#someone save these two idiots from themselves | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

peachesofteal · 3 months

Text

Leave

Part two the Sassy Series but can be read as a standalone.

Simon Riley/female reader 3.5k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ Angst, PTSD, canon typical violence, bombs, blood and injury. Smut, oral sex - fem receiving, praise kink, creampie. Unplanned pregnancy. Everyone is bad at feelings. He's like a bomb. Note: This was never posted to Tumblr, so in honor of the series and to complete the masterlist I decided to clean it up a bit and bring it over here.

The truck is a silent tomb.

Rigid, hard lines of muscle hold themselves still without quiver, eyes darting from the road to the floor, hands to feet. No one speaks. Soap’s fingers tap restlessly on his leg, and occasionally, he peeks around before refocusing his vision on something in the distance, something you’re not even sure exists.

The only one really looking at anyone, is Ghost. He’s staring daggers at you in the rearview mirror, fire blazing in his irises, heat so intense it forces your head down towards your knees. Even Gaz looks away from you now, occasionally nudging his thigh against your own, but keeping his gaze fixed out the window.

You’re fucked.

Simon explodes as soon as you’re all unloaded inside the gates. He detonates like a bomb, raw fury rippling through the air, impact radius large enough that it sends nearly everyone else scurrying. “Sass.” Your call sign is rough on his lips. He motions for you to step away, forcing you out from where you’re lurking close to Soap, rage, and something else, something secret, simmering beneath the surface, something you barely glean a glimpse of when he towers over you.

“Ghost. Listen-“ you hiss, fingers flying to push his hulking body away, anger boiling in your blood. He scoffs, like you’re so easily dismissed. Like you’re a child.

“You’re losin’ it Sass. I don’t know, and I don’t care how you used to operate, but we don’t pull shit like that in the 141.”

“Fuck you, Sim-“

“Don’t use my name right now.” The paint around his eyes is cracked, revealing small swaths of skin, the crinkle of crow’s feet. “You had no idea what you were doing out there!” He yells, and you snap backwards instinctively. “You were operating blind, like a fuckin’ idiot. Cap, and everyone else, seems to think you’re a world class operator but today all I saw was stupidity. Are you stupid, Sass?” His raised voice has captured Soap’s attention, who drifts closer and closer to where the two of stand. “I asked you a question.” Ghost snaps, and you want to melt into the ground.

“No.” you whisper. It’s too much. This is too much.

“Then why would you do something like that?” He snarls, and you shy away. You’ve never seen him like this. You’ve seen him ruthless, cold blooded, laser focused on target. You’ve watched him shove a pistol in another man’s eye socket and pull the trigger, torture someone, and in the same breath, turn around and save a child from a burning building.

But you’ve never seen this. Gunpowder and rage. Metal and carnage.

You’re about to ask him what the hell his problem is when Soap steps between you both, hand out towards Ghost like he’s trying to gentle a scared animal.

“Take it easy, LT.” You use the distraction to make your escape before he can see the tears that are trying slip down your face.

Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry.

“D’ye wan’ talk about it?” Soap sits with a thud next you, soft blue eyes shining in the setting sun.

“I think you got the gist.”

“LT can be kind of intense, but don’t take it personally.”

Don’t take it personally.

Don’t take it personally that last week he was shoving his cock down your throat, telling you how good you were.

Don’t take it personally that last week, when you woke up sweating and shaking, he pressed his face to yours with a whisper. “Just a nightmare Sass, I’ve got you.”

Don’t take it personally, that five, six months ago in Belize, he was screaming in a field medic’s face, promising to hurt them if you died.

Don’t take it personally.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He shrugs, slapping you on the back playfully.

“Get some sleep, lass.” Across the gap between two tents, Price and Ghost stand with their arms crossed, murmured words drifting on the wind.

Price glances at you. His mouth moves. Ghost nods, and then leaves.

Great.

A day passes, then another.

Then a week, then two.

Ghost- Simon, vanishes from your life. Evacuates whenever he sees you coming. At first, you tried to run him down, tried to corner him, get him to talk to you, but he’s too smart, applying his tactical prowess to his new mission: avoiding you at all costs.

One day, you catch sight of his retreating back around a corner and sprint after him, calling his name, not his call sign.

He ignores you.

He’s not Simon anymore, at least not to you. He’s Ghost.

You give up. You have enough sense to know when you’re not wanted.

“Sassafrass!” Johnny gleefully calls out as you duck into the ten for the briefing. Ghost tenses like he’s just stepped on a landmine, but you roll your eyes. Dickhead. You position yourself as far away from him as possible, just to the right of Soap, out of view.

He doesn’t even look at you anymore, anyway. Not like it matters.

“It’s an easy extraction, get in, grab the target, get out. Don’t over complicate it.” You nod your understanding, and Price gives you a smile. “Sassy, you and Soap will tackle the southeast side of the building from the back door. Gaz and Ghost will come through north. We’ll meet in the middle.” Again, you nod, and Soap grins at you like a goofy faced teenager. “Alright. Let’s load up.” You shimmy your backpack high above your hips and roll your shoulders, partially listening to your partner’s excited, halfcocked thesis on entry tactics.

It's the behavior that catches your attention. The guy looks nervous, skin gleaming with the sickly sheen of anxious sweat, tense and poised, like he’s waiting for something.

You’ve seen it before. Too many times.

“Soap.” You whisper. Your tone is dead serious, and he turns with a question in his eye.

“What’s got ye spooked?” Your gaze flicks over to the guy you’ve flagged. You shake your head, just as your target is swinging his backpack around and unzipping the top pouch.

You try to warn Soap.

You press your comm and try to tell the 141.

You manage to do neither before the world explodes.

Your eyes open to pandemonium. People are screaming. Kids are crying. You can hardly see, debris and smoke from the explosion making your eyes water and practically blotting out the sun.

There’s blood on your face.

Everyone is scattered. The screaming echoes around you, mirroring the screaming in your mind.

Where are you?

Your comm’s been knocked loose. Your gun is gone.

Your body is not your own. It’s acting on instinct. Fight. Flight. Push. Pull.

It shoves everything down. Everything your brain can’t compartmentalize right now gets locked away in a dark place. You can feel it all, later.

Right now, you have to survive.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Soap yells over the noise, snapping you out of autopilot. He’s somewhere behind you, sense of relief making you dizzy when you turn and see him crouched next to a large chunk of concrete. Thank fuck.

“Johnny? Shit.”

“Yeah. Shite. What was that?”

“A bomb.” You say, dryly. He gives you a dirt look.

“We’ve gotta split, lass.” The ground has a unique dirt pattern to it. The grains are all a different size, different shades of reds, greys, brown. Where are you? They work together, forming a chaotic design, one blanket of earth, dust and dirt swirling together and- where are you, where are you, where- “Sassy!” Soap’s face careens into your point of view. It looks distorted. You jerk backwards, the quick movement making your head spin. “You okay?”

“Where are we?” The words stick to the roof of your mouth. He gives you an odd look.

“Hey, Sassy. You alright?”

“I’m good. Yeah. All good.” A pause. A deep breath. A denial. “You got comms?”

“Negative.”

“Great.”

Johnny is bleeding. You didn’t notice right away, but the crimson stain spreads under his shirt near his hip, and your panic returns, ice slowly spreading through your veins, threatening to freeze you where you stand.

“You’re hurt.” You pat his shoulder, and he nods.

“We’ve got to find the others. Or the truck.”

You can’t find the god damn truck. You have no comms. No guns, only your combat knife and two grenades between the two of you, and Soap is actively bleeding.

It looks bad.

It feels even worse.

“Maybe we should just sit tight.” He grunts, and you startle.

“Yeah. Yeah, Johnny. Let’s just sit here, in the middle of active territory, with no comms, no guns, in the middle of the street. When you’re fucking bleeding out from your gut.” You snap. Confusion flickers across his face. You never snap at him. Gaz? Maybe. Ghost, yeah. Even Price sometimes. But never Johnny. “Sorry. Sorry, Soap. My head is still spinning from the blast.”

“It’s alright, lass.” His voice is calm, smooth. You can feel him watching you from the corner of your eye before he straightens, head turning the other direction. “There’s a hostel, a few clicks down the road. Want to give it a go? They probably have a phone.” You look at him, and then down the length of your own body, tallying and subtracting, plus or minus the odds.

Fuck it.

It’s not very far, but it feels like a full days’ walk. Your head is still buzzing, proximity to the blast too close, too much, too familiar. It’s scrambled your brain, and you find yourself trying to focus on the back of Soap’s head, breathing through your nose. One foot in front of the other.

Somewhere, a block or two away, a car backfires.

Your muscles flex, and you flatten against the side of the building. Soap is talking to you, but you’re immobile, and you can’t hear him. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Something kickstarts in the back of your brain and your feet move. You give him a nod.

The woman behind the desk is terrified of you. Her eyes go round when you approach, gesturing to the phone, and she hands it over immediately, nervously looking between you and Soap, who’s slumped over in a plastic chair, bleeding.

You dial the number you know by heart without pause.

Soap is leaning against you when the truck roars around the corner, dust fogging the air beneath its wheels. He’s doing alright, your rudimentary medical skills coming in clutch when you decided to pack his wound as you waited, and the woman at the desk kindly gave you some towels for pressure. You flag them down, Price white knuckled behind the wheel, familiar skull mask in the seat next to him.

Your heart sinks.

He’s going to kill you.

When he jumps from the passenger seat, he looks anything but angry. His eyes are frantic behind the mask, wide and darting from you to Soap, pulling him from your side into his as you get closer.

“Johnny.” He says gruffly, and Soap cracks a smile.

“S’all good, Sassafrass patched me up.” He groans, and Ghost loads him into the backseat, sliding in beside him as you take the spot up front.

You’re numb. Price is asking you questions, and you’re answering as best you can, surprised when he seems satisfied after the play the play. He even says you’ve done well, the praise from your captain warming a little spot in your cold body. You nod robotically, shallow smile on your face, and check on Soap in the rear-view mirror, relieved that he’s got good color in his cheeks, still breathing.

You catch Ghost’s eyes in the reflection. They burn into you from behind the mask, pulling you apart to see inside. He doesn’t blink, and you turn away, uneasy.

You stumble away from everyone after you give Johnny a pat on the head. He’s still smiling, and squeezes your hand affectionately, medical team carting him away to receive actual care.

He’s fine. We got here in time.

You’re staring at the blood in the sink when someone tries the door handle. After it doesn’t budge, a heavy fist thumps against the thin plywood.

“Someone’s in here.” You croak. The fist bangs again, and you sigh, swinging it open to tell whoever it is to go away.

Except, it’s Ghost standing on the other side.

“Fuck off.” The bewildered words come easily, and his eyes narrow. He shoulders through the door, slamming it shut, large hands gripping onto your shoulders and then tugging you into chest, heavy arms pressing you so tight into him that you’re having trouble breathing.

Your heart flips over.

He holds you, in silence, for a moment that feels like a decade. The balaclava scuffs along the top of your head, and he steps back, still clutching you by the arms, looking you up and down.

“Where are you hurt?” He shifts, thumb stroking a tender spot above your temple where you have a scratch, pulling the wet cloth in your grip free and dabbing it to the side of your head gently.

“N-no. I’m not. Just Soap. I’m fine.”

“Good. That’s… that’s good.” You stare like he’s grown two heads.

“Ghost.” You’re cautious, unsure. Confused. You don’t know what’s happening, why he’s standing in the bathroom, caressing your face, helping you clean up. He holds the cloth under the tap, bringing it back up to your cheek. “Ghost.” You try again. Nothing. Finally, you try; “Simon.”

His hand stops moving. He’s as still as marble in the bathroom, lungs frozen in his chest.

He’s looking into your eyes with a long, dizzying gaze that has your own stunned wide, unable to blink, unable to look away.

Until he lunges for you.

He snatches you by the waist, dragging you out the bathroom and hoisting you over his shoulder. You yelp. “Simon, what the fu-“

“Hush.” He swats your ass like you’re a petulant child, beelining for your tent.

Sometime in the night, when the base is somewhat quiet and the lamp light has dimmed, he folds you in half on the threadbare mattress, pressing your legs back towards your ear, eyes trained on where your cunt flutters for him, clenching around nothing as you wriggle and try to press your thighs together for friction.

“None of that. Be good.” He admonishes.

“Simon. Please.” You’re not too proud to beg in this moment, that’s what nearly dying will do to you. You need him.

He sinks to his knees, still framed between your legs, and rolls the bottom of the balaclava to his nose.

It’s the first time you’ve ever really seen the skin on his face in such a large amount. No paint. No skull. No black cloth. Just his jaw, broad and sharp. His lips, full and wet, flash of tongue darting out from behind his teeth, mouth hot against your pussy, thumbs spreading you open to have his fill.

“There she is.” He murmurs, lips on your clit like a lover’s kiss. His tongue seeks your swollen nub under its hood, and it’s so much, warmth of your body, his face, all of it melting into your skin. Your heel pushes against the mattress as you rock your hips up into his mouth and he chuckles, a hand pressing down on your lower belly. “You taste good, Sass.” You clench, twitching, getting close, orgasm barreling through your nerves, body moving in tandem with each swipe of his tongue, muscles seizing-

He pulls away, hand wiping his face and rocking backwards on his knees.

“What the fuck?” You screech, propping yourself up on your elbows. He’s loosening his belt, and you can’t resist reaching, wrapping your fingers around the throbbing length of his cock. He snatches your hand away, holding you by your wrist and bending you back down, laying his weight on top of you and pushing inside your cunt with a single thrust. It’s been months, yet your body yields to him immediately, aching burn fizzling out as your walls flutter and you whine.

“My girl.” He moans, fucking into you like a man starved. “My good girl.” You stutter out a response, some jumbled nonsense that sounds like his name, sounds like Simon. “My sweet girl, takin’ my cock like you were made for it.” He rears back, pulling your leg to his shoulder, foot dangling next to his ear.

“Fuck, Simon. Don’t- don’t stop please-“ His thumb continues in a circle on your clit, pleasure shooting through your muscles.

“Are you going to come?” you nod furiously, eyes clenched shut. “Look at me.” He bears down on you, gripping your face, and you find his usual guarded gaze nowhere, nothing between the two of you, just two raw currents slamming against one another they’re sparking. You can’t look away.

He thumbs your clits hard, giving you more as he thrusts, rising crescendo forcing insane noises from your mouth, sounds you don’t even recognize, gasping as your orgasm rolls over you like you’ve been hit by a truck. You tighten around him like a vice, and he swears, burying himself deep, walls pulsing around him, pulling his orgasm into you with ease.

You both slips into uneasy sleep, his body wrapped around yours so tight it almost hurts. Your dreams are broken, shattered fragments of bombs from past and present; voices screaming, friends pleading. You scream, pain and fear scratching under your skull, an attack, and bombardment you didn’t see coming. He holds you, soothes you, kisses you, still tense, coiled, ready to spring if need be.

“I got you, Sass. I’m here.” His voice is soft in the dark, fingers smoothing the sweat dampened skin of your face. “I’ve got you.”

Two days later, he rips the rug right out from under your feet.

“What the FUCK is this?” you brandish the stack of papers in your hands at Simon, who sits calmly in the corner of the tent. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t acknowledge your shrieking, your voice reaching frantic pitches of incredulity.

“Can’t have you here.” He says simply, like that’s all the explanation that’s needed. You’re vibrating, rattling with fury, with fear.

“You reported an intimate relationship with Price, to get rid of me?” His eyes narrow behind the mask, but he doesn’t deny you. “Oh my fucking god, Simon.” You laugh, and it’s sour, spoiled. Rotten, like the sickness that’s turning your stomach. This has to be a joke.

“I can’t have you here.” He repeats himself like a broken record, before he’s on his feet and heading for the exit.

“Simon!” You hiss at his retreat, but it’s far too late. It’s too late for all of this. He’s already gone.

He doesn’t come to say goodbye. Johnny shuffles out to the airfield to give you a hug, Gaz and Price with him. Betrayal burns the back of your eyelids as you shake hands with your captain, and he gives you a knowing look. A sad look.

When the helicopter banks over the tents, you see the black spot of someone standing outside, face turned up to the sky, and you stare at the white and black skull until it disappears from view completely.

You’re restless.

Your house is a skeleton, the walls of the rooms empty, silence so loud you swear you can feel it reverberating in the floors. You were technically on leave, but available for transfer, even though you hadn’t put in for anything, and hadn’t put any feelers out for private sector either. There was something glitching in your brain. Something serious after that last explosion. The whispers of self-doubt echo in your mind. You were off after that bomb, there’s no denying it.

You’ve tried to cleanse yourself of it. Of him. Of everything. You stand under the spray of the shower and scrub your skin until it hurts, letting the bathroom become so thick with steam it’s hard to see. It’s the only thing that relaxes you. It’s the only place that feels quiet.

It’s three weeks later when you start to get sick. At first, you think it’s a bug and expect it to pass. You have a hard time keeping anything down, your stomach sending food and water right back up your throat, forcing you to sip electrolytes throughout the day to keep from crashing.

When four days of the same turn into five, and then six, and then a week, you start to get nervous. You start to do the math.

That’s how you end up in the drugstore, staring at the selection of pregnancy tests. Just to rule it out. You tell yourself. There is no way you’re pregnant. You were good with your pills. You rarely ever missed one. Better safe than sorry.

The test glares at you, fully aware of much an affront it is.

“This can’t be happening.” You whisper to yourself in the mirror. “This isn’t right.” Fear ricochets up your spine.

Fuck. Simon.

#sassy series #peaches writes #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader

440 notes · View notes

milksnake-tea · 4 months

Text

━━ duty calls.

Created around the same time and having trained with one another, you and Casper have always butted heads. You'd compete over seemingly anything - how many souls one could reap, the days one could go without catching soul sickness, and the list goes on. Casper has always found you to be obnoxious, but when he sees you crying by yourself, he finds himself torn.

grim x gn!reaper!reader

contains: fluff, hurt/comfort, set before the main storyline, reader is NOT the mc, brief mentions of child death, USAGE OF GRIM'S REAL NAME, reader is a little shit

word count: 4.2k

a/n: FORGIVE ME IF THE WORLDBUILDING IS OFF I WAS TRYING MY BEST and ive only done one ending oops (finals hurts okay :((( ) also ... im not sure if reapers names are classified just to mortals and not other reapers but ykw imma take my liberties

"Seriously, do you ever get tired?"

Casper groaned irritatedly, running a hand through his snow-like hair. Blood like rust coated his scythe, spoils from his most recent hunt. The corpse still lay fresh in front of him, but their skin was cold and their eyes dead.

Boisterous laughter erupted above him. Sitting on the balcony of some person’s apartment, you grinned down at him - that infuriating, shit-eating grin that never failed to tick him off.

You kicked your legs childishly as you leaned back over the railing. Nestled against the crook of your arm was a scythe similar to his own, save for the more detailed design and color palette. Unlike him, you would constantly say, you liked to live a little.

Bold words coming from a bringer of death.

“Don’t blame me for you being slow,” you called down to him. Casper rolled his eyes, crossing his arms as he glared up at you.

“I am not ‘slow’,” he grumbled. “You’re too eager. And get down from there, you’ll be spotted.”

You tilted your head. “It’s like, 3 A.M. What kind of idiot’s gonna be awake at this hour?”

“You’d be surprised. Humans will do anything but take care of themselves.”

“I guess,” you sighed, jumping down. You twirled your scythe absentmindedly, Casper leaning back to avoid getting hacked to pieces.

“Be careful with that,” he scolded. You, of course, ignored him.

“So are these the last of the guys?” you wondered, kicking at a corpse with your foot.

The alleyway was practically lined with bodies, so many that management had called upon both you and Casper to deal with the remnants of the massacre. Gang fights were a pain to deal with, second only to pandemics and war.

“It would seem so.” Casper gave you a look, to which you responded by sticking out your tongue. You were very mature, after all.

You stretched thankfully, rolling out your shoulder. “Thank God, I was starting to get depressed from all the dead people.”

“If you’re getting depressed from just this, perhaps you should consider a different career choice.”

“Nah.” You smiled. “If I left, who would I bully? You’d get all sad and lonely without me.”

“Hardly,” Casper scoffed. “If anything, I’d be relieved.”

“You wound me.”

“Good.”

“So mean,” you pouted. Casper paid you no attention, as per usual. It didn’t matter, though, since you immediately perked back up. “Hey, boo?”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“I have an idea.” And just like that, your cheshire grin returned. Casper sighed, already beginning to walk off.

“How wonderful,” he said sarcastically. “Share it with someone else.”

“Uh-uh, no.” As quick as a flash, your scythe was out, the blade curving in front of Casper to prevent his escape. “This one’s good, I swear.”

“Your definition of what is and isn’t a good idea needs some desperate fixing.” Still, he made no move to escape, instead turning around to face you.

“Let’s race.”

Casper raised a brow. “Race?”

You nodded eagerly, your eyes shining like jewels. In the darkness of the alleyway, the two of you were illuminated only by the neon blue lights of the city. Yet, as that same blue was captured in your eyes, Casper was reminded of a kaleidoscope, changing and turning in a multitude of different colors.

It was… captivating.

“If I win, you have to buy me a drink.”

Casper snapped out of his daze, a light flush blooming across his fair skin. Thankfully, though, you didn’t seem to notice, too entranced by another one of your ridiculous competitions. Seriously, there had to be a limit to how unprofessional you could be.

“You assume I have the time to buy you one,” he said with faux calmness, grateful for the night’s shadows hiding his complexion. You huffed.

“You could do it while you’re rebalancing yourself,” you said, as though it was obvious. “Besides, it doesn’t have to be anything big, just a coffee or a tea would be nice.”

“Fine, let’s say I stoop down to your level and agree to this… race,” said Casper. “What do I get if I win?”

You shrugged. “Then I'll just buy you a drink.”

Casper shook his head. “I’m not like you. I don’t drink on the job.”

“But you do cuddle an axolotl plushie when you sleep,” you pointed out. Instantly, Casper flushed red.

“Wha- What does that have to do with anything?!” he protested.

"I just thought about it randomly," you shrugged. "But seriously, that thing is huge, where did you get it?"

“Never mind how I got it," Casper crossed his arms and averted his eyes, his bottom lip turning up in a pout. “We’re getting off track.”

“Oh, so now you care about my games,” you teased. “Anyways, on how I’ll reward you…”

You spun your scythe back to your side, tapping its staff against the ground as you thought of a fitting reward.

“Oh! How about this?” You snapped your fingers, a figurative light bulb lighting up next to you. “You get to cash in one favor from me.”

“Any favor?” A smirk creeped onto Casper’s face, his interest finally piqued. “That’s a dangerous game you’re playing, [Name].”

“As long as it’s within reason and isn’t embarrassing,” you snapped, crossing your arms. “If you make me kiss your feet or something like that, I’ll kick your ass.”

“Of course,” Casper chuckled knowingly. “So, where to and when are we racing?”

“Hey, if you weren’t paying attention to the rules, then that's your fault. As for when the race starts, how about… now.”

“Wha- Hey!” Casper barely dodged as you shot past him in a blur of black. Hooking your scythe into the walls, you stuck out your tongue at him as you propelled yourself through the night.

“So long, Casp!”

Casper cursed under his breath. Quickly, he made haste to follow you. He flew through the air like a bird, twisting around light poles, skyscrapers, and billboards alike.

You weren’t as elegant, instead jumping from building to building like a modern superhero. You’d catapult yourself through the sky using your scythe as leverage, your laughter echoing in the slumbering city - free like the wind.

Casper didn’t have to follow you long to know where you were heading towards. Invisible to the mortal eye, yet painfully obvious to the eyes of reapers, was an entrance to the Underworld, a whirlpool of black and red that led straight down to your home.

As you launched yourself into the air once again, Casper came up next to you, his hair billowing in the cold night wind like smoke.

“Nice of you to join me,” you teased, elbowing him in the side. Casper rolled his eyes once again, speeding up. “Hey!”

Smoky tendrils of crimson and ink curled around your figures as the two of you neared the portal. The center of the whirlpool was a void seemingly leading to the abyss itself, but you’ve worked in this job long enough to know just what lay beneath.

True to his character, Casper wasted no time and shot straight into the thick of it. You, on the other hand, were a little more dramatic with your landing.

You spun in a backflip off of the last of the skyscrapers before letting gravity take you for a ride. Wind whistled past your ears as you fell, yet all you could hear was the rapid thump of your own heart. Adrenaline filled your veins. Soon, black and red lined your vision as the Underworld engulfed you.

The second you saw the tips of red-stained towers, you flipped yourself to face the ground. Closer and closer, you could practically taste it. If you delayed any longer, your life as a grim reaper could end prematurely.

Like the eyes of a devil, your pupils glowed in delight, activating your abilities. But rather than slowing your descent, you sped it up, shooting towards the ground like a missile.

Black blobs, the fuzzy images of your coworkers, scrambled to move out of your way. Turning your body, you landed hard on your heels, narrowly missing a fellow reaper.

For a moment, all you could see was dust. Before the clouds could disappear, you shook off the sting in your ankles and stretched.

“Woo!” you cheered, kicking your leg. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

“Quiet down.” Casper grabbed your shoulder and pulled you back. “Honestly, is there ever a quiet moment with you?”

You giggled. “Boo, you’ve known me long enough to know the answer to that. Oh, by the way, I’m craving some-”

“Hold it.” Casper bonked your head. “I only agreed to buy you something if you won.”

“Didn’t I?”

“No you didn’t,” Casper retorted. “Anyone with working eyes could see that I reached the ground before you did. Therefore, I won.”

“Uh, no.” You crossed your arms. “Are you gaslighting me? You’re gaslighting me. That's not very nice of you, Casp.”

“I am not gaslighting you.” Your white-haired coworker rolled his eyes. “As grim reapers, we cannot lie. Someone of your caliber should know this.”

You blinked innocently. “Did you just compliment me?”

Casper spluttered. “What in the world made you come to that conclusion?”

Taking a step forward, you leaned towards the reaper, a cheeky smile growing on your face. “You said ‘Someone of your caliber’. That means you think I’m capable.”

“You’d have to be a special kind of stupid to be incompetent after working as a reaper for so long,” Casper crossed his arms, fighting down the blush rising onto his cheeks. You were close, way too close. “Then again, I wouldn’t be surprised, seeing as how that was the only thing you heard from what I said.”

Heaving a sigh, he pushed you away with his finger.

“But don’t distract yourself from the fact that I won the race,” he said, a smug smirk replacing his exasperation.

“I was honestly trying to forget.”

Casper huffed, a pout forming on his lips. But the moment wouldn’t last long, as a ding sounded from both of your phones. When you checked it, you groaned when you saw a notification of unexpected emergency.

“Seriously?” you complained. “Overtime? Did a bunch of reapers die off or something? My soul’s going to get tainted at this rate.”

“Don’t complain.” Casper nudged you, but even you could see the irritation on his face. “It’s our job as reapers to reap souls on time, no matter what.”

“I guess. Still doesn’t make it any less annoying.”

“Agreed.” With a sigh, Casper summoned his scythe. “I must be off, now. See you on the other side, [Name].”

As he made his way back to the opening of the portal, his feet lifting off from the ground, a gloved hand reached out to grasp your chin. Gently, he guided you to look at him as he ascended.

“I look forward to cashing in on that favor.”

━

For as long as you could remember, things have always been this way.

Your earliest memory was of waking up to the crimson skies of the Underworld. Unaware and unknowing, you allowed yourself to be dragged around by older reapers, their voices blurring together in a droning buzz. Everything had gone by so quickly, and you struggled to keep up with it all.

If you were to say it bluntly, your first day felt like a fever dream.

But amidst the chaos, the tutorials, and the gifting of your first scythe, there was one thing that you remembered clearly.

“...Snow.”

Your mentor’s lecture halted at your voice, barely audible. They followed your gaze to a white-haired man, looking to be around the same age as you. Like a drowsy child, you lifted your finger and pointed at him, looking back to your mentor.

“He’s like snow.”

Their eyes softened by the tiniest bit, having seemingly realized that you were still disorientated. After all, in a sense, you had just been born.

“I suppose he is.” Putting a hand on your shoulder, they guided you away from the man. “Now, as I was saying…”

Their voice faded away into the background as the white-haired man noticed your gaze. He turned to look at you, his ruby-like eyes like blood speckles against the winter landscape. You stared at each other for only a few seconds before you turned to follow your mentor.

You quickly forgot the pretty stranger, but you would stay in his memories for quite a while before you’d cross paths again. In the darkness of the Underworld, you were like a lantern - radiating warmth and familiarity.

You were beautiful, like a flower in summer. That was, until he met you for the second time.

Swiftly and ruthlessly, holding true to your occupation as a reaper, you cut apart any premonitions he had had about you. When you were put against him to spar by your mentors, the drowsiness had worn off - instead replaced by insufferable audacity.

As your scythes clashed, sparks flying between the two of you and burning him in the process, your mouth just wouldn’t stop moving, stop talking. The innocently sleepy look on your face was replaced with a shit-eating grin as you blocked his attacks, trapping him in a frenzied dance.

“What’s wrong, boo?” you laughed, twirling your scythe to drive him back. “Don’t tell me you’re getting tired already.”

Casper’s eyebrow twitched at the nickname; you wouldn’t stop calling him that ever since you learned his real name. He didn’t understand where it came from, but just the way you said it was enough to annoy him.

“Hardly,” he scoffed, his boots kicking up dust as they skidded against the ground. He was quick to lunge back at you, his movements precise as he swung his blade. “If anything, I’d wager that you’re the one tiring out.”

“Ha!” You ducked under his attack and sprung forward, Casper’s hair tickling at your face as you came nose to nose with him. Startled, Casper had no time to react as you slammed the end of your scythe’s staff into his chest.

Before he knew it, Casper’s back was against the ground, your boot on his chest, and your scythe at his neck.

Your breaths were heavy as you looked down on him, but your eyes glowed with triumphant victory. The fight may have been more exhausting than you’d like to admit, but the view you had was well worth the effort.

Beneath you, Casper struggled to catch his own breath, his chest heaving under the soles of your foot. His white hair splayed around him like a halo, and his face was tickled pink from the fight.

Even in defeat, he was beautiful.

You leaned forward, putting your weight on your knee. Casper grunted as you pressed harder on him. Just for the fun of it, you pressed your scythe’s blade against his chin and guided him to look up at you and your grin.

“I win,” you sang mockingly.

Casper groaned, letting his head fall against the floor. You laughed heartily, stepping off of him and instead extending your hand to him. Without a second thought, Casper took it, allowing you to pull him to his feet and dust him off.

“That’s what, victory number twenty-one?” you asked, stretching. “That means I’m in the lead now, Casp.”

“Whatever,” Casper scoffed, dusting off his chest where your foot had been. “I’m sure the score will even out in no time.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you squinted at him. Casper stuck his tongue out at you.

“I don’t know, what does it mean?”

You hit his chest playfully. Casper grunted, glaring at you from the corner of his eye.

That’s how it had always been, after all. You and Casper would go back and forth in this tantalizing dance, exchanging jabs and jokes at the same time.

To Casper, you were insufferable, but annoyingly capable. To you, Casper was way too serious and stuck up, yet had that charm about him that made you want to tease him at every possible opportunity.

But for many, many years, your relationship never went further than mere friends - if Casper even wanted to call you that.

━

The day Casper’s view of you changed was like a stormy sky - dark, yet light still managed to peek through.

You’d come back to headquarters with a solemn look upon your face. For someone who had just come back from a mission, you were oddly… clean. There wasn’t a trace of blood on your clothes, yet your eyes were dark, haunted. Even your scythe’s shine seemed dull.

For the reapers, to have someone normally so loud and full of life be reduced to this, was frightening. They’d grown used to your smile, your voice, your light. You parted crowds with your uncharacteristically serious aura; if there was anything a sensible reaper feared, it was the wrath of a joyous soul.

Immediately after turning in your report to headquarters, you disappeared from the public eye.

When Casper first heard the news, he had brushed it off. You were probably just having a bad day, he tried to assure himself. Maybe you’d finally realized the grimness that came with your profession. Maybe the soul you’d reaped was especially troublesome and gave you a run for your money.

Despite his attempts to make up explanations for your behavior, he couldn’t stop the worry from gnawing at his heart. It twisted in his chest like soul sickness, an ailment that he wasn’t used to nor did he understand. It even followed him into his work, plaguing his mind and distracting him as he reaped soul after soul.

He’d made haste to return home, knowing that this illness would only worsen if he stayed out.

The Underworld was always dark, but that day, the sky was pitch black. Eager to return to the comfort of his bed, he quickly made his way to one of the many apartment complexes in which reapers resided.

However, just before he opened the door to his room, his hand stilled at the sound of crying.

Now, sadness wasn’t an uncommon emotion in the Underworld. Ghosts, sinners, and demons alike wailed and screamed their woes into the night. Their cries were as common as the sound of rushing cars in a human city.

But not for reapers, especially in their home. Reapers, at their core, were cold, emotionless, and ruthless - they needed to be, in order to do their jobs properly. A reaper’s tears were rare, almost taboo.

The more Casper listened, he soon recognized a familiar voice among those sniffles: yours.

Could it be? He looked up to the rooftop, his hand wavering. His soul pulsed in his chest, warning him to ignore you and focus on himself. But his heart argued back.

Casper glanced once more at the doorknob to his room. Cursing himself, he heaved a sigh and walked away - moving towards the staircase leading to the rooftop.

As he emerged onto the rooftop, the first thing he noticed was how clear the sky was. Its crimson blanket was more like that of a rose’s rather than bloodstains, and if he squinted, he could perhaps delude himself into seeing a few stars.

Then came you.

Casper’s heart plummeted in his chest when he saw your form curled into itself. You sat at the edge of the rooftop, your knees pulled up to your chest and your face buried in your arms. Your back was to him, but Casper saw the way your shoulders trembled.

He tried to take a step towards you, tried to reach to you with his hand, but hesitated. What would he even say? What could he say? What could he do?

His thoughts halted when you took a deep, shuddered breath, your voice raw from cry.

“What do you want, Casper.”

Casper. Not Casp, not boo, not any of the annoying nicknames that you called him by.

“I…”

He stepped back, feeling fear for perhaps the first time in his life. For the first time, he was unsure of what to do.

You couldn’t see him, but you heard him walk away and descend the staircase. You laughed hollowly, wiping at your face with your hand.

“What was I even expecting…” you muttered bitterly, gripping at your own arms for support. “Why would he of all people…”

You shut your eyes tighter. Without the company of the sky and the city, you were left alone with your thoughts. Memories of what you had witnessed laughed in your mind, latching onto you like a parasite and refusing to let go.

You were never afraid of blood, nor of death, but today, just the thought of it made you nauseous.

Something soft nudged at your elbow. Blinking your eyes open, you warily looked to your side.

However, instead of seeing a person, you came face to face with a bright pink axolotl plushie.

You and the plushie stared at each other for a good minute, neither of you knowing what to make of the other. It wasn’t until you heard a familiar, exasperated sigh from behind the plushie that you realized what it was.

“Don’t just stare at him,” Casper mumbled, pushing the plushie against you. You blinked owlishly, before hesitantly taking the plushie into your arms.

Hugging it against your chest, you rested your chin on top of its head. The plushie was oddly warm, yet comforting. Casper sat beside you, silent and gazing up towards the sky. For a while, the two of you simply sat in this silence, with the only thing breaking it being your quiet sniffles.

“...She was just a kid,” you finally spoke, catching Casper’s attention and making him look at you. You, however, kept your gaze straight ahead to the city lines, refusing to meet his gaze. “She was just a little girl, and yet they… they…”

You hugged the plushie a little tighter.

“I just can’t understand how humans can be so cruel to each other.”

Casper’s gaze turned downcast. “That’s how they’ve always been. Life is cruel, even to the purest of souls.”

“It’s not fair.”

“Hardly anything is.”

“It shouldn’t have been her. It should’ve been that bastard that murdered her.”

“He’ll get what he deserves. Karma will catch up to him.”

“But what if it doesn’t? What if he gets let off?”

“He won’t.”

Unexpectedly, you let out a snort at Casper’s deadpanned voice - so assured and serious. Casper raised a brow, looking at you inquisitively.

“You know,” you said, raising your head. “You’re somehow really bad and really good at comforting people.”

“What?” Casper wrinkled his nose. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” you said softly. “I didn’t mean it as an insult. Actually, that’s one of the things I like about you.”

“That I’m apparently a bad comforter?”

“No, silly.” You leaned your head on the plushie again, only this time you were looking at your coworker. “Your seriousness. How you’re always so confident in yourself. How even if you don’t know what you’re doing, you still try.”

Red bloomed across Casper’s face like a flowering blossom, reaching from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. He rubbed the back of his neck, averting his gaze.

“It’s not fair when you start saying things like that,” he mumbled. You giggled a little, leaning onto his shoulder with his plushie still in your arms.

“I’m just being honest,” you hummed. “Or maybe I’m coping. I dunno.”

Casper chuckled, but made no move to push you off him. You closed your eyes. The turmoil in your heart was still there, of course, but with Casper against you, it eased up just a little.

“Seriously though, thank you,” you said. “For coming up here for me and, well, everything.”

“It was nothing,” Casper replied. “You were looking pretty pathetic, all depressed and all.”

You huffed. “Just admit you care about me, Casp. Is that so hard?”

Casper grumbled something unintelligible, before lifting his arm. You squeaked as he wrapped it around your shoulders, pulling you closer against him. With your head laid against his collarbone, you could feel every breath he took as well as the rapid beat of his heart.

“[Name],” he said quietly. “Remember the favor you promised me? For winning the race?”

“Mm… yeah. What about it?”

“I’d like to cash it in right now.”

“Oh lord,” you chuckled. “Alright, what do you want?”

“Whatever happens next, don’t tell anyone,” Casper whispered.

Your lips curled into a smile. “You know, Casp, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were about to do something weird.”

You couldn’t see him, but you knew he was rolling his eyes.

“Be quiet for a moment, will you?”

You grinned. “Ah, but that’s two favors, not-”

Casper shut you up with a soft kiss to your head. It was brief, so quick that for a second you almost thought you had dreamed it.

In your stunned silence, Casper spoke again.

“Forgive me if I’m being greedy, but I’ll ask for a third favor,” he said. “No matter what happens, promise me you won’t deal with it by yourself.”

His grip around you tightened.

“Please.”

You nuzzled closer into the crook of his neck.

“...I promise.”

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

#a date with death #a date with death x reader #adwd #adwd x reader #adwd casper #adwd casper x reader #casper x reader #casper #x reader #y/n #reader insert #grim reaper #grim reaper x reader #archives 🏵️

596 notes · View notes

metalhoops · 1 year

Text

Steve didn’t know how to show people he cared about them. It wasn’t something he’d learnt growing up in a household with absentee parents and later, emotionally distant friends. So when he finally got to a place where he was ready to try and show others what they meant to him, he didn’t know where to start.

Steve had craved physical touch for as long as he could remember. Something as simple as tousling Dustin’s hair or letting Robin hug him was hard, despite how much he enjoyed it. So he started with something simpler. He made sure the people he loved had their needs met.

Whenever someone needed a place to spend the night, he’d offer up the Harrington household. He’d drive them wherever they wanted to go, no matter what the time of day. He also made sure they were taking care of themselves.

When Eddie somehow weaselled his way into the list of people he loved, he knew he was in way over his head.

Eddie was lucky to eat three homemade meals a week, let alone a day which set Steve’s teeth on edge. He’d already gotten into the habit of stocking his pantry full of things the kids liked for when they came over and halving his meal-prepped lunches for himself and Robin to share on break.

Steve started simple. When he dropped Robin off to school, or Dustin off to Hellfire, he’d send them with an extra sandwich or a Tupperware container filled with baked goods or last night’s leftovers for Eddie. It felt less personal if it went through a third party. At first, Eddie had looked at Robin and Dustin like they’d grown a third head, but he always accepted. Eddie wasn’t used to saying thanks, Steve didn’t want him to. So when they were together, they didn’t talk about it.

The notes came later. They weren’t anything special. Steve would slip in a post-it note with the meal offering. They started out mundane, ‘have a good day’, ‘don’t let Dustin stay out too late this time’, ‘you want to smoke out back once the kids are gone?’ But time and Eddie’s inability to acknowledge them beyond a smile or nod made Steve grow a little bolder.

One night, Steve picked the kids up from Hellfire. Eddie had waved at Steve from the back of Hawkins High. His arms half hugged around himself fighting off the cold in nothing but ripped jeans and a tee-shirt. The next morning, Steve sent Robin to school with one of his old leather jackets. It was the most ‘Eddie’ thing he owned.

Eddie hesitated in taking it from Robin. Food was one thing. A tan leather jacket, admittedly not quite Eddie’s style, was another thing entirely. Robin levelled him with a look to let him know not accepting the gift wasn’t an option. He shrugged the jacket on finding a note in the pocket. ‘I owe you a jacket’. Eddie spent the rest of the day grinning like an idiot.

That grin turned into a full-blown smile the next Hellfire when Dustin showed up with a container of frozen spaghetti, yes actual spaghetti and not SpaghettiOs, with a new post-it note attached to the top. ‘You looked nice today’. It proclaimed. Dustin looked at the note with a screwed-up nose.

“You two are disgusting,” He proclaimed before bugging Eddie about their campaign.

He can’t keep ignoring Steve. He doesn’t mean to ignore Steve. He just doesn’t know what to say. He still wasn’t sure how he’d managed to become friends with Steve Harrington. He didn’t know what to do with Steve being nice to him. He wasn’t used to people looking out for him, sure there was Uncle Wayne, but they were family. Steve was something different.

“Hey Dustin,” Eddie called as the kids were leaving.

“Tell Steve he always looks nice.”

Dustin looked at him like he’d just asked the kid to stick his hand in a mimic’s mouth.

“No way I’m passing that on,” He shot back.

Thankfully, Hellfire’s newest member Will the Wise, was there to save the day.

“I’ll pass it on,” Will confirmed. It was Mike’s turn to look disgusted.

The ride back from Hellfire that night was tension filled in a way Steve couldn’t comprehend. The kids had loaded into his backseat with tight lips and pinched faces. For once, Will took Dustin’s spot in the front seat, more astoundingly Dustin didn’t complain.

“What the hell is going on with you guys tonight?” Steve asked when no explanation presented itself.

“Eddie said you always look nice,” Will remarked as Dustin fake gagged.

Steve jerked his head so quickly in Will’s direction the car veered onto the rumble strip.

“He did?” Steve asked smoothing his hair back off his face.

“Can you two flirt without a third-party involved and put us all out of our misery?” Dustin groaned, kicking Steve’s seat and setting his cheeks aflame as he once more veered dangerously close to the edge of the road while trying to get a better look at Henderson.

“Wait Steve and Eddie are flirting, gross” Mike spoke, his nose wrinkled in repulsion.

Steve watched Will stiffen in the front seat and that was enough to set all his walls of internalised homophobia crashing down because there was no way in hell someone was going to make one of his kids uncomfortable, even if it was another one of his kids.

“There’s nothing wrong with liking another guy. It’s just the way some people are... The way I am.” Will shot Steve a thankful half smile while Mike choked on his own tongue.

“I didn’t mean gross because you’re both guys. Eddie’s cool and you’re lame. It’s gross he likes you.” You weren’t meant to have favourite kids, but Steve could say Mike was his least favourite.

“So you do like Eddie,” Dustin shot triumphantly.

Steve wouldn’t be hearing the end of it anytime soon.

The last note Steve would give Eddie was hand delivered by Dustin, much to his chagrin. Asking Eddie to meet him at Benny’s Diner during Steve’s lunch break. To Steve’s surprise, Eddie showed. He plonked down in the diner booth across from Steve and levelled the man under one of his intense stares.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Eddie questioned, giving Steve a conspiratorial smirk. Surely Eddie knew, right? If the others had worked it out, surely Eddie knew.

“Couldn’t be bothered to cook last night,” Steve admitted and watched Eddie’s face fall. He imagined Robin, back when the two worked at Scoops Ahoy, deftly adding a tally to Steve’s ‘You Suck’, column. Right. Harrington. Get your shit together.

“And because I thought it’d be a nice place for a date.” Eddies brows drew together as he examined the diner.

“Yeah, guess it wouldn’t be a bad place for a date. You got one coming later?” Eddie questioned much to Steve’s dismay.

Steve’s head fell to the table with a thud. He wasn’t good with his words. It was so much easier flirting with Eddie in writing. That way he didn’t have to worry about being rejected.

In one last act of desperation or stupidity, Steve pulled out a pen from his pocket and scribbled a quick message on a napkin, taking a deep breath before passing it over to Eddie.

‘Would you like to go on a date with me?’ The note asked.

Across the table, he heard a strangled sound before two solid hands were placed on his shoulders.

“Are you kidding me, Stevie? Hell Yes.”

#steddie #steddie ficlet #drabble #ficlet #stranger things #stranger things 4 #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steveddie #this was meant to be short #but alas I lost control #Metalhoops writes

3K notes · View notes

heartfullofleeches · 5 months

Note

Oh god V x loser darling would be a ship made in hell two deranged idiots together causing untold destruction

As mentioned in this post, V and Loser Reader seem to absolutely fucking despise each other on the surface, but while Reader might actually hate him - V is crushing hard and his feelings show when they attempt to leave his presence or talk to someone else. I imagine they met somewhere online- their first encounter being some dumb comment war beef between them or screaming match in a game lobby and when Reader roasts his ass, not realizing he's a serial doxxer and will release someone's address just for saying his favorite anime is mid, V gathers their information and starts to stalk them planning on ruining their life - but once he finally sees a picture of them his stupid ass immediately starts crushing on them and uses the information he's gained to scare them into dating him

V: Your argument falls through as you clearly have the vocabulary of a middle schooler. Even a literal child would be better at getting their point across that you. Can you even form one coherent sentence, you fucking parasite-

Loser Reader: Kys. Freak.

V: I'm going to dox you and your entire family. We'll see how brave you are when your address is posted for everyone to find

Loser Reader: Here's something to help you out, bitch. [Sends him a private message of themself giving him the middle finger]

[V quietly removes their username from the folder titled "hitlist" and saves the picture they sent him - adding it to different folder titled "Homework"] (spoilers: it ain't homework in that folder)

Loser Reader: I'm heading out!

V: Who the fuck said you could leave without me?

Loser Reader: Kiss my ass, Vince.

V: I mean I'll do it, but you're still not leaving this house.

Loser Reader: Vince, can I use your credit card?

V: With the way you treat me? Fuck no.

[Loser Reader pulls out a pair of cat ears and puts them on]

Loser Reader: Vincey....

V: No, Y/n.

Loser Reader: but your kitty needs it. 👉👈 You don't want to have a sad kitty do you? Sad kitties don't buy maid dresses and cute lingerie with your money to make themselves cute, and submissive and breedable for you-

[V sighs and hands them his wallet]

Loser Reader, tossing the cat ears into the trash: Thanks, Virgin. Would've offered to suck you off if you held out a bit longer, but oh well~

V: ....I will report all of my cards as stolen if you aren't on your knees by the time I count to three

#V my oc #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere insert #yandere blurb #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #male yandere #yandere #loser reader

453 notes · View notes

undercoverpena · 8 months

Text

epilogue. she might just be my everything and beyond

javier peña x f!reader | epilogue of late night texts

summary: It's the year 2000. Javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop's ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. The only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.

chapter warnings: here's the epilogue. two idiots pining for one another. fluff. flirting. continuous romcom vibes. falling in love. idiots in love. mention of olivia (steve's and connie's child) ✨ wordcount: 2.7k.

an: at the end.

text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi

you keep flirting with me and ill drive myself over

Oh will you now?

use my key and everything

You have had very little reason to use it lately.

thats cause youre so desperate youre already at the door

Desperate or welcoming?

both

I can be less desperate next time, if you prefer.

dont you fucking dare baby

So when you coming over?

already putting my shoes on

It flies by, time.

One minute, he’s clutching your hands until your fingers slide from his. A promise in the air, one he knows you’ll keep because it's all temporary. Knowing that you’ll be right back, suitcase—and possessions following behind—as you move across the country.

Within a blink, Javi is asking you where you want things to go, in the little place you chose with so much ease. Spotting you unpack a photo frame, the photo strip from Houston front and centre, sitting on a bed of receipts.

The next, he’s sweating for reasons he’d rather not be.

His back twinging, protesting as he carries another box to the van. Your smile rises at the sight of him approaching, gesturing to pass it to you—still standing on the edge of the truck.

“Cariño. You’ve lived here six months. How have you amassed so much sh–tuff?”

Narrowing your eyes, taking the box and placing it on top of another, “Nice save.”

Sending you a sink, he smiles as you slide your hand in his to get down. Knowing he doesn’t ever need to feel them slide from his again—hopefully, no emotional goodbyes at the airport. Not ones that don’t involve you visiting someone for a long weekend here or there.

“Are you forgetting that I packed an entire suitcase the first time I saw you? Because knowing that information, I am surprised you’re confused that I’ve doubled my possessions since living here?”

Pulling you close, he focuses on how you feel warm against him—fitting against him perfectly. A feeling he’s had plenty of time to grow used to but finds he never does. How you slot with him, face turned upwards, looking at him like he moves mountains and walks across fire.

If you asked him, he would.

But you never do. You just look at him as though you know he would. Knowing he does.

He supposes it’s why you’re all set to move in with him. Into his home. His room.

This place—as lovely as it has been—will no longer be yours. The little home in the centre of town is tucked away above a video store that you’ve become a frequent customer of, whether he has plans with you or not.

From tomorrow morning, though, you’ll be waking up with him officially. The two of you have had months of it, where you’re there but not entirely with him. Even if, over time, your things have been left amongst his, some even finding themselves hanging alongside his. To the point a drawer was needed—and hangers. Still, for a while, when you said home, you had meant yours.

That was until the last few weeks. Your eyes shimmering, twinkling with the stars in the night sky, curled into his side. His green jacket, the one with the brown collar, wrapped around your shoulders, no longer smelled of old cigarette smoke and desperation but rather sweetness and hope. Your hand entwined with his:

Can we go home, baby?

Yeah, I can take you now.

No, to yours.

You poke him. Light, but purposeful. A little jab to bring him back, and the way you’re smiling at him—fuck. He can’t imagine a look that could make his heart double in size quicker. His thumb strokes alongside your cheek. His pink shirt—the one you had commandeered as your own—rolled up at the sleeves and tied at your waist.

Javi’s noticed you steal his clothes a lot. Fashion them into something that suits you better. He doesn’t moan. If anything, he makes it a purposeful thing to show you how much it means to him—how much he likes it, craves it.

“C’mon, only a few more boxes...”

Groaning, he buries his lips against yours, feeling your smile widen, grinning widely against him as you hold him close.

Your teeth pull at his bottom lip before releasing it with a pop, a twinkle to your eyes. “… think of it like this: once the van is packed, we get more time to say goodbye before I have to return the keys.”

“Hmm,” he mumbles, keeping you in place with two fingers under your chin. “And how do you plan on us saying goodbye, baby?”

Sliding your nose against his cheek. “Loudly. I plan on saying it loud, baby.”

You packed me a note in my lunch?

I did

It wasn’t very safe for work.

you said you eat your lunch at your desk

Yes but I’m not a loner, Javi. I do eat lunch with people.

lesson learned then baby

But yes.

yeah?

I don’t think the porch table will cope though, may have to think of a more stable surface.

I think I can think of something

No wood! I am not having you pick splinters out of my ass again, baby.

that was on you

I think it was on you and your speech about how beautiful I looked being a ranch-hand.

Do you fancy coming to my office Halloween party?

do I have to dress up

Yes. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll be dressed up too.

before I decide what are you dressing up as

That’s the incentive to come, if you say yes I’ll tell you.

do you want me there

Yes! Want to show you off

then ill be there baby

Because you like being showed off?

yes. but also because you want me there

While outwardly, he’d protested the trip to Miami from the moment you booked it off work up until he was sat beside you on the place, he does see the beauty in it.

Although, Javi primarily suspects that it is down to you. You with your legs out, you in a bikini on the beach, robbing his shades until he buys you your own—a matching pair, something that makes Steve chuckle and Connie aww.

The lazy mornings that remind him of Houston are nice, too. The ones where neither of you are woken by an alarm or his Pop’s awful singing. The backdrop of the airy hotel room and a warm, gentle breeze blowing the sheer curtains as his thumbs dig into the back of your thighs and make you chant, is a bonus.

Because Javi can make your skin glisten, and your body sing, whenever and wherever he gets the chance.

What he can’t have at home with you is the sight of you fitting in so easily with the two people who have become a second family. The ones who have seen him go to lengths he hadn't known was possible, him and his old partner seeing things that only appear in occasional nightmares now.

Connie and Steve welcomed you in with ease and with them, you smiled so effortlessly. Blending in like you were always there—laughter bursting out of you when you’re playing with Olivia.

It's there, ever-present on the beach, as you chase Olivia around in the sand. The castles the two of you had been making long since trodden on, as the little girl squeals and squeals until she’s caught.

“You should marry her.”

Turning his head, Steve nods towards the three of you. Connie snapping photos as you roll in the sand. The yellow tinge from his aviators adds an additional glow to the world as he eyes up his former partner-turned-friend—a friend who apparently now gives unwarranted marriage advice.

Scratching his chin, he rolls his jaw. “You giving me permission, Murph?”

“C’mon, Jav. She’s nice, good to you. Clearly makes you very fuckin’ happy.”

“Yeah, well. Maybe I’m already planning it.”

“Yeah? Fuck. Can’t wait to tell Connie. She told me I needed to convince you.”

Javi shrugs, pushing the glasses up his nose. “It so hard to believe I’d have come to that conclusion on my own?”

“Before you met her? Yeah. Since her? No. Could tell you were smitten—”

Snorting, Javi runs his hand across his chin. “I was not fucking smitten.”

“Yeah, you fucking was. No shame in that, Jav. No shame in enjoying one good woman.”

Groaning, he turns back to the laughter. The corner of his lips twitched, wishing to slide into his cheeks as he watches you throw your head back, neck exposed, as Olivia tries to do a handstand.

“I got the ring last month.”

“Shit.”

Turning his head, he narrows his eyes, watching Steve put his hands up in defence.

“You just said—“

“Yeah, well. Forgot how determined y’can be about things. Surprised me. S’not a bad thing,” Steve says. “Just, y’know. Years ago, I knew you as the man who fucked his way through—“

Elbowing him, Javi smirks as he hears Steve splutter. A sharp look added as Steve holds his hand up.

“I’m not that person anymore, Murphy.”

His friend nods, apology falling. The evidence that he means it stitching into his expression—that he was just joking, teasing. An explanation coming, that he knows how he’s changed—all words he would have once craved hearing. But since meeting you, he’d found even the teasing didn’t upset him as much.

Clapping his hand on his shoulder, Javi looks over his shades. “I know. Alright. Just, I don’t like the reminder, that's all. Feels like… feels like a lifetime ago.”

“Y’telling me.”

Snorting, Javi slides his hand off. Moving his eyes back to the sight of Olivia grinning at the two of them. Her small hand trying to cover her mouth as she whispers something to you, something which Javi suspects involves him from the way she’s running full speed towards him.

“She’s grown up so quickly.”

He’s about to reply, but Olivia interrupts—skidding to a stop in the sand, kicking it across his feet. Swiftly, her hand—all small and delicate—wraps around and tugs on his hand.

“Uncle Javi, can you come play?”

Over the top of her, he spots you. Leaning your weight on one side, hand covering your brows to watch his expression.

And fuck, how can he say no to either of you.

hows pops?

He’s good. In fact, enough to be getting your Mom’s cookbooks down from the shelf for me.

I hope you know thats him saying he loves you

He has told me how much it means to him that I wanted these. Also keeps telling me that he’s happy they’ll be staying in the family.

bet that made you cry didn’t it

Yes! Obviously.

youre so cute baby

In my defence he caught me off guard with the comment, I was busy staring and deciphering the handwritten notes.

not gonna be able to read them now if youve cried all over them

As always, you’re hilarious. I obviously didn’t cry into the book! I cried in the bathroom.

you turn the tap on to try and hide it again

Shut up, Javi.

i should be back soon, just grabbing the parts now

Don’t rush, he’s fine. Promise. He even says his back is barely giving him any problems since I told him I’d cook from the book.

what you cooking?

Come home safe and find out.

youre such a tease

Learned it from you baby.

At one stage, Javi had been good with people.

Persuasive.

Now, he’s unsure if he even knows how to ask for a favour without giving something up or flirting.

He’s still charismatic, or so you tell him. But, he's pretty sure his tact has gone, impatience bubbling as he tries to pretend to give enough of a shit to be able to ask for the favour he wants.

For you, he decides to push through. To not walk back through the door he came through. He does stuff his hands into his jacket, the man staring at him, still wearing the same confused expression he had when Javi first stepped through the door.

Because even if he’s explained three fucking times, the man still doesn’t understand why he asked him to create the crossword he’s got clutched in his hands.

The one that would never even go to print—just a single request. A favour. All personal, just for him. Not to be published in every newspaper, but just one.

The one for him, and him alone.

It didn't matter how many ways he explained it, the man remained confused. Only reluctantly accepting, he's sure, to get him to leave.

That had been days ago. Now, you're ahead of him. Your fingers brushing over the tops of long stands, occasionally looking over your shoulder at him, making him feel like he's stepped into one of the movies you've made him watch.

Even when you look ahead, he can tell you’re grinning from behind—taking the view in. It's 'one of your favourites', something you’d told him the first time he brought you here.

It’s why he brought you here, now.

Second to you, of course, baby.

You stop some distance ahead, beginning to place down a blanket, all chequered and soft, as he comes to join you. Placing the basket in his hand down on the edge of it, before your fingers are swatting at him and undoing the ties before you grasp the bottle, food and other bits.

Not that he can eat, needing more than what the wine you’d grabbed would do.

Nerves bubbling, dancing and fluttering like the flies further down the hill. You don't notice. You're focused on the newspaper, the crossword he's not let you see for the last few hours, taunting you, making you wait.

He almost wishes he hadn't when it adds to the knot in his stomach, it tightening more when you become irritated at his coyness as he's reading out the clues—

Javi, what are you up to? You always do down, across, down. Always.

You’d have made a good detective or DEA agent.

Likely given him and Murphy a run for their money—something Steve had even said to you both when the two of you were in Miami. Sand in your toes, sea air in your hair—grin brighter than the sun.

“Give it here,” you say, not sharply, but not playfully either.

His hand wipes his lower mouth, hiding his smirk, having wanted you to do that for the past fifteen minutes.

When you take the crossword, you’re chewing.

Distracted, barely able to spot him sliding the remainder of your punnet from reach. Because Javi remembers how you feel about being asked any critical questions when you are eating.

He supposes it's the one benefit of you making him watch so many romcoms. It allowed him to do market research and ask questions without raising your suspicion, such as where wouldn't you like to be asked and if you want him down on one knee.

Mainly, I don’t want to have food in my teeth when I’m being asked. Don't want to spit any leftovers at you in my shock.

“Hey,” he whispers, stealing your attention—watching you smile, glancing at your clean teeth. “Eres preciosa.”

Your lips slide, curling up into your cheek. “You’re such a flirt, Peña.”

Kissing your cheek, he keeps his arm around you. Fingers playing with the fabric on your hip—balling it up before smoothing it out. Thumb and index brushing, calming, soothing him as your eyes glance over the page.

Occasionally, asking him things, avoiding the clues he desperately wants you to solve.

Until.

Fuck, until.

“Javi.”

“Hmm,” he mumbles, pretending indifference, head tilted down, resting his chin on your shoulder—knowing from the high-pitched way you said this name that you’ve already cracked it.

Your fingers slide over the paper, smothering the white and black boxes from view. “Javi?”

“Yes, baby.”

“I think that’s my reply, isn’t it?”

Lips curling, he wraps his fingers around your chin, turning you to face him. Watching it happen in slow motion, how you smile before you grin—tears all but filling your eyes as you clearly try not to get ahead of yourself.

“You wanna make me less lonely, cariño?”

Swallowing, you drop the paper. Let it fall to the blanket, twisting your body until your knees are between his thighs as you take both sides of his cheeks.

“Sí.”

“Sí?”

Nodding, a tear falls. It's one shimmering with joy and happiness, his thumb swiping it, spreading it across your skin.

“I don’t know… I don’t know the translation,” you laugh, it spluttering, fingers stroking his skin. “But I’ll marry you. I love you. Yes, Javi.”

And he whispers it.

The translation. Pressing it, as well as I love you, to your lips as his arms snake further around your waist. Hearing you, all quiet, it almost buried in kisses, repeating the translation back.

Before he falls backwards into the grass, with you on top of him—his fiancé. His world.

you fancy coming to laredo in autumn

Any particular reason?

been told I need a best man and I only know you

an: gosh, here we are. i began writing late night texts one night after a chaotic chat with @guyfieriii because i was manic/sad/anxious all at once and it was the only logical thing i could focus on. as much as javi and reader saved one another, they saved me too. thank you to you lovely lot. not only did you welcome this in with open arms, but you cheered me on every single week (also, btw, how cool is it we didn't miss a single week omg). i owe you so much, and i cannot believe we made it here together. to the old followers, i see you. to the new ones who just discovered me, hey, welcome. to all of the friends I've harrassed over the last few months, i love you. to the new ones I've made, i also love you omg. i'm already missing this pair so much, and i cannot wait until we get to hang out with them sporadically. i'm going to go cry in a corner, but just know my heart is so full and so happy and it's all down to you all 🩷

#javier peña x reader #javi peña x reader #javi peña x you #javier peña x you #narcos x reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javi pena x reader #narcos javier x reader #narcos javier #pedro pascal x reader #narcos fanfiction #pedrostories #mm: late night texts #javier peña fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic

608 notes · View notes

senseandaccountability · 8 months

Text

“Is this truly our prodigal son?” - meta ramblings about Astarion and Cazador and breaking vicious cycles

“I didn’t have a choice… but it seems now I do.” Astarion is indeed the prodigal son in the sense that he has to return to his home in order to find himself and his purpose.

For at least half the game, he is - at least outwardly - what he has been made to be. A pretty facade to be consumed. In the mirror he doesn’t see himself, he remembers nothing of his past, he can’t even read the words etched into his own back - he is, in all aspects, unwritten, unmade until he starts walking back into his own life. Reclaiming it. Or rather - remaking it. Because there is nothing sustainable there to reclaim, his heritage from Cazador contains nothing but death and violence. And power built on those two ingredients. Even when he claims that’s what he wants - power, walking in the sun, to never be afraid of anyone again, you can hear how hollow the desire is. Isn’t this what you want for me? he asks Tav, equal parts manipulation and the fact that he probably has no idea whatsoever how to figure out if he wants something like that for himself. He’s never had the luxury of choice. Shouldn’t I want this? When Tav later says that considering slaughter of seven thousand spawns isn’t who Astarion truly is he doesn’t even say she’s wrong, he replies: IT SHOULD BE.

“If I can’t have my freedom, then neither can they.”

Astarion is also, to use the same religious myth, the son who remained behind and keeps count. He counts the injustices done to him, he compares, he gathers bitterness and lust for revenge over two hundred years. Nobody ever did anything to help him. Nobody came to his rescue - he even says so himself early in the game that no hero saved him, it was the mindflayers who did. He admits to Gale that he’s prayed to all deities - but no one answered. When Tav prods about the countless of spawn he’ll sacrifice for his own ritual he brings up the same argument - what about what he’s owed? Everything was taken from him, too!

“You’d almost feel sorry for the poor, deluded souls. But they’re idiots who brought this on themselves, so… don’t.”

Astarion doesn’t want to identify with the victims because then he has to identify as a victim. (Or even worse, someone who willingly accepted the offer of a vampire, aka idiot who brought this on himself.) And no matter how much he talks about what Cazador put him through, he’s not ready to do that, not fully. Instead he pushes them further away from himself, especially as his guilt and pain and self-loathing gets poured into preparing for the Ascension. That one thing that will finally separate him from everyone else, make him safe and untouchable. The others, the victims, they’re weak, pathetic, nothing like him at all, they’re too far gone, they’re different, they couldn’t survive out there so it’s better he kills them so they serve a purpose. It’s not exactly subtext, either, Tav can outright ask him if he really intends to kill them just because they remind him of himself and his voice breaks when he answers that. “They do not. That weakness inside me is dead. It’s dead. I have a higher purpose.” He comes a little bit closer to breaking out of his cycle with the Gur children, they happened not that long ago, he’s visibly moved by the fact that he had forgotten them and felt nothing when he delivered them and when Tav asks about his feelings on the subject, he admits: “I just… I never want to see these little scraps of misery again. The world doesn’t need to know my shame.”

But it takes the encounter with Cazador to truly break out of the pattern.

“Did I not make you who you are?” “Do not slouch before me, boy! Have you no respect for yourself?” he snaps at Astarion when you first enter his ritual. And when the camera pans to Astarion, so full of rage and fully intent on killing Cazador with his bare hands if he has to, we see that he actually does slouch. He’s that boy again.

He’s returned, the boy who caused so much trouble, who screamed the sweetest when he was tortured, who was thrown into a tomb for a year for refusing his order and who eventually stopped fighting back. Godey says: “You always were sharp, little one. Sharp enough to cut yourself.” The boy who Cazador tried to make something of, but to no avail. He was incorrigible. “I fondly remember your empty boasting, your tired jokes, your endless prattle…” All abuse aside, Cazador hurts Astarion in that precise way only a parental figure can hurt a child - through constant disappointment, the cruelty of not caring. The parent that only punishes, that sees nothing but faults. He even tells Astarion that he ought to be begging their forgiveness for coming crawling back after abandoning them. “Forgiveness? You’ve never forgiven anything.” / “No! No, fuck you and fuck everything you’ve ever done to me.”

“I’m so much more than what you made me,” Astarion tells Cazador when he finally has him on his knees, one last attack away from getting the revenge he’s dreamed of for two hundred years. When he asks Tav for help he - again - brings up the “isn’t this what you want?” Because even if he knows he’s more than what Cazador created him to be, he doesn’t know what that “much more” consists of yet. If you detect his thoughts at that moment you learn that he’s afraid, hungry, intoxicated. That all he can see is the power of the ritual and the freedom to do anything - to be anything.

“I want you to live a life you’re proud of,” Tav pleads. “You can’t be proud of this.” Tav who sees someone else in him, a way forward that isn't steeped in Cazador's tyranny. Tav, who treats him like a person, with autonomy.

“I know you think this will set you free, but it won’t. The power will trap you, just like it trapped Cazador.” And it was this Astarion required to truly remake his life. Returning as the prodigal son to the place that was his home, where he was taught he amounted to nothing, that he was a means to an end, that the only way to ever feel safe in life is to hold power over someone else.

That’s why I found his “No! No, fuck you and fuck everything you’ve done to me” so powerful, because it’s it’s much more than an insult or a protest. It’s an acknowledgement that you were hurt and that you didn’t deserve it.

And by extension here - that you’ve hurt others in turn and they didn’t deserve it, either. That perhaps you are just the same as the weak, pathetic spawn in the dungeons. That perhaps we all are. That perhaps the true power lies in daring to hope. For forgiveness, for understanding, for more people out there to have a heart like Tav’s. That you, if you’re given a chance to make choices for yourself, can make a life you can feel proud of. Even if it means you have to let others see your shame. To care again is to live again, like Tav says while they're exploring casa Cazador. And Astarion wants to feel alive.

When you can make Astarion realise he can be better than Cazador, he immediately shows protectiveness towards the spawn, telling his siblings to lead them to the Underdark and then telling the truth to the Gur but making sure to point out that if they come hunting - they’re hunting their own children. Cazador’s been dead for a couple of minutes and Astarion is already doing a better job as some sort of wretched father figure for these poor souls. Because he's given them freedom to make their own choices, treated them as equals. Shown them the care nobody ever showed him before. That's how you break cycles and pack one hell of an emotional punch. Fuck you and fuck everything you’ve done to me, indeed.

#bg3 spoilers #astarion #lilith plays baldur's gate 3

576 notes · View notes

beetlesau · 4 months

Text

Bus Ride, Drabble Dabble, Bakugo/Reader

I'm obsessed with the idea that Bakugo would go feral for a woman that's as normie as his dad just because his mom CHASED his dad DOWN because she wanted him, And Bakugo is his moms twin. ANYWAY. Just messing around with a tame version of that idea. Being bored. Zero Edits, I don't even know if I spelt names correctly lol K Baaiiiii

"Why does your hair look like that?" Mineta peaked over the bus seat down at you. You instinctually pulled the collar of your shirt up to cover any cleavage that could have been showing from that view.

You sighed, it was a common question back in school before UA. You'd been made fun of for it for as long as you could remember, but you never cared. It was your second year at UA, you'd thought someone would have said something sooner than now, but here you were. You made an obvious glance up at Mineta's purple grapelike head before bringing your attention back to his face.

"Same reason yours looks like that, I guess. Our quirk just made us different." You looked back down to a Heroes Weekly Tabloid magazine you'd been busying yourself with prior.

Your hair was normal, bland even, save for the bands of white that flowed down from your temples. The doctors said that when your quirk manifested, it must have put such a strain on you that your body responded in the odd way it did. The same thing happened to your eye color. You had such intense grey eyes after your quirk appeared you hardly remember the color they were before that day.

"No I mean your haircut!" he chided. Your eye twitched before you looked up again at the pervert menace. You noticed that comment also grabbed the attention of the others on the bus.

In the seat across from Mineta sat Ashido and Uraraka. Uraraka, who sat by the window, glowered at the boy as best as her round sweet face could. Ashido sneered and shot a glance over to Mineta's seatmate, Kaminari. A look that said, "if you don't do something, I will."

Kaminari, not wanting to have his face melted off as collateral damage, stood in his chair and turned back to face you as well. He put on his best flirty smile and propped his cheek on his fist. "I don't know, I think it looks pretty good. Edgy. Mysterious."

"Yeah, it's a mystery why she has that haircut. It's so unflattering on you! You could be an absolute ten if you'd just--"

Mina flung her leg across the aisle, shoving her boot into Mineta AND Kaminari's sides.

"You dimwitted jerks! You're lucky she doesn't have Uraraka float your two asses and hog tie you to the bus like a couple of balloons!"

"Say the word and I'll do it, girl!" Uraraka looked at you with her dusted pink cheeks. She may have been a softy but she was a ride-or-die.

You laughed at your two best friends and shook your head no. It was alright. It wasn't anything you weren't used to.

"She cuts it herself." a gravelly voice across from you catches your attention. "Didn't you say that, like, first day of school? Do you not pay attention, idiots?" Bakugo takes one of his earphones out as he readjusts against his school bag. All the noise must have bothered him enough to chime in.

All four members of the conversation lean out into the aisle and look back at the blonde. Did he just say he remembered some random thing someone said about themselves?

"Oh. Right, yeah I kind of do remember that." Kaminari pulls out his phone and starts typing away like a madman. Not seconds later a couple of simultaneous dings are heard a bit further up the bus. "Uh, do you know why she cuts it herself though?"

"What's it to you dumbass? She's right there, ask her yourself." he sucks his teeth annoyed, but looks over to you. "Don't tell this shithead anything you don't want to." You smiled at him, your cheeks finding a bit of color before you turned back to Kaminari. You raised your eyebrows at him as though to say, "You heard the man."

Kaminari groans before trying a new tactic. "I mean, I already know the answer. I remember, I was just trying to see if YOU remembered. In fact, I think I probably know more about her than anyone else on this bus." he stated matter-of-factly. You looked at him with an incredulous expression before the hothead across from you spoke out again.

"You're full of shit." he turns to you again, "You cut it that way so it doesn't get in your way! That's why it doesn't matter what the hell it looks like. You're not trying to win fuckin beauty pageants, you're trying to kick villain ass."

"What's going on, what did I miss? What was that text about?" Kirishima crouched in the aisle, looking to Kaminari for answers.

"Kirishima, thank god! Mineta move, let Kirishima sit there, you've been a menace long enough today." Mineta checked the seat Kirishima had just come from and saw it was across from Yaoyorozu and agreed without too much fuss.

"Oh, man, you just missed Bakugo say that the lil lady back here isn't winning any beauty pageants." Kaminari slowly shook his head in mock disappointment.

"WHAT THE HELL? DID I FUCKING SAY THAT??? YOU WANNA KEEP PUTTING WORDS IN MY MOUTH?" Bakugo shot up from his seat, sparks popping off his hands that gripped the back of Ashido and Uraraka's chair, the smell of scorched plastic permeated before Uraraka opened her window.

"It's okay Bakugo, he's just trying to mess with you. You're right though, I just hate having my hair in my eyes so I cut my bangs myself." you blow air up from your mouth and watch as the short choppy fringe fluttered about just a bit. "One of these days I'm gonna have tech support just make me a built-in headband so I can grow them out. The grow-out stage is a bitch, is all. " you laugh.

"So that's why Bakugo called you Fringe for the first year of school!" Kirishima nodded in understanding.

"Hey, Kirishima, do you know her favorite color, by the way?" Kaminari ponders dramatically.

"Uh, It'd be a guess, but no I don't think I've ever asked--What is your favorite color?" Kirishima politely and enthusiastically requested the information from you now.

"Oh! Well now hold on a minute, maybe we SHOULD guess it." Kaminari's words were laced with a layer of sticky entrapment but you were curious to see where he was going with all this nonsense.

"Sure, go ahead." you shrugged.

"Let's take turns guessing. Is it teal?" he looked at you expectantly, and you gave him a cocked side-eye.

"No-"

"OH darn. Okay Bakugo, your turn. What's her favorite color?"

"This is stupid." he huffed

"Well if you don't know, just say so--"

"It's the same as her birthstone, jackass."

Your blush told Kaminari he was correct, or at least close enough.

"What makes you so sure? Did she tell you?"

"Obviously it's the same as her birthstone, she has a bracelet she wears that's that color, so why wouldn't it be? It's not that hard to figure out if you weren't an idiot."

"--you know her birthdate?" Uraraka's eyes were wide and she was blushing profusely, knowing full well what was happening.

"What's her favorite food?" Mina piped up, ignoring the subtlety that Kaminari was attempting, seeing exactly what he was trying to get from the angry blonde.

"How the hell should I know." Bakugo sunk back down in his seat, attempting to put his dead earphones back on, conveying he was done with the interrogation.

"Well that's a tough one anyway, I'll eat just about anything. I'm not picky." you shrugged, trying to save Bakugo from any more annoyance.

"Psh. Yeah, but you have such an annoying sweet tooth. I swear I came down to the common area one time and you were practically scarfing down a cupcake. I thought you'd end up eating the wrapper." Bakugo interjected.

"Oh, that's ... That's true actually!" you grinned. "Well, the sweets part. I was not going to eat the wrapper! Sato had made some for the class. Maybe if you didn't go to bed so early you could of known how amazing it was." you pouted.

"I don't eat sweets before bed, are you nuts? How's anyone supposed to sleep hopped up on sugar? I don't know how you do it." he mumbled, crossing his arms and spreading to take up more room in his seat.

"Ah, well I suppose I do have trouble falling asleep sometimes." you considered, "I should try out your schedule for a week and see if it helps!"

"WHY ARE YOU ALL STARING? What the fuck could you all have to look at? Fucking annoying." Bakugo stopped to yell when he noticed the small group of onlookers were, well, still looking at the two of you.

"Kaminari, he's right, you should mind your own business." Mina said as she and Uraraka turned back around to go back to their own thing. Mina turned to send you a glance and pointed at her phone, indicating you should check your phone.

Looking at your recent messages you see one from the pinkette,

So are you going to pretend it's normal for THAT guy to know everything about you??

You bit your lip as you glanced over at the annoyed guy staring into the back of the seat in front of him. His leg was bouncing in boredom and probably irritation if you had to guess.

Mina was your best friend, but she could be a bit dramatic.

You weren't sure you were ready to tell her that Bakugo had made it known to you that he was interested. Like, VERY interested.

And you were, less obviously, interested back. You knew his favorite food. His favorite color. He even told you things that made him feel insecure and confided his feelings about being a hero to you.

It happened suddenly one day. You noticed him looking at you, like actually looking. He held you back after class and said your actual name and not just fringe. That was when you realized you had feelings for him. You didn't hate the nickname, and you considered yourself on good terms with him. He acknowledged your strength and treated you as an equal. But something about the way he said your name made your mind go fuzzy. It felt like you'd just woken from a dream and saw him for the first time. Were his eyes always that intense?

"I talked to my old man the other day, and he told me some gross shit about how when he and my mom met- she pursued him relentlessly. Borderline insane is what it sounded like to me. My pop apparently doesn't have a spine and he just gave in. Whatever." Bakugo rolled his eyes before waiting for you to say something.

"Oh! Um, I don't know, I guess I can see how that's romantic. Uh, why are you telling me this though?" you shuffled your weight from one foot to the other, noticing there was a bit too much heat bouncing off the two of you.

Bakugo bit the inside of his cheek, taking a moment to find the wording. "I'm not crazy like that. I'm not some clone of my old Hag I just wanted to say." he lifted his arm to stretch his back, his actions nonchalant for such an odd topic of conversation. "Anyway, I waited a year is all I wanted to say, so I think I'm going to persue you now."

"Wh-what? You waited. Ah what?" you stammered, you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. "W-what if I don't want you to pursue m-me?" you laughed. You were nervous. And nervous you always say something to deflect the awkward feelings.

"I'm not very good at not getting what I want, but like I said-I'm not crazy like that old hag, I'll let you have your own say. Anyway. I'll see you later." and then he left you standing there dazed and confused.

You looked over to him now, sitting alone in his seat. Why else would you have been sitting in the back if not because you knew he'd be back here? You smile to yourself. While this could be your secret for a little while longer you really couldn't resist after seeing his commitment to knowing you in front of the others.

You pull out your earphones, put one ear in, and hold out the other to Bakugo, who accepts without hesitation. He shoots you a nod and pushes his bag to the floor making room for you to sit by him.

And you do. You probably will for the rest of your life if he has his way, and you're happy with that.

#bakugo katuski #bakugou x reader

372 notes · View notes

spacebarbarianweird · 5 months

Text

Beloved Monsters

So, it happened! I've finally brought Alethaine, Astarion's dhampir daughter, to life!

Synopsis: Domestic fluff about a small family of monsters.

Tags: fluff, comfort, dadstarion, dhampirs

Alethaine's age: 7

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

“Mum! Mum!”

As you open your eyes, the coziness of your bed with a fur blanket and the softest pillow surrounds you. It feels so comfy, like a warm hug.

“Mum!”

A pale-skinned Elven girl with hair the color of snow stares at you like a cat. She stands upside down on the ceiling as if her legs were glued to it.

“Hi, Alethaine. Is anything wrong?”, you yawn and look at the window. It’s late afternoon and it's snowing. Winters in that part of Faerun are cold and merciless but nights are long. Which is good.

Alethaine, your dhampir-daughter, jumps onto the bed and you notice she’s already put on her warm clothes. Unlike Astarion, she is not immune to cold.

“Can I go? Pleeease!”

You sit up and hear a loud laughter from the inner yard. The town kids. Mostly humans, but Alethaine’s best friend is a dwarf boy, an Innkeeper’s son. All younger than ten, careless and brave like all the kids of this age no matter the race and social status.

“Cover your ears”, you say, making yourself get out of bed. You hate being stuck at home for so long – your body craves fights – but having a little child puts certain limitations.

“Thanks!”, Alethaine bares her fangs.

For the last month, you’ve been alone with Alethaine. Astarion left in the late month of Uktar, complaining that he didn’t want to travel in that awful northern weather and that there is nothing more disgusting than autumn.

“It’s cold and I will have to sleep in the dirt. Besides, hags are “known” for their hospitality!”

Simple as that. A daughter of one of the noble families fell in love with someone from the common folk. He rejected her, and she made a deal with a hag to get him. The hag turned the girl into something and locked away. So, her family searched for help and eventually got to Astarion – the only person who knew how to deal with both supernatural contracts and the monsters themselves.

“Well, I will either find a loophole to save this idiot of a girl. Or I will have to fight the hag. Not the first time. Gods, good thing Alethaine is going to be much smarter than that!”

You smile. Since Alethaine was born, Astarion has been very sensitive about cases when a young woman, someone’s daughter, is trapped by supernatural forces. Astarion can deny it but he imagines Alethaine trapped the same way.

“Alethaine! Where are you?”, the dwarf boy throws a snowball into the door with a loud thump.

“Coming!”

Astarion was supposed to come back a week ago. Before Alethaine was born you had dealt with such things together. Be it a monster hunting or helping with contracts. But life changed seven years ago.

You two became parents.

A little girl, a silver-curled elf with long pointy ears, is so delicate as if made of crystals. She has long vampiric fangs and can walk on the ceilings. A tiny copy of her father — Astarion was in tears when he realized that.

“Bye!”, Alethaine wears her warm winter coat and hat but her long ears stick out.

“Cover them!”

“It hurts when I do that!”

You sigh. Elven ears are so sensitive it hurts to tuck them under heavy winter hats. As a half-elf yourself you can relate though yours are much smaller.

You take a scarf and wrap your daughter’s head in it. By doing that you can’t resist touching her ears which twitch a bit. The girl giggles, baring her fangs. It’s a funny image – the dhampir fangs grew up many years ago and didn’t show any signs of being “baby fangs”. They were probably a single set for all her life which will last for many centuries, growing along with the rest of her body.

But her “baby” incisors have already fallen out.

“Alethaine! Come on!” the dwarf boy waves to her. Alethaine frees herself from your hands and rushes toward her friends.

The moment she is outside, she takes the scarf freeing her ears to the cold air.

You let it go.

Sticking at home on your own is boring so you take out a two-handed ax and go outside to take care of it. You never know when the weapon is needed. Here, far in the wilderness dangers lurk in the dark. Wild trolls, gnolls, werewolves, bandits, name it yourself. Townsfolk aren’t people of war and they rely on you, a retired adventurer, to protect them.

So, you always have to be ready.

The process completely takes you over as the early night falls upon the world and prickly stars start shining in the skies.

And then suddenly…

You are lifted in the air by strong hands.

“Astarion!” you exclaim and wrap your hands around his neck.

He kisses you and then looks into your eyes with love and adoration. But you can’t help but notice he is exhausted, with bruises and dark circles under his crimson eyes.

“Did something go wrong?”

“Darling, there was an obnoxious princess who could not take “no” for an answer, her brother who doesn’t process the idea that he is not as smart as he thinks. And three hags. Three, not one! And each of them had a personal contract with the girl, each contradicting the other one. What could possibly go wrong?”

“So, did you save the girl?”

“Depends. She won’t have to spend another five centuries being locked in a mirror. But she will be the hags’ servant for eighteen years, six for each of them. They also wanted to transform her into something I would call a half-rotten gnoll, but I managed to talk them out of it.”

“Two decades is long for a human.”

“Well, she wanted to make that boy her mindless lover for the rest of his human life so I think it’s fair. Her family didn’t agree, though, so I had to return on my own.”

“Did they pay you?”

“No, I stole some valuable possession of theirs”, he puts you on the ground and slips a ring on your finger. “It’s not enchanted, I checked.”

The ring is beautiful. It looks as if the fire was trapped inside it.

You two kiss again and get inside. The moment Astarion steps into the bedroom he starts undressing – he probably has been dreaming of getting rid of the dirty clothes for weeks.

You smile. You’ve seen him undressing and naked thousands of times but you never get tired of it.

“I’ve seen Alethaine. She made those human children carry her on the sled,” he says.

“If they don’t treat her well, who would sneak to other people’s houses to steal sweets?”

It is a common complaint. Apparently, Alethaine learned that if her feet are bare she makes no sound walking on the ceilings.

“I am tearing apart against the necessity to punish her for that and admiring her skills”, Astarion adds.

“You were a magistrate; I think you can find words to persuade a seven-year-old.”

“It’s much easier to persuade a devil than Alethaine!”

“Who could she take it from?”

He laughs and you approach Astarion for another kiss. You missed him. Gods knows, you missed him. You caress his strong shoulders ready to start something more sensual.

“Love”

“Hm?”

“I don’t want to.”

You pull away and touch his cheek. There aren’t enough words in your vocabulary to express how proud you are of him. It’s been twenty-seven years but he still has issues with saying “no” to you. And you often find yourself in an intimate situation when you suddenly realize he doesn’t want to take part in it. Maybe, not to upset you. Maybe, out of stubbornness.

“Sure. What do you want, then? Bath? Blood? Sleep?”

“Everything you mentioned in that exact order.”

“Wait, I will prepare the bath.”

… Soon enough, Astarion sinks himself into the bathtub and you start washing his curls out of dirt while he scrubs his skin. You notice some bruises and scratches. They still haven’t healed properly and you try not to think how they looked a week ago.

“Don’t worry. It’s not like I was butchered”, he answers, noticing your concerns.

“I wish I could come with you.”

“Darling. Alethaine is growing faster than a kitten – soon she will be old enough to be on her own. We will be doing this together again.”

You smile. Yes, that’s true. As a half-elf, you have much more time than humans. You are sixty-three, your human siblings are either long dead or very old. But you still look like you did when you were twenty. You have more than a century of life ahead. Plenty of time. For adventures, for miracles, for everything. Maybe, even for another child.

You spend what looks like a pleasant eternity like this. Talking, laughing, smiling. At least twice Astarion takes your hand graciously and drinks blood from your wrists. His bruises and scratches immediately heal. Whatever blood he managed to take in the winter woods wasn’t enough.

When the water gets cold, Astarion gets out and dresses in clean clothes, a white shirt with an embroidered dragon and black trousers.

… Together you sit in front of the fireplace. Astarion hugs you and you silently look at the fire.

A loud thump wakes you from bliss.

“Dad!” Alethaine cries out and in a moment the girl is on her father's lap.

“Hello, princess,” he stands up, lifting the girl in the air. You notice her ears have a purple color. “I see your teeth keep falling out”

Altethaine grins. And Astarion plants a gentle fatherly kiss on her forehead.

“Wait a moment, I brought you something” He puts Alethaine back on her feet, and she yawns like a cat.

Astarion pulls out two books out of his travel sack. Alethaineimmediately opens the first one. You can see pictures and intricate Elven letters – despite being a half-elf you never learned how to read it, meanwhile Alethaine had learned to read and write both Common and Elven before she turned five.

“Is it Elven?” she asks. “I can’t understand what is written!”

“It’s Old Elven. A little bit different from the one we speak.”

Alethaine opens the other book and sees an image of an Elven woman with long silver hair, and dark eyes.

“She looks like me,” Alethaine says,

“Yes, that’s what I thought.”

You look at them unable to stop smiling. Monsters. A vampire and a dhampir.

Your beloved monsters. The daughter and the husband. Sometimes you treat them like something given – besides, what is more “traditional” for a mortal woman than a child and a spouse? But Astarion never forgets, even for a moment, that these normal things are supposed to be impossible. He isn’t supposed to have a home, a wife, and a child.

You remember him crying with the newborn in his arms. Mere seven years ago. You remember coming back from a “dragon slaying travel” in the middle of the night to see Astarion and Alethaine sliding down a hill together. You remember his stare – which he gives you every single morning. The look of adoration, love, and gratitude.

The girl yawns once again, and you notice how sleepy she is.

“Are you hungry?”

“No,” the girl pouts. “I wanna sleep.”

“Oh, all right then. But come downstairs if you feel hungry”, Astarion strokes her silver hair.

Alethaine approaches you and wraps her hands around your neck. You feel a soft prickle of her fangs on your shoulder.

“Have a good sleep, kitten”, you say.

Alethaine snatches both of the books from the table and goes away. Unlike Elven children, Alethaine does sleep. Like a predator, deep in her dreams but waking up a moment something off happens.

“So, I think we should follow her example”, Astarion lifts you up in the air bridal style. “It’s tediously boring to sleep alone, do you agree?”

You giggle. When Astarion leaves, Alethaine doesn’t let you sleep alone. She crawls into her parents' bed and hugs you from behind pressing her little nose into your back. Anyone would think the girl is afraid of darkness or monsters.

But it’s not that.

Alethaine, a half-monster herself, sincerely believes her mother needs to be protected. And if Astarion isn’t at home, it’s her duty to make sure nothing comes after you. Maybe you slay monsters with your two-handed ax but who knows what night can hide?

You caress Astarion’s cheek.

“Yes, how could I even fall asleep without my beloved monsters?”

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-beloved @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati

276 notes · View notes

i-am-mldy · 11 days

Text

Back to my nalu brainrot years later so here are my headcanons on how nalu should develop if Mashima actually writes them properly:

Lucy sees Natsu as her best friend but does think there could be potential for more. She just actively pushes the idea away because it doesn't seem possible. She doesn't want to wait around for him and waste time, so she's long accepted how they currently are. It's not so bad anyway, cus their friendship is just as valuable to her. She doesn't need anything different as of now.

Natsu doesn't really think much about romance, relationships, etc. But he's not an idiot (canon you have no power here). All he knows is that Lucy is different than his other friends. Aside from Happy, he likes being around her the most. He doesn't really think about kids, but finds himself daydreaming about having one with Lucy, which he does not do with the other FT girls. He's scared to lose all his friends, but the thought of losing Lucy sticks around the most. She's different to him, he knows that, but struggles to figure it out because it's all new to him

Idgaf what the manga says. Natsu still likes pranking Lucy but has grown considerate of her. Lucy, however, learned from him and pranks him back. It has become a game now of who can tease the other better. Lucy likes playing around with her best friend, while Natsu just loves seeing her smile.

Happy has seen a change in Natsu in his treatment and feelings towards Lucy but doesn't know how to bring it up. He also sees Lucy's lingering looks of longing that she adeptly cuts short whenever someone notices. He'd rather they figure it out for themselves.

Their development would be gradual (but not nonexistent as it is in the damn manga). No dramatic confessions, just a bit of pushing from Lucy and a bit of opening up from Natsu. Lucy finds herself wanting to be closer bit by bit despite her earlier reservations, as Natsu's slowly figuring out how he feels for Lucy. Fortunately, Natsu doesn't need to say much for Lucy to understand what he means.

Their dynamic stays the same, just more mature and emotionally intimate. It comes to a point where they don't really need to verbalize it to know they're both it for each other, their first and last, forever.

At this point, the pda really begins. How Natsu teases Lucy now is outright flirting and dirty jokes, which flusters Lucy every time, especially when they're with the team. Lucy soon discovered that the best way to get back at him was through physical flirting — running her hands across his chest and stomach, playing with his hair, touching his neck. It drives him absolutely crazy and she loves it.

Natsu's protectiveness now bleeds beyond their fights against enemies and into simple social encounters with other people who so much as look at Lucy weirdly. This annoys her, but inside, she finds it sweet and attractive. On the other hand, Lucy tries to act nonchalant whenever she's jealous in order to save face, but the team can clearly see through her facade. Natsu, unfortunately, constantly misses all the hints, so Lucy ends up conceding anyway.

If they were attached at the hip before, they're absolutely glued to each other now. Natsu outright refuses to go anywhere without Lucy, and only she can convince him otherwise. The two now always share a bed/sleeping mat. Whenever they walk around, their hands are always intertwined. The most shocking of all, Natsu shares his food with Lucy; lets her take a bite from his plate all the time.

He tried to get into reading for her but quickly got bored of it, so she thought of reading to him instead. This seems to be much more effective, to the point the two often discuss their thoughts on what they're currently reading. This almost always turns into heated debates, with Lucy repeatedly trying to explain her point with solid evidence from the text, and Natsu just not getting it.

In that same vein, Lucy offers to spar against him. What Lucy lacks in physical strength, she makes up for with tact and sheer magical prowess, so they're often evenly matched, with Natsu winning the most by just a small margin mainly due to his stamina. Regardless, what matters most to him is how much fun he has with her. Also, their sparring helps him with his impulsiveness and temper since he has a safe outlet for his pent-up energy now.

It took a while for their teammates to adjust to their evolved dynamic. They're mostly shocked that Natsu had the brains to even make a move, but they can see how the two have matured with each other. Hence, they're truly happy for them.

Years down the line, Lucy moves into his house, which he spent months renovating to accommodate her. The first few months are pure chaos as they adjust to sharing the same space, with Natsu increasing his pranks and Lucy trying to avoid every single one, and Lucy constantly wanting to rearrange furniture and Natsu grumbling as he mostly does the heavy lifting, but both cannot express enough how happy they are to share a home.

The thought of proposing just suddenly comes to Natsu one day. After pondering on it for a few days, he asks her out of the blue as they're idling in the house. Lucy is shocked, stares at him, then laughs out loud when she realizes he's 100% serious. He gets flustered and self-conscious as she's doubling over, but before he can ask what is so funny, she kisses him and says yes. He grins and hugs her tightly as they laugh and kiss.

They have a simple ceremony near the guild, but things quickly turn chaotic as their friends from all over visit to witness the ceremony. Their honeymoon is spent traveling and adventuring. They pull a Sasuke and Sakura by coming home with baby Nasha OR with Lucy heavily pregnant because she wants to give birth in the guild. Either pushes the entire guild into absolute chaos, but the two wouldn't have it any other way.

Will add more soon! Feel free to comment and add your own

#fairy tail #nalu #natsu x lucy #nalu headcanon #fairy tail 100 yq #fairy tail 100 years quest #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #hiro mashima

107 notes · View notes

alicedash2 · 1 year

Text

Teen Shanks x Teen Y/N Whitebeard daughter!

Warning: none

Roger and Whitebeard meet in an inconvenient way on an island, and obviously Roger will not stop fighting Whitebeard, but Whitebeard said that someone had to take care of YN, as she was young and only 13 years old, she she had just joined Whitebeard's crew and had a lot to adapt to, nobody wanted her to get hurt, right?

- some of you keep lookout in YN! She ended up getting off the ship, I saw her running around- Whitebeard spoke

- oh, do you have a daughter, Whitebeard? How beautiful! - Roger teased

- yes, it's my precious daughter, who I'll kill anyone to protect, she's getting used to her new life!- Whitebeard said laughing, YN was saved from a massacre on the island she was on, the shock was so big in YN that caused several problems in YN

-don't worry, I guarantee you she'll be fine!- Roger said, getting ready to fight

- I know one thing, I know her strength, however small it may be, she is very skilled- Whitebeard was getting ready, while they fought among themselves, certain teenagers meet

- She's Whitebeard's daughter, Shanks!- Buggy tried to keep Shanks from wanting to approach YN, who was sitting under a tree,Shanks was mesmerized by YN's beauty, he was in love, she looked so sweet and sweet, her delicate shape and charm made Shanks' face turn red

- I know! But she doesn't look strong, it's okay to talk to her, and look at her! She's unarmed, what a danger...- Shanks said as he looked at the small girl playing with the grass, Shanks gets rid of Buggy's grip and goes to YN

- the problem is not her, but Whitebeard, leave her there and let's go!- Buggy pointed to the other side of the forest

-And who's going to take care of her?- Shanks asked with a worried face

-Shanks! Put it on your head! SHE-IS-DAUGHTER-OF-WHITE-BEARD! WE-ARE-ROGER'S-CREW!- Buggy yelled at Shanks while poking Shanks' forehead with every word being said

- if Whitebeard finds out we've talked to her, he'll kill us! And besides, she's a girl, it's going to be even worse!-Buggy said with a look of fear, Shanks, changes his expression, he puts his index finger close to his mouth, signaling that he was thinking

-You're right...- Shanks said

- Now you understand? Let's get out of here before anyone sees us- Buggy said anxiously

-but...- Shanks starts to speak

- NO BUT! SHH! LET'S GO! I am going! I don't want to mess with Whitebeard and his daughter!- Buggy left stomping, Shanks, takes advantage and approaches YN, who was still there

Shanks sneaks up next to YN, who just looks at Shanks but ignores him.

-Why aren't you with your crew?- Shanks asked

- and you? Why aren't you with your crew?- YN asked without taking her eyes off the ground

- I saw you around here, I thought it would be dangerous to leave you alone - Shanks smiled shyly

- Are you worrying about the enemy? Why?- YN asked looking at Shanks, who was leaning against the tree

- hmm, I don't see you as an enemy, maybe that's why- Shanks said calmly, Buggy didn't leave, he just walked away and watched the two

- I'm Shanks, I don't know if you've seen it, but my friend is Buggy, he was just with me - Shanks said with a huge smile

- I'm YN LN- YN said, only changing to a soft expression

-hey, YN, do you want my friend?- Shanks asked

-hows Shanks is dumb! Obviously she won't accept being friends with anyone from an enemy crew!- Buggy whispered

- yes!- YN said happily

- It's worse than Shanks!- Buggy cried

- what's going on?...- a voice is heard behind Buggy

- just two idiots being idiots! - Buggy said

- YN will have a lot to explain!- the voice said again, Buggy is paralyzed, trying to figure out whose voice it is, he looks slowly and then lets out a scream

-WHITEBEARD!!- Buggy starts running towards Shanks, who also starts running, but Whitebeard jumps and lands in front of them, preventing them from running and releasing a gust of air, causing the 3 to fall backwards

-YN! How dare you make friends with the redhead?!- Whitebeard asked extremely angrily

-like this? He doesn't present any danger!- YN said putting himself in front of Shanks

- he might be tricking you! - Whitebeard said

- Well, I don't think so!- YN said with an angry look.

-YN, go back to the ship!- Whitebeard said

-What?- YN asked

- get back on the ship, now! We'll have a long talk later! But first, I'm going to have a talk with these two!- Whitebeard said

- I knew this was going to happen, Shanks, this is your fault!- Buggy said pointing to the redhead

-Wait a minute!- Roger approached

- I don't see any problem with Shanks and Buggy being friends with your daughter, they're just teenagers- Roger said with a huge smile

- for that very reason! The chance of my daughter starting to like this redhead and wanting to keep it is huge! - Whitebeard spoke

- but they met today, I don't think that could happen, at least not now!- Roger laughed

- I already know how to defeat you now, Whitebeard! - Roger makes an evil face

-Shanks, I allow you to be friends with Whitebeard's daughter!- Roger said, Shanks' face lights up, he takes YN's hand and Buggy's arm and runs away with a smile on his face

- Let's get out of here! They're going to start fighting- Shanks said

- I don't even want to imagine the lecture I'm going to take!- YN said with tears in her eyes, thinking about what will happen

- It's okay, then I'll talk to Whitebeard - Shanks said, he goes to the coast, there, they are watching the landscape while listening to the sounds of fighting, Buggy, still afraid that something could happen, but Shanks, was so distracted and enthralled by YN, that in the blink of an eye, they'd be 17 and 18

-YN! Don't get off the ship!- Whitebeard said, but YN jumps off the ship and falls into Shanks' arms, who kisses her sweetly

- I STILL HAVE NOT ACCEPT THIS RELATIONSHIP!- Whitebeard said, but deep down, happy that YN had found his happiness, however hateful it is for Whitebeard

#shanks one piece #one piece #one piece x reader #whitebeard pirates x reader #akagami no shanks #shanks #shanks x reader #shanks x y/n #gol d. roger #red hair shanks #red haired shanks

872 notes · View notes

sister-lucifer · 2 years

Note

Me again. Say the demon bros had been captured by someone who meant to do them harm—perhaps some religious human who thinks they’re evil and has them in a devil trap. And then MC comes to rescue them, fights their captor and ends up victorious and saving them. How would the demons each feel about being rescued by their human?

MC saves the brothers from capture

Very few humans have ever been a danger to any demon. If a human did manage to capture one of the brothers, it would be by pure luck, and it would really be more of an annoyance than a threat. But if MC swooped into save them before they could save themselves, how would they react?

Not fully proof read, let me know if you see any errors!

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out

Feed back is encouraged and appreciated:)

*Asmodues uses he/she pronouns

Lucifer

Honestly he’s so over it

He’s sitting in the middle of this stupid “summoning circle” when he should be getting work done

All because this idiotic self righteous human thinks they’re hot shit

He’s about to use a bit of magic to break out when all of a sudden the door flies off it’s hinges and—

It’s you

In the next instant the other human is on the ground out cold

And Lucifer has only half processed what happened when you rub away the chalk circle and scoop him up

“Lucifer, I was so worried. Are you alright?”

“Ahem. Yes, I’m fine. I see you’ve already taken care of the problem. Now let’s go home so I can finish my work.”

Very nonchalant

Fully aware he wasn’t really in any danger, that human had no idea what they’re doing

But he’s glad to see that you came to rescue him anyways

Mammon

Freaking out a little bit, actually

It’s like being on a rollercoaster: Your common sense tells you you’re not in any danger, but you can’t help being scared!

He’s still trying to put on a tough guy facade though

“Hah! You think this stupid circle will stop anything? Ugh, humans…”

But a few empty threats from his captor will shut him up

He’s debating offering them money (even though he doesn’t really have any)

And also thinking about how mad Lucifer is gonna be if he doesn’t get home soon

But before he can make an offer and bury himself further in debt, you break in just in time

Mammon doesn’t watch much but he can hear the scuffle and a glass breaking and what he thinks was the other human getting thrown over a table??

And suddenly you’re pulling him out of the circle and looking him up and down for any injuries

“Mammon, are you alright? They didn’t hurt you did they?”

“Relax, human! The Great Mammon can handle himself! I-In fact, I’m a little upset that you got to ‘em before I did! Aha…yeah….”

He doesn’t sound very confident about that

And he will definitely make himself the hero of the story when he tells it to his brothers later

Leviathan

LOSING HIS MIND

FULL PANIC MODE

SOMEONE GET HIM A BROWN PAPER BAG TO HYPERVENTILATE INTO

A crying puddle on the floor

His captor is really confused but still trying to do an evil monologue over Leviathan’s sobbing

“Is this how it ends for this otaku?! Captured and killed by a human?! Oh, the agony!“

You only figured out what room he was in because you could hear his wails a mile away

His demeanor completely changes when he sees you

And he’s honestly amazed at the way you fight off his ‘captor’

Completely starstruck when you scoop him up from his place on the floor

“Levi? You doing alright?”

“Y-Yes, I’m fine, just…in heaven…”

He cant even count how many times he’s fantasized about being saved by you

Cannot thank you enough and will be doing favors (i.e., sucking up to you) for the next month

Will constantly sing your praises as well

He’s just so grateful he can’t contain it!

Satan

Annoyed just like Lucifer

But let’s his anger show through more

Partly because he wants to be intimidating and let this human know he’s not on the mood for bullshit, and partly because that’s just how he is

“This is the last damn thing I wanted to deal with today…”

The last thing he wants to do is have to use his magic, he doesn’t have the energy

So he lets the human go about their ‘master plan’ for a while, waiting for them to let their guard down

Because such a self centered asshat is bound to make a mistake

But before that could happen, you had busted down the door in a surprise entrance that even made Satan flinch a bit

He’s surprised to see you, but not unhappy

And he’s very happy when you get to work beating the shit out of his ‘captor’

He’s definitely cheering you on like a middle school boy watching a fight at recess

When you walk over to him, though, it’s a different story

“Are you okay Satan?”

“Yes yes, I’m fine. While I appreciate your efforts I should like you to know I had the situation completely under control on my own.”

Once he’s firmly asserted to you that he would’ve been fine without your rescue, he’ll gladly let you escort him home

Asmodeus

More confused than scared at first

Once she realizes what’s going on though she groans dramatically and starts lamenting

“Ugh, I know humans love me and all—I mean, who doesn’t—but you could at least give me a warning! You interrupted my me time…”

Honestly just unamused

This human is just boring, not even worth flirting with

He’s going to die of boredom!

Fortunately though, before that happens you come to his rescue

He squeals with excitement as you come rushing through the door

And he gets a little flushed at your show of brute strength

“Oh my, I didn’t know my human could do that!”

Sighs dreamily as you pick her up and carry her bridal style

Princess Asmo being saved by her knight in shining armor!

What more could he have wanted?

Now he can get back to pampering himself

Not before he asks you to join in, of course

It’s how he says thank you

Beelzebub

Second least phased aside from Belphie

His cheeseburger got summoned with him, so he’s chill

He can hardly hear his ‘captor’s’ babbling when he’s stuffing his face full of the best human world food those mortals have to offer

Will ask for another when he’s done as if he hasn’t just been basically kidnapped

He just sort of sits there staring off into space

Probably thinking about what he wants to eat next before you come barging in

He’s surprised to see you, but still waves at you and flashes you a smile casually

This smile falters when you throw a punch at the other human

And then another

And another

And— DEAR GOD, YOU CAN STOP NOW

“Beel, are you okay? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

“Well, no, but I think you hurt them enough for the both of us…”

Just sort of stands up and brushes himself off

Asks you if you wanna go grab some human world food since you’re both here

It’s a great post getting kidnapped snack!

Belphegor

Least phased by a mile

Too sleepy to give a shit

Almost didn’t even wake up his nap when he was warped through dimensions

“Huh? What’s goin’ on? …A summoning? Sounds boring. Wake me up on an hour.”

Despite his ‘captors’ yelling and empty threats Belphegor doesn’t even stir

He does wake, though, when he senses your presence

Of course by that point you’ve already dealt with the other human and grabbed Belphie

“Oh, human, you’re here? ‘Kidnapped?’ Oh yeah, guess I was. Eh, weirder things have happened.”

Just wants to go home and take a nap with you

1K notes · View notes

ohbo-ohno · 6 months

Text

Kinktober Day 18 - Body Modification

Ghost x Soap - 4.9k (on ao3)

summary: Johnny's tattoo artist doesn't give him the design they'd agreed on. (Johnny POV)

cw: noncon!!, trans johnny, kinda mirror sex, implied future kidnapping

“It looks great!” Johnny confirms as he looks down at the design Ghost holds up for him.

It’s the very bottom of what will become a full back piece further down the line, but Ghost had explained that for a piece as large as the one Johnny was looking for he’d have to get it done in sections. He mostly knew that - his sleeves hadn’t been done in one day, after all - but he also hadn’t been expecting to have one full section done with nothing anywhere else. Maybe lining, then color, then shading, but he trusts Ghost’s process.

Johnny’s been going to Ghost’s tattoo parlor - 141 Ink - since he was twenty-two and drunk off his ass, looking for anything fun to do after a night out with Kyle. The two of them had stumbled into the tattoo shop close to midnight, half-way to blacking out already, and gotten themselves a pair of matching tattoos. The owner of the shop, the eternally grouchy John Price, had talked them down from matching rifles on their thighs to a pair of puzzle pieces on their ankles - something to laugh at in the morning, not something to start saving up for a cover-up after seeing.

Johnny had come back a week later to get something done on his kneecap - a skull with an open jaw - and the only artist open for walk-ins had been Ghost. He’d thought the man hated him for most of the process when he didn’t respond to any of Johnny’s attempts at small talk or jokes, so the next time he planned to get something done he’d scheduled an appointment with Price. But when he got there he was told his artists had been switched, and that Ghost would be working on his piece instead. He was almost as quiet as the first time, but the tattoo came out perfectly, and Johnny figured it was a fair trade.

Ghost has done all of Johnny’s ink since - the matching kneecap, both of his full sleeves, and now the start of his back piece. It hasn’t even occured to Johnny to try finding someone else to work on him. He’s working up the nerve to get a tongue piercing done, but the idea of having Ghost so close to his face with his fingers in Johnny’s mouth… he’s got to get his rampant crush under control a bit more before that can happen.

“Good,” Ghost grunts, nodding over to the leather chair set up in the middle of his office. “Shirt off, pants down, chest to the back of the chair.”

Johnny’s already pulling his shirt off before what Ghost said registers, and he pauses halfway to the chair, laughing a little awkwardly. “Sorry- pants down?”

Ghost makes a noise that Johnny interprets as yes, idiot. He’s never had to fully take his pants off for a tattoo before but… well, he’s also never had his lower back tattooed. So he trusts Ghost, kicking off the sweats he’d worn in preparation for a long day.

“Boxers too, Johnny. Come on, we don’t have all day.”

Johnny blushes as he shifts his weight from foot to foot, hesitating with a thumb hooked in the fabric of his underwear.

“Uh, you’re sure-?”

Ghost sighs, raising his head from where he’d been preparing his ink and shooting Johnny an unimpressed look. “Don’t get prudish, MacTavish. You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.”

That’s not actually reassuring, but Ghost’s dismissive tone makes Johnny feel… well, not more comfortable necessarily, but more like he was the one being weird in this situation. He takes a deep breath and quickly takes his black boxers off, folding them on top of the rest of his clothes and quickly straddling the chair. He hasn’t mentioned his transition to Ghost before, but there’s a pride flag hanging in the shop’s lobby, so he knows he’s at the very least not a bigot.

“I’m not a prude,” he defends, wrinkling his nose as he glances in Ghost’s direction to see if he’s looked at Johnny yet. “I’d bet I’m more than you could handle.”

A snort from Ghost, and Johnny resists the urge to look over again and see if he’s wearing one of those half-smiles. “That’s a good joke, Johnny. You might have a career in comedy.”

Johnny rolls his eyes, smiling. “Yeah, real funny, Ghost.”

He shifts a little in the chair - he’s uncomfortably exposed like this, despite the banter. With one leg on each side of the chair, he’s spread just enough for his cheeks to part and a cool breeze to blow over very sensitive areas. He has to hover a little awkwardly to avoid just pressing his spread folds to the leather. It takes a bit of wiggling for him to lay a bit more comfortably as he speaks, but he isn’t able to quite shake the feeling of being too exposed.

Ghost lays a hand on Johnny’s shoulder as he sits on a stool behind him, and Johnny can’t help but jump a bit at the sudden contact.

“Steady,” Ghost commands. “You’re fine.” He pushes down with just enough force that Johnny is pressed to the chair, and he winces a bit at the shock of cold from the leather

“Easy for you to say,” Johnny snorts, shaking out his shoulders and trying for levity even as goosebumps race down his arms. “You’ve still got your drawers on.”

Ghost laughs a little in response, and Johnny counts it as a win.

“You want me naked too, Johnny? Gotta pay extra for that.”

Johnny’s glad they’re not facing each other so he doesn’t have to fight down the heat rising in his cheeks. “Och, I’m paying you to get me naked here, and I’ve got to give you even more for some reciprocation? Feels unfair, Ghost.”

“You’re paying me to stab hundreds of needles into your skin for a pretty picture,” Ghost corrects, the machine buzzing to life. “Now settle. You know it feels better when you relax.”

The innuendo there has to be intentional, but Johnny chooses - for once - to be mature and swallow all the jokes sitting on the tip of his tongue, instead sinking into the leather and forcing the tension from his muscles. He’s glad he’d shaved before coming, he’s not sure he could handle both of Ghost’s hands cleaning him up like that right now.

Johnny’s always enjoyed getting tattooed - enjoyed it maybe a little too much, honestly. He’d done a few stick and pokes in university (faded from lack of care and easily covered by the black and gray work on his arms) and knew even then that pain felt good in a way very inappropriate for the public eye.

That fact has only been reaffirmed again and again with each tattoo he’s gotten professionally, and Johnny always finds himself trying not to squirm in the leather chair as he grows more and more slick.

He’s pretty sure he’s hidden his clenching thighs and shivery breaths from Ghost, but he tries to tamp it down as much as possible just in case.

But sitting like he is, legs spread and completely nude, it’s a little harder to hide the way his hole starts to drip, the cool air making his t-cock twitch. He goes limp in the chair as soon as Ghost starts working, the pain a comfort despite his impending embarrassment, leaving his cunt pressed awkwardly into the seat.

Usually Johnny would talk endlessly during one of their sessions. Ghost plays at being annoyed by his rambling, but the man also got offended when Johnny mentioned another tattoo parlor across town, so he’s confident there’s at least some affection there. Plus, Johnny’s seen Ghost shut down rowdy customers without any hesitation - if he was really bothered by the endless talking, Johnny would know.

He’s not keen on babbling this time, though. Not when he feels like an exposed nerve, skin and muscle stripped away and leaving him bare. He sits with the pain, lets it sink into him, and just rides the sensation. Ghost never talks much while tattooing, so they’re left with just the sounds of Ghost’s machine buzzing.

He doesn’t bother to ask Johnny if he needs a break when he pulls away to swipe at certain areas of the tattoo. The first time Johnny had asked for one - his first sleeve, and because he needed to use the restroom - Ghost had levelled him with a distinctly annoyed look and gone back to his work without responding. Johnny had nearly pissed himself, but he hasn’t bothered asking for a break since.

It’s not like he does need one. The few seconds Ghost takes to change ink or clear some of his skin is more than enough for him to catch his breath from the pain. On one such break he shifts his legs a little closer together, squeezing the chair between his thighs. It gives his core a little more cover, makes him feel less like he’s just spread wide for Ghost to see.

Ghost grunts when he turns back to Johnny, giving the outside of his thigh a few harsh taps. “Relax again. Can’t have you tensed up like that.”

Johnny glances over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed. “‘M not tense. Just putting my legs together.”

Ghost scoffs and rolls his eyes above the black surical mask. “What, like a lady? No need for modesty here, Johnny. Spread ‘em.”

Johnny goes crimson at the comparison, burying his head in folded arms while he reluctantly spreads his legs again. The wetness between them feels more obvious now, and he bites his tongue to keep from ignoring Ghost’s command.

“Good boy,” Ghost says, then goes right back to tattooing. Johnny just has to sit there and pretend those two words don’t have him leaving a puddle on the chair below him.

The session passes mostly without incident after that. Johnny’s blush never fully abates as the wetness pooling beneath him becomes more and more obvious, but Ghost doesn’t say a word about it so neither does he. The pain is easy to manage, and they’re done before he’d even expected.

Ghost is, as always, a little harsh as he wipes the fresh ink off. “Alright. Looks prettier than I expected. Wanna take a look?”

Johnny’s a little confused by that - they’d agreed on an epic battle scene for the piece, it certainly shouldn’t be pretty - but he’s excited to see the finished product, so he’s quick to hop up.

“I’m sure it’s great, Ghost,” he compliments, stretching and moving towards the mirror hanging against the wall. Before he can get far, a warm glove wraps around the nape of his neck, pointer finger and thumb squeezing. Johnny freezes, his back arching instinctually.

“You gonna leave that mess on my chair?”

The slight growl to Ghost’s voice is unfairly sexy, and Johnny prays that he doesn’t start dripping down his thigh. He tries to laugh off the humiliation at being caught once the words register. “Sorry, sorry. You got any towels?”

Ghost grunts, then muscles Johnny forward without warning. He can hardly keep track of what’s happening as he’s forced down, bent at the waist with his nose pressed to the leather, hands just barely darting forward to catch him in time.

“Be quick about it.” Ghost’s tone is dismissive, like there’s nothing out of the ordinary here.

Johnny isn’t quick. He stays like that, Ghost’s hand on his neck and hip pressed against his side, and breathes heavily with wide eyes. The puddle right in front of his mouth is tiny, but noticeable, and he feels a little choked up at the notion that Ghost had seen it.

“C’mon,” Ghost pushes his head a little further, until he makes a small noise in his throat from the sharp pressure in his nose.

He feels a little like he’s living in a fever dream, like at some point while getting tattooed he fell into another dimension where it’s socially acceptable to bend over your naked clients without batting an eye. But Ghost’s hold is firm and unrelenting, so tentatively, Johnny sticks out his tongue.

“Good boy,” Ghost rumbles, squeezing the nape of his neck again. Not harshly, like he had before, but almost like a massage. “The rest of it now.”

Johnny shudders at the tone but listens, darting his tongue out in quick little licks to clean up the slick and sweat from the session. It doesn’t take very long, but he feels every second like a heavy weight on his shoulder.

Once he’s done, Ghost pulls his hand away. “There you go, attaboy. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Johnny doesn’t respond as he stands back up, blushing from his hairline to his chest. He can’t quite work up the nerve to glance up and see if Ghost is staring at him, instead focusing on taking a few deep breaths and stomping down the insistent throb between his legs. He probably shouldn’t be okay with what just happened, certainly shouldn’t be aroused, but his clit isn’t on the same page.

“Come have a look now,” Ghost says, laying a hand on Johnny’s shoulder and giving him a slight nudge towards the mirror. He walks over on slightly wobbly legs, heart still beating a little too fast in his chest. His mouth is dry now and he compulsively licks his lips to try and alleviate the sticky feeling on his tongue.

He’s still a bit shaky in front of the mirror, and he has to twist a little awkwardly to see the tattoo, but once he manages to get a good look his heart stops.

There, in two thick lines right over the crack of his ass, is a large bold script reading “PROPERTY OF SIMON RILEY”.

Johnny can’t quite get a breath in. He hadn’t even known Ghost’s real name - if that is Ghost’s name at least - and now… now it’s tattooed onto him. What the fuck?

“What-” he can’t even get the words out, takes a shuddering breath and tries to twist to get a better look as he starts again. “What the hell is this?”

He reaches back to run a hand over the reddened skin, like touching will make it less real, and Ghost - Simon? - catches his wrist mid-air with a tsk.

“No touching fresh ink,” he scolds. “You know better, Johnny.”

He meets Ghost’s eyes in the mirror, confusion painting every inch of his face. Ghost looks calm and collected, cocking an eyebrow just slightly.

“What the fuck?!” Johnny’s voice rises to a near shout, and he tries to yank his hand away from Ghost while throwing himself back. “You- how dare you- why- why would you do this? What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Ghost follows him when he pushes himself into the mirror, one hand dropping to grip his ass and pull his hips forward so the only part of him touching the glass are his shoulders and head.

“No touching,” he purrs, pressing their chests together and leaning so close they’re nearly nose-to-nose. “Didn’t I just say that? Someone should teach you how to listen.”

Johnny’s breath hitches in his chest and he pushes against Simon’s shoulder with his free hand. “I’m not fucking listening to you, you bastard, you’ve- you fucking mutilated me!”

Ghost scoffs and rolls his eyes, pressing even closer. “Don’t be such a drama queen. My name looks real good on you.” His voice pitches a little lower and he pulls Johnny fully off the mirror, looking over his shoulder and down at the reflection. “Yeah, fits you perfectly. Now everyone will know who you belong to, hm?”

Johnny’s in shock, that must be what this is. He’s fallen into some sort of wormhole and entered an alternate universe, and now he’s in shock. That is the only feasible explanation for his tattoo artist - who he’s only ever seen at scheduled appointments - is making a claim on him via non-consenual tattooing.

He’s pulled even further away from the mirror, left stumbling into Simon’s chest when he can’t catch his balance. Ghost grabs him by the chin and cranes his neck back around, forcing him to stare at the tattoo.

“I don’t-” Johnny cuts himself off when he can’t quite get enough breath in. His voice is almost embarrassingly quiet, but he can’t bring himself to be any louder. “Why the fuck would you do this?”

Ghost hums low in his chest, stroking his hand over the curve of Johnny’s ass and to just below the fresh ink, careful not to touch the reddend skin. “It’s easier this way. Now you and I and everyone else knows who you belong to. No more confusion.”

“There wasn’t any confusion,” Johnny protests, one hand pushing weakly at the arm holding him in place by his shoulder. “I don’t belong to anyone, let alone you. We don’t even really know each other. This isn’t- this isn’t okay.”

Ghost snarls at that, a shockingly loud animalistic noise that sets off every warning bell in Johnny’s head. He’s gone completely stiff as Ghost pulls him closer by the hand on his ass, ducking down to snap in his ear. “You’re covered in my work. You’re mine.”

He doesn’t get a chance to respond as Ghost hauls him away from the mirror, throwing his body over the leather chair in the center of the room. He’s left splayed onto his stomach with the mirror right in front of him, bent over at the waist with his ass facing towards Ghost.

Just as he gets his hands beneath him, complaint already on the tip of his tongue, a hand lands between his shoulder blades and pushes him down with such force that the air is knocked straight out of his lungs. He blinks dumbly at himself in the mirror as Ghost steps behind him, his all-black outfit a sharp contrast to Johnny’s tanned skin.

“Wait-” Johnny starts, some primal part of him (or maybe the part of him that’s watched too much porn) knowing exactly what Ghost wants to do. “Wait, Ghost, you can’t-”

There’s a sudden, stinging pain on Johnny’s ass, and the sound of a smack echoes in his ears. It takes a minute for him to realize that Ghost spanked him.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare-” he snarls, rearing back as much as he can under Simon’s hold. He gets another harsh slap for that, then several more. Ghost lands blow after blow across his ass, each hit thudding and heavy. Johnny bites out insults he’s never used before, fighting as much as he can to no avail.

Eventually the pain sinks a little too deeply, and he goes limp beneath Ghost’s palms. That gets him a purring rumble, and the hand on his back strokes across his shoulders.

“There you go,” Ghost purrs, leaning his hips into Johnny’s reddened ass and shushing the ensuing whine. “Fight all you want, I’ll beat you into submission as many times as you need, Johnny.” He chuckles a little, pressing a kiss to Johnny’s back. “That’s what good boyfriends do, huh?”

Johnny whines at that, a little choked up. He gets his words a minute later, forcing out, “Not- not my boyfriend. You’re gonna rot in jail for this, jackass.”

“Oh?” Ghost coos, leaning to Johnny’s ear and whispering his words, like they’re just meant for him. “Will you come see me? Maybe a couple of conjugal visits from my sweet cunt on the outside?”

His free hand creeps down Johnny’s body, and he has no time to prepare for the palm suddenly stroking over him. Johnny almost dances on his feet, trying to find any way to get the stimulation off.

“St-stop!”

“Stop? But you’re so wet, baby, why would I stop? I can tell it feels good.”

“No, it doesn’t. I don’t let perverts fuckin’ touch me, get off.” He tries to throw his head back into Ghost’s shoulder, but the hand on his shoulder quickly catches him by the mohawk and yanks him back instead. Ghost’s face - mask now taken off - hovers upside down above him, a smug curl to his lips.

“Really? I think you might be a little pervert yourself. Look at how wet you are.” He delivers a quick slap to Johnny’s folds, and the wet sound is humiliating in the otherwise silent room. “You liked licking your mess up that much? Don’t worry, you’ll be cleaning up all your messes from now on. I’ll teach you how to behave properly once I take you home.”

“Home-?” Johnny blubbers a bit, wriggling around but only managing to shift a few inches in any direction. Simon works insistently at his dick, jacking and rubbing the bundle of nerves in an agonizing pattern that has Johnny dripping.

“Yes, home, Johnny. Did you think I’d give you my ink then leave you wandering the streets?” Ghost snorts as he shifts to stand up more fully, forcing Johnny’s head forward more so he’s staring at the pair of them in the mirror again. “What if you got lost, baby? Then some horrible pervert might just scoop you up all for themselves. No, you’ll come home with me, and stay right there, safe and sound.”

Johnny’s past words - he just sort of gapes at himself in the mirror, mind still stuck thirty minutes ago, when everything still made sense. Ghost doing all this, having him bent over, rubbing his pussy in the perfect way… it doesn’t make sense. He has to bite back the confused noise wanting to escape him, tears welling in his eyes from the restraint.

To his chagrin, Ghost notices.

“Oh, baby,” he hums, condescending tone out in full force. “You’re just so needy, huh? Need fucked so bad you’re crying over it? Don’t you worry, Johnny, will fix that for you. Here - I’ll even skip the prep.”

That hreat along with the sound of a belt being undone jolts Johnny back into his body, and he desperately pushes himself up on his hands. Simon’s grip doesn’t let him fully stand, but he manages a bit more leverage.

“No, no, Ghost, you can’t- you can’t fuck me, please-”

“Why not?” Simon just hums, perfectly at peace as his jeans fall to the floor. “Your cunt’s soaked, Johnny. Might be a bit of a stretch, but I’m sure a slut like you can take it. Price’s out, so no one will hear your cryin’ and beggin’.”

“I’m not gonna fucking cry-”

Johnny immediately proves himself a liar as Ghost pushes the head of his cock into his slick hole. He doesn’t push any further than that, but even just the head has Johnny’s arms giving out and leaving him to slump back to the chair.

Ghost is fucking massive. Johnny’s not sure he can even breathe past the stretch, his hole feeling like it’s on fire. He’s sure he’s bleeding - there’s no way something can hurt this much without blood.

He doesn’t even notice he’s crying until a hand turns his head to the side and wipes at his cheeks. “What was that?” Ghost asks, the smugness palpable in his tone. “What were you not gonna go, Johnny?”

He can’t make any sound past a whine, desperately trying to breathe through the stretch.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Ghost pulls back and rests his hands on Johnny’s hips, fingers stroking soothingly. “You’re not bleeding, so I think you can take a bit more.”

“No, no-” is all Johnny manages to gasp out before Simon moves forward, and everything he just felt is multiplied by ten.

He’s almost certain he blacks out from the first push to the press of hips against his sore ass. He feels split down the middle, like the things shoved inside of him is going to keep going forever, come right up out of his mouth and leave him in two pieces. He can feel the tip of Ghost’s cock at his fucking cervix.

By some mercy, Ghost doesn’t fuck him immediately. He coos and whisperes condescending comforts, little hums that humiliate more than they soothe.

“You’re alright, baby boy, just relax. Deep breaths, relax into it. You know how to relax for me Johnny, seen you do it beneath the machine enough time by now. Your body’s meant to take my cock, you’ll be fine. You really are a little drama queen, huh? All those pretty tears and I haven’t even started fucking you yet. You gonna be my little pillow princess, baby? Lay there and let me do all the work?”

Johnny doesn’t even try to work up the energy to respond.

“Alright,” Ghost eventually says, giving the side of Johnny’s ass a pat. “I think you’re about as comfortable as you’re gonna get. Deep breaths now, Johnny, be good for me.”

Johnny’s so deep into sensory overload, he hardly notices when Ghost pulls out. He definitely notices when he thrusts back in - the sudden punch at his cervix has him crying out, even as drained as he already feels.

Ghost chuckles behind him. “I know the pain feels good, Johnny. Just lean into it, baby, it’ll feel good soon.”

He’s right - it only takes a few well-aimed thrusts for Johnny’s body to turn even further against him. The sharp pain of a too-soon stretch is still present, but the drag of a heavy cock inside of him, the way Ghost rubs at his clit and manages to hit his g-spot, it all leaves Johnny with a slack mouth, drool dripping to the tile.

Each touch to his cervix is a shot of pain directly up his spine, but that pain just sets sparks off in his cock. He’s closest to orgasm at those moments, every press deep inside of him nearly shoving him into a pleasurable abyss.

Ghost keeps him riding the edge for a while, doesn’t give him the rush he wants so badly.

“Want to come, sweet thing?”

Against his own better thought, Johnny can’t help but gasp, “Ye-es, need it, oh god…”

“Yeah? Go on then, Johnny, beg for it.”

“Nooo,” he hiccups, hips jerking back into Ghost’s movements before he’s stilled by a harsh squeeze.

“Yes,” Ghost hisses mockingly. “You can feel good once you start to behave. Now come on, beg for it.”

Johnny bites his lip, determined not to give in.

He barely lasts two more thrusts before he can’t take it any longer, riding the knife’s edge of an orgasm driving all rationality out of his head.

“Alright, okay, please, please, need to come so bad, Ghost. Come on, please let me come? I’m right fucking there, I can’t- I can’t fucking breathe, please, ‘m gonna die, needta come, please, please…”

Another laugh from behind him, and somehow the fucking gets even rougher.

“You’re gonna die? There’s my favorite little performer, you just need it so bad don’t you?”

“Yes! Please, please, please-”

“Alright, alright, I hear you.” If Johnny were anything less than completely cockdrunk, he’d have the wherewithal to be offended by how non-chalant Simon manages to sound. “That was a good start, baby. I’ll teach you how to beg properly once you’re home, okay? You can go ahead and come, c’mon, let your cunt milk me.”

Like his brain is already trained to obey Simon’s every whim, Johnny comes as soon as the words are out of Ghost’s mouth. He feels shattered by his orgasm, his vision whiting out as he screams from the pleasure. He clenches down so strongly on Ghost that the stretch feels like too much again, and the sparks of pain just prolong his orgasm.

“There you go,” Ghost moans, hips pumping slowly into Johnny’s snatch. “Gonna make me come, baby.”

He’s got just enough presence of mind to whine at that. “Not- not inside…”

“Not inside?” Ghost almost sounds offended. “What, you want me to come on your back? Johnny, you just got a tattoo done. You want me to give you an infection? No, no, you’re gonna keep my come nice and safe in your cunt. Say, thank you, Simon.”

Johnny whines at the first spurts of come painting his insides.

“No - not quite,” Ghost leans his weight over Johnny’s back, panting heavily. “Try-try again, baby. Come on, be good for me.”

The words don’t encourage Johnny much, but the series of sharp taps to his sensitive clit do that trick.

“Ow- ow, fuck, th-thank you, Simon…” he gasps out, squriming against the pain and then moaning as Ghost just shifts further into him.

There’s a long, content sigh over him. “Good boy,” Ghost praises, then huffs a laugh at the clench of Soap’s cunt.

They lay there in silence for several long moments, both of them slowly sinking back into their bodies. Johnny stares with half-lidded eyes at the mirror, still partly unable to really grasp what just happened.

Eventually, Simon pulls out, shushing Johnny’s whine and wince at the sensation.

“We’re done now, Johnny, stop your cryin’. You’re gonna be alright.”

Looking at the pair of them in the mirror - Johnny, soaked in sweat, tears, and come, and Ghost, standing tall and proud seemingly without a care in the world - he can’t help but doubt the words.

But he doesn’t have the energy to think about the future right now, it’s all been fucked out of him. So Johnny lets his eyes drift shut, figuring that things surely couldn’t be any worse when he wakes up.

#ghost calls johnny “baby” a LOT in this and i dont really know why. i was trying to avoid “pup” but i probably shouldve said love lmao #ghoap #ghostsoap #ghost x soap #soap x ghost #bo writes #john soap mactavish x simon ghost riley #john mactavish x simon riley #soap mactavish x ghost riley #ghostsoap smut #ghoap smut #kinktober day 18 #kinktober #kinktober 2023

146 notes · View notes

spinnysocks · 2 months

Text

TLG Outlanders Jumanji AU that i have suddenly become obsessed with :) buckle up

i'm mainly basing this off of the 2017 movie, with elements of the 2019 one too

wema, tunu, dogo and kijana are playing when they find a hidden cave, they go in and they find lots of weird paintings on the wall and the floor. ever the inquisitive one, dogo steps into a circle in the middle and they all get sucked into... Jumanji?? or maybe in the TLG universe it's called Mchezo

the adults look for them. the leaders (plus kenge and sumu) and the idiots (plus mwoga, nne, tano and neema) go in two groups to search since the kids were missing for a while. the leaders find the hidden cave first as sumu noticed it in his small size. they get sucked in, and eventually the idiots find it after them

they turn into human versions upon entering the world. yeah they're pretty freaked out lmao

the premise is that they go through trials to "prove" themselves, at the risk of their 3 lives, to get to the final task of saving the kiddos. i'm thinking each of them get a task focused on their skills but all of them are at the will of it, aka any of them could lose a life in any trial

i think the Strengths & Weaknesses bit would be funny. kiburi has no weaknesses, he says smth like "I'm too good to be weak 😏" and then 'Pride' pops up hfgdhdh. tamka's weakness would be cake because i think it'd be funny. nduli's is picking up cool rocks. i would say goigoi's would be sleeping but he'd lose all 3 in an instant. the list goes on

reirei is mad because she gets the boring map-reader job lol, despite that she saves everyone's asses so

i imagine sumu is like Milo, he gives them the information in a really deadpan tone lmao. it's like "... Oh no..." "Spit it out, will you?!" "... Mandrills. We should go" and he just continues spilling knowledge while they're running for their lives lmao

you know how in the second movie Bethany/Milo is a horse? yeah nne and tano are straight up just themselves- they're hyenas but realistic, like they didn't change 💀 they're just there doing hyena laughs and absolutely savaging people in the fights

the ostrich scene from the second movie would be funny. maybe the hyenas are the drivers 👀 NONE of them trust their lives with janja, chungu or cheezi but somefuckinghow.. they don't die

in a trial where the leaders are really trapped, guess who sneaks in and saves them? Ushari!!! that was actually all of their reactions as soon as he spoke and they knew it was him. shupavu hugs him on impulse and then gets awkward about it lol, they're happy to see him

ushari explains how he didn't actually die when scar was destroyed but he escaped the volcano and happened across the hidden cave. he's been trapped ever since and obviously presumed dead. he's been stuck with 1 life because he needed the others to complete the rest of the trials :(

there's a dance fight where kiburi has to defeat the guards without being all guns blazing about it. literally the same as the scene with Martha. it's so funny at first bc he doesn't know what the fuck to do - i hc him as demi, he can't flirt with someone he doesn't know😭 - but when a song (prolly rap?) starts playing he beats their asses easy

little did they know the exact same thing was happening on the opposite side of the building, just with the idiots. tamka, nduli and neema also get their cool moment of beating people up, dance fight style! it's mainly tamka because he actually DOES have a strength in acting :)

the leaders and the idiots enter the building at the same time and it's an "Oh Shit!" spiderman pointing meme moment lmao. from this point on they do the trials together

the vultures fly the helicopters. you can imagine how well that goes. it's just like in the movie where something immediately breaks 😭 i think it'd be cool if kenge was the one to fix the helicopter, giving him a hero moment! imagine it

"Kenge, you did it! :D"

"Guess I did"

"Um... Oops"

"What Janja?"

"I dropped the jewel 😶"

"YOU WHAT?!?!"

janja loses a life in that scene from the rhinos 😭 do i wanna traumatise mzingo that much? idk. i just feel like that is such a janja thing to happen. fridge's character is janja-coded lmfao

"YOU PUSHED ME OUT THE HELICOPTER! >:("

that scene where fridge pushes spencer off a cliff? yeah that obviously happens. i'm thinking reirei and janja squabbling. would be funny if janja pushes reirei off impulsively and he just stands there, in shock, waiting to get yelled at when she respawns 😭

there's one of those Step On The Right Pieces trials. kiburi is being all cocky, steps on the wrong one and loses a life- bro gets absolutely humbled lmao. i think the skinks would be good at that trial for some reason

some random trial ideas: a "sleeping lions" type trial for goigoi. a "follow (copy) the leader" trial for mzingo. a food temptation one for the idiots??

jasiri definitely has a trial where she helps someone or shows that the "bad guy" NPCs can be good or somethin. that's probably the last trial before the finale

at the last trial they all work together to save the kiddos! it's really wholesome at the end because they saved the kids, they actually achieved something, they worked together, AND they got ushari back! :)

bonus:

based on the second movie, i was considering a different version of this au where janja purposefully enters the game to prove himself and it's more of a lesson of how it's not just about his strength, but the strength of all of them

janja just thinks he ain't good enough, especially not being leader of his clan anymore, but it's through working together when the others come after him that he realises that ain't true. just an extra thought i had :)

might make a follow up post because i came up with this in an afternoon just for fun 😭

#the lion guard #tlg #tlg outlanders #tlg au #jumanji au #been too long since i made a long tlg post <3 #hello hello i am back

110 notes · View notes

shygirl4991 · 3 months

Text

Coffee Prince and The Frog Prologue

A Collab with @lizaluvsthis and @alianarepasa

Art for this chapter cover included done by @alianarepasa Next Chapter Kid SMG3 and Family Reference by alianarepasa SMG4 and SMG3 Outfit Reference by Lizaluvsthis Summary: SMG3 is a busboy with a dream to run his own cafe, he slaves away at his friends restaurant in hopes to save enough to open his cafe. But when a talking frog named SMG4 asks for a kiss to break a curse placed on him, the two will end up going on a journey that will change their lives forever.

Tags: slow burn, inspired by Disney princess and the frog, love confessions, falling in love, animal transformation, adopted family relationship, fluff, angst, voodoo

In a mansion deep in the mushroom kingdom lives the Fungo family, a small rich family where twin boys lived with their father Bootleg and mother lady Rosea. A knock was heard echoing through the mansion late in the night. One of the servants runs to the door and opens it only to see a basket with a baby inside, she runs to grab the lord of the house. He steps outside and picks up the child confused, seeing the note tape to the blanket he reads it “SMG3? What a strange name for a child,” the baby's eyes open catching the man's attention. When his eyes met with the child's ruby red eyes it was over, he walked inside screaming to his wife “HONEY WE HAVE A NEW SON!” “WE WHAT!?” she yells back startled by the sudden news.

Nine years passed since then, the castle was shrouded in darkness as the lord of the house mourned the loss of his wife. He looked at the family photo and knew he had to be strong for his sons, the struggle was the youngest. Over time the twins Mario and Luigi started to act more like themselves, but that young boy he took in was becoming trouble. He walks around the house and notices black paint staining the floor, he sighs following it and catches the child painting his crown. “Three, what are you doing?” the child freezes as he slowly turns and gives him a smirk as he flashes his golden crown now with a skull on it “I was fixing my crown, gold is so lame but now look how awesome it looks!” He squints at his son before letting out a sigh “Three that crown just wont work, we come from an important family you can't just walk around with a skull on your crown!” SMG3 pouts cleaning up the extra paint on the crown then stares at the skull on it. After a few moments of thinking he placed it on his head “Then maybe i want to do my own thing! Mom always told me being different isn't bad.” Three gives his father a smile only to lose it when Bootleg snatches the crown from his head “I will get this cleaned, now get ready it's almost story time you know your brother hates to miss it.”

He watches his father walk away and sighs as he drags himself to Luigi’s room, seeing his younger brother Luigi pull Three in for a hug causing the younger sibling to panic and struggle to break free from the sudden affection. Luigi let's go giving a bright smile to him “Why so down?” “Dad didn't like my idea of adding a cool design to our crowns, what's wrong with wanting a skull on my crown! Ugh now he is going to read us gross love stories.” he groans sitting on the floor. He never cared for fairy tales; he rather sat down and read scary stories then listened to how some chick gave up her life for a dude she fell for to be happy with someone else. Luigi frowns “But love stories are amazing Three, the idea of going on some grand adventure with someone and falling for them how does that sound gross?” SMG3 lays on the floor staring at the green curtains thinking on how to explain to his brother.

“If I learn anything from these stories dad read us, romance is all flowers and sunshine you have to sacrifice everything for some random person cause oh no my heart skips a beat! Maybe go get checked by a doctor if your heart is doing that idiot!” Once he was done explaining he closed his eyes waiting for a reaction. His brother sighs sitting next to him “I think finding that certain someone is amazing, someone that just understands you where no one else can.”

It took Three everything in him to not make a sarcastic remark, he opened his eyes and stared at the door. His father was taking too long meaning that Mario found the stash of pasta in the mansion again, his older brother was never the same after eating spaghetti in that party they went to last week. All he ever talks about is how he wants more spaghetti then throws a tantrum if he doesn't get any, if anything would be a fun fairytale to read it be the love story with his brother and the food.

The door swings open revealing their father with Mario tied up behind him “Story time kids!” Mario shakes his head trying to worm himself away “NO THAT'S GAY!” their father sighs, picking up the child “Mario don't say things like that around Three!” “Too late my mind has been filled with so much i dont think Mario’s high IQ talk can save me,” he chuckles earning a glare from his father.

He drops Mario next to his siblings as he takes out a book “Today’s story is princess and the frog,” hearing the title Three gets up excited, he remembers how his mother used to read him the story before bed. He never did understand how throwing a frog to a wall helped break a curse but it worked so who was he to judge how magic works. His dad smiled at him, surprised to see the young one finally interested in a story, as he kept reading that excitement was draining from the child's face. Three was now laying on the floor asking for someone to take him away from the cringe, Luigi was in love with the story, and Mario was trying to eat the rope to break free.

“The ugly little frog looked up with sad, round eyes and pleaded ‘oh please, dear princess, only a kiss from you can break this terrible spell that was inflicted on me by a wicked witch!’ the beautiful princess was so moved by his desperate plea that she stooped down, picked up the slippery creature and kissed him!” He smiles at the kids to see their reaction. Luigi giggled at the sweet story while SMG3 sat there eyes wide at his father, Mario gave up on escaping and fell asleep during the story.

Luigi got up and hugged his dad. “That was an amazing story, I hope I meet my frog prince.” SMG3 shakes his head running up to his older brother “ARE YOU SERIOUS?! KISSING A FROG WHAT IF YOU GET WARTS!" Three stare’s with disgust. Luigi shakes his head "Frogs don't give warts three," he turns to his brother "DOES SHE KNOW THAT?"

Luigi giggles at his brother's panic and pulls him into a hug “When it comes to love why not take that risk! Maybe you will get it when you meet your frog prince and or princess!” SMG3 blushes trying to escape the hug, the thought of kissing a frog grossed him out and had no idea why his brother wanted to curse him with a frog. Their father chuckles, “Hey the princess won at the end the frog became a handsome prince!”

Finally free from the hug Three glares at his father “Yeah cause man i just met that was a frog a second ago really yells marriage material!” Bootleg sighs slamming the book shut “When you hit your twenties i expect you to change that tone!” SMG3 pouts at his fathers stern tone before they all get told to go to bed. Mario cheers being set free and runs off full speed on the hunt, Bootleg sighs as he starts to chase after Mario. SMG3 waves goodbye at his brother before heading to his room, changing into his skull pj’s he hops into bed and smiles softly at his frog plush “Oh Terrance, when will dad get that these fairytales are so lame! You know…mom understood,” he hears a bark making him sit up and squeal “Come here!” a small egg shaped dog jumps into Three’s arms excitedly. He loves his brother’s but there is nothing more comforting than a cuddle session with Eggdog.

Slowly he falls asleep with Eggdog in his arms not hearing the door to his room open, Mario looks around and sneaks in, taking SMG3 plushie and running out of the room giggling. The door slams, waking Three up, he looks around the room with Eggdog and notices his plushie missing “What?” Mario was giggling as he thought of a perfect prank to do to his twin, since his brother was so into kissing frogs he was going to get his brother to kiss the frog plushie. The twist is he will have put hot sauce on the lips of the plushie, he keeps sneaking down the hallway till he hears barking. Turning around his eyes go wide seeing SMG3 charging down the hallway “HEY! LEAVE TERRANCE ALONE!” Mario takes a step back before running away from Three.

Three growls as he charges at his older brother “Give him back!” Eggdog catches up biting Mario’s pants, in one swift movement Three grabs the arm of the plushie. SMG3 glares at Mario “LET GO MARIO YOUR GONNA BREAK IT YOU IDIOT!” Then it happens, the arm starts to tear causing Three’s eyes to go wide. Before he has a chance to let go the arm of the frog plush arm rips off, SMG3 falls to his knees with the arm in his hands. His eyes start to water causing Mario to panic “Mario can fix it look!” He takes the arm from Three and tries to shove the arm back into the plush. His attempt to fix the plushie only broke it more, seeing this Three break into tears “I HATE YOU MARIO!”

Panicking he runs and grabs his twin “LUIGI! SMG3 IS CRYING HELP!” Luigi sees the broken plush and pulls three for a hug “It’s okay Three dad can buy you a new one.” Hearing this, Three pulled away and wiped his tears glaring at his older brother “I don't want a new one! HE IS MY BEST FRIEND WHY DO YOU ALL THINK BUYING STUFF FIXES EVERYTHING!” he grabs his broken plushie and runs off to his room crying.

He sits on his bed wiping his tears, there had to be a way to fix his buddy. He sniffs as he thinks to himself, he walks to a drawer and gets tape “It’s okay Terrance i will fix ya buddy, Eggdog guard the door and don't let those people in.” Bootleg runs out of his room to see two of his sons panicking in the hallway, he pinches the bridge of his nose before calming them down. “Okay you two why are you freaking out in the hallway..did Mario do the pasta prank again?” He looks at his two kids. They go silent and seem scared, slowly he turns looking at the black door down the hallway “What did you two do to Three?” The twins both start speaking at the same time explaining what happened to the plushie making the man sigh as he walks over to Three’s room.

He knocks on the door, Eggdog starts barking letting the child know someone was there annoyed he finishes taping the arm back on to his plushie. He then opens the door surprised to see his father “Heard about Terrance, you know son i have told you before that broken things are better off replaced but since this is Terrance i will get someone to fix him.” SMG3 looks up at his father with excitement “REALLY!?” Bootleg chuckles and pats his son's head “Yes, and I think you're old enough to finally pick your family hat, I'm thinking purple letter T?”

Three pouts “No..that's lame i'm not like Mario and Luigi, can i just finally pick something thats…me?” Bootleg wasnt a fan of that idea knowing what the child might pick. After some thought he nods, Three jumps in excitement and hugs his father.

The next day SMG3 dressed up making sure his vest was on right, they all stood together for a family portrait before heading out. Three was excited to pick out his hat, as far as he knows the families that have any kind of royal connections get a hat that they wear till the moment they get married and get a crown as a replacement. He didn't care so much about the crown, but the idea of having a hat made for him and no one can say anything about it excited him. That was till they arrived and all he was shown were classy hats that looked too fancy for his taste, he turned looking at his older brothers wearing their hats and frowns.

He sighs walking around the shop when he notices a halloween section, where his eyes meet with a purple cap with a skull on a black background on it. He picks it up and puts it on his head, he runs off to his father showing the hat “I found it! My forever hat!” His father frowns seeing the skull on it “You…sure?” He gave a bright smile to his father, unable to say no to the smile he walked up to the cashiers and bought the hat. Three hugs his dad “I love you dad!” Bootleg chuckles hugging his son back. What they didn't know was this year was the last year SMG3 and his father would be this close.

Twelve years later The alarm rings, a now twenty one year old SMG3 smacks it off and gets out of bed. He picks up his hair in a ponytail and washes his face, after brushing his teeth he puts on his casual wear, can never beat the classic overall look. He gives a quick smooch to Eggdog as he dashes into the kitchen to grab something fast to eat. Mario was already deep into his spaghetti while Luigi was waiting at the table to hand his brother his lunch for work. Three dashes into the kitchen and takes the lunch “Thanks, and Bootleg doesn't know where I'm working yet right? I need to warn my friends soon about him ugh.” Luigi giggles, giving Three a small pat. “He acts the way he does because you are so much like mom, he is worried you might get in trouble.”

SMG3 rolls his eyes “The only thing that asshole cares about is marrying us off, no thank you! Now work calls later losers!” He gives his brothers a peace sign before leaving the mansion, he shivers slightly feeling the wind. He didn't mind feeling the cold after all he got to pick what to wear, not his overbearing father, he starts his walk to work humming to himself his favorite song from the beetlejuice musical. He pauses when he sees a crowd of women cheering excitedly, turning his head he sees a fancy ship was arriving “Oh yeah, that idiot prince is coming over ugh great these fangirls are going to make me late!” he looks around and chuckles as he lights a small firework that was in his pocket and tossed it. The firework then lands on a fire hydrant exploding and breaking it causing the water to splash on the crowd, he laughs seeing everyone running from the water worried about their makeup. Some of the women notice him and glare “Of course you would do this Three, why do you always have to bother us!?”

SMG3 shrugs “I don't know Belle, why don't you start using waterproof eye liner like I do,” she flips him off in which he returns the favor as he runs off to work. As he arrives Bob smacks his back “ABOUT TIME THE BOSS HAS BEEN BITCHING ABOUT YOU.” Three frowns as he looks at the back room, slowly he approaches and sees no one there but a frog toy. He picks up the toy to hear Bob laughing behind him “GET PRANKED! HEARD A RUMOR YOU HAVE A THING FOR FROGS!” SMG3 turns and tosses the toy at Bob “Countdown from five cause I'm going to kick your ass!”

In a panic bob runs out of the room leaving Three alone, he sighs and sits on the couch “Thanks Luigi for telling people about our dad always reading that stupid story,” he takes out a piece of paper and unfolds it to reveal a drawing he did of a cafe “Remember why your doing this Three, we will own our dream cafe and no one can stop us. We will earn this, I will never accept his help.” His eyes drop to the frog toy in front of him and chuckles “And I don't need to kiss any frogs either!” with that he gets up and gets ready for work.

#smg4 #shygirl4991 #smg34 #smg3 #smg4 smg3 #smg43 #lizaluv #smg34 fanfiction #Coffee prince and the frog #alianarepasa #inspired by princess and the frog #mario smg4 #luigi smg4 #bootleg mario

95 notes · View notes