly, just in case you could hear above the spluttering of the old pipes. “We’ll find out who he was and— and we’ll deal with him and then I’m gonna teach her how to swim, alright?”

Eddie nodded, movements sharp and jerky and he handed Steve a pair of black sweatpants and an old Metallica shirt. 

“Alright?” Steve had repeated, chin ducked to make Eddie meet his gaze. He had been so serious. “I’m gonna give her lessons. This won’t happen again.”

The sky was still half pink as you biked down the empty sidewalk. 

A blue-lilac colour, softer than you’d usually witness due to the early morning hour. The sun was still low, the town still asleep, the watch on your wrist telling you the seven am was still to come. Your bike chain whirred softly, brakes squeaking as you slowed by the chain link fence. 

Hawkins community pool was sun bleached and well loved, the old bunting that draped over the water barely red and blue, the shutters for the food stand still rolled down and locked. The aquamarine slide was now more white and it looked like it would give you an infection if your skin was to snag on one of the exposed bolts. But the gate was open, only just, and you sucked in a deep breath as you let your bike lean against the wall. 

Chlorine filled your nose as you walked in, the generator humming and the pool filter trickling, the sun loungers empty and still stacked against the changing rooms. Despite your early wake up call, the air was already warm, a humid kind of heat that Indiana summers brought, sticky and sweet smelling, like someone had left a jug of peach tea on their porch all day. 

The tiles that surrounded the pool were wet, recently hosed down and cleaned, and your sneakers slapped noisily as you walked towards the waters edge. You didn’t go too close, not at all, grimacing at the bright blue rectangle like it would force you in itself. It seemed somehow more menacing when it was still, a glasslike surface reflecting the cotton candy sky above it, no splashing and screaming kids to fill its depths. 

Then a boy appeared - no, more man than boy - from the staff building. 

He had red shorts on, the fabric sitting above his knees and an old white shirt that you assumed must’ve once said “lifeguard.” He was barefoot and tanned, sunglasses sitting on the bridge of his nose and he didn’t even notice you at first, too busy hanging a net back onto the wall. 

Steve Harrington was pretty and tall and he had really good hair. He was quieter than when you’d know him in high school, softer looking than he’d once been. But you didn’t really know him and he didn’t really know you. But he was friends with Eddie and you were friends with Eddie, so somehow, someway, that meant you were kind of, almost friends with him too. 

Except you weren’t and you had no idea why you’d agreed to this. 

“You can change in there.”

You hadn’t expected his voice, so you startled, arms wrapping tighter around your body and crushing the small rucksack that housed your suit and towel. You frowned at the idea, because changing meant one step closer to going into the water and you weren’t quite sure you wanted to do that yet. 

So you said nothing.

Steve just watched you from across the pool, brows raised. And then he shrugged and muttered something that sounded like “suit yourself,” before he threw his sunglasses onto a plastic chair and tugged his shirt over his head. 

You’d barely gotten a chance to really look at the quick flash of tanned, bare skin he exposed before he dove into the water, barely causing a ripple. You were slack jawed as you watched him move seamlessly below the surface, his body a pretty shade of blue as his muscles flexed, strong back and broad shoulders stretching as he swam. 

When he reappeared, much closer to you, Steve braced his forearms on the edge of the pool and dragged a hand through his wet hair, strands of it plastered to his forehead, water clinging to his lashes. 

You didn’t know where to look. 

“You’re not going to learn much if you don’t take your clothes off.”

Despite the way his words warmed you, skin heating up the same way the morning was, you scowled. You didn’t want to be here. Not at the pool, not around water, not with Steve Harrington and certainly not at seven in the morning on a Saturday. 

And now you were standing under the morning sun and the same boy that saved you from the lake was squinting up at you from the pool below and you were only really here because Eddie had begged you. 

It had been a whole week and you could still taste lake water on the back of your tongue. 

“Changing rooms are over there,” Steve motioned to the building behind you with a tilt of his head.

You tried not to look at him, or the water, when you nodded tightly, dragging yourself off to the ladies section. And when you came back out, the sun had risen just a little more and Steve was still in the pool, floating easily on his back as he used his arms to move slowly around the water. The rays were glinting off of the water and him, toned shoulders and soft stomach glittering with water droplets and suddenly the pool seemed an even scarier place to be. 

The old swimsuit you’d managed to pull on was a little on the tight side, all black and supposed to be modest if the too small size hasn’t been cutting into the swells of your ass and chest. It had been a good few years since you’d had reason to put it on, and even then, you hadn’t gone near water. A beach day on the Fourth of July with enough space between you and the ocean that you hadn’t even minded the sand too much. 

So you stood with your arms crossed over your chest, trying to hide the expanse of skin there, your knees pressed together and you looked downright mournful about your current predicament. If Steve hadn’t remembered the fear in your eyes that night in the lake as you scrambled for him under the water, he would’ve cracked a joke or two. 

Instead, he swam over to you cautiously, fingers curling around the edge of the pool as he swiped his wet hair from his forehead. “Hey,” he began gently. The town still hadn’t woken up yet, not really. It was just Steve’s voice and the hum of the pool filter, some cicadas buzzing in a bush behind the far side of the fence. “Nothing bad is going to happen, alright? Not here.”

You looked at him like you didn’t believe him, eyes wide and lips drawn into a tight line. You didn’t move an inch. And it wasn’t because you didn’t trust him, not really. You were exactly friends but Steve was close with Eddie and if Eddie trusted him— well. He got an automatic pass from you too. 

Eddie didn’t trust a whole lot of people. 

But the problem wasn’t Steve. It was most definitely the rectangle full of blue water, shimmering and pretty as it was, it looked deep, the slope of it going downdowndown and Steve’s body was distorted under the ripples, his legs looking broken and mangled, the surface lapping way too high across his shoulders and neck. 

Your body felt like lead, a dead weight ready to sink to the pool floor, legs unable to push yourself back up. 

You took a step back. 

“Okay,” Steve sighed and he tried really hard to not sound impatient. The day had barely begun and he’d make a promise to Eddie, one he really didn’t want to break. “We’ll take it back a little, yeah? Come over here.” 

You watched as he pulled himself out of the pool with an impressively low amount of effort. The muscles in his shoulders and back bunched up and he swung a leg onto the tiles before standing, water dripping off of him, cool and splashing your toes. He made a point of not looking at your and all your bare skin as he walked around the edge of the pool, right towards the back of the lot where there was a set of stairs that led into the shallow end. 

He didn’t look over his shoulder to check if you were following and you only hesitated for a second or two before you did. And when he reached the top of the steps, he waited for you and held out his hand, brows raised expectantly. 

You stared back. 

The water didn’t look as scary here, but not by a whole bunch. It was lighter blue, the white tiles on the bottom of the pool about more visible and the numbers that were flaking and painted on the side of the wall said the depth was only two and a half feet. 

You could drown in less, the voice in your head told you. It sounded a lot like your mom. 

So you kept your arms crossed for a little while longer, teeth gnawing unkindly at your bottom lip. Steve just waited, hand extended palm up and after a minute had passed, he took one step into the pool, standing ankle deep in the water on the top stair. He caught your eye then, smiling in what he hope was a reassuring way. 

“D’you trust me?” He asked, eyes squinting in the bright sun. There was a mole on his cheek that disappeared into the lines of his skin when he smiled. “S’okay if you don’t yet, but, I’m a lifeguard here, so like, legally? I can’t let you die.”

You surprised both yourself and the boy when you snorted unexpectedly, a sharp sound of amusement that you used a hand to cover up. But it seemed to encourage Steve, ‘cause he positively beamed at you, his hand wiggling, vying for your own. 

“C’mon, I promise I won’t let you go,” he swore. He leaned further forward, his fingers close enough to brush the softness of your stomach, if he so pleased. He didn’t. “We’ll start nice and easy today, alright?”

It felt momentous, when you slid your hand into his. He was still warm despite his pool damp skin, like the sun lived inside his bones. He grinned, victorious, nodding encouragingly when you moved to the edge of the steps. 

“We’ll do them one at a time, alright?” Steve moved to stand in front of you, his other hand catching your free one until he was guiding you closer and closer to the water, walking himself backwards with every step you took forward. You flinched when your foot hit the first step, the water warmer than you’d anticipated, brushing up just past your ankle. 

You had two feet in the pool and two hands in Steve Harrington’s and it felt like the entire world was about to implode on you. 

“There you go,” Steve murmured, warmth and a little hum of pride in his voice. “See? S’not bad, right? I’ve still got you.” So you took another step and another and suddenly the water was lapping at your knees. You froze, grip tightening around Steve’s fingers and your wide eyes found his, all too aware of the way you were very much in the pool now. 

“Hey, hey,” Steve’s thumbs rubbed over the back of your knuckles, the skin there burning from holding him so tightly. “Listen. Do you trust me?”

There was no joke that followed the question this time. His eyes were earnest and warm, serious as they looked at you, searching your face for any signs that you were going to flee. It took you a few seconds, swallowing dryly and taking a deep, staggering breath before you nodded. You did, you did trust him, and that was as surprising as you being in the pool. 

“Yeah,” you told Steve, voice a little weak and hoarse. “Yeah, I trust you.”

He squeezed your fingers and his smile was gentle, an achingly kind thing that made your eyes water in the corners and Steve let you stand on that middle step for a little while longer. “Good,” he finally said and his voice was as soft as yours had been. You tried not to look at the way the chain around his throat caught the sunlight, the silver turning golden, just like his skin. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not going to let anything happen to you, okay?”

You nodded, feverish and your movements jagged and you tore your eyes from Steve to look at your bare feet on the steps, your toes waving under the ripples, longer and skinnier and then fatter and wider. The sight made you dizzy, stomach tumbling a little but even still, you wished you’d had the forethought to paint your toenails something pretty. 

“Two more steps, alright?” 

Steve’s encouragement broke your senseless wanderings and you nodded again, words caught in your throat and he was leading you forward, hands wrapped around your own and he grinned when you took another step down, the water hitting your upper thighs. It was cooler as you went deeper, a stark contrast to the warm, sticky air above it and your skin prickled, mouth falling in a quiet gasp. Another step, happening almost too fast for you to overthink it, the water at your hips and making you swear as you rose onto your toes almost instinctively. 

Steve laughed, not unkindly, as you moved closer to him, unthinking as your hands left his in favour of clinging to his upper arms. It felt safer like that, anchoring yourself to his solid frame, but there was so much bare skin involved and not a lot of space left between you both as you held on for dear life. His fingertips brushed the sides of your waist before he must’ve thought better of it, cheeks burning before his hands cupped your elbows and he took a little step back so your chest didn’t touch his. 

“You’re alright,” he murmured. “You did it, yeah? That’s it. You’re in.”

Steve was grinning and you tried to smile too, trying to feel proud of your little accomplishment but the rest of the pool was stretched out behind Steve’s shoulder and the water there was so much more blue, cerulean leading into indigo until you couldn’t see the bottom anymore. 

Steve must’ve noticed cause he shook his head, the hand cupping your elbow smoothing up your arm until he squeezed, water dripping from his palms and coasting down your skin. “Hey, hey, none of that. That’s for another day. We’re staying here, alright?”

You grimaced at the idea of ‘another day,’ but his words still didn’t ease you. You licked at your lips, dots of chlorine on them and despite how stupid you felt, you asked anyway. “What if— what if l, like, float over that way? Accidentally.”

Steve smiled like he couldn’t help himself, laughter in his eyes and a grin that he quickly tamed. “We’re not gonna catch any waves in here, this isn’t Maui,” he was still smiling, teasing, just a little. But sensing your growing worry, he continued. “And if that had to happen - which it won’t - I’ll come and get you.”

You stared at him, heartbeat in your throat and so many other questions on your tongue. They died there, fizzing into nothing as Steve held your gaze, a silent promise in his brown eyes. You’d never noticed how long and thick his lashes were, still wet and spiky from when he’d been swimming as you changed. 

Maybe there was doubt in your eyes, or maybe Steve just felt the need to reiterate his statement, but when he said once more, “I’ll come get you, just like last time,” you really did believe him. 

[sw-33-ts-stuff]

She Don’t Wanna Marry Me

Part 5

You wake up groaning and with a bad back.

You crack your neck from side to side waiting for that all too familiar pop before you get up and grab a glass of water and some Tylenol. Once you finish you make your way to your bedroom.

“Raine?” You try not to be too loud as you approach. You’re met with another groan making you chuckle before you gently place the water and pills on the bedside table next to her.

“Take those and I’ll make us some breakfast yeah?” The girl just groans again making you laugh and think back to the first time you’d send her drunk.

14 years old

“I don’t know Raine what if your parents find out?” The smaller girl rolled her eyes.

“They’re out of town and we can get more from the store before they notice it’s gone.” Big brown eyes looked at you accompanied by a small pout.

“Please.”

You sigh twisting open the small bottle full of brown liquor. You take the first swig making the girl smile triumphantly. She danced in her seat before you passed her the bottle chuckling as she winced and coughed from the after burn.

“That’s disgusting.” You laugh taking another swig. “How can you not die after drinking that?”

You shrug swirling the bottle around. “I may have snuck in sips when my mom wasn’t looking. She left bottles open a lot.”

A saddened silence falls over both of you before Lorraine nudges your shoulder.

“Bet I can out drink you.” She grins at you, you grin back scoffing.

“Little ole you? Pfft I’ll

Win this easy. What are we betting on?”

“Loser has to buy dinner?” You smirk internally, already knowing you planned on getting her a slice of her favorite pizza from the corner store down the road. As you always did every Friday.

“Deal.”

Twenty minutes later Lorraine’s small body was leaning against yours barely able to hold her own weight, head on your shoulder as you try to keep her up.

“C’Mon Rainey let’s get you some pizza.”

“Pizza!” She jumps up excited and begins running almost tripping over her own feet before you catch her.

Laughing you pull her back against you to keep her upright.

After finally getting her into your house, your mom nowhere to be found as usual. You gently lay her on your bed.

“You ok Raine?” She hums eyes closed as she smiles.

“Mhmmm.” You catch yourself staring for a moment her slightly red cheeks brushed by long eyes lashes. You brush a finger across her cheek making her hum once again and lean forward. Blearily brown eyes lock onto yours.

“Y/n?” You gulp at the sudden change in atmosphere.

“Yeah Raine?”

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

Your eyes flash down to soft pink lips. “I think you’re gorgeous.”

The smaller girl hums unconvinced before she laughs.

“I think you’re lyin’.”

You stroke her cheek softly making her nuzzle herself further into your bed.

“I am.” Lorraine frowns eyes wide as she stares at you horrified. You lean in a little closer. “I don’t think you’re gorgeous I know you are, but even that isn’t good enough to describe what I really think of you.”

Blunt fingernails slightly dig into the back of your neck. “Swear you mean it?”

Dark eyes bore into yours as you nodded.

“Y/N! I KNOW YOU TOOK MORE MONEY AND MY LIQUOR YOU LITTLE SHIT!”

It’s a flurry of movement as you pick up Lorraine and hid her in the closet. Next to her a kaleidoscope.

“No matter what don’t come out.” You shut it quickly as your mom barged in the room.

Lorraine picked up the toy looking in to find a sky full of stars looking back at her. She didn’t realize she hadn’t moved for 30 minutes until you came to get her.

You came back with a busted lip and a scrape above your eyebrow but still smile at her as if she’s the only thing that matters.

“Come on, let’s get you some rest and I’ll take you home in the morning.”

You brought back to reality by shuffled footsteps. Placing two plates on the table you feed Lorraine then yourself. She lets out a quiet thank you as you two eat in silence.

Lorraine stares for a moment hand reaching out to stroke the scar on your eyebrow. “I’m sorry.”

You furrow your eyebrows at her slowly chewing on a pancake.

“I don’t know why I-“

You chuckle. “It’s alright Raine.”

She shook her head. “No you took care of my drunk ass…again.”

You laugh. “It’s nothing new.”

She tries to hide her smile but fails.

“You know as long as we’ve known each other I’ve never seen you drunk. Why is that?”

You breathe softly through your nose amused.

“Because you can’t carry me home short stack.” She gasps in fake shock.

“Rude.” You smile cheekily at her as you go to stand making her do the same. She backs away slowly as if you’re a lion waiting to pounce.

“Don’t you dare-AHH”

She tries kicking and punching but you have her too high up.

Once you put her down back in her seat safely she giggles.

You get her back home before you start your shift. As always you try to shove away the thought of waking up to brown eyes, freckles and a pretty smile.

Back at the Days after she’d gotten settled in, Lorraine goes downstairs to find Bobby, Maxine and her parents looking at old photos.

Her mom pulls up one of her favorites. It’s you smiling wide with a trophy surrounded by teammates and Lorraine, her parents just a step behind the crowd. But that’s not what catches Bobby’s eye. It’s the brunette next to you. She looks from the girl in the photo to the girl in real life finding the look on her face to be something more. Something she’s not even sure Lorraine has admitted to herself yet.

Taglist: @ctrlamira @tundra1029 @friedryes @alexkolax @wol-fica @natasha25052 @pdione11 @dksjskx @the-camilucha @niqmandu @pawiie @cozwaenot @evanivox @livingdreams97 @haughtsauce21 @autorasexy @dogtamer415 @karsonromanoff @wedfan2 @starry-night17 @originalpat @red1culous @canvascoloredin @bigbadsofty07 @osnapitzmel1 @rainbow-love4ever @paladinncleric

[oncasette]

𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗕𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗦 (𝗦𝗢 𝗗𝗢 𝗜)

KINKTOBER ACT II, eric northman x fem!reader

summary: 2.7k

“You smell fucking amazing,” he groans and his teeth drag against your pulse point. Before you can make any sort of comment on that, you feel his teeth puncture into your skin just as two of his fingers sink into your cunt. His incredibly long and devastatingly thick fingers that are already stretching you out as they slowly thrust in.

or the one where eric has a specific taste for blood. yours.

warnings: not beta’d, smut, significant age gap (eric is like 1000, r is early 20s), dub-con, mind control on the low, blood drinking, high sex (eric's blood/v), smoking

masterlist | taglist | kinktober

When vampires had first come out of the coffin, you’d been barely above the age of seventeen, and their integration into the mainstream had been a whirlwind you’d been utterly unprepared for. Being from the south, your parents had instilled a deep sense of distrust in your fanged counterparts. Or, in your own words, fear. 

Your parents had nearly tried to keep you out of college because of it, claiming you’d be much safer here at home, but you’d nipped that in the bud fairly quickly. Still, that didn’t mean you were going to let it slip to them where you were going on your evenings spent at home over the summer. All they needed to know is that you’d be home in the morning. 

Your friends had been begging you to go to this bar across town with them for ages. They’d been going for years, but, being the only one in the group not willing to get a fake ID, you’d been left out of all the fun. Now, though, that you were over the legal drinking age, you figured it wouldn’t hurt to check it out seeing as your friends seemed to like it so much. Or, as you came to find out, seeing as they apparently liked the owner so much. 

“You’re gonna freak when you see him,” Rachel says, looking over at you from the driver’s seat. You’d been friends with Rachel for forever, longer than you can remember. She’d gone off to school somewhere in the northeast–a liberal arts college with less than two thousand total students–and it’d been ages since you’d last seen her. 

“I don’t get what’s so special about him?”

“Are you kidding me?” Rachel squeaks. “About Eric fucking Northman?”

Anyone who’d been west of Baton Rouge knew the name Eric Northman. It was undeniable. Someone could whisper the name in a corner of a packed ballroom, and a hush would fall over the crowd. 

And, yet, somehow, despite living in Shreveport since your conception, it hadn’t crossed your path. 

“Yeah?” you drawl. “He’s probably just some guy.”

“Some guy,” Gina scoffs. 

“He’s quite literally the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen,” she says as she fiddles with her engagement ring. “He’s a fucking god.”

“Sure,” you say, rolling your eyes. 

It isn’t much longer before you’re pulling into a shady parking lot behind a vacant liquor store. There’s a couple other cars in the lot, mostly what your father would call shit-boxes that have either been sewn together with duct tape or have bumpers that have been left to drag the ground. Slamming the passenger door shut, you reach into the pocket of your jacket to take out the pack of cigarettes, stamping one on your bottom lip as you dig further in the pocket to find your lighter.

Your friends have already walked across the lot to step into line when you finally get a light, shoving your materials back into your jacket as you jog over to where they are at the back of the, thankfully, fast-moving line. 

“Really?” Rachel asks. 

“Just be glad I didn’t do it in the car, okay.” You offer a squint of your eyes in a pseudo smile. 

“Whatever,” she sighs. 

The bouncer lets the three men in biker jackets ahead of you in and stops to examine you. She seems to recognize your friends and nods at them to follow the men, only to stick a manicured hand out in front of your chest as soon as you take a step. 

“I’m with them,” you huff, tapping the ashes out of your cigarette. 

“Sorry, sweetie. I’m gonna need to see some ID,” she drawls. The sweetie comes out in a sharp bite that has you taking a step away from her outstretched arm. She grabs the butt from between your lips and stamps it out beneath her stiletto’d heel.

“Fine,” you say. Digging in the other pocket of your jacket, you grab your wallet and hand over your driver's license. You’re thankful you’d just recently gotten your ID updated and have the horizontal one now, or you’re sure she would’ve kept you back. Where, you’re also sure, your friends would have left you to sit for the rest of the night. 

“Have a good night,” she says, handing it back to you and allowing you to step into the crimson bar. As soon as you’re through the door, you dig your pack out and light a new cigarette. Bitch. 

Your eyes gravitate toward the stage. A very large throne sits to the side of it, flanked by two overgrown men with their eyes scanning the small dance floor at the foot of the stage. The man in the throne is bigger. Much bigger. Large to the point that he dwarfs the chair you think would swallow you whole. You watch as he sits up, spine straightening as he looks the crowd over. 

You don’t think anything of it until his gaze falls on you. He seems to smile, and it’s then that you see the sharp canines extending out of his gums. 

You suppose coming to a vampire bar should’ve made you mentally prepare to come into contact with a vampire or two. 

The man on the throne appears before you in an instant, fangs retracted as he gives you a softer smile than he’d had previously. It unnerves you, still, with the way his eyes seem glazed over and his body hovers over yours. You glance back at the stage, eyes flickering nervously back and forth as if it’d just been a trick of the lights and you’d catch him lounging there again if you blinked hard enough. 

“You are… a pretty thing, aren’t you,” he says, voice growling in a register lower than you’d been expecting. It sends a shiver down your spine. He’s tall. Frighteningly, inhumanly tall in a way that has you cowering beneath him. Even seeing him on the stage before, it’s much more shocking up close. “It’s a shame you feel the need to taint it with that.”

He gestures to the stick between your lips with a flippant gesture, plucking it from your mouth to stamp it beneath his boot. What’s with everyone stealing your cigarettes tonight?

“Hey-”

“Still,” he leans down until his nose is inches away from your jaw and inhales. You don’t have the time to push him back before he’s returned to his full height. 

“Who the fuck are you?” you ask, attempting to take a step back only to bump into one of the bustling–and fairly sweaty–bodies behind you. The man raises his brow in surprise. 

“My, my,” he says. “Coming all the way out to my little bar and you treat me this way?”

“Eric,” you exhale. Your friends were right. He’s beautiful. 

“And you are?” You give him your name in a huff. 

“Follow me,” he says.

“I don’t know-” His fingers come up beneath your chin to tilt your face so that you’re like him in the eye. Something swirls within them, something you can’t place. You do your best to ignore the dull throb emanating beneath your dress. 

“Follow me.”

Your legs seem to move of their own accord, hand reaching up to take his as he leads you across the dingy floor towards a door beside the bar. You dodge bodies crumpled together between tables and chairs and slink behind him as he nods at a bouncer guarding the door. Once it’s open, he gestures for you to enter first. 

It’s a small office looking room. Various pictures and files line the walls and every surface is drowned in boxes and other small objects. You don’t have the time to get a good look at any of them, though, before Eric is spinning you to face him once again. 

You can see the way his lips twitch as you meet his gaze, nostrils flared. His hand lands on your shoulder, dragging down the side of your arm as goosebumps sprout in its wake. You want to blame it on the fact that he’s freezing, on the fact that he’s got fangs. On the fact that he owns this whole bar and now you’re standing in his office with the door locked. Not on the fact that he’s probably got decades of experience. Or, god forbid, centuries. 

“Why did you bring me here?” you ask. It comes out in a whisper, voice hoarse from swallowing hard. Breath hitching, your knees do their best not to buckle as Eric steps into you, forcing you back until your ass hits the edge of his desk. His leg comes to press between your thighs. With a nudge, his knee would be pressing directly against you, and you’re thankful he gives you the space. You inch up the desk until you’re halfway sitting on it. There’s no reason for you to be as hot as you are right now, and less of a reason for him to know about it so soon. Honestly, he can probably smell it on you. 

“Why do you think I brought you back here?” he asks, hands falling against your thighs. There’s no pressure, just their presence. 

“I don’t fuck random guys in bars,” you say. 

He stalls, hands crawling up to rest on your hips. 

“I’m the owner.”

“So I was right,” you say. “You lured me back here just to fuck me.”

He hums. You can’t tell if it's in agreement. His knee presses into you fully and you hope he chooses not to comment on how you’re pulsating against it. 

“Would you like that?” he asks. He brings his hands down again, this time to the hem of your dress. He begins to push up. Slowly. Oh, so slow, you barely register it until it’s bunched up at the tops of your thighs. You’re not sure why you nod. You think if asked you at a different time, a second before or after, you would have shaken your head and allowed him to lead you back out to the patrons, to your two friends who would lose their minds if they knew where you were right now. 

His mouth finds yours as he pushes your dress the rest of the way up. You can feel the way you’re leaving a damp spot against his pants and try not to whimper as he applies more pressure with his knee. You don’t succeed in that venture. He tilts his head to deepen the kiss. It’s not nearly as rough as you had expected it to be, but it’s far from soft. His tongue is in your mouth, licking at the flats of your teeth. His fingers dig into your skin as he thumbs at the seam of your panties, pressing it to the side enough to gather the wetness coating your slit and drag it up to your clit. Your hips jump against him. 

He disconnects your lips to trail his kisses down the dies of your face and down your neck. Pulling back, he draws your eyes up to look, and the dark swirl from earlier returns. “Don’t scream,” he says. “Unless it’s my name.”

Before he re-attaches himself to your neck, you watch as his fangs click out, and you feel the cold rod of fear as it slides down your spine. 

“You smell fucking amazing,” he groans and his teeth drag against your pulse point. Before you can make any sort of comment on that, you feel his teeth puncture into your skin just as two of his fingers sink into your cunt. His incredibly long and devastatingly thick fingers that are already stretching you out as they slowly thrust in. 

“Eric,” you squeal. You’re already dizzy, his tongue laving at the skin of your neck. Finally, he pulls back and you feel seconds away from passing out. His fingers are still inside of you, massaging your walls. His free hand comes up to his mouth, and you watch as his fangs pierce the skin there and he’s holding his bloody palm up to your mouth. 

“Drink,” he says. You oblige and suddenly you’re dizzy in an entirely different way. Every touch feels heightened, every item in the room seems to glow, and Eric truly, honestly, looks like a fucking god. The open wound on your neck stops aching and you swear you feel the holes close up. 

“Eric, please,” you whine. He tugs your panties down first, balling them up in his fist and tossing them somewhere behind his desk. Then his belt comes undone and he’s yanking his pants down just enough to pull his cock out of the confines. And if you thought his fingers were big before. 

“That’s not gonna fucking fit,” you gasp. He jerks himself until he’s fully hard. 

“Trust me, sweetheart. It will,” he says as he notches himself against your entrance. 

“No, I swear, you’re gonna rip me in half!” “Trying hard not to do that, already,” he says. He pushes in with one solid thrust. Even only halfway in, you can feel him in your throat. “Feel even better than you taste.”

Your ankles link around his back and your feet dig into his ass in an attempt to get him to move, to push into you until you can feel his pelvis against yours. He does. One thrust, then an agonizing pull back before he slams back in. 

Every part of you trembles as his pace picks up. 

“Oh my god? Oh my god,” you squeak. 

“Just me,” he quips and his head falls back. He’s fucking you at a superhuman speed, hips snapping into yours with so much force you think he’s close to bruising your cervix. And still. It feels good. It feels so fucking good. Every touch leaves you tingling and you think you’re going to explode with his hand finding your clit again. He pushes your legs open wider, allowing him to press into you further. 

You’ve never been this wet in your life. Not with your vibrator, not with any of your boyfriends, not even with the one you swore you were in love with when you were a sophomore in college. The squelch of his cock driving into you rings in your ears and you don’t think you’ll ever forget the sound. A coil within you begins to wind tight, your body on the precipice of turning into jelly in Eric’s hold. 

“I want you to cum for me, sweetheart,” he growls and it’s enough to send you flying. You clench around him, walls fluttering and throbbing as you feel his dick twitch in you. 

As soon as you’ve regained your consciousness enough to offer him a weak smile, he’s pulling out of you and spinning you around so that the front of your hips are against the desk. He thrusts into you swiftly once more, never once faltering from the ruinous pace he’d started up previously. Your back arches into the desk. Your pussy feels raw, overstimulated, melting into the pleasure he’s driving into you. Another orgasm is sure to follow. And quickly. 

“You are mine, whether you agree to it or not,” he growls. His thrusts begin to grow sloppy, cock twitching with every pump of his hips. With a final push in, he cums and offers you the first bit of warmth he’s been able to give you all night. You fall down the same rabbit hole moments later. Your entire body twitches as you do and you can barely feel anything as he pulls out of you. 

He gives you a minute to catch your breath, to gather yourself and spin around to face him as you tug your dress back down your thighs. You’re panting, still, as he wipes the semi-dried blood off of your neck and brings it up to his lips to lick clean. 

“No more cigarettes,” he says. “I can’t wait to see how you taste when you’re… pure.”

“I don’t know if I can promise that,” you say. 

“You will.”

He grabs your chin between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” he says. “I’ll be seeing you.”

He’s gone before you can ask what he means by that. 

[spooky-holtz]

Sicilian Scheming

Melissa Schemmenti x reader

Genre: pure fluff

Word Count: 3.4k

Prompt: "I seen you were looking for ideas for fics and was wondering if you’d write one where Mellisa’s Nona comes to visit her at Abbot during summer planning where she meets teacher Reader and essentially forces them to go on a date together even though they don’t get along well but they end up really hitting it off then a time skip to their wedding where Nona’s bragging about getting them together?"

I've diverted from the prompt a little but the core of it still stands. Strap in.

--------------------

Make no mistake, you absolutely love teaching the third grade but by the time summer comes around, you’re glad to see them go. Summer vacation gives you a chance to relax and enjoy your time away from the stuffy brick building that is Abbott Elementary, spending weeks at a time curled up on the window ledge of your apartment basking in the sun with a good novel and often a crisp glass of wine.  

You rarely get chance to see your co-workers save for the coffee dates you have with Janine, often meeting the smaller woman around the corner from her home to sit and chat in the large glass windows as the rest of the world passes by. You spend hours at a time chatting about anything and everything your rather uneventful lives have thrown at you, fingers curled around a sweating glass of flavored iced tea. These breaks are always among the highlights of your year, giving you a chance to wind down and refresh ready for the next group of kids that you will take under your wing.  

By the time the summer break winds down though, you’re eager to get back to school and see your dysfunctional work family. There’s nothing you love more than the first day after weeks apart, hearing all about Barbra’s annual cruise with Gerald, or Jacob’s latest mission to get himself “down with the kids” - it usually involves some god awful Tik Tok trend that he should NOT be doing, but you don’t have the heart to stop his rather spirited approach to engaging with his students.  

You love these conversations but there is somebody else that you find yourself searching for the second you step foot through the green doors of Abbott; Mellisa Schemmenti. The older woman has become an infatuation for you, her rigid exterior always melting when you interact. She knows exactly how you take your coffee, always leaves a seat open for you during meetings, and takes every opportunity to compliment your appearance - whether it's a new pair of earrings, or a slightly different shade of hair dye, Melissa will always notice.  

She makes you feel special in the smallest ways, always leaving you with the hope that she might actually like you back. It feels juvenile and you can’t help but imagine yourself as one of the kids you teach every day, sending heart eyes across the room at each other at any given chance, just waiting for her cheeks to flush and that small, suppressed smile to appear on her glossed lips.  

Your crush is no secret, but you would never tell anyone - well, except Janine who had managed to guess exactly why you get so nervous around the older woman after a few glasses of wine at the last faculty holiday party. You didn’t have to say anything; your longing looks toward the redhead on the other side of the teachers’ lounge as you nursed a plastic cup full of cheap alcohol was enough to prompt your friend to ask. You could never lie to Janine’s puppy dog eyes, especially not with a buzz courtesy of the liquor store across the street.  

You can’t help but let your thoughts drift toward thick Philly accents as you sit in the gym on the first day of school, squashed between Jacob and Janine and caught directly in the middle of their conversation about whatever new Netflix documentary series dropped last week. You’re really trying to listen, but your thoughts are consumed by bright red curls and glittery lip gloss, not true crime documentaries.  

You find yourself scanning the room as the pair babble on and you notice that the seating arrangement is half empty as you wait for the rest of the faculty to arrive and for Ava to take the stage for yet another development week speech that will go down in infamy at Abbott. She’s already poked her head from behind the curtain on the stage twice, clearly impatient to make her grand entrance to a group of less than willing participants.  

You begin to hear the telltale sound of heeled boots clicking against the linoleum floor and you feel yourself freezing into place just as Melissa waltzes into the hall, Barbara in tow. You don’t know if you’re impressed or terrified at her ability to constantly wear those shoes and the thought makes you realize that you’ve never actually seen Melissa at her normal height. 

Just as you suck in a deep breath, her eyes scan the room and instantly land where you sit, sandwiched between two of your rather enthusiastic co-workers. As her green eyes meet yours you see them shrink at the smile she sends your way, her pearly white teeth cutting through the shiny pink lip gloss she’s always wearing. You send a similar smile back, overjoyed at the fact she merely noticed you. God help your heart rate when she decides to talk to you for the first time in two months.  

Your attention is pulled away by Barbara, who waves enthusiastically from behind Melissa, making her way toward the empty seats directly in front of you. Your eyes dart back to Melissa as she follows the billowing of the older woman’s cardigan, heels still impossibly loud against the floor. 

The dark button down she’s sporting is tight against her torso, the sleeves rolled up to reveal her deceptively toned forearms. You have to remind yourself to look away for a split second, the thought of getting caught ogling her by one of your co-workers forcing you to tear your eyes away. You look toward Janine who has trailed off her conversation with Jacob, the pair watching you and Melissa like a tennis match. You feel your shoulders slump at Jacob’s knowing look, the excitement practically making him vibrate.  

“You’re kidding, you know too?” You sigh. 

“Uh yeah, you don’t exactly hide the heart eyes,” he scoffs. He must see the deer-in-headlights expression on your face because he continues, “I wouldn’t worry, she was definitely just throwing them right back at you.” 

You have no time to reply as the subject of the conversation reaches the row of seats in front of you, sitting in the hard plastic chair and turning her torso to see you, hand resting on the back of her seat. Her smile is wide again as she looks to you. The panic brews in your throat and your palms instantly become sweaty at the prospect of Melissa feeling the intensity of your feelings.  

“Hey hun, it’s been a while,” she says, her eyes still crinkled from the smile she wears. Her focus is entirely on you, ignoring the duo that sits on either of your sides.  

“Yeah, it has,” you manage to stammer out, “How’ve you been? You look good.”  

You inwardly cringe at your words but you’re not lying. She’s obviously had her hair dyed ready for the new school year and it’s even brighter than usual, making her even easier for you to pick out of a crowd. She looks so full of life and at ease, the break clearly having done her well. Her smile grows impossibly wider at your compliment, putting you instantly at ease.  

“It was great,” she replies. “Spent a lotta time at the beach with my family, so I’m not as pasty as you may have remembered.” 

She throws a wink your way with the last statement, causing a pink blush to cover your cheeks within seconds. What you wouldn’t give to actually see Melissa at the beach, totally relaxed on a sun lounger with a drink in hand. The image turns your cheeks an even deeper shade of red and Mel clearly catches on, her smirk letting you know that she knows exactly where your thoughts have gone.  

Before you even have chance to reply, Ava makes her grand entrance from behind the curtain to a chorus of groans that echos throughout the room.  

You can feel Janine’s elbow nudging into your side, your friend having had a front row seat to your entire interaction with the redhead. The action earns her a swift kick to the ankle under her seat, accompanied by a hissed “don’t you dare”.  

The meeting is over almost as quickly as it begins, Ava rushing back to her office to catch the latest episode of Real Housewives - she didn’t explicitly say it but you all know that’s the only reason she would be running back down the hall. You won’t complain though because it means you can get started with your work to prepare your classroom for the year ahead. You stand from your seat alongside Jacob and Janine and have all intentions of getting back to work when Melissa turns around again. Her emerald eyes stop you in your tracks, mid-stretch, your arms flexed above your head.  

“I never got the chance to tell you earlier, but I really like your dress,” she says, completely catching you off guard. Your hands fall, hanging limply by your side and brushing against the floral fabric of your clothing. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t wear it specifically to catch her eye this morning. The soft smile she wears on her face makes your heart melt, the look on her face only reserved for you. “It's real pretty.” 

You both stand there for a few seconds, blushing like lovesick teenagers and staring into each other's eyes when a throat clearing brings you back to reality. Janine claps her hands together, flustered by the interaction.  

“Okay, I’m gonna get back to my classroom and, uh, get started on cleaning. Have a good day guys!” She calls as she walks away with Jacob in tow, enthusiastic as ever as he throws a thumbs up your way. You know that within five minutes of leaving the school gym she’ll be in your classroom waiting for the rundown on what the hell just happened between you and Melissa, as if she didn’t see it all happen from inches away. At this rate, you wouldn’t be surprised if Jacob shows up with a bag of popcorn to join in with the gossip session.  

“Oh shit, yeah, I need to clean before Nonna shows up,” Melissa mumbles, “I don’t wanna even think about the earful I’ll get if my classroom is a mess.” She doesn’t even stop to think before she turns on her heel and practically runs out of the gym and down the hall toward her classroom. You don’t have time to process her words before her best friend speaks.  

“Well, I guess that just leaves us,” Barbara says from her place next to where the redhead stood. She wears a gentle smile on her face that will always help you feel at ease. She reaches her arm out to you, linking your arm within hers as she turns to walk. “Come on honey, I’ll walk you to your room and tell you all about the cruise I had with my Gerald.”  

After a rather lengthy conversation about ‘Sea Barbara’ and her less-than-christian antics, you’re back at your door for the first time in months and can’t help but feel like you’re home. Nobody particularly likes their job but that couldn’t be further from the truth for you. Already, you’ve planned out the next year and can’t wait to welcome your little Eagles back into the classroom.  

It’s a full hour later by the time you actually hear another person’s voice - Janine chose to keep her distance but will no doubt grill you about Melissa at some point today. It’s just a matter of when.  

You hear the signature clicking of her heels before you can see her, her footsteps considerably slower than usual. You can hear her talking as she walks, though you can’t make you exactly what she’s saying. The footsteps grow louder and slower before you hear a knock against your doorframe, the door propped open by a thick stack of textbooks that you’ve wedged in front of it in a desperate attempt to get some airflow in the stuffy room.  

The sound makes you whip your head from where you stand on your stepladder, stapler and crepe paper in hand as you put together a display for the kids. You know exactly who will be standing there, already smiling as you turn and meet her eyes.  

“Hey Hun,” she says, “I’ve got someone here who wanted to really meet you.”  

For the first time you notice the presence beside her. You don’t need to take any guesses that this is Melissa’s infamous Nonna, the older woman clearly having stamped her grandchildren with her genes - she looks exactly how you imagine Melissa would in her old age, her hair silver and leaning gently on a cane.  

“Melissa Ann Caterina Schemmenti!” she exclaims, making you jump and stand up straighter, terrified at the prospect of already being on her bad side. You climb down from the ladder as she stares at you, smoothing your hands down the front of your dress in an effort to get rid of any creases that may have formed during the morning. “You said she was pretty, but not this pretty!”  

You feel your shoulders relax as you laugh at the older woman, taken aback, Melissa by the side of her groaning loudly with a “Nonna, really?” You move toward the pair holding your hand out to shake the wrinkled one of the grey-haired lady before you. Her fingers are adorned by the same kind of jewelry that Melissa wears, her Sicilian heritage extremely clear from the large signet rings that she wears across her hands.  

“And there’s no mistaking that you must be Nonna,” you grin, introducing yourself. “I’ve heard a lot about you. You’re like a living legend around here.” She closes her hand around yours, the other still gripping her cane.  

“Pretty and complimentary?” She remarks, turning to look at her granddaughter whose face has managed to turn the same colour as her hair. “Well, you kept a lot quiet about this one.” 

You can’t help but look at Melissa at this statement, catching her eye and smiling even wider, Nonna’s remarks already making your grin impossibly wide. Her brow relaxes itself slightly, the hard lines around her eyes softening when she sees the pure joy on your face at finally getting to meet the woman you’ve heard so much about over the last few years.  

“I’m not sure if I want to hear exactly what you know about me,” you joke to her, catching Melissa’s eye yet again. The poor woman looks unbelievably flustered but it's a welcome change in your dynamic. She usually gets to revel in the fact that you turn into a puddle in her presence, but now you can only hope to add to the quickly darkening hue of her cheeks.  

“Trust me, you do. This one doesn’t shut up about you,” she says, smiling slightly and cocking her head toward Melissa who is actively wishing that a sinkhole would open up beneath her feet. She lets go of your hand and moves further into the classroom, leaning ever so slightly on her stick but still moving with all the confidence of your favourite Schemmenti woman - at least you know where Melissa gets it from now.  

Your eyes dart to Melissa, the older woman already looking back at you with a silent apology in her eyes her teeth worrying her bottom lip. You reach out and rub the top of her arm over her shirt in a small act of comfort, letting her know that this entire situation is doing nothing but working in her favour.  

“Ya know, it’s nice seeing something other than my Melissa’s classroom or the reception desk at this school for once,” Nonna says, almost speaking to herself. She looks around the room almost in awe, taking in the displays in various degrees of completion around the room.  

You follow her further in, Melissa hot on your tail behind you. She’s so close that you feel her almost walk straight into your back as you stop closer to the older woman, her once intimidating heels stuttering slightly on the wooden floor.  

“So, tell me,” Nonna begins, turning in place to face you, “What brought a girl like you to Philly? I know you’re not a local.” Her eyes twinkle as she asks, and you have a sneaking suspicion that she already knows the answer to her question from the tales her granddaughter has seemingly told her about you.  

“I just wanted a change,” you answer honestly. “I only thought I’d be here a couple years, but it’s been five and I can’t see myself leaving any time soon.” 

At your statement you hear Melissa sigh by your side. As your head turns to meet her gaze you see just how much it softened at your words. She knows just how much you love your job and the dedication you’re willing to put into making sure these kids make it. Year after year she’s been the one to help you draft lesson plans and mark countless piles of work over a mug of coffee in the teachers’ lounge, helping you when you feel slightly out of your depth in more ways than she could imagine. 

It’s only when she’s this close to your face that you can see the glittering of her lip gloss as she smiles slightly, her lips pulled together in a look that conveys so much softness.  

“Do you like Italian food?” Nonna asks, breaking the tense silence that has fallen between you. You feel the redhead beside you jump, both of you completely forgetting that her grandmother is just meters away from your little moment. You can’t answer quick enough, crying out for her approval and hoping that you can focus back from the incredible green eyes that are currently burning into the side of your head.  

“Oh yeah, I absolutely love an Italian,” you stutter out, “Can’t get enough.” 

You inwardly cringe at your words as you hear Melissa snicker by your side, Nonna’s eyes twinkling with amusement again. You hear a quiet “Bedda Matri” from Melissa through the giggles that shake her body.  

“I bet ya do,” Nonna says, her grin revealing her impossibly pearly white teeth. You can feel yourself getting warmer and you’re not sure if it’s from the stuffiness of your classroom and its broken windows or from the pure embarrassment radiating through your system. “You know, I taught Melissa everything she knows about Italian food. Maybe if you’re nice she’ll cook for you sometime.” 

Nonna’s eyebrows are raised as you turn to meet Melissa’s eyes, the older woman shrugging in your direction. It's nice to know you aren’t the only person completely lost in this conversation.  

“Oh, I know!” Nonna exclaims, making the pair of you jump yet again, “Melissa, how about you cook this nice girl the family baked ziti tonight? Say, 7 o’clock?”  

“Uh sure, if you don’t have anything on?” Melissa says, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion once again.  

“No no, I’m totally free,” you stammer, your cheeks matching the deep red of your co-worker's hair. “I’ve got your address too.” 

“Wonderful!” Nonna almost shouts, her shrill voice echoing off the semi-bare walls of your classroom. “You’re going to love it, trust me.” She says, throwing a wink your way.  

You don’t particularly want to admit that the smaller woman is, but you do love it. So much so that two years later you’re twirling around a dance floor in a lacy white dress, Melissa in a matching getup and shiny new diamond rings on your left hands. As Billy Joel croons the chorus of ‘Just the Way You Are’ from the speakers set up around the room, you hear a familiar voice chirp up from a table just out of reach of the dance floor.  

“You know, they would never have gotten together if I hadn’t practically knocked their heads together,” Nonna says, her voice carrying over the song as she explains her matchmaking services to Melissa’s Uncle Tony. You feel Melissa grin where her cheek rests against yours, your expression matching hers as you hear the older woman carry on. “I’m telling you now Anthony, this wedding wouldn’t even be happening if it wasn’t for me.”  

You feel Melissa begin to giggle where she stands, her hands resting against the lace at the small of your back, thumbs rubbing gently against the surface as you sway together. You hear Nonna carry on, adamant that the life you’ve built wouldn’t be possible if not for her, and as much as you don’t want to give her satisfaction, you both know she’s right.  

[toxicanonymity]

all dressed up

standalone or night walks 4

1.3k | dark!Joel x fem!reader | night walks master list

Warnings: nsfw 18+, SA technically, dub-con unsafe PIV, in public, mild degradation? idk, filth. no outbreak, neighbor

As you approach the drink wall of the convenience store, a man catches your eye with a sharp leather jacket over a bare chest.  He’s in the snack aisle which is exactly where he belongs.  You try not to let your eyes linger.  While you're standing there at the cooler, he comes around and seems to be looking at you.  You glance in his direction with a shy little smile and do a double take.  He's wearing PJ pants.  You finally look up past his chest and your face gets hot - it’s Joel Miller, the creepy older neighbor you've been trying not to fuck.  He's not shirtless, but his neckline is crazy low.

"Well, look at us all dressed up," he says.  

You check each other out for a moment before you say, “Nice jacket.”  

“Nice dress,” he responds in a low, horny pitch as he moseys closer.  He’s absolutely railing you with his eyes. 

You’re facing the drink cooler and don’t turn in his direction.  He crowds you from behind and lays a tan, veiny  hand on your hip.  You don't move. 

He drops his snack behind you.  “Uh oh,”  he says ominously, then crouches down to pick it up. 

He stays down there longer than necessary and inhales loudly.  As he stands again, his palm skims your calf all the way up to your inner thigh, lifting the hem of your casual dress just slightly with a short, low whistle.  All your blood rushes to your loins. He cups your ass cheek then gets even closer, stepping one foot in between yours.  His cheek touches your hair.  “Look good in black,” he murmurs into the back of your ear, referring to your panties.  He puts both his hands on your hips, one of them holding his purple snack bag. 

He gently presses his burgeoning arousal into you with a soft "Mm" and further hardens against your ass. You stand frozen, a pool forming in your panties. 

He turns the snack bag over in his hand, still at your hip, and you look down at it. Takis Fuego. He runs two flattened fingers down your stomach, then creeps dangerously low and starts making small circles.  "How 'bout I get somethin' less spicy?"    

He haphazardly discards the Takis on the nearest shelf.  When he gets back in your space, you become aware of a man watching, and you clear your throat. 

"Everything okay over here?" The man asks and you softly elbow Joel to back up, but he doesn't. 

You turn and say, “Uh. . . .Yeah, thanks.” 

“You sure he isn’t bothering you?" 

Your cheeks burn.  

Joel answers, “What’d she say, man?” 

“Thought she might want a little space, that’s all.”  

“Want some space, pumpkin’?”

“Thanks for asking,” you tell the man.  “I should get going,” you say to Joel. 

You step away and grab a cold drink.  What you really need is a cold shower. 

Joel puts his hands in his jacket pockets and splays them out as he says, "if that's what ya want" and walks backward then turns to grab another snack on his way to the checkout. You linger so you don’t have to be behind him in line. 

-

It’s a sketchy parking lot - just the gas station and liquor store.  Unsavory characters loiter in the front near the pumps, so you parked in the back.  It was deserted in your corner, but now Joel’s parked near you, closer than necessary.  You aren't surprised to find him leaning with his side against your driver's side door.  He's taken off the jacket.  Arms crossed, hands jammed under his absurd biceps, a considerable bulge in his PJ pants. God damn, he's hot. Why does he have to be so hot? 

"Knew I wasn't botherin' ya," he says smugly. 

You sigh, unlock your car, and put your bag in the back seat. As soon as you close the back door and step forward, his arm and pecs flex, and in one swift motion, he pushes himself up with his hand planted on your door, pivots over you, and cages you against your car.  He lays his hips into yours and your breath hitches.  He grinds his rock-hard package right into your crotch and arousal shoots through your core to your breasts.  His pants nor your cotton dress leave much unfelt. 

"Bet ya woulda taken it right against the cooler," he says, looking from your mouth to your chest and back. His neck looks so strong.

He lowers his bare chest against you, buries his face in your neck, beard scratching your delicate skin, and sucks thirstily. A massive hand runs up the side of your thigh. He lightly drags his lips from your neck, up your chin, and over your lips, where he hesitates without kissing you.  To your horror, your mouth latches onto his and won't let go.  You accept his tongue hungrily and a soft grunt escapes the back of your throat.  “Mmmm,” he says into your mouth. Your body begs to be filled. 

He wraps an arm under yours and rests his hand between your shoulder blades, then pulls you off your car and into him.    His other hand goes under your dress and engulfs your soaked panties.

- 

"Damn," he says "what're we waitin' for." He takes your keys from your hand and puts them on top of your car. 

Your cheeks burn and you look around. "This is-"

"Shhhh," he says into your cheek.  He covers your lips with his for a few seconds, rubbing your clit just right.   Then says, "We can do whatever we want." 

He manhandles you over to his ride, opens the side door, and bends you over the seat.  He pulls your dress up and your panties down, then pushes two thick fingers inside you and you gasp softly.

"Hell yeah,” he says as he feels you.  “Couldn't be more ready, could ya?"  You hate it when he's right.  He pulls his waistband down, nestles his girthy cock at your entrance, and puts a hand on your lower back.  Then he pushes the tip inside. "Here ya go, baby." 

His stiff girth parts your insides, and with a burst of power, he bottoms out. It takes your breath away.  He whispers, “fuck yeah” and retreats, then slams into you full-force to the hilt with a loud sigh.  

"Know you love this cock," he says as he finds a rhythm. "Take it real good, too."

He slides a hand under your chest and gropes a breast as he pounds you, breathing hard and grunting. The tension builds deep in your gut.  His cock feels so right inside you. You wish it wouldn't, but it does.  You begin to move to meet his hips.  Fuck, he feels good.  You give up trying not to moan. 

"Attagirl,” he says.  “Bad to the bone." 

You push back in rhythm as he rails you with his hands braced on your hips. 

"Love this pussy,” he pants.  Tight ‘n wet. . . starvin’ for me.”

His cockhead hits the right spot one more time, and you begin to unravel and clench around him with a moan you fail to hold in. 

"Let it out baby," he pants as he pummels you through your waves of release.  "loud as you wan-," he cuts himself off with a groan and his strong hands slam your ass into his hips.  Then he pulses enormously inside you, and God, it feels good.  You shouldn't like it, but it's so hot.  You shut your eyes,  afraid to see if anyone's watching.  

“Knew you were bad, but damn,” he says as he catches his breath and you slide forward to let his length fall out.  

As the rush fades, shame sets in. He's so vile. So self-satisfied.   Even a random bystander could see what a menace he was.  How does he prowl around like this doing whatever he wants, and getting away with it?  

He offers you a smoke, but you tell him you have to go.  And you tell yourself you should really stay away from him. 

-

I feel like this relates to a couple of requests.

NW: @tehweeana @lokanda @blackvelveteen1339 @cutesyscreenname

All Joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione

Holler if I left you odd or you wanna be on (NW or all)

[choiwonder]

HELLO NEIGHBOR . JOHNNY SUH

tw/cw ༝ 0.5k wc, smooth talker johnny, usage of pet names (sweetheart, baby), suggestive, he is so flirty it has me giggling and kicking my feet, making out. if you would like to make me happy just send me johnny fics & pics <333

neighbor! johnny that can be found, hanging out in the front yard, lengthy body glistening in the sun with shades over his eyes, resting on a beach chair with mark and yuta. he watches a moving truck enter the private community, parking in the driveway of the home directly next to his. curiosity peaked, it was a surprise to find you, a rather young looking individual, in a community filled with older ones, moving all your boxes into the house yourself.

neighbor! johnny who shares no hesitance in providing assistance, introducing himself. how could a cute little thing such as yourself be doing this all alone? with a flash of his smile, and a few words, johnny’s charm took its effect. he’s still got it. he’s such a good talker. every hour you spent putting your belongings inside, he’s engaging in conversation, making you laugh and wonder why are guys like this so rare to find? it’s the bare minimum, you tell yourself, forcing your heart and mind to ignore any rushed feelings that might arise for this man.

“what’s your name, sweetheart?” he grins, leaning against the frame of your door. the sun has set, yuta has left, mark had gone inside and all your belongings were safely stored.

he listens carefully, watching your lips move, repeating the name to himself a few times, “well, y/n, i wanna come over tomorrow to help with the rest of this, is that okay?”

neighbor! johnny that keeps his promise of coming over the next day, heading to you as soon as he got off work. you don’t question the absence of mark and yuta, secretly yearning for some time alone. he’ll get you a bottle of liquor he stole from work as a first souvenir for your home, encouraging that you have some together.

“wanna taste?” he’ll joke (not rlly), seething as he swallows and pointing to his lips. they’re lightly coated in the alcohol, resembling a gloss. only making them look more tempting to taste. yes, you think. you want to so so badly but fight every voice that tells you to do so and bite down on your bottom lip, shaking your head with a laugh.

neighbor! johnny who encourages you to succumb to your urges, trapping you in the corner of your kitchen. your back is pressed against the counter, breath rate on the rise as you could feel his body heat surround your space. it’s criminal how good he smells.

“come on, just a taste,” he’ll grin. stop. don’t make that face, “i promise i won’t bite, baby.” fuck it.

neighbor! johnny that finally gets to mold his lips against yours, one hand finding loose placement around your neck whilst the other digs under your shirt, squeezing desperately at the skin. it’s funny, really. how quick you’ve got him ready to touch you in ways that no other person has and how quick you’re whining under his lanky frame, making him wonder how long its been since someone has had you like this. his lips nibble up the skin of your jaw, reaching the sensitive skin of your ear, “let’s take this back to my place.”

© choiwonder ༝ do not copy, translate, modify or repost any of my work on any platform, or claim it as your own.

[writingoddess1125]

Deal with the Devil

This is honestly just a Comedy no idea what this is 🤣

GNReader x AU Demon Buggy

Art Belongs to Vamos_MK on Twitter!

If you like Click Here <-

"You Fucking Asshole!" (Y/N) screamed, Tossing their phone across the room as you stood there.

Your Rotten Bastard of a Boyfriend- Best to say Ex now!

You'd done everything for him.. wrote his resume, got him job interviews, washed his crusty underwear!

He had wrecked your apartment, drained your saving all for what? The hope of God damn magic!

Yes Fucking magic-

He was a pinterest board having Half ass 'Witch' that claimed he was of a Witch blood line.

Maybe it was that Witch bloodline that lead him to stick his dick in some random as twink at the Bar!

"Fuck You!" You screamed in the air, sobbing as you rushed to your liquor cabinet- It wasn't like you had much but you grabbed the quarter bottle of vodka and the rum. It would do-

Playing terrible break up music you drank away your sorrows- Sobbing hysterically into your carpeted livingroom floor as you finished the vodka, You tossing the empty bottle across the room causing it to shatter.

Stumbling up, you waddle to the kitchen- in state deciding a cup was finally smart-

In you drunken stooper you grabbed a 711 cup from the counter wanting to pour more booze in it- but pausing when you saw it. Your EX's book of shadows- Aka a Dollar Tree Notebook were he stashed his stupid spells and random pages he pirated from the internet. Picking it up and getting ready to throw it in the trash with the rest of your EX's shit when you finally sober up-

But opened it randomly seeing a folded up peice of paper tucked I to the sides. Rolling your eyes you open it and see a well worn page, however it wasn't ancient by any means- the witches.com emblem in the corner cluing you in to that. But in big bold letters on the top said 'SUMMON A DEMON TO DO YOUR BIDDING!' Easy how to guide.

Fuck it- What did you have to lose! Your drunken hazy mind reasoned. Flicking the Dollar Tree book to an random page and tossing it down on the coffee table-

Looking through you saw the ingredients needed. Food, A liquid, lighter, a Vessel and DNA. Chuckling at the rather basic guide you plopped down and poured off a quarter of your bottle of Rum in the 711 cup-

"We recommend 'moon water'- Welp you're getting Captian Morgan-" You laugh as you pour more of the rum into your mouth, hissing at its burn as you look at the next instructions.

"Alright food- We recommend a herb or item you have a dee- fuck that" You grumble looking around and seeing some leftovers from the corner store. Taking the stale hotdog that had been on your table far too long.

"Fuck it- A hotdog will do" You said with a cackle as you shoved it into the cup without care.

"Now play music to set your intent-" You read, Laughing at the weirdness of this all.

"Music huh! Then we shall play the song of my God damn love life!"

With a crying laugh, you opening up your music app and playing what felt appropriate- Circus Music.

"Now last add DNA- May it be hair, Blood, nails. Ha! Yeah right. Got your DNA right here-" You say and spit into the 711 cup like a redneck spitting chew.

(DONT DO THIS AT HOME) after this you look at the instructions- 'Light the alcohol on fire and focus on your intentions' Pulling a lighter out you set the alcohol ablaze and sat there letting the circus music and smell of burning plastic and hotdogs fill your senses.

'I want to get fucked up and beat up a fucking loser!-' Was the only thing you thought before starting to feel yourself starting to black out. Not noticing the flames beginning to burn a bright blue as the shadows of the room wirled around you and took a solid mass.

Soon a shadowy figure eclipsed your form as a the smell of candy apples filled the room.

"HOW ARE YOU SUMMON THE GREAT AND MIGHTY BUGGY THE CLOWN DE-...." He stopped during his monolog and stared at his summoner- passed out on the couch infront of the coffee table while holding the now out lighter used to summon him and a half burned plastic cup, slouched over in a clearly drunken stooper and groaning loudly from discomfort. Waving his hand it detached and tossed the dirty cup into the sink noting the piles of moldy dishes that stopped the fire- Buggy glanced around now, noticing the dirty apartment and disgusting everything of the place.

He cringed at the sight- Looking to you and shaking your shoulder to catch your attention.

"Oi- You. Please tell me you aren't the fucker who summoned me-" He begged, watching you roll your head around confused stating up at the man before you. He wore what looked like a pirate get up- with a bright cherry nose and bright blue hair that reminded you of the sea-

You opened your mouth, prepared to tell this dude to get out of your house- Before that oh so familiar feeling hit you and you puked all over his pants and shoes in a aray of alcohol and chips.

The man giving a short scream at this as he stood there petrified.

"I'm sorry-" You managed before passing out. Leaving the clown standing there with a look of total disgust on his face as he stared at the fresh vomit all over him.

"YOUVE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME!"

[carlsdarling]

plss submissive carl ;( i want to make that boy whine and whimper sooo bad

Shut up and drive

Y/N and Carl are going on a supply run alone. Y/N is very upset with Carl's behavior and has to discipline him. Bit more of a plot, then sex. (I love it, it was so funny writing the sequence in the car haha). Everyone is 18 or over.

WARNINGS: smut, nsfw, sub!Carl, unprotected sex

You waited impatiently for Carl to close the trunk and get in. The place where you had parked - the parking lot of a large shopping mall - was not making you feel comfortable. Today, unlike usual, you had gone out just the two of you to get supplies. Rick hadn't been thrilled at first, but Judith's baby food and her diapers were running low, so he had agreed. You and Carl were good friends, but nothing more had ever happened between you, although you thought he was adorable.

At the mall you had found lots of kid stuff, including new clothes for Judith, and now the trunk was pretty full. You had only run into three walkers; it had been no problem to finish them off. Now you were on your way home, down a dusty country road, when Carl suddenly slowed down and pointed to a gas station on the right side of the road. Right next to it was a small store. "Liquors, beverages, wines, spirits," the sign read. "Do you think they have Coke?" he asked. There hadn't been any Coke in Alexandria for weeks, and the supply squads hadn't found any either.

"I doubt it," you said, but Carl was already steering the car into the gas station area.

"Let's go see," he decided.

Reluctantly, you got out. It was blisteringly hot, and you noticed that Carl's blue t-shirt was already sweaty all the way down his back, so that his slender muscles showed clearly when he moved. You would have liked to stroke him. To be on the safe side, you put your hands in your pants pockets. It was cool in the store, even freezing in the basement, and sure enough, there were three boxes of Coca-Cola. "Wow," Carl exclaimed delightedly. "Cold Coke!" He immediately began hauling the boxes upstairs and stowing them in the car while you collected bags of chips and beef jerky.

By the time you returned to the car with several bags of jelly beans in your hands, Carl had already gotten back behind the steering wheel. He was greedily drinking from a bottle of Coke. "Nice of you to wait for me," you said snipily. "I'm thirsty, too, you know." Carl looked at you with guilt and handed you the bottle.

"Great, after you almost drank it all," you pouted.

"I'll get you another one," he said hastily, fumbling with his bandage, and was about to exit the car, but you were faster than him, opening the trunk and taking out a bottle. When you got back in your seat, the straps of your top and bra slipped down, exposing the top of your breasts. Your left nipple peeked out, but you were so thirsty that you didn't care. You unscrewed the bottle and drank in great gulps, some Coke running from the corner of your mouth and dripping foamily down your cleavage.

"What is it?" you then asked indignantly, because Carl was looking at you blankly with a strange expression.

He shook his head, caught. "Nnn... nothing," he asserted.

You looked down, and suddenly it was all clear to you. You grinned. "You're staring at my breasts, and it's turning you on," you said teasingly.

"No, that's not true," Carl denied, blushing.

"Yes, it is true," you insisted. Now you also noticed that he had a visible bulge in his jeans - even though he was desperately trying to hide it. You had to laugh. "Little Carl is all horny just because he saw a nipple?" you teased him.

His mouth opened and closed in embarrassment. "Well... it's not like that, I..."

"All right, if you say so. I thought you might want to fuck me. After all, we're all alone, so the chance would be perfect. But if not, fine, we'll just go home. So shut up and drive."

Carl didn't know what to say. "I... well, if you ask like that... I'd like to..."

"What exactly would you like, Carl?" you asked dumbly.

"You... um, fuck you." He cleared his throat.

"I don't know if you deserve it," you chided him. "After that thing with the Coke, and after you stared at me so brazenly."

"I'm sorry," Carl said with a lowered gaze. "Couldn't we... just have sex anyway?"

"I don't know," you made him squirm, teasingly stroking his right knee. You hadn't missed the wet stain forming on the fabric of his jeans. "Are you horny or not?"

"Yes," Carl admitted sheepishly. "Please, can you..." You touched his lips gentle with yours, and for a while you were just kissing, but Carl pressed impatiently against you, letting his hands wander over your curves, caressing. His body was all hot, his breath went frantically.

"Not so fast," you scolded him, even though your pussy was throbbing with want. "And somehow it's too uncomfortable here anyway. I don't want to make out in the car, so we'd better not."

Carl looked utterly desperate. "Over there," he said, pointing to a meadow where there was a big tree. "We can get the blanket out of the trunk." He didn't wait for your reaction, but exited immediately. It amused you how needy and submissive he was, so you followed him to the tree where he spread the blanket in the grass and took off his t-shirt and threw it aside. You lay down next to each other on the blanket and shared caresses and kisses for a while. Carl became more and more aroused and began to moan and whimper softly, clinging to you, so you finally undid his belt and stripped him of his jeans and boxers.

His cock was pretty, hard as a rod, the tip glistening with moisture. "Please, Y/N," Carl begged whiney, sprawled on the blanket. "Please, undress, too." Deliberately slowly, you removed your top and bra, then your skirt and panties. You spread your legs slightly and showed Carl your pussy, which was already all wet and reddish, its lips slightly swollen. The sight of it made that a large amount of precum leaked out of Carl's cock. His eyes were all glazed over, his cheeks red from desire. He looked beautiful; he was so damn cute. "Please come here," he whimpered again, but you didn't think to give him what he wanted so much just yet. Again and again you stroked him, kissed him, gave his cock little licks and rubbed against him, but each time Carl tried to lay on top of you and to penetrate you, you withdrew from him and pushed him away. Finally, he held you tightly. "Please, please, Y/N," he murmured in your ear, raking his hand through your hair, "let me fuck you now. I promise you'll like it."

You decided you'd tormented him long enough, besides, you couldn't wait to be railed by him yourself; if it didn't happen soon, you'd cum before you even really got started. Carl positioned himself between your spread legs and you let him slip inside you. You took a sharp breath, he was so hard, he filled you completely and it felt wonderful. "Fuck, Y/N, you're so wet," he moaned and immediately started thrusting.

It didn't take long for you to cum and arch up under him, clawing your fingernails into his back. "Oh God, Carl," you sighed, wrapping your legs around his hips as he increased his pace. "Fuck me harder," you commanded, whereupon he lifted himself up and thrust hard into you, over and over, bringing you to multiple orgasms before he ejaculated into you with a scream, rode out his own orgasm and remained on top of you, breathing heavily. Sticky and sweaty, you were resting in the shade of the tree. Carl's cock went limp and slipped out of you, and you lay side by side looking at each other and kissing.

"I told you you'd like it," Carl murmured sleepily. The summer wind was brushing over you.

"I had to punish you for the Coke," you emphasized, kissing him on the forehead and the tip of his nose.

[bendycxmet]

Jealous—Vash the Stampede

Summary: Jealousy goes both ways.

Word Count: ~1.3k

Pairing: gn!reader x Vash the Stampede

Content: jealousy, tension, teasing, flirting, alcohol, drinking, Jealous Vash, Jealous Reader, maybe a lil toxic but this is for fun, suggestive at the end

Both you and Vash were barhopping for the night. For fun? You wish. You were “on the job” as you liked to call it–looking and prodding drunken town goers for clues about a regional criminal causing havoc, enough trouble to make the locals forget their usual paranoia about a certain Humanoid Typhoon. Their tipsy personas were enough for you two to coax out any gossip that has been floating around the tiny cliffside town, the interviewees temporarily forgoing their constant state of anxiety to let slip some clues with the help of the liquid courage pouring from the barkeeper’s shelves. 

“Two shots of your most valuable whiskey, sir. Been a long night.” Of absolutely nothing. You drop your head into your hands, palms digging into your eye sockets. What you would give to just plop down in the motel bed, snuggling into Vash’s chest for the night. You peep through your fingers at him, sitting pretty in the corner with the flirty town baker. A sharp pang shoots through your chest. Well at least someone seems to be having fun. 

The baker starts cackling at something Vash had joked about, slapping his shoulder to show her appreciation for the banter. Vash looks in your direction, almost feeling your envious gaze, smiling softly and winking as if to say “hang in there.”

“Two whiskeys.” The loud clank of the glasses hitting the dingy wood brings your focus back to the man in front of you. 

You let out a low whistle, appreciating the tiny shot glasses in front of you. “Right on time, barkeep. Have a blessed night.” You throw a couple of double dollars down for the man to grab, downing one shot, your hand going for the second one, ready to get your investigation going again when you see a hand cover the glass. 

“Seen you floating around here tonight. Don’t seem to be having the best time, though. Mind if I change that?” comes a smooth voice. You glance up to see a charming man, recognizing him from earlier in the day at the general store. You couldn’t forget how he had looked at you, completely ignoring Vash as you paid for your transaction, his eyes roaming your face gracefully, focusing on your lips whenever you spoke. Vash had simply huffed and moved closer to you. 

The same hazel eyes were on you now, sparkling this time with what you have no doubt is the liquor flowing through him. Now, any other time you would have immediately shrugged off the advances of a drunk with the mindless excuse of being here with Vash; yet, now that said man was having his own fun, you decide to try your hand. Besides, the general store employee was easy on the eyes. You lay your hand over his own, making sure it was in Vash’s line of sight before responding. 

“Been tough to. You know how it is, especially with the threat of that criminal on the loose in the next town over.”

He chuckles. “Let me put your worries to ease, darling. Saw him earlier today and can confirm he’s just another hotshot who runs his mouth. Get a bunch of those through my store. Nothing ever comes out of it.” He takes your hand in his and brings it up to his mouth to place a gentle kiss on the knuckles. “He’s been drinking my store dry in that hotel at the edge of town anyways.”

You pretend to look down your shoulder at your remaining shot, playing smitten. You peek at Vash from the corner of your eye, noticing the deep frown on his face as the chatty baker recants some boring story probably, not seeing that his focus is now on you. 

“Isn’t that the perv from the general store?! Why is he in your personal space??” Vash thinks, stopping himself for a second. He’s had a couple drinks, so he may be a little irrational at the moment. “Get yourself together, you hypocrite. You have a girl that isn’t Mayfly grabbing your arm right now, so they can do whatever they want. This is just detective work-” Vash jolts straight out of his chair, his rational thoughts coming to an end when he sees that pervert kiss your hand.

He could let slide the flirty way he interacted with you earlier at the store. Sure, it’s understandable. His Mayfly of course would catch the attention of anyone with eyes. They’re an absolute catch. However. Touching the skin that he touches, kissing where he kisses every night, ensuring that you feel the love that he feels for you through his hands worshipping every inch that is you? It’s enough for him to cross the room in several strides with his lean legs. No way is he going to let a random taint what is his. He doesn’t have the privilege to touch the spectacle that is his Mayfly. 

Feeling the vibrations of a certain someone’s boots coming closer to the bar area, you sense that your time of fun has ended. You have what you needed anyway. Quickly, you drink your last shot, hissing at the slow burn making its way into your stomach. You now need it for what’s coming next.

“Thank you. You definitely helped my night get better,” you manage to say, watching the man’s eyebrows screw together in confusion before a red coat effectively cuts you off from him, replacing the man’s hand with his own, holding it in a firm hold.

“Hey! I remember you from earlier! You were pretty quick at the cash register back at the store.”  Now you were given the blessing of Vash’s possessive gaze, heavy with unbridled frustration and desire. “I see you found my Mayfly. Whew, I’ve been looking all over for you, my lovely.”  He turns back to the man, giving him a tight smile before departing, dragging you along with him out into the open night air.

You walk in tense silence, rounding the last corner to your motel when he stops and pulls you into an alcove.

“Was that all really necessary?” he questions, his jaw clenching. He’s pissed.

“You have your ways, I have mine,” you quip, refusing to look at him. He huffs at your response.

“The baker girl? Mayfly, really, I was just trying to find answers. And score us some free donuts in the morning! I didn’t expect her to be so touchy.”

“Well I didn’t know this guy would do what he did-” 

He slams his hand into the wall, making sure it was far enough away from your head, but still caging you in. You hear brick crumble to the floor from the impact. 

“I didn’t like the way he looked at you. Or touched you. I just don’t like the idea of anyone else but me touching you because I don’t know what their intentions are. How am I supposed to protect you in time when they’re so close to you?” he growled out.

Now you feel guilty. Maybe you went a bit too far. 

“Sorry…”

He sighs, placing his gloved hand on your cheek. “No, I’m sorry too. I could have pulled away sooner from the baker. All of that was too much.” You nod, acknowledging his apology. 

His face quickly becomes stern again, his hand dropping to grab yours.

“Let’s head inside, I’m going to replace that pervert’s touch with my own.”

“I didn’t get to tell you that I know where that criminal is!”

“That can wait till morning. I have more important matters to tend to right now.”

You may have bargained for more than you thought tonight.

a/n: i wrote this in one go so kind of word vomit? idk it came to me in a dream so i needed to belt it out. love the idea of vash just being a lil jealous. he deserves to get upset from time to time

masterlist

divider by saradika

[mrsmiagreer]

MILO AND SWEETHEART ON A WALK AND SOMEONE HITS ON SWEETHEART 🙏🙏

Warnings: Fluff, a little cussing

Characters: Milo Greer × Gn!Sweetheart

————————————————————————-

Milo and Sweetheart were on a walk to the store. They suggested it because why waste gas when they can get some fresh air and a good exercise in? The two walked hand in hand to their local liquor store, just wanting a few snacks before they laid down for a movie or something of the sort. When they arrived Milo darted to the back of the store and grabbed his favorite salty and his favorite sweet with a soda and a water bottle to balance it out. Meanwhile, Sweetheart was in the front, fulfilling their cheat day with a big bag of chips and a share size of M&MS.

Sweetheart was finished browsing the store and decided to go ahead and buy their own stuff, not waiting for Milo to come and offer his money like they figured he would. Milo soon met them at the counter with an armful of stuff.

“You should’ve waited for me, I could’ve paid for it baby” He spoke as he set his items on the counter and took out his wallet

Knew it.

“It’s fine Milo” they smiled at him, watching him do his thing. God he was so fine, even just paying for junk food at a corner store. They chuckled to themselves as they thought about how in love with they were with him.

When he was finally ready with his bag together, they started to exit the store. Not even a minute into leaving, he realized he forgot one thing.

“Sweetheart, did you pick up the few packs of gum you said you wanted?”

“Oh shit no I didn’t. Good catch” They spoke as they started to turn around and go back in to get it. But Milo, being the gentleman he was, wanted to actually pay for it this time.

“No it’s okay i’ll go pay for it, you stay right here” He said, turning around and going back in.

While Sweetheart waited patiently, scrolling on their phone, the unimaginable happened. A man, conventionally good looking, approached them. He looked a bit nervous but masked it with a false sense of confidence. They looked up at him and saw he was quite tall too. He wasn’t Milo, but they could see why people might like him.

“Hello good evening! I just came over here to tell you that I saw you from across the street and I think you’re really undeniably gorgeous”

It’s been a while since Sweetheart was hit on, they’re usually seen out with Milo or on a job, they never really had time to be outside enough for someone to stop and see them. Let alone approach them. If they were honest, they were flattered by it.

“Oh— Thank you” They spoke back, tone kind and cordial, trying not to give this man the wrong impression, but also trying not to be rude.

“Uhm…Are you single?” The man worked up the courage to finally ask, after a little banter. Sweetheart almost felt bad that they had to deject him like this, but they soon realized that they didn’t have to

“No they’re not” Milo came out of nowhere, with the packs of gum in his hand, putting his wallet in his back pocket with the other.

“Oh I’m so sorry!” The man immediately spoke up, getting the hint. Sweetheart held in a giggle when they could sense the possessiveness radiating off of Milo and the intimidated fear coming off of the man.“They are truly really stunning, I just came over to tell them”

“I know they are” Milo said, looking the man in the eyes and never looking away, not even once.

He left the sentence at that, making the guy a little uncomfortable, and with that, he muttered another apology and a goodbye to sweetheart before leaving, going back across the street.

Milo scoffed, sucking his teeth before wrapping an arm around Sweetheart’s waist and leading them back down the street that they came from, letting them know to walk with him. They’re going home, right now.

“Jeez baby did you have to scare him like that? I had it covered” Sweetheart giggled on their way back home

“Hey I had every right. I step back into the store for three god damn minutes waitin’ in that stupid ass line for three packs of fuckin double mint and come out to some random guy tryna hit on you, what else was I supposed to do? Plus whenever you say you got it covered, it almost always leads to a disaster”

“Uh— That is NOT true”

“You wanna bet?”

————————————————————————-

A/N: I’m definitely not sure how good this one is, but i thought it was kinda cute and short. I also happen to love a jealous Milo so this was kinda fun to write.

@annahhopee this one’s for you :)

[nathandrakeisabottom]

Yesss please sam drake food/eating hcs?? Fave meals, hated meals, etc

It is with great joy and great belatedness that I post my first Uncharted piece in ages. Thank you for the lovely ask, anon. :)

⋆ Sam Drake - Eating Headcanons ⋆

Two words: scarcity mindset.

After running away from Saint Frances’s, to claim money was tight is to be telling some humorous bit, Money was borderline non-existent. And as such, came what the Drake boys do best: theft. 

Liquor stores were their easiest, and most consistent source. Sam still takes great pride in telling his many stories revolving around ‘cashier meet-cutes’ disguising their proudest heist to date: a 12-year-old Nathan smuggling canned goods under a moth-holed hoodie. 

Because of this, gas station snacks: twinkies, Lays chips, slurpees, etc. all tend to give him this simultaneous sense of nostalgia and nausea. Like when you’re eating eggs and all of a sudden, your body gags on the next bite.

But on an especially shitty day, expect him to be gobbling a Big Gulp and a half-frozen hot dog on the nearest street corner, with a half-smoked cigarette still sunken between his lips. It’s the way he wallows. 

Secretly wants you to tell him how bad that shit is for him so he has an excuse to snottily spat back “who the ‘ell cares?”. He finds pride in not caring about anything. (He cares about everything.)

Getting fast food at the drive-thru? Man waves you off a total of three times claiming he doesn’t want nothing before proceeding to eat half of your McNuggets without asking. He loves BBQ sauce and needs Tabasco on everything like it’s his will to live.

Big fan of spicy, sour, and tart, anything that makes your mouth pucker. Pretzels, salt and vinegar chips, cottage cheese, pickles, pineapple (😉). “What can I say? I admire a fruit that fights back!” — he snorts before taking a raw bite of a lemon, just to squirm you out.

Maybe a bit of the masochist in him. 

When he and Nate were able to get proper gigs (12-year-old Nathan: illegally, of course), they were able to progress to the simplest of grocery outlet options. Eggs, instant ramen packets, canned vegetables that were 9 out of 10 times eaten raw out of the can with a fork, and more nothing-but-toast-for-dinner than they’d want to admit).

Sam and Nate spent most of their childhood eating their dad’s scrambled eggs and microwaved peas. When their mom passed, and dad released them to the state, Sam decided he’d only ever eat over-easy again.

Nate still chooses scrambled. He asks for cheese and green onions to split the difference, but always ends up only eating half of it before the memories come too strong and he has to push his plate away. 

QUICK eater. MESSY eater. And I mean quick and messy. 

Will use as minimal cutlery as possible, and if disposable, even better.

A scooper. Tends to be a chronic careless spiller with how frequently he tries to funnel all the last crumbs into his mouth, how quickly he chugs even a glass of water. (Most shirts of his are stained as a result.)

Tends to wait till the last possible moment to eat or drink anything. Breakfast basically doesn’t exist to him. 

Spills more beverage down his chin and shirt than his mouth (but a wet t-shirt certainly isn’t the worst thing to happen. Especially not to Samuel Drake. ;)

Pizza order: Meat Lover’s with extra sausage. Maybe some green bell peppers when he finally compromises with Nate during movie night.

Never, ever orders (well, non-alcoholic) drinks when eating out. And only water when he finally lets himself cave. Otherwise, he’s stealing sips from the nearest patron’s Jarrito bottle (his favorite is Tamarind).

Doesn’t bother cleaning up his fruit peels or peanut shells, even around others. That shit’s going on the floor without a second look.

Surprisingly, a king and natural on the BBQ. Despite having so little in their childhood, Sam still tried to go hard on the holidays for Nathan’s sake. Fourth of July is still Nate’s favorite holiday exclusively because of Sam’s public park-smoked ribs and the long, bumpy motorcycle ride up the highest hill in whatever city they were currently loitering in, just to see the fireworks. 

A dive bar master. Nate always orders whatever grease-covered appetizer they got in the back. Sam purposely keeps his stomach empty so there’s more room for whiskey. (Since nobody asked, incredible at pool, and will offer any woman in a twenty foot circumference a lesson. Cue the leaning chest over back, cue stick fantasy.)

A love language that was a total surprise to him is his partner cooking/baking something just for him, especially if it’s from scratch. Gets that rare, soft look in his eyes as he watches them carefully place each steaming plate onto the table. And trust, he’s not looking at the food when it happens.

Loves his partner in an apron. Like… loves his partner in an apron.

Make him food, and as soon as it’s eaten, he’s eating you after. ;)

When he finally settles down post-Madagascar, it’s a fucking struggle to get him to go grocery shopping at all for the first few months. 

Self-punishment, maybe. 

Nathan buys them himself instead and leaves them on the porch of Sam’s trailer park home when he’s too depressed to answer the door. 

Basically has to be forced to eat actual meat and vegetables. For the first few months, he reverts and eats only familiar prison food. The same single pot of chili/beans for a whole week, half portions only for each meal. Uncooked canned carrots. Microwave popcorn when Nathan calls him asking if he’s eaten, and when Sam lies, it sounds more believable with the microwave droning in the background.

However, when he finally starts to pick himself back up, when he gets his first day job since prison, finally lets Nate buy him a used truck to get around, his first solo call from Sully, that’s when he finally starts to eat.

And when he finally feels like himself again, when he finally lets himself want to live again, the first hobby that Sam Drake takes up is cooking.

[lumosinlove]

Christmas Eve Will Find Me

Two: Finn

Finn and Logan’s Flat

London, England

They had emergency measures in place. Logan had sat him down one night. Finn had been in this exact chair. Whiskey in the glasses Logan had brought him back from Ireland. Beautiful crystal carved things with diamond-shaped clovers. Finn didn’t know why he had been in Ireland that time—or any other time—and he never would. Now that set of four haunted Finn’s liquor cabinet.

“No one will know,” Logan had said. “No one but us. If you need me—need me to know something, you call here, and if I need you to know something, I will, too.”

On Finn’s side of it, he had a phone number. Just four digits. He didn’t know how it worked or how Logan had set it up. He purchased a burner phone with cash—never at the same store—and dialed the number. No one ever answered. He left a message. He’d driven two hours before to get to far away corner stores. Just in case something might give Logan away. It was hard to be careful when he didn’t know what he was dealing with.

The burner phones now haunted his bedside drawer.

Finn had sent it maybe twenty messages since it happened. Make that fifty. He didn’t know how Logan got them—or how he used to get them. He didn’t know if it was accessible by computer or a cellphone somehow. He’d only really used it once, with a response, when he’d gone into the hospital with a bad concussion after falling stupidly on a patch of ice. Logan, somehow, had gotten to him in less than a nine hours. Finn had been expecting it to take a day or two at least. Logan had arrived with a neat beard, fuller than Finn had ever seen it, and brown contact lenses in for some reason, but it was Logan. He’d taken the contacts out in the hospital bathroom and flushed them down the toilet before the very surprised nurse had come in to check on Finn and found him with a visitor.

Fingers through his hair. Logan kissing his temple—God, how was he losing that feeling? That was his favorite feeling. Mon Rouge…be careful. You have to be careful. Finn remembered smiling sleepily. But that’s what I’m always telling you.

Alive. He knew there should be a maybe somewhere in there but his brain wouldn’t add it. You’re alive.

Someone was letting themselves in. Key scraping in the door and footsteps Finn knew well. Leo took his coat off in the hall and paused long enough so that Finn knew he was reading the notes in the halls—even though he’d read them a thousand times before. Framed, creases and all. They were, what, nine years old now? A decade seemed so long, until it was cut short. Leo liked to read his and Logan’s love confessions to each other from when they were at school together.

“Chicken and dumplings,” Leo said from behind him. He put one container in the fridge and Finn couldn’t bring himself to turn around. The microwave went and what felt like seconds later, he had a steaming bowl in front of him.

Leo eased himself into a chair and, finally Finn looked up.

“So, they told you,” Leo said. His eyes were calm, but his face held worry.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it was Remus,” Leo said immediately. “And I would never let you get your hopes up and then…” Leo pressed his lips together. “But I’m glad Sirius and James did.”

“You found the footage?”

“Yes.”

“And…And you’ve been looking?”

Leo nodded.

Finn pushed a spoon around the bowl, watching it sink into the thick broth. “Why?” It sounded crass but Finn might’ve driven himself mad if he had the capability to never stop looking for Logan. Instead, he was in a dark sea, unable to even know quite what had gone so wrong. So very wrong.

“Because I loved them, too. Or, love. God, who knows what to say.”

Finn nodded. Of course. Of course. He put his hand around Logan’s necklace.

“Make sure you eat that,” Leo said softly. He ducked his head a little until Finn looked at him. “Are you going to be okay here tonight?” Leo whispered. “Alone?”

Alone.

Sometimes Leo stayed. Sometimes, Finn didn’t know what he’d do with an empty bed every night and so sometimes Leo stayed. Just the weight of another person—but sometimes it tricked Finn. Sometimes he reached out and thought—and thought. Wrap his arm around Leo’s waist or, God, even worse, tuck his nose up against Leo’s neck. Finn felt so bad about it he could cry. But then there was Leo’s blue eyes, sorry and wishing he could take the pain away. They would both apologize, maybe squeeze hands, and roll over.

“I’ll be okay.” Finn really needed to be alone. He needed no one to know about his little phone habit. Not even Leo.

The second Leo was out the door, Finn covered his face with his hands and dug up the burner phone package from his desk drawer. He’d broken the rules, he’d gone four blocks over to a store he’d been to before but not for a long time. But he needed it. He needed the connection, no matter how broken it might be. He cut through the plastic with the blur of tears in his eyes. He assembled it, watched the green light of the screen blink to life. He punched in the familiar numbers. 1017.

It rang, tinny and lazy. Then, the familiar beep.

Finn’s mouth went dry. He’d always been able to say anything to Logan. Everything.

“Logan,” he whispered. “Lo, are…” He squeezed his eyes shut. He covered his face with his palm. “Are you alive?”

He always expected an answer. Breathing on the other end of the line. Maybe it was just the nature of holding a phone up to his ear. Reflex and expectation. Lately, Finn talked into the burner like Logan was there. Some horrible way of coping, he’d guess any doctor would say. Phone calls to a ghost, how fucking dramatic was that?

“It’s almost Christmas, you know,” Finn said. He traced a crumb around the table with his thumb. Who knew what it was from. “I’m supposed to go to New York. See Alex and…and everyone. Well, Jesus, not everyone. Not you.”

Finn didn’t realized his eyes had closed until he thought he’d been quiet for too long. He checked. Nearly twenty seconds had passed.

“It does feel cold enough to snow,” Finn said. “My classes are almost out. I think no one’s going to be there on Wednesday. I don’t even want to be there myself. Martha—you remember Martha? She…” Finn swallowed. “She asked about you the other day. She wanted to know if we were doing anything special.” Finn felt his lip tremble, let his eyes fill up. “Like—Fuck, like going to the beach or something.” His voice was pitching up in the way it did when he was trying not to cry. “And I thought about Spain.”

It had seemed like Logan hardly even had to look at people to get what he wanted. Those green eyes of his. That soft, nearly bashful smile. He’d been wearing what looked like a very expensive suit when he'd met Finn in the tarmac.

“Finn. Rouge.” Logan had kissed him so hard. Finn could feel the way Logan’s palm had curled them into each other. Logan had had a cut just above his lip. “I missed you. I missed you.”

Finn had clung to him, then laughed and looked him up and down. Linen shirt, open at the collar, fine-threaded tan jacket. So gorgeous. A little banged up maybe, but nothing serious. The barely there bump of his gun at his side, unreadable if Finn hadn’t felt it with how close Logan was holding him. What are we doing here? You can’t come home yet?

Oh, mon rouge. We are doing absolutely nothing, Logan had smiled, and taken Finn’s bags from him.

It hadn’t felt like nothing. It had felt like breakfasts of fruits and pastries. Watching Logan’s skin turn golden as they lay by the pool. Long nights of rocking into Logan’s body, pinning his hands up above his head in the way he liked and trying not to blush every time they came back to find their sheets changed and freshened. Running his fingers through Logan’s hair. Logan’s head on his chest, listening to Finn read aloud. Walking through small towns with curving, winding streets to get lost in. Buying a very expensive bottle of wine and drinking by the water. Kissing the flavor of Logan’s fig ice cream right out of his mouth. He was summer.

Now, Finn put his head into his hands and pressed the phone harder to his cheek. He could still feel him. Finn saw him everywhere.

“Remus is alive. Are you with him?” Finn let out a breath that was more a sob. He pressed a hand over his mouth. “Are you there? Because if you are, please—please come home. Come home.”

But no. If Logan could come home, he would have. No. He would have by now. Finn stood up so fast that the chair wobbled on its rear legs. No, no, no—

“No. I’m gonna come find you.” Finn knew he was probably breathing so heavy, crying too much maybe to even be understood. He sniffed and took a breath and said it again. “I’m going to come find you, baby, don’t worry. I’ve got you. Always, remember? I’ve got you. Yeah.” Finn wiped at his face with the sleeve of his sweater. One of Logan’s go-bags—a back up—was in the closet in the box with the spare sheets. “I’ve got you.”

“No,” Sirius said.

Finn’s ass was half frozen from sitting on his stoop, and he stumbled a little when he got up. “I’m coming with you.”

Sirius didn’t move. He just looked Finn over with those gray, unreadable eyes. For Finn, after the accident, it had been like losing friends, only without a fall-out or a fight. Finn was no longer privy to Sirius and James’ lifestyle. The connection was gone. He was exhausted. He missed Logan so badly that he wondered if he would die some nights, throwing on shoes and a scarf to do something, to go somewhere, because surely something was wrong in his chest for it to hurt this bad. Lily had come around sometimes, even James, but their faces had only hurt him. He’d thrown himself into his classes but without caring about them.

The only person left was Leo, knowing Finn was hopeless in the kitchen except for the occasional basic. But he was more than that. He was Logan’s closest friend on his squad. Maybe even Finn’s closest friend, too. They spent their evenings with Leo more often than not, and at first Finn had thought it was sort of like a rookie thing—Leo was a bit younger than them—and Logan thought he was lonely, but then he’d gotten to know Leo. When it wasn’t Finn and Logan, it was the three of them.

Sirius didn’t look the same. But Remus hadn’t exactly been his boyfriend. At least, Logan hadn’t thought so. He’d only been trying to get one of them to take the first step towards something more. But that was still something to be taken away.

“Jesus, Finn.” Sirius said. He shook his head and rubbed at his eyes. “Finn. God. Maybe we shouldn’t have told you.”

“No.” He sounded childish, desperate. “Sirius, please. Please, I can’t do this. I can do—” He looked around him, but he wasn’t sure what for. “Life. World. Normal. Whatever you want to call it. I can’t do it without him and now I can’t do the waiting for him. Not alone. Please.”

“No.” Sirius pushed around him, keys jingling gently. Finn heard them scratch at the door. Smelled the fish and chips he was holding. A few doors down, carolers were singing.

“I’ve been swallowed whole by losing him,” Finn said softly.

Sirius stopped, one foot on the step above the other. A wind picked up, all sudden and rough, like it knew the air couldn’t be too still between them. If it was, it would solidify and they’d never get through this. Finn would never move again, not until Logan touched the back of his neck, his cheek, and brought him back to life. I’m right here.

“I mean…” Finn looked down. “Losing him. Dead. Gone.” His voice caught and he had to breathe through it. “If he’s not then—Sirius.”

Sirius’ back was tense. His jacket looked too thin for the weather and he wasn’t wearing a hat or a scarf. Finn watched his shoulders rise and fall. Finn looked one way down the street—carolers—then the other. He always did this. Imagined Logan was somewhere near by, half in shadow, watching him. Not dead.

Sirius’ dinner crinkled in his hand as he turned around.

“It’s not all luxury and glitz.” Sirius narrowed his eyes a little, wary. “I know that’s the part Logan treats you to, but it’s not.”

“Okay.”

“You gonna be fine with that?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe we have to camp out on the roof of a building.”

Finn tried to hide his wince. “Okay.”

“All night.”

Finn grit his teeth. “I’ll do anything.”

“No food.”

“Will it help us find him?” Finn swallowed. “I mean them. Remus and Logan.”

“Maybe,” Sirius said. “Or just Remus. Logan might really be dead.”

Finn closed his eyes. That word. That word.

“Are you prepared for that?”

“No,” he said. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want to know. That doesn’t mean I don’t want…I don’t know, his—his body.” But did he? Did he want to see that? It haunted him. Real, and true haunting. One second he’d see Logan’s smile and the next some horrible, gray version of his face.

“Most likely there won’t be a body. And if there was one, it would be…remains. Finn, it’s been months.”

“Then a confession. I don’t know. I just want—”

“I know what you want,” Sirius said. “I want it, too.”

“I have to come,” Finn pleaded. He took a step forward. “Sirius.”

Sirius took a step forward, too, meeting him on the steps. “These people we were dealing with when it happened—you cannot hope to understand them. They’re deranged. Worse than that, they’re wealthy and deranged, and we don’t know very much about them. We know they control a large blackmarket network and they’re only getting more powerful. We know they deal in weapons, and we know they have sleeper agents everywhere. Finn, you can’t trust anyone, do you understand? They got Logan, but who knows what Logan told you.”

“Are you saying I’m being watched?”

“Of course you are. By us and them.”

Logan never told him much. He let Finn smooth the crease in his brow. He let Finn bring him tea or his sugary, sugary coffee. He let Finn spoon up against his back and told Finn how that made him feel safe—one of the few moments in this world when he wasn’t worried about looking behind him. Logan let him make love to him, fuck all the weight of the world right out of him until he was weightless and slick with sweat and his own come. Let Finn hold his hand while they walked to dinner and home again. But he never told him anything. Not really. A country name here, a surname there. Nothing that meant anything to Finn. Never enough for him to put anything together.

They will never have a reason to need you, Logan would whisper in the dark. I will never give them one.

Who is they? Finn would wonder.

“No one can know you’re with us,” Sirius said. “You have to get your own flights.”

Finn nodded. “Okay, I can do that.”

“We leave tomorrow.”

“Good.”

“Hello there!” came a jolly voice from behind them.

Finn swore he saw Sirius’ mouth say fuck under his breath. Finn turned to see that the cluster of carolers had made it to them.

The man simply grinned at them, before turning and raising his hands in signal.

I’ll be home for Christmas… they began, and Finn turned back around fast, looking up at Sirius.

Sirius held a finger to his lips and, before they were even one verse in, turned and went inside.

You can count on me…

Tomorrow, Finn said. He didn’t even feel guilty about leaving the carolers mid-song. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.

If only in my dreams…

[cod-dump]

What if Ghost found a (pregnant) calico cat during leave and keeps her? What would he name her?

Fur Baby

Ghost centric fic

___

Ghost always did prefer animals over people. Words meant nothing while actions were everything. He could respect that. Animals didn't go behind his back to hurt him. People did. Though he loved animals, he never had a pet. Mostly because he didn't trust himself to care for it properly or accidentally take his emotions out on it. He didn't want to cause harm to a creature that was there to love him. So, he never gotten a pet. Never planned to get one, either.

But then he stumbled upon Misty.

Ghost rarely enjoyed leave. He didn't have family to visit and spend time with, had a hard time keeping hobbies, and generally hated being out of work. He was bored, on edge, and honestly lonely. His flat didn't feel like home, just a place to sleep and hide away. He only ever ventured out to get food or drinks and other household necessities before hiding away again.

One stormy evening he ran out to grab some drinks when he noticed something under a car. Curiosity got the better of him and Ghost kneeled to have a look. He was surprised to see a cat, soaked from the rain. Her eyes were wide with fear and Ghost felt his heart break at the sight. He tried to reach out to touch her but the cat darted further under the car. Ghost stood and continued to the corner store. The entire time he was in the liquor isle he thought about that cat. He couldn't focus and ended up leaving the isle. Ghost wandered the store for a bit until he found the pet section.

He was very happy to find that the cat was still under that car when he came back. The rain had calmed down to a light drizzle and the chill was as fierce as it was earlier.

"Hey, little girl."

The cat was pretty far under the car, staring at him with caution. Ghost reached into his grocery bag and pulled out a can of wet food. He cracked it up and slid it as far as he could under the car before stepping back and waiting. He was kneeling by the car for a good ten minutes before the cat crawled over to the wet food, curious. Then she smelled it and started to hungerly devour it. She acted like she was starving. She had a lot of fur but the rain smoothed her down enough for him to see that she was very round.

Ghost inched closer to her as she ate, hearing a purr come from her.

"Poor girl... You wanna come with me?"

It took a bit of coaxing (and a fuck ton of treats) to get the cat to come out from under the car and let Ghost pick her up. When he finally was able to get her in his arms, he tucked her into his jacket and immediately headed back to his flat. The first thing he did was find a warm towel and dry off the cat as best he could. She was shaking as he rubbed the towel on her, trying to get all the excess moisture possible before wrapping her in another, dryer, towel.

Ghost sat in the living room, listening to this cat purr as he held her to keep her warm. The next morning he took her to the vet to have her looked at and to see if she was chipped. The vet took one look at her and told Ghost she was very pregnant. And after the vet told him she wasn't chipped, he decided he was going to keep her. It didn't take him long to find a name for her: Misty.

Within a week his house was filled with cat related items. He went out and bought the most expensive cat food with the highest reviews. He looked into cat pregnancy and set up a box with fleece blankets in his closet (as he's come to find that his new companion enjoyed hiding in there). Dove into forums to see how he could best assist Misty during labor and kitten care. Ghost tried to stay in the flat during the next couple of weeks so he could be there for Misty when she went into labor. And, of course, when he finally went out to grab something, he returned to mewling kittens.

He was so excited, he couldn't contain it and ended up spamming pictures of Misty and her four babies to Price.

Price: I love how you send me pictures with no context

A week later Price dropped by in a surprise visit. After a couple pictures sent to the group chat both Soap and Gaz were jealous beyond belief that Price and Ghost were playing with kittens while they were working.

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Beneath Miles of Stone - Part three - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.

TW: bullying ; asshole security guards ; mentions of traumatic pasts ; heavy drinking ; suicidal ideation ; depictions of suicide

She vaguely wonders when she had become such a cry-baby. 

It’s her second favorite activity. The first favorite is drinking alone, although enough liquor and she is immediately crying anyway.

She takes another sip of the vodka in the glass, puts her head in her other hand, lets tears drip onto a scuffed kitchen table.

These tears are from the fear that eviction could soon be in her future. Her new job, although awful, pays well, and she’s been picking up as much overtime as she thinks is safe.

She would be taking more open shifts if there wasn’t a hulking security guard out for her blood.

Her mind, clouded by alcohol, remembers that yes, she does get paid well, but that paycheck isn’t for another week and rent is due today.

She tries to rationalize through the misery, but her brain can only sooth with thoughts of disaster, and eventually she always ends up giving in to things like this, so she does that, and lets herself sob for a long while.

Yearning for an actual mother she can call and ask for advice, she picks up her phone and stares at the screen longingly. Maybe a dad would be better for this situation, but she doesn’t have one of those either.

It’s times like these when the thought of slitting open her wrists in the bathtub sounds like a lovely escape. Her eyes catch the glint of scattered kitchen knives on her counter, but she doubts they would be sharp enough. She could walk to the corner store and buy a razor blade, but the fact that she is too lazy to do that right now tells her that she’s not yet fully committed to the idea of suicide.

Sure, it sounds great in theory. Kill yourself and make the pain disappear. Grow up with enough religious trauma, and the thought gets less appealing. The hell of life is nothing compared to the biblical one, at least not from what she’s learned about it, and although she has no belief now, the eternal damnation and fire-brimstone combo still sticks inside her brain and scares her.

When she had told her landlord she didn’t have enough for rent, they had hung up on her. That action alone was enough to interpret as a 30 day eviction notice.

So here she is, nothing to live or die for, head on the table, unpleasantly drunk, crying on her poor raw cheeks. Three cups of ramen left for dinner, a fourth case of pop in the fridge, salt and pepper and a bottle of ketchup and expired mustard, half a bottle of cheap vodka, and eight dollars. And too cowardly to even kill herself.

She remembers John telling her something about taking shitty care of herself, and he’s absolutely right. Out of line, but right. It’s funny how a guy that’s known her for a week can see her better than she can see herself. Her vodka brain suggests asking him for advice since he seems to care so much. She thinks about it for a minute, the irony of asking an inmate for life directions, decides it actually is a great idea. It surely has nothing to do with her wanting to talk to or spend more time with him.

He is very handsome, even sporting that long, unkempt facial hair and prison jumpsuit. And of course she would find a prisoner attractive because he showed her the tiniest bit of non-negative attention. Yes, he’s convicted, but they’re not all bad. Some are in for stupid shit. Maybe he just pissed off the wrong person.

But he is good-looking. Anyone with a functioning brain can see that. Unless they hate tall, dark, broad-shouldered men with muscles. Not obscene muscles either-

She catches her wandering thoughts, screams into the thick wood of the kitchen table, vows to stop thinking about how hot her patient and convicted felon is, because crying is better than jumping down that terrifying rabbit hole.

She reaches for the bottle of vodka, drunken brain convincing her that she doesn’t have to look because she knows where it is. However, her brain is very wrong, and instead of gripping the bottle, she ends up knocking it over.

Before she can rectify the situation, there is already liquid all over the table and floor. The bottle is empty. She tries to look on the bright side because she doesn’t want to cry anymore. At least it would disinfect everything. Less cleaning that she had to do in the morning. It doesn’t work and she’s crying again.

—————

She feels like an idiot creeping into the break room to search for cameras. Of course, there are none. She doesn’t keep her drinks or food in here anymore and she decides that this will be the final time she visits altogether.

Benny can’t get to her if she’s always in the open. The most he can do is scowl at her and make stupid comments, and these things she can live with.

She is at the desk doing her paperwork when she sees him again. Immediately, she wants to run, especially since he is walking her way. She stays put, though, determined not to let him see how scared she is of him.

He slides up to the counter and looks down at her, grinning. “Hey kid, nice shiner.”

She doesn’t look up.

He continues. “I forgot to get your number for the camping trip, mind giving me your phone for a minute?”

“I don’t have a phone.” The lie could have been a better one, but she’s still proud of herself for coming up with it under pressure.

Benny laughs, leans more toward her, his bulging shoulders hunched in and squeezing his cheeks. He reminds her of a school bully. “Bullshit.”

She sighs and puts her pen down. “I really don’t,” she says, “I broke it a week ago and I can’t afford another one.” She hopes the square outline of a smartphone in her pocket isn’t visible once she stands up.

His smile dissipates. “You better not be lying to me.”

That registers as a threat. She tries not to shrink, holds herself steady.

Diane, the other, older female nurse, comes through the swinging door of the nurses station.

Benny backs off the counter and leaves, scowling.

She lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

She should have told him off, explained to him that she would rather jump into a ravine full of crocodiles than give him her phone number. She at least likes crocodiles.

She’d like to think she’s never felt this helpless, but she’s wrong. Growing up in  foster care, she had met plenty of men like Benny. It grew hair on her chest, so to speak, formed her into a protector for those who needed one. But all those traumatic experiences never made it easier for her to stand up for herself . If anything, they made it much harder.

She can’t focus on the paperwork, not when Benny is here and she hates herself for not telling him to fuck off. So, she decides to round on her patients - one in particular she’s very worried about.  Although he did cross a line, the line was already breached anyway, and she can’t convince him or herself that she’s mad at him for it. First of all, because that would be admitting to him that he can get under her skin even further than he’s already burrowed, and, second of all, because admitting she’s angry at him would be establishing that she has some sort or relationship with him outside of the professional one. In a provider patient scenario, it’s often the case that the patient feels weak and helpless, especially if the provider is weird towards them. If John finds out she feels drawn to him like she does, he will probably hate her and think she’s a creep. She doesn’t want to put him in a position where he has to tiptoe around her.

Trying to lie to herself, reasoning that this is her job and John is her patient and she needs to check on him periodically anyway, she stands up and pushes her chair in. A bunch of people have been discharged over the past few days, and her case load is light tonight - light enough to be boring. She only has three patients including John. The other two sleep soundly, both with only one wrist cuffed to the bed. One has an IV running fluid, the other a broken arm.

She knows that John won’t be sleeping.

She’s right, he’s not asleep, but he’s got other company tonight. Mike stands beside his bed with his phone held to John’s face. The blue light of the screen illuminates John’s attempted smile. It’s a polite, slight upward turn of his mouth for Mike’s benefit, but when he catches her eyes, it turns genuine. 

She smiles back.

Mike doesn’t notice her, flips through his phone pictures. John has seen at least twenty photos or more of his grandkid’s since the janitor began talking to him tonight.

“And that’s my daughter-in-laws little girl, Ashlee.”

She almost steps back out to leave them to it, but John catches her with his voice. He says her name and Mike turns around, smiling wide.

They both greet her, and she greets back. Mike shoves his phone into his pocket and looks at her apologetically. “I suppose she’s here to do her job, and here I am slacking off,” he jokes.

She chuckles. “How dare you take a break, Mike, you know we don’t get those.”

“Right, right,” Mike sighs, sarcastic, “must have forgotten. My age is finally getting to me.”

“You’re like 30,” she tells him, waving a dismissing hand in the air.

“Aw, I love this girl,” Mike giggles, looking at John. “Best nurse in the building, you’re lucky to have her.”

She rolls her eyes, flushing, still smiling. “If you keep lying, you’ll go to hell.”

“Well, I hope so. I already bought my ticket.” He nudges John with an elbow softly, winking down at him. “I’ll leave you kids to it and get back to work.”

Mike starts to walk out, mop bucket in tow, but stops, addressing John, the surprisingly awake guards, and herself.

“Why did the chicken cross the road?” He asks.

“Why?” She grins wide in preparation for the punchline.

“Nobody knows,” Mike sighs. He looks off into the distance, adopting a dramatic, grave expression. “But the road will have its revenge.” With that, he is gone.

She’s the only one that laughs, but one of the guards snorts. John’s smile perks.

She focuses her attention on the man cuffed to the bed.

“I don’t need anything,” he tells her before she asks. “But, I’m glad you came in.”

“That’s my job,” she shrugs.

“I really am sorry,” John says, looking like he means it with his droopy, apologetic eyes. It makes her heart seize to see him moping like a dejected dog.

“Don’t be sorry because you’re right,” she says, past the point of giving a shit what she talks to him about or what he knows about her. Maybe this is her way of living dangerously because of a shitty existence. Some people choose meth, she chooses alcohol and alluring prisoners. We all have our vices.

“Maybe not,” he says, “you’re alive, that’s saying something.”

She laughs without humor. “But I can’t pay my rent, and I can’t afford food.”

She waits for him to say something mean like ‘you clearly look like you can afford food ’, but instead, he thinks critically on her situation for a moment. “Do you have a partner, children?”

“No.”

Then who hit you. “Get a roommate.”

It’s so simple, and so easily slides from his mouth, and she can’t believe she didn’t think about it before. A roommate could help her afford rent, especially in New York where it is obscenely high. And she could ask for first months, which would give her half the payment she needs while waiting for her own supply of money. Perhaps a portion would delay eviction.

She stares at him. “That’s actually a great idea.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I have those.”

She laughs again, but there’s humor back in it. “You shouldn’t be in prison, John. You should be an advice counselor.”

“That’s what I keep telling them, but I don’t think they’re listening.” His dry humor makes her giggle harder, enough that the security guards glance over at them curiously.

“No, really, you’re a genius, thank you for that. And I forgive you.”

He just hopes she can pick someone who’s not a scumbag, but based on her judge of character so far, that’s highly unlikely. Maybe he shouldn’t have suggested it.

“Good. Now I can live with myself.” She thinks he’s joking but the only funny thing about it is he’s really not.

[ohmyamor]

Zoro!Mingi

inspired by the live action one piece netflix recently did...

I've never watched the anime and I know absolutely nothing about the lore, I'm literally just going based off my obsession with mackenyu and mingi so please bear with me

thinking about Mingi as Zoro...

hear me out

pink haired, buzzcut Ming??

just green instead

iconic if I do say so

anyway

you live a simple life on a little, fairly unknown island in the East Blue

of course, you're well aware of pirates, it's impossible to live here and NOT have any exposure to them

or their drama

but nonetheless, you stay out of it

you wake up in the morning in your humble little home and go to and from work at the bar

which isn't even really a bar

more like a hang out spot for people who happen to pass by

at most, the bar has like, 10 customers, but even then, they never get too rowdy

it's a simple life, but you're grateful for the peace and quiet

and the stability

so when you wake up one fine morning, you really don't expect anything to be different today

after all, you've lived here for years, and as mundane as it sounds, every day has been the same, day in and day out

you do your morning routine, splashing some water on your face and making yourself a simple breakfast, some lightly toasted bread with butter

and a small glass of milk

you were craving some coffee, but your stash was running a little low and you were not in the mood to go to the market anytime soon to stock up

so, after getting ready and eating your breakfast, you grab your small satchel and leave the house, heading to work

you wave hello to your boss and your other coworker as you walk in, being greeted back enthusiastically by the latter

after putting on your frayed apron and tying your hair up, you walk back out and began helping your coworker wipe down some of the tables

it was a quiet day, only two lone patrons in the entire building

eventually, your boss had disappeared to some unknown area

(probably to flirt with the owner from the store next door, but that's none of your business)

you had sent your coworker on her break, despite her insistence on staying to help you out

"Unless a band of pirates or the marines show up requesting an absurd amount of liquor, I think I'll be just fine managing the two people here" you said

taking a glance at the older man who was passed out on the table with multiple bottles of beer surrounding him, you continued

"and I don't think he'll be much of a problem anyways"

sighing, your coworker relented and thanked you, taking off her apron and disappearing into the back

the sound of the wooden beads that acted as a curtain clinking together brought you out of your thoughts

"welcome in!" you called out, bending down to grab the rag you had dropped before standing back up

the first thing you noticed about the man was just how big he was

he was tall and incredibly well-proportioned

his shoulders were wide and you could easily see the muscles in his arms thanks to the almost-too-small shirt he wore

wrapped around his tiny waist was a black cloth, and hanging from there were sheaths that carried not one, but three swords

quirking a brow, you allowed your gaze to creep up the man's body and towards his face

his hair was cut short, but it was also incredibly green

he had three earrings hanging from his left ear that swayed with every shift of the man's head

the man's face was beautiful, in a somewhat terrifying way

he had plump lips and a strong, straight nose

he had high cheekbones that could probably cut through glass and his eyes were perhaps the most beautiful, yet most intimidating things you had ever seen in your life

you watched as his eyes carefully scanned the room before spotting your figure

slowly, the man made his way to the corner of the bar and pulled out the seat before sitting down

he let out a loud sigh through his nose and looked over at you

"Three beers please"

his voice was so deep, deeper than the ocean surrounding your little island

"Coming right up" you turned around, grateful for an excuse to do something so you wouldn't get caught ogling

quickly grabbing three bottles from the cooler, you popped them open before placing them in front of the man

you sent him a small smile "Let me know if I can get you anything else"

he nodded in thanks before grabbing the first bottle and tossing it back

turning back around, you busied yourself with wiping down the back of the counter, sending occasional glances towards the green-haired man

a few minutes passed of you sneaking glances towards the man before you were startled by the loud sounds of yelling

looking up, you noticed a group of men, pirates, who had entered the bar

they were loud and rowdy, everything a pirate typically was, and you internally sighed

here we go

the pirates walked up to the counter and obnoxiously sat themselves down, ignoring the loud scraping of the chairs from how aggressively they had pulled them out

one of the men eyed you standing there and beckoned you over with a wave of his hand

grimacing, you placed a fake smile on your face and walked over

"what can I help y'all with?"

you could feel the eyes of the pirates moving up and down your body and resisted the urge to shiver

"get us the hardest liquor you have, in bulk, sweet thing"

you internally rolled your eyes, sending the man a curt nod

"coming right up"

-

an hour had passed since the green-haired man and the group of pirates had walked in

your coworker had since come back from her break, and, feeling bad for the poor girl's terrified looks toward the pirates, offered to take care of them while she attended to any of the other patrons

that unfortunately included the man with the swords who had first caught your eye, but you shrugged it off

he seemed to keep to himself, so you figured you could still admire him from afar

meanwhile, the group of pirates you had offered to take care of were slowly testing your patience

ignoring the copious amounts of alcohol they were consuming (you're pretty sure they were about to drink your work dry), they had become increasingly disruptive

the majority of the group were all incredibly drunk, shouting and yelling at anyone who supposedly looked at them wrong and breaking glasses and chairs, practically anything they touched

they had even begun to shout at you whenever they wanted more alcohol

while, to a certain extent, you were used to this, it doesn't mean it didn't get on your nerves

"GIRL!" a loud shout sounded out throughout the room

you sighed, turning around

"get us more alcohol now!" one of the men slurred

he could barely sit up straight and was leaning most of his body weight onto the passed out man next to him

"I'm sorry sir, but I'm afraid I can't give you anymore," you sent him a strained smile

the man's face dropped and a scowl appeared on his face

"what do you mean? You bitch, you're probably keeping it from us!"

his face turned red in anger and he slammed his hand onto the counter

you barely flinched, staring the man down

"Sorry sir, but you and your crew are being too disruptive so I'm not allowed to give you any more drinks today"

turning around, you were about to begin washing some of the other cups when the feeling of something flying past your ear stopped you

something shattered on the wall right next to your head

the gasp of your coworker seemed to echo throughout the otherwise quiet bar

freezing, you glanced down at the floor only to see the remains of a glass cup

"If you don't want that cup to be aimed at your head, you'll bring us more drinks," the man shouted

you turned around angrily

"get out of my bar," you looked at the man in his eyes

he let out a sarcastic laugh

"I'm not listening to some stupid little girl," he snarled

"I'm not going to tell you again, get out of my bar or I have no problem making sure you and your crew will never be allowed to dock at this island ever again"

Can I actually do that? No. But he doesn't need to know that, you thought, secretly praying he wouldn't realize you were bluffing

the man snarled and within a split second, he was lunging across the counter with his arms outreached, attempting to grab you by the throat

you flinched, throwing your arms up in an attempt to protect yourself as much as physically possible from the angry pirate

but hands never came

opening your eyes, you blinked down at the floor before carefully looking up past your forearms

you saw the pirate who had lunged at you frozen with one leg on top of the counter and two hands outstretched

his eyes were wide and they looked downwards

following his eyesight, you couldn't help but gape at the long blade that was being held mere centimeters away from the man's throat

you followed the blade up its hilt and up the arm that was holding it only to find at the end, the green-haired man

he wasn't even looking at the pirate, sitting almost casually at the counter with his other arm preoccupied holding his beer

throwing the last remaining liquid down his throat, the man wiped his mouth before throwing a sideways glance at the pirate whom he still held his blade against his throat

"I think the lady asked you to get out of her bar."

the man's voice was even deeper, if possible

almost as if his voice broke whatever trance the entire bar seemed to be in, all hell broke loose the second those words left the green-haired man's mouth

the other pirates all but growled, immediately yanking out their own swords and charging towards the man

who still sat completely unfazed

"hey!-"

before you could even say anything, the green-haired man was up and had one of his swords drawn

almost as if he was fighting against children, the man was able to completely knock out every single pirate who had charged at him within seconds

you stood behind the counter, staring at him in awe

he didn't even look like he was sweating

the man stood with his sword drawn and pointed at the pirate who had initially lunged at you, head faced downwards

slowly, he looked up and cocked a brow at the pirate

"your move"

the pirate scowled and, grabbing his hat from where it lay on the bar, walked out of the room yelling profanities

and leaving his passed out crew behind

gaping, you watched as the man gracefully sheathed his sword and slowly sat back down in his original seat

you stared at him for a few seconds before grabbing something from beside you and walking over to where the man sat

you placed another beer on the counter and slowly slid it toward him

he glanced at the beer and then up at you

"A thank you," you started, "for stopping that man from trying to kill me."

the man nodded and wordlessly grabbed the bottle, taking a long sip

" I hate pirates like that," he spoke lowly

you nodded

"part of the job unfortunately," you shrugged

the man hummed

it was silent for a few seconds

"what's your name?" you asked curiously

the man glanced up at you through his eyelashes

bringing the beer to his mouth, he spoke over the rim of the bottle

"Mingi."

you nodded

"Mingi.." you tested the name on your tongue

"Well, Mingi, thank you again for helping me. If you ever need anything, I owe you one," you swore, holding out your pinky

the man, Mingi, looked down at your finger before looking back at you with a questioning look

"pinky promises can't be broken," you explained

it was silent for a moment as Mingi stared at your hand

you were about to pull your hand back, feeling embarrassed that you were using a childish action to make a promise

even if you wholeheartedly believed in it

but then

another pinky linked with yours

looking up, you saw Mingi already staring at you, a small smirk resting on his face

"I'll hold you to that, doll."

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

the writing gods have blessed me with inspiration and motivation to write