#just don’t tag the ships like c’mon | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sh4nksslvt · 14 days ago

Text

When Love Grows Quiet

Four different loves — each unraveling in its own way, where silence cuts deeper than swords and love isn't always enough to stay.

shanks x reader | zoro x reader | law x reader | mihawk x reader | ONE SHOT tags: angst, sfw, heartbreak, emotional neglect, falling out of love, hurt/no comfort, isolation, miscommunication a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ff a bit cringe, akward, and confusing word count: 2.5k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

SHANKS

The bar was loud, filled with the buzz of half-drunken laughter, tankards slamming against tables, and music that you once loved but now loathed. You sat in the farthest corner, away from the warmth of the crowd, clutching a half-empty glass of something you didn’t order. The ice was melting fast — like the slow disintegration of what used to be your heart.

Shanks was at the center of it all.

Again.

He always was.

“Another round!” he bellowed, raising his cup high in the air as the Red-Haired Pirates cheered. The crew adored him. They should — he was charismatic, fierce, warm, and generous with his attention.

Just not with you. Not anymore.

Your gaze lingered on him. His hair, a fiery halo in the dim light, his grin — that same one that once made you feel like the most important person in the world — now belonged to everyone else.

He didn’t even notice you when you walked in.

“Y/N, there you are!” Lucky Roux called from across the bar, waving at you with his usual cheer. “C’mon, join us!”

Shanks looked over his shoulder, eyes falling on you for a split second. There was recognition — maybe even guilt — but it was gone too fast. He raised his cup in your direction. No words. No movement. Just a lazy toast.

You forced a smile, then looked away.

You’d been with him for two years. It had started with stolen moments under stars, whispered promises between waves. “When this is all over, I’ll settle down. With you,” he’d say, voice dipped in warmth, hand on your cheek. You believed him.

But it never ended. And you stopped asking.

There were always more islands to visit, more allies to meet, more enemies to fight, and more nights he stumbled back to the ship reeking of rum and adrenaline, too tired to remember your name.

You stayed because you loved him.

Or maybe you stayed because you were afraid of what your life would look like without him in it.

But tonight felt different.

You pushed your glass aside and stood, your legs numb from sitting too long. You crossed the room, weaving through sailors and crewmates until you reached him.

“Shanks.”

He looked at you, surprised. Like he hadn’t expected you to speak first.

“Can we talk?”

His smile faltered. “Now? Can it wait? We’re just—”

“No,” you said, quieter, firmer. “It really can’t.”

He followed you outside without protest. The night air was cool, the moonlight bathing the ship in pale light.

You turned to him. “Do you remember what you promised me?”

He blinked. “Which one?”

You almost laughed. “That says everything, doesn’t it?”

“Y/N…”

“You told me we’d settle. That you’d come back for me. That I wasn’t just another stop along your journey. Do you even realize how long I’ve been waiting?”

“I know,” he muttered. “But it’s complicated.”

“No. It’s not. Not really. You just never made space for me.” Your voice trembled. “I don’t need riches or islands. I don’t even need peace. I just needed to know I mattered.”

He took a step forward. “You do matter.”

“Do I?” You looked up at him. “When was the last time you asked how I felt? When was the last time you chose me over adventure? Over your crew? Over another drink?”

He opened his mouth, but no answer came.

You continued, softer now, each word heavy. “I used to believe I was lucky to be loved by you. But now I realize… maybe I was just convenient. Someone to come back to when the world wasn’t enough.”

“That’s not fair,” he said, jaw clenched.

“Neither is loving someone who only loves you when it suits them.”

A silence settled. Heavy. Final.

He looked away. “What are you saying?”

You took a shaky breath. “I’m leaving.”

His eyes snapped to yours. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do. I have to. Because if I don’t now, I never will.” You paused. “I loved you so much, Shanks. But I’m tired of waiting for you to love me back in the way I deserve.”

You turned before he could say more, before the tears spilled.

The crew watched you go. No one stopped you. Maybe they knew too.

Shanks didn’t follow.

Maybe he couldn’t.

Maybe deep down, he knew you were already gone.

And this time, no promise would bring you back.

ZORO

The clatter of blades in the training room echoed through the ship like thunder.

Again.

You stood outside the door, hand hovering just above the wood, listening. Zoro had been in there since sunrise. The sun was beginning to set.

You pressed your palm flat against the door. It was warm.

He didn’t hear you. He never did when he was training.

You opened the door anyway.

He stood in the center, shirtless, sweat clinging to his skin, his chest rising and falling with exertion. His swords were laid neatly on the rack nearby, save for the one still in his hand — his favorite. Wado Ichimonji. His first love.

You didn’t speak right away.

He noticed you after a few seconds, green hair clinging to his face. “Oh. Hey.”

“That all you’ve got for me?” you asked, arms crossed.

He shrugged. “Been training.”

“You were supposed to meet me. Two hours ago.”

Zoro blinked. “Shit. Was that today?”

A beat passed. You tried not to let the disappointment crack through your voice. “Yeah. It was today.”

It wasn’t the first time.

Zoro wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t dismissive in the way that most would notice. He was just… focused. Sharpened, like his blades, honed only for one goal: to become the strongest swordsman in the world.

And you had once admired that. Loved it, even.

But lately, it felt like you were always chasing his shadow, always making room for his dreams, even if it meant shrinking your own.

You walked into the room, picking up the cloth he used to wipe his sweat, tossing it to him. “You forgot again.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he said, running it over his forehead.

“I know,” you whispered.

And maybe that’s what hurt the most.

The days blurred.

Dinner conversations turned into one-sided stories from you. Nights became silent, save for the occasional grunt as Zoro collapsed into bed, already half asleep. You missed the way he used to fall asleep beside you — not just near you — like you were a harbor in his storm. Now, he drifted in and out like a ghost, always just beyond reach.

You finally snapped one quiet night.

“Zoro, do you even love me?”

He looked up from cleaning his blade, brow furrowed. “What kind of question is that?”

You sat on the bed, fingers twisting in your lap. “One I keep asking myself.”

He stood up, face unreadable. “Of course I love you.”

“Then why don’t I feel it?”

The silence that followed was thick. Not awkward — just empty. Like a room without furniture.

“I’m doing this for us,” he finally said. “Everything. My training. My dream.”

“No, you’re doing it for you. And that’s okay, Zoro.” Your voice broke. “But stop pretending I’m part of that dream when I’m just an afterthought.”

“That’s not fair,” he said.

“I used to think that too,” you whispered. “But you keep showing me otherwise.”

The next morning, you packed.

Not everything — just what you needed. You didn’t want to make a scene.

When you turned to leave, he was there. Leaning against the doorframe, arms folded.

“You’re leaving?” he asked, voice rough with sleep and disbelief.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He stared for a long time. “Why now?”

“Because if I stay, I’ll start hating you. And I don’t want to hate you.”

Zoro opened his mouth, then closed it again. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know.”

He took a step forward. “Don’t I get a chance to fix it?”

“You’ve had a hundred chances,” you said, gently. “I gave you all of them.”

He looked down, the tension in his body visible.

You moved past him. He didn’t stop you.

Not physically.

But god, you wished he would.

You heard the sound of blades again as you walked down the corridor, echoing from the training room.

Zoro was already back at it.

Maybe it was easier for him to fight with steel than with words.

And maybe that’s why you couldn’t stay — because you needed someone who could choose you the way you kept choosing him.

Even if it broke your heart.

LAW

The Polar Tang was quiet at night.

Most of the crew had gone to sleep, their laughter faded into distant echoes through the metal halls. You sat alone in the infirmary, the light above flickering in tired pulses, casting shadows across the empty bed beside you.

It used to be your place. Your shared space.

Now it was just another cold room.

The door slid open with a mechanical hiss. Law stepped inside, coat trailing, his presence commanding — but not unkind. His face was the same as always. Calm. Collected. Impenetrable.

You didn’t turn to greet him.

“You’re still awake,” he said, voice low.

“So are you.”

He paused. “Long day.”

“Every day is a long day with you.”

That made him pause longer than usual. You saw it — the subtle twitch of his hand, the way his gaze lingered on you before shifting to the medical charts on the wall, as if reading them gave him a reason not to face you.

You finally stood, arms crossed. “You didn’t even ask how I’m doing.”

“You’re not injured,” he replied, like that explained everything.

You laughed bitterly. “You think that’s all that matters?”

He looked at you now. Really looked.

“You’re not bleeding,” he said, “so I assumed you were fine.”

“And that’s the problem, Law,” you snapped, “you only know how to fix things you can see. But what about everything else?”

He was always distant. He didn’t mean to be — it was just how he survived. You knew that going in. Law was brilliant, brave, and wounded in ways most couldn’t see. He didn’t wear his pain on his sleeve; he buried it deep, under layers of strategy and silence.

You once thought love could bring him peace.

Instead, it made you feel invisible.

He sat on the edge of the bed, removing his gloves with surgical precision. “If you’re upset, just say it.”

“I’m always saying it,” you said. “I say it in every look you don’t return, every time you walk out without a word. I’m screaming it, Law, and you don’t hear me.”

His brow furrowed. “I’m trying.”

“No, you’re managing. There’s a difference.”

You took a step forward, throat tight. “Do you even want me here?”

He didn’t answer.

Not for a long time.

When he did, it was quiet. “I don’t know what I’d be without you.”

“That’s not the same as wanting me.”

You turned away, swallowing the burn behind your eyes. “I need more than this. I need to be seen. Heard. Held.”

“I’m not good at that.”

“I know,” you whispered. “And I’ve been patient. God, I’ve been so patient.”

He stood. “Then what do you want from me?”

You turned back to him, tears finally slipping down your cheek.

“I want to stop being the person waiting for you to feel something.”

There were so many things he could have said. So many things he didn’t.

No promises. No pleas. Just silence.

You left the room, footsteps echoing down the corridor. He didn’t follow. You didn’t expect him to.

Law wasn’t cruel. He was just… unreachable.

And you couldn’t keep drowning in his silence.

Later that night, he stood in the infirmary, alone, looking at the chair where you always sat.

He didn’t cry. He didn’t break.

But he whispered your name once — as if it would echo back.

It didn’t.

MIHAWK

Perched on the windowsill of Kuraigana Island's cold, stone castle, you watched the sun slip beneath the horizon. Even the sunset here felt distant — as if the colors were afraid to bloom fully, like the love you once thought lived within these walls.

Behind you, the quiet hum of Mihawk’s sword being cleaned was the only sound.

You didn’t turn. You didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

You’d once thought the silence between you was peaceful — now it felt suffocating.

When you first arrived, you mistook his quiet for serenity. Mihawk was a man of discipline, of stillness, and you found comfort in his control. He didn’t make empty promises, didn’t raise his voice, didn’t falter. It made you feel safe.

Until the days stretched long and the silence became unbearable.

You would speak to him at dinner, only to be met with the clink of cutlery. You would try to initiate conversation, only to find him more engrossed in wine than words.

You once thought you were an oasis for his loneliness.

Now you realized you were just another presence he tolerated.

“You haven’t looked at me once today,” you said finally, staring out at the orange light dying over the sea.

Mihawk paused, the cloth in his hand stilling on Yoru’s blade. “I saw you this morning.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

No response.

You stood slowly, turning to face him. He was sitting in that grand, throne-like chair by the fireplace. His posture was perfect. Controlled. Remote.

“Do you even care that I’m unhappy?”

“I care,” he replied after a beat. “But unhappiness is inevitable.”

You blinked. “That’s your answer?”

“I do not pretend to be something I’m not,” he said, voice even. “You knew who I was when you came here.”

“I knew who you seemed to be,” you said sharply. “But I thought — I hoped — that underneath all of this control, you might want to be known. That you might let me in.”

“I have let you in.”

“To your house. Not your heart.”

The air crackled.

Mihawk stood, moving with quiet authority. “I do not offer affection like others. I offer stability. Loyalty.”

“I never wanted gifts. Or flattery. I just wanted to feel chosen.” You laughed, bitter. “But all I’ve felt is... tolerated. Like I’m just another item in your collection of things that don’t rust or change.”

He said nothing.

You stepped closer. “You haven’t said you love me. Not once.”

“I do not speak lightly,” he said, almost offended.

“I’m not asking for flowery words. I’m asking for anything that tells me you feel something when you look at me.”

He stared at you — intense, golden eyes sharp as any blade.

“I would not have allowed you to stay if I did not value you.”

A pause. And then your voice, quiet, almost broken:

“That’s not love, Mihawk. That’s possession.”

The silence that followed was vast.

And it said everything.

You turned away, heading for the door.

“You’re leaving.”

“Yes.”

“You may find no comfort in the world beyond this place.”

“Maybe not,” you whispered. “But at least I’ll feel something.”

He did not follow. He did not stop you.

And that hurt worse than any goodbye.

Later, long after you’d gone, Mihawk stood alone in the great hall, Yoru resting silently on the stone altar. A storm gathered beyond the window, wind rushing over the sea like a howl.

He did not weep.

But he looked at the spot where your chair had been pulled out, slightly askew — and he didn’t move it back.

266 notes · View notes

irisintheafterglow · 2 years ago

Text

if he's a ghost, then I can be a phantom

summary: the strawhats are summoned back to baratie so sanji can cook for a high-class diner. they can't figure out why zoro is so nervous. (opla!zoro x you)

wc: 2k

cw/tags: swearing, mentions of food and eating, established relationship, pet names (sweetheart, doll, lover, pretty), spoilers if you squint, sanji being himself and zoro having absolutely none of it

note: this was requested by an anon a few weeks ago and i finally got around to writing it!! every time i write for zoro, i have a new favorite fic i've made because he's just so fun to write for. hope you enjoy!!

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

“You know, they’re a lot hotter in person.”

“Shut your mouth, waiter, or I’ll skewer it closed,” he mutters with palpable distaste. Another swig of rum burns down his throat and, for the first time that the crew can remember, Zoro seemed nervous. It wasn’t obvious, but they’d sailed long enough to know that he never stopped surveying a room for threats, no matter how familiar he was with it. Today, though, the only thing that took his attention was the rim of his glass and he was subtly avoiding the eyes of the crew’s target. “This is the dumbest idea you’ve had in a long time.”

“Thank you for your input, Zoro. I will, however, be belaying it,” his captain replies brightly, unfazed by the blank expression of his first mate. The uneasy faces of his crew only makes him beam more, giddily excited for the anticipated challenge. “C’mon, guys. We’ll be fine. They just need to see how awesome we are and they’ll totally give us a new sail!”

“Loud, loud, too loud,” Zoro warns in response to the increasing volume of Luffy’s voice. They were already causing enough of a scene, as is, and he damn sure didn’t want other guests looking in their direction. To make matters worse, the amount of alcohol in the table’s bottle was dwindling too quickly for comfort.

“Hey, if we’re lucky,” Usopp offers, “we might just get a whole ship. You know, maybe one that Captain Usopp can command as the second ship in the Straw Hat fleet.”

“You think we’ll get a whole fleet?”

“Hell yeah. Maybe, we can all captain our own ships–”

“Alright, let’s get our heads out of the clouds,” Nami cuts in. “We still need to figure out how we’re going to get over there, in the first place. And just for the record, I’m with Zoro on this one.”

“First time for everything,” he deadpans. She smartly elects to ignore his sarcasm and continues to argue why the plan is a bad idea. The call from Zeff came at an opportune time and during an unfortunate situation when the Merry sailed straight into a torrential thunderstorm that ripped the main sail clean down the middle. Despite their best efforts to patch it up, it was beyond repair; with the Marines constantly on their tail, having a working sail was a matter of survival. Zeff’s reluctant summons for Sanji to cook for a special guest provided a means to buy a new sail and have a little extra spending money. But, in his wildest dreams, Zoro could not have predicted that the special guest was you. The smug look on the chef’s face snaps him out of his thoughts. “Shouldn’t you be in the kitchen, waiter?”

“Shouldn’t you be downing the rest of this bottle, drunk?”

“I’ll smash this damn bottle on your head, I swear–”

“No, no. Zoro has a point,” Luffy agrees. Sanji gives him an odd look and he quickly realizes what his statement insinuated. “Not about smashing the bottle on your head. We need you to bring them your food so then I can go over and talk with them.”

“You don’t think I can charm them on my own?”

“Don’t look so aghast, blondie,” Zoro answers and receives a knife-sharp glare in response. “This is not someone who will entertain your theatrics.”

“How would you know anything about them, hmm? I believe you’re a little too dead inside for their liking,” Sanji baits and Zoro’s on the verge of biting before Nami steps in again.

“Sanji, get in the kitchen. Let’s just get the money and get out of here.” Zoro silently thanks her in his head for effectively ridding the chef of the table for the time being. His gratitude turns into a grimace when she turns to him expectantly. “You’re gonna hate me for asking–”

“Then don’t ask,” he finishes. She doesn’t relent.

“How do you know them? It seems like you’re nervous about being here, but we’ve never met them before as a crew.” Hitting the damn nail on the head. “So, you must’ve met them when you were still hunting down pirates. Am I right?” He grumbles an unreadable response, but the slightly pink shade of his face tells the table everything they need to know. “You’re terrible at covering up secrets.”

“I don’t remember asking.”

“Ah, you’ve got him on the run, now. He’s deflecting,” Usopp chuckles, immediately shutting up when Zoro shoots him a deadly scowl. He hated that all of them were right and would never admit it to save his life. After all this time, seeing you still made his heart rate skyrocket and cause his hands to clam up with boyish nervousness. You were just as beautiful as the last time he saw you, instances that were too few and far between for his own liking. Your father would have a fit if he saw you in such an unregulated environment as Baratie, but he knew that you were safe. As long as you breathed the same oxygen, he vowed no harm would come to you.

“I met them when I first started hunting,” he admits and the words felt wrong on his tongue. Every nerve in his body was telling him to stop revealing his relationship to you. It didn’t matter if he’d almost died surrounded by his crew; his connection to you was sacred and something he was going to take to his grave. It was mostly for your safety, the late-night sneaking out and stolen displays of affection. In another life, he wouldn’t have to hide you from other hunters that wanted to see him fall. “Their father is a captain in the Marines. When I first met them, they were training with Mihawk. Their father wanted them to be the most feared Marine in the seas.” The jaws of his friends fell to the table and he knew how wild it sounded, a legacy Marine trained by a pirate lord. “But, Mihawk taught them more tricks than just swordfighting and their father fired him on the spot.”

“He taught them sympathy for pirates,” Nami concludes and he nods. “Why are you so shifty around them?” He shrugs half-heartedly and tries to make it look like his face wasn’t on fire.

“Just haven’t seen them in a while,” he states, zeroing in on the blonde asshole waltzing to you with a plate. Your surrounding guards stiffen, hands flying to the weapons at their belts. You, however, roll your eyes and tell them to stand down. He knew you hated going out with security because they were always watching, watching, watching. “Eyes up. The waiter’s making a move.”

A strange sense of nausea washes over him as he watches you smile politely at Sanji, laughing softly at his jokes and kindly nodding as he explains the dish to you. You trust them, Zoro keeps telling himself. That waiter doesn’t stand a fucking chance. All the reassurances don’t stop his gut from churning when Sanji does his signature lean-down-and-whisper-suggestively into your ear. To his surprise, however, you don’t immediately meet the chef’s eyes. Your attention flicks to Zoro, instead, with a look that he knows all too well.

Please get me out of this.

Despite the protests of the table, he’s standing in an instant and walking with his hands on his swords like your guards didn’t even exist. His sight becomes tunnel-vision on nothing but you and he bypasses your guards with ease. Your shoulders relax when he stations himself protectively behind you, much to the confusion of the chef in front of you. As subtle as he can, he rests his hand on the back of your chair, inching closer until he’s just barely touching your shoulder. It’s small, but speaks wonders for his presence.

“Zoro,” you murmur without looking up, your fingertips brushing against his knuckles. Your touch on his skin after so much time away feels electric.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Sanji stiffens at the term of endearment so easily leaving Zoro’s mouth and you can sense the boost it does for his ego. “Whatcha got there?”

“My new friend was just telling me about the dish he made. He said he crafted it especially for me, with his own hands,” you inform him with a sly sparkle in your eye. His jaw clenches unconsciously. You knew exactly what was going on in Zoro’s mind and he knew it, too. “Apparently, he can work wonders with his hands,” you remark casually and you can hear the chair crack under the force of the swordsman’s hand gripping it. To your delight, Sanji’s face has also taken on a slightly darker shade of red at how crassly you echo his suggestion. And in front of his rival, no less.

“Was he, now?” His tone is lethal and it sends goosebumps up your arms. “Well, it best be time for him to get back in the kitchen, no?”

“Mmm, but he said he had a proposal for me–”

“I had one for you too, though I did ask you in a much finer establishment than this one.” You can’t help the smirk that spreads on your face and you have to look to the side to keep from laughing aloud. Zoro’s jealousy was rearing a very indignant head; you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find it a little hot. “Got that stone on your left hand to prove it.” Sanji’s eyes darted to the band wrapped around your finger, a ring that looked suspiciously like the one hanging from a chain around Zoro’s neck. “Give us some time alone, yeah?” His question becomes rhetorical as he pulls out a chair next to you and tugs your seat closer until you can cross your leg across his. His palm rests possessively over your thigh and the chef gapes for a few moments more before turning back to the kitchen.

“That goes for all of you, please,” you order your guards without looking at them, absentmindedly tracing Zoro’s jawline with the back of your pointer finger. “Take my bag and buy however many drinks you want. I’m safe,” you state with absolute certainty. Once they’re gone, all you see, feel, and know is him.

“Hi,” he breathes.

“Hi,” you smile just as softly. “What’re you doing in a place like this?”

“I can ask you the same question, pretty.” His eyes shine with nothing but adoration. You forgot just how much you missed him.

“Took a detour to prolong my time at sea. I didn’t want to go home just yet.”

“Your old man’s being an ass again?”

“You know how he is,” you reply. “Why are you here?”

“Believe it or not, that blonde shithead is my crewmate. We’re here to get some extra Berry for a new sail.”

“Sail, hmm? I always knew you had a little pirate in you,” you tease and he sticks his tongue out immaturely. “Heard you fought my esteemed mentor. I don’t know what the hell you were thinking.”

“You don’t think I can beat him?”

“I don’t think I can fathom what will happen if you don’t,” you say quietly, swallowing a lump in your throat. “Don’t do any dumb shit, okay?”

“You’re acting as if I’m already leaving you again.”

“Aren’t you?” Your smile is sad and it makes his chest ache. When he beat Mihawk and killed your bastard father, he was going to give you the life that you deserved.

“Not yet,” he promises. “I don’t wanna go yet.”

“I don’t want you to go, either. How much do you need for that sail?” He gives you a number and you don’t even blink. You just nod and reach into your coin purse, fishing around and deciding to just give him the entire pouch. “Will that cover it?”

“Doll–”

“It’s a yes or no question, husband,” you say with lighthearted sternness. He shakes his head in exasperation but can’t hide the grin painting his features.

“Yes, lover. It’s more than enough.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and you hum in contentment. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Of course. D’you mind introducing me to the rest of your crew besides the flirty waiter?”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#zoro x you #zoro x reader #zoro x y/n #roronoa zoro x you #roronoa zoro x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x reader #opla x you #opla x reader #opla x y/n #zoro fluff #opla fluff #ask iris!#one piece x y/n

1K notes · View notes

toxycodone · 5 months ago

Note

PLLSS- what if like- curly kinda takes you under his wing as a crewmate, like his own kid even to the point where he calls you kiddo and HIS kid like overly proud- and no one bats and eye thinking it's cute even tho he is forcing u to call him dad behind closed doors even if your embarrassed <3

(Idk what content warning to use for this so. Go my scarab. Someone tell me if it needs to be tagged.)

Curly’s always been one to treat the crew as family. As much as you love the guy, you figure it’s a byproduct of his oncoming mid life crisis and the fact he really has no family of his own. It’s innocent enough (and honestly kinda cute) so you lean into it.

He gives good advice. Spoils you with treats and praise. Sticks up for you when things get dicey. It’s nice. He really is like a father figure to you, in a weird “we’re both adults and totally not related” type of way.

Anya thinks it’s adorable. Seeing Curly’s softer side makes her smile, plus, she thinks it makes Curly come outta his shell more. Gives him something to do besides stay in his head and worry. Jimmy finds it annoying as fuck, but doesn’t press the issue because it’s not worth the drama (Curly gets oddly defensive of the relationship). Swansea couldn’t give less of a fuck. But he’s giving side eyes from the start. He’s perceptive enough to know this favoritism is just a tad odd. Meanwhile, Daisuke’s extremely jealous. But also, he’s glad to see at least someone his age be so respected and tolerated on the ship.

and it’s all nice and fine and dandy until.

“It’s like I’m your dad, huh?”

Those words flash through your mind, prompting a quirk of your brow. Okay. Whatever. I mean, he’s not wrong? You guess? He kinda is like one. But maybe this didn’t need to be spoken out loud.

“You should call me dad!” Curly holds up a piece of candy—your favorite. Being holed up on the Tulpar for months on end has you more desperate than you’d like to admit for the food.

He shakes it a little, like an owner trying to prompt a pet to do a new trick.

“You gotta admit, right? C’mon, say it!”

His smile is bright. Blinding as usual. There’s no malice in his tone. It’s Curly. Captain Curly. He’s messing around. You can trust him.

“Dad…?” The word feels foreign on your tongue. It’s wrong, saying this to him. You’d like to get this over with as soon as possible. “Can you just give it to me already?”

“Hm? What’s the magic word?”

Anya’s within earshot for that, walking past the corridor. She gives a little chuckle before continuing on her way.

“Please.”

“Please…?”

“Please, *Dad*.”

“That’s my girl.”

He tosses you the candy with a wink. Despite getting your prize, you don’t feel like you’ve won. More like used, somehow.

#LIKE…..yeah im crazy.#captain curly #mouthwashing #mouthwashing x reader

187 notes · View notes

pennyserenade · 1 month ago

Text

nothing compares 2 you | dieter bravo x ex!wife reader

summary | a timeline of dieter bravo and his ex-wife's relationship, told in snapshots. rating | (explicit) tags/warnings | smut, mention of drug and alcohol use, angst, language, real yearning hours. word count | 7.8k a/n | happy late birthday to my favorite aries, pedro pascal <3

February, 2010. Someplace in Los Angeles.

Before he is the Actor, he is the Artist.

The art studio next to yours is the size of a closet and it’s his, paid for with his measly actor’s wages. He paints on large canvases with bleak colors and flirts with you three times before he realizes that his reused material does nothing but amuse you.

You can tell he is a man used to getting women easily, and you don’t blame these women: he is a handsome man. He has soft hands, a dimpled grin, and black paint splattered endearingly over his all rugged, too big t-shirts. During one of his lazy flirtations the word “honest” comes to you, and you figure it’s something to do with his eyes — how they’ve got the gleam of truth, even though he doesn’t necessarily strike you as an honest man himself. Maybe this should alarm you, but it’s as exciting as anything has been in months.

He tells you the sun seems to shine eternally in California, and that they always did tell him he was a stormy child, so he paints gloomy when he misses New York. This is a line that works far better than his cheap flirting. Scary as it is, he thrills at the idea of playing his most difficult role for an audience of one: himself, laid bare.

“You any good?” you ask him one day, absentmindedly, in reference to his acting. He shrugs his shoulders. He is letting you into the intimate cove of his inner life: the paintings, the shoe-box closet of a studio. On his canvases, colossal waves defeat tiny, lonely ships; a father holds a weeping mother; a handsome man peers into the mirror of his soul, and finds nothing good.

“Am I any good?” he asks, referring to his art. You nod, finger grazing over the shipwrecked scenes. “They’re sad,” you comment.

“Well, homesickness is a bitch,” he replies. His tongue swipes across his bottom lip in the nervous way you’ve noticed it does. “What kind of art do you do?”

“Happier stuff, sometimes. Mostly right now I’m sketching, looking for ideas. I’d do more models, but can’t find any good models.”

“In L.A.?” he asks. You nod, still picking through his paintings. “I find that hard to believe. I’ll model for you,” he offers.

“What’s your price?”

He doesn’t think it over. He answers, “Free.”

“Oh c’mon.” You look askance at him. “Nothing’s ever free.”

“Alright, then how much can you pay me?”

“I’ll supply lunch.”

He laughs incredulously. “You make no sense to me.”

“I think that’s a good thing. The things that you make sense of seem terribly depressing.” You nod to the painting in front of you, a naked woman stretched out on a mattress, cotton panties with a pink bow tie and a glass of wine in her hand. “Is this what you think femininity is? Breakdowns in pretty underwear?”

Covering your hand, he stops you from flipping through more. “Okay, my price just went up. 10 dollars and lunch. Any other critiques will cost you.” He frowns at the painting, swiping a thumb over the edge. “How do you know that isn’t a real woman?”

You take your hand from him, though not unkindly. You both share the knowing look of two people in the depths of flirtation. “I don’t, I’m being cruel and I’m sorry. But you’re lucky you’ve got a nice nose, because those prices are outrageous.”

His laugh has no room to echo in his little studio, so of course it has no other option but to nuzzle itself in the pit of your stomach. You divert your eyes back to the canvases and their depressing scenes. “I like you very much, despite myself,” you tell him frankly, “but I won’t sleep with you.”

“Why? Afraid of cooties? I’m vaccinated against them.” He lays the charm on thick.

“No. I’ve already had a case or two.” As you look up, you watch his eyes drop to your lips. There is an enticing concoction of nerves brewing inside of you. They churn together mightily as you do your best to make out your next line: “I just don’t fuck actors as a rule.”

He clicks his tongue, leaning in closer. He smells clean, like laundry detergent and toothpaste. “Rosemary’s Baby situation? If so, I get that. That’d do it for anyone.”

“Hardly,” you grin. Your fingers brush against the fabric of his shirt. You tell yourself it’s because you want to keep him at bay, but the surge of excitement you feel doesn’t really indicate that. “It’s just this thing I have. I don’t think artists do well with other artists, regardless of the profession. I’d only make an exception for one man.”

He narrows his eyes, holding himself in the precarious position. “Who?”

“Gregory Peck.”

“He’s dead!” he gawks.

“What a relief, huh?” you joke. “I’d never have stood a chance against him.”

He’s leaning in then, and much to your surprise - and perhaps his too - you close the space between you. It's hardly anything of substance, barely a touch of the lips before it’s over. But he clutches the fabric of your cloth overalls and looks at you like some lovesick puppy, and you know it’s not finished.

There will be more. God, you hope for it.

“If it makes you feel better, I don’t think Gregory Peck would’ve been able to withstand you either,” he mutters.

—

March, 2010

He becomes the exception to the rule. You sketch the curves of his face, shadow in his eyes, pay special attention to the dip in the middle of his lips, and kiss him hard and fast, as though making it rough will make it mean less. He slows you down, laughing lightly.

“Let me be gentle,” he tells you, hand on the small of your back. You nod, nervous - you are always nervous around him, much to your dismay - and he tips back your head with a slight tap to your chin. As you open your mouth, he licks into you, fingers trailing down to the base of your neck and sprawling out across your chest. Dieter touches all that he can, eager and pleasant. He is cool against your skin but warm in your mouth, and you want him so badly you forget yourself, moaning when he presses you against a studio wall with his body.

He smiles against your lips and kisses his way down your body until his knees hit the floor, and there’s no place to go but up. You help him take off your shorts and you go to joke - to say something like “It’s not right that I’m the only one getting undressed” — but it dies in the back of your throat when he puts his hot mouth on you, over the fabric of your underwear. No one has ever wanted you past the point of patience, unable to spare the few seconds taking off your underwear would take. Not until him.

He makes you come without ever taking anything off, and then he does it twice more with your underwear pooling around your left ankle and your right leg propped over his shoulder.

Afterwards he asks if he can take the picture you drew of him home and you say, “Of course,” voice soft, pliable seemingly to affection. He kisses you before he leaves, and you sit in your studio, stunned by this man with his lovely nose and the soft ache you feel at the idea of wanting him more than you should.

You sketch him many, many more times and by the end of the month, you give him what you always intended for Atticus Finch. He draws patterns of the small of your back and dedicates himself to you like a role he’s wanted all his life.

—

November 2010.

He comes to your apartment bearing gifts: a newly purchased DVD player - receipt crumbled in his back pocket - and a movie called The Rapture. His eyes are aglow with boyish excitement when he extends them towards you.

Last time he’d only brought the DVD and you had to tell him that you were a part of the select few individuals in the world who did not own a DVD player. Unfortunately this meant the two of you had to spend yet another Friday night getting well acquainted with each other’s bodies and doing little else. He is not going to let that happen again, he assures, kissing you fully on the lips in greeting. He half forgets his promise when you bite down on his bottom lip, but remembers it when you nearly dropped the movie from your hand.

“You’re insatiable.” He clicks his tongue, a devious twinkle in his eye.

He works the cords into your television and beams when it works on the first try. “I was afraid it wasn’t going to and then I was going to have to ask you to read me the instructions while I tried again. Like some married couple,” he says, stepping back from the television.

The mention of marriage, even in the half baked, joking manner the two of you take to approach everything, makes you feel a bit queasy so you ignore it all together. “What’s this movie about again?” you ask.

“It’s self explanatory.”

“Well, explain it anyways.”

“It’s about the rapture,” he offers simply, with a shrug and an unforgiving smirk.

You make room for him on the couch, picking up the remote. The title screen flashes in front of you and based on the graphics, you get the feeling that this film is low budget. It makes you grin. “What?” he asks, looking at you.

“I don’t know. I had this feeling that you were one of those men who like those unheard of, low budget indie films with nudity and sex in it.” You laugh. “Tell me—am I going to see boobs? A little dick?”

He rolls his eyes, settling in beside you. Plucking the remote from your hand, he turns the movie on. “Maybe if you’re good during the show, but I don’t know. I don’t really like to put out for rude people,” he says flatly. “Now, shut up. You’ll miss the sex and nudity.”

You shake your head, laughing. “Please. You told me you put out for everyone, no matter the situation.”

Without looking at you, he says too soberly: “No. Not anymore.”

You don’t say much else after that. You don't know what else there is to say. After the film, you chalk it up to a crisis of faith. But after the sex, you realize he means: I only want you.

That’s the thing about those actors—you can never know what they mean until it’s too late. He’ll win Oscars for ambiguity.

—

January, 2011.

When you meet his mother, it's by accident.

You’ve been spending more time with him. Recently you’ve even started to call each other boyfriend and girlfriend when forced to put labels on it, but you never crossed this road—the parent one. It seemed far out, in the future, but not necessarily the immediate one. No one brings parents into something this pleasant.

He sleeps over at your place on the weekends, takes you to lunch on Wednesdays, lets you help him pick a home near the studio he’s working for. Then at three o’clock on a random Thursday, he trips over a wire on set and breaks his arm. He calls her before he calls you, and she finds her way to his home, bringing her motherly love into his L.A. life. You aren’t good with parents - not even your own - but you like her. She loves him, calls him Mijo, travels miles and miles and miles for a bone that sits in a cast and can only be repaired with time.

“Mami, this is my girlfriend,” he tells her, smiling ruefully at you. You shrug your shoulders as if to say “What can you do?”

He looks like her, shares the same eyes that you felt were honest, with the same dark brown hair. You are her surprise as much as she is yours, but she takes you in happily, smiling. “I didn’t know-,” is what she says before stopping, thinking better. But you know she didn’t know; it’s only been a handful of months, but you get what her son is like. He doesn’t tell his mother what he should, despite that he seems to tell her everything — a drifter out at sea in the Los Angeles area while she waits patiently for news in her lonely New York.

You witness a divide between them at the quiet dinner you share that first night. She gives him words and he responds with short answers, not harsh or disrespectful, but all of it lacking the ability to be built into actual conversations. He goes to the bathroom midway and you look at her, sorry and worried and she smiles - the same smile he has. You feel like you’ve known her ages when she smiles like that, and you tell her, “I think he’s really upset about his arm. It’s going to put him out of work for a little bit, and he really likes work.”

“Thank you,” she replies, eyebrows creased. “I know that he doesn’t want me here, though. I shouldn’t have come. He is a grown man and I know that but when things like this happen, I can’t help it. He’s my little boy.”

You think back to his paintings, the bleakness of the colors and the darkness of the subjects. “He misses you, I know,” you tell her, “I’ve only been with him for a little bit, but he’s told me a little bit about it. Really, I think it’s the arm. Or maybe it’s me.” You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t think he expected us to meet for a long time.”

“Probably not,” she agrees, smiling a smile that might be a grimace. “I’ve checked in at a hotel, but I just wanted to make sure he was okay.”

“You shouldn’t stay at a hotel.”

“I always do when I come to town.” She waves her hand through the air, dismissing it.

For reasons you can’t comprehend, you tell her, “Come stay with me, at least. I’ve got a nice apartment, close to the beach. He’s in the middle of doing reconstruction on this place, but I’m sure he doesn’t want you to be in a hotel.” You say that even though you aren’t sure; all evidence to the fact that he quite actually does want her in one, for reasons you can’t comprehend.

Before she answers he comes back, looking the same as he did before he left.

“It’s getting late,” he says, looking at you, and then over to her. “You’ve got a place to stay?” he says to her. She nods her head. “I’ll call a ride for you.”

“David,” you intercede, glaring at him now. “I’ll take her. She’s staying with me.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t have to—“ but you stop him with the ice in your stare. He sits back in his chair like a petulant child, and grabs the glass of wine in front of his plate. He drinks all of it down.

You take his mother into your house and she tells you things he probably wouldn’t: the divorce between his father and herself when he was fifteen, the thing that created the sea between them; the way he’s always loved art, that his father was the one who got him into acting and how he found the brush some time in between elementary school and college. She even confesses that her little boy, dark eyed and happy in childhood, is prone to being mercurial, and that’s the thing that makes her worry the most.

“I hope you stay,” she tells you after you guide her to the lone spare bedroom you have. It smells unused, which would embarrass you if not for her comment. “You’re the best one I’ve met. Not that I’ve met many.”

“I will,” you tell her with the certainty you gathered at dinner. You’ve got no evidence for this, either, and yet you feel deep in your gut that it’s the truth.

He calls you when you get to your own bed, no longer pouty. “Thank you,” he tells you in a voice that is looking to be absolved from guilt. You give in easily.

“You’re welcome. Your mother is a nice woman.”

“I know, I know. I love her. I just have a hard time showing it sometimes.”

“That’s worrisome,” you joke, tucking the telephone between your head and your shoulder. You flip absentmindedly through the television stations as you listen to him.

“I think I love you too,” he says. You hear him breathe in after the sentence, like he’s stunned by it himself. “I do,” he adds, clumsily. “I don’t just think. I do.”

You’d never thought about being in love with him. Not until now. “I love you too,” you tell him, slightly bewildered by the fact you can’t pin where it began—or how it’ll end.

“What are we going to do about it?” he asks softly.

“What’s there to do about it?”

A pause. Then, “Nothing. I don’t know. Get married?”

“David-“ you say and he cuts you off, knowing.

“I’m kidding. Not yet.”

“Not yet,” you repeat.

You let it hang between you for five full breaths. It is a lukewarm idea, not altogether unpleasant, but half baked.

“I’ve got to go to sleep. The pain pills are making me drowsy,” he tells you quietly.

“Okay. Goodnight,” you tell him.

You stare blankly at the television, the terrible franchise movie you’ve stopped at not distracting you.

A woman loved. A loving woman. You wonder how these new identities will compete with the other ones, like The artist. The friend. The daughter. The you who likes her own space.

Love is remarkable and unremarkable, happening on a Thursday and leaving you changed for a lifetime.

—

July 2011 A red carpet and a movie premiere, New York, New York.

An interviewer named Natalie asks you what you make of your boyfriend. Cameras flash, people yell at you to smile. You think the question over, and wonder why girlfriends aren’t given public relations too.

“He’s great,” is what you settle with, your smile irredeemably try-hard. They call him Dieter and you have to remember that. Don’t call him David, don't call him David, don’t call him Dav— “Dav—Dieter is very talented and I’m proud of him.”

Later in the week, you will be berated online by women who love him because of the uncoordinated way you stood next to him, and the awkward answers you gave while trying to remember to smile and call him Dieter and to not let them in to your world, even though he wants to hold your hand on the red carpet and doesn’t mind that people know you’re dating. You will laugh, but you don’t ever google yourself again after that.

That night you watch his new movie beside him in a grand theater, sitting in a floor length dress. Afterwards, he introduces you to people you have only ever seen on a screen before. They ask you what you do–if you’re in the “business.” They don’t cringe when you say you’re an artist.

One of them, a man you think is a little too pretentious, says he thinks himself a little bit of an artist, too. David winks conspiratorially at you. You let out a breath for the first time since you arrived at the event; you’re relieved to find your boyfriend does not change in these settings.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you after, when you go home. “About that all, really. I should’ve prepared you better. I knew it wasn’t great for you.”

“I’m not a movie star,” you respond. He smiles endearingly at you.

“Pretty enough to be.”

You grin, charmed. “I prefer the canvas.”

“But us actors, we’re artists too,” he says somberly, before his face collapses into a wide grin.

“You almost made me laugh, winking at me like that.”

You hang your coat next to his, feeling warm and easy. They’d invited you both to an after party, but he just wanted to come back here, kiss all night and maybe smoke some weed. Feels like a Big Lebowski night, he whispered into the shell of your ear on the way out. You don’t have that movie, so you hope he won’t mind the other entertainment you have in mind.

“Did I?” he asks. The question is just something to keep in his mouth as he watches your fingers tease the straps of your dress. They fall off your shoulders. He’s paying attention but he’s not. You are bare naked in seconds, which means the whole night you weren’t wearing any underwear, and that’s great. Hot. He wants to swallow you whole; he wants to marry you.

“Marry me?” he asks, awed

You shake your head, smiling. He grins too, radiant for a rejected man. This is your long suffering joke that will find the path to truth one day. Just not this day. Today all you find is a little more love in you for your movie star.

“I knew you before you were famous,” you say to him, riding him lazily on the couch. He gazes lovingly at you.

“You’re the only one who’s ever known me,” is his response.

—

February 2012

For an anniversary present he buys you an art studio the size of a loft. It’s too much, and he’s happy to give it to you.

“Thank you,” you tell him softly. If you speak any louder, you're afraid your voice might wobble with emotion.

He shrugs his shoulders like it’s nothing. “You showed potential,” he jokes.

Because you were ‘famous’ before he was, he likes to poke fun. He never minded, but now that the tables are turning, you’re reluctant to admit that sometimes you do. It’s not anything to do with the ego — you’re more than happy being the least famous in that respect — but if he comes to an art show of yours, it’s inevitable that a flock of people will gather around him, asking for attention, for autographs. They don’t care about your art as much as your boyfriend. You understand this in his world, with the cameras and the stars, but sometimes the breach of it into yours makes you feel insignificant. You can’t help but think he’s apologizing a little for it with this.

You kiss him so fiercely he stumbles back a little. “I love you,” you say, looking him in the eye.

“I love you too,” he replies softly. “I’m glad you like the present.”

You touch the indent in his lip with your fingertip. “My present seems silly now,” you say, smiling. You feel the movement of his lips as they tug upwards underneath your touch.

“What is it?” he asks.

You look back into his eyes. He looks at you expectantly, waiting, and you lean in, press your ears to his lips. “I got your name tattooed on my ass,” you whisper.

When you pull back he examines your face. You can tell he’s not sure whether you’re joking or not. Really, it could be either. Finally he gives up. “Let me see.”

You lift up your dress. Sure enough, you’ve got a fresh tattoo on your ass, but it’s not his name. Not his given one, anyway. “Bravo,” he laughs, swiping a thumb over your flesh. The letters are small, barely taking up any room at all. He likes it more than he should.

“I think it’s a pretty great present,” he tells you, inspecting the spot for a little while longer.

“It’s silly.”

“Not to me.” He’s on his knees, kissing your thighs. When his teeth glide against your ass cheek, you squeal, turning to look over your shoulder. “Of all the things my name has been spread across, your ass is by far my favorite.”

“I thought it’d make you laugh.” You smile.

“It does, but I love it.” He stands tall, wrapping his arms around you. “I’m going to marry you.”

You arch an eyebrow, turning in his arms to face him. Smiling, you say, “Was that a question?”

“Just a warning for now.”

—

November 2013 A Little Chapel, Las Vegas.

You had the pre-wedding jitters, but now you feel that nothing has ever seemed as right as this: marrying him on a Friday night in a Las Vegas chapel as facetious as you’ve both always treated the topic of marriage.

You knew someday the joke would become serious. He slides a ring that he got three hours ago on your finger, and your two wedding guests clap boisterously. There is the co-star of his who became available at last minute, and a nice lady in the lobby of a hotel who you asked out of fear the co-star wouldn’t come. Your veil is pink and your dress was someone else’s once, in the ‘70s. He wears the beige tuxedo he brought to Vegas for a movie premiere, and a silver heart bolo tie he long ago nicked from your own collection.

A bottle of champagne is opened and shared. He kisses you once, twice, five times, his hand drifting scandalously lower each time. Beneath your white dress is the intricate lingerie set you bought while he was frantically looking for rings. He touches the end of the garter and it doesn’t take much longer for you both to excuse yourselves from the ceremony.

David unwraps you like a neatly wrapped present, preserving ribbons and bows for memory’s sake. Your fingers rub affectionately across his freshly shaven jaw as he tucks his naked body between your bare thighs. “I can’t believe we did that,” you say, voice soft.

“I’m happy we did.” He kisses your bare chest and sinks inside of you, slow, slow, slow, until he is buried within you, close as he can be. You moan quietly, fingers gripping around his arm, your cunt adjusting to the thickness of him.

“I don’t think I've ever been so turned on in my life,” he admits, more sheepish than you’ve ever seen him. His lips brush against yours, before he sucks at your bottom lip. For a moment, he does nothing, only stays buried within you, kissing you tenderly.

Your fingers explore the expanse of his muscular back, traveling over the ridges of his body as his hips raise and he begins to move inside of you. You think you agree: he has never felt this hard - never felt this much - before.

“I love you,” he whispers. It feels like a thing he’s giving to you, asking you to keep safe for him. You wrap your hands around his shoulders and say, “I love you, too.”

After he cums, he says he thinks maybe you’ve been here before, in another life, and that you’ll be this way again, in another. It’s his classic brand of sentimentality and you adore it all the same. If he was any better at knowing himself - if he knew him the way you knew him - it’d come out like this: I love you down to my bones; I love you in a way that defies reason.

You tell him you think so, too.

—

December 2013

When you move into his California beach house, he gives you a key, along with full creative control. “You’re the artist,” he figures, and truth is, he’s never been good at making places his home.

You don’t have much work to do. Because you’ve been with him since he bought the house, it already bears your marks. Pieces of you in the bathroom: the toothbrush, the shower curtain and the color scheme. There is the painting you did of Lee Strasberg in the corridor, hanging like a royal portrait. The bedroom is full of you: your clothes, most of the furniture, one fourth of the sex toys. You renovate a single room in the back, facing the beach, so you can have a home art studio.

You are the happiest you've ever been, and he has never felt so much at home.

—

January 2014

Marriage bliss doesn’t ever stay with you long, but it’s no one’s fault in particular. He picks a grueling role that means something to him and transforms him in ways you don’t understand. You paint when you miss him. Sometimes it happens when he’s in the same room.

Art is important to you both, and the sacrifice feels worth it when you see what he’s completed: A film about the world, about grief, about being human. What you see on the screen is something you recognize immediately. A version of him that you’ve known for as long as you’ve loved him. At the premiere you cry at the opening scene, though it’s not sad. He squeezes your leg.

“I loved that movie,” you tell him on the way home. “Really, it was beautiful. The best thing you’ve ever done.”

He kisses you gently. “I did it for you,” he says.

You believe him.

—

April 2015

You stand at the back of the art gallery, puffing on an indulgent cigarette, fighting off tears. He is on the phone, apologetic and placating.

“Honestly, I forgot. I’m sorry. Really,” he tries to pacify.

“I told you. For months, I told you about tonight.”

“I’m sorry,” he says again. You hate the way his voice sounds: like he’s only sorry because you need him to be sorry.

“I’d never do this to you.” Someone comes out from the exit, and gives you a furtive look. You turn your back to them, embarrassed to be seen like this.

“Don’t do that,” he whines.

“Do what?” you whisper.

“Get mean with me. I am sorry. As soon as I’ve wrapped here, I’ll come to the exhibition.”

You crush out the cigarette with the heel of your shoe, sniffling. “You know, it’s fine. I’ll just see you at home.”

You hear his frustrated groan on the other end. You know that you’re beginning to be unreasonable. This is how your fights have always been: trying to see how far you can push one another until the careful calm gives way to anger. Today he breaks first, faster than ever.

“Goddammit. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

When he arrives, he brings a flock of cameras along with him. They crowd the door and make it hard for people to come in. He squeezes your shoulder in apology, and you take separate cars home.

When you have sex that night, he makes you cum three times. This is how he tells you that you were right—that he’s sorry. Sometimes you think it might be nice if he just said it.

You love him so much it feels like sometimes it might split you apart.

—

February 26, 2017 Dolby Theatre Hollywood, Los Angeles

When they announce his name as the winner for best actor, there is an astonished moment of quiet that washes over your little row. He turns you, wide-eyed and impossibly boyish, a surprised smile turning up at the end of his lips. You rise with him, proud tears prickling at your eyes. He laughs then, his hand gripping at your forearm as you move to embrace him. You the feel the vibration of his joy in your chest.

“Holy shit,” he mutters, running a hand over his face. His mother and little sister crowd around you, patting at his arm, kissing him on the cheek, before he escapes your arms and wanders up the aisle to retrieve his much deserved award.

For a moment, he is the most humble man you’ve ever seen: bowled over by the impossibility of what just has happened to him. He takes the gold statue from the woman’s hand, accepts a hug, and positions himself in front of the microphone. His tie is crooked but he’s smiling so wide that his eyes crinkle, and you feel so thrilled to know that the world loves your husband as much as you do. It has not always been easy to share, but at this moment, you feel the reward for doing it, tenfold. He lifts the statue up slightly, showing you, and you nod, clapping along with everyone else.

“Oh,” he says over the roar of applause. People start to settle into their seats and quiet their claps, and he says it again: “Oh, wow. Um. I don’t think I’m easily robbed of my words, but I would be right now had I not prepared something. Thank you to the Academy, to my director and dearest friend, Thora Mendez, who took this script as seriously as it deserved to be taken and never let anyone tamper with her impeccable vision. Thank you to the three women I brought with me tonight: my mami, who learned English from a television screen when she came here at twelve, and who always let me be whoever I wanted to be; my little sister, Mina, who probably thinks this is the coolest I’m ever going to get.”

He laughs again and Mina rolls her eyes, but smiles widely. “And thank you to my beautiful, beautiful wife, who has read every script with me since I met her. There was no way at all she could know this is where I’d end up. This–” he raises the award high, “--is for you as much as it is for me. In every character I’ve ever had the pleasure to play, there’s a piece of your beautiful mind. I love you all, and would be nothing without you. Thank you.”

When he comes back to you, he puts the award in your hand. It is heavy. You remember a time when he said it wouldn’t matter at all if he won this or not–that it doesn't really mean anything. His bright, dimpled grin shows how much of a liar he’d been.

You kiss him and the entire world fades away around you. All the sparkle and glamor of his world is diluted down to the pure joy of spending this single, incredible moment with him.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whisper, shedding tears. He swipes one away with the pad of his thumb.

“I love you,” he says back, kissing you again.

For the first time in a long time, you feel like you belong in this life of his again.

When he takes you home, it is late, nearly morning. He helps you take off your dress and waits by the door of the bathroom as you scrub off the rest of your makeup. Then he shuts the curtains in your room, blocking out the rising sun, and he pulls you close to him. He kisses your bare shoulder. He smells like mint toothpaste and the faded, warm essence of his cologne.

You part your legs for him and he enters you from behind, molding his body to yours. The sex is slow, his thrusts sleepy and measured, and you hold onto him the entire time, so in love you’re intoxicated by it.

You know will love him forever.

—

August 2017

“What do you mean you’ve found a place in New York?” you ask him, incredulous. He shuffles around your bedroom, hanging up his clothes. Today he looks tired, and it upsets you that you don’t know why. You both talk so little these days, busy and forgetful. But this feels like treason.

“It’s just a little apartment, for when I do plays over there.”

“And you didn’t want to ask me?”

“Ask you what?” he snaps. “I didn’t think you’d be upset about it. I told you a million years ago that I wanted to start prioritizing the theater after I won the oscar.”

“You didn’t think I’d be upset about the fact that you bought a home separate from the one we live in together, and then tell me that you’re going to spend multiple months of each year living there?” You scoff, disbelieving. “Fuck you.”

“It’s not like that.” He has the sense to stop what he’s doing and turn his body towards you. His frown deepens. “You can come whenever you want. It’ll be better for us both.”

“But this is our home.”

“That will be too,” he reassures. “You’ll like it. It’s a studio, with big windows and lots of light. I already bought you a canvas to paint a picture there, too, when you come.”

You feel a lump gather in your throat, but your anger ebbs. He looks so sincere—sounds so sincere—it’s hard to stay angry.

When you walk over to him, he wraps you up in his arms. “New York is home to me. You know that,” he says against the shell of your ear.

You nod your head, but can’t stop the tears from falling down your cheek and onto his shirt. You’re not sure when you stopped being home to him.

—

December 2017 New York, New York

“Baby?” he says.

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“We can make it better. Maybe go to couple’s therapy.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“I’m hoping I do,” you breathe out, looking at him.

Your love for him strangles you with its might.

—

February 2018 New York, New York

The acrid taste of failure makes eating an unpleasant task. You know you shouldn’t think of it this way, have tried not to, but you can’t help it. Your marriage is ending and your heart feels like it’s decided to beat slower today, just to torture you.

Or maybe it’s serious, solemn as your lunch-time confession to Dieter. You said you want a divorce and now your heart wants to stop all together, and is maybe making an honest attempt at it. There are old people who die of broken hearts, so why shouldn’t there be a few younger ones that do it, too?

After lunch you considered just going back home. You were tired, anxious, didn’t quite feel right trapped up in Dieter’s studio apartment anymore, waiting for him to come back from his stupid fucking rehearsals. But something felt unfinished, incomplete, so you went back to the apartment and now you wait, staring down at a soggy bowl of cereal while his shower runs.

Maybe you should join him, one last time. The very last time. Bile rises in your throat for the millionth time and you know just the fix for this terrible, never ending nightmare.

When you peek your head into the bathroom, it is filled with steam. He doesn’t remember to turn on the fan, never does. You don’t do it for him this time, just step inside with your surmounting grief and a desperate look in your eyes. Dieter wipes away some of the fog from the shower door. “Everything okay?” he asks over the spray of water. You don’t answer him.

You turn around while you undress, and he pretends not to notice. But he does notice, more than he’s ever noticed before. It’s like the last moments before something tremendously terrible takes over and everything changes: it goes so slow, but later it will feel like it happened in seconds. Time is unjust, senselessly cruel.

His soul feels like it’s being extracted from his body as you step inside the shower with him, the heavy weight of your united undoing drowning you. He wants to confess all—feels like an atheist on his deathbed, turning to God as you wrap your frame around him and cling. Like the fabled man pleading for eternal salvation in his dying hours, Dieter holds your head to his chest and wishes to give you years worth of devotion in seconds. Anything, so long as you won’t give up on him. Please, please, he says without saying, warm hands running over your back. I’ll be better, he longs for you to understand.

But you do understand: you’re no God. If he wishes to enter the church of you, become a devoted pupil, he’s going to be disappointed once more to find the thrum of humanity pulsing in you. Pure flesh, all human. You nag because he makes you nag and a million other things that he doesn’t like—that same old story, repeated and rehashed a million different ways. The moral of it: he doesn’t like you, not really, because you’re not fun enough and you hold him back and he wants more, and you don’t like him because he’s made you nag and you feel like a monster, and you remember once that you had been fun. You recall a movie about a woman without a face he showed you, and you are sick to know that you now resonate with her. None of this is fair and he’s never been religious for anything but the stage, anyway.

This is only scared cowardice because you’ve plunged him into the unknown.

He kisses you first, holds you up, swallows a mouthful of your moans, licks between your legs until the water is tepid. You don’t cum. He doesn’t get all the way hard, only works his way up to semi-erect, then softens completely under his own embarrassment.

They all said marriage wasn’t easy but he figured, sorta, that you’d both be different somehow. At forty, he is officially one year older than his father was when he got divorced from his mother. Maybe you didn’t ask for a divorce last year on purpose, just to give him something, in the grand scheme of things.

Your gesture says: We got a bad one, too, Bravo, but at least you ousted your parents, yeah? And morbidly enough, when he’s really bleeding out about this all later, the thought will soothe him. No mind that he provided no help, that you did it by yourself, because you are thoughtful, selfless, the best wife.

He will miss you more than you think possible—will, too, feel like he’s dying after you get on the plane home, to see your first round of lawyers. The play he rehearses for will be deemed his best yet, but it’s because in the weeks that follow your terrible lunch and your terrible shower, it will be all he allows himself to do in order not to ask you to reconsider him, as a whole.

Because he knows this: he will never be the husband you need, nor the one you want, and it took you so long to ask, didn’t it? You really thought it over, took a plane ride with the thought and still felt it strongly enough to ask after.

—

March 2018

You sign the divorce papers in separate places. He’s got a girl waiting for him outside in the car, half his age and stoned out of her mind. She thinks he’s signing on for another movie because that’s what he told her he was doing. At home, you’ve got a can of black paint and a painting he never finished, waiting for you to fix it or deface it. You’re not sure which yet. A marriage dissolves and takes you both with it.

You will host a slew of successful art shows in the months to come and he won’t work for the entire year, theater or otherwise. You think he’s being merciful enough to disappear from the public eye.

The truth is worse: he loves you so much he can’t bring himself to do anything but to try and forget it. He buries his love for you in a hundred people who aren’t you. Then he anonymously buys a painting of yours for more money than you’d ever think to ask, just because he’s so sorry it makes him sick.

—

March 2019

He buys a book about Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor, who married and divorced twice, and in his first film since your divorce, he plays a doting husband. If it didn’t make him want to die, he would be delighted by a review that says: “For all of his celebrated range as an actor, Bravo oddly fails to capture the sincerity the role requires to make it believable.”

Instead, he calls you. You pick up after the second ring.

“Hello?” you say, a question. “David? Is that you? Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he replies. The sound of your voice works as a balm to his worries. He feels like he can breathe for the first time in months. The relief is so palpable, it nearly overcomes him. “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting you while you’re doing something.”

“No, you’re not. I was sketching,” you tell him. He forgot how kind you could be. How self-sacrificing. He misses you.

“I didn’t know if you’d pick up,” he laughs softly. “I haven’t talked to you in a year.” He can hear you shuffling around on the other side, and he knows you’re sitting down.

After a beat of silence, you say, “I shouldn’t have, but I saw your movie and it was bad and I wanted to tell you that but then I heard you, and suddenly I wanted to tell you it was good.” You laugh, too. “It wasn’t so bad. Not really. I was just angry when I watched it. I’m happy you called.”

“Me too,” he replies, meaning it with all his might. “I’m happy you thought it was a bad movie because it was. I’m sorry.”

“For the movie?” You laugh again.

“For everything.”

“Oh, well.” There’s a pause, and he can particularly see you at home, on the couch, shrugging despite the fact that he can’t see you. It makes him smile to remember you like this. “I’ve forgiven you.”

“Just now?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s really good of you.”

“Mm,” you acknowledge, “I just don’t want you to make any more shit movies. I used to know you, and that’s embarrassing for me.”

He laughs so hard he starts to cry a little, mostly because he misses you, and because you’re being so nice when you shouldn’t. He clutches the phone in his hand and feels the love in his chest. It’s a heavy thing. “I miss you,” he says. “Not that I mean anything by that. I just needed you to know that.”

“I miss you too, Bravo. Next time you’re in LA, come say hi. I don't want to be your stranger.”

“No, I don’t want that either,” he says. “I’m in town next month.”

“Okay. Let’s have lunch at my house.”

“Okay,” he agrees. “That’d be nice.”

When he hangs up the phone, he feels better than he has in years. He knows he can’t go back with you, that what’s done is done, and he’s sorry, but he’s happy to be going forward now.

You’re the greatest thing that will ever happen to him. This he has, and always will, know to be true.

#dieter bravo #the bubble #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal characters #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x female reader #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal fanfiction

122 notes · View notes

starlightsreigns · 7 months ago

Text

bloodline | the bloodline

summary ⇢ gianna feels like the shinest toy in the middle of a classroom with everyone eyeing it. she attracts all the interest when she walks into the room, and now it's causing chaos. But, chaos is so fun and it's only the beginning. word count ⇢ 10.1k tags ⇢ language, brief smut

note ⇢ she for the whole team — twins. but I started writing this and over time the main love interest kept changing as the story developed hahah. I'm just a girl and I love every version of the bloodline x

“i ain't lookin' for my one true love, yeah, that ship sailed away”

Gianna rubs her eyes trying to mask the exhaustion written all over her face. she forces a smile as the photographer lifts his camera towards her. the flashes don’t help with the headache that’s pounding through her skull. if anything, she wants to be in bed with her comfort movie and a pile of food — but of course, work always comes first.

“c’mon, Gigi, that’s the best you got?” a familiar voice booms through the room.

solo stands in the doorway of the room, a grin on his face because he knows he’s irritating her. “damn, my bad.” he raises his hand when she glares in his direction. “don’t be like that.”

eighteen years of knowing someone makes you immune to their antics. Gianna and Solo have been best friends since fifth grade; attending the same schools in California since kindergarten, but something changed in their last year of elementary school that brought them together – that something being their teacher sitting them beside each other. Their similar loud nature and her crush on his older brothers made their friendship blossom over the years. She was a cheerleader in high school, and he followed his brothers and cousin in being a football player. They spent every waking moment together, took the same classes, made the same jokes, and got close to each other’s family.

Graduation hit them like a ton of bricks – they spent 13 years always in the same state and school, and now that had to change. Neither one of them understood how much that would hurt. While he stayed in Sacramento for a while and then went on to North Dakota, Gianna moved across the country to Florida. They’ve always been committed to their friendship, which meant every holiday was spent in California and every school vacation was divided between there and Florida. For four years, they made it work through the school work, the various jobs, and the multiple relationships that found their friendship a little too high maintenance – but it only had to matter to them.

Gianna finished college, and with the push of Solo’s older brother, Jimmy and Jey convinced her to try out for WWE. It was always a pipe dream. They came from a wrestling family, the most prominent one at that, and she fell in love with it because of them. Gianna couldn’t imagine making it in the business, but the twins refused to let up. They’d take her to the performance center whenever they were in town until she was convinced she could do this. She trained and prepped until her body couldn’t take it anymore.

The distance came. Their friendship was harder to balance once she joined the main roster years later. Once he joined WWE, their schedules were even more of a mess, but again, if they could survive six years across the country from each other, they could survive the fucking apocalypse – and yeah, they survived the apocalypse to be on the same show now…

Gianna glances at Solo again. Usually, she’d smile at his comment, but any facial movements only exacerbate the growing pains in her body. And he could see it from where she stood. The way her face could barely hold a scowl and the glint in her eyes was gone – she was almost lifeless.

“You hungry?” He asks softly, seeing the way she was trying to hold it together.

After a slow nod, Solo gives her a thumbs-up and quickly disappears from the doorway. The rest of the photoshoot feels like a million years until she’s set free. Gianna gathers her stuff, shuffling through the hallway, bombarded by all the noise the backstage area unfortunately brings.

“Gianna, baby, you okay?” Naomi calls out where she sits in a makeup chair.

Gianna stops beside her, holding onto the arm of the chair, “No, I feel like absolute shit.” She holds onto her forehead, trying to steady the spinning room. Naomi holds onto her arm. “I think I just need to sit for a little bit.”

“You need me to walk you back there?” Naomi’s voice fills with worry. “Or, lemme call Jimmy.”

“Nah, I’m good girl, I can make it.”

Solo comes from behind her, seeing the look of concern on Naomi’s face, “Hey, you good?” He’s holding a plate of food from catering. “C’mon, lemme take you back to med.”

Naomi smiles at her brother-in-law before she meets eyes with Gianna, “text me, ‘kay?”

With a small hum, Gianna lets Solo lead her back to medical. She can barely remember the walk or anything that Solo says to her. To be truthful, she can’t remember anything from before she blacks out and wakes up hours later in confusion.

The world feels hazy as she takes a deep breath. The room is dim while the TV screen plays the current match. Gianna groans, realizing she passed out. From beside her, someone chuckles and Gianna groans louder when she knows exactly who it is.

“Of course, you’re still here,” she smiles softly as she looks over at Solo. “Please tell me I didn’t throw up or say something stupid.”

Solo sighs dramatically, “Now, you want me to lie to you, Gigi?”

“No!” Gianna’s eyes widen. “Was it bad?” She covers her mouth with a laugh.

“Doc was givin’ you fluids,” Solo starts and all Gianna can do is cringe. “You threw up over his shoes, said you was sorry, threw up again, then told us how much you love us for takin’ care of you.”

Gianna shrieks, laughing into her palm as she throws her head back. Solo follows suit in his laughter.

“You piece of shit, you should’ve kept all that to yourself.” Gianna shakes her head just as the door opens. “Hey, girl.” She greets Naomi who walks in cautiously.

Naomi grins, sashaying up to the bed, “girl I came in here earlier and you was out, dead to the world with this fool watchin’ over you.” She jokes as she takes a seat at the end of the bed. “How you feelin’?”

“Like a million bucks, apparently all I needed was some water and to empty out my fucking stomach.” Gianna rolls her eyes with a sigh. “Thank Jesus I didn’t have a match tonight or I would’ve killed myself.”

“Don’t say that, you know I hate that.” Solo rolls his eyes.

He was the sensitive type, not that he’d ever admit it. It’s what she adored most about him, since they were kids, he was very serious about statements like that and went to great lengths to always be there for Gianna. He never wanted to feel like he wasn’t communicating or was being purposely rude to anyone. Kindness was the biggest thing for him.

“I’m sorry,” Gianna reaches over to cup his chin. “I didn’t mean that.”

Naomi watches the pair for a moment, they way Solo instantly melts into a smile at the physical contact. The twinkle in his eyes when he watches her and how he falls into laughter when she says something stupid and it’s about the way he’s always talking in her direction, even when Naomi talks and he responds to her, his eyes always drifts towards Gianna to watch for her reaction.

This wasn’t new – Naomi and the twins often teased him about it, never in front of Gianna because he begged them to not make her uncomfortable, over the past couple of years but they’ve laid off the teasing because damn… they’ve known each other for years and have never made a move. But something about recently has made Naomi suspicious. Solo couldn’t seem to be away from Gianna for more than a single day. It’s the point that if she calls Gianna and she doesn’t answer, she knows to call Solo cause he’ll be with her.

“I gotta go get ready, but I’ll be back to get you later.” Solo stands from his chair, playfully throwing a pillow at Gianna as he walks towards the door. “See you Nao.”

“Bye, brother.” She calls out then turns her attention to Gianna. “Can I ask you something and you won’t be mad at me?” Naomi asks cautiously.

Gianna scrunches her nose, “and what exactly is this question?” She sits up in the bed. “And why would I be mad?”

Naomi sighs, “Why haven’t y’all dated?” She asks right out, catching Gianna off guard. “Y’all’ve known each other y’all whole lives.”

There’s a beat of silence while Gianna thinks about the question. She looks out at the wall. Strangely enough, it’s never been anything she’s sat and thought about. There was always someone she was in a relationship with. This is the first time she’s truly been single and the thought never crept in.

“I’ve never thought of him that way, honest, you know I broke up with whatshisname last year and we were together for six years. It’s always been purely platonic between me and Solo.”

For the rest of the night, the thought rings through Gianna’s head. Why hasn’t there been a romantic relationship between her and Solo? Now, she kinda wishes that it never came up because she’s not one that can hold her tongue and unfortunately, he knows her too well and will eventually read her face.

Gianna has to force the thought to sit in the furthest spot in her brain, it wasn’t something she had the time to worry about, and she’d been a little upset with Naomi for bringing it up. Even weeks later, there’s an air of awkwardness and she’s not sure why it’s there.

The hallway is empty as Gianna rolls her suitcase.

“Gianna,” Naomi’s voice calls out from behind her. Gianna stops reluctantly and turns. “G, you mad at me?”

They both continue their walk towards the locker room. Gianna sighs and shakes her head.

“No, I’m sorry girl, you know how I get sometimes.” Ginna apologizes, “I got uncomfortable with the thought and haven’t been able to face you.”

Naomi nods slowly, “I ain’t mean it like that, I was just askin’.”

“I know, it’s dumb, but he’s my best friend and funny enough when we left high school, I think we both left those thoughts in San Francisco. So, for the past thirteen years we’ve gotten into this perfect groove and yeah…”

When they walk into the locker room, it’s empty and almost eerily silent and it makes Naomi’s next question land in the center of the room like a pin drop.

“Do you think the reason you reacted like that was because you do like him and have liked him all the years?”

Gianna sets her bag down and turns to Naomi. She squints her eyes in disbelief.

“No, I don’t think that’s the case.” She answers bluntly. “And quite frankly, I really want you to leave this alone, Trinity.”

The atmosphere in the room turns uncomfortably cold as the pair stare at each other – it’s almost a stand down as neither one of them say a word. Naomi shakes her head, refusing to let the conversation go. Gianna rolls her eyes, retreating from the room before she has to hear anything else about it, but her friend is on her tail.

“Gianna, be serious.”

Gianna groans, “No, you be serious and drop it.” She grits through her teeth. Down the hallway, she spots Jimmy and Tama in the middle of a conversation. “Jimmy, Tama.”

Something or someone has to get Naomi off of her back and she’s hoping that her husband can help as the men turn to look at her.

“Hey G, what’s up?” Tama smiles, pulling her closer and resting an arm over her shoulder. “Why you look like you about to kill someone.”

“Cause, I’m ‘bout to kill your wife if she don’t leave me the hell alone.” Gianna points to Jimmy.

The men glances at each other before they look between either women. “What the hell goin’ on?” Jimmy asks.

Silence. Naomi raises an eyebrow, waiting for Gianna to say it but she knows she won’t let the words pass her lips. Gianna stares up at the ceiling as she shakes her head, anger not being enough to describe how she feels. Tama shakes her softly, smiling when they make eye contact.

“Talk to us, baby.” Tama rubs her arm.

“Jimmy, you’ve know me since we were kids, please.” Gianna begs then turns to Naomi. “And girl, I love you but don’t make me hate you.”

With that, Gianna shakes out of Tama’s arms and marches down the hallway. There’s nowhere to go, but she refuses to stand with them any longer. That’s the problem of knowing people for so long, there’s no separation in their personal life. All she wants to do is to forget this conversation ever happened and hope that Solo never hears about it, but now Jimmy and Tama knows and soon enough Jey, Tonga, and Jacob will know. None of those men know how to keep a secret if you paid them a million dollars.

Gianna is lost in her thoughts that she doesn’t hear Solo call her name. He grabs her hand to stop her, scaring her in the process. She snaps her head in his direction, faking a smile when she realizes who it is then gives him and Roman a quick nod.

“Hey, you two.” Gianna runs her fingers through her hair suddenly very uncomfortable.

Roman sends Solo a look before poking Gianna’s shoulder, “What’s up with you, G?”

It’s awkward for a moment as she tries to discreetly place some space between her and Solo, “nothin’, I’m just tired and tryna prep for my match tonight.”

“You ain’t look like this even with your mania match, for real, what’s going on?” Solo questions, closing the space between them.

Again, like said earlier, Gianna can’t hide a single emotion from Solo. Her face betrays her as if it doesn’t care what her brain says. She musters the best believable, fake smile she can and shakes her head.

“Y’all I’m good, I promise, can we talk later?”

How long is it appropriate to kinda ignore someone? There’s always been a need to place some distance between Gianna and the amazing Fatu/Anoa’i family before she lost her fucking mind. If she didn’t, she wasn’t sure her friendship with Solo would survive – and again, it’s the most important thing to them. She felt awkward and unlike herself. Naomi sort of took the hint to cool off, Gianna wasn’t sure if she came to that conclusion on her own or if Jimmy convinced her, but whatever it was, she was thankful.

Yet, ignoring people you’re on the same brand with came with making a lot of excuses – tired, training, media, family plans – whatever it was, she used it. Now, Solo wasn’t really accepting any more excuses, she can feel it. But Gianna needs a little more time to not feel so weird about everything.

After her match, Gianna strolls into catering, trying to figure out if she was actually hungry or if she was just anxious… or maybe she was both? She rubs her temple as she stares at a platter of cookies.

“You lookin’ for something sweet?”

Gianna turns to meet eyes with one Tama. She laughs softly with a nod.

“Yeah, tryna figure out if it’ll be worth cheating on my diet.” She stares at the cookies with a sigh. “If you eat one, I’ll eat two.” Gianna propositions him with a laugh.

Tama thinks about it for a second then shugs, “fuck it, let’s do it.” he laughs as they grab their cookies. “Can I ask you something?”

“Uh oh, that’s scary.” Gianna jokes as they walk out of catering. “Should I be scared of this question?”

The taller man lets out a loud laugh that makes her smile, “Nah, you ain’t gotta be scared, baby.” He waits for her to nod before he continues. “Let me take you out?”

Gianna stops to stare at him, “and why do you wanna take me out?”

Tama groans at the same question he’s gotten every time he asks her out. Unfortunately for him, Gianna always gave him the same response. He wraps an arm around her shoulder while continuing their walk.

“You play too much, G,”

Sunlight pours into Gianna’s living room as she lays sprawled on her couch, eyes transfixed on her TV. She could have said yes to Tama’s date, but her one weekend home in over a month… she needs to spend that at home for her sanity. The comfort of her couch and her puppy makes everything manageable.

The doorbell ringing doesn’t bother her puppy nor when she slips off the couch to peek into the peephole. Gianna bites her lip when she sees Solo on the other side, hands in pocket, almost expressionless. She shuts her eyes for a moment before she unlocks the door to come face-to-face with the man she’s barely spoken to in weeks.

“Hey,” Gianna smiles, pushing the door wider for him to come in. “I didn’t know you were comin’ over.”

Solo smiles then his brows furrow in confusion, “When have we ever called before showin’ up at each other’s house?” He watches her shut the door in silence. “What’s up with you, Gianna?”

They sit on the couch, Solo pets the puppy he hasn’t seen in a while, giving Gianna the chance to come up with whatever she needed to say. She’s never felt this anxious in her entire life and she wishes this wasn’t happening right now – why couldn’t she act normal about this? She knew what her feelings were and she thinks she knows what Solo’s feelings are, so why does she feel like she could go skydiving without a parachute?

“Gia,” Solo says. The only person in the world she allows to use that awful nickname. “Talk.”

“Naomi, a couple of weeks ago, was basically pressurin’ me about you and I’s relationship and why we’ve never dated. She wouldn’t let up on it no matter how many times I told her it wasn’t somethin’ you and I were interested in, and it just made me feel all awkward cause now I’m thinkin’ how many other people have the same idea as her and if maybe you was thinkin’ about us some type of way.” Gianna word vomits the entire sentence in one breath as she watches his reactions. When he doesn’t say anything she sighs. “Are you thinkin’ about us in another type of way, Solo?”

Solo runs his hand over his beard, “I’ve told them all not to do this shit over and over again, I don’t know why Naomi would do that, but Nah, G. You my best friend and it’s always been that since we was kids and it not gone change now.” He confirms. “I don’t like how you felt like you had to ignore me instead of just comin’ to talk to me about it.

Gianna swallows. There’s something in the pit of her stomach that doesn’t disappear after his answer, actually, it gets worse and she feels like she’s about to be sick, but sucks it up for the moment, mauling over his most recent statement.

“I didn’t know how you’d react, and I’m sorry, I just started feelin’ awkward and anxious, so I just took a step back.” She smiles softly. “I know how you are and I should’ve just went to you and told you.”

Solo finally cracks a smile. He walks up to Gianna, helping her up then envelops her in a bear hug. With their hearts pressed together, Gianna blinks away the sad tears brimming the corner of her eyes. She stares at the door, feeling nothing but… misery? On the opposite end, Solo shuts his eyes tightly with the exact same fucking feelings.

“Listen, man, you ain’t listen, G.” Tama throws himself back in his seat in anger making her laugh. “Oh, you think this shit is funny?”

Gianna tries to hold in her laugh, “Tama, I love you, but baby you can’t do no fucking coup de grace.”

Tama finds himself beyond words in their argument on whether or not he’d be able to steal Finn Balor’s finisher. On a Tuesday night, this was the best they had to do as they sat in the backyard of Jimmy and Naomi’s place, liquor in hand, and no expectations for the next day. Tama sucks his teeth, turning to look at Jey as he walked out on the patio.

“Man, tell this girl I can do Finn’s shit.”

Jey looks at the older man then lets out a holler, “Uce, you can’t do no fuckin’ coup de grace.”

With a shit eating grin, Gianna raises her glass then takes a sip, “I’ve said that for the past hour, thank you, my brother.”

She sticks her tongue out at him when he places a greeting kiss on her cheek and takes the seat next to her.

“Mr. Monday Nights, I feel like I never see you anymore.” Gianna sits up, crossing her legs. “How’s it goin’ over there? I been seein’ you and rhea.”

“Man, we chillin’, I’m just vibin’ with everything right now.” Jey grins. “When you comin’ back to the winnin’ brand?”

Gianna scoffs playfully, “I’m already on the winning brand, if anything, we might need you back.”

Jey shakes his head with a grin. He loks down at his glass for a moment then meets eyes with Gianna, “I miss travellin’ with y’all, but this is somethin’ good, you know?” He shrugs. “I know you missin’ me.”

“Of course I miss you,” Gianna stands and moves over to sit on his lap. “These dudes get on my last fucking nerve.”

Tama scoffs, “what I do to you, G?”

She rolls her eyes with a smile, “Nothin’, Tama, you ain’t do nothin’ to me.” Gianna says sarcastically before tipping the rest of her drink into her mouth.

“The girl crushin’ on me and doesn’t know how to say it.” Tama mocks with Jey.

“Oh yeah? So that means she got over her crush on me?” Jey raises his eyebrow.

They turn their attention to her as she slowly brings her glass down with wide eyes. Gianna’s mouth widen with a smile, trying to come up with a quick comeback.

“Oh, y’all playin’ tonight.” Gianna sputters.

Tama sucks his teeth, “you a horrible liar, G.” He shakes his head while Jey hums in agreement.

“And what did I lie about?” She challenges while she stands from Jey’s lap to retake her seat between them.

“Forget us,” Jey speaks up. “But when you say you don’t like my brother, we can see it on your face.”

In the silence of the patio, Gianna leans back in her seat. She should’ve known that this conversation would never truly end – it was inevitable. Jey and Tama share looks as they wait for her to say something. Tama scoots his chair closer to hers.

“Tell me somethin’ G,” Tama starts while Jey watches. “If you don’t like Solo, let me take you out tomorrow?”

Gianna smiles, “Oh, so you’re not worried about family, you just want me.” She raises an eyebrow. “Is that what this is?”

Tama chuckles then shrugs. “I mean, I don’t understand how they all known you all this time and haven’t taken you out.”

With his statement, Gianna turns to Jey and raises an eyebrow. Jey chuckles and runs his hand over his beard. “I don’t know, baby, you like family at this point. We can’t cross that line.”

“It’s okay, young me wanted you before I knew how annoying you are.” Gianna jokes as she places a hand on his cheek. “It’s all love though.”

Jey swats her hand away while they laugh. The door to the patio opens and catches their attention. Solo steps out, coming to join them on the lawn chairs. He sits beside Tama.

“What’s goin’ on, people?” He greets, clocking the way the guys are all sitting so close to Gianna. “I can hear y’all laughin’ from inside.”

“Nothin’ man, I’m tryna get G over here to go out with me tomorrow.” Tama looks into Gianna’s eyes as he says it making her laugh. “But she think I’m playin’ with her.” He jokes.

Thankfully the trio is both distracted and drunk or they would’ve seen the way Solo was burning a hole through Tama after his sentence. The way his grip tightens around his beer could shatter the glass. Solo rolls his head before producing a fake smile just as Gianna looks in his direction.

“They’re drunk as shit.” She lets out her own drunk giggle. Gianna studies Solo for a second then stands, holding a hand out for him to take. “Can we go talk?”

After their conversation at her house not too long ago, things went back to normal. But there are still times when Gianna catches him deep in his own thoughts when they’re together. There’s just a slight difference in their relationship now that isn’t noticeable on certain days, but she can see it now, even though her drunken haze.

It’s quieter at the front of the house, so Gianna and Solo rest on the hood of his car. She messes with the seam of her skirt as they sit in some silence. It’s as if they don’t know what to say to each other and it’s killing them.

“What are you thinkin’ about, sweet?” Gianna finally asks as she turns her head towards him.

Solo slowly shakes his head, “I ain’t know Tama had a thing for you.”

“I don’t think that the case, I think he just likes getting under my skin.”

Gianna shrugs. They sit in silence again for a moment then Solo nods.

“Let him take you out.”

What? Gianna wasn’t sure she heard what he said correctly. Never in their lives has he ever pushed her towards going out with someone, especially not family. Solo turns to look at her shocked and confused face. For a moment, his eyebrows furrow in confusion at her confused look, but then he nods.

“That’s not somethin’ you want, G?” Solo asks. “might as well, you know, you been single a while now.”

Gianna opens her mouth and closes it several times, “I don’t understand you, Solo, why would you tell me to go out with him?” Now she’s slightly irritated. “What the fuck?”

Solo holds his hands up in question, “I’m just sayin’, if you want to you should. Who you waitin’ on? Me? Man, go out with Jey too if you wanna, fuck ‘em if you wanna.”

That makes Gianna push off the car. She turns to look at him with pure anger, “If I wanted to I would’ve, but again, what I’m tryna understand is what the fuck are you saying to me?” She can’t explain the feelings in her body as she yells at him. “I don’t understand this anymore.” Gianna motions between them.

“And what is this?” Solo stands up straight.

“Our friendship?” She scoffs at his question. “You know what, Solo, I’m over this and I’m over you right now.”

Just as she finishes her statement, Jey and Tama walk out from the backyard. Solo glances in their direction then looks at Gianna.

“Aye, one of y’all can take Gianna home now.” He says cooly.

Gianna licks her bottom lip, “Wow, just like that?”

“You said you done, G.” Solo shrugs without a trace of humor. “So, be done and don’t worry about me.”

“Fuck you,” She spits, shoving him away from her. The tears hit her cheek before she can realize she even wanted to cry. “Cause I never would’ve said that shit to you in a million years but you think that’s fuckin’ cool to say to me then kick me out? You're a bitch.”

Gianna wipes her tears as she walks away from him. She stops in front of Jey and he immediately wraps an arm around her shoulders. He sends a confused look to Tama who in turns sends daggers at Solo.

The ride home is quiet. Jey had the unfortunate task of taking her home as Tama stayed behind, completely plastered. She sits in the passenger seat and stares out the window. It was a horrible way to end the night and she didn’t even understand where the hell it went wrong. All Gianna can think about is how her best friend essentially called her a slut because of a joke that’s been ongoing for the past year. This attitude wasn’t anything she’s ever seen from him before.

It broke her heart to think that he saw her in that light. She was never that person. He knew that, so why say it even if he was upset at her for whatever reason?

“What’s goin’ on with y’all?” Jey asks.

“I don’t know,” Gianna says through shallow breaths. “He basically called me a slut then told me to leave, not much explanation there?”

Jey glances at her shocked, “Uce said what?” He shakes his head. “I need to talk to him. Why he say that?”

Gianna rubs her temple, “Jey, he said I should sleep with Tama or sleep with you. I wish I fuck knew where he got the idea that I wanted that, but he’s convinced I do.”

By the time they make it to her house, Gianna’s panic attack is soothed. She gathers her heels and purse and looks at Jey. He gives her a sympathetic look then quickly gets out the car to open the door for her. They walk up to her door slowly and he waits as she looks for her keys then unlocks the front door.

“Thank you for bringin’ me home, and please just leave this whole thing alone. I really do think your brother and I just need some separation for a little while. I think we’ve been in each other’s faces for too many years and it’s just a phase.”

It was a wish that Solo would come to the conclusion on his own that what he said was wrong. Hopefully the separation would create some clarity for them both. Jey nods in understanding and pulls her into a tight hug.

“I got you, mama, you know that.” He murmurs into her ears. “And, how about we give him something to be mad about?” She can hear the smirk in his voice.

Gianna moves back to meet his eyes, “What do you mean by that?” She searches his eyes then breaks out into the biggest grin he’d ever seen. “Oh my God, are you gonna kiss me? Please tell me you are so I can prepare young me.”

Jey laughs brightly and nods. Gianna throws her stuff into the house, turns back to him, and watches as he leans into her. He presses the soft kiss on her lip, wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her closer to his body. When they pull apart, Gianna covers her mouth in shock.

“You’re the greatest friend I’ve ever had in this life, thank you for that.” Gianna kisses his cheek.

“You know I got you, G, goodnight.”

As he walks back to the car, Gianna stands in her doorway. She laughs to herself at the fact that she got to kiss her first ever crush, even though it wasn’t in the most romantic way. She waves as Jey pulls of and closes the door to the dark house. The kiss was amazing, but it wasn’t something either of them were ever going to pursue, it was a way to make her feel better.

Why does she feel like shit about the events earlier in the night? She didn’t do anything wrong but here she was wondering if she should text Solo first.

There are rare instances that Gianna and Solo fought. It was rare. For them to find themselves at odds, it’d have to be serious. Their first ever fight was in elementary school when Gianna decided to sit next to another kid for an entire week. Solo proceeded to throw paper balls at her for the week until she sat next to him again. Then, in middle school, Solo thought it’d be the bright idea to date Gianna’s nemesis. They spent half of their seventh grade year at odds. High school was probably their biggest fight. For years they couldn’t come up with the reason as to why the fight started, but Gianna remembers that she started talking to some guy on the football team whose name she can’t even remember anymore.

It was her thought that Solo would be okay with it, he knew about it, and didn’t say anything. Her relationship with the guy was fine, until it wasn’t. A rumor started that her and Solo liked each other. It wasn’t true and no matter how many times she explained it to her boyfriend, he just seemed to hear something different. The real kicker came when she found out that Solo was making stuff up and telling other players, who of course shared it to other players until the entire team was talking about it. The fight started when Gianna showed up on his porch. He denied it, even though they both knew he was doing it. For the life of her, she couldn’t understand why he’d sabotage her relationship. He said it was because he didn’t trust the guy.

No correlation, he was right, her boyfriend was a piece of shit who was cheating on her, but that wasn’t the point. It took them until the following summer to make up.

There’ve been several more fights post high school. All of them revolved around her relationships. Either the guy was too nice, too douchey, or just was plain boring. No one ever seemed to be quite right. Yet, everything before paled in comparison to this one.

No contact is what they’ve been for the past three weeks. He avoids her when they travel, they don’t text, they don’t call. Gianna’s sick and tired of this shitty ass attitude he’s had towards her and refuses to be the one that fixes it. So, she’s letting it run its course, if it ever does. Hopefully it does or it’ll ruin the next few days.

“Hey girlie,” Naomi smiles, wrapping her arm around Gianna as she sets her carry on down.

Gianna scrunches her nose, “Hey baby doll, you look cute.” She scans Naomi’s outfit for the flight. “Your ass is actually insane, bro, how Jimmy handle all that?”

Naomi laughs as they find a spot to sit, “Girl bye,” she waves her off. “Did you bring your best outfits?”

“Oh, of course, I plan on being the best dressed.”

Once a year, for the past ten years, they all take a big vacation to relax. Naomi and Gianna were the ones to convince everyone and it’s become habit. This year, they decided on Puerto Rico because they loved it so much when they all went for Backlash. It was probably one of their easiest ones to pick – usually it’s a big group argument about where to go, and this years they’ve invited three new, annoying people in Tama, Tonga, and Jacob.

“Where are the brothers?” Gianna quickly glances around.

“They went to get somethin’ to eat, you know how they are.” She rolls her eyes then clears her throat. “You and lil man talkin’ again?”

Gianna chuckles at the nickname but shakes her head, “No, I think we just need some more time.”

And unfortunately, the three hour flight had Solo and Gianna sitting besides each other. They both bought their tickets months ago and it was awkward. Neither of them had the idea to switch seats, but both had their headphones on, acting as if the other wasn’t there. Gianna’s eyes rarely stray from the window out of fear of making eye contact with him.

Hours flew by from the plane ride, to the awkward waiting for their car, and the hour drive to the rented villa. Gianna wants to run and hide and take the ride with Tama and Tonga and Jacob, but Naomi wasn’t having it, so she found herself squished beside her in the quietest car ride.

Sunset shines off everyone’s sunglasses when they finally get to the house. Gianna flicks her hair over her shoulder as she grabs her suitcase from the driver with a small smile.

“G, you sleepin’ with me?” Tama yells out.

Their car pulls in with him hanging out the window. Gianna laughs as she turns to see them. Tama leaves the guys behind to wrap his arms around her.

“I can’t share with you,” Gianna laughs against his chest.

Tama raises an eyebrow, “cause you can’t keep your hands to yourself when it comes to me?”

Gianna pushes him away but he doesn’t move, “no, cause you can’t keep your hands to yourself.” she smiles, glancing at his hand that’s at the top of her ass. “like right now.”

“I can’t help myself when it comes to you, G.”

His eyes never leave hers as he talks and Gianna finds herself, for the first time, completely lost in the thought of his words. She hums softly and looks around at everyone making their way towards the front door.

“Fine, we can share, but you have to promise to keep your dick in your pants.” She stares up at him. “Unless, I say otherwise.” Her voice dips as a glint sparkles in his eyes.

The house is absolutely insane. Once everyone claims their rooms: Jimmy and Naomi in one, Gianna and Tama in one, then everyone gets their own with a single room left empty, they meet in the kitchen to eat before getting started.

“Where’s Roman? I thought he was traveling with you guys?” Naomi points to Tonga.

Tonga sips his water, “He should be here later tonight.”

“Who invited you?” Gianna points to Jacob who’s pulling out his cigarettes.

Jacob throws a wrapper in her direction making her laugh, “Didn’t you ask me, Gigi?”

Gianna gags at the nickname, “And I think I’m regrettin’ that now.”

“Oh Gigi,baby, you know you love me.” Jacob comes around the counter, wrapping his arm around her waist. She leans her head away with a groan. “Don’t act like that.”

Gianna folds under the pressure, giving into a smile and letting Jacob hug her. He’s the biggest teddy bear of the group and she can’t be mad at him for too long, even if she was only pretending.

“Man, y’all let’s eat.”

Most of them took a nap after they ate. Gianna sighs into her pillow when she feels Tama’s hand on her hip. She keeps her eyes closed, but slaps his hand away.

“Tama, stop playin’, I’m tired.”

Tama groans softly, moving closer to rest his chin on her arm, “I ain’t tired, G.”

Gianna opens her eyes and looks over at him. She searches his eyes for a while before shifting down to see his shirtless torso and it’s a fight to bring her eyes back to his.

“You’re a horny fuck, do you know that?” she asks softly, laying on her back. “Why you stressin’ me, Tama, you haven’t let me breathe since we met.”

They met several years ago at an event. The twins introduced them and it’s been history ever since. He was the biggest flirt she’s ever met and she’s his primary victim. Once he joined the main roster, she hasn’t had a moment of peace.

“I can't let you pass me by, Gianna.” He leans up on the palm of his hand, hovering over her. “I want you.”

She shies under his gaze. His usually playful face is more serious than she’s ever seen. Gianna watches the way his other hand slowly moves the duvet from her body. Tama gets on his knees in front of her and pulls her up against him so they’re both kneeled in front of each other.

“We can’t be together,” Gianna whispers softly, feeling his hand on her back. “You know that.”

“I know that, G.”

Yet, the doesn’t stop either of them as their lips come together. Gianna sighs into his lips while Tama wraps his arm around her waist and pull her into his bare chest. The kiss starts to get frantic, neither one of them wants to pull away, it’s like life or death. Tama manuevers them back onto the mattress, but Gianna snaps out of his and pulls away.

“I need to cool off,” She rolls to the other side of the bed, trying to catch her breath while he lays besides her. “I’m gonna go get some water.”

Gianna gets to the bottom of the stairs, playing with her hair as she tries to find a light switch in the darkness. She finally turns one on then looks for the glasses to get a drink of water. She’s barely down a sip when she hears a knock on the door. Gianna hesitates for a minute, looking down at the oversized judgment day shirt she was wearing with nothing else.

She walks over cautiously and peeks towards the glass door but calms when she sees the familiar, friendly face. Gianna cheers as she runs towards the door.

“Ro, you’re here,” she throws the door open. “How was your flight?”

Roman takes a deep breath as he shuffles in, “exhausting, but hey G.”

She chuckles, giving him a quick hug, then takes him over to his room that’s on the main floor near Jimmy and Naomi. Roman drops down on the bed with a huff as she stands in the doorway.

“Excited to not think about work for the next three days?”

“Very,” He peeks at her. “You upstairs?”

Gianna nods, “Yeah, i’m sharing with Tama.”

That catches Roman’s attention and he sits up, “Huh… Why’s that?”

For a moment she thinks about it, suddenly very cautious and aware that she just made out with him.

“I dunno, he asked so I said yes.” She speaks slowly.

“Well, if you need an escape from that fool, you got a space down here.”

With a smile, Gianna blows him a kiss, “I appreciate that, Ro, I’ll let you shower.”

Back in the living room, Tonga and Jacob were sitting on the couch in their own conversation. Jacob whistles when he sees her. Gianna rolls her eyes and goes around to sit across from them on the couch.

“I thought y’all were passed out,” She crosses her legs.

Jacob groans, “Man, this fool woke me up talkin’ ‘bout it’s time to drink.”

Gianna laughs and leans her head back against the arm of the couch to stair at the ceiling, “I’m down with Tonga, where’s everyone else?”

“Jim took Naomi and Solo to the store.” Tonga says as he watches the way Gianna absentmindedly taps her exposed thigh. “Tama ain’t botherin’ you, is he?”

“Nah, he’s not botherin’ me.” Gianna meets his eyes. “Not yet at least.”

For a little while, the trio sit in a meaningless conversation about backstage at Smackdown. Tama joins them not long after, taking a seat beside Gianna, stealing glances at her when she’s talking. Their conversations halts when the door opens and a loud cheer comes from Jimmy.

“Good, all your asses awake now.” He calls out as she comes into the living room with the bags.

Gianna gets on her knees on the couch, facing him, “so, what’s in the bags?” She smiles hopefully.

“You wondering if I got your stuff?” He raises an eyebrow. Jimmy shuffles through the bag before he pulls out a bottle of 1942 Tequila. “You know I got you, sis.”

With a dramatic sigh, Gianna grabs the bottle and kisses it before she sends Jimmy an air kiss. She peers back to catch a look from Tonga. He smirks and leans in towards Jacob to whisper something to him. Jacob chuckles and peers over at her.

They don’t look away when she keeps her focus on them. So, Gianna shakes her ass in their direction. Tama whistles and grabs her by the waist, pulling her t-shirt down.

“Nah, this all me.” He points to Tama and Jacob.

Solo and Noami come out from the kitchen and she claps her hands to get everyone’s attention.

“You two, c’mon, y’all been nappin’ too long.” Naomi points to Tonga and Tama. “G, give me the bottle.” She holds out her hand and Gianna sadly gives it back.

Gianna sighs back into her seat with a pout making Jacob laugh. She turns to look back at Solo then quickly turns around when they make eye contact. Her heart falls and she drops her head down to stare at her legs. Jacob looks up at Solo and widen his eyes then look at her. Solo, thankfully, gets the hint and clears his throat as he comes to sit beside Gianna.

“Can we go outside and talk, Gia?”

The nickname makes her look up. She nods slowly and follows him out to the backyard. There’s a pool and they’re overlooking the ocean as they sit on the lounge chairs across from each other.

A silence sits amongst them for a while as Gianna massages her scalp. Solo keeps his eyes on her while trying to come up with the first word to say. She finally looks at him and raises an eyebrow. For all the years they’ve known each other, if he fucked up, Gianna will sit in silence until he apologizes, and she’s good at that.

“Gianna, I was an ass to you and I’m sorry.” Solo finally talks. “I didn’t mean what I said and I never should’ve said it. You’re my best friend.”

Gianna swallows hard, “why’d basically call me a slut?”

Solo shakes his head and looks down in shame, “it’s dumb,” he says lowly. Gianna uses her foot to nudge his to continue. “I felt like you was pullin’ away from me, and then you was getting close with them and I just…”

“So you were jealous?” She nudges him again.

“I shouldn’t, cause you can hang with whoever you want, I don’t own you.” He meets her eyes. “I want us to go back to how we were, Gia, I love what we got and how we doin’ it.”

When he finishes, Gianna rubs her hands together, “I accept your apology, because you’re my best friend, and I know your heart.” She reaches out and grabs his hand. “If you ever imply that i’m a slut ever again, I’ll cut your dick off.”

They break into a smile then a fit of laughter as they stare at each other. Solo stands and pulls her into his arms in a bear hug. He lifts Gianna off the ground as she shriek, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“I love you, Gia.” Solo sets back on the ground.

“Love you much more.” She caresses his cheek like the million of times she has before. “I’m happy we’re cool now.”

She turns first to walk away but feels his hand hold her in place.

“Also, I said it like an asshole, but really, Tama likes you.”

Gianna searches his eyes, for what, but she’s not sure what she’s expecting. Her stomach slightly drops but she sports a smile and a nod.

“Yeah, I know.”

Solo walks in first, leaving her outside, in the middle of her thoughts. Gianna watches him bounce around the room, obviously a weight off of his shoulder after their conversation. Yet, now she feels a million time heavier.

Tama peeks his head out the house. He sends a bright smile and steps out to stand with her. Gianna stares into his eyes, making a decision to let go of the one thing that’s been gnawing at her. She steps closer to him and holds onto his arms. Tama knows the look in her eyes and nods silently for a little bit.

“So, it’s a no for us?” He finally questions.

Gianna places a hand on his cheek, but then immediately moves it, “the opposite, actually, we can see how this goes.”

He squeezes her in a hug, but all Gianna can do is stare at Solo from inside the house. When they move eye contact, she holds it until he’s the first to look away.

Back inside, Gianna stealthily grabs the bottle of 1942 and hurries back into the living room. She jumps onto the couch just as Roman arrives. He glances down at her and chuckles.

“Who bought you Tequila?” He rests against the arm of the couch. Gianna shrugs, trying to mask her grin. “You know you get crazy off that Tequila, G, what we gettin’ into tonight?”

Gianna thinks for a moment, “i’m getting fucked up off this 1942, everything’s up.”

Roman claps his hands on her shoulder, “you do know you get really sentimental when you drunk? Save me a kiss when you go around kissing everyone.”

A laugh falls from Gianna’s mouth, “you’ll get the first kiss this time, promise.”

Drunk Gianna is fun Gianna. It’s her and a bottle of Tequila against the world. Instead of going out the first night, it was easier for them all to just eat, drink, and listen to music at the house. Gianna was about five shots deep, pouring Tequila into everyone’s mouth as it got later into the night.

They pulled the sliding doors all the way open, letting the music waft out poolside. Jimmy and Naomi were in the pool, lips stretched, Jey and Solo were going between the patio and the living room, Gianna sat on Tama’s lap in the living room with Roman and Jacob as they played 2K.

“G, baby, ain’t it time for your drunk kissin’?” Naomi called out from the pool.

“Yeah, I'll save yours for later.” Gianna sticks her tongue out. “Ro, you want another shot?”

“Pour it up,” He responds, his eyes not leaving the screen.

Gianna gets off Tama’s lap, takes a moment to steady herself then drops down beside Roman. She carefully leans his head back to pour the tequila into his mouth. They lock eyes as she does so. After his mouth is full, Gianna moves the bottle and lets him go, but neither of them look away.

“I'll come back for you later,” Gianna winks, using her finger to place his attention back onto the tv.

A sudden yell from the kitchen catches her attention. Gianna makes her way into the kitchen to see Tonga and Solo turn to look at her with their hands behind their backs. She rests against the counter to steady herself then takes a sip from her bottle.

“And what are y’all up to?” She raises an eyebrow.

Tonga glances at Solo before he lets out a sigh, “we unfortunately can’t tell you that, G.” A wicked smirk on his lips.

Gianna cocks her head to the side. She taps her nail on the counter before shrugging her shoulder. “That’s fine, you’ll come crawling to me later.” She winks while turning on her heels.

As she leaves the kitchen, Gianna smacks herself on her ass. She sighs softly in the living room. She leans over to whisper into Tama’s ear.

“Wanna go into the pool?”

Tama looks up, “you ain’t gotta ask me twice.”

Outside, Gianna finally sheds the oversized shirt she’s been wearing, leaving her in a bra and thong. Naomi whistles at the sight making Gianna blow her a kiss.

“c’mon, G.” Tama watches as she takes a swig of the 1942 then places the bottle at the edge of the pool.

After jumping into the pool, splashing the other couple, Gianna pulls Tama further down with her. She wraps her legs around him as they surface. Gianna closes her eyes as he twirls her around in the water. She closes her arms around his neck, pushing their bodies together.

Without a word, Gianna draws him into a kiss. Tama doesn’t miss a beat, falling into the rhythm. His arms tighten around her. All the noise, mostly coming from the other couple cheering them on, falls into the background as it becomes messier.

A drunk Gianna finally pulls away with a laugh, floating onto her back. She was too drunk to even process anything more than Naomi pulling her arm towards her.

“G, girl, I need to party like you.” Naomi laughs.

“Babe, my bottle of 1942 is off limits, sorry!” She shouts, swimming up towards the edge to grab the bottle. Gianna pours more Tequila into her mouth before stumbling out of the pool. “where’s everyone?”

She stumbles lightly into the living room. Gianna scans the room, only seeing Roman on the ground. She whistles to catch his attention.

“You comin’ in?” Gianna asks but he shakes his head. She walks over to him and drops down next to him. “More ‘42?”

Roman takes the bottle out of her hand and pours some of the liquor into his mouth, “you drippin’ water everywhere.” His voice is dark as he stares at her bare legs.

“Then grab me a towel.” She raises an eyebrow.

He gets up, pulling her alongside him into his room. Gianna sets her bottle on the dresser and runs her fingers through her wet hair, mentally cursing at the fact she’ll have to wash it later. Roman comes out of the bathroom with a towel, pausing to watch her.

Gianna meets him where he stands. She slides the towel out of his hand and wipes down her body. When all the water is dry, she tosses the towel on the ground and then turns her attention to Roman who's still silent. She steps closer to him, messing with the hem of his shirt.

“You got me alone, in the dark, you not gonna take advantage of this moment?” Gianna murmurs when they gaze into each other's eyes. “Cause i’m waitin’ on you.”

Roman chuckles, “You don’t need no more tequila.”

She shrugs at the comment. Yet, even with that, he doesn’t move an inch, but instead, continues to watch her actions. Gianna gets on her tiptoes slowly, hands on his chest to keep herself steady. She doesn’t say anything, only stares into his eyes, until his eyes drift down onto her lips. Roman finally captures her lips with his, making her lose her breath.

In the pitch-black darkness of the room, Roman pins Gianna against the wall with his hands cupping her face. It catches her off guard at first, the sheer hunger in the kiss, the neediness, was unlike anything else — this is a new question she needs answered. Roman hikes her legs up around his waist, one hand firmly on her ass to keep her up.

“This what you wanted, G?” He growls in her ear, getting a moan in response. “I been watchin’ you with Tama all night, now you wanna be in my bed?” Roman continues, peppering kisses down her neck, sucking on a sensitive spot.

Gianna arches her back against the wall, “And so what? is that a problem for you?” she hits back, knowing there’d be a hickey in that spot he was still sucking on. “Are you tryna mark me?”

“I don’t need to mark you, baby, I can make you mine without all that.”

His mouth moves up to her lips again, taking her into a breathless kiss, “You’re so fucking cocky,” Gianna says in a breath before his lips is back on hers.

Breathing is harder every time Roman pulls away. Gianna’s head spins, but she’s never one to tap out. Her fingers slowly massage her raw and swollen lips while making note of how long he’s been holding her up. Roman swipes her fingers away to look at his handiwork, making her nervous under his strong gaze. He finally breaks a small smirk.

“Where you sleepin’ tonight?” He questions, but Gianna can tell it wasn’t a question.

“I actually have no plans on goin’ back out there.” She murmurs when being placed on her feet.

Roman nods. Gianna grabs the bottle of 1942 and sits on the edge of the bed. She downs the last of it and lays back on the bed. All she can do is let out a soft laugh when one random thought pops into her head: maybe she is a slut. But, honestly, who gives a fuck?

Life is more fun when you don’t give a fuck.

Gianna sits up slowly, “Are you just gonna sit there or should I go find someone else?”

“That’s a threat, G, you wanna threaten me?” Roman stalks up towards her. Gianna eyes the boner he has under his joggers then shrugs. “What you lookin’ at?” He smirks.

Feeling his soft touch on her skin, Gianna flips onto her stomach and looks back at him, “Please?” She rests her head on the mattress.

How could he say no when she asks so nicely. Roman trains his eyes on her as he drops his jogger, chuckling at her reaction. His hands slide up her legs before massaging her ass. Gianna's eyes flutter shut, even when he helps drop her up on her knees. His rough hands were weirdly soothing to her.

“Gianna, look at me,” His voice rough.

When she opens her eyes, a gasp escapes her lips as he pushes into her slowly. With her thong to the side, Gianna can feel every inch of him pressing into her. She clutches the bed sheets not finding enough air in her lungs.

“Fuck,” Gianna moans into the bed, feeling his hand on her stomach. “Roman, please.” She pleads at his achingly slow pace.

“I got you baby,”

With one swift buck of his hip, Roman fully pushes into her then pulls out, repeating those steps until there were tears of pleasure streaming down the side of her face. Gianna’s moans were breathy at his erratic movements.

Roman grunts softly, “talk to me, G, how you feelin’?” He leans to whisper in her ears.

“Just keep goin’, please, I need it.” Gianna begs, unable to think of anything beside the sensation pulsing through her body. “I need it.” She muffles a loud moan into the mattress.

Her legs, now shaking, couldn’t hold her up anymore. She was shaking so bad. Roman pulls out, chuckling at her groan, to turn her onto her stomach. He waits as Gianna pulls her thong off and throws it across the room. Roman pulls her towards the edge of the bed and plunges into her. Gianna’s back arches off the bed, wraps her legs around him, unwavering in their eye contact.

Ecstasy would be the only word to describe what’s pulsating through her body. She finds Roman’s arm, digging her fingernails into his skin to find some form of tension. Gianna’s eyes roll to the back of her head, a loud moan reverberating through the room as she came down from the high. She was barely breathing when he pulled out of her, cumming on her stomach.

There were no other words when Roman collapsed beside her. Gianna rolls towards him, resting her head on his chest. Before a minute passed, they were knocked out.

The sun in the room blinds Gianna when she finally opens her eyes. She moans softly, sitting up, but freezes in realization that she’s not in her own room. Beside her, Roman stirs.

“Oh, shit.” Gianna covers her mouth, glancing around to see her bra and thong alongside Roman’s clothes. “Oh… shit…”

Roman grunts as he opens his eyes. When he looks in her direction, his eyes widen. Gianna runs her hands through her hair not knowing how to start this conversation. That, and the fact, that she can’t get out of bed because she’s naked.

“G, baby, did we…” Roman sits up as she nods. “Oh, shit.”

Before anything else is said, Gianna bursts into a fit of laughter. She shakes her head at the scenario in front of them. Roman finally cracks a smile, running his hand down his face.

“Okay, I’m gonna get up and leave before anyone sees us.” Gianna slides out of the bed, finding her bra and Roman’s shirt. She turns to look at him before quietly exiting the room.

The living room, thankfully, is empty, but Jacob and Jey are passed out on the couch. Gianna tiptoes to the kitchen and starts the coffee. Anything can help with this hangover. When it is ready, she takes her coffee out by the pool. Her feet dangle as she thinks of the mess she’s put herself in now.

“There you are,” Naomi walks out in her bikini, taking a seat beside the younger woman. “You went missing last night.”

“I passed out in Roman’s bed, bless his heart.” Gianna smiles. “I need to lay off the Tequila sometimes.”

Naomi laughs, “Girl, I don’t think anyone here, beside me, can remember anything from last night.” She says then clears her throat. “So, how are things with you and Solo?”

Gianna sips her coffee slowly, “We’re good. He apologized and told me to get with Tama.”

“That’s good,”

For a long moment, neither one of them says anything. Gianna can only think about how she woke up in Roman’s bed. There’s no one she can confide in — as much as she loves Naomi, the information will eventually find itself being shared with Jimmy and it’ll make the rounds from there. She runs the risk of Solo and Tama finding out and that’s the last thing she wants.

“I’m gonna go shower the Tequila smell off of me, be back and we can swim?” Gianna starts to get up.

“I’ll be right here, G, I’ll save you a mimosa.”

Gianna winks as she enters the living room. Jey stirs on the couch, groaning loudly. She leans against the arm of the couch for a second.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty, coffee?”

Jey nods with his lopsided smile. “You’re my savior, G.” He scans her outfit then chuckles. “You don’t own pants?”

“Nope, but you can just say that my half naked body makes you horny.” She teases when he grabs the mug from her.

“Oh, that’s what you wanna hear?”

Gianna shrugs, lightly yawning with a stretch, purposely raising the shirt to give a glimpse of her ass. “Who knows, but you staring at my ass tells me more than anything else.” She winks.

“You play dirty,” Jey groans softly, leaning his head back.

“It’s the only way to play, Jey.”

Upstairs was quiet. Gianna found Tama asleep on bed, body horizontal. She slips into the shower and sighs under the warm water. Lost in her own thoughts, Gianna leans against the cool tiles, letting the water cascade down her body.

There are rarely moments that make Gianna stop and think. She’s always been the wild child, that’s what people love about her, the willingness to throw caution to the wind, party until the sun rises and not remember what happened the night before.

In her last relationship, she took precautions — too many precautions because her ex didn’t appreciate the wildness she brought along. Now, she’s not understanding why she’s acting out. Sleeping with Roman was never part of her plans, if anything, it almost concerns her. Yes, he’s the most attractive human on the planet, but it was never something she thought of.

The person she wants, she’s now realizing, doesn’t want her. Gianna is in love with her best friend, but he’s not in love with her. How was she supposed to deal with that?

Gianna doesn’t do well with unrequited love, it makes her crazy. It makes her act erratically. It’ll literally drive her insane.

“G, baby, that’s you?” Tama’s hoarse voice slices through the room. He opens the fogged shower door in nothing. “You doin’ okay?”

She looks at him for a moment then pulls him into the shower. Tama licks his lips as she presses him against the wall. Gianna runs his chest softly and slowly moves down until her hands wrap around his dick.

No, she’s not doing okay. But, when life gives you lemons: fuck.

one of my most hectic pieces of work. thanks for ignoring all my grammatical errors... i literally went to school for writing

but until next time... or until part two x

185 notes · View notes

lovelycorallight · 19 days ago

Text

helping hands

ship: gideon gemstone x f!reader tags: smut, handjobs, established relationship, maybe some very light sacrilege wordcount: 1.1k notes: i finally watched trg and somehow his prodigal son ways and dirt bike tricks have charmed me. my first fic in a hot min... dusting off the rust with some church smut.

Sometimes, she really loved the church.

More specifically, she found herself growing fond of how absolutely massive it was. Usually, it felt like an endless maze, a constant parade of people she didn’t recognize and hallways that genuinely seemed to lead to nowhere. A dozen empty rooms that held unopened books or unused gifts, far too big to ever really become familiar with. It was imposing in a way, like navigating a brand new puzzle every time she walked through in the doors.

Gideon liked to say even he got lost sometimes, but that always felt like a courteous lie, made up once again to make her feel better about taking the same wrong turn for the third day that week. He never actually stumbled when he walked the halls; truthfully, he could name every half-empty library and coffee kiosk that sprung up. And he knew the names of every single employee that waved back at them with a bright smile, offering good morning, Mr. Gemstone in perfect unison, like they’d spent the morning rehearsing just for this.

(He always met the greeting with one of those sloping smiles, the kind that said he didn’t really like what was happening, but it seemed too much of a hassle to make it stop. Way too polite, even for the stained glass windows and the carved doors he lead them through.

And if she muttered Mr. Gemstone right into his ear, it only ever got an eye roll, or maybe a little shove against her hip, just to knock her off balance. Maybe a quick squeeze of her hand, nails digging sharp into her palm just before he let go.)

But her favorite rooms, the very best ones in the whole building, tended to hang right off the forgotten libraries and the half-empty corridors. The ones with slim doors and low watt bulbs, a handful of unused brooms shoved deep in the corner. Or maybe a stack of ancient pamphlets, print years dating back before either of them were born. Those kinds of rooms always stood open and empty, constantly available for a pre-service pep talk away from prying eyes.

Of course, this more than likely became a quick pre-service make out. Maybe even a brief pass over the clothes, sweaty fingers palming against her ass as they bunched the hem of her skirt higher.Or maybe, if they were both incredibly quick and miraculously quiet, and if she was eager to see the way his eyes rolled up to the sky when he muttered her name in that ragged kinda voice, just a little bit more. An extra special sort of pep talk.

Last time he’d been embarrassed, bright red even before she reached for his belt. But the experience must have changed some minds, because Gideon only huffed when she tugged on his zipper, the corners of his mouth struggling to stay down.

“You don’t have to,” he murmured, and even that was half-hearted. “C’mon, I’m… I’m just-“

She never found out. As soon as she brushed his cock, one finger running soft down the side. his teeth bit down roughly on his bottom lip.

“You’re what?” She teased, but there was barely a hum in response. Just his gaze flicking down between them, eyes falling shut when she wrapped a hand tight around him.

“I don’t know why you’re so nervous,” she offered. “You’ll do great. You’re always great.”

(Not really, not always, but it felt a little mean to bring that up right now. Gideon got too in his head about it all anyway, and then he’d start stumbling over words and mixing up his points. He was harder to put back together than to keep in one piece.)

“I’m not...Nervous,” he mumbled. “That’s- I’m not nervous.”

She could feel him jump in her hand with the slightest touch, a gentle squeeze and a slow slide down to the base, before he leaned close enough to bump her cheek with his nose.

“Okay, sure. You’re a bad liar, but sure.”

At least that earned a smile, his mouth pressing right below her ear when she repeated the action. Slow and steady, until the rhythm almost felt too much like teasing, and she gave a quick swirl across the tip, thumb already slick as she let it slide back down.

“Fuck, that’s-“

“Shhh!” She tried to cut off him with a kiss, but the word still seemed to finish in a moan. It echoed even in her mouth, vibrating when she slid his lips open, another futile attempt at keeping quiet. “Too loud.”

He nodded, yet the following groan managed to sound even noisier in the cramped space. “Oh, god-“

At least that one could blend in a little better.

“I’m serious, you gotta be quiet-“

“Sorry,” he mumbled, lips wet when they slid across her cheek, barely leaving a spotty, apologetic kiss. “Sorry, sorry.”

Even in the dark he looked flushed pink, color spreading out from the bridge of his nose. A mix of embarrassed and wanting and still whining half under his breath, sweaty fingers sliding down the back of her skirt.

She tried to speed up, if only to end the torture he seemed to be experiencing. He felt close, hands tightening and his body crowding her own, until she could feel the comfortable weight of his chest. Sandwiched between a warm body and the hard concrete behind them, and she didn't think she'd ever felt closer to the church than right in this moment.

“Fuck!"

Now that one had to be noticeable, even down the hall and back through the lobby.

“You’re unbelievable,” she murmured. "Do you ever listen to me?"

He went for another kiss in response, unable to offer much more than his open mouth against hers and a hot breath across her tongue. Sloppy and unpracticed, two things Gideon hated to be. She’d have pointed it out, called him desperate and watched how he blushed even deeper, but his hips jerked up into her hold, and the final curse hissed only into her skin.

It barely took a moment to clean up again; that was the good part about fooling around like teenagers, no mess that couldn't be fixed with a slightly dusty rag or a quick once-over. Back to work in a tight fifteen, like nobody would ever know.

The hallway was empty when they reemerged, a lonely janitor hanging around the corner as they passed by. He offered another good morning, Mr. Gemstone, and if Gideon's answer was a little too quick, or way too loud, they could blame it on the growing rush of footsteps pouring into the lobby.

"For the record, I listen to you all the time," he promised, and the smile seemed far less crooked when he turned back to show it off. "You have some really great ideas."

#gideon gemstone #gideon gemstone x reader #the righteous gemstones #fan fic #coral fic #this is so sweet for me... sickening #look at what the hbo comedy has done to me

116 notes · View notes

blackdollette · 9 months ago

Note

I know you’re not really writing for Rory characters right now but if I could request a Clyde smut where he says “swallow, swallow” with the pill, but instead.. it’s his girlfriend or OOO maybe someone who buys stuff off him like weed, and she’s giving him head as payment but she’s got a textural problem so like, weird textures are icky, and he holds his hand over her mouth and says swallow? That may be weird, I dunno— if it is I’m so sorry 😭😭

anon you don't understand how much i've been thinking abt this ever since you sent this. i just 😩

"hand at the back of my neck." | clyde

national anthem. - lana del rey

✮⋆˙ [tags] @lustkillers @mayathepsychic1999@livingdead-materialgirl @romanroyapoligist@auggiethecreator @oliviah-25 @vanlisbon @lankysimp @livingdead-reilly@imoonkiss @lankysimp@nom-nommmm1@xxbl00d-cl0txx@k1ll3rh0rr0r@wildathevrt@mommymilkers0526@greenxgloss

⊹₊⋆ pairing: dealer!clyde x female!reader

⊹₊⋆ word count: 1.4k

⊹₊⋆ contents: drugs, blowjob, cum-eating, slight aftercare, fluffy if you squint

when it came to describing you, impulsive only covered the tip of the iceburg. the lines defining the story between you and clyde had gone blurry over the years but as far as you knew, he was basically the best thing that had ever happened to you.

and both of you were fully aware of that.

your faintly shivering fist sheepishly knocked that familiar pattern on the door of his apartment room. the hallway outside of his room always smelled faintly of green and stale fast food. before you could bring your hand back to your side, the doorknob turned allowing the stained wooden door to creak open, bringing his warm, sleepy eyes and that smile into view.

“well, if it isn’t my favourite customer…” clyde flipped his hair out of his face, allowing his gaze to run up and down you shamelessly. “...you look good. as usual.”

he was shirtless, only clad in a pair of gray sweatpants that rode dangerously low on his hips. all need for formality had vanished the day you had experienced your first high right there in his “workshop”.

you smiled shyly, already feeling slightly light on your feet as the psychedelic aromas from inside wafted toward you. “hi clyde. sorry for showing up unannounced…”

considering how quickly he opened the door and the lack of that lust-filled flush that covered his cheeks whenever he was getting some action, you could safely conclude that he was alone at the moment. but you felt the need to ask anyway.

“is now a good time? i can come back later if you’re busy…”

he let out a little breathless laugh, shaking his head and dislodging a few locks from behind his ear. “there’s no better time than now. c’mon in. i just got some new stuff shipped in that you’ll love.”

he snaked an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his cozy apartment room and shutting the door behind you.

“you got your mind on anything specific today?” he asked as he ushered you to his overstuffed couch. you sat down, scanning the various piles of boxes with long medical names and numbers on them.

you weren’t really the adventurous type when it came to drugs. you saw how badly it could screw someone’s life over, and you didn’t know if you had the willpower to “stop whenever you wanted to”. so a little marijuana had always seemed like the safest choice.

“just the usual please.” you watched as he playfully rolled his eyes at the predictability of your request.

“that’s my girl. i don’t even know why i wonder differently…”

he dug through a large cardboard box, retrieving two dainty bags of weed and a pack of rolling paper. he wrapped them up nicely for you, knowing that the presentation meant everything to you.

“alright, a bag of mary jane for the pretty lady.” he handed the goods to you, the smile on your face tugging at his heartstrings. “that’ll be $50.”

you hissed, the mention of the price nearly killing the mood.

“you know i’ve never had that kind of money on me, clyde. i’m barely making it by at the restaurant. i’m out looking for my third job this month.”

clyde tossed his hair out of his face, crossing his arms over his chest with a sigh. “don’t think i don’t know that times are getting hard around these parts. you know people have hardly been buying from me these days…”

you nodded, a guilt-ridden expression on your face as you cleared your throat to propose a suggestion.

“i doubt all those used-up strippers that come around here have the money. how do they pay you? blood money?”

clyde laughs heartily. “the night usually ends in some cheap sex that i regret in the morning. but a deal is a deal. you thinking of spending the night with me to cover the fee?”

you shake your head. “it’s that time of the month. i know how you are around blood.”

clyde grimaces, nodding with a chuckle. “no kidding. but you might be onto something…”

you looked up at him from your position on the couch debating whether or not to make your proposal.

“...want a blowjob..?”

clyde’s gaze snapped to your face, looking for any hint or humour or sarcasm in your question. but you were dead serious. he looked down, a grin playing at his lips.

“well that sure would be one hell of a payment…”

you fidgeted with your thumbs. “so… do we have a deal..?”

he smiles, extending a hand to you. “indeed we do.”

he gave you a firm handshake, spinning you around and sitting down on the couch as you stood in front of him.

you slowly sank down to your knees, resting comfortably in between his partly spread legs. your gazes met briefly, yours eager and his desperate. his imprint pressed against the soft wool of his sweatpants, betraying how much he was trying to keep his composure.

you place your hands on his thighs, trailing them up until you reach the waistband. your fingers pried underneath the elastic, the feeling of your cold fingers against his skin making him shiver. it took a moment for you to navigate your way under you felt him against your palm. you pulled out his needy erection, the tip already red and angry with desire.

clyde let out a shaky exhale, tipping his head back as your soft hands massaged his girth and teased the tip. his hips rutted up into your grip, desperate for more contact.

you swallowed hard, getting rid of the abundance of moisture in your mouth before slowly opening your jaw, your hot breath hitting the tip and you licked a long stripe up his cock. clyde groaned deeply, his hand finding the back of your head as the other went down to cup your cheek.

you began to take him in, inch by inch as you salivated around him. you went down until your chin touched his balls and your nose tapped at the base of his length. you held back a gag as the tip hit the back of your throat. once you were secure, you bobbed your head up and down, creating suction in your cheeks to maximize his pleasure.

clyde’s breathing grew laboured, a huge grin plastered on his face. “...oh man… you’re a natural, aren’t ya..?” your heart fluttered at his praise, urging you to go a little quicker.

your tongue flicked against his tip with practiced precision.

clyde whimpered as his hips bucked upward, forcing his length into you and out just as quickly. “i-i don’t think i’m gonna last much longer…” he swallows hard, his voice coming out strained and breathy. “...hope you’re ready for a load…”

you fondled his balls with your hand, massaging hypontic patterns onto the soft flesh. the heat of your mouth, the feeling of your perfect touch, it was all doing things to his head. better than any drug around.

as his leg began to twitch and his breathing grew weary, he vigorously thrusted into your mouth as moans and dirty phrases spilled from his lips.

“...that’s it… i’m cummin’...”

before he could fully get his warning out, his seed spilled into your mouth. everytime you thought he was running empty, another load busted onto your tongue. you gagged, your eyes welling with tears as he panted heavily, pulling your mouth off his rod as he recollected himself.

his vision went hazy. “that… that was amazing…” he looked down as you, watching you struggle to swallow his excessive load.

he waited for you to get yourself steady, but it was almost as if your body was physically rejecting his cum. you gagged, a few drops spilling out of your mouth until he quickly held the bottom of your jaw.

“hey, hey..! easy there… what’s wrong..?” he asked frantically. you couldn’t speak, but he got the message quickly.

he tilted your head back gently. “there you go, sweetie… swallow, swallow. just like that…” he whispered, wiping away the stray drops as you finally managed to get the thick, salty solution down.

you panted heavily, gripping onto his thighs for support. “i did it…” you managed to gasp out as he gently held your face.

clyde pushed his hair out of his face, helping you get back to your feet. he stood up as well, still reeling over the aftershocks of his orgasm. “well, a deal is a deal.” he picked up your bagged goods from the couch, tossing them to you.

you murmured a quiet ‘thank you’ as he walked you to the door, opening it for you like the gentleman he was.

“it was a real pleasure doing business with you.”

author's note: this request took me wayyy too long :(( and how haven't I written for clyde since April?!

#444rockstargf #rory culkin #rory culkin smut #smut #clyde rory culkin #clyde electrick children #rory culkin clyde #electrick children clyde #lana del rey

154 notes · View notes

your-unfriendlyghost · 4 months ago

Note

Johnny cade for the "give me a character" thingy cuz I love him :3

How I feel about this character

I love Johnny, man. Very simple feelings ‘bout him, but yk, I love him. I don’t often…spin him ‘round in my brain like I do with some of the others, but I have a lot of strong opinions abt him and I love him lol

All the people I ship romantically with this character

I occasionally ship him with Dally, but only occasionally. Idk they’ve got something goin on but idk what lol. I definitely don’t see them as an older brother and little brother, although I get where people are coming from- idk though, that’s like the least interesting take on their whole…deal for me I guess? I (personally) don’t think Dally and Johnny are brotherly/parental at all, and reducing them to that means losing out on the much more interesting (I think) dynamic that they do have- like Dally can’t be vulnerable with anyone BUT Johnny, and Johnny is at his most confident with Dally. And he has power over Dally that no one else does. It could be romantic or platonic for me, but the important thing is that they’re equals imo. I mean c’mon, only one of them’s canonically stabbed a guy to death, and it ain’t Dally. They’re tied together somehow idk man

I sorta like the idea of Johnny and Sylvia being something tho. I don't think abt it much, but it adds something morally bad to a character that’s supposed to be purely good that I find fascinating. Not the sorta ship I ship per se, but one I like toying with sometimes because there’s so much to unpack there ig. I don’t usually see it as canon but I sometimes like it.

Finally, I read this GUT WRENCHING fic one time where Johnny was who Sandy cheated on Soda with. I…really liked that fic. The ship hits a lotta the same notes as Johnny/Sylvia but explores Johnny and Soda…idk man again not the sorta thing I usually see as canon but holy shit the fic kinda blew my mind lol. It’s here if y’all wanna check it out- mind the tags and all. It’s a rarepair but it KILLS me man. It ain’t…canon to me, but I think abt it sometimes (the ship and the fic) and just feel things idk. (Part of that is probably b/c I love Soda, but yk)

My non-romantic OTP for this character

Uhh Dally also honestly

I mean Johnny and Pony are close too, but I really don’t see them as BEST friends. Ik a lotta people do which is perfectly valid, but in my head they’re…not? I dunno. They’re definitely friends, but TO ME it’s in the way that I’m friends with kids who I’ve grown up with who are like cousins to me now- we’re close, and I know they have my back, and I could tell them anything if I really wanted to, but I probably won’t unless we’re alone together in a church for a week. (@veggiesforpresident just talked abt them earlier today here, and she put it into words a helluva lot better than I am rn- definitely check that out)

My unpopular opinion about this character

He’s tough. I mean everyone knows that, but I’m not massively fond of fics/art that portray him as small and soft. Like sure, Pony sees him that way, but to the rest of the world Johnny is a hood. He may be small, but he can fight. He loves drag races, man!

Idk, Ralph Macchio put it best in this behind the scenes book I own:

“Johnny was always described as the runt of the greaser litter- the one they all protected. However, as the story unfolded he became the most level-headed and clear-minded in the face of adversity. I always recognized that in him even from the first reading of the book at age twelve. I am biased, but he is one of the richest and fully drawn characters in the ensemble.”

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon

I’m biased b/c I love Soda but I woulda loved to see him hanging with Soda. Really the rest of the gang in general (not that there was time for that lol), but it’s canon to me that Johnny was friends with Soda first. Eventually they diverged and became close to Dally and Steve respectively, but in elementary school it was Johnny and Soda.

(On the other side of the coin, I like the idea of Dally and Steve having had a bit of a fling that they don’t talk about as a way of repressing their romantic feelings for Soda and Johnny respectively. But that’s not always canon to me lol.)

#the outsiders #the outsiders 1983 #the outsiders johnny #johnny cade #jally #johnny x dally #<- …kinda. In a way.#rambling #ask #ask game #oh btw if anyone I’ve mentioned here doesn’t wanna be just lmk!!

43 notes · View notes

det2x-fanfic-dump · 2 months ago

Text

It's fine to kiss on the cheek

(A snippet from my TWST fanfic drafts)

Shipping: AceYuu

Tags: Ghost Bride Snippet, Female Yuu, TWST OC, Ace and Yuu pretending to be in a relationship to hopefully fool the ghost bride, Yuu is possessing a doll and Eliza is possessing Yuu's body, There's no kissing...not in this snippet anyway cuz i'm still writing it

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

“Puffy, wait a minute, I can’t be tricked any longer.” Eliza began as she walked down the stairs, stopping the upcoming fight with her face stoic and serious. Her eyes lingered on the audience and pointed the bouquet to Cater.

“Why is that guy not know of your relationship? If you really are this girl’s significant other…” Her eyes were cold, making Yuki’s glare intimidating. She then pointed at her own cheek. “Kiss her…right here.”

“What? Uh…” Ace gulped, his hands becoming sweaty. “Wait, i’m not kissing Yu--you…you’re not…her y’know. If I kiss you, you’re cheating on Idia-senpai!”

“My spirit and her physical form are different, you’re still kissing dear Yuki’s and after this ceremony me and Idia-sama will go to the afterlife as newlyweds.” Eliza said and clasped her hands as she turned around. “And you’ll get her body back.

The room was silent with silent psssts coming from the doll who slowly looked up at Ace.

“What!?” Ace asked in an annoyed tune which he didn’t mean it.

“It’s fine if you kiss my cheek you know.” Yuki said making Ace flushed red, breaking his frustration. His heart beating fast as he choked the doll glaring at it with their faces inches away.

“Are you insane? Why would you agree to something like that?” Ace silently shouted.

“C’mon, It’s not like you’re gonna kiss me on the lips.”

“It’s the same thing!” Ace grumbled and muttered.

“Ace, you’re my friend, it's fine.” Yuki reassured him. “It won’t mean anything if you don’t put any malicious intent in it. I promise to stay friends even if Cater-senpai bullies you.”

“That’s not what I--” The boy flinched then looked away letting out a sigh as he squinted. “Ugh…fine, it’s life and death after all. I’ll bring this kiss down with my grave.”

Cater in the background with a microphone:

ACE JUST GOT FRIENDZONED!!!

PEWPEWPEW

#twisted wonderland #fanfic idea dump #twst yuu #ace trappola #aceyuu #Female Yuu #TWST OC #There's no kissing...not in this snippet anyway cuz i'm still writing it #TWST Excerpt #Fanfic idea #TWST fanfic snippet #cater doesn't say anything in that scene but its just for comedic purposes thats why he's there #TWSTxOM! Fanfic Excerpt

41 notes · View notes

bimbovicc · 5 days ago

Note

hey girlie!!

Your blog is so cuteee omggg (I know someone already said that but shhh)

and 2.

There was this funny trend back in like 2023, it was jjk x disney I don’t know if you recall or were in the fandom back then but I loved seeing the cute little dumb videos of people making up lore for the ships. So I was wondering if you could do a crossovers ship of Gojo x Elsa (I would’ve said Nanami and Tiana but Elsa and Gojo need love too) maybe you could make it like where switch!Gojo is just teasing Elsa, cause he is for sure a loud mouth in bed. Hes just making fun of her; talking about how pathetic she looks under him (he covered her face in kisses after like a pathetic loser, so honestly whos the pathetic one here?)

A couple of kinks could be overstimulation, and bondage (his blindfold). Setting could be in the bedroom (basic I know). I know how stupid this may sound but those ships were just too funny

# MELT FOR ME

Pairing: Gojo Satoru (Jujutsu Kaisen) x Elsa (Frozen)

Tags : Crossover, Switch!Gojo, Sub!Elsa, Bedroom setting, Bondage, Overstimulation, Verbal teasing, Power play, Cocky dom, Soft aftercare, Face kisses, Slight crying

a/n : hiii my lil lovie!! okay so like—omg I was SUCH a Jujutsu slut back in 2023, teehee!! I was sooo obsessed with princess x JJK crossovers, likeeee Sukuna x Cinderella?? HELLOOO?? anywayyy I’m sooo sorry this took me forever, I was working all day like a good lil busy bunny and I needed time to add that SPICEEEE ya know??? like messy, whimpering, blindfold bondage kinda spice wink wink sooo I hope you love it and scream and kick your feet and maybe get a lil dumb over it!! okay byeeee xoxo stay slutty princesses!!🩷🩷

She looked so proud at first.

Arms crossed over that pale blue nightgown, legs tight together, mouth pressed in a thin line—like she wasn’t seconds away from being wrecked. Like she didn’t already tremble beneath his gaze every time he so much as brushed a hand down her waist.

“Oh? What’s this little icy attitude?” Gojo cooed, already climbing over her on the mattress, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t look so uptight, your majesty. We’re just getting started.”

“I’m not uptight,” she snapped, but her breath hitched when he straddled her thighs, tugging off his blindfold and—fuck—using it to bind her wrists above her head.

“There. Now you look the part,” he murmured, tying a firm knot and pressing a kiss to her wrist. “So regal. So restrained. So helpless.” His grin widened. “You really think you’re gonna last tonight, snowflake?”

Her glare should’ve burned him. Instead, it made him throb.

Half an hour later, Elsa was a complete mess beneath him.

Legs twitching. Lips trembling. Her gown was pushed up to her waist, her thighs slick and sticky from the second orgasm that had barely ended before Gojo’s fingers were already right back at it—lazy strokes over her swollen clit that made her jolt.

“Sensitive already?” he taunted, nosing at her neck. “Wow. And here I thought ice queens had more stamina.”

Her hips jerked and he just laughed, smug and breathless as he watched her squirm.

“You should see your face right now, babe. You look so fucking pathetic.” His voice dipped low and sinful, licking at the edge of her ear. “Bet no one’s ever touched you like this, huh? Tied up in my bed with your legs shaking from just my fingers. Just imagine if I started using my mouth.”

“Don’t—Satoru—” Her voice cracked into a moan.

“Ohhh, you’re begging now? Shit, you’re adorable when you try to keep that royal composure. But guess what?” He curled his fingers just right and her entire body arched.

“You’re not ruling anything here. I am.”

When she finally came again—loud, needy, body clenching so hard around nothing—Gojo was beaming. Her wrists tugged at the blindfold restraints and her legs wouldn’t stop shaking, tears glistening at the corners of her eyes.

“Aw. Crying already? C’mon, you can take more than that. You’re the Snow Queen,” he teased, but his hands were already softer. Stroking her cheek. Wiping her tears. Kissing her jaw and then her neck and then—gently, sweetly—every inch of her ruined face.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he murmured between kisses. “All messy and wrung out. My pretty little icicle.”

She tried to roll her eyes.

“You’re the pathetic one,” she mumbled, cheeks flushed. “Look at you. Kissing me all over like a lovesick fool.”

Gojo blinked. And grinned.

“Yeah, well. Can’t help it. You melt so beautifully for me.”

24 notes · View notes

in1-nutshell · 10 months ago

Note

Hi!

Can I please request for a platonic buddy that is always following lost light Ratchet around trying to become an apprentice so he get annoyed asking buddy to stop but then one day after a battle Ratched doesn't see buddy until he finds them injured in a storage room.

Buddy just trying their best to show Ratchet their skills.

Hope you enjoy!

Bot Buddy trying to be Ratchet's apprentice

SFW, Platonic, Mention of injury, Cybertronian reader

MTMTE

Ratchet had gotten used being viewed as a mentor figure or father figure throughout his lifetime.

It seemed to happen every couple of years or so.

But no bot had gotten such a… strong reaction.

Buddy was one of the newest additions to the crew after making a stop on Cybertron.

They were fresh from passing their nursing exam and ready to work.

It wasn’t Buddy’s seemingly unlimited optimism that bothered him.

They were realistic on the grimmer situations of life but tried to view the brighter side of things.

Buddy trying to get Tailgate to sit still: “C’mon Tailgate! One more checkup and your good to go!” Tailgate: “But is this one really necessary? I feel fine.” Buddy: “But that would mean you’d have to tell Cyclonus. Wouldn’t you like to give the news to Cyclonus that you are 100% healthy yourself? I think he’d really like that.” Tailgate sits on the med slab: “Do it.”

Ratchet could respect that.

It wasn’t their habit of trying to get everything organized in the med bay.

That was not only crucial, but a habit even he tended to lose every now and then.

Ratchet and First Aid walking into the med bay. They turn on the lights to see Buddy in the corner with several tools in their servos. Ratchet flinches a bit while First Aid jumps a bit. Ratchet: “Kid? What are you doing here in the dark?” Buddy: “Germs produce faster in light. I’m making sure these tools are properly sterilized.” First Aid: “We have a machine for that…” Buddy: “I know.” First Aid: “… Are you going to use it?” Buddy: “Nope. Now, if you don’t mind turning off the lights?” Ratchet: “… Our personal tools are clean and ready to use at a moment’s notice?” Buddy smiles and points to the tools neatly arranged in their place. Buddy: “Even alphabetized them.”

No. it wasn’t that.

It was their increased chattering that rivaled Swerve’s own chattering.

It was a bit endearing at first since most of it reminded him of the younger days when some bots used to shadow him and ask him questions.

One of the more common questions they asked was how he felt about them becoming his apprentice.

Ratchet never gave an answer to that question.

But after a couple of days the chatter began to become more and more annoying.

It was one particular day that Ratchet had gotten into a nasty spat with Drift, he snapped as soon as Buddy got on his nerve.

He nearly tore them a new one if it weren’t for First Aid, Ambulon and Velocity trying to calm him down and let Buddy slip out of the med bay.

It took a couple of hours before he calmed down and started feeling a bit bad for tearing a new one in Buddy.

But he felt like in a way it was a bit necessary, so he didn’t apologize.

Buddy on the other hand felt awful.

They had no idea Ratchet hated them talking so much.

They felt like they needed to make it up to Ratchet in some way.

They knew that the talking so much wasn’t going to go in one day.

That was unrealistic and they liked talking.

No matter how much they looked up to the senior medic, they weren’t going to give that up for him or anyone.

Instead, they thought about getting him something.

An apology gift and to stop mentioning the apprenticeship.

It was the least they could do.

The day of the incident the Lost Light had welcomed the Scavengers.

The rag tag group had decided to visit the ship again.

Spinister spots Buddy and walks up to them. Spinister: “You’re Buddy, right?” Buddy looks at the bot and smiles: “That’s me!” Spinister: “Our ship ran out of some medical equipment. Do you mind sparing—” Buddy: “You don’t need to explain, follow me!” Buddy grabs Spinister’s servo. The mech nearly grabs his blaster with the other but refrains. Spinister: “You’re a perky one, aren’t you?” Buddy just flashes him a smile as they continue to walk down the hall. CCCRRREEEAAAKKKKK!!!!!! GGGRRROOOOAAANNNNN!!!! The ship suddenly stopped and lurched forward, sending both bots into one of the storage units. The doors lock from the outside, not even bugging with Spinister ramming his shoulder into it or blasting it. Spinister hears blaster exchange outside the door. Spinister: “Blasted door! I—” Buddy: “Spinister…?” Spinister turns to see Buddy pinned by one of the columns in the room. The column covered half of their frame. They looked scared once the sight of a familiar pink hue began spreading. Spinster: “…Scrap. Why does the storage unit even have columns?!” Buddy: “I don’t know! I think someone bought them last planetary visit!

As it turned out the ship had been attacked by space pirates again.

It was a whole team effort to get the pirates off the ship.

Once the battle was done, was when the Scavenger’s noticed that Spinister was missing.

Soon enough the crew noticed they were also a medic short.

Ratchet was in the search party with some of the Scavengers when they heard the yelling.

After finally unlocking the door, the group wasn’t ready for Spinister to kick down the unlocked door.

He began yelling at them to get them both to the med bay before Buddy ran out of anymore energon.

Spinister and Buddy were treated for their wounds.

Ratchet gives a quiet apolody to Buddy, who immediately accepts and makes their apology.

It’s after a few more days of them being at their 100% that they suddenly get an opening for an apprenticeship with Ratchet.

They pounce at the opportunity immediately.

Ratchet doesn’t regret giving them the chance.

The only thing he regretted later on, was them bringing the Scavengers with them to Swerve’s during game night.

No one knows what exactly happened to Buddy and Spinister from their time in the storage room, but now they make an unstoppable team in Earth board games.

#transformers x reader #maccadam #bot buddy #mtmte x reader #mtmte x platonic reader #mtmte ratchet #mtmte ratchet x platonic reader

113 notes · View notes

autumnwoodsdreamer · 3 months ago

Note

Hi! I was going through your art tag (found you thanks to Kanera) and saw a staggering amount of Din and Sabine art??? Which! Intriguing! It tickles my brain! And also, going through your art tag, I saw a modern au with Human Grogu and Star Wars t-shirt Din, so I wa swondering about it. How would that au develop? And how would the Sabine ship fit into it? Just curious! Also wondering for some more Din/Sabine art bc you draw them so pretty

For a moment, I was so scared you were going to say something else 😅 (I swear I am trying to be normal about Din and Sabine but I love them and I want them to be happy and I think they could get on very well together, your honour)

Anyway. Thank you! I had baking to do this morning and this ask got me to think about a Din and Sabine modern meet-cute while I was busy. So then this evening, I sketched this out

(More about the modern AU under the cut)

The things is: I do have some ideas but I haven’t pinned down enough to actually get a fic off the ground. I only have a loose little skeleton…

Din Djarin is a paramedic (the bounties he brings in in the show translate to patients on call-outs: for instance, the Mythrol is a guy who gambled with the wrong folks and got beaten up in a bar). He works night-shift and he works every night he can, takes the holiday shifts and weekends and such because he doesn’t have any family or even a pet to spend that time at home with—his workmates are his family. He lives in a tiny apartment he’s never decorated and while he knows all his neighbours, they don’t know him.

(I’m not sure how tragic to make his backstory. I’ve read modern AU’s where he has a really traumatic past and ones where he doesn’t and I like both, gotta say. I prefer the idea that he is just quiet and reserved by nature, not as a result of some horrific event or loss, but I do want to keep that he was adopted)

Along one day comes Gregorio aka Grogu.

Din finds the child one day on a call—abandoned, injured, and obviously neglected. Takes him to the hospital—his partner (a humanized IG) drives while Din stays with the kid in the back of the ambulance, treating his wounds and just talking to him gently. They get to the hospital and this kid is glued to Din. He won’t go to anyone else and he won’t let anyone else touch him until Din is holding him and he’s okay with it.

If the kid ever had parents, they’re not looking for him. The child is either an orphan or as good as one.

Din doesn’t adopt the child right away, but he tries to be there for him as much as possible. He thinks it would be better for the kid to be placed with a more complete family—maybe a couple that already has kids so they’ll know what they’re doing. Because what does he have to offer? He’s just going through life keeping himself alive; kids need more than that… don’t they?

The one who takes Grogu’s case—Ahsoka?—recognizes the connection between the two of them right off the bat. She gets Din to take the child temporarily, just to help him settle down because they can’t seem to get a foster family to take him. Yeah, no, they’re all, uh, booked up. Strange that… (ultimately, of course, Ahsoka’s plan works out and Din ends up adopting the child)

Din’s life has to change quite a bit. He’s gotta rework his work schedule and he quickly realizes he needs a bigger apartment. It’s quite the upheaval but he’s willing to do it for the kid. Their new land-lady is, of course, Peli, and their neighbours are a variety of other characters.

Sabine is one of their neighbours.

The only things Din knows about her for weeks is that she has purple hair, he always smells paint fumes when he walks past her apartment, and she has a crazy ginger cat (Chopper) that keeps breaking into his apartment and stealing things (usually knives because, c’mon, it’s Chopper).

One day, while out in the city, going to or from Grogu’s appointment with a speech therapist, Din sees his purple-haired neighbour painting a mural on the side of a cafe. He stops because Grogu wants to—he loves watching people paint—and Din has to admit, it is quite mesmerizing.

This is the first time they have a conversation that doesn’t start with “hey, I think your cat stole my bread knife. Again.”

He learns that this is what she does for a living: she gets hired to paint murals all over the city.

She also volunteers with a group that runs various community programs, some of which are meant to help kids like Grogu. She holds arts and crafts workshops, which she of course invites Din to.

So. Yeah.

That’s kinda all I got 😉

#thanks for the ask!#din djarin #grogu djarin #sabine wren #modern au #the mandalorian #star wars rebels #the mandalorian fanart #star wars rebels fanart #djarwren #din djarin x sabine wren #my art #autumnwoodsdreamer art #ask autumn

23 notes · View notes

anystalker707 · 2 years ago

Text

"Show me how to kiss?"

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x [gender neutral] Reader Summary: Two sets of headcanons: one in which you ask Zoro to show you what it is like to kiss and another one in which he's the one to ask. Tags: Shy Zoro / Fluffy and loving / Also sorta funny Check out (Vinsmoke Sanji's version)

MASTERLIST

If you’re the one to ask him...

• He just. He doesn’t know how to kiss either. I mean, do you think he ever had the time or mindset to do it??

• So, it’s messy. None of you really know what to do.

• Behind it all, Zoro has been kinda hoping he could kiss you and you’d been looking at him in a different way lately, so something like that was sort of bound to happen at some point

• It’s like a switch turns for you two, and it’s impossible to stop after that because, after all, you gotta practice to be perfect, right?

“...They wouldn’t stop kissing.” You sighed, twisting your mouth a little as you thought back to the couple you saw at a bar when hanging out with the crew at an island. You and Zoro were out on the deck for the night watch; he sat back against the railing while you had your back on the ground, observing the stars above you. Once in a while, a colder breeze would make you shiver, but it wasn’t really that bad. The gentle rocking of the ship would intensify your tiredness, at times, but never enough to make your consciousness slip away into slumber, which resulted in sporadic and pointless talks. “It was obnoxious.”

Zoro hummed in agreement, shaking his head as he kept his gaze far in the horizon.

“What’s so great about it?”

He raised an eyebrow, humming again, and looked at you.

“About kissing,” you explained, sitting up and scooting closer to him with a sigh. “What’s good about it?”

...Why would he know? Zoro blushed a little as he looked away and preferred not to answer it. Maybe you’d give up on the question or talk about something else. Having to deal with always trying to find something other than the annoying couple at the bar was already stressful enough.

“Zoro.” You nudged him. “Can I ask you something?”

He blinked and looked at you for a moment. He nodded. You were a pain in the ass everyday—affectionately—, so he was mostly used to what you could come up with.

“Look, I don’t know how to say it without making it awkward, but like, I trust you, so...” You sighed, your eyes averting away for a moment. “Like, could you show me how to kiss? I never really had any time to think about it because I was always training to be strong out in the sea, y’know?” Was Zoro even paying attention? Even in the dark, you could see his red cheeks. Did you say something wrong?

“I can’t help you with that.” He kept looking forward, eyes narrowed. You knew that serious posture was just a play. It was when Robin and you ran into him taking care of babies.

You pouted. “What? C’mon, I’m just curious. We’ll just never talk about it.”

Zoro didn’t bulge, only groaning when you poked his side, squirming away more than he usually would. “I already said I can’t help you with that!”

You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing really ever came from your mouth. Instead, you searched in your mind for some reference, however, you could only remember Zoro always in the corners of bars or celebrations or over the sake. He was never the type to be around hitting on someone like Sanji did nor pay attention to whoever approached him. Maybe...

“I think I get it.” You smirked a little. “You don’t know how to kiss either.”

The flush on Zoro’s face intensified as he gasped and widened his eyes. “Wh—What are you talking about?”

You chuckled. Of course, Zoro, the swordsman with his unbelievable focus on becoming the best ever and his whole damn shyness wouldn’t allow him to be with anyone else either. It was almost relatable.

“It’s obvious Zoro. You can tell me, though,” you continued, ignoring the stuttering mess he was in, “y’know, it all makes sense. And I’m, like, the closest one to you here, you can at least admit it to me, right?” You elbowed his side a little—you didn’t give a fuck about it, to be honest, it was just nice seeing him like that. “I’m up to helping you with it, though, hm? What do you say?” You chuckled again, but made sure to keep a serious hint. It was all a joke until he agreed. If he disagreed, you were just fucking around, right?

Zoro’s face was so red. He could feel it burning and everything felt too much. His heart already felt like it would rip off his chest, and then the way you elbowed his side and that your face was so close to his that he could feel your breath on the side of his face, he was—

“Fine!” He breathed before he could notice it himself.

You raised your eyebrows. Did you hear it right? “Fine,” huh? Your own cheeks warmed up at the thought.

“You really...”

“Don’t make me regret it.” Zoro gulped, and you almost chuckled as he shifted to face you, his eyes still not looking anywhere near yours.

Despite fooling around the whole time, a serious atmosphere fell over both of you simultaneously, having the two of you gradually fall quiet. Zoro took a deep breath while you already looked at his eyes, waiting for his gaze to meet yours, which it did, eventually, even if still a little uncertain. You wanted to smile, laugh and hide all at the same time, but still held the gaze.

The ship had never been that quiet and maybe the wind was a little colder than you thought it to be. It didn’t matter, though, because Zoro’s hand was warm against your cheek, and you held onto his wrist out of reflex, which also felt warm. A quiet exchange of gazes was enough to determine you were ready and he was leaning in.

It was slow and careful, with nervousness lacing it, but still sweet nonetheless.

Zoro’s nose tickled a little when it brushed against your own nose, as if testing the waters before you leaned in properly. The distance was miscalculated and your lips brushed together too soon, making both of you pull away at the same time as if it’d burned. It didn’t burn, no, but there was something.

Your eyes met Zoro’s and he had a similar look on his face—so he felt it too. He mirrored the small smile that showed up across your face before the two of you leaned in again, carefully and slowly letting your lips meet.

Warm. Zoro’s lips were warm, but the kiss also made you feel something inside your chest that stirred up with the “kiss”, and made you lean in for more as you’d seen other people do, which snatched a soft gasp from Zoro, but he still tried to make up for it. If anything, things were just messy. None of you really knew what to do, trying to set your own rhythm but also match with the other’s and put in practice only brief notions you only had so far.

Suddenly, Zoro had his other hand cupping the side of your neck, which made you pause for a moment, but it was more than enough for him to figure out exactly what was missing and make the kiss more of a kiss. You just followed his lead this time, letting his lips guide yours through a gentle and uncertain kiss that maybe awakened more in you that you were aware of.

Cold air replaced Zoro’s lips when he pulled away. Your mind was still a little fuzzy, so you took a moment to open your eyes, already meeting his waiting gaze when you did so.

“That...” You whispered and gulped. The small pause had Zoro holding his breath and tensing up. “Can we do it again?”

Zoro chuckled, closing his eyes as he blushed again. “I hoped you’d say that...”

The new kiss had actual synchrony, even if it was barely present. Your hands actually held onto his shoulders this time as you pressed yourself closer, allowing the kiss to be deeper.

There was a look on Zoro’s face when he pulled away this time, one you couldn’t quite read. “You taste nice.”

“I taste nice?” You chuckled. “What’s it like?”

“It’s...” Zoro sighed, blinking a couple of times as he looked at you. “Sweet. What do I taste like?”

“Sake.” You answered without missing a bit, which made his face fall a little; you chuckled.

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

If he asks you...

• Zoro’s been thinking about it for a while now, to be honest, trying to find an excuse to make it happen

• He genuinely didn’t think it would be that good. He had little faith in it—mostly curiosity—, but when you kiss him, he just ends up getting lost and wants more. Just wants you to show him everything. Also uses the excuse he gotta practice to get perfect

“What’re you so grumpy about?” You raised an eyebrow, seeing Zoro walk in while grumbling under his breath. He usually didn’t come over to the aquarium bar when you were there during the afternoons messing with your own stuff just like the rest of the crew, so he certainly wanted attention that you were more than willing to give.

Zoro took a seat next to you, scowling. “That damn cook.”

“Oh.” You raised your eyebrows and sighed with a nod without looking up from the stuff you messed with. There were a few lists of what each one of the crew needed since you would soon make a stop on another island, so you needed to organize all of those and estimate how much money you’d need, and thinking wasn’t very easy with Zoro there, but it probably wasn’t anything that bad since it was just more fighting with Sanji. Not that he really cared about it, but you supposed it was a way of him gaining your attention despite how shy he tended to be. He wasn’t that shy around you, though. It was even funny when people commented about him being only cold and stoic—he could be, yeah, but he was also too shy for his own good.

“He’s spilling some stuff about kissing today, y’know?” Zoro huffed, crossing his arms. “About how he misses it and how I wouldn’t understand because I’ve never kissed!” He growled.

“Is it true, though?” You mumbled between the numbers of berries. 15 minus 7 resulted in 8, then 2 minus 1 would be 1, so 11 minus 7, so it would be...

Zoro clicked his tongue. “I’m not like him.”

“That doesn’t answer the question,” you hummed. So, 15 minus 7 was 8, then the 2 turned into 1, and 11 minus—

“I don’t have time to waste around like he does, kissing and— and hell knows what.” He looked down with pursed lips then turned to you.

“Right.” You inhaled deeply and scratched out the math you were doing to start it all over again later. “It’s not really a waste of time, I mean. Depends on the person. What, you’re aromantic or something? Or just never kissed? You’re sounding a little too bitter about something so irrelevant.” Now and then, Zoro just needed you to poke him with the raw truth so he would ground himself in reality again a little.

“I—I wouldn’t think about it.” Zoro clicked his tongue, looking away again. “I got better things to do.”

You sighed, putting your pen away and sitting back on the couch. “I mean, you never tried it. I wouldn’t be so secure about it myself, in your position, but you do you, right? I'm no one to judge."

Maybe that rubbed off on Zoro the wrong way. He raised an eyebrow at you for a long moment, but all you could do was shrug and nod at him to say something already. You had work to do, after all.

"If you're so sure about it, then show me."

"What?"

"Show me how to kiss." Zoro's face had a tinge of red despite how confident he tried to seem.

Despite the surprise, a smirk still tugged on your lips as you raised your eyebrows. "Oh? You sure? Wanna give me your first kiss? Am I that special?"

He clicked his tongue and looked away once again. "Don't be annoying about it or else I'm leaving."

A chuckle erupted from your lips as you tugged a little on his haramaki when Zoro started to stand up. The way he put it all made you want to tease him more to humble him down a little, but you knew better than that; things probably wouldn't go the right way if you kept him there grumpier than he already was or even accidentally scared him away, something you absolutely didn’t want before such an opportunity.

“Come on, don’t be like that.” You scooted a little closer to Zoro on the couch, putting an arm over the backrest of the couch, behind him. “Right, seriously. You mean it?”

A little crease was still there between Zoro’s furrowed eyebrows as he glanced you up and down, with his arms still crossed over his chest.

“Okay.” You rolled your eyes. He could be just like that sometimes. Annoying.

“How do you do it? Is there any secret trick or—” Zoro shrugged and raised an eyebrow at you. His shoulders dropped a little from their jagged stance and his arms weren’t crossed so tightly anymore.

“I mean, there’s no secret, but there are a few tips I wish I knew before I did it the first time, y’know?” You shifted a little, trying to push your mind away from annoying numbers to a new setting instead. “Like, it’s not necessarily a continuous thing, and it’s sort of you kissing my upper lip while I kiss your bottom one and then vice versa, but you can also— You’re not listening, are you?”

“I’m not.” Zoro confessed with that grin that made you want to punch it right off his face. “Your lips do look nice while you talk, though.”

“...Shameless bastard.”

“What was that?” He narrowed his eyes at you.

“Nothing!” You mirrored his expression and clicked your tongue, holding back a chuckle. “You’re quite useless sometimes, huh? You listen to nothing.” Your hand cupped Zoro’s face gently, letting your thumb reach the corner of his lips before going down along his lip. “That’s why you’re such an empty head, got nothing but muscles...”

Zoro grinned. “You may complain, but you just never get away from me.”

“I’ll just make you shut up at once.”

His hand held onto your elbow as you leaned in and finally pressed your lips to Zoro’s. It was a simple kiss, just keeping your lips against his for a few seconds before pulling back again. A light blush dusted his cheeks and he still glanced at your lips, so you leaned in once again to give him a kiss that wasn’t just like a prolonged peck, actually moving your lips together.

Zoro wasn’t the best at it—of course not—, but he still tried, his grip against your elbow tightening a little at times while he messily kissed you back, trying to keep it up and mirroring your movements. His lips were clumsy and messy, but still something that you could guide and make the whole thing worth something. You held his cheek as you deepened the kiss a little, which made his breath get caught in his throat and his lips get a little lost for a second before they followed your lead again.

The mere seconds you had to pull away already felt like too long, with you exchanging gazes with Zoro to silently check if everything was alright, before your lips were pressed together again. Your tongue ran against his bottom lip this time, actually snatching a gasp from him.

“Is it okay?” You whispered, furrowing your eyebrows a little. Just a few inches still serpared your faces, having you both feel each other’s out of pace breathing.

Zoro nodded. “I just wasn’t waiting for that.”

“Is it okay, though?” You grinned again, seeing him grow flustered once more.

“...Do it again.”

You did kiss Zoro and lick his bottom lip once again, but this time, he opened his lips and allowed you to slip your tongue past his lips. There was a little taste of sake still, already faint. He still didn’t know what to do, but the way you held onto his jaw did ground him a little so he would calm down.

“Good?” You whispered against his lips, lips still grazing him.

Zoro’s breath hitched as he tried to catch his breath, hazy eyes observing you from close. “Do... Do it again.”

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

#one piece #roronoa zoro #x reader #x male reader #x female reader #gender neutral #fan fic #fan fiction #oneshot #imagine #zoro x reader #monkey d luffy #vinsmoke sanji #usopp #nico robin #nami #tony tony chopper #trafalgar law

870 notes · View notes