#i always feel the need to apologise when the tags go on too long

[brucie-baby]

been thinking about bruce being lost in time and going from era to era remembering nothing of his past lives other than eyes of a colour he can't quite describe. he doesn't know the man that they belong to. there's this weird sense of familiarity there, this niggling feeling that makes him drift towards him, but he never even finds out the man's name. and yet every life he lives, the man is there, never changing, never aging.

and then he gets home and finds alfred and looks him in the eyes and-- they're the same eyes. the same colour he's never seen on anybody else.

alfred looks at him like he knows. like he knows what bruce has been through, like he's known this moment would come, like he knows exactly what he's supposed to do and yet has no idea where to go from here.

and bruce can do nothing but hold him, but be held by him. by this man who has always been there for him. by this man who seemingly isn't much of a man after all.

[thewitchblue]

"Did you join the fucking military?"

Jason asked Tim, who blinked blankly at Jason until he noticed what he was holding. Jason was holding your military tags, which Tim's selfishly kept to himself when you "lost" them. Technically, he stole the tags from you, but you can always get a new set. You'll be matching! He did feel a little bad that you got in trouble with leadership when you asked for new ones, but he's sure you'd be fine without the old pair.

"No."

Tim didn't elaborate further. The tags have practically lived on him since he stole them. He only ever takes them off for showers, which is how Jason found them. Jason scoffed,

"Good. You'd be a shit soldier. Why do you have military dog tags?"

Tim tried to take them back, but Jason held them above his head. Your dog tags are air jailed until he gets answers. Jason needed to know.

"Answer or I'll find a place to smelt them down."

Tim knew he was serious by the gleam in Jason's eyes, so he said,

"My girlfriend is in a special forces unit for the marines. She refuses to tell me which unit she's in, but I've narrowed it down."

Jason was too stunned to notice that he dropped your dog tags. Tim snatched them off the floor and put them safely around his neck again and tucked under his shirt where they belonged. He likes to say that you're closer to his heart with your tags under his shirt with the bonus of protecting him from any potential bullets. Even when you are gone, you promise that you will always come back. He's used to your deployment and the limbo you have him in.

"When do I get to meet her?"

Dick said from the doorway. He was passing by and overheard. His little Timmy has a girlfriend? When did that happen?

Tim touches the tags while thinking of what to reveal and what to keep private. He's never been good at respecting privacy, but he has been learning for you. He knows to keep anything you say to him a secret, but what about other things relating to you?

"Whenever she wants. I'm not her keeper."

Tim answered vaguely. He's flying to see you soon, and he doesn't want to be followed. You've been together for three years, but you met kind of awkwardly. You tackled him to the ground and wrestled with him after mistaking him for one of your friends.

Your willpower eventually overcame his reflexes, and he stopped struggling. You had laughed when you pinned him down and ruffled his hair in victory. It was embarrassing to him how quickly he submitted to you. He watched your eyes widen when you noticed he's not your friend. You took in the scene too slowly. You, straddling who you had assumed was your friend with your hands pinning his wrists to both sides of his head, and Tim blushing underneath you. Tim didn't know how to react either, so you both stared at each other before you started awkwardly apologising.

Tim was a mess, but he was an adorable mess. His hair was ruffled, and his clothes were wrinkled, but there were no bruises nor any scrapes. You were always careful to leave no injuries. He was breathless, just staring at you with wide eyes and a shyness that almost made you smile. He was so cute that you wanted to squish him.

You quickly got off of him once you realised how long you've been staring at him. You pulled him up from the ground when he didn't make a move to stand by himself and actually almost fell right back to the ground because his legs refused to work for him. He was understandly stunned.

This is awkward. How do you explain the tradition of you fighting your friend on sight? Your friend does the exact same thing with you. It was excellent training for your deployment to fight each other on sight without any prep. Enemy soldiers aren't going to reveal themselves before attacking, so surprise attacks help keep your reflexes sharp.

"Sorry. I thought you were someone else."

He couldn't get the image of you pinning him down out of his head. Nobody has ever pinned him down so intimately. You were gentle. Your hold would have been easy to break out of if he didn't stop struggling. It was like you only played until one of you got pinned, and then the fight was over.

Tim was still trying to remember how to function. What does he do? What does he say? He's all shaken up. He had to look away from you. He managed to say,

"It's fine."

He tried to sound like it was no big deal, but it sounded strained. He was pretending like the wrestling really took it out of him by fake panting, but you both knew better. You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, but pat his back and attempted to leave.

Attempted, being the key word. Tim caught your wrist loosely and nervously said,

"I, uh... would you... Can we... Let's... I'm sorry."

He didn't have the words with you looking at him like that. He was nervous. You smiled softly at him, and he forgot how to speak entirely. He could only stare until you took the initiative and asked him to go on a date before you leave for boot camp. He nodded, and that was that. You gave him your number and continued your run like nothing happened.

The date went amazing. It was a bit unconventional as you took him to a paint gun fight after showing him the gun and explaining the rules. You grinned every time he landed a hit and even wiped away the paint that splattered onto him with a fond expression. You opened up about the fear you have about joining the military, but your desire to help. You want to make a difference, however small or large that may be.

You kissed the bruising wounds softly and banaged the bleeding ones before he could even reach for the first aid kit you brought. You helped him up with a wild grin, and he kissed you until the adrenaline ran out. The guns were empty, and you both were messes, but your hearts were full, and Tim can safely say he hates paintballing. You took him to see a movie like a normal person next date.

Jason and Dick watched their brother soften further and further as he went down memory lane. Dick was ecstatic and already plotting to meet you, but Jason was confused why anybody would date Tim. Yeah, he's had his fair share of partners, but he's surprised every time he gets a date, let alone a girlfriend.

You were his mystery girl, and their family loves a good mystery.

[berrryparfait]

hello~ can I request sumth about dom succubus/ vampire mc with sylus or zayne (or both)

give in to me... . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

— ༉‧₊ᐟ featuring: sylus, zayne x succubus! dom! fem-afab!reader

— ༉‧₊ᐟ tags/cws: [nsfw] smut, reader hypnotizes and restrains him with her evol but fails to k*ll him in the end, reader crashes zayne's clinic, piv, creampie, intense orgasms, multiple positions, overstimulation, non/dubcon, catching feelings(?)

— ༉‧₊ᐟ word count: sylus – 1.7k | zayne – 1.2k

— ♫₊ᐟ soundtrack: southbound – artemas

✧ a/n: thank you sm for the req! this idea was too sexy to resist lol i was SWEATING while typing it all out...

The blood moon is out, and your insides are growling… You know very well that not a soul in Linkon can resist your…unique charms. Who will your lucky victim be this time?

Just how long will he last?

A mansion? Haven’t seen one of these out here in ages… Your heart lurches at the sight (not that you have one, of course—it’s all purely figurative), and you can almost taste the blood of luxury on your tongue.

You understand the person who owns this mammoth of a building won’t be easy. He might even desire to overpower you. But you won’t let him. You want to feel the life slipping out of him while you drink up his sex, watch as he begs for mercy and finally realizes that, no, you’re in control.

Your pussy throbs at the thought, and you have to remind yourself not to get too carried away. Getting lost in these fantasies will do nothing for you right now. Your first plan of action is to find a way in.

He’s left a window open. How careless. You crawl in with ease (thanks to your natural agility) and slide in and out of hallways, keeping a lookout for people or traps or security cameras or weapons. Not that you’ll be needing a defence against weapons, anyway. You don’t need a gun when you have supernatural sexual allure.

The house is strangely quiet, and you start to wonder if it’s even occupied at all. There’s an air of modernity to the place, so you doubt it’s been abandoned. On vacation, perhaps? No, you can sense the recent presence of a human being here. It’s past midnight, so whoever owns this house has to be in it. You just need to find them… A light flicks on somewhere on the ground floor. There you are, kitty cat. You hurry past the elaborately decorated walls and paintings, and find yourself hiding right behind a doorway to what seems to be a large, grand kitchen.

And in it stands a man so gorgeous that you think you may have finally met your match (in the looks department, of course). He’s tall, imposing, handsome, and looks like he bleeds money. His dark red eyes captivate you. You can’t wait to rob them of their pretty color.

Taming the excitement in your veins, you slowly step out from beneath the shadows, the red silk dress you have on revealing the curve of your bare breasts and emphasizing the pinch of your waist. Your walk is measured, calculatedly seductive.

He’s mid-drink when he spots you, the glass of dark wine tilted halfway to his mouth. His startling eyes lock on yours as he pauses, prolonging his sip.

“Why hello there. I didn’t mean to startle you,” you begin, voice dripping with innocence and honey. “It’s late, and I couldn’t find my way around…”

You take a few tentative steps closer to him as you speak, fully prepared for any sudden movements. Sure, there’s always the Evol option. But where would the fun be in that? You’re like a spider in this little game, waiting for the prey to fall right in your trap, of its own volition.

He puts the glass down on the counter, his movements as calculated as your own. His bathrobe hangs snugly over his delicious frame. “And…you happened to waltz right into my home.” His voice is as velvety as his robe, each syllabus sending tingles straight down to your core. This is going to be good…

Your face remains impassive. Slightly scared, even. “I apologise for the intrusion. I’m just so confused—and anxious—and—I don’t have anywhere to go…” Your expression is downcast as you go on about how sorry and pathetic you are, and when he drags his crimson eyes down the length of your body you think you’ve finally got him—

“I know what you are.” There’s an edge to his tone, one of warning. “You’re a succubus. Blood moon come early this year?” He says it with disgust, as if even the mere mention of the word spills toxins on his tongue.

Clever. Guess my suspicions were right, as usual. You don’t mind the challenge. After all, labor bears fruits. You maintain your ignorant disposition. “I-I’m just a girl. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cut the act, demon.” His gravelly voice really turns you on. He’s probably big as hell, too. “I don’t have time for your theatrics. I would’ve killed you myself if you’d visited last week, but fortunately for you my assistants are on vacation, and I really don’t want to clean up a mess right now. Get out of my house.”

Damn it, he’s good. I want to taste his cum before he dies. “Oh, there’ll be a mess, alright… Just not the kind you’re hoping for… Not yet.” You inch closer and closer to him until his chest is at eye level. He’s glaring down at you like you’re a pile of shit. “So hostile… So…difficult…” You run a delicate finger down the valley between his abs, and you feel his breath hitch ever so slightly at your touch.

“Get. Out,” he grits out, the hard, defiant edges of his jaw sharp enough to slice through skin.

You tiptoe and whisper into his ear, “Surrender to me, sweetheart. Just give in…” He exhales a little, and your arousal heightens. You roll your hips against his groin and his muscles grow taut. Someone’s getting hard. You can feel it through the fabric of your thin, skintight dress: the outline of a beast between his legs.

You get on your knees then, looking up at him with pure and unassuming doe eyes. You can smell his arousal. Can he smell yours? You reach between the plush material of his robe and pull it apart, his erect cock springing out to kiss your face. Furious, he backs away, but you activate your Evol then, restraining his hands to his back.

“You’re making this really hard for me, you know.” You use your powers to shove him down to his knees, and before he knows it, he’s leaning back against the oven with his hands bound behind him and his knees bent on the marble floor, with nothing to conceal his glaring erection.

He struggles beneath your supernatural hold, hissing in rage as he realizes his strength is no match for yours. “You’re a heinous witch—” he spits, though he’s cut off by the Evol you tape to his mouth.

There we go. Time for this fairy to work her magic. You get down on all fours and lean towards his cock, your mouth hovering inches from him. He squirms, clearly unused to being the one following orders for once. “You’re going to want me, kitty cat…”

Your lips wrap around his engorged head, and his eyes squeeze shut. The taste of his dick is instantly addictive, and you find yourself wanting to choke on it. Slick coats your pussy, which aches for its turn. You move your mouth along his length, going up and down as slowly and languidly as possible. A muffled moan escapes his throat, and his thighs clench. “Good boy…”

You begin to suck him off faster, pumping the base of his shaft with your right hand and fondling his balls with your left. Low growls sound from deep within him, and his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head. “Mmmh… Mmh—” With a crude “pop”, you release his cockhead from your mouth.

I need him in me. Now. In one swift movement, you pull your black lace panties down and they fall to the floor, forgotten. You hastily pull the skirt of your dress over your head and toss it to the side, now fully naked and ready to take him.

Still panting, his eyes travel the length of your perfect body, lingering at your perky breasts and sopping cunt. You grab onto his shoulders for balance and angle your pussy directly above his leaking cock, positioning your tits right in front of his face. Lowering yourself onto him, you moan as his girth slides against your walls. The pleasure is blinding, and you feel as if life itself is returning to your body.

He groans pathetically as he enters your wet pussy, your tits brushing against his nose. He looks disgusted. Angry. Incredibly and unabashedly desperate. You begin to bounce on his lap, both hands braced on his shoulders as his dick plunges into your cunt and wet squelches fill the room.

You remove the Evol tape on his mouth, and he’s no longer mouthing off. His dirty, needy moans mingle with yours as he begins to thrust upwards, no longer fighting the carnal desire within him. “Ugh… Fuck— Fuck—!” he laments, his expression pained.

You release him from the restraints. Of course it would be easier for you to drain him while he’s bound. But you preferred to let them take control towards the end. To let them fuck themselves to death.

He up in an instant, twisting you around and pounding into you from behind. Like a puppet on a string, he fucks himself senseless as he grabs your hips and utterly destroys your pussy, balls slapping against your clit. “Fuck, I can’t— I shouldn’t be doing this—” he swears, revelling in the feeling of his cock gliding against your folds.

You scream out in ecstasy, the feeling of his tip rubbing against your cervix sending you into a mindless haze. He isn’t getting any weaker. In fact, he’s getting stronger, his thrusts more and more powerful. Why is this happening? This shouldn’t be happening—

He slams into you so strongly your vision blurs. His cock twitches so violently you know what’s coming, yet it still surprises you when he cums; thick, hot liquid filling you up as you orgasm so viciously your entire body shakes. Your pussy spasms in tandem with his release as he continues to pump spurts of cum into you, his cries echoing yours as you hear your mixed juices fall to the floor in puddles.

He slides out of you with another “pop” and you fall to the floor, still vibrating with desire. It takes you a while to realize he isn’t dead. How…?

“It should’ve killed you…” You watch in bewilderment as he pants on the ground, cum staining his discarded robe. Very much alive.

“It’s going to take more than that, Kitten.” His eyes gaze into yours, and for a shocking moment, you think he really sees you. It’s sickening.

Something flutters to life and begins to pound in your chest.

Hunting isn’t something to be taken lightly. You only get to do it once a year, after all—if you’re going to drink someone up tonight, it has to be someone positively delicious.

You roam the streets at midnight, keeping a lookout for your little snack. No, not him… Hmm, not her either…

There. He catches your eye immediately, a handsome doctor with light green eyes entering the clinic. Working the night shift, perhaps? Something about him intrigues you, though you can’t quite identify what it is… Maybe it’s the way he commands attention—not in an overtly loud or obnoxious way, no, but in a quiet, reserved fashion that makes you want to take your panties off.

Are you hiding anything, Doctor? Are you as quiet as you seem? You imagine proving that theory false, and your pussy slickens at the thought.

You enter the clinic in your black cocktail dress, a good amount of cleavage on display for the masked patients to gawk at. Ignoring them, you use your Evol to manipulate the queue system such that you’re up next.

The number on the screen changes, and you knock twice before waltzing into the doctor’s office, your shiny stilettos clacking on the polished floor. “H-Hello, Doctor…” you stammer, appearing as shy and docile as possible. It mildly grosses you out that this has been your most successful baiting tactic so far.

Your right hand instinctively grabs onto your left elbow, emphasizing the squeeze of your breasts and making you seem smaller.

The doctor, Zayne, takes off his reading glasses and assesses you—not sexually, but analytically. Damn it, he’s not a creep. This will be harder than I thought. “Hello. Take a seat,” he replies, gesturing to the chair across from him. His words are curt and direct, though not impolite or unfriendly. A no-nonsense, to-the-point kind of guy. Interesting.

You sit down, pretending to fumble a little as you lower yourself onto the chair. Your tits bounce. He doesn’t seem to notice. Taking out a plastic clipboard, he swivels to face you and asks, “Well, what seems to be the problem?”

You blush and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You see, I-I’ve had these…urges…” Your eyes evade his, darting around the room in mock nervousness.

He tilts his head slightly, pensive and observant. “What kind of urges?”

You bite your lower lip. “It’s like a funny feeling…in my…” you wave at the spot between your legs, and he squints at the movement.

The faintest hint of a blush appears on his cheeks. “Ah. And…you have these urges frequently?”

You nod. “I have them all the time. In fact, I’m feeling it right now.” He frowns at you, seemingly at a loss. “It only goes away after I touch myself, like this.” You reach under your skirt, and he rushes to stop you.

“Ma’am, please refrain from masturbating in the clinic. This is a sterilised environment that needs to remain free of bacteria—”

“Please, Doctor… I just need to…do it…” A wicked grin twists your lips as you use your Evol to tie him to the chair, sealing his mouth with invisible tape. You lift the skirt of your dress up and pull your lace panties to the side, your cunt already dripping wet.

His eyes avoid your fingers as they begin to stroke your folds, the instant wave of pleasure eliciting a small moan from your lips. His muffled protests are barely audible (though you did lock the door with your powers beforehand), ensuring zero interruptions.

You whine as the pads of your fingers circle your engorged clit, and use your Evol to force his chin down so he has a clear view of your movements. The redness on his face intensifies, and you see the vague outline of his cock hardening beneath his pants. There we go…

Your fingers jerk faster, and your back arches involuntarily as he watches you abuse your sopping pussy. The chair beneath you is drenched by now, your arousal leaking out in waves as you begin to finger yourself brainless.

All the while, he’s being forced to watch your every thrust, every spasm. He’s fully erect now, and you both know it. You remove the silencer and make your way towards him. “Please— Don’t do this…”

His pants unzip themselves and his boxers are yanked down. “Be a good boy for me and be quiet, okay?” You lower your leaking pussy down onto his dick, and the tip pops in between your folds almost effortlessly. You both groan at the sensation, the feeling of raw, primal sex too good to resist.

“Fuck— Stop—” he whimpers as you begin to bounce on his lap, your ass slapping against his thighs and tits bouncing in his face. You force your swollen tit into his mouth and use your Evol to latch his lips around it, but you don’t have to use it for long. He’s sucking on your boob with so much force that you cry out loud.

He writhes underneath your weight, still trying to set himself free. Adorable little thing… So weak. You grind against him faster, each roll of your hips in such quick succession that his eyes squeeze shut and fly to the back of his head. “Ugh— Ugh— Ugh—” he grunts between each upwards thrust. Bounce. Ugh— Jerk. Ugh— Squeeze. Ughhhhh…

Someone knocks on the door. “Is everything okay in there?” You lose focus for just a second, and your powers slip free. He’s no longer restrained to the chair.

Strong hands lift you up and plop you onto the desk, your ass landing on a stack of papers and a few paperclips. What—? There’s no time to think before he’s slamming into you, each thick vein of his cock rubbing against your inner walls and driving you insane. Your elbows are propped up against the table, which shakes so loudly with every jerk of his lean hips. “What are you doing to me—? Fuck…” The table has grown slick with your mixed juices, along with everything on it.

The knocking continues. “Hello?! Is everything alright?!”

He slams into you so hard the table nearly falls over. White ropes of cum burst into you as you tighten around his girth, shaking so hard you see stars. Your cries mirror his as he cums all over your thighs, your stomach, the papers on his desk.

Most notably, he isn’t dead. What the hell..?

He’s breathing hard as he composes himself, sinking back down onto the chair in exhaustion. “I…apologise for that… I lost control of myself… You came in here looking for medical help, and I abused that…”

“Y-You don’t feel faint? Or ill?”

He shakes his head regretfully. “It’s my job to be asking you that.”

“You’re not surprised by my powers?” You’re at a loss for words.

“You’re not the only Evolver around here. Now if you’ll let me, I’d like to do my job as your doctor and help you with your sexual urges. Medically, of course.”

A faint pounding seizes your ribcage.

— ⋆˙⟡ ©berrryparfait

《 please do not copy / plagiarize / translate my works or publish them on any other platforms. 》

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

First, I just wanna say HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! 🎂🎊❤️ Second, I would like to request for your birthday event a Law🩺 x fem reader with the prompt, "What if I kissed you right now? Would you stop me?". Add as much smut as you want please 😜🫠🫣 (Also maybe for a birthday present for me too since it will be soon😁)

I'm soooo, so sorry this didn't come out in time of your birthday! 😭 I started it in time, but then didn't get to finish it. I set myself to finish this today, so here it is. I do hope you enjoy this one, I had fun with it! 😏

Source for pic

First 🔞

Word Count: 3851

Tags: fem!reader; first time; vaginal sex; fingering; inexperienced!Law; virgin!Law

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: You showed your captain your intent to kiss him, but instead of kissing you back, he fled. Resigning yourself to a rejection hurt, but what if his reaction had nothing to do with rejection, and all to do with inexperience?

|Masterlist|

Divider by @cafekitsune

It had become sort of a ritual between the two of you. Law read while sitting at his desk - medical journals, scientific papers, or comic books - and you sat on a little couch in the corner of his office, out of his way, but still near him. A book in hand and a focused expression on your face - whether it was romance, adventure, horror or, sometimes, even one of Law’s precious medical books. 

More often than not, the focused expression was only on your face because you were trying so hard not to get lost in your captain’s presence. Even just by sitting still, he commanded the room. He didn’t have to speak to own every silence, nor did he have to be watchful to own every shadow. This room was his, you were merely in it.

And that was extremely fascinating to you.

There had been times when you were bolder with your attention, actively closing the book you were perusing and just staring at him, deadpan. But he would never acknowledge you, even when you were sure he knew exactly what you were up to. 

You didn’t care. You were too lost in the way his lips dipped with focus, or how his long, slim fingers intertwined when he was reviewing a passage. The way he deepened his frown when something was amiss, or how his eyebrows relaxed when something made sense. The way he ran his fingers through his hair or absentmindedly twirled his hat on his index finger. 

You were fascinated. He was fascinating. 

And you were at the tipping point. You needed this man, badly. 

You had tried subtle ways of showing him you were interested: touching his arm, twirling your hair, giggling at everything he said - that had been a fun week! When Law decided to run a full check-up to figure out what the hell was wrong with you, you stopped your subtle efforts. Maybe you needed to be a bit more blunt. So you then tried to actively use lame pick-up lines and telling him outright how interested you were. All of it flew past his head and, instead, was picked up by Penguin and Shachi, who decided to make fun of you for it - that had been another fun week!

If you were anybody else, you would have given up by now, clearly getting the hint that he wasn’t interested in anything romantic. But you were stubborn to a fault, and the fact that your captain hadn’t fully rejected you was the deciding factor for your next move. Because if he didn’t have feelings for you, he wouldn’t put up with your presence in his office, right? He would’ve ‘shambles-ed’ you out of there in the blink of an eye. 

So, this was a do-or-die situation. You were going all in.

The lights were always dimmed in his office, except for two lamps - one by your side, the other by his desk - so the ambiance was already intimate. You had put on some revealing clothes, making full use of your free time to shed the boiler suit since you weren’t ‘on the clock’, and you had downed an entire cup of chamomile tea for the nerves. This was happening. 

Other than a slightly longer glance your way when you asked if you could join him - as you always did - Law didn’t show any signs of being hot and bothered by your skimpy choice of clothes. This was already a bust.

Huffing, you didn’t even sit on the couch. You took small steps towards his desk while slowly counting to ten in your head to keep your cool. Law’s brow rose as he saw you approach, but his eyes swiftly returned to his book. Two more steps, and you were by his side.

“Captain.” You murmured, trying to sound alluring and cursing at the wicked croak that left your lips. 

Law lifted his gaze and turned his chair slightly to the side, so you used the opportunity to lean on his desk. He tilted his head, clearly curious as to what you were doing. You then leaned forward, lips inches away from his, and the strong scent of disinfectant and pine soothed you. It was his scent. “What if I kissed you right now? Would you stop me?” This time, your words came out in a sultry whisper, your breath kissing his lips in a soft promise.

Law locked eyes with you, something dark passing through them, and your breath hitched as he raised his hand to eye level. You prepared yourself for the surge of shock when he pressed his lips against yours, his hand already near your cheek… then he opened his lips and…

“Room. Shambles.” 

And with a soft plop, you were sitting in your bed. No Law, no kiss, no confession, just you, in a time-out.

“What the fuck?”

-*-

You’d had half a mind to stomp into his office and let him know that what he had done was not acceptable, but you had let it slide. That was almost a week ago, and you still hadn’t spoken to Law since. 

When you went by his office, he wasn’t there; when you went by the sick bay, he had just left; it seemed that every time you tried to enter a room he was in, he was suddenly gone. Almost as if he could disappear in the blink of an eye. Which he did. So you knew he was avoiding you. 

At first, you felt slighted. A simmering rage burning beneath the surface since you had, after all, put all of your effort into seducing him, only to make a fool of yourself. You deserved an explanation!

But as time went by and he didn’t even make his presence known to you, your anger slowly turned into hurt and then to sorrow. It was bad enough that whatever you felt for Law wasn’t reciprocated, but it was even worse that he didn’t even want to see you to clear the air.

That was what stung the most.

So, you stopped trying. You stopped looking for him or trying to find him. You’d gotten the message loud and clear: Law wasn’t interested. 

But what was even worse than that was that you actually missed his company. Even if he was silent most of the time.

-*-

You still read, but now you were doing it in your own room, actually reading and understanding the words on the pages in front of you instead of being unfocused and lost in your captain. 

It was all so lonely. 

Tonight, you were reading a boring medical journal. It reminded you of Law, so you even started to mutter some of the words in the book because that’s what he did sometimes when he was trying to memorise or grasp something, and it felt familiar. You were lying on your belly, the book held in front of your face as you leaned on your elbows, wearing the most bored and sad-puppy expression.

Until a familiar blue light enveloped you and, with a light tug on your stomach, you fell face-first - or book-first? - into your captain’s lap. 

“Fuck!” He exclaimed as you scurried up, trying to sit, still dazed at what had just happened.

“Captain?” 

“I thought you were sitting down! I didn’t expect you to fall on me.”

“What?”

His ears and face were red as he helped you sit. Then, you took a look around and gasped. You had never been here before, this was his room. 

“Is that a medical journal?” He had calmed down a bit and pointed at the book in your hands. Now, it was your time to blush.

“Yes.” You mumbled between your teeth. “Why am I here?” You huffed in exasperation. As much as you wanted to reconnect with Law, the feeling of rejection was still very fresh and aching against your chest. 

“I… I brought you here.”

You stared at him, deadpan. Was he being serious or making a joke? With Law, it was hard to tell sometimes. But you didn’t say anything, and he continued with a bit more bravado this time.

“I brought you here to apologise for my behaviour this past week.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you raised your chin, trying to prove that you were unbothered by the situation. “Go on,” you urged. 

“I was scared.”

“What?”

The great Surgeon of Death? Scared of you? Was he making up excuses? Did he not think you were strong enough to handle rejection?

“I–I like you! And… I’ve never…” Law blushed deeply, a crimson red hue spreading adorably from his nose to his cheeks and up to his ears. You held your breath as your lips parted in a surprised ‘o’.

“Kissed someone?” You coaxed softly.

Law sighed profoundly, his hand running over his face before he closed his eyes and decided to just spill it. “Not that. I’ve kissed people. I just never had intercourse and… well… you… I… damn it! I want to! With you!”

He seemed so awkwardly embarrassed by the whole situation that you did your best to suppress the sweet smile that threatened to escape your lips. He hadn’t rejected you because he didn’t care, he rejected you especially because he cared. 

Tilting your head to the side you forced him to look into your eyes as you reached for his hand, tentatively entwining your fingers with his lithe ones, all previous anger forgotten after his sudden confession. “It’s okay, Captain. We don’t have to do anything.”

Law stared at your intertwined hands for a moment, and when his amber gaze returned to you, it was dark with desire. “But I want to do everything.” Your breath hitched as the grip of his hand increased. He tugged softly, pulling your body towards his, and you didn’t resist.

His lips hovered near yours, but you didn’t press them together like you wanted to, you were giving Law time for him to do this his own way. “What was it you said? What if I kissed you right now, would you stop me?” 

Law’s raspy voice sent tingles down your spine, gathering indecently in your core. You leaned in closer, lips brushing ever so slightly with his while you shook your head. “Not only would I not stop you,” you placed your free hand on Law’s thigh, and he sucked in a breath. “I would also indulge you.”

With an unrestrained groan, Law used his free hand to cup your nape and pull you against his lips. His kiss did not seem inexperienced at all. Law pressed firmly, first, freeing the hand that was entwined with yours and placing it on your waist, bringing your body closer to his. Then he parted his lips and licked your lower one tentatively, asking permission to enter. 

With a wanton moan, you melted into his embrace and into his kiss, lips parting and tongues meeting in a wet, messy dance. 

It wasn’t enough.

Law pulled you even closer, so you straddled him, your knees supported against the mattress as your core frictioned against his length. With a gasp, you pulled back, neck arching as a ripple of pleasure coursed through you.

You felt Law hesitate for a fraction of a second, but then he moved, pressing his lips against your throat and laying open-mouthed kisses down to your collarbone. “Is this okay?” He questioned, a slight - barely there - tremble in his voice. 

“Yes!” You breathed, your hand climbing to grip his hair as you threaded your fingers through its silkiness, something you’d been meaning to do for a while and never could. Law pulled you in for another kiss and you guided his hand below your shirt - you needed to feel him touch you.

His kiss faltered for the briefest of seconds before his hand climbed, and he cupped your breast. You rolled your hips against his, feeling his hard cock rub against your clit, robbing another shameless moan from your occupied lips. 

Law parted the kiss with a heavy pant. “Fuck.” His hand found your nipple and he teased it very softly while his other hand rested on your thigh. 

“Wait.” You murmured, and when he looked at you with panic in his eyes, you regretted your poor choice of words. “Just let me get this out of the way. Don’t stop what you’re doing.” Then you removed your pyjamas shirt, baring your upper body to him.

Law gulped, and his jaw clenched as his eyes devoured you. 

“Like what you see, Captain?” You teased, trying to ease some tension so he could enjoy the experience and not be so focused on what he was doing right or wrong. When he nodded, you guided your hand to your free breast, your eyes never leaving his as he followed your movements. “Like this.” Then you showed him, rolling your nipple with your thumb and index finger, pinching slightly.

Law mimicked your movements with his hand, and you bit back a satisfied groan. You removed your hand from your breast so you could gain some grounding, placing them on the mattress and arching your back, rolling your hips again to feel the sweet friction. 

He hesitated. You watched his calculating eyes consider possibilities before he leaned in and took your free nipple on his tongue. Your breathing became heavy as he sucked and nibbled, clearly enjoying the experience. 

He stopped his ministrations to stare at you, and for the first time, he looked unguarded, relaxed, even though he was visibly anxious, it was more in anticipation, than in fear. “The books explained women’s pleasure, but nothing compares to the real thing.”

You looked at him through lidded eyes, feeling your core throb incessantly. “Books?”

Law grinned, then wrapped one arm around your waist and flipped you, so your back was against the bed. “I’ve been doing research this past week.” Research? On sex? You had to suppress a chortle, your captain never did anything by half. “Let me see if I assimilated the subject thoroughly.”

With shaky hands, Law removed the bottoms of your pyjamas and your panties, all the while cursing between his teeth. Then his big hands pressed on your thighs and he looked into your eyes, waiting for permission. You nodded, and he urged you to open your legs, which you happily did. 

He became transfixed for a moment, watching your pussy leaking with desire until you spoke. “Captain! Are you just going to stare? Let me guide you.” You leaned on your elbows, ready to explain to him how to pleasure you so you could take him. 

He smiled at you and shook his head softly. Then he removed his shirt and you gasped at his tattoos. You’d seen them, he was never shy about displaying them. But actually watching them right in front of your nose had your breath hitching again. When Law removed his spotted jeans, you couldn’t help but stare at the bulge in his briefs. 

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” He mimicked your words, and you giggled. Then, he positioned himself between your legs, his hands climbing your thighs until they hovered over your pussy. 

With shaky hands, Law ran two of his fingers through your slickened folds, a sharp exhale leaving his lips as he observed you with clinical precision. He parted them and gulped. “Your clitoris. It has more than eight thousand nerve endings.” You arched your back, waiting for his touch, but he was still analysing and you were already burning up. “And it’s not just external.” Law splayed his hand on your lower abdomen, almost as if he could see what was underneath without the use of his Devil Fruit. 

Your breathing accelerated, and he continued. “Stimulation to the glans clitoris,” he used one finger to circle your nub tentatively, “activates the nerves, sending signals through the pudendal nerve straight to your brain.” He repeated the motion with his finger, and you moaned, throwing your head back. “Pleasurable signals.”

Clearly motivated by your reaction, Law alternated his gaze from your eyes to your core. “It’s sensitive to different kinds of stimuli, like friction,” Law rubbed your clit for a moment, and you bit your lower lip, hands gripping the sheets, “and pressure,” his fingers pressed harder while he changed the pace and direction, and you nearly lost it, pleasure already cresting, ready to snap. “If I stimulate it correctly, it should trigger deep pelvic contractions. Your heart rate increases, your pupils dilate, and pleasure will course through your body - an orgasm.”

“I–I’m coming, L–Law!” You cried out his name in abandon, arching your back and fisting the sheets. Law’s ‘lesson’ and his touch brought your climax out of nowhere, crashing unannounced with waves and waves of bliss. 

Law seemed fascinated by your reaction, the faint blush still remained on his cheeks. As you recovered from your orgasm, your eyes opening slightly, you saw him grinning. “Fascinating.”

“Are you going to quiz me afterwards?” You teased, and he laughed. 

“Maybe.” Then he leaned over your body and kissed you deeply, slotting himself in the middle of your legs while you let your hand explore his chest and abs. When your fingers reached the hem of his briefs, you pulled apart, looking into his eyes.

“You want to do this?” Law nodded, and you felt another slight shake of his hands. You helped him pull down his briefs, his lengthy cock springing free from its confines. Then you reached, touching him gently so he could understand how it felt to be touched by another person. 

His breathing became ragged, and his eyes darkened further. So he lined his tip with your entrance and exhaled another shaky breath. “The muscular tissue in your vaginal canal is designed to expand for penetration.” Law gulped, swallowing hard and preparing himself for what was about to happen. 

“After an orgasm, and because of our intense foreplay, you should be lubricated enough to accommodate me.” As if to prove a point, Law inserted two digits inside your hole, collecting slick and making you gasp. “It should facilitate–”

“Law, stop talking and start fucking me.” You breathed out, exasperated with all the teasing he was unwillingly causing you. 

Law’s grin was barely there, but he nodded and pressed the tip of his cock against your glistening hole. Never averting your gaze, he pressed forward, letting out a rumbling groan, his brows scrunching up as his mouth parted slightly. “Fuck.”

His hands gripped your hips hard, as if that action alone could ground him to earth. “I–If I recall correctly - fuck - it’s beneficial if I move slowly at first.”

You arched into him, a pleasurable moan leaving your lips, chased by a mirthful chuckle. “Trafalgar Law, you have got to be the only man who gives an anatomy lesson while losing his virginity.”

He groaned in agreement while slowly pulling out of you, then he watched in amazement as by rolling his hips, his length sank further into you. Lost in pleasure, you wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him deeper and clenching all around him.

Law gasped, his hands trembling slightly as he lowered his forehead, letting it touch yours. His breath came out in heavy pants. “Try not to do that again, sweetheart, unless you want to end this prematurely.” 

Your heart swelled as you used your hands to push some strands of hair away from his eyes, feeling the sweat on his damp forehead. 

“Law. Just enjoy it. Don’t overthink it.” You cupped his face so he could stare at you. “You’re supposed to feel it with your body, not analyse every step. Okay?”

He nodded, his gaze still focused on you. His hands slithered from your hips to your waist, pressing harder as he kept nodding. “Just feel it. Okay, I can do that.”

And he did. He rocked back again, then thrust slowly into you. Law bit hard into his lower lip, brows scrunching in deep concentration. The slow pace was driving you insane, but you didn’t want to demand more, you wanted him to explore the feeling at his own pace. 

“Fuck, shit. You’re so warm and tight… fuck!” He panted hard, repeating the rolling motion as his hands gripped you harder. “Your pelvic floor is contracting, reacting to the stimulation and–”

“Yes, Captain! That’s what happens when a woman is aroused.” You grinned when he stared back into your eyes. “And you’re driving me insane.”

“The books didn’t– fuck…” He stopped his reasoning midway, taking a deep breath and finally thrusting a little harder, and a little faster. Your body responded immediately to that with a heavy moan. Law’s head fell forward as he nuzzled it against the crook of your neck, his voice coming out muffled. “I don’t think I can last much longer…”

You felt him slowing down again, clearly trying to make it last so he could pull an orgasm from you.

“Then don’t, Law. Let go.” You breathed into his ear, legs wrapping tightly around him to give him the confidence to finish it. 

But he was still letting his mind take over, clearly reviewing every book he had ever read, trying to find ways to last longer or to prolong your pleasure. So you rolled your hips against his, making sure he thrust deeper and harder, pulling him with your legs against you, trying to make him get lost in the feeling.

“Fuck! Don’t do that unless you want–”

“To make you come? Desperately.” You teased with a slight chuckle. “Let go, Law. Just feel me.” You urged, tangling your fingers through his hair, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. He pulled back enough to stare into your eyes, and then something snapped in him, almost as if he had turned off the part of his brain that was restraining him. 

His pace quickened, his thrusts became sloppier - desperate - while his breath came out in ragged, frantic pants. “Fuck–fuck!” You could feel him get lost in you, he was no longer overthinking, just feeling. The way his hands gripped you, the way he whispered your name between moans and curses, it sent another rush of pleasure through you and you clenched him hard.

And that was what undid him. Law stiffened, his hips jerking forward as he shut his eyes and let out a desperate groan, pleasure rippling through him. Then he collapsed forward, holding himself up by the elbows before he crushed you, letting his face bury against the crook of your neck again, warming your skin with his ragged breathing. 

You held him, pulling him closer to you as he was still buried within your walls. For a moment, the only thing breaking the silence was both your gasps and heavy breaths as you tried to regain your ground. Then Law lifted his head slightly, a dazed expression on his face, which made you smirk. 

“That was… wow.”

“Not bad for a first time, right, Captain?”

Law’s exhausted, satisfied chuckle as he let his head fall on your chest was all the answer you needed.

Tags: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @elysian-asphodel @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @kyllium @keiva1000 @chibinasuu @my-name-is-heartache @laidenbreecatchall @moldychefboyardeecan @walmartmihawk

Liked this story? Like my writing? Consider buying me a Ko-Fi, please!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

compos mentis 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, chronic health issues, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a long court case, your mother stays attached to her lawyer, bringing even more contention into your life.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: my head is fucked

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Andy brings you breakfast in bed. You can't help but feel the guilt rippling off him. All of this is penance on his part. 

It's as close to vindication as you'll get. You're mother would never admit what she did, let alone apologise. That's when you see her again. You're not so sure you ever want to. 

The world is distant. It doesn't feel quite real. It's like a dream. The edges aren't quite sharp enough and the colours are cloudy. 

You look down at the plate and your stomach grumbles out of basic need. You don't have much appetite but your biology is at a constant battle with your mind. You shouldn't be able to breathe but you are, you should take your meds but you don't feel all that different.  

A poached egg, whole wheat toast, turkey bacons, and thick greek yogurt with fruit. It's all very healthy but a bit more than you would eat, when you feel up to it. Your breakfasts are a hard-boiled egg or a small cup of hot oats and milk. 

"I hope it's okay," he hovers at the foot of the bed. He's dressed already. You're less than put together. You're still groggy from a grief-laden sleep and the hangover of the bitter revelation. You wear his borrowed shirt and gym shorts, your messy hair untamed despite your efforts.  

"I called in to the office. I don't think I could focus of I tried," he explains. "And there's too much to be done here." 

"There is?" You nibble the toast. 

You'd hoped for some time alone. Not to think, just to be. You're still lost in all of this. The anger, the hurt, the regret, the confusion, and shame... 

"Sweetie, you don't have any clothes. I have a spare toothbrush for you but it's a travel one from a hotel. And you'll need everything else, right? Soaps and whatever." 

"Oh, I... I don't... my mom has all my money..." you utter and deflate again. You put down the toast. Your stomach is roaring but you just want to puke again.  

"I'll deal with that. Don't worry. She's not as clever as she thinks." He puts his hands on his hips. He does that when he's upset. He used to argue with your mom and stand like that. "Please, eat. Your clothes should be dry soon." 

"My clothes?" 

"I threw them in the wash for you--" his sentence is punctured by the doorbell. His jaw ticks. "I'll deal with that. Probably Mrs. Potter trying to give me more casserole." 

He leaves and you put your focus on the plate. You shouldn't just eat because you're hungry, you should eat because he went to all this effort. You pick up a slice of toast and break through the soft yolk. 

You eat deliberately. Chewing slowly, methodically. A shrill yowl tightens your throat around a swallow. You know that shriek. 

You carefully slide the tray forward and balance it on the legs as you angle out from beneath. You go to the window and try to see past the eaves and awning. You can't. Only the police cruiser and a familiar car... 

You listen. The noise wafts in from the bedroom door. You follow it and peer down at the front door. It's muffled but clearly coming from the porch. 

You twist the handle nervously and open the door a crack. You can't see past Andy as he stands staunchly on the mat, arms crossed. You glance an officer's belt with the radio attached and your mother's snarl lashes you like a barb. 

"He has my daughter. She's sick--" 

"She's an adult," Andy insists. "I'm not holding her against her will." 

"She can't-- I am her legal guardian. She can't be here on free will, genius." 

"Ma'am," a stern female voice warns. "Sir, where is the daughter?" 

"She's sleeping." He lies. 

You let the door fall inward. You don't want to be in trouble. No one seems to notice. You stall and shiver on the threshold. It isn't cold, you're just scared. 

You make yourself step out. There's not much room. As Andy stands like a wall. You peek around him. 

"Hi," you murmur. 

"My baby," your mother throws her hands up and comes forward. Andy moves to block her. "You can't keep me from my girl-- where is her oxygen? Officers, she needs air!" 

“No, I don’t,” you say, quiet but firm. 

Your mother flinches but doesn’t relent, “he’s manipulated her. I can call the doctor right now and you’ll see. She hasn’t been without her tank in years. She could die--” 

“That’s not true,” you murmur. 

“Ma’am,” the female officer warns. “Let her speak.” 

You look around with wide eyes, taking in the full scene. Andy stands just behind you, you can hear him exhale. A male officer is on the other side of your mother. You open your mouth then shut it. 

“Sweetie,” your mother reaches for you and you shy away. 

“Alright, Jackson, you stay here, I’m going to talk to her. Alone,” the female officer says. She reaches out and waves you to her delicately. “You wanna come with me? We can talk. Just you and me.” 

You gulp and look at Andy. His blue eyes blaze as he meets your gaze. He dips his chin slightly. You turn back and nod. As you cross the porch, your mother tries to latch onto you. The other officer, Jackson, pulls her back. 

You sidle past her and follow the woman. She takes you to the curb. You look down at your bare feet then at her. 

“I’m Officer Patel. What’s your name?” She asks. 

You answer and she shifts so you can’t see the house. “Me and my partner came because we got a call about a possible abduction. We’re just here to hear the full story. What’s going on here?” 

You rub your neck and fidget. You can’t tell her the truth. Not the full truth. You can’t tell her your mom lied to you. Not even that she hit you. You don’t want to go back to court. You don’t want to tell everyone how stupid and pathetic you are. 

“I’m here.... because I want to be,” you shrug. 

“Your mother says there was an argument.” 

You chew your lip, “she couldn’t find her pills. She left. I don't know... I don’t know why she came back.” Your chin trembles and you clasp your hands on your shirt hem. You sway back and forth. “She doesn’t love me.” 

You hang your head. That’s it. What you always knew deep down. What’s so clear now that she’s ground you into dust. You’re nothing to her so she made you into nothing at all. 

“She’s your mom, I’m sure you two will work this out. Me and my partner are just making sure you’re safe. We were told that man is keeping you here without consent.” 

You flinch and shake your head furiously. You wave your hands, “no, no. Andy... Andy helped me and... I shouldn’t be here because... because... because I’m a loser and.... my mom... my mom...” you stutter. “She doesn’t want me.” 

“She says you’re sick? You need oxygen?” She prompts. 

You twiddle your fingers. “No, not really. Not... all the time. I can breathe, see?” 

She watches you, “right. How old are you, miss?” 

“Twenty-four.” 

She nods. “You’re not a minor?” 

“No,” you blurt out. Many assume as much, especially with you always hiding behind your mom. “No, I’m an... adult.” 

“Do you want to press charges against anyone?” 

“Charges? For what?” You wonder. 

She sighs. “You’re free to go. You’re grown up and you can make your own choices without mom.” She tuts and turns to look across the lawn, “Jackson, come on.” 

You peer over. Andy stands, arms crossed, staring at you. Your mother rears like a snake, muttering under her breath. You head back up the walk and Officer Patel speaks again. 

“You have to leave, Ma’am.” 

You stop and peek over your shoulder. Patel points to your mother, “we will escort you if need be.” 

Jackson looks at her. She snarls and stomps her foot, “oh don’t you even think of touching me.” She huffs and storms past him. She comes down the steps and you think for an instant, she might push you. She stops beside you. “I took care of you, sweetie. Do you think he will for long? After he figures out what you are?” 

She continues past you. You continue up the paved squares and past Officer Jackson as he follows. As you come up to the steps, you hear the engines turn over. You’re suddenly very tired. 

“Andy,” you drag your feet over the mat. “I want to lay down.” 

“Alright, honey. We’ll sort everything out later,” he turns and stretches his arm across the door frame as you enter.  

He shuts the door as you stagger on, eyes hazy with tears. Your own mother despises you. She’s right about him too. He’ll hate you one day but you don’t know what to do to change any of this. 

💙

Andy makes you finish breakfast before you lay down. He’s right. It’s good for you to eat and you haven’t been doing a lot of that. 

You lay down for an hour before you sense him getting restless. You can hear him downstairs. You can’t be lazy. You don’t have any excuses anymore. You’re not sick, just weak. 

You make yourself get up and venture downstairs. He’s in the kitchen, flicking through his phone as it rests on the counter. You clear your throat and wring your hands as you enter. 

“I’m sorry. I was upset. It’s really stupid but sometimes I just... can’t do anything. Even if I try. I’m sorry, Andy. I’m... so sorry.” 

He faces you and his face contorts in a spectrum of emotion, “oh, honey, you don’t need to be sorry. I put your clothes on the couch for you. Just waiting. Take your time.” 

“Waiting for me,” you frown and look at the floor. “My mom lied. A lot. But I don’t think she was wrong about everything.” 

“What do you mean?” He shifts closer. 

You shrug, “me. I’m... I’m useless.” 

“No,” his voice hardens. “No, take it back.” 

“What?” You pout and bat your eyes as you peek up at him. 

“You’re not going to talk about yourself like that. Not with me. So take it back.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry--” 

“Apologise to yourself,” he insists staunchly. “Honey, don’t let her control you. She’s gone.” 

“But... but...” 

“You’re adjusting. I understand that. I’m not expecting you to be okay right now. Be patient with yourself. Be patient with me. We’re both... figuring this out.” 

You nod and your lips twitch. You could cry. 

“Thanks, er, I’ll... change then. Um, Andy... are we going somewhere?” 

“Sure, sweetheart. I mentioned earlier, didn’t I? About clothes? I tried to get the officers to agree to an escort to go to your mom’s but you saw her. She’s not in her right mind,” he explains. 

“Yeah, that makes sense,” you flutter your fingers nervously and he looks down at them. You clasp them over your chest to make them stop. “I’ll hurry up then.” 

You turn and scurry out. You go into the front room and grab the neatly folded clothes. He keeps everything so tidy and in its place. You go to the bathroom and set it on the counter. 

As you take your panties from between the jeans and tee shirt, you hesitate. It’s a bit embarrassing to think of him washing your underwear. You could’ve done it if he showed you where the machines are. 

You shrug it off. You’re just happy he helped. It’s a nice feeling when people do things for you. 

You change and bring out the borrowed clothes. Andy is still in the kitchen. You stand in the doorway. 

“Where do I put these?” You ask. 

He pops his head up and tucks away his phone, “oh, I can take care of them.” 

“Thanks, Andy, but uh, could I see? I’d like to know where everything is so I can help.” 

“Help?” He approaches and takes the clothes, his hands brushing over yours. “With what?” 

“I don’t know, everything?” You say. “You helped me so much and I want to do the same. I want to be useful. I want to be... better.” 

The tension leaves his shoulder and he smiles. “Alright, sure, that’s nice of you.” He goes to step past you then stops. “Sweetheart, you know, your mom is wrong. About everything. You’re an amazing girl. Really, you’re wonderful. And today, I want you to try as much as you can to forget. I want you to feel good about you, because you should. Because you deserve it.” 

You swallow and bounce nervously on your feet, “Andy, you’re so nice.” 

“I’m just being honest. Should’ve tried that a lot sooner,” he says. 

[tkomptgoedluv]

a burning hill.

icantbelieveiletyougetaway pt.2

pt.1 here | pt.2 | pt.3 here | pt.4 here

joost klein x f! reader

tags: f! reader, non-famous! reader, reader still really needs to see a therapist, established friendship, joost has always been down bad and no one is surprised, quite angsty, lots of comfort, all characters are dutch and speak in dutch but dialogue is written in english for obvious reasons.

word count: 2,495.

warnings: references to SA, detailed mentions of non-specific mental illness, rpf.

notes: pt. 2 is finally here! i’m sorry it’s taken so long and thank you all for waiting <3 — i really can’t tell if i hate this part or not. it feels both dragged out and rushed, but i wanted to add more backstory to their relationship and leave a half-open ending incase anyone wants a pt.3. i apologise if it’s awful. enjoy! 💋

── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──

you hated hospitals.

you weren’t quite sure why, it wasn’t like you’d ever spent enough time in one to actually form your own opinion until now.

but you did. you really, really did. they were too cold and the lights were too harsh, you couldn’t stand all the bare white walls, and seeing so many sick people all together made you feel nauseous. especially the older ones — if it wasn’t for the steady beats of their heart monitors, you would’ve assumed that they were already dead.

you weren’t like them; you weren’t sick. if it wasn’t for joost and his promise of buying you a pack of your favourite cigs, you never would’ve come here. you were the type to take a few ibuprofens and carry on as if nothing was wrong, as if simply taking a couple steps around your living room wasn’t enough to make you cry.

as it turns out though, that actually would’ve made things a whole lot worse for you.

apparently you needed a lot of different stitches in a lot of different places from how badly he had torn you up. the doctor even praised you for coming in when you did, saying that you could’ve died from several different infections had you left it all untreated. you tried not to let yourself think about that for too long.

the good news however, was that it was all an easy fix somehow. the stitching, whilst absolutely horrible, didn’t take longer than an hour or so and you were given just enough painkillers to last until all the bruising goes away. really, not a lot of time had passed before you were being discharged with a stack of leaflets all advertising local therapists. you chucked them into the very first bin that you saw.

you fucking hated hospitals.

it was snowing again by the time you made it out of the main doors, small specks of white collecting in your hair and wetting your eyelashes. you loved the cold and especially the snow, but it was something that you really could’ve gone without right now. the cold that consumed you only worsened each ache and pain that you felt, from the tops of your shoulders all the way down to your knees.

you were already shivering by the time you reached joost. he had perched himself on a nearby bench, a cigarette in one hand and what looked like a paper bag of pastries in the other. it brought a toothless smile to your face, the kind that could actually reach your eyes, when you realised that he still remembered.

it had been three years ago that you had first met joost and the rest of the group; two and half since that day. you hadn’t seen it coming, not when you had been doing so much better than you ever had before. you were going out more and socialising, eating better, and staying on top of the little things like the dishes and laundry. for once you actually felt human and not like just some basket case.

you weren’t ready to wake up that one morning, a fine layer of frost dusted across your bedroom window, and feel like you couldn’t move. you laid there and watched the sun fight to be seen until it dipped below the skyline, leaving you to wallow in the dark, alone. you’d ignored every buzz of your phone until they eventually stopped, and still cried when they did. you cried until your eyes grew heavy, having worn yourself out beyond the point of staying awake.

when a quick knock at the door had woken you up from your sleep, you ignored it like everything else. you curled up further in on yourself and prayed that whoever it was would just give up and leave you be, that they would walk away and let you rot in the sanctity of your own bed. it was there that you listened to their knocks slowly turn desperate until they stopped, only to be followed by the sound of your spare key turning in the lock.

as light flooded in from the hallway, the open door engulfing your small studio in shades of orange and yellow, you heard your own name break the silence.

“psst, hey it’s me, it’s joost. are you home?”

you cried again, right then and there at the sound of his voice.

with your whole entire heart you adored all of your friends but with joost it was just…different. it was on the very first day of that music festival you’d bumped into him, oblivious to who he was and how he was one of the names on the lineup. he still wishes that you could’ve seen the look on your face when he took you backstage, letting you watch his show from the wings. after that, the two of you had more or less been glued at the hip.

for seventy-two hours straight, you had spent every minute with him and the rest of his friends. they all welcomed you in with open arms, and for whatever reason seemed to love you almost as much as he did. stuntje was already referring to you as his ‘little sister’ by the third day, and nathan was set on making you a permanent fixture in the group.

but you were still you, though. the more everyone pushed to get to know you, the more of an effort you made to keep them all at an arm’s length — for both your sake and theirs. except you never really could with joost, and now he was there, fumbling around in your living room as he tried to make a beeline for you in the dark.

no one had heard from you in two days.

what had felt like mere hours, a single afternoon at most, had been two days. that was why he was there with you, sat on the edge of your bed with a hand rubbing your back, begging for you to talk to him. when you wouldn’t, he offered you the compromise of at least joining him for breakfast and revealed a small bag of pastries before you could say no.

“i had a feeling you’d be hungry; call it a mother’s intuition.”

through all of the tears and snot, he’d made you laugh. it was weak and hoarse, and made the very back of your throat burn, but it was still a laugh. joost had taken it as a yes and helped you sit up, fully committing to the bit and ‘mothering’ you in every way that he knew how, like slipping his own hoodie over your head the very second he saw you shiver.

it was like that you had sat and ate each and every single one of the pastries with him, and later forgave him for all of the crumbs you were still finding in your bed a week later.

and now here he was, almost three years later, clutching yet another bag of those pastries in his hand. you became thankful for the snow when your eyes began to turn red and water, your bottom lip starting to tremble ever so slightly. you could blame it on the cold then, blame it on something rational like a snowflake getting in your eye instead of admitting that you were crying over croissants.

“hey! how was -” joost almost slipped on a patch of ice when you near-enough tackled him, burying your face in his chest as you wrapped your arms around his middle. the sheer force of it knocked the cigarette from his other hand; he seemed not to notice. “hey…you good?”

a cold hand cradled the back of your head, his fingers gently scratching the back of your scalp.

“you remembered the pastries.”

even as the words were still coming out, they felt silly; you felt silly. nobody with their head screwed on straight would be getting all teary-eyed and weepy over their friend picking up some breakfast. besides, there was still the chance that for joost, that was all it was — a sweet but small thing that he could do for you on a day guaranteed to be awful.

but joost just wasn’t one to do things small. there was always intent and meaning in everything that he did. you knew there had to be something else behind it, something worthy of all these tears in your eyes.

“well yeah, i’ve got that motherly instinct, remember?”

you laughed as you pulled away from him, wiping your sore eyes with the palms of your hands. there was no point in trying to blame it on the cold or the snow anymore, you knew that just from the big doe-eyed look that joost gave you. he’d caught a glimpse of your wet cheeks and the penny had finally dropped.

it almost hurt him knowing that for even a moment, you had honestly thought he wouldn’t have remembered the pastries.

that day — two years, six months, and thirteen days ago, was burned into his memory whether he wanted it to be or not. he hadn’t known much about you back then, but knew enough to know that you hadn’t gone M-I-A for two days simply because you were caught up with work or family. he also knew that showing up to your place unannounced and uninvited was a bold move on his part; you hadn’t known a great deal about him, either.

joost wasn’t very good at losing people. when you meant something to him, you were like family, and joost couldn’t quite cope with losing family.

honestly, he already really liked you and liked having you around, and that only made it worse for him when all of a sudden you weren’t anymore. you’d been at every one of his shows, every group-meet at whatever bar was deemed most convenient for the night, and every video shoot that was in desperate need of another extra. in his defence, he had tried calling first. infact, he’d called you around six times before turning up on your doorstep that morning.

joost pulled you back into him, resting his chin on the top of your head. it wasn’t your doubt in him that stung like the cold that nipped at his fingertips, but how you could never find it in yourself to believe that someone would want to do something for you. especially him, because surely you knew by now that he would do absolutely anything for you, right?

the words were on the very tip of his tongue. with you in his hold, the both of you together in the snow, he really wanted to say it. wanted to promise that he’d buy you those pastries every day for the rest of his life if you asked him to. wanted to squeeze you and shake you and tell you that of course he would, because you could ask him to jump and he’d only say ‘how high?’

instead, joost simply smiled when he finally let you go. he had to trust that it said everything he wanted to say for him, because you wouldn’t ever let him actually say it, would you? but now also wasn’t the right time, either, because the snow was falling harder and he could feel the tremor in your hands as he held them.

“cmon, you’re coming back to mine.”

you didn’t argue, nor did you resist when he started to lead you in the direction of his house. it made the most sense; it was a lot closer and despite all of the pain medication you were on, you still didn’t feel like walking. plus, you really liked joost’s place. it was bigger than yours, and nicer, and felt a lot more like home than your own flat did sometimes.

he was still holding onto your hand as the pair of you headed back down the highstreet, slipping past the few others that were brave enough to face the weather. with your head kept down low, you never saw how joost keep looking back at you every couple of steps, searching for any signs of hurt or pain.

“you know, you still haven’t told me how it went in there. everything okay?”

“yeah, everything’s fine.” you hesitated saying anything further and only continued once you felt a small squeeze of your hand, a quiet way of coaxing you to keep going. “they had to stitch me up a bit — said i have to take it easy and that i’m going to be on these pain meds for a while, but yeah. i’m gonna be okay.”

“i should’ve broken a lot more than his nose.”

immediately you shook your head, a few strands of hair falling in front of your eyes as you did so.

“no, you shouldn’t have. you shouldn’t have even done that.” it was hard to miss the scoff that immediately followed, as well as the few swear words that joost then muttered underneath his breath. “i should’ve broken his legs, actually.”

you pulled on his arm hard enough to get him to stop, and to turn and face you. there was nothing left of that sweet smile he once had, only a hardened jaw and a look that seemed to worsen the bruising around his eye.

“you and i both know that you’re not that guy, joost. you don’t do things like that.”

“i would for you.”

the way he said it, so obviously as though he shouldn’t have even had to say it at all, took you back. joost was a lot of things, a lot of kind, wonderful, stubborn things, but he wasn’t violent. last night was the first time you’d ever seen him behave like that; it had scared you then, and to hear him say that he’d do worse if he could, scared you now.

he wasn’t like you, he actually had something to lose. if those videos from last night got out, the ones of him throwing punches against three different guys, that could cost him everything. festivals could drop him from their line ups, brands could double back on their partnerships, other artists could pull out on their collabs. you couldn’t make sense of why none of that seemed to matter to him, why his whole career seemed to be an afterthought compared to you.

you couldn’t be worth all that trouble.

“why? why for me?”

joost really did have the worst luck, didn’t he?

had it been any other day, any other place, joost would’ve been screaming from the rooftops by now. he’d let not just you but the whole of amsterdam know just how much he was stupidly head over fucking heels for you. here you were, asking him to speak those very same words that he’s been swallowing down, because finally you were ready to hear them.

how bittersweet it was, that it just wasn’t the right time.

“i’ll tell you later, schatje. promise.”

[cyberrose2001]

If I'm not too late, can I get some TFP Wheeljack x AFAB!Reader where Wheeljack is a brat that gets off on his little human bossing him around and making him beg.

I wanna see this man whimper.

TFP Wheeljack x Human Reader

eyyyyy thank you for requesting, Tag. I apologise for the long wait, but I hope you like it!!

Warnings: AFAB, GN Reader, Cybertronian/Human, Brat Taming, Dom/Sub Elements, Collaring

Word Count: 1,450

18+ ONLY MINORS DNI

"You gonna behave yourself, or do I have to tie you up again?"

"Can't promise I won't."

Wheeljack, the self-proclaimed free-thinker, prides himself on being an asshole whenever he can. You don't tolerate assholes very well, and you make that very clear to everyone. Some call it being bossy. You call it discipline. But the mech on his knees in front of you always seems to get on your nerves more than anyone else, determined to push your buttons and poke at your patience.

But in light of it all, it makes for a very good excuse to poke at his own buttons.

In the privacy of Wheeljacks' quarters, with a bare foot pressed against his modesty plates, you grasp Wheeljacks' chin and tilt his helm to look at you. The stern look in your eyes sends a shiver down his spinal strut, a fair warning that you're not in the mood for his teasing tonight.

"I beg your pardon?" You press your foot a little harder, causing a hiss from his intake.

"Ah- I promise!" Wheeljack grits his dentae, and you feel a smile creep onto your face, "I promise I will."

"Good," You grasp onto the lead of his collar and tug his helm back before thumbing at his scarred bottom derma and slipping it past, "You know I don't like it when you backchat me."

Wheeljacks' vents hitch as you slide your thumb against his glossa, groaning at the taste of your skin. Salty yet sweet, it matches your personality. He envelops around it and sucks softly, his optics flicking up to your look of approval.

"There you go," You say sweetly, pressing your thumb further against his glossa. You feel his oral lubricants start to pool in his cheeks, along with the buzz of another groan, "Isn't it so much easier to behave with something stuffed in your mouth?"

The mech closes his optics in gentle surrender, softly whining when you start to rub your foot along the seams of his bulging panels. As much as Wheeljack wanted to bite back at you with something clever and bratty, his need for you bites at him harder. He's started to slowly rut into the sole of your foot, desperate for your attention to his aching spike.

"I didn't say you could do that, now could I?" You re-tract your foot from his groin, watching his thighs tremble with a wicked satisfaction. He furrows his brows when he's only left to grind at the air, the smallest of whimpers passing through his dermas.

"Can I pressurise my spike? Please?" Wheeljack leans forward to press his face into the fat of your thigh, nuzzling and pressing languished kisses in bribery. It's an adorable sight, but you're not convinced yet.

"Where did all that cheekiness go? I touch you once, and you're already begging for it." You bite back a soft moan in an attempt to uphold your dominance when he sucks at your inner thigh. You stop yourself in your tracks and grasp the kibble of his helm, ripping him away from your skin, "Get on your back."

Wheeljack whines before complying, flopping back against the floor. He bites his derma as he feels his spike throbbing against his panels, aching to be released and graced by your unforgiving flesh.

"Do you know how much you annoy the living fuck out of me?" You crawl against him to straddle his lap, one of your hands dipping below to paw at his panels, "Because I don't think I've made myself clear enough."

Before Wheeljack can beg again, your fingers open his panels. His spike instantly springs up with a sigh of relief, rock hard and standing at attention. With a smug grin, you press your thin-clothed underwear against it, grinding your hips at an achingly slow pace.

"I think I- hah- get the idea. Can't blame me for messin' around with you." Wheeljacks' servos twitch against the floor in anticipation. The feeling of your heat and arousal only makes him more desperate to plunge himself into you.

"You do things to me, Wheeljack. You drive me crazy..."

"Yeah? T-Tell me more, sweetspark."

"I fucking love it."

You pull your underwear to the side, not even bothering to take them off. Positioning yourself on top of his spike, you push the tip past your folds. You bore holes into Wheeljacks' optics as you do, watching his face twist and dentae grit when you pause in your tracks.

"Frag- why'd ya stop?" The wrecker hisses, arching his back helplessly. You reach forward and grip the lead of his collar, securing it around your knuckles.

"Tell me how much you love it when I have my way with you, how much you purposely try my patience just to get me to snap and fuck the living shit out of you." You tug on the lead tighter, "How much you fucking love to beg for it."

Wheeljacks' face flushes a bright blue as the rest of his bravado flushes down the drain. This is what he was waiting for. The fiery and wicked charm you possess deep inside that makes his knees weak, only reserved for him. He bites his bottom dentae, a small whimpery sob slipping past.

"I fraggin' live for it." His voice strained, "I fraggin' love it when I get you to snap. Frag- sweetspark just please ride me-"

His sentence is cut short, his breath taken away as you sink down on his thickness, finally plunging into your unforgiving heat. You shiver as you're split open, clenching down on his harder-than-rock spike. Readjusting your grip on his lead, you look him dead in the optic and start to bounce your ass on him.

"Ohhhh, fragfragfrag- yes-" Wheeljack slumps his helm back as best as he could with the collar, a whiney moan escaping him as your silky walls massage him just right. He fights the urge to bounce up into you, riveted by how you take complete control of him.

"F-Fuck Wheeljack- nghh-" You bounce along his spike faster, moaning with him as he stretches you beyond capacity. The hand that isn't gripping the leash grabs onto one of Wheeljacks' servos that isn't making claw marks in the concrete and moves it to a bobbing tit, a small reward for his good behaviour.

"F-Feels' so good.... frag, I love how squishy ya are." Wheeljack gives your breast a good squeeze, optics bouncing back and forth between your chest and your pussy ravaging his spike.

A familiar pressure starts to build in the depths of your stomach, and it urges you to fuck him with more haste, "Nhh- I'm close..." Another tug of his lead sends his spike throbbing, "You've been so nice, Jackie. I'll let you cum; you wanna- you wanna cum inside? Yeah?"

The Wrecker languidly nods, another whimpery moan leaving him. With all this dirty talk, just for him, he's finding it harder and harder to resist an overload, "Y-Yeah, please, I've been good, s-so good..."

You loudly moan as your body shudders. Your thighs give up and hinder your bounces, resorting to wild rolls of your hips. You clamp down and come to an orgasm while you cry out the mech's name, strangling his throbbing spike. Wheeljack, too, wantonly cries out for you as he arches his back struts and overloads with such force that you nearly double over. But he secures his servos to your thighs and grips on, allowing himself to rut into you until his tanks are dry.

You collapse forward and pant heavily against his chassis, coming down from the high. You softly groan, feeling Wheeljacks' sticky transfluids pool beneath you. A soft chuckle vibrates you, and you feel the shaky metallic servo of Wheeljack rest against your bare back.

"Thanks, kid." He heaves, letting his sore helm rest against the floor, "Not to quote anyone verbatim, but... I really needed that."

Despite coming off as an absolute jackass with a side serving of brattiness, there is a soft, tender side to the Wrecker rarely seen by anyone else but you. It's a stark contrast to moments ago, but you take pride in knowing that the rowdy mech can be wrangled.

You've just gotta dom the fuck out of him.

You lift your head just enough to observe the playful gleam in his optics. Leaning forward, you kiss his scarred derma tenderly, "Same time next week?"

"You know it, sweetspark. I'll be sure to pull a prank or two on ya before then, just to get ya really worked up over me."

You'll be sure to get the ropes ready next time.

[madhels-enby-boyfriend]

Play stupid games

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Joanne x reader (company, f!Bobbie)

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI!!!, smutty thoughts but no actual smut, that’s it I think??

Tags: longing, established friendship between reader, Joanne and the others, smidge of angst if you squint, flirting, reader being down bad

Summary: Joanne and you have always been flirty with one another but what happens when it no longer is just a silly game for you??

Notes: English isn’t my first language so I apologise for any mistakes. I have never written ‘x reader’ fics before so please don’t judge this too harshly. This is going to be a multichapter fic but life is busy so I can’t promise regular updates. I suck at summaries…so I hope all of this makes sense 😅

Words: 3.3k

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 1: Bobbie’s Birthday

Joanne being flirty with you was nothing new, ever since you had been introduced to Bobbie’s other friends Joanne had found a way to turn any comment into something filthy. And you, never being one to back down, always managed to shoot a flirty remark back. This back and forth had become your established dynamic, the remarks getting more outrageous as time went on. It was just playful banter really, the teasing touches being part of the game you two had started to play. The aim was to try and get the other person to blush first, most of the time you ended up losing, but that only made those few times where you did manage to fluster Joanne even better.

Your innocent little game was a great way to pass the time when the others were too engrossed in talking about their recent marriage troubles or about how the kids were doing. Joanne, having recently gone through her third divorce, had claimed she was done trying to find a husband that would stick around and wasn’t really interested in talking about marriage or kids with the others and you… well… you weren’t exactly lucky in love either, so you preferred to keep your escapades to yourself. And so you two had found the perfect person to get through these evenings with in one another.

There was only one.. small..tiny.. little.. insignificant… problem. Somewhere along the way your brain had forgotten that Joanne’s flirting was just that, a little game and that she wasn’t actually interested… and now you had developed feelings for her. You really were unlucky when it came to relationships and romance.

You couldn’t pinpoint precisely when this had stopped just being a way to pass the time for you, but you could remember exactly when you had realised that you caught feelings for the brunette.

Joanne and you had started hanging out together, outside of a group setting, for over a year now. It had started when she had invited you back to her place after a particularly intense hang out with the others, claiming that you and her both needed to unwind after the tumultuous conversations. Later, after getting to know her better, you’d come to find out that the real reason she had invited you, was that she really disliked coming home to an empty apartment after spending such a long time surrounded by others.

You had to admit that you preferred hanging out one-on-one with her over spending time with everyone in your friend group all together. Not because you disliked the others but because Joanne was different when it was just the two of you. Of course she still teased and jokingly flirted with you but the teasing lost its sharper edges and the flirting was softer and less dirty.

She seemed more at ease this way and slowly yet surely she had shown you bits and pieces of herself. She wasn’t vulnerable often but every now and then you could see through the little cracks that had appeared in her walls when it was just the two of you.

This had been one of those moments. You were lounging around her giant apartment, soft music was playing in the background and Joanne was rambling on about one of her latest annoyances. And every once in a while you could see them, right through the cracks, the real emotions behind what seemed to be superficial complaints. When you looked into her eyes you could see parts of the real Joanne and you wished time would stand still, just for a little while, so you could bask in the moment of being privileged enough to be able to share these little moments with her.

You were nodding along, agreeing to whatever seemingly unimportant thing she was complaining about while expertly reading between the lines, figuring out what this was really about. Some people, like her ex-husbands, might complain that the brunette needed to come with a manual but not you, you found that once you looked past the armour she wore to protect herself, she was rather easy to understand. You just needed to know what to look and listen for, all you had to do was look past the annoyed words she spewed and look for the real message she was trying to convey.

A small smile appeared on your lips as you realised just how well you knew her. You were aware that you only got to know her this well because she allowed you to see this side of her and that knowledge left you with a warm and fuzzy feeling inside your chest. You secretly longed to be the only one she showed this side to, to be special to her. The thought of someone else knowing her this well, getting to see her like this, left a vile aftertaste in your mouth… wait- was that a normal way to feel about a friend? Surely you should want her to have more friends she could be more open with.

But you wanted to be special to her…different from her other friends. Suddenly you became very aware of her hand on your thigh, it had been there a while, still left from earlier when she had tried to fluster you. Usually such a simple touch wouldn’t do the trick, she had to pull out the big guns to win your little game… but then why did you suddenly feel a familiar heat creep up your cheeks.

You tried to shake yourself out of it, focusing on what she was trying to tell you and those beautiful brown eyes.. god you could get lost in those, stare at them for hours and never grow tired of looking at them. A familiar feeling wove its way into your chest, the warmth that had settled there earlier spreading even further. And then you glanced at her lips, to better listen you told yourself at first. But then, out of nowhere, you had to fight the urge to reach out, cup her cheek and pull her into a kiss.

And all of a sudden, like a bucket of ice cold water being thrown over you, it hit you… it was plain as day… you had feelings for the woman in front of you. How long had you been feeling this way? You couldn’t remember anything really changing in how you felt towards her. Except lately she seemed to win the game more often and you seemed to fluster rather easily, and the compliments you threw at her held more sincerity and warmth and were less about trying to get her to falter and more about telling her how beautiful you thought she was… you couldn’t remember when it had started but her touch was driving you insane, even more than it did before, and now that you thought about it you found yourself often daydreaming about the brunette.

You had internally cursed yourself and had pushed those feelings down, they would be dealt with when the reason for your internal turmoil wasn’t sitting right in front of you. So you continued to listen to Joanne and decided you’d deal with this mess later.

“Are you still with me, doll? Or have you gotten lost in that pretty little head of yours again?” Joanne’s teasing voice cut through your thoughts.

How long had you been spiraling? You mentally cursed yourself, ever since finding out you had feelings for the woman, you couldn’t stop yourself from overthinking every moment and ruminating on the moment you had found out.

You shot her an apologetic smile, your cheeks threatening to flush at the use of the pet name and the slight teasing. You hoped she wouldn’t notice, it was Bobbie’s birthday party after all and a lot of stuff was happening around you two.. the perfect excuse, you realised as you quietly spoke, just loud enough for her to hear.

“Sorry, there’s just a lot going on… it’s a bit overwhelming.”

You hoped she wouldn’t see through you. It wasn’t entirely a lie, everything going on around you might have overwhelmed you in other circumstances… if you hadn’t been too busy thinking about her.

Joanne seemed to buy it… for now… and her normal teasing tone was exchanged for a more serious, caring one as she asked you the following.

“Do you want to go somewhere a little more quiet?” Usually she would have added something to make the sentence as suggestive as possible but when you looked into her eyes you could see the slightest sliver of worry in them.

You couldn’t help the warmth that spread through you at the thought that she cared this much about you and your comfort, it was soon followed by a tinge of guilt for making her worry about you.

The rational part of you knew that you shouldn’t go somewhere more quiet, alone with Joanne, it would only make things worse. Her entire focus would be on you and you wouldn’t be able to distract yourself or use the ongoing party as an excuse. And yet part of you wanted to spend some more time alone with Joanne.. you couldn’t help it. Having the other woman’s attention solely focused on you was something intoxicating and you’d become addicted to it.

“No, I’m okay. I wouldn’t want to drag you away from a good party.” You sent her a reassuring smile as you both silently cursed and thanked the rational part of your brain for taking over.

Joanne chuckled dryly before teasingly replying. “Darling, if you think this is a good party then I need to take you out more.”

Before you even properly realised what she was doing, the brunette grabbed your hand and dragged you into Bobbie’s bedroom before closing the door. You knew she was only doing it because this was the only quiet spot in the apartment at the moment, but the second you registered where you were, your mind flooded with images.

You pushing Joanne against the door and kissing her till she was a moaning, whimpering mess. Joanne pushing you down on the bed as her hands quickly got rid of your clothes, those captivating brown eyes filling with hunger and desire. Your hand finding its way into her pants and-

“There, isn’t this much better?” Joanne’s voice cut through your racing thoughts and brought you back down to Earth, the images fading to the back of your mind.

The lack of any crude comments about you both being in Bobbie’s bedroom confirmed that she had been truly worried about you and it enhanced both the guilt and spreading warmth that you had felt earlier.

You hummed in confirmation then thanked her softly, sending her an appreciative smile while mentally cursing yourself for not being able to control your thoughts. You knew you had been acting strange around her lately, zoning out more often and getting way too flustered, too quickly. Joanne was a perceptive woman, she was bound to catch on at some point and you did not want to risk losing her entirely just because you couldn’t keep your feelings at bay.

“You know this wasn’t the reason I imagined you dragging me into a bedroom for the first time.” You teased, hoping to settle back into your established dynamic, fearing that any amount of silence stretching between you would result in you getting lost in your thoughts once again.

But then you began overthinking everything you were saying. Was this too much? Would this give you away? Could she see right through your façade and catch the truth behind your words? You internally groaned and hoped you’d get over this crush soon so you’d finally be able to act normal around her again, without overthinking every single thing.

The sudden change in mood seemed to catch Joanne off guard a little but it seemed to have convinced her that moving to a quieter place was all you needed and that you were now feeling better. Despite appearing a little surprised by your sudden teasing, she managed to quickly shoot back a rebuttal.

“Oh darling, the night is still young, you never know what might happen.” She sent a wink your way before sitting down on the bed and quickly adding. “Although I will have to take you back to mine because my bed is far more comfortable.” She added with a smirk.

“I don’t think I could wait to go all the way back to yours first, we might just have to make do with what we’ve been given.”

You said dramatically and jokingly as you leaned against the wall, making sure to keep your tone light and teasing as you tried your best to not imagine what Joanne’s bed would feel like… or what it would be like to have her moan your name in it.

Joanne gasped loudly and placed her hand on her chest, acting offended. “You think I won't last more than one round? We don’t have to finish where we started, you know.” Her eyes raked over your body with that playful glint so clearly present in them.

You willed yourself to not start blushing and to come up with a witty and even bolder remark but failed on both accounts so instead just playfully rolled your eyes and held your hands up in defeat.

Her smirk only grew when a pink hue coloured your cheeks. “You’re becoming too easy.. I’m going to start suspecting you of letting me win on purpose.” Joanne teased.

“Or maybe you just keep getting more vulgar.” You raised your eyebrow, shooting her an exaggerated questioning look.

“You love it.”

She shot back with a knowing smile and you felt the familiar ache of longing in your chest. If only she knew just how much you loved it… how your brain had forgotten this was all just some silly game you two had started to pass the time.

“I do.”

You chuckled softly, a full smile slowly returning to your lips, no matter how tumultuous the feelings inside you were, you couldn’t help but enjoy this little moment. The banter, Joanne caring about you and knowing you better than you had previously thought, and her smile that never failed to make your heart skip a beat, overshadowed the fear and worry that was ever present in the back of your mind.

“It’s good to see you feeling better.” The teasing and joking tone from earlier had completely disappeared and made way for a rare serious and genuine intonation and expression.

You were certain that your blush only deepened at the blatant display of care but, luckily for you, Joanne had decided not to comment on it.

“Spending time with you like this always makes me feel better.” You answered honestly, matching her serious and genuine tone.

Before Joanne could answer and before you could overthink the little confession and start spiralling once again, Bobbie burst into the room, clearly drunk. She sent a knowing smirk your way and you immediately regretted ever telling your best friend about your crush on Joanne. For a moment you feared she might say something that would give you away but instead she turned to the other woman, her face displayed a mock disgust, her voice was light and playful while her speech was slurred.

“Come on you guys, no getting it on in my bedroom! You’re missed at the party.”

Bobbie held the door open and waved her arm around, motioning for you both to get out of her bedroom.

Joanne shot you a worried look, that told you she was ready to tell the birthday girl to fuck off if you needed a couple more moments here alone with her. You smiled at her reassuringly, telling her without words that you were okay and that you didn’t mind returning back to the main event.

The brunette got up from Bobbie’s bed and walked up to you, gently squeezing your hand before walking past you and out of the room. You were about to follow her when Bobbie placed a hand on your shoulder and stopped you, whispering in your ear.

“You better tell me allll the details later.”

You groaned and whispered back. “Nothing happened, there is nothing to tell.”

Bobbie gave you a once over, as if to check if you were lying or not, when she was satisfied that you hadn’t lied to her, she disapprovingly shook her head, poking your shoulder after every word.

“Take. Action. You. Need. To. Get. Laid."

Her voice was louder than before and the blush that had finally started to disappear threatened to make its way back to your cheeks so you decided to simply roll your eyes and walk away, ending the conversation there.

There was no reasoning with a drunk Bobbie anyway and trying to tell her that it wasn’t like that, that you didn’t just want to screw Joanne but that it was deeper than that, was a futile task. And trying to convince her that you were almost certain that Joanne did not feel the same way and that you were quite sure you weren’t her type was already impossible when she was sober, so was completely hopeless now.

As you walked out of the room and made your way to the hall, so you could rejoin the others, you realised that Joanne had been waiting for you in the hall, meaning she most definitely heard the last part of your conversation with Bobbie. She looked at you, raising a brow, silently questioning you what that was all about.

You just shook your head and waved your hand, quietly telling her it was nothing for her to worry about, hoping that she wouldn’t question you about it. And it seemed like you were in luck because after studying your face for a bit, she simply walked back into the living room and joined the party again.

You quickly followed suit, silently thanking whatever was up there for not putting you through the pain of trying to come up with a convincing lie or a truth vague enough to tell Joanne. That woman knew you far too well and she did not hold back when it came to telling you that she knew you were bullshitting her.

The rest of the evening went by in a blur, you spent time talking to your friends, celebrating Bobbie, and complaining about life. You and Joanne didn’t manage to get any alone time again, you’d sometimes end up talking to the same people together or sometimes you’d shoot each other looks across the room but someone always seemed to be needing one of you just when you were about to head to the other.

The last time you saw her was when you were saying your goodbyes. She was talking to Bobbie about something, you had tried waiting till they finished their conversation but by the looks of it that wouldn’t be any time soon. Joanne was wildly flailing her arms around, gesticulating and punctuating her words with the movements of her hands. Bobbie was rolling her eyes even more than usual and was trying to act all laid back and nonchalant while sipping her drink every 5 seconds. These were clear signs that they were having a heated discussion and with those two, those discussions could last till the early morning hours..

So you had quickly and apologetically interrupted, told them both goodbye before kissing each of them on the cheek and abruptly leaving Bobbie’s apartment.

And now you found yourself laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, overthinking every single interaction you had had with a certain older woman. Your mind replaying every moment, trying to find some indication that you had fucked up and that Joanne was now aware of your feelings towards her. You groaned and tried any and everything to get that woman off your mind, to no avail.

Sleep did not come easy that night and when it did finally envelop you in its sweet embrace, you still couldn’t escape the woman that had been plaguing your mind. Your dreams were filled with her red lips, rich French perfume and sweet words, that had burrowed their way into your brain. There was no denying it, this woman had wormed her way into your heart and it didn’t seem like she would be leaving any time soon.

[notsodelirious]

Could you write Grayson coming home after getting a worrying text from his s/o saying they’re struggling and have the strong urge to relapse?

yes absolutely, hope this meets your prompt <3

synopsis: you text your boyfriend when you feel yourself start to slip

notes: SFW but cw. for the topic of substace abuse and recovery—also note that the narrator is unreliable, it is not a moral failing to relapse and you deserve kindness and help

tags: recovery, mentions of drug craving, hurt/comfort, gn reader, reader gets called babe, wc: 1.3k

also additional a/n before we start: while I am around drugs (I’m a uni student, every other person does coke) nobody’s I’m close to (including myself) has ever been an addict/been in recovery, so I apologise if it doesn’t feel entirely accurate

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

You heard the gentle slide of your window opening.

Dick slipped into your apartment, looking around, blanked-out eyes immediately finding you curled into the corner between your sofa and wall.

You looked back; blunt fingernails dragging across your arm lightly, not a painful sensation in the slightest just

A sensation.

Stimulus.

Anything to keep your mind off the itch between your teeth, the termites in your bones, the hollowness in your veins.

“Hey,” he said softly as he rushed to you, pulling his mask off as he did so. He didn’t use solvent—his skin was red and irritated.

He didn’t seem bothered.

No, he was almost entirely focused on you.

Worried.

You hated it.

You knew you needed it.

Without him, his worry, his care, you’d be struggling a whole lot more. But, here he was

present.

“You did good,” he said softly as he took your hands, squeezing softly, grounding, “You did so fucking good, okay?”

“Dick,” your voice was hoarse—you hadn’t spoken all day—you hadn’t needed to. Your brain and living space had been silent and you had cherished it.

Until the sunset and it became too silent.

You tried to go about as if you hadn’t noticed. The way the darkening sky opened the space, turning all four walls into empty planes of just void, far too large,

far too isolating.

If you ignored it, if you pretended not to notice, it would go away.

It would go away, and you’d send Dick your goodnight text before turning in and you’d be *fine.*

But sat at the dinner table in front of an empty plate, drumming your fingers, filling your brain, your space with inane sounds, you knew you couldn’t.

You couldn’t pretend and it was too much and you needed Dick-

You knew it was a simple text.

Help.

Didn’t really have the wherewithal to type more, to explain beyond the words,

Scared I’m gonna relapse.

You knew he would understand.

And he did.

You were sure you got a text back.

Dick always broke Batman’s rule about phones on patrol for you. And for Roy.

It was an odd pattern of coincidences. You didn’t want to think about it.

You did think too hard about everything else.

There was nothing to distract you from the urge, from the need to *fail*-

You’d been clean for so long—half a year completely sober—and this random September evening, you wanted to ruin it all.

You craved it and just wanted to fail, just a little.

Fail a little and set yourself back months. Again.

Because that’s how you worked.

Failing again, and again and again.

You don’t know when you migrated to the living room. You must have, at some point. But there was just the smallest gap between the kitchen and the living room.

Or maybe it was huge.

You didn’t know, you hadn’t checked the time.

But then Dick was in the room and you could breathe.

And his voice was soft as he gathered you in his arms, gently rocking you.

“You’re okay,” he said softly, reassuring you of your own status as a person, a living being. He brushed his fingers against your cheeks before properly cupping your face. “Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

Could you? Nothing had happened. The sun had set. The sun always sets. It was an inevitability.

The sunset and it got dark.

And you knew eventually it would be dawn and it would rise again, but in the meantime

it was dark.

And you needed Dick, because you knew you couldn’t be alone.

He knew you probably couldn’t pinpoint a single reason. It was probably the rude cashier and the soggy socks for stepping in a puddle and the car that honked at you for being too slow when crossing the road and the neighbour’s kid screaming about broccolis and you needed.

You needed more than Dick could give.

More than he would give.

But he was here now, holding you like you were precious.

“Just… felt the urge.”

“Craving?”

You shrugged—he squeezed you tighter.

He probably thought you were precious.

“Did you eat?”

“Umm… yeah, yeah I did.”

“Shower?”

“Umm, no? No, not today.”

“Neither have I,” he said, “Wanna come with me?”

You wrinkled your nose—that’s not what you needed right now. Your belly twisted, almost as if you were trying to wither away.

“Not for sex,” he clarified softly as if he could tell what you were thinking. “You’ll feel better when you’re clean, yeah?”

You nodded. You let him help you up.

You let him guide you down the hallway to the bathroom, flickering lights on as he went, a warm glow filling your apartment as you traversed it.

You both undressed when you reached the bathroom—it was almost second nature to help Dick strip his hero costume once you had shed your own clothes—the stupid Kevlar blend was such a stupid fucking material you hated it.

But it kept Dick safe—which is what mattered at the end of the day. The last pieces of the Nightwing suit finally fell to the floor.

Your boyfriend gently ushered you into the shower. He let you mess with the heat.

Anything to get the termites and weevils out of your bones. He scrubbed you down, taking care to go one limb at a time, kneeling to get your thighs and calves. He rose when he was done,

“Yeah?” his voice was soft as he kissed your forehead.

“Mhm,” you felt a little lighter now you were properly clean.

“Step out for me, babe?” As you switched out he helped you step out of the shower, kindly urging you to wrap yourself up in a towel and dry off so you didn’t catch a cold.

You watched him wash, as you slowly towelled yourself off.

It wasn’t long before you had both dried off and dressed to sleep.

You trailed after Dick as he went around turning the lights back off and making sure the doors were locked, then back to the bedroom.

You patiently waited for him to slip into bed before following after, curling up on his chest, turned so you were facing the window, giving out onto Gotham City.

“Thanks.” You spoke but you didn’t want to disturb the soft peace that had settled over the room—you didn’t feel at peace. It was…

hard. Just hard. For it to be so still.

“You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for,” Dick said softly, petting your hair as he stared up at the ceiling.

Out the window, Gotham City continued to bustle with life.

“You texted me.”

“I almost didn’t.”

“Yeah, but you did. Scared the shit out of me, but I’m glad you did.”

“I scared you?”

You looked up at him and he tilted his head to meet your eye.

“I worry about you.”

“Don’t do that.”

“I care.”

You huffed, almost a laugh as you turned back to the window.

“I actually thought about it, you know.”

“Is there anything in the apartment-“

“No,” you shook your head, but Dick’s heart didn’t calm under your ear, “You’re gonna strip search the apartment, aren’t you?”

“It’s not you.”

“No, I get it.”

He sighed and kissed the top of your head, letting his lips linger for a moment before pulling away.

“Do you still feel it?”

“Always,” you admitted softly, “Sometimes, just… less. But it never really leaves.”

“Made it six months.”

“Six more and that’s a year.”

Dick snorted as he squeezed you against his chest—it didn’t help with the hollowness in your veins but you felt warm.

“Okay, smart ass.”

You pinched his forearm but didn’t reply, asking instead, “Could you stay with me? Tomorrow?”

Just in case.

Just in case.

“Yeah, of course,” he tilted your head up to brush his thumb along your cheekbone, “As long as you need. I’ll always be there.”

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

a/n: I’m glad I’m getting back into the rhythm of things <3 this was a tough one to tackle but artistically I really enjoyed writing it

and I know I mentioned above but struggling with a drug addiction does not make you a bad person, you deserve help and to take care of yourself, stay safe and reach out to anybody you can if you need to

my masterlist

[woominutes]

ko kyungjun as a boyfriend

he is THE hates everyone but you bf

bad boy with a soft spot for you kinda trope

just replace bad boy with bully

he doesn't go out of his way for anyone except you

princess treatment? you got it.

he'd make jinha and seungbin do the work when they are around lol

his love languages are;

acts of service

holding doors for you, buying you snacks, walking you home, helping you the week before and during your period. the things he does for you can erase any doubts that may arise in your head about his feelings for you.

he might hold back sometimes to not appear as a simp and maintain his reputation as the tough bully though.

physical touch

always has his hands on you in a way, mostly around the waist or shoulders. it is a sign of affection but also ownership as he wants to make your relationship known to other boys so they don't even dare to make a move.

also having you on his lap, he loves that. especially during recess at school, you can be found sitting on him while he zones out or talks with jinha and seungbin.

and quality time

asking you to hang out after school, inviting you to his place to chill, tagging along when you have errands to run if he is in the mood for it.

this guy literally walks away from people and situations when he doesn't care to be bothered so spending his time on/with someone definitely means something.

now about gift giving

i don't think he'd put a lot of thought into gifts. on specific occasions like anniversaries or trying to impress you, yes, but nothing too fancy otherwise.

however, you'd get little things; like a flower from a random garden he passed by from.

in my eyes, he's a casual sharer in a relationship

what is his is yours, his basketball sneakers being the only exception. food, clothes, his bed, his heart, everything.

you like his jacket? you'll share it back and forth, one week his and two weeks yours. you like his hoodie? take it. you like his shirt? wear it (but bring it back after a month and borrow another). you like his earrings? you can wear the right one and he'll wear the left one.

words of affirmation is not something he is good at

it's hard for him to express himself. he can throw a few playful sweet words here and there but rarely gets serious. he has his moments, especially after intimate situations with intense feelings, but they're few.

rarely says "i love you", he shows it instead.

he'd be the one to secretly need words of affirmation despite denying it

not too much praise though, he'll get cocky

bro felt love for the first time and his world changed #canon

such a show-off, especially with basketball

"this is for you" *misses the shot*

once threw the ball in hyunho's face because you were looking at the poor boy for too long and kyungjun got jealous

cue nahee running to help hyunho with his bloody nose

he eliminates your worries when he can

(we all know how I'm talking about)

tending to his wounds whenever he gets injured

insecure hence extreme jealousy

someone looks at you for too long? glares at them. someone talks to you? either waves them off or mocks them when they leave. someone confesses to you? they get threats as a warning. someone touches you? disappeared from the face of earth.

i could actually see him wanting to kill other boys out of jealousy but he'll hold himself back by giving them a light beating instead.

"me? jealous? ha! I'm better than that asshole"

yeah yeah sure

bro is so aggressive

you'd most likely have to witness a lot of outbursts of anger

but he apologises after, usually

intended empty words or not, you'll witness his wrath again because that is his reaction to almost everything that inconveniences him

he's throwing things and punching walls

BUT NEVER EVER hits you

even if he unconsciously shoves you, he regrets it immediately

many, mostly minor, arguments because of misunderstandings and lack of communication

he is not very confrontational when it comes to a relationship, either because he doesn't want to appear vulnerable and clingy or he doesn't know how to express himself and figure out why he is feeling the way he does.

when his hidden feelings of insecurity and discomfort bubble up, it's hell for the both of you. screaming, crying, him acting like he doesn't care to protect himself.

and his impulsivity makes it harder to make up sometimes

he might say hurtful things out of anger that will keep you away from him for a while but he rarely actually means them, it's just his defense and illusion of security.

possessive and slightly controlling

he cares too much when he considers his relationship serious and it's not just him fooling around.

unfortunately, he'll use manipulation when he wants something badly or to convince you of something. if you call him out, he'll drop the act and most likely get annoyed.

he needs a lot of work when it comes to the negative aspects of his personality for a healthy relationship to exist

he is not too much of a bad guy, he just has issues

and needs therapy

passionate makeout sessions

those big palms and veiny hands know how to grip. he's the dominant one and he won't have it any other way, wanting to have power and control over the pace and movements.

high libido, that's all i'm apparently allowed to say :P

learns and remembers a lot about you

especially your habits and quirks

if you smoke too;

he'll share his cigarettes with you

and steal a couple of yours when he is out of his

if you hate smoking;

LIKE LITERALLY CANNOT BREATHE AROUND SMOKERS

he'll make an effort to not smoke when you are present

brushes his teeth or eats a piece of gum before he kisses you if he meets you after smoking <3

can't have you thinking he is gross smh

if you're short;

he definitely teases you about your height

picks you up just for fun or carries you around like you weigh nothing

ties your shoelaces for you

playfully insulting each other and bantering all the time to show affection

you're the only one he actually listens to <3

you shove him or nudge him when he is being too mean to other people or crossing a line

still goes wild when you're not around

you are his lockscreen <3

not too much of a talkative texter

sort written replies but long voice messsages

oml that voice

sends you pics of himself all the time, expecting compliments and praise

shirtless mirror pics focusing on his abs? all yours. manspreading pictures? you got them. selfies in which he tries to appear tough but his cheeks and soft features make him look like the cutest boy you've ever seen? yep.

cares a lot about how you view him so he takes a lot of time to make sure he picks the right pics to send you.

let's not fool ourselves, he knows you love those muscles and he purposely puts them on display for you

cuddles with kyungjun are warm and tight, becoming one under a blanket

more of a motorcycle guy

buys you your own helmet <3

not one for fancy dates, maybe dinner here and there, but prefers casual hangouts

movie nights at his house, late night walks and rides, chilling at a convenience store after school.

just peaceful private moments.

pretends to not like cheesy couple things, such as matching outfits or pajamas, but they secretly warm his heart

he takes your gifts very seriously; wears them to please you or carries them around with him

get him a neck pillow

you have him wrapped around your finger no matter how much he denies it

jinha has gotten a good smack in the back of his head for voicing that fact multiple times

© to @woominutes on tumblr; do not repost or steal

[pascalispretty]

I Call It Walking

Javi Gutierrez x F!Reader

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 1817

Tags: pining, unrequited love, dark implications, stalking

Summary: It feels like fate that you find his letters. But sometimes, fate needs a little nudge.

A/N: Hoo boy, this one was a struggle, so please be gentle! Written for @jolapeno's Dear-Uary challenge, I'm sorry it's so late. Thank you to @misscharlielulu, @penvisions and @notjustjavierpena for looking this over for me 💙title from 'An Unhealthy Obsession' by the Blake Robinson Synthetic Orchestra. Inspired by that song and the 1993 movie 'The Crush' (ao3).

Dearest,

I have been thinking about you all day. This film shoot has been going on for so long, and I feel like I have hardly seen you. Still, you looked beautiful. You always do. It’s one of the many reasons why I sit here alone with my pen instead of telling you how I feel in person. One kind smile from you and I would hardly know what to say – the pen and paper are far less intimidating, and far more forgiving.

               Long shoots on location are more difficult than I anticipated, I suppose. It’s beautiful here – exactly what I imagined when I was writing the script – but I feel like I barely see you. It’s been hard, being stuck in my hotel room working on rewrites when I want to be out exploring the island with you.

Indeed, I should be working on the love scene right now, instead of writing about my own love life. My feelings for you give me so much to tap into; it will make it hard to watch when they get around to filming it. I’m not sure I will be able to watch Alicia telling Cary why they can never be together. It will remind me too much of reality.

I will take the coward’s way out, again. Nick tells me that I should just tell you myself, but I could never say any of this to you. I couldn’t bear no longer having you in my life. And so I will roll this paper up and throw it out to sea in a bottle, like all the others.

Mournfully,

J

You smooth the letter out again, the paper stiff and crinkled from where water had seeped into the bottle. The ink is still clear. His words are still clear. His handwriting is careful—neater than you expected, given the barely legible scrawl he leaves in the margins of the scripts.

He put time into this. Effort.

All for a letter he tossed into the sea, as if he never wanted anyone to read it.

But you had. Of all the people on the island, you had found it. That had to mean something, didn’t it? Fate was funny like that. Selective. Deliberate.

You trace the loop at the end of his J, your fingertip lingering there. It had been past midnight when you’d come home from the beach, and you don’t know how long you’ve sat here for, contemplating the letter in front of you. You should go to bed—makeup wants your ass in the chair by five-thirty sharp, and you have a long day of filming ahead.

Instead, you start from the beginning and read it again.

Dearest Javi,

I don’t quite know where to begin. God, I still remember the first day we met. You looked so handsome in your orange shirt, so happy to be on set. I was so intimidated to meet you before I saw you. I read the script and thought you must be some kind of half-mad genius, intimidating and exacting.

It was no wonder, really, not when the script came with annotations referencing films I’d never heard of from sixty years ago. It was worth the effort it took to track them down though; you have impeccable taste in film. I’m not ashamed to tell you that I wept like a child when Aunt Lucy came to the door at the end of Paddington 2.

And then I met you, and you were so kind and warm. You weren’t intimidating at all, though it was clear you were the genius I thought you were as soon as I read the first page of the script.

Even a letter you never intended to be read is like poetry.

I should apologise, I guess, for fishing the bottle out. I was in one of the hammocks, reading, when you came down to the beach. I wondered what on earth you were doing, wading into the water with your pants rolled up around your knees!

After you threw the bottle into the sea, I got curious. I know, I know, curiosity killed the cat. I swam in and got it – you really should have thrown it further if you didn’t want anyone to read it – and got your letter.

I couldn’t believe what I was reading – I never expected you to feel the same way about me as I do you. You’re brilliant, and I’m just some nobody they cast because Helena dropped out. But one of us has to make the first move, so – I really like you, Javi. I think you’re handsome and funny and the most talented writer in a generation.

I’ve written my number on the back. I really hope you’ll call.

All my love,

Your Alicia

You wait.

You wait and wait and wait. Every time your phone chirps, your pulse leaps – only to crash again. Spam call. Group chat. Pervy costar from your last TV show. Never him.

It’s only when the director snaps at you to turn the fucking thing off and leave it off set that you realise he might not call you.  

At first, you tell yourself that he’s busy. You’re busy too – there’s only a short time left before the cast and crew will be packing up to move to the other side of the island to carry on shooting, and he’s spending a lot of time working on rewrites of the final scene.

You don’t envy him that. From what you heard, the studio execs and the producers are arguing over the ending, crows picking over the bones of the script. The studio wants a happy ending, something sugary sweet for the audience to sigh dreamily over. You can’t imagine this movie having a happy ending, not when the way Javi wrote it is so perfect.

With everything that’s going on, you don’t get the chance to observe him closer, to see whether he got your letter and is simply ignoring you. You know that Javi wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t just ignore something so heartfelt without acknowledging it at all.

When you do see him, he’s usually got a notepad or laptop in hand. More often than not, he has Gabriella with him, hovering over him as he writes. You’re not entirely sure why Gabriella’s here, accompanying him like a second shadow to set and to dinners and to the beach.

With no sign that he’s received it by the time production has moved across the island and settled into the new digs, you resign yourself to it having gone missing. It could have gone astray in the post, or been lost in the move, or taken by someone else.

And so you find something else to send to him.  

Dear Javi,

You’ll have to forgive the postcard, it was all I could find on short notice. You haven’t been on set much, but I hope you’re okay. It’s been strange, moving to a new part of the island; half of my costumes seem to be missing in transit. It made me wonder if my letter had gotten lost in transit too?

Hoping to hear from you soon,

xxxx

Sweetheart,

Another location, another stunning beach I barely get to visit. It makes me miss all of our talks up by the cliffs. It was the best cure for writer’s block. I’ve started taking walks by the beach whenever I get an hour or two to myself, but it isn’t really the same. The rewrites are finished, at least. When you come back from settling affairs back home, we’ll have to celebrate.

I’m not sure I could have gotten them finished on time without your support. It was so good of you to answer my calls, even when it was the middle of the night for you back home. Remind you to give you a pay rise soon. It’s the least I can do, really.

Love, Javi

The second letter hits you like a truck. Your breath catches in your throat, and your fingers tremble where they grip the paper. It had clearly been intended for someone else, some other woman. It only takes you a few days of careful observation to realise it was likely meant for Gabriella.

It’s hard not to keep noticing her once you’ve started. She’s always clinging to Javi; laughing with him over lunch or leaning over him as he scribbles notes on the script. She’s a constant, looming presence.

She had also clearly stolen your letters.

It hurt when he’d never responded to the first, though you put that down to some postal mishap, the chaos of the entire crew moving to the new location. But when you get a chance to ask him if he’d gotten your postcard, he just looks at you blankly.

You make him smile easily enough after that little mishap, crack a joke about ‘You’ve Got Mail’ that makes him laugh and gets the two of you talking about 90s rom-coms until Gabriella, predictably, escorts him away. She looks him over with concern, as though you might have done something to him, as they walk away.

It stings. You can make him laugh so easily. You could be so good for him.

But Gabriella won’t let you. She clings to him like a second shadow, always there to stop anyone else getting too familiar with him. You don’t miss the looks of pity she shoots at you when you’re not looking, the condescension making your jaw clench.

The grand, tragic scene plays like a dream. You’re up on the cliffs, the waves crashing below you, the wind in your hair. By the time you’re done, you can hear crewmembers sniffling, see the makeup girl blink away a tear.

Most importantly of all, Javi is beaming at you from behind the monitor. You want to bask in the glow of his smiles like a cat curled up in a patch of sunlight. He starts to get up out of his chair, to come over to you.

But then Gabriella rests a hand on his shoulder, whispers something in his ear. And he turns away from you.

The island you’re filming on is quiet. Safe. The cast and crew all like going for wanders along the coast. It’s peaceful, walking along the pale golden sand and listening to the waves. The beach is hemmed in on one side by dense, green foliage, where exotic, colourful birds come to roost in the day.

Now, though, the only thing in the trees is you.

The trees rustle softly, shifting in the evening breeze. Somewhere behind you, a bird takes flight. But Gabriella doesn’t hear a thing.

She just keeps walking. Oblivious.

You curl your fingers around the branch in front of you, steadying yourself. The bark is rough beneath your palm.

You take a step forward. She still doesn’t hear you.

You take another.

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

Nash Hawthorne & Libby Grambs Headcannons:

(bc my babies are far too underrated and they need some love)

tag list: @bewitchingkisses @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @sweetlikeanangel @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31 @loveinalocket

- they decorate cowboy hats for all occasions and match

- it’s actually one of their favourite things to do on a date

- sometimes they do things like swap every ten minutes/try and design the perfect hat for the other/ choose a theme and design off of that

- nash 100% writes songs about libby and plays them too her on his guitar as well as singing

- nash has such a good singing voice and libby finds it really soothing

- sometimes libby will ask nash to give her two random flavours that she has to somehow incorporate into a cupcake

- nash learns how to dye libby’s hair when she wants to change it so he can do it for her

- similarly he also gets libby to teach him how to do different hairstyles (like braiding etc)

- he’s awful at it but libby thinks it’s so cute

- they are defos the biggest animal lovers, so they’d have a cat and a dog bc they couldn’t decide between the two

- I really feel like they’d have a horse as well (or maybe a few horses?? who knows??)

- and tell me they wouldn’t go horse riding into the sunset together wearing their matching cowboy hats

- they’d go in late night drives and blast Taylor Swift in the car

- libby is a passenger princess but nash loves that

- when Taylor released new albums they’d literally be the first in the store to buy it and then know all of the songs by the next day

- libby is a sucker for romance movies and always begs nash to watch them with her, he always complains but secretly he loves them too

- nash ALWAYS cries at the end of notebook and titanic

- libby finds this absolutely adorable

- nan loves libby and constantly tells her that she’s too good for nash

- once libby suggested they play strip bowling and nash literally blushed so hard

- nash tells libby so many crazy stories about him and his brothers and now she has so much to blackmail them all with (but she never will because she’s a literal ray of sunshine)

- libby has this notebook and when nash really likes a cupcake flavour she’ll secretly write it down so she can remember what he really loves and then surprises him with it a few weeks later

- every month the two of them aim to read a book together to talk about it

- nash sometimes uses cake-inspired nicknames when talking to libby, for example ‘sprinkle’, ‘cupcake’ and ‘jellybean’

- his brothers mock him for it but they shut up when nash glares at them

- nash is petrified of spiders but libby refuses to let them be killed, so whenever there’s one in the house libby has to pick it up and take it outside, whilst nash hides in a corner

- libby is the deepest sleeper. EVER. like this girl could sleep through three earthquakes whereas nash is a really light sleeper

- libby snores and nash thinks it’s really cute but he will never tell her

- nash loves painting her nails

- they rant about what they’re passionate about to the other and the other will literally just stare at them lovingly for however long

- they rarely ever fight and when they do they both absolutely hate it and end up just apologising and cuddling

- nash would literally do ANYTHING for this woman… like she wants random sour gummies at 3am? he is out the door. she needs an extra bag of flour mid cake-off? he’s the man on the job. she doesn’t want to go out? he already has a list of excuses and a second list of things they can do instead of going out…

- libby hates mushrooms in anything so will pick all of them out if they’re in her food and nash will eat them for her

- nash absolutely loves to have libby in his arms

- though she never really admits it, when libby sees nash take his helmet off after a motorbike ride she blushes so freaking hard

- she turns into an adorable little tomato

- libby hates being in any sort of limelight, interviews and paparazzi make her really uncomfortable so nash makes sure she doesn’t have to deal with it

- she never does any interviews and he’s very protective of her when approached by paparazzi, putting an arm around her and shielding her face in his chest, walking away quickly as he requests the paparazzi to stop

- it is also important to both libby and nash that when they have kids they don’t grow up with all the pressure of the media. they don’t show their kids faces or reveal that much about them, until they’re old enough to do it for themselves and consent

- nash is actually a really good cook but a horrible baker

- libby tried to teach him how to make a cupcake once and he managed to mess it up

- and don’t even get me started on when he tried to ice a cupcake… that was an abomination

- but they often plan nights where nash cooks the meal and libby bakes desert and the two of them enjoy it together

- nash really cares deeply that libby always feels safe and happy and loved in the relationship because of her last relationship

- he checks with her every once in a while

- libby finds this so sweet and is so touched that someone cares this much about her

- they’re not massive on PDA, nash likes to have his arm around her usually

- that said, they’re not afraid to kiss or show affection if people are around, they just tend not to

- nash gives the BEST massages, they’re to die for and libby adores them

- no one makes libby laugh harder than nash does

- and he loves the sound of her laugh

- like grayson, libby is also REALLY ticklish so nash often starts tickle wars with her

- when they go to a restaurant libby is very indecisive so nash just tells her to order two or three things and whatever she doesn’t want he’ll eat

- one of their daughter’s first words is ‘yee-haw’ (CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE!!!)

- nash is such a natural dad because he had so much experience literally raising his brothers

- when libby sees this it makes her really emotional and she thinks she’s a bad mom

- but nash reassures her that she is literally the best mom in the world and that their twins are so lucky to have her

a/n: I just found these headcannons at the bottom of my drafts so I’m posting them?! I don’t even know how long ago they were written but I hope you enjoy anyways. I’ve decided they’re in honour of the libby and nash cards coming out (omg I’m obsessed)

also let me know if you don’t want to be tagged in headcannons in the future, I just tagged everyone I normally would but if you don’t want to don’t be shy to let me know <333

TIG masterlist

[vaguesxrrow]

this was for a request for an edwin payne/gn reader dating hcs but i accidentally deleted the ask SORRYYY 😭😭 if you requested it here you go !!

edwin payne/reader dating hcs

a/n: there is nothing in this pertaining to the reader's gender but i'd like to clarify they are not a girl, as edwin is not attracted to women (to my knowledge)

reader can be read as either alive or dead

tags: gn!reader

what dating edwin payne would be like...

- before you started dating, or at the start of your relationship, edwin would be a little closed off (as is expected from him) but it was still obvious to everyone he had a soft spot for you

- even if he didnt outwardly show how taken with you he really was, it would be obvious through his actions alone

- on cases, he would especially watch out for your safety

- if you're sick or feeling even slightly unwell he will suggest you take a break from this case

- "i will come back to you. i promise." when you protest that he might need you there

- he'll give you long, long hugs when he returns

- lying in bed together after the case, facing each other, as he tells you about it

- would lay down with his head between your shoulder and neck, tracing patterns over your hand and wrist

- isn't terribly fond of pda but cheek kisses and hand holding, or linking your pinkies together are always on the table

- will also let you, and enjoy it when, you latch onto his arm

- this boy would totally try to court you

- at first his gifts would be typical types of gifts, like flowers or something expensive and fancy because he wants you to think highly of him

- but then one day he finds a silly stuffed animal he thinks you'd like and gives it to you

- you LOVE it ofc, and you dont waste a second in telling him

- he's a bit surprised but is happy you love it and would grin at you fully once you promise that yes, you really do think it's lovely

- after that, if he finds anything he knows you'll like, or if you say you want something, he WILL get it for you

- edwin taking you out on dates:

- he would put a lot of effort into your first date because, with all the running away from supernatural beings that want to kill you, he thinks both of you deserve a little normal

- imagine: a museum date, but at a kind of obscure museum that showcases ancient artifacts or something

- edwin would know a lot of facts about the different pieces and tell you about them

- however he will feel bad about going on too long, because this is your first date and he doesn't want to put you off already

- "i... apologise. i'm rambling."

- you: 'i don't mind. it's... attractive how smart you are."

- you were totally gonna say 'sexy' but is edwin really ready for that?? maybe not.

- then you kiss him before he can react, and his system kind of crashes (yeah, definitely not ready for 'sexy' just yet)

- he appreciates how you value his whole personality and genuinely love all parts of him

- he loves you just as much, if it wasn't obvious

- his love languages would probably be quality time and acts of service

- constantly making excuses to be near you

- "[ ] and i will go conduct some research in the library, the three of you can interview the witnesses."

- he thinks he's being subtle but charles, crystal, and niko always grin at you knowingly

- "have fun, lovebirds! try not to get distracted," <- coming from either of the other three, or maybe even all of them in unison

- edwin will splutter and blush

- once he realises there's no use in hiding how whipped he is for you, he'll outright say he wants to "go with his [boyfriend/partner]" to do whatever he wants to do

- he likes saying it out loud that you're together - it makes him feel giddy inside in a way no one else has before

- if you want a specific book for your research he'll take finding it very seriously

- you need a book from the top shelf? he's on it (like, literally on it, because if there's no step stool around he might actually climb the bookshelf)

- getting tired from your research? he'll mirror travel to a coffee shop and get you a drink and a sweet treat

- edwin would get jealous, and once he's secure in the relationship he would show it

- in the case of you being alive: imagine someone trying to flirt with you, maybe in the library or something from the earlier scenario

- he would knock over a book on purpose to spook the person who dared to flirt with HIS s.o

- when you tease him for it later he'll mutter something about being 'possibly a bit jealous.'

- it isn't that he doesn't trust you, as he will of course clarify, he's just very protective

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Zoro's Story - 14

Source for pic

Trouble 14

Word Count: 6045

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Protective!Zoro; Soft!Zoro; Sexual Tension; Teasing; Flirting; Mature Audiences (I'll always tag the NSFW chapters); Modern Day AU; Reader is being stalked; Fear; Paranoia; Angst; Rom-Com Vibes; Mild Gore-like Descriptions; Blood; Reader in a terror-like state; Dead Animals Mentioned; Fluff; Romance; Banter; Manipulation; Miscommunication; Frustration; Reader is very clumsy;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Zoro are slowly returning to your easy friendship filled with banter and flirting and you actually begin to glimpse a future with the green-haired cop. But then you start to receive weird gifts. They quickly escalate to manipulative texts. And now you're stuck in a spiral of terror and there's no way to get help because the Stalker, whoever he is, is threatening something other than just your life.

Notes: Okay, now we really are reaching the end of the story. There's the Epilogue after this and we'll be done with Zoro! I'm missing this story already, it was so different from the others and I had so much fun with it! Well, as I said in my post earlier today, I wasn't expecting this chapter to take such an angsty turn, I was going to skim the details of the healing to get straight into the fluff. But they decided they wanted something different, and I complied. I'm glad I did because I like the bit of angst in this chapter, tell me what you think about it too, will you?

Masterlist

You both get a good scolding from the team of nurses as you wake up because you need rest in order to recover from your wounds. Zoro tries to argue that it was the best rest he’s gotten in the past few years, and though some nurses find the declaration cute, the head nurse tells him to stop acting like a child and behave.

So, you leave to return to your room for the doctors and nurses to check on Zoro’s condition, promising to return as soon as possible. 

You’re still finishing up breakfast, sitting in your bed when you hear a light knock at your door. “Come in.”

“Bug?” 

As soon as you see the look of worry Shanks gives you, you feel like a little girl again and start sobbing, the weight of everything too overwhelming to bear alone. 

“Oh, honey…” Shanks drops his coat on the floor and runs to you, holding you close in a one-armed hug. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.” He keeps kissing the crown of your head, his arm pulling you closer and closer as if by that gesture he can erase all the pain you’ve been through.

“I–It’s okay, Dad…” You hide your head against the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of safety and love, and sob some more. “It’s not your fault.”

Shanks sits on your bed, never letting go of you, and when he speaks, his voice sounds hoarse and ragged, like he’s trying to hold back his own tears. “I should never have left you alone.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“What if–... What if Zoro hadn’t–... What–...” Shanks groans, shaking his head and gritting his teeth, squeezing you tighter against him and not finishing his line of thought, as if merely thinking about what could have happened is unbearable. “I’m never leaving you again, Bug.”

You let out a bubbly laugh mixed with a dry sob. “We both know that’s unreasonable, Dad.”

“It’s not.” He kisses your head again. “I’ll strap you to my waist with a rope or something. I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

“Dad!”

“I mean it, though. Don’t worry, it will be a rope long enough to give you some privacy.”

“Geez, Red, stop being so dramatic.”

Mihawk enters the room after a slight knock on the door to announce his presence, but Shanks is already scowling and still refuses to let go of you. 

“I’m not being dramatic, Hawkeyes, I’m just comforting my child and showing her love. Something I doubt you’re capable of doing.” Mihawk smirks back at your father, and you wiggle free of his embrace, still holding his hand. 

“Actually, Dad, Captain Mihawk was quite understanding with me last night.” You chuckle slightly, drying your tears with the back of your hand. 

“Well, I’ll be damned…” Shanks begins with a grin, and Mihawk sighs, rolling his eyes and promptly changing the subject. 

“I was just on my way to see Roronoa, but I wanted you both to know that your property looks like a media circus now.” He straightened up, his nose scrunching at the mention of reporters. “I tried to keep things wrapped up as tightly as possible, but the news still leaked, so we had to make a statement. And though we’re trying to provide all the information about King and his responsibility in the maiming of the two victims, the reporters still want a story about the girl he did all of this for…”

Shanks tightens his grip on your hand, and you hold a breath. Obviously, the nightmare couldn’t be over. Was it too much to ask?

“We forced them to remain outside private property, but you know how tenacious reporters can be… maybe you can stay with a friend until the novelty dies down?” He looks at you, and you nod softly. 

Your friends! If they heard the news, they must be worried sick!

“My friends, are they…”

Mihawk sighs again, this time in exasperation. “They’re all camped outside the hospital, demanding to see you and Zoro. I managed to talk to Miss Nico and Miss Nefertari, the sensible ones in that crew, and promised they would be allowed in as soon as you were cleared to receive visitors.”

You shed a small smile, your brows wrinkling with gratitude mixed with worry. Of course they’re camping outside. You push the guilt from not telling them anything far down to the abyss of unwanted things to think about, and force the smile to keep pressing your lips.

“We’ll be fine.” You say to your father. Shanks nods, the wrinkles near his eyes much more prominent than when he left, and then he fixes your hair in a loving gesture. 

“We will.”

Mihawk nods and turns to leave, then he calls your name and turns back to you. “One more thing, if you’re up to it, I can take your statement here instead of you coming to the police station to do it. Less hassle, no reporters…”

You nod with a small thank you and he leaves you to your father’s fussing once more.

-*-

“You look like crap.”

“Thanks, Cap. That’s exactly the pep talk I needed after getting stabbed and almost dying.” Zoro grunts and raises his arm to cover his eye. He feels like shit. Every muscle feels raw, every wound stings and hurts, every bruise taunts him and strains his movements. 

But he feels fucking good too.

Because you’re alive, and King is not. Motherfucker.

Zoro clenches his fist and grits his teeth. He still feels so much rage over what the fucker did to you. He keeps thinking about all the things he could’ve done differently, of all the pain and hurt that could’ve been avoided if he’d just figured out sooner what was happening to you.

He keeps revisiting your conversations, everything he could have done differently to avoid this outcome because yes, you’re alive, but you’re not unscathed. You went through hell, and King almost took you away from Zoro. He still touched you and did unspeakable things to you. Zoro can’t help but blame himself for most of it. If only he’d been faster, stronger, smarter…

“Don’t think too much, Roronoa, you might strain a muscle.” Mihawk’s remark is teasing, and Zoro snorts in response, but doesn’t answer back. A confirmation that he is, indeed, thinking too much about things he cannot and will never be able to change.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Mihawk continues, as if he’s a mind-reader, when in reality he knows Zoro like he knows his prized sword. “None of it. So stop blaming yourself and stop thinking you could’ve done something differently. It doesn’t matter now. The bastard’s dead. You got the girl. You’re alive.”

“But…” Zoro starts, then stops, his teeth clattering together as he forces back the anger and the shame, the guilt and the rage. The words are stuck in his throat, drying it up and sucking all the air from his lungs. He never wanted to be a disappointment… but he needs to acknowledge it. Even if only to himself.

“I... I got a scar on my back. From a fucking blade.” His arm is still draped over his eye, and though Zoro doesn’t cry, the words sting and burn. Even more so because of how much he admires the person he’s saying them to.

Mihawk remains silent. 

For too damn long.

“Fuck. Just admit that I’m a fucking disappointment and–”

“I’m proud of you, son,” Mihawk states. Zoro removes his forearm from the front of his eye as it bores into Mihawk’s golden gaze. He doesn’t seem to be joking, hell, he doesn’t seem disappointed at all. 

“You gave your all to save a young woman’s life. You protected her with all you had and were willing to lie down your life in order to achieve it.” He sighs. “As far as I’m concerned, that scar on your back brings you pride, not shame. And you should look at it the same way.”

It takes every ounce of willpower in Zoro to school his features into perfect stoicism. Then he nods. “Thanks.” It’s all he manages to say, and even that one word comes out shaky and watery. 

“Anytime.”

-*-

In the afternoon, after Shanks leaves to take care of the animals, the nurses allow your friends to visit you, as long as they promise to be quiet and not all come in at once. 

The poor nurse doesn’t know your friends at all.

They come in all at once, hugging you, crying, drilling you with questions, and every other minute one of them asks if you are okay. It’s overwhelming. So much so, that Robin decides they should let you rest and shoos them all away as you promise to stay in touch and meet them as soon as you leave the hospital.

They try to check in on Zoro, but the nurses don’t allow them, as he’s still in critical condition and can’t be strained. You promise to send him their love as they all leave.

Nami stays behind, though. 

“I should’ve noticed…” She whispers while fidgeting with the blanket at the end of your bed, folding it neatly as her eyes turn brighter. “I mean, I did notice! And that’s why I’m so mad! I noticed something was different, but didn’t dig enough, didn’t ask you more questions. I– I’ve been such a shitty friend!”

Your smile is strained and saddened. She shouldn’t blame herself when you did your best to hide everything from them. To isolate yourself from the people closest to you. “Sweetie…” You begin, getting up on still-wobbly legs because of all the painkillers you’re on, clutching your broken arm against your chest. “It wasn’t your fault. I was the one who kept you all in the dark.”

Nami swallows a sob and hugs you tightly, minding your injuries like a worried mother, fussing over you, fixing your hair and hospital gown. “I know you did, but you were being threatened! It’s not like you could’ve told us what was happening! You didn’t tell Zoro, and he knew something was up! He didn’t let go, didn’t dismiss it as a bad moment, or just missing your father like we all did!”

You hug her back, patting her head. “Nami, I don’t think we should play the blame game. It happened. It’s over. I want to heal. Just… be there and help me heal. I never asked for more.”

“So just… be your friend?” She smiles.

“That’s all I need.”

With a nod, she wipes her tears and finishes straightening your hair, helping you get back into bed. “That I know how to do. Shanks said you had reporters camped at your house and that you should find a quiet place to stay until it all dies down.” You nod. “You can stay with me and Vivi, love, okay?”

Of course she would offer. You smile and nod. “Thank you, Nami.”

-*-

“Why are you still here, Trouble?” Zoro’s voice sounds more amused than upset, but you thought he was asleep. You straighten up in the uncomfortable hospital chair and take another sip of your coffee nonchalantly. “Didn’t the hospital dismiss you already?”

He’s right. You were dismissed two days ago, but he wasn’t. And you’ve been spending every possible moment with him, even when the nurses tell you to go home. Because how can you go home when the only place that feels safe enough to be called such is Zoro’s arms?

“They did.” You answer, crossing your legs as your gaze wanders. He looks better. Less pale, stronger, with more brightness in his eye. He’s still heavily bandaged, and there’s still an IV bag strapped to his arm, but he has been talking about leaving the hospital already, though the nurses assure you he still needs at least another five to seven days of rest. 

He’ll never stay that long, you’re sure of it. 

“You should be resting.” He reprimends. 

“I am! I was sleeping just a while ago.”

He sighs, looking at the discarded blanket at the back of your chair. “You were napping, it’s not the same as proper rest, in a bed, at home.”

Your eyes fall to the ground as you fidget with the coffee cup and set it aside. “I don’t want to go home…” It doesn’t feel like home anymore. It feels tainted, unsafe, dangerous. Captain Mihawk says they found cameras all over the house, even in your bedroom and bathroom. You were horrified by this knowledge and it sent your father into another spiral of guilt. 

Plus, the reporters are still hovering around the property, trying to get to you and hounding your dad as the next best thing. Shanks decked one of them in the jaw when he got extra nosy. Mihawk alleged the reporter was on private property, so Shanks was off the hook, even though he hit him far off the property grounds. 

“Why?” Zoro asks, but as soon as the words leave his mouth, he regrets them. He knows why. So he sighs and scoots to the side. “You don’t have to go, then. C’mere.” This time, you don’t even protest. You carefully climb into the bed and nestle against his strong body, getting hooked on the feeling of safety only he can provide. “Better?” You nod as he kisses the crown of your head. “Me too.”

After a long silence, in which both of you seem lost in your own thoughts, Zoro presses his cheek against your head and sighs heavily. “He’s dead.”

You just nod. You know that. Your head knows that, but your body still shudders every time you’re alone. Your heart still beats faster whenever you hear a foreign noise. Your eyes still sting when someone enters your space unwillingly. Your breath still hitches every time your phone vibrates. 

He’s gone, yes, but the scars he left behind will take an eternity to heal. 

-*-

You haven’t set foot in your house since it happened. Nami went with your father to bring your essentials and a change of clothes. She set up an inflatable mattress in her art room and you finally found some peace. 

Until the reporters find out that you’re staying there and then guilt settles into your chest, and you don’t want to impose. So you spend more time at the hospital, having befriended some nurses who particularly like you, and they let you sleep near Zoro.

Other than the fact that you barely rest, and he gets grumpy about it, he doesn’t contest to your being there. After almost ten days, he’s had enough and hounds the doctor to give him clearance, promising not to overexert himself. 

He gets released, but someone leaks the news and when you, Shanks and Zoro leave the hospital, there are more reporters than you can count, and suddenly, the air feels thicker. 

“Maybe I should talk to them and just get this over with…” You start, your voice already small and shaking, not wanting to relive the worst moments of your life. 

Then Zoro places one arm over your shoulder, pulling you to him as he nearly growls. “Like fuck you will. They’re just looking for gossip, I don’t want you having to relieve the experience just so they can get a scoop.” He turns to Shanks. “Can you go get the car, Mr. S.? We’ll wait here.”

Shanks nods while a frown presses on his lips, then he sighs and walks through the reporters, repeating ‘No comment’ over and over again, though you swear he’s cussing each and every one of them as he walks to the car. 

“You okay?” Zoro asks, concern shadowing his eye, and you sigh. 

“Yes, I’m fine. Stop worrying, Zo, you need to recover, not stress about me every single second.”

He smirks smugly and flicks your forehead, earning an indignant gasp. “Too bad. Worrying about you is in my blood, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

You scrunch your nose at him, your good hand rubbing the spot he flicked, even though it doesn’t hurt. “Idiot.” You mutter under your breath, and he chuckles, using two fingers to lift your chin so you can look at him.

“Your idiot.”

“Damn right.”

-*-

Healing hurts.

Not just physically, though each pull at the scars, each twist of a battered muscle, and each ache of your wrist has you wincing in agony. It’s the emotional scars that cause more pain. 

You’re seeing a therapist - doctor’s orders - and you talk, but the fear, the anxiety, and the overwhelming sense of being trapped are still buried deep in your bones. The therapist keeps saying you’re making progress, and there are days when you actually believe that.

And then there are terrible days. 

The reporters left Shanks’ property after three weeks, and though some still pop up once in a while, the novelty died down. They are still focusing on the story, but since the police caught Queen and Jack, both accomplices to King, the spotlight on you faded somewhat. 

While accompanying Zoro to physical therapy, he tells you that Mihawk informed him they managed to connect the cameras in your house to Queen. They caught Jack because of DNA collected from hair found at the overlook, where Lucci’s eyes were discovered. 

The weight in your chest doesn’t lift, it constrains you further. You didn’t even think about the fact that King’s accomplices could still be out there. What if they had come for you? What if they wanted to avenge their fallen comrade and gone after Zoro?

“Fuck!” Zoro grunts as thick beads of sweat drip from his forehead to the tip of his nose. His arms give out, his knees follow, and he slumps down onto the mat with another curse and a grunt.

You fight against your strongest instinct to rush to him and instead shove your idle hand beneath your leg, biting your lip as Zoro’s physical therapist tuts and sighs. “I said breathe, didn’t I?” Doctor Kureha is not the most patient of women, but maybe that’s exactly what Zoro needs for these sessions. “Your core is not strong enough, boy, stop pretending like you’re in a brutal training session. These things take time to heal.”

“Again.” Zoro growls, already setting himself back into plank position, this time willing to last longer than ten seconds. 

“Not yet. Your body is still–”

“I said again, woman.” Zoro inhales sharply and you see the way his body trembles under the strain. This time you do get up, kneeling down next to him.

“Hey, Zo. Please, take it easy.” He grits his teeth together and avoids your gaze. You know Zoro hates to feel weak, limited and useless. Even though he’s already doing exercices that he should only try for another week or two. He’s strong. But he’s also stubborn.

“You need to be patient, boy, or you’ll permanently damage your body. And there’s no coming back from that.”

“Tch.” Zoro struggles, his shoulders shaking from the effort, but then he lowers his knee and sets it on the mat to relieve the strain on his core. “Fine.”

You sigh in relief and kiss his temple before returning to your seat. 

Healing hurts. And you’re not the only one doing it.

-*-

The nights are the hardest. 

You finally leave Nami’s house, thinking that you’re already imposing, even though she assures you that you’re not, but then you don’t head home immediately. You leave your stuff in your car and go to Zoro’s, avoiding returning home like the plague.

If he knows what you’re doing, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, you help him with some simple exercises Dr. Kureha recommended for him to do at home and in between sessions, then you order pizza and watch trash TV for a while.

You can feel all of the unsaid things floating around both of you. The guilt, the shame, the helplessness you both felt, you’ve been skirting around it as if it were a living thing, ready to bite or claw at any given moment.

Instead, you talk about trivial stuff.

But the hurt is still there. 

You can see Zoro needs to rest, so you kiss him goodbye and finally head home for the first time since the nightmare ended. You need some extra seconds inside the car to collect yourself before you finally climb the steps to the porch. 

Each step feels daunting. Your hand grips the handrail so tightly your knuckles turn white. You close your eyes to take a deep breath, and a quick flash of a succession of images passes before your eyes: dead animals, blood, a gutless cat pinned to the door, the note… the threats, the fear.

You swallow down a sob as your heart rate increases. “He’s gone, he’s gone,” you whisper an unending litany as you try to calm your erratic heart. 

“Bug, you’re home?”

Shanks. Your dad is ‘safety’, you’re fine, you’ll be fine.

“Yeah, Dad,” you answer and compose yourself before he opens the door with a strained smile. “I��m… home.” The word still feels foreign, but you ignore it.

Ignore the pain.

“Let me help you.” Shanks reaches for your small bag and ushers you inside. He’s also wearing a strained smile, which you can’t help but notice. And then, at dinner, you and he also dance around the important subjects. 

It’s like you’re made of glass, and everyone is scared to grab you too tightly, or to drop you. 

Including yourself.

You propose a movie night, and Shanks immediately says yes, clearly wanting to spend more time with you and using the excuse of it being cold to nestle you under his arm, cradling you against his body - protecting you, like he failed to do while he was away.

It’s too much.

You fake a headache and excuse yourself, saying you need rest. You do need rest, except you already know there won’t be much of it in this house.

Still, you do your nighttime routine and even try to read for a little bit before your eyelids feel heavy. You close the book and use the covers of the bed to try and disappear. The light is still on, but it seems as if the shadows are even more menacing now. 

Every creak of the old house brings you flashes of the time when you were alone and helpless, every night sound coming from the outside of the house feels like a heavy footstep, and thunder in the distance sounds like a pound on the door. 

You’re nowhere near healed. 

The nightmare is nowhere near over. 

And the pain doesn’t disappear. It lingers.

-*-

Your days all seem the same. You help Shanks with the chores, trying to get back to normalcy, but never quite getting there because you see the way your father looks at you. It’s not pity, it’s guilt. He blames himself for all that’s happened to you while he was away, and with each new day that passes, you fear that he’ll never really get over that feeling. 

You spend your afternoons with Zoro, going to therapy or physical therapy, listening to him complain about how he already feels good enough to get back to work, but then watching as he struggles with basic exercises and avoids dealing with his mounting frustration by pushing himself harder and harder.

He looks at you with guilt, too. But that is your fault as well, since you know he could’ve acted sooner if you’d just told him earlier. So you don’t address the subject, nor does he. And it festers like an infected wound. 

Zoro’s also more protective and worried than ever. He used to look out for you before, but now it’s worse. It’s not like before, when he saw physical obstacles or mundane situations where you would get hurt and had you avoid them before you could harm yourself. Now it’s like he’s attentive to another kind of danger, to something that might lurk in the shadows, to something he can’t see or won’t be able to protect you from.

Your own guilt swells. 

Healing seems so far away…

You barely sleep again. And it shows, you know it does. Zoro and Shanks keep looking at you as if you’ll break at any minute, even though you try to plaster your best fake smile around them. Your therapist suggests antidepressants and you dismiss the thought immediately.

“Is that because you want to prove to everybody that you’re strong, or just to yourself?” She asks, kindness in her eyes, but you don’t know how to answer that.

She still prescribes the drugs and tells you to think about taking them. 

You don’t think about it. You do want to be strong, as strong as Zoro, who keeps pushing his limits, as strong as Shanks, who keeps fighting off random reporters and gossipy magazines. 

But you can’t. 

And one night, everything crumbles. 

You’re in bed, fighting off sleep as you usually do, thinking that you’ll nap tomorrow at Zoro’s, or after lunch while watching a movie with your father. Still postponing the inevitable, still avoiding whatever might trigger you.

But then you fall asleep from exhaustion, as you did on many nights when King was still terrorizing you. 

And it’s like you’re trapped again. You feel King’s hands roaming your body, his weight pressed upon your naked body, his breath hot against your lips, your tears scalding as they drip down your face.

You try to scream for help, but you can’t even open your mouth. And he keeps touching you, claiming you, taking away bits of your soul that you can’t and will never get back. “That’s it, Kitten, purr for me.” It’s like he’s right there, it’s like he never left.

It’s too much. 

You wake up with a jolt, panting, and with your screams all trapped in your throat. You can’t stop shaking and shivering; the walls close in on you, and the air is suffocating. You can still feel the pressure on top of you, the way his fingers groped flesh, the way his breath fanned your skin. You don’t feel safe.

Shanks can’t help. 

But Zoro can. 

With a whimper, you get up on wobbly legs, trying to be quiet because you don’t want to worry your father further. You still leave a note for him before heading outside, though. 

Driving your car with your arm in a cast is a challenge, but it’s the middle of the night, and there’s barely any car outside, so you somehow manage.

When you park outside Zoro’s apartment, you still can’t shake away the phantom touch of King, the grip he has on your mind and body, and just knowing that Zoro is a few steps away has more tears flooding your eyes. 

You knock desperately on his door, hiccups and sobs taking over as your chest heaves with gasps and pain. Zoro opens the door with groggy eyes, his hair messy and a tiredness in his eye that’s been branded permanently since this whole thing started.

“Hey!” He calls your name, and his eye widens as soon as he takes a good look at you. Then he reaches for you and pulls you inside, looking at both sides of the hallway before closing the door and locking it. 

You’re shivering, convulsing with sobs and tears, there’s an ache in your chest that won’t go away, and you need… you need… “Zoro…” Him.

The wail that escapes your lips alongside his name seems to physically hurt him. Zoro winces and hugs you, pulling you against him tight, ignoring both your wounds this time, because who cares about physical pain when his hug can obliterate all that is destroying your mind?

“Zo… Zo…” You can’t utter a full sentence, you can only sob and dig your nails into his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer.

“Is– fuck, did anybody hurt you?” He growls, his body becoming taut. “Tell me!”

You shake your head frantically. “No, no… it’s…” More tears and sobs wreck you, and Zoro looks lost. Helpless again because he can’t help you if you don’t tell him what’s wrong. “A nightmare… I…” You inhale deeply. “It felt real. I felt his hands, his mouth, I–... I was trapped again.”

Zoro takes a deep, shaky breath, his eye closing as he rests his head against the crown of yours, his hand soothing your back, caressing up and down to ground you. “He’s gone… he’s dead. You’re safe.”

And though you know his words are true, you can’t stop the sobs. So he doesn’t say anything else, he just lets you cry, holding you through it all as you cling to him like he’s your only lifeline. He’s warm and solid. He’s your rock, he’s your safety net, he’s your everything.

And you need to stop hiding things from him, you need to talk, or you’ll drift apart. And you don't think you can survive that separation. 

When you’ve calmed down, you try to pull back with a sniffle, your hands rubbing your face to dry it, but Zoro doesn’t let you go. He pulls you to the couch, into his lap, and you clutch his shirt, burying your face against the crook of his neck and inhaling deeply. 

“Wanna talk?” He asks, his voice clipped like he’s trying to keep his emotions in check. 

“I do.” The sigh he lets out is filled with relief. “I can’t be at my father’s house anymore. I– It doesn’t feel safe. I’m always waiting for King to appear out of nowhere, to grab me, to terrorize me… I can’t sleep, I don’t rest…”

A lingering sob still shakes your lips as you inhale, but Zoro doesn’t interrupt you, though you still feel the tautness in his body. 

“The therapist suggested some pills that are supposed to help with PTSD and anxiety, but–... I want to be strong and–”

“You’re still strong if you take meds. There’s no shame in it.”

An unwanted scoff escapes your lips. “You’re not taking them.”

“Not everybody deals with shit the same way, Trouble.” Zoro closes his eye and sighs, his breath warm against your temple. “I can’t stand to see you like this again. I feel like I’m losing you… like I’m powerless against an invisible force that’s pulling you from me. And this time… this time I don’t think I can defeat it. Because I can’t even see it.”

His grip on you tightens, and so does your throat. All the unsaid things, the unspoken words of the last few weeks seem to weigh on you. It’s your fault… it’s all your fault again. 

“Take the meds…” He continues. “Please, take care of you, Trouble. I’m here, but there’s only so much I can do to help you. You need to want to help yourself too.” He raises his hand to cup your cheek and forces you to look at him, and what you see reflected in his eye scares you. He seems haunted and afraid, so unlike the unshakable Zoro you’re used to. “I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you.”

You nod, forcing back another wave of tears. Then he takes your lips softly and you let him. You’ve pecked him a few times after the hospital, but not like this, not in a way that feels like you’re drowning and he’s the one giving you life. 

Zoro deepens the kiss, and you open your mouth so his tongue can chase yours. The slow kiss is very different from the ones you shared when you first had sex with him, but it’s much more intimate, more raw and exposed. 

You need more.

You shift in his lap, and he groans, his hands gripping tighter as he stiffens with pain. 

You pull back fast, stepping out of his lap, but still sitting near him, your hands still cupping his cheeks as your eyes search his. Sure enough, he’s in pain as little drops of sweat trickle down his temple. “Fuck, Trouble. I want to, but…”

You chuckle, your chest feeling lighter for the first time in a very long while. “I know. Let’s take it slow, shall we?” He nods with a frustrated sigh, and you run your fingers through his hair. “There's no rush. We have all the time in the world, right?”

Zoro stares at you, his jaw clenching as he smiles softly. He traces your cheekbone with his thumb, letting it settle on your lips, then pinches your chin, pulling you closer to seal the deal with an innocent peck. “We do.”

You both sigh as you settle back into his arms. Then, after a moment of silence, you continue. 

“I can’t sleep in that house anymore…” You confess. And it’s another weight off your shoulders. Finally admitting to someone other than yourself that your house doesn’t feel safe, isn’t comforting, it’s not a haven, but hell itself. 

Zoro nods in understanding and gets up, extending his hand for you to take it. “Did you tell Shanks where you were?” You reply with a yes, so he leads you to his bedroom, taking another pillow from the closet for you to use. “Let’s rest, okay?”

You nod once more, and soon enough, you’re both snuggled under his covers, close, but not on top of each other so as not to strain any of your wounds. 

Maybe healing doesn’t have to hurt so much?

It doesn’t take long for sleep to claim you, exhaustion taking you under in a few minutes. Zoro follows shortly, his breaths evening out too, because, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it himself, every minute he’s away from you, it’s hell on earth. 

He needs you as much as you need him. You were both just too stubborn to admit it.

-*-

You had the best rest in a while, and though your body still feels battered and bruised as you wake up, you feel calm. 

Yawning, you adjust your eyes to the light coming from the window, and the first thing you notice is that Zoro isn’t next to you. You frown. Maybe he’s in the bathroom?

But then you hear noises coming from his closet, and you turn. Sure enough, Zoro’s inside, moving shirts around and tossing others to the floor, folding some jeans and setting them aside.

Is he cleaning? Or…? You blush, a small smile creeping up your lips. “What are you doing, you big Mosshead?”

Zoro chuckles, a smirk tugging at his lips, as if he’s happy you’re feeling cheerful and back to your old self. “What does it look like, Trouble? I’m spring cleaning.”

Bastard. You snort. Then he sniffs one shirt, grimaces, and throws it onto the pile on the floor before turning to another one, his back turned to you. 

“I’m making space for your stuff.”

Yep, that’s what you thought. Your chest swells, and you bite your lower lip to contain an excited giggle. “For me?”

He turns back slightly, a frown on his lips as his ears turn red. “If you want. You said your house doesn’t feel like home anymore, so… maybe my home can… be yours too?” Then he turns back to the closet, not wanting to face you, perhaps afraid you’ll reject his offer. 

So you get up on tiptoes, stand behind him, and bring your uninjured arm softly around his torso, letting your head rest against the planes of his back. “Thank you.” You whisper and he stiffens for a second before relaxing. “I would love to.”

Zoro nods, then clears his throat and continues his closet inspection. “Yeah, well… yeah. It’s just space in a closet.”

Sure it is. 

And the gesture is so… Zoro, that it makes you warm and tingly all over. 

“Yes, it is, Zo.” You kiss his back and flop back on the bed with the biggest smile in weeks, months, even. 

You’ve made up your mind. After today’s session, you will start taking those pills. And no more hiding stuff from Zoro, your dad, or your friends. Sure, healing is hard, painful, and it hurts.

But it doesn’t have to.

Not all the time, at least.

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @kyllium @keiva1000 @chibinasuu @my-name-is-heartache @laidenbreecatchall

Liked this story? Like my writing? Consider buying me a Ko-Fi, please!

|Epilogue🔞|

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Hold On You 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, bullying, depression, controlling and abusive behaviour, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you try to look on the bright side of life but a man comes along to blot out the sun.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: Thank you all for feeding into this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

It’s a nice day to get out. One of the last sunny days of autumn. You can smell the soil and leaves and hear the call of pumpkin spice. Maybe on your way back. 

You can’t spend another day inside. Not after the week you’ve had. Besides, once the winter hits, you’ll have more than enough reason not to go past your front door. You’re going to make the most of your day off. More so, you’re going to keep your mind busy so it doesn’t fall back into the pit. 

It feels good to move around. Between hunching at your cubicle desk and squinting over your dining room table, that crick in your neck needs to be ironed out. You have to remind yourself to stand up straight as the muscles tug between your shoulder blades. 

You stop and turn to face the record shop. As you do, you’re nearly bowled over by another pedestrian. You hadn’t realised they were so close behind you. You back up and apologise but the man doesn’t even look at you as he veers toward the front door. The bell jingle as he enters with a huff, the back of his dark jacket a vague splotch in your vision. 

Oop. You’re in the way. Again. You do your best not to do that. You never want to stir the waters or be a bump in the road but somehow you always find a way to do that. No good comes from wallowing in it. As stressful as it can be to brave the public and its unpredictability, a smile keeps you from falling apart. 

You approach the shop and swing open the door. Oof, it’s much heavier than that man made it look. You greet the associate behind the counter with a beaming morning and ‘hello?’ He asks how you are and you give the easy answer; ‘good, how are you?’ He responds with the same empty courtesy. 

You look around the covers and the little signs that delineate every genre. Before you can get into all that, you need the most important piece of all. A record player. For as long as you’ve been waiting to set foot in the shop, you’ve been saving up for the player. 

You near the table stacked with varying shades of suitcase players. You read up on each brand and style. It will be best to tuck away when you’re not using it. Your small apartment is already too cluttered. 

You pick a lilac player with little white roses stamped over the cover. It’s on sale. A sign above proclaims that you can get twenty percent off three or more records when you by a player. Well, how about that? It isn’t all doom and gloom. 

You hug the player under your arm and near the shelves mounted to the walls. You peruse the titles intently. Something new? Something you know? You definitely don’t want to get just one genre.  

As you sidle along, the corner of the box knocks against something. You look back and another ‘sorry’ bubbles from your lips. It’s that man again. He’s browsing the end cap behind you and growls at your apology. You stare at him for a moment, he seems at home in a place like this. 

“Um, excuse me, sir,” you say, “do you have any recommendations?” 

He grumbles and puts the album back in its slot. He looks over his shoulder with detest curled into his lip. The stone chiseled into his jaw makes you gulp. 

“What?” He scowls. 

“Sorry, I didn’t... I was only... curious. Have a good day, sir.” 

“Good? What’s good about it?” He hisses. You wince and move to the next section. Not far enough as he sighs, “you know, you wouldn’t like my taste anyway. Stick to your girly pop.” 

You resist a frown. You’re not going to let someone like that bring you down. You can tell that he looks for the worst in everything and everyone. You wouldn’t judge someone by their appearance but his demeanour says as much as his words. You won’t add to his cynicism but bothering him further. 

You pick out an Etta James album that you recognise. Your grandmother had the same one. You think your mother snatched it up after she passed. You didn’t get much from the inheritance. As it is, you’d rather have your grandma back. Someone to talk to. 

You move on to the rock section. There’s hair metal and classic rock and grunge and all sorts. You’re not unfamiliar with the genre but you don’t want to be too obvious.  

A scuff startles you and you glance over at the man in the dark jacket. He seems familiar. His short brown hair, his stubbly jaw, and his intensity trigger something in your head. You definitely don’t know him. Everyone you know is too busy for you. 

“Probably don’t even know how to use the damn thing,” he snips under his breath as he gets closer. 

You realise he’s talking about you. It’s no good arguing. You’ve met his kind before. Back when your friends had the time of day for you, you met that type at their parties. You avoided them. 

You leave the aisle. You don’t want to be in his way, though it seems no matter what you do, you are. You find yourself exactly where he predicted. Well, who cares? It’s all a matter of brain chemistry, right? You don’t get to choose what you like, you just like it. It makes your brain happy and heaven knows you need more of that. 

You pick out another favourite then head over to new release. You’ve never heard Sabrina Carpenter. You’ll give it a try. 

You approach the counter and as you do, another sigh storms through the shop. The man’s behind you. Oh no, had you cut him off? 

“You want to go ahead of me?” You ask as you keep your haul in your arms. 

He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, a single record in his hand; The Boswell Sisters. You’ve never heard of them but it really doesn’t look like heavy metal. You turn back to the cashier and smile, “hello, um, this is it.” 

You put your things up as the man returns your smile. He asks if you want a bag and you say, ‘yes, please’. Things might not be perfect but it doesn’t mean you can’t try to make them better. And if a smile and manners can brighten someone else’s day, that alone makes yours a little sunnier. 

🪢

The box for the player has a little plastic handle. You’re happy for that as it makes your journey to cafe a little easier. You stand in line with your paper bag and bulky box and move along until it’s your turn. You order the pumpkin spice but think better of double up with the pumpkin cream muffin; you instead opt for the apple cinnamon with the chunks you can see through the top. 

Patiently, you stand by the wall until your order comes up. You crinkle around the other customers and claim it, balancing it all delicately toward an empty table. You tuck the box underneath and lean the bag against it. 

You tear apart the muffin, dividing the bottom from the top. You peel back the liner and eat the former first, pinching morsels between your fingers. You don’t know why you do it that way, you just always have.  

You taste the pumpkin spice. It’s good. Not too spicy at all. It tastes like real pumpkin. Considering the place is local, it might very well be. You pop the lid off to reveal the mostly melted cream and have another sip. 

You wipe the dairy mustache from your upper lip with a napkin and your eyes flick up to meet another pair. Not far from you, that man stands with his hands in his pockets. He’s waiting by the order window for his own delight. Well, that’s great. Maybe it will cheer him up. 

He glowers until you look through the window. Or not. The baristas call out a black coffee as you chew on the brim of the paper cup. You stare out into New York traffic and feel yourself getting smaller. It’s easy to feel lost in the city. 

As you watch through the window, a dark figure passes before it. You lift your gaze and again find yourself at the mercy of that man’s grim snarl. You quickly turn back to your latte. He must’ve had that black coffee. He might do with a bit of sugar. 

You try not to think about it. You don’t know him. You don’t know his problems. Just like anyone else. People don’t know that you feel heavy when you wake up or that you spend your hours keeping your hands busy so you don’t have to think. They only know the woman with the smile and the chipper voice and just as swiftly forget about her. 

You pick away at the muffin, savouring in each bite. You’re thankful for that. For that moment. You have coffee and a nice dessert and you got your record player. It's best not to think about all the existential stuff you can’t change. It will come back later when you’re alone. It can wait until then. 

🪢

Your walk home sees the sun hiding behind the clouds. The downpour begins a block away from your building and soaks you through. You keep your head down against the sheets of rain and hurry up the walk as the front door comes in sight. 

The elevator is out of order. Again. You climb the stairs in your squeaky soles and finally reach your apartment. You push inside and kick off your sodden shoes and peel away your jacket. The turtleneck beneath is just as drenched. 

You don’t strip down right away. You’re more concerned with your prizes. The records are fine, the covers just a bit damp, and the player doesn’t seem to have taken too much water. You leave it all on the counter and go to change into your favourite fuzzy pajamas. 

You come back out to the front room and stop to admire the slake of rain pelleting against the large windows. It might be dreary but it’s beautiful in its own way. You let the tempo lull you as you unpack the player and set it up on the book shelf.  

You slide the Etta James record from its sleeve and lay it on the player, moving the needle into place. You let it play as you back up, the boisterous tones of the legend melding perfectly with the raindrops. You smile; not the put-upon smile you wear for strangers but a smile of nostalgia and calm. You miss your grandma terribly but the music doesn’t make you sad. 

You go to the table, still messy from last night’s work. It never is clear. You always have scraps and bits littered over it, your sewing machine a permanent fixture on the worn wood. You sit and pick up the felt clump and go back to needling it to a discernible shape. 

Your brows nearly meet in the middle for your focus and it isn’t until the record begins to skip that you sit up. That damn kink is back. Your own fault. Can’t be mad at anyone but yourself. 

You flip the record and let it play out. When it’s over, you shut off the player. You eat the leftovers you’ve been parsing out for the week and settle in for your favourite romcom. It’s cheesy and a little lame but you only have to keep yourself happy. Or try to. 

You leave your plate on the coffee table and hunker down to finish the movie. You’re tired when it’s over but know you won’t sleep. So you go back to the table and work as the rain slows to a lazy rhythm. Your eyelids droop, your shoulders too, but you persist. 

The windows grow dark and there is only the distant shine of streetlights and few windows in the neighbouring buildings. You stare out at the blurring haze and it fades to a deep grey. You wake leaning back in the chair, your head hanging off your neck. You groan as you sit up and curse your carelessness. 

It won’t make work any less intolerable. You check the time ticking away on the clock that came with the apartment. You can get another hour or two. You get up and trod off to bed, not bothering to shut off the lights. You don’t sleep well in the pitch black. 

You fall into bed and just as quickly find yourself unbearable awake. All those little doubts and fears rise up to the surface and have you drowning just below. This is why you end up sleeping upright or folded over. Trying never works for you. Not at anything. 

[gor3-hound]

sneaking out of heaven

ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader

part one, part two

cw: 18+ content, religious guilt, sexually repressed reader, allusions to abusive parents

a/n: i'm soooo nervous about this one lmao... will be smut eventually, but part of is kinda just... setting things up, yay!! not really sure how to tag this part either, so sorry if i missed anything :// title from the waterparks song of the same name <3

word count: 1.3k words

Growing up in the church offered you the only sliver of normalcy in your childhood. Your father, the pastor, was a strict man. He'd always made his expectations of you clear, and you were not one to go against his teachings. After all, his words were the extension of the words of God, as he had made abundantly clear.

You'd never been to a public school, and living in such a small town meant you were not subjected to things that most young girls were. Your father favoured it. This way, he could ensure his daughter stayed free of temptation. That she would be safe under his watchful eye, and never stray from the teachings of God.

Still, in the Church, you felt at home. In God's eyes, all men were created equal. You felt like you had some semblance of free will, less trapped under your father's thumb. As long as you devoted your life to God, you would be safe. He would provide for you, and you'd be able to leave this town.

This did not mean you did not miss the things that most teenagers got to experience. Fiddling around with the computer your dad allowed you for home-schooling purposes and finding incognito mode was something that instantly fed into your curiosity. Your dad couldn't monitor what you were doing, and it made you feel more comfortable to explore.

You never ventured too far, of course. It was as though you felt God Himself would strike you down if you looked at something you shouldn't. No, all you did was watch teen dramas with your volume muted late at night when you knew your father was asleep. You read the subtitles as you watched, fascinated by the idea of partying and going out. Having fun. Being free.

You couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to speak with someone your own age. This town was filled with old folks, and those who had kids all seemed to decide to have them a good ten or so years before or after you were born, so you were left being the only teenager there.

As you got older, the need to spread your wings and leave the nest only grew. Your father got stricter, roped you into more church duties. Anything to keep your curious mind wandering too much.

That was until the Kennedys moved into town.

Along with them came a boy, only a few years older than you. You could feel the tension in your father's body as you stood next to him while greeting them after they attended their first Sunday Mass there.

Their son, Leon, stood behind them looking incredibly uninterested. It was as if your father could sense what the boy would do to your mind, how he'd plague your thoughts late and night when you were all alone. You shook his hand that day, and that contact alone was enough to cause your downfall.

As you lay in bed that night, you felt the devil claw his way into the corner of your mind. He made his home there, filling you with thoughts that left you weak to temptation. As wetness pooled in the gusset of your panties remembering how Leon's hand felt in yours, you sobbed.

You prayed for God's forgiveness when the thoughts subsided. Apologised profusely for even thinking about touching yourself. The next morning, your shower took twice as long. You pretended it was the heat of the summer, but you knew it was your attempt at washing the dirty thoughts from your mind.

Every Sunday, Leon was begrudgingly dragged to church by his parents. And every Sunday, you fall further and further into sin. Until one day, you can't find Leon as you gaze into the pews.

It bothers you more than it should. You should be relieved. If he had convinced his parents to allow him to avoid church, you'd be rid of your temptation. God had heard your prayers, and he had offered you a solution.

You were not so lucky.

As you leave the church, Leon is propped outside against one of the walls. He's smoking, his lips the picture of sin as they wrap around the cigarette while he takes a drag.

His gaze flicks to you, and he tosses it to the floor, stopping it out with the toe of his boot. He grabs your arm, dragging you to the side of your church despite your protests.

“I've seen you watching me.” He says bluntly, but your brain can only focus on the sound of his voice and the way his hand feels as it lingers on your arm. You blink a few times, taking longer than usual to register his words.

“I-I haven't…”

“You have been, though.” He says harshly, brows furrowing like he's ready for a fight. “Think you're better than me? I can feel you judging me, y'know. I didn't want to come to this shitty town. I know I'm not like you.”

Your expression twists into one of confusion. Judging him? If anything, you were the one that deserved to be judged. You shake your head quickly, your heart beating so hard it felt like it would come out of your chest.

“I wasn't… I was just… just curious, that's all.”

He narrows his eyes like he's trying to see if you're lying. After a moment of studying you, he seems pleased enough with your answer and releases your arm.

“Cool. Your dad just really laid it on to my parents. They won't get off my back. Thought he sent you to keep an eye on me or something.” He says with a shrug, his gaze trailing over you.

“I'm not my father.” The words come out more sharp than you intended, and you're instantly scolding yourself mentally for speaking in that way. You take in a deep breath, looking down at the floor before meeting his gaze once more.

“I was wondering if we could be friends?” You ask softly, your voice shaking with slight nerves. Your father would probably crucify you if he knew you were alone with a boy, and here you were trying to bargain more time with him.

“It's just… well, I've never been able to hang around someone my age before, and-”

“Never?” He interrupts, brows furrowing as he looks at you. A small frown tugs at his lips, and you want nothing more than to kiss it away.

You shake your head softly, embarrassment burning in your chest.

“Shit. Does your old man keep you locked up in the church basement or something?” He asks with a laugh that only grows louder when he sees how affronted you are by him cursing.

He's joking, but it's not so far from the truth. You've been tethered to this town since the day you were born, kept on a leash so tight you could feel your airwaves being restricted more and more with every tug made by your father.

“It's just… I've never left this town.” You say quietly, and just like that, Leon's expression softens.

“You don't seem so happy about that.” He replies. The look on your face confirms his suspicions, but you don't say anything in response.

“Hey, well… I'll tell you everything you want to know.” He says with a smile that makes you weak in the knees.

If God created everyone in His image, he must have put a little extra of Himself in Leon Kennedy. You're not entirely convinced you're not in the presence of an angel. Or perhaps a demon sent by the devil to lure you into a life of sin.

You brush the thoughts away quickly. Leon was a human, plain and simple. It didn't matter what he looked like. All men were created equal, you remind yourself. There was nothing wrong with talking to him.

“So we're friends?” You ask hopefully, extending a hand in hopes of making contact with his calloused palms once more.

“Yeah. Friends.”