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almostempty · 3 months ago

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Never made it as a wise man

(joel miller x f!reader)

Description: Joel solves your car troubles for free, and you try to return the favor with a homecooked meal. When you accidentally interrupt his jerkoff session, you take a chance and help him out.

Note: y’all are out here answering god’s toughest questions, like what if emotionally unavailable Joel was loved unconditionally? or what if Joel was the Mothman?, and I deeply appreciate that.

However, today, I am here to answer a question that nobody asked– What if Joel was a divorced dad rock kinda guy?

You know, like, listening to Nickelback on an old-school boombox in his garage, or unironically singing Creed on the way to work, or bonding with Ellie over Papa Roach? And also, (inspired by a genius) what if he was a little bit pathetic?

Anyway, I present to you: divorced dad rock dilf, Joel, ta-da! (my humble submission for @hellishjoel‘s hot dilf summer challenge) obvs dedicated to: @auteurdelabre

ao3: read here | masterlist: here | part 1.5 here

Tags/warnings: AU no outbreak divorced Joel x f!reader, Sarah is not mentioned, but Ellie is your adult coworker, reader is clueless about cars and so am I, gratuitous smut and horny thoughts, implied jorkin’ joel but no witnesses, hand job, fingering, premature ejaculation, touch starved kinda loserish but hot divorced dilf joel, he’s a real tiddy guy in this one and idk why it just happened, pwp, is it a crackfic? maybe, but i meant it wholeheartedly so idk

WC: 4.2k

You pull onto the long driveway, hoping to see Joel’s truck. You forgot to text first to see if he would be around, but he did tell you to come by if you ever needed anything. You mostly just hope he’ll be willing to accept your gift.

Last week, he’d helped you out by fixing your car. He told you what the issue was, but he might as well have been speaking another language when he described it. You had already brought coffee and a plate of cookies to your coworker Ellie to thank her for dragging you to Joel’s to ask for help. Being in a new town was hard enough, but you had no idea how you would handle the price for diagnostics, let alone whatever the repair would’ve cost. You tried to offer Joel the cash you had as a thanks, but he wouldn’t accept it. You tried to argue with him, but Ellie told you it wasn’t worth arguing with him. He wouldn’t budge. Instead, he had offered to change your oil for you, making you feel even more indebted to him.

At first, the most you got out of Ellie for intel on Joel was that he was the one responsible for you having to listen to “One Last Breath” and “Lips of an Angel” at ungodly early hours. Ellie claimed that her music taste was deeply influenced by Joel, and somehow, Ellie is always in charge of the music at work. When you rolled your eyes calling it divorced dad rock, she let it slip that you were right about that.

That explains a lot when you remember the brief time you spent in his house and shop. The house was clean inside but not tidy. Stray beer bottles and travel mugs dotted the counter and coffee table. But the shop had all the Divorced Dad Barbie accessories.

The project car and crates of assorted parts. The beer fridge and the plastic lawn chairs in the corner for bullshitting with whoever stopped by. The boombox on the workbench with the stack of CDs. And the fading calendar from another decade with the naked woman kneeling on the beach.

You hadn’t been able to stop your eyes from darting to her sultry expression and swimsuit model-perfect breasts when Joel had been explaining what he was going to do to your car. You wondered if the heat burning in your cheeks had given you away, but he didn’t notice then. Ellie sure did, though, and she had rolled her eyes at you, noting it had been up so long she even forgot it was there.

Luckily, Ellie didn’t notice your eyes lingering on Joel’s body. You weren’t trying to be a creep, but the way his arm flexed when he opened the hood of your car gave you some feral brand of intrusive thoughts. The ratty band t-shirt and the faded jeans were working for him, too, or at least they were doing something for you. Time slowed when your eyes trailed over his arms and down the muscles of his broad back. He just seemed so… solid. You finally understood what your friends back home meant when they said they wanted to climb a man like a tree. You had jumped a little when Ellie slammed the fridge behind you and shouted at Joel about how he can’t just live in the shop drinking shitty beer and eating beef jerky. She had grabbed your arm to drag you to the house for an iced tea while he worked.

Her comment sparked your idea. You figured Joel must be a utilitarian type. He probably lives on frozen pizzas–or even worse, those Hungry-Man frozen TV dinners–instead of making himself something fresh. Maybe he’s one of those guys who got really into smoking meats instead. Either way, you hope the lasagna you made from scratch and the other tray of cookies will be an acceptable thank you for his help. He can’t refuse it if you already made it, right?

You pull up next to a truck, assuming it’s his, and that he’s home. Before you grab the tray, you pause to check your reflection and adjust your breasts in your white tank top, making sure your cleavage pokes out as temptingly as possible.

You check yourself in the mirror with a look. Why does it matter what you look like? It’s not like you’re trying to fuck your only (almost) friend’s dad, right? Although she calls him by his first name, not Dad, so maybe there’s like a loophole or something if she’s adopted. You think about the calendar model and her perfect tits hanging on the wall over his tools. It can’t hurt to just do a little harmless flirting, right? Maybe you aren’t even his type anyway.

After knocking on the door a couple of times, you frown, wondering if he’s not home. On the way back to your car, with your head hung in defeat, your ears perk up at the sound of something clanging in the shop. Of course!

You skitter back to the front porch to leave your goods by the door and head for the shop to find that divorced DILF–Joel, you mean. It’s sweltering out, and sweat is beading on your chest after only a few minutes in the heat. The closer you get, the more easily you can make out the sound of his little CD player blasting another brooding, raspy ballad sung by a white man with a troubled love life.

The garage door is shut, so you knock on the door on the side of the building. You wait a minute before testing your luck and opening the door yourself. Assessing the shop, you don’t see your man, sorry, Joel, at first glance. The music blasts, and the calendar model gives you the same impish smirk through her false lashes and a layer of dust, but there’s no Joel. The evidence clearly dictates that he’s in here somewhere, as his tools are strung around his project, the lights are on, and a beer with a sweating label sits on the edge of the workbench.

You aren’t trying to be sneaky. You didn’t think to holler and announce your presence over the music. Plus, you didn’t fully get your bearings the last time you were here. Now, you can pick up a few more details as your eyes absorb everything they can about anything that gives you a hint about who this guy is.

The guy that’s been haunting your dreams for a week. Last week, when you walked back to the shop with Ellie to check on your car, you nearly tripped, watching Joel wipe the sweat off his face with the bottom of his shirt. You had just caught a glimpse of the trail of hair disappearing under his jeans, but it was enough to replay in your mind every night as you created your little scenarios to carry you off to sleep.

The scent memory was somehow worse. It was so easy to transport yourself back in time with the thought of the sweaty musk and the grease or oil smeared on his fingers. It shouldn’t turn you on, right?

You remember thinking he seemed so knowledgeable when describing the issue. You had no idea what he was talking about, but his low voice and patience were enough to tell you he could talk you through anything.

You notice a few other details as you enter his sacred space today. The woodworking projects, the band posters, and the pictures with Ellie and other family members tacked to the wall over another workbench.

Still, no Joel, however.

You circle the partially disassembled project truck and see a door to another room. It would be the office if the shop were a professional business. There’s a window along the wall, but instead of a boss watching an employee, it’s you hoping to see that brawny man and his dark curls.

As you step closer, you nearly squeal. There he is. Well, at least, you can see the broad shoulders and back you’ve been picturing above you in bed. You practically skip to the door. It’s already open a crack, and you give it a knock, calling his name as it swings open from the force of your rapping knuckles.

The next moment is a blur.

“Shit, fuck, hold on!” Joel shouts gruffly as he slams the door in your face. But you already heard it. The phony wailing noises that came from the busted speaker on his phone.

You still face the closed door, trying to process the interaction before he wrenches the door back open. He’s breathing rapidly, chest rising and falling, as he looks at you with wide eyes that quickly narrow.

“What are you doing here?” he barks.

Your hands fall to your sides, and you start to step back, ready to turn and run.

He catches your fear and tries to adjust, but you’re faster.

“Sorry,” you mumble as you turn and try to dash away. Joel’s quick, too, though, and he grabs your wrist.

“Hey, wait,” he loosens his grip when you spin back towards him, “I just didn’t hear you comin’. Wasn’t expecting you.”

“Sorry,” you repeat, stuttering as you continue, “I-I just, uh, just wanted to say thanks for your help last week.” You stare at the floor. Unsure why you’re embarrassed, you feel so small after he saw your face and practically shouted at you.

“All right,” he rumbles. You’re too busy staring at the crack in the concrete floor to notice how his eyes are glued to your exposed skin. Or to see the blotchy red flush that crawls up his neck and toward his face.

But your brain starts to catch up. Joel might’ve snapped at you, but you’re the one that caught him in the act. You don’t lift your head, but your eyes trail over his stained and faded jeans until you’re studying his crotch.

Bingo. It’s almost too easy. You can make out the outline of his erection tucked up in his waistband. Even more glaring evidence is the open fly. You wish you had caught what he was watching. How does he like it? What does he search for when he wants to jerk off in the back office on a hot Saturday afternoon?

He clears his throat, and you snap your attention to his face. “Was there somethin’ you needed?” He asks.

“Yes.” You tell him you’ve got a lasagna that should get into a fridge before it reheats in the sun. He follows you toward the front door and into the house, not missing how your hips sway as you lead.

Once the tray is shoved into the fridge, nestled between some takeout containers, he turns to thank you. “You didn’t need to do all that,” he gruffs over the cookies and homemade meal.

You step back to lean against the counter, littered with mail and more coffee cups, and let yourself check him out up close. His faded Creed t-shirt has holes around the neck. He’s got that same sweaty man musk going on, and you wish you knew why that stirred your arousal, but your pussy lacks logic.

“I know, I know,” you reply, “but you really saved my ass with the car, and I wanted to do something for you. You know, some way to pay you back?”

“All right, well, thanks,” he trails off. He doesn’t seem to know what else to say. Maybe you should be on your way already, but he’s not ushering you out the door.

This time, you do catch when his eyes drop to your chest. There’s no way you’re imagining the tension between you as you stand in his kitchen while he stares at your barely clothed tits, right? Fuck it. You’re gonna go for it.

You take a step towards him. “I wasn’t sure if it was really enough,” your voice is soft and tempting, and your sweet perfume wafts towards him like a lust potion. Joel swallows thickly as you approach.

He knows you must’ve put it together, but he tried to delude himself. Maybe you couldn’t hear the theatrical screams of the woman he was watching get railed before he slammed the door in your face. He hopes all you heard was Chad Kroeger’s voice screaming, “This time I'm mistaken

For handin' you a heart worth breakin'” from the stereo.. on the other side of the shop.

“You worked so hard,” you continued with one final step, and now you’re nearly toe-to-toe in front of him. “There has to be something else I could do.” You’re so close to him. He forgets to respond. It takes all his power to keep his eyes on your face.

You have a wild urge to taste the sweat on his neck, but you keep your tongue to yourself. He hasn’t made any move to encourage you, but he hasn’t stopped you yet either, so you figure it’s worth taking a risk.

“Maybe you’ve got a problem I could help you with.” You go for it, reaching your hand out to palm at the bulge in his jeans.

Again, too many things happen at once. Joel snaps out a “What?” in disbelief. His hand circles your wrist tightly. His hips jerk, involuntarily bucking into your palm. Your glossy lips part into an “o” shape at the size of his not-quite-hard cock. And now you’re both locked into this position like statues.

His fingers stay firmly wrapped around your wrist, but he doesn’t pull you away. Your fingers squeeze over his jeans, and your eyes flash wide as you can feel his cock twitch and stiffen at your touch. The touch that rapidly overrides your better judgment, drowning you in want. Your clit twitches itself in response, your nipples strain under your thin tank top, and your eyelids feel heavy immediately.

“What are you doing?” His voice crackles like he hadn’t just used it. You slide your hand to pop the button on his jeans, and he releases your wrist as you flip it to slip your fingers under the waistband of his boxers in search of his cock.

“Let me help,” you say in more of a whispered tone. The searing heat between Joel’s legs makes you salivate. Your fingers graze coarse curls before you acquire your target, wrapping your palm and fingers around his thick shaft. His size has your cunt throbbing in your shorts.

Joel’s eyes are squeezed shut. He looks nearly in pain. You pull your hand back out to let the pool of saliva on your tongue drip into your palm.

“Jesus,” he breathes out, watching your lewd maneuver. “You wanna help?” He repeats your plea in the form of a question, a little dumbfounded. He’s trying to figure out what’s happening right now.

“I do,” you answer in a honeyed voice as you dig your hand back into his pants. He’s unable to respond with words as you swirl your palm over the head of his cock, mixing saliva and precome, but his body eggs you on. He bucks into your fist, and you work quickly, pumping his throbbing length. The slick noises are muffled by the layers of clothing, but the grunts that catch in his throat shoot piping-hot desire straight into your core.

He looks a little desperate, eyes slammed shut again, jaw slack, arms hanging uselessly at his side. And for god knows why, the entire scene pulls a moan from your lips. The sweet sound snaps Joel back to attention. His hands shoot straight to your breasts, cupping them gently to feel them bounce against the motion of your arm wrestling with his jeans to keep stroking his cock.

They’re so close to spilling over your tank top on their own. Joel can’t resist tugging the thin material until they spill over the top. The sight alone nearly has him coming in his pants. But then you moan so loudly when he squeezes them both and pinches at your nipples, and he really can’t stop.

“Fuck, fuck, wait,” he spits out, but it’s too late. His hips jerk erratically, thrusting into your slick fist, and he’s coming. It coats your hand and wrist and makes an absolute mess. You relax your grip when his whole body seems to shudder and gently remove your hand. He tries to choke his groan of frustration before it surfaces, but he immediately pauses his shame spiral when he sees you suck your come-coated fingers one by one.

“God, that’s so fucking hot,” you tell him. At the same time, he’s muttering curses at the sight of you. You’re feeling a little giddy that all it took was your hand and showing your tits to have Joel losing control and spilling his load for you. It has your mouth curling into an impish grin.

He’s got the sight of you half topless in his kitchen, licking your fingers, looking awfully proud of yourself, etching into his memory. Before the blood can return to his brain, he grabs you tightly by the ribs and walks you backward towards the counter. He lifts you onto it and wrenches open your shorts, yanking at them as you lift your hips so he can slide them off of you and drop them onto the kitchen floor.

Yes! Yes! Yes! The horny little goblins in your brain shriek and chant, incited by the rough and impulsive way Joel gropes at you. It’s barbaric, and that delights you.

Sitting on the counter, you give him such perfect access to put his mouth on your breasts that he forgets what he was going to say. He mouths at each of them wetly, his beard tickling you as he’s busy sucking marks into your delicate skin. He sucks and bites at your strained nipples until your loud whines turn into a sharp gasp, and he pulls back.

The heavy-lidded look on your face has him diving back in for more, and you groan and arch into his touch. You rake your fingers into the curls at the back of his neck and tug at him. He grunts and moans into your skin, and it drives you wild. You need to feel him closer.

You grab the worn cotton on his shoulders until he lets you slip the shirt over his head and drop it onto the counter next to you. It gives you the briefest moment to take in the sight of his built chest and shoulders and softer midsection with that trail of hair you had memorized. You need to taste the salt on his skin.

Spreading your legs wider, he slots his hips against yours at the edge of the counter, and you run your tongue along his neck. You slide one of your hands down the smooth golden skin of his shoulder, and the other nestles back in his messy curls as his mouth finds yours.

He tastes like cheap coffee and the peppermint nicotine gum parked above his teeth along the left side of his mouth. You know it’s wrong that you can’t get enough. But you're helpless when he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, and you mindlessly roll your hips, seeking any relief.

He’s grumbling in your ear about how it seems like you need help now, but you couldn’t care less about the words coming out of his mouth. His deep voice alone could get you off. You let out an uninhibited whine at the thought.

“Jesus Christ,” he pulls back. His head hangs, staring at the floor. He shakes it in what you assume is disbelief. You don’t want to wait for him to think any further. You grab his hand, pulling it between your legs.

“Really, fucking, hot.” You echo your earlier declaration. Doing your best to sound assertive. You figure at least your soaked panties will prove your point.

“Fuck,” he stifles a groan. You’re so wet it coats his fingertips through the thin material. He nudges his fingers into you, over your panties, and you whimper for him. The fabric sticks to you and makes an obscene sound as he toys with you for only seconds. “Oh, you do need my help. Hm?”

You nod, spreading your legs wider for Joel to have access. He scoffs at you, displayed eagerly atop his kitchen counter. “Just desperate for me, aren’t ya?”

You snap your legs back shut with a glare.

“No way,” you press, jabbing a finger into his chest, “you don’t get to laugh at me like I’m a slut for you when you just came in your pants for me.”

His nostrils flare, and blotchy red patches creep up his neck again. You aren’t sure what kind of bear you’ve just, quite literally, poked.

“But you are, aren’t you?” He challenges. “You came all this way in this excuse for a shirt, just for me.”

He wedges his hand back between your closed thighs, and you relax just enough to let him work his way back to your core. Your breathing gives you away when it hitches and stutters as he traces his fingers along the hem of the fabric between your legs. You let your legs fall a little wider apart, and he sinks a finger beneath the hem and right inside of you to the knuckle.

A whiny noise rolls in the back of your throat.

“Shh,” he sinks a second finger inside of you, and your muscles spasm and contract, “that’s better, hmm?” He slowly pulls his fingers almost all the way out and then plunges them back in. He repeats this, and your core tenses as you writhe for him.

“You need more?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, you do.” He adds a third finger, and the slight stretch makes you hum.

“You just need to be filled up, hm?” He teases you. Awfully confident now for a guy you just caught watching porn on his phone in a grimy back office in the middle of the afternoon.

But your noises and impatient movements spur him on. His sticky cock is filling out his jeans again. He nearly drools at the thought of the wet walls of your cunt, currently wrapped around his fingers, sliding over his cock instead. He knows you want it, too.

“Don’t you?” He asks like you could read his mind.

“Hm?” You hum absently. Empty headed. You’re still taken by the entire pulpy, messy scene.

Reveling in the vulnerability of being spread open on his cluttered counter as you’re both half-dressed and panting in the other’s hot breath. Any semblance of the lightness of your mood is quickly replaced with a blinding need. His fingers work into you, making obscene sounds, and then you add your own fingers. Circling your swollen clit just as he lets you in on his vision.

“You wanna bounce on my lap. Fill this pussy with my cock.”

“Yes,” you hiss as you hover at the edge.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he watches your fingers working deftly over your swollen clit. The encouragement tips you over. Your body jolts erratically as you contract around his fingers, and bright sparks of pleasure course through you.

“Yeah, you’re gonna ride me like fuckin’ champ,” he decides. You pull at his wrist when you start to feel overwhelmed, and he slides his wet fingers over your soft inner thigh. He’s ready to grab you and carry you to the couch when both of your heads snap to attention at the sound of a door slamming in the driveway.

“Shit,” he grumbles, looking for the clock on the stove before he remembers it’s definitely not set to the right time. You move nimbly, shimmying into your shorts, snapping your straps back over your shoulder, and brushing your hair out of your face.

“Hey, wait,” he calls for you, but you’re on the move.

“Let me know when I can pick up the baking dish,” you call over your shoulder. Luckily, Joel’s next guest seemed to know him better. They were off to search the shop first, so you didn’t collide with anyone before you got to your car. Joel stayed locked in the kitchen, catching his breath while you started to pull away. He didn’t see that you stole his dirty Creed shirt off the counter before you skipped out the door.

When you grab it later to wear to bed, a naughty little smile tugs at the corners of your lips. When you pull the worn fabric to your nose to inhale deeply, you wonder if it’s one of those weird pheromone matches or something because you’re sure the sweaty man musk should be wrinkling your nose.

Instead, it makes you think of his big arms and chest filling out the shirt. And how his shoulder and back muscles ripple under his sun-bronzed skin. What they’d look like coated in a sheen of salty sweat as he railed you, bent over his workbench, under the watchful eye of the calendar model and her flirty smize.

The image has you interrupting your own scenarios-before-bed time. Maybe Joel needs a model from this decade. You giggle, bunching up the t-shirt to snap a tasteful shot of some underboob cleavage, with the faded Creed logo on full display.

You send it off with no context, figuring it’s self-explanatory. It’s less than a minute before your phone buzzes, and you feel the intoxicating rush rip through your body before you pick it up to see just the heading on your lockscreen:

Joel

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#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #hotdilfsummerchallenge #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #fanfic #joel miller au #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction

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torawro · 2 months ago

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WHEN BLADES CLASH, SO DO HEARTS. ( r. z. )

roronoa zoro & bounty hunter!reader.

cw ━━ ! minors, ageless and blank blogs DO NOT INTERACT. reader is portrayed as a black woman who is on the thicker / curvier side but you do not have to imagine it that way ! you are free to imagine the reader how you wish. canon divergent au (lowkey implied post-timeskip -> zoro is still a bounty hunter and never became a pirate). bc it's canon divergent, zoro will have both eyes (i know, i know). mentions and descriptions of alcohol consumption. canon-typical violence (i.e., mentions of weapons). light(ish) descriptions of blood & injuries. so much [sexual] tension between reader and zoro that it's palpable. contains sexually explicit content including smut (descriptions of it from an omniscient pov). gets kinda poetic at the end but y’all already knew that was coming. somewhat proofread.

word count ━━ ! 4.8k

notes ━━ ! my first published one piece fic on my blog . . . you'd think the first one would be about law since my current theme revolves around him but alas, this swordsman was prominent in my mind…i did lose motivation at some point but i still pushed through. this fic was originally something i drafted up to serve as the prologue for a much longer fic i'm writing (no hints, sorry < 3). and i thought writing this purely for contextual purposes would help with that longer story, but in the process it just turned into something else all on its own skskkskks so this is a modified version of that blurb. obvs this is also my first time officially writing for zoro so i’m a little nervous and to be honest, i’m not sure if i even like how this turned out…..regardless, i hope i portrayed him well enough (pls be gentle with me) >< also wanna dedicate this fic to naj, a mutual of mine who became a friend, but unfortunately deactivated her blog some time ago. she's been helping me with this drabble and the longer story i plan to write and i really appreciate her. reblogs + commentary are GREATLY appreciated ♡!!!

SHAKING OFF THE GRAVELLY SAND that haphazardly clung to the fabric of your pants, with little effort and practiced precision, you swiftly returned a large metal rod back into a black carrying bag before swinging the straps over your right shoulder. Rolling your arms to relieve some of the tension that resided in them proved to be a little painful, leading you to conclude that you most likely pulled a muscle somewhere when fighting the unknown men who had just attacked you.

Said men were now lying unconscious on the ground, hardly breathing and within an inch of their lives.

You didn’t kill them ━no, of course not ━ that would be a fruitless endeavor. Besides, you were well aware that your energy would be well-spent elsewhere, like searching for the next poor soul that had a bounty looming over their head. You were like a hunting dog, the scent of your next target set in front of you by the wanted posters littered around in each city or island you traveled to. Much like how the grim reaper awaited in the shadow of someone who stood inches away from the gates of death, you too would bide your time until the right moment to strike.

You took pride in the fact that the glint of your weapon would be the last thing that reflected in the eyes of your target.

The end result of your fight, if you could even call it that, was as chilling as the evening breeze that was brought forth by the wading waves of the ocean. You have made your mark on the flesh of these men, reopening some old wounds and creating new ones that would certainly scar forever. On levels of the skin and of the spirit.

With a heavy sigh, you adjusted your bag again as you walked towards the cluster of little lights nestled beyond the trees, within them existed this main island’s largest town. Your facial muscles didn’t so much as twitch as the pointed heel of your boots dug into the skin of your unconscious assailants— thinking nothing of their drowsy, muffled grunts of pain or the stark contrast between stepping over doughy bodies versus stepping on the hard earth.

The waxing crescent moon only slightly illuminated the dirt road as you made your way to the populated village, occasionally swatting away a fly or two. Soon enough, the mouth of the semi-dense woods opened up to reveal a wide gravel road. Across the opening was a bridge that stood over a flowing stream, and beyond that was the town. It was a cluster of buildings of varying heights lined up neatly street by street.

Lamps hung on every corner, street pole and ledge that would allow it, bathing all that rested under them in a pale yellow glow. It was quite pretty at night if you were being honest; and judging by its looks and atmosphere, you were sure that they’d have a nice inn around somewhere.

But first, a drink. And some food, you added as an afterthought, but mostly a drink. Your body could use a bit of external help to unwind after spending the last few days at sea.

It didn’t take you all that long to find out where the town’s bar was located, and you wasted no time ascending the steps that led to the double swinging doors. The clacking of your boots against the wooden floors upon entering the establishment were more or less drowned out by the chatter of the rugged-looking individuals who more or less made themselves at home.

And yet, despite the dozens of conversations that bounced off the walls of the tavern, the stares of everyone whose line of vision you crossed seemed to be louder. Much louder than any fit of raucous laughter or profane shout that surrounded you.

Your ears were even able to pluck out a few conversations. Hushed inquiries of familiarity, musings of what could possibly be in that bag dangling on your back, how the pants you wore emphasized the fat of your ass just right━ all things you let roll off your back and pretended not to hear.

If it weren’t for your more reserved nature, you would have slashed that the throat of the man who made that salacious comment the moment it left his dried lips.

You took a random seat at the bar, not really paying attention to who sat on either side of you. Placing the cowboy-style hat you wore next to you and your belongings at your feet, you patiently awaited for the bartender to make her way down to where you sat.

As you waited, you crossed your legs, one fleshy thigh over the other, absentmindedly twirling one of the bulky silver rings that encased your middle finger as you wondered what drink you were in the mood for today.

It wasn’t until several moments later, when your body and mind stilled enough, that you’d take notice.

Something felt . . . weird. ‘Off’ was probably a better word for the strange weight that suspended itself over your muscles. Whatever it was, whatever feeling or presence you sensed, it had your fingers twitching towards your bag laying idly against the table. And it only continued to linger in the air as the minutes dragged by.

The sound of the barkeep’s voice pulled you back into the plane of reality and away from the realm of your overactive mind. “What’ll ya be having tonight, honey?” She was an older woman, probably around the age of fifty but looked much younger, had deeply tanned skin, and peppered black and white hair that was pulled into a bun and rested at the base of her neck.

“Hmmm . . . whatever your best cocktail is, I’ll just have that.”

With a nod and an amused smile at you allowing her to have free reign, the barkeep turned around, set a shaker aside, and got to work preparing a drink of her choice to serve to you.

Then, something flashed in your peripheral vision.

It was so fleeting that you could have easily dismissed it as nothing had you not been on somewhat high alert already. It flickered in the reflection of the metal canisters that sat along the back wall of the bar. And whatever it was managed to startle you enough to jump start the pulse in your chest into a panicked overdrive so fierce that you heard it in your ears.

The frantic beating of your heart never showed on your face, however━ your expression remained neutral. It needed to be for a woman in your line of work. Perhaps especially because you were a woman in your line of work.

Without any warning or indication, the cold sensation of polished steel licked and nipped at the warmth residing in your neck. The sharpened end of a blade rested on the jugular of your throat, pressed firmly enough that if you moved forward even a little bit, a stain from your blood would surely blossom on the katana.

“You…” a deep male voice spoke, sounding rough and rugged all around its edges. The rest of the pub seemed to fall silent at the man’s utterance of that one word, rather than his blatant display of threatening you with a sword. “Why are you here?”

Your eyes were the only thing that moved. Slowly, with a frosty gleam underlining your gaze, your eyes landed on the sword’s master, his name immediately flashing in your mind. His reputation as a bounty hunter sent a chill down the spines of both marines and pirates alike. Residents all over the four seas feared his name, and his name alone could cause people to question if the threads of their lives would be severed by the piercing edge of his sword.

“Roronoa Zoro….” Your tone was leveled and held an air of disinterest as you talked. You spoke as if you were tasting the very syllables of his name, taking the time to roll each combination of letters against your tongue. They tumbled from your lips with a smoothness you weren’t entirely opposed to━ it was almost pleasant, if you were being honest with yourself.

A practice you didn't normally engage in.

Upon identifying the swordsman aloud, a short wave of hushed gasps from the customers surrounding you filled the air. With speeds that almost seemed abnormal, the long metal pole resting in your black bag suddenly ended up in your grasp, one end of it hovering several inches away from Roronoa's neck; such speeds even caught the mint-haired swordsman off guard. “Getting a drink, of course. Isn’t it obvious?”

Before he could even part his lips to reply, the piercing shing! of steely iron being brandished cut through the thick tension that settled in between you. A long and heavily curved blade abruptly emerged from the blackened rod in your right hand, and oh so conveniently arced around Roronoa's neck, momentarily silencing him.

The weapon you carried was a scythe, one with a retractable blade meant to disarm your opponent’s perception and therefore hinder their judgment. A scythe that was reminiscent of the tool Death used to carry out his grisly duties of executing souls and dragging them to hell.

In this position with the scythe’s blade practically wrapped around his throat, if need be you could swiftly behead him, or at least mutilate him; judging by how quickly he unsheathed his katana, his reflexes were pretty sharp. Still, the potential ease of killing Pirate Hunter Roronoa Zoro— in addition to the mild bewilderment reflecting in his eyes and the patrons’ silent gasps once they pieced together who you were— caused your lips to tick upwards, but your countenance remained otherwise stoic.

“And I’m assuming you’re here for the same reason. That, or you just couldn’t get enough of me during our last battle, and you tracked me down for more.”

Your previously dry tone had somehow morphed into one with an airy lilt, followed by a quiet chuckle that bubbled in your chest when you saw Roronoa's brows twitch and deepen with ire at your subtly teasing words.

You were referring to the last time you saw the swordsman on some obscure island that took root in the Grand Line; an island whose name currently escaped your memory. With you being a bounty hunter as well, your job was the only reason why your paths have crossed so often, and why you have come to know Roronoa on a more personal level such as this. Each time your gazes clashed, it would always result in an inevitable battle, which indirectly fanned the flames of an unspoken competition between the two of you.

If his current expression was anything to go by, this bar may very well be your next battlefield. “You lost that fight, remember?” He emphasized his point by digging the sharp edge of his blade a little further into your neck, the increased pressure causing your eyebrow to all but twitch, “Or did I hit you too hard last time we fought, and now you’re suffering from long-term memory loss?”

The edges of an insufferable smirk curled at Roronoa's lips— one that conveyed his confidence in his abilities and matched the glint in his eyes that began to grow hungry for a brawl. And now, the corners of your own lips broke into a small, amused smile— or perhaps it would be more accurately referred to as a sneer— and you responded by mirroring his earlier movements.

Pressing the sharp end of your scythe into the back of his neck, the blade was met with the resistance of the corded muscle residing there, and your gaze eagerly drank in the brief glimmer of pain that was but a ripple across his arrogant expression.

“I didn’t lose that fight. It was a draw, at best. Seems like you must not remember the excessive blood loss on your end. But anyhow, tell me something pirate hunter…” You uncrossed your legs to stand up and took one step closer towards Roronoa, careful not to let his sword further nick your skin even though it was already dangerously close to you, “How many bounties have you collected since we last saw each other? Three? Two? One?”

Your voice descended further into a teasing whisper, and Roronoa's indignation only grew with each number you hurled at him.

The samurai didn’t take your tone lightly, and perceived your step forward as something of a challenge, one that his nerves and heart and bones pleasantly vibrated to the sound of. So he too took a step forward, away from the piercing curve of your scythe that hung behind him like a shadow.

Roronoa was a little taller than you were, so meeting his gaze meant angling your neck upwards whilst he simultaneously moved his face an inch closer to yours. “You think you’re hot shit, huh? Try five, sweetheart.”

Your nostrils flared involuntarily at his bold claim, and something . . . something warm prickled underneath your skin at his referral to you as sweetheart. For some reason, that word━ especially coming from his lips━ was a bit harder to ignore compared to other comments about you from this bar's patrons. And what they said was far more conflicting than a simple term of endearment; even if the 'endearment' in question was so obviously meant to be condescending.

“Is that right? You think you're such a badass, don't you?"

"That's 'cause I am."

Roronoa's mocking sneer was punctuated with a step forward into your space this time; any closer and the front of your clothes might graze each other. The swordsman pushed the boundaries once more by adding a little more force onto the grip of his katana, enough to finally break the bonds of your umber tinted skin.

A barely decipherable noise of amusement and veneration rumbled in his chest when your blood dripped on the length of his sword, but your reaction was nothing more than an involuntary clench in your facial muscles.

"Yeah?" You questioned him with a glare and a tilt of your head in the direction of his blade that uncomfortably sat at the opening of your skin. The tightness in your voice was meant to goad him, but it also contained the sparks of a challenge━ and of something else you didn't want to identify━ that ignited in the pit of your stomach with an increasing amount of fervor.

"Yeah." His voice descended a little lower into a place that killed the next sentence on the tip of your tongue.

Your eyes then narrowed as you held Roronoa's taupe gaze, his overconfident words floated in the silent air between you like a speck of smoldering ash, ready to burst into something more intense and fierce the moment it touched the ground.

Then you shifted your cold gaze elsewhere, opting to let it lazily roam around the room. Everyone was staring at the both of you with uneasy expressions and anxious stares. You could tell that even at the slightest movement from either you or the swordsman would cause the panic bubbling beneath their skin to flood forth in waves.

If there was one thing about you, you preferred to be to discreet. It made your job a whole lot easier, and more enjoyable in the long run.

A hummed vibrated behind your plump lips and your glare returned to his. "Let's take this outside, swordsman. I'd hate to ruin this nice lady's establishment with scuff marks and your blood."

Roronoa huffed a scoff, the amused smirk from before uncurled into something more animalistic. "That's funny. But sure, I'm down. When I defeat you and spill your blood on the ground, it'll make perfect fertilizer for those little plants I saw outside."

You huffed at his cocky attitude and accompanied it with a roll of your eyes. Your stare pierced him for a moment longer before you rescinding it, along with your scythe that was still outstretched towards him. The mint haired swordsman followed suit after another beat or so.

"That's about as likely as a fish growing legs and walking on land." Your voice was thick with sarcasm as you fished out a cotton pouch from your bag; it was small in size, but heavy with Berry. As you slipped out a couple of bills to pay for the drink that sat idly forgotten at your seat, another hand forcefully placed several bills down on the counter.

That hand belonged to Roronoa. You had to force yourself from letting your irises linger too long, or else you'd start thinking about how rugged, calloused, and veiny it looked.

With a newfound general annoyance at both him and yourself, you proceeded to present the bills to the bartender, who looked as if she was one muscle twitch away from ducking under the table behind the counter. You offered something similar to a sympathetic smile to assuage whatever she was feeling.

"Don't bother." Roronoa called out.

When you turned around to greet his voice, he was sheathing the sword that he previously drawn and made his way to the entrance of the pub.

"What are you talking about?" As you inquired, the swordsman still allowed his back to face you, hardly pausing to properly address you.

"I said, don't bother." he repeated in a stern tone, as if that was going to elucidate exactly what he meant, "Now come on. I'm itching to cut you down so I can go lay down."

And without adding anything further, Roronoa eventually exited the bar and disappeared behind the doors.

You were starting to lose count of how many times you narrowed your eyes at the green-haired man, but your stare━ both equal parts vexed and confused━ rested on the doors he had just walked through as if glaring at them long or hard enough would summon him again.

With a sigh, you turned back to the thin stack of Berry he left on the table, eyeing it suspiciously. You weren't sure what he ordered or how much of it, but it look like quite a bit of money he'd just randomly tossed next to you.

Was he insinuating . . . . that he paid for both of your drinks? Could this be what he meant when he told you not to bother, because he already covered it? Such a gratuitous act of kindness, something seemingly so simple caused that weird fluttering to bounce against the walls of your stomach again.

Picking up your bag, you continued to poke and dissect his actions in an attempt find meaning in them as you tipped the barkeep, once more ignoring the stares of nearly every person in that building as you left.

The moment your heeled boots dug themselves into the ground, your peripheral vision was bombarded with something being swung in your direction at high speeds. Before you could even process what it was, you instinctively leapt out of the way, your neck jerking backwards to further avoid the object.

A grunt filled your ears, already knowing the origin of the sound. "Nice reflexes."

You exhaled an exasperated breath of air, turning your gaze to meet that of the mint-haired swordsman who had begun to unsheathe a second sword out of the three scabbards hanging from his hip.

"Can I at least breathe first? Set my stuff down perhaps?" You asked wryly, almost unimpressed, but you didn't waste any time removing the straps of your bag to set it down on a nearby barrel, still cursing the pirate hunter under your breath all the same.

"Didn't know you were that eager to eat dirt." The familiar hiss of your scythe's blade erecting from the rod sent a pleasurable chill up your arms. You held your weapon tightly at your side, your grasp around its length tightening ever still when Roronoa began to square his stance. Even when you were several feet away from him, you could still clearly see the crease in his brows becoming more prominent; he began to resemble some kind of beast.

But that glimmer in his eyes held no real fire in them━ at least not the one that would lead to anger; one could even say it was one of wild excitement. The swordsman already knew his thirst for a worthwhile fight would be sufficiently quenched once more.

"Shut up." With a grunt, Roronoa pushed off the balls of his feet to launch himself into a powerful sprint towards you. It was clear he wanted to close as much distance between the two of you as quickly as possible. His movements were reminiscent of his brief display of swordplay earlier in the bar, where he was one swipe away from slitting your throat.

He was fast, but the gritty and often dangerous nature of your job honed your reflexes to be faster.

Your spine bended as you briskly leaned backwards to dodge the double swipe of Roronoa's katanas. The sound of the sharp blades cutting through the very air around you. With it only inches away from your nose, it was enough to replace the blood pumping through your veins with pure adrenaline.

Using the momentum from your quick dodge, you allowed your back to curve into a bridge and kicked upwards into a backflip to move out of the way━ the corners of your lips twitched into a satisfied grin when you felt your foot collide with his jaw and chin.

Once you were upright again, you wasted no time lunging forward in a sprint, you body much lower to the ground than Roronoa's was. Your plan was to slash his legs to throw him off balance, but that plan quickly evaporated like smoke due to his quick recovery and immediate realization of what you were doing.

"Tch." Your tongue clicked against the roof of your mouth in annoyance when the swordsman was able to leap in the air in time to avoid your attack. He was high enough that you had to crane your neck to see. With that much height, the next blow was sure to be one with quite a bit of force behind it.

"Two-Swords Style, Nigiri...." The swordsman's orotund voice descended far from where he was suspended in midair, and you braced yourself for his next attack, "....Tower Climb Return!"

The following clash of piercing steel against metallic iron was deafening, swallowing up any other noise that reverberated around you. The sheer impact of Roronoa's attack created a thin ring of dust that encircled both your figures and violently buzzed against the pole of your scythe.

You gritted your teeth to remain footed into the ground, but the force was too much, and that shit-eating grin nearly unfurling at his lips was too annoying. It shook the steadiness in your legs and caused you to tumble back by several yards. By steeling your thighs and calves you willed yourself not to fall, huffing with effort and frustration.

It hadn't even been that long since you've last fought Roronoa, could he really have made noticeable improvements in a short amount of time?

Regardless of the answer, you weren't about to allow him the chance to prove himself.

The both of you then darted at each other again, your motions a bit more cutthroat this time, and a newborn determination to strike down the pirate hunter further fed the burning adrenaline that coursed through your body.

Reaching your arm backwards, you performed a horizontal slash that Roronoa parried almost instantly. With effortless control and graceful dexterity, you reached both arms behind your back and twirled your scythe between your fingers, shifting the weapon from one hand to the other, and attempted to cut him again.

He blocked that attack as well, the tip of the blade just inches away from his left eye. You saw something moving fast in your peripheral vision, and immediately jumped backwards to avoid the katana that was about to release your intestines from the confines of your stomach.

It was always a pain fighting Roronoa because he wielded multiple swords at once, which means battles with him were more drawn out than they needed to be.

You lunged at him once more, and began to administer a barrage of horizontal, vertical and diagonal slashes in rapid succession. Your constant switching from one hand to the other, in addition to its length and the impressive control you exerted over your limbs, you were able to create a variety of fluid, long and short-range attack patterns, barely allowing Roronoa enough time to parry.

The moss-haired swordsman was keeping up with the relentless flurry of your attacks quite well━ for a short while at least. Roronoa lost himself in his own inner monologue of searching for an opening wide enough to immobilize you, and before long, a red cut blossomed on his semi-exposed chest, the injury lazily drooling blood.

The amount of cuts both deep and shallow began to increase, tearing his skin asunder under the weight of your blows. Your scythe repeatedly made contact with the elongated ha of his katana as well as his tanned flesh, but it wasn't enough to deter him completely.

It should have been though, but the many encounters you've had with Roronoa reminded you that he was no ordinary man.

Within that bombardment of the numerous slices and projectile slashes of your scythe Roronoa had found a millisecond of respite, and used that brief pause to leap backwards and put some distance in between you two.

You weren't able to hear the aching cry from the muscles in your arms until after you halted your attack, but the adrenaline flickering in your gaze still raced around your irises unceasingly. Roronoa's own gaze was hard and unyielding, glistening with something you couldn't discern from where you stood. But even so, your body somehow knew to feel like malleable putty under his stare; it's as if it was instinctual.

And again your blades clashed against one another, a steady rhythm rose from the cacophony of noises that were generated from your battle with the swordsman. Your laborious breaths became synchronized with each other, heavy and full of effort. The thin splatters of blood became homogeneous with each other as the both of you took turns cracking each other's skin open. Your limbs moved about and against his in a deft fashion and every nerve in your body reacted to his.

So much so, you didn't even realize when it happened.

Your duel with Roronoa had been in the forefront of your mind entirely that you hadn't actively processed the moment when your ragged breaths turned to breathy pants. Nor did you realize the moment it was no longer a scythe and katanas clashing, but wet lips and warm extremities instead. That same glint that shimmered in your eyes all evening never faded even then; it still twinkled through the murky mist of lust that clouded yours and Roronoa's vision.

Whenever your eyes collided with that of Pirate Hunter Roronoa Zoro, an inescapable battle would always ensue━ it was tried and true, and it felt more like a promise. It was also true, although not externally expressed, that your fight with the mint-haired man was one that neither of you even wanted to evade.

With each brawl you learned something new about Roronoa, and you were repeatedly met with the reality and veracity of his skills, his reputation full-force. And when your brawl eventually led to the languid but hungry removal of each other's clothes, you learned more about Zoro, and the emotions hiding underneath his taut and rugged body. This learning curve was both all-consuming and tenderhearted, and you couldn't help but shiver at the fact you were the only one who could witness it.

And what good is a fight if he didn't learn from and about his opponent as well? Each new thing he unearthed about you was an incentive to further indulge your soft and fleshy curves, and observe how they seamlessly molded with firm, corded muscle. Completely unexpected, Zoro had become utterly fascinated with the warmth that resided under your icy, expressionless glare.

And when Zoro peeled back a new layer, when his lips hovered over an uncharted area of your skin━ hot, breathy, filled with groans of expletives intertwined with your name━ when the grip of his calloused fingers and his heavy cock simultaneously dug deeper into you, one leg dangling haphazardly off his shoulder, when your bodies meshed just like that, you moaned━ you knew you didn't want to stop fighting with him.

Again and again and again with each thrust, each roll of his hips, each sightless grope of your body, you knew you would gladly continue participating in this unspoken competition. You'd proudly don cuts and bruises if it meant you and you alone could have Roronoa Zoro like this. You'd keep at it with enthusiasm if it meant that your hearts would always collide so wholly with each other, not being able to tell where his ended and yours began.

( # ) @icy-spicy @godjo @tetzoro @triangularz @pookiesatoru

#໒꒱ newborn stand ─ sosa’s filez #one piece #op fanfic #roronoa zoro #zoro roronoa x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #one piece x reader #one piece zoro #one piece smut #black fem reader #zoro x black reader #zoro x female reader #roronoa zoro smut #op smut #one piece x black!reader #zoro x black fem reader #wow it feels so weird posting after a long while that i almost forgot how to do this LMAO

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the-moon-files · 7 months ago

Note

Hi! I'm kinda new here but I was hoping to leave a request or at least something to chew on. So there's this genshin sagau where the reader has a bit of a language barrier with the other characters and I was wondering if that translated over to the Linked Universe as well? Like imagine the boys finding this random person with different clothes, accessories, and they talk in a language never before heard of? What are they, some kind of eldritch being? Meanwhile reader recognizes them obviously but frustratingly can't express any feelings asides from base concepts! Man.

Some funnies include; reader voicing more thoughts out loud now that no one can really understand them and reader eventually learning the language and getting a really sick accent out of it.

That's all my tired brain can think of atm so I bid you adieu. Have a good rest of your day :)

First Official Request!! :D oh and its amazinggg, ooOOO a language barrier AU, genshin? hm wonder who wrote that

Reader wasn’t specified and ive adopted masc!reader as the normal over here, so masc reader it is 👍

Sun: Masc/Male Reader (”you”/he/him)

Orbit: EXTRA LONG Headcanons-ish/scenarios SORRY 😭, Language Barrier AU my beloved

Stars: The Classic Chain of Links <3

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: mild cussing, typical mild loz violence, & Trigger Warnings: none known.

Please comment if I missed any. /gen

so for the sake of even funnier confusion, lets say the boys kinda missed u falling thru a portal, and instead just see the portal, and it disappears w/nothing coming out

(bc u obv are a competent person and clearly recognize the giant horse head stable from Breath of the Wild and went inside, like to orient urself, u will NOT be a Y/N damsel in distress 💀)

the boys had already been heading to that stable to sleep for the night, and needless to say, u nearly have a fit LMAO

first, the Hero of Time walks in, then the Link from Hyrule Warriors, then from Link’s Awakening? Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom Link?? Wind Waker Link, Four Sword Link??? The original Legend of Zelda Link-!!!!

well at least u arent the only weirdly dressed person there

(well, u arent weird looking for the hylians in the stable, theyre used to this weird shit, but the Chain of heroes on the other hand…)

they get to observing their bunkmates for the night, subtly squinting at you, then turning to talk to each other, and slowly every link gets made aware of ur prescense, u didnt think u stood out that bad..

(”くいんねしらんらなすいそらきみについちみんらはかくちかまいていりすんはすらもんらなすいすち・”) *

it also quickly becomes obvious to every traveler in the stable that you either cant speak, or wont speak, as when ur exchanging money for rupees at the front desk, the owner is accommodating with you by pointing and grunting and ur just nodding and pointing back

well, its not like when u first greeted the guy u understood even a single thing the guy said, it sounded like some sub-dialect of Japanese or something

u had realized earlier with horror that the game was staying true to its creators, and that most likely everyone spoke a special version of Japanese and ur English ass was abt to be so lonely and confused 😭

Wars/Time/Sky/Four in particular clearly noticed u exchanging all ur currency, as u can see them whispering or glancing at you occasionally as u pocket ur now little green gems the size of coins, rather than strip of paper

(”しにしくいまなとかるるるみらかくちひいすなせいいと・てくらしらいとみゃかくちひいすなせいいと・かくちかくちとみゃかすいちりりんそくちみきいしらひいすかくいいすちとねくちとにかてにりし・”)

and the boys move on in the morning, and its acc torture for u bc u had no idea how to even begin to quell their suspicions enough to let you travel along with them

u think u could say u came out a portal, but.. how would tell them that? drawing pictures in the dirt?? 💀

and this just keeps happening.

even when u just try to admire from a distance or even outright just leave them to it and go off to explore Hyrule (as safe as u could after acquiring a weapon and some more clothes)

but its like fate (or maybe Hylia tbh) wants u to run into these legendary heroes (both kinda in ur world and definitely here) constantly

after the stable u manage to run into them in Kakariko Village, which wasnt crazy bc u needed more supplies, and it was the nearest town to the stable

ur sure they noticed, but u outright avoided them out of paranoia or making them paranoid u were following them, and u definitely saw who you thought was the hero of the Four Sword whisper about u as u walked by, not that u caught much

(”るるるかくちかゃとかくいとちもいとかすちみきいほりららのにみききなんはすらもかくいとかちこりいるていとくらなりしのいいせちみいんいらみくにもる”)

but you’d started to recognize some Japanese words! …and tbh anime is the only reason for that, something definitely like “watch, him” 💀

which rlly didnt make u feel any better, and u avoided them even harder, u bought a map, so u made sure to head in the opposite direction of them out of, lets be honest, kinda lowkey fear of what theyd do if they thought u were stalking them

but despite u trying to actively go away from them, either you, or them, would show up everywhere the other went,

you passed by Wind playing in the water in Zora’s Domain,

Twilight riding Epona around the plains in Central Hyrule, Sky hanging laundry outside Wild’s house in Hateno

Honest-to-fucking-god seeing Wars, Wild, and Legend all crossdress to sneak into Gerudo village- u cant fucking escape them-

and the worst part is, you cant understand anyone, other than some basic words atp 😭

its as the Chain come from a path that merges onto yours on the way to Rito Village when Legend snaps first

You’re not even surprised, tbh it was more surprising it took them so long 💀

(”にかゃとんらな!! ちきちにみ!!! てくんちすぃんらなはらりりらてにみきなと・くらてちすぃんらなはらりりらてにみきなと・・くらてちすぃてぃはらりりらてにみきんらな・・!!”)

the look on ur face must have drawn some pity from Twilight bc he’s trying to talk Legend out of his yelling and pointing his sword at you,

(”ひいかそちりもしらてみ! りにのいんらなとちにしねにかくにみのていゃひいちりとらとらもいくらてこいいみはらりりらてにみきかくいもからら!”)

Wars joins in, giving you a confused look, before talking to the group at large, most of which have their hands near their weapons, but dont look that inclined to use them, thank the fucking gods or whoever rules over Hyrule-

(”かくいすちみそくいすくちとちせらにみかねかくにとすいいのとらはもちきにそちみしにゃもとなすいにかゃとくんりにちゃとしらにみきるていとくらなりしまなとかかすんからかちりのからかくいもねといいにはかくいんゃすいいさせいすにいみそにみきちみんかくにみきとかすちみきいる”)

oh no. they want to talk you, you barely picked out in their argument

Time nods in agreement, before stepping forward to talk first, you cant even imagine how anxious u look rn lol

(”かくいらかくいすとちすいすにきくかねかくにとにとりらみきらひいすしないるもんみちもいにとかにもいねちみしかくいといちすいもんかすちひいりにみきそらもせちみにらみとねちとにゃもとなすいんらなゃひいきちかくいすいしはすらもなとすなみみにみきにみからいちそくらかくいすとらもなそくるてくちかゃとんらなすみちもい・”)

why has Hylia forsaken you. what did you do to not receive some sort of fancy natural translator power in ur brain or something after getting portaled here, its the least she could do for fucks sake- talking to someone in a diff. language is SO much harder than just listening to them to understand what theyre saying-

you desperately try to recall the words people have said at stables and whatnot when introducing themselves, before they realized you couldnt speak the same language

(”Uh… もんみちもいにと… and I’m not following you…とらすすん”)

you just try to say ur name and then say sorry LMAO 😭

Nearly every Link is staring at you bug-eyed in shock, confusion, and understanding all at once

the Chain’s attitude changes pretty quick after that, and they quickly connect the dots after, yes, u do a drawing of a portal in the dirt 💀

u gather from the few words u can get that it was indeed magic (probably Hylia) that kept shortcutting you and the group of heroes together over and over again

…

she can move your position in space time and yet she cant get u an auto-translator after being forced to be here.

(in the middle of u drawing to communicate Hyrule manages to understand the gist of what you meant by that and laughs)

the Chain are quick to be very accomdating, Wars/Sky/Wild all offering to try and better teach u their language, but in return they want to learn yours?

actually, that was smth u noticed pretty early on in the ensuing weeks of travel, was the fascination they had w/English and ur voice??

Wind constantly rambled at you and poked and smiled at you to try and get you to ramble back, and after getting more comfortable around them,

u start to talk like they cant understand a word ur saying, which is entirely accurate, and you notice some like to lean in when you talk, or respond with humming/saying smth like u can understand, or even just gesture for u to keep going

Four/Time/Legend?? surprisingly/Hyrule/Twilight like when u get rlly talkative like ur having a one-sided convo w/them all the time, and they constantly are looking at you poinetedly to hear u narrate whatever ur doing or give a response whenever they same something at you (Rulie/Four/Twi/ and sometimes Time, (and he turns away but Legend too) give a little smile whenever you ramble)

Wild is Very Interested in your langauage, bc the Zora, Rito, Gerudo, and Gorons all had their native tongue that he ended up learning, and so he constantly makes notes to try and decipher some of what ur saying in English

he lights up anytime ur able to successfully tell him another something abt it, like the alphabet, or grammar or structure etc

they seem to pay attention esp in the mornings or late at night? ur not sure why until Wind both draw pictures and tries to get the general idea to you to explain

(”かくいんゃすいちりりきちんるんらなすちそそいみかにとくらかちみしんらなすひらにそいにとしいいせるかくいんゃすいていちのる”)

smth abt ur voice being nice? deep? but theirs do that too? u dont get it, but thank him anyway

they also help u out at markets, keep out of trouble w/locals, and other misc tasks that need some language help

everythings going great, the Chain trusts you, ur getting better at their language every day, and bc English is one of the hardest languages to learn in the world, theyre slowly getting some of urs!

it isnt until ur camping out in the Temple of Time when things get weird again

Not only is there English carved into the walls, which u read as the Chain give u “explain now” looks and u communicate that the rlly ancient looking script they may or may not be able to read is, in fact, the written version of ur language-

but then another portal opens, and there’s sentences wrapped around the edges, which are fully in English too.

☆

* = hint: JIS

So i love ciphers for language barrier AUs, so have a cypher! have fun decoding it if u like, but don’t worry abt translating it, as its purposefully not important for u to enjoy this :)

JFC IM SO SORRY AB THE LENGTH I WROTE THIS FROM MIDNIGHT TO LIKE 1:30 AM- UGH sometimes this happens when i get on a scenario kick, SORRY 😭😭

also so sorry abt late reply! at least i already established im slow w/u guys so ig its not a huge surprise 😭

tysm for the request it was such a fun idea to write abt :D

i also like genshin, just a little bit u could say, so it was cool to see this carryover across fandoms lol

language barrier is so versatile, could be angst, crack, etc. so that makes sense

have a great weekend!!

Peace out,

🌙

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biconickyoshi · 5 months ago

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Been wanting to do some updated character model sheet thingies for my ongoing longfic The Avatar and the Fire Prince, so here they are! :) Up until now I'd only drawn Zuko and Aang, but I thought it was about time I added Iroh and the Water Tribe siblings to the lineup as well. Right now all I've done this for is Books 1 & 2, but I really want to get started on the Books 3 & 4 versions so I can add Toph and Suki (and possibly Azula, Mai, and Ty Lee) to the lineup!

As usual, for anyone who has not read my fic but is curious about the premise: this is an AU in which Zuko and Iroh discover Aang in the iceberg just 3 months after Zuko is burned and banished at age 13 in 96 AG, 4 years prior to the return of Sozin's Comet. It is also an enemies to best friends to lovers slowburn in which Zukaang is endgame (since Aang was released from the iceberg 3 years early in this AU, he is only one year younger than Zuko). This fic is heavily based in canon, so I try my hardest to ensure that everything is canon-compliant at least when it comes to lore and character behavior despite the different circumstances.

Book 1: Air's premise: after finding and capturing Aang, Zuko and Iroh are forced to escape with him on Appa when Zhao interferes with their plans to return to the Fire Nation. This Book focuses on Aang desperately searching the Air Temples for any remnants of his people he can find, dragging Zuko and Iroh along in the process. Eventually, Zuko starts to question everything he was raised to believe, while Iroh is forced to face the mistakes of his past.

Book 2: Water begins with Aang, Zuko, and Iroh traveling to the South Pole after Aang starts to have recurring nightmares about an impending attack on Wolf Cove (Sokka and Katara's village), and eventually follows my adaptations of several storylines from canon Book 1 before ending with the Siege of the North in Agna Qel'a. During this Book, Zuko begins to realize his feelings for Aang are more than friendship, while Aang remains oblivious (lol).

Book 3: Earth is the Book I am currently working on (the most recent chapter was my adaptation of "Avatar Day") and so far follows Aang, Zuko, Iroh, Katara, and Sokka as they search for an earthbending teacher for Aang - so far, it has followed the general canon plot of Book 2, though of course, as always, there are differences due to this being an AU. No spoilers, but I have some really interesting things planned for this Book, particularly as we get closer to the Ba Sing Se arc. I also have a lot of fun stuff planned for the Zukaang romance in this Book.

Book 4: Fire will be the last Book of the fic, and will of course revolve around the Gaang in the Fire Nation. This is all I will say for now since I don't want to spoil the plans I have for the previous Book (which will heavily influence what happens in Book 4, obv).

When I finally finish this fic (I'm about halfway through at 33/65 chapters), I plan to start writing a direct sequel that adapts the events of the comics, as well as a Korrasami-focused Legend of Korra rewrite fic that is set in the same AU as TAatFP.

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thatdeadaquarius · 10 months ago

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AI used on my story. Wow.

Well, it happened.

I guess they're talking about the AI mention I put in my summary for the story.

Because you know. I don't want my shit I've worked on for hours stolen. Like my writing of thousands of words and my multiple illustrations. Imagine. I'm so crazy for not wanting that. /s

I can't believe they were so fucking pissy abt that little detail they literally stole my work and now it's in an AI somewhere/everywhere.

With no credit or anything to me or my hard work writing it. I spent hours on this. I like Genshin and this niche AU enough to explore it and this is the feedback I fucking get.

Because someone had to like be political about AI??

Like literally just one hurt bastard who has probably never written more than a paragraph in their life, so now they gotta ruin shit for me and everyone else. Keep your miserable life to yourself. Or y'know.

Log off.

Also the catus tears comment? Dude get more creative. Oh shit sorry that's probably why you're so horny for AI.

ALSO NOT THEM DOING THIS FOR A GENSHIN READER INSERT FANFIC

Im sorry u obv kno i love this genre, i mean its my fanfic, but BRO 💀

Welp if it's literally going to make my story a target, then I guess I'll take it out for now.

This has seriously made me consider outright deleting this work. And that's something I never wanted to do to a fanfic if i ever wrote some. I was planning to just orphan it or smth instead if it ever came to that. But shit like this makes me wanna reconsider...

^^^ Well more like not continuing it i mean, but dont worry ill keep going if for nothing else to let them know im still writing abt genshin

I'm turning off guest comments for now. And leaving that one as a comment of shame.

Wish I could pin it tbh ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Safe Travels in these dark times guys,

💀♒️

#genshin sagau #genshin impact #sagau #genshin isekai #genshin imagines #gender neutral reader #ai theft

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kat-of-seventy-seven-roses · 6 months ago

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Homestuck Mythical Creature au / Cryptid Au

Very tempted to make an ask blop :p need to see if anyones inch rested

thought processes under the cut (bc some choices are wild)

Johns a pooka, an irish fae trickster who shapeshifts into animals. his favorite form is the bunny. john and jane are both fae, so their pranks range from harmless to mentally scaring to life altering. absolute chaos grimlins. dirk is also an irish myth, so he knows them well and is often trying to get them to not ruin the local population of humans. so they do pranks on him insted. john loves to steal dirks head and hide it places.

rose speaks to the eldritch horrors and is slowly becoming one herself. she wants to become a litch.

Dave is a harpy! a very chill one who doesn't tend to sing with his full chest, so people dont start crashing into his doorstep. dave dies in some magic accident that caused davesprite to rise up from the ashes. but dave harpy is ALSO fine no ones really sure how. may have been roses doing.

Jade is a werewolf obv. but shes also a witch and has formed a coven with rose and roxy.

Jane is ur avrage fae faerie/sprite. her favorite fae rule to get people to break is "dont eat their food."

Roxy is both a cat who is also a wizard i need not elaborate

Dirk is a headless horseman. not to be confused with THE headless horse man. thats another dullhan with a well paying halloween gig. dirk is often subject to losing his head, so he made a magic pumpkin to pilot the body when this happens. he does have a very large and scary but beautiful horse.

Jake is the bigfoot. and one of the most well hunted (and well travled) cryptids. thus, his friends often make jokes of not ever seeing him except in blurry images. its not his fault hes very large and loves to travel! and is also not very photogenic...

Aradia is a monthra!!! however she made a deal with a devil and became a ghost... not sure WHY yet or why it kills her. but it does. its all in her plan or smth, but that doesnt stop sollux from being very upset that hes the one that has to take and keep her soul. she is reserected later by the coven, still soulless but it doesnt matter bc her soul is in good hands and thus she still feels it. shes much happier now.

Tavros is a minotar self explanatory he is a small minotar, tho. a mini minotar if u will.

Sollux is ur run of the mill soul for potato chip demon. an excuse to give him twin tails and horns. him an kitkat gave me the most trouble! but then i went with a solkat devil angel motifi and im kinda attached t9 it now. even if its sorta a cop out. i simply couldnt find twin creatures that werent gods or children of gods. nor any crab creatures...

Karkat is an angel. he WAS human notably he was human for awhile even good friends with kanaya before he died. he never found love but helped so many with theres that he became an angel that was a lot like cupid. thus he was a small angel incharge of match making and also likened to a baby and hes very much NOT happy about this. it pisses him off, solluxs often gives him a hard time. about it. (extra angst is that kitkats also really fucked up about never knowing what love felt like but having to give it to others. and he has it in his head that that means he never will know, bc no ones matchmaking the matchmaker. but theres a song he hears everyonece anwhile by a stray harpy that makes him feel a lot lighter.)

Nepeta is my go to cat creature a nekomata. a two tailed cat yokai.

Kanaya is a vampire. obviously.

Terezi is a dragon! still blind! still licks. but can now transform and has wings, very scary. shes basiclly just her lusus lmao.

Vriska is a spider lady. i have arachne here bc its similar, but shes not arachne the myth proper. shes just a spider with the top part of a woman at the head. A Jorogumo a spider lady yokai and is basically actually what im picturing.

Equius is a centar and fuck if i ever have to draw him....

Gamzee is a clowwwn, just a clown, just a silly lil guy. What do you MEAN clowns arnt mythical creatures??? what do u mean u saw him under ur bed when you were a child? u must be mistaken. as a nod to ICPs boogieman. when gamzee is not high as a kite and is just a clown, he is one of the most terrifying and unkillable creatures known to children kind.

Eridan is a selkie. basiclly a mermaid but part seal. personally, I'd like to make him part seahorse. but not in the hippocampus way. i chose this bc he can shapeshift, thus he pretends to be a high elf sorcerer, yes he does get dunked on about this.

And finally, Feferi is a siren! who happens to be able to become very VERY **VERY** BIG. she doesnt lure people to drown them but she DOES love to keep live captives in cages :)

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sukunasbow · 2 years ago

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𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐇𝐂𝐒 - ( 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐳𝐨𝐞 ! )

synopsis -> hange and nsfw hcs !

warnings -> switch!reader, modern!au, panty stuffing, masturbation, phone sex, fingering, oral, nipple play, vibrator use, sex toys use, strap riding, squirting, ass spanking !

hange is a switch! sometimes they like being treated well, getting their pussy eaten. other times, they like treating you well, eating your pussy.

they’re a lil perv. they love panty stuffing and taking photos of you during sex so they can masturbate while you’re travelling or away from home! consensually, obv.

speaking of masturbating, they’re obsessed with phone sex. when you’re on a work trip, leaving them alone in the house, or when they’re wet in their office, they call you and immediately initiate mutual masturbation.

“fuck, im so wet.” as they rub their clit while sitting in their office chair, the sound of your moans on the other side of the phone, simply adding to their pleasure.

hange also sends videos of them touching their needy pussy, making themselves squirt while moaning your name.

“sss’ all for you.” “you make me so wet.” “i need your fingers.”

they love when you get on your knees as they sit on the edge of the bed, grabbing your head and pushing you closer to their cunt, desperate for you to flick your tongue on their clit at an even faster pace.

yk what else they love? when you ride their strap, your tits bouncing, head lulling back in pure bliss. they grab onto your waist, guiding your hips, slowing moving their hands towards your tits, playing with your sensitive nipples.

hange has a wide collection of toys. they enjoy experimenting and trying out new things.

they’re obsessed with overstimulation! they love fucking you dumb, encouraging you to speak, yet you’re practically unable to as they press a vibrator to your clit.

when they’re feeling more dominant, they like to degrade you, maybe even restrain your arms above your head.

when they’re feeling more submissive, they like being praised, it gets them so wet.

it’s canon that they literally cum just at the sight of you desperately touching yourself.

“you just couldn’t wait for me to come home, hm?” as they lean on the doorframe of your bedroom, licking their lips while your hand is in between your thighs.

fucking adores it when you squirt. they’ll finger you until you gush everywhere, making a mess on the bedsheets.

loves spanking your ass. they usually use it as a punishment after you spent all day teasing them in public, trying to get a reaction out of them. you don’t get that reaction until later that night, of course.

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johnslittlespoon · 5 months ago

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all the actor/celebrity au posts lately combined with troye bringing ross on stage last night for one of your girls has got me thinking...

a musician x musician au where gale is a troye sivan–esque ultra–famous queer pop star, and john's the singer of a well known indie rock band, and he gets asked by gale's team to star in a music video similar to one of your girls...

to everyone who doesn't know him personally, gale feels like this untouchable pop star. he's been in the industry for years, one of those classic 'i used to make music in my bedroom in my small town' stories, working his ass off before finally a song of his blows up and gets traction and then it's such a fast rise to stardom that he doesn't have time to wrap his head around it.

he never gets used to it, but he doesn't get an ego from it; he still hangs out with the same group of friends he's had since high school, and his team does most of his social media posting for him, because it freaks him out having all that attention, as grateful as he is. he's not shy by any means, not like he was when he started out, but he's not the biggest fan of all the fanfare and interviews and being put on a pedestal and all that. he keeps himself pretty distant online, and that coupled with the diva/superstar energy in his music/projects gives him this air of being on another level– a rare type of star all around.

john has a similar story, the whole growing up on the internet thing, making music in his basement in high school with the friends he's now in a pretty popular indie rock band with, working tirelessly to make a name for him and his friends. but that's kinda where their similarities end.

because john is known for being an absolute shit–poster, a little fiend online, a running joke in his fandom that 'john doesn't know that he's famous', 'should someone remind him this isn't a finsta?' type of vibe. he feels so accessible and down to earth, and while he's just as level headed and humble about his celebrity status as gale is, he displays it by being more present and trying to show the human side of it all, vs gale trying to create distance between gale cleven and the gale persona the world knows.

the band is first and foremost john's thing, but as he's grown in popularity, he's of course gotten offers for other avenues here and there, and at the insistence of his manager he decides to agree to try out a modelling shoot one day. he's not naive; he's more than aware of all the comments going on about his looks, stumbles across more tiktok thirst trap edits of him sweaty and shirtless on stage than he can count, isn't all too sfw in some of his band's songs, either.

he finds it all funny, but he also is someone who will always jump on new opportunities/experiences, and he ends up having a good time modelling, and picks up more gigs as time goes on. this is how gale becomes aware of him, somewhat because gale does occasional modelling too, but mostly because he's worked with a lot of big fashion names for tours and videos, so his and john's circles occasionally crossover, though they never actually meet in person.

so then comes this music video shoot, one that gale's been agonizing over for months, planning every little detail and making sure everything is perfect. it's something that drives his manager (marge? <3 gotta include the angel in every au obvs) insane because gale's got so much on his plate as is, but he likes to be so hands on with his projects, and she knows by now there's no talking him out of that. and everything is going great, until the person who's meant to be starring opposite gale has to pull out last minute due to a scheduling conflict or personal emergency or something.

and the usually very collected and put together gale is freaking out. it's the day before the shoot, everyone involved has already travelled to be on location, choreography is set in stone– this is his nightmare scenario, never doing well in situations where he has a lack of control. it's half of what scares him so much about being as famous as he is, is that he doesn't have a lot of autonomy or control over his own image or how he's perceived in the public eye (and digging deeper into backstory, probably stems from wanting to take back control after a childhood filled with being controlled by family.)

but it's situations like these where he's reminded why marge is his manager and he isn't, because she leaps into action the moment they find out about the cancellation, calming gale down so they can put their heads together to find a replacement. they reach out to a few of the names they have connections to, but it's too short notice for all of them, so maybe marge even just resorts to going through the people gale follows on instagram, and stumbles across john's page. he's got a good rep in industry and has worked on less 'conventional' projects before, so marge shuts down gale's fretting over "would he be comfortable with something like this?" by telling him there's only one way to find out, and contacting john's manager.

john agrees before he even hears the full pitch, and he's just as keen afterwards (albeit a bit nervous because by no means is he a professional dancer), knowing it'll be good publicity, and curious to explore a more artsy/out there gig, but also curious about the illusive gale, who he'd been surprised to receive a follow from a few weeks back.

john is flown out that night to the city of the shoot location, barely having a few minutes to change and head to the rehearsal space, where he meets a very frazzled but very thankful gale for the first time.

maybe they both have some preconceived notions about each other, despite having mutual respect and no actual interactions; john probably expects gale to be a bit stand–offish or conceited given his high celebrity status, but finds gale's actually bashful and quiet and easygoing when the cameras are off (when they're on, it's like he flips a switch, slipping into this persona, exuding confidence and sexuality and it honestly blows john's mind to witness in person).

gale probably expects to john to be loud and abrasive based off his well known social media posts, maybe even a little uncomfortable around gale, who is openly queer, whereas john isn't– maybe john hasn't ever stated his sexuality, has never given much thought to it, it doesn't matter much to him. instead he finds john's actually a little shy, much less bravado than he'd anticipated, but very enthusiastic and eager to learn and get the choreo and everything else right, assuring gale repeatedly that he's down to do whatever is needed.

so the two of them rehearse till the early hours of the morning, john taking it as seriously as though it's his own project he's invested months into, and gale gains such admiration for his commitment and willingness to stick his neck out for a borderline stranger (even though he's obviously aware this is a big boost for john's career). john gains a newfound appreciation for gale's work ethic and how much effort goes into every little thing for a huge artist like him.

and inevitably... there is sexual tension during the rehearsals. they're both overtired and sweaty and it's such a strange situation to meet for like five minutes and then jump right into dancing together so intimately, having to shed any inhibitions and self consciousness, but it's a blessing in the sense that they have to get comfortable around each other so quickly. there's no room for modesty or shyness, and john is genuinely speechless at how gale puts business first, and after double checking that john isn't uncomfortable, how he has no qualms about physically directing john, moving him how he wants him.

it's hot to john, the way gale knows exactly what he wants and is so passionate about his vision, and he'd be lying if he said the combination of being starstruck and being lowkey manhandled isn't getting to his head a bit. which is a whole other thing to unpack, because aside from vague acknowledgement of some men being attractive/beautiful, he's never actually found himself flustered by one like this, and it catches him off guard. he stays professional, but he still can't help but let his naturally flirtatious/joking personality slip out as the night drags on; he's like that with everyone he works with or hangs out with, and he thinks it would be weirder if he wasn't like that with gale, like everyone else would somehow notice.

meanwhile gale is fighting his own demons because he's got a very sought–after, very hot, very straight man dropping everything for him and letting him puppeteer him, on top of being so stubborn that even though gale can tell he's exhausted, john's refusing to call it a night until gale does, and THEN as if all that's not enough, john's effortlessly witty and complimentary and flirty. and gale's not one to mix business and pleasure, so he's not even entertaining these emotions, but he can't help but feel flattered by it all, while also reminding himself that john probably doesn't swing that way.

basically they both are discovering they have competence kinks lmao, like objectively they both find the other attractive, but it's not like they aren't constantly surrounded by beautiful humans in their lines of work, so it's more so the emotional side/work ethic that gets them both flustered, coupled with the inherent sexuality of dancing with very little clothing, hands on sweaty skin and toned muscles. but neither of them act on it, too tired by the time they call it a night even if they'd wanted to, and then it's back to their respective hotels to get a few hours of sleep before the shoot.

john isn't called to be on location until mid afternoon, and when he wakes up to his phone ringing and glances at the time, he freaks out, thinking he's slept through the shoot or something because he'd expected to be called early in the morning. he's told that he didn't sleep through it, but he's disoriented until he shows up, when he's told that gale had moved things around, filming as many scenes as he could without him before john was needed for his part, so that john could get more rest. (john swoons. just a little.)

he gets swept up in the capable hands of hair and makeup and wardrobe in his own trailer, and he doesn't see gale until it's time to film, and when he does, he almost doesn't believe it's gale. the glam makeup, the long blonde wig, the form–fitting sheer black dress and heels– gale's pretty as is, but with his features accentuated like that, john doesn't even know what to do with himself, feels like he's going through a midlife crisis at the ripe age of 25. he'd known gale would be in some sort of getup for their choreo, but nothing could've prepared him for this.

it makes it even more endearing that gale seems so awkward about it when he greets john, clearly out of his comfort zone in the ensemble, but john knows there's no way gale doesn't know how stunning he is, it's not a lack of confidence that's making him awkward. john keeps it together, reminds himself to be professional. tells gale it was really sweet that he let him sleep in, that he didn't have to do that, to which gale waves him off like it's no big deal. and he compliments gale too as they walk onto set, tells him, "you look great, wow," tame as he can be, and gale tells him "could say the same for you," and john snorts, gesturing to his simple jeans and boots and lack of shirt, says "feeling a bit underdressed, actually," and it gets a laugh out of gale.

when the cameras are rolling, any of that visible discomfort or awkwardness in gale disappears like someone's snapped their fingers and rid him of it, movements fluid like water, not an ounce of anything other than confidence and power and sensuality seeping through as he commands the camera with his energy. despite his aching body, john's grateful they ran the routine into the ground last night to the point that it's nearly muscle memory, because it's hard to concentrate when gale's looking down at him through long faux–lashes and gloss–plumped lips, caressing his jaw, playing with his hair, the sway of his hips and roll of his waist beneath john's hands so mesmerizing, john's half convinced he's being serenaded by a siren.

the tension would be insane, but equally confusing because neither of them would be able to discern what's an act and what's not, or if it's all just an act, pushing and pulling at an invisible line but never quite stepping over it even once the shoot wraps, both for the sake of professionalism but also for fear of rejection.

maybe after it all, john's on his flight back home and realizes in the whirlwind of everything, he never got gale's number (has a moment of 'why would i need it? this was just a gig' lol okay yearner). john's not even sure at that point what/how he's feeling about gale, the conflicting emotions of feeling attraction to him while in borderline drag doing nothing to help the confusion, especially because he can't excuse the attraction as just that when he was feeling things during rehearsal in casual clothes too.

he knows he could easily ask his manager to reach out to gale's manager for his number, but then he gets in his head convincing himself that if gale had wanted to talk further, surely he would've asked for john's number, since gale has way more reason to be selective with his own with his status.

he doesn't realize that on the other end of things, gale's realizing he also never got john's number, only he's talking himself out of reaching out because he doesn't want to read into john's friendliness as something flirtatious when as far as he knows, john is straight, and this was likely just a job for john, as well as they seemed to get along.

cue miscommunication when one of them actually works up the courage to dm the other on instagram since they're mutuals– either john dms gale something simple, a 'thanks again for the opportunity', and because gale is never on his socials and gale's team doesn't check messages much, it's weeks before anyone clocks john's message, during which john becomes sure he's nothing more than a coworker to gale, which he understands but is sad about. or, gale dms john, but from a private account with an innocuous username that he has just for friends and family, and john never even opens it because the lack of profile picture and generic user blends in with all the other message requests he gets a day.

they only end up reconnecting when the music video actually drops, because obviously it breaks the internet, and john happens to be doing promo interviews and radio shows at the time for his band's new album and tour, so an interviewer of course asks him what the experience was like working on a set like that and working with gale. john gives a glowing review, goes out of his way to praise gale– "the nicest guy you'll ever meet, and the craziest work ethic i've ever witnessed firsthand in hollywood."

when the interviewer asks if john would ever consider working with him again, y'know, the classic question an interviewer has to ask so they can drum up clicks with a 'john egan hints at possible future project with gale cleven!' title, john lays it on thick the way he always does with a wink at the camera and a "he can call me up anytime," but then adds a serious "no, really, i would love to work with him again, he was great."

predictably, the people who are already losing their shit over the music video and making edits and fan theories about the two of them go even crazier, spam–tagging gale and his team in the comments of this interview post, which leads to it eventually making its way to gale, and gale then realizes that john hasn't been uninterested; he must've just not seen his message since surely he would've replied if he had (marge looks at him with so much disappointment when gale mentions his attempt to reach out– "gale, no one with that kind of following is going through dm requests from faceless, private instagram pages, you of all people should know this").

gale hasn't told marge about his possible feelings, but marge isn't dumb; she didn't stand on set for nearly 24 hours with her eagle–eyes and not notice the way gale had been looking at john. to anyone else, it might've just seemed like he was leaning into his persona, but marge has known gale for a long time, and she could tell it wasn't all him playing it up for the cameras.

so marge puts her manager–brain and best friend–brain together and decides that with all the hype surrounding the new song and video, the two of them being seen together in public and making a few posts together would be a great boost for both of them. but she knows gale will never go for it if she voices this to him, because he'd see it as using john for popularity; she reasons that if he doesn't know, it can't be using. so she reaches out to john's manager and figures out when they'll both be back in the same city, and relays her plan as if it's just business, asking for john's manager to let john know that gale will be in town the next week if he wants to set something up, and she gives the manager gale's number for john to contact.

when gale wakes up one morning to a 'hi, this is john! my manager passed on your number to me, hope that's okay. i was told you're in town next week? :)' and then 'egan. btw. lots of johns out there.' and then 'the music video guy.' (john, absolutely panicking on his end, worrying that gale might not even remember his name, not knowing gale's been stalking his socials and confusion–pining just as much as john has been doing the same.)

and then more miscommunication after they arrange to hang out, because john assumes this is just for publicity based on what his manager told him, and he understands, as much as he wishes they're hanging out properly. but gale assumes this is a genuine hangout, because john never says otherwise, until the end of the evening, when gale has to leave for a dinner event and john says "we better take those pics for the 'gram before we say goodbye, or the big guns'll have a fit."

and either gale masks his surprise and then disappointment and goes along with it, thinking maybe he missed a memo or misread things, and this conflict and miscommunication is dragged out even longer, or gale doesn't hide his confusion in time, and john is then equally confused, says "your manager didn't...?" and gale says "sorry, i didn't know; i guess i misread your texts," feeling stupid that he's been thinking the hangout is anything other than a pr stunt. and then there's the awkward "no! no– well, yeah, i was told that this was to promote the video, so i thought– i mean, i would've liked to hang anyway, i just didn't think you wanted to?" from john.

gale is slowly connecting the dots in his head and he's so embarrassed, but also relieved that he hasn't misread things and made a fool of himself. john looks on the verge jumping out of his skin as gale sits quietly, so gale puts him out of his misery, smiles and pushes his irritation about the incident down and says "i do want to, john. i think marge– it doesn't matter. it was a miscommunication, i guess." and all the tension evaporates out of john's body, and he lets out a laugh, and a "oh, thank god. fuck. i was about to walk into the street," and gale lets himself relax too, scoffing at john.

so they decide to have a redo the next week, since they both do feel obligated to take their stupid pictures now to please their teams (and the internet), and thus a tentative friendship is born, the two of them dancing around each other and around feelings because everything is confusing as is, let alone with the way their careers affect every aspect of their lives. so much slowburn, lots of john trying to figure his attraction out and gale keeping his walls up because the thought of literally becoming the person he's singing about in his music video is laughable, he doesn't wanna be strung around or used as an experiment for john.

and john respects this unspoken boundary and also appreciates that they can get to know each other as friends while he tries to stop freaking out every time he pictures him and gale doing less than platonic things. probably a whole lot of chaos on john's end with the absolute tornado that he is, ie: '4am 'am i gay' quizzes taken in the dark of his bunk on a tour bus, asking an openly queer friend from his band if his feelings toward gale are normal, rumours started by a fan that they saw john in a gay club after a show, etc.

because john doesn't do anything halfway– he's ready to literally go out and kiss men and explore his newfound feelings, not just to prove himself to gale, but to figure himself out, because he's terrified of hurting gale since john doesn't have the best track record with relationships. overthinks the shit out of everything and doesn't realize it's not that deep, that liking gale doesn't mean he's suddenly attracted to all men, that all gale wants is for john to be confident in himself and his feelings for him before pursuing anything.

there's a lot of back and forth and messiness and emotions stacked on top of their already crazy hectic schedules and lives, the theorizing and prying from fans and paparazzi, caution from management, but when they eventually have their point of no return moment and cross that line from friends to more, the chemistry is so intense that both of them feel stupid for dragging things out for so long.

when the initial new relationship shyness wears off, the sex is also insane, all the exploration and playfulness (and inevitability of the whole feminization thing coming back into play since that's what starts everything in the first place lol). they're barely able to keep their hands off each other, almost always spending the night at each other's places, stealing as much time as they can to make up for the time apart when there are tours or other events separating them.

they try to keep things private for a while, but with how active john is online, he slips up a good few times– tiktoks where a hat or something of gale's is accidentally left in the background, story posts where john's wearing one of gale's hoodies unthinkingly, mirror selfies where there's a mystery hand or leg in the background. the internet is torn, some convinced it's coincidence, some certain it's all a pr stunt to get people talking, some adamant that they're in a secret relationship. gale's never upset about it; they both just know how much things will change if they go public.

months are spent sneaking around, rarely going on public dates, the odd paparazzi shots still leaking out until it finally gets to the point that there's no point hiding things anymore, it's obvious that they're not just friends. they never actually announce it or make some relationship launch post; they just stop caring, and it's freeing and neither of them expect to be so affected by being able to publicly show affection for each other, but it's such a sweet thing and makes things feel so much more real.

john goes to gale's sold out arena shows and stares up at him in awe and can't believe that gale chooses him every day, and gale goes to john's band's high energy festival sets and watches his golden boy light up with joy every time he glances at him side stage and can't believe john chooses him too.

:-)

lol this post was meant to just be the two lines above the cut but then i got to thinking about origin stories and whoops new au drabble because i'm a master at getting carried away!!

#thx for coming to my ted talk jesus christ sorry #buckbucky #johnslittlespoon aus #johnslittlespoon brainrot #johnslittlespoon writes #4k words FUCK. i started writing this at noon. 9hrs ago. it should've taken an hr and been 1k but i spent the day bouncing btwn 3 wips oops #i will always be a troye–gay at heart clearly. growing up watching him and discovering i was queer at the same time he did? formative lol.#anyway. kinda wanna draw/write this. can't stop picturing how they'd look and how fun the dynamic/slowburn would be #all i did was picture them in the mv idek how this happened (me every time i post a drabble. yet i mean it every time irdk)#i could've written another 4k words ab the sex alone lbr but i need to actually stop jumping btwn docs and Write <3 sry #i tried to proofread and then got bored LOL my bad #i shant even name this au i already know i won't have time to write it rn with both the fics i have going

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wordywarriorwrites · 1 month ago

Text

Life's a Dance

Title: LIfe's a Dance | AO3 | Rating: T Pairing: Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x You Summary: Jack finds a second chance at love. Will he take it? Warnings: Alcohol consumption. Swearing. Mentions of grief/death. A/N: This fic is for @burntheedges "Roll a Trope" challenge (sorry I'm a day late!) and is an AU (obvs). Tagging @jolapeno, who gave me an inspirational and dare I say it, MOTIVATIONAL, "ooo," when I shared a snippet on a WIP Wednesday post.

My trope. Songs referenced in the fic: 1, 2

Jack watches – wide-eyed, with his heart in his throat – as you complete the clover pattern, quicker than lightning, bolder than brass. Fearless, you and that horse of yours, maneuvering around the barrels at an almost impossible-to-follow speed.

Now, he’s gnawing on his nails, knee bouncing, waiting for the results as the digital scoreboard goes blank. A hush has fallen over the crowd of some 19,000 spectators; they’re right there with him, with you, as the camera pans in close to your face, capturing your anxious expression in the moments before the announcement.

Eyes flickering back and forth between you and the screen, waiting, watching as your name ticks to the top of the leaderboard. The announcer barely says it’s ‘a record-breaking run’ before the crowd goes wild. And Jack is swept up in it – on his feet, bursting with pride, whistling and clapping and sharing in your career-defining achievement.

Thunderbolt is just as triumphant, receiving pets and kisses from you as he excitedly prances around the sand during the victory lap. The rodeo may be over, but the night has just begun; there will be press, a fan meet-and-greet, and then, an afterparty. Jack knows you’ll be busy for several hours, but that’s okay.

He can wait.

“So,” Tequila drawls, shuffling out of the stands and towards the stairs leading up to the exit. “How long you two been datin’?”

Jack nearly trips over his own boots, hand shooting out to grab the rail for balance, “Datin’? No, we aren’t datin’. We’re just friends.”

A quirked brow is all the response he gets – for now. Jack knows the meddlesome man is just biding his time. In fact, it’s nearly midnight at the honkytonk when he brings it up again.

“You may be retired, but your name still gets flagged when you travel,” Tequila points out, all casual as he drops truth bombs while sipping his beer. “You’ve been following the circuit. And for a man who didn’t even know what the hell barrel racing was a year ago… Well, I find that real interesting.”

Jack sighs and signals the bartender for another drink, “Look, I invited you here to help me spread the message about my distillery – not to comment on my friendship with--”

“You know, I see her picture pop up when you two text,” he interjects. “And I can hear you talking to her on the phone late at night. I mean, have you really watched all 17 seasons of Heartland?”

Jack grunts. Rolls a mouthful of Johnnie Walker across his tongue before swallowing hard and muttering that Tequila is one nosy motherfucker, who has absolutely no business listening in on his private conversations through the damn hotel room wall. But arguing is pointless – especially since saying anything otherwise would just result in him pushing the issue even more.

The purpose of the trip to Cheyenne was two-fold. First, Jack wanted to see you. Second, the biggest rodeo event on the circuit drew a lot of sponsors (aka: potential investors) known for putting their money in a variety of different cookie jars, and he hoped they’d want to partner with him on a whiskey distillery. Tequila, still in the game, knew all the players and was exceptionally good at schmoozing. It seemed like a win-win, but now, he can’t help but regret asking his too-observant friend for help.

“And the first thing you did when she walked in?” he carries on, all ‘ah-ha, got you now’ in tone. “You put your stinky Stetson on her pretty, little head. And if that’s not stakin’ a claim…”

It’s the verbal equivalent of a knockout punch, causing Jack to pause mid-sip, but before he can counter, you sidle up between him and his buddy, effectively disrupting the sparring match.

You’re an all-Western cowgirl; from the boot heel to the ten-gallon he’d plopped over your brow after hugging you tight in congratulations. Long-sleeved shirt tucked into jeans. Winners buckle the size of his fist just below your navel. Shiny eyes and a toothy grin. You’re in high spirits, clapping Tequila’s shoulder in greeting before propping an elbow up on the bar and jutting your chin toward the teeming dance floor.

“How ‘bout it, cowboy?” you quip.

Jack should’ve known Tequila, the jabber-jaw, wouldn’t allow him to get a word out in acceptance or refusal. Like a dog with a bone, he buts right on in – says Jack doesn’t dance (at least, not very well). And he grins while he says it - as if pointing something like that out when a woman is asking you to bootscoot for the first time is somehow helpful.

Head tilted slightly, you look at him from beneath the brim of his Stetson, “Can’t? Or won’t?”

Tequila strikes again, this time, with something pithy Jack doesn’t entirely catch, but his ears pick up every, single detail of the asshole offering to take you for a spin. And it’s fine. Jack is completely prepared to let it go, to be the well-mannered man his mamma raised, but Tequila does the one thing guaranteed to illicit a baser response.

“Won’t be needin’ this,” he states, plucking the hat from your head and discarding it down on the bar top. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s boogie.”

Jack’s not sure how much time passes. Ten, maybe fifteen seconds? Like stones skipping along a pond, those seconds come and go so quickly, but they ripple and expand. He recalls his dead wife and son, and how he would be the man he is without having had and lost them. Then, the job, and the purpose it had given him until he’d nearly lost himself in it. Then, meeting you. If someone had told him he'd find a second chance at love at a random truck stop in Kentucky, he'd have laughed in their face.

But that's exactly what happened.

That syrup-sticky counter. The scent of cheap coffee and overcooked bacon. Clanking silverware and Coal Miner's Daughter playing over the speakers. You'd been watching barrel racing on your phone and taking notes on an egg-yolk-and-strawberry-jam-stained paper napkin when he’d asked if the stool next to yours was free.

A simple question. A polite answer. A shared glance that lingered a bit longer than was strictly polite. Chit-chat that somehow morphed into you showing him how to download Instagram so he could follow you – which had seemed a bit untoward of him, doing such a thing, but you’d laughed in that bright, sunny way of yours and assured him was normal. Ten minutes spent showing him how to scroll, and then, you’d dropped cash on the counter and tipped your hat. Bid him farewell. Headed out the door.

But you hadn’t left his mind.

Calls and texts and video chats. Red-eye flights and sunrise breakfasts. Lunches at small-town fairs and dinners at dive bars. Exchanging birthday and Christmas gifts. A year had come and gone, and in that time, Jack had gotten to know you. Knew what channels you’d be on. That your horse loved organic carrots. That you sometimes slept in the barn when your nerves wouldn’t allow you to rest in a hotel bed or even your trailer. You told him things – painful, private things – and in return, he shared feelings and thoughts with you that he hadn’t expressed to anyone else in nearly two decades.

You’d opened his eyes to a different way of existing; proved to him that life could be balanced between wildness and safety, excitement and the every day, and sorrow and joy. You showed him moments were to be cherished, and losses weren’t supposed to keep him locked in a perpetual state of grief until he either got taken out by an enemy or found a grave to lay down and die in.

Of course, there was something there. A flame, unfanned. A torch carried, but unacknowledged. You’d be going into the off-season, soon; still working and training, teaching breakaway roping lessons and riding classes and such, but not traveling. And God knows he’s got the freedom and capital to do what he wants and go where he pleases…

But it’s Tequila’s hand on your shoulder that brings all that chaos, all those ‘what if’ thoughts in his head, to a resounding halt. The seemingly innocuous touch of another man shouldn’t bother him, but it does because he knows it’s a challenge, and his own hand reacts – goes right to his hip on pure instinct – and if he’d been carrying openly, his palm would’ve been atop of one of his revolvers.

Tequila clocks it, but doesn’t back off; in fact, it emboldens him and prompts him to move his hand to your waist. A friendly smile. A guiding touch. A few words to encourage you to head toward the dancefloor and a narrow-eyed glare for Jack to either take a stand or stand down.

Jack is no coward, but he’s also no fool. And he’s not willing to risk losing your friendship over a pissing contest, so, he backs off. Inclines his head. Plasters a smile on his face that’s faker than a buckle bunny’s spray tan.

“Whatever the lady wants,” he says.

Whether the flash of disappointment in your eyes is real or imagined doesn’t matter because Jack ignores it all the same. Just as he ignores Tequila’s muttering fucking idiot as he passes.

The opening chords of Life’s a Dance ring through the air, and he manages to make it to the chorus before deciding he’s taken enough of a beating for the night. He doesn’t say goodbye – just shoots off a lame excuse text to you about an early morning meeting that doesn’t exist, followed up by one to Tequila, telling him to find his own way back to the hotel.

By the time he gets to his pickup, he’s spitting mad. Mad at Tequila. At himself. At you, for making him feel things he hasn’t felt in such a long, long time. For making him feel both safe and afraid to take that leap again. For making him realize wanting you didn’t mean he was being disloyal…

Keys rattling, he jabs the unlock button with his thumb and jerks the door open. Habit has him reaching for his hat, which is no longer there. His Custom Stetson. The one he’s had for ages. The one he spent an obscene amount of money on to have made just right. The one that fits his big ol’ dome so perfectly that there’s no way in hell he could ever hope to replace it.

Jack slams the door so hard, it rocks the frame. Then, uncaring of the fact that it’s a rental, he kicks the front tire with his boot, and that scuffs the rim up pretty good. That old, familiar darkness rears up, and his chest goes tight with it, but expletives and fists are literally reined in by a rope suddenly winding around his shoulders.

Arms pinned to his sides, he whirls, and spots you. A stationary target may be easier to rope, but the distance is impressive. So is the strength you display when you cinch him tight and give a forceful tug to his tether. Passerby-turned-on-lookers think so, too because they clap at your display. Some even whistle as he’s forced to walk toward you or else be dragged.

“You done, cowboy?” you ask, toes nearly touching his as he stands before you. “Or am I gonna have to put my spurs on?”

The glint in your eye is one he’s come to know quite well, and when he doesn’t answer, the rope goes tighter. It doesn’t hurt, but it gets his full attention – takes his mind off his anger, makes him focus, and has him realizing that you’ve not only roped him in, but you��ve got his Stetson on, too.

“S’my hat,” Jack blurts.

You grin. Cup his cheek in a leather-worn palm. Jack meets you in the middle, and it’s like slipping into a hot bath after a long, hard day. A first-time, we-waited-too-long-to-do-this kiss that carries on just long enough for it to mean something.

A slow parting. Your thumb ghosting along his lower lip. Lips curving into a smile, you say, “Hat’s mine now, cowboy.”

And he laughs.

And kisses you again.

#rollatropechallenge #jack whiskey daniels fic #jack whiskey daniels x you #jack daniels fic #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #whiskey daniels fic #whiskey daniels x you #pedro pascal fic

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