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alastor-simp · 5 months ago

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Hazbin Hotel Gang React To Reader with Pokemon Part 1

❥Summary- A new demon has arrived to the hotel, but they aren't alone.

❥Tags- Pokemon, Hazbin Hotel, Hazbin Hotel x Pokemon, headcannons, hazbin hotel headcannon, cute

❥Notes: I always wanted to see how the habzin hotel characters would react to different type of pokemon

Charlie Morningstar🌈 + Pikachu⚡️

🌈The minute Charlie saw the yellow little creature on your shoulders, she squealed so loud it nearly broke the hotel windows. "OH MY SATAN!!! WHO IS THIS ADORABLE LITTLE CUTIE?!?!" She grabbed pikachu off your shoulder and began nuzzling her face into it, which surprised pikachu, causing her to get shocked by its lighting. Charlie was okay, since apparently being hellborn gave her an immunity to it, yet it did fuzz her hair a bit.

🌈You apologized profusely, saying that pikachu often zapped people whenever they were upset or scared. Pikachu even gazed at Charlie in concern, feeling bad that they had accidentally used their lighting on her. Charlie said it was absolutely fine, continued to hold pikachu like it was an adorable plushie.

🌈Her curiosity with Pikachu only escalated as she has never seen a creature like that in hell before. It was true she has Razzle and Dazzle, as they were created by her father when she was a child, but Pikachu was something rare. When you said to her that they were your companion when you were alive, and even when you came to hell, they came with you. Oh now that really confuse Charlie, but she was gonna think about it later as she still had a hotel to run.

🌈Pikachu was protective of both you and Charlie, whenever someone would threatened or insult the both of you in any way, that demon was going to get a tasteful of lightning rod.

🌈Her pet cat, Keekee, was best friends with Pikachu. Literally the two of them would be running around playing, or snuggled up next to each other, sleeping. Charlie took so many photos of the cuteness, sending them to you, which made you happy. Literally the three of you had become the bestest of friends and nothing could break it apart.

Vaggie🎀 + Vivillon🦋

🎀 Vaggie was untrustworthy with anyone that came into the hotel. You can't blame her since it was hell, so she didn't know what to expect when she saw you enter through the hotel door being introduced by Charlie. Her spear was gripped tightly in her hand, ready to strike if you pulled a move.

🎀 The hold on the spear had loosened when she saw the large flying object moving behind you. "What on earth is that?" she thought, her eye continuing to examine it. She quickly realize it was a large butterfly like creature, adorning different colored patterns on its wings. Its face was adorably cute, as it continued flying next to you with a smile.

🎀 Making your way over to her, Charlie extended a hand out towards Vaggie, introducing you to her as her girlfriend. "Hello. Nice to meet you." Reaching your hand out for a shake, Vaggie hesitated before moving her hand to join yours in a proper handshake, "Umm nice to meet you too. Who is that flying next to you?" Vaggie's eyes motioned to the large flying butterfly. "Oh that's Vivillon! They were my companion when I was still alive. They are very friendly, don't worry." Vivillon flew closer to Vaggie and started flying around her head, wearing a cute smile, which earned a small chuckle from Vaggie.

🎀 After that initial meeting, Vaggie began to establish a small friendship with you, yet still kept her distance in case something happened. While she kept her distance a bit with you, she couldn't keep her distance away from Vivillon, it was too cute. The patterns on its wings were very mesmerizing to Vaggie, she wanted to stare at them all day, but she wouldn't since that would be awkward.

🎀It was sweet how close Vaggie and Vivillon had gotten. If they weren't with you, they were either watching Vaggie train with the spear or helping Vaggie with her hair, since it really enjoyed helping her tie the red hairbow. The day Vivillon realized Vaggie had wings, it was overjoyed. The both of them would often go out and fly all over the Pride ring, as a way to relax and escape the chaotic nature in the hotel for a bit. It was surprising to everyone including Charlie just how close Vaggie had gotten with your companion, since she wasn't close with anyone except Charlie, but hey it was still cute to see.

Angel Dust🕷 + Smoochum💋

🕷Angel was lounging around in his room with Fat Nuggets, back against the bed as the adorable pig was nuzzling inside his chest fluff. That moment was ruined when a loud knock came from the door, nearly causing him to fall off the bed. "ANGEL!!! HURRY!!! WE HAVE A NEW GUEST!!" Charlie voice rang out, as he heard the sounds of hurried steps leaving his door. Groaning, Angel slowly moved Fat Nuggets off of his chest, placing him softly on the bed, as he swung his feet and ventured to the door.

🕷Having arrived to the lobby of the hotel, Angel eyes scanned the area, wondering who decided to give this rinky dink hotel a try. He was able to notice you, standing in the middle of the room, conversing with Charlie, while holding something in your arms. Walking closer to you, Angel bent down, lips drawn into a smirk, exposing his golden tooth. "Hiya toots, the names Angel Dust." You smiled at him, and offered him a kind hello. Angel eyes then looked down at what you were holding and realized it was blinking at him. "AHHH WHAT IN THE HELLS IS THAT?!?" Screaming in fear, Angel had backed up a couple of steps, pointing to the object in your arms.

🕷Jumping a bit at his reaction, you looked down at your companion while going back to Angel. "Ohh its just my companion, don't worry, they won't attack you, I swear." Putting Smoochum down, its adorable little eyes gazed at Angel Dust, before waddling over to him. Angel continued to stare at them, having calm down at bit, watching as the little pink creature waddle to him and stared up at him cutely. It raised its hands up towards Angel, saying "Smoochum❤" Angel still felt unsure on what to do, but he decided to bend down and pick her up, placing her in front of his face, eyeing them with curiosity. Smoochum smile at Angel and gave him a little peck on the cheek, earning a small blush from Angel, eyes growing soft at the little affection he received. "Her name is Smoochum and yes like her name, she often greets people she meets with a smooch."

🕷Angel continued to hold Smoochum, admiring its cute face and adorable eyes before looking back at you. "Usually I charge freaks to smooch little old me, being a porn star and all, but I'll make it an exception for this cute little doll here." Angel nuzzled his face against Smoochum, earning him another kiss to his other cheek, prompting a giggle from both him and you. After that interaction, Angel Dust and Smoochum became the definition of BFFs.

🕷You noticed that both Smoochum and Angel Dust like to make sure their appearances were maintained, as you got both of them looking into a handheld mirror, checking their reflection. Angel Dust would always be experimenting with other looks and makeups, even dolling up Smoochum a little bit, which made her very happy. Smoochum was also the their to help Angel, whenever he was in a bad mood. She didn't really know what the reason was, since of course Smoochum wasn't aware about Valentino, but she was always their to comfort Angel with a little smooch and a warm hug, which Angel dust really appreciated.

🕷Angel Dust had introduced Smoochum to Fat Nuggets, wanting to see the two of them get along. Smoochum had greeted Fat Nuggets with a little smooch, earning a happy oink from the adorable pig, and a returning lick to Smoochums cheek. Yep, those two would get along really well. You had stumbled on the three of them in Angel Dusts room, with Angel fast asleep on his bed, with both Fat Nuggets and Smoochum cuddling in his chest fluff. The scene was so precious, you had to take a photo to show to Angel Dust later, as well as make it your new wallpaper on your phone.

-END-

(Continued in Part 2)

Sinners:

@alastorsgoldie @91062854-ka , @delectableworm , @iiotic

@cookiekyo , @demoarah , @danveration , @beebsbea ,

@veethewriter , @forbidden-sunlight , @pinkcrystal44 , @luujjvi ,

@unholycheesesnack , @saturnhas82moons , @jyoongim ,

@aceofcards0-0 , @ghostdoodlen , @yourdoorisunlocked ,

@starshipcookie , @ainsliemac , @aria-tempest , @nobuharashinyao

, @sweet06tart , @blakedbeanss , @ihyperfixatedagain , @ktssstuff ,

@yakultt-art , @mooniee123 , @nightmarenaya , @darischerry ,

@sadnessiscoldtea , @alastorssimp , @imacollasaltitan ,

@dilucragnvindr-my-beloved , @batmanmonstarr , @felice-jaganshi ,

@justchillaine , @crazed-flower , @ohmylovewhereartthou-blog ,

@akiooshizuka , @lokis-imaginary-friend ,

@themysteriousslenderman , @huntlowfan , @futureittomainn ,

@christinaatyourservice92 , , @just-trash-yeah-thats-it ,

@angelinevalentine89 , @yunimimii , @staryosh1 ,

@mihawksdemoness , @crystalreads , @blahblahbruhmeow ,

@madam-strawberryrose , @inkslayer , @azazel-nyx , @lixanjewel ,

@artemisandhunters , @thereeallink , @ask-theradio-demon ,

@lousypotatoes @l4zyb0n35 , @midorichoco

@lillyisfreakyy , @alastorthirsty , @yukiinee ,

@daydream-the-demon , @cosmiccoralz @aconstructofamind

@pumppkinlynn @erikaafernns , @silverpaw2 ,

@cosmiccandydreamer , @killer-nightmare0 , @visara-valentina

@thereallsaturnstar , @coffee-or-hot-cocoa

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warping-realities · 6 months ago

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New Coach

Colton Andrews was worried about his first day as a high school teacher. He knew he shouldn't worry; he had been a diligent student and graduated with honors. One of his professors had even told him at his graduation that he saw in him a natural talent for teaching. Still, facing a bunch of teenagers ready to judge him for any slip-up was a daunting prospect, especially knowing that he was only a few years older than his students, which could lead to some level of disrespect for his authority. In an attempt to differentiate himself from his pupils, Colton dressed in dress pants, a button-down shirt, and a tie, hoping the clothes would give him an air of maturity.

These were idle concerns, for just as his college professor had told him, Colton had a natural talent. The students attentively followed the meticulously dressed young man’s explanations. However, as he spoke about the best way for students to organize their studies for that year, Colton couldn’t help but notice that a handsome blond boy, extremely muscular, followed him with an interest above the ordinary, and he could have sworn that there was a smile playing at the corners of the boy’s mouth.

“Nonsense,” Colton thought to himself and concluded his lecture. However, shortly after releasing the students, the boy approached Colton’s desk, smiling. He had removed his sweatshirt, exposing his impressive arms. Colton admired the boy’s musculature, amazed—how was it possible for a 17-year-old boy to achieve such a size?

“Hey professor, I’m Rod, can we talk for a minute?”

“Rod? Rod? Ahhh, Roderik Thomas?”

“Rod, nobody calls me Roderik except my mother, and only when she’s mad at me.” Besides, Rod is a much more fitting name, if you know what I mean? concluded the boy with a wink.

“So, Roderik? What can I do for you?” Colton asked, pretending not to understand the student’s comment and deciding to maintain the image of authority he was trying to create.

“Rod, sir. I just wanted to say that I’m looking forward to seeing you in the field; all this talk about organization has shown me that you’re going to know how to do a good job.”

“I beg your pardon. Field? I don’t understand.”

“You’re Colton Andrews, aren’t you? Colton Andrews is the name of the new assistant football coach. Coach Colt, funny, haha.”

Colton looked at the young giant in front of him, appalled by the lad’s shallow sense of humor, but mostly because nothing he was saying made the slightest bit of sense.

“Sorry, Roderik, but I’m sure you’re wrong; I’ve never set foot on a football field in my life, and I can assure you I’m not a coach. You are certainly mistaking me for someone else.”

“Rod, coach. And what are the chances that there are two teachers with the exact same name at the same school? You’re a prankster, Coach. Cool, I’m sure you’ll get along great with the guys.”

“I am not a trainer, Roderik,” Colton replied, irritated.

“And I am not a Roderik, coach,” said the young man, a smile on his face as he left the room, ignoring the older man’s irritation.

“What the hell was that?” Colton blurted out now that the room was empty.

…..

Colton spent the rest of the day avoiding thinking about the strange encounter. However, that night, sitting on his sofa with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, absently reading a book, he found himself thinking about the strangeness of the situation. Was this the young man’s idea of a joke? Well, that could be, because Colton wasn’t lying; he had barely watched a few football games on television at home with his father during his childhood, and even he soon gave up trying to pique young Colton’s interest in the game. So the very idea of him walking onto a football field was bizarre; what about training young people for the sport? Absolutely ridiculous!

Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about Roderik’s huge arms. It made a lot of sense that a boy that size would play football. Colton pitied the opponent who got in that kid’s way. Football… it was funny, wasn’t it? The way so many people paid so much attention to a bunch of men fighting each other on a field; it was nothing more than a modern Coliseum. Taking off his glasses and putting the book aside, he followed this train of thought, imagining himself the size of Roderik, being on that modern battlefield, adrenaline coursing through his body, the anticipation of the move, the thud when blocking an opponent, the rumble of his feet on the field, the strength of his powerful muscles… Suddenly, Colton woke from his daydreams, his body feeling tired, as if he had actually done everything he had imagined. Feeling his throat suddenly dry, he headed for the kitchen, thinking of making himself a mug of tea to sip while reading.

Sitting in his kitchen, waiting for the tea to cool before drinking it, Colton again thought about Roderik’s arms, comparing them to his, though it wasn’t a fair comparison. Of course, his toned arms nicely filled out the sleeves of the polo shirt he’d chosen to wear that day; after all, he was no stranger to physical exercise. However, they were far from the gigantic size of his student’s arms. And he didn’t even want arms that big, obviously; imagine the impracticality of having two tree trunks dangling beside his body… yeah, imagine something like that.

….

Still holding the mug with the hot beverage, Colton sat in front of the television, and while he sipped his tea, he randomly switched channels, one after the other, but nothing seemed to hold his attention. Until a sports channel broadcasting a college football game caught his eye. Colton absently followed the heavy bodies bumping into each other, trying to understand the names of the plays and the moves made. Of course, he wasn’t a total novice to the subject; he knew who Patrick Mahomes was and had followed Brock Purdy’s Underdog conquest story with interest the previous year, but the information he had was as basic as it could be. However, he found himself following the match with increasing interest, even cheering and screaming when the team he was rooting for got a play right.

At halftime, Colton stretched, his arms straining at the seams of his T-shirt… dude, he liked that feeling, he thought as he took a swig of his beer. He knew that alcohol on a weekday was not a good idea, but he deserved to celebrate the success of his first day at work, even more so while watching his old college team play. Since he was a little boy, he had been a big fan of the sport, following all the games diligently, even if, to his father’s disappointment, he never showed interest in taking his passion to the field. No, Colton might have been a big guy with hard muscles, but he was still an intellectual by definition, although his relaxed attitude raised some disapproving looks during his college education. But Colton didn’t care about that; he could be an academic and still enjoy sports, working out, and of course, having a drink here and there.

As the game resumed, Colt relaxed even further, sprawled across the couch, but not letting up on play after play, cheering and cursing. Although the sofa was large, Colt suddenly felt confined, as if he had suddenly doubled in size.

“I need to buy a bigger one,” Colt thought. In fact, he couldn’t remember why he’d bought something that didn’t fit him. Colt had always been a big kid, towering over his peers since kindergarten. This, added to an agility not compatible with his size, made him stand out in all types of sports. But football had always been his passion; he would follow the games with his father since before he learned to speak, and when he was old enough, he soon began to practice, going through all the categories of Pop Warner until he reached high school, where he joined the team in his freshman year, assuming the starting position in his sophomore year. Alternating in defensive player positions and due to his size and skill, the joke among his peers was that they were looking at a third Bosa brother. Yet, to everyone’s surprise, Colt went to college not on a sports scholarship, but on academic achievement. He loved football, but there was so much more to life than the game. During college, he faced some difficulties; his professors did not seem to take his aspirations seriously, due to his monstrous size, his language full of slang, and also his partying habits. Even though he was not part of any fraternity, that was the first impression anyone had of him.

“Dickheads. I showed them, didn’t I? I’m a fucking teacher!” Colt thought as he got up to go to the bathroom and take a piss.

“Dude, all that beer had to come out at some point; I’m pissing like a horse, especially with a dick like that… haha,” he said as he swung his huge pole, missing the toilet bowl by a few inches.

“Fuck, tomorrow I’ll clean this up; I can’t miss the end of the game.” Still, he had time to admire himself in front of the bathroom mirror. His broad chest shining with sweat, his gigantic arms were on display, mountain-sized biceps and triceps like a horseshoe. His monstrous legs were hidden by his sweatpants, but if there was anything more that resembled a horse on his body, it would be his huge thighs. Looking at his square face, framed by his blond curls, he remembered his mother telling him that he looked like a little cherub as a baby, but no one today would think of him as angelic. After all, he exuded masculinity from every pore. And small? Never! Colt was big in everything—big feet, big muscles, big dick!

“Fuck, I’m so swole,” he said, staring at the mirror.

Returning to the huge sofa, Colt relaxed in front of the gigantic television in his living room. His powerful muscles comfortably positioned. His huge arms, his greatest pride, laid out at his sides like two big cannons. “Bro, he loved that feeling,” he thought before giving himself completely to the game transmitted in front of him, analyzing each move with the experienced eye of a professional in search of new techniques. After all, that was exactly what he was. Colt had been a promising player in high school, going to college on a full athletic scholarship, with the absolute certainty that only young people possess that he would be a professional player one day. His grades were miserable and his academic performance was poor, but that wasn’t important; he was a machine, a modern gladiator, and one day he would be playing in the great NFL coliseums. His college professors looked down on him and didn’t think he had any teaching skills, but they never said that in front of the behemoth that was Colt.

“A bunch of pussies,” he thought with a sneer. Colt didn’t need the appreciation of a bunch of emasculated old men; he had the football field, he had the crowd, he had his father’s eyes cheering him on every game… and unfortunately, an injury at the end of senior year had kept his biggest dream from coming true. Colt clearly remembered the look of defeat in his father’s eyes when their world had suddenly collapsed. How pleased those academic worms must have been to see Colt’s bright future disappearing. Still, he couldn’t help thinking about the sour faces that bunch of weaklings would make if they knew he was now a teacher too. Not that he cared much about the classes he had to teach. He just accepted the work because through it he managed to get the position of assistant coach of the football team and thus help a new generation to pursue their dreams since he had not been able to. He remembered at that moment the conversation he had with Rod.

“Damn, that kid has what it takes to win,” he thought. Colt had been amazed at how much the boy looked like himself at his age—same blond hair, same giant muscles, those huge arms. If he hadn’t known he wasn’t old enough to father the boy, he would have worried to find out if he had fucked his mother at some point.

“Ha, imagine being a father to a fucking boy, a Mini Colt, teaching him everything, taking him up to the professional ranks.”

After the end of the game and still daydreaming about the future, Colt went to his room. He nearly had to rip his tank top off to get it off. He took the moment to take another look at his body. He was giant, chest formed by two slabs of muscle, abs made of eight defined blocks, monstrous arms, thighs like tree trunks, calves the shape of a giant diamond, and huge size 15 feet, perfect for running on the field. All this accompanied by a square face, with high cheekbones, bright blue eyes, shallow in intellect but full of mischief, framed by his shiny blond curls. Tattooed on his gigantic arms were his varsity team crest and the letters of his fraternity.

After one last admiring glance at his perfect physique, Colt threw himself into the huge king-size bed and slept, dreams of football filling his night.

…..

The next morning, Colt woke up fully energized; today was the day his real work began.

“I’m a fucking football coach,” he crooned in his bovine voice as he picked up his sweatpants off the floor and sniffed one of the T-shirts strewn around the room.

“Fuck, I’m going to have to use this one… Dude, I’m such a pig… Fuck it, I’m going to the field!”

He then took a long shower, jerking off and thinking about the hot math teacher. With water running down his body, he went over the training plans for the day; proper organization was the mark of a good trainer and he would be the best. Even though the whole time he hadn’t stopped playing with his abs like they were guitar strings.

After a breakfast with enough food to feed a baby rhino, he put on his clothes, admired himself again in the mirror, and went to work.

Arriving in the locker room, the first person he found was Rod, with a big smile on his face, showing the dimples that gave a certain cuteness to a face that otherwise exudede masculinity, further accentuating the similarity between the two men. But Colt didn’t mind that; he would hate it if the guys saw him as a boring old man, like his college professors were. After all, he was still one of the guys; respect would come when they saw how awesome Colt was.

“What’s up, Mr. Andrews?” asked the boy with a sly smile.

“What the fuck? Mr. Andrews? Did you eat shit, Rod, my man? I’m no Mister. I’m a fucking coach. You can call me Coach, Coach Colt,” Colt replied with a laugh; that alliteration always got that reaction from him, not that he knew what a fucking alliteration was.

“Sweet, coach. We can’t wait to see the legend on the field.”

“That’s right little bro; it’s time to play football,” he replied with an excited smile. After all, he had spent more time in his life playing football than in a classroom, and he wouldn’t trade that for anything.

#male tf #mind change #reality change #jockification #mental transformation #my story

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redr0sewrites · 2 years ago

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General Kafka Headcanons

🥀A/n: REQS R STILL OPEN<3

🥀CW: Smut in the nsfw part, bondage, marking, overall kinky stuff, non-sexual nudity mentioned in the sfw part

SFW:

god i love women

kafka is often very busy, so i see her love language as words of affirmation

she loves flirting with you and whispering sweet things in your ear just to watch you get flustered

she can often be very touchy and flirty, however if it makes you uncomfortable she is shockingly good with boundaries and will simply give you space why would u say no tho

she loves having your head in her lap while she plays with your hair

she enjoys taking baths with you, esp after long or difficult missions

she will go all out, she will light candles, put rose petals and bubbles in the water, epson salt cuz its soothing, anything you like. there WILL be romantic music playing softly in the background, i said what i said

she likes to give you back massages and will give you small kisses on the back of your neck

she is VERY protective of you, i wouldnt say to a super controlling level but enough where she gets jealous pretty easily

she is actually so bad at dropping hints like she will flirt with anyone and anything but the second she caught feelings for u she had no idea what to do

she legit just teased u and made fun of u, you would probably think she hated you for awhile until you figured out that she was obsessed with u

have u seen her fit? yall def share a closet

her clothes are your clothes and vice versa

seeing you in her clothes sets something off in her i swear

this often leads to steamy makeout sessions and yk what else

SHE LOVES DOING YOUR MAKEUP AND HAIR SHE WOULD HELP YOU GET READY EVERY DAY IF SHE COULD

she will also let you do hers, but not super often since shes kinda busy sometimes and doesnt want to take forever getting ready

the type of person who can walk for hours and hours forEVER in super tall heels/platforms or "walk it off" after literally being beaten to near death in battle but will complain for days if she gets even the tiniest paper cut

likes giving back hugs

this is random but i feel like she eoukd enjoy puzzles and word games

YALL R THE TYPE TO GO ON FANCY DATES YALL R THE BIGGEST POWER COUPLE EVER

she always, ALWAYS pays for u, holds the door for u, she will hold ur shoes if they're bothering u/she will carry u if she can, LITERALLY A MIX BETWEEN GENTLEMAN AND MILF BEHAVIOR

she will prob introduce u to the other stellaron hunters if u dont already work w them

her friends r ur friends now

yall have self care dates where u get ur nails, hair, and skin care done and go to fancy spas or get massages im too broke to do this idk what people actually do at a spa

overall amazing and wonderful

NSFW:

here we gooo

switch energy SWITCH ENERGY

when shes more subby shes still in control, i feel like she would def be a power bottom at least

really enjoys commanding you and ordering you around, gets off on your obedience and your disobedience

HAIR PULLER

she WILL wear a strap and use toys on you, putting a vibrator to your clit/cock while your tied down and watching you squirm and whimper, using leg spreaders to hold ur legs apart while she eats u out/sucks u off, paddles, rods/dildos, thrusting vibrators, she has it ALL

if u dont have stereotypically "female" genitals/or even if u do, she will peg u. there is no escaping it. she will overstimulate you and she will fuck u until ur begging for her to stop, thighs shaking, chest heaving, sobbing and pleading for a break

IDK IF I SAID THIS ALREADY BUT SHE WILL TIE U DOWN AND SHE WILL USE INTRICATE AND PRETTY DESIGNS AND ROPES TO DO SO

she very much enjoys riding ur face, seeing your face covered in her slick below her... godd ur gonna be up the whole night

exhibitionist (i am prob spelling this wrong💀) SHE LIKES PRESSING U UP AGAINST WINDOWS WHILE THERES PEOPLE OUTSIDE AND FUCKING U FROM BEHIND WITH HER STRAP

"oh? your upset about them seeing us? so what? dont worry your pretty little head about trivial things like that dolly, i'll take care of everything for you~" *proceeds to fuck u until ur babbling and no more worried are forming in ur head*

into sensory play as well

ur tied down and blindfolded and she will blot hot air against ur cunt/cock, run an ice cube up and down ur thighs, leave hickeys or kisses on ur thighs, trace a feather around ur chest and trail it down ur abdomen, just above where u want her, so close but so, so far...

perhaps she has a mommy kink, but it would take a little while to discover it 👀

wears lingerie on a regular basis and will strip in front of u at the end of the day leaving u in flustered in shock she loves seeing u all flushed and embarrassed omg

tease teas tease sOO UNFAIR

WILL TEASE U FOR DAYS ON END JUST TO GET U TO SUBMIT

OVERALL THE PERFECTEST AND HOTTEST LOVER U CAN EVER IMAGINE

hi guys cant believe i just wrote this anyways can u tell i have a preference LMFAOO shes just so cool <3 i might have a type *side eyes kindael, kafka, rosaria, and all the other pink/red associated women who r also fucking insane that i simp for* sorry i havent been super active lately, i prob wont be for a little while im going on vacation. however, reqs are still open i am BEGGING for reqs lmao😭 hope u enjoyed!

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youngveinsworld · 10 months ago

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tyv interview and photoshoot with the los angeles times 4 july 2010

"In Panic, we were playing the biggest shows a band could possibly play, but we weren't having any fun," Ross said. "I couldn't understand why it felt like such a chore. I'd be lying if I said that I didn't worry about [my career] today. But onstage, I'm having way more fun now."

Over lunch at the Standard Hotel in West Hollywood, Ross still cuts a figure worthy of the arena-filling life. At 4 in the afternoon, he's dressed in a dashingly skinny black suit and paisley tie. A sandwich goes largely untouched; a bloody mary and vodka tonic vanish more quickly. Ross moved to Los Angeles two years ago, and after a stint couch-surfing in Topanga Canyon, this year he bought a hilltop home in Echo Park. He admits that the transition from playing basketball arenas in ascots and elaborate eye makeup to impromptu jams at Echo Park's hipster house parties felt disorienting at first, especially when new friends asked about his musical past. But Ross feels more at home in L.A.'s eastern climes than anywhere he's lived yet. "Vegas was so creepy," he said of his adolescent hometown. "It's inspiring to live in Echo Park and see people you know at the coffee shop and meet players who push you."

Ross and Walker recorded "Vacation" live with Alex Greenwald, frontman of Phantom Planet, and Rob Mathes, who produced Panic's second album but is better known for working with older artists such as Rod Stewart and Carly Simon. "Kids today don't give a care about the Beatles being some kind of holy church where you can't touch the pews," producer Mathes said. "It was never a calculated thing for them, and Ryan and Jon are fantastically intelligent songwriters that just happen to love the '60s." "This record is an answer to not being happy," Phantom Planet's Greenwald said. "Ryan's yearning and restless, and that image of the beach is where he strives to be." "As a teenager, I thought I knew everything about music," Ross said. "The older I get the more I realize I know less and less. But it makes me want to get better."

– source

#the young veins #young veins #tyv #ryan ross #summer2010 #photoshoot #interview

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thegreathuxton · 1 year ago

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Came and Never Left

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x fem! Reader (No use of Y/N)

Inspired by "The Day That I Met You" by Matilda Mann.

Summary: "You're wasting your potential at Bunchurch, you know... Call me, and I will take care of you. I promise."

Warnings: I'VE READ THE BOOKS SO THERE MIGHT BE SPOILERS. Cannon-typical violence. Reader has parent issues (Father isn't in the picture, and mother just passed). Depictions of death/homicide. Slight mentions of the reader being bullied/put down by coworkers.

A/N: Maybe series incoming? Idk, we'll wait and see. BTW, don't worry about the little numbers. I like separating my work into sections, just in case you accidentally close out and lose your place. Just remember Chapter/Part Whatever, Section 69, or something like that.

(PART 2)

It was pouring outside and just minutes before curfew. You cast a nervous glance at the phone book, sitting on a table by the door. The yellow pages glared with agency ads, especially from Rotwell's and all of their new technology developments, such as iron tape and ghost alarms. The ghost alarm was bogus, you found. It was nothing but a rod, some spiderweb, and a bell attached to the end. It did ring, sure, but incredibly late. Your mother had bought it before she died. It rang an hour after her apparition attacked you in your living room, late one evening. And the iron tape was something you had bought on your own time. It now lined your bedroom walls.

The page the phone book was open to had another agency ad in particular that made you antsy. The silver and black stood out against the vomit-yellow color.

A. J. LOCKWOOD & COMPANY.

Beneath was a phone number, provided for leisure. They were small and they were cheap. And you knew no one from that company, which made you feel better.

There was a sudden knock on the door that broke your attention away from the book. You took a deep breath, fixed your wool cardigan so it covered you (you didn't think about the way this was a very grade-school English teacher moment), and unlocked the door. You expected a team to be at your front door, but no. Just one boy, about your age. Tall, strikingly handsome, and charming without having said a word. He was dressed in a fine-pressed suit, which was only kept dry by the stark black umbrella looming above his head.

"Good evening," he said. His voice emulated milk and honey. "My name is Anthony Lockwood, head of Lockwood & Co. I've been informed of your situation, and I'm here to help. May I come in?"

You brought him to the kitchen and put on the kettle. He sat down at the table and had a few biscuits that you politely offered to him before sitting down across from him, nervously twiddling your thumbs and trying to act natural. You didn't want to make yet another enemy from an agency other than the one you were currently employed at.

He ate while flipping through the week-old newspaper. Once he was done, he sat back and smiled at you. It was like the sun had just come blasting right through your window. You sat up straight, and he fixed his tie.

"So, you're an agent as well?" He asked you so bluntly, but his smile never faded.

"I am..." You murmured back, unable to meet his gaze now.

"I'm sorry to sound so rude. I just noticed the rapier and work belt hanging by the door when I first stepped inside. Which agency are you from? Rotwell? Fittes?"

"Bunchurch," you said. "My mother worked there when she was a kid, as a researcher, and she was one of their biggest donors and contributors into their own research of The Problem before she passed."

"Ah, I'm sorry to hear that. What talent do you possess?" He showed a brief amount of sympathy before moving on.

"I'm an all-rounder, as my supervisor likes to put it. I'm pretty mediocre at everything there is. I do some field work, but..." You trailed off. "They usually stick me on the research end of things."

Lockwood nodded, once again, sympathetic.

"Again, I'm sorry to hear that, but I must ask you something." He then leans forward. His hands come together, and he rests his forearms on the table. "Why did you call on us rather than Bunchurch?"

You stiffened at the question. He was forward and all business. You obliged him, not wanting to be a burden.

"They don't exactly treat me as well as some would want to think," you began, fingers now mindlessly picking at your mother's choice of tablecloth. You stuck your pinky finger through a small burn hole, left by one of her cigarettes. "And if I told them I couldn't deal with one measly ghost on my own, they'd probably laugh and put me out on the street..."

You look back up again, and Lockwood's eyes are glued to you. His eyes are such a pretty brown color. You look away again.

"What makes you say you can't deal with the ghost on your own?" Lockwood was very quiet when asking this.

"It's my mother," you said back, equally as quiet. You both sat in silence for quite some time. He took a patient breath.

"How did it happen?"

"Burgurlary gone wrong," you whispered, still picking at the cigarette burn. "I was out on a job. Mom had horrible hearing. She lost the ability to hear out of her right ear when she was fifteen. Some idiot on her team had horrible aim and hit her with a salt bomb. It went off when it hit her face. Robber came right in the dead of night, and she didn't hear him. She woke up and went downstairs just to get some water. Guy thought she had seen him, and just..." You made a gun with your hand and put it to your forehead. You slowly lowered your hand. "Neighbors called the cops. Cops called DEPRAC, and DEPRAC called me while I was on the job."

"And she attacked you?" He asked. You nodded.

"Three AM, just a few nights ago. I went downstairs to get a glass of water, just like she had, and there she was..." You sighed. "She could be rather cold, personality wise, but I never imagined her coming back as a cold maiden."

"Type two?"

You nodded once more, and Lockwood does as well. The kettle started to scream from the stove. You quickly stood up and tended to it.

"English breakfast or Earl Grey?" You asked.

"Earl Grey, please, with a dollop of honey, if you have it."

You helped him set up in the living room. It was the least you could do in exchange for his kindness and patience.

As you laid out a circle using the iron chains he had packed in his dufflebag, he examined the room, all the pictures that hung on the wall, and the traces death-glow left on the wooden floors. Your mother, unfortunately, had been shot on her favorite white carpet. DEPRAC had rolled it up and took it to the furnaces to be incinerated, along with a few other items that had been spattered with blood. Many other items were packed in cardboard boxes.

"Planning on moving, I assume?" He hummed.

"Just to the quarters within Bunchurch for the time being. I can't afford to keep up with rent on the house on my own," you explained and linked the chains perfectly together, just as you were trained to do. You then went to stand beside him as he admired a piece of artwork, just above the fireplace and resting on the mantle. Your mother would always stare at it when she was home. It was like a piece of resistance in her eyes.

When Lockwood tuned to face you, his scent, unburdened by the rain, washed over you. He smelled strongly of freshly clipped lavender and clean laundry. There was also a faint trace of burnt toast and magnesium. He smiled down at you.

"Do you have a safe place to go while I do my business here? Or would you feel better if you supervised?" He said, still smiling and making your heart beat a little faster.

"My room should be safe," you said to him. "As long as that iron tape from Rotwell's holds up."

He laughed at your answer. "One of my associates has a habit of buying that junk too. He rambles all the time about all of that Rotwell nonsense. Can you believe it?"

You smiled back up at him and blushed.

"You have to give them credit. A lot of the stuff they sell is junk, but it can be useful some of the time."

"Oh, spare me," he openly joked with you. "George will definitely get a laugh at that. He went on this huge rant just the other night about the stupid ghost detector stick he bought with his entire paycheck."

You continued with the small banter and kept him company until the old grandfather clock that sat in the corner struck twelve. Lockwood had been sharing jammy dodgers with you that he had tucked in his coat pocket, when the metallic twang rung and had the two of you in a spellbound trance.

Lockwood looked at the clock, checked his watch for the accuracy, and then unclipped the thermometer from his belt. The black box read 17.2 degrees Celsius. He let out a small laugh, chuffed with himself.

"I suppose you best be heading to your iron tape fortress rather quickly," he said while showing you the reading. "It was twenty-four degrees in here about 10 minutes ago."

With that, you both stood. He went to his iron circle and dug in his bag for a moment. When he stood back up, he turned to you.

"I'm sure you have a million and one of these stashed somewhere, but just in case you can't reach one of yours, take one of mine," he grinned and placed a salt bomb in your hands. "It'll give me some peace of mind when you go upstairs."

You smiled down at the thing in your clutches, then nodded, grinning just as big as he was.

"Don't let her bully you," you teased him, tucking the salt bomb in your pants pocket. "She was always kind of mean to strangers."

Lockwood shrugged and kept smiling. He waved you off and watched you disappear upstairs.

You couldn't sleep. You kept thinking about the boy downstairs, doing God knows what in your living room. He was probably sitting in his little protected circle and eating another biscuit. You smiled at the very prospect.

You sat in bed, one hand resting over the salt bomb still sitting snuggly in your pocket, while the other held open a book, but your eyes didn't bother reading anything. Your ears were too busy listening, which took up most of your brain power.

The grandfather clock would echo up the stairs and to your bedroom. One passed, then two, and before you knew it, it was two forty-five. Fifteen minutes before things began to happen.

Each night, at precisely three in the morning, a horrible scream would rock the house. You gave these details to the company working downstairs over the phone. You never dared to explore more, always too terrified of dying at the hands of your mother's spirit to try. Your thumb twitched over the salt bomb again.

You stared at the pages of your book until the clock struck three, and the seconds seemed to slow. Like clockwork, the scream came rippling through the house. It was louder this time. Loud enough, it made you cover your ears.

Five seconds after came the loud BOOM of a magnesium flare and then the CRACK of a salt bomb. Another terrible shriek tore the house asunder and had you putting your house shoes on. You glanced at the clock.

It read 3:06. Another bomb went off, and you heard furniture start to crash and rumble. You gripped the salt bomb in your pocket and then rushed to your closet. The thought that scared you more than facing your undead mother was the thought of another agent, dealing with a dangerous type two ghost and thinking they could do it alone.

You found your grade three rapier. It was shorter than the one you used now, but that one was downstairs by the door, and you couldn't possibly go for it now.

You threw a robe over yourself and threw open your door. The temperature change was horrendous. Your room was a comfortable and warm temperature, but as soon as you stepped beyond the door, you could see your breath perpetrating in the air. Thin layers of ice grew on the walls and cracked at the crumbling wallpaper. Another terrible shriek pierced the air, but it wasn't feminine. It was Lockwood.

You rushed down the stairs and turned to see the scene before you. The walls were burned from salt, magnesium, and ectoplasm. Lockwood had been knocked on his back, and his coat was steaming from the ectoplasm burns. The iron chain had been snapped in two. His rapier was far across the room, stuck in the wall like a decorative art piece. Above him was your mother. Her apparition was blue and terrifying. You could hardly look at her without wanting to turn away and sob. There was still a bullet hole in the center of her apparition's forehead. Tentacles of ectoplasm lashed out at Lockwood as he laid on the floor, and he was trying his best to dodge each one. He was out of flares and out of time.

That was, until you rushed to his aid.

You unclipped the salt bomb and threw it. It exploded and blinded both you and Lockwood. Your mother screeched and disappeared briefly, but she was quick to start reforming. You ran to Lockwood and helped him stand up by his shoulders. His eyes were wide and wild and he loomed at you with his mouth agape. You stared back, just breathing hard and speechless. Your heart was going a mile a minute. His eyes suddenly flicked away from you. He grabbed you by your waist and pulled you to the side quickly. He slammed his back against the wall and kept you tight to his chest. You realized he had just pulled you out of the way from another lash from an ectoplasm tentacle.

"I thought you wanted to stay with your iron tape fortress!" He panted, smiling at you as he let you go.

"I couldn't let you deal with her alone," you said back, then turned to face the bigger problem in the room. Your mother had reformed herself, right in front of the chimney. She screamed again, and it rattled your brain inside your head. You screamed back and threw your rapier.

The point of the blade struck her blue chest. Her apparition disappeared as the blade went entirely through her and landed in her favorite painting on the mantle, like a dart in a board. You watched the blade shake and then still. Steam bellowed from it.

"The fireplace," Lockwood muttered and he came to stand beside you. "The source has got to be in the fireplace."

You nodded in agreement.

Lockwood approached his dufflebag quickly and retrieved a silver net. He pulled his rapier from the wall and looked to you.

"You go up there, and I'll watch for her. Okay?"

He gave the silver net to you. It wasn't an option anymore. You both cautiously approached the fireplace, and another screech rang from the house and shook the ice-chipped, ectoplasm stained walls.

"Not getting any younger here, Bunchurch," he said cooly, keeping his rapier steadily pointed while his eyes flickered all over the room, carefully watching.

You wasted no more time, climbing into the fireplace with no light. You relied on your hands, feeling the bricks and only finding thick grime and soot.

"Lockwood!" You called. "I'm not getting anything! I don't think it's here!"

"I think it is," Lockwood said, now sounding tense. "Because your mom's back, and if you thought getting a spanking with a wooden spoon was bad, you're definitely going to hate what she's about to do here in about ten seconds or so."

You searched all the more frantically, and you stretched up on your tippy-toes. Your fingers dived into a mesh of spiderwebs suddenly, and it took all of your willpower not to pull your hands away and wretch with disgust. You dug deeper, wincing as you heard the visitor scream again. Your hands then felt something wooden lodged between a couple of bricks. With no hesitation left, you grabbed it and yanked it down. You wrapped it in the silver net, and as soon as you did, all was silent. You could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner and Lockwood's loud panting.

You crawled out of the fireplace, and the first thing you saw was Lockwood's smiling face. He put both of his hands on your shoulders and beamed so brightly at you.

"Well done, Bunchurch!"

You began to beam, too.

He took the silver net from you and set it somewhere safe, where it wouldn't be disturbed.

"Did you see what it was?" He asked you and took a seat on the floor. The couches were still thawing from the bitter cold and the walls now dripped from melting ice.

"No," you sighed. "A box, I think."

He hummed. You sat on the floor with him, next to him. He produced a bar of chocolate from his now near-empty duffle bag. He split it with you, and you made a new kettle of tea in the kitchen, where you both soon moved to sit more comfortably.

"Hang on a second," he suddenly mumbled to you. "You've got soot all over your face. Let me get it for you."

He wet a napkin and then approached you. The smell of lavender was overwhelmed by the magnesium, but still there all the same. He wiped at your cheeks and forehead with the wet napkin and got as much grime as he could while the water in the kettle started to boil. He was so gentle with you, it made you blush profusely, and his eyes had a new gleam to them that you hadn't seen when he first stepped foot into your house.

"If you want," he spoke softly while using his other hand to tilt your chin up more, "I could stay with you until dawn and we can see what the source was in the morning, when it's safe."

You thought about it for quite some time, then shook your head.

"No... I don't think I really want to know what it is," you sighed and looked up at him. He had paused with dabbing the napkin and now just mindlessly rubbed your chin with his gentle thumb. "I've spent the past two weeks trying to heal after her death. I think seeing what it is will put me back quite a bit."

Lockwood stood there for some time, just gazing at you while you spoke. He dropped his hands and nodded, finally, after some time of thought.

"As you wish, Bunchurch. I'll take it to the furnaces first thing," he smiled at you, and you smiled back. He placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, and you placed your hand on top of his, in return. You saw the pink rise to his pale cheeks, and he gave you the faintest hint of a laugh. He stayed with you for some tea and a light, congratulatory breakfast. Not long after that, he was packing his things and getting ready to leave.

"You know," he spoke softly as you walked him to the door. "You saved my life tonight. You'd be surprised at how many people there are in this world who wouldn't do the same."

You smiled at him.

"From one agent to another," you said with sincere warmth in your tone. He smiled back at you.

Dawn was just beginning to peak in through the window above your front door. He turned to face you just as you reached for the handle.

He stuck his hand in his coat pocket and brought out a small business card. Scrawled on it was the same name and number you had gotten from the yellow pages.

"What is this?" You murmured, confused. It took you a moment to realize that the number on the card was different in the slightest of ways.

"It's my personal phone number. We have two phones. One for business and one for other things. Give us a ring sometime, using that number," he spoke and pointed to the card. "You're wasting your potential at Bunchurch, you know. The way you acted tonight more than proved you deserve to work on the field rather than some dusty library. Lockwood & Company will always have room for more people like you." He cupped your hand, the one holding the business card, and curled your fingers around it for you so you could hold on tight to it. His hands were warm and comforting around yours. His warm, brown eyes never left you. "Call me, and I will take care of you. I promise."

It seemed like only a few heartbeats before he was gone. You watched from one of your living room windows as he went to the corner of your road and hailed a cab. You sat and watched his cab drive away, still clutching the card, just knowing from the feeling you got, you'd be leaving your job at Bunchurch very soon.

#anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #lockwood and co #lockwood netflix #george karim #lucy carlyle #Anthony Lockwood and you #Anthony Lockwood/you #anthony lockwood/reader #35 portland row

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malum-forev · 2 years ago

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The Prodigal Son: Chapter One

Pairing: Mafia!40's!Bucky x MobBossDaughter!Reader.

Prologue

You looked around the large room, dark wood lined the walls and expensive fabric hung from the curtain rods. Someone was talking but you weren’t paying attention, it’s not like they were going to ask for your opinion anyways. It wasn’t until the last moment of the meeting when they would turn to you, only to question if you’d met with the manager of the casino recently. Like always, you had and like always, they would just nod.

Your seat at the table was merely a courtesy from your father, a place given to you on your eighteenth birthday after years of begging. You were smart, smarter than most of the men sitting in front of you.

Everyone filed out of the room except one person.

“If you have something to say, just raise your voice.” He said.

You chuckled, finishing up what you were writing down and passing it to him. “It’s easier and more effective for me to voice my opinions through a messenger.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed as he read the contents on the paper. “You’re accusing one of our most trusted men of stealing money and giving information to another family.”

You nodded.

“If these allegations are true-“

“They��re not allegations if I have proof.” You passed a manila folder with photographs to Bucky.

“Where did you get this?” He asked, loosening the knot on his tie.

“You’d be surprised how far I can go just by hiding in the shadows.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Sometimes I think you go around looking for trouble.”

Your whispered giggles filled the coat closet but his blue eyes were filled with worry. Bucky’s chest heaved as he clutched the bourbon bottle tightly.

“We shouldn’t be here.” He told you.

“You told me to have my first drink at home.” You hiccupped.

“I told you to take your first drink with me, not your first bottle!” Bucky scolded you.

You had been sneaking around in your father’s study when Bucky caught you. Your knee-high socks were filled with dirt spots and your braided hair was awry. The two of you had rushed to the coat closet to hide when you heard your father’s booming steps come closer.

You were pushed up close to Bucky’s side in the small closet. His cologne wafted through your nostrils like sweets, you were just about to lift up and follow his trail just by the scent like in a cartoon. A mix of wood and jasmine that could only be his. The cologne had been a gift from your parents, brought straight from Paris last summer. Last summer, when everything changed.

You looked up at Bucky with wide eyes, remembering every second from that summer. Your parents had sent you to a summer camp where more than just studying had happened, you don’t know when the shift happened but you know when your crush started. You got off the train platform and there he was, Bucky had been hard at work that summer and it showed. His usual white shirt now fit snug against his biceps and he had let his hair grow a little bit. Once his blue eyes caught yours and a smile ran across his lips you were done. You felt your knees weaken and you would have fallen had it not been for his strong arms pulling you into a hug.

“I missed you.” His raspy voice filled your ears, music you hadn’t heard before. “Don’t you dare leave me for a whole summer again young lady.”

“I wouldn’t dare to.” Suddenly, there was no air in your lungs.

You’d never thought of Bucky as a brother, he was more of a friend or a confidante but after that summer, you wanted more from him.

“I think your father left.” Bucky said, bringing you back. The two of you had changed a lot in a year. Bucky had increased his visits to the gym and you had picked up a more mature sense of style. Last summer you were a young fourteen-year-old and now you felt like a woman. It was this false confidence, and maybe the amounts of alcohol ingested, that made you think- or not think- your next move.

You stood on your tiptoes and brought your lips close to his but before you could bring your lips together like you wanted, Bucky stopped you.

“What are you doing?” His eyes widened and he pushed his already flat back closer to the wall.

You felt your face heat with embarrassment as you lowered yourself back to your position.

“I’m sorry.” You said.

Bucky gulped as he looked down at you, unable to speak one word.

“I shouldn’t have drank that.” You blamed the bottle.

“Forgive me if I’ve given you mixed signals.” Bucky set his gaze forward. “But I’m ten years your senior, this can never happen.”

You wished the ground would swallow you up but the universe gave you the next best thing, Bucky left the coat closet without saying another word and left you to bask in your embarrassment alone.

You sipped red wine and looked down at your plate curiously. It wasn’t the lamb chop that made your interests peak, it was the gold foil adorning the perimeter of the expensive plate. Your parents’ wedding China, your mother only brought it out on special occasions.

“You’ve barely touched your food.” Your father remarked.

“If your mother wanted to poison you, don’t you think she would have done it when you were a rebellious eighteen-year-old?” Bucky laughed under his breath.

“It’s not poison I’m afraid of.” You said. “It’s the porcelain trojan horse I’m watching out for.”

Your mother set down her cutlery. “I’m thinking of purchasing a dog.”

“Another one?” You asked. “By this time next year you’ll be nothing but tufts of fur and kibble.”

At first, your mother narrowed her eyes but her anger quickly turned to sadness as her eyes filled with tears.

“I wouldn’t be this lonely if you weren’t punishing me.” She wailed. “It’s like you don’t want me to meet my grandchildren.”

Your father sighed and rubbed circles on her back.

“There it is.” You told Bucky.

Hours later, once your mother calmed down, you walked along the garden. You laid back on a patch of grass and closed your eyes.

“Are you still wishing on stars?” You heard Bucky’s voice.

You kept your eyes closed and smiled as you felt his arm close to yours. “Would it be wrong if I were?”

“It would be silly for a woman like you to leave your life up to chance.” Bucky hummed.

You looked up at the night sky, pointing to the biggest star you could find. “I would like to be immature, just for tonight. How about we wish on that one?”

Bucky took your hand in his and hummed, closing his eyes for a second.

“What did you wish for?” Bucky’s blue eyes pierced yours.

“I wished for William to ask for my hand tomorrow.” You whispered.

Bucky’s features hardened for a second. “Tomorrow?”

You nodded. “He’s asked my father for a meeting tomorrow at two.”

Bucky took a deep breath and looked back at the night’s sky.

You rushed out to the garden, looking for Bucky. He’d left your party some time ago and you still couldn’t find him.

You found him lying on the grass with his eyes closed.

“You’re a hard man to find.” You laughed, plopping your tulle dress down on the grass.

Bucky smiled as he heard your voice. “I’m actually hiding from you.”

“From me?” You smiled.

He nodded. “I’m still trying to find a way to apologize for not getting you a birthday present. I’ve been so caught up with- well, the business that it slipped my mind. And your eighteenth birthday none the less!”

You licked your bottom lip. “You shouldn’t worry about a gift.”

“You say the word and I’ll give it to you, anything you want, anything you could dream for your birthday.” An unrecognizable emotion flashed through him and you felt your breath hitch.

You opened and closed your mouth twice, your sensible part warning you not to do it. Not wanting to face another rejection. But time had passed and things had changed, right?

“Anything you want, Princess.” He repeated his blue eyes darkening like the night sky above you.

“I want a kiss.” You whispered.

“You’d waste your carte blanche on a kiss?” He came closer to you, running his knuckles against your cheek. “A kiss from an old man like me?”

You giggled. “You’re not an old man.”

“To a young beautiful thing like you,” He chuckled. “I am.”

Your breath got caught in your throat as he brought his lips closer to you. His minty breath fanning your mouth.

“Are you sure this is what you want, Princess?” He asked, his voice pained, like he was holding back.

Unable to get any word out, you nodded.

Bucky crashed his lips to yours like a hungry man, his large calloused hands gripped the back of your neck like he never wanted to let go. He nipped your bottom lip, making you let out a moan mixing pain and pleasure. Bucky’s hands traveled the seam of your dress, stopping just above your ass. You pushed your chest closer to him, wanting him to take you then and there but, he stopped.

Your ragged breaths were all that could be heard. Bucky laid back on the grass and tucked your body to his side.

“Do you believe in wishing on stars?” You asked quietly, your lips throbbed.

Bucky sighed. “I’m willing to believe.”

You closed your eyes and wished for this night to never end.

Bucky turned his head to you, a small smile on his lips. “Should I tell you what I wished for?”

“Of course not, if you tell me, then it won’t materialize.”

You slammed the tailor’s glass door open, narrowing your eyes at his assistant.

“Where is he?” You barked and she raised a trembling hand towards the back room.

From the look of Bucky’s reflection, he was pretty happy with his actions. He had been waiting for you for some time, the clock marked two thirty pm.

“Are you proud of yourself?” You asked, coming close to him, your nostrils flaring.

Bucky smiled down at you. “I have done many things I should be proud of, could you be more specific?”

“The meeting with William?” You rolled your eyes. “The one you cancelled.”

“Ah yes.” Bucky waved for the tailor to keep marking his body. “I had more important matters to attend.”

“This doesn’t even concern you.” You narrowed your eyes at Bucky. “Yet you advised my father to not move forward with the meeting without you.”

“Correct.”

“You think a tailor fitting for another stupid oxford grey suit is more important than me marrying?” You threw your hands up.

Bucky’s lips twitched upwards. “Actually, this suit is going to be navy.”

“Who do you think you are? Getting in the way of my wishes?” You asked.

“You can never speak of a wish once made upon a star, it will never come true.”

You usually could contain your anger but this time it had become too much to handle, your rage was bubbling over.

“I want you, I’ve wanted you for as long as I can remember but you continue to reject me.” You dug your index finger into his chest. “So, if you do not want me don’t stand in my way. William and I are to be engaged by the end of this month whether you like it or not.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “I cannot let you marry a man like that, an unfaithful man-“

“I’ve spent the majority of my best years pining over you just to be let down.” You interrupted him. “Now you have no say in my life. Not when I’ve been clear of what I want.”

“You’re willing to marry a man knowing you love someone else?” Bucky took your hand but you ripped it away.

“I have never been stupid enough to let someone have my love knowing they cannot say it back.” You grinded down on your molars.

“You cannot do this.” Bucky straightened his back. “I forbid it.”

“I’ve been promised his great grandmother’s ring.” You said.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “All this for a ring?”

Rage traveled through your veins. “If I cannot have my family’s ring, I will have William’s.”

Bucky’s gaze traveled from you to the gold signet ring on his last finger.

Please let me know if you guys like it! Remember to comment like and reblog! <3

tagged: @kpopgirlbtssvt @shara-ne @namelesssaviour @hallecarey1 @send-me-styles @jessicaloons @shewhojumps @honeyglee @giftedyoungster3000 @likehonestlysametho @batmanbiersack02-blog @calwitch @im-a-marvel-ous-hoe @soldiersweiner @maggiejackson3 @chelseaslibrary @kittybeansbarnes @ryebr0d @leyannrae @jvanilly @marvel-stories33 @casa-boiardi @ilovetaquitosmmmm @bucksangel @claireelizabeth85

*I have tagged those who commented and reblogged my last Mafia!Bucky story, I hope that's okay! If not, please message me so I can take your @ off the tagged list :)

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e1igius · 2 years ago

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@pohlepen leaves him a little note with a heart, "gone to get pickles, be back soon probably 💖"

there's an empty spot in his bed... in their bed. she's slept at his place more than her own as of late , she's always here --- and her lack of it felt very strange. and while this was still his loft , and she still had her own place. but he wanted more than anything to have this be their own. he'd lost so much at this point. the fact he'd ever even found her had been a stroke of luck , a lightening rod to tie when he was at rock bottom. but lightening wasn't meant to be held in a bottle , and he's just waiting for the other shoe to drop. every time she leaves he's worried she won't come back. especially because , for some god forsaken reason , frankie decided she was going to be horrible at keeping in contact with him. which he hadn't minded at first , bt now with her pregnant it was terrifying. what if she leaves him ? what if she takes their baby ? what if she gets rid of him ? what if she gets hurt ? what if she gets hurt... he can't imagine what married people do. with the love of their life ? just worry constantly.

his heart stops as a hand reaches out on the empty bed. and in an instant , the blonde is sitting upright reaching over and tearing the bed apart as if the mattress itself had eaten her alive. it's only then , than his eyes spot the note out of the side of his gaze. and he almost leaps across the king sized bed to the second night stand to read it. the messy sleepy handwriting is a godsend. frankie's messy handwriting explaining that she'll return after a downstairs trip to the bodega has every muscle in his body relaxing for a moment --- that was until the same realization that maybe she's in danger.

who says the pickles from the bodega aren't laced with cyanide , or that she hadn't tripped down the stairs on the way down ? as the texan's mind wanders he's out of bed , throwing on a western shirt and boots over his boxers and about to rush downstairs in order to check up on his fiancé ( she hasn't accepted yet ). there's a rifle in one hand and a look of crazed worry on his face as the door comes back open and a very pregnant red head stands here , jar of pickles in hand , completely unharmed. and he's just so glad.... he's next to her in a moment. rifle long forgotten on the ground , cupping her face in his hands and pulling her in for a deep kiss.

❝ wake me , next time wake me. ❞ don't leave me.

#pohlepen

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silverinkbottle · 6 months ago

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The Affair between Hawk and Dove-Chapter 5: Reality

Summary: It's time for Iris to uphold her end of the bargain with one particular Marine, only this time with self-inflicted consequences on BOTH sides.

Pairing: OC x Mihawk

Fandom: A mixture of content from both the Live Action and Manga. Spoilers will be WARNED once chapters go beyond the current timeline of OPLA.

Rating: EXPLICIT (18+). Please be aware that there be sexual content, references to non-con, prostitution, graphic violence etc.

Chapter length: 6K

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

A/N: One of TWO new chapters for your reading pleasure. Totally didn't binge watch the season the last few days. As always comments etc are welcome! As well as constructive criticism in terms of pacing/characterization, but please be polite and use good judgement.

The low crackling of burning logs stirred Iris from the dark depths of sleep. Bleary eyes half-registering the clutter around her as a glint of metallic lures and spare, almost translucent fishing lines caught in the dim firelight. She sat up slowly as she reflexively curled deeper in the threadbare but well-loved blanket wrapped around her small form. However, the distinct scent of smoke roused her further as her eyes followed a faint haze of gray from the fireplace.

Had she told Father she would watch it but drifted off to sleep? Where was he? An unexpected lump seized at her throat as unspoken emotion seemed to render her immobile. She didn't see him, not in total, but a half-shadowed figure in the partially open door leading out to the deck of the fishing vessel. The low rumble of his voice complaining about something or other, the distinct whirl of the fishing rod. Her limbs felt numb, unable to run out to meet him. To warn him about the smoke that began to fill the room, a prelude to the fiery disaster to come. Fire could consume the small vessel within minutes, both him and her along with it.

The once comforting embrace of the blanket around her turned into a prison. Her warmed limbs were trapped by the gentle fabric, and the numbing sensation held her fast. What was the rush? Hadn't she wanted to take a small nap away from the responsibility? Her father would come in as soon as he registered the potential danger. Just go back to sleep. Let someone else take care of it.

Sleep. Be the little thirteen-year-old girl for a little bit longer. Smoke burned at Iris's throat, but she could feel her eyes grow heavier and heavier, the impossible weight of the smoke sinking into her, rendering her immobile like a siren's song trickling in her ears. She could rest for a second, couldn't she?

Her eyes felt damp with unshed tears as a now-grown Iris ripped herself from a familiar sheet. Wincing when her knees collided harshly with the wooden floorboard. The stinging pain made her register the 'true' world all the faster as she wordlessly wiped at her face. Dreams, nightmares, the turbulence of her sleeping consciousness trying to make sense of the unspoken stress of reality. Others tried to tie themselves in knots to decipher the 'true' meanings behind the phenomena's visions, but Iris had long since stopped putting any sort of stock in them. Unless it was trying to tell her to burn the plethora of unsent letters on her over-encumbered tea table. That was a rational link to it all.

She hadn't meant to write, stop, and dread over the half-finished words, slashed through sentences, and left behind large ink splotches from lingering to find the right word. To strike the delicate balance between asking for help without sounding so pathetic. To express urgency but maintain her independence. Bridging the gap between Mihawk's last letter and her long overdue response. For him, it had been a mere passing thought, but for her, she could all but see the pieces falling into place soon. Making her way over to the table, she picked up the week-old letter, her teeth worrying her bottom lip, and scanned the elegant script for what had to be the hundredth time.

I regret that I will once again ask for your leave, Dove. The troubles from the Conomi Islands continue. Even though the apparent incident is a day or two old, the World Government is determined to keep rumors from leaking further. It makes me wonder if such things have reached your ship. That is doubtful, as the government has been proactive in silencing sources and the like. Much less to prevent the fiscal drain of posting bounties. Hence, the pull on my metaphorical leash. I will admit my curiosity in my chosen quarry, a challenge, as it were. He is proving quite apt at avoiding well-traveled sea lanes in favor of more 'difficult' patches of the East Blue. Regardless, I will strive to finish my 'duties' as soon as possible. Perhaps I have become too 'lax' in upholding my agreement. First the monkey boy, and now a rogue Fishman? What fantastical request will be pushed upon me next? At least the first proved some source of amusement instead of frustration at the incompetence of the government's squeaking rats.

Try to not fret so much, Dove.

Sincerely,

Dracule Mihawk

At first glance, Iris couldn't help but find it funny as she could visualize his sheer distaste upon being called upon so soon. Again. However, it didn't stop a pang of panic to strike her at the description of rats. So, had he heard about the doomed thief mentioning Nezumi, or was it sheer coincidence? Had Nezumi been stripped of his 'guardianship' of the Conomi Islands? Was that the reason behind the prickly temperament of the letter besides Mihawk's? The letters hastily written either from a need to rush or to express emotion? It was much less handled than Mihawk's, as, with a sigh, Iris picked it up.

My dear,

I greatly regret that my health is poor and that I must request your gentle presence so soon this month. Certain circumstances have reduced my disposition, and I would loathe for you and yours to find yourself miserable with worry. Perhaps seeing your delicate smile and tea will remedy my poor feelings.

Uncle.

The benevolence of the words made Iris's skin itch; there was little goodwill in that Captain's heart as she could imagine. The affectionate flair of 'Uncle' was one he had insisted on lest the letter fall into the wrong hands. A mere correspondence between an ailing relative and a doting niece. Whatever providence Nezumi's dealings had in the Conomi Islands had ended unexpectedly and was a harsh blow to his pockets, hence his earlier arrival to collect his expected fees.

Another worry for Iris to wrestle with as she eyed the lock box on her writing desk. Filled to the brim with Beli meant for circumstances like this. However, even that wouldn't be enough if the terms of the deal were modified as she tried to ignore the growing pit of alarm in her stomach. Iron manacles would be the least of the crew's worries. Nezumi's first move was to test her 'loyalty' with the accidental 'slip' to the thieves. Did he bother to follow up, or was it curiosity to gauge her flow of income? Was he still oblivious to her connection to Mihawk?

Yes.

The smug thought was almost too obvious as the greedy Captain couldn't see past his own nose if there was a wad of Beli in his face. So, Iris felt the tiniest trickle of relief that she had that particular trump card in her back pocket, as much as it would pain her to use it. The phantom sting of smoke in her throat flickered from the helpless notion for a second.

Shaking her head at the thought, Iris quickly straightened up the pile of paper when the faint knock at the door reached her ears. A tired-looking Joan walked in as Iris did her best to give her dedicated second mate a smile; it was met with a grimace. Watches had been doubled since the attempted robbery; eyes were constantly on the horizon at all hours. Not all ship occupants were sailors outright refusing the extra duties with the verbal intent of departing the ship at the next port. Another cause for concern as without whores the brothel couldn't exactly function.

"Shall I send in Bathory, Captain? It's nearing noon." Joan asked quietly as her blue eyes flickered from Iris's disgruntled expression to the lurking wardrobe. Nezumi's tastes did leave something to desire as Iris had contemplated burning the irksome baby blue fabric of the outfit's wide-brimmed sun hat more than once. To see the cheap silk roses stitched into its center like a garnish bouquet crumpled into little flecks of ash. The heavier skirts made her feel like she was walking through the muck, as that was one of the deal's conditions. Nezumi dealt with the women of 'proper' standing, even if it was mere whorehouse madam's masquerade. It made Iris feel all the cheaper for it every time she donned the stupid hat.

"Do I have a choice?" Iris huffed as she crossed her arms over the thin sleeping gown but made no move towards the wardrobe. Her reluctance flickered to irritation as Joan's attention went from her reluctant Captain to the cluttered tea table. Mihawk's letter was placed atop the stack, betraying Iris's habit of rereading its contents again.

"You could-"

"No, I can handle this on my own. Joan." Iris's sharper tone cut over the gentle but expected suggestion. To take advantage of the unfamiliar but advantageous change in Status as a Warlord's Paramour. A mere gleam of teeth bared at the 'masters' holding the government dog's leash. Threats unspoken as Iris had gleaned that Mihawk's nonchalant attitude was the least destructive characteristic to manage regarding Warlords. He did as he pleased, with or without permission, as he put it. Cowing some upstart Marine would be simple. All Iris had to do was ask.

Yet, her fierce independence prevented her from speaking, much less writing, those words back. So, the letter remained unanswered.

"Perhaps Nezumi's mood has improved," Joan muttered as she watched Iris reach for the wardrobe handle. The Madam Captain's posture was as straight as a rod of iron, like that of a warrior about to head into combat. It wouldn't be a simple, pleasant discussion over tea—not by a long shot.

"Mihawk mentioned squeaking rats. If Nezumi's complaints reached his ears, I doubt it was subtle. Who knows what sort of troubles have sent that rat-faced bastard into this big of a tizzy?"

The orange and red rays of the setting sun bathed the main deck of the Victoria in a romantic hue. Giving an air of privacy, Iris sat at the end of the over-encumbered circular table. Trays of sweet confectionery goods sat untouched, accompanied by aromatic tea that threatened to make Iris' stomach revolt at the first fragrant notes. Her lips were kept in a composed line, and her fingers traced the rim of her tea saucer in almost frantic patterns. Something was wrong; she should have turned tail and run. Damn the consequences, damn her pride, just pick up the fucking pen and-

"Ship approaching, Madam Captain!" The boom of the man's voice above in the crow's nest made her jump. The unexpected jolt caused her to tip the teacup amber contents over the creamy silk tablecloth as she tried to blot the liquid with a spare cloth. Muttered curses fell from her lips as she leaned down to dab the droplets down the side of the tablecloth. The primary stain wouldn't be noticed if she moved one or two things. Yet, the droplets would be as any mistakes on her part would give way to weakness.

Exploitable weakness.

Iris forced a smile on her face at the loud clunk of the gangplank; the boarding party had arrived. The Marines' spirit was as pleasant as her spilled tea, lacking in all substance. The entire command had been put through trials and tasks that could make the most stalwart Marine crumple under pressure. What had happened on the Conomi Islands? Something so drastic that would put its so-called guardians and one singular Warlord to task?

That would be the worst possible topic of conversation as Iris made her best attempt at a curtsey. Her gaze lowered to the floor without making eye contact with any of the men. Dark crimson hair spilled over her lightly made-up features, concealing the twitch of surprise in her eyes when she caught sight of the Marine Captain.

The Marine Captain was in shambles, to put it in the kindest of words. Dark, thinning hair spilled from beneath Marine's cap, a notable stain on his rumpled coat collar as the chair at the end of the table was wretched backward. His quiet command for Iris to approach was a sharp flick of his hand, like a command to a hound instead of his hostess.

"It is a great honor for you and your command to grace our dec-"

Nezumi's hand curled a fraction harder around the teacup. Angry. He was angry? About? There wasn't enough time to contemplate the questions further as a white-knuckled hand pulled Iris harshly forward by the excess fabric around the dress's high collar. Her hands instinctively braced themselves on the table's edge to catch herself. Pain radiated from her delicate fingers as the digits were splattered with hot liquid from the Captain's clattering tea cup. Said vessel gave one final note of regret in a hollow cracking sound as it toppled off the set table.

Still, she dared not move her scalded hands as an impossible fury stormed inside Nezumi's eyes. Waiting for her to make the next mistake, Ir's lips tightened reflexively while the nerves in her hands frantically signaled for her to remove them from the dangerous surface. It was like touching the side of a hot cooking pot. It hurt, but it dulled by the second, muted from the immediate wave of pain.

"Did I come here for your flattery, my dear?" Nezumi's question came out in a low hiss. Iris's muted head shake of 'no' wasn't the proper answer as the Captain's grip jerked her forward again. The jostle bucked her against the table as the bodily force sent another delicate dish shattering to the ground, its elegant pastries making hollow thumps against the deck.

"No. Sir. But did I-"

Iris's teeth clattered together as Nezumi's grip shoved her back, letting his hold on the gaudy set of ribbons around her throat go. An encore of pain in her jaw with her teeth slamming together once more when her stumbling legs tried to brace themselves. Her reddened fingertips trembled as Iris tried to regain her composure, hands clasping themselves before her. Despite her demure words and stance this time, she met Nezumi's gaze directly. A spark of defiance in her eyes as he snorted loudly at the acute change.

"Forgive me, my dear, it has been difficult to decipher sincerity and mockery lately. Friend from foe as it were.." Nezumi sighed as he excessively coated a powdered cake in dark preserves. The knife scraped over the surface with unnecessary force at each word as Iris forced an apologetic expression.

"I am sorry times have troubled you, my good Captain. I hope your spirits will be lifted after this.."

And you get your stinking carcass off my ship without a single look back. Patience, Iris, it would all be over soon enough.

The venomous thought was tempered by rationality as there was little concern for her arrangement. All she had to do was pay the greedy bastard, and things would return to normal. Nezumi's fingers lazily brushed off crumbs from his coat as he rose to offer his arm to Iris.

An escort below the deck? Or a trap waiting to be sprung.

Either way, she had little choice as she dutifully placed her hand in the crook of the offered arm. At this appeasing gesture, the overall atmosphere of the deck shifted from perturbed to relaxed as several of the crew members on both ships visibility shifted into a lazier stance. The idle chatter of soldiers and sailors alike was like a low rumble that loomed in the background. Almost comforting in its own way as Iris tried to focus her attention on that instead of the dull thud of the pairs' boots hitting the first step of the stairs. The air below deck was far different from the lull of peace upstairs. Several pairs of eyes pierced Iris's back as she tried to ignore the whispered conversations behind half-closed doors; while she had the loyalty of her crew, the others she did not. Her steps were measured, expression neutral as she led her guest to her quarters.

"Please, have a seat, may I offer you a drink, Captain?" Iris offered with a gesture towards the whiskey decanter at the center of the now-cleared tea table. It was remarkable what a bit of cleaning could do under the right circumstances. Giving an air of calm despite the threatening chaos as Nezumi's boots perched on the table's edge, palm opened in a wordless 'yes' at her offer. The amber liquid swirled in the glass as his thin mustache ticked once in thought, brown eyes lazily appraising both Iris and the beverage.

"I trust this will fulfill the end of my bargain. Despite your apparent circumstances, hopefully, this transaction will help begin..rejuvenating your spirits.." Iris said evenly as she placed the locked box on the edge of the tea table. Withdrawing a small silver key from her dress pocket. A small click echoed throughout the room as she unlocked it briskly. Paper beli, jewels, and the like threatened to overflow the box when its top was pushed aside by Nezumi's eager right hand.

"Double."

"Pardon?" The word sounded hollow in Iris's ears, and she could feel her heartbeat a tiny bit faster. It was as if she had misheard the Marine's request as her head tilted to the side in a silent question. That flicker of bewilderment turned into a hint of irritation when Nezumi's bark of laughter was his answer, followed by the grip on her wrist, pulling her closer to the couch.

"I have been cheated out of money, my dear. By fucking pirates, what makes you think in that little head of yours that I would allow myself to be taken advantage of by a fucking whoremonger-"

"We had a deal that—" Iris bristled over his nonchalant words, biting down on her tongue to prevent further venom from leaving her lips. It was like choking back an oily dish as a smug expression settled on Nezumi's face. Calloused fingertips held the tip of Iris's chin with the air of a parent scolding a child.

"It's double, as I said, my dear. We can start over on 'fresh' terms. Wouldn't that be wonderful?"

"No."

"No?"

The icy rejection was bathed under the amused question as Iris tried to jerk away from the pressure on her chin. Provoking another hollow laugh from the Marine with his grip on her chin moving to the back of her neck. Brushing back the curtain of crimson hair as calloused fingertips slid over soft skin. The faintest hint of red was on Iris's cheeks under his appraising gaze, which was mentally undressing her under the layers of fabric. The ruddying color wasn't from embarrassment but anger. In the situation, the implication and, perhaps worst of all, the fragment of truth in the dream.

She had been allowing the acidic smoke to smother her for years. For what? Fear of the Marines, the gallows? Her past actions that warranted the bounty in the first place? While the bribes allowed her further freedom of movement and to grow her business, they put a collar around her throat. One that seemed to be determined to cinch tighter with or without her input.

"Come now, don't be so..difficult. Haven't I been amenable all these years? All I am asking is more of a..favor. I'll even accept your personal debt..your crew doesn't need to know about this change. Your kind is always good when a coin is involved."

"My kind?"

"Whores, lamb. Seems like you have gotten all twisted up in your ambitions to 'make' something of yourself. Like painting a cheap decoration in gold paint, beneath the surface, it's still cheap, expendable, bare-"

His words turned warmer as his other hand freely pulled at the thick lace ribbon around the center of Iris's throat. The gauzy material fluttered to the floor with a single pull, revealing the heavier press of the metallic Dove caressing her bare skin. Inquisitive fingertips flicked at the metallic surface as a sigh slipped from the Marine Captain.

"I'll even take that little pendant around your throat and your services as a first-time agreement. Aren't I generous? Far lesser men would have had you so much sooner. But men like me are ever so understanding with the reluctance of women like you. One that has seemingly forgotten what it's like to be in their proper place under the 'care' of a superior. So let me remind you. I'll be gentle.."

Goosebumps rippled down Iris' neck as calloused fingers twisted in the thick lock of hair trailing down her back. It wasn't from fear or arousal, but something entirely different, as she swallowed harshly in realization. Adrenaline, pure adrenaline, flooded through her veins as the pulse in her throat twitched in response.

"What is it you wish, Captain?"

"On your knees, lamb."

Her teeth bit into her tongue as the sharp lash of pain was contrasted by the plush brush of the carpet against her fabric-covered knees. For once, she was grateful for the excessive layers as Iris's trembling hands hovered the edge of the waiting Captain's knees. Whimpering through her lips when his hand harshly wretched back her neck, the metallic Dove dangling sideways mid-air. Its cold comfort was replaced by the harsh burn of rage with her nails digging into the surface of the white fabric trousers with a bit more force than necessary.

"Now, let's not do that." Nezumi purred as his free hand traced over her painted lips, provoking a harsher shade of red to the madam captain's cheeks as her own hands moved an inch closer to the shining buckle staring back at her. A wave of reluctance washed over her as she felt the faintest twitch of the Captain's upper thigh as a painted nail brushed over the cool metallic surface of the belt.

A harsh snarl escaped Nezumi as sharp teeth sank into the edge of his hand. The metallic taste of copper flooded Iris's mouth as the crimson liquid dripped down the side of her lips. The once curious but now bloodied hand seized around her throat as a choked laugh slipped from her. A strange, giddy sensation drifted over her like a haze, blaming it on the blood or the black dots in her vision. Alive, she felt alive as she rammed herself forward to free herself. Hot droplets of blood splattered against her face as Nezumi let out a coarse scream, dropping his grip on her throat in favor of guarding his broken nose.

"We're done here.."

"Bitch!"

The slur was marked by Neumi's hand whipping over her face as Iris could now taste her own blood in her mouth. Painted lips split from the force of the backhand as her booted foot slammed into the staggered man's gut in response. Her trembling hand swept over her bloodied lips as her eyes darted about the room. Adrenaline gave way to faint fear as her actions would have consequences; a set of chains around her wrists would be the least of her problems.

"What now, you stupid whore.." Nezumi's snarl was hot against her ear as the Captain's hand wretched her backward by her prized ringlets. Iris flinched as the grip tightened, reflexively pulling at her aching scalp. Cooling blood trickled down her neck, both hers and the Captain's, as the man's harsh panting made her skin crawl. His free hand groped at her form through the layers of fabric. With each passing second, the hardened press of flesh against her forced Iris' fogged mind to function.

"I was being pleasant, and you bared your teeth at me. Stupid girl, it seems like you've forgotten your profession-"

His words turned into another staggered gasp as Iris's hand squeezed the hardened flesh poking into her back. The applied force made Nezumi snarl through clenched teeth as his hold dropped, allowing her to scramble towards the writing desk. The glint of the letter opener was all the brighter as she held it out in front of her defensively. A trickle of blood dripped from three fingers from her haste to grab the weapon, accidentally cutting themselves over the sharp tip.

"Pirate."

"What."

"I'm a pirate, Captain Nezumi, and you'll regret this.." Iris hissed through her teeth as there was shattering of glass from the balcony window. One hand white-knuckled around the letter opener, and the other awkwardly angled a small pistol that she had stashed in the main drawer of the writing desk. She had missed, but there was a small victory in her actions. The thundering of footsteps, shouts of rebellion, and the keen metallic sound of swords screeching.

"We're done here, I imagine.." Iris purred as her tongue swept over her bruised lips. A hint of a smile on her face even as the wooden door to her quarters was smashed inward. The pouring in of bewildered but determined Marines as Nezumi's glare burned into her skull. She had drawn first blood, the thought a small comfort as something heavy collided with the back of her head as she was led out of the room.

Pain, like the dull throbbing of a hangover, burst from her head as the sounds of the world boomed like cannon fire in her ears. The screams of gulls were loud overhead, waiting for the expectant feast as her blurred vision tried to register the blank expression of a corpse following her prone form. The sting of gunpowder and copper blood drifted through the air as she tried to pull herself into a sitting position. There was little protection from the splintered deck as her dress had been ripped into strips of fabric at her knees. Torn from the marines, dragging her unconscious body back to the upper deck. The left side of her ribs screamed in protest as she managed to take a deeper breath to will her blurred vision.

It was a mistake as her gaze flicked to the shadows hanging above her from the ship's mast. A crude gallows as thick rope cuts into hanged figures' necks, provoking a slow trickle of blood from the lashing. Her face went pale with the recognition of two crew mates as she tried to reach out to them. The cold iron of manacles around her wrists as she fell forward onto her face, the copper-stained deck clinging to her like perfume.

I'm so sorry, Bathory, Hepa. I never meant to drag you into this.

But, the expected tears didn't come as her ragged breathing pitched in her effort to calm herself. The two crew members had gone down fighting; that much was certain as she had seen the telltale cuts of swords across their clothes. A snarl came from her lips as a boot kicked her side, forcing her to struggle to turn sideways with the difficulty of her bindings. The cool kiss of a blade at her throat as she craned her neck upward at her potential executioner.

"Well, you're awake, I see. Pleasant dreams?"

"You rat-faced bas-"

The prick of the sword at her throat made Iris go still, as a hint of smirk graced her bloodied features. She had left her mark on the prideful Captain like the apparent pirate before her. The harsh bruising of his black eye, its dark shade muddled by the thick lingering stain of blood from his broken nose.

"Seems like you are losing your edge, Captain. First, the little debacle at Conomi Islands, and now you managed to get assaulted in a brothel. How much more disappointment will your commanding officers permit-"

Her hissed insult was cut off as Nezumi pulled her upward, assisted by his underlings. Her face was forced to look forward as one of the Marines gripped her jaw lest she try to bite the Captain, whose face loomed an inch away from hers.

"What was that about Conomi Island?"

Nezumi's words came out in a restrained hiss as the edge of his sword sank deeper into Iris's throat from the tremble in his hand. Was it from the fear of a leak or anger that she managed to get her hands on the 'secret' information? A bold smirk brushed over Iris's face as she tipped her head to the side with a mocking question.

Ask me.

The thin mustache on Nezumi's face seemed to grow smaller as his face twisted with irritation. Yet, still, he removed the blade from Iris' throat as he turned his attention to the trio of Marines that looked like they wanted to be anywhere but there.

"Did you find anything of note in the madam captain's quarters?" Nezumi barked as the trio of men exchanged quick glances of pause. The twitch in Nezumi's mustache was a telltale sign of his temper waiting to burst at the first note of bad news.

"I'm afraid not, sir. We managed to find scraps of parchment in the hearth, but nothing that would-

"You think I would be that fucking stupid to keep my letters knowing a Marine-"

"SHUT UP!"

The demand was delivered with the blow to her aching ribs by the extended barrel of a rifle as Iris gasped for breath, slumping to the deck with rasped protests. The sharp scent of copper acted like smelling salts, keeping her awake even as her body begged for the blissful dark of unconsciousness.

"Your. Source. Now." Nezumi hissed through clenched teeth as his demands were met by a rasping laugh followed by a grunt of pain when he kicked into the woman's side. The distinct click of a pistol as Iris's split lips bubbled up with another giggle. Bloodied saliva trickled from her lips as she was once again pulled up by the two underlings. So, this was how she would fly from her gilded cage, a singular iron bullet from the good Captain Nezumi of the 16th Branch.

A pirate to the end, it seemed beneath her silk trappings.

"Captain, there is something on the horizon-"

"It's- Why would he-"

"He's mad, can't he-"

The rapid conversation from the trio of Marines now frantically waving their arms at something over the starboard railing of the deck. Cries of alarm, a flash of green, the sound of wood shattering, the icy embrace of the waters.

Then darkness.

#opla fanfiction #silverinkwrites #ao3 writer #one piece fanfiction #opla mihawk #mihawk x oc

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seat-safety-switch · 2 years ago

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Believe me, nobody is more sick of the rattling interior in my car than me. Sure, it helps drown out the road noise from the missing floorboards, and the roof that peels back a little from the windshield frame at highway speeds. Those things are nice, to be sure. There’s just something about the specific way it rattles that is completely infuriating.

Right behind that driver’s side heater vent, that’s where it is. If I put my finger on it while I’m driving in just the right spot, it will stop completely. Of course, I can’t keep holding onto there the entire time, because I’ll look like a dork. And also I need both hands on the wheel in case that dicky ball joint coordinates with that spotty tie-rod to throw me into oncoming traffic again.

Naturally, I’ve tried to tear the dashboard apart to get at the rattles. That’s how I got this rattle. Much like operating on a 90-year-old person, chances are that you are going to cause more damage than you’re going to fix. I assume that I didn’t do up some clip, or some screw is slightly stripped now, or I pulled a little too hard in that corner and peeled apart two layers of thermally-bonded plastic that haven’t seen daylight since the Carter administration.

Don’t worry, though. I’ve got a solution. It’s called turning the stereo up. And once that stops working (probably because I blew the speakers out a few months ago) I can just start drilling holes in the exhaust to drown it out with some bellowing low-rpm Mopar goodness. As long as I work the throttle exactly right, I should be able to keep from blowing up that super-loud differential, too.

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oneshotnewbie · 2 years ago

Note

Annalise is worried. Reader wants to die.

Summary: Some say, violence is a bad thing- the physical pain. Some say, death is a bad thing- the mental pain. However, some do not realize that it is loneliness that destroys your psyche and physical health. Especially if it lasts too long.

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⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️ This one-shot includes the topic of suicide and the plot is presented. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subject, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

How immensely motivated you had been as you devoured the many books and articles, in your free time, in which death was nothing but aesthetic, dignified and painless. According to them, people fall asleep within a few seconds after whispering one last word to their loved one.

How romantic.

You were practically gushing and looking back on your current life as you took a sip of your brown liquor; you were in your mid-twenties, employed in one of the most famous and successful law firms, single and also surrounded by the depression that was engulfing you.

You sat alone in the dark kitchen, downing gallons of hard liquor, surrounded by the many wreckage of your life. Nobody who was happy when you came home in the evening. No one you could talk to privately about whatever was bothering you. Nobody to share your dinner with. Nobody to love you.

But how do change this sad and broken life that seemed so hopeless? After much thought and the drunken state you were in, you made up your mind and got to change it.

You wanted to die. After that, you wouldn´t need love or anyone. Paradise awaited you, you knew it. Everything there was cheerful and bright surrounded by light and color unlike your gray and cold life.

What´s the best way to go about it? In the numerous books that dealt with it, many lay down in the bathtub and bleed to death miserably. But you didn´t want to be in pain, you wanted to spend your last few minutes in peace. Sleeping pills? No, that was a bit too easy. A shot in the head? Would cause too much mess. Hang? That sounded like a true pioneering spirit.

Hang. Like the great dictators and soldiers.

The laptop, normally used for preparing a case before you sank down into a hole, was sitting on the kitchen counter practically prompting you to look up instructions online and painstakingly attempting to tie a hangman´s knot out of a static rope you retrieved from your mountain gear that was laying in the farthest corner of your closet.

The crossbeam attached to the living room ceiling served as a support rod for the end of the cord. Now you only needed the right chair to give your life a final end. Minutes later, you were standing on one of your kitchen chairs, the strap around your neck and your eyes closed. Five, four..

Dangling your right foot off the chair, you felt a slight pull under your chin; you life slowly passing in front of your inner eye, your heart beating and pressing hard against your chest while you took a deep breath. Three, two..

"What the hell are you trying to do?!" shouted a dark and harsh voice and you opened your eyes; almost tipping over the chair under you from shock. You looked at the figure, that was standing in your door in disbelief, stepping briskly out of the shadows and quickly approaching you.

It was no other then Annalise.

"I wanted to kill myself." you brought out stone cold and regretted the decision to sell the truth as a joke that didn´t come across even half that way. "Kill yourself?" she asked horrified and kept hurrying towards you without taking off her mud covered heels or wet coat.

"Yes.." you said meekly and nothing came out of your mouth except a soft whisper. "My 20s have been the loneliest time in my life. I am surrounded by people but not connecting with anyone. Everyone loves someone but my love never seems to get through."

Your professor´s watery, troubled brown eyes pierced your sluggish eyes, that looked straight at her and a horrid sorrow welled up inside you like tormented ice water eating through your limbs on a cold and rainy day. It wrapped itself around your heart with relish and penetrated deep into it, eating it up with an infinite and unquenchable greed.

The aching ice water reached your eyes and spurted out in torrents. The sadness prevailed and the inner pain tore you apart. Your hands clawed at the rope that was still wrapped around your neck, slowly scraping through your thin skin and your foot rose from the chair; hovering in playful, circling motions above the ground, which was much too far away to touch.

"You don´t want to kill yourself, Y/n. You just want to kill something inside of you."

You sobbed and suddenly felt warm and firm hands on your waist; Annalise had managed to slip into your immediate vicinity unnoticed. You didn´t dared to look up, didn´t want to be comforted. You wanted to let the pain out, just cry and end your life. You wanted to die, wanted it to be over so you didn´t have to suffer anymore. "Throw yourself into the sea and you will see yourself fighting to survive."

A hand on your hip disengaged and slid to the orange rope at your neck, fingertips tenderly pushing through and loosening it to invite you to get your head out of the noose. Once done, the brunette hesitantly pulled you towards her before you pressed yourself again her and found yourself in a protective embrace shortly after. You leaned against her chest, needing that support before the last bit of will to live would left you and you would try to put yourself in a situation that would eventually end your life for good.

You couldn´t cope with it all and endure it, couldn´t deal with it. The emptiness and loneliness consumed you and you didn´t want words, no empty promises where Annalise would tell you everything would be fine. You didn´t think so, your life was just an empty shell.

A shell that held nothing. Your soul was broken and destroyed by loneliness.

"Y/n." Annalise only said your name, that´s all it took. Your tears dried up and stopped running freely down your cheeks. But not because the grief had passed or the alcohol had lost it´s effect, but because you were empty. Drained.

Your tears were banished, but the sobs still echoed through the empty apartment.

She seemed to seize the reason for your pain; she knew the feeling of untamed loneliness that had eaten her up and carried her in it´s power. Softly she spoke to you, no solace crossing her vocal cords trying to block out the truth.

"Y/n, there is nothing you can do about it other than hope that one day, someone will love and appreciate you for who you are. Stop destroying your soul because you will destroy yourself if you don´t stop. The loneliness won´t go away just because you want your end."

The attorney swallowed hard and for a second, realization flickered through her. Like ink, hope flooded her veins and momentarily, she thought of the moment you realized that she was the only one bracing to take away your loneliness.

The one who was brave enough to save you from the darkness.

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nuwanda-forever · 2 years ago

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Unspoken Words

Carl Grimes / Fem!Reader

Platonic, Adopted!Reader, Somewhat Angst.

Fandom - The Walking Dead

"Your dad is just going to get more people killed. Cause that's what he does. That's who he is. Your dad's a killer."

"So is yours.. We need to work this out Ron."

A beat skipped by.

"I'm dead Carl."

"Ron-"

"My mom is dead. My brother."

"No they're not. We're going to make it."

Ron walked slowly to the door.

"You're dead, Carl. Your sisters are dead. You're all dead."

Before he could move, Carl pounced on him, tackling him to the ground with his body weight. His sheriff's hat fell off his head as he fumbled to defend himself from the iron rod that had found it's way into Ron's hands. He dodged as Ron plunged the rod through a window, and the shattering caught the attention of all the walkers nearby. He needed to do something. Fast.

After a few beats, He had somehow managed to throw Ron to the ground and the gun was a few feet away. The next few seconds were a blur. Ron had the gun on Carl. He was hesitating. Ron doesn't want to do this.

A gun cocked behind him. Ron's face twisted into that a scared boy.

"Put it down. Now."

If Ron thought he could get away with hurting your older brother, he was in for a surprise. You had never liked Ron but nobody really cared about what you thought, except Carl.

"I will put a bullet in your head in the next two seconds if you don't put it down."

Your voice was calm and unwavering. Carol had always said that you had been too comfortable with killing, from a young age. So Rick had always done his best to keep your humanity close. Your humanity was Carl.

"One."

Ron bent down to the ground and put the gun on the floor.

"Kick it to him."

Ron kicked it. Carl picked it up.

You didn't put down your gun. Carl saw something in your eyes. He knew what it was, maybe too well.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm okay."

Nothing.

"Listen, don't do this."

Ron's face was overcome with fear. He started to cry.

Your mouth twitched at the sound of him crying. Was it pity or disgust? Carl couldn't be sure.

"He's insane, Carl. He's dangerous."

"He's not insane. He's just hurting."

"Carl", Ron pleaded.

A soft gasp made Carl aware of Enid's presence.

Enid was the only friend his sister had. She could help. Enid saw the plea in Carl's eyes and she tried to help out.

She put her arm on the girl beside her.

"He's not going to do anything to us. Look at him. He's just scared. Like us."

That's what you were. You were scared. Scared of losing more people close to you. Of losing the family that had taken you so long to find.

If you really wanted him dead, he would have been lying on the ground a minute ago. You didn't want this. But it had to be done.

"Look at me."

You obliged your brother's request. You both didn't need words to talk to each other. You never had. The coldness in your eyes vanished, now replaced with pain.

"Fine."

For a second, Ron looked relieved. And the next, a gun was brought down on the back of his head and he was knocked out.

"Could you help me tie him up, Enid."

It wasn't a request. Despite Carl's disapproving looks, the girls dragged Ron to other room and Carl helped him up onto a chair. Enid started to tie a knot around his hands.

"He's a kid.", He started.

"So? We know as well anybody what 'kids' are capable of. Look at us."

"So you would kill him?"

" What- you think there's still something about him that can be saved?"

There was anger in your voice.

" Yes.", He replied.

You scoffed with disdain.

You kept her head down tying the rope around Ron's legs.

Carl looked at Enid. She looked worried, not about Ron but about the girl they both cared so much for.

"Why can't you trust anyone?"

"BECAUSE YOU TRUST EVERYONE!"

You were standing up now, facing your brother. In her 12 years of life, you had never screamed like that before. She looked down, ashamed. Before anyone could say a word, you continued.

"He's going to end up hurting someone. And that's going to be on your hands, Carl."

"It's better than his death being on yours."

You looked up at him. Your eyes a mix of emotions he didn't have the time to understand.

"Done."Enid stood up, brushing her hands on her legs.

"I'm going to go see if I can spot Rick or Michonne from upstairs."

You left Enid and Carl with an unconcious Ron downstairs. After a few minutes of talking. Enid convinced Carl to go upstairs to talk to you.

"Hi."

You shot back from the window. Binoculars still in hand, you replied.

"Hi."

He slowly crossed the room and sat down on the bed beside you.

"See anything?"

"They're over there."

You pointed to a house some yards away.

"Okay."

Only silence followed.

He knew Enid told him to try and have a conversation. But this was better. Just the two of you. Together and silent.

This silence was all you both needed.

Sam and Jesse were dead. Ron had the gun. He pointed it at Rick.

"You- you-..", he stammered.

His fingers threated to pull the trigger at the axe-holding man. Before he could, Michonne put her katana through his body. He fell limp to the group and a shot fired.

A twinge of relief and guilt passed through Carl's mind. He looked to his dad, shaken and staring at the walkers feasting on their friends.

"Carl?", A small voice asked.

His head snapped to look at his sister. Blood spread through your clothes, telling of a wound on your chest. A deep wound.

"No."

You fell to the ground, and Michonne and Carl dragged you to safety. Once inside, Carl pulled your body close.

Your eyes were cold, your face unmarked. Your expression resembling that which you had when you had the gun on Ron's head.

Why hadn't he let you pull the trigger? Why?

"Please no. Noo."

A low groan escaped his body. Now on the floor, he hugged you even closer to his chest. Your small body already feeling too lifeless to his touch. He checked your pulse with his one free hand. His hand dropped.

"No no, please talk to me.Talk to me."

Slow, silent sobs shook his body as he leaned above you, unable to look away from your face.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

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ray-ray-writings · 4 years ago

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A Hairy Situation-Technoblade

On that note, this is a Techno x GN! reader in the dreamsmp

#282, 291, 343 from this list. Check out my masterlist here

When Wilbur and Tommy leave on an adventure, Techno and Y/N are left alone together. Y/N “helps” Techno in his potato farm and offers to braid his hair. Tensions rise as more and more time passes.

“What do you mean you’re going on a multiple day journey into the nether?” I all but shouted at Tommy and Wilbur. The two brothers looked at each other before turning back to me with raised eyebrows. “We mean exactly what we said. We need blaze rods and we have to find a different nether fortress than the one everyone else uses, you know, because we were banished.” Wilbur explained as if it should be obvious. I let a pout take over my lips, “Well how come I can’t come with you?” The two brothers gave me a deadpan stare. “Because you’re terrified of hostile mobs,” Tommy deadpanned. “Well it’s not my fault they’re scary and always trying to kill me…” I trailed off. “Can you at least take Techno with you? I don’t want to be stuck here in the ravine with him for days on end.” “Believe me sweetheart, I’m not too stoked about it either.”

The new voice that came from behind me caused me to jump in surprise, “But I’m needed here. My potatoes will be ready soon, I need some more materials, and someone has to watch over you and make sure you don’t die.” Techno listed. I let out an offended gasp and turned my complete attention to the pigman. “How dare you. I am a complete, functional, grown adult. I do not need a babysitter! I can take care of myself.” The three brothers all just stared at me, not amused. I let out a sigh, “You call for help because you get startled by a zombie one time and they never let you live it down.” I mumbled to myself. “Y/N it’s been more than one time. It’s once a day.” Wilbur stated carefully.

I sighed in annoyance, but also knew he was right, “Okay fine. Whatever. When are you guys leaving?” I questioned, turning my attention back to Wilbur and Tommy. Wilbur checked his sundial before answering. “Now. It’s late evening now and I’d like to get out of here before nightfalls. You know, mobs and whatever.” I hummed and nodded at his response. “You have everything you need?” I asked, looking over the two. Wilbur gave me a soft smile before nodding. “We have everything. Food, armor, building blocks, compass. We’ve got it all mom” He teased. I playfully rolled my eyes at his words, “Okay son. Give me a hug and get going then.” I teased, holding my arms out to the tall man.

Wilbur let out a laugh, but complied, wrapping his arms around me and squeezing me tight. He let go and moved to Techno and gave him a short hug. While he did that I turned my attention to Tommy, “You too boy,” I giggled, extending my arms and slowly walking toward him. Tommy scoffed and rolled his eyes but also complied. I squeezed the boy tightly to my chest before letting him go. He then also moved onto Techno, giving his other brother a small hug. After hugs, the four of us walked over to the nether portal and Wilbur and Tommy stepped into it. “Be careful” I called out. “We will!” Wilbur responded. And then they were gone.

I sighed at the disappearance of the boys. “They’ll be okay,” Techno reassured me, reading my mind. I turned around and gave the pink haired man a tight lipped smile, “I know I just worry.” I admitted, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. Techno hummed in response. “Do you want to come help me in my potato farm to get your mind off of it for a little bit?” Techno being nice to me? More likely than you think. Nonetheless, I agreed, “Yeah. I’d like that. Thanks Techno.”

*Time skip*

Me helping in Techno’s potato farm actually only boiled down to Techno doing all of the work, harvesting and planting, and me sitting on top of a chest just hanging out and chatting with him. I watched as the pink haired man’s face got more and more covered in not only sweat, but dirt. Every once in a while, Techno would blow out a breath of air, trying desperately to move his long pink hair out of his face and when that didn’t work, he would bring his dirty hand up to his face to move the hair manually. In doing so, he transferred that dirt from his hand onto his face. After watching him do this for a solid hour, I finally let the question slip off of my tongue.

“Hey, do you want me to braid your hair.” Techno’s head snapped up from the ground and turned to me, “What?” He questioned. I cleared my throat as my cheeks flushed at the sudden attention, “Nevermind. It was stupid. You obviously-” “What did you say?” Techno questioned again, cutting off my self-deprecating rant. I cleared my throat once more, “I asked if I could braid your hair. Your hair seems to keep falling in your face and it would be easier to work if it was tied back. So I was wondering if you wanted me to braid it for you.” I stated shyly.

Techno stared at me for a few moments, but then he let out a laugh and set his hoe down. “You know what. That’s not actually a bad idea. I would like that actually.” My eyes widened in shock as the man walked toward me. “Oh!” I squeeked, “Okay! Well here!” I said, standing up from the chest, patting the spot where I was sitting. “Sit here and I’ll get started!” I announced.

Techno complied and followed my orders. I moved so that I was standing behind him. I hesitantly brought my hand up and rested it on Techno’s pink head. I slowly ran my fingers through his hair, detangling it from it’s knots. Techno let out a sigh in contentment as my fingers massaged his scalp. I carefully separated his hair into separate strains and began the braid.

We sat in a comfortable silence as I worked. Techno was surprisingly complacent as I twisted his hair the way I wanted. I had decided to go with a french braid as it was simple, effective and would hold for a long time. “There,” I let out softly as I secured the end of the braid with an extra hair tie of mine, “all done.” I informed. Techno stood from the chest and turned around to face me. Techno brought a hand up to the back of his head and felt down the braid. A small smile appeared on the pink-haired man’s face. I was taken back. Techno looked good. Really good. I usually don’t get to see him without his hair covering his face. And I almost never get to see him smile, you know cause he hates me sometimes.But now, because of the braid. I could see him clearly and he was handsome.

“Thank you for this.” Techno said sincerely, breaking me out of . I gave the man a shy smile, cheeks now flushing, “It’s no problem,” I told him with a half shrug. Techno turned back to his field and continued his work. I sat back down on the chest and allowed my eyes to focus on the pink haired man once more. Do I like Techno? My heart sure seems to think so. How could my brain not notice this before? As I thought it over, my heart pounded harder. I liked Technoblade. All the teasing and poking fun at the pink haired man was my sad attempt at hiding and burying those feelings deep down.

“You okay over there?” Techno questioned, breaking me out of my trance. My eyes focused on his really handsome face, “Oh yeah. Just thinking,” I admitted. Techo hummed, leaning against his hoe. “Whatcha thinking about?” “You look really cute covered in dirt.” I blurted out. I slapped my hand over my mouth. “I cannot believe I just said that,” I mumbled into my hand. I looked up and met Techno’s wide eyes. He then proceeded to clear his throat and laugh, “The way you flirt is shameful. Telling someone they look good covered in dirt? Kind of cringe.” “I just rarely ever see your whole face because it’s usually your hair’s covering it. You’re just very handsome.” I admitted, cheeks now flushing a deep red. Techno’s cheeks were now also flushing a deep red. “Oh, well… Thank you.” “Anytime. I think you’re pretty cool and you deserve to be complimented.”

Oh gosh. Why did I make that comment? We fell into a tense silence. After a few minutes, I let out a huge yawn. “I think I’m going to head to bed now… Don’t stay up too late, okay?” I told him, standing up from the chest. Techno didn’t look at me but hummed in acknowledgement. I turned and started out of the farm room, but then I paused at the door and turned back, “Goodnight Techno” I wished the man softly. Techno slowly looked up and over at me and gave me a soft smile making my heart flutter, “Goodnight Y/N. Sweet dreams.” He murmured. “Thanks.” I responded before turning and completely walking out of the room.

I sighed and rubbed my face as I made my way to my makeshift room. I really hope that my words didn’t just mess everything up between us. I let out a yawn as I laid down on my bed. I’ll just deal with it in the morning.

*Time skip. The next day*

I groaned as I rolled out of bed the next morning. I yawned as I made my way out of my room. I was greeted with the pink haired man sitting at the oak table that I had built for our little base reading a book. “Good morning” I greeted the man softly, turning toward our food chest and pulling out a little something for breakfast. “Morning” Techno greeted gruffly, glancing up at me. As I looked over at him, I realized the dirt from his face was gone, but the braid in his hair remained intact. For some reason, my heart fluttered.

I quickly turned my attention back to what I was doing.“Do you want anything for breakfast?” I asked, looking over the things in our food chest. “Uh, I’ll have whatever you’re having. Thanks” He said, before turning his attention back to his book. I pulled out a few eggs and two steaks. I made quick work of making breakfast.

“Here you go.” I set the plate of breakfast in front of the PVP God with a small smile. “Thank you,” Techno hummed, setting his book down and turning to his breakfast. I sat down across from him and began to enjoy my own breakfast.

We sat in a comfortable silence as we ate. Towards the end of our meal, Techno cleared his throat, causing me to look up. “Hey, can I ask you a question?” Techno asked nervously. I quirked a brow at his words, “You just did. But if you want to ask another, go ahead” I teased. Techno’s face matched his hair as it turned a light shade of pink. Techno cleared his throat once more, “Okay. Well I was wondering…. Those things you said yesterday… Did you mean them?” Techno questioned. It was now my face’s turn to turn pink. “It’s okay if you didn’t. I know that sometimes we tease each other and if that was what that was it’s okay. I just wasn’t sure and-”

“Techno” I called, interrupting the pig man’s words. “I meant them. Everything I said to you yesterday. I meant it. I think you’re really cool and funny and handsome and I really really like you.” I admitted, not looking at the man sitting across from me, “I didn’t mean to blurt them out like that yesterday though. I was just so caught up in looking at you that I realized everything all at once and I just blurted them out. If you don’t like me back, that’s okay. We can just pretend like-” “-Y/N-” “-nothing ever happened and we can go-” “Y/N!” “-back to normal and-”

Something covered my lips, cutting off my words. I then realized it was Techno’s lips that covered my own. My eyes widened in surprise, but then immediately fluttered closed as I relaxed into the kiss. A hesitant hand reached up and cupped my cheek, pulling me even closer. All too soon, Techno pulled away from the kiss, but remained rather close, his hand still resting on my cheek. “I like you Y/N, I have for a while” Techno admitted softly. My lips curled up into a grin. “Well you’re in luck Mr. Blood God, because I like you too.” I told him with a proud grin. Techo rolled his eyes but let out a laugh, “I know you goof. You told me as you were rambling and then refused to let me get in a word.” Techno teased. I laughed at his words, “Well I’m sorry I don’t handle rejection well. And therefore didn’t let you get in a word so you couldn’t reject me.” I rambled out. Techno laughed, “That’s big brain,” “The biggest”

The two of us stared at each other for a while, just smiling. Techno let his hand fall off my cheek and leaned back a little bit. “Y/N?” He asked. “Techno?” I responded. “Do you want to be my partner?” I grinned at his question, “That depends. Do you want to be my partner?” I questioned. Techno rolled his eyes but quickly leaned forward and pressed another kiss to my lips. “I think you know the answer to that” I grinned and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, “I think I do.”

Our conversation was cut off by the sound of the nether portal activating. Techno and I exchanged confused looks. The two of us stood up and rushed toward the obsidian structure. Wilbur and Tommy stumbled out of the portal. “Hey guys!” Tommy greeted with a huge smile and wave. “Hey! Why are you guys back so soon?” I questioned, rushing forward and pulling the two boys into a tight hug. “Turns out,” Wilbur began after I let the two go, “There’s a nether fortress less than 1500 blocks away from our portal. And we made sure it is not the same one everyone else uses.” Wilbur explained. I nodded my head at his words.

“That’s so lucky,” Techno said, drawing the attention to him. “What happened to your hair?” Tommy blurted out. Techno immediately brought a hand up to his head. “Oh, Y/N braided it.” Tommy’s head whipped to me, “You braided his hair?!” Tommy yelled. I furrowed my brow as his question, “Obviously. He just told you that” I stated. Wilbur and Tommy stared in disbelief. “What?” I asked, a little self-conscious. “Techno never lets anyone touch his hair.” Wilbur said softly.

My head whipped to Techno whose face was now red. “What? Then why’d you let me braid your hair?” Techno gave me a half-shrug. “What can I say? I’m a simp” the pink haired man admitted. Laughter burst out of my mouth. I cannot believe he actually said that. My laughter must have been contagious because the three brothers also began to laugh. “Techno!” I whined, walking up to him. Techno, still laughing, wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me close to his chest, “It’s true!” He defended himself, laughter dying down.

“Woah! Woah! Woah! When did this happen?” Tommy questioned. The two of us looked back at Wilbur and Tommy, “Ummm. Literally two seconds before you guys came home.” I told them, stepping back from my partner. “Well in that case. Tommy and I are going to go put away the blaze rods and then we’re probably going to nap.” Wilbur said, yawning at the end of the sentence. The two of us nodded in acknowledgement as the two of them walked further into the ravine.

“Well… What do you want to do now?” I questioned my new boyfriend. Techno gave me a smile before wrapping me in another hug. “You wanna come help me in my potato farm again?” I giggled and nodded, “I would love nothing more”

There you go! I hope you enjoyed! If so, be sure to leave a like or a reblog or a reply!!

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honklore · 4 years ago

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invisible string | dreamwastaken

(requested plot by red string of fate soulmate au, dream is still a streamer, reader has commitment issues, dream just wants someone to love, chat is the best wingman, sapnap and george try but they suck, reader is timid but dream makes them feel brave, taylor swift references, this is not very deep or poetic at all, i don’t like typing y/n so after this i’m going to move to ___)

listen to: invisible string by taylor swift

In kindergarten, red strings were simply a crafting tool, and teachers never mentioned how much pain they would eventually bring.

Because when they appear, from a child’s eighteenth birthday and beyond, they tighten like a godforsaken high school ring that came in one size too small. Like the universe is a child tugging their mother towards the ice cream truck, you’re pulled around central Florida, passes faces you can’t memorize and voices too garbled to hear.

The string knows where you need to go, and when.

And you’re at the park, feeding ducks and trying to ignore that incessant pull that tugs at your pinky, when you hear it.

It’s a voice you know only because it’s a voice that’s been in your house before. At least, through your brother’s tablet screen. Some gamer online — a streamer, with a distinct wheezing laugh that you’d recognize anywhere.

And you do. Behind you.

You risk a small peak, and your heart drops into your chest. He’s tall. Too tall to not intimidate you. And his sandy hair is wavy, curling at the collar of his sweatshirt, falling perfectly into place when he runs his hands through it. When he does, you see it, the red string.

Which means he could see it too. All he’d have to do is turn around.

But you’re not ready. You haven’t been, not since you watched your cousin get rejected on her eighteenth birthday. Since you watched a string of fate get clipped in front of you, like the three fates had finally had enough of your cousin’s happiness.

It was enough to make you curl into yourself, and reject the natural pull set before you. So you run, and you try not to think of what would’ve happened if he saw you before you saw him. You try not to feel the clippers, but the blade feels tangible against your skin.

You don’t stop running until you arrive home.

“Hey chat, just wanted to do a few practice runs and catch up with you guys,” Dream mumbles into the mic, already restarting his game after deciding he didn’t like his seed. The donos begin rolling in, even before Sapnap and George have unmuted, so Dream flits his eyes to the display screen, subconsciously reading along with the text-to-speech voice, “Dream, what if we shared a string of fate? Ahaha, just kidding... unless... love you bestie.”

Dream chuckles, “Actually chat, I felt a tug today! Isn’t that weird? I was actually reading up on what that could mean, and it seems like either my soulmate is in a lot of distress, or they were in my vicinity. I’m hoping, for their sake, it’s the second one. How would you even comfort a soulmate if all you can do is tug on a stupid string?”

“Simp!” George finally unmutes just to be annoying, and Dream knows soulmates are a touchy spot for him, considering he wasn’t given a string on his eighteenth. Which is strange, but not impossible. Of course, chat doesn’t know this, because it would give them more hope of becoming George’s metaphorical soulmate, but it certainly makes for awkward conversations once Dream and Sapnap get into their own soulmate bonds.

“I’m not simping, George!” Dream feels a bit defensive, because he’s genuinely just curious. He has no interest in meeting his soulmate right now. At least, that’s what he tells himself. He has his streams, and his friends, and chat. He’s fine.

[abbywastaken donated $10: dream why don’t you go back to where you felt the pull and see if you feel it again? that’s how i found my soulmate. okay luv u bye.]

“Thanks, Abby. Love you, too. Um, honestly I was in a pretty public place, so I don’t know if they would even come back anytime soon. Also, this is Orlando, right? Tourists are everywhere.”

Sapnap snorts, and Dream thinks it’s funny, since he’s in the other room. “Just say you’re a coward and go.”

“I’m not!” Dream says. “It was just a small pull, okay? It wasn’t even a big deal.”

He feels another lurch when he says that, but this one is in his chest. It taps against his heart, a quick reminder that it beats for someone else, and he needs to watch his words. “Okay, it was a big deal. Sort of. I’ll go tomorrow, okay chat?”

Chat is spamming all types of messages, from encouragement to jealousy. Dream manages to read off a few donos and create his first nether portal of the stream. He answers as they appear, eyes scanning for a fortress. “No, I didn’t see them… I’m not telling you guys where I was, that’s weird… I’m wearing a sweatshirt and jeans… Hi, Sarah and Patrick…”

He trails off as the donos do, and works at getting blaze rods. George is talking about a riddle he just learned, and he’s trying to trick Sapnap into saying something stupid.

Lost in his own thoughts, he finally closes the stream after a hasty goodbye. “What if I missed my chance?” He asks the two boys on the other line.

“It’s a string of fate, Dream,” George says. “You didn’t miss your chance.”

“Maybe they saw how ugly you are and ran away,” Sapnap says, completely joking, but the thought lingers in Dream’s head.

Did they feel the tug, and run away?

You pour cereal for yourself, and when your brother shuffles into the kitchen, you make him a bowl as well.

He’s eleven, and as little brothers go, he’s pretty chill. Aside from the inappropriate jokes and hogging the bathroom when you have to get ready for work, you like hanging around with him.

You pass him his bowl, and he grins. “I’m gonna watch Dream’s new video on the TV, since mom’s not home.”

You furrow your brows. Dream must be one of the dozens of streamers he likes. Maybe one of his friends will be in chat with him, and you will be able to connect a voice to a face. “Can I sit with you?”

He gives you an odd look, and it’s true, you don’t ask to watch videos with him often. “I guess.”

You eat a spoonful of cereal and settle into the couch while he gets everything ready. He clicks on a lime green icon of a little white blob man, and when the first video appears, you’re taken aback by the voice.

That’s the voice you heard. It’s this one, out of all the random men yelling about a block game. It’s Dream.

“Why doesn’t he show his face?” You manage, wanting information about the person that shares your string.

“What?”

“Like, he’s handsome, right? Why doesn’t he have a facecam?”

Your brother snorts. “Handsome? He’s never shown his face, Y/n. Don’t you know who Dream is? He’s like, super famous.”

“Oh.” You think of his golden hair, as sunny and soft as the glow around his entire being. His voice right now, joyous as he gets chased by his friends. “I mean, I don’t keep up with streamers.”

He begins to explain Dream and his friends, along with lore in their role play server, and it’s all interesting enough that you sit and listen, holding on to the little bits of information you can collect about your soulmate.

You file these facts in a secluded corner of your brain and try to make a whole person, along with the hair and the laugh and the intense music he plays as he gets hunted by his friends.

By nightfall, you’re following all of his socials and binge-watching his old streams, holding on to the way he speaks to his friends, and the fond way he replies to donos.

[dreamwastaken is live!]

You click on it, bundled underneath your covers as if someone might see you and find out your secret.

“Hi, chat! I know I was just live yesterday, but I cut it too short and wanted to come talk to you guys.”

He uses his avatar to wave at the screen, and it’s kind of an adorable sight.

[gogysimp donated $25: did you go see your soulmate?]

Your heart stops. Does he know? Did he see you? Or even worse, has he already found someone else, and he just hasn’t severed the tie?

“No!” Dream’s laugh pulls you out of your worries. “I was busy with meetings today, actually. And I was too nervous. Sapnap also refused to come with me, so I’m just going to go another day.”

So he didn’t see you. He just knows you were there.

You click the donate tab before you can stop yourself.

[y/n donated $1: would you reject your soulmate if you didn’t like them?]

Dream mumbles the question, and you try to ignore the way your heart deflates when he skips saying your name. “I don’t think so,” he states plainly. “I mean, logically, a soulmate would be your other half, so I wouldn’t not like them. But I know some people just don’t click, or there are other issues. So, I don’t know. I guess the only thing I can say is that I don’t want to reject them. And I hope they don’t reject me. I mean, imagine finding out your soulmate is a Minecraft Youtuber. That would be pretty weird…”

You giggle to yourself as he trails off and answers another donation. So he’s against rejection. Okay. Maybe you have a chance.

[kyra donated $60: i’m your soulmate.]

“Meet me where you felt the tug, then,” Dream says sassily. “Chat, don’t be weird, okay? I can’t control who my soulmate is, and I don’t want you guys to exclude them if they become a pat of my life.”

Oh, you think. So his chat is vocal about their opinions, and apparently they mean a lot to him. You shiver despite your warm position and imagine how annoying you might seem to his loyal viewers: someone who only knew about him because of their brother.

Insecurity pushes against your chest, so you close the stream and push your phone away, hoping to forget this ever happened, that maybe you won’t have to deal with the inevitable if you don’t think about it.

Yogurt Barn isn’t the first place on your list of dream jobs, but it has decent pay and helps you pay off student loans, so you appreciate it nonetheless. The teal sweatshirt they gave you as a uniform keeps you warm as you scoop the frozen treats.

Your coworker, a girl named Madison, is busy manning the counter, so you check each flavor and refill the ones running empty.

“Can I ask you a question?” Madison met her soulmate, Anna, only days after she got her string. It was a textbook romance, two people meant for each other, no doubt in anyone’s mind. She might be able to help you now. That is, if you can even admit to who your soulmate is.

“What’s up?”

“I felt the tug,” you say, avoiding her eyes in favor of restacking the medium cups.

“No way!” Madison is perky in a way that makes you want to be included. You like this about her. “Did you see them? Did you talk to them?”

“He—” You want to say that the part of him you saw was perfect, enough to keep you up when you should be dreaming. But reality is nothing if not disappointing. “I ran.”

“Y/n…” Madison gives you a stern look — like a mother finding out their child didn’t defrost the chicken in time. “Why would you run?”

“I don’t want to be rejected.” The magenta swirls painted onto the walls are a stark change to the clay sidewalks of the strip mall. “And before you say he wouldn’t… It’s happened to my cousin. It’s possible.”

Madison frowns. “But that can’t be the only reason, right? I mean, we all know someone who has been rejected. It’s usually not the end of the world for them.”

“He’s a famous streamer,” you blurt, and you’re thankful the shop is as empty as it is. Just the words themselves sound fake.

Madison snorts. “Like, gaming? That’s what’s holding you back? He’s a gamer?”

“I don’t care that he’s a gamer!” You hiss. “I care that he has a loyal fanbase who more than likely all want to be his soulmate!”

“You can’t say that for certain,” Madison says. “I mean, everyone knows about the soulmate system. If you watch someone and don’t feel the pull, you know they aren’t your soulmate, right? So why wouldn’t they accept you?”

“I don’t know,” you say. “I’m just scared. I mean, he’s got this huge following and everything and I’m just me. I work in a yogurt shop for goodness’ sake.”

You head into the back to grab more cups, and the bell rings, signaling a new customer.

“Welcome to Yogurt Barn, what can I get for you?” Madison’s customer service voice pricks your ears.

You sift through the boxes to find the smaller cups and listen to the customer’s order. “Can I have a strawberry cone?”

Your string pulls, that same familiar voice filling your head, not on the screen but once again just a few feet away. He’s infiltrating your life, so close you could reach out and touch him, but it’s such a terrifying thought that you set down the cups.

You tear off your apron, and run into the break room to grab a water and calm yourself down.

It’s ten minutes before Madison comes back to find you. “Hey, are you okay? You disappeared.”

You take a deep breath and stare at the poster on the wall. It’s brightly colored, with a walking yogurt cup waving and reminding employees to wash their hands before scooping. “That was him. The guy— the pull— Dream— I can’t— Does he know? Is he following me?”

“It’s okay,” Madison runs her hand down your back. “It’s okay. He isn’t following you. When the pull starts it tends to draw the couple together until they meet. He probably doesn’t know it’s you.”

You nod and take your breaths in gulps. “Okay. Yeah, you’re right. You’re right.”

“Why don’t you go home early, okay?”

Dream is live again.

Fresh out of the shower, you pull a t-shirt over your body and burrow into your blankets. Earbuds in, you try to focus on the sound of his voice, ignoring every ounce of anxiety that’s been riddling your mind.

“Hi, chat. I’m gonna practice speed runs again. I think George is joining soon.”

You open the chat and scroll through the emotes, clicking the ones you like and sending them, just to calm yourself down.

[kylo donated $5: did you find your soulmate?]

Dream laughs. The sound makes your chest tighten with longing. Your fingers ache. “Actually, I went to the place I felt the pull again. I dunno what I was expecting, but they didn’t show up. But after that, I was running some errands and I felt it, chat! I felt the pull again.”

He trails off while his character starts to look for a lava pool. “I feel discouraged but I don’t want to like, chase them, you know? I don’t want to scare them off.”

You click the donation tab again.

[y/n donated $1: maybe your soulmate heard your voice and got scared of you because they watch your videos.]

It’s not the total truth, but it might help him sleep better. You don’t want him to feel discouraged, but you can’t bring yourself to follow the pull.

“That could be a possibility…” Dream crafts a portal and sends his character through. “But I wish I could talk to them. I wish I could tell them that it’s okay. Like, we don’t have to rush into anything.”

[y/n donated $1: They probably wish they could talk to you too]

“Thanks, Y/n.” He sucks in a breath as soon as he says your name. The Minecraft pause screen appears and the sound of a discord call can be heard.

Your heart pounds in your chest. Something about him saying your name just solidified everything. Your arms feel hot and cold all at once, like you’ve just been thrown in a frozen lake. He has to be feeling it too.

“Chat, I gotta go, okay? I’ll try to stream again soon.”

“Hello?” A sleepy voice comes in through Dream’s earbuds.

“George! Their name is Y/n!” Dream is so excited, his voice raising a few octaves as he talks. “Someone donated with that name and I felt like, super weird. I didn’t feel it until I said the name out loud.”

“That’s crazy,” George says, monotone but supportive. “Do you think the dono is actually them?”

“I don’t know,” Dream scrolls through their past donos and quickly screenshots each one. “I mean, they definitely could be.”

He shares the pictures in their group chat.

George hums. “It sounds like they’re trying to tell you how they feel without admitting that it’s them. Where did you say you felt a pull?”

“At the park, and at the yogurt shop down the road.”

“So go there again. Maybe all they need is a little courage. If you feel the pull this time, you should follow it.”

Dream thinks about it for a moment before finally agreeing. He changes the subject to their next jackbox stream, and George is now happily talking about how they’re going to team up against Sapnap.

He goes into Sapnap’s room that night. He sits on his desk chair while Sapnap sits cross legged on his bed, scrolling through his phone. “Do you wanna get frozen yogurt tomorrow? My treat.”

“Hell yeah!”

The new strawberry-lemonade custard is a hit. Not only are the colors aesthetically pleasing for the teenagers who want a nice snapchat story, but there was a promotional coupon in the mail that has people lining up to the door.

“It’s not even that good,” you tell Madison while the two of you are on break. You’re both using a sample spoon to try out the new summer flavors, and in your opinion, strawberry-lemonade isn’t even the best one. “Blood orange is better.”

Madison wrinkles her nose. “No, blue raspberry is best.”

“It’s sour, though,” you say.

“Guys! Break’s over and you’ve got a line!” Your manager stares disapprovingly at the cups of custard the both of you are indulging in.

“We’re coming.” You toss the cup into the trash and walk out, scratching at the sudden itch on your pinky finger.

Pulling on your gloves, you grab a scoop and address the first customer, “Welcome to Yogurt Barn.”

“Hi!”

You still like you’ve been caught stealing on camera. You look up, hand clutching the scoop so tightly you can feel the cold steel through your gloves.

It’s Dream.

It’s him. He’s tall, and his hair is a sunshine blond, dark at the roots and curling beneath his ears. And his freckles… little spots all across his cheeks so endearing that you get a little distracted staring at them.

Then he’s talking, and you have to focus on his jade-green eyes, not his lips, which are a warm pink. “It’s you.”

You blink. Fear strikes your spine and you drop the scoop. “I gotta go.”

“Wait!” Dream calls, just as Madison shouts your name.

You exit out the back door again. Your heart is pounding against your chest, ribs expanding, and all you can hear is the sound of your name coming out of his lips, just last night through a screen.

“Y/n?” Only it’s in front of you, a few feet away, and he’s searching your eyes for any reassurance that you won’t run away again. That you won’t reject him. “That’s your name right?” He keeps talking, a nervous smile flitting across his face. “The donos? That was you?”

You can see the string now, red and blaring, tightening with each step Dream takes. It’s signing off your fate, for better or for worse, and you can’t fathom why he’s trying so hard, why he cares so much.

It’s hot in Florida but you feel cold, chilled to the bone. You straighten up. You figure you owe it to him to look up in the eye.

He leaves you breathless, eyes shining in the sun. “It was me,” you say. “You’re Dream.”

“Clay, actually,” he says. His smile widens, and it’s magnificently bold. He’s triumphant, just from your reply, and that alone gives you the slightest bit of hope.

“Clay,” you say. “I’m— I’m not— I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“You don’t have to be.” Clay is quick to reply, hands open and palms up. It’s a complete surrender — putting it all in your hands. “We don’t have to announce it. We don’t have to be anything at all, if you need time. But I would like to be your friend. If— If that’s okay.”

But you want to be close to him. The draw of your strings pulling each other closer and closer makes you want to wrap your arms around him. If he hasn’t rejected you, maybe you can do this. “I– I want to be more than friends, but I’m terrified of you rejecting me. I’m afraid of the string getting cut.”

Clay set his brows, “I won’t let that happen. We’re connected. Fate, ya know?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, and it’s a sigh of relief. “Okay. Maybe I’ll give you my number?”

“I’ll give you mine!” Clay is animated, holding out his hand for your phone. “That way you can text me when you’re ready.”

The red string shines like gold in the Florida sun, and when your fingertips brush, it burns with a satisfying warmth.

#dreamwastaken x reader #dreamwastaken fluff #dreamwastaken fanfic #dreamwastaken x you #mcyt au #dreamwastaken au #mcyt x reader #mcyt fluff

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