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ragingbookdragon · 1 year ago

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Life becomes a bit simpler after her chat with Price; the others definitely notice as she’s not calling Ghost “sir” consistently, and she’s also not avoiding him like the plague. It’s almost upsetting for both Gaz and Soap, mainly because it gave them something to tease Ghost about—it was hilarious watching the way his jaw would clench when they did so. She may not be avoiding Ghost like usual, but she doesn’t go out of her way to directly engage him either. She’s calm, cool, collected when he speaks to her, even smiles at him from time to time, like she used to.

It’s her eyes that unnerves Ghost though.

She knows. And he knows she knows because his skin crawls when he recognizes the look in them. He used to hate it when he saw that. Saw it in every soldier, every superior, every civilian’s gaze when they whispered in the halls about him. But where theirs held pity, hers shine with understanding. With grace. With welcoming.

It makes his stomach churn uncomfortably and weight like lead settle in his bones.

***

Ghost has a routine when he can’t sleep. Usually wakes up at one, drinks a cup of decaffeinated tea, and goes back to sleep by three. No one else is usually awake during those hours except routine security and he trudges into the kitchen, intent to make himself a cup in his tired state, when he stops at the entrance, eyes widening when he sees her sitting there with a steaming cup of tea in front of her, and a bottle of whiskey.

She looks up at the intrusion and smiles tiredly at him. “Hiya LT. Funny meeting you here.”

“It’s one A.M.” he mutters. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Can’t sleep,” she replies, looking back at her tea.

Ghost takes a step into the kitchen, goes to the kettle when his eyes fall on the table again, and he realizes she has two cups of tea ready.

“You’re a piss poor liar,” he says under his breath, abandoning the kettle as he pulls out the chair and plops down beside her. “You makin’ hotty toddy’s?”

“Those don’t have tea in them,” she answers, but pours a decent amount of whiskey in his teacup. “But yes, I am.”

He hums, lifts the mask above his upper lip and takes a sip. “Not bad,” he cuts himself off with a cough and she purses her lips, trying not to laugh at him. “Not bad,” he wheezes, eyes watering, but he feels something light in his chest when he sees her smile.

It’s a comfortable silence they find themselves sitting in, drinking tea and staring at the board on the wall across the room in front of them. It’s Soap’s turn on dishes for the week. He’ll probably try to smooch his way out of it—he hates washing dishes. He’ll most likely ask her to switch duties with him; he’ll probably win.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you the other day.”

She blinks and looks over at him, but his eyes are still on the board, moving like he’s reading. “It’s…it’s okay, LT.”

“No,” he answers back immediately. “No, it wasn’t. And I shouldn’t have done it. I should’ve acted like an adult and instead I acted like a ten-year-old.”

A laugh passes her lips and he looks over at her curiously; she shakes her head. Price said something like that.” Her eyes meet his. “I’m sorry I’m always up your ass. I know it can be annoying.”

Ghost shrugs. “I’m used to annoying.” He catches the way her expression pinches and he corrects, “You’re not annoying, you’re just…”

“A lot?”

“Will you let me try and dig myself out of this hole, please?”

She smiles and reaches over, patting his leg. “I know what you mean. I’ll try to not be it.”

Ghost blinks and looks at her hand then back at her. “I miss it, y’know? You being…you.”

“Really?”

He nods. “It’s too quiet around the base. I realize how much your laughter makes us all feel when I don’t hear it.” He sips his tea.

She stirs the spoon in hers. “…Price told me about your family.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

He shrugs. “I figured he’d said something.” He nudges her in the side. “Gave you a talking to, didn’t he?”

“You’re one to talk,” she retorts, and he grins for a moment before he lets out a sigh.

“My old man was a drunk arsehole.”

“LT, you don’t—”

“No, I do,” he interrupts and leans back, staring at the ceiling. “He was a complete cunt. Beat me and my mum and brother. Tommy was a drug addict, started stealin’ from mum.” Something flickers in his expression. Cold. Old hatred. “I beat the shit outta my old man. Kicked him out for good. Got Tommy into rehab.” His tone eases somewhat. “Things got better. Tommy married Beth, had Joseph. Things were good.” Ghost’s eyes take on a sadness, an ache, a wound that has never seemed to really heal, just scab over. “Things were good,” he murmurs.

“And then…”

He inhales and exhales, swallows, tries to speak, until all he can say is, “I don’t like talkin’ ‘bout Mexico.”

She lays her hand on his. “You don’t have to.”

“I got vengeance for the blood that was spilled from my family.” He inhales and exhales again, closing his eyes for a moment. “…I’m claustrophobic. An’ I hate being around people. I hate bein’ in a room where I don’t know the exits. I hate gettin’ new people ‘cause I’m afraid to trust ‘em.” When she gives him a funny look from the last statement, he adds, “The people you know can hurt you the worst.”

“LT, I would never betray you.”

“Don’t ever say you won’t until you’re in a—”

“Simon, I would never betray you,” she repeats firmly, gazing at him intently. “I would rather die than betray any of the people on this team.”

He searches her gaze for some kind of lie before he turns his head back to the wall. “I’m afraid to let more people in ‘cause I’ve already lost so much of myself from it. I don’t know how much more I can take losin’.”

She goes quiet for a moment, thinks on his words, then counters, “I’d rather lose the people I care about than never know what it was like to love them in the first place.” She can see the way the man beneath Ghost aches to wish he could still be that man. “I’d rather lose you as my friend than never know what it was like to know the man beneath the mask.”

“I’m not a good man to know,” he murmurs, and she scoffs lightly.

“That’s your prerogative.”

“It’s the right one.”

She turns in her chair, her knees brushing against the outside of his thigh as she affirms, “Whether or not you think you are, you are my friend, and I am a better person for knowing you.”

“Puffin,” he mutters. “You gotta aim higher, love.”

“Or you can let me in.” She watches the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I’m not going anywhere. You can either accept that and be my friend, or you can reject it and ignore me forever, but I’ll still be here.”

Ghost‘s face pinches and he gripes, “You’re a pain in my arse, you know that, don’t you?” Her smile is bright as he sits straight again and leans against his arm, her head on his shoulder.

After a moment, she whispers, “LT, do you think…do you think in a different life we’d be better people? Happier?”

He tears his gaze from the wall to look down at her and he thinks for a moment, then nods. “Yeah, pet, I think we’d be better.” He shifts his arm, wraps it around the back of her chair and adds, “But I think you and me are doing just fine in this one.”

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 1 year ago

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Something Borrowed

Pairing: Tom Bennett (World on Fire) x f!reader Warnings: Smut. Word count: ~1.5k Summary: An addition to Best Intentions. Read as a standalone, if you'd like.

Author's note: A birthday gift for @hoosbandewan - husband Tom on your birthday. Happy birthday, Erin! No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

“God’s got bigger things to worry about than me makin’ an honest woman outta ya,” Tom had told her with a wink. “Besides, the money we save we can put towards a bigger do. Would rather everyone have a few beers and sarnies to celebrate, than sit in a stuffy church with their arses going to sleep.”

That had settled it. Her and Tom were to have a registry office wedding, with a reception at The Ducie Arms afterwards.

Even without money being as tight as it is she knows that this is what they would always have chosen. It’s just irrevocably them. Theirs is not a love born of grand gestures and material possessions. They share a soul connection, a lifetime of scraped knees, shared sweets, building their lives around each other, growing together. They are already two halves of the same whole, this is simply the string that ties it all together.

Despite keeping the ceremony itself modest, she feels like a princess as she stands in front of the mirror, her mum behind her fastening the last few buttons on the back of her wedding dress, as she places the last of the pins in her hair.

They’d gotten a deal at the haberdashery on some end cuts of lace and satin, and her mum had worked her magic with her sewing machine. The dress looks shop bought.

She smiles as she smooths her hands over the skirt, taking in the high neckline and draped sleeves, grateful that she’d woken early enough to clasp herself into the lingerie and slip that lies beneath - a wedding night treat for Tom - before her mum had arrived to help her get ready.

It had been a struggle to get out of bed that morning. Her mum, Lois and Connie had all popped round to the flat the previous evening to make sandwiches for the reception. She’d been half way through spreading margarine on a slice of bread when Connie had produced a bottle of gin from her bag.

“Well, if Tom and the rest of the lads are all at the pub, why shouldn’t we?” Connie had asked with a smile as Lois had rushed to get glasses down from the kitchen cupboard.

The pounding in her head the next day tells her exactly why she shouldn’t have. She wonders if Tom is in as much of a sorry state as she is. Thankfully, her make-up does a good job of hiding it.

Tom has called in a favour with a customer at the garage, so she can travel to the registry office in style. She has to stifle a laugh behind her hand as the sleek black motorcar pulls up outside the shop to pick her up. It’s the exact same one that her and Tom had vigorously made up in the back of.

As she slides onto the seat, gathering her skirt so that it doesn’t catch in the door, the memory of Tom laying between her thighs replays in her mind, causing her skin to heat up.

“Everything alright?” Her mum asks, climbing in next to her. “You look a bit flustered.”

She blinks, swallowing and nodding, startled out of her reverie. “Yeah, Mum, bit nervous is all.”

Tom stops fidgeting with his tie knot the moment he sees her, a grin spreading across his face as she walks towards him and the registrar. He lets out a low whistle as she stops beside him, turning to face him. She bows her head, giggling. She feels like a school girl all over again.

Time seems to stand still for her as she gazes into Tom’s blue eyes, not really registering the words being spoken, or the vows she utters in response, fixated only on Tom’s beaming smile. Once more he is that little boy, face full of sunshine and the sweetest little rabbit teeth she’s ever seen.

Except now he is hers. Her husband. She is a wife.

“Fuckin’ finally,” Tom mutters, surging forward once they are told they can kiss.

He grasps the back of her neck, pressing his lips to hers in a motion that steals the air from her lungs. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, smiling into it, her heart fluttering just as it had the first time they’d ever kissed. In a way, this is a first too, the first of many things they’ll share as a married couple.

“Hello, Mrs. Bennett,” he whispers against her lips when they finally part for breath.

The words have heat pooling between her legs almost instantly. She is certain she’ll never tire of hearing them.

As everyone heads in the direction of The Ducie Arms, she is confused when Tom pulls her back in the direction of the shop.

“What you doing?” She asks, brow furrowing as she resists his gentle tug on her arm.

“Left something in the flat, need to go back for it,” he tells her, nodding his head in the direction he wants to go.

“Can’t you just quickly go back for it on your own, and meet me at the pub?”

He shakes his head, tugging at her hand again. “Need you to help me, come on.”

She sighs, relenting and allowing him to pull her along. “We’re gonna be late to our own wedding reception.”

Tom smirks, glancing sideways at her. “They’ll wait, they have to.”

As soon as they’re home, he’s upon her, backing her up towards the bedroom as his hands grasp her waist and his lips find hers.

She giggles between hurried kisses, their breaths intermingling. “Is this what you forgot then?”

Tom pushes her back against the mattress, placing hot, opened mouthed kisses against her throat. “You look so good in that dress, darlin’, couldn’t wait any longer.”

She gasps as her hands slide up her skirt, bunching it at her hips. He leans back, arching a brow appreciatively at the white lingerie he finds beneath. His fingers hook beneath the strap that attaches her stocking to her garter belt and pull back slightly before letting go. It snaps against the flesh of her thigh, making her squeal.

“Tommy, we can’t!” She protests. “I’m wearing things that I won’t be able to put back on if you take them off.”

“Why ever would I take ‘em off?” He asks mockingly, cocking his head. “It’d be a waste.”

She whines as, forcefully, he pushes the gusset of her knickers to one side, swiping through her slick folders, grinning at the wetness he finds. “Gonna make us late to our own wedding reception with this. Naughty, naughty.”

Writhing against the bed, she no longer cares for her fancy lingerie, or if she rumples her dress, not when she hears the metallic clink of Tom’s belt buckle opening. The noise travels straight to her core, causing her to clench around nothing, until finally he’s lining himself up against her entrance and pressing inside. No matter how many times her and Tom make love she’ll never get used to the exquisite torture of that first initial stretch. It robs her of all coherent thought every time, only able to focus on the feeling of him pushing her walls apart.

She expects him to be quick and brutal with her, but he stills once he’s fully inside, resting his forehead against hers. It’s comforting to have him this close, just to feel the weight of him.

As she runs her hands down his back, met with the wiry yet solid expanse of muscle, she’s taken back to a time when he first returned from France and was so thin she could feel every vertebrae in his spine. This is testament to how far he’s come, how far they’ve come; not just the weight he’s put back on, but that he’s healed enough to be in a place where can be someone’s husband, and he has chosen to be hers.

Feeling a prickle of tears in her eyes, she blinks them back, feeling embarrassed when one strays its way down her cheek, until she looks back up into Tom’s eyes to see his are similarly wet.

He holds her close, he takes his time with her. It’s gentle, unhurried, and full of love.

“I love you, Mrs. Bennett,” he whispers to her.

They are late to their reception, but met with rapturous applause as they enter through the pub doors nonetheless. They drink lager, and eat spam sandwiches, and Tom treads on her feet when they attempt to slow dance to ‘Sentimental Journey’ by Doris Day. She can’t imagine a more perfect evening, that is until Tom guides her outside.

They walk back towards the wall, their wall and Tom helps her up onto it, before sitting beside her. Her legs don’t dangle as high from the floor as they used to, and it’s odd to look down and see her legs draped in white lace, instead of littered with scrapes and bruises.

She grins when she turns to Tom, watching as he produces a paper bag of sherbet straws from his inside jacket pocket. “Just wanted to say thanks for helping me with my maths homework fifteen years ago,” he says with a cheeky smile, “Mates, yeah?”

Warmth spreads throughout her chest as she leans against him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Always.”

#tom bennett x reader #tom bennett smut #tom bennett fluff #tom bennett x y/n #tom bennett x you #tom bennett imagine #tom bennett #tom bennett world on fire #world on fire tom bennett #tom bennett fan fiction #ewan mitchell #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett fanfic #tom bennett fan fic #world on fire #world on fire fan fiction #world on fire fanfiction #world on fire fanfic #world on fire fan fic

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cookiescribble · 4 months ago

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Flufftober Day 6: Mistaken Identity

A/N: Me? Writing about a comic book character? Who would have guessed??? Lmao I had this idea sitting in my brain for a while so I’m very happy that I get to write/post it as part of this month. Enjoy, guys! - mod ghost

Ship: Dick Grayson x GN!Reader

Summary: Dating a vigilante has its ups and downs, but little do you or Dick know, you’re both about to experience that rollercoaster firsthand

“Hey, you” Dick greeted with a grin as he looped an arm around your waist from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder as you cooked “Whatcha makin’?” he peeked into the pot before you pushed his face away.

“Get outta here, it’s a surprise. But I did miss you so before you go, get over here.” You turned around in his arms to give him a kiss, feeling him grin against your lips as you did. He lets you get back to your cooking soon after, though, so it doesn’t burn, even though that doesn’t stop him from keeping his arms around you.

“Should I cover my eyes or something so I can’t see what you’re making?” He teased, covering his eyes with his hand anyways to make you laugh.

“No, no, no, just get outta the kitchen.” You waved him off, and he left the kitchen without much more protesting. You two have been dating for a few months now, your relationship filled with moments like this one, but both of you had the same big secret without actually knowing that the other had the same secret. You heard Dick turn the tv on behind you, a news report of yourself as a vigilante flashing on the screen which made your heart rate quicken for a moment.

“Have you heard about this?” Dick called back to you, to which you shrug, not turning to face him.

“There’s so many vigilantes out there, I lost count of who’s who,” you replied, keeping your voice calm and collected to keep him from suspecting anything. To your surprise, the subject seemed to be dropped for now. From there, the day quickly turned to night, and you were leaving Dick’s apartment to go back to yours. You had a long night ahead of you, and you didn’t exactly want your boyfriend to know about your double life just yet, just in case he’d worry.

“Leaving already?” Dick questioned, a sly grin on his face as he pulled his arms away from you so that you could get up now that you had your shoes on.

“Yeah, I have an early meeting at work that I actually have to get some sleep for,” You ruffled his hair as you stood up, pausing to stretch your muscles a bit since you and Dick had been cuddling for a while to watch a movie.

“You could sleep here, if you want,” He offered in a soft voice as he stood, wrapping his arms around your waist and tucking his face against your neck.

“I would, if we’d actually get to any sleeping,” You paused to kiss the top of his head, slowly detangling yourself from his arms, as much as you didn’t want to. You had a night job to get to, to keep people like Dick safe. “I’ll be back after work tomorrow. Promise.”

“You better. I wanna hear all about this important meeting that is so cruelly taking you from me.” He talked in the same cheerful and teasing tone that he usually did, walking with you toward the door.

“Oh, trust me, you’ll get the full play by play,” you chuckled as he opened the door, turning back toward him once you’d stepped through the threshold. “Bye, Dick, I’ll see you tomorrow.

“See you tomorrow,” Dick answered, leaning forward to give you one last kiss goodbye before closing the door.

As soon as the door was closed, you rushed to your apartment to change into your suit before embarking into the night, a mask concealing most of your features. You, like many other vigilantes in this town and all the others, traveled by rooftop. Tonight was no exception as you stood on one of the taller buildings in the city, looking over the bustling nightlife for any sign of danger.

“Hey, you,” said a familiar voice from behind you, though this time it made your heart freeze in paralyzing fear.

That sounded like Dick’s voice, but there was no way he’d be up here. Or even know that you were…well, you if he did somehow get up here. The cadence in his voice was also different than this morning. This was more of a ‘hey, that person over there’ than a ‘hey, person that I like very much’ kind of tone. That was also about the time that you realized that you hadn’t responded to what he said yet.

You slowly turn around, catching the eye of the one and only Nightwing. The white of his lenses felt like they were piercing directly through your soul. You were almost afraid to speak, knowing you’d give yourself away. But then it hit you: if Dick was Nightwing, then would he really be mad about you being a vigilante? He surely wouldn’t break up with you over something like that.

“Uh…hey?” You awkwardly reply, a shockwave of emotions running through you.

You saw realization dawn over his face, as he seemed to recognize your voice.

“…Hold on”

You start to hear your heart pounding in your ears. He’s onto you, you know he is. His adoptive father being Bruce Wayne is starting to simultaneously make a lot of sense and add more questions to your repertoire even though you’re not sure how that correlates to this moment.

“Now, before you say anything—“ You try to get out ahead of it, to tell him that you didn’t mean for him to find out this way.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dick’s voice had that familiar delicate cadence it had this morning, dripping with awe and care as well as an undertone of hurt.

“I could say the same thing about you,” you replied in a similar tone of voice, your arms crossing your chest as you watch him step closer to you.

“You could get seriously hurt doing this—“

“So could you! Don’t be a hypocrite about this,” You stop yourself from saying his name, "All of the feelings you’re having right now? The hurt of keeping secrets, the fear? I have them, too. I’ve lost too many people to this job to not know what I’m talking about.” You cut off any kind of speech he was about to give, and a tense silence fell over the two of you, which only ended when Dick let out a quiet sigh.

“Alright…I don’t…we shouldn’t be fighting about this. We both know that neither of us are going to stop doing what we’re doing…But maybe we can work together. At least for tonight, and we can discuss more details later. That way, we can protect each other and don’t have to worry… as much. Deal?” He extended his gloved hand to you, smiling hopefully as he waited for you to respond.

“…Deal,” you grabbed his hand as if to shake it, but instead pulled him in for a quick kiss, “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I mean, I love you, too, but is now really the first time you wanna say that to each other?” he laughed, his arms still holding you close to him.

“Better now than ever. Race you back home?” You asked as you quickly slipped from his arms before he could give an answer, hopping to the next roof.

“Hey, no fair! You cheated!” He called after you, running to catch up

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson #batman #batfam #batfamily #flufftober2024 #dick grayson fanfiction #dick grayson fluff #dc titans #mod ghost #nightwing #nightwing fanfiction

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howlett-n-morgan · 5 months ago

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Take Me Home

4. John Fucking Marston

Arthur Morgan x Texas Red!Reader

A/n: GUYS I GRADUATED MY FROM MY COURSE! i give you this chapter as a token of my celebration... now I just have to make sure I don't have any models fall off the runway in my line up lmao

Summary: The newest arrival makes his way into camp, and inadvertently becomes the reason that chaos begins to spread. Luckily, his new uncle Arthur is there to carry the woes on his broad shoulders.

Warnings: mild swearing, canon typical violence, birth?? mentions of past death and Arthur remembering his deadbeat dad days. drinking, mild alcohol abuse?? also Hosea is a real one we love Hosea

WC: 4.5k

“Need I remind you of the price you’re gonna pay?” “She’ll be safe with you. The boy, too. I ain’t leavin’ them in incapable hands.” “But you’re leaving them,” Arthur reasoned, trying his best to make any last effort to save what could have been, but he knew his found brother would not be changing his mind. His only thought at this point was to beg him to stay. If only because he was the one who asked. “Don’t do this. They need you, we need you.”

A week after the heist, Arthur’s shoulder was feeling better… but his head was hurting like hell.

In fact, on this specific night, nearly everyone’s head was throbbing on account of the wails and cries of terrible pain coming from the edge of camp.

Abigail had gone into labor around five hours ago, and the little baby had still not come into the world yet. As of right now, the men were huddled close to the fire, passing around a fresh bottle of whiskey in attempts to pass out so they could get some sleep. Meanwhile, the women were rushing to and fro about the camp, working their asses off to bring a new life to the gang.

You figured it would help you bond with the boys more if you sat with them, moaning and groaning about the noise… but you’d much rather be helping, making sure nothing went wrong in the tumultuous process of birth.

It wasn’t until close to one in the morning that a tiny baby boy was born, strong as ever, with lungs so powerful they could blow a lark out of a tree. His cries replaced Abigails, but after all that time, everyone was pleased to know the delivery was over, and both parties were healthy and sound.

The men did eventually pass out, all except two.

Arthur and John were up till the crack of dawn arguing, and it didn’t look good from an outside perspective.

You were about to take back towards your tent when you came across them, hurriedly getting out of their line of sight so you could listen without suspicion. You knew you had no right to eavesdrop, but with everything you’ve heard from Abigail concerning John, you were bursting with curiosity in a way that turned your stomach.

“I don’t see why I need to be convinced otherwise,” John ripped into his dearest friend, and even from behind a wall of tented fabric, you could imagine the look on his face.

“You’re makin’ a mistake right now, and you ain’t gonna see it until it’s too late.”

“How would you know? S’not like you did any better,” the tone of his voice was bitter, almost. John caught himself, taking a step back and breathing more evenly after his fit of anger. “I didn’t mean that, Arthur… but you oughta know where my head’s at.”

Arthur was silent, and you wished more than anything you could see the look on his face to determine how Marston had gotten to him. Was he saddened or angry? Maybe even confused? You didn’t know, but you didn’t have long to dwell on it.

“You listen here, boy,” Arthur’s voice sounded threatening, intimidating. It was perhaps the scariest you’ve heard him speak. “You ain’t got no idea what’s comin’ to you if you leave. There will be no place in hell you’ll be able to hide from the decision you’re about to make. It’ll follow you the rest of your days, and haunt you when you’re dead, you understand me?”

John didn’t speak, didn’t answer or even mumble an excuse, he just walked away. He walked towards Abigail’s tent, ducking his head under and closing the front panel. You stood there stunned, afraid to move… but then Arthur came up around the backside of the area and scared the shit out of you.

“You hear all that?” He asked, a slanted look in his eyes and a distaste for you in his tone. It might be the remnants from his past conversation, but you hate the way it sounds.

“Arthur,” you caught your breath from the fright he gave you just in time to mumble out an apology. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be listenin’, but Abigail’s been telling me things and I just…”

He managed to huff out one silent breath of a laugh, shaking his head.

“Don’t be fretin’ on my account, I ain’t mad at you.”

You sighed in relief, stepping closer to him now that you didn’t feel so burdened.

“I don’t know him very well, but what I’ve seen… he doesn’t know his head from his ass. Is he really gonna leave?”

“I don’t know,” he started, crossing his arms and letting out a small yawn. He’s just as tired as you are. “I think I just bought a few days, maybe more, but who knows.”

“You think he can change his mind?” You relaxed your demeanor in front of him, but kept your head on a swivel just in case

He was so tired, you felt bad for keeping him awake, but you figured these thoughts were weighing heavy on him, and it might be good to get it off his chest. “He’s far too stubborn to do it on his own. We’d all have to raise hell for him to think badly of his own choices.”

You frowned, turning towards the tent of the new, young family… There were already so many problems in their unit.

“Poor Abigail.”

She’d be alone, and with a child to take care of. And meanwhile John would be scott free and having the time of his life.

“She’ll be alright, her and the boy. I’ll make sure of it,” he nodded towards where you were staring. “Around the time he started acting up, I told her I’d marry her, be the kid’s father if she wanted me to.”

Your head snapped around to him, and you processed his words. Abigail told you about part of his offer, because you’d given her the same one, sans one detail…

“You’re gonna marry her?”

“Only if she wants me to, if John leaves.”

Good to know… but not really. It looks to you like John is pretty set in his ways, even if he ends up staying through the week, or even more.

You nodded to him, but you hated the notion that he could already be promised to another person, even if you had absolutely no plans on pursuing him yourself. It was a small little envious monster that crawled in the pit of your stomach, and for a split second, you felt yourself resenting Abigail, who thus far, had become your closest friend after Arthur.

“I actually offered the same,” you laughed, shaking your head and kicking your boot into the ground. “Not that it would last, but I just wanted her to know I was willing to help.”

“The whole gang chips in here and there, bein’ a family and whatnot… She’ll never go without help,” he assured, his posture becoming heavier with each minute passing.

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat and stretched your arms out, faking a massive yawn that looked real enough to pass you off. “It’s probably time we all turn in, huh?”

For some reason he seemed vaguely sad for the interaction to be over.

“Just about… I’ll catch you later, then,” he waved you off, heading back to his wagon and you to your tent. Even though they were relatively close, the entry points were on opposite sides.

You fell back into your cot with a heavy exhale. It’s been a long night, and with a crying baby in the camp, it’s looking to be a long next few months.

The next few days were wonderful, despite the ill attitudes of a few grumbly men, Arthur not included.

Dutch has been going on and on since the birth of the baby that the newest member should be given a worthy name. You assume he suggested his own namesake a few times, but since he’s been nothing but playful about the whole thing, you know he isn’t too bitter when they do finally settle on a name.

Abigail picked it out, and you understand why.

John Marston Jr, or as the two have taken to calling him already, Jack.

You were surprised to see that waking up in the late afternoon the day of the birth, John was being… really different. He was putting in effort to help Abigail, he was making sure the others knew of all the information as it came, and most importantly, he was being positive about the whole situation. You suppose Arthur did knock some sense into him, and it was evident in how he was carrying himself.

You weren’t sure how long it would last, but you felt relieved. Not only for Abigail, but selfishly, for yourself. If John sticks around and pulls his weight, Arthur doesn’t need to be tied down to a family. Not that he would ever see it that way, but still.

You didn’t know where you stood with Arthur. He was a dear friend, you knew you could say that by now. You think that maybe the playful banter between you holds more than just friendship, but you can’t be sure, and you’re too damn chicken to test the waters. And obviously, a plain and simple conversation is entirely out of the question, because of ridiculous reasons you don’t care to list off.

Maybe you’ll never know, and you’ll always be playing the game of ‘will we, won’t we’, unable to come to a sound conclusion. You think you’d be well enough with that, even if you never settle down with anyone.

It’s a terrible absolute, and you should have never decided on it, but you think that being open ended and in this endless cycle of banter with Arthur is better than being in a committed relationship with anyone else. It makes the one on one interactions with him that much sweeter, though. Like today, when it was both your turns to watch baby Jack. The others were working on something in the town, and Abigail and some of the women were napping, having taken care of him through the night.

“He might be hungry,” you suggested, laughing at Arthur’s attempt to sooth the wailing infant.

“I get hungry too, y’never see me cryin’ about it,” he was joking, clearly. He shook his head and reached for the glass bottle Miss Grimshaw had prepared this morning.

Jack fed on the bottle and stopped crying, and in the aftermath, you paused to watch the scene before you. A big, gruff outlaw, with his hair tousled and shirt out of place from tiny hands fisting at it, and relaxed in his arms, a tiny baby being bottle fed. It was such a contradictory picture, but one you couldn’t tear your eyes away from.

“Cute,” you mumbled, nearly under your breath, but he heard you.

“He’s somethin’,” he chuckled, a small smile on his face when mentioning the boy he held so close. Arthur was many things, but amongst them was gentle. He was a kind creature by nature, that had only been hardened by experience, and these soft moments let his internal goodness show.

“I meant you,” you teased, and he rolled his eyes, shaking his head. He didn’t even know how to respond for a second.

“I’m quite the opposite, but I’ll thank you for the thought.”

As tough as he was, and as rightfully boastful over his skill with a weapon or with his bare hands, he seemed to negate himself often. His intelligence, his artistic talent, his looks, even his presence during group gatherings. It saddened you, and you didn’t even know the root of his struggle.

“Why you always doin’ that?”

“Doin’ what?” he asked, his head tilted to the side and a narrow look on his face.

“Bein’ mean to yourself…” you answered, sitting down on the other end of the log he was relaxing against.

What a treat it would be for Arthur to see himself through your eyes. He’d never think poorly of himself again.

“M’not, just the truth.”

And that was even sadder. Who on earth ever convinced this man that he wasn’t good enough? Whoever it was, you’d like them to be on the other side of your pistol’s barrel.

You huffed out a sigh, leaning forward so he didn’t have to strain his neck to look back at you.

“Y’know it’s too damn bad, I happen to think you’re a pretty decent person. I pity anyone who thinks otherwise,” you spoke firmly, laying it on thick so that maybe he can come to terms with believing you.

“Is that so?”

“Mhm, very much so…”

He looked back down at Jack, trying to distract himself from your complimentary onslaught. He didn’t much care for compliments, so he wasn’t even sure how to receive them, if he accepted them at all. He has a very strong belief system, and it’s constantly just a mantra of things like ‘I am a bad man, I do bad things, I am dangerous, I am getting old, I am ugly,’ and so on. He didn’t understand how much he had hurt himself by forming those beliefs in the first place.

You sat with him in silence for a few minutes, just watching Jack finish the bottle and settle into Arthur’s arm for a nap. He slept a lot for someone that cries through the night. Hearing the soft cries in the night isn’t peaceful, but it’s better than the anxiety and feeling of dread his cries brought you the first day, when John was set on leaving.

You keep replaying a moment from that morning in your head, when the sun was just over the ridge, and you were heading to your tent…

“Arthur?”

“Yeah?” He turned his head again.

“The day he was born… that argument between you and John,” you wanted to make sure you phrased this correctly, unsure if it was a sensitive topic. “He’d apologized for sayin’ something… Sayin’ that you didn’t do any better? What was he talkin’ about?”

Arthur took a deep inhale and shifted around in his seat, the ground beneath him feeling like it could cave in just at your words. John had struck deep with what he’d said, but having to rehash it, and with you… it wasn’t a thing he’d ever do for fun, to put it nicely.

“I mean, him talkin’ about leaving Abigail, and you givin’ her your offer… You’re already better than he is.”

“I wasn’t always,” he shook his head. “Holdin’ him like this, it makes me remember just how terrible I am.”

You sank down from the log and scooted closer to him. No one in camp was around to see, so you didn’t bother looking. His eyes got foggy without even going into detail, so you didn’t push… but he seemed to open up on his own.

“I had a boy when I was John’s age. Same situation n’ all,” he shook his head, trying to keep his sights on the ground in front of him. The longer he held Jack, the worse this feeling got, but he knew it wouldn’t ever go away, not really. Not with a new and constant reminder of his past. “His momma and I, we didn’t get on too well, so I kept with the gang. Didn’t ever come around except when we passed through that town. Could count on two hands the times I saw my own son…”

You didn’t know what to make of this. He has a son? Does he keep contact with him? You’re unsure if you want to know all the details, because hearing it as is, sounds messy.

“Where does he live?”

You had no idea that you’d just asked the worst question in response… but how else were you supposed to know? This was the first you’d heard of Arthur’s son.

“He uh… he died, about three years ago,” Arthur shook his head, swallowing back the lump in his throat, though his teary eyes persisted. “They both did... I came back one day, and found two crosses in the yard. I asked around, townsfolk said a group of robbers came through and raided several homes.”

“Arthur…” you grabbed his arm gently, trying to convey your sympathy, and your sadness.

“I knew it had been my fault. If I had been there, my son would be alive, his mother, too.”

A cloud had rolled over the sun, and shrouded in a temporary shade of darkened light, the mood felt heavier than even his words could convey. This man and his layers, being peeled away before you… it was both touching, and terrible. You had no idea a man was capable of feeling so deeply, of being so open about his past and regrets. You’d never seen a man cry before.

“Issac and Eliza were their names,” he finally looked at you, tears escaping his eyes at a rapid pace. He let them fall, somehow knowing you wouldn’t judge him for it. “And they aren’t here because of me.”

You gently raised a hand and wiped his cheeks with your thumb, leaving your hand there for as long as he would let you.

“I’m so sorry, Arthur…”

Nothing you could say or do would help to heal his wounds, but you wanted to try. Wanted to be there for him, whatever that meant. You and him got on well. You were friends, but there was competition between you, all a part of your banter. You supposed you’d feel inclined to let him win in any circumstance from now on, just because you couldn’t bear to make him upset. Seeing him this way broke your heart, but it also empowered you in some way. To be more empathetic, and kind, and to not let your anger get the better of you. You’ve proven to him in the past that you were a hot head, no pun intended. You would have to be mindful of letting yourself fly off the hinge to him in the future.

“Even if John doesn’t leave… I swear I’m gonna do right by this boy,” he let out, his voice trembling but his words were of certainty.

You felt a tear roll down your own cheek, and did nothing to stop it. This moment, whatever it was, you wanted to feel it. Wanted to keep it buried within the depths of your soul.

You’ve been on the run for four years now, and in those four years, you’ve been on your own, making some sort of fantasy world for yourself where death was just the thing at the end of a duel, and you never had to pay the toll of those losses.

You’d not been living in reality, and coming to this gang, meeting Arthur… it must have been preordained. It must have been fate. He himself, day by day, was restoring your humanity, and your ability to feel something that wasn’t just a farce.

“Thank you for telling me,” you whispered, but being so close, he heard you clearly.

He let out a huff that you suppose was meant to be a soft laugh. “You don’t just hear me, Red… you listen to me. I guess I’ll keep on tellin’ you things.”

And soon both your attentions were pulled back to Jack as he stirred slightly.

You took a turn holding him while Arthur went to grab some food, and you found you rather liked this particular baby. He was a sweet little thing, not so bratty like the tiny cousins you grew up around. You can only hope he’ll stay this sweet as he grows older.

A month had passed, and John was getting more angsty.

Arthur was honestly surprised he had lasted this long. It seemed impossible that he stuck around, especially when he had to be the one to take a turn with the baby during the night.

Fights had broken out with various members of the camp, mostly over John and his unwillingness to help anymore. Dutch had chewed him up and spit him out, and after that, John had made up his mind, for certain this time.

“You ain’t leavin’, just sit down,” Arthur pulled him back by the shoulder, trying to stop him from packing up and saddling his horse.

“What makes you think I would stay with a bunch of folk who hate me?”

“We don’t hate you, you’re bein’ ridiculous. Sit down, we’ll talk about it.” Arthur tried to reach out for him again, but John pulled himself back and out of the way, two steps from the hitching post. “Boy, you’re not goin’ anywhere-”

“I’m leaving!” John burst out, taking Arthur by surprise. This wasn’t just another hissy fit or tantrum where he would eventually let it stew over. He was really gonna do it. “The kid ain’t mine, I counted back. She’s just try’na tie me down, Arthur... I feel for her, but I ain’t stayin.”

“Need I remind you of the price you’re gonna pay?”

“She’ll be safe with you. The boy, too. I ain’t leavin’ them in incapable hands.”

“But you’re leaving them,” Arthur reasoned, trying his best to make any last effort to save what could have been, but he knew his found brother would not be changing his mind. His only thought at this point was to beg him to stay. If only because he asked. “Don’t do this. They need you, we need you.”

“You don’t need me, Arthur. You’re the better one, always were…”

“C’mon now, you know that ain’t true. S’just another excuse,” he waved his arms around, trying to emphasize just how stupid it sounded. Yes, it’s all Arthur’s fault that John is leaving.

John doesn’t even answer Arthur, he just turns heel and readies his horse, all while the older of the two stands by and ridicules him for what he’s about to do. All John can do is tune him out, and pretend he doesn’t hear the distant crying at the other edge of camp, where Susan is trying to console a tired and emotionally devastated Abigail. Their son sleeps in Tilly’s arms, oblivious to anything happening around him, but what’s to come will put a damper on his previously bright future.

By the time John is on his horse, loaded up and ready to head out, Arthur grabs hold of his leg, yanking it back from the stirrup. He looks to his eyes one more time, to see if there’s any guilt, any resolve, anything that might show he knows what he’s doing is wrong… but he only sees annoyance and pride. Two things John Marston usually wore on his face.

“If you leave this camp, you best never come back again, ya hear?”

And for the first time that night, Arthur saw just a shred of fear in the younger man’s eyes.

“I hear,” he nodded, the fear turning into sadness in this last moment. “It just ain’t worth it no more.”

And with that, he turned his horse, and left the camp.

Arthur went storming through the camp after the interaction, needing to find himself a drink.

You were angry and rightfully so, stomping back into camp like a bear hunting its prey. Walking up to the campfire, there were only a few left awake. Pearson and Hosea sat, hunched over and with half full whiskey bottles in their hands. Probably from the stolen stash, the brand was decent.

“Anyone seen Arthur?” You asked them both, knowing that at least Hosea could tell you.

“He passed out ages ago,” He nodded towards his covered wagon near the trees and rocks separating your space. “John left camp tonight.”

“I know, I caught him outside the saloon,” you sat down by them, reaching out for either bottle they were willing to hand over. “Gimme some of that, will ya?”

And of course, drinking was the solution at the end of the day.

After a while, Pearson dragged himself to bed, leaving you and Hosea to sit and stew by the fire, milling about your tumultuous thoughts. You should have known he’d ask for details of your run in with John.

“I was out scouting today… realized I needed to go to town for a pair of socks, mine got holes too big for sewin’,” you began, gaze trapped on the fire, the alcohol making it harder to focus on anything else at once. “Came outside and found him hitchin’ his horse.”

“You were the one who approached him, then?”

“I thought about just wavin’, I thought I’d be seein’ him back here… but then I looked at his saddle. He was packed up for the trek of a million miles,” you sighed, taking another big swig of the pricey whiskey in your hand. You would finish the bottle in no time if you kept up like this, trying to quench your raging thirst for something strong and potent.

“What did you say to him?”

“Nothing really, not at first. Just asked how the day had been, how Abigail was. I haven’t been here since this morning. I guess they started fighting real bad after I left. Dutch tore into him, too,” you spoke heavily, suddenly the swigs you were slamming back were making you a bit less understandable. Hosea though, was easily able to listen, because after years of Arthur’s drunk slurring, and having to make out sentences between, he was practically an expert. “All I said was that he shouldn’t leave, because he’ll regret it.”

“And I suppose that didn’t help.”

“Nah, he just told me where to shove it. I think he’s scared… not of the kid, and not of Abigail. I think he doesn’t wanna end up like his father. Arthur’s told me something about it, but in my opinion, he’s trying to get out before the resentment turns to abuse n’ all that.”

“I reckon you're right. We all told him time and again he’d be a good father, but he’s stubborn as they come, and when his mind’s made up… there’s no stopping that boy.” Hosea shook his head once more, his sadness reflecting in the light of the fire.

“I guess Arthur’s gonna marry Abigail, now…” you knew you were just trailing into your thoughts, and that while getting more drunk, you shouldn’t be saying them out loud… but you couldn’t help it. Selfishly, on your ride back to camp, this is all you thought about.

“He offered, it’s up to Abigail to accept,” he said gently, raising his brows in thought as well. He doesn’t see it as a good match, but he thinks it’s honorable that Arthur would do such a thing.

“I hope she doesn’t,” you murmured quietly, but it seems he still heard you.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, m’just gettin’ drunk.”

He chuckled under his breath, his side eye remaining on your features just a while longer before he stood up, patting you on the shoulder.

“Don’t drink too much more. You’ll pass out before making the trip to your tent.”

And then he left you alone. With your thoughts and a bottle of whiskey in hand, who knows what more you could do in a situation like this. It was better to cut your losses and just turn in… so you did.

Laying down on your cot, you expected sleep to take you. It should have, given how tired you were, but the single notion kept echoing in your head over and over…

Arthur Morgan isn’t mine, and he never was.

Tags: @photo1030 @sheepdogchick @snoopysshark @strvberrydoll @yyiikes @phantasyy @puffyhairedhipster @scorpio-echo

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x original female character #arthur morgan x you #texas red

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niceutossu · 4 months ago

Text

Misconceptions | Osamu x Reader

-Osamu lives in the same area as you

-he has seen you look so CEO-ish early in the morning and he’s convinced you’re some super important business person

-he’s developed an innocent crush since you both always get coffee at the same convenience store, at the same exact time

-you were very punctual and so was he (it was good motivation to see your sweet face)

-when you would leave you would always turn left and he would right and that was that

-it’s nice to see you smile while holding the door open for him or when he does the same for you and he gets to hear your soft voice say ‘thank you’

-beyond that, he’s never talked to you, he feels like you’re from two completely different worlds so he’s content leaving things as they are

-one night, his usual delivery boy has only one order left but unbeknownst to Osamu, he’s also been on the verge of hurling his entire shift and throws up right before he can complete it

-Osamu sends him home because he refuses to not follow food safety guidelines (plus he also feels a little bad he was unaware that his employee had pushed himself so hard)

-since it was also for someone who lived in the same building as him, he really didn’t mind being the one to drop off this last order

-while packing up to leave his employee makes a cheeky remark, something along the lines of “Thanks for doing this, though we’ll be even after you see the babe it’s for.”

-Which Osamu completely disregards because there were a lot of beautiful women living at his complex (as once commented by Atsumu) so he wasn’t really all that excited about the prospect

-he was tired and he just wanted to go home and get enough sleep before he had to rush out the door in the morning to catch a glimpse of your face

-when he finds the apartment, two floors above his, he knocks and is getting ready to leave when the door swings open and he looks up to find you looking back at him

-except you don’t look anything like how you usually do

-you weren’t wearing your black blazer and matching skirt, both of which were clearly ironed with lots of care

-the white lace of the crisp white blouse you normally wore wasn’t peeking through the collar of your jacket, and your hair wasn’t pulled back into the neat half updo he had grown a bit fond of (how could you pull off something so simple so well?)

-instead, your hair was down and damp, your shirt wrinkled, and you were wearing athletic shorts so oversized they almost reached past your knees

-the smell of shampoo meant you weren’t wearing any make-up but you looked the same to him, the only real difference was the glasses perched on your nose

-he couldn’t tell if they were real or blue light but he didn’t care, you looked good

-you looked so good like this, so cute

-he had always thought you were attractive in a mature way, radiating confidence that made head turns everywhere you went

-your tight clothes did you justice, and your ‘I have my shit together’ attitude was undeniably magnetic

-but the way you looked now, so small and tired, clearly irritated from hunger but ready for bed was what made the little crush he had on you turn into a full-blown ‘like’

-Osamu liked seeing you like this, maybe even more than he did seeing you be a professional

-before he could continue to gawk any longer you took the food from his hands and stared at him for a moment, squinting your eyes before widening them in some sort of horrible realization

-“Wha- where’s the usual guy?” You asked, blushing in a way that had Osamu feeling a mix of confused and a little bit annoyed

-“You got the food…so does it matter?” Even if you were cute, he wasn’t about to pour his feelings out to someone who was still a complete stranger, and currently, a seemingly unsatisfied customer

-you scrunched your nose at his response, huffing slightly and seemingly contemplating for a moment before speaking again

-“do..do you not recognize me?” You asked hopefully, eyes looking up at him past the glasses and making his heart twirl as he held back the smile that tugged at his lips

-“Convenience store.” He replied, keeping it short but only because he couldn’t handle the implications of the entire interaction

-did you also think of him beyond just seeing him once in the morning?

-your eyes lit up at the acknowledgment before offering him a smile he hadn’t seen before, one that was more carefree now that it was just you two alone and in private

-“I had no idea you worked here.” You spoke, pointing your hand towards the bag of food he was still holding while offering him friendly conversation

-“And I had no idea you were a customer.” Osamu said while handing you the bag, deciding to use the chance to show off a bit and maybe even get you to come visit in person

-“How long have you been working there?” You questioned, eyes glazed with genuine curiosity that made his heart curl

-“Well, I kinda own it so, since I opened it?” He replied, feeling nervous and now stupid for the way he had explained himself. There goes his opportunity to show off

-despite his awkwardness, you laughed at his stupid joke and he felt himself bubble with pride, he needed to hear more of that

-he suddenly thought back to what his employee had said about you being a ‘babe’ and felt himself get annoyed, he’d definitely have to convince you to start coming in person

-“you’re funny and the owner of your own business? Man, you’re doing way better than I am.” You admitted, the nervous atmosphere settling into a more comfortable one

-at your words Osamu frowned, were you not some up and coming CEO yourself?

-you looked at him, confused as Osamu suddenly realized he had asked that out-loud

-you both stared at each other as a couple beats of silence passed before you suddenly broke out into laughter again like he had just said the funniest thing in the world

-he should’ve been more annoyed given that you were practically laughing in his face but he was intrigued more than anything else

-“CEO would be awesome but I’m nothing more than an intern at the moment.” You admitted after calming down, still letting out a few giggles as your cheeks were now flushed from having laughed so hard

-Osamu thought you couldn’t look more perfect than you do now, face rosy from something he said and pretty eyes focused solely on him

-so you weren’t some fancy CEO, that was a relief but he also knew somehow in his gut you wouldn’t stay an intern for long

-he didn’t know a lot about you past admiring you for always being on top of it and on time, unknowingly inspiring him to do the same

-but now he wanted to get to know you more than anything, to see you become the boss you were clearly meant to

-“well, just know when the time comes you’re already the perfect, pretty picture of a CEO.” Osamu complimented, somehow confident in your abilities despite your status as strangers

-at his compliment your blush deepened, the sweet tone and sincerity in his words causing a rosy red to stick to your cheeks

-the word pretty rang out in your mind as you unconsciously went to tuck a piece of damp hair behind your ear, something that made Osamu’s lips finally twitch into a smile

-to know and see that he had an any sort affect on you, like you had on him all these months made it hard to hide the giddiness he felt

-he really had to get to know you, he had been so wrong about you this entire time and he needed to get it right, to get to know you fully

-“Jeez, you’re not supposed to flirt with customers y’know?” You joke, voice light as you poke at his chest playfully

-your eyebrows raise ever so slightly as you feel all the muscle underneath the simple black t-shirt and you give him a shy glance

-“I promise I’ll try and come by in-person. But only if you promise me one thing in return.” You speak, finger unmoving from his chest as your eyes remained fixated on his own

-he swallowed thickly before responding with a small ‘hm?’

-“Same time tomorrow?” You asked, referring to your daily morning routine

-Osamu felt himself practically soar at those words, even after having seen you almost daily this time- this time you’d both know that you were each there hoping to find the other

-“you know I’ll be there.”

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #osamu x reader #miya osamu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu osamu #osamu miya #hq x reader #hq fluff #haikyuu!!#this has been sitting in my drafts for a few days #had to show some love for the other miya <3 #niceutossu

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midnight-black2 · 9 months ago

Note

imagine being Janns best friend and you travel with him everywhere for his races. you usually stay in hotels…

you get into your shared hotel room just to find out there’s one bed 🫣 (prompt #9)

“i took her to my penthouse and i freaked it” 😻🗣️

I LOVE YOUR WRITING BTW!!!! 🫶

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

pairing : jann mardenborough x reader

synopsis : what the req says basically

disclaimers : fast-pace smut, dom!reader, sub!jann, masturbation (m!recieving), praise (m!recieving), idk maybe more im prob forgetting lol

note : i hope you wanted smut otherwise i guess just stop reading at the smut part if you didn't bc i wasn't sure whether to write it like this or not but uh nonetheless, hope you like it 😭 p.s, i'm glad you enjoy my writing !! 🫶

it was an exponentially long day, and you were ready to crash.

for context, that day was one of janns big races. of course, he placed. he came in first, which was huge. you endlessly congratulated him, but you felt like you needed to do more. you'd figure that out tomorrow, though. now, you were too beat to think about it.

you, jann, and the others that were apart of the traveling team all checked into the lavish hotel that was booked for that night. since you and jann were the most comfortable with one another, you guys always shared a room. well, that night was no exception. the front desk lady handed you the key, and everyone was on their way to their designated rooms.

you entered the key into the slot, before it flashed green and you two stepped into the room. you let your suitcase fall to the ground, before sleepily rubbing your eyes. janns energy seemed to have switched, and the air felt stiff around you. you looked up, and widened your eyes a bit at the sight you were met with. of course, just what you needed.

"are you serious? there's only one bed?" you mumbled, with a low groan. he was pale in the face, looking as if he had just seen a ghost.

"i can just uhm sleep on the floor if you want," jann suggested, swallowing shallowly. you shook your head.

"no, i'd feel bad making you do that."

"well i'm not gonna let you sleep on the floor."

"then i guess we're sharing then," you said, too exhausted to care otherwise. usually, you'd come up with some sort of solution, but this time you simply plopped on the bed, and made yourself comfortable within the covers, allowing the mattress to engulf you.

"a-are you sure?" he questioned, nervously. you nodded.

"mhm," you hummed. he reluctantly got in bed with you. he was wide awake--there was no way he would get sleep tonight with you in the same bed with him. he felt as though he could burst. you wanted to sleep, you really did. but, jann interested you just a bit more than proper rest. you could feel the tension rise, and you glanced over. he didn't seem tired at all.

"you alright, jann?" you asked, placing your hand on his. you definitely knew what you were doing, and wasn't helping janns situation whatsoever.

"y-yeah, i'm fine. just sleep, i don't want you to miss out on rest because of me."

"yeah but you seem troubled," you replied, as you rubbed the pad of your thumb along his hand. "what's up, jann?"

"it's nothing, really. i promise," he threw you a half smile, trying to cover up. naturally, you could see right through him, and he knew that.

"is it about the next race? you have nothing to worry about, you know. you're good, really good, jann. you got first place today. do you know how excited i am?" you explained, squeezing his hand with a smile. "i also feel like i never properly congratulated you."

"but you did, so many times," he laughed. you laughed along with him.

"yeah, verbally, but i feel like there's a different way to show how proud i am."

"like how?"

"however you want, it's your big day, after all," you answered, knowing exactly what was crossing his mind. you wanted him to say it himself, to use words, but you knew he was never too good at it.

"i guess there is something that comes to mind," he said quietly, not making eye contact with you. his eyes darted across the room, as he sat up to his side and rested his head on his elbow. you did the same, admiring him.

"yeah? like what?" you asked. he couldn't find the right words. would he mess it up? say something stupid? oh, he didn't know. luckily, you seemed to have already know what he wanted when you started to lean in, eyes flickering to his lips. his heart skipped a beat--no, his heart skipped many beats. you kissed him feverishly, his lips soft on yours. when you finally pulled away, the two of you were panting and out of breath. he felt heat spread throughout his body, and it suddenly occurred that he may have needed you more than he thought...hah.

you both sat up. you ran your hand down his body, before resting it upon his inner thigh. his breathing was becoming more and more shaky with every action you made.

"are you okay with this?" you queried, wanting to make sure he was completely comfortable. he nodded, but it wasn't enough. "words, jann." he gulped.

"yes, please." you smiled softly.

"good," you praised, hand traveling to his growing hard-on. he looked at you with such pleading eyes, that you just couldn't stop yourself. your hands went to zipper of his pants.

"may i?" you asked. after all, consent is hot.

"mhm," he hummed, nodding. you chuckled, and undid the zipper. you pulled down his boxers with it, revealing his cock. and god fucking damn, was he big. i mean, it was no surprise, he was a tall guy too. but it looked to be about 8.5 to 9 inches, which was difficult for you to comprehend.

"fuck jann," you mumbled, with a small laugh. he whimpered when you accidentally grazed the tip. and he was sensitive, too? could it get any better? he was the full package. you slowly wrapped your hand around his cock. first, you didn't do much. you wanted to ease him into the feeling.

"Y-Y/N please," he pleaded, his brows furrowing.

"please what?" you asked.

"please touch me."

"aren't i already doing that?" you asked, teasingly, but nonetheless gave him what he wanted, and started moving your hand. up and down, creating a slow, steady rhythm. and god, the sounds he let out. broken moans and groans, whimpers and sometimes soft whines. he sounded utterly divine.

"o-oh god," he whimpered, bucking his hips up slightly. you let him do what he wanted. after all, this was a little gift from you anyway. you didn't quite expect to be getting your best friend off tonight, but now that it was happening, it was hot.

he threw his head back, bundling up the sheets in his fist, and his other arm was thrown across his mouth, in hopes of not becoming too loud.

"doing so well, jann. you always do so good," you mumbled, kissing his jaw gently. he moaned, and shut his eyes. he felt like he was dreaming. was this a dream? nope. it was very much so happening, and he was very much so about to cum, already. you sped up your pace a bit, as you thumbed at the tip a little. he whined, furrowing his brows.

"i-i can't, i think im gonna cum," he warned, groaning softly. you smiled.

"cum whenever you want, jann," you responded. that about did it, he came with a silent cry, mouth hung open slightly, panting out of his mind. he dirtied nearly everything within close distance. the once white pristine sheets were now dirtied with his cum, his shirt was messy, and so were his pants. you kissed his lips softly.

"there you go, you did so well for me," you cooed. he couldn't help the smile that creeped up on his face.

well, turns out you found out the perfect way to congratulate him.

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 © 𝐤𝐲𝐚-𝐢𝐬-𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐥

𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐲? 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

#archie madekwe #dom reader #dom!reader #jann mardenborough #smut #archie mademay #gran turismo #jann mardenborough x reader #jann x reader

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the-californicationist · 1 year ago

Text

Guile & Guilt (Ch. 09)

Soap/Reader - MDNI/18+ AO3 Link

WEDNESDAY — Evening: 2 days until the wedding

The worst part was the pretending. You thought that you’d be in the most pain when you were alone, sobbing in your room, clutching Marlowe like a comfort stuffie, but that wasn’t it. The hardest thing, actually, was smiling when you should be smiling.

No, the hardest thing was staring down at his bed and knowing you had to sleep in it because why shouldn’t you sleep in it? What reason could you tell her that you weren’t able to climb into his sheets and smell his scent in your nose again?

You couldn’t tell her that the softness of his Rangers jersey felt like thorns to you now. You couldn’t tell her why you’d prefer to sleep on the couch, the floor, outside — anywhere but his bed. No. You had to smile, and it needed to be believable. It couldn’t be a masked grimace through tears like you’d been using to get back and forth from the coffee shop and your bed, unable to even make yourself a boiled egg.

You’d come down, as planned, for the rehearsal dinner tomorrow night, and the real kicker — the stake that just twisted right into your heart — was that Johnny and his whole team would be down, too. Of course all the hotels (of which there were one) and the bed and breakfasts were booked solid. So, they’d all just crash here, as usual. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing except for you.

You were anything but ordinary. You were desperate for some sort of relief from the pain in your chest. Every time you looked down at your phone, you felt it. You ignored the 47 missed calls and the countless text messages, keeping it on silent no matter what. You’d gotten calls from him, from all of his friends, even one from Ghost. You didn’t return them. You thought he had even come to your door one night, but you didn’t answer it. You couldn’t. All you could do was tell yourself to breathe, to eat, to shower, and to make it to the next hour in one piece so you could get through this wedding without falling the fuck apart.

“You all set in here, babe?” Pidge asked behind you, watching you stare down at the empty bed, “Johnny’ll be here in just a bit so be sure to claim the good side before he does.”

She laughed. You laughed. You sounded crazy.

“Makin’ your favorite tonight. Chicken tikka,” she was talking to you like a parent talks to a child when they know something is wrong but are determined not to pry.

“Thanks, Pidge. I’ll come help in a moment.”

“Alright,” she smiled again and shut the door.

You dropped your bag and waited what you assumed was a normal amount of time before heading out into the kitchen, a brave mask on in place of your face.

She set you to work after you washed your hands, and you were grateful for it. Pidge was talking for you, retracing her steps from her hen do, telling you the parts she couldn’t remember. It was as if everything she’d said to Johnny had just disappeared into thin air, and you wondered how much of that was by choice or by accident. She didn’t even remember you getting a cab.

Now, she was gushing about how amazing her photographer was, and how he was coming down for the walkthrough. You nodded when you needed to nod; you smiled when you needed to smile.

“...told him you’d stand in for me at the altar.”

“What?” You’d missed something important.

“The photographer needs to shoot Hamish and I, but we cannae be at the altar until our wedding, obvi, so I told him you and Lachlan would be the stag and hen for that practice shoot. Is that alright?” She was looking at you like she’d made a mistake.

You shook your head,

“Yeah, yeah. That’s fine. No problem. Whatever you need me to do.”

The front door creaked open and you almost dropped the saucepan onto the floor.

“Pidge?” His voice called through the house.

“In the kitchen!” She called back.

You stirred the sauce.

He must have been staring at you because Pidge made a comment,

“We’re doing chicken tikka. It’s her fav, and I thought she deserved it after what I put her through last weekend.”

“Aye,” his tone was odd, “I’ll go drop my bag. The lads are on their way in.”

You could tell he left the room. It was as if your body could sense it somehow. You wondered if he was staring at the bed. You wondered if it would feel like thorns for him, too.

Why would it?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You screamed inside of your mind. Get it together.

You stirred the sauce. It was the only thing you could do. If someone had tried to take the pan from you, you might have smacked them with it.

Hamish came up beside you with the cream,

“Ready for me?”

“Sure,” you held your spoon away so he could pour it in.

“Smells great. Go sit, lass. I poured you a wine. I’ll make your wee plate.”

You smiled at Hamish and marched yourself over to the table. Price came in and saw you sitting there, and after he said hello to Ham and Pidge, he sat next to you in some sort of act of mercy. Hamish poured him a wine as well and they caught up. Small talk. Just the weather. You performed your vanishing act, becoming invisible.

Until you weren’t.

His eyes bored into you from the hallway as he made his way into the kitchen. He was forced to sit all the way at the other end of the table, as far from you as he could be, next to Gaz and Ghost.

Everyone was chatting, drinking, eating. And you worked hard to be unseen. But, he just kept staring. You felt his eyes when you took a bite, when you dropped your fork, when you wiped your mouth… he may as well have been pinning you down with his huge hands; you were so scrutinized. You felt like you were being dissected, a frog on a student’s desk, your heart plucked out for examination.

What was he looking for? Forgiveness? Wrath? You didn’t know, and you didn’t want to guess. You wanted to melt into the carpet like a fallen ice cube, to evaporate into nothingness so you didn’t have to feel his eyes on you anymore.

Suddenly, you looked up at him, catching him. Only then did he look away. He must have seen something inside of you that answered his question.

You cleaned up the plates, making an excuse to do the dishes while everyone else lounged in the den.

Then, disaster. Hamish cut himself while putting away his knives. Blood rushed out of the cut and down his elbow, dripping onto the counter and the tile. You rushed over with a towel,

“Here, put some pressure.”

Pidge took over for you, and she told you,

“Go check Johnny’s bag. He’s got a wee first aid kit in there, I know he does.”

You looked around for Johnny to make him do it instead, but he’d gone outside to smoke with Price, so you jogged off to his room alone. His bag was on the bed, and you took a deep breath before unzipping it, staying tight to your mission. Then, you spotted the little red kit near the bottom. You pulled it out in a hurry, and the rucksack dropped to the floor, spilling its contents.

“Shit,” you muttered, bending to clean it up.

You tossed all the clothes back in, but you noticed a journal that had fallen out. It was splayed open, its spine facing you. Your hands shook a bit as you went to pick it up. Then, you saw the one thing you hadn’t expected to see: you.

Your face was sketched out in careful detail. There were little scratches of pen for the shadows, and negative space for the highlights. Your eyes were looking off in the distance, and your smile was soft, almost like it wasn’t even there. You looked beautiful.

You couldn’t help yourself. You flipped the page. You found a map, and a sketch with some attack dogs, but in the margin you saw Sonnet 91. You turned the page again. Your face was everywhere. Your body, your eyes, your hands… you were scattered across the paper in bright blue ink. Then, Sonnet 145. Coffee stains and what may have been blood marred the masterpieces he had left behind. You flipped again, and it was you. Pieces of Sonnet 29. Then you. You were on every page. All of the images of war and maps and guns disappeared and now it was just you, you, you.

Your heart slammed into your mouth and you couldn’t breathe. You thought of golden sunrises across the Urzikstani desert half a world away, imagining him sitting on the open tailgate of a Humvee with this book open in front of him. You thought of how closely he had watched you for months; how his hands had traced the curves of your body so beautifully sketched before you. How he had noticed the three freckles on the side of your eye, the ones you thought no one could see.

You shoved the book back in the bag and ran back into the kitchen, first aid kit in hand.

Pidge noticed something was wrong.

“You alright, hen?”

“Just squeamish,” you feigned nausea, pointing to Hamish’s blood.

Johnny came back in from the porch, looking at you, distress creasing his brow,

“What’s happened?”

“Hamish…” You gestured at the injured man, pointedly avoiding looking at Johnny.

“Don’t like the sight of blood, thief?” Price asked, using your nickname. In your periphery you could see Johnny stiffen at the comment, but no one else seemed to notice. Price continued, suggesting, “Why don’t we go for a walk.”

“Thanks, John,” Pidge smiled at him, glad that he could tend to you as she was tending to her fiance.

You let yourself be led out of the house through the front door. Price had you by the arm, none too gently, you thought, and walked you into the cool night air, wrapping his jacket around you and shutting the door.

He was relighting a fat cigar, letting the smoke linger in his mouth, walking slowly, aimlessly down the path, without a destination in mind, leading you nowhere.

“Are you alright?” He asked, knowing the answer.

“No.”

You weren’t sure why you told him the truth. He was just going to run back and report to Johnny. But, there was something in his eyes that made you think he genuinely cared, and you so desperately needed someone to care.

“Have you listened to his side of it?”

“No.”

“Do you want to?”

You didn’t answer. You wanted to say no, but something stopped you.

Price stopped walking, his boots scraping in the gravel of the path, his bright blue eyes icy and a little sad.

“Listen,” he frowned, “I’ve known Johnny a lot longer than you. I’ve seen him broken. I’ve seen him scared. I’ve seen him mad, and drunk, and happy, and beaten… but I’ve never seen him like this.”

You crossed your arms in his jacket, trying to find some warmth. Suddenly, you felt Price’s finger dig inside of the neckline of your shirt. You almost knocked his hand away, but he put up his other in a sign of peace. And when he found what he was looking for, he smiled.

He’d pulled out Johnny’s dog tag from beneath your shirt, and you knew you’d been caught. Price held the coin up to you like the sacrament, discovering your shame, bringing your sin out into the open. In that moment, you wanted to bend down on both knees and take it into your mouth, and you wanted him to make you whole again with it.

“This isn’t like him,” he said, the porch light made the silver gleam, and it blinded you for a moment, “He’s generous enough with his smiles and compliments, but he doesn’t give freely of himself. Not like this. Would’ve thought you’d known. He’s kept himself hidden all this time. But, not from you.”

You cried. You didn’t want to. You bit your lip and furrowed your brow. You swallowed your spit and tried to breathe through the tears, but they came anyway. He held you to his chest, and you knew his tee shirt would be wet from your weakness, but he kept a steady hand on your back, regardless.

He tucked the tag back into your shirt and it lay cold against that spot between your breasts; the same spot Johnny had kissed you when he’d taken your guilt from you the first night you’d been together, there, in his bed. You thought Price would make some sort of face, some judgment. But, he didn’t. He simply walked you back inside and held the door for you.

You went through it on your own accord, and Johnny’s eyes were the first thing to greet you. He raked them over you like a forest fire, burning you from roots to boughs, seeing Price’s jacket over your shoulders and lingering on it for a while until you handed it back to his captain.

“All covered!” Hamish chuckled, holding up his bandaged finger to you, “Sorry, babes.”

You smiled,

“No worries. I think I’m just tired from the ride in. Gonna lay down early.”

Pidge caught your attention,

“Don’t forget, you and Johnny have to make it before two. Pictures are at two.”

You nodded, retreating to what used to be a sanctuary. Now, it felt more like a cell.

Your goal was to get to sleep before he could join you. You knew it would be too suspicious for him to follow you into his room, so you had the advantage of time. How strange it was to avoid what you had been craving.

You climbed into the sheets, and you did your best to ignore all of the memories that kept rushing back. The smear of her purple lipstick across his soft earlobe haunted you like a ghost.

THURSDAY — Midnight: 1 day until the wedding

He came in as quietly as he could, but you woke up anyway. You tried your best to pretend to be asleep, keeping your breathing heavy and long. It was pitch black, and when he sat on the bed, you heard the familiar creak of the coils.

He pulled the covers back, he fluffed the pillow, he took off his watch, and then he just… laid there.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting he would do. Wake you up? Demand your attention? You’d shut him out completely. He knew his company was unwanted.

The dark voice laughed at you in your head. It knew the truth. It wanted him to fight for you. It wanted him to beg for your mercy. It wanted him to take you in his arms anyway, despite your protests. It wanted him to ignore your wishes. It wanted the animal in him to claim the animal in you, to remind you that you were his woman and that he could do with you as he wished.

But, he wasn’t an animal. He was a man, and he respected you enough to stay on his side of the line.

It was only when he thought you were well and truly asleep that you felt his finger graze the metal chain of his dog tags on the back of your neck, not heavily enough to wake you, but enough to feel that they were real. You wondered if Price had ratted you out or if Johnny had noticed himself. You thought it was the latter, knowing him.

You passed out eventually, listening to the sound of his quiet snoring, your pillow soaked from tears that had spilled out across the bridge of your nose. Tears he wouldn’t be able to touch.

THURSDAY — 2:00PM: 1 day until the wedding

Saint Patrick’s church was quaint, and the interior was minimalistic compared to other Catholic churches you’d visited before. There was something sort of liminal about the space, as if it were unfinished. You wondered what it would look like when it was full of people.

You were standing at the altar, fake bouquet in hand, pretending to be a blushing bride. The photographer was very much in charge of this ordeal, and he was as outspoken as he was confident.

“Okay, perfect. See? She’s perfect. Can you be perfect, too, Mr….?”

“It’s Lachlan. Lachlan Black,” he reminded him for the third time.

“Ugh, okay. Lachlan. If only you were a little more memorable, but my brain just — whoosh!” The photographer, Gary, made a little noise and a motion with his hand like a bird flying through a window.

“And you’re just too damn tall, you know that?” Gary sighed.

He looked around the room, appraising all of the bridal party like a dealer at an auction, looking for the solution amongst the chaff. Then, he waved Hamish up from the front pew, getting him to stand. Gary looked him up and down, and motioned for him to sit again. With a snap of his fingers, he said,

“Hey! You. Mohawk. What’s your name again? You know what — that’s enough names actually. Mohawk will be groom instead. Nice and tall, but not too tall. Yes, yes… okay, thank you, Lachlan… buh-bye.”

You were face to face with Johnny at the altar.

You felt the panic make your blood rush into your cheeks. It was hard to catch your breath.

Of all the times you’d imagine being at the altar with Johnny, this was certainly not it.

You stared at your fake, paper bouquet and prayed in your mind, loudly, for a sudden plague. Toads, rivers of blood — whatever you’ve got, Heaven! Throw it down here, please. You begged for a miracle or a smiting. Either would do.

The Lord did not oblige you.

“Okay… better! Yes, this is much better. Cute. Can you scooch in a bit, mohawk? She doesn’t bite, I don’t think.” Gary winked.

Mohawk scooched in. You dared to look up into his eyes, and when you did, you knew you made a mistake. You were trapped in him and he was trapped in you. You felt like you were frozen in place, unable to breathe or speak or scream, no matter how badly you wanted to.

You had a whole conversation with him in the span of those few seconds. You asked him why he’d been covered in someone else at the bar. You begged him to give you some evidence that you hadn’t seen what you saw. You told him about all the nights you’d lay awake, about all the times you’d thrown his tag into the corner of your room, only to crawl on your hands and knees to retrieve it, clutching it to you and feeling sorry that you’d done so.

He was telling you something as well, but you couldn’t hear him. He was screaming it, you knew that much, but it wasn’t loud enough.

Gary interrupted you,

“Okay, hold hands around the bouquet, pretty please…”

He grasped your hands, and it was so familiar, you almost melted into him. By some magical power, you held yourself together, but as the camera clicked and flashed, with every moment you lost a little more control.

“...annnnnnnd now the kiss? C’mon. We’re all adults here. This lighting is shit — forgive me, Father — and I can’t deal with the actual money shot being trash. Today, people!”

You hesitated. But, Johnny didn’t. He seemed to set himself, his mouth in a tight, resigned line, and then he held your face in his hands, just as gently as he always did. When he kissed you, he really kissed you. He didn’t fake it for the cameras, and he didn’t hide his passion from Pidge or any of the others. You couldn’t help but kiss him back, letting him guide you as he liked, his big jaw shaking a bit as he let go.

“Perfect! Okay, and now the happy couple is smiling at the crowd…”

Gary took a step back into the aisle, and Johnny held up your hand in the air in mock triumph, posing for a gleeful moment that didn’t exist. You looked right at Pidge, but she was laughing at something Hamish had said, fully oblivious to the war raging right in front of her face.

“Alright… well, I don’t know if I’d call that smiling, necessarily, but here we are. Okay. Mohawk, you’re done.”

The way Johnny dropped your hand made you feel like you were on fire, as if he could no longer stand to hold you, or like he had been burned. It was sharp, and you weren’t sure what you were expecting. Did you want him to linger? To profess his undying love in front of his sister and ruin her one special day? You didn’t. So you let his absence cut you like a blade, severing you like a limb from a tree.

THURSDAY — 7:00PM: 1 day until the wedding

The rehearsal dinner venue, the Auchentoshan Distillery, was gorgeous. Johnny had spared no expense on the stylings, and there was food everywhere you looked. The cakes were elegantly plated, the roast hung shining, its drippings making the shank glitter, and even the boiled potatoes made your mouth water.

Johnny had obviously arranged the table settings a few weeks ago, because you were sat right next to him and Price, across from Gaz and Ghost. Pidge was two seats down, and the rest of the girls were across from her and Hamish. Lachlan and the other groomsmen were on the opposite side. But, other than for the initial dinner, you hadn’t been made to sit by him much at all. He mingled around the room, talking to everyone except for you, making sure all of the cups were filled and all of the faces were smiling.

He was an impeccable host. His charisma was electric. And he looked upsettingly handsome. He wore a kilt tonight, one of his hunting tartans, with a sharp button down embellished with gleaming pearl buttons. His shoulders were bursting through the fabric, pulling it taut against his wide back. If you looked carefully enough, you could imagine where his tattoo peeked through.

Gaz cleared his throat, whispering low,

“Have you talked to him, then?”

Your eyes tore themselves away from Johnny to stare at Gaz. You checked over your shoulder to see if Pidge had heard him, and he glanced at her, too.

“No.”

Ghost spoke at full volume, not caring who heard him,

“Are you going to?”

Price dropped his fork so that it clattered on the plate, giving Ghost a chastising glare.

“She’ll talk to him when she’s ready to talk to him, and it’s none of our bloody business.”

You didn’t hear much else out of Gaz or Ghost, but as they chewed their food, you could tell that they didn’t believe Price for one damn second. It very much was their bloody business.

And maybe it was. Price had certainly made it his business on your walk last night, and it seemed like your relationship with Johnny was slowly becoming everyone’s business. You had tried your best to return to that same old invisibility you were used to, but it wasn’t enough now. You felt like you were on full display.

“Excuse me,” you got up and fled to the bathroom.

When you opened the door, you saw Bekah and Anjali inside, freshening up their makeup.

“Hey!” They said in high-pitched unison.

“Hey,” you replied, inching by them to get into the stall.

“Where’d you disappear to the other night, babe?” Anjali called out to you through the door.

“Just got too drunk. Took a cab,” you told her, hoping that would end the conversation.

“Fuck,” Bekah laughed, “That was me, too. Did Cherise tell you about that bloke at Max’s?”

“No,” you said, captivated like a prisoner.

“Arsehole thought he could put something in my drink. Soap saw him and beat him within an inch of his fuckin’ life! You should’ve seen the man. Needed a damn doctor, so he did,” Bekah confessed.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you said, genuinely. Bekah was not your friend, but she didn’t deserve to be assaulted.

Anjali laughed,

“Soap had to carry her out! She was stumblin’ all over the road.”

“Wasnae my fault!” Bekah protested, “But, he was a gentleman. Drove me home. Him and Gaz.”

“Oh, that Gaz is fine, no?” Anjali interrupted.

“Aye. I thought Johnny might kiss me back, just this once, but he still didn’t. That lad is harder to wear down than the goddamn Pope, I swear. I’ve given up.”

“Didn’t you sleep together?” You asked, torturing yourself.

“God, no! He won’t have any of us. Pidge thinks he has, but I’ve never slept with him. Definitely would though,” Bekah gushed.

“Hasn’t Cherise?” Anjali asked.

“No! Cannae believe it. All this talk for being a big slut and he’s a choir boy,” you could hear Bekah’s voice get louder with her disbelief.

“Shame,” Anjali lamented.

“Aye, a shame,” Bekah agreed, “Was he a good kisser? He looked it. You were quite a pair up at the altar. Maybe he’d go for you, hen.”

You pulled open the stall door and joined them at the sink. Your hands were trembling.

“Babes,” Bekah noticed, “Are you alright? You havnae seemed well since the hen do. You’re working too hard for this wedding.”

“I’m alright. I think I just need some fresh air,” you smiled, pushing your way out of the door.

When you walked back into the main hall, everyone was standing. A waitress with a tray found you and handed you a glass of champagne. You moved to the side around the crowd to see what all the commotion was, and it was Johnny. He was standing next to Pidge with his glass raised high, clinking it delicately with the side of his fork.

“Alright, alright. Settle down,” he smiled at his sister, “I know Lachlan is the one supposed to be up here haverin’ about Hamish, but he was kind enough to give me his go because I needed to talk to my sister.”

His eyes found you and settled there, no longer scanning the crowd. You watched him take a breath before he continued,

“If you dinnae ken me, I am Johnny MacTavish, Sergeant of His Majesty’s Special Air Service —” he was interrupted by proud applause, “Uh, thank you. And I am the younger brother of our darling Brigette here. While I was away, Pidge has taken care of my life for me. She took care of our ma when she was ill, and she buried our da without me. She managed to keep the wee house from fallin’ into the river, and still she has time to volunteer at Saint Mary’s children’s ward on the odd weekend.”

More applause. He paused and went on,

“All that to say, my sister doesnae need anyone. But, love isnae about need. It’s about choosin’ to be with a person who makes you feel like you can be yourself, that you can confess to all the desires and the wants and the hopes and the fears that you have inside of you, and you know that they understand you. They see you for who you are, and they love you for it anyway.

Love isnae patient, and it certainly isnae bloody kind. It loves to boast! And it falls prey to envy. Love is in a rush, and it eats you alive from the inside out. Love isnae about needing. It’s want, pure and simple. To Hammie and Pidge, may you live a hundred years, and may you want each other endlessly in each of them. Slàinte mhath.”

“Slàinte mhath!”

You drank your champagne, numb and panicking.

Someone shoved a small microphone onto the strap of your dress, clicking it in place, and you stared down at it while everyone else stared at you, waiting.

You breathed into the mic, listening to your breath come through the speakers. You wanted to talk to him, to tell him you’d learned the truth. But, you were surrounded, literally, by all of his friends and family. There was no worse time for your truth-telling. So, you tried to lean on the speech you remember preparing, mashing it together with words that kept pouring from your heart.

“Hello,” you tried out a smile, “I’ve known Brigette for years, and she is the only real family I have. I’m not Scottish. I know the accent gives it away,” some polite laughter, “But, I’m wearing the MacTavish boar around my neck because Pidge welcomed me here with open arms and took me in as if I had been here the whole time. Like it was the most natural thing to do. She’s selfless in all the ways you should be, and she always promised that I would have a home with her. And I love her dearly for that.”

You spoke directly to Johnny, just as he did to you,

“I’ve been thinking about selflessness, and about making promises. I’ve been thinking about the type of man who does the right thing, even when it’s hard. I’ve been thinking about the type of man who breaks a promise when he needs to break one, and I’ve been thinking about the consequences of our actions. But, when you love someone, the consequence is just… more love. There’s really nothing else, is there? You could get a shovel and dig until you reach the bottom of the earth looking for them, but there are no real consequences when you’re in love. It trumps… everything.”

You paused for a long time. Johnny was captivated by your eyes, hanging on every word, and you’d been silent for too long. You said, directly to Pidge,

“So, I hope, when you’re wondering if you’ve done the right thing or not, and you’re digging around for the consequences of that, I hope you just keep pulling out more and more love. Just love all the way down. Forever. Cheers, to Hamish and Pidge.”

“Cheers!”

You finished your champagne and walked over to Pidge. Everyone was applauding and talking loudly again, laughing and sharing their own joys about the happy couple. You were overwhelmed, but you wanted to see her.

Pidge held out her arms and folded them around you, clutching you tightly to her chest, whispering I love yous and thank yous into your skin. You kissed her on the cheek, whispering to her,

“I’m gonna step outside for a moment, are you alright for now?”

“Yes! Go. Take Johnny with you. When he gets sappy, he starts to hover,” she swatted Johnny away as he leaned in to kiss her, fighting through her protests.

She gave in, melting into him and smiling as he planted a kiss to her cheek.

“I love you, Pidge,” he said to her, not letting her go.

“I love you, too, Johnny-boy. And I’m sorry for all the mean things I’ve said. You’ve changed. I dinnae ken what’s gotten into you, but all this…” She looked around at the reception hall, “All this has made me realize that you finally see me, you finally see what I’ve been going through, and I’ve been unfair. Thank you, brother.”

He kissed her forehead, trying to blink away tears as he did so, lingering with his lips on her skin before removing himself from her embrace.

“C’mon,” he nodded at you and took you by the hand, right in front of her, leading you out to the back courtyard.

The distillery was situated right next to its water source, north of the River Clyde, and the waters churned from a pump run by the whisky makers. The flow of the water was invigorating and challenging, but the calmness of the lake itself was still and quiet; a dichotomy. It was the same within you, a roiling, tumbling sea of glass, ready to shatter.

Johnny turned and looked at you like he knew what you would say. As he approached you, slowly, he held up his hands, trying to hide that they were shaking, offering peace, carrying no weapon, for once. You unfolded your arms, still clutching yourself around your waist, waiting for him to prove you wrong, for him to confirm the truth you’d overheard from Bekah.

“Are you willing to hear me now, thief?”

“I already heard,” you said, “From Bekah. And I saw your journal.”

He was speechless. All of the things he’d planned to say to you had dried up, and now he was left chewing on their remains. He put his hands on his hips and looked out at the water,

“I’m so goddamn in love with you, it hurts.”

He pinned you with his gaze, then. Watching you take in his confession. He continued,

“It hurts when I wake up, and it hurts when I go to bed. I dinnae ken how to stop it from hurtin’ like this. Feels like I’m burnin’ up, like I’m on fire inside of me. And when you left me, I…” he had trouble forming the words, “I wasnae… I couldnae ken how bad it would be. It was worse, somehow, and I was prayin’ to whatever god that would hear me for some sort of mercy. And I had none. Until I saw, or I thought I saw…”

He came closer to you, reaching around your neck and pulling out his tags just like Price had done. His eyes shone with unshed tears.

“You made me hope.”

He took your hand in his and held it tightly, as tightly as he dared, and looked you right in the face,

“I didnae sleep with Bekah, nor Cherise, nor Anjali.”

“I know.”

“I didnae want to, either.”

“I know.”

“I’m in love with you, mèirleach.”

“I’m in love with you, too.”

Johnny used his tags around your neck to pull you into him, kissing you harshly, not allowing you to let go. You kissed him back, pressing at him with your tongue, tasting the champagne in his mouth, feeling his shaven face bristle against your smooth cheek. He moaned into you, speaking to you in a low whisper,

“Please, mèirleach, forgive me.”

“Johnny, there’s nothing to forgive.”

He hugged you to him and you rested your head against his neck, finally able to relax into him after days of being on a knife’s edge.

But, you were distracted by the sound of a loud knocking against glass. You turned back toward the distillery and saw Ghost tapping on the huge floor to ceiling window and pointing to a microphone in his hand. You looked down and realized you never handed them back the mic from your speech. You were still wearing it, and the red light was on.

You showed it to Johnny, stunned by your own idiocy. He spun to see Ghost waving slightly, and the rest of the wedding party — hell, the whole distillery — standing behind him in shock

+=+=+=+=+=+=+

Chapter 10 (Ending)

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #john soap mactavish #soap call of duty #johnny mactavish #call of duty #cod #soap x you #soap x reader #soap smut #soap mw2 #soap mctavish #soap cod #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #cod soap #guile and guilt

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makeyoumine69 · 2 years ago

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The Light in the Darkness 2

— PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Fem!Reader

— SUMMARY: Patrick has always seen himself as an outcast with no desire for ties that would bind him to anyone or anything. He never even considered having a future with anyone else, but you came into his life and rocked his world. One morning, as he comforts you from a nightmare, Patrick realizes how ready he is to take the first step toward building the bright future he so desperately wants by your side.

— CONTAINS: Smut, fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship, somnophilia, oral (reader receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (p in v), creampie, possessive behavior, Breeding kink, Size kink, Praise kink, body worship, nipple play, dirty talk, pet names, sweet & horny Patrick Bateman himself.

— WORDS: 1.5k

— SONG REC: Taylor Swift - Ready For It

— A/N: I just couldn't ignore my need to write some smut with breeding kink and possessive Patty. Many thanks to my dearest @sleeplessphantom for all the inspiration and support you give me. I love y'all and hope you like it!🖤

— LINKS: [MASTERLIST] [Part 1] [support]💗

Screaming, you were falling into the abyss, not realizing it was a dream. Not yet. Cold fear and numbing despair consumed you faster than the speed at which you were falling, and you didn't even know what to do, it seemed that no one was going to save you — you were alone, and that feeling was the most painful for you to bear. Loneliness was destructive and devastating, but when you met Patrick, you finally understood what it was like — to be loved, to be needed, to have a person who genuinely cared for you.

Your slight fidgeting was enough for Bateman to wake up and carefully check on you. With a gentle movement, he rolled you onto your back, pulled the blanket down, and ran his finger over your tense face as if he already knew what was going on.

"It's okay, Bunny," he murmured, dipping down your neck to plant small kisses along your sensitive skin. "I got you."

You jerked as his large palm slid across your rapidly rising chest, teasing your hard nipples that were too tempting to ignore. Slowly, Patrick tugged down the straps of your nightgown, exposing your lovely breasts and gasping at how inviting they looked. To be fair, the urge to fuck you senselessly had been tormenting him since he came home, but your mental state was far more important to him than his own physical needs. Of course, if it were anyone else in your place, he wouldn't think about their feelings for a second. But you? You were his exception, his true obsession.

"Mmhmm... Patty," you whimpered in your dream at the gentle touch on your cleavage, but then a muffled moan escaped your dry lips as Patrick's plump ones wrapped around one of your swollen little tips and sucked it hungrily. "Patrick!"

The dream had changed, and you stopped falling, but your heart began to beat even faster as the electrifying sensation in your lower abdomen became stronger, especially when Bateman caught another nipple between his fingers, twisting and pinching it so skillfully that you squealed again, and this time it was really loud.

"Babydoll," he purred in a charming voice against your lips, watching you frown and breathe heavily. "You sound so sweet. Mmm, the things I want to do with you," Patrick slowly traced a wet line down your neck and licked the artery that was pulsating really fast. "I hope you will excuse my little weakness."

With that, he made his way down your pretty little body, pausing on your stomach to plant a loving kiss — Bateman did his best to control himself, even though his inner beast yearned to be unleashed.

"Ahhh," you almost choked on the air at how good his mouth felt on your oozing, taut lower lips. "Mmm—please..."

The sight of your sleeping, fragile form, along with your innocent pleading and intoxicating taste, made his lungs burn with need as he was overwhelmed by surging desire.

"I'll give you even more than that, Bunny." He said, spreading your legs wider, making himself more comfortable between them to have better access to your juicy pussy.

At first, Patrick just drew a wet line across your inner hip, but then he moved down to your mound, kissing it and nuzzling against your tender flesh as he moaned softly at how tasty you were. You nearly sobbed with the pleasure his warm tongue was giving you, sliding over your delicate petals and sometimes brushing your sensitive bud just to tease it.

"Awwww," you whimpered briefly as he rested your leg on his shoulder and slipped two fingers into your dripping opening just to make you feel full. "Patty..."

You were the only one Bateman allowed to call him that because he just found it extremely sexy, but he never confessed about it. Huffing, Patrick lapped at your pussy, holding you tighter as you jerked from the tingling in your lower abdomen every time the tip of his strong tongue flicked against your blushing clit.

The power he had over you was too tempting, too mind-blowing, and at some point Patrick thought he couldn't take it anymore, so he slowly pulled down his white underwear and stroked himself while he was eating you out. With every single lick your body was on fire and Bateman was relentless in the way he devoured you, catching every little drop of your sweetness and ignoring the way his chiseled chin was covered in your wetness, glistening in the sunlight.

"My perfect little Bunny." He groaned in a low voice, sending vibrations to your little nub, and your legs began to shake. Smirking, Bateman just chuckled at your body's reaction and straightened up a bit to cover your small frame with his muscular one. "I love you so much."

With these words, he drew close to your neck and slowly kissed it while he lined his veiny dick against your soaked entrance, smearing your juices around his swollen tip. The urge to be inside of you was unbearable, he even had to bite his lips to suppress a loud moan as he began to sheath himself inside your tight little hole.

It felt astonishing, his fat girth stretching you so deliciously that your inner walls spasmed around him, forcing your eyes wide open — you tried to scream, but he closed your mouth with his big palm and pushed himself further until you felt him poking at your cervix. And that sensation made you feel so numb that you almost bit one of his fingers.

"Shh, Babydoll," he murmured, watching you bat your big eyelashes in such an innocent way that it drove him crazy. "You can take it."

With a mischievous smile, he grabbed your hip and rammed deeper into you, the curve of his dick hitting all the right spots in your womb as he knew your body better than anything in this world. Whimpering, you didn't even notice how you were moving towards him, looping your legs around his back, so he could push himself even deeper. His long, raw strokes, accomplished by the friction of his pubis against your feverish clit, provided you with the release you needed for so long. As soon as Bateman felt you clinging to him, he replaced his hand with his lips, kissing you hard and sucking your tongue. Moaning, you clutched at his massive shoulders, and this time you fell into the chasm of pleasure and delight.

"That's my girl, such a good little girl," he crooned from above as he broke away from your lips and finally let you breathe properly. "I'm gonna pump that delicious pussy, I want to watch my cum pour out of you!"

The things he just blurted out made your heart skip a beat and your eyes widen in shock: "Patrick… you didn't use a condom?"

Bateman just snickered and pounded into your wet cunt with a plap."Remember—argh—r-remember you told me you wanted to have a baby?"

God, his words made you want to scream.

"Yes," you felt a tear roll down your cheek, you couldn't believe this was really happening. "B-but you told me you weren't ready."

"I changed my mind," he tongued your earlobe briefly before cupping your face and wiping away your tear, making you look into his brown eyes. "You're so small and cute, you're going to look so beautiful with your pregnant bump."

Instinctively, you hugged his neck and pulled him closer to kiss his cheekbone, his nose, his temple, you covered his face with little pecks wherever you could as you found yourself unable to hold back your emotions.

"I love you!" Your voice almost cracked, so you tried to say it again, but he stopped you with a finger, pressing you down with his massive weight, thrusting his hips into yours with a slapping sound.

"'Yeah, I know," he gave you his perfect, full-toothed grin, kissed your forehead, and then grasped your hips, nearly painfully, to bury himself as deep as he could. "Open up for me, Bunny… let me make you a sweet Mommy."

"Yes… y-yes please!" You moaned as you felt his thrusts become ragged but sloppy.

Fuck, the way your soft walls encased his dick felt like heaven. With a guttural sound, Patrick nipped at your neck, rolled his hips and exploded right into your womb, filling it with his fertile seed and plugging it with his pulsating dick. Never in your life have you shared a more intimate moment than this, and as he lay on top of you, sniffing really hard, you ran your fingers through his messy wet hair, sobbing from being so overwhelmed as you realized that he had just planted a seed of love inside you, and soon it would grow, and your future child would be the light in the darkness for both of you, shining and making you both happy like never before.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines

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eternalchiyo · 2 months ago

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Everlasting Spark ~MANIAC 02~

Chiyo didn’t feel like going back to her room to sleep anymore. Living with the Mukami messed with her biorhythm, as they often were awake during the day, completely different from the Sakamaki who would usually sleep at that time, not to mention that she now was scared to get another strange dream if she drifted back to sleep. She really didn’t want to risk it.

Maybe a walk in the garden would help her think about something else.

Even though it was early in the morning, the sun was so bright she had to shield her eyes. Warm, spring sunrays tickled her skin. It was a strange experience, being out and about at this hour, the world looking so much different than at night.

Once her eyes had adjusted, she finally was able to walk around and look at the plants. There were several rose bushes, but she noticed that there were quite a few apple trees growing there as well.

Cursed fruits.

She walked a bit further and found that there were a lot of other vegetables and fruits growing there. A strange noise came from the strawberry field, and she couldn’t help but look, curiosity taking over. She stopped in her tracks when she saw Yuma crouching in the dirt. Hoping that he hadn’t noticed her yet, she turned on her heel in an attempt to make a swift escape. Every time she saw that guy’s face, she felt like she was back in that forest, watching Shuu cry out for his dead friend while the world around them drowned in flames.

“Oi, Sow! Watcha doing there, runnin’ away like that?!”

Chiyo stopped in her tracks, wincing.

“I’m not goin’ to eat ya, so don’t act like I’m tryin’ to do that every damn time ya see me!”

She turned around reluctantly and saw how he was walking in her direction. Great, she thought to herself. And she thought she was doing such a good job avoiding people too, especially him.

“Why do ya always do that?” he asked.

“Do what?”

“Lookin’ at me like yer seein’ a ghost!”

Chiyo frowned, looking up at him skeptically. He was tall and big and generally did not seem like that boy from long ago, well except for his face of course. That one looked almost the same, as if you transplanted it directly from one body to the other. Yuma himself did not seem to remember anything though, up to the point Chiyo started to doubt herself. They did say there was at least one Doppelgänger of oneself existing at the same time, after all.

“Yer actin’ the same way that NEET does, ‘s creepin’ me out to be honest…”

So, Shuu had managed to run into him as well, huh? Did he not remember him either? But if Shuu also acted this way, then maybe Chiyo was not going crazy. Or at least not because of this.

“You just… remind me of someone…” Chiyo said.

Yuma raised his eyebrows. “Must’ve been some guy, makin’ y’all react like this.”

Oh, you have no idea, she thought to herself.

“Anyway, if yer gonna just stand around here like that, make yerself useful and help me in the garden for a bit,” he said, turning towards the patch of strawberries. Chiyo thought that they would taste delicious in crêpes.

Without being able to protest, she soon found herself in the very same strawberry field. Sitting in the dirt was not her favorite past time by far. Good thing the dress she decided to wear wasn’t light colored. She looked at the tiny bushes bearing fruits, the vibrant green leaves in stark contrast with the deep red of the strawberries. When was the last time she saw such a natural looking fruit? Has she ever? All of the fruits over in this world were neatly packed in plastic and back at home she only ever looked at food that was already served on the table, on the rare occasion she decided to eat it.

Harvesting all of these seemed like a tough job. Not one she was particularly keen on doing either. Then again, she’d take whatever got her as far away from Ruki as possible right now; he did not seem like someone who would go crouching in strawberry fields. However, she hardly knew him, as recent events highlighted painfully, maybe he was a strawberry enthusiast; who was she to tell. At the thought of him she rubbed the side of her neck where she had been bitten before.

Yuma looked like he was fully in his element, doing garden work. It was as if he was still the same as he used to be back then. Shuu sometimes used to tell her a bit about the ‘adventures’ he went on with Edgar. How they would collect firewood in the forest and how Edgar would teach him how to properly use an axe. He would also share the apples from his own garden with him. God, she hated apples so much because of this! They sometimes used to be the exclusive topic of the day even! What a downer in her mood... and it hadn’t been that great in the first place.

She and Yuma collected strawberries in silence for a while until Chiyo decided to break it:

“Can I ask you something?”

“Huh? What is it?”

“How did you… end up with Ruki and the others?”

She tried to ask her question sensibly, not knowing what or if it would tick him off. Last time she saw him before his ‘death’ he was running into the village fire like the moron she thought him to be. And Shuu never mentioned Edgar having any siblings, that coincidentally also were Vampires, so this was not a natural arrangement. Chiyo had barely managed to hold Shuu back from going after him; Shuu was an idiot too. A kindhearted idiot-kid.

And she was a coldhearted monster, because she would have never run into a fire to save any of her family. But wasn’t that exactly what she had always strived for? Being like the Vampires back at home, who had little remorse for people dying? Would those four guys ever run into a fire to save each other? It was quite obvious they weren’t related by blood, yet they still called themselves brothers and lived like a family. What a curious thing.

“Aren’cha a curious one…” he said eyeing her suspiciously, gaze locked into a frown.

Chiyo shifted uncomfortably and shrugged; she had never liked being observed like this, much less when the person looking at her in that way was actually supposed to have been incinerated centuries ago. Speaking with ghosts had never been on her list of things to try, even when her actual house was haunted by them frequently.

“You don’t think four people that aren’t really related to each other, living in a big mansion, pretending to be a family is bound to raise this exact question?” she asked. She had no idea where her sarcasm came from, she really should have held her tongue. This guy was massive, her own small frame tiny in comparison, and she was sure that if he wanted, he could tear her head off and play ball with it easily. And she liked her head being located on her shoulders.

“Ya clearly don’t know shit ‘bout family if ya go on spoutin’ garbage like that,” he said. He picked a few more strawberries and placed them into the basket before looking at her again.

“There’s a buncha things that make for a way stronger bond than blood, ya know?”

Chiyo would have loved to say something in return, but the truth was… Yuma was right. She had no idea what a real family was! Her own father hated her, and her mother was dead. And if she weren’t dead, she would probably hate her too.

“So those things you are referring to…”

“Make us family,” he said.

So, he wouldn’t tell her how he met Ruki. Not that she was really that surprised, they barely knew each other, after all. It was worth a shot though, she really wanted to know how they came to be this way. How did they stay hidden in the demon world for so long? There just was no way they went undetected like that. Sure, there was no way to know every single Vampire, but Chiyo liked to think that she had quite good intel, with being invited to banquets and other festivities. This manor did not exactly make her feel like these guys were poor either, so it was unlikely that they just were unimportant like that. If they were unimportant, they wouldn’t be here interfering with King Karlheinz’s sons in the first place. Granted, the past few decades she had avoided any ball in Eden in fear of running into Shuu, so she might have missed some things. Though, the king’s sons were as clueless as her.

The longer she stayed here the more it added to her confusion. She came here with questions that she wanted answers to; answers apparently nobody was willing to give her. Why couldn’t she be more patient or menacing… she could probably get answers out of everyone if she were menacing and scary. Yet everyone kept comparing her to tiny dogs instead – even Yui.

“I think I’m gonna go,” she said standing up and patting at her dress to get all the dirt away as best as possible.

“Giving up already? Damn ya aristocrats are all the same, huh,” he scoffed.

“The sun is giving me a headache.”

It was true, her head suddenly was pounding aggressively, and her vision started to get blurry. Black dots started dancing in front of her eyes and she felt faint. She groaned, rubbing her temples in an attempt to make it go away. She heard Yuma in the distance, calling out to her as she lost her balance and lost consciousness.

The headache came before she even opened her eyes. Moaning she sat up in… her bed? And she was in her pajamas?

“Damn it… what happened?” Her hand immediately went to her head in an attempt to soothe the pain in her temples.

“Ya passed out cold, like some damsel in distress.”

Yuma put down a bowl of something steaming hot right next to her before slumping into the chair across the room.

“Wha… what are you doing here?” she asked. Chiyo felt like her personal space had been violated again. And by a dead man no less! The way he so nonchalantly sat in that chair, resting his ridiculously long leg on top of his knee, thrumming with his fingers on the armrest and looking at her with this scrutinizing look. Couldn’t he just leave?!

“Weird way of thankin’ someone for bringin’ ya a meal, after bein’ out for a whole day,” he said and crossed his arms in front of his chest. Chiyo’s head snapped towards the tray with the bowl that had been placed next to her moments ago. It looked like savory rice porridge, with a fried egg on top. It smelled delicious, although Chiyo wasn’t sure if it was because it was actually delicious or because she hadn’t eaten in a long while.

“I…” suddenly she felt stupid. He was showing her kindness, and she acted so hostile towards him. In no way was he obligated to look after her. He could have just left her outside, but he didn’t…

“Don’t look so suspicious about it, I made it, so it’s not as good as Ruki’s, but’s still edible,” he said.

Chiyo took the bowl into both her hands; it felt warm and comforting. She looked up at the man across from her.

“That’s not it… I…” she sighed, “…thank you.”

Saying these words was ridiculously hard for her. She felt so embarrassed she could feel her cheeks flush as she ate the porridge.

“The hell are ya blushin’ for? It’s not a romantic gesture, so don’t even think about me in that way! Ruki would kill me if that happened.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

She looked up from her meal in confusion. Quite frankly, she wasn’t sure which part of his statement she was more surprised about. The fact he’d think she would ever consider seeing him that way or the fact that Ruki would disapprove of it happening.

“Huh?”

“What do you mean Ruki would kill you…?”

“He barely allowed me to carry ya inside, took care of changing yer clothes and all himself. Honestly, I know that guy said you were important or some shit, but I think the way Ruki behaves is way too much.”

It seemed like he was thinking out loud more than he was actually talking to her, but it also raised even more questions. ‘That guy’ said she was important? Who? And more importantly, had Ruki Mukami actually dared to undress her while she was unconscious?!

Heat rose to her cheeks as a thought of the scene invaded her head. Clearly, she was wearing bed clothes, which meant at some point her other clothes must have left her body, and if she could trust Yuma’s words, it was Ruki who took over after she was brought to this room. The possibility that he undressed and dressed her with closed eyes was really slim.

Suddenly she flung the blanket out of her way and stomped out of the room after discarding the empty bowl on her bedside table. She could faintly make out Yuma’s yelling in the distance, but there was a ring in her ears that made every sound seem extremely far away, almost as if she was underwater. She made her way over to Ruki’s room and threw the door open without knocking.

“Ruki!” she yelled at the man who sat in a chair, reading a book.

He looked up at her and raised an eyebrow.

“Guineapig,” he said.

Chiyo entered the room, the door closing with a loud bang behind her. She was furious!

“How dare you just undress me while I was unconscious?! None of you have any decency, do you?”

Ruki’s expression seemed unfazed by her outburst, bored even. He shut the book with one hand and sighed before standing up, looking down at the girl.

“I understand you are upset. Fine, I shall take note that next time you end up ill and bedridden I will just let you sweat it out covered in mud and dirt. And after you recover you then can take care of the dirty bed sheets, if you have no regard for the hard work of others. How does that sound?”

Chiyo drew away from him. She had nothing good to respond to that.

“Y… you know that’s not what I mean…” she said. Why did she have to feel so small every damn time she talked to him?

“Do I now?” He took a step towards her, and she flinched.

“You cannot possibly be upset because I saw your body while I changed your clothes, because if you were…” he looked her up and down, “you would not have come here barefoot, wearing only that sheer night dress of yours.”

The girl gasped and looked down. The light fabric was slightly see-through, the realization making her wrap her arms protectively around her upper body. She felt like her face was burning up at this point, but she still looked up at Ruki with a frown. If anything, it was his fault for choosing a nightgown that was like this!

He made another step forward and she forced herself to stand still, pretending like she didn’t want to run away as far as she could from this man. The way he made her feel scared her.

“I do wonder,” Ruki said.

Suddenly his arm wrapped around her lower back and pulled her into him. Out of surprise she lost her balance and put her hands on Ruki’s shoulders instinctively. Her chest was pressed firmly against his now, the fabric rubbing uncomfortably against the sensitive skin.

“…are you pretending to be this innocent on purpose?”

His dark eyes were studying her, as if she was some sort of mystery to be solved. Analyzing her every move, her every action. She could feel the need to squirm under his gaze, yet she was also unable to look away. Her breath quickened and her cheeks felt even hotter than before.

“Lilith is a natural temptress after all,” he said in a low tone as he lowered his head, stopping right before their noses could touch. It was as if a magnetic force drew her closer to him. She wondered; how would his lips taste on hers? Would they be just as cold as Shuu’s?

Shuu.

She swallowed hard. There was something carnal in her that really wanted to push her over the edge. As if it was cooing sweetly into her ear to forget everything and just give herself to the man right in front of her. That man whose arms were wrapped to firmly around her, taking her breath away but also giving her balance.

But thinking about Shuu tugged on her heartstrings. She couldn’t kiss anybody other than him, could she? She closed her eyes, hoping to regain some sort of composure this way. Ruki’s face was still right in front of hers and she could feel his breath on her skin.

“Let me go…” she whispered eventually.

And he did.

She looked at him in confusion until she regained a sense of self again. When she realized what had just happened her eyes widened in shock. She gasped and took a few tentative steps back, panting heavily. Then she turned on her heels and ran out of the room, shutting the door behind her loudly.

Her feet wouldn’t stop running until she reached her room and was able to lock herself in it. She slid against the wall, her whole body trembling. Nervousness? Arousal? Who could even tell?

Oh, this wasn’t good at all!

#diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers oc #dialovers #diahell #everlasting spark #fanfiction #pale lily #author pam #diabolik lovers fanfiction #chiyo himura #ruki mukami #shuu sakamaki

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babiebom · 1 year ago

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Accidental Prey(i)

A/N: New obsession coming through woo woooooooo. Hopefully I have it in me to finish this.

Tw: talks of sex, taking of virginity, no smut but does talk about sex in small details, talks of murder and cannibalism, drunk one night stand, cursing. Mentions of blood and gore, some sexism/misogynist views, pregnancy, racism, slut shaming

Pairing: Johnny Slaughter/Sawyer x OC

Genre: strangers to lovers, Stockholm Syndrome, angst, romance(?), drama

Wc: 5.2k

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At the feeling of something popping, Johnny already knew that he was in deep shit. The girl below him was drunker than he was by a long way. And though he also had way too much to drink he could already tell by his reaction that he was going to remember this entire situation in the morning.

It wasn't unusual for him to sleep around, it wasn't unusual for him to sleep with potential victims. But something about this girl made him feel different. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the way she smiled and smelled and let him bite her. He wasn't sure. He just knew something about her was off, because it damn sure cannot be him.

Looking down he stares at where their bodies meet, blood was beginning to pool under her ass and onto the sheets below them. God, he was going to have to pay for this, huh? Looking back up at her face, the tears had stopped and so had her whining, now she was just clinging onto him, her lips brushing over his arms that were caging her in. Did she even realize what was happening? Did she realize that she had let a random man she had just met take her virginity? She slurred something against his arm, her eyes unfocused. Maybe he should quit before it goes too far…

"Have you done this before?" Maybe she just hadn't slept around in a while…maybe she just hasn't done it a lot and her body wasn't used to it.

She furrowed her eyebrows before shaking her head, murmuring out an answer. Johnny blinks twice, feeling as if he was now somehow responsible for her wellbeing, as if because he is the first man to defile her he has to take care of her and that's too much for him to process. He tries to reason with himself quickly, almost gaslighting himself into believing that it doesn't count because they haven't really done anything. He hasn't moved, hasn't done anything except push inside her one time. That isn't sex at all. None of this counts.

Before he can pull himself out of her, she whines and wraps her legs around him, frowning as she slowly turns her head to try and make eye contact with him. "What're you doin?"

"Baby, I don't think this is a good idea…" Johnny was never one to put someone else's needs before his own, but this seemed like the perfect opportunity to do so. By stopping here nothing is different, she can still be considered a virgin, and he doesn't have to worry about some random chick he found in a bar.

"Why not? I thought we was makin' love?" She pouts as she slurs her words out. Locking her legs around him tighter, forcing him in deeper. It only served to make her whine out in pain and he has to focus on not being selfish and moving inside of her.

He wants to laugh at the thought of 'making love'; it isn't a thing he does. He doesn't know how to love, his family doesn't know how to properly love. This whole situation is fucked and he wants to rip her to shreds for somehow triggering a response in him that he didn't know was possible. He didn't love her, not at all, but he also didn't want to kill her. He could already see Drayton losing his shit if he ever found out about him going out and having one night stands that he doesn't bring home to eat. The old man claims to not enjoy killing but sure does get mad when loose ends are tied up.

"You sure?" He asks, grabbing her by the chin and roughly making it so that she had to look him in the eyes. She hums in response, giving him a small smile before closing her eyes. She was mumbling again, and he only could catch that she thought he was nice before she started talking about something else. He breathes in deeply before deciding that he could just finish and wait until she's asleep before leaving and never seeing her again. He hopes that she forgets anything that happened, not wanting her to remember him.

If she remembers then she might come looking for him, and if she comes looking for him then the family will know what he's done, what he's been doing. And they'll kill her, or make him kill her. He doesn't know which is worse, but he knows that he doesn't want to kill her, that he doesn't think she should die. He tries to figure out what it is about her again, coming to the conclusion that she just doesn't set off any of his killer instincts, that she doesn't set off that thing in him that needs to kill.

It's as if he's a wolf thinking he's hunting a bunny but instead what he finds is a tiny little mouse that wouldn't be fulfilling to eat. A little mouse that doesn't make the chase fun, that doesn't make him want to attack her at all. He just feels bad for her and how small and helpless she is. Killing her would be no fun, he decides quickly finishing partially inside her before pulling out, too lost in his thoughts to properly be worried. Her face is screwed up and he wonders if she finished, asking her as much.

By the look on her face he can tell that she hadn't, too wrapped up in his thoughts to even recall how having sex with her felt. So, deciding to be nice he helps her out. Touching her in that special place until her broken wails come out silently and her back arches off the cheap motel bed. He silently hopes this makes up for him being a shitty person to have your first time with. "Did that feel good?" He asks and she nods her head, a sleepy grin on her face as she stretches and begins to fall asleep.

He sighs, wiping her off with his shirt. After making sure she was lying on her side he slips out of the motel room, throwing his shirt away before getting into his truck, driving home and away from the girl before any real consequences could be had.

When Fawn woke up in a pool of dried blood she was confused, obviously. The last thing she remembered was being at a bar, tossing back a shot that the bartender had even questioned if she could handle it. Seeing where she had woken up, it was apparent that she could not. Sucking in a breath she moves her hair from in front of her face, the curly mess tangled around her fingers. For a split second she wondered if she looked as bad as she thought she did. That thought was quickly overtaken by the feeling of stabbing pain shooting up her legs and crotch. As if she had been electrocuted for moving.

She wailed out in pain, writhing on the bed, eyes squeezed shut as she tried to remember what happened to her. She didn't even realize she had left the bar. From the pain and the blood, she already had some semblance of what had occured, and though there was already regret pooling at the bottom of her belly she also felt upset that the guy didn't even stick around, he just left after…doing what he did.

Crying she waited until the pain got bearable enough that she could move. How was she going to get back home? Her car was still at the bar. Did she even have her keys? Looking around she spotted her purse sitting on a table next to the door. At least he was nice enough to leave her things.

Moving around slowly, she wondered if she would be able to get a cab or something, at least to take her back to the bar. She cringed as she looked back towards the bed, blood was everywhere and she knew that leaving it there was rude, but talking to the motel workers would probably get her in trouble. Silently she began to bundle the blanket and sheets up, hoping that the mattress below was untouched, just so the repercussions wouldn't be as bad. She cursed the man aloud for leaving her to deal with this alone.

The sun was extremely bright when Fawn finally walks out of the room, and it makes her nauseous to the point where she has to run over to the grass, ignoring the burning pain in her legs in order to throw up somewhere it doesn't need to be cleaned or seen. Turning around, she frowns at how the motel looks, dingy and dusty, people sitting around looking out of it. At least she has nothing to be embarrassed about seeing as no one cares what she's doing.

The nearest payphone was thankfully just down the street, she could see it in the distance if she squinted. The blazing Texas sun burned the skin on her shoulders, her complexion not helping her despite the common belief that it would, she still burned easily and that fact made her situation even worse. Her legs were sore, and now burned awfully from the walk taking much longer than it needed to be, and by the time she got to the payphone she was out of breath and sweaty. Fawn was beginning to regret going out.

Panting, she tries to lean against the payphone, but she only proceeds to get burned as the metal had been cooking all day. Frowning, she wonders how she's going to call anyone for help when holding onto the stupid phone for more than a second would burn her hand so badly she would have to go to the hospital. It took a minute before she decided to lift her shirt, looking around to make sure no one would see her, and use it to hold the phone. Paying the 50 cents she calls a taxi to come pick her up.

The second Fawn was in front of her own house, she felt the urge to leave again. Her parents were sure to be awake and moving around seeing as it's the middle of the day, and her little act of defiance was sure to be punished, even if she is a grown adult. She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, thinking of a plan to minimize the damage. She was unsure of how she was going to lie to and convince her parents that she hadn't gotten up to trouble at all, and while she had no real idea of what happened she could figure out enough of everything to know that they were going to be livid. Before she could come up with anything solid, the front door opened, the screen door slamming against it from how hard the person had forced it open.

Fawn's mother is a large lady. Tall, strong, and mean faced with a head of dark curly hair. Seeing the woman storming towards you is enough for anyone, man or woman, to go running in fear at what was to come as a consequence of her anger. Terrified, Fawn scrambles out of the car, hoping that this small act of compliance would placate her mother enough that she wouldn't get into too much trouble. "Momma-"

"Where were you?"

Flinching, Fawn attempted to make herself seem smaller. She wanted to answer, but answering would only make things worse for her so she keeps her mouth shut as her mother grabs her by the arm and drags her inside. Her father sat in his recliner, staring at her with wide eyes. And though she was terrified at the thought of a punishment, she could see from how her father's shoulders drooped that they had been afraid. With guilt flooding in her stomach she allowed her mother to pull her into a hug, the large woman shuddering and gripping onto Fawn's shoulders so tight she was sure they would be bruised in the morning.

As soon as her mother let go, she turned and walked towards her father, he stood slowly as she approached. Like her mother, her father was large, muscular and mean looking, the only difference between them was the colors of their skin. If her mother terrified people, her father made them believe that what had happened in the bible surely had happened again to produce such a large man. To have such a tiny child was almost comical, it was how they named her because something like 'mouse' would get her made fun of.

Fawn could feel her lower lip tremble as she fell into her fathers arms, letting him hug her just as tight as her mother did. Being the only child of two people who were as full of worry as her parents made everything much more…scary. More final, as if every choice that you make is taking you towards an untimely demise and even a day apart is too long when you could keel over dead at any moment.

Her dad held onto her for a longer time, she could hear his soft sniffles and assumed that he was crying and was holding onto her until he had stopped. Letting him have her moment, Fawn keeps her mouth shut about how her night went, forcing herself to come up with a story just in case they pressed her on it. She hoped to God that none of this would come to bite her in the butt.

The cool metal of the exam table makes the back of her thighs numb, her decision to wear shorts proving to be the dumbest thing she has ever done…or second dumbest thing. Her mother sat in the small chair, next to the exam table, clutching her purse and bouncing her leg. Did she think something bad was going to happen? Did she think Fawn was on the brink of death? Asking would just make her irritable, she was already mad they had to come to the doctors to begin with. Her mother hated the place with a passion, but never told Fawn why, maybe she was just anxious…either way she wasn't in the mood for questions.

The symptoms she had weren't strange in any way…Fawn thought she probably just had a stomach flu or something. Constant nausea, headaches, and a stuffy nose. Her mother thought differently though, ever since the day Fawn had stayed out all night her mother acted differently. As if she were suspicious of something. Thankfully Fawn hadn't missed a period, though it was lighter than usual and only lasted a couple days. She had thought this meant she was home free, that she had gotten away with whatever she did that led up to and included her virginity being taken by a stranger. But still, her mother insisted the doctor's office was the way to go.

The man entered the room, clipboard in hand and glaring at Fawn as if she had committed the ultimate sin. Taken aback she avoided eye contact with him, instead staring down at the floor as if it were the most interesting thing in the room. Why was he so mad? "Are you sexually active?" He asks in a monotone voice.

Fawn freezes, her kicking feet now hanging in the air, still as if something was holding them in place. She shakes her head. "No." She whispers out.

He sucks in a breath, moving around the room towards his stool. "Well, we tested for illnesses, and pregnancy."

"And?" Her mother asked. 'Please be the stomach flu. It has to be the stomach flu' she prays.

"She's pregnant."

Fawn's mother almost collapses out of the small chair she was sitting on, her body sliding down it as she wails into her hands. Fawn looks up at the doctor, her eyes wide in horror and confusion. She wanted to ask how'd this happen, she was so confused. One night couldn't have done this. She felt as if she were being punished by God for acting out. She sniffles and frowns, but gets no sympathy from the man in front of her. He only looks at her as if he’s disgusted. When he speaks again, she can’t hear him, too busy trying to calm her racing mind. By the time she stops disassociating, the doctor's appointment is over and she’s in the car with her yelling mother. “-you’re never leaving the house again! How did this even happen? Did you go out purely to be a little harlot?"

"Momma I-"

The woman was seething, her lips set in a line as she focused on the road. Fawn knew her mother was waiting on her to say something, but at the same time she knew saying anything, especially excuses, would just set her off more. She couldn't help but begin to cry, her life as she knew it was over. She messed up, she knew that, but being pregnant and unmarried was punishment enough, but seeing how angry her mother looked she knew that she was going to be punished more.

Her parents were never really abusive, never whooping or beating her, sometimes they yelled but it was usually her mother and it wasn't often. Then again she never really got into trouble, and if she did it was never anything like this. Her parents raised her in a straight line, hoping that with each passing generation their family could become something important in the world. Something more than their race and appearance and it started with her grandparents. She couldn't imagine what her grandmother would think now, and she was grateful that she lived far away enough that she wouldn't hear if the gossip ever left that hospital or their home.

Fawn shrinks into herself, her cries growing louder as her mother parks the car in the driveway to the house, a sigh leaving her lips, her chest falling quickly. She didn't want to go inside and face her father, she didn't want to see his disappointed face or hear his words as he scolded her. "God damn it. Fawn Grace! What the hell did you go out and do?"

Fawn looked up at her mother with a pitiful look, her hands were balling up her skirt. "I don't remember momma! I swear! I woke up in-in a motel room-!"

"A motel room?" Fawn's mothers voice rose an octave, higher than she had ever heard it before. Her mother slammed her hands onto the steering wheel, looking down and saying something under her breath while Fawn looked at her in fear. Shaking her head the woman kept her eyes closed while she spoke before getting out of the car, not even waiting for Fawn as she started towards the front door. Following behind Fawn says a quick prayer to herself, hoping God would forgive her sins and give her a break when it comes to her father's reaction.

Slowly removing herself from the car, she drags her feet as she approaches the door, already hearing her mother venting to her father. Heart pounding she enters the home, shutting the door softly as to not really call attention to herself as her parents speak to each other. Wincing, she tries to sneak past them, wanting to flee to her room and avoid whatever punishment they were going to give her. But no, God was not being so kind today, and her mother shouted her name forcing her to stop in her steps. “Yes ma’am?”

“Don’t you dare go upstairs, get over here now!”

Frowning, she hurries over to the couch, across from her parents who were standing, angry, in the middle of the living room. Her ears rang loudly as she tried to figure out if they were going to yell or not, both of them were silent. Swallowing down vomit, she picked at the hem of her shirt, avoiding looking at her parents in fear of seeing their disappointed faces. Her mother is the one to speak first, beginning with a sigh. “Fawn…we want an explanation. Now."

"Well...I told you in the car momma. I don't remember anything. I just woke up in a motel room by myself."

"How did you get there?" Her mothers voice shakes in an emotion Fawn couldn't place.

"I don't know!" She shakes her head frantically, eyes wide, "I swear it. I was at a bar, and somehow ended up there!"

"A BAR?" Her father spoke now, well more like shouted, obviously surprised.

She scrunched her nose as her father collapsed in his lounge chair. Her mother began pacing as Fawn tried to come up with whatever words she had to say next. She couldn't recount much, and she couldn't tell if that was going to anger then less or more. "Well, okay. I went there to be a brat! I admit that! But I promise I didn't go out to sleep with anyone! I don't even remember doing that! Last thing I remember is the bartender telling me that I shouldn't have one more drink, and because I was already mad I decided to drink one more, then I woke up in a bloody motel bed with a headache and sore legs and I regretted it as soon as I woke up!"

She had never been good at keeping secrets.

Her mother was hyperventilating and her father looked as if he was on the verge of passing out. She herself was about 2 seconds away from throwing up after word vomiting and exposing everything that she had gone through and thought of. Tears flowed down her face, warming her cold skin. Nothing was said for a while, the air tense and thick. Maybe nothing else would be said. Her words had done a good job of sucking all the air out of the room, her parents were obviously unhappy, angry at her actions. She could barely remember what all was said that made her storm out and go places that she had never been before. She ruined the legacy her grandmother wanted to create in one night, she was the first unremovable stain in their family history in recent years even though they wanted things to be different. She set them back single handedly, and had the audacity to sit and cry as if she had done nothing wrong.

"Momma?"

Her mother was crying, sitting as far away from her on the couch, hands over her face and praying aloud to God as if he could change everything that happened. Her father started bargaining, his words carrying over to her ears. It was like he wanted to accept that this was their family's fate, and that there was nothing he could do.

"It's not the old times anymore, these kids sleep around all the time. They're not like us, not like the 40's where everyone valued marriage and saving oneself. She can still be something, make something of herself even if it isn't a good wife…"

Her heart clenched as she turned to stare at her mother who was now rocking back at forth, but her words weren't as nice, if her father's words could even be counted as such.

"Can't believe…the child I raised! A loose legged hussy. Father God tell me it isn't true, tell me that my baby girl didn't give herself to some…BUM. That man could only be the devil if he took advantage of my sweet girl. She can't be a slut, a common whore! Not my baby…"

She wondered when they were going to stop crying, but at the same time she wondered when she herself would stop. She knew in her mind that this was a permanent thing, even without the baby, her parents were never going to loom at her the same. And she wasn't sure if her current relationships with them would survive this bump in the road.

With red eyes and a damp face, Fawn's mother turns to stare at her not quite with a glare, but with a look that showed that she was still angry, still grieving. "You ain't leaving this house," she takes in a shuddering breath, "ever again. You are going to stay here and hope and pray that whenever we let you out for errands that some man takes pity on you and thinks you're pretty enough that he doesn't care about the fact that you already gave yourself away or the fact that you have a child, and marries you."

Sucking in a breath, Fawn nods in understanding, this punishment being the only one she's going to get wasn't so bad. "I'm sorry momma…"

Her father does nothing but slide down in his chair, hands over his face. He had given up on praying aloud, given up on trying to bargain and hoping the circumstances were different. Shaking her head her mother scoots closer and wraps her in a hug, pulling her close against her chest her sobs starting back up. Not knowing what the future will bring, Fawn hugs her back.

Pregnancy was nothing like she expected it to be, and while she was excited to not get her period for a while, the cramping and bloating and cravings were unexpected. She hadn't known anyone else who was pregnant and didn't know what to expect especially because her parents refused to speak about it. It was as if it was a later problem, and she was being punished by not being prepared for it.

Now, standing in the middle of the grocery store, Fawn rubbed her still flat stomach staring at the boxed brownies as if she could teleport them into her stomach without having to make or buy it. She had a budget, a list of things her parents sent her to buy, and now having less allowance money she didn't know if she should buy what she was craving or save the money for what she needed and wanted later on. Her parents didn't say anything about her getting a job, but she thought that maybe she should…just in case.

Brownies and ice cream, not an unusual craving, but one that was so overwhelming she throws two boxes into her cart before looking towards the pies. Thinking about a pie made only of the crust, she licks her lips and moves towards it only to be stopped by a white, pale hand, also grabbing the box she was going for. "'Scuse me," she retracts her hand quickly just as the woman does.

The woman smiles brightly, grabbing at the box again with one hand while swatting at Fawn gently. "Don't worry about it, sugar! Looks like both of us are cravin' somethin' sweet tonight!" The gap between her teeth gives her more of a youthful look, confusing Fawn as to how old the woman really was. She looked young, but calling someone sugar was something her parents would do. Maybe she was in between?

"Yeah…though I think what I have is enough. Don't want to overdo it." Fawn laughs awkwardly, not quite used to being pregnant and socializing. Though there was not conceivable difference, she still felt as if she had to behave in a certain way, she was pregnant pretending not to be pregnant in front of a stranger that probably doesn't and wouldn't care. A stranger she would most likely never see again.

"So you do! Those brownies are gonna be so delicious, I'm sure!"

Talking about the brownies made the craving swell, and the words fell out of Fawn's mouth without her thinking, the excitement of eating it taking over. "Hope so! I was plannin' on puttin' some ice cream on em' letting it cool the brownies down while the brownies melt the ice cream!" Fawn lets her accent slip a bit, the perfectly crafted non-Texas more Californian sound her parents wanted her to use. She sounded more like herself now, more countrified like the woman in front of her.

"That sounds good!"

Nodding, Fawn lets the conversation die so she can hurry and finish shopping, wanting to quickly get home before her parents get worried and ban her from even shopping, and to make and eat the brownie before the craving is too dull to satisfy. The woman doesn't let her walk away though, grabbing her by the hand and spinning her to face her again, looking down at her body.

"My! Your dress is awfully pretty, where'd you get it?"

Surprised, Fawn looks down at her own dress. It wasn't that pretty, it was more on the plain side, but maybe the woman genuinely liked it. "Made it myself…" she replied. She wanted to go on, gush about how difficult it was to make even though it's nothing special and as plain as can be, but the ice cream aisle was calling her name.

"Did you? Oh, I love to sew! I made this dress I'm wearin'. Grandpa said I looked pretty! My brothers are pretty mean, though, but I guess that's just how brothers are…"

The woman continued to speak, not letting her get a word out to excuse herself from the conversation. Talking about her brothers and some boyfriend or something and how much she missed him. The woman talked so long that Fawn now had to pee, and still she wasn't stopping.

"Sissy? Where in the hell did you-"

Fawn turns her head towards the voice, taken aback at the sight in front of her. The man is attractive, more attractive than any man she had seen anytime recently. These types of looks were rare in the middle of nowhere Texas, and while people were attractive, he was just…different. Maybe it was the way he held himself. Maybe she had finally found a guy that was her type.

The man, on the other hand, looked like he had seen a ghost. His eyes were locked onto Fawn, and she could feel her body heating up from how strongly he was staring at her. Shiftly awkwardly, she looked back towards the woman who had stopped talking, she was now smiling brightly at the man who was still frozen at the end of the aisle. "Johnny!" The woman turns towards Fawn, grasping her arm. "This is one of my brothers!"

"Yeah…I guessed so."

The man approached slowly, eyes still on Fawn, she could feel it. "Sissy, I've been waiting outside for 30 minutes. You're supposed to buy the groceries to come out. They're gonna be pissed off that we took too long." When she looked back at him he was glaring at the blonde next to her.

The way he glared made her heart drop, and she was glad that she wasn't the target of his…annoyance. Blinking, she laughed awkwardly, backing away from the two, immediately taking the chance to run off and finish her shopping. She couldn't wait another 30 minutes before finishing and peeing, so she rushes to get everything done, not forgetting the ice cream.

The second she got home, and got comfortable, her mind wandered to the strange siblings she met. They both seemed strange, in different ways but still strange. Still, she hoped to see at least the man again. Maybe he could be the man that takes pity on her, and doesn't care about the fact that she has a kid on the way.

Or maybe she's delusional, and lusting after the first man she sees.

#tcm #tcm game #texas chainsaw massacre #texas chainsaw massacre game #texas chainsaw game #tcm fanfic #tcm johnny #tcm sissy #johnny tcm #johnny sawyer #johnny slaughter #Tcm Johnny x oc #tcm nubbins #Texas chainsaw massacre fic

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nehswritesstuffs · 5 months ago

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A Bad Walk and An Even Worse Time

Sometimes I wonder why in the hell I write something and this is one of those times, lol

5176 words; shoutout to the dude who I saw regular golfing on the way home once in full Luffy cosplay (and shoutout to the club for letting him in lol); I’m overdue for a full-on sports AU but take this instead; apologies in advance at golf of all things but you know how it is; your mileage may vary at some of the relationships I’ve thrown in here but I also vary on them so no worries; related to the Adventures with the Denizens of 1000 Sunny Rd. series, which you don't need to necessarily read to understand this one (for reference, the other fics are here [FFN], here [FFN], and here [FFN] as well) just know it's a modern Midwestern-ish AU where LawNa is an established thing and the Sunny is a sus af party house

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

For what it was worth, Zoro did not usually get terribly upset. A little cranky? Of course. That was almost expected when most of his sleep came from naps and the fact his adoptive pains-in-the-ass were always on his case about shit. “Zozo, you need to bathe more” and “Zoro, you need to consider a career instead of a job” and “why are you no longer cute, Zozo” filled the time he was with his family, which explained why he was at 1000 Sunny Rd. most days. The rest of the people lurking around the Sunny knew that if he chose to suffer through an extended period of Nami’s nagging with the rest of them, it was bound to be a doozy at home he was avoiding between his creepy vampire adoptive dad and the shrill, high-maintenance banshee that he was supposed to refer to as his sister.

Except this time, what he was avoiding had been tasked to him.

“Ah, fuck,” he cussed as he checked his phone. Zoro threw it across the living room and into a far couch, which was not normal for him. He sulked over towards the kitchen island and slumped down on a chair, hiding in his hoodie.

“What the fuck’s up with you, mossbrains?” Sanji frowned. He didn’t like Zoro being there for too long, especially since he was going on his fourth day of no showering, for the love of food safety…

“Mihawk wants me to put together a couple foursomes and he keeps bugging me about it,” Zoro grunted. Usopp and Franky both exchanged cautious looks from either side of the island, food stuffed in their mouths—Mihawk wanted what…?!

“You… uh… gonna elaborate on that, bro?” Franky wondered cautiously. Zoro was silent on the matter, only looking up when Sanji put a protein shake in front of him.

“It’s golf, right?” the blond asked. Zoro nodded silently and waited for Sanji to place a silicone straw in the shake before taking it and drinking while sulking some more. Usopp laughed nervously, almost relieved.

“Why on earth would Mihawk want you to get a bunch of people together to play golf?” he wondered. “Doesn’t golf involve, like, you know, being outside? I thought that was the exact opposite of his thing.”

“It’s his main form of being outside,” Zoro complained, “and there’s a charity circle-jerk and he promised to bring people.”

“That would involve him having friends,” Sanji noted, “which is something he lacks while his son has in spades.”

“Well, I’m glad it’s just golf, but you’re gonna have to count me out,” Franky said. “Golf is a no-go for me—I’ve been banned from courses in the area for being too super of a guy.”

“You’ve been banned from golf courses?” Usopp wrinkled his nose in thought. “Wait… which ones?”

Franky simply grinned as he took a sip of his pop. Okay. Fine. Keep your secrets.

“Does Mihawk know what he’s asking for though?” Sanji asked. “I mean… it’s us we’re talking about.”

“What are you talking about, Sanji-kun?” The guys all looked to find that Nami and Robin had both walked into the kitchen-living room area, a freshly-rescued-from-med-school Chopper right behind them.

“Oh, nothing to worry about my dears,” Sanji crooned as he set snacks down for the newcomers. “Marimo here is just complaining about his old man making him do shit for once.”

“If it’s golf, then you can count on me,” Usopp bragged. “Why, I was winning pro-am tournaments when I was just a little kid! Had to drop it because they kept barring me from competing, but I’m sure they will have forgotten the ban by now!” Chopper’s eyes glinted in admiration as he sucked down his milk.

“Golf…?” Nami raised her eyebrow critically. “What possessed the brooding vampire-goth man to get into golf of all things?”

“High SPFs, umbrellas, and business bullshit that apparently only happens on the course,” Zoro grumbled. He finished off his protein shake and handed the glass back to Sanji as he sat upright. “I don’t know anyone who fucking golfs! How am I going to get seven people who golf just to please his prissy ass?!”

“Well, you already got Usopp,” Franky noted, “and Robin’s not been banned like me.”

“This is true—I worked a few odd jobs growing up, and one of them was as a caddy—it helped get me a scholarship for college.”

“A golf scholarship?”

“No,” Robin replied, her smile unknowable. Usopp shuddered—he had to ask, didn’t he?

“I’ll do it if Robin’s doing it,” Nami agreed. It was then that Sanji came out from behind the counter in a flurry of emotion, taking the redhead’s hand and kissing the back of it.

“If Nami-swan and Robin-chan are participating, then I will too~!” he crooned. “We can be in a group together!”

“He just wants to see them in short skirts, doesn’t he?” Usopp mused aloud. Zoro nodded in agreement, which got both of them lumps on the head courtesy of the chef. The three became so involved in fighting that they didn’t even notice that someone else walked into the conversation, interest immediately piqued.

“Shishishishi—I’m in!”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was a few days later and most of the Straw Hats were at a putt-putt adventure golf course after-hours, the guy who ran the thing owing Luffy a favor or five. How that was the case, no one wanted to know, but they were going to take advantage of it anyhow. Usopp stood at a chalkboard near the entrance; usually the board was filled with upcoming events and birthday wishes for parties coming through, but this time it was filled with equations and graphs that he drew up on the spot from the golfing theory book he had open in his hand.

“If we’re going to win this thing, it’s going to involve a lot of finesse and concentrating on how our bodies move,” he said to a… less than receptive audience. While Robin seemed interested enough, Zoro and Sanji were about to fight (again), Nami seemed bored, and Luffy and Brook were too distracted by the moths beginning to flap about the lights.

“You just asked a bunch of people who don’t math to do math,” Nami pointed out. Usopp knew she was right—the two of them did math all the time, while it seemed like a foreign concept to most of the others. “You’re at least following, right, Robin?”

“My areas of expertise involve the humanities, mainly history, sociology, and anthropology, so I’m following as closely as I can,” Robin admitted. A chill ran down Nami and Usopp’s spines—if they lost Robin, they were doomed. “We’re mainly here to work on our putting, which is something that trips up even the most skilled of professionals, as the amount of force and aim required needs to be precise in order to sink the ball.”

Usopp let out a breath of relief—thank fuck someone was taking this seriously.

“I’m precise,” Zoro claimed. “I’m so fucking precise I can wipe the floor with this asshole.”

“Wipe the floor?!” Sanji scoffed. “Do you even know how to golf?!”

“Yeah! You hit the ball and get it in the hole! You’re not the only one who suffered through rich kid bullshit, Swirls!”

“Oh, don’t even go there!”

“Or what?! You’ll try to throw your daddy issues around?! Like I care!”

“Ladies, please,” Usopp deadpanned. “We all know you both know how to play golf. This meeting is to make sure that we all practice our putting, short game, and all the more scientific parts of the game in order to prevent a case of the yips. The only one of us who doesn’t know what any of this is…” He looked off to the side, with the others following his line of vision.

That’s right. Luffy.

“Hey everyone, look at this neat bug I found!” Luffy grinned. He went over towards the rest of his friends with his hands cupped together; Sanji and Nami both hid behind Zoro in anticipation, while Robin and Brook simply chuckled.

“That’s very nice, Luffy,” Usopp frowned, “but what are you going to do about the golf tournament we’re helping Zoro not ruin? You need to be paying attention so you know the rules.”

“Oh, those; they’re boring.” Usopp hit his own face with his palm out of frustration. “It sounds like it’s all made up anyhow.”

“If you don’t even care about the rules, then why are you participating in the first place?!” Sanji asked from the safety of behind Zoro’s shoulder. Luffy simply turned towards them, bug still in-hands and making Sanji and Nami shiver.

“I thought it would be fun,” he beamed. “It’s a bunch of stuffy people who care about rules, so what better fun than doing it our way instead?”

“Luffy has a point,” Brook mentioned. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of rules that have been relaxed since I was your age. You can say the game was getting a little… moribund.”

“Quit the crap and let’s get on with the lessons!” Nami snapped, refusing to come out from behind Zoro’s other shoulder. “Let the bug go!”

“…but Naaaaamiiiii…”

“Luffy, she’s right, you’re going to need to concentrate for this one,” Usopp agreed. “We’re not doing this because we want to flout the rules, but because if Zoro doesn’t come up with seven people to join him, then Mihawk is going to be extra insufferable.”

“Yeah… that wouldn’t be very fun for Zoro, would it?” Luffy decided. He then stopped and counted everyone there: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven… “Wait, seven people total or seven more people?”

“We’re working on one more, now just focus,” Usopp said, tapping the chalkboard with his fingers. Between Chopper having school and Jinbe not knowing if he could get the time off work and Franky being banned from the sport of golf in perpetuity (how the fuck??? Why the fuck??? Wait, scratch that; he didn’t want to know), Usopp wasn’t sure whether or not one of them was going to need to call in a favor aside from the one currently in the works. “The Usopp School of Golf and Putting will make a golfer of you yet!”

How was that easily one of his biggest lies to-date? No one really knew.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was taking everything in Usopp’s power to not scream at the top of his lungs in frustration. Although Nami and Robin were both paying attention and subsequently began sinking many a putt, it wasn’t as though everyone else was taking his lessons as seriously. Sanji and Zoro kept fighting, Luffy kept getting distracted, and Brook was enabling in a bad way.

“Yohoho, good one, Luffy!” Brook cheered, watching as Luffy’s ball bounced around their surroundings. It eventually plopped itself onto the carpet of fake grass, rolling gently until it nestled itself in the cup at the end of the seventeenth hole.

Unfortunately, they were supposed to be on the tenth.

“Why do you keep doing that…?” Usopp groaned. “You’re supposed to aim for that hole,” he gestured with his putter, “not any of the others. You can’t just pick random holes to tee off into on a full-sized course!”

“That’s no fun,” Luffy pouted. “You said he wants to go home! So I let him go to the home he wants!”

“No,” Usopp said while trying to not grind his teeth, “the ball’s home is whichever hole you’re on. Stop keep trying to get it in the pirate ship!”

“…but I like the pirate ship!”

“I know you like the pirate ship, but you can’t always try to sink the putt at the pirate ship. That’s not how the game works. There’s not even a pirate ship at the regular golf course.”

“Well, that’s stupid,” Luffy pouted. “What’s the fun in golf if there aren’t even any pirate ships?”

“Wandering around, getting fresh air, testing your skills in both long and short game…”

“Meh; sounds like they wanted to make going on a walk worse.” Usopp opened his mouth to counter that, but stopped when he heard Nami and Robin both stifle a snicker. How in the hell was he this under-appreciated? “Can I just pretend it’s just the pirate ship for now? I dunno how much boring golfing I’m gonna be doing anyhow.”

Forget screaming: Usopp was ready to start sobbing.

“No, because you need to be better at more than just the pirate ship!” Usopp snapped, his voice cracking. “It’s more than just the pirate ship, you can’t use three clubs at once, there’s no kicking allowed, and we’re not allowed to use the course as a venue for any sort of musical performance while golfing as a means of distraction! Do I make myself clear?!”

A chorus of grumbling came from his friends.

“Alright! Now let’s get back to putting!”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was finally—finally—the day of the charity golf outing. The weather was cooperating at Goa Hills Golf Course and Country Club, a sprawling thirty-six-hole behemoth, which was filled to the gills with wealthy golf-nuts and those who happened to be roped into their antics via work or circumstance. Zoro was sulking off in a corner of the clubhouse before everything was opened, alongside Luffy, Sanji, and Usopp. Brook was there as well, but was off keeping an eye out for Nami, Robin, and whomever they were bringing along as the final piece to their puzzle.

“This is so fucking stupid,” Zoro groused. “Mihawk just wants to torture me.”

“Torture us,” Usopp hissed. He and Sanji were attempting to keep Luffy from attacking the snack table that had been set up on the other side of the room.

“As long as I get to play with Nami and Robin, this will all be worth it,” Sanji said. “Seeing them in those skirts will allow me to die happy~!”

“What skirts?”

“Of course a repressed mess like you wouldn’t understand: playing golf means a dress code, right?”

Usopp frowned, unimpressed with the assessment. “Yeah. Why else were we able to get Luffy in a collared shirt?”

“Well, ladies…” Sanji’s face contorted as he focused in on his mental fantasy. “Ladies have to wear short skirts while on the course! It’s the rules!”

“You need to get laid,” both Zoro and Usopp said simultaneously. Sanji scowled and let go of Luffy, which allowed the individual in question to break free and begin assaulting the breakfast bar.

“Jerk!” Usopp hissed. “We’re here to help Zoro, not help him get into trouble!”

“At least it won’t be eating Mihawk out of house and home,” Sanji shrugged. Usopp took a deep breath to steady himself—if all his work was going to be for nothing…

“Guys! Guy! Guys!” The trio looked out into the crowd and saw Brook coming their way in an absolute panic. He reached them and seemed to be almost in tears. “I’ve got some bad news!”

“What’s the matter?” Usopp asked.

“Don’t tell me that the eighth didn’t show up,” Zoro scowled.

“Even worse!” Brook shuddered as he prepared to levy the news. “It’s Nami and Robin!”

“Are they alright?!” Sanji asked, instantly becoming defensive. “If someone dared to touch a hair on their heads, I’ll…!”

“Oh, it’s nothing like that!” Brook insisted. “It’s just…!”

“What in the hell are you doing?!” Nami’s voice could barely be heard over the din of the clubhouse as she pushed her way through the other participants. She and Robin soon reached their friends, only for Sanji to gape in horror.

Capris. Cut to just above the calf. Not skirts. Pants.

Nami and Robin were in pants.

This was not going to be worth it.

“What in the hell is wrong with you, Brook?” Nami demanded. “Why’d you take off and abandon us?!”

“I got you here, didn’t I?!” Brook replied, affronted. Nami turned towards the others and flicked on her billion-watt smile.

“There you are, Sanji-kun,” she beamed. “I was hoping you’d be able to get my rental clubs from the pro shop. There’s a reservation already for them.”

“Why certainly, Nami-swan~!” Sanji replied, mood turning on a dime. He went off into the crowd with a flourish, completely ignoring the fact that he went right by a flustered Law as the latter was fighting his way through the crowd in an effort to get to the Straw Hats.

“Oh good, you weren’t eaten alive by the country club’s colony of rabid groundhogs,” Robin smirked. Law wanted to give her at least one middle finger, but was already too exhausted for before eight in the morning.

“All of you owe me, big time,” he grumbled, “especially you, Roronoa-ya. I could be literally anywhere but here.”

“You and me both,” the green-haired man fired back. “Gonna hang this over Mihawk’s head for long as I can.”

“That won’t work and we all know it,” Nami reminded him. They all silently agreed on that front—for some reason all of the adoptive pains-in-the-asses were collectively very, very weird and mostly unflappable. It was just that by some unfortunate turn of events that Zoro specifically landed where he was and now it was everyone’s duty to suffer through it.

A crash could be heard and a distant voice began threatening someone whose name sounded incredibly like Luffy. It was better to let that lie where it was; nothing good came from interfering with Luffy and food.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Even though Zoro knew how to play golf, it was definitely not his favorite thing in the world. It wasn’t his most-hated thing, but definitely not by much. He felt constrained, it looked like the park space was being wasted, and he couldn’t even drive through the swans that were terrorizing the third hole even though they were just honking assholes with wings.

“Stupid cook—you can’t smoke here,” he growled. The pair were watching as Law was getting ready to tee off for them, Luffy having already vanished into some bushes like a cryptid in a polo shirt, and now Sanji was indulging in his most effective vice.

“It’s either this or I murder everyone,” the blond sniped back. Fuck, Luffy was taking a long time to resurface. “Hey, I know you know how I got the geezer, but how’d you get your adoptive asshat?”

“Parents knew him somehow; I dunno, I was a kid when it happened,” Zoro scoffed. He guessed he could let Sanji power through a smoke or two—the idiot chef was without Nami and Robin, after all. “Same with Perona’s dad, I guess. I don’t think Mihawk ever imagined that the favors would be cashed because one month his mansion is perfect and silent, and the next had me and Perona arguing. Loud.”

Law hit the ball and it went a decent distance—stayed fairly straight too.

“Not that I can blame her,” Sanji scoffed. “I bet you were a shit as a tween.”

“As though you weren’t? I think I still have the geezer’s phone number; he can verify.”

“Fuck off.” Law returned to their golf cart and put the driver in with the rest of his rental set. “Did you at least see where it went?”

“Yeah; we might actually make it out of here alive if we take turns being Strawhat-ya,” he replied. Law then took a quick look around. “He hasn’t come back yet?”

“Nope,” Sanji and Zoro said in unison.

“Fuck,” Law cussed. “If we don’t find him soon, he’s gonna terrorize whatever kid they’ve got manning the beer cart thinking there’s food there.”

“I say let him,” Sanji shrugged. “It’s not like we’re paying for this disaster of an outing.”

“Make Mihawk regret it,” Zoro added. “See if he asks me for another favor again.”

“I thought the object of this was to get in, golf, get out, and make it so that we don’t get noticed by Mihawk’s weird business associates or anyone else who might be a pain in our asses,” Law frowned. “Cora-san’s brother has been known to come here when he’s in-town—we need to keep a low profile. Can any of you handle that?”

“I know I can, but I don’t know if the moss-for-brains is capable of that, considering how we need to escort him around everywhere,” Sanji said as he got in the driver’s seat and turned on the cart.

“What the fuck are you saying, curls? That I can’t find my way around?! I can do that just fine!” Zoro sat in the front passenger seat, the pair immediately butting heads in the latest round of their constant, figurative dick-measuring.

Law screamed inwardly as he tried to not cry getting into one of the cart’s back seats; the mind-melting sex he was promised was not going to be worth this.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Robin and Brook were standing to the side of the putting green, watching as Usopp was measuring and calculating the sort of putt Nami was going to need to pull off in order to sink the ball. Nami herself was standing next to the ball, tapping her foot impatiently.

“Will you cut that out?” she scowled. “Any longer and we’re going to get people wanting to play through.”

“This is for double-birdie, Nami!” Usopp replied as he laid down on the green to measure at eye-level. “This will help keep us in competitive range! These don’t often happen with golfers of our casual nature! We gotta make this count!”

“Uh… I think you mean eagle not double-birdie,” Brook cut in. Usopp and Nami both glared at him, making him flinch. How scary!

“Usopp, I think I can math my own way out of this one and not ruin Robin’s lucky shot,” Nami grumbled. “You’re making too big a deal out of this.”

“Listen, Nami,” Usopp said, “we all know that you are really good at math, but we also know that I’m better at math and physics. It has nothing to do with making you feel stupid. Because you’re not. You’re terrifyingly smart.”

“Mmm-hmm,” she frowned. “You just don’t want to get murdered in your sleep.”

“That is always a goal, yeah.” He got up and went to go stand by Robin and Brook. “Okay—one of your normal putts should do it.”

“I could have told you that,” Nami deadpanned. She went to putt, only for an unexpected voice to cut through the air and make her overshoot in surprise.

“NAAMII!” Luffy shouted. Nami and Usopp both cringed—how the fuck did he escape the others? Everyone looked to see Luffy approaching via the beer cart, where he was sitting in the passenger seat munching on chips while… wait… Koby was driving the cart?!

“I always suspected the police department to not pay a living wage,” Robin noted as the cart stopped next to them. Koby shook his head.

“I’m undercover… kinda,” he admitted. “There’s a lot of varying movers and shakers participating in this tournament, and Commissioner Sengoku wants me to keep an eye out.” He then gestured to Luffy. “Where does he go so I can drop him off?”

“With Zoro, Sanji, and Torao,” Nami said. She leaned in to Luffy, who tried to ignore her glare. “Why aren’t you with them?”

“Golf is boring,” Luffy admitted, “and I have a lot more fun hanging out with Koby anyhow! We’re gonna go catch some weirdos being weird.”

“I thought you were going to keep an eye on Torao for me,” Nami scolded. “What’s going to happen if we leave him alone? There’s weirdos here that might want him for themselves and then no more Torao at the Sunny.”

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “He’s with Zoro and Sanji though, so I’d say they’re all pretty safe from weirdos.” Luffy then noticed that Usopp was laying down on the grass. “What’s the matter?”

“We just lost a major shot thanks to you…” Usopp whined. “The only way we’re going to make that up is if we score a triple-eagle on the next one!”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” Robin said. “Those are incredibly rare. They’ve never been accomplished in professional play.”

“Yeah—the only way to get a condor would probably be to cheat, and I don’t know if we want to do that,” Brook added. He handed Koby some money and the young man passed him a juice box, which he proceeded to drink loudly. “At least, I wouldn’t do that here.”

“Mr. Soul King’s right,” Koby said. “We can’t lose our heads just because we want to stay ahead in the game! There’s villains out there that we have to catch!”

“You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?” Brook deadpanned. Koby didn’t seem to listen, as there seemed to be stars glinting in his eyes.

“Come on, Luffy! What do you say?”

In his defense, Luffy did seem to think about it. He thought for only a few seconds before a spine-chilling grin crept across his face.

“Nope!”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Dracule Mihawk was irritated. It took a lot of nonsense at once to get him irritated, honestly, for if there was one thing that keeping the brats in his home did for him was turn his nonsense threshold terribly high. There was also the fact that many of his business associates were—unfortunately—absolute goons that made him question the hierarchy of who was able to move up in the world and who was kept down. He tolerated them at best, especially on days where he was made to do social activities.

Even a bottomless wine tumbler could not change the fact that his present company was… lurid.

“Just take the shot already,” he droned. Buggy flinched from his spot over on the fairway—he was in the middle of adjusting his stance, which had been going on for two minutes too long.

“Watch out; you’re going to spook him,” Crocodile chuckled. The pair were sitting in the front seats of their cart while Galdino was standing next to the vehicle. “Do that and we might have to record a mulligan.”

“I don’t care; this is wearing on my nerves,” Mihawk replied. He took another sip from the tumbler and hoped the chilled compartment in his bag was keeping the rest of his very necessary bottle intact and a decent temperature, even with the sun. “How do you do it?”

“Honestly? I’m just glad I can use him as a human shield,” Galdino shrugged. “He’s almost the perfect decoy.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Buggy snapped. “If you’re such big shots, then why am I even here?!”

“…because we’re trying to network through charity events,” Galdino reminded him. “We have to look legitimate, remember? That involves shit like this sometimes.”

“…or would you rather default on that money you owe me and have the next decade of your life be a living hell?” Crocodile threatened with a grin on his face. Buggy swallowed hard while Mihawk sighed in distaste; the other man certainly had a way to make things so base. “What? You mean you wouldn’t want to watch him squirm?”

“At least don’t shout it out to the entire course,” Mihawk replied. He adjusted the umbrella that was shielding him from the partly-cloudy skies and grunted. “I wonder how Zoro’s doing, if making his friends come along has made him behave.”

“I don’t care to find out,” Crocodile scoffed. “That brat’s still on my shit list, as are all his friends. It’s a bad idea if you ask me.” He went to light another cigar and Mihawk’s lip curled.

“You smell enough like those things; you don’t need a refresher.”

“If you can drink, then I can smoke,” he grumbled. “It’s only fair dealing with this shit.” Crocodile gestured towards Buggy with his now-lit cigar.

“Why am I here…?!” Buggy sniffled. “I don’t even like golf!”

“Just hit the ball,” Mihawk, Crocodile, and Galdino said in unison.

“Fine! You want me to hit the ball?! I’ll hit the fucking ball!” Buggy took a running start and smacked the ball as heard as he could; ball, turf, and club alike soared into the air, making his companions groan in frustration. They all kept their eyes on the ball, however, watching as it plopped onto the putting green and… “Wait, what the fuck, did that just go into its home?!”

“It’s called ‘the hole’, you idiot, and it looks like you did,” Crocodile replied, almost impressed.

“So I got a hole in one?!”

“No, but you did get something,” Galdino muttered. He did the quick math and an even quicker lookup on his phone. “Apparently this is called a double-eagle! You’re three strokes under par!”

“Fuck yeah!” Buggy pumped his fist and started a victory dance, in which Galdino joined in. Crocodile simply chuckled as he wrote down the score, while Mihawk took a swig of wine.

“Of course he scored an albatross,” Mihawk sulked. “He is the bloody albatross.”

“He’s something alright,” Crocodile laughed. He and Mihawk watched the victory celebration for only a moment before he raised his voice slightly. “Get in the car and let’s confirm that hole-in-two.”

Buggy did not seem to hear him, continuing to dance to a song being played on an imaginary speaker. He was so engrossed in dancing, however, that he completely missed the fact that the beer cart was coming his way… or that it honked… or that it was about to run him over until he was clipped by the cart, its teenaged driver laughing mirthfully as he sped away on the now-ruined fairway.

“Sorry ‘bout that!” Luffy shouted. “You should probably pay attention!”

“Ow! Fuck! Watch where you’re going you!” Buggy was in the process of being helped up by Galdino when he saw his assailant: wide grin, polo shirt ripped at the sleeves, sandals, jorts cut off at the knee, a straw hat… oh, his blood boiled. “I’m gonna get you, you little shitstain!”

“Oh, that’s tempting,” Crocodile noted. He then watched as Koby ran after the beer cart, his attempt to catch up on foot not entirely feeble in execution. “Ah, one of Garp’s pets is here anyhow. That’s not a lot of fun.”

“Could be,” Mihawk shrugged. “Depends on how you look at it.”

“I evade taxes, not back pain; let them sort it out.” Crocodile saw that Buggy was not yet back on his feet, which was frankly irritating. “Get back in the cart, dumbass, or we’ll leave you behind!”

“I think that idiot broke my ankle!”

“Walk it off!”

“Easy for you to say!” Buggy grumbled under his breath the entire time Galdino helped him hobble to the cart, hissing in pain as he was deposited into his seat. “You couldn’t have gone and, you know, picked me up?”

“Waste of battery.”

“This bitch has a solar panel roof.” Crocodile said nothing as he turned on the cart and began to drive away. “Can we at least stop to grab my club? It’s a rental.”

Eh; he guessed he didn’t mind that much.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

A/N: For those who might not know, referring to something as an albatross that’s not, you know, the actual bird means that something is a burden. A person can also be considered an albatross, but it also can mean the person’s an idiot.

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