#if you kick me out and take the phone shockingly that will will kick me out and no one will have anyway to contact me

[lilgynt]

okay i am hilarious for being the only kid to take up my moms threat of kicking us out as far as i know like cmon. cmonnnnnnnn.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐂𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 | dad's best friend!cillian murphy x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | based on the following request: what would dilf/dad's best friend cillian do if he found your dildo?

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 5k (this was literally supposed to be a drabble...)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | smut (18+ only), significant age gap (reader is college-aged, cillian is in his late forties), voyeurism/exhibitionism, semi-public sex, use of toys, praise kink, unprotected sex, very brief/semi sarcastic 'sir' kink, shockingly fluffy??

Not that your parents' anniversary cocktail party wasn't horribly riveting (cue dramatic eyeroll) but you were upstairs, on your bed, on your phone; you'd had enough of 'so how's college going?' and 'what's your major again?' and 'got any boyfriends yet? you must be a heartbreaker' for one evening— or a lifetime, preferably.

It wasn’t even that comfortable to be on the bed in your party dress—a cute, short sparkly one that you’d picked out for tonight—but it was better than standing around and trying to balance in those sky-high heels; those you had kicked off into the corner of the room the second you were alone.

When you heard a small rap on the door, you hummed a quick "Come in!" and didn't even look up from your phone, figuring it was your mom or dad come to find you after you disappeared.

Instead, you heard Mr. Murphy's voice as he leaned in the doorframe; "Sorry to bug you," he said, startling you slightly as you closed Instagram and set your phone down. "Just needed a Tide pen— your mom said you might have one in here?"

"O-oh, yeah," you said, sitting up, "sure— what happened?"

"Salsa fiasco," he joked softly as he shut the door behind him, showing you the dark red stain on his shirt— though the shirt itself was red, so it wasn't too egregious, but still noticeable.

"That's too bad," you chuckled, "I warned them about that salsa— if you serve salsa, there's gonna be a fiasco, that's what I said."

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "They should listen to you more," he agreed.

"I've got a couple stain remover pens in that top drawer," you suggested as you pointed to your dresser.

"Great," he smiled, starting to unbutton the shirt; you got nervous for a second until you realized he had on a black undershirt beneath. It's hard to say why you were nervous about that, since you'd seen him shirtless plenty of times in the years you'd known him...

"Nobody's worried about me going missing, right?" you wondered as he continued working on the buttons, and he shook his head while shrugging slightly.

"Not yet," he replied, "but they're going to want to find you soon, you're sort of the star of the night."

You rolled your eyes, frowning. "It's my parents' anniversary party, I think they should be the focus."

"Maybe they should, but you're the much more interesting one," he informed you.

You pulled your legs up a bit, leaning to the side as you sat on your bed; as much as all this attention from your parents' friends was usually annoying to you, something about being interesting to Mr. Murphy didn't bother you so much. "Is it weird for you?" you asked, lowering your voice a bit; he tilted his head quickly as if to ask what you meant. "Going to an anniversary party after, you know—"

The words hung in the air, seeming to gather around his conspicuously naked ring finger: after the divorce. "Oh, no," he scoffed, taking off his cufflinks. "It's fine; but I'm sick of the questions about it."

You winced. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Don't worry," he laughed finally shirking off the shirt; he looked a little too good in just the short-sleeved undershirt. "You can make it even by letting me ask you how college is going."

"Oh god," you groaned, rolling your eyes, and he laughed.

"If I didn't know from your parents that you were acing it, I'd worry that your aversion to talking about it meant you were struggling somehow."

"It's not that," you assured, "it's the people."

"The people?" he pressed. "Or the guys?"

You laughed nervously, looking down at your lap. "Geez, you learn to mindread while I was gone or something?"

He stepped around your bed to get to the dresser, laying his shirt down over it. "No, I just remember that time— somehow. And I remember how much of a headache I and every other young guy was."

"I guess not much has changed then," you smiled.

"What, I'm still a headache?" he grinned as he looked over his shoulder at you.

"No, I meant—"

"I know what you meant, I'm just teasing," he chuckled. "Top drawer you said?"

"Yeah," you nodded, and he opened the top drawer of the dresser; of course, only right then did you remember that you should have specifically said top left. Because the top right was—

Oh shit.

You swallowed thickly as Cillian stared down into the open drawer, and your heart pounded as you somehow hoped and prayed that what was in there had turned invisible or something; but if the look on his face was anything to go by, it was just as visible as ever.

“I—fuck, sorry, I forgot that’s—” you choked out, face burning impossibly hot.  “I never meant for you to see—I’m—could you shut the fucking drawer, please, you pervert?!”

“I’m the pervert?” he laughed thinly, looking at you again finally.  “You’re the one with a massive fucking dildo in here.”

“Well—you weren’t supposed to see that—”

“Yeah, but—fuck,” he choked, “I was just looking for your stain remover and I see your— you have a— are you sure that isn’t technically considered a weapon or something?  How’s a guy supposed to compete with that?”

“That’s the great thing about it: he doesn’t have to compete,” you explained, “that’s sort of the whole idea.”

He looked back at it for a second and you yelped, reaching your leg off the bed to kick him in the hip.  “Would you please shut the drawer?!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he laughed a bit, “but I mean, how am I supposed to react to that?

“Well, you’re not supposed to just stare at it!” you insisted.

He shut the drawer, giving you a look you couldn’t possibly decipher.

“What were you thinking?!” you said, somewhat rhetorically.

“I—well,” he hummed, looking away from you for a second, “I was thinking that I can’t imagine how you can possibly fit something like that.”

You blinked quickly, not sure what to say in response to that.  “Well—I mean, it’s a little big, but… it gets the job done.  Keeps me from calling the guys I shouldn’t be calling.”

He nodded.  “Well, that’s good… none of those college boys could possibly deserve you…”

His eyes were running all over you, and even though you’d picked out this dress just for this party because you loved how you looked in it, you felt a little exposed by his stare.

“I just can’t believe a girl like you—”

“Come on, I’ve never been a saint,” you scoffed, glancing away.

“No, I just mean… the size of that thing…” he trailed off.

“You really can’t get over that part,” you noticed, “is this some kind of… intimidation, Freudian situation?”

You glanced quickly at his pants, and he started to deny it instantly.  “No—come on, it’s not—I just can’t believe you take all that.  For fun.  It looks like it would break you.”

You hadn’t even had any drinks at this anniversary party, and yet you found yourself with this foggy head like you were tipsy; you blurted something out as if you were tipsy.  “What, you want me to prove it?”

His chest sunk a bit, and you were about to take it back when he spoke before you.  “I’d like to see you try.”

Biting your lip, you sat up on the bed, reaching around him and into the drawer.  He didn’t step back or out of the way, just let you grab the toy and lean back on the bed in front of him.

You reached up under your dress, sliding your panties out of the way, finding yourself suddenly plenty wet to fit this toy.

His eyes never left you, though they certainly travelled all over your body as you pressed the toy up to your entrance; it was thick, he wasn’t wrong, and you had to slowly warm yourself up to it whenever you used it on yourself. 

After pushing with enough pressure, the tip finally slipped inside and you let out a small sigh.  He watched carefully, and your lips fell open into a moan as you pushed the toy deeper into yourself.  When the stretch became a bit too sharp, you winced and slowed down, trying to take your time even with your heart racing and hands shaking.

You heard his own breathing picking up, watching you take the toy deeper; you found your gaze wandering over him, even lingering on his groin to see if you could catch a bulge growing there, but nothing was obvious yet.  You stared for a moment at his hands, too, suddenly wishing to have them all over you—well, maybe not that suddenly, you’d sort of thought about this before.  It wasn’t until somewhat recently that you noticed how sexy he was.  Maybe when you were younger, you understood that he was better looking than all the other adults you knew, but only once you left for college did you start thinking about him out of nowhere, imagining what he was really like when he wasn’t just being friendly with you—you even asked your mom once on a phone call if he was dating anyone.  Thankfully, she didn’t seem to get suspicious when you asked that; but she’d be more than fucking suspicious if she walked in now, saw you doing this to yourself under his watchful eye.

Oddly enough, the knowledge that someone could walk in and see this just made you even more desperate, and you gasped as you pushed the toy in deeper.

It still wasn’t all the way in, and you already felt so full… truth be told, he had a point about it maybe being too big for you—when you usually used it on yourself, you only put it in a little over halfway, since that was all you really needed.  You hadn’t put the whole thing inside since you first got it—and yes, you’d ordered it online, because if you’d seen it in person you probably would’ve been as intimidated by its girth as he was.

Your decision not to wear a bra with this dress became very apparent when his gaze settled on your chest; your nipples were hard, and clearly visible under the fabric now.  It was just because it was strapless that you went without, but you were thankful for it when you saw him quickly lick his lips at the sight.  You dared to moan just a little louder as you pulled the toy in and out, picking up your pace carefully.

“How’s it feel?” he asked lowly, his eyes drifting back to where the toy slid into you. 

“Good,” you mumbled, “really fucking good.”

“Can you really take it all?” he pressed, making your walls clench on the silicone.

Instead of answering aloud, you simply pushed it all the way in until your eyes rolled back—it was so deep, pressing heavy and fat against your deepest points until it felt like you might burst.

“Fuck,” he praised—it was just a swear, but the way he whispered it made it sound like a praise.

You sped up slightly, trying to do this the way you normally would without someone staring at you.  But you were even more sensitive with him watching, your walls clenching more and more around the toy until it was almost hard to keep thrusting it in and out.  Sighing, you shut your eyes and laid back on the bed to try to help yourself relax.  The change in angle just seemed to make the toy go deeper, rubbing harder against the spot inside you that made your back arch.

“You’re so wet,” he breathed; you whimpered, nodding in agreement, and kept moving the dildo as deep as you could get it with every thrust. 

Your free arm went back over your head to hold onto the comforter under you, your hand gripping tight for some relief for the pressure inside you.  “Fuck yes,” you whispered, knitting your brows together and fucking yourself faster.  “Feels so fucking good…”

He hummed a little, but you kept your eyes shut, afraid you’d lose your nerve if you looked at him again.  It had been months since you used anything but this, and you had no regrets—the toy performed way better than any of the guys you’d met at college.  But, truthfully, you didn’t like having to do this to yourself.  It felt like you could never move it fast or hard enough, and you needed to constantly have perfect control over the toy to get yourself to come—and when you come, the last thing you want is to take control, you want to lay back and lose control.  Still, it was better than the college fuckboys who smelled like beer and didn’t last more than two minutes.

Thinking about them wasn’t going to help you now, though; it was much better to think about Cillian, about those icy blue eyes running all over your body, about how his hands would hold you down while he claimed you, about how his lips would feel on your neck before he whispered in your ear that you were his…

You let out a sharp and sudden moan as the toy hit harder on that spot; your legs started to shake.  “Good girl,” he mumbled, making you moan even louder because god, those words just sounded right in his accent, with that rough voice—and they sounded right being said to you.

“Fuck,” you choked, “Mr. Murphy, I—”

He laughed a little.  “So polite,” he cooed.  “Open your eyes and look at me.”

Though it made your heart beat even faster, you did as you were told.  His stare was all-encompassing, making you feel completely trapped in a way you enjoyed more than you could’ve imagined. 

“Call me Cillian,” he insisted.

You weren’t sure if he meant to literally call him that right in that moment, but it sort of came out anyway: “Cillian,” you moaned, and the grip he’d taken on the dresser behind him tightened.

“Can you come for me?” he asked lowly.  “Right now?  Can you come on that fake cock?”

You bit your lip and nodded, moving the toy faster and faster— more desperate to come than ever.  “I—fuck, yeah, I’m close…”

“Good,” he praised again.  “Let me see you come, honey.”

Your back arched harder, deeper—your hands were shaking but you kept going, holding on tight to the dildo and forcing it back and forth as your legs began to quiver.

Moans poured from your mouth faster than you could try to quiet them—everyone was downstairs, you just had to hope the music and conversation was enough to drown out your desperate, pleading noises.  “Fuckin’ beautiful,” he mumbled, right as you hit the peak and melted into the mattress, a wave of ecstasy pouring over you.

You felt hot everywhere, but especially between your legs��you could swear you felt yourself leaking out around the toy, soaking it, giving away how needy you’d become and not even having the mental energy to feel any shame for it.

Cillian certainly didn’t look like he was trying to shame you for it; when you opened your eyes again, he had a stunned expression—in the best way.  “You normally come that fast for a toy?”

You laughed a little, but you still couldn’t quite catch your breath.  “No,” you admitted, “it normally takes… a bit longer than that…”

“What was different about tonight?” he mused, and you scoffed and rolled your eyes again.

“Shut up,” you sighed.  “Now I have to figure out how to take this thing out—I’m always sore after…”

“If you can handle putting it in, taking it out shouldn’t be much trouble,” he noticed.

Which, yes, that would make sense, but after coming you always got all tight and sensitive and it could be a little intense.

“How about I help you?” he offered, and your chest tightened.  He waited for you to nod before carefully wrapping his hand around your own, watching your face as he gently guided you to pull the toy out.

Your lips were slack and your eyes were probably glassy and dazed as he looked at you like that, completely enveloping you in his stare as he studied every detail of your expression.  Aside from some heavy breathing you didn’t react much to him sliding the toy out of you, until the ridge of the head reached your entrance and you winced.

“Shh,” he soothed gently, “it’s okay…”

A long sigh of relief emptied your chest when the toy tapered off and you felt the last of it slip out of you; you really noticed then how soaked you were, as a draft in the room seemed to cling to the patch of wetness that had coated all between your legs somehow.

“Lemme see, baby,” he cooed under his breath as he set the toy aside, kneeling down and resting a hand on the inside of your thigh to keep your legs open.

You could barely catch your breath with him doing that; you’d never had someone… look at it like that.  You felt incredibly vulnerable but impossibly sexy as you heard him sigh at the sight.  “Is it all stretched out now?” you wondered.

“No,” he said, “you look… just as tight as before.  Fuck.  That’s incredible.”

You bit your lip, sitting up enough to try to get a look at his face past the puffiness of your dress’ skirt, and he smirked up at you with the loveliest sparkle in his eye.  “Really?” you breathed, and he nodded.

Even though your hands were still shaking you suddenly felt brave; maybe it was just the afterglow, but you grabbed him by the shirt and sat up to kiss him, colliding your lips with his.  He reciprocated instantly, putting his hands on your upper back that the strapless dress left bare.

The kiss was perfect—needy but not too fast, sweet but not too chaste, teasing but not too slow.  The guys in college couldn’t even kiss like this… you were wondering why you ever even tried with them—or, you would’ve been if that kiss left you capable of thinking about anything but him.  “Need you,” you whispered as you pulled him closer, wrapping your arms around his strong shoulders.

“Fuck,” he mumbled against your lips, a hand holding your waist while he started to kiss your neck and jaw.  “Not here—your parents—”

“Don’t care,” you whimpered, “I’m so—fuck, Cillian, please—”

“You already came,” he noticed with a small laugh, “didn’t that take the edge off?”

“Not enough,” you whined, getting impatient and running a hand down over his shirt and down to his pants—and you smiled proudly as you felt the hardening bulge beneath.  He choked a little when you touched him there, holding you tighter.  “You want me too,” you noticed.

“Of course I do, but—” he breathed, then stopped himself as he tossed you back on the bed; you giggled as he crawled up over you, pinning you down.  “But we can’t… your parents would have my head on a platter—once they’re done serving crawfish etouffee off of it downstairs.”

“Well, I wasn’t planning on telling my parents,” you smirked.  “Were you?”

“No,” he agreed, kissing your neck again as you hummed happily.  “But if they found out—”

“So?  They wouldn’t like if they found out about what just happened, either—and they won’t.”

“But this is different,” he insisted.

“How?”

“Because this…”

He trailed off, kissing down your neck and over your shoulder, until a hand reached up to pull your dress down and expose your chest.

“Shit,” he sighed at the sight of it, and you smiled up at him.

“You were saying?” you teased.

“Right, erm,” he swallowed, “this is different because—because if we do this, you’re gonna be my girl.  Not just a misguided one-time fuck because you were turned on after screwing yourself with your dildo while I watched.”

You felt a little out of breath but nodded up at him.  “Okay,” you agreed.

“Okay?” he repeated, looking a little shocked.  “I tell you that you have to be mine and you just say okay?”

“What was I supposed to say, yes sir?” you joked.

“I just mean—shit, if I knew it would be this easy, I would’ve said something sooner,” he chuckled.  “But I’m, er, not complaining about the yes sir thing either…”

He sat up and started to unbutton his pants, making you wiggle a bit on the bed impatiently.  Even though you’d just gotten filled by your big toy, you felt needier than ever for something inside you—something real. 

Your throat caught when he took it out— it was pale and veiny just like the rest of him; long, uncut, a bead of precum starting to leak from the slit… it was beautiful, honestly.  The artificial fleshy hue of the silicone could never compete.

“Big enough for you?” he asked with a smirk, but you had to swallow before you answered because your mouth was watering.

“Yeah,” you panted, “plenty.”

He kissed you again, laying more of his weight on top of you; your legs wrapped around his hips, keeping him close as he pressed you down into your bed.

One hand found your wrist and held it back above your head, while the other kept a tight wrap around his cock so he could guide it to your waiting entrance.  When he pushed inside, you both sighed with relief like you’d been longing for this for ages—perhaps because both of you had, in your own ways.  “Fuck,” you breathed, “Cillian…”

He whispered your name back to you, heavy and desperate and right by your ear, and you absolutely knew you were his, just like he said.  He only stilled for a moment when he was all the way inside, already starting to rock back and forth—but he was sort of tender about it, watching you move under him as he fucked you.  “So pretty,” he praised quietly, kissing you again, even harder than before.  You both moaned into the kiss, and a warm, rough hand settled on your thigh under your dress.

Soon, the pleasure was too much to even focus on kissing, and your mouth just fell wide open in front of his as needy moans passed through it.  He stayed close, though, watching your face go slack with ecstasy.  The previous orgasm had left you sticky and sensitive inside, still totally dripping for him, everything in you begging for more.  “Oh my god,” you sighed, eyes rolling back, your composure completely slipping already.  He made you feel so good so easily—and fuck, the way he was looking at you, it was just too much to bear.

“Mm,” he hummed proudly, latching his lips onto your neck again until your fingers tangled in his hair.  He moved down and caught a nipple in his mouth, making you whimper as he suckled at it gently. 

“Fuck,” you whined, nearly pulling him along by the hair when he moved to the other one; you couldn’t stop clenching inside, squeezing him until he groaned against your skin. 

“Won’t last if you keep doing that,” he warned you softly. 

“What if I don’t want you to?” you teased, and he growled a little between his teeth, sitting up to look down at you.  He fucked you harder, but put a hand on top of your head and pet your hair for a moment, looking at you like you hung the moon; how could he be so dirty then so adorable within the same split-second?!

“I’ll do whatever you want me to,” he decided, speaking softly, “how about that?  What do you want me to do?”

That was a little too much power to give you, at least in your opinion, but you grinned as you considered it.  “Then I want you to come way too quick,” you decided, “like all those annoying college boys—because you just can’t help yourself.”

He laughed a little, though he stopped to bite his lip as he fucked you even harder—and faster, too.  “Okay,” he breathed, “don’t know why you want that, but—fuck— it won’t be very difficult after that little show you gave me.  You look so pretty when you come…”

“Just keep going and you can see it again,” you promised, holding onto him tighter as he pressed into you and really let you have it—not really rough or anything, you couldn’t risk making any more noise than you were, but still aggressive and passionate and desperate.

He kissed your neck again, burying his face in your shoulder and finding the spot that made you gasp out his name suddenly; your fingers clutched at fistfuls of his undershirt, and your legs began to shake where they were hooked around his hips and half-pushed-down pants.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, the pleasure hitting you again—but it was better than with the toy, it was stronger, and it just kept going because he kept going.  When your head fell back onto the mattress with a sigh, he realized that he’d made you come.

“Wait, fuck, I wasn’t looking,” he rushed as he popped his head up from the crook of your neck, “do it again.”

You laughed breathlessly and pushed against his shoulder a bit; “Shut up, I can’t do it on command.”

“You did it the last two times I told you to,” he reminded you, and that just made you feel even more deliciously dizzy. 

Yes, you were definitely his girl now—totally addicted to him.  You’d never felt like this with somebody—not just physically, but the trust and the laughter and the comfort of it all.  This wasn’t a too-empty dorm room that still smelled like fresh paint, it wasn’t a mattress with no sheets in an apartment with 5 roommates nearby, it wasn’t a guy you vaguely knew from a two-hundred-student class or someone you saw on a dating app and talked with for an afternoon before meeting for ‘coffee’ (it was never just coffee).  This was Mr. Murphy—and that should’ve made it weirder, but somehow, it just made it make more sense.

“So, if I tell you to come again,” he spoke lowly by your ear, a new authority to his tone, “you should come.”

You couldn’t think of anything else to say: “Yes, sir,” you breathed, hugging him close to you and pressing your face against his shoulder.

Of course, it wasn’t quite instantaneous, but just another minute of him giving you those deep, controlled thrusts right into your favorite spot sent you over the edge easily—and this time, he gently guided your face out of its hiding spot and looked at you, watched your pleasure overtake you, tenderly rubbing your cheek with his thumb.  “Good girl,” he praised softly, kissing you again just as the last of it drained from you; you were so numb that you barely heard him whisper something to you—it took you a few seconds to process it.

“I’m gonna come,” he’d whispered to you, “fuck, you’re so fucking warm…”

“Come inside,” you instructed, and for all the concern he tried to perform for you after you said that, his moan was undeniable, as was the way he started to move faster.

“Fuck, really?” he nearly whined.  “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, panting.

“You’re on—”

“Yes, please, just come inside me,” you begged, and he finally stopped protesting and pressed himself as deep into you as he could—you could feel the way his cock flexed, and it made your exhausted walls dig up just enough energy to flex back.

“Fuuuuck,” he groaned, holding onto you tightly.

You hummed a little at the feeling, turning your face towards his, hoping to see what he looked like in this moment—but he pulled you into another kiss before you could get a good look.  Even this kiss was different from the others—a little slower, a little more tired in a wonderful, dreamy way.  He was breathing heavy against you, and eventually he found the energy to push himself up with his arms on either side of your head, and you smiled up at him.  He looked really fucking good like this: his face a bit flushed, which seemed to show his freckles and fine lines even more (which you adored); his hair falling down, a little wavier from the slight sweat he’d worked up; his lips swollen and slick from the kisses; and those eyes, they looked as beautiful as always, but they made you feel beautiful, too.

“Is taking this one out gonna hurt, too?” he asked you with a smirk.

“Probably a little,” you shrugged.

“For both of us,” he agreed, “I’m so fucking sensitive now… you really do have me acting like a desperate college boy—but you know, it’s been a while, so…”

“Right, sure—good excuse,” you joked, but you didn’t mind any of it either way.

He did it a little quicker, pulling back as he took a sharp breath in, and you giggled softly.

“Fuck, I can feel it, like… leaking out,” you admitted, biting your lip at the sick satisfaction of the warm gush.

“I think I need to see that,” he said, sitting up and picking your legs up from under the knee to look at you.  This was apparently a habit of his—and you were starting to get used to it already.

“How’s it look?” you asked, wondering if he’d finally stretched you out after that.

He just stared at it for a moment longer, running his tongue over his teeth, before finally looking back at you and saying with a smile: “Looks like you need the Tide pen more than I do.”

[futfemfantasies]

Semi final surprises \\ Alexia Putellas x Williamson!reader

Tensions are high in the Arsenal dressing room as the do or die game is less than an hour from starting. I tie the last knot in my laces before walking out with the rest of the girls to start warm ups. After a brief warm up with the rest of the starters, I sit down in the cubby next to Leah’s and notice a few notifications from Alexia. Before each game, Alexia always sends multiple voice messages. I play the first one and hear the thick Spanish accent come through the headphones.

Hi my love, I know you have the headphones on. I will send you the voice messages.

You will do so well today. Play your heart out, score some goals and take it in.

I love you and I am so proud of you superstar. I’ll see you in the next few days when you visit.

I smile at Alexia’s English and send a reply. My phone goes back into my bag just as Leah bumps my leg to gesture that it’s time to go.

I quickly change into the game jersey and line up with the rest of the girls. I see the Lyon team on the other side of the hallway and I move behind Caitlin in line. I feel a small hand in mine and see a young girl about 6 or 7 years old smiling up at me. I talk to her for a little bit before we go out to the bustling crowd that is the Emirates.

As we all wait for the formalities to conclude, I notice my mascot shivering slightly. I ask her if she wants my jacket and she nods. I take it off and wrap it around her shoulders. A small thank you was said and hug in return made some fans cheer at the interaction.

A short huddle later and the second semi final of the champions league is underway. With Wolfsburg shockingly beating Barcelona a few days ago, the Spanish team will fail to get their three-peat this year. A whistle pulls you out of your thoughts and your teammates start to get into position.

Lyon wasted no time in attacking, taking most of the possession from the first whistle. The Arsenal attackers, Alessia, Caitlin and I drop back into defence while trying to regain the ball to take up field. The deadlock breaks just before halftime with Lyon scoring the first goal. As the French team celebrated, Kim pulled us all into a huddle to motivate us for the rest of the half.

As I walk back with Alessia, I look back and catch Leah’s eye. I give her a slight nod and returned one as to silently say stay calm and focused. No other chances came Arsenal’s way in the first half so I walk into the locker room with my head down, about to give up. After a pep talk from Jonas and a motivational boost from Kim, the team were ready to face Lyon for another half.

As both teams jogged out, Alexia weaved her way through the crowd to get to her seat. Of course her plane had to be delayed and then no taxis or Ubers were at the arrivals part of the airport. Luckily, you had shown Alexia how to watch your games so she didn’t miss anything on the way over to the stadium. As Alexia got on a flight straight after a day of interviews and photoshoots, she came without any luggage. Excusing herself as she moved past people, Alexia finally reached her seat.

In the 70th minute is when the dynamic shifted in half. I try to sneak past Vanessa Gillies but she slide tackles straight into my ankle. I fall to ground screaming and the medic rushes over. I get a bandage wrapped around my ankle as there’s a decent cut. I put everything back on and the game resumes. I see a Lyon player get organised for the free kick, in a pretty good spot and I give Steph a look and hold up 2 fingers for a tactic.

Steph kicks the ball and I watch as it comes towards me. I quickly look in front of me and see Leah so I jump on her slightly to get a better angle on the ball. The ball flicks into the bottom corner of the net.

Equaliser. 1-1.

I run to the corner flag and turn around to be pulled into a group hug. The roar from the crowd was deafening as we regrouped and focused on the remaining 20 minutes.

As time was counting down, I was getting exhausted but I knew I had to keep going. Leah makes a crucial slide tackle and quickly spots me near the box. She kicks the ball over the Lyon defenders and with pinpoint accuracy, it lands on my foot, making it a perfectly timed volley. The familiar swoosh of the net is all I can hear as I drop to my knees in disbelief. Leah was the first on the floor with me and other teammates soon followed.

“You did it y/n/n”

“Games not over yet Lee”

In a matter of minutes the final whistle blew and Lyon bodies fell to the floor in distraught. Legs are exhausted, minds numb. While around the pitch Arsenal teammates and staff were jumping, screaming and crying all at the same time. Leah and I found each other first, hugging for longer than usual. This was our moment. One we’ve been waiting for since we were at the academy. After shaking hands with Lyon, the team and staff went on a victory lap. Walking with Leah and Steph, waving into the crowd when someone caught my eye.

“No way”

There was the love of my life wearing a red and white scarf and of course a Barça baseball cap. I sprint over to Alexia with a wide smile on my face. Alexia opens her arms and I jump the barricade to get into her arms, the place I call home.

“You came. I thought you had photoshoots and media” I say as my voice is raspy due to yelling in the game.

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss this for the world mi amor”

It has been speculation for a while now that you and Alexia are dating, with both of you posting subtle hints on instagram stories and posts. This moment just confirms all the fans TikTok edits and endless stalking they have done. Without another thought or care in the world, I grab Alexia’s cheeks gently and kiss her gently.

“I love you” I murmured against Alexia’s lips.

Alexia smiled as she replied “Te quiero más”.

I got called over by Katie and Caitlin as the group stopped staring and continued their victory parade around the ground. Alexia nudged me to go and said she’d wait here when I finish.

As I walk around the ground, nothing can beat this feeling. I have my sister and best friend with me in the final and the love of my life is by my side cheering me on. How can it get better than this?

[justblades]

okok I have a request. Imagine chatting w an ai (nsfw) and hsr men (Blade, jing Yuan) find out? (Separate)

they catch you chatting an ai for nsfw purposes !

with : blade & jing yuan x gender neutral! reader

a/n : was kicking my feet blushing imagining this tbh 🫦

little did you know, jing yuan is peeking over the margins of your shoulder, his eyes scanning every spicy text messages you and the bot have exchanged for quite a while now. an abrupt clearing of throat jolts your body, you turn around revealing the general behind you. "g-general!" you stammer from utter shock and your posture stiffens, phone immediately shoved deep in your pocket.

"i was not aware until now that technology could serve this purpose as well." he says, beaming a pseudo innocent smile in juxtaposition to your panic stricken self. "although i've been meaning to ask . . why resort to this? you know very well what i'm capable of— request anything and i shall grant it." jing yuan's words were laced with a teasing tone yet he also sounded very solemn. "are you sure? anything?" you clarify and he leans closer to you, both of your faces a hair's breadth away. "yes. anything."

shifting your gaze away to avoid the tension growing in the atmosphere, you thought of a quick, sham excuse. "what if you don't like it—" he hushes you in an instant with his index finger sealing your lips. "i said requests, not what ifs. that aside, what are you going to ask for?" jing yuan reiterates. as if a cat bit your tongue, you were left astounded, unable to budge any movement.

blade is purposely getting intimate with you, intending to make you let your guard down so he can finally check what you've been up to. as usual; he's irresistible, and there he succeeds in doing so. he retracts from your saliva slicked neck, scrolling on the phone screen only to reveal a series of imaginary events you and the ai bot are roleplaying in. "hmm. so you're one of them." he says, a blank look carved on his features.

"wait, let me explain—" you protest and let out a nervous chuckle instinctively, "you have the real deal here, is that not enough?" shockingly, the words that blade verbalized are in stark contrast to his expression. "don't take it the wrong way blade." replying to his question, you immediately dismiss the gadget and hide it away from his field of vision. "then do all of it to me, let's enact those scenes." you cock a brow, confused while blade's crimson eyes anchor on you, "let's make those texts come to life so i don't get the wrong idea, no?"

your heart flips, goosebumps ride on your skin but blade doesn't display any hint of hesitation. he slowly guides your body, making you lay your back flat on the mattress. "i recall you said something like 'hooking my right leg on your shoulder—" blade re-enacts the movements precisely how you imagined it in your head while you were texting the ai. "—you steadily plant kisses on the bare skin up to my thigh'." he continues as if he was telling a story and leaves heating kisses on the body part, flashing you a sly smile right after. "what's next?"

[ghost-with-a-teacup]

headcanon: youre a new student at an MMA academy that the tf141 runs.

its just price in this one, but everyone will be present at a later point :))

the first time you walk into the gym, youre all wide eyed and nervous, the world of martial arts a part of your distant past. but with the state of the world you figured that some self defense classes were a necessity, lest you end up battered and bruised in an alleyway somewhere.

When you walk in, the gym is shockingly neat and clean, windows shining and floormats soft and new. you weren't exaxtly sure what to expect, but this was a pleasant surprise.

the prior class was finishing up, children running about and throwing punches at the punching bags scattered around the gym.

at the forefront was a man, broad shouldered and handsome...in a dilf-y sort of way (not that you were complaining!!) with a grin shockingly similar to a quokka, you thought to yourself with a small huff of laughter.

he must be the coach you had been in contact with for a bit to set up the trial class. John, you believe it was?

"ALRIGHT, first person to knock me over wins. You get two kicks each!" John calls out, his voice booming yet kind.

Laughter echoes throughout the gym as the children attempt to knock him down, but he remains still as a statue, evidence of the years of strength he gained.

A few minutes later the class finishes up, and you make your way over (a tad bit nervously) to introduce yourself.

"Hi! Um, I'm here for the trial class, I think I spoke to you over the phone?" you say, sticking out your hand for him to shake.

He smiles warmly, clasping your hand in his and giving it a firm shake.

'That's right, John Price, it's a pleasure. Welcome to Task Force Training Academy, I have a feeling you fit right in. Have you ever done anything like this?" he asks.

"Not...really? I mean, I did boxing for a few months last year but my skills are nothing to write home about. Taekwondo too, but that feels like a lifetime ago," you say with a nervouse chuckle.

"You chose the right class then, kickboxing combines a lot of skills from both of those disciplines," he says, clasping your shoulder in a friendly manner. "You did good," he says, and you feel yourself flush a bit.

"Th-thanks," you say, and wince at the stutter in your words, but John only smiles down at you.

"Do you have any hand wraps? Boxing gloves?" he asks, letting go of your shoulder. Somehow you already miss the warmth.

"I have hand wraps from boxing, but that's it," you say, shrugging.

"That won't be a problem, we have plenty of gloves you can borrow," he says, before you hear a bell ring out.

"Ah, class is starting. Just grab a jump rope for the five minute warm-up," he says, pointing toward the wall where a collection of jump ropes were before taking his place at the front of the room.

Grabbing one quickly, you hurry to an open spot and begin.

~

...5 minute feel like an eternity.

You're painting like a dog in the heat, your face warm with exertion as the timer finally finishes.

"Don't worry," John says with a deep chuckle. It was unfair how velvety smooth his voice was. "We'll get your endurance up in no time."

Somehow you feel your face heat up even further, and glance at anywhere but John's devastatingly blue eyes.

"I have no doubt," you murmur before rushing to put the jump rope back.

"Okay, we'll start out with partner work. Usually I would start with bag work but since we have a new member," he gestures toward you, and you wave awkwardly to the rest of the class, "I thought it might be best to return to the basics. Pair up, and we'll work on the basic punches first. Jab, cross, hook, et cetera. Go ahead," he says, before turning towards you.

"You, my dear, will be working with me. Let's see how much boxing stuck, hm?" he says. "Gloves are over there, grab a pair and we can begin."

"Yessir," you squeak, the prospect of training with the head coach a bit daunting.

"No need to be nervous," he says, nudging you lightly toward the shelves where the gloves were. "I just wanna get a grasp of how much you know, and what we need to work on, yeah?" he says with a kind smile, and you nod before grabbing a pair of gloves to use.

The one glove goes on without issue, but the other glove betrays you. The strap you struggle with, hand motions limited to crab movements as you try to grasp it enough to attach the velcro.

You hear John laugh lightly again as he watches you struggle before he grasps your hand in his, doing the strap for you.

"Thank you, coach," you say, and he hums in response, eyes seemingly lost in thought for a moment before refocusing on you.

"Let's begin, yeah?"

You nod in response, moving to a more centralized area of the gym. You move into the fighting stance you remember, and he nods approvingly.

"Good, that stance is what I like to see. Do you remember your jab?" he asks, and you hesitantly throw out a punch you recall being called a jab.

"There you go. Try adjusting your wrist to a vertical position rather than a twisting out. Its not incorrect, and I'm sure that's how you learned it, but," he explains, grabbing your gloved hand for a moment. "When your punch is horizontal, your wrist wants to take the majority of the impact. Instead, we want it vertically, so that the impact is distributed throughout the forearm all the way down to the elbow," he says, his fingertip barely ghosting down your arm, but it leaves goosebumps in its wake.

You nod, the heat in your face no longer just from exertion anymore. Adjusting your stance, he holds out the pad for you to hit again, and you listen to his advice.

A delighted grin splits his face at the impact.

"Atta girl, you listen well," he says, and you mutter out a "thanks".

Holy HELLS, the temperature in the room felt like it was rising by the second.

In your embarrassment, you fail to notice the slightly smug expression on John's face, your reactions priceless.

Recovering, you reset, glancing back up at him as he nods.

"Again."

a/n: THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A SHORT BLURB, RAHHHHH. i was supposed to stusy half an hour ago :/ anyway, this fic is purely because i had my trial class for kickboxing today lol, and is almost based entirely on true events :p (though yknow, the coach was not john price and flirting with me, :/)

ANYWAY, i might start a series of this...we'll see what happens :))

[rollinouttahere-writes]

Hi for the Halloween event can I please request yandere slasher trio (Zoro , Nami and Luffy please ) where Reader decided to stay with Nami since all their friends are dropping like flies ; turns out Luffy and Zoro have been doing it and Nami is the mastermind of it all please . (I’ve been watching to much scream lately XD ) 

I really love how you make reader interact with this trio in the lucky fic and the one where reader has a crush on Buggy ; honestly fair enough Buggy has got it going on 😔👌

If possible can reader be female please ; if not no worries , gn is fine ❤️

Platonic maybe please ❤️💛🧡

Okay so... remember how I mentioned that I didn't want these fics being too long because I want to get to as many as I can? Yeah... y'all probably aren't going to be surprised that I have immediately failed at that. This story is going to be split into two maybe three parts because it's getting really long and I have accepted that I will not be finishing it tonight.

Also I hope you don't mind, but the rest of the East Blue gang managed to worm their way into this fic, though they won't appear until part two. This part is Romance Dawn Trio centric. Also, I really leaned into the Scream angle, so this takes place in the 90's and everyone is in high school.

East Blue Ripper(s)

Yandere East Blue Gang x Fem Reader

4.5k words

Summary: A night home alone turns spooky when you hear screaming coming from the neighbor's house, but fortunately your friends are there to comfort you.

Warnings: light drug mentions, gendered (female presenting) reader, talk of teenage angst, pretty tame chapter but it gets more intense in the next one so stay with me

“Did you finish the reading assignment?”

The question makes you snort out a laugh. You twirl the phone cord around your finger while kicking your feet up in the air as they’re resting over the back of the couch, “Nope! I’ll skim through the chapters during lunch or something.”

“Aw, come on! I was counting on you being able to sum it up for me!” Nami’s voice crackled through the phone as she whined over your answer, “You’re usually on top of this stuff, how could you fail me like this? You know that I’m busy helping my mom with the orchard, especially with Nojiko being away at college now.”

“Hey, don’t pin that on me! You know that I’ve been stressing over the calculus test, I needed to study for it. Failing that test would be way worse than bombing some reading comprehension quiz for Catcher in the Rye.” Briefly, your eyes glance towards the backpack leaning against the couch. The book is in there, and you contemplate taking it out to at least try to read it, but you shake your head and skim your fingers over the calculus notebook propped up on your lap.

“Hey!”

“Ugh, fine. I’ll forgive you this time, but you’re on thin ice.”

Another voice comes through the phone, slightly muffled from being further away, “Be nice, Nami. It’s not (Y/N)’s fault that you were too lazy to read it yourself.”

You chuckle as Nami starts bickering with her mom. You rest the phone on the couch cushion and decide to refocus on your notes while they argue. You’re a couple of equations in when you hear something. The notebook is tossed aside, and you cover the earpiece of the phone to hear better.

It sounds like screaming.

For a moment, you stay on the couch. Yelling and screaming coming from the house next door was hardly a new thing. Bellamy, an upperclassman who graduated a couple of years ago, rented it with his gaggle of followers. If the rumors were true, it was a trap house, and you had little reason to doubt that based on all the people coming and going from it in rapid succession. It was all shockingly blatant, and it was beyond you how they haven’t been caught yet.

Just when you’re about to go back to studying, you hear more screams. These screams sound different from the usual noise you hear over there. This doesn’t sound like a party or a fight between them breaking out. Whoever just screamed sounded terrified. You set down the phone and toss your notebook aside before rolling off the couch and onto your feet.

Hesitantly, you make your way to a window facing the house and lift up one of the slats of the blinds and peer through. It’s pitch black outside, with only dim lights coming from the neighboring home. You stare harder, but you don’t see anything weird. The strangest thing is that the house seems quieter than usual, but that isn’t exactly enough for you to get worried. You sigh and drop the slat back into place. It was probably nothing. Just some stupid fight between the delinquents you live next to.

You walk back over to the couch and sit on it, properly this time, and pick the phone up to see if Nami and Bellemere are still bickering.

“-llo?! (Y/N)?! If you don’t answer me I’m going to call the police!”

“I’m here! Calm down!”

A loud, exasperated sigh comes through the phone, then the scolding begins, “What is wrong with you?! I was worried when you wouldn’t answer me! I was still holding the phone, you could have at least said that you were going to the bathroom or whatever instead of scaring me like that!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to worry you. I just thought I heard something and had to go check it out.”

There is a pause, then Nami’s dumbfounded voice comes through the phone, “You heard a weird noise and went to investigate? What are you? The first person that dies in a horror movie?”

Your face felt hot at her pointing out how much of a horror movie faux pas you just committed, and you scramble to defend yourself, “It’s not like I went outside! I just peeked through the blinds!”

Nami sighs and you just know that she’s pinching the bridge of her nose. “What did you even hear?”

“I… I could have sworn that I heard screaming coming from next door. Where Bellamy and his cronies live.”

Once again, Nami pauses. You’re about to ask if she heard you when she finally speaks up, “... Did you see anything?”

“No, I didn’t. I couldn’t see anyone through the windows, and I haven’t heard anything else since I went to go look.”

“They were probably just fighting about something stupid like usual, or maybe a drug deal went south. Don’t worry about them.” The previous hesitancy in her voice vanished and she was now very quick to dismiss the noises you had heard as nothing, much like you.

“Yeah, you’re probably right…” You heave a sigh and rub your eyes. Perhaps you’ve had a few too many late nights and it’s making you paranoid. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to call it a night here? “It’s been fun chatting with you tonight, but I think I’m going to-”

Another noise came from outside, but not from next door. It’s coming from one of the windows in your living room. Heavy footsteps approached the window, followed by a scraping noise. You’re paralyzed on the couch, all words caught in your throat. This would be a scary experience on its own, but after hearing screaming coming from next door, it was bone-chilling.

“Going to what? Did you cut out on me?” 

Nami’s voice instantly snaps you out of your terror-induced stupor. The phone is clutched tightly in your hands as you whisper yell into the receiver, “Someone is outside my window!”

“What?!” Any nonchalance she had previously was wiped away in an instant as she all but shrieked into the phone.

“I can hear someone trying to open the window! I don’t know what to-” 

The lock on the window clicked open.

Your mind is screaming at you to run, to scream for help, to find a weapon, literally anything but what you’re doing right now. Yet all your body can do is cower on the sofa while gripping the phone for dear life as if it will save you. Tears sting at your eyes and you can distantly register that Nami is shouting something at you, but you’ll be damned if you can understand any of it over the pounding of your heart.

The window is slid open, rattling loudly and catching on the sides repeatedly as it’s pushed up. Glimpses of an arm can be spotted through the billowing sea foam green curtains, but the rest of the intruder is obscured from view.

Both arms come through the curtains and push them aside so that the person can grab both sides of the window to pull themself through. As this person pulls themself through, you can finally see the face of your soon to be attacker and-

“Oh, god damnit! Zoro! You scared the shit out of me!”

Zoro, your classmate and friend, finishes climbing through your window and looks around your home, not once acknowledging you yelling at him. “This isn’t the dojo…”

The adrenaline leaves your system and you slump back against the couch as a wave of relief competes with the burst of irritation you’re feeling. Are you glad that a serial killer didn’t just climb through your window? Yes. Are you still mad that Zoro just scared you like that? Absolutely. You lift your head up to glower at him.

In the time that it took for you to calm your raising heart, Zoro had wandered over from the window to the couch and plopped down next to you. He was entirely unbothered. He looked over at you and nodded his head, “Hey, (Y/N).”

You want to yell at him, or hit him over the head with the phone, but you choose a different tactic. Your voice is cold as you speak, “Nami. Yell at Zoro for me.” With that, you prop up the phone at his ear and stand up, leaving him to the wrath of Nami while you go to the bathroom to refresh yourself after that ordeal.

As a lecture of epic proportions takes place behind you, you can’t help but chuckle at being able to hear Nami even from here. You step into the bathroom and close the door behind you while flicking the lights on. They flicker briefly before shining down on and illuminating the small bathroom. You only need to take one step before you’re face to face with the sink and staring at your own reflection in the mirror. The faucet knob for cold water is twisted, and you quickly splash your face with it and rub at your eye.

The water is turned off, and you return to your full height to look at your reflection again. While you dry your face and fix your hair, your mind drifts to the unexpected guest in your living room. Zoro was a friend of yours, but a very new one. You would be lying if you said that you felt particularly close to him, especially when compared to your lifelong friendship with Nami.

Both of your moms were friends, so you have pretty much been friends since birth. Well, birth for you, adoption for her. She’s been a consistent part of your life for as long as you can remember. There isn’t anyone that you feel closer to than her.

That’s why it hurt so bad when she started pulling away from you a few years ago. You two grew up being thick as thieves, only for her to suddenly stop hanging out with you and barely speak to you at school. It was around the same time when she started working at some shady restaurant that everyone knew was a front. The “restaurant” was run by a man named Arlong, someone with a horrendous reputation thanks to his short temper and the rumors that he was part of a gang.

It was beyond you why she would choose to work there, and it was even more confusing as to why that seemingly meant that you two couldn’t be friends anymore. It was a massive blow to you, especially when any attempt at confronting her on it led to her shutting down and not saying anything, which later escalated into her snapping at you to just leave her the hell alone and to go bother someone else for once in your life… You aren’t proud to admit that those words completely broke you and led to your own flurry of unkind words that you would spend years deeply regretting. It also led to your friendship officially ending.

This was, of course, a very painful point in your life, though you had at least one good thing come out of it. While you were mourning the death of your friendship with Nami, a new one had developed in its place. After the explosive fight with Nami, you accepted that you needed a new table to sit at during lunch. A part of you wanted to hide away in a bathroom stall, but even while in the throes of teenage angst, you couldn’t bring yourself to eat on a toilet. That led you to finding the quietest, most empty table and sitting at it. There was only one other person on it, and she immediately took you sitting with her as a proposition for friendship and surprised you by dragging you to the mall after school to hang out. At the time, you had been annoyed to have your solitude forcibly intruded upon like that, but you quickly realized how nice it felt to finally have someone to spend time with again. 

That friend you made was a girl named Perona. You had only ever seen her in passing before, and while you never had a problem with her, you never went out of your way to get to know her either. She was something of an outcast at the school. Not for any good reason, though the reasons usually never are, she was merely a victim of circumstance. Her father ran the Moria Funeral Home, and that was enough to make everyone else deem her weird and creepy. The labels never seemed to bother her. If anything, she leaned into it. Perona fully embraced the weird girl aesthetic and by all accounts had fun with it. It was a trait that you really came to admire in her as you two grew closer. Perona became a rock for you when you were at your lowest and helped to make you feel like you could move on from Nami and leave all that friend drama in the past.

So imagine your surprise when at the beginning of this school year, Nami approached you to make amends and to “pick up where you left off”. At first, you were rightfully dubious of this abrupt change of heart. You thought that she was fucking with you. That concern was only intensified when you saw that she had a whole entourage of new friends. You thought for sure that she was going to mock and make a fool out of you again for the sake of looking cool in front of them. You had every intention of brushing her off like she had done to you all those years ago.

But, obviously, that isn’t how it went. Not only was Nami persistent, so were all of her new friends. They were all aggressively trying to befriend you and vouch for Nami. Zoro, tonight’s intruder, was by far the most aloof about it. He just kinda… started following you around. It was mostly creepy to begin with, but it did come with the pleasant side effect of all of the school bullies leaving you alone thanks to how intimidating he was.

Sanji’s approach was the polar opposite. You had been aware of him in passing before, and even caught a handful of stray compliments from him on occasion, but now you are pretty sure that he has deluded himself into believing that he’s your boyfriend. The second you come into view, your ears are greeted by him all but screaming “(Y/N), my love!” through the crowded hallway. A more than mortifying experience that had unfortunately become a daily occurrence. At least he made up for it by bringing you admittedly delicious lunches for school.

Usopp had inserted himself into your life as if you had been best friends for years, including by sharing stories of past moments together that literally never happened. He had a reputation for being a liar, and while that was accurate, he’s also a funny and genuinely nice guy now that you’ve gotten to know him. He even helps you out with your homework if you ask. Out of all of the new people introduced to you through Nami’s return, he was probably the one you got along with the best.

And then there was Luffy. He was an interesting character to say the least. Much like Usopp, he was also acting like you two were best friends right off the bat. He’s always slinging an arm around your shoulders and trying to drag you off to whatever adventure he’s concocted that day, or inviting himself over to your house. Sometimes during the day like a normal person, or sometimes he scares the hell out of you by crawling through your window in the middle of the night like some sort of sleep paralysis demon so he can recruit you into whatever late night scheme he came up with.

Perhaps it was a testament to how much you missed Nami, but in the end they managed to get through to you and become people you considered friends. More importantly, they helped to bridge the gap between you and Nami so you two could finally make up and be friends again. Having Nami’s friendship back was all that you had ever wanted in your years apart, and words could not describe the relief that you felt when you could finally put all of that pain and misery behind you.

But, now really wasn’t the time to be dwelling on the past. You still had to deal with Zoro, didn’t you? You slap your cheeks a few times to get yourself back into the present moment, then exit the bathroom. Nami’s voice can no longer be heard echoing down the halls, so you guess she either calmed down, or -more likely- Zoro hung up on her. You step into the living room only to be greeted by a whole other problem grinning at you.

“Hi, (Y/N)!”

There, sitting cross-legged in front of the shelf containing your family’s collection of VHS tapes, was Luffy. He smiled and waved at you, completely carefree and offering zero explanation as to what he’s doing in your house.

“When did you get here?”

Luffy went back to going through the tapes. “A few minutes ago. You left the window open, so I let myself in.” He started humming to himself while pulling out tapes to examine them.

Actually, Zoro left the window open, but you decided not to harp on the details. God knows that Luffy wouldn’t care. The much more important thing to get to the bottom of was why Luffy and Zoro were even here. You glance back at the couch to see that Zoro is still there. He’s sprawled out with his arms crossed behind his head. The landline had been tossed haphazardly onto the side table, and had indeed been hung up. You’re sure that Nami is going to have a word or two to say about that in person when she sees Zoro at school tomorrow.

“Okay, why are you two here at,” you look up at the clock on the wall, “almost 11 at night?”

Luffy was quick to pipe up with an answer, “We were walking back home after hanging out with Usopp.” 

That made no sense, and you quickly point that out, “He lives on the other side of town. How the hell did you end up over here?”

“Zoro said he knew a shortcut, so I let him lead the way. That was pretty dumb of me, huh?” Luffy chuckled after his explanation, which evolved into full on laughter when Zoro threw a pillow at him from across the room.

While you were still annoyed, you had to admit that his story made sense. Zoro could get lost in a paper bag, so it isn’t at all shocking that he could have wandered over to your place while trying to get back to the kendo dojo he lived out of. 

“It’s cool if we crash here for the night, right? I don’t want Zoro getting us even more lost.”

The question surprised you. Shocked you even. While you’ve had them over to hang out before, typically with everyone else, the only people you’ve ever had stay overnight were Nami and Perona for obvious reasons, ones that you’re quick to voice, “No way! My mom will freak out if she finds out that I let boys spend the night!”

Luffy pouts at your answer, but it’s Zoro who speaks up this time, “Her shift doesn’t end until 8, right? We’ll already be at school by the time she gets home. She’ll have no way of knowing that we were ever here.”

What Zoro said was true. Your mom worked overnight shifts as an ER nurse at the local hospital. She probably won’t know so long as you all clean up and neither of them leave any evidence behind. Still… it feels risky, and you really don’t want to risk pissing off your mom by surprising her with two unexpected guests if she comes home early for whatever reason.

Sensing your unease at the idea, Luffy springs up and hurries over to you. He takes both of your hands into his own and stares into your eyes with a pleading gaze. “Come on, please! We’ve never gotten to have a sleepover before! It’ll be fun! We can watch a movie or something! Please!” Luffy is begging you as if you’re Sanji and he’s trying to get more Baratie leftovers. 

You don’t really want to say yes… but you know that Luffy isn’t the kind of person to take no for an answer. This would probably be fine. Your mom basically never came home early. You should be able to keep them having been here a secret. You take a deep breath, then relent, “Fine. You guys can spend the night.”

Before you can even blink, Luffy is scooping you up into a hug. Your feet are lifted off the ground as he spins you around and cheers victoriously. You’re dropped back onto your feet, and Luffy wastes absolutely no time before sprinting over to the shelf to grab a movie to watch. 

“Hey, wait. It’s really late. Shouldn’t we just go to sleep now?” Your protest was weak, and you could practically hear the answer before Luffy even said it.

“I thought you’ve had sleepovers before. You know that you aren’t supposed to sleep at sleepovers!” Luffy pulled a VHS case off the shelf and hurried over to the TV to put it in. It would seem that his mind was made up. Looks like you’re having an impromptu movie night. Luffy turned on the VHS player and cracked open the case. As he pushes the tape into the player, he looks over his shoulder at you with another one of his infectious smiles, “Do you have any popcorn?”

“Yeah… I’ll go make some.” With a sigh, you straighten up and wander into the kitchen to get started on the popcorn. Sock clad feet pad across the linoleum floor as you make your way to the pantry to grab a stovetop popcorn pan. Typically, you would only make one of these if Nami or Perona was over, or if you and your mom were having a movie night on one of her rare nights home, but it wasn’t unheard of for you to knock back one of these on your own. It shouldn’t raise any suspicion from your mom when she comes back home in the morning.

The pan is dropped onto the front right burner and you grab the temperature control knob, turning on the gas, then quickly igniting it into a controlled fire to heat the popcorn. From here, you can faintly hear the distinct sound of the tape being rewound. Ah, yeah, you and your mom do have a tendency to forget to do that when the movie is over. 

You can’t help but wonder which movie Luffy picked out. He was partial to action movies. Stuff like Jurassic Park, the Terminator movies, Star Wars, that kind of thing. Though with it being October, he was on a bit of a horror movie kick. Last week, you guys watched both Predator movies and made it through the first two Alien movies while hanging out at Usopp’s place. None of you were particularly big fans of the third one, so Usopp didn’t even bother renting it from Blockbuster. 

Popping kernels snap you out of your pondering and you glance down to see the aluminum top rapidly expanding. You quickly start shaking the pan to help circulate the kernels to keep them from heating unevenly and burning. Before long, the popping subsides and you know that the popcorn is ready. You cut the gas and move the pan to another burner, then crouch down to dig the large popcorn bowl out from its place in the cabinet. 

As soon as the popcorn is dumped in, you pick up the bowl to bring it to the living room and find the lights already off and the movie playing. Luffy and Zoro are seated on either side of the couch, leaving only the space between them open. You sit down, and your ass has barely hit the cushion before Luffy is grabbing a fistful of popcorn.

You look up at the screen, and it takes you a minute to clock which movie is playing. A man is getting into a car in a snow covered setting and speeding down the road. Realization dawns on you as the driver begins losing control of the car.

“Is this Misery?”

Luffy nods enthusiastically, “I heard Nami talking about it. She said it was really good!” He turns his head away from the screen to look at you properly. “Why? Do you not like it?”

“I like it well enough, I’m just not sure you will. I think you’ll find it a bit boring compared to what you usually watch, that’s all.” You quickly toss some popcorn into your mouth, eyes flicking back to the screen as the door to famed writer Paul Sheldon’s car is pried open by his obsessed fan, Annie Wilkes. The first time you watched this movie was when you were spending the night at Perona’s house. She was something of a horror movie buff and would watch them year round. Naturally, your friendship with her meant partaking in her interest. You’d seen a handful before, but she really got you into the genre and would bring you with her to the theater every time there was a new one.

Your reminiscing is cut short by Luffy. “But it’s a horror movie. How can it be boring?”

“I mean, it’s not boring boring, it’s just more of a psychological thriller rather than the gorey action horror movies you tend to gravitate towards.” You eat another handful of popcorn and spare a glance at Zoro, only to find that he has already fallen asleep. Whatever. You’re sure that Luffy will happily eat Zoro’s share of popcorn and most of yours.

“If it’s a thriller, it has to be fun, right?” Luffy throws his legs over your lap and you have to act fast to lift the popcorn bowl and prevent it from getting spilled everywhere. You move it to rest in the gap between yours and Luffy’s laps since it’s just going to be you two eating it.

“I guess so. Maybe I’m wrong and you’ll like it.” You sink further into the back of the couch, eyes already feeling heavy. It’s pretty unlikely that you’ll make it through the entire movie, and knowing Luffy, he will probably get bored and be out not long after you.

While you may have gone into this forced hangout a little annoyed by the whole situation, all in all, this wasn’t a terrible way to spend the night. If it weren’t for these two showing up, you likely would have spent the night being paranoid about the screaming you thought you heard earlier that was now little more than a distant memory.

You felt safe. You could trust them. There is absolutely nothing to fear.

[lambtotheslaughterr]

When The Bough Breaks : Part Nine

A Rafe Cameron Mini Series

[THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN THEMES OF NON-CON/DUB-CON, MENTAL-EMOTIONAL-PHYSICAL ABUSE, ETC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 18+. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

WC: 4.5k

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

PART EIGHT | MASTERLIST | FINALE

            It made your skin crawl having Ward Cameron sit across from you at your dining room table, in your home. Like his son, you knew well enough that he was no good & anywhere he went he only wreaked havoc. Now there they both sat at your table; Rafe on your right & Ward across from you. You felt like your lungs would collapse any second.

            “I’ve known about your trysts for some time now.” He started out. You swallowed.

            “When you have a son like I do, you learn to anticipate his actions.” Ward gave Rafe a discontented look, “And he’s not so subtle, anyway.”

            You took a look at Rafe, expecting to see him looking shameful, but there was no such suggestion on his face. He appeared completely at ease with what his father was saying.

            “But I can only let him act a fool for so long before it becomes problematic. So, I took protective measures. That’s where you come in, Mrs. MacFarlane.”

            “We’re not together.” You rushed out, uncaring of where Ward was going with his self-righteous speech.

            “Sure you aren’t. Now—”

            “No!” You exclaimed, rising from your seat, “I am not with your son. I cut it off a couple weeks ago. He knows that. But he insists on coming back here & harassing me… doing horrible things.”

            Suddenly, you felt hot, like being center stage under an overwhelmingly bright light.

            You wished you had the mental capability to take pride in the brief look of shock consuming Ward’s face as he stared at his son in disbelief. But it was short lived anyhow. Ward cleared his throat.

            “And I will take care of that.” Ward said firmly, & shockingly, you believed him. “But I need to take care of you first. So, sit down. Now. We have business to discuss.”

            You felt your brows quivering, much like the rest of your body. This was your home! You needed to stand your ground against these volatile, invasive men.

            “How dare you come into my home & demand anything of me.” You spit through gritted teeth, “I want you & your son out of my home in the next sixty seconds or I will call the cops & have you both thrown in jail. I don’t give a fuck what happens to me or my marriage because of it. I’ll be damned if you think I’m going to let another Cameron come in here & do as he pleases.”

            You kicked your chair out from behind you, prepared to go to the landline in the kitchen since Rafe still carried your phone, when a sudden vicelike grip wrapped around your wrist, yanking you back. Your feet tripped over each other, causing you to fall towards the table. Fortunately you caught yourself, but not before tossing a death stare at Rafe, who matched it.

            “You can call the cops if you want, I won’t stop you.” Ward started, “But before you do, I want you to know that if you do, you’d only be ruining your husband’s life.”

            Any fight you had had been nearly stamped out with those words. You parted your lips, but no words came out.

            Ward gestured to your seat, “Sit down, Mrs. MacFarlane. You’re going to want to listen to what I have to say.”

            Reluctantly, you lowered yourself, ripping your arm out of Rafe’s hand & rubbing the skin there. Ward glanced unimpressively between the two of you before continuing.

            “You recently had a break-in.” Ward started. You didn’t bother confirming; it was well-known.

            Ward then reached into the pocket of his blazer, pulling out a paper bag. Overturning the bag, a plethora of colored & various sized pills spilled out. After Ward emptied the bag, he tossed the bag to the side, “I believe these are your husband’s.”

            Your eyes flew to his.

            “Your husband, as good a man as he is, isn’t the brightest. These are from the pharmacy he keeps in his office.”

            “…why?”

            “Because I’ll send your husband to prison for illegal distribution of unreleased drugs before I ever let my son have his mugshot taken. Now, I’ll admit, I initially came here to ensure that you wouldn’t open your mouth about your affair with my son. But seeing now that the relationship isn’t entirely consensual, he faces greater risk.”

            You couldn’t help that your jaw dropped, “You’d put a good, honest man in jail to protect your rapist son?”

            Ward closed his eyes at the word ‘rapist’, his lips pressed firmly. He appeared to be struggling himself with the reality of the situation, but when his eyes opened & met yours, you could see that Rafe had to of gotten his insanity gene from someone.

            “I will do anything to protect my son. I’m sure you’d understand that if you still had one.”

            The shot to your heart forced hot, angry tears to your eyes.

            “Dad.” Rafe warned.

            “You—” Ward pointed toward Rafe, “shut your mouth. We’re in this shit because of you.”

            A wave of nausea returned. But you pushed it down, staring heatedly & hatefully at the man across from you.

            “You’re a monster.” You forced out.

            Ward smiled knowingly, “A necessary one.”

            Rafe placed a hand on your upper back, but you shoved yourself away from him, throwing him the same hateful look. You wished you had never moved to Kildare.

            “So, if I get even an inkling, a gut feeling that you’re up to no good Mrs. MacFarlane, expect your husband in handcuffs within the next 24 hours. Do I make myself clear?”

            You said nothing as rushed breaths flooded your lungs. This wasn’t happening. Your throat was scratchy & dry, your pits damp with sweat. Your head throbbed from the influx of adrenaline coursing through your body.

            “That won’t be necessary.” It was Rafe. You couldn’t move to face him. You could barely make out his words as he spoke to his father. But you did feel his hand grip your thigh. “Because we’ll get married.”

            “What?” You & Ward responded in unison, though you sounded more fearful than he of course.

            “_____ & I will get married. She’ll divorce her husband,” Rafe caught your eyes then, giving you a pointed look, “to protect him, & she’ll marry me. Then there’s nothing she or anyone else can say or do.”

            “You’re fucking crazy if you think I’d ever marry you.” You hissed, struggling to get out from under his firm hand but he kept you in place, his nails digging through the fabric to nick your skin.

            “What other choice do you have?” Rafe countered, his head cocked as he challenged you to think of something better. But nothing was better. Absolutely nothing. You were completely ensnared in their fucked up web.

            When you said nothing, unable to think of anything to argue with, Rafe nodded, “There you have it. A contract solves everything, dad, you taught me that.”

            Ward eyed his son suspiciously but did not dismiss his proposal. Then Ward looked at you, “Well, Mrs. MacFarlane, for once my son thinks effectively & efficiently. So, do we have an agreement?”

            You scoffed, bile rising in your throat. You shook your head, finding the whole situation unbelievable. But what could you do? Honestly, what could you do? You had to think about Moses, about protecting him. You had already betrayed him by breaking your vows. Would you let your stupid fucking mistakes cost him his well-being? Picturing him in handcuffs, his face on the news, his reputation ruined, his career destroyed, his wife…to blame for all of it. Tears bounced down your cheeks. No, no. You couldn’t let anything happen to him.

            Not trusting yourself to hold in your sickness if you opened your mouth, you simply nodded once.

            Ward smirked proudly, “Great. Well then.” Ward rose from his seat then extended his hand as if he was closing out a typical business deal.

            You eyed his hand as if it was made of poison, but forced yourself to rise just enough to give him yours. His hand was warm & cold at the same time. Goosebumps raided your skin, making your spine tingle uncomfortably.

            “You have until Monday to break the news to your husband. If you know what’s good for him, you won’t disappoint.”

            With that, Ward & Rafe left you at the table. You vaguely listened as they talked to one another down by the front door, but you didn’t care to make anything out. Blood was rushing to your ears, you felt like vomiting, all you wanted to do was to crawl back into bed & go to sleep, hopefully never waking up.

            But your nightmare returned as he climbed back up the stairs, a proud smile on his face as he sat back down next to you. Your muscles tensed as he brought you close to kiss you on your temple, his breath fanning your hair.

            “Now we have nothing to worry about.”

            Fuck, he was delusional. Tears of anger & frustration continued to spill down your cheeks, but you felt numb in the face as your stared at your lap.

            “Once you tell Moses that you want a divorce, we’ll get married & you’ll be happier with me.” He sounded so elated. You felt like your life was ending.

            “Why don’t you lay down on the couch, I’ll heat up some leftovers.”

            Like a mindless zombie, you rose from you seat & dragged your feet to the couch. You didn’t bother kicking off your heels or slipping out of the skirt that hugged your waist too tightly. You just wanted to sink into the couch until you disappeared, never to be found again.

            As Rafe clambered around in your kitchen, you thought back to your life before you met him. You were mixing your medication with alcohol, drinking day & night, spending all your time alone bitter & angry at the world. You were completely helpless, or so you thought.

Lying there on the couch though, trapped in your own home, having no will or way to protect yourself or your husband, you only then realized this is what helpless was, this is what rock bottom looked like.

And there was no way back up.

A pounding on your front door stirred you awake. Your house was dark as you looked bleary eyed around your living room. The kitchen was quiet & Rafe was nowhere in sight. You sat up, thinking it must’ve been a dream when the pounding came again, this time even louder. You shot forward, ready to make a dash for the door while Rafe was MIA, but just as you stood up he appeared at the mouth of the hallway.

He was peering curiously down at the door over the railing. Then he sighed, annoyed.

“What is it?” You asked, rounding the couch toward the stairs. He stopped you abruptly though.

“I’ll handle it.”

You hated how much control he had, how perfectly together he seemed, all the while you were losing your fucking marbles.

Rafe ambled down the stairs, unlocking the door then swung it open.

“Oh, my god. He wasn’t kidding.” It was Sarah’s voice.

You practically jumped down the stairs, relieved that someone who you felt to be reasonable & trustworthy had appeared.

When you stepped up next to Rafe though, her furious brown eyes landed on you.

“So, it’s true. You guys have been hooking up & now you’re getting married.”

You began to shake your head, desperate for her to know the truth, but Rafe gently pushed you backwards out of sight, though his hand remained firm on your shoulder, a warning grip.

“What’s your problem, Sarah? You like her, dad likes her, I like her. I thought you’d be happy.”

“Bullshit.” You heard her seethe, “_____ hates your fucking guts, what the hell is going on?!”

“Fine.” Rafe stepped back, leaving space between him & the door, “If you don’t believe me, she’ll tell you herself.”

Then, while Sarah couldn’t see you, Rafe stared at you. Hard. The same look he had when he cornered you in the bathroom at his house.

It’d be so easy to tell Sarah the truth. Just step out, tell her what exactly was going on, how Ward threatened Moses, everything. If she knew, then you had someone who would be on your side. But then you remembered her & Rafe shared the same dad. Ward would shut her up too, you were sure of it. The chances were too low for a risk so great.

Swallowing down a dry lump, you readied yourself to lie to what might be your last hope.

When you stepped into view, Sarah had her lips pursed. You could tell that she was concerned. She didn’t know what to think. And it made you want to vomit yourself to death before feeding her lies. But you had to. For Moses.

“It’s true, Sarah.” Your voice cracked, so you cleared your throat, “We’re getting married.”

She guffawed, eyes flashing between you & your offender, “But you hate him…”

“…I don’t. I… only said that to keep up appearances, make it easier for us to see one another.” Tears threatened to fall but you blinked them away.

“Wow.” Sarah laughed in disbelief, “I really thought you were different.”

I am. You wanted to scream it out, reach for her & beg her to get you help. But you said nothing as she shook her head.

“Well, don’t expect to see me at the wedding.” With that, she spun on her heel, her hair whipping behind her as she stomped down your outdoor stairs.

Your heart shattered as she disappeared from sight, Rafe closing the door on your one chance at escape. He locked the doors before throwing an arm over your shoulder, “She’ll come around. Once she sees how amazing we are together, she’ll understand.”

But you knew she wouldn’t. And you hoped she wouldn’t. You hoped she escaped the Cameron’s as much as you both wanted to. At least one of you needed to survive this family.

Rafe woke you up early Friday morning. He had your coffee, medication, & a plate of breakfast ready for you. It was a little past six in the morning. Moses would be home in a couple hours. You wished you could be excited about it.

“Don’t forget the plan.” Rafe said as he took your plate away. You knew you’d be throwing up those eggs & toast in the next twenty minutes. You hadn’t stopped puking since Rafe appeared some days ago. Your body couldn’t handle the stress without alcohol. But you couldn’t go back to it now. You needed to stay sober.

Rafe then led you back to your bathroom. You stripped out of your pajamas’ as he turned the shower on. You hated him. You fucking hated him. Never ever in your life had you felt so helpless. He was always hovering, always doing things for you, coddling you like a goddam baby. You knew it was because he didn’t trust you, & he was right not to, but you just needed five minutes alone, five minutes to fucking breathe.

As you stepped into the shower, you were horrified to see him begin to undress as well. He hadn’t touched you since the night before last. For that you were thankful. But it seemed his lust for you was short-lived, his erection apparent as he stepped in behind you.

Words died on your tongue as he pressed you into the porcelain wall, his lips caressing your neck & shoulder. The water was warm, exceedingly so, but Rafe’s touch left chills.

He turned your face towards him, his mouth catching yours. You struggled to not fight back.

Rafe’s hands grazed your back as he pressed his front to yours. You loathed how your body responded to him naturally. That a slickness appeared between your thighs. How you bit your lip to keep the moans from slipping out. It sickened you.

“Open up.” Rafe breathed hotly against your mouth. You parted your lips in the slightest. His tongue massaged yours as one of his hands dipped below, his fingers finding your sensitive nub.

A gasp escaped you at the sudden touch. Rafe smiled into the kiss, pulling back to watch your face as it contorted itself with pleasure.

He started with a single first, just teasing your entrance, collecting the wetness there all the while the heel of his hand kept a circulating pressure against your clit.

“Your body needs me.” Rafe gently grasped the hair at the nape of your neck, forcing your head back so he could stare down at you, “As much as I need you.”

Then a second finger entered you, though this time deeper. You could feel your walls clenching around him, almost painfully. You battled with your bodily response, not wanting to submit to your wonton needs.

Rafe began to pump his fingers, his lips grazing your jawline as you desperately grasped for anything to hold onto as he fucked you with his hand.

“Please.” You choked out, unsure if you were begging him to stop or to keep going.

He then pulled his fingers out, much to your relief, but it was short-lived as he only switched to focusing entirely on your clit. A squealed yelp left your lips, forcing your body to jump as he used the pads of his four fingers to rub you vigorously. Your orgasm was building fast, the impeding crash fast coming. You opened your mouth but only a silent wail came out as you felt your body crash.

Cum dripped from between your thighs. You could barely hold yourself help. Rafe pressed his face into the side of your neck, laughing proudly to himself, “That’s my girl. You’re my girl, aren’t you?”

You said nothing, leaning on him entirely as you gained your footing. But Rafe was impatient. He pushed your head back against the wall, looking you deeply in the eyes, his own hooded with unbridled carnal want.

“Tell me. Say it.”

You licked your lips, still catching your breath. Nodding, you couldn’t look him in the eyes as you said it, “I’m your girl, Rafe.”

A wicked smile appeared on his regretfully handsome face.

Not giving you a chance to recover from your first orgasm, Rafe suddenly spun you around, pressing your front to the glass door. You didn’t have a chance to comprehend what was happening before he slid into you with one thrust.

Rafe groaned loudly, his hands harshly gripping your upper arms as he used you to balance himself.

“This pussy is mine.” He growled behind you. You grunted, your walls clinging to his girth as he sunk deeper & deeper.

“Say it.” The digging of his nails into your skin made you wince.

“My pussy is yours.” You cried out, “Only yours.”

“Yes, it is.” He breathed out as he began to thrust.

Your tits were crushed uncomfortably against the glass, but the slickness of the water helped to add pleasure to the discomfort. Your nipples hard & begging for attention as the friction of the movement made you wetter by the second.

As if he could read your thoughts, Rafe brought his arm to your front, forcing your back to arch as he brought your head to his shoulder. His hands grabbed a handful of each tit, molding them to his grasp. His fingers tweaked & rubbing at your nipples. One of your hands gripped his thigh, hanging onto him as his thick cock & expert fingers crafted yet another orgasm from you.

“Ah, fuck!” You bit your lip, grinding your ass into Rafe’s hips, bouncing yourself off his dick. God, you couldn’t believe how he made you come undone over & over again, even when you didn’t want to.

“I can’t wait to fuck you every day. In our home.” His words were faded, sounding far away as you came down, but they still affected you. As quickly as your orgasm came, the pleasure from it evaporated just as fast.

Rafe continued fucking you, releasing you to prop yourself up onto the glass as he chased his own release. You pressed your forehead into the glass, staring into the foggy nothingness of ahead of you.

You were thankful for the water to disguise your tears.

Moses knew something was wrong the second he walked through the door. You didn’t see the point in hiding it, faking any sort of feeling from him.

He found you in one of the guest bedrooms. You had the sheets from your actual bed in the washer, not wanting to return to the bed Rafe fucked you on multiple times without them being cleaned.

You were curled in on yourself, unaware that he was even home as you lied there, numb to everything.

“_____?” Moses sat beside you on the bed, immediately bringing you into his arms, “What the hell is going on?”

But you said nothing, you couldn’t trust yourself to say anything. Not yet anyways. Rafe only left less than an hour ago. After he finished filling you with his cum, he let you shower properly. But no matter how deep you scrubbed your skin you couldn’t wash him off of you.

“Darling, talk to me.” Moses’ voice used to soothe you, used to bring you great peace, but now, it felt like a distant lullaby, one that you knew would stop singing to you.

Other than your catatonic state though, Moses could find nothing wrong. He eventually left you but not for long. He returned with one of your favorite fuzzy blankets, a mug of tea, & a lavender scented candle. As you felt him moving around the room, you begged yourself to cry, to wake up, to respond to him, talk to him.

Tell him, tell him, tell him. You repeated to yourself over & over again. But you couldn’t. One voice rang louder, & it belonged to Ward Cameron.

You slept in the guest bedroom all night, relieved that sleep eventually came for you. When you did wake up, your muscles & joints ached as you finally moved, stretching your limbs. It was then that you saw Moses on the floor. His back was resting against the bed & he was sleeping soundlessly. A book was in his hand & his reading glasses were barely hanging onto his face.

He didn’t deserve to be ruined because of your actions. Had you known that everything you had done in your life would lead to him getting either his heartbroken or his life ruined, you never would’ve gone on that date with him.

But then you also would’ve never had Jesse.

Jesse’s face flashed through your mind then. You covered your mouth as rampant cries suddenly threatened to break loose. You pulled your knees to your chest, stifling your cries as you teared up.

Everything was your fault, everything bad in your life was your fault. Even Jesse…

“_____.” Moses was beside you all of a sudden, wrapping his arms around you, “You’re scaring me, what is going on?”

You raised your head, wanting to stare at the only man in your life who truly loved you. But as you looked at him you saw Jesse’s eyes.

In a flash, you thrusted yourself out of Moses’ arms, falling to the floor. Moses was shocked, watching as your rushed to your feet, backing away from him.

“Don’t.” You held up your hand, staring hard at him through your tears.

“_____---”

“No, Moses. I can’t. I can’t do this anymore.”

“What are you… what are you talking about?” He made to stand but you shook your head, backing further away. Moses stopped moving but remained sitting at the edge of the bed, his eyes full of fear as he stared at you.

“We need to stop avoiding talking about what happened. We both need to stop giving me a break.”

Moses hung his head, immediately knowing what you were referring to.

“We have to say it for what it is, Moses. Because it’s killing me, it’s been killing me.” You could feel yourself on the edge of a panic attack.

Moses raised his head, his eyes red & tired, “Should we call someone?”

“No!” You shouted, “No, no. No one else. Me & you. Like it always should’ve been.”

“_____, I think you should sit down.”

“Quit fucking coddling me, Moses!” You yelled, feeling the last shred of your self-worth snapping. “Jesse is dead! Because of me…”

Moses’ eyes began to swell with tears, but he pressed his lips together as he looked at you.

“Because of me, Moses.”

“That’s not true. You know that. It was an accident.”

“No.” You wailed, recalling the tragic day, “If I hadn’t fallen asleep…”

“It wasn’t your fault. And if it was your fault then it was my fault, too.”

“Moses, don’t. You were at work.”

“Exactly!” He stood to his full height, throwing his arms out, “I should’ve been home with you both. You were so tired. Jesse was a handful, he was so full of energy, always on the go. Neither one of us could keep up with him on our own. I should’ve been there. You fell asleep because you were so busy keeping up with him, _____. Jesse loved you. He’d pick you again.”

Moses’ words forced you to fall to your knees, sobbing, crying for Jesse, wishing you could hold him in your arms once more.

“Our son is dead.” You gasped on your choked breaths. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Moses.”

You needed him to know before you broke his heart. You needed him to know that you were sorry for everything.

Moses joined you on the floor, holding you as you cried into his chest. You could feel his own tears falling onto your scalp.

“I’m sorry, too.” He whispered.

He held you for some time, letting you cry, letting himself cry. You two remained there for what felt like ages, finally allowing yourselves to grieve, to feel the pain of Jesse’s death. A huge weight had been lifted from your shoulders, though your heart remained forever heavy.

After a while, you had stopped crying, your cheeks crusted with dry tears. Your lips were chapped & you licked them lazily. Moses was gently rubbing your back.

You wanted nothing more than to stay there with him forever, with the love of your life, your selfless husband, the most beautiful father to your child. You wanted to stay there & never leave.

But you couldn’t drag him down with you, not anymore.

“Moses.” Your voice was hoarse from the wailing.

Moses leaned back, still holding you softly as he pulled back enough to face you.

“Yes, my love?” Your heart shattered. My love, my love, my love. You’d never hear those words again. But you couldn’t cling to them, you needed to rip off the Band-Aid.

You couldn’t look Moses in the eyes as you said the words, lowering your own.

This would be the cruelest thing you’d ever do. The end of everything good in your life. This was the end.

“I want a divorce.”

fuuuuuck me. i can't believe this series is one chapter & epilogue away from being finished. i think thus far, this is my absolute proudest work on my blog. i really really hope you guys have enjoyed this journey with me as much as i had writing it.

as always, please share your thoughts with me by commenting, reblogging with reviews, or talking to me in the ask box (which is looking a little lonely>.<)

regardless, thank you for all the love & support. it means everything.

thank you for reading!

oona<3

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[prolix-yuy]

Chapter 1: I Once Had a Different Path

Pairing: Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x F!Reader "Sugar"

Summary: It's only been a year.

Word Count:��2.5k

Warnings: T, discussions of a bad relationship, drinking, little bit of angst, will be E in later chapters so full series is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: Welcome back to Westworld Whiskey! Almost the moment I finished Cognitive Dissonance the idea for this fic leapt into my head, and I've been trying to figure it all out since! The outpouring of love for this story makes me unreasonably giddy, and I am so excited to share what Jack and Sugar have been up to.

This story takes place exactly a year after the events of Cognitive Dissonance. Honestly, the Westworld timeline is confusing as heck, and so much happens that the public wouldn't know or see, so in terms of the show it's taking place after the fall of the Delos theme parks early in season 3. I'm taking some liberties with how Westworld and the world around it works, but we should all have a good time because of it. For those not as familiar with later seasons, the "real world" takes place in 2053 in a modern futuristic setting.

Cross-posted on AO3

Decoherence Masterlist   ||   Whiskey & Westworld Masterlist

The glow of sun on your back, baking into your skin and spreading golden through your limbs, makes today feel like a really freaking good day. You’re wearing your favorite outfit, your shoes are comfy on your feet, and the air is just warm enough that you don’t have to wear a heavy jacket. When the door to the coffee shop schicks open, the uplifting scent of dark roast and cinnamon sugar practically dances on your tongue.

Strike that. A fantastic day.

Lacey is already at her favorite sitting spot, a low table with two high-backed armchairs jammed in a corner far from the automated baristas and hiss of milk froth. She catches sight and waves, bright peony pink in her chiffon dress. Curled in the chair she’s akin to neapolitan ice cream, and just as cool when she gestures to your waiting cup. Not before jumping up to give you a hug, though.

“I’m so glad to see you! It’s been too long!” she exclaims, a sentiment you’ve often heard from long-lost acquaintances but Lacey puts every ounce of honesty behind it. You give her another squeeze before settling in your proffered chair, cradling the thick retro ceramic mug in your hands.

“Well you’ve been pretty busy, Mrs. Hughes,” you sing-song, back, knocking your shoes off so you can settle more comfortably. “How was the honeymoon? The photos were gorgeous.”

You descend into vacation chatter, looking at photos on Lacey’s phone and laughing over whatever little anecdote she shares. The coffee buzzes pleasantly in your veins, bittersweet on your tongue. The sun streams in the café window and drapes warmth across your shoulders again. 

It feels like the perfect day.

"How's married life treating you?"

Lacey smiles, bright enough to crinkle her whole face, and the radiance of it blooms in your chest.

"Not much different really, which is probably for the best," she says, taking another sip of her coffee. You're prepared to ask her something else, some follow-up question, when she reaches over and squeezes your hand.

"You look really good, too," she says, her eyes softening. "I know it was hard, with the wedding and everything going on with Eric at the same time, but...you look so much happier."

Your throat tightens, but it's a welcome feeling for once.

"I am. Much happier."

She’s right. It was hard. Once you were alone with your thoughts, your decision made, all of the terrifying reality had crashed down on you. You’d sobbed in your car, half curled in the driver's seat, trying to will yourself to go inside and face Eric. 

It didn’t get any better once you finally did. The shouting, the accusations, the tears, and shockingly a chair kicked against the wall so hard it left an ugly dent. He never laid a hand on you, but the anger raked across your pounding heart, the cruelty sinking into your flesh like teeth. You grabbed just enough of your things to escape, his bellowing voice following you as your hands shook.

What the fuck do you mean you’re leaving?

What the hell did Lacey say to you?

Are you fucking serious? 

After all I’ve done for us?

I can’t believe you’re being so selfish.

What has gotten into you?

The words echoed between your ears while you laid in your motel room bed, too raw and ashamed to call anyone for a place to stay. You woke stiff and silent and achingly alone, and regret welled in your throat.

Were you being stupid? Were you giving up the life you were supposed to have?

But then the day passed, hours spent driving aimlessly with the radio on low, long walks on bike paths lost in your thoughts. And while failure burned behind your eyes, the dreaded whispers of why didn’t you try harder creeping into your brain, the vice grip in your chest began to unwind. A lightness you hadn’t felt in years began lifting your shoulders, your head, even the corners of your mouth. 

The neverending ache was finally gone. 

You slept better that night, and in the morning you called Lacey. She drove out to pick you up, her tight embrace ushering in a new flood of tears. 

“Oh sweetie, I’m so sorry,” is all she says at first, rocking you back and forth like when you were both young and upset about a schoolyard fight. Then more pointed questions, her face hardening as you detail the slow descent into unhappiness you’d been hiding from her for years.

“He never did anything bad. I just…I couldn’t…” You struggled to voice all the fears that still lingered until she squeezed your hands.

“He didn’t have to treat you badly to not treat you the way you wanted. And if he can’t change, or doesn’t want to change, then this isn’t right for you.”

A fresh wave of tears followed the well-worn tracks down your face.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

She rubbed at your face with a crumpled tissue.

“Everything is going to be okay.’

It took a few days before the tornado of Lacey’s true feelings pulled to the forefront. Later she’d tell you she barely kept her cool while you cried in her living room, Alan instructing her to punch it out at the gym rather than overwhelm you. But barely settled into your temporary housing, she rang you in the middle of the day. 

“We’re getting your stuff.”

“What…?”

“Eric is at work, Alan did a drive-by and checked. He’s waiting with the truck. I’m picking you up and we’re getting your things, then we’re going to leave your key on the table and never go back.”

She was chatting in low tones with Alan when you answered the door, face lined with concern. The stern expression melted into dismay when she took in your tired eyes and sloped shoulders.

“That motherfucker should be ashamed of himself for doing this to you,” she spits out, crushing you into a hug that almost suffocates you.

“Lace, I was the one…” you tried to say, but she cut you off with a sharp chop of her hand.

“I’ve got plenty to say about Eric and what I think about him when everything settles, but I’ll tell you this - I fucking hate him for making you feel like this. And we’re going to get your things and never see him again.”

So you did, emptying your drawers and shared closet - always less room allocated for you than him. Lacey shuffled through mail and tossed in anything that had your name on it in a bankers box. Later you’d have to disentangle your lives, but for now you could take solace in having your toiletries back, and placing your photos and family heirlooms safe in Alan’s truck. He helped move your grandmother’s hope chest into the truck bed, and silently drove as Lacey let you lean on her shoulder. Your childhood stuffed dog sat in your lap, and its gentle weight gave you a moment of relief.

Eric’s shouting through the phone later that night sliced across your chest, but only for a brief moment. You’d left the ring on the counter, and that thankfully shut him up.

The following months had been a blur of canceled engagements, severed services, broken agreements and bitter voicemails. Eric tried a few times to entice you back, forgiving you for having cold feet and wanting to get dinner, coffee, to talk. Your heart tugged at the softness in his voice.

We can still make this work.

But then the cold reality of the situation crept in. He wanted the picture-perfect life he thought he deserved. He wanted to have everything without working for it. And most of all, he wanted you to be grateful for him giving you everything he thought you deserved. Not what you wanted, but what he decided you should want.

That was never going to change.

Lacey and Alan helped where they could, but you didn’t want to taint the excitement of their upcoming nuptials. So you told them you were fine and signed a lease on a modest apartment while you picked out the barbs of Eric’s latest outburst. You picked out a dress for her wedding and were secretly grateful that she didn’t make you a bridesmaid. You didn’t think you’d be able to keep it together in front of all her family and friends. You drank too much champagne and considered a tumble with one of Alan’s single friends but instead threw up in your hotel room toilet and woke up fully clothed on top of the bed. The first thought that greeted you once you could see through your headache was, “Thank fuck I’m not getting married.”

The giggles were sharp against your sore stomach, but with that you finally felt something in you begin healing.

“...and I know I wasn’t around as much as I could have been, and it kills me that you were going through it alone, and on my bachelorette for crying out loud, how insensitive was that…”

Lacey’s diatribe brings you back to the café and your cooling coffee and Lacey’s earnest grip on your hand. You shush her with a few squeezes.

“You were a big part of why I finally got up the courage to leave. And I am so fucking glad I did,” you say, earning another smile that glitters with morning light. 

“I think someone else also had some influence,” Lacey says, looking pointedly over her cup as she takes an innocent sip. Your brow furrows briefly before the implication of her tone slams into your chest.

Jack.

“That was a year ago…holy shit, today,” Lacey exclaims, twisting her wrist to verify on her smart watch. 

“Wow, yeah,” you say weakly, swirling the dregs of coffee in your cup.

Yet again, Lacey isn’t wrong. Jack did open your eyes to a world that could offer the care and comfort you were yearning for. But you’d been forced to push memories of him to the back of your mind. 

Weeks after the breakup, with Lacey lying on your brand new bed in your half-empty apartment, you told her about your weekend with the suave yet gentle cowboy. She interjected with excited “I knew it!” and “Holy shit yes!” exclamations as you recounted the cattle run, the innocent lie, the dinner, and the lust-filled night (heavily redacted, met with disappointment). Once the story was told you laid beside each other, silence stretching until she finally said, “I’m so happy Jack helped you realize you deserve more.”

So were you.

“Did you ever think about booking another weekend?” Lacey asks, placing her cup down so she can more fully watch you, playful smirk making you roll your eyes. “I mean, before all the stuff in the news about them.”

Guests injured in the park. A veil of silence and NDAs falling over Delos. An uncertain return.

You chew on your answer for a moment. It’s easy to chalk up not going back to the current state of the park, but in recent weeks you had been thinking more and more about Jack. Maybe it was some old movie you caught late at night, horses riding across gloriously wide plains. A cowboy hat or two you swore you saw in a crowd, only to be tricked by perspective and light. Strong, broad silhouettes that reminded you of large hands, a clever mouth, a warm embrace.

Tell her the truth.

“No,” you finally sigh, putting your cup down a little firmly.

You couldn’t.

“Why not?”

“It’s all fantasy, I’m not into that more than once.”

You couldn’t bear to see him again.

“Not even a little more fantasy with a certain cowboy?” Her eyes drop to your left hand, and you realize you’ve been slowly rotating the turquoise band she gave you on your ring finger. When you returned the engagement ring it became a comforting weight replacing what you’d given up. You fold them instead under Lacey’s watchful eye.

“It’s not real,” is the excuse you give.

He’s not real, and you can’t have him.

Lacey shrugs, looking at the time again and gathering up her coat.

“Real enough that you changed your whole life over it,” she observes, not unkindly. You stand up as she gathers her purse.

“It was a perfect weekend. Going back would have ruined it.” 

Him not remembering you would have ruined it.

Lacey sighs but acquiesces, giving you a hug and confirming your next coffee date in a couple weeks. They’ve become a sweet schedule you look forward to more than you thought.

Once she breezes out the door, all summer blush and cosmopolitan chic, you join the line to get a coffee to go. The machine at work is dismal, and you’d much rather spend the four dollars. You enter your order on the cool blue holoscreen and step to the side to wait. The warmth of a good conversation bubbles in your veins, a beam of sunlight caressing your back. Even the brief memory of Jack you allow - his hands soft on your skin, the tender brush of his nose on your cheek, how safe you felt in his arms - fills your heart to bursting. A smile plumps your cheek. Today really is an exceptional day.

But oddly enough, your toes are wet. 

Looking down, you can’t help but let out an exasperated, “Oh c’mon you idiot,” as you realize you didn’t put your shoes back on, and have now stepped in someone’s spilled beverage. So maybe not the perfect day, but you’re close enough to home to swing by and grab a new pair of socks. Shaking your head, you spin on your heel to retrieve your abandoned shoes.

You could have done it a breath sooner, or later, and never been the wiser. Or you could have kept your damn shoes on - do we live in a barn, your mother’s voice echoes in your ears - and avoided the issue in the first place. But today, on an exceptionally perfect day, you turn and take a step just as someone passes behind you, propelling your frame into their broader form. You almost bounce, but the stranger catches you by your shoulders, large firm palms wrapping around your biceps.

“Whoa there,” a deep voice says, laced with a southern drawl. It tickles something in your brain, neurons firing at memories close to the surface. 

“Shit, sorry,” you mumble, stepping back to apologize properly to the man you almost bowled over. As your eyes begin their ascent the voice is clearer, sharp as a bullwhip crack.

“You okay Sugar?”

Your breath freezes in your throat, eyes snapping to the man’s face. He swims in your vision before the soft curl of his brown hair, the delicate trim of his mustache, the hawkish curve to his nose comes into focus. If that wasn’t enough for your short-circuiting brain to manage, his plush lips part in concern, deep chocolate eyes darting across your face.

Jack?

“I - oh,” he says, his grip tightening on your shoulders. You wrench back, stumbling a half step away, still locked on his face.

Jack Jack Jack Jack Jack

People are looking at you now, agape and struggling to pull in a full breath, your brain tumbling like Alice down the rabbit hole.

Can’t be.

Jack.

Not real.

Jack.

How?

Jack.

“I can explain…”

Then the whole world shifts, and you’re falling.

NEXT

[thelampisaflashlight]

Hands On Learning

[Dew tries something new, but lacks experience, so he gets a little help from a friend. SwissDew. Not suitable for younger audiences. Lead up to sexual content, but no actual sex this time, sorry.] Below the cut.

"You could always go fuck yourself." Swiss had said, gesturing rudely before giving him an encouraging grin, "Like, actually though. Get some lube, test the waters, see if you like it."

Dew considers Swiss' words as he wiggles into a more comfortable position on his bed, trying to figure out how best to approach... this.

This being him propping himself up in the most awkward, unattractive pose possible, legs spread with the small hand mirror he uses for personal grooming leaned against his wadded up blankets between them.

It's not like he hasn't fingered someone before, but there's a world of difference between doing something like this to another person and attempting it on yourself.

For one thing, Dew's not sure how to make it work; The pose, the prep, the anything, on himself at least.

He's like a prospector digging for gold when it comes to finding other people's sweet spots, but he's never really explored his own... caverns.

You'd think that would have been the first thing on the agenda when he got his new vessel, but he'd been shockingly prudish about the whole thing, due in no small amount to the strange, bubbling sense of insecurity he felt when looking at himself naked.

He isn't unattractive, at least he doesn't think he is -he's not his own type, but he gets enough compliments from others to not think he's at least a little hot- but part of him gets all squirmy thinking about himself in a sexual context.

He likes sex, likes making others feel good, and, fuck, if he doesn't get off on helping them get there, but this is different.

This isn't sex, at least he doesn't think it counts; It's masturbation, it's him fucking himself.

And, well, something about it makes him feel... weird.

Uncertain.

Anxious.

At least when it comes to doing something like this.

Jacking off is one thing, but for some reason the idea of sticking his fingers in his own ass is making his heart race in a not so fun kind of way.

He thinks, maybe, the mirror wasn't the best idea, seeing himself all scrunched up and awkward, however, that's the other problem Dew has doing these kinds of things.

He needs to see.

There's this little voice in the back of his mind that tells him he has to know what's going on at all times, that even in situations like this, where he's alone, he needs to be in control.

And where has that gotten him so far?

Well, he's managed to take his clothes off, that's something at least.

Dew makes eye contact with himself in the mirror, drawing his mouth into a line like he's looking at someone else after doing something embarrassing.

Shit, maybe this is embarrassing, huh?

His cheeks redden and he accidentally knocks over the mirror as his foot kicks out unexpectedly as he attempts to flee from his own reflection.

"Nope." he manages to squeak out as he slides off the bed to retrieve his underwear from the floor, pulling them on backwards in his haste and cursing himself under his breath as he has to step back out of them and turn them around.

Fuck.

How is he this flustered by something he's done a thousand times to other people??

He knows it feels good, if his partners are to be trusted, but he just can't get over the mental hurdle of doing it to himself.

Dew snaps the waistband of his boxers, feeling a sense of humiliation as he dismantles his set-up, swallowing the lump of shame in his throat.

He just can't do it.

...He can't do it alone, that is.

With a twitch of his tail, Dew glances over at his phone resting on his desk.

"...Fuck it."

If he's going to do this, he might as well do it right, and while Swiss will probably laugh at him for being this reserved about sticking something in his ass, he does know more about it than Dew, and he could use some help.

.

.

.

"Where do you want me?" Swiss asks once he's inside Dew's bedroom with the door shut, "You want me on the bed with you, or do you just want me to watch, give pointers?"

Dew looks between the multi-ghoul and his bed, at the sheets he'd neatly tucked back into place so the other wouldn't question what he'd been up to before he texted him for assistance.

"I dunno, just..." he eyes the door anxiously, checking that it's locked, "S-Show me what to do, or just, touch me and tell me what's happening."

Swiss nods, rolling up his sleeves, "I can do that. Bed?"

"Gimme a minute." Dew chuckles nervously, "I just, I don't..."

"You don't have to force yourself to do this, you know that, right?" Swiss tilts his head, warm brown eyes narrowed in sympathy, "Sometimes you don't have to try something to know you don't like it, or that the idea of it makes you feel iffy."

Dew hums, looking pointedly at the floor before meeting Swiss' gaze again, "It's..."

He inhales sharply through his nose and then slowly out of his mouth.

"I want to do this, I wanna know if I... If I like, ya know..." he rolls his hand in a vague gesture, "...I've never really done anything like this before."

He mumbles slightly at the end and Swiss leans in, genuinely unable to make out what he's saying.

"Dewy, I need you to speak up, I can't help you if I don't know what's going on in that head of yours."

The hybrid puffs warm air out of his nose, red all the way up to his ears, refusing to look anywhere but the wall behind Swiss.

"...Said I've never bottomed before..." he admits finally, "Never really explored that side of things, and even this-"

He gestures between the two of them.

"-is new for me." he sighs, "I'm still wrapping my head around the idea of letting someone touch me like this, so I... I'm trusting you to not fuck with me right now. No... No teasing me over this shit, okay? I'm already uncomfortable asking for help, so just..."

"I won't." Swiss promises, "This is serious business. You're trying something new, and you may not even like it, so we're gonna tread lightly. Test the waters, just like I said earlier, yeah?"

"Yeah..."

"So..." Swiss claps his hands together, making Dew flinch slightly, "Sorry. Bed?"

"Bed." Dew says, though his feet remain rooted in place, "...You first?"

Swiss nods and makes his way over to Dew's bed, pausing with his fingers poised against the buttons of his shirt, "You want me with my clothes off, or..."

"On!" Dew manages after a moment of quiet contemplation, "...Don't want to get distracted."

"You find my body distracting?" Swiss raises an eyebrow, a smirk spreading across his lips, "Good to know~"

Dew wings his sweatpants at him, hitting him dead center in the face.

"Shut."

"Aye, aye, Captain."

As Dew gets comfortable on the bed, he's starting to think maybe having Swiss keep his clothes on was a mistake; It's creating a strange dynamic between the two of them, and Dew's not entirely sure he likes it, but he also doesn't outright hate it, so...

There's some hope there, if only a smidge.

"If you want me to stop at any point for any reason, I will." Swiss assures him, "It's going to feel a little weird at first, but we both know that doesn't always mean weird bad. Just talk to me, and I'll talk to you."

Dew nods, lifting himself up slightly so Swiss can slide a pillow under his ass.

"Swiss..." he starts, already feeling a bit embarrassed, "I can't really... I can't really see what's going on from this angle..."

"I can prop you up a bit more if you'd like, but it's probably going to be easier for you to open up for me if you're in a more comfortable position." the other man says, giving Dew's thigh a squeeze, "I'm going to be here, talking to you the whole time, so you're not going to miss a thing, okay?"

"...Okay." Dew settles back down, glancing down up at Swiss, who's currently knelt between his legs, "Satanas... Right, let's... let's get this over with."

"We're not going to rush into anything." Swiss reminds him, "Just breathe with me for a moment and we'll ease into it. C'mon, in-"

"Swiss, this is ridiculous."

"It's not." he shakes his head, "It'll help, really. You trust me?"

Dew huffs a little at first, but something about the sincerity in Swiss' gaze makes him shut his eyes, "Okay..."

"Okay?"

"Okay."

[lolipoptheclown]

its been two days a year daddy /ref

Hi im back! i expected that it would take way longer for me to start feeling mentally better, but the past couple days have been going shockingly well, like i got to drive a car!!!! im quite literally rick hedony u guys. uhm i have some small ratmeat doodles that i will post later+i might talk about a new oc (she's a sm oc but also not? its complicated LMAO) but uh yeah im back

also if you guys remember the guy who i said was online stalking me in that 'goodbye for now' post here's a quick (quick as in i skipped a LOT of stuff) explanation of whats going on if u wanna know (tw for just...manipulating things):

so theres this guy i used to be friends with in middle school but he did something bad+got kicked out of our friend group+moved schools but he is really obsessed with me specifically for some reason? (said he has dreams where we talk again irl, CREEPY) a lot of u guys probably havent been following me for long enough to have witnessed the next bit/never even noticed it at all anyway but he would make fake accounts pretending to be other people, befriend me, and then i would block him when i found out who it was. one time he caught me in one of my monthly mental health lows and when i called him out he was like 'im sorry i will be gone soon' and i panicked and became friends with him again cuz i didnt want him to off himself but he keeps trying to pressure me into stuff (like a drawing he made me do. i hate going through my at-home sketchbook and looking at it) like he always does+saying he will off himself if he loses me and when i get a new phone im blocking him again! im not responsible for his life! i fucking hate him, and myself for getting into this situation!

im just worried he will start stalking me again once he gets his own phone. but i dont have to worry about that for now!

[fixomnia-scribble]

I hate to pester again, but would you share another bit of 'My Fortress Be'? It's been quite a week, and we need some cheering!

It's never a bother! Continuing on from the last snippet, in which Shelagh has just arrived at Patrick's house in the middle of the night:

“I did think perhaps I should have gone to the Leopold to help,” she admitted. “But…” 

“They know how to manage,” he said quietly. She nodded and her fingers tightened slightly on each other. He smiled and reached out to take one chilly little hand in his. “I’m glad you came. We’ll be all right here. No casualties, you say?” And he led her from the front hall into the house. They spoke in whispers and tiptoed down the carpeted hallway, so as not to rouse Timothy. 

“Not that I heard, but the power’s been shut off, so there’s likely to be falling injuries and abrasions coming. There’ll be sick and elderly at the Leo, too, and several expectant mothers - and you know what the stress will be like for them.”

They were at the door of his room. She’d never been inside till now, though she’d peered in the doorway a few times. He nodded her ahead of him as matter-of-factly as he could, and she stood looking around in the dark. It was simply furnished and starting to look like a bachelor’s room, as little by little the decorative and homey touches of Marianne were overlaid by convenience. 

The light was off, but he’d clearly kicked aside untucked blankets and sheets, and his clothes from the day before were still draped over a chair. It couldn’t be helped now. At least his underthings had made it into the laundry basket. He wondered if Shelagh was comparing it with her own pristine little room. He decided that if she was, then she was likely also mentally tidying up and adding a few bright touches of her own. It was a cheering thought.

He reached for his dressing gown, always ready across the foot of the bed, and slung it on quickly, in the cold. 

“I’d better dress and stay up,” he whispered. “The lav’s all yours if you want to change, too, and then you must get some more rest. I’ll be done in a jif and we’ll make some tea and get you settled.”

She looked at a bit of a loss. “Well, the thing is, Patrick, my dress box is all I picked up on the way out. I’d meant to go to the Leo and work. I hadn’t thought to come here until I did. So I’m not packed for a night away. Fair glaikit av me. Didn’t we always used to keep a bag ready by the door.”

He grinned. “If I didn’t know you better, my darling - but fear not. The house can provide.”

Quietly easing open the bottom drawer of his dresser, he pulled out a set of pyjamas and passed them up to her. She took them and held them against her.

“Go 'round me twice, these will.”

“At least you’ll be the warmer.”

For a heartbeat the hushed intimacy hit them both, and they shared a smile. How many late nights would they spend talking here, in the future? He’d rather have her curled up in his bed, in his arms (in his pyjamas, or not), but at least she was here.

He meant to dress quickly, and then keep awake to listen for the phone and door. He’d settle her back to sleep in his still-warm bed till morning dawned properly. But -

“What’s going on?” demanded Timothy. They both jumped guiltily. Timothy stood in dressing gown and slippers, hands in his pockets, looking from one to the other of them for a clue. “Hello, Auntie Shelagh. It’s shockingly late.”

“Or early.” she smiled reassuringly. “Did we wake you?”

“No, I woke up all hot. I’m all right now.”

Shelagh’s palm was on his son’s forehead before he finished speaking. She nodded approvingly. “Well, if you’re up now, you might as well hear.”

The moment had swung from an intimate glimpse of the future to a drawing-room farce, Patrick thought. “Timothy, can you and Auntie Shelagh see about some tea? I need to dress in case I’m wanted. She can tell you what’s going on.”

“Aye, gie’s a haun w’ th’ brew.” she steered Timothy out of the room.

“Was that Scots?”

“Aye, ya wee loon.”

“What did you call me?”

“Young lad, that means.”

“Ya wee loon,” he practiced. “I’m calling Jack that, next time I see him.”

He smiled to see Timothy lean in as Shelagh wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Tim was getting to be a big boy, and he’d been a little sullen and quiet as of late, but he’d missed having a mother, and cuddling up with one in the middle of the night was clearly still special. 

He watched till they were down the hallway before he closed his door. He dressed hastily and halfway, ready enough to finish up for a middle-of-the-night callout, and listened to them puttering in the kitchen. Timothy’s voice sounded more excited and interested than scared, thanks probably to Shelagh’s clear, calm explanation and the prospect of a bomb, which he’d never known raining down from the skies except in stories. 

If Poplar needed its district GP on hand, Timothy would have to be a day-evacuee at the Leo with the other children. Unless Shelagh was willing to stay home with him. Which, it appeared, was her plan.

[thygoddessouijathicc]

Phone Guy Dave AU Fanfic: BEANS

(Disclaimers: Heyyyy y’all seem to be liking the phone guy Dave AU! This story takes place after a book of memories when they somehow yeet themselves to Vegas. So here we go, Tangerine Man and Aubergine Phone in Vegas. Also for some context, in this AU Jack does not have the Flipside arcade machine, and thus does not know about Flipside Dave.)

The two men walk hand in hand down the neon lit streets of Vegas as everyone (sober enough to understand the world around them) stares. It could be their oddly hued skin. It could be the fact one of them has a phone for a head. It could be slightly less that they just robbed a store. Regardless, they pay no mind.

“Dude what happened in there, you just froze up!” Jack complains.

“Sorry sportsy, dam-dang telemarketers. You’d think I’d have some sort of block against that shi-stuff, but no.” Dave sighs in annoyance “I fu-hecking hate this fu-hecking swearing block.”

“Personally, I think it’s hilarious.”

“Of course YOU do! You’re not the one who can’t say heck. And of course you know I mean heck, notheck.”

“Can’t you just remove that feature?”

“Can’t, I tried. It’s tied up with a buncha really hecking important stuff so if I get rid of it I’m a goner. At least random acts of violence are still on the table!” Dave emphasizes this point by punching out a random drunk guy. “Feels more empty though. Sportsy, do you know if there’s a such thing as dying too many times? Do you think that stuff affects me or something?”

“I dunno, I’ve only died the one time… ok that’s not entirely true, I was pronounced dead for a solid 30 minutes in college. So I guess I’ve died twice.”

“Shoot sport, what were you doing?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know~” Jack thinks back to that night… why had he thought it was such a good idea. How else could injecting heroin into his asshole have gone? “Anyway, tell me about the whole phoney experience. I almost was one when I got springlocked.”

“Kinda not great to be honest. Beats the suit. Barely. At least I’m not full of hecking maggots with metal chunks impaling me and my organs hanging out. Nah, this is more… well just the right amount of mild discomfort to be considered torture. The head is shockingly itchy, telemarketers exist, I can’t hecking swear, my programming is screaming at me to go back to the restaurant, I can’t drink, I can’t do cocaine, and I’m eternally cringing because of all that stuff that I did as a glorified Scott.”

“Rip.”

“You’re so mean to me Old Sport.” 

The two men come upon their favourite casino from their first two trips to Vegas.

“This place looks like less of a crack den than last time, Sportsy what went wrong!?” Dave says in a frantic tone as they stand in the lobby of the trashiest casino in Vegas, or at least what used to be.

“No fucking clue man.” Jack says shaking his head in disappointment.”

“How’s about we get ourselves kicked out and find a better place?”

“Oh fuck yeah.”

“Couldja stop flexing on me with your fancy hecking lack of a swearing block!” Dave complains as the two men walk up to the nearest security guard to attempt to beat him up.

Needless to say both of the crayola men were beaten within an inch of their lives and thrown out into an alley.

.

.

.

Jack wakes up to the feeling of something soft pawing at his face. When he opens his eyes he sees a fluffy little white kitten with black spots. His eyes widen as he sees this glorious creature, this absolute gift to the world.

“Dave… DAVE!” Jack slaps the phone man, hurting his hand in the process and hissing at the pain. Dave wakes up, apparently this is all it takes to get a phone man out of sleep mode.

“Ugh… what… what is it Spo-“

“Look at him. LOOK AT HIM DAVE!” Jack says, forcing the kitten into Dave’s face.

“Holy shoot Sport! Where didja get that lil bastard!”

“He woke me up, he didn’t have a collar or a microchip-“

“How could you tell he didn’t have a microchip?“

“I’ve been microchipped before, I know the signs. Well anyway. He didn’t have one, so he’s mine now, and I named him Beans. We’re keeping him regardless of what you say but can we keep him?” Jack attempts to do a cute face, turning out looking more like a Lovecraftian horror.

“‘Course Sportsy! How could I say no to a face like that! Both of ya! So… back to the strip?”

“Are you mad!? We need to make sure our SON is safe first! Do you even love me!?” Jack says, tearing up.

“Oh god I’m such a hecking moron! You’re right! You’re always right! Our child must come first! I do love you! More than anything else!” Dave says, also crying.

The two men skipped off hand in hand with Beans and spent the rest of the trip carrying the kitten around in a baby carrier.

(Note: Ok so this one was a little less angst and a little more fluffy crack. But yea, Beans is an official character now. He’s also surprisingly relevant to the loose plot I have planned. Btw I drew him, and I’ve decided all my fanfics from now on will tend to also come with art because I’m getting better about drawing shit.)

[thoughtsonyaoi]

del3

baby's first miyacest snippet. their most enduring quality to me still is that they're idols. oikawa wishes

Someone on Instagram has an account dedicated to Atsumu’s tongue. There’s obviously somebody who’s been going to all their games, holding up their phone the entire time, and then, being a massive creep par excellence, taking picture after picture whenever Atsumu is wont to stick his tongue out of his stupid mouth while doing literally anything, which is often – going into a run-up for a spiking drill, tying his shoelaces, squirting water into his mouth with a squeeze bottle. The thumbnails, arranged in neat squares, are mostly blurry, but some are shockingly crisp and clearly taken from up close. All of the photographs depict Atsumu in his volleyball kit and on court, so it can be assumed that Atsumu’s lingual stalker doesn’t go to their school, or at least, isn’t in the same class as he is.

The account has nearly seven hundred followers, which Osamu thinks is seven hundred too many.

“Is this reportable,” Ginjima squints. The team is scrutinising the pictures together, after someone in the second string discovers the account from a friend of a friend and passes the link around the volleyball club. “This is weird. Definitely weird.”

“Don’t let Kita-san see this,” says Suna. “He’ll come right back in here to deliver a lecture about it, even if he’s deep in the middle of exam prep.”

Atsumu doesn’t seem like he could care less, considering that those are pictures of him, and that is his tongue, and someone out there clearly has an unhealthy fixation.

“I dunno, seems like somebody’s idea of a joke,” he says, lying back on a spare bench and toying with a volleyball. “What’s the big deal? I look cute doin’ it. Wait - people think this is my signature gesture? I should get it trademarked before I become famous.”

“You don’t see someone postin’ tons of evidence of me lookin’ like a right idiot, and we look the same.”

“That’s ‘cause nobody likes you,” Atsumu snaps. He throws the volleyball at Osamu with surprising force. Osamu dodges. It bounces off the hardwood floor just right behind his shoulder and barely misses a terrified first-year ball boy who’s innocuously going about his duties.

“Sorry,” waves Atsumu, not meaning it.

“You do look like an idiot in most of these. You look vacant,” Suna nods. Atsumu only huffs at him; he doesn’t have the licence to get touchy with Suna.

To celebrate somebody noticing numerous examples of this nonsense and paying an obsessive virtual tribute to it, which apparently is the highest form of public honour, Atsumu goes hard with the tongue for the next few days. It is so fucking obnoxious. Whatever he does he curates the perfect doe-eyed - wild-eyed - wide-eyed - whichever - expression that would look completely wrong without a stray tongue to embellish it. Everyone’s on the receiving end of it - Suna mostly just rolls his eyes, and Ginjima, bless him, does his best to carry on Aran’s tradition of discouraging the madness, which only has the ironic effect of making Atsumu double down on being annoying - but Osamu gets the worst of it, both at school and at home. He can barely turn a corner without seeing Atsumu doing something inane with his mouth, his tongue sticking out of the corner of it like the flesh of a bivalve curling out of its shell.

“It’s easier to concentrate when you do this, no?” he says when Osamu gives him a tired stare. They’re playing Mario Kart, and Atsumu has been kicking his ass for the last three rounds - which he claims is thanks to his new technique - but it doesn’t prove anything, and it doesn’t mean anything.

Osamu finally snaps the next day in the locker room as they’re getting ready to go to class. Everyone else has cleaned up and left, and they stayed late because Kurosu needed to speak with them; Atsumu does it again, leaning in close to Osamu with his dumb tongue hanging out of his dumb mouth as he fiddles with the rotating lock on his locker.

“Could you stop,” asks Osamu.

“Make me,” comes the defiant reply.

So Osamu kisses him. It’s only the third or fourth time, and Atsumu isn’t expecting it especially since they’re still on the school grounds, though Osamu really has to wonder if Atsumu’s been trying to goad him into it. He keeps it brief, and Atsumu barely has time to return it before he pulls away, making a small sound of discontent as Osamu lets go of him.

“I thought you said nobody liked me,” Osamu mumbles. “Just last week. You seem to like me plenty.”

“You’re so fuckin’ petty,” Atsumu says, colour in his cheeks, and turns away.

The account is deleted the following week after picking up another few hundred followers, like a dying star that has reached critical mass and finally collapsed upon itself. Whoever ran it probably realised how invasive it was, or felt like the joke had lost its punchline, or decided that what they were doing was a complete waste of time. Atsumu’s just a flashy high schooler who’s above average at one sport, not a celebrity. Maybe a quasi-celebrity. Maybe a quarter of a quarter of that. Any of the above would be an overwhelming reason to quit while they were ahead, but good riddance anyway, and Osamu privately prays for whoever it is to move on. It’s easy to be captivated by Atsumu if you’ve seen him play, but he’s hard to love, and frankly not really worth the effort.

In the meantime, Atsumu has mostly forgotten about the stunt, regardless of his motivations. There are more important things to care about, like the quality of his setting, or what’s for dinner, or the assignments that he hasn’t finished and that Osamu can’t and won’t help with. Kurosu keeps nagging at him to play more seriously because he’s been going over the coaching staffs’ heads, and the following week he marches into a practice match with a school in Amagasaki City like a recalcitrant pet dog with a leash around its neck. He radiates competence from beneath the restraint nevertheless, and Osamu can see the faces in the crowd looking his way - looking their way - as the team gets into starting position. Someone’s holding up a fan with Osamu’s own name on it, and next to her, another girl’s holding up her phone, aiming it at the court. There’s no way to tell if she’s filming anything as a keepsake or just texting and browsing, but for every person like her, there’s tens of others watching them too, for a variety of reasons. Osamu should feel restless, but somehow he doesn’t.

[starlightswitch]

Caught in the Storm

(for Writer's Month prompts lightning and office. I started it with no idea where I was going with it, which usually is not a recipe for success for me but went shockingly well this time!)

When Hailey drove to work, it was toward a bank of looming dark grey storm clouds. The storm was going to hit in maybe an hour. Which was good timing—that way she wouldn’t have to drive in it, or run through the rain and sit in soaking clothes with dripping hair at her desk or her steering wheel.

She thought it was good timing tuntil the lights went out. And the computer went off, and the background noise from the HVAC system—or whatever it was—stopped and it was suddenly very quiet.

Normally no one talked much at work. No one talked for the first couple minutes of the blackout either. Then someone made a spooky ghost noise, and a couple people laughed.

“Well,” said an older guy, maybe a bit too young to be Hailey’s dad from what she could see in the dim emergency lighting. “Guess now we wait to see how long it takes them to give up and tell us to go home.”

“Aren’t you salaried?” said a woman closer to Hailey’s age. “You’ve been around a billion years.”

“Yeah but they still want you taking PTO if you’re not actually working. Besides, I’d feel bad abandoning you all.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it,” the man said with a grin. “But I’d feel bad.”

Somebody else stood up with a loud sigh. “God, I wanted a coffee.”

“Whoa!” yelled a guy who was still sitting, and pointed toward the windows at the end of the floor. Hailey wasn’t looking that way but she could tell from the flash and the thunder after it that he must have seen a streak of lightning.

In a wave, most of them started for the windows.

The next time the lightning flashed, she saw it—a big gold fork close in the sky. Several people whooped.

“Should we get too close to the windows?” said someone. “I feel like you’re supposed to stay away from windows in storms.”

“It’s not blowing anything up—upward,” someone corrected with a grin. This was Colt, full name Colton, who had trained Hailey. “I think that’s the concern, that you’re on the ground floor and the wind blows a chair or something through the window.”

They stood in a rough line a couple feet from the windows. Lightning struck again, then again.

Music started from somewhere in the line. The volume slowly rose. There were giggles as people got the joke—Thunderstruck—and people started singing along with the melody. When the lyrics kicked in, they sang with those too.

Hailey grinned, watching the sky.

Partway through the song, someone said, “I need a video of this.”

A grandmother-ish woman said in a disapproving tone, “Can’t you kids just enjoy an experience without having to put it on Instagram?”

“I don’t know if it’s going on Instagram,” the woman with the phone said easily. “The experience is so good I want to experience it again whenever I want.”

The music went up louder. Colt put his arm around Hailey, and after looking to see that he had his arm around the person on his other side too, she put her arm around the person on her other side. When the title line came around again it sounded like everyone was singing—“Thunderstruck!”—and Colt suddenly let go of Hailey and when she looked he was holding his hand high in a “rock on” sign.

Lightning forked across the sky. Whoops and cheers went up as the thunder hit.

Hailey was going to have to ask for the video. She was going to want to experience this again too.

-

2020 day 27:  Not Just a Dream (dream)

2021 day 27:  Confirmation (sword) (one of my favorites)

2022 day 27: Useful Useless Facts (silk + car shop)

2024 day 27: A New Sport (volleyball)

[rosaliehsu]

"I'm sorry, when was the last time you even saw one?" she asked, an attempt to defend herself. "You know what, I'm gonna look it up." She held the cup back out to her friend to take while she slipped her phone from her pocket. It took her a minute to even find the company's website, and once she did, she was honestly a bit surprised. "Holy shit, there's like...5 in Vegas." She continued to scroll, "Aww, but they do sensory sensitive Sundays, I love that." Ros, was, of course, a softie at heart, and the thought of inclusion for any neurodivergent kids warmed her back up to that stupid animatronic rat. She took a mental note of that, knowing a few of the kids she taught would definitely benefit from something like that.

"What if I'm the one who wants a pony ride?" She giggled, eyebrows wagging. She only had a single sip of wine, so of course she wasn't tipsy, but it was more the idea of covertly sipping wine with one of her good friends that made her giddy and making off-color jokes she'd never make normally. "Shockingly enough, I'm a bit nervous about bringing children I'm in charge of around large, kicking, animals but...I have Saturday afternoon off, so as long as you promise to take it easy on me and my squealing around big animals, I can make the drive out and you can show me the asshole and their ass in person?"

"You're telling me you work with kids and you don't know the answer to that question?" She remarked incredulously, letting out a laugh. "To be fair, I was never allowed to go. My parents always told me I'd pick up some disease just from being around the ball pits." Honestly, she couldn't blame them knowing what she knew about the place now, but ultimately the older couple had always been a bit paranoid as far as germs went. "Wait, really? What's the logic on that? Do you think a name like that got him bullied in school?" Eve joked, unable to help the wry smirk that spread across her cheeks. "Don't remind me -- though, honestly, I find mascots, like, ten times more creepy. Something about knowing that there's a someone inside those huge suits, sweatin' their nads off…" The thought alone made her shiver. It was a weird phobia, especially for someone who had no issue with things a lot of other people were scared of; spiders, snakes, heights -- okay, maybe heights a little bit. "Hey --" Eve let out a grunt, holding the sides of the Stanley cup steady as Rosalie tipped the bottom forward, "-- you get any red wine on this top, it's over for both of us."

Handing the cup over, the brunette shook her head. "Just come by with one of the kiddos this weekend for a pony ride, they're workin' afternoons. That way I don't need to be a little peeping Tom -- it is picture worthy, though. They should just got into underwear modeling." They'd surely do a better job with that. What kind of ranch hand complains about having to shovel poop? "Oh, of course. You're nothing if not completely and utterly demure." Eve tossed back, head tilting slightly as she watched one of the monkeys swing up onto the highest peak of the enclosure. "Just as long as you're not overworking yourself." She cast her friend a sidelong glance. "Money is nice, but it ain't worth the stress." Eve had learned that the hard way on more than one occasion.

[borahaerhy]

Dealer (2) - myg

Summary: Your boyfriend seemed like a dream come true: always wanting to be around you, making sure you would get home safe, never taking his hands off you. These little comforts became your whole world, and then the only thing you were allowed to have left in the world. Luckily, your boyfriends drug dealer turned out to be a much nicer guy.

Pairing: DrugDealer!Yoongi x Female!Reader

Genre: Mafia/drug kingpin au, Y/N coming from nothing, found family, Eventual smut

Warnings: The thoughts, feelings, and actions of someone with recent trauma, guns (go figure), unaliving, graphics descriptions of blood/a dead body, an absolute unit of a felony in the form of a literal warehouse full of weed, Taehyung has a split personality but it's not that apparent yet.

Word count: 2.8k

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Note: If you are sensitive or triggered by abusive relationships or manipulation in any way, please do not read this fic, it can be very triggering. It will also be referenced that Y/n used to self harm, and has self-harm scars. This is fic is going to cover a lot of intense topics, and there will be a lot of drugs.

“What the fuck was that?” You yelled in a panic as you sat in the front seat of a random drug dealer’s BMW. Yoongi was driving at an alarming speed, trying to put as much distance between himself and the house as possible, not wanting to know what would happen if Zeke knew where he lived.  

“What, did you want me to leave you in the house where you had zero free will?” Yoongi kept checking his rearview mirrors and taking weird back alley’s you hadn’t even known existed. You were both yelling now, hearts racing as you both filled with anxiety.  

“He’s going to kill you, man, I was fine-” 

“If I would’ve left you there, he would’ve killed you.” You went dead silent, and as did the car as you couldn’t think of any response to that. “At least I know I can defend myself. You’ve been paralyzed by fear for so long you have no idea how to.”  

You slouched back into your seat and crossed your arms, your brow furrowed as you tried to think of any defense for yourself, but all you could come up with was Zeke wouldn't kill me, which you weren’t even sure you could say out loud without breaking down.  

You both stayed silent for the rest of the drive. He eventually came to a stop outside of what you presumed to be his home. You both got out of the car wordlessly and walked into the decently sized home, Yoongi pulling his phone out of his pocket as soon as he walked in the door.  

“Just uh, make yourself comfortable,” he gestured to the sofa in his shockingly nice and cohesive living room, his eyes never leaving his phone as you closed the door behind you quietly. “I have a few phone calls to make.”  

With that, he walked back the hall and into a room, closing the door loudly. You jumped slightly, holding your hand to your chest before you took a deep breath and sat down, crossing your legs and folding your hands in your lap. You remained silent and stared at your hands, not wanting to move or make a sound, still terrified of your current situation.  

Yoongi’s house was very different to the one’s you were used to living in. It was very clean and organized, the living room almost looked sterile if it weren’t for the plants and warn-in leather chair sat next to the seemingly untouched couch. Everything was in black, white and grey, the white carpeting not even so much as tinged yellow; everything was pristine.  

And it was quiet.  

Way more quiet than you had been comfortable with. You could hear the air conditioning kick on from the central unit, and the refrigerator hum from the other room, but that was it. You couldn’t hear Yoongi talking on the phone; nor did you hear a television or any music playing. No one was yelling, no one was crying. It was as if the house was in a reality completely different than you were used to. But it wasn’t. He barely lived 30 minutes away from where you had, and yet, it seemed like a completely different world.  

But because you had taken notice of the small mundane sounds that most wouldn’t pay any attention to, you noticed the sound of quiet footsteps. You had no idea where they were coming from, that’s how soft their sound was; you really couldn’t even tell if they were in the house or not.  

Then you heard the unmistakable clicking sound of a gun cocking, and you froze. Seconds later, a bullet came through the lock on the front door’s doorknob, and it was being kicked in. You dove behind the couch as the door previously slammed shut by Yoongi was slammed back open. The man standing face-to-face, or rather, gun-to-gun with Yoongi wasn’t someone you had recognized as being one of Zeke’s friends.  

Yoongi didn’t hesitate to pull the trigger of his gun, unloading the round into the man's forehead before he could even fully realize that Yoongi was there. He dropped, the gun falling from his hand as his body thudded and blood began to pour from him. The once pristine and stainless white carpet was no more as it soaked up the deep red of the blood being spilled onto it, spreading it around his head almost as if it were some fucked up halo.  

“Who the fuck was that?” You had been so entranced with the corpse that you didn’t notice Yoongi check the rest of his house before he crouched down beside you. You jumped slightly at the sound of his voice, and then again when you saw the gun still in his hand, pointed down into the floor.  

“I don’t know, I don’t recognize him,” you shook your head lightly, your voice low and emotionless as you looked back over at the body, eyebrows knit in confusion. “I’m sorry he ruined your pretty carpet,” Yoongi’s eyes followed your gaze and landed on the red halo surrounding him, growing bigger by the second. He sighed, looking around the room once again, thinking, before he shoved his gun into the waistband of his jeans and stood.  

“Alright, crazy. We gotta go, I’m sure Hoseok would want to see you anyway,” you nodded slowly and stood, shaking your head out of the trance you were in as you turned to follow him. He walked you into the garage and had you sit in a different car than the one he had picked you up in and told you to wait again while he cleaned up a little.  

He only took another 15 minutes before he was back, sitting in the driver's seat beside you. He pulled out of the driveway and started driving away at a much more normal speed than before.  

Another hour passed silently in the car, no music playing, neither of you speaking as you made your way to somewhere, the destination you weren’t quite sure on, but you didn’t want to ask questions to the man who just killed someone in front of you.  

You pulled up to what looked like an old, abandoned warehouse. You followed Yoongi out of the car and to a side door on the building that led down into a basement. You, very reluctantly, made your way down the steps behind him into a surprisingly well-lit basement.  

Once you got down there, however, it was no longer surprising as to why the lighting was good.

A basement that spanned what you could only assume was the size of the warehouse itself was completely filled, row after row, with pot plants. You stood in awe, mouth slightly hung ajar as you looked at what you could only assume to be 20-years-in-the-state-prison amounts of weed, as Yoongi took a few smaller steps forward into the maze.  

“Hoba? You down here?” Yoongi yelled as he slid his hands into his pockets, his steps coming to a halt as he realized walking in any direction will surely lead him the wrong way.  

“Over here, Hyung!” You could hear Hoseok’s usually chipper voice yelling from the distance. Yoongi looked back at you and nodded his head in the direction of Hoseok’s voice, beckoning you to follow him.  

Hoseok was all smiles when he saw Yoongi, excited to see if anything had happened with you, but his smile immediately fell when you came into view.  

“Hyung, what is she doing here?” Hoseok’s anxiety wasn’t agreeing with him as he knew nothing good could have come from you being here, with Yoongi, and without Zeke. A warm smile took over your face as you saw him, which managed to help calm his worries only slightly, a small and equally warm smile adorning his lips to greet yours.  

“You told me the guy was an asshole, I instead saw a psychopath,” Yoongi shrugged as he took a seat at the large table up against the wall of the warehouse.  

“So you took her?” Hoseok’s voice was rushed and the volume was low as to try to avoid upsetting you. You pretended not to hear anything, not wanting to make the situation any more uncomfortable. You looked around, still completely in awe of the impressive garden going on down here. You took a few steps forward, walking through a few rows of plants, looking at each one carefully. You had always had a love for plants, but a complete inability to keep them alive, so seeing this many flourishing made you happy.  

You know, even if they were drugs.  

“Hello,” You turned abruptly at the soft voice from behind you, startled as you hadn’t heard anyone walk up to you. His bright smile only grew larger as you jumped, he raised his hands and chuckled at you lightly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to spook you.”  

The undeniably gorgeous man lowered his hands and took a few more steps toward you. He wore what looked like an oversized Hawaiian shirt and a very baggy pair of khaki dress pants. His hair was dark and fluffy, nearly covering his squinted bloodshot eyes, and as you looked down, you realized the reason you couldn’t hear him walking.  

He was barefoot.  

“I’m Taehyung, you wanna come see my favorite plant?” The smile never seemed to leave his face as he cocked his head to the side, not at all caring who you were or why you were there; simply wanting to show you his favorite plant friend. You nodded slowly, a small smile creeping up to your face as you realized just how ridiculous this guy seemed. He softly grabbed your hand and led you toward the back of the building.  

He pulled you into a small room that looked to be what would have been an office, but was actually just a room with several haphazard rugs laying all over the floor with ten or so beanbag chairs scattered around the floor.  

He let go of your hand once you were in the room, and swiftly walked over to a small table in the corner, picked something up and turned around. In his hand was the smallest pot you’d ever seen, and in it was the smallest ball cactus.  

“Her name is Fluffy. Isn’t she just the coolest thing you’ve ever seen?”  

Let’s be honest here, if you’d ever seen this tiny cactus at a plant store, you’d probably think it was cute, but you wouldn’t give it a second though, really. But presented with it here, by a man who had been for some reason so excited to show it to you, it seemed to in fact be the coolest thing you’d ever seen.  

You smiled and took a few steps closer to him, looking at Fluffy with wide eyes and a kind smile as you nodded, excited about the existence of something so small and pure, covering itself with needles to defend itself from anyone from hurting her small and fragile interior. Taehyung handed you the plant before moving two of the beanbags to be next to each other, inviting you to sit in one as he plopped down in the other.  

You sat down facing him, your knees almost pressed to your chest at how deflated the chair was as you set the plant down in between the two of you, you both admiring it.  

“I’ve never been much of a plant person aside from my business, but when I went to go get some more fertilizer I just saw her sitting there on a shelf, looking all lonely, so I just had to get her.” Taehung was slouched back in his seat, legs spread wide but eyes still lovingly trained on the small plant he seemed so happy to have obtained. You simply smiled and nodded, being comfortable with the silence as you felt something rub against your side.  

You jumped away slightly, looking back to see a very small, white cat with light green eyes. She rubbed against you again, this time your arm, and crawled into your lap, forcing you to cross your legs so she could lay down comfortably. You had no problem petting the soft white fur as she purred madly, moving your hands to rub her cheeks the way she liked.  

“Oh yeah,” You looked up at Taehyung, who was now looking fondly at the cat that decorated your lap. “That’s Ms. Prickly. She's not very fond of Fluffy,” You smiled wider as you continued to pet the cat.  

The door opened abruptly, scaring Ms. Prickly from your lap as Yoongi and Hoseok burst through the door, faces full of worry.  

“Hey guys, what’s up?” Taehyung was not very good at reading the expressions of others, or maybe he just didn’t care to let the emotions of others dampen his good mood as he smiled brightly at the two previously worried, and now annoyed men. Obviously used to this kind of behavior, neither of the boys said anything in complaint, just simply closed the door and pulled up some bean bags of their own.  

“I see you’ve met Fluffy,” Hoseok smiles as he sits down next to you, pulling you into a tight hug which you gratefully accepted. “I’m glad you’re safe,” He whispered, rubbing your back soothingly before pulling away from the hug, his eyes warm and his smile reassuring.  

“Yeah, we’re just chilling. She also met Ms. Prickly.”  

Yoongi scoffed as he sat down on the other side of you, the four of you now forming a circle in the middle of this room, all surrounding the world's smallest cactus. The energy in the room grew very tense as you wished to keep your full attention on the small plant but knew you had more important things to worry about.  

“Y/n, do you know who Zeke’s family is?” Hoseok asked gently. You looked at him, bringing your knees back up to your chest before shaking your head.  

“I’ve met some of them, but only once or twice, and never really got to know anyone. He never really liked to talk about them, so I didn’t push it.” Hoseok hung his head, sighing as he ran his fingers through his hair before he brought his face back up to look at you.  

“When I used to hang out with him, he’d never shut up about them. Probably as his own fucked up way of proving he was someone. His uncle, and that whole part of the family are Hitmen. I always just kind of thought he was fucking around, trying to intimidate me, but considering what just happened-” 

“Who’s Zeke?” Taehyung was suddenly sitting upright, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked at Hoseok. 

“Zeke’s my boyfriend.” You pulled Taehyung’s attention away from Hoseok, and brought it to you. His eyes softened as he looked at you – really looked at you – for the first time. He looked back at Hoseok, and then at Yoongi, and back at you, and no further explanation was needed for him. He looked back at Hoseok and nodded, asking for him to continue.  

“So, now it looks like Yoongi has hitmen after him; but because he was able to take the first guy down so easily, we need to get you hidden-”  

“Why?” They all turned to look at you, eyes wide and shock ripping all the words from their throats. “If I just go back, he’ll leave you guys alone,”  

“Sweetie,” Hoseok’s eyes softened and his posture loosened as he reached a hand out to grab yours, but you flinched away from his touch.  

“Hoseok,” He looked over at Taehyung, “Sidebar?” Hoseok looked back at you apologetically before he and Taehyung stood and walked over to the corner of the room, Ms. Prickly weaving between Taehyungs legs as he walked.  

“Y/n,” You turned your attention to Yoongi, who had now turned himself to face you completely. “We’re not going to let you go back there, you understand that right?” You furrowed your brow again, thinking you’d already settled this matter.  

“Why not? They’re going to hurt you,” Your voice was dripping with concern, small and weak, cracking under the pressure of any more lives falling to your hands.  

“We know some people. We’ll be fine, but there’s no way I’m letting you go back there, and neither is Hoseok.”  

You didn’t know how to feel. You weren’t typically an anxious person, even when your were with Zeke it was manageable because you knew what to expect; but here? With these people and hitmen? You had no idea what to expect, but they were nice enough to try to help you. You couldn’t let them get hurt if all you had to do was go back.  

You looked over to the corner of the room Hoseok and Taehyung were in to see them both standing beside a large locker Taehyung was unlocking. After opening the cabinet, Taehyung started pulling out guns and money and started shoving them into duffle bags with the help of Hoseok.  

“C’mon, cupcake,” Taehyung smiled at you as he held his hand out for you to take to help you stand; but even after you stood, he didn’t let go. “We’re going to go see Jin Hyung.”  

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