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theorist-fox · 2 months ago

Text

Gemstones

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

18+

CW: angst, hurt/comfort, pregnancy, childbirth (mentions), the good ending to this (if only he behaved), simon is a good husband and a good dad

Masterlist 🦊

Simon had promised himself that if he ever lived long enough to be satisfied with his life, he'd go and piss on his father's grave.

He thought about giving up, thought about ending it sooner rather than later—easier to expect life to deal another bad hand, considering what he'd been given in the past. The whisper of a blade along his wrists, or, better yet, a ripe bullet fuming in his head.

Prevent the cunt from sliding more poor draws as birthday surprises.

Still, the thought of desecrating the bastard's grave gave him something to look forward to. And when you have a source of anticipation, life tends to slide by in a bearable manner.

The only thing he had to do now was find a reason to go there, to the cemetery where he was buried. He wouldn't show up with nothing to shove down the man's throat, no matter how dead it was. No, Simon would go there with a trophy in his hand, rub it nicely where the Riley name was just about to fade, and then piss on it.

Medals didn't do the trick in his own eyes—never fond of chest candy, he couldn't imagine the ghost of his father being impressed either. His survival mattered little, too. Hell, he could go there to tell him that he had made it out of a grave, at least, while he stayed buried and dead, killed by the same things he once worshipped: alcohol, drugs, and a fat fucking liver.

Nothing quite fit the plan.

Simon drifted past his thirties with nothing meaningful in his cards — the same shitty hand life had dealt him from the start.

The only thing he could've bragged about was that he never found it hard to juggle work, relationships, and life.

Mostly because he lacked the latter two. What a brag, aye?

Easy as anything, though: go to work, get the job done, and go back home. Crack open a beer, maybe. Pass out on the couch.

He knows what it looks like. He knows and reluctantly admits it, too. Doesn't need a reminder from his psyche, doesn't need to hear the derisive laugh of his old man echo in his head.

He shuts it all off and drinks on it—paradoxical as it may be.

And as life gets dull and duller, rankled with boredom and self-loathing. With the same beers and the same shows on the telly. With the same silence haunting his flat and the same dreadful black hole swallowing his chest—

A spark. A light.

Out of the blue, during the hottest day of summer. Something that makes the hair on the nape of his neck stand on end, like a cat sensing danger—though this is no threat at all. It's the unusual of it, the novelty leaving his stomach knotted and heavy.

A pair of jeans, a light blue shirt left unbuttoned at the top. Just two, nothing too revealing. Open enough to stave off the warmth of HQ, yet still hiding the right amount of skin for a professional setting.

Makes his imagination run wild. Didn't even know he still had it in him, to fantasise.

A necklace you mindlessly toy with between nimble fingers, pretty blue gemstone mounted in gold, as you point at numbers and charts on the whiteboard behind you.

He's heard fuck all.

"Alright then." You snap him out of it. "Any questions?"

It takes him one well-placed elbow in the ribs, surreptitious as the owner, Garrick, for him to notice that he's been gawking at you to the point of discomfort. You're staring back with tightened brows and steeled shoulders, lips furled in either a pensive frown or a disgusted one.

Simon opts for the latter.

Of course he had to go and act like an animal the day he forgoes the balaclava. Not even his need for anonymity could force him to wrap his face in fabric when the temperature is just shy of 35 degrees. And while this has protected him from melting against the chair of the conference room, it has also left him completely vulnerable to bystanders' eyes.

Including yours. Sharper than a blade, cutting him into thin slices until there's nothing left for him to hide.

John asks something. The focus shifts. God fucking bless him alright.

You answer smoothly, crystalline voice that tinkers with his eardrums like they're made of glass.

He takes the ball and brings a hand to his jaw to massage its hinges. It aches. His mouth is dry. Pulse climbing up, palms clammy as they go for his face. If he didn't know any better, he'd think he's on the verge of having a stroke.

But not even Simon, clueless as he may be when it comes to feelings, is that unfathomably stupid. His cock straining in his trousers is a big, fat hint anyway.

You collect your things. Tap your papers neatly into place. Peel off a post-it note and scribble something on it. He follows the curve of your hand, the sharpness of each knuckle.

Simon blinks, and you're right beside him, sticking that yellow paper on the table in front of him.

Your number penned on it. Your name right below.

Simon has fucked plenty of people without remembering much of it. There are those who care if he comes, and those who fuck him even if he isn't hard at all.

It's a very straightforward way to force his body to feel something that isn't agony. Though he wouldn't describe himself to be a sad person—he doesn't think what he feels is sadness. It's more than that, less fickle than simple heartache.

He's accepted that life could either be this or the complete opposite. Between those two states of being, however, there is a whole ocean to cross, and he's utterly alone on a pitiful raft and with a single oar. At that point, he starts realising that he can either row day and night, hoping to reach a place that only seems to get farther and farther, or he can try his bloody hardest to make the journey more pleasurable.

He's tried drugs. Good for a tick. The aftermath is atrocious, though, worse than whatever has been festering in his guts.

Alcohol knocks him out. That's good. Less frowned upon. Easier to hide. His mouth waters when he pops open his beer and listens to the telltale fizz as the bubbles rise to the top. Foam spills on his knuckles, and he lets it crust. And when the beers are over, he switches to whiskey. It burns so good he wishes he could bathe in it—let it corrode at his skin the same way it's corroding his liver.

Sex is a good, perfect balance.

It can't kill him, for one. Another addiction to add to the list, sure, but at least this one won't have him rotting any time soon.

Whoever lands in his bed is game, to be honest. Doesn't care if he's horny, doesn't care if he can't get it up right away. It's the feeling of it—to be used, to be needed. He'll switch to whatever their hearts desire, as long as they fuck him until the knot in his stomach uncoils and he can somewhat breathe again.

But with you, it feels just slightly different. Or maybe a lot different, and he's not ready to face it yet.

He's not letting himself be used, be needed. Simon is reluctantly accepting that he's wanted, and that he can want too. He can want and he can take, if that's what he fancies.

He takes you. Takes you for all that you are: your sense of humour, your quirks, your wit, how your teeth bite into your cheek when you're thinking, the way your hair sways when you talk excitedly.

The way you fuck him, how you look when he fucks you. How your mouth parts when you cum, the weight of your hands on his chest as you ride him. The gentle breaths in the crook of his neck.

The I love you you whisper that first time.

His stomach gets heavier the longer you stay. It's not an unpleasant feeling, but it's new and unpredictable, and Simon doesn't like unpredictability. However, he forces himself to digest it because it feels like something in his belly is finally full.

Something in his heart, too.

Life gets harder, though—practically speaking. The scale tips to where the air smells of citrus and steeping teas instead of rotting flesh and cheap kentucky.

Now he has to go to work, get the job done, and return home. And if he gets home earlier than you, he has to prep dinner and all. Something nice to treat you right. Has to actually do laundry, the way you like it. Clean the house, much bigger than the studio apartment he used to inhabit.

Can't even brag about being able to juggle his life correctly—the visit to his father's grave has got to wait.

It's alright, he reckons. What's one more year, after all.

He stops enjoying lonely Stellas at night, because he found he doesn't really like to kiss you when his breath smells so heavy. Masks your taste, makes him curl his nose in disappointment.

He fancies wine now, like the posh fuckers he's always despised—pop open a bottle and nurse it from one of the two glasses you set on the coffee table at his feet. Bourbon, if he's got nothing to do the next day, and you're off as well. Pepsi, if you're both too tired to digest alcohol that night.

Liquor tastes different now. He doesn't find himself drawn to the bottle if you're not home—at least, not as often as before. He still loves his bourbon, but only after the clink of his glass with yours. A big lad like him can handle a beer or two—still, it tastes better if he can pet your head propped on his thighs as he gulps one down.

Every night, he's got you cuddled in his side, hence passing out on the couch is not an option anymore. The bed it is, then. Better sleep, much more space—hell, better sex for when you're both up for it.

Plus, sunlight hits you just right when he first wakes up and you're asleep, splayed on his chest. He likes the way golden ribbons curl around your shape, threads on your fingers like you're wearing jewels.

Doesn't take him long to actually put a golden band where it belongs, against all fucking odds. When the thought popped in his head, he prepared himself for the devastation that would follow your no.

However, you nod your head when he takes out his mum's ring from his pocket. You nod your head vigorously, he'd like to add. You say a yes so genuine it cracks him open, leaves him bare for you to see the confusion festering inside. The elation.

The unmistakable joy.

No one believes him when you say yes—though truthfully, his mates do. Still, he's the first among the sceptics. A loud minority in his own head.

Johnny claps his shoulder as he stands there, clad in a suit and sweating bullets. Clammy hands pulling at his tie. However, none of it matters when you come to stand before him. Wedding gown on, and the most gorgeous of smiles. Pearls on your neck and tears in your eyes—gemstones, as precious as can be.

A hand on his cheek, a kiss on the lips.

The last as his fiancée, the first as his wife.

Sure, life becomes harder than his previous one. Responsibilities double, but loneliness halves. And halves. And halves. Until he forgets what it's like to live in a house and not in a home.

Briefly, the thought of finally having something to rub in his father's face crosses his mind. But when you take his hand and bring it to your lips, golden wedding ring catching the sunlight, he thinks it can wait a bit more.

What's a couple more years to add to his thirties, after all.

It's a foggy day when you abruptly wake up, lamenting a stomach ache that won't leave you alone.

"I'm so fucking sure it's yesterday's dinner," you mumble, unable to peel the frown off your face. "Fucking take out—I knew we should've cooked."

He's fixing you a cuppa in the kitchen to help with your nausea when he hears you retch from the bathroom. Simon sprints your way, leaving the tea bag to steep in the hot water for longer than needed.

He kneels beside you, running his hand up and down your back. Hooks his arm under the crook of your knees after you've brushed your teeth and takes you to bed.

You murmur that he's the best husband in the entire world as you nuzzle his chest. He chuckles at that. Thinks you proper insane but never voices it.

Perhaps because he likes to hear it. Perhaps because you're making him accept it too.

It's hard to digest, to metabolise that he is not… rotten. Or at least, not as wasted as life made him believe. Fear rankles his bones—to disappoint you, to disappoint himself. But you hold him like you'd rather be nowhere else, and that makes it easier for him to swallow it all. Have his stomach break it down into pieces and feed it to his soul.

It's worth it—fucking hell, really worth it.

Worth more than anything, especially when you both peek through the gaps of your fingers as you shield each other's eyes. The buzzing of the cold bathroom lights is the only background noise, silence as the companion of your bated breaths.

The ping of your phone signals time's up, and his focus finally lands on that stick. His eyes meet two little lines instead of one.

Pure horror and delight. His father's cruel eyes flash like lightning in his head, ice cold and terribly real, awfully tangible. Thunder cracks. He can't breathe right, not as calmly as he should.

You look into his eyes with gemstones in yours. A smile so bright the clouds part to favour it. It's not sunless anymore.

And it's worth it again.

Worth it, worth it, worth it.

Worth every back-breaking job he takes next. Worth every solitary mission he goes on, and every particularly dangerous one he rejects. Worth every extra stack of paperwork tossed on his desk. Worth every bit of overtime he spends in HQ.

Worth it, worth it, worth it.

Worth seeing you grow, worth seeing you healthy. Worth seeing you hungry and devouring the food he makes, drink from the cups he washes.

Worth hearing your chuckle when he brings home that questionable concoction you crave. Worth holding your hair out of the way first thing in the morning.

Worth making love to you again, and again, and again, knowing that's what being home is supposed to feel like. Knowing that he has it, just right there, in the spaces you inhabit. In the pillow under your head, in the green mug next to his blue, in your hair tangled with his clothes.

Worth it.

Worth it, to hear her heartbeat.

Worth seeing her move around in black and grey.

Worth feeling her hand pressing up. Her feet kicking at her ma.

"Like a little alien," you murmur tenderly, pressing his fingers to your belly.

She answers every time.

He kisses your skin. "My little bug."

Worth it, to watch you hold her when she first sees the world. To leave you that space, reserved for you two and not another soul. Even if his fingers itch to touch her, lurching to hold her as well—beating crazed, pulse climbing up, as if his heart could break the bones in his chest and reach out to her. To you.

Angel in your gentleness, goddess in your strength. Heavenly, overall, even drenched in blood and sweat.

Worth the fear for your safety, the fear for hers.

Worth the apprehension, the anxiety. He's not fit to be a dad, is he? Not fit for this life, where all is tender where he's hard, where all is comfort where he's pure unease. His hands have dealt more punches than caresses. They've taken the brunt of so much anger, it must have transferred to his bones somehow.

But if rage truly is his inheritance, it must not have taken root in him. Or at least, not as deeply as he thought. Not as invasive.

There's no space for it, no space for a hollow heart or withering anger. No space at all, because everything inside of him is full of you.

And it's so, so worth it.

Worth it all—just to hold her that first time.

Tiny, tiny thing. He could fit her in a hand if he wanted to, have her little legs hang off his forearm.

He could, surely.

He doesn't.

No, Simon becomes a cradle instead. Both arms curl around her as he sits down, afraid his knees might give out. He speaks to her words he never thought he'd get the chance to say, never thought they'd fit the mould life forced him into.

"Hey bug," he whispers. "I'm your dad."

Tears in your eyes. Gemstones.

In his, too.

Managing life is tenfold harder, especially when his little bug starts crawling.

Now he has to go to work, get the job done, get home—no, scratch that.

Now he has to wake up earlier so he can get breakfast ready for you. Feed his daughter so you can sleep in. Kiss you goodbye.

Go to work. Check the baby monitor connected to his phone so he can watch her sleep for a minute, or see her play in the cradle.

Good for his heart.

Get the job d—call you, to see if you're alright, how you're hanging on. He hates with all his guts that he can't stay home longer, but money doesn't grow on trees, and it's not only about him anymore.

Again, back on track: get the job done. Try to. Check the monitor. Send you a text.

His life would be so fucking bleak without you in it.

Might as well play along.

Back to his plans.

Get the job done early, precisely, so he can get home earlier and see you. Help you. Shed the soldier's armour and wear his dad clothes. Give you time to rest as he takes care of everything, until his baby falls asleep, so he can take care of you too. Be your husband again.

His days are harder. Balancing life and job is not as easy as it was when he used to come back to an empty house and a cold heart. It doesn't go nearly as smoothly as when he came home to you only, to warm arms and gentle eyes.

He knows it's not easy for you either.

Still, now he comes back to the smell of milk and baby powder. To changing nappies and sleepless nights, only to wake up at the crack of dawn the next day.

He comes home to your beautiful, tired eyes. Happy, happy as can be, like you've always been. Like he is—unbelievable to even think about it.

Home to the sound of innocent laughter or piercing cries, to tender babbling and chubby hands grabbing at his hair.

He still has to piss on his father's grave. But that's a thought for another day. You're waiting for him to come home, for him to be the man you know. The man you love.

The man he is.

Life's harder, but his heart's regrown. Spread its roots, symbiotic with you.

His little bug is a troublemaker. Curious. Brilliant.

Like her mum, he reckons.

She crawls everywhere, touches things she shouldn't. Not a soul on Earth has baby-proofed the house like Simon has, and still she finds ways to give her dad a chain of consequent heart attacks that leave him floored for the next couple of hours.

Hell, he wouldn't change a thing.

A dinner at home is how Simon properly introduces his daughter to the team.

Kyle can't stop baby talking to her and she giggles loudly every time. John promotes her to Sergeant Riley with a velcro SAS patch attached to her onesie. Johnny juggles her on his knees, but it's the third time she reaches out with those chubby hands to grab the goddamn knife.

Makes sense, to Simon, to just put her on the playing mat and have her handle things she can actually play with.

And as chatter ensues, Simon's hand drawing circles on your thigh under the table, you gasp.

It's a moment of frigid horror. Fear travels like shards of ice through his bloodstream, tips at his skull. But when he follows the line of your eyes, his body freezes in awe.

There she is, standing on her own two feet.

Sage green socks wobbling on the mat. Tiny arms spread out for balance, chubby fingers wiggling in the air as if it could help her keep still.

Gummy smile pushing at her cheeks, tiny dimples pressing in. She looks at her dad with innocent pride.

Simon's mind travels back. Breath lodged in his throat.

He sees you frowning at him in the conference room. Sees your number scribbled on a post-it note, your half-buttoned shirt and the gemstone in between your fingers.

Sees the pearls like dewdrops around your neck. Those eyes charged with gorgeous tears. The gold around your finger, hand clutching his own to your heart.

He sees those same tiny feet, now touching the floor and holding her up, hidden in your belly. Her tireless kicks to meet his hand through you.

Sees her eyes squinting in a piercing cry. His lips to your forehead, coated in sweat and fear and relief. Feels her weight in his arms like that first time, like he's holding her again—small fists bumping around, eyes adjusting to the first light she's ever seen.

"Hey bug," he whispers. "I'm your dad."

He stands slowly, holding your hand. You follow his movements, eyes locked on your child. The silence in the room is palpable, but it's not a dreadful one—it's anticipation, it's a joy that thrives quietly, bathing each person in the loveliest of lights.

You both crouch a few feet in front of her. Simon opens his arms.

"C'mere bug." His voice trembles, doesn't even sound like his.

You sniffle next to him. "C'mere baby, go to daddy."

There. There she does it. Her babble fades into a giggle. A tiny, tiny step—a tumble. You react automatically, reaching forward with your arms, but his girl's stubborn, resilient.

Like her dad, he reckons.

She stands up again, regaining her balance. And steps forward, and forward, and forward, until the tips of Simon's fingers find hers—solace in her daddy's hold, small hands curled around his bigger thumbs.

Joy explodes. Golden fireworks. His mates laugh brightly, the air is pure delight, and as he picks his daughter in his arms, he holds one out for you.

You scoot inside. Press a kiss wet with lovely tears to your child's cheek. She giggles. It's clueless and light.

It has Simon's heart in a clutch.

He doesn't remember hearing his baby brother laugh like this. Doesn't think he's ever laughed like this either, when he still couldn't even speak.

His baby girl's happy. Loved. You are, too.

His chest tightens when he realizes he is part of the reason why.

"Good job, little bug," you whisper tirelessly, as if no force could stop you from showing how proud you are. How radiant. "Good job my love."

Simon's ears are cottoned. A bubble around you three, impenetrable because Simon has vowed so. His lips on his baby's forehead, then on yours.

His carbon copy looks up at him. Chocolate eyes meet his twin—smaller, fragile, and yet as strong as man can be. His pride, his love, packed inside a mess of curls and dimpled cheeks and pure, gorgeous sunlight.

A small sticky hand lands on his cheek, as if she's trying to make her daddy smile. Simon turns to kiss his daughter's palm and looks into your eyes, glossy with joy—aquamarine tears, glowing from within.

His little bug might look like him, but she's just like you—eyes like gemstones. His treasure trove. Most coveted one, most precious.

"I love you," he mouths to you.

Your smile is wet with tears, chock-full of joy.

You say it back.

His father is buried six feet under. There he'll stay. Drowning under cold, barren soil. Food for bugs, corroded by time.

Not his problem. Not anymore.

You kiss him. A quiet peck in front of guests, but still so charged with love it gives his heart whiplash. He transfers it to his daughter's forehead.

Johnny lifts his glass with a loud Cheers. A happy cacophony follows suit, clinking glasses and a small chorus of congratulations to "wee Sergeant Riley".

Life is hard. It's gonna be harder, and harder, and harder.

But Simon doesn't think it's ever been this bright.

#dad!simon riley #best dada award goes to...#...the fucking Ghost? Really?#yes 😌#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #cod #call of duty #ghost x reader #call of duty modern warfare #fanfic #x reader #foxy #angst #cod angst #cw pregnancy #cod fluff

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inseobts · 2 months ago

Note

hello i apologize if this is a lot but i'd love to req a fic w/ zoro, law, ace, sanji where reader is normally mature but has cuteness aggression to animals, & when she started dating them, she does it to the boys too- suddenly clinging onto them while aggressively peppering their faces w/ kisses or squeezing their cheeks & just being so overly proud of them & showering them w/ compliments, it can be a common occurrence or it takes the boys by surprise lol you decide ^o^

also, thank u for ur service to the op community on tumblr 🫡 the quality & frequency of ur fics are impressive, i always look forward to ur updates♡

Clingy Combat Cuddles

characters: zoro, sanji, law, ace (x fem!reader) + chopper (platonic but with zoro too)

a/n: they're kinda short because I didn't have many ideas, so I added chopper (ofc it's platonic tho + it has zoro in it!)

words count: around 0.4k - 0.6k each

tags: fluff, humor, cuteness aggression, established relationship (except for chopper ofc)

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Zoro:

The deck of the Sunny is peaceful. The sun is warm. The sea is calm. A perfect day.

And Zoro has just fought a sea king.

You're watching from the side, arms crossed, lips pressed together, trying to stay cool and composed. Like always.

But Zoro walks past you, shirt still off, a little cut on his cheek, sword resting against his shoulder and he scowls at the deck like it personally offended him.

That’s it.

That’s the moment.

Your brain breaks.

You lunge at him without warning “Zoro!”

He turns his head, barely reacting in time before you wrap your arms around his neck, jumping slightly so you can hang off him, nuzzling your face into the side of his jaw.

“YOU WERE SO COOL!! You chopped that thing like shing shing BAM! My big strong grumpy samurai baby!”

He stiffens “Oi! What the—”

You grab his face between both hands, squishing his cheeks together like dough.

“Look at this face! So serious! So brave! So slicey! UGH!!”

You start kissing his cheeks, nose, forehead, even his frown line like you're on a mission.

Zoro is frozen. Arms hanging in the air like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

“…Did you hit your head?” he finally mutters.

“No!” you say, still kissing him “I just... I have a thing!”

“A thing?”

“Yes! I get aggressive when things are too cute or too cool or too brave! Like when Chopper does his little dance or when cats squish into boxes—and now you!”

He gives you a blank look “So… you're calling me cute?”

“No,” you say seriously “I’m calling you the cutest deadly thing I’ve ever seen and I want to eat your face in the most loving way possible.”

“...What.”

A few feet away, the rest of the crew is watching like it’s a new show.

Luffy’s grinning, sitting on the railing “He’s gonna explode.”

Usopp is pale “I’ve never seen her like that. That’s terrifying.”

Sanji’s cigarette hangs from his lip, forgotten “He doesn’t deserve that level of affection, but damn if I’m not jealous.”

Robin chuckles “So, this is what she’s like when the mask slips. Fascinating.”

Back to Zoro who now has you hanging off his front, kissing under his chin while mumbling things like “my battle bear” and “look at this terrifying angel”.

He finally puts a hand on your back, awkwardly “…You’re seriously not joking.”

“Nope,” you chirp, grinning like a lunatic “I’m so proud of you I might die. Look at you! Protecting everyone without hesitation. You’re amazing.”

He stares at you. Then down at his swords. Then at the deck.

“I just killed a sea king.”

“And it was HOT.”

Zoro groans and hides his face behind your shoulder.

Later on you’re sitting on the grass, your head in his lap, Zoro finally having managed to drag you somewhere quieter. Sort of.

He’s sharpening his swords, jaw set, pretending he’s not enjoying the way you keep sneaking kisses to his thigh.

“You done acting weird?”

“Nope,” you say, immediately reaching up to pinch his cheek again “You’re mine now. This is the price.”

Zoro sighs, annoyed.

But he doesn’t move your hand.

Instead, he glances down, and there’s a tiny hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips.

“You better not do this in front of enemies.”

“No promises.”

“…Tch.”

You grin and tug him down for another forehead kiss.

And this time, he lets you.

── .✦ Sanji:

You’ve been good today. Calm. Collected. You kept your hands to yourself through breakfast, through a minor skirmish with Marines, and even through Sanji’s dramatic backflip dodge while holding two plates of soup.

But now… Now he’s plating dessert.

He hums a little as he swirls whipped cream into perfect little peaks.

His hair falls over his eye just a bit, and there's flour on his cheek.

You try. You really try.

But no... You’re losing it.

“Sanji—” you say, voice tight.

He turns with a warm smile “Yes, my love?”

You’re already marching toward him.

“Oh no,” he says, eyes wide with anticipation “Is it time?”

“It’s time.”

You slam into him like a heat-seeking missile, arms wrapping tight around his middle as you squish your cheek against his chest.

“TOO PERFECT. TOO BEAUTIFUL. TOO TALENTED” you shout into his shirt.

Sanji laughs and drops the whipped cream just in time to catch you with both arms.

“Mon dieu, you’re doing it again. You’re going to kill me with affection.”

You grab his face “GOOD. DIE WITH LOVE.”

You start smothering him in kisses: forehead, cheeks, chin, nose, ears, rapid-fire smooches with increasing intensity.

Sanji nearly melts.

“Chérie, please, my heart can only take so much—”

“Look at you!” you cry, squeezing his cheeks “Your stupid little smile and your perfect food and your gentleman act! You’re SO ANNOYINGLY AMAZING!”

He practically purrs “Say that again.”

“You’re the most beautiful, talented, wonderful man in the world and I want to chew your stupid perfect face like a mochi bun.”

He gasps softly “Marry me.”

“I might do.”

“Then we have to arrange it all.”

Later that evening, you’re sitting peacefully on a chair, flipping through a book.

Sanji walks past you carrying a tray of tea and pauses.

He glances over his shoulder.

You glance up.

There’s flour on his sleeve.

His shirt is rolled up to the elbow.

He’s humming again.

You’re holding it together, but barely.

He smirks “You okay, mon amour?”

You stare.

He walks closer “You’re looking at me like I’m a chocolate cake with legs.”

You slam the book shut and launch up, but before you can pounce, he spreads his arms wide like an invitation.

“Come here, ma chérie. Ruin me.”

You leap into his embrace and he spins you around, laughing as you kiss his face over and over and over.

“You’re shameless!” you giggle.

“I’m in love,” he says dramatically “If your kisses were a drug, I’d be long dead.”

“I will squish your cheeks into dumplings and feed them to seagulls.”

“Please do.”

“You’re too pretty, it’s unfair.”

“I’ll ugly it up a little. Give me a day.”

“NO! I love your face, I’d wear it like a scarf if I could.”

He fake-swoons “Do it. Take it. I’m yours.”

“Is this… normal now?” Zoro mutters as he watches you pin Sanji against the wall of the kitchen, attacking him with affectionate nibbles and kisses while he happily takes it, hands holding your waist like he’s never been more at peace.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Nami says, sipping her drink “They’re like this almost every day.”

Brook hums “Yohoho! True love is terrifying.”

Robin smiles behind her book “At least it’s harmless. Though, she did try to bite his nose once.”

“She did bite my nose,” Sanji calls out helpfully “It was magnificent.”

Zoro turns away, muttering, “Get a room.”

“We have a room!” Sanji replies “We’re just taking the scenic route!”

Hours later, you’re snuggled on the couch in the kitchen, your head on Sanji’s lap, while he runs his fingers through your hair.

“You good now, love?” he asks gently.

You sigh “I think I emptied the tank.”

He leans down and kisses your forehead “You can refill it tomorrow. I’ll be ready.”

You open one eye “You really don’t mind when I get like that?”

He smiles “Mon amour… I live for it.”

You smile too “You’re gonna regret saying that.”

“I hope I do,” he says “Over and over again.”

── .✦ Law:

Law is reviewing maps. His fingers tap against the table in a steady rhythm, eyes darting from note to note. His crew has just docked at a remote island, nothing dramatic today. Just calm preparation.

You're leaning against the wall, watching him.

He’s focused. Serious. In control.

You normally admire that about him.

But now?

It's making you suffer... a lot.

His eyebrows furrow slightly. He mumbles something about currents and wind speeds. His lips move with precision. His fingers glide over the paper and...

... and that’s it.

You break.

“Law” you say, voice suspiciously innocent.

He hums without looking up “Mm?”

You walk up behind him slowly. Too slowly. His head lifts just slightly, eyes flicking toward you, narrowing.

“…What are you doing?” he asks flatly.

You don’t answer.

You leap onto him from behind.

“AHHH—”

He jolts forward a little as your arms wrap tight around his neck, your face burying in the side of his head.

“YOU’RE SO SMART. SO FOCUSED. I WANNA BITE YOUR BRAIN THROUGH YOUR SKULL—IN A LOVING WAY!”

“WHAT—?! Y/N—what are you—”

You pull back only to grab his face and start kissing it in a fury. Forehead. Nose. Cheek. Jaw. Temple. Eyelid. Repeat.

“SO! SMART! AND! SEXY! AND! SERIOUS!”

“Are you having some kind of episode?” Law says, voice strangled.

“Yes,” you gasp “It’s called cuteness aggression and you’re the disease.”

Minutes later, Law is leaning back in his desk chair, defeated, while you sit on his lap like an overjoyed little goblin, hands on his cheeks, staring at him lovingly.

“You’re not supposed to be like this” he mutters.

“Like what?” you blink innocently.

“You’re usually calm. Rational. Controlled.”

“I lied,” you say sweetly “That was just the bait phase. This is my final form.”

Law sighs and covers his eyes with one hand “I can’t do diagnostics like this.”

“Sure you can,” you whisper, kissing his nose again “You just need to adjust to your new life. With me on your lap. Forever.”

He mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like “help”.

“Too late,” you say “I’ve chosen you.”

“You’re insane.”

“And you’re perfect. Look at this little line between your eyebrows. It’s my favorite. Can I kiss it?”

“No.”

You kiss it anyway.

He tries to work. He really does.

You're sitting nearby. Quiet. Reading. Acting like a normal person again.

Then Law says something offhanded, like, “The odds of ambush are low, but possible.”

You immediately drop the book.

You spin in your seat.

“Low but possible? SO. ARE. YOU. That’s you. You’re a low-chance rare-drop man. A mythic legendary boyfriend. I’M GOING TO KISS YOUR EARS.”

“Please do not kiss my ears.”

You pounce again “TOO LATE!”

You squeeze his face gently, tilt it like he’s a confused doll, and begin your assault.

He groans “This is emotional terrorism.”

“You love it.”

“…I don’t hate it.”

Later that night, you’re laying together in his quarters, the world quiet, your head on his chest. He’s stroking your back slowly, finally calm again.

“You’re weird” he murmurs.

“Yup.”

“I liked you better when you were pretending to be emotionally stable.”

You smile into his shirt “Liar.”

“…Yeah,” he mutters “I am.”

You lift your head just enough to look him in the eye “Do you want me to stop?”

He hesitates.

Then, softly “…No.”

You grin “Good. Because I was going to keep doing it anyway.”

He presses a kiss to your hair “Of course you were.”

── .✦ Ace:

Ace drops out of the sky like a meteor, lands on the deck with a dramatic crouch, and tosses a flaming Marine cannon overboard like it’s a beach ball.

Everyone cheers.

You’re already running toward him.

He stands up, beaming, shirt half open, flames still curling off his shoulders.

You throw your arms around him like a tackle.

“BABY!! YOU LIVING INCINERATOR! MY FLAMING HERO!!”

He laughs, wrapping you up tight “I missed you too, firecracker!”

You grab his cheeks.

“I am going to smooch you so hard your freckles become stars.”

“PLEASE DO.”

You slam kiss after kiss to his face, and he laughs through all of it “Wait—no, don’t stop, I’m just surprised! You’re usually the calm one!”

“That version of me is dead,” you say seriously “You dropkicked a cannon midair. I’m going feral.”

“Finally!” he cheers “Join me in chaos!!”

You bite his cheek lightly.

He gasps “I’m in love.”

The rest of the crew watches you both clinging to each other like human Velcro, nuzzling and giggling and attacking each other with affection.

“It’s like watching two puppies roll down a hill” Marco mutters.

Thatch wipes a tear “Beautiful. Gross. But beautiful.”

Ace is now spinning you in a circle while you repeatedly yell, “YOU’RE SO STUPIDLY HOT, IT MAKES ME ANGRY.”

“YEAH?! GOOD! I WANNA BE HOT FOR YOU FOREVER!”

“STOP SMILING LIKE THAT YOU HANDSOME PIECE OF SUNSHINE!”

“I CAN’T, YOU’RE TOO CUTE WHEN YOU YELL.”

Later, Ace plops down beside you, sweaty and soot-streaked after another skirmish. He opens his arms wide.

“Do your thing” he says.

You blink “What thing?”

He grins “You know. That thing. The... 'aggressive cuddles and I-want-to-chew-your-face' thing.”

“Ohhh, you want the full package?”

“Yes please.”

You tackle him to the ground instantly.

“MY BEAUTIFUL DUMB IDIOT. MY FLAMING HOT DORK. MY BRAVE EXPLOSION HUSBAND.”

You kiss his forehead.

Then both cheeks.

Then his jaw.

Then you pause.

“You smell like smoke and sea salt.”

“Romantic, huh?”

“You smell like danger and I love it.”

“I love you.”

You pause again “Ew. That was corny.”

“You just licked my face like a cat two minutes ago.”

“Fair.”

At night, lying in a hammock together, he holds you tight against his chest. The wind is quiet. The sea gentle.

He brushes his fingers through your hair.

“You really don’t get embarrassed?” he whispers.

“Not when it comes to you” you murmur back.

“Even when you call me a ‘beautiful flaming dumbass’ in public?”

“Especially then.”

He grins into your hair.

“I like this side of you” he says.

You look up “You mean the clingy one that kisses your nose in front of your whole crew?”

“No,” he replies softly “The one that doesn’t hold back.”

You smile.

“Then you’re stuck with me.”

Ace kisses your forehead.

“Good. Because I’d set the world on fire before I let you go.”

── .✦ Chopper (+ Zoro):

“Okay, next patient,” Chopper says proudly, flipping his clipboard “Let’s see Y/N, it’s just your check-up!”

You sit on the exam table swinging your legs “Yup! I’m ready, Doctor Tiny Genius.”

“I told you not to call me that” he mutters, hiding his flustered face behind the clipboard.

You lean down and whisper, “But you are a tiny genius.”

“Stop iiiit,” he whines, blushing, “I’m just doing my job!”

You watch him waddle around the room with his little doctor coat and stethoscope.

He’s so smol. So serious. So determined.

You can’t hold it.

“Chopper,” you whisper “Come closer.”

He looks up, confused “Huh? Why?”

“Come. Closer.”

“Are you okay—?”

You snatch him right off the ground and CRADLE him in your arms.

“TOO CUTE. TOO KIND. TOO FLUFFY. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH I’M GONNA EXPLODE.”

“W-WHA—?!” Chopper’s face is glowing red “W-WAIT! I—I’m your doctor—!”

You rub your cheek against his fuzzy face “You are my doctor AND my emotional support reindeer. Let me love you.”

“You’re squishing my antlers—!”

“They are precious and I would die for them.”

Chopper flails, but doesn’t really try to escape. He’s used to this. You do this at least once a week.

“I’m gonna tell Zoro!” he threatens, kicking gently.

“Zoro loves it. He thinks you’re cute too.”

Zoro is leaning against the doorframe, watching the scene unfold.

You cradling Chopper like a plush toy while Chopper pretends to be mad but actually leaning into your touch.

Zoro sighs... and smile.

“You’re enabling her” Chopper says accusingly.

Zoro shrugs “You are adorable.”

“Not you too!” Chopper squeaks.

You smirk “See? I told you.”

Zoro walks over and gently ruffles Chopper’s hat “Deal with it, doc. She only does this to her favorite people.”

Chopper freezes. Blinks. Looks between you and Zoro.

“R-Really?”

You nod and boop his nose “Only the elite get aggressively snuggled.”

He goes completely red, squeaks, and buries his face in your shoulder.

“Okay... but just for five more seconds.”

You squeeze him tighter “Ten.”

Later, as you finally let Chopper go, he adjusts his little coat and clears his throat.

“I’m still your doctor” he says sternly.

“Of course, Doctor Cutie.”

“Don’t call me that! …I mean, you can, but—wait, no, don’t make it a thing!”

Zoro pats his head on the way out “Too late.”

You lean over and whisper to Zoro “I’m gonna dress him up as a little surgeon plush next time.”

Zoro smirks “I’ll hold him down.”

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retrosabers · 11 months ago

Text

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐔𝐌𝐄’𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐄 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐌.

logan howlett x fem!reader

summary: the scent of you is driving logan crazy.

contains: mild 18+ content. MINORS DNI. mentions of masturbation (m&f), a steamy little make out, and implications of future smut

word count: 1.8k

a/n: not me trying to capitalize off the hugh jackman renaissance and revive my dead blog…anyways, this is my first time writing for logan! hope you all enjoy <3

i feel like we don’t talk enough about logan’s enhanced sense of smell.

the man can catch a whiff of someone the second they walk into the room, even the building sometimes if their scent is strong enough. it’s especially heightened when he realizes he’s attracted to you. at first he thought maybe it was because you were always wearing perfume, the aroma lingering around the mansion wherever you traveled. but then it became such an intense, all encompassing sensation that he knew it was something deeper.

his suspicions are confirmed one night as he walks past your room. if the faint whimpers he heard weren't enough confirmation of your activities, then the scent that fills his nostrils seals the deal.

you’re touching yourself. and he can smell your arousal.

it makes something stir in his stomach. the animal-like urges he always tries so hard to keep at bay threaten to make their way to the surface the longer he stands frozen in the hallway. logan attempts to shake the heat that spreads across his skin as he makes his way back to his own room, but it only ends with him cumming hard into his hand an hour later.

the next day, when he catches you on your way out of charles’ office, you offer him the same kind, beaming smile you always did. then that damned smell fills his nostrils again and his fists curl at his sides once you’re out of eyesight.

there’s only one explanation for it.

you’re ovulating.

which means there’s no escaping his desires unless you stay out of reach.

so for his sake and yours, he decides to just avoid you completely until the week is over. he can’t risk caving to those urges and doing something stupid and irrational.

of course you’re completely oblivious to it. you think that he’s just being weird, going through another rut of being a standoffish loner like he was when he first arrived at the mansion. because after about a week, he’s back to being a bit friendlier, to being the logan you had grown to call a close friend.

then the cycle seems to repeat itself and you notice it’s just you he’s avoiding.

you try and wrack your brain to think of anything you could’ve done to warrant this kind of isolation. you hoped if something upset logan he would just talk to you about it instead of playing this childish game of hot and cold.

after a couple months, you decide you’ve had enough.

cornering him was a difficult task. but you were observant enough to know certain parts of his routine, including exactly when he would be lingering in the common areas after all the kids had gone to sleep. after two failed attempts of trying to catch him in the kitchen, you finally managed to find him alone and unsuspecting.

“why have you been avoiding me?” you blurt, wanting to cut right to the chase. you’re expecting him to flinch a little bit, perhaps even be stunned.

but he knew you were coming. logan knew it was only a matter of time before you noticed his schtick.

still, he decides to look for an excuse, any excuse, to cover up the real reason.

“m’not avoiding you” he grumbles halfheartedly around the rim of a beer bottle. taking an extra long swig, he finally turns to look at you; leaning against the doorway with your arms folded and a look akin to annoyance plastered across your pretty face.

you cock your head to the side, clearly unimpressed with his answer.

“a few days ago, i watched you back out of a room the minute you realized i was in it,” you start to list off, counting with your fingers. “last month you avoided the wing where the gym was altogether while i was going through a new training regimen.”

logan winces at the memory. the scent of your pheromones was intoxicating. so much so that he couldn’t step foot anywhere near the gym without feeling like he needed to rub one out.

“and the month before that,” you huff out a sad laugh, voice suddenly soft and quiet. “you didn’t even say goodbye before you went off on that mission with scott and jean.”

guilt overtakes him quickly at the pain in your tone.

you’ve never looked smaller as you pick at a loose thread on your sweatpants. “did i do something wrong?”

“no,” logan reassures, jumping out of his seat at record speed, though still trying to maintain some distance. “you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“then what is it? you sigh exasperatedly, desperate to put an end to this nagging feeling that’s been eating away at you. “logan, you know if something’s bothering you, you can tell me.”

and he wants to. he so badly wants to, maybe even see if you’ll offer to help him out. but you’re you. the sweetest, kindest thing he’s ever known and he’ll be damned if he lets his curse of a mutation ruin whatever relationship the two of you have.

but then you’re inching closer and his skin starts buzzing again. his senses are consumed by you. by the way you look up at him with big, wide eyes, the softness of your skin as you reach to place a comforting hand on his forearm. it's all too much, and he finds himself pulling away from you with a grunt.

it hurts to see him retreat from you so aggressively. his jaw is clenched tight, his fists at his sides even tighter as the veins in his arms bulge bigger than you’ve ever seen before. he looks pained. like he’s fighting something internally.

“logan,” you approach him cautiously, unsure of what exactly to do. “what’s going on?”

his eyes squeeze shut at the sound of your voice. “just, please go back to your room.”

“i’m not leaving you like this.”

“m’not asking you,” he grits out, almost like a growl. “i’m telling you. go back to your room.”

now he was starting to piss you off. you narrow your eyes, leaning your hip against the counter.

“or what?”

suddenly he’s crowding your space, chest heaving up and down as he stares at you with pupils so wide his eyes are nearly black. logan’s voice is scarily level when he utters his final warning.

“or i’m gonna do something i regret.”

when you shift closer to him, his nose twitches with a sniff. the raise of your brow doesn’t go unnoticed, and he knows that you’re not leaving this room until you get to the bottom of what he’s been hiding.

that’s when something inside logan decides to throw caution to the wind, just for a minute.

“i can smell you.”

curiosity morphs into confusion at his admission. you shake your head.

“i don’t understand.”

then, the man’s gaze travels to the waistband of your pajama pants, the tension in his jaw growing more taught by the second. his hands flex at his sides, trying to keep him grounded and calm as he finally admits what’s been driving him mad.

“i can smell you.”

the emphasis on the last word takes a minute to register. logan watches as the gears turn behind your eyes, catches the exact moment of realization as your gaze softens and your lips part.

oh.

slowly things start to piece together. how logan’s behavior seemed to fall around the same time these past couple months. a few weeks before your cycle.

he wasn’t avoiding you because he was angry, or upset. he was avoiding you because you were fucking ovulating.

logan expects you to flee, to be completely weirded out and steer clear of him for the foreseeable future. what he’s not expecting, is the words that come out of your mouth.

“i can help you with that if you want.”

you say it with such nonchalance, such casualness that he wonders if you’re even really grasping what you’ve said.

the wolverine shakes his head. “trust me, you don’t want this.”

he doesn’t quite believe his own words as he watches you close the distance between your bodies. something you’ve been desperate to do for as long as you can remember.

the thin fabric of his tank top and the soft cotton of your t-shirt is the only thing standing between you both. your chests are mere centimeters from touching and logan can feel the heat radiating from your bodies as his confession hangs heavy in the air. then that fucking smell comes back tenfold and he groans.

“you don’t get to make that choice for me,” your voice is sickly sweet, dripping with desire as your fingers ghost over the waistband of his jeans. he feels like a horny teenager as he preens at the barely there contact.

logan breathes your name, a last stitch effort to get you to run, though he knows it’s futile. if there’s one thing he knows about you, it’s that you're stubborn. unmoving in your ways.

and that when you want something, you don’t stop until you get it.

your hand comes up to cradle the side of his face, a rather gentle touch he wasn’t anticipating. his eyes flutter shut as you swipe your thumb over the expanse of his cheekbone.

your words are barely above a whisper. “i trust you, logan. completely.”

that’s all he needs to hear before he throws any sense of self control out the window.

he surges forward and captures your lips in what is possibly the most heated kiss you’ve ever experienced. you nearly stumble over at the sheer force of it. logan’s large hands fly to your waist, yours to the back of his neck as his tongue prods for entrance into your mouth. it’s messy, almost primal as you let him ravish you like he’s been thinking about for weeks.

you moan and he swallows the sound greedily, desperate to hear it again, and again, and again. when his lips move to press against the column of your throat, you know this is going to escalate into exactly what you hoped it would.

“logan,” you breathe out as he focuses on your pulse point, his hands wandering further south to knead at the globes of your ass. “not here.”

“why not?” he mutters, all smirky and smug as he continues to press wet hot kisses against your neck.

“because i would prefer if you didn’t fuck me where our friends eat.”

he laughs, a deep vibration felt against your chest as you absentmindedly grind your core against his. it makes him bring his mouth back up to yours, stealing one final kiss before he pulls away.

looking at you like he wants to eat you alive. and by god you might just let him.

pressing a playful smack against your backside, he gently nudges you in the direction of the corridor.

“lead the way sugar.”

thanks for reading! <3

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #wolverine x reader #logan howlett #wolverine smut #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #hugh jackman #x men #the wolverine

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postracehair · 5 months ago

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fracture

max verstappen x reader | 3.5k

max breaks his wrist during the first week of the off-season.

cw: max breaks his arm, r is a bit rattled, some blood, a naked shower, intimacy, mentions of sex

a/n: c'mon. you know he'd be so annoying. good thing we love him. [i wrote this before the season ended and then...never posted it. so, here, have it before we start all this shit over again in a few weeks.]

You are not there when it happens.

You're asleep, actually, curled up on Max's couch with the cats while he enjoys the first week of the off-season. The celebrations have ended and there is a great deal of work to be done in the next few months, but everyone gets a little bit of respite.

Vacation will come after the holidays. That's the plan, anyway. The last few days have seen you in Monaco, mostly inside Max's place. Just spending time together, relaxing, watching movies, rumpling his sheets. Today, though, he and Danny decided to go on a world-class-athlete-level bike ride.

Which is why you're on the couch. They've been gone all day and you don't expect Max to get home until later. You ran errands, cleaned a little, and then took an afternoon nap.

As you rouse from it, you fumble for your phone to check the time. The screen lights up and you're greeted with --

35 texts. 4 missed calls.

"What the hell?" you mutter, sitting up and opening everything.

DR: sorry for the three calls don't freak out but i think max broke his arm

DR: he says you're probably napping but i'm going to document this for when you wake up

DR: he's fine but yeah that shit is fucked

DR: he says not to tell you he fell off his bike but he fell off his bike

DR: he braked for some animal in the road and went over his handlebars

DR: oh he also scraped his face but he's still pretty, don't worry

DR: his palms are fucked though which is why he's not texting you

DR: we're on the way to the hospital, btw

DR: you're gonna be so pissed when you wake up

It goes on like that. Daniel, to his credit, has given you a play-by-play of the whole situation. You've only been asleep for about an hour and based on the time stamps this started right after you fell asleep.

You get up as you read, grabbing your things and trying to find your shoes as you read. You need to -- you need to go and be wherever they are. You need to help. Heart racing, chest tight, you need to be near Max as soon as possible, even though Danny said he's okay. If this was you, Max would already be there. God, why did you take a nap?

According to the texts, they got to the hospital and he was seen immedietly, x-rayed, and bandaged up. Broken right wrist, Danny had said. He's pissed more than anything.

You're about to call him back when your phone rings in your hands.

"Danny," you say as soon as you accept it.

"Oh, thank fuck," Daniel exclaims. "I thought I was going to have to surprise you in person with the whole thing."

"I'm about to leave, just give me 15 minutes to get there--"

"No, no, no," he interrupts you. "He just got discharged. I'm bringing him home."

You stop in your tracks, one foot shoved halfway into your sneaker. "Really?"

"Yeah, we'll be there in like, 20 minutes?" You can hear Max saying something in the background. "He wants to talk to you," Danny sighs. "Mate, you'll see her soon--"

He's cut off and there's some muffled noises and then Max is saying your name.

"I'm fine," he says. "I only made him tell you so it wasn't a surprise when I came home."

"Max," you sigh, shoulders creeping away from your ears at the sound of his voice. "I'm so sorry, I was asleep!"

He laughs. You feel a bit weepy, which is both an overreaction and cathartic. "Good," he says. "The whole experience has been a pain in the ass."

"You're coming home now? Are you in pain?"

"Eh," he says, dragging out the sound. "They gave me something while they set it so I don't feel it much. Daniel says we'll be home soon. Oh, hold on --" There is some muttering, Danny's voice in the background. "Okay, I'm going to give you back. See you soon, liefje."

"Okay," you say softly.

"Be there in a flash!" Danny says brightly. "Seriously, don't worry."

You hang up and just stand in the hallway, at a loss. Something bad happened to Max and you weren't there. It feels wrong. Not that he's in poor hands with Danny -- quite the opposite. He's probably the only person aside from yourself that you'd want there for Max in a crisis. But, god. You wish you had been there.

The cats weave around your ankles as you pace, waiting for Danny to call or for the door to open or, anything at all to happen. Your mind is running a million miles a minute. Objectively, it's the best time for Max to break something. There isn't even a car for him to test right now and he had at least another week of time off before needing to go back to Milton Keynes. This might throw a wrench in your holiday plans but you couldn't care less about that. How long will he be in a cast? You assume he's in a cast. What kind of help will he need? Will you be enough to provide it? What if he --

Noises in the hall make you freeze and then you hear Danny's voice. You bolt to the door, unlatching the locks and pulling it open. You're greeted with the sight of the two of them -- Danny looking down at Max's keys in his hands, both of their backpacks on his back. They've both changed out of whatever ridiculous bike outfit they must have been wearing for the ride, but you devote your attention to your boyfriend.

You can see the bandages on Max's knees and forearms where he must have scraped himself up on the road. His wrist -- it's in a black cast that runs the length of his forearm. He cradles it to his chest in a sling they must have given him and then you make your way to his face. A few scratches along one cheek, hair a mess, mouth drawn into a frown. A frown that relaxes slightly when you meet his gaze. Your eyes well with tears.

"Max," you breathe. He steps in front of Danny and meets you in the doorway, his cast-free hand cupping your face through the bandages on his palm.

"I'm fine," he says. "You're looking at me like I'm in a coma."

"Sorry," you whisper. "I just --"

He tugs you to him gently, pressing your face into his neck and rubbing your back. You try to be careful of his arm as you breathe deep and will yourself not to actually lose it.

"Guys, can we at least go inside?" Danny asks.

Max huffs and you pull away. He drags his thumb under both of your eyes but doesn't comment on the dampness he finds there. "Inside, liefje."

Danny drops Max's stuff and passes along the documents from the hospital. He's quite the personality but he's all business when he needs to be. "Pain killers in his bag. Call me if you need anything, guys."

You step away from Max long enough to throw your arms around Danny. "Thank you," you whisper. "For looking after him." For calling. For bringing him back to me. For doing what I should have been there for.

He chuckles. "Alright," he says. "Max should break something more often."

Once Danny leaves, it's just the two of you. Max has settled on the couch, head leaning back into the cushions.

"Come sit with me," Max calls. "God, I forgot how much I hate hospitals."

His eyes are closed and he holds his arm gingerly. It's not the first time you've seen him injured -- you've been at his side in the medical tent before after watching him careen into a wall at 190mph. And yet, right now, you're still so upset.

You settle into the cushions on his left side and just watch him.

"I'm sorry," you say again. Max's eyes open. "I can't believe I was asleep when Danny called."

Max shakes his head. "What would you have done?"

"I could have come to get you and take you to the hospital, or just met you there, or--"

He puts his hand on your knee. "Come on," he says. "Don't be silly."

How do you explain it to him? How do you tell him that something happening to him feels like it happened to you? That not being there feels like a personal failing?

"Will you tell me what happened?"

He sighs and you pull his palm from your leg to hold it in your hands.

"It's stupid," he grimaces. "You don't need the details."

"Max."

He folds. Other people in his life have called this your superpower -- Max's will is iron clad. It is very difficult to get him to do something he does not want to do. But one word from you, one soft look, one gentle touch, and he often relents. It's like you can peel back that layer of him that has hardened out of necessity. To protect himself and his heart, to make sure he's taken seriously, to stop things from hurting.

It's like you remind him that it's okay to feel, even when it's hard.

"Daniel summed it up," he grumbles. "We were biking down a hill outside the city and something ran out into the road in front of me. I stopped. Or tried to, at least." He mimes squeezing the breaks, fingers curling in towards his bandaged palms. You stroke his unbroken wrist with your thumb.

"And you went over," you finish.

"And I went over. Got my knees, my forearms, my hands. My wrist, obviously. Just landed badly."

You reach for his face ever so gently, dragging the pad of your thumb over the shallow scrapes on his chin, his cheek. He allows it, knowing that you need to touch him to be sure he's okay. Whenever he has a crash on track you have trouble letting him out of your sight for hours. You just need to look at him, feel him warm and alive under your hands.

"I'm going to write a letter to your helmet manufacturer," you say, not entirely kidding. You slide your hand over his temple and into his hair. It's dirty, you can feel it, but you cradle his skull all the same. "Thank them."

He laughs once, amused with your sincerity. "I need to shower," he says. "But I can't get this wet." You finally direct your attention to his broken wrist, the entirety of his forearm and hand encased in the cast under the sling.

"Does it hurt?" you ask again. Max would tell anyone else off for badgering him so, but he keeps his face soft and reassures you.

"It's strange," he says. "I'm sure I'll feel it later."

"Did it hurt?" you whisper. "When you broke it?"

You know that Max has felt a great deal of pain in his life. His day job requires it -- physical, mental, emotional. He knows how to handle it and get over it. But he's also honest with you, always.

He wrinkles his nose. "It wasn't nice," he confesses. "I knew right away."

You grimace. In the silence, you match your breaths to his and just sit together for a little while.

And then Max's stomach growls.

"Whoops," he says, grinning crookedly. Still an athlete, still a boy with a fast metabolism. You can't help but laugh.

"How about this," you begin, unfolding yourself from the couch and standing in front of him, hands on your hips. Max looks up at you like you're the best thing he's ever seen. "I order some food and then we get you showered while we wait for it. Let the scrapes breathe and keep your cast dry, then we eat and watch a movie and go to bed. Okay?"

"We get me showered?" He sounds skeptical.

"You think you can wash your hair on your own?"

He smirks. "I can do a lot with one hand."

You roll your eyes. "So you're turning down an opportunity to shower with me, is what I'm hearing."

Max gets himself off the couch and rests his palm on your hip. "No," he says softly. "I'm not that stupid."

He kisses you lightly and heads for the bathroom.

"I guess we can wrap it in a plastic bag, or something?" you call after him. It takes a few minutes of opening and closing cabinets for you to find one. You put in a delivery order and make your way to the bathroom. Max has already turned on the shower and you find him shirtless and peeling off his bandages in in front of the mirror.

"Let me do that." He doesn't put up much of a fight, not even wincing when the tape pull at his skin. You see the gashes on his forearm, the raw skin of his palms. "Arm, please." The plastic bag goes around his cast and you tie it at his elbow.

"You planning to wash my hair while wearing your clothes?" Max asks with a straight face.

You stare at him, trying to seem unimpressed. He breaks first, mouth pulling up at one corner before he shucks off his soft shorts and briefs in one go. He pecks you on the cheek and gets in the shower, still smirking at you through the glass door.

"Alright, alright," you mutter. "So dramatic."

You feel Max's eyes on you as you undress, leaving your clothes on a pile on the floor.

The shower is unnecessarily big but Max does not give you much space. The hot spray is at his back and he keeps his plastic bag-clad arm mostly out of the way.

"Feel good?" you ask. Max sighs but nods. You'll bet he's aching but hasn't admitted it. He turns to the side so you can catch some of the spray, too, fighting off the chill outside the warm water.

"I might fall asleep in here," he mutters.

"That'll be the painkillers, darling," you tell him. "C'mon, get your hair wet."

Max tips his head back. You readjust so that you can card your hands through it. You shampoo him gently, taking your time and massaging his scalp. It's a miracle he stays on his feet, but he does. You hum as you work and Max's breaths get deeper, slower.

"Head back," you say softly. He obeys. You do the same with some of your conditioner because you know he likes how it smells.

This shower feels more intimate than the countless hours you've spend in his bed, tangled up in one another. He's been inside you and yet this feels more vulnerable. He's totally ceding control, trusting you to take care of him. You're naked, slick bodies brushing, always touching whether it's your hands in his hair or Max's own fingers reaching for your skin just to feel.

One time, when you were sick, you couldn't muster the energy to take a shower. Max ran you a bath and washed your hair for you, talking all the while because you asked to hear his voice. It's obvious that you'd do the same for him, as you're doing now. It's just how you love each other -- all the way, all the time. When it's easy and when it's hard.

"Danny was right," Max says, words slurring half from bliss and half the fatigue of the day catching up to him. "I should break bones more often."

You finish rinsing him and just stand there in the spray for a few moments.

"Please, no," you groan, brushing wet strands back from his forehead. "If you want me to wash your hair I will, Max. You don't need to break anything."

His eyes flutter open and find yours. He smiles lazily and you turn off the shower.

"If you say so," he says. "Can we take this off, now?"

Bag removed, skin patted dry, comifes on. The food comes when you're settling Max on the couch with a pillow for his arm. In all likelihood he'll manage a few bites of take out and fall asleep 15 minutes into the movie. But he needs the rest, you think. And besides, he'll have you to watch over him.

It becomes clear remarkably quickly that Max is an awful patient. You sort of knew this -- he's been sick a few times when you're around, but you figured that was just man-disease. Whining, refusing to sit still. This is 10x worse. He won't let you do anything for him until he's proven that he can't do it himself. You consider locking him in your bedroom to keep him from trying to do things he shouldn't do.

Max just wasn't made to sit still.

But you can empathize -- it's frustrating to not be able to do any of the things he really likes to do. Drive, use his sim, even play regular video games. It's a lot of movies and long walks and leg days with his trainer.

And then there's the way he just won't ask for help. That's a Max Verstappen original and you know it gets worse when he's frustrated. You do it too -- everyone does. But Max wants to do everything himself, wants to prove that he can.

You try to sit back and let him work it out. About a week after he comes home with his arm in a cast, he calls your name. You're in the kitchen, staring into the open fridge and wondering if you should order more groceries or just go to the shops yourself.

"You okay?" you call back. "Where are you?"

"Bathroom,"he shouts.

Ah, you think. Here we go.

He hasn't shaved yet. You've always loved when he keeps his facial hair a little longer. You love the feel of it on your skin and how it lightens along with his hair when you're on holiday somewhere nice. It's more likely that he keep it long in the off-season. Hot races are a nightmare with a beard, he's said. It itches like mad.

"Coming," you call.

Sure enough, you find him in front of the sink, razor in hand and frown firmly in place. He makes eye contact with you in the mirror and even though you can feel his annoyance from here, the set of his jaw softens.

"Do you think you could help me shave?" he asks. No lead up, no hem and haw.

"Of course, Max."

You quickly work out that sitting on the counter next to the sink while he stands between your knees works best. His broken wrist hangs at his side, the other hand resting on the counter next to your leg.

You lather him up, carefully applying the white foam of his shaving cream on his cheeks, his chin, his neck. He's got a fancy razor, one that will probably make it hard to cut him. Still, you feel the way he's basically handed you a blade and asked you to use it on him. In so many ways it's one of the most intimate things you've ever done. Even more than the showers you've had this week, just chatting and washing his hair.

"I'll be careful," you say softly.

"I know." He tilts his chin up, showing you his neck. "Go on, then."

It's quiet work. You're focusing hard and Max seems content to allow you. Stroke after stroke, rinsing the razor in the sink. You keep one hand at the base of this throat as the other works, gliding it over his skin. Cheeks, jaw, upper lip. Chin, neck.

"I like your beard, you know," you say when you're almost done. He waits until you're rinsing the razor again to reply.

"I do," he says, smirking. "You aren't quiet about it."

The last patch comes off as easily as the rest and you grab a damp towel to clean the rest of the shaving cream. Max appears to have relaxed enough to become pliant, leaning into your touch as you finish. He lets you rub moisturizer into his cheeks, eyes fluttering closed. His hand ends up on your leg, fingers pressing into the flesh of your thigh.

"Cheeky," you mutter. He smiles, boyish and easy. You take your time, pleased that he's letting you, but also because you could touch him forever. "Schatje," you whisper, trying to make it sound like it does from his lips. "All done."

Max doesn't move. You frame his face with your hands and lean in until your lips touch. You feel his smile against yours, but he dutifully tilts his head to deepen the kiss. His freshly shaved skin is so soft. You've kissed thousands of times by now, but you can never get enough of him. The way he responds to your every move, meeting your pressure with some of his own. Your tongue with his, swallowing your moans and giving you his own like a gift.

It's Max who pulls away, dragging his lips over your cheek.

"Dankje," he whispers. It means more than that, you know. From Max, it means thank you for dealing with me, for taking care of me, for loving me.

He doesn't think any of that is easy for you. But he's wrong. It's the easiest thing in the world.

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen fanfic #mv33 x reader #mv33 #f1 fanfic #my writing #fic: fracture

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emacrow · 10 months ago

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Damian and the Dumpster baby.

Damian was doing patrols, with a bit of a minor rescuing and feeding the strays animals until he heard a noise from a dumpster.

Tonight was going to be a storm coming, and he rather check up on the strays, feed them, fixing any of the secure hiding places he put out for them for rain occasionally, and try to smuggle 1 or 6 into the barn again without Father knowing. Alfred can keep a secret sometimes.

Jumping on the edge of the dumpster to see a plastic bag tied up on the pile of trash with something squirming inside, alive obviously. Oh if this another group of puppies, he going to find the culprit himself and break their kneecaps and arms this time.

Easily untying the plastic bag and opening to reveal.. a little baby.

Not a kitten or a puppy, a living breathing human baby, cut and tied umbilical and a pale with a unique birth mark in a shape of a lichtenberg from his tiny hand fading to his chest.

This..

This was out of Damian's comfort line.

He had dealt with saving animals, people, children, hell even toddlers. He never dealt with a baby before much less a newborn.

He could panic later as he hear the sounds of a storm brewing. Carefully picking up the baby by the back of the head and and by the body, using his cape to as a blanket to cover the obvious nudity of the baby. Climbing onto his Red Robin theme Doom Buggy.

Taking care of a baby is no different then taking care of a baby animal, right?

.....

He got caught after 5 month and a half by Alfred during feeding Danyal time, while scolded him about hiding the baby instead of coming to him.

He had a good reason to though, last time he told Alfred about the last newest addition, Bruce sended the Jafar the Ligor to a sanctuary. He still felt betrayed by that.(even though now Jafar is happily spending his days with the other mixed big cat breed but still)

He done a good enough job taking care of Danyal, even though he had to secretly look up baby stuff, medicine, clothes, a soft bedded cot and diapers.(the smell was much less worse then the sewer) he considered himself a great care-taker.(even though in the back of his mind, he feared that he might had unlocked that genetic adopt-bat bait traits that Dick warned him about)

Damian had gotten.. a bit attached, considering the idea of putting danyal in orphanage or a foster care wasn't ideal afterall the corrupted ones that Father and him had broken through over the years left a bad gut feeling if he had actually gone through with his plan. Danyal was one of his babies, only not covered in fur, scales, or a shell.

And he didn't do everything all on his own, Cass was the only who figured it out, kept it a secret and help out.. then steph found out... and Jason, Tim and Duke unfortunately found out after Cass and steph snuck danyal in the manor for a nice bath.

Only reason Dick didn't found out because everyone know he can't keep a secret away from Bruce's ear for long after found out Jason's new girlfriend was the new therapist in Gotham, and telling Bruce would feed his adopt-holic again and he end up having baby fever. (Tim didn't tell him what that word meant but he did look it up in a baby care guide book for new parents. And EW)

They were going to wait it out til Danyal was at least toddler age before sneaking him in the manor to gatekeep gaslight girlboss Father into thinking he already adopted him. (Steph's words, not his)

New post <-

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ddejavvu · 10 months ago

Note

mean! logan fucking his girl while holding her in a headlock 🤤🤤🤤

Logan Howlett x Reader

send me mean!logan requests!

contents/warnings: smut, minors dni. mean!logan, manhandling, he has reader in a headlock, don't like don't read.

Your nose gets pushed into the sheets over and over again, and you're sure it'll be raw later, but not as raw as your cunt. Or your neck, which Logan has in an impressive chokehold. His biceps are bulging as he holds you both up on his elbows, your neck securely pinched between his bicep and his forearm as he pins you to his chest.

He's grunting like a rabid animal, teeth bared beside your ear as he fucks your cunt mercilessly from behind. His hips slap against your ass at the same frequency that your face is slammed into the mattress, and you can barely moan before your tongue hits the sheets.

"Logan-" You wheeze, clawing at his arm for purchase, begging for respite from the crick quickly forming in your neck as Logan holds you in place.

"Where you goin', huh? Stay put," He growls, arm tightening around your throat- not to cut off your oxygen but to fizzle out the weak writhing that you've started up on the bed. Your movements are only making things inconvenient for him, and he holds you steady so that he can continue driving his cock into your hole.

"Logan, I want-" Your protests crumble into a whimper, Logan's bulk caging you in as you writhe uselessly against his strength. There's nothing to be done- he's infinitely stronger than you and he's decided that today you'll move how he wants you to move- you'll be fucked how he wants you to be fucked.

"Shut up," He snarls, bracing more of his weight on your torso so that you sink further into the mattress, "Just fuckin- wait, wait 'til I'm done with you and then you can move around however you want. I'll give you a mouthful'uh my dick if you just wait, shit- make it easy for me, baby, just lemme have you like this."

"Take me, Logan. Take me- have me however you want me," You whine, taking a sudden burst of pride in going limp in his arms: you'll be his perfect little fuckdoll. You'll let him use your hole to get off, and then you'll get to clean him up afterwards. You know your safeword by heart and right now it's the last word you'd ever dare to utter, not when Logan's hitting that delicious spot inside of you that makes your legs tremble.

He snickers, voice suddenly clearer and darker, "You're a fighter. S'funny watchin' you squirm like that. You think you could wrestle me off, sweetheart?"

He flexes his biceps and you feel it against the thin skin of your throat, your heart pounding as you arch back into his rapidly quickening thrusts, "Mm, that make you all crazy? Thinkin' about wrestling with me? Rollin' around and getting pinned down, that's what does it for you?"

You cry out into the mattress as Logan viciously fucks into your cunt from behind, your neck still caught in his strong arm.

"Good," He grunts, breathy and gruff as his weight bullies you flat into the mattress, "'Cause I'll win that fight every time, sweetheart."

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett fluff #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x you #logan howlett blurb #logan howlett drabble #logan howlett oneshot #wolverine x reader #wolverine imagine #wolverine smut

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chronicdelusionistsart · 5 months ago

Text

Bernard Dowd and the Art of Recontextualization

I'm what you might call a "fake Batman fan" - that is, I've only watched most of the Batman animated series', all of the live action movies, most of the animated ones, played some of the video games... so, you know, probably thousands of hours of my life in Batman related media. But not the comics! Fake fan!

Frankly, I find the comics medium the way DC and Marvel do it to be really hard to follow. There's the fact that you can't really follow an individual solo character without them getting caught up in massive crossover events that ruin their arc and pacing, there's the soap-opera-iness that encourages cheap and revolving conflicts inherent to the longform monthly release schedule, the writer roulette, and there's also just that going back to try and thread a particular continuity or character is an exercise in frustration. Oh and the retcons. Everyone hates those. They've (basically) never been good. Don't remember this part it will never come up aga

But, you know, despite this - or maybe because of this - comics is a breeding ground for ideas. Because of the quick turnaround and the demand for novel conflicts, comics just churn out idea after idea. Good ideas, bad ideas, doesn't matter. Get it to print. Retcon it later if we write ourselves into a corner. Comics are often soooooo first draft coded. This is why I personally prefer adaptations - they often reimagine ideas and retcon them into new narratives where they can serve a more coherent plot. But what happens when a character is picked up for a second draft ... without actually contradicting the earlier material? While enriching the earlier material, even?

(SPOILERS for Tim Drake: Robin and uh... 20 year old comics under the cut!)

So, uh, quick disclaimer - because I have very little overall knowledge of DC's Comics continuity, there may be more interesting examples of times that what I'm going to point out was done. But I love Bernard and from a writer's POV I'm impressed with the way they did it so we're talking about Bernard lmao

The Beginning (Robin 1993) - Reading comics from the 2000s hurts in a way I can't describe

Okay so I heard Tim Drake is dating a guy now? (Penny Sonic voice) Whoa he's bisexual I didn't know that! I'm sure people on the internet are being very normal about this. Cool let's find out more about his new bf. I like starting from the beginning... so like yeah hold on while I crack open the Robin comic and take down what this guy's deal is.

😬

So basically the TL;DR of Bernard in his original appearances is that he seems to be an attempt to introduce some normal stakes teen drama into Tim's life. He has all the Funny Guy Friend Classics - he's got an inflated sense of his proficiency at pulling girls, he's inexplicably drawn towards the protagonist (who is cooler than him), he wants to date the most popular girl in school, and he wants to get down with older women!

This might just be me but while I was going through this I thought like, he almost reads a little uncanny, like he's been filtered through a Disney Teen Special. In practice he mostly serves to introduce Tim to the Real Plot, Darla Aquista, and be one of his ties to civilian life, which is, like, fine. He's ultimately just a background character and he's so unimportant that he only has one appearance after their school gets shot up(!!!), which is, again, to be more of an accessory to the Darla plot.

After this display of "wow this guy's kind of lowkey insane for offering to his resurrected bestie supervillainess to be her manager actually", he's dropped forever. Comics! We're not gonna unpack that.

The Sequel (Batman: Urban Legends) - We're Gonna Unpack That

Until almost two decades later when he calls Tim up for a date. And while I'm trying to skim over a lot to get to the point here and I don't really know the FULL context, it is notable that Tim is in the middle of an identity crisis / the cusp of adulthood when this happens (I think he just lost a spleen or something. That sucks dude). It's pretty implicit that part of the reason he's going to see Bernard is because he's someone familiar in a time when he's facing a lot of new and scary stuff.

And at first blush, he really does seem like the same dude. The familiar arm over the shoulder, the banter, it's all very casual and similar to the ribbing from high school -

- and I guess nothing has happened to Bernard in the interim haha he's just the funny friend guy right?

I really like the way they did this. I'm just unambiguously going to praise how good this is if you just came off the 2000s stuff. Comics have kind of breakneck pacing by nature but they really manage to condense down and then pull off a neat sleight of hand over the course of like four pages here. They re-establish Bernard as a silly guy and then wham you with the fact that yeah actually we ARE gonna unpack that. Fuck you Tim Drake life is ever changing and nothing stays the same

So the TL;DR on the rest of the Urban Legends storyline is that stuff like, HAPPENED to this guy while our focus was elsewhere. He learned martial arts, presumably so that he wouldn't be so helpless in the next school shooting level event, he got into a pain cult, he's just Not Doing Well. We find out, reading between the lines, that calling Tim on a date was probably one of his last attempts to reach out to someone when the cult stuff was getting really bad.

I've heard people complain that Bernard is uninteresting or not a character or entirely focused on his relationship with Tim, and I think that criticism is really weird considering that his entire re-debut focuses on the point that he's been having his own life and making his own (often wild) decisions - ones that really changed the course of his life - while Tim was gone. And it's also notable that this story is about how the fact that he's his own person and has changed and has made the nerve-wracking decision to take action and call Tim inspires Tim himself to take a leap and fling himself into the uncertain waters of young adulthood.

Me when I have my bi awakening and call to get out of a rut simultaneously because Cute Insane Guy Inspired Me. iconic

So that's how Bernard has changed. But that's not recontextualization, that's just the writers taking a guy and making him do another, cooler thing. Well hold the fuck on because we're not goddamn done.

What did he mean by th-

The Recontextualizerrrrr (Tim Drake: Robin) - Bernard is the funniest person in Gotham City. I'll not be taking constructive criticism on this

Tim Drake: Robin is the followup to the Urban Legends story and Tim is the main character fr. Obviously. but Bernard is also a major character. Later, he even gets to be a POV character. But they don't do that for several issues, instead treating us to his shenanigans from Tim's point of view as he solves a bizarre serial murder case and like, they're cute! And neither of them are normal in the slightest. I love that for them.

Again, TL;DR, there are a lot of interactions where Bernard talks to Tim both in and out of costume, but we don't get to see his POV until they go out to a restaurant and meet Bernard's parents there by accident and Tim has to run off to do Robin stuff. And like... a lot of stuff happens in this one bois. Whammy after whammy

We're suddenly introduced explicitly to a lot that was only implied or just completely unavailable before. Bernard's parents are ragingly homophobic. Probably were never great even before that. He suffers from depression. All that is a lot to. wait. hold on a second

he knows?????

HE KNOWS????

Okay so if you stop at this point and reread the entire run so far you find out that Bernard is in fact the biggest troll in the entire universe. This is the moment that cemented him as my favourite, by the way. Like I had a feeling that he knew and I was just laughing my ass off when my suspicions were confirmed.

But this is really interesting on top of that because Bernard has been revealed to be, at this point, a guy who you should look deeper than the surface to understand. Someone who masks his true self and whose true motivations you can only uncover if you're really looking past the facade. Even with Tim, he sort of offers Tim and Robin half the story each, taking advantage of Robin's "distance" to give out information he wants Tim to think about but that he's reluctant to talk about frankly while at the same time almost daring Tim to open up about his identity.

Absolutely most normal way to tell your bf about your cult trauma. You'll always be famous to me Bernard Dowd

This is a really neat trick by the writers. It makes Bernard a multifaceted character who got to quietly develop while we were mostly focused on Tim, and there's some clever clever foreshadowing they set up in this run to achieve this. If it were just this, I would call it good writing.

But it actually goes one level deeper than that and becomes something really really special. because as we all know, Bernard was not conceived to be this way, he was a one-off guy who was kind of annoying and he was essentially retconned to be, like. Gay? Have depth? Be funny? All of those things?

The Seamless Retcon (Robin 1993 Again) - We took your guy and we gave him gay subtext and it worked astoundingly well

This is not a new observation btw, I've seen a ton of posts to this effect. But oh my god. Some of these panels really hit different with the new Bernard lore. Like holy fuck just read this back to back

There are tons of moments like this. There's SO MUCH that the revelation that Bernard is queer adds to his initially extremely underwhelming tenure in the Robin comics. A reread almost begs the question of what Bernard must have been thinking at any given moment! BRO YOU SAID YOU WANTED TO FUCK HIS STEPMOM. That's completely believable as a next-level closeting move and goes from kind of annoying to turbofunny.

Like yeah of course he's acting like a douche. His father is a status-chasing asshole and he's five racks deep in the closet. Of course he gravitates towards Tim - his gaydar is pinging and he thinks Tim is cute. And it's also pinging that Tim is like. You know

None of this would hit as hard if the writers had not set up Bernard as someone who masks so much. They worked it in that character trait to mean that you could always glean information deeper than the surface from his top level interactions.

Because of this, Bernard is really fucking interesting and he's a good character and he's one that gets better on reread. Like I said, that's a set of observations that are not new to me. But something that really gets to me is how seamless and intentional it is. It really feels like the writer sat down and took their time devising a guy that is believable as that other guy, but only if you read back with certain context.

The conclusion - Comics. Man.

So is this just about how Bernard is really fucking interesting and he's a good character and he's one that gets better on reread and that he can exist independent of Tim and all the haters are wrong. Yeah of course. 💖

But also like, I have thoroughly proven to myself that I was kinda wrong to just reject the published comics medium out of hand. I see now that there's room for the writer's roulette to hit the jackpot and that something I mistook as an outright flaw, the winding and unfocused and often improvised nature of it, can be ridden like a wave if you're skilled enough to do it. Meghan Fitzmarten is a goddamned genius.

I guess I have to read comics now. Fuck

#tim drake: robin #robin 1993 #batman: urban legends #Batman #Red Robin #Tim Drake #timothy drake #bernard dowd #writing analysis #dc comics #If you're a hater in the notes btw get ready to be ignored lmao #Timber #Timbern

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lotusmar · 5 days ago

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babe… she’s literally dead. like gone. rip

bimbo!reader x mechanic!rafe

WARNINGS: suggestive, language, fluff, lightdom (also this is a bit short, its my first one hehe)

Your pink BMW jerks once—rudely—then makes a noise like a dying animal before cutting off completely in the middle of the road. You blink at the dashboard. Try pressing the start button again. Nothing.

“She’s literally… dead,” you whisper. “Like, not even joking. RIP to my baby.”

You sigh dramatically, flip down the mirror, and reapply your lip gloss like it’s a form of CPR. Then you grab your phone.

[rafe 💕💓💝 💘 ] babe babe babe she died my car died like she literally just flatlined i think it’s serious

You attach a selfie just to soften the blow—pouty lips, heart-shaped sunnies, the little “I’m helpless and hot” face you know he loves. You’re already sitting on the hood in your tiny pink skirt and matching tank when Rafe’s truck pulls up to the usual emergency garage spot ten minutes later.

He parks with the engine still running, steps out slow, and just stares at you. There’s a pause. Like he’s buffering.

Then: “You called me like it was an actual emergency.”

“It is an emergency,” you huff. “She’s not purring. She’s like… silent. It’s scary.”

He looks at your car. Then back at you. Then at the car again.

“Did you mash the gas like a psychopath again?”

You tilt your head, confused. “I just tapped it a little. To, like… hype her up. But then she made this sound—like hkkhhhkkk—and then it was just done. Over. Like when I run in heels for too long.”

He stares at you. Unblinking. “You compared your car dying to you running in heels.”

“Well, yeah. I relate to her.”

Rafe drags a hand down his face, clearly trying not to laugh. “Baby,” he mutters, walking toward the front of the car, “your brain is an actual wonderland.”

“I’ve been saying that!”

He pops the hood, and you trail behind him sipping your iced pink drink, your sandals clicking softly on the pavement. You lean on the side of the car, swaying gently, watching him work. You don’t know what any of it means—but he looks hot doing it.

“You look so hot when you’re annoyed,” you say softly.

“I’m always annoyed around you.”

You gasp. “That’s so mean.”

He glances up, smirking. “It’s also not true.”

You light up instantly. “You like fixing her. Admit it.”

“I like you.”

You grin. “So you do like fixing her.”

“Jesus Christ.” He lets the hood slam gently and turns to face you, hands still stained with grease. “You flooded the engine. Again.”

You gasp. “That is not my fault. She’s just emotional.”

He blinks at you. “She’s a car.”

You furrow your brows in protest. “She’s my girl.”

He stares at you with this look—half amusement, half disbelief—like he cannot believe he’s in love with you, but unfortunately, here he is.

“You can’t keep driving like it’s a Mario Kart level and expect her to survive, baby.”

You lean closer, your glossed lips pouting dramatically. “So… you’re mad?”

“I’m not mad,” he sighs. “I’m just—so deeply aware that I am the only man on earth who would put up with this shit.”

“You love me.”

He doesn’t even try to deny it. He just steps forward, crowding you against the fender, his voice low. “Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

Your back arches just a little. “Even though I’m dramatic?”

“Mhm.”

“And I break her, like… once a week?”

He smirks. “Every three days, but who’s counting.”

“And I don’t know what an axle even is?”

He kisses the corner of your mouth. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“You’re lucky I’m obsessed with you.”

He huffs a short laugh and brushes your hair off your shoulder. “I am. Now get in the damn truck. I gotta take this back to the shop and figure out what kind of chaos you unleashed this time.”

You blink. “I can sit on your lap while you drive, right?”

“No.”

You blink again, slower. “What if I say please and give you head?”

He gives you a long look. Then sighs, already folding. “You’re such a fucking brat.”

You skip toward the truck with a proud little wiggle in your hips. “And you’re in love with me anyway!”

He follows behind you, shaking his head with a smirk, already knowing—whatever part she broke, whatever nonsense she pulls next—he’ll fix it.

Every time. Because you’re his.

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smoking-pipeweed · 15 days ago

Text

LOTR | How they are when they're drunk

[ Lord of the Rings Masterlist ]

Frodo, Sam, Pippin, Merry, Aragorn, Boromir, Arwen, Legolas *reader is their S/O, gender-neutral Content warning * under the cut: suggestive themes (especially in Merry's) but no smut

Frodo

Oh this sweet boy gets real cocky and confident (canon in the books)

The alcohol breaks his shy boy exterior, and he becomes a hurricane of belly laughs and unbridled affection

Comes running over to you during a party at Hobbiton, throwing himself into your arms and slamming his lips onto yours

You almost fall over from shock, tasting beer on his tongue

"Come now, dance with me love?!" he excitedly exclaimed while starting to drag you

You glance at the other hobbits at the table to help save you from your drunk boyfriend's antics, but Sam was holding back a laugh from Frodo's abrupt behaviour, urging you on to go with him

You giggled while he danced awkwardly while trying to keep balance on his feet, holding onto you for slight support

"Alright, Mr. master of Bag End, I think it's time we get you home before all of Hobbiton make more gossip from you," you say to him later while he lays his head on your shoulder, rubbing his head against your cheek

He hums and sits up while giving you a lazy smile, eyes still glossy

He lets you drag him home, feed him some water despite his drunken refusal, and help him lie down in bed

All done while you try to pry his hands off of you while he laughs and begs for some kisses from you

Samwise

He becomes super protective of you

Like more so than usual

Doesn't leave your side, gets stressed when you wander too far and doesn't like it when other people stare at you a little too long.

You start to wonder if his drinking is bad for his stress levels, considering how attached to your side he seems to get

"Babe, I'm okay! I'm just grabbing some food for us from the share table." "Okay... don't be gone too long, please."

It gets worse in taverns, especially where there are a lot of larger men and elves and not so many hobbits.

He will keep a good hold of your hand when walking through the busy room, keeping you close to him.

"Honey, I think you've had enough to drink. You tried following me to the bathroom!"

Very much prefers to have some drinks at home with you, so he doesn't get all stressed.

He becomes a broken dam of stories, facts and always ends the night by pulling out his many maps and books of Middle-earth to show and teach you.

You drag him to bed when his eyes start drooping and his words slur even further than before

He happily obliges and tucks his face into your chest in bed, passing out immediately

Pippin

An absolute menace

You hearing something crash and burn in the distance? It's drunk pippin

Kind of feels like babysitting when he's had a little too much

"Babe, I can't let Merry win! I gotta beat his 12-second score!"

"Peregrine, please get off the barrel before you break a foot."

He and Merry are ruthless on the drinks. Just blink, and suddenly they've drunk a whole barrel between them

Also gets real cheeky with you with no shame

Like pinching your ass when walking past, earning a light smack on the head from you

Or when you're sitting at bar stools and he's seeing how high on your thigh he can creep his hand before you give him a look

Take him home, and he turns into a baby

Head on your lap and demanding you run your fingers through his curls

You swear you hear him purring when you do it

"Pippin, honey, I just want to read my book." "How can you be reading when you have ME in front of you?"

Eventually quietens and passes out in your lap with his arms wrapped tightly around your middle

Merry

Try and escape his advances, it's literally impossible

Becomes so unbelievably horny for you

Like an actual animal

By the time he's had like five drinks, he's DRAGGING you home

"Merry, you can't leave early just because you want sex." "WHAT? How dare you assume I'm leaving just for that! I'm actually very tired, excuse you."

Yeah... that story changes when you get home

As soon as the round door shuts, he has you pushed against it, lips against yours and quick hands going under your shirt

You indulge for a little, you'd be lying if you didn't enjoy this side of him, even a little bit

"Honey, you're very sweet, but you're very drunk and need some rest." "Ughhh but you're so prettyyyy~"

Still tries his luck while you're getting ready for bed, like grabbing you and pulling you against him while you're halfway through getting changed

Or his kisses on your neck turning into flirty bites until you push him off

Gets into bed all whiny but falls asleep quickly

You make it up to him in the morning~

Aragorn

He doesn't get drunk often

But you can tell when he is because he suddenly will act so vulnerable around you

A big telling sign is if you're talking to someone, he'll come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist and rest his forehead on your shoulder

Once the person is gone, you turn to him

"Starting to feel it a bit huh love?"

He nods with a slight groan

He follows you to get some water for himself

Likes it better when it's just you and him, cause then he lets himself loose and gets looked after by you

Likes to smoke his pipe after drinking

If you're staying in an inn, his drunken self INSISTS that he stay up and keep watch

You have to reassure him that he's safe and there's no need

He takes some convincing, maybe even dragging him out of the chair, but he does eventually agree and lets you pull him into the sheets

You help him get his ranger garments off while he enjoys it a little too much, he tries to unbutton your shirt and pants, and you lightly slap his hands away each time

Falls asleep with you tucked against his chest and his chin on your head

Boromir

He gets quite emotional

At first, with all his friends, he is very loud and social, the more he drinks

Super confident, the life of the party and the commander of Gondor's Army

But behind closed doors with you is where his flaws appear

He tries to remain his strong, stoic, proud sel,f but gets a little teary when you rub up and down his rough and scarred back while you're both in the bath together after the big night out

You kiss his tears away, already knowing the drill from other times he's drunk a lot

"You make everything so much quieter and simple." he mumbles against your neck, where you've pushed him

"It's okay baby, you can cry."

He sometimes brings up his father's treatment of Faramir, or his stresses around commanding the Gondor's Army, or the weight of being the steward of Gondor on his shoulders

All you can do is hold him as he rants and cries, giving sweet, loving kisses all over his beautiful face and tracing scars that litter his skin

holy fuck i love this man

Arwen

(AN: I know it's basically impossible for elves to get drunk but lets pretend for this imagines' sake)

Arwen loses her natural shyness and elegance and becomes much more outspoken, confident and sure in herself

She is not afraid to say what she is thinking in the moment, becoming super blunt

This always puts you on edge because you think she's going to say something out of pocket to the wrong person

"Arwen meleth-nin, I think it's time to head back to our room. I think you upset the last man a bit with your harsh rejection."

"Perhaps he ought to have reconsidered his boldness, especially with you so close."

She becomes all soft and cuddly with you when you're by yourself

She sways with you for a little in the moonlight, wanting to make use of the time you have together

Although she can get touchy after a minute, wanting a reaction out of you

You pick her up and lay her down in bed, earning a laugh from her

She slowly slips into a slumber while you brush your fingers through her flawless hair, humming a sweet tune of an old elven song she taught you

Legolas

(AN: this is more book legolas than movie legolas)

It's like his entire spirit comes alive

You'll find him swinging on branches upside down, singing loud elven songs into the night and diving into streams

Can hardly keep up with his drunken shenanigans

Also finds everything hilarious, like say anything to him and he doesn't stop laughing for five minutes

When with other people, he tries to get you two alone

Whether bringing you back to a quieter room in the back of the tavern or taking you outside

He likes to have his alone chats with you when he's a little tipsy

Always checking if you're okay

Once he's checked on you like four separate times in one hour, you realise he's had a little too much

You take him home despite his protests

By the time you've made it home (with many side adventures of him hearing a bird and wanting to look at it or swearing that the trees are trying to fight him), he is exhausted

He crashes into bed next to you, tangling his legs with yours and wrapping himself around you

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bluebellles · 2 months ago

Text

"saint bernard sits at the top of the driveway"

Caleb prides himself on being your favorite tool. You just want your favorite person.

pairing: calebmc / caleb x reader

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff if you squint, sfw

cw: negative self-worth (caleb), mentions of death

You hug him differently now.

You used to bury your face in the crook of his neck, declaring what a “good riddance” it was whenever he left for university and that he shouldn’t bother coming back to visit again unless he brought snacks. Your face hidden away and your voice muffled so he couldn’t make out the way you pouted at the thought of him leaving. He had memorized the shape of it pressed against his skin.

It was a sensation he’d held on to as desperately as the rest of that seven percent in the time that he was away from you. He'd press down on the spot you used to lean into until it hurt trying to feel half as alive as he had been from the feeling of your mindless touch.

So, of course he noticed immediately that you now rest your head against his chest whenever you’re hugging him goodbye.

He couldn’t figure out what had changed at first – cataloguing it as one of the many new pieces of you for him to add to his codex. One more page for him to pore over like his very own holy text.

It wasn’t until recently, when you were saying goodbye after a long weekend in Skyhaven that he noticed the tiny taps of your fingers against his back as you hugged him. The action seemed subconscious. Someone who wasn’t so deeply attuned to everything about you may not have even registered it. The taps were steady and specific, almost familiar in a way that was difficult to place.

They were mimicking the beats of his heart.

He looked down at you, your cheek and ear pressed firmly into his chest and just slightly to the left, eyes fluttered shut in concentration. As if trying to memorize the rhythm. Reminding yourself it was there.

Something painful and yearning threatened to whine its way out of him. His jaw clenched with the effort to hold it down.

He knew it wouldn’t be easy for you after he died. He had been so worried about all the little things he had done for you burdening you after he was gone. Phone calls to insurance companies you’d have to handle now. Documents and bills you’d have to take care of. Fruit you would have to cut for yourself. Would you even bother cutting your apples into little animals before you ate them? Would you miss it? Would you find someone else to take care of you?

He was sure you would grieve. Feel the ache of his loss like a carpenter losing his favorite tool. Be forced to relearn how to navigate the world without him there to carve out a gentler path for you.

It had never occurred to him that you would just miss him.

Find what’s broken. Fix the problem. Promise to sort the rest out later. Forget that promise while you’re crash landing again.

Caleb lived his life mechanically. He knew how to be a good tool – the only tool you’d need. It was how he guaranteed you’d let him stick by your side. He didn’t bother looking inwards, examining the chaotic, nebulous mess that resided there. There was nothing worth salvaging in there. Nothing useful to you.

If he could not be needed, he would be used. It never occurred to him that he might simply just be wanted.

“No need to bother listenin’ to that, Pips,” he couldn’t stop himself from mumbling out, trying for teasing but instead coming out strained, “Your Caleb’s in working condition. No maintenance necessary.”

You didn’t smile.

“Remember when I threw my backpack at the wall and your entire shelf of model planes crashed on the ground?”

He looked at you in confusion but couldn’t stop the amused smile that pulled at his lips. You had cried for hours after that particular incident. Cried even harder when he had just ruffled your hair and thanked you for taking them apart because he’d been meaning to build them again anyways.

“And when I hid your permission slip for your class field trip to the zoo because I was scared of taking the train to school alone? Or when you had to stay after school for hours longer than everyone else for an entire basketball season to practice because I crashed into our basketball hoop when you were teaching me how to drive? Or when I tried to do your laundry for once and you had to wear a pink dress shirt to school for a whole semester?”

“Pips,” the memories brought an endeared laugh out of him rather than annoyance, “what are you-,”

“You loved me anyways, didn’t you? Even though I sometimes made your life harder. You loved me just because I existed?”

The question was almost incomprehensible to him. How could he ever feel anything besides love for you? Didn’t you know how much you mattered to him? Didn’t you know you were the only thing that mattered?

“Of course,” his voice was hoarse as he tried to make you understand.

Your eyes closed again. Your ear returned to rest against his heart once more. Your fingers resumed their gentle tapping.

“So then how come you’re the only one who gets to?”

#caleb x reader #caleb x mc #calebmc #love and deepspace #love and deepspace angst #love and deepspace hurt/comfort #love and deepspace fluff #lads #lads angst #caleb love and deepspace #l&ds #belle's bakery

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boolger · 10 months ago

Text

A lapdog at a farm - chapter 3

AO3 link. <-former chapter - next chapter-> Call of duty. Explicit, 18+, minors do not interact. read the tags. wc:7k

Farmer!John Price x Hybrid!Reader, hybrid! Kyle Gaz Garrick x hybrid! Johnny Soap MacTavish x hybrid! Simon Ghost, John Price x Nikolai.

tags: Rape/non-con elements, dub-con, dog!hybrid!people being kept as pets, alternative universe - farm, dark, farmer!John Price, working-dogs, punishments, mating cycles/rut/heat (no omegaverse), the dove isn't dead but its dying, reader is a brat, knotting, animal tails and ears, mentions of trauma, violence, angst, hurt/comfort, collars, rough sex, breeding kink, biting, threesome, foursome, everyone is fucking your honor, enemies to lovers, chubby reader, reader has a pussy

Author's note: hi sinners <33 this chapter was a fight bc i was unsure of what way to go with certain things and bc of so much going on in my real life. you know the deal w reader by now, otherwse go read part 1 or 2. This chapter was supposed to be longer but I decided to cut it, since it was already at 7k words. while i do have a humiliation kink, being mean to me, and saying i need to hurry up won't make me hurry up btw.<33 at least pay me. also i have a ko-fi now, wink wink.<33

Also according to Google translate: “ona delayet eto kazhdoye utro?”=“does she do this every morning?

The familiar scent of home sept into your nostrils as your face was pressed against the couch, the faint scent of the cigar smoke and of Nikolai added to the mixture. He had done nothing but push your skirt up, just like John had done earlier today, then pulled your panties down - contrary to John’s touch earlier, Nikolai’s hands were gentle, rough palms running over the skin of your ass, almost tenderly pushing your tail out of the way.

“Such a beautiful ass,” Nikolai all but purred, John chuckling from his chair, while you tried bending your back a little more, to show off your pussy as well, your tail touching your back a little, “so desperate, Lapochka”

“She is like that all the time,” John just casually commented, almost sounding proud and you hid your face a little more in the couch as Nikolai grabbed the fat of your ass and spread your cheeks, exposing your holes.

“Cute cunt,” Nikolai commented, almost if you were a piece of art that he was methodically going through, one of his hands moving to swipe a finger over said cunt, just along your lips, making your entire body shiver - until his finger continued up to your asshole, playing along the rim for a moment, “cute asshole too. You play with that?”

“Not often tha' she lets me,” John casually explained while you whimpered at the feeling; you weren’t really the biggest fan of anal sex, though you didn’t mind it. You would just rather have your pussy fucked, rather than your ass.

“Fuck me, pleasee,” You whined, hoping to distract him and Nikolai just laughed, fingers going down to run along your pussy again.

Maybe, if he was this easy to convince to fuck you, he wouldn’t be too bad to have around. As long as he didn’t try to ‘train’ you or anything like that.

Your mind turned off when he finally pushed two fingers into your cunt. The sudden intrusion burned for a moment, but it was essentially nothing and forgotten just a moment later. His fingers were thick, only slightly thicker than John’s, but the man hadn’t taken off the rings on said fingers. The metal was cold against your inside, not that you really minded.

Another finger was added and you felt your tail wag a little again — the stretch was nice, the fingers and the cold metal felt so perfect, especially as Nikolai curled them a little.

The delighted bark that left you from his touch was unexpected for the both of you, but Nikolai seemed to like it, given his repeated attack at just that spot. It made sounds leave you without your consent, your tail wag a little harder, the men laughed; honestly you didn’t give a fuck, too busy chasing your own pleasure.

When Nikolai pulled his fingers out, you didn’t even attempt to hold back your displeased sound - though it was quickly replaced by an impatient yap, as you heard him zip down his pants.

It had been a while since anyone but John had fucked you. You had grown accustomed to the feel of him inside you, on your tongue, in your hands. The weight, the shape, the length. The way his pubic hair that was nicely kept but still there, would tickle your own - the way his hairy chest and stomach would press against your back.

So when the head of Nikolai’s cock nudged its way into your cunt, your toes curled in excitement. He was a little thicker than Price, but nothing you couldn’t take, the Russian man behind you groaning out some words you couldn’t understand.

He wasn’t as long as your owner but it felt like his cock curled upwards a little, making a shiver go up your spine, a small mewl leaving you.

While John would have taken his time, making sure you were fully stretched and feeling good, doing just as he knew you liked, Nikolai once again was an opposite to him. As soon as he was fully inside you, curls tickling your cunt, he held onto you - then pulled back and thrusted hard into you, giving you no option to get used to his cock or to get ready.

Taking you, opposite to John’s familiar loving you. It wasn’t that John was never rough, he was, but without your deeper connection to Nikolai it felt dirtier. But John was right there, watching you.

Watching how his crush was fucking you hard. You were the center of attention, just like you deserved.

Nikolai’s hips and stomach hit your soft ass in a harsh rhythm, his fingers gripping onto what John lovingly called your ‘love handles’, using them to pull you back on his cock. Your mouth was open as you panted in between your loud moans, your sounds accompanied by Nikolai’s deep grunts, the slapping sounds of your bodies colliding - as well as the wet sound of his cock thrusting into your dripping pussy. You were pretty sure you could hear John jerk off as well.

Your fingers desperately tried to grip onto the fabric of the couch, but you were pushed further and further up, ending up pressing your hands against the armrest, so as to not slam into it.

Closer and closer to the edge, Nikolai’s cock hitting that sweet spot inside you, making your toes curl as the man moaned out words you didn’t understand. You mewled out words yourself, mind lost in the pleasure - until it was ripped from you.

An almost furious wail left you as your orgasm was so rudely ripped from you, Nikolai’s cock pulled out, you turned your head as you whined; watching him aggressively strip his cock, dark eyes on you, an almost manic grin on his face.

That asshole knew he had just stopped you from coming.

He slapped one of your asscheeks hard, making you wail again - then he came on your ass, moaning as he got it on your skirt and panties too.

“Nggh,” Your mouth wasn’t cooperating with your mind right now, even as you watched Nikolai wink at you, before he tapped his dick on your asscheek a last time - and then dared to fucking pull up his boxers. Your eyes flickered over to look at John, who had just come as well. That well-known, blissed out smile on his face from when he had a really good orgasm.

“Noo,” you whined, managing to push yourself up on your elbows, body tingling as you looked back at Nikolai, “please - touch me, lemme com’, please plea–”

“Net, Lapochka,” the man all but crooned down at you, even daring to pull up your panties, dragging the fabric through the mess of cum he had just created, “You misbehave earlier.”

“I didn’t, no no,” you sat up even more, your body feeling it was on fire from the missing euphoria, “I didn’t, I was good.”

“Was not.” Nikolai raised an eyebrow as he argued back at you, tipping his head to the side, clearly not looking like he was going to budge.

So you looked over at who you knew you could always trust.

Except Price had closed up his pants as well, taking another drag of the cigar, before he shook his head.

“You weren’t exactly nice,” he pointed out, voice calm from the orgasm like that traitor he was, “threw a tantrum when you got into the house as well.”

“You can’t do this,” you whined, pressing your thighs together, before sitting up, on your knees “I wanna come, master!” Using your best cards, knowing John got weak when you called him that. And you saw it, you saw the way his fingers tightened around the cigar. But he still shook his head.

“Nikolai said no. I said no. Accept it.” He said it so casually, like it was something you were supposed to be used to. A growl left you at his words, Nikolai giving your collar a little tug.

“Don’t be like that, puppy,” he mused, sounding delighted with the entire situation, “You will survive.”

How dared they? Leaving you like this? You deserved much better!

You growled at Nikolai who just let out a pleased hum at it, giving one of your ears a little tug.

“You’re being mean - John,” you escaped the couch and Nikolai, instead going to your master, getting on your knees and crawling in between his spread legs, watching him with pleading eyes, “I’ll be good, I just need to come, then I’ll be good, I swear.”

His lips pursed for a moment, eyebrows dropping a little. He was considering it and you nuzzled against his pant leg, fluttering your eyelashes at him, hoping Nikolai hadn’t already poisoned his mind too much.

“Pleaseeee,” you begged in soft whine, “I’ll be good.”

“Net,” Nikolai rudely interrupted and you almost felt proud of the fact that you didn’t shoot him a mean look, instead keeping your gaze at John.

“Nik,” John started and you recognised the tone of his voice, the one he always had when giving into you; the one you knew to chase, to catch onto and clamp down onto. So you blinked innocently up at him again, letting out a pathetic little whimper, pursing your lips. Ready to cry, if that was what he needed to see. Your pussy was almost in pain with need and it wasn’t the same with your own hand.

“No,” Nikolai repeated, a little harder this time, “she is too spoiled. You said that yourself, my friend.”

The signs of when he would usually gave in disappeared and holy fuck, you wanted to gnaw off Nikolai’s dick that exact moment.

“But—“ you didn’t get any further before John just shook his head, once again turning you down.

“Nope. Nik is right. You heard him.”

“So you hate me now,” you whimpered out, perhaps a tad dramatically, but god you were so turned on it hurt.

“Please, puppy,” Nikolai answered before grabbing you by the collar and pulling you backwards, away from your owner, “you are not getting to come. It is punishment for not behaving.”

You cried, cried actual tears but it didn’t help. In fact, it somehow made it worse, which it usually didn’t. You couldn’t help the sad howling sound as you were left, no, abandoned, by the men, the fingerprint lock making escaping the dog crate close to impossible. Touching yourself then felt pointless.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

They entered your house, your home, your territory. Sure you wanted to leave this farm any moment, willing to grab onto any chance to get John to move back to the city - but still. Three big, dirty and stinking hounds shouldn’t be allowed inside this farmhouse.

You had finally been let out of the crate after a little over an hour and now, barely two hours later, another punishment was forced upon you. You just stared at the three hybrids with an angry look as they passed you, where you sat in the living room in one of your many fluffy dog beds. Making no movement to greet them or offer help with anything.

The Scot’s tail wagged at the sight of you, grinning at you and yeah, you knew you were hot - but that dog needed to mind his own business. You just huffed at him and looked away. Laswell was helping in the kitchen, while Nik and Price helped show the pack where the different shower supplies were, as well as where they could find clean clothes.

“You have to get used to them, you know,” Laswell said, looking down at her phone, standing in the doorway, “do you know where the paprika is?”

“No I won’t,” you answered stubbornly, “and it’s in the kitchen cabinet next to the fridge.”

Laswell disappeared again.

“They’re probably going to use your brushes on their tails, you know,” she added from the kitchen, the words making you whine out loud and almost gag.

Disgusting. You didn’t like the idea of other hybrids using your brushes. You would have to ask John for some new ones, that shouldn’t be too hard… and maybe do it when Nikolai wasn’t listening. That man seemed to bring problems.

Even though John and Nikolai found your anger amusing as they returned, you still followed them into the kitchen. They were definitely torturing you.

“You could just sell them again,” you muttered, watching John take over from Laswell with the potatoes that were being roasted.

“You do not give up, no?” Nikolai teased, giving you a couple of pats on the head.

“No - and are we feeding a bloody army?” Yes, you were upset about several things and now the amount of dishes they were making was added to the list. They should be making those only for you, not from the men who were probably using your nice, expensive soaps and brushes.

“We’re three more than usual,” John pointed out, fishing out a piece of potato, taking a bite of it with a hum - before throwing the piece at you. You caught it with your mouth, easily, Nikolai making a small cheering sound that made your tail wag.

“File said food aggression,” Nikolai added as he put down some dishes on the table, “we need enough.”

“Besides, don’t you remember the food at the auction house?” John asked, eyes still on the pan.

You let out a small huff. You did. It hadn’t been anything to write home about and being reminded almost made you feel bad for them… almost. At least you were still the one living inside. So… technically John loved you the most. Right. Even if you wanted a tiny house now as well.

“You’re up to no good,” Laswell commented as she passed you with some vegetables, that made your tail wag from the mere smell, “go sit down and attempt to behave.

“I always behave,” you answered, barely looking at her, knowing she was just rolling her eyes - ignoring her “sure.” as well.

They did indeed have nice and brushed through tails when they appeared not too long after. They looked much cleaner, their new clothes helping them as well. They didn’t stink of sweat and auction anymore, which was a good thing you supposed.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Dinner was tense. You sat at the opposite end, quite purposefully, while John and Nikolai tried to keep the men from fighting everyone over the food. Laswell was watching over the entire thing like a hawk and if you had to growl back at one of them, just because you wanted more sauce, you were going to throw a tantrum. Perhaps this would be another sign for Price to ship them back. Nikolai on the other end, was harder to ship back to the auction.

He in fact seemed to press his way in everywhere.

Despite having an endless amount of beds and nice places to sleep, you plopped down on John’s bed, on the right side. Your side.

Usually you would cuddle up next to him once he decided to go to bed after getting all the animals inside. It took a little longer tonight since he had three new hybrids following together with Nikolai, so you were asleep once John returned.

A displeased grumble left you as a hand patted your ass a couple of times before giving you a push.

“Move, sweetheart.” You grunted, knowing he could fit with the space left - so you made no move to make more space.

“I cannot sleep on top of you,” you opened your eyes at the voice, before slowly looking over your shoulder, squinting angrily at the owner of it. Nikolai was wearing nothing but boxers and a white undershirt, gold chain still on, like a walking stereotype.

You were not giving up your space in John’s bed. It might as well be yours and John's bed.

“Go sleep in the guest room,” you answered grumpily, not moving an inch as Nikolai laughed.

“Princess,” John sounded slightly tired, “be nice.”

“It’s two doors down,” you still looked at Nikolai, not even attempting to sound any nicer, “I’m sure you can find it.”

Bloody asshole laughed again. So, they were smooching. Fucking wonderful. Great. Just what you needed. Another man to annoy you.

Before you could do anything, a familiar hand took a hold of your ankle and pulled you down the bed, making you yelp.

“Sleep in the foot end or go to your room,” John demanded before getting into his own usual spot - that fucking traitor. While Nikolai moved to lay down in your spot.

“Meanie,” you grumbled, but still settled at the foot end, growling lightly as you stole one of the blankets hanging over the bed frame at the end. You weren’t going to sleep alone - you needed the sound of John’s snoring.

“It’s a sin to sleep together when not married,” you argued instead, pulling the blanket over you, turning your back to the men who just chuckled.

Nikolai gave you a little push with his foot in retaliation.

“As if you care about Christianity, slut,” he mused, making you grumble again. But you didn’t answer because you truly didn’t give a shit about it.

You definitely weren’t jealous at the sound of them kissing each other. Your traitorous tail definitely didn’t wag a little.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

When you woke up, you were curled in between their legs, body hair ticking your chin. You yawned softly, stretching your legs a little before wetting your lips. Both men were snoring. John’s leg was in between yours, his shin close to your crotch. You looked over at the clock.

5:43 AM. They wouldn’t have to get up before 6 AM; which meant you had time for fun. You tail was wagging, thumping a little against Nikolai’s leg, who grunted, giving it a seat - which you ignored, getting up on your hands and knees before crawling beneath John’s blanket.

You took in the scent of his musk, rubbing your face a little against his morning wood, your mouth already salivating like a good dog.

Because you were a good dog. The best. It just seemed like your owner had forgotten, so you needed to remind him. You could do that.

You pulled his boxers down slightly, only to free his cock. Licking his balls a little, taking in the taste of sweat and musk, his familiar pubic hair greeting you, before you licked a stripe up his length. John was stirring and Nikolai had stopped snoring. Your focus was on your owner for now however - Nikolai could get himself off, he had taken your sleeping spot after all.

You took the head of his cock in your mouth; it was hot beneath the covers but you didn’t mind, letting his cock slide further into your mouth, using one hand to pull back his foreskin. A groan left your owner and as you let the familiar weight of his cock, further down your throat. You felt him stir - then a hand slid beneath the cover, to rest on your head, nuzzling your ears a little.

“Well, good m’rning to you, princess,” his voice was rough, a little dry sounding and it went straight to your pussy, your tail trying to wag beneath the covers. Even from beneath the covers you could hear Nikolai’s muffled chuckle.

“Ona delayet eto kazhdoye utro?” You pretended the slightly muted words that you didn’t understand didn’t turn you on as well; Nikolai apparently had a wonderful morning voice as well.

A moan left Price as you slurped noisily around his cock, spit dripping down his balls as you sucked him a little deeper, moving your tongue. By now you could take his cock without problem most days.

“Not always - ah,” John managed to answer whatever Nikolai asked about, his hand moving to rest on the back of your head, holding your head down as he began thrusting into your mouth. A wet gurgle left you beneath the covers, air warm in your nostrils as he used you, cock forcing its way into your throat repeatedly. With darkness and the smell of John, his hand on your head, everything was normal for a moment. Just like you liked it.

The cover that hid you from the world was gently peeled away, exposing your face to the low light of the night lamp in the otherwise dark room. A tired looking John with heated cheeks and a slightly open mouth was watching you. His hair was a little messy and he needed a shave, but to you he was perfect.

He used you, fucking into your throat lazily, his moans so low they sounded like humming. His pleasure was above yours and for once you didn’t mind; you liked how he was the one who decided the pace, how much you were allowed to breathe. He could hold you down, face almost pressed into his lower stomach and there would be nothing you could do about it - there was nothing you wanted to do about it. Even though the idiot, Nikolai, was in the bed, it was a nice moment… Especially with how your owner looked as he tipped his head back a little, forcing his cock even deeper so hard that you almost gagged; his eyelashes kissing his red cheeks, breathing hard as he came into your throat, Nikolai whispering words you didn’t understand.

When you were finally allowed to pull off, you gasped for air, drool and spit dripping from your mouth - resting against John’s hairy thigh, as you caught your breath. Tail still wagging.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Apparently the dinner last night had been enough of an experience for John and Nikolai, that they had decided that letting the hybrids eat on their own at first was the easiest, so that they could be sent out again.

The three brutes were once again let into your house - sure, it wasn’t your favorite place in the world, but the moment the three of them got inside, you suddenly loved it a bunch more - dragging along the scent of sweat and wet earth, all their eyes on you at first, then the food. Their body language was wary but not angry, their tails carefully wagging.

Freshly collected eggs, bacon, beans, whole grain bread, yogurt and fruits. Had it been served on a fancy plate in a cafe in the city, you would have loved it. But as you watched them, you despised it.

They ate like, well… dogs. It was nasty to look at and the sight made your nose scrunch as you stood, halfway hidden behind John as he was making more fried for the rest of you.

Ghost, Gaz and Soap had gotten each their own plate this time and it seemed to help on some of the aggression as well - you had listened to Nikolai and John discuss what to give them and how much and how to keep them from trying to take the whole dish, before the hybrid men came inside.

Their tails were wagging and there were pleased sounds coming from them that bordered on improper. Everything you had been taught was bad manners through years of training? They were doing that, seemingly not caring about any kind of etiquette. Much to your annoyance however, John didn’t seem to be bothered and Nikolai seemed more interested in making food for the rest of you.

Were you the only one who could see and hear how they chewed with their mouths open, ate too quickly and all messily, talking with food in their mouths?

You were far from a small person, but as John pushed you aside and exposed the rest of you, so that he could grab something and you felt the three hybrids’ gazes on you, you suddenly felt small.

Ghost was drinking water and though he wasn’t looking away from you, he mostly seemed annoyed with your presence - while Soap was chewing on a piece of bacon rather lazily, a little spit dripping from his lip, more focused on you than the food. As if it was you he wanted to eat. Whether it was in a threatening manner or an attempt at a sexual one, you didn’t know - no matter what, you didn’t like either option.

Gaz though, was looking at you through his lashes, licking the last of his little bowl with yogurt clean, with loud, slurp-like sounds; his red tongue caught the last of the white substance on the edge of the bowl. Giving it a couple more slow licks while keeping eye contact with you, a pleased rumble leaving him. Improper and loud, not even attempting to hide the sexual undertones.

They all looked at you, as if you were their dessert; hadn’t it been for you keeping the two men in between, they would probably have tried to eat you by now.

Brutes. Couple of knotted idiots. Horny bastards. Should be sent back to the military, sooner rather than later.

“Gon’ join us outside, lass?” Soap asked with a smirk on his stupid face, not even trying to be discrete in any way, the sound of several tails hitting chair legs not going unnoticed by you, even if you did your best to ignore it.

You growled at him, really all of them, before almost spitting out a “no”, nuzzling closer to John once more, pretending your tail wasn’t in between your legs. Your soft silk bathrobe at least hid some of your body.

“Don’t be snide, dove,” Ghost crooned, much more darkly, the scars around his mouth not helping him look one bit kinder even as he smiled a little, his ears tipped towards you, “haven’t even introduced yourself to us. Impolite, innit?”

“Fuck off,” you snapped back, still using John as a shield, even as the man muttered a “behave,” next to you; Nikolai only laughing with delight, giving your head a pat as he passed you to collect more plates.

“You can all play later,” John said too casually for your liking and he even just ignored your growling, continuing, “Out with your lot now, go get changed or something - Nik and I will be out soon, Laswell will probably join us.”

You dared to cast a last glance at Gaz; the Belgian Malinois and German Shepherd mix hybrid looked right back at you as he slowly licked a stray drop of yogurt from beneath his bottom lip. Once again you were unsure whether the sight turned you on or frightened you.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

“No,” you crossed your arms, defiantly looking at John with crossed arms, “ I will not.”

“Princess,” he looked at you with an almost tired expression, “he didn’t bring his phone.”

“Too bad for him,” you answered, not making any movement to even get ready to go outside, “If I go outside I’ll die. If not from your stupid hounds, then the horses will trample me to death and the geese will eat me.”

Price snorted, but he didn’t give up - because 30 seconds later you were pushed out of the door with a yelp, barely managing to keep on your feet; then shoes and a jacket followed, tumbling around you as you looked at your owner who just gave a nod towards one of the fields.

“Phone is in the pocket. They’re that way.” Then the door was slammed and as you heard the locks, you let out a little whimpery howl. A worker who passed near the barns laughed and you flipped them off, before putting on the shoes. It was a pair of John’s Wellington boots, which were too big on you - but you didn’t own any yourself, having straight up refused the idea of even going near tall, wet grass. At least he had given you one of his coats as well, which was warm. It couldn’t close because of your chest, but it was better than nothing.

The things you did for that man. You were better than this.

At least that was what you told yourself as you tramped across the gravel driveway, towards the direction John had shown.

While the boots were too big, they saved you from the dew of the grass that the sun hadn’t reached yet, even if they slowed you down.

The sun hadn’t quite gotten far up enough, so it was a little cold in your jeans and crop-top that John had dressed you in earlier. The top was white, with pink borders and said good girl across your chest, which he had caressed for a few moments and told you to live up too.

Easy for him to say.

“My my, what’cha doin’ out here, princess?” You didn’t like how you jumped at the voice and sudden appearance of the hybrid next to you, immediately growling at him. Gaz didn’t look one bit apologetic about it, his eyes almost shining with glee, tail wagging, grinning so widely that his fangs were exposed.

“Fuck off -” you snapped, stepping away from him before continuing to walk, “I’m looking for Nikolai.”

“Aaww, don’t be like that, puppy,” he continued, following you closely, even daring to get close to sniff at your neck! the nerve!

You growled and snapped at him, Gaz managing to pull his face back in time, but with a fucking laughter leaving him.

“Those teeth isn’t goin’ to hurt anyone, baby!” he pointed out smugly, following you as you walked again, increasing your pace, “You’re really just a little lapdog, huh? So weak.”

“I told you to fuck off.”

Gaz didn’t care, snickering and following along with you instead, like a hungry wolf, knowing the lamb would be vulnerable and tired soon; ready to sink its teeth into the lamb’s throat and rip it apart. You had no plans of letting any of the hounds get to you.

You snapped after him a couple of more times, hiding your excitement when you saw Nikolai, hoping that the man would get this mutt off your back.

“You could be nicer, you know,” Gaz cooed, hands in his pockets, walking backwards in front of you, his tall ears tipped towards you, tail wagging behind him, “just because you are a bitch, you don’t have to behave like one.”

You were going to strangle this motherfucking piece of shit and it was like Gaz could see it on you - tail wagging even faster.

“Why don’t you go fuck one of your stupid friends?” You asked, trying to ignore him even as anger simmered in your veins, curling around the fear of the bigger man, “it’s only a matter of time before Price sends ya ‘ back anyways!”

“Oh we both know that’s not happening, sweetheart,” he answered, voice going a little darker, licking his lips slowly. “Our owner said it himself, didn’t he? Too much to handle for him. Maybe you just need a good knot, hm?”

“Let me know when you find one,” you snapped back, relieved that Nikolai was right there, watching over Soap herding some sheep, “because none of your sad mutt dicks are coming near me.”

“Puppy - What brings you outside? Too lonely?” You could have slapped Nikolai or maybe bitten him, as he asked the questions with amusement in his loud voice; both Ghost and Soap instantly gave all their attention to you, staring you down. Had the situation been different, you would have bathed in that attention. Yet you felt fear go through your body at this point, even as you tried to hide it.

“No,” you grumbled at Nikolai, as a sweaty looking, tail-wagging Soap stepped towards your sudden little group, “you forgot this.”

“Ah, Spasibo,” Nikolai took the phone with an almost sheepish look, “I always forget. John finished paperwork, da?”

“Hello, bonnie lass,” Soap whispered as he passed you, a tad too close for your liking, hand running along your lower back, making you growl low, before focusing back on Nikolai. He stank of sweat and sheep. His tail wagging, blue eyes watching you intently.

“He isn’t, he’s waiting for a phone call. Something about problems with the tractor’s mechanic.”

“I am better than mechanic,” Nikolai argued, furrowing his brow, as if you were saying the opposite and not just the messenger, “I’ll go back. You boys can hang around with her.”

“Nononono-“ you argued, instantly following Nikolai as he began walking, sending the hybrids a mean glance, over your shoulders as a warning, “I’m not hangin’ out with these hounds.”

“awww, dove, don’t say that,” Ghost crooned, the bigger breed appearing behind you, following you closely, his footsteps heavier than yours, “we have to get to know each other, baby.”

“No we don’t.”

“Did you not socialize in the city, pretty?” Gaz asked, following on your right side, Nikolai still in front of you, not joining the conversation but no doubt listening along, “or were you too busy sucking cock?”

You snarled aggressively at him, ignoring Nikolai’s chuckle in front of you.

“Shut up,” you snarled at Gaz, who just winked back at you. They all wore outfits that seemed practical but comfortable, in stark contrast to your jeans and crop top, together with John’s jacket.

“Dinnae take it personal, cuilean,” Soap tried to weave his way in between you and Nikolai, but you merely stepped around him, giving him a shove with your shoulder - earning whistles from the other two. Ignoring the annoyed snarl from Soap.

Gaz’ hand slid out to hold onto your jacket, distracting you as he yanked you a little closer to him, “c’mon, we can show you a good time yeah? Don’t you wanna learn some new things?”

“Like what? Being mindless beasts? No thanks.”

You managed to yank it free, but the moment you did, Ghost took a hold of it from the back.

“We can be nice, you know.” He said, still a little playfulness in his voice, “when we want to.”

Once again you managed to yank the jacket free - only to almost stumble into Soap in front of you. The border collie hybrid was smirking and as you started walking to follow Nikolai, he started walking backwards, not taking his eyes off you.

“Ye’ve been angry every since we met, hen,” he continued, as if you hadn’t already turned each of them down so far, “we just wantae have fun - we’re not here to steal your master from you.”

“Your mere presence here proves that to be a lie,” you hissed back, stopping for a second, “I don’t want you here! I was perfectly happy in…”

It took you a second to realize but Nikolai was getting further away from you.

When you realized what was happening, it was too late; Soap had managed to create a space in between you and Nikolai, essentially herding you away from him. With Gaz on your right side and Ghost behind you, you had no other option than to bolt left, trying to catch up to Nikolai again or get into safety. Only, that was like throwing a bone to the wolves.

“c’mon bonnie,” Soap’s voice was louder, happier than before as he bolted after you. One glance at Nikolai proved to you that he wouldn’t be of any help. In fact, that fucking traitor just continued walking towards the house.

You weren’t supposed to be the prey here, you were supposed to be safe at the farm! All this bloody hell was because of this stupid farm!

Everything would be good if Price had just listened to you!!

The others were much faster, wearing proper working shoes instead of the ones you wore, that were too big, making it even harder to run. You weren’t really a runner anyways. Nor a fighter, but in the big city, it hadn’t been necessary. There, in the streets of London, you and John could wander without worry, the sounds of the city like an neverending soundtrack. There you could follow your owner in a nice tempo, without fearing being ripped apart by mutts like these, Soap snapping at you each time he got close. Purposefully guiding you once again, without you realizing before it was too late. It wasn’t until you spotted the shed, or rather the little house, that Price had given them - and not you, which was bordering on abuse, wasn’t it? - that you knew you were in trouble.

But despite your screaming, one boot falling off in the fighting and your desperate attempt to get away, it didn’t matter; strong arms got a hold of you, snapping teeth and fingers on your tail and nape. Soon you were on the ground, even for just a moment and it was three against one; you were doomed to lose.

The screams echoed throughout the fields, in between the wheat and the fruit trees, but the world didn’t stop spinning. In fact, it carried on, just like before. There was grass and dirt on your clothes, some of the dew wetting your exposed white shirt.

Nikolai out of sight, but you doubted the man would have helped you anyways. You couldn’t even hear his steps in the gravel as he walked to the front door of the farm house, closing it after himself; dooming you to your fate.

Ghost had hoisted you over the shoulder, letting out a grunt as you almost instantly began hitting his back, managing to tug at his tail a couple of times. Despite hanging with your head upside down, Soap and Gaz’s hands were still on you, tugging everywhere they could touch - until Ghost gave a sharp bark, from deep in his chest, that made you flinch.

It was almost like a wordless commando that the men instantly understood, dashing in front of Ghost to the shed, getting the door open while you tried twisting, almost hitting the doorframe, since it was barely big enough for the two of you, when you were on Ghost’s shoulder. Ghost didn’t do anything but grunt and force you through even as you tried holding onto the frame, desperately screaming and howling. Wordless howls and the echoes of your owner’s name didn’t change anything as the shed swallowed up every sound, the door closing behind you.

“Stop throwin’ a fit,” Simon grumbled before unceremoniously - and heartlessly, you might add - dumping you into their nest of mattresses, pillows and blankets. They hadn’t even been here for long, yet it already stank of them.

You weren’t even given a second to catch your breath before Gaz was pulling off John’s shoes from your feet, then his jacket, muttering about you getting their bed wet and dirty, like a naughty pup. He managed to avoid your bites, snapping at your fingers with his own teeth whenever you managed to get a hold of his ears - then Soap was upon you, fully distracting you from Gaz.

“These tits,” the mutt declared happily, ignoring you as he pushed his face in between your breasts, pawing shamelessly at them, “pure perfection.”

“Let go of me,” you snapped, almost feeling horror go through your body as you pulled his head back by his mohawk; only for the man to moan like a whore. Your pants got pulled down to your knees by Gaz, a yelp leaving you, unsure of where to put your attention in order to escape.

Bloody bastards; strays, mutts, illegitimate—

Soap’s hand was big as he suddenly and easily grabbed your throat, a tight grip around your pretty collar. Pressing you down into the mattress, cutting off your air for a moment, stunning you - while your hands went to dig your nails into his forearm, his skin saved by his shirt, he forced himself in between your legs; strong hands grabbed your wrists and Gaz pulled your hands over your head, while Soap tugged on your jeans even more, your well kept tail stuck in the hole in the pants.

You were crying and writhing, Gaz’s hands a little dry as they held onto your wrists, Soap freeing your bottom part. All while this was going on, Ghost just stared. Like an actual ghoul, standing a little from you, keeping an overview of the situation, leaving against the main door. Watched as the men began to humiliate you.

“Poor princess,” Gaz cooed, keeping your hand in tight grip, bending your fingers a little, trying to coax the claws out that wasn’t there anymore, “did Price declaw you?”

“Nooo,” you whined, attempting to tug your hand free as he unsheathed his own claws, letting them dig into your skin a little, as if to prove that he still had them. They were a little sharp, but not much; probably sanded down a little during their stay at the auction house.

“No? Nah you’re right, sweet sir wouldn’t do that to his favorite slutty princess, would he?”

Soap hummed, forcing his fingers into your mouth, running them along your filed down canines, “guessing he dinnae do this either, eh?”

You gurgled around his thick, dirty fingers, while tears began to swell in your eyes, from the embarrassment… not to mention anger, from the pure assumption that Price would do that to you? “Nah, ye are a pretty rescue, aren’t ye?”

You bit down around his fingers; the bastard laughed, but still winced a little as he pulled them out again with a “bad puppy.”

“Get on with it, Soap,” Gaz urged, his tail thumping against the mattress, sending you a wink as you stared up at him, growling.

“Look’at this kitty,” the way Soap spoke made you blink away a few tears in confusion, while you wondered what the fuck he was talking about; then, as Gaz laughed like a dirty dog above you, you realized Soap was calling your pussy a kitty.

You growled, trying to raise a leg to kick him away, but his hands were on your thighs, forcing them apart; he was stronger than yourself and you were one against three. It would most likely end badly for you and as he unceremoniously mouthed at your panties, a loud whine left you.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he growled, scraping his canines along the petty lace, “yer kitty smells divine.”

“Don’t call it that,” your voice was a little weak and it almost came out in a sniffle.

“Aww, dinnae worry, I’m gonna make it purr, yeah?”

“You’re so fucking nasty — shit!”

His tongue slid beneath the fabric, running along your pussy, making your brain shut down.

768 notes · View notes

animasola86 · 4 months ago

Text

LOST & FOUND 🫂 CH9

Mommy takes you to the Pet Cafe. But instead of fluffy animals, you meet a bunch of half-naked girls wearing masks, collars and tail plugs...

soft!Daddy!dom x Mommy!domme x little girl!reader

WARNINGS: F!Reader insert. NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Mommy/Daddy kink. Dd/Md/lg dynamics. Pet names. Dom/sub. Mistress/pet. A hint of dubcon. Sex toys under clothing. Anonymous sex. Cunnilingus. Anal play/insertions. Belly bulge. Vibrators. Butt plugs. (More notes under the cut!)

WORDS: 5.7k 🔷️ READ ON AO3 🔷️ 1–2–3–4–5–6 7–8–9–10–11–12

A/N: RECAP: Reader (we call her Pumpkin), in her 20s, has hair and female genitalia, suffers from depression and anxiety, and has agreed to become the little girl/submissive to a couple she's supposed to call Mommy and Daddy, who are in their early/late thirties. ADDITIONAL WARNING: As mentioned in the warning tags above, this chapter has a hint of dubcon, maybe even a tad noncon. Mommy is a bit more hands-on with Pumpkin this time, and while consent isn't given officially, remember: this is fiction and it's all part of the strange mixture of dom/sub/caregiver/little/BDSM-inspired relationship dynamics monster I created here. Pumpkin is fine, she likes it, do not worry about her!

Chapter 8 🔷️ Chapter 9 🔷️ Chapter 10

Your stomach churned a little when you watched Mommy. Sitting beside you, her hand still warm between your legs, she looked out of the window of the car, smiling softly. Somehow it wasn't her usual smile. There was something dark about it. You probably shouldn't have mentioned Daddy. But you couldn't help it, he was on your mind, if you wanted to or not.

And Mommy taking you to a sex shop run by a tall, gorgeous woman with a voice that rivaled Daddy's low timbre (not to mention the apparently giant cock hiding under her tight skirt), hadn't made it any easier to forget about him. Though that little vibrator moment had been a nice break from thinking for a while.

It was confusing, to say the least, to have to balance between giving Mommy and Daddy equal amounts of your attention. For the longest time in your life, you had thought you were only attracted to men, despite the few experiments with your girl friends, but now that Mommy was a part of your existence and with all the things she'd done to and with you already, your mind was in proper shambles, and figuring out who you were attracted to more was difficult.

But then again: did you have to choose? No. They made it pretty clear that they wanted to share you, and while you thought neither of them had a problem with that, you did catch some strange looks from Mommy since you agreed to be their little girl. Was she jealous? She shouldn't be, you liked her just the same, or so you thought. But looking back, it did seem a little unfair.

She had been the one to pluck you off the street, to give you food, to invite you into their home, to offer you a new chance in life. And the first thing you did when you saw Daddy for the first time was completely forget about her. And then after that long shopping and makeover day with her, where she'd done everything to make you feel good about yourself, you came back to the house and fell right into Daddy's arms, ignoring her all over again.

Then there was the night you spent together, when you woke up with her wrapped around you, both of you naked, and you still had no idea what had happened – and instead of figuring it out, asking her about it, you let Daddy whisk you away into the shower and later into the woods, forgetting about the instance quickly.

You felt bad. You never intended to treat her any less, and maybe it hadn't been entirely your fault, but you felt as if you could have done more, throw yourself into her arms, cling to her, show her affection instead of Daddy, or at least equal amounts.

Inhaling deeply, you looked down at her hand nudged between your legs, unmoving, warm, a gentle pressure to your core. The motion was hesitant, but eventually, you placed your hand on top of hers, spreading your legs a little more. You looked at her, waiting for her to meet your gaze, and when she did, there was a bit of surprise on her beautiful face.

Before you could figure out what to say or do, though, the car rolled into a stop, and Mommy looked away again, pulling her hand from beneath yours.

“We're here,” she said and unbuckled first your and then her seat belt, motioning you to follow her. You climbed out of the car after her, your legs a little shaky. She held her hand out and you grabbed it quickly, still watching her, hoping to convey how sorry you were. For what exactly you weren't sure, you couldn't really name it, it was just a heavy feeling in your guts.

But she didn't really acknowledge you long enough for you to steer any kind of conversation into that direction, she just pulled you along, towards an unassuming door on the back of a large brick building. Right, the Pet Cafe, she had called it. There was a small electronic display mounted to the wall, and she held up her watch to it. A beep sounded and the heavy metal door opened with a hiss.

She quickly pulled you through it, closing it behind you. But instead of following the long, dimly lit hallway deeper into the belly of the building, she stopped, finally looking at you. There was a strange expression on her face, a sinister smile and a glint in her eyes.

“I have a challenge for you, mi amor,” she said quietly, pushing her hand into her purse.

You watched her nervously, a sudden throb crashing through your core as she retrieved the pink vibrator. She rubbed it between her hands, then held it out to you on her palm. You frowned.

“I want you to hold this for me for the rest of the day,” she told you, tilting her head. Your eyes flicked from hers down to the item, and when you reached out to touch it, she chuckled softly. “But not with your hands, silly.”

You stared back at her, confusion washing over you. It took you a long moment to realize what she wanted from you. She took your hand and placed the toy onto it, her fingers gliding along its egg-shaped form down to the thick tail with the little button at the end.

“I want you to get used to having something in your pretty pussy, baby. It's completely natural, nothing weird about it. I know you can do it,” she cooed, rolling the vibe on your palm. “Come on, stick it in.”

Your eyes widened. Panic surged through you. Here? Wherever here was, but it felt too public to do something like this. And in front of her? Sure, she'd had her fingers in your cunt before, had seen you naked on multiple occasions, but somehow her scrutinizing gaze felt different now. A little condescending, challenging, cruel. You swallowed hard.

And it wasn't just the thought of having something inside you, but to use your own fingers to do so felt a lot stranger than you'd imagined. You took a shuddering breath and curled your fingers around the toy, turning it between them, aligning it just right. It wasn't particularly big or long, but you knew you'd feel it, you felt it before after all.

Throwing a last glance at Mommy, you pulled your dress up with your free hand and nudged your panties to the side just enough. It was a very awkward position, so you had to spread your legs and bend your knees a little, leaning over yourself (making it even more awkward) to fulfill Mommy's wish (but the strangest thing was that you didn't question it once or even tried to protest, you just did it, because she said so).

With your heart beating in your throat, you pushed the rounded toy between your labia until your cunt gave way and swallowed the object, sucking it in lazily. You gave it another nudge to push it further, and a shudder crashed through you. Holding onto the tail that was sticking out of you now, you straightened up, biting your lip as you looked at Mommy.

Instead of praising you, she stepped in and suddenly turned you around, a hand on your back as she made you bend over. You felt her flip up your dress, exposing your rear before she pulled down your panties. “Mommy!” you whined quietly, trying to squirm away, your hands braced on the wall.

“Stay still,” she ordered, her voice harsher than before.

You froze immediately, breathing harder, your eyes watering. She felt between your legs and grabbed the toy's tail, pulling it back, the vibrator shifting inside you. When she clicked the button a few times, you flinched badly and had to force yourself to remain where you were, your heart thundering inside your chest as the vibrations pulsed through you.

She amped it up all the way, a steady buzz deep inside you, but instead of letting go and readjusting your panties, she rubbed the thicker end of the tail between your ass cheeks, and then –

“Mommy, no!” you shrieked when she pressed the silicone against your puckered hole. “Not there, please!” you wailed.

But she didn't listen, just pushed harder against your tight muscles. You wanted to sink into the floor, shame crashing over you, a strange pressure and pain surging into your shaking limbs, as well as an unfamiliar tingle that didn't feel as bad but still embarrassing to admit to.

She had one arm around your stomach, holding you against her, her legs keeping yours in place. She kept prodding, a soft sigh escaping her. “What a tight bum you have,” she whispered. “I can't wait to fully stretch you out.”

You shivered, fighting tears now. A croaked squeak slipped from your throat when she eventually managed to push the other end of the vibe into your ass. You didn't want to think about it, not register the strange feeling. It wasn't big by any means, but it didn't belong there, it felt wrong. Your muscles clenched around it, as did your cunt around the vibrator.

She rubbed her hand between your ass cheeks before giving one of them a gentle slap that made you shriek and flinch. Then she leaned down to pull your panties back up, adjusting them so the toy wouldn't be able to slip out.

Her hands rested on your waist then as she leaned over you, brushing her lips against your neck. “My good girl, so brave, do you think you can handle this, hm?”

You swallowed, blinked away a few tears. “Yes, Mommy,” you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut, trying to ignore the constant buzz and clenching of your muscles, the subtle weight of the object inside you. As humiliating as this felt, you had to do it for her, wanted to do it for her. You owed her this much, and more.

She helped you straighten up and fixed your dress, rubbing her hands along your sides. “Come take a few steps,” she offered, holding out her hand.

You took it and moved, but as soon as you did, you felt a strange sensation, the toy rubbing inside you, both ends pulling onto each other, shifting and nudging against you.

“Just hold onto it, I know you can do it,” she said softly, leading you a few more steps down the hallway. “Keep it nice and tight down there. Yes, like that, good, look at you go, you're doing it.”

Her praise helped a little, and you realized it wasn't as bad. Your panties sat snug enough to keep the item in place, so you didn't have to fear for it to slip out. You tried to focus onto easing your breathing and your rapidly beating heart, and once you reached the end of the hallway, you walked a little bit more normal again.

Your eyes fell onto a sign on the wall. The Pet Cafe. Oh, you'd forgotten about that. Now, you didn't know what you expected (maybe one of those cafes full of cats and dogs and other animals considered pets?), but it surely wasn't a large room nestled into a windowless building with dim lights, filled with tables and chairs and couches – mostly occupied by a bunch of half-naked girls.

After opening the unassuming door, Mommy pulled you into the cafe, and you couldn't help but stare, the buzzing toy inside you suppressed for now. There were girls, of all shapes and sizes, in black leather masks that covered only their eyes and foreheads, with large bunny ears, pointy cat ears, floppy dog ears. They were wearing shiny high heels, black stockings and garter belts, lacy bras that barely covered anything. Thick leather bands adorned their necks. Their hair was done up in twin tails or little buns on the side of their heads.

And as your eyes raked over them when they walked about carrying trays of drinks or food, you noticed they all had tails, some long and bushy, some thin or thick, some fluffy balls of white fur – and they sat right between their ass cheeks. The little nub in your own ass twitched as you clenched your muscles around it, realizing they were wearing butt plugs – and no underwear, their smooth sexes exposed to the air around them.

Heat crashed into your face, and you were glad the lighting was so low. You pressed closer to Mommy, who squeezed your hand and looked at you with a smile. You tried to focus on her, somehow impressed by how many niche sex-related establishments she knew and frequented. Before you could ask her about it, a bunny girl approached you, bowing deep as Mommy turned her attention to her.

“Welcome back, Mistress,” she said quietly. “What can I do for you today?”

You frowned at the name the girl had given your Mommy, but you were also no longer surprised by much anymore. Apparently she was a regular in this place.

“Hello Bunbun,” she greeted the girl, reaching out a hand to gently grab her chin and squeeze it. The girl smiled, blinking behind her mask. “I'd like a table in the back, a coffee and a water, and tell Kitty to come over with the Long Boy.”

“Will do, Mistress, please follow me,” the girl named Bunbun said and bowed her head again, her long leather ears flopping down at the motion, before she slipped from Mommy's grip with another smile, clicking away on her high heels, her hips swaying, the little pompom tail bouncing between her round ass cheeks.

You stared after her, still quite confused about whatever was going on. Mommy squeezed your hand and pulled you along as you followed the half-naked girl to the back of the room, where a small table was settled between a brick wall covered in ivy and an intricate partition screen. Two chairs faced each other. You were motioned to one, the other was pulled out for Mommy. She sat down with a smile and nodded at Bunbun, who excused herself to prepare the order.

You sat down slowly, fully aware of the toy inside you again. At first it felt weird, your body weight pushing the buzzing object deeper, but you soon adjusted, trying to ignore the constant vibrations and the way your muscles wouldn't stop clenching. But you still couldn't help shifting on your seat, your thighs trembling a little. You focused on Mommy on the other side of the round table, who had crossed her legs and tapped her long fingernails on the wooden tabletop, watching you a little impassively, with only a tiny spark of amusement twinkling in her dark eyes.

Only a few minutes later, Bunbun came back carrying a tray with a coffee cup and a tall water, setting both down on the table. Behind her stood another girl, one with a cat mask and a long black tail hanging down between her legs. She was rather short, maybe even shorter than you, had long black hair in tight braids framing her half-hidden face. She had her hands behind her back, holding something you couldn't see.

Before the bunny girl left, she bowed her head, seemingly waiting for something. “Take Kitty's tail, Bunbun,” Mommy said quietly, while you watched the scene with confused interest. Bunbun walked around the other girl who bent over a little, and you heard a little exhale when one girl pulled at the other girl's tail, the plug (a rather big one, long and wide, now that you thought about it) dangling off the other side.

They had to walk around with those things up their butts? You shivered just thinking about it, feeling the tiny nub pressed into your own, which already felt like too much. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you kept observing the girls. Bunbun bowed again, walking away with the cat girl's tail in her hand, while the girl in the cat mask knelt down in front of Mommy, her head bowed as well, the object she'd held behind her back now resting on her lap. You still couldn't quite see what it was from this angle.

It was a strange sight, this kneeling girl, so obedient, yet so provocative in her lingerie, but Mommy acted as if it was the most normal thing in the world. She also seemed rather familiar with the girls to begin with. You watched her – flinching when she suddenly met your gaze, the twinkle back in her eyes.

“Give Kitty your panties, mi amor,” she told you, and you stared at her, all color draining from your face as something cold settled in your stomach.

“What?” you gasped.

“You heard me, baby,” she said pointedly, her smile faltering a little.

“But –”

She cleared her throat, her eyes narrowing and darkening as she fixated you, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Do as I tell you,” she said quietly.

The cold spread through your limbs, while heat shot into your eyes as tears welled up inside them. You'd never seen Mommy like this, so dominant, so demanding, so not caring or nice or gentle. It was strange and hurt deep inside you, but it also made your cunt clench around the buzzing toy, and before you knew it, you shifted on your seat, awkwardly pulling your panties down your legs, ignoring the tear rolling down your cheek.

Once you bunched up the fabric in your fist, the girl with the cat ears turned to you, shuffling on her knees, holding out one hand. You couldn't look at her, just dropped your underwear into her palm and stared back down at your hands clenched around the hem of your dress. You still noticed how the girl shoved your panties under the lace of her bra.

“Turn around, Kitty,” Mommy said, making you look up. The girl did as she was told, shuffling on the floor, half hidden under the table, her backside to Mommy, her head close to your knee. As she turned, she handed the object back to Mommy, who placed it fully visible on the table next to her coffee cup. Your eyes widened as you stared at it.

It was a large silicone dildo, long and black, a double-ended one, both ends shaped like the head of a cock. You swallowed dryly at the sight of it. Under the table, Kitty, the girl with the cat ears, shuffled into position, and when you suddenly felt her hands on your knees, gently but firmly pulling them apart, you scooted back in your chair that scraped loudly over the floor before standing up awkwardly.

“Mi amor,” Mommy addressed you with a sigh. “Behave, okay? Be a good girl now. Let Kitty do her job. You'll enjoy it, don't worry.”

You stared at her with wide eyes, unable to process her words. “I... no! I... I don't understand... what... what is going on? What is this place? Why –”

“Breathe, baby girl, relax,” she said, leaning over the table to touch your shoulder and push you back into your chair with an unfamiliar force. You slumped down, a little twitch crashing through you as you put pressure on the toy stuck inside you. “This is the Pet Cafe, and these are my pets. These girls work for me, they can make the best cup of coffee in town and their little tongues can do wonders, believe me. A good place to wind down and relax and let your worries behind. I thought you'd appreciate it...”

You furrowed your eyebrows, still struggling to understand. The girl named Kitty moved closer, her hands once more finding your knees, this time she really grabbed them, keeping you in place. You stared down at her, finding her eyes behind her mask.

“It'll be alright,” she whispered barely audible. “I won't hurt you.”

“B-but... do... do you really... want this? Why are you doing this?” you mouthed back.

Kitty smiled. “I do want this, I love it. There's nothing better than dipping my tongue into a sweet cunt, and yours looks so pretty...”

You looked away, your whole face aflame by now. She pressed between your legs, spreading them further, her eyes raking over your mound. You felt exposed and very uncomfortable. The sheer amount of people staring at your crotch over the last days was really concerning. And yet you couldn't help the heat settling low in your stomach, the tension, the clenching of your muscles around the toy. It was wrong, it felt wrong, but you couldn't deny feeling very aroused by it also.

Your wavering gaze returned to Mommy, who had shifted on her chair, her long legs, still crossed, turned to the side while she slid her hand up and down the long dildo. You tried to relax into your own chair, muttering a weak “Okay”, letting the girl between your legs do her thing, whatever that was. Your hands clenched around the edge of the table, your chest rising and falling faster.

You flinched badly when you felt Kitty's warm tongue on the inside of your thigh, a wet sensation that slowly traveled higher until she licked a long stroke up your entire slit. You whimpered under the sensation, squeezing your eyes closed.

“It's alright, baby, let it happen,” Mommy whispered.

You nodded, not daring to open your eyes just yet. The girl between your legs continued, her hands rubbing up and down your thighs as she licked and lapped at your cunt, soft hums and moans vibrating against you. And somehow the doubts dissipated, your head emptying as all you felt was her warm tongue and gentle licks. Your eyelids fluttered open, and you met Mommy's soft smile.

“Good girl,” she mused, watching you closely, occasionally taking a sip from her coffee. The hand that held the dildo had vanished under the table, and when you felt Kitty gasping against your crotch, you had an idea of where it had disappeared into. A deep shudder crashed through you. Mommy moved her hand, gave a push, and that push sent the girl into you with a groan.

Between licking you and getting impaled by a long dildo, she fumbled her mask off her face, allowing her to fully press it between your legs, her nose rubbing at your hooded clit as she pressed her lips against your labia, her tongue lapping along your entrance, teasing at the toy stuck inside you. You felt her teeth scraping over the silicone, tugging on it, the constant buzz only one of many sensations crashing over you.

This is so bizarre, you thought between quietly mewling and struggling to stay still on your chair. How did you end up in a strange kink cafe full of naked girls wearing butt plugs, with one of them licking at your cunt, while Mommy was playing with the girl's ass? What wrong turn did you take to get here? Was it a wrong turn or was it just unfamiliar, a world you never knew existed? As if becoming the little girl of a man and a woman you were supposed to call Mommy and Daddy wasn't unusual enough.

But you kept being pushed further, deeper onto the dark side of life, experiencing things you'd always considered somewhat forbidden and depraved and taboo and uncalled for. From kissing a woman to having her finger you in the shower, to a man rubbing his cock between your labia and giving him a handjob after, to visiting a sex shop and having a vibe in your cunt, you ended up with a girl crouching under the table eating you out as if she'd been starved her whole life.

It was more than bizarre! But there was one thing that connected all those acts of supposed debauchery: whatever happened, you had felt lighter, it had been easier to breathe, your mind had been silenced while pleasure had flooded your senses. They might have spiked your anxiety, but they also pushed it aside again, distracting you. Making you feel better, at least in the moment. And wasn't that what mattered? What Mommy and Daddy had set out to do? Help you get better?

They might have unconventional methods that your innocent little brain had trouble comprehending, but somehow it worked, didn't it? And once you were past that awkward threshold of shame and humiliation, it felt... good. And the lines blurred, and it didn't matter whose tongue was lapping up your wetness, whose eyes raked your flushed face, where you were and how you ended up here.

All you felt was warmth and bliss, spreading over your exposed skin, as your eyes rolled back and you slipped down on your chair, pressing harder against the face between your legs, your hands tight around the edge of the table. A moan slipped from your trembling lips, your whole body aflame. Kitty licked firmer, faster, suckling on your lower lips before she moved up and lapped at your clit, nudging it out of hiding until it was throbbing and pulsing, and you felt as if you could explode from within.

And then her finger poked at the toy inside you, the motion causing it to slip from your ass, your tense muscles clenching and unclenching in rhythm to your rapidly beating heart. The vibrations grew more intense as she pressed it deeper into your fluttering cunt, her finger guiding it against that spot that made you see stars dancing at the edge of your vision. Like Mommy, she held the vibe there until you shuddered and flinched and came with a drawn-out sigh, rocking against Kitty's face as she continued sucking on your clit.

You felt your hips stuttering, more wetness seeping out of you that she eagerly licked up, moaning into your core as she did so. You succumbed to the pleasure, a boneless thing on your chair, barely able to stay upright. Her hands found your waist, pushing you back a little, holding you up. Her face remained between your legs, licking and sucking and lapping and nibbling, her labored breaths hot against your sensitive skin.

“That's enough, Kitty,” sounded Mommy's voice in your ears, through the fog in your head, and you lazily opened your eyes, licking your lips, feeling warm and cozy under the girl's ministrations. Kitty gave you one last stroke of her tongue before she leaned back, looking up at you with a shy smile, her lips glistening in your juices. You smiled back even more timid, mouthing a quiet “Thank you” that made her smile grew wider. She nodded at you and put her mask back onto her head, slowly crawling out from under the table.

But she remained with her raised backside to Mommy, bowing down until her forehead rested on her folded arms, and you noticed the long black dildo poking out of her ass, halfway disappearing inside. Still hazy from your orgasm and the overall experience, you watched a little confused as Mommy grabbed the dildo and pulled it out, leaving the girl's hole gaping for a moment before she clenched it shut again.

“Watch, mi amor, look what a body is capable of, what your body will be capable of soon enough,” she told you, and you blinked your eyes into focus when she pressed the tip of the dildo back against Kitty's sphincter before her muscles gave way and swallowed up the long toy.

She pushed and pushed further, and it sank deeper and deeper, the whole thing, vanishing inside the girl's small body. How is this even possible, you wondered, vehemently ignoring the implication of having to endure this yourself one day, but watching Kitty, she seemed rather relaxed, a little tilt to her hips, a slight arch to her back, goosebumps rippling over her skin, but otherwise she showed no reaction to having an entire dildo (that must have been at least ten inches long, maybe longer?) pressed into her ass.

Mommy gave the last inch a little nudge with her finger, and you watched in growing horror how the girl's hole clenched shut after the last of the thick dildo vanished inside her. Mommy rubbed her hand over Kitty's rear, before pulling her up and into a standing position. The girl stumbled a little on her high heels but quickly regained her composure, standing straight, chest out, and you could see a little dent in her otherwise flat stomach, a bulge, and it must be the dildo trying to find space inside her.

Your cunt clenched in a mixture of dread and arousal. Mommy pulled the girl onto her lap, rubbing her belly. “See? Isn't it marvelous?” she whispered, looking past Kitty at you. “One day, you'll feel this too, cariño. How does it feel, Kitty?” she asked the girl, who blushed deeply, shifting on Mommy's leg.

“Full but so good, Mistress,” she replied, her voice a hoarse whisper. “Thank you for stuffing me so full.”

Mommy laughed. “Anytime, my dear pet. Do you want to keep it in for the rest of your shift?”

You saw the tiniest of hesitations on Kitty's half-hidden face, a little tension in her shoulders, but then she smiled bravely. “If you allow it, Mistress.”

“I will,” Mommy said, rubbing the girl's arm before she nudged her to stand again. “Bunbun!” she then called, and the bunny girl came by so fast you suspected she had been waiting right behind the partition screen.

“Yes, Mistress?”

“Kitty's tail?” Mommy asked, holding out her hand.

The cat girl stood quite stiff beside her, and you watched her breathing a little rougher, her stomach fluttering, that bulge looking more and more uncomfortable. You couldn't imagine it to feel good to be filled like that. Up the ass no less. Where did that thing even go, up her guts? You didn't want to think too much about it, but you still flinched when Kitty gave a quiet wince as Mommy pushed her forward to bend over, folding her in half while pressing the plug part of her cat tail against her tight hole.

A muffled gasp escaped the girl when the older woman pressed the big plug into her, nudging the dildo a few inches further. You cringed in sympathy. Once the plug sat snug between her ass cheeks, the long black tail swinging slightly between her legs, Mommy gave her a soft slap, making her stumble a little.

“Good pet, go and get your reward,” she told her, and while you thought she'd be allowed to finally leave and do whatever, Kitty went down on her knees again and crawled back under the table.

You let out a surprised shriek when she returned to the place between your legs, her mouth back at your cunt, but instead of licking you once more, you felt her tugging at the vibrator, and you shifted slightly, lifting your hips when she pulled the thing out of you, the buzzing louder now that it was exposed to the air again. You watched her with a frown when she closed her lips around the egg-shaped object (glistening in your juices), before her hand moved up to click the button at the end to turn it off.

Then she scooted back and stood up, the pink toy firmly between her teeth, its thick tail hanging out of her mouth like the tail of a mouse she had just caught. It was a fitting image, but it was still weird to you. As you slumped down in your chair, pressing your thighs together, you watched her bowing to Mommy, who nodded at her and waved her away, and you looked after the poor girl, how her butt plug tail swooshed left and right, how the long dildo deep in her ass made her walk a little stiffly.

Swallowing, you looked back at the woman across from you, your heart beating faster. “Drink your water, baby,” she told you, and you reached for the water glass you had ignored until now, gulping it down eagerly. She watched you as she finished her coffee. “How do you feel?” she then asked.

You put the empty glass down, licking your lips. “A little awkward,” you confessed.

“Why?”

“Well, I... hmm,” you hummed, trying to find the words. “I've never been to a... a place like this... where everybody's so... open... about anything... s-sexual...” you stammered out in the end.

Mommy chuckled softly. “Welcome to my world,” she mused. “But you don't have to feel awkward about it. All these girls are here on their own free will, they want to wear their masks and collars and tails, they want to eat their customers' cunts, and trust me, they love having things up their bums.”

You pursed your lips, looking away for a moment.

“I'm sorry I sprang this on you without asking first,” she then said, leaning onto the table, closer to you. “But if I would have asked you, you'd have said no, right? Because you didn't know any better. Listen, mi amor, I'm not doing this to humiliate you, I want you to feel better about yourself, among other things. This is to silence your bothersome mind, to push those doubts away, to focus on something more primal. Didn't it feel nice when Kitty licked your little pussy? Didn't she do a good job?”

You inhaled sharply, averting your eyes, a new wave of heat crashing into your face. “Well, yes... but...”

Mommy clicked her tongue. “I know it's all still strange to you, I get it. But one day you'll see the benefits of letting go, of letting it happen, of being free...” She sighed deeply, leaning back. “I want you to be free, baby girl, and I want you to know that pleasure is all around you, and it's not just Daddy and me who can give it to you.”

She stood up then, extending her hand towards you. You grabbed it and stood as well, realizing then that Kitty still had your panties stuffed in her bra. You'd probably never see them again. At least the vibrator was gone too, so it was only your own wetness seeping down your legs that felt a little uncomfortable. Rubbing your thighs together, you walked a few steps until Mommy pulled you against her side.

“Let's go home now, hm, cariño? Maybe I can show you how to use your new toys before dinner,” she mused with a laugh, leading you out of the cafe, past the half-naked girls carrying trays or crouching under tables, entertaining the other guests. Only women, sitting in the shadows, as you noticed just now. What a strange establishment. And it was Mommy's?

But somehow you knew that this might not have been the weirdest thing you'd learn about your new caregivers.

Chapter 8 🔷️ Chapter 9 🔷️ Chapter 10

End notes: And now we may have the connection to Forgetful: is Mommy secretly Mistress? Maybe? Maybe not? Maybe she's just another dominant woman inspired by her? That's up to you, I kept it vague on purpose.

Thank you for reading! New chapter every Saturday!

Up next: While you play around with cats and bunnies, Daddy is impatiently waiting for your return...

MASTERLIST 🔷️ AO3 🔷️ ORIGINAL WORKS

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lieslab · 3 months ago

Text

A nest of our own

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Felix X gn reader

Summary: After seeing baby chicks, you're convinced Felix and you can become poultry parents.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1.7k

_ _ _

“Sweetheart, you know we can’t get them, right?”

You waved off Felix’s words as you stared down at the large plastic bin. After hearing a friend talk about the grain store having poultry for sale, you jumped at the chance to appear with Felix. Wood shavings sat on the bottom and a heat lamp radiated warmth. Faint chirps, quacks, and cheeps filled the air.

“I know, but look at them. Aren’t they just the cutest thing? Look at them!” Your lips pushed into a smile. “The baby chicks are so cute and fluffy, just like you!”

On the defense, he side-eyed and he scowled at you. “I’m not fluffy. Cute? Obviously. Fluffy?”

“Your hair is kinda fluffy.”

“Fluffy? More stiff and on the verge of falling out. One more bleaching session and I-”

“Look!” You tugged on his hand and pointed out one of the fluffy yellow chicks. Curious beady black eyes, small peeps, and a neck craned back to look at the two giants before him. “Isn’t he adorable? He’s looking right at us.”

“How do you know he’s a he?”

“Because I just do.”

His arm wrapped around your waist. His chin went to your shoulder and he sighed. “Yeah, he is pretty cute. I wish we could pick them up, but the sign says we’re not allowed to touch them.”

“Do you like the baby ducks or chicks more?”

He hummed softly and glanced between the few bins. About a foot away from the first large plastic tub, a second sat up with a similar set-up. The same brand of heat lamp and wood shavings. A plastic container holding enough water to let them drink from it, but not enough for the animals to drown. Another held starter food to nurture their bodies.

“They’re both pretty cute. I like the little webbed feet the ducks have. I bet they’re going to grow up and be great swimmers.”

“I don’t know about the ducks, but I think these are egg-laying chickens. They’ll grow up and after a while, they’ll be able to lay eggs. I like the egg-laying chickens. I’d rather have these than have the chickens that are meant to be butchered.”

“There’s a difference between chickens?”

You shifted, so you could look at him. “You didn’t know that?”

“Chicken is chicken,” he shrugged. “I get eggs and meat from the grocery store. I’ve never really questioned if there was a difference between the two. I probably should have known, but it’s never been that deep for me. I eat to nurture myself and try not to think about the chickens. If I think about it too much, I’ll cry.”

You reached up and gently patted his cheek. “You’re cute. Almost as cute as these babies.”

“I’m losing to baby chicks and ducks? You don’t even know their names.”

“I know they’re cute.”

He gestured to the second bin. “Is that duck eating his…” His face scrunched and he trailed off. “Ew.”

Your own grimace followed. “Yeah, I forgot they eat their own excrement sometimes.”

“Ew!”

“They’re just babies!” You defended them. “There’s not much for them to do, so how are they supposed to know?”

“That’s so gross!”

“You ate an entire banana with the peel on!”

“It wasn’t my own bowel movement!”

“Might as well have been.”

As the curious baby chick watched your bickering, it’s head tipped to the side. Not understanding your words, but understanding enough to know that something between the two of you was wrong. That’s why it spun around and hurried back beneath the heat lamp. Pillowing itself between brothers and sisters, it hunkered down, eager to warm itself back up.

~ ~ ~

A week later, you sat with your hands on your hips on the living room couch. “Maybe this wasn’t the best idea, but it’s done. There’s no going back. The two of us are going to be parents to baby-”

Across the way, you were cut off with a loud sharp peep. You shoved yourself from the couch and hurried over to the plastic tub. Down below, eight baby chicks fought over a spot for warmth beneath the heat lamp. The way you adjusted it, there wasn’t enough room for all eight.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Hold on, let me fix this.” You reached over and adjusted the lamp, leaning it back to cover more square area.

One ball of fluff leaned over with a beak and pecked another sibling in the head. You gasped, reached down, and gently cupped them to bring them to your chest. Frantic peeps instantly filled the air. The fear of falling filled the bird, just as an infant would fear.

“Hey, that’s not nice. I know you’re upset, but I’m working on it.” You frowned, hoping the chicken would understand. “Just because you’re impatient and angry, it doesn’t mean that you can fight your sibling. Please, calm down.”

As you continued to lecture the small bird, the front door swung open. Felix kicked off his shoes, dropped his bag, and glanced up. A smile filled his face and then it fell. The puffy yellow ball in your hands poked out between the slips of your fingers.

“Baby?”

You jerked to the side with wide eyes. About the same time, the baby chick in your hands chirped loudly. You shushed the bird softly, reached down, and gently placed it in the front pocket of your overalls. “Let me talk to your father first.”

“What are you…” He padded closer, worrying about the plastic tub behind you. “Did you purchase-”

“Okay, listen. I know you said no, but I’ve wanted this for a long time. I’ve spent the past three days researching and making sure I know how to properly take care of them. I think I’ve become an expert on chicken enrichment and nurturing.”

About that time, the peep in your pocket pecked at the faded denim. Felix glanced down, but he couldn’t find the energy to be mad at you. Not when something so small and delicate sat in your pocket. He moved closer, grabbed your front chest pocket, and peeked over the edge.

“Honey, why did you put him in there?”

“Because he needed a time out for pecking his brother. Back to my point, I know what I’m doing. Come on, Felix, you can’t say no to them.” You reached down and pulled up the baby chick. “Just like I said the other day, they’re so cute. There’s eight of them, just like you and your members!”

“Does that make this one Seungmin Junior?” He reached out, slowly brushing a finger over the top of the baby’s head. “Didn’t you say these were egg-laying chickens? Wouldn’t that make these chickens hens? Girl chickens?”

“It turns out they have roosters and hens. I just got a boxful and called it a day. If we do it right, we can fertilize the eggs and then we can be grandparents.”

“Oh, dear.”

“You don’t want to be grandparents with me?” You frowned, meeting his eyes.

“No, I think it’s a nice idea in theory, but baby, we don’t have a coop. We have a backyard, but there’s no fence for them to roam. Don’t we have to worry about predators, too?”

“You worry too much. I have it all planned out. Just wait until you see what I ordered off a website. It’s all the pieces to a coop, but it comes with instructions, and I can put it together. I was thinking when they start laying eggs, we can get a cute basket to collect them in.”

“You’re really not giving me a choice here, are you?”

“Nope.”

He reached out and slowly cupped the chick from your hand. “He is a pretty cute guy. What are we seriously going to name them? How are we doing to tell the difference between them all? They look the same.”

“I’m still figuring it out, but in the meantime, we’re fresh parents to a batch of kids.”

He stepped forward, peeking in on the rest of the flock. He went from chick-to-chick, taking notice of how many huddled beneath the red radiance of the heat lamp. “You said there’s eight?”

“Yes! They said you had to buy eight at once, so I got all eight. I can’t wait until they grow up!” You grinned, rocking back and forth on your feet. “I think they’ll make great family members. Plus, we’ll have fresh eggs.”

“Or a nice Sunday dinner.”

Your head whipped back. “You’re going to eat our kids?”

He shrugged and reached back down to pet the chicken back in his hands. “I’m just saying it’s a possibility.”

“You’re a horrible father.”

The bird leaned forward, pecking the skin of Felix’s hand. “Ow!” He hissed, leaned down, and let the chick rush beneath the heat lamp. “You little-”

“That’s what you get for not being very nice to our kid.”

“I’ll turn him into a nugget.”

“Behave or I’ll report you to Changbin for child abuse and let him straighten you out.”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Oh, yeah? What’s he going to do?”

“Headlock of doom.”

“Sounds more like a reward than a punishment.”

“While I bleach your hair again.”

He gasped, spinning back around to face you. “You wouldn’t!”

“Be nice to our kids.”

“Fine.”

You leaned forward, cupping his face in the process. “I know you didn’t think we could, but I’ve got it all under control.”

“I’m a little worried, but I trust you. They’ll make a good addition to our dynamic duo. Maybe I’ll get Hyunjin to help me make little signs to decorate their coop.”

“Like?”

“Cluck around and find out.” He grinned, eyes lighting up in the process. “You can never go wrong with chicken puns.”

You leaned closer, planting a quick kiss to a freckled-stamped cheek. “I’ll allow it since we’re working on this together. Since you’re home, let’s go.” You slipped a hand through his. “I got a bunch of baby-name books from the library, so we have to pick out names.”

He laughed, unable to stop the utter admiration from pouring out of his body. “You’re cute. I love you so much, my little chicken tender.”

You slowly turned your head, casting judgement upon him. He grinned again, showing off two rows of pearly white teeth. “What? Too early for another chicken pun?”

“That’s it, you’re spending the night in the coop.”

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eureka-its-zico · 2 years ago

Text

Chaos in Their Bones

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: All your life you’d listened to your friend, Usopp spin wild tales about pirates and adventure. Pirates weren’t a thing that came often to Syrup Village, but one straw hat pirate and his crew changed all that the day they arrived. Now, you aren’t so sure if your sleepy little village was always pirate-free or if no one had been paying attention.

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Genre: friends to lovers, frienemies to lovers, slow burn (I hope y’all like aching) eventual smut

Words: 5k+

A/N: I told myself I wasn’t going to do this, so naturally I did it anyway. This is the first chapter in a planned series with a reader insert following the events of the OPLA universe. I sincerely hope that this is a story you all love as this is my first initial time writing for one of my beloved anime. But let’s be real, after seeing Mackenyu play Zoro (my fav) I knew I was going to be whipped from the start. The reader will go by “Doc” in this story at times, and later a nickname by Zoro himself. As always, I hope you enjoy this. Much love, Jenn. Also, thank you @thegreatesttttttttt for indulging me.

The ringing of the bell thundered through the sky above. An upcoming warning of four words that would echo through the street's moments later.

“The pirates are coming!”

You could practically hear the rest of the town groan with a sigh. Their annoyance stunk up the streets as Usopp sounded the imaginary alarm as he usually did every day around this time. Maybe it was because you considered Usopp a friend that his tall tales and wild imagination didn’t bother you.

Instead, a sly smile tilted your lips as you continued to grind the seeds deep into the mortar. Mr. Edison’s gruff voice from outside your window reminded Usopp for the millionth time that he needed to stop as he sprinted past.

“What is that boy going on about?” Naan huffed.

You sent a quick glance behind your shoulder at the older woman who was currently folding the recently washed linens. All of them are used with a purpose to either staunch bloody wounds or for the simple purpose of relieving colds. Naan’s linens, like her home, were used for a multitude of healing services, with the only payment she accepted was that of the kindness of others around her.

“You already know, Naan,” you replied, your smile evident in your words. “It’s the usual afternoon reminder to stay on your toes.”

A deep chuckle came from behind you followed by the soft cough that came after.

“These toes can’t do very much standing. So, maybe tell your friend to give me a day of rest soon.”

“Usopp has done this every day for seven years. I don’t think anything anyone will ever say will make him stop.”

Even if you could get Usopp to stop, you wouldn’t be the one to make him. You weren’t sure how many people in town knew who his father was - or that he’d been a pirate. A father by suggestion, Usopp’s wild imagination could only recall small things from the stories his mother had been willing to share, and from those stories, even greater ones grew.

While everyone else may have found Usopp’s stories as an ever-present headache you knew they held a deeper meaning. They were the only thing he knew of a man he never got to know.

The sound of chair legs creaking across the floor cut you out of your thoughts. Just in time from the looks of the seed putty you’d created. A heavy thud on the boards informed you Naan grabbed her cane and the heavier shuffling of her feet that she was heading in your direction.

“What are you so intently making over here, child?”

Settling down the pestle, you reached over your workstation to grab a pot. You were going to need to fetch some water to bring everything to a bowl before you strained it into a jar.

“Water. I need to go get some water,” you murmured as you brought the pot down in front of you.

“Am I talking to myself?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Naan. Did you say something?”

This time you did dare to look at her. Her deep-set wrinkles set impossibly deeper as she regarded your work from over your shoulder.

“Oh, I only asked what you were making that was stinking up my kitchen.”

Your eyes flew open wide as you took a deep breath in. You were sure the only thing you’d put in that maybe - maybe - smelled was the slippery elm, but you hadn’t even steeped it in the water yet. Naan must have read your panic before it began to stitch your brow together. Your eyes still helplessly peeled to the job in front of you instead of the chuckling woman behind you.

“It’s fine, child. I’m just teasing you.”

All your panic rushed out in a huff of air as your body finally turned to greet her. Your eyes instantly took in the very tired look of hers.

“You should get some rest, Naan.”

The two of you knew you meant well. You would never try and make Naan feel older than she already felt, except you didn’t give a damn about her feelings when you could easily spot the sweat on her upper lip. The way her body leaned more into the cane that supported her. She batted your concern away with a swat of her free hand. As if it would be enough to make whatever fear that gripped at your heart magically disappear.

“Don’t patronize me. I’m fine.”

“You are not fine. You're wheezing with every breath now-“

“I said I’m fine. Leave me alone and start worrying about whatever it is you’re making.”

“Well, if you would stop interrupting me, maybe I could finish it!”

The irritation in your voice wasn’t hard to miss. Naan heard it too no doubt with the way her brow cocked as if begging you to repeat it.

The silence stretched uncomfortably between you. Naan wouldn’t even look at you - probably too scared to see your eyes pleading, full of worry for her to just go lay down.

Why must you always be so stubborn?

The question sat on your tongue and made your words form like molasses. You weren’t a child anymore. So, it begged the question of why you were still afraid to speak to her like an adult. It didn’t matter if what you said hurt her old feelings. Not when the thought of her not being around made your chest begin to spread wide like an aching chasm.

“You never did say what you were making.”

You pressed your tongue against your cheek while you debated if it would be worth it to try and argue with her. Of course, you were always the first one to relent and push it under the metaphorical rug.

“It’s a gift for Miss Kaya. Usopp told me her cough hadn’t changed and asked if I would make something for her.”

“Hmm,” Naan hummed in thought. “That boy is strange, but he is kind.”

“Not as strange as Kaya having an unknown illness the last few years and never seeking any aid from the town's doctor,” you grumbled.

Naan’s hand lightly clasped your shoulder in comfort - comfort you didn’t want to accept. Not only were thoughts of Naan being sick plaguing every ounce of free space in your brain but now so was Kaya. You’d only met her once when you were younger with Usopp and after her parents died that odd butler, Klahadore, kept her under strict observation.

In all the years you’d been with Naan, learning everything she could teach about healing, you’d found it odd that the staff never came to ask for help. You couldn’t recall a time when Sham or Buchi ever came down requesting any tonics or medicines from Naan, or for her to come with them to examine Kaya in the first place.

I wasn’t aware they were waitstaff and doctors.

You knew these thoughts would only dampen your mood until it turned completely sour. You just couldn’t stop the runaway train that was your thoughts from slipping back into questioning everything with the universe never giving you any new answers.

“How many times have I told you, child, we can’t make people get help. They have to seek it themselves and that- that is when the real healing begins.”

You were already bitter and that bitterness responded to Naan’s words in the form of an eye roll. One you were lucky the older woman didn’t see.

“It’s just not right.”

“Right or not, it’s not our place to go butting in.”

She stood behind you for a few more minutes waiting for a reply you didn’t give. You were done talking. Done trying to get her to understand that she was sick too and that all those years of molding words and actions to help others were what drove you to help her. To help Kaya. Only Usopp seemed to notice that something in her grand home wasn’t right.

Frustration drew tight across your chest causing your hands to seek support against the counter. For a split second, you imagined yourself splitting open and becoming two separate people. One being the doctor Naan trained you to be and the other something less controlled. Someone who was tired of listening but never being heard.

You listened as Naan began to retreat back to her table where the rest of the linens waited to be folded. You listened as another terrible cough violently shook itself free from her lungs as you focused on your work.

If you couldn’t help Naan you were just going to settle for helping Miss Kaya. Once you finished making Usopp’s requested medicine you were going to be sure he delivered it to her.

It was time a doctor paid a visit.

————

The shipyard.

Of course, Usopp was going to be here. Why you hadn't thought to come here first felt like a mystery all on its own.

In all the years you’d known him, Usopp’s routine hardly ever changed. He usually performed his usual pirate ritual just before he started his day in the shipyard. He was hired to care for and clean all of the ships housed within, however, and upon no real surprise to you, Usopp cleaned and polished the Going Merry daily.

So, it didn’t surprise you to find him already on the ship. What did surprise you were the three people standing with him steps away from the Going Merry, herself.

You didn’t feel alarmed in any way. Usopp was good with people - he enjoyed talking to anyone willing to listen. The man with the straw hat, who was grinning wildly in the direction of Usopp and then to his friends, seemed happy to listen. He was giving Usopp his full attention and whatever your friend was saying was exactly what Straw Hat wanted to hear.

The other two people beside him, however, didn’t seem to share in the excitement. Sure, the pretty woman with the orange hair was giving all the perfect signaling queues of a smile and nod to make it believable that she was interested in anything Usopp had to say. Did she probably care about whatever was being said? Probably not, but at least she didn’t look as sour as the moss-hair-colored guy-

Holy shit

Your feet stopped working. Your knees seemed to refuse to bend, to make any movement forward for the last few feet to close the distance to the group. For what reason? There had to be a perfectly good reason-

Nope. Thoughts gone. Head empty.

That was the best way to describe what was currently happening as your eyes stayed glued to the three-sword-wielding swordsman standing next to the woman.

Three swords? You wondered. Where does the other one go?

Maybe you would ask him if you ever summed up the courage to do just that. If you could just get your legs to function again.

In all the time you’d lived on Shell Island you were more than positive you’d never seen someone that looked close to him. Especially someone carrying around three swords or standing with so much purpose. Even as your eyes took him in you could tell he was pretending to be relaxed, but after years of mending bodies, you noticed the tightness between his shoulder blades. The ease he tried to display with a hand resting on the hilt of the sword wasn’t actually resting. Even relaxed, this man was ready to unsheathe those blades and use them at a moment's notice.

While the idea made you consider him a great swordsman, your heart also ached at the thought of feeling trapped and weary of others' intentions.

Your thoughts would’ve continued to run wild as you embarrassingly gawked at this stranger and his friends. All of that was ruined, however, when Usopp caught a glimpse of you between orange and green hair.

“Doc!”

Usopp’s excitement translated to a crazy arm wave and immediately caused all three of his newfound friends to face you. God, this meant you had to get your legs working. You had to physically move closer. You could do that. No problem.

Taking in a deep breath, you allowed a genuine smile to raise your lips in welcome. Luckily, your feet didn’t betray you as you moved the last few feet. You made a mental note as you got closer that the straw hat was meeting your smile with his own, while the other two regarded you with lackluster enthusiasm.

Great. They were the grumpy types of people.

“There you are Usopp,” you began cheerfully. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“You know, Usopp?” Asked straw hat.

You felt your brow crease in question as your smile wilted at the corners.

“I would hope so. We’ve known each other since we’ve lived here.”

“Impressive,” mumbled the woman.

Okay, maybe she wasn’t as friendly as you originally thought, but she was still definitely friendlier than moss hair. Who currently felt like he was drilling holes into your chest.

“Ugh, Doc I was just going to take these guys to visit, Kaya,” Usopp interjected.

He was still smiling - always smiling. His eyes darted to the three new faces before landing back at you.

“Why would you take them to see, Kaya?”

“She owns the shipyard and we-“Straw hat interjected, “Are in need of a ship. That beautiful ship behind us, to be exact.”

You glanced behind him to the Going Merry. Kaya’s family ship.

You shot Usopp a questioning glance that you weren’t surprised to see him ignore. He was up to something there was no doubting that. The issue was you weren’t sure what angle he was trying to play.

“Good luck with that.”

You did mean it. You didn’t think he was going to get it no matter how good-natured he seemed. That was still a family memory you weren’t sure Kaya would be willing to part with.

“Thanks!”

“Doc, before I take them over there do you by chance have what I asked for?”

You patted your satchel for good measure before you replied, “That’s why I was looking for you. I have it right here.”

Usopp took a step towards you, his hand outstretched in waiting for you to deposit the bottle. When you didn’t comply with his request he shot you a look of worry.

“You do have it right?”

“Yes, Usopp I told you I did. I just want to come with you to check on her myself.”

A look of worry dimmed the mirth in his eyes for one second. If you didn’t know what to look for you would have missed it entirely. You knew he’d been asking you for months to sneak in with him to visit Kaya. His own suspicions began to outweigh the doubt that plagued his heart with every heavy decision that needed to be made.

Deep down, Usopp knew if you were finally going to answer his request of sneaking in with him, it must be serious. A concept Usopp himself purposely tried to run from often.

“Wait, you’re a doctor? That is so cool!”

You needed to learn Straw Hat’s name because he was growing on you fast.

“I’m no-“

“She’s actually one of the best doctors in the whole East Blue,” Usopp beamed. “She’s cured this small village of at least two possible plague outbreaks twice already.”

You were willing to bet your eyes were the size of saucers. There was no way any of them would believe that kind of nonsense. There was absolutely no way-

“Wow, now that is really impressive! Sounds just like somebody who should be a part of my crew-“

“No!”

“We are not a crew!”

The absolute verbal whiplash you just experienced left your head reeling to pick up on every conversation. Straw Hat was practically turning into pure sunshine in front of you, while the other two were glaring like you’d sprouted three heads.

Geez, what a tough crowd.

“Ok, wait what?”

“It’s nothing he doesn’t mean anything by it,” the woman replied, a tight smile thinning out her lips.

“We don’t need someone pretending to play medicine woman to join us.”

Your eyes narrowed in on the now green-haired monster. He met your cold glance with his own. Whoever - whatever - he experienced in his life meant he didn’t find you the least bit threatening. He regarded you like an annoyance and you found yourself wondering why the universe made all the grumpy ones the most attractive.

If his lips pouted any harder he was going to have to rent a kissing booth.

“For your information, I’m not a pretend doctor.”

Whatever he was going to reply with was cut off by Straw hat who quickly pointed at himself. “I’m Luffy, and these are my companions Nami and Zoro.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Luffy,” you beamed letting them know your name in response. “But most people just refer to me as Doc because of Usopp.”

Nami clapped her hands together to bring you both back to the matter at hand. Kaya’s medicine. Their boat.

“Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, can we get going? We really should stop by and pay her a visit.”

“Oh yeah! Come on guys, I can show you the fastest way there.”

Usopp tossed down his rag and skipped backward to the crate where his own satchel sat.

“Great! If you guys will kindly follow me this way I can show you something really awesome.”

You wanted to smack some sense into him. Usopp always wanted to be liked - for people to spend time with him and enjoy it. Besides Kaya and you who humored him with his opulent imagination and ability to spin fables like cotton candy. These people, Luffy excluded, did not deserve his endearing desire for friendship. They were both giving off major chip on their shoulder vibes and you vowed to become an even bigger pain in the ass if they were unnecessarily rude to him.

They didn’t wait to know if you were joining them or even behind them. They all moved forward to follow Usopp, who was spit-firing a conversation at Luffy who easily seemed to match it with his own charisma. Nami and Zoro trudged behind them both and you brought up the rear.

You’d hoped at some point Luffy or Usopp would drag you into the conversation. Anything that would keep your wandering eyes from constantly burrowing holes between Zoro’s sculpted shoulders. If you didn’t locate some form of self-control soon, you were positive your brain would be sent spinning into a tangent about how martial arts training with weapons was a godsend. So, looking at your feet for the next few miles would have to suffice.

It was strange how the world between poverty and the rich was such an overwhelming force. The farther you ventured out past the town and into the privacy of the landscape that kept Kaya’s family home hidden, it was a wonder that anyone would know it was there.

There were endless strawberry fields that farmers planted on one side and potatoes on the other. Dozens of workers tended to their growth with their hard work and sweat until a wall of bamboo cut off any view. All you could see was an endless path swallowed in bamboo branches making the path more foreboding than you thought necessary.

When you finally came in through the front gates, their iron and mortar was a welcomed sight. The one thing that wasn’t was that stupid Well you’d grown to hate ever since you almost fell in looking over the side as a child.

“I’ve never seen a house this big before.”

Luffy’s admission sent your eyes up from your feet to the large garden entrance. And that damned well that sat like a mockery in the middle of the walkway to the front.

“It’s impressive, right? Kaya’s given me an open invitation to stop by anytime I want.”

Your eyes darted over to Usopp who was practically skipping with excitement as he and Luffy made their way over to the well. You wanted him to look at you, but you knew he wouldn’t. If he did, Usopp would only find you looking at him - full of questions - with a look calling him a liar. You would never want him to feel bad. It was never your intention, however, it was going to be more embarrassing if you all got caught and thrown out on your ass than just being honest.

“Wow. That’s pretty awesome,” Luffy breathed. His face was full of wonder as he continued to take in the large space. “All of this is just for one person?”

“Well…she lives here with a few other staff.”

“Yeah. A bunch of asshole staff,” you grumbled under your breath.

By the way, Luffy and Usopp were hanging over the side of the well - ick - neither of them had heard you. Unfortunately, your fellow rear buddies did.

“You don’t seem to be a fan of the staff?” Nami ventured.

You eyed her carefully. She came off friendly enough, but she wasn’t giving anything else away. The small smile on her lips wasn’t reaching her eyes. Instead, they were calculating and waiting for you to give her any information you were willing or unwilling to give.

Nami was incredibly smart and equally dangerous because of it.

“They do a lot of suspicious things,” you replied slowly, unsure of how much sharing was too much.

“I’m sure butlers don’t come harboring life-threatening secrets,” Zoro countered.

His hand shoved in a pocket while the other still rested on the sword. He regarded you the way adults do children making up fairytales. The way the townspeople looked at Usopp like a silly child always crying wolf. They both thought you were being silly, and you wish you could say their disregard didn’t make your chest cave in just a bit, but you never were a good liar.

“No, maybe butlers don’t,” you countered, “but people do.”

When neither of them showed signs of continuing on with the conversation you started forward following Usopp and Luffy. You didn’t care about whatever conversation Zoro or Nami were having behind you. They could’ve been discussing robbing the place blind for all you could care about.

You were worried more about the people than the objects inside.

“If you have an invitation, why are we going through the back way?”

Just tell them, Usopp.

“Oh, well I never go through the front entrance. This is more of a VIP entrance.”

“This guy is full of shit.”

“Yeah, but if he gets us inside who cares.”

Why was Luffy the only member of this merry band of misfits who weren’t incredibly grumpy?

“Usopp,” you called out to him in a warning.

He gave you a glance over his shoulder before he made his way over the giant lily pads without a reply.

Little shit, you thought as you realized he was very much choosing to ignore your existence. Did you blame him? Not really. You couldn’t remember the last time anyone had humored him this long and you were debating on if you should be the one to crush his newfound hopes and dreams.

Fortunately for you, you weren’t going to have to be the bad guy in that scenario. One already seemed to exist.

Just as Usopp reached the second lily pad, you knew something was wrong. The hiccup of an, “Oh,” that came out of him registering as panic. He was already turning back to stop Luffy from coming closer, almost begging him to go to another entrance - an extra special one - when he was interrupted by a knife plunging into the lily pad between his feet.

A very sharp knife. One you knew could’ve easily severed flesh or nicked an artery. Your blood boiled as you pushed past Luffy, your eyes darting wildly as Buchi stalked towards Usopp who stuttered past a greeting.

“What the hell are you doing here, Usopp?” He snapped as his hands lurched in to grasp the leather of Usopp’s top. “You know you aren’t welcome here.”

“I know nothing of the sort. I came to give Kaya an extra-special gift.”

You practically glided past the last lily pad when a sharp hiss cut the air. You didn’t necessarily need to look to see if it was Sham. You knew it was. She stood just off the first step from where they’d been disemboweling the hog, mop at the ready, and her teeth bared directly at you.

“He’s brought the doctor,” she hissed.

Buchi finally seemed to register your presence from behind Usopp and bared his own teeth in warning.

“You are definitely not welcome here.”

“A rather odd thing to say to a healer when your mistress seems to be suffering a mysterious illness.”

“An illness we are more than capable of handling.”

“I find that highly doubtful.”

With his hands still holding onto Usopp, Buchi leaned forward to growl - literally growl - in your face like a rabid dog. You wanted to poke him in the eye and were incredibly tempted to do so when a soft voice cut through the tension.

“Usopp! What a wonderful surprise!”

Everyone’s attention shifted as Kaya made her entrance on the arm of Klahadore. You took a step back and away from the two just so Usopp could twist himself free and walk towards the waiting mistress of the estate.

“I wouldn’t miss today of all days. Happy birthday, Kaya.”

“You remembered.”

My god, she was practically swooning and Usopp was eating it up.

“I could never forget.”

This feels awkward.

They acted like they didn’t have a captive audience watching them look at each other like two lovestruck teenagers.

It wasn’t hard to notice how Kaya beamed at him or how that attention brought happiness to Usopp. For as long as you can remember, even as children, Usopp always liked her. Sure, he would play it off as if they were just friends. There was no way she could see him that way, but when Kaya’s parents passed away three years ago what was between them seemed to change. Their feelings became something saturated in an understanding of loss. Usopp knew what Kaya needed because it was something he himself had never truly received.

So, did it bother you that she actually hadn’t greeted you yet? Not really. What did bother you, however, was the way Klahadore’s eyes slithered over to you. It made you feel like you were going to be sick.

“Usopp. Did you bring the doctor with you?”

Please, let me crawl into a hole and die.

There was something off about Klahadore. It wasn’t just because he made your skin want to completely crawl off your body. It was the way he sounded every alarm bell in your brain. The way your heart speeds up triggering the fight or flight response that was ingrained in your body's defense system. The way he continued to look at you as if you were a bug that needed to be squashed, only drove the feeling home.

“Oh, yeah. Kaya, I had Doc make you something for your cough. I figured it might be worth a try.”

God, he looked so happy. He was completely oblivious to how Klahadore seemed ready to smite you both where you stood.

You closed your eyes, taking in a deep breath. Maybe when you opened them he wouldn’t be staring daggers into your face.

Nope. No such luck.

“Oh, that is so incredibly sweet,” Kaya beamed.

Klahadore slowly set his hand out in front of him. The cold obsidian of his eyes never left your face as he spoke. “Please hand over whatever tonic you’ve acquired for Miss Kaya.”

You weren’t aware your hand was already in the satchel. Your fingers wrapped protectively tight against the cool glass of the bottle as you continued to stare at one another.

“Hand it over. Please.”

“No-“

Usopp’s hand on your shoulder stopped you cold. Your teeth ground tightly to stop your next words. You didn’t want to hand that asshole anything. Not when Kaya looked so damn pale.

Something is wrong.

The thought wormed its way into your brain until it gnawed at all other thoughts until it consumed every available spot. It was all you could think as your eyes continued to look over her frail frame.

Naan taught you that as a doctor, and as a healer, it was your job to fight for your patients. To always do what you could and what was best for their care. Was giving the medicine you made for Kaya to Klahadore best for her care.

No. No, it sure as shit didn’t feel like it.

Maybe that was why it felt like such a betrayal to take the medicine from your bag and drop it inside his gloved hand. You watched as his disgusting white fingers wrapped around the gray bottle and brought it up to rest closely to his chest.

“Now, Usopp we’ve had this discussion about coming here unannounced - and this time with a doctor.”

“Nonsense, Klahadore,” Kaya interjected. “They are my friends. What a sweet gesture it was, Doc to try and make me something. Usopp, did you come to tell me more stories about your adventures?”

“I can do you one better. I brought some of my crew.”

With a sweep of his arm, Usopp introduced Luffy, Nami, and Zoro who registered this gesture with sheer disbelief. Well, disbelief would be putting it mildly.

“Is he talking about us?”

Luffy sounded as confused as you felt.

“I’m sorry, but we do not have any room for any extra guests tonight, I’m afraid.”

“Oh please, Klahadore couldn’t they at least stay for dinner? It is my birthday.”

You hated how Kaya had to beg to have company that wasn’t her staff. You could vaguely remember the butler who was in charge before Klahadore had arrived. Mr. Thorburr had been an absolute delight and genuinely seemed to care about Kaya and her family’s wellbeing. If he was still in charge, you were positive he would’ve believed in letting Kaya outside to enjoy the garden or have friends stop by, even unannounced, to visit.

One day he was just gone and slowly the only staff that was left were these three assholes. It all felt awfully convenient or maybe you were just being petty because you disliked them.

The way Klahadore looked at her made your stomach turn.

“Anything for you, Miss Kaya.”

You wondered if he choked a little over each word as they traveled up his throat.

“Great!” Luffy shouted. “When do we eat?”

“You don’t. Not dressed like that. You will change and bathe before dinner. No exceptions.”

Everyone was willing to accept the invitation. The premise of a bath seemed enough to make Nami practically skip forward to be led inside by Sham. Your feet, however, refused to move. Usopp, Luffy, and Nami practically took the small stairs up to the patio in one giant leap. Your earlier dread from the day was back and something dark borrowed its way into your chest.

Something is wrong.

You were about to turn tail and run when you noticed Zoro stop at the edge of the stairs. His body turned slightly to eye Klahadore one last time before he turned to follow after his crew. It was small and barely lasted a second, but it was enough.

Zoro noticed something wasn’t right either and maybe, just maybe, he’d be the one to believe you. All you had to do was join him inside the house to talk to him. No biggie.

Taking in a deep breath you finally moved to follow behind Kaya and Klahadore. Your eyes intently following a particular green-haired swordsman and wondering how you were going to get him alone.

The showers seemed like a great place to start.

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As always, thank you for reading. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

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