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venusjeon · 1 year ago

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angel in the marble

after you fail to pickpocket him, the famous yet arrogant artist Jeon Jungkook takes you off the streets to make you his servant, and the more you know him, the more you realise he's not as detestable as everyone claims he is.

♔ PAIRING: michelangelo!jungkook x servant!reader

♔ GENRE: high renaissance au, angst, smut, humour

♔ WORD COUNT: 8k

♔ WARNINGS: homelessness, stealing, mild swearing/violence/drinking, 90% of this is bickering lmao, mentions of minor characters' death, jealousy and kinda possessiveness?, referenced unconsensual groping (not by jk), a bit of blasphemy, making out, groping, fingering, rough angry sexxx, choking, slapping

♔ AUTHOR'S NOTE: fun fact this is mostly historically accurate! jk's characterisation, the grocery list doodles, the sack of rome, the beef with his brother, the encounter with his rival (raphael)... are all taken from michelangelo's actual life, even some stuff is quoted from his letters lol. man was fanfic material.

1529, Rome

“How much for that one?”

“No, that one’s sold already.”

It was a lively morning. After days of heavy rainfall, those of high social class were eager to get out and meet under the gentle sun of spring, whose glare reflected on the precious stones of their jewellery; while those of low, out of necessity, couldn’t wait to reopen their businesses or set up their stalls and get back to work. You liked to eye them all as you strolled the streets of Rome.

“To whom?”

“Your friend Taehyung.”

“Agh… How much is that prick paying you?”

The point of the matter was that it was bustling, some colliding if they looked away from where they were going for more than a breath. It worked in your favour for it was then easier to make yourself scarce right after stealing bags of coins, such as those of the three men seemingly bargaining by a workshop’s entrance out of which a large block of marble was being dragged. Perfect.

“Three ducats.”

“Three?! He’s robbing you of two ducats. I’ll pay you the five it’s worth.”

You kept your head low as you approached the pair that seemed wealthier and with those stealthy hands of yours unfastened the bags tied to their belts. After all, pickpocketing was a skill you’d had under your own for some years now, so this was bound to go smoothly.

Because you didn’t realise there was a guardian with them, perhaps you’d grown arrogant.

“I’m sorry, maestro. It’s reserved.”

“But it’ll become a waste in his possession!”

As you slipped away into the crowd, mouth watering at the fresh-baked bread you were going to devour as soon as bought, this brown dog leaped up at you out of nowhere, ignoring your desperate efforts to shake him off. If anything, they caused him to bark.

No, no, no…

The three men turned to the scene playing out not so far, and thinking his dog was bothering you one of them shouted, “Bam, come here, boy!” but as he obediently ran to his owner, you were too slow to hide the bags in your hands. It only took the pair a second to make them out, check whether theirs still hung on their belts, find them not, work out you’d stolen them, look back up, and find you not either.

Of course, you’d made your escape by then, dived into the sea of people and swum through them as quickly as possible, only stopping when you reached an empty vaulted alley to catch your breath.

That was ridiculously close. If you weren’t more careful next–

Your train of thought was interrupted by someone grabbing you by the arm from behind and pushing you against the nearest wall. A grunt accompanied the thud, and a gasp followed at the sight of the two men from before—dog included. Pinned in place, it’d be a bad idea to fight back or attempt to run away again. Fuck’s sake.

“Do you know what happens to thieves?” the one cornering you asked so close that when the cold breeze rustled his hair, some strands grazed your face. You looked away to avoid the tickling rather than out of fear, or so you wanted to believe. “They have a hand cut off. Seems fair, doesn’t it, Jimin?”

By contrast, that Jimin didn’t look intimidating, otherwise still catching his breath from the chase, but he did snatch the coin bags from your hands. “It doesn’t have to be so, maestro. We got our money back. She’s… just a girl.”

“And that exempts her of crime?”

“Please, don’t report me,” you begged, humiliating as though it was.

“Why shouldn’t we?” the maestro scoffed. Maestro… You were being threatened by a damned craftsman, the other one probably his assistant.

“Because I don’t want to lose a hand?”

“Oh, but we wanted to lose money, did we?” You rolled your eyes, and he released his grip only to step away. “Take us to your father, brat. He’ll answer for you.”

It took you a moment to respond, “I don’t have a father, or anyone... Only I can answer for my actions.”

“You’re a beggar?” Jimin asked, taking pity as he studied your appearance for the first time. Dishevelled hair, tattered dress, unpleasant smell… Yes, they should’ve guessed.

“She doesn’t beg, though, does she? She steals.”

“Only from cunts.”

His head snapped to meet your glare, and Jimin laughed, “You seem to not know whom you speak to.” He could be Jesus for all you cared. Uninterested, you petted the dog, Bam, seeing as he’d leapt up at you again. “This is Jeon Jungkook.”

You froze. The Jeon Jungkook? The famous artist who painted and sculpted for the Pope? Whom faraway kings and even emperors commissioned? The one whose genius was said to be changing the world?

At the lack of attention, Bam returned to his master, and that snapped you out of your shock to ask, “Then why do you whine?” The two men frowned, having clearly expected an apology paired with the usual bootlicking. “As if you need that bag more than I!”

“What nerve,” he scoffed again, making you wince by grabbing your arm tighter than before and starting to drag you into the next street. “You’re going straight to the authorities!”

“Wait,” Jimin intervened, thank God. “Weren’t you in need of a servant, maestro?”

“So?”

Jimin pointed at you with his gaze as though it was obvious. “You’re in need of a servant, she’s in need of a roof.”

“I would rather have a hand cut off.”

“I would rather have her hand cut off too.”

Jungkook tried to resume dragging you, but Jimin blocked his way with a soft smile. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N…”

“Do you know how to take care of a household?” Slowly, you nodded, melancholy engulfing you at the memory of cooking or sweeping the floor with your mother once upon a time. Somehow, she always found a way to make chores fun... “Then you qualify for the job. You’ll have three meals a day and a bed to sleep on. And you, maestro, a servant who’ll work her hardest, lest you fire her and she ends up in the streets again.”

Both you and Jungkook reluctantly glanced at each other. Truth be told, you didn’t prefer losing a hand to living with him, you just didn’t like him. Despite being a celebrity, he was a stranger. It just wouldn’t work.

But then, why were you holding your breath, hoping he’d accept?

“We shouldn’t have left Namjoon’s workshop. The marble is about to be delivered,” he said walking away. The air left your lungs in disappointment. It seemed you were to remain a stray cat. Jimin pressed his plump lips apologetically as he gave you enough coins to buy that bread, and you nodded, grateful all the same for his trying. You watched him rush to Jungkook’s side but when this one saw him, he turned around. “Hurry up, brat. If Taehyung gets that block of marble, I’ll not take you in.”

Since the first day, you could attest to Jeon Jungkook’s nature being as rough and uncouth as the rumours claimed, and after living alone with him for two months still believed gossip such as that he’d got the scar on his left cheek in a tavern fight—in which, if you’d chanced to be present, you would’ve rooted for the other individual.

It appeared it wasn’t just others Jungkook was harsh to. However rich his talent had turned him, he behaved like a poor man, consuming food and drink sparingly and out of necessity instead of pleasure, spending only the money required to live decently, sleeping little in order to work on commissions from dawn to midnight…

Why he chose to take little care of himself was a mystery to someone who previously had not been allowed a choice, even if putting work before all was in order to thwart Kim Taehyung’s plans of ruining his career, as he claimed. You doubted his rival was obsessed with him so, but had learned to agree with whatever Jungkook grumbled to avoid disputes. Most times.

Deep down, you had a feeling your boldness amused him. Who else dared get on his nerves?

“I think all you artists fluttering around the Pope are no more than slaves to money,” you let drop once while making his bed. Bam was sleeping peacefully under the window, while Jungkook leaning against the door’s frame behind you, offended to the core. He could help, you thought, or at least loosen my corset a little…

“I, a slave? I’ll be damned… There is an angel inside every block of marble, and I’ll have you know I carve to set it free.”

“Is it the angel that charges the Pope, then, master?” You could feel him barely restraining the urge to throw you out the window, smiled as you finished smoothing out the blankets.

“You missed a wrinkle there.”

Hands on your hips and frown on your brows, you examined the neatly arranged coverings of his bed. “Where?”

“On your face,” he muttered before making his leave.

Not his finest jibe, but the metaphor did stay with you. An angel inside the marble… It perhaps applied to Jungkook himself, though you’d never tell him.

One instance it came to mind was recently, when his assistants and apprentices were invited over for dinner.

Usually, he’d tell you which meals he liked and you’d ask at the marketplace which ingredients to buy, but now that about ten meals were to be cooked a list was needed. So there he sat on his desk in his study, inking said list as you waited in front of him, fiddling with the undershirt that peeked out of your dress’ sleeves. Given that your eyes were fixed on it, you only learned Jungkook was done when the sound of his quill scratching the paper ceased.

“Be back no later than dusk,” he ordered, “I bet there are still Germans and Spaniards lurking about.”

A year had passed since the Sack of Rome, but the mention of it sent a shiver of fear down your spine. Whatever the political reasons for it, you hated everyone involved, for Hell itself would’ve been a more beautiful sight to behold those nine months when the Tiber’s waters remained painted red…

You were lucky to make it through. Your family wasn’t.

“Yes, master.”

“Here,” he said handing you the paper, then picked another letter from a pile of correspondence he’d been going through before your arrival. Jungkook was about to snap its wax seal when he looked up to realise you hadn’t moved an inch. “Why are you here? Away with you!” He saw the reason in the way you avoided eye contact. “You can’t read, can you?” Met with a silence charged with embarrassment, he leaned back in his chair and sighed, “Give me the list.”

Getting hold of the quill again, Jungkook began… doodling?

You tilted your head but couldn’t see well what he was drawing until he finished and returned the list to you. Then, your lips parted. Each item on the list was illustrated next to its name: ten loaves of bread, a jug of wine, tortellini, four anchovies, two fennel soups…

“I’ll teach you to read when I have time. This will do for now.”

“You’d do that?” For me?

Jungkook ignored you, before he went back to reading his letters complimenting the good gesture with an irritated, “Hurry up.”

That night his co-workers arrived one by one, Jimin the first. The sight of him when you opened the door brightened up your mood.

Unlike a certain someone he was always sweet to you, genuinely interested to know how you fared even if you were just a servant. He claimed that mattered not to him, that you were both commoners and thus equals.

“Look at this place, it’s spotless! And you know I’m furtive, so I won’t get in your way,” you told Jimin as you escorted him through a hallway, bright from the torches hung on the walls that you’d lit up earlier.

He laughed, “I cannot make you my servant, Y/N, you’re maestro’s.”

“But he’s going to drive me mad… To tell you one of many examples, he often falls asleep in his clothes, and who but I is to take his boots off so they don’t get the sheets dirty? If the chalk on his fingers or the dust from the chiseling on his hair won’t already. Bam is far cleaner…”

Jungkook had a workshop he barely set foot in, preferred his team made use of it instead to not be bothered by their idiocy. His words. So it was in a chamber on the ground floor of this house he gave way to artistic insanity. In your book, that meant constant cleaning.

Jimin looked at you fondly. “Sounds nightmarish.”

“It truly is!”

As soon as the two of you entered the dining hall, Bam ran from Jungkook’s side by the fireplace to Jimin, who was as excited to see him.

“Good night, maes–”

“Do you think I’m deaf, ungrateful brat?” Jungkook interrupted him to bark at you. “Rome is full of people begging to get a piece of me, so if you don’t like it here, I’ll just get someone else!”

“You say that and yet keep me like a prisoner!”

“As if you don’t have it better here than anywhere you’ve burdened with your presence before!”

“There, there…” Jimin interjected to de-escalate, kneeling to better stroke Bam. “Maestro, I’ve seen your latest sketch of the Virgin and Child. She resembles Y/N.”

Both you and Jungkook failed to fight off the embarrassment, gazes unable to find a place to settle. Sitting down on the large table, he explained, “It was just one time… I had used Yoongi as a model, but the Madonna looked too masculine... and rather than going through the trouble of finding some girl and hiring her, I had Y/N pose for me… So what! Why bring it up out of nowhere…”

“Because maybe you just need a bit of distance from time to time. With permission, I too would have Y/N pose for m–”

“Absolutely not.”

“Now, why the hell not?” you groaned stamping your foot, startling poor Bam. Hope had been born inside you in a second and cruelly crushed in the next.

“Because I say so. And watch your tone with me.” As usual, the mutual glaring would trick anyone into thinking the next step would be murder. Jimin, who knelt there awkwardly, certainly thought so, at least until the bell rang. “Now go answer the door!”

What happened later, though, rendered the fury Jungkook had evoked in your heart nonexistent and instead seized the thing in a clasp of distress.

In the morning, he walked in when you were sweeping the kitchen. At once you forced the sobs to stop and turned around so he wouldn’t see you wipe your tears.

“It’s past nine, where’s breakfast?” he asked in shock that you hadn’t even started making it, the table there empty.

You swore under your breath before leaving the broomstick leaning against the nearest wall, flushed face kept out of Jungkook’s sight, then in a haste fetched a plate, a knife, and a leftover bread loaf. “Apologies, master, I forgot. I’ll be upstairs in a minute.”

Sniffling betrayed you, at which Jungkook frowned. “Are you crying?”

Great, the question just about especially designed to make one well up. Not trusting your voice anymore, you shook your head. Jungkook approached, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from the task at hand, now cutting a few slices of the bread.

“Have you broken something?” You shook your head again, the suppressed sobs making your chin tremble. Jungkook took a deep breath before asking with a surprisingly soothing tone, “Then what’s wrong?”

“You won’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

Within an hour, he’d summoned a meeting consisting of all who’d attended dinner the previous night.

A seemingly calm Jungkook was sat at the head of the table, elbows sunk on it and fingers interlocked. You stood behind him, head still low out of shame. A tense silence had fallen in the chamber some time ago, and sick of it, Jimin shattered it.

“Have you anything to tell us, maestro?”

“I was waiting for Biagio to do so.”

The man was one of Jungkook’s favourite assistants who had worked with him for years, even longer than Jimin. And if it was possible for your position to be trickier, he belonged to some noble family.

“Me? But I’ve nothing to say, maestro.”

Jungkook leaned back in his chair. “My servant will, then. Y/N?”

Bastard. If you are going to fire me, why make me go through this?

“Last night, w-when I left this hall to go refill the wine jug… Messer Biagio followed me into the kitchen, and… h-he trapped me from behind, and started t-to touch me…” Your vision soon blurred, hence why you couldn’t see clearly how concerned Jimin was for you, or how Biagio jumped up in outrage. “I managed to push him away, and ran upst–”

“How dare you slander me, wench? Maestro, you do not believe this!”

“Do I not?”

“She’s lying! I caught her stealing sketches from your study, likely to sell them, so she’s trying to get rid of me!”

You almost scoffed. Only an idiot would choose the one occasion guests had come over and her absence would be noticed to carry out a theft.

Jungkook tilted his head. “I thought you had nothing to say. Why would you keep such a thing just now?”

Biagio gulped. “I deemed it best to mention it later, in private... You won’t believe a pickpocket before an old friend, will you?”

Silence returned, your breath still as you saw all the assistants and apprentices visibly take pity on him. The only one who didn’t was Jimin, but even on his face there was a hint of hesitation. Jungkook’s, you couldn’t see from behind, but after an eternity he stood up and walked over only to put a hand on the shoulder of Biagio, who smiled in relief.

A quiet sob broke through your lips, heart sinking. You’d needed Jungkook to believe you in this. Not because of the consequences his protection as your master could save you from, but because, like it or not… he was the closest thing to family you had.

It turned out he did believe you, judging by the punch landed on Biagio’s jaw out of nowhere. And the next one on his cheekbone, and on his nose. Before everyone around the table had barely stood up to stop Jungkook, he’d already thrown Biagio down and straddled him, pulling his doublet’s collar in a close, tight grip as he continued beating him up. Blood was drawn, but for once, you didn’t mind having to scrub it later.

Jungkook’s influence trumped a whole noble house’s, you learned in the course of the months Biagio tried his mightiest and failed most miserably to have him arrested. Perhaps because of the Pope sitting on his shoulder.

That he’d taken your side was still hard to believe, all he’d grumbled with a shrug when you thanked him while tending to his wounds from the fight being, “I’d been waiting for the chance. I always thought Biagio was a weasel.”

With the matter resolved, life returned to normal—well, whatever that meant in Jeon Jungkook’s household. Because calling for you at the top of his lungs like a madman was not normal. The first time he’d done it you’d raced downstairs, afraid something horrible had happened, only for him to have you close a window as it was getting chilly. Devil rot him. You rushed no longer after that, much to his complaints.

Today, he didn’t notice right away when you appeared under the cased opening, and good thing he didn’t, for he was polishing a bust with sandpaper… shirtless.

Product of hours carving stone into his desired shape or occasionally beating someone up, he could brag of having muscles, which the current task had covered in a layer of sweat and dust. The way they flexed with each movement had you compelled, wanting to reach out, feel if his skin was as hot as the blood pumping through your veins faster and faster. Then your gaze moved to the bust and whatever spell you were under broke.

Hardly an angel was that widowed noblewoman, whom you wished had stayed trapped inside a block of marble. Her name was Madonna Maddalena, and she’d come some weeks past to make a commission covered in pearls, gold, and boldness.

“My friends refused to accompany me today. You’re said to be… disagreeable, which I’m sure is untrue. However, all of them do want to know if you’re as fine-looking as is also rumoured, maestro” she told Jungkook within minutes of meeting him, still by the entrance!

Now you can tell them he’s not, you bit your tongue before it remarked, as this wasn’t Jimin but a patron not to be scared away by your bickering. It wouldn’t be true anyway. All your master lacked in manners, he made up for with looks… Which you’d never say out loud. You’d never say either that he looked even better when irked.

“I’ve heard many rumours about myself, most of them nonsense. My appearance was involved in none.”

She smiled seductively. “I suppose I’ll have to be the one to spread them.”

“The weather is pleasant today,” Jungkook changed the subject, flustered beneath the formal demeanour. “Shall we have wine in the garden?” You left to prepare it not before catching Maddalena raise her brow at you in disapproval. She must’ve been able to tell you thought she was a pompous cunt.

The beautiful flowers you cared for tried their best outside, but the air didn’t get any better.

Sat around a small table, Maddalena explained she wanted a bust of herself by his talented hand to decorate the main hall of her palazzo. You served them wine, not really listening until Jungkook started playing hard to get. The hundred times you’d told him it wasn’t a good tactic to make his labour out to be too prestigious had apparently fallen on deaf ears.

“Any other artist could carry this out, Madonna. I am working for the Pope these days…” he subtly scolded her, a mere mortal, for wasting his precious time. And he wondered why he had a reputation for being arrogant.

Maddalena put his thoughts into plain words, “So why should you stoop to taking commissions from an insignificant widow?”

“Correct,” you said under your breath, luckily heard by none from the background, where you stood holding a wine jug until the madonna raised her cup and you approached to refill it.

“It is then fortunate I’m to marry a nephew of the Pope’s.”

Swayed by her future influence, Jungkook smiled back. “So it is.”

“But not for another week. ‘Till then, I belong to no man.” The suggestion in her tone almost drove you to spill wine all over her. No, better yet: order Bam to sic on her. He’d do it.

Just, who did this woman think she was? And why did Jungkook not kick her out right afterwards? It made you wonder whether he’d enjoyed the flirtation. Whether he would’ve been the one to take things further had his inconvenient servant not been present. It was common for men to have affairs and lovers, but it didn’t sit well with you that Jungkook might. Not that you ever imagined him doing any of that, for goodness’ sake–

“What took you so long?”

Jungkook’s voice brought you back to the present, under the cased opening.

“I was lazing about, as always,” you quoted his favourite false reprimand, making him roll his eyes, your own dropping to the floor when he walked closer.

“In that case, prepare a bath for me.”

“Yes, master.”

You sighed at all the work ahead. That being a servant was worlds better than living in the streets didn’t mean you looked forward to collecting gallons of water from a well, carrying them back, heating them, transferring them to a tub, then washing Jungkook—because you did wash him.

Biagio had hurt his left shoulder bad and ever since, he’d needed assistance in certain activities. Curious how he could otherwise chisel a goddamned bust without problem.

Jungkook’s full nudity only made you blush if you stopped scrubbing, so knelt with tucked up sleeves before the wooden tub he was reclined on, scrubbing away the dirt on his skin with lavender-scented soap you were. Maybe all the stupid feelings you’d been suffering lately stemmed from there…

Head resting on the edge, he was exhausted from the long day of work, taking your rubbing as a relaxing massage. You, however, couldn’t ignore the stinging guilt, what with the scar on his shoulder right in front of your face. He probably felt your breathing on it.

“I’m sorry you got hurt…”

Jungkook fought heavy lids only to see you avoid him. Allowing yourself to be vulnerable in front of him was embarrassing, as when he’d caught you crying, but he didn’t take advantage of the fact to humiliate you. Jungkook may be an ogre, but he wasn’t cruel.

“I’ve received worse for less,” he assured you in a calm, low voice. It sounded soothing to your ears.

“That, I don’t doubt,” you scoffed, glancing at his other scar on the cheek. “Did you also get that one in defence of some lady?”

“You’re nowhere close to a lady.” It could be done, you mused. Drowning him. “This was courtesy of my brother.”

“You have a brother?” It dawned on you how little you knew of him. Surely, most had heard it all about the divine Jeon Jungkook, but you’d never cared enough to learn past the shell of gossip, even after months of living with him. In fairness, he’d never asked about you either. You preferred it that way.

“Brothers,” he corrected you. “The one who did this to me was a wayward fool. Had to teach him a lesson.”

“Looks like he taught one to you.”

“I left with a scratch, he with a limp.” The conception of two brothers hurting each other so harshly widened your eyes for a second, and Jungkook noticed, for he added, “He was whoring around, wasting the money I worked hard to send, bullying our other brothers as well.”

Much made sense about Jungkook all of a sudden. Not his personality, that was incomprehensible. But why he killed himself to earn money and yet barely spent it… He had a family to provide for. Once again, you were reminded of his metaphor. Could an angel be in there?

Carrying on washing Jungkook, you dragged the sponge over to his neck. Then his collarbones, his chest, his abs just peaking above the water... They did look like a sculpture’s, especially wet and soaped, reminiscent of polished marble when the light of the torches reflected on them. Swallowing hard, the back of your fingers gingerly graced Jungkook’s muscles, both soft and firm. Slippery. Whatever possessed you to keep feeling them, you lacked the will to expel from your body, and so without realising your grip on the sponge loosened until it fell to float away, fingertips now free to roam over his abs.

You were slowly trailing downwards, past the water’s surface, when your wrist was seized and held in the air in a warning manner, the startle almost making you scream.

Sat upright, Jungkook was glaring at you so fiercely you feared for your life. But he didn’t say anything and instead just breathed hard, jaw clenched… almost as if he was holding back. Your rising heartbeat was deafening in the silence waiting for something to happen, anything, but what did wasn’t what a side of you anticipated with excitement.

Jungkook just let go of your wrist and returned to his previous position, and you got hold of the sponge and finished washing him, albeit holding your breath the entire time.

Days later, you came dangerously close to being fired.

The Pope had summoned Jungkook—something about a portrait commission—and you were to carry his bag filled with sketches for him due to his shoulder injury. As you navigated the ever-busy streets of Rome with him, the cold autumn breeze made you regret not putting on an overgown. The cioppa you’d bought with your own salary and not stolen. It brought a smile to your lips that faded at the realisation your mother would’ve reminded you to put it on before going out.

The sorrow pestering you turned to confusion when Jungkook stopped walking and tsked, telling you loud enough to be heard by all, “Look at him, the chief of police, with such an assemblage.”

A well-dressed man and what appeared to be his entourage walked in your direction, halting near enough. You didn’t have to ask to know this was his rival, the renowned painter Kim Taehyung.

“Whereas you, like an executioner, walk alone,” he mocked Jungkook, then noticed you standing behind him like a timid child. “Not completely, my mistake. Maestro, where in your barren soil did you plant such a flower?” He walked over to you, intentionally bumping Jungkook’s wounded shoulder as he passed, causing him to grunt lowly. From up close one was bound to marvel at how handsome Taehyung was, but you didn’t need proximity to tell he was a prick. Miles away, you would’ve known. “Why don’t you come work for me, flower? I’ll make you my muse.”

Jungkook scoffed again, “What, for your horseshit paintings? She’d be a fool to.”

Taehyung turned around to face him, feigning confusion with a smile. “But, maestro, how could they be so if you were once heard saying that all I have in art, I got from you?”

"You naturally have to resort to plagiarising my master’s genius if all you do is horseshit,” you countered, earning surprised looks from every man present, some laughs too, you were proud to say. Jungkook was certainly smirking. Taehyung opened his mouth, but you walked past him uninterested before a response came out of it.

“Good girl,” Jungkook laughed while leaving the crime scene, and for some reason your cheeks burned hot.

The incident happened once inside the Vatican.

Its grandiose corridors alone made you feel small, too unimportant to walk them, whereas Jungkook did so with determination, knowing he belonged at the top of the world. What with your tempestuous relationship, it was easy to forget he was famous throughout Europe. His feet would still never be kissed by you. Someone had to humble the man, right?

At some point the two of you arrived at a door flanked by guards, and averse, you grabbed the sleeve of Jungkook’s doublet.

“Do I have to go in?”

“Too good for the Pope, are you?” He shook you off. “Come on.”

“Damn you…” you muttered.

“What did you just say to me?”

“After you, master.”

Telling himself he’d be late if he scolded you, Jungkook turned and nodded at the guards, who opened the door of a chamber whose walls were frescoed with angels and saints, likely by Taehyung, giving off the impression one was in Heaven. When you saw him sat on a golden chair, old and grey, enjoying the tune of a lute player, you felt as though you’d just entered Hell.

The audience lasted for ever. While you stood by the door, Jungkook showed the Pope some sketches of the portrait for him to choose his favourite and then they talked and talked of politics. All you could do was fix your gaze somewhere on the floor and sigh.

“Yes, Your Holiness, this is the servant I mentioned…” A frown proceeded your looking up to see Jungkook somewhat embarrassed, scratching his nose as if to hide his face. He talked of you to others? Doubtless to complain…

With a sweet voice as if he was talking to a little girl, the Pope asked you, “What is your name?”

“None of your business, Your Holiness.”

The musician’s tune ceased abruptly, allowing Jungkook’s faint gasp to be heard. Then fell a short silence spent by the Pope blinking, taken aback. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.”

Jungkook was quick to fake a laugh, though sweat formed at his temples. “A jest! She meant no offence, Your Holiness, but to make you laugh.”

You held the Pope’s glare in defiance, indifferent to the fact he was the most powerful man in the whole of Christendom.

By some miracle, he let it go, and you left that chamber minutes later with your head as yet attached to your body. Your arm wouldn’t be for much longer, though, given Jungkook was forcibly dragging you all the way out to the streets, pushing you into the first alley he saw.

“Are you out of your mind?!” he shouted, towering over you menacingly. Unlike the day you’d met, you weren’t scared, rather furious as him as you stood your ground. “That was the Pope, you fool!”

“So?”

Jungkook was in utter disbelief. “He could’ve ordered your execution– mine too!”

“Well, nothing happened!”

“Nothing?! I’m sure to fall out of favour!” He paced around, anxiety quickening his breath. “Years of pouring my soul into my craft, of grovelling before the right people, all thrown away! Good God, your attitude may cost me everything…”

“And what about me?! Everything lost to me does not matter?!”

Jungkook stopped to frown. “What the hell are you talking about?”

It was now you who walked up to him. “I didn’t have a job, or a reputation, or admirers. I had only a family, and I never wished for anything else! That monster you work for took them from me. When the foreigners’ armies came and everyone rushed to Castel Sant’Angelo, he gave the order to close the gates as soon as he was safe behind them! You must have been there with him, weren’t you? Well, we weren’t. We were left outside to be slaughtered. And I wish I had been, like my parents, so I didn’t have to suffer the likes of you any longer!”

Tears were streaming down your face by the end, Jungkook just staring back at you. It didn’t surprise him that your parents were dead or that they’d been killed during the Sack, but that it was so deep a wound left festering in your heart that you didn’t mind being put out of misery. He surmised your disrespectful behaviour towards him was also fruit of your pain, especially if you deemed him an ally of the one who caused it.

“The few things I own… They’re wasted on me. Throw them away or give them to your next servant,” you sobbed, taking for granted you were fired. Anyone with half a brain would indeed have you dismissed, and part of you knew it was bound to happen, that you would go back to breaking in fucking churches to spend the night.

So you turned around into the main street, set on wandering until your legs became too sore not to collapse. With any luck, a carriage would run over you. But warmth then surrounded your hand, and you looked down to see Jungkook’s holding it tight enough to force you to halt. Though still mad, a hint of compassion sparkled in his eyes.

“Let’s… Let us just go home.”

Home. His house had felt so for a while now, truth be told. Himself too.

After that, you non-verbally agreed on a ceasefire—avoiding quarrels, that is, which was quite the task for both.

Such as now that Jungkook had you inking down a letter in his name. First of all, did you look like a scribe? If you’d known in advance the lazy arse would teach you to read and write for this, you’d have chosen to remain illiterate. And second, this was your short break before making dinner, intended to be spent playing with Bam. The poor thing was also in the study, at least being stroked by his owner, who was sat beside you on the desk.

“… I send you my regards, may God keep you from all harm. Jeon Jungkook in Rome,” he finally finished dictating, and you recording. “Give it to me, I’ll seal it.”

He was melting the wax with which to do so when the bell rang, to his surprise. Sighing, you stood up and went to open the door to whom turned out to be Jimin. The sight of him brightened you up, and yours stretched his lips into a smile.

“Evening, Y/N.”

“Good evening! I didn’t know the master was expecting you.”

“He isn’t…” You welcomed him in, brows joining at how he continuously chewed on his aforementioned lip and breathed deep through his nose as he followed you. Had something happened…? A decision to eavesdrop was made en route to the study.

Though Jimin requested for you to stay once there, and nothing could have prepared you for the reason why.

“This actually concerns Y/N…” You and Jungkook exchanged confused looks, him leaning against the desk and crossing arms as though he didn’t like the sound of that. Jimin fixed his already perfect clothes before addressing him, “I’ve come to ask for her hand in marriage.” Your jaw dropped. “I know it’s sudden at the lack of previous courtship, but I thought I should ask for your permission before engaging in it, maestro. She’s a lovely girl… and I think she’d be happy as my wife. Worry not, I won’t ask for a dowry or for her to stop working… Although on second thought, fewer hours of service would be ideal.”

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be happening.

Jungkook must be thinking the same, for he squinted to ask, “Are you drunk?”

“N-No, of course not.”

“Are you sure? You want to marry a servant with little to her name.” He had a point, so you weren’t offended. If politics weren’t the reason for a union, did this mean… Jimin had feelings for you?

“Maestro, you say it as if I were a lord,” he chuckled. “I don’t care about Y/N’s possessions, I’ll provide for her anyway. I’ve… always been fond of her. And I dare say she shares the sentiment.”

Betrayal hid safely behind a look that asked if there was any truth to that. Obviously not! There was no romance in your own fondness for Jimin. If anything, you had thought he saw you as a younger sister to look after, therefore as a protective older brother you saw him. But so shocked were you still that no words managed to come out, and Jungkook’s gaze shifted back to Jimin.

“I’ll think about it. You may go.”

A curt tone was the norm for Jungkook, it was not being granted his blessing that disappointed Jimin. He knew for a fact he was an honourable man, so why wouldn't he entrust you to him?

“Quite well… I’ll show myself out.” he uttered, before making his leave failing to hide his low spirit by giving you one last shy smile you hadn’t the heart to return.

An awkward silence filled the air that even Bam daren’t break. Only once the front door was heard shutting did you walk closer to Jungkook.

“You won’t agree to this, will you?”

“Why shouldn’t I? I have to get rid of you at some point.”

“Rid of me? Like I’m a burden?” you asked, voice rising. How a servant could be so was unknown to you until, like wooden ship toys did when you’d submerge them in a bucket of water as a child, certain guesses surfaced in your thoughts. Trying to pickpocket him, the constant clashing, Biagio, that bath, the Pope… Yes, you may perhaps be described as a burden. But you didn’t want to leave. With a calmer tone, you pleaded, “I’ll behave from now on. I won’t cause any more trouble, I swear.”

Jungkook didn’t deign to look your way as he left, followed by Bam. “You have to marry at some point, Y/N. Otherwise people will gossip.”

Since when did he care about what people said of him? And why should you?

Winter having dropped its anchor, nightfall arrived early. Not early enough, you brooded as you cooked dinner, longing for the day to end once and for all. With any hope, all of this was a nightmare and upon waking up in the morning life would go back to normal. You didn’t even know why you wanted to stay with Jungkook, as the occasions in which you’d begged Jimin to employ you to leave this house were countless. The only certain thing was that you were upset.

Later, after washing all plates and cups, you began to put off all torches lighting the house, finding out in the hall that Jungkook hadn’t moved from the seat he’d dined in. You considered carrying on with your job and leaving him in the dark, but he wouldn’t find it as funny. Instead, you stood before him.

“Will that be all, master?”

The coldness in your expression made him sigh, “Y/N–”

“I shall retire, then.” You turned to leave but were made to stop in your tracks.

“It’s an advantageous proposal for you,” he lectured to whom he must believe an idiot. “Jimin works for me, he’s wealthy. A better match than you could ever aspire to. And he asks for no dowry because he doesn’t want money, he wants you…” His words were tainted with resentment. “He’ll take good care of you.”

Skirt of your dress swirling along, you faked a smile. “If you think so, master, then it must be so.”

He shook his head as he leaned back in defeat. “Suit yourself, but I won’t be the one to reject Jimin. You crush his heart.”

A laugh escaped you. “If you genuinely cared about him, you wouldn’t let him marry a woman in love with–” Oh no. It only hit you as you were saying it.

Jungkook had appeared annoyed, but now he was mad. “Who?” He stood up abruptly—chair’s feet scratching against the floor making you wince—and walked so close you were backed against the wall, face forced to turn to a side. In a low, deep voice, he repeated, less as a question and more as an order this time, “Who.”

There was no way in the nine circles of Hell you’d say it, when you didn’t want to believe it in the first place. For fuck’s sake, why? Jungkook only ever made you want to get away from him. That was the case right now, but then… why were your feet frozen?

Some unreasonable part of you seemed to have prevailed upon the others, casting away all resistance from your body and allowing yourself to indulge in Jungkook’s proximity. You met his eyes without fear, held his dark gaze. It didn’t take him long to work it out, yet he kept close, so close your unsteady breaths mingled, the effect akin to intoxication. He was visibly trying to hold back, telling himself it’d be a bad idea, but you prayed he wouldn’t care.

By God or the Devil, your prayers were heard.

Jungkook finally smashed his lips into yours, devouring them with a hunger you shared and felt growing as he gripped your waist to press you against him. A minute ago, you wouldn’t have imagined his tongue belonged inside your mouth, swirling around your own, and now you wanted it all over your body. As if reading your mind, Jungkook broke the ardent kiss to move down to your neck, which he licked painfully slowly before sucking hard, making you hiss with pleasure. He knew that would leave a mark, the bastard. You wondered if it was meant for Jimin, so he’d see you were Jungkook’s, and in such case you didn’t mind, let your eyelids close to enjoy it.

Steered by the lust possessing you, one hand grabbed his soft hair in a fistful, keeping his head in place where he was sweetly abusing your neck, while the other travelled southwards until it reached his crotch and held it over the trousers, feeling his cock stiffen. Jungkook groaned—a vibration to your skin—in retaliation lifting your skirt. You’d thought he'd take his time, tease you, but after ensuring you were wet enough by gliding his middle finger along your core, he slid it inside and began making beckoning motions.

“Master…” you moaned, legs shaking. Jungkook forsook your neck to pull back, watch how you struggled to keep it together as he added another finger, curling and uncurling them both, hitting all the right places, and unwilling to give him that satisfaction without consequences you groped his erection with the same vigour. Although he was in good control of his expression, his breath quivered against your lips, so he kissed them again, biting hard into your lower one.

He exhaled, “You’re driving me to sin…”

Indeed, the same fingers that held the brushes when he painted religious artwork were buried deep inside your cunt, bringing you the most sinful ecstasy. It made you chuckle. Jungkook took that as the mockery it was and, crossed, pulled his fingers out of you to drag you by the arm to the edge of the table, where he had you sit. Without delay he lifted your skirt again, only this time he also pulled down his trousers to reveal his cock, thick and throbbing, which he pumped as he watched you spread your legs eagerly, ready to take all of him.

With his free hand Jungkook cupped your cheek, thumb caressing your lower lip, coated with saliva and reddened still from when he’d bit it. He could sense your desire, that you craved him inside, had for a while. Desperately. And however much tempted he was to make you beg for it, his own arousal led his cock to your entrance and eased it inside already, another groan hitting the back of his bared teeth. You didn’t have time to gasp, his thrusts so quick they earned only moans, so wonderful did it feel.

Jungkook’s hand on your cheek then wrapped around your neck. “Do you know how often I’ve fantasised strangling you?”

You chuckled again as you slapped him across the face. Jungkook halted his movements in shock, glared at you. “And I slapping you?”

It took him a moment, but he scoffed and pushed you back so that you were lying down, climbing next atop you, confident that the wooden table was sturdy enough to hold both. So legs hooked around his torso and arms around his neck, you welcomed his thrusts, rough enough to make your eyes water. But it felt heavenly, how he ravished you... The mutual irritation and tension building up for over half a year translated into indescribable pleasure.

He kissed you again, flicking his tongue against yours as he pounded into you without mercy. Overwhelmed by the sensation, all you could do to express you were nearing your limit was sink your nails into Jungkook’s biceps at each side of you, moan inside his mouth. He took the hint and fucked you as fast as his body would allow, within mere seconds your walls clenching tight around him. The sight of you collapsing under him, overcome with bliss, made him reach his own highest shortly, spurting his warm seed inside you.

As his movements gradually ceased, so did your panting. Before a complete silence fell, you asked, “Am I still to marry Jimin?”

Jungkook grabbed your face and growled against your pouted lips, “You’re not going anywhere.”

#bts au #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #bts jungkook #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #bts #bts x reader #bts fanfiction #bts scenarios #bangtan imagine #bts smut #jeon jungkook scenarios #bts fic #jeongguk #bangtan #bts x you

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i-am-hungry-24-7 · 7 months ago

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[I almost killed your boss with my grilled cheese sandwich]- Mafia!TF141*F!Reader

Summary: You sigh when it's the fifth time someone fights in your poor tea shop this month. You just open it two months ago, in an area ruled by mafia called '141'. Maybe you should find their boss and give them money or what to stop the bullshit keeps happening in your shop. (well, here they come)

Mafia!TF141*F!Reader

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

After the unexpected encounter with Soap and Ghost, your shop finally owns the vibes of peace.

The customers become so ‘normal’, almost feels like you aren’t in the same area as before – if you ignore the blood on their shirts or recall the memory of seeing them punching someone across the street. You assume the men must tell them to behave in your shop, but you must say the minions become a bit overreacting. They call you ma'am, chat as quietly as possible, and one of them even apologizes when he accidentally touches your finger as if you will chop off his pinky. You start doubting if they view you as a secret henchman of 141.

It’s morning now, the shop usually has more people at this time, but you haven’t had a single customer since you opened it 30 minutes ago, they just vanished without any hint, hence you start testing out new recipes for your bread.

Lilting the song that’s fully out of tune, you slice the bread you just baked into pieces, and throw one into your mouth. Perfectly crunchy outside, fluffy like clouds inside. Oh my, you’re such a genius.

You’re totally unaware of your visitor until he stirs the air with a cough and his voice.

“Pardon me?” He calls you again, but you’re left in a trance when you land your eyes on him.

Damn, he looks just like your imagination of the man in the Dilf next door fic you just read yesterday on co5. Your eyes travel from his well-trim beard, south to his belted waist. Why does a man with a toned body – which his khaki coat can’t even hide – have such a tiny waist? Your mouth's agape at the sight as you’re about to respond.

“mmsadjsmm” The man raises his eyebrow in confusion, and you hear your voice not forming a proper sentence too. Ah, you forgot the bread’s still stuffed in your mouth.

“ehemm, Sorry Sir, I mean what would you like to have?” Quickly swallow the bread and try to pretend you didn’t just dumbfounded in front of him, you speak again.

“English breakfast, please.” He croons with an infatuating smile as he saunters to take a seat.

His voice is quite soothing, you admit in your mind as you start brewing said man’s tea, just like you presumed the Dilf in the fic… okay, you really should clear those nasty brainrots during work.

The tea is nicely served in the tea cup and brought to the man shortly after.

You can’t help the smile crawling onto your face when you see him grin at you after a sip. You love watching your customer enjoy your tea, and he obviously relaxes with it have you bask in your achievements.

“Don’t finish your breakfast?”

“Just trying a new recipe. I want to add it to my menu.” you reply with a shake of your head, and after a brief halt, you add a question “ Have you eaten breakfast yet, Sir”

“Call me John, love.” The man – John sets his cup on the table before continuing “And no, I haven’t”

“Then… would you like to have a grilled cheese sandwich? I can’t finish the bread myself, it would be great if someone could help me with it... Of course, it isn’t a must!" You hurriedly complement when John widens his eyes slightly at your suggestion, but he meets your eyes with interest within.

”I would love to.”

You beam up as you get the affirmation, and walk behind your counter again.

Slices of bread are already prepared. The pro tip for a delicious grilled cheese sandwich is giving the bread some nice seasoning first, so you pick up your black pepper jar before inquiring about John’s preference.

“How much pepper would you like, John?”

“Would be great if it’s more.”

“Alright.”

You turn back to season the bread, but when you pick up the pepper jar and about to shake it, a question slips into your brain making you pause.

How much is “more”?

The man doesn't have time to sit here and wait for you to contemplate the philosophy of seasoning, so after biting your bottom lip and thinking for 30 seconds, you shake the jar. More is better, you recall what John told you as your hand keeps moving.

You shake it 10 times, since more is better.

Apart from the bread, you hold full confidence in your grilled cheese sandwich. Placing generous amounts of cheese in between, the coveted smell flooded your little shop as you plate the well-toasted sandwich.

“It surely smells great.” John praises before diving in.

You hang a big expecting grin until John takes a bite and starts coughing like you will put him into the ER with a sandwich.

“It’s– it’s okay…love…” He tries to comfort you when you apologize abundantly and rush back to your counter to fill him a cup of water. Holy, isn’t more pepper better? Now you're going to send the man to heaven with a grilled cheese sandwich.

“Here’s water!” You go back to John as fast as you can with the cold water in your hand, you’re busy checking out John, who stops coughing madly but cheeks pink with the spices, and you don’t see the leg of the chair sticking out of its usual place.

A pair of arms catch you from slamming onto the floor, but the cup isn’t that lucky as it flies with Newton’s help and clatters on the floor.

“Shit! I’m so sorry!” You stabilize yourself in John’s support. But wow, now the man not only just recovered from a fatal attack to his throat, but also has a wet spot spreading along the chest part of his shirt.

“No worries, love. It’s just a shirt.”

Even though John attempts to calm you, you still can’t help the sheepishness creep to your cheeks and stain it with the same pink as John’s, or stop thinking about if the balance in your bank account is able to buy the man a new shirt. You remember you wanted to get some cash out of the cashpoint but it shoved an ‘insufficient funds :(‘ into your face.

You really don’t want any customers to come in right now, even if it means your little tea shop will close down because you only have one from the start of today, but fate always gifts you things you crave when you don’t need them.

“Sorry boss, I’m late.”

You look at the tan-skinned man standing like a model just escaped from his manager, staring at you shoving a towel on John’s chest and both of your cheeks smeared with suspicious red.

“What happened?”

I almost murdered your boss with my grilled cheese sandwich. Apparently, you can’t answer with this, so you face John for help.

and he’s looking at you too, with a sly smirk awaiting your explanation.

You wonder if you can just make two sandwiches to shut these men up, with one more for yourself to end this predicament now.

a/n: ty for reading :D have a nice day/night!

No John Price is harmed in this chapter.

tag list :D - @blackhawkfanatic @nexthyperfix @danielle143

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scealaiscoite · 2 months ago

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⋆˚࿔ build-a-fic no. 2 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

➴ chose a scent, an item of clothing and a weather forecast (a number, letter, + creature), and write/request to your heart’s content my dears!

𓂃 ࣪˖ a smell

꒰ 1 ꒱ rich, incensed perfume

꒰ 2 ꒱ burnt coffee

꒰ 3 ꒱ resinous pine needles

꒰ 4 ꒱ steadily-baking bread

꒰ 5 ꒱ inescapably strong disinfectant

꒰ 6 ꒱ expensive, pungent red wine

꒰ 7 ꒱ cheap cologne

꒰ 8 ꒱ salty air rolling off of crashing sea waves

꒰ 9 ꒱ mouth-watering home cooking

꒰ 10 ꒱ a too-strong vanilla candle

꒰ 11 ꒱ fresh-cut, perfectly ripe stone fruits

꒰ 12 ꒱ overpowering tiger balm

꒰ 13 ꒱ smoke unfurling from a wood fire

꒰ 14 ꒱ spiced incense

꒰ 15 ꒱ all-too familiar coconut shampoo

꒰ 16 ꒱ strong herbal lavender

꒰ 17 ꒱ newly turned earth

꒰ 18 ꒱ motor oil

꒰ 19 ꒱ just-washed bedsheets

꒰ 20 ꒱ petrichor after a rainshower

𓂃 ࣪˖ a piece of clothing

꒰ A ꒱ a wrinkled black tie

꒰ B ꒱ mismatched socks

꒰ C ꒱ faded blue jeans

꒰ D ꒱ a hotel bathroom

꒰ E ꒱ a stolen hoodie

꒰ F ꒱ a crisp white button-down

꒰ G ꒱ an expensive, lush fur coat

꒰ H ꒱ a pair of beaten-up combat boots

꒰ I ꒱ plaid pajama pants

꒰ J ꒱ loose-fitting boxer shorts

꒰ K ꒱ a yellow football jersey

꒰ L ꒱ a papery hospital gown

꒰ M ꒱ a blue, lacy thong

꒰ N ꒱ a brown belt with a gold buckle

꒰ O ꒱ cheap swimming garb

꒰ P ꒱ six-inch high heels

꒰ Q ꒱ a dark-red evening gown

꒰ R ꒱ a thick knitted sweater

꒰ S ꒱ a chef’s white coat

꒰ T ꒱ a flimsily-made tourist t-shirt

𓂃 ࣪˖ a weather advisory

꒰ 𓆉 ꒱ hammering, unrelenting rain

꒰ 𓅨 ꒱ warm, golden sunshine

꒰ 𓆣 ꒱ hair-raising rolls of thunder

꒰ 𓃰 ꒱ thick, looming fog

꒰ 𓃗 ꒱ a clear, chilly evening

꒰ 𓃱 ꒱ blazing heat

꒰ 𓃟 ꒱ a nighttime lightning storm

꒰ 𓆟 ꒱ a grey sky laden with rainclouds

꒰ 𓆈 ꒱ cold, drizzly mist

꒰ 𓅫 ꒱ an unexpected snowstorm

꒰ 𓅟 ꒱ bone-chilling sleet

꒰ 𓃵 ꒱ breathless humidity

꒰ 𓃓 ꒱ blustery winds

꒰ 𓆌 ꒱ rain-induced floods

꒰ 𓆏 ꒱ spitting showers of hailstones

꒰ 𓅭 ꒱ a freezing, sudden drop in temperatures

꒰ 𓆗 ꒱ a hurricane warning

꒰ 𓃢 ꒱ a tropical storm

꒰ 𓆧 ꒱ a warm, temperate breeze

꒰ 𓃔 ꒱ road-closing landslides

#a lil more abstract than her predecessor but i hope it’ll still inspire!!! xx #prompts #build a fic prompts #prompt list #writing prompts #writing exercise #rp meme #dialogue prompts #otp prompts #imagine your otp #otp writing #writing games #writing ask games #ask games #drabble meme

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purinfelix · 5 days ago

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yes Ollie fics I BEGGG🙏🏻🙏🏻

sweet as sugar ⟡ ݁₊ . - ollie bearman

summary: it isn't everyday you see a classmate shopping at the grocery store you work at, especially not when he's buying the most expensive ingredients possible. w/c: 3.4k

a/n: your wish is my command !!! been binging the bear necessities vlogs so i felt verrrryyy inspired for this one (also bc i recently started a second job as a checkout chick HAHA)

Working at a grocery store was far from glamorous - but given that it was close to your university, you figured it was definitely far from the worst part-time job you could've taken up. In between stocking shelves and dealing with rude customers, it hadn't been too bad, and that was the reason you had stayed for over a year.

In that time, you had seen your fair share of things. Given that the dorms were so close by, it wasn't uncommon for you to recognise people from class. Often they were polite enough to start up some small talk or ignore you completely, leaving with several bags of instant ramen and frozen garlic bread, more than enough to last them the week.

But this, this was new.

"Oh, hi," he lets out, polite and a little shy as he piles his groceries onto your conveyer belt.

"Hey," you let out, a little drawn out to show your confusion at the multi-coloured produce headed towards you. You spot a couple radishes, a whole head of cabbage and several jars of spice amongst everything else. "Do you have your own bags?"

"Oh, yeah," he mumbles, reaching into his back pocket and producing several reusable bags, most of them from your grocery store chain - you find it a little cute, though you don't say anything.

"I think I've seen you around, you know," he says quickly, refusing to acknowledge the elephant in the room as he positions the bags. You drag your focus away from the items you're scanning and study his face instead - he's tall but boyish, and his eyes are round and innocent as he looks at you.

"Right, Professor Royce's class, stats right?"

His expression lights up, almost out of relief at you not asking about the groceries. "Yeah! It's tough, isn't it?"

"Yeah, and he marks really strict as well, a friend of mine got a quarter mark taken off because her power wasn't written high enough."

"Jeez, that's rough," he laughs, and his eyes flicker between yours and your hands as you bag the last of his things.

"Your total will be $75.80," you announce, pulling a face to show that you don't envy how much he's going to have to pay - but to your surprise, his expression doesn't falter as he reaches for his wallet, pulls out his credit card and taps it without another word.

"Thanks, see you around," he smiles, as he takes his several bags with ease and leaves, the automatic doors closing behind him. You find yourself watching him, gaze lingering as his lean figure grows smaller and smaller in the direction of the dorms. What could he possibly be using that kind of food for, how many people was he planning on feeding - and most importantly, what sort of dorm fridge would fit all that?

You hear an annoyed grunt from in front of you as you're once reminded of your job, turning to face a stern-looking woman. "Sorry ma'am," you let out, beginning to scan her items - though your mind doesn't leave him, not for a while.

Given how much he had bought, you didn't think you'd run into your classmate at your job for a while. To your surprise though, it's less than a week until you see him again, and for about a month he continues showing up weekly - and as fate would have it, always when you were on shift and at your register.

What's even weirder though, is the fact that the two of you barely make it beyond awkward small talk about the singular class you share in common or the weather lately. Still, you manage to glean some information - his name (Ollie), his major (marketing) amongst other, smaller, details like the fact that he normally comes in the mornings to get the freshly baked loaves of bread, or that he has an unusually large collection of reusable grocery bags.

For the most part, you don't mind, working at a grocery store register has made you vulnerable to over a year of awkward conversations. What seems to actually get to you though, is the gnawing curiosity of just what on earth he could be using all this for because, at the rate you see him, he can't be the only one eating it.

You're busy pondering this thought, mindlessly stocking shelves mere minutes before closing one night - until you notice a familiarly lanky figure creep up behind you.

"Oh!" you gasp out in surprise, but when you spot the full grocery basket in his hand you dart quickly behind the register to help him. For a minute it seems like your opportunity to get to the bottom of this mystery has reared its head.

However, from the awkward smile he gives you in greeting and the way he nervously shoves his hands in his pockets while he scoots up to your register - you're inclined to just mind your own business and leave the poor boy alone. That is until you break eye contact with him and turn to the items now moving towards you.

He seems to have replaced his normal fresh produce and meat for dessert ingredients, and you watch as several bars of dark chocolate - the most expensive brand your store carries, at that - cartons of eggs and sacks of flour make their way towards you.

"Okay Ollie I'm sorry, but I have to ask," you hold your hands out as you preface your question, "What on earth do you do with all this stuff?"

"Oh, I mean, a boy's gotta eat right?" He laughs shyly, causing you to furrow your brows to show your doubt.

"I don't mean to judge but, surely that's a lie."

He looks almost disappointed at the fact that you don't believe his obviously made-up excuse, as he looks down at his feet to avoid eye contact.

“Well, you see,” he starts, and you can hear the squeaking sound of his sneakers against the store floor. “It’s sort of embarrassing.”

“C’mon, it can’t be that bad,” you reply, waiting for him to hit you with it, only to be met with a moment of silence as the two of you just stand there, even the conveyor belt refusing to move.

“What, you cooking for a roster of girls every night?” You joke, desperate to diffuse the suffocating silence.

“Wh- no!” he replies immediately, hands springing up in defence, causing you to let out a low laugh.

“Well?”

He takes a step closer to the register, looking around as if to make sure no one will eavesdrop - despite the two of you being the only ones in the store - before whispering to you. “I’m an influencer, like, a cooking influencer.

You hear yourself let out a shocked laugh, and Ollie’s eyes widen in response as his cheeks burn up.

“Sorry, that sounded mean, but that’s actually really cool!” you blurt out.

“Oh,” he laughs in relief, “I mean it’s not that cool.” He shuffles around awkwardly to help you bag his groceries, though you’re pretty sure he’s just eager to avoid eye contact.

“Home come I’ve never heard of you before?”

“Well, I keep it anonymous,” he sighs, “not many people in real life know.”

“Wow, you’re a proper Peter Parker.”

“Yeah, if his superpower was stuffing up puff pastry for the third time.”

“$32,” you read out his total, pausing before following up, “you know, I don’t know if I completely believe you.”

“Wh- why would I lie?” he asks as he taps his card.

“I don’t know, to hide the fact that you’re actually cooking for a never ending rotation of girlfriends.”

“Oh please, I wish that was the case,” you quirk your eyebrow at his response, showing just how much you’re struggling to believe him. As he loops his arms through the several grocery bags, he catches sight of your expression.

“Wh- look me up then!”

“Alright, what’s your username,” you say, whipping out your phone.

He seems to regret his words, his voice immediately shrinking to a shy tone, “promise you won’t make fun of it.”

“Just tell me Ollie.”

“It’s, @ bear in the kitchen.”

You have to fold your lips together to stop yourself from letting out a laugh as you type the user into your search bar. However, once it pops up your eyes widen in shock instantly.

“Ten thousand followers? Ollie, holy shit!” He lets out a little chuckle as you continue to scroll through his posts. “God this stuff looks amazing.”

“Alright, just don’t tell anyone about it okay? I don’t need this spreading around,” he sighs nervously.

Lowering your phone, you feel an idea coming to you, “well what’s in it for me?”

Once again, you watch his brows rise in shock as he chews on his bottom lip, thinking. You’re about to break the silence to tell him you’re only kidding, and that of course you wouldn’t tell anyone and that it’s totally f-

“What time do you get off?”

“Wh- in about five minutes?”

“Do you want to come watch?”

“Watch what?”

“Me cook, duh,” he says, making it seem like you’re the one being crazy here.

“Huh?”

“I live in the dorms so it isn’t too far and you could even try some of it if you want, unless you’ve got something on after this that is.”

“I mean, not really.”

“Great, then, help me with these will you?”

So that’s how you ended up closing up a little earlier, and then helping your classmate Ollie - who a couple weeks ago had been little more than a stranger - carry his ingredients back to his dorm. If you had told anyone that, they probably would’ve called you crazy, and you would’ve agreed. But still, no matter how many times you tried to wake yourself up from this strange dream, you were still there - closing the store, in the elevator with him, even watching as he struggled to use his keys to open his dorm.

“I got lucky with the dorm lottery this year,” he explained as he finally managed to get the door unlocked, “I think it’s supposed to be for special accomodation students but no one took it so, I figured I would.”

“Woah,” was all you could say as he ushered you in and shut the door quickly behind you. And woah was correct, given that his 'room' was the size of a small apartment, and much much bigger than any of the other shoeboxes most students got. Aside from the usual bed and desk, he also had his own small lounge room and bathroom - and of course, a kitchenette, which you recognised from the background of his videos. "Lucky is an understatement."

All he does is let out a low laugh in response as he lifts the grocery bags onto the counter, prompting you to do the same. "Do you want my help?" you ask.

"No, I mean you're my guest if anything, so you can just pull up a chair and watch," he offers you a warm smile before turning to unload the bags, stuffing condiments into cupboards and tossing things into the fridge. You do as he says, finding yourself a stool and scooting it over to the counter so you can watch him.

You're amazed, obviously by the fact that someone as unexpected as a boy from your statistics class has a cooking page, but more so by the nature of his movements. After setting up his phone on a small tripod and clicking record, he falls into a rhythm that's mesmerisingly beautiful to watch. Every grab of a bowl or flick of his wrist as he whisks this and stirs that, like a conductor bringing together a symphony.

You don't realise how long you've been silent until he looks up at you, almost as if to silently ask if you have any questions, all the while he's separating a couple egg yolks from their whites.

"So, what exactly are you making?"

"Mille-feuille," he responds.

"Milly- huh?"

He laughs softly at your attempt to mirror his pronunciation. "It's a French dessert, basically just puff pastry with some cream but it's a pain to make."

"So why are you making it?"

"Well, it's fun, I guess? It's nice to challenge myself to do things, even if it takes me a while, the satisfaction of mastering it is really like nothing else." He turns to you, a slight sparkle in his eye and you're taken aback by the pure passion in the way he talks.

"Wow, you really enjoy this, why are you studying at university then? Why not do this full-time as a chef or something?"

"Don't be silly, this is just like a hobby there's no way I could make it a job."

"Ten thousand people seem to say otherwise," you say, and as he pulls a couple things out of the oven and places them on the counter he turns to look at you with an expression that's equal parts confused and surprised. "Well, ten thousand people plus me."

He smiles earnestly, though you can tell you've made him a little shy by the way his cheeks are flushed. "Well, you haven't even tried it yet."

"You're right, how much longer?"

"Maybe another five minutes, why do you need to go?" His expression morphs into one of worry, almost as if he's pleading you not to leave.

"No," you laugh, "I'm fine to stay for as long as you want me to."

"Okay, good, I just," he says, searching for an excuse, "I just want you to taste it before you go."

"Right," you hum, looking around his dorm, or more his apartment complex. "If I had a space as big as this I'd probably throw a party every second night."

"Oh nah, parties aren't really my thing." You watch as he looks down shyly and for the first time, you notice the way the dim kitchen lights illuminate his soft brown curls.

You notice that the only thing separating the two of you is a couple inches of marble countertop and that this is the longest conversation you've had with him, ever. You notice, when his brown eyes rise to meet yours, that the bashful smile spread across his face makes your heart rate quicken a bit more - and for the couple of seconds you're able to hold eye contact with him, you're thinking about how oddly intimate this moment is.

A loud ringing sound brings you back to the current moment - the timer that Ollie set a couple minutes ago signalling that his dish is ready to plate. You straighten up on your stool, eyes darting around as the boy across from you hurries to take out a plate. You pull out your phone, just to have something to do with your hands, but as you do you hear a couple soft groans coming from Ollie's direction.

"Hey," you hear his timid tone call out to you, "could you help me?"

Hopping off of your stool, you pad your way over to where he's bent at an awkward angle, trying his best to hold a broken sheet of puff pastry together.

"Just put your hands where mine are," he instructs you, and you do as he says, allowing him to let out a sigh of relief as he reaches for a piping bag. As he does, you notice the phone camera pointed directly towards you.

"Won't I be in your shot?" you ask nervously.

"Don't worry, your face won't be in it and I can edit it out if you want," he brushes you off, clearly more concerned with the structural integrity of his dessert.

"Oh, right."

"Wait, just-" his voice is just above a whisper and before you realise what's happening you feel his warm touch on yours as he nudges your hands slightly into position. You try not to overthink the fact that his touch alone makes you feel so flustered that you almost drop the pastry. "Okay, hold still."

"Yes, chef," you joke in as serious a tone as you can, trying to alleviate the suddenly intimate tension between you two. You watch silently as he pipes a couple of dollops of custard onto the pastry then nudges you once more to let you know you can let go as he reaches for the last piece of pastry to place on top.

The two of you stand back, and you hear him let out a proud huff as he rests his hands on his hips. "Finally," he breathes, reaching into a drawer to retrieve a spoon.

As you watch him break apart the pastry he spent the last hour trying to perfect, you catch the tender smile he gives you and feel your heart warm at the fact that he seems so different to the awkward, shy boy you first served a couple weeks ago. The image of your classmate, who you only ever saw shuffling out of class as soon as possible, melts away as Ollie confidently scoops some of the custard onto the spoon.

You wait for him to bring it to his own lips, but instead watch it take a turn towards you, his eyes catching yours.

"Here," he smiles, "a payment for your help."

"Wh-" You're taken aback, partially by him not wanting to taste his own food first, but mostly by the fact that he seems to be insisting on feeding it to you. Obediently, you open your mouth and he feeds you the dessert, other hand cupping your chin to catch any crumbs that fall - and you can only hope he doesn't feel how hot your face gets when he does.

"Holy shit Ollie, that's delicious!" You exclaim, watching as his eyes survey your expression.

"Really? That's a relief then," he laughs, taking his own serving of the dessert, nodding thoughtfully as he tastes it. For the thousandth time that night, the two of you stand in silence, just looking at each other - though it's less awkward than you thought and more comfortable.

Until you see your phone on the countertop buzz awake and you catch sight of the time.

"Oh crap, it's past midnight!" you gasp, reaching for it and sending a text back to your roommate, who's probably wondering where you are.

"Do you need to get back?" Ollie asks, brows furrowed.

"Yes, I'm sorry, and thank you for all this it really was amazing-" you ramble out as you try your best to shove your feet into your shoes by the doorway. He seems a little lost by your sudden movements, dropping the spoon and padding his way over to you.

"Do you need me to walk you home?"

"No, no it's fine, I'm just in the next building and you should probably get to cleaning up all this anyways," you gesture to the small mess of used pans and bowls waiting for him in the kitchen behind.

"Right," you catch a tinge of disappointment in his tone, "well get home safe okay?"

"I will," you insist, letting out small grunts as you finally manage to get your second shoe on, "oh, and send me the video you post about this, I want to see my cameo!"

He laughs, "of course."

You're just about to reach for the doorknob and bid him farewell when you hear his voice pipe up again, a little less sure this time.

"Oh and hey, do you think you'd want to do this again?"

"Come over and watch you cook?" You're a little confused by his request since you were sure you had just been in his way all night.

"Yeah, I mean it's nice to have someone keep me company, and help me out when I need it," his hand rubs the back of his nape as he looks at the floor.

"Sure, I'd love to Ollie, you know where to find me anyways."

"Checkout number 4," he laughs, "goodnight."

"Goodnight Ollie," you respond with a smile and a wave before opening his dorm door and leaving.

It's only once you're out in the night air, frantically rushing from his building to yours - that you notice the smile hasn't left your face.

(and as a little something extra, a mockup of ollie's account :)) )

taglist: reply/send an ask to be added!

@multifan-idk @presleycaudle @hadesnumber1daughter @monbear38

#ollie bearman #ollie bearman x reader #ollie bearman x you #ollie bearman imagine #ollie bearman fanfic #ollie bearman fluff #ollie bearman oneshot #formula one #formula one fanfic #formula one x reader #purinfelix #jet writes ★#jet answers ✧

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the-californicationist · 4 months ago

Text

Picking Flowers

@pricesugarwife left this amazing comment on one of my posts and i couldn't get it out of my head...

pricesugarwife: Nos complaces con un smut Hades!Price x Persefone!Reader??? *se arrodilla*

te amo griss!! espero que te guste esta historia que escribí para ti, nena. 🩷🩷

TW: rape/non-con/cnc elements, loss of virginity, corruption, very bad greek mythology knowledge (sorry, it's just make believe okay jeez)

In a grove in Hellas, long, long ago…

Before you opened your eyes, you already knew what you would see. Slowly, as sleep fell away from you, like the warmth of a blanket being pulled away from your body, a heavy darkness giving way to light, you could see a warm, egg yolk glow behind your eyelids. The sun had cut a path through your windowpane, and now it cast itself like a spell, masking its burn over your face. When you opened your eyes, you would squint through your lashes, looking up through the green mottled leaves, neon, blinding, of the twisted yew outside of your window. You could smell your mother’s bread baking in her old dutch oven, hints of oregano and pepper wafting through your room, bringing the warmth of the hearth with them. You could almost taste the crispy crust, roasted to perfection, protecting the soft, textured middle.

Finally, you peeked between your lashes, and before you, your self-made dream came true. The sun filtered in through your glass a little less bright than what you had imagined, but the greens were there, and they reminded you that today was your favorite day: the arrival of Spring.

“Sephie! Are you awake?”

Your mother’s sing-song voice fluttered down the hall and tucked itself through the crack of your bedroom door. She always knew when you woke up, and although you’d never questioned it, you had to admit it was uncanny. You chalked it up to the wonders of motherhood. She seemed to know every other thing about you, so why question it?

“Yes, Mom. Coming!” You called back, your own voice a little stronger, a little less like a delicate lark, a little more like a robin.

You were very much a late bloomer, still living with your mother at almost twenty years of age, especially when most of the girls in your village had suitors or proposals by sixteen. But, you didn’t let it bother you. As your mother was ready to remind you, the thread of your life was your own, and you would follow its path until the end, whether you wanted to or not. If Lachesis had measured your life out to be this way, then that was that. Why question it?

You pulled on your robes, woven on your family loom of the finest silk threads. You had begged your mom to add a tight spiral of cyclamen along the hem, the flowers so familiar, their pink heads watching you as you followed your daily path to the river. So, she had insisted that you try. You were well enough a woman now, and more than skilled enough to craft your own clothes. And you had; it had been easier than you thought, and you added a few glass beads in that same heart-shaped petal to the tips of the cord of your belt.

You owned no looking glass, but you never noticed its absence. There was so much more to do than to stare at something you couldn’t change. Focus on what you can do, your mother’s voice haunted your mind, not on what is already done. Besides, your mother insisted that you were beautiful, so why question it?

“Here, my darling,” your mom tapped you under your chin, handing you a cloth satchel full of bread, fruit, seeds, and dried meats, “Before you go to the river, please check on the well. It should have clear water for you to fill this skin. Fill it again on your way home. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t, Momma. I promise.”

“That’s my good girl.”

You were out of the door and heading down the hill to the well before you knew it, the feel of the soft grass comforting your heels, cold and damp from the morning dew. The village below you was coming alive, its people tending to their new lambs, planting seeds in the black, fertile soil, carrying buckets of water to and from the olive groves, pruning the dead branches away from the new growth on each branch. Their bustle and laughter as they worked together made you long to live in town. But, your mother had insisted that the town and its people would just be a distraction, and you’d never experienced such a thing; why question it?

When you approached the well, you were alone. You let your hands trace their way along the rough, grey stones, feeling the familiar edge, reaching for the thick rope to pull up the bucket. The worn hemp gave way, and the echo of the old wooden bucket hitting the sides of the well rang out like shrouded bells. You reached for the handle of the bucket, pulling it up to the rim, carefully filling your waterskin, making sure not to waste a drop. You used the rest to wash your face and hands, letting the cool water soak into your cheeks, adding moisture back to your body after a long sleep.

Suddenly, your eyes darted up to the treeline just beyond the well’s clearing. You thought you saw a shadow that stretched just a little too long, shaped just a little too wrong… but when you studied the dark spaces between the trunks, there was nothing but lush overgrowth. You packed your waterskin and tossed the bucket back into the water; you were eager to get down to the river. The light always played tricks on you in this glade, so why question it?

You walked quite a ways through the valley, using your fingers and the softness of your touch to coax the flowers to bloom and grow as you let your hand fondle its way through the tall grass. When you reached your river, you savored the sight. The way that it curved into a deep ox bow was your favorite thing. It was as if the river had carved out a small, circular stage just for you. In it, you worked on your crafts, practicing growing buds from seeds, trees from roots, ivy from the palm of your hand. Then, you sent it out, down the river towards town, making sure the village was well-shaded, well-fed, and well-protected from the elements.

It was hard work, and you always slept after a long afternoon of using your magic, but your mother always said that no one else would be able to do a better job than you, so you kept at it, and it was the one thing you never questioned.

This time, when you woke up from your nap, you knew you weren’t alone. As you sat up, you looked around, thinking that a striped kri-kri or a golden jackal would be nibbling at the food in your pack. But, sitting with his legs crossed, was a man dressed only in a dark blue chilton, the shoulder of which hung loosely around his waist as if he were a farmer who had been toiling in the field. He was no farmer. Not with those inhuman eyes of ice fire, pale and bright, glowing although the sun was at his back. His body was that of a giant, muscle-bound and heavy, full of power just rippling beneath the surface. He reminded you of the well. How deep did his strength flow? His beard and chest were furry but well-groomed, just like that of a nobleman.

You greeted him, apologizing for your slumber,

“Good day, sir. Forgive my sleeping. I was just tending to my flowers, and I must have dozed off.”

“No trouble,” his smile came to him easily, and you enjoyed it, basking in it, “I enjoy watching you work. It is a gift to see it up close.”

He reached out his hand and plucked one of your most vibrant hyacinths from its stem, cradling your art in his huge hands.

“Beautiful,” he purred, speaking of the flower but looking at you.

“Thank you, sir. Can I offer you some bread or fruit from my pack? I carried clean water from the well this morning.”

“How generous you are,” his smile showed his straight, large teeth this time, and he tucked your own flower behind your ear, letting the delicate petals tickle your sensitive flesh.

You prepared a small piece of bread for him, decorating it with nuts and juicy lobes of fruit that you had carefully peeled with your hands, tearing off a piece of dried meat for him to try as well. You ate with him in companionable silence, watching him as he chewed. Whereas the kri-kri would have greedily gobbled up the bread from your palm, this man seemed unsurprised by it. What was a delicacy for some of Gaia’s creatures was a mere appetizer for others. But, it may be that he had much finer fare at home, so why question it?

“Do you live near to this glade, sir?” You asked, hoping to learn more about your handsome stranger.

His hands peeled the delicate pith from the citrus lobe you had given him, expertly trimming it as if he had done it for a thousand mornings, knowing exactly how hard or easy he needed to pull the flesh for it to yield, feeding it into his mouth in a wet, juicy bite, letting the sweet nectar soak into his beard and become sticky.

He chewed slowly, eyeing you carefully as he did, seemingly in no rush to answer your question. So, you tacked on another one, impatiently,

“What should I call you?”

“I have been called many names,” he spoke, looking down at his hands, staring at his open palms as if to divine some sort of future before his eyes shot back to yours, pinning you where you sat.

“Hm,” you smiled, inching closer, pretending to get a better look at him, studying him like a statue at a temple, “You do not look like an Akakios, nor an Eirenaios…”

“No,” he chuckled, his laugh rolling like a volcanic crag inside of his throat, “I should think not.”

“I cannot imagine naming you Melanthios, though it fits your face,” you giggled.

“I’m not sure I appreciate that, little petal.”

His laugh was still jovial, so you pushed him further,

“Perhaps Kleisthenes. Your strength is apparent, as is your status. Surely, that must fit you.”

You leaned back, biting off another chunk of bread, saving the crust for last, satisfied with your naming ritual.

He shook his head,

“I’ll give you a hint. It’s very brief, or at least much less trouble than Kleisthenes.”

“Bion, then.”

“Mm,” he frowned a bit at the edges of his smile, “Quite the opposite in essence, I’m afraid.”

“Perhaps you are a foreigner. One of Troy, or Rome, even? Something brief, like John.”

“I am foreign enough to this land, so I suppose John is close enough,” he sighed, allowing you to finally take your win.

You hadn’t realized how close you had drawn yourself into him. You were now near enough to smell the oils on his skin: laurel, salt, and something akin to tarnished silver. His hand reached out to touch the curls of your hair, carefully braided by your mother, entwined with small flowers and ivy stems to keep it off of your neck. But, after your nap, one lock had escaped and was now being delicately twirled in this man’s immense fingers.

“And what should I call you, little flower? Marjoram is too serious for you. Iris, not serious enough.”

“Persephone,” you offered, unwilling to force him to endure the same naming torture you had just gone through.

“Ah!” He gasped, leaning toward your face as if seeing you for the first time, “Persephone.”

Then, before you could even know what was happening to you, your lips were tasting his. He was cradling you in his arms, holding your limp body against his bare chest, the gold of his necklaces and armbands warm from his body heat as they pressed into your skin. He was kissing you, moving his mouth against yours, forcing your jaw to yield to him, to take his tongue into the hollow of your cheeks, to suck the citrus juice from it, the memory of his food still fresh on the muscle.

You had never been kissed before, even though you had practiced on two of your fingers held tightly together, watching lovers sneak up to the well on hot days of work to do to each other what you longed for someone to do to you. It was so much more satisfying to feel another’s lips move against your own, nothing like the static, chaste practice you’d tried to mimic.

Only now, after you were left gasping, feeling his hands wander along the edges of your chilton, his fingers beginning to dig into the loose gaps in the fabric, did you question whether you should be kissing this man or not. But, it felt too good to stop.

John, or whoever he was, pulled away for a moment, and his eyes seemed to study your mouth, inspecting your plump, swollen lips as if something was wrong. You wrapped your hands around his neck to steady yourself, and he lay you back, letting your head be supported by the plush grasses beneath you. He spoke to you in a hushed whisper, even though no one was around for miles,

“I have been watching you, Persephone. I see you growing your lush gardens, creating a world full of life, all for me to take. And I come back every autumn, when the sun is shy and the sky is dark, just to inspect all of the gifts you have given me,” he kissed you again, his hand finally snaking its way under the shoulder of your robes, peeling it down slowly to reveal your full breasts to the open air, “And I eat them up. All of them, and I take them home. I’ve been keeping them for you. All of your treasures from years past. They’re still there for you to see.”

Then, before you could ask him what he meant, his mouth latched onto the dark nipple of your breast, suckling at it like a babe. And then, very much not like a babe. Like something else. Like a wolf digging the marrow from a bone. Like an otter clawing at a clam, slurping up the tender meat inside.

And then, he stopped. He sat up, holding you by the shoulders and helping you sit up with him, fixing your top so that you were covered again, dizzy and reeling from his attention, the wet skin of your aching nipples sticking to the silk fabric of your gown.

“Sir, I…”

“Come with me, love,” he held out his hand, “Don’t you want to meet your old friends?”

You didn’t know what to say, but he seemed so friendly. There was a dark, twisted piece of wort inside of you, growing and twining itself around your belly that made you want to see if he might put his mouth on you again. It had been so lovely… Besides, you very much missed your old creations. You remembered hundreds and hundreds of seasons of creations you had made, trees and plants, fruits and flowers. It would be wonderful to be reminded of all of the things you had brought into the world. If he had kept them for you, it may even be rude to refuse his hospitality. He seemed so sure, so why question it?

So, you took his hand, and he led you through the earth, ripping at the dirt like a heavy veil, marching down into the darkness, leading you step after step down a winding, rocky staircase. Above your head, you saw the last bit of a ruby-colored sun, setting in the distance, illuminating the ceiling of roots and fungus that hung above you as you delved further into his depths.

Then, your heart skipped a beat. You saw your river again, her wine-dark waters now black, curling in that same ox bow pattern, cutting the land in half. On one bank, the souls of the living waited to be ferried across, and on the other, fields and fields of your own flowers, frozen in time, neither growing nor dead, shrouded in darkness in the grey soil of the Underworld.

He led you onward, towards his blue, gleaming castle, all of its walls made of shining glass, distorting the world outside, and concealing the one within. You marveled at the wide door, its ebon gate the only iron you could see, and all of the castle guards were the dead. Their lifeless eyes gray and cloudy, set inside of gaunt, bony faces, unseeing, unfeeling. You did not fear them, even though you were sure you were meant to. You knew them. You had made the food that fed them while they were alive. You had grown the trees and bushes that had sheltered them when they lay beneath your boughs, exhausted from their labor or their warfare. Who was afraid of an old friend?

Then, you watched your companion climb the long stair up to the throne of Hades, for that is who he was after all, and he sat on its plush seat, motioning for you to sit in an equally-crafted chair beside him. There was no difference between the two thrones. His was not higher, nor was it more elaborate. So, you sat, waiting to see what Hades wanted to show you.

A delightful processional began, and you spotted some of your first flowers being brought to you on pedestals and pillows, you ooh’d and ahh’d at them, sharing stories and listening to Hades tell you all of his tales of how he brought them here to keep. How he’d waited so long for you to come and join him here, to rule in the Underworld beside him as its queen.

“What do you think, love? My people are desperate for more of your creations. You are the only one who reminds them of home. They see your trees and your flowers, your fish and your fruits, and their souls finally know peace. Be my queen, rule beside me, help me put these souls to rest here in Elysium.”

“I am still a maid, sir,” you told him, “My mother is the one who would make that choice for me.”

He looked at you confused,

“You are a goddess most powerful. There is no one who can make choices for you. Even I am no match for your magic. I cannot bloom these fields.”

“When I return home, I will consult her wisdom, and she will help us marry.”

“Very well,” he sighed, “Perhaps you will at least allow me to show you the same hospitality as you have shown me. There is a feast that awaits you in my chambers. Will you join me, petal?”

You had no excuse. How could you refuse him the same thing you had provided. After dinner, you would return home and tell your mother about this handsome suitor.

You followed him from the throne room and entered his chambers, sitting on a wide lounge where platters of meat and fruit and honey in wide bowls waited for you to dig into them. You did not shy away now that you were in the comfort of his rooms, letting Hades sit beside you, as close as he could, feeding you berries and sweetmeats from his hands, dipping his fingers into your lips and letting you suck them clean, laughing and joking with you.

He had done a poor job of tying your robe back onto your shoulder, and it kept falling down. Finally, when you were about to adjust it again, he stopped you, pulling it down even further to hang with the cord of your belt, letting your breasts hang free upon your ribs, heavy and full, sensitive from his earlier ministrations.

“C’mere, love. Lay back and let me feed you. You must be so tired from your work today,” he murmured in your ear, allowing you to lay your back across his chest, his legs spread wide to allow you to sit between them.

You did as he bade, letting him feed you grapes dipped in honey, delicious fish and mussels, crab and octopus still cold and fresh. He ate, too, feeding you sometimes from his own mouth, bending to kiss you with sweet bites between his teeth.

Then, when you had both had your fill, he used his hands to rub your sore muscles, easing the tension in your neck, down your shoulders, and then finally, he stopped,

“Alright, love. We should bring you back to Demeter. I’m sure she is waiting.”

“No,” you protested, ignoring the fact that he knew your mother’s name, “I mean… I thought we could stay a bit longer. I’m so full; a journey would be too arduous right now.”

“Oh?” He returned to petting you, letting his hands trace just outside of your breasts, fingers skating through your underarms and then up along the thin skin of your neck, “How should we occupy our time, my love?”

“Just… like this,” you let your hands wander to his strong thighs, massaging down his knees and calves, admiring the muscles there.

“If that’s what you want, my love, then you shall have it. All that you want shall be yours,” his tone was dark in a way you had never heard from another person, but you felt so good, so why question it?

His hands were callused and warm as they covered your sensitive breasts, plucking at your nipples like the petals of one of your flowers, and you mewled from the pleasure, asking him for more and more and more.

Then, you felt his mouth on your neck, sucking and licking you, reminding you of how it felt when his mouth was on your tits, making your flesh tingle like the crackle of lighting, like the cold of the first swim of the season.

So, you turned towards him, spreading your legs on either side of his hips, sitting proudly in his lap, hoping he would return his mouth to where it was needed. And he did. It was as if he read your mind, knowing you wanted him to suck and suck and suck against the softness of your skin, to use his tongue to press into the nub of your nipple, over and over until you felt your legs begin to shake as if you were shivering from the cold.

“My pretty flower, it feels like you need something else, hm? What would you like? I will give you Olympus if you ask me for it.”

You weren’t sure what to ask for. When a flower asks to be picked, growing symmetrical and soft as it does, what does it know about the plucking? Only picked flowers know what they’re really asking for, don’t they?

“I don’t know… I just… I need…” You tried to make sense of your body’s wishes, and why you were rocking your hips back and forth, why you needed to feel something between your thighs.

Hades’ smile widened, that dark beard pressed out of the way of his full mouth as it turned up into a grin,

“How about this, hm?”

He fumbled with your robes and his, and then you felt yourself sigh with relief when he placed some part of him between your legs, giving you something to rub against through your softest petals, wet with excitement and desire. You both sighed, and you could feel the heat of him as you rocked back and forth. It felt like his wrist, but then again, it didn’t. It was wide enough, but at the end, instead of a hand, it was the fleshy edge of another tongue, perhaps. Something that was licking your hole every time you passed over it.

Eventually, everything was wet beneath you. His robes, your robes, his body, your body… it was a sticky, dripping mess. You had lost your breath, your heart beating out of your chest, your mind sparkling like a fire and then going blank like you had drank too much wine. Over and over, you felt everything and then nothing. It may have been hours, but you couldn’t tell. He didn’t seem like he was in a rush to be finished with your game, so you didn’t question it.

“More, still?” He finally asked, kissing you on the mouth sweetly, sucking on the tip of your lolling tongue, “My greedy little flower…”

You weren’t sure what more there was. But, he showed you. This time, when you rocked back, he used his hand to notch himself at your hole, and if you pushed forward, you would have to press yourself onto him, to take him inside of yourself somehow. It was the same way you had used your fingers inside yourself to play in your bed or in your glade by the river, just touching yourself for the comfort of it.

But, this was different. This was not comfort, it was magic. It felt like old magic, something from the world as it was before. And yet, he had promised you whatever you wanted, so you didn’t question it.

As you slipped yourself over his fleshy knob, you experimented with your movements, rolling your hips back and forth, seeing how it felt to push him deeper and deeper inside of you, stopping when you felt like you were being stretched open. Then, you tried circles, turning your hips around and around as you sat in his lap, feeling him slipping deeper and deeper inside of you as you found your rhythm.

He was busying himself with kissing you, or suckling from your nipples, but you could tell he was enjoying himself as much as you were. His grunting was that of a rutting deer, hoarse and loud. Finally, he reached some sort of limit, and he grabbed you, changing places, pressing you beneath him on the lounge, nearly ripping off your robes and his own, making you naked in front of him.

Then, you saw what you had been using for your pleasure. His phallus stood tall and strong against his belly, ruddy and throbbing, shining with your wet nectar. You had never seen one up close, and when you cradled it in your hands, it felt alive, like it was separate from him even though its thick root was buried deep inside his body.

Hades’ eyes glowed bright blue, his own magicks coursing within him, and he told you,

“Open your legs.”

So, you obeyed, entranced by his power and the feeling you were experiencing, weightless and floating in your own mind. He fed himself into you, as deep as you had gone and then deeper, not stopping when you hissed in a breath from the feeling of your muscles stretching beyond the point of comfort, delving far enough to cause pain.

“Ahh!” You cried out, but he shushed you with his mouth, kissing you again and again, distracting you from the discomfort of his invasion.

“That’s my good girl…” He praised you, just as your mother always did, for a job well-done or a chore checked off the list.

But, you didn’t feel like you were doing a chore. In fact, you felt like you were watching him do one for you. His thrusting was violent and repetitive, his huge rod pounding into you with every snap of his hips, grinding his tip inside of you deeper and deeper. As you moved past the pain and back into a throbbing sort of pleasure, he looked as if he was taking your pain away from you in this ritual. His face was set in a grimace, his eyes ferocious and snarling, his voice growling and letting out only deep, throaty whines.

So, you did what he had done for you. You kissed his furry chest and latched onto his soft nipple, listening to him cry out with a sudden shout.

“Love, I can’t… ”

You didn’t know how to help him, so you kept sucking and sucking, hoping you would bring him the pleasure that you felt, that you might ease his pain.

But, he grabbed your face in his huge hands, pulling you away from his chest, squeezing your cheeks to make your lips press into a helpless sort of pout.

He growled down at you like a wounded animal,

“So beautiful. My queen. My perfect little flower.”

Then, you felt your body tumble into another one of your hypnotic phases; your muscles clenching, your toes curling, your breath neither coming in nor rushing out, helpless to your own reaction.

“Unghff-fuck… that’s it. Persephone…” He looked at you with those eyes, the eyes of some unearthly being, the bright icy glow keeping you in that cyclone of pleasure, thrashing you with it over and over, making you feel a wet gush between your legs, warm and slick.

He released your face and leaned backwards, peering down at your body from his kneeling position, letting you watch how he was pistoning inside of you, pressing himself through you and filling you up. He watched himself for a moment, staring down at where you were joined, and then he sank himself all the way in and tossed back his head with a bellowing shout.

You felt his prick writhing inside of you, pulsing and throbbing. You waited, panting with him, watching him wipe the sweat from his brow. He pulled himself out slowly, and lay it on your belly, letting you see the last of his seed drooled from his tip. There was blood on your skin when he pulled away, and as much as you tried to wipe it away, it stained.

Hades carried you to his bed, wrapping you in his dark blue silk sheets, cradling you in his arms until you both drifted off to sleep.

You awoke to the sound of a woman crying. A voice calling your name. But, you were so tired, you must have been dreaming, so you didn’t question it.

AO3 Link -- Thank you for the bookmarks and kudos! <3

#call of duty fanfic #captain john price #john price #call of duty #captain price x you #captain price x reader #hades!price #persephone!reader #hades and persephone #greek mythology au #x female reader

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peetaslefttoe · 2 years ago

Text

@dumbpuss

Peeta x Fem! Reader. Maybe they’re at the bakery? Like you know he’s teaching reader how to bake and how to knead bread and it’s all sensual. The reader and him are together but because of his games things have been like really stiff between them? You can go wild with the details!

warnings: p in v, slight choking, AFAB reader

summary: request above 🫶

author’s note: ahhh thank you for the request i love this idea, i hope i did it justice <33

Masterlist pinned xx

The sweet aroma of flour and cinnamon filled your nose. Peeta stood beside you wrapped in an apron, he’s hands preparing ingredients from memory. You finally got this time to be alone with him. Things had been tense between you two since his return from the arena and this was just what you needed. You sit on the wooden counter top beside him while he works on a loaf.

“Okay, so now that we’ve made the dough, you need to knead it out,” he patted your waist urging you to jump down. You stood between his warm arms watching his hands carefully. He massaged the dough, rolling it under his strong hands. You felt a warmth growing in your stomach, his steady hands against the palpable dough and his torso supporting your back. You leaned back into his heat looking up at him.

“The dough darling, look back at the dough,” he smirked noticing the way you looked at him. You obliged looking down once more. You couldn’t help your thoughts wandering looking at his large hands. Imagining them around your neck, his comforting touch all over your body, his skilled fingers working into you. After what felt like ages he had molded the dough onto a sheet.

“Okay, now we put it in the oven, just turn the heat up,” you turned the dial all the way. “Perfect,” his praise brought fire to your cheeks. You stood back admiring his handwork as he placed the loaf into the burning oven, shutting the metal door behind it. He turned back to the counter patting the wood in front of him expectantly. You hopped up sitting down and looking into his big hazel eyes. He placed his muscled arms on either side of your hips.

“You’re not very discreet sweet girl,” he whispered, brushing your hair behind your ears.

“What’do you mean?” you asked, your voice breaking when you felt his splayed hand on your lower back.

“What were you thinking about Y/N?” he smirked at you cheekily.

“The bread…?” you replied shakily, his hands coming to rest on your hips.

“Ah ah, don’t be sassy with me sweetheart, tell me what you were thinking about,” he said lowly, maintins eye contact.

“Your… hands,” you finally said looking down at your lap. He tilted your chin back up, looking you in your eyes.

“Mhm and what were my hands doing?” he pushed further.

“Touching me…” you whimpered, his hands dipping down to run along the waistband of your skirt.

“Like this?” Peeta whispered, before cupping your face and kissing you gently. He pulled you closer deepening the kiss, his tongue pushing into your mouth. He wound his hands into your hair tugging gently making you whimper.

“I wanted us to have a nice date after all the time apart, but your obsession with my hands is driving me crazy Y/N,” Peeta finally gasped out through the kiss. You leaned back capturing pointer figure in your mouth.

“Peeta,” you moaned against his hand, suckling on his finger.

“Fuck,” he whimpered, his dominant facade fading away with the dance of your tongue on his fingers.

“Peeta, please, fuck me,” you whispered, kissing his hand and dragging your fingers up his back. He untied his apron and reached for his belt buckle. You stopped him, pushing his hands out of the way and undoing it for him. You pulled his pants and boxers down, his hard cock slapped against his toned torso. He gathered up your skirt holding it firmly at your waist. He hooked his fingers into your panties teasingly, he dragged them slowly down your thighs.

“Peeta please, I need you,” you groaned begging him to move faster. He removed your underwear completely before lifting your legs so your feet were on the counter, spreading you for him.

“My hands really made you this wet darling?” he said smugly. You whined bucking towards him. He smirked up at you and ran his hand through your soaked folds.

“Peeta,” you whimpered.

“What’s wrong sweet girl? I thought you liked these hands?” he teases you further, circling your clit.

“Peeta! Please stop teasing, fuck me please,” you begged shamelessly for his cock. He stood, pressing a kiss to your lips before turning his attention to your neck suckling and nibbling on the exposed skin. Just as you were about to open your mouth and beg him once again you feel him start to push into you. His thick dick enters you inch by inch. You wrap your arms around him tightly adjusting to his size.

“Just breath sweetheart,” he whispers. “Tell me when I can move,” he presses a gentle kiss to your temple. You breath for a few moments before you nod against his chest signalling him. Sometimes the way Peeta switches from his sweet passionate self to confident and dominate surprises you. One second ago he was kissing you gently checking that you were okay the next he has you pinned to the counter, his hand firmly around your neck. You moan loudly as he squeezes your throat tightly while ramming into your wet cunt.

“This is what you wanted isn’t it, you wanted my hands wrapped around your throat didn’t you?”

“Yesss,” you gasp through his rough strokes.

“That’s my girl, taking me so well aren’t you?” he gruffly speaks your praise. He drills into you, the bakery filling with the sound of your skin meeting. He moves the hand around your neck onto the counter beside your head for support with the other he dips his fingers into your empty mouth. Without pause you pull his warm hand into your mouth, suckling and licking his finger tips. He grips your jaw tightly with his thumb while you drool onto your chin and along his wrist. You moaned around his fingers feeling tension build in your core.

“You’re close aren’t you? Cum for me, please Y/N, cum all over me,” you whine at his words thrusting against his dick. With his words the heat inside you snaps flooding you with euphoria. Your pussy clenches around his thick cock, he whimpers, slumping over you while he wildly fucks your pulsing hole, filling you with his warm cum. He slows his thrusts riding his high while you embrace him, stroking his blonde hair.

#fanfiction writer #imagines #smut #peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark smut #peeta mellark #peeta supremacy #peeta x reader #peeta #peeta smut #the hunger games #thg x reader #thg #thg fanfiction #thg smut #team peeta #thg peeta #the hunger games peeta

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frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe · 9 months ago

Text

hey so i finally wrote more witch au!

enjoy, friends!! though it's significantly shorter than the first part

pairing: steddie | word count: 2,004 | rated: T

Mama thinks that Steve’s had a love spell on him this whole time.

“Since when?” He’d asked.

“I don’t know, my dear, maybe since before you were even born.”

“What?! How?! I thought you said there was no such thing as love spells!” He knows that’s not true.

“There are none that are worth the pain.” she repeats, trying to placate him.

“Yeah, well.” Steve huffs, dropping his hands to his hips and heaving a sigh.

“But there are some that are rumored to be true love spells, soulmate spells.” She continues on when she sees the look on his face. “Rumored, Steven, only ever rumors.”

“Okay, so what do the rumors have to say about them?”

“Every spell like that I’ve ever heard of of this nature is specific to each caster.”

“So I’ve had this spell on me for possibly my whole life, and there’s no way to know anything about it or about the caster.”

“...I’m sorry, honey.”

“Maybe there are clues in the words you have.” Robin cuts in, reaching for the notepad and sliding it in front of her.

Steve huffs, “I need to know the whole thing; there’s definitely words missing.”

“Should you eat more bread?” Robin asks, already sliding the previously abandoned plate of bread towards him.

“You shouldn’t overwhelm yourself.” Mama says, pushing the plate back. “We don’t know if there’s a trigger to the spell, or if you and the caster’s paths will just cross one day, maybe they don’t even know they cast it.”

Steve blinks at her. “So I have a true love and they might not even want me?”

“No!” Robin belts out immediately.

“No, of course not,” Mama says, continuing on. “The one known thing about any spell like this is that they only work on those who are receptive to it.”

“So some weirdo can’t put you under their spell?”

“Yes, exactly Robin; Steve, whatever this is, whoever this was, they love you with all that they are. And you them.”

“I don’t even know who it is! How can I?”

Mama doesn’t have an answer besides saying “Your soul must know them already.”; Their conversation was over soon after that.

Steve spends the next couple days silent and brooding. He can’t stop thinking about how he’s what, marked to love someone he doesn’t even know? How’s that fair?

It could be any random person on the street that thought he was hot, some weird old guy or a lovesick middle schooler..He only just turned 25 the day before the bread incident, but he’s saddled with this huge unknown that isn’t going to get better any time soon?

Okay, apparently not just some weirdo according to Mama, but still. Un-fucking fair all the same.

He’s also pissed that he can’t give anyone all the baked goods he’s made within that time. Each and every one of them ending up with a sour aftertaste.

“Damn witch bullshit…” he grumbles to himself, only half serious, as he scrapes another batch of sour sugar cookies into the trash.

He’s salty, okay? Pun intended. If he hadn’t ever learned the truth about the powers over food his grandmother (and now him too, apparently) has, he could’ve just excused the batch after batch being off on bad butter, or old flour.. Something other than his mood being what’s ruining his cookies.

That’s what he’d done every other time something he’s made tasted off, now he knows it was him the whole time.

Mama comes in then, he doesn’t have to look up to know the look she’s giving him.

Steve leaves the bowl of leftover dough on the counter, mumbles out a “I gotta go.”, then tromps out the back door and into the woods behind his grandparents’ home.

He supposes it’s good that they live just outside the city, really, having the trees to escape under like this has helped him before, and he’s hoping will help him now.

Meandering through the underbrush, he strolls along until he reaches the small clearing he’d claimed for himself when he was what, 8? 9? Doesn’t matter. It’s his spot to get away from anything he needs to.

He sits down against the big oak at the edge of the clearing and tips his head back toward the sun filtering down on him through a gap in the canopy above him. He breathes in the fresh air, focuses on the warmth hitting his face, and just exists there for a while, slipping in and out of a soft snooze.

Suddenly, he’s shocked out of his dozing by the sound of twigs snapping underfoot.

If it were coming from behind him, he’d expect it’d be Robin coming to find him here, but it’s not. It’s coming from ahead of him across the clearing.

Steve stands and presses back into the trunk of the tree, wondering if there’s bears in these woods when a person stumbles through the tree line.

The man is thin, about Steve’s age if he were to guess, and covered in dirt, his light wash overalls and his boots are caked in it. His hair is long, pulled half-back away from his face and full of bracken from the forest.

He also seems to be in a daze, staring with dark eyes at Steve with an unfathomable expression.

It shifts soon after, though, warming into a watery smile. “I’ve come home to you.” he says, clear as day, then collapses onto the grass.

“Oh, shit!” Steve rushes forward, kneeling down beside the man and quickly checking him over for injuries.

Steve presses his fingers to the man's pulse confirm it's still there (it is) and there don’t seem to be any bruises or breaks in his limbs, so he goes to his head, feeling quickly under the tangles in his hair for any blood, any knots.

Nothing. There’s nothing apparently outwardly wrong with him.

“Hey, hey, wake up! You gotta stay with me, man.” he says, shaking him lightly.

The other man’s head lolls to the side and his eyes open a crack, his lips quirking up into a smile. “M’love…”

“What is your name?” Steve insists in a slow, clear voice.

Instead of answering, the man raises his hand slowly to cup Steve’s cheek. “...v’wait’d so long..” he slurs, then goes limp again, his hand dropping to his chest.

“Oh no you don’t,” Steve gets his feet under him and gathers the man up into his arms in a bridal carry. His steps falter when he feels how light the man is in his arms, how much more thin he is than how he’d looked.

Steve adjusts his hold on him, making sure not to let his head hang backward over his forearm, and rushes back toward the house.

“Mama!” he shouts as soon as he clears the treeline into the yard.

She’s at the back sliding door as soon as he is. “Steve, honey, what—”

He pushes past her, hurrying to the spare room on the first floor with her on his heels. “I found him wandering the woods, I couldn’t just–I don’t know what’s wrong with him, Mama.”

She gestures him forward to the bed, “Put him there, on top the covers,”

He does, setting him down as if he’s made of glass.

As soon as the man is out of his arms, Mama takes his place. “Nothing seems broken, but he’s so light, he needs food, he needs water, should I call 911? I don’t even know his na—” he rambles on, not even realizing he’d started to pace until his grandma stops him in his tracks.

“Steve, listen to me.” she says, pulling at his wrists gently, removing his hands from his hair. “He will be fine. Now, go get a bowl of warm water and a washcloth and come straight back here.”

He nods dazedly, stumbling backward out the doorway and spinning to the kitchen.

Steve slides to a stop on the tile floor in front of the kitchen sink at the same time Robin gets home from her classes that day.

“I have a date!”

Wait, he needs the bowl first. He scrambles to the opposite counter for the large mixing bowl Mama uses for her damn bread and fishes it out with a clatter of everything that that had been in front of it on the shelf tumbling out to the floor.

“Steve?”

Should he put soap in it?

“Steve!”

No, Mama just said ‘warm water’, not ‘warm soapy water’. He nods to himself and turns on the tap, reaching under the sink next for a washcloth.

“Steven Otis Harrington.”

“Oh, hey Robin, you’re home.” The bowl’s almost full.

“Steve.” She spins him to face her, holding tightly to his shoulders.

He tries to twist back around futilely, “The bowl–”

“Steve. What. Is. Happening.”

He blinks at her a couple times. “Robin!” He pulls her to him in a tight hug. “Holy shit, you’re not gonna believe–”

“Steve, the bowl?”

“Shit,” It’s nearly full when he shuts off the tap, so he dumps a bit out and picks it up with both hands, “C’mon, he’s this way.”

“He? Who’s he?”

“Dunno, I found him in the woods.”

“Aw, Steve, you can’t just take in any ol’ stray dog you happen to find out in the wood—-” Robin cuts herself off as they get to the bedroom door. “Ohhkay…so..not a dog.”

“He looks to be dehydrated, but I don’t think he has any injuries.” Mama says in lieu of a greeting when they return. Steve sits down on the opposite edge of the bed that she is, and carefully passes over the bowl of water without looking at her.

The stranger immediately takes in his attention. His soft features, dark brows…Steve starts to pull the bits of brush out of the man’s hair, untangling twigs, leaves, and he can already see one of those pesky prickle things twisted into the hair next to his ear.

Mama sets the bowl on the sidetable, and gets to work immediately, wiping the dirt and grime from the man’s face and arms. “Robin dear, can you grab one of those sports drinks Pa loves so much outta the fridge? And a bottle of water.”

“Of course!” she says, darting back into the kitchen.

“We’ll need to get some food in him too,”

“We should make him scones.” Steve states apropos of nothing. “With chocolate chunks.”

“Maybe after he’s a bit better, sweetie.” Mama scoffs, wringing out the washcloth. “He needs healthy fats first, butter, oatmeal, avocado, things like that.”

“I can do that!” Steve says, jumping up excitedly. His former task forgotten, he rushes out of the bedroom and to the kitchen, nearly bowling Robin over in the process.

He gets to work on simple eggs and toast for their houseguest, avoiding Mama’s lucky bread in favor of his own store-bought stuff for now, he can make him his own later.

As he scrambles the eggs, he focuses everything in him on the stranger, on getting him better, making him healthy again. He’s not exactly quite sure how to do what Mama does, but the sour cookie dough says he’ll do it without thinking about it…kinda.

Whatever.

All he knows is that he’s telling the fuck outta these eggs to make his love better. Make him whole again.. Make him—

Wait..

Did he just refer to the random man laid up in the other room as his love?

Is…

The fugue state he’d been in since first laying eyes on the man crackles away just long enough for him to think.

What did he say before he collapsed? "I've come home to you."?

That..sounds right....why is that so famili—

Steve's eyes leave the pan of eggs in front of him and snap immediately to the scrap of paper he'd scrambled for a few nights ago.

Is he…?

And of course, as if the words weren't already plastered permanently onto his grey matter, there they are, plain as day.

tagging those that were interested on the last part!!! @mugloversonly @kittydeadbones @maybequizas @queenie-ofthe-void @newtstabber @angeldreamsoffanfic @eyesofshinigami @sunflower-trashbaby @perseus-notjackson @kaspurrcat @quinns-shadowy-arts

also, idk if this counts for it, but one of february's songs for @steddiesongfics is work song! which is what this fic is based on! 😊😊

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #witch!eddie #witch!steve #work song #hozier #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #stranger things #st #robin buckley #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve has good grandparents #steveddie #eddeve #witch au #noelle writes

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red1culous · 1 year ago

Text

Bite

You call out for her shutting the front door and rifling through the stack of letters you retrieved from the mailbox. Kicking off your shoes and haphazardly throwing your jacket onto the clotheshorse you mindlessly walk through the apartment.

“This place smells heavenly” you remark nose still buried in the stack of envelopes.

You hear her chuckle from the kitchen. “In here” she calls out to you.

You chuck the letters on the side table and walk into the kitchen. The oven must be on, you think to yourself as you’re enveloped by warmth and the sound of music playing softly.

Your eyes dance across the countertop. It looks as though everything is covered in a fine mist of flour. She turns to face you and smiles.

You scrunch your nose a little. “You’re baking” you say.

She answers with a chuckle. “You say that like you’re surprised.” She takes a sip of coffee from the large steaming mug beside her. Looking at you from over the rim of the mug you see her eyes twinkle mischievously.

“I mean…” you try.

“Wanda’s not the only one who can cook around here.” She says before turning her back on you to continue doing whatever she was doing before you got home.

The weirdness of the moment presses down on you. You were watching your badass assassin girlfriend making bread. You watch her add a tablespoon of flour, bit by bit to the dough before rolling it out and kneading it again and again.

You hop onto the counter beside her. She feels your eyes on her but declines to return the look this time.

“You have to make sure it mixes all the way through,” she says breaking the silence. “Otherwise one side will have too much flour.”

You hum. “Is that when it gets too dense?”

You see the side of her mouth curl up slightly. “That could be because it’s too wet.”

“Wet huh?” you tease.

She looks up at you smirking and flings some flour in your direction.

You laugh dusting yourself off. “Can’t you just bake it longer than?”

She shakes her head smiling to herself. “It doesn’t work that way. Everything needs to be just right. Even the room temperature has to be just right.”

You playfully groan hopping off the counter walking up behind her to wrap your arms around her waist. “Seems like a lot of work for bread.”

“Well perhaps” she answers while turning her face slightly to peck you on the cheek. “The only thing more fussy than man, is bread” she says as she goes back to kneading the dough.

You snuggle up closer to her and plant a wet kiss on the column of her neck.

She gasps and wriggles slightly. “Stop that, I need to finish this” she halfheartedly protests while offering you more of her neck.

“You think you could teach me how to do that?” you whisper and lick the shell of her ear.

You hear a soft moan emanating from deep within her. Your lips are soft on her skin as you tighten your grip around her waist. Pulling her closer to you she can feel the buckle of your belt dig into her lower back.

Playing along with you she blinks to clear her mind. “Just put your hands here and do what I’m doing.”

In one swift motion you shift your hands to under her shirt. She gasps as you gently cup her breasts and start copying her movements with the dough.

“Am I doing it right?” you ask innocently.

She groans loudly leaning back into you. She rests her head against your shoulder as you start to nibble on her neck soothing the gentle bites with your tongue. She’s completely forgotten about her dough as she’s helpless to break away from your ministrations. Arousal and longing washes over her.

“You’re doing it expertly” she almost moans as you slightly pinch her pert nipples.

Wriggling around to face you her eyes are dark and blown with lust. Your hands readjust on her just as she wraps hers around your neck and kisses you hard and deep.

You’re left breathless when she pulls apart. Your eyes remained closed and all you can hear are her heavy breaths. “Are they done yet?” you ask a tiny smirk playing on your lips.

She pecks you on the lips as she roughly pulls you out of the kitchen. “Wait…!” You laugh. “Baby…your bread?” you question pulling her back into the kitchen so that you could turn the oven off before she’s yanking you once again away in the direction of the bedroom.

“Leave it, the temperature’s way too hot in here for making bread anyway.”

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#redfic #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #bite

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jobean12-blog · 1 year ago

Text

A Dash of Spice and Everything Nice

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Mob!Bucky AU)

Word Count: 2,375

Summary: Every year you bake for the local charity event Bucky hosts- he might be the boss but he takes care of those in need-and this time you get some extra help.

Author's Note: This is for my ongoing Kinktober celebration and my absolute love for Mob!Bucky- he is one of my kinks forever. You all know how I love him soft and sweet but still in charge. Hope you enjoy, thank you all so much for reading! Much love always ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy🥰

Warnings: it's soft and sweet and fluffy and spicy, reader is sassafrass and Bucky loves it, baking is involved but he really wants to eat something else...o-r-al, p i-n- the-v.

Kinktober Masterlist 2023

Before the front door of the house even closes you hear Bucky’s voice.

“Wow doll face. Smells so good in here.”

He walks into the kitchen and you rush into his outstretched arms. He cradles your face in his large hands, letting his eyes wander over your features before slowly bringing your lips to his. The kiss starts out soft and sweet but in the next moment he has you pinned against the refrigerator, his hand tugging at the tie of your apron.

“Wait, wait,” you whisper along his lips. “I have muffins about to come out of the oven and bread that needs to go in.”

“And I’ve missed you all day,” he counters, giving you a boyish smirk.

“Mm, missed you too,” you purr, kissing the corner of his mouth.

You slip from his grasp and flit around the kitchen, checking timers and dough.

The timer goes off seconds later and you pull the muffins from the oven, checking their readiness before sliding in the pan of chocolate pumpkin bread.

“There,” you say with a contented sigh. “Now for the cookies.”

You’re reaching up for a measuring cup when you feel him at your back, his lips skimming the shell of your ear with his whispered words. “Do you plan on baking all night doll?”

An involuntary shiver runs across your skin and you lean back into his embrace.

“No,” you gasp, craning your neck to the side when his lips meet your shoulder and he trails kisses along your throat. “But these have to be ready for the bake sale tomorrow and a little help will make it go faster.”

He stops, his lips still pressed to your skin.

“Bucky?” you ask with a smile in your voice.

“Fine doll. I’ll help you bake but as soon as we’re done we do what I want.”

You turn in his arms and dance your fingers up his suit jacket. “Don’t we always?”

His lips brush yours before his kiss and he quickly has you in his arms, lifting you onto the countertop.

“Bucky,” you admonish, your voice hardly stern and instead breathy and desperate.

“I know, I know,” he groans.

He steps back and runs a hand through his hair. “What should I do?”

You giggle as you slide off the counter.

“First of all,” you say, sauntering toward him. “You have to take off some of these clothes. Wouldn’t want you getting any flour on your Dior.”

His eyebrows raise. “Think I’m going to like baking.”

You playfully roll your eyes even as you start to gently push his suit jacket from his shoulders. Once it’s off you carefully drape it over the back of the chair and start to work on his button down.

With deft fingers you undo the first few buttons, smoothing your fingertips along his skin.

“Do you want me to get you a tee shirt?” you ask as you continue, pushing the sides of his shirt open to run your nails over his abs.

“Do you want to get me a tee shirt?” he teases back.

“No.”

You slowly remove his shirt and hang it over his suit jacket.

When you reach for his belt buckle he stops you with a firm hand on your wrist.

“Doll,” he warns. “You expect me to help you bake after all this?”

“You have to. I can’t show up to the event without my baked goodies…what will I tell everyone?”

“That your husband spent the whole night fucking your brains out and you didn’t have any time to bake,” he states with finality.

You lift your eyes from his flexing abs. “And they’ll all be too scared to say a word about it but then I won’t raise any money for our charity.”

Your pouty lips are too hard to resist and he takes your chin between his fingers, dragging your mouth to his for a heated kiss.

When he stops your eyes remain closed, your lashes fluttering against your cheeks as you sway on your feet.

“We just have to make two batches of cookies,” you whisper, still savoring his lips.

Your eyes open and you continue working on his belt. Once it hangs loosely at his hips you unbutton his pants and then pull the zipper down, revealing his patterned boxer briefs.

You drop to your knees and start to tug each pant leg off.

“Fuck doll,” he croons. “You always look so good on your knees for me.”

You look up at him and nibble your bottom lip. “You’re not making this any easier, you know.”

“I’m not trying to,” he smirks. “And this was your idea.”

As you stand you glide your fingers along his thighs, reaching up to kiss him when you say, “leave your socks on. Your feet will get cold.”

He chuckles and adjusts himself in his boxers, the outline of his arousal prominent in the tight fabric.

“You’re worried about my feet?”

You give him a look before sashaying out of the kitchen and returning moments later with his slippers. When you drop them at his feet he slides them on with a wry smile.

“You’re sassy when you bake Mrs. Barnes. I like it.”

“Don’t get any more ideas and get over there and read me that recipe,” you say as you shake your whisk his way with a no nonsense look.

“Mm bossy too,” he hums.

“Yeah, yeah…” you mutter, playfully glaring now. “And you’re just letting me do it because you like it.”

“Obviously,” he replies, holding your stare even as the corners of his eyes crinkle in delight.

“Recipe Barnes,” you repeat.

He blows you a kiss and then peers down at the paper, squinting his eyes before bringing it closer to his face. His mouth opens as he turns to you but before he can even get the question out you have his glasses in your hand and you’re holding them out for him.

“Thanks doll face,” he beams with a knowing smile, then looks back at the recipe. “Ok so first we need…”

Once you have the batter ready Bucky stands behind you at the counter, his arms on either side of you while he mixes and you watch.

You wiggle your ass into him and giggle when he growls and pins you with his hips.

“You’re not behaving,” he states.

“Who said anything about behaving?” you ask and do it again.

He stops mixing and grabs your waist. “Doll,” he warns.

You hum quietly and take the spatula to continue, ignoring his groans.

“Is it time to taste test?” he asks as he slides his finger toward the bowl.

“NO!” you shout and slap his hand. “It’s raw!”

“Ow,” he whines, making you laugh.

“Ow my ass! Come on, let’s get these on the pan and in the oven.”

“Can I at least taste something else?” he asks, his eyes sparkling with mischief and his hands pawing at your leggings.

“After,” you answer, trying to stop the tremble of anticipation that runs through you.

When the whole house smells of cinnamon, sugar and spice you sigh in relief and set the timer for the last time.

Bucky stalks toward you and takes you in his arms. “Finally,” he murmurs.

You flatten your palms on his chest. “Not yet. We have to clean up and wait for the cookies to come out. Otherwise, they might burn.”

His eyes darken and he holds you in place. “We’re using the dishwasher.”

“Of course,” you say in agreement, your smile saccharine.

He loads the dishwasher in record time while you wipe down the counters and wrap up the cooled muffins and bread.

The cookie timer goes off and before you can get to the oven he has it open and is pulling the tray out.

“Cookies are done!” he says.

“Let me check them. They might need another two minutes.”

You watch the muscles of his jaw flex as he clenches his teeth but he moves away so you can look them over.

You inspect each cookie carefully.

“Now you’re just trying to torture me doll.”

“They’re perfect,” you say after another perusal. “And I have to admit that it is just a little fun.”

“Is it?” he murmurs as he carefully moves the hot tray out of reach and cages you against the counter.

“Mm hm,” you answer and pull his glasses off.

Your fingertips brush along his cheek and he captures your wrist, softly pressing his lips to your pulse before he kisses your palm.

“Thank you for helping me.”

He nods as he continues to kiss along your skin. “For you, always…now turn around.”

Your breath hitches at his tone and you do as your told, slowly turning until his hard length is pressing into your ass.

He carefully unties your apron and lifts it over your head then drops it to the floor. Your shirt follows, his knuckles lightly skimming your back as he drags the fabric up.

You tremble, goosebumps erupting across your skin at his feather light touches. He kneels and hooks his fingers into your leggings, his every movement deliberate as he peels them off and reveals more of your skin.

His hand traces the curve of your ass before he gives it a hard squeeze and bites down on your soft skin.

You let out a squeal and squirm in his grasp.

A low rumble of approval runs through him as he tugs down your panties, leaving them wrapped around your ankles.

He gently slides two fingers along your calf and then higher until he reaches your inner thigh.

“Bend over and spread your legs,” he demands.

Again, you do as he says, the coolness of the counter a stark contrast to your heated skin.

Long, thick fingers tease your entrance and gather your arousal.

“So ready for me doll,” he praises.

You push back, needing more from him but he smacks your ass, hard, and holds you still with a firm grip.

“That doesn’t mean you get what you want yet,” he simpers, his fingers gliding lightly along your folds.

“Buckyyyyy,” you whine.

His lips brush along your skin, tracing the spot where you thigh meets your ass. He moves inward, sucking and licking and leaving marks in his wake.

When his nose runs along your slit you wiggle in his hold, your repeated pleas filling the air.

He continues to tease you with soft kisses and kitten licks, just barely flicking his tongue over your clit.

With both his hands he grabs hold of your ass cheeks and spreads them, burying his nose just above your pussy so he can slide his tongue through you.

You cry out his name and grip the edge of the counter, rocking back onto his face. He slides one hand between your legs and teases your clit, just enough to have you chasing your release with a cry of his name.

You’re still trying to catch your breath when soft hands lift you from the counter and he cradles you against his chest.

His hands wander reverently, the skim of his calloused fingertips making you clench around nothingness.

“Fuck me, Bucky,” you whisper, straining against him.

He runs his nose along your neck, bringing his lips just below your ear. “Say it again,” he demands.

You lift a hand behind you and curl it into his hair, tugging him closer. “Fuck me, Bucky,” you repeat, reveling in his warm breath as it caresses your skin.

His hands slide over your curves and he grips your hips. “You have no idea what it does to me when you say those words.”

You lean into him and sigh when his cock glides through your wetness. He grabs your chin and turns your head, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet and languid kiss that only fuels your impatience.

When you moan into it, whining his name, he shifts and fills you in one slow thrust.

“Oh my god,” you breathe against his lips. “Bucky…”

All you can feel is him inside of you, his heated skin pressed to yours, his hands, his lips. He’s everywhere and everything.

He deepens the kiss, sliding his hand down to the base of your neck and squeezing lightly. He groans out your name, breaking the kiss and pressing his face into your neck.

“Fuck fuck, fuck,” he chants every time he pounds into you.

“More Bucky. Harder,” you whine.

Suddenly everything is harder and deeper, the sound of skin slapping against skin mingling with your pleas for more.

You can feel the moment he starts to completely lose control, his labored breathing hot against your neck and his grip tightening as his cock thickens inside you. You finish with his name on your lips, your orgasm rushing through you, the squeeze of your walls taking him right over the edge at the same time.

His hips tense and he growls out your name.

You rest your head back against his strong chest and silently thank him for keeping you standing upright because you feel as if you could melt to the floor.

His hold is gentle when he pulls out and turns you around, his expression one of complete satisfaction as he studies you, catching your lower lip with his thumb. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Your smile is soft as you trace the hard outline of his jaw. “I could say the same about you.”

He chuckles and pulls you closer. “Nothing compares to you, doll.”

His hand slides up your back and he cups the nape of your neck, tilting your head back so he can trail kisses along your throat and collarbone.

“I can’t believe I let you finish that baking,” he whispers into your skin.

“Me either,” you giggle.

“I want more,” he murmurs as his lips find yours.

“I made an extra loaf of the chocolate pumpkin bread.”

At your deadpan words he tucks your hips against his, the feel of his hard cock making you gasp.

“There’s that sass again,” he tsks. “Guess I didn’t fuck you hard enough this time.”

“Guess not,” you mouth back.

“Good thing we’ve got all night then,” he simpers.

@book-dragon-13 @hiddles-rose @randomfandompenguin @goldylions @kmc1989

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #mob!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #mob!bucky #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #mob au #bucky barnes au #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader

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foreingersgod · 7 months ago

Note

Ok I loveee that you want to write for a country reader because I live in the country!

Can you write a CC x reader based on Beautiful Crazy by Luke combs??

Beautiful Crazy . CC

pairing: country!caitlin clark x country wife!reader

synopsis: life with country caitlin :)

A/N: i’m picturing like very domestic, sapphic farm life. enjoy lovelies !

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Her day starts with a coffee…

“good morning, baby” your voice cooed from the door frame of the bedroom. “brought you some coffee, d’you sleep ok?”

caitlin stirred, body entangled in linen sheets. it was incredibly early in the morning, early enough the sun was barely rising over the mountains. perfect time of day to get up and tend to the farm. her eyes fluttered open upon hearing your voice, adjusting to the rays of sunshine that prodded past the curtains.

she sat up, seeing you there. propped up against the door frame, wearing only one of caitlin’s button up flannels and your underwear, holding a mug of steaming coffee. your hair was still messy from when you had woken up, cascading around your face. your skin was glowing from the golden shimmer of the sun, illuminating your features. you looked absolutely irresistible.

“i slept great,” she yawned as you walked over to her, setting down the coffee on her night stand and crawling into bed next to her. “thank you”

you nestled in beside her, pulling the fluffy duvet and hand me down quilts back over you. her arm snaked around your waist quickly, bringing you into her embrace as tightly as possible. her fingers crept down to the space between your hips and thigh, rubbing softly at the hem of your underwear. you hummed at the warmth of her touch. you both laid there for a few minutes, revealing in the tranquility of the morning time, sipping coffee and sitting in silence.

eventually, caitlin sat up, getting out of bed and changing into her work clothes. you whimpered as her weight disappeared from the bed.

“stay a little longer” you implored “please?”

she couldn’t help but smirk, seeing you there. hardly clothed and begging for her to come back to bed. if there wasn’t a farm that needed her constant attention, she would’ve have laid there with you for as long as you wanted.

“you know i would if i could, but those cows need tended to” she countered, pulling up her jeans and buckling her belt “and last i remembered…someone needs to make some bread for the neighbors like she promised”

you groaned, falling back dramatically into the bed.

“and she also needs to help me build the fence” caitlin continued.

“yea, yea, im getting up” you dragged yourself out of bed, starting to get ready.

you began buttoning up your shirt, putting on your cargos and boots, and tying back your hair. eyes tired and fighting sleep still, you managed to finish your routine and follow cait out of the comfort of your shared room.

“love you, baby” cait smiled, kissing you deeply before heading to the barn.

…And ends with a wine

after a long day of work, baking bread and helping caitlin with the fence (which was really just you standing there drooling as you watched her muscles flex with each movement), you were ready to call it a night.

caitlin went to shower so you took advantage of the time and began making dinner, something simple. while you chopped and stirred and fried, you enjoyed the view outside. you couldn’t believe you had such beautiful mountains just outside your home.

caitlin came back down to the kitchen, hair still damp, noticing you finishing up dishes while dinner simmered on the stove. she meandered over behind you, hugging you from behind and rocking back and forth lightly.

“you’re too good t’me” she muttered into your shoulder “helping me with the farm, makin’ me dinner…”

her words lingered on the skin on your neck, lips dragging across the crease of your jaw. she kissed up and down your neck, hands making their way down your torso to tease at the button of your bottoms.

“keep it in your pants, clark” you resisted the urge to moan at her touch “eat dinner and pour me a glass of wine first and then you can do whatever you want to me”

“i’m likin’ the sound of that” she was already pulling out the good wine glasses and the bottle you had stashed away.

you finished dinner, plating it up while she poured the wine. you sat next to each other at the small dinner table in your farmhouse, shoulders almost touching. but you didn’t mind, you liked it intimate this way.

you made simple conversation as you ate, talking about the cows and other critters that control your entire day. when you finished, you put the dishes in the sink and retired to your bedroom, remainders of your glasses of wine still in hand.

you set your glass down, next to the mug of coffee that grew cold from this morning. caitlin was already pressed against you, sliding your shirt off your shoulders and tugging your pants down your legs. and true to your promise, you let her have her way with you.

as the night climbed up behind the mountains, taking over the orange and pink sky, you and caitlin were intertwined beneath the sheets. soft laughs and heavy sighs echoing throughout the bedroom.

Takes forever gettin' ready

So she's never on time for anything

“they’re gonna be askin’ about us if you don’t hurry up!” caitlin called from the bedroom, you were in the conjoined bathroom still getting ready.

you’re neighbors had invited you over for dinner and poker with a few of your mutual friends in the neighborhood. while it was a small, get together, you still took over an hour to get ready.

“i know! i’m almost done, quit your whining” you retorted, putting the finishing touches on your hair and makeup.

you smoothed out your top, your ‘special occasions’ denim jacket and a white tee, and slipped on your shoes. when you exited the bathroom, caitlin was sat at the foot of your bed waiting.

“you take my breathe away every time” she stood up, hands already roaming your body, caressing every curve and dip. her soft lips were inches from yours now.“i think we can spare a few minutes…or 10, don’t ya think?”

it didn’t take much, her strong arms already lifting you up and your legs wrapping around her waist. she carried you over to the bed, setting you down softly and climbing over top of you.

“yea i think they can wait a little longer”

When she gets that come-get-me look in her eyes

Well, it kinda scares me

it was late spring, your favorite time of the year. when the birds began singing in the morning, bees buzzing in the yard, grass and wildflowers thriving in the fields. you loved spending nights outside with your wife. having a drink by the fire with a blanket draped over your lap, horse rides along the backroads of your town, you adored it.

on this particular night, you two were walking along the fields surrounding your farm. you wanted to enjoy the view of the mountains and the smell of the long grasses and primroses as you strolled casually with caitlin. the air smelt woody and crisp, the breeze tickling the hairs of you arm just right.

“wait,” you said, picking one of the wildflowers nearby “come here”

caitlin stopped walking, turning to you. you took the flower, picking off the long stem, and tucked it behind her ear. you brushed the hair out of her face while admiring how cute she looked. she returned your smile, not necessarily caring about the flower in her hair, but how happy you looked because she let you do it.

while she was distracted, completely dazed by your beauty, you snuck in a chaste kiss to the tip of her nose.

“oh i’m gonna get you back for that” she teased as you jogged slightly ahead of her, laughing from the look on her face.

“oh yea?” you quirked an eyebrow and bit your lip, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

your nose was scrunched, eyes furrowed so ingeniously that it made caitlin chuckle under her breath. your lips rubbed together as you tried to hide your smile, she could tell you were close to laughing. the look you gave her, she hoped she’d remember forever. how you were practically saying ‘come get me’ with your eyes and how it made her anxious and eager with desire all at once.

she lunged towards you, and you ran away quickly, trying to escape her. she chased you through the fields and you dodged her past the trees and bushes. but she was too fast, grabbing a hold of you wrist. she spun you towards her and your arms fell onto her shoulder in defeat.

“told ya” she nuzzled her nose against yours. you couldn’t stop laughing.

The way that she drives me wild

And she drives me wild

you were always on caitlin’s mind. when she was feeding the chickens, when she was brushing the horses. even when she was in the shower, she thought of you, imaging you there with her. you were her purpose and the very reason she got up each morning.

she loved every thing about you. from the way you cried during rom coms, to the way you double checked the locks on the door each night. when you would refuse to go to bed unless she kissed you goodnight and how you offered to help her with extra farm chores even when you didn’t have to. you were the epitome of perfection.

there wasn’t a single thing that you could do that would make her stop loving you. even when you did things that rubbed her wrong, like leaving the keys in your truck or leaving your boots outside. she loved every quirk, even if they drove her crazy.

Beautiful, crazy

She can't help but amaze me

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

A/N: kind hate how this one turned out <\3

#caitlin clark x reader #wcbb #caitlin clark #wcbb x reader #iowa wbb

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thesightstoshowyou · 2 months ago

Note

Hi hi! I was wondering when you come back to writing requests, could I ask for a Pennywise/Bob Gray FanFiction with a Fem reader sharing her first time with him but it’s noncon but he tries to be gentle with her. She knows about him through the town they live in, reader is home from college which thrills him and finds a way to take her. Maybe some chest play from Penny? I really hope this is okay to ask! I love love love your penny stories there so good! Can’t get enough ❤️❤️

You are an angel for waiting so long for this. Thank you for your patience 🙇🏻‍♀️

Idk if Penny can be considered gentle in this one, but I suppose he’s gentle compared to how I usually write him 😂

Use

Bob Gray/Pennywise x F Reader (NSFW)

Warnings: Noncon in the back of a van baybeee, social anxiety, age difference, objectification, degradation, supernatural elements, nipple play, fingering, loss of virginity, threats, crying, a little daddy kink, put that reader in a mating press—readers love mating press, creampie, cum eating

It starts with a prickle.

The fine hairs on the back of your neck and along your arms raise as your skin tightens and tingles. In your belly, unease writhes like a thousand snakes. Your shoulders tense as your feet dig into aging tile, ready to flee should your nervous system give the order.

Except…. You’re standing in the middle of the grocery store bakery, a warm loaf of freshly baked French bread clutched in your white knuckled grip, paper cover crinkling against your palm. It’s 1:00PM on a Thursday. Why on earth do you feel like a cornered animal here of all places?

Cautiously, you glance to your right. You find nothing more than muffins, croissants, and danishes all gleaming temptingly from their plastic containers. An employee restocks the organic section, her back to you.

To your left….

Your throat goes dry when you meet the piercing blue gaze of the lanky man hovering at the end of the aisle. Buck teeth peek out between full lips, lips that glisten with spit and curl into an unnerving grin. Long fingers slip from a tattered, tweed pocket and raise to greet you with a cartoonish waggle.

Recognition is instant. Robert Gray is unmistakable, even if the last time you saw him was as a child. Though, why the hell he’s staring so intently is beyond you. You barely know the guy.

And he hasn’t aged a day….

Suddenly, the room tilts and your stomach lurches. Your shoes squeak on tile when your legs flail, as though they’ve come unstuck from the ground beneath you. Wildly, you reach out to grip a shelf when you begin to float right up into the air.

You blink.

The feeling vanishes as quickly as it came. Your feet are flat on the floor. On the shelf, your hand shakes as you hold on for dear life.

Had anything even changed at all?

Mr. Gray still leers at you from the end of the aisle. Gasping, trembling, and not knowing what else to do, you raise your own hand and tentatively wave back. He responds with a titter and a wink before slinking away.

Once more you glance around, wondering if anyone else saw this bizarre exchange or your strange behavior. You’re only a little relieved to find yourself alone. Saved from embarrassment, but not the fear that still clings to the back of your throat.

At the checkout sits Marge, as round as ever. You recall the powdery smell of her perfume, unchanged from when you clung to the hem of your mother’s dress as a child. Derry remains as static as ever.

She greets you generically as you set your purchases on the conveyor belt. The beep as your goods are scanned fills the space between the two of you and saves you from conversation. You’re thankful she doesn’t recognize—

“Well, goodness gracious, I hardly recognized you!” You spoke too soon, it seems. Marge says your name like a question and you force a smile and a nod. “Where have you been, missy?”

Awkward chuckle, “Ah, college. Just back for a few weeks, visiting mom.”

“Oh I bet she is loving that.”

“Ha, yeah….”

“You kids just grow up so fast. So, tell me about school! How many boyfriends do you have?” You bite the inside of your cheek when she ends her question with a self-satisfied giggle.

“Oh, no, nothing like that. Just…focusing on school, you know….”

You continue on this like for another agonizing minute or two, forcing out answers to Marge’s barrage of questions until she prattles off your total and hands over your groceries.

“Say hi to your mom for me!”

“Will do, thanks Marge.” The bell above the door jingles as you flee to the parking lot. Afternoon sun catches you full in the face and momentarily blinds you. You manage a scrunched glance left and right before crossing the road to your vehicle.

Strained huffing from somewhere nearby makes you pause. Furiously blinking to adjust to the light, you find Mr. Gray at the rear of the white panel van parked next to your car. The back doors are wide open as he attempts to load what appears to be a folding table all on his own. Attempting, and failing.

You only hesitate for a heartbeat. He’s a weird guy, a bit unnerving with his nineteenth century garb and knowing smile, but he doesn’t deserve to throw his back out.

“Need any help?” you ask, setting your purchases on your trunk and hurrying over to him. Where did he even get this from…?

“What a good girl, gracious little thing, helping old Mr. Gray.” The strange lilt of his voice almost makes you wince. His wide, blue eyes rove over your face and down your neck until the hair on your arms raises in alarm once again. Your own eyes flick down to his wetted bottom lip, so slick it appears drool will spill over any moment. You swallow thickly for him.

“Uh, yeah, let me just, um—

Bob moves to the end of the table still sitting out in the parking lot so you have no choice but to take the other end that is half lodged in the vehicle. It’s awkward, crouching and backing into the van while maneuvering the load, but you manage to shuffle all the way to the front seats until the damn thing comes to rest on the floor of the van. Easy enough—

SLAM.

All at once the sunlight disappears but for the weak imitation trickling in through the windshield. It takes your brain a moment to realize Bob has followed you into the van and slammed the doors shut, though how he managed to move so quickly is beyond you. He now sits between you and the exit, cast in shadow.

“Little treat might be too gracious for her own good, hmm? She makes it too easy for ollllld Mr. Gray.”

‘What are you playing at?!’ The question is there, right on the tip of your tongue, but it freezes and dies when Robert Gray’s eyes glow, glow like golden fire burning unnaturally from the shadowed corner of the van. Terror zips up your spine as you choke on a shout and scramble away, intent on clambering over the center console for the driver’s side door.

Long fingers wrap around your ankle and yank. Your own digits slip on vinyl seats and you crash face first into the accursed table top. Onto your back you roll as Bob slinks over you, wedges his hips between yours, and pins you down with an impossibly strong hand around your neck. Every muscle strains as you try to buck or twist or anything, but he doesn’t even budge, doesn’t even give a millimeter.

How, how…?

Wet warmth splatters onto your cheek. Drool has spilled over his lip, a steady stream of spit that reeks of decay raining down on the side of your face and dripping into your hair. It’s further smeared up to your brow when Bob crushes his lips to the side of your head to noisily inhale. He titters, a little giggle you feel inside your head that rattles your teeth.

“Its fear is unsoiled, yes, fresh like a babe.” Confusion at his words plucks at the back of your mind, but your panic is too intense and overwhelming to spare it full attention.

“What—p-please, please stop, I don’t—

“You don’t, no, no, you haven’t. Have you, little treat?” The deep growl of his voice shakes your own chest. He looks at you expectantly as he speaks, buck teeth on full display, golden eyes wide and staring. One of them drifts to the side and you try your best to melt into the tabletop at your back.

Furiously, you shake your head back and forth and stammer out a, “Bob, please, I d-don’t understand—

“No boyfriends, it says. No fumbling hands that prod and squeeze, no one to use it like the meat it is. Sweet. Untouched. Meat.”

You blink and shake in shock. Your mouth opens but no words escape. Bob laughs, high and piercing and you flinch at the ferocity of it.

How…how could he know that…?

“No hiding from me, little bite. Mr. Gray can see it allllll. Now he has you here, all to himself. And he’s soooo hungry.” The last, rumbled word reverberates around the van and you scream, arch, kick your legs only to freeze in place when Bob ruts against you. The hard girth straining against his trousers slides deliberately along the length of your clothed cunt and, suddenly, the end game becomes frighteningly apparent.

“N-n-no, no, oh god please, don’t—

“Not like you had imagined it, is it, tiny thing? No candlelight. No love. Just old Mr. Gray and his teeth.” He sets them against your cheek, his teeth, as his free hand weasels under your shirt. You loose a protesting grunt when spidery fingers push aside your bra to pinch a nipple between thumb and forefinger. Gently, they tug and, thoughtlessly, you squirm. You tense and fall still when the movement grinds your clit against his bulge, a little zing of pleasure shooting through your belly at the contact.

Bob hums knowingly like he can hear what you’re thinking and twists his fingers ever so slightly. Instead of a grunt, a little whine slips past your quivering lips. More unbidden pleasure, more curling heat where it shouldn’t be.

“Mr. Gray’s good little girl. I can smell it now, needy, needy.” He snuffles along your jaw, and slides his thumb away so he can press slick lips to your fluttering pulse. “You stink like a virgin, too stupid to know what you need, hmm? Let him show you. Let him put your meat to use.”

Again you shake your head and open your mouth to protest, but this time the words are a cry as Bob humps you and tweaks your nipple all at the same time. Your head spins, overwhelmed by new sensation and fear of who…what causes them. Something deep down in your guts knows this is no man hovering over you.

The thing called Bob shifts his hips to the side and you tense to act, to shove, to fight, but he’s so much faster. His hand leaves your breast and burrows into your pants. Tricky fingers find your clit and stroke, perfect pressure that makes your limbs twitch and your lungs gasp. Hands poised to claw just moments ago instead fly to his shoulders and grip on reflex.

His digits sink inside you faster than you can inhale. They curl until they reach some spot you didn’t know existed until now. Even just this stretch is more than you’ve ever experienced, but the surprise comes not in the pain, but the pleasure. It doesn’t hurt, not even a little.

Didn’t they all say it would hurt?

You emit a strangled sound and then, to your dismay, a wanton little mewl follows after as Bob works his hand and rubs euphoric little circles inside you. The nails intent on scratching his eyes out have curled into the fabric of his dingy button-up and your legs fall open like they have a mind of their own. No, no, stop, you’re not enjoying this….

You shouldn’t be enjoying this….

Robert chortles in glee and finger fucks you faster until your eyes go out of focus and you arch—toward, not away this time. Still, your mouth tries to lie about your body’s obvious reaction with a stuttered, “S-Stop, I don’t…want….”

“‘Don’t.’ There’s that silly word again. ‘Don’t!’” He mocks your pathetic timbre. Next, his lips move to yours so he can growl against your panting mouth, “You don’t know what you want. Listen to that slippery little hole, hmm?” He jostles his arm and your cunt squelches in answer. “Desperate for purpose, isn’t it?”

Without warning, he rips his fingers from your channel, grabs hold of the waistband of your pants, and gives three sharp tugs. They’re down and off before you can even think to shriek. Bob grips you behind the knees and shoves, bending you in half and spreading you wide.

Fear returns with the sound of his zipper, trepidation that makes you scramble to grab hold of something and pull yourself away. His iron grip keeps you from budging, however, and you’re helpless when his thick cock lines up with your glistening slit.

“And a one, and a two, and a—

“Wait, wait, wa—

The last ‘wait’ is lost in whatever garbled nonsense escapes your throat when Bob eases forward. Unused muscles part around cock and you experience that foreign stretch and pressure for the very first time. Bob makes an inhuman guttural sound low in his throat when your walls squeeze his girth. It’s a sound that dumps icy terror into your veins, but you think what startles you most is the absence of discomfort.

Maybe it hurts, but the main sensation you feel is…delicious. Blissful. Addictive. You close your eyes to keep them from crossing.

“Useless until I found it,” Bob coos against your lips. Heat jolts in your gut and you can’t help the pitiful moan it brings. Is he the reason you’re reacting this way? Are his horrible words spurring you on? What the hell is wrong with you?

“B-Bob,” you choke out when he bucks his hips. In your shoes, your toes curl. He snickers and does it again, and again, each thrust eliciting more desperate sounds than the last. Moans and cries fill the interior of the vehicle and mingle with the sounds of wet slapping and the harsh grunts escaping from Bob’s throat. Any fight left in your fists is gone, replaced by need that has you gripping his shoulders like you gripped that shelf in the store. You could float away like this….

“Float, yes, that’s right, little girl. You’ll float. But first, you’ll cum on Daddy’s cock.”

“I-I….”

“You want to. Say it.” You shake your head and Bob snarls, “SAY. IT. Or I’ll sink my teeth into that supple little throat and paint us both in pretty red.”

“Iwannacum! I want to, p-please…D-Daddy—

“It’s learning, it’s poliTe.” The “t” sound hurts when it snaps off his tongue and Bob cackles when you jerk and shudder in his grip. Still, you don’t release him. You can’t, the insistent, hot pull in your belly too great to ignore.

Frenzied tears well in your eyes as you beg again, “PLEASE, please, I need…need….”

“Neeeeed, now it knows, now it understands what it NEEDS. Cum for Pennywise, little treat. Give it to Me.”

Pennywise…?

Climax hits you like a runaway train and wipes all sense from your mind. You shake and scream, rippling ecstasy washing over you in wave upon endless wave. Bob follows suit and hilts himself, spilling so deep you feel him twitching behind your navel. There’s so much, too much. It spills over and pools beneath you, a sickly sweet scent filling the air.

Wet fingers prod at your lips and you crack an eyelid open one at a time to find Bob insistently poking at your mouth with slick-covered digits. Not thinking, your lips part and the taste of rancid cotton candy bathes your tongue when the fingers push past your teeth.

You grimace at the flavor. Bob grins, too wide, terrifyingly wide. Fear renews like a bolt of lightening to the heart and rational thought whirs to life in your pleasure-addled brain.

Pennywise…. He’d called himself ‘Pennywise.’ Where had you heard that before?

“Pennywise was right to save you for later, yes, yes he was. Let you marinate. Let your meat age.”

Pennywise…. Pennywise the clown….

Your heart beats so fast you fear it will burst. Bob’s eyes are jaundiced, wide and wild. Familiar.

The clown. The clown from your childhood nightmares. The clown from the house at the end of the street.

Pennywise.

“And now you see it all, don’t you?” Bob’s voice is a warbled whisper, slow and solemn. “Now you know why.”

More tears burn their way down your cheeks.

“Purpose, hmm?” Bob chuckles, light and airy. “You’ll be of good use to IT.”

#thank you for the ask #pennywise the clown #pennywise x reader #bob gray #bob gray x reader #robert gray #robert gray x reader #robert gray it #it movie #it 2017 #it 2019 #thesightstoshowyou #what’s with the low res gif sights #listen I couldn’t find one okay #the way I had to force myself to write this thing #please give me feedback I need it

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alwaysurvalentine · 1 month ago

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tastes like autumn - st fic

Written for Day 15 of @steddie-spooktober - prompt: baking - wc: 1.7k - cw: some cussing

enjoy! 💛

Autumn has painted Hawkins in hues of orange and red, trees dropping their leaves any time the wind blows. It’s cold enough that Steve’s taken to only wearing his sweaters instead of his favorite polos. He’s got his own place now and he’s even more grateful for it this winter when he remembers how awful it was to prepare the pool for the winter. Nothing worse than deep cleaning a pool when it’s cold and windy outside. His place isn’t big by any means, a tiny apartment above one of the shops downtown, but it does the job. It’s got one bedroom, a kitchen, and a massive living/dining room.

The big living room was a big selling point when he moved in, wanting to have enough space for everyone to come over for a movie night or more recently, a D&D session. When it’s just him he likes to open all the curtains and windows to let the sounds from outside to filter in, mostly cars driving past but sometimes he’ll catch snippets of the conversations of people walking below. Sometimes Robin will join him on the couch in front of the window so they can people watch and make up lives for everyone they see.

Today’s a quiet one though, one where he doesn’t have any work and no one’s planned on coming over. Which means Steve gets to bake. After the last and final round with the Upside Down, he’d finally been open to going to therapy. As soon as he’d agreed, Owens had given his information to Vanessa, who ended up being a good match and now they meet once a month. It’d been a long process, first having to meet up every week to catch her up with his personal involvement with the Upside Down. Soon it turned into her helping him with more mundane things, like why he hates the sound of a completely quiet house. Didn’t take long for her to suggest getting out of the Harrington House and into his own space.

Now on quiet days Steve isn’t haunted by the memory of his parents disapproval when he moves room to room. No, now he gets to focus on things that he actually enjoys doing. One of which happens to be baking. He’s been looking forward to making this recipe from a magazine since he found it, but Eddie’s been staying over the last few days and he wants it to be a surprise. Plus, he knows better than to think Eddie won’t distract him from making sure he doesn’t burn the loaf by accident.

Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Bread stares at him from the torn magazine page and Steve smiles before pulling out the ingredients. There’s a radio sitting on his kitchen counter that he reaches over to click on, letting the sounds of Blondie fill the room. Since no one’s here but him, he shimmies his shoulders as he washes his hands, singing along as she belts about calling her anytime.

It’s easy to sink into the methodic motions of baking. Dry ingredients get placed in his orange mixing bowl, clouds of dust and cinnamon causing him to sneeze and fan at the air before continuing. Steve hasn’t gotten around to buying an electric mixer yet, instead relying on his only whisk or his hands if the dough is particularly thick.

Today he opts for hand mixing, rolling the sleeves of his yellow sweater up before reaching in. The pumpkin puree is sticky and thick but the eggs make everything feel slimy so he pulls his hands out almost as soon as he reaches in. Sometimes the feeling of dough in his hands makes him think of urging Eddie’s heart to start beating, reminds him of how he nearly dropped the metalhead multiple times on the way to the gate, blood making him almost slip out of Steve’s faltering grasp. A quick shake of his head and Steve tunes back into the radio, a song by Queen now filling his kitchen instead. He leans against the counter for a second, counting his inhales and exhales before trying again. This time Steve reaches in and doesn’t have to pull his hands out until he goes to add the chocolate chips. Normally the recipe calls for semi-sweet chips, but Steve’s gotten dark chocolate since those are Eddie’s favorite.

The house smells like pumpkin, cinnamon, and chocolate. It brings a small smile to Steve’s face as he sits in the living room waiting for the loaf to cool. He’s feeling pretty confident so far, it didn’t rise too far out of the pan and when he stuck a fork in it the prongs came out clean. After the Biscuit Incident, Steve only tests out new recipes alone. No reason to give the party any more reasons to rag on him since they all act like glorified younger siblings anyway, knowing just the right buttons to push to get him riled up. Once he knows the best way to make a recipe, that’s when they’re offered to the party – soft cookies and moist cakes that melt just right in your mouth when you take a bite. All the dishes are next to the sink drying when he steps into the kitchen again.

Steve edges a butter knife around the edges of the pan, urging the loaf away from the edges in hopes that it’ll come out of the pan easily. He places a plate on top of the loaf and flips the pan; luckily when he lifts it, the pan is empty and the loaf is resting in the center of the plate. Some of the chocolate chips have left melted streaks in the pan and he runs a slow finger through one of the trails for a taste.

“Stevie?” Eddie’s voice startles him and the pan in his hand finds its way to the floor with a loud clatter. “You okay?” Hurried footsteps bring Eddie to the doorframe of the kitchen, eyes wide as he takes in the scene: pan on the ground and Steve clutching a hand to his chest like he’s had a heart attack. He’s managed to get one shoe off but the other sits untied in his haste to identify the noise. “Glad to see your heart’s working.” It’s a joke that Steve’s heard Wayne make when he spooks Eddie coming around the corner of the trailer, it’s a way to let the other person catch their breath when they’ve just been scared. Steve takes the break for what it is and shakes his head fondly.

“Yeah, didn’t need you test it for me.” Steve fights back his own grin when Eddie smiles and winks at him, stepping forward to grab the pan from the floor. With the pan resting in the sink, Eddie kicks off his other shoe and then leans into Steve’s space. Chapped lips press against his and Steve leans in for another kiss before Eddie can pull away completely. When they do part, Steve can feel the grin stretching across his face. It’s nice having his own space that people can drop by unexpectedly but Eddie is supposed to be busy today.

“What happened to practice?” Eddie’s more focused on the plate behind Steve, already taking a step towards the counter to investigate. “Excuse me.” Brown eyes cut to Steve’s when Eddie registers the slightly bitchy tone Steve’s decided on. Steve’s smile gives away that he doesn’t really mean anything by it, just trying to get his boyfriend’s attention. Plus, there’s no way he’s going to let Eddie try it before he makes sure it actually came out correctly.

“Gareth’s sister got sick, so he was stuck with baby sitting duty. What’d you make?” Again, Steve’s lost his boyfriend’s attention, Eddie going as far as to reach towards Steve’s loaf with a ringed finger.

“Hey! Don’t poke it. I made something new, which means-”

“Which means I don’t get to taste it until you do, yeah, yeah. Let’s cut a piece.” It’s hard pretending to be frustrated when Eddie knows him so well. With an eye roll and a playful huff Steve bumps Eddie’s hip with his before grabbing his butter knife again.

“Go put your shoes up, then if it’s good you can have a slice.” It’s like watching Wile Coyote run off a cliff with how quickly Eddie swoops his battered Reebok up and darts into the living room. The butter knife passes through easily and a small trail of steam rises from inside the loaf. Steve can tell he put in too many chocolate chips already, the inside mostly dark instead of dotted like he expected; he figures Eddie won’t mind it either way. Gently, Steve tears off the corner of the slice, crumbs falling onto the floor when he brings it up to his mouth. It’s clearly not set enough to eat quite yet, but when Eddie’s found something sweet in the house it doesn’t take long at all for him to be digging in. Steve never complains because it just makes his kisses that much sweeter.

The dark chocolate was a good call, blending in with the nutmeg and clove spices. It’s nice and moist too, melting in Steve’s mouth. Eddie’s come around the corner again, eyes hopeful when he takes in Steve’s relaxed expression.

“Good to eat, then?” And then he’s swooping in to tear off his own piece from the slice Steve made. As soon as he closes his mouth Eddie lets out a happy hum and closes his eyes in happiness. “You are a baking genius. This is delicious! What is this?” Another bite, and then a kiss placed on Steve’s head before Eddie starts to cut another slice.

“It’s Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Bread. You mentioned last week not getting to the bakery early enough to get any of their seasonal stuff. And Mrs. Henderson let me have an old recipe magazine book so.” Steve shrugs and runs his hand through his hair before turning away. It’s embarrassing now, thinking about Claudia’s knowing look when he’d asked her if she knew any good recipes for fall that wasn’t pumpkin pie.

“Baby, this is so good. And you put dark chocolate in here too, right?” All Steve does is nod, hands busying themselves with refolding his dishtowel that’s hanging on his oven door handle. “You spoil me.” There’s humor coloring Eddie’s words and Steve looks up to see a soft smile on his face. “Wanna spoil me some more?” He doesn’t have a moment to be confused, Eddie already closing the space between them and cupping Steve’s face.

When Eddie kisses him this time, all he can taste is chocolate and cinnamon.

#everyone say thanks to my mutual who not only suggested me to tackle these prompts #but also for the 'pumpkin chocolate chip bread' idea #dedicated to my mutual who inspires me with all of their writing #also wish I knew restraint like them #my word counts get away from me #honestly this is just soft y'all #fluff #steddie fluff #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #valentine writes #steddiespooktober

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nethhiri · 4 months ago

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Slipping and Falling

Security Guard! Zoro x Mermaid! Reader

One Shot - Modern AU

Warnings: none

I'm really proud of this one and I think it's so stupidly cute <3

The only thing worse than a mall cop was a nighttime security guard, even worse: a nighttime security guard at an aquarium. Not even a museum. Zoro had been the daytime security guard until he dozed off one too many times, then he was demoted. His boss, Mihawk, said that if he couldn't wake up for the day shift, maybe he was more suited for the night shift. He didn't say it was a demotion, but Zoro wasn't an idiot. This was probably his last chance before they canned him.

He breezed through the doors, already 5 minutes late. He threw open the door to the small security office, apologizing and straightening his uniform. "Sorry. My stupid roommate baked my keys into a loaf of bread again."

"That's either the weakest excuse you've had yet, or your roommate hates you." King already had his jacket on, ready to leave.

"The second one. Please don't tell Mihawk I was late." Zoro threw down some rice balls and chips from the convenience store down the street, his snack for later.

King snatched one of the rice balls. "Deal."

"Oi!"

King gave him a peace sign and flicked him off.

Zoro let out an exasperated sigh. His shift had just started and it was already off to a terrible start. He plopped down in the shitty folding chair and threw his feet up on the flimsy desk, watching the small black and white monitors that overlooked the exhibits. Only a few couldn't be seen, one of them being the new mermaid exhibit. The tech guys hadn't come to install the camera yet. Which meant that Zoro had to walk the halls every so often, making sure everything was fine. If something happened to the mermaid, he would definitely be fired.

He grabbed his flashlight from his belt, which also had mace and a nightstick. What the hell was he gonna do with some weak-ass pepper spray and a glorified baton? He walked through the aquarium, shining his light around the places that weren't illuminated at night. He jumped when he saw two eyes reflecting back at him. The mermaid's exhibit wasn't lit at night either. She was basically a person, she needed to sleep too. He tapped on the glass.

You covered your ears and frowned. The noise was amplified through water and it hurt your sensitive eardrums.

"Oh shit. Sorry!" Zoro put his hands up to signal he meant no harm. "I didn't mean it." The mermaid swam up to the glass and mimicked his movements.

As far as he knew, it didn't talk. The mermaid did understand language though. He watched you copy him. Zoro did a few more poses to see if you would copy those too. He ended with making some kind of funny face, pulling his cheeks out and his lower eyelids down. Zoro was disappointed when you didn't copy that, and could swear you were laughing at him. Huh. He continued his rounds and returned to the office. The rest of the night was uneventful.

The next few nights were more of the same. Each night when he stopped by your tank, he tried to make you laugh again, mostly to prove to himself that's what you were actually doing. Even though you didn't talk, you were obviously an intelligent creature. Tonight, he had a new game. Zoro wanted to see how smart you were. He also felt bad that you were stuck in that tank without anything to do and maybe this would be entertaining. He took three Solo cups and set them upside down on a cardboard box he brought over. Then, he showed you a piece of candy and put it under the cup. Zoro mixed up the cups slowly.

"Where is it?" Zoro watched as you pointed right away to where it was. "Nice. Ok." He grabbed the candy and backed away from the tank. It was nearly floor to ceiling. It was huge. There was a gap at the top where people went in and out to perform tank maintenance. Zoro aimed for the top and threw the candy into the tank, observing as it sank down and you swam to grab it. He laughed when you put it in your mouth and spit it out. "That's a sour one. Give it a chance." He laughed again as your face contorted with the sourness, relaxing a little as it got sweeter. You pointed at the cups. "So you liked that? Let's try faster." He went a few more rounds, giving you candy every time. Then, you disappeared, returning with three shells. You plucked a scale from your tail and stuck it to the bottom of one of the shells. You repeated his actions and looked at him expectantly. Zoro pointed at one of the shells and you turned it over, revealing no scale. "I meant that one." He pointed to the shell next to it and you flipped it. You grinned and took the scale out from under it, swimming to the top of the tank and leaning over the glass above him. Zoro caught the scale and looked at it in his hand. It was iridescent. He couldn't really say if it was blue or green or purple. It was kind of all three at once. “Thanks. I have to go now, but I’ll be back tomorrow, ok?” Zoro flipped the scale over in his hand, watching the colors melt together as he patrolled the corridors. He wondered what else he could entertain you with. You seemed to enjoy it a great deal. He wondered if you responded like this to any of the keepers or the guests of the aquarium.

Unfortunately, Zoro had to call out sick the next two days, some kind of stomach bug. The next time he came around to your tank, you were nowhere to be found. He was tempted to tap on the glass again, but he knew you didn’t like that. Instead, he threw some candy in, the kind he knew you liked. Zoro waited for several minutes, opening a bag of chips that he had brought with him and popping a handful into his mouth. You emerged, drawn out by the candy, after a few minutes, darting out to grab it and go back to your hiding spot.

”Oi! Where ya goin?” Zoro yelled through a mouthful of chips.

You shot him a look from around the rock you hid behind.

“What?!” Zoro was at a loss. “Did I do something?”

You pointed at him, then to where he stood, then behind you.

It took him a minute to remember, but he did. “You’re mad because I wasn’t here?”

You gave him a curt nod.

“Aw man I’m sorry. I did say I would be back, huh?” He ran a hand through his hair. “I was sick. I couldn’t come to work.”

You stayed in your spot, eating the candy.

”How can I make it up to you?” Zoro would hate to piss off the only company he had during these long nights. You coyly peeked around the corner and pointed to the chips in his hand.

“These?” Zoro held the bag out and you nodded. He couldn’t very well toss those to you. They would get soggy. He walked up the ‘employee only’ spiral staircase that went to the top of your tank. He didn’t like being up that high so he focused on looking into the water and not at the ground.

You swam up to the rim of the tank, hands grabbing for the chips.

”Okay. Okay. You have to eat them here though or they’ll get mushy.” He handed the bag over.

You carefully inspected the chip before biting into it, delighted by the crunch.

Zoro hadn’t been this close to you previously. He noticed the different tones in your hair, how it flowed around you. He saw the slightly different colored speckles in your Y/E/C eyes. Your skin looked so soft and there were freckles he hadn’t noticed from behind the glass. There was a slight grin on his face as he watched you enjoy chips for the first time. You were particularly fascinated by the crunch, biting them slowly to listen to the noise they made. Zoro sat with you and took the empty bag when you were done. “So am I forgiven?”

You looked him up and down before nodding slowly.

Zoro smiled. “Good. How about I come back with more tomorrow? Really this time.”

This time he kept his promise. Each day he brought you a new flavor. He figured out you didn’t really care for the spicy ones, probably because spice was a bit foreign to you, also explaining why human snacks were so intriguing. Maybe you would like the spice eventually. He would find you waiting at the top of the tank for your special treat. It was weird to watch you eat in silence, so he would tell you about his day or his roommate. Occasionally, he would tell you something about himself. You were a great listener since you didn’t talk.

Several weeks passed like this. Zoro had to take a brief vacation to help his other roommate recover from eye surgery; there was a tragic accident involving a stag beetle. When he came back, Mihawk was none too pleased. King had taken over Zoro’s shift, but kept falling asleep since he was usually a day shifter. Every morning during this time, Mihawk would come in to take over and find that the snack counter had been raided. It looked like raccoons had gotten into the packages. Curiously, the cameras hadn’t picked up anything. They moved periodically, panning around. It seemed like whatever or whoever was stealing, could avoid them. Nothing else was tampered with or taken. “Hey, shitbag. Hope you get the rat problem under control. Or Mihawk is gonna have your ass,” King slapped Zoro’s shoulder on the way out.

“How is this my problem?! It happened on your watch!”

”And now it’s your watch.” King laughed as the door shut behind him.

Zoro stopped at your tank, as was his routine now, and explained he didn’t have anything for you since he couldn’t get to the grocery store to restock. His eyes couldn’t be torn away from the disappointed pout that crossed your features. He was a bit ashamed to admit he really liked looking at your face. He wasn’t alone. Part of the attraction to the mermaid exhibit was your beauty. He didn’t like the idea he was the same as the people who paid to ogle you. He actually cared about your well-being.

That night the thief struck again. Zoro didn’t see a thing. Oh, but he heard about it the next day. Mihawk lit his ass up, calling him as soon as he managed to fall asleep at home after his shift. He accused Zoro of falling asleep on the job again. That wasn't true, but it's possible that he was distracted, daydreaming perhaps. He would have conversations in his head with you. He imagined what you might sound like and how you might speak. He liked spending time with you and he wanted to know more about you, but couldn't do that if there was no way you could communicate with him.

Zoro purposefully waited for King to leave before going in the back entrance. King would definitely taunt him over his shortcomings and he really didn't want to start the night that way. He was already in a bad mood since Mihawk woke him up just to yell at him earlier. Zoro sat heavily in his uncomfortable folding metal chair and slid down, knees pointing to opposite corners of the room, glaring at the monitors. He wasn't going to take his eyes off the screens for a second. He would get to the bottom of this just to rub it in Mihawk and King's faces that he could.

When it came time for his nightly rounds, he checked every door and every window to make sure they were all locked. There wasn't any evidence around them that pointed to someone coming in from those potential entry points. He looked up at the air conditioning ducts. Is someone really going to go all spy movie just for some snacks? There was a noise in the direction of your tank that alerted him to the fact that he wasn't alone. Quickly, he ran in that direction, putting his flashlight in his mouth so he could hold his baton in one hand and his mace in the other. The large, open room came into view and he caught movement in the corner of his eye. Before he could react, he suddenly lost traction under his feet and was tumbling backwards. The last thing he remembered was hitting his head.

His head was throbbing. Zoro groaned as he came to. Why am I wet? His entire back was wet, not damp, wet. He opened his eyes to soft light and a blurry, dark shape hovering over him. He blinked a few times, each blink making his vision clearer. A person? But there's not supposed- He pushed himself back, feeling around for his mace.

"Who- Who are you?" He made contact with his flashlight and flicked it on, pointing it in the direction of the shadow. Red eyes flashed back as the light from the flashlight bounced off the back of your eyes, reflected to him. His eyes slid from yours, down your body, and landed on your tail. "Mermaid?" What was she doing out of the tank?

You scooted closer, using your arms to pull you across the slick floor.

Zoro looked at the water all over the floor and back at you. Your hair was plastered to your body where it was still wet, but he could see some parts that were fluffier and strands that were blown around lightly by the air conditioning. That made him think you had been sitting here with him for longer than a few minutes. How long had he been out for? He looked at the ceiling, which was partially made of glass, so that the mermaid could have natural light. The sky outside was the dusty purple color of early dawn. His shift would be over soon. And King would be coming to take over. King is coming! Suddenly, he was panicking.

"We have to get you back in the water!" If King saw the mermaid like this, Zoro's ass was going to get canned. Zoro crouched in front of you, about to slip his arms under you so that he could carry you back to the water. He paused. "Oh... Um. Is it ok? Do you mind if I...?"

You opened your arms up to reach for him.

He took that as an invitation, scooping you up bridal style. Your arms wrapped around his neck for support. Zoro didn't want to slip again, but he had to hurry to get you in the tank and all of the mess cleaned up before King got here. He jogged up the stairs to the top of the tank and gently dipped you down in the water. "Stay." He had no fucking clue how you got out, but he needed you to stay in. He zipped back down the stairs and hurriedly grabbed a mop from the janitorial closet, getting all the water dried from the floor. Zoro ran around the rest of the aquarium, making sure nothing happened while he was knocked out. Everything seemed to be fine.

Zoro had just headed back to the security office when King came in to take over the shift. Just in time. He breathed a sigh of relief and then immediately started thinking about how the fuck you got down to where he was. Did you jump out of the tank? Crawl down the stairs? He was thinking about it until he went to sleep for the day.

He came in early the next evening. The aquarium was still open and he went to see what your exhibit looked like when it was still open. The tank was big, but he wasn't quite convinced it was big enough for a creature like yourself. He watched as some guy banged on the glass with his hand. Zoro instantly frowned, knowing that you hated when people did that. He walked over and grabbed the man's wrist, pulling it away from the glass and thrusting it into the man's own chest.

"Stop that." Zoro glared at the man. "She doesn't like that."

The man looked him up and down. "Who the fuck are you? Her keeper?"

"Actually, yeah. I am. So cut it out or you'll be escorted out."

The man grumbled but didn't do it again.

Zoro stood in front of the glass, eyes searching for you for a moment, finding you with a sweet smile on your face. You made the slightest nod in his direction, thanking him for putting an end to the horrible noise. Zoro stuck around until the people cleared out, making sure it didn't happen again. The last two people were a couple, who couldn't be bothered to stop their heavy petting after the two minute closing warning. You were staring curiously at them. He shooed them off and waved at you as he went to clock in and trade off with King.

There was some paperwork he had to take care of which delayed his usual stroll to your tank. It was about an hour past his usual stop in his loop. As he approached, he could hear shuffling and some crinkling. It stopped suddenly when his shoes make a squeak on the tile flooring. He cursed under his breath, inching forward slowly. There was the hurried sound of crunching followed by the slap of feet against the floor.

"Stop! Thief!" Zoro yelled after the footsteps, nearly eating shit on the wet floor again. "Where the fuck is all this water coming from?" He ran down the hallway, then back up the hallway, then did a full loop, and stopped. He didn't hear the footsteps anymore. "Dammit." He snuck around more quietly on his way to get a mop. The thief had to be somewhere. He cleaned up the mess without any further sign of the intruder. Curiously, the snacks that were eaten included some of the flavors of chips he had brought you. That just meant the thief had good taste in snacks. Only two bags were eaten, so he wasn't worried about actually continuing his hunt. He could cover that up. Mihawk could shove it. All he cared about was getting to your tank. Zoro sighed. Now, he was really late. You were going to be mad at him.

As it turned out, you weren't. Especially since Zoro had brought you something new to try. He was beginning to feel guilty. What if these foods were really bad for you? What if they made you sick? He also couldn't resist seeing the way you lit up when he came around with your nightly snack, or your pout when he pretended he forgot it, so he would continue to spoil you. Zoro climbed to his spot at the rim of the tank. You were already there waiting with your hands held out in a bowl-shape.

"Didn't we talk about begging?" Zoro tsked at you.

You held your hands out more demandingly and furrowed your eyebrows.

"Jeez. Okay, here you go." Zoro placed some incredibly misshapen small chocolate chip cookies in your hands.

You gave them a curious sniff before putting all of them in your mouth at once, filling up your cheeks.

Zoro chuckled. "You remind me of my roommate, who I had to fight off by the way, to get these to you." He averted his eyes for a moment and his cheeks turned pink. "I, um, made them myself." At the cost of shining his other roommate's work shoes for a week, he helped Zoro out with the baking. When he turned back, you were holding your hands out again and licking the crumbs from around your mouth. He grinned. "So you liked them?"

You nodded. Reaching your hands out further. As he leaned down to put more in your hand, you caught sight of the pink in his cheeks. Reaching out curiously, you poked and pinched at his cheek. You didn't know humans could change color.

Zoro jerked back. Not that he was afraid of you, he was just taken aback by your sudden interest in something other than food. "What? Is something on my face?" He only turned a deeper hue, cheeks burning red.

You placed your palm against his cheek, feeling the warmth in it. Humans were a lot warmer than you thought. With the other hand, you continued to munch down cookies. You offered the last one back to him, noticing that he didn't eat any.

Zoro wasn't aware that you knew the concept of sharing. "Thanks." He popped it into his mouth, stretching to swat a crumb out of your hair.

You leaned forward and pressed your lips to his, just like those people from earlier.

He pushed you, very gently, back. "Whoa! Hey, what are you doing?" If Zoro's cheeks were red earlier, now they were purple. "That's for- That's just for people who um-" He saw a hurt look on your face. "No, don't do that. It's okay!" He patted your hand and explained. "You can't just do that. That's called a k-kiss and um, it's for two people that really like each other."

But you did like him. Did he not like you?

You still looked hurt. "Um, here, okay." Zoro knelt by the tank, getting his knees wet from where you had dripped. He held his arms out and waited until you copied him. "We're friends. So this is what friends can do. It's called a hug." He circled his arms around you, very lightly squeezing. You did it back, except you were not very gentle about it. "Oh, wow, you're a strong one huh?" Zoro let go, waiting for you to do the same. He waited some more. "You can let go now." There was a funny look in your eyes, and your smile was awfully sinister for a sweet mermaid.

You pushed back from the edge of the tank, dangling his car keys in front of you.

Zoro felt his back pocket. "What the-?" He laughed. "You little shit." He motioned for you to come back. "Give those back!"

You shook your head.

"Please!"

You looked at him expectantly.

"I'll bring you more cookies tomorrow?"

You threw his keys back to him with surprising accuracy and he caught them in midair.

Zoro shook his head to himself, walking back to the security office. He couldn't stop thinking about how soft your lips were.

For the next few days, nothing eventful happened. Zoro had racked up multiple weeks of doing Sandi's chores, just so he could learn to make a few more different cookies for you to try. Why was he doing all this? He told himself it was because he felt bad that you were trapped in a tank for the rest of your life. And he did feel bad about that, that part was true. Selfishly, he wanted you to like him. Tonight's batch hadn't gone well. He wasn't looking forward to breaking the news to you. Zoro hated seeing disappointment on your face.

He was shocked when you were nonchalant about it, and a touch suspicious. Later, Zoro remembered that he stored an extra snack in his backpack and retrieved it to give to you. Again, he heard the telltale crinkling of a chip bag. This time, he would get the thief. Zoro must have startled them somehow even though he didn't make a sound because the thief took off running. He kept up this time, barely making out a shadow in the dark. As soon as he got close enough, he tackled the person, fingers brushing against bare, wet skin. What's with everything always being fucking wet!?.This person was... nude? What kind of sick pervert-? His thoughts were evaporated from his mind when he saw that it wasn't just any random naked person. It was you. "MERMAID?!" He looked down. "But there's legs and- a-and-!!!" Zoro got up faster than he'd ever moved and covered his eyes. "S-stay right there." He turned around and ran to his backpack, where he had a change of clothes for the gym.

Zoro came back with a T-shirt and boxers, practically throwing them at you. From the top of his head to his neck was red. It turned out that your bottom half could turn into a human's, in every way. Funny, when you had a tail, your naked top half, covered by your long hair, didn't seem scandalous. With a naked bottom half, the naked top half was painfully obvious.

"A-are you covered up?" Zoro peeked to make sure before dropping the hand over his eyes. "I'm so sorry for- for seeing and um... Sorry!" He felt bad about tackling you even though you weren't hurt. He offered you a hand to get up. Now it made sense. Every time he forgot a treat or was late in getting to you, the thief struck. It had been you all along. And the legs explained how you were able to get out of the tank, too.

You were wobbly upon standing, as you always were when you got your legs. You grabbed his shirt for balance as you stumbled unsteadily forward.

Zoro gave you his arm to hold while you slowly gained control of your legs. He tried not to think about how cute you looked wearing his clothes, leading you toward the fish tunnels, where there weren't cameras. "I think you already understand, but you can never let anyone else see you like this, okay?" There was concern in his eyes. Zoro was certain they would turn you into an even bigger sideshow attraction than they already had. "And you have to stop stealing food or I'll be fired." Zoro held out the chocolate bar he had found in his backpack, yanking it back when you reached for it. "Mermaid, show me you understand." Zoro only relinquished the candy when you nodded.

Tearing into the packaging, you discarded it on the floor, holding the chocolate in your bare hands.

"Oi! You're gonna get it everywhere." It was too late, as he saw the brown staining your hands. He sighed. "Never mind."

You laughed at his alarm.

"So you think it's funny, huh?"

You nodded, popping another piece into your mouth. Your hand reached playfully to smear some on his cheek.

"Don't do that!"

You giggled again.

He really couldn't be mad when your eyes were glittering with joy and your giggling brought a stupid grin to his face. He wiped off the chocolate and licked his finger.

After the last bite, you looked at the mess on your hands and wiped them on your shirt, to Zoro's horror.

"Oi! What's wrong with you?! Quit that!" He grabbed your hands. "What are you? An animal?" He dragged you to the bathroom to wash your hands.

You thought about it and nodded.

"No! You're a person." Zoro stood behind you and guided your hands. It made sense that you had never washed your hands before.

Watching the water made you thirsty. You bent down to drink out of the sink.

Zoro practically jumped backwards when your hips moved back against his. "H-hey. We'll get you some water. Come on." He knew you were unaware of what you were doing. It wasn't on purpose. He was ashamed at the thoughts that entered his brain at that second. Pushing them away, he grabbed your hand again and brought you to the water fountain, where he demonstrated how to use it.

After that, he followed you as you walked through the nearby exhibits, the ones without surveillance. Zoro watched as you excitedly pointed towards some fish. You stopped in front of one of the larger tanks, putting your hands against the glass and smushing your face against it. This tank was much larger than yours because it held whale sharks. Your smile slowly fell into something more somber as you yearned to go back home. You missed the wide open ocean.

As dawn approached, Zoro led you back to your tank, gesturing for you to go back.

You shook your head.

"What do you mean no? You have to." Zoro hadn't seen you like this before. You weren't your normal perky, sweet self. "What's wrong?"

Your lip quivered. You pointed to the doors and yourself.

"You want to leave?"

You nodded.

Zoro scratched his head. "You can't leave. I- I wish I could help you."

Tears spilled over the rims of your eyes.

"Oh no. No. No. Don't do that." Zoro looked around as if there was someone else that could comfort you. Relenting, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into him. "I'm sorry, mermaid. I really am." He felt you shake with sobs, gently sitting down with you on the floor. He ran his hand over your hair, thinking about how much of a loser he felt like. He let Mihawk and King walk all over him. Zoro hated this job. The only thing that made it tolerable was you. So why did he care so much about keeping it? Money and the ability to see you. He could find another job, but he couldn't find another you. "Mermaid, give me some time. I'll think of something. Okay?"

You pulled your head away from him, with a sliver of hope in your red-rimmed gaze. You nodded.

Zoro helped you out of his shirt, which you got stuck in trying to take off. He shut his eyes and turned around while you slid his boxers off and jumped back into the water. He squatted down and put his hand on your cheek, rubbing it with his thumb. "Stay." He said it tenderly, but he meant it. Zoro couldn't have anyone else finding out about your secret.

Over the next few days, Zoro thought about how he could smuggle you out. If you disappeared and he never came back, it would be pretty obvious who stole you. If you disappeared, he would be fired anyway. He put that plan on the back burner and thought about how he might be able to improve your current living situation.

"Don't you think the mermaid should be in a bigger tank?"

Mihawk looked over his newspaper at Zoro. "Oh so you're a marine biologist all of the sudden." He was about to leave for the night but wanted to finish his articles first.

Zoro rolled his eyes. "No. I just think the mermaid looks kinda sad lately."

"You won't have to look at her sad face much longer."

"What? What's that mean?"

Mihawk lowered his paper once more. "Oh. You haven't heard? She's being transferred to a government facility."

"Why!?"

Zoro's boss eyed him suspiciously. "Why do you care? Have a crush?"

"Oi! Shut up, man. A guy can't feel bad for a creature that's nearly human being imprisoned? How would you like it?"

"I think if you feel bad for imprisoned creatures, this job isn't for you."

"Yeah you're fucking right about that." Zoro was heated.

Mihawk threw his paper on the desk. "Because you care so much, they want her for research." Before Mihawk clocked out, he tossed over his shoulder. "Say goodbye to your little fish friend. She's leaving tomorrow."

Zoro was sweating with this new information. Tomorrow! He hadn't come up with any kind of plan. Maybe he could ask Luffy and Sanji if they would help. No, he couldn't ask his roommates to be accomplices. He avoided you until the last remaining hour of his shift, unsure how to tell you what was happening. Seeing you cry again was going to break his heart. Hell, his heart was already breaking because he knew he had no way to save you. He couldn't break you out of here, and he certainly couldn't steal you from a government facility.

Zoro found you in your usual spot, waiting for him. You seemed to be in better spirits, which made it harder for him to tell you. He sat on the edge of your tank, setting his backpack down. He had planned to leave right after. "Listen." He let out a deep sigh. "I don't know how to tell you this but they're moving you out of here t-tomorrow." Your face brightened and you pointed to the door. He smiled apologetically. "No... not out out. You're being transferred somewhere else." He could see your eyes get glassy. You pointed to him, then yourself, then the door. "I- I can't. There's no way." Zoro held his head in his hands and apologizing over and over again.

You pushed yourself up to sit on the edge of the tank as well, wrapping your arms around him. The two of you sat like that for some time. Zoro ran his hand through your hair, trying to memorize the way it felt before he had to say goodbye. You leaned your head on his shoulder, staring into his gray eyes. He shifted so that you could face him better. Leaning forward, you paused, as if asking permission, and Zoro didn't stop you as you pressed your lips to his again. His hand tangled in your hair, pressing you deeper into the kiss. He let out a startled noise when you bit him on the lip and you felt heat rise to your cheeks as you broke the kiss and looked away bashfully.

"No. No. It's- It's okay." Zoro's voice was low and raspy. "Do it again."

You did as he asked, lightly biting him on the lip, and he returned the favor. You pressed your tongue into his mouth, running it alongside his own. He groaned. Now! When he was fully distracted, you tugged him into the water with you. His eyes widened in terror as you pushed him to the bottom of the tank, sucking the rest of the air out of his lungs. You broke the kiss and touched the side of his face lovingly, watching him flail as he fought to break free from your grip. You petted his hair as he had done to comfort you. Only a minute or two more before he became unconscious. It hurt you to do it, but you couldn't live like this anymore. You had waited for him, though that didn't mean you couldn't also think of a plan in case he failed.

When King came in, not long after, he immediately noticed something wasn't right. None of the lights were on. The power was out. He rushed to the emergency generator and powered it on. All the pumps to the tanks were connected to it in case something like this happened. Without the backup power, it would only take a few hours for creatures to start dying off. With it on, some of the lights flickered back on. The generator only powered the most important electronics, not the cameras. Naturally, the first thing King did was check on the most valuable assets. While his eyes scanned your tank, trying to find you, they instead found Zoro floating at the top of the water.

Within 15 minutes, the aquarium was swarming with first responders. In the chaos, no one noticed someone in a gym shirt and boxers run out the front doors, all their attention on Zoro. Nor did they notice the drying puddle near the main circuit breakers, located unwisely next to the mermaid's tank.

Zoro had no fucking idea what happened. He thought it was just a nightmare until he woke up in a hospital. They said someone broke into the aquarium and stole the mermaid. They shorted out the main power so there was no security footage. It was assumed that Zoro was defending the mermaid when the attacker got the upper hand on him. Mihawk had left him a message wishing him a speedy recovery and to take his time coming back to work, in fact, maybe he shouldn't come back at all. He was cleared for discharge after a day with some antibiotics to prevent pneumonia from setting in.

When he came back to his apartment, Sanji greeted him from the kitchen. "Hey, assface. Your girlfriend has been waiting for you for a whole day now. What the fuck is wrong with you? Making a girl as pretty as her wait? I don't even know how you managed to pull someone like her." He was half-pouting as he said this.

"Girlfriend?" Zoro didn't have a girlfriend.

"Yeah she was in your clothes. She's your girlfriend isn't she? While you were busy laying your lazy ass in the hospital, she showed up looking for you. Well, I assumed so. She doesn't talk much."

Zoro didn't wait for the blonde man to finish before running into his room.

Luffy piped up from the couch, calling after him. "Tell her to quit eating all my snacks!"

When he opened his door, you were sitting in the middle of his bed, surrounded by empty snack wrappers. His previously white shirt, now on you, was covered in orange and brown snack residue fingerprints. Your entire face lit up upon seeing him. You jumped from the bed and ran to him, throwing your arms around him and peppering kisses all over his face.

"Oi!" He pushed you back lightly. In a quiet voice he hissed, "You drowned me!"

You nodded happily and bounced on the balls of your feet in an excited way. You pulled him back down and rubbed your nose against his.

The pieces gradually fell into place. "This was your plan." He grabbed your face as you nodded again. "I knew you were fucking smart." He pulled you in for a hug before kissing you.

You pulled away, grinning. You were hyperventilating with excitement and working up courage.

"Easy. Breathe. " Zoro could see you were trying to communicate something. "What is it?"

"S-s-s." You furrowed your brows.

Zoro's eyes widened. He didn't think you could speak.

"S-stay." You pointed to yourself, soft, hopeful eyes tilted towards the green-haired man. "Stay?"

A reassuring grin crept across his face. "Stay." He pulled you in for another hug, resting his chin on your head.

#one piece #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #mermaid #x reader #zoro x reader #oneshot #one shot #fanfic #fanfiction #Mermaid!reader #one piece AU #AU #mermaid AU #king the wildfire #hawkeye mihawk

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