#i tallied all my word count

[emry-stars-art]

i was rereading different parts of the royal au and i got to neil calling andrew "my star" and my mind immediately added north to it and i read it as "my north star" and then i remembered that that's the star people always use to find home. cause andrew is neil's home.

You 🤝 me, thoughts on Abram calling Andrew his star

[atlas-affogato]

"Oh this seems like a cool au idea"

"Maybe but I can't commit to it"

"Why—"

"Oh."

[juletheghoul]

The General

a/n: So, the Roman got me. It was to be expected, honestly lol. I am well aware we know practically nothing about this character but I couldn't help myself. I wrote reader as a slave here, if you aren't into that - no worries. This is un beta-ed, any mistakes are my own. Shout out to @foli-vora for letting me flood her with my thoughts and ideas and for helping me flesh it out🩷 Hopefully you enjoy!

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, some dirty talk, creampie, alcohol, master / slave dynamic (power imbalance) one creepy dude making a pass, Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus, let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 1.6k

reblogs are appreciated

Series masterlist Masterlist next chapter; the baths

He comes through the tent flap late into the night, covered in blood, grime, and rage, and yet - you are there to greet him. The gods have seen it fit to bestow him with another day of victory, another day of life and with that life, comes his expectations of you.

You rush to pour the water you’ve kept hot at his fire into the basin he uses to wash, eyes scanning quickly for the clean linens he uses to cleanse himself of the gore of battle, and making yourself scarce once the basin is full.

He says nothing, but he has no need to. 

You watch from your place at the edge of his vision, every nerve and receptor in your body honed to anticipate his needs. 

His armor needs to be cleaned before first light, thank the Gods I didn’t fall asleep. I will need to mend the tear in his tunic as well–

His hand shot out, face up towards you, interrupting your mental tally of his state but your body responds quicker than your mind and you’re there in an instant, placing the clean linen into his dampened hand. Still, he says nothing. 

You move towards his table while he finishes, shuffling his maps and well laid battle plans with great care in order to set out the olives and cheese he likes, the crusty bread and the dark wine he prefers. 

“General.” The gruff voice at the tent flap scares you half to death, but you don’t cry out. You’re too well-trained for that. A few of his soldiers stand at the threshold. “We wish to share a cup, a toast to your victory.” They are eager, the red glint of blood still fresh in their eyes. 

He grunts in response, but gestures to his table before giving you a pointed look. You rush to fetch more cups, setting them down at the extra places at his table. They are all seated by the time you finish pouring for them, and with another glance from Marcus–your general–you move to fetch more food from his stores. 

They’re raucous, the heat of the battle still coursing through their veins. Where Marcus is focused on calming the blood, they are eager to stoke the fire. They are either oblivious to his dark mood, or unbothered by it. 

“More wine!” One of them cries out, despite the way the General’s jaw clenches. You hurry to comply, pouring into the younger man's cup without spilling. “You are lucky General Acacius, a pretty, young, thing like this waiting to warm your bed of a night,” he leers up at you, his gaze slipping across your body like eels in a bowl, “would you share your wealth, I wonder.” His other hand slides up the back of your thigh causing you to gasp, his touch wholly unwelcome. 

“If you would like to keep your hands, I suggest you keep them to yourself.” His voice cuts through the air, “Come girl, take my cup away. I have no taste for wine just now.” You move away from the unwanted touch and towards Marcus, avoiding his eyes to complete the task at hand. “Go now, all of you. I will see you in the morning.” He moves from his place at the table, and if the others are unwilling to comply, they make no mention of it. The table is clear by the time he comes back, absent unwanted company. 

He says nothing while removing his armor, but you rush to his side to assist anyway, carefully putting the pieces aside to clean. 

The mood shifts, and his gaze now bores into you, and your heart races to feel it. Where the other man's eyes made your skin crawl, Marcus’ eyes feel like a caress. You feel them on the slit in your tunic, where your thigh is exposed. You feel them on your chest when you turn towards him to help take his chest plate off. 

Goose flesh spreads like a stain across your skin, and your cunt weeps for him, betraying any thoughts that you might not want what he quite obviously wants to give you. The proof of it tenting his tunic when the leather Pteruges are removed.

Those brutal hands, the ones that’d been covered in blood and grime not an hour past, now grab onto your hips, the grip hard enough to bruise. The thin linen shift does nothing to insulate you from his heat, does nothing to dull the press of his want against your belly. Any doubts swimming in your mind about crossing this line with him–again–are silenced when the linen is all but ripped off, leaving you almost shivering in his arms. 

The arousal is something fierce, an entity all in its own and it responds to his brusque movements with a perverse glee. It sets your nerves alight, drips down onto your thighs as he herds you towards his bed mat. His intensity infects you, it strengthens your grip, you’d swear it sharpened your nails by the way you rip at the very tunic you’re going to have to mend.

You land on your back amongst his linens and he’s quick to follow you there. It takes less than a breath for him to shrug everything off, both of you as nude as the day you were born. 

“Open your legs.” His voice is gruff, and thick with want, the same want that smears fat pearly drops against the skin of your thigh. 

Your nipples harden, drawing both his eye, and his mouth as you hurry to comply. He bites, pulling a gasp from your lips. His tongue quickly soothes it though, this is his pattern, an addictive balance of pain and pleasure. First one breast, then the other gets his attention, but only briefly, his desire burns too brightly. 

You only manage to pull his face up to yours before his cock finally slips into your wet heat, feeding a gasp directly into his mouth when you take his kiss with a force to rival his own. 

The size of him always shocks you into silence. He isn’t the first man to have you this way, your chastity had been gone long before you came into his service; you were glad of it to feel the way he molded you to accept him though. Now, and every time he’s been inside you. 

His stroke is brutal, it’s hard, and rough and all but moves you higher onto his mat. It’s perfect.

Your knees hitch high onto his hips, just as he raises one knee to press against the back of your thigh for purchase and it pays off because he finds the spot that makes you keen. 

He lets out a breathy laugh, relishing the state of you and the euphoria of your climax is far too close to feel any shame. Instead your cunt floods him, the slip of him moving so noisy and vulgar and welcome and blissful it pushes you closer still.

“More, please—“ you moan out the words, the first words you’ve spoken to him since he’d returned from a day of violence and he corrects you even now. 

“More what,” he grunts, anger and ecstasy shining on his visage, “speak correctly, girl.” His voice is clipped, his movements faltering and you know he’s close.

“More please, Dominus.” They’re a whimper, and he responds to them just how you hoped he might. He moves quickly and for a moment you can see how he’s earned his reputation, agile and smooth and within a moment he sits back on his haunches, pulling your hips up to meet his thrusts. 

You don’t know whether to scream, or weep, either way you thank the Gods for putting you in this man’s way. The pleasure is peppered with pain where his fingers dig into the meat of your thighs, and you know you will feel the ache of holding them open tomorrow, but it’s so hard to care when it feels so good.

The precipice looms, the shadow of the climax clouding anything and everything and when you reach down towards where you’re spread wide, it only takes a couple of quick, wet circles at your clit to float away.

He groans, hips stuttering and you know you’ve taken him over the edge with you, you can feel the evidence of it painting your insides. His eyes glaze over as he watches himself fill you to the brim, slack-jaw and drunk on his orgasm and your flesh on display for him. 

“I expect you to remain full of my gift-“ his tone is filthy, lust and victory of a different kind on his features as he grinds himself deeper, “until I take you again.” He hisses the last few words out, pulling his softening cock out to inspect his mess. “Am I understood?”

“Yes Dominus.” The words are sweet as summer fruit on your tongue, eager to please him.

He smiles, but it’s predatory and it makes you clench around nothing, your body betraying your words when you feel his spend dripping out in front of his eyes.

He tsks, pushing it back in with thick fingers.

“You are well aware I don’t tolerate such insolence.” His eyes narrow, but his mood is still playful, removing his fingers from your cunt, only to stick them in your mouth. “Now, get some rest. I expect you up at first light.” He speaks with absolute authority as you suck his fingers clean, and nod.

------

Tag list: @frannyzooey @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @ezrasbirdie @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @wheresarizona @sherala007 @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @maxwell--lord @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi  @stevie75 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @pedritoispunk @studythoreauly @missswriter @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name @zombiesnips-blog @sarahjkl82-blog @fan-of-encouragement @queenofthecloudss @deadhumourist @felicisimor @sophiefatale2495 @toomanystoriessolittletime @what-iwish-you-knew @pedrostories @athalien @bi-thewayy @literallydontlook @pedrosbrat @gamingaquarius @localddreamers @luxmundee @iamafadedmoon @nakhudanyx @littlemisspascal @grogusmum @recklessworry @heyitmelexie @killyspinacoladas @gothicxbarbie @evildxad @dragonslarimar @spideysimpossiblegirl @chemtrail-mix @breezythesimp @altarsw @artooies-scream @staygolddindjarin @softsweetedbeauty @littlemisspascal @yuiopiklmn @squidwell @just-blogging-around @bbyanarchist @girlofchaos @maddiedrmr @frasmotic @acourtofsnakes @buckybarneshairpullingkink @astoryisaloveaffair @harriedandharassed  @send-me-to-valhalla @shirks-all-responsibilities @androah @alwaysachorusgirl @dindjarinsmut @captain-jebi @gallowsjoker @oliviajdjarin @tusk89 @dadbodfanatic-x @naiomiwinchester @blazedprince @avidreader73 @mr-underhills-things @avengersfan25 @tastygoldentaters @nyotamalfoy @mymindfuckery @txtattoostark @its-nebuleuse @missladym1981 @inept-the-magnificent

[aklaustaleteller]

heyy how are you! i have this idea that wont leave my head, the reader is scared of love and runs away from it and keeps pushing anyone that tries anything away, but klaus does everything to prove to her that his intentions are pure, and after he does with a little while, she find out about him being a hybrid (maybe she gets really scared) and he has to grovel his way into her life

Mendable Inside Your Ribs

Y/n, all her life, had reached for love and then felt her white-knuckled dying grip on it slip. Then suddenly, Klaus comes in her life looking like the light at the end of the tunnel – and maybe, just maybe, their monsters have more in common than they originally thought.

Warnings - Mentions of animalistic urges, monstrosity, blood, wounds and bruises but it's all in a metamorphic manner (well, except for the blood) Word Count - 3.2k

Finally, Anon, I'm posting your request! I'm so sorry I took so long, but I truly hope that you find the wait worth it once you're done reading this! I could've written this in an entirely different and simpler manner, but I was already half-way through it already written it in a poetic/metamorphic way, so I hope you guys still enjoy it for I am quite proud <3 Please do tell me if you do!

Y/n, all her life, had reached for love and then felt her white-knuckled dying grip on it slip. So many times had it happened that now she was found sat with her hair tangled, dried blood and dirt on her face and inside her nails with crooked teeth, clawing at her own skin sitting in a corner, rocking herself back and forth to comfort herself as she saw love creeping towards her with a smile so sinister that it could make shivers run down the devil’s spine. 

From her parents shaming her for wanting something so simple as love, to her romantic partners who’d always stumble a couple steps back upon realising just how hungry she was for love – how animalistic she could get just for an ounce of it. 

All of it turned her into a person as cold as a tombstone standing over a dead person’s grave, unfeeling and unmoving.

But when she would feel, it felt like her own heart was pushing her head under the water, holding her in there until she had only one more breath left in her. It made her want to snarl and to hiss, to bite and to claw at the person who made her heart leap out of her chest. 

Which would then make her turn and run the other way as fast as her feet could carry her, back to the corner where she belonged. Sometimes she would raise her head and look at the walls inside of her, reading the numbers she had madly tally-marked on them to keep track of just how many days she had kept herself chained there. And somewhere along the passing time, she’d begun defeatedly losing count.

Yet as she sat in that very corner and raised her head this time, she saw something bright. Almost like a light at the end of the tunnel. So she’d gotten forward on her hands and moved on her knees, curiosity pulling her forward until she reached the border which she’d have to cross to get to the other side. 

And that’s when she saw him standing there – Klaus Mikaelson. Smiling down upon her like she was the cutest lamb he’d ever come across, instead of falling backwards because he actually saw the love-hungry animal that she was. 

So, she had taken it upon herself to back off, and ran away from him. But horror crept over her and held her tight when she saw that he had followed her back inside, back to her corner where she resided. 

“Love,” she heard him whisper as he brought his open hands in front of him, wanting her to place her own calloused ones in them and come with him. 

But she never did, always turning away with a growl so that he’d leave. But every time she’d look his way to check if he’d finally left, she’d find him still standing there, with that same smile and those same open arms. 

“Go away, Klaus,” she said coldly, looking away so her dead eyes wouldn’t have to witness hurt flash through his starry eyes. 

He wanted nothing more than for her to see herself the way he saw her. Wanted for her to know that he was the one who’s undeserving of her love, actually. He was the animal here, not her.

But she profusely denied all of his pleas and begs, holding herself strictly uptight so that she wouldn’t fall into pieces upon him and crush him under the weight of all her grief, anger and tragedy. 

He just couldn't seem to get through to her, no matter how hard he tried. So he just decided to remain persistent, and show her how truly pure his intentions are via small acts. Like buying her gifts that he knew would matter to her, such as those small plants that never grow, or random postcards that he knew she put up on her walls, or books that he’d annotated for her to get her to take a glimpse into the way he saw her.

But sometimes, those acts got rather intimate. Like that time he brushed her hair for her for a week long when she had broken her wrist, or that night when he took her feet in his lap to massage them gently after she’d given her best performance on stage. Hell he’d even gone as far as to cook for her on especially hard nights so that he could feed her his love. 

And maybe he was just growing delusional now, but he was beginning to feel like she was taking down her walls around him brick by brick. She no longer glared at him with those ice cold eyes when he would enter into a close proximity to her, nor did she sneer at him to go away. 

Instead, he saw her eyes grow a little wider when he’d enter the same room as her, the dead stare tucking itself away for other people as some life took a dive in her eyes. And he heard a lullaby in her voice when she’d greet him back, her body turned towards him and eyes on him to give him all of her attention.

That’s how he knew that he had brought her away from that corner and back to the very border, again. And he also knew that he now had to tread carefully so that she wouldn’t go back, tumbling away from him. 

And Klaus didn’t know if the Salvatore brothers telling her all about the supernatural world, about who The Klaus Mikaelson was, was his fault or not. 

But what he did blame himself for, was for lowering his guard when he’d brought her just one step away from crossing the border and loosened his grip on her because the moment she was told about his past, not only did she go fumbling back but she also left crescent moons dug in his shoulders from when she’d been shaking him, sobbing loudly and crying out for him to tell her that all of it wasn’t true.

But Klaus couldn’t lie to her, so he’d stood frozen with tears spilling from his eyes as she ran back to her corner, tally-marking another day after so long that her eyes had taken a moment to adjust to the darkness that surrounded her again, this time, more like an evilly laughing capturer instead of holding her in it’s arms like a pitiful mother. 

Y/n awoke this morning with her eyes puffed up, it happened every time she went to sleep exhausted out of her mind. And as the flashes of last night began reeling through her mind again, her eyes grew moist and her vision grew blurry while she climbed down the stairs to go into the kitchen. 

Grabbing a glass of water she chugged it down, leaning over the sink and mumbling to herself that everything was fine, that she was fine. Her eyes remained shut but tears slipped out regardless, sniffling sounds echoing through her house as she tried not to retain any of the information that had been dumped on her. 

“He’s a …hybrid,” Stefan had said, looking at her through his lashes like he was talking to a child about how tooth fairies aren’t real.  

“And what’s that?” She asked, a feeling in her gut telling her that it was, in no way, a sweet creature. 

“He’s half vampire, and half werewolf,” Damon finished saying behind her. 

Breath was knocked out of her lungs at that. She’d always had her suspicions about some certain people surrounding her, like Stefan and Damon themselves, but never once had she felt anything remotely scary when Klaus would stand in front of her. 

Perhaps it was because of his big starry eyes, and those unruly blonde curls that he kept trimmed for some reason. Or those dimples that would shy away from her gaze and that mouth which would always stretch into a smile upon her sight. Or, those hands that held her so gingerly, and those feet that held the weight of her body as he carried her home. 

And maybe it was the fact that he’d never once told her about this himself, that hurt the worse. He had lied to her, or kept the truth from her, dare she say to defend his honour. But it felt like a punch square in the chest when she learned about the blood that stained his hands, his clothes, his face and his mouth. 

Despite that horrifying revelation, she had run straight to his home and shouted at him to come outside. And the moment he had, she was pushing and shoving at him, putting her hands on his shoulders and shaking him, crying – “tell me they are lying! Tell me that you aren’t what they say you are, that you have no blood on your hands!” 

“Tell me!” She had broken down, resting her head on his chest as she let out the sobs. 

“Tell me this wasn’t your intention!” She shook him again and Klaus had opened his mouth to agree with her, but she had fallen to her knees then, looking up at him with tears staining her cheeks and blood swirling in her eyes. 

“Please don’t take me home,” she had told him despite the hot tears streaming down her face and fog settling in her mind. “I can never go home now,” she whispered, scared. 

Home was something that was supposed to be a constant in one's life, that one returned to every single day. And there hadn’t been anything like that for her until Klaus. And now that the shelter of his frame had been uprooted and thrown away, cold rain scraped at her skin all over again as she scrambled around to find her corner to go back to. 

She didn’t want that corner to be her home but time and time again, it was proven to her that it was – whether she liked that or not. 

Taking deep breaths to gather herself, Y/n went back up to her room to get ready for the day – knowing that all she was going to do was read and write and water her dying plants and maybe bake some biscuits that she was never going to get Klaus to taste now. 

And just as she came back to make her first cup of tea, she heard a hissing sound and turned to see a paper that had been folded into half. It had been slipped in through the crack underneath the door. 

She picked it up and opened it, immediately recognising Klaus’ handwriting. 

Y/n,

I know I’ve wounded you deeply by keeping who I truly am from you. But spending so much time with you, I’d somehow mistaken myself to be just the Klaus Mikaelson that you saw. I'm the one who’s wrong at that part, forgive me for it. I never meant to lie to you, perhaps, I was waiting for the right time. But it’s never the right time, is it? I’ve learned that now. 

And while I’m sure the brothers told you enough, I’d still like to introduce myself to you all over again. This time, by laying all my defences down. I should’ve said it then and there, but something came over me and I couldn’t form words. But I hope you’d believe me when I tell you that hurting you was not my intention – it’s something far far away from what I truly do intend. 

My family is hosting a traditional ball tonight. Please save this sick lover of yours a dance. And, you need not fret for I have brought you a dress, come outside? 

Yours truly,

Klaus

A deep weight rested itself on top of Y/n’s chest as she slowly walked towards her door, and opened it. She’d been expecting to see Klaus, but instead there was a box on her porch with a silk bow resting on top of it. She sat down and brought it to her lap, opening it to reveal a blue dress, folded neatly inside the box. 

She knew she was going – there was no doubt about that. But what did gnaw at her, was the chance of what would happen when she’d get there. She wanted to accept the feeling that told her he wouldn't hurt her. And yet, a tremor coursed through her body as she sat and sipped on her tea, waiting for the evening to roll around. 

She wanted for him to unleash himself and show her who he truly is, so that she can love him for him. She didn’t want to fall in love with just his bruised upper skin – no. She wanted to get to know him, inside and out. Wanted to know what his guts found intimidating and what his soul found peaceful. 

But if he wasn’t going to show her that, then nothing could ever make her clean herself up and rid herself of all the wounds that had been inflicted upon her, so that she doesn’t bleed on him from the cut that he didn’t inflict. She had a feelling that maybe, just maybe – there monsters had more in common than they thought they had. 

There must be a reason behind the blood tainting his skin, perhaps, it was thrust upon him for all she knew! Maybe he didn’t want to be the monster that he had been turned into. 

And if that’s true, Y/n wondered if she would still want to unravel him if it turned out that he was just a monster that had no other driving force apart from some personal fun. 

So she dressed herself up for the night. Prepared to listen to him and ask him questions if he wouldn’t have answered them already in his explanation. 

Entering the mansion that she always ran far away from, Y/n took a huge breath before wandering her eyes around to search for the one and only. And It didn’t take long before their eyes locked, with him already looking at her with rather guilty eyes and a relieved smile for she had shown up. 

Walking to her, Klaus took in a shaky breath as he fixed his suite. He was nervous, hell, scared even. Honestly, terrified that tonight might be the final time he would see her and the final memory he’d have of her would be of her sprinting away from him for she couldn’t bear the sight of the ugly monster he had ended up growing into. 

“You came,” Klaus smiled, looking at her with those same starry eyes except tonight they were shining because of the sheen layer of tears glossing them up. 

“You asked me to,” she shrugged faintly, her mouth cold to sight but her eyes were big and almost smiling up at him. 

With her hand still in his’ from when he had bent down to kiss the back of it, Klaus walked her over to the vacant balcony – nothing to witness the tragedy but the sky that had itself gotten dressed in its best constellations and ornament, the moon.

Klaus wanted to believe his heart when it told him that she would listen to him and try to love him, but his head’s juxtaposition was not gentle. It prepared him for the worst, reminding him of how no one had ever loved him before, and no one would now. For all that was true, he had only gotten worse over time. 

“To hurt you, was never my intention,” he whispered, his big eyes looking into hers. 

“It is true that I am a Hybrid – a vampire and a werewolf. It is also true that I’m covered in blood from head to toe, from my bones to my skin, I am drenched in it.”

His legs were growing jittery and breathing was becoming harder to do than it should be. But his hold on her hand only tightened, tears collecting on his bottom lash line. 

“It is true that I am a monster. One with a heart that doesn’t beat and a soul that feasts upon the love it never gets,” with his free hand, Klaus wiped the tear as it slipped down the slope of his cheek. 

She only stood still in front of him, urging him with her eyes to go on. Her own breathing ragged as she began seeing him and listening to him

“But I need you to know, before you leave tonight,” his voice shook as he stole his eyes from hers for a second to gain back his courage, as all of it had been spent the moment he mentioned her inevitable departure. “That I would never hurt you, I never can, hurt you,” he assured her, searching her eyes for anything. 

“I truly am in love with you. And I will take forever to show you that if that’s what you’ll ask of me,” bringing her hand to his chest, he rested it there. “I want you to lay yourself bare in front of me so that I can show you that even your ugliest is loved by me,” he whispered.

“Say something, please,” he almost cried, his voice cracked, not having anticipated her departure to come so soon. 

“I –,” Y/n began, her voice hoarse due to not having used it for so long. “I think I can love you, Klaus,” she uttered, looking away from his eyes, fearing that he was going to deny her heart upon realising just how ugly and bruised and beaten it is.

Upon the realisation that sure, her insides are a million colours – but they are all shades of blue. 

And when the deafening silence got too much for her to bear, she turned away from him to make a run back home. 

But her hand felt to have gotten caught in something and she was pulled right back, into a hard and vulnerable chest as her mouth felt something soft press itself hardly against it. 

Klaus’ mouth. 

His mouth was on hers and one of his hands was curled against the back of her neck while the other cradled her face with force. 

Everything inside of her erupted into flames as she tilted her face to better mould it against his’, and fisted the curls on the nape of his neck, pushing him further into her while bending her back to accept the force. 

“Say it again,” he breathed, breaking the kiss and resting his forehead on hers, his tears slipping from his eyes and falling onto her cheeks. 

“I think,” she exhaled sharply, trying to catch her breath while her eyes remained stuck on his mouth. “I think I can love you,” she confessed again, instantly moving her lips in sync with his’ as he kissed her desperately, finally. 

“My heart – it is shabby and broken but it’s already yours,” she choked out. “And it’s only mendable inside your ribs,” her shoulders shook as she cried, now fisting the shirt of his collar to keep him close to her. 

“My love, your heart – it, it is safe with me,” he breathed with her, trying to calm his racing heart down. “And my heart will forever beat on your command,” sniffling, he tucked her hair behind her ear, gently lifting her face to seal his confession by breathing in her breath and letting her take away his’ as he pressed his mouth against hers, once again. 

[chaoticartistan]

HATER FREE ZONE

this is a hater-free zone if you’re the type of guy that complains about music just because some specific songs got popular on tiktok i‘m shoving you in the meat grinder

[muniimyg]

1: the confession // series m.list

note: been daydreaming abt this jk... enj <3

taglist request: send a request with the title of this fic “aao” // DO NOT comment here or on the masterlist . it gets confusing and i prefer answering and tagging through asks !!!

🏷️ permanent taglist: @joonsjuice @taetaecatboy @pb-n-juju @miss-rainy-days @firesighgirl @whoa-jo @vantxx95 @pamzn @kakixaku @casspirit0705 @tae165 @defzcl @sopebubbles @leefics @ggukkieland @bebebutbetter @yoongimentita7 @boraength @era-genius @4ksj @vampcharxter @miss-jupiter @floweryjeons @taegijns @jeonqkooks-main @ellesalazar @jkslvsnella @thekookiecorner @parkinglot-nights @seagulljk

fic taglist: @peterstarkchrishiddleston

//

The library is your favourite place. 

At least, that is until your predictable love for it comes to a disadvantage. May your tranquil moments alone rest in peace as your friends corner and gaslight you to leaving your sanctuary. Sometimes, it’s for parties. Other times, it’s for something stupid like driving to the next town to watch a movie at their theatre because their theatre chairs recline better. 

You won’t have it this time. 

No way. You have so much work to do!

"Oh, come on! Please, ___?” Hobi begs. “Come tonight! It'll be fun!" Suddenly, he’s clinging to your arm, making it harder for you to ignore him. You try shaking him off, but he pouts at you and clings on even tighter. 

“Hobi,” you whine. “Go to the party if you wanna go. Jimin said he’d meet you there! And Nam Joon, and Taehyung, Jin, and even Yoongi!” 

“But I want you to come!” He cries. “I need someone to keep count of my drinks—”

“Use a marker and tally it on your arm.”

“But then what if I need to throw up—”

“Then throw up.”

“... Jungkook will be there!”

You blink at him. 

“So?”

Hobi lets go of your arm and raises a brow at you. “What do you mean so? Isn't he your boyfriend?”

His accusation has you tongue-tied. This is the first time you’ve ever heard such an absurd thing! Jungkook became a part of the friendgroup after you. He’s the newbie. Actually, he has a whole other set of friends aside from you guys. Why? Because he’s cool. That’s it. Everyone on campus knows him and truth be told; he deserves his hype. He’s good-looking, kind, and a little weird (in a good way). He’s funny and smart (but not in an obnoxious way)... He’s just… Kind of good at everything? It intimidates you and often leaves you daydreaming. 

Come to think of it, everything happens by coincidence. Yours and his lectures usually start and end around the same time. Not to mention that he also loves the library! He usually walks you home after your study sessions. But, yeah… Aside from these things—you and Jungkook aren’t actually that close.

“W-what? I’m not dating Jungkook! Doesn’t he have a girlfriend?” you ask, careful not to sound too noisy. 

Hobi shakes his head. “Girlfriend? Yeah… You.”

Your eyes widen.

In a panic, you hiss at Hobi. “Don’t start rumours! That’s embarrassing for him to be associated with me—”

“Oh shut up,” Hobi laughs. “Do not get all insecure and pick me when the campus crush has literally been drooling over the past few weeks. Everybody knows. Everybody talks about it! Besides, they talk about him being all lovestruck—not you! So, spill it. What did you do, huh? Did you manifest it or some shit—”

“With all the time I spend in class, work, and the library… You think I have time to manifest?” you chuckle at him, ultimately trying to dismiss his suspicion. 

Hobi rolls his eyes at you. 

“For someone who reads fanfics and book loads of romance stories… You’re dense as fuck.”

Tilting your head at him, you try to find the words to defend yourself and fail. 

He’s right. 

You are dense. 

But that never hurt anyone before… So why does it matter?

“Earth to ___?” Hobi waves his hands to your face. You blink, brushing your thoughts away. Offering him a tired smile, he looks at you weirdly. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you exhale. “Why?”

“You’re blushing like crazy,” he teases, poking your cheek. Your hands fly to your cheeks. He’s right. They feel warm and the sudden embarrassment just made you feel even more flustered. Then, he nudges you. 

“Get it together!” Hobi mutters, “Your boyfriend is coming!"

Turning your head, you see Jungkook making his way through the doors. He has his backpack on one shoulder and his eyes glued to his phone. Like muscle memory, he turns his heels and walks toward your direction. 

“Oh my god,” you hit Hobi’s arm. “Why did you plant these thoughts when he’s literally—”

“Plant thoughts? Babes, it’s reality. Helllooooo?” Hobi sings, tauntingly. 

You pout at him, unable to take this lighthearted. 

Then, before you know it, Jungkook approaches you. 

He pulls the seat next to you out and settles in. After offering a fist bump to Hobi, he quickly leans his body over and places his hand on your knee. He’s always done this but why was it suddenly so different now? Was it always like this and you never noticed until now? Until Hobi…

Wow… 

“Hey, you.” Jungkook greets you warmly.

“... H-hi.”

He gives you a weird look. You avoid his eyes in return. Clearing his throat, he asks, “Why aren’t you packed up yet? Aren't we going to the party?”

Jungkook eyes your spread of notes on the table. You clunch your iPad closer to you and shrug. “We? It’s you. Aren’t you going to the party?”

Jungkook returns your question with a grin. “No. Us. You, specifically. You, especially.”

“Yeah, ___!” Hobi chimes cheekily. “Aren’t you going to the party?”

Hesitantly, you shake your head. 

“N-no… I have too much work to do. Here! I’ll just—” you pause your sentence and reach for Hobi’s arm. Pushing his sleeve up, you take the sharpie from your pencil case and write on his arm. 

If piss drunk, please return to ___. 

(xxx) xxx-xxxx <3

Hobi reads it sideways and yanks his arm back. 

“I hate you,” he utters. With laser eyes, he glares at Jungkook. “Tell her you’re coming to the party. Drag her to come! She’s always here! Homework can wait for tomorrow!”

Jungkook exchanges looks with you. With a soft gaze, he shrugs and turns to Hobi. 

“She doesn’t wanna go.”

Hobi groans. 

“Fine. Let’s go. Let’s leave—”

“I’m staying,” Jungkook says calmly. "She's not going... Neither am I."

He picks his backpack up from the ground and begins to unzip it. Taking out his notes and laptop, he looks up and smiles at Hobi. “Can I see your arm?”

Huffing, Hobi shows Jungkook your note. As Hobi rambles on and on about how you and Jungkook are party poopers, Jungkook takes your Sharpie and crosses your number out. 

If piss drunk, please return to ___. Jungkook

(xxx) xxx-xxxx <3

(xxx) xxx-xxxx

For the second time tonight, Hobi reads his arm sideways and yanks it back. He squints at the unfamiliar number. 

“Why’d you cross her number out? Whose number is this?” Hobi asks. 

“Mine,” Jungkook states, smiling at the correction. “Call me if you need anything.”

“What? Why?”

Jungkook blinks. “I’m not really crazy about ___’s number being on your arm for other guys to have and call her with.”

Hobi’s mouth drops. He slowly turns to you and gulps. Blinking at you slowly, he gives you crazy eyes. “You can not be this dense, ___. Jungkook is literally ripping me into shreds in his head right now—”

You laugh.

“Go. Have fun! Call me if you need anything.”

Hobi turns to Jungkook. 

Jungkook smiles at him sweetly with his eyes closed. He shakes his head slowly and wiggles his finger at him. “Don’t call her.”

With that, Hobi grumbles a few exchanges before packing his stuff up. He waves goodbye and tells you that you’re lame one last time. You agree with him and wave him goodbye. As he leaves, Jungkook moves his chair closer to you. 

“So… Same schedule? Study until 9PM and then I walk you home? Or are you hungry tonight? Maybe we can wrap this up by 7:30PM and grab a bite to eat? I know a really good burger spot just up campus—why’d you do that?”

Your body stiffens.

“Do what?”

Jungkook eyes your chair distance. 

“You moved away.”

What the heck… How did he even notice? It’s not like you moved across the table! You just moved like… Half an inch. 

“No, I didn’t,” you deny. “But yeah… Sure! I’ve been craving a good burger with extra cheese—what are you doing?”

“I’m moving closer to you.”

“Why?”

“Because you lied to my face and moved away.”

“N-no!” 

Jungkook inches his face closer to yours. He boops your nose and scrunches his. “You sniff whenever you lie. Did you know that?”

“N-no…”

“Now you do.”

For the first time ever… You lose your breath. It’s like you forgot how to breathe. He’s so close to you. His eyes are so doey, you’re literally getting lost in them. The scar he has on his left cheek… You can see it so clearly—the detail of how his skin healed and all. His hair is brushing above his eyebrows and you can’t help but realize how much you like the way it falls on his face. He’s… Cute?

Oh god. 

“D-dont do that—uhh—” You move away from him. This time, there’s an obvious space between you two. Jungkook straightens his posture, completely confused by your burst of emotion. It’s… Conflicting? He swears you two were about to kiss… Now, what’s going on?

“___? What’s wrong?” Jungkook asks with a gentle tone. 

You turn away and shove your notes to your face. Mumbling into the paper, you tell him what’s on your mind. “Everyone thinks you have a crush on me and it’s embarrassing.”

Jungkook doesn’t hear you well. 

“Say that again,” he requests. Without warning, he takes the paper from your hands, leaving you to face him. “Don’t act all cute. What is it?”

You stay silent and contemplate.

Was this worth saying? Was this worth addressing? Would it change anything between you two after? What about the burgers? You’ve been craving a cheesy burger like crazy—

“It’s fine if you don’t feel comfortable. You can tell me later or never. I don’t mean to be pushy—”

Then, you blurt it out. 

“Everyone thinks you have a crush on me… Or something.” 

Jungkook doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t hold his breath. 

He doesn’t deny it. 

“I do have a crush on you.”

Your throat feels dry. What?! Has he lost his mind?

“W-what? You can’t j-just—”

Jungkook tilts his head and pouts. 

“I don’t really understand why I should deny it. Why should I lie? Why should I make an excuse? This is how I feel. You just found out earlier than the confession… I guess this is it though, right?” He laughs. 

You hit his chest. 

“This isn’t funny!”

“Why can’t it be funny?” Jungkook laughs even harder. He catches your wrist and holds you still. “Doesn’t it make you laugh? That everybody on campus watched me wait outside your classes every day for almost 3 months… That everybody waits on me to go to parties but I don’t show up because I rather walk you home and stay home… That everybody on campus watched me enter this goddamn library of a snoozefest—”

“Hey! I like it here.”

“Yeah,” he rolls his eyes at you. “I like you. That’s why I’m here.”

“I… I thought you wanted to study.”

Jungkook laughs even louder, earning a few hushes from others nearby. He groans, throwing his head back. “I can’t even fucking laugh in here without getting in trouble. Why the hell would I like this place?”

“... To study!”

“To be with you.” 

You shut up. 

No words, no thoughts, no feelings. 

Okay…

Feelings. Lots of them. 

“I don’t understand why you’re so overwhelmed,” Jungkook murmurs, leaning his head against your shoulders. “I thought you knew. I thought you figured it out by now. I wasn't exactly discrete."

You sit still, not knowing if you should move or let him settle in. Before you can decide, he sits himself up and grabs your hand. He squeezes it tightly and brings it to his lips. Kissing your hand, he looks at you. 

“Doesn’t matter if you’re dense. Doesn’t matter if you don’t know how you feel right now. I’ll win you over… You’ll fold."

You yank your hand away from him. In response, he leans over and kisses the side of your head instead. You gasp, but your cheeks blush. Quickly, you cover your face with your hands. He laughs heartily, tugging you close to him. You bury your face in his chest and groan at the sinking feeling of wanting to be anywhere but here. This was humiliating!

And just when you think it can't get any worse, Jungkook wraps his arms around you and hugs you tight. As he pats your back, he murmurs—

"You're falling for me already, aren't you?"

[jo-harrington]

Breadsticks (Eddie Munson x Reader)

Pairings/Relationships: Older!Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader

Summary: Eddie picks you up for a date that'll cheer you up. He promises.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings/Themes: Modern Timeline, Established Relationship, Food/Eating, Silliness, Fluff, Reader having a little bit of a bad day, Hurt/Comfort

Note: I don't normally do requests but if @hearsegrrl says she's feeling a little down and needs a little fic pick me up then I need to make her feel better OBVIOUSLY. Especially when she brings so much joy to the fandom with her art. So before you read this--and in fact, YOU MUST DO IT BEFORE YOU READ THIS--go ahead and say THANK YOU RACHEL! For everything she does.

(Hope you enjoy this baby. I know you're vegan...but I went hard with the cheese. Literally. <3)

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

When your relationship with Eddie went from friendship to the talking stages to the moment when he would actually become your boyfriend--

"Aren't we a little too old for that?"

"Call me boyfriend, partner, comrade, soulmate. Whatever you want, sweetheart. Just don't call me late for dinner."

--he made you a list of promises. As though he had to make a deal with you to convince you that he was the right fit for a relationship; as though you'd ever turn him away.

But one of the things on that list of promises was a promise to cheer you up when you were down, and although you insisted that sometimes that promise would be impossible to keep, he insisted that he could try.

"It's the least I could do when you let me see your boobs whenever I want," he joked, earning playful slaps and then a stupidly lovesick kiss.

Tonight, though, was the first opportunity for him to put his money where his mouth was.

It had been a bad day, a bad week, and you were tired. Too tired to entertain questions and conversations with all of your friends, and because of that, you canceled plans to go out with the group on Sunday. I'm just not feeling good. It was simple and everyone understood, told you to feel better; Eddie, though, was immediately texting to see if you needed anything.

Soup, ginger ale, aspirin, a tummy rub; whatever you wanted it was yours. He could be at your place in an hour.

You smiled fondly and stared at the message for a second, then at the blinking cursor in the text box; normally there would be a sense of dread at the barrage of questions that would come if you tried to explain that you weren't that kind of not feeling good.

But Eddie had always been good at not pushing the boundaries.

You typed your reply and he was lightning fast with his own response.

How about dinner? Just the two of us. I know the perfect place.

And wasn't that the damned truth? Eddie always knew the perfect place. Perfect places for dates, parks for picnics, places to park his van and fool around.

How could you say no to him?

Perfect boyfriend was perfect. Fucker.

An hour later he was pulling up outside your building and holding the passenger's side door open for you as you emerged from your pit.

"I'd have gotten you flowers to cheer you up," he started his greeting. "But I know you hate grocery store flowers, so..."

"Yeah I would have turned and gone right back inside, but the thought is appreciated," you sassed.

"I'll just have to get you a bouquet of something else next time you need cheering up." He pressed a kiss to your temple and then gestured for you to hop inside.

There was music playing--conspicuously an artist you liked that he typically shit on you for, and not one of his ultra-specific, niche metal bands--and slurpees in the cup holders--his coke and cherry, yours grape--and the A/C was churning the perfect temperature in the cab.

"You sure you're not just trying to get lucky tonight?" you asked as he got back into the driver's seat to head to dinner. "Because I'm tallying some serious boyfriend points here."

He scoffed and pressed a hand to his chest in mock affront.

"Moi? Looking for sex? Don't be ridiculous; my virtue is intact." He batted his eyelashes coquettishly and then shifted the gear to drive when you snorted a laugh. "No, tonight is all about making you feel better."

"I don't really want to talk about what happened though," you blurted out, brain shifting to defense mode automatically. You closed your eyes and sighed. "Sorry...it was just..."

"Nope! Don't worry!" Eddie cut you off. "I don't need to know unless you wanna tell me. You make the rules here. I'm just the trusty chauffeur tonight. And court jester. And bankroll for all your culinary desires."

You melted into the seat and stared at his profile for a second, illuminated by streetlights. He'd already made you feel better in the last 10 minutes than you had all week.

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye and then said, "I promise, you're gonna love this place."

"Oh yeah?"

"A Munson family tradition for special occasions. Birthdays. What haves you. Wayne is gonna be jealous we're going without him."

---

It was Olive Garden.

Your perfect idiot boyfriend took you to Olive Garden.

"Not just Olive Garden," Eddie held his hands out defensively at your questioning stare. "Never Ending Pasta Bowl at Olive Garden. The premiere event of the year. I would've worn a suit...but I figured that it would be rude of me to expect you to dress up when you said you weren't feeling great. So..."

He trailed off and his jovial expression fell, and you felt bad as his body language changed from silly to nervous.

It wasn't that you didn't like Olive Garden; it was just unexpected.

Actually, it was one of your favorite stupid places to eat right along with a shopping mall food court and, believe it or not, Chuck E. Cheese. A mid-tier chain restaurant with endless breadsticks? It was heaven. In fact, you're pretty sure that early on in your friendship with Eddie, you went on a weed-induced rant about the pillowy-softness and garlicky goodness that was an Olive Garden breadstick.

Had he remembered that? Squirreled that information away for all this time?

No...it couldn't be...

"So can I order mozzarella sticks too?" you asked tentatively. "Or in true spirit of the Never-ending Pasta Bowl, am I only limited to infinite rigatoni?"

Eddie's nerves melted and his smile bloomed once again.

You liked it when he smiled; it was infectious. You could feel the corners of your lips quirking too, until you were grinning right back at him.

"I think it's called fried mozzarella, actually," he said and wrapped an arm around your waist so he could lead you in. "You can have anything your heart desires tonight."

He wasn't kidding.

Mozzarella sticks, and soup and salad and breadsticks, and an italian margarita.

And then all the pasta you could ever dream of.

Eddie was ultra attentive; overly attentive, even. But he still kept his signature Munson charm and tomfoolery.

He asked the server for parm because he knew you would get self-conscious about the unholy volumes of cheese you'd desire on your food.

He made you laugh with a 10-minute hypothesis about the process of never-ending fettuccini and how there must be a barrel sized spool with one singular fettucino that they unraveled and cut into appropriate portions upon order.

He always made sure to ask for more breadsticks and insisted that you got first pick from the fresh basket.

He did a magic trick with balled up paper napkins that were shoved into his ears and then spat out from his mouth. (One was also extracted from his nose causing the child at a nearby table to start clapping).

And finally, when all was said and done and it was time to pay, you were forced to cover your face bashfully as he extracted not one, not two, but three pictures of you from his wallet before he found his card.

"What?" he asked, lovingly tucking the polaroids and photo booth film strips back into the worn leather bi-fold. "How else am I supposed to spontaneously construct an altar to worship you if I don't have your picture handy."

It healed your soul. One joke and mouthful of carby, tomatoey goodness at a time. It was silly and it was everything you needed in the moment to make the hell that was your week better.

He even got you to talk about everything that made you upset. It just started spewing out your mouth as you aggressively skewered fusilli onto your fork. He gave you all the time and space you needed to say "damn this" and "fuck that" about all the little things that built up to one big, obnoxiously shitty week until you felt the weight lift off your shoulders.

Usually when you got into your moods, it would've been impossible.

But did you expect him to do anything less than impossible?

Towards the end of your visit, Eddie popped to the bathroom, and while he was gone your server stopped by to see if there was anything else you needed.

"Any to-go containers or mints or maybe some more breadsticks?"

"Don't worry," Eddie's voice echoed through the dining room. "I've already got that covered."

You turned in your seat and you weren't sure what you expected, but what you found certainly wasn't it.

Eddie stood there, proudly presenting a bouquet of breadsticks, each one skewered with an uncooked spaghetti noodle and bound prettily with a bow made out of a plastic bag.

He closed the distance and dropped to one knee and then presented it to you with a wink, "I told you I'd have to find some other kind of bouquet to get you besides flowers."

There was some back and forth about Jeff's assistant manager buddy and where you'd fit this in your fridge, before you leant over and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you," you whispered and nuzzled your nose against his skin.

"You feeling better?" he asked.

"Yeah," you nodded. "It was the best date I've ever had."

And it would be.

Until the next one.

[gracieheartspedro]

How Long

pairing: f!reader x brother-in-law!joel miller

description: your boyfriend tommy miller is a cheating bastard. luckily, your brother-in-law joel is nice enough to help you get your mind off of it.

word count: 5.1k

warnings: MINORS DNI! this is 18+, pre!outbreak joel, this is porn, joel is a consent king though!, talk of horrible sex life, cheating, unprotected p in v, fingering, oral (f and m receiving), dirty talk, multiple orgasms, pet names

author's note: hey lovers (; I have been teasing this one awhile. i may continue this if you guys like it a lot. this was a request from an anon, i hope they like it!! i'm almost at 400 followers and I was gonna release this when I hit that, but I am too excited to share this. leave me your thoughts! my requests are still open! <3

You and Tommy went way back. You had crushed on him since high school, his charisma was hypnotic and you were hooked the moment he asked for your phone number. You became borderline obsessed. He was the ideal boyfriend. A huge mama’s boy, respectful, and hilarious. 

You hadn’t ever questioned Tommy’s intentions with you. You two even talked marriage. 

It wasn’t until his 26th birthday that you noted a shift in his behavior and when everything officially fell apart. You had just spent all afternoon at his brother, Joel’s, house. You and Joel arranged a surprise birthday barbeque and you were so excited to spend his special day with him and his whole family.

The whole day, you lied and said you were going for a girls day out with your sister, who was newly single. Instead, you and Joel slaved over the stove making Tommy’s favorites. You also decorated the shit out of Joel’s whole house, with the help of his tween daughter, Sarah. 

Joel told him to come over to help with fixing up his truck, but in actuality you all jumped out of your hiding spots and yelled “happy birthday!”

He hardly reacted. He was dazed seeing your beautiful smile peak up behind Joel’s recliner. 

His attitude was distant the whole night. He wouldn’t kiss you, and pulled away every time you went in to wrap your arms around his waist. He drank way more than you expected, tallying up about 10 beers. 

Joel noticed it, too. 

Joel even asked if he should start taking it easy and cool it on the beer. That only pissed Tommy off, which lead you to break up an argument in front of their own mother. Joel was annoyed, noting how shitty Tommy was being towards you. He was ready to fight his own brother on his birthday.

After the festivities and helping Joel with the dishes, you bid the whole family farewell. Tommy was too drunk to drive home, so you knew you would take him home in your Toyota Corolla, telling Joel you’d be back tomorrow to get his truck. 

“Drive safe you two,” Joel said in the driveway after assisting Tommy to the car. Even after Tommy yelled and fussed at him, he still gladly accepted Joel’s help. He knew he couldn’t walk any more than 50 feet. You smiled watching them, happy they could make amends so quickly, and started up your engine. 

The whole ride home, Tommy kept checking his flip phone. The screen would light up into his glazed over eyes and he’d huff in frustration. 

“Everything okay, baby?” You finally decide to ask. 

You glance over in his direction and you could tell he was annoyed by the question. You bite the inside of your cheek, anticipating him to blow up at you next. 

Tommy was not a nice drunk. He would blow up at the drop of a hat. There’d been countless times where he’d pick a fight with you after you picked him up from a bar or a friend’s house. You learned not to talk on any rides home when he was drinking. But you couldn’t help yourself. 

“You want my honest answer?”

Of course, you did. But when he says it like that?

“What is it, Tommy?”

He clears his throat, “I’m fuckin’ your sister.”

You felt your world crashing around you in that instant. You slam on your breaks on a main road, unable to actively drive due to the shocking news. You pull off into an abandoned parking lot, your hands shaking as you throw the car in park. 

“What?”

You didn’t even want to look over at him, your eyes welling with tears. 

“Yeah,” Is all he says, his voice changing, “I’m sick of lyin’. It’s only been a couple times. But she wants to meet back up.”

His drunk honesty was like vomit coming out of his mouth. Constant and sickening. He was so heartless with his words. This wasn’t your Tommy. What made everything so much worse was that it was your fucking little sister. You two didn’t have the best relationship, but you still cared deeply for her. This was the ultimate betrayal. You couldn’t believe that she, of all people, would try to destroy your picture perfect life.

Not so picture perfect anymore.

The soft hum of the radio takes up the air. You felt like you could suffocate with all of the tension. 

“How long?”

He chuckles lowly, “Longer than I’d probably like to admit. Why do you think her ex dumped her?”

You finally turn to him. He looked remorseless, not even batting an eye at your distraught expression.

“Get the fuck out of my car, Tommy,” You say sternly, “I don’t want to see your face ever again.”

“Oh come on baby,” He groans, “At least take me home.”

“Get,” The tears begin to fall, “Out. Now.”

He throws his hands up in surrender, “Fine, don’t want to watch you cry, anyway. Makes me feel like shit.”

He opens the car door and you watch as he stumbles out. He practically falls on the concrete, his footing wobbly from the alcohol. If you were as callous as him, you’d back your car right over him, but instead you sped off as soon as the door slammed shut. 

Your hands are still vibrating, unsure of what to do next, you pick up your phone and dial Joel. 

He answers after three rings. 

“‘Sup, sweetheart?”

His Southern drawl is hushed, like he was trying to be quiet for someone. It was late, maybe he was putting Sarah to bed. 

“Your brother.”

It’s all you could say before breaking out into a deep sob. He becomes panicked, immediately springing into older brother mode, begging you to tell him where you were. 

You finally catch your breath, “He’s a cheating bastard. He fucked my sister and I left him in the old Hecht’s parking lot.”

Joel lets out a long sigh, “Where are you?”

“I’m driving,” You mutter, choking back more sobs you feel coming up, “I can’t go home.”

You knew going home would be painful. All the photos lining your walls of you and Tommy. The pictures with your own sister. All of his belongings scattered all over the house. You knew you’d spiral, untangling the mess and missed signs. 

“Come back to my house,” He suggests, “I’ll go get Tommy and take him home. The back door will be unlocked, just come right in and settle down. Make some tea or somethin’.”

You nod even though he can’t see you. 

Joel was the older brother you never had. He was mature and honest. You had come to him a couple times to analyze Tommy and his behavior. It didn’t happen often, but he was great at advice. You trusted him. He was family to you.

“Thanks Joel,” You wipe your tears, “See you in a bit.”

-

Luckily Sarah was fast asleep upstairs, snuggled up soundly, while you tried to contain your sobs. You couldn’t believe how drastically this evening turned.

Tommy cheated on you with your sister.

The man you were hoping to marry and settle down with? The one who was adored by your parents? The one you told all your darkest secrets to?

You had no clue how he would ever come back from this. And he did it with your sister?

You still could not grasp that it was her. The girl who always came to you for boy advice? Hell, she came to you last week asking about a guy she had be-

It was fucking Tommy. She wanted advice on how to woo your fucking boyfriend. 

You wanted to strangle her too, but who knows what lies he may have been leading. You wanted the whole story, but you didn’t want to open a can of worms so late in the evening. You weren’t going to be sleeping, plagued by your own thoughts and emotions.

You’re curled up on Joel’s couch, using his huge knitted blanket as a cape. You turned on the TV only to give your cries some background noise.

Just when you stop the tears, Joel walks in with this look on his face. Disappointment. Rage. 

“How ya holdin’ up, sweet girl?”

Joel had tons of pet names for you, but that was a new one. He has always called you anything but your actual name. 

“Not good,” You say, choking back more tears. You were practically all cried out, your cheeks were stained bright red. Joel shuffles over to you, dropping his keys down on the coffee table. He plops down on the couch next to me.

“He’s a fuckin’ idiot,” He mutters, patting your unclothed thigh. Maybe it was the words he said that sent goosebumps up your body, not the fact he took a long second to remove his hand from your leg.

“I just can’t… Why would he do this?”

He huffs, shrugging his broad shoulders, “I asked him and he said it’s cuz you ain’t puttin’ out like you used to. Said that your sister came onto him and he couldn’t say no.”

It felt like another stab to the heart. You and Tommy had sex like three times a week. Every time he came inside you and praised you. You on the other hand, never came and had grown sick of having to finish yourself off every time it happened. So yeah, maybe you weren’t the eager youngin’ you were before, but you still fucked him whenever he wanted.

“That’s horseshit! I fuck him all the time. He is just… he’s a fucking cheating bastard. I just can’t believe it was her. Like what man fucks around with his girl’s own sister? He knows better.”

You’re trying to rationalize his behavior in your head. But Joel is not as kind.

“He obviously doesn’t, sweet girl. He…” He drifts off, catching himself for saying how he truly felt about his brother. Once he looks into your puffy red eyes, his tune changes, “He’s a stupid motherfucker for letting a girl like you go. Don’t know much about your sister, but she has some explainin’ to do, too.”

Your heart flutters a bit. Joel’s accent was so much more pronounced when he was angry, it was kind of hot. Why are you thinking that right now?

“I just can’t believe he would do something so… heartless. He didn’t even act sorry, Joel.”

“The alcohol made him bold, that’s for sure. Doesn’t ‘cuse the behavior, but ya know,” He sits back into his couch, “‘m sorry, sweetheart.”

You turn to face him, “Makes me think of the time he accused me of cheating.”

“He accused you of cheatin’? When?”

It was years ago, right after your 21st birthday. Joel and Tommy took you and a couple of your friends out to a club in downtown Austin. You took so many shots, you ended up dancing a bit too close with Joel. It led to a fight you had never brought up to Joel himself, but nonetheless, Tommy thought you had a thing for his older brother.

Sure, Joel was nice. He was a bit more serious than Tommy, always trying to be the rational one. He was an excellent and present father, dedicating his entire life to raising Sarah. He had similar features to Tommy. Tall, dark hair, beautiful brown eyes. When you talked to him, those eyes of his were so laser focused on what you said, sometimes you found yourself stumbling over your words. 

Maybe it was a little crush. 

“It was years ago,” You confess, looking down at your bitten back cuticles, “He thought I had a thing for you.”

His eyes zero in on your lips, like he’s trying to take the words out of your mouth, one by one.

“A thing? What type of thing?”

You shake your head, pushing your face into your hands. This wasn’t something you wanted to talk about, especially not now. But it was distracting you from thinking about what you could’ve done. Instead, you’re reminding yourself of all the shitty things Tommy has done over the years. That “perfect boyfriend” you had in the beginning was falling apart a long time ago. You just hadn’t seen the signs right in front of you. Now here they are, splattered all over the floor.

“He thought you and I had a bit too much fun on my 21st, I don't know! He always acted so weird when I talked about you. You’re like my brother, I would never cross that line.”

The silence in the room was deafening. You finally raise your head, looking at Joel’s contemplative face. 

“Never?”

You stare at him, looking for a smile to crack across his face. Like it was a joke or something.

But it wasn’t.

The air in the room shifted.

“Joel,” You mumble, before his fingers reach up and trace your bottom lip gently, “We can’t.”

“Why ‘cause I’m like your brother, or ‘cause you’re still banking on kissin’ and makin’ up with Tommy?”

It was a fair question. Making up with Tommy was never even a question, though. After being burned so harshly, you didn’t see any redemption. He was done for. Once that confession slipped past his lips, he was as good as gone. 

This would be the greatest revenge. Fucking his brother?

What could you lose?

Joel could be your rebound. Something to ease the harsh sting you still felt in your heart. You start to feel guilty pile in the pit of your tummy. But then you hear Tommy’s words ringing in your head. 

“I’m fuckin’ your sister.”

Yeah, you could use some revenge. 

“You can’t tell him,” You murmur, making sure it’s in a whisper. Even if you wanted this to be revenge, you didn’t want Tommy to know, “Ever.”

“It’ll be between you and me, baby girl.”

You nod, finally accepting his offer. He grabs your legs and pulls you into his lap. You never thought you’d see the day where you would be mounted on top of Joel Miller. His eyes feasted on you in a way that sent tingles straight down to your core.

“I can’t lie, baby girl,” He purrs, his hands tracing you from your thighs all the way up to your shoulders, “I have thought this scenario out countless times.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” His hand finds its way to your neck, “Seein’ you at family barbeques, watchin’ you at bars with Tommy. Always wanted to pull you into a bathroom and get a feel of these,” He runs his hands down your chest, catching the edge of your yellow tank top. Tommy’s favorite color on you. He pulls it down, revealing your white bra underneath. It was your favorite push up, a Christmas present from Tommy. 

He was littering your body, but instead of Tommy’s hands removing every trace of himself away from your body, it was his brother.

Joel doesn’t take note of your dazed expression, he’s too focused on your cleavage spilling over your bra. His fingers trace back to the clasp, his fingers expertly unhooking it. It sent chills down your back, while your boobs fall further out of the bra. He helps you shimmy it off your front, his eyes lighting up when your boobs rest right in his eyeline.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” He groans, his thumb and pointer finger tugging on your left nipple. You hiss, letting yourself get out of your own head for a moment. Your boobs were extremely sensitive, which is why every man you’d ever been with used that to their advantage. Instead of treating your pussy to a good time, they just toyed with your nipples while drilling into you, which usually had you cumming after a couple minutes. Deep down, you wished Tommy had actually gave your pussy the time of day. Eat you out, finger you until you saw stars. But he never had “time for that”. 

His words.

Joel wraps his lips around your nipple, letting his tongue circle around your areola. He uses his open hand to massage your other tit. Once he releases your nipple, he leaves love bites at the swell of your boobs. He groans at your reaction, which was grinding your hips achingly slow across his lap.

“Mmm,” You hum, your hands finding his brown locks, “More.”

“‘m not gonna fuck you here,” He scowls, “Gonna take you to my bed.”

Without warning, he stands up, gripping onto your thighs to take you with him. You yelp in shock, throwing your arms around his neck. 

“I got you,” He states, walking down the hall to his bedroom. You had been in there before, only to grab his wallet one day when you guys were in a rush to get to Sarah’s soccer game. 

It was only slightly messy and smelled like him. Clean laundry and strawberry shampoo. 

You were thrown atop his unmaid sheets, bouncing a bit at the impact. You decide to use the time of Joel crawling onto to the bed, to completely discard your tank top. Joel’s body takes over yours, his one hand propping him up, the other feeling your sides and scooping up your breast. 

“Think I’m gonna take my time with you,” He grunts, his hand finding your short’s belt loops, “Make you forget everythin’ and focus on me.”

You nod, agreeing to his terms. 

He sits back on his knees, tugging down your shorts and thong. He hisses as soon as he notes the wetness on your lacey panties. Once he tosses the items beside the bed, he nudges your knees apart. 

“Damn, baby girl,” He just looks at you completely spread for him, shaking his head in disbelief, “Tommy’s a fuckin’ idiot. Could look at this pussy every minute of every day.”

You moan before you can retaliate, your mind responding to his fingers tracing your slit up and down. You watch him crawl up you, his lips so close to yours. You two hadn’t even kissed yet, instantly going to tearing each other’s clothes off. It felt more intimate, more real. 

He finally leans in, pursing his lips to meet yours. 

Joel was gentler than expected. Tommy was always hurried, his kisses only to warm you up a bit. You never really kissed during sex either, because he always had you doggy, which wasn’t ideal for kisses. 

Joel’s kisses took your breath away. He was slow and methodical, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You finally decide to pull him down onto your naked body, his hips settling between yours. The action made him a bit more eager, as he grinded his crotch into your wet center. 

“Gonna have me cumming in my jeans, sweet thing,” He laughs, pulling away from your swollen lips. He crawls back down the bed, his shoulders resting between your thighs this time. 

“What are you doing?” You ask, hesitantly. 

He smiles again, “‘m gonna eat this beautiful pussy of yours. Unless you don’t want me to.”

You had no real objections, it just something you had never fully enjoyed with anyone else before. You were willing to see what Joel Miller could bring to the table. You nod your head in agreement, letting him rest his hand on your lower tummy, holding you in place for his mouth. He ducks down, pressing small kisses over your clit. His actions already had you writhing under his touch. 

He continues on, gripping your stomach a bit harder as he explores your pussy with his tongue. He switches between sucking and licking, eventually settling with running his tongue in circles inside of you. You were a groaning mess, your hand eventually finding your mouth so you could control the volume. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself with how loud you could be. He stops as soon as you do it. 

“You ain’t gotta do that,” He says, his mouth wet with your slick, “I wanna hear those pretty little moans of yours. Don’t worry about anyone hearin’ ya.”

You take your hand off your mouth and he continues on with his assault on your folds. It’s sending you into overdrive, watching him go down on you. He was so hot, splayed out between your thighs, devouring you whole. 

His exploration ends with him wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking you up like a straw. You couldn’t believe how good the vibration felt. 

You were feeling that heat in your stomach, so as soon as Joel slipped his hand up and began adding fingers inside you, you knew you were done for. He starts with two, fucking you slowly and systematically. He curls his fingers up like a hook, his lips still wrapped around your bud. 

This was it. This is what you were missing. 

Your unrestrained pleas don’t fall on deaf ears. Your orgasm hits you like a semi-truck. You reach for anything in your vicinity, which happened to be Joel’s hair and his white sheets. He didn’t let up on you as you came around his fingers, fucking you through it. 

“Holy f-fuck,” You stutter, “Joel what the fuck?”

“We are just gettin’ started, sweetheart,” He states, standing up beside the bed to take his clothes off. His cock was standing at attention in his boxers before he tore them off. 

Tommy was above average, but Joel was well endowed. 

You gape at the view, unable to really form a coherent sentences. 

“You’re droolin’,” He jokes, finding his way back on top of you. You giggle, letting the joke roll of your shoulder, instead of letting it embarrass you. He finds your lips again, kissing you roughly this time. You could tell he was aching for you, his hips finding their way between yours again. 

“Oh,” You say, feeling his tip nudge your folds, “I’m on birth control, by the way.”

“I assumed so,” He states plainly, kissing your neck and chest, “Won’t cum in you unless you want me to.”

You grin, “You’re all about consent, ain’t ya?”

He laughs, “You’re in control here, baby girl. ‘M just here to get your mind off all the shit.”

You have never been so enamored by a man in your life. He was saying all the right things, but you knew in your heart he wasn’t just saying anything. Joel was a genuine guy. He never lied to you or belittled you.

The longer you’re under him the more you start to realize that this is what you’ve wanted all along. 

He brings you back to reality with an feverish kiss, drawing you back to the moment. His hands trail down your side, tickling you a bit. 

“Hey,” You murmur, pulling away from his delicious mouth, “I want to… I uh-“

You don’t know how to say it. To be honest, you and Tommy were in a routine with sex so you didn’t know how to ask to suck someone off. You usually just did it first to get it done and over with. But you felt like you needed to do it for Joel, not out of obligation, but because you wanted to see him squirm under your touch. You have thought about it more than once. 

“Words, sweetheart.”

“Let me suck your dick.”

He smiles, letting out a slight chuckle at your demand. He never thought he’d hear that coming from your mouth. He waits a second, acting like he’s seriously contemplating the offer. 

Of course he was going to accept. 

You sit up, giving him more space to lay down next to you. You crawl over his legs, settling between his calves. His cock was red, the veins so prominent. It was just waiting for you. He tucks his one arm behind his head, propping it up to watch you put on a show. 

“Let me know if I’m doing okay,” You ask sheepishly. You wanted to punch yourself for saying something so stupid. You were never confident in your abilities and you didn’t want to disappoint Joel. 

He nods, watching you grab onto his shaft with your hands, “You’ll do great, baby girl.”

You spit into your hands once you realize you need more lubrication. You crouch more, jerking him off slowly. He is already so reactive, throwing his head back against his headboard.

You begin to tease him, peppering kisses onto his shaft and tip as it leaked. You smile when you hear him hiss at you toying with him. You finally wrap your lips around his dick, sucking in your cheeks as you pull your head back. He was so big you couldn’t physically get your mouth completely down his length. He was girthy, too, which didn’t help either when it came to almost unhinging your jaw to take all of him. 

“Such a good girl,” He praises, taking your hair into his grip, “You ain’t gotta take it all.”

The reassurance was comforting. You didn’t feel any pressure with Joel, which only made him more desirable in your eyes. 

You watch his face twist in delight every time you take him into your mouth, wrapping his cock in your saliva. 

“Keep doin’ that and ‘m gonna cum in that mouth,” His drawl is so buttery and deep, your center literally clenches.

You pull off of him, gaining some confidence in your bedroom talk. 

“Need that done somewhere else.”

He shakes his head, sitting up more to manhandle you up to his lap. As you slide across his body, you feel his wet cock touch your inner thighs.

Your mouth falls open as soon as his hands grab your hips and settle you right over his length. You are on your knees on either side of his thighs, looking down at him and his absolutely spent expression. His curls were standing in all different directions and his eyes were dark with anticipation.

“Want me to do the honors?”

He grabs his cock, positioning it right below your opening. Your lips twitch upward, shaking your head positively.

He lines you up, pushing his hips upward. He is stretching you immediately, the angle making you crumble under his touch already. Your legs practically give out when he’s partially sheathed in you, which causes you just to sit and take the rest of him in you. 

“Oh my fucking god,” You moan out, shutting your eyes to soak in every twitch, “I have never been this fucking full.”

Your eyes fly open, realizing what you just insinuated.

“Don’t worry, baby girl. I knew he wasn’t givin’ you exactly what you needed,” He starts to guide your hips to circle his, “I give you what you need.”

You never expected him to be so confident, but it was so hot. You rested your hands on his pecks and started easing yourself up and down onto his length. His lips flick upward, watching you get yourself off on his dick. He loved watching you like this, just enjoying yourself.

After a minute, he realizes he can’t let you be the only one doing the work. You were so in your own world, riding him and feeling every inch of him. Your blissed out mind gets over taken when he grabs you and rolls on onto your back. He is on his knees as he grabs your legs with both of his hands, spreading you out. He grinds into you, his cock hitting you at a different angle now. 

You moan out, reaching out to grab his shoulders. He takes the hint and dips down to capture your lips again, caging your body between his. He picks up the pace when you start to press your tongue forward into his mouth. You can’t help but whimper at how good he feels. 

“You fuck me so good,” You mewl. He was panting, his hot breath fanning your wildly tangled hair. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth, focusing on making you feel good. Every pump inside you brought you closer to that familiar warm feeling. He notices your heat clenching around him, which makes him want to change up his technique. He pushes off the pillows, grabbing your hips and slamming into you at a rate you didn’t know Joel was capable of. 

“God, I can’t believe how fuckin’ good you feel, baby,” He pants, his thumb finding your swollen bud. As soon as he puts pressure there, you’re screaming out. “Mhm, that feel good? This cock better than his?”

“Yes, Joel, oh my god!”

He doesn’t let up. He wants to see you fall apart so bad, knowing those beautiful whimpers will send him into ecstasy. 

“Cum for me, baby girl. Know you’re aching to,” He clenches his teeth, “Let go.”

You have never had your vision go white when you orgasm. It’s like you’re about to see the gates to Heaven. He holds your body, making sure to feel every nerve in your body fire off into euphoria. You don’t even know what you’re saying, you just know it’s an iteration of his name and a bunch of cuss words as you reach your peak.

You were absolutely obsessed. You knew it as soon as the come down brought back your vision and you saw Joel. He was throwing his head back while painting your insides with his cum. He looks so delicious, his entire toned upper body glistening with sweat. 

He had to be the only man in the world, in that moment. 

Once he pulls out, you truly realize how sensitive your core is. You shiver, feeling his cum trickling down your backside. You wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. You just fucked your boyfriend’s brother. And it was the best sex you’d ever had in your life. 

You thought you’d feel that all too familiar regret, but instead you just look over at Joel as he flops down next to you. He’s staring at you, a slight smirk playing on his lips. You were trying to find the right words to say to him. He just did the Lord’s work. 

Do you say thank you?

“You okay,” He asks while he runs his hand up your arm, causing goosebumps to litter your skin. 

You grin, “I’m okay.”

“Do you want to stay here tonight?” 

He was worried you’d go home and see Tommy passed out on the couch where he left him and regret everything. He knew you would probably stay here anyway, but he anticipated you taking the guest room next to Sarah’s. 

But you weren’t going to take the guest room. No, you wanted to spend the rest of the night in his arms. Maybe even go for round two. 

“As long as I get to stay right here,” You purr, taking his hand from your arm. You bring it up to your lips and kiss his fingers, “Right beside you.”

END

[senascoop]

DREAMSCAPE ☁︎ M.LIST !

WELCOME to the DREAMSCAPE MINI ENHYPEN series— a collection of seven unique fanfics that blur the lines between fantasy, crime, comedy, and romance. Each story dives deep into intricate plots, so if you were hoping for simple FLUFF or SMUT, you might want to look elsewhere. But if you're here for thrilling twists, complex characters, and captivating worlds, you've come to the right place! BUCKLE UP; it's going to be a wild ride!

WORD COUNT MIGHT RANGE FROM 10K—30K,

MINORS, please steer clear of the SMUT fanfics. However, don't worry—you’re more than welcome to dive into the fluff stories! They’re just as captivating and enjoyable, offering all the heartwarming moments without the mature content. Enjoy responsibly!

IF YOU’RE INTERESTED IN ANY OF THESE FICS, PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHICH ONE YOU'D LIKE TO BE TAGGED IN!

JUST REPLY WITH THE PREFERENCE, AND I’LL MAKE SURE TO KEEP YOU UPDATED. THANKS!

﹙ 🕊️ ﹚ ぃ ──── SHE HAS LOST EVERY CASE, HOW COULD SHE WIN MINE?

EXCUSE ME !

READ HERE

SUSPECT ! HEESEUNG × LAWYER ! AFAB READER

MATURE THEMES, LAW BASED & SMUT !

Heeseung is unexpectedly thrust into the center of a murder investigation, accused of killing an old school friend. The truth, however, runs deeper than it appears, leaving everyone questioning whether he's truly the suspect. Enter you, his defense lawyer, notorious for losing every case you take on. Against all odds, you're handed Heeseung's case, and let’s just say…it’s a recipe for disaster for both of you. As you dig deeper, unraveling layers of deception, you’ll have to confront your own doubts and insecurities. Will you be able to prove Heeseung's innocence, or will this case be another tally in your string of failures?

﹙ 🧊 ﹚ ぃ ──── DID I REALLY DESERVE TO BE CAUGHT UP WITH SUCH A TROUBLE?

OOPS, WRONG ERA !

READ HERE

TIME TRAVELLER ! JAY × STUDENT ! AFAB READER

20TH CENTURY AU, SLIGHTLY FUTURISTIC & FLUFF !

Jay was the epitome of a perfect student—charming, intelligent, and utterly dedicated. The only catch? He was a time traveler from the future, marooned in the 20th century and trying to blend in as a normal teenager. When you discovered his secret, you seized the opportunity. You blackmailed him into becoming your personal homework and assignment writer, using his advanced knowledge to help you ace your classes. Jay’s attempts to navigate high school life while fulfilling his unexpected new role provided endless amusement and challenges for both of you.

﹙ ☁️ ﹚ ぃ ──── WHY WOULD YOU SHOW UP WHEN I MOVED ON?

WINDS CHANGE ☁︎

READ HERE

EX ! JAKE × EX ! AFAB READER

ANGST & SMUT !

It's been five years since you and Jake called it quits, each going your separate ways. Life seemed fine—until the dreaded wedding invitation arrives from an old friend. Reluctantly, you decide to attend, only to find Jake, your ex, waiting there like a storm on the horizon, ready to turn your calm into chaos. With unresolved feelings and past memories looming, the wedding becomes a battlefield of witty exchanges, accidental encounters, and a slow unraveling of what truly ended between you two. Are the winds of change blowing in favor of a second chance, or will they only serve to remind you why you broke up in the first place?

﹙ 🍁 ﹚ ぃ ──── I KNOW IT'S MY FAULT, BUT I WANNA MAKE IT BETTER!

GET WELL SOON シ︎

READ HERE

RACER ! SUNGHOON × ORPHAN ! AFAB READER

MENTIONS OF CRIME & ACCIDENT, OVERALL FLUFF & CRACK !

You’ve always considered yourself a good person—kind, forgiving, and patient. But Sunghoon tested every bit of that. One reckless, drunken drive was all it took for him to flip your life upside down, leaving you temporarily confined to a wheelchair. The inconvenience was more than just physical; it was a wound to your pride and independence. Sunghoon, however, refused to walk away from his mistake. Guilt-ridden and determined to make amends, he became a constant presence in your life—covering your medical bills, offering you emotional support, and sticking around even when you wished he wouldn’t.

﹙ 🦄 ﹚ ぃ ──── CAN'T YOU TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF BY YOURSELF?

LIKE PINK !

READ HERE

GUARDIAN ANGEL ! SUNOO × CLUMSY ! AFAB READER

FANTASY & PURE FLUFF !

You’ve always believed you were cursed with the "unlucky girl syndrome." From tripping on flat surfaces to losing your keys every other day, it seemed like misfortune followed you everywhere. But was it really a curse, or just bad luck? You never quite figured it out. When a guardian angel was sent from above, you hoped your luck would finally turn around. Instead, you got Sunoo—a messy, clumsy, and utterly unhelpful angel who seemed more like a walking disaster than a divine helper. All you could think of was asking God for a refund, because with Sunoo around, your life was about to get a lot more chaotic… and maybe a little brighter, too.

﹙ 🔥 ﹚ ぃ ──── I KNOW A TRICK TOO!

SIZZLES OF HIM ᯾

READ HERE

CLASSMATE ! JUNGWON × AFAB ! READER

FANTASY ELEMENTS, MAGICAL AU & SMUT !

There was always something about your quiet, mysterious classmate Jungwon that piqued your curiosity. You couldn't quite put your finger on it—until the day you accidentally peeked into his room and saw him hovering mid-air, surrounded by sparks of electricity. It all made sense then; he wasn't just your average student. Little did he know, you were hiding a secret of your own—one that mirrored his in more ways than one. Two forces of nature, each with powers as different as night and day, destined to collide. As they say, opposites attract, but in your case, they might just ignite.

﹙ 🍫 ﹚ ぃ ──── THIS MIGHT SOUND CRAZY BUT TRUST ME IT'S TRUE!

TIED UP IN YOU !

READ HERE

PHONE GUY ! NIKI × STUDENT ! AFAB READER

CRACK (?), PURE FLUFF !

Niki was a good guy, no doubt about it. The only problem? He was your phone. How, exactly, did your phone transform into this strikingly handsome guy? It was baffling, frustrating, and, honestly, a bit overwhelming. Here you were, trying to navigate a world where your device had somehow become a charming, infuriatingly attractive human being. And to make matters worse, he was as stubborn and endearing as any person you'd ever met.

﹙ 🍒 ﹚ ぃ ──── THANK YOU FOR READING!

Sena’s note: I’m not sure when I'll finish these seven fics, but I hope it’s soon. I’m unsure if anyone will be interested, but this was a preview of what’s coming.

main masterlist.

[halfvalid]

the blade daughter, pt. 1

ABOUT

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3

alternate title: dracule mihawk cures your daddy issues!

rating: mature

characters: live action!roronoa zoro | fem!reader | live action!dracule mihawk | live action!straw hat ensemble

pairing: live action!roronoa zoro x fem!reader

word count: 23.6k total | 8.3k this part

description: as the daughter of dracule mihawk, you've been living alone at home, unwilling to go out and find a life of your own due to the belief that your father needs you around. but when he sends you off to buy him a jacket, you end up running into a pirate crew—and a particular swordsman—that end up changing how you feel.

tags: mihawk's daughter!reader, female reader, canon-typical violence, cursing, no use of 'y/n', pet names per mihawk ('dear', 'darling', 'sweetheart', 'little hawk'), emotional hurt/comfort, sexual harassment (from nameless OC), slow burn

author’s note: finally she's here! i'm posting it spaced out because i don't want to overload you all with a 23.6k fic in one post... IMPORTANT NOTE: i did some research from the animanga for mihawk's personality, weapons, and home, but this is still very much only a fic for OPLA and not the other iterations of the material.

the fic is not exactly only a romance; it focuses a lot on the reader's personal character development along with her relationship with mihawk too. i hope you guys don't mind! i kind of lost the plot lol.

reader is mihawk's biological daughter, but is stated to take after her mother and doesn't bear similarity to mihawk. so the fic is poc reader friendly!

Your dad was late to dinner again. 

To be fair, Dracule Mihawk didn’t exactly follow a schedule. He was fickle—back when you’d been a girl, he’d been around all the time, because although he was a lot of things, Mihawk was not an absentee parent. But as you’d grown older, he started being less strict, leaving you alone for days and weeks until you’d finally matured into an adult. Mihawk spent most of his time away from the house, now—but you agreed to have dinner together every week, no matter what part of the ocean he was in. 

And he was late. 

You’d started cooking the meal early, only for Mihawk to not show up when everything was ready. Or after everything was ready. Or even when everything had cooled, and you’d eaten your fill, and waited in your chair for him to arrive. He finally showed up a quarter past two in the morning, the doors of the dining room bursting open to announce his entrance. 

You cracked an eye open from where you’d been dozing in your seat. “You’re late.” 

“I’m sorry, darling,” Mihawk said, taking his hat off and bowing with a flourish. He pressed a kiss to the back of your hand. “I got a little busy. Garp had me deal with a pirate in the East Blue.” 

You made a face at him as he sat down to eat. “Could’ve at least let me know. Den den mushi exist for a reason.” 

“Ah, well, my apologies.” Mihawk sighed, dramatic as ever—you couldn’t find it in you to be mad at him for more than a few minutes, though, something he knew well. “It would’ve gone quickly had some upstart not challenged me to a duel. So I had to spend the night.” He tsked, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “And then I went to visit an old friend. Red-haired Shanks.”

“I remember him.” You got up from your seat, moving to the kitchen to rifle in the icebox for a popsicle. “Another duel? What’s this week’s body count?” 

“You know I don’t tally such trifling matters, sweetheart,” Mihawk said. You shrugged, leaning against the doorway of the kitchen to watch him start eating. “This pasta is cold.” 

“Wasn’t cold four hours ago,” you said, languidly licking at your popsicle. “No sympathy here, dad.” 

“Fine,” Mihawk said. “Anyway, I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of the man. Tall, green hair, three swords.” He wrinkled his nose. “Said people called him the Demon.” 

“Roronoa Zoro,” you affirmed, slipping into the chair beside your father. “Scariest pirate hunter in the East Blue. You killed him?” 

“Clearly not much of a pirate hunter, considering he’s a pirate now,” Mihawk said, the scrape of his knife and fork ringing around the room. “Joined the man I Garp sent me after, this little boy in a straw hat. And no. I let him and his crew go.” 

You paused, voice faltering as you registered the words. “You let him live?” 

“Yes. He was rather interesting. I expect he’ll come find me later,” Mihawk answered. You stared at him, still baffled. Your father was a lot of things, but a man of mercy was not one of them. Your earliest memory of him exacting his power over others was when you’d been two, watching from your crib as he speared the nanny for calling you a brat. A touching gesture, for certain, but still. “But enough about work. How have you been, little hawk?” 

“Bored,” you said with a sigh. “It’s so dull on this island.” 

Mihawk looked amused. “You could leave. I’m not restricting you here anymore.” Back in your teen years, Mihawk hadn’t let you leave the house—something about enemies wanting to kill his daughter or whatever else nonsense. He’d trained you personally, though, so you were nearly as fearsome as your father—able to beat anyone in combat in the blink of an eye. “You don’t have to stay.” 

“The house would get all dusty,” you protested, lips tugging into a line. And it wasn’t like you hadn’t done any exploring. Mihawk had taken you to all four seas throughout your adolescence, and you’d taken vacations to everywhere of importance. You just—didn’t have much of a point to leave, really. You very much preferred not to, something tying you firmly to the island, to your castle. “And besides, where would I even go?” 

“I hear the East Blue is interesting this time of year,” Mihawk said. “You could venture around here, but…” He shrugged. “The Grand Line is dangerous.” 

You made a face. “I’ve lived here my entire life. I can take care of myself.” 

“Certainly,” Mihawk agreed easily. “But it’s simply not worth it. You really should get out more, dear. It’s not good for your health.” 

“Maybe,” you said, but you weren’t very enthusiastic about it. “Here, I’ll clean Yoru for you while you finish eating.” You moved around the back of his chair, lifting his sword off the jacket he hadn’t bothered to shed from his back. You grimaced upon seeing a line of dried blood along the blade. “Dad.”

“Sorry, dear,” Mihawk said, and you rolled your eyes, carrying the sword over to the living room. You set Yoru down with a heavy thud, pulling out a box of materials. Mihawk came over to watch you, one arm propped against the doorway as his aureate eyes gazed down as you worked.

Compared to your dad, you looked relatively normal. You’d always taken after your mother—a mysterious woman you barely had any memories of—and the relation between the two of you was never immediately obvious. The fact your eyes were plainly normal instead of bearing the golden hawk eyes Mihawk had was another factor added to that, too. 

You pulled out a bottle of oil, pouring it generously over Yoru’s blade before grabbing a cloth to carefully wipe it with. “Where in the East Blue?” you asked abruptly, not looking up. Mihawk’s fork clinked along the ceramic of his bowl, presumably surprised you’d actually consider the offer of leaving. 

“Well, I could send you out to run some errands if you wish. I’ve got some things to attend to,” Mihawk optioned. “There’s this one store in Loguetown with a rather nice jacket I’ve had my eye on.”

You shot him a disbelieving look. “You want me to go to the East Blue to buy you a jacket.” 

Mihawk shrugged. “My birthday’s coming up.” 

“No, it’s not.” You slid your rag along the edge of Yoru’s blade, folding it in half before wiping the entire thing again to ensure there was no grime left. “Finished. Maybe I’ll just stay—” 

Mihawk gave you a look. 

“Fine. Loguetown it is,” you said with a sigh. “Don’t give me a crew. I’ll just take one of the sloops. I’ll get your dumb jacket for you.” You got up, tossing the cloth over a shoulder to hand wash later. “I’ll leave later today.” 

Mihawk clicked his tongue. “You’re so enthusiastic, darling. I can practically see the excitement oozing off of you.” 

You rolled your eyes, moving past him to go up to your room. “Short trip,” you said. “No more than a couple of days.” 

“The little hawk, so incited to leave the nest.”

“Shut up.” 

Mihawk had complied with your wishes, as when you woke up the next morning, he had already prepared a sloop for you to board alone. You packed some of your things, not being too fussy about the clothing or other objects, knowing that the boat was already well-stocked on its own. Mihawk waited to send you off, though you knew he probably had affairs to attend to by now. 

“Be good, darling,” he said, while you were loading up the last of your stuff. Just like your father, you preferred to wear your sword on your back; a present he’d given you at the age of thirteen. “I’ll call you. I’ve got business in the South Blue.” 

“Have fun,” you said, and he kissed the back of your hand before pushing you off. 

Loguetown was just how you’d remembered it, buzzing with civilians and pirates alike. The stores were plentiful, and filled to the brim with customers—it was all a little overwhelming compared to the peace and quiet you were used to. Still, it wasn’t a bad place to stay for a few weeks, and you might as well take your time there. 

You slung your coat on as you exited the docks, glancing around the town in search of something to do first. Since you weren’t especially interested in retrieving a jacket for your father just yet, you beelined to the nearest tavern to grab something to eat. It was a lot easier traveling without Mihawk at your side—as much as you loved him, he had the habit of attracting both trouble and fear wherever he went, and he was near impossible to go out with. 

The tavern was full, but not too crowded, and you managed to slip over to the bar without much trouble. It seemed to mostly consist of pirates—rough men with flowing jackets and holsters of guns and swords at their hip, clustered together in groupings that clearly proved their alliances with each other. You were one of the only patrons who was alone.

You gestured for the barkeep, and she bustled over from where she was serving a particularly ragtag group of pirates. They were mismatched, colors oddly paired—a girl with neon orange hair, a short man with a straw hat, one wearing a flowery shirt and goggles and the last man dressed in clothes far too formal for a bar. “What can I get for you?” she asked, a thick brogue dragging down her words. 

You told her your drink order, still eyeing the group. The barkeep followed your vision and let out a sigh. “Don’t bother. Three men have already tried to capture him for the bounty.  Broke half my furniture. And we got a rule here, anyway—no fightin’.” 

“Does he have a bounty?” you asked with a frown. She scoffed. 

“Does he ever. Thirty million berry, child. Highest in the East Blue.” She shook her head. “That crew won’t let anyone touch ‘im. Hell, I think his first mate’s still outside cleaning up the bodies.” She sighed again. “Well, I’ll have that drink out for you in a moment.” 

You nodded, slipping into the closest available chair. Now that you were paying attention, you could see practically every pair of eyes fixed on the group—specifically, on the man in the center wearing the straw hat. 

Before you could ask another question, the door to the tavern opened, and a lean, green-haired man filled the doorway. You glanced over at the barkeep, a flash of recognition in your eyes. “That’s Roronoa Zoro.” 

“Aye,” she said, setting your drink in front of you. “If there’s someone who might be able to cash in that bounty, it’d be him. But believe it or not, he’s with the Straw Hat.” 

You watched as the pirate hunter made his way to the table the others sat at. The glint of his famed three earrings reflected off the tavern lights, and the sword on his hip swayed as he walked—but there was only one rather than the three you’d heard tales about. “Yeah, my father said something of the sort.” 

The barkeep hummed, turning to attend to a pirate who’d taken a seat at your left. “And who’s your father, lass?” 

“Dracule Mihawk.” 

The pirate beside you raised his head, turning towards you in almost alarm. Beside him, his crew quieted, and the barkeep glanced up to meet your eyes. “Dracule Mihawk?” she repeated incredulously. 

“He sent me to buy him a coat,” you said. “I don’t suppose you know where any shops are around here?” 

“Er, there’s a shop off main you might want to see,” the barkeep said, eyes flickering over to the pirate crew that had changed their focus to you. “Anything else for you, then?” 

“I’m good, thanks,” you said, taking another sip of your drink. She nodded, leaving the bar in favor of moving over to another table. The pirate beside you turned slowly, stool scraping against the floor as he sneered down at you.

“Dracule Mihawk’s daughter, eh?” he asked. “Care if I buy you a drink?” Behind him, the rest of his crew tittered. You just sighed.

“Sorry, my father doesn’t let me go out with anyone who hasn’t bested me in combat.” You knocked back the rest of your drink, glancing up and down the pirate’s figure. He didn’t look like much—two pistols strapped to the hip, a longsword on the other, a raggedy leather jacket with a hat to match. 

The pirate scoffed. “Please,” he said, though you could see his skin turning rapidly crimson. “I doubt you’re even related to him. No hawk eyes or nothing.” 

You met his gaze, lips tightening into a line. “I take after my mother.” 

“Biggest lie I ever heard, aye, crew?” The pirate turned back towards the rest of his men, and they cheered in agreement. You huffed out a sigh, trying your very best not to turn combative—despite everything, you were proud of your relationship with your father, and anyone trying to call you a liar for your lineage just left you vexed and angry. Before you could step away, though, the pirate turned towards the rest of the tavern, apparently having had a bit too much liquor. He raised his voice, practically yelling now. “Oi! This girl thinks she’s the daughter of Dracule Mihawk!” 

Out of your peripheral vision, you saw Roronoa Zoro look up, the rest of his crew glancing over at you at the words. You were distracted within a second, the pirate shoving your arm. “Hey, don’t look away, girl. I’m trying to—” 

You grabbed onto his wrist, nails razor-sharp as they embedded into his skin. “Don’t touch me.” 

“Oh, you think you’re tough, do you?” The pirate yanked his hand out of your grip. “Did your daddy teach you how to fight, huh? Think you can beat me?” 

“I know I can beat you,” you answered. The pirate reached for his sword, then, fingers tightening around the hilt. 

“Alright, let’s make it a bet then. You beat me, I believe your claim about being Mihawk’s daughter.” His lips curled back into an ugly sneer, and you debated stepping out of the conversation and just going off to find that shop for your dad’s coat anyway. Fights like these were never worth getting into, and you really didn’t want to break any more of the barkeep’s furniture after she’d let out her annoyances to you. 

Before you could, though, the pirate opened his big mouth once again. 

“I beat you, and you go to bed with me.”

You were whipping your sword out before you could even think, red flashing in your vision as you scraped your blade out from the holster on your back. The metal gleamed under the lights, white steel bright as day as you leveled it in your hand. It wasn’t the largest weapon, a perfectly balanced cut-and-thrust spadroon with a golden hilt wrapped in white ribbon. You tightened your grip on the handle. 

“I beat you,” you hissed, voice low, “and you’re dead.” 

He lunged for you, pulling his sword out in one solid stroke and meeting yours in a loud clang. You shot an apologetic look towards the barkeep, spinning on your back leg and kicking the pirate away. The force caused him to stumble, sword skittering to the side as you shoved it off your blade. 

One of his crew members had cocked a gun to your head, and you spun your swords toward him, blade cutting through the metal like it was butter. The rest of the crew stepped back, one or two of them lunging for you. You parried all of their attacks, shoving them to the ground until they stopped trying to fight. 

The captain had gotten up, a fierce snarl upon his face as you slammed your blade down towards him. He blocked it with his sword, and then went for various attacks towards your figure—you dodged each one of them, parrying them easily as you moved backwards. At the last one, you used your weight to buck the sword back in his direction, and he stumbled again. 

You ducked down, sweeping him off his feet with a well-aimed kick to his shins, and he fell, sword clattering out of reach as he dropped flat on his back. You towered over him, pointing the edge of your blade at his throat. 

“You want me to go outside to kill him?” you asked. The barkeep sighed. 

“If you don’t mind, lass.” 

“Not at all.” You bent over, grabbing firmly onto the pirate’s shirt and yanking him upwards. His crew made a move towards you, but you just shoved your sword in their direction, and they stepped away. You spun your sword’s hilt around in your hand with a flourish, then started dragging the captain out the tavern door. 

“No—wait—let me go,” the pirate begged, once you dropped him to the gravel outside and moved your sword to his throat again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t mean it—you’re a pretty girl, that’s all—” 

“I don’t date men who can’t beat me in combat,” you said coolly. “Lower your expectations.” With that, you spun your sword again, sliding it back on the holster of your jacket. “I’ll let you live just this once. If you ever make any comments towards a woman again—” 

“I get it. I’m sorry,” the man said, scrambling to his feet. You just eyed him. 

“I need another drink.” 

The tavern was dead silent when you returned to your seat, gingerly sitting back down on the stool you’d first occupied. “Another drink, if you don’t mind,” you said to the barkeep, and she nodded. A moment passed as she filled your mug, and then she asked—

“Is Dracule Mihawk really your father?” 

“Unfortunately,” you muttered, taking the drink she offered and taking a swig. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the Straw Hat pirate and his crew muttering amongst themselves. One of them nudged Roronoa Zoro in the side, and he grimaced, the loose shirt he wore parting with the motion. You caught a glimpse of bandages, wound tight with blood seeping through a familiar line. Yoru’s doing. 

Zoro stood up, making his way over to the bar beside you. He propped his elbows on the table, but he didn’t sit, nodding at the barkeep. “Another round for my friends,” he said. His voice was quieter than you’d expected; a low mutter and almost soft in timbre. He glanced over at you, eyes flickering down and up again before he spoke. “I tried to kill your father.” 

“Yeah, he told me,” you said. “Roronoa Zoro. What happened to your other two swords?” 

Zoro scoffed. “Your dad.” 

“He can be a little dramatic sometimes,” you said apologetically. He glanced over you again.

“You don’t look much like him.” He paused. “Figured I’d know if Mihawk had a daughter.” 

“I take after my mother, and he’s very overprotective,” you said, getting just the slightest bit annoyed about everyone questioning your parentage. The barkeep returned then, sliding five beers across the table over to Zoro, and you stood up. “Now if you’d excuse me, I have some shopping to do.” 

You exited the tavern after paying your tab, wandering around the streets of Loguetown to find the closest clothing store. Your father’s style was ridiculously grand, so it’d be something in the nicer branch of the city—you had just entered your best guess when you pulled out a shell phone, pushing the little snail into your ear and calling your father’s number. 

He picked up on the first ring. “What is it, darling?” 

“Did you have a specific coat in mind?” You glanced through a row of black leather, trying to find one that’d match Mihawk’s liking. “I’m at this place called Lady Tide’s Dressing Boutique. It’s the bougiest place I could find.” 

“Lady Tide’s would be correct,” Mihawk said. “I trust your taste. Pick something I’d like.” 

“You better be paying me back for this,” you threatened, turning the corner as you spoke. You jumped back in surprise, letting out a squeak as the Straw Hat pirate from before appeared right in front of you, a grin stretching up his face. 

Mihawk’s laugh crackled through the line at your surprise. “Get startled, dear?” 

“The pirate Garp sent you after is stalking me,” you deadpanned. The Straw Hat pirate’s grin only widened. “I’ll call you back.” 

You hung up, taking the den den mushi out of your ear and back into its case. “What?” 

“You’re a really good fighter,” the Straw Hat said brightly. “I’m Monkey D. Luffy, and I’m going to be King of the Pirates. You should think about joining my crew!” 

“I—” you stared at him in disbelief, mind reeling from the whiplash of his words. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m not a pirate.”

Luffy tilted his head to the side in question. “But your dad is Mihawk.”

“That doesn’t make me a pirate. I just stay at home for the most part,” you said. Luffy continued following you around the store, however, even as you stepped past him to browse more jackets. You glimpsed the rest of his crew hanging around the store, though none seemed to do any actual shopping. You figured Lady Tide’s was probably out of their price range. “Why are you still following me?” 

“I think you should join my crew,” Luffy repeated. “Have you ever been to the Grand Line? That’s where we’re headed next.”

You gave him a look. “I live in the Grand Line.” 

“Whoa,” Luffy breathed. “Well, you must know all about it, then!” 

You turned away from him, picking a jacket off the rack in front of you and appraising it. Golden buttons, long tailcoat, wide lapels—not really Mihawk’s taste. You set it back. “Not really,” you finally answered. “Like I said, I stay at home for the most part. Haven’t done much exploring.” 

“Don’t you want to?” Luffy asked, taking a step closer to you. You flinched. “Your dad’s one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea! You should be going out and adventuring, not just staying at home and doing whatever Mihawk tells you to!” 

“Don’t,” you snapped, voice low. “I stay home because I want to. Not because my dad forces me to.” Your words bore no lie, but still, there was a rumble of uncertainty deep in your gut. Mihawk had always been supportive, but pirating had always been his thing. You preferred the solace of your own home, and there was no point in adventuring when Mihawk had seen it all before. 

“I’m just saying, what do you even do all day?” Luffy asked with a quirk of the lip. “Stay home and clean? Go out once in a while to buy groceries or get stuff for your dad?” He gestured at the coat you were holding, and you flushed, shoving it back onto the rack. “Isn’t it boring? Don’t you want more than such an average life?” 

“I’m perfectly happy with my life right now, thank you,” you snapped. “Go preach to someone else.” 

Luffy had stopped walking, then, looking at you with an almost sympathetic expression on his face. “Living isn’t the same as thriving, you know,” he said. “You should go out. Find adventure. Aren’t there things you want to know? Questions you want answered?” 

“Luffy.” You turned to see Roronoa Zoro move to his captain’s side, head dipping as he spoke to him. His tone was quiet, but you could still overhear— “Leave her alone. We’ve got business.” 

Luffy looked dejected at that, but he agreed, bowing his head towards you before turning to the rest of his crew. They’d gathered by the mouth of the store, engaged in their own various activities as they waited. You watched Luffy turn to leave, words climbing up your throat even as you tried to swallow them down. “Wait!” 

Luffy turned, that bright smile reappearing on his face. “What?” 

“I want to know one thing,” you said, taking a step closer to the captain and his first mate. You glanced up at Zoro, who met your gaze. His face seemed carved of steel, skin bearing no grimace, eyes betraying nothing. “Why did my father let you live?” 

Zoro looked away, and you realized he probably didn’t know the answer himself. Before you could speak again, though, Luffy interrupted. 

“Because Zoro’s the best,” he declared, capturing your attention away from the injured swordsman. He slapped Zoro’s bicep with a heavy thud, and you were surprised when the other man didn’t even flinch. “And he’s gonna be better than Mihawk one day. He’s going to defeat him in a duel and take his title and become—” 

“The world’s greatest swordsman,” Zoro finished. The words were muttered under his breath, clearly to himself rather than intending for you to hear. 

You watched them for a moment before finally turning away. “Okay,” you said. “Good luck with that.” 

Luffy stared at you for a moment longer, but Zoro was already turning away and walking towards the rest of the crew. There was an unsettling feeling in your gut, one you tried to squash. Whatever—you had better things to do than worry about some Straw Hat pirate and a retired pirate hunter. 

You returned to your browsing, looking through various jacket designs until you finally fell across one you were certain your father liked. It was ridiculously expensive, but your father’s taste had always been so—you purchased it without a second thought, slinging it across a shoulder and returning to your sloop for the rest of the day. 

To your great disappointment, the Straw Hat pirate’s words continued to echo throughout your head. His demeanor was off-putting, to say the least—the extreme amounts of candor and cheeriness he had made for a disorienting combination. Even as you tried to stop thinking about his terrifyingly honest words, you couldn’t. Don’t you want more than such an average life?

You sighed, mood irritable from the day's events. You’d returned to your sloop and hadn’t done much of anything for a few hours—past having a meal and cleaning up your boat, there was nothing to do. You mulled over your options, wondering if you shouldn’t just start the journey back home. But Luffy’s words came back to you. 

“I need a drink,” you muttered, donning your coat and leaving to attend the first bar you could find. 

You went someplace ritzy this time, near the peak of Loguetown where neon lights glimmered in the dark hour. It was crowded, and music blasted through the bar, pounding bass nearly making the floor reverberate. You slipped inside without much trouble, squeezing through the crowd and making way for the bar at the other end of the room. 

You bought yourself a drink, knocking it back in just a few gulps. There were marines patrolling around in the building, although none of them seemed too keen on completing any of their duties. Pirates walked around freely too, but these ones were more dignified than the ones you’d seen in the tavern at town. 

“You hear Straw Hat Luffy’s here at Loguetown right now?” someone muttered to your right. You glanced over with a furtive gaze to see who was speaking—two men, dressed in fine silks and coats. Swords dangled from their hips. Pirates, maybe, or pirate hunters. “His ship’s docked over by south port.” 

“You’re not going to try and nab him, are you?” the other pirate hunter asked, fingers pinched around a thin glass of something. “That bounty’s hefty, but fighting them’ll be…” 

“I’m getting a bunch of hunters together,” the first one said. “We’ll split the bounty. At midnight, once the whole crew’s asleep. I followed the navigator; seems they’re not leaving until the morning.” 

“Thirty million split between many isn’t much.” 

“Well.” The hunter made a vague gesture, a smirk playing at his lips. “I doubt we’ll all be alive by the end of the night, if you know what I mean.” 

“Right.” The second hunter downed the rest of his drink. “I’ll be there. Where’s the rendezvous point?” 

“Slip forty at south port. Come at midnight,” the first one replied. “My boat. Theirs is at fifty-two.” 

You turned away, knocking back the last of your drink before setting the glass back down on the counter. Your mind reeled, and you pulled out a pocket watch to check the time. Nearly eleven. Only an hour left. 

“Another drink,” you called, but you stopped after that one. Logically, you knew the Straw Hat crew would be able to handle themselves. Your father wouldn’t have let Zoro go had he not been an impressive fighter—and Luffy certainly had to have some tricks up his sleeve, having such a high bounty and all. But an ambush was an ambush. 

You needed to go home. 

You paid your bill and slunk outside, taking the long road down to the port. You were docked in the east, but you found yourself wandering towards south port, hands shoved in your pockets and sword heavy on your back. 

There was no logical reason to get involved with pirates, you tried to tell yourself. That was Dracule Mihawk’s area of expertise. That was Dracule Mihawk’s life. Not his daughter’s. You were not a pirate—there was no point in being one. Mihawk has done everything already. 

You stepped onto the pier of south port, the wooden ramp trembling under your feet. They were shoddily constructed; oak on water, with pegs every few feet or so and ropes thrown casually across the walkways. It was overcrowded with boats, too—ships of every kind and size, smushed into spots not big enough for them depending on how much you paid the dock men. The moon shimmered on the surface of the East Blue. She was calm today, waves lapping at the edges of the docks, tranquil in the night. 

You checked your watch again. Nearly midnight. 

Dock forty moored a relatively small ship, but it was crowded with men—ten or fifteen, maybe, and you knew they’d be killing each other when the fight was through. Thirty million berry divided between so many people was barely worth it. You slunk past them, counting the numbers of the boat berths. 

You knew the boat before you looked at the slip number based on appearance alone. It was large in size, a caravel sporting a gigantic goat figurehead. You stared at it, brows furrowed, jaw slack. Well, it was certainly a ship. There was a large sail boasting the ship’s jolly roger—a crudely designed skull and crossbones sporting the same straw hat their captain wore. 

With a sigh, you pulled yourself onboard, careful to not make a sound as you landed on the deck. It was quiet, but you doubted the crew didn’t have at least one lookout for trouble. You tiptoed around the mast, moving towards the foredeck.

You were just about to step a foot on the staircase when a gleaming katana came to your throat. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Roronoa Zoro was as calm as ever as he held a blade to your jugular, posture perfectly straight, eyes tilted in your direction. You glanced down at the blade, registering the smooth metal. It was the white-handled one; upon seeing it closer, you could better register its quality. It must’ve been insanely durable, more so than his other blades considering Yoru hadn’t shattered this one in battle—one of the strongest blades in the world. 

���What’s the sword’s name?” you asked. 

Zoro ignored your question. “What are you doing here?” he repeated. 

You sighed, turning towards him, although you were careful not to touch the sword. Zoro’s grip didn’t budge. “There are pirate hunters coming here,” you answered. “At midnight. An ambush.” 

Zoro still didn’t move. The night sky cast his entire face in shadow, the only light on board being a trembling lantern by the interior doors. You could just barely see the gleam of one eye, yellow light shining on his cheekbone. “Why would you come?” 

“Honestly, I don’t know,” you answered coolly. “My father let you go for a reason. It’d be a shame if you died before you realized why.” It was an easy lie—because the real reason was one you didn’t want to think about. Because Luffy’s words struck something in you. Because they rang true. 

“We don’t need your protection.” 

You shrugged, only one shoulder moving upwards before relaxing again. “Just a friendly warning.” 

Carefully, Zoro lowered his blade, the steel scraping along the edge of its scabbard opening before he slid it closed. “The Wado Ichimonji.” 

Your eyes were still on the sheathed katana. “Hm?” 

“The sword. Its name is Wado Ichimonji.” 

You tilted your head back, angling it towards the sword strapped to your jacket. “Hiru,” you said. “That’s mine.” 

“Day,” Zoro translated. “You have matching swords with your father?” 

“Just matching names,” you answered. “It’s a spadroon, not a kreigsmesser. Much smaller than Yoru. Birthday present. When I was thirteen.” 

Zoro eyed you. “I’ll wake the rest of the crew,” he said. “You can go.” 

You made no move to, consulting your watch as Zoro rang the ship’s bell. Five minutes to midnight. You could already hear the near-noiseless patter of footsteps on the pier. 

The orange-haired woman was the first out, fingers wrapped around a short wooden rod. She exchanged a look with Zoro, and he nodded towards the pier. She somehow knew exactly what he meant from that, dodging back inside the ship and returning, dragging a dark-haired man out. 

“Uh, what’s going on?” the man asked, stifling a yawn as he fiddled with a slingshot. Both Zoro and the woman shushed him. “Jeez, okay.” He noticed you then. “Oh, hey, you’re the hawk dude’s kid—”

“Shut up, Usopp,” the woman snapped. She’d moved by the boat’s side, ducked under the rim. The footsteps were getting louder. 

The blond man came out next, hands shoved casually in his pockets and dressed in clothes you genuinely did not think functioned as sleepwear. “Hunters,” the orange-haired woman said. “Ambush.” 

“Isn’t that lovely,” the blond man murmured. He caught your eye, and a smile lit up his face. “Well, hello there.” 

Both Zoro and the woman rolled their eyes. Before the blond could say anything more, though, the hunters’ footsteps abruptly stopped. 

The orange-haired woman spun up from her crouch, wooden stick extending into a long staff as she whipped it out. She slammed one end of the staff into an incoming hunter’s gut as he leapt aboard the ship, forcing him off the side of the vessel.

Everything happened all at once, then—you heard the slick shing! of Zoro unsheathing his katana, and the blond was up and running towards another gaggle of hunters within the second, legs flying in an assortment of well-placed kicks. 

You reached over your shoulder, tugging Hiru out of its straps. The blade shone bright under the moonlight, and you caught an incoming hunter’s sword with the lick of it, shoving him backwards as you spun.

“Why’s Mihawk’s girl here?” the blond called, as he slid across the deck, leg raising up into a spinning hook. “Not that I’m complaining, of course. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” He met your eyes and winked, leaving you staring in utter disbelief until another hunter distracted you. “I’m Sanji!” 

“Okay?” you asked blankly, letting out a huff of exertion as you whipped your sword toward the hunter. He’d pulled out one of his guns, wielding his blade one-handed as he fumbled with the trigger. You breathed in, recalling your father’s words from the thousands of hours spent training. Take advantage of any imbalances, sweetheart. Focus on the center of gravity. 

You aimed a sliding kick at the man’s gun, using Hiru to push against his blade. The pressure caused him to fling halfway across the ship, body thudding against the mast before falling to the ground in a heap. 

“Impressive,” Sanji whistled from his spot across the ship. 

“Shut up,” Zoro and the orange-haired woman said in unison. Zoro was beside the fallen hunter in a second, katana slashing cleanly through his torso before he spun and shoved the blade straight into an incoming man’s stomach. Sanji just scoffed. 

“Show-off,” he said accusatively. Zoro rolled his eyes, turning towards Sanji to argue, when you glimpsed someone at his back. You lunged for the man, sword cutting cleanly through his jugular before he fell across the deck, decollated. 

Zoro turned, glancing over his shoulder at the body and then up at you. “You’re welcome,” you said, flicking Hiru to the side. Spatters of blood dripped off its blade. 

“...Right.” The number of hunters had considerably thinned, only three or four left. The orange-haired woman was still fighting two of them, placing hits of her bo staff along two mens’ skulls. Usopp had crouched by the forecastle, firing pellets off with his slingshot. Sanji dusted off the final two men, until only the ringleader was left. 

“Wait, wait.” The hunter backed away until he ran into the ship’s railing. He scrambled for his pistol, but as Zoro, Sanji, and the orange-haired woman advanced on him, apparently realized the idea was in vain. “We—we can talk about this.” 

“I don’t think we can.” You turned at the new voice, watching as Luffy slipped out from the captain’s chambers. His hand came up to adjust his hat, crowned atop his head as always. “You came aboard my ship and tried to hurt my friends.” 

The hunter’s jaw fell slack, mouth drying over as Luffy came to stand in front of him. The rest of the crew had parted to allow him space, and Luffy titled his head up, the lick of light from the lantern shining against his skin. A crescent-shaped scar under his eye glowed bright, the skin paler than the rest of his face.

“Gum gum…” he started, voice steadily rising in volume as he extended his hand backwards, fingers curled into a fist. To your surprise, his arm just kept stretching back, limb getting longer and longer with a distinctly rubbery stretch until it was all the way at the other side of the ship. “Pistol!” 

His arm snapped back all in one, knocking the hunter straight in the jaw and shoving him off the ship in one, devastating blow. You stared at his flailing body, watching as he dropped straight into the ocean ten or so meters away with a loud plop. 

You turned towards Luffy, one brow arched in question. “You’re a Devil Fruit eater?”

“The Gum Gum fruit,” Luffy said brightly. He adjusted his hat once more, fixing it atop his head before reaching an arm out to pat you on the shoulder. “Thank you for warning us. You’re a good person.” 

“Don’t mention it.” You glanced down at Hiru. “Have anything I can clean my blade with?” 

“Sure! Let Sanji cook you something while you’re here,” Luffy said. “It’s the least we can do.” 

“Of course,” Sanji said with a little bow. “What would you like? Name anything and I’ll make it.” 

You eyed him. “…Anything.” 

Sanji let out an exaggerated sigh. “So uninspired. Meet you in the kitchen, then. We can leave the mosshead to clean up the bodies.” 

The orange-haired woman just rolled her eyes. “I’m going back to bed,” she declared. She glanced over at you, appraising you in one solid sweep up and down your body. “I’m Nami.” 

With that final word, she departed, snapping closed her staff and slipping back into the boat. Luffy, Usopp, and Sanji shuffled into the boat, presumably the kitchen. Zoro just sighed, setting his katana to the side to start cleaning up the corpses left after the battle. 

You made no move to follow the others inside, watching as Zoro easily lifted up one of the hunters. The lines of his biceps strained as he climbed off the ship, still hefting the body before finally placing it down on the pier. 

“Just toss them into the ocean,” you called. Zoro glanced over his shoulder, registering you standing there. He picked another body up. 

“I don’t want to block our slip,” he answered. 

“Fair enough. Any oil around here?” You wandered to the ship’s side, glancing through the boxes fixed to the deck. Zoro gestured in some direction that harmed more than it helped, really, but you dug through some boxes before unearthing something you could clean Hiru with. 

You worked in silence, slicking the blade with the oil and rubbing off all the blood and mess that had gotten onto it. Zoro was quick, piling up all the corpses and barely-alive bodies by the dock. He shoved a few of them awake with his boot. “Go find a doctor,” you heard him mutter under his breath. You suppressed a laugh. 

Eventually, Zoro climbed back on board, searching for his sword only to find it in your hands. You carefully polished off the last of the blade, then presented it to him. “You’re welcome.” 

“…Thanks,” Zoro said, sheathing it in one smooth swipe.

“The cut,” you said, glancing down at his torso again. His shirt was covering the bandages, but you knew they were still there. “It was Yoru that did it. Not Kogatana.” 

“The big one, yeah,” Zoro answered. You watched him thoughtfully, although you didn’t say a word. He seemed to get impatient by that, and was speaking just a moment afterwards— “Why?” 

You gave a quick shake of your head. “Nothing,” you answered, the lie slipping easily off your tongue. But your mind churned with thoughts, the mere brain activity making your stomach curdle. It hadn’t clicked before, but now—your father didn’t use Yoru on anyone who wasn’t worthy. And letting Zoro live—letting the entire crew go, against Garp’s orders? 

This was a more interesting group than you’d anticipated. 

Zoro eyed you for a moment as you were lost in thought, though he didn’t say anything to interrupt you. Once you finally looked up, he adjusted, clearing his throat. “Should go inside to make sure the waiter isn’t burning down the kitchen,” he said, straightening.  

You stood up, sliding Hiru into its scabbard on your back. “The… waiter?” 

Zoro shook his head. “Long story.” He gestured with his head, nodding towards the double doors. “Kitchen.” 

You followed him, the soft aroma of garlic and meat wafting around the room the instant you stepped foot inside. Everyone was crowded around the kitchen island, propped on chairs and staring as Sanji prepared a meal before them. You joined the group, glancing over Usopp’s shoulder to watch. 

There was a stir-fry on the stove, garlic and onions joined by various other vegetables. Sanji drizzled soy sauce along the pan, scraping it around once with his spatula before turning down the heat. He added in some rice—leftover, it looked—along with some battered eggs, mixing it all together. 

“Vegetable and chicken fried rice,” Sanji said, turning off the heat once everything had cooked through and starting to distribute it into servings. “I went for something universal because I don’t know what you like.” He met your eyes, flashing a giant, warm smile again. You took the bowl he offered, fingers wrapping around the warm ceramic. 

“Thank you,” you said. The four of you stood in silence, and you had the feeling that you were intruding. The crew was a tight unit, that much was certain—wound tightly around each other, ropes intersecting in delicate knots and bows. You turned your attention to your meal. You hadn’t had a real supper, so the food was a welcome surprise, and it was damn near close to the best thing you’d ever tasted. 

“So,” Luffy started, “Not to bug you about it a hundred times, but…” You glanced up. His expression was earnest as he met your eyes, lips tugged upwards in an encouraging smile even as he spoke. “Are you joining us?”

“Am I—? Oh,” you said, realizing what it was Luffy was referring to. “Is the offer still standing?” 

“Always,” he answered brightly. “You’d be a good fit for our crew, you know.” 

Would you really? There wasn’t much of anything special about you besides your parentage. You were as skilled a swordswoman as any, but there were hundreds better and stronger than you. There was no one thing you truly excelled at. “I’ll think about it,” you said hesitantly. 

“Well, think quick. We leave at dawn,” Luffy said. “Meet us back here at blue hour if you’d like to join up.” He smiled again, all unassuming, and it was hard to believe a boy so pleasant had a thirty million berry bounty hanging suspended over his head. He yawned, stretching out his long limbs. “Well, I’m off to sleep. Sanji’s next watch.” He glanced over at Zoro. “Why don’t you walk her back to her slip, Zoro?” 

 Your brows furrowed, about to object, but Zoro was already standing up. He opted to say nothing, leaving you to set down your empty bowl and say your goodbyes in a hurry to follow him out. 

The bodies on the pier had thinned, the alive ones presumably having dragged themselves to town to find a doctor. Zoro stepped over the heap of corpses, and you followed suit, walking in silence down south port. “I’m a little far,” you said. “You might lose your way heading back.” 

“I’ll be fine,” Zoro dismissed. “I’m… sorry about Luffy. He can get overly enthusiastic.” 

“Oh, it’s fine,” you said with a shake of your head. “Are the rest of the crew open to me joining, though? It didn’t seem like he consulted any of you.” 

Zoro’s brows lifted at that, though you weren’t certain why. “We’re all fine with it,” he said eventually. “Luffy wouldn’t invite someone who wouldn’t fit.” He hesitated, the plod of your footsteps creaking against the dock walkway for a few paces before he parted his lips again. “I’m going to fight Mihawk again, you know.” 

“I figured,” you answered. You could feel Zoro’s eyes on you, scraping along your skin like they were blades themselves. 

“You’re not upset by that?” 

“Everyone wants to kill him for some reason or another,” you said. “You’re not the first.” Though there was something undeniably special about him. The fact he was still alive, for one. “I figure you’re a long way from that, so I’ll have a father for a few years more until you try to kill him again.” 

There was something in the way you phrased your words that sounded so very ironic, and Zoro couldn’t suppress the light grunt from escaping his lips. It was dry, brittle—but closer to a laugh than a scoff, you could tell. “Is that your blessing?” 

“Sure,” you said. “I, Dracule Mihawk’s daughter, hereby allow you, Roronoa Zoro, to murder my father in a duel.” The lightness in your tone dropped. “If you don’t mind me asking…” you took in a light breath, letting the taste of the words melt on your tongue before slipping them out. “Why do you want to, anyway? Defeat him, I mean?” 

“I made a promise to someone a long time ago,” Zoro answered. His footsteps slowed as you reached your slip, the small sloop you’d sailed all the way to Loguetown calm as ever where it was moored. The black sails—vague, nondescript—sucked away all the light the moon attempted to cast on it, so it was even darker than the rest of the surroundings. “I told her I would become the world’s greatest swordsman.”

“That’s heavy,” you remarked, turning to face your companion. His skin was waxy and dull under the moonlight—aftereffects of the injury he still hadn’t fully recovered from. Zoro just shrugged. 

“Maybe. It’s my life’s dream.” 

“He’s a good father,” you said. “I think he’d like you.” You paused. “Well, he does. He wouldn’t have let you live if he didn’t.” 

Zoro stiffened, the lines of his body tightening, spine pulling up just slightly. You noticed the change—you always did. Observation had always been one of your biggest strengths. Maybe you hadn’t gotten the golden irises your father had, but you had hawk eyes of your own in that way. Never missing a thing, picking out all flaws and details in a scene. “I’m not sure if I want him to like me.” 

“He doesn’t feel hatred for a lot of people,” you said. “Just disdain. Though I’m fairly certain he’d have skewered that drunk at the bar earlier if he’d been with me.” 

“The one who—” Zoro looked distinctly uncomfortable as he remembered what the pirate had offered you. He made a vague gesture instead, just mildly vulgar in motion. You suppressed a laugh. 

“Exactly,” you agreed. “He doesn’t have patience for that sort of thing. He also feels no man who’s weaker than me in combat isn’t man enough to be with me, though I have questions about that particular rule.” 

Zoro snorted. “You could definitely do better than the drunk pirate.” 

“Right.” You glanced up at the moon, watching the steady silver glow of her face along the edge of the horizon. She was full, round and white, soft powder creasing the dents and shadows of her face. “I’m out for the night, then. Thank you for walking me.” 

Zoro shrugged. He didn’t say anything, so you turned away, stepping onto your sloop without another word. You ducked into the interior room, closing the door firmly behind you so you could finally relax. 

You had only a handful of hours of rest ahead of you, after all.

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3

i'll be making a taglist for this series; just comment if you'd like to be added!

© halfvalid 2023

[ghulehunknown]

Undressing Papa Backstage,

A Drabble - Dom Copia x GN Reader

Warning - adult themes ahead!

NSFW below!

Tags: blowjob, unprotected penetrative sex, dom Copia

Word Count: 1.3K

Just imagine undressing him after a show backstage. He’s sweaty and he’s just told the audience to go fuck themselves, and he has similar plans in mind. You watch as he takes the final bow. His brow is glistening with beads of sweat, and his hair is a little damp. There’s a hunger in his gaze, his bottom lip falling slightly open as the lights go out.

Performing has him especially riled up this evening. He’s already pitching a tent in his painfully tight jeans by the time he turns to go backstage. And he wasn’t kidding about that violent shower. You had always wondered what exactly he meant, and envisioned him painting the walls in his ecstasy and making a mess of himself only to wash it down the drain.

And where was the fun in that, imagining? And what was the fun in doing it solo the whole tour, Copia wondered as well. You got to know him pretty well, in the quick changes in between songs. Small chatter, but mostly silence as you focused on your task at hand. But all the touches, feeling his body as you put his robes on and took them off, carefully smoothing his hair each time… it built something inside of you. And you think it did for him too.

“Excellent job, Papa,” you remark as he runs backstage again for the final time of the night. He’s out of breath and chugs the water bottle you hand him as you start to take his red jacket off one arm at a time.

“Mm-!” he mumbles while drinking. “Grazie, dear.” He’s still trying to catch his breath but slowly it returns to normal. “You eh, catch my line?”

Oh yes, of course you had. Since the start of tour you began keeping a tally of all the different ways he would tell the audience about fucking each other or themselves, and how he intended to do the same…

“Of course, Papa, I think the audience liked it,” you say with a smile as you hang up the red jacket for dry cleaning later on.

“And…what about you?” he says with a small smirk, looking at you as he begins to unbutton his shirt.

You blush. “I…” you begin, stepping forward to help him with his buttons as he fumbles around.

“You…?”

“Please, Papa…you’ve put me in a rather…precarious situation. I - I have a job to do, and I can’t be distracted. Don’t make me choose between what I want to do and what I have to do.” You look up at him, his shirt collar in your grasp. But you don’t sound convincing. Nor do you want to.

“I know tesoro, but you don’t have to worry about any of that. I want you. I’ve wanted you since they assigned you to me.” He’s touching your elbow now, gingerly brushing your arm with his thumb. “All this touching and no fucking, I can’t stand it.”

“Papa, I -” you start to say but before you can get the words out, he shoves you off him while undoing his pants in a hurry but tugs at it hopelessly just like the buttons on his shirt.

He curses in Italian and slumps his shoulders a bit, looking at you pathetically, giving up. “That was supposed to be seductive,” he said, frowning.

You can barely contain a smile. “This is why you need your wardrobe assistant,” you say, unlacing his pants and unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way. Your fingertips brush his sternum, feeling the few coarse hairs sprinkled across his chest.

Your breath catches in your throat. You kneel down to start taking off his pants past his waist before you realize - of course, how could you forget? These jeans don’t leave much to the imagination, and he forgoes undergarments just to get them over his hips.

“Something the matter?” he asks, looking down at you and wondering why you paused.

You shake your head and continue, this time yanking the jeans halfway down his thighs in short tugs. The tight fabric combined with his sweat doesn’t allow much wiggle room.

Finally his erection springs forth, completely hard and in your face. Your hands trail up the back of his thighs, until you’re cupping his supple ass. You give his cheeks a squeeze, eliciting a little chuckle from him. You bring one hand to his front, grabbing his cock in your fist and tilting it upwards towards your mouth.

He sighs and grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls your head back. Then he spits directly onto his shaft, saliva pooling around your hand. You work him up in your grasp, his spit giving you allowance to glide your fist around him smoothly.

You lean forward until your lips touch his flushed tip. You part your lips and kiss it gently before taking him in your mouth and sinking down on him fully, until his tip hits the back of your throat. You can smell his natural body odor mixed with his cologne at his base. He tastes salty from all the built up perspiration.

“Fuuuck,” he groans, clutching onto your hair harder. His eyes are closed as he rocks his body against your mouth, feeling every part of his cock enrobed.

You gag at first, but his thrusts don’t wait for you to catch your breath. He’s using you for his own pleasure, like his own little fuck doll.

Before he finishes, he pulls you off him roughly by the hair. You choke and sputter as he utters a gruff command.

You nod and obey him when he says, “I want you bent over the vanity.”

You quickly clear the scattered mess of things on the surface - his face paints, makeup brushes, tissues, setlists, water bottles - as he comes up behind you and yanks your trousers down your hips. He throws them to the side once your legs are free.

He pushes you flat against the vanity, your head turned to the side and your cheek laying down flat. He kicks your legs apart so they make a wide V shape. You hear him spit again, then again, this time in his hand. He reaches down to your core, massaging his saliva like it’s lube at your entrance.

You both moan in sync as he pushes into you, and you feel the initial stretch. Oh fuck! You had thought of this moment so many times while alone backstage with him, but truthfully never even knew how big his cock was until now. You had an idea, sizing the bulge in his pants. But he usually put his pants on by himself before shows, and took them off himself afterwards on his way to the shower, so you never saw this part of him. You wince as your walls contract around him to accommodate his size.

“Ah - fuuckk, s-so good -” he murmurs, thrusting in and out of you.

You lay there atop the table, feeling him pound into you over and over. You moan every time he brushes up against your little sweet spot deep inside you.

“You like that, mm? My little assistant,” he growls in your ear, and as you look up into the mirror you see him smirking and looking into your eyes. He spanks your ass, leaving a red handprint.

You yelp as he bends your left arm behind your back, keeping a firm grip there to steady himself as he continues drilling into you. Your body bounces on the table as you watch both your faces contort in passion in the mirror. The hairspray bottle and his cologne are dangerously close to falling off the table.

“Fuck, I’m going to cum -” he says breathlessly, pulling out of you quickly. You peer up into the mirror again and see him looking down and just when you wonder - warm, thick liquid splashes all over you, painting your backside as he coaxes out his seed.

You lay there in a daze as he pulls some tissues from the box next to you, cleaning himself off and aimlessly cleaning you off too, though it’s more of a smear.

Then he says, “Undress. Get in the shower. We’re just getting started.”

[moonlight-prose]

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 06. TIME CAN NEVER MEND

a/n: so before you dive into this i'm gonna warn you that it's not happy. we have reached the level of angst needed to start this story on it's final arc. the one that changes basically everything. i've put a lot of angst into this, because that's what it called for and well...if you've been here for awhile you know i love my angst. i'm sorry beforehand and can promise a happy ending. but these two have to suffer first.

summary: logan howlett is happy. he's content. by all definitions...he's found the reason for why he's still alive and it all leads down to you. yet time is a fickle and cruel being and she's decided his time for peace must come to an end.

word count: 7k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, angst, a heaping of angst so bitter you will yell at me, oral (f receiving), face riding, overstimulation, wade wilson, mutant powers, violence, tw: blood, tw: gore, trauma resurfacing, ptsd, insanity, tw: torture, cliffhanger, BE WARNED PLEASE DON'T SKIP OVER THESE.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

Silence filled his mind, darkness an endless expanse behind his shut eyes. He couldn't remember the last time the world fell quiet. Piercing through him with a serenity he fought his entire life to acquire. Nightmares were an expected routine that came to him constantly with a bitter echo of things he couldn't change; people he never saved.

He couldn't recall sleeping without them. Not since he was a sickly child in his father's house—fighting fevers that were caused by a mutation he didn't know existed.

Eventually the world would rip a part his bubble of safety—expose him to horrors he never thought imaginable. He'd struggle against it. Bite, snarl, fight his way through the pain like an animal who'd been caged for far too long. There would be no light at the end of his tunnel. No peace for the man plagued by promises he longed to break—a vow he didn't intend to make.

Only to be found by the one person he thought was lost to his world.

A love that lingered in the shadows of his heart. Bringing back the flame of a torch that blew out the night he lost everything.

He awoke to the warmth of your body tangled with his. His heart didn't race with the anticipation of a battle that didn't exist. His claws were safely stored away in the depths of his arms, and for the first time...his soul didn't scream in agony for help that would never arrive. You shifted with a puff of air, a grumble building in your throat at the morning chill. He watched in rapture—his fingers trailing down your spine.

The clock read eight in the morning. Plenty of time for you to sleep in given it was your last day off. So Logan remained still in order to not disturb your peace. He sucked in slow breaths as you pressed your cheek to his chest—arm wrapped around his waist and legs tangled with his. Each small shift of your face, the furrow of your brows and quickening of your heart, let him know you were trapped in a dream.

Good or bad he couldn't tell.

What did you dream about? What ran through your mind when sleep washed over your body?

He made a mental note to ask when your eyes finally cracked open. The spell of sleep lost, retreating to the depths of your mind till later. But for now he admired the shape of your face, the lilt in your eyes and curve of your lips. You were a painting come to life. An art piece stolen right off the walls of The Met.

How he managed to wind up here, waking up beside you, continued to baffle him the longer he thought about it.

Surely he committed too many atrocities to deserve this. Too many lives lost by his claws, too much pain wrought by his own actions. He shouldn't be allowed to lay here, holding you close with a reverence that he thought was lost to the tragedies of his past. He once counted the days until his death. Marked them off with a tally that seemed to only grow the longer he went.

Now he thanked whatever higher being existed for giving him this.

For gifting him you.

Another soft grunt left your parted lips, nose scrunching in distaste as you were roused from your sleep. He smiled at the sight of your eyes fluttering open, confusion flickering across your features for mere seconds before it all came rushing back. The time spent with Logan ravishing your body in this very bed, in the shower you shared. The sweetening ache between your thighs that practically called his name.

You sighed, glancing up at him with drowsy glazed eyes and a crooked smile. "Morning," you rasped, voice thick with sleep.

His heart twisted in his chest. A feeling he could only describe as love began to filter through his veins like an IV. Filling him with the fear that usually came with that four letter word—the terror of possibly losing this. He swallowed it down painfully, his hand moving to press at the base of your spine to pull you closer.

"Sleep well?" he rumbled, dipping down to catch your lips in a kiss.

The shower last night left your skin warm to the touch. Logan found he couldn't get enough of it. He curled himself around you, drawing your leg up to hook around his waist as a way to keep your skin against his. You hummed in appreciation, pushing your face up to meet his movements in kind.

Sunlight spilled into the bedroom with a familiar warmth. The window was shut and locked after yesterday's phone call. Yet the muffled echo of the world managed to slip through the cracks in the wood, echoing in your small bubble of serenity he longed to stay in. This felt like a hazy dream. One that clung to the edges of his mind, dripping small slivers of joy into his heart.

Logan longed to remain here. Buried in the bed with you wrapped tightly around him.

Eventually you parted with a soft gasp, your hips shifting subtly to relieve the ache that began to bloom and unfurl in your body. Even though you had more than your fill of him yesterday, you remained insatiable.

He couldn't say he was any better—his cock already twitching in interest. If he had his way neither of you would find the need to leave this bed; far more interested in how many more orgasms he could wring from your still spent body.

"I like this," you murmured against his cheek, fingers delving into his messy hair. "Waking up with you."

"Me too honey." He grinned when you kissed his chin, thumb running along the edge of his jaw.

A soft breath washed along his skin, sending chills down his spine. "How did you sleep?"

"No nightmares."

He felt you smile. "Are you lying to me Howlett?"

Fuck if you weren't the last thing he wanted to see at night and the first thing he was welcomed to in the morning. Something sharp pricked his chest, bleeding him of the doubt that might still remain. Lingering beneath the surface of too many broken promises and shattered versions of I love you.

This happened before. A love so deep he felt it solidify into his very mutant DNA. Back then he thought it would one day come to an end; finalize when he fucked up too many times for you to forgive.

Now he knew there was no end to this road that wound up with him alone. No version of the story where he sat at a bar somewhere in the back roads of nowhere, lamenting about a woman he once wanted to spend forever with. Whether he stayed young and you grew too old; there wouldn’t be a final page without him in your life.

What transpired here would knot the strands of fate together. So if one was sliced for the final vow of death. They both went together.

"I'm not lying," he confessed. "I didn't really dream of anythin' this time around."

You hummed, eyes opening to see the contented shine in his hazel eyes. "Don't tell me. It was because of me."

"I think it might be bub." His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, hand curving to cup your ass. "Guess you're my cure. Been lookin' for awhile."

"My bad Mr. Howlett," you breathed through a soft laugh that clenched around his chest. "I didn't mean to take so long, but you were kind of in a different universe."

"Technicalities."

"Yeah right! Technicalities my ass."

He dragged you across his lap with a muffled groan he pressed to your chest. "Could’ve found me all on your own honey. You just weren't looking properly."

The high gasp that filled the air left him with a gratification worse than his satiated hunger. He longed to devour you with a need that felt primal. As if the animalistic side of his body craved the taste of you spread along his tongue. You were the answer to every fuckin' prayer he sent out. The embodiment of what his heart had been missing.

"You're right." Your words were shaky, eyes growing dark with lust when you felt his cock press against your slick folds. "I'll do better next time."

He growled, low and desperate; his hands now clamping down on your hips until pain flickered beneath the surface of your already tender skin. "There'll be no fuckin' next time."

"No?" The grin on your lips made him leak against your thigh. "I'm sure there's more than one James Howlett in the infinite number of universes. And who knows, you might not be enough to satisfy my insatiable needs."

Rolling to his back, he took you with him, even as you yelped in an attempt to pull away. You were trapped against his body with no chance of escape, yet running from him was never a choice. This was your safe place. Against his body that offered warmth and solace—a promise of more wrapped in a gentle touch and heated kiss.

He tugged you up his body, smacking your ass as you climbed to sit on his chest with a breathless smile. The sight alone made Logan's heart stutter. His eyes wide with awe—a semblance of adoration that existed solely for you.

"Insatiable huh," he mumbled against your thigh. "Alright honey. C'mere then."

"For what?"

His thumbs indented the skin of your hip, a smile curving over his lips. "I haven't had my breakfast yet."

The realization dawned on you slowly. Your eyes widened, scent growing heavy in the air, and Logan longed to stay here for the rest of his life. Beneath the weight of your body on his—the comfort of your hands cupping his face. Your slick pooled on his chest; a sign that you were in fact interested.

"A-Are you sure?" you breathed.

His teeth sunk into your wrist gently, causing you to jolt. "Fair's fair baby."

Your own words caused heat to spill beneath your skin; you shifted—eyes wanton for what was about to come. "Touché."

Shifting up higher with a hesitancy that turned his mind feral, you situated yourself close to his mouth—barely hovering over his face. With a growl, he looped his arms around your thighs and yanked you down. His mouth sealing over your dripping cunt with a moan of satisfaction. The cry that fell from your lips made his cock twitch against his stomach; the heady tang of you exactly what he longed for.

He was messy with it. Devouring you with abandon, tongue slipping through your folds with little grunts that sent sparks down your spine. When he sucked your clit into his mouth you were done for.

"Oh fuck Logan-" The breath caught in your throat, head tipping back with each swipe of his tongue along the pulsating nerve.

Without realizing it, your hips began to drag along his mouth, chasing the quick building release that threatened to drag you under. He growled—fingers a bruising grip on your skin—with each swivel of your hips. High pitched moans echoed in the room loud enough to resonate through the whole of your apartment.

"Please-" Logan watched—eyes drooped and a red flush across his cheeks—as your body curved towards him, your hand gripping the top of your headboard. "'M gonna. Fuck, fuck, fuck-"

His tongue plunged into you, thumb snaking around to rub harshly against your clit. The long drawn out moan he mumbled into your cunt is what finally broke you. Ripping the release from the base of your spine as you cried out—your hips nearly suffocating him with how you pressed down on his tongue.

Aching for whatever he had left to give you.

Logan drank you down with stunted moan, his cock leaking into the trail of hair on his stomach. But he couldn't fucking care about that. Not when you were gifting him with a nectar that would put the gods ichor to shame.

"Oh...baby," you murmured, eyes staring at the way his cock jumped each time his tongue slid against you.

Before he could turn you away—explain that he was okay and push it off as a natural reaction to you—your hand was wrapping around him. The wet slide of his precum now enough to fuck into your fist with ease. He'd allow you to touch him for a few minutes before deterring you the kitchen. Give you a fill of what need still remained.

He was perfectly okay with finishing himself off.

What he didn't expect was your thumb to settle between his balls, rubbing at a spot that made him see white. A broken feral sound echoed against your inner thigh—his teeth clamping into the skin—as he came across your hand. Spilling down onto his stomach and hitting his chest with a withered shout.

You rolled off him, panting and covered in a sheen of sweat. Logan could barely feel his fucking legs.

"The fuck was that?" he rasped, eyes cracking open to blearily see your prideful smile—teeth digging into your bottom lip while you eyed the mess on his torso.

"How'd it feel?"

"Like my fuckin' body isn't workin'."

You giggled, soft and sweet. A stark contrast to the way you made him cum fast enough to put a hole in his heart. He'd never gotten off so quickly. Yet there you sat, leaning against your pillows, and staring at him as if he'd hung all the stars in your night sky.

He very well would have if you asked.

"I can cook this morning," you offered, snuggling back against his side with a contented sigh.

"Just give me a minute honey and I'll get us food."

"You don't have to cook."

He silenced you with a kiss, your body melting into the mattress at the taste of you on his tongue. "Rosemary's. They still sell breakfast?" When you nodded he planted a kiss on your forehead. "Alright. Soon as the feeling in my legs returns I'll get us some food."

"Okay," you laughed with a kiss to his shoulder. "I like the sound of that."

The television blared loud enough to bounce off the neighbors walls. A loud and rather obnoxious theme song for a reality show. A steady stream of muttered cuss words overlapped the music as another piece of wood clattered to the floor. The screws with it scattered on the shitty coffee table found in the back alley of the building.

"Ugh. Don't hand over the rose!" Wade shouted, throwing a handful of popcorn at the screen. "Clearly they don't belong together. For fucks sake. I swear the bachelorette always settles."

Althea sighed, fingers sliding along the wood in search of a single screw that might be near. "I thought you said you wanted to help me with this."

"I am!" he mumbled through a mouthful of popcorn. "Moral support. You're doing great, just a little more to the left. Almooooost got it-"

She grumbled snatching up the silver piece, locating the wood by her feet. "Next time I'm evicting your ass so you can find someone else to annoy."

"Hurtful. Who else would provide you quality entertainment better than moi?"

"A rock."

"Wrong." He shoveled another handful in his mouth. "I've worked with the man. Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson is not as funny as he might appear. And starring in Fast Five doesn't count." His eyes flicker to the side, smile forming around his swollen cheeks. "To be honest I couldn't tell who was who between three bald men. Clearly that franchise has a type."

"Clearly I need a better system."

"Well of course you do. The shelf is upside down. No, the other way. No. The other way-"

A blinding flash of blue light burned through the living room, searing a hole in the hardwood floor. Wade clambered to his feet, gripping the ceramic bowl with white knuckles. His heart hammered in his chest, mouth dry as he scanned the room for some form of defense.

The closest weapon remained his katanas, propped against the door frame leading to his bedroom. He glanced at them—calculating whether to leap now or wait.

A whip ignited in blue sparks flew from the gaping hole in the air, striking his body and forcing him into the air. He hit the wall with a grunt; the bowl now severed in two on the floor.

"What the fuck!" he groaned, stumbling to his feet. "Al! You okay?"

"Who did you piss off this time?" Althea called, gripping her cane as he staggered towards her, leading her to the bedroom.

"Some fucking Asgardian apparently." A quick glance back revealed someone stepping through—their body encased in ripples of sapphire. "God where's Thor when you need him?"

The bedroom door slammed shut, Althea locking herself in as Wade yanked the katanas from their sheaths. He half expected to see the face of a pissed god coming to enact revenge. He felt his body tense as he prepared for a fight. Only for a hood of blue and gold to be pulled back; your face staring directly at him with milky eyes of white.

"You're not Asgardian."

A sneer crossed other you's face as the whip snapped against the floor, rippling in the space around him. He felt it tug along his body, aging his face with spots that wouldn't show up for decades to come. They healed as you pulled the weapong back; the blue wrapping its way up your arm.

"Where is he?" Your voice bled with a bitterness that punched his stomach. An anger he once felt before.

Whoever stood before him now was not the sweet angel he knew. The scarred skin along your body explained enough of what he needed to know. This was a sign of who you once belonged to. Who the humans hunted. The embodiment of time had become their prey, their plaything. You were the lamb given up for slaughter; the lover scorned and tossed to the side by a man who ran to a different universe.

"Mind giving me a name?" Wade knew who you were asking for. But he also knew Logan lay across the street wrapped in the arms of a you who couldn't protect him.

Your eyes narrowed, the flicker of blue flashing in what used to be the iris of your pupil. "I believe you know him as Wolverine. However...I knew him as Logan."

"Right." He gripped the handle of his swords with cold palms—his eyes flicking to the side where his window was pulled wide open. "Have you tried the yellow pages?"

A scream tore from your throat as you charged—whip sliding across the floor to wrap around Wade's legs. He rolled to the side, katana cracking through the floor to steady his movements. He cursed under his breath at the sight of the burn marks that now spread all the way up to his ceiling—the flicker of your whip lifting in air again.

"Listen you Wonder Woman wannabe. I'm sure we can talk this out rather than fucking me in the ass with the deposit of my apartment!"

Your lips curled into a grin—teeth flashing white. Wade could practically feel them dig into his jugular; all too prepared to rip it from his neck if given the chance. This wasn't a battle to see who could make it out alive. This was a warriors death.

This was you being merciful.

"We had a Deadpool like you on my Earth." He tried to dodge the slice of your whip, but felt it clamp down on his arms, yanking them forward as your hand cupped his chin—nails plunging into his cheeks until blood sprouted to the surface. "Annoying. Less than average IQ. I had such fun sending him to the Void."

The dull throb of pain bit at his face the harder you clutched him. Eyes still a flash of sapphire on an otherwise empty pale eyeball. In the picture Logan showed him, this wasn't how you looked.

The scar that ran from your forehead to chin seemed new—barely healed over. You were nothing like how Logan described you. No light in your smile, no hint of hope or joy.

Whatever happened left you buried so deep in grief and pain there was no chance of digging you out.

"On behalf of my people...fair. We aren't intelligent collectively as a group. Individually we're probably...not better. But as Deadpool Prime-"

"Fuck you're even more annoying than your variants," you growled.

The whip looped around his body, growing with heat as blue flickered in his vision—pulling tight each time you wrapped it around your wrist. His wince of pain brought the malevolent smile back to your lips. Your milky white eyes flashing as you watched him intently. Waiting for a sliver of anguish to cross his scarred face.

Instead his body twitched, a groan ripping from his throat. "Is this the lasso of truth?"

You sneered. "It's a slice of time."

"Because yes, I did steal Captain American themed condoms from the gift shop at the Smithsonian. I thought they would make me fuck like Steve Rogers. But instead they just gave me a rash-" His words devolved into a piercing scream—the once bright hue of his eyes now fading the more his body aged.

The katanas clattered to the floor as you drew him closer, wrapping the whip around his arms tight enough to slice off his blood flow. He struggled—face red and teeth bared—to rip himself free. To stop the aging of his body before it was too late.

He'd endured pain before. The travesty of each wound his body would heal over still burned bright in his mind. But this felt as if he was being crushed under the weight of the universe. The strangled scream you pulled from his chest left him sagging against the hold your whip had on his limbs. Eyes bleary with tears as you stepped back and pulled.

Limbs tore from his body, blood pooling on the floor, as his arms were flung across the room. Blue fizzled in his vision, body struggling to stand upright. And you turned with a flourish—the flutter of energy pouring out into the room around you.

"I'm not going to ask again Wade Wilson."

He weakly laughed. "Look Doc Brown I can't help you with your revenge plan."

The tilt of your head shouldn't have looked so innocent. But all he could see—all that ran through his mind—was a version of you that remained loving. Hopeful. The variant who gave Logan a reason to live. Wade wasn't about to let that slip through either of their fingers; you were too vital to give up.

Even if it meant he might never heal from the one wound that threatened to shove him directly into Death's hands.

Time.

It remained his greatest enemy. Yet there he stood, facing it with a smile.

"Pity." You snapped the whip on the floor, advancing on his broken form with a grin. "Send my regards to your fallen variants."

"If I find a way to come back from this. Expect me to fuck your ass up." He sighed, shutting his eyes. "That sounded wrong. Do I get a do-over on last words?"

He stiffened, waiting for the blow that would be delivered without mercy. But you stopped. Froze in place as you looked out the window—body stiff and breath caught in your chest at the sight. Wade's heart dropped when he turned, staring directly at the you he knew. The lovely angel who stood near the window wearing Logan's flannel, a mug of steaming coffee in your hand and a smile on her face.

"Fuck," he spit, moving to step in and block your view.

No words were spoken, but Wade could feel the anger fall from your body in waves. A rage that made him sick to his stomach. Not only did you arrive in search of your lost lover. But a mirror image of a healthier—a happier—version of yourself stood in an apartment across the street.

"Wait. She didn't do anything wrong. She doesn't know anything-"

Your hand flew up, a flash of azure blinded him—filling the room—and Wade felt time stop. He could hear the silence, the step of your feet, yet couldn't move his body as you lifted off the floor. Floating towards the window, you felt the particles of time slip through your fingers. Forming a bubble around your form as you broke the wall of the apartment with a slice of your whip.

The agony wasn't unknown to you as time froze; the people of New York stuck in their spots while you remained in the realm you knew well. Yet this pain—this never ending grief—formed like a pit in your stomach, growing the longer you stared at the person who stole your life. The false version that wore your face, loved the man you once claimed as your own.

You were plunged back into the frozen depths of that night. When your family was torn from your life and Logan left you in shambles.

The window shattered, glass stuck in place until you pushed past it, your feet setting down on the floor of an apartment that smelled eerily like cigar smoke. Logan's flannel hung off your variant's body with such ease. Memories of mornings spent like this, indulging in coffee he made as he went off to teach, left a bitter taste on the back of your tongue.

How dare he discard you to the side.

How dare he love you in another universe when you still lived.

How dare he replace you with a new version, not yet broken by his mistakes.

The tears flowed down your cheeks, hot and unforgiving. Yet you could do nothing but watch as the smile on your variant's face burned bright in the room. He made this version of you happy. Yet couldn't be bothered to remember the mutant you. The one who longed for his touch, for his love.

For his forgiveness.

"He loves you," you murmured, gently touching your variant's cheek. "He loved me once."

Time flickered, a mere second being allowed to pass. But that remained enough. Your variant's eyes flicked up, shock forming in the iris at the sight of a battered and destroyed mirror image stand before you. If the iris of your eyes could be shown, the sorrow would bring the both of you to your knees. The anger that dripped into your heart with a vengeance.

Death didn't seem a kind enough gesture for the version of you that got to live her happily ever after.

You wanted Logan to keep her. To try and save her from the depths of your soon to be shared darkness.

The mark on your neck burned as you stared at the spotless skin. Free from the horrors. Free from a past you'd never endure.

You were perfect.

It made bile crawl up the back of your throat. The fear in your variant's eyes filled your stomach with a satisfaction that you clung to. The first glimpse of dopamine after years of fighting the darkness in your own mind.

Your nails scratched along the skin of your variant's cheeks. Digging into the flesh with a smile.

"Don't worry," you murmured, allowing the shackles you held on time to fall away. The gasp ripped from your variant's mouth as you gripped her. It swirled with joy in your heart. "We'll both make him regret his choice."

The apartment greeted him with a sickening echo of silence. He dropped your key into the bowl by your door, the bag of food still clutched tightly in his hand, as he allowed his claws to slide free on the other. His breath stuck to his chest, the hair on the back of his neck rose with each step he took. Something was wrong. Yet for the life of him...he couldn't find an explanation.

Your scent was stale. An hour old.

Where he expected to find the sweet echo of your heartbeat somewhere in the apartment; he was met with the chilling realization that you weren't here.

"Honey," he called, his voice lower than intended. "You here baby?"

Logan's heart ached when he was met with a response of nothing. Merely air that didn't carry the sound of your voice, nor the scent he'd grown accustomed to. What was he supposed to do when the emptiness was all the world offered? When the echo of his nightmares suddenly bled into reality.

He set the food on your kitchen table, yanking his phone out of his jacket pocket he slammed his finger on your number. The only one programmed into the damn thing. The incessant ring suddenly never sounded so threatening. So malevolent as he waited with baited breath for your voice to filter through the other line. Loud and clear without a single thing to fear.

When the shrill buzz of your own phone came from the bedroom, Logan felt the familiar cold drip of fear begin to slip down his spine. He struggled to maintain his breathing as he walked towards the room. His claws out—ready to attack at whatever came near him.

The empty bedroom—sheets in a laundry basket and comforter a tangle on the bed from this morning—felt like an icy pick in his chest. You weren't here. And Logan knew there had to be a logical explanation as to why this was.

You left for a reason.

You wouldn't simply offer up silence on a silver platter and expect him to take it with a smile.

You weren't that type of person.

Yet no matter how long he wracked his brain, he couldn't come up with a valid reason as to where you might be. Expecting to see you through the window at Wade's place, Logan rushed to the frame. Only to feel the crunch of glass beneath his feet—the panes shattered and crushed on the floor. Your favorite coffee mug severed in pieces beside it.

"No," he breathed, eyes wide and hand plagued with a tremor of fear as he knelt to grip the porcelain shards.

The terror he fought against for so long slammed into his body with a roar. It forced him to look. To see the truth that he could no longer deny. You didn't leave. You weren't gone of your own volition.

You...weren't safe.

"Fuck," he spit, shutting his eyes as the sting of tears began to prick behind his eyelids. "No. No. No."

"How touching."

The sound of your voice made him whip around, eyes wide and heart racing as he prepared himself to apologize for whatever made you leave. But the face that came into his sight wasn't the you of this universe. Pain sliced his gut as the version of you he couldn't save—the woman he would once die for—smiled at him.

"Fortuna," he said in a breath, eyes trailing down your figure encased in ripples of blue. Your eyes were white—devoid of any emotion. Yet he could feel your bitterness; the hatred that still existed from that night.

Your lips formed a pout, boots echoing against the hardwood floor like bullets firing from a gun. "What? No more honey?"

He flinched when your hand came up to cup his cheek. "What are you-"

"Doing here?" You smiled, blue flashing in the iris of your eyes. Logan felt his body sway with grief—the emotions he swallowed for years now hitting him with a force he never thought possible. "Why...I'm here for you baby."

"Fortuna-"

"Don't call me that." You gripped his chin, dragging him down to face you. "That name never used to leave your lips before. Why now?"

"Where is she?" he bit out, claws begging to take a slice out of your body.

Your voice was filled with mirth. Logan had never heard you this way.

So...deranged. Unhinged.

Whatever happened after you left had pushed you past the edge of what sanity still remained. The brink you toed even when you were together. He could see it in the scars that littered your arms, the long mark along your face. You weren't the woman he once loved. You weren't even the same fucking person.

His eyes trailed further, down to the collar of your suit, until he latched onto the scar that nearly had him staggering away to vomit. Burned onto your skin was a mark to represent who you'd been at one point. Who you would forever remain. The X, a stitched over wound that didn't have the proper time to heal.

The humans broke you. They destroyed the woman he once knew.

Logan felt anger burn in his heart at the realization.

"You mean my replacement?" you spit, shoving him away. "And here I thought you were still nursing your wounds in some fucking bar Logan." The whip twined around your waist sparked to life. "Forgive me for believing you cared."

"You're insane." He stumbled back at the first lick of your power stretching to touch him. "Charles warned you about what your powers would evolve into. He begged you not to go down this path."

Laughter pierced his eardrums—the fury biting at his heart as you cupped his cheeks and shoved your face into his. "Do you know who else begged Logan? Jean. Storm, Scott, Rogue, Bobby-"

He ripped himself away. "Shut the fuck up!"

"They screamed for you Logan!" Time began to slow, slip through his body and tear at the flesh that never aged. "They begged me to help them, to stop their attackers. And what could I do? When I was stuck in the future! But you. You could have saved them. You fucking worthless bastard!"

Blue filled his vision, his body sagging against your hold, as you ripped at his mutant gene with a ferocity that left him beyond saving. This was your last play. The final card you never intended to show him.

"Please-" he gasped, refusing to fight back.

How could he? When his heart still called your name, no matter the universe.

You were his. The person who held every piece of his heart to kill on a whim if you so wished it. The woman who he'd die beside.

He just never thought it would be your mutant variant. He never expected you would be the one to deliver that final blow.

Air filled his lungs when you pulled away. His body healing instantly—the spots of age now fading along his paled skin. Whatever you had planned, it wasn't going to start with his death. Logan knew you better than you knew yourself; a fact you seemed to have forgotten.

You may have been kind—loving once. But final grand shows of vengeance were your ploy. No matter the situation...you wouldn't give away the ending even if he begged.

He fell to his knees, gasping for breath. "Where is she? I-I'll...do anything-"

"You love her," you murmured, regarding him with an expression of pity.

"Yes."

"What a shame."

His head rose, eyes wide as time began to slow. "Fortuna-"

"I'll give her your regards Logan." Your lips pressed to his cheek, breath a familiar warm caress against his skin. He felt his heart shatter.

"Fortuna!"

Staggering to his feet—his heart trapped in his throat—he felt time stop. And any hope he held in his heart...ceased to exist.

The crack of wood jolted you from the darkness you were trapped in. Fear trailed up your spine, wrapping around your heart tight enough to blister in searing pain. Your wrists and ankles were bound, body attached to a chair, and you blinked through the haze to see an empty abandoned room. The cold air stung the bare skin of your thighs as you sat there encased in only Logan's flannel—your skin raw from the rope.

Broken furniture was scattered through the room. A couch stripped of its fabric, walls with torn wallpaper, and you leaning against the wall your head cocked with intrigue.

"W-Who are you?" you stumbled over your words, shivering from the cold.

The echo of boots made the hair rise on the back of your neck, your eyes going wide at the sight of blue spilling off this person's frame. There was no need for her to answer. No response to give, because you knew who stood before you. She wore your face. Spoke in your voice and emanated a power you'd only seen once before.

"Logan once called me honey once," she murmured, milky eyes flashing blue. "He calls you that doesn't he?"

You nodded, shuddering as she dropped to squat in front of you, hands braced on the arms of the air. She didn't regard you with anger like before. Though it still lingered beneath the surface, she watched you as if you were someone to learn from. Someone to figure out.

"Why am I here?" you whispered, voice hoarse.

"Pathetic he would choose to love your kind. After what they did.” Fear struck your chest at the malice in her words, the wrath that now faced you head on. “You can call me Fortuna," she murmured, finger stroking down the side of your face. The place where no scar rested—no mark of torture that echoed from a past she couldn't escape.

"Please." The sting of hot tears burned your eyes. "I don't know what I did-"

A bark of laughter ripped from her throat. "Oh sweetie. You didn't do anything." She stood, loosening the whip from her body. "You're merely collateral damage. No need to take it so personal."

"Collateral-" You gasped as the whip flicked forward, wrapping around your waist. "Wait! Y-You're the woman Logan loved. He told me about you."

The smile that curved her lips forced nausea to the surface of your stomach. "Yes I suppose he would. So guilt ridden by what he couldn't do."

"It's not his fault."

Another laugh had tears slipping down your cheeks. "Did he tell you that?"

"He didn't have to. The humans were the ones to kill your family. Not him."

The whip tightened around your body, pain slicing at your skin. "Oh I'm very well aware of what the humans are capable of."

Scars littered her skin, some larger than others, and suddenly you understood what happened. What she meant by it all. Logan couldn't save her. He wasn't able to keep her from the human's harm. Because he decided to wallow in his own grief than share in hers.

Fortuna had become Logan's worst nightmare. His walking shame that continued to haunt him even in this universe. No wonder he felt so afraid of what might happen the longer he remained with you.

"Do you know this place?" She glanced at the room—the staircase that was tucked away in the corner that led to a second story. "An old farmhouse near the mansion. Abandoned here, but not where I'm from."

"It's..."

"Ours."

Your heart dropped, tears spilling over faster than you could stop them. "Oh..."

"He didn't mention that part did he human?" She stepped closer, leaning over your cowering form with a smile that you felt tear at your heart. "We were going to live here together. You see...I have the one thing you will never be able to give him." Her hand cupped your cheek, wiping at the tears with rough strokes. "I will never die."

You shook your head. "He doesn't-"

"Care?" She clicked her tongue, disappointment flooding her features. "He'll say that now human. But what happens when you're sixty? Seventy? What happens when you outlive the Wolverine? What will he do then?"

"The Logan I know wouldn't leave me because of time."

"I am time," she snapped, gripping your chin. "I have lived as long as he has. I will continue to live even longer. Time means nothing when you are the physical embodiment of it."

"No-"

Wrapping the whip around her clenched fist, she pulled until the power began to split through your nerves. A sob broke past your cracked lips, pain burning through your body, lighting you with a fire only she could put out. She watched with a smile, her power flickering to life as the years began to seep from your body.

Second by second.

Minute by minute.

She stole what little time you could have held with Logan. What might have existed now began to bleed into the air as her whip cut into your skin. The crimson stain of blood seeped into Logan's brown flannel shirt, staining the fabric permanently. A scream tore from your throat—eyes squeezing shut as you tried to block out the sensation that intended to ingrain itself in your mind.

"You are nothing but a replacement." She yanked another inch of the whip closer to her chest—blood pooling beneath the chair and seeping into the wood.

"PLEASE!" you screamed, body wracked with tremors that weren't there before. White began to seep into your hair, streaking down to the base in a long strip—staining you with an age you might never reach. "Please! I-I'll do anything."

She tutted under her breath, her face now at your eye level. "That's where you're wrong. You can't do anything that hasn't already been done honey."

Tears blurred your vision. "W-What?"

"He wouldn't save me." Silence echoed in the still air of the room. The pain slowed to a dull ache as you slumped forward. "So I'm going to make sure he can't save you."

"N-No-"

"Like I said...collateral damage."

Your scream pierced the air like a knife, shattering what peace might have remained, as time began to form around Fortuna. Permanently altering the future that once shone with a light by plunging it into a darkness with no escape. And you were trapped in the center. Unable to claw your way free, to break from the one thing no one could run from.

A hell of time’s own making.

note: i am sorry. we will have a happy ending. just not yet.

[juletheghoul]

soak

a/n: Another fantastic request that sent me clean into the sun. I love all the situations you want Marcus and his girl in, you are all feeding me just as much as I'm feeding you! Please enjoy this un-beta'd, barely edited request. All mistake and errors are mine! please enjoy

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, hand stuff (both female and male receiving), praise kink if you squint, talk of war (I think this could be considered hurt / comfort, since our boy needs a massage), master / slave dynamic (power imbalance) he’s still pretty possessive, Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus - let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 2k (😅)

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist series masterlist

The moon was high, owls hooting as the Roman army was returning from another brutal victory. Soldiers entered tents all around, you could hear them and it was with a sinking heart that you waited for him–your general. You wrung your hands, rationalizing that surely he would take longer, he would see to last minute plans, he would have meetings with his Legates, he would take tally of numbers and be the last to seek rest. 

You busied yourself with the water as you waited, boiling it to fill the massive tub he’d been gifted, a tub he’d never use. He saw it as an excess, a waste in times of war but the winces you’d witnessed in days passed spurred you on, urged you to fill it with hot, steamy water and prayed to the Gods that he’d see this in the spirit with which you did it and not as a gross overstep. 

You’d just finished pouring the last, heavy cauldron full into it when the tent flap opened, signifying his arrival. You catch his eye and he frowns at the sight of the full tub, letting out a heavy, annoyed sigh as you approach him cautiously. 

“What is the meaning of this, Girl? I did not command you to do this.” His tone is icy and you can feel the anger, the disappointment in his voice. 

“Apologies Dominus, I know I took a big liberty and I accept any punishment you deem fit, but I have seen how you ache of late. I thought–perhaps incorrectly–that you would do well with a hot soak. I have put the good oils, the salt for your muscles and I would implore you to at least consider it before the water grows too cold.” You bow your head in deference, keeping your eyes on your feet as he stands there, silent. 

He says nothing for a long moment, and you thought the overstep might have been too far, even for him. 

“I will empty the tub and clean it, I beg of you to accept my apologies, Dominus.” You turn, crestfallen at your misstep to begin the process of emptying the tub when he stops you.

“No, forgive my dark mood, Girl. I am weary and you are right in your assessment. My back aches of late. This is probably exactly what I need.” His hand landed on your shoulder, a soft offering of peace. 

“Help me to undress, I will take advantage of the warmth of the water.” he doesn’t smile, but there is a deep weariness on his face and you rush to comply. Once he is completely nude and moving to step into the tub you stop him.

“Dominus—if you would give me just a moment to get most of the mud off of you, we could keep this water clean enough for you to soak.” You rush, bringing his basin and he nods once, watching silently as you dip fresh linen and quickly wipe him down. Once you are done he finally steps in, sinking with a groan to stretch out his legs and lean against the end of it. 

You keep the smile to yourself at the involuntary moan he lets out. 

“I will prepare something for you to eat while you relax, Dominus.” 

“Wait Girl, before all that, I would have you join me. Your healing touch would aid with my aches. Come.” He gestures to the water and you obey, your body responding to both the oasis you’ve cultivated, as well as the promise of his touch. 

He slides forward once you are nude and you slip in behind him. He wastes no time in leaning back into your chest, pulling your legs to bracket his ribs while he sighs into the feel of your hands on his shoulders. The water is perfect, hot enough to almost burn, the sweet smelling steam instantly calming any and all nerves and the reassuring press of him make it hard to stay humble about taking this chance.

The sounds of the water softly lapping mingle with his low sighs when you use the strength in your fingers to work the knots out of his shoulders. His eyes close and you continue your work, moving to the pieces of his back that you can reach, his arms and his sides, your nipples harden at the moan he lets out when you massage his scalp.

“Gods above Girl, I am rethinking this whole campaign.” His hands slide up your shins, slipping softly across your knees before moving back down, a comforting sweep as you focus on cleaning his chest. “I fear I may get too accustomed to this treatment, who would want to leave this to fight a war?” 

You smile to yourself, tilting his head back softly to rinse his hair.

“My heart fills with joy to know you are not angry with me for this Dominus.” You reach for a clean cloth just outside the tub and dip it into the water to scrub at his skin. “It hurt me to see you in pain.” Something about the water, about being wrapped around him gives voice to your feelings.

“I am ashamed at my earlier annoyance, this was very thoughtful, and much needed. I am blessed that you consider me thus.” He moves a little, slipping a little further up so your chin just sits on his shoulder, enough to watch what your hands do and when they slip low to what you can reach of his thighs, you graze his manhood. 

With gentle hands, you cleanse him there, softly slipping across the heft of him before moving lower to hold the weight of his sack in your hands. He groans low when he feels you exploring him, turning his head to where yours sits on his shoulder to press his lips to your temple.

You take it as encouragement and wrap your hands around his cock, preening at the way it grows in your palms. You turn towards his face and press your lips to his, chaste and he reciprocates, breaths humid and mingling while you stroke him under the water. 

He turns to watch your hands move, and you press your kisses to his neck. 

Wordlessly, he reaches down and guides your movements, his big palm covering yours. You let him show you, while your other hand moves to fondle his balls, rolling them and giving them the tiniest squeeze. He lets out a filthy moan before stilling your hands completely and for a moment you fear you may have overstepped again.

“Apologies Dominus—“ he turns, stopping your apologies.

“I would switch places with you now Girl, much as I enjoy your hand, I do not wish to spill into the water.”

You stand at his urging, and he guides you to carefully climb in front of him. No sooner are you settled than his hands slide around to hold onto the weight of your breasts. His lips press against your shoulder as his hands roam, from sliding against your pebbled nipples, down to sweep across the soft skin of your belly and then up to rub at your shoulders much in the same way you had done to him.

It was shockingly welcome, to feel the strength in his fingers working away at your own aches.

“I am to be tending to you, Dominus-“ it comes out as a relaxed sigh as he digs at a particularly sore spot.

“Hush Girl, let me do as I please.” There is no bite in his words, and you smile to yourself as you melt under his touch.

After a while, his touch takes a turn and you feel him reach down to pull your legs up and over his thighs. He dips the tips of his fingers over the lips of your sex, spreading them open lewdly under the water. Your cunt blooms under his ministrations, even submerged he can feel the slip of your arousal coating his fingers as he hones in on the pert little pearl of you. 

“How I miss this little cunt while I’m off fighting, do you know that Girl? Do you know how hard I fight to make my way back to this right here.” He spears his fingers inside, two, thick and full inside of you and you let out a whispery sigh at the feel of it. 

Wordlessly he builds you up, working you open while you lay on his chest, his heartbeat steady and calm under your ear, his thighs firm and strong under your hands. His thumb joins the fray, swirling around your clit and it pulls a louder moan from you, one that makes him cover your mouth with his other hand. 

“Hush Girl, would you have the whole camp hear you moaning for me?” His fingers speed up, giving birth to little waves that die at the edge of the tub. You breathed hard through your nose, heart racing to feel the way he controlled your body, the way his cock pressed hard and hot against your back. You could almost taste the salt as the water dripping from his hand crept into your mouth.

Your legs closed around his hand when you burst for him, ripe as a berry.

“That’s it, didn’t that feel good?” He pulls his hand away from your mouth, turning your face to kiss you while his fingers pumped through your flutters. 

“Yes Dominus, you always make it feel good.” You turn a little in his arms to kiss him harder, to lick into his mouth and despite him not giving you leave, you move to straddle him. “I want to make you feel good now, may I?” You slip against him, your cunt sliding against his cock in the cooling water. 

“Yes Girl, so long as you can keep quiet. I would keep those pretty moans for my ears, and my ear alone.” His hands grab at your ass and you nod while lining him up, sinking onto him with a little gasp.

Wordlessly he pressed his face against your chest, while wrapping his arms around your ribs, the muscles in his arms flexing, slippery and warm.

It’s a soft roll, low tide and a calm ocean the way you fuck him. 

The water, the warmth, his reassuring hold, the sweet smelling scents, the campground full of soldiers separated from you by mere tents alone, all of these things add to the heightening of your senses. Something about the way you’d initiated this whole encounter, a bath he didn’t plan or want is the catalyst for the low moans he breathes against your skin. 

You relish it, you crave it, you need it. Just as he wants the sounds of your pleasure to be his, you want his pleasure to be yours. 

“Give it to me Dominus, please, I desire it, reward me-“ you tilt his face up, almost whispering the words into his mouth as you clench on the downstroke. 

 “It’s yours Girl, take it, it’s all yours—my good, obedient, thoughtful Girl, my favourite Girl, my only Girl—“ he buries his face into the crook of you neck and lets out an almost strangled sound when you feel it. His cock almost swells harder still for a moment before he paints your insides with his seed. 

You clench around him, drawing out his pleasure until he hisses with a low laugh, grabbing at your ass in playful reprimand. 

“You will be the death of me, Girl.” He smiles, tired and satiated as he adorns your neck with kisses, moving lower to take a nipple into his mouth. 

“Shall I prepare your meal now Dominus?” You slick his hair back, moving the tendrils that had fallen into his eyes while he continues his worship of your breasts. He hums around the stiff peak, focused and for a moment you think he might want to wait until he can take you again. 

“Something quick, we are not done yet, and the water grows cold. I would have you on your back next, Girl.” You cannot help but smile as you nod. 

- Tag list: @frannyzooey @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @sherala007 @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @maxwell--lord @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi  @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @pedritoispunk @studythoreauly @missswriter @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name @zombiesnips-blog @sarahjkl82-blog @fan-of-encouragement @queenofthecloudss @deadhumourist @felicisimor @toomanystoriessolittletime @what-iwish-you-knew @pedrostories @athalien @bi-thewayy @literallydontlook @pedrosbrat @gamingaquarius @luxmundee @iamafadedmoon @nakhudanyx @littlemisspascal @grogusmum @recklessworry @heyitmelexie @killyspinacoladas @gothicxbarbie @evildxad @dragonslarimar @spideysimpossiblegirl @chemtrail-mix @breezythesimp @altarsw @artooies-scream @staygolddindjarin @softsweetedbeauty @littlemisspascal @yuiopiklmn @squidwell @just-blogging-around @bbyanarchist @girlofchaos @maddiedrmr @frasmotic @acourtofsnakes @buckybarneshairpullingkink @astoryisaloveaffair @harriedandharassed  @shirks-all-responsibilities @androah @alwaysachorusgirl @dindjarinsmut @captain-jebi @gallowsjoker @tusk89 @dadbodfanatic-x @naiomiwinchester @blazedprince @avidreader73 @mr-underhills-things @avengersfan25 @tastygoldentaters @nyotamalfoy @mymindfuckery @its-nebuleuse @missladym1981 @inept-the-magnificent @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @ladyofmidlo72 @greenvita @honey-on-your-tongue @ladylovesloki @alexiamargot06 @purple-fig @picketniffler

[jennifer-jeong]

Fluff + Slight Angst | Zayne x GN!Reader A Cure.

SUMMARY Zayne has trouble sleeping after overtime and you’re the only thing that helps ):

CONTENT Gender neutral reader, established relationship, kisses, hugs, slight angst, mention of previous patient deaths, mentions of guilt, mentions of nightmares + insomnia, mostly fluff, taking care of sleep deprived boyfriend, CHARACTERS ARE 18+

AUTHOR NOTES I finished reading his anecdotes and I’m in shambles. Hubby is traumatized. One of his affinity level up quotes is “you are the only treatment for my nightmares” and I didn’t even know he had nightmares until I read the anecdotes and now I’m just in pain. I will probably also write about the parallel version of him, his dawnbreaker self, because he deserves some love too, his world sounds much more desolate than ours ):

WORD COUNT: 1106

Zayne has always had trouble sleeping or even wanting to entertain the idea of going to sleep. His nightmares have plagued him for so many years now and it’s become his norm. His only relief from it has been you.

Some of the staff that work closely with Zayne have been acquainted with you and they’ve come to understand that if they want the cardiac surgeon to sleep, you’re the key. You love his co-workers because they really do care about each other and you’re so grateful they make sure Zayne rests well. You always make sure to bring them some snacks or coffee when you come to the hospital.

A recent wanderer attack at the outskirts of the city has left the emergency unit overflowing for the past 2 days. You’ve been helping where you can to defeat wanderers and the combat side of things has calmed down. But the hospital is still working overtime. AKA Zayne is working overtime.

He’s been up for 2 days straight due to back to back emergency surgeries that he insists he helps on. The staff will allow him to push himself but they know when to cut him off. They asked if you’d be available today to pop by and you mentioned that you’re already on your way after finishing your last area sweep and clearing the place for wanderers.

When you walk in, you set some coffees onto the clerk’s desk and quickly walk over to Zayne’s office. You slowly knock quietly and open the door cautiously so as not to spook the sleep deprived man. Zayne never shows when he’s nervous, he doesn’t get jittery because he’s literally a surgeon and can’t afford to. But, you can tell when he’s exhausted and anxious, and he is exactly that right now. You walk over to him and he hugs you from where he’s sitting at his desk, swiveling his chair to face you as you stand between his legs. You stroke your hands through his hair and rub his back, letting him enjoy the peace. “All successful?” You ask. He nods with his face buried in your chest. You’re glad that this means his surgeries and patients were all okay, but you know it doesn’t ease the pain and stress of going into a surgery worried that it might not end well. Also, not to mention the immense stress simply performing a surgery brings. The notches on his notebook always come to mind at times like this. It took a while for you to talk to him about it but when he told you they were a tally of how many patients have passed in his care, your heart ached. Since then, he hasn’t kept track and you’re very glad that he confided in you and made the decision to stop. He doesn’t deserve to have that guilt hang over his head when it’s never been his fault.

You continue to soothe him and ask “couldn’t sleep again?” He responds slowly and clearly exhausted “I haven’t felt tired…” he pauses “but you being here is already making me drift into sleep” he says muffled into your chest. “Thank you, I’m happy to see you, I just… I have another surgery soon.” “The staff has already shifted the time slots, you know they don’t let you push that far. It’s been 2 days, love,” you explain to him. Surgeons have already been called in due to the emergency and Zayne has a 12 hour period until his next shift. The staff know he’d get upset if they forced him to not work for more than a day, especially during an emergency. He’s quiet for a minute or two. “I know you trust your team. Take this time to breathe baby,” you say to him gently. When he’s in this state, he can’t form thoughts coherent enough to help calm himself down with logic. So you do it for him, softly, with lots of kisses. You kneel down to meet his eyes and cradle his face in your warm hands. He nuzzles very slightly into your touch and you kiss him on his forehead. He honestly almost falls asleep right then and there. You move him to the couch in his office, he has a wider couch to accommodate naps. He prefers his office to the call rooms (in hospital rooms for staff to sleep in), it just feels cozier and you’re also usually here.

You let him get comfy as you bring over pillows and a blanket for him, all prepared nearby because he quite commonly has to do this. With his eyes closed he mutters a slurred “love you s’much.” He has more words for you but can barely even conceptualize them in his head, let alone speak them out loud. But he knows that you understand the sentiment. He’ll make it up to you when he wakes up.

Somehow you’ve been able to stop his nightmares since you two got close again. He isn’t scared to sleep as long as you’re around. You’re his only safe haven from the dreams and just thinking about that makes him so emotional. He just thinks it makes so much sense that you cure him in this way and he loves you so much, you take such good care of him and he does the same back.

He quickly drifts off into sleep as you sit in front of the couch on the carpet while holding his hand and patting his back slowly. You purposely pat slowly to encourage his heart rate to slow and calm down. You will sometimes leave to do your own thing after he falls asleep but most of the time you stay close, wanting to keep protecting him in his sleep in a way. It probably doesn’t really make a difference but you don’t mind doing your work or playing on your phone nearby. It’s kinda like you think he subconsciously feels you there and so you stay. You don’t pay it much mind but he hasn’t told you that he feels so much better when he wakes up and sees you there. It makes a wave of warmth flow over his cold self and he can’t explain how much he loves it and you.

You watch him a little longer as his breathing slows and you know he’s fast asleep. You go to sit on his chair and check some messages on your phone but you make sure to give him another kiss on his temple before going. You don’t really see it but his lips curve ever so slightly, completely subconsciously enjoying it.

|| MASTERLIST ♡ || Thank you for reading! ||

[archieimagines]

antidote | chishiya shuntaro

Summary: A doctor is a lifeline. In the Jack of Hearts game, Chishiya strives to be yours.

yeah, i took the physician reveal and ran with it. i tried to get into his head to portray him as well as i could in writing this and accidentally fell head over heels. let me know if i did him justice? warnings: large helpings of anxiety, chishiya-esque emotional manipulation, though affectionate. mentions of sex, fwb setup, my attempt at sounding medically educated. word count: 2741 requested by: anon (thank you so much for this brilliant idea, i loved getting stuck into it. i don’t write smut, but i hope this still gets you a little riled.) written by: archie support me on ko-fi

It’s human nature to fuck up. He should’ve known to expect it from you.

It was beginning to wear him down, your constant knee bouncing and nail biting since the third hour of this game. All he needed to do was watch. He was wildly curious to see how this would all play out, and he knew he was safe. Knew you were safe.

All things considered, it was a low-risk game: only trust was required, and he’d scored that easily by taking you under his wing. However, The idea of the Jack of Hearts was a poison injected into the bloodstream of the prison’s population. The symptoms of distrust and paranoia would migrate through the ranks, and the masses would spiral and die.

It was a simple game. The key was to not let your protector get infected.

But the symptoms were visibly taking a hold of you. The cafeteria table shook with your anxious tics, the water in your bottle sloshing enough to disrupt his attention on the surrounding cafeteria. He wouldn’t complain though. You weren’t annoying, no, but you could soon put him on edge if he let you spiral like this, and then he’d be infected too.

“Chishiya,” you called softly, clearly nervous to disrupt his spectating.

He didn’t tear his eyes from the scheming girl in the dress. She was particularly interesting in this setting; and by his deductions, not likely to be the Jack. “Hm?”

Your voice came meeker than normal. “What’s my suit again?”

He turned slowly, a brow quirked over a relaxed eye as he finally gave you his attention. “You forgot?”

“No. Just tell me.”

He sighed silently through his nose, calculating your thoughts. To ask this after he’d told you twice already, you must’ve been anxious about one of two things. One, that your addled mind would fool you into speaking the wrong suit. Or two, that you couldn’t trust him.

“Heart,” was all he said.

And you nodded. Your eyes hardened, clearly visualising the shape before your eyes. ‘Heart,’ he could practically see your mind reciting. ‘Heart.’

Or… Was that a calculating look? He flexed his jaw. Were you possibly tallying up the likelihood that he’d lied to you?

He focused on the accidental downturn of his lips. He shouldn’t be double reading you like that - his own intuition was the only concrete thing he had. He’d never been wrong before. He’d kept the both of you alive for this long based on his skill alone, and he’d not let your lives slip away in a measly Jack’s game.

With a slow blink, he made the conscious choice not to chip away at his own trust in himself, as was undeniably the Jack’s aim in this game.

Chishiya’s gaze lowered to where your fingertips danced on the tabletop. A heart shape. Over and over. Frantic, disturbed. You were slipping.

Against his better judgement, he reached out a hand to clasp over your fingers, quietly amused when those sweet, round eyes fixed on his face. You were so scared, so anxious, and the part inside of him that felt for you lit a soft smile on his lips.

You’d never been good at heart games with that anxious disposition, but that was why he’d kept you by his side. You were an easy window into the minds of his surroundings with how easily he could read you. Your distress on the outside showed blatantly the fear of the people in this game. Everyone under the roof would be feeling it. Even the Jack… Especially the Jack.

Chishiya had found you early on in the games-- only the two of you had survived the Six of Hearts. You were entirely integral to his methods of survival that day, so he stole you away to the Beach and was sure to never let you have a game without him. Losing you as the key to his readings would surely damn him someday. Yet somewhere along the line, he grew… fond.

It must’ve been your consistent proximity, he’d reasoned at first. How your constant being around became a sense of ‘normal’ for both he and Kuina, how your raw, unapologetic humanity was a refreshing shift in his life, how you were a brilliant vessel in the games.

He’d protect you, and you’d provide him the opposite perspective as the control in his readings where everyone else was the variable. The perfect symbiotic relationship in this land.

And perhaps that may have been the case. Perhaps that was the foundation for which he felt appreciative of you, the foundation for a so-called friendship. But it didn’t explain how you’d developed into more for him.

His hold on your fingers tightened, gaze fixed on them as he recalled how they’d thread through his hair, night after night. How they’d unzip his hoodie at the Beach. How they’d scramble to tug the sheets over your naked body when a militant barged through the unlockable door to call him into an executive meeting. He couldn’t help the huff of amusement at the thought. Your eyes were as sweet and panicked then as they were now.

But it wasn’t the same. There, you had the safety of the blankets in his room. A sanctuary. Here, you must’ve felt so exposed to the Jack’s poison. Knee bouncing beneath the table and water bottle gripped tight in one hand, what he could swear was a thin sheen of sweat over your skin. You were really losing your nerve, and he needed to be your antidote.

“Follow me,” he murmured, his interest in the room’s population dissipated. With a gentle nod in a moment of reassurance, he let go of your fingers to let you take up your bottle of water and led you from the cafeteria.

His hands burrowed into his pockets as he walked. He took his slow time, sure to register his surroundings in his peripherals even as he gazed straight ahead, effortless as ever.

Your distinct footsteps followed close behind, audibly unsure and glancing around to the others as you tagged along. He knew you had no clue yet. You were playing it blind and suffering for it.

He took you aside into one of the prison’s meeting rooms where once upon a time, a board of directors would’ve gathered. They’d have administered handfuls of men’s fates, and they’d have considered them less than rats. Now this was where Chishiya would administer your own fate, purely because he held you dear.

He opened a palm to gesture to the end of the table. “Take a seat,” he spoke, ever relaxed, and watched you hop up onto the end of the table. It was rickety, chairs kicked and strewn about, the room only lit by the game-master’s searchlights that shone into the windows.

You looked far from comfortable perched up there, the glare lighting half of your face, and he found himself silent. He just looked at you for a moment. How beautiful you were.

He’d noticed many times, of course. The flutter of your lashes as you looked over his features in a fruitless attempt to read his face. Your parted lips channelling the oxygen that fuelled your body, though your lungs delivered it all shaky and uneven. You were stunning to him, even in the worst of times. Even when you were drenched in the crimson of lives you outlived.

But… There was something in this moment. Something about how right now, he was your lifeline. He held that beautiful existence in his hands and this time, he had the power to choose his method of helping. No supervisors to end your life with a swift letter, no list of priority to bump you down. Or at least, you were the priority.

“What is it?” You jerked him from his thoughts, your ankle bouncing once more where it swung below the table. “Chishiya?”

He gifted you a smile, but it didn’t soothe you.

Your eyes narrowed instead. “What are you hiding from me?”

A soft hum of laughter as he took slow, deliberate steps closer until he stood directly before you. A pinkness on your neck caught his eye and his head tipped in curiosity. He reached to slip a finger into your collar, lips pursed in question as he felt the irritated heat of your skin underneath. “Mm? Do you have a latex allergy?”

“Lat-? No.”

He pulled gently on the band at your neck, stepping even closer to peer at the line of irritation from the garment. It wasn’t until he finally removed his hold that he noted the moisture on his finger-- your sweat. The salt must have caught in the material and rubbed you raw, leading to irritation and the slightest blood spots beneath your skin.

“You’ve been pulling at the collar.”

“It’s tighter than when we started.”

Chishiya knew that wasn’t true. His was perfectly fine - comfortable, even - but he didn’t give a thought to argue. Your stress was having physical implications, making everything even worse for you. Anxiety really is a bitch, he mused.

“Water.” He held a hand out to the bottle and you placed it in his palm. His eyes fixed on yours as he opened it up-- and only at this point did he realise quite how close he was.

Your knees put a comfortable, familiar pressure on either side of his hips, his face uncommonly close to yours without the presence of a bed, but he had no intention of moving. He just took the space and owned it, relishing in the slightest hue of red that dusted your cheek, sure to notice it deepen as he raised your chin between his finger and thumb, guiding you to lift your face.

“This will be cold,” was all the warning he gave before trickling the water down your neck.

You hissed and jerked back, likely from the cold or the sting of the freshwater on your salted wounds. “Shit, Chishiya.”

He simply chuckled inwardly, lips hitched in a humoured smirk as he rinsed your skin. He let the little stream of water run across your throat, taking his time to work towards your other ear. His touch on your chin remained delicate as a doctor’s touch, directing you to look the other way for his ease.

This intimacy, he pondered. So rare in the home world. It was one thing to be a physician in a hospital, and another to use basic, opportunistic materials to heal someone who depended on him so wholly. A patient may fight to survive on their own accord, but here, in this game, with you… Everything rode on his word, on his actions. Everything.

A strange magnetism in his chest drew him ever closer to your skin, until his lips soon met the human warmth beneath your ear. It was a slow kiss, tender and deliberate, and he relished in how your body naturally leant into his.

His closed eyes let him hone on the quickened beat of your pulse, the ghost of a thrum against his lips. Your blood pumped the cortisol of your anxiety through the roof, and he remembered his mission to bring it back down, to calm you. He clung to this as a reason to retract from you. If this reaction was from his unsolicited affection, he should know better than to drive your adrenaline too high. 

“Don’t touch it anymore,” he prescribed, voice level and cool, giving no hint as to how hard it was to lean back from you. “The irritation will lessen and you can focus more.”

“I don’t know what the hell I’m focusing on,” you spat in a whisper, uncommonly callous with your words despite the pink to your cheeks as you watched him close the bottle cap once more. He’d seen you panic before in many a heart’s game, but not like this, not after his sparing affection. This game really was frying your nerves.

“Focus on keeping your head,” he murmured, the slightest snort slipping out after. “In every sense of the word.”

“Shut the fuck up, Chishiya.”

It was endlessly amusing to see you like this. The fire that came from your lips right now had never been rivalled before, and any regret he’d had at choosing a Heart’s game for you quickly dissipated. Fascinating to see you lose your mind.

But, he couldn’t toy with you too far. He allowed you to hear his chuckle, low and rumbling in his chest, only audible with the proximity he kept. “Sincerely. Focus on staying calm. All you need to do is trust me.”

“Not so easy in a place like this.”

He took the chance to look surprised. This was his opening to seal any of his own concerns about you. “You think I’d feed you the wrong suit?”

He paid careful attention to how you hesitated, watching the thoughts dance their patterns behind your eyes. You were looking at him without seeing him, close enough that he could see his reflection in your irises. Calculations, calculations, ones that you so visibly struggled to work out. Would he dare tell you the wrong suit? Would it be out of choice or pre-emptive, lest you try to end him first, purely because you’d worried?

Moments passed, and the longer it went on, the more his worries tugged at his thoughts. He needed to prove himself to you to save his own skin. Both of your skins.

His hands settled lightly on your lower thighs, set snug on either side of his hips, and he gave a reassuring squeeze. “You don’t need to worry,” he murmured, voice low and soothing as butter on a wound, “We’ll survive this together.”

That endearing little tug between your brows encouraged him on, and he couldn’t help but take your chin in his hold again. To hold that sweet face, so trusting, so impressionable. He watched the hope shine in your features before turning your face the slightest degree, exposing your ear once more, to which he leant in. His breath just tickled your lobe as his nose nudged on your shell, words slow and deliberate. “I know who the Jack is.”

The change in your body language was instant. You jumped back to peer at his face, brows high and eyes wide, no longer slouched and dejected. Your hand gripped at his white jacket, fisted into the fabric to keep him close as you murmured, “Really?”

A slow nod. Relaxed eyes and knowing smirk shone in the searchlight, and he planned his next words carefully. He didn’t want you to know who his suspects were, in case you gave anything away and steered the game from its natural course. “I have two suspects, it’s just down to seeing which fails first.”

The elation in his chest at seeing your relief was disorienting. The way you sighed out with almost a laugh, head thrown back to let it escape you… It was an image he wouldn’t forget for a long time. The serenity of his antidote, saving you from the Jack’s poison.

His brows shot up as you snatched his shoulders into a tight, relieved hold, thighs tight on his waist and arms looped around his neck. Your face pressed into the junction of his shoulder, nestled against his hair. “Thank fuck,” you breathed, edging on tears. “You worked it out? I should’ve known. I should’ve!”

He didn’t say anything, only astounded that you might be so liberal in your affections outside his hotel room. But then, he did bridge that gap first. And there were no regrets. He allowed himself to indulge in it, his own arms finding their home around your waist and his nose in your hair. Of course it was a trick of psychological conditioning, but if he focused just right, he could almost smell the residue of chlorine from the days at the Beach.

He indulged in splaying a hand across your back, rubbing soothing circles over your form. This body… He knew the ins and outs of it. He knew where every mole dotted your skin, he could estimate the length of your lower ribs without flaw. His thumb pressed slow pulses in the flesh between the back of your ribs, imagining that he’d place his stethoscope there.

What a sound he’d hear. Each breath, the source of your survival.

Would it be too arrogant to consider himself such a thing too?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

make you mine 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 dubcon/noncon, age gap, possible abuse, alcoholism, and other possible triggers. 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: Your father is strict but his authority is challenged by the boy in town and the man at his door.

Characters: Arvin Russell, Lee Bodecker

Note: you know what, why shouldn't I?

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 <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You keep your head down as you near the store. That group of boys is smoking at the corner again, their stained white tees and dusty old flannel jackets smell of sawdust and oil. Your daddy always tells you not to talk to strange men and except for him, they're all strange. 

"Hey, doll, where you in a rush to?" One of them flicks a cigarette away as he breathe smoke behind you. 

You hurry up as he whistles, "yeah, walk faster, girl. Wiggle them hips." 

"Quiet," another hisses and you hear the heavy thump of a slap against his shoulder, "ain't no way to talk to a lady." 

Footsteps rush after you and before you can reach the door, it opens, the bell jangling above as one of the men pulls it back. You look at his boots, grimy, laces fraying, slouching around the ankles. His other hand dangles by his side, cap folded in his grip. 

"I'm really sorry about Jethro, miss, he's got a real nasty mouth," he says, "you alright?" 

You nod and say nothing as you continue inside. 

"You're scarin' her, Arv," another man calls over, "look at her shaking in her shoes." 

He sighs and lets the door close between you as he turns back to respond. His words are muffled as you take a basket and flit into an aisle. Mr. Canavan is behind the counter, flipping through a newspaper as the radio crackles. You pick out the few staples running low in your pantry and add on a bottle of rum for your pa. 

"Afternoon, miss," Canavan greets in his piggish snort. You return the sentiment as you wait for him to tally up your order. "How's your daddy?" 

"Good, good," you answer as you peek towards the window. The men cross the street and disperse, some still walking in pairs. 

"He got a thirst?" he comments on the bottle. 

"Doesn't he always?" You count out the money and hand it to him. 

"Yeah but he usually takes care of that down at Hal's." 

"Lost too much on the table last time," you shake your head as he gives you back the change. 

He packs up a paper bag and you thank him, sliding it off the counter. It's heavy and makes your shoulders ache. You shouldn't have waited so long. 

You push the door open with your hip and turn, nearly colliding with another. The same man chuckles as he puts a hand on your elbow to keep you from toppling. You bite your lip and his eyes fall to his touch, dropping his arm guiltily. 

"Sorry, miss," he says as he sweeps back a curly lock that droops down his forehead, putting his cap over his hair to hold it back, "didn't mean to scare ya." 

"It's fine," you nearly whisper. 

"I wanted to say sorry again for my friends, if I can call them that. They don't see ladies often and they forget their manners." 

"Really, it's okay," you insist with a squeak. 

"Nah, it isn't," he counters, "but I told 'em to leave you alone." 

"Oh, thank you," you look past him. 

There's a pause. Awkward as he digs his heel into the ground. He chuckles and rubs his hands together. 

"That looks heavy, can I help ya with that?" he asks. 

You look at your armful. You don't know if you should. Would he be mad if you say no? He hasn't been mean. 

"Just halfway," he offers, "not tryna creep on ya or nothing, I'll just walk you to your corner." 

You press your lips together. Your daddy wouldn't see him at the corner.  

"I really feel bad about those other jerks," he continues, "so least I can do is carry your groceries." 

"Okay," you utter. 

You stand stupidly as he grins at you. You catch a glimpse of his dark eyes and crooked smile before your eyes return to the ground. He gently reaches to shift the bag out of your arms and lifts it easily. He steps back and you feel his gaze hanging over you. 

"Which way am I goin?" he asks. 

"Oh, uh," you point past him. 

He turns and waits for you to come up beside him before he starts off. He's shorter than the others but his shoulders are broad. He's still got a couple inches on you, though he's much trimmer. You catch up and focus on keeping pace with him. 

"I'm Arvin," he says. 

"Um," you breathe and muster your name in return. 

"I like that. It's pretty. Hope you're husband wouldn't mind me sayin' so." 

"Husband? I'm not–" 

You stop at the corner as you wait for several cars to pass before crossing. A brown and white cruiser rolls past and you watch the bumper disappear down the next street. You continue on as Arvin kicks a pebble unwittingly. 

"Not married?" he finishes for you. 

"I live with my pa," you answer. 

"Course. You must be young then." 

"I'm grown," you insist.  

You hate how your daddy teases you in the same vein, especially when he has friends over. It felt worse coming from someone nearly your own age, or looks to be. 

"Ah, just wonderin'," he assures. 

You're quiet as you carry on. You know you shouldn't still be at home. Lots of girls in Knockemstiff marry before they finish school. You haven't even had a date, not a kiss, or a look in your direction. 

"Just up here," you point to the next corner. 

He nods and carries on, stopping at the end of the street as he turns to you, "you sure I can't walk you all the way?" 

"My pa wouldn't like that." 

"He loves you, huh?" 

"He's my pa," you shrug and reach for the bag. He hands it over reluctantly. 

"I hope I see ya around. I work down at the mill. For Mr. Haroldson. Case you're wonderin' where to find me." 

"Thanks," you hug the groceries. 

He gives a tight-lipped smile. Disappointment twitches in his cheek. 

"See ya ‘round then." 

"Maybe," you answer as you turn away. 

You continue down your street. Halfway, you look back. Still watching you, he waves and slowly walks back the way you came. You spin back along the old country road, houses speckled over flat fields. You pass the rusty old brown truck at the edge of your pa's property, the sheriff's cruiser parked closer to the shed. 

You didn't expect company tonight. It must've been the same cruiser you saw at the corner. Your dread bubbles up but you quickly tamp it down. The sheriff always makes you nervous. He's talkative and you're... not. 

As you go inside, you hear your pa grumbling. You put down the groceries as the screen door clatters and take off your tweed jacket. You hang it as you step out of your boots. 

"You know we miss you down at the station," Bodecker's voice nears as his footsteps lurk, "there she is." 

Before you can retrieve your haul, he has it in his arms, "how ya doin', baby girl?" 

His usual pet name makes you squirm. Your pa says it's just him being nice. You never say anything against it. 

"I got it–" 

You try to take the bag but he holds it away from you. 

"Nah, what kinda man would I be, let alone a sheriff, if I didn't help a lady?" 

He winks and turns away from you, leading you past the doorway of the front room. You peer over at your father as he scowls and gulps from a can of beer. The sheriff likely brought the appeasing six pack to ease his presence. 

"What's for dinner tonight?" Bodecker asks as he puts the bag on the counter, peering inside. 

"I'm making a meat pie," you explain as you go to the fridge, "be more than enough for company, if you like?" 

"Now, how'd such a sweet thing like you come from that old coot?" He smirks over as you take out the beef wrapped in brown paper. 

You shrug and take the cutting board from against the wall. He doesn't move as you set up around him. You hate how his eyes follow you. Every time he's around. 

"You don't gotta work?" You ask as you reach for the bag. He pushes it towards you as he steps closer, looming over you. 

"I'm off duty for the night. Think I might indulge with your daddy," he reaches into the bag, his belly brushing your elbow as he lifts out the rum, "good brand." 

"Pa likes it," you step away as you search the cupboard. 

"You're old enough, you could join us after dinner–" 

"I don't like the taste and my pa don't want me drinking," you kneel to pull a pan out from the drawer. 

"Good habit not to take up," he clunks the bottle on the counter and rests his hand on the neck, "that boy you were walkin' with, he your friend?" 

"Boy? No, he was being helpful is all." 

"Was he, now?" He comes closer as you stand, "I know that boy, he ain't helpful." 

You glance at him. His blue eyes cling to you and you don't miss how they wander to the top of your blouse. You put the pan down and turn to grab your apron.  

He comes up behind you and takes the string, tying them tight as you wince in surprise. 

"Well, you're young. I'm sure you're fixing to find a husband soon. I'm just lookin' out for you." 

"I'm not looking for a husband," you draw away from him, "thank you, sheriff." 

"Well, your daddy won't live forever. Who's gonna take care of you, then?" 

You face him and frown, "I don't wanna think about that, sheriff, and I got dinner to make." 

"I'm sorry, baby girl, I worry about you. How long have I known you? I can't help it." 

"Thank you, sheriff, for worrying, but I'll be just fine." 

He tilts his head, bemusement sparkles in his vibrant irises, "I'm sure ya will be, baby girl… very fine." 

He sidles away and you return to the counter, pulling a knife from the block. The sooner dinner's on the table, the sooner you can go hide. 

🍽️

You clear your plate first, dinner’s made less appetizing by the sheriff and his leer. Your father doesn't help as he drinks more than he talks and you're left to entertain Lee's comments about your cooking and the same blouse he'd seen you in a dozen times. 

As you stand, the sheriff slurps from his beer and watches you. His lips shine as he puts the can down and smirks, "baby girl, you mind gettin' me the ketchup?" 

You swallow and nod, "certainly, sheriff." 

You turn and carry your plate into the kitchen, clunking it down on the counter before pulling open the fridge. You take the glass bottle of Heinz and return to the dining room to set it down.  

"Pa, you need anything?" 

"Dammit, Marcy, leave me be. I told ya… patrol's been busy," he waves his hand at you dismissively, your mother's name giving you pause. Lee hesitates as he twists off the metal lid. 

"I… pa, I…" 

"Is this what you're gon' do? Pester me?" Your daddy slurs, "'cause what? She was only being nice, ya know? I was too, I couldn't say no–" 

"Jack," Lee reaches over and pats your father's arm with his knuckles, "ain't there a game on soon? That old radio still work?" 

Your father blinks drunkenly and scowls. He shakes his head and hiccups, swearing as he tries to drink from his empty can. He tosses it so it bounces off the edge of the table. 

"Course it does," he sneers. 

"You got twenty on the home team?" Lee goads, "I should lock ya up for gambling." 

"Ah shut up," your father glowers into a dark chuckle, "it's you that's gon pay me fifty anyhow. Can't lock a man up for winning." 

"Ah sure, Jack," Lee stands and claps your father's shoulder, "come on. We’re missing the first." 

You don’t miss how the sheriff shifts his grip and lurches your father out of his chair. He gives him a nudge toward the front room and glances back at you. You should be grateful for the redirection, yet the leer in his eyes only makes you nervous. You know he’ll be wanting thanks for that for a long time to come. 

“How about you bring some of that rum out with dessert?” Lee smirks as he follows your father towards the den. 

You don’t mention that you didn’t have anything planned for dessert. He doesn’t wait for you to say so. He chuckles and teases your dad again about the wager. 

You’ll have to come up with something. You might be able to spare enough for cream puffs. Those were always ma’s specialty.