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punkshort · 16 days ago

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Palm Trees

Thank you @itsafullmoon for this prompt!

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Sometimes love can be found unexpectedly in the aisle of Home Depot's Christmas displays.

Warnings: language, fluff, hurt/comfort, brief mentions of OC deaths, sexual tension, flirting

WC: 3.6K

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Joel smiled as he watched Sarah skip down the aisles of Home Depot, him trailing behind pushing an orange cart that already was half filled with way too many boxes of Christmas lights, two light up penguins, and an inflatable Santa.

Christmas was never this thing, but he tried to make it special for Sarah. Her mother had always been the one to go the whole nine yards for the holiday while Joel kicked back and watched his girls have a blast decorating the house. Every year they participated in the Christmas lights competition their small town just outside of Austin, Texas held, and every year they lost. But it never really mattered because they had so much fun putting everything together and brainstorming on Thanksgiving what they thought would give them a competitive edge.

When his wife passed away four years ago, they stopped participating in the competition. It never felt right, and neither of them wanted to do it. But that year on Thanksgiving, much to Joel's surprise, Sarah turned to him out of the blue and said, we should do a penguin slip and slide on the lawn this year.

Tommy and Maria fell silent, eyes darting between Joel and his daughter while they waited for his response. Once he collected himself, he said, what about Santa in a hot tub?

Thus, the idea was born: Christmas on the beach. They still had plenty of supplies from years before, but he let Sarah plan the whole thing. If she wanted new things to put on the lawn, he would gladly pay for them just to see that huge smile on her face when she looked at him over her shoulder as she skipped down the aisle.

Given their beach theme, one thing they definitely needed and didn't already own was a light up palm tree, one which Sarah scouted out online and informed Joel it was the only home improvement store that had them in stock. He wanted to tease her and remind her that of course palm trees weren't popular to keep on the shelf at Christmas time, but she was so excited he just shook his head and grabbed his keys.

"Alright, it's gotta be here, it says it's in aisle 17A," Sarah said when she slowed down, scanning the huge light-up displays. Joel sighed and looked around, gaze drifting over presents, reindeer and wreathes until he heard Sarah gasp softly. He slid to a stop and whipped his head in her direction. She was standing in the middle of the aisle, crestfallen, as she watched a young woman lift the very last palm tree into her cart.

"Oh, no," she whispered, and Joel's heart broke when he heard the despair in her voice. He couldn't stand to see Sarah that way after she had been so excited for Christmas for the first time since the loss of her mother, so he did something he never thought he would do. He abandoned the cart with Sarah, instructing her to stay right there, and hurried down the aisle towards you.

"Hey, uh, excuse me?"

You looked up in surprise, then glanced over your shoulder to make sure he was actually addressing you, before meeting his eye again.

"Yes?"

Joel came to a stop in front of your cart and lowered his voice.

"I have a favor to ask," he began. When he saw the defensive look on your face, he quickly shook his head. "Sorry, wait. See the little girl behind me? With the cart?"

Your eyes flicked over his shoulder quickly, spotting the curly haired pre-teen, then nodded.

"Well, it sounds ridiculous but she's got her heart set on that damn palm tree, and-" Joel looked at the shelf to confirm before giving you his attention again. "You got the last one. You think I can buy it from you?"

You blinked in surprise, your eyes slowly sliding between him and the boxed palm tree in your cart, then bit your lip.

"Well..."

"Please," he begged before pulling out his wallet. "Whatever you want. I don't wanna make you feel bad, but we lost my wife a few years back. Lightin' up the house for that damn competition was somethin' she always did with her mom. This is the first year she's been excited for it and I don't wanna let her down."

Your shoulders sagged in defeat and you turned to your cart.

"That's okay, you can take it. You don't need to pay me," you told him, stepping aside so he could grab the box. But Joel shook his head.

"No, please, lemme give you somethin' for it."

You smiled sadly and waved him off.

"I don't want your money. Make your daughter happy. It's hard for a girl to lose her mom. Just... take it."

You turned your back to him but he heard you sniffle softly behind your hand and he frowned.

"You alright?" he asked, hands slowly lowering when he sensed something was amiss

"Yeah, I'm fine," you assured him. You crossed your arms over the handle of your cart and leaned against it, like the weight of the world was forcing you down.

"No, you ain't. This palm tree mean somethin' to you?" he asked while pointing at the box.

"No, not really," you said with a shrug. But when Joel refused to accept that as an answer, you sighed and rolled your eyes. "I lost my mom, too. Last year. She lived in Florida and she loved Christmas and I saw the stupid tree so-"

You shook your head, letting your sentence fall unfinished in the air. Joel's heart sank and he looked back at Sarah, who was staring at him curiously.

"Sarah, c'mere," he called. She pushed the shopping cart down the aisle and you looked up, tilting your head to the side in confusion. "Sarah," he said with his arm outstretched towards you. "This is-"

He cut himself off and looked at you expectantly. You stood up straighter and told them both your name, which Joel repeated before looking back at his daughter.

"What'dya say we get a little help with the Christmas decorations this year?" he asked her. Then he swiveled back to you before adding, "I mean, if you wanna. We could really use it if you're free."

A slow smile stretched across your face and you gave him a quick nod before catching Sarah's eye. She grinned at you before saying, "Sounds great. He's pretty much useless, anyway." Sarah jutted her thumb in Joel's direction and you both laughed softly before you agreed.

"I mean, as long as it's not an imposition," you said quickly. Both Joel and Sarah quickly put your worries to rest.

"Not at all. We'd love the help," he assured you. Then Sarah playfully nudged his arm.

"Ask for her number, Dad."

You felt your cheeks warm and Joel awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Can I, uh, get your number? So we can set up a date? I mean, a time?"

"Yeah, of course," you giggled when he grew flustered at his slip-up. You took his phone and tapped in your name and number before handing it back to him.

"We're doing a Christmas on the beach theme for our house this year," Sarah told you excitedly, dragging your gaze off her father, who you finally allowed yourself to notice was extremely handsome.

"Oh, yeah? That sounds cool. You know, I used to live in Florida, so we literally had Christmas on the beach every year. We can put some sunglasses on Santa and beach umbrellas over the reindeer," you offered. Sarah's eyes lit up when she looked at her father.

"Dad, she's brilliant," Sarah said matter-of-factly. Joel chuckled while you tried to hide your excitement by shyly looking down at your own phone.

"Alright, well, thank you," Joel said before hoisting the box from your cart and dropping it into his. "And, uh," he glanced sideways at Sarah before saying softly, "anything else you wanna do to honor your mom, just lemme know. We'll do anythin' you want."

Even though Joel dropped his voice, Sarah still heard him. Her mouth twisted sadly as she looked away to offer you some privacy.

"Yeah, thanks," you replied with a small smile. You wrapped your fingers around the rail of your shopping cart and began to back away. "You better actually call me. 'Cause if you try to pull one over on me just to take my palm tree, I'll find you," you joked.

"Oh, I'll be callin' you, don't worry," he told you while trying to fight the stupid grin from stretching across his face. Right before you turned and waved, he shot you a wink that made your heart flutter, then you disappeared towards the cash registers.

"She's pretty."

Joel's neck practically snapped when he heard his daughter speak by his side.

"Oh. I-I ... it ain't like that. I felt bad that she-"

"Yeah, okay, Dad," Sarah said with a roll of her eyes. "C'mon. We need to find the extension cords before the store closes."

Joel let Sarah lead the way while silently trying to unravel her unexpectedly relaxed reaction to him possibly flirting with another woman. He ached for the comfort having a partner brought, but for years he stifled his own desires for fear of upsetting Sarah. She was his one and only priority, and he was fine with that.

But for the first time he began to wonder if it was possible to have both.

True to his word, Joel had called you a couple days later asking if you were free that Saturday to help decorate. It felt nice to have a distraction around the holidays. It kept you from wallowing and thinking too much about your mother, but as you were getting ready to leave, you decided you didn't want to forget about her entirely. You wanted to honor her memory in some way, so at the last minute you tugged on your ugly Christmas sweater, the same one you would wear every Christmas morning with your mom, then rushed out the door.

"Whoa! You came prepared!" Sarah exclaimed when she swung open the front door. You grinned and looked down at your sweater covered with garland that was hanging on by a thread and some horrifying looking Santa with a reindeer.

"My mom used to have a matching one, it was kind of our tradition on Christmas," you explained as you slipped off your boots.

"I love that. My mom used to have this vest with these, like, ornaments hanging off them. It was hideous but she legitimately thought it was cute," Sarah laughed over her shoulder as she led you into the kitchen, where Joel was hunched over the sink scrubbing dishes. While his back was still turned, you allowed yourself to quickly eye him up. He was wearing a red flannel with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a dish towel tossed over his left shoulder. He looked so domestic and comfortable in that moment that it had your heart skipping a beat.

"Oh, hey," Joel said when he noticed you. "Sorry. Just cleanin' up. Lost track of time."

"No problem," you said, eyes still fixed on the way his broad shoulders moved underneath his shirt. Distracted, you went to lean against the kitchen counter and almost fell when you misjudged the distance, causing Sarah to stifle a giggle and turn away.

Once Joel dried his hands, he turned to face you properly. His eyes landed on your sweater and you could see the inner turmoil in his expression as he tried to figure out if it was worn as a joke or not, so you quickly put him out of his misery.

"It's just something dumb my mom and I wore on Christmas," you explained. His shoulders dropped and he smiled.

"Cute."

You pressed your lips together to keep yourself from smiling like a fool when you watched his face turn pink and his eyes widen.

"I mean, it's cute - the sweater's cute - not you."

Then Joel's face twisted and he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"That's not to say you ain't cute, it's just - well, I was tryin' to say -"

"Oh, my god, Dad! You're making it so much worse!" Sarah laughed before disappearing back the way you came. "I'll be in the garage getting all the stuff together!" she called. You heard the rustle from her coat right before the door squeaked open and shut, leaving the two of you all alone.

"Sorry," Joel finally said sheepishly. You giggled and waved him off.

"Don't be," you replied. Maybe it was the privacy that gave you a streak of sudden bravery because you then added, "I thought it was cute. It being you."

Before you could register the shocked look on his face, you swiveled around to follow Sarah's path towards the front door. "See you out there!" you sang before slipping back outside, grateful for the cool winter air to help soothe your warm cheeks.

You were surprised with how quickly you grew comfortable with Joel and Sarah. They had an easiness to their family that you craved and very much enjoyed experiencing, even if it was only for just one afternoon.

"Good thing you were free to help today. There's supposed to be a blizzard tonight," Sarah said when she climbed the steps of the porch, arms filled with an assortment of tangled Christmas lights. "We never would have been able to put all this stuff up with a ton of snow on the ground."

"When's the competition again?" you asked, plopping down and grabbing a string of lights to unravel.

"Christmas Eve," she said, "You're coming, right?"

Your mind stuttered a bit at the question. You hadn't been invited, but you wouldn't expect to be, either. A few days ago, both she and her father were complete strangers. It would have been weird to spend Christmas Eve with them. Right?

"Oh, no, that's a time for family," you insisted while focusing all of your attention on the pile of lights in your lap. Across the yard, you both heard Joel swear to himself when two reindeer toppled over. You looked up and smiled. It was incredibly adorable to watch him work so hard to make the yard perfect for his daughter.

"So you'll be with your family, then?" Sarah questioned with a hint of sadness to her voice. Your mouth opened and closed for a second as you tried to think of what to say until you sighed and shook your head.

"No, actually I'll be alone this year," you told her after deciding to go with the truth.

"Well, then, why can't you come over?" she asked. Before you could reply, she lifted her chin and shouted across the lawn for Joel.

Immediately you raised your hands, waving them back and forth while saying, "No, please, I don't want to be a bother. I meant you should be with your family," you said.

"No one should be alone on Christmas," Sarah told you softly just as Joel had walked up, lifting one boot to rest on the bottom step.

"You're gonna be alone on Christmas?" Joel asked with a concerned look so sweet, it made your knees weak.

"Yeah, I mean, it's not a big deal," you said while doing your best to avoid both their eyes. You suddenly felt overexposed and uncomfortable, so you picked up the lights again and got to work untangling them.

"You should stop by," Joel told you. "I mean, only if you wanna. No pressure or nothin', it's just gonna be us, my brother 'n his wife but... we'd love to have you."

"We can all wear ugly sweaters, just like you and your mom used to," Sarah said, the offer making your heart melt.

"Uh, thanks, but I don't know..." you trailed off, still fixing your gaze on the lights. "I'll think about it."

The rest of the afternoon flew by, fortunately without any more awkwardness. The sun had set almost an hour prior to the three of you hurrying towards the end of the driveway so you could take in the beautiful Christmas landscape you created in all its glory.

"This is our year, I can feel it," Sarah announced happily between you both. You looked down at her and grinned, her dark brown eyes sparkling as she stared at the beachy Christmas scene you had worked so hard to create.

"Better be, considerin' my electric bill's gonna be through the roof," Joel muttered, but when you lifted your eyes to look at him, you caught him smiling just as wide as Sarah.

"Well, my job here is done," you said, clapping your gloved hands together. "I should hit the road before that blizzard comes."

"It's not supposed to snow til, like, super early in the morning," Sarah protested. "Can't you stay for a little while longer?"

"We were gonna order a pizza and watch a movie, if you're interested," Joel added. "C'mon, it's the least we could do for all your help."

You hesitantly agreed and you told yourself it was only because you missed being part of a family and absolutely nothing to do with how handsome Joel looked under the glow from the Christmas lights.

What you didn't expect was for everyone to be so exhausted after spending the day working hard that the three of you would fall asleep halfway through the movie. It was close to four in the morning when you awoke with a jolt, your neck craned at an impossible angle against the back of Joel's couch. You winced and tenderly massaged the knot in your neck, then straightened up and looked around, wondering what disturbed you in the first place.

It was Joel, who was in the process of gently picking up Sarah from the spot next to you. He noticed you were awake and held one finger to his lips. You swallowed tightly and nodded, remaining still and quiet so as not to wake up Sarah, and watched him carefully walk down the hallway past the kitchen to tuck her into bed.

Once they were both gone, you were left with a glowing television screen and a dryness in your mouth that had you wandering into the dim kitchen for some water. You were halfway through your glass and about to peer out the window when you heard Joel's voice behind you softly say your name. You swiveled around to find him leaning against the kitchen counter, still clad in that red flannel but now adorned with messy bedhead hair that had your mind going down a dangerous path.

"God, sorry I fell asleep," you said, placing your empty glass in the sink. "I'll get going-"

Joel laughed quietly, cutting you off.

"Don't think you'll be goin' anywhere. Did you look outside?"

Your face fell and you hurried over to the window, peeling the curtain back just to find his entire driveway, your car included, covered in a thick blanket of snow.

"Still comin' down, too," he told you. "Ain't safe to drive. You can take my bed and I'll sleep on the couch."

"Oh, gosh, no - I'll sleep on the couch," you told him firmly. The corner of Joel's mouth twitched into a little smile before he pushed off the counter, taking a few steps towards you.

"You're stubborn, y'know that?"

"I do," you replied with a grin. But when he got close enough to pinch the material of your sweater between his fingers, your smile slipped from your face and your heart began to race.

"I like it," he finally said, his voice so soft it sent a shiver down your spine. "You, by the way. You and that stubborn streak. Not the sweater, this thing is ugly as hell."

You laughed and quickly clapped your hand over your mouth so as not to wake up Sarah. Joel grinned and moved a little closer, the scent from his laundry detergent and faded cologne invading your senses.

"You'll come by for Christmas, right?" he asked, letting his hand fall back to his side. He gazed down at you, those beautiful eyes scanning your face like he was looking for something.

"I don't want to impose on your family time," you told him, noting you sounded a little short of breath from the close proximity. He just frowned and the hand that was once touching your sweater came up to pinch your chin.

It felt as if time stood still when he leaned down to gingerly brush his lips over yours. Then he leaned back and searched your eyes, checking to make sure what he did was okay. Without hesitating, you stood up on your tiptoes and pressed your mouth against his, too eager to feel the warmth of his lips again to wait.

"How 'bout now?" Joel asked after he tore himself away. You opened your eyes and looked up at him curiously, then he smirked. "You still think it's an imposition?" he clarified. Your eyes lit up and you bit back a smile as you pretended to think about it.

"Hmm, I'm not sure," you teased, "I might need you to kiss me again before I can decide."

Joel chuckled then crashed his mouth against yours, taking your breath away. You could feel a heat behind that kiss, one that was filled with promise and excitement that had you feeling lightheaded and giddy.

"Well?" he panted when he pulled away a second time, but he kept your cheek cradled in his palm while he waited for your answer.

"You make a very compelling argument," you whispered, wrapping your arms around his middle. He grinned and leaned forward again for another kiss, but stopped inches away so he could ask, "That mean you'll be here for Christmas?"

"Yeah," you breathed, "I'll be here for Christmas."

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anakinstwinklebunny · 4 months ago

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JAMES KELLY HEADCANONS 🧰

TW: at some point it contains filthy, crazy sexual content, so if you're feeling uncomfortable with it, please do not read

James Kelly who met you during his work. At first he gave you few glances here and there but as you started to appear more often something started to stir in his heart

James Kelly who, from that time, always offered you his services and tried to bargain his friends so they would give him you as his new customer;

From the very first moment James saw you in his workplace, something shifted deep within him. It was a sensation that swept through his heart and stomach, enveloping his senses in a way he couldn’t ignore. Every time you visited the mechanical engineering shop, his ears would perk up at the sound of your sweet, melodic voice. He found himself irresistibly drawn to you, stealing furtive glances as you nervously tried to explain the issue with your car to his friend and coworker.

As the days passed and your visits became less frequent, a hollow emptiness settled in his heart. The absence of your presence left a noticeable void, making him long for your return. His thoughts were consumed by you, turning over the idea of you being his customer rather than just someone who came in occasionally. So, what's better way to make it happen than to persuade his friends to let him take over your case? “C’mon, please,” he sighed, trailing behind Jackson who headed toward the sink.

“james, I’m working,” Jackson replied, turning on the water to wash his hands, a splash of soapy bubbles momentarily obscuring his skin.

James leaned casually against the sink, his arms crossed over his chest, his posture radiating both confidence and a touch of impatience.

“Come on, man,” he said, his tone a mix of desperation. “Just once. I’ll owe you a favor, I swear.” He tilted his head slightly to the side, his eyes pleading in a way that made it clear how important this was to him.

Jackson glanced over at him, a hint of skepticism in his expression. “And what’s in it for me if I agree?”

A knowing smirk tugged at the corners of James' lips. He was on the brink of winning this argument and he loved it. “You name the price,” he said, his voice steady and assured.

Every time you stopped by the shop, James felt a flurry of butterflies in his stomach, as if his entire body were electrified with anticipation. His heart pounded so fiercely against his chest that it seemed to echo in his ears. He didn't understand it. He didn't even know you that much to have some kind of 'crush' on you. But maybe that's the case? Maybe people don't have to know each other so much to be attracted to them. He just wished he'd not mistake himself in thinking about you more as some customer, more as just friend.

Yet it felt like he won a lottery; you were beautiful, seemed so sweet and kind, had a sense of humor.. and the moment you appeared, a wide, genuine smile would spread across his face. He made a concerted effort not to stare too long, but even his best efforts couldn’t entirely tame his wandering gaze.

“Um… hi, is Jackson here?” your sweet voice chimed, cutting through the noise of the shop.

At the sound of your voice, James' heart skipped a beat, just as it did every single time you came around. He looked up from his work, his blue eyes instantly drawn to your figure

“Ah, no, he’s not in today,” he replied, his voice warm and inviting. “Can I help you with something?”

“Oh… he was supposed to check my car,” you said, a hint of disappointment in your voice when you pointed to the black machine behind you

He noticed the subtle disappointment in your voice and gave a small nod, seizing the chance to spend more time with you.

“Well, I’m not doing anything important right now, so I could take a look at it if you don’t mind,” he offered, his tone both casual and eager.

You thought about it for a moment. Jackson's not here, yet he promised to be there, your car in huge need to be checked out, a tall, handsome-looking guy with veiny hands in oil.. “Sure,” you replied, a hint of relief in your voice at his offer. It was important for you. So your car would have a proper care it needs and if someone offers you help and seems genuine about it, why refuse?

He pushed himself up from the hood of the other car he’d been leaning on and looked at you, taking in your slender form once more, your striking (e/c) eyes, and those plump lips that always seemed to captivate him.

“May I get your keys?” he asked, extending his hand in an attempt to appear as nonchalant as possible and forget about the awkward moment

You handed him the keys, and as he took them from your hand, he felt the soft warmth of your skin against his. His gaze followed the gentle graze of your fingers over his palm, which seemed to send a shiver through his body. He swallowed thickly to brush it off. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable and think of him as a perv

“Alright, I’ll take a look at it,” he said, already heading toward your car with a sense of purpose. Over his shoulder, he called out, “And you’re… Y/N, right?” He feigned uncertainty, though he obviously knew your name perfectly well

“Yes, did something happen?” you asked, your curiosity piqued with hint of worry

James inserted the key into the ignition, but he didn’t start the car. Instead, he popped the hood and peered inside at the engine.

“No, no,” he began, his voice thoughtful as he leaned over the opened hood, his tongue briefly touching his lower lip as he considered his words. After a moment, he sighed. “Jackson’s been swamped with clients lately, so he handed off a few to me… and you’re one of them.”

“Oh…” you replied, a bit surprised by the news.

He leaned further into the car, reaching for something under the engine. In this position, he had an unobstructed view of you—one that made his thoughts wander more than he cared to admit. He grasped a specific tool and began working on the engine, trying hard to focus on the task rather than the fact that you were so close.

“Yeah, I hope you don’t mind that it’s me taking care of you,” he said, attempting to lighten the mood. “I mean, not you personally, but… your car.” his tone slightly nervous. Yet to his surprise, you giggled at his awkwardness, the sound bright and uplifting his slightly crashed mood from moments ago

James Kelly who dyed his hair when he found out you like guys with darker hair at the beginning of your relationship (although you were sad that he did it and felt bad for somehow 'pushing' him to this decision)

James Kelly whose evenings often involve hanging out in his garage. It’s where he’s most at home, and he loves having you there with him. You might sit on a stool, sipping coffee while he works, occasionally handing him tools or just enjoying his company as he explains the nuances of car repair in his unique, enthusiastic way.

James Kelly who has a 'mechanic’s touch'. His hands, skilled and gentle from working with delicate engine parts, translate into tender, careful touches when he’s with you

James Kelly who has a soft spot for personal projects, especially ones that involve old, classic cars. He loves restoring vintage vehicles, and he often involves you in these projects;

James' eyes widened in awe as the old car was wheeled into his workshop. It was a vintage marvel, the kind of machine that whispered tales of a bygone era. The worn, weathered metal seemed to glow under the workshop lights, and his fingers twitched with impatience, itching to trace every curve, every detail of the car that had captured his imagination.

“Hell yeah,” he murmured, his voice a low, reverent whisper. A satisfied grin crept across his face as he took in the car's elegant lines and timeless design. “Look how beautiful this baby is.”

You glanced at the car, a little less impressed. “It’s… okay,” you mumbled, your voice lacking the enthusiasm he clearly felt.

His head whipped around to face you, disbelief etched into his features. For a moment, he just stared, as if trying to comprehend how anyone could see this masterpiece as merely okay. Then, with a snort and a roll of his eyes, he let out a soft chuckle.

“Okay?” he echoed, his tone almost incredulous. “This baby is a classic masterpiece. You’re looking at a piece of history, something built with passion and precision. There’s nothing just okay about it.”

His eyes sparkled with excitement as he turned back to the car, already envisioning the work he would do. To him, this wasn’t just a car—it was a labor of love, a chance to bring a piece of history back to life.

"Jimmy," you sighed, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head against his chest. "I’m just not as into cars as you are."

He felt himself soften at your touch, almost melting into your embrace. But before he could fully surrender to the warmth of your hug, he let out another amused snort. With a gentle hand, he lifted your chin, tilting your face up toward him so your eyes met.

"You’re hopeless," he teased, his tone light and playful. He leaned down and pressed a quick, affectionate kiss to your forehead, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"At least tell me I’m more beautiful than this car," you quipped, your voice laced with a hint of mock seriousness.

He chuckled softly, his hand moving to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly over your skin. His eyes, a deep and vibrant blue, gazed into yours with a warmth that melted your insides. They were filled with soft, gentle affection, a look reserved only for you.

"Oh, doll," he murmured, his voice full of sincerity. "You’re way more beautiful than this car. You’re more beautiful than anything in this world."

You smiled when your lips connected in a soft kiss. Every time he was around you, it felt like fireworks were exploding in your stomach, a rush of excitement that never faded. The sensation of your skin against his, the softness of your form wrapped in his embrace, and the subtle, enchanting scent of your hair—it was all intoxicating. You were his personal addiction, a perfect drug he couldn’t get enough of, and each touch, each kiss only deepening his need for you.

“So…” he murmured, reluctantly pulling away just enough to rest his chin on your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck, “…what color should we make this car?”

A playful grin spread across your face. “Pink.”

Anakin chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest although something changed in his expression, “Pink? Really? Not red, orange, or yellow, but pink?”

“Why not?” you shot back with a teasing glint in your eyes.

"It's just… wrong on so many levels. Sorry, baby, but this is not a damn Barbie car," he muttered with a shudder, a grimace twisting his features as if the very thought of turning a classic car pink physically pained him.

"But it'd be pretty," you replied with a sweet smile, undeterred.

He stared at you, still processing the idea that you seriously wanted to paint this car pink. His mind struggled to reconcile the vision of a tough, masculine machine with the image of it decked out in pastel colors.

"This car is supposed to be badass," he said, his tone laced with disbelief. "A tough, masculine car. And you just… want to paint it pink?"

You bit your lip, holding back a laugh, and then smiled up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "A cute, baby pink shade… with glitter and jewels."

His soul practically left his body as you listed all the things you wanted to do to the car. He couldn’t believe you wanted to turn a classic, vintage masterpiece into something straight out of a fairytale.

“Are you kidding me? This is a vintage car, baby, and you want to make it sparkle like some kind of princess carriage?” he pleaded, his voice heavy with disbelief. He let out a long, weary sigh, already feeling the inevitable pull of giving in to your whims. Was he really going to agree to this just because he was hopelessly in love with you and couldn’t bear to see you anything but happy?

“Oh, please!” you chimed in, your tone sweet and persuasive.

He looked at you, a pout forming on his lips, his heart caught in the tug-of-war between his love for the car and his love for you. The way you didn’t quite grasp his distress—and the way you so innocently asked for a pink car—left him unable to say "no" outright.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, y’know that?” he grumbled, running a hand through his hair in exasperation.

Your innocent smile only widened, the sparkle in your eyes growing brighter.

He just stood there for a moment, staring at you, trying to find the strength to resist. But finally, he let out a sigh so deep it almost sounded like a defeated groan.

“i am not going to spend hours trying to make this car look decent in freaking pink,” he muttered, shaking his head. “And I swear to god, if you even mention glitter or jewels one more time, I’ll lock you in this workshop and won’t even think about letting you out.”

“Now that’s rude,” you pouted, crossing your arms

James mirrored your stance, crossing his arms over his chest as well, his gaze fixed intently on you. He raised an eyebrow, feigning annoyance, though the small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him.

“Oh, and it’s not rude to demand that I paint this car in the most atrocious color and slap glitter on it?” he shot back, his voice dripping with mock indignation.

“If not this car, then another one? Pretty please?” you countered, your tone softening as you tilted your head and gave him those puppy-dog eyes that always seemed to work like magic.

He let out another sigh, the kind that hinted at resignation, but there was no hiding the fond smile that crept onto his lips. You knew he could never resist when you looked at him like that, with those wide, pleading eyes and that sweet, hopeful tone. It was his kryptonite.

“Which other one then?” he murmured, his voice softening as his resolve melted away completely.

James Kelly who loves to show off his work to you since he feels like you're really proud of him

James Kelly who's your one and only engineering. If anything is broken, you call Anakin. If anything needs repair, you call Anakin. If you have to put new furniture together, you call Anakin

James Kelly whose protective nature extends to ensuring your safety. He would always check your car to make sure it’s in perfect condition;

“jimmy, the last time you checked my car was three days ago. Nothing has happened since that day” you said, watching as he anxiously inspected your car, determined to ensure it was in perfect condition.

He straightened up, his expression serious as he leaned against the car with his arms crossed. His eyes held a flicker of concern, betraying the worry he tried to hide.

“You can never be too sure,” he replied firmly, though it was evident he was slightly exaggerating. He ran a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it as he sighed with frustration.

“I just want you to be safe, you know? Let me take care of the car and make sure nothing happens to you,” he muttered, each word underscoring his deep protectiveness.

“You make me think about riding a bike,” you said, rolling your eyes at his overprotectiveness.

“You’d look hot on a bike,” he responded with a wide smirk, his blue eyes locking onto yours with playful admiration.

“Oh, stop. Just—check the car and let’s go,” you said, trying to cut off the conversation.

“Sure, my lady"

James Kelly ho loved to test his motorcycles he fixed;

James had just finished working on the engine of the motorcycle, his hands smeared with grease and oil stains. He wiped them on a dirty cloth, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. There was something about being surrounded by machines that made him feel like a kid again—pure, unbridled joy bubbling up inside him. His eyes traveled to the shiny, black motorcycle, admiring the way the lights danced across the gleaming metal. His body buzzed with excitement at the thought of taking it for a spin.

“Now, it’s for your safety,” he said firmly, as he carefully placed a helmet on your head. “I’m not risking your health nor your life.”

The very idea of something going wrong on the ride—the possibility of an accident—sent a wave of anxiety crashing through him. His stomach tightened, and his heart clenched with worry. He couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to you, not when you meant everything to him. So, even if you were just sitting behind him, he wanted to make sure you were as safe as possible.

He swung his leg over the seat, straddling the motorcycle with practiced ease, and settled in comfortably. With a quick flick of his wrist, he started the engine, the loud, roaring rumble filling the air and sending a powerful vibration through his entire body. “Hop in, pretty girl,” he called out over the noise.

You climbed on behind him, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist. The moment he felt your body pressed against his back, and your arms encircling him, a sense of contentment washed over him. The warmth of your breath against the back of his neck sent a shiver down his spine. It was one of the best feelings in the world—having you right there with him, close enough that he could reach out and touch you whenever he wanted.

“now hold on tight, doll,” he shouted over the roar of the engine, his voice laced with excitement, as he revved the motorcycle, ready to take off on the open road.

James Kelly who has little rituals that revolve around his work and you. For example, he would always start his day with a quick text to check in on you, and end it with a call to check if youre alright or just to hear your voice

James Kelly who made matching necklaces for both of you

James Kelly who's a big dog person. He'd very often stop by to stroke local dog (if it doesn't have an owner by itself) or gives food if some are wandering around his workplace

James Kelly who used, to your dissatisfaction, shower gel 3 in 1..and even if you've bought him more suitable and better shampoo, he had never used it due to his opinion that 'his shampoo is better and costs less'

James Kelly who had become completely devoted to you, giving all his attention and heart to you. He would do anything to see a smile on your lips and a sparkle in those beautiful eyes of yours. He'd do anything to make you happy, no matter what's the cost. He'd even go against everything and everyone for you if he'd have to

James Kelly who definitely talks you through it

James Kelly who loves to make love to you (obviously) however he, as much as adores sex in bed, he also likes the thrill of making it in the empty workshop..;

"someone could see us" you - tried to - say between moans, your cheeks flushed pink while you held onto James' arms

As often as he does, James ignores your concern, his eyes locked onto yours as he continues to pound into you with no care in the surroundings. "Shh, just let go, sweetheart. No one's around. We're alone out here". he grabs your hips and starts slamming into you harder, the car hood creaking beneath you.

His breath hitches as he feels your nails digging into his skin, his thrusts becoming even more frantic. He almost takes as his goal to hit this sweet spot of yours like he always does. He leans forward, his forehead pressing against your neck as he speaks in a rough, desperate voice. "Yeah..just like that baby..gonna mark this car with your little pretty body..and--oh god--" he groaned after feeling your walls clench and hug him so deliciously "when we're done..whenever I'll look at this car I'll just see your pretty face, those beautiful legs all spread out and waiting for me--"

James Kelly who has a habit to just have you in his lap, while your naked, and play with your breasts. Enamoured by your deliciously perfect taste, he can't help but trace the puffy skin to delicately spread his saliva all over your nipple before taking it back again for the hundreds of time to his mouth, as if almost worshipping your flavour

James Kelly who would definitely finger you while watching TV;

"So wet for me, baby" his fingers glide over your folds, spreading your slickness around in slow, teasing strokes. "Do you want me to touch you here?" his voice rumbled against your ear

"mhm--"

His grin widens, and he slowly slides one finger inside you, his touch gentle yet firm. "Just one to start, alright baby?" He begins to slowly move his finger in and out, his thumb circling your nub. "You're so tight...you like that? Just one finger?"

He tuts disapprovingly to your nod, slowing down his touch although his tone turns into chiming-mocking. "Eyes on the screen, love". He punctuates his words with a slow thrust of his finger "Good girl.." he praised after seeing you submit to him and to give you a prize, he sped up his touch once more, adding another finger and curving them inward to hit that spot. His actions elicited more gasps and moans from your mouth

"Shh, baby...quiet now". He adds a third finger, scissoring them inside you as he rubs your clit with his thumb. "Gotta hear the dialogue..." He whispered directly to your ear

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @ysrjune (sad about her not being her anymore..) @divineani @erosmutt @haydensprettyprincess @mistress-amidala @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker

(if you want to be removed or added then don't be shy and let me know 💋)

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asgardianechoes · 28 days ago

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It’s Nice to Have a Friend

Loki x Reader Slight Angst + Fluff

Summary: Loki is imprisoned for life, and you, his childhood friend, decide to visit him.

Inspired by the song It’s Nice to Have a Friend by Taylor Swift.

Note: It’s written in third person, and the pronouns at the beginning are she/her. It switches to the pronoun you after a while.

Word Count: 1.6k

Pacing around in his small cell, Loki was seething. His head still couldn’t get around what had happened to him. Imprisoned for life. How? How could Odin dare? Well, he thought miserably, staring into the opposite cell, I suppose he did always favor Thor. The thought stabbed him deep in the heart. He was always shoved aside. Always second. Always alone.

The thought of staying in this small, public yet private area for the rest of his four thousand years of living was painful. He didn’t want to stay here. Why didn’t his mother do anything? Bringing him books was nice, he supposed, but wouldn’t she try to save him, at the very least? Because she’s not… his thought trailed off. He couldn’t bring himself to think that. He loved her. He truly did.

It was the middle of the night, he could sense it, even if the dungeon was underground and had no windows. A distant patter of someone scurrying across the landing caught his attention. Man, it was hard, trying to fall asleep under these blazing lights. He swung his legs off the bed with little enthusiasm, sighed deeply, and walked towards the large window that exposed him to everyone who looked.

He wasn’t surprised when he saw the veiled shadow walk hurriedly, as if wanting to get something over with. What totally normal was, because no one liked to be here anyways, prisoner or not. What did surprise him was the flash of [h/c] hair that flew behind them, her steps marching toward his cell. His cell. A flash of memory flew past in his head, remembering. No, it can’t be. She wouldn’t… not after this…

Once she came to a halt in front of his giant window, he put on a tragic version of his signature smirk. But of course. He should’ve known. It was just another person about to rant how bad of a person he was. Just another being, about to tell him just now terrible and unworthy he’d been. But the person in front of his cell did neither. After a while of silent staring, she took her cloak off, revealing the one person he’d wished not to see: you.

You looked at him with tragedy glowing in your eyes. You’d never wanted to see him there, never. You knew of his familial troubles, but never knew he’d take it this far. It hurt, to see him like this. Imprisoned and lost. With no one’s support.

His heart also skipped a beat. How long had it been since he’d seen you? He couldn’t remember. He only knew that it was a lot longer than he wanted it to be. He doesn’t enjoy hurting people, especially not you. You were the only friend he had as a child, and never turned away from him, even after knowing he was a Frost Giant. You didn’t care about what being he was. You cared only about him. You were his sole glimmer of light in his realm of darkness. You led him out of sadness and misery. But he betrayed you. He left you, without thinking twice. Or maybe he didn’t think at all.

‘Why are you here,’ he asked, his voice determined but with a slight hint of longing, ‘Have you come to gloat? To mock? You’re just like the others, aren’t you? Just here to see me break, to see me fall.’

You stared back into his blue eyes but doesn’t say anything. This certainly wasn’t what she expected him to say when she decided to visit him.

‘Well?’ he hissed, his voice laced with venom and a sliver of guilt, ‘Say something!’ His voice raised.

You merely looked back at him, looking away when he half yelled at her. Guilt filled his entire being. He couldn’t- Why was he-

When you glanced back, your eyes were shining with unshed tears. You opened your mouth, your voice about to break. ‘I came,’ you whispered hoarsely, ‘because I missed you.’

These words hit Loki with a pang. I missed you. They echoed in his head, awakening every nerve and bringing out all the guilt that he hid away. His breathing became ragged, shallow. Before he could properly react, however, you pressed on.

‘You were gone for a year, I thought… I thought… I thought I lost you,’ you said, tears falling freely from your eyes. Every bat of your eyelids poured more down, until they collected at your chin and dripped onto the dungeon floor. Shakily, she steps through the barrier and leaves very little space between them. She stared up at him with her [e/c] eyes.

‘I was so worried,’ she said, taking his hand in her own and pressing her forehead against his chest. ‘I missed you,’ she repeated, fully leaning into him, wrapping her arms around his waist. Oh, how you missed his scent, his clothes, everything. He had meant so much to you. How many nights you’d curl up in his old room and cry. How many times hearing his name brought you new tears.

Slowly, his head came around. Tears were welling up in his eyes, too. He loved you too… But would he ever be able to love you like he did before? Before… a feeling of regret washed over him. If only he didn’t let go. If only he didn’t fling himself off the Bifrost… then maybe everything would’ve been alright…

His arms crawled up your back, holding you close. The emotions flying around his head was making him dizzy, unsure of what to do. Only two words made it past his mouth: ‘Don’t go.’

It wasn’t just an order. It was a plea, only found in the most desperate people in the world. Now he understood what people meant when they said that the most hurt people smile the brightest. Because they know. They know that everything is over. That everything will finally be alright.

You hugged him tighter. ‘I won’t,’ you told him quietly, your words slightly muffled by his clothes, ‘I won’t leave you. Not ever. I’ll stay with you, even after you go to Valhalla.’

Loki’s tears fell down his cheeks, his heart swelling. How he’d missed this. How he’d missed your voice, your soft body pressed to his. The gratefulness he had in himself was barely describable through words. In that moment, he felt like the happiest man alive. He was so damn glad you were there. Always there.

‘I never meant to hurt you, or any of them,’ he said softly, one of his hands coming up to pat your head. You nodded, showing your agreement. ‘Why,’ he gulped as he pressed on, ‘why don’t you… hate me like the others?’ Your answer didn’t come late.

‘Because I know you better than they do. I know you didn’t mean it.’ Your voice was soothing, like the fireplace in winter. ‘I know you’d never do something like that. Never. I know that it was him that forced you.’

His heard clenched when you mentioned Thanos. ‘That madman…’ his voice quivered, ‘He tortured me to the brink of insanity. Took pleasure in watching me break.’ You pressed further into him. ‘I know,’ you repeated, ‘I know. And therefore I love you.’

His heart skipped a beat again. Looking down at you, he asked, his voice barely a whisper: ‘Do you know, or even have the slightest idea, what I’ve become?’

‘You’re the exact same as before, just… you know. Tortured and broken.’ You were uncertain when you said this. You knew he was sensitive on this topic. You knew him so well.

‘Do you know what I’ve done?’ he asked, his tone sinking drastically, as if he didn’t want to know the answer.

‘Well, yes.’ You replied again, trying to sound as reassuring as possible.

‘Do you know,’ he was fully shaking by now, ‘what monster lives inside me…?’

You lifted your head, staring into the depths of his eyes. The only things you found were sorrow, fear, and guilt. Choosing your words, you said:

‘Yes, and it’s a monster that was born out of darkness. And before that empty darkness, there was a heart, a source of light and warmth that lit up the whole place. You see, hearts need to be fed with love, otherwise they die away. That’s exactly what happened to yours.’ You traced your index finger over where his heart was, drawing a shaky breath out of him.

‘Without the heart, the place was submerged in darkness, and out of that darkness grew a monster. Something people despise. But all that it’s trying to do…’ you trailed off, bringing your hands off his waist to hold his, ‘is to not let anyone else grow a new heart in that blank, because it’s afraid that if it ever happens, it’ll be broken again.’ A second of silence reigned between you, your breathings heavy. Finally, he spoke.

‘Will you… grow me a new heart…?’ he asked, his eyes filled with plea, ‘Will you fill that unbearable blank?’

You answered without hesitation. ‘Yes, of course. And I’ll make sure it’ll never be broken ever again.’

Loki’s eyes glowed as you said this. It was as if someone had taken off the invisible weight weighing him down. He sighed in both relief and gratitude, bending down to kiss you. You returned his kiss, hungry for him.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered against your lips, his breath mixing with your own. ‘The pressure killed me. I couldn’t bear-‘ you shushed him, closing the distance between your lips once more. His heart lifted, rising up into his chest. It was just as you described. Your love and care made a new heart bloom in his chest.

‘I’m so damn glad I have you,’ he whispered again, his eyes closing, feeling you. ‘I must thank you. For everything. You made me feel… alive.’

You smiled. ‘But of course. It’s nice to have a friend, isn’t it?’

Hope you enjoyed it!

Tags: @vbecker10 @simplyholl @mischiefmaker615 @lokisgoodgirl

Tell me if you want to be in my taglist!

#loki #loki fanfiction #god of mischief #loki x reader #loki x reader angst #loki x you #loki marvel

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imsuperhungry · 2 months ago

Text

4 𝙖𝙢

entry 000

(yandere until dawn)

WARNINGS: Bullying, Mild Cussing, Death

WORD COUNT: 990

(9:37 ᴘᴍ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀʙɪɴ)

The cabin was warm, the fire gently melting away the cold, raw chill and replacing it with a sense of coziness and comfort.

The storm was intense, making it nearly impossible to see even a little ahead, with snow falling heavily all around.

Josh was slumped at the countertop, his head resting on his folded arms as he slept, an empty beer bottle loosely held in his limp hand. I sat beside him, scrolling through my phone, occasionally glancing over to make sure he was still breathing.

I was giggling at his snoring, while Mike, Jess, Emily, and the others stood around me in a circle. Jess had her head resting on my back, her arms wrapped around my belly.

They were talking about the prank they were about to pull, planning to fool Hannah into believing that Mike liked her, fully aware of her big crush on him.

"Oh my god, I can't believe you did this!" Emily whispered excitedly to Jess. She had been the most eager for this moment, especially since she was Mike's girlfriend and had a reputation for being petty.

"Don't you guys think this is a bit cruel?" Sam asked, clearly not too keen on the idea. It made sense, given that she and Hannah had been friends for a while.

"Oh come on, she deserves it." Jess said from behind me, I could basically hear her rolling her eyes.

"Its not her fault he has a huge crush on Mike-" Sam said trying to defend Hannah

"Hannah's been making moves on him, I'm just looking out for my girl Em." Jess said before directing her attention towards me. "Besides, (y/n) says it'll be okay, right?" She asks, causing me to hesitate.

Sure, it might be somewhat funny, but I've known Hannah, Beth, and Josh for five years now, and I don’t want to hurt any of them.

Still, my opinion didn’t seem to matter, as Jess pulled me up and walked me out of the kitchen and into the living room without waiting for my response.

Emily then starts skipping after us, following us into the room while still talking to Sam. "Just because he's class Prez doesn't mean he belongs to everyone... Mike is my man," she said with a grin.

Mike, trailing behind us, chimed in, "Hey, Em. I'm not anybody's man..." This made Emily giggle as she sang back, "Whatever you say, Darling~!"

We all ascended the creaky staircase and entered the spare bedroom, the scene of everything that was about to happen. Some of us crouched behind the door, while others squeezed into closets. Jess and Emily pulled me under the bed with them, both of them giggling. I could only sit there, hoping this wouldn’t hurt Hannah as much as I was imagining.

“Oh… she’s here! Shh!” Emily whispered as we heard footsteps approaching the room. Then everything went silent when they stopped.

Eventually, the door swung open, and we heard her voice. "Mike?" she said, peeking into the room and scanning the surroundings before spotting the person she was looking for. "It's Hannah," she added as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

"Hey, Hannah." he replied, staring intensely at her.

"I got your note," she said, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other, clearly uneasy about being in the room with him. She had always been a bit of a nervous girl.

"I'm glad you could make it." Mike said, grinning, although we all knew he wasn't smiling in Hannah's favor.

It was quiet for a moment; all I could hear was Emily and Jess's breathing on either side of me. Then Mike spoke up again, "Maybe we should start with a little, you know, making out, and see where it goes from there."

Hannah nodded, then began to untie her shirt, prompting Mike to exclaim, "Ohhhh hell yeah."

“Oh my God! She’s taking her shirt off!” Jess squealed, shaking me by the shoulders.

Hannah immediately started covering herself up and looked around, confused. "What!? Oh my God!". She heard Jess's voice.

Everybody then started coming out of there hiding spots, Hannah calls out again. "Matt? What are you doing here!?"

Matt was recording on his phone and everybody was staring at her. I remained under the bed, feeling too bad for Hannah to look at her.

Mike then attempted to apologize to Hannah and explain everything, but Sam opened the door and walked over to Hannah, trying to comfort her. "Hannah, hey, honey... Don’t... It’s just a..." But Hannah ignored her and stormed out of the room.

Sam then turns her attention to everybody else in the room. "You guys are jerks. You know that?" she says, "You even dragged (y/n) into this, knowing she and Hannah were close!" then she swings the door open and calls out Hannah's name, chasing after her.

An uncomfortable silence hung in the room, but eventually, everyone bolted out to chase after Sam and Hannah, leaving me still under the bed.

I tried to steady my breathing, but I was too worried about Hannah to think clearly. Gathering my composure, I crawled out from under the bed and followed the voices of the others, finding them all outside the cabin.

"What happened?" I asked Emily, noticing a figure running away from the cabin, unsure of who it was.

She informed me that Hannah had run into the woods, and then Beth followed her, trying to find her sister. I looked in the direction they had gone, but the thick snow made it impossible to see anything but trees and white.

I kept staring, hoping and praying that Hannah would be okay, even though I knew deep down that it was unlikely.

Mike then nudges my shoulder and asks me "Should we go after her?"

But Sam replies for me "Y'know I kinda think you're the LAST person she wants to see right now, Mike.", she's obviously annoyed.

They continued to chat among themselves, but I turned away from them and focused on Josh's figure, still sleeping on the countertop.

#yandere x reader #yanderes #multiple yandere #until dawn #untildawn #yandere until dawn #josh washington #beth washington #hannah washington #emily davis #jessica riley #matthew taylor

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rambleonwaywardson · 5 months ago

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Clegan Olympics AU - "Find Your Line"

Chronologically, this part comes before "The Paris Date." Catch up via this Masterpost if you're new here

AU Summary: Paris 2024 Olympics. Gale is on the U.S. equestrian eventing team, Bucky is a U.S. gymnast, they meet on the plane to Paris, and a love story ensues.

Author's Note: A deep dive into Gale's past. I totally didn't almost make myself cry writing this nope nope nope. Went from having no idea what I was doing with this installment to having it get away from me a bit.

TW for some mentions of abuse in Gale's past.

---

US Equestrian has launched several initiatives going into the Paris Olympics to increase interest in the sport, especially in younger generations. So when Gale, Benny, and Marge were all selected to the eventing and jumping teams, of course they capitalized on having young, attractive, charismatic riders representing USET. Gale has slowly gotten used to the attention he’s garnered in the horse world, but it came as a shock when he found himself being shoved into major newspaper interviews and morning shows ahead of the Games.

He never really wanted any of that. He didn’t grow up with daydreams of grandeur. Really, he grew up unsure he was ever going to make it anywhere at all. His only daydreams were about finding something better, whatever that may be. He didn’t ask to be thrust into the public eye or fawned over by young fans. He won’t complain too much, because he loves what he does and he's grateful every day for where he’s found himself.

But if you ask him, he’d rather skip the morning interviews in favor of getting an early start at the barn. That’s when he likes it the most, when it’s quiet. No one but the earliest grooms rustling about, checking on the horses and prepping morning feed. Nothing but the birds in the rafters and a breeze coming through the doors, the new morning sun stretching lazily down the aisle way.

The stables in the morning have always been Gale’s safe place. Ever since he was a child, it was his escape. It didn’t matter what happened within the walls of their little Wyoming farmhouse. In the morning, he could slip away into the old barn standing vigil behind their home, and he could hide among the horses, the angels watching over him. He’d talk to them like friends, run his hand down their soft noses and feel their hot breath puffing against his skin.

He took solace in methodically checking each of them over every day. He could breathe in the sweet scent of hay and horse without feeling the need to look over his shoulder. He’d wrap his arms around their necks and bury his face in their manes. Their ears would twitch back and forth, and they’d playfully nuzzle his hands while he spilled all of his secrets and fears. They let him hug them as tight as he needed to, and they happily absorbed every tear, every muffled sob. They were his protectors, and his greatest confidants.

When he was older, the horses granted him access to the wilderness beyond their homestead, sometimes even beyond the extensive reaches of their entire ranch. He’d pack a saddle bag and choose one of them to saddle up, sometimes the moment the sun rose, and he’d spend hours out in the countryside. He would disappear from the rest of his life, letting his horse carry the weight of the tiny, fragile world bearing down on his shoulders. He’d ride until he ran out of places to go, until he couldn’t feel anything but the beautiful universe breathing life back into his tired soul.

Even now, as an international eventer, he has days where the training isn’t speaking to him the same way. Days when he’ll revisit his childhood in the mountains, saddle up one of his horses and take them out on the trails instead of riding in the arena. Days when no one knows where Gale Cleven went, because he expressly does not want to be found. He still has days where he’d like nothing more than to gallop bareback through a field, a cowboy hat shielding his face from the hot sun. Nothing but him and his horse and the Earth beneath their feet, a breath of fresh air that reminds him of why he’s here.

Horses have always been his safety, no matter the discipline or the breed or where on this Earth he lives. The barn has always welcomed him into its arms, sheltering him when there was nowhere else.

But growing up, it always had to start in the morning.

Gale learned that the hard way, as he learned so many things growing up under his father’s heavy hand. He’ll never forget the day his dad stormed into the barn before sunrise, looking for his ‘disobedient son.’ Gale, half asleep, cowered in the corner of one of the stalls, hay stuck in his unruly hair and clinging to his pajamas. The previous evening had been bad, after Dad came home drunk, looking for a fight. The bruises bloomed quickly on Gale’s arms and chest, and he went to the only safe place he knew. He was eight years old.

But his dad found him in that stall, hiding behind his favorite little quarter horse mare, and he dragged Gale out by the neck. Angry at his son for wasting a perfectly good bed, choosing instead to sleep in a barn just to avoid him, he decided the bruises he’d administered eight hours before were no longer enough. “Ungrateful little shit,” he’d snarled as he shoved Gale to the ground. Gale remembers the silent tears on his own face and how they felt sticky as they mixed with the dirt on his cheeks; he’d learned not to cry out loud. He remembers the horses kicking at the walls and shrieking in the night, unable to protect him.

Gale’s father had always been at his most sane around the farm animals, almost a man that his son could look up to. Almost. But that night, not even the barn could keep the little boy safe. He never went out there at night again.

The only thing Gale is grateful to have inherited from his father is a love of horses. Ironically, his dad was the one to plop him in a saddle and teach him how to hold the reins in the first place. He taught him how to take care of these beautiful animals, even if he had no idea how to take care of a son. He taught Gale how to communicate with them, how to appreciate them and respect them. He taught him how to ride, how to rope, how to get back up no matter how many times he fell. They’d work the ranch together, side by side on the good days. Up at dawn and home at dusk, their legs sore by the end of the day from too much time in the saddle, arms tired from fixing fence or roping cattle, faces bronzed from the sun. His dad never even minded when Gale took a horse and disappeared into the wilderness, because “sometimes a man just needs to be alone in the mountains.” That was the language he spoke. The only language he spoke.

Gale’s dad unwittingly gave him his only ticket out, and it was the only thing they ever shared. It was the only time Gale ever felt close to him. Until his mom introduced him to English riding when he was 13 years old, dressage and jumping both. He fell in love with it immediately. Maybe it was the challenge, the beauty, the grace. Maybe he knew his father wouldn’t like it. Maybe he just wanted to be close to his mama.

“Find your line,” she would tell him, almost every time she watched him ride. Choosing the right line for a jump is critical, both in cross country and show jumping. If you come at an obstacle or combination wrong, it can set you up wrong for the next. He was never sure, though, if she was talking about the jumps, or about life.

His dad never supported his interest in dressage. Or eventing. Or English riding in general. He thought it was soft, prissy, feminine. He never seemed to mind Gale’s mom doing it. At least, he never said anything about it. But he said he raised his boy to be tougher than that. He taught him to rope cattle and ride in the mountains of the west, like a man (all things he continued to do until he left for college, mind you). He raised him to take over the ranch, like there was no other reason to bring a son into this world. He taught him how to rough it in the country. Not to prance around a ring in a cushy saddle and show coat with braids in his horse’s mane.

His father was ignorant. Gale knows that, now. But he long ago internalized the anger and the fear. He long ago came to terms with being a disappointment of a son. Too quiet, too shy, too smart, too stubborn. Too skinny, too sensitive, too pretty, too needy. Too much of a mama’s boy. Too little like his dad. Too ungrateful. Too opinionated. Too sassy. Too queer.

His dad always suspected Gale was gay, and he tried to beat that out of him. He tried to beat it all out of him.

Gale did it all, anyways.

The beatings got worse the older he got, the more Gale’s father realized that his son would never be the man he wanted him to be. By the time he was eighteen, there was no use hiding it. His dad asked him over dinner one night, right after he graduated from high school, why he didn’t ask Marge to marry him already. That’s what everyone expected him to do, even though he and Marge had called it off nearly six months before, when Marge realized she wasn’t what Gale wanted. He tried to tell his dad that they were just friends now, but his dad just pushed and pushed and pushed.

“She’s a lovely young lady… a shame to let her go… get your head on straight, boy… why the hell not?”

The rage boiled over. Maybe it was years of trying to keep his head down, trying not to talk back, trying to save himself even though it never even mattered. Or maybe it was because Gale knew he was leaving soon anyways. Might as well get it all out there. Might as well give it one last go. Why the hell not. He slammed his fork down, rattling the whole table. His mama knew what he was gonna say before he even opened his mouth, and she shook her head. He didn’t listen. “Because I don’t like girls!” he yelled. “I’m fuckin’ gay, dad! Okay! I’m gay. I’ve always been gay.”

That night was the only time his dad ever managed to put him in the hospital. Three broken ribs, a punctured lung, and a fractured wrist.

It broke his mama’s heart, but Gale spent the rest of the summer with Marge’s family, his best friend’s family, letting himself heal. And in the fall, the two of them got the hell out of Wyoming, headed for college on the east coast. He never said goodbye to his father.

For the first time, Gale thought he knew what Mama meant when she told him to find his line. He felt free in a way he’d only ever experienced alone in the mountains. Free to find his own path, his own life, his own self. He stumbled here and there, but he found his own stride. He worked his way through school on horse farms, rode for the university eventing team, and caught the attention of some well-known local trainers. With an unbreakable country-boy spirit and the delicate grace and patience of a well-trained dressage rider, he could do just about anything. Take on any horse they threw at him. Find the kindness in even the wildest prospects. He became known for his ability to connect with the horses, and for his natural talent in the saddle. People noticed. Neil Harding noticed, took him in, gave him a chance to thrive for the first time in his life. And Gale made damn sure he gave it his all.

Now here he is, standing in front of his horse’s stall in Paris. He wonders, if his dad were still around, if any part of him would be proud. He wonders if he’d finally understand. Gale thinks not.

“Hey there, baby girl.”

He walks into Whiskey’s stall, and she lifts her head in greeting, dropping grain all over the front of his shirt. Another day, another stain. He laughs and strokes the side of her face as she turns her attention back to her feed bucket. Gale used to get angry at himself for allowing thoughts of his father to intrude on this safe space he’d carved for himself in the world. But he’s older now. He’ll never forgive what his dad did to him; he’ll never forgive him for any of it. Not for a single blow or a single word. But it’s still a part of the story that landed him right here, and he wouldn’t trade this for anything.

Sometimes he still imagines his father’s voice, telling him how to pick a hoof or check for lameness or read a horse by the way they twitch their ears and angle their head. “She’ll tell you everything you need to know, if you know how to listen.”

Sometimes he feels those broad, callused hands guiding his own to feel for swelling or heat in an injured leg. And sometimes he feels those hands grabbing him roughly by the neck or pounding bruises into his ribs. Sometimes he hears that voice telling him what a disappointment he is, growling at him to stop bein’ so stubborn, stop bein’ such a goddamn fag, stop cryin’, stop talkin’, don’t you dare give me that attitude.

Gale smiles wryly at Whiskey as he smooths his hand along her back, listening to the swish of her tail and the sounds of her munching her grain. His perfect, dedicated, sassy young mare, who Harding had given him the chance to train so many years ago. “Such disappointments,” he says sarcastically. There’s a giant Olympic ribbon on the outside of Whiskey’s stall door that says otherwise.

Gale takes his time running his hands along Whiskey’s legs, feeling for anything abnormal. Kenny will do all of this over again when Gale leaves to walk the jump course. But personally ensuring his horse’s well-being is a habit from his childhood that he’ll never let go of.

He steps back, taking everything in. He’s at the Olympics, competing for the United States on a beautiful mare that he trained from the ground up. He’s the new face of the US Equestrian Team, and he’s damn proud of himself. He’s found himself a new family. He’s found himself a better life. Hell, he’s even found himself… John. Whatever John is to him.

He looks at Whiskey, then up at the rafters above. Sunshine is streaming in, and the air smells like hay, just like the little barn he grew up spending his days in. All these years, and tucked away in his horse’s stall is still the greatest sanctuary he’s ever found for himself. He smiles at the same time he feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes. For once, instead of his father’s voice, he hears his mama’s: “Find your line, Gale. You can be incredible. You already are.”

–

“You’re incredible!” That’s what Bucky will exclaim when he finds Gale after his ride that afternoon, dragging him into a tight hug. The words will hit like a ton of bricks, and Gale will have to keep himself from crying tears of joy and relief, and also of grief for the little boy he’d been, who overcame so much to get here. Bucky will never know what those words mean to him, unless Gale one day chooses to tell him.

Before that, though, they have a medal to win. Gale is the rising star of US Equestrian, but seeing as he’s only in his twenties, not everyone believes he can do this. Gale Cleven and Hundred Proof are going to prove them wrong.

They’re going to prove his father wrong.

The stands are packed, and a sea of red, white, and blue gets to their feet and cheers as they enter the arena. It’s filled with colorful jumps, all themed after France’s culture and history. A small Eiffel Tower at the side of an oxer here, a vertical made to look like the Arc de Triomphe there, countless jump poles painted in the colors of the French flag. The water jump is meant to look like the Grand Canal, with a miniature of Versailles at one end – somewhat ironic, since the arena is in front of Versailles itself. The jumps are arranged differently today than they were for the team event yesterday. Gale walked the course this morning, and he’s running through it in his head.

“For the United States, Gale Cleven and Hundred Proof.” When the announcer calls their names, Gale canters Whiskey in a small circle in the center of the arena. Time starts… now.

It takes them a moment to find their rhythm, but they manage the first few combinations without a hitch, Gale carefully counting their strides between each. They have a 90 degree turn coming up between one vertical and the water jump. During team finals, the mare didn’t get enough air time and splashed her back hoof into the water, earning them a penalty. Gale guides her through a wider turn today, even if it costs them a few tenths of a second, and he urges her to open up a couple of strides earlier. He feels her reach with everything she has, her hooves digging into the sandy footing before she takes off. She lands easily, just barely on the other side of the water, and they’re clear.

“Don’t turn her too tight. Let her have her head when she asks. Girl’s got scope, she’ll take care of you.” Harding’s words ring in his head. As one of the team USA coaches and the first big name to give Gale a chance, he’s been the greatest key player in getting them here today. He’s carefully guided Gale through the good and the bad, and he knows the habits and capabilities of horse and rider both.

Sure enough, there’s a hairpin turn from one jump to the next, and Gale takes it too tight. He can’t help but wince as Whiskey loses her rhythm just as they’re lining up for the next jump, having to slow down with a single trot step breaking their stride before he picks her back up. He’s worried he’s screwed them over, but Whiskey adjusts her stride length and pulls at the reins, asking for her head. He gives her the space and pushes her on, trusting her to get them through this. She does it, sailing over the vertical without so much as clipping the pole.

Find your line.

A triple combination is all that’s left, and they take it by storm. As they land on the other side, Gale covers his mouth with one hand, overcome with emotion, before raising his fist in the air. He looks at the time on the giant clock over the arena entrance. 81 seconds – three seconds under the optimum time – and no penalties. The roar of the crowd makes him feel like he’s going in slow motion, and he knows they know. He and Whiskey are going home with an individual medal.

You can be incredible. You already are.

–

There’s a pretty new ribbon hanging outside Whiskey’s stall, right next to the first. Nine years old, and she’s already a superstar. All she wants, though, are the treats in Gale’s pocket. He obliges happily.

Alone in the stall save for the horse, Bucky doesn’t bother tamping down the urge to kiss Gale silly. He pulls him close, presses their lips together, and cards his fingers through sweat-drenched hair. Gale makes a huffing noise somewhere between a laugh and a moan, and Bucky can feel him smiling against his lips. The sweetness of it makes Bucky’s heart stutter all funny, makes his whole body go weak with a feeling he increasingly thinks might be akin to love, or something like it. He’s not sure he would know.

It’s kind of funny: sometimes, over time, the words you find yourself using to describe someone pop up like clues in a treasure hunt. You don’t even notice at first, but slowly they come together, pieces of a puzzle, leading you towards one bigger picture – you love this person. You love them more than anything.

When Bucky first met Gale, he thought he was beautiful. Hot. Attractive. Handsome.

And then there was cute, angelic, adorable.

Caring, loving, dedicated, driven, smart, ambitious, strong.

Perfect.

Today, there’s “sweet.”

The more Bucky gets to know Gale, the more he wants to know. He wants to know everything. He wants to breathe Gale in and hold him close and never let go and give him everything he’s ever wanted.

After Bucky’s sister died, he spent years pushing the idea of love away, being too scared to let someone get close to him for fear of feeling pain like that again. Now, though, he feels his resolve breaking bit by bit, cracks forming every time Gale sends a barely-there smile his way, or seeks him out in a crowd, or reaches for his hand. Bucky doesn’t know if he’s ready for it, but the world doesn’t care. The world sent Gale Cleven to him like some sort of divine prophecy telling him “it’s time to let go,” and Bucky thinks maybe, just maybe, he wants to listen. He wants to relearn what it is to love someone. He wants to feel it. He wants it so bad.

But it scares him too much.

So he focuses on the now, brushing the existential crisis aside in favor of what he does know: he has a beautiful man right here in his arms. Everything else can wait. He matches Gale’s smile, their noses bumping as Bucky grips Gale’s waist. “You look so good in these, you know that?”

Gale glances down at himself. He can’t say if his cheeks are warm from the heat or from something else. He removed his coat already, leaving him, once again, in a sweat-soaked white shirt tucked neatly into white riding pants that perfectly outline his legs and ass, a black belt calling attention to his waist. “Do I?”

Bucky nods and rests his forehead against Gale’s as he tugs him even closer, if that’s possible. “So fuckin’ good, Buck.”

Yeah, Gale is definitely blushing now. Point, Bucky.

“You’d look even better without them.”

Gale laughs awkwardly, tiredly, even as he finds his hands wandering up Bucky’s sides, coming to rest on his muscular back. “There’s nothin’ sexy about tryin’ to peel off skin tight riding pants when I’m drenched in sweat.”

“Sounds like a challenge.”

“Trust me, not one you wanna take on.”

“Try me.”

“I smell like shit.”

“I didn’t care before, I don’t care now.”

Gale bites his lip and shakes his head. He feels his general state of awareness fading in and out. One second, he’s all too conscious of the fact that they’re in a fancy-ass Parisian barn swarming with grooms and riders, nothing but a stall and a conveniently placed, very tall horse blocking anyone else’s view. The next, he’s filled with want and longing as Bucky nips playfully at his neck. And yet the next, the high of his Olympic win is giving way to exhaustion, fatigue falling over him in waves, his back aching. There’s a sharp pain every time he breathes too deeply. He feels like he can barely keep his eyes open, and Bucky feels so solid and warm, his strong hands perhaps the only thing keeping Gale on his feet.

When Gale barely reacts to his teasing words, Bucky pulls away to look at him and tilts his head. The newest Olympic silver medalist blinks tiredly and raises an eyebrow in question. Bucky smiles, reaching a hand up to stroke the sweaty hair back away from Gale’s face. Then he puts his hand on the back of Gale’s head once again and urges him to rest against his shoulder. Gale sighs, letting himself relax, and Bucky feels that heart-stuttering, stomach-fluttering, suspiciously love-like feeling again.

Marge told him, the other day, that Gale has never been good at letting others take care of him. Too stubborn and independent for his own good.

And yet here he is, letting his guard down. Letting Bucky take his weight. Letting Bucky take care of him.

“Let’s get back to the village,” Bucky says, and Gale nods against his shoulder.

Back in Gale’s bedroom, Bucky waits for him to shower. Gale had been right: even not sweaty, breeches seemed like a bitch to get off, and Bucky is kind of glad Gale didn’t let him help with that. He neatly folds the discarded riding clothes, even though he’s sure they’re heading straight for one of the laundry facilities in the Village. Then finding himself with nothing to do but idly scroll his phone, he can’t help but glance around the bare-bones room. It’s just like his own, plain and minimal. But he notices a book on Gale’s bedside table, the corner of a piece of paper sticking out from the middle. After a few moments, curiosity wins out and Bucky grabs the book, flipping it open.

Tucked between well-worn pages, he finds an old, faded photograph, the flimsy corners creased with white from a lifetime of being kept close. In the picture, there’s a young boy with shaggy blonde hair and a bright smile. He’s sitting on top of an unimpressed-looking pony, a blue ribbon hooked to the bridle. A beautiful woman stands beside them, her hand reaching up to press against the boy’s back. She’s laughing, her smile a mirror image of the one Bucky has seen on Gale’s face time and again, a mirror image of this little boy’s. Bucky flips over the picture. There’s four words scrawled across the back in loopy, feminine handwriting: “Find your line. -Mama.”

When he hears the shower stop running, he carefully replaces the picture and the book back on the nightstand. Moments later, Gale walks out of the bathroom, completely naked and rubbing a towel over his hair until he looks like a disheveled hedgehog. Bucky could grab him by the waist, make him drop that towel and put his hands on him instead, but he doesn’t. He just watches as Gale, wincing, leans over to grab some sweatpants from the drawers by his bed.

Bucky frowns as Gale pulls the pants up, letting them rest low on his hips in a way that would make Bucky’s mouth go dry if he weren’t concerned about something else. “Your back okay?”

Gale shrugs and goes about combing his fingers through his hair, trying halfheartedly to tame it.

“Buck.”

“Hurts a bit,” Gale mutters. He takes a deep breath in as he sits down on the edge of the bed, biting back a groan. “...More than a bit.”

Bucky’s frown deepens as he studies Gale closely, watching the way the other man scrunches his nose in discomfort and tries to arch his back forward in a noncommittal stretch. “Alright, lay down.”

Gale furrows his brow, starting to shake his head, but Bucky won’t take no for an answer. He turns and motions to the rest of the bed behind them. “You heard me. On your front.”

Skeptically, Gale does as he’s told, settling on his stomach with his cheek pressed against his pillow. He tenses when he feels Bucky straddling him, knees planted firmly on either side of his waist. Then there’s warm, strong hands on his bare skin, still dotted with drops of water, and he lets himself melt into the mattress.

“Bet these beds aren’t so great for back pain, huh?” Bucky asks as he starts carefully pressing his thumbs into the absurdly tight muscles on either side of Gale’s spine.

“Mmm.” That’s all Gale can manage as he bites his lip, trying to keep from flinching when the pressure hurts so bad and yet feels so good at the same time. He moans quietly when Bucky finds that one specific knot in his mid-back, the one that twinges every single time he takes a deep breath and gets worse when he has to do too much jumping for too many days in a row.

Bucky hones in on that spot, trying to work the tension out in the most amazingly unbearable way, making Gale gasp and clench his teeth. “Told you I’d return the favor,” Bucky says.

Gale tries to nod, but he finds he can’t. He doesn’t say anything, just focuses on the way Bucky’s hands work their way up and down his back, somehow finding every troublesome spot – which is everywhere, really. Gale sometimes jokes that his back is practically made of scar tissue after everything it’s been through, and Bucky isn’t sure he’d disagree. He thought he was tight, but he wonders how Gale even functions in this condition, much less rides horses at peak performance nearly every day. Nearly every muscle from his neck to the base of his spine is laced with tension.

“Horses make you tough,” Gale mumbles, like he can read Bucky’s mind. “Don’t usually notice the pain ‘til I’m home.”

Bucky knows a little something about that. He shifts his attention to the inward curve of Gale’s lower back, where the muscles often take the most daily strain. He works his thumbs up and down, in and out, finding nothing but knots that refuse to let go without a good fight. “Have you been this tight all week?”

Gale shrugs but doesn’t say a word. He’s struggling to keep his eyes open, so he stops trying. Bucky shakes his head. “Coulda said somethin’.” If he’d known, he would’ve done this sooner. Hell, he would’ve done it every night if that’s what Gale needed.

About a minute later, though, he notices that Gale’s breaths have become deeper and more measured, no longer hitching when Bucky hits a new sore spot. Bucky stops massaging, hoping he’s at least made a dent in the tension that Gale has been carting around, and he presses his hands flat against Gale’s back. He leans forward so he can see the other man’s face, and he finds that his eyes are peacefully closed, his lips parted with one hand curled in a fist under his chin. Blonde hair, a little dark and not quite dry, falls messily over his forehead.

A literal fucking angel. That’s what he’d told Curt after he first met Gale on their flight into Paris, but the description has just taken on new meaning. The pure, unfiltered adoration swelling in Bucky’s chest as he watches Gale drift off will be the death of him.

“Buck?” He says softly. “You still with me?” He reaches a hand up and strokes his still-damp hair.

Gale’s eyes flutter open at the warm cadence of Bucky’s voice. Bucky’s hand stills, but Gale tilts his head up, trying vaguely to press into the touch. Bucky obediently resumes petting his hair.

Satisfied, the corner of Gale’s mouth curves up in a small, unguarded smile, but he hides it against his fist.

He’s an Olympian. He’s an Olympic medalist. A beautiful, wonderful, perfectly lovely guy (who Gale is falling a little in love with) is giving him a massage in his bedroom at the Paris Olympics. If he wasn’t so worn out, he’d tell Bucky to pinch him, sure he has to be dreaming. A tired little laugh bubbles out of him before he lets his eyes close again.

Bucky chuckles, shaking his head in amusement and confusion. “What?”

Gale’s answer doesn’t really clear anything up, but it’s the only thing Bucky can get out of him before he’s sound asleep, that precious smile still teasing at his lips.

“I found my line.”

…

Next part

#i'm normal about them i swear #“I found my line” I'm sobbing #Gale deserves the world #clegan olympics au #clegan #masters of the air #mota #john egan #gale cleven #buck x bucky #clegan fic #olympics au #tw: abuse

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princelylove · 1 year ago

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Hi, accidentally stumble in your blog~ I love yandere jojo contents too so I hope to see your content about it :D

I don't know what to request yet but maybe we can talk about type of yandere. What is your favorite type of yandere? Mine is delusion or simp yandere (what characters in jojo you think they will be in this category btw)

Delusional types are adorable to me. There’s just something so charming about someone who’s so bent on being together that their brain skips the entire courting process and goes right into “We’re dating. No actually we’re married and have been married since forever and even our past lives were married. You belong to me what do you mean I have to stop calling for fifteen days.” I think my favored type is protective, but delusionals are too cute to pass on. As for those I think are delusional or simps, off the top of my head…

I’d also argue that Mista’s the type to simp, he’s pretty sure he’ll die if you carry your own shopping bags, but he doesn’t strike me as delusional. Love’s gotta be real to him, you know? He’s the kind of guy that can take a maybe, hell, even a hard no! He knows how to back off, but he’s just gonna keep watch from over here if that’s cool with you. I mean, come on, what kinda “friend” would he be if he let you open your own doors or pay for your own meal? He’s got a job, it’s totally on him! Don’t even think about trying to step over that puddle yourself, he’s already got you up by your legs to carry you across. He’s pretty strong, isn’t he? Oh, he’d die a happy man if you praised him for something like that. He’s like a dog whose tail just won’t stop wagging. You’re his everything, why wouldn’t he try to do things for you all the time? That isn’t weird, don’t shove him into the same category as creepy guys who never give up! It’s like typical hollywood stuff, you know? Romanticism or whatever!

You know who’s fully delusional, though? I say this with lots of love, but Diego. He just cannot fathom the idea of someone rejecting him, I mean, what’s wrong with him? He’s the prince of the british horseracing world, how DARE you reject him??? There’s absolutely nothing wrong with him, don’t play hard to get with him of all people! You should be begging for his attention, not the other way around, but here we are. Diego fully believes that you were made for him, you just don’t understand the gravity (I do think I’m funny for this wordplay) of the situation yet. No matter what happens, you’re always going to be his. As long as he’s got it in his head that you’re more of an object than a real person who has thoughts and feelings like he does, he’s not really going to care about your ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Look, pigeons are just meant to be led, and he’s already somewhat fond of you, so just let him have what he wants. I’m firmly of the belief that if you ever flat out rejected him, he’d just think you were unwell and needed him even more. Be good for him, he doesn’t have the time to play this silly little game of cat and mouse with you right now.

Joseph is another “You can’t play hard to get forever!” type to me, honestly. He’s persistent like a bloodhound, and is going to get in the way of whatever lover or relationship you’ve got going on right now no matter what. He called dibs on you, so, it’s totally fair. He’ll show up to your apartment or house and completely ignore his training if it means getting just a glimpse of you. So what if he’s got a ring in his throat, he wants to put a ring on your finger! Joseph goes the extra mile for you- literally. If you were to move out of town, he’d walk all the way to your new place if he had to. Joseph won’t be deterred so easily. You just wanted him to get some exercise, right, babe? That’s so thoughtful of you! It makes his day when you look his way, especially if you actually catch him showing off with his training. If you were to actually talk to him, or god forbid compliment him, he’d be reeling for a week. He trails behind you on your errands, taking notes mentally of where you go and what you get. One day he’ll know it by heart, and then you won’t even have to go on errands anymore! Unless you want to go with him, that is. Then he’s totally down for a little couple’s day out. Joseph will buy you whatever you want as long as he gets his fix in. Let him put his head on your lap and just stare, and he’ll be thrilled. I don’t necessarily believe that Joseph would kidnap you if you broke his fantasy too many times, but you’re definitely going to start losing a lot of personal time. It doesn’t matter how he got into your apartment, he made dinner. Haha, ok, you caught him. He ordered dinner.

I think it’s fairly obvious to say that Yukako is delusional. She has a warped sense of reality. Her crimes really don’t matter to her because she’s making up for it. Look, look, she cooked for you. Stop trying to go for the door or the window. Yukako loves you, so you’re going to be perfect for her, and you’re going to be perfect together. She’s firm about never leaving your side even though she’s already got you all to herself. She sees nothing wrong with skipping dating and going right to locking you up if she thinks you need her for something. You’re failing at that cooking class that school made you take despite your pleas not to? She can do that. You’re awful with directions? She knows every little corner of town. You actually don’t need her and are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself? Don’t talk like that. You need her. There’s absolutely no reason to deny her, so let’s do this the cutesy way she wants it.

#yandere jjba #yandere jjba x reader #yandere guido mista #yandere joseph joestar #yandere diego brando #yandere yukako yamagishi #yandere #tw objectification #request granted

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sdwolfpup · 1 year ago

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For the Festive Fic prompts, I'd love to see what you do with 14 or 17!

14. family invites a rival/enemy/the boss to a Christmas party/vacation

"What is she doing here?" Jaime hisses to Tyrion as they stand in the receiving line at their father's annual Christmas party. It's always an overblown affair: everyone dressed up like they're about to meet the Queen, the abuse of gold-plated decorations, the persistent jazzy Christmas music soundtrack, and dear god the garlands. It's like a forest exploded all through the house.

Normally, Jaime finds the whole thing tedious and boring and he and Tyrion skip out halfway through to go get drunk on Tywin's most expensive liquor that gets trickier to find every year. The old man hasn't outwitted them on hiding places yet, but it was a near thing last year.

Jaime expects this year to be different, though, because there, large as life, is Brienne Tarth hovering at the end of the receiving line, her hulking shoulders hunched, the austere black of whatever dress she's wearing doing her no favors. She looks like she's at a funeral, not a Christmas party.

Which would suit the dour, frustratingly stubborn woman that is his primary rival in the world of high-end real estate.

"I can't see who you mean but based on the venom in your tone, I suspect you mean Ms. Tarth," Tyrion drawls. "She's here because Father invited her."

"What?" Jaime turns on his brother, completely ignoring the councilmember just holding his hand out to be shaken. "Why?"

Tyrion takes the councilman's empty hand and pumps it aggressively, wishing him a Merry Christmas before turning back to Jaime. "Because he wants to hire her," he says like Jaime's being especially obtuse.

Jaime stares at the woman creeping closer in the line. "But she works for the Starks. She hates us."

"She hates you," Tyrion says cheerfully, taking over for Jaime as he ignores two more people in line to glare at Brienne. "The rest of us she's neutral about."

Jaime scoffs. "That's only because she hasn't met you yet."

Tyrion kisses the hand of a woman and Jaime watches her laugh prettily. His brother lifts his brow smugly. "I'm very charming, Jaime. I'll bet you a case of that scotch we had last year that I can get her to be my friend before you."

The music dips for a moment and Jaime hears Brienne saying, "Merry Christmas" to one of the many Lannister Realty employees down the line from him. Her voice is soft and almost sweet--nothing like she sounds whenever he has the misfortune of talking with her.

"I'm not taking that bet. She'd befriend you just to spite me," he grouses. He shakes a few more hands without really seeing any of the people in front of him, too busy keeping an eye on Brienne's progress as she makes her way.

He can tell the moment she notices him in line, because all of the ease and shyness drains out of her and she straightens, lifting her head like a bear that's just spotted a threat.

Good, he thinks, meeting her gaze with a cool smile. Best she know what's waiting for her if she's considering this.

Jaime's flooded with anxious energy waiting for the line to hurry and deposit her before him and then it finally does. Up close, the black dress turns out to be shorter than he'd thought, and her very long legs stick out of it thick trunks. Her arms and shoulders--her best features, in his opinion--are covered, but an alarmingly broad swatch of her pale, freckled chest is bare except for a jeweled, golden sword hanging from a delicate necklace chain. It looks incongruous, the fragility of the links against the ropey tendons of her neck, like a trail of kisses against her skin.

Jaime blinks and jerks back. "Tarth," he greets her, folding his hands behind his back. "Did you get lost on the way to the Stark holiday party? Or are you hoping to actually enjoy expensive food at a work function for once?"

She grimaces, a familiar look on her wide face. "Lannister." She shoves her hand out at him as though a parent is standing behind her and forcing her to do so. He looks down at it, the wide span of her palm, the mountainous knuckles, and marvels again this woman is as successful a realtor as he is when he looks like he does and she looks like this.

Her hand hangs between them for a long moment before he finally takes it, feels the sting as she squeezes more than is polite. He hides a grunt and squeezes back, enjoys the way her eyes narrow and she puts even more strength into it, a vise slowly crushing the bones of his hand. He returns it, the two of them locked in an escalating battle of pain until Tyrion clears his throat.

"If you two are done trying to rip each others hands off, you're holding up the line." He sounds richly amused and Jaime realizes that the line has bunched up behind Brienne and there's a large space between her and the people ahead of her now.

She yanks her hand away and Jaime is oddly delighted by the stripes of red that flood over her cheeks like fingerpaint. He's less delighted by the way his hand is throbbing. He sees her flex her hand at her side and hopes he gave as good as he got, because he's convinced he'll have bruises in the morning.

"Enjoy the party, Tarth," Jaime tells her as she hurriedly shakes Tyrion's hand and mumbles Christmas wishes. "I don't expect you'll be invited back next year."

Her eyes skate back to him, blue and cold as the ice in the middle of a glacier. "That's because I'll be in the receiving line ahead of you."

Tyrion hoots with laughter because the best realtor gets the dubious honor of being here at the end of the line nearest Tywin and the leadership team.

Brienne's already hurried too far to make a comeback worth it, or even audible, and Jaime swears he won't have a single drink tonight until he's driven Brienne Tarth from the grounds, or at least from his father's perspective employment.

(Festive prompts here)

#jaime x brienne #my fic #festive prompts #asks answered #pearly--rose #this could have gone another 10k easily lol #have to stop somewhere #(spoiler alert: they end up fighting for best realtor and then fall in love and they stand there together next year bc they're engaged)#(the end)

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fixfoxnox · 2 years ago

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In The Dark

Description: Roach works a relatively calm job as a Park Ranger. At least calm until a series of odd events begin occurring during his shifts, all starting with a murder on one of the back roads and a pair of glowing eyes watching him from the trees.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Horror elements, gore, monsters/cryptids

Pairings: ghostroach (potential for ghostroachsoap later)

"There he is," Roach huffed, waving off Logan and Jackson as they laughed at him. "Late as usual."

"Oh fuck off," he walked around to the little computer system at the desk to clock in, "I'm like a minute after my time." He gave another huff but finished checking all of his information in, "Alright, you're free Logan."

"A minute after is still late," Jackson teased, leaning against his security desk with a bright grin, "Thats a minute when anything could have happened."

Roach rolled his eyes and turned away from his friend in favor of nodding to a grinning Logan, "Anything important?"

Logan shook his head, "Few cars in the park for stargazing and drive through, they've all been given the rules of no hiking or exiting their vehicles." He shrugged, "Everything looks calm currently."

"Well, let's hope it stays that way." Roach nodded to his friend and, with a quick goodbye Logan was heading out for the night, leaving Jackson and Roach alone. Roach took the time to pack his "lunch" away in one of the coolers from the kitchen as well as grab himself a few waters, chatting idly with Jackson as he did.

"Shit looks creepy tonight," Jackson flicked through a few of the cameras around the park, "You're a braver man than me."

"You're just a scaredy cat," Roach teased. He leaned over his shoulder to look at the various trail cameras that Jackson was monitoring. They'd set them up alongside the roads to better monitor things, which had worked out for Jackson who hated doing the nightly drive throughs. "Its just dark, you dork."

"Dark and creepy," Jackson shot back, "You can't see shit through there."

Roach gave a low chuckle and pushed himself away from his friend, "Well, lucky you get to stay here and monitor the cameras."

"This place is kinda creepy too," Jackson muttered. "I just want you to know," Jackson called as he grabbed his cooler and radio and headed for the door, "If I see some creepy shit on these cameras heading toward here? I'm gone. You're on your own bud."

"You tell me that every night," Roach pushed his way out of the front door.

As it closed behind him, he could hear Jackson call, "I just have to remind you so you don't haunt me if you die!"

Roach had never been afraid of the forrest. Not when he was a child, running out into the pitch darkness of the trees behind his house with only a tiny flashlight to guide his way. Not when he was a teenager and had to trek through the trails to try and find where one of his families chickens had gotten off to. Not now, when he was an adult and had focused his entire career around the forrest. Perhaps that was what made him such a good park ranger.

He knew the land well. He knew the forrest well. He'd never been scared of the almost overwhelming darkness of the night in the forrest like others did. He'd found a sort of beauty and peace in it. There was something calming about driving through the darkness down the winding roads of the park, watching out for people or animals or anything that needed his attention. The park felt like his home.

That was one of the reasons why he could tell immediately that something was off when he pulled onto one of the small side roads. The particular one that he was on rarely ever got used. Since it just went through the tree's rather than by any particular landmarks, most people avoided it. Roach always checked it though, he knew that because of how little it was used and the easy access to the woods, it would be a frequent place for poachers to try and use. He'd caught five different poachers over the current season, so he knew better than to skip it.

This night he knew that something was different. He could see the tire tracks on the ground from a truck that had driven in before him. And he could see broken branches along the road from where someone had pulled off when they weren't meant to. It spelled trouble for him and he was quick to grab at his radio.

"Hey, Jackson, I'm on Mammoth pull-off right now and I'm worried I may have another poacher through here. Do you have anything on the cams?"

There was a long moment of silence before the radio crackled in, "Camera 40 looks like its blinded," Jackson sounded concerned, "Headlights I think, but looking back it seems like the camera's been blinded for an hour or so at least. Thats a lot time to sit with your headlights on in one place."

"Right," Roach sped up a little bit, moving toward the back half of the road where he knew the camera was located, "I'll proceed with caution. Stay on radio in case I need back up."

He continued around the road, trying to move quickly in hopes of catching whoever was on the road in the middle of the night. He would hope to get them prior to them hurting any of the park animals, but if what Jackson had said was true, he was potentially too late for that.

He sped around the corner to a straight stretch of road only to be forced to slam on his breaks. The tires screeched with their attempt to stop, the sound echoing around the quiet truck.

In front of Roach on the road was a truck. They were facing him, sat sompletely still in the middle of the road. Their headlights were on, the bright light nearly blinding Roach. There was only one thing that he could see clearly with the bright lights shining in his eyes.

The outline of a human figure stood in front of the trucks headlights, silhouetted by the shine. They stood almost perfectly still and, though Roach couldn't see which way they were facing, a tickle at the back of his mind said that they were watching him. That they were staring at him. They didn't move.

Roach slowly reached for his radio, never taking his eyes off of the figure. Something told him not to. "Jackson, I'm at the truck. There's someone here."

"Visual?"

"None. They're standing in front of the truck. Headlights are blocking my sight." He paused for a moment, just watching the figure. They were still frozen, completely still. Unnaturally still. He clicked his tongue after a moment, "I'm going to get out and talk to the guy. Stand by."

Roach grabbed his radio and slipped it onto his belt. His flashlight went into his hands as he pushed the door to his truck open and slowly pulled himself out. The figure still didn't move. He shut the door behind him.

"Hi there!" He kept his voice chirpy and friendly, "How are you?"

There was no answer. Roach listened carefully and he noted, with a bit of worry, that the sounds of the forrest around him were silent. No crickets. No frogs. Nothing. Just silence.

He took a slow step toward the figure, "I don't know if you know, but we have a rule of no exiting your vehicle after ten on park grounds." He took another few slow steps toward the man. No answer, when he was about halfway between his truck and the other vehicle, he asked, "Sorry, can you hear me? It's a safety thing, you know? We don't want anyone getting lost and," he hesitated for a moment before adding, "we don't want any poachers out here trying to get to the animals."

He took another step forward, but found himself shocked into a frozen state when the figure suddenly moved. There was still no noise outside of Roach's own breathing and the two trucks running. Roach couldn't even hear as the figure walked along the gravel road.

It circled around the side of the truck and, for a moment, Roach thought it was going to get in. It didn't, it just kept walking. "Hey!" Roach sped up his steps, "I'm serious you need to get back in your truck. He rushed up to the front of the vehicle and, as he turned the side of it, he flicked on his flashlight, shining it after the figure.

The light didn't offer him much outside of the the fact that the figure was tall and broad. There was something else though. Something wrong. It looked like a person. Everything about it was right, all of the proportions and everything. But something about the tall figure with shining golden hair had dread pooling in Roach's gut. It didn't turn back to him, it just kept walking forward before taking a sharp left turn and starting toward the woods.

"Hey," Roach hurried forward, concern quickly replacing the dread in his gut, "Don't go into the forrest! You'll get lost! Can you-" he rushed past the side of the truck and did his best to catch up with the man. By the time he reached the area of the road the man, he'd already disappeared fully into the thick brush of trees. Roach stepped off of the road and up to the edge of the trees, shining his flashlight through them desperately, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man.

"Sir," he called out, "Listen just follow my voice back to the road, okay? You aren't in trouble, I just want to make sure that you're okay!" There was no response. Roach bit at his lip, his eyes following the shine of his flashlight through the woods. Suddenly the light caught on to something, he stopped it suddenly, finding his eyes locked on to two glowing dots through the trees.

He stared for a long moment, almost locking gazes with whatever it was that he was looking at. It was likely an animal, but...it imdidn't move. Just like the man from earlier, it was completely still. Usually an animal would have looked away or tilted its head or something. The eyes never changed positions. They never moved away from Roach.

Roach stared back. He knew he should have looked away. He knew he needed to look for the man who'd disappeared into the woods. Something in his mind told him to keep looking, though. To keep his gaze locked firmly with whatever he was looking at. So he stared.

He nearly jumped out of his skin at a sudden sound from his radio, his eyes shooting down to the little box as his hands scrambled for it, "Roach? How are you looking?"

Roach gave a deep sigh and brought the radio up to his lips. His eyes traced back up to the woods and he realized suddenly that the eyes were gone. It was just the darkness of the woods now. He moved his flashlight around a bit, noting with confusion that the normal noises of the woods were echoing around him again. It was like with the disappearance of the eyes, the silence had gone too. "The guy walked into the woods."

"What?"

"He walked into the woods," Roach turned back toward the man's still running truck and started toward it. "Left his truck and everything. Still running. I tried to stop him, but he just kept moving." He gave a deep groan as he marched up to the side of the truck and started toward the drivers side door. "I'll check the interior for ID, we'll need to put him in the database as missing in the park. I didn't get a good look, but he was about six foot-"

Roach stopped in his tracks, a cold feeling of horror dousing him. "Roach?" Jackson questioned.

Roach paused for a long moment, just staring. Finally, shakily, he brought the radio back up to his mouth, "Jackson, call local law enforcement out to Mammoth." He paused for a moment, "Tell them to bring the coroner."

"Roach? What is it?" Roach didn't answer. A shiver pulled down his spine. This was not good.

"Hey guys, any news from the police?" Roach pushed his way into the main office of the building, gaining the attention of the three men inside.

"Roach? Dude you're supposed to be off," Jackson gave him a stern look but Roach was quick to wave him off.

"I don't need time off."

"You found a mutilated corpse in the park last night," Logan raised an eyebrow at him and leaned back against the counter behind him. "I would argue that you need like a week off for that."

"It's part of the job description," Roach moved further into the room, settling in the little group with Logan, Jackson, and Ramirez. "Its not the first time I've found a body, probably won't be the last."

"Yeah," Ramirez narrowed his eyes at him, "but nothing like this. We saw the report. This wasn't a hiking accident or an animal incident. This was cold blooded murder and you likely saw the guy who did it."

Roach shivered a bit, images of a face frozen in horror and pain, jawbone hanging on by only a slight bit of flesh. Throat exposed, spine and esophagus hanging out. Flesh torn. Pieces missing. Not a drop of blood to be found.

He shook his head quickly, brushing off the memories, "The guy disappeared into the woods in pitch black to get away," he shoved his hands in his pockets, "Nature will take care of him. You guys know that just as well as I do."

"Doesn't mean that this shit wasn't crazy," Logan shook his head, "Boss wants us to double up on night shifts for the next few weeks."

"So," Ramirez shrugged, "Even if you're staying, we are too."

Roach gave a huff, but didn't argue. "Well, one of you guys is gonna have to stay here with Jackson, he's probably passing his pants with this whole situation."

"Fuck off," Jackson flipped him his middle finger with a roll of his eyes. "Sorry that I don't want to get murdered like you and Logan."

Roach and Logan shot each other an amused look, "Guess that means Jackson expects you to stay behind." Roach turned to Ramirez with a grin and the man was quick to return in.

"Well, I can't say I'm too upset with that choice. I'd much rather sit in the safety of the office then drive around like you and Walker ranger over here."

"Hey," Jackson flicked clicked something on his computer, "Whichever of you guys takes the south road, I need you to stop at the Rainbow Lake picnic area, the camera there is down."

"I'll take it," Roach nodded, "I've changed them out before, so I should be able to do it without you trying to give me your shitty instructions."

He accepted the camera handed to him by Ramirez as Jackson gasped in mock offense, "Is this just bully Paul day? I'll have you know I give only the best instructions."

"Sure," Roach snorted and slung the camera over his shoulder. He grabbed the cooler he'd brought in with him as well, already fully stocked. "Logan, you leaving with?"

"Yeah," Logan grabbed his own cooler, "following you out."

They said a few quick goodbyes to Jackson and Ramirez before starting outside to their trucks. Roach was loading his up when Logan called out to him, "Hey, before you leave." Roach turned to face the man, raising an eyebrow at him when he noticed his serious face. Logan looked hesitant for a moment before stepped closer to him in a few quick strides. "We weren't supposed to tell you," he whispered hesitantly, "but the guy you found yesterday. Police said he was a poacher, they found guns and equipment in the back of his truck. No animals that they could see."

As much as Roach hated to admit it, the words brought a sick sense of satisfaction to him. At least the man hadn't been able to harm any of the animals in the park. He felt bad, but one less poacher in the world was one less problem to him.

"Jackson," Roach radioed in as he hopped out of his truck and started toward the little picnic area, "I'm about to change the camera out, I'll radio when finished so you can tell me how it looks."

"Copy, keep aware of your surroundings." Roach snorted a bit at the words, but didn't respond.

His flashlight lit the dark path down to the picnic area. It was a short little hike from his truck made slightly more difficult by the overwhelming darkness that surrounded him. The picnic area was one of the more popular ones for guests at the park, so he wasn't too surprised that something had gone wrong with the camera. They often had to switch it out because some nosy kid had tried to tear it from the tree while their parents just watched.

The picnic area was quiet so Roach took to humming to himself as he made his way toward the camera to start slowly unscrewing it from its stand. When he was finally able to pull it down from the tree and shine his light on it, he was met with immediate confusion.

The camera wasn't just broken. It was completely shattered. Pieces of it hung out and splintered off as though a heavy creature had walked by and stepped on it. That or someone had come through and slammed it with a baseball bat several times. He twisted it around in his hands, concern written across his face.

A sense of something came over him again and, similar to the night before, he noticed suddenly the complete silence around him. Not a sound. No crickets. No frogs. Not even the sound of the trees rustling in the wind. Only his own breathing could be heard.

Hesitantly, he picked up his radio. "Jackson, send Logan around to the lake. I think there's something-"

He yelped suddenly and span around as quick as he could. His feet got caught together with the speed in which he moved and he found himself tumbling to the ground, his breathing heavy. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He was sure that he'd felt something brush up behind him. Sure that he'd felt a hand brush softly against the back of his neck.

There was nothing. Not a person. Not even the outline of footprints in the gravel he'd fallen into. He took several deep breaths from his place on the ground, moving his flashlight across the area in front of him in long sweeps. There was nothing.

He slowly pushed himself from the ground, listening to the crackle of Jackson calling his name through the radio. "I'm fine," he called over the radio, "Sorry I just," his flashlight caught the glint of something shiny on one of the picnic tables and he started toward it carefully. It hadn't been there moments ago. "I'm fine," he confirmed, "just took a tumble."

"Thank fuck," Jackson gave a sigh of relief over the line, "Scared the shit out of me, Sanderson. Logan's on his way to you now."

"Good, good." Roach stepped up to the picnic and looked down at the little item sitting neatly on the table. He blinked at it for several moments before reaching out to hesitantly pick it up.

His fingers felt over the smoothness of the little crystal. Amethyst. It was a sizeable chunk, about the size of Roach's hand, and overwhelmingly shiny. Almost like it had been painstakingly polished. He turned it in his hands, feeling a bit of awe blossoming in his chest at the offshoots of purple, grey, and white.

There was a snap of a twig in the woods in front of him and Roach was quick to look up, his heart beating faster in his chest. The noise had ricocheted through the silence like a gunshot, immediately gaining his attention. He moved to shine his flashlight through the woods where the sound came from and he found himself pausing as he met the gaze of two flashing eyes.

They didn't move. They just watched. Just like the night before. Roach didn't move either, he just locked gazes with the creature. It was much closer now than it had been the night before, and yet Roach didn't feel any fear. He just paused, watching the creatures unmoving form. He could see its outline now. Similar to a wolf, but much much larger.

There was a long moment where nothing happened. Roach wasn't quite sure what to do. The creature seemed to understand his hesitation and Roach could see as it began to slowly stalk forward. It moved carefully and, even through the darkness, Roach could see how powerful it clearly was. It drew closer, then stopped suddenly, still hidden in the woods.

It tilted its head at him before giving a quick nod downward. Roach followed the motion, his eyes trailing down to the crystal in his hand. He stared at it for another long moment before looking back up at the creature. It was watching him carefully and something suddenly snapped into place for him.

"Is this," he started hesitantly, "for me?" He felt a bit silly asking the random creature in the woods if the crystal was for him. The creature wouldn't answer, it was just an animal. It couldn't understand him.

And yet, the creature gave a jerk of its head, similar to a nod, and Roach felt like it had understood him. Like whatever was looking at him through the woods was able to communicate with him. Was able to talk and was telling him that the crystal in his hands was meant for him.

Roach looked back down at the crystal before back up to the creature, "Thank you." He gripped tighter to the crystal and felt embarrassment run through him when he realized that he was flushed red at the percieved gift, "It's beautiful."

There was another long moment, the creature and Roach just watched one another. It moved again, starting forward slowly.

"Roach?" Roach turned his head suddenly to the pathway, spotting Logan watching him with concerned eyes, "Jackson said you needed help?"

Roach could hear suddenly the noises of the forrest return. The silence was gone and, when he turned to look back into the woods, the creature was gone with it. He hesitated for a moment, looking in the woods again to try and find the creature. He felt almost disappointed when his search came up with nothing. He brushed it off and turned toward Logan, "Yeah." He started forward, tucking the piece of amethyst into his pocket as he moved toward the man. No one but him needed to know about it.

#gary roach sanderson #simon ghost riley #logan walker #paul jackson #paul jackson cod #ghostroach #cryptid au #monster au #call of duty fanfic #cod #call of duty

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poisonousdelights · 2 months ago

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PARTIES: Isa (@poisonousdelights) and Kieran (@debauchfairy) TIME: The weekend before Kieran's birthday bash WHERE: The Mushroom Circle SUMMARY: Isa and Kieran play a different kind of drinking game that takes a slightly uncomfortable turn. WARNINGS: Drug tw, Drug manipulation tw (attempted)

Isa knew all the tricks for having a good night out. It was fortunate that she loved to dance and could do so without any of the liquid courage that a lot of people needed to shake their hips in front of a crowd because the girl was broke. But she’d learned over the past couple of years that it was very easy to get drunk without spending a dime. The aforementioned hip shaking helped so much. All she had to do was wiggle in front of a guy who thought he was going to get lucky and the alcohol came pouring in.

She didn’t know why but her favorite place was an Irish pub known as the circle. It wasn’t the best bar in the world by any means but she always seemed to have such a good time. The good attitudes were infectious, the regular staff always so friendly, and some even knew her by name at this point. She always made a point to have a chat with Zachary who sometimes joined her on the dance floor but that night she skipped out on the interaction in favor of her mission.

Isa was two drinks in, both bought for her by different guys who liked to watch her move. The second guy was still next to her as the last of her cocktail was drained, the girl twirling the straw while she looked up at him. Her hand dragged through her thick hair, running down to push the wavy strands behind her shoulder and bring attention to the skin that her low cut tank top showed. His eyes trailed down, blatantly appreciative, but before he could say anything Isa dismissed him with her next words. “That really hit the spot, I appreciate you so much. I think I’m just about ready to head back to the dance floor though. It was so nice meeting you.” The guy looked dejected but respected her enough to just nod curtly and walk away. A soft laugh left her lips, the girl shaking her head while she pushed the glass to the other side of the bar. “Too easy.”

—-

Somewhere overrun by fae wasn’t exactly Kieran’s ideal place for a night out but it came with some perks, perhaps the most important being a sense of safety. Aside from the rather strict ban on violence, The Mushroom Circle had a decent track record for keeping out wardens. Not that he was scared, anyone sensible would see the logic behind giving his nose more than a couple of weeks to heal before risking another blow to it. Not that Kieran was usually sensible but… well, he liked the shape of his nose. To a lesser extent, getting punched fucking sucked and he wanted to avoid it if possible.

Kieran wasn’t here to feed, not tonight, just looking for a distraction and some fun. The black, sheer shirt he had on was a lot but it had taken way too long for the last of the bruises to fade so it was about time he got to look good, even be a lot. Another perk, he didn’t even need to bother exerting his abilities, that part usually taken care of by some other faun. All he had to do was find the least boring people here and enjoy himself for the evening. A drink was a solid place to start and as he waited for the bartender, Kieran took notice of a pair a stone’s throw down the bar. He especially took notice of how completely out of the man’s league the woman was, and it seemed Kieran wasn’t the only one who knew it. She was playing him like a fiddle and might as well have had the poor guy on a leash with how obediently he tracked her movements. Impressive.

And then the blow. Kieran’s lips turned into a grin at her expert play, leaving no room for argument as he slunk off. Her laugh was the cherry on top - she wasn’t just doing this because she needed free drinks but because she enjoyed it. “You know, I thought the hair flip might have been a bit too much but he was all for it,” Kieran commented, closing the distance between them, amusement clear on his features. “Not that I know much about what works on the straights.”

—

Her body tensed at the voice, for a split second thinking it was another man trying to hit on her without Isa being clued in to their intentions beforehand. Jumpscare tactics were not her favorite. It usually indicated that the guy was too aggressive for her liking and things would go very poorly. But he soon rolled into the ‘straights’ comment and she could feel herself relaxing under his gaze. She playfully let out a relieved sigh, bringing her hand over her heart. “Next time warn a girl. I thought you were going in a completely different direction with that.”

A grin pulled at her lips, the girl shrugging as she went back to his previous comment. “Hair flipping gets them every time. Especially when you add in a little show of skin. Most of them are pretty simple creatures.” She didn’t feel right lumping every straight guy together but she’d never met one that didn’t enjoy that little move of hers, she would say that much. Though Isa did have the advantage with most of the locals thinking she was ‘dangerous’ or something. For some reason men loved to go for that so she wasn’t sure if the hair toss alone would work.

It didn’t matter, did it? “You probably think I’m an asshole, right?” Guilt was starting to tug at her, something that usually wasn’t a problem until she got caught. Even with the amusement on his face she still felt bad now that someone else had witnessed what she was doing. “It’s harmless. Most of their egos could use a little blow anyway.”

—-

It never failed to amuse, the very obvious shift in women once they realized they weren’t about to have the most annoying five minutes of their lives trying to fend off a straight man who couldn’t flirt to save his life. Kieran truly hoped this stranger would have gotten there on her own even without the blatant exposition and if she wouldn’t have, perhaps she was less intuitive than she seemed. “Please, you think a smarmy straight man has the ability to look this good?” Kieran huffed, finally garnering the bartender’s attention and ordering two tequila sunrises - her performance deserved a drink.

Humming appreciatively at her explanation, Kieran settled onto the bar stool next to her, intrigued enough to let this stranger be the entertaining company for now. He was curious as to whether she needed strangers to buy her drinks or, as in Kieran’s case when he just didn’t feel like paying for his own things, simply did it because she could. And a bonus, she wasn’t fae. “Simple or not, always fun to see them get played.”

Her attitude changed all of a sudden and Kieran arched an eyebrow, slightly disappointed by her question. Why the hell care what some stranger thought of you? Not that he did think she was an asshole. Manipulative, maybe, perhaps a bit self-centered but neither of those were necessarily negative traits in the faun’s eyes. If people didn’t want to get duped into buying drinks without a reward, they should be harder to manipulate. “Does it matter what I think?” Kieran asked instead of sharing his actual thoughts on whether or not a pretty, young woman was a bad person for cheating the system, so to speak. “And even if I did think you were an asshole, that would be an astounding display of hypocrisy since I am also very averse to buying my own drinks a lot of the time.”

Sliding one of the cocktails over to her as they arrived, Kieran raised his own with a wink. “To blowing egos.”

—

“You do have a very good point.” Isa nodded, looking his outfit up and down with a sheepish grin. He was right. No straight man would wear anything so daring or fabulous. “Ashamed that I ever thought for a second you were straight.” She laughed softly, turning back to the bar only to remember that her glass was now empty. Did she try to pay for one herself or did she go for a third gentleman? Well, that was a simple answer. She didn’t really have eight dollars to waste on a single beverage.

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t judging her at all if the comment about how fun it was to see them get played was any indication. He then followed it up by stating he liked to play this game too and suddenly the lamia felt a million times better about it all. “I guess you have a point.” She was right before anyway, it was harmless and now she knew she wasn’t the only one who liked to do this. “So, you enjoy the game too, huh?”

Eyeing the drink that he slid over to her, Isa raised a brow but her smile never faltered. He didn’t like paying for his drinks but then went and bought her one? He must have really appreciated the little show. She raised the glass to mimic his movements before taking a sip, humming appreciatively. “This was nice of you, thank you.” Another sip and then she was backtracking on what he’d said, her eyes glinting with mischief. “So, wait, what works on gay men then? Obviously they don’t like my normal tricks…unless we count you.” Pointing down to the drink on the bar to make a point, her smile morphed into a smirk.

—---

Actually caring about other people’s opinions felt like a genuinely foreign concept to Kieran as he hadn’t taken stock in an opinion that didn’t align with his own since… well, maybe never. She seemed relieved to not be judged by the faun, maybe partly because of the sense of camaraderie but the worry had been there. Kieran thought his opinion and judgment was quite valuable, obviously, but she had no reason to know that and therefore care. Humans were strange. “I definitely have a point,” he insisted with a smile, relieved that there wasn’t a follow up discussion on morality and whatnot.

His smile only grew at her question even as he gave a coy shrug, his expression enough of an answer. Yes, Kieran did indeed enjoy this game and most games, for that matter. The ones he could win, anyway. As the tangy sweetness of the drink hit him, he physically waved off the notion of kindness - the drink was simply acknowledgement of a job well done - and with it, the thank you. A thought occurred to warn her, seeing how she was surrounded by fae and clearly not careful with her words but that discussion would replace their current one, which was a bad trade. She’d probably be fine.

“Trying to steal my moves, are you?” he teased, twirling the straw around the glass. “I could share but… that would make the fun little competition I wanted to propose a bit unfair.” Seeing as this bar was mostly crawling with fae, Kieran was expecting neither a meal nor company to bring home from here, which was fine. Monotony was the antithesis of everything Kieran stood for and he didn’t mind having to come up with new and creative ways to entertain himself.

—------

“Oh, I don’t need to steal moves. I have enough that work very nicely for myself.” Squeezing the straw of the drink between her teeth, she continued to smile up at him even as she was taken aback by the competition he had in mind. Not in a bad way. No, Isa was instantly curious as to what he would suggest for them even though she had a feeling about what was coming. She mostly wanted to know if there was a bet coming with this competition or if he thought their free drinks while playing was enough of a win. “A competition, huh? I think that could make for a fun time.”

It was no secret that she could be competitive. Camaraderie and sportsmanship had been her thing when she’d been playing basketball back in high school, she’d even gotten acknowledgements in the form of plaques that used to live on her parents walls, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try her best to win either. Isa could get really into things like this, something that was proven as she started to prepare already. Her jacket was coming off, the girl slinging it on the back of the chair next to her so she could get another leg up with the shirt underneath. Men loved a nice low cut top.

“Alright, what are the guidelines? I can’t break any rules, that would defeat the spirit of the game.” She’d always been a fair one too. “And do the two I’ve already gotten count or are you afraid you can’t catch up?” Isa bit the inside of her bottom lip to try and stifle a smirk, the lamia raising a brow in challenge. She didn’t care either way, she just wanted to goad him a little.

—-

Grinning, he finished off a bit more of the drink - couldn’t be holding one for the venture they were about to embark on - appreciating the attitude. “I don’t doubt it. Not as good as mine, I reckon but I’m sure they do,” Kieran taunted back playfully, seeing the glint in her eyes that matched his own at the prospect of a good (mostly honest) competition.

His look of amusement only widened as she shrugged off her jacket, proving that she knew her stuff as more skin was bared. Simple but effective. Along with the first inkling of fruity alcohol blanketing his senses, Kieran could sense her joyous excitement as it lingered between them. Feeding on her would put her at a disadvantage and he didn’t want to win by cheating. Not this time, at least, he liked her. “A drink gets bought without directly asking for it. Any sort of alcoholic beverage counts. Up to you whether you finish it or not before moving on. First to five takes the prize.” Not that there was a prize - they were playing for free drinks and the honor of it. “If you think you need the head start, you can have it,” Kieran goaded right back, smirking before finishing off the rest of his drink and dragging a hand through the previously stylized hair.

“Kieran,” he offered her as he stood up, waiting for her name in turn and then shrugging off his jacket. Even if he didn’t have the cleavage to work with like his new friend, the sleeveless top had perks of its own. “May the best seductress win.”

—-

“I can’t wait to prove you wrong.” Isa followed suit with her own drink, realizing it was a good idea to get it down. Not only did leaving it behind get dangerous but it also seemed rude when he had so kindly gotten it for her. She stood, pretending to shake out any nerves that might have set in with a grin, glad that she could be playful with him even as they were gearing up for a competition against each other. Those were the best interactions.

She stopped at his conditions, meeting his eyes with mock confusion. “What’s the point in having a drink given to you if you’re not going to finish it? I would like to make an amendment that everything needs to be finished as you talk to the person…within reason, of course.” She lifted her chin, trying to stifle the grin threatening to pull at her lips. “Fine, a fresh start it is.” Narrowing those playful eyes at him, Isa shook her head as he raked his hands through his hair. The man knew what he was doing. Bedhead looked good on him, not that he needed any help looking handsome.

“I’m Isa.” And he had muscles to boot. Hmm, maybe she should have seen the whole package before accepting this challenge but she wasn’t too worried about it. It just meant she had to up her game. “Oh, I will.” The lamia gave him a wink before she turned in search of her first target.

The prospects looked too easy. A man who was clearly getting over a break up if his sullen look and the way he twirled a ring around the bar was any indication. No, he would be a last resort. The over enthusiastic dancer in the middle of the floor trying to dance with whatever woman would give him the time of day. Too desperate for her taste. She liked a little challenge in her men, it made the victory that much sweeter. Finally, she settled on one who had a confident air to himself but had yet to go after any of the women he’d been eyeing. A little challenge but not enough to make it impossible. He was perfect.

And it only took five minutes before she had a drink set in front of her.

He was boring though and she was rushing her way through this first drink. Most of the talk was about him and how awesome his life was so Isa allowed her gaze to free roam around the bar. Her attention was caught by Kieran and his first…or maybe second target, her eyes landing on the way the man was crowding the other. It wasn’t too out of the ordinary but the way the stranger slipped something into Kieran’s drink when he was distracted was. Isa was out of her seat before her challenge could finish his sentence, his protest following her but she was too focused on getting to that table before Kieran could fall victim to something sinister. “Hey!” Her loud voice drew attention from most of the people in her path while she stormed over there, knocking the drink into the lap of the man who was now glaring up at her. “I saw that, you bastard. Do you always get your kicks drugging random people in bars or is he special?”

—-

With the terms of their little game decided, Kieran left his new friend behind with a wink. Isa had plenty of advantages, not just that straight men were generally easier to fool but also the fact of her not sharing his problem of being fae. Sure, not all of them shared Kieran’s extravagant dislike for his kin but they could be very peculiar and he didn’t feel like chatting up someone whose first question might be on what he was. Still, having way less targets to choose from than his ‘competition’ would only make the victory that much sweeter.

Finding a human - or at the very least, a non fae - luckily hadn’t taken too long. The flexibility of what constituted a drink also came in handy as he gladly split a tray of shots with the first target - price and volume-wise, four shots weren’t that far off from a full sized drink. As an added bonus, his theatrics with the shots (letting a person lick their own hand for the salt was just bad manners) had caught the attention of the second mark. Which was fine enough, he was far from Kieran’s type but for a drink and more importantly, a point, anything goes. If the guy took notice of the way Kieran was subtly scanning for his third drink of the night, he didn’t comment on it.

It seemed Isa had something to comment on, though. For the briefest of moments, Kieran wondered whether she was here to argue on whether shots counted but as she drew closer, it became clear she was much angrier than anything their game could incite. Which begged the question of why Kieran’s drink was paying the price of her wrath, an explanation arriving in the form of her berating the stranger with the now wet pants. Oh. Oh. The irony of trying to mess with a faun’s free will wasn’t lost on Kieran but Isa’s interference was welcome - his immunity to being influenced only applied to the effects of other fae, not whatever the stranger had tried to spike him with.

“The hell are you on about, you bitch?” the man argued, defensive as he wiped at the remnants of the drink. Kieran’s eyes narrowed and despite the unease that had settled in his chest, he had no trouble letting his influence wash over the bastard. Even the brief taste of the man’s euphoria tasted wrong and Kieran wanted this over with, quick.

“I think you want to apologize to her,” Kieran demanded, voice threatening despite the sickly sweet tone. “And then take whatever you put in my drink and have a taste of it yourself.” There were plenty of people watching, Isa’s reaction having drawn enough attention but the words were spoken low enough for only the three of them to hear. The man’s voice was far off when he apologized to Isa, the faintest glimmer of hesitation visible as he dropped something inconspicuous into his own drink and proceeded to down the whole thing.

—-

For a brief, anger fueled moment, Isa considered pulling her sunglasses down to let stone take over every inch of this creep but she stopped when she remembered that Kieran could get caught up in that as well. Not to mention the other bar patrons staring in their direction. She didn’t need any audience for her ability and had somehow managed to avoid that happening to this day. Besides, it wasn’t the first time she’d been called a bitch and it wouldn’t be the last, her anger mostly fueled by the man’s audacity in trying to get away with the sleaziest of moves he could.

But then she watched as the man’s anger seemed to melt into a look of pure…elation? Kieran’s words drifted over the chatter of the crowd to her, the lamia letting her bewildered gaze settle on her new friend when the asshole followed the instructions that had been given. What the hell had just happened? How could Kieran turn this around on the other so easily?

Who cared as long as the creep was subdued?

Isa felt her lips lift, the shock wearing down into amusement. Was it a little terrifying knowing he could have that control over someone, over her? Yea, it was, but if he hadn’t used it on her yet she was pretty sure he wasn’t going to. “That was a fun trick.” Her low voice mixed in with the music but it was enough for him to hear. She held a hand out for him to take, wanting to get him away from the shit stain next to him as quickly as possible even when he’d already taken care of it. “I think me and you have some things to talk about. Have you been cheating this whole time?”

—-

It wasn’t until the empty glass landed back on the table that Kieran detached himself from the man, the taste that wasn’t really a taste still managing to linger on the back of his tongue, stronger still than the aftertaste of tequila and salt. Turning his gaze away from the disoriented figure, he seemed to remember suddenly that he had company who had watched the whole thing transpire. Isa’s expression had just morphed from confusion to enjoyment and Kieran didn’t really care what she thought but he appreciated that she seemed to share his morals on this, too. Even if she didn’t understand it.

So he accepted the offered hand, not even wasting a glance back at the man still trying to get his bearings. The commotion that started around him did indicate that his antics might be getting him thrown out though, which was a relief. Maybe he’d think twice before attempting shit like that again - not that it was Kieran’s problem and he certainly wouldn’t be worrying about strangers.

Sure, maybe forcing the man to literally have a taste of his own medicine would prove some sort of deterrent but that hadn’t been why he’d done it. Just revenge, pure and simple. And Kieran certainly wasn’t drawing any parallels between himself and the creep because there was no need - he’d never used his abilities for that purpose. The unease from before was still present so he was more than grateful for the topic change Isa was providing, an easy smile sliding onto Kieran’s lips.

“I didn’t break any of our rules,” Kieran assured her, letting himself be led to a more quiet corner of the bar, at the same time wishing he had a drink in hand while also unsure he could stomach one with the taste of… wrong still in his mouth. “Where would be the fun in playing if I cheated, anyway?” His smile grew and it helped, distracted him, so he continued. “Alright then, ask away. Only fair that you get answers in return for your heroics.”

—-

She wouldn’t let go of his hand. At first, it was more subconscious than anything but as they sat down in a quieter area she still held on to it even after the realization. Despite his smile and the way he seemed to slip back into their teasing banter, Isa knew that something like that could shake the most sturdy of people out there and she wanted him to know that she was there. She wasn’t going anywhere so long as he wanted to still be in that bar. “I guess my first question is…are you okay?” She wouldn’t have been. She would still be trying to find a way to hurt that guy if it had happened to her and she was a little impressed that Kieran had shown some control in only making him drink what had been intended for her friend. “We can talk about it if you need to.”

Heroics. She frowned at that word, not liking that something that should be classified as human decency was called heroic. It was sad that they needed to watch each other's backs like this anyway but getting praised for the help felt wrong somehow. “It was what anyone would do, no need to reward me for it.” Something she hoped was true. Had others seen the man doing what he was doing and turned a blind eye? Because that was screwed up in so many ways.

Regardless, she did have other questions for him, Isa glad that he wasn’t refusing to answer even if the reason he was doing so wasn’t the easiest to swallow down. “So, you…have some sort of mind control? What are you, an X-men?” A dumb joke, the lamia realizing that she wasn’t sure how to go about the questioning. It wasn’t usually her asking the questions but the other way around. “How long have you been able to do that?” Someone had to curse him as well, right? “And why? What did you do to be cursed?”

—--

Well, that wasn’t the sort of questioning he’d been opening himself up for. “Why wouldn’t I be? You stepped in before I had a drink and he got what he deserved,” Kieran replied nonchalantly, letting his hand slip from Isa’s under the guise of readjusting his rings, a stray lock of hair, anything that needed fixing to complete this very believable picture of composure. He didn’t mind the physical contact, that was hardly ever something he shied from but the implication that he needed his hand held was simply inaccurate. Aside from wishing that maybe he’d done more to exact a just revenge, Kieran was fine and not plagued by thoughts or doubts of any kind.

For a woman who had jumped at the chance to play a game involving toying with other people, she seemed rather convinced that kindness was an inherent thing rather than selfishness. People, humans or otherwise, were self-serving at their very core. Not to say they couldn’t be kind if they chose to but rarely to their own detriment. Isa had nothing to lose from helping him, she was trying to form a new connection, something useful and that would have been hard to do if the creep had been left unchecked. “Think of it as evening the score, then,” Kieran insisted, unwilling to simply accept it as an ‘anyone would have helped’ kind of situation. And he could tell she was dying to ask her questions, anyway.

Huffing a laugh at her joke, Kieran leaned back with a raised eyebrow. “Oh no, you’re a geek?” he asked in mock disappointment, letting her ask the actual questions before providing any real answers, even if the part about being cursed gave him pause. “Not cursed,” he started slowly, brows furrowed in slight confusion. “Just born like this. Although it took a bit of time to refine the so called ‘mind control’. It’s more of a… power of suggestion type of deal. With quite a lot of power.”

—--

Isa bit into her bottom lip to refrain from saying anything stupid. Obviously Kieran didn’t want to talk about it and she would respect that but the concern was clear. She would still be there if he ever did. “Right, I’m just glad I saw it before you drank anything.” He was fidgeting with his appearance but she still stayed quiet, not sure if he was uncomfortable because of her asking when he really was okay or if he did need to talk but didn’t know how. “Do you want a drink? This ones on me and will not be out of my sight for a second.”

She still didn’t like what he was implying. She wasn’t the best person in the world, Ruth’s death proved that, and she could be selfish when it came to having fun but she never expected payment of any kind for keeping someone safe. Isa liked to think she learned something on top of that water tower six years ago…inside that prison for the years that she was behind bars…but his words made it feel like she couldn’t look out for someone else without expecting a transaction of some sort. It made her wonder if she’d learned anything at all. “If that’s what you want.” Because ultimately his feelings did matter here and she would do what made him comfortable no matter how conflicted she was about it.

Mouth opening to convey false shock, she raised a hand to her chest as if she were ‘clutching pearls’ as they say. “Um, that’s queen geek to you. I may read a few comic books here and there but I’m still cool enough to hang out with you, right?” Her hand fell slowly, confusion seeping back in. If he wasn’t cursed then he wasn’t a lamia like herself. She knew there were other things out there, she’d fought a giant ugly bird with a zombie after all, but she didn’t know what else there was. “Born, not cursed.” Which…could happen to lamia too but she’d already established that wasn’t what he was. “Not lamia but a…” She trailed off, allowing him to finish the sentence.

—--

It didn’t quite seem like Isa believed him, not that there was anything to believe except for the truth but she stopped pushing. Good. Kieran enjoyed her company, however briefly they’d known one another, but not enough for him to suffer through more questions about his emotional state. Her puppy dog gaze was pushing it, though. “You’re broke,” he answered simply, hoping the slightly clipped tone would be enough of a hint for her to drop the ‘caring friend’ act. It was entirely unnecessary.

Luckily, she seemed capable of leaving the doom and gloom of whatever she thought Kieran was supposed to be feeling behind, falling back into the joking atmosphere more fitting for two people who were basically strangers. “It’s a good thing you’re pretty and sly or the comic book thing would have been a real setback,” he told her with a wink. As Isa mulled his words, Kieran risked a glance over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of an eerily familiar face being led through a door to one of the backrooms. He’d heard stories of humans that got brought through there, most importantly that they rarely came back out. The smile on his face turned a touch more genuine as the attention turned back to Isa.

“Lamia?” he parrotted with a scoff of disbelief, shaking his head. If there were lamia out there capable of anything even remotely close to what Kieran could do then a certain shifter had been holding out on him, which he doubted was the case. The bit about curses was new information, though. “Why would you think lamia? No, I’m fae. Think less reptiles, more magical.” No reason to tell her about the deer part - this information was being provided on a need to know basis.

—-

“Ouch.” It was the truth but damn that had been blunt. Isa wasn’t hurt though, couldn’t be hurt by something that she’d come to terms with a long time ago. This was how her life was going to be as an ex con. Jobs were scarce and they used her record as an excuse to not pay her as much…not that Alistair ever did that but the ones before had. “I think I can afford ten dollars for a drink but fine. Nothing for you.” She lifted her chin, nose stuck in the air before he was moving on again, choosing to concentrate on the more playful topic.

Rolling her eyes at his words, she sat back in the booth, relinquishing any thoughts of taking his hand again. It was clear he didn’t want the comfort so she would fully let it go. “For some reason I feel like that’s high praise coming from you. I’ll take it.” Glancing his way, she noticed his gaze was elsewhere, but he was grinning like before. Turning her head, Isa just missed the door to the back room closing. Whatever it had been made him happy and that was good in her book.

Oh, was he offended by that? The few other lamia she had met were proud to be what they were so she couldn’t fathom him not declaring it just like they had. But apparently he was something else entirely. “What is fae? I don’t know what that is.” More magical? Isn’t that what her own ability was? Isn’t that what all lamia were due to a spell? “Sorry, I thought…” She knew what he was and despite not wanting to spread her own abilities around maybe she needed to explain why she was so confused. Fair was fair? She just couldn’t bring herself to say it was her specifically so she compromised. “I just know a lamia who…has a rare ability too. I thought maybe that was what was going on with you.”

—-----

Kieran gave a shrug - hurting her hadn’t been the purpose of the blunt statement, merely a casualty of the mission of getting her to back off. He wouldn’t apologize, worse things had obviously happened to Isa than someone pointing out her financial status and it was reassuring that she didn’t let a single (albeit slightly bitchy) comment get to her. Plus, he had started the night off by buying her a drink. “I’ll get someone I like less with more money to buy me one later,” he said offhandedly, even if he was still unsure another drink was on the menu for tonight. It wasn’t late but it also wasn’t so early that leaving now would be unusual. Maybe checking in on some familiar company tonight was the way to go.

But Isa could have his attention for a little while longer.

It wasn’t too much of a surprise when the word ‘fae’ made people blink dumbly at him, the secret keeping part of their culture quite a big one. Kieran didn’t take it as seriously as many others but it still didn’t benefit him to advertise it. “It’s fine,” he said with a wave of his hand, wondering if he even had the energy to explain fae lore. “Pretty broad subject. Didn’t really dress up like this to sit around teaching, though,” Kieran added with a halfhearted gesture at himself, humming a distracted sound of agreement at her words, the buzzing of his phone snatching his attention. The text was neither urgent nor very important but it was exactly the kind of familiar company he had let his mind wander to. Isa had her perks but he didn’t like the idea of feeding on her and since she couldn’t provide quite the same kind of distraction, Kieran jumped at the opportunity. “Ah, that’s my cue.” He managed to sound at least somewhat apologetic as he stood, offering her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I wouldn’t mind a rematch. On the off chance you win that one, maybe I answer a few more of your fae questions,” Kieran told her, ready to hurriedly follow the promise that text held before pausing, as if remembering something. “Oh, and this is a fae bar, just so you’re aware. So no saying thank you to anyone, sweetheart.”

#Threads #Thread: Kieran #Games People Play #drug tw #drug manipulation tw

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myveryownfanfiction · 8 months ago

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Chapter 36

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @plush4bunny, @illiana-mystery, @onedirectionlovers2014

tags: swearing, the wheelers, mediums and con artists, night court spoilers

“so what’s on the docket for tonight?” I asked, swinging my legs as I sat on Wyatt’s desk. He looked over the list and shrugged.

“petty theft. Nude model fight.” I nodded at that appreciatively. “And a couple with issues with a medium…I think. It’s confusing.” Wyatt flipped through the file before looking up and frowning. “I think they’re ready to talk to you counselor.”

”we meet again Mr. Fielding.” The man said. Dan froze and looked at me with wide eyes.

“If I don’t turn around are they really there?” He asked, biting his lip as he scrunched up his nose.

“oh my god!” Abbie cried. “You’re the wheelers! My dad always talked about you guys! I have so many questions!” Dan scowled as he took his spot in front of Abbie. “What’s the charge?” Wyatt handed Abbie the file.

“Animal husbandry.” Wyatt read out. I focused on Dan, wondering what he was thinking seeing the wheelers back in court.

“as someone who’s heard your stories before can we skip the next three calamities and get to the point?” Dan complained. I giggled behind my hand and he looked over at me. The case progressed and abbie called for recess. The only thing I had really caught onto was that she wanted to see the wheelers medium to talk to her dad.

“so what was that like?” I asked as we sat down in the cafeteria. Dan groaned and let his head drop onto my shoulder.

“those poor ghosts.” He said. “Although leave it to them to get stuck with a haunted apartment. I did promise to help them get rid of it though.”

“olivia.” I said. Dan nodded.

“I can’t believe I saw the wheelers.” He shuddered before sitting back up. “Abbie has her psychic though.”

“did you tell her that?” I asked. Dan shook his head but waved her over when he saw her walk in.

“so I have some news.” He said. Abbie nodded. “You’ve got your psychic.”

“wait really?” Abbie exclaimed, almost throwing her arms around dans neck.

“I made it happen. I did a favor for the wheelers and they helped me jump the line with this Fleetwood Mac b side.” Dan said, patting her arm. “We meet in your office after session tonight.”

“what did you do?” Abbie asked, taking a seat at the table. She opened her lunch and I put a hand over my mouth. Dan looked over at me as I swallowed thickly.

“You alright?” He asked me. I nodded and waved him off as the nausea passed. “I just helped them sell their haunted brownstone.” Dan said, turning his attention back to Abbie but keeping an eye on me. As Abbie ate, the smell continued to get to me. I excused myself and headed to Abbie’s office. I opened the window and sat down. “Hey.” I turned to see Dan standing in the doorway.

“Hey.” I said back, rubbing my stomach.

“you ran out of there pretty quickly…” Dan trailed off, eyes focused on my hand movement. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“yeah. Just not feeling well.” I said, rubbing my stomach again. Dan nodded, looking back up at my eyes.

“maybe you should see a doctor.” He said, coming to sit next to me. I leaned into him and closed my eyes.

“already have.” I mumbled. “Just a bug.” Dan nodded as he kissed my head.

“alright.” He said. “Maybe you should sit out the seance.” I nodded.

“I’ll take a nap in your office.” I said. Dan nodded. He walked me back to his office and grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch, draping it over me before kissing my head and heading towards the door.

“call me if you need me.” He said. I nodded with a smile as he left the room. The phone rang not long after and I sagged with relief at the news. Laying back down, I stared at the ceiling with a smile on my face. When I got antsy, I got up and walked back to Abbie’s office. The psychic was gone and Dan was talking to Abbie.

“Dan…” she whispered. He turned to look at her. “That was the phrase.”

“what?” He asked. “Are you telling me that I’m supposed to be Harry’s vessel?” The lights flickered and Dan quickly tried to appease whatever it was. “Alright. Alright.” The lights stayed on and Dan chuckled. “Always had to have the last word.” Abbie smiled at him and hugged his arm, leaning her head on his shoulder. I rubbed my stomach again and knocked on the door.

“hey guys.” I said. Abbie stood up and walked over to hug me. “How’d it go?”

“she was a fake. But Dan and I have come to an understanding.” She said with a smile. I nodded and watched her leave.

“so feeling better?” Dan asked as he stood up and made his way over to me.

“yeah.” I said, lost in thought.

“penny for your thoughts?” He asked, kissing my forehead.

“you know I always thought she’d be a good aunt but now I think Abbie would make a great big sister.” I said absentmindedly, bringing dans hand to my stomach.

#john larroquette fanfic #john larroquette #john larroquette fanfiction #john larroquette imagine #dan fielding #john larroquette x reader #dan fielding x reader #dan fielding fanfic #dan fielding fanfiction #dan fielding imagine #Old enough #old enough series

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shih-coulda-had-it · 2 years ago

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FEBUWHUMP DAY FOURTEEN | CAPTIVITY | wc: 463

a/n: Yet another Krakenverse Afohiko Edition Branch, wherein Sorahiko got caught much earlier than in v1 (his ceaseless courting). The pros? He gets to have the strangest in-law relationship with Yoichi, and a really strange parent/not-parent tie to Tamaki. Also, in a reverse of v1, Sorahiko gets to throw his shackles on AfO. Not in this snippet though.

Tamaki’s first memory of his father’s consort always comes down to the golden chains, gleaming defiantly in spite of the darkness of the deep sea. The number of links shift without warning--sometimes, the furthest Consort Torino can keep his wrists apart is a mere foot, and sometimes Consort Torino will be stalking down hallways with glowing yellow lines trailing behind him.

His second clear memory of Consort Torino is the man’s barely-leashed rage, held in check only when out of sight from Tamaki’s father.

Tamaki sits in his uncle’s rooms, cringing back from where Consort Torino is seated across. Between them is his uncle, ignoring the other man’s dark mood in favor of coaxing Tamaki to attend another session of court.

Lord Akkorokamui holds court on an irregular basis; Tamaki has attended every session since he was old enough to be separated from his mother.

Or so Uncle Yoichi says, when Tamaki asks if he could skip just one.

“Just let him,” says Consort Torino flatly. “He’ll want to run from Motoji soon enough, and he might as well see how far he can get while young.”

“He’s seven,” Uncle Yoichi replies, crisp.

“Yeah, and?”

“Father doesn’t like tag,” says Tamaki, and Consort Torino closes his eyes and tips his head to the ceiling, the gills at his neck flaring with a sigh. Then, a slight whap! from one of Uncle Yoichi’s tentacles, smacking the man’s shoulder and eliciting a quick flash of gold. The dazzling effect precludes nothing, though.

“Watch it,” Consort Torino growls.

“Watch yourself,” his uncle says, scoldingly. He reaches over and tugs at one of the consort’s sleeves, until the cuff is hidden from sight. “Half a millennia, and you still react like this. My older brother won’t tolerate your attitude influencing his son.”

“All the more reason to teach him.”

“On a later date, Sorahiko. Don’t stray from the plan.”

“‘Plan’?” Tamaki echoes. He shrinks back from the attention, and hastens to change the subject. This is clearly a conversation not intended for Tamaki; his father has blocked Tamaki’s ears several times over when the doctor speaks with him, and it’s such an unpleasant experience.

Tamaki associates his uncle’s rooms with safety. A bubble of peace, and patience. He wonders if Consort Torino is here for the same reasons.

“... So do I still have to go?”

“No,” says Consort Torino the same time Uncle Yoichi says, “Yes, Tama.” They share a look, and then a scowl from the consort faces off with a frown; surprisingly, the former wins. Uncle Yoichi turns his eyes to his hands, and Consort Torino elaborates: “You don’t have to. I’ll turn up instead, and give your excuses. Your father might be distracted enough with me that he won’t care for an absent prince.”

#bnha #krakenverse afohiko rendition #gran torino #torino sorahiko #amajiki tamaki #suneater #shigaraki yoichi #shih.txt #febuwhump 23 #hm. beginning to see a need to clean up my narration style #but oughh i love my limited third person pov so much #internal name referencing my beloved

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lastmurianwarrior · 1 year ago

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💭 !!

((HOo boy, I had fun - settling on a scene was tough though. With this blog's Solo pulling from the games and anime most, it's an interesting dance to incorporate as much lore from either media as possible, while fleshing out the details and making sense of it. I want to do Laplace too, but this ended up long enough, that I think I'll save that for a new post. This is a window into a particularly pivotal day for Solo, from long long ago.))

FLASHBACK: Aching eyes from bright sunlight that poured in through the pale-green air shuttle's sliding door, was the first greeting from this ground-dwelling destination to meet the passengers from Mu as they arrived for a diplomatic meeting that would inevitably unravel into unamusing discourse.

Solo followed from behind as the small crew of Mu officials ambled out onto a wide dusty circle. At 13 he was deemed mature and expected to take on the responsibilities of his noble position. Getting to know the world and involving himself in geopolitical discussions would be a start. But Mu’s tactician always wanted him to play along and read from a script; becoming furious if Solo changed any of the details.

It was too embarrassing to admit he hadn’t paid enough attention to what was happening between Mu and the tribes on the ground. But some of the things he’d had to say, never set well with him, and he at least knew from faces in the crowds that it didn’t set well with the tribes either. Mulling over that fact, Solo didn’t feel like involving himself this time, and the spectacle of this foreign town was enough to tempt him into skipping the day’s meeting altogether to go explore on his own; to get to know the people and sniff out some local treats.

The tactician; Mu’s master-planner, a tall old man, dressed darkly and with a hat like a tower on his head, flattened at the top, marched in front, expecting everyone to keep up with his long stride. He threw a few indignant sneers back at Solo for lagging behind, but didn’t waste any time waiting around.

Jagged megaliths with the visages of important people and revered animals; as though guarding the walkways, guided the visitors to a stone brick roadway populated by village-folk; merchants, carvers, toolmakers, and farmers all with their fare and animals to offer.

There was little hope of convincing the locals that Mu technology wasn’t all powered by some magic or divine force; even many of Mu’s people themselves still believed this. A small portion of the village dawned their most elaborate garb to dance, while musicians of woodwind and bone instruments played tunes almost magical in their own way. Such flamboyance was motivated by hopes of earning favor from their sky visitors, of course.

Each of the Mu officials strolled on, paying no heed to the garish ensemble, stopping only briefly to look back with steely eyes as they entered the tallest building for miles; a relic of stone architecture from a time when the floating continent of Mu was still rooted firmly in the ground; a mere hundred years prior. Newer construction surrounding it seemed oddly more primitive; distinguished by a framework of wood, mastodon tusks, and painted animal hides.

Rather than join his party inside, Solo took a turn on his own to walk further down the street. Breaking the sunlight induced glare, his eyes filled with wonder at the rocky scrublands, patched with temperate foliage and exotic flowers, then shifted to soaking in the sight of all the people; many of them thoroughly tanned, wrapped in lightweight yellow, green, orange, or red textiles, and leather garb. Camelids and barely tame village-dogs moseyed about the street, which narrowed, then broke off into a dead end marked by spiny overgrowth that trailed off in the direction of a distantly roaring waterfall from glacial melt.

As he kept his pace along the bustling street, the thought of moving aside for others hadn’t so much as cross his mind. In spite of the open airspace, the walkway was claustrophobic compared to the vast halls within the upper floors of Mu that he’d grown up in. Roughly brushing shoulders with folk disinterested in showing the noble Murian respect, however, struck Solo with the gut-wrenching sense that something had changed in the atmosphere; there was a rising tension distinctly in opposition to the affection, wonder, intrigue, and most importantly; respect, that his presence once garnered.

Suspicious and apprehensive eyes began to track his white-haired, ruby-eyed presence from all sides, and seemed to grow in number with every step. He had no choice but to stand out. Even the sheen of his perfectly angular earrings set him apart from the largely stone-age folk occupying this territory. Attempting to pay no mind to them, he chose a collection of produce to fixate on; legumes, wild grains, and various medicinal herbs sorted into piles atop mats, or stuffed into laboriously hand-woven baskets. The merchant’s most prized however, were dainty yellow-orange squash whose flowers had been hand pollinated to ensure a pure, sweeter new strain; a dozen of them to the side, clean and neatly ordered.

While small-scale efforts were made to farm on the floating continent, ground dwelling villages such as this one were agriculturally vital to Mu’s food line. Few peoples in the world had proven so dedicated to cultivating new resilient and appetizing crop varieties as here. It was both a necessity and a luxury Mu couldn’t afford to loose by getting into a war with.

“Give me your best one.”

Solo stiffly ordered, absentminded of his entitled tone; after all, why shouldn’t he want the best, when the best is what his people always seemed to expect of him? He was taken aback when the seller chided him for his complex, and refused to give him one unless he had something of value to offer, like his earrings, which was a definite no.

Unsettled, he made a silent turn, landing him unexpectedly in front of a much taller man, that suddenly reprimanded the young noble for his poor manners, sparking a whole onset of village-folk spitting their dissatisfaction with Mu in Solo’s general direction. Before anyone had even said a negative word, his innocent curiosity had already given way, replaced by a confused panic, that he fought to entirely conceal. Up to that point, he’d never personally encountered a crowd that would so readily turn on him; that would band together like this.

“You always get more than we could ever dream to ask for! Yet you have the nerve to want the best that we have!”

“You claim Mu is our security!? You threaten us with the very same power and weapons you claim to protect us with!”

“Do you even remember the villages that were burned for the sake of cooperation with Mu!? Or is that just another necessary sacrifice to you!?”

“The powers of Mu are unnatural! - This world would be better off without your kind, you monsters!”

Mu’s very recent exercise of dominance through displays of great destructive power across the world was likely to blame for igniting the sudden hostility. Offerings made to Mu that were once given out of love and hope of blessing, were now bribes for mere survival or an advantage over other tribes.

None took too kindly to being viewed as tools by much of the higher Murian caste. Some were bursting at the seams to make those feelings clear; viewing this moment as an opportunity to do so; to make a demonstration of one of Mu’s supposedly treasured individuals.

The now quite unpopular noble, snapped a reply,

“Isn’t that how the world works? - Those with power, get to make the rules! They can take what they want!”

Yet somehow, speaking only made him look more foolish to the crowd.

The fuss continued, yet fell into the background of Solo’s mind as an almost sly-looking young man, came within arm’s reach of the lone Murian, and with him, a few others trickled in to form a feisty-looking circle around their flustered visitor. Solo’s first instinct was to tuck his chin into the high teal turtleneck of his uniform, wishing he could just hide within an impenetrable shell, like some kind of turtle. Goading him on, the other young man questioned,

“So you think you can just do what you want huh?”

Without a second thought, Solo snapped back,

“Yes, I’ll do as I please.”

The other young man, keeping his smug cool, continued as though setting up some kind of hostile joke,

“Oh yeah, and what makes you so special?”

The Mu noble spewed whatever came to mind first, everything he said was going to be used against him at this point; but loosing his temper made it impossible to keep his mouth shut.

“The blood of Mu that courses through my veins!”

Swiftly came the interrogator's searing punchline,

“Mhm, and if that’s so valuable, maybe spilling it on the streets will finally pay for all the food and labor you’ve taken from my people!”

“Now tell me Mu child - If you really can see more than us with those unearthly eyes. Can you see this?”

Solo indignantly glanced around with puzzled frustration. But a mere second later the young man’s fist made a hard landing across the noble kid’s face. Enraged shock filled every ounce of Solo’s being, as he finally let out a sharp shout; though almost swallowing his own breath in the process,

“GAAAHH, I-I could take any of you on!”

The prompt response of the crowd was by no means reassuring for the loner in its middle. Someone interjected from behind,

“Shut up! Maybe you could. But not all of us together!”

With that, Solo felt his legs kicked out from behind. Others worked to keep him on the ground. As a soft faced wiry kid, Solo was tough, but against the gang surrounding him, he seemed more akin to a small bird surrounded by lions. They were rugged and strong, they knew they were always lifting more than their share of weight in this world.

The young Murian wasn’t ready for this; he wasn’t ready to just EM Wave change on a whim. Let alone, in the midst of such confusion. But enraged by the insults of the crowd, he used all his strength to prop himself back up with his arms, just to look them in the eyes.

“I’ll hunt you down! …I’ll-I’ll make you know what it really means to suffer!”

At that, they only beat him harder. Face to the bricks, Solo froze up completely, and by the time three thunderous shouts from the other Mu officials broke up the crowd, their child of Mu was already in a limp haze.

Solo hadn’t known true fear or suffering before this. It was his first taste; his first bite, and it made his stomach sick. No one had so much as asked him to think over the fate of the peoples that might’ve opposed Mu. The mere thought of opposing Mu was a pill so foreign, nothing could make him swallow it; they must have been enemies…

As the first of multiple incidents following a similar theme, Solo grew to immensely despise crowds.

Though word spread of decimated villages who opposed Mu’s total reign, many continued to view those of Mu as auspicious, brushing other tribe’s grievances off as rumors, or unconcerning to those that remained loyal to their empire.

However, Solo never got over the feeling that others could turn on him at any moment should Mu fail to ensure they felt blessed with fortunate harvests or secure infrastructure; or for that matter, any reason they wanted. Trusting others became an only barely surpassable obstacle for him.

… The reign of his people lasted only a mere three years after.

#This occurs in a somewhat ambiguous setting along one of the equatorial post-Ice Age cradles of civilization - in this au of earth #sorry my poor boy was indoctrinated by the late empire of Mu - he hasn't entirely recovered. actually he has a long way to go hehhh #((All my week is blocked off for work - But I'll get as much as I can in here; they’re relatively short shifts this time but I need sleeeep #fine to reblog #long post #Cw violence #mega man star force #[Flashback: window to the past]#I have this possibly off the wall headcanon that the game-verse Solo grew up on Mu but didn't remember it- like he has amnesia #and that his flashbacks are fragmented memories #Him living on the top floor is actually an idea pulled from the manga - so there's that little bit of influence lol #Anonymous #answered asks

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saey707 · 2 years ago

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Kinktober Day 7 {Sett}

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Spooky Prompt: Buttjob Champion Focus: Sett (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) GN reader 🎃 Warning: NSFW

Author's Note: Hooooo I am behind ( • ᴖ • ｡) October is by far my busiest month, it's difficult for me to keep up with everything! Still, I am trying my best to make time to write out these little, kinky prompts ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭ ੈ♡‧₊˚ I ended up skipping one day because I couldn't think of anything for it... And the next 3 days (7-9) will all be short as well, as I work to catch up! (╥﹏╥)

Sett has always been the kind of man that wants to balance his work life as much as his love life. Since the day the half-Vastayan decided to declare you as his "mate for life", he knew he wanted to not only provide for you financially but sexually.

Now here you were, face stuffed into a pillow while his calloused fingers dragged up and down, rubbing your back.

He began your sensual evening with slow and titillating kisses that trailed from your upper spine to your shoulder blade, cautious as his spiked teeth gently nibbled on your exposed skin. The last thing the brute man needed was for you to get hurt because of his carelessness, or worse, his strength.

"Mmm... Baby~" You hummed, eliciting an eager chuckle from your lover. His stubble pricked against your skin. But you didn't mind. It never bothered you too much, especially with how clean-cut and treated his shave always was.

Sett placed one hand on your ass, spreading you open just enough so he could slide his member between your cheeks, gradually picking up speed with his movements. Not too slow, but just the right speed to provide him pleasure as much as he looked forward to returning the favor.

"I could never get enough of this ass, honey..." He mumbled, hands on both sides of your significantly smaller frame so he could prop himself up.

You trailed your hands down to spread your ass for him, eyes closing when he rubbed right against you. "You always say that, babe." You reminded him. "I know, just thought I oughtta let ya know again tonight~" He responded casually.

This wasn't the first time your honey badger wanted to give you an assjob, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. You knew Sett had enough stamina to last this buttjob very well over an hour.

Rubbing against his erect cock, he huffed out a breathy sigh, rolling to your side and pulling you with him. Your back pressed against his torso, Sett brushing his large hand against your hip.

He rocked against you, penis still rubbing between your ass cheeks. The only difference was this angle allowed you to tighten more around his dick.

"Hope ya don't mind... babe..." Sett hummed against your shoulder blade, wrapping his arm around you as he continued to hump you. "Ah~ I don't..." And with a sweet tone, you rasped for breath with a sly smile on your sweet, red-flushed cheeks.

"Just make sure you fuck me realllyyy good tonight, okay honey badger~?"

#saey kinktober 2022 #kinktober #kinktober 2022 #saeybaewrites #drabble #x reader #lol #sett league of legends #sett lol #sett x reader #sett lol x reader #sett league of legends x reader #league of legends x reader #lol x reader

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knifefather · 2 years ago

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could i request bruno fucking a male reader and they are in the middle od having sex when suddenly abbacchio walks in on them? thank you!

Absolutely!!! Honestly, I got super excited about this request, sat down and wrote most of it in one sitting, and now I am drawing a blank for the ending lmao. I hope you like what I was able to get down, though. ♡ Under the cut for The Sexy like always~

𝙋𝘼𝙄𝙍𝙄𝙉𝙂: Bruno x Reader x Leone 𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙉𝙏 𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙎: He/him pronouns for reader, reader has a dick, anal sex, some accidental exhibition, and threesomes.

18+ only. Minors and ageless blocks DNI.

Bruno felt weird about having sex with you while other members of the team were home. He thought it was indecent to do anything sexual if there was even a slight chance they could hear. This was especially the case for members he perceived to be more innocent than the rest, like Narancia or Trish. It was because of this that you and Bruno were not as intimate as you both wanted to be. It was manageable, but not favorable.

But then, on a random Tuesday morning, most of the gang announced they were going on a day trip. And thus, the house was cleared out for the remainder of the day.

That left only you and Bruno, and he was not shy about trying to seduce you while the team was gone. He missed you, your body and sensual touches, and now was his chance to make love to you.

You were making lunch in the kitchen, enjoying the quietness of the empty house. You could sense Bruno's presence in the doorway before you could feel his hands wrapping around your waist. He whispered your name softly in your ear, his hot breath sending a shiver down your spine. "I believe we are alone today..." he trailed off, tone suggestive.

Emptying your hands, you looked over your shoulder at him, chuckling. "I think we are. We shouldn't waste this opportunity..."

"That's exactly what I was going to say. I'm glad we're on the same page, amore," Bruno said as he snaked his hands down your hard chest, to your waist. You trembled under his hands, feeling starved for his touch. He pushed you flush against the counter, pinning you in place.

"Are we doing this in the kitchen, or...?" you asked breathily. Bruno answered your question when his hands slid past your pants and into your boxers, gripping your half-hard dick. His rough, scarred hands tugged against your skin delightfully, bringing you to full hardness.

"It does not matter to me where. We could do it here, in the bedroom, dining room, bathroom... As long as I get to have you," he proclaimed, his low voice raspy with lust. You couldn't resist your urges and began bucking into Bruno's hand, tiny moans slipping past your lips. Your precum made his fist slide easier over your shaft, the friction driving you crazy. You reached behind, blindly searching for Bruno's bulge with your hands. You finally located him and grabbed his member through his pants. It wasn't surprising to you that he was already fully erect.

"Let me at you, big boy," you teased him, turning around from the counter. He looked at you with a needy expression, releasing a shameless moan when you started unfastening his pants. In a few moments, you were both free, cocks rubbing together. Bruno's head rolled on his shoulders as you captured both of your members in your grasp, stroking them together. Your precum mingled with his, and you could feel the both of you pulsing with pleasure.

Bruno looked at you with warm, loving eyes before touching his lips to yours. Your kisses were slow and lazy, but still communicated the yearning for more. You increased the pace of your hand, Bruno stirring against you. Pulling away from the kiss, he breathed a simple command against your lips. "Turn around and bend over for me."

Your heart skipped a beat. His words made waves of tingly excitement spread all across your body. You obeyed him, quickly dropping your pants and underwear. Bruno's pants joined the puddle of clothes on the floor, which he kicked aside. You grabbed the edge of the counter and arched your back, raising your ass in his direction. Even though you and Bruno have done this many times before, you still couldn't help but feel shy while he observed you. "Relax," he cooed, kissing the back of your head. "You're doing fine." You mumbled a soft thanks and tried to relax your tense body.

Then, Bruno stepped away for a moment. You could hear him rummaging through his coat pockets, then the clicking of a cap. You braced yourself as he started parting your cheeks. The cold, slick tip of his finger circled your hole. With care, he began fingering you open, slow and steady. You moaned unabashedly, cock leaking between your legs. One finger went to two, and then two to three, bringing your moans to howls.

Meanwhile, the house was not as empty as you both had thought. Upstairs, Abbacchio slept in his bed. He was invited to the day trip with the rest of the gang, but passed in favor of sleeping in. He laid there, silver locks fanning around him, in a strange state between sleep and consciousness. He was about to drift off again until he heard the clattering and crash of something downstairs. His eyelids flew open, his heart racing.

Abbacchio was on his guard, adrenaline moving through him. Being in the mafia, you never knew who could attack you next, or where. He threw on his clothes hastily before stalking down the hall, ears perked for any more noise. He could hear the muffled sound of a man downstairs, putting him further on edge. Stand aura swirled around him, Moody Blues materializing at his side. He was ready for anything to happen.

In the kitchen, a dish had fallen as Bruno rammed you into the counter. You gasped as the plate hit the floor, shattering. "B-Bruno, the plate--!"

"We can deal with it later," he assured you, pressing his hips hard against your ass. You hissed as his cock stretched the sensitive ring of your hole. Your knuckles were turning white from gripping the counter, but all you could do was hold on as Bruno penetrated you.

He pulled out roughly just to plunge in again, warm balls smacking your ass. "More...please..." you moaned, voice breaking. Bruno was more than happy to obey you, picking up his pace. He quickly worked his way up to a fast, yet deep rhythm, holding your waist against him. You cried out, holding on as he battered your prostate.

"B-Babe, I'm c-close, I'm so fucking close," you whined, jerking your cock as he fucked you. A pool of precum was now gathering on the floor underneath you. Bruno narrowed his eyes, seeing your hand work your member desperately. He shooed your hand away, stroking your cock for you instead. Bruno wasn't quite there yet, but he wouldn't deny you your orgasm.

Abbacchio was now downstairs. The sounds were becoming louder. It sounded like the man from before was in pain. As he rounded the corner and approached the kitchen, he stopped and listened some more. It almost sounded like...crying? Anger flared up inside Abbacchio at the thought of someone harming a member of this team. He silently promised himself that he would make the bastard pay for thinking he could mess with Team Bucciarati. Green Stand aura swelled around Abbacchio before he darted around the corner, ready to attack.

At the same time, you were teetering on the edge of orgasm. "C-Cumming~!" you cried out. Bruno breathed heavily in your ear and pistoned his hips into you like your lives depended on it.

Abbacchio's eyes went wide as he witnessed Bruno fucking you silly. Even Moody Blues wore an expression of surprise with its limited facial features.

Like earlier, you felt someone's presence in the threshold of the kitchen. Your eyes were blown wide as you looked over and saw Abbacchio standing in the doorway. "A-A-Ab--!" you tried to articulate his name. Yet, you couldn't speak right or stop the ropes of cum that Bruno wrung from you. You painted the cabinets and counter edge with your spunk, body shaking like a leaf. Not only did you have a hard orgasm, but the shock of seeing Abbacchio made you cum even harder. Your ass clenched around Bruno so wonderfully that he was slow to register that Abbacchio was indeed standing there in the doorway.

Bruno gasped and whipped his head to the side, but the damage was already done. Abbacchio stood, mouth agape, watching you both. He was aware that you two were in a relationship, but knew that Bruno was very private regarding his love life. To see the two of you in a compromising situation like this was something Abbacchio never fathomed.

"Leone," Bruno said, bewildered. "Y-You didn't go out?"

Your body was thrumming with a mix of post-orgasm chemicals and embarrassment. You were frozen in place, unsure what would happen next.

"Y-Yeah," Abbacchio croaked. Moody Blues disappeared from his side. Like you, he was also suspended in place. Neither you nor Bruno made any moves to cover yourselves, and Abbacchio had a hard time looking away from your nakedness. Why wasn't he walking away?

"'Guess I'll leave you to it," Abbacchio said awkwardly, edging towards the door.

"You don't have to leave," you said quickly. Bruno looked you with a twinge of confusion on his face. "Is that okay with you?" you whispered to him.

"If you are fine with it then so am I," he consented.

Abbacchio was floored. There was no way this was happening. "What?"

"You can watch. Or join. Or walk away and pretend like this never happened," Bruno elaborated.

You've never had a threesome before, but the idea of it excited you. You loved Bruno, but you couldn't deny that Abbacchio was extremely attractive. You found your gaze lingering on him just a little too long whenever he was around. There was even an occasion at Libeccio in which you popped a boner while looking at how his shirt stretched over his pecs. You ended up having to excuse yourself to the bathroom to calm down. You also knew that Bruno thought Abbacchio was attractive, but he never pursued anything out of respect for their existing friendship.

Even though you had already came once, you were still hard, and your naughty thoughts only kept you wanting more. You could feel that Bruno was still throbbing, his orgasm not too far away.

Abbacchio was waiting for one of you to announce that this was all a joke. But as the three of you stared at each other, the announcement never came.

Before you realized it, Abbacchio had his pants down to his ankles, his hard cock in his grasp. Your jaw dropped at the image of it: His cock was just as thick as you imagined it to be. The light pink hue of his dick cutely matched the blush that dusted his cheeks.

Bruno caught Abbacchio's gaze, a dark look in his blue eyes. The two men shared a look of mutual understanding and lust before Abbacchio kicked his pants away and made his way towards you both.

Your breath caught in your throat when Abbbacchio locked lips with Bruno and reached to grab your cock at the same time. You were leaking profusely, your body threatening to send you over the edge once again. Abbacchio's hands were more meaty and calloused than Bruno's, but they felt amazing jerking your sensitive cock. He let you go entirely too soon, and you were unable to keep a disappointed sound slipping from your lips. Bruno pressed a kiss to your cheek. "Patience," he reminded you lovingly.

Then, you heard Bruno gasp gently in your ear. Abbacchio had begun to cautiously sink a finger into his hole. Bruno peppered your neck in kisses while Abbacchio stretched him open, your skin muffling the sounds of his moans.

"You ready?" Abbacchio asked Bruno, lining up his cock with his entrance.

"Y-Yes," he replied.

The moment seemed to last an eternity, each passing moment more intense than the last. You could feel Bruno shiver against your back as Abbacchio pushed the head of his cock inside him. As Abbacchio inched deeper and deeper, Bruno pressed deeper into you. By the time that Abbacchio was fully hilted, everyone was covered in sweat and panting. Bruno was completely sheathed in you, and Abbacchio in him.

The three of you enjoyed your quiet home for the rest of the afternoon, breaking the silence and making a bigger mess in the kitchen than you originally planned on.

#bruabba x reader #jjba #not sfw #my work #bruno bucciarati #leone abbacchio #roughly edited #lmao #male reader #knife asks

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