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petertingle-yipyip · 3 days ago

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MISS POSSESSIVE - JOAQUIN TORRES

Pairing: Joaquin x Reader // Word Count: 2,061

Summary: So what if you were a little possessive? No one got hurt. (fun fact: the biting story is a true story)

Your relationship with Joaquin was no secret.

You two didn’t necessarily shove it down everyone’s throats, but you didn’t hide anything either. You arrived at most trainings together, sat next to and against each other, went to lunch together, left together. The only time you were really apart was when he went on a mission with Sam and you went with your recon team.

You noticed the new set of eyes in the training center one day. You were doing your planned solidcore routine while Joaquin did weights on the other side of the center.

You saw her when you took a break between exercises. You sat flat on the machine’s pad and breathed deeply, glancing around the relatively empty center. You and Joaquin were there, as part of your usual schedule, along with Nat and Yelena sparring in the far corner. Kate was doing some yoga routine with the blonde that was actively staring at Joaquin, who was oblivious as he began a set of lat pulldowns.

You stared at your boyfriend for a moment as well. Admittedly, the blonde had a fair excuse to stare, and she was new. Or you hadn’t met her at least. Maybe she didn’t know.

You pushed a headphone aside, ready to snap at her, when Kate smacked her friend’s arm. You could barely hear her say to pay attention and that he was taken. Kate met your eyes a moment later and she offered you a thumbs up with a nod, a not-so-subtle confirmation that she had your back.

You smiled at her as you chuckled. Replacing your headphones, you went back to suffering through solidcore.

Later that week, in a more packed training center, Joaquin’s newest fan was watching him again. You two were jogging the track and conversating, and he decided to show off and jog backwards. You caught the woman over his shoulder and you fixed a glare in her direction. Her eyes met yours and she changed from basically undressing Joaquin in her head to daring you to stop her.

“Hello?” He waved a hand in front of your face and your attention slid back to him. “What was that?” He was smirking slightly.

“Nothing.” You shrugged. “You’re gonna fall.”

“I’m not gonna fall.”

“You’re gonna fall.”

“I’m not gon-“ He began before nearly tripping over his own feet.

His arms flailed slightly and you caught him, which caused you to stumble with him. You couldn’t help the laugh as he righted and you two resumed your easy pace.

“Don’t tell Sam.” He said quickly.

“I already saw!” Sam called from the other side of the track.

Joaquin groaned in embarrassment and you nudged him slightly with your elbow. He frowned dramatically at you and you giggled before jerking your chin, daring him to keep up as you increased your stride.

By the end of that week, his watcher had built up some courage.

You were at the cubbies near the door, rifling through your bag for your sparring gloves. Joaquin was leaning against the wall near the cubbies, casually mentioning how he had his already and you were putting your session behind. You mocked him quietly as you dumped the contents of your bag on the floor.

“You set me up.” You blamed him.

“Me?” He laughed. “I’d never do such a thing.”

“Yes you would, because you know I can kick your ass.”

He sighed dramatically and knelt beside you to help you look. You filtered through your scattered items while he checked the zippered pockets. He was the one to find them, which only added on to his guilt in your mind, and you shoved everything back away.

He offered you his hand to get up and you made a show of your reluctance as you took it. He laughed, pulled you to his chest, and kept you close with an arm over your shoulders.

She wasn’t there when you two began your session. You would’ve felt those baby blue eyes following. By the time you were taking a break, she was there, lingering at the edge of the sparring area. She pretended to be focused on her own workout when Joaquin glanced in her direction but she didn’t hide her blatant stare when you looked at her.

You didn’t give a warning before storming over. You knelt to be at her level and she propped herself up on her elbows. She opened her mouth but you cut her off.

“Funny how you think I don’t notice the way you undress him with your eyes almost everyday.” You said flatly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She rolled her eyes.

“Look at the floor. Or the ceiling. Or anyone else in this place. Just keep your eyes off him.” You forced a smile that was anything but friendly. “Got it?”

“I’m so scared.” She said sarcastically, craning her neck to see around you.

“Listen. I can only be nice about this for so long. Some fights you’re not gonna win. And him?” You nodded towards him once. “No way.”

“May the best woman win then.” She shrugged and returned to her sit ups.

You kicked her braced feet away before heading back to Joaquin, earning a muttered “bitch” as you left. His brows furrowed but you waved him off. With a new anger in your veins, you knew you’d hit someone you shouldn’t soon, which made the next portion of your sparring more intense than necessary.

You were both covered in sweat by the time you were done. You had also both removed your shirts by then. Your muscles were burning with the effort and you assumed Joaquin’s were too, but by the way he was talking your ear off you wouldn’t have guessed.

“You’re pretty chatty.” You teased with a grin.

“You wouldn’t let me get a word in over there!” He sounded offended as he threw a hand towards the sparring area. “Anytime I tried to talk, you pounced.”

“I pounced?” You laughed. “What am I, a cat?”

“A feral one.” He muttered and you smacked his arm before you both laughed. “Definitely feral.”

“If I was feral, I’d bite.”

“You do!”

“I do not!”

“Didn’t you bite a kid in second grade?”

You whirled to face him and jabbed a finger into his chest. “You know good and well that I had a good reason!” You defended.

His hands went up in surrender but the grin was still plastered on his face.

“I felt threatened.”

“And biting was the only answer?” He tried and failed to keep his laughter contained.

“Yes! I was playing my own game, he tried to make me the prisoner in his war game with some other kid. You don’t put your arm-“

“Around someone’s neck and not expect to get bit.” He finished and you glared lightly at him. “At least you didn’t get suspended.”

“I cried in the principal’s office because I was scared of getting in trouble.” You deadpanned. “I don’t think I ever apologized to the kid, though.”

“And you still went on that field trip.” He shook his head, clicking his tongue. “I’m so disappointed in you, Y/N/N.”

“Oh no, whatever will I do now?” You dramatically put your hands to your heart.

“Just don’t bite me.” He shrugged, which earned another smack to his arm.

“I left my water. Grab my bag?” You began backing away towards the sparring corner.

“Yeah.” He nodded and went towards your cubby.

As you were grabbing your bottle, Kate and Yelena were stepping into the square. Kate waved enthusiastically at you and Yelena held a fist towards you. You bumped your own against hers and smiled towards Kate.

“How’s it going?” You asked. “Feeling stronger?”

“Today’s the day.” Kate nodded firmly.

“Ha!” Yelena responded loudly and you turned. “You think you’ll beat me?”

“Okay, you say that like it’s a joke.” Kate frowned.

“Was it not?” Yelena laughed. “C’mon, Kate Bishop.”

“Why do you still do that? Stop saying my name like that!” Kate urgently whispered.

“I don’t know, Lena. She might.” You added. You gave Kate a once over glance and then nodded slightly. “Yeah, I think she actually has biceps now.”

“See?” Kate threw an arm towards you. “Wait a second.” She furrowed her brows.

“Staying to find out?” Yelena asked, bouncing side to side on the balls of her feet.

“No, Joaquin and I are gonna try to catch a movie.” You nodded towards where you left your boyfriend. “Just came back for my water.”

“Oh!” Kate announced. “That reminds me…”

“You’re stalling.” Yelena complained.

“It’s important!” Kate insisted then turned to you again. “Sorry about before. I tried to tell her.”

“The new girl?”

She nodded, almost looking embarrassed, but you shrugged.

“I told her today in the nicest way I could to back off.” You waved a dismissive hand.

“What if she didn’t get the memo?” Yelena asked, focusing on something over your shoulder.

“Oh shit…” Kate looked at the same thing behind you.

“What are you two-“ You mumbled and turned to see for yourself. “Oh.”

You crossed your arms and watched for a moment. Joaquin was sitting on the floor with the new girl kneeling beside him. They were involved in some sort of conversation and you were just glad he had put his shirt back on. She exaggerated a laugh and he was confused for a second. Apparently, what he said hadn’t been that funny.

“I think you should start planning your friend’s funeral, Kate Bishop.” Yelena said flatly as the blonde reached out and put her hand on Joaquin’s forearm.

“No, it’s…” You began.

You knew Joaquin. You knew his mannerisms and body language better than anyone. He didn’t care to be talking to this girl, not in the way she was trying to talk to him. He had his phone in one hand and judging by the way he kept looking down at it, he would’ve rather been scrolling than talking to her.

“You’re better than me.” Kate offered. “Two warnings and she still acts like that? Friend or not, I’d slap the hell outta her.” She laughed slightly.

Her other hand landed on his forearm and her other moved to his upper arm. Your brows rose and as if that expression sent a signal, Joaquin looked over towards you with wide eyes.

“Pray for her.” Kate said simply as you took long strides to get back to Joaquin.

He stood as you got closer and she bounced up beside him. She stepped closer, one of her hands on his shoulder and the other reached for his hand.

“Ready to go?” You made a point of only speaking to and looking at Joaquin.

“Yeah.” He sighed in relief and shifted to get away from her touch. “We leave now, we’ll have enough time to shower first.”

“Did you get the tickets already?”

“I thought you were going to stick around and spot me.” The blonde pouted.

“I’ve got ‘em.” Joaquin answered. “And your bag, m’lady.” He bowed slightly as he offered you your bag.

You laughed slightly and slung the strap over your shoulder.

“But Joaquin!” She cried, grabbing his hand with both of hers. He immediately pulled away and she pursed her bottom lip in another pout.

“He already said he’s busy.” You snapped. “Go see if Kate or Yel have time to babysit.”

“I didn’t realize you were his mommy.” She said sarcastically.

You turned to face her fully but Joaquin pulled on your bag to force you back a step. He tapped his knuckles against your thigh and you shifted your weight closer to him.

“Seriously.” You threatened. “Get your hands off my man.”

“Scared?”

“I’m gonna kill her.” You ground your teeth and looked to Joaquin.

Quickly, he put his arm around your shoulders and guided you out the doors. She called after him but you lifted your hand to give her the middle finger. After a string of curses were directed at you, Joaquin closed his hand over yours with a laugh.

“Told you.” Joaquin said proudly as he opened the passenger door for you.

“Told me what?” You raised a brow.

“Feral.” He grinned.

You opened your mouth to argue then closed it. Maybe he was right, at least where he was concerned.

Feral. Possessive. Protective. Same thing, right?

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shy-writer-999 · 2 days ago

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1-800-LONELYCHEF (ii)

Summary: It's date night with Sanji. He meticulously prepared this for weeks and he's so nervous that he feels like he's going to faint. Afterwards, he's planning on asking you to come over. What will happen if you say yes? WC: 7.5k CW: NSFW! Afab reader w/gendered pronouns (she/her/hers). Modern-ish AU; pwp; intercourse; oral (f. receiving); ejaculation inside. Minors do not interact!

It’s a Friday night. Months ago, you would have been gearing up for a long night at your job, being a phone sex operator. But you quit a while ago and your weekends look different now.

Like many Friday nights over the last year, you’re spending it with Sanji. But this time he’s actually there—materially present, in the flesh, smiling at you a couple feet away.

It’s a special night tonight. You’ve been seeing Sanji for around a month and a half, and tonight you’re at his restaurant, finally. You’ve fantasized about this for ages.

The darling chef across the table from you planned this carefully. He adjusted his schedule—instead of working tonight, he’s added an extra shift in next week, making up for the deficit.

He’s gone to great lengths to ensure that the crew in the kitchen is the best of the best, including that sous chef, who he strongly dislikes—but personal feelings aside, in Sanji’s kitchen there are only the most talented of chefs. He’s made sure of it.

He watched the ordering forms and produce vendors like hawks in the week leading up to this. You will only be eating the best quality ingredients, the freshest food, and nothing less.

Sanji is tense and he’s so nervous that he’s starting to feel sick. He’s running the logistics over in his head, trying to calculate if there’s anything he forgot, anything he missed, anything that could fall flat.

You can tell he’s overthinking, and it’s endearing. When his eyes aren’t darting around the restaurant, peeking into the semi-open kitchen and factoring all sorts of minuscule variables in your dining experience, he’s looking at you.

His gaze is warm, and when he’s around you, he’s sunshine personified. You can’t deny that he looks at you with such reverent adoration that it’s almost off-putting. But nothing he could do could actually put you off. You’re far too in love with him for that.

The restaurant is dark and the lights are warm. Slow jazz music plays at a low volume and the whole establishment smells exquisite.

There are tea lights on each table, with tiny flames that reflect in the gorgeous dark mahogany accents and mirrors on the walls. Next to each candle is a small vase filled with a couple flower stems—tonight, Sanji specifically asked the front of house staff to use your favorite flowers.

Across from you, the blonde man is dressed in what you now know is his signature outfit—black slacks with a button up; the sleeves are rolled up and a few buttons are undone. He looks effortlessly handsome and stylish. Your heart beats a bit faster when he catches your eyes.

How many dates has it been?

You’ve lost track at this point. Maybe you should be taking things slower with him, but you can’t hold yourself back when it comes to spending time with him.

One thing that you’ve been very intentional about, however, is intimacy (which is interesting, given your relationship history). After all, Sanji used to be one of your clients. You’ve had plenty of phone sex, but you haven’t gotten to the real thing yet.

You’re saving that for the right moment. Sure, you’ve made out with him a few times and you can’t deny that you both certainly get excited, but you’ve exercised self-restraint so far. You take this man very seriously. That seriousness entails caution.

The caution is only natural—not only do you feel like this man may be the love of your life, but he also wounded you deeply before. Building your trust, becoming accustomed to his affection and attention, and mending your heart has taken a little while. It’s an active process. But you’re comfortable now.

Soundlessly, Sanji breaks your train of thought. He reaches his hand across the circular table and places it palm-up in front of you.

You slide your hand onto his and he twists his wrist slightly—your fingers are entwined now. His thumb tickles as it draws a soft circle across your skin.

The flame from the tea light on the table reflects in his irises.

“My love?” He asks, rousing you from your stupor of thought. “What do you think?”

He gestures to the scenery around and you take a second to respond, soaking in the ambiance before giving him your verdict. He’s dying to know whether or not you’re impressed.

You haven’t told him yet, but you’ve been here before. Just once. A date took you here long ago, years before you started your old job, years before Sanji took up the position as head chef. The ambiance hasn’t changed much but it feels different now. For one, the man sitting across from you is simply radiating love. He’s devilishly handsome and chivalrous. He squeezes your hand gently.

“I like it,” you reply. “It’s just like you described. Very classy.”

He smiles. “I can’t wait for you to try the food.”

You’ve had Sanji’s cooking before, and it’s (simply put) the best food you’ve ever been served. Any time you go to his apartment, he cooks for you. But tonight, Sanji isn’t in the kitchen. This is a show of his skill in managing the kitchen, purveying ingredients, instructing his subordinates, and running the show, more than anything else.

“Tell me about the menu tonight,” you prompt him. You know he’s put an exorbitant amount of thought and energy into creating and testing what will be served tonight.

This restaurant is French. Sanji describes the prix fixe menu—he tends to link the dishes and flavors he constructs to very specific memories, emotions, or envisioned scenes. It’s impressive, and he shares each nugget of inspiration with you as the courses are served, per a promise he made weeks ago.

This experience is necessarily intimate—this is his passion, his art, the thing that he’s dedicated his life to.

It doesn’t escape him that you’re listening intently, appreciating the nuances of what he’s saying, and looking breathtaking while doing it.

The courses are small and painstakingly procured and presented. It’s interesting, looking at each dish and hearing the waitstaff explain what’s going on with each one, especially when the man in question—the artist and chef himself—is sitting in front of you. You can tell that the waiter is a bit nervous to serve him, but Sanji is kind and affable, putting them at ease immediately.

The first dish is a rocket salad with pears, pea blossoms, and a light vinaigrette.

“This recipe was actually passed down from my dad,” Sanji begins. “The story is kind of funny. Years ago, he was exploring some island and came across a tavern. They served something similar to this. He tried to get the recipe but ended up getting in a fist fight with the owner, so he just had to recreate it himself. He always complains that this salad isn’t as good as it should be, since it’s missing that ‘je ne sais quois’, but over the years he’s tweaked it. I stole it, obviously, and made some of my own adjustments.”

The dish is tangy, refreshing, and bright. It’s ridiculously good. Obviously.

You compliment him and, even though the room is dark, you can make out a pink flush across his cheeks. He lives for your praise.

Next, there’s a soup. Sanji explains how it came about.

“When I was growing up, Zeff had a bunch of leftovers that he was going to use for something else and I swiped them when he wasn’t looking. I threw them into a pot and… this is kind of the outcome. He was making some dish with leeks, so the scraps I stole were mostly leek trimmings. He was pissed when he realized I snagged them. The soup turned out awful the first few tries, like it was literally inedible, but I got it down to a science at some point. The trick is adding in some sage and the tiniest amount of white wine—it changes the balance of flavors completely.”

“How old were you?” You ask between flavorful spoonfuls.

You swear no one has given him any attention or love before, from the way he responds to your questions and praise. He looks genuinely shocked that you’ve asked him a such a thoughtful question. He’s never gotten used to the very sincere attention you treat him with, hasn’t reckoned with the fact that someone like you would be genuinely interested in him. You’ve known him (and treated him like this) since your first conversation, but it still takes him aback.

Sanji explains that he must have been 13 or 14 at the time, and he goes on to describe how upset his dad got with him over the whole fiasco. When Zeff finally tried the one of the more perfected, streamlined iterations of the leek soup, he said dropped the subject entirely. “That means that he liked it,” Sanji explains.

You’ve tried to piece together the man in front of you as long as you’ve known him—evidently, he wasn’t showered with praise as a child. The stories he’s told you, and his reaction to your compliments, make that clear. But he still has so much kindness in his heart, it’s absurd.

While Sanji tells you about the anecdotes and memories that prompted certain recipes, you notice that he’s figeting with the edge of his napkin with one hand. He’s nervous. It melts your heart a bit.

You lose track of the courses. Each is more scrumptious than the last, which shouldn’t be possible, but he’s a culinary genius so he’s pulled it off somehow. Afterwards, there’s a cheese course, a platter of dips, a carpaccio of some sort, a savory galette, another salad… the plates are small and never ending.

The last dish is, of course, dessert. It’s a tiramisu, scooped out of a huge serving dish, table-side.

The layers are defined, and it smells like cocoa. Sanji hesitates with this explanation. You wonder why.

“Tiramisu? How’d you come up with this one?” You smile at him, sensing his pause, and his heart flutters.

“Well,” he says, clearing his throat. “I heard my mom say that she liked it one day, offhand… So, I made it. I’ve been making it ever since.”

This is the first time he’s mentioned her in all your long months of talking. “Your mom?”

“Y-yeah, she uhh… She passed a long time ago when I was a little kid. She got really sick. She never got to try the tiramisu. But, ah, fuck, this sounds a bit cheesy, but whenever I make it, I make it for her.”

“Oh,” you respond, softly. “That’s very sweet, Sanji.”

He averts his eyes for a split-second, and you see that blush is taking over his whole face. Your heart is twisting at his story—how is this man real? He makes it for her? Fucking hell, he’s perfect.

Each story he’s told tonight has given you a look into his character, his childhood, memories, and impressions of the world. The tiramisu is perfect—it’s not too sweet and the flavors are balanced. The perfect way to end the perfect meal.

“Fuck, Sanji,” you say, furrowing your brows in an expression of incredulity. “It’s delicious. Like, one of the best things I’ve ever had.”

“Thanks, sweetheart. I made this batch myself.”

You can taste the love that it’s made with, really. This whole meal has been ridiculously good. You didn’t know food could be this good. It tastes even better because the handsome man across from you is showering you in compliments and the bill is completely taken care of.

“So, what did you think?” Sanji asks when the meal is over, reaching for your hand again. He’s smiling and a bit shy.

“It was amazing.” You respond simply, and he sees your lips curl up into that smile he so covets. “Thank you, Sanji. Seriously. For sharing everything with me. This was lovely.”

“It didn’t disappoint?” His eyes are brightening. You can see he’s starting to positively beam at your praise.

“It didn’t disappoint in the slightest. You’re so talented, it’s just, wow.”

When you leave the restaurant, you walk into the parking lot holding hands. You reflect in the third person for a second—how wild is this, to be with this man here, right now, hand in hand, with bashful smiles. Those familiar butterflies stir when he looks at you.

Like clockwork, Sanji invites you back to his place. You usually decline his invitation (which he presents without fail) because you don’t want to get too attached too fast, but… you’ve decided that sentiment is futile. You’re already attached. Very attached. There’s no point in deluding yourself any longer, really. You’re madly in love with each other and it’s no secret.

“Would you like to come back to mine for a drink, gorgeous?”

You take a second to study him. He does look fantastic, so put together and well-kept, and he’s been so sweet with you. You like him too much to decline.

“I’d love to.”

The ride back home is quiet—you’re comfortable enough with Sanji to sit in silence for periods of time. It’s peaceful, and it feels like you’ve known each other for years. He reaches a hand over and sets it on your thigh, giving you a soft squeeze.

Before you know it, you’re in Sanji’s apartment again. You’ve been here a handful of times. He’s made you dinners and lunches, you’ve watched shows together and cuddled on the couch. But tonight, you feel something in the air. Maybe tonight is the night that you go all the way with him, finally.

When you’re settled on the couch, he offers you a glass of wine or a cocktail. He caters to you like you’re royalty. An interesting irony.

“Would you like a pair of sweats and a hoodie, darling?” He asks after he’s fixed you your drink. You smile at him and respond in the affirmative—the stuffy, cute outfit you’ve been wearing is getting on your nerves, and it’s going to feel so much better to wear his clothes. It always does.

When you change into his clothes and return to the living room, Sanji’s face goes crimson again. He’s only seen you in his clothes a handful of times before and it makes him feel things. His heart and stomach are doing flips and his eyes are practically turning into hearts. He’s adorable.

“Would you like to watch something together, gorgeous? Maybe that show you were telling me about?” He asks as you both get comfy on the couch. Your bodies are pressed side-by-side.

“How about we just snuggle for a bit?” You propose, and he readily agrees.

“I could be persuaded to snuggle.” Sanji puts an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. “I can’t believe you spend time with me. I’m the luckiest man on earth.” He’s smiling and peppering your face with kisses.

“Sanjiiii,” you say, giggling. “Cut it out. It tickles.”

“I—don’t—ever—want—to—stop,” he kisses you somewhere between each word. Your cheeks, your neck, your hand, your forehead. Anywhere he can reach. “You’re stunning.”

His hand reaches for your chin and guides your lips to his. He’s preposterously suave. It’s like something out of a romance movie.

When he breaks the kiss, he says, “How did I land you? You’re just too beautifu—”

You cut him off by pressing your lips on his mid-word. You can tell he’s nervous and high-strung from dinner. But now that he’s impressed you like he wanted, he can calm down. He relaxes into your embrace after a second.

The kisses start soft, but they quickly increase in desperation. He wants you so bad that you can feel his yearning with each kiss. Ever the gentleman, he keeps his hands to his self, only placing one on your cheek and the other softly on your hip.

Maybe tonight is the night.

As you lock lips, you move his hand from where it rests on your hip downwards, so he’s touching your ass now through the sweatpants he lent you. Sanji timidly grabs a handful. He’s being gentle and shy, but you suspect that he’s in agony with desire.

This is a moment he’s dreamed about for around a year at this point. This night is about to be filled with moments that he’s been dreaming of.

You move his other hand from your cheek to your chest—his hands do as they please, petting and kneading you through the fabric of his clothes. After a few moments of Sanji’s hands getting their fill, they trail to your waist and he maneuvers you backwards, guiding you to lay on the couch while he perches over you.

You’re on your back now and he’s braced over you, with one hand next to your head and the other placed on your waist. He slides a knee between your legs, pressing it up between your legs, leaving it to rest there. Who knew this chef had it in him.

As you continue to lock lips, the pleasure from his knee grazing your core starts to make heat bloom between your legs.

You start to grind onto his knee slightly, and when your quiet sounds of pleasure seep out of your lips and into Sanji’s mouth, your hand finds his hard bulge. You caress him gently and pulls your lips from his.

“I want you, Sanji,” you murmur, and he pauses his wandering hands. He wants to ravage you totally, to have his way with you and make you reel in ecstasy, but he needs to check on you first.

“Wait, wait, my love, are you sure?” He whispers, softly placing a hand over yours, keeping it still. “Are you absolutely sure you want to go farther?”

“Mmmhmm,” you look at him with pleading eyes and he almost melts on the spot. “I’m sure, Sanji.”

“Then let’s get more comfortable,” he says. “Want to go to my room?”

You agree, and within moments you’re in Sanji’s bed under the covers. The bed is big and plushy, the sheets are soft, and the lighting is low and warm. He wastes no time pulling off his shirt and pants as he slides under the sheets.

You do the same, pulling off the clothes he so nicely lent you. You’re in your underwear now, and he’s in his, and he’s looking at you like you’re a piece of art. He’s wondering if he should pinch himself—is this a dream?

Not only does he get to spend time with you, the person he loves, but he also gets to see you and touch you? He’s thanking his lucky stars. If he knew many months ago that this would be his future, he wouldn’t have believed it.

Sanji pulls you to him and your chests are pressing together. He brings his lips to your neck and kisses a trail down to your collarbone.

“What did I ever do to get so lucky?” He asks again before he presses his lips on yours. His skin is warm, and his hands are rough. But the rest of him is soft—especially his hair, which your fingers weave their way through.

You throw a thigh over his hip and draw him closer. You realize that he’s hard, pressing on your core through the fabric of your underwear. While he kisses you he starts to slowly, barely rock his hips into you.

Sanji’s strong hands wander to grab rough handfuls of your ass. He uses his grip on your skin to press your body closer to his, and at the same time, he grinds harder into you. Heat is starting to build at the base of his spine—he can feel his lust slipping out. He’s about to lose his composure.

You suspected that Sanji would have some skills but he’s sinfully good in bed so far and you’re not even naked yet. Just the way he rolls his hips is mesmerizing. His kissing technique leaves nothing to be desired.

You have a feeling that he could do this for hours. But he’s not going to make any first moves here, no matter how crazed and desirous he feels. You’ve already talked about what this moment would look like, after all. Sanji told you a while ago that if and when you had sex for the first time, he wanted you to take the lead. He hates the idea of doing anything to you that makes you even the least bit uncomfortable or pressured.

Knowing this, you extricate yourself from him and remove your bra. He helps you shimmy out of your panties. Then you place your hands on him and drag your fingers downwards, conjuring a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Your fingertips pass over his broad chest, his toned and hard abs, and his dark happy trail. They reach the waistband of his boxers and slide underneath.

When your fingers touch his bare skin and wrap around his erection, his breath hitches and he goes completely still. All of his senses are focused on how soft your hand feels on his aching length and how leisurely you start to stroke him.

“Ah,” he lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a whine and a groan. “That f-feels so good, gorgeous.”

You hum in response and bring your other hand to the waistband of his underwear, pulling it down so his erection springs all the way out. Bringing both hands to his shaft now, you stroke him, slowly twisting your wrists.

His shaft is thick and long—the perfect size. You can tell it’s going to feel like a nice good stretch when he finally nestles himself inside you. If he’s not careful it might be a bit painful. He’s quite well endowed.

Minutes pass like seconds and precum starts to weep from his head, trickling down your fingers. He’s squirming slightly. Every twist of your wrists around his throbbing length elicits a delightful, lewd noise from him.

“Fuucck,” he whines softly, “if you keep it up I’m gonna—gonna cum.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that yet, would we?” You offer him a coy smile and stop moving.

Sanji kisses you in short, passionate bursts. After a second, he makes a proposition.

“How about I go down on you?”

“Mmmm. I’ll allow it. I heard you’re quite talented.” You smile, referencing a conversation the pair of you had many months ago. Sanji cracks a grin, and you giggle.

“Let’s hope I wasn’t overselling myself, huh?”

You lay back on the pillows. Sanji gets on top of you, situating himself between your wide-spread legs—he starts to leave a trail of kisses from the hollow of your throat over your sternum and across your belly button. His lips keep moving lower—when he reaches the space where your thighs meet, he pulls one of your thighs up slightly. He holds it up effortlessly, kissing from behind your knee inwards and upwards towards your core. His lips stop right before they get to the place you crave them the most.

Sanji does the same with your other thigh, lifting it up and kissing the inside until he’s painfully close to your sensitive spots.

After teasing your thighs with kisses, Sanji finally touches you where you’ve been waiting for. He brings his fingers to your already sticky core. When his flesh meets yours, you gasp. He spreads you apart just barely, giving himself full access to your clit.

He wets his lips and places a soft, delicate kiss right on top of your sensitive bud of nerves. It’s a slow kiss, one that’s so gentle that it leaves you wanting more. When he goes in for a second kiss he uses a bit of tongue this time, just barely swirling the tip of his tongue in a circle. It sends a zap of pleasure through your body—your toes curl and you inhale sharply.

Sanji spends a few minutes doing this. He kisses your clit, alternating between using tongue and no tongue, and when your thighs spread wider and you begin to shake just the tiniest amount, he places a long lick from below your folds all the way upwards, ending with your clit. He dips his tongue in slightly, tasting you and relishing your scent, noises, and movements.

Your hands wander into his hair and he holds back a smile. He needs to focus on making you feel good. He knows he’s doing that right now, but he wants to make you feel even better. He’d love to hear you begging for more.

“S-sanji,” you murmur, your tone bathed in lust and oozing with need. You don’t say anything other than his name, but he knows what you mean.

His tongue and lips move lower—he presses his tongue into you slowly and it feels otherworldly. He brings it out and back in again, going as deep as he can. One of his hands rests on your thigh, pushing it down so he can have better access.

He relishes the weight of your fingers in his hair and your shallow, rapid breaths. This is heaven. He wishes he could freeze this moment and live in it forever.

As more arousal seeps out of you, Sanji pushes his ring finger into you slowly. He hooks it, delicately pressing you in all the right spots. While his finger explores, he keeps placing kisses on your clit. After a few moments, when you’ve adjusted to his finger, he presses another one into you.

Sanji’s cock is weeping against the covers as he eats you out and fingers you. His hips press into the sheets, humping against the fabric slightly. He can’t hold himself back.

His eyes snap upwards and meet yours. You’re staring down at him, gazing at where his pretty lips meet your flesh. When he looks up at you, he sees how glossy and half-lidded your eyes are. His heart patters and threatens to stop. He takes a mental screenshot.

Sanji’s fingers search for a certain spot inside of you—a spongy, gooey one. When he thinks he’s found it, he presses it slightly. Your thighs shake, your back arches off the sheets, and your toes curl again.

“Mmmppphhhh, Sanji, fuck,” you moan and he hums in response.

The slurping noises that he’s making are paired with muted squelching noises from where his tongue works on your heat and his fingers caress you inside. You’re almost at your limit.

He pulls his lips away and his fingers stop moving. “Do you want to cum, princess? Or do you want to wait?”

He’s so polite even when he’s feral. It’s heart melting.

Your brain is short circuiting. You do want to cum. You feel too good to ignore that crazy desire. But you also know that waiting and edging yourself a little bit would result in a better orgasm overall. But who’s to say that you can’t cum multiple times?

Sanji can see you check out mentally while you have this inner conversation with himself. A couple seconds pass. It’s hard to think straight while his fingers are inside of you, while his lips are poised so closely…

While you attempt to think it over, Sanji presses a kiss on your clit to get your attention. You whimper and respond, “I can’t make up my mind.” Your face looks tortured and it’s making his heart do flips.

“Just let me make you feel good,” he says, voice warm and comforting. You nod, closing your eyes, and he reaches under you to pull you even closer to his face.

Sanji draws his fingers out of you slowly and then presses his lips back to your entrance, probing his tongue against your hot arousal. Your hips buck inadvertently, and the movement presses his tongue deeper into you. Lost in pleasure already, you pull on his hair so hard that it hurts him (in the best way).

Sanji’s technique is mind blowing. You lose track of where his tongue and lips and fingers end and where your skin begins. All you know is that the space between your legs feels good, and hot, and sloppy, and buzzing, and throbbing, and Sanji’s there.

He can tell you’re close after a little while, can feel you writhing against his eager tongue as depraved sounds trickle out of you.

After fucking you with his tongue and playing with your clit, Sanji slides a finger into you to caress and pet your g-spot as he lavishes your clit with the rest of his attention. It’s mind-numbingly good and brings you to orgasm in seconds.

“S-s-sanji, I—fuck, fuck,” you whine at him and moan his name through your orgasm. The greedy slurping sounds that ring in the room are filthy and loud. While you cum you pull him (by his hair) as close as he can get to your core. Sanji licks you clean, savoring every last drop of the pleasure he coaxed out of you.

You’re in a daze, riding out the ripples of ecstasy from your orgasm as he moves upwards, climbing over you, to pull you into a tender kiss.

He’s prepared to leave it there—he doesn’t want to push anything further. He made you cum and that’s his dream come true. But even though you just came, you feel a burning, carnal desire for more. More of Sanji’s skin on yours, more of his hips moving, more of his soft hair in your hands, more everything.

“Sanji,” you mutter and his ears perk up. “Wanna do more.” It’s both a statement and a question.

“Are you sure, gorgeous?” He looks worried for a second. He doesn’t want to push you too far. But when he sees how strongly you nod your head yes, how blown out your pupils and lidded your eyes are in lust, he lets go of all apprehension.

“How about you sit up, pretty?” He asks, and you do as he says. Sanji sits up too, and he maneuvers you so you’re straddling him, chests pressed together. Your arms are thrown over his shoulders, you wrap your legs around him, and your lips come to meet his neck—he smells manly, musky, and faintly of cologne. His heart is beating so fast you can feel it in your chest.

Your head is still floating from your orgasm moments ago, but you have enough sense to lift up slightly, positioning yourself over his erection.

“Please, darling,” he whispers, feeling your hot breath on his neck.

While you place kisses on his neck, you sink down onto his length, slowly and cautiously. It’s a delicious feeling of being spread open—your body conforms to his girth and accommodates his (many) inches. The stretch feels amazing somehow, not painful like you were worried about.

When he’s fully inside of you the wiry ring of hair at the base of his shaft meets with your skin and he lets out a quiet groan.

“F-fuuhhhckkk.”

You sit like this for a second—his arms come to wrap around your waist and your walls throb around him. He’s trying to be patient, trying to fully appreciate this moment and etch each sensation in his mind. But his body is going into overdrive. His patience wears thin and disappears.

Sanji presses his hips upwards slightly, eliciting a gasp from you that makes his heart flutter. He does it again and the leaking tip of his shaft brushes that spongey spot inside of you just right.

“Ah, Sanji, fuck that feels good,” you whimper, speaking into the crook of his neck.

He does it again, harder this time. Each thrust of his hips conjures what feel like fireworks of pleasure. While your eyes are squeezed shut and your mouth hangs open in absent concentration, each press of his hips makes pretty colors erupt behind your eyes. Every burst of pleasure is red, white, purple, dazzlingly distracting.

His hands creep from your waist to your ass, then lower, to cup your thighs underneath and you’re reminded that this is a very real moment. He begins to slowly pull you up his length and press you back down, manipulating your movements on his shaft in a way that makes your eyes roll back in your head and your moans increase in desperation.

“Fuck, you’re—you’re perfect,” Sanji forces the words out between ragged breaths and grunts. “Perfect for me.”

Sanji is getting dangerously close to orgasm. He doesn’t know what to do—should he go slower now? Edge himself? Would you prefer he pulled out and took care of his own business?

As Sanji’s mind races for a second, you mutter something into his neck that makes him feel like his heart is going to stop.

“Inside.”

He pauses.

“What?”

“I said—ah—I said inside.”

Sanji gets the message. And while you’ve been explicit, he has to check. He’s just a gentleman through and through.

“Are you absolutely sure, beautiful?”

You nod again and lick a soft stripe up his neck. Sanji stifles a groan. His voice is hoarse, and his groans are punctuated by raspy breaths that go straight to your ear (and right between your legs).

When he starts to move again, Sanji finds a measured pace that shifts up a notch every few thrusts. The speed grows and he’s using all strength and concentration to make you feel as good as possible.

Your moans are so guttural that they almost sound like sobs. Each one goads on Sanji’s pace—and all the while, he’s actively conscious of the fact that he’s having sex with you, the person he loves, the person he’s loved for many months, the person he’s fantasized about being close with in every way.

If you could focus enough to get a good look at him you’d see that his cheeks are ruddy and his hair is plastered around the temples with sweat. He looks like a mess, and damn, it suits him.

In your daze, you’re approaching orgasm. You want him to cum, too, of course. You have an idea of something that might push him over the edge.

Your lips trail from his neck upwards, finding his earlobe. When you suck on it softly, Sanji pauses almost imperceptibly. He’s holding on for dear life. He’s close to orgasm, resisting it as much as he can so he can relish this moment for as long as physically possible.

But when you bite down on his earlobe, just enough to cause pain, Sanji crumbles. His thrusts turn haphazard and frantic. He loses himself in pleasure. Each gravelly moan that tumbles out of his mouth is followed by a whimper.

He cums when you bite down again. And while he cums, you whisper his name into his ear in the filthiest tone you can manage. It’s a tone that’s far more erotic than any you employed with him on the past. It’s a sincere one, one from the heart (and elsewhere), totally anchored in the reciprocal and yearning desire of the present moment.

Sanji comes apart and splits at the seams. As his arms encircle and pull you tighter, he rocks up one last time then, per your request, he orgasms inside of you. He moans your name through his orgasm, much like you did for him, and you know that he’s done this many times before. Your name is familiar and comfortable in his mouth.

The difference now is that (among other things) his words are met with a pair of ears other than his own. His moans are caused by your real warmth, flesh, and pleasure, too. It’s more intense than he could have imagined. He’s seeing stars. He buries his face in the crook of your neck while he orgasms, shuddering breaths while he embraces you so tight that it’s almost painful.

After many moments of labored, recovering breaths and soft nuzzles into each other’s skin, Sanji gingerly pulls out of you. He lifts you and sets you on your back on the bed. You’re coming back to reality slowly but surely. He props himself next to you and brings a hand to pet your hair.

“That was spectacular. You’re perfect, my love.”

“Nobody’s perfect,” you roll your eyes jokingly.

“Mmmm. Agree to disagree, gorgeous. C’mere.” Sanji kisses you softly once, cupping your face with both hands. When he pulls away, he seems to stiffen a bit. He offers a smile—did that look a little reserved, or are you overthinking things?—puts on his boxers, and goes to the bathroom to get you a towel.

The thought that just flitted through Sanji’s mind making him stiffen up isn’t a kind one. Frequently these sorts of thoughts weasel their way into his mind. This one just reminded him to not be 'too much'. Don’t be too overbearing. Don’t scare her away. Don’t suffocate her with your affection. What if she doesn’t want it? What if it’s too much for her?

Sanji reflects as he walks to grab you a towel. He’s been holding back his love for you for months. Ever since you first talked on the phone, he knew that he loved you. It has been many long months since then. And through all these long months, he’s tried to keep the visceral strength of his emotions at bay.

Now that Sanji knows you in real life, now that he’s started seeing you, now that the feelings are (supposedly) mutual, the love inside of him has only grown. But it hasn’t grown proportionately to what he allows to escape. In other words, as much as his love for you grows, he tries to reign it in for fear of being too much for you.

Sanji has been counting down the hours, minutes, and seconds until you’re comfortable enough with him for him to be fully himself. Because of his fear of scaring you away, he’s been trying to practice restraint. He’s been trying to present a version of himself that doesn’t seem too eager, too lovey-dovey and too obsessed. But every time he sees you, he feels like he’s going to burst at the seams.

As he walks through his apartment to grab you a towel, thoughts of self-doubt and caution assail his mind.

Could someone like you really love someone like him, a lonely, desperate loser who only works and smokes? It doesn't make any sense.

Will you get sick of him if he lets loose the strong feelings inside? If you get sick of him, he doesn't know how he'd cope with the heartbreak.

If he’s open with you, if he pets your hair like he wants to, holds your hand, stares longingly into your eyes and pulls you closer—if he does all of that and more, would it be too much for you? Will too much put you off, chase you away, or scare you?

Concern is written on his face plain as day, as much as he tries to hide it. You’ve noticed it a couple of times. On a few of the dates you’ve been on you've seen it peek through. And you saw it just now, when he stiffened up a bit.

You ponder for a moment on how to ease the tension you feel from him. How best can you offer this man some solace, in a sincere way that doesn’t have a trace of the artificial sugar through which you used to have to filter your words?

A couple seconds pass and you can hear Sanji padding softly back into his bedroom with a plush, white towel.

You take a second to admire his frame as he approaches the bed. He’s slender and toned. His hair is ruffled up and his cheeks are still rosy from the effort moments ago.

Your eyes sweep from his feet to his legs and thighs—they’re thick and hairy. Upwards more and you admire his pretty happy trail that snakes up his abdomen and thins out before it reaches his belly button.

Your eyes wander farther and you see his pecs—trimmed and defined—the same goes for his biceps, shoulders…

Sanji can tell you’re giving him a good look and he flushes crimson. The blush is enough to avert the negative thoughts mulling in his head.

As your eyes flick up to meet his, he smiles, but you can still make out some restraint—this faint tension from Sanji is a tension you can only surmise comes from his insecurity. You know him too well.

“Here you go, beautiful,” he says, rounding the bed to your side. He gets ready to kiss you again and help you get a bit tidier.

“Sanji,” your tone is different when you speak. It’s soft and firm at the same time. He pauses, heart stopping for a second.

Are you about to tell him you don’t want him? His mind races to the worst-case scenario.

“Yes?”

“Don’t forget that I’m head over heels for you, okay?” You reach out a hand to him. “You don’t have to hold anything back with me.”

He exhales and sits down on the bed next to you, sliding his fingers through yours.

“Fuck. Am I being that obvious?” He furrows his brow and lets out a nervous chuckle.

“Mmmm, only a little bit. Are you doing okay?”

He brings a hand to your cheek again. “I’m doing wonderfully. I’m just… I’m trying not to drown you in affection. I like you so much and I feel so strongly about you that I get a little worried about scaring you away.”

“Sanji.” You frown. It hurts to hear him say something like that. Maybe you haven’t been vocal enough with him about how you feel. “You’re not going to drown me in affection. I told you I’m head over heels for you. I mean it. I’m here for good and I love you.”

“You promise?” He squeezes your hand, and a smile takes over his lips.

“I promise. You're not going to scare me away. So no more holding back, okay?”

Sanji nods, relieved, and leans in for another kiss. He goes in with the intention of giving you a good one. But it turns into multiple.

His kisses feel different this time. Maybe they feel more honest. Softer. Sweeter. Something has changed.

When he pulls away from you, he keeps his face close. He’s so pretty up close like this—his eyes are stunning. His irises are a complicated color that you can’t quite place, his cheeks are flushed, and his hair is pushed back. His smile is charming and makes your stomach do flips.

“Now that I’m not holding back anymore,” he begins, “do you know how precious you are to me? How much I cherish you?”

“A lot?” You venture a guess, and your grin makes Sanji’s heart trip.

“A lot is an understatement. I can’t put it into words. I just want to shower you in affection, cook for you all day, and treat you like you deserve. I think about you a, uh, probably a concerning amount. I’m enamored.”

You thread you fingers through his hair again, pushing it back to expose his forehead some more, admiring those pretty cheekbones, and those swirly eyebrows.

“Well, I feel the same, Sanji. I’m glad you finally worked up the nerve to ask me out. You say that I’m perfect, but I think that’s you. Do you know how much I cherish you, Sanji?” You bring your entwined hands to your lips, kissing Sanji’s softly. "A lot. So don't ever hold back with me."

“Hearing that makes me happier than I can put into words, gorgeous.”

After exchanging more kisses and sickeningly sweet words, you put Sanji’s comfy clothes back on. You move to the living room again and he fixes you anything you please. You show him that show you love a lot, and he watches intently, laser-focused because he believes your taste in media (and other things) reflects some part of your character. As he watches, he wonders, what does she like best about this? What speaks to her about this?

His ardent admiration for you seeps out of him in a steady stream now. You soothed his heart and applied a salve of words and kisses. He’s happy to his core, with every fiber of his being, a pure sort of joy that he hasn’t felt in many, many years. He savors you as much as he possibly can and never stops counting his lucky stars, per say.

Maybe his lovesickness and insecurity will sneak up again on him. Most likely. He knows that next time that crushing wave comes for him—the wave of self-doubt and disgust—you’ll reassure him wholeheartedly. He won’t scare you away, he can’t, and he will never be too much for you.

< previous part | masterlist >

a/n: yay for more writing to laufey! i hope you liked this :) i feel very intense things about this man! :0 also this really is a labor of love it took me so long omfg.

#happy birthday sanji!#sanji smut #op sanji smut #op smut #op x reader #one piece x reader #one piece reader insert #sanji x reader #sanji x y/n #sanji x you

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ipushhimback · 1 day ago

Text

this… is a french braid

pairing: max verstappen x leclerc!reader warnings: none words: 850?

summary: who could have known that a braid can cause so much drama

It was the morning of the Dutch Grand Prix. You were standing in front of your daughter’s suitcase as you showed her the outfits you packed, none of which Emily agreed to wear.

“But look, chérie, this is such a pretty dress”, you said hoping that your daughter would finally agree to wear something.

“No. It is not. I want the one Uncle Charles gave me!”, your daughter pouted.

Sadly you knew that Em was stubborn. She wouldn’t just agree to wear something she didn’t want to.

“I don’t have Charles dress here… Please. Just wear one of these dresses… Or do you want to wear a jeans? With one of the shirts Papa got for you?”, you asked again, praying Emily would agree to the tiny Red Bull shirts Max got her just a few days ago.

The five-year-old scrunched her nose as she thought about it before agreeing.

“Ok. But I want pretty hair”, she said as she looked up at you.

“A braid?”, you asked as you pulled out the little jeans and Red Bull shirt for your daughter.

Emily nodded. “The pretty braid you always do. The not-just-on-the-bottom-braid.”

“You mean a French Braid?”, you asked while helping your daughter in the shirt.

“Yes. The magic braid that doesn’t look ugly after I run very fast.”

You just nodded as you grabbed the comb from the suitcase and tried to gently detangle your daughter’s curls. Methodically, you parted her hair and placed one strand over another while you listened to Emily rambling about how Uncle Charles promised her that Alex would bring Leo with her and Uncle Arthur had promised her to bring her chocolate to the track.

“And Uncle Charlie said he will give me an own car so I can drive around alone-“

“Charles said what?”, you asked shocked. “A car?”

“Yes, a car. A red one. Like his car”, Emily said dead serious.

You just stared at her through the mirror, deciding that you’ll have to talk to Charles about that… car for your five year old daughter.

You finished the braid by wrapping a small elastic around the hair.

“Such a pretty girl”, you said smiling which made Emily giggle.

“You are pretty, too, Maman”, Em said and you had to admit, not even a compliment of Max could compare to your daughter complimenting you.

“Thank you, chérie. Now, let’s go. Papa is probably already waiting for us.”

“YES! Can I show him my hair then?!”, Emily said excitedly.

“Of course you can. Can we leave now? Is your outfit good? Braids don’t hurt?”, you asked praying that everything would be good so they could finally leave.

Emily thought for a moment but nodded eventually, making you sigh in relief.

“Amazing. Then get your backpack, chérie.”

—-

Only half an hour later they arrived at the paddock and as soon as Em saw Max she started running towards him.

“PAPA! Look at my pretty hair. Maman did a braid! The magic braid!” The five-year-old turned her head so Max could look at her hair.

“Wow! Such a pretty braid, Em!”, Max exclaimed before he looked closer.

“Liefje, this”, he looked at you while pointing at the braid, “is a French Braid…”

You looked absolutely confused. “Yes? It is the one your daughter requested after not wanting to wear anything…? Is there a problem?”

Max now looked like he might start crying. Seriously, it was the exactly same face, as Emily’s before she throws a tantrum.

“We are at the Dutch Grand Prix! She… she cannot have a French Braid! We… we are Dutch! My baby girl is Dutch!”

You looked up in the sky, pinching the bridge of your nose, while telling yourself it wouldn’t be worth it to start yelling now. After the drama with Emily not wanting to wear anything, your nerves were already used up.

“Mon cœur. I really really love you. But a damn French Braid does not mean she isn’t Dutch anymore…”

Max pouted. “But-“

“No!”, you exclaimed before you could stop yourself. “Max. Next time I will gladly let you braid her hair but today, please just accept that she has a French Braid. Ok?”

Max still looked sad but nodded. “I guess your Maman chose France over the Netherlands”, he whispered in Emily’s ear.

“But Maman is from Monaco”, his daughter said confused.

“Close enough”, Max sighed. “Tomorrow, when it is race day, I will braid your hair, ok? And we will choose a pretty dress.”

—-

The next morning you had the time of your life. You were sitting on the balcony of your hotel room while Max was in the room, trying to get Emily to wear a dress.

“Baby girl, please! This is so pretty! I beg you! Please just wear it. I am sure Uncle Charles will love it!”

You have been hearing Max beg for around half an hour now, even considered going inside to help him. But honestly, you were enjoying the sun and your coffee way too much. Max will handle it…

a/n: this was an idea i had in the middle of the night… i hope it is good hahah

taglist: @strawberryy-kiwii / @a-distantdreamer / @requiemforthepoets / @martygraciesversion381 / @l-vroom4 / @comicalivy / @sid-is-gr8 / @picklesbuddy93 / @sadiemack9 / @f1fantasys / @cloud-55 / @sunny44 / @widow-cevans / @gigicisneros / @mbioooo0000 / @sinfully-yoursss / @bravo-delta-eccho / @rue-t / @mayax2o07 / @alexanderachillesisgay / @maviesamour / @suhchenjun / @pippyth3hippy / @sweate-r-weathe-r / @joannaln4 / @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy / @aleatorio1234

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complete-clownery · 2 days ago

Text

some fun facts about this whole picture

(also just because I share all of this with you guys, nothing is set in stone, if you have your own theories that's the coolest thing ever!!! Share them with me please!!)

🍜Some of y'all said that Macaque was sitting alone but believe me just because Bai He turned around to chat with MK and Mei she is only there because Macaque came and Macaque is only there because Bai He begged him to tag along,

THEY COME IN A PAIR DO NOT SEPARATE IN GROUP PICTURES!!!

🍜 You might have noticed that some of the chopstick holders and sauce holders have stickers on them. Those were put there by MK. He first did it when he was much younger to help decorate the shop because he overheard a convo between Tang and Pigsy discussing renovation and finances - it was a whole thing - Pigsy even got mad at MK, but they figured it out eventually and nowadays when the stickers get too worn MK replaces them with new ones

🍜 Mei is showing Bai He a puppy video you can hardly see it

🍜 Mei hardly even touches Red Son in the illustration, Red Son is just completely distraught by the idea of being so close to someone. (He's very embarrassed they might be blushing a bit too (I just weren't able to draw that properly lol))

🍜 Yeeah Yeah okay,,, I know there is a shadowpeach shaped question in the room bugging your minds like: omg clownery is it on purpose that they are the only characters that we can't see the faces of???

🍜MK is sitting on the outside of the boot because he keeps on getting up and helping pigsy around (it's not even a conscious decision anymore, whenever they sit down with the others he sits somewhere, where he can easily get up to land a hand to Pigsy (or to anyone in general))

Except from this one ;]

And my answer to that is: I made this drawing on a whim, I started drawing it purely to mess around with perspective and expected to give up halfway bc it looked ass, I could have hardly given it any deeper meaning or thought. How could've I possibly planned anything? The core elements of this picture are all developed while I was drawing it...

See when I sat down and got an idea about a group picture I wanted to differentiate the celestial monkeys (excluding MK) from the main group

This picture takes place some time after season 3 and a bit before season 4. I would like to say that Wukong and Macaque are not a part of this group. Especially in season 3 both of them have done terrible shit and regardless of where they're sitting and what they are doing, they're not part of it all.

For Macaque this is pretty easily illustrated, he is the one who stands out the most, not a lot of people want him there since they did try to kill members of the group even if he was under the influence of LBD. He's at a different table. MK invited them bc MK genuinely wants to be friend Macaque, but this was already stated: Bai He wants Macaque to be there - I have a lot of head canons about their relationship but I'm not going to talk about this here cuz this rant might get even longer - but Bai He at first was scared as fuck with Wukong around, she only felt better when Macaque was there. She has gotten better since then, as you can see she's pretty comfortable with MK and Mei (even Red Son surprisingly), but she still needs Macaque there.

Well for once he is turned away from the pov, we cant see his face already distancing him from you guys the viewers.

Making Wukong stand out and look isolated is a bit more tricky... He's in the group seemingly chatting with Sandy, he's there, part of the whole thing, but there are subtle hints about his environment and body language you might notice:

Also I think It has been made pretty evident in the show that Wukong loves eating right? If he was perfectly at ease he would at least have 3 bowls of noodles, yet he barely touched anything, he's not eating.

His body language is also closed off, arms crossed, legs just next to each other tightly, he's not comfortable, he's somewhere else, Sandy is there but his talking at Wukong rather than talking to him.

I mean he almost got Mei killed and the whole plan screwed since he was unwilling to cooperate and share his plans with the others. I like to think that Mei just straight up ignored him for a while,, same with pigsy,, those two had enough of Wukongs past getting MK in trouble, they do not like him (and them being so buddy buddy with him in later seasons is annoying af to me,,, maybe season 5 gets some form of pass, because more time has passed and Wukongs actions in season 4 were considerably better, but they were waaaaay too comfortable with him at season 5,,, it bugged me a lot)

I think they're also very aware of each other's presence (I have a whole au that plays between season 3 and 4 explaining how Macaque started living on the FFM with Wukong, so in that context,,,, damn they are having a BLAST especially Macaque, he would like to be anywhere but near Wukong :] )

🍜Also they're sitting away from each other as far as possible, and (this was not planned and got pointed out by one of my friends) Wukong is sitting closest to the sun and Macaque is the one who is in the shade the most

Sorry about the big monkey rant, I am just so extremely shadowpeach pilled that it distracts my brain form everything else

And once again: I tell all this stuff to you guys, but feel free to come up with your own theories about the illustration, details, backstories, whatever you have in mind. You guys have different interpretations makes it all the more fun!!

Please share your theories with me in the comments I would love to hear them 🍎🍊🍊

I'll edit this if I have more ideas 💡

Wow okay

#clown does art #lmk #lego monkey kid #lmk sun wukong #lmk macaque #lmk mk #lmk mei #lmk tang #lmk pigsy #lmk freenoodles #lmk sandy #lmk red son #lmk bai he

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pedge-page · 1 day ago

Note

does joel take care of wifeys bush for her while she’s pregnant? I have a feeling he would appreciate hers very much

18+ ONLY

You would absolutely insist on having it shaved, and you'd shave it yourself as much as possible while pregnant. But when you get to that point that you can't see or reach over your belly, you call upon your doting, obedient, loyal husband who would do anything you ask of hi-

"No."

You blink at him. With a razor blade in one hand and shaving cream in the other, you're naked as your soon-to-be-baby will be on the day of her birth.

"What."

He shrugs. "Said no."

"But... its..."

"It's beautiful."

You scoff. "C'mon Joel." Holding out the razor and cream, you smile with pleading eyes.

He only shakes his head again. "I'm not doing it. I wanna enjoy the bush."

"The what?"

He chuckles. "Heard me." He paces forward, your belly bumping his as you are forced to step backwards. "I said--" he reaches behind you to knead your ass-- "I want--" You find yourself pinned in front of the sink-- "the bush."

"I dont-- what does that even mean?"

But he's already kissing down your belly button.

"Leg," he commands.

You give him a sideways look from above, barely seeing his lidded eyes over the swell of your tummy.

You whimper but lift your thigh, enabling him to hook it over his shoulder. His hand finds its way to cup against your lower back so the countertop doesn't uncomfortably cut into your spine.

"Joel..." you whine. "Its just....so..." you cover your face with your hands, though you can't even see his expression down there in the great beyond anyway.

"S'magical," he replies, nose nuzzling your newly grown hair. "Ooo baby. It's like my beard rubbed off on ya down here."

"How is THAT sexy?"

"You like my beard don't you?"

Fair point. "But not on me. Not down there."

He chuckles, inhaling your scent with a kiss to your pelvis.

"Let's get explorin," he grumbles with a sly smile, before spreading you expertly apart with his fingers. His lips attached to your clit, and he starts sucking with such precision, youre not sure what "exploring" hes talking about. The man has chartered every millimeter of area down there. Playing you like a piccolo, Joel eats you out and nudges your g spot until you're crying and grasping the sink behind you.

Once you've cum three times on his tongue, you're exhausted. "J-joel," you plea.

"Mmm?" He pulls away, showcasing his soaking mustache and lopsided drunk grin. "S-wrong, Momma?" He rubs along your belly with his slick hand, soothing your twiching body.

You feel dizzy, unable to argue with him. "M'not...asking you... take care... of-of... it...'gain."

He giggles into your belly. "Honey," he tuts. "Wasn't gonna ask your permission. I'm gonna enjoy this for as many nights as I can get it. Now how about I take ya to bed so we can continue preserving these forests?"

- - - -

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow @wintersquirrel @fluffygoffpanda @picketniffler @bbyanarchist @94namkooksworld

#joel dealing with preggo wife #ask #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #joel miller fic #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller smut #tlou smut #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #last of us fic #the last of us fluff #the last of us fic #the last of us smut #last of us smut

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squshymarsh · 17 hours ago

Text

DCxDP Prompt #5

For the bit(we’ll be cultists)

When Danny won the title of Ghost King, he wasn’t expecting some of his more ghostly attributes to seep over into his human form.

Or to be unable to control his powers like at all for a month or two after gaining his new title.

He’s still 14-15 though and has to be in Highschool to make sure his grades don’t fall any further. Even if he did just save the town with only his piers in his grade know about him.

It’s no surprise when he accidentally walks through a door after trying to open it only to find himself intangible or to start floating away with no way to control it and need one of his classmates to save him from floating into the stratosphere.

It’s all fine for a while, people help him. Those who used to bully him now lend a hand when he needs it. They aren’t kind about it but they aren’t shoving him into lockers anymore.

But that doesn’t last.

People start to notice the strange things that keep happening as his powers grow and become harder and harder to hide even with help. He had made an entire class take place on the ceiling one day. Another he made half the town float.

The Fenton parents and the GIW start working together to figure it out. It’s only a matter of time if no one does anything

So what is Danny, his friends and his class going to do to hide the real reason of what’s going on?

They pretend to be a cult. Full on cartoonishly cult like. The chanting, the robes, the sneaking out to an old building on the edge of town to have a ritual kind of cult. Playing off Danny’s fluctuating powers as the results of their work.

This gets the opposition to back off a bit. Not their circus not their monkeys. And the rituals release some of Danny’s pent up power.

Danny just had to lay in a circle, surrounded by the faces of friends and classmates while they chant and his powers gets released a little at a time.

It’s a great deal.

Until Danny is found out one day unable to use the cult as an excuse and has to bounce out of town. And the rest of his Casper High Class, ever committed to the bit, follow him since the GIW and the Fentons are laying waste to the town and it’s just not safe.

Where do they go?

To the Crime Capital of the world of course!

Gotham is the perfect place to continue the bit. Their ‘cult’ runs all the way to Gotham, looking out for one another and the such. Not because they care about each other, of course.

They all tell themselves that but there’s only so much chanting in ghost speak and Latin a frenemy relationship can take.

They are tight knit by time they settle in a collection of old buildings on the edge of Gotham. Danny’s powers are starting to settle, but he still has bad days. Those days the cult gathers and ‘performs a ritual’ but really they just have a little get together, sitting in a big room set up with a circle with Danny laying and meditating in the middle and chat in Latin or Ghost speak.

For the bit, they preform a fake ritual. Headed by Sam since she has all the knowledge on what cults do. For the bit, the give offerings to Danny in exchange for him protecting them both back in Amity and in Gotham. For the bit, they make it a monthly thing or as needed.

Sure Danny doesn’t realize he’s given each of his friends and classmates blessing from a literal King of Gods and Beings Beyond Human Comprehension.

It was for the bit.

What wasn’t for the bit was getting caught by the local furries.

Danny hadn’t had a ritual in a month, his powers were building up but he was stressed with work and school.

His cult of friends decided he needed a ritual and pseudo-kidnap him to sacrifice his own power to himself.

Don’t ask them, it just works.

Mid ‘ritual’ Danny is trapped in the circle while they keep his powers contained as it’s released. He could destroy the building if he so much as blinks. They are nearly through with it. Can return to the party after they’re done and he’s ‘normal’ again.

So when the Bat and Co. crash the ritual, right before the end. Danny can’t do anything while his classmates both defend him, each other, and those trying to finish the ritual.

It’s looking bad but the ritual finishes. Danny is freed from the circle and starts helping his friends defend themselves and escape. Of course, he knows what this looks like. And he knows that the Bats and Birds are just trying to keep their own city safe from a perceived threat.

So he apologizes to them while he takes down the Bats and Birds then absconds with his Cult&Co. hoping they would understand. No one was hurt and there was no loss on either side. Alls well ends well?

To the Bats and Birds.

They find a group of robed cultists that established themselves quickly and then they see the cult gather, having a party until another group come in dragging Adoption Bait behind them. They start the ritual. Bats and Co. think kid is getting sacrificed and step in. Only to be nearly fought off and the ritual to complete.

They then have to watch as some entity controls the kids body to fight them off. The kid looks terrified, apologizing while he is forced to fight for the cult.

Then they all get away.

(I have the flu, have this lil idea/drabble while I try not to die)

#dc x dp #dcxdp fic #dc x dp au #dc x dp prompt #dp x dc crossover #dcu crossover #dcu #dpxdc #dp x dc prompt #danny phantom crossover #danny fenton #danny phantom #danny is the ghost king #Casper High class is a cult #for the bit #no one is actually being sacrificed #or used as a meat puppet #Danny runs a cult? nah Danny is the Entity the Cult has to deal with

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fangdokja · 3 days ago

Text

Some women play hard to get. You play impossible to afford.

♡ Yandere! DILF's x Fem. Reader. Sugar Daddy, Old Money, Professor, Sponsor

♡ Headcanons. Midas Eyes - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 1,916

You learned early on that the world was cruel.

No, really, you learned it at four years old when your mother sold you for a pack of cheap cigarettes and a crumpled fifty-dollar bill to a greasy landlord who smelled like mothballs and desperation. He took one look at your wide, galaxy-stained eyes, eyes that had already started to carry that otherworldly sheen, and promptly died of a stroke before he could even touch you. The police called it a tragic accident. Your mother called it a waste of fifty dollars. You called it a Tuesday. Even now at eighteen years old, life's been like that.

You were shuffled into the system often. Foster homes, group homes, shelters—hell itself would’ve had more warmth. But that’s where you learned the first rule of survival: if you can’t fight it, learn to use it. You were tired of people looking at you like a piece of meat. Tired of the unwanted hands, the constant stares, the whispering in dark corners about how you “glowed like an angel.” You hated it. Hated that your eyes could make anyone do what you wanted, that they could turn even the most self-righteous into a desperate, panting fool.

But you also hated starving. And cold. And the feeling of powerlessness even more than you hated your ability.

So you made a choice: if the world wanted to use you, you’d use it first.

In due time, you had learned to control it. To turn it on and off at will. To make people see what you wanted them to see. You were a ghost in the system, slipping through cracks, taking what you needed, and leaving before anyone could remember your name. Some nights you’d practice in the mirror, staring at yourself until your pupils bled into cosmic chaos, until the universe itself seemed to shift in your gaze. You named it “The Midas Eyes.” Because everything you saw—everything you wanted—was yours.

And eventually, you had tasted money, real money. Not the pocket change from pickpocketing or the damp bills from scamming local creeps, but real wealth. Luxury. High society. It started with a bet. Some bloated banker had looked down on you from his too-expensive car, and you’d made him hand over his Rolex with a single glance. A week later, you had an entire stock portfolio under your name. A month after that, you had real estate. The world bent over backward for you, and you made sure to squeeze every last dime out of it.

But money alone wasn’t enough. You wanted power. Control. A safety net so thick that even the universe itself couldn’t shake it.

So you learned the second rule of survival: play the role they expect.

If people wanted a dumb, submissive slut, then that’s what you’d be. You let them think they were buying you, when in reality, you were buying them. Men who thought they were the hunters quickly found themselves devoured. You became an investment, a commodity with a price tag so high that only the richest could afford a taste. A model. A cam girl. A prostitute. A luxury escort. You didn’t just sell sex—you sold power, exclusivity.

You became a myth in elite circles, a legend whispered behind closed doors.

“She only takes billionaires.”

“She can make you do anything.”

“She’s dangerous.”

You reveled in it. If they wanted a goddess, you’d be a goddess. If they wanted a pet, you’d leash yourself until it tightened around their throat instead. You didn’t care about love, relationships, or any of that sentimental trash. You loved one thing, and one thing only: money.

And now, you had your sights set on the next step up the food chain.

Not just any rich men. The richest. The most powerful. The ones who controlled the world’s wealth like gods playing chess.

You’d already caught their attention. You could feel it, sense the way they watched from the shadows, sizing you up like a meal, thinking they were the predators.

You smiled.

They had no idea who they were dealing with.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Sugar Daddy who's the human equivalent of a Wall Street crash—volatile, erratic, and absolutely lethal to anyone who underestimates him.

♡ Yandere! Sugar Daddy who made his first billion by accident. It was supposed to be a scam. A joke. A fun little side hustle that somehow spiraled into an empire overnight. He didn't mean to disrupt the global market, but oops. Here he was.

♡ Yandere! Sugar Daddy who still doesn’t quite understand how he got here, only that money feels like a game and he’s very, very good at playing it. He thrives on chaos. He doesn’t invest; he gambles. He doesn’t plan; he improvises. He doesn’t think things through, but somehow, miraculously, it always works out.

♡ Yandere! Sugar Daddy who is both a genius and a complete menace to society. If there’s a rule, he breaks it. If there’s a limit, he tests it. If there’s a way to make money off something, he’s already done it—twice.

♡ Yandere! Sugar Daddy who meets you at a high-stakes poker game, where billionaires bet islands and countries instead of money. He’s bored out of his mind. Then you walk in.

♡ Yandere! Sugar Daddy who watches you clean out the entire table in less than an hour, methodically breaking men apart with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You fascinate him. Not just because you’re beautiful, but because you’re dangerous. Because your Midas Eyes meet his, and for the first time in his life, he feels like prey.

♡ Yandere! Sugar Daddy who watches, enraptured, as you make a man sign away his company with nothing but a glance and a well-placed touch. Who leans forward when you finally turn your attention to him, a slow, assessing look that makes his breath catch. Who grins, wild and reckless, because he can already tell—you’re going to ruin him, and he’s going to let you.

———

♡ Yandere! Old Money who comes from a line of men who have never known the taste of failure. Who were born at the top and will die at the top, because that’s how the world works.

♡ Yandere! Old Money who was raised with a silver spoon in his mouth and a dagger in his back. Who learned from an early age that emotions are weaknesses, that sentimentality is a disease, that control is the only currency that matters.

♡ Yandere! Old Money who does not ask. He takes. He dominates. He bends the world to his will, because it has never occurred to him that it could be any other way.

♡ Yandere! Old Money who meets you long before you’re anything. When you’re still clawing your way up, bleeding and starving and feral. He sees the potential. The raw, untamed brilliance lurking beneath your calculated indifference.

♡ Yandere! Old Money who decides, on a whim, to train you. To refine you. To mold you into something worthy of his attention. He does not coddle. He does not nurture. He sharpens you like a blade and throws you into the fire, watching with satisfaction as you come out harder, colder, more lethal.

♡ Yandere! Old Money who realizes, too late, that he has created something he cannot control. That the little girl he shaped into a weapon now turns those razor-sharp edges back on him. That you are no longer a student but an equal. A rival. A threat.

♡ Yandere! Old Money who watches, with a mixture of pride and something far darker, as you carve out your own empire. Who finds himself drawn to you in ways that make no logical sense. Who wants to possess you, to own you, to bring you back under his control—but knows, deep down, that you would rather burn the world than belong to anyone but yourself.

———

♡ Yandere! Professor who is both an enigma and a monster. The kind of man who speaks in riddles and thinks in labyrinths, who sees ten steps ahead and moves accordingly.

♡ Yandere! Professor who is a scholar, a historian, a philosopher—but also a thief, a manipulator, a man who collects secrets the way others collect art.

♡ Yandere! Professor who teaches at the most prestigious university in the world, not because he cares about education, but because it gives him access to the minds of the next generation. Because knowledge is power, and power is everything.

♡ Yandere! Professor who meets you when you enroll in his class under a false name, slipping into his lecture hall like a shadow. Who notices you immediately—not because of your beauty, but because of your silence. Because you sit in the back, watching, calculating, dissecting his every word like you’re searching for weakness.

♡ Yandere! Professor who finds himself intrigued. Who starts testing you, pushing you, setting traps just to see if you’ll spring them. Who watches, delighted, as you navigate his mind games with the ease of someone who has spent their entire life playing a much deadlier version.

♡ Yandere! Professor who realizes, too late, that he has become obsessed. That he lingers on your name longer than he should. That he rewatches security footage just to see the way you move. That he dreams of you, of your Midas Eyes, of what it would feel like to have you look at him like that.

♡ Yandere! Professor who knows, deep down, that you are playing him just as much as he is playing you—but does not care. Because for the first time in his life, he has met someone worthy of the game.

———

♡ Yandere! Sponsor who is quiet, calculating, and impossibly dangerous. The kind of man who does not waste words, who does not make idle threats, who does not hesitate.

♡ Yandere! Sponsor who grew up in the underbelly of society, in the kind of places that eat the weak and spit out the strong. Who fought his way out with nothing but his fists and a mind sharper than any blade.

♡ Yandere! Sponsor who does not trust easily. Who does not give freely. Who does not believe in kindness, because he has never been given any.

♡ Yandere! Sponsor who meets you when you come looking for a backer, someone to fund whatever grand scheme you’ve concocted this time. Who listens as you lay out your plans with the cold precision of a woman who has never known failure.

♡ Yandere! Sponsor who sees the hunger in your eyes, the same hunger that once burned in his. Who recognizes a kindred spirit, a fellow survivor, a wolf disguised as a lamb.

♡ Yandere! Sponsor who decides, in that moment, that he will back you. That he will give you what you need. That he will watch, from the shadows, as you rise higher and higher, knowing that every step you take brings you closer to him.

♡ Yandere! Sponsor who does not ask for repayment. Who does not demand gratitude. Who does not claim ownership. But who watches. Who waits. Who bides his time, knowing that one day, you will realize that he is the only one who truly understands you.

♡ Yandere! Sponsor who will be there when that day comes. Who will catch you when you finally fall. Who will remind you that some debts can never be repaid—only collected.

———

Because you may be the predator now.

But sooner or later, every predator meets something hungrier.

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr content guidelines involving minors, some plot details of the original story were changed to fit the platform. If you want the true original story, please look at the author's official website or Ao3.

Yandere! DILFs

Headcanons 1 : Midas Eyes (General)

Some women play hard to get. You play impossible to afford.

You're not a gold digger. You're an entrepreneur. And business is booming.

🔞Every orgasm comes with a zero at the end of your bank account.

He’s not jealous. He just needs to remind you why no one else can fuck you like he does.

🔞"You wanna act like a whore? Then be one. On your knees. Now."

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd , @lem-hhn , @yuki-istired , @lilyalone , @starryperson , @yandreams-storageblog , @tiffyisme3760 , @songbirdgardensworld , @yune1337 , @mocalocha , @astreaaaaaa6 , @poopooindamouf , @yandereaficionado , @esther-kpopstan , @iris-arcadia , @hopingtocleaemedschool , @doncellaescarlata , @futuristicxie

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ For Reader-Inserts. I only write Male Yandere x Female (Fem.) Reader (heterosexual couple). No LGBTQ+:

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World.

♡ Book 4 [you are here]. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Notice #1. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution

♡ Book 6. The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood.

♡ Notice #2. This masterlist is strictly for non-con smut and serves as an exercise in refining erotic horror writing. Comments that reduce my work to mere sexual gratification, thirst, or casual simping will not be tolerated. If your response is primarily thirst-driven, keep it to yourself—repeated violations may result in blocking. Read the RULES before engaging. The tag list is reserved for followers I trust to respect my boundaries; being included is a privilege, not a right. You may request to be added, but I will decide based on trust and adherence to my guidelines. I also reserve the right to remove anyone at any time if their engagement becomes inappropriate.

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siri-ike · 3 days ago

Text

(Warning: this meanders, prepare for a long read)

Some dark rituals can be done with any moonlight, and slightly more complex ones require a full moon. With that small difference, they go from being available every night to one night a month. There are of corse rarer moons, such as the super moon, which only occurs once every four months.

This one is the opposite. It requires as little moonlight as possible. This is why this can only be done tonight. The night of the micro new moon. A new moon as far from the earth as possible.

When the spirits are too weak to fight back.

You'd think on such a clear day you'd see some stars for once. But nooOOoOoo.

It was a dark and dreary night in Gotham just like all the others. The Riddler was teasing the newest detective, Penguin was throwing a fit over something or other, Poison Ivy was hitting on her therapist, and inside the Gotham clock tower Clayface stood frozen through and waiting to be picked up by police.

Dick thought this would be cooler. He'd been Robin for SIX WHOLE DAYS, and barely anything had happened. Anything he'd gotten to help with anyway. He's nine years old. He can take care of himself. Bru- Batman really needs to learn that.

So when he'd heard rumors at school about suspicious activity in one of gothams hundreds of "supposedly abandoned buildings/mansions," He had to check it out. And he would do it on his own.

Or he was gonna. Not to name any names, but Dick seems to have very loose lips.

That's how it became just him, some kids from school, a boy from a Gala, a boy he met at a police station and a girl from right outside the house, seemingly also planing to break in. But aside from that, it was a covert mission.

Thankfully, none of them questioned or even seemed to care that he brought a utility belt. In fact, they were surprisingly well armed. Wallace brought a toolbelt. Garfield showed up in a skintight outfit with steel plate shoes and gloves (what does he expect to happen?). Nadia had knives hidden all over her body, a garrote wire, sharp metal fingernails, and some kind of powder (what does she expect to happen?!). His classmates all chickened out, so really, he got the best outcome he could have asked for.

Getting in was just a matter of hopping a wire fence. Everyone was able to pull that off except Wallace, who had to cut his way in. While they waited, Garfield was somehow able to sneak in and unlock a door.

Inside was no one. As expected for just a rumor. For some reason, it felt like the floor boards didn't creak when Garfield or Nadia stepped on them, but Dick and Wallace made them wanna alert the media. They searched every room from the ground floor to the attic, but all they found were a closet full of identical purple robes, a collection of jars with animal fetuses in them, a chest full of severed fingers arranged in order of least decomposed to most decomposed, and wax statues that looked oddly similar to Dicks three classmates who bailed on them. Eventually, they had to admit defeat and go home.

But just as they were about to exit through the front door, Nadia begged them to take a closer look. It was just as well. They needed to find Garfeild anyway, seeing as he'd disappeared at some point.

Gar looked quizzically at the device Dick (Richard, 9, Caucasian, Male) had handed him.

"These will let us communicate if we get separated." He said as he pocketed the three extras.

Once they got to the fence, Gar heard a noise coming from further behind the manor and walked off to investigate. It turned out to be girl, 12, black, introduced herself as Nadia. She was intent on breaking in as well. She was well prepared and seemed to know what she was doing. But for some reason, Wally (Wallace, 11, Caucasian, male) was adamant about not letting a girl in on a dangerous mission. While he struggled to cut through the fence, everyone else had jumped so easily, Gar went ahead and snuck in.

No one ever locks the third floor windows. He quickly checked the most obvious places for signs of habitation, the kitchen hasn't been used in at least a month, but the living room barely had any dust in it compared to everywhere else, exept for the bedroom he'd entered through. There were fresh rope marks on the bed post, and the sheets were messy. Someone had been tied up there.

When he opened the door, he saw Dick kneeling in front of him, clearly about to pick the lock. He'd apparently also given Nadia one of the spare communicators.

The others all went to search the house, but Gar had all the information he needed. There had to be a basement, even if there's no obvious entrance. Everyone split up, and he went straight underground.

It was easy, worm through the floor boards, mole down till he met solid stone, after that he could just crawl around as a centipede until he found a crack. Nothing to it, really. Too bad, he had to leave his shoes and gloves behind.

He ended up in a wine cellar full of bodies. Most were just skeletons, but some could still be ID'd if they told the police. To his right was a spiral staircase down, but no apparent way up.

So down he went.

The steps were made of cobblestone and looked much older than the building on top. The occasional bone or severed limb suggested people tried and failed to get up to the closed off room he came from. The further he descended the thicker the air got, Gar was no stranger to the smell of decomposing, but this was worse than Grandma's Bachelorette party.

At the bottom lay an explanation for the foul odor.

The floor was soft but coarse. Almost like dirt, but it was strung together somehow. Night vision really wasn't helping. He patted around with his feet, not wanting to get this residue on his hands. He's definitely felt this texture before. But where? If only there was the least bit of light in there.

Wait, what was he doing? There's more senses than just sight.

Gar made a clicking sound with the back of his throat and listened for the reverberations. This room is small. There's piles of stuff in the corners, probably just more bodies. There's a wooden door with metal bars at adult eye level. Squirreling through there, led him to a corridor.

Another click revealed there were more rooms, most had the same wooden door, but one had a thinner wooden door with no bars. On the walls were torches. Gar had nothing to light them with, nor a need to.

Just passing them, Gar learned the other cells smelled like death, too. He snailed through a chip in the bottom of the door. He didn't check if it was locked, but there could have been people on the other side.

Smells better in here. And there was a little bit of light coming from a table. It was a cellphone, plugged into a powerbank. It's at 48%. Someone was here less than an hour ago. Gar took the battery and stuck it into his thigh, leaving the cable out and attached to the phone in his hand. He turned on the flashlight. It looked like a small dining area, like a break room at a renesance fair. There was another door opposite the one he came in. It looked more worn. Another wall had a little kitchen, enough to make a quick meal, definitely a work break room. Opposite that was a ladder through a tunnel. Finally.

"He probably just went home." Wally huffed. He really needs to stop letting strangers drag him into B&Es. "We could always just report the fingers and baby jars."

"They were fetuses," Dick replied. "The term "baby" implies human and already born. What we saw were aborted and, therefore, not illegal to keep."

"Ok. First off. Nerd. Second, the fingers couldn't have been legal. Now, let's go."

"He also lives all the way in New Hampshire. His parents won't pick him up til tomorrow."

The two were startled by a thudd behind them. Nadia had dropped Gars shoes and gloves on the floor in an attention-grabbing way. Fine, so he didn't go home.

"I called his communicator. These things were at the back door." Nadia said flatly.

Oh, right. They all had communicators.

"Do you think someone could have grabbed him?" There was a slight hint of excitement in Dicks tone.

"If I were kidnapping someone, I wouldn't take the time to remove their shoes and gloves. I think he took them off for some reason and disappeared afterward. Now, there are few reasons why someone would take their shoes off in this sort of environment." She picked up one shoe. "My guess would be water. He could have found a basement or something and realized that it was flooded, so, to get a closer look, he removed his unnecessary, heavy gear." Nadia theorized. "I didn't find any doors leading to a basement, so, if it exists, the entrance must be very well hidden."

"It could be outside." Dick added. "Let's search the grounds."

She should probably have been scared, but Álaug hadn't felt much of anything the past cupple days. Couldn't this stupid cult just hurry up and do whatever they were planning to do already?

Every muscle in her body felt heavier than usual. She could barely lift herself up off the dirty gauze covered floor. She rubbed her eyes, but the "tired" was firmly in there. Around her was a blurry room, with four blurry walls and one blurry door. Outside, she could make out faint footsteps. Inside sat a blurry girl, who used the wall to pull herself up and - no? Nevermind. There lay a girl falling back asleep on the floor.

Nadia snapped back to herself. It's her, Álaug is OK. Sort of. But she has to be near by atleast. Nadia looks around herself. The place she saw was all stone. It couldn't have been in this mansion. It was dark, too. Chances were, it was too deep for moonlight. Nadia quickly grabbed the shoes and gloves from the floor. She showed them to the others along with some lie to lead them underground.

Unfortunately, the smaller one seemed to think it could only be outside, completely disregarding the possibility of a hatch under a rug or a door behind a bookcase, and the redhead refused to listen to her. Thankfully, there was a storm cellar for them to investigate while she went back inside to search properly. Think. When they got here, before they started touching things. The living room was the only place that looked like it had been used. She turned it upside down. She moved the couch and coffee table just to check under the rug. She emptied every shelf, drawer, and cabinet to no avail. She tapped on the floor and walls until she got to the wood panels on the side of the stairs. She pushed it in, and a short door popped out. At last. She did it. And this time she was going to make it in time.

Inside was a long dark tunnel down. "It's in the living room." She announced into the communicator, which reverberated from the second one she had. Oh, well. They either heard or they didn't. The green one was the only one who had proved to be more than dead weight so far anyway. Not that she needed any of them. She only needed Álaug.

An estimated 84 trillion miles into the tunnel, Nadia finally admitted she might have needed a flashlight, too. But she's not giving up just because it's dark. After a 15-minute decent, she heard a click. It was quiet and far away, but it sounded alive. Man or Beast? Would either be a good thing?

She's gone! Seriously? He only had three people with him, and two of them were already missing! Dick pulled out his communicator to track her location. It looked like she was... 0.497 miles away. How did she get half a mile away? The dot still reads on the property. Right below them, in fact.

Was this too much? Was he in over his head? Should he call Batman?

Well, no one knows about Nadia, and Gar had specifically mentioned his parents would not notice him missing for at least 3 weeks. So it's not like he can get in trouble if they keep going alone.

After a while, it started raining, and the boys were forced to move the search back inside. Where they found the living room wrecked and a door where there previously wasn't one.

Dick pulled a flashlight out of his utility belt and took one step inside before he was pulled back.

"What are you doing?" Wally demanded. "This room is visible from the outside. If you call the police this is plausible cause, and they can investigate."

"But then we don't get to investigate."

The argument went on embarrassingly long. If Nadia was in there, she had a major head start.

The corridor was long and winding. Wally refused to come with, insisting he would go get the police. Jokes on him. They're in Gotham, police aren't gonna help.

"It's happening! Get ready!" The lead cloked figure shouts.

In front of him is a somewhat conscious 11 year old girl in a nightgown tied to a shrine and surrounded by strange symbols written in her own semi-irredecent blood.

"Aghh!!"

"Gar?"

"Nadia?"

"Where have you been?"

"Creepy dungeon. I found a cellphone. Could have something on it." He offered her the device.

"Oh, I left the nerd upstairs. They were slowing me down." She pulled both communicators out of her pocket and held one to her mouth. "I found Gar. We're in the basement." She looked at him again. "Are you going up or coming with me?"

"With you. I found an important looking door you might wanna see."

"We're headed further in." She said to the communicator.

"Wait for me, I'm on my way."

"We'll see you at the bottom." She was not about to wait 15 minutes in a cramped stairwell. "How far down is it?"

"I don't know, I'm pretty bad with time."

The chanting was almost soothing. In a way, it reminded Álaug of the pit. The thorny vines around her arms and legs loosened, and her mind faded further. They tore at her "flesh" as they slithered away from her. Soon, there was nothing holding her together.

The lights went out, and the chanting abruptly stopped.

The podium beneath her glowed a supernatural shade of green. And all around her floated gears, pendulums, and clock hands.

In the middle of the show appeared a toddler? No, an old man. Floating above the crowd. He spun around to face her. His expression turned sour. He pointed his staff at her, and in an instant, her chains were gone, and she fell to the ground.

Something must have happened while she was writhing on the floor because before she knew it, she was holding a baby.

This time, upon reaching the medieval break room, the lights were on. Electric ones! The candles on the walls were fake. The suspicious door was open, too.

"Do you hear that?" Gar asked.

"No?"

"Sounds like chanting."

Urgency washed over Nadias face. She pulled out her communicator again.

"Dick, we can't wait. Rituals already started."

"Hey, no. Wait for me. I'm almost there." His voice was obscured by the sound of running. "What ritual?"

She stepped out the door but was met with two possible directions. "Which way is the chanting? We need to hurry."

Gar ran directly towards the sound.

"But they could be in danger."

"Look, kid. We can't just send a SWAT team to go investigate a child's rumor."

"Can you do anything?"

"I could arrest you for breaking and entering."

"Well, there are three more people currently breaking and entering there. Can you go for that? Or do you only work on crimes that have already happened?"

"Listen here, you little-"

"Forget it! Actual gang members are more helpful than this!" Wally stormed out of the police station with tears in his eyes. Gotham is very different from Central City.

🎶Tick tock, goes the clock🎶

🎵And all the years they fly🎵

🎶Tick tock, goes the clock🎶

🎵Till you and I must die🎵

Danny's soft face looked so at home in Clockwork arms. His big round cheeks, so full of sweetness. His wide eyes full of wonder and curiosity. When they were open. For now, Clockworks' greatest treasure soundly slept and tightly held onto one of his fingers.

Clockwork could lose himself for hours staring, and he usually did. But this time, his baby bonding time was cut off by a summon. He found himself in a dark room, lit only by his own clock works. In his arms was nothing. He searched for any ghostly presence but felt only a dim charge from behind him.

On a podium surounded by ghost runes and old time pieces was a girl, a ghost? No, she's odd in some way. It didn't matter. She was tied up. Clockwork aimed his staff her way and aged the chains until they were nothing but dust.

"Great God of time!" A mere human addressed. "I have summoned you here for one purpose. Bring back my wife. In exchange, we will return to you the goddess of the moon." She bargained, gesturing toward the girl.

Clockwork prided himself on being a patient observer, an impartial judge. Today was not a proud day for him.

The two of them followed the chant until-

"It stopped."

"Keep going. Maybe we're close."

Dick could only follow the dots on his communicator since they were no longer answering him. 0.28 miles. That's not so bad. And for some reason, they weren't moving.

When Dick finally reached them, they were frozen in place, bathed in a ghostly glow, with matching horrified looks. They seemed so fearless before, so why now? Curiosity compelled him to look, but Dicks better judgment won. He reached in and pulled his allies out of the light, and it was like they shocked back into their bodies.

"What was in there?"

They didn't have time to answer. Instead, a huge burst of energy floded out of the room. They narrowly avoided it by staying in the shadows.

The light slowly dissipated over the next two minutes. Leaving a faint glow in its wake.

Once they deemed it safe, all three carefully made their way into a grand hall. Row after row of skeletons all wore the same robes from upstairs, and faced a big extravagant steam punk looking shrine. The glow was coming from there. A mix of blueish green and a dark red. All drowned out by the cries of a baby.

Nadia was the first to run over to the shrine. Dick was more careful, and Gar just seemed unsettled.

This dust is people. He's walking on dusted people. They were alive and chanting less than an hour ago, and now they're dust. And now they're breathing them. Tonight has officially moved up to top ten worst days. It's somewhere below his parents' death but above English jewel theif double homicide.

"Come on." Dick tugged at his elbow.

They went up to the shrine, where they saw Nadia holding another girl. They looked like complete opposites. Nadia was tall, black, curly haired, and had a general "has hidden knives regardless of the situation" vibe to her. The other girl was pale and short. Her hair was straight as a wooden plank, and her vibe was "spooky roses" and "needs hospital."

Near them was a glowing baby lying on the floor, fussing. Its white hair looked slightly greenish thanks to the halo surrounding the infant. Gar felt compelled to pick it up and take a few steps away. Upon doing so, the baby settled. As though something in the shrine made it uncomfortable.

"Can we get out of here?" Gar piped up.

"Of course." Nadia picked the other girl up like she weighed nothing more than a corgi.

Gar couldn't help but be more careful on the way back. Not that Dick was complaining. He was tired of being left behind. At least they did rescue the girl. Some girl. That's heroic. And he totally did something, right?

"Hey, Gar? If my dad asks, I was a great leader, ok?"

"Okay." Gar was not paying attention. It was like he was hypnotized by that baby.

"Aren't you getting tired? We can switch."

Gar looked Dick up and down. He was already struggling with the long winding stairs. There's no way he could handle a baby on top of not having sonar.

"I don't think so."

Dick was in front so he stepped into the living room first, followed by Gar and his glowing baby, followed by... uhm... where are the girls?

Along with the sunrise, the boys were met with Wally. Hiding behind The Flash. Who in turn was standing next to Batman.

Dick's gonna be in so much trouble.

Why would Clockwork de-age Danny and then just leave him in Gotham for Batman to steal? No, he'd raise that boy himself. Fuck letting others get their grubby mitts on his new son. He wants to make sure he doesn't turn evil like Dan and this is the only way he knows it will work 100%.

That is until someone summons the ancient of time and gets a baby because the portal was a little to the left.

Now Clockwork is sending ghosts to go retrieve the boy since he can't leave the realms.

#what do you mean animal fetus jars arent normal. its pretty normal for a mansion in gotham #wally dosnt have powers yet. but he does have sexism straight out of the comics #and just like the comics gar has had his powers since he was 4. exept in this version hes been with the doom patrol for longer #you better like this. i had to learn miles for this.#sure hope i remember to link nadia and álaugs origin

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twstfanblog · 3 days ago

Note

Heyyyyy so uhhhhh…

What if the mc back in their world was a slave? Not servant like jamil, just, straight up slave where their opinion didn’t matter :( n they r female, afab, pronounce she/they? Hopefully nothing bad happened but people who get slaves r bad people so :((( overblot boys pls ��🥺

I feel like they would all threaten crowley to absolutely NOT look for a way to send mc home n to stop making her do his things cause that reminds her of back home in a very bad way :(

N then they comfort n hold the mc cause they r safe n wont have to be treated like shit anymore :(

They will punch anyone who treats em like shit

Which practically everyone in school did when they arrived at NRC, and they just thought ‘this is normal’. :(

Overblot Boys React to Slave Reader

Overblot Boys x Reader

Riddle

Lowkey saw you as an ideal student. Polite, respectful, and mindful of the rules. So he wouldn't notice anything past a few odd ticks that he himself wouldn't fully question since his own upbringing was shitty.

It takes him and Ace having an argument, Riddle brings up that Ace can learn a thing or two from you on being a respectful student. And Ace fires back on you being a SLAVE. Of course, his overbearing ass would love that. And Riddle has to really think about what kinda person that makes him that he didn't even notice.

He talks to you, wanting personal confirmation on what Ace had blurted out. Once he gets the confirmation, his attitude gets much softer. You don't get as harsh treatment for rule-breaking, but he's still stern about them.

End game, he makes up a secondary set of rules for you only. Rules like 'We say something if we are uncomfortable' or 'We are allowed to say No'. He just gets much softer but remains true on rules being important. He just also stresses that you should have your own personal rules now.

Leona

Clocked immediately you came from a background of servitude, though he wasn't aware how severe it was.

He didn't plan on getting invovled but his little bleeding heart took Ruggie under his wing for a reason. It was one part pity and mostly annoyance seeing you getting bullied by his dorm everyday.

You basically get 'Leona's Servant' boot camp with Ruggie suddenly. He teaches you how Leona likes his laundry tended to and what snack flavors he prefers. It's a smooth transition from slave to servant until Ruggie tells you it's free game to steal from Leona.

Leona never brings it up, but he knows your old home was not a good environment. He also knows he can't just fling you into a healthier dynamic with those around you, so he'll do it slowly and sneakily. Ruggie is the perfect one to bridge the gap for him to start spoiling you.

Azul

Knew something was off but had no real frame of reference. He would make little theories and try to figure out why you act the way you do. He only started thinking you had come from a background of servitude when you follow orders so quickly.

Honestly doesn't know how to feel because he did do slavery in tricking the contracted students into working at the lounge against their will. He's not entirely sure how to save face with you after he's come across as a cruel and unfair slaver. Lowkey uses his overblot aftermath as an excuse for a fresh start with you.

He starts treating you kinder, making sure to address you properly and showing that he respects you. People from his dorm follow his lead, at least. The Tweels are part-time bodyguards, making your old bullies more hesitant to start anything because an eel might slip out of a crack or something.

Azul is a sneaky one too, slowly helping you raise your standard of how you should be treated by others. If you get him blabbing long enough, he'll slip into just stating how precious you are to him.

Jamil

I'm sorry, even with the English sanitation, Jamil’s situation can only come across as slavery to me. He's a very well cared for slave because Kalim adores him, but a slave none the less.

It's a little jarring to him to see someone who really could understand. But he's so used to keeping himself guarded he never reached out in a friendly sense. Treating you more like a new coworker; helpful but distant. It wasn't until you accidently broke something in Scarabia and nearly had a panic attack when Kalim looked at you does he realize how severe punishment was back in your world.

Gets much softer to you. It's sad because he does love and care about you, but he would not allow you to be with him long term. You've managed to come to a new world where your old masters can't reach you, you're free. Don't waste it following him back into a life of servitude.

Jamil would understand you the best so he'd be the one to really push and guide you to trying new experiences with your freedom. Wants you to be selfish and use your friends' kindness to make your life better. If he never gets his dream of being able to travel the world he wants you to be able to.

(Should the miracle happen and he and Kalim have the conversation finally, Jamil would go globe trotting with you. He legit has thoughts of just not going back and disappearing with you.)

Vil

I don't think he'd mean anything malicious by it. But he would end up treating you like a purse dog for a while.

Vil has a strong and cemented personality and sense of worth. Dealing with someone as passive as an abused slave, he would easily bulldoze over them and not really notice. Because he'd basically have you on the 'Betterment Plan' he has Epel.

He saw the potential and just kept going because you never said stop. Lots of beauty routines, he picks outfits for you for outings, basically has you as his shadow before either Rook or Epel bring up how he's running you ragged.

Vil never dealt with someone who's come from the situation you did. The very idea that 'No' wasn't a boundary you were ever allowed horrified him for a bit. But like the queen he is, he doesn't try to defend his misstep and goes right into correcting his behavior. The introduction of choices was the best start, but you slowly start saying no to events and choices and Vil couldn't be more delighted.

Idia

Lowkey, I'm not sure if he'd notice in any capacity until you told him point-blank. Idia is the one of the boys who sticks mostly to himself and he'd avoid you if he saw you constantly being hounded by other students.

But, if you managed to get close enough to him, he'd question why you always freeze up when your bullies call you? Why running isn't an option you take? And then you'd tell him about where you came from and how running never ended well for you or the other slaves...

He's not one I think would actively try to curb your behaviors but it would effect his own. Now when he sees you being bullied there's a high chance he'll use what power he has a housewarden to get them to leave. When he's sneaking around, he'll catch your eye and give the mental offer to come hide out in his room with him. He becomes a legit safe space for you to just breath since no one but Ortho really enters his room.

He's had to stop you multiple times from cleaning his room. Yes, it's a mess. No, you don't have to thank him by cleaning. Yes, he's aware you can also keep his stuff organized for him while you clean. You don't have to clean, you aren't his maid. (He is terrified he will ruin your friendship the second you find anything embarrassing under his piles of junk. Like a body pillow, or a 18+ comic, or a stray love note he wrote you-)

Malleus

Adorable you think the bonds of slavery from an unknown world matter to him. Malleus is...a prince, a crown prince at that. I don't think he has 'slaves' but with servants of royalty, I'm never really sure. But anyhow, this boy hasn't been told no enough in his life and it shows.

So when you try to back away from the friendship a bit under the fact of you being a slave and not...worthy of his princely company. He just decides you aren't a slave anymore. Just wills and speaks it into existence. There, it's fixed. You can continue being his beloved child of man, now come. He has a new gargoyle he wants to show you.

Fae to me have favorites, and they love to keep an eye on them. So god help some poor schmuck who tries to bully you into doing their work after Malleus has decided you don't do that anymore... You start saying No and leaving the situation with much more effectiveness because the other choice is Malleus making some poor student drop out for fear of their life.

Malleus canonically ignores the autonomy of others for his own gain. So it would be a really weird balance of him simply stating that you are your own being capable of choice and that your old-world status as a slave doesn't matter here. But with that new free status, you are also his best friend, who will come on night walks with him, talk with him, and make friendship bracelets.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #twst wonderland #riddle rosehearts #riddle x reader #leona kingscholar #leona x reader #azul ashengrotto #azul x reader #jamil viper #jamil x reader #vil schoenheit #vil x reader #idia shroud #idia x reader #malleus draconia #malleus x reader #requests

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moonyswolfie · 3 days ago

Text

The Golden Snitch

A/N: This is the first time I write for Regulus so I'm still experimenting with his character, but I hope you enjoy this fic!

TW: heights, falling off the broom (if the second can be considered a trigger)

Pairing: Regulus Black x Gryffindor!reader

“AND JAMES POTTER SCORED YET ANOTHER GOAL FOR GRYFFINDOR! TAKE THAT, YOU-”

“MR. LUPIN! ONE MORE WORD –“

“Sorry, Professor!”

Remus Lupin filled in for the usual commentator on today’s match and to say that you were beyond entertained would be a gross understatement. The guy was clearly rooting for your House and kept making snide remarks regarding the Slytherin team, thus receiving constant glares and threats from Professor McGonagall that she would never let him out of detention again if he wasn’t going to take his role seriously.

But you knew that it was all bark, no bite. She was enjoying her House’s advantage just as much.

You shook your head and turned your attention back towards the Pitch, looking for the golden specks amongst your flying team mates and opponents. It was a tight match and everyone was on edge, constantly flying around, therefore making your job all the more complicated. And now that the cheeky ball flew lower, amongst the rest of the students…

There! Wait, how did it get…nevermind. The second you noticed the flickering, you went hot on its trail…

…but the Slytherin Seeker saw it as well and now you were flying shoulder to shoulder between the house stands and under the wooden structures, nearly avoiding getting impaled once or twice. The stubborn Snitch didn’t care to make your mission any easier. You stretched your hand, nearly touching its wings, but had to retract it a moment later due to a poorly aimed bludger.

“Oi! What the hell?! I’m on your side!”

You cursed Sirius under your breath, and he gave you a sheepish look and an apologetic smile. Of course you knew it wasn’t intentional, but the force of the ball could have cost you an arm and as you remembered from last time, mending bones takes a bit of time.

You shook your head and put your game face back on, but sadly, the Snitch was gone. You groaned in frustration and flew a few feet higher in order to get a better view of the Pitch. The score was tight, a 10 point advantage for the Gryffindors, but instead of comforting you, it only intensified the pressure you were already feeling all the way to your bones. 10 points meant that catching the Snitch was crucial and would determine not only the winner of today’s match, but also who would take home the Quidditch Cup.

Easy as pie, huh.

On the bright side though, Regulus Black, the Slytherin Seeker, was also distracted by his older brother’s terrible aim, thus losing sight of the golden ball. You took comfort in knowing you would not be on the receiving end of James’ anger tonight. Not yet, at least.

James Potter was a great captain, very determined and passionate, but he also had a very short fuse. And Quidditch has been a very sensitive topic over the past few weeks. The Cup meant a lot to him and you all knew that, hence why the entire team gave their very best today. No one wanted to disappoint him…or be yelled at for the foreseeable future.

“Careful, Y/L/N, or you might spend the night in the Hospital Wing.”

Regulus’ lazy drawl made your jaw clench and your heart beat faster, but your attention remained on the game. You knew what he was attempting to do and you were not going to fall for it, no matter how much your body was betraying you.

“Why, do you need company after Malfoy’s done with you for losing the game?”

He rolled his eyes and flew past you, heading in the direction of the Hufflepuff stands. You were just about to follow after him when a small glimmer caught the corner of your eye. It wasn’t very obvious and it wasn’t in a place you’d ever spotted the Snitch before, but you had nothing to lose by chasing it. Besides, you could not be sure whether he saw anything real or if he was simply trying to mess with your head.

It was not uncommon for the Seekers to play mind games with each other during the games. Distracting attention and sometimes directing it towards a false target was a technique each one of you learned on your first day of training. Of course, it was all within the limits and rules of the game and neither of you crossed any lines in order for it to be considered cheating or foul play. But you had to have your little fun every now and then.

It didn’t help that over the past three years since you’ve been playing against each other, you developed a little bit of a crush on the boy. You never told anyone, but James and Sirius caught on one day after practice when the Slytherin team entered the Pitch to practice right after you vacated it and your eyes lingered on their Seeker for a little too long. The teasing that followed since was enough to have you sit at the other end of the Gryffindor table at meal times just so you would avoid the two boys’ jokes and kissy noises.

Careful not to catch Regulus’ attention, you headed towards the Gryffindor stands, rushing past the Professors’ box and up the length of the gallery until the tip of the flag tickled your midsection. It was high, a lot higher than you were used to, especially when it involved strategy, however you were sure you could pull it off. You had to. Your whole team depended on you. Hell, your whole House was counting on you. Looking up, you caught the same glimmer from earlier, this time a lot closer, yet not as easy to reach without the other Seeker noticing you.

It was now or never.

You darted for the top of the Slytherin stands, but you weren’t as lucky as you hoped. Regulus was hot on your trail, zooming past startled students seated in the margins. He caught up to you easily, but you knew you could lose him. You took a very sharp corner to avoid accidentally kissing the flagpole, before turning the handle of your broom up. Looking back over your shoulder you watched the younger Black very narrowly avoiding the previously mentioned flagpole, yet stopping right next to it. He saw the Snitch, you had no doubt, but confusion took over your face when he didn’t follow further up. Did he not want to win the game? Did the Snitch move in the meantime?

And was that on his face..concern?

A glance up told you that the ball remained in the same spot as when you last saw it. Then why did he stop?

You decided not to dwell on it for too long. You had a game to win after all.

Ten feet and you’d have it. Just a little bit higher…

“Where is she going?”

You faintly heard Remus’ voice over the wind and your now plugged ears from the extreme altitude.

Five feet…three…

There!

Your hand wrapped around the Golden Snitch as you came to an abrupt stop, panting but smiling wide. You did it, you actually did it. You stood there for a moment, frozen, taking in the little ball wrapped tightly between your fingers, the cold enveloping your body and making your teeth clatter violently. You were alone up here. It was quieter than below, on the Pitch, but that didn’t erase the sinking feeling in your stomach.

You knew you shouldn’t, everyone told you this on your first day of training. Hell, James made you repeat this one particular rule every single day before practice and twice before each match.

Do not go over the limit. And if you do, for the love of Merlin, do not look down!

But you did.

And you immediately regretted your action.

Judging by the clouds blocking your view of the Quidditch Pitch and the screams that turned to faint murmurs before they reached you, the limit was a distant memory. You had to be at least twenty feet over.

You gulped, briefly registering the bile rising in your throat. What were you supposed to do in these situations?

Right. Slowly make your way back, no speed, holding onto the broom tightly, and no looking down.

Unfortunately, you were terrible at following the rules.

Gripping the handle of your broom tightly, you slowly commanded it to descend. You made it past the clouds after what felt like an eternity, trembling, yet you could not tell whether it was from the cold or the dread enveloping you. You never had issues flying with only one hand on the broom, but then again, you didn’t usually fly high enough to see the stars from your Astronomy charts up close and personal.

The Pitch came back into view and your heart started beating again at an almost normal pace. Almost. There was still quite a distance between you and the top of the stands. If you could just…

The Snitch started flapping its wings inside your fist, trying to escape your iron grip and your focus evaporated. It managed to free itself, before you caught it again, but it was too late. The sudden movement jolted the broom and you lost your balance.

And now you were free falling.

Your could not tell whether your breathing turned erratic or stopped altogether. The wind was whipping at your face, people were screaming from below you, your broom remained airborne for some reason you could not think of right now and all you could do was close your eyes and hope against hope that you will survive this very likely fatal fall. You left your wand back in the changing rooms, a decision that you now regretted dearly as you could have at least attempted to cushion your landing if not slow or stop it from crushing you like a tomato.

You were starting to lose consciousness when you felt two strong arms catching and holding on to you tight, crushing you to a strong chest. Upon opening your eyes, you looked up only to be met with a pair of beautiful grey eyes.

“You didn’t let me die.”

Regulus laughed out loud at your sudden words, the rich sound wrapping around you and calming a portion of your already exhausted nerves.

“If you died, who would I gloat to about winning with my excellent Quidditch skills?”

Your body finally caught up with your mind, processing the fact that you were still alive, and not only that, but also safe and not at all hurt. Your heartbeat slowed to a normal rhythm and your trembling subsided a little bit.

You raised a brow, a bemused smile stretching over your face at Regulus’ words.

“Oh?” you raised the hand that was still clutching the Snitch “sorry to break it to you, Black, but you lost. I caught the Snitch, so I won.”

It was his turn to cock a brow, the rest of his expression neutral save for a small, almost imperceptible twitch of his mouth.

“And I caught you. So I think I won.”

He leaned in and placed the gentlest of kisses on your forehead, before flying down towards the entrance to the Pitch where Madame Pomfrey awaited to check on you and make sure the altitude or the fall did not affect your brain or your body.

This was going to be an interesting rest of the year.

#harry potter #remus lupin #james potter #sirius black #marauders #remus lupin x reader #sirius black x reader #harry potter fanfiction #marauders era #harry potter fanfic #regulus black #regulus deserved better #regulus black x reader #regulus black x you #regulus black x y/n

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waynes-multiverse · 2 days ago

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Already so in love with the start of this chapter! A girl who can eat is a girl after my heart 🫶 (and apparently Russell's lol)

“Good god. You have never been more attractive to me, which is saying something.” You slurped again, Russell letting his curiosity in your eating habits fade away in favor of the elephant in the room.

Girl, you and I have the same headcanon about this! He needs someone with super weird food habits 😂🫶

And I loved her then suddenly trying to get rid of him and coming up with the lamest excuse in the book before threathening him lol. Glad he saw right through that! And this made me melt 🫠:

“Forget I said anything.” You stood up, Russell matching the movement and catching your bicep before you could take a step. Yes, he was injured but even one armed, he had enough raw strength in him to keep you from leaving. “Tell me or I dig on my own and make things a lot riskier for both of us.” He dropped his hand, nodding to the seat. Russell sighed. “I trusted you. You can do the same.”

Oh, and it is a mafia thing! 👀 Phew, that's a tough job for Russell (not that I doubt his abilities, but she is right – he's only one man. You're not planning on breaking my heart, are you? 😅)

“Like my home?” He stared blankly, eyes drifting down to your chest. “The flirting was cute. Eye-fucking me in my kitchen, not so much.” “You have sauce all over your shirt.”

Oh, he got real lucky there, didn't he? He must've loved this 😂😂

“Because knowing how to get stains out of all types of fabrics is kind of necessary in my line of work,” he said, opening a few cabinets before finding the one with the plates. “Now. Can you put the knife you thought you grabbed without me seeing back and we have a civilized conversation over pizza?”

I'm so in love with this characterization of him here! Behind all the goofiness and bad flirting still hides that smart killing machine, and you portray that so well throughout their entire conversation 🖤

I love reading more of her backstory, and obviously Russell can relate since he grew up similarily. I see some romance brewing and bonding happening here 😍

You’re going to park in the visitors lot and go to the airstream in lot 4. It’ll be isolated. You knock on the door and there’ll be a guy inside. Colter. You stay with him, go wherever he goes and do whatever he tells you to without question. You don’t leave his side until I come and get you, understand?”

Knowing her, I don't see this working out well for Colter. Poor guy will have his hands full with her 😂

You woke up around six thirty, jolting up in your bed to find a very wet and nearly naked Colter trying to pick up a mug he’d dropped. “Well good morning,” you said, his hand in a death grip on the towel just barely concealing him away.

I don't mind this at all 😏

The commitment to him being shirtless on this show is for real, tho 🫠 (And PS: I saw you wrote for Colter too! I totally have to check that out! Justin Hartley had me in a chokehold since This Is Us. He rows right into the "lovable and stupidly hot idiot" category that I've fallen victim to lol.)

And not only did she bond with Russell in this part but also with Colter. Seriously loved every minute of their conversation! And considering Russell sent her to his brother, who he hasn't spoken to in so long, speaks volumes how much he trusts Colter. Colter seeing that too was such a precious moment 😭🫶

Sure, Colter was hot but Russell…well the image of that man in nothing but a towel as water dripped down his body…

Agree! The ruggedness and roughness (the beard) certainly adds a few plus points 🔥😏

“And? What am I saying?” you asked, staring him down.

I was gonna say, she should be careful with that challenge, and his answer did not disappoint! It was gold 🤣🤣🤣

And I totally didn't expect her to stay with Colter for days, drive across the country, and join him on a case! This is such a cool twists and I'm loving their hangout dynamic 😁 I do have an inkling Russell will be jealous of their bonding and probably scold Colter for taking her on a case lmao

“He knows what he’s doing. A job like this, he’s got to do a lot of prep work and he’s got to put a crew together. Trusted friends. Try not to worry.”

Ooooh I know you read the books and this reminded me so much of the crew book!Russell worked with!!! 👏

I was so relieved when he came back in one piece! And that little present for her was so sweet and thoughtful 🥹 The note, on the other hand, was hilarious 😂

But why the angst at the end there? No they were supposed to be happy! Sunset, rainbows, unicorns, glitter!!! I will suffer in the next part, won't I? 😅

This was such an amazing chapter from start to finish! I thoroughly enjoyed all their conversations, their dynamics, the humor mixed with seriousness and feelings. Loved every second of this! 🩵

He's My Man (Part 2)

Summary: The reader isn't quite so sure if she can trust Russell with her secrets but he's decided she's going to get his help, whether she wants it or not. Reluctantly she accepts but in the process realizes she might actually be starting to care about him...

Masterlist

Pairing: Russell Shaw x reader

Word Count: 4,500ish

Warnings: language, gun shot injury mention, mentions of death, angst, fluff

A/N: Ooooh things are heating up! Please enjoy!

__________

Russell stared at you with what one could only describe as a look of wonder. You didn’t exactly blame him. Eating four large cheese danishes and chugging back a week’s worth of coffee in the span of fifteen minutes was enough to make anyone’s eyes widen.

You tossed your trash in his motel waste bin when you finished and returned to your seat at the tiny corner table. With an obnoxiously loud slurp of even more coffee, Russell titled his head, shaking it slightly.

Your fingertips rattled against the side of the large styrofoam cup, a small amount of heat radiating through. Now that you’d had some time to think, or rather stress eat, you knew this was a mistake. A big one. You needed to kick Russell out of your life and the sooner the better.

“I think you have the wrong idea about what’s going on and I thought it better we talk in private,” you said. Russell wore a weary expression, his eyes dissecting your every micro-movement. “I’m not interested in a relationship or a date or conversation. I don’t do that considering my line of work and I imagine you keep things casual with yours. So you take your money and consider this a warning. Contact me again and I will have you dealt with, understand?”

Russell leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a clenched jaw. You narrowed your eyes in response, Russell picking at his bandage without realizing.

“Stop that,” you mumbled when he kept doing it, his lip twitching up in a not so friendly way.

“You threaten me and in the next breath are worried about my damn stitches? I don’t think you realize just how good I am at my job,” he said, placing both hands on the table, folding them together. You swallowed, Russell staring so intently you had to glance away. “Alright. Back at the coffee shop, that was a moment of bravery and now it’s passed? Tough shit. We’re in the weeds now and we ain’t leaving until I know you do your job of your own free will. Understand?”

“Tell me or I dig on my own and make things a lot riskier for both of us.” He dropped his hand, nodding to the seat. Russell sighed. “I trusted you. You can do the same.”

“You’re one guy.” You shook your head. “Drop this or you’ll wind up dead or worse.”

“I made my living doing jobs where if I fucked up I’d wish I were dead over the alternative. I know how to keep a secret. Maybe I can help, maybe I can’t. But you opened the box. You can’t just close it again.”

“Yes, I can. Goodbye, Russell.” You grabbed your coffee and headed for the door, pausing when you had a hand on the handle.

But what if he could help…he was ex-special ops…

Russell’s hand slid over yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. You frowned, a reassuring smile greeting you.

“Do you like your job?” he asked.

“S’complicated,” you whispered.

“How complicated?”

“Jobs like yours…that’s up to me to do that stuff but I…I work for someone else.” You found Russell’s unreadable green eyes and sighed. “I’m a fixer for the local mafia. It’s not a job you get to quit and stay alive very long.”

Russell contemplated your words, lips forming a thin line before he nodded. “I can take care of that assuming your story checks out.”

“My story?” you asked, Russell humming. “Why would I lie-”

“You could be playing me for any number of reasons. Like I said, I’m going to check your story out and if it’s all kosher, we’ll figure out where to go from there. Capiche?”

“Fine,” you grit out, shaking his hand away. “But do it quietly. You got three days.”

Late Evening

Your eye actually twitched when you answered your front door that night to find not your pizza delivery man before you but Russell fucking Shaw. He wore a deep navy utility jacket that hung loosely around his trim waist and a pair of black jeans. You weren’t sure why but his shift from lighter colored clothing this morning to this dark, edgy look made him look as dangerous as you expected he was.

“Russell,” you said. He didn’t bother hiding his smirk, eyes roaming over your body. You glanced down at your soft pale yellow pajama shirt and matching shorts set, huffing when he slipped past you inside.

“You totally are the kind of woman to having matching jammies,” he chuckled. You gripped the door tight, ready to kick him out just as your delivery driver pulled up.

“Just…take off your boots.” Two minutes later you had your pizza and garlic knots on your kitchen counter while Russell leaned back against it, his jacket since removed and tossed on the back of your couch. He wore a black zip up that was undone over a black t-shirt, Russell shifting at your growing unease.

“Listen,” he said, holding up his hands. “You got questions but first off, I’m not here to hurt you. This is just what I wear when I need to go…looking around places I ain’t exactly invited into.”

“Like my home?” He stared blankly, eyes drifting down to your chest. “The flirting was cute. Eye-fucking me in my kitchen, not so much.”

“You have sauce all over your shirt.” You glanced down, spotting marinara drops all over your short sleeve button up top from where you’d had the edge of the pizza box pressed against your torso as you’d carried it in. “Thanks for thinking so highly of me, though. Makes a guy feel special.”

“I’m on edge, alright?” you snapped, grabbing a towel and trying to get most of the sauce out. “Plus I just ruined a two hundred dollar shirt.”

“Figured you for a oversized men’s t-shirts kind of gal but little sets from french boutiques suites you.” You froze, Russell dropping his hands. “I know all about your shopping habits. You have high quality taste, much richer than the average suburbanite.”

“And?” you said, tossing the towel down, hands going to your hips. “Are you about to kidnap me and turn me over to the mafia or what?”

Russell approached you slowly, gently picking up the towel from the floor and dabbing it with some dish soap.

“If I had wanted to hurt you or take you or whatever else is going through your head, you wouldn’t have seen me coming.” He rubbed the towel against the damp spot on your shirt, letting the fabric get soapy. “Let that soak for a few minutes and then after you have some dinner, toss it in the wash. It’ll come out good as new.”

“How do you know that?” you asked, Russell hanging your towel on the oven handle.

You weren’t sure how he’d seen you swipe the knife from the butchers block but figured he had a point. If he’d wanted to screw you over, he would have done it already. After excusing yourself, you returned in a pair of skinny black joggers and a slightly cropped gray AC/DC shirt to find Russell had already plated two sizeable portions for yourselves.

“See? Now that’s a look more fitting for the princess of darkness,” he chuckled.

“That’s queen of darkness to you,” you said, taking a seat at the island in front of one of the plates. “Do me a favor, lover boy. Grab me a guinness from the fridge.”

“Dark stout. Always a good choice.” He got out two, removing the cap for you before retreating to the other side of the island.

“As much as I love uninvited house guests who welcome themselves to my food and beer, why are you here, Russell?” You took a large bite of pizza, Russell long necking his beer for a moment.

“Yet I don’t see you kicking me out. It’s okay to admit you’ve fallen for me, Y/N,” he teased. You growled, Russell’s eyebrows raising in amusement. “Hot damn, woman. I love when you get all grr. Tells me you are a force to be reckoned with.”

You rolled your eyes, Russell taking an extra large bite. “Stop flirting and talk.”

“Why can’t I do both?” he asked, not waiting for an answer. “But to answer your original question, I’m here because your story checked out and that’s kind of a problem.”

“Excuse me? Why is that an issue?”

He set his plate down and gripped the island, leaning over it slightly. “Y/N. I can call up a few friends and wipe out a local mafia family no problem.”

“Awesome. Then what’s the fucking problem?” Russell tilted his head, like you’d just walked into some kind of trap he’d set.

“Y/N. Despite all the obvious sexual tension brewing between us, you failed to mention that you have a boyfriend. You know, the head of this fucking mafia family. The boyfriend that buys you those fancy french pajama sets? The one that bought that espresso machine over there? Girl, you better explain yourself because I am not a hired gun.”

You chewed quietly for a few moments under the heated scrutiny of Russell’s gaze before you pushed the plate away.

“My dad was an accomplished doctor. He was very well respected. I grew up very comfortably until I was about eight.” Russell loosened his stance and began to eat while you decided what he needed to absolutely know. “My dad unknowingly saved a mobster’s life one night in the ER. Mr. Lauter.”

“The former head of the mafia and this guy, Owen, your supposed boyfriend’s dad?” You nodded before taking a big swig from your bottle.

“Well, that pissed off Mr. Elpine who had almost had a successful hit on Mr. Lauter. Elpine tried to get my dad to kill Lauter. Dad refused and the next morning on the way to school, the brake lines in our car didn’t work. Dad and I walked away. Mom and my brother didn’t. Dad was scared Elpine would come after me again.”

“Your father went to Lauter for protection,” said Russell. You picked up your pizza as he put together the rest of the pieces. “Lauter offers him protection for saving his life but something happens and your dad ends up working for Lauter as his fixer.”

“The paranoia got to dad. He would take me on these weekend hunting trips all the time and teach me survival skills and medical stuff and I was a fucking kid, Russell. I didn’t want to do that shit but dad was…twitchy. PTSD for sure, a mental break too. I always guessed there was some brain trauma after the accident that never healed. He got real bad when I went to college. Bad enough that Lauter stepped in when my dad attacked me when I came home for the holidays. Lauter killed him and the fucked up part was I wasn’t even upset. My real dad had died when I was a kid. But…when a mob boss kills for you whether you wanted them to or not-”

“They think they own you for life.” You nodded. “So you became the fixer.”

“They let me finish college under the condition I come back and work for the family. They leave me be except for when I need to patch someone in the crew up. It’s honestly not that bad. They gave me a lot of money over the years. I hate to say this but Mr. Lauter was pretty good to me.”

Russell cleared his throat. “You do know how fucked up what he did to you is, right?”

“Of course I do,” you said, closing your eyes. “But compared to my dad and Owen, he was the lesser evil.”

“I came across the fact Mr. Lauter died about three weeks ago from heart disease.” You hummed. “Tell me about this fuckface, Owen.”

“Dude has had a crush on me since he was fucking twelve. He has it in his head that the family owns me, literally. Lauter always reined him in but since he’s been gone, Owen’s been…pushy. Telling the crew I’m his girlfriend, asking them to follow me. Thankfully, and this is why this is so weird, I grew up around a lot of the guys. Making me work and fix people, fine. But some kind of forced romance? They aren’t cool with it, at least they’re kind of ignoring Owen. I’ve kept Owen off my back because he’s grieving and busy trying to take over but he’s going to back on my ass soon. This time, those guys will have to listen to their new boss.”

“So…I take out Owen and you think you’re in the clear. You could have just said that.” He finished off his beer and washed his hands at the sink. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going grab essentials, and I mean essentials, while I pack up your dinner in what I expect is some color coordinated tupperware. Then you’re going to take my car and drive to Elmhurst Camping Grounds. It’s about four hours north of here and no, you will stop for anything so use the bathroom before you go and I’ll pack you a snack. You’re going to park in the visitors lot and go to the airstream in lot 4. It’ll be isolated. You knock on the door and there’ll be a guy inside. Colter. You stay with him, go wherever he goes and do whatever he tells you to without question. You don’t leave his side until I come and get you, understand?”

“I feel like if I ask questions you’ll just tell me I don’t want to know.” Russell smirked.

“I love that big brain of yours.” You rolled your eyes but felt a tiny smile on your face. “Warming up to me are we?”

“Fuck no. But uh, who the hell are you sending me to?”

“My baby brother. Don’t worry. His ugly mug will keep you safe.”

Four Hours Later

“Uh, hi,” you said, practically bouncing up and down at midnight in front of a strange tall man at a very nice airstream RV.

“Y/N,” he said as you forced a smile. “Bathroom is right there-”

You darted past him and into the small cubby bathroom, grateful after the long drive. The man was waiting leaned against a small counter space when you exited, a temporary bed made up behind him in what looked like a breakfast nook.

“Sorry to barge in. Russell said not to stop for anything.”

“S’alright,” he said. “Bed’s made up if you want to crash. I’m going to stay up a bit longer by the fire. You’re welcome to join if you like.”

“Thanks, uh…” you said, a very brief smile on his face as you tried to remember what Russell had called him.

“Colter. It’s not a problem.” He skirted by you and outside, taking a seat in a foldable camping chair. You had questions but for the moment, all you wanted was to get some rest.

You woke up around six thirty, jolting up in your bed to find a very wet and nearly naked Colter trying to pick up a mug he’d dropped.

“Well good morning,” you said, his hand in a death grip on the towel just barely concealing him away.

“Morning,” he said, slowly backing up to the bedroom. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Not a problem,” you said, catching a whiff of coffee.

“Mug are in the first cabinet if you want a cup. I’ll be out in a minute,” he said. He excused himself to his room and slid the divider shut, leaving you to the rest of the airstreamer.

A moment later you were outside in front of a small fire, sitting in a chair with warm coffee in your hands. It was cool and you wished you’d thought to pack a jacket in your haste last night.

You were rubbing your arms when something was draped over your shoulders, a thick heavy hoodie.

“Russell got you out of there pretty quick, huh?” asked Colter, taking the mug while you shrugged into the warm fleece.

“Yeah. All I grabbed was my wallet, some cash and my computer. He told me I could buy clothes here,” you said. Colter handed you back the mug and took a seat beside you.

“I checked his car. He had a duffel full of his clothes in there I brought inside. You can use his stuff, or mine, until we can hit a store.”

“Thanks,” you said, smelling Russell’s deodorant on the fabric. Colter saw you tug the hood up, a question on the tip of his tongue but he decided against it. The air was still and quiet apart from the crackle of fire and morning birds.

“So,” said Colter, not looking at you as he drank. “You and Russell…you like, his girlfriend-”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I just met the guy yesterday. All I did was patch him up.”

“Right.” You sunk lower in your chair, slurping loudly.

“Were you special ops like him?” you asked. Colter shook his head.

“Civilian. Never had any formal training, just what we grew up with.” Well, that was an interesting statement. What the hell did it mean though? “Our father was a survivalist, taught us things.”

“Oh. My dad was a little out there too.” Was that why Russell was so adamant about helping you out of your situation? No. Maybe it played a part, but no. He’d wanted to help before you told him that. “Does Russell do this sort of thing often?”

“No clue. First time I talked to him in years was two days ago. I helped him find a friend of his. I was there when he got that bullet hole in him you fixed.”

Alrighty then. Russell was becoming more and more intriguing by the second.

“So you don’t know a lot about him then,” you said. Colter shrugged.

“I guess I’m figuring him out too but he’s a good guy. He’s somebody you want as a friend.” You hummed, finishing your coffee off. Colter excused himself to get you more and returned with a fresh cup, steam billowing from within.

“You trail run?” you asked, Colter’s eyes showing a flash of surprise. “Muddy sneakers by the door. I did cross country in school.”

“I try to get out most mornings. The hot water should be good to go in about five minutes if you want a shower.”

“Thanks.” You licked your lips as you remembered the sight of him exiting the bathroom not long ago. Sure, Colter was hot but Russell…well the image of that man in nothing but a towel as water dripped down his body…You shifted in your seat, squeezing your legs together to try and get a hold of yourself. Colter smirked slightly in his seat. “What?”

“I’m good at reading people is all.”

“And? What am I saying?” you asked, staring him down. Colter only smiled as he looked away to the fire.

“You’re wondering if Russell works out and picturing him naked.” You glared at him but it did nothing to hide the heat radiating off your cheeks. “Hey, you’re a grown woman. You can do as you please.”

“I think I will take that shower now.” You stood and set the mug down on the ground, shooting Colter one last look. There’d been no malice or teasing in his voice. He was simply being straight with you. “Listen. I just…I haven’t exactly been around good guys much, or ever. I’m not saying there’s anything there beyond physical attraction, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, looking at you like you were the worst liar in the world. “Whatever you say.”

You grumbled and went inside to take a very cold shower.

Three Days Later - Spokane, Washington

“Hey, Colt,” you said, pushing up the long sleeves of Russell’s gray henley you wore. Colter hummed around the piece of grilled chicken in his mouth as you spun your laptop around from the other side of the airstream’s dining table. “Could she have gone here? Looks like a decommissioned game trail.”

“Yeah, yeah that fits,” he said with his mouth full, chewing and swallowing quickly so he could take a closer look. You returned to your own dinner, Colter mentioning he was going to take a look after dark.

Things had fallen into an easy pattern with the two of you. Colter was very different than his brother but it wasn’t a bad thing. He didn’t talk much and worked as a rewardist. He’d planned on sticking around the east coast for when Russell met up with you again but an urgent case in Washington popped up. You’d spent most of the past three days driving cross-country behind Colter’s truck and the airstreamer, learning what the hell a rewardist was.

Colter had told you about the case at first to keep your mind off of Russell but you’d reluctantly taken an interest and now were deep in the weeds of helping him locate a missing young woman.

“You want to come look with me?” asked Colter, breaking you out of your train of thought. You blinked, a small smile on his face. “Come on. It’ll get you some experience with rewardest work and stop you from doom scrolling.”

“Alright,” you sighed. While you appreciated Colter’s attempts to make you feel better, you were starting to get very concerned. You hadn’t heard from Russell since you left your house a few days ago and there was nothing in the news about the local mafia members being killed. Or him.

Colter rubbed your back when you helped him unhook it from the airstream. He tended to do that when you started to get stressed out. He hadn’t been lying before. He really was good at reading people.

“Colter,” you said in the dark truck, the hum of the vehicle quiet in the cab as he drove. “What if something happened to him and he needs our help?”

“He knows what he’s doing. A job like this, he’s got to do a lot of prep work and he’s got to put a crew together. Trusted friends. Try not to worry.” You bit your bottom lip as you stared out the window, trees passing by.

If only it were that simple.

It was two in the morning by the time you and Colter made it back to the camping grounds. You’d found Martha in not too great of shape but she was alive and the doctors said she’d make a full recovery with time. Colter has tried to give you some of the reward money for helping but you hadn’t done all that much in your opinion.

“Stay here,” he said when he turned the truck into your lot and you spotted a dark figure sitting by the fire. He took his gun from the back of jeans and got out, pausing halfway out the door. He smiled over at you and you caught the dark figure give an awkward little wave. “Should I tell him how much you’ve been worried?”

“Not. A. Word. Colter,” you said before hopping out and happily rushing over to where Russell rose to his feet. You didn’t realize you were giving him a hug until he was laughing, returning it and lifting you off the ground.

“I missed my queen of darkness too,” he chuckled, setting you down with a smirk. You scoffed, Russell’s eyebrows raising at your attire. “Is that my jacket? And shirt?”

“Why waste the money on new stuff,” you shrugged, Russell grinning like an idiot. “Stop that.”

“I’m sure that was the reason.” Colter came over, the boys sharing a nod. “You keep my little delinquent out of trouble?”

“She’s a breeze,” said Colter, taking a seat. “Even helped with my latest case. She should try the rewardist thing. She’s good at it.”

“Maybe. All I want to know is am I good?” you asked. Russell took your hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. He nodded, the tension running of out your body. “Thank you, Russell. Thank your friends too. I’ll pay you guys-”

“No payment. This was because you’re my friend, plain and simple. Just knowing you’re safe is more than enough.” You smiled, letting yourself rest your head against his shoulder. “You should rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“How-”

“In the morning. I need to catch up with my little brother.” You nodded, enjoying the feel of his heavy hand as it ran over your head. “Go sleep, Y/N. You’re exhausted.”

You reluctantly peeled yourself away and went inside to find your makeshift bed had been done up for you already. You didn’t even try to fight the flutters in your stomach when you spotted a yellow pajama shirt and shorts set neatly folded on top. There was a note beside it, a stupid ass smile finding it’s way onto your face.

Brand new. Imported from France. Don’t get used to fancy ass presents like these. I ain’t made of money. Even if these are soft as fuck and I totally wish they made these for men. I still think you’d look better wearing a band tee to bed.

Russ

P.S. They had a sale so I got you something else too. Check your backpack.

You shook your head and grabbed your bag from the floor, taking out a very elegant black bag. You undid the tissue paper and went wide eyed.

Inside was a very, very, fancy black lace bra and multiple pairs of gorgeous bikini style undies in soft muted colors. There was another note waiting for you inside, your heart stilling.

No strings attached. Hopefully these will cover you for a little while until you can get settled again.

“Oh, Russell,” you said quietly, thumbing over the bag, smiling to yourself as your insides did very happy backflips.

He wasn’t just a pretty and protective face. He was thoughtful too.

And you were starting to fall for a guy that’d most likely be gone by this time tomorrow.

Fuck.

__________

A/N: Read Part 3 here!

#wayne reads #fic rec #amazing writers 🤍#russell shaw #russell shaw x reader

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rafesbuzzcutseason · 15 hours ago

Text

chasing city lights

chapter 23 - desperation

synopsis: you move to new york to start fresh, hoping to find comfort in the city’s atmosphere. that’s when you meet sarah cameron, where she takes you to a concert and you catch sight of the lead band member, rafe cameron. it only takes a moment for you to realize you’re captivated by him. as sarah helps you navigate your new life in the city, you start to get pulled deeper into rafe's world—the music, the fame, the chaos. the more you get to know him, the more you realise that rafe is not just the rock star he seems to be. he’s wrestling with his own demons, and the last thing he needs is someone like you getting close.

masterlist

cw: language, mentions of alcohol

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"i thought it was you."

those words hung heavy in the air, like a slap to the face.

you blinked, trying to process what he had just said. “what?”

rafe exhaled shakily, his fingers twitching at his sides. “i- i was wasted, y/n. i could barely stand, top said i was mumbling your name all night and then when this girl came up to me, i thought-” his voice cracked, and he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “i didn't see her face, she just came up to me and pulled me in. i thought no one else would do that but you. i thought it was you."

you stared at him, your breath caught in your throat. “that's bullshit.”

rafe shook his head quickly. “it’s not. i swear to you, y/n, i wasn’t thinking. i wasn’t there.” his voice was desperate now, eyes glossy with unshed tears. “i closed my eyes, and in my head, it was you. it was always you.”

you sucked in a sharp breath, something inside you fracturing. “do you have any idea what it felt like?” your voice wavered, but you forced yourself to keep going. “to wake up, check my phone, and see you with someone else? to have everyone sending me that picture? you made me feel like i was so easy to let go of. like everything between us meant nothing."

he flinched, his whole body tensing.

“because that’s what it felt like, rafe.” your voice finally broke, and the tears spilled over before you could stop them. “you made me feel like i was worth nothing."

his face crumbled. “you're not nothing y/n. i hate myself for making you feel that way. i hate that you think that's how i see you."

you wiped your cheeks, shaking your head. "then how do you see me rafe?"

"i see you as my everything," he took a step closer, "i see you as the most beautiful girl that walks in any room. i see you as the girl who can cheer anyone up in seconds. i see you as the person who makes me a better version of myself. i see me only with you."

you avoided his gaze, not allowing him to see that he was getting to you, “i needed you. i needed you to fight for me, to show me that i wasn’t crazy for loving you.”

rafe took another step closer, eyes pleading. “you were never crazy for loving me.”

“i needed you." you choked out.

his face twisted in anguish. “i’m so fucking sorry.” his voice cracked, a tear slipped down his cheek. “tell me what to do. tell me how to fix this. i'll do anything.”

you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to will away the ache in your chest. but then you heard it—his voice, barely above a whisper.

“y/n… please don’t shut me out.”

you swallowed hard, nails digging into your palms.

he hurt you. he broke you. he let you walk away and didn’t come after you.

but he was here now.

and for the first time in weeks, you weren’t alone in this pain.

your resolve cracked, just a little.

“i don’t know how to do this without you.” his hands twitched at his sides like he was dying to reach for you.

you let him.

his fingers grazed yours, hesitant, like he was scared you’d pull away.

you should have.

but the moment his skin met yours, a shiver ran through you, and every wall you had spent weeks building started to crumble.

rafe’s breath hitched, his grip tightening just slightly, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t hold on. every touch more intimate than anything you'd experienced before.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered again, voice thick with emotion. “i’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you if that’s what it takes.”

your throat burned, the weight of everything pressing down on you. “i don’t know if I can trust you again,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

he nodded, swallowing hard. “then let me earn it.”

you searched his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, you saw the rafe that was yours. the one who used to make you feel safe. the one who used to play the guitar and sing to you to help you sleep. the one who looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him breathing. the one you fell in love with.

you should walk away. you should tell him it’s too late.

but instead, you did the one thing you told yourself you wouldn’t do.

you let him pull you into his arms.

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a/n: sorry this one isn't much smau, but i worked really hard on the writing for this so i hope you guys don't mind

taglist: @hoefordrewstarkey @marleymarleymarleymarley @bee-43 @cherryhoneybabe @skye-44 @drewrry @drewrry @yesterdaysproblemm @dylsdaily @rafeysworldim19 @valyrianflower @kaiparkerwifes@judesgfirl@4urvalidation@chillgal135 @drewstarkeyslover@yesshewrites1@amterasuu@babykhloutofthisworld@blushmimi @moonywhisp3rs @rafeysworldim19 @marleymarleymarleymarley@sabrina-carpenter-stan-account@vcnillafairy@bambii1i @sammyrenae68 @kittenjujusblog @bambii1i @thesunflowersociety @wtfdudesblog @voidangxls @jjmaybankmylovee @munsoncultedits @emmiesummers @darlingstarkey @sassyvillaintrophy @pogueprincesa @stylestarkey @sodapopwaldor

#chasing city lights #smau #rafe cameron #obx #outer banks #obxsmau #boyfriend rafe #rafe cameron x reader

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nosyrobin · 24 hours ago

Text

Nerdy Tactics

————————

Yandere!Batboys Highschool AU

Prologue | I.Riding Pays | II. The Gray Side | IV. Lucky Artistic Charm

Previous… on the Yandere!Batboys

You jolted up to see a boy with neat fringe hair cut, and nerdish glasses. He looked at you with softness, his hand lifting up to wave at you. You swore you could see a small bit of blush on his pale cheeks. There stood the Wayne brother of this class.

Tim Drake.

Present time. Time: 8:10 am. Date: Wednesday , 7th, 20XX.

You stared at Tim in shock before you looked away from him. The boy frowns as he sits next to you, “Hey… Y/N? Is something wrong?” He quizzes as he places his hand again onto your shoulder.

You tensed up as memories blared into your brain.

Blood, blood all over his hands as he grabs you along with a small brown skinned boy who stranded by him.

“We had to do this for you… they aren’t perfect like we are for you.” The voice says, echoing in your head. The last thing you felt was something inserted into your neck.

You snapped out of your thoughts when Tim kept calling your name. You looked at him, flashes of his dark cold face of that switched with his concerned soft one. You started to breathe heavily, you felt as time was going slow. He reached his hand lifts off of your should and goes towards you.

Your mind kept switching to him dragging you across the floor. How his younger brother was just coldly staring at you.

Before Tim could touch you, you slapped his hand from your face with wide eyes and narrowed brows. The boy moves back, pulling his hand to his chest. Shock written on his face as you started to calm down from him moving back.

“S..sorry.” You said softly, chuckling it off. How weak and embarrassing can you get. Showing that the accident was getting to you. “Guess I’m not feeling that well after all.”

Tim’s eyes soften as he nods, “I see. Well, I’m glad you’re back in school now. I’ve been worried that you may had it be homeschooled.” You nodded, really wishing he would be quiet. You looked forward at the teacher who was showing the programs of coding. Tim continued talking, looking at your side profile with soft dilated eyes.

“And if you did, you wouldn’t be safe either ways.”

“What?” You turn back to him who was looking forward like you. Tim looks back at you with a raised brow. “Hm? What’s wrong?” “Did… did you say something?” You felt yourself get nervous now. You swore you heard what you heard.

“I didn’t say anything? Are you sure you’re okay?�� Tim says worried, a frowns appeared on his face. “Wow, you weren’t really joking about not being okay still..”

“Yeah…” you gazed onto his face, studying him to see if he’s hiding anything. You point to the glasses on his face.

“What’s up with the glasses? You never wore them before?” You said with a raised brow. That seem to make Tim’s face burst red, he messed with the glasses a bit before looking at you with a wide smile.

“Well with programming classes and coding a lot in robotics, my eyes started to get a little weak. So I had to get checked out and yeah.” He says as he stares at you with a soft stare.

Raising a brow, you looked at him confused. Tim always had 20/20 vision. He told you himself, he never needed glasses…

“But didn’t you always use to—”

“MX. [LASTNAME] & MR. DRAKE!”

You and Tim jolted at the teacher’s loud voice as the coding character has finished the programming. Classmates turned at you with either annoyance or confusion.

“Stop talking. Pay attention or I’m writing you both up.” With a stern look, the teacher turns back to the board. Leaving you with your hand in your hair and a confused face.

What the fuck was happening?

Tim could see you breaking down a little beside him, only moving his eyes to glance at you. His eyes started to darken.. he remembered.

“[name], what’s your type?” A girl with pigtails said, she looked at Jason. This was all in middle school. “My type is Jason! He got this bad boy vibe about him.” She giggles behind her hand. “You’re so lucky to have Jason by you.. I would die the second they say hi to me..” you awkwardly chuckled, “I don’t know what my type is.. I’m not really into dating.” You rubbed your arm. The girl gives you a raised brow, “No way you don’t have a type! You have to have a type at least…”

“Okay okay.. fine. I guess I like nerdy guys? Like Andrew Garfield spider man wise.. yknow? He looked hot with the glasses on.” The girl’s eyes widen as she shook you hard. “Omg yesss!!! I agree as well!!”

You and the girl walked away from where you were standing by the swing sets, not knowing a certain boy with a fringe heard what you said.

“So they like nerdy guys….” Tim looks down before a dark smile itched across his face.

“Okay.”

After class ended, you got from your seat ignoring the calls of Tim fumbling to get his notebooks and bag. You didn’t think a certain Wednesday would be like this when coming back from a few days.

Next class is Art, ah yes the peacefulness of creating the art inside of your mind and into the world. You smiled a genuine smile as you went to the 2nd floor of the school and into the class.

Sitting down, you let out a fresh breath of air.

Nothing can go wron—

“Hello, [last name].”

And it can.

When you turned to your left, there sat the worse of them all.

Damian Wayne.

Taglist: @roryroro @elect1z @lil-isha @no-bishes @darkfaethedestroyer @nightblanc @cxcilla @winter-world @cim0nnin @yl90 @enjisthings @gwyneveire @ashleeytrx @nightwinglover101 @exactlynumberonekryptonite @caffeinatedvigilantewriter @red-phantom-0 @iriseros00 @zenyyyluvyuu @xen-blank @obsessedwithromance @loafersrs @devils-blackrose @not-herexo @nyxisdark @chiarasworldd @apelepikozume @bookwarm0-0 @daffy-the-duck @holyfishbailiffpeanut @kaylp-godly @cheriecelestial @helloitsmeeeeeee @khalinda-ev @vodkaredbullsblog @another-one-writer @tenswife @that-creepy-girl-000 @childofman12 @1jieka @d1nne @alishii @tsuniio @melvin333 @lillian-morningstar @gentlemonstersworld @skullyz1 @eosfung @hearts4mica @sukaretto-n @mxvoid26

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paxtito · 16 hours ago

Text

cough drop coloured tongue

pairings: tara x reader (no pronouns used)

word count: 3109

warnings: some swearing, nothing really

summary: you catch the flu and tara is gobsmacked (in a horny way) at how much your voice has changed

requested by: @burntoutghost

It started as a scratch in your throat—nothing major, just an annoying little itch that had you clearing your throat more than usual. You chalked it up to the cold weather, the dry air, or maybe even talking too much with Tara the night before.

By the next day, though, the scratch turned into something heavier. Your limbs ached, exhaustion creeping into your bones like an unwanted guest. You still went to class, still tried to act normal, but every blink lasted a second too long, and focusing felt like trying to see through fogged-up glass. Chad had side-eyed you in the hallway, wrinkling her nose.

“Dude, you look rough,” he had said, leaning away as if you might infect him with a single breath.

You had only groaned in response, leaning against your locker for support. Tara had texted you sometime around lunch—Meet me after your last class?—but your response had been delayed, fingers sluggish over your phone.

Feeling kinda shitty. Might just head back to my room.

Tara, being Tara, immediately responded.

Shitty how?

Idk, just tired. Think I’m getting sick.

Do you need anything?

You stared at your screen for a moment, lips twitching at the concern in her words.

Nah, I’m good. Just gonna sleep it off.

That was a mistake.

By the time the sun had set, the fatigue had turned into full-body exhaustion. Your head throbbed with every movement, and a tight congestion settled into your chest, making every breath feel like a chore. The tissues started piling up that night—just a few at first, crumpled on your nightstand. You slept in fits, waking up shivering one minute and burning up the next, twisting the blankets around you in a frustrated haze.

Tara called again in the morning. You ignored it. Not on purpose—you had barely registered the sound over the pounding in your skull.

By the second day, the fever had fully taken hold, and the sickness dragged you under like a riptide. Your phone was somewhere beside you, buzzing every so often, but lifting your arm to check it felt impossible. Tara’s name kept lighting up the screen.

And then, eventually, she called.

You groan, rolling over with a sluggish hand to grab it. She’s already called three times. Probably worried.

Pressing the phone to your ear, you croak out, “Hey.”

The other end of the line goes silent for a second. Then, a sharp inhale.

“Holy shit.”

You frown, rubbing your temple. “What?”

Tara clears her throat. “Uh, nothing. You just—you sound different.”

“Yeah, no shit. I feel like I got hit by a truck,” you mumble, voice thick with congestion, deeper, rougher than usual.

Tara definitely makes a noise at that. Something small. Sharp.

You barely register it, too focused on the pounding in your skull. “Sorry, I didn’t text back. I think my body’s literally shutting down.”

There’s another pause. Then, a suspiciously unsteady breath from Tara’s end.

“Babe,” she starts, voice an octave lower, almost sultry, but you’re too far gone to notice. “You—uh—you should really drink some tea. Might help… with your throat.”

“I tried,” you mumble, head sinking into the pillow. “Burned my tongue. Fuck tea.”

Tara lets out a strained laugh. “Right. Yeah. Uh—so, how sick are you exactly?”

“Very,” you groan. “I can barely move. Why?”

She’s quiet for a moment, and then, her voice is softer. “No reason.”

You sniffle, rolling onto your side. “I probably sound disgusting.”

Tara, who is gripping her phone a little too tightly, lets out a nervous chuckle. “No. Not at all.”

You hum in response, already halfway to passing out again. “Mmm. I miss you.”

Tara lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah,” she mutters. “Miss you too.”

You’re out before you hear the way her voice lingers.

You come back to yourself slowly, your eyes fluttering open as you hear knocking at the door. It takes a moment for your brain to register the sound, still fogged up with feverish haze. You groan, rolling onto your back and blinking against the sunlight filtering through your curtains.

The knocking comes again, more insistent this time. "Hey, you awake?" Tara calls out, voice muffled by the door between you.

You open your mouth to respond, but it comes out as a strangled croak. Your throat feels like it's on fire. "Yeah," you rasp out, voice barely above a whisper. "Just a sec."

You heave yourself up to sitting with great difficulty, bones creaking in protest. Your room spins a little as you swing your legs over the side of the bed. You sit there for a moment, head hanging between your shoulders, until the dizziness passes.

Shuffling to the door, you unlock it and crack it open. Tara stands on the other side, a look of concern etched on her face. She's holding a tray with a steaming mug and a plate of food.

"Hey," she says softly, brown eyes searching yours. "How are you feeling?"

You give a weak smile. "Awful. But better than yesterday, I think."

Tara frowns slightly, stepping into your room and shutting the door behind her. She sets the tray down on your desk and comes to stand in front of you, reaching out to feel your forehead.

"You're still so hot," she murmurs, frowning at the heat radiating off your skin. "I brought you some soup and tea. Figured you might need it."

You lean into her touch, nuzzling her palm. "Thanks," you mumble, voice rough and gravelly. "You didn't have to do that."

Tara shrugs, sliding her hand down to cup your cheek. "Of course I did. You're sick, dummy."

You huff out a weak laugh at that. Tara takes a step closer, until you're sharing the same air. You notice how her gaze lingers on your face for a long moment before flicking down to your lips.

"How about you sit down and eat something before the soup gets cold?" Tara suggests, voice a little strained. She clears her throat, pulling back and gesturing to the desk.

You sink back down onto the bed, moving slowly and deliberately to avoid jostling your aching body too much. Tara watches you with a mix of concern and... something else. Something you're too out of it to fully recognize just yet.

Settling yourself against the wall, you pull the tray onto your lap, eyeing the steaming mug of tea and bowl of soup. Tara sits down beside you, close enough that your legs are brushing against each other.

"Thanks for bringing this," you murmur, wrapping your hands around the mug. The heat seeps into your chill-prone fingers, and you sigh at the small comfort. You take a sip, wincing slightly at the heat, but welcoming the way it soothes your raw throat.

Tara watches you, lips pressed together. You glance at her and catch her gaze lingering on your mouth, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. She clears her throat and looks away.

"Feel free to stay as long as you want," you offer, voice a low, rough rasp. "I could use the company."

Tara swallows hard, nodding. "Yeah. I... I want to be here for you."

You frown slightly, noticing the way her voice dips, the blush deepening. She's acting strangely, but you're too focused on not falling back asleep to think much of it.

"How's your throat feeling?" she asks softly, inching a bit closer to you.

You shrug, taking another sip of tea before answering. "'S okay. Better than yesterday. Still hurts though."

Tara nods, eyes flicking down to your lips again. She's quiet for a long moment before speaking.

"You sound... different," she says, voice barely above a whisper. There's a hitch in her breath at the end of the sentence.

"Yeah, I know," you rasp out, voice low and gravelly. "Guess it's from the sickness."

Tara swallows hard, and you finally notice the way she's looking at you, really look at her. The flush on her cheeks, the dilation of her pupils, the quick pulse fluttering at the base of her throat.

"Guess so," she breathes out, eyes still locked on your face

You study Tara's face, noticing the way her chest is rising and falling a little faster than usual, the flush that seems to be spreading down her neck. Something about her demeanor is setting off alarm bells in your foggy mind.

"Because you're acting weird," you point out, voice a low, concerned rumble. "And you keep staring at my mouth."

Tara's eyes fly up to meet yours, widening in surprise. She swallows hard, a visible gulp in her throat. For a moment, she looks flustered, at a loss for words.

"I... I didn't realize I was..." she starts, before trailing off. She clears her throat, looking away. "I'm just worried about you. You're really sick, and I want to make sure you're okay."

You narrow your eyes, not entirely convinced. "Tara, what's going on? Is there something you're not telling me?"

Tara takes a deep breath, and when she turns back to you, there's a new intensity in her eyes. A heat that makes your stomach flip, even through the haze of sickness.

"It's just... your voice," she says softly, slowly. "It's... really sexy like this. All low and rough..." She blushes deeply, looking mortified as soon as the words leave her mouth.

Your eyes widen, finally understanding the undercurrent of her behavior. A slow smirk spreads across your face, even as your cheeks flush with warmth.

"Oh, I see," you murmur, voice a low, husky rasp. "Well, I am a little bit dying, after all. Guess that's making me extra irresistible, huh?"

Tara's eyes widen, and she lets out a shaky laugh. "I... I didn't mean to be so blunt. That was really inappropriate of me to say out loud."

You shrug, taking another sip of tea. "Hey, no worries. I'm just happy you find me attractive, even when I'm a gross, sick mess."

Tara bites her lip, glancing at you from under her lashes. "You could never be a mess to me. Sick, yes. But never a mess."

You both end up sprawled out on the bed together, the TV flickering in front of you. Tara keeps shifting, tossing a pillow behind her back, before leaning forward to grab the remote and flip through channels.

You're too tired and fuzzy-headed to really pay attention to the screen, but you can feel the restless energy rolling off Tara in waves. She's practically vibrating, and you glance over at her with a furrowed brow.

"Hey, you okay?" you ask, voice a low rasp. "You seem... tense."

Tara startles, glancing over at you. She forces a smile, but it's strained at the edges.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she assures you quickly. "Just... wanna find something good to watch."

You shrug, sinking back against the pillows. "Whatever you want. I'm too out of it to care much."

Tara nods, but she's still fidgeting. You notice her eyes flick down to your lips again before darting away. There's a heat in her gaze that wasn't there before, and you suddenly feel a little warm under your blanket.

You're about to comment on it when Tara suddenly sits up straight, pointing at the TV.

"Hey, they're playing one of your favorite movies!" she exclaims, grabbing the remote. "Want me to put it on?"

You squint at the screen, trying to make out the title. It's one of those cheesy horror flicks you love, the kind with a campy plot and over-the-top kills. You smirk slightly.

"Sure. Why not," you rasp out, shrugging. "Might as well enjoy it, since I'm stuck in bed anyway."

Tara nods and hits play, flopping back down on the bed beside you. She's a little too close, her shoulder brushing against yours. You glance over at her and notice her gaze is glued to the screen, but there's a faraway look in her eyes.

You're about to ask her if she's sure she's okay when she suddenly turns to you, chewing on her bottom lip. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and her cheeks are flushed.

"Hey..." she starts softly, voice barely above a whisper. "Can I... can I ask you something?"

You frown slightly, noticing the way her breathing has picked up. "Of course. What's up?"

You blink slowly as Tara turns to face you fully, her brown eyes searching yours with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. Even through the sickness fogging your mind, you can sense the shift in the air between you, the electricity crackling like a live wire.

"What's on your mind?" you ask softly, voice a low rasp. Your words come out slower, more deliberate than you intended. Maybe it's the fever, or maybe it's the way Tara's gaze is burning into you, but you feel suddenly self-conscious, hyper-aware of every movement.

Tara takes a deep breath, and you watch as she swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing in her throat. She's looking at you like... like she wants to devour you whole. It's a look you've seen before, but never this intense, this hungry.

"I was just thinking about... well, your voice," she says quietly, almost hesitantly. "It's just... different. Really deep and rough and... sexy. Even more so than usual."

Your eyebrows shoot up, and you feel your cheeks heat under your sickly pallor. You're pretty sure you'm blushing, and the realization makes your head spin.

"Oh," you murmur, at a momentary loss for words. "I guess the sickness is doing weird things to me."

Tara nods, and you notice her tongue dart out to wet her lips. "Yeah. I guess it is."

There's a charged pause, and you're suddenly very aware of every inch of space between you. Tara's knee is brushing against yours, her shoulder pressed to your arm. The heat of her is seeping into you, and it's making your head swim in a way that has nothing to do with the fever.

"And I was thinking..." Tara starts again, a little breathlessly. "Maybe... maybe you could read to me? Like, from that comic you like so much? I want to hear more of your... voice."

Your heart stutters in your chest, and you blink slowly, trying to process her request. You're not sure if it's the sickness or the way Tara is looking at you, but you feel like you're drowning, pulled under by the intensity of her gaze.

"Okay," you breathe out, voice a low rasp. "If you want."

You start to read from the comic, your low, rough voice filling the room. But as you flip through the pages, you can't help but notice that Tara seems distracted. Her eyes are glazed over, not really focusing on the illustrations. Instead, she's staring at you, her gaze heavy and intense.

You pause, glancing up at her with a frown. "Everything okay? You seem... elsewhere."

Tara blinks, coming back to herself. She shakes her head, a little smile on her face. "Yeah, I'm fine. Your voice is just... really nice. It's hard to focus on anything else."

You feel a blush spreading across your cheeks, and you duck your head, focusing on the comic pages. "Sorry. I don't want to bore you."

"No, no, not at all," Tara assures you quickly. She's quiet for a moment before speaking again, her voice a little hesitant. "Can I... can I be honest with you?"

You glance up at her, eyebrows raised. "Of course. Always."

Tara takes a deep breath, and you watch as she seems to steel herself. "I just... I really want to kiss you right now. Like, really, really want to."

Your eyes widen, and you feel your heart stutter in your chest. "Oh," you breathe out, at a momentary loss for words. "Tara, I... I'm really sick right now. I don't want to get you sick too."

"I know," Tara says softly, reaching out to touch your cheek. Her fingers are warm against your skin, and you lean into the touch instinctively. "I just... I can't help it. You're just so... you're irresistible like this."

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. "I appreciate it, but... I don't want to risk it. Especially with how bad this cold is."

Tara nods, a little sadly. "I understand. I do. I just... I wanted you to know how much I... I want you."

Your breath catches in your throat, and you feel a wave of emotion wash over you. Tara is looking at you with such raw, naked desire, it's overwhelming. You cover her hand with your own, squeezing it gently.

"Thank you," you whisper, your voice a low rasp. "That means a lot to me. More than you know."

You blink slowly, trying to process Tara's bold words. A small, surprised laugh escapes your lips, turning into a cough as it catches in your sore throat. Tara looks a little sheepish, but there's still a determined glint in her eye.

"A little peck can't hurt, right?" she asks hopefully, a small smile playing on her lips. "And then, once you're all better... I'm totally jumping your bones. Consider it a promise."

You gape at her for a moment before a slow, stunned grin spreads across your face. "Wow, you're... wow," you rasp out, shaking your head in disbelief. "Okay. One little peck. And then... I guess we'll see what happens when I'm feeling better."

Tara grins, her eyes sparkling with excitement and anticipation. She leans in slowly, and you feel your heart start to race as she gets closer. Your eyes flutter shut instinctively, and you hold your breath in anticipation.

Softly, gently, Tara's lips brush against yours in the lightest of kisses. It's over in an instant, but it sends a shiver down your spine nonetheless. Tara pulls back, a satisfied smile on her face.

"Mm. Can't wait for that promise," she murmurs, her voice a low, husky rumble.

You open your eyes, blinking up at her dazedly. "Wow," you breathe out again, still trying to process the moment. "That was... wow."

Tara chuckles, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Her fingers linger on your cheek, and you lean into the touch.

"Get some rest," she whispers, her thumb brushing over your cheekbone. "You need it. And then... then we'll see about that other stuff."

She leans in to press another feather-light kiss to your forehead before settling back against the pillows, pulling you with her until your head is resting on her shoulder. You feel yourself starting to drift off, lulled by the warmth of her body and the promise of things to come.

#tara carpenter fanfic #tara x you #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x y/n #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter x male reader

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