#and when I say leave I mean is forced to leave because no one sees how great he is

[mihanisms]

content: back on my caleb shenanigans. god i need this man so bad. also a tribute to me getting painful signal And a manifestation for me to get his myth cards infold Please Pleeeease Please

warnings: overstimulation, mindbreak, pathetic mean switchy yandere caleb because i think he needs to apologize to us by fucking both his and our brains out. very obsessive / hate-fucky undertones and BREEDING KINK! MENTIONS OF PREGNANCY AND BABY TRAPPING! you have been warned...also this is kind of monologuey from his perspective? idk my brain just shit this out

you were mad at caleb. you were mad at caleb. you were mad at-

fuck, you couldn't even pretend that you had any remaining hostility for him when he was fucking your brains out just right, whimpering out your name like a prayer. "'m sorry for leaving you, princess, i- fuck wouldn't have 'f i didn't need to-" he buries his face into your shoulder, muffling the slew of curses spilling from his mouth, lost in the feeling of your cunt squeezing him just right.

you had lost the amount of time the two of you had been at this, your mind hardwired to the feeling of his cock pounding you, the sloppy sounds of skin slapping against skin and your moans mingling together being the only thing filling up the room.

suddenly, caleb's hands move to your thighs, folding you in a mating press and it only felt better, like he was hitting the deepest parts of you now. you could only moan louder and claw at his back, eyes rolling back as your legs shake in his grip. he lets out a soft whine, his mind turning to mush at the vice grip of your pussy. "princess, god you feel so good, you're taking me just right-" his thrusts only grew more vigorous, wanting to map out every inch of you and ingrain it into his brain.

your mind felt like it was spinning from the amount of pleasure you were receiving, from caleb's cock repeatedly drilling into you and the rapid, short gasps of air he was taking. "you think- you think you can take one more f'me, baby?" you could only muster up a quick nod, but that doesn't satisfy him. letting one of your legs go, he slows down his thrusts and tilts up your head, forcing you to meet his eyes. "use your words, princess. can you take one more for me?"

it takes a while for you to gather the mushed-up words in your head and force them out of your mouth, but you manage a shaky "m-mm, i can- i can take one more f'you, caleb. pl-ease just one moaaah-!"

whatever you were about to say gets cut off by your boyfriend resuming his harsh thrusts, his hand moving down from your face to press on the slight bulge now peeking from your stomach. "good, you can take it..." his eyes were wild with hunger at this point, greedily drinking in each and every one of your reactions - the tears pricking at your eyes, the drool leaking from the side of your mouth, all of it he committed to memory. this was all because of him. the sight drives him to the brink, his hips moving faster and faster as he loses himself in the feeling of you, everything that was welling up inside him threatening to spill over - both figuratively and literally.

caleb was panting like a dog in heat with every move he made, his desperation of wanting to fuck you mirroring your desperation to get fucked. you, you, you, you. more, more, more, more. he wanted more, he wanted to consume you, to envelop your very being with his own so that he was the only person you could see, touch, and talk to. you two would never have to be separated again, not by his will or anyone else's.

with every gasp for breath that you took, caleb's desire to have you intensified, his obsessiveness spilling out of his mouth without a second thought - you were too fucked out to understand anything he was saying, anyways.

"fuck princess, you reaaaally like getting fucked like this, dont'ya? getting used like a dirty fuckin' slut, my dirty fuckin' slut? think i'm gonna get you all nice and filled up, keep you here with me hm? you'd be a good mother i just know it-" the thought of mini you's and him's running around had his eyes rolling back, his legs quivering and his balls tightening up in preparation for his release.

"i really think- i really think this one'll be it, princess. you finally won't be able to leave me, not when you've been stuffed full of my cum and babies, and fuck- everyone'll just have to accept that i'm yours and you're mine, and nothing-" caleb's mind is fuzzy, lost in his fantasies as he drills into you, right on the precipice of ruin, "nothing will ever come between us again."

in your state of mind, you were able to make out nothing but the mix of roughness and possessiveness in his voice, yet you were still able to sense the overflowing love he had for you, no matter what it was that he was saying. already way past your limit, his cock bullying your abused hole leads you to orgasm one last time, a pathetic mewl leaving you as your body spasms and your juices flow down onto him.

the pitiful sound that comes from you and the way your body shakes underneath his was caleb's last straw, his cock spurting out ropes of cum into your waiting pussy. he's left panting and grunting, eyes transfixed on the way your cum had mixed together. "you look so...so pretty like this, princess..." he then collapses on top of you, the hours of sex taking its toll on him as he grinds into you a few more times before going limp, his chest rising up and down rapidly with yours as he tries to catch his breath - and you, your consciousness.

with the remaining strength he had, he manages to move you both to the cleaner side of the bed, pulling out his softening cock from your sopping hole. he leaves a tender kiss on one of the many marks he had left throughout the night, but not before gently prying your legs apart to clean up any remaining cum you had on your legs and pushing it back into you. he couldn't forget what he had just promised you, now could he?

satisfied with his work and feeling lulled by your soft, shaky breaths, caleb decides that any further aftercare would be given once the both of you had recharged, his arms that were previously just used to hold you down now wrapping around your body as he slots himself right behind you, joining you in comfortable, well-earned sleep.

a/n: i hope this was a coherent fic, lowkey I wrote this gone as fuck at 3 in the morning so I'm sorry if it's a bit janky

[urdreamydoodles]

MARVEL COMICS CHARACTERS x FEM!READER

Marvel Comics Characters Receiving a Dirty Picture from You in Public

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Loki, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Matthew Murdock, Frank Castle, Marc Spector, Johnny Storm, Reed Richards, Felicia Hardy, Stephen Strange, Namor, Johnny Blaze, Eddie Brock / Venom, T'Challa & Elektra Natchios

God, I love Marvel Comics...

Peter Parker aka. Spider-Man

Peter has been through a lot. He’s fought villains, lost people he’s loved, and carried the weight of responsibility since he was a kid. But nothing—not Venom, not Doctor Octopus, not the Green Goblin—has ever hit him as hard as opening his phone and seeing you.

He’s perched upside-down on a fire escape, mid-stakeout with Daredevil, when his phone buzzes. He barely glances at it at first, assuming it’s an update from MJ or the Bugle. But then—his Spidey-Sense misfires. His stomach drops. And suddenly, he’s scrambling so fast that he almost falls off the fire escape.

“...Parker?” Matt’s voice is suspicious, brow furrowing beneath the red mask. Peter clutches his phone like a lifeline, heat rushing to his face, his entire body going rigid. “Uh—nope! Nothing’s wrong! Totally fine! Just, uh—gotta—go!” Before Matt can say another word, Peter web-slings away, heart pounding.

Later, in his apartment, he stares at the image, biting his lip so hard he might draw blood. Then, fumbling with his phone, he types back: You cannot just drop this on me in the middle of a mission. I almost DIED. You’re gonna make it up to me. In person. Immediately.

Tony Stark aka. Iron Man

Tony Stark is always the one making people flustered. He’s the king of inappropriate timing, the grandmaster of chaos. So when you flip the game on him? When you send him something completely indecent while he’s in the middle of a live press conference? Oh, he is in trouble.

He’s mid-sentence, standing in front of a sea of reporters, when his phone vibrates. He glances at it without thinking, because hey, it might be about stock prices or another alien invasion. But no. No, it’s you. In the filthiest pose imaginable.

He visibly freezes. Blinks. Blanches. Then—his brain blue screens. The entire room stares as Tony suddenly cuts off mid-sentence, clears his throat, and forces a smirk that’s absolutely not covering up a crisis. “Uh—ladies and gentlemen, I think that’s enough questions for today.”

The moment he’s offstage, he stumbles into the nearest private room, yanks at his tie, and pulls out his phone like it holds the meaning of life. He types back immediately: Oh, now you’ve done it, sweetheart. I hope you’re home right now, because I’m on my way, and I’m bringing consequences.

Steve Rogers aka. Captain America

Steve is not a prude. He’s been around, he’s seen things. But there’s something about you—about the way you know exactly how to knock the breath from his lungs—that makes him feel like a kid again.

He’s in the middle of a strategy meeting with Sam and Bucky, his shield leaning against the table, when his phone vibrates. He checks it without thinking, eyes flicking down—and then every muscle in his body tenses. His grip on the phone tightens. His ears burn red.

“You good, Rogers?” Bucky gives him a knowing smirk, because he immediately recognizes that look—Steve flustered beyond belief. Steve clears his throat, hard, locking his phone like it’s offended him. “Fine,” he says, voice a little too even. “Let’s, uh—let’s keep going.”

But later, when he’s alone, he exhales deeply, pressing a hand over his face before looking at the image again. Then, with slow deliberation, he types: I hope you know what you just started. Because I don’t break my promises, sweetheart. And I promise—you’re not leaving that bed when I get there.

Thor Odinson aka. God of Thunder

Thor has seen battles, has waged wars across the cosmos, has faced monsters and gods. But when his phone pings—when he sees the absolute sin that you’ve just sent him—he forgets how to breathe.

He is in the middle of the Avengers’ common room, laughing boisterously with Bruce and Natasha, when he pulls out his phone. He expects something simple—a text from his brother, perhaps, or a message from Jane. But instead? Instead, he sees you.

The entire room feels it when Thor’s laughter stops. There is a moment—just a beat of silence—before the lights flicker. The air crackles with static electricity. His fingers twitch around the phone, and then, in a low, very serious voice, he mutters, “By the Norns…”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, but Thor abruptly stands, clearing his throat. “I must depart. Urgently.” Bruce frowns. “What? Why?” Thor barely offers an explanation before storming out of the room, typing furiously: You dare tempt the God of Thunder? Very well, little one. You shall learn what it means to summon a storm.

Loki Laufeyson aka. God of Mischief

Loki is the undisputed master of control. He is calm, composed, always one step ahead of everyone else. But when you send him something so shameless, so brazen, in the middle of an important diplomatic event in Asgard—he nearly drops his goblet of wine.

He’s reclining on his throne, listening to some dull ambassador drone on about trade negotiations, when his phone vibrates. He lifts it lazily, expecting nothing of importance—until he sees you.

His entire body goes rigid. His grip tightens around the goblet, the silver denting beneath his fingers. His green eyes darken, and for the first time in centuries, he feels his pulse stutter. The ambassador keeps talking, oblivious, but Loki? Loki is seething.

Later, in his chambers, he lounges on his bed, turning the phone over in his fingers before smirking. Then, with slow, careful precision, he types: You dare tease the God of Mischief? Oh, darling, you are in such trouble. And you know how much I enjoy trouble.

Clint Barton aka. Hawkeye

Clint Barton is used to chaos. He’s fought alien invasions, taken down crime syndicates, and, most impressively, lived in a house with three dogs and somehow survived. But nothing—not the Avengers, not S.H.I.E.L.D., not even Kate Bishop’s endless sarcasm—could have prepared him for this.

He’s in the middle of a debriefing with Captain America and Black Widow when his phone vibrates. Normally, he’d ignore it, but boredom gets the better of him. He sneaks a glance, tilting the screen just slightly—and immediately chokes on his coffee.

“Barton?” Natasha’s voice is sharp, her suspicious gaze snapping to him. Steve looks concerned. Clint, on the other hand, is malfunctioning. He quickly locks his phone, pressing it to his thigh like it’s burning him. “Yep. All good. Just… wrong text thread. You know how it is.”

The second he’s alone, he whistles, rubbing a hand down his face before sending a text: You are absolutely trying to kill me, aren’t you? I’m a trained marksman, babe. You know I always hit my target. Hope you’re ready.

Natasha Romanoff aka. Black Widow

Natasha Romanoff is a professional. She’s endured psychological conditioning, trained with the deadliest assassins in the world, and can lie so well that even she forgets what’s real. But when you send her something so utterly filthy, in the middle of a high-stakes poker game with some very dangerous people—she nearly loses her composure.

She’s holding a perfect poker face, one leg crossed over the other, a cigarette between her fingers (purely for effect). Then, her phone buzzes. She never checks her phone during missions, but for some reason, she does this time.

The second she sees the image, her fingers twitch. She almost fumbles her cigarette. Almost. A single slow breath is all that betrays her before she locks the screen and smirks, adjusting her sunglasses to hide the flicker of heat in her gaze.

Later, after she’s won the game (because of course she has), she finally responds: You must be very confident, sending me something like that. I hope you know what happens when I catch my prey, моя любовь (my love). Because I always catch them.

Bucky Barnes aka. Winter Soldier

Bucky is already always on edge. He spent decades being controlled, his mind fractured, his instincts constantly telling him that danger lurks around every corner. But when his phone vibrates in the middle of a mission briefing and he makes the mistake of checking it—he nearly self-destructs.

He’s sitting next to Sam Wilson, arms crossed, trying to focus on the tactical discussion. Then, out of habit, he glances at his phone. And suddenly? His enhanced heartbeat spikes. His grip on the phone tightens, metal fingers creaking.

Sam immediately notices. “Dude. You okay?” Bucky doesn’t answer. He just exhales deeply, jaw clenching, and locks his phone like it’s personally offended him. “Fine,” he mutters, but the way his throat bobs betrays him.

Later, in the privacy of his room, he leans against the wall, pressing his flesh hand over his face before looking at the image again. Then, he types—slow, deliberate, full of promise: You are playing with fire, doll. And you know I don’t burn alone.

Matthew Murdock aka. Daredevil

Matt has learned to control himself. He has to, considering his senses pick up everything. The heartbeat of a liar, the scent of blood, the whisper of fabric against skin. But when he puts in his earpiece during a stakeout with Elektra and hears you—sultry, teasing, wicked—his composure shatters.

Your voice is a purr, warm and full of amusement, as you describe, in explicit detail, exactly what you want to do to him. Every syllable slides into his ear like a sin, and for the first time in years, Matt Murdock forgets how to breathe.

“Murdock.” Elektra’s voice is unimpressed. “Are you even listening?” Matt clenches his jaw, forcing his expression into something neutral as he slowly removes the earpiece. “Yeah,” he lies, his voice way too tight. “Loud and clear.” But his fingers twitch, betraying him.

Later, alone in his apartment, he plays the message again. And again. Until his own heartbeat is thunderous in his ears. Then, with a slow smirk, he records his reply—his voice low, gravelly, barely more than a rasp: Angel, you have no idea what you’ve just done. And I promise—you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.

Frank Castle aka. The Punisher

Frank Castle does not fluster. He’s a man who’s seen the worst of the world, a soldier who has lost everything. He does not get distracted. But when he’s sitting in the middle of a grimy bar, brooding over a whiskey, and his phone vibrates—everything stops.

He checks it absently, expecting intel from Micro or maybe a warning from Daredevil. But instead, he gets you. And just like that, his grip on the glass tightens. His jaw locks. His entire body tenses, muscles coiled, because you have just sent him something so utterly indecent that he has to set his whiskey down before he crushes the glass.

The bartender notices. “You good, man?” Frank barely glances up, his fingers white-knuckled around his phone. “Fine,” he mutters, voice rough. He shoves his phone back in his pocket and downs the rest of his drink in one go.

Later, in the dead of night, he finally lets himself look at the picture again. He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face, before sending a single message: You think you’re real cute, huh? Yeah. Keep that same energy when I get home. See if you’re still smirking when I’ve got my hands on you.

Marc Spector aka. Moon Knight

Marc has lived multiple lives. A mercenary. A vigilante. A fist of vengeance. But the moment his phone vibrates in the middle of a stakeout, and he sees you—he nearly blows his own cover.

He’s perched on a rooftop, watching a weapons deal go down, his mind sharp and focused. Then, out of habit, he checks his phone. His breath hitches. His grip tightens around the device, and he has to physically restrain himself from groaning. Khonshu’s voice rumbles in his mind: "Your mortal desires are distracting, Spector." Marc grits his teeth. "Yeah, no shit."

“Something wrong?” Jake’s voice purrs from inside his head, amused. “She send you something nice, hermano?” Marc rolls his eyes, exhaling sharply before locking his phone. “Mind your damn business.” But his pulse is thundering.

Later, back at his apartment, he leans against the wall, staring at the image before typing: You have no idea what you’ve just done. Hope you’re home. Hope you’re ready.

Johnny Storm aka. Human Torch

Johnny Storm is used to attention. He thrives on it. He’s a celebrity, a hero, a walking flame. But when you send him something scandalous in the middle of a live television interview, even he isn’t ready for it.

He’s laughing, flashing his signature cocky grin at the camera, when his phone buzzes. He checks it without thinking—because hey, it might be Sue yelling at him again—but instead, it’s you. In the filthiest pose imaginable.

Johnny visibly chokes. His entire body tenses. For the first time ever, he forgets what he was saying. The interviewer blinks. “Uh… Johnny?” His brain short-circuits. His face heats—literally. The tips of his ears ignite before he clenches his fists and forces himself to not spontaneously combust on live television.

The second the interview is over, he’s sprinting to his dressing room, slamming the door shut and typing frantically: Ohhh, you are in trouble. You’re really trying to set me on fire, huh? Hope you’re home, babe, ‘cause I’m flying over. Right. Now.

Reed Richards aka. Mister Fantastic

Reed Richards is a genius. His mind is constantly working at speeds beyond human comprehension. But when he’s mid-lecture at a prestigious scientific conference and his phone vibrates—his brilliant mind suddenly goes blank.

He absently checks his phone, half-expecting an alert from the Baxter Building. But instead, it’s you. Wearing almost nothing.

For a solid ten seconds, he is frozen. His eyes slightly widen. His fingers twitch. And then, very slowly, he locks his phone and clears his throat. “Ah—excuse me, esteemed colleagues, but I must—um—attend to an urgent matter.”

Later, he adjusts his glasses, staring at the image with a fascinated, almost scientific appreciation. Then, with methodical precision, he types: You are a very distracting woman. I will be conducting an… in-depth study on you as soon as I return. Expect a thorough examination.

Felicia Hardy aka. Black Cat

Felicia Hardy is a master of seduction. She flusters men for fun. But when she’s in the middle of a high-stakes casino heist, and you send her something utterly indecent, even she loses her composure.

She’s leaning against the bar, sipping an expensive martini, eyes locked on her mark. Then, her phone buzzes. She lazily checks it, expecting an update from her crew. But instead? Instead, she sees you.

Her eyelashes flutter. Her lips part just slightly. And for the first time in years, her poker face cracks. The bartender—oblivious—raises an eyebrow. “Everything okay, miss?” Felicia exhales, smirking as she locks her phone. “Oh, it’s better than okay.”

Later, she lounges on silk sheets, staring at the picture before purring into her phone: You really think you can tease me, kitten? Oh, sweetheart… you just made a very expensive bet. And I never lose.

Stephen Strange aka. Doctor Strange

Stephen Strange is not easily shaken. He’s fought cosmic horrors, bent reality, and wielded power beyond mortal comprehension. But when he’s in the middle of a magical duel with Dormammu, and you send him a sinfully explicit picture—he almost loses.

He’s mid-incantation, floating above the Sanctum’s rooftop, when his phone vibrates. Normally, he’d ignore it—except something in the back of his mind tells him it’s you. He flicks his fingers, glancing at the screen—and immediately regrets it.

His spell stutters. His fingers twitch. The fabric of reality briefly warps. Wong, standing below, yells, “What the hell was that?!” Stephen clenches his jaw, locking his phone immediately before snapping his wrist and repairing the timeline. “Nothing,” he mutters. “Absolutely nothing.”

The moment the battle is over, he retreats into his study, loosening his Cloak, before typing: You dare distract the Sorcerer Supreme? You have no idea what you’ve just unleashed, darling. And I do hope you’re prepared for consequences beyond mortal comprehension.

Namor aka. The Sub-Mariner

Namor is a king. He does not answer to anyone. He has waged war against the surface world, stood against the mightiest heroes, and commands the loyalty of an entire empire. But when he is seated on his throne, discussing politics with his council, and his communicator vibrates—everything else becomes irrelevant.

He glances down, expecting a diplomatic missive. Instead, he is greeted by you—a vision of temptation, captured in a way that only he has the privilege to see. His grip on the communicator tightens, his lips parting slightly. The light of the display reflects in his dark, narrowed eyes.

The council drones on, but Namor hears nothing. His golden gauntlets flex, his knuckles tightening as his jaw sets. A slow, deliberate exhale is all that betrays his reaction. But those closest to him—his most trusted generals—see the flicker of something dangerous in his expression. A storm, barely contained.

Later, as he stands upon his balcony, overlooking the endless ocean, he types a single response: You seek to tempt a king, my love? Then be prepared for the wrath of a god. When next we meet, you will drown in my devotion.

Johnny Blaze aka. Ghost Rider

Johnny Blaze has seen Hell—literally. He has ridden across the desolate highways of damnation, stared into the abyss, and laughed. But when he’s sitting in a biker bar, nursing a whiskey and half-listening to some guy ramble about the Devil, his phone vibrates. And when he checks it—he nearly sets the whole place on fire.

The image of you is burned into his mind, seared into his soul. He sucks in a slow breath through his teeth, his fingers tightening around the glass. His knuckles go white. Somewhere deep inside, the Spirit of Vengeance chuckles.

“Something wrong, Blaze?” One of the other bikers eyes him warily. Johnny forces a smirk, setting his whiskey down before he crushes the glass in his grip. “Nah,” he rasps, his voice a little too rough. “Just realized I got… unfinished business to take care of.”

Later, on his Hellfire-coated bike, he sends a text: You got a real bad habit of making me wanna sin, sweetheart. And I promise—I’ll make sure you repent. Over. And over.

Eddie Brock & Venom aka. Venom

Eddie Brock has been through hell. He’s fought monsters, been one himself, lost everything, and still kept going. But nothing—not a damn thing—could prepare him for the absolute carnage of getting that picture from you in the middle of a crowded subway.

He’s scrolling through his phone absentmindedly, Venom muttering in his head about wanting tater tots, when the image loads. For a solid five seconds, he is completely still. Then—

“Eddie.” Venom’s voice rumbles, amused. “Your mate is very… bold. We approve.” Eddie, red-faced, slams his phone against his chest like that’ll somehow erase what just happened. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, eyes darting around to make sure no one saw. A teenager across from him raises an eyebrow.

Later, when he’s alone, he finally lets himself look at the picture again. A slow, predatory grin spreads across his face as he types back: Oh, you think you’re being cute, huh? Yeah. Just wait till I get my hands on you. Hell, maybe we’ll even let Venom have a little fun, too.

T’Challa aka. Black Panther

T’Challa is a king, a warrior, a legend. His mind is a fortress, his will unshakable. But when he is seated in the royal palace of Wakanda, surrounded by dignitaries, and his Kimoyo Beads alert him to a personal message—his focus wavers.

He allows himself a discreet glance. And in that moment? His heart skips a single beat. His fingers—steady even in the heat of battle—tighten just slightly around his beads. His expression does not change. But to those who know him well—Okoye, Shuri—they notice the subtlest flicker of something dangerous in his eyes.

Shuri smirks. “Brother,” she murmurs, leaning in. “You look… distracted.” T’Challa exhales deeply, locking the message with a casual flick of his fingers. “I am merely… anticipating a conversation.”

Later, when he is alone, he reviews the picture once more, fingers grazing his jaw before he types: You are testing my patience, beloved. And you know I am a man of great discipline. But for you? I am willing to break my own rules. Expect me soon.

Elektra Natchios aka. Elektra

Elektra Natchios does not fluster. She has slit the throats of kings, danced on the edge of oblivion, and played cat-and-mouse with death itself. But when she is sharpening her sai on the rooftop of a New York high-rise and her phone buzzes—her grip falters.

The blade nicks her glove. Barely. But it happens. Her lips part in a slow, dangerous smirk as she tilts the phone toward the moonlight, drinking in the absolute audacity of your message.

“Something amusing?” A voice—a rival assassin, lurking in the shadows. Elektra does not answer. She merely tucks her phone away, standing smoothly, her stance lethal. “Yes,” she purrs. “Something… very amusing.”

Later, as she leans against the window of her penthouse, she finally sends a reply: You are so very reckless, my love. And I do enjoy breaking reckless little things.

[emilys-bangs]

of broken bones and hearts | e.p

Tags: established relationship, mom!emily, broken bones :(, mild hurt/comfort, a dash of angst, healthy helping of guilt ridden momily because of course she would be, use of petnames, no use of yn

Summary: Eloise breaks a bone. Emily freaks out, you exercise damage control, and the both of you pamper her with affection.

Word count: 2.7k

Work is slow. Slower than usual. No cases, no consults, nothing except brain numbing paperwork. Usually Emily doesn’t mind it—it means being home for dinner, helping settle Eloise into bed and unwinding with you on the couch. But today it grates on her.

She’s staring down at a half filled report for last week’s case, tapping her pen on the dotted lines with an idle restlessness. Her sugar-brimmed coffee is down to dregs. The fluorescent lights make her feel caged.

Her phone vibrates with a call; Emily is answering before the first ring dies out. She automatically knows it’s you—or she hopes it is.

“Hi, babe.” She thumbs the skin between her brows, waits for the sweet relief of your voice to come through.

“Hi. Okay, listen. I’m gonna tell you something, but don’t freak out.” 

Emily stiffens. Her spine goes ramrod straight; immediately, her thoughts flit to Eloise. 

“Is it Eloise?”

“She’s fine.” You insist. “We’re at the hospital. She broke her arm at play time, we just got done with the x-ray and we’re waiting for the doctor.” You say it all in one breath, a long string of words that makes Emily’s mouth go dry. “She wants to talk to you.”

Emily is still blinking at her computer when movement rustles in her ear—the phone being pressed to Eloise’s cheek. A belated tremble rocks her hands.

“Mommy.” Eloise whines quietly. The sound grips Emily’s chest in a vice. She’s still stuck in five seconds ago, before images of her daughter in a cast flooded her mind. She roughly shakes her head, as if she can force them out.

“El, hi.” Her voice is rusty. Emily clears her throat, digs her knuckles into her eye. Stars burst along her vision. “I heard you’re at the hospital. How do you feel, my love?” 

“My hand hurts,” Eloise sniffles. She sounds like a kicked puppy.

Emily’s fingers flex into a sweaty fist. “I know it does, honey. The doctor’s gonna make it all better now, okay? You just…you just have to stay really still for them so they can put a cast on. And then you’ll get to choose a color for it!” She forces fake cheer into her voice. “I bet they have a ton of colors.”

There’s a stretch of silence on the other end. Emily’s thumb forces its way between her teeth.

“Pink?” Her daughter mumbles eventually.

“Pink sounds perfect. Just remember to stay really still while they’re putting it on, okay?”

“Mmn.” 

The dulled tone of her voice makes Emily’s heart clench. Eloise is almost always cheerfully rambling about one thing or the other, her inner monologue spilled out for you and Emily to hear, taking up more space than she does. Hearing her reduced to weak, monosyllabic responses twists at Emily’s gut. She blows out a stuttering breath.

“I love you, Eloise. I’ll see you real soon.”

“’Kay.”

Emily is already standing by the time your voice comes through again. 

“Why did you just call?” She questions, only paying half a mind to the way she bites out the words.

“Because I knew you’d do this and I didn’t want to freak you out—well, more than necessary,” your voice lowers, “—before knowing she’s okay. And she is. She’s in a bit of pain but they gave her Ibuprofen a few minutes ago, it should kick in any minute.”

“A broken bone isn’t fine,” Emily mutters, flipping her report closed and grabbing her purse. She doesn’t meet Reid or Morgan’s gazes as she steps past their desks to Hotch’s office. “I’m on my way.”

“We’re almost done here.” You say. For the first time, she hears the threads of exhaustion in your voice. Emily’s frown deepens.

“I’ll meet you at home, then.” Her tone leaves no room for argument.

You resign to it. So does Hotch. Emily tries to ignore the tremble in her hands as she gets in the elevator and presses P.

___

She gets home before you do. When you walk in with a McDonald’s bag in your hand it’s clear why. A pharmacy bag dangles from your wrist, dangerously close to slipping over the heel of your hand as you shut the front door. Eloise is in your arms, slumped and limp; her purple cast hangs listlessly off your shoulder.

Emily distantly clocks the deep violet but doesn’t linger on it, hurrying instead to lighten your load, taking the food and the meds before easing Eloise’s school bag from your grip. You murmur a quiet thanks. Her lips find your cheek, a wordless response, and then she’s stepping behind your shoulder to glance at your daughter.

“She’s pretty out of it,” you whisper. 

You’re not wrong. Eloise’s eyes are closed, lashes threaded together and resting on her cheeks. Mouth pressed into your shoulder, she breathes evenly, not stirring at her mother’s light touch when she reaches over to sweep the mussed bangs over her brows. 

“Poor thing.” Emily sighs quietly. “Let’s get her to bed.” She murmurs. You nod, though the sun still streams in through the windows and paints the house gold. 

It takes more effort than it usually does to settle your daughter into bed. You take careful steps all the way to her room and Emily drowns Eloise’s bed with more pillows than usual; when you finally set her down in it, you gently elevate her arm the way the doctor showed you to. Throughout it all Eloise only stirs when you move the cast. Her whine is muffled, fingers twitching where they peek out from under the plaster. Emily bites down on her thumb to stop herself from grabbing your hand away.

“How did it happen?” She asks when you’re in the kitchen, putting the happy meal in the oven. 

Your brows tick upward. “She was trying to do a cartwheel.”

“Jesus.” Emily groans into her hands. Guilt curdles in her stomach again, making her shudder with nausea. 

She was the one who suggested gymnastics lessons in the first place. Ballet and soccer failed to catch Eloise’s attention; she was too listless in her tutu and too disgruntled at being jostled around in her soccer jersey. Gymnastics seemed like a perfect fit. It’s only been a few months but she’s obsessed with it, constantly twisting and bending on the mat you’d gotten her, all but abandoning her toys in favor of rolling around in the living room. You and Emily had warned her time and time again about practicing without either of your supervision, but the girl is four years old and half Emily.

“It’s my fault,” Emily mutters. She digs her palms deeper into her eyes, sparks flashing in the dark. “God, what was I thinking? She’s fucking four years old—”

“Hey, hey, none of that.” You say, gripping Emily’s wrists and pulling none too gently. The look in your eyes is hardened with determination—a common sight that usually pulls her from the edge whenever she spirals about anything regarding your daughter. “You said it yourself, Em, she’s four. Accidents like this are bound to happen, whether she’s doing gymnastics or not.”

“She wouldn’t have tried to launch herself into the air otherwise,” Emily mutters, unsurprised to feel a dampness on her lashes.

“Wouldn’t she?” You tilt your head. Eloise is nothing short of adventurous, and both you and Emily know that. You squeeze a soft pattern on her wrists, fingers digging lightly into her skin before letting go and doing it again.

“No.” Her mouth pinches as she drops her forehead on your shoulder. “Maybe we should stop sending her to those lessons. They’re making her reckless.”

“They’re making her fearless. That’s not a bad thing, Emily.” Your fingers release her wrists and travel to the base of her neck, finding knots of tension. You start working them. “She’s not scared to try, and she shouldn’t be, just as long as we’re with her. But the point still stands—this could’ve happened for any other reason.”

Emily doesn’t say anything. She resignedly grabs on to your waist and inhales, filling her lungs with your familiar scent—shampoo, perfume, fabric softener. Something else sneaks in, too, spoiling the usual comfort of your fragrance. Emily recognizes it; faint traces of antiseptic. Her stomach turns.

“I know it’s hard for you to believe,” you murmur, now tracing her jaw, nudging her chin up to get her eyes to meet yours, “but not everything’s your fault. Things just happen sometimes.”

Emily responds with a sound deep in her throat, her brows arching wryly.

Your eyes narrow. “Okay,” you announce. “As your spouse, I demand you stop feeling guilty. Since I do know best and all.”

A smile tickles the corners of Emily’s lips. “Well, if my spouse insists,” she drawls, though her stomach is still unsettled from it all. A few years ago she’d have gaped in disbelief at this version of herself, but by now she’s well used to it—though she still doesn’t like it. Emily is perfectly composed, unshakable. Always. Except when it comes to you and Eloise. That has become a hard fact, as sure as the day is long. She’s entirely helpless to stop it.

“I do,” you murmur, pulling her in for a kiss. 

Emily belatedly realizes it’s the first time she’s kissed you since the morning. Her shoulders loosen from the press of your lips, soft against hers, the way you thread your fingers through her hair. Warmth builds in her chest; she wraps an arm around your back to keep you close, humming into your mouth. The world quiets for a moment, her frazzled nerves smothered into something more tame under your touch. Your nails gently scrape against her scalp and her spine warms, muscles unlocking as she lets go of your lower lip and nuzzles her nose into yours.

“Sorry I snapped at you,” she whispers.

“It wasn’t really a snap. More of a nibble,” you shrug, like you’re rolling it off your shoulders.

“Still.” Emily insists.

“It’s okay,” you give her a quick peck before escaping the cage of her arms, “I know how it feels. She’s my kid too, you know.” You make your way to the counter, peering into the grocery bag she’d left there before you came. “You went to the store?”

Emily nods as you pull out two sheets of stickers. “Got her ice cream,” she says, “and those. So she can decorate the cast.”

“Smart.” You hum. “She was pretty torn up about it not being pink.”

“What kind of hospital doesn’t have a pink fucking cast?” Emily scorns.

“A bad one,” you agree mildly. As your eyes scan the—very pink—sticker sheets, a smile starts to curve your lips. “But,” you wave them in the air, “at least you had the foresight.”

“At least.” Emily says dryly.

Silver linings and all that.

___

Emily’s leaning over dinner on the stove when a small voice catches her attention.

“Mommy,” Eloise mumbles, half squished into your shoulder. 

Emily turns to face the both of you, a sad smile spreading on her lips when she sees the cast again. It starts just under Eloise’s right elbow and continues until her little knuckles, leaving only her fingers exposed under the purple. The toddler’s head is cushioned on your shoulder, her eyes drowsy with sleep but fighting to stay open. You’d hoped she’d sleep through the night, but barely two hours after you put her in bed she called out through her ajar bedroom door.

Emily steps away from the stove and into the reach of Eloise’s stretched arm, obliging her daughter and gingerly taking her from you. She’s unsurprised at this show of affection; Eloise—like herself—often demands it, more so when she’s sick or hurt. It’s one thing she’s infinitely glad her daughter inherited from her, even if right now it comes with more work. You help adjust her casted arm across her chest.

“Hi, Eloise.” Emily whispers, a muscle somewhere deep under her skin unlocking at the familiar weight in her arms. She brushes a kiss on her daughter’s sleep-warm cheek. “How’s my brave girl doing? Is your arm still hurting?”

Eloise shakes her head, her brows dipping into a frown identical to yours. “S’okay now,” she says. That doesn’t stop her lips from curving into a pout, her frown growing deeper by the second.

Emily presses her thumb to the wrinkled skin between her brows. “What is it, my love?”

Eloise burrows into Emily’s neck, her free hand curling around the collar of her sweatshirt. She huffs out a warm sigh, deeply grieved. “They didn’t have pink,” she mumbles.

You chew on your lip, clearly attempting to keep the smile at bay. Emily pulls a face at you as she absently smooths between Eloise’s shoulder blades.

“That’s awfully rude of them.” She says softly. Her lips find the warm skin of Eloise’s forehead; Emily presses a kiss there. “What if we put some pink stickers on it? Would that make it better?”

The sound Eloise makes isn’t entirely too pleased, but Emily carefully carries her over to where the stickers are anyway. She grabs a sheet and holds it up, thumbing at the plastic covering. “I got these for you. What do you think, would they look pretty on your cast?”

Eloise frowns at them, unconvinced. She reaches out to touch a sticker, her finger hovering between a slice of strawberry topped cake and a pink ice-cream cone.

“Those are pretty,” you nudge gently, sifting your fingers through Eloise’s bedhead and tucking some of the hair away from her face. “Do you wanna try putting them on?”

Her lips purse into a contemplating pout. Eloise shakes her head, turning to bury her face back into Emily’s neck again. Her frown is practically etched onto Emily’s skin; she can feel it, as sure as she feels the wild hair tickling the underside of her jaw. While this is a lesser pain than hearing her daughter’s distressed voice through the phone, it still throbs dully. Biting back a sigh, she sets the stickers down.

You step in again.

“Are you still hungry, El?”

Suddenly the weight of Eloise’s head lids off of Emily’s shoulder. “Did we get McDonald’s?” She asks, more energy in her voice than Emily’s heard all day. It’s a familiar burst of sunshine, the warmth of it sinking instantly into her skin. She closes her eyes and absently kisses the side of Eloise’s head, thanking all her lucky stars for you.

“We did, honey. Do you want to eat that now?”

Eloise’s frantic nodding makes both you and Emily smile. She comes out of her hiding spot, sufficiently appeased with the shift in conversation. As you heat up the meal, Emily grabs the toy inside and hands it to her daughter. 

“I’m gonna set you down now, honey.” She says. Eloise doesn’t pay her any mind, too preoccupied with the toy in her hand to care. Emily sets her down on the counter and hides a wince at the pull in her shoulder as she grabs the golden, sugar infested cup of apple juice in the greasy bag. You chat to Eloise as the food heats up, pulling her attention away from Emily diluting the juice.

“Can we also watch Star Wars?” She mumbles, fiddling with the toy one-handed. 

No TV while eating is a strict rule of yours. But under the weight of Eloise’s pleading eyes and her vibrant cast, it bends. A soft sigh answers, and Emily stifles a smile as you nod and murmur your assent.

That’s how you end up eating dinner on the couch, two pasta bowls and a happy meal on your respective laps, an army of stuffed animals joining you amongst the cushions to watch Lego Star Wars. Sergio serves as a willing armrest for Eloise’s cast, and that night the whole family wedges into your bed, carefully nestled between you and Emily.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu@ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi@temilyrights@professorsapphic

[reiding-writing]

Maybe a fic where Cold! Reader has been letting her softer side show around Spencer, and one day when she lets a smile slip he tries to tell her that he likes her smile??

THE SMILE THAT SLIPPED — SPENCER REID!

you don’t feel things like this. you don’t. ever. except maybe you actually do.

spencer reid x cold!reader | 2.4k | fluff | cold!reader masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n— this came out to exactly 2400 words and it’s so satisfying

The bullpen is quieter than usual.

The exhaustion of a closed case hangs in the air, making the usual rustling of paperwork and distant hum of conversation feel almost comforting. You sit at your desk, the last few reports in front of you, fingers idly toying with your pen as you force yourself to focus.

It’s late, but no one’s rushing to leave. The team lingers, unwinding in the way they always do after a case—half-finished conversations, shared glances, a collective sense of relief.

Across from you, Spencer is flipping through a file at an alarming speed, his knee bouncing beneath the desk. It’s a familiar sight, one you’ve grown used to. You don’t realize you’re watching until his voice breaks through the background noise.

*"*You know, statistically speaking, people who work late tend to make more errors in their reports. Fatigue impairs cognitive function—kind of like being drunk, actually. So, technically…” He looks up, eyes bright with something innocently fascinating. “We’re all just sleep-deprived, paper-pushing drunks right now,”

It’s not the words themselves. It’s the way he says it—earnest and slightly amused, like he didn’t mean for it to sound like a joke but realised it as he was saying it.

Before you can stop it, a small smile tugs at your lips. It’s brief, barely there, but it happens.

And Spencer sees it.

He stills mid-page turn, hazel eyes widening just slightly. His lips part, like he’s about to say something and then thinks better of it. But after a beat, his voice comes, softer this time.

“I like your smile,”

The words hit like a misfired shot, straight to the chest. Your breath catches.

You freeze.

For a moment, the bullpen fades—the low murmur of voices, the shuffle of papers, the distant ringing of a phone. All of it disappears beneath the weight of his words.

People have complimented you before. You know how to brush them off, how to let them roll off your back like they mean nothing. But this? This is different.

Because Spencer isn’t saying it in passing. He isn’t trying to flatter you or win you over. He’s just saying it, like a quiet observation. Like a fact.

And that unsettles you more than anything.

Your expression shutters in an instant. The walls go up before you can think, instinctual and sharp-edged. You look away, shaking your head slightly, as if dismissing the moment entirely.

“Get back to your report, Reid.”

You don’t wait for his reaction. You don’t want to see it. Instead, you focus on the papers in front of you, grip tightening around your pen.

But even as you force your attention elsewhere, his words linger. Nestle into the corners of your mind.

And that brief, impossible warmth in your chest?

You don’t want to think about what it means.

You don’t look at him again.

Not when he shifts slightly in his seat, the rustle of paper between his fingers halting for a fraction of a second. Not when he exhales softly, as if debating whether to say something more.

You just keep your eyes fixed on your report, willing the moment to disappear.

Your voice had been even, detached—just the way you intended. But there had been something else underneath. Too quiet for him to catch, you hope.

Spencer doesn’t say anything, but you feel the weight of his stare. A hesitation. A question he doesn’t voice. Then, slowly, the sound of him turning a page resumes, though less fluid than before.

Still, you don’t look up.

You can’t.

—

For the rest of the day, you keep your distance.

It’s not unusual for you to be reserved—stoic, even. No one questions it when you opt out of lingering conversations, when you choose solitude over small talk. But today, you’re avoiding Spencer in a way that’s painfully deliberate.

Every time he moves near, you find a reason to move elsewhere.

When he passes your desk to grab a file, you suddenly decide you need something from the break room.

When he glances your way during a briefing, you keep your gaze firmly on the case notes in front of you.

When he lingers near the coffee pot, shifting as if working up the nerve to speak, you bypass him entirely, opting for a bottle of water instead.

And Spencer notices.

At first, he thinks it’s a coincidence. Maybe you’re just having an off day. Maybe you’re distracted.

But by the fifth time it happens, the crease between his brows deepens.

Did he overstep?

He replays the moment in his mind, trying to pinpoint where he went wrong. He hadn’t meant anything by it—at least, not in a way that should’ve pushed you away.

He had just… liked your smile.

And maybe he shouldn’t have said it out loud, but it had slipped past his lips before he could stop it. Before he could remind himself that you don’t do things like this.

That you don’t let people in.

So why had you smiled in the first place?

And why does it bother him so much that you won’t even look at him now?

—

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter.

That the tension in your chest is nothing. That his words had been just that—words.

But as much as you try to shake them, they follow you.

“I like your smile,”

It had been soft. Unassuming. No expectation, no ulterior motive. Just an observation, spoken like a truth he hadn’t realised he was sharing.

And that’s what unsettles you the most.

You’ve spent so long keeping people at arm’s length, making sure no one sees too much, knows too much. And yet, for one fleeting second, he’d seen something.

A crack in the armour.

And he hadn’t ridiculed it. Hadn’t pointed it out with some smug remark.

He had simply liked it.

And you don’t know what to do with that.

—

The injury isn’t bad.

It’s inconvenient, sure—annoying—but it’s nothing you can’t handle. A twisted ankle, a sharp jolt of pain when you put too much weight on it, but nothing that warrants the level of concern the team is throwing your way.

"You should ice that," Emily had said after the case wrapped, nodding toward your ankle as you leaned against the SUV.

“You should get it checked out,” Morgan added when you limped your way back into the precinct after your foiled foot chase.

“You should at least sit down,” JJ had pointed out, exasperated, when you waved off Morgan’s concern and started organising the paperwork.

And Spencer?

He hadn’t said anything.

He had looked—of course, he had. You could feel his eyes on you in the way that made your skin prickle, in the way that made you want to disappear under the scrutiny. But he never commented, never pushed.

It should’ve been a relief.

So why does it bother you?

—

You avoid going to the coffee shop down the street for obvious reasons. The last thing you need is for someone to make a fuss over you limping back to the office, and you refuse to ask anyone to go for you.

You tell yourself you don’t care. That the shitty break room coffee machine is fine. That it doesn’t bother you.

But when you come back from a meeting and sit at your desk, a familiar cup is waiting for you.

The logo. The exact order. The slight hint of caramel in the air.

You blink, staring at it like it might disappear.

You glance around the bullpen instinctively, but no one is paying you any mind. No one except Spencer, who doesn’t look away fast enough when your eyes find him.

The second you make eye contact, he drops his gaze back to his book, fingers twitching like he hadn’t meant to get caught.

You should ignore it. Pretend you didn’t notice. Pretend the warmth curling in your chest doesn’t exist.

Instead, your fingers tighten around the cup, a quiet acknowledgment only for yourself.

Then, you notice the note.

A small yellow sticky note, left beside your keyboard.

—Caffeine may slow the healing process, but I figured you’d rather risk it. Your ankle should improve in stages: swelling will peak in 48 hours, and mobility should return within a week. Try not to push it. :)

It’s simple. Factual. Exactly what you’d expect from him.

And yet, you feel something catch in your throat.

Not because of the words themselves, but because of what they mean.

Because despite the fact that you’ve been avoiding him for days, despite the fact that you shut down the last time he got too close, Spencer still noticed.

And he didn’t push. Didn’t demand a thank you. Didn’t hover or ask if you were okay.

He just… did this.

And you don’t realize how much it means until you’re alone.

—

You stare at the coffee.

It’s lukewarm now, condensation beading against the cup, but you haven’t taken a sip. You just keep staring, fingers curled around the cardboard sleeve, chest tight with something you don’t want to name.

It shouldn’t mean anything.

It’s just coffee. A stupid, simple gesture.

And yet.

The fact that you have it at all. The note. The way Spencer had looked away when you caught him watching—like he looking at you just because he wanted to.

You swallow hard.

This isn’t the first time he’s done something like this. Not really. You replay the moments in your head—the subtle ways he’s always noticed things about you before you even noticed them yourself.

The way he hands you a pen without you asking, just as yours runs out of ink.

The way he subtly shifts so you have an easier exit from a crowded room.

The way he remembers your order at every coffee shop, even when you don’t go to the same one twice.

The way he never pushes, never demands, never asks for more than you’re willing to give.

The way he just… sees you.

And that terrifies you.

Because you’ve spent so long keeping people at arm’s length, building walls high enough that no one could ever slip through. You don’t let people close. You can’t.

But Spencer?

He’s already there.

And somehow, you hadn’t even noticed until now.

Your pulse stutters, something sharp and unfamiliar twisting in your stomach.

Oh no.

—

The next day, you wake up with a sense of urgency you don’t understand.

You can’t stop thinking about him—about Spencer. About everything. About how he’s seen you. And how that thought makes you want to hide.

You have half the mind to bury yourself in the earth and never look at him again. To pack up and leave the BAU and disappear into the anonymity of a new job, new city, new life. Somewhere no one could care enough to notice if you smiled or if you were limping or if you were secretly falling apart inside.

But you don’t.

You don’t run. Not this time.

Instead, you get to work early, before the team trickles in, before Spencer arrives and fills the room with that quietly intense energy he always carries with him.

You don’t know why you’re doing this. But the thought of avoiding him again, of pretending like nothing matters, feels too heavy to bear.

—

You don’t say anything.

You just do it.

You make his coffee—exactly the way he likes it. Not too much sugar, swirled black, in that old worn out starfish mug he should’ve thrown out years ago.

You’re silent in the break room, the hum of the coffee machine filling the space between you and the mug you slide carefully onto the counter. It feels like the most normal thing in the world to do, and yet, your heart is pounding like you’re stepping into a completely foreign territory.

You can already hear the steady click of footsteps approaching, but you don’t look up. Not until the moment is right.

He’s here.

Spencer doesn’t say anything at first. His eyes flick to the coffee on the counter, then to you, and then back to the coffee as if trying to make sense of it. It’s the same as always, and yet it’s different.

He looks up at you, caught off guard, blinking a few times.

You turn away quickly, suddenly aware of the heat in your face, as if somehow your actions were a betrayal of everything you’d been trying to keep locked away.

It’s nothing, you tell yourself. Nothing at all.

But then, before you can retreat into the familiar coldness, he smiles.

It’s soft. Quiet. Like he’s known all along what this was.

There’s no teasing in his eyes, no attempt to make light of the situation. Just understanding. And something else—something gentler than you’ve ever seen from him before.

His smile is everything you didn’t realize you needed.

And for once, you don’t run.

You let the moment sit.

You let the warmth settle between you.

You breathe in deeply, not pushing him away, not hiding behind your walls. Just standing in the same space with him, finally acknowledging what’s been there for far too long.

It’s not much. But it’s enough.

[hencheri]

dhdjjdjfj okieee cuz i need heeseung more than i need air. or wtv the hoes say /lh. i can’t be coherent ever but especially when it comes to him he makes me so fucking mad /pos

ok but like. trying not to be tooo vague but i feel like he’d be mean just for the sake of being mean. i’m not sure if this is how u see him or not… n feel free to disagree ofc!!! but i love the idea of him purposefully taunting u and humiliating u. i’m wondering i guess… if i were to actually ask smth and not just ramble. in what scenarios do u think noncon would likely occur with him? tell me if this doesnt make any sense :(

i see him in so many ways like. def frat boy noncon, putting smth in ur drink at a party, u made it easy for him, n he’s going to share u with his friends cuz ur slutty pussy is just too good to keep to himself. i’ve also thought about like street racer/biker hee and ur a rival competitor n he thinks racing against a girl is beneath him n u should be taught a lesson about where ur place is. taking a man’s cock n the only words coming out of ur mouth should be his name. i just. think heeseung doesn’t take no for an answer. /pos. thank u for coming to my ted talk /lh

18+ mdni.

warnings: noncon, drugging.

no i can definitely see him mean! like it's just natural to heeseung, but he's particularly harsh with you... maybe you're not very smart and it drives him MAD. he just can't get his head around the fact that someone can be so dumb and he can't help but be mean to you because damn, you deserve it. i feel like he would scoff and roll his eyes at everything you say, and when you notice it you immediately feel embarrassed and stop talking so much. heeseung just has this effect... like you really want him to appreciate you, but unfortunately for you, he kinda dislikes you.

omg, frat boy!heeseung sharing you... he hates you, but he's so attracted to you and you just bring out his bad side so easily. he puts something that makes you so sleepy in your drink, he pretends to be worried, taking you upstairs to his room, but little do you know, his friends are coming as well... probably only jake and jungwon because they'd be into that lol, using you for literally so long, and you can't fight back, too tired :/ but my sick side wants heeseung to spare you when comes his turn, feeling too guilty, leaving you absolutely destroyed in his bed.

racer!heeseung makes me think of car sex and... i can just imagine him forcing himself on you in a dark alleyway, his car parked in the mud, rain pouring... the front of your body is sprawled on the backseats, wrists locked together behind your back with one of his hands, pounding into you from behind. he gets all of his frustration out because how dare you think you're better than him? your place is at his feet, serving him and ready for him to use how he pleases.

[lila-went-missing]

Hey girl! Can I request some fluffy Vi headcannons? <3

Absolutely! I'm finally writing on my laptop, partially because I have the live UConn feed on my phone. They 're playing Tennessee and I'm STRESSING, they're down four points in the last quarter. I hope you love this but I'm sorry if it seems rushed. This kind of turned into general relationship hcs but it’s all very fluffy. X

Fluffy Vi headcanons

For starters, Vi has had anything but an easy like and it really shows through the way that she acts around people.

Originally I think she would be a bit standoffish, especially right after leaving Stillwater.

It might take a while but she would get used to having you around. Her body would definitely take a while for her body to catch up to her mind. Any time you reach out to touch her she might tense up or flinch back, but she knows you wouldn't hurt her. She'd get there eventually it just might take some time and patience.

On the other hand she would love to be touching you.

I wholeheartedly believe that one of her love languages is physical touch.

She can convey feelings through contact that she can't with words.

She would constantly have a hand on you, whether shes holding yours, keeping it on your thigh, or just a hand on the small of your back as you walk.

She likes to have a physical reminder that you're safe and right there.

She'd love it when you lay in her lap, doing your own thing while she reads a book.

When they robbed Jayce's apartment the first place she went was the bookshelf. You can't convince me this girl isn't the biggest bookworm.

I feel like she would run a hand through your hair while you traced patterns on one of her legs.

I also think she would love to read your own copies of the same book and later discuss. I saw someone else mention this and I loved it.

Vi definitely sees herself as a protector so she would love being the big spoon.

The feeling of holding you against her, covering your body with her own.

Especially with how big she is.

She's like 5'10, BROAD shoulder, MUSCLES!!! She'd for sure cover most of your body.

She would not care how much you weigh or if you have some chub, she would pick you up and throw you around in her arms. Argue with the wall.

But despite all of this, sometimes she would need to be held and babied.

She wouldn't ask for it outright, at least not at first.

She would have this look on her face, her brows slightly furrowed and an almost undetectable frown.

But you see it of course.

So you would pull her into your lap, or on your chest, and just lay with you for a while.

Vi seems like the person to LOVE having her hair played with and her back rubbed.

I mean borderline purring because she’s so relaxed.

But who can blame her. With all the work and fighting she does I know her back is full of knots.

Our girl does NOT get a break.

Other than physical touch I think she’d be big on acts of service.

I mean come one her whole life her purpose has been to protect people so you can’t convince me she doesn’t like doing things for you.

It’s a whole range of things. From grabbing something off the top shelf to beating up a guy who made you uncomfortable when you went out for drinks.

Sometimes you have to force her to relax.

But it’s all worth it to her if she’s making your life easier.

I can see you patching her up quite frequently.

Even though she doesn’t fight in the pits anymore she does fight a lot of people for you.

There are a lot of bruised knuckles in your future.

After a while though she’ll settle down, more focused on making you happy than beating up a guy for looking at you.

She loves you very much. It may take her a bit to say it but she does.

She’s shows you her love everyday too through her actions.

You’re by far her favorite person.

She definitely calls you cupcake, among other things.

Other than cupcake, her favorites are probably babe, baby, and princess in a playful way.

HEAVY on Princess if you’re from Piltover.

But she says it with so much love that you don’t mind the playful jab.

I think she’d be addicted to you tracing her tattoo.

Plus you’d never get bored because it’s so big and intricate.

It’s another thing that would knock her out in like five minutes.

Moral of the story she’s addicted to you and wants to spend the rest of her life with you.

[justauthoring]

This is the Beginning [2/?]

Summary: You never thought you'd be able to escape Buggy, and yet, a boy with a straw hat, a man with three swords and a girl with orange hair somehow manage to free you. The journey that follows afterwards is your chance at freedom and maybe something more.

A One Piece Live Action Rewrite

Part One - Part Two

Pairing: Live Action!Zoro Roronoa x F!Reader

TW for this chapter: kuro, canon typical violence, kuro makes a comment about your eye, that's about it

Word Count: 11,044

A/N: This chapter was so fun to write and I'm even more excited for the next because... SANJIIIII!! Which of course means we get to see some jealous Zoroooooo

I hope to have chapter three out soon, but school is crazy as usual so be patient with me <3

Tag List: @emmaiscool22

Chapter Two - Acceptance

“Are you sure you don’t mind me borrowing some of your clothes, Nami?”

Glancing up from the Grand Line map she’d been studying, Nami just raises a brow down at you. “I’d rather you borrow my clothes then wear those atrocious clothes that clown had you in,” she shakes her head, almost shuddering at the memory. The sight pulls a small smile to your lips. “Seriously, he had no fashion sense.”

You let out a small laugh. “They were pretty ugly, weren’t they?” You grin up at her, and she pauses, as if shocked you were smiling so openly. You don’t mind. You realize you did look pretty miserable that time they’d set you free, extremely self-pitying too. You still had your self-doubts, of course, but Luffy’s excitement at you joining them was pretty reassuring and it was hard not to appreciate how freeing the whole experience had been.

There was still the whole issue that Luffy seemed to be the only one convinced that you were in fact a pirate crew. Nami and Zoro seemed insistent on denying that, repeatedly telling him they were not a crew when he’d tried explaining it to you. Nami said she was only with the two because she had a shared interest in the Grand Line map. When you asked Zoro, he’d just shrugged, saying he was seeing where it took him. You’d snickered silently to yourself at that, thinking to yourself that the both of them just weren’t ready to admit that they were in fact a part of Luffy’s crew and probably liked that fact.

But you’d let them lie about it for now.

As for you, you nodded at Luffy when he explained how the goal was to find the One Piece and for him to become the Pirate King. In response, you’d shrugged and said; “Sure, Captain. Sounds like a plan.”

His eyes had practically sparkled at that while Zoro and Nami instantly groaned in response, berating you for enticing Luffy. You’d only laughed, saying you didn’t mind calling him Captain and being in his crew because there was nowhere else for you to go.

You’d been a captive of Buggy’s for years. Forced to be a part of his crew and do his bidding day in and day out. There really was nowhere else for you to go or call home. You’d suffered scars and injuries that would never leave, both mentally and physically. But Luffy, Zoro and Nami seemed to think nothing of your doubts, especially your eye. Despite his initial assurance, you felt extra assured by the fact that you had your eyepatch back and no one was going to be forcing you to take it off to make a mockery of you again.

Those days were gone.

With a wistful sigh, you turn, moving to the edge of the boat and breathing in the air. You never enjoyed being on Buggy’s boat but that hadn’t been because you didn’t enjoy being out on sea, but rather because it had been Buggy’s boat in the first place.

You are unaware of Nami’s eyes following you until she lets out a rather undignified snort.

“More than ugly,” she rolls her eyes as you turn back to glance at her. “More like atrocious. We should burn them when we get the chance.”

You let out a chuckle. “You think? I’d sure like to get rid of the memory of them.”

Nami’s lips part to respond, but before she can, she’s cut off by Luffy; 

“Nami! Y/N!”

Rolling her eyes, Nami shifts her attention in front of you as you spin around to face Luffy. “What?”

Grabbing the large sheet of fabric he’d been fiddling with for the past hour or so, he stretches it wide in front of him, blocking what you’re sure is a beaming smile, and calls out; “it’s ready!”

Lips parting, you tilt your head, trying to get a good look at the lopsided skull.

“And what is it?”

Lowering the fabric so his face pokes up over it, Luffy grins; “our Jolly Roger. Every pirate crew has to have one. And now we do!”

“We’re not a crew,” Nami huffs, “and you are not hanging that on my boat.” With that, she turns back to the map.

Luffy blinks at her.

Stepping forward, you smile gently at Luffy; “it’s a little lopsided too, no?”

Peeking over the top, Luffy raises a brow. “I think it’s perfect.”

You bite your lip, holding back your laugh just as the door squeaks open behind him. Glancing over Luffy’s shoulder, you meet Zoro’s gaze.

“Zoro!” Luffy wastes no time spinning to face his friend, “Zoro, check it out.”

Pausing in the door, Zoro lets his eyes drag across it for a moment before meeting Luffy’s gaze, expression never changing.

“That’s unique.”

“It’s kind of cute in a way.” You offer, feeling a bit bad for Luffy who clearly had worked hard on it. “It has its own charm.”

Zoro just rolls his eyes at you. “It’s definitely not going to scare any other pirates.”

Turning back to Luffy’s jolly roger, he turns to you expectantly. As you let your eyes drift across it again, you have to admit, it’s more adorable than frightening. With a grimace, you offer him a pitying smile.

“Nami,” Zoro calls, leaning against the edge of the boat. “I think the toilet’s busted.”

Peering at him behind her glasses, Nami blinks, “we don’t have a toilet.”

There’s a pause, before Zoro offers a short; “oh.” Turning back towards the door, he shrugs. “Well, then something back there’s leaking.”  

“What?”

Not hesitating a second more, she hops off the boxes she’d been sitting on, storming past the three of you and slamming the door shut behind her.

Luffy waits one second before he says; “where should I hang it?”

“Uh, Luffy,” you call, “I don’t think Nami will…”

He ignores you, eyes snapping round to find the best place.

“It’s best to let him do what he wants,” Zoro calls from behind you, your head turning round to glance at him. He’s crossed his arms over his chest again, leaning nonchalantly back. “And not get involved.”

“Is that what you do?” You ask, raising a brow. “Choose not to get involved?”

Zoro just stares at you. “Not if I don’t have to,” he answers, as if that’s the obvious answer.

Something told you that wasn’t the whole truth.

Before you can respond, however, Nami comes back out.

“We’re taking in water. What did you do?” She accuses Zoro.

Zoro leans towards her; “I didn’t do anything.”

Eyes flickering between the both of them, feeling the tension rising, your stomach twists uncomfortably.

“Guys, maybe we should—”

“The way you’re clanging those swords around, you must’ve broken something,” she scoffs.

Zoro snorts. “If you’re such a good thief, maybe you should’ve stolen a better boat.”

“Guys, guys, guys,” Luffy calls, successfully cutting their argument off. You let out a breath of relief at that, grateful they at least chose to listen to Luffy. “Okay, crew meeting.”

On cue, both of them huff; “not a crew!”

You offer a nervous smile.

Unphased as usual, Luffy turns to the three of you. “We're gonna need a better ship to make it to the Grand Line. A real pirate ship.” Then, pausing for dramatic effect, he smirks; “worthy of the Straw Hat crew.”

“Wait,” Nami calls, “Straw Hat crew? Really?”

“Yeah,” Luffy nods, “I thought it had a nice ring to it.”

“‘Demon’ has a nice ring to it,” Zoro scoffs. “Headgear? Not scary.”

“Well,” you speak up, meeting Zoro’s eyes before turning to Luffy. “I like it. It’s unique.”

Nami rolls her eyes, “do you have to keep encouraging him?” She asks you.

You shrug, smiling. 

Luffy beams at you. “Thank you, Y/N.” He turns to Zoro, “and who says pirates have to be scary?”

At that, both of them give pause.

“I definitely don’t want to be scary,” you mumble, more to yourself than anyone.

“The point is we need a new ship.” Luffy backtracks, “so where do we get one?”

Grabbing her maps, Nami sighs. “Our closest bet is the Gecko Islands. We can probably make it there before our ship sinks. Ditch this one and get a better one.”

“Good,” Zoro drawls, “with a working toilet.”

Nami glares at him but Luffy just grins; “great job, navigator.” He turns back to grab his jolly roger.

“You’re still not hanging that on my ship,” Nami reminds.

-

After Luffy and Nami’s disagreement of stealing a ship and the former running off to somehow convince a salesman to just give him a ship, you’re left wandering around with Nami and Zoro.

You weren’t a big fan of stealing a ship either, but you knew realistically that Nami was right. None of you had enough to berry to be able to buy a ship legally and Nami’s old ship was no longer an option. 

Trailing behind Nami and next to Zoro, you let your eyes drag across the hustle and bustle of the shipyard, unable to fight the smile that curls on your lips as you watch people flutter around, completely in their own worlds. It’s such a simple thing and yet, you can seem to pull your eyes off of the bustling crowds completely engrossed in their worlds.

“Never been to a shipyard before?”

It takes you a second to realize Zoro is talking to you. With a blink and parted lips, you turn to him, meeting his eyes. It’s clear he’d been watching you, dark and intense eyes already on you and the realization pulls a light flush to your cheeks.

“I’ve been,” you answer, nodding. Eyeing Nami out of the corner of your eye and watching as she carefully glances around, entirely for a different reason than you had been. She’s in her own world, promptly and probably pointedly ignoring the both of you. 

Focusing back on Zoro, you lick your lips. “It’s just…” But you trail off, unsure.

“What?” Zoro asks, blunt as usual.

The look on his face tells you he’s waiting to hear what you were going to say.

“Different,” you shrug, moving to hug your arm as you curl in on yourself. It’s clear you’re not as open as you were trying to pretend you were since joining Luffy’s crew. While the three of them were definitely nothing like Buggy, it was hard to deny that Zoro was intimidating. You’d only been with them for a short amount of time, but Luffy was easy to get along with. He did most of the talking anyways and his energy was infectious.

Nami you’d been unsure of at first too, and while she sometimes seemed closed off, she was easy to hold a conversation with. Sometimes short or cold, you still found her approachable.

Zoro, for some reason, made you nervous. You couldn’t rightly explain it. Every time you met his eye or tried to talk to him, you’d clam up with nerves and find yourself stumbling more than you usually did. Honestly, you made yourself look like a fool more times than not with him. His gaze was heavy, and the second it landed on you, it was like he was trying to unearth all your secrets.

“Different how?” He asks, pressing.

You lick your lips. “It’s… different seeing all these people without having to fear that Buggy might snap and kill them all.” Glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, taking in his eased stride and the way he always keeps at least one hand on his swords, you glance out towards the sea of boats. “He enjoyed making people's lives miserable.”

There’s a beat of silence before; “yours especially, it seems.”

You turn to him in shock, eyes widening at him. He’s no longer looking at you, head turned straight, but the expression on his face says it all.

“I guess,” you mumble, hugging your arm tighter.

Silence envelopes the both of you, all whilst Nami continues to lead to way completely oblivious to the tension that has surrounded the two of you. You’re careful to not glance Zoro’s way, even though you desperately want to.

Your mind races with wonder of what exactly he meant.

Luckily, you don’t have to stew in your thoughts for too long. A few minutes later the three of you hear the distinctive and familiar voice of Luffy, and with one glance at each other, you’re picking up the pace.

When you find Luffy, he’s standing at the front of a ship, grinning ear to ear.

“There you are,” Nami calls.

“Guys!” Luffy cheers, moving to make his way down to the three of you. “I found it,” he declares. “I found our ship.”

Turning your attention to said ship, you silently muse to yourself it’s not a bad choice. Luffy seemed to make rash decisions but he always followed his gut and you can’t say that this ship was a result of a bad decision. It was a decent size, not too big that it’d be unmanageable with four crew members but not small like the previous one. It had a certain charm to it as well.

“And this guy will sell it to us!”

You turn in the direction of Luffy’s gesture, noticing the man slumped over the edge of the ship that you hadn’t realized before.

Standing up, he turns to make his way down to Luffy as well, eyes wide as he stammers; “uh, w-wait, what…?”

“Yeah!” Luffy nods, oblivious. “The ship, we’ll take it.”

The man winces; “technically, she’s not for sale.”

“Huh?”

“And technically,” he continues, “I’m not a salesman.”

“Do you even work here?”

“Of course I do.”

“Okay,” you nod, smiling warmly. “What do you do then?”

He meets your eyes, “I’m Chief Technician in charge of encrustation removal and aviary waste eradication.”

Luffy’s face twists; “encru what?”

Zoro huffs next to you. “He scrubs barnacles and cleans bird shit.”

“He can’t help us,” Nami adds.

The two of them turn to leave.

“Wait! Wait! Wait!” The boy frantically calls, shaking his hands at you. “I can help you. The owner of this ship just happens to be my closest friend in the world.”

Nami seems unconvinced. “Your friend owns this ship?”

“Not just this one,” he grins. “She owns the whole shipyard. She’s rich rich.”

Luffy gasps; “oh!”

“I’m sure you could strike a deal with her.”

-

So it turns out Usopp, you learned his name was, was not lying about his friend owning the whole shipyard. It did, however, seem he was lying about how invited he truly was in his friends house—mansion.

Kaya herself didn’t seem to have any issue with Usopp, but her butler had a stick up his ass about him and that included the four of you. 

If it hadn’t been for Kaya insistence that it was her birthday, you’re sure all five of you would’ve been promptly kicked off her estate and back to square one. Somehow, that didn’t happen and now you’d found yourselves invited to dinner.

Currently, you were eyeing the room you’d been given for the night with a sheen of excitement. You’d never been in a house, let alone a room this nice before. It was a major upgrade compared to the small, dingy tent Buggy had let you stay in. The bed itself was almost the entire size of what your tent had been.

It’s astonishing enough to you that you lose track of time. After spending far too long just exploring the room—because it was big enough to explore—you went to have a shower. It had been far too long since you’d been given the opportunity to bathe yourself, and you definitely weren’t about to pass it up. 

You definitely spent far too long showering, letting the water soak into your skin and taking your time scrubbing the filth off your body.

By the time you’re finished, the bathroom is thoroughly fogged and you’re feeling refreshed.

It’s only then you remember you still have to find something to wear. Klahadore, the butler, had made it clear the clothes you all were wearing were not nearly good enough to eat dinner in—whatever that meant.

Leaving your room, you pause in the hall, glancing both ways as you try to remember what direction Klahadore had told you the clothes were in. He’d been rather gruff about it, barely able to hide the contempt in his gaze and you’d been too busy trying to ignore the discomfort to really listen to what he’d been saying.

You’re left wandering for about ten minutes before you see Nami slipping out of a room.

“I’m so happy to see you,” you breathe, grabbing her arm as she turns to you. She seems slightly unsure of your touch but she doesn’t pull away. “I’m sure I would’ve been lost for hours before I found my way. You look amazing, by the way.”

She really did. The red piece she had on was truly beautiful and it looked stunning on her.

Snorting faintly, she smiles softly. “Thanks,” she nods. “There’s a ton of outfits to choose from in there. The boys are in there too, but be careful, they’re hopeless.”

You let out a chuckle, “they weren’t any help?”

“Those two?” She rolls her eyes. “I’m pretty sure neither of them even know what a compliment is.”

Biting your lip, you pull back, letting her go. “Well, I’m gonna give it my best. Hopefully I can find something.”

Perhaps sensing a bit of nerves from you, Nami hesitates before leaving. “You’ll look good in anything, I’m sure.” She reassures, offering a gentle smile. “There’s lots of options and we might not get the chance to dress up like this again. Go crazy.”

You’re instantly eased by her words and sending her a warm smile and a nod, you turn towards the door, letting her head back to her room.

You’re instantly greeted by both Zoro and Luffy the second you slip inside, the two boys turning to face you as you smile at them gently in greeting.

“Woah,” you breathe, letting your eyes flicker across the room. “That is a lot of clothes.” You hadn’t thought Nami was lying, you just hadn’t expected this much. 

Zoro snorts as Luffy nods; “right? What would a person even need with it all?”

You let out a laugh, letting your hands drag across a rack of them, not even sure where to begin. 

“Well, I’m gonna go with this,” Luffy calls and you turn back to him, eyeing the waistcoat he’s holding in his hands. You pause when you realize he’s only holding a waistcoat.

“Uh, Luffy—”

“See ya!”

He’s out the door in the next second, leaving you gaping in the direction he’d gone.

A moment later, you turn to Zoro; “he’s aware you’re typically supposed to wear a shirt under a waistcoat, right?”

Zoro shrugs, chuckling. “Probably not.”

You let out a laugh in response before turning back to the clothes, suddenly realizing you’re alone with Zoro. You’re still unsure about the conversation the two of you had had back at the shipyard so it’s hard to ignore the slight uncertainty you feel at being in the room alone with him.

That and the fact that he makes you nervous in general.

“Did you, um,” swallowing thickly, you meet his eyes. “Did you find something to wear?”

He holds up the shirt that had been on his lap. It’s a dark bronze button up, with what looks like silk material. It’s beautiful, and you can’t help the thought that pops into your head that it’ll look extra beautiful on him. “Nami found something.”

“Ah,” you nod, “it’s a nice shirt.” You smile at him, before pausing by the folding screen at the back end of the room. “I guess I should hurry and find something, huh? I took too long showering,” you chuckle nervously to yourself. “It felt so good, I couldn’t convince myself to get out.”

Laugh fading out, you swallow thickly when you realize Zoro is just staring at you.

“Did you need help finding something?” He asks after an agonizing moment of quiet.

You turn to him in surprise. “Huh?”

“A… dress or something,” he gestures loosely to the clothes, now looking slightly uncomfortable. “Did you need help finding something?”

You stare at him, stunned. You for a moment think you’ve imagined Zoro’s offer. Maybe you were still in your room, or maybe you were still stuck with Buggy and this was one big hallucination.

You choose to ignore why Zoro would be a part of your hallucination.

“I thought you didn’t like getting involved?” You offer him.

Zoro smirks, the edges of his lips tilting upwards. “Only when I don’t want to.”

It’s hard to fight the blush that spreads across your cheeks at his words or ignore the flutter of butterflies in your stomach. You’d be stupid to say you didn’t notice that Zoro was a rather… attractive man, but you’d pointedly ignored those thoughts in favour of focusing on more important things. But when he smirked at you like that and offered to help you… find something to wear, of all things, it was hard to ignore them.

Turning away so he can’t see your flush, you swallow thickly. “S-Sure,” you mumble, before shifting the conversation to save you some face. “But Nami warned me you and Luffy were practically hopeless.”

Zoro huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m certainly more helpful than that idiot.”

Grinning, you bite your lip, turning back to him. 

Zoro frowns at your grin. “I know fashion.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t,” you laugh, holding your hands up in defence.

Scoffing, Zoro stands up, leaving the shirt Nami had picked for him over the arm of the chair as he crosses the distance of the room over to you. You freeze as he grows close, trying to ignore the race of your heart as he stops behind you, chest inches from your back, and reaches past you to grab a dress off one of the higher racks.

You watch as he pulls it down, trying to ignore the bulge of his bicep as he does.

The dress he picks is light beige in colour, floor length with one shoulder strap. The strap of the dress has an extra piece of fabric that billows out around it. It’s a simple silk material, but the hem of the dress is decorated in a darker, bronze lace trim.

It’s beautiful. 

You’ve certainly never worn a dress so beautiful.

“Here,” Zoro calls, handing the dress to you. “This one. It’ll look nice with...” he gestures loosely to your eye, as if unsure how to say it.

You blink up at him, warmed at his words and how he hadn’t just chosen the dress at random like it seemed he had. Had he seen the dress when Nami had been looking and thought of you? That thought made your heart race.

“Try it on.”

Wordlessly, you take the dress from his hands, meeting his eyes one last time before turning to step behind the folding screen. You hear footsteps grow distant so you figure Zoro went back to the chair, and with only a second more of glancing at the beautiful dress, you move to slip off your clothes. Once you’ve slipped the dress on, it takes you a second or two to fully zip it up, unused to the movement.

The second it’s fully on, you glance down at yourself, letting your fingers run down the length of the dress, marveling at how soft the material is.

“You done?”

Jumping at Zoro’s voice, you cough faintly, swallowing thickly. “Y-Yeah.”

“Let me see.”

Blunt as usual, Zoro leaves no room for argument, so, with a nervous dip of your stomach, you force your legs to carry you out from behind the folding screen. You hesitate to meet his gaze, feeling nervous and unsure in a completely different way at the way Zoro’s eyes drag across your figure.

You’ve never worn a dress before, period. And certainly not one as pretty as this. Nami wasn’t lying when the clothes Buggy had made you wear were ridiculous. Corny and too colorful, Buggy had adorned you in clothes that made you look closer to a doll than an actual human being. It had been objectifying and humiliating.

And even though this was still a form of dressing up and even though you’re nervous, you can’t deny you feel beautiful.

Truly beautiful. 

“What… What do you think?” You ask, finally meeting Zoro’s gaze as you tip your chin up.

There’s the briefest of seconds where his lips are left parted and an expression you’ve never seen washes over his eyes. Your stomach twists painfully, thinking that reaction was one of distaste, but before you can say anything, he’s coughing out a response;

“It’s… good.” The words seem forced, but not in a way that he’s lying but rather that he’s unsure of how they sound on his own lips. “You look… pretty.”

The blush returns. Ten-fold this time. Your whole body grows hot in response, nerves feeling like they’re on fire, as you stand there. You’re frozen still, for some reason scared to move.

“Oh,” you finally manage. “Thank you.”

He stands. It seems like an unconscious decision. “You’re welcome.”

Silence follows.

“You think this is the one?” You ask, before turning to the rest of the clothes. “Or should I—”

“No,” Zoro cuts in, sharp, before righting himself as he coughs, again, trying to play it off. “I mean, no, I think that’s a good choice.”

Believing it, you nod; “okay.”

Zoro glances at you, before glancing down. “I should get ready.”

“Oh,” you blink, “yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Standing there, opposite ends of the room, the two of you don’t move for a minute more. Then, Zoro finally turns.

“I’ll see you at dinner.”

“You too,” you whisper, watching his back disappear out the door.

You catch sight of the dress shirt Nami had found for him, and try not to let out a gasp when you realize the lace trimming of your dresses matches perfectly with his shirt.

-

Letting your eyes drift across the array of dinner food set out in front of you, you try not to let your obvious desire show. It was hard to deny how good everything smelled, though, and the want to just dig in and stuff your face like Luffy currently was was more than tempting.

But you wouldn’t let yourself look so silly. Not only was this a fancy dinner, you were wearing the nicest dress you ever had and surely ever will. You had no intention of soiling that opportunity by being anything less than ladylike.

Sat in between Zoro and Usopp, you tentatively glance around to see if anyone else has started grabbing food.

Luffy was the only one actively stuffing his face full. Usopp and Nami had grabbed food, but the latter was taking it much slower and Zoro… 

Well, Zoro didn’t really seem interested in eating at all. He’d grabbed the bottle of wine on the table the second he’d seen it and after managing to chug through the entire bottle in a few mere minutes, he was already asking for another.

Deciding to just bite the bullet and ignoring the nerves of reaching for food, you grab a little bit of everything that catches your attention. There’s so much placed on the table you’ve no hope of ever being able to try it all, even though that’s what your heart desires. You settle for starting with what looks most appetizing and leaving the rest for if your stomach has the room for it.

Smiling to yourself, it takes you a moment before you realize there’s a set of eyes on you.

You instantly glance to your left, in the direction of Zoro, blinking when you find his eyes already on you. He has the glass of wine he’d poured for himself pressed against his lips, angled back to be able to watch you more easily.

He seems to freeze at being caught and you quickly divert your attention back to your now full plate before either of you can say anything. You’re hyper-aware of yourself in that moment, especially the dress you're wearing.

“I’d love to try the fish tonight.”

Looking up from your plate, you glance to the head of the table, watching as Kaya turns to the maid with a gentle smile and flutter of excitement.

“I’m sorry, Miss Kaya,” Klahadore cuts in before the maid can respond, stepping towards the girl. “But that is not possible.”

Kaya’s face falls. “Maybe just a small piece?”

“Now,” Klahadore sighs, as if exasperated by her simple request. “You know that certain foods can affect your constitution. Here, Buchi has prepared your special soup.”

At his invitation, Buchi steps forward, taking the bowl off his tray and setting it in front of Kaya.

You almost immediately blanch at the sight.

Whatever that was, it didn’t look anything like soup.

“Kaya,” Nami calls, “it’s your birthday. You should be able to eat what you want.”

You instantly nod. “And certainly something more special than… that.”

“Miss Kaya’s medical condition necessitates that I closely monitor her dietary needs,” Klahadore explains.

You meet Nami’s gaze from across the table.

“Does it mean you also speak for her?” Nami challenges, glaring at the man.

Blinking, Klahadore tilts his head, the action oddly threatening.

“I’ll take her fish!”

Leave it to Luffy to miss the entire point of the conversation.

Pressing a hand to your forehead, you shake your head.

“Luffy,” Usopp says, and you silently thank him for diverting the tension. “Isn’t there something that you wanted to talk to Kaya about?”

“Oh, yes!” Luffy exclaims, pointing at Usopp in recognition. He turns to Kaya, grinning. “Usopp told me you own the whole shipyard.”

“Well, actually my parents founded the shipyard, and Merry’s been running the business since…” Her voice trails off momentarily, eyes falling to her lap. “Well, since they passed.”

Swallowing thickly, you fiddle with the napkin on your lap.

“But all of that’s about to change,” Kaya continues, pulling your eyes back on her. “Tonight, at midnight, I will become the sole owner.” Her eyes naturally drift towards Usopp and the two share a soft smile between one another.

You grin at the interaction.

“Ah,” Luffy nods. “Well, that’s great, because we want to buy a ship from you.”

Kaya’s face eases in understanding. “I see. Usopp mentioned that you’re sailors.”

“Nope. Not sailors.” Raising his glass, Luffy smiles. “We’re pirates.”

You freeze at that, pointedly ignoring the way Usopp chokes on his own drink. Your gaze falls to Luffy, as if in doubt that he’d actually just said that. By the proud grin on his face, you’d say he in fact did.

Bringing his glass to his lips, you hear Zoro mumble under his breath; “this ought to be good.”

Kaya falters. “Pirates?”

Luffy nods; “yup! We haven’t sailed together for long, but we have already defeated an evil clown,” you shift at that, “raided a Marine base, and taken down a captain with an axe for a hand.”

Biting your lip, you sink into your chair, pressing a hand to your eye patch. Maybe you’d blend in with the chair and disappear from sight.

“These sound a lot like your adventures, Usopp,” Kaya turns to her friend.

Usopp lets out a nervous chuckle. “Yeah, that’s… that’s crazy.”

“Oh yeah!” Luffy cheers, and before you even realize it he’s standing to his feet, taking the glass in his hands and climbing up on the table. “And we’re just getting started.”

“Oh my God… Luffy!” You whisper, trying to meet his eyes so he’ll get down.

“What are you doing?” Klahadore bellows, astonished. “Get down from there at once!”

Luffy ignores you and the butler. “Being a pirate has been my dream for as long as I can remember. And I’m finally making it a reality.” Ever oblivious to the reactions of everyone else there, Luffy shifts to take a knee towards Kaya. “We’re heading out to the Grand Line, where even more adventures await us.” He moves to stand up straight again, making his way down the length of the table towards Kaya. “And at the end of the journey, I’m gonna find the ultimate treasure, the One Piece, and become King of the Pirates.”

Head tilting back to meet his gaze, Kaya’s lips part; “you’re… serious?”

Handing the glass he’d been holding to Klahadore, who accepts it with a barely concealed growl, Luffy crouches in front of Kaya, grabbing her by the shoulders. “Kaya, you have a beautiful ship out there. A caravel with a sheep figurehead. It spoke to me. That’s the ship we need to follow our dreams. I promise you, we’ll take care of it. Maintain it. Treat it like any other member of our crew, because a ship is also a home.”

Silence follows, no one says anything for the briefest of seconds. You focus your attention on your lap, fiddling with your fingers, wishing Luffy would get down from the table.

But before Kaya or really anyone could say anything, Klahadore’s voice booms; 

“That will be quite enough! I should’ve known Usopp would bring riffraff to our doorstep.”

Kaya shakes her head; “Klahadore, it’s okay. I—” A violent cough pulls from her lips. It starts to wrack her body, cutting off what she’d been about to say as she hunches in on herself in response.

You sit up, leaning towards her. “Are you okay?” You ask, not sure if you should get up and help.

Klahadore steps forward before you can, pointedly glaring at you before shifting his gaze to Luffy. “Now look what you’ve done. You’ve upset Miss Kaya. All of you, out of this house at once!”

“No,” Kaya rasps. “It’s late. Let them stay the night.”

-

After the disaster that was dinner, you’d elected to stay in your room for the night.

You’re almost positive that the rest of your friends wouldn’t be able to rest or stay still for that matter. Even though you’d only been with them for a short while, it was easy to tell that an opportunity like this wouldn’t allow any of them to simply stay in for the night and sleep. Luffy was probably looking for more food, given that dinner had been cut short. Nami was definitely exploring the mansion, whilst grabbing whatever shiny trinket caught her attention. And Zoro? He was probably looking for more booze. You’ve very quickly come to learn that the man enjoyed his alcohol, and needed it in most instances.

You, however, were exhausted. A lot of things in your life had so rapidly changed and being out on sea, cramped in a small ship hadn’t left you a lot of opportunities to rest. The bed you’d been given for the night seemed far too tempting to ignore, especially knowing you probably wouldn’t get a chance like this one again.

So, changing out of the dress you’d borrowed from Kaya, feeling slightly disappointed you hadn’t gotten the chance to wear it for longer, you changed back into the clothes you’d borrowed from Nami and lay down on the bed.

You instantly sink into the cushion that is your mattress for tonight, a soft sigh leaving your lips as you feel your tense muscle instantly ease.

However, you learn quickly it isn’t so easy to fall asleep. Even on a large and soft bed, you were now struggling with the actual act of falling asleep. You couldn’t completely relax. For a multitude of reasons. Even though you were free of him, you’d only escaped Buggy a short while ago. The scars of what he’d done to you were still heavily prevalent and you doubted they’d go away anytime soon. Every time you close your eyes, you can see those gleaming eyes and hear his laugh echo in your mind.

You can feel the scars that cover your body from his abuse.

Beyond that, you can’t get rid of the uneasy feeling you felt about Klahadore. It was obvious the man was more than just a nasty butler. He’d been extremely controlling over Kaya all night, starting with not letting her eat anything other than that soup (which definitely wasn’t meant to be consumed) and the presence of Usopp and you and your friends seemed to particularly annoy him. It was obvious he was hiding something, you just weren’t sure what.

An hour or so must pass of you lost in your thoughts without getting any closer to actually falling asleep. You’re just about to give up in frustration, pressing the palms of your hands into your eyes with a groan of frustration, when a large bang startles you. It’s instantly followed by a mechanical whirring noise. You jump up, gaze snapping around for the source of the noise. You frown when you realize the noise is coming from the large window in your room. There was a shutter coming down, blocking out the nightlight and effectively trapping any escape through it.

The lights in your room, despite having been turned off for you to sleep, were now flickering on and off.

Swallowing thickly, you crawl out of bed, moving towards the window. Your hands tentatively reach out for the window only to realize the shutter is on the other side of the glass pane. It was clearly intended to block people out, but also lock people inside.

“What the…” 

Turning around, your eyes fall on your door, rushing towards it and letting out a soft breath of relief when you realize that it is still open.

The windows in the hall are no different than the one in your room. You also notice that the lights are flickering on and off in the whole house, making the large mansion seem entirely eerie in a different way.

Heart racing, your unease from before triples into terror as you begin moving down the hall. Your hope is to find one window or door that isn’t being barricaded, to try and escape. That doesn’t happen. Every window is blocked out by the metal shutters. Someone was putting the house on lockdown.

You fear you already know who that someone was.

Picking up the speed of your step, you turn down the hallway, glancing back the way you’d come in fear there was someone following you. Only, that causes you to crash right into another body. You let out a startled scream, fighting the hands that fall on your shoulders, thinking you’ve run into Klahadore himself.

“Y/N! Y/N, it’s me!”

Blinking, you turn, focusing your gaze in front of you and easing when you seem a familiar head of orange hair.

“Nami,” you breathe, relieved. Reaching for her, you grab her arms. “I’m so happy to see you. Where’s Zoro? Luffy? Do you know what’s going on? Why is the house in lockdown?”

She just shakes her head at you, eyes flipping around, seeming rushed. “I can’t answer all those questions right now,” she huffs, shuffling back as she tugs you along, fingers wrapping around your wrist. “There’s no time. Kaya’s in danger!”

She turns to race back down the way you’d just come from. You let her pull you, rushing to match her pace as you shake your head in confusion.

“Kaya’s in danger?” You echo, “Nami, what’s happening?”

Glancing at you over her shoulder, never slowing her pace, Nami frowns. “It’s the butler, Klahadore. Him and that maid and chef are going to kill Kaya! They’re pirates and they want the shipyard! They’ve been poisoning Kaya this entire time…”

Eyes widening, you quicken your pace so you’re next to her rather than beyond. Briefly, Nami glances at you once more, and you just nod at her. You’re shocked and you’re dying to ask more questions; like how she knows or where the rest of your friends are. But you know time is of the essence right now and you don’t need to know all those to believe her. “Lead the way,” you assure. “You know where Kaya’s room is?”

Blinking at you, Nami only pauses for a second. “Y-Yeah,” she answers. “It’s just down the hall.”

A few minutes later the both of you are stopping in front of a set of double doors. You let Nami take the lead, chancing a nervous glance behind you in fear that Klahadore will come around the corner any second. It takes Nami a few seconds before she manages to get the door open, and the second she does, you both rush in.

Her shoulders ease when she sees Kaya, Usopp behind her. “Thank God you’re alive.”

Kaya hovers by the table she’d been sitting at, frowning. 

“Why wouldn’t we be alive?”

-

“Poison?” Kaya echos, breathless. “What are you talking about?”

Shuffling near the door, you glance between it and Kaya and Nami.

“I overheard them in the kitchen,” Nami explains. “It’s been going on for years.”

Kaya hesitates, fiddling her hands in front of her as she glances over at Usopp. “Did Usopp put you up to this?”

“I didn’t even know,” Usopp instantly denies. He doesn’t look angered by Kaya’s accusation, if anything, he looks more upset than she does. His face is distraught, eyes flickering across the tea set Kaya has on the table. “I gave you that tea.”

“Think about it, Kaya. When did you start getting sick? Was it around the time Kuro started working here?”

By the expression on her face, the answer is obvious.

“Listen to me,” Nami urges, grabbing her hands and pulling her focus back on her. “If we stay here, we die. We have to leave now.”

“Easier said than done,” you breathe. “Everything is locked down. And if Klaha—Kuro is after you, he’s probably already on his way here.” Shaking your head, you turn to look at them. “Where are we gonna go?”

Meeting your eyes, Kaya lets out a shaky breath.

-

You freeze when Kaya starts coughing, your entire body tensing.

Almost instantly, five blades slice through the wall of the mansion, missing Kaya and Usopp by an inch as the two of them fly back. You stumble back in response, trying to make room in the narrow servants corridors. But then, Kuro is pulling his blades back before slicing them back in in a different spot, this time right by Nami.

Just as Usopp turns to rush forward, Kuro’s blades stop him.

“It’s your birthday,” Kuro growls from the other side of the wall. “It’s time to celebrate.”

He slices his blades through again, this time both, one of each side of Kaya, the ones on her left nicking her on her arm.

Heart falling at the small cry that leaves her lips and processing just how dire of a situation you’re all in, the thought that pops up in your mind seems like the best option. You say it before you even realize what you’re saying. “Go,” you hiss, quietly enough that Kuro can’t hear you but the three of them can. Their eyes instantly fall on you. “I’ll distract him.”

Eyes widening, Nami shakes her head. “What? Y/N, no!” She turns to face you.

You jump as he sends his blades through once again, this time narrowly missing you, Nami stumbling back in response to avoid them as well.

“We’ve no choice,” you argue, “he’s going to kill Kaya!”

“Y/N—”

You don’t let Usopp finish, ignoring the look in Nami’s eyes as you step back.

“Stay here until I’m gone,” you whisper, meeting each of their gazes before nodding.

Then, with one last breath in, you pick up your pace, deliberating making your footsteps loud as to entice Kuro. You force a cough from your throat, hoping the barrier of the wall muffles the fact that your voice sounds different from Kaya's. As you run, you hear footsteps following you, and the distinctive voice of Kuro laughing;

“Come on then, Kaya! Don’t keep me waiting!”

With no plan in mind, you continue running, going back the way you’d just come and hope that Kuro continues to fall for the bait. You hope he’ll just assume Kaya got scared and went running back to her room.

Breathless, you continue to make your footsteps loud, forcing a cough every now and then, trying to buy as much time for Kaya and the others as you can.

Making your way back to the entrance you’d gone through in Kaya’s room, your eye flickers across her entire room, trying to find something to help yourself. You couldn’t fight to start with, but something was better than standing there helplessly. Grabbing one of the chairs around her tea table, you make your way towards the door. You definitely didn’t want to be trapped in her room with Kuro.

The second you step out of the room, you see Kuro in the hall, a few feet away from you.

You freeze and his eyes widen when he realizes it’s you and not Kaya. For a second, you both just stand there, waiting, and you watch as anger blazes in his eyes, mouth setting into a thin line. You fear he’ll go back in the direction of Kaya and the rest, so, stepping forward, you take the chair you’d grab and throw it at him. It doesn’t even reach him, crashing into the ground before his feet as his eyes lower to eye it, before falling back on you.

Then, you run. You turn to the right, racing down the hall opposite of him, making yourself move as fast as you possibly can. Maybe you could find Zoro, he’d know what to do. Nami had explained Luffy had been poisoned, but maybe if you could find him, you’d at least be able to help him. He’d defeated Buggy after all, so maybe he’d…. Shaking your head from that though, you remind yourself he’d been poisoned. Finding him would probably only put him in more danger.

Maybe you could find the switch that was keeping this place in lockdown. If you flipped it back, that’d help Kaya and the rest and give you an opportunity to escape.

You turn down a series of hallways all whilst hearing the thunderous steps of Kuro behind you. You’re happy he’s following you and taking the bait, but now that you’ve done it, you’re not exactly sure what your plan is. He curses at you, threatening he’ll do worse to you if you don’t stop. The threats make your heart race and your throat clam up with fear.

You never stop running though.

At least, until there’s nowhere else to run. As you make a turn, you realize you’ve made your way to the main foyer. 

Your eyes instantly fall on the maid and chef. 

Their eyes instantly zone in on you, gleaming with interest and smiling as your eyes widen at the sight of them.

“Fuck,” you breathe.

Just then, Kuro catches up to you, stopping right behind you.

You’re thoroughly trapped, pinned on either side by Kuro and his crew, and the only exit was currently locked down.

“Got nowhere to run now, have you?” Kuro laughs, voice thick with desire to kill. You inhale sharply, stumbling back as he steps towards you. As you make your way down the small set of stairs, you’re quickly reminded of Kuro’s crew as you hear them laugh mockingly behind you. A quick glance behind you tells you they're right behind you, so you freeze in the spot.

What the hell were you supposed to do now?

Cornered, you try to look for an escape, but there isn’t one. You already didn’t have a hope of fighting off Kuro, and you definitely didn’t have a hope of fighting all three of them. Your only weapon had been that chair, which was now broken and hadn’t even hit Kuro.

“Annoying,” Kuro hisses, glaring down at you. “Playing the hero and leading me away from Kaya.”

Shoulders tensing, you stare up at him.

His hand swings out before you can dodge it, slicing across your face in a way that pulls a scream from your lips. It hits directly on your right cheek, slicing across the strap of your eyepatch and into your skin. Blood beads across the four slices as your eyepatch falls to the ground. You watch it hit the ground in despair, shredded by his blades. Biting back the sob that wants to fall from your lips, you clutch at your cheek, turning back to look at Kuro.

He grins at you. With your right eye now visible, there’s a particularly cruel gleam that floods his eyes. “Well, look at that.”

Embarrassment brews in your chest, wanting to turn your face away and hide. The sting of your cheek is painful, and you can’t help the tremble of your body. You’re all too easily reminded of your helplessness. You’d told Luffy you were a lousy fighter and when he’d brushed it off with no concern, that’d given you the hope that maybe it wasn’t so bad. You were naive to think having no fighting skills wouldn’t catch up to you when dealing with pirates and even more of a fool to think that your brave plan to help Nami, Usopp and Kaya wouldn’t end in your death.

You didn’t regret doing what you had. You hope that by leading Kuro away, they’d already found an escape route. But you didn’t want to die either. You’d just escaped from Buggy too, and now you were going to die at the hands of another sick pirate crew.

“Such a shame too,” he mocks, “you were so pretty.”

Biting your lip, you swallow thickly.

“Finish her off for me and we’ll hide her body with the green-haired swordsman after I’ve finished with Kaya.”

Your heart starts at the mention of Zoro, terror flooding you at the thought that he might be hurt, or worse, dead.

“Zoro?” You breathe, voice pitching. Turning to Kuro, you shake your head. “What did you do to him?”

Kuro snorts, “he’s dead. Along with your captain, and your friends, as well as Kaya, will follow suit soon.” He grins, ear to ear, as his crew laughs behind him. “Try not to worry then, dear. You’ll be reunited with them all soon enough.”

Kuro turns to leave then, not sparing you another glance, leaving his crew to kill you off for him.

-

“Y/N. Y/N!”

Feeling hands grab at you, your limp body is spun and pulled into a chest as you slowly blink open your eyes. Everything hurts, your entire body is stinging to the point that even the slightest movement has you crying out in pain.

“Y/N!”

You recognize that voice. Forcing your vision to clear in your left eye, you ease when you see a familiar head of green hair. The relief that floods you is immediate, allowing you to ignore your own discomfort.

“Zoro,” you rasp, voice cracking with strain. “You’re alive.”

Zoro frowns down at you. “What the hell happened?” Shifting, his left hand falls on your waist, pressing against the nasty cut you were currently bleeding out from. His eyes fall on the wound and he huffs. “Shit. You’re losing too much blood.”

Setting you gently back on the ground, Zoro leans back, grabbing the hem of his shirt and ripping a strip of it off. You watch him with your good eye, bleary and dazed, body limp in his grasp as he tugs you up, slipping the strip under you so he can tie it around your waist, applying pressure to your cut.

Using all your strength, you raise your arm, gripping onto his arm. “Kuro,” you gasp, voice pitching. “The butler, he—”

Zoro shakes his head. “I know, Y/N. Fuck, did you really try to fight him?”

You laugh at that, weakly. “I’m a lousy fighter.” When Zoro doesn’t laugh with you, you sigh, letting your head fall back. “He was after Kaya… I distracted him to give them time.”

Zoro just blinks down at you, stunned, taking in the cuts across your cheek, and the bleeding wound in your stomach, his chest flooding with rage.

“We need to get you out here,” Zoro says, moving to pick you up. “We need to get you help.”

You just shake your head, pushing against his arm. “Kaya, Usopp and Nami… They… They need help.”

“Luffy’s got it,” Zoro says, trying to grab you.

You push harder. “Those two—the ma-maid and chef… they’re still—”

“Here?” A new voice cuts in, both you and Zoro glancing towards the front door only to see both of them there. Despite their ridiculous get up, your heart races with fear.

Something shifts in Zoro’s gaze. It’s an expression you’ve never seen. His eyes darken as his lips straighten, and he’s gently pulling back from you, making sure you’re settled on the ground, as he stands, pulling out the two black handled katanas.

“Just hang on, Y/N,” he whispers down at you, meeting your eyes from above as you glance up at him. You’re surprised by the burning rage in his gaze and it’s not at all directed at you. “I’ll kill them and then we’ll get you somewhere safe.”

Too tired to realize how those words would’ve made you feel normally, you nod weakly, letting your head fall back, knowing that Zoro will keep his word.

-

Zoro had been deliberate about keeping the fight away from you.

Having tucked you into the corner, you could only really hear the sounds of his fight. You wanted to get up and help, but you knew even without your injuries, you wouldn’t be able to do anything. And as you hear the sounds of metal clanging against metal, you make a mental note to actually take those lessons from Zoro up. You were learning and had learned far too quickly that having not even a bit of self-defence skill was not possible if you were going to be on Luffy’s crew.

It takes Zoro an impressively little amount of time to defeat Kuro’s crew. You can hear the waning sounds of fighting as you force yourself to turn, ignoring the ache that burns through your entire body. Your left eye shows you he’s in the midst of tying the two up, both of them growling in frustration and fighting weakly in protest. 

Unaware of the way Zoro’s gaze falls on you, you press your hand to the ground, using it as leverage to push yourself up to your feet. Your teeth grind against one another as you lift yourself up, managing to shift your feet underneath you before a sharp shoot of pain has you crying out. Instantly, your arm gives out beneath you, and you go crashing towards the ground.

Or, at least, you would’ve, had an arm not caught your fault.

“Are you crazy?” Zoro breathes, shaking his head at you as he shifts you in his grip. “You’ve lost too much blood for you to be trying to stand up.”

Letting your hand fall on his arm, you breathe in sharply. “We… I’m worried about Kaya, Usopp and Nami,” you rasp, voice cracking at the end. “I need to check on them.”

“I told you Luffy had it, damn it,” Zoro huffs, before he shuffles, setting his left hand on your back and the other moving to hold your hand. He helps pull you to your feet, going slow to not hurt you more as his eyes flicker from the wound in your stomach to your face. You're drenched in sweat and blood, but the expression on your face is determined. “Worry about yourself.”

He says it with an expression of frustration, but he lets you lean your entire weight against him and doesn't pull away.

Meeting his eyes, you frown. “I’m worried about Luffy too.” You breathe, “and not because I don’t have faith in him but—”

“Zoro! Y/N!”

Lips parting, you glance up, eyes falling on Luffy himself as he comes racing down the stairs to your right. Behind him is Nami and then Usopp and Kaya. The smile that had been on Luffy’s lips falters at the sight of you when he sees the blood on your shirt, hesitating by the bottom of the stairs. Something shifts in his gaze, a look of anger you’ve never seen on the boy before. But before you can ponder on it for much longer, Nami pushes past him.

“Oh, my God,” Nami calls, eyes wide. “Y/N.”

She reaches you in seconds, bending to get a better look at the wound in your stomach.

You glance at her, then at Luffy, before your eyes drift past him to Usopp and Kaya. Everyone looks at you in a similar way, eyes drowning in concern.

“I’m okay,” you assure, trying to ease their worry. “It’s just a scratch.”

“She’s lying,” Zoro grunts, never letting go of you. “She needs medical attention.”

Nami shakes her head. “She probably needs stitches,” she breathes, voice pitching in panic as she pulls back your tattered shirt, getting a closer look at the wound. Turning to Zoro, she meets his gaze. “I know a little bit but not for something like this.”

“I can help,” Kaya calls out, weakly stepping away from Usopp’s arm as she smiles at you. “I know a little about stitching and cleaning a wound. Plus, it’s the least I can do. Leading Kuro away like that… I can’t ever thank you enough, Y/N.”

Smiling faintly, you brush her off; “you don’t need to thank me. You’re my friend, I wanted to help.”

Kaya looks at you astonished, but before she can respond, Nami is turning to her. “We better be quick,” she urges, looking concerned for you but also antsy. “The marines already know where we are. The longer we stay, the closer they get to catching up to us.”

Kaya nods, instantly moving towards her, just as Luffy speaks up; 

“Where are we gonna go?” He asks, seemingly snapping out of his revere as he glances at his friends. “We don’t even have a ship.”

Pausing by you, Kaya turns to him; “yes,” she smiles. “You do.”

-

“Honestly, the both of you, I’m fine.”

Glancing at each other, Nami and Zoro make it clear they don’t believe you.

Sat in between them, you huff, touching the now stitched and bandaged wound on your stomach before letting your fingers drift across your cheek. After Kaya had stitched you up and given you something for the pain, you’d all headed out immediately. The ship she’d given you was named the ‘Going Merry’ in honour of her late friend Merry and Usopp and Kaya had shared a rather sweet kiss before the former agreed to join you.

Now with a bigger ship and five members, it was starting to feel like you all were actually a pirate crew. You felt closer with all of them and sharing that fight together, even if all you’d managed to do is get hurt, felt like you’d all truly bonded.

That, however, seemed to have both Zoro and Nami acting like overbearing, worried mothers over you. You could barely take two steps without one of them telling you to rest. 

“Seriously,” you pout, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not a child. I can still do things for myself.”

“You have a cut that wraps around your entire waist, Y/N,” Nami reminds, curling a brow at you as she sets down the Grand Line map. “Not to mention your face.”

You gape at her, trying to find something to argue against and coming up blank, you turn your gaze to Zoro. He’s slouched back against the edge of the bench you’re all sitting at, head turned towards the window, but the expression on his face and his returning silence tells you he feels the same as Nami.

Seriously, for two distant and rather intimidating people, they sure were overprotective.

“I promise I’m fine. And the second I’m fully healed, I’ll be roping Zoro into giving me some fighting lessons so something like this never happens again.”

That pulls Zoro’s eyes on you. “I definitely will be teaching you some moves,” he assures. “For the next time you decide to sacrifice yourself.”

He glares at you but it doesn’t amount to much and you let out a small giggle at that, cheeks warming faintly. You miss the way his gaze softens the second you do, but Nami who’s sat across from him definitely doesn’t. Zoro promptly ignores her knowing smirk.

“I think it was badass!”

Sharply reminded of his presence, all three of your eyes fall on Luffy who’s sitting at the other side of the table.

“Though,” he pauses, a smile faltering on his face. “I would rather you didn’t get covered in blood next time we fight.”

You snort at that, sending him a reassuring smile. “No worries, Captain,” you send him a thumbs up. “I’ll make sure not to worry everyone again.”

Nami rolls her eyes and Zoro scoffs, but Luffy’s face stretches into a wide smile, nodding at you.

“A shame though,” he adds a moment later, almost as an after-thought. “I did think your eyepatch was cool.”

Shoulders tensing, you’re sharply reminded of the fact that because of Kuro, your eyepatch had been sliced to shreds. You’d asked Kaya if she’d be able to stitch it back together, but she’d only frowned and said it was ruined beyond repair. You knew you could just get a new eyepatch, but you didn’t know when you’d get the opportunity to do so. Let alone if you’d even have the money to buy one.

As a result, you’d been forced to depart from Gecko Islands without it and feeling entirely too seen and vulnerable with your eyes there for everyone to see. You’d been hiding behind it for as long as you can remember and you were desperately trying to ignore the fact that you couldn’t until now.

You knew Luffy meant nothing behind it, but you couldn’t help the way you instinctively curled into yourself in response.

“Cha,” Zoro calls out, clicking his tongue, “she doesn’t need it anyways. She looks badass enough without it.”

Lips parting, your stunned eyes fall on him. He’s pointedly not looking at you, eyes focused back on the window to his right, but you notice a faint flush across his cheeks.

Nami giggles quietly to herself. “Zoro’s right,” she agrees, smiling at you when you turn to look at her. “The eyepatch just hid your face and you shouldn’t be ashamed of the way you look.”

Lips still gaping, the warmth that floods through your chest is undeniable. 

“Ah!” Luffy exclaims a second later, “you guys are right! Your eye is even more awesome than the eyepatch! Both of your eyes!”

A smile curls onto your lips, eyes falling to your lap as you let their words flood through you, basking in the kindness. No one has ever made you feel so… normal about your eye and the way it looks. Not just normal, but accepted. 

In that moment, every cruel insult that has ever been thrown your way becomes immeasurable to the words your friends say to you then.

“Guys! Check it out!”

Swallowing thickly, the moment is interrupted as Usopp comes bounding into the room, a grin plastered on his face. “Using my unparalleled artistic talent, I made us a new Jolly Roger for the ship.” Grabbing Luffy by the arm, he pulls him up to his feet, making Luffy hold the Jolly Roger as he opens it to show you all. 

It’s a skull, as expected, but… Usopp-ified. 

“Ta-da!”

Usopp chuckles in excitement, still grinning from ear to ear, as you grimace. Luffy was not going to like that.

“I know. I know,” Usopp laughs, “my flair for design often leaves people speechless.”

Folding the Jolly Roger back up, Luffy hands it back to Usopp with a forced smile.

“I already drew our flag,” Luffy explains.

“Okay,” Usopp snorts, “but this one is so much better.”

Zoro just sighs from beside you. “Neither of the flags are gonna scare anyone away.”

“Okay,” Usopp drawls, wrapping his Jolly Roger around his shoulders. “But the Jolly Roger is supposed to reflect the captain.”

Luffy doesn’t hesitate; “I am the captain. We are the Straw Hat crew—”

“—They call me Captain Usopp.”

You bite your lip, watching as the two proceed to talk over one another.

Then, Nami laughs.

It gives everyone pause, turning to her as she lets her head fall in amusement, shoulders shaking with laughter.

Everyone follows suit after that. 

Pressing your hand to your lips, your eyes crinkle in warmth and delight.

“You see?” Luffy grins, patting Usopp on the shoulders. “This is what it’s all about. From now on, it’s all gonna be smooth sailing.”

As if jinxing it, the sound of a cannon firing echoes right after his words. A second later, a thud hits the boat as the entire ship rocks, causing you to lose your balance and fall forward. You tilt, pain shooting through you as you agitate your wound.

Hands fall on you.

“You okay?” Zoro asks, eyes flickering across you.

You nod, “yeah.” You say slowly, breathless, as you glance around at the rest.

“What was that?” Usopp gasps.

Nami just sighs, moving to stand. “You had to open your mouth.”

Waiting for Zoro to stand, you follow after him, moving slower than the rest as they make their way up to the deck. Cannon continues to fire, some rocking the ship, until you all see the cause of the explosions.

“Marines!” Nami yells, “we’re under attack!”

Moving up the stairs, you nod gratefully at Zoro as he helps you up the final few steps, watching as Luffy takes the telescope to see who's attacking you.

Your eyes widen, however, when he calls out;

“Grandpa?!”

[hxrsheykisses]

Hi again Hershey!!! I absolutely LOVED how you wrote my last request abt the hopeless romantic! reader!!! Sorry if this is abrupt, but I wanted to know if you could write about the ETC boys accidentally coming across a love letter addressed to them from the reader?

Like—they would see a letter on the reader’s desk at school, get curious and open it, only to discover that it’s the reader confessing their feelings!!!

It sounded cute in my head ^///^

Anyways!! Take your time writing this and I hope you’re having a good day!!! ^3^

I’m so glad you liked it!! That request was honestly really fun to do and I enjoyed it’ It was honestly so sweet♥️♥️♥️ Rhank you again for requesting!!

It’s been a good couple of weeks after the boys countless attempts at wooing you over and trying to get you to realize what you’re needing is RIGHT here in front of you. But they were losing so much hope because their efforts arent working! It wasn’t you be ungrateful, they know that (hopefully). It’s just that it’s such a shame that you struggle to see it.

One day, at school, the boys always had a routine of walking you to class together. You shared some classes with them and others not so that was the routine. They also waited outside of your class after dismissal.

However, your class was already empty and you weren’t in there—just your stuff at your desk. They were confused as to why you weren’t there anymore since you never leave your class without them. They gave each other some confused looks before making their way to your seat where all of your stuff was laid out. But their eyes caught on a discarded letter and a pencil beside it—which sparked them to be snoopy…

As they took the note from the envelope, they felt their world come to a COMPLETE stop.

BILL’S ROUTE

Bill never felt so high off of cloud 9 before when he snatched the note, reading every word that was neatly written on the piece of paper, his heart skipping with each word.

He would lowkey brag on his friends about it, saying how you are so into him. He claimed proudly that his efforts made through while there’s didn’t. He had finally got you where he wanted you and that’s all that truly matters right now.

He would tease you as well, waving your love letter in the air—saying how he humbly accepts your confession before dragging you away and leaving his friends behind in their sorrows.

JERRY’S ROUTE

Jerry was in utter shock, staring with his jaw dropped as he got finished reading the letter. He ignored his friends groans and complaints as he reread the note over and over and over again. Oh, he just couldn’t believe that you had chosen him.

He would tried to comfort his friends, saying how it wasn’t serious and how it’ll be okay. But they weren’t exactly having it, leaving Jerry feeling a little bit guilty but he still was happy that you had chosen him. Deep down, he believed that his friends wouldn’t treat you like how he would.

Jerry would force his friends to keep the fact that they snooped through your belongings a secret, begging them. He didn’t want you to change your mind about him so he told you the truth on his own terms, he was really anxious about the confession and he apologized. But he’s happy that he won you over!

PETE’s ROUTE

As soon as he saw that the letter was directed towards him, he just went all the way to 100 REAL quick. This boy was literally doing cartwheels around the classroom because he knew that he had won your heart. He is also very braggy to his friends, shoving the middle finger in their face, and other crap. Like he’s so freaking stupid at that moment.

Pete wouldn’t hide the fact that they did in fact were nosy with your items, that wasn’t on his mind when he saw you walking into the classroom. He was just so enthusiastic about being your beloved boyfriend because who wouldn’t? He’ll be a pretty decent boyfriend to you anyway—I mean he proved it to you while he was trying to win you over!

A day never goes by without Pete telling his friends ALLLL about you. He knows that they are pissed and jealous and shit but he doesn’t care. All he knows is that he has fine shyt by his side so nothing else matters💔

JOSH’S ROUTE

Josh shoving EVERYONE out of the way once he saw his name written. He would wave the letter in the air while loudly announcing how his friends are pathetic ass losers who can’t pull any girls and how he basically won the lottery. He’s laughing in their faces while Bill lowkey starts cussing him out (which he pays no mind too)

I swear bro Bill will try to fuck Josh over by loudly shouting at you about how Josh was snooping through your shit to somehow make you reconsider. You don’t. You scolded Josh for a bit, and the others before letting Josh give you a giant bear hug! After, he walked you home—leaving the boys in the dust.

He loves poking a shit ton of fun at Bill because he’s last resort was so desperate that it’s laughable. He made a fool out of himself! This will most likely have Josh kicked out of the club for a day but during that “off” day, he just spent his day with you because who cares about what that dipshit thinks or does?

[ilguna]

☼ safer with you pt2 (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; Finnick doesn't want you to join his alliance, forcing you to face the jungle alone, unaware of just how dangerous it can be. it doesn't help the careers are following you, and you can hear them.

warnings; swearing, weapon use, hallucinations, erm urine talk (you'll see what I mean), talk of killing, death mention (cannons)

wc; 4.8k

notes; so in part 1 i say that it's the second day of the games, but re-reading it, it made no sense so. i have decided that pt1 took place in day one of the arena and this fic will take place in day two because that makes the most sense lol. sorry for the inconsistencies.

part one

--

When you got reaped for the Quarter Quell about a week ago, you knew it would be hard coming back into the arena. You knew that memories you’ve spent years trying to drown would come flooding back, since there would be nothing to hold them at bay anymore. You knew you’d have to do things that would take forever to scrub from your consciousness again, if you even could this time. 

The only slightly comforting thought that came with it was the fact that you weren’t going to be alone. Not only would the victors around you be experiencing the same thing, but you would have at least one ally that you could count on to get you through the Games.

Well, it turns out that wasn’t the case at all.

You never thought you’d actually end up coming in alone, especially when it seemed like you had multiple possible alliances. The Careers wouldn’t have been so bad, if Brutus didn’t hate your guts so much. As soon as he got reaped, you had a feeling there would be an issue trying to ally yourself with them, which is why you made a couple low effort attempts to join them. 

Each time you were met with excuses on why they didn’t want you. First, it was because you were friends with Finnick. And when you told them that Finnick had barely talked to you the entire trip, it turned into the fact that you weren’t strong enough. After you scored a ten, you tried again and got met with the fact that they had already decided that they didn’t want any children with them.

Which was only frustrating because you’re not that much younger than Gloss and Cashmere, but you let it go for the sake of keeping the peace while you could. In the meantime, you kept trying to chip away at Finnick, hoping he’d eventually change his mind, too. 

He made it impossible, too. 

The only real conversation you had with him about an alliance was before the Tribute Parade, where you tried to suggest the two of you take over the arena, dominating it so you could make it home alive. He was extremely disinterested in that idea, flat out refusing to entertain it.

All bets were off after that. He wouldn’t talk to you about alliances. Every time you tried, he shut you down within the first couple of minutes, reminding you that his mind had been made up. If he wanted to be your ally, then he would’ve made a move already.

The final conversation you had about it was the night of the interviews. Right before you were going to be brought on stage, he pulled you aside to tell you that he was not going to back down from what he said. You were not invited into his alliance, and you never crossed their minds for a minute. You needed to let it go.

You hoped he was bluffing, which is why you spent so much time trying to find him in the arena yesterday, but he held his ground and made you leave.

You thought that at the very least, if you couldn’t have the Careers, or even Finnick, you’d be able to make friends out of the District Six morphlings, or Cecelia and Woof, or even Beetee and Wiress. But even they had their reasons why they couldn’t.

At every corner you turned, you were met with another wall closing in. No one wanted anything to do with you. Either because they couldn’t trust you due to your natural alliance to the Careers—a load of shit—or because they had their own thing going on that they couldn’t include you in because there were already too many people.

It’s left you on your own.

Which doesn’t bother you completely, you spent your last Games traveling the desert by yourself, searching for shelter that didn’t exist besides the Cornucopia. You know you can survive on your own, it’s the fact that you have to. That despite the many friendships you’ve tried to forge, not one of them wanted you. 

It’s a very lonely feeling that you have to battle alongside the paranoia. In all honesty, it made for a long and difficult night. Since there’s no one to watch over you, you couldn’t sleep because of the creeping feeling that someone could be nearby. And each time that feeling subsided, you were woken up by the arena in some way.

The lightning storm in the middle of the night was the first time you were jolted awake. You thought it wouldn’t last long, but when you realized that it wasn’t stopping, you were on edge. Not being able to hear the rustling of the jungle around you was off-putting. Anyone could sneak up on you if they wanted to.

You thought you were in the clear when the lightning finally stopped. The drowsiness began to win over, and then there was a cannon. And there would continue to be a cannon about every hour, every time you were about to sleep. After the third one, you gave up trying.

You’ve been up for a few hours now, sitting in the jungle, watching the moon sink into the trees on one side, while the sun rises on the other. It’s pretty early in the day, you’d say it can’t be any later than nine, judging by where the sun is. 

It’s slowly starting to get warmer in the arena as the morning goes on. It didn’t feel like the heat let off any last night, but it must’ve. If it’s going to be as hot as it was yesterday, you should probably get a move on. If you’re not dehydrated already, you will be by noon.

You’ve been sweating buckets, skin sticking to skin because of the humidity.

If it weren’t for the noises in the trees, you would’ve been traveling through the jungle an hour ago. You can barely hear it now, but before it was a low growling sound, as if there was an animal protecting its kill from another predator. 

For a while, you were afraid that you were the one being warned to back off, but every time you went to take a look around, you couldn’t find anything camouflaged in the greenery. Whatever it is, you figure it’s gone away now, to a safer place to eat what it’s caught.

A quiet sigh leaves you, you really don’t want to leave the shade, but you don’t have much of a choice. You pick your sword out of the grass and prop it up against the tree you were trying to sleep behind, before pulling yourself to your feet. 

You grab your sword, and then begin to wander down through the jungle toward the beach. Yesterday, when you were in the Cornucopia for the bloodbath, you weren’t able to grab anything besides a sword. You were hoping you’d be able to dig around in the boxes for a minute, but more districts know how to swim than you originally thought. 

No one’s going to be there now, since the center island is on display for everyone to see. The Careers usually like to use it as their homebase, but with twelve different ways to get in and out, it’d be too difficult to defend. All it would take is a decently-sized alliance to rush in from separate spokes, and the Careers would be gone in the blink of an eye.

So, they’ve got to be in the jungle somewhere, hunting down tributes. You’ll even bet that’s what they were doing last night, stumbling across sleepy victors and eliminating them without an ounce of hesitation. Three of your own, gone in the span of a few hours. You wonder if they even feel guilt. 

You don’t think you’ll actually be able to bring yourself to kill anyone in here, not even if they were threatening your life. All you’d be able to think about is the amount of memories you’ve made with the people in here, good or bad. Regardless if they’ve treated you terribly in recent years, or given you the best times of your life.

If any of them—Cashmere, Gloss or Brutus—end up winning, you don’t know how they’ll be able to live with themselves. Yes, they could come out with more fame and fortune than they’d ever need, but they’d never be able to escape the haunting feeling that they made a mistake killing all those people they once knew. 

And you know that you were thinking about dominating the arena with Finnick literally less than a week ago, but killing those around you never crossed your mind. You were more interested in the idea of resource guarding, especially the water source that the Gamemakers were going to provide.

Although, since traversing through the jungle, you’ve come to the conclusion that there is no main water source here. Well, besides the center lake, which doesn’t really count because it’s saltwater. And turning saltwater into drinking water is a long and tiring process that you have very little experience doing. 

That’s why you’re going to the Cornucopia. They have to have a sealed bottle of water or some sort of agent for making water drinkable hidden in one of those boxes. If you do find something like iodine, then it means there’s a pond or stream you just have to find. If not, then the Gamemakers have made the same grave mistake they made the last time you were in the arena.

You were in a desert, loose orange sand swirling the air occasionally due to a weak breeze. A blazing white sun beating down on you, no shade available as far as the eye could see. Besides the Cornucopia, of course, which had been taken over by the Careers, and they were refusing to step out of it.

You wandered for two and a half days through the sand, around the prickly cacti with the pretty pink flowers in bloom. You went as far as your legs could carry you, sweat soaking your shirt, your scalp wet to the touch. Your lips were dry and cracked, coated in tiny sand particles. 

You were delirious, dizzy, walking yourself in circles, mumbling nonsense. You eventually stopped to pee behind a cactus, not worried about decency because you knew the Capitol would cut away to give you some privacy, when you remembered what you were told by the experts in the Training Center.

In a lesson on purifying water and what to do if you couldn’t find any, it was strongly advised for you to avoid drinking your own urine in a desperate situation. Something about salt and how it could make the situation worse, but you really couldn’t wait any longer. You needed something to drink to wet your mouth and to get the tough feeling out of your throat.

As soon as that yellow bottle touched your lips, you were met with your first ever sponsor gift. Which was, of course, a giant jug of clean water. It was cold, condensation had begun to run down the side of the plastic as soon as it touched the ground. You knew you had to make it last, but you couldn’t help the first few gulps.

The main thing you’re grateful for is the fact that you never actually had to drink your own urine. The Gamemakers had come to their senses just in time to save you from doing that on live television. Either way, don’t be fooled, it’s not something you’re proud of almost doing.

It wasn’t until later, during your final interview in the Capitol with Caesar Flickerman, were you told that the original plan for the desert was to withhold water. It was an experiment to see how the tributes would react when they found out and how long it would take them to die. 

When the Gamemakers saw you on that screen, about to drink liquid that came out of your body, they cracked. They couldn’t let the Capitol citizens see it happen because it was too gross for them. Not the fact that it was inhumane and it shouldn’t have been the plan in the first place.

The only real good thing that came out of that whole situation was the fact that the Gamemakers made sure a water source was in every arena moving forward. The distance to travel to it didn’t really matter to them, as long as the tributes would have someplace to fill up their canteens, or whatever.

This is why you’re hopeful they have a stream of water somewhere, and it isn’t just the center lake.

Fortunately, it’s relatively easy to travel back down the slope of the jungle, then it is to hike it up. All you have to do is keep an eye on the ground and watch for any deceiving roots that appear like they’re not sticking out. Which is far and few between.

You like that it’s fairly quiet out here, it’s usually hard to find any sort of peace when you’re in an arena. The chirping of the birds and insects are so familiar and calming, that it would be impossible to miss the sound of the branch that just snapped behind you.

You hesitate on your next step, torn between coming to a complete stop to peer over your shoulder or running for your life. It could just be an animal in the jungle, so running would be a gross overreaction. On the same hand, it could be someone, anyone.

You raise your sword in front of you, tilting it to the side to use the reflection to see what it is that made the noise. This is a move you learned recently from a tribute who comes from one of the outskirt districts. You believe it was a boy from Nine, and instead of a sword, he had a scythe, or something along those lines. All you know is that it had a bigger blade.

Your heart leaps in your chest at the sight of Gloss attempting to creep up on you, entirely way too close for comfort. In a moment of fight or flight, your instincts choose the former, swinging the sword with a wide arc, gaining momentum to hit Gloss hard. He catches your weapon with his own, the sound of metal on metal clanging together fills the air.

That’s all it takes for the birds and insects in the trees to go silent.

You flip your blade flat against his, allowing you to place your free hand on your sword so you can shove him back to get him off of you. You try to be quick, slicing downward at his shins, but he’s prepared for this, blocking you.

If Gloss is going to predict every move you make, then you’re going to be in trouble trying to fight him off. Especially since you’ve never had the opportunity to watch him fight someone else without being interrupted. In the Training Center, he’d get sidetracked by Cashmere, or you’d get pulled away by one of the many training experts to polish off your experience.

It would be wiser to run than to engage in a fight. The problem that comes with this is he’s going to follow you, there’s no question about it. You could try to lose him in the jungle and escape to the beach, but he’ll find your tracks eventually. And this doesn’t even take Cashmere and Brutus into consideration. 

“What’s wrong?” Gloss asks, a smile hinting at the corners of his lips. “Haven’t had to fight anyone just yet?”

“Nope.” You tell him, slowly backing away, being careful as to where you place your foot. “I’m sure you have, though.” 

He makes a face, tilting his head while shrugging his shoulders. As if that’s a given and didn’t need to be spoken aloud. “You know how it is.”

You shake your head at him, lips pursed. “I don’t. I don’t feel the need to seek out friends and kill them.”

“What about if they come at you with a weapon?” Gloss asks. “It’s self defense.”

“You’re the one following me.” You raise your eyebrows.

“Only recently. We saw you coming down the hill and thought you might be able to lead us to Katniss.” 

“You’re shit out of luck. I’m not in an alliance with them.”

Gloss gives you a tight lipped smile. “I don’t believe you.”

“It’s the truth.” You take another step back.

Gloss raises his sword, you make a stab at him, forcing him to jerk back. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Cashmere’s platinum blonde hair in the sun. She’s coming out from behind a tree, moving to join Gloss.

Where’s Brutus?

A creeping feeling spreads through your body. You spin around, paranoid he’s behind you, and find that your intuition is right. He’s less than five feet away, another minute and you’d be dead.

You can’t fight all three of them.

You don’t bother turning around to give a final jab to Gloss. Instead, you start running toward Brutus, sword raised in the air to bring down at him. He’s forced to decide whether or not he can take the hit, and just before you swing, he jerks out of the way.

The sword lowers to your side as you barrel down the jungle slope, heading for the beach. If you’re going to fight them, it’s going to be on a level playing field where the sand slows all four of you down. Otherwise, you might as well just lay down and let them kill you. 

The jungle seems to change as you go. It’s not really noticeable at first, since the trees and ferns turn into a blurry mess of brown and green. But then there’s mixes of dark grey and white that make your pace slow.

You turn to look over your shoulder, finding your Career friends are still coming your way, carelessly trampling through the spongy dirt. You watch as Gloss’s foot gets caught in a root, and in return, a flurry of arrows come raining down on them.

You watch as they duck in different directions, getting stuck with several arrows in their arms, legs and backs. As they take a moment to pull them out of their bodies, you eye the trees above, curious on where they had come from. They’re going to think it was Katniss, but there’s no way she can shoot twenty arrows at the same time.

You turn around, going back to running, trying to lose them while you can. You keep a careful eye on the ground, afraid of what other possibilities the jungle holds. All he did was trip over a root from one of the many trees, could it really have triggered an attack like that?

You don’t want to find out. 

It seems like Gloss, Cashmere and Brutus don’t want to either. They’re much more cautious now, but they’re still moving quicker than you are. Your efforts pay off, though, because you spot several areas of the ground where it’s too flat and looks a little too jungle-y. 

Which sounds insane in your head, but when you stab at the area as you pass, the ground falls in to reveal pointed wood spikes at the bottom of a ten foot hole. You can feel your stomach drop, feet slowing even more. 

You don’t remember all of this last night. It was a regular jungle when you were heading to the top. You tripped over several roots last night and never received a reaction like Gloss did. And there was nothing wrong with the ground, either.

The beach can’t be that much further, all you have to do is make it to the sand and then everything will be fine again. Well, that is until you get attacked by the Careers, but you can’t afford to worry about them until then. You need to keep heading forward.

As you continue, you try to take light steps, tiptoeing around the roots, stabbing at the ground, keeping an eye on the trees. It helps that they trigger several of the traps behind you, slowing them down, giving you more time to plan out your steps.

But all it takes is one misstep on your part for you to fall victim to the hidden terrors of this part of the jungle. You stomp on a rock, thinking nothing of it, until you feel a sharp pain on the back of your left arm. You stumble a step or two, instantly feeling lightheaded.

You reach over, hand securing around the foreign object, pulling it out of your body. You hold it in front of you, staring down at your hand that seems to elongate and shrink, making it hard for you to see what it is that punctured you. You squint, rolling it over in your hand, watching it multiply.

Something is wrong here.

You bring it closer to your face, accidentally bumping it into your nose. Reality seems to straighten after that, allowing you enough time to see that it’s a dart, and the needle is coated in a dark purple substance. You wipe it with your finger, raising it to your nose to smell.

It hits your nose with a sting, your face puckers as you jerk your head back. You know that smell. It’s tracker jacker venom. It’s so potent and sour. It’s one of those smells you can’t forget about, like the smell of a rotting body.

You look up, the jungle’s color has become more vibrant—alive. You shoot a look over your shoulder to find that Cashmere, Gloss and Brutus are still running at you, their bodies changing shapes, the ground moving as if there’s water beneath. The sight makes you nauseous, you swallow back the vomit and throw the dart in their direction.

When you go back to running for your life, it’s near impossible to keep alert. Either you watch the ground and avoid the traps, or you observe the jungle and find animals peeking out behind trees, snarling at you. 

You’re not sure how long this goes on for, where you trigger traps and narrowly avoid the consequence or end up getting stabbed by an arrow. All you know is that at some point, Cashmere gets caught in a net and she gets strung up in the air. It forces Gloss and Brutus to quit chasing after you to help her down.

You go as far as your legs will carry you, before the venom in your system becomes too much to bear. You lay down in a small patch of dirt that you come across, perfect hidden behind a tree and covered by long fern leaves. You tuck your sword beneath the plants, but keep it in arms reach in case you need to use it.

The word has begun to spin, the scenery around you changing into one more familiar, like the desert you escaped a couple years ago. You close your eyes, squeezing them shut, hoping that the venom will exit your system quickly.

When you wake, the jungle looks just the same as it did before you slipped into the hallucinations. The skin on your cheeks feel sensitive and raw, and your mouth is drier than it had been this morning. You sit up, taking a moment to gather yourself before you get to your feet.

Your legs feel like jelly, you use a tree to hold yourself upright. When they feel more solidified, you shuffle your way out from behind the tree, and find yourself just a couple of steps away from the beach.

You let out a sigh of relief, more than ready to leave the jungle for the time being, even if that means you’ll be put out in the open. You stop in the sand, squinting through the brightness of the sun to see where you are and figure out what time it is.

It looks like you’re on the left side of the Cornucopia, somewhat behind it. You can’t see the mouth from where you are, so if you still want to go there, you’d need to travel through the treeline of the jungle to get there. Or you could take the gamble and wander up. 

At this point, you don’t really care if anyone’s there. 

It’s late afternoon, you can tell by the sun in the sky. If you’re taking bets, you’d say that no one would be stupid enough to be at the Cornucopia right now. Maybe at night, but not in broad daylight, unless there’s a group there.

Which should leave you worried about the Careers, but it’s been hours since you saw them in the jungle. You’re not sure if they made it out alive, and you honestly don’t really care, either. You do know that they were injured because of the traps, so you’d say they won’t make another big move for a while unless it’s urgent.

You step out of the jungle fully, heading for the nearest spoke that’ll lead straight to the center island where the Cornucopia is. You’ll take your chances, just this once. You need water, and if you’re not going to get sponsored, then you need to find it yourself.

You’re not even halfway there when a face appears around the side of the Cornucopia, just briefly surveying the area. You come to a stop where you are on the rock, watching as the person decides to come out to see who you are. 

You can tell who it is almost immediately. How could you miss him? His sun kissed skin, the bronze hair, the silver trident in his hand. It’s Finnick, of course. And because of the conversation you had yesterday, you already know that he’s going to turn you away.

“I need water.” You tell him, not waiting for him to speak first. “If you have a problem with that, then you can leave.”

“There’s no water here.” He tells you, shaking his head. “We’ve been through the boxes.”

“I would like to look for myself.” You continue forward.

“You can’t come over here, (Y/n).”

“I can. If that makes you and your allies uncomfortable, then there’s eleven different directions for you all to go.” Your eyes are locked with his. “I need supplies. You’ve had your time here, now it’s my turn.”

“You don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t. And I don’t care to find out anymore.” You stop in front of him. “You can’t turn me away, I won’t let it happen. So, you need to figure your shit out quickly.”

Finnick has his lips pressed together, looking over your face. “What happened to you?”

“Exactly what I told you, yesterday.” You say slowly. “They found me, Finnick. And if it weren’t for a net in the jungle, I’d be dead.”

“Who found you?”

“Who do you think?” You snap. 

The two of you stand in a tense silence for a minute, thinking about the different ways you can handle this. Finnick must not think you’re worth the fight, though, because he backs away.

“Just keep quiet and follow my lead.” Finnick looks at the Cornucopia. “Like I said, the alliance is—”

“I don’t want to be part of your playdate.” You cut him off. “I’m over it. I’ll take care of myself.”

He doesn’t like that response, you can tell by the way he sighs. “You’re going to change your mind when you get around the corner.”

“We’ll see.” You wave him off.

Finnick leads the way, “No need to panic, it’s just (Y/n).” He warns.

You step around the Cornucopia, eyes searching the group that he’s managed to gather. Your face twists at the sight of the odd combination of Katniss, Peeta, Beetee and Johanna.

Johanna makes a retching sound, “What is she doing here?”

“Water.” You tell her plainly.

“Well, you’re not going to find any.” She says, head bobbing.

“We’ll see.”

There’s a moment of silence as you walk into the Cornucopia, flipping lids open, digging through boxes. You find one protein bar at the bottom of a box, and rip the wrapper open with your teeth, eating it as you continue.

“What’s that welt on the back of your arm?” Finnick asks.

“Dart.” You murmur. “Tracker jacker venom.”

A couple more minutes pass before someone clears their throat. “I can get you water.” You turn to see who it is, and it’s Katniss. She holds up a metal object that’s tied to her belt with a vine. “It’s a spile.”

You stand up. “How?”

“The trees. We just have to find a good one that’ll give us a steady stream.”

You look over at Finnick, he’s nodding his head.

“What do you want in return?” You ask.

Katniss lets the spile fall. “Nothing.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”

[dreaminguponlilypads]

PRETTY LIAR, UGLY CRIER.

female!reader x Simon “Ghost” Riley

kinda hate this one lol

You were good at pretending.

Good at lying through your teeth, at smiling when your heart ached, at making everyone believe you were fine. It was second nature by now—playing the part of someone who wasn’t breaking, who wasn’t falling apart piece by piece.

And Simon let you.

He wasn’t stupid. He could see the cracks, the fractures running deep beneath the surface. But he never pushed, never forced you to spill your demons. He just watched—quiet, observant, waiting for the day you’d finally tell the truth.

But you never did.

Because you were a pretty liar. And he let you lie.

Until tonight.

Tonight, the weight of it all finally came crashing down, and for the first time, you couldn’t hold it in. It was ugly. It was raw. It was real.

You were curled up in the corner of the room, knees pulled to your chest, fists clenched in your lap as sobs wracked your body. Your entire frame shook, each breath sharp and ragged, your face streaked with hot, messy tears.

Your lips trembled violently, and no matter how hard you tried to quiet yourself, you couldn’t stop.

You were falling apart.

And Simon was there to see it.

He didn’t say anything at first. Didn’t demand an explanation or scold you for keeping it all bottled up for so long. He just watched—watched as the girl who always smiled, who always pretended to be fine, shattered right in front of him.

And then, he moved.

Slow, careful. He sank to his knees in front of you, hands resting on his thighs as he studied your crumpled form. “C’mere, love.” His voice was low, rough with something you couldn’t quite place.

You shook your head violently, trying to wipe your face, trying to hide the mess. He wasn’t supposed to see you like this. No one was.

But Simon wasn’t having it.

He reached forward, prying your hands away gently, his fingers curling around your wrists. His grip was warm, solid, grounding. “No more lyin’.” His thumb traced slow circles against your pulse point, steady and unyielding. “Not with me.”

You choked on a sob, your resolve crumbling further.

Simon exhaled, tilting his head slightly. “You always put on a good show. Smilin’ when you don’t mean it. Laughin’ when you wanna scream.” He shifted closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “But you don’t have to do that with me.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, more tears slipping free. “I don’t—” Your voice cracked. “I don’t know how to stop.”

Simon hummed quietly, pulling you forward. He let you collapse against him, let you bury your face in his chest as your fingers twisted into his hoodie. His arms wrapped around you, firm and unshakable, one hand cradling the back of your head.

“Then let me do it for you.”

You cried until your throat was raw, until your body ached with exhaustion. And through it all, Simon held you.

Because he wasn’t going anywhere.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, folded into him, fingers clutching his hoodie like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. Your sobs had quieted, leaving only shaky breaths and the occasional hiccup that made your body jolt against his.

Simon didn’t speak. Didn’t rush you. He just held you—his warmth bleeding into your skin, his slow, steady breaths coaxing you toward something resembling calm. His grip was firm but not suffocating, like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go.

You felt… exposed.

Raw.

Like the girl who always had a perfect mask had finally cracked, and now all that was left was this messy, shaking, broken thing in his arms.

You hated it.

“I look like shit.” The words rasped out before you could stop them, your voice hoarse from crying. You tried to pull back, to put some space between you, but Simon didn’t let you go far.

He exhaled sharply—something like a half-scoff, half-laugh—as he tilted his head down, his masked face inches from yours. “Yeah, you do.”

You froze. “You’re not supposed to agree, asshole.”

“What, you want me to lie to you?” His arms tightened slightly, keeping you close. “I thought we were done with that.”

Your face burned, and you dropped your forehead against his chest again, groaning. “You’re the worst.”

“Never said I wasn’t.”

There was something almost gentle in the way he said it, the words carrying none of his usual teasing edge. It made something in your chest tighten—something deep, something fragile.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, Simon shifted, his gloved fingers brushing against your wrist, where the skin was still tender from how tightly you’d been clenching your fists. “You always do this?” His voice was quieter now, careful.

You hesitated, your stomach twisting. You didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t want to admit that this wasn’t the first time you’d broken like this. That it was a pattern—burying everything until it clawed its way back to the surface, suffocating you.

Simon must’ve seen the answer in your silence.

His grip tightened ever so slightly. “Love.” The word was soft. Rough. It scraped against something raw inside you.

You swallowed hard. “I don’t—” You hesitated, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how else to deal with it.”

Simon was quiet for a long moment. His fingers traced slow, absentminded patterns along the inside of your wrist, grounding you.

Then—“Alright.”

You blinked, confused. “Alright?”

He nodded. “You don’t know how to stop. Fine. But you don’t have to do it alone.” His voice was steady, unwavering. “Next time you feel like this? You come to me.”

You stared at him, trying to find some hint of doubt, some crack in the promise. There was none.

“You don’t have to fix it. You just have to let me stay.”

Your throat tightened. “That easy, huh?”

A dry chuckle. “Nah. Not easy at all.” His gloved fingers lifted, brushing against your cheek, wiping away the remnants of your tears. “But I don’t mind hard things.”

Something in you cracked wide open.

Something you thought was sealed off.

But it never felt more refreshing.

[thelikesofus]

know it's for the better

9-1-1 on ABC | Buddie | 500 words | Season 8b Spec | eddie moves to texas, goodbyes, emotional hurt no comfort, evan 'buck' buckley needs a hug Buck lets his whole heart disappear across state lines because he knows it's the only right thing to do

Buck holds Eddie tightly against his chest and wills breath into the other man's lungs. He wills the world to keep him safe and watch over him in a place that Buck can’t go. Buck’s composure is hanging by a thread when Eddie pulls away. The way his fingertips drag across Buck’s ribs as he steps back speaks to the reluctance that’s taken up residence in Buck's chest since he first laid eyes on the cursed iPad.

Reluctant to let him go, to watch him leave, knowing that he can’t do anything but that. Buck can’t be that selfish, no matter how much he wants to get on his knees on this wet asphalt and beg Eddie to stay. Because he knows that Eddie’s going for all the right reasons and Buck wants him to stay for all the wrong ones. 

Eddie needs to be with Christopher, Christopher needs to know that his Dad is there, when he’s ready, whenever he needs. God, what Buck wouldn’t have given to see that same unconditional, unwavering love from his own parents growing up. 

Buck fucked it all up. He is once again too late, too slow, too little, too much. Too in love with Eddie to stand to watch him go, too in love with him to force him to stay. Because he knows, this is the only way this was going to end. 

“Call me so I know you’ve arrived safely,” Buck says firmly, his voice as steady as he can make it. 

Eddie watches him with those wide, dark eyes and Buck feels caught. The corner of Eddie’s mouth turns up slightly. “I will.” 

“Okay, okay you better go before the rain gets worse.” Buck forces himself to take another step back. 

“Right.” Eddie’s still watching him. He’s chewing on the inside of his cheek, a nervous tick Buck knows means he’s thinking too hard about something. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something and Buck waits with baited breath. Eddie shakes his head and licks his lips. “Okay, I’ll—. Right.”

“Drive safe.” 

Eddie nods and steps back one, two, turn, three, four, truck door, step up, turns the key, starts the engine, five, six, pulls away from the curb.

Buck forces himself to turn his back, he can’t watch the UHaul disappear around the corner. He forces himself to walk back to the Jeep, to heave his wet, ponderous self into the driver's seat and catches the smallest glimpse of tail lights in the review mirror and snaps.

A cry tears its way up his throat, fists, and forearms smashing against the staring wheel as the anguish builds, hitting the horn at random intervals. 

Briefly, he feels bad for Eddie’s neighbors—who aren’t Eddie’s neighbors anymore.

His forehead falls against the wheel as he shakes and wheezes and tastes the salty tears streaming down his cheeks. Sobbing and hiccupping he wraps his arms as tightly as he can around himself and forces breath into his lungs.

[timkontheunsure]

Ozzie's not perfect but that so good 😊

Intersectionality of classism, racism and ableism

Ozzie's a pretty lovable carebear of a sin, it's honestly great seeing the nuisance this guy gets in the writing. I love seeing a nice bloke who is a little bit classist, racist and ableist; because these are traits anyone can have.

Like how Stolas' and Millie's are there for character development, so is Ozzie's. 🙂

And none of these things feel like they'll be unsormaounable for Fizz and Ozzie.

Classism

Alot of foke have asked if Fizz gets to be mad that Ozzie didn't try very hard to save his best friend. And well yer he probably will be mad in s3.

He begged his partner to keep his best friend safe, he gets to be mad. Doesn't matter if Ozzie thought he had a good reason to not do so, like keep his head down to try to keep Fizz safe; Fizz can be mad for not being listened to.

But that's not the only thing Ozzie got coming due, and means we'll get some really interesting stuff.

Ok you know how Stolas is only just started to understand how his being born in a position of privilege has affected his a Blitz's relationship? And that alot of the things he did wrong weren't out malice, but from unthinking ignorant?

Well Fizz & Ozzie's power dinamic is worse, because he's 1 of the 7 actually responsible for settling up a lot of that cast system...

And while Stolas got a bit of a mixed bag with his privilege. Never having to think about money, and given housing for himself and his kid. But also getting almost no choice in his life, and being forced into an abusive marriage.

Ozzie by contrast has it all good. His big day to day headaches being his own safety record on vibes. And his own reputation making him want to try to keep a loving relationship on the down low. (His own fault).

His basis maybe unthinking, but he's not actually ignorant of the way hell works for imps.

They've been dealing the extremely class divided by pretending it doesn't exist; leaving any fallout for Fizz to deal with alone.

Like how till recently him and Fizz were in the closet. Something Ozzie felt so uncomfortable about, he outed another royal/imp couple to shove under the bus to help them hide better. His wanting them safe isn't from a bad place, but his actions aren't clean.

Fizz was happy attacking Blitz, someone he believes hurt him out of spite. But Ozzie's the one who physically drags Stolas in, mocks him for slumming with an imp, then take the piss for lossing his wife and kid.

It really isn't a compliment when someone says "You sold your life for a thrust" and to "Pretend you don't see that crust", and equates their downfall to dating an imp. That's mockery.

I'm glad Blitz got to push back a little with when it's proven Fizzmodeus have a romantic relationship. Cus yep they are massive fucking hypocrites.

Even with harassing Moxxie for singing a love song to Millie, it's not Ozzie that takes the heat. It's Fizz.

Ozzie's need to hid them, is directly the reason to tell Moxxie off for the love song, because he's pretending love and lust can't coexist. And Millie wouldn't bonk Fizz over the head he'd if they didn't interrupt her husbands song.

The need to hid, to keep Ozzie's reputation, stops Oz from being aloud to be visibly too pissed at M&M.

Ok that the lightest fallout that Fizz takes from them not dealing with the power imbalance. But cus of staying closeted Fizz gets kidnapped, and nearly killed to keep 'their' secret.

Then attacked by stalkers cus Ozzie can't be seen caring about him;

(Making every other year of the clown pageant something Fizz must face solo).

All for Ozzie to out them both without checking Fizz ok with it first. Stopping Mammon blackmailing him, like Crim did.

So a good action, but it's acting unilaterally for both sides of the couple without any planning ahead. (Ozzie's is the biggest himmo).

Telling everyone he loves Fizz comes from a good place, but it's stepping on a boundary without checking it. When any possible backlash will likely to fall again on Fizz, not Ozzie.

But it's not the only boundary of Fizz's Ozzie's over stepping for a while.

Racism

Ozzie a pretty risk adverse guy, but also doesn't have a cool head in crisis.

This makes him less likely to stand up for what's right, untill he's back into a corner. (Making some of the stuff he do to get out of a bad situation abit of a shit show).

Ozzie's of a both chicken, and also a little bit of a cock lol. (Viv did well with making him a cockerel).

He doesn't yet want to stick his neck out for people he really should be. But is happy to tag in when Bee says Blitz is a good guy. Even though he owns Blitz for saving Fizz twice, and Stolas stopping him himmoing into getting Fizz killed.

In comparison Bee and Tex's relationship isn't a secret. All the Sins know, and basically every hellhound knows. Both their communities know they are in a stable loving relationship.

She stands up for her man to Mammon. And even non verbally tells Ozzie to back off, that it's her fight.

She doesn't need it to be a life or death situation to tell people to feck off if they don't like it.

Bee is willing to give Blitz a chance, and speaks up for him first. Ozzie's more of a tagalog. He does speak up for Blitz, a guy he has much more reason to want to help; but only after Bee.

And then doesn't do more even though IMP are legally under his jurisdiction. And his partner begs him to. (There's a good chance Ozzie could have told Satan to back off, and it'd have worked. But Ozzie isn't a planner in a fast situation).

Even though he knows that Blitz will die at the hands of a corrupt racist political system without someone stepping in.

Ozzie even has the neve to look a bit put out when Blitz calls him and the other Sins on their shit. "All I was trying to do was raise above this stupid fucking place YOU ALL FORCED US INTO!"

Doesn't Blitz know he's one of the 'good ones'?

But Oz is just not a strong person yet, and honestly think this might be something he eventually gels with Stolas over. Learning to be less passive.

But with them out Ozzie is able to tell Ma to do one for being rude about Fizz. Yay! 😁 He's becoming more free in what he can do. Love that characters development.

Ableism

And while taking about Stolas we can highlight the last character flaw Ozzie has, that's not immediate obviously.

Ok I actually think making the loving, and supportive partner to the physical disabled guy just a bit ableist too is A+ writing. 🙂

Ozzie has a pretty big problem with Stolas. (I'm going to need a thesaurus for all the ways Ozzie is a mardy over Stolas being autistic).

He gets arsy when Stolas doesn't take the chair he draw out.

Gets pissed when he's get a real answer to if he's "Still gettin' yo' kink on with that feisty imp?" Not treated as the verbal wallpaper it was. And treating Blitz like all he can be is a race kink.

Assumes the worse intentions of Stolas by suggested he's after date rape drugs. (Going chalk this up as ableist thing too, as assuming the worst in autistic people cus they're weird is really common).

Is creped out by Stolas stimming, and angry at Stolas being excited to help with his special interest.

Is annoyed that Stolas stops him signing a contract to have Fizz decapitated. (Ozzie's just really isn't a planner. No wonder Fizz does all that for him day to day. 🙂 They work well together).

Then sets Stolas on fire for making him a speedy viable contract, because the lawyer is slow.

And after Fizz is safe and sound at home, Ozzie complains that he got stuck all day with Stolas, and bragged how refused to help Blitz... (He's being unthinkingly ungrateful here, because he's used to getting things as he's top of the heap).

Some neurotypicallys really do just hate you on sight for missing social cues, and Ozzie is being that guy.

He can't even hide how much he dislikes Stolas while Stolas busy doing the thing Fizz asked him to do.

(Ozzie, you contempt is showing again bud).

This is all ableism, because the underlying message 'Why don't you just get it, and read my mind for me?! Why do I have to make allowances for your disability, and communicate what I want clearly. It's your fault I'm mildly inconvenients'.

Ok getting back to Fizz, because how he treats Stolas, leads into his attitude around Fizz's care.

Ozzie does a common mistake that all carers will do at somepoint. He reduces the ability of the disabled person to be autonomous. And he does this primarily for safety; but it's also out of a paternalistic view that he knows best.

(He's older, has more experience, more powerful; surely he can't get this wrong right?)

When Fizz has a knock to his confidence about being out and about by himself, Fizz is being hyperbolic about hating going outside. And Ozzie over corrects tells him he never had to do that again.

And Fizz's face drops.

It's infantilizing him, by removing some of his choices. He does this again when he goes behind Fizz's back to ask Blitz to bodyguard him.

Things can be done for a place of love, and still be removing someone's autonomy. Yes without Blitz there Fizz wouldn't have had the strength to tell Mammon to fuck off, but thinks can be both good and bad.

(Honestly I could probably have written 'things can be both good and bad' with pics of Ozzie doing shit, and call it a day 4 drafts ago)....

This has happened with me and every disabled person I know. Fizz needs to talk with Ozzie and redraw boundaries. They'll have to do this after each situation comes up.

Like Ozzie really wasn't happy with Fizz going out alone at the start of Opps. But they compromised on having his phone on him, and a driver giving him a lift.

With Fizz is no longer working for Mammon, and that their relationship is public arguably there's less immediate danger now.

But it's the intersectionality that's making it hard for Fizz to start that conversation. He's not just a imp dating a royal, he's a disabled imp who's prosthetics are gifted and maintained by Oz, dating a Sin who was instrumental in putting his whole race near the bottom of the ladder....

Fizz is likely going to need Blitz and Stolas' input to feel comfortable redrawing those tightening boundaries.

It's the reason he feels like he does have to apologise for getting hurt and kidnapped.

(Ozzie did great reminding Fizz he doesn't have to apologise here).

Alright cards on the table when I've had to tell my SO/carer to back off, it's always started by talking to a friend outside our dinamic. And that healthy. You get a different view, your able to sanity check what you want Vs what practical. And it gives you backup.

Making a conversation more likely to be constructive not destructive.

Because this is only insurmountable if they don't try and climb it together.

[hemlock-reads]

What would Ghost, Gaz, Soap, price, könig and Phillip graves do while you’re sick?

Ghost gets really worried when his S/O gets sick. He’s especially worried when you don’t get sick often. He doesn’t really show it through facial expression. He’s obviously always wearing a stone cold face. It’s his body language you need to look at. You can tell he’s worried by the way his clench and unclench his hands. The way he holds your hand gently. His hands clammy with sweat. His body betrays him when he’s around you. Hes by your side as much as he can be. You need a glass of water to soothe your itchy throat? He’s up and getting it for you. He’s also making you herbal tea and forcing you to take medicine. He doesn’t care how gross it tastes. You will feel better when you take it.

Johnny would lay in bed with you and share your sickness. If you’re sick he’s sick. He catches it no matter what because he can’t help but be around you. He doesn’t leave your side for one second. Only leaving to grab essentials to take care of you and himself. Will likely lay there and hold you, whispering praises into your ear. Calling you his sick boy/girl/partner. When your all cured it would be your turn taking care of him because wouldn’t you know it? He’s sick too. Sick and giddy that his sweet partner is taking care of him.

As soon as price hears that ugly cough come from your throat. It’s over for you. You will not be leaving the house anytime soon. Nope! You need to go to work? You get forced to call in sick. He will not have his partner “sucking it up” and going to work sick. He’s made that a bad habit and he doesn’t want you doing that. You need to go shopping? He’s doing it for you. He will cook you a nice warm homemade soup that his mother showed him. His mother would give it to him when he was sick so it’s about time he does the same for you. Watches and cuddles with you watching movies. He wants to make sure you’re ok. Will text you all day if he has to work.

Now Kyle. I’m sorry but he doesn’t just take care of you. He smothers you. As soon as he sees you absolutely dead (his words not mine) he’s up and getting everything sorted for today. He makes you breakfast. Cuts up some fruit to make a bowel because having extra vitamins and essential nutrients will help your immune system fight off the sickness. If you don’t really want fruit he’ll have you drink organic orange juice. Freshly squeezed because you know he has a juice processor. The pulp is good for you he would say. Happily watching you drink and eat. You’re not leaving that bed anytime soon.

König would get up for work and look at you. The same he does everyday before work. He will notice right away the sweat that’s formed on your forehead. The way your breathing is ragged. The way your brows pinch as you sleep. He would call into his work and tell them he’s sick. He’s not coming in today because he has to take care of you. He needs to take care of you. That’s his job as a partner and he knows you’d do the same for him. He will prepare a nice breakfast for you. He had to look up what kind of breakfast would be best for when you’re sick. He’s there when you wake up, his hand on your cheek. Sympathy for his partner in his eyes.

Phillip graves would probably tease you a bit. Not in a mean way (even though sometimes he is mean when he teases). He just wants to cheer you up a bit, see you smile. On the inside he is a mother and deathly worried for your health. He doesn’t say anything. He continues teasing you but his touches are softer than usual. He acts as if you’re going to break the second he touches you or you do anything. You’re essentially chained to the bed. Not allowed to leave unless it’s to the bathroom. He trusts his shadow company to run without him first a few days. He’s not going anywhere until he knows you feel better. He just wants to see you smile again. Not the sick one you give him.

(Yes I’m down bad for graves. Also I don’t see a lot of graves appreciation lol)

[goshikkuseo]

Harley Sawyer x Female Reader [Not Safe For Work]

Hear me out on Harley Sawyer.

His voice is so hot. I'm also going to be quoting few of his voicelines from the game because he's making my mind foggy. I don't know much about the lore and just watched gameplays, just following my heart <3

This is also my first post, so sorry for any mistakes.

Imagine before the whole disaster, when he was still human, you were in a secret relationship with him. He kept this relationship a secret because while he loved and obsessed over you, he had work to do. Despite this, he was still able to sate your “needs.”

Starting off with some details… Harley's dick is big. Long, thick, and veiny. Even when soft. His “soft length” is no less than 8 inches. His “hard length” on the other hand, is a solid 10 inches. He's cut and tip color is around #e89797. Width is 2 inches. You would definitely need some time to adjust.

Borderline hyperspermia. One load of his is almost enough to fill a bucket, meaning an average condom won't help. Semen consistency is thick and creamy.

Harley is vanilla at first. He's very good at it and still had you mindless for a while. But as your relationship with him develops, so does his way of satisfying you.

His libido isn't very high. 4/10 at least and 6/10 at most. Sex is amazing, though.

Harley's favourite position is missionary or you riding him while he fucks you so he could see your breasts bounce. He can also do you from behind if it's a quickie.

He has a thing for pulling your hair, forcing you to look at him, then kissing you. He doesn't mean to hurt you, he just gets carried away. This also happens when he grips your arms, hips, waist, and wrists.

He also has a thing for your hands. He loves to hold them, kiss them, and even sucks your fingers. He likes to massage your hands for you whenever you're exhausted from working.

Harley likes to give, but isn't against you giving him a blowjob. All you need to do is to moan and arch your back for him. He's not only good at fucking, he's also good at licking. This is really important because he needs to prepare that cunt for his big dick.

“Please, do keep making this enjoyable for me.” He'd say that as he tries not to fuck your face during a blowjob. Still, you'd see him holding onto whatever else he could reach.

Harley tries to hold back his moans. He thinks they make him sound submissive. Instead, you'll hear gasps and groans from him. As well as cutoff moans…

He can last up to four rounds. The both of you also agreed about protection. He's always the one to bring condoms and will even buy your birth control for you.

Harley would call you names like “darling,” “doll,” and “love.” He always tells you how much he loves you, but doesn't praise you. He shows it through “action.”

Very good aftercare. He would check the spots where he held you, looking for any bruises, scratches, and even wounds. Since you would likely pass out, he would clean and change your clothes before him. If you somehow didn't, he wouldn't be less caring. He kisses and cuddles you.

He would act like nothing happened when he gets back to work, but you'd see him with a slight tent in his pants whenever you look at him in the eye.

Now, imagine this. Imagine when you start sensing something isn't quite right with the company. You also noticed how defensive Harley becomes when you ask him about certain things. So, with careful consideration, you decided to tell him about your decision of leaving the company and ending your relationship. He remains calm, but doesn't take this very well.

Harley knows this wasn't an easy decision for you. He knows you still love him. So, he waits for you to be at your lowest before he strikes. He finds a way to make you his - and that is to leave a piece of him in you. In that womb.

“Let's test the response to said fear when pushed into action.” He says as he forces you down, ready to fuck you without protection. No condom, no birth control.

Harley fucks you without mercy. His dick's outline would be visible from underneath your stomach's skin because of how big it is. He hits that sweet, sweet spot that makes your eyes roll back and your back arch. It doesn't take long before he's practically trying to penetrate your cervix as he bruises it with his tip.

You cry, kick, scratch, scream, try to talk him out of it - everything. Nothing works. That's when you start to regret your decision. You now have to face the consequences.

“You realize the futility of this, don't you?”

He makes you cum multiple times until you're on the verge of passing out. He then leans down, whispering how he'd impregnate you.

Before you could even say anything, Harley lets out a guttural groan and you feel his hot seed being spilled directly into your fertile little womb. You try to wriggle away, but it was too late.

“Don't fight. Fighting only makes it work quicker.”

Right before you pass out, you heard Harley whisper, “I have seen enough. Thank you. You may proceed.”

He still cleans you up, though. He may have given you some space, but he still loves and stalks you~

There's no way you're not pregnant after that.

[seaofgoldenstars]

Let's chat about the boys and their parallels with their codenames!!

Rafayel : Tamino Tamino is a Prince from the Opera play "The Magic Flute" The play tells the story of Tamino, a prince lost in a foreign land, who is being pursued by an enormous monster. He is rescued by three mysterious ladies, who kill the monster and give Tamino a picture of Pamina, daughter of the Queen of the Night, with whom he falls instantly in love. They tell him that Pamina has been captured by the powerful and evil Sarastro, and Tamino vows to rescue her with the gift of a magic flute. So, the first and most obvious thing we can point out is it's an opera and Rafayel used to be a famous opera singer along with his Aunt Talia. Then we have the Magic Flute, when Rafayel was still actively the god of tides he had a flute that he would play for his lover, and we can see him using it in the attack animations to lure wanderers to their death but anyway moving on to the next parallel. Being lost in a foreign land while being pursued by a monster, for Rafayel that monster was the humans that were capturing and torturing Lemurians. Last, we ofc have the princess he falls in love with and vows to protect that doesn't need explaining.

Zayne : Galen Galen was a physician and philosopher who became the most famous doctor in the Roman Empire who was devoted to the Greek god Asclepius. The philosopher and doctor I feel like this part doesn't need to be explained, Zayne is a doctor in this timeline, and he was a Foreseer in one of his past lives. But the parallels between the two and their gods is what we're gonna talk about. Both were devoted and lived their lives according to their gods' words, but the difference is Asclepius is a god of healing while Astra is a god of disaster and I honestly think PERSONALLY okay that maybe that's one of the reasons Zayne works so hard as a doctor to atone for all he did with Astra.

Caleb : Perses Perses In Greek mythology, is the son of the titans Crius and Eurybia, he is the titan of Destruction.

sooo I still haven't done Caleb's myth yet so I can't accurately speak for him BUT I'll work with what I know about his myth and anecdotes from twitter 💀 First parallel being Perses and his destructive nature and Caleb and Destructive Evol we know from the experiment report and the anecdote that he's capable of opening blackholes and causing destruction. But the next parallel is actually with Perses and Asteria and Caleb and Mc, see Asteria's domain was the night sky, and she brought a celestial calm to the destructive nature of Perses. Their relationship was a depiction of how contrasting forces could come together to create harmony, and I think again PERSONALLY that also fits with Caleb and Mc they just don't know how yet 😭 I know the experiment report says we could destroy each other but that was before we knew how to use and control our powers.

Xavier : The Hermit in Tarot and Saint Anthony the Hermit The Hermit Tarot card is a card of Self-reflection, Solitude, loneliness, and wisdom. Saint Anthony's story is also one of Solitude and leaving what you know for better. The parallels between Prince Xavier & Saint Anthony the Hermit both we're born into wealth and power, yet they chose to abandon their privileged lives in pursuit of isolation to gain knowledge testing their faith and resilience. The Parallel to the Hermit Tarot, both were deeply committed to their goal and awareness of the trails they will face on their path but continued to seek and spread the knowledge anyway and for Xavier it was all because of Mc.

Sylus : Tartarus In Greek mythology, Tartarus is the place where gods imprisoned their enemies to receive divine punishment. Tartarus is also a primordial deity that existed before the Olympians.

So, first of all, Tartarus was the offspring of Aether & Gaia. Sylus is heavily connected to an Aether Core I mean it's in his eye LMAO and Gaia Research Center was where people were being experimented on Mc and Caleb included so I'm sure that's also where he got his Aether core. (don't quote me on that...) Then we have ofc Tarus city which in the En dub is actually Tartarus city!! And now I think that was actually intentional.

and that's it!! Thank you to Zeta for listening to me yap about this earlier today <3

[imbibitorz]

BROKEN RECORD ⭑.ᐟ

can't seem to forget about you﹒﹒﹒

mr. reca x fem!reader, smut, somewhat dark-ish content; obsessive yandere-ish??? reca and reader; mentions of perverted behavior and blackmailing; sex recording, implied babytrapping(???); dub-con-ish (reca passes out); marking, unprotected p in v; overstimulation; fuck if I know what should be added (lmk if anything should be tho)

notings: i have no idea what happened, what did I write here, or how did it happen. i mean I know how it happened, all thanks to my dear @sugurouge who came up with an idea I twisted a bit. yeah, first attempts at more dark-ish content that normally, so it will be wonky and bad for sure. if you liked the content, reblog and follow or whatever youtubers say at the end of their vids. peace out ✌️

oh, the way your soft hair shines in the evening light! almost like a crown – no, like a halo! in the end, you’re his goddess. his reason for living, the air he breathes, the very essence of his existence. he’s only alive because he still didn’t make you his – not that he’ll die even after all, no, no. you two are made for a happily ever after, even if he has to force it.

RECA is handsome. you can admit it with full confidence. he’s… weird at times, or maybe eccentric would be more fitting. but aeons, isn’t it attractive! and the way he’s always calling you his darling, it just has no right to make your heart flutter and then stop! he’s such a sweet weirdo, even if some of his behaviors border on insane or perverted. but that’s also hot.

that’s why it’s no wonder he’s taking sneaky photos of your panties when your skirt is too short on purpose. that’s why it’s no wonder RECA set up hidden cameras in your house when you invited him for a coffee break. that’s why it’s no wonder you end up on his lap, riding him on the couch in his expensive apartment, all in front of a camera.

“fuck-! d-darling- too much…” hearing RECA whimper in overstimulation feels like unlocking an achievement. aeons, doesn’t he look heavenly! drooling and sweaty mess, his clothes long discarded as he stares at you with his pretty, dark red eyes. he’s kissing your already purple with marks shoulders, his trembling hands holding your hips in a tight yet shaky grip.

“just one more, reca. one more, for me?” you know you’re pushing his limits, you know he really can’t take more, but aeons! he’s so pretty, so yours, it’s just too tempting to stop now. as you bat your eyelashes so prettily, the look of possessive devotion in your lustful eyes, RECA just can’t say no. he will never even try denying you.

how many orgasms did you pull out of him? he doesn’t remember. all he will remember is the feeling of your warm and inviting walls, squeezing him in all the right places because you were made for him. RECA is sure his debauched, loud, and pathetic whimpers paired with the splashing sounds of skin meeting skin will be recorded all too well; a perfect blackmailing material.

“mmgh-! fuck! reca-!”

you continue your relentless bouncing, hips moving on autopilot at this point; it’s been hours by now for sure and yet you’re still riding his cock with no signs of fatigue. aeons, you really were made to be his. throwing your head back slightly, you let him suck on your nipples, leaving even more bruises and wet kisses on your tits. seeing his dazed, hazy stare, his blissful state, you know you won’t let go of your man ever.

when RECA wanders with his hands all over your body, you hold his head in place. leaning in, you kiss him, the passion and devotion mixing with obsessive adoration. in this heated exchange of saliva, you swallow his sweet sounds, all while his cock starts to twitch and throb faster.

“darling-! aeons!” RECA moans and closes his eyes, feeling his peak approaching. almost literal peak, as his consciousness is slowly slipping away as well. but he manages to still look at you, his pretty, full of adoration and surrender eyes following each bounce of your pretty tits right in front of his face. “let me cum inside, darling-! nngh! want to fill you up, to- fuck! want to mark this pussy as- as-”

he can’t even finish his sentence, his vision getting too blurry to notice your smirk. his head falls heavy on the back of the couch, his chest rising and falling while he still breathes. with his arms now loosely resting on your thighs, RECA simply passes out, exhaustion and emotions taking the better of his body. but that doesn’t stop you, no, no! you make sure his cock is nestled deep inside you as he cums, his release painting your insides white. thankfully, you’re ovulating! it’s just a matter of time to keep him bound to you forever, to never let him go, and to have a little, walking reminder of your shared obsession love!

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